Chapter Twenty-Nine
“Thank the stars! You’re not dead!” Vincere clasped Carter’s shoulder and pumped his hand warmly. “I couldn’t believe it when my aide said you were waiting to see me.”
Carter twisted his mouth wryly. “The report of my death was an exaggeration.”
Vincere shook his head. “It’s such a relief to see you alive and well, but how is that possible? Beth’s blaster had been set to full power.”
“Blaster malfunction,” he lied. He intended to brief the secretary general about Cy-Ops, inasmuch as the situation required, but a need-to-know prevailed. Cy-Ops had, and always would have, secrets.
“How is she?” Vincere inquired with a concerned expression and tone.
“Better, much better.” He wished he was still sitting by her side. He’d promised to be there.
“Wonderful news. Has she become more lucid then? She seemed like such a competent young woman. It’s such a shame to see her mind snap.”
“She didn’t snap. She was always lucid.” Guilt sharpened his tone. He’d thought the worst of her until the truth was proven to him.
“You’re right, of course. I guess it’s Terran nature to default to insanity in an attempt to explain cold-blooded attempted murder. All of us are quite shaken by what happened at the Summit. We’ve increased security at the AOP.”
“I noticed.” Instead of smiling friendly greeters, armed guards with lethal expressions patrolled the lobby of the AOP Towers and its vertical transporters. Several more protected access points to the secretary general’s floor. He’d bet the assistant who’d informed Vincere of his visit, and who now stood at attention with a second aide, were bodyguards. The men looked enough alike to be brothers with similar broad foreheads, deep-set eyes, and matching stony expressions. The PerComms they gripped probably weren’t communication devices, either.
“Your security team confiscated my blaster,” Carter said. Weapons had always been banned at the AOP, but, until now, exceptions had been allowed for military personnel, policing authorities, and Aym-Sec.
“A necessary precaution. Your weapon will be returned when you leave. I hope you understand,” Vincere said.
“Of course.” It was high time the AOP got serious about security. He flexed his wrist. He didn’t often wear a wrist comm, and it felt heavy and awkward.
“So, to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?” Vincere asked. “Do you have a specific agenda you wish to discuss or…”
“I do.” He glanced at the two aides. “If we may speak privately…”
Vincere gave an abrupt nod to the aides and motioned for Carter to enter his office. “After you.”
A conference table for twenty people dominated the large chamber, but Carter’s attention riveted on the art. A collage of images from dozens of planets covered one wall: Terra’s towering Galactic Trade Center; the pink fields and lavender sky of Xenia; multi-eyed trees from Arcania; a pool of goo on Limus, the home world of the slime crawler race. Odd and beautiful, striking and surreal, the images captured the galaxy’s rich diversity. While his human mind appreciated the breathtaking still vids, his cyborg brain analyzed the composition, size, and placement of the images.
“I wish I had the space to include every planet in the galaxy. Each one has something to recommend it,” Vincere commented. “I personally chose each image.”
He’d guessed. The display had Vincere written all over it, reflecting his egalitarian live-and-let-live philosophy by the inclusion of nonAOP member images like the forest and acid pools of DeltaNu 9084, the dense jungle of Katnia, the blue mountains of Malodonia, and the undulating sand dunes of Lamis-Odg. His microprocessor parsed and catalogued data, while he worked out how best to present his information and request assistance.
“Shall we sit?” Vincere gestured to the conference table, and they took seats across from each other. “I feel so bad about Beth. Will the authorities allow me to visit her?”
“You can see her anytime,” he said. “She’s no longer in custody. She was exonerated.”
“Exonerated? Wouldn’t she still be charged for attempted murder?”
“She had no intent to commit murder. Her actions were coerced.” His gaze flicked to the mural, his cyborg brain finding symmetry and pattern among artful chaos, before shifting his attention back to the secretary general to see him curl his lip and deliver three staccato taps to his wrist comm.
“Business intrudes. My apologies for my rudeness,” Vincere said with a sheepish expression. “You wanted to speak to me. Please proceed.” He laced his fingers, drawing Carter’s attention to his smooth, unblemished hands, the fingernails as manicured and polished as his manner.
Cyber Operations required as much intelligence as muscle power, but it still was a very physical job, and the backs and palms of Carter’s hands bore the scars and roughness of his missions. Nanos couldn’t keep up with the repair. Beth’s hands were soft, delicate, her fingers long and slender. He recalled her agitation, the way she scribbled and scrubbed on the table during the interrogation.
He raised his gaze to Vincere’s face. “Were you aware Cornelius was a clone?”
His eyebrows arched. “Why, no, I wasn’t, but why would that matter?”
“Ordinarily, I wouldn’t violate an individual’s privacy, but exigent circumstances require some information sharing. Beth is also a clone. She and Cornelius were birthed at the same cloning company, Clo-Ventures.”
“Go on.” Vincere motioned and refolded his perfect hands.
Carter’s microprocessor replayed the visual of Beth’s interrogation and searched for a pattern in the chaos. “Benson is…Benson…is…” Wrists bound, she scribbled frantically on the desk. He zoomed in for a close-up of her fingers. Within his mind’s eye, the kaleidoscope stopped shifting to reveal a sharp clear picture.
Mother.
Fucker.
Every naïve, stupid, moronic AOP policy and decision suddenly made perfect, ingenious, brilliant, strategic sense.
Ping. Ping. Ping. Ping. Ping. A message from Brock marked PriCom-1, the highest alert, streamed into his head.
Vincere is Lamani, Brock said.
I know. Carter shot back.
L-A-M-A-N-I, Beth had written on the table, frantically trying to warn him.
He glanced at the still vid display. Within the collage, Lamis-Odg had been placed dead center around which the imperceptibly smaller images spiraled like planets in orbit around a star. With boldness and arrogance, Vincere’s identity and intention were written on his wall: Lamis-Odg would rule over the other planets.
Get those clones now! he messaged. Don’t care how, just do it.
His gaze met Lamani’s. A triumphant smile spread across the terrorist’s handsome, urbane face. He knew Carter knew.
And send backup. I’m going to need it.