Watson watched the colonel speak, fascinated by his individuality. Jackson had the same face as a million other clones, but his expressions, his posture, and the way he spoke made him unique. He spoke slowly in clipped sentences, as if he had just woken up.

As far as Watson knew, no clone had ever attended college, but the ones in the Pentagon seemed educated. Harris was well-read. He talked about philosophy and history. Cutter's interests were not as wide, but he had good diction. Jackson did not. He didn't swear much, less than Harris, but his vocabulary was limited, and he did not strike Watson as particularly bright.

Jackson launched into how the Legion had tried to attack the regiment that first night. He said, "They should'a come straight at us then. There were five thousand of them against a lone regiment. We were fish in a barrel. No place to run. No place to hide. Shot beats bullets at close range.

"You heard what they did instead?"

"The chlorine gas?" asked Watson.

"Yeah. Chlorine, right. We neutralized it while it was still in the vents, then Harris went out after them."

"What happened after he left? I heard he lost contact with you."

"For a minute or two. They blocked our signal."

"How did they do that?"

"Speck, easiest thing in the world. They call it 'sludging.' You jam the airwaves with a strong signal that drowns everything else out. The interLink isn't an easy signal to block, but I've seen it happen. They sludge the airways and they off their own transmissions, too. I guess they didn't have anyone they needed to contact."

Watson said, "They could have warned their partners in the Air Force base."

"If they knew Harris was coming."

"How did you get your signal back?"

That seemed to confuse Jackson. He shrugged, and said, "We got it back."

"That was when Harris ordered you to go to the Air Force base?"

"Yeah, right."

"How did you get there?"

"We flew in transports."

Watson nodded, and said, "Let me make sure I have the details in the correct order. You landed on Thursday."

"Late Thursday," Jackson corrected.

"You marched to Governor Hughes's office."

"Yeah, what a waste of time that was."

"Then you stopped for the night."

"Something like that. We bivouacked in an abandoned food court...Course we had to convince the locals to abandon it."

"Later that night, the New Olympians attacked..."

"And Harris followed them out. He contacted us from the Air Force base, and we followed him out."

"And all of that took place on Friday?"

"I suppose so, I lost track of time. The whole mission flew by. We spent some time searching the base, then we had a firefight with the Martian Legion, next thing I knew, we'd landed on the Churchill, and we'd been gone for a week."

Watson asked, "Did you sleep while you were exploring the Air Force base?"

"Damn well right we slept. We hot bunked-eight hours of duty, eight hours R&R, not that there was much recreation to be had, eight hours sleep."

"How many rest periods did you have?"

"I don't remember. They all blur together, don't they?"

"I suppose," said Watson, though Jackson's spotty memory had raised some suspicions. "Do you think we should move the New Olympians to Earth?"

Jackson said, "That's Harris's story."

"But you don't agree?"

"We took their shotguns. They don't have guns as far as I can tell. I suppose that makes them peaceful."

"But...?" Watson prompted.

"We took away their shotguns; that doesn't mean we took away their fight. That's not the same thing."

"So you don't believe we should relocate the New Olympians to Earth?" Watson asked, genuinely interested in Jackson's response.

"I don't get paid to think. I'm a Marine. I get paid to kill people and break things. My opinion doesn't matter."

"Do you have an opinion?"

"About bringing the New Olympians to Earth?"

Watson nodded.

"I don't trust them."

"I see," said Watson. They talked for fifteen minutes longer with no substantive results. Realizing that he was spinning his wheels, Watson turned off the camera in his tablet. Now that the interview had ended, he asked as an aside, "Did you ever know a Lieutenant Matthew Call?"

"The name sounds familiar. How do I know him?"

"He was one of the men that died during the fighting at the Air Force base."

"One of the lucky fifty," said Jackson.

"Not so lucky," said Watson. "It wasn't just Mars. The poor guy was attacked on the Night of the Martyrs."

"Another member of the club," said Jackson.

"What do you mean?" Watson asked, though he thought he knew. He thought Jackson was referring to Harris.

"I didn't know Call, but I guess he's number six," said Jackson. "I got three majors in this regiment. All three of them were attacked. I contributed a few martyrs myself that night. Then there's Harris. I guess you already knew the bastards attacked him in Seattle."

CHAPTER.

THIRTY-TWO.

Watson returned to his quarters and the personnel files. Instead of sitting at the desk, he kicked back on his bed, tipped off his shoes, and rested his head on a pillow. He looked at personnel files.

NAME: JACKSON, CURTIS C.

RANK: COLONEL (Commander Second Division, Second Regiment) SERIAL NUMBER: FM721-65-039.

AGE: 42 RAISED IN ORPHANAGE #018.

CLASSIFICATION: CLONE (Standard Make) STATUS: ACTIVE DUTY.

The man had seen action. Back when the clones were still part of the Unified Authority, Jackson fought against Mogats on Hubble and aliens on New Copenhagen. When the Unified Authority sent clones to recapture lost planets, he'd been one of the Marines who'd gone to liberate Providence Kri. After the rise of the Enlisted Man's Empire, Jackson saw action on Bangalore and Earth.

Of the Night of the Martyrs his file said: On January 9, 2519, Colonel Jackson was attacked by three civilian men in Los Angeles. He killed two of the men, the other escaped. A man fitting Jackson's description of his attacker was found dead by hanging two days later. After an investigation, the Los Angeles coroner office pronounced the hanging a suicide.

Local and military police determined Jackson's actions were in self-defense.

He looked through Second Regiment's line of command and found the three majors. As Jackson had said, all three had been attacked on the night of January 9. Picking the names of Second Regiment Marines at random, Watson worked his way down to the privates. Every man had been attacked on the Night of the Martyrs.

Watson tried to call Cutter, but an aide took the call. Watson said, "I need to speak to the admiral."

"He's busy," said the aide. "Can I take a message?"

"It's urgent," said Watson.

"Then you'd better leave your message quickly," said the aide.

Watson hung up on him.

Since boarding the Churchill, Watson had sensed discrimination at every turn. The sailors saw the ship as their domain and made no attempt to hide the disrespect they felt for their natural-born passenger.

Not deterred by an officer he considered little more than a receptionist, Watson walked to Cutter's office. The same aide met him at the door. Watson recognized the name and the attitude.

He said, "I told you, the admiral is busy."

Watson said, "Fair enough. Please tell the admiral that there is a bomb on the ship." He turned around and walked out.

The aide, a lieutenant, followed him out the door saying, "Excuse me. Excuse me! Excuse me!"

Watson stopped but did not say anything.

"Did you say a bomb?"

Bureaucratic prick, Watson thought as he kept walking past the man.

The lieutenant ran ahead and stepped in Watson's path. He repeated, "You said there is a bomb?"

"Yes. You might inform the admiral when his schedule is clear?"

"Where is it?" demanded the aide. "I'll send security."

Watson did not break stride, and the aide, a much shorter man, had to run to keep pace with him. Funny little man, thought Watson. Like a yelping lapdog. He wondered if other naval officers were cut from the same cloth.

"Wait."

Watson walked to the elevator and stopped.

"Is it armed?" asked the aide.

Watson said, "Armed, primed, and ready to explode."

"Come with me," said the lieutenant.

"Admiral Cutter can contact me when he has time to speak...assuming it's not too late."

The aide spoke into his communicator. He said, "Admiral, that civilian wants to see you. He said something about..."

Cutter said, "Lieutenant, I hope you haven't kept Watson waiting."

A look of desperation spreading across his face, the aide looked at Watson, and said, "Sir, you...You said you did not want to be disturbed."

"Lieutenant, please show Mr. Watson in." That was all he said, but the chill in his voice presented other implications.

The lieutenant led Watson to Admiral Cutter's door and left without a word. Watson knocked on the door.

"That you, Watson? Come on in."

Admiral Cutter sat at his desk holding a heavily creamed cup of coffee. He said, "You find something good?" and drank half the cup.

Watson asked, "Do you know how they selected the men in the Second Regiment?" He sat in one of the chairs beside the admiral's desk.