by L H Whitlock
“Then let’s go!”
***
Alyssa and Brock entered one of the private training rooms. Across one wall was an assortment of weapons; the others were windowless and blank. Glares from the florescent lights gleamed over the sleek metal and Alyssa had to squint her eyes as they adjusted to the brightness.
After selecting a shield and a sword, Alyssa turned to Brock. “All right, let’s see how quickly your arm is transforming. I have to use these because I don’t have an advancement yet, but don’t let that fool you. I’m tough!”
Brock grinned. “I’m sure you are, baby.”
Alyssa felt her cheeks flush. Baby? “All right, transform your arm into a blade.”
After a brief moment, Brock’s arm morphed into a blade. He looked at her with a triumphant smirk. Alyssa stared at the long, shiny steel. It was a peculiar design compared to what others usually chose, thicker and gruffer. Somehow—but she didn’t know how it was possible—it made him look more masculine, the shiny metal striking against his dark brown skin.
She licked her suddenly dry lips. “Interesting design.”
Brock raised one eyebrow. “Interesting? You mean brilliant.”
“It looks a bit thick and heavy, perhaps a sleeker blade would be easier to attack with, and maybe longer too.”
“Longer, huh?” Brock gave a crooked grin and wagged his eyebrows. After another moment he transformed the blade into a longer, thinner design. “This more your style, baby?”
Baby? She was tired of his insults. “Yes, I think you’ll find that design much more useful.”
Brock chuckled and Alyssa took that moment to lunge. She struck against his abdomen, her blade bouncing off the slender suit.
Brock stumbled back. “What the hell!”
“That’s a point for me.” Alyssa hopped from one foot to the other in a brief victory dance. Her opponents always underestimated her; Brock didn’t seem to be any different.
Brock groped at his side, his eyes wide. He brought his hand to his face, presumably looking for blood.
“Your slender suit has built-in armor. My blade won’t be able to come close to actually cutting you. Just as yours won’t for me.”
Brock nodded as though he still didn’t believe her, then he sprinted toward her. He raised his right arm over his head. Alyssa dove to the left, leaving him to slice air. She lunged forward, slashing across Brock’s back.
Brock spun and struck. She dove backward, but Brock’s knife extended, slashing her arm. Good, he’s getting used to morphing it on the spot. She circled him, her hands twitching with anticipation. He mimicked her movements, his eyes never leaving her. Instead of intimidation his eyes held playfulness, and she found herself grinning.
Alyssa darted forward, spun around, and sliced Brock’s knee. He stumbled back with a curse.
“You know,” Alyssa said, “you really should watch your mouth, Developers aren’t known for colorful language.”
Brock frowned, his lips losing themselves in his black beard. “Thanks for the tip.”
“Now, try transforming your arm into that machine gun you like.”
Brock nodded and, after a moment, morphed the blade into his arm, then into a machine gun. It really was a beautiful attachment. The metal morphed with the fluidity of water, taking on a form and grace of its own. Heat rose to her cheeks and she quickly glanced away. She was supposed to be helping Brock get used to his new appendage, not ogling him.
“Okay, great, but try doing it without switching to your arm in between.”
Brock’s forehead creased and after a moment of thought, his blade transformed into the gun.
“Good!” Alyssa praised.
Brock’s dark brown eyes glowed with an inner smile. “So, who taught you to fight?”
She was about to respond, but he lunged forward. Alyssa ducked under his attack. His blade widened, slicing her shoulder.
Alyssa grinned. “Not bad.” She struck at him, nearly catching Brock’s arm. “My mentors.”
“Your mentors? You mean like parents?”
“Oh no. They were the two people assigned to raise me, to teach me. We don’t have parents.”
“Everyone has parents.”
Alyssa shook her head. “We don’t. Well, technically we do have a set of genes provided from two sources—one male, one female—but instead of being created biologically, we are made in a controlled environment inside a developmental tube. Once we are advanced enough, we begin the mentorship program.”
“You begin the mentorship program? What do you do as children?”
Alyssa paused in thought, her finger making its way to her lips as she pondered that. Children? Didn’t everyone procreate using the labs?
“You know,” Brock pressed. “When you were a baby. Did the mentors raise you then too?”
“A baby? Oh heavens, no!” Alyssa snorted. “We are released from the tubes fully grown around age eight. All the information we need is implanted into our head while we are in the tubes. When we come out, we are able to talk, walk, and do most things. It’s the mentor’s job to make sure everything downloaded properly. It’s a tricky process, so it’s common to be missing a thing or two. Then we begin career training.”
“Oh, you mean they trained you at age eight to be a mechanic?”
Alyssa grinned. “Yep, that’s why I’m so good.”
Brock chuckled. “Don’t let it go to your head, baby. You may be the best mechanic around, but we haven’t decided which one of us is the better fighter.”
Alyssa quirked her lips. “Well, we can’t quite determine who’s the best fighter, there’s many way’s to fight. Each has their own unique skills, so it’s not possible to determine who the best is with just a simple sword fight.”
Brock’s eyes narrowed and a giggle bubbled in Alyssa’s chest.
“Fine, fine. The best sword fighter. We’ll figure the rest out later,” he finished with a wink.
Brock lunged. Alyssa dodged and lashed out. He blocked her blade against his, but she punched him just under the ribs.
Brock grunted, twisted the blade from her hand, and swiped her feet out from beneath her. Alyssa fell to her back with a startled cry. She kicked her leg out, catching Brock’s kneecap. He toppled forward, catching himself before he crushed her.
Brock had one leg kneeled between hers and was propping himself up by his arm, holding himself above her. His mechanical arm had transformed back into a humanoid form and he stared down at her with glistening, brown eyes. Sweat dotted his brow, mixing with his curly hair and black beard.
Heat rushed to her face, making her feel hot and insecure. He was so close, and although he wasn’t touching her, her skin prickled with anticipation.
Brock licked his lips and pushed himself to his feet. She gazed up at him, her upper body propped up by her elbows. She couldn’t seem to pull her eyes off of him.
He sighed and reached down with one hand. Alyssa paused for a moment. He was offering to help her up—for her to take his hand. Would this be a physical violation? She couldn’t remember. Deciding that since Brock wasn’t a Developer his actions were innocent and he wasn’t testing her, she clasped her hand in his and allowed him to pull her to her feet in one swift, strong movement.
Her momentum propelled her forward and she fell into Brock. She gasped and collided with his hard chest. Brock’s right arm caught her lower back, steadying her as she regained her footing. Her breath lodged in the base of her throat and she was glad her hair hung over her face, hiding her heated cheeks from his view.
Brock cleared his throat, the sound low and husky. She glanced up at him and found his eyes darker than normal. Peculiar, but just the sight of them sent a flutter to her lower stomach.
“Uh… sorry,” Alyssa said, her words softer than intended.
A grin dimpled Brock’s cheeks. “I believe that’s a win for me.”
Alyssa’s heart sputtered, stealing her breath. What was wrong with her? Why was she feeling this way?
> “Uh,” Alyssa stammered. Brock’s arm dropped from her back and she took a quick step away. “I… er… suppose that’s a win for you… but, I’ll get you next time.”
Brock chuckled, his eyes still dark and heavy-lidded. “I’m sure you will.”
11
Brock sat next to Alyssa in what he supposed was the equivalent of a cafeteria. Round, featureless tables littered the area, each surrounded by ten chairs. Food processors lined the room but, to Brock’s unpleasant discovery, they all had the same thing: water and nasty-ass meal bars.
A few Developers sat at the tables but no one spoke. Unease prickled his skin and he focused his attention on his meal bar, hoping he wouldn’t die of hunger before he found his team. Actually, if he thought about it, hunger wasn’t likely to kill him first; no, it would likely be a long-legged goddess.
“So… that picture,” Alyssa prompted. “What is it and how is it on your arm? I’ve been meaning to ask you since I saw it.”
Brock looked down at his left arm, hidden beneath the slender suit, and realized she was talking about his tattoo. “Oh, that’s a tattoo.”
“A tattoo?”
“Yes, it’s designed using ink that stays permanently on the skin.”
Her eyes widened. “You mean for show?”
Brock shrugged. “Some people get them for show, some in memory.”
“In memory of what kind of things?”
“Like friends, family, goals, beliefs. Things like that.”
“Was yours done for a memory?”
“Yes.” Brock thought back to his team, his family. The thought that they could be hurt, or worse, tied his stomach in to knots. He imagined the tattoo of the vintage tank beneath his slender suit. Lily and he had been celebrating a night off and a successful mission. He had to admit he had been a little tipsy, but when he saw the picture of the tank on the tattoo parlor’s front window, it reminded him of the strength of his team and of how proud he was to serve alongside them. Lily had laughed her ass off when he suggested they get matching tattoos, especially since the one he chose was a stock photo. He remembered her saying that ‘Teenagers get stock tattoos when they get drunk, not grown-ass men.’ But, like the loyal friend she was, she followed him inside and offered him shots as the ink was injected into his skin. Heat rushed to Brock’s cheeks as he remembered himself getting a little emotional. He couldn’t remember if it was the pain, the booze, or his friendship with Lily that had caused the tears.
“Hello?”
He glanced back at Alyssa who had her head tilted to the side. “What are you thinking about?”
“Oh, just the tattoo.”
“You got it when you were undercover?”
Brock thought for a moment. He suspected Alyssa knew more about him than she let on, but he had to tread carefully. He had no idea what her motive for not turning him in was.
“Er… yea, I got it while I was undercover.”
“Tell me about them.”
“About who?”
“The people you worked with.”
“Oh, it’s not important.”
“You can’t possibly mean that. You said you were with them for twenty years. That’s a long time to not get attached, especially in your flesh form. Physical bodies are emotional.”
“The heart.”
“What?”
“The heart is emotional, not the physical body.”
“But it is a weakness of being flesh.”
“It’s part of being conscious.”
Alyssa’s teeth caught her bottom lip and she furrowed her brow. After a moment she pressed him again with the same question.
“Well, I don’t really know where to start. I grew the closest with Lily; she’s the captain of the team. She’s a wonderful fighter and an excellent strategist.” His voice trailed off. Why had he been so mad at her? Now he may never see his best friend again and the last thing she would remember about him was that he accused her of being easy. All because he couldn’t get over the fact that she was meant for someone else.
“What’s wrong?”
“Oh... Just thinking.”
“About what?”
“Lily and I got into a fight right before I was brought back to the ship.”
“Oh… you feel guilty.”
“Yes.”
“That’s another weakness of the flesh.”
“Of the heart,” Brock corrected. “The other members are Vincent, he joined the Renegade about the same time I was put into their ranks.” Hatred nearly overtook him and his fists clenched in his lap. Vincent and another commander in the Renegade had betrayed them and tried to kill the entire team. He had met Vincent before he knew Lily; actually, the two of them had saved Lily when her refugee camp had been attacked. Shaking the memories away, he continued down the roster, “There’s also Gustavo, Gloria, and Alberta.”
“Oh… what do they do?”
“Well, Gustavo’s one hell of a mechanic.” He looked up at her and winked. “But not as good as you, baby. Gloria’s a cultural and linguistic specialist. Actually, you kinda remind me of her. And Alberta’s the pilot.”
“Your ships don’t fly themselves?”
“Well, we do have auto-pilot, but Alberta handles the navigation and does the manual flying.”
Alyssa snorted with laughter. “It seems so silly to fly manually when you can just program it.”
“How do you account for unexpected barriers or enemies?”
“There’s an algorithm for those. The ship can choose the best course of action, be it attack or to flee.”
“Your ships do all that? Is this recent?”
“Not that recent. It’s old technology. The algorithm is new though, well, within the past few decades, and it took quite a bit to get it figured out.”
“Shit. The Renegade could never do that.”
“Neither could the Hilians. We never share anything unless it is necessary to keep alliances.”
Damn Developers. “So,” he said with a grin. “You’ve never flown a ship?”
“Heavens, no.”
“Well, once I’m back in the swing of things, I’ll be the teacher for a bit.”
“You can’t! That would be an indulgence.”
“Not exactly, sweetheart. It’s basic survival skills. I bet we can make a case for that.”
Alyssa grinned. “Maybe.”
Brock stared down at the table for a moment and downed the last of his water. His stomach growled but he didn’t want any more damn bars.
“Who was that Developer the other day in the computer room? It seemed like you knew him.”
Alyssa’s face dropped. “Oh, that’s Voen. He’s reported me a few times. He’s ranked really high; he was placed with the Hilians over a hundred years ago and was in charge of coordinating the Hilian attack on Golan.”
Voen… that was the Developer Ulrick had been speaking with through his RAB during the battle with Golan. Voen had disappeared. No wonder the Developers knew exactly where they all were; this was their original plan, to get everyone in the same place.
“Oh, I see,” Brock murmured. Silence passed between the two. Then Alyssa stood abruptly and slammed her palms on the table.
“All right. Well, I gotta run an errand. Go straight to the room, I’ll meet you there in a bit.”
12
Brock marched down the hallway, took one look over his shoulder to make sure Alyssa was out of sight, and activated the lissdrop to head straight back to where he had found the computers. Only instead of finding the control rooms, he found himself in a hallway full of empty offices. Strange. He remembered exactly where he wanted to go, yet he had arrived in a different area of the ship.
Well, he figured it was convenient. One of the offices should hold some of the answers he was looking for. His RAB wasn’t letting him make a call unless he had some type of clearance chip. As he walked down the hallway, he quickly peeked inside each doorway until he found one that had several large computers. Seeing
that the coast was clear, he stepped inside and shut the door.
He removed the chip from his wrist and slipped it into the computer. The screen filled with notifications and updates. Brock selected the first notification and a star system sprung out and floated around the room. Several calculations and diagrams surrounded a massive, dark red star. Whisking around the star were four planets. Their names and radiuses were penciled around them. Then the star pulsed and nearly tripled in size, engulfing the two closest of the four worlds and leaving one on the very edge of the goldilocks zone. The forth planet, the one furthest away, was now fully engulfed in the life-providing zone.
Brock leaned in closer. The name etched above the third planet was ‘Vladillan.’ Shit! That was the Developers’ home world! Equations sprung up, filling the image at a frantic pace.
It took Brock several moments to decipher the data, and when he did he stumbled backward with shock. If he was correct—and he wasn’t a mathematician, but if he was correct—this star was incredibly unstable, a red giant. Not only was it unstable, but it had been for a very, very long time and it seemed like it was becoming increasingly so at an alarming rate. The star had recently swelled and incinerated the two planets. It should have taken hundreds of thousands of years to get to this point, but something was causing it to progress far more rapidly.
With a swipe of his finger he moved to the next attachment. This one showed a map of the Reblix galaxy, the galaxy that housed the solar system that the Developers were from, that he was from, and was the limit of current space travel.
The map zoomed in and twenty dots littered the area, spanning from the furthest reaches of the system. Brock pressed on one of the dots, then another after another, becoming more frantic as he realized they were all Harvests.
“Fuck,” Brock uttered, his hand going up to cover his mouth. Why were the Developers Harvesting these planets? How long had they been Harvesting? For what reason?
His heart stammered in his chest. All these civilizations. He had to warn them somehow. But even if he could, there wasn’t enough time. Maybe if he got hold of the Renegade and the Hilians they could split up, but would their diluted forces be strong enough? His throat burned with the thought of so many lives lost.