Birthright: The Complete Trilogy

by Rick Partlow

  "Oh, hell no," I said. "Some of the planet's uninhabitable. Y'know, if the Predecessors did engineer this world, they did a really shitty job."

  "Too bad they couldn't move it a bit farther back from the sun."

  "Maybe moving planets was a bit beyond them." I laughed. "Shit. I can't believe they expect anyone to buy that story."

  "Don't be so sure," Kara warned me. "The Corporates are a lot of things, but they aren't stupid. This will be believed, or they wouldn't try it. You don't see it, because Canaan's so out-of-the-way, but the Predecessor Cult has spread its influence into the highest levels. Jameson's a Corporate puppet, sure, but he believes it. He wants to believe it." She sat down on the wide railing, glancing down at the base. I idly wondered what anyone would think if they looked up and saw a beautiful, naked woman with her legs dangling off of a tenth-story balcony.

  "It's about religion," she opined softly, looking back up at me. "People don't know what to believe in. My grandparents used to be part of the Church of Man---remember that? They tried to unify all of old Earth's religions, from Wicca to Islam; it was an outgrowth of the old ecumenical movement. They had the biggest churches on a dozen worlds. Then we got the Transition drive, and the Expansion, and the Second War, and the whole thing fell apart. For the last forty years or so, literally thousands of the looniest cults and religions you've ever heard of have all been trying to fill the void. I know---I've had to investigate some of them.

  "The problem, I guess," she went on, "is that no one has an image of God big enough to fit the big universe we live in, but small enough for us to understand."

  "But the Predecessor Cult does?" I squinted skeptically.

  "For a lot of people. A mysterious, powerful race that gave us our intelligence and a lot of the worlds we live on...a race that disappeared aeons ago, but could come back any time to set things right. It's all tailor made for a people hungry for something to worship, some kind of hope...some kind of destiny."

  "So you actually think it'll work, huh?" I reached out to run a hand down her shoulder.

  "I wouldn't be surprised if the riots have already started on Earth, Sylvanus, Aphrodite---hell, even over on Eden," she jabbed a finger at the sky, referring to Inferno's more temperate sister world, the third planet out from 82 Eridani.

  "Kind of makes you not want to bother trying to stop them." I shook my head, letting my arms fall to my sides.

  "There's still only one good reason, Cal." She took my hand and held it in both of hers. "If we don't, they'll kill us."

  Cal, I heard Mat's voice say in my head. Come to the General's office ASAP. There's someone here you need to talk to.

  Right. Do you want Kara there, too?

  Bring her, he replied. And get here quick. Then the transmission ended. I turned to Kara.

  "We need to get dressed."

  Murdock's office was in the local Fleet Intelligence headquarters, less than a kilometer away from the Officers' Quarters. On foot, at a brisk trot, it took Kara and I less than three minutes to make our way through the streets to the faceless, four-story building, yet we were already sweating like a racehorse in heat by the time we reached the solace of climate control once again.

  There were three separate security seals between the entrance and the General's office, and we had to go through every one of them, letting them scan our retinas and MRI us for hidden bombs---it wouldn't have let us pass with our implant weapons if the Bulldog hadn't cleared it in the central security system. Finally, we made it to the large suite of offices that was Murdock's home away from home, and were allowed into his private conference room by the Marine guards stationed there.

  Mat and the General were there, but I barely spared them a glance. For also in the room were three of the most unexpected sights I'd seen in my short life. One was unexpected by virtue of its strangeness: it was a monstrous product of bionic reconstruction, a full two meters tall with four arms, a tail, and a face that was something out of a nightmare. The other two...

  The other two were Pete and Jason.

  "Christ..." I breathed, and then I was flying across the room, gathering them up into my arms, sobbing with tears I didn't believe I had left in me. I couldn't think for a moment, but when I could I held them out at arm's length, suddenly back to reality. "Rachel," I said in a surge of desperate hope. "Where is she? Is she alive?"

  "We don't know," Jason shook his head.

  "They took her, Cal," Pete blurted. "I was there, but..."

  "There was an assault on the medical center," Jason told me.

  I nodded impatiently. "I know, I know. Cowboy, one of our old team, was onplanet, and he told me. But he said you'd all been killed..."

  "We helped spread that rumor," Jason explained. "We thought it would be better if they believed we were dead. But Pete and Rachel were flying out in a hopper before the shuttles came in and destroyed Mt. Carmel---they were shot down, and hit with a sonic."

  "The pilot was still conscious," Pete went on, "and he said they took Rachel out of the hopper and left us."

  "They mean to use her against you," the monster told me in a surprisingly pleasant voice.

  "Who the hell are you?" I asked it in frank amazement.

  "What?" The thing smiled. "No hug for an old friend, Constable Mitchell?" He spread the bigger pair of his four upper limbs playfully. "I'm hurt you don't recognize me, though I suppose I should have expected it. When last we met, you see, I was just a bit...dead."

  "Pardon me?" I blinked.

  "Cutter?" I heard Kara's disbelieving whisper as she approached from behind me. "Holy Mother of God, is it really you?"

  "Cutter?" I gaped in disbelief. "But that's impossible!"

  "Unlikely, for sure," he admitted.

  "That's something else that may be pertinent to our situation," Murdock spoke up for the first time since we walked in. He rose from his desk, stepping around between us. "Your friends managed to contact the Intelligence office on our base at Aphrodite due to Mr. Chang's connections from his days in the DSI, and they were directed here after my office was contacted."

  "Mr. Chang?" I repeated, by now thoroughly confused.

  "Someone I used to be," the monster explained. "I am him no longer, just as I am no longer the man called Cutter. The creature I am now, you may call Secarius; and, from what I understand, how I came to be in this body may explain some current events."

  "I think I need to sit down." I fell into one of the chairs in front of the desk, my head spinning. Rachel was alive...That thought echoed back and forth through my head, bouncing around with a convoluted mix of joy, relief and waves of guilt, drowning out everything else.

  "Our friend," Mat said, seeming a bit bemused by the thing, "may have an explanation for how Damiani was able to produce living Predecessors that would cooperate with him."

  "And a fascinating situation it is," Secarius...Cutter...whoever the hell it was said. He used his articulated tail as a rest to lean back on as he spoke. "When I gathered my resources together to establish my identity as Cutter, I used my former connections with the DSI to acquire the latest in genetic technology---I figured it would be prudent to have the best product if I was to corner the market, so to speak. Among the latest developments, and one that has not yet been introduced for mass consumption, is a process called genetic reconstruction.

  "It's an outgrowth of cloning technology that was developed during the war; but it had no military application, so it was ignored by the government." He smiled again, an unnerving sight. "I've found it very useful. It essentially allows the complete reconstruction of a living adult organism from only a small sample of genetic material. I used that method to produce this body---although I've since made several modifications to the original design."

  I came forward in my seat. "You're saying that the Corporates could have used the genetic material from the corpses in stasis to produce adult copies of the Predecessors?"

  "Exactly, my dear policeman," Secarius agreed cheerfully.

/>   "But how could he get them to cooperate, even if he could clone them?" Kara asked him. "Wouldn't they still retain their same personalities?"

  "A force-grown clone construct," Secarius corrected her, shaking his massive head, "has a blank slate for a brain. Simply install a temporary neurolink, and you can implant any memories you choose to manufacture."

  "You're saying these things actually believe what they're telling Jameson?" I asked incredulously. "They think they've been sent to save us from an invasion?"

  "Very probably," Mat answered. I could still see a faint, pink line around his neck where the new flesh was still growing. It had taken him several days in the automedic to stabilize him after losing so much blood, but he seemed as good as new. "Once we heard Mr. Chang's story, we ran it by our Intelligence research and development people---what he says checks out. It's not only possible, but our best AI's assign it a ninety percent probability rate."

  "Then...Robert," said Kara, using the name tentatively, as if she'd not called Chang by that name for a long time, "it's not really you; it's a cloned body with your memories."

  "That, my lovely Kara, is a philosophical and religious question," Secarius replied. "And one I do not feel remotely qualified to answer. Suffice it to say, I am not Robert Chang any more than I am Cutter. For the moment, for the span of this life, I am Secarius the Slayer, and my work is to avenge my own murder. Later, there may again be a time for the man you knew as Robert."

  "Sweet Gaia." Kara's face went pale.

  "What's wrong?" Mat asked her. "You look like someone's walking on your grave."

  "You know what this means?" she asked, nodding toward Secarius. "All of this? If this kind of technology spreads, do you know what's going to happen to us?"

  "It's a disturbing thought," General Murdock agreed. "But not one we can afford to dwell on at this time. Right now, our main priority is finding the base these clone constructs were produced at and using it to prove our case to the government. If we can't...well, even if we somehow manage to halt Damiani's machinations, our life expectancies won't be too great."

  "It had to be on this place they called the Rock," I surmised. "That's where the bodies were taken. I'd wager it's where they'd stash Rachel, too, if they plan to use her as a hold on me."

  "Nothing yet on where that might be," Mat said.

  "Perhaps one of our prospective allies has some idea about that," Murdock suggested. "For now, perhaps you," he regarded Kara and I, "should take your friends back to the Guest Officers' Quarters."

  "I'll arrange a car," Mat offered, looking significantly at Secarius. "It'll attract less attention. If you'd all follow me..."

  I waited till he had led the others out of the room before I turned back to Murdock.

  "Why didn't you have Deke and Cowboy here?" I asked Murdock point-blank. "Shouldn't they hear about this?"

  "I didn't get where I am by being a trusting person." Murdock looked me squarely in the eye. "West is an X-factor, and I don't like X-factors. Everyone has a history, whether they're in the Pirate Worlds or in the Presidential mansion.

  "You're the constable of a small colony," he began, ticking off on his fingers, "Mat's in my employ, Holly Morai's a Major in StarFleet, Reggie Nakamura runs a private security firm, and Keller Savage has built his own mercenary brigade on the outer frontier. I've kept track, and everyone has a history.

  "Yet, for the past six years, Roger West has none. No one covers their tracks that well without a reason." He leaned back in his chair.

  "As for Conner, well, he's had a checkered career since leaving the military. I don't particularly care if he makes his living outside the law, but he's unstable. He proved that ten years ago, when I helped him get out of an assault charge. Add to that the story you and Agent McIntire told me about your experience on the Predecessor outpost. That research director you wanted to question---someone tore his throat out." He shook his head. "There's too much evidence of an inside man here for me to trust anyone fully."

  "What about me?" I asked, frankly curious.

  "I told you," he said with a tight smile, "I'm not a trusting person. However, with you at least, I do know who and what I'm dealing with."

  "Nice to know I'm easy to figure out," I chuckled humorlessly.

  "I admire people who are straightforward, Caleb," he allowed. "It's refreshing, especially in my business."

  I squirmed uncomfortably. "Well, I guess I'd better catch up to the others."

  As I exited the office, I almost ran headlong into Kara. She'd been waiting just outside the door, a troubled expression on her face.

  "Uh," I stammered, "hi. You didn't catch the car with Mat and them?"

  "I thought you might want to walk back," she explained.

  I shrugged, following her out of the building into the garish sunlight.

  "I'm glad your wife is alive," she told me.

  "Thanks," I muttered numbly, my thoughts in a furor, trying to decide what I should say. All I could feel was elation that Rachel was still alive, and a growing weight of guilt over my liaison with Kara. What she would be feeling in this situation I had no idea. I walked beside her in silence for a moment.

  "It's all right," she finally said, taking my hand in hers, a tender smile on her face. "You don't have to feel uncomfortable. I understand." She squeezed my hand, then laughed softly. "I guess I'll have to move back into my own room now."

  "Yeah," I agreed, fighting back a feeling of reluctance. As Deke had so accurately pointed out, a value system is a terrible thing. "Tell me something," I asked her, eager to change the subject, "what did you mean back in there, when you were talking about what genetic reconstruction technology would do to us?"

  "Just think about it for a second, Cal," she said, frowning deeply. "Right now, we have the ability to store a person's memories on disc and transfer them into another's brain through a neurolink or a 'face jack. We've been using that so far only for teaching and training military personnel and for recording missions, mostly because the only people who've had the equipment have been in the military.

  "Now," she went on, waving a hand, "you've got skingangers, freighterjocks, Netdivers and mercenaries using headcomps and 'links and 'face jacks. Anyone can get one, if they have the money. Then along comes this genetic reconstruction and a small sample of genetic material is all it takes to produce an adult clone copy of any living organism."

  "Shit," I muttered, finally realizing just what she was talking about.

  "Exactly. Take your circumstances as a Constable. You kill a bad guy, or put him in psych rehab, then you find out he froze a cell sample and kept an updated copy of his memories on disc, and all of a sudden you've got an exact copy of your criminal running around."

  "Or maybe more than one," I said, swallowing hard.

  "Or maybe more than one," she repeated. "Where does he stand legally? Is it the same person, who's still wanted by the law, or is it a different person, with a clear record and a license to keep committing crimes?"

  "Goddamn," I hissed, the scope of it all washing over me.

  "Well, that's another problem---the religious and philosophical side of it all. If someone dies and has a clone duplicate made of themselves with the exact same memories, is it really the same person? Does it have the same soul, if there is a thing that can be called a soul? Is it still your wife, or child or parent?"

  "Or your friend," I added pointedly.

  "Yes, there's that," she sighed. "I knew Robert Chang, maybe better than I've ever known anyone, and I knew what he became as Cutter. This Secarius---is it still Robert, is it Cutter? Is there anything left of him in it? And how will I know if there is?"

  "Great," I commented. "Another 'ally' we have to watch. Wouldn't it be nice if we could actually trust all the people who're supposed to be on our side?"

  "Murdock seems to believe him. And he isn't known for his gullibility. But I'm not... comfortable with all of this." She frowned, looking me in the eye. "What about you, Cal? What are you
going to do if they try to use your wife as a hostage?"

  "I'll do whatever I have to," I told her honestly. "I'm not going to let her die, Kara. Even if it means dying myself."

  "I won't let it come to that," Kara declared, certainty in her voice. "She's in trouble because of me. I swear to you, Cal, I'll do everything I can to get her out. You both deserve better than this."

  "God knows," I said, a hint of the weariness I felt creeping into my tone, "we all deserve better than this. Maybe..." I trailed off helplessly, "maybe we'll get some help when those friends of the General's arrive."

  "Maybe." She sounded unconvinced. I wished I could have tried to reassure her---but I had my own doubts about the ability of a bunch of generals to agree on the velocity of light, much less to overthrow the elected government of the Commonwealth.

  Chapter Thirteen

  "Most of you know each other, if only by reputation." General Murdock regarded the assembled officers from the Commonwealth military gathered around the conference table. "But there are a few newcomers," he went on, eyeing Secarius significantly, "so I'll make introductions." He nodded toward the short, grim-faced, shaven-headed man next to him. "This is General Leontin Sikorsky, Commandant of the Ranger Corps and an old friend. Next to him, clockwise, is Colonel Trina Guttierez, Senior Aide to the Chief of the Marine Corps." The Colonel was an attractive woman, with much hard muscle and cropped, blond hair. Her uniform, I noted, was the neatest of the group.

  "Across the table are Colonel Kane Pickett, Commander of the StarFleet's Attack Wing, and Admiral Yussef O'Brien, Chief Tactical officer for Fleet Admiral Sato."

  Pickett was a short, wiry man with chocolate skin and an easy, confident smile. The Admiral cut a broad-bodied, muscular figure that strained against his uniform, and wore a barely-ordered mop of flaming red hair. His face was set in a perpetual frown, as if he'd just eaten something that didn't agree with him.

  "The final representative of the military is Colonel Foster Sinclair, Deputy Commander of the Scout Service." The Colonel, seated directly across from me, was an unassuming, relaxed human female of African heritage. She was also the only one of us in the room who wore a sidearm. How she had gotten past the security seals with it I wasn't certain.