21
The answer was brief.
The tall man beside him stepped forward twice, and the weight of the black leather case he held out seemed to make the air sink slightly.
The clone soldiers silently took the case.
Judge did not look down to check its contents. Instead, he took a step forward.
"Speaking of children..."
The corners of his mouth tugged upward, his gaze moving between the two of them.
"Would you like to see my creations? The future of Germa."
When five small figures appeared in the hall, the light seemed to dim for an instant.
They stood in a row, the numbers on their clothes running from zero to four, like identification numbers.
The girl whose pink hair covered her right eye wore a skirt that reached her ankles; the boy with upswept red hair had an impassive gaze; the second son had wavy blue hair, the third had blond hair covering his left eye, and the youngest had spiky green hair-five pairs of eyes looked over, yet lacked the warmth children ought to have.
"Interesting."
Rossi's gaze swept over the blond boy, paused for a second, then moved to Judge.
"Of your five children, only one inherited your hair color."
Judge's laughter echoed through the empty hall.
"Color doesn't matter."
He spread his arms as though displaying meticulously polished weapons. "What matters is what flows inside them."
Cold air seeped up through the gaps in the floor.
The green lights of the incubation pods blinked steadily in the distance, like heartbeats.
The wind on the deck carried a salty tang, and Rossi's question hung in the air.
Judge's fingers tightened briefly around the metal railing, his Adam's apple bobbing.
"The Queen is unwell."
He turned sideways, shadows covering half his face. "Let's not discuss that."
His