I am not alone.
“SO, YOU’RE telling me there’s another individual with implants similar to Vick’s running around my base killing people. Someone with a lot of bad shit in her head.” Sanderson eyes us, cocking her head to one side. “What aren’t you telling me? There’s more. I can see it in the way you two look at each other.” We can barely understand her words; there’s some commotion going on in the main area of the club. Maybe the evening revelers have come out after all. But we get the gist.
“It’s classified,” Kelly blurts out. It’s the truth. The Storm board of directors has sworn us to secrecy on the subject of clones, since they’re illegal and all.
On a personal level, I’d rather not be shot if they find out about me being one.
Sanderson fixes me with a hard stare. “I think we’re past classified at this poi—”
Before she can finish her retort, the alcove curtain is thrown aside, and three uniformed station security officers come barreling through. They stop in front of Sanderson. “Ma’am,” the youngest one says, giving her a quick salute, the other two taking up a stance behind him. He’s gotta be new, ex-military. He’s still got scars from puberty acne, and no one salutes in security. “We’ve got a lead on our killer. She missed a camera, and—” He breaks off as he notices his boss isn’t alone in the small space. “Holy shit!”
Next thing I know, I’ve got three XR-7s aimed at my head and chest.
Oh, this is not going to go well. I raise my hands slowly, making certain everyone can see they are empty.
Kelly gives a little squeak, preparing to get off the couch and come to my aid, but I wave her off with a quick motion of my fingers. “Let’s all take it easy,” I say, keeping my voice calm while adrenaline surges through my body. The youngest one, the one with the gun in my face, holds his weapon with trembling hands, his trigger finger twitching—so, not ex-military then, or not very good ex-military.
I’m using VC1 to calculate my survival odds if he fires or I attempt to disarm him when Sanderson stands and uses one hand to push down on the weapon until it’s at the officer’s side. I breathe a small sigh of relief, even if two more are aimed in my direction.
“But ma’am,” he argues, though he doesn’t raise it again, “she’s the killer. She’s murdered six women.” His companions nod in agreement.
Sanderson glances at me, her mouth forming a hard line. I shake my head slowly. No sudden moves from me. “Show me the evidence, Daniels.” She holds out her hand, no tremors there, and the security kid pulls his comm off his belt and drops it in her palm. She activates the screen. Whatever they’ve got must be loaded and ready to view. Her eyes shift back and forth through several replays before she heaves a deep and weary sigh.
“We’re gonna have to take you in, Corren. For questioning,” she hastens to add when Kelly begins a protest.
“Whatever’s on that screen, it’s not me,” I say, low and even.
Sanderson flips it around and touches the Play icon. The image is fuzzy and dark, but not so much that I can’t make out what’s happening. It’s in the promenade dome, and everything is sideways, but beyond the dome’s central gardens, it’s picking up one of the side corridors leading in. The hour must be late, with the dim light and the absence of people, though one or two shopkeepers pass by the camera pickup, probably heading home. For a few seconds, nothing happens. Then, without warning, an exact duplicate of me, because of course, it’s another clone, reaches out of the access hallway, wraps one arm around a passing blond woman’s throat, and drags her backward out of view. The empty dome seems a lot more ominous after that.
The security chief turns the comm back toward her, fiddles with a few controls, and holds it out to me again, this time with the image of the killer’s face frozen on the screen.
Yep, it’s me. Except it’s not.
My heart sinks and my chest tightens. I’m going to have a very hard time proving that. Still perched backward on the couch where she can also see the screen, Kelly swallows hard.
“We found the victim’s body two days ago,” Sanderson says. “You know her, though I wasn’t going to tell you, and with all the disfigurement, I guess you didn’t recognize her from the crime photo. She’s the server from the Alpha Dog Pub you saved last year when the Sunfires decided to shoot the place up.”
I feel the blood drain from my face. “Oh… fuck. Abby’s mom?” Abby is seven. Well, probably eight by now. I saved her life, too, and got stuck in an airlock with her for a while. She kept a cool head, seemed like a good kid.
And she called me “Victory.”
I wonder what she’ll call me if this gets out.
Her mom bears a passing resemblance to Kelly in that they’re both about the same height, female, and blond, but that’s it. I’m thinking my evil twin chose this victim more for personal reasons. It’s a solid tactical move, playing on your enemy’s emotions, and I’m convinced VC2, for want of another name (I am not calling her Vick) is my enemy.
“How did you get this recording?” Kelly asks. I’m glad she did. I’m having a hard time finding my voice right now, and everything is a little blurry. If I thought I could lower my hands without getting shot, I’d wipe my eyes. Humiliating tears roll down my cheeks. I’m able to contort my arms over my face just enough to not alarm my captors and dry the wetness on my sleeves.
This sucks. Everything about this sucks.
“Tourist,” Daniels explains. The youngest officer sidles closer to Kelly, resting a hand close to hers on the back of the couch.
Seriously? He’s about to drag me through hell and he’s flirting with my fiancée?
Kelly rolls her eyes, flips her hand to show off her engagement ring, and nods at me.
“No accounting for taste,” one of the other officers mutters. Kelly doesn’t hear it, but my enhanced hearing does, and I shoot him a glare. He backs up a step.
Daniels clears his throat and gets his head on straight. “Right. Anyway, a group of Martian colony tourists came through earlier that night. They posed for some vidshots on that bench in the foreground of the playback. Then they got distracted by some musicians working the dome and forgot it sitting there. The owner remembered in the morning, was thrilled to find it still on the armrest of the opposite bench, and they left on the next day’s transport. When he scrolled through his vids at home, he saw what he’d caught and sent us a digital copy.”
“Daniels runs the ‘Tips Hotline,’” Sanderson explains. She gives him a meaningful glance. “He’s not usually armed and leading a patrol.”
Okay, that explains a lot of things.
“I—I just thought, since I got the call and put it together—”
She shushes him, returning her attention to me. “Until we get this cleared up, I’m holding you. Let’s go.”
They maneuver so that I can get around them and lead the way out of the curtained alcove. Before we step through, Sanderson gently pulls my arms down and binds them behind my back. A shiver passes through me when the cold metal clamps connect, holding my wrists together. I don’t like binders. They remind me too much of being strapped in Medical’s diagnostic chair.
“Try to calm down,” she whispers for my ears alone. “You’re pale, sweating, shaking, and I’m worried you’re gonna pass out—all tells of guilt. I don’t believe you did this, but I have to investigate.”
“They’re also tells of ‘I’ve been framed and I’m freaking out,’ but I understand,” I manage through gritted teeth. To VC1, I think, We can get out of these binders, right?
With very little difficulty, she assures me.
My pulse slows a little.
“Okay, back to Security Central.” Sanderson gives me a little nudge. One of the officers pulls the curtain aside for me.
This is a setup. The camera with footage of my double killing someone I know just happens to be the one that isn’t discovered and wiped or looped? I’m not buying it. I’m betting if the tourists hadn’t left it there, it would have been one of the dome’s cameras that got conveniently “missed.” If VC2 is half as talented as you, there’s just no way this is accidental, I think at my AI partner. But why now? She’s had six opportunities to set me up. I get that Abby’s mom is especially damning, but something in the timing is off. We move through the archway of the alcove into the main area. Everyone is staring at us, staff and customers alike. A pair of Sunfires at the bar snickers as we pass. A few Storm soldiers are present as well, and their hands drop to weapons that aren’t there—confiscated by the main entrance bouncer. Fists clench. Knuckles crack. It’s nice to know they’re all ready to jump to my defense, a far cry from how they treated me a couple of years ago, but I shake my head. Even with our exceptional training, fists against pistols is bad odds.
We’re halfway to the front access into the promenade when it hits me. I snap my fingers behind my back, then shrug and offer a sheepish smile at the startled security team. “Sorry. Fingers are falling asleep. These binders are tight.” To VC1 I say, I’ve got it. The timing. The message containing the incriminating vid just happens to turn up while I’m meeting with Sanderson in a confined space? That’s too much. What I don’t understand, though, is how did VC2 know about the meeting? I didn’t tell anyone except Sanderson and eventually Kelly. Were our communications intercepted?
No, VC1 replies. Then, Not… exactly.
What does that mean?
I informed you about some anomalies with my memory. It is… possible… that my counterpart is tapping into my processes somehow.
I worried about that when she first said she was having issues, but now I’m terrified. Can she control me? The way you can if I’m in bad shape?
I do not believe so. Now that I am aware of the situation, I am putting precautions in place to avoid such an occurrence. However, you should know that the footage from the security on the corridor outside your quarters has been erased, and not by me.
Meaning there is no evidence other than Kelly’s word that I was in my room every night these murders have occurred. Worse, as far as most folks know VC1 and I are the only ones capable of erasing that footage, which is even more incriminating. And Kelly has every reason to lie for me.
They can bring in another empath who would be able to testify to the truth of Kelly’s statements, but that will take time, during which I’ll be incarcerated, relatively helpless, and a sitting duck if VC2 decides to make a go at taking me out of the equation. And if she uses the opportunity to go after Kelly…. That, I cannot allow to happen. I will not.
What is her endgame? Does she want to humiliate me? Kill Kelly? Kelly spoke of frustration and need. Is VC2 trying to fill the gap that Kelly fills in my life? Getting me out of the way would make that a lot easier.
Our procession steps through the entrance into the promenade dome. Sanderson turns us toward the security section, when two heavily armed figures step out of an access corridor.
“Sorry. You’re not taking Vick anywhere. She’s coming with us,” Alex says. He and Lyle each hold two pistols, and all of them are aimed at the security detail and Sanderson herself.