Bold Moves, page 13
“Normally,” Chief of State Narula began, “this sort of thing would be done in a public ceremony. But given the nature of your job, and our expectation that you will continue to serve the Confederation via the Bureau, we determined a more private ceremony was most appropriate.”
Ms. Mota spoke again. “We could not allow your heroism and patriotism to go unrewarded, Marshal Gwok. You led the team that stopped a coup, saving the lives of thousands of Confederation citizens, knowing full well you were putting yourself in harm’s way personally, professionally, politically, and beyond.”
Secretary Sato held a cloth-covered box out to Ms. Mota.
She opened it and withdrew a medal on a blue silk ribbon. “Marshal Onima Gwok, it is my privilege this day to award you with the Confederation Medal of Freedom.”
Jace felt his breath catch. That was the highest civilian honor that could be bestowed on anyone. Onima managed to look surprised, proud, and honored all at once.
“Thank you,” she said.
Ms. Mota turned to Kara. “Further, we are also aware, Deputy Marshal Kara Martinez, of your actions aiding Marshal Gwok. Your patriotism and heroism were essential in preventing what could have been a tremendous tragedy.”
Secretary Mbabzi held a differently colored cloth-covered box out to Ms. Mota. She opened it and withdrew a medal on a red silk ribbon.
“Deputy Marshal Kara Martinez, it is my privilege this day to award you with the Confederation Medal of Valor.”
Kara teared up as Deputy Chief of State Mota placed the medal around her neck. It was the second highest honor that could be bestowed on a civilian.
“Thank you very much, Your Honor,” Kara said. She sniffled and added, “Wow.”
Ms. Mota smiled at Kara, then turned to Teru. “Deputy Marshal Teru Smith. If you had not been able to restore data corrupted, find information hidden, and alert a higher authority when it mattered more than anything, I doubt Marshal Gwok could have done her job—nor would we be having this conversation. Your patriotism and heroism are just as meritorious and worthy of recognition.”
Once again, Secretary Sato held a cloth-covered box out to Ms. Mota. She opened it and withdrew a medal on a red ribbon.
“Deputy Marshal Teru Smith, it is my privilege this day to award you with the Confederation Medal of Valor.”
As the Deputy Chief of State placed the medal around Teru’s neck, they said, “Thank you, Your Honor. I cannot tell you how much this means to me.”
Now Ms. Mota turned to Jace.
“Jace Rojas,” she began. “You were the unexpected witness to a murder. What you saw led Marshal Gwok to uncover a far broader conspiracy, which was intent on a coup to overthrow this government. You are part of a group of Confederation citizens who are underserved, neglected, often despised, and all but forgotten by local officials. You are a clone, which means you have virtually no individual rights and are expected to work in the worst conditions for only enough ESCA to cover the barest necessities. Despite the risk to your person, when faced with a choice to do something or nothing, you chose to do the right thing.”
She paused, and Jace found he was feeling extremely uncomfortable. This was far more nerve-wracking than combat had ever been.
Ms. Mota continued, “It has become abundantly clear that you—and the rest of the clone citizens of this Confederation—were endangered en masse by that neglect. Marshal Gwok saw something in you that made her include you in her investigation, and, as she stated when we first met, you have been invaluable.
“Clones were created for but one purpose: to fight a war. When that pointless war was brought to an abrupt conclusion, clones were forgotten and abandoned, and this government has largely turned a blind eye to your plight. But you have proven that clones are human beings as capable of doing good things as everyone else, and thus deserving of respect and recognition.”
To Jace’s surprise, Ms. Mota turned to Chief of State Alissa Narula. She held out to her deputy another cloth-covered box.
Ms. Mota withdrew a medal hanging on a black ribbon. She turned to Jace once more.
“Jace Rojas, for your continued valor and service to this Confederation, I am pleased that I am privileged this day to present you with the Medal of Honor.”
Jace gawked. This was not a civilian service award she was presenting him with. It was the highest military decoration the Confederation could bestow.
Ms. Mota leaned toward him and hung the ribbon around Jace’s neck.
“I...I...um...Thank you,” Jace said, baffled. He was a clone. Clones received no recognition. Additionally, his military service had been to a defunct government replaced by the AECC.
“There’s more.” Ms. Mota took a deep breath, then sighed. “When clones were created to serve the Coalition and the Alliance, they were created with designations. That was, arguably, appropriate for soldiers serving within those militaries. Those designations are made up of two letters indicating the cloning facility in which a clone was created, a letter and number indicator of their batch, and then their clone number. The designation you were given is AC J7-2247.
“But a designation is not a name. People have names, given by parents or chosen individually for one reason or another, legally binding them to licenses, currency, personal and professional relations, and more.”
She looked at the faces of everyone in the room. “Clones ceased to be soldiers over a decade ago. Since that time, they have been given and/or have chosen names for themselves just like everyone else does. Yet we non-clones expect them to answer to those basic alphanumeric designations of soldiers rather than names like all the other people around them.”
Her eyes bored into Jace’s. “You have proven, beyond any doubt, your humanity to be not just the equal of any other, but, frankly, greater. You have repeatedly shown care and concern for all, clone and non-clone alike. Every report about you that we have read from this investigation has been glowing with praise. Your actions have not just been the programming of some soldier, but a thinking, feeling, caring, well-meaning, good person. And that is why, from this day forth, AC J7-2247 will be legally known as Jace Rojas. You have chosen that name for yourself, and I feel it deserves its due legitimacy and legal recognition.”
Jace found himself at a total loss for words. Clones were always ordered to give their designations. To have legal documents making it clear that he was not some random designation - but a named individual - meant more to him than he could express in words.
Ms. Mota now addressed the room. “In front of the witnesses here today, I pledge to help the rest of clone-kind take their names and make then legal—and to actively work to end the discrimination, prejudice, and abuse they suffer so regularly. While clones are different from non-clones in many ways, they are still human beings, and still citizens of this Confederation. They have the same rights to lead good and productive lives as anyone else. I will do all that I can to help them to be able to do so.”
Jace couldn’t help himself: he began to chuckle.
“Mr. Rojas?” Deputy Chief of State Mota questioned, not unkindly.
“I’m sorry,” Jace said, finding his voice. “A decade ago, after the war was over and the AECC came into being, promises were made to take care of me and my kind. And yet here we are today, second-class citizens of that Confederation. Please understand, I am honored by this recognition and deeply grateful to you for this distinction and my name.”
Jace took a deep breath. “These past few months, living and working with non-clones and treated as an equal has given me a lot to think about. I believe that this is worthwhile, and that you sincerely intend as you state. It’s just...even with everything I have experienced, I’m a bit skeptical, that’s all.”
Ms. Mota smiled. “I understand, Mr. Rojas. I have heard stories, but I admit, prior to meeting you, my knowledge of clones was mostly academic. I cannot imagine what you and the rest of clone-kind have endured since the war ended. If I may, I should very much appreciate if perhaps, at some point in the near future, you and I could sit down and talk further. Perhaps you could also introduce me to other clones so that I can best get to know you and your experiences. That way, I can learn how best to help you.”
“That would be a real pleasure, Your Honor,” Jace said. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Onima grinning.
“Mr. Rojas,” the chief of state addressed him. “Now that Marshal Gwok’s investigation has reached its conclusion, what will you do next?”
Jace had a completely honest and genuine answer. “I have no idea.”
19
ONIMA SAT BEFORE DIRECTOR Maxwell Samarin in his new office.
He was now on the seventy-first floor. The office was even more well-appointed than his previous one. He had an amazing view that faced the waters of the Persian Gulf. There were four chairs across from Samarin’s desk, another desk behind him, and a conference table with eight chairs, another seating area for four, and a table with a beverage dispenser on the other side of the office.
Again, Onima had flown down in the small shuttle with Yael, leaving Jace and the rest of the team in the Daedalus in the space dock above.
This time, Onima and Yael had crossed from the spaceport to CBI Headquarters above ground, enjoying the twenty-one degrees Celsius fall morning in Dubai. It was nice to enjoy fresh air, unhurried.
Onima and Samarin were meeting face to face to securely go over all the details of the case as Onima prepared to close the investigation from her end. Though she would still keep an eye on the ongoing court cases that were to come, her investigation into the murder of Palmer Cadoret—and the conspiracy to overthrow the AECC government—was complete.
She shared all of the on-the-record information and admissible data with Samarin. Then, she shared some of the other information she, Kara, Jace, Dr. Patel, and Teru had gleaned. That included information that Feroz had been part of gathering before his betrayal.
Samarin was particularly interested in the information about Gray and Chuang and their wartime and pre-war past.
“The new CEO is already making big changes,” Samarin informed Onima. “She’s been extremely cooperative with the Bureau. In fact, Ms. Nakano has scheduled a standing weekly check-in with me personally. In addition to the first twelve company names she’d provided, we have one more.”
“Likely,” Onima began, “based on what we learned about Mr. Cadoret and from Ms. Varma, Ms. Nakano still has a lot to learn of the darker aspects of Gray and Chuang for herself. Hopefully she’s fairly incorruptible.”
“Agreed,” Samarin replied. “But at the same time, she’s a clever and savvy businesswoman. Ms. Nakano didn’t become a deputy director on the board without pushing others down along the way. There’s fire there, evidenced by her near-immediate dismissal of the previous board members.”
Onima raised an eyebrow. “They were surprised?”
“That’s what we’ve gathered,” Samarin said. “We’ve nothing concrete—but that’s not unexpected. Some sour grapes and nasty social media comments have been released by a few of them. If they thought they could control their new CEO and chair, they were sadly mistaken.”
“That gives me hope,” Onima said.
“Me too,” Samarin agreed. Then he grinned. “But despite this, and her clear cooperation, I am still watching them.”
“With less interference, to be sure,” commented Onima, gesturing to the office around them.
Samarin leaned back in his high-backed executive chair. “Can’t deny this is a nice change. And I can’t deny, Marshal Gwok, that I wouldn’t have gotten here without your help.”
“Thank you,” Onima said. One thing she had always appreciated about Samarin was that he recognized his team’s contributions.
Samarin leaned forward. “Now that we’ve concluded this case and it’s more or less closed, there are some other matters to discuss. First and foremost, your job.”
Onima had a suspicion about where this was going. Following her commendation from the Confederation leadership, despite multiple breaches of protocol, the CBI wasn’t going to force her resignation.
Onima said nothing, simply looking to her governor. He had, after all, been telling her for years to work on her poker face.
“After the conspiracy shifted into action—and the roles of several Bureau directors and deputy directors in that came to light—there are open positions,” Samarin stated. “With my promotion, my former role needs to be filled. And I believe, Onima Gwok, you would make an outstanding deputy director of the CBI.”
Onima took a deep breath and let it out slowly. After the commendation from the Confederation, she thought this was a possibility. And she had already considered what she might do, should it come to pass. “Director, I am deeply flattered. While I know that it would be excellent for my overall career with the Bureau, I think the most recent situation has shown how important it is that there be competent marshals outside of the directorate. As such, with respect, I think it would be best if I remain in my present role.”
Samarin’s grin turned into a much broader smile. “Of course. I had to make the offer, Onima. To be honest, I expected this was how you would respond.”
“You know me, sir,” Onima said.
Samarin chuckled. “I do. And I am damned proud of what you have done. We may disagree from time to time, but I know I can trust you to do the right thing.”
Onima smiled.
“Also,” Samarin began, “you know when to skirt the line regarding authority. I trained you well. And you used my breach in protocol better than I ever could have imagined.”
“The specifics of the sequester?”
“Exactly.”
“I knew that you shared that with me for good reason,” Onima said. “I suspect the Bureau will be addressing how sequester gets used in the future?”
“Already underway,” Samarin said.
Onima nodded but said nothing more.
“You should know,” Samarin continued, “that the Aquila is going to be out of commission for at least six months more. The Office of Confederation Defense seriously debated whether replacing the ship’s warp drive and other damaged systems would be worth it. But in the final analysis, they’re going to upgrade, overhaul, and repair it. The Daedalus, thus, is yours so long as you remain a marshal.”
“That works for me,” Onima said. “Does that also mean that I still have Captain Barr?”
“Yes,” Samarin stated. “The Aquila, once returned to service, will get a wholly new team and crew.”
“Very good.”
“On the topic of teams,” Samarin said, “Deputy Marshal Martinez has requested to remain assigned to you.”
Onima grinned. “She’s tired of the vagabond life?”
“Rand bounced her around quite a bit,” Samarin said. “And she told me that not only have the two of you developed quite the rapport, but that she believes she can learn a lot from you.”
“I’m good with that,” Onima said.
“I thought you would be. Further, Deputy Marshal Smith would also like to remain a part of your team. They feel that you have a real understanding of the value of data, and the importance of cryptanalysis to most cases.”
Onima grinned. “Teru is quite the character. I’ve worked with several cryptanalysts during my service, and before I met Deputy Marshal Smith, I thought none were better than Feroz. But I am pleased they wish to remain part of my team.”
Samarin’s face became serious. “Former Special Agent Feroz Jones. Since Upsilon Gi, he’s managed to become naught but a shade. Deputy Marshal Smith has expressed extreme frustration in their inability to track Jones.”
Onima remarked, “Like I said, sir, before I met Teru, I thought none were better than Feroz. It may be some time into the future, but I have no doubt he will turn up again.”
Samarin nodded, then took a deep breath. “And now we come to Jace Rojas. As you are well aware, I was not comfortable with you having this clone as part of your team. However, I understand that he was essential to the investigation, in a multitude of ways, and that you owe him your life.”
“And vice versa,” Onima put in.
“And vice versa. I must admit, after meeting him, I think I have a better understanding of how you were able to see past the clone and find the person there.”
“Yes, sir,” Onima agreed. “Jace has proven himself a real asset to my team. As such, with all due respect, I would like very much to keep him a part of that.”
“I’m not sure about that, Onima,” Samarin remarked. “Besides, what does Mr. Rojas want?”
“He’s not said,” Onima admitted. “But I think I know him well enough to unequivocally state that given the opportunity, he’d want to stay a part of our operations.”
Samarin sighed. “He’s a clone. No matter what the Deputy Chief of State says, clones technically have no rights and, legally, no authority.”
“But, sir,” Onima protested, “need I remind you that Deputy Chief of State Mota legally gave Jace his name? You know that this sets a precedent, and that it’s only a matter of time before more comes of it. Further, you know as well as I do that Ms. Mota will almost definitely serve as the next chief of state after Ms. Narula.”
“As popular and well liked as she is, she’s still a politician. Pushing clone rights forward may undermine that and lessen her popularity.”
“But she did point out, sir, that clones are citizens of the Confederation,” Onima continued. “Maybe their rights are not spelled out as such, but that doesn’t lessen that they are people, too. Without Jace having witnessed this murder and willingly come forward with what he knew, we’d never have uncovered this conspiracy before it was too late, if at all.
“The Confederation and the Bureau are only whole now because of him. I can think of few non-clones who would so willingly have given so much of themselves for the greater cause of humanity.”
“That is part of clone programming,” Samarin remarked. “They are soldiers. They follow orders. One of the things that made clones so worthwhile was their loyalty to their government. To give like that is second nature to them.”
