Rogue Clone: The Clone Betrayal Part 23

Ava and I drove a jeep into town. When we'd planned this errand, I had told her that she should keep her helmet on for the short ride. I now regretted the decision. It's hard to speak to people in combat armor. They can hear you, and you can hear them, but the conversation pa.s.ses through electronic filters.

Driving through the eastern outskirts of Norristown, I asked Ava, "Are you excited?"

"Honey, are you joking? I haven't changed my clothes for three months now."

"You had the tank tops," I pointed out.

"Marine tank tops and boxers don't count. They're not clothes, they're gear."

"Are you looking forward to anything besides a new dress?" I asked.

"Yes," she said. "I want to go for long walks in new clothes. And I want to talk with people."

"We talked," I said. In truth, I had spoken more with her than with just about anyone ever.

"No offense, dear, but I mean other girls. Talking to Marines is nice, but it's not girl talk. You're sweet, but you're all guy. Take my word on this one, there are a lot of things that guys do not understand." These words and the feminine voice coming from the combat helmet played nasty tricks with my mind.

After that, I felt tongue-tied.

"Are you going to be okay, Harris?" she asked.

"Yeah, of course," I said.

"You know, you're pretty silly," she said. "You're never going to be very far away. I mean, how far can you get? You're stuck here just like the rest of us." She laughed.

We entered the city center, or what was left of it, and Ava became silent. She looked around, taking in the devastation. The way she gripped the side of the jeep, her armor-gloved hands curled like claws, she reminded me of a nervous new Marine riding a truck into a battle.

I could not hear what was happening inside Ava's helmet, but I imagined her terror at seeing the broken world. She might be fighting to breathe.

"It's okay, Ava," I said, stroking her back and realizing she would not feel my hand. "They're gone. The aliens are gone. They're gone for good. You'll be safe here."

"Wayson, maybe I should go back to the s.h.i.+p," she said.

I pulled the jeep over and cut off the engine. Placing my hands on her shoulders, I turned Ava so that she faced me. I wanted to remove the helmet so I could be sure her eyes stayed on mine. "They are gone. You will be safe on this planet."

"But what if they come back?" she asked.

"They won't," I said, though I had no way of knowing whether that was true. I would protect her if they did, though. I knew that much.

"I didn't know it would look like this," she said. "I don't know if I can ever feel safe here."

"You'll be safe enough. Besides, you know what they have here that we don't have on the s.h.i.+p?"

She shook her head. The movement was barely perceptible with the helmet over her head.

"They have dress shops."

"But what if . . ."

"And shoe stores."

"Can you protect . . ."

"And jewelry stores."

"d.a.m.n it, Harris, you are such a specking guy."

"Thank you," I said.

"It's not a compliment." She laughed. Her laugh sounded like a metallic shutter coming through the audio equipment in her helmet. She took off her helmet, shook out her hair, and said, "If the women on this planet are anything like they were back in Hollywood, all the good stores will have been looted."

I was sorry to see her go. When Ava turned bra.s.sy and sarcastic, that was when I liked her best. I wondered how quickly she would forget me.

As we approached the three buildings the locals used for dorms, Ava's confidence dried up. She looked around at all the flat land and the rubble dunes. "This was a city?" she asked. She had to know what it had been.

"The aliens that hit this place four years ago, they're all gone now. We chased them away," I said.

"But how can you be sure?" she asked.

"They haven't returned to New Copenhagen," I said. "It's been two and a half years now."

I could hear her breathing. Her nervousness seemed to carry on the wind. "Maybe this isn't a good idea."

"You'll be safe," I said. I repeated myself, then I told her to put on her helmet. I did not want anyone to spot her until she was safely with Doctorow. I gave her a moment to adjust to her new surroundings and drove the rest of the way to the dorms.

Per my request, Doctorow met us at the dorms. Also per my request, he came alone. He had plenty of opportunity to hide observers or even snipers around the area, but I did not think that was his style.

He came wearing Army fatigues with the blouse unb.u.t.toned and a T-s.h.i.+rt beneath.

"I did not expect you back so soon, Captain," Doctorow said, as I climbed out of my jeep.

"I have something to discuss in private," I said.

Looking past me and toward my jeep, Doctorow said, "We're still not alone."

"Actually, that's the reason I came."

He leaned into me and spoke in an angry tone. "Captain Harris, I hope you don't expect me to let this man anywhere near my dorm building. That is simply out of the question. Only a fool permits a weasel to enter his chicken coop."

As Doctorow spoke, I nodded to Ava, and she removed her helmet.

"How about an additional hen?" I asked.

Her hair now hung in a disheveled knot and her "queer gear" makeup was not the right shade for her eyes, but her skin was pale as a cloud and just as luminous.

"Good G.o.d," Doctorow said.

Ava smiled, and said in her softest, most flirtatious voice, "There's no need for profanity." Hoping she would make an optimal first impression, I had prepped Ava to say this the first time anybody made an off-color comment. I had planned on slipping the word "speck" into something I said. This was better.

"Ava, this is Colonel Ellery Doctorow," I said.

"h.e.l.lo, Colonel Doctorow, I'm Ava Gardner," she said in a low husky voice that left men helpless.

"I see that," Doctorow said mechanically, his eyes transfixed.

She climbed out of the jeep, shook out her hair, and let it fall around her shoulders. She looked like a child wearing an adult's armor.

"I heard rumors that she was, I mean that you were, there are all kinds of stories about you being . . ."

". . . a clone?" she asked, finis.h.i.+ng the sentence.

I felt a momentary jolt of pity for Doctorow. The gaze Ava gave him had always stripped away my confidence. When she turned on the charm, she left me feeling like an inferior species, like a caveman watching a ballerina.

Pity gave way to envy when Ava's gaze did not s.h.i.+ft back toward me. I wondered if perhaps Ava had gotten what she needed out of me, and envy turned into embarra.s.sment. I remembered the things Ava had told me about Ted Mooreland and General Smith and wondered what she might say about me.

"What brings you to Norristown?" Doctorow asked.

"She needs a place to stay," I said, pointing to the building for girls.

"Would that be okay with you, Colonel?" Ava asked, her eyes still holding him captive.

"No offense, ma'am, but you're a bit old to room with these girls," he said.

"Who takes care of them? They must need tutors and nannies. I can cook or clean." She sounded downright domesticated, the perfect little housewife/s.e.x G.o.ddess.

"I think she will be a lot safer here than on a s.h.i.+p," I said.

"I see what you mean," Doctorow conceded, though he seemed to have his doubts. He thought for a moment. "Of course she can stay. Of course."

"Well, I guess my business is done here," I said as I turned to leave, knowing that the empty pain I felt at the moment would turn into bitterness soon enough.

Both Ava and Doctorow stood rooted in place. I wondered if they even noticed, then she yelled, "Harris!"

I turned, and saw her running toward me. She crashed into me, which might have been a pleasant experience if she hadn't been wearing hardened combat armor. When she threw her armor-plated arms around me, her custom-made exoskeleton dug into my shoulders. She pressed her mouth against mine.

"What kind of a good-bye was that?" she asked.

"I thought you were done with me," I said.

"I swear, Harris, you are such a guy." She smiled as she said this, her face just a few inches from mine. "I'll be waiting for you." She rubbed her armored sh.e.l.l against me, and added, "Come back soon."

"As soon as I can," I said.

"Sooner," she said.

"Sooner," I said.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE.

Feeling like my life had headed in a good direction, I rode with Hollingsworth in the c.o.c.kpit on the way back to the Kamehameha. He reported on the progress our engineers had made erecting hangars along the airfield. I didn't really care what the engineers had or had not accomplished. I had Ava on my mind.

Maybe I was in love, maybe I was just more deeply in l.u.s.t than I had ever been. I liked her strength. Sure, she'd panicked while we drove through Norristown, but so had some of my Marines.

As we took off, I searched the skies for traces of the ion curtain and came up dry. We cut across a clear blue sky, which faded white, then darkened into blackness as we climbed. Hollingsworth suggested ways to build rapport between the Marines and sailors under my command, and I pretended to listen. Off in the distance, I saw a giant disc floating in the darkness and realized that it was a broadcast station. The network was made up of mile-wide satellites.

I still had Ava on my mind, but I did what I could to hide my excitement from Hollingsworth and from myself. As we approached the fleet, I stared at the various s.h.i.+ps, their triangular outlines reminding me of moths and wedges. Hollingsworth located the Kamehameha in the logjam and got us clearance to land.

He was a good pilot. He brought us in smooth and fast, and touched us down gently. I still missed Herrington, the old veteran with whom I had fought some major battles, but Philo Hollingsworth was a good Marine.

The sled brought us through the locks and into the docking bay. With the docking bay in control of his transport, Hollingsworth powered down the engines and switched off the c.o.c.kpit controls. Once he finished, we headed down into the kettle.

"You know, Captain Harris, I was thinking about Fahey. He's okay. I mean he popped off pretty bad in that meeting, but do you blame him? I mean, he's got to be desperate to find some scrub." Hollingsworth dispensed this advice as the kettle doors opened.

"I hope you're right, Sergeant, because I'm going to flatten the sp.e.c.k.e.r next time he crosses me," I said. I wished Hollingsworth had not brought up Fahey. The mere thought of him made my stomach tense.

"Okay, well, what I really want to say, sir, is give Warshaw a fair break. He's not like Fahey. He's a stand-up officer. We've been on the same boat for four years now, and I can tell you, he's not the kind of guy that shoots you in the back."

"Speak of the devil," I muttered.

Across the deck, Master Chief Petty Officer Gary Warshaw stood shouting orders to a pack of sailors. When he saw us, he worked up a smile and came bounding in our direction. I noted the spring in his step and decided it did not bode well. No matter what Hollingsworth said, this man was no friend.

In his right hand, Warshaw carried a folder with the seal of the Office of the Navy. Parking himself at the base of the ramp, the master chief looked up at me and saluted. "Captain Harris, may I have a private word with you, sir?"

Hollingsworth excused himself, shooting me an I-told-you-so self-satisfied smirk. He must have thought Warshaw had come to shake hands and ask to be my buddy. I made a mental note: reliable or not, Hollingsworth was a p.i.s.s-poor judge of character.

"What can I do for you, Master Chief?" I asked, trying to smother the voice in my head. I got the same feeling in my gut dealing with sailors that I got pulling the pins from live grenades.

"I hope you don't mind, sir, but I asked Admiral Thorne if he would join us," Warshaw said, looking slightly apologetic.

"Not a problem," I said, ignoring the tightening knot in my stomach. I really wanted to kill this man. I could feel the beginnings of a combat reflex. My nervous system did not differentiate between war and infighting.

Warshaw led me out of the landing area without any further explanation, and I followed without asking.

"I'm sorry I missed your staff meeting the other day. I hear you and Fahey had some friction."

"You might say that," I agreed. "Fahey seems to think he can ignore my orders."

"I'll have a word with him about that," Warshaw said, sounding a little embarra.s.sed. I took that as a good sign.

After that, the conversation trailed off. Trying to restart the collegial patter, Warshaw said, "Congratulations on liberating Terraneau. That's quite an accomplishment."

"I lost most of my men," I said. "I'm not entirely sure that congratulations are in order."