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  Before leaving her rooms in the Bachelor Officer Quarters, the attractive blonde checked her reflection in the mirror to make sure that her uniform appearance clean and crisp. Satisfied, she left her apartment, stopping to face the door to another apartment some ten meters down the corridor. The automatic visitor announcement system would identify her and alert the apartment's occupant that she was at the door.

  After half a minute's wait the door opened, and another Space Command officer, virtually identical to Commander Carver, stepped out into the corridor and smiled. The only distinguishable difference between the two women was their rank and uniform ribbons. The second officer wore the rank insignia of a Lieutenant(jg), represented as one wide and one narrow stripe, on each epaulet.

  From the elevator that delivered the two women to the lobby, it was only a short walk to the officer's mess hall, so they didn't bother hailing a cab. A number of people glanced their way and smiled as they passed, with most of the males sighing silently as they enjoyed a brief fantasy or two. Seeing Commander Carver with one, or both, of her gorgeous sisters was not unusual. The wide discrepancy in rank was owed to the fact that her two sisters, both clones, hadn't yet reached their second birthday.

  After breakfast, the two five-foot eleven-inch tall women proceeded together to their new duty assignments in the Intelligence Section of the Space Command Headquarters division of Higgins Space Center.

  Located in geosynchronous orbit above the planetary capital of Vinnia, Higgins ranked among the busiest of SC bases. It functioned both as a StratCom-One base and a major freight hub. Easily visible to the naked eye from the planet below, the massive space station resembles an oval-cut, blue opal gemstone, surrounded by a sixty-kilometer silver necklace. The necklace, of course, is the docking ring, where dozens of massive ships can dock with the station simultaneously. Roadway tunnels, connecting the base to the docking ring, appear like spokes in a wheel.

  Arriving at the Intelligence Section, the two women paused in the admittance area to sign in and be identified. A wall of clear, security polycarbonate, virtually impenetrable by any portable weapon, separated them from the duty officer.

  "Commander Jenetta Carver and Lieutenant Christa Carver reporting as ordered," Jenetta said to the lieutenant on duty after pressing the face of her Space Command ring.

  "Good morning, Commander. Good morning, Lieutenant," they heard in their CT's as the duty officer spoke. "Please step up to the retinal scanner."

  Subcutaneously located against the skull behind the left ear of every Space Command officer is a cranial transducer. Normally referred to as a CT, the devices are no larger than the tip of the needle-like insertion tool used to implant the miniscule devices in every cadet upon entrance to a Space Command Academy. Used mainly for communications, they also permit sensors aboard a ship or base to identify an individual. The identification permits immediate access to low security areas, and unlocks equipment for which the individual is authorized. Additional identification verification is required for high security areas.

  As the senior officer, Jenetta stepped to the retinal scanner first. The machine immediately said, "Identity confirmed as being Commander Jenetta Alicia Carver."

  After Christa was scanned, the machine said, "Retinal identity confirmed as being Commander Jenetta Alicia Carver. CT confirmed as being that of Lieutenant(jg) Christa Carver."

  In response to the confused look on the face of the duty officer, Jenetta said, "Lieutenants Christa and Eliza Carver's retinal scans are identical to mine, as are their fingerprints."

  "Yes ma'am. I understand, but I'm not sure how to log the system's noted anomaly. Please allow me a few seconds to check the passdown log." After scanning information on her monitor for a few seconds, the duty officer said, "Ah, here it ma'am." She touched a several points on her monitor and said, "Please enter," as she pressed the button that would open the security door.

  Once Jenetta and Christa were inside the clear wall, the duty officer said, "Lieutenant, report to Encryption in room D248. Lieutenant Commander Mirshra is expecting you. Commander, please report to Captain Kanes office. You know the way, I believe?"

  "Yes, I do. Thank you, Lieutenant."

  Jenetta gave Christa directions to the Encryption Center because it was knowledge that she had gained after Christa was born, and then walked to Captain Kanes office suite. She was only kept waiting for a few minutes before being passed through to the Captain's office.

  "Good morning, sir," Jenetta said as she entered the spacious office. The walls remained almost as barren as when Kanes had moved into the office. The only interruptions on the four off-white surfaces were two large pictures that hung behind Kanes' desk. One was of Admiral Moore, the Admiral of the Fleet, and other was of the Current Chairman of the Galactic Alliance Council.

  "Good morning, Jen," Kanes said as he finished taking a drink from his coffee cup and set it down on his desk. Pointing to a carafe on a conference table, he said, "Help yourself to the coffee; it's fresh. Then pull up a chair."

  "Thank you, sir."

  After pouring herself a mug of the steaming black liquid from the carafe, she took a seat in a chair across from Kanes. Taking a sip of the coffee she said, "Delicious, sir. Your own blend?"

  "It's one of my few self-indulgences," he said. "I blend a carafe each morning to bring to the office, then tolerate the coffee from my beverage synthesizer for the rest of the day."

  "Have you tried tweaking the program that makes your coffee here?"

  "No. I didn't know that was possible?"

  "You can't alter the established recipes, but you can add your own as long as you assign unique names to the new variations."

  "I've never heard that."

  "Few people have, and I doubt that it's published anywhere. I only discovered it while trying to alter the established recipes in my office synthesizer on Dixon. I hacked my way into the synthesizer recipe cube only to discover that the encoded recipes were 'burned' in. They couldn't be altered or overwritten. I suppose it's a protection mechanism to insure that people can't be poisoned or made ill by a hacker. But I did discover that it was possible to add new recipes."

  "How do I accomplish that?"

  "If you'll write out the recipes that you'd like to add, I'll encode them and prepare a data wafer. Then it'll take just a couple of seconds to upload the information into your synthesizer's memory cube. Once loaded, the new recipes are alterable until you tell the system to make them permanent. So you can tweak them until you get them set the way you want."

  "Will this affect any other synthesizer on the base?"

  "No sir, just yours, unless other units are manually updated with the same data. If your unit experiences a problem, and the synthesizer recipe cube is swapped out by engineering, you'll have to upload the changes again."

  "Wonderful, I'll write out my special recipe blends this afternoon."

  "Okay, sir. And I'm sure that you must have something else in mind for me to do while I'm here."

  "Yes, I do. I realize that this is only a temporary assignment until the Prometheus returns to port, but I hope that your month here will be productive and rewarding. I've had Christa assigned to the encryption section because of your expertise with encoding algorithms." He paused to grin. "We had a devil of a job a few years ago getting past the encryption that you set up on your personal log ring."

  "I knew that you'd crack it, sir. It was a fairly simple formula, only intended to keep curious eyes from my diary entries."

  "It took our entire lab four days to crack it."

  "Four days? Really? The entire lab?"

  Kanes grinned again. "I suspect that you knew exactly how long it would take us to read the entries."

  Jenetta returned the grin. "I estimated four or five days if your people were good. I calculated that the simplicity of the design would actually add to the confusion of anyone trying to read the data. Since the encryption key uses the last date the journal was read or updated, it varies w
ith every access or attempted access. You can't just continually throw varying keys at it and hope to get lucky. It's extremely unlikely that anyone would happen across it by accident. If your people cracked it in four days, they're good."

  "The best. I think that Christa will enjoy her time working there. Perhaps she'll decide to request a transfer to stay with us instead of reporting to the Chiron when it arrives in a month."

  "Yes sir; but I wouldn't count on it. One day perhaps, but right now my sisters and I only want to be aboard a ship in space. Did you want me to work in Encryption also?"

  "No, I have another project in mind for you. We have a problem on the Gollasko Colony. We sent one of our undercover people there to buy weapons from an arms merchant, and right now he's holed up in a hotel room, fearful of leaving the building because some very nasty types want his head. That's just part of the problem. The deal he was involved in went bad because a convicted Tsgardi killer named Recozzi showed up just in time to cause problems. There was a shootout and our man killed Recozzi. Being the arresting officer, he'd testified against Recozzi at his trial, so they knew each other well. Recozzi had been sentenced to life without parole."

  "How did Recozzi escape?"

  "He didn't. He's still at the penal colony on Saquer Major."

  "He's still at the penal colony, and he was just killed in a gun battle on Gollasko? That's a rather unique accomplishment."

  "Yes. As soon as we got the report we contacted the warden at the facility, and he confirmed that Recozzi is still there, and apparently healthy."

  "Has he been cloned?"

  "We don't know yet; but God, I hope not. We just got the issue of cloning settled with your sisters and the seventy-seven others that were born on Dakistee."

  "How unique are Tsgardi elbow-prints?"

  "All of our researchers agree that they're as unique as Terran fingerprints. And when combined with DNA and retinal images, identification should be one-hundred percent positive. Our doctors and researchers are currently examining every elbow-print on file to see if we can learn anything new."

  "Could the records at the prison have been altered?"

  "We'll know shortly. We've had the prisoner reprinted and requested that they send us copies so we can compare them to ours. Everything is being analyzed right now."

  "Is our operative safe where he is?"

  "Somewhat. He'll stay in the hotel, taking all his meals there. The hotel has its own security force, so it depends how badly the hunters want him. We've learned that the main subject in our investigation, Shev Rivemwilth, was critically injured in the melee. One of his hearts was blasted by an errant shot and he lost a lot of blood. It isn't yet known if he'll survive. We're trying to arrange an extraction for our man."

  "One of his hearts? Since 'Shev' is an honorific normally used when greeting an Alyysian, I assume that Rivemwilth is an Alyysian?"

  "That toad doesn't know the meaning of honor. But yes, he's an Alyysian."

  "Why are we trying to buy arms from an Alyysian, sir?"

  "They're Space Command weapons, and we're trying to trace the source. We've heard for some time that SC weapons were being sold on the black market, but we've never been able to get our hands on any. We want to learn if the weapons are original manufacture, from one of our authorized industrial complexes, or if they've been copied by someone and are being produced elsewhere. If they come from us, we intend to stop the flow, recover everything that we can, and prosecute those responsible. And if they're being manufactured by others within Space Command regulated space, we intend to track them down and stop them. Whenever we hear any rumors about the weapons, Rivemwilth's name is associated. He's obviously behind the thefts, or the illegal manufacture. We want him, as much as we want to recover the weapons and stop the flow, but he stays holed up in the Gollasko colony most of the time. We won't shed any tears if he doesn't recover, but it might mean the finish of our investigation. His accomplices might never be found and punished for their crimes."

  "Aren't we prohibited from operating in the Frontier Zone?"

  "There's no legal prohibition that prevents us from operating in our Frontier Zone. Space Command simply doesn't have the ships and manpower to enforce GA regulations there, so SC ship captains are ordered to 'ignore' the lawlessness there lest we get dragged into law enforcement activities that escalate beyond our control and reflect badly on the service when we fail to correct the situation. It's better that everyone simply believe we're not permitted to operate there."

  Jenetta nodded. "What can I do to help?"

  "I want you to go through all the files from the investigation and give me your assessment."

  Jenetta didn't respond for a few seconds, then said, "Sir, I'm not trained in criminal investigation procedures. My field of study at the Academy was astrophysics."

  "I realize that, Jen, but we've been working on this case for two years and our best criminal experts haven't been able to make any inroads. I'm hoping that you might bring a fresh perspective to the investigation. That, combined with some scrap of information that you may have picked up from the contacts you made while functioning as Base Commander of the Dixon Space Command Base, might reorient our investigation."

  "My contacts were mainly freighter captains and Space Command officers, not arms dealers or manufacturers."

  "Yes, but I know that you also met some of the seedier types who frequent space ports. You couldn't avoid it, being the base commander and chief administrator. You sent me a lot of intel during the year that you were there, hoping that it would help us find your sister Christa while she was a prisoner of the Tsgardi."

  Jenetta sighed to herself. "Very well, sir. I'll do my best, but I think that you've picked the wrong person for this job."

  "Just do your usual thorough job and I'll be happy." Standing up, Kanes said, "Come on, I'll show you to the office that you've been assigned for the next few weeks."

  Kanes escorted Jenetta to a small office in a restricted corridor that required another retinal scan for entry. The computer, having already been informed of her job assignment, had established the appropriate access levels for information retrieval and movement within the section's corridors. The computer recognized her voice, and a complete index of everything pertaining to the investigation was available on her screen when it was activated. She had also been assigned an aide, who would work in an outer office. Kanes wished her luck and returned to his own office.

  Jenetta sat down at the desk, grimaced, and started reading through the thousands of documents that had accumulated since the investigation began. When her eyes started to ache, she had the computer read the reports to her as she stretched her legs and poured a cup of coffee from the decanter that her aide had brought in earlier. Her office didn't have a beverage synthesizer.

  At the end of the first week, Jenetta was still reading, or being read, case documents. She was beginning to feel the frustration shared by all people put into jobs for which they are ill-prepared. It seemed that the professional investigators had covered every possible facet. She knew that she would surely go out of her mind if this was a permanent assignment. Fortunately, her temporary duty would be over in a few weeks, and she'd be reporting back aboard the battleship Prometheus.

  Christa was faring a little better than Jenetta. She was being used mainly to break the encryption codes of intercepted messages, but she also had a hand in developing new encryption techniques for Space Command. Of the three women, Eliza had it the best. Upon their return from Nordakia, she'd immediately been assigned as third watch helmsman aboard the battleship Bellona. It was still in port, so she had little to do while on duty. She was able to meet Jenetta and Christa in the officer's mess every other evening for dinner.

  "When are you leaving port, Eliza?" Jenetta asked as she cut into the second of two large pieces of chocolate cake she had selected for dessert. They were sitting outside the hearing range of other diners so they felt comfortable talking in lowered voices.


  "I was just notified that we're leaving Monday. Apparently something's come up rather quickly because we weren't scheduled to leave for another two weeks."

  "Any idea where you're going?" Christa asked.

  "You tell me. I'm just a junior officer. You're both working in the Intelligence Section now."

  "We don't have any knowledge of ship assignments," Jenetta said. "Everything is very compartmentalized. I don't have access to Christa's area and she doesn't have access to mine."

  "Not true," Christa said. "I could simply change my rank insignia and walk into your office. I could also access your computer interface, unless you have it password encoded, and pass myself off as you without any trouble. Our retinal scans, fingerprints, and DNA are identical, remember? Even our voice prints are identical. You could also pass for me, and either of us could pass for Eliza."

  "You're forgetting the cranial transducer that was implanted after you joined Space Command," Jenetta said. "It's not just for communication, you know. You'd never get into my office, and I'd only get into yours because of my security clearance. But even without it, I wouldn't be worried about us pretending to be one another, because I know me, but it raises the issue of the other clones. There are seven copies each, of the eleven scientists on Dakistee who discovered the cloning equipment. Right now they're all back on the planet working at the dig sites, so no problem, but what about the future?"

  "You mean what happens if one secures a position in a sensitive area?"

  "Yes. Civilians don't have CT's or implanted ID chips. If they've been in prison, they have permanent, criminal marker tags in their body, but otherwise, nothing. There would be seven other people that were indistinguishable from the rightful holder of the position. Any of them could swap positions and no one would be able to tell. We have a problem right now with a convict in the penal colony on Saquer Major. A duplicate was just slain while trying to kill one of our people at the Gollasko Colony."