Read Online The Clone Assassin by Steven L. Kent - Free Book Online

covered the entrances of many of the buildings along the street. The New Olympians would open and populate the city, but the process would take time. They still hadn’t restored power or water to much of the city. The people still lived in a relocation camp on the north edge of town. They lived in a prefab ghetto with communal dormitories and cafeterias, and they ate military rations for meals.
    The only cars on the street were police cars.
    Freeman said, “Keep walking.”
    As they passed the car that had chauffeured them from the spaceport, the driver—a policeman—stepped out.
    Watson said, “Wait for us here. We’ll just be a moment.”
    They walked to the end of the block, crossed the street, walked another block, then turned a corner. They were several blocks from the ocean, but the wind carried a hint of salt.
    “Why am I leaving?” Watson asked.
    “Because I work better alone,” said Freeman.
    “What’s that supposed to mean?” Watson asked, though he already knew the answer and didn’t want to be reminded.
    Freeman obliged him. He said, “You went to law school; you’re not trained for this.”
    “What are you planning to do?”
    Freeman didn’t answer immediately. They walked around another corner. The block ahead had been a storefront with tinted windows and a black marble frieze, a style of building that looked out of place in a coastal tourist town. Ahead of them, business buildings gave way to parks.
    Freeman said, “I want them to see us board a shuttle, and I want them to see the shuttle leave. I want them to think we’ve gone home.”
    “You can’t possibly think you can slip back here and blend in unseen,” said Watson.
    Freeman stood seven feet tall. He was a black man, a pure-blooded African-American living in a society that had outlawed races several centuries ago. His family had been part of an all-African-American Neo-Baptist colony that had not been touched by the Unified Authority’s integration efforts.
    Freeman and Harris had something in common: they were both the last of their kind. Harris had been minted decades after Congress had nixed the Liberator project. Freeman’s Neo-Baptist relatives died when the Avatari incinerated a planet called New Copenhagen.
    Freeman didn’t respond to Watson’s comment. In his mind, answering questions only invited further discussion, and Ray Freeman didn’t like to chat. He said, “Harris is still here.”
    Watson stopped walking. He asked, “How do you know?”
    “They didn’t come here to capture him,” Freeman said. “They came here to kill him.”
    “You don’t know that.”
    They entered a park with overgrown hedges and an empty fountain riddled with bird droppings. The grass had grown knee high. Shrubs and palm trees lined the walkways.
    Freeman said, “Let’s cross the street.”
    “Don’t you like parks?” asked Watson.
    “Not as much as I like privacy,” said Freeman. “If we step out of their line of sight, the New Olympians will send soldiers to keep an eye on us.”
    By this time, three police cars and a truckload of soldiers trailed behind them. Having lost the second-highest-ranking officer in the Enlisted Man’s Empire, the New Olympians weren’t taking any chances.
    The police cars and troop transport waited in the distance as they crossed the street, then lingered a hundred yards back.
    “How do you know they didn’t come to kidnap Harris?” Watson asked, as they stepped onto the next sidewalk.
    Freeman asked, “If you were going to kidnap a clone like Harris, would you shoot him?”
    Watson thought for a moment. He said, “Not if I wanted him alive. I’d try to convert him, get him to walk out on his own.”
    “Did you smell any chlorine? Did you smell ammonia?” asked Freeman.
    “It’s been more than twenty-four hours; the smell might have gone away,” said Watson.
    Freeman shook his head. He said, “The police checked. They wrote about it in their report.”
    “So that’s it? You’re