Coyote

[4] the universal authority.

Arriving outside the office, he knocked on the metallic door. Two beeps came from inside before it opened with a swoosh. The smell of roasted goat hit his nose before he entered, making his stomach groan. It was the Baron's favorite meal—the reason he had trouble losing weight—chugging it down with large bottles of whiskey.

Samson Christ sat behind his polished desk with a grin on his face, staring at the internet cube's projected screen. He wore a pink suit and bowtie, and he had brushed forward his pink hair to hide his receding hairline. As the Baron of the Detective Division, he was in charge of overseeing, reviewing, and directing everything concerning the department.

"Good to have you with us, J," Samson said, his eyes not moving away from the screen. He was reading an article about penis enlargement techniques and how long it would take to grow an inch.

Just get a cybernetic one, Small Dick Sam. Detective J curled his lip. "Us?"

"Behind you."

He turned and froze; every organ in his body stopped functioning. The tear ducts didn't get the message, drowning his eyes into a well of pain. He let out a sharp breath before bending forward, his hands on his knees, his chest rising and falling with rapid breaths.

What the fuck! It couldn't be. It wasn't her. He was with her at the hospital when she died. Whoever this was, she was an impostor. And if that was true, then...

He stood upright and looked at the young dark-skinned woman sitting at the office's corner in a red and white tracksuit, staring back at him with amber eyes. She had short box braids that did little to hide her round face and broad forehead.

There was no doubt about it. She was a clone of his late wife, Cybil.

This is why he didn't want to talk on the phone. Detective J clenched his hands and turned to Samson. The Baron's focus was still on the screen, not noticing the detective walk up to him. Detective J grabbed the Baron by the collar and pulled him over the desk. "Explain," he said with gritted teeth and a glare.

Samson was four-feet tall, leaving his feet dangling in the air as his eyes were level with the detective. "Let go of me first," he said as calmly as he could, but terror covered his face. Detective J released him, and Samson stood on his desk and straightened his jacket. "Her name is Olivia, and she's your daughter."

He thinks I'm stupid. Detective J moved closer to the Baron. "Don't play dumb with me. You know that's impossible." He and Cybil were both infertile.

He had seen this situation many times. A parent would lose a child, and they'd want a clone as a replacement. But under the constitution of the Planetary Alliance, only Martian purebloods were allowed to clone themselves. If a biplanetarian, or a non-Martian, cloned themselves, they'd face capital punishment.

The Universal Authority and planetary law enforcements had an agreement with the Martian government to send them anyone who had violated those terms.

"The Chief—"

"Syla knows?"

"Of course, he does." Samson threw his hands in the air. "He knows everything. He's the one who brought her to me."

Syla War, the Chief of The Universal Authority and Cybil's older brother, always knew everything. He had connections in places he shouldn't have, and it had worked in his favor after he took over the organization. He was the only one capable of preventing the mess that came with Olivia's existence.

Though it pained him to think this, it was a good thing Cybil had been dead for many years. Even if people saw Olivia, they wouldn't immediately think of his late wife—unless the people who had been close to Cybil observed her, like Ursula and Marvin.

Cybil, why didn't you tell me? "What did Syla say?"

"He wants you to look after her until he decides what to do next," Samson replied.

"Look after her?"

"That's what I said."

I'm not a babysitter. Detective J glanced at Olivia. She was staring at them with pursed lips and folded arms. "For how long?"

"I don't know." Samson stepped off the desk and sat back on his chair. He opened the top drawer and took out a plate of goat meat in a wrapper and a bottle of whiskey. After opening it, he chugged down a quarter of the liquid before rubbing his mouth with the back of his hand and gazing at the detective. "The Chief is very shaken by this, but he's trying his best to look calm. He has meetings all day, and he wants nothing—not even her—to ruin his mood."

Screw his mood! "How did they meet?"

"She found him."

Detective J glanced at Olivia again—she was staring at her outstretched legs as though they were brand new toys—before turning back to Samson. "How?"

"You'd have to ask her."

You'd have to ask her. Shut up. "How did she come to be?"

Samson ate pieces of the goat meat, took a sip of the whiskey, ate more pieces, and had a long sip before burping. "Since you couldn't have children and your adoption request had been denied by the Board of Space Adoption, it seems Cybil thought cloning was the only option. A month before she died, she went to Mars where a friend of hers owns a cloning station. She gave her yours and her blood samples, then asked her to take care of the baby until she was ready to meet you."

That sounds like something she'd do. Detective J gave a half-smile. Cybil always wanted a daughter, having talked about it before they got married. Sadly, her organic body couldn't support her dream. "How do you know this?"

"Olivia told the Chief on their way here, and he told me." Samson took another sip. "I wish Cybil told us before she died. We would have dealt with it before it got to this point."

"That's the point; she knew we would have stopped it. And she didn't want that." Detective J reached inside his coat's inner pocket and took out the vape pen. It took ten minutes to recharge itself. "Who else knows?" He had a puff, blowing the smoke in the air, calmness overwhelming his senses. The possibility of dying after Mars found out he had a clone for a daughter didn't bug him as much.

"The Chief, you, me, and her."

He had another drag of the vape pen. "You should stop drinking, you're at work."

Samson took another sip. He could handle his liquor. "Says the man smoking at work."

Touche. Detective J blew smoke towards Samson, making him cough. "I investigate idiots and dead bodies all day. You work with professionals. We're not the same."

Samson scoffed. "It's a good thing I'm the boss."

No, it's not. "Yes, you are."

"What now?"

"I'm taking her with me. There's no other option."

"Be safe."

"Always." The detective stood, turned to Olivia, and jerked his head towards the door. "Come on."

Olivia stood and waved goodbye to Samson. The Baron waved back then focused on the internet cube's projected screen, still reading the article on penis enlargement techniques.

Detective J and Olivia walked out of the office and strolled down the hallway. He took off his long coat and handed it to Olivia, leaving him in just a white shirt and black trousers.

"Wah for?"

Even her voice was similar to Cybil's: honeyed. "The receptionist was close to my late wife. I don't want her to see you and ask questions."

"Give thanks." Olivia wore it. And with the shawl over her head, she looked unidentifiable. "Wah shud me call you?"

Dad? Father? "J will do."

She stopped walking. "An yuh can call me Oli." She extended her hand at him.

"Nice to meet you, Oli." He shook it.

"Likewise." She smiled.