Syn-En: Registration Read online

  Other clan members rose while inspecting their own injuries.

  Job’s hand tightened on Bei’s shirt. “Ruth, run ahead and tell your mother to get the bread baking.”

  Bei watched her leave, then scanned the crowd.

  Abraham was nowhere to be seen.

  Bei had no doubt the spy went to report that Bei’s true memories had returned.

  And when Abraham did, ET would come to reprogram Bei.

  Chapter 12

  Bei plodded down the tunnel. The planet’s gravity seemed to increase with each step. Nell was dead. Those two words didn’t belong in the same sentence. But he’d seen the video with his own software. To honor her memory, he would free humanity.

  For Nell.

  For the Syn-En and civilians back on Terra Dos.

  For those who had been enslaved.

  His hands fisted. Then he’d get revenge.

  “Nice job back there.”

  A hand smacked Bei on the back. Through the puff of dust, he made out a dirty female face.

  “I can’t believe we’re having bread.”

  The woman rushed ahead to join the main group. Smack dab in the bubble of light, most of the Deutche clan joked and laughed. Bread was a simple anticipation. A few slowed their pace, waiting for him. Their presence seemed to be the only thing that kept the lights ablaze.

  Must be body heat activated. Not that it mattered. Not that anything mattered. Nell, his wife, was dead. No diagnostic could fix this problem. But his upgrades could compensate for it. He tapped into his cerebral interface. Stabilize endocrine system.

  Unable to comply, Admiral. The feminine voice of his interface infused sympathy in her words.

  Bei didn’t need artificial sympathy; he needed Nell. And he wouldn’t have her ever again. He punched the nearest wall. Rock chips rained onto his boots and pain sensors flared before the sensation flooded his head. Dammit, I said, stabilize my endocrine system.

  Unable to comply.

  Why not?

  Your orders, Admiral. Syn-Ens must learn to deal with emotions, just as the Humans do. No more relying on artificial constructs. The measure is designed to help Syn-En relate to the civilians. The computer opened the executive order.

  He’d signed it alright. And he needed his second-in-command and two other officers to override the damn thing. None of which he could currently contact.

  Obviously his programming had a glitch when he enacted the stupid rule. He slammed his fist into the wall again. His synthetic skin peeled away from his knuckles, revealing the titanium plating his skeleton. Smearing the blood, he closed the gash and ordered the skin to knit together. That worked. At least not all his circuitry betrayed him.

  And his circuitry could be manipulated. Since he was nothing but a damned machine, he’d feel nothing like a damned machine. Bei hardened his armor, prepared for battle. Serotonin flooded his receptors, soothed the twitchy feeling along his sensors. Now he didn’t have to deal with his wife’s death.

  I do not believe you are keeping in the spirit of the order, Admiral.

  I was promoted because of my ability to overcome obstacles. Screw the spirit. He needed control to execute his plan.

  At a bend in the tunnel, the leader, Job, ran his fingers through his scraggly beard. “Alfred. Dietrich.”

  Two young males separated from the pack and fell back. Neither looked at Bei as they hugged the sides of the tunnel and were swallowed by the darkness.

  Enhancing his optics, Bei noted the two stayed still once the lights switched off. The illumination must be motion activated, or they knew the blind spots. Either way, Bei would figure it out tonight, while everyone else enjoyed their sleep cycle. No way would he want a spotlight shining on him and his men’s escape.

  Job handed off his lunch pail to a dark-haired woman and leaned down to whisper in her ear.

  Bei caught the look she cast his way. Something was up. He mentally banged his processors. Of course, he’d been acting like an emotional idiot and had endangered Job’s people by throwing that boulder. Guess Bei was in for a dressing down. Rome would love this.

  Her brow wrinkled and her lips thinned before she nodded. With the two lunch pails clanging together, she hurried to join the rest of the clan. A few words passed between her and the two people at her sides. The trio jostled into the mix, spreading the news.

  Should Bei enhance his hearing to discover what they said? Nah, the clan was Job’s responsibility. Bei trusted the leader to keep his people in line and alive. He just needed to stay out of the way and control his damn emotions.

  The cluster of people thinned and shifted. Two dozen pulled ahead of the pack, leaving another dozen behind. The men and women surrounding him were the healthiest of the lot. And armed with sledge hammers and picks.

  Well, hell. Maybe Bei should have eavesdropped. Sharp ridges formed along his armor. He relaxed the defensive spines. He needed the clan, at least a little while longer. They were his key to gaining access to the pleasure rooms and Keyes.

  Job fell into step beside him. The older man’s hands were empty of weapons. “Ten tons today. We’ll have to do eight on the next shift to get our rations.”

  “Ruth wanted bread.” Bei wasn’t one to state the obvious. And he couldn’t tell the leader that Bei had access to the quotas and had made sure the amounts would be reset after he gained access to the upper levels.

  The Deutche clan wouldn’t be harmed by his presence.

  They would benefit.

  Once he escaped and registered humanity.

  Job shook his head, raising a small cloud of dust. “We’re not going to be able to keep up the pace you set today. Ten tons. You risked our clan’s future for a loaf of bread tonight. That’s damn irresponsible.”

  Yes, it was. But the leader didn’t see the whole picture. And Bei didn’t know if he could trust him with the truth.

  “And then you tossed that massive boulder at the guards.” Job set his fist against Bei’s chest, stopping their progress in the tunnel. “Were you trying to get us shot?”

  The guards hadn’t even raised their energy rifles.

  Not that he’d known it at the time. He’d been beyond angry and his failsafes had broken down. “I am sorry.”

  How long had it been since humanity had fought back?

  Months? Years? A century? Advanced armor and weaponry wouldn’t stop humans from fighting for what they really wanted. It hadn’t on Earth. It wouldn’t here.

  Except…

  They had leaders, knowledge of the battlefield and will, what they lacked was hope. He saw the emptiness in their eyes. The news of Earth’s devastation had hollowed out a place deep in their souls, one that ate at them and left only cold, bitter survival.

  He knew the place well.

  Too well. And he could change it, light a fire deep inside them. But he would have to reveal his Syn-En identity and his purpose on this God forsaken world.

  That would place all humans in these mines at risk.

  And jeopardize his plans.

  Too risky.

  Job glanced at his clan members, far enough to give them some privacy, but close enough to attack if necessary. “I’m gonna have to ask you to leave.”

  Bei blinked. Obviously his audio implants malfunctioned. “If I leave, you won’t be able to make your quota. You need me.”

  “I’ll talk to the guards, who will talk to the overseer.” Job cleared his throat and focused on Bei. “They’ll make certain your productivity is removed from the clan’s quota.” His gaze dropped to the rocks at their feet. “It’s been done before.”

  Bei clenched his jaw, compression sensors flared. He lost Nell, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to lose this fight. “Just one more day.”

  “No. If you’re with us for more than one day, you’re part of our clan and only open discord can remove you.”

  Now they tell him the rules. If he had known, he would have worked eight tons today and ten tomorrow.

  Step
ping back, Job crossed his arms. “You can have your share of the bread, but then you must leave.”

  And come up with another plan? Endure another delay? No fucking way. Bei sorted through his options. He could tell them about the loss of his wife. But these people had grief woven into the fabric of their soul.

  Which left him with one weapon—more powerful than anything ever devised.

  One that had compelled the Syn-En to break with a hundred years of tradition. One that had given him and his men the strength to hold on, carry on, and fight on, despite impossible odds, despite the mounting death toll.

  To stop surviving and start living.

  Bei rolled up the sleeve of his coarse shirt. Activating the armor, he watched his fake skin change color until it blended with the rock and made it seem as if his arm had disappeared. “Job.”

  Brow furrowed, the leader frowned. “I have to put my clan first.”

  “I understand.” He’d been in Job’s position not too long ago. “But I need you to listen to me.”

  “There’s nothing you can say to make me change my mind.”

  Bei’s lips twitched. There was a lot he could say, but first he had to get the man’s attention. “Look at my arm.”

  Job’s attention shifted down. His jaw went slack and he leapt back. “What in Hades?”

  Bei returned his armor to flesh color. “Will you listen to me now?”

  “That’s how you worked ten tons. They’re doing something to us, changing us and raising our quota.” Job swayed. “If we don’t submit to…” He pointed to Bei’s arm, “whatever it is, we’ll starve. We’re not being replaced by another species, but by ourselves. And I helped kill us all.”

  Ah, hell, the man wasn’t listening at all. He was too busy building a catastrophe out of rocks. “No, you didn’t.”

  Job’s scraggly beard twitched. “How long do we have to decide?”

  “Listen. To. Me.” Bei clamped onto the man’s shoulder and drew him closer.

  The dozen or so people raised their weapons. None moved closer.

  He hoped it was a good thing. Looking each in the eye, he acknowledged their presence then focused on Job. “The Scraptors didn’t do this to me, the United Earth Council did.”

  Job’s brown eyes widened. “Earth? But it was destroyed.”

  “It sustained heavy damage and most life was wiped out by the Surlat strain, but, I can assure you, humanity was alive and well on the planet I left nine months ago.”

  “You’re from Earth?” A tremor rippled through Job.

  Bei released the leader. “Yes. I was born there. Raised there. And served there, on Mars and throughout the solar system.”

  “The slave ships have started again?” A light flickered in the leader’s eyes. “More people will come.”

  “People will come, but not as slaves. We’re going to register humanity.” Then the Syn-En would get a little payback. Most of his men, and probably the majority of civilians on Terra Dos would want their pound of flesh for Nell’s death.

  The army of avengers would have to stand in line behind him.

  “Register.” Job stood a little straighter. “They’ll have to release us. We could go home. Back to Earth.” A shadow crossed his features. “But you were captured. They wouldn’t let you register. Humanity powers the aliens’ worlds, they’ll never give us up. Never.” He stumbled back a step. “You should never have come. Never have told me.”

  He recognized the second edge on the sword of hope—pain.

  Bei now had to spin the truth. “I’m part of an advance scouting party. We knew registering wouldn’t be easy. The Skaperian files on the process were out of date.”

  The words tasted bitter on his tongue. His trust subroutines still calculated the merits of trusting the featherheads.

  “The Skaperians!” Job’s shout drew the others closer. He waved them back, and they dutifully obeyed. “They claimed Earth as their territory and made fortunes trading us on the universal market.”

  “The Skaperians have no choice but to sponsor our entry. The Amarooks will kill them if they don’t. They’re firmly on our side, and killed the Skaperian Empress to prove it.” At least, Bei hoped the wolf-like Amarooks would still stand next to humanity with Nell…gone.

  Admiral, I’ve been reviewing the Icarus’s explosion and—

  Later. Bei never wanted to see the video clip again. Just thinking about it made his stomach feel like live wires sparking across his circuits.

  “But the Skaperians and Amarooks are connected…” Job lowered his voice. “Why would they kill their leader?”

  “The Skaperians betrayed the Amarooks. And the Amarooks have no intention of forgetting it or forgiving it.” Bei didn’t need to be telepathically linked to the animals to see the rage in their eyes.

  “Why did you allow yourself to be taken?”

  “What better way to assess the enemy’s strengths and weaknesses than from the inside?” Bei spun the lie wider. Thankfully his cerebral interface wouldn’t allow him to forget a word he said. “We knew the mining computers were the least guarded and could provide us with a back door to the tactical mainframe.”

  He knew it now. And he definitely planned to use it to his advantage.

  Job scratched his chin, making furrows in his beard. “So why are you with my clan, why not the scout party you came in with?”

  Bei shrugged. That was the problem with lying, a smart man usually saw through it. “Splitting up allowed us to cover more ground. We joined different clans, so as not to draw attention to ourselves.”

  “You brought ten tons of attention to yourself.”

  “And I need eight more tomorrow to get upstairs and rendezvous with my men. Then I’ll reset your quotas and leave.”

  “To register.” Job paced. Two steps right. Turn. Two left. Turn. Repeat. The air shimmered with his internal struggle—pragmatism versus hope.

  Slavery versus liberty.

  A fruitless struggle. Hope would never cease, never let go, and would pool into the smallest hole only to explode when given the slightest opportunity.

  It explained why the clan still talked of Earth, even when they believed it had been destroyed.

  It was why Bei would succeed.

  Job stopped. For a moment, his shoulders slumped then he straightened, raised his chin, and smiled. “How can we help?”

  Chapter 13

  On the ambassador’s terrace, Nell wiggled on the cushion, pushing the hard knot of stuffing to the side. The cold marble cut off the circulation below her knees. She folded her legs Indian-style on the wide seat. Placing her elbows on the table, she propped her chin up with her hands. Excited chatter surrounded her.

  The mantis-like Ck’son clumped together in groups of four and five, around the dozen tables. Tattered pennants cast streamers of blue and pink, down eight-foot tall windows. White, yellow, and green light shone from circular bulbs, strung from the three-story marble façade of the U-shaped building.

  On the courtyard below, padgows spun like fluorescent mopheads over the marble stones surrounding the rectangular pool. They popped to the syncopated beat of the human band, playing in the pavilion at the end of the garden.

  Off to the side, Two Ck’son turned the spit roasting a headless caprinae. Fat ran in rivulets along the side before falling with a crackle into the fire pit below. Smoke and the scent of roasting meat billowed through the air.

  Human women chopped sloppy green lengths, culled by the aqua-aliens from the bottom of the pool, and shoved the goop into large bowls.

  Nell shouldn’t be here, celebrating. Bad aliens hunted the Syn-En Fleet. They’d kidnapped her husband. God only knew what they could be doing to him.

  Elvis stretched out on the divan next to her. After slurping an eyeball from the severed caprinae head, he crunched on one curled horn. “You should relax and enjoy yourself.”

  “I should be doing something.” Nell shuddered despite the joy roiling through her. She really wished th
e Amarook would break their telepathic connection when he ate. She didn’t consider raw meat, wet brains and squishy eyeballs a delicacy.

  “You are. You’re giving all these fine species hope for a better tomorrow.” Balancing the head, he gestured to the groups below.

  The Shish bubbled up from the depths of the pond in the center of the courtyard, black heads in a froth of white. Straps of green waggled from their arms when they raised their tentacles and dropped their harvested sea grass onto the stone deck. Large gray eyes blinked from the knobby heads as the aqua-aliens turned to her. Each raised two empty tentacles in greeting before sinking back to the bottom.

  Forcing a smile, Nell waved back. “There won’t be any registration if we don’t warn the fleet.”

  And Bei would remain a prisoner.

  “And we will. After the party.” Elvis bit into the caprinae skull. Blood oozed down his muzzle and bone chips littered the cushion under him. “No point in letting anyone think humanity doesn’t know what it’s doing.”

  “Humanity doesn’t know what it’s doing.” She didn’t know what she was doing. “According to the Skaperians, we just show up and register. Wham, bam, thank you, ma’am, we’re one of the intelligent people in the universe, and nobody can use us as lab rats again.”

  At least, that’s how this little trip went down inside her head.

  Elvis swept his long pink tongue over his muzzle and scooped up flecks of brain. “You shouldn’t have trusted the Skaperians.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Hindsight is always twenty-twenty.”

  “My vision is superior to yours.” Holding the partially eaten caprinae skull like a cup, he sipped the blood.

  Drumming her fingers on the table, she rolled her eyes. Sarcasm was lost on aliens. “We didn’t trust everything the Skaperians said. That’s why Bei, Rome and Keyes decided to do a little advance scouting.”

  And were captured in the process.

  Sighing, she slouched on the ambassador’s throne in the center of the arranged tables. She had to do something, anything, to help. “Didn’t one of the mantis guys say he knew about the registration process?”