Model: Scribe (Model Humans Book 2)

by Nix Whittaker

  Halfway down the mountain he had to pass over the things to Sorcha and lifted the man on his back.

  Wynn sat on the bonnet of the vehicle as they approached. “I see you found someone.”

  Sorcha said, “He is a human from the crew.”

  That had Wynn hopping off the bonnet and approaching them. “You are kidding. I didn’t think they had any children.”

  The old man said, “Of course they had kids. Against the law to not let people have kids.”

  Wynn rolled his eyes. Kynaston had to agree with the man. There were laws but that had been back on earth. Ardin was different. They set the laws even before they had left earth by the scientists that had made them. The scientists that had sent them here had wanted a perfect society and the laws were created for that and it didn’t include the crew of Plato.

  Kynaston helped the old man into the vehicle. Wynn whispered, “What are you going to do with him?”

  “I was hoping you could tell me. We couldn’t leave him there. He has been living alone for a long time.”

  Wynn ran a hand through his hair, “What did you find?”

  “That someone in the city has been talking with the people on the ship. Maybe.”

  Wynn frowned, “That doesn’t make any sense. The Scribes are creating an army to fight them. Right?”

  “Maybe the Serenities are the bogey man in this war.”

  Wynn’s mouth dropped and he went pale. “It can’t be.”

  Kynaston shrugged. “One theory only. But until we find out what has been said we can’t rule anything out.”

  14

  Scribe

  The sun beat down on Sorcha as they lay in the irrigation ditch. They had been there since early morning, waiting for the right moment. They would wait for the Rustics to finish for the day and then join them when they left for the city.

  This was when Kynaston’s looks would be the assets and she would have to hide. But there was a mixture amongst the Rustics. They had bred with the Serenities many generations ago so they weren’t completely the brown sparrows they were intended to be. Instead, they had a plethora of sizes and hair colour.

  Sorcha had a scarf over her head to hide her pale locks. Kynaston shifted closer and Sorcha turned her head to take him in. He also had a scarf over his head but that was more to keep the harsh sun off him. Without the kupal the sun had high radiation. A few days in this wouldn’t harm them but it was a beating they weren’t used to.

  He said, “It looks like they are about to move.” They had almost risked getting up to work with the Rustic workers near lunch time but Scribe overseer had wandered through the fields. He would have noticed two extra workers he wasn’t familiar with.

  Sorcha moved, so her head popped up over the edge of the ditch. People moved to gather near the thoroughfares. They stood around chatting so it wouldn’t be long before they headed back to the city.

  Sorcha settled back and asked, “Do you think we’ll get caught.”

  “No.”

  She raised an eyebrow surprised by his confidence, “I’m part Rustic. I know how this works.”

  She snorted. She doubted Kynaston had ever worked in a field in his life. There were labourer Rustics and then there were artists. Kynaston wasn’t either but he had played with money instead. Which had impressed the Scribes more than the Rustics. A balance that had tipped over eventually and why he had ended up in a prison. Sorcha wasn’t sure she should trust his confidence. From what she had seen in his mind he really didn’t have any confidence in his own ability and this was all bravado.

  He reached out and lightly ran his fingers over the back of her hand. She gazed at him and saw he was worried just as she was. She could understand the need for some bravado especially since they were about to walk into enemy territory.

  She turned her hand over and took Kynaston’s hand in her own. The heat was more than physical it was almost as if he reached inside of her with himself. It wasn’t sexual either, just comfort. She tightened her hand over his.

  Kynaston gave the signal for them to go and he scrambled to his feet. She followed him. She wouldn’t have been able to tell if anyone was looking their way and this plan would have failed if she had come on her own but Kynaston could look with his Serenity abilities and pick the best moment but it would be merely a moment so she trusted his instincts.

  A group of workers passed by and Kynaston scooped up a basket set at the end of the row. He passed it back to her and picked up another. Together they took the baskets to the vehicle and set them on the back before following the other workers back towards the city kupal.

  A Rustic glanced at them. Taking them in with a quick look up and down their bodies. There was suspicion in his eyes but otherwise the Rustic didn’t say anything. Kynaston nodded to the man and then did something with his hands. The Rustic raised an eyebrow but went back to minding his own business.

  Sorcha wasn’t sure what signal he had given the man but others now closed around them as camouflage. When they approached the kupal Sorcha could see there was a small opening in the side. It had a kupal gate but it wasn’t nearly as large as the ones that led into the fiains or to the trains. This one was only big enough for a single person. The produce would be taken to another gate but this one was purely for the workers to have ease of access to the fields.

  There was a single guard on the gate. A Rustic. He leaned against a table and nodded to each of the workers as they entered. Sorcha assumed there was supposed to be some check in the system that the Rustics had ignored it as a small defiance against Scribe efficiency.

  Her heart beat faster. If they were going to get caught, this would be the place. As they approached the guard, the man who had suspiciously looked at them before turned to Kynaston and asked, “How’s the family, John?”

  Without skipping beat Kynaston answered, “You know, same old, same old. Jane wants to marry Richard but he is completely useless for her. Dad says she can marry anyone she wants as long as he has a job.”

  The man snorted. Kynaston reached out to her hand and said, “As you can see, I don’t have to worry about any of that with pops, he loves the missus.” The guard eyed them then nodded to them all, one at a time. The knowing look in his eyes that said he knew they were no Rustics but he let them anyway was clear as day.

  When they were away from the kupal the man who had helped them, and somehow signalled with his conversation to the guard that they were supposed to be there, pointed down a side street and said, “Your best access to the rest of the city is that way. They have some guys on the main street.”

  Kynaston nodded his thanks and tugged on the hand he hadn’t released. He guided her down the street he had indicated.

  She asked, “Can we trust them?”

  “Yes.”

  “How can you be so sure?” She glanced back at the Rustic. He wasn’t running off to tell anyone they were there but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t do that later. If the people who were trying to kill her knew she was here, she would be running away from assassins and not just hiding from bored guards.

  “Serenities have been working with the Rustics for several generations.”

  “Against the Scribes?” he glanced at her and she realised she had put more into her words than she had intended.

  “Yeah, to survive.”

  She winced at the thought of the secret signs and effort to hide from the Scribes. “Are we really that bad?”

  “Yes and no. Scribes want the most efficient and what they deem the best for everyone. The only problem is that there are different ways to be the best for people. That is why my sister ran. She had a vision for herself and what I wanted for her would keep her safe. But she didn’t want to live the safe life, she wanted a life that meant something. The Scribes can’t be flexible enough in their governance for that. So, instead the rest of us push back until there is a little bit of space and we just live in that space. That is why we will always back each other first around Scribes.”


  Sorcha’s heart dropped. How could she ever have anything with Kynaston when their people had been basically at war for generations? Her people had tried to wipe out his people until they were forced to hide. Even for himself he hadn’t been working against the government. He wanted to be left alone but instead they had put him in a prison and metaphorically thrown the key away. Without a trial and with a reason. They just couldn’t trust him in the open so out of fear they had contained him.

  What else did the Scribes fear so much that they contained them with prejudice? Was that the real reason for all the rules, instead of making them safe it was just fear? Maybe it was only to make the Scribes safe that the rest were restricted so much.

  Kynaston navigated the streets as if he were born to them so she followed behind him without asking where they were going. She wasn’t familiar with this part of the city. Around the edges of the kupal there were more farms and warehouses which she could see through the blue tinge of the kupal over the city.

  These plants were the ones brought from earth and they couldn’t handle the conditions of Ardin. Releasing them into the environment would have been disastrous or at the very least short sighted.

  Kynaston brought them to a tram stop and settled in to wait. She asked, “How did you know this was here? Have you been here before?”

  He still hadn’t let go of her hand now laid it on his leg and kept his hand over the top. “No. I’ve been developing my Serenity powers. I can’t do much besides kinetic actions but sensing is fairly simple to develop. I was trying to figure a way to escape. Not that my powers made that ever possible but it has come in handy lately.”

  She didn’t move her hand and Kynaston shifted closer. He reacted to her silent signal. He leaned his shoulder against hers, sending warmth through her at the simple touch.

  Though they had been immobile most of the day it had been under the harsh sunlight and she felt drained. They weren’t safe sitting out in the open in the middle of Jing City so there wasn’t a chance to relax either. Just this moment where they could lean against each other and borrow some energy from their shared comradery.

  She asked into the soft silence, “You any closer to figuring yourself out?”

  “Yes. I’m sorry about all of this. But understand that I can’t come to you broken. I have to fix myself first.”

  She didn’t want to tell him that she felt just as lost as he was. Without her career and her family, she didn’t really have an identity and she wasn’t sure if she could figure out who she was going to be once she out ran the assassins after her.

  “I take it adventure is what the doctor ordered.” A smile slipped over her lips. She had to admit to herself that at least the running around allowed her to forget for long moments that her entire life was up in flames and she was the only person to blame for it all.

  “Not sure but it certainly feels like the cure. There is no routine so I’m forced to use my social and mental muscles as they haven’t been used in years. I’m a bit raw but I’m better.”

  It was statements like that that reminded her he had been isolated for years. She left it there. He might fix himself but she wouldn’t rush him.

  He was right in many ways. She didn’t want him to rush into a relationship with her and never have to deal with the issues that arose because of his incarceration. Certainly, she appreciated the time to figure herself out.

  15

  Serenity

  They took several trams until they reached the area of Jing that was predominately Scribes. They had shed their Rustic disguises and were now in matching suits they picked up in the city. Sorcha took the led as she held the posture and looks of a Scribe. No one would question what she was doing in this area of the city. She ignored people as she moved through the crowds determined and sure of her destination. It was this confidence that was her true disguise rather than anything she wore.

  Kynaston lowered his shoulders to make himself seem smaller as he followed in her shadow. It was a strange place for him as he was used to being in the front with people paying attention to him. He hadn’t tried to achieve the position of power and wealth but it had been handed to him at a young age and he had never been comfortable with it. Now he wasn’t sure what he felt following Sorcha.

  He wanted to shine but he enjoyed the anonymity of not being the up-and-coming businessman he had been. Maybe he could find another place where he could feel comfortable in his own skin.

  Certainly, Sorcha seemed to fit her own persona of a scientist. With her firm stride but he had also seen her in moments where she was much softer and he missed those moments.

  The crowd thickened around the entrance to Plato. There were people taking ID checks at the doorway but they weren’t very diligent and adding themselves to a large group of children come to see the Plato was enough to get them through without having to be checked.

  The entrance to the ship was straight into the loading bay and there were displays set up for people to wander and gawk at. Displaying what the early people who had first come to the planet had used to stay alive.

  Paths were in the pale metal of the loading bay made by the tracks of thousands of feet over the years. Sorcha seemed familiar with the place and moved with confidence to one corner of the loading bay. It had a large display that covered a maintenance door on the other side.

  She tapped in her codes and said, “I have no idea if these still work.”

  “They shouldn’t…” but he understood why she was trying, anyway. Why pick a lock when you already had the key? The door clicked open and Sorcha pushed her way through. He followed and closed the door silently behind him. He frowned at her but decided that stealth was more important than discussing why someone who was classified as missing or even as a traitor still had access to Scribe codes.

  Someone would have gone out of their way to make sure her codes were still valid and that didn’t make sense on any level.

  The corridor on the other side of the loading bay was immaculate. It was also empty. Sorcha again led the way.

  Kynaston vaguely remembered visiting Plato when he was a child with his school but he hadn’t been down any of the service corridors. Sorcha as a scientist might have done an internship here years ago but she wouldn’t know exactly where to go either. Hopefully, if anyone they met in the corridors saw her, they would assume she was supposed to be there just because she looked like a proper Scribe.

  They wandered the halls for a while when they heard some people talking up ahead. Kynaston tried the closest door. It thankfully was unlocked. He slipped in with Sorcha close behind. He pressed his ear to the door to listen to the people outside. Their voices got closer and then faded as they left.

  He turned to signal to Sorcha that their way was clear but the words died in his throat. The room was dimly lit. Made of glass tubes that were back lit to reveal foetuses. Thousands of foetuses. The rows of tubes went back into the ship until there was darkness.

  Sorcha stood by one of the tubes and he asked in a hushed voice, “What are they?”

  She said just as softly, “Warriors. I didn’t know these facilities were still operational. I mean they were used when we first arrived but there is only a certain amount of fluid and consumables. I thought we had used up everything years ago.”

  “Kaidan said he was a chimera. They must still have some of the equipment and gear to run an experiment like that.” He came up closer to the baby. There were codes at the bottom that he assumed was the way Sorcha had identified them as Warrior babies.

  He looked down the row of tubes and said out loud, “What are they expecting, a world war?” He had known academically the Scribes were making an army but this really pushed it home.

  Sorcha answered him even though he hadn’t been expecting one, “Yes.”

  Kynaston couldn’t help wonder if the Scribes were going to war with the other models or just against the humans arriving from earth. “The way is clear.”

  She nodded agreeing with him but hes
itated. He couldn’t understand her strange fascination with the children. The models had come from places like this. His great great grandparents would have been born like this.

  None of them had even seen a room like this though as it was a relic of their past. Out in the loading bay museum they didn’t even have one of the tubes on display.

  There was a worktable by the door and Sorcha veered towards it.

  Kynaston opened the door and said, “This isn’t why we are here. We must go.”

  “In a moment.” Sorcha muttered as she shuffled through the flexi sheets on the worktable. Her fists closing around one. He reached out and caught her arm and dragged her out. She didn’t fight him.

  In the corridors again they made their way further into the ship. Sorcha took turns down corridors that looked just like the other. He followed and hoped she knew where she was going. Eventually she opened a door and they went inside. Unlike the rest of the ship this place wasn’t as immaculate. He doubted anyone had been in here for months, maybe even years.

  There was a fine layer of dust that had settled on everything. It must have accumulated over a very long time as the whole ship still used a centralised air unit that would have normally filtered out the dust.

  Sorcha waved a hand over a console and it lit up. Kynaston watched as she used the controls to open the files they needed.

  He asked, “Are they communicating with the Scribes?” It scared him to think the Scribes needed all those Warrior babies, not to fight the humans, but to fight the other models.

  “Yes, but not through here. There is a patch here that relays all the messages to someone else. I don’t know who it is but there is definitely some communication.” To prove her words, she played one of the transmissions.

  A voice echoed in the small room with the tinny distance of space, “We can commit two hundred soldiers with weapons. But we can’t be sure of the others. None of them are trained and we will need equipment. How sure are you of the others? Will they fight for you against their own kind?”