"How do you know that?"
"We have our sources," purred the one with the revolver barrel prodding his throat. Its blade sight was scraping his skin.
"It's come to our attention," Jones went on, still pacing, "that Mr. Fukuda suspects Mr. Tableau's daughter Krimson of stealing his daughter's expensive kawaii-doll. And its value seems to be increased by the fact that the doll was created using unconventional research that Mr. Fukuda obtained after he took over the former Alvine Products. It's possible Fukuda even suspects Mr. Tableau of coveting that research, and hence encouraging his daughter to steal the doll for him."
Stake's mind was racing. He could see that this information had come through his own lips, in the guise of caseworker Simon McMartinez. But still, how had they learned of him-Jeremy Stake, the private investigator hired by Fukuda? They had their "sources," the one with the Decimator had said. Who would that be? He doubted Janice would have betrayed him. Had Caren Bistro overcome her fear of Tableau? But then, she hadn't known that Stake worked for Fukuda. Was the source someone who worked under Fukuda, then? Stake could envision Tableau paying for the eyes and ears of such a person.
"What's your point?" he asked Jones.
"Our concern is that Krimson Tableau has been missing now for about two weeks. Our employer is worried that John Fukuda, suspecting Krimson of this crime, may be responsible for her disappearance."
"What? No… no. Fukuda hasn't done anything to her."
"And you wouldn't do anything to her, on Mr. Fukuda's behalf? Kidnap her, perhaps? Or something even worse?"
"Don't be crazy! Yes, okay, Fukuda hired me to find that doll. And yes, he thinks Krimson might have something to do with it, because Krimson hates Yuki Fukuda the way her father hates John Fukuda. But Fukuda did not kidnap Krimson Tableau. And I would never do something like that for any client, or for any money."
Would they go so far as to torture him? Though strictly forbidden, torture had not been unknown in the interrogation of Ha Jiin prisoners, by soldiers cloned or otherwise. Might they even intend to kill him? Stake gauged his chances of surprising the three clones. Brushing that revolver away from his neck with his left arm. Grabbing his Darwin out of the man's waistband and bringing it up to take out the shotgun man. Then back to blast the first man. Then wheeling and plugging Jones before he could jerk out whatever iron he carried. Maybe. Maybe he could pull it off. But Stake dreaded the scenario. As strong and fast and skillful as he was, these men were designed to be even stronger, faster, more skillful. Three of them. And one of him, with guns only inches away.
"And we're just to take your word on that?" said the shotgun man. "Put our trust in your professional ethics?"
"Hey, bring me down to the nearest forcer precinct. I'll submit to a truth scan in a minute. Yes, Mr. Fukuda would like to know if Krimson took the doll. So yes, I've tried to find her myself. In that regard, I'm actually helping Tableau, aren't I? The more people looking for his daughter, for whatever reason, the better."
"You're more and more the saint by the minute," said shotgun man.
"If Fukuda took Krimson, then why doesn't Yuki have her doll back?"
"Because Krimson never took it," Jones said, stopping opposite Stake a few paces away. As if he might strike him. Whip out his gun to execute him. "He may have her in custody to use in bargaining for the doll if he can establish that Mr. Tableau possesses it. Or even, realizing his error in kidnapping her, Fukuda might have murdered Krimson Tableau and disposed of her to hide the fact that he captured her."
"That's all nonsense. Paranoid nonsense your boss is feeding you. You guys should know better."
"It's your blasting boss who's the paranoid one, corporal," said the Decimator man. He had studied Stake's medals, too, obviously.
"Hey, mate, we all fought on the same side once."
"Yeah? Not anymore."
"Oh my God," Jones said in barely a whisper, taking a step nearer to Stake. "Your face is changing. You're starting to look like us."
Dung, Stake thought. Not in color, he knew from spending time with their sort in the past, but definitely in form.
Decimator man leaned around in front of Stake for a look. "Not us," he corrected. "You. He's a chameleon."
"Why are you copying me?" Jones asked harshly.
"I can't help it," Stake snapped. "So you're like us, huh? A belf?" "No. I was born, not grown. I'm a mutant." "I see. Better to be a mutant than a clone, I guess." "Your words, not mine."
The Decimator's muzzle ground itself against his jawbone more painfully. The front sight broke his skin and he felt a bead of blood run down his neck. "Wanker," the man snarled.
Mr. Jones looked Stake up and down. "Don't be so smug, my friend. You might still be a belf and not know it. Your designers could have given you a false history. A brain drip of memory-encoded long-chain molecules, the way they trained us."
"Why would they go through the trouble of making me think I was a birther?"
"Maybe it had to do with the work they programmed you for in the war. I mean, why would they have used you, if not to exploit your ability? Were you a spy? A deep penetration scout?"
"Stop fucking with me. You're not going to convince me I'm a factory product like you bastards."
The shotgun's stock smashed him in the ribs, and Stake went down on the floor, feeling as if he'd been hit with a load of its pellets. The Decimator now pointed at the top of his porkpie hat. But Jones hadn't deemed to pull his own gun. Calmly, he said, "Maybe you're a pet that madman Fukuda cooked up in one of his labs. And it's him who put a bogus history in your head. Digest that for a while, Mr. Stake."
"Blast you," he wheezed.
"In the meantime, I suggest you think about the wisdom of withholding information that might lead us to the whereabouts of Krimson Tableau, dead or alive. If you come forward to help us, we'll be lenient, even if you had something to do with it. After all, you're just a tool. But if we have to come back here again, we may be in a less civil mood next time."
"I'm going to continue looking for that doll," Stake said evenly. "And if I find Krimson Tableau along the way-dead or alive-I promise to let you know. But I will assure you again, I had nothing to do with her disappearance."
"And you can assure us that Fukuda had nothing to do with it, either?"
Actually, Stake couldn't assure them of that. The man was still too much of a mystery to him. Too full of surprises.
"Not as far as I know," was the best he could say, rising to his feet again slowly so as not to alarm them. He winced, a hand to his side.
Shotgun man took the Darwin .55 out of his comrade's waistband and walked into the bedroom. He apparently left the shotgun and pistol in there to return them to Stake, because he came back without them. Meanwhile, Jones had moved toward the door.
"Remember what I said, Mr. Stake. Don't be foolish, now."
"I won't if you won't."
The last one out was Decimator man, and he gave a mocking military salute before Stake closed the door in his blue-mottled face.
A false history. If he were just a "pet" created by John Fukuda himself, as part of some game, some play-the scope and purpose of which he couldn't fully imagine-would his maker go through the trouble of faking these medals framed on the wall? The pictures of his parents that he kept, but locked away? The same way Fukuda had manufactured a history for Yuki, his wife-turned-daughter? No, it was too illogical in his own case. At least the idea that he himself was a military clone, designed for his chameleon abilities, made more sense.