Vigilantes by Kristine Kathryn Rusch Page B

been simple self-preservation. If Uzvaan had only acted on the facts as he knew them, he would have made fewer mistakes.
    Nyquist let out a deep sigh. Normally, in an interrogation like this, he would have brought in specialists. He would have found someone who understood Peyti culture. He would have brought in someone who actually spoke the language and understood the nuance better than a computer program would have—not that he could access one while in here.
    “All right,” Nyquist said. “Let’s be clear. What, exactly, was your assignment?”
    Uzvaan closed his eyes. His entire body shivered. He turned from gray to bright blue to gray again.
    Normally, Nyquist would have assumed that Uzvaan was breaking such an important stricture that the very act of doing so terrified him at a deep level.
    But Nyquist was going to take Uzvaan’s advice and not assume anything, at the moment, anyway.
    “My…assignment…” Uzvaan said, his voice trembling, “was to end twelve days ago at the appointed hour. I could choose my location, as long as my location was occupied by others and was inside an established organization.”
    Nyquist’s face grew warm. He made himself concentrate on the words, but not on their implications. Even though what Uzvaan told him meant that the others probably had the same assignment—and yes, Nyquist was assuming that.
    “I had to be on the Moon,” Uzvaan said. “I could not contact anyone about this assignment. I had to go to my end quietly. I could not complain. Complaining was failure.”
    And he’d die if he failed. Didn’t Uzvaan see the illogic of this? He was going to die anyway, so what was the price he’d pay for not doing the deed?
    “I was to use a specially designed mask, which would arrive in my mask-upgrade packet before the end date,” Uzvaan said.
    Nyquist wanted clarification of that, but he knew better than to interrupt.
    “The mask would contain the means to the end, as you humans would say. If I did not understand how to use it, it did not matter. I had to try and risk the failure. There would be no additional instructions. To contact the mask maker or anyone from my past would be to fail.”
    Good God. Nyquist clenched a fist, mostly for something to concentrate on, so that he wouldn’t ask questions.
    “I was not to tell anyone what I was assigned. Not at any point,” Uzvaan said.
    He had said that before, so clearly that instruction got repeated often.
    “I was told as a ten-year-old—”
    He did not say “child.” Nyquist found that revealing.
    “—that I would go on to law school for the Earth Alliance. I would qualify for one of three law schools, all the best in the Alliance. To do anything else would be to fail.”
    Nyquist clenched his other fist.
    “I would graduate close to the top of my class, but not at the top of my class. I was not to call unneeded attention to myself,” Uzvaan said.
    Because, Nyquist knew, to do so would be to fail. But he didn’t say that.
    “I would become a defense attorney. I would serve at the Impossibles for the minimum amount of time, and then only accept interviews from Moon-based firms. If I did not get any interviews with Moon-based firms, I was to go to the Moon on my own, and apply for work as a law clerk or legal assistant and work my way up to partner, if possible. The timeline was not as certain here, nor as important, as long as I practiced law on the Moon.”
    Uzvaan met Nyquist’s gaze.
    “I was not to make attachments outside of work. I was not to spend my money extravagantly. I was not to call attention to myself. To do so would be to fail.”
    Nyquist hated that repetition, and he wasn’t Uzvaan. How deep had that concept been drilled into the clones?
    “I was not to leave the Moon in the final year of my existence. I was to proceed to the end moment calmly and without regret. I was to act professionally at all times. I was not to tell anyone that time was nearly up.”
    Uzvaan closed his eyes