Constance (Constance #1)(40)

“Would it surprise you to learn that most of that first generation is gone now?” Gaddis asked.

“Gone? Gone how?”

“The vast majority took their own lives. Those that didn’t were ravaged by addiction and depression. And a disheartening number has simply disappeared from the face of the earth. We have no idea where they are now.”

“What happened?” Con asked in disbelief. This part of the story she hadn’t heard.

“What happened was they were clones. Once they were done serving their country, our government abandoned them. The nation abandoned them. No effort was made to smooth their transition into a world that didn’t know they existed. The project was so highly classified that even their own families didn’t know the truth. Once the media broke the story, it tore those families apart.”

“I had no idea,” she said, appetite finally gone.

“No one does, because it’s gone largely unreported. It’s not in the national interest to dredge it up. The only time we care about veterans is at ball games.” Gaddis emptied the last of the bottle into his glass.

“Jesus,” Con said quietly even as she felt her anger rise. “And knowing all that, you decided to offer cloning to the general public anyway?”

“Yes, I did,” Gaddis answered, taken aback by her challenge. If he thought confessing his sins was the key to her good side, he was in for a rude awakening.

“Why? What the hell were you thinking?”

“I wish there was a nobler answer, but I’m a businessman. I was thinking there was a lot of money to be made. Abigail wanted to hit pause, discuss the ramifications, but there wasn’t time for that. Once the media got ahold of the story, I knew I had to move decisively or risk having everything we’d built washed away in the tide of public opinion. I honestly thought that once we overcame their primitivistic skepticism, we’d be able to convince Americans of all the good Palingenesis was doing. We cheat death. Literally. It’s been mankind’s dream since we left our caves, and Palingenesis made it a reality.” Gaddis stopped himself, embarrassed by his own fervor. “You have to understand, in those days, I was evangelical about cloning. I was wrong as I could be.”

That surprised her. She didn’t take him for a man prone to admitting to mistakes. “So what changed your mind?”

“The plane crash,” he answered simply. “Cynthia and I both died. She always supported my work but never had any desire to have a clone herself. So when I was revived at Palingenesis, I was alone. Disoriented. In denial. Sound familiar?”

“Yeah, very.”

“I founded Palingenesis, but I didn’t understand what it meant to be a clone. I thought I did. I thought I empathized, but I was too in love with its potential. I couldn’t see the toll that being a clone took on our clients as anything but an acceptable trade-off. It took dying for me to see how unethical it all was.”

“Unethical? So, what . . . you don’t think clones are people now?”

Gaddis shook his head. “No, nothing like that. Of course we’re people. I’ve also had plenty of time to consider that question, believe me. It was the one thing I wasn’t wrong about when I woke up five years ago.”

“So clones are people, but you’re against cloning? How does that work?”

“How long have you been a clone? Two days now? How are you enjoying the experience so far?” he asked rhetorically.

Con was saved from answering by Peter, who chose that moment to reemerge from the house, his timing forever impeccable. He leaned in close to whisper in Gaddis’s ear. Gaddis’s face hardened. The hollow boom of the surf against the seawalls rumbled in the distance.

“They’re all here now?” Gaddis asked.

“Yes, sir. In the foyer. Should I send them away?”

Gaddis frowned. “No, that would only make matters worse. Aldous doesn’t like to leave the house any more than I do. He’ll take it badly if he made a great show of it for nothing. Bring them out.”

“Yes, sir,” Peter said and went to get them.

“Problem?” Con asked.

“My other fire has arrived,” Gaddis said.

“I should go,” Con said, moving to rise. “We can finish talking later.”

“No, you should stay. This concerns you too now.”

Peter let three men out onto the veranda. Even from a distance, Con could see their barely checked anger. They had no patience for standing on ceremony and brushed past Peter. From the look Peter gave Gaddis, he would have gladly thrown all three into the Chesapeake Bay if given the order. Gaddis waved him off even as the men crowded around him. If it had been her, Con would have felt the need to stand up and get some space, but Gaddis sipped his wine and regarded them clinically.

“Gentlemen,” he said. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Is it true?” demanded the first man, a tall Sikh whose forehead was harrowed by frown lines.

“Is it?” echoed the second, a plump white man with a patrician nose and country-club jowls.

The third man, also white, said nothing. He was the shortest of the three, but Con found his quiet gravity intimidating. He stood with his hands thrust into his pockets, sports coat swept back stylishly.

“Is what true?” Gaddis said.