Read Online The Clone Redemption by Steven L. Kent - Free Book Online Page A

into their brains released a fatal hormone into their systems; it was a fail-safe that was supposed to prevent a clone rebellion. They called it the “Death Reflex.”
    When clones like Cutter looked in a mirror, their neural programming made them see themselves as blond-haired and blue-eyed. Like every clone, including me, Cutter had grown up thinking he was the only natural-born resident in an “orphanage” that trained military clones. He had memories programmed into his head. We all did.
    Seeing himself as the only blond-haired, blue-eyed natural-born in the entire Enlisted Man’s Navy, Cutter would naturally become suspicious if I did not recognize him. So would every other clone on the ship.
    The door to the conference room opened, and in walked Captain Don Cutter. I pretended to recognize him when in fact the only thing that stood out was the eagle on his collar.
    I was not the same make of clone as Cutter, by the way, though I was no less synthetic. I was a Liberator, a discontinued model with a penchant for violence. Instead of a gland with a deadly toxin, Liberators had a gland that released a mixture of testosterone and adrenaline into our blood during battle. They called that the “combat reflex,” and it worked too well. My forerunners became addicted to violence, which was why my kind were discontinued and replaced by a class of clones with a fail-safe mechanism.
    Cutter and I traded salutes and formalities, then I asked, “What is the status of your ship?”
    â€œWe wouldn’t do well in a fight, but she’ll get us where we want to go,” he said.
    â€œCan she broadcast?” I asked. Even as I asked it, I realized it was a dumb question.
    â€œShe broadcasted here,” Cutter said without a hint of sarcasm. One thing I noticed about Cutter, he always gave me the benefit of the doubt. I had just asked an obvious question, and he did not call me on it.
    â€œWhat happens if we find ourselves in a fight?” I asked.
    â€œIt depends who we’re fighting, sir,” Cutter said. “As things stand now, the Churchill should do right well against transports and civilian ships.”
    â€œHow about U.A. battleships and carriers?” I asked.
    â€œPermission to speak frankly, sir?”
    â€œI wish you would.”
    â€œThe attack at Olympus Kri specked us up good,” he said, his formal tone now gone. “Our forward shield is fine, but our ass is exposed. If the enemy comes up behind us, we’ll go down fast.”
    We had gone to Olympus Kri to help the Unified Authority evacuate the planet, then the bastards attacked us.
    The Enlisted Man’s Empire and the Unified Authority were entangled in an antagonistic triangle in which every side had two enemies. Our enemies were the Unified Authority, the Earth-bound empire that once ruled the Milky Way, and the Avatari, the alien race that was systematically destroying the galaxy for mining purposes. The Unifieds had to contend with us and the Avatari. The Enlisted Man’s Empire and the Unified Authority would have loved to destroy the Avatari; but their world was in another galaxy. We were more concerned with survival than conquest.
    So the Avatari came to Olympus Kri and incinerated the planet the same way they incinerated Terraneau. Working with the Unifieds, we managed to evacuate the population before the aliens arrived; then the Unifieds ambushed our ships. The Churchill was the only ship that escaped.
    â€œThey specked us up good,” I agreed, reflecting on the other ships that did not manage to broadcast out of the trap. We lost our entire command structure when the Unifieds ambushed us at Olympus Kri.
    I thought about what he had said. The U.A. Navy had newer ships than ours. Their ships had shields that wrapped around their hulls like constantly renewing second skins. Our ships had six independent shields that formed a box around the hull. If a shield gave out, parts of