‘He’s not. Trust me. We opened a case file on Vincent Acraman eight years ago. We suspect he has been engaged in this cloning activity for a lot longer.’

‘But . . . Who did he clone?’

Paula Myo’s stare was unflinching. ‘You.’

*

There were tears. A lot of tears. Paula had been ready for that. Not that it made watching any easier; poor Alicia’s suffering was awful to behold. She cried so hard. Sobbing uncontrollably as the constable from her hometown helped her up from the table.

‘It can’t be right,’ Alicia wailed dismally as she was gently led off the platform.

Paula let out a long breath and pinched out the candle flame in the middle of the romantic table for two.

Somebody started a slow handclap. A deliberately mocking sound that was disturbingly loud amid the silence of the remaining stunned diners.

Paula turned round, about to order her u-shadow to run an identity scan. Then she saw who it was sitting all by himself. She’d walked right past him earlier, she was so intent on Vincent Hal Acraman, her constant low-level fieldscan reporting no immediate threats.

‘Well done, Investigator,’ Nigel Sheldon said. ‘You got your man yet again.’ He held up a wine glass towards her. ‘Here. I chose a Camissie; you always like a fruity white. Nicely chilled, too.’

It wasn’t often Paula found herself lost for words. ‘Nigel. What are you doing here?’

He played the mock innocent well, gesturing at his table with its two place settings. ‘Waiting for you.’

‘Nigel . . .’

‘Oww, come on,’ he grinned. ‘It’s a beautiful night, on a planet that’s a little wild and invigorating. You closed another case perfectly. Don’t waste the moment. Celebrate with me.’

Paula sat down opposite him. ‘You’re not going to propose again, are you? That’s so old.’

He poured some of the Camissie into his own glass. ‘Of course not. I’m happily married.’

‘You always have been.’

‘Monogamously now.’

‘Hummm.’ She raised a questioning eyebrow.

‘You’re such a cynic.’

‘How did you know I was going to be here?’

‘I have a few people who still owe me favours; they checked with your office.’ He nodded at the weeping Alicia’s departing back. ‘That was bad timing on your part.’

‘It was in-the-nick-of-time timing, if you ask me,’ Paula corrected.

‘Poor Alicia doesn’t think so. But surely ’tis better to have loved and lost . . .’

‘Vincent Hal Acraman has been doing quite enough loving, thank you.’

Nigel smiled appreciatively. ‘So you still don’t compromise?’

‘You know the answer to that.’

‘Yes, but – this is really what you’re spending your time doing these days? Chasing after an illegal cloning operation?’

‘It was a weird one.’

‘And you do like your weird, don’t you? They’re the best challenge, I suppose. But, still, isn’t this a bit small for you?’

‘Why do I get the feeling you’re building up to something?’

‘Because you’re the best detective there’s ever been. So come on: chill, tell me, brag a bit to someone who appreciates you, how bad has dear old Vincent been?’

Paula took a sip of the wine, and it was a good choice. ‘Bad. He’s cloned Beatrice Lissard twenty-eight times that we know of, but he’s good at covering his tracks. Digby will give him a memory read when they get back to Paris. I almost don’t want to know what the true number will be.’

‘And who’s Beatrice?’

‘An old girlfriend of his. Very old. I interviewed her a while back. She and Vincent grew up on Kenyang three hundred years ago. And when he was twenty and she was seventeen, they fell in love. It was as wonderful as it always is at that age, then it fell apart.’

‘As it always does at that age.’

‘Quite. He was starting to get obsessional as well as over-possessive, so she moved on and found someone else. He never did.’

Nigel’s green eyes widened in understanding. ‘So he cloned her and lived the romance all over again.’

‘And again, and again, and—’

‘Then Alicia . . . ?’

‘Is Beatrice, yes. The latest one. He’s a Higher, so biononics maintain his body at biological age twenty.’

‘So every time the clone girl reaches seventeen . . . Urgggh.’ Nigel wrinkled his nose and took a large drink. ‘Definitely a weird one. So just to complete the creepiness, does he raise them himself?’

‘No. That’s why he only operates on the External worlds. He finds some Natural human woman who’s having second thoughts about her impending demise. It’s common enough out here. Faith often wavers in the face of death when you can see other Factions of our species carrying on partying for centuries. He poses as a representative from a Higher-sponsored charity that offers her money in a trust which will pay to have Advancer genes spliced in during a rejuvenation. That way she’ll get a couple of extra centuries without even enriching with biononics. But the price of the trust fund is raising a poor little infant orphan girl.’

‘Weird and sick.’

‘Yeah. I’m not even sure what you call this. Serial first-lover?’

‘How did you catch him?’

‘Not all the Beatrice clones turned out devout Naturals after their affair burnt out. Some of them started to migrate towards the Central worlds and got themselves some good new Advancer genes spliced in. Two of them wound up on Oaktier – twenty-three years apart.’ She raised her eyebrows significantly. ‘Eight years ago, when the second one checked in at a clinic and got herself assayed – surprise, her genome was already registered in the government archive.’

‘I’m curious: what specialist?’

‘Excuse me?’

You told Alicia you’ve arranged a specialist counsellor for her. What specialist?’

‘Troubled adolescents.’

‘Ah, right, no shortage of them. So when the memory read gives you the identity of all the clones, will you put the numerous Beatrices in touch with each other?’

‘I’ve no idea.’ Paula started to read the menu. It was printed on a sheet of card, which was a novelty; it reminded her of her official homeworld: Huxley’s Haven. ‘That one I can comfortably kick upstairs.’

‘Paula, you don’t have an upstairs. Even ANA does what you ask. It recognizes your value.’

She grinned. ‘Ah, is this when you tell me what tonight is all about?’

‘I’m leaving the Commonwealth, did you know that?’

‘Your Dynasty’s latest colony fleet will be finished in three years.’

‘Of course you know that,’ he said sourly.

She smiled demurely. ‘Unless you bottle out again.’

‘That’s a little harsh, don’t you think?’

‘Everybody thinks you left on your Dynasty’s big colony fleet in 3000. Why didn’t you?’

‘There was some . . . stuff I needed to do. Besides, living in obscurity has its advantages. Do you know how wonderful it is to be able to walk about in public without anyone bugging me? For a start, I can invite a beautiful woman to dinner and it’s not an instant shotgun event right across the unisphere.’

‘Wait, you weren’t going to ask me to go with you? That’s worse than marriage.’

‘Hey, I’m not that awful.’

‘No. Sorry. That came out wrong. I don’t want to leave, Nigel.’

‘I understand. I’m proud of you, you know that, Paula?’

‘Proud? What am I, a pet?’

‘I made the Commonwealth possible with wormhole technology – well, me and Ozzie. And only something as wondrously crazy as the Commonwealth could create you.’

‘Yeah, I was inevitable right from the moment Ozzie set foot on Mars.’

‘Hey, I was the first one who set foot on Mars, thank you! Ozzie didn’t trust the spacesuit we’d cobbled together. Believe it or not, he was a conservative little nerd in those days.’

‘Oooh, sensitive.’

‘Touché.’ He raised his glass.

‘So why are you finally leaving? Getting bored with your creation?’

‘Exasperated, more like.’

She loaded her order into the isle’s tiny network. Pan-fried choonfish in a garlic butter sauce, with crushed new potatoes and sugarsnap peas. Behind the counter, the chef gave her an approving nod. ‘So we’re at fault?’