"Serrano Legacy - 03 - Winning Colors" - читать интересную книгу автора (Moon Elizabeth)

"Yesа.а.а. that is, he's a good friend of our family."
"Mmm. Wellа.а.а. we'll be in touch. If you'll just give me your local address." Clearly a dismissal. Ronnie looked at George and shrugged. Whatever the man thought, theywere the Familias in this matter, and when he viewed the cube he would probably feel differently about it. In the meantime, they had a world to explore.
Naturally, they spent that evening discovering the many ways in which young people of the city amused themselves.
"Let's not stay too long anywhere," George said, as he watched two stunning women stroll out of the bar they were just entering.
"Mmm. No." Ronnie, with Raffa at the back of his mind, was more interested in music. He had chosen this bar not quite at random, from the music drifting out when the door opened. "Come on, GeorgeЧwe still haven't eaten yet."
"That's not what I meant," George said, but he settled at the table Ronnie chose, and punched up the table's menu. "AhЧI'm hungry too, and they have an illustrated menu. Makes up for their incomprehensible language." George, having declined to "waste any time" with the Guernesi language tapes, was finding it difficult without his usual audience for repartee. Ronnie, who had known he had no aptitude for language learning, now had a serviceable set of travelers' phrases, although he suspected his accent was atrocious. Ronnie leaned back and looked at the musicians clumped on a tiny stage. He saw two instruments new to him, one with strings and one that he guessed was a woodwind. His gaze drifted toward the bar itselfа.а.а. and he grabbed George's arm.
"GeorgeЧlook over there. Who's that remind you of?"
"WhoЧgood lord, it is. Gerel. But he's deadЧyour aunt said he died on her yacht."
"Well,that's not dead. If it's not Gerel, it must be a clone. Do you suppose the Guernesi did it?" Through Ronnie's mind ran all the grisly possibilities he'd ever heard of, mostly from wild adventure yarns. Clones developed from the cells of dead men, raised to seek vengeance on murderers and the like.
"It hasn't been that longЧI thought they took years to grow." George, clearly, was thinking of the same stories.
"We'd better find out," said Ronnie. "Suppose Aunt Cecelia was wrong? Someone ought to know." Memory tugged at him with that phrase. Who'd said that, with disastrous results? He watched the princeЧor his cloneЧtake a long swallow of something in a tankard. It had to be the prince. That way of holding his head, the way his shoulders moved when he drankЧit couldn't be anyone else.
"Wait for me," he said. "I've got to check this out." Without hearing whatever George tried to say, he moved closer, his awareness narrowing to the young man at the bar as if he were a hunter stalking prey. When he was close enough, he cleared his throat; the young man looked around, the very picture of slightly bored courtesy.
"Excuse me," Ronnie said. "I believe we metЧyou're GerelЧ"
"You're mistaken," the young man said, interrupting. "My name is Gerald Andres Smith, but we've never met." His eyes had betrayed him, with a moment of fear now shuttered in caution.
"Ah," said Ronnie, who had no idea what to say next. This close, the young man looked exactly like the prince, but a prince not as stupefied as he had been in the last few years. Even the little scar on the temple, from the time he'd fallen against a goalpost playing soccer. "I'mа.а.а. sorry to bother you," Ronnie went on. "But you remind me very much of someone I grew up with. Extraordinary resemblance."
"I'm sorry," the young man said, with what appeared to be genuine sorrow. "But I think we need not continue this conversation. Under the circumstances."
"ButЧ" Ronnie felt a little nudge under his pocket and glanced down. Something glinted there, something his mind recognized, refused, and recognized again.
"I'm sorry," the young man said again. "But I'm not going back."
"But I didn't meanЧ" Ronnie got that out as fast as he could. The young man's eyes, Gerel's eyes, met his.
"Whatever you meant, it's trouble for me. I don't want trouble. I want to live here, and be left alone. My treatments are almost finished."
"RonnieЧwhat's wrong?" That was George, finally aware that Ronnie was in trouble. But he was in danger too. Ronnie couldn't think what to do or say. Then he glanced beyond George, and saw another princeЧor cloneЧor whatever they were.
"We need to go outside," said the one whose weapon nudged his ribs. "Don't we?"
Anti-terrorism lectures had instructed Ronnie that going with an abductor made things worseЧresist in place, he'd been told. But the lectures hadn't told him about the sudden hollow feeling under his breastbone, or the way his knees would tremble, when he thought about the weapon pressed to his side. And he was sure this was Gerel, whom he'd known all his life. Gerel might want to have their postponed duel at last, but he was honorableа.а.а. wasn't he?
"Are you planning to kill us outside?" he asked, just to be sure.
"I very much hope not," the young man said. "But it's imperative that we talk without witnesses, and I don't intend to argue with you."
Much more decision than Gerel had shown in years, but Ronnie felt vaguely comforted. "All right," he said. "Don't hurt George. He went through enough last time."
The young man's mouth twitched. "I know. But we can't talk about it here. Come on."
George, who had been stopped from an outburst by the same surprise as Ronnie, said plaintively, "But whoare you?"
The two identical young men gave each other quick, amused glances. "Gerald Smith," they said in unison.
Herded between the two Geralds, Ronnie and George found themselves moving along a crowded street, then into a less crowded one, and finally into a tiny tavern opening on a square with a fountain.
"I didn't know there were places like this here," George said, looking around. It was empty except for an aproned woman behind the bar, and the four of them. "Until now, the Guernesi have been entirely too practical for my tasteЧeverything modern and convenient." Ronnie wondered if his unconcerned tone fooled the GeraldsЧit didn't fool him.
"This is modern and convenient," one Gerald said. "The Guernesi simply have a different style of modern and convenient. They like small gathering places that cater to particular clients."
"Like clones?" George said, as if determined to make a point of it.
"Clones aren't illegal in the Guerni Republic," the same Gerald said. "In fact, clone work groups are common, even preferred for some occupations."
"Like abducting people?" George said. Ronnie wanted to throttle himЧhadn't he learned his lesson on the island? Did he still think he was invincible?
"The odious George," said the other Gerald, almost affectionately. "You haven't changed a bit."
"You are the prince's clones," Ronnie said. He hardly believed it, even now. They looked steadily back at him, then sighed in unison. It was eerie.
"Yes," one of them said. "We are. Illegally created, in the Familias Regnant, to be the prince's doubles when necessary. No one was supposed to know about us, except the necessary few." The other one snorted, a knowing snort, and Ronnie looked at him.
"A secret kept by a couple of doctors, implant-tape technicians, the odd crown minister, the king's immediate family, and who knows what other oddments can hardly be called a secret."
"Did Gerel know about you?" asked Ronnie.
"Oh, yes. He thought it was some kind of game. He wished we could all be together like brothersЧhe missed his brothers a lot, I thinkЧbut of course that was impossible. The only times we were together, in that sense, was when we underwent the matching programming."
"Which is?" George asked.
"Conditioning tapes shared among us, so that we all knew what the public persona was supposed to know, and anything of Gerel's that they felt we needed. Cosmetic alterations to match appearance, following any trauma." The clones touched the matching scars that had convinced Ronnie they had to be Gerel himself. "And no, that didn't hurt. They were humane, our controllers, if you look at it that way."
"I don't think I do," said George. "It doesn't seem fairЧ"
They both shrugged. "No one chooses a birth," the one on the left said. "It was a better life than many. Privilege, wealth, an endless party in a way. You know that."
"Yes." Ronnie found it hard to remember clearly how he had thought two years agoЧit was embarrassing, reallyЧbut he knew he, like the prince, had assumed limitless privilege, boundless wealth, and constant entertainment were his birthright.
"I owe you an apology, really," said the one on the right.
"For threatening me?"
"Noа.а.а. for causing trouble between you and the prince. The quarrel was really my fault," the clone said. He traced designs on the tabletop with the condensation from his beer mug. "Gerel Prime had lost interest in that singer months before, but I hadn't. Her voiceЧI don't know what you did in your time with her, but I was learning opera, you see. She thought it was touching that the prince really cared about music. I prolonged the relationship, so it overlapped with yours. You were jealous, I thinkЧand she certainly found you a better bed partner than I, who cared only for her voice."
"If you'll excuse my mentioning it," George said, "you seem to beа.а.а. erа.а.а. brighter than the prince was toward the end."