The Clone Apocalypse (21 page)

THIRTY-FOUR

Freeman raised his hands in the air and let the bodyguards search him. After finding his S9 pistol and his knife, one of the bodyguards started to radio in for help.

“Wait,” said Watson. “I can vouch for this man. He’s a friend.”

Watson had six guards in his room; all of them had the flu. Some were sicker than others. A few coughed sporadically. One never stopped coughing. In the few minutes that Freeman watched him, he vacillated from hot sweats to cold shivers and back.

Freeman said, “Travis, you and I should have a private word.”

“What about M?” asked Watson. He sat on a couch dressed in loose pants and a tee shirt, looking more sloppy than casual. He had gained back most of the weight he’d lost while on the lam. The new pounds looked soft.

He showed no signs of having a cold.

Emily looked good. Freeman could tell that she’d been exercising and probably eating better than Watson as well. She wore a bright blue dress that fit her perfectly. Like Watson, she showed no signs of illness.

Believing that Emily would take the threat more seriously than Watson, Freeman looked at her and said, “This concerns you as well.”

“We can’t leave,” said one of the bodyguards.

“What?” Watson asked.

“They’re not allowed to let you out of their sight,” said Freeman.

“That’s ridiculous,” said Watson. “Go get a cup of coffee or something.”

The bodyguards didn’t move.

Watson’s hospital room was like a penthouse suite. It had multiple bedrooms, a kitchen, and an office. Freeman pointed to the office, which had window walls, and asked, “How about if we go in there?”

“How do you know this man?” one of the bodyguards asked.

“He’s tight with General Harris,” said Watson. “I’d lay heavy odds that Harris was the one who sent him.”

“Did General Harris send you?” asked the bodyguard.

Freeman shook his head.

“Nice going,” said Watson.

The bodyguard said, “Look, they caught three men with guns coming up the elevators.”

“They were chasing me,” said Freeman.

“See? He came here to save me,” said Watson.

The bodyguards didn’t move.

“Guys, this is Mr. Ray Freeman. He may in fact be the most dangerous psychopath in the universe, but he’s on our side. If he wanted to kill me, he would have blown up the hospital.”

As Watson spoke, Freeman sat on an empty love seat. There were two empty chairs as well, but Freeman was too big to fit in them comfortably, and he’d done enough squeezing into tight spaces the night before.

When the bodyguards still didn’t leave, Watson said, “Go! Scat! Be gone with you!”

More serious and more subdued, Emily said, “Ray has saved our lives on more than one occasion, Lieutenant Marks. We’ll be safe.”

Marks, the highest-ranking bodyguard, glared at Freeman, and said, “You can talk in the office if you need privacy, but we’re not leaving.”

Emily said, “Thank you, Lieutenant.” She led Freeman into the office. Watson followed, shutting the door behind him. He sat on the desk, and asked, “Okay, Ray, what is this about?”

Freeman told them about Howard Tasman’s call and the attack on both his nest and his apartment.

Watson whistled.

Emily asked, “Do you think they can do it? Can they beat the clones?”

Freeman leaned forward and fixed her with a facial expression he hoped would come across as concerned instead of menacing. He said, “They already have.”

Feeling menaced, mistaking Freeman’s glare as a sign that he preferred to speak with Watson, Emily backed away from him.

Freeman asked, “Have you been outside your room?”

Emily didn’t say anything. Watson shook his head. “They won’t let us near the door.”

“So you have no idea what’s happening out there?” Freeman asked.

“What’s happening?” asked Emily.

“This hospital is like an anthill. There are lines of clones in every clinic and more clones lining up outside the doors. I passed the morgue on my way in. There are so many bodies in the basement that they’re stacking them on top of each other.”

Emily put a hand on her chest, and said, “That’s awful!”

“What’s killing them?” asked Watson.

“They have the flu,” said Freeman.

“The flu?” Watson sounded unconvinced.

“All six of our guys have the flu,” said Emily. “Marks and Whiting have bad coughs.”

“All of them are coughing,” said Freeman. “I’ve been watching them since I came in. They’re all coughing, some more than others.”

“Do you think they have it?” Watson asked. He meant the question more for himself than for Freeman.

“It can’t be that contagious,” Watson said, brightening a bit. “M and I haven’t gotten it.”

Emily, who had some emergency training, asked, “The flu isn’t going to affect us, is it?”

Freeman shook his head.

“Only clones catch it?”

Freeman didn’t answer; it was answer enough.

Emily whispered the word, “Speck.” She looked at Freeman, stared into his dark, wide-spaced eyes. She asked, “Are they all going to catch it?”

Freeman nodded.

Watson was a smart guy, but Emily was more alert and more serious. Freeman preferred speaking with her. He said, “The Unified Authority must have created a virus that only infects clones. From what I can tell, it’s spread everywhere.”

“What about Harris?” asked Watson.

“I haven’t spoken to him,” Freeman admitted. “His DNA is almost identical to every other clone’s. If they caught it, he’ll catch it, too.”

“What do they die from, the fever?” asked Emily.

Freeman said, “The clones in the morgue died from death reflexes.”

“What? How can that . . . That doesn’t make sense,” said Watson. “They only have death reflexes when they find out they’re clones. What are you saying, that the flu makes them realize they’re clones?”

Freeman didn’t answer. He stood staring through the glass at the clones on the other side. The bodyguards returned his stare. The clone Emily had called “Marks” coughed. Unlike the others, who were in their thirties, Marks had touches of white in his hair and eyebrows.

His eyes still on Marks, Freeman said, “The corpses I saw were old by clone standards, men in their fifties.”

“Weakened resistance,” said Emily.

“What?” Watson asked.

“As people grow older, their immune systems become weaker,” said Emily. “Back when they used to have plagues, the babies and old people died first.”

Freeman said, “Maybe it’s not a death reflex that kills them. What if the virus attacks the gland, like a viral key that unlocks the hormone?”

Feeling a wave of panic washing over him, Watson said, “But that can’t happen to all of them; I mean, how many of them have died so far?”

Freeman didn’t answer.

Still struggling, Watson said, “Can it really get all of them? Every single one of them? What about Harris? He doesn’t have the gland.”

“Not Harris,” Freeman agreed. “He doesn’t have a death gland.”

“But it will kill the rest of them,” said Watson, not wanting to believe what he was saying. He turned to look at his bodyguards, and added, “Including them.”

“The Unifieds have commandos scattered throughout the hospital,” said Freeman.

Emily asked, “Is there any way to save them?” At that same moment, Watson asked a more practical question, “What are we going to do?”

THIRTY-FIVE

The safest way to exit the building would have been to alert the guards and have them sweep the building of unauthorized natural-borns. By doing that, however, Freeman would have tipped his hand. The U.A. officers in charge would have known he was about to make his move.

Freeman, Watson, and Emily needed to slip out of the building without the commandos spotting them.

At Freeman’s direction, Watson called the hospital’s chief administrator and arranged for a vehicle, clothing, body bags, and a couple of gurneys. Ten minutes later, the administrator delivered the goods.

Freeman explained his idea.

Lieutenant Marks picked up a pair of scrubs, and asked, “Where do I put my gun?”

Freeman said, “You leave it here.”

Marks said, “Then I’m not wearing them. I’m on duty; the gun goes where I go.”

Emily picked up a body bag, and said, “There is no way I’m letting you seal me in this.”

One of the bodyguards coughed, setting off a chain reaction. First he coughed, then three others followed. After watching the clone convulse as he coughed, Watson spread his body bag across the top of one of the gurneys. He opened the flap, and asked, “Don’t these bags freeze whatever’s inside them?”

Freeman opened the second bag, reached an arm into the top lining, and pulled out a chemical stick the size of a marker pen. He said, “Pull this out.” He handed the bag to Emily, who looked at it and shook her head. She said, “I’m not getting in; it’ll give me nightmares for the rest of my life.”

Watson asked, “And how long do you think that will be, M?”

She looked at him, anger and shock showing in her blue eyes.

“You don’t need to do this,” said Marks. “We’ll keep you safe. You’re safer here than you will be on the street.” He coughed a deep, wet series of coughs as he finished the sentence.

Emily said, “Ray, promise me you will pull me out of this bag the moment we’re safe.”

Freeman nodded, though his definition of “safe” didn’t necessarily match hers. Safe, as far as he was concerned, might not happen for an entire day, and he would leave her in the bag as long as he needed.

Marks asked, “Can I hide my gun on the gurney?”

Freeman opened a closet, and said, “Why don’t you leave your guns in here?” He posed it as a question, but it was an order, and Watson repeated it.

He said, “We’re trying to avoid the bad guys, not shoot them. The idea is to get out without letting them know that we’re gone.”

“But what if . . .” asked Marks.

“You’re supposed to be medics. Medics don’t carry the guns,” said Emily. She looked Marks in the eye, and said, “If you want to keep us safe, you need to do what he says.”

Marks and his men grumbled, but they obeyed. They stripped down to their general-issue skivvies and dressed in the loose-fitting scrubs, leaving their guns in the closet along with their uniforms. They sealed Watson and Emily into body bags and loaded them onto the gurneys.

Freeman left the suite first, walking quickly and silently toward the back of the building, where one of the stairwells ran all the way to the basement. He had sixty-six flights of stairs ahead of him, and his leg already hurt. By the time he reached the bottom, he knew he’d be limping.

Dressed in scrubs, Watson’s bodyguards looked like every other cloned hospital worker. They wheeled their gurneys into the hallway and immediately blended in, their anonymity offering better protection than their guns could ever have provided.

They followed Freeman’s trail, pushing the gurneys into the service elevator at the back of the building, the same elevator the workers used for transporting dead patients to the morgue. When the elevator doors opened, the only people on it were clones dressed in Army uniforms, both of whom worked for Marks. They traded places. The clones in scrubs wheeled their gurneys onto the elevator and the ones in uniform locked themselves in Watson’s suite.

Marks pressed the button for the bottom basement, then muttered, “So far so good,” in a voice just loud enough for Watson to hear. Marks and his men rode the elevator down to the basement, then rolled the gurneys to the morgue.

The mortician saw them, and asked, “More bodies?”

Marks said, “These ones are special.”

The mortician asked, “What? Do they do tricks or something? You got stiffs for me, stack ’em over there and clear out.”

Marks said, “My orders are to wait down here.”

“Orders to wait down here,” the mortician repeated, not even attempting to hide his irritation. “Somebody gave you orders to babysit stiffs?”

He nearly didn’t finish the statement as Ray Freeman pushed in through the door. “You again? Is this the man who gave you the orders? Just who the speck are you?”

“We ready to go?” Marks asked, ignoring the mortician.

Freeman put up a hand to stop Marks. He went to the mortician, and said, “I have orders to take these bodies to Bethesda for examination.” He handed over a set of papers signed by the hospital administrator.

The mortician snatched the papers and read them carefully. He said, “I still don’t know who you are,” and coughed.

Speaking slowly in his rumbling voice, Freeman said, “I’m the one who’s going to stuff you into a body bag if I hear that you mentioned my visit to anyone, anyone at all. Do you understand me?”

The clone nodded. He understood.

Freeman and the bodyguards rolled the gurneys out of the morgue and into the garage. Per Freeman’s request, an ambulance sat idling. Marks opened the rear door of the ambulance and loaded the gurneys into the back. Freeman climbed behind the wheel. Once Watson and Emily were loaded, Freeman drove out to the street.

THIRTY-SIX

Stolen cars and ambulances attract attention.

On their way back into the city, Freeman found a small medical clinic on De Russey Parkway. They left the ambulance in the clinic parking lot and hiked four blocks east to a storage facility on Langdrum where Freeman kept an impressively nondescript sedan. Then, with Emily in the passenger seat and Watson in the back, Freeman drove the sedan to the Linear Committee Building.

Using Watson’s clearance, they entered the underground parking and took a secured elevator to Howard Tasman’s floor. The three of them had just entered Tasman’s office when Freeman got a phone call. He said, “This call is from Harris.”

“Are you going to tell him we’re here?” asked Watson.

Freeman shook his head. He said, “Harris is going to try to save his empire. He has no choice. Do you know what happens when you swim too close to a drowning man? He pulls you down.

“I’m going to put Harris on my speaker so you can hear him, but he can’t know we’re here in the building. He needs to think you’re still at Walter Reed.”

Harris was coughing when Freeman answered the call. Freeman asked, “You sick?”

Harris said, “I’ve got the flu.”

Freeman heard this and nodded but said nothing.

Harris said, “A lot of people have colds these days, pretty much every clone in the Empire.”

Having just left Walter Reed, Freeman knew more about the flu than Harris did, probably more than Tasman as well. Playing dumb, he asked, “Is the Unified Authority behind it?”

Harris said, “This version of the flu ends with clones having a death reflex.”

Freeman asked, “How many clones have died so far?” He knew how many had died up at Reed; at least he knew the tally as it had stood an hour ago. More would have died in the last hour.

Harris said, “Six.”

Six,
Freeman thought. Harris really didn’t understand what was going on yet. Freeman tried to direct him with an innocent-sounding question. He asked, “Are you sure the Unified Authority is behind it?”

“Ray, we captured some of their files. The decryption process is going slow, but the stuff we’re getting sounds bad.”

“How long before your epidemic turns critical?” Freeman asked.

“There’s no way of knowing. The first victims were on an Explorer we sent to survey Terraneau. She’d been gone six days when we found her. The clones had been dead approximately twenty-four hours. We don’t know when the Unifieds captured the ship or how long they waited before they infected the crew.”

Freeman saw Harris as trying to save a ship that had already sunk. He understood Harris’s need to rescue his empire, but he wouldn’t buy into it, and he wouldn’t accomplish anything by trying to convince Harris that the clone empire was already done. Instead, he played dumb.

He asked, “What does the flight record say?”

“That they broadcasted into Terraneau space. That’s it. It stops after that.”

“Death in five days, maybe less,” said Freeman. “It all depends how long it took them to catch that Explorer.”

Harris said, “It’d be easy enough to capture an Explorer. They’re slow. They don’t have armor or shields. They need an hour to recharge their broadcast generators.”

Freeman said, “Antique technology.”

“If the Unifieds control Terraneau, they might have spotted the anomaly when she broadcasted in,” Harris answered.

“Fire a pulse weapon near an Explorer, and you’ll shut her engines down and wreak havoc on the electrical system.”

Harris said, “Those birds are made out of tissue paper and kite string; you’d have a hard time detonating an EMP near one without destroying it.”

“The point is that you have dead clones,” Freeman said.

“Yes, and we don’t have time to develop a vaccine. You do the math; clones are going to start dying tomorrow. We need to capture some high-ranking U.A. officers and see what information they’re holding.”

“Any officers in particular?”

Harris said, “Sunny Ferris.”

Tasman had already told Freeman about Sunny, but Freeman hadn’t mentioned her to Watson or Emily.

Emily said, “That bitch!”

Freeman tried to cover by asking in a slightly louder voice, “The girl you were dating?”

“The spy I was dating,” Harris said.

Glaring at Emily, Freeman said, “She couldn’t have done it by herself.”

“No, not by herself.”

“Do you have any other names? Any other targets?”

“No.”

“So you’re just going after her?” asked Freeman.

“Yeah.”

“You and the Enlisted Man’s Army are going after your former lover?”

“Ray, I have their flu. As far as I can tell, every man under my command has been infected. It’s too late to stop it from spreading, and we already know the mortality rate; all of my men are going to die.

“It could happen tomorrow, maybe we have an extra day. By the end of the week, every clone in the empire is going to die.” As he said this, Harris chuckled. The eerie, out-of-control sound of his laugh scared Emily. She stepped closer to Watson, and he wrapped his arm around her.

“We’ve lost the war, Ray. The fighting isn’t over, but we lost. What would you do?”

Freeman said, “Killing her won’t save your empire.”

“Neither will sitting around waiting to die,” Harris said.

“It won’t save your men.”

“Maybe they’ll go to their graves more easily. They made us, then they abandoned us, then they selected us for target practice. You say I’m doing this because I have a vendetta, and you’re right. Do you know why the Unified Authority created a clone army instead of an army of robots—simple economics. Even with food, housing, and education, clones are cheaper and more expendable than robots. They made us because it costs less to manufacture humans than machines.

“Yes, I’m mad, and I want to make them pay. I’m not going to scorch the earth I leave behind, but I want to burn the people who are taking it from me.”

Freeman said, “You’re on your own, Harris,” and ended the call.

As Freeman placed his phone back in his pocket, Emily shouted, “That bitch! That bitch! I knew there was something wrong about her.”

In an apologetic tone, Watson said, “Emily and Sunny never got along.”

A satisfied smile on his face, Tasman said, “Harris is a Marine. He won’t allow himself to go down without a fight, even if the fight won’t amount to anything.

“It’s like you said, Freeman; he’s a drowning man. You’ll all drown if you try to save him.”

“What if they find an antidote?” asked Watson. He stood at an east-facing window, staring out over the city. He saw plush districts and ruined buildings. Late afternoon, the sun had migrated west, but the day hadn’t ended.

Tasman answered, sounding irritable. He said, “It’s the flu. You’ve had the flu before. Did your doctor give you an antidote? Antidotes are for poisons, Watson. This is a virus; there’s nothing anyone can do.”

Emily stood, and said, “That bitch.”

“You’re starting to sound like Harris,” said Tasman.

“I understand him,” said Emily.

Watson asked, “Does Harris know it’s over?”

Emily answered. She said, “He’s got to know on some level.”

“But he’s still going after Sunny,” said Watson.

“He has to do something,” said Tasman.

“It’s like he said, ‘His men will go to their graves more easily,’” said Emily.

“When the Unifieds take control of the government, they will come after us. The clones won’t save us this time. We’re on our own,” said Freeman.

“Won’t they go after Harris first?” asked Watson.

“They’ll be looking for all of us,” said Emily. “Howard, they’ll come after you, too.”

“I’ve already been on the lam,” said Tasman. “I’m done with it.”

Watson said, “They might not care about Emily. She hasn’t done anything.”

“Trav, I’m guilty by association,” said Emily. “As far as they’re concerned, I’m Mrs. Travis Watson; that makes me as guilty as you.”

“But Harris isn’t just going after Sunny; he’s taking all his men,” said Watson. “Maybe he’ll beat them.”

“He’ll beat the Unifieds in Maryland,” said Freeman.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Watson.

“It means that Maryland is just the tip of the iceberg,” said Emily. “Trav, they probably have a whole navy waiting somewhere out there in space. They’re going to wait for the clones to die, then they’ll land.”

“There’s no way Harris is going to stop them, not in one night,” said Tasman. “And once the clones start dying . . .”

“They’re already dying,” said Watson. “The morgue at Walter Reed is overflowing with dead clones.”

“It’s overflowing with dead clones?” asked Tasman. “That’s even faster than I expected.”

Emily walked over to Watson and took his hand; he wrapped his arm around her shoulders.

“What do we do?” asked Watson.

Freeman said, “We’ll never be safe, not as long as the Unified Authority is in power. The only way we’re going to survive is if we have Harris on our side.”

Tasman smiled, and said, “I don’t know, Freeman; you’re a talented killer.”

“I’m a mercenary. I specialize in tactics.”

“Then we can’t let him go tonight,” said Emily. “We have to stop him.”

“He’ll survive tonight. That’s just combat; it’s his specialty,” said Freeman. “It’s the flu that worries me. Harris doesn’t like to hide. He’s going to want to die fighting.”

“So he’s screwed, and we’re screwed,” said Watson.

“Maybe,” said Freeman.

“Maybe?” asked Watson.

“There may be someplace we can go to get help,” said Freeman.

*   *   *

Tasman’s security clearance allowed him to rove freely through the EME’s computers. Harris had granted him that access without realizing that he could use it to search EME databases as well as decipher the information on the encryption bandit.

Tasman never considered exploiting that clearance, but Freeman took advantage of it. He used the computers to access a top secret communication between Harris and Tobias Andropov on December 2, 2518, the day that the clones invaded Washington, D.C.

Though the video feed had been recorded from Andropov’s point of view, both Harris and Andropov appeared on it. The screen showed Harris sitting by himself in a conference room, but appearances could be deceiving. Freeman had been there as well. He’d made a point of staying out of the camera’s range.

Andropov appeared to be alone in his office. Freeman wondered if he’d had somebody hidden with him as well.

The feed was recorded moments before the Enlisted Man’s Navy advanced on Earth. Harris and Freeman had just placed the call to a couple of U.A. scientists who had been supplying him with information. They were surprised when Andropov answered the call.

“Hello, Harris. Has your invasion begun?” asked Andropov.

He sat behind an oak desk in the office Harris now used, smirking into the camera.

Seeing Andropov, Harris mouthed the word, “speck,” caught himself, and quipped, “I must have the wrong number.”

Freeman forwarded ahead through the feed, looking for one particular comment.

Harris said, “Bullshit.”

Andropov shrugged his shoulders, and answered, “Think what you want.”

Freeman advanced the feed still further.

Andropov shook his head. “You still don’t understand. Harris, it doesn’t matter how many ships you send here; they’re as good as dead.

“You gave us a scare with that device that you used off New Copenhagen; but it won’t work this time, not unless you plan on destroying the planet.” He paused to smirk.

Looking surprised, Harris repeated the name, “New Copenhagen.”

When Andropov mentioned the clones using some kind of weapon near New Copenhagen, Harris and Freeman had both written it off as a mistake. They had used a superweapon of sorts—shield-busting torpedoes that had been developed by the Unifieds for demolishing EMN ships. Harris and an admiral named Holman had fired the torpedoes at U.A. ships patrolling a planet named Solomon. New Copenhagen was in a completely different arm of the galaxy, tens of thousands of light-years away from Solomon.

During the original conversation, Freeman had thought that Andropov had accidentally said New Copenhagen when he meant Solomon. Now he wasn’t so sure. He scrolled back and watched the clip again.

A confident, angry Andropov smirked, and said, “You gave us a scare with that device that you used off New Copenhagen; but it won’t work this time, not unless you plan on destroying the planet.”

Freeman had gone back over that conversation several times in his mind.

“You gave us a scare with that device that you used off New Copenhagen . . .”

Freeman had been at the battle of Solomon. He’d seen Holman hit the U.A. ships with torpedo after torpedo. The stolen torpedoes had been powerful, but it took several shots to destroy the U.A.’s new ships. In the end, Harris and Holman had been forced to retreat.

But those torpedoes weren’t the most powerful weapon ever created by the Unifieds. There’d been other weapons, better weapons, weapons that were too expensive, too powerful to deploy. The Linear Committee had created just a few of them at a critical time, a time when practical considerations no longer mattered.

Freeman played the clip one final time.

“. . . that device that you used off New Copenhagen . . .”

The weapons themselves would be useless. If they were what Freeman suspected, they were meant for destroying planets, but the men who used them, they could win the war. If he had the right weapons in mind, and the men who commanded them were on New Copenhagen . . . Each of those men was worth an entire division.