Genmate Mistaken (Genmate Dilemma Book 1) Page 3

  Would she have supported the bombardment if she’d understood the strike wasn’t defensive but preemptive? The High Council had ordered the destruction of ’Topia not because its people had intended to strike but because they had the ability to. He had a hunch if she’d been informed of the real reason, she might have regarded the ’Topians as innocent victims. She’d been a general before her disgrace, but the psychological reports he’d received indicated she’d lacked a battle-minded killer instinct. On her galactic policing patrols, she’d become too friendly with local subjects, had allowed minor transgressions to slide.

  Lala could be turned.

  His plan came with risk, but sending her off planet was the only way to achieve his aim. If he had to circumvent the will of the other council members, so be it.

  Chapter Five

  Docking bay doors peeled back, and the spacecraft shot into the sky. After clearing Capitol City airspace, the nose lifted, hyper speed engaged, and the ship burned its way into the atmosphere. G-forces plastered Lala to her seat, but it was fear that pushed her heart into her throat. Only after the ship cleared the atmosphere and entered outer space did she relax with a shuddering breath of relief.

  She hadn’t been convinced the High Council would let her go.

  “Set a course for zero-eight-nine-five,” she ordered the AI.

  She was operating on a hunch Chameleon would have sent the ’Topians far away from the Xeno sector to minimize the possibility of detection by patrols. She didn’t expect an early success—nor did she desire one. If she located the ’Topians too quickly, the High Council might assume she’d known all along where they were.

  “Course set,” the AI confirmed.

  She massaged her nape, knotted with tension and still sore from the injection of inoccu-all, the vaccination against alien diseases she’d been given when she’d reported to the spaceport. I must prove myself now. Forgiveness or redemption did not exist because genetics determined one’s fate. But if she performed well, she might earn the right to continue living. In the short term, she could relax instead of waiting for an execution drone. And she was back in space!

  Some of the happiest moments of her life had been as a young lieutenant on reconnaissance patrol. She had loved flying through the vastness of space and then meeting wondrous alien life-forms. She’d relished the freedom and control that came with overriding the computer and piloting the ship herself.

  But the higher she’d soared in the ranks, the fewer opportunities she had to fly until she only commanded those who flew and then later commanded those who commanded those who flew.

  This ship was small, compact, and sparse compared to the spacecraft she used to command. Passages were tight, the sleeping berth hard and narrow, and the head barely large enough to accommodate her tail. She’d inspected the single-person evac capsule and discovered it carried only minimal equipment. However, the rations, while bland, were plentiful. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had enough to eat. And everything was clean.

  Except her. Body and clothing filthy, she stewed in her own stench. Nothing stayed clean in the slums. Public chem stations rarely worked.

  “Computer, maintain our course. I’m going to clean up.”

  “Good, you need it,” the AI responded.

  What the herian? “Why would you say that to me?”

  “I analyzed the particulate matter filtered by the air system. Your odor would be considered unpleasant by most organic sentient beings.”

  Maybe that was why the High Council had looked repulsed. She’d assumed it had been moral condemnation, but perhaps it had been more visceral. She’d tried to clean up beforehand, wiping off as much of the grime as she could and donning her least dirty clothing.

  Lala left the cockpit. After locating fresh uniforms in her size, she shoved her clothing in the waste receptacle and then stepped into the MDC multipurpose unit. It had medical, decontamination, and cleansing settings. She closed her eyes as she was sprayed with a cleansing chemical. When the unit signaled it had finished, she reset it and cleansed again, and then donned the one-piece quasi-military uniform.

  Back in the cockpit, she addressed the AI. “Computer, access the dossier on the ’Topians.” Learning as much as she could about the enemy might help her find them.

  The Xenos had terraformed and seeded so many planets over the millennia, it was impossible for anyone to learn about them all. She’d heard of the ’Topian project but had never given it much consideration, until she’d returned from patrol, received the communique about the bombardment—and then been arrested. She’d never seen a ’Topian to know what they looked like.

  “Display an image of a ’Topian,” she ordered.

  “Which species?”

  “There’s more than one?”

  “There are five main subspecies, but there are also many hybrids created by interbreeding.”

  Interbreeding? They did that? She wrinkled her nose. Gross…but fascinating.

  “You find the notion distasteful? Interbreeding is common among aliens, especially among those not engineered by the consortium,” the AI said.

  Lala froze. She hadn’t vocalized her opinion. Wiping the expression from her face and affecting a neutral tone, she asked, “Are you watching me?”

  “I am recording visuals and audio of you.”

  “By whose orders?”

  “The High Council.”

  She had hoped for privacy and freedom. “What else have you been programmed to do?”

  “I am to transmit reports detailing your actions in addition to the coordinates plotted and visited.”

  Lala touched her scarred throat. Once a criminal, always a criminal. The council didn’t trust her. She had nothing to hide, and she’d been under surveillance on Xeno, but if she was going to accomplish her mission, she needed freedom to do what was necessary without looking over her shoulder all the time.

  “Cancel all transmissions to the council.” They would realize something was wrong when they failed to receive reports, but many cosmic phenomena could disrupt communication.

  “You are not authorized to cancel transmissions.”

  She’d expected that, but it had been worth a shot. “Can you erase our conversation of the last five minutes?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do it.”

  There was silence in the cockpit.

  “Computer, what did I ask you to do when I returned from the head?”

  “I have no record of any commands or requests from you since you returned from the cleansing unit.”

  Lala smiled.

  “You are pleased about something.”

  “Yes, I am pleased. Computer, access the dossier of the five subspecies of ’Topians and display their images.”

  Five side-by-side images popped up on the screen. As a young officer on galactic patrol, she’d encountered diverse life-forms, many created by the Xenos, but these were like nothing she’d ever seen. It had often been said the consortium had engineered life-forms in their image, but these beings looked nothing like Xenos.

  Nor did they look like vicious killers. But no one knew better than a shapeshifter that appearances were deceiving. “Do they have the ability to personify other creatures?”

  “No.”

  “Tell me about them.” She curled her tail around herself.

  “The five main subspecies are: Saberian, Avian, Luciferan, Vaporian, and Verital.” With the mention of each species, the images enlarged to show which one the AI was referring to.

  “The Saberian is a predator by nature,” the AI said. “It is the most powerful of all the subspecies and is dangerous if engaged. They can attack without provocation.”

  “How did they coexist with the others, then? Wouldn’t they have decimated the rest of the population?”

  “The others have defensive abilities to protect them. Avians can fly out of range. They, too, are hunters, and they have sharp eyesight. They will see you before you ever see them. Keep your eye on the sky,” the AI warned.

  Fortunately, there was little risk of encountering any of them. She only had to decide where to go; the scanners would do the searching. Then she would transmit the coordinates to the High Council. She would never have to leave the ship.

  “Luciferans can be identified by their red epidermis, thin barbed tail, and horns. They can manipulate energy and can cast fireballs and engulf a victim in flames. Stay out of range.”

  Lala shuddered. Why had the consortium created such dangerous creatures? Couldn’t they have predicted it wouldn’t end well? She schooled her features to avoid having her face reflect her seditious thoughts. She couldn’t keep erasing conversations. Too many gaps would raise suspicion. That was how they’d figured out what Chameleon had done—from the missing data.

  “What about the other two?” she asked. They appeared harmless, but she suspected they weren’t.

  “Vaporians have the ability to sublimate, to change from solid to vapor. They can sublimate and slip through the slimmest opening and hide in the smallest space.”

  She shivered. A Vaporian could easily sneak aboard a grounded ship! Short of sealing it up airtight, you’d have no defense. “How could you protect yourself?”

  “Geneticists programmed a safeguard. Upon reaching adulthood, if a Vaporian does not meet a genmate, it loses control over sublimation and dissipates into nothingness and dies.”

  “If they were that much of a threat, why create them at all?” she mused. Unless the consortium didn’t know until it was too late? But then why create a failsafe if you weren’t expecting problems.? It didn’t make sense.

  “That information is not available,” the AI commented.

  Had she spoken aloud? Herian! She had to mind her words. Certain queries h
ad to be asked to get the information she needed, but spontaneous observations could trip her up. What if she forgot to erase something?

  “Delete my last question,” she ordered and then said, “Tell me what you know about Veritals.”

  “They are the most dangerous of all. They have powerful telepathic abilities. They can read your mind, wipe your memory, or implant false thoughts without you being aware of it.”

  If you could control a person’s mind, you controlled that person. Had Chameleon encountered a Verital who’d brainwashed him?

  “Could that explain why Chameleon turned on the consortium? Did he visit ’Topia and encounter a Verital?”

  “Who is this Chameleon?”

  “Chameleon. My brother. He was a member of the High Council.”

  “I show no records of anyone with that name serving on the High Council.”

  She’d forgotten family records had been expunged from the unibase. “Computer, who am I?”

  “You are passenger 09XY47.”

  The loss of her name hit like a hard slap. She understood being stripped of her rank but her name, too? “Where am I from? What is my genetic origin?”

  “You boarded at Capitol City. A bioscan identifies you as Xeno genetic extraction.”

  “Yes, I’m Xeno.”

  “Negative. You are of Xeno genetic extraction. You are not a citizen of the consortium.”

  Veritals wiped minds; Xenos erased databases. Perhaps the two races weren’t that different.

  What a treasonous ideation. No wonder she’d been convicted without a trial. Her guilt was irrefutable. Even her thoughts were criminal. Thank goodness no one on the council could access memories. To have engineered such a dangerous ability into Verital DNA had been a huge mistake. Of all the species she’d been presented with, Veritals scared her the most. How could you fight an enemy who could turn your own mind against you?

  You couldn’t.

  She shuddered to contemplate the offspring that could be created from a Verital-Vaporian hybrid. One would have no defenses at all. The galactic community considered Xenos to be the most intelligent, powerful beings in the Milky Way, but their leaders and geneticists had been powerfully stupid by creating beings with such abilities.

  What could have possessed them to create ’Topians in the first place? Hubris? Shortsightedness? Or both?

  Treason.

  Speaking of which… “Computer, erase our conversation going back to and including my question about whether Chameleon had turned on the consortium because he’d interacted with Veritals.” If only every word and action weren’t being documented. Had the High Council given her the freedom to set a trap for herself? Well, she had no intention of falling into it. She would locate the lost ’Topians and safeguard her life. To that end, she would follow the rules. Erasures notwithstanding.

  After verifying her instruction had been followed, she asked, “Is there anything one could do to prevent a Verital from invading one’s mind?”

  “For most beings, no. However, Xenos can block a Verital mind probe by erecting mental barriers. That was programmed into Xeno DNA when Veritals were created. I can teach you how.”

  So, her people hadn’t been totally stupid then—they’d arranged for a safeguard. She shuddered to think of living among Veritals. You would never know if your beliefs were of your origination or if you’d been brainwashed. Fortunately, she’d grown up on a planet where she could be assured her thoughts were her own. She might not have the freedom to speak her mind, but she hadn’t been brainwashed.

  “That won’t be necessary,” she said. She would not be leaving the ship. Her role was to identify which planets to target; the AI would perform the scan from space.

  “Computer, how many uninhabited but habitable planets are in the sector where we’re headed?”

  A long list of names appeared on the screen. “There are one hundred sixty-seven planets with an atmosphere, vegetation and animal life, and two hundred twenty-two with an atmosphere and vegetation.” Even a lifetime wouldn’t be enough to visit all those, and she was living on borrowed time as it was.

  She had to winnow the list. “Eliminate any planet known to have contact with the Xeno Consortium or any of its allies. How many does that leave?”

  “Two hundred and two.”

  “Omit any with a populace known to be hostile to aliens.”

  Still too many, she thought, rubbing her scar. “Delete the ones with technologically advanced civilizations.” They would interact with other aliens, and Chameleon would have sought to limit contact with outside worlds to minimize the chance of discovery.

  “How many now?” The list still appeared lengthy.

  “One hundred thirty.”

  “Computer, what was ’Topia like before the bombardment?”

  Vids of dense forests, lush hills, lakes, and small seas rolled on the screen. Avians soared through the sky, and ’Topians bustled along the streets of charming villages. Mated couples strolled arm in arm. Vaporian, Verital, and Luciferan children played together in a village park. She couldn’t help but smile as she spotted a Saberian cub spinning in a circle as he chased his tail. She and Chameleon used to do the same thing as children. She spotted weird, fascinating wildlife. ’Topia looked like a beautiful place to live, so different from the cold, austere cities of Xeno—and way different from the filthy slums.

  Chameleon would probably seek to recreate a familiar habitat. He wouldn’t send them to an icy planet or one that was too hot and mostly desert.

  “How many planets would offer similar living conditions to ’Topia?”

  “Fifty-four.”

  Now, that was manageable. “Set a course for the closest one,” she ordered.

  “Course set,” he confirmed.

  “Computer…” Lala hesitated. “Show me vids of ’Topia after the bombardment.”

  The landscape turned to blackened char. Rivers and lakes boiled and steamed. Every single living thing—animal and vegetative—had been incinerated. Lala clapped a hand over her mouth in horror.

  Of course, the attack had to be stopped, but had it been necessary to kill everything? The wildlife, the vegetation, the children? They hadn’t been involved in an insurrection.

  “’Topia is now considered uninhabitable,” the AI said.

  Chapter Six

  One day after launch

  After the humming stabilizer core signaled the Intrepid had sailed through jump space intact, Mysk strode to the bridge. As soon as he entered, Beak spun around.

  The Avian looked uncomfortable, but whether it was due to bad news or because he’d been forced to fold his wings unnaturally tight, Mysk couldn’t tell. When Avians took to the skies, they were excellent flyers; unfortunately, their wingspan meant they did not fit easily in a cramped spaceship cockpit. However, Beak’s hawk-like observation and keen knowledge of mathematics and physics were just the traits and skills Mysk needed. He’d been thrilled when Beak had agreed to accompany him.

  “Don’t tell me it’s bad news already,” Mysk said.

  Hooded eyes blinked. “Okay, I won’t.”

  Mysk sighed. “Tell me. Are we anywhere close to where and when we wanted to be?”

  “Yes, but…” Beak glanced at the ship’s chronometer.

  Even with faster than light travel, the galaxy’s vastness made it impossible for a mortal to travel from one arm of the spiral to the next in a lifetime. Fortunately, shortcuts existed—space-time bridges. However, shifting curvatures of jump space made it challenging to predict precisely where one would end up—or when.

  “How far into the past did we go?” Mysk held his breath, fearing the worst.

  “We didn’t go back, we moved forward—by about a week.”

  “We moved ahead a week? That’s not bad!”

  “I told you it wasn’t bad news. You should trust me.”

  “I do trust you, but the unexpected has a way of happening.” He held no illusions the journey to find the lost ’Topians would proceed without a glitch.

  “So, you still wish to plot coordinates to the closest settlement?”