Birthright: The Complete Trilogy

by Rick Partlow

"Jesus, Pete!" I ran up to him, putting an arm around him to support him before he fell down. "God, we've got to get you to a medic..."

  "Don't worry about me," he gasped, his breathing labored. "Got to get help for Rachel..."

  My gut froze and I felt like I might pass out.

  "Where is she?"

  "In the shuttle," he told me. I lowered him gently to the ground, then turned and sprinted up the shuttle's ramp.

  Two more CSF types were laid out at the top of the ramp, their brains blown out by a laser, but I hardly saw them as passed through the equipment bay into the troop compartment. At the back of the hold was Kara McIntire, seemingly unhurt, leaning over a coffin-like automedic. I ran up to her without a word, pushing her aside to get a look through the clear plastic lid.

  Suspended in a biotic fluid within the AI-guided device, Rachel looked very dead, her eyes closed peacefully, her breathing stopped. I didn't want to look at the ragged hole high on the right side of her chest, eerily bloodless in the stasis of the suspension fluid, didn't want to see the ruin where her right arm used to be, but I couldn't look away. It drew me in, grabbing my heart and brutally twisting it, until I felt the gorge rising in my stomach and I had to turn and find a corner to vomit in.

  The bile poured out of me in a wave of staggering nausea that I hadn't experienced since I saw my brother die ten years ago. It was like every nightmare I'd ever had coming to life, and all I felt capable of doing was screaming and sobbing my guts out like a baby. Everything was darkness and the bitter taste of gorge, and I felt like I was going to black out when the stinging clap of a sharp blow across my face shocked me back to my senses.

  I shook my head, forced my eyes open, and saw Kara McIntire standing over me, her hand poised to strike another blow. I grabbed her wrist, slamming her against the bulkhead as I rose to my feet, a wave of anger washing away the enclosing shock.

  "This is because of you, you Goddamned bitch!" I screamed at her, pounding her against the hull. "She's dead because of you!"

  "Shut the fuck up!" She backhanded me across the face, staggering me, and I snarled wildly, going for my pistol. Amazingly, she was faster, the muzzle of her pulse pistol appearing below my nose before I could clear holster. "Just shut up for a second before I have to blow your damned head off!"

  Taking a deep breath, I let the Gauss pistol settle back into its holster.

  "She's not dead!" McIntire yelled at me. "She needs to get to a hospital! Now are you going to help her, or do you want to play some more fucking headgames until it's too late and she does die?"

  I stared at her for a long, tense moment as the rational part of my brain bit and clawed its way back into control.

  "Get my brother on board," I told her with a voice that seemed to come from someone else. Then I turned and headed for the cockpit.

  Falling into the pilot's seat, I found the control board still powered up and activated the sensors. There was the CSF hopper, about three klicks away and heading right for us. They must have finally realized that I'd hijacked their truck.

  "Are you on board?" I yelled back to the troop compartment.

  "We're clear," Kara's voice answered.

  "Strap in," I ordered, hitting the controls to raise the ramp, then powering up the thrusters. It was only a few seconds before the boards went green, and I fed power to the belly jets.

  The shuttle rose from the ground on columns of fire and I felt the deck rumbling beneath me as I shifted power to the aft engines. The aerospacecraft kicked me in the pants, jumping forward across the three klicks almost before I could bring up the weapons board.

  The hopper didn't even have a chance to radio us before I hit the firing stud. A blinding flash of artificial lightning connected us for a brief moment and then the enemy flyer disintegrated in an incandescent fireball, showering the furrowed sod beneath us with a glowing hail of molten metal as we shot past, heading for town. I left the weapons up, activated the commo board and found the Constabulary frequency.

  "Jason," I transmitted, hoping that the CSF gear would overcome any jamming still in place. "Jason, this is Cal."

  "Cal!" I heard his reply but didn't look away from the controls to see the holo of his face that I knew was projected above the commo board. "What's going on? I've been trying to get a hold of you for the last half-hour. Wellesley and Kurisawa have been..."

  "No questions now, Jase," I shook my head. "I want you to have a medical team ready to meet me at the spaceport in five minutes. I'll be in the CSF berth. Mitchell out."

  I gripped the control sticks tightly, trying to stay focused, trying to keep from fading out again. I had some things to do before I could let myself deal with this. Deep inside of me, the Killing Machine that hadn't seen the light of day since the war was screaming to life, and someone was going to regret it.

  Because more than anything else in my life, there was one thing I was sure of---I was one of the deadliest human beings that ever lived.

  Interlude: New Jerusalem

  The cloaked figures glided swiftly through the back alleys, wraiths that seemed not to touch the ground, the rain parting in their wake as if it were afraid to touch them. Other than the handful of ghostly travelers, the streets were empty, perhaps because of the weather or perhaps because people sensed the tension that pressed down on the city like a smothering hand.

  Either way, there were no eyes upon the travelers as they ducked through a side entrance into an abandoned pre-war grain storehouse at the edge of town. The door should have been sealed, but the imposing security lock that stretched across its breadth was a hollow mock-up that parted to the touch. As the door swung shut behind them, a light winked on in the ceiling above and a dozen more robed figures flashed into existence with its illumination, arrayed in a semicircle around the entrance.

  One of the travellers stepped forward and threw back her hood, baring her features to the harsh glare of the light and spilling out a mane of flowing dark hair. She was a soft-featured woman with the young-yet-ageless face of someone who'd undergone restruct surgery and emerald eyes that seemed to shine from within.

  "Greetings, my brothers," she nodded solemnly to those in the circle. "I bring before you the initiates."

  She nodded to those she'd entered with and they threw back their hoods, revealing faces markedly less striking than hers. The oldest of the three boys couldn't have been more than twenty, and though they were all trying their best to conceal it, fear was writ plain in the whites of their widened eyes.

  At the center of the robed half-circle, the tallest of the figures paced out of formation to approach the young men, towering over them imposingly. Voluminous sleeves fell away from heavily-muscled forearms as the man reached up to pull back his hood, shaking his blond tresses into their normal order. The boys gasped collectively and fell to their knees, faces against the floor.

  "We aren't worthy, your holiness," one of the youths declared, still kissing the dust-covered ground.

  "Up, my children," Kevin Fourcade reached down to pull one of the boys to his feet, and the others followed hesitantly, still reluctant to stare into the High Priest's cyan gaze. "In these troubled times, any of the chosen brave enough to suffer through our persecution will be treated as out brothers and sisters."

  "Yes, sir," the oldest of the boys nodded. There was an earnestness of blind belief and open worship to his demeanor that his fear couldn't mask. "You honor us."

  "As we are honored by your faith," Fourcade replied smoothly, stepping back into line with the others. "But even in these times of hardship, we must remember that the promise of the return is nigh at hand, and we must cling to our beliefs and our tradition. Are you prepared for the ceremony?"

  "We are," they responded as one, as the priestess had instructed them.

  "Show to us the symbol of your faith," Fourcade intoned solemnly.

  The boys glanced at each other nervously, hesitating for a moment before they reached for the fastenings of their robes and dropped them to t
he floor. Each was naked beneath the grey garment, and each wore on his chest the inlaid holographic image of the Alpha Centauri system, applied only hours before at a downtown parlor.

  "We see your faith and reveal our own," the semicircle chanted in unison. A dozen robes dropped as one, with a pale flash of heavily-muscled bodies and holographic tattoos. The three boys felt suddenly inadequate set against the augmented physiques of the Cultists. Only the priestess remained clothed---according to their custom, Cult Priestesses could only disrobe in the presence of another female.

  "Under normal circumstances," Fourcade said, addressing the novitiates, "you would all serve a probationary period under the watch of a priestess, but events have outpaced our traditions. Within a few days, we will be asked to strike a blow against the unbelievers who surround us." Fourcade's face was suddenly grim. "I must tell you that many of us may not survive. But the infidels must be taught that they cannot show such disrespect to our Fathers and not reap the consequences. It is not the indignities which I have suffered that are important. I am but a servant. No, what is worth my life and your lives is the will of our Fathers."

  "The Ancients shall return," the semicircle chanted.

  "Since the unbelievers already know this," Fourcade continued, approaching closer to the initiates and slipping an arm around one of the boys, "I am finally allowed to share it with you. For over a year, I have taken the return on faith, believing that which I could not see. But not long ago, before I came to shepherd the flock on this world, I was granted an honor few humans can claim." He paused for effect.

  "With my own eyes, I have seen the face of our Fathers." A gasp went up, not just from the initiates but from some in the circle, and one of the boys fell to his knees. "The Ancients have returned, my brothers and sister. They are among us, and soon they will take their rightful place and lead us into a new age." Fourcade's eyes seemed to glow brighter in the dimness of the warehouse, twin stars burning with cold fire. "Those who live through the battles to come will take their rightful place by their side. Those who fall will rest in the sublime peace of the knowledge they have helped bring about the return of the Ancients."

  "The Ancients shall return." The chant was loud and defiant, as if they were daring any outsider to discover them. "The Ancients shall return!"

  Fourcade smiled as he listened to them, fingering the input jack behind his ear. Mitchell had taken something from him that he could never recover. Whether or not he survived, Mitchell was going to know what that felt like.

  Chapter Four

  "Get her and Pete to the Church Hospital in Mount Carmel," I told Jason, watching the medical team unload the automed off the shuttle. Armed deputies guarded the entrance to the thick-walled landing bay, staring cautiously at the curious passers-by. "I don't want them anywhere around the city. And have a round-the-clock guard put on the place---heavy weapons, armed hoppers, the works."

  "Anything you say," he muttered, still visibly shaken by the sight of Rachel's injuries. "What...what will you be doing?"

  "Ms. Wellesley seemed awfully anxious to meet Captain McIntire. I think it's time I introduced them." Kara regarded me silently, leaning tiredly against a support column.

  "Cal..." Jason was hunting for the words, but couldn't seem to find them. "Don't get yourself killed."

  "Miles to go before I sleep," I told him. "Take care of my wife and brother." I clapped him on the arm, then headed back toward the shuttle. I didn't look to see if McIntire followed; I knew she would.

  I was strapped into the pilot's seat, powering up the engines when Kara dropped into the right-hand acceleration couch. I knew she was staring at me, but I didn't look up.

  "Aren't you afraid they'll override and take over the controls?" she asked me quietly.

  I finally turned to face her. "They already tried. I burned out the override circuits on the way to the spaceport. Check the weapons locker for me, will you?"

  "You have a plan, or are we just playing this by ear?"

  "Of course I have a plan." I hit the controls to raise the ramp. "We fly to the CSF's orbital center, shoot our way in, find Trina Wellesley and kill her."

  "Oh, and that'll solve all our problems?" She regarded me with obvious skepticism.

  "No." I grinned the grin of a bare skull. "But it'll make me feel better. Especially since the next part of the plan involves stealing a starship and running like hell." I couldn't help but laugh at the expression on her face as I hit the belly jets and we rocketed out of the landing bay. Some people just can't appreciate a simple plan.

  * * *

  "I can't believe they're just letting us approach like this." Kara shook her head, eyes glued to the viewscreen and the view there of the huge Council Station. Headquarters for all Corporate activity in the sector, it was the largest of the three orbital stations that circled Canaan.

  The gigantic wheel of the habitat rotated slowly around the thick girth of the hub, which held the docking bays and workshops, while orbital transfer vehicles flitted here and there, heading back and forth between the Council Station and the other orbitals. At odd intervals, cargo capsules would rocket up from the surface, boosted by the laser launch system, to be captured by tugs, which would gather them together to be towed outsystem.

  Somewhere in the midst of all that peaceful-looking machinery were some really nasty weapons systems, but none of them had so much as fired a warning shot at us so far.

  "They must know by now that we took their shuttle," McIntire said.

  "Of course they do," I agreed. "But our computer has this crazy idea that we're a transport from the Commonwealth Orbital Station, carrying a Patrol Inspector on a goodwill visit. It even got the correct clearance codes somehow."

  "And how did it get that idea?" She grinned conspiratorially.

  "Got me." I spread my hands helplessly. "I've never understood computers."

  We came into the docking cylinder on computer control---I'd sufficiently brainwashed the shuttle to trust it to the task---and I paid special attention to the other spacecraft hugging the central transport core. A couple of huge cargo ships took up the bulk of the room, with short-range shuttles like ours filling a dozen or so of the gaps between them. My eyes, however, were glued to the craft docked near the entrance to the cylinder, nestled innocuously between one of the cargo ships and a squat tug.

  Delta-winged and massing only about a thousand metric tons, it could have been easily mistaken for a shuttle---but I knew different. It was a starship, though about as small a starship as could be built.

  "See that?" I asked McIntire.

  She nodded. "A courier. Perfect, especially if it's armed."

  "Well, let's not ask for too much just yet," I cautioned. "But it's a hell of a lot better than the next best thing."

  Our shuttle finally nuzzled up to a free juncture on the transport tube, the maneuvering thrusters nudging us gently up against it until it locked down on the external airlock. The station computer wished us a nice stay at the Council Center as we wriggled free of our harness, kicking loose into the zero-g. I remember how queasy I got my first time in null grav---now, with the wartime modifications to my inner ear, I didn't even get the falling sensation.

  We paused at the weapons locker on the way to the airlock, each of us grabbing one of the pulse carbines and a bandoleer of spare magazines and stashing them in a tool bag. Our sidearms we concealed beneath our jackets before we exited the airlock. It wouldn't pass through any detectors, but maybe we could bluff our way through for a while. I honestly didn't care.

  The transport tube was crowded with technicians in work utilities darting here and there, propelling themselves forward using the handholds mounted on the transplas wall at regular intervals. They didn't give us a second look as we kicked out of the airlock, heading for the lifts into the habitat wheel. I was trying my best to look like I belonged and maintain a bored, "how-much-longer-before-I-get-off" worker kind of face, while I kept up an active sensor scan. First sign of troubl
e and I would start shooting.

  But much to my surprise, we passed through to the lift banks unmolested, boarding a car for the Corporate Security Force offices. I carefully scanned the dozen or so other occupants of the lift, but they appeared to be nothing but ordinary clerical workers, absorbed with the mundane details of their jobs. I picked up scattered conversation on such planet-shattering topics as Council vacation plans and corporate seniority before I stopped listening.

  I glanced around at Captain McIntire, wondering how she could take all this so calmly. If we lived through this, I'd have to ask her just what she had done for a living before she became a mineral scout.

  "Hey," I said quietly, getting her attention.

  "Yeah?" She looked over at me.

  "About what I said back at my house..." I trailed off hesitantly. "I wanted to tell you I was sorry."

  "It's okay," she chuckled sadly. "You were about half right, anyway."

  I didn't pursue the subject any further, figuring the surroundings weren't appropriate. A muted chiming in the liftcar warned us that one wall of the car was about to become the floor, as the vehicle travelled down the spoke and "out" became "down." We and the other occupants aligned ourselves accordingly, and shortly felt the faux gravity of centrifugal force begin to pull us to the padded floor. Its pull grew steadily stronger as we approached the outer layers of the wheel, until it reached about half a gee, which was as heavy as it got on this station. Wimps.

  It took the liftcar almost ten minutes to reach the CSF center, out on the last level of the wheel, and, by the time it did, our car was almost empty. We exited the lift, went to an office guide on the wall and looked up Investigator Wellesley's office.

  "You sure this is a good idea?" McIntire muttered to me as we headed down the wide corridor.

  "Up to you," I said. "You think you can take the ship alone, go ahead. But three of my deputies---my friends---are dead, three people with husbands and wives and children. Dead because Wellesley wanted to get her hands on you." I felt a twinge of guilt---I'd told myself I wasn't going to blame this on Kara. I shook my head. "What it comes down to is that my wife's lying in a hospital with her arm blown off...and I'm going to go kill something."