‘Shouldn’t take Stuff Central more than a few minutes to tailor up the first one.’
The Minstrel Boy removed the helmet from the Wanderer. The old man seemed totally drained. If it hadn’t been for his shallow breathing, Billy would have assumed he was dead.
They waited. The waiting was almost intolerable. Billy was constantly aware of A.A. Catto standing in the doorway holding the gun. He wondered if she’d keep her bargain and let them live once she had what she wanted. She was just as likely to kill them all.
For a while it seemed as though nothing was going to happen, then the cage glowed and Jeb Stuart Ho materialized inside it. The likeness was so complete that Billy and Reave started to back away. A.A. Catto raised her gun. Only the Minstrel Boy held his ground. He turned to A.A. Catto and laughed.
‘Come and talk to your new subject.’
He turned to the Ho replica.
‘Are you willing to accept our orders?’
The Ho replica bowed.
‘Of course. That is my programming.’
‘There you are, Miss Catto. He’s all yours.’
The Minstrel Boy moved to the console.
‘How many of these do you want to start with?’
‘Six should be enough. But leave the selection set up. I will certainly want more.’
The Minstrel Boy punched more buttons, and more Ho replicas began to arrive down the stuff beam in quick succession. Billy noticed that they carried all Jeb Stuart Ho’s equipment including the pistol and porta-pac. A.A. Catto was like a child with a new toy. She ran her hands over the fabric of their black fighting suits.
‘They’re lovely.’
She seemed to have forgotten all about her threats to kill the four men. She moved from one Ho replica to the next with an expression of delight. While her attention was diverted, the Wanderer opened his eyes, and rose slowly from the chair. He moved silently towards the door and quickly slipped away. A.A. Catto didn’t seem to notice his absence. She beamed at the six Ho replicas.
‘All we have to do now is send them after the assassin. He doesn’t have a chance against six exact copies of himself.’
***
Jeb Stuart Ho slowly rose from his crouching position on the hillside above the ziggurat. For a while a strange sickness had gripped him, but it seemed to have passed. It disturbed him in so far as he could find no logical reason for it. He flexed his cramped muscles. He had wasted enough time. He must start for the ziggurat and complete his task. He could see no way apart from going directly to the ziggurat, finding A.A. Catto and killing her. There was no room for subtleties.
It was dark, and therefore the approach to the ziggurat would be comparatively simple. Once inside, his main problem would be to avoid the horsemen. He knew that they wouldn’t be able to stop him, but if he was forced to fight with a number of them, he could be delayed for long enough to give A.A. Catto time to flee. That was what had happened in Litz, and he didn’t intend it to happen here.
He started down the slope towards the black building. He moved slowly and carefully, making no sound. He stopped every now and then to listen for the noise of any patrol that might be moving around. He had only gone about halfway when he saw lights emerge from one of the ground-level entrances and start to move up the hillside. Jeb Stuart Ho sank down on to the grass and watched them come towards him. After a while, he could make out details. There were six men, in form-fitting black suits. They carried burning torches and appeared to be searching the ground for something.
Jeb Stuart Ho held his position and let the six men come nearer. As he was able to see them more clearly he could scarcely believe his eyes. In front of him were six of his brother executives in black fighting suits and carrying full equipment. He couldn’t understand how they had arrived in Quahal, or how they had managed to keep the guns and porta-pacs that hung from their belts. They were a mysterious but welcome sight. Seven of the brotherhood would have no trouble dispatching A.A. Catto. He hesitated for a fraction of a second, and then stood up.
‘My brothers?’
The torches were instantly extinguished. Jeb Stuart Ho was surprised. It wasn’t the reaction he had expected.
‘My brothers. It is Jeb Stuart Ho.’
There was silence, then a whisper floated across the hillside. It was very clear.
‘That is him. That is the subject.’
A shot rang out, and a bullet hummed close to Jeb Stuart Ho. Someone had obviously fired in the direction of the sound of his voice. He started backing away. His mind whirled. He couldn’t understand it. Who were these people? Could A.A. Catto have enlisted the aid of some kind of renegades from the brotherhood? Did such people exist? In the dim skyshine he could see the six figures fanning out and moving up towards him. He quickly retreated.
The sky over the mountain was growing lighter, as though an artificial moon was about to rise. Jeb Stuart Ho knew that if that happened he would present an easy target. He knew that if these men had similar fighting skills to his, he couldn’t survive a direct confrontation.
The mist seemed to be his best bet. Once inside its concealing folds he could evade these hunters, or even, if he was lucky, pick them off one by one in sneak attacks. He turned on his heel and started to run. Another shot buzzed over his head. He fell into the unique pattern of yogic running that had been perfected by the teachers of the brotherhood. It enabled him to move at speeds far in excess of anything ordinary untrained humans were capable of.
A thin crescent of moon edged over the mountain. Jeb Stuart Ho glanced back as he ran. The pursuers were behind him, but they seemed to be keeping pace. They obviously had the same training. He reached the edge of the layer of mist and plunged into it. He saw an outcrop of rocks and ran towards them. It seemed an ideal vantage point to watch for the arrival of his hunters. He threw himself down behind the rocks, controlled his breathing, and lay still. He watched and waited.
The six came cautiously through the mist with swords and pistols in their hands. Five went straight past him, some distance to his right, and were swallowed up by the mist. The sixth was moving in a direction that would bring him right by the rocks where Jeb Stuart Ho lay. He silently drew his sword, and pressed himself flat on the ground. The man was just on the other side of the rocks. Jeb Stuart Ho waited for the right moment. His adversary came round the rocks. Jeb Stuart Ho struck. The sword went up through the man’s stomach and into his lung. He died without a sound.
The body had fallen face down. Jeb Stuart Ho bent over it to remove the porta-pac and the gun. He rolled it over. Even in the darkness there could be no mistake. He found himself looking at his own face. The shock was immense. For a moment his mind was jolted off balance. Then he got a grip on himself. Somehow, A.A. Catto had managed to duplicate him. He knew it was possible, but he didn’t know how it had been accomplished. He examined the corpse’s arm. There was even a wound exactly like the one he’d received in the Leader Hotel. He realized that he was fighting six identical versions of himself.
An idea struck him. The very fact that he and his hunters were identical gave him a chance to outwit them, and complete his mission. He quickly stripped the body of its gun, its porta-pac and its nanchuk. He replaced the throwing knives that he had lost. When he had a full complement of equipment, he stood up. It would now be impossible for anyone to tell whether he was the real Jeb Stuart Ho that was being hunted, or one of the Ho replicas who were doing the hunting. He walked swiftly into the mist, looking for the other duplicates.
He didn’t have to search for long. He’d only been walking for a short while when he heard voices. He moved towards them. Three of the Ho replicas had gathered together and were debating their next move like novices on a training exercise. As Jeb Stuart Ho walked out of the mist, they swung round and trained their guns on him. Then they saw his own gun and porta-pac, and they relaxed. Jeb Stuart Ho looked from one to the other.