Read Online A Murder of Clones: A Retrieval Artist Universe Novel by Kristine Kathryn Rusch - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kristine Kathryn Rusch
Tags: Fiction
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same batch. Clearly, they had come from the same original, but how they were created was a mystery—and she couldn’t assume anything yet. She couldn’t even assume human involvement outside of the clones themselves.
One phrase that continued to go through her mind came from the Eaufasse ambassador. Your appearance is quite different , it had said (or at least, that was how Uzven translated its words). Or are you in a different clan?
It might have meant how she was dressed, but it had belabored this point. Initially, she had thought that she and her people weren’t what the Eaufasse had expected. Now, though, she wondered if the only humans the Eaufasse had seen had been clones of the same man.
And she had no way to understand why the twelve had murdered the other three.
Genetic predisposition? Some kind of ritual? A hazing gone wrong?
She was beginning to think the Eaufasse were the least of her problems.
She needed to focus on the clones.
She needed to identify their original, and she needed to know who was running the enclave.
Fortunately, she had come to Epriccom fully staffed. That meant five deputy marshals and ten assistants, not counting the three-person team staffing the forensic lab. Usually the assistants didn’t work a case like this, because it was too difficult. The assistants either handled the documentation on past cases, filing everything with the FSS, or they handled the incoming information on future cases.
She decided to take the three assistants monitoring future cases as well as two others, and have them work on the surveillance data. She wanted it broken down: she needed to know how the enclave got established; how many ships had come in and out of the enclave over the years; how many times the members of the enclave had left the enclave; and if anything like this killing had happened before. She assigned one assistant to each question.
The fifth assistant would view the footage in chronological order, with the assistance of a computer program designed to digest large chunks of data like this, seeing if there was anything she or the four missed.
It wasn’t really enough, and she knew that, but it would have to do.
While they were working, she contacted the lab for word on the original. She had sent Simiaar footage of the clones in motion, hoping that she could use those to trace imagery of the original. Simiaar was also doing a DNA scan to see if anything came up.
So far, Simiaar had nothing.
It was beginning to look like Gomez would face the sole survivor on her own, with very little actual information. She wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not: she might ask the right questions; she might miss the important stuff entirely.
She knew she would be making mistakes—they were inevitable when she was operating on so little information—but she wanted to avoid making the obvious mistakes.
If only she could figure out what the obvious mistakes were.
NINE
OKANI ARRIVED HALF an hour early. Washington greeted him for Gomez, and set Okani up with the feed of the interview between the boy and the Eaufasse. When Okani finished, he went to a conference room on the forensic wing of the Stanley . Gomez met him there.
He stood as she stepped into the room. He was broad-shouldered and a bit soft around the middle. His thick, black hair fell across his forehead and accented his dark brown eyes. His features were as broad as his shoulders, and his skin was an unusual golden brown. The entire package was even more attractive in person, and yet he managed to seem unassuming; two things that, in her experience, rarely went together.
He nodded his head in greeting. She smiled and extended her hand. He gripped her hand lightly, his skin warm and dry.
“I don’t envy you,” he said.
“Why?” she asked.
He raised his eyebrows, and she could suddenly see a fierce intelligence behind his eyes. “There are many issues in this one interview.”
She let out a
One phrase that continued to go through her mind came from the Eaufasse ambassador. Your appearance is quite different , it had said (or at least, that was how Uzven translated its words). Or are you in a different clan?
It might have meant how she was dressed, but it had belabored this point. Initially, she had thought that she and her people weren’t what the Eaufasse had expected. Now, though, she wondered if the only humans the Eaufasse had seen had been clones of the same man.
And she had no way to understand why the twelve had murdered the other three.
Genetic predisposition? Some kind of ritual? A hazing gone wrong?
She was beginning to think the Eaufasse were the least of her problems.
She needed to focus on the clones.
She needed to identify their original, and she needed to know who was running the enclave.
Fortunately, she had come to Epriccom fully staffed. That meant five deputy marshals and ten assistants, not counting the three-person team staffing the forensic lab. Usually the assistants didn’t work a case like this, because it was too difficult. The assistants either handled the documentation on past cases, filing everything with the FSS, or they handled the incoming information on future cases.
She decided to take the three assistants monitoring future cases as well as two others, and have them work on the surveillance data. She wanted it broken down: she needed to know how the enclave got established; how many ships had come in and out of the enclave over the years; how many times the members of the enclave had left the enclave; and if anything like this killing had happened before. She assigned one assistant to each question.
The fifth assistant would view the footage in chronological order, with the assistance of a computer program designed to digest large chunks of data like this, seeing if there was anything she or the four missed.
It wasn’t really enough, and she knew that, but it would have to do.
While they were working, she contacted the lab for word on the original. She had sent Simiaar footage of the clones in motion, hoping that she could use those to trace imagery of the original. Simiaar was also doing a DNA scan to see if anything came up.
So far, Simiaar had nothing.
It was beginning to look like Gomez would face the sole survivor on her own, with very little actual information. She wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not: she might ask the right questions; she might miss the important stuff entirely.
She knew she would be making mistakes—they were inevitable when she was operating on so little information—but she wanted to avoid making the obvious mistakes.
If only she could figure out what the obvious mistakes were.
NINE
OKANI ARRIVED HALF an hour early. Washington greeted him for Gomez, and set Okani up with the feed of the interview between the boy and the Eaufasse. When Okani finished, he went to a conference room on the forensic wing of the Stanley . Gomez met him there.
He stood as she stepped into the room. He was broad-shouldered and a bit soft around the middle. His thick, black hair fell across his forehead and accented his dark brown eyes. His features were as broad as his shoulders, and his skin was an unusual golden brown. The entire package was even more attractive in person, and yet he managed to seem unassuming; two things that, in her experience, rarely went together.
He nodded his head in greeting. She smiled and extended her hand. He gripped her hand lightly, his skin warm and dry.
“I don’t envy you,” he said.
“Why?” she asked.
He raised his eyebrows, and she could suddenly see a fierce intelligence behind his eyes. “There are many issues in this one interview.”
She let out a
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