Legion Of The Damned - 02 - The Final Battle Read Online Free PDF Page B

to the universe as a whole: “Life sucks.”
     
    Alpha Clone Marcus-Six rounded a corner and started down the marble-lined corridor that led to the Chamber of Governmental Process. Guards, their weapons, uniforms, and faces completely identical, lined both sides of the hall and snapped to attention as Marcus approached.
    Their rifle salutes were identical, as they should have been, given the fact that every single one of them had been cloned from the badly mutilated body of a soldier named Jonathan Alan Sebo, a hero of a mostly forgotten war who was said to have embodied all the virtues of the perfect foot soldier, and had therefore been chosen as the donor from which entire armies had been cloned.
    Each soldier had different experiences of course, giving rise to different personalities, but they still had a great deal in common, including durable bodies, enough intelligence to operate high-tech weapons, and an almost fanatical determination to carry out whatever orders they were given.
    The clone army had already proved its worth, because while it had been defeated by the Legion, it had won some battles as well, and never permitted more than what the Alpha clone thought of as a temporary occupation of Alpha-001, just one of the many things he and his peers were about to discuss.
    The last of the soldiers popped to attention, a laser beam scanned the pigment-based bar code on the Alpha clone’s forehead, and the doors swished out of his way. Never breaking step, Marcus entered the Chamber of Governmental Process.
    It was a large room, circular in shape, with a highly polished white floor. Triangles of shiny black marble pointed in towards the center of the room, where a beautifully wrought double helix served as both a pillar and sculpture. The Alpha clone knew that it was modeled after a single molecule of a chemical substance called deoxyribonucleic acid, or DNA, the basic building block for all living organisms, and the only symbol his religion permitted.
    The sculpture shimmered as bars of light representing the four chemical compounds called bases floated upward and disappeared into the ceiling. A circular table fronted the symbol. A pair of men rose to greet him. An outsider would have been at a loss to know who was who but Marcus had no such difficulty.
    Pietro looked much as he did himself, with light brown skin, flashing black eyes, and perfect teeth. But the stylized silver clasp worn on the left shoulder of his carefully draped toga, and the almost military way in which he held himself were unmistakably his.

    Antonio used pomade on his hair, and arranged it in ringlets, a conceit Marcus found especially unattractive. Still, Antonio was the less rigid of the two, and therefore the more likable.
    Taken together, they were “The Triad of One,” the supreme leaders of the Clone Hegemony, and outside of the donor duplicates kept on permanent standby at various medical centers, the only representatives of their particular parent currently alive.
    Given the fact that life span is determined in part by heredity, and the previous generation had died in quick succession, the current triad had been decanted within a few years of one another. Others would follow of course—but that would be many years in the future.
    Marcus nodded politely. “Greetings, Pietro. Welcome, Antonio. Sorry I’m late. The president’s security people changed the landing site again. A standard counter-assassination tactic but bothersome nonetheless.”
    Both men bowed, not out of deference, for all three were of equal rank, but because this was his planet rather than one of theirs. They spoke in unison and their voices had exactly the same timbre. “Greetings, Marcus. You look wonderful.”
    It was an old joke but Marcus laughed anyway. “Thanks. So do you. Shall we sit?”
    The other Alpha clones nodded and took their traditional places around the table. The chairs had been custom designed for their third-generation predecessors and still