The Hand You're Dealt

I decided to tell him the truth. “There are only two different sets of DNA in your house — one female, as you’d expect, and just one male.”

Glen said nothing.

“I had the male DNA read. I was looking for a trait that might have provided a motive for your father. You know what I found.”

Glen was still silent.

“When your dad’s sooth was read just after birth, maybe his parents were told that he was sterile. Certainly the proof is there, in his DNA: an inability to produce viable sperm.” I paused, remembering the details Rundstedt had explained to me. “But the soothsayer back then couldn’t have known the effect of having the variant form of gene ABL-419d, with over a hundred T-A-T repeats. That variation’s function hadn’t been identified that long ago. But it was known by the time Rodger turned eighteen, by the time he went to see his big brother Skye, by the time Skye gave him his adult soothsaying.” I paused. “But Uncle Skye hated confrontation, didn’t he?”

Glen was motionless, a statue.

“And so Skye lied to your dad. Oh, he told him about his sterility, all right, but he figured there was no point in getting into an argument about what that variant gene meant.”

Glen looked at the ground. When at last he did speak, his voice was bitter. “I had thought Dad knew. I confronted him — Christ sakes, Dad, if you knew you had a gene for incestuous pedophilia, why the hell didn’t you seek counseling? Why the hell did you have kids?”

“But your father didn’t know, did he?”

Glen shook his head. “That bastard Uncle Skye hadn’t told him.”

“In fairness,” I said, “Skye probably figured that since your father couldn’t have kids, the problem would never come up. But your dad made a lot of money, and wanted it to pass to an heir. And since he couldn’t have an heir the normal way…”

Glen’s voice was full of disgust. “Since he couldn’t have an heir the normal way, he had one made.”

I looked the boy up and down. I’d never met a clone before. Glen really was the spitting image of the old man — a chip off the old block. But like any dynasty, the Hissock-Connolly clan wanted not just an heir, but an heir and a spare. Little Billy, ten years younger than Glen, was likewise an exact genetic duplicate of Rodger Hissock, produced from Rodger’s DNA placed into one of Rebecca’s eggs. All three Hissock males had indeed left DNA in that bathroom — exactly identical DNA.

“Have you always known you were a clone?” I asked.

Glen shook his head. “I only just found out. Before I went for my adult soothsaying, I wanted to see the report my parents had gotten when I was born. But none existed — my dad had decided to save some money. He didn’t need a new report done, he figured; my sooth would be identical to his, after all. When I went to get my sooth read and found that I was sterile, well, it all fell into place in my mind.”

“And so you took your father’s blaster, and, since your fingerprints are essentially the same as his…”

Glen nodded slowly. His voice was low and bitter. “Dad never knew in advance what was wrong with him — never had a chance to get help. Uncle Skye never told him. Even after Dad had himself cloned, Skye never spoke up.” He looked at me, fury in his cold gray eyes. “It doesn’t work, dammit — our whole way of life doesn’t work if a soothsayer doesn’t tell the truth. You can’t play the hand you’re dealt if you don’t know what cards you’ve got. Skye deserved to die.”

“And you framed your dad for it. You wanted to punish him, too.”

Glen shook his head. “You don’t understand, man. You can’t understand.”

“Try me.”

“I didn’t want to punish Dad — I wanted to protect Billy. Dad can afford the best damn lawyer in Mendelia. Oh, he’ll be found guilty, sure, but he won’t get life. His lawyer will cut it down to the minimum mandatory sentence for murder, which is -”

“Ten years,” I said, realization dawning. “In ten years, Billy will be an adult — and out of danger from Rodger.”

Glen nodded once.

“But Rodger could have told the truth at any time — revealed that you were a clone of him. If he’d done that, he would have gotten off, and suspicion would have fallen on you. How did you know he wasn’t going to speak up?”

Glen sounded a lot older than his eighteen years. “If Dad exposed me, I’d expose him — and the penalty for child molestation is also a minimum ten years, so he’d be doing the time anyway.” He looked directly at me. “Except being a murderer gets you left alone in jail, and being a pedophile gets you wrecked up.”

I nodded, led him outside, and hailed a robocab.

Mendelia is a great place to live, honest.

And, hell, I did solve the crime, didn’t I? Meaning I am a good detective. So I guess my soothsayer didn’t lie to me.

At least — at least I hope not …

I had a sudden cold feeling that the SG would stop footing the bill long before this case could come to public trial.

THE END

Further Reading:

A few notes about the science in this story, for those who might be interested

Information about this story’s nomination for the Hugo Award