Alien Honor (A Fenris Novel) (7 page)

No. He couldn’t accept that. Yes, he was grateful for the rescue from a wretched life in the slums of Level 40. He might have gained rank in the Latin Kings—if he had survived the warehouse with the Red Blades. Okay. He needed to pay society back for what the NKV had done for him. He wasn’t an ingrate, and he understood carrying his weight. He wouldn’t try to get a free ride, especially as he did have a talent few possessed.

Did that mean he must live in steel corridors the rest of life? Must he be a slave to the state because of his rescue? They had altered his brain so they could switch him on and off like a machine. That had turned him into property, chattel. No one had a right to do that, especially not in the high-handed manner it had been done to him.

No one had asked for his permission. Did the state have a right to his body because he could do a certain thing?

What would Spartacus have said?

Cyrus Gant laughed as he ran. It was a wild laugh, full of fight and vigor. The state did not come first. A man came first. He lived in the state with others, and they agreed to work together. That’s what freedom meant. Once the state forced him to do a thing, it became tyranny.

Cyrus wiped sweat from his forehead. These were big words, and he wouldn’t have thought them only a few years ago. The state had given him an education. That was worth money. He would work for the state and pay them back so he owed them nothing.

If he could, he’d go to New Eden. But he had no plans to come back to Earth. He wanted a wife, kids, and to raise a family in the wilds of a new planet. He would emigrate and help build a better society. He would—

Cyrus shook his head, flinging sweat from his face. A cart was parked under a tree in the shade. Jasper sat in the cart, fanning himself with his flattish hat.

Cyrus’s feet thudded on the hard ground, and he sprinted to the small fat man, stopping in the shade with him.

“Thirsty?” Jasper asked.

Cyrus nodded.

Jasper tossed him a bottled water.

Cyrus guzzled it, and he put his hands on his hips as he panted. The sweat poured down his body and made his socks and ankles wet.

“Are you punishing yourself?” Jasper asked.

“Yeah. That’s it.”

From the twist of his face, Jasper seemed to switch mental gears. “There’s trouble and I’ve run into a snag. Are you alert enough to understand what I’m saying, or do you need more time to rest?”

“Go ahead, talk.”

“You should run when it’s cooler.”

“That’s the snag?”

“I know,” Jasper said. “You’re a tough guy. I’ve known many tough guys before your time. I took care of every one of them using this,” he said, tapping his head.

“Zeus making his rounds, huh?” Cyrus said. “You were out and about seeing how we mere mortals were doing?”

“You’re like a man who has just come into millions of credits. But instead of money, you got some education. Now you like showing it off.”

“What’s the snag again?” Cyrus asked.

“All this summertime heat must be baking your brains. Do you remember who I am? Once we get rid of the inhibitors, you’re going to want to walk softly around me.”

Cyrus wanted to respond with a cool comeback, but Jasper had a point. Cyrus practiced mind shields all the time now because he didn’t want a repeat of last time.

“I’m walking softly,” Cyrus said.

Jasper’s eyes narrowed, until maybe he saw that Cyrus wasn’t joking. “You’re all right, kid. You have… what do they call it?”

“Street smarts?”

“There you go,” Jasper said. “I only had to show you once what I could do and you remember. I like that. Anyway, the snag is this: You have to pass Argon.”

“Who?”

“Argon is one of Premier Lang’s main NKV officers. He’s coming along as the Teleship’s chief monitor.”

“Why do we need monitors? Isn’t everyone in the crew vetted and loyal to Lang?”

“I’m surprised
you
need to ask that,” Jasper said. “No, Lang is the most suspicious person who ever lived. Sure, the crew is vetted and each of them has a high loyalty rating. But that doesn’t satisfy our Premier. He has monitors on every military vessel. How much did you study about the Cyborg War?”

“A little,” Cyrus said.

“One hundred years ago, Social Unity put commissars in most of their war vessels. Each commissar had secret police power. He watched the crew for devotion to duty and searched for those who deviated from correct thought.”

“Oh, you mean Thought Police,” Cyrus said.

“That’s almost right. The monitors help keep the military in cheek. Giving men guns and warships makes them dangerous. Premier Lang demands obedience from the military. The monitors or commissars are simply another layer of security.”

“Okay. Got it,” Cyrus said.

“Argon is the chief monitor for the voyage. To make it as shifter, you need his approval and Captain Nagasaki’s. Of the two, Argon’s is more important.”

“Why is any of that a snag?” Cyrus asked.

“Chief Monitor Argon isn’t like a normal man. He has Highborn genes.”

“You mean like the Highborn of the Cyborg War?”

“Right,” Jasper said.

Cyrus recalled some of what he’d read about the Highborn. A little over a hundred years ago, Social Unity had ruled the Inner Planets and had wished to conquer the rest of the solar system. They’d wanted shock troops. Scientists had genetically manipulated human embryos. The result had been superior combat soldiers, nine feet tall, with speeded reflexes and heightened intelligence. Over two million genetic soldiers had been created. They had looked around, seen their superiority, and decided they should rule. So they had rebelled and come within inches of defeating everyone. Different scientists had made cyborgs to combat the Highborn. After the Cyborg War, the Highborn of that era had merged their chromosomes back into the gene pool.

“Argon is like an echo of his Highborn ancestors,” Jasper said. “He’s only seven feet tall instead of nine. But he’s very smart and ruthless in his tasks. You need to be careful around him.”

“You mean not give away our plan,” Cyrus said.

“Think of him as the worst Latin King you knew.”

“You mean the most dangerous,” Cyrus said.

“What?” Jasper asked.

“The worst Latin King would be a fool or a weakling. The most dangerous were the best.”

“Keep it up, kid, and remember that I have a long memory.” Jasper started his cart. “Likely, he’ll interview you today. I’d give you a ride back, but I don’t want them to see we’re friends.”

“Is that what we are?”

Jasper stared at Cyrus. Without another word, the telepath turned onto the road and drove away, his rubber wheels making a hissing noise on the cement.

Cyrus started back for the institute. Possible aliens, maybe cyborgs, and now a Highborn chief monitor, or the echo of one. This was going to be a dangerous trip. But his study of Spartacus showed him that gaining freedom was worth any risk. It had cost Spartacus a brutal death by crucifixion. Yet for a time, the ex-gladiator had lived as a free man.

Cyrus kept running, enduring as the hot air burned down his throat. He had to get ready for anything and take his chance when the time came. The slums had taught him that when you got your chance, you took it with both hands. That’s exactly what he planned to do this trip.

Cyrus’s first thought was that Argon was too big for the Teleship and its narrow corridors. The man was nearly seven feet tall. Jasper had told him the truth about that. What the telepath had failed to mention was Argon’s girth. The chief monitor was built like a wrestler and his movements betrayed quick reflexes.

Argon wore a black NKV uniform that stretched at his muscled neck. The fabric was shiny there, likely from constantly rubbing at the skin. Argon had flat cheekbones and the broad features of the historical Highborn, with something of their wild intensity radiating from him.

“Cyrus Gant,” Argon said from his table. “Come in. Sit.”

Cyrus entered the small cell. He’d showered, eaten, and taken a nap. One of the teachers had escorted him into the building and down a set of stairs. They met in the basement, and the door now closed behind Cyrus.

Argon watched him, and the chief monitor had predatory eyes. The gaze seemed to say that he judged Cyrus and would look for missteps or incongruities of behavior. It was like stepping back in time. This man could have ruled the Latin Kings.

Warily, Cyrus sat down. He didn’t like how Argon towered over him. The small room made everything worse.

Argon glanced at an e-reader. “According to this, you’ve led an interesting life.”

Cyrus said nothing. Argon reminded him too much of the cops he’d met in Level 40. Arrogance and authority seemed to ooze from the chief monitor’s pores.

In that moment, Cyrus decided he didn’t have a chance with Argon. He could cow down to the cop and try to bluff his way through, or he could tell the man the truth. Why not—he was supposed to be a Special now, an untouchable.

“You read I came from the slums?” Cyrus asked.

Argon nodded.

“I was a Latin King,” Cyrus said, “an illegal gang member. I started out as a scrawny kid with nothing, but even scrawny kids have to eat.”

“You could have eaten at the orphanage, but you ran away.”

“You ever been raised in an orphanage?” Cyrus asked.

“I’ll ask the questions,” Argon told him.

“Just saying, you know. It’s not like you think. We were defenseless kids with nothing but our pure bodies. The headmaster sold us to perverts, who liked to do nasty, vile things. Yeah, I ran away. If I could now, I’d go back and kill every headmaster that sold a kid and I’d do the same to the perverts.”

The information did nothing to Argon’s manner. He continued to watch and study. He said, “You’re a Special. You have a greater purpose now.”

“You’re missing my point. I had to eat and I wasn’t going to sell myself to pervs. So I ran Dust for the Latin Kings. Later, I became a foot soldier, a fighter. The cops didn’t like us.” Cyrus shrugged. “You remind me of them cops.”

“You’re not in the slums anymore.”

“That’s right,” Cyrus said.

“So why talk as if you belong there?”

“Seeing you reminds me of the old days,” Cyrus said.

“What do you think about Premier Lang?”

Cyrus understood then that
they
monitored the interview: his pulse rate, breathing speed, eye movement and other bodily functions. Speaking the truth was his best bet because they’d likely know when he lied. He’d already started out telling the truth, so he might as well continue.

“I don’t think about him much,” Cyrus said.

“Aren’t you grateful for what he did for you?”

A trace of a smile appeared on Cyrus’s face. “Lang didn’t do anything for me. He passed some laws because the world needs Specials. So here I am. If I didn’t have any talent, I’d still be in Level 40.”

“Do you hate Premier Lang?”

“No.”

“Do you wish him dead?”

“No.”

“Are you in league with any organization that plots his overthrow?”

“No.”

“Are you willing to endure hardship to reach New Eden?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have any ulterior motives for volunteering?”

“Yes,” Cyrus said.

“What are they?”

“I plan to skip ship and stay on one of the planets. I’ll find a wife and start a family.”

Argon paused, and those intense eyes watched him closely. He put down the e-reader and continued to study Cyrus. Something approaching a smile stretched the chief monitor’s lips.

“I will squash any mutiny,” Argon said. “I will obliterate those who plot against Premier Lang. You don’t lie, which is refreshing. Continue to think of me as a cop, and you will do well, Special. You may go.”

“No more questions?”

“You have passed my test. I can work with you.”

Cyrus blinked once, wondering why Argon didn’t ask other questions. Instead of thinking about it, he got up, found the door unlocked, and walked down the hall to the waiting teacher. Honesty had worked. How novel.

PART II:
VOYAGE

1

For Cyrus, life aboard Teleship
Discovery
settled into an intense schedule of work, training, and enduring increasing suspicion from the monitors and shift crew.

He had his own room. That was good. Many of the crew and all the space marines slept in “shelves” that were akin to coffins. He couldn’t have taken that and often dreamed of the monitors forcing him into one, closing it, and locking him in. They would talk to him then, telling him he’d stay in there for the duration of the mission. Those sleeping quarters didn’t allow a man to sit up. It would have driven him mad.

In the waking world, Cyrus spent far too much time in his room, watching the screen showing the expansive verandas of Earth. He had his favorite: it showed an eagle soaring over the Kiev Sector steppes. Otherwise, he exercised his talents with the other Specials in the training chamber.

There were four Specials aboard
Discovery
: Venice, Jasper, Roxie, and Cyrus. Venice could shift 8.3 light years, a phenomenal distance. Jasper could shift 2.1, Roxie 1.7, and Cyrus a mere 0.8 light years. The differences were extraordinary as Venice could shift four times as far as Jasper. It meant Venice received the best treatment in terms of privilege and living space.