“Yes, welcome,” chorused the other two. One was a fat woman with metal eyes, the other a young man wearing a privacy mask, a headband which generated a black mist over his features.
“Thank you,” Nomun finally said, since they seemed to expect some response. “Shall we get to work?”
Kronerq’s lean face showed surprise. “Now? Will you not rest first, here in the comfort of the room prepared for you?” Nomun wiped sweat from his forehead, flicked it from his fingertips.
“Surely that will be enough time....”
“Possibly.”
Kronerq sighed and sent the young man out. He returned with an armful of maps, charts, and datawafers; these he dumped unceremoniously on a long table.
Kronerq waved his bony arm over the table. “Here is what we have, Emancipator. Profiles of the FareLords, charts of their diggings, troop dispositions, organizational sheets for the various indentured cadres, ecological analysis of the various Holdings, estimates of sympathizer strength in the cadres. Everything else we thought you might have use for.”
Nomun leaned over the table, began pushing the mass into some sort of order. “This will do for now,” he said. “Leave me.” Kronerq was shocked again. “But, but, Emancipator. We have so much to discuss; I must convey the plan we wish you to carry out....”
Nomun made a gesture of dismissal. “You’ve somehow gotten the wrong impression. I’m not here to carry out your plans; I’m here to destroy the FareLords. That’s what my contract specifies: ‘reasonable and diligent efforts to eradicate the FareLord presence on Hell.’ Reread it, if you cannot remember. Any plan I execute will be my own.”
“Well, of course....Still, Emancipator, it’s a good plan, made by Wumorin, who has demonstrated a fine aptitude during our struggle for independence.” The young man nodded, his face still concealed beneath the dark blur of the privacy mask.
Nomun was losing patience. “Then I’ll depart and Wumorin will put this paragon of a plan into effect, and you’ll save a great deal of money.” He reached for his coolsuit.
Kronerg’s thin hands twisted together. “Wait, please. You’re right, of course. We lack your experience and aptitudes; had we been able to get the FareLords off Hell on our own, we wouldn’t have contracted with you. Please, we’ll withdraw now and allow you the privacy you require.”
When they were gone, Nomun turned to his task, feeding the data into the slate. An hour passed, and he began to develop a clear picture of the situation. He sat back, stretched. The FareLords had been unusually greedy. They had increased the scale of their Holdings on Hell far beyond their ability to control the slaves who won the precious substances from the magma.
In fact, he couldn’t immediately see why the slaves hadn’t already thrown the aliens back into space. Did the FareLords here possess a remarkably able security chief?
Nomun was still absorbed in his analysis when a red light flared and something exploded against the back of his head, throwing him forward onto the table.
Nomun pulled a thinbeam from his boot as he rolled across the table, then fired at his assailant as he dropped off the other side. The beam punched through Wumorin’s chest, hissing.
When Nomun peered cautiously over the edge of the table, he saw Wumorin slumped against the far wall. The cauterized wound was as yet bloodless. A heavy mining laser lay just beyond Wumorin’s twitching hand.
For the moment, the young man still lived.
Nomun kept the thinbeam pointed at the adjutant, while he explored the back of his head with cautious fingers. The hair was burned away, but he was otherwise unharmed. “Are you wondering why you’re dead and I’m not? Dermal energy shunt,” he said. “The latest tech, expensive as hell. Good thing it worked as advertised, eh? Good thing for me, anyway.” Nomun glowed with the euphoria that always accompanied a near-miss. “I thought you were my ally, Wumorin.”
Wumorin shrugged, a feeble movement. Then he reached up and clicked off the privacy mask.
The white face was instantly familiar, even with the blood that trickled from the mouth. Nomun had seen it in a thousand mirrors.
He stepped around the table, kicked away the laser. His good humor was gone. “So. Where did they get you?”
The clone twitched and coughed convulsively. The blood that flowed down his chin turned a brighter red. “I don’t know. I came here in an embryo bottle.” Wumorin grinned, an ugly sight. “You cannot imagine the joy I felt when I discovered that I was a child of the great Nomun’s flesh. I’m sure you can’t. No.”
“Was it that bad?”