A Murder of Clones: A Retrieval Artist Universe Novel (26 page)

“Yes,” Gomez said. “We’re not even going to tell anyone what we’re doing. I’m going to send the team on an extended leave, and hope we can gather information in a relatively short time.”

“What do we do with that information?” Simiaar asked.

“I’m not sure yet,” Gomez said. “Let’s find out first if we’re imagining this connection to the Alliance. What we’re seeing might simply be apathy relating to illegal clones.”

“You don’t believe that,” Verstraete said.

Gomez looked back at her. Verstraete might end up being her greatest ally or the biggest pain in the ass Gomez had ever worked with. She couldn’t tell which it would be at the moment.

“What I believe doesn’t matter,” Gomez said. “All that matters is what I can prove.”

“We might not find anything,” Nuuyoma said. “The trail’s thirty years old.”

“Or fifteen, anyway,” Simiaar said, using her left hand to push all of the candy into her cupped right palm.

“If that’s the case, we’ve done what we can, and I, at least, will do my best to be satisfied with that,” Gomez said.

Simiaar tossed the candy in the nearest recycler. “You’re not satisfied with anything.”

“Then let’s try to solve this thing,” Gomez said. “What can it hurt?”

“Besides our careers and maybe the Alliance,” Verstraete said. “Not one whole hell of a lot.”

Gomez liked the sarcasm. She smiled. “Are you all going to join me?”

They looked at each other. Finally, Nuuyoma nodded for all of them. “I guess you have a team, Marshal.”

“Good,” she said. “Now, let’s get to work.”

TWENTY-NINE

THE LIFER PART of EAP 77743 did not have a proper lawyer-client interview room. Instead, Zhu suspected he had been led to an interrogation room, and one that had been used for things not legal in the human part of the Alliance.

The room smelled faintly of urine and sweat, the kind of ground-in scent that not even nanobots could clean. Or maybe the prison actually piped in the stench of fear, just to make people who had to use this room uncomfortable.

The proportions were off as well. Not quite a box, barely a rectangle, it felt like the walls were at odd angles with each other. He supposed if he stepped it off, he would find that the measurements weren’t the precise shapes he was used to.

And he would have to step it off because his links were down. The constant hum he let the links function under had gone away. He felt alone inside his head.

He paced, even though he should probably sit like a relaxed and comfortable attorney. Someone had put a table in the center of the room, but the table clearly wasn’t part of the permanent décor. Neither were the chairs. They were all attached to the floor, but he could see the releases, even if he couldn’t operate them himself.

The door clanged open and two android guards entered. They looked sturdier than the guards he had seen in other prisons, with extra layers over their internal workings. Their eyes were receded in their heads, and they had slits for mouths. Otherwise, they had very strong, almost rope-like arms and equally strong-looking legs. Their torsos were completely flat.

Zhu nodded at them. They did not acknowledge him in return.

Now that they were here, he couldn’t sit at all. He really was nervous.

“I’m here to see a client,” he said. “You may not stay in the room once he arrives.”

“We will not record anything,” said one of the guards in a flat monotone.

Zhu smiled. He’d played this game before. Young attorneys often lost cases because they didn’t realize that any presence in the room other than the attorney and client would destroy attorney-client privilege under Alliance law.

“I don’t care what you will and won’t do,” Zhu said. “I am an attorney. Under the law, I have the right to see my client in private.”

“Your client is dangerous,” the same guard said in the same flat voice. “We are here to protect you from harm.”

“I will not waive protection, like you want me to. You can observe through the proper channels. I retain the right to see my client in private.”

He was deliberately stating that
he
had the right to see
his
client in private. He had a hunch he would lose if he argued that his client had the right to privacy. He had no idea where clones stood in the laws governing attorney-client privilege, so he wasn’t going to invoke his client’s rights at all.

Zhu was only going to invoke his rights as an attorney. And on that, Alliance law was very clear. He had the right to see anyone or any sentient thing as a client,
alone
, if he wanted to. The prison (or jail) had to protect him from harm, by monitoring the proximity of the client and the attorney. Any touch and the guards could enter the room.

“We are here for your safety,” the android guard repeated.

“Get out,” Zhu said.

Their eyes flared. He couldn’t tell if that was an acceptance from them or if someone else had made the flare occur. It didn’t matter, because they left the room, one following the other.

And leaving him feeling even more nervous than he had a moment earlier.

He made himself sit at the table, then flatted his hands on its metallic surface. He was feeling paranoid enough that he thought he should search the table and chairs for recording and listening devices.

But he didn’t have access to his links, so he couldn’t really locate any devices. His hands were protected, so he couldn’t feel much through his skin.

He would have to rely on his insistence to the androids that he needed time alone with his client. If the prison was recording this meeting, then it would have that request repeatedly on the footage. Not to mention the fact that the androids left after speaking to him. If somehow the prison deleted his conversation, then he would still be able to argue common sense, based on actions alone.

The door clanged open again. He looked up, glad he wasn’t pacing anymore. If he had been, he would have startled visibly. As it were, his heart rate increased.

A broad-shouldered man slipped in, hands locked together and outstretched. He followed his arms like he was being pulled, and it took Zhu a moment to realize that he was. Whatever they had bound his wrists with was tugging him toward the table.

The man bent over, and his hands hit the table’s edge. He would either have to stand while bent over like that, or he would have to sit down.

He sat.

He had piercing blue eyes. Zhu had never seen eyes like that, so clear, with such a deep blue color. They were riveting. His face was the face of the assassins, at least as they were presented in the Anniversary Day footage, except that his skin was mottled blue and yellow and purple.

He was bruised, badly bruised, and no nanoprobes had repaired his injuries. His nose looked wider than Zhu expected. The man’s lips were thicker than they should have been as well, probably still swollen from whatever beating he had taken. A line of dried blood ran underneath his lower lip, and it took Zhu a second to understand that the dried blood was actually a scar. Something—the man’s teeth?—had gone through the lower lip and damaged it.

Zhu had seen unrepaired humans before, but the extent of the damage, and the way it showed up on skin, always surprised him. He had no idea how humans had survived before medicine evolved to make such injuries disappear.

Yet this man—this clone—had those injuries, and he seemed mobile.

“You’re the lawyer?” the man asked.

“My name is Torkild Zhu.” Zhu spoke slowly. Even though the man’s eyes radiated intelligence, Zhu had no idea how much he would understand. Some clones got no education at all. “I’m with one of the best defense firms in the Alliance: Schnable, Shishani, & Salehi.”

The man’s eyebrows went up. “What did I do to deserve S-three?”

Zhu knew better than to tell this man much. Zhu had learned long ago that saying anything about himself or his firm to the client, beyond the standard business information, was the wrong thing to do.

“You requested an attorney,” Zhu said.

“And I’m your pro bono?” The man leaned his head back, then stopped when it clearly hurt him. “Because of Anniversary Day?”

Zhu didn’t like the way the man tried to take control of the interview. In fact, he felt a strong antipathy toward the man, but couldn’t tell if that was simply because of the Anniversary Day footage.

“I don’t even know your name,” Zhu said.

“I don’t have a legal name,” the man said. “I was called Third of the Second back in the day, and here I’m known as Trey. But according to prison records, all I have is an inmate number. You see, I lack a Day of Creation Document, and all of that lovely stuff legal clones have.”

So that was what the guard had meant by
illegal
. Zhu frowned for just a moment as he thought through the law he had read.

“Are you a clone of PierLuigi Frémont?” Zhu asked.

Trey tugged on his restraints as if he were trying to find a more comfortable position. “Are you my lawyer?”

“What does that mean?” Zhu asked.

“PierLuigi Frémont was a mass murderer. Convicted, unrepentant. And now there are these Anniversary Day creatures that everyone says are related to him in some way.” Trey stopped right there. He said nothing more, but he tilted his head slightly, as if inviting Zhu to answer his own question.

Zhu’s breath caught. This man, this
clone
, knew the law. And under Alliance law, any known clone of PierLuigi Frémont could—
should
—be put to death.

“What do you want a lawyer for?” Zhu asked.

“Two things,” Trey said. “I need a lawyer to help me challenge my illegal status.”

“Do you have a clone mark?” Zhu asked.

“No,” Trey said.

“And you lack a Day of Creation Document,” Zhu said, “so how could a lawyer challenge your status?”

“Are you my lawyer?” Trey asked again. He seemed to prefer that question when he felt it wasn’t in his own interest to answer Zhu’s question.

“Not yet,” Zhu said, although if he were honest with himself, he was leaning that way just for the challenge alone. “You mentioned two reasons, the first being to challenge your illegality. The second?”

“I have information the Earth Alliance wants. I’m willing to trade that information for my freedom.” His gaze hadn’t left Zhu’s face.

“Looks like they already tried to beat it out of you,” Zhu said.

Trey’s swollen lips twisted slightly. “That happened in the yard right after we saw some Anniversary Day footage. You know, the one with the clones.”

Zhu did know it.

“The beating went on too long. No one stepped in, even though I called for a lawyer. I suspect that outburst saved my life.”

It probably had.

“I don’t understand why clone prisoners would be upset that a group of clones tried to destroy the Moon,” Zhu said.

“I’m not sure that’s why they were upset,” Trey said.

“You think it’s coincidence?” Zhu asked.

“I don’t know that either,” Trey said.

They studied each other. Trey seemed quite calm for a man who had received a violent beating and who might lose his life because of whom he was related to.

“What kind of information do you have?” Zhu asked, then added, “And no, I am not your lawyer yet. I don’t want to be attached to you in any way unless I know what I’m getting into.”

“Because I look like the Anniversary Day suspects?” Trey asked.

“Because I have a massive caseload already,” Zhu lied, “and I need to know if you’re worth my time.”

Trey’s measuring gaze broke for just a millisecond, long enough for Zhu to note it. He realized then that no other lawyer had answered the summons. Zhu decided to gamble on that fact.

“I came to you,” he said. “No other attorney has, even though your request has been out there for weeks. I suspect I’m the only possible lawyer you have, and given my history and the fact that I’m with S-three, I’m also the best lawyer you could hope to get. So think carefully about whether or not you’ll answer my questions.”

Trey’s eyes narrowed, and he sighed. “Here’s all I will tell you before you confirm that you’re my lawyer. I was raised with more than a hundred other clones. We all came from the same source, known as the Second. I do not know what that means. We were raised in a dome on Epriccom, which was, then at least, on the Frontier. We were raised, from what I can tell, to kill. Whether we were designer criminal clones, weapons, or just someone’s perverse idea of a joke, I have no idea. I do know how we were trained, and how the system worked. You may also check my background. I have been in this prison for fifteen years with no outside contact. Congratulations, Torkild Zhu. You are my first-ever visitor.”

In other words, there was no way that Trey had known about the Anniversary Day attacks.

“So your information is very old and the Alliance probably has it all.” Zhu started to stand. He didn’t need this.