“When I find you, I’ll kill you,” he hissed.

  “Not if I kill you first,” Shielle replied.

  34

  She appeared from behind one of the capsules, a caretaker’s weapon in her hand.

  “Why?” Tea’va said. “I trusted you.”

  “You are a fool, Tea’va. You have always been a fool. You think that you fail over and over again because of circumstance. It isn’t the universe that is wrong. It is you. I am a loyal subject to the Domo’dahm, and I will not let you challenge him, either alone or with the humans.”

  “Fool? I’m not the fool. I am superior. The future of the bek’hai.”

  “You are too human to be the future of the bek’hai.”

  “Oh? And what of you, Shielle? You are an un’hai. Why do you not care for the humans like Zoelle does?”

  “Her programming is wrong. I don’t know how it happened. Someone altered her, and who knows how many others of our type.”

  “She believes she is the real Juliet St. Martin.”

  “She believes it, but it cannot be true. The pur’hai is long deceased.”

  “How do you know?”

  “You don’t know enough about clones, pur’dahm. You can not make a clone without destroying the source.”

  “Maybe that isn’t true. Surely Zoelle would know this.”

  “It is always true. She should know it but has forgotten. It is in her programming. I am sure of it.”

  Tea’va considered it. How many un’hai were there that believed they were the real Juliet St. Martin? How and why did they believe it?

  Did it even matter in the end?

  “I think you are the fool,” Tea’va said, his eyes monitoring the area between him and Shielle. “You should have killed me first, and then spoken to my corpse.”

  She shot at him then. He was too quick for her, and he dove aside as the bolt struck the ground behind where he had been standing.

  “You are no warrior,” he said, rolling to his feet and charging toward her. “You are no bek’hai.”

  She adjusted her aim, firing again. The bolt hit him in the thigh, some of the impact reduced by his gori’shah. He grunted in pain as it began to burn, but didn’t slow. She had ruined his plans to take over the Ishur. She had fooled him with her falsehood. He was angry. Furious. How could it be that the humans were the only ones who were honest?

  She shot him again as he slammed into her, knocking her backward, throwing her to the floor. The weapon tumbled from her hand as they landed on the ground together. Tea’va could feel the burning in his chest, a close-range strike that was sure to have done damage. He knew by instinct that it wasn’t fatal.

  “What did you send to the Domo’dahm?” he asked, putting his hand to her throat and squeezing.

  She writhed beneath him, trying to push him off. She didn’t have close to enough strength to do it.

  “What does it matter to you?” she said softly. “You are as dead as I am.”

  “Your bolts will not kill me,” he replied.

  “Perhaps you will wish they had.”

  He didn’t know what she meant. He didn’t care. He squeezed again. “What did you send? What did you tell him? That druk Theodore already told him when he would be coming. I’ve never experienced such tactical stupidity before.”

  “You’ll never know. More importantly, the humans will never know. I am loyal to the Domo’dahm, and to the bek’hai. We aren’t all traitors, Tea’va.”

  “I’m not a traitor. I seek to rule the bek’hai so that our kind can flourish. The Domo’dahm wants to keep us as we are. He doesn’t want us to evolve as we must, even as he says he does. That is incompatible with our future. I thought you understood that.”

  “The humans would allow you to evolve, Tea’va. To become like them, if that is what you want.”

  His face twisted in anger and pain. “That is not what I want. The humans are inferior. Pathetic.”

  “They have survived this long.”

  “Because I allowed it,” he said, raising his voice. “Me. I let them onto this ship. I killed Gr’el for them and led them to victory so that I could claim victory for all of the bek’hai. And you destroyed it. You killed my clones. You ruined our chances. We will perish, Shielle. All of the bek’hai will perish for what you have done.” He squeezed harder, holding her too tightly for her to be able to speak. “You and the Domo’dahm would see us all dead because you cannot admit the need to change. Because you are repulsed by me, instead of accepting, instead of thankful for my evolution.”

  He caught himself then, realizing what he was doing in his anger. He let go of her throat, sitting over her, his entire body shaking.

  It didn’t matter.

  She was already dead.

  Even in that, he had failed. She had tricked him into anger, tricked him into killing her before he found out what she knew.

  “Tea’va,” a voice said from behind him.

  He closed his eyes, trying to calm himself. Gabriel. How much had he heard?

  “Move slowly, Tea’va,” Gabriel said.

  He glanced over his shoulder. Gabriel was there with Miranda, Zoelle, and the one called Sergeant Hafizi. The Sergeant had a rifle trained on his back.

  “I wanted only to save the bek’hai,” he said.

  “You wanted power,” Zoelle said. “Don’t delude yourself with more excuses.”

  Tea’va felt his anger flare again. He struggled to keep himself still.

  “Did you hear what Shielle said, Heil’bek? About the clones?”

  “Yes.”

  Tea’va smiled. At least Gabriel knew the truth about Zoelle now.

  “She may not be my mother, but she thinks that she is. That makes her loyal. That makes her trustworthy. Unlike you.”

  “What will you do with me?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll let the General decide.”

  “Will you allow me to retire?”

  “An honorable death? For you?” Zoelle said.

  “Humans don’t kill for retribution,” Gabriel said. “You’ll probably be confined to your quarters, imprisoned, until we can think of something else. Your knowledge is still useful to us.”

  Tea’va’s shoulders slumped. “She sent the Domo’dahm a message. I do not know what it contained.”

  “I know. I saw you come down here once before. You didn’t see me. Even if she hadn’t, we would have figured out what you were planning.”

  He lowered his head further. He hadn’t known about that. It seemed he was always destined to fail. Perhaps Shielle had been right? Perhaps he was the real fool?

  “Get to your feet,” Hafizi said. “Slowly.”

  Tea’va didn’t move. His body hurt where Shielle had shot him. He could survive it, but then what? He could see the truth for what it was, now. He had never been superior. The Domo’dahm was right. He was defective. In all ways that mattered. It had taken this for him to realize.

  “Tea’va, please, stand up,” Gabriel said.

  Tea’va opened his eyes. He noticed the caretaker’s plasma gun at the tip of Shielle’s fingers. She had been reaching for it when she died. No wonder they were concerned about him. He breathed in. He would have time for one shot. As far as he knew, only Sergeant Hafizi was armed.

  “Tea’va. Now,” Gabriel said.

  He wasn’t going to let them imprison him. His life was forfeit. He had failed. He didn’t want to know how it was all going to end. All he had to do now was choose a target. If he shot Hafizi, he might be able to kill the others, but there was no guarantee. If he shot Gabriel, he would finally have his victory against the Heil’bek. If he shot Zoelle, he would have his revenge for her betrayal. There was no value in killing Miranda.

  He breathed in again, tensing slightly as he made his decision.

  “Tea’va.”

  He reached for the gun, grabbing it and turning as the Sergeant fired his rifle. The bolt hit him in the side, digging deep into him and causing a wave of immense pain. He didn’t let it stop him, continuing to turn, bringing the weapon to bear on its target.

  He fired, falling over as he watched the bolt streak toward Gabriel. If he had killed the Heil’bek back on Earth, none of this would have ever happened. He would have been a hero before he ever had to leave the planet. It was only fair.

  He landed on his chest, his head up so he could see Gabriel die.

  As his own life faded, he watched as Zoelle moved, faster than any human could, throwing herself in front of the plasma, taking the hit and falling to the ground.

  Tea’va hissed softly, a final hiss of despair.

  Then he died.

  35

  Gabriel fell to his knees beside Zoelle. The plasma had hit her square in the side of her face, tearing through her eye and into her skull, burning a hole right through to her brain. She was dead already, he knew, but it didn’t stop him from leaning over her, feeling for a pulse and hoping beyond hope.

  Maybe she wasn’t the real Juliet St. Martin, but she was the closest thing he would ever have.

  Now she was gone.

  “Gabriel,” Miranda said, coming to kneel next to him. He felt her arm over his shoulders. “Oh, my. I’m so sorry.”

  He didn’t react. He stared at the mess the bolt had made of Zoelle’s face. Then he looked to the traitorous bek’hai who had caused it. Tea’va had fired his weapon at him. The shot was meant for his face. He could barely believe it after he had come to think that at the very least they held a mutual respect for one another.

  He could barely believe any of it.

  “Hafizi, find a comm station and report in to Colonel Choi,” he said, his voice weak. “Tell her what happened. Do not tell the General. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir,” Hafizi said.

  Gabriel reached under his shirt, pulling out his crucifix. He squeezed it tightly as he made the sign of the cross over Zoelle’s body and forced back his tears. He wasn’t sure why he did it. It just seemed appropriate. She had never asked to be brought into the world as a clone. None of them did. It wasn’t their fault for being what they were.

  Then he made himself stand up. He looked over at Tea’va again, face down on the floor, his blood spilling out around him. The other Juliet clone, Shielle, was behind him, her neck purple, her eyes bulging. She had sent something to the Dread on Earth. She had exhibited more free will than any of them expected. It seemed at least some portion of the Juliet clones were capable.

  He clenched his teeth, realizing that he had lost more than the best connection to his mother he would ever have, and more than a friend. They had lost their translators as well. Their guides through the Dread technology. Had they learned enough to use it on their own?

  “Hafizi,” Gabriel shouted, catching the Sergeant near the room’s exit.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Tell Colonel Choi to bring Reza and Guy with her.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “We need to know what she told them,” Gabriel said.

  “Whatever it was, it’s going to hurt us,” Miranda replied.

  “Yes.”

  “Your father-”

  “I know.”

  “You have to tell him she wasn’t really his wife.”

  “I know. I’ll try. I tried before. I don’t know if he’ll believe me. Maybe if he had heard Shielle himself? I don’t know.”

  He paused, his emotions in turmoil. His real mother had been dead for years. From the moment they had cloned her. He had always known she was gone, but Zoelle had brought her back to life somewhat. Now she was gone again.

  “I’m sorry,” Miranda said again, embracing him.

  He held her back, letting the tears come. It wasn’t just pain for himself. He knew what his father would go through. Even twenty years after he had left Earth, Theodore’s wounds had been raw.

  He gave himself sixty seconds. Then he broke away from Miranda, wiped his eyes, and straightened up. He would let her see him like that. Nobody else. He was still an officer, and he still had a job to do.

  He walked over to one of the maturation chambers, looking in at the still form. She had destroyed all of the clones, as well. As much as he was against creating people this way, they had been looking forward to adding to their small numbers. They had been especially eager for the new engineers, who could help them accelerate their uptake of the Dread technology. That was lost as well.

  Should he have seen this coming? He wasn’t sure. Tea’va had been so convincing in his desire to help them, and in his anger at the Domo’dahm for his initial betrayal. And Shielle? She had responded as any subservient clone would. The only way to know for sure that they were secure would have been to lock up or kill every single clone, and they didn’t have enough crew of their own to run a ship like the Ishur that way. For better or worse, they needed the clones. They were forced to trust them.

  One of the caretakers came over as he stood in the chamber. It eyed him suspiciously, holding its weapon toward him. He backed away, and it went about its business. Some of the clones were so simple. So basic. Like the caretakers, or the cleaners. Others, like the keepers, or the Juliets, were so much more. None of them were the enemy. Not really.

  He heard Colonel Choi coming, her boots clacking stiffly against the floor in an even cadence. He retreated back to where Zoelle was resting, Miranda joining him at his side. He felt a growing sense of dread as the echoes grew louder. The pace of her walk was familiar, and not in a good way.

  His stomach dropped as she entered, with Theodore at her side and Reza, Guy, Hafizi and Diallo behind them. He could see the relief on his father’s face when Theodore saw that he was unharmed.

  He also saw the immediate agony when Theodore’s eyes landed on Zoelle behind him.

  “General,” Gabriel said.

  Theodore stopped moving. His face turned white. His eyes darted away from the body, back to it, and away again. His jaw clenched tight. His hands tore at the edges of the chair.

  Gabriel felt it too. His father’s pain. He headed for him, to do what he could to comfort him. To tell him that she wasn’t the real Juliet, for all the good it would do.

  “Dad,” he said, breaking formality. “She-”

  That was all he managed to get out. His father wheeled his chair around, retreating from the scene as quickly as he could.

  “Dad,” he said again, ready to give chase.

  “Let him go,” Colonel Choi said. “Major, let him go.”

  “I told you not to tell him,” Gabriel shouted at Hafizi.

  “He tried,” Choi said. “Your father wandered onto the bridge while he was briefing me.”

  “Damn it. This disaster is getting worse by the second.” He looked over Choi’s shoulder. His father’s back vanished ahead of him.

  “What happened down here?” she asked.

  Gabriel closed his eyes tight, pushing at the emotion. It killed him to see his father like that, but Choi was right. They didn’t have time for that right now.

  “We discovered that the clone, Shielle, sent an encrypted message to the Domo’dahm when we passed Earth.”

  “What kind of message?”

  “We don’t know. That’s why I asked you to bring Reza and Guy. We need to figure it out.”

  “How are we going to do that?” Guy asked, his face paled by the violence. He looked like he was going to be sick. “I see our translators are all dead.”

  “Reza, how much of the language have you translated?” Gabriel asked, ignoring Guy. He had never been one for tact.

  “I’m not completely sure. I don’t think I know all of the symbols yet. Based on what I’ve done so far, maybe fifty percent.”

  “Do you think you can get a copy of the message that was sent, and break the encryption?”

  “Uh. I don’t know, Gabriel. With everything else you have me working on?”

  “Guy, what about you?”

  “I am willing to try, but I have other duties as well, Major. I’m to ensure the Magellan’s systems are ready for the drop to Earth.”

  The pain of the loss kept growing. Did Tea’va have any idea of what he had done before he died?

  “Colonel?” Gabriel said.

  “The message has already been sent,” she said. “We’re struggling for hands as it is, and this is going to make it harder for us. Reza, Guy, find Shielle’s quarters and see if there is anything you can do within the next hour. If not, we’ll have to drop it for now. If we manage to get everything else ready ahead of time, we can come back to it, but what’s done is done. We’ll have to do our best to anticipate what the Dread could know that we don’t want them to.”

  Gabriel didn’t like it, but he knew she was right. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Spaceman Locke, you’re dismissed. You have three hours until your next shift.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Major St. Martin, you’ll need to increase your familiarity with the flight controls. You won’t have a co-pilot to guide you going forward.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Gabriel said. He paused. “Permission to speak to General St. Martin first?”

  Choi nodded. “Granted.”

  “I’ll need a little time, Colonel,” Gabriel said. “Can we leave the bodies here for now?”

  “You aren’t going to bring him back down here, are you?”

  “No, ma’am. I am going to bring someone to examine the body, though. His name is It’kek.”

  She eyed him curiously. “I don’t know what you’re thinking, Major, but I trust you. Make sure you alert Sergeant Hafizi when we can send in a team to clean up this mess.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Gabriel replied.

  He wasn’t quite sure what he was thinking either, but step one was confirming once and for all that the dead woman on the floor wasn’t the real Juliet St. Martin. Shielle might have said she couldn’t be, but all it took was one lie to put everything else into question.

  Step two was to convince his father of that fact. It wouldn’t ease all of his pain, but it would help, and he needed to get him through this as quickly as possible.