Bloodlines

by Richard Fox

  “I have a friend,” Abendu said with a smile.

  Carson turned back to the Adjudication building, looking at the mass of customers waiting to be seen. The sentry droids had returned to their observation positions, red eyes scanning.

  “We’re wasting a lot of time here,” Carson said. “Birch, you and I will get in line, West, take Moretti and Nunez, see if you can get the money exchanged into something usable. If we can’t pay the fines, then I’m not sure what options we have left but to just bust out of this place by force, but I want that to be our very last option.”

  West took the bag of Ultari money from Carson and stuffed it into a pouch on his vest. He nodded to the Adjudication building. “Good luck.”

  Hesitantly, Carson approached the entrance again, waiting for the alarm to sound again. She let out a sigh of relief as she reached the doors and pulled one open without so much as a peep from the sentries.

  Inside was an open room, filled with droids and aliens, either standing in line waiting or using one of the side terminals along the sides and back walls of the room.

  “We’re going to be in here forever,” Birch said.

  A chrome-plated, bipedal droid with a thin body and oversized cylindrical head stepped up to the pair of humans. “Welcome to DIN Adjudication. I am Servitor G18-37. How may I assist you today?”

  “We need to talk to someone about some fines we’ve recently received,” Carson said, holding up the data chip Envoy Malistar had given her.

  “Of course. Current Adjudicator wait time is seven cycles, or if you prefer not to wait, you may use one to the available kiosk stations.”

  Carson sighed, looking at the line of waiting customers. “Sure would like to know how long a cycle is.”

  “May I see your identification slate, please?”

  “Okay,” Carson said, readying herself to for another fine. “I’ve already tried this line before, but it’s the only one I’ve got. We’re new here and we don’t have a Warrant of whatever and we don’t have any identification. And before you say anything, we’ve already been fined for that. That’s what we’re here to talk with an adjudicator about. This is the only thing I’ve got.” She pulled out the chip the envoy had given her.

  The droid held out a finger. A red light scanned the chip. “Thank you. Your temporary account information has been accepted. You may now enter the queue.”

  The droid stepped out of the way, waving a hand at the long line of aliens waiting for their turn.

  “Here we are 25,000 light years away from Earth’s bureaucracy, only to find ourselves in another,” Birch said.

  Carson nodded, stepping into line. “And I’m not sure which is worse.”

  Chapter 18

  The procession was terrifying. Jared stood on a raised platform in the middle of the Wrath of God’s main hangar bay, watching battalions of Netherguard troops march past in formation. Over 10,000 soldiers, all ready to fight and die at his command.

  He wore his battle armor and stood with his face shield down. Relays from the Netherguard sergeants feeding data to his HUD, giving him status updates on the army in real time. This wasn’t the first time he would command troops in battle, but it was the first time he’d commanded so many troops, and done so in a war that he didn’t believe in, for a ruler whose only ambition was to conquer and destroy.

  The Netherguard filed into waiting transports at the far end of the hangar, large square-shaped vessels that would transport them to the assault ships. Several large trade haulers had been repurposed after their captains had sworn fealty to the Triumvirate, and now served as the launch platforms for the first wave of assault forces.

  Jared looked up as a counter-grav tug flew past, hauling another string of drop pods. He’d seen the first one come off the assembly line days ago and tried to imagine what it would be like to be crammed into one of the teardrop-shaped containers, launched out of a perfectly good spacecraft, then slam into the ground with only minimal relief from the retro-rockets. He doubted the Netherguard would have anything to say about it, but he couldn’t help feeling a small bit of regret at forcing these creatures to do something he wasn’t willing to do.

  At least with the doughboys back on Earth, he could identify with them and could see their courage and determination and eagerness to fight. With the Netherguard, he only saw silent killers, whose only thought was to serve his will…and by extension, the Emperor’s.

  What would Ken say when he found out he was a participant in the creation of thousands of mindless killing machines? What would his wife say? And even though they most definitely were not human, Jared couldn’t help but feel a connection between himself and the Netherguard. On some level, he didn’t want them to be sacrificed.

  “The Herald watches,” the Prince said, climbing the platform’s stairs to Jared’s right.

  Jared turned slightly, bowing his head. “My Prince.”

  “Your false courtesies are not necessary, servant. The others may have convinced themselves that you’re one of us, but I see through your façade. I see the lies in your heart.”

  Jared straightened. “I am loyal to the Triumvirate, my Prince. Glory to the Emperor.”

  “Glory to the Emperor,” Zviera repeated. “Until it suits your purposes to do otherwise.”

  “My purpose is the Emperor’s will, my lord. Nothing short of it.”

  Zviera blank metal face and glowing yellow eyes seemed to consider Jared for a time, then the Prince turned his gaze to the procession of Netherguard below. “We shall see.”

  Jared didn’t respond. Arguing with this creature would get him nowhere. The Prince wasn’t as responsive as the Arch Duke, and getting on his bad side wouldn’t do him any favors.

  “The Emperor believes that your allegiance will be proven through the success of this invasion,” Zviera finally said.

  “I will show myself a loyal and faithful servant, my lord. The attack plan I have—”

  “We will not be following your attack plan.”

  “What do you mean?” Jared asked. “These are my troops, this will be my—”

  The Prince laughed. “Your troops? You have nothing. You are nothing. A servant only. A herald that speaks only what his God instructs him to say to those unworthy of speaking directly to him. You would be wise not to forget your place, human, or your… motivation.”

  Jared said nothing, eyes locked on the Prince’s glowing yellow eyes, wanting nothing more than to drive his gauntleted first straight through the alien’s face.

  “Your anger will serve you well,” the Prince said. “Perhaps it will help you on the battlefield. You will lead our Netherguard to victory or suffer the consequences.”

  “And how am I to lead the battle when I don’t know the battle plans?”

  The Prince waved a metal hand at the passing troops. “Our numbers will overwhelm the enemy. We will pound against their defenses until they crumble. You will land where you’re told and you will fight where you are told. We will continue to overwhelm the enemy with the Netherguard until they submit.”

  “We will lose many Netherguard that way. The planet might be difficult to hold if we don’t have the forces to tamp down any rebellion.”

  “Inconsequential. They will be replaced. They are nothing, much like yourself. You are all tools, nothing more. Regardless, this is not an occupation, this is a raid, and when the streets run red with Regulos blood, we will take what is ours.”

  Chapter 19

  The line actually was much faster than it’d first appeared, and forty-five minutes later, Carson and Birch stood at the front of the line. Carson was surprised at how orderly the entire experience was; there had been very little arguing by customers, and what disagreements there had been were handled swiftly and quietly.

  An alien that looked like a two-foot tall wasp that walked on four legs and had two sets of arms on its upper half had been the loudest of the day. Long, black antennas on top of its head thrashed back and forth as it chirped angrily
with the SI servitor, who sat calmly behind a clear glass partition.

  The servitor droid waited for the wasp to finish its rant, then went into a long dissertation and only served to enrage the alien even further. It pounded one of its claw-like hands against the partition, screeching. The glass immediately turned opaque and two security droids stepped up beside the wasp, forearm weapons out and ready.

  The wasp’s antennae thrashed again, and it waved all four arms at the droids, chirping out a string of unintelligible words Carson was sure were curses, then it turned and the droids escorted it from the building.

  “Wonder what its problem was,” Birch said.

  “Note to self, keep temper under control,” Carson said.

  Birch laughed. “You can say that again. You know, for not having very many rules, those droids seem to be extremely well armed.”

  “Maybe, but I doubt they’d hold a candle next to one of our armor soldiers. They seem kind of outdated, I mean, especially for a society with faster than light travel. Don’t you think?”

  “There are a lot of strange things about this place that don’t make a lot of sense, Chief.”

  A green light flashed on the posts marking the end of the line, and a small screen mounted on the wall ahead of them displayed the number for the next available servitor.

  “Pretty sure this is the same window Ol’ Waspy was at,” Birch said as they followed a pulsing line on the floor, directing them where to go.

  “Let’s hope it’s not in a bad mood,” Carson said.

  They reached the indicated window and stopped, waiting for the glass to change from opaque to clear. When it didn’t, Birch put a hand on Carson’s shoulder and said, “Try the chip.”

  Carson slid the small chip the envoy had given her into a small slot at the base of the glass, and a second later, the window became clear. The servitor droid behind the glass had an oval-shaped head, with two glowing orbs for eyes, no nose, and an open horizontal slit where his mouth should have been.

  Its voice was mechanical and tinny. “Your temporary identification has been accepted. Reviewing your account.”

  “Yes, I—” Carson started, but the droid interrupted her, continuing unabated.

  “Records indicate violations of DIN Compliance and Registrant Regulations. A fine of 10,862 accruals has been assessed to your account. In accordance with DIN Adjudication Procedure 1.1, you will need to submit a permanent warrant application and render successful payment of your account balance to bring your account into compliance.”

  “Okay, like I was trying to say,” Carson said, “I’m not here to just pay these fines. I’d like to talk to someone about the validity of them and see about getting them waived. We didn’t even know about the violations until after we were fined.”

  “A Waiver of Fees application must be submitted to DIN Adjudication within ten working cycles of receipt of said fines,” the droid said, its monotone voice never changing. “The standard Zeis template is on file at any DIN Compliance office.”

  “First of all, we’re not Zeis,” Carson said, removing her mask, revealing her face to the droid. “We’re human. Second of all, I don’t want to fill out any forms. I want to speak to someone that can make a decision, at the very least someone who’s not a machine. I want to talk to whoever’s in charge of this place.”

  “DIN Governance is unavailable through this node,” the droid said.

  Carson’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Listen here, you oversized toaster, forget the fines. I have information about the Triumvirate that I’m sure this DIN Central will want to know about. So why don’t you use your little computer there and let the big Regulos know.”

  “I have no information regarding a ‘Triumvirate’ in this node. Such a reference does not exist.”

  “Oh, believe you me,” Carson said, stepping closer to the glass. “They exist alright. They are very real and extremely dangerous. They kidnapped and enslaved my people. Hell, we saw the Ultari fleet engaging your ships above Negev not three weeks ago.”

  “This node has no information about such action. If you would like assistance with addressing the fines on your account, I would be happy to assist you.”

  “Are you kidding me right now? I want to talk to a Regulos right now.”

  “DIN Governance is unavailable through—”

  Carson gritted her teeth, raising a fist to punch the glass. Birch put a hand on her arm, gently pushing it back down. Carson took a long breath, then spoke, lips barely moving. “I got that part already. Can you please point me in the right direction so that I can speak with Governance?”

  There was a brief pause, as lights on the droid’s torso flashed and its eyes blinked on and off. Carson and Birch exchanged glances.

  Finally, the droid said, “Your ticket has been transferred to DIN Governance for further review. Please follow the directional bot to the closest DIN Governance Node.”

  A small metal orb zipped up next to the two humans, spinning in the air, lights blinking.

  Carson looked at the orb, then back at the servitor. She jabbed her thumb at the bot. “We follow that? I can’t just talk to someone here?”

  “Please follow the direction bot to the closest DIN Governance Node,” the droid repeated.

  The clear glass flowed back to opaque without so much as a “have a nice day,” leaving Carson and Birch staring at the little bot.

  “Bastard,” Carson muttered, slapping the opaque glass.

  A warning tone buzzed, and a robotic voice said, “Cease hostile actions. You have been fined for violation of DIN Compliance Regulation 471.1.”

  “You’ve got to be shitting me,” Carson said.

  “Come on,” Birch said, motioning toward the bot. “Let’s go.”

  Chapter 20

  Hale paused, his hand on the door’s handle, and took a deep breath. There was no going back from this. There was no turning off the faucet, no putting the rabbit back in the hat. Once he opened this Pandora’s Box, it would change him forever.

  Is this how you felt, Ibarra? Hale wondered, though he doubted Mark Ibarra would’ve had any conflicts of character. The man’s moral compass never seemed to point anywhere other than toward humanity’s survival, no matter the cost.

  The irony of the whole thing was enough turn Hale’s stomach. He’d all but condemned Ibarra for his continued, and radical, use of biotechnology, and now faced with possible annihilation; he would go against his own beliefs and convictions.

  For the greater good.

  He turned the handle and pushed open the door.

  Shannon Martel sat behind a bank of computers, arranged in a semi-circle in front of the two doughboy construction tubes they’d recovered from Negev. She looked over her shoulder, nodding as Hale shut the door behind him. “Morning.”

  “It’s afternoon actually,” Hale told her, eyes scanning over the data displayed on the six screens, arranged in two rows of three, one row per tube.

  Shannon arched her back and spread her arms out to the side in a long stretch. She rolled her head around, vertebra popping. “I really lose track of time down here.”

  “How’s it coming?”

  “I was actually just getting ready to call you.”

  “Oh?”

  Shannon tapped a series of keys and the data on the upper right screen changed, showing lines of scrolling letters and numbers. Hale understood none of it. “I was able to salvage some of the original doughboy code from the databanks. I cleared out all the Ultari changes, now the system is running a final code diagnostic.”

  “In English perhaps,” Hale said.

  “We’re about five minutes away from being able to start the construction process.”

  Hale watched the unreadable data scroll down the screen, shaking his head. Are you really doing this, Ken?

  “Are you sure all the Netherguard code is cleared out?” Hale asked.

  “Positive.”

  “Have you even told anyone else about our little
secret project? I’m sure there’ll be a few on the council that won’t like what we’re doing at all.”

  “I can keep a secret, Governor.” Shannon turned, raising an eyebrow at him. “Have you told your wife?”

  Hale considered her for a moment, then turned and walked around the computers to the tubes. “How are we going to control them without Jared?”

  “Doughboys will follow any lawful order from a human; they just need to be properly imprinted into their command programming, which takes time. Ibarra made a shortcut by replicating…seasoned code in doughboys attuned to Jared Hale. He just did a shake and bake of procedurals that came out of the tube looking and sounding like your brother and married them up to ready doughboys. Lazy or efficient, who knows. Bet it made a difference when the Xaros invaded a second time.”

  “You have no idea. Wait, are you telling me we need Jared here to control them?”

  “No. I wasn’t able to clear all of Jared’s control data from the DNA sequences, there’s just too much, but I was able to code their compliance sequence to the next best person.”

  “Who?”

  “You. You and your brother are twins, not identical but still close enough. The hard-coded doughboys will accept you as their leader. You can get them to follow another human with enough time and interaction. Like someone adopting a grown dog. They’ll do their tricks and be loyal, but if the first master comes back…”

  Hale’s stomach turned. It was the most logical answer, and if he was being honest with himself, he wouldn’t have wanted it any other way, but he’d hoped there’d be another way.

  “As soon as the diagnostic is complete, I can start pushing them out,” Shannon said.

  Hale shook his head. “Not yet.”

  “But I thought—”

  Hale’s IR link chimed. Captain Handley’s name appeared on his wrist screen. “What now?” He tapped the display, accepting the call. “Hale here.”

  “Governor Hale, Captain Handley, sir.”

  “Yes, Captain, what can I do for you?”