Birthright: The Complete Trilogy

by Rick Partlow

  "When are you supposed to see General Murdock?" She asked me, propping herself up on an elbow.

  "Whenever he calls me," I shrugged. "He's still interviewing the others, putting together a debriefing for Admiral Sato and the rest of the brass. When this all shakes down, things'll never be the same."

  "Will it be better?" Rachel wondered. "Or just different?"

  "You'll have to ask Murdock. Hopefully, I can help make it better for us."

  "And for our children," she finished for me. My head snapped up, and I wasn't certain I'd heard her right. The shock must have shown in my eyes, because she nodded, a glow of life in her eyes I hadn't seen in years. "I think it's time," she said, one hand coming up to caress my stubbled cheek, "for us to start our own family. I think it's time we started living like real people...in the present, not the past."

  "You know," I said, laughing quietly and pulling her towards me, her lips millimeters from mine, eyes locked together, "I think you're right."

  * * *

  I paced the corridor like an expectant father, hands stuffed in my pockets, getting more irritated with each step. The clerk at the reception desk eyed me over his computer readout, shaking his head in apparent amusement. I was decidedly unamused by the entire situation. General Murdock had called me here nearly an hour ago, and I was beginning to think he was keeping me waiting as some kind of psychological ploy---except that the Bulldog didn't need to play those kind of games.

  I spun at the sound of the General's door hissing open to see Kara McIntire march from his office. Her thoughtful frown melted into a look of surprise as she nearly ran into me. We stood there for a long moment in mutual discomfort and embarrassment, fumbling with words. I hadn't spoken to her since we left Petra, partially out of circumstances---we'd all been in hibernation on the ship, and things had been pretty hectic in the two days since we'd arrived back here on Inferno---and partly out of my choice. I'd spent my little free time---between medical treatment and endless debriefings---with Rachel. I hadn't told Rachel about Kara, and I didn't intend to. Maybe that was dishonest, but I'd rather be dishonest than stupid.

  "You okay?" I asked her quietly, still feeling the sting of the broken trust from her and Deke's deception.

  "I'm all right," she said. "I...uh..." She motioned back at the office door, which had shut behind her. "I told General Murdock that I wanted to resign from the DSI. He didn't seem to think it was a problem. Actually, he thought it would be better that way." She sucked in a deep breath. "He wanted me to come to work for him, but I'm not sure yet. I told him I'd have to think about it."

  "So what are you going to do now?"

  "I've been talking to Deke," she said, scratching at the back of her left hand. "He's leaving tonight. I thought maybe he could give me a lift out of here, maybe drop me off somewhere I can get work on a ship."

  "Good luck." I extended a hand. She looked at it for a second with what could have been regret, then took it.

  "To you, too."

  Grasping her hand, I felt the resentment and hurt feelings flow out of me, leaving me with only a wearying sense of finality, and the realization that I was going to miss her. I pulled her into an embrace that startled us both, holding her tightly against me with all of the emotion, if none of the passion, we'd felt earlier.

  "I'm sorry," I heard her whisper into my ear, along with what could have been a sob. "I'm so sorry, Cal."

  "It's all right," I gently stroked her hair. "You did what you had to do."

  After a heartbeat, she pushed herself away from me, a hint of moisture in her eyes---or maybe it was my imagination.

  "I should go," she said. "Good luck with the General...and try to see Deke before we leave, Cal."

  "I promise." I let her slip away from me, not turning to watch her go.

  "Sir," said the enlisted man at the reception desk, clearing his throat. "General Murdock will see you now."

  The office door slid open and I stepped inside. Murdock's office was a reflection of his personality: tamely yet tastefully decorated, without the flourishes and extravagances common to some high-ranking officers. A Commonwealth seal graced one wall, while the opposite sported a flatscreen view of Earth, and above the mahogany desk floated a hologram of the Cluster similar to the map on his cutter. The only aberration was a Japanese sword mounted on the wall behind his desk. The weapon was well over five hundred years old, but perfectly preserved, its grip wrapped in sharkskin, its sheath polished lacquer. I knew it from the War---its former owner was one of our team, one who didn't make it through the invasion of Tahn-Skyiiah.

  Murdock looked up from his computer display at the hiss of the door closing behind me.

  "Have a seat, Caleb," he invited, motioning slightly with his head toward the leather-upholstered chair opposite him.

  "Thank you for seeing me, sir." I lowered myself into the chair, hearing its wooden frame creak beneath my weight.

  "Not at all." He hit a control and the holographic readout of his desk computer faded into the ether. He steepled his hands in front of him, soft brown eyes not betraying a single thought. "You've sacrificed quite a bit in all this, for something that wasn't your battle to fight, and I want you to know I do appreciate it. The debriefings are just about over, so we should be able to send you and your family home within a day or two."

  "Yes, sir, that's one of the things I wanted to talk to you about. You see, this was my battle to fight, but I wasn't fighting it for you; or for the Commonwealth; or even for truth, justice and freedom. I was doing it for my family, my friends and my home. And that battle's not over yet." I leaned forward in my chair, fixing him with my stare. "First, I want the Corporates and their mines and their mercenaries and their pet Patrol Inspectors off my planet. Don't bother telling me that's beyond your control, because you know as well as I do that after things fall out, you'll have the Corporate Council's testicles in your tight little hand."

  "I doubt you'll be hearing from the Council again," Murdock assured me, not seeming to take my stringent tone as an affront. "They're a headless snake, thanks to Robert Chang. But I'll start the wheels in motion. At the very least," he promised, spreading his hands expressively, "I can make it possible for you to get rid of the Corporate presence without interference from the federal government. Is that all?" Of course that wasn't all. That would've been too easy.

  I shook my head. "One more thing. Trint."

  "Yes, I've spoken with him," the General informed me. "I understand you offered him a home."

  "I gave him my word. If he still wants to go, I'm willing to take him with us when we leave."

  "I'm not certain that would be wise," Murdock mused. "There's still much prejudice against the Tahni, especially in the outer colonies. If anyone discovers what he is..."

  "God knows if anyone has reason to hate the Tahni in general, and the Imperial Guard in particular, it's me," I reminded him. "I know my people. They learned their lesson in the War. I taught it to them personally.

  "Anyway," I got to the point, "you're not keeping him here because you're concerned with his well-being. You think you can use him, and you're sure he's in no position to turn you down."

  "I don't believe," he said, enunciating clearly in a tone I recognized from experience as The Last Word, "that I can let you take him away from here."

  I settled back in my chair, letting out a breath. This was what I'd been afraid of, but I wasn't a junior officer anymore. I was my own man, with my own responsibilities, and I had to make a stand.

  "He won't work for you," I declared. "He's not a robot or an Artificial Intelligence you can reprogram. Damiani was only able to control him by that bomb in his skull, and I'm not sure that would work again even if you were willing to try it. He's no good to you---you'll just wind up having to kill him."

  "That would be my problem," Murdock pointed out, unmoved.

  I squared my shoulders, deciding to lay it on the line. "Look, sir, I know you. I know that you can and would have me or any of
us 'disappeared' if we become a problem. But I can't let this go. Trint saved Rachel's life, and he saved mine. If I have to put mine on the line for him, I will."

  "You feel that strongly about it, do you?" He leaned back in his chair, regarding me evenly, without concern or surprise.

  A suspicion slowly crept up my back and whispered in my ear that I was being played like Mozart on a cheap synthesizer. I frowned with the realization, anger battling for supremacy with the relief I felt that there was hope here, after all.

  "What do you want?" I asked, the muscles in my face quivering with rage and embarrassment at his manipulation.

  "Just a promise, Caleb," he told me, smiling softly. "You have unique abilities and the strength of character to use them to their fullest. There may come a day when I'll need someone with those kind of qualifications---someone with no official ties, no paper trail---for a special favor. It won't be soon, and it won't be often, but the occasion may arrive. I just need your promise that I can count on you."

  "That's it, huh?" I shook my head, laughing sharply, bitterly. Another devil, another deal, but still the same choice. If I was lucky, maybe he wouldn't make me sign it in blood. "All right." I stood abruptly, kicking the chair away from me. "You've got my word." I started to turn for the door, afraid he might want to shake hands or something equally hypocritical, but hesitated in mid-stride. "Just one thing."

  "What's that, Caleb?" He cocked his head curiously towards me.

  "When these 'favors' come up," I told him, "keep my family out of it. If any of them so much as stubs their toe and I think you're responsible, you'd better kill me. Because I'll sure as hell be hunting for you."

  I strode through the door without a glance back, wishing I'd seen the last of the man, but knowing in my gut I hadn't. Elder Pratt had an old colloquialism appropriate to this situation. Life, he used to say to my father, is a bitch.

  * * *

  We walked together to the pad where they'd brought the Dutchman, just Deke and I, in the comparative cool of the Inferno night. Kara had already boarded the ship, leaving the two of us alone to talk...and to say goodbye.

  "So," I tried to fill the uncomfortable silence, "are you headed back to the Pirate Worlds?"

  "I don't know," he shrugged. "I...I thought I might make a run back home, visit Mom and Dad, now that Murdock's cleared things up for me. After that...well, I got a fast ship and a lot of light years to burn. Maybe I'll do a little scouting, see if I can find the Northwest Passage or something."

  "Sounds kind of lonely," I commented as we approached the ship's boarding ramp.

  "I'm never at a loss for company," he said, grinning. "And, who knows, maybe I'll drop by your way one of these days, say hi."

  We stopped at the base of the ramp, facing each other with so much left to say and no words for it. After a moment, I remembered something. I reached into a pocket and fished out a wad of Tradenotes, handing them to him. He took the bills, face screwing up in confusion as he looked from the notes to me and back again.

  "What?" He shook his head.

  "That's the twenty bucks I owe you from the War," I told him, grinning broadly. "Just so next time we run into each other, I won't have to hear you bitch about it."

  Deke laughed, a soft chuckle that built gradually into a full-throated roar as he leaned back against one of the ramp supports. Catching his breath, he wiped his eyes and tucked the money away.

  "Oh, don't worry, Farmboy," he said, straightening. "You know me...I can always find something to bitch about."

  "I'm counting on it." I slapped him on the shoulder, sending him stepping up the ramp, still chuckling. "Hey," I called to him. He turned about halfway up, eyebrow cocked. "It was fun, wasn't it?"

  "Just like old times, bud," he agreed, throwing me a salute. "Just like old times."

  Then he turned and walked up that ramp. But I'd see him again...I felt it.

  As I jogged away from the ship and past the yellow warning stripes on the surface of the pad, I could see Rachel, Trint, Pete and Jason standing just outside the yawning entrance of the landing bay, waiting for me. Our ride was a few bays over. A converted wartime missile cutter like Deke's and equipped with the same kind of weaponry, it was a "gift" from Murdock. I wasn't too impressed---I figured he meant for me to utilize it when he called in his "favor." Its only saving grace was that it was about to take us all home. I'd sent word to the General that I wanted to leave immediately, and there'd been no argument. He probably wanted to get me out of there before I changed my mind.

  The floodlights of the landing bay backlit me, stretching my elongated shadow toward the others as I walked slowly up to them. Behind me, I heard the ignition of the Dutchman's takeoff jets, saw their glow reflected off of the white, buildfoam walls. A hot wind buffeted at my back and dust devils whirled past me as Deke and Kara roared into the night sky, but my eyes were on Rachel.

  She let go of Trint's hand and stepped up to meet me halfway, slipping an arm around my waist and walking beside me. Pete leaned against the inside wall of the bay, arms crossed, smiling at me with the infectious enthusiasm of his youth, not caring about the politics or the intrigue, only knowing that his family was back together. Jason's face was a mix of relief that this whole dirty business was over and an undisguised impatience to get home to his wife. Trint stood beside him, towering over all of us, looking little the worse for wear since the Fleet medics and cybertechs fixed him up. The casual human clothes with which he'd been provided seemed curiously out of place on him---like a tutu on a tiger. As for what he was thinking...well, who the hell knows what any Tahni is thinking, much less a Tahni cyborg. But I guess I'd have to start learning. He was part of the family now.

  "So," Pete said, spreading his hands questioningly, "we going home or what?"

  I thought about that for a second. Were we going home, to the Canaan that I'd grown up on, with its pastoral fields and its wild forests, a place for us to have our children and raise a family---or were we going back to that polluted shithole we left, with its crime and corruption and disillusionment?

  "No interference from the federal government," Murdock had said. I had a vision of what our cutter's proton cannon could do to the paper-thin mylar of the Corporate's orbital reflectors, smiled.

  "Yeah." I answered his question and my own. "We're going home."

  TCN News Instell Report, Dateline: 26 July, 2272, Commonwealth Standard. More fallout from the revelation that the contact with the Predecessors was a hoax perpetrated by the Corporate Council and rogue elements in the DSI. Though President Jameson disavowed any knowledge of the conspiracy, and though there was no attempt to prosecute him or any of the members of his cabinet, the electorate is apparently not so forgiving; in last month's Presidential elections, he was defeated in a landslide by his Solutionist opponent, Cyrilla Hodge.

  President Hodge's new Director of the DSI, former Fleet General Antonin Murdock, has revealed that the hoax was pulled off through the use of sophisticated bionic constructs and doctored holoprojections. The destruction of Grenada, he has announced, was faked by the sabotaging of the system's Instell satellite to prevent communication. General Murdock has promised long-overdue reforms in the DSI's operations.

  According to the President's Public Relations Secretary, Julius Marat, there will be no further arrests. Marat has also denied that there is any truth to the rumors that a Predecessor base was discovered by the now-disbanded Corporate Council, and that technology from this base was used in the conspiracy. In other news...

  Birthright: Book Two

  NORTHWEST PASSAGE

  By Rick Partlow

  Copyright 2015 by Rick Partlow

  For Elizabeth

  Prologue

  Conner:

  Deke spat the spent butt of his cigar into the damp grass, and ground it under his heel. Squinting against the blue-white star’s glare, he took a deep breath of the humid morning air. The tangy aroma of the thick jungle to the west mingled with a hint of the far
-off ocean, but neither his inborn olfactory senses nor the cybernetic chemscanners implanted in his head could detect the slightest hint of pollution, the barest vestiges of human industrial civilization. This was the only slice of the planet that could honestly be called habitable for unprotected humans, and it was a vanishingly slim slice at that. If the whole world had been this hospitable, the place would have been packed with colonists.

  The only visible proof man had ever set foot on this world was his own ship, its delta-winged bulk pressing into the soft earth of the valley floor, steam still hissing off its cooling metal surfaces. A converted missile cutter from the last war, the ship still retained its two-tone camouflage scheme---sky-grey on its belly, olive drab on the upper hull---interrupted only by the hand-scrawled red of the ship's name: Dutchman.

  For all he could see, his ship could be the first human landing on this planet...and, considering his cargo, he should have been grateful for the isolation. But there was something about this that he just didn't like. He pulled his sidearm, checking its load, knowing he was being a paranoid but not caring. His contact had five minutes before the No-Later-Than time, and if the man didn't make it by then, he was out of here---not a minute more.

  The ship's sensors whispered a warning to his implanted wetware and his eyes snapped to the horizon and the flyer coming in low, just above the tree line. He'd been expecting it, but he had the ship's weapons systems target it anyway, even as he sent the recognition signal.

  Signal received and identified, the ship's computer told him.

  So, it was them. He left the weapons armed and kept his gun in his hand as he watched the boxy ducted-fan hovercraft descend in a tightening spiral to touch down only twenty meters away. The whine of the hopper's belly fans hadn't quite died when the aircraft's side hatch popped open and a man emerged. Tall and gangly, he had the look of someone born and raised on Mars or one of the other low-gravity colony worlds, with an elongated, horsey face and jet-black hair.