Lost Heritage (Exodus Ark Book 3)

by J. N. Chaney

  The windows went from the color of the walls—white—to opaque. “Nami,” Riva prompted. “It’s too dark.”

  “Apologies.” She went back to the computer and worked it for a few more seconds.

  All at once, the view outside changed. The chamber we’d seen on the map was actually a supply room full of crates and miscellaneous items I didn’t recognize on sight.

  Moore whistled at the view. “I guess we weren’t expecting that. I bet the rebellion could use some of that.”

  “This is important, I’ll admit,” I said. “But this isn’t what we’re here for. We need to keep going.”

  Tara gave her head a little shake as if to clear it. “I hear what you’re saying, Chief, but there could be weapons down there.”

  “There are two teams out there waiting for our support,” I reminded her.

  I opened my mouth to say more, but Nami spoke again. “Riva… it’s here.”

  We all swung around to face the Volcuri warrior. She was looking at a screen, transfixed by whatever it showed her.

  “What is it?” Riva snapped.

  “They have data. Lots of data. All about how they achieve the mind enslavement. It looks important.”

  Everyone in the room went still, even the scientists, though they had already been that way and had no idea what we were saying.

  Riva rushed to Nami’s side. “It could be the cure. I don’t understand most of it, but the reports give enough detail that someone should be able to make sense of it. Can we get communication access in here?”

  “I think so. Why?”

  “Get this data to Skan and Dr. St. John. I want them to verify. Chief Kent is right, we can’t stay here much longer.”

  Nami straightened and backed away from the workstation. “It’s done. Skan and Dr. St. John have the data.”

  I was already moving to the opposite door. “Then let’s move—”

  A screeching filled the air and drowned out the rest of what I said. I whipped around in time to see one of the scientists tuck something away.

  Riva saw it too because she darted over and grabbed the Volcuri’s arm. “What did you do?!”

  Without a word, he opened his hand. Sitting on the palm was a small device roughly the size of a golf ball. It was white with a blinking red ring around it. Riva let out a stream of Volcuri that didn’t come through on the translator, but I had a pretty good idea what it meant.

  “It’s an alarm. We have to go. Now.”

  “No argument here,” said Tara. “Which way?”

  “We keep moving forward. This is why there are three simultaneous attacks. Makin won’t be able to send everyone he has after us.”

  The screeching finally subsided, replaced by a slight crackle that came out of the ceiling somewhere. Apparently, the room was wired for sound.

  Makin’s voice sounded too damn cheerful for my liking. “What you don’t understand is that we don’t need to send a large force of my guards after you. You’ll see soon enough.”

  “Go,” I ordered.

  Riva had been working on the door, and it slid open. The other side was empty. We streamed out, weapons at the ready, and left the scientists behind. Again, the lighting came awake as we moved through the corridor. I wished there was a way to turn it off but I wasn’t about to stop and waste time trying to figure it out. They hadn’t exactly built the feature with intruders in mind.

  I opened the holo map again, scanned for a secondary route, and cursed the unfinished map. Most of it looked like dead ends, and that would be a mistake.

  “We’re not going to deviate from the plan,” I said over my shoulder.

  The wide hallway offered no cover whatsoever. We passed a few doors that, according to the map, either led to small rooms or somewhere unknown. If the mountain—or Makin—hadn’t jammed up our signal, I would have been getting live updates from the other teams.

  I didn’t know how where we were correlated with the original route, but somehow we ended up close enough that the spot looked familiar on the map. We’d gone nearly two kilometers to get there, but I saw the door up ahead.

  The sound of our pounding feet echoed off the stone walls like thunderclaps. It was a good thing that Makin already knew we were coming because stealth was definitely out the window.

  “We’ve got your back,” I said to Riva as I slowed so she could pass me and get to the panel.

  She moved fast, probably a combination of all the practice she’d been getting and the tension from knowing we would soon be in a fight for our lives. Some individuals buckled under pressure. I couldn’t even claim that it was only unedited people. I’d seen, not very often as an adult, BSC agents lose their faculties and give in to the fear.

  Other than going faster, Riva stayed calm and collected. When the door slid open to admit us, I went through first. Tara was right on my heels, and we entered prepared to fire. What we found was darkness. Darkness that not even my enhanced eyesight could penetrate.

  “Hit the ground!” I yelled out, hoping the others would be fast enough. Instead of staying down, I rolled and sprang back up while activating the light on my weapon. The beam broke through the darkness and caught a Turned guard in full armor. This was the first I’d seen them without the blue glow, however.

  “Take them!” ordered Makin from somewhere out of view.

  By that time, Riva and Nami were inside too, the glow from their weapons adding more light to the foyer-like area we were in. I took advantage of the moment and laid down a stream of fire.

  A crack sounded, followed by a flash of light. At first I thought it was a type of flash bang, but there was no concussive backlash.

  Then the wave hit me. I heard it more than felt it. Pain exploded in my head and brought me to my knees. It hit me harder than the extreme withdrawal symptoms I’d experienced on the ship during the First’s attack.

  I couldn’t hold onto my weapon. It hit the floor, but I barely noticed. The pain took over everything, and I tried to cover my ears to block out the sound. It didn’t help and the next thing I registered was the ground coming up to meet my face, then everything went dark.

  BLACK SHIELD TRAINING – YEAR 10

  “Black Shield does not show mercy!”

  Instructor Sager’s statement was one we’d heard countless times over the course of our lives. No answer was expected because the mantra was supposed to be ingrained. And it was.

  I knew from the daily education block that in the United States’ military, someone like Sager was usually known as a drill sergeant. Of course, in the Black Shield Corps, much was different from the government regulated training camps.

  I stared straight ahead and didn’t move a muscle. I stood with about twenty other prepubescent Black Shield operatives-in-training in a single file line on one side of a sparring room. Like everything we did, the line was formed to perfection, the tips of our boots just touching the marked line. Along with feet shoulder width apart, hands were clasped at the middle of our backs.

  “Bring them out,” Sager called.

  A door on the opposite side of the room opened. Instructors Dean and Gilroy led two boys from the Year 11 group. Flanking them were a pair of stone faced guards in identical black security clothing. Each held a baton and had a sidearm on a hip.

  My gaze lingered on the weapons. I hadn’t been assigned my own yet, even though all trainees had learned how to use a variety of them since Year 5. Certification for that would happen just before Year 11. Realizing I’d stared too long, my eyes shifted to take in the rest of the scene.

  I recognized the boys. Designated 7936 and 7891, they were brought out wearing blocky metal restraints from wrist to elbow with a single steel connecting chain. Both were slightly overweight, an indication they’d been sneaking extra rations and slacking during exercise.

  Even at ten, my physique was expected to be in top shape per the Black Shield Corps requirements. A combination of strictly controlled food intake, daily combat education, and physical train
ing typically left no room for trainees to go doughy.

  My observations didn’t stop there. Some of my recent classes had focused on teaching how to identify threats. So, I sized up the newcomers. Each wore a patch with their designation on the chest. The first, 7936, stood a whole head taller than his counterpart. Both were bigger than my entire class, but it was obvious one of the two had more reach, and therefore more advantage. 7891 had a smattering of freckles and a pale face. This was interesting because most of us were tanned by the sun, given how much training we did outdoors.

  Both still had muscle, just not what they should have. Perhaps the rules were less strict in Year Eleven, though I found that hard to believe. In any case, the two trainees had broken some kind of rule. I watched them with mild curiosity and wondered what their punishment would be.

  Time in isolation? Docking more food rations? Extra training? Up to now that was all I knew of. Most trainees followed orders and did nothing to step out of line. Still, something about the whole affair made me think there was more coming this time.

  “7936 and 7891 are guilty of multiple offences. Of them, lethargy stands out. As your instructor, I can only teach you the tenets that will make you a successful Black Shield operative. If you choose to ignore my teachings”—Sager paused for effect, his hard eyes sweeping over each of us in turn—“then you have no place here.”

  He turned to look at the pair in the middle of the room, then continued. “These two can, at least, offer their services in the form of another lesson. Survival depends on many factors. One of those is willpower. The sentence for 7936 and 7891 is death. One may survive, but that depends on him.”

  Instructor Sager stepped closer to them. Both boys stumbled back, clearly afraid. I didn’t shake my head, but inside I knew this was another nail in their coffins.

  “Pathetic,” Sager muttered. His hand hovered near the weapon on his hip, but he didn’t touch it. Instead, he reached behind his back and pulled a knife hidden in a sheath on his belt loop. “Only one of you will stay in the ranks. Whoever does will be remanded to the Year 10 class. It will be your only chance.”

  He tossed the knife carelessly between the two boys and moved out of the way. A beep sounded on the room’s intercom, followed by the loud click of both restraints coming undone. Both 7936 and 7891 just stood there for a few seconds staring at each other.

  “Begin,” Sager growled. “Or neither of you will survive today.”

  7936’s eyes went wide, and he shed the unlocked restraints. “I’m sorry!”

  Then he dived for the knife.

  7891 must have realized his precarious position because he shuffled back while trying to get his own cuffs off, but it was too late. His opponent came up with the blade in hand and lunged forward.

  I noted that even though the two trainees were not in peak physical condition, they still fought with an ease that reflected years of stringent practice. Being shorter, 7891 was at the disadvantage. Unfortunately for him, 7936 also had the knife. It made him cocky. Too cocky. 7936 slashed down, aiming for the inner thigh of his fellow trainee.

  7891 jumped back again, but the fear had left his face. His features hardened, and his eyes went sharp with calculation. I realized then that while he might be at a disadvantage physically, he was the smarter of the pair. When his attacker came again, this time going high for a neck shot, 7891 went low and took him out at the knees.

  There was a sharp exhale of breath as the two fighters hit the ground. Since none of the sparring rooms had mats they hit smooth concrete. As the instructors reminded us, there weren’t mats in the real world.

  None of my class said anything as the hand to hand combat waged. At first it was just a tangle of limbs as each trainee fought for the upper hand. Blows landed, sending flecks of blood flying with each thud. 7936’s earlier advantage was now a hindrance. 7891’s shorter reach allowed him to work better in the small space, and he used it to maximum effect.

  A crack sounded, echoing sharply in the room.

  7936 wasn’t fighting as hard, and in fact seemed to be slowing down. Once 7891 sat up, still straddling him, we saw why. The bigger trainee bled heavily from a head wound. The resulting pool was growing by the second, and it was clear this was the end of the line for him.

  “Get up,” Sager ordered. “Get in line.”

  The survivor stood up, a little unsteadily, and stared at the instructor in abject defiance. “That was my friend. I’ll kill you!”

  He started to run at Sager but only made it three steps when the shot rang out. It dropped him to the ground.

  With no emotion, the instructor turned to look at us. “What does the BSC say about friends?”

  “A Black Shield Agent does not need friends or family,” we said together. “The Corps is our family.”

  15

  My eyes blinked open, only to shut immediately again when a bright light rewarded me for the trouble.

  The first thing I noticed was that I didn’t have the usual pounding headache when I took an involuntary nap. Interesting. I was lying on something soft that contoured to my body. The slightest sensation of elevation made me think it had to be a table. I did a quick self-evaluation and found no pain or pressure from restraints. A slight hum filled my ears, but I didn’t know what it was.

  “You are quite the specimen, Chief Mission Ward,” said a voice to my right.

  Makin’s voice. Part of me wanted to leap off the table and attack. But, as I’d been taught, there was a time for fighting on instinct and then there were times to take stock of the situation. Given the limited information at my disposal, I went with the latter.

  My patience turned out to be a good thing. When I opened my eyes again it was with more care. I was in an enclosed pod that featured a clear window right over my face. This couldn’t be good. Had they done the procedure to make me one of the Turned? Fear threatened to take over for just an instant, but I refused to let it.

  “Fascinating,” Makin continued. “Before you kicked us out, your memory provided great insight into humanity.”

  “You were in my head,” I said through gritted teeth.

  “Of course,” he replied, as if that was obvious. “I had hoped to have the procedure perfected before you attacked. Unfortunately, you moved faster than I anticipated.

  Now I was pissed off. “Perfect it all you want, Makin. I’ll never let you Turn me.”

  “I doubt that very much. How you end up serving the Mind Thieves will be your choice, but serve them you will.”

  Something in his voice made me suspicious. “All the Mind Thieves have done is hurt people. They are my enemy. What makes you think I’d do anything for them?”

  “Your statement is incorrect. My masters relieve burdens. They mend broken bones and remove sickness. Their technology healed you, after all. You feel no pain now when you should.”

  “Funny you don’t mention why I was hurt in the first place,” I retorted.

  “Yes, that was regrettable. We were not aware that you had heightened senses. The device affected you more than your friends. However, it did make my masters curious. It is why you were brought to the diagnostic and healing pod. You are quite different from the two specimens we previously studied.”

  He meant Avery and Miguel. “What does it matter? I’m still human, just like them.”

  The pod gave a small jerk, then began to go from horizontal to vertical. The entire top—now front—of the device became clear, giving me a view of the room I was in.

  I only had a second to take in the other pod and a white wall before Makin filled my entire field of vision. “On the contrary. Your genetic makeup shows evidence of gene manipulation. This, and what they saw in your memory has prompted them to consider you a valuable asset.”

  “I suppose you must be hard of hearing. Don’t think I’ll ever help you or them do anything,” I said, keeping my tone low and unbothered.

  Makin looked at something off to the side and nodded. “This is precisely why they
are interested. Your biometrics clearly show how angry you are, yet you are calm. Most would have tried to destroy the pod by now.”

  I pinned him with a withering look. “You’re not stupid enough to put me somewhere I could get out of. Even if the pod was that fragile, I can hear the buzz. If I try anything, it’s going to shock me.”

  If Makin could have smiled, I figured he would be grinning right now. “Very good. Now, since you’re here, I’ve been asked to pass along an offer of employment.”

  “That’s rich. Well I guess I should ask about the benefits. Does the gig come with dental? I hope the salary is good.”

  Sarcasm wasn’t usually my thing but Tara had worn off on me. The whole thing was so ludicrous I didn’t know what else to say.

  Makin’s eyes narrowed. “This is no laughing matter, Chief Mission Ward Kent. You are being offered the chance to avoid enslavement of the mind. Ah, yes. Now I have your attention.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The masters believe that Earth is their newest priority. If what Avery said is true, there are billions of humans there. That kind of army would cease any need for harvesting. However, enslavement wears on the brain. The organ is simply not meant for that and rebels against the foreign entity. For some, the transition is agony. Particularly if the subject fights.”

  He paused and slanted a meaningful look at me. Understanding, I nodded. “You want someone to convince them not to fight.”

  “Yes, exactly. An alternative is that you accept the transition and stay with us until the Mind Thieves return. They will do a final culling of this planet and render it dead. Then, you will go to Earth and attempt to convince them to accept their new masters. “

  “And if I choose neither?”

  Makin leaned in closer. “Your friends in the next room will transition first, and you will be forced to watch. Then you will undergo your own transition. For someone like you, I think it will be quite painful. Take it from me. It’s easier to go willingly.”

  Take it from him? Of course. It made sense. Makin was the only one of the Turned who showed any level of emotion. “You got the same offer,” I replied. “And you accepted.”