“If they get that cutter within range of us, we’re through,” Oakes said. He rounded on Lewis. “Now will you send out some attackers?”

“We have no choice,” Lewis said. He glanced at the clones beside him. “You all see that, don’t you?”

All of them were staring up at the screen, intently focused on the advancing cutter and the outrider demons.

“It’s plain to see,” Lewis said. “They cut open our perimeter and let the demons in. We’re all dead then. But if we can stop them . . .”

“Everybody!” Oakes called out. “I grant full status as a Natural to every clone who volunteers. These rebels are the last real threat to our survival. When they’re gone, we’ll make a paradise out of this planet.”

Slowly, but with growing momentum, the arc of clones moved toward the passage hatch. More joined them as they moved.

“Keep them moving, Lewis,” Oakes said. “Issue weapons as they go out. We’ll win by the weight of numbers alone.”

Chapter 65

Chapter 65

Once my fancy was soothed with dreams of virtue, of fame and of enjoyment. Once I falsely hoped to meet with beings who, pardoning my outward form, would love me for the excellent qualities which I was capable of unfolding.

—Frankenstein’s Monster Speaks, Shiprecords

AS THOMAS gave the signal for the attack, he experienced the almost paralyzing sensation that he was not aiming a blow at the Redoubt but was striking out at Ship.

You set this up, Ship! See what You’ve done?

Ship gave no response.

Thomas moved forward with his army.

The air was hot on the plain below the cliffs, both suns climbing to their meridians. The light was brilliant, forcing him to squint when he looked toward the reflected glare of the suns. He smelled a flinty bitterness in the air, dust kicked up by his ragtag group.

He looked left and right at them. Had anyone ever dreamed of such a wild mixture on such a venture? The Naturals in Avata’s collection were a vanishing minority—swallowed up in the press of strange shapes: bulbous heads, oddly placed eyes, ears, noses and mouths; great barrel chests and scrawny ones, thin limbs and conventional fingers, ropey tendrils, feet and stumps. They strode and rocked and stumbled along in obedience to his command. The improvised wheels they had attached to the plasteel cutter grated in sand, bumped over small rocks. Muttering, grunting, wheezing, his people moved forward. Some of the E-clones chanted “Avata! Avata! Avata!” as they shuffled along. He noted that the demons moved with him at a distance, just as Panille had said they would.

Waiting to scavenge.