“That money died when the Sandoval family died,” Jakes said. “It’s long gone.”
“Yes, I can see where you might think that,” Holcombe replied, shaking his head and causing his jowls to wiggle. “You see, your father was a wise man. He kept his accounts spread out and diversified. Most of the day-to-day transactions were handled through the banks on Earth, that’s true, but the vast majority of it was held in escrow at the corporate bank on Aleinhelm. If you hadn’t been so bent on killing the real Connor Jakes, you might have checked into it. I have to say, my boy, you came very close to being poor. Another few months and the bank manager would have gotten a very large bonus.”
Jakes stepped even closer to Holcombe. He still smiled, but the expression had become disturbed. He seemed to be struggling with an internal decision he was not prepared to make. For a moment, he looked completely unsure of himself. He dropped a hand to cover himself, apparently just realizing he was exposed before the big man. Trying to capitalize, Holcombe brought out a small device from the folds of his robes. It was metal, about the size of his palm, with a thin indentation on the top surface. The thumb plate glowed green in Holcombe’s thick fingers.
“All you have to do is press your thumb to the panel and it is all yours again, Jon,” Holcombe said, his voice smooth and soothing. “You can take back what the Ch’Tauk took from you, what Connor Jakes took from you.”
Connor looked at the device. It glinted in the light and seemed the most important thing he had ever seen. Holcombe raised the small square to eye level and Connor stared at the place where he was to put his thumb. It would read not only his fingerprint, but his genotype as well. In an instant, six years of hardship would fall away and he could live the life he was meant to live. There was a moment when the green light surrounding the plate shifted its color. One second it was an inviting green, tempting Jakes to reach for it and reclaim his past, the next it was a deep amber color, almost golden. The change was over almost as quickly as it had begun, and made Connor doubt it had ever occurred at all, but as he thought about it, it became more real and more meaningful than the green. His eyes moved from the metal square back to Holcombe.
“I just have to—”
“Yes.”
Almost at the same moment as Holcombe spoke, Connor leapt, faster than the guards could react, landing square in the middle of Holcombe’s broad chest. The fat man fell backwards, stumbling into the desk behind him and knocking the lamp and papers to the floor. Connor began to punch the man in the face, growling as he swung again and again. Holcombe tried to scream for the guards as his nose sprayed blood. The reptiloids grabbed Jakes’ arms, pulling him from the big man still kicking and screaming. Connor pulled one arm away, violently jerking one of the creatures forward and across Holcombe. For a moment, it looked like Jakes would break free of the other guards and attack. Instead, he was twisted around and struck across the ribs. Connor fell back across the desk, nearly breaking Holcombe’s outstretched arm.
The off-balance guard pushed himself from Holcombe and attacked, clamping its long teeth down on Jakes’ arm, twisting and causing Connor to scream in pain. The other guard grabbed Connor’s feet, lifting him from the desk and pulling. The first guard let go of Connor’s arm and grabbed his long hair with his claws. With its other claw, it pushed into Jakes’ back and lifted. Connor screamed as the claws punctured his skin, drawing still more blood. The two guards raised Connor up and threw him across the room, slamming him into the paneled wall of the shipyard office. He slid to the floor, groaning in pain and cradling his torn arm.
“Get that thing out of here!” Holcombe ordered the guards, sitting up and holding his own arm. “Take him to medical and have them stitch his wounds. I want the scars visible to everyone.”
The fat man stepped closer to Jakes, who was still clutching his arm and trying to keep his bleeding back from touching the floor. Holcombe adjusted his robes before turning back to look at the desk. He walked to the edge of the desk and retrieved the metal square from the floor where he had dropped it. He brought it over to Jakes, making sure the guards held him down.
“All you had to do was press the plate, Jon,” Holcombe said, his voice returning to the silky tone he had used before. “Now you have forced my hand. If you want to be one of them … so be it.”
Holcombe tossed the device on the floor, then signaled to one of the guards to pull their weapon and fire. The metal square flared bright for just a moment before sparks erupted from it. In a few seconds, the metal square had melted, leaving only slag behind and a dark patch on the floor. Holcombe again signaled to the guards, this time to lift the bleeding man from the floor.
“After they clean him up, toss him into the room with the isomorphs. Even at half strength, they’ll leave him more than ready to accept his fate. Whatever’s left of him, take back to the slave barracks. This time, put him in with the work crews. It’s better than he deserves, but I am a compassionate man.”
The reptiloids sank their claws into Jakes’ arms, inflicting more damage. He screamed in pain as they dragged him to the door. As the guards opened the door, though, Holcombe stopped them. He walked back to Jakes, this time getting close to the man’s face.
“And by the way,” Holcombe said. “When we find the girl, we’ll make sure you get whatever is left after the guards … well…”
Connor roared in anger, thrashing between the two guards. They held him tight this time, refusing to let his gyrations loosen their grip. Holcombe waved them off and Connor was taken away. Once the door closed, Holcombe remained by the window, staring out at the figure of the man he had just tortured. A strange glint came to his eye.
“Such a pity,” he said to no one. “Such a lovely boy. His father would have been so proud…”
3
“The capacity of most people to improvise in any situation is disproportionate to their ability to lie. Lying is a far more practiced skill.”
Alfredo Ortiz
The Stars, My Heart
By the time Connor was dumped in the squalid little med-bay, there was very little of his body not covered in scratches, bruises and blood. He was mercifully unconscious when the two dead-eyed human assistants lifted his naked form and laid it out into a cold metal basin. Harsh lights were turned on and a spray of cold water unleashed at his body. It was in this way that Connor Jakes was brought back to the world. He sputtered a gush of water which had made its way halfway down his throat, splashing the two women and spraying the pinkish water all around.
Despite the washing, his open wounds still oozed blood into the water. Jakes screamed as the pain from his injuries finally reached his brain. Instead of thrashing, he settled into the cold water, trying to shut off the part of his mind receiving the signals, trying to find the calm part of his inner self where he hid from pain and the noises. It was the image of Melaina which calmed him. She smiled to him from his dream and the world with its pain fell away. Even the cold seeping into his limbs was replaced by the glowing warmth of the memory.
It was all disrupted as he was pulled from the water again by the two women and hauled to a flat metal table. More lights were shone on his bleeding form, but this time he did not move. He waited to see what the slaves would do next. In the months he had been in the shipyards, he had been beaten, sometimes severely. It always ended with him being taken to the med-bay and healed by Holcombe’s personal doctors, who sealed the cuts and salved his wounds with great care. This time, he had been taken to a different part of the shipyards, far away from his private barracks where he was made to watch all the human suffering.
Instead of moving closer, the two women moved off, exiting the cramped exam room and closing the narrow door behind them. Jakes was alone, staring into the bright overhead lights. He could feel the warm dribble of blood from wounds on his arms running down his flesh and onto the table. In his mind, the dark red fluid sizzled as it touched the cold metal table beneath him.
Another door slid open, but Jake
s did not see anyone enter. He lifted his head and looked to the open door without seeing movement. He could hear a skittering sound beneath him, and was preparing to push himself up when he felt the sting of a needle in his other arm. He whipped his head around to see who had injected him, but saw only the needle and a small manipulator arm extending from below the level of the table. A warm feeling spread from the injection site into his body. He tried to lever himself around to see whatever had stuck him, but he was losing control of his muscles. The needle was withdrawn quickly as Connor’s body fell from the table to the dirty tile floor.
He did not lose consciousness, even when his head hit the floor. Instead, he felt his existence as a series of watercolor images moving along his field of view. When he tried to focus on the image before him, it faded in and out, blurring together and making him wish the world would stop moving. He made out six stalks supporting a fat, fuzzy globe. Moving wildly around the globe were two metal claws which held a needle and a thick, clear mask. A globular head with two enormous eyes seemed to float atop the globe.
“You have fallen.” The voice came from a small metal box around the globe. “Hold still and I will have the orderlies put you back on the table.”
The voice was smooth and rich. It sounded artificial, but Jakes could no longer tell what was real and what was his mind playing games. He saw the naked feet of two women step back into the room. Hands slid under his shoulders and grabbed his ankles. He was lifted again back to the table, this time not feeling the cold or the wetness of his own blood still streaked across it.
“The doctor will be along in a moment,” the voice said again. “It has been nice to see you. I will be waiting here.”
Time stretched on for what seemed to be an endless tunnel. He felt the world closing in around him. There was nothing except the light shining on his skin and the faint echo of pain from multiple places. After an eternity, or maybe a few seconds, the door slid open and a man walked in. Through the haze of drugs, Jakes tried to make out what he was seeing. The man was not tall, but his head was elongated upwards. A single, deep ridge ran from above the man’s long nose to the top of his pointed head. It reminded Jakes of a melon or some fruit with a thick rind. His skin was mahogany, with small eyes and yellow pupils. In the center of the bisected head was a patch. Two bands held the patch over some deep injury. There was a scar running diagonally under the patch.
“Mon Dieu,” said the doctor, moving quickly to Jakes’ side and pulling a metal tray closer on squeaky wheels. “What have they been doing to you?”
Connor felt the pressure of hands probing his wounds. He felt thick woolen blankets being pulled down over him, warming his limbs and making his already thick senses feel soothed. He slept during whatever ministrations were being done. Occasionally, he would wake to feel the familiar pull of surgical thread being pulled through skin. He skidded through consciousness over the next span of time.
When he finally came back to the world, the pain from dozens of new scars was intense but manageable. He lifted his head to look at himself, but found his view blocked by thick blankets. When he tried to move his arms, he found them held tight by straps around his biceps and wrists. When he moved his legs he discovered more straps holding down his thighs and ankles. He tried to struggle, panicking under the restraints. Two orderlies, the same two dead-eyes women from before, came to hold him down. They did not speak, but tried to make soothing sounds to calm him. A door slid open.
“Captain!”
The voice of the doctor was familiar, even though his face was different. “Calm down … calm down! You’ll pull out the stitches.”
“Let me up!” Jakes roared, straining against the restraints.
“Dammit, man, you’ll kill yourself if you keep this up,” the man said, trying to grip Connor’s head in his hands to hold him still. “Melaina will kill me after that.”
Connor stopped. At the mention of Melaina’s name, he settled back to the table. The doctor let go of his head and stepped back again, waving the orderlies back to their closet. As the door closed, Connor tried to focus on the face of the doctor. Despite the dark coloring, the lines of the lower jaw were familiar. A thin mustache ran under the long nose, and two clear eyes gazed at him from under the heavy brow.
“Who?” Jakes asked.
“C’est moi, Rene,” said the doctor. “I have been looking for you. I figured if you were still alive, the one place you would end up was sickbay.”
“You look like hell,” Jakes said with a pained grin. “What’s with the patch?”
“It covers my third eye,” Rene responded, pulling the patch aside to show a damaged eye socket. He placed his fingers on either side of the damaged eye, pulling away the yellow lenses to reveal a metal scanner plate underneath. “They might have recognized me if I came as my usual handsome self. I had Victor be creative, and this is what we came up with.”
“Where’s Melaina?” Jakes asked, again straining against the straps. “Is she alright? Did the crew—”
“We are alright,” Rene said, holding up his palms to try to calm Jakes. “Stop pulling at your straps, Captain. You’ll tear out the stitches, and I can honestly say I am a terrible seamstress. Those won’t hold if you keep this up.”
“When did you become a medic?” Jakes asked, settling back to the table.
“Victor is here, too. We fixed his voice box. He helped, but thinks the stitches are barbaric. Holcombe wanted to make an example of you, I think.”
“Let me up,” Jakes said. “If Melaina’s here, I need to get to her.”
“She’s not here,” Rene responded, stepping up to release the wrist straps. “Parker came to get us in Sweet Liberty. We’ve been trying to get to you for a while. Now that we know where you are, we can work on getting you out.”
“You have a plan?” Jakes asked, pulling his arm up as the straps released.
“Better than the last one, anyway,” Rene responded, releasing the bicep strap and moving around to Jakes’ feet. “We can blast our way in and get you out through the roof. This area is not heavily defended from above. We’re near a mountain range, so we can come in low and get out before they even know what hit them.”
“We’re not going,” Jakes said, looking back to the Moroccan. “Not yet. I gotta take care of a few things first.”
“Connor, we can come back for my people later. Right now, we get you back to the ship and get you fixed up. Then we come back with the Alliance and free all of these people. Melaina has been talking to your Admiral Chang about it.”
“Aww hell,” Jakes said, sitting up as the arm straps on the other side were released. “Don’t bring those folks into this. They got enough problems.”
“It’s the only way, Connor,” Rene said, stepping around to try to help Jakes on his feet. “We are just one small ship.”
“You leave that part to me, Frenchy,” Jakes said, standing on unsteady feet. “The first thing I gotta do is make these people remember what it means to be free.”
“Oui, that’s a good idea. Mount an insurrection first. What about the guards?”
“I’m workin’ on that,” Jakes replied, stepping closer to the window, pulling the blanket around his waist. “We need to get rid of those lightnin’ rods to start. Either that or make them useless to those damn gators.”
Rene stepped over to a cabinet and opened the metal door. He withdrew a pair of worker coveralls. Stepping closer to Jakes, he exchanged the blanket for the coveralls. Connor took a few moments to pull on the durable clothing and zip it up. Rene tossed the blanket back to the examining table. Both men walked to the window and looked out at the shipyard, seeing the sparks of arc welders and machinery below.
“Is she…?”
“She’s tough, Connor,” Rene replied, not needing to ask who he was speaking about. “Tougher since you were taken. For a little while, I thought Bonnie might take over command and get us back to Earth, but your Melaina made it clear that wasn’t going to happen.”
“Bonnie?” Jakes asked, glancing at Rene. “I never took her for a runner. How did Melaina manage to convince her to stay?”
“A right cross to the jaw,” Rene said. “Knocked Bonnie out cold. After that, both women seemed to get along fine.”
“And the others?”
“Parker has developed a very negative outlook on life, but he has Mendel,” Rene replied. “Tuxor just keeps swimming around the pool. I think he misses the twins.”
“The twins?”
“Yeah,” Rene said. “I thought you saw. They escaped during the fight in the office. We haven’t seen or heard from them since.”
“I might have an idea where they are,” Jakes said. “What about you? How have you been?”
“Connor, I am surprised at you. You have been in this hellhole for three months and you are asking about the man who just sewed you up? I need to check those drugs we gave you, they’re too powerful.”
“Rene, I’ve been alone most of my adult life,” Jakes began. “My parents were killed by pirates when I was … well, when I was away. After the invasion, I was alone in a cell for three years. When I found Melaina, I did all I could to keep her at a distance but somehow she fell for me. The Corsairs were my crew. Until just recently, I never felt I had much to lose.”
“It’s alright, Connor, I know how you feel.”
“No, Rene, you don’t,” Jakes said, turning to face him. “This happened because I let others get too close. I was afraid if I started tellin’ people what to do on the ship, I would lose everything. I had already lost most of the crew, I couldn’t lose anything more. I let it change me. I let it get me soft.”
“Connor, listen to me. You and I haven’t known each other long, but I think I know something about you that you don’t even know.”
The Adventures of Connor Jakes: Masks (The War for Terra Book 1) Page 19