The Clone Redemption

PROLOG

Sun and Shadow: The Tale of the Japanese Fleet

NOVEMBER 18, 2517 A.D.

Location: Solar System A-361
Astronomic Position: Bode’s Galaxy

“Is this supposed to be our funeral? I ‘m not impressed if it is,” Chief Petty Officer Robert Humble whispered to the clone standing next to him.
“It’s not a funeral. They don’t give corpses wine at funerals,” said Edward Kapeliela, who was also a CPO.
“Maybe it’s an old samurai thing,” said Humble. “These guys are all about tradition.”
“It’s not a funeral it’s a farewell. Now will you shut up?”
“Quiet. Both of you,” hissed Emerson Illych, a master chief petty officer and the highest ranking member of the SEALs.
Yoshi Yamashiro, admiral of the Japanese Fleet, stood behind a table draped in a white table cloth. On the table sat a ceramic bottle, an ivory-glazed ceramic cylinder, eight inches tall and three inches wide, covered with hand-painted Kanji.
Beside the bottle sat a row of thirteen “thimbles.” The SEALs called them thimbles because they held about as much more liquor than you could fit in a thimble. The Japanese called them ochoko. The ochoko matched the bottle, ivory-colored glaze and covered with Kanji symbols.
“What? You don’t think you’re the guest of honor at your own funeral?” asked Humble.
“Stow it, Humble,” Illych growled. “I want to hear what he’s saying.”
“He’s speaking in Japanese,” Humble pointed out. “You told us to pretend like we don’t understand them when they speak Japanese.”
Staring straight ahead, Senior Chief Kapeliela said, “Show some respect, the man is trying to do us an honor.”
Yamashiro filled each of the cups with sake’. Speaking in Japanese, he ordered the SEALs to step forward. Before the ceremony began, another Japanese officer had drilled Illych and his men so that they would recognize the commands.
“This honoring us? He’s giving us a thimble-full of rice wine and speaking in a language he thinks we don’t understand. How is this an honor?” asked Humble.
Short, and sturdy, Yamashiro stood five-five, making him three inches taller than the diminutive SEAL clones. He had thick arms, a thick neck, a thick chest, and a round gut, all solidly packed together. His senior officers often speculated on whether or not he dyed his coal-colored hair. His eyes were hard and dark and he barked the order for the twelve SEALs to lift their ochoko. He took the thirteenth cup and drank with them.
Once the
SEALs drained their sake’, Yamashiro seemed to run out of words. He remained solemn as they replaced their ochoko on the table and then he dismissed them.
Humble asked, “That’s it? He’s supposed to give us a flag and a sword. We’re supposed to read our death poems.”
“You wrote a death poem?” asked Illych.
“I wanted to get into the spirit of the occasion,” said Humble.
Illych laughed, but Humble’s complaining offended Senior Chief Crow. Had his neural programming allowed him to swear, he would have strung all the profanity in the English language into a single run-on sentence; but he could not do that. The Unified Authority scientists who created the SEAL clones organized their brains so that they did not have vices. The SEALs did not swear, drink, or smoke. Their self-esteem was so low that they would not even consider approaching women, not even prostitutes.
Illych and the SEALs stood at attention as Yamashiro and his officers left the landing bay of the battleship Onoda. Once they were gone, Illych gathered his twelve SEALs beside the transport that would launch them on their mission. The transport would not take them down to the planet; but if everything went well, it would bring them back to the ship.
Kapeliela and Humble continued their argument. Humble said, “You did know that was a traditional kamikaze farewell?”
Kapeliela grunted, “Yeah, I know. Only we’re coming back.”
“You might think we’re coming back, but Yamashiro doesn’t,” said Humble.
The rear hatch of the transport ground open and the SEALs shuffled in. As Illych passed, Humble asked, “Master Chief, do you think we’re coming back?” He was not afraid, just curious. The SEALs did not know fear, it was not in their neural programming.
“As long as the fleet doesn’t leave us behind,” said Illych. Like all of his men, Illych was nothing if not stoic.