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Marisol made a decision. She walked up to that clone and offered him her weapon. He gawked, refusing to accept it by taking a step back.
“This is me giving you my trust. Please tell me who wants to kill me and who ordered you to come here. Otherwise, just shoot me. I’d rather see it coming than have to worry about the next time someone launches a sneak attack.”
The tallest clone paled a little. The first female stepped closer. Marisol offered the weapon to her.
The female ignored it. “You will tell someone, and they’ll know we spoke the truth to you,” the clone whispered. “It’s forbidden. We’re the only four who know.”
“I won’t,” Marisol swore. “Just tell me what is going on.”
The female glanced at her clone counterparts. They seemed to study each other. The second female clone walked around them and addressed Marisol.
“I’ll tell you, but if you let on that you know the truth, we’re all dead.”
Marisol faced her. “I give you my word.”
“We come in here every three months. We’re your classified medical team, Ms. Florigo. You should have eaten your dinner that was drugged to put you to sleep. We give you plasma.”
Marisol stared at the female clone, letting her words sink in. Her heart pounded, and she felt lightheaded. The implications shocked her to the core. “Oh shit.”
“We’re sorry. You weren’t supposed to ever learn the truth,” the second female clone whispered. “You look ready to faint. May I?”
She didn’t wait for permission but came at Marisol, dropping the med bag she held, and carefully wrapped an arm around her waist. Then she led Marisol to a chair at the dining room table and eased her down to sit.
Tears filled Marisol’s eyes, but she didn’t try to hide them. “When? How?”
The female clone crouched in front of her seat. “Take deep breaths.”
She listened, doing exactly that. “What’s your name?”
“MC-3.”
“M for medic, but what does the C stand for?” Marisol tried to focus on that instead of the horror of what she’d just learned.
“Classified.” The female clone paused. “That is the actual title. We four were created to take care of you and were labeled that way. We’d never hurt you, Ms. Florigo. You die, we die. You’re our sole purpose.”
Marisol understood. Her grandfather had ordered a team of medic clones to be created, and the only job was to take care of her. “Three?”
“Third member of our four-person classified medic team.”
She glanced at the other three, then back at MC-3. “When? How? Do you know?”
The female clone took the weapon from her loose fingers and placed it on the floor. “Does it matter? We’ll be blamed if anyone finds out that you’ve realized the truth.”
“I just want answers. Please. When did I die? I died, right? I’m a clone. One with memories since I didn’t even know I was a clone. That’s why you brought plasma. My gramps did this?” Marisol answered her own question before they could. “Of course, he did. He’s the only one who could.”
The other female clone cleared her throat. “The file we were given says you were on the Barlish station when there was a docking accident.”
MC-3 took one of her hands, holding it. “The file states that two of your security officers died that day with you. They were escorting you to a shuttle on your way home when a pilot of another vessel made a fatal mistake. He hadn’t completely unfastened the docking clamps. There was a breach in that section of the docking bay, and you were sucked into space.”
Marisol tried to remember but couldn’t. The last time she’d been to that station had been when Free was supposed to meet her. Only he’d never contacted her. The trip home was a blur of her feeling really sick, but she’d been heartbroken. Only I never made it home, did I? Marisol died. Then she’d woken as a clone, not even knowing the truth.
MC-3 released her hand and gently cupped Marisol’s face, forcing her to stare into her brown eyes. “You were blown into space. It would have happened fast. The rest of your security team quickly located and retrieved you with a shuttle. They were ordered to put your body into stasis to preserve it and immediately fly to Earth.”
Marisol was able to put together what must have happened from there. “So I could be made into an illegal clone. I have memories, although some of them have obviously been altered.”
“It’s why you’re classified.”
“I don’t have the tattoo or any scarring on my hip from where I would have been grown.” Marisol was certain of that.
