Part of Vanderveen wanted to stay, and thereby free herself from captivity, but another more professional persona said no. The alliance with the Hegemony was clearly important, and if the revolution that Alan spoke of actually took place, a preexisting relationship could be extremely advantageous. So the diplomat nodded, turned, and grabbed hold of the protective railing. Once Vanderveen’s right foot found the top rung of the ladder, the descent began.
The shaft went down about twenty feet or so, and it wasn’t long before Mary’s body blocked much of the light from above, and the smell of raw sewage rose to envelop the diplomat. She had been dressed for work when snatched off the streets, but something told her that the pantsuit was destined for a recycling chute, as her pumps came into contact with the duracrete below. Mary was only a few feet above her, so Vanderveen hurried to get out of the way, and found herself on a raised walkway that ran parallel to a river of sewage. The odor was so strong it made the diplomat gag as she wondered where she was relative to her hotel. The ceiling was curved, oppressively low, and equipped with recessed lights. There weren’t all that many though, not more than one every fi?fty feet, and some were burned out. That contributed to the dark, claustrophobic feel of the tunnel, and caused Vanderveen to question the decision made minutes before.
“The place stinks!” Alan acknowledged cheerfully, as he appeared at her elbow. “But it’s reasonably safe. The Nerovs don’t come down here unless they absolutely have to—because they know at least half of them will get killed if they try. That doesn’t prevent them from sending robots, though—some of which are quite nasty. So keep your eyes peeled.”
On that cheerful note, the three of them set off. Alan was in the lead, with the two women following. The stench was nauseating, so Vanderveen tried to breathe through her mouth, and memorize the route. But there were too many twists and turns, so it wasn’t long before the diplomat was forced to give up.
Then they passed under a low arch, and arrived in front of a gate guarded by two seemingly identical men. Both had stocky bodies, appeared to be quite strong, and stood no more than four feet tall. The sentries were armed with pistols appropriated from Nerovs who had been brave enough, or stupid enough, to enter the maze of tunnels under Alpha Prime.
“They’re Lothos,” Mary explained. “The founder chose their progenitor, Lars Lotho for both his engineering expertise, and small stature. It’s easier to work down here if you’re small.”
The history of the Lotho line was especially interesting, since unlike Alan and Mary, the Lothos hadn’t been born into the role of outsiders. But were there more mainstream rebels? Or were the Lothos the exception? Time would tell. A mesh barrier barred the way, and metal clanged as one of the guards opened a door that allowed the fugitives to enter the holding area. “That’s one of our habs,” Alan explained, as he pointed to the brightly lit area that lay beyond a second mesh wall. Vanderveen saw that sections of solid fl?ooring had been laid over the open sewer, and the duracrete walls were covered with idealized murals, plus a variety of slogans. “Before we show you around,” the clone continued, “we’ll need to visit the clean rooms.”
“It’s annoying,” Mary added apologetically, “but necessary. Please follow me.”
So Vanderveen followed the prostitute through a doorway and into a room equipped with two standard gynecological tables. That was enough to stop the diplomat in her tracks—
but Mary had already begun to strip. “It’s almost impossible to visit the surface without picking up half a dozen robots,”
the clone explained. “Most can’t harm you directly, but the Nerovs can track them, and that’s a problem. It’s diffi?cult for low-power signals to reach the surface from down here, and we have scramblers, but it pays to be careful.”
Mary was nearly naked by then—and Vanderveen could see why the fi?rst Yee had been chosen for her job. The prostitute had large breasts, a fl?at stomach, and a nicely rounded bottom. A female nurse entered the room, and Mary was quick to climb up on the examining table and spread her long slim legs. Then, as the diplomat began to remove her pantsuit, the cleaning process began. It consisted of examining the clone’s body through a pair of high-tech goggles, removing the tiny machines with a pair of tweezers, and dropping each of them into an acid bath.
Ten minutes later it was Vanderveen’s turn. But at least the naked diplomat knew what to expect, even if the process was embarrassing, and seemed to last forever. Finally, having been declared “clean,” Vanderveen was free to get down off the table and put on a new set of clothes. They were at least one size too large and anything but fashionable. Alan and Mary were waiting outside. After the threesome were cleared through the second barrier, the diplomat was taken on a tour. Strangers were a rarity, so people had a tendency to stare. Vanderveen tried to ignore that, as she was led through a brightly painted cafeteria, family-style living quarters, and into a school full of free-breeder children. “This is what we’re fi?ghting for,”
Mary said tightly, as the visitors looked in on a room full of preteen children. “It’s too late for people like Alan and me—
but they will be able to lead normal lives.”
“But only if we win,” Alan said harshly. “Otherwise, the death squads will fi?nd the children and kill them.”
“So, you’ll do it?” Mary wanted to know. “You’ll take our message to your government?”
Vanderveen eyed the room and the children before turning back to Alan and Mary. “Yes,” the diplomat assured them. “I will carry your message to my government. But, will they listen? That’s anybody’s guess.”
6
There is many a boy here today who looks on war as all glory, but, boys, it is all hell.
—Union General William Tecumseh ShermanSpeech at Columbus, Ohio
Standard year 1880
PLANET GAMMA-014, THE CLONE HEGEMONY
The assault boat shuddered as it bucked its way down through the atmosphere, and the men, women, and cyborgs of Alpha Company, 2nd Battalion, 1st REC waited to fi?nd out if they were going to live or die. Because in spite of the fact that the invasion of Gamma-014 was less than six hours old, the attack had already been described as a “fucking disaster” by General Kobbi, who was certainly in a position to know. The opinion had not been shared with the troops, lest it erode their morale, but Captain Antonio Santana was cognizant of it. All because Commanding General-453 was an idiot.
The campaign to defeat the Ramanthian navy, or chase it away, had gone smoothly. Perhaps too smoothly in the opinion of some, who were aware of General Oro Akoto’s reputation, and wondered if the wily Ramanthian wanted the allies to land. But General-453 had been quick to categorize all such theories as “defeatist nonsense,” as he and his mostly clone staff hurried to harvest what they felt certain would be a quick and painless victory. The only problem was that most of the people in the fi?rst wave, which was almost entirely comprised of Jonathan Alan Seebos, were slaughtered as they landed—in large part because they put down in all of the most predictable places.
And so, rather than the victorious battle footage that General-453 had been counting on for consumption back home, he was forced to watch video of his clone brothers being shot down as they stumbled out of burning assault boats, were blown to smithereens by Ramanthian artillery, and crushed by Ramanthian tanks.
But rather than question his strategy, which would have been to admit that he’d been wrong, General-453 chose to throw more troops at the same objectives. Which meant that as the 1st Regiment Etranger de Cavalerie (1st REC), the 2nd Regiment Etranger d’Infanterie (2nd REI), and the 4th Regiment Etranger (4th RE) dropped into Gamma-014’s turbulent atmosphere, they were slated to land right in the middle of the same free-fi?re zones that the dead Seebos had. And Santana knew that Lieutenant Colonel Quinlan’s battalion, which was to say both Alpha and Bravo Companies, had been given a generous slice of a very ugly pie. Specifi?cally, a long, U-shaped valley that had a Class III hydroelectric plant sitting at its south end. Where, thanks to the ingenuity of General Akoto’s forces, the electricity intended for the city of Prosperity, which was located some thirty miles to the east, had been redirected to a battery of three surface-to-orbit (STO) energy cannons. These world-class weapons had already been responsible for the loss of a destroyer escort and numerous smaller ships. The assault boat rocked as an antiaircraft round exploded nearby and the pilot spoke over the intercom. “Sorry about the rough ride, folks. . . . But we’re fi?ve from dirt, so I’d like to be the fi?rst, and probably the only person to welcome you to Gamma-014! Don’t forget to take personal items with you, duck on the way out, and give my regards to the bugs.”