Free The Widowmaker: Volume 1 in the Widowmaker Trilogy by Mike Resnick

have them,” answered Nighthawk. “They're just not my own."
    "Whose are they?"
    Nighthawk shrugged. “I've no idea."
    "Who trained you? The original?"
    "No, he's dying from some disease he picked up more than a century ago. He was in his forties when he contracted it, and he was 62 when it finally disabled him."
    "Frozen?"
    Nighthawk nodded. “On Deluros VIII."
    "Let me see if I can put it together,” said the Marquis. “Someone had a job for the Widowmaker. Somehow they knew he was alive, but when they tried to find him, they discovered that he was frozen. Probably they knew it up front, since he'd be well over a century old. But old or not, he was supposed to be the best, and they wanted him anyway—so they bribed every well-placed official they needed in exchange for a clone."
    "That's about it."
    "Oh, no, there's more,” continued the Marquis. “Why are you here, at this place, at this time? Well, it could be that you're after one of my men—but the message you sent was for me, not for them. So why are you after me? What crime have I committed that's so important they cloned the Widowmaker?"
    "You're doing pretty well so far. What's the answer?"
    "Easy. You're obviously here to hunt down Winslow Trelaine's killer."
    "That's right."
    "Well, I didn't kill him,” said the Marquis. “Hell, I liked him. He left me alone, I left him alone. We had an understanding."
    "An understanding?"
    "He and Hernandez let me plunder the planet six ways to Sunday in exchange for a few favors."
    "But you know who did kill him—and who paid for it?"
    "It's possible,” said the Marquis easily. “I know a lot of things."
    "So why not tell me?"
    The Marquis chuckled. “If I told you other people's secrets, you'd never trust me with your own."
    "I don't plan to, anyway.” Nighthawk paused. “So what happens now?"
    "What happens?” repeated the Marquis, leaning back on his chair, which floated gently just above the floor. “Back in the casino you offered to come to work for me, remember? We're negotiating your contract right now. I don't give a damn what brought you here. I need a good lieutenant; there's none better than the Widowmaker."
    "I'm not the Widowmaker. I'm me ."
    "Same thing."
    "It's not,” protested Nighthawk. “He's not even a man any more. His skin is covered with a hideous disease, and he's more than a hundred years old. He's a thing that used to be Jefferson Nighthawk."
    "And you're a laboratory creation, three months out of the test tube,” said the Marquis. “So what? I prefer to think of you both as men."
    Nighthawk grimaced. Thoughts about his own relationship to humanity made him uncomfortable.
    The Marquis lit up a thin cigar imported from distant Antarres III. An ashtray sensed the smoke and floated over to hover just beside his hand.
    "Care for one?” he asked, offering a cigar to Nighthawk.
    "I don't know. I can't remember."
    "Try one. It's the only way to find out."
    Nighthawk agreed, accepted a cigar, and lit up. He decided he would have to try a few more before he knew if he liked them.
    "Anyway,” continued the Marquis, “what the hell do you owe those people back on Deluros? If they didn't want something, you wouldn't be here. You're not legal anyway; it's a felony to clone a human, so they broke a bunch of laws just to make you. You catch their man for them, they'll probably hire you out again or turn you into a vat of protoplasm; either way you haven't got much of a future to look forward to."
    "What kind of future are you offering me?” asked Nighthawk.
    "The very best,” answered the Marquis with a smile. “Skip being a man altogether. Go right from test tube to kingship! I control eleven worlds already; by the time I'm through, I'll have an empire of 25 worlds, maybe 30. You'll be my major domo. You want a couple of worlds of your own, just prove your worth to me and they're yours."
    "I thought the Oligarchy didn't look too kindly on upstart emperors,” remarked Nighthawk wryly.