Model: Scribe (Model Humans Book 2)

by Nix Whittaker

  She still hadn’t made up her mind when she stopped herself outside the director’s office. Normally she would never eavesdrop but after what she had found out she took the chance and pressed her ear to the door. She couldn’t make out many words but she could hear the words prisoner. Serenity. Mad woman. Pain. Deal. Her.

  Then her boss spoke.

  In deeper tones he was a shade louder so she could make out more of his words. “You are being paranoid, Jones. There is no sign the Serenities know anything more than what they revealed on the show years ago. Even the girl’s brother admits she couldn’t have known any more. He didn’t even know himself about the humans and he was one of our informants in the business sector for years. Besides, he is our prisoner, he can’t tell anyone anything.”

  The other man said something about the telescope and Sorcha’s boss replied, “My people are clean. I looked at the records myself. The technician on last night only saw blurry images. The virus we inserted worked its charm just as predicted. They would have written it off as faulty equipment and set it in the rounds like always.”

  He had to be talking about the co-ordinates from last night.

  Sorcha stepped away from the door without knocking. Her heart so loud she swore others could hear it as she walked past them. Returning to her office she closed the door. Burying her face in her hands she went over what she had heard. It was clearly a conspiracy to cover up the arrival of the humans. The woman who had gone on television to tell the world about the humans had already been discredited. If Sorcha went public, she was likely to destroy her own career. But last night she had figured most of that out already. Funny enough she was still contemplating telling people even if it did finish her career.

  She didn’t know what the man was talking about when he mentioned the prisoner. It was clear there were other secrets she didn’t know about.

  She couldn’t leave it alone though. Even if it risked her career, she couldn’t leave a person locked up who was only there because of political expedience rather than guilt. She drummed her fingers against her chin. She would have to approach this with caution. She dashed to her office for some time to think in privacy.

  Growing up as a Scribe she knew her model could be ruthless. That expediency was taught in school as the logical choice in all things. She knew first-hand how dangerous it could be to buck the rules the Scribes set down. She hadn’t always wanted to go into a scientific career. She would have preferred a more creative industry but that was exclusively for the Rustics and as far as her society and her father thought that was beneath her. In the end a creative career had been impossible as every time she had tried to pursue it, she had been sabotaged. In the end she had buckled under the enormous pressure to conform and had finished her doctorate. Most didn’t know that she still painted in her spare time.

  Anxious, Sorcha got to her feet and paced her office.

  She ran a hand through her blonde hair and rubbed the roots, pressing hard till her scalp tingled.

  Letting out a breath she took a seat and dragged herself close to her desk. A swipe across the desk brought up her desktop computer screen. Research had always been her strong suit when she was studying. It wasn’t that she was good at referencing but rather that she approached the information gathering sideways.

  Instead of checking online sources for the Serenity woman or stories about the humans coming she started with human resources. Lists and lists of people who worked for the government. Most didn’t even have jobs listed. Some had innocuous job titles. She scrolled through, getting a feel for every facility run by the Scribes. Looking for patterns that were hidden from a casual perusal. She had thought to start with her own research facility just as a start so it bothered her when she found some inconsistencies right off the bat.

  There was a record of a Rustic man who lived in the compound attached to this one. He was actually not far from her office. It was an anomaly as no one was supposed to live at the compound. There were housing facilities off-site for those who needed to be close but since this compound also housed nuclear facilities, there was a rule that there couldn’t be anyone living on the premises.

  A quick look at the sign in and out, and she found the man had never signed out. He had been here for over two years and he hadn’t even left the compound to eat out at a restaurant. That was suspicious. This must be the prisoner. Scientists wouldn’t be dealing with prisoners in the prison block for a crime that could be on the normal court rolls.

  It bothered her he had been so close and she hadn’t realised. What other things hadn’t she realised that was just under her nose?

  Sorcha paced her office. She had a report due based on her last quarter’s research but she couldn’t think of that.

  When lunchtime came around, she picked up her purse and headed over to her dad’s offices. He didn’t usually go into the government buildings as he did most of his work from home. But she remembered he had mentioned he would be in the office today and that he would be free for lunch. He had probably meant for it to be a time for them to catch up but there was only one thing she wanted to talk to her dad about.

  His office was in Plato, the ship they had arrived in. Only those who worked directly with the government had offices there while the others had moved to tall gleaming buildings that crowded in close. The ship though easily came up half-way to the tall sky rises. After all it had to carry the embryos of thousands along with supplies for the generational crew. By the time Plato had landed, it had mostly been emptied of supplies. If the planet had not been very fruitful the crew would have waited to birth the children. Instead, Ardin had been very welcoming so the embryos had been taken out of storage and the generational crew had turned into their parents.

  Plato was literally their origins and there was a museum on one of the levels that was easily accessed. Children passed by her as she went through one of the larger access portals. Her father’s office was deep within the ship but along one of the main passages so it wasn’t hard to find. There was a desk set up with security in the corridor. They barely glanced her way as she passed. She was a common visitor. They did wave for her to press her palm to the reader to clear her. The green light flickered and she passed on without any conversation. Usually she would stop to chat with whoever was on duty but her concerns crowded out any niceties.

  Her father frowned when she arrived. “Are you alright?”

  She nodded and sat down only to get up to pace again. Her agitation had come to a head and it bubbled just beneath her skin. Before she could gather herself to come up with the right words her dad got a call. He motioned for her to be quiet while he answered. Frowning at whatever was being said to him he walked over to one of the adjoining rooms. Sorcha forced herself to take a seat. Her dad would know what to do. He always knew how to solve the problems in her life. Though often that came with a caveat. As he would only help her if he thought it was in her best interests.

  Her career was a perfect example. She had gone into it because he had contacts within the industry as he had once been an astronomer himself. But she only enjoyed the quiet moments rather than actual work. As a compromise it was one she could live with but she wondered some days how different her life would have been if she had been born a Rustic and able to pursue a more creative path.

  She saw something on his desk, a printed flex. There weren’t many of those as most people just transferred files using computers. To print things up was to make it easier to get rid of as flex printing deleted the original. She had heard of them for secret stuff in the government. She had seen many in her life. Her father had stacks of them in a safe at his home. With her mind leaning towards conspiracies she wondered what secrets might be on this particular flexi.

  Curiosity got the better of her. Maybe it was her recent snooping that made it easy to lift the flex to see what was written. There was a picture of a person and there was his name next to the image. The same name of the man she had discovered hiding out in her facility. It was a
n order for a transfer. Though the wording was odd. The facility he was to move to wasn’t a prison or another research building. She gasped when she placed the name of the place. It was a cemetery.

  Sorcha dropped the flex when she heard something but when she looked up, her father hadn’t returned. She was tempted to have another look but there was one thing she was sure of, she couldn’t tell her father what she knew. What if he was part of it all? As his daughter she knew he loved her, but she also knew that his career was his passion. She couldn’t leave either that would be beyond suspicious to her father. Her mouth went dry at the thought of her father being part of the imprisonment of an innocent man. She still hadn’t found any evidence he had done anything wrong.

  When her dad came back in, he was still frowning at her. He asked again, “You all right?”

  “Yeah. I had a crisis of faith.” Periodically she would bring to her dad her issues with her job. Mostly because it wasn’t her passion. He always talked her back into believing it was the right choice so she knew the routine of this conversation. “Is my job really what I want to do? I mean seriously staring at the stars isn’t going to help anyone. It just doesn’t fill me as it used to.”

  Her father’s face softened. “You were always one to follow your heart. Your mother would be proud of your choices so far if she was still around. You don’t need to question what you are doing.” She noticed he didn’t encourage her to pursue her creative side. Or in fact acknowledge his own part in her chosen career. After all she had followed in his footsteps.

  “Thanks dad. I needed to hear that.” She did, not because it was advice she was looking for but rather the excuse to be emotional in front of him. She hated that she might be putting her dad in a difficult position with what she knew. At least he would be able to be honest when he was questioned. Her father might have a position of power in the government but he would lose it in an instant if they thought he knew his daughter was contemplating treason and did nothing. If he was part of it all and she said something to him, then both of them would be at risk. She doubted whoever he worked for would be pleased that she was breaking the rules.

  She didn’t want to contemplate his possible involvement or that he might not just be following orders.

  It was strange. She was contemplating setting her whole life on fire and yet now that she had made her decision, she was calm about it. She smoothed her hands down her dress pants. Her hands no longer shaking and she didn’t feel like she wanted to jump out of her skin.

  Offering a genuine smile to her father. “I came to see if you wanted to go out for lunch.” That at least was true.

  He sighed. “I would love to, but I have some time sensitive issues to deal with today. Another day.” Sadness and regret flickered for a moment in his eyes.

  “Next week? I’ve got a light load. I had my night at the obs last night so I’m a little beat.” She hated lying but it would keep him safe and she kept that close to her as she answered lightly.

  “I’ll make sure to leave a day free so we can go out.” Her regret over leaving him in the dark made her feel ill. It was almost as bad as lying to him. The calm from making her choice gone with the idea that she would be disappointing him. She had never lied to her dad. Even when she told him her secrets, he had often used that knowledge to guide her onto the path that he thought was best for her. If she told him about her choice not only would it put him in danger but there was a good chance he would talk her out of it.

  Unfortunately, she couldn’t afford that when a person’s life was on the line and her career was a sacrifice, she was willing to give.

  3

  Serenity

  Kynaston thought he was hallucinating when a slice of light cut over his eyes. It wouldn’t be the first time he had imagined his escape. Being alone like this could do weird things to a person’s mind. But he could also smell the subtle hint of a woman’s perfume. None of his guards were female. Thinking about it, he hadn’t even seen a woman in over three years. He had dreamed of them before but never before had his mind provided scent.

  He turned his head to see a woman peering into his room. Turning the light on with his mind he startled her as she flinched away from the illumination. He rolled over in bed to face her. She quickly came in and closed the door behind her. That had him studying her as that wasn’t what he expected from her. She stopped to listen at the door and he watched her avidly. Clearly, she wasn’t shocked by his presence so she must be in the right place. Her paranoia also told him she knew he was a prisoner and that there should have been a guard outside. His heart picked up speed with the possibilities. She was no figment of his imagination. And she might just be here to rescue him.

  Dressed like other Scribes who worked at the facility, but then that could be a disguise, she was a blonde with a round face. She looked lost rather than a Serenity operative sent to free him. But he wasn’t about to be picky about the method as long as he got free.

  Shaking himself he narrowed his eyes as he took her in. Her hair was blonde but it wasn’t white like Serenity colouring. That would make her a Scribe. The very people who had imprisoned him here.

  He thought about asking her if she was there to finally put him out of his misery as the Scribes had threatened when they had been interrogating him. But that had been over a year ago and they hadn’t followed through. Unless something had changed recently, it was unlikely she was here to kill him.

  Instead, he raised an eyebrow and asked, “Want to join me?” Once he had asked, he knew beyond a doubt he wanted her. It was stupid but his brain was giddy with possibilities. He’d heard of people falling in love with their nurses. Was it true for rescuers as well? He blamed his broken mind on the crude invitation.

  She frowned at his suggestion and he changed tactics. He couldn’t help himself. Offering her his hand he invited her to touch him and do whatever she wanted to him in a silent gesture. Anything at all. He would even be happy if she was the new interrogator here to get out every ounce of information from him. Broken as he was, he would accept anything.

  She stared at his hand and then back at his face before she asked, “Are you a prisoner?”

  “Yes. Though only on days that end with y.” His blood rushed to his head. Someone to talk to. Sadly, enough that was more of a rush than the thought of her in his bed. He swung his legs around out of the bed. Leaning forward eager for her words.

  Her frown deepened and she asked, “Do you want to get out of here.” His mind helpfully added suggestions of what they could do once they were ‘out of here’ but he managed to keep them behind his teeth.

  Instead, he said, “Every day of the week and every hour. Are you saying you are here to release me?” He now eyed her with suspicion. His captors hadn’t tested him before but there was nothing to say they wouldn’t start at some stage. But the hope of getting out was overwhelming and he was even slightly lightheaded with the possibility alone.

  Even if she was a poisoned apple, he would take it. Anything was better than being trapped in this tiny white room.

  He held up a hand for her to wait. “Let me dress and sort out this chip. Then we can waltz out of here.” He might literally waltz when they left, his feet eager to get him moving. He had figured out early on how to deal with chip they had put into him to stop him if he ever left the building. But he knew if he ever zapped it, he wouldn’t have enough power to deal with the lock or the security guard. He placed his hand over the chip and sent his senses under his skin. The chip was delicate but shielded specifically to fight his powers. Panting with the effort he forced through the shielding and sent some power to melt the components. Gasping he pulled out of using his abilities.

  He had to lean on the bed as he got back some of his energy. Once he had his breath back, he dressed by first stripping out of the bland pyjamas they supplied him with.

  He hoped she had a plan though he wasn’t sure. She didn’t seem like a steely eyed operative that knew what she was doing. But he would
take any chance he had. Even if it meant his death. At this stage he really didn’t care if he lived or died. He needed to be free. He let his clothes drop to the floor.

  4

  Scribe

  Blushing, Sorcha turned, as the man was naked and didn’t even try for any privacy. With her back turned it gave her a moment to study his prison, the part that didn’t include him and the bed. It was plain with sturdy furniture, to the point of austere. There weren’t even paintings on the walls. The soft furnishings were white and all the furniture made of steel. The room was clean but clinical. If she hadn’t known the man hadn’t left the building in years, she would have assumed he had only moved in the day before.

  There weren’t any personal items. Sketches, photos, random clothing – nothing personal at all. Even the clothes were the kind given to people in a hospital. Shapeless and impersonal.

  He announced his readiness and she turned to take in the prisoner. Tall with white blonde hair he was clearly a Serenity. His murky green eyes though were more Rustic. His records said he was a Rustic man. She doubted now the accuracy of his records. It would also explain what he had been doing before that had taken so much out of him. It would also make more sense the secrecy of his confinement.

  Scribes had officially eradicated Serenities almost a century before. They even had a public holiday to celebrate it. If his records were also false, then that would also explain why there were no charges. She wondered though if he had committed a crime but because of his model the Scribes had hidden it behind a false identity. The last thing she wanted to do was release a criminal. But that passed as she knew that the Scribes were planning to have him killed and for her there was no justification of killing a man in cold blood. He was no danger to anyone. In fact, he was a little pathetic in his baggy white clothes.