Puzzled, Oakes turned to look at the screen, saw his own likeness there. Below the image, a biographical printout was rolling. He stared at the heading: “Morgan Lon Oakes. Ref. Original File, Morgan Hempstead, cell donor . . .”

Oakes found it difficult to breathe. It was a trick! He glanced at Legata and the cold stare he met there iced his backbone.

“Morgan . . .” How sweet her voice sounded. “. . . I found your records, Morgan. See Ship’s imprimatur on the printout? Ship vouches for the truth of this record.”

A tic twitched the corner of Oakes’ left eyelid. He tried to swallow.

This is not happening!

Muttering drifted through the room. “Oakes a clone? Ship’s eyes!”

Legata stepped away from the console, moved to within a meter of Oakes. “Your name . . . that’s the name of the woman who bore you—for a fee.”

Oakes found his voice: “This is a lie! My parents . . . our sun went nova . . . I . . .”

“Ship says not so.” She waved at the screen. “See?”

The data continued to roll: Date of cell implantation, address of pseudo-parents, names . . .

Lewis came up to stand at Oakes’ shoulder. “Why, Legata?” There was no denying the amusement in his voice.

She refused to take her attention from the stricken look on Oakes’ face. Why do I want to comfort him?

“The Scream Room was a mistake,” she whispered.

Someone off toward the edge of the room shouted: “Clones first! Send the clone out!” It began as a chant, grew to a pounding rage: “Send the clone out!”

Oakes screamed: “No!”

But hands grabbed him and Legata was powerless to prevent it in the crush of people without using her great strength to kill. She found herself unable to do this. Oakes’ voice screaming: “No! Please, no!” grew fainter across the room, out into the passage, was lost in the shouting of the mob.

Lewis moved to the console, shut off the data, keyed a high sensor still free of the Spinneret webs. It showed the sudden gush of a burner opening a gap through the web where the wall had been breached by a cutter beam from outside. Presently, Oakes stumbled into view outside, running alone across Pandora’s deadly plain.

Chapter 68

Chapter 68

This fetus cannot be brought to term. It cannot be a fruit of the human tree. No human could accelerate its own fetal development. No human could tap the exterior world for its needed energy. No human could communicate before departing the womb. We must abort it or kill both mother and child.

—Sy Murdoch, The Lewis Exchange, Shiprecords

WAELA SAT on the edge of the cot in the obstetrics alcove they had improvised. She could hear Ferry working with the wounded out in the emergency area. He had not even noticed her leave his side. Supply crates screened her area and she sat in the fabric-diffused shadows, taking shallow breaths to slow the contractions.