With the preliminaries out of the way, Alan rose to speak on behalf of the governing council. In terms of appearance, he was almost the polar opposite of Antonio Santana. Because where Alan had light-colored hair—Tony’s was midnight black. And where Alan was idealistic—Tony was cynical. And where Alan was a man of ideas—Tony was a man of action. Yet there were commonalities as well. Both men were intelligent, caring, and funny. So how to choose? Promises had been made to Tony—but the two of them weren’t engaged. All of that was going through the diplomat’s mind as Alan began to speak.
“Welcome to what may very well be a historic meeting. We are gathered here to consider the fi?rst step on a very uncertain path. Which, when you think about it, was the very thing the Founder sought to avoid. Because she believed that all of humanity’s problems, reverses, and tragedies stem from uncertainty. To remedy that, Dr. Hosokowa and her advisors created a plan, a blueprint by which predictable people would do predictable things and produce predictable results.”
Alan paused at that point. As his bright green eyes made momentary contact with hers, Vanderveen felt something akin to electricity jump the gap. “And it worked,” Alan continued soberly. “Not perfectly, not in every case, but across society as a whole. The pain previously associated with familial relationships was eliminated. The massive gap between the rich and poor was closed. Everyone had equal access to health care. Each person had useful work to do. And even nature was tamed to some extent.
“So, why give that up? Well, the answer is simple, if somewhat counterintuitive. A predictable existence may be safe, but it’s also boring, and stultifying, and colorless, and joyless. Because without pain there is no pleasure, and without challenge there is no success, and without freedom there is no opportunity to fail! And ultimately to learn from failing.
“That’s why the Council and I invited you here,” Alan continued earnestly. “To tell you that the time has come. Conditions will never be better than they are right now! Let’s take back our lives, and the right to live them as we see fi?t, even if we suffer as a result. If you authorize us to do so, we will strike a blow for freedom, and the revolution will begin. I cannot tell you when, where, or how for reasons of security. But I can assure you that once the blow is struck, you and your line will recognize the event for what it is. And that will be the moment when you must lead your brothers and sisters to the ramparts—where those who worship the status quo will defend it to the end. Thank you for listening. The voting process will begin now. No one will be allowed to leave the area until all votes have been submitted and counted.”
There was a stir as monitors began to make the rounds, and individuals representing the various lines began to cast their votes. Vanderveen was proud of both Alan, and the speech, and felt sure that Nankool would approve as well had the president been present to hear it.
The results were available fi?fteen minutes later. Vanderveen felt a sudden emptiness in the pit of her stomach as the results of the vote were brought forward for review by the Council prior to the formal announcement. Because if those seated all around the diplomat had a stake in the outcome, then so did she, and those she had chosen to represent. Whether they wanted her to do so or not!
Vanderveen watched carefully as the piece of paper was passed from person to person. She tried to read the Council’s faces, searching for the slightest glimmer of joy or disappointment, but without success. Because one of the hallmarks of the perfect society was the need to conceal one’s emotions. It was something all of the clones were extremely good at. So when Alan rose to read out the results, the diplomat had no idea of what to expect. “The votes have been counted,” the rebel said gravely as he looked out over the assemblage. “And your decision is clear. You chose freedom—
and all it entails. The revolution has begun.”
There were cheers as the delegates came to their feet, and somehow, in all the hubbub that followed, Vanderveen found herself in Alan’s arms. There was pleasure in the long, tender kiss that followed, but a sense of guilt as well. Because promises had been made on planets far, far away. Promises that echoed through her mind, robbed the kiss of its sweetness, and left the diplomat confused, for the memory of the legionnaire was bright and clear. He was smiling down at her as they lay together on the hill above her parents’ estate, toying with a lock of her hair, while a hawk wheeled high above. Then a cheer went up, the embrace came to an end, and the vision disappeared. It was a sunny day, and as Vanderveen followed Alan and a team of Fisks along a busy street toward Bio-Storage Building 516, she was struck by how unassuming the drab onestory structure was. Except that description wasn’t really accurate. For Building 516 was an inverted skyscraper that extended hundreds of feet down below the planet’s surface—
a design intended to protect both the structure and its contents from everything up to and including an orbital attack. Because there was nothing more precious to the Hegemony’s hereditary social structure than the sperm and ova stored in the carefully maintained bio vaults below. There were duplicate facilities, of course. Two of them. Both located on other planets. But neither had the symbolic and emotional heft that 516 had, which was why it was the perfect place to start the revolution. And why it was heavily guarded. But the freedom fi?ghters had a number of things going for them, including the element of surprise and a cadre of revolutionary sympathizers who were waiting inside the building. The assault was timed to coincide with the morning rush hour, a time when it was perfectly natural to see lots of people on the street. Normal, that is, until a hundred of them suddenly broke away from the main fl?ow and turned in toward the storage building.
Vanderveen heard the staccato rattle of gunfi?re as the shock troops at the head of the column took submachine guns out from under their trench coats and opened fi?re on the Seebos stationed in front of the main entrance. Only one of the six soldiers managed to fi?re a shot, but it was deadly, and the diplomat had to step over a dead Fisk as she followed the others into the building. She felt sorry for casualties from both sides of the confl?ict. The second line of defense consisted of four Romos. They were in charge of the security checkpoint located in the lobby beyond the front door, and having already been alerted by the sound of gunfi?re, were waiting with guns drawn. But as the policemen turned their attention outward, and prepared to fi?ght the invaders, two female Crowleys attacked the men from the rear. The gentechs were armed with pistols that had been smuggled into the facility piece by piece over a period of weeks. And even though the women weren’t experienced with fi?rearms, they didn’t have to be, since the unsuspecting policemen were only a few feet away.
Most of the Romos weren’t members of the hated death squads, but some were, which was justifi?cation enough as the Crowleys emptied their weapons. There was no way that body armor could protect the policemen’s heads, which appeared to explode as the high-velocity projectiles hit them. As Alan, Mary, and Vanderveen followed a phalanx of Fisks into the lobby, they were forced to pass through something resembling a slaughterhouse. The diplomat had seen a lot of violence during her relatively short career, and even been forced to take some lives herself, but she had never experienced anything worse than the sight of the blood-drenched walls, the smell of suddenly released feces, and the pathetic whimpering noises that the single survivor uttered as he lay fetuslike in a pool of his own blood.
A Fisk pointed a gun at the Romo, as if preparing to fi?nish him off, but Alan intervened. “No,” the Trotski said fi?rmly.