Working…
«Let it task,» Roarke said softly. «Let's get some sleep. You'll need a clear head tomorrow. I assume you're going to New Hampshire.»
«Damn right I am.»
She was up at dawn, and still Roarke was up and dressed ahead of her. With a grunted greeting she trudged into the shower, ordered jets on full at one-oh-one degrees, and boiled herself awake. She hit the drying tube, gulped down the first cup of coffee, and felt nearly human.
«Eat something,» Roarke ordered, and switched from the finance reports on-screen to the morning media cast.
«Something,» she repeated from inside her closet.
When she stepped out, he glanced at the clothes she'd grabbed and said, «No.»
«No, what?»
«Not that outfit.»
If the term aggrieved had an image beside its definition, it would have been her face. «Oh, come on.»
«You plan to pay an official visit to an exclusive boarding school. You want to look authoritative.»
She tapped the weapon holster she'd hung over the back of the chair «Here's my authority, Ace.»
«A suit.»
«A what?»
He sighed, rose. «You do know the concept, and you happen to own several. You want power, prestige, simplicity. You want to look important.»
«I want to cover my naked ass.»
«Which is a shame, I grant you, but you may as well cover it well. This. Clean lines, and the dull copper color adds punch. Wear it with this.» He added a scooped-neck top in a kind of muddy blue. «And go crazy, Eve. Wear a bit of jewelry.»
«It's not a fricking party.» But she pulled on the pants.
«You know what you need? You need a droid, a dress-up droid. Maybe I'll buy you one for Christmas.»
«Why settle when I already have the real thing?» He opened the jewelry vault in her closet and selected etched gold hoops for her and a sapphire cabochon pendant.
To save time and aggravation, she dressed as ordered. But she balked when Roarke made a little circle in the air with his finger.
«Pushing your luck, pal.»
«It was worth a try. You still look like a cop, Lieutenant. Just a very well tailored one.»
«Yeah, the bad guys will be awed by my fashion sense.»
«You'd be surprised,» he replied.
«I've got work.»
«You can call up the search results right here and eat some breakfast. If a machine can multitask, so can you.»
It didn't feel quite right, but then neither did the suit. But since he was already giving the order, she programmed a bagel from the AutoChef.
«You can do better than that.»
«I'm stoked.» Her office wasn't the only place she could pace, she reminded herself, and began to do so while biting into the bagel. «Something's going to come.»
«Data on-screen then.»
Acknowledged. Match one of fifty-six…
«Fifty-six?» Eve stopped pacing. «That can't be right. Even figuring the amount of time, number of students, you wouldn't have so many visual matches. You can't… wait.»
She stared at match one.
DeIaney, Brianne, DOB February 16, 2024, Boston, Massachusetts. Parents Brian and Myra DeIaney nee Copley. No siblings. Married Alistar, George, June 18, 2046. Offspring: Peter, September 12, 2048; Laura, March 14, 2050. Resides Athens, Greece.
Matched with O'Brian, Bridget, DOB August 9, 2039, Ennis, IreIand. Parents Seamus and Margaret O'Brian nee Ryan. Both deceased. No siblings. Legal guardianship to Samuels, Eva, and upon her death Samuels, Evelyn. Currently enrolled and residing Brookhollow College, New Hampshire.
«Computer, pause. She had a kid at twelve?» Eve asked.
«It happens,» Roarke said, «but—«
«Yeah, but. Computer images only, split screen, magnify fifty percent.'
Working…
As they came on, Eve stepped closer. «Same coloring, that's fine. The red hair, the white skin, freckles, green eyes. I'd say the odds are reasonable for those inherited traits. Same nose, same mouth, same shape of the eyes, the face. I bet you could count the fricking freckles and get the same number for each. Kid's like a miniature of the woman. Like a…«
«Clone,» Roarke finished quietly. «Christ Jesus.»
Eve took a breath, then another. «Computer, run the next match.
It took an hour, and the sickness came into the center of her being and lay there like a tumor.
«They've been cloning girls. Not just messing with DNA to boost intellect or appearance. Not just designing babies or tuning them up physically, intellectually, to enhance. But creating them. Flipping off international law and creating them. Selling them. Some into marriage,» Eve continued, staring at the screen. «Some into the market place. Some created to continue to work. Doctors, teachers, lab techs thought they were designing babies, training LCs. But it's worse, worse than both.»
«There are rumbles now and then about underground reproduce cloning research, even the occasional claim of success. But the laws are so strict, so onerous and universal, no one's come out and proved it.
«How does it work? Do you know?»
«Not precisely. Not remotely, actually. We do some research cloning—well within the parameters of the law. For tissue, organs. A cell implanted in a simulated female egg, triggered electrically. If it's privatized, as ours would be, the cells are donated by the clients, who would pay handsomely for the generated replacement tissues, which would have no risk of being rejected after transplant. I'd have to gather that in reproductive cloning, you'd have cells, and actual eggs—once merged— would be implanted in a womb.»
«Whose?»
«Well, that's a question.»
«I've got to get this to the commander, get the go-ahead and get to the school. You can fill Louise in on this.»
«I can.»
«He'd have made billions on this,» Eve added.
«Grossed.»
«I'll say it's gross.»
«No, no.» It was a relief to laugh. «Gross income. It would cost—has to cost enormously to run the labs, develop the technology, the school, the network. The net income would be substantial, I'd think, but Eve, the cost, the risk? I think you're looking at a labor of love.»
«You think?» She shook her head. «We've got nearly sixty on record now attending the Academy. There must be hundreds more, already graduated. What happened to the ones that didn't come out exactly right? How much do you think he loved the ones that weren't perfect?»
«That's a hideous thought.»
«Yeah. I've got a million of them.»
She took time to put it together into a report, to contact Whitney and request an early briefing. She tagged Peabody on the way to Central and arranged to pick up her partner.
Peabody hopped into the car, tossed her hair. It was longer by a good four inches and did a kind of flip at the tips.
«McNab truly spiked on my hair. I've got to remember to shake things up more often.»
Eve gave her a cautious sidelong glance. «It makes you look girly.»
«I know!» Obviously pleased with the comment, Peabody snuggled back in her seat. «And it was great being a girl after I got home last night. He went ape shit over the papaya boob cream.»
«Stop now, save us both. We've got a situation.»
«Figured you didn't offer to pick me up to save me a fight with the subway.»
«I'm going to brief you on the way, then the commander. We'll have a full briefing—EDD included—at ten hundred.»
Peabody said nothing as Eve ran through the data she'd gathered overnight. Her silence carried through into the garage at Central.
«No questions, no observations?»
«I'm just… absorbing, I guess. It's so contrary to my makeup. My DNA, I guess you could say. The way I was raised, taught. Creating life is the job of a higher power. It's our job, our duty and our joy, to nurture life, protect and respect it. I know that sounds Free-Agey but—«
«It's not so far off from what I think. But personal sensibilities aside, human reproductive cloning is illegal under the laws of New York, the laws of the country, and the laws governing science and commerce on and off planet. Evidence indicates the Icoves broke those laws. And their murders, which is our domain, were a direct result of that.»