Alien Landscapes 2 by Kevin J. Anderson Page A

clones were turned loose in various situations where they gathered real-life experiences that went far beyond anything Candidate Berthold could have learned from teachers or books. . . .
    The last clone spasmed again, and his face fell completely slack, his mouth hung slightly open. His eyelids fluttered but remained closed. A few final, desperate thoughts trickled into Berthold’s mind.
    With a satisfied sigh, he peeled off the transmitter electrodes and motioned for the guards to carry away the limp body. All eighteen of the clones were now vegetables, empty husks wrung dry of every thought and experience. The comatose bodies would be quietly euthanized, and a newly enriched candidate would emerge for the final debates before the elections.
    Berthold stood from his chair, completely well-rounded now, full of vicarious memories, tragic events and pleasant recollections. The chief advisor looked into Berthold’s eyes with obvious pride. “Are you ready, Mr. Candidate?”
    Berthold smiled. “Yes. I have all the background I could possibly need to rule the world . . . though once I get into office, we may decide to continue my education in this manner. Are there more clones?”
    “We can always make more, sir.”
    “There’s no substitute for experience.”
    Berthold stretched his arms and took a deep breath, feeling like a true leader at last. He issued a sharp command to his staff. “Now, let’s go win this election.”

    * * *

Prisoner of War
    According to unofficial military policy, the US Air Force knows exactly what it takes to make the best fighter pilot: balls the size of grapefruits, and brains the size of a pea.
    Some might say that it requires all the good qualities of a fighter pilot to walk in Harlan Ellison’s footsteps. Harlan is always a hard act to follow, and it’s daunting even to try.
    When I first talked with Harlan about doing a sequel to his classic Outer Limits teleplay, “Soldier,” he was very skeptical. Given the sheer number of abysmal sequels and bad spinoffs that have graced bookstore racks and theater screens, I suppose he had good reason. “I’ve never done a sequel to a single one of my stories,” he told me. “I never felt the need. If I got it right the first time, I’ve said all I needed to say.”
    In the course of my writing career I have gathered a rather impressive (if that’s the word) collection of rejection slips—something like 750 at last count—and I never learned to give up when common sense dictacted that I should. So, I went back to Harlan. “Look, you’ve developed a sprawling scenario of a devastating future war, where soldiers are bred and trained to do nothing but fight from birth to death. Are you telling me that there’s only one story to be told in that whole world?”
    So, I got to play with Harlan Ellison’s toys.
    “Prisoner of War” is my tapdance on Harlan’s stage, set in the devastating world of “Soldier.” It is a story about another set of warriors in a never-ending war, men bred for nothing but the battleground—and how they cope with the horrors of…peace.
    As a final note, this story was written on the road during the most gruelling book-signing tour I ever hope to do—a nationwide blitz of twenty-seven cities in twenty-eight days (during which, in the event in Hollywood, I set the Guinness World Record for “Largest Single-Author Book Signing”). I dictated “Prisoner of War” in an unknown number of hotel rooms, wandering down city sidewalks, or at whatever park happened to be closest, before the day’s work of interviews and autograph sessions began. The chance to do something creative and emotionally engaging gave me something to look forward to during the long, long month.

    The first Enemy laser-lances blazed across the battlefield at an unknown time of day. No one paid attention to the hour during a firefight anyway. Neither Barto nor any of his squad-mates could see the sun or moon overhead: too much smoke and haze