James Hammond considered the tableau of the Federation starship bridge on his comscreen with a mixture of fascination and revulsion. Beside the elderly Starfleet captain stood some disgusting alien that might have been the result of recombinant DNA experiments with human and pig genes. Behind those two loomed a gigantic blue antennaed insect, staring at him with blank pale eyes, towering above a small and impossibly frail-looking little man with a computer circuit imbedded in the side of his hairless, oversized head. There were several other human-looking individuals scattered about, but who could guess how much actual human blood flowed in any of their veins? He felt his stomach clenching at the very thought that all the creatures in this menagerie could freely interact with one another.

But of course, he had to contain his reactions. He didn’t know much about the Federation—he was just out of Incubation and had barely begun Imprinting when they first visited Mariposa—but he knew they were not a force to be trifled with. Eleven years ago, without a single shot being fired, they had bent his world to their will, destroying what his people had spent nearly three centuries creating.

Which made dealing with them now almost a greater challenge than what he had faced in the past forty-eight hours. Calling upon the interpersonal skills that the Progenitors had passed down to him through their genes and their engrams, James leaned back away from the screen and lowered his shoulders, projecting a friendlier demeanor. “You seem concerned still, Captain.”

“You have to admit, this is a rather sudden change.”

James couldn’t help but grin at that. “From our perspective, this change has been over ten years in the making.”

“And there’s the small matter of the energy-dampening field…”

“A temporary safety measure,” James said. “Once the Alliance for Mariposan Primacy has stabilized its power, we’ll be able to allow normal energy usage.”

“This field of yours is also blocking out our scans, and severely restricting our communication with the planet.”

James had no trouble catching the unspoken meaning behind Gold’s words. “You distrust us, Captain,” he said, carefully masking any sign of resentment. “You think we’re hiding something from you.”

“The possibility did occur to me.”

Well, of course it did, James realized. Earth history was a long pattern of horrors and atrocities by charismatic leaders, almost inevitably followed by cover-ups and historical revision. The Progenitors had struck out for the stars in order to escape the cycle of self-destruction the rest of humanity had seemed caught in. Captain Gold was clearly considering him through that warped cultural filter.

“Captain, I understand your suspicion, but before you form any opinions about us, you need to take into consideration the nature of the Mariposan people. The Progenitors’ ship spent months in uncharted space, searching for an inhabitable world they had no guarantee of finding. Then, once they did, they were nearly all killed by a series of breaches ripped in the ship’s skin upon landing. Nearly three hundred perished, while only five survived.

“Think about that. Five out of hundreds, on a strange planet light-years from anything they’d ever known in their lives. Many people in their situation would probably envy the dead. But those people refused to yield to fate. They not only managed to overcome this crippling blow, but managed also to create a new society, a unique culture capable of incredible scientific breakthroughs and cultural accomplishments. Surely, you have to agree that the fact that we are here, talking to you today, verges on the miraculous.”

“It is undeniably amazing,” the Starfleet captain admitted. James could see that Gold’s appreciation was real; even the pig-man seemed to be moved by his words. James repressed another shiver of revulsion as he refocused his attention on the human.

“Then you must also allow that the Mariposan society that accomplished all this deserves to be preserved,” James continued, leaning forward now to drive his argument home. “This society was created solely from the genes of these five extraordinary individuals. No mixing, no diluting, no polluting. What we’ve done, we did with pure genetic lines.” James thumped the fingertips of his right hand on his desktop, punctuating those last three words. “That is why, Captain Gold, we had to liberate this world from the rule of outsiders, and the traitors who tolerated them, so that we could reestablish that which made us the exceptional people that we are.” Then he flashed the old man his most charming, confidence-inducing smile. “I’m certain you recognize the merit of this.”

Gold stared back silently, his face blank and unreadable. Then he looked to a dark-haired humanoid at a console behind him, and with a subtle hand gesture, the Starfleet ship ceased transmitting.

James Hammond allowed himself a brief moment of self-congratulation. All his life, he’d had his abilities questioned. Not only was he a 15—developed from a fifteenth-generation cell line, the furthest removed line from John Hammond’s original DNA that could still develop into a viable clone—but he was also of the group of clones that, because the Federation had confiscated all their cloning equipment, was not subjected to the same rigorous screenings for hidden genetic faults.

No one could ever question him again. Not only had he orchestrated the overthrow of Wilson Granger’s farcical excuse for a government, but he had also made the arrogant Federation, who had brought this Bringloidi plague on them in the first place, abandon their seemingly instinctive need to interfere in other societies.

By the time he allowed himself to consider that this sense of victory might have been premature, it was too late.

He’d dismissed the distant explosion—what he would eventually understand was the dampening field being overloaded—as just another distant skirmish between his supporters and die-hard Wilson Granger loyalists. The next three, coming in rapid succession and shaking the Security Ministry emergency control center he’d captured at the beginning of their offensive, caused the first cracks in his self-assuredness.

The ones that followed caused cracks in the walls. Despite the defensive shielding around the underground facility, the lights began to flicker wildly. He heard the distinctive whine of phase pistols firing just beyond the door to the room’s single access tunnel.

Once the shock of the realization of his own vulnerability faded, James jabbed a shaking finger at the comscreen on the desk, hailing the Federation ship. Several more explosions shook the room as he jabbed at the still-darkened console, spewing a stream of curses at the filthy spawn of random sexual reproduction. When the old captain finally did appear on his screen, he didn’t even bother to feign civility. “What have you done?” he screamed.

“I should think that would be obvious by now, Mr. Hammond.” Gold’s voice was hard and unapologetic. Had he misread the old man’s reaction to his logic so badly?

The explosions were getting closer, but James did not hear them. There was little he could do, at any rate. This was in the most secure area in the Capital Complex, with only one way in, or out. If the traitors were able to fight their way through the A.M.P.’s defenses—which without the dampening field was a near certainty—he was dead. Even worse, so was Mariposa; there would be no second opportunities here. “Tell me, Captain Gold,” James said, “do Earth-bred humans still believe in gods?”

James couldn’t read the old troublemaker’s expression through the distortions, but his voice was crystal clear. “Some of us, yes. I do.”

“Then may they all damn you,” James growled, even as he heard the blows against the door behind him, and the squeal of the locking bolts being torn from the frame. The acrid smell of scorched metal and burnt circuits followed them in from the corridor, testament to how much they had wantonly destroyed. He stood stock-still, unable to face the traitors to the Mariposan people as they burst into the room.

“Move away from the console!” a deep voice boomed. James did not move a muscle, glowering at the screen. A part of him wanted to laugh at the comic looks that had come across the da Vinci crew’s faces as they witnessed the scene playing out for them. Then he was grabbed by the shoulder and spun around, forcing him to face the six-man assault team…

…all of whom shared with him the hard, dark face of their common Progenitor.

Knowing that the Mariposans were clones did nothing to dull the surprise of witnessing a man being attacked by an army of his exact duplicates. Gold watched in fascination as one of the counterinsurgents grabbed James Hammond by his collar and yanked him out of his chair. He lifted the would-be revolutionary so they were nose to nose, and growled something no one on the bridge caught. He then threw the prisoner across the room, into the waiting arms of two other clones, who nearly twisted James’s shoulders loose as they bound his wrists behind his back. Once James was secured and led from the room, the clone leader turned his attention to the audience watching from the comscreen. “Do we have you to thank for destroying the dampening field generator?”

“That was our doing, yes,” Gold answered, hoping his eyes weren’t bulging too far out of their sockets.

“You have our gratitude,” the clone said, somewhat breathless after their paramilitary operation. He ran a sleeve across his sweat-soaked brow and said, “I am Kevin Hammond, Security Minister of the United Ficus Colony.”

The captain nodded. “I’m David Gold, captain of the Federation starship da Vinci. What in blazes is going on down there?”

The Mariposan gave Gold a tired, humorless smile. “That’s the same question that’s been haunting us for the past forty-eight hours.” Gold suspected the man was speaking literally; he looked ready to collapse from exhaustion at any moment. “The prime ministers have asked that, once our situation down here is stabilized, you would come meet—” A coughing fit suddenly seized him, his whole body shaking as if the room temperature had suddenly dropped thirty degrees. His remaining colleagues, who had been securing stations around the room’s perimeter, suddenly froze and whipped their heads toward their leader. Gold thought he heard one of them mutter a profanity under his breath, and all three simultaneously bolted for the door.

The clone’s coughing jag continued for close to a minute, during which Gold could only watch with growing concern. He heard Gomez quietly instructing Shabalala to pipe the interchange down to Lense in sickbay, and he gave her a nod acknowledging the move. The security minister finally stopped, and looked directly into the screen again. His eyes were watering, and a shiny layer of red-tinged phlegm coated his lower face from nose to chin. “Well, so much for stabilizing the situation,” he said hoarsely.

“Minister Hammond? This is Dr. Elizabeth Lense, ship’s medical officer.” A small box appeared in the lower corner of the viewscreen with the doctor’s image; Gold assumed Hammond was seeing a similar inset on his end. “Are you all right?”

“I don’t seem to be, do I?” he answered. “Dammit, and I was so sure I’d licked it. Bastards.”

“What is it?” Lense pressed.

Hammond shook his head slightly, and then grabbed on to the console in front of him to keep from toppling over in dizziness. “We don’t know. It hit our hospital first. Took out two-thirds of the medical staff before they even knew what was happening. At least two hundred are already dead.” He lowered his head to take a couple of difficult breaths, then looked up again. “At the risk of overstepping my authority, Doctor, we could really use whatever help you can give us.”

Even before he had finished his sentence, Lense was asking, “Captain, permission to beam down immediately.”

“Lense…” Gold started, then hesitated. He had just witnessed the effects of a coup, a countercoup, and some sort of highly virulent disease that he gathered had been used by Hammond’s “bastards” as a biological weapon. It wasn’t a situation he wanted to let any one of his people waltz into. But then, it wasn’t about what he wanted. “Granted,” Gold said, “but I want one of Corsi’s people with you, and I want you both to take every medical precaution.”

“That shouldn’t be necessary, Captain,” Kevin Hammond said. He was growing more and more breathless, and yet he managed an ironic grin. “This bug is very particular about who it bites.”

“How particular?” Lense asked.

“Docs say it was designed to infect only five specific genetic profiles.” Hammond coughed once, then added, “Unfortunately, that makes it lethal to half the planet.”