Syn-En: Registration (11 page)

He bit back a curse. ET had been tracking them for ten light years.

And he hadn’t suspected a thing.

He fast forwarded until another sensor added a new column to the data stream. His pulse quickened. The targeting system came on-line. He compared it to the Syn-En’s and the Skaperian’s defenses. Just a hair more advanced, but…

Bei licked his lips. But ET’s system would be easily fooled for short periods of time by modulating the fusion reactors. He made a notation just as the Electromagnetic pulse washed over his ship.

Not a single light flicker on his beetle-shaped craft. His ally’s technology had protected the ship.

So why had his cerebral interface been overcome by the surge?

Bei stilled. A rock tumbled from his full spade. Could the smug feather-headed Skaperians have set up the Syn-En? The rest of the universe ran on free human labor, and the Skaperians hadn’t been any different.

The image of the
Icarus
tightened, until the ET’s craft docked with his ship.

Son of a— The bastards cut through his hull to board. If Nell hadn’t made it to the safe room… He cut off the thought. Elvis would have dragged her there himself. The Amarook wouldn’t have been affected by the EMP.

Someone cleared his throat.

“Almost quitting time.” Job shifted the bucket under Bei’s shovel. “And the cart’s nearly full.”

“Right.” Bei dumped the ore into the bucket, just as ET’s ship pulled away. He continued scooping up the shattered rock, kept ramming the spade into the boulder.

A cushion flew out of the gash in the
Icarus’s
hull, and the craft changed course slightly. Had he imagined it? He checked the readouts.

It had changed course.

Had Nell taken over? Sweat broke out on Bei’s upper lip. Hell, she was heading right for an asteroid. He’d bet his left arm the maneuver was based on some old video clip.

Targeting glowed in the stream of data.

The shovel dropped from his hands. No. No, they wouldn’t. They couldn’t.

A beam of energy shot through space. It burned through the
Icarus’s
hull, targeting his ship’s soft belly.

And the fusion reactor.

A moment later, the ship exploded in a ball of orange and white light.

Nell was gone.

His wife was dead.

And it was his fault. He’d told her to hide, promised that she would be safe. But she wasn’t, and stupid machine that he was, he’d been switched off at the moment she’d needed him most.

Rage subsumed his control, overrode his protocols. Bending over he picked up the boulder.

Admiral, I don’t think this is wise.

Screw wise. Red filled his visions. The guards. The same species as the bastards that had killed his wife. Bei hurled the boulder down the tunnel. “That’s for Nell!”

Humans ducked, dove for the ground.

The boulder sailed over their heads. It crashed to the floor, spraying sharp chunks in all directions then slid another ten meters.

The guards watched but didn’t raise their weapons.

They weren’t afraid.

Bei would teach them fear. Compression sensors flared inside his head. He lowered his chin.

A hand pushed against his chest. Job blocked his path. “Shift is over.”

Over his shoulder, Bei watch Ruth push to her feet. The little girl swiped at the blood weeping from the cut on her cheek.

He’d done that to her. Him, a Syn-En admiral who’d sworn never to harm an innocent civilian again. Bei caged his rage, listened to it rattle the bars, search for weaknesses in his control.

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 fail-safes 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.

Stepping 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.”