Rogue clone by Steven L. Kent

salute.
    “The lieutenant is here with me,” Admiral Klyber said.
    “Yes,” said Huang. “So he’s on the crew of your mysterious ship.” With this he left us. We watched him walk away, then Klyber gave me a wry smile. “How much does he know about my ship, I wonder?”
    “He should not know that you have a ship at all,” I said.
    “Yes,” Klyber agreed. “I really must have a word with Captain Johansson before we return to the Doctrinaire .”
    General Alexander Smith, secretary of Air Force and head of the Joint Chiefs, called everyone to attention. “Gentlemen, it’s time we begin,” he said, and the party started to funnel through a nearby doorway.
    “This should be an all-day affair,” Klyber said.
    “Yes, sir,” I said.
    “Do you have plans for the day?” Klyber asked. “I hope you’re not going to waste the entire time checking and rechecking these same hallways.”
    “That’s the plan, sir,” I said.
    “Have you read the book I gave you?” Klyber asked.
    I nodded. “The story about Shannon?”
    “Did you learn anything?” he asked.
    “Not to expect hospitality in the Catholic colonies,” I said.
    “That’s one lesson,” Klyber said. “See you after the summit.” He joined up with Admiral Brocius and they entered the conference room.
    As I turned to leave, I had a dark premonition. I imagined Admiral Klyber stepping up to a podium to explain about the Doctrinaire . I pictured Admiral Huang stepping up behind him and whispering something. Klyber turns pale and looks back at him with a stunned expression just as Huang plunges a diamond-edged combat knife into his back.
    In my bizarre fantasy, I watch Huang’s knife jab in and out of Klyber’s white uniform. Huang stabs him four times as he turns to run and the other summit attendees close in around him. They stab Klyber again and again until his dress whites turn red.
    My disconcerting daydream ends with Huang looking down at Kyber’s corpse and saying the phrase that must have been hovering in my subconscious: “Beware the Ides of March.”
    According to the Earth date, it was indeed Tuesday, March 15.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
    The summit lasted ten hours. I met Klyber at the door when it adjourned. More than anything else, he seemed tired as he emerged from the meeting. He walked slowly, talked softly, and stared straight ahead. His breeding did not allow for slumped shoulders or bad posture; but he was, nonetheless, a defeated man. “We’re in for a tougher fight than any of them know,” he said. “Stupid bastards are too young to remember the last war. Kellan wasn’t even born yet.”
    General John Kellan, the new secretary of the Army, made big news a few years back by attaining the rank of general before his thirty-fifth birthday. His father and two uncles, all three of them senators, threw a party to commemorate the achievement on the floor of the Senate.
    When it came to mixing politics and service, Kellan was a mere piker compared to the illustrious fleet admiral. Nobody respected Kellan’s combat-free war record. Klyber had political connections that ran all the way up to the Linear Committee, more than forty years of active service, and an impressive war record. Even his role in the creation of Liberator clones meant something in Washington. The politicians may not have liked his Liberators, but it was the Liberators who saved the day in the last war. But Klyber did not look like a war hero now. His frosty blue eyes seemed lost in their sockets. He looked fragile instead of vibrant. This morning I might have described him as haughty. Seeing him now, the only word that came to mind was “wilted.”
    I led Klyber back to his room, our four-man Army escort in tow. We went to his room, and he stood silently near the door. I wanted to ask what happened, but I knew better.
    “Did you tell the Joint Chiefs about the Doctrinaire ?” I asked. Klyber, pouring gin and water over ice, nodded. “Yes. You should have seen Huang.