Lost Child of the Song

Chapter 1

Escape

The sleek Trans Consortium III Navy battle frigate, Tempest, out of a Forn shipyard and commissioned two months previously, parted the ether with style and grace. She was a thousand meters long, three hundred meters at the beam, and held full armament: twenty-four laser cannons (twelve to a side), two disrupter beams (fore and aft), and thirty-two missile launchers amid ships. In other words, her captain liked to think, she was armed to the teeth. There was nothing in this vast universe that made Captain Samantha Eunice Ashmore (Captain Sam to her crew) happier than a brand-new, extremely fast ship with great big guns.

The state-of-the-art ship Tempest even smelled new. As ships aged, they took on all kinds of odors that eventually evolved to their own unique bouquet. Over one’s career, when entering a navy vessel with closed eyes, one knew the ship simply by its smell.

The captain, at her post, had the conn. She let her eyes take in the ten crew members currently manning the bridge. These men and women, in addition to the other thirty-five crew members and eight marines stationed elsewhere or off duty, were a seasoned lot to the man. It pleased her and challenged her to know this, for the Tempest’s mission was twofold.

First, they were assigned to patrol the Xandor-II star system, more specifically to search out and kill a Rzash base rumored to be located in the vicinity and, secondly, since this was Tempest’s maiden voyage, to shake down her crew. Although they were salty dogs, most had not served with one another.

The run from Forn had been flawless, with every system operating as designed. The captain stood to walk around the bridge. She was a tall imposing woman, dark of skin and light of eyes. She was not aloof, as some of her colleagues were wont to be, but was a real hands-on, let-her-at-the-guns kind of leader.

Helm, bring her about to course 0100, speed 3.5 interplanetary translight. We will begin our sweep of this sector with a flyby of First Moon, Ariel. People, be on your toes. Rumors put the bad guy’s base somewhere on this moon.

Helm responded, Aye, aye, Captain. Course is plotted and set. Steady as she goes.

Satisfied, Captain Sam resumed her station. Twenty minutes later, Ensign Liam McClain, currently manning the scanner, sat up straight and ran his numbers a second time to be sure. Yep, there was definitely a bogey appearing on-screen, emerging from the moon’s dark side.

Captain, sir, we have a bogey on screen 2, full view. Huh! We have a second bogey ten degrees above bogey 1—both clear of Moon Ariel. We are locked on. Life signs detected. Signatures indicate both are Rzash warrior-class torpedo ships.

The captain felt her pulse quicken, and a feral smile crossed her lips.

Ensign Marks, sound red alert! Battle stations, everyone. Send out a hail to bogeys 1 and 2.

The red alert Klaxon sounded three times. Two more crewmen emerged from the lift and slid into the weapons stations to the starboard of the helm.

Captain, sir, no response to our hail. Third bogey on screen just above the north pole of Moon One, speed Mach 27, scout class, Rzash signature, life signs on board. Moving off in opposite direction of bogeys 1 and 2. Ah . . . suspect these ships are serving as decoys for bogey 3.

Sir, the master gunnery sergeant said, we are being fired upon by bogey 1, estimated impact fifteen seconds!

Master Gunnery, return fire three ways. Plot your solutions then fire at will. Gunnery 2, please target missile to intercept incoming fire. Execute!

Aye, aye, Captain, sir! both gunnies replied.

She could feel the Tempest’s subtle shimmer-shake as her missiles were launched. She set her comp to multiscreens and watched her crew coordinate their return attack. Their performance was quite satisfactory.

Captain, intercept missile destroyed. Bogeys 1 and 2 are direct hits. Detect debris fields times two. Third bandit has executed a flip maneuver to avoid our strike and has gone into interstellar translight, off screen and lost to us.

Thank you, Master Gunnery Sergeant. Nav, plot the origin course of the Rzash ships. Helm, bring us about. Time to look at Ariel’s dark side, people, where we will no doubt find one hidden base, abandoned and set to blow!

Captain, detect sizable explosion near equator. Suggest pulling back to fifty thousand klicks to avoid debris path.

Aye, Gunny. Helm, bring us back to safe range. Use your judgment. Ensign Marks, open a ship-wide hail.

Aye, aye, ship-wide hail, open, sir.

Thank you, Ensign.

The ship’s alert whistle sounded two tones three times. The line was hers.

This is your captain. We are standing down red alert. Repeat, standing down red alert. Move to level orange. I repeat, move to level orange. We have just engaged Rzash forces and have taken two out of three ships. They blew the base. Sergeant Major Bishop, ready your landing party. Stand by to deploy for mop-up when debris field has settled. Officers, report to my ready room for debriefing in ten minutes. Good job, people!

Quite satisfied, Captain Ashmore stood and left the bridge. Ensign Marks announced, as was protocol, Captain leaving the bridge. Helm, take the conn. I have the helm.

She paused by the weapons stations and put a hand on the shoulders of gunny 1 and 2.

Nice shooting, girls and boys!

She exited the deck and entered her ready room to prepare for debriefing. The captain was smiling. Their first skirmish went off like clockwork. Granted they missed the scout ship, but two out of three wasn’t bad. Not bad at all.

Chapter 2

Shadow Cloning

Tarik Stone held his middle and swallowed repeatedly, trying to keep his stomach contents down. He sat in the copilot’s seat, next to the best pilot he had ever encountered. The young man had executed an unbelievable flip maneuver that had not only avoided the TC III Navy frigate’s return fire but also gotten them safely in translight almost instantaneously. Brilliant! He would have to put the flight jockey in for a commendation.

The youthful pilot, who did not look old enough to have graduated from the academy, shot him a glance, briefly tearing his eyes away from his boards. He took in Tarik’s rather greenish hue.

Sir, try the second pocket on your right. Bottle with protect cap. Should help the stomach.

Tarik felt for the bottle and took a drink of the clear fluid. He started feeling better as soon as the liquid hit his stomach. Thanks, Lieutenant Kedar. Better, much better. That was quite the evasive bit of action, young sir.

The pilot, looking quite proud of himself, admitted, I have only practiced that maneuver in the sims four times. Nice to know it actually works. Can’t wait to try it again! We are green light, sir, if you would like to retire to your cabin. I have set course for Aritza, and we should be arriving at 2100.

Tarik made his way to the small cabin, one of two, this transport contained. Their ship was small, no weapons, which lent it proven extraordinary maneuverability and speed. It was very, very fast. However, they were indeed lucky to have escaped with their lives, which was more than he could say for the brave crew of the two torpedo ships. Losing lives was unfortunate, and he found, as he grew older, it affected him more than it did when he was a younger man. Aging, the great changer of perspective, had him facing his own mortality.

He was tired, so he stretched out on the unmade bunk. The last few hours on the base had been a scramble to gather up data drives, set the explosives, and ready their ships. This flurry of activity had been triggered by a warning beamed to them from a remote detect that had picked up the signature of the TC III Navy frigate.

More important, he thought, was escaping with the ministasis cube holding his precious cargo. Xandor-II might be lost to the Rzash Empire for now, but he had managed to escape with a piece of it. With a satisfied smile crossing his lips, Tarik fell into a deep sleep.

* * *

Aritza, a glowing green, blue, and white globe, filled the view screen of the scout ship. The small craft was just entering the capital planet’s (legendary center of the Rzash Empire) restricted zones. Alarms sounded, filling the cockpit with annoying noise. It cut off suddenly when the pilot keyed in the appropriate code and password of the day.

Tarik, a few more worry lines around his brilliant blue eyes than when he last visited his home planet, sent in his carefully crafted transmission. The data bundle, encrypted at the highest level, arrived at headquarters. It was opened and scanned by his immediate and only supervisor, general of the navy and director of the Rzash Genetics Program, Hywel Madrid.

Tarik gave his superior a few minutes to scan his report and then followed up with a live transmission, again coded. The vid showed the plain and unassuming face of the greatest strategic mind of the Rzash Empire. Tarik saluted him, fist over heart.

Welcome back, Tarik. Reading your report. Do you have the package?

Yes, sir. Respectfully requesting, on landfall, immediate transport to Genetics Lab I and meeting with our man.

Tarik did not mention the man’s name, for security reasons. Ari Osbaldo, no doubt the best geneticist in the known universe, was absolutely essential if they were to see Tarik’s plan to fruition.

* * *

Landfall was uneventful. As Tarik exited the ship, he turned and saluted his talented pilot, fist over heart. The cocky little shit grinned at him and gave him a thumbs-up. Tarik wasn’t surprised at the young man’s lack of formality, as pilots were, indeed, an independent lot.

The transport dropped him off in a highly secure underground parking facility. Tarik was sure he was scanned many times as he made his way to a bank of lifts. He pressed his thumb against the lift call panel and recited the room code. A door opened, and Tarik stepped on to the lift, which brought him to his destination in seconds. Another door, larger, imposing, slid back, and he entered Osbaldo’s office.

The man sitting behind his desk and working on his comp looked nothing like the Osbaldo Tarik knew from years past. It was a well-known fact that this man changed his appearance at least every twelve months. Most confusing, that, but necessary, Tarik thought. Any government that got their hands on Osbaldo stood to profit immensely.

Osbaldo got to his feet, and both men approached a panel set into the wall by the door. Osbaldo went first and pressed his eye to the scanner plate. Tarik followed suit. The scanner confirmed both their identities, and with that formality over, both men took seats at a conference table facing each other.

Tarik, long-absent friend, do you have the stasis cube?

Tarik withdrew the small cube from a belt pocket and slid it across the table to Ari’s waiting hands. The great scientist picked it up and checked the reading on the side of the cube.

Seems intact, but I must look closer to be sure.

He pulled out a small scanner that looked very much like a jeweler’s loop, set it to his eye, and peered closely at the interior of the stasis cube.

Ah, yes, yes . . . very good. No deterioration of the sample, Tarik. We have viable DNA from both specimens. I will begin the project today, as my lab has been ready and waiting for you. We should know if my theory works in a few short weeks.

Ari, you brilliant bastard! Do you mind reviewing your basic premise—in lowly layman’s terms, please—one more time for me?

The two men grinned at each other. Their friendship had spanned two decades, and they knew well each other’s areas of expertise. Ari considered Tarik a decisive man of action with talents to infiltrate any society, anytime, for any purpose. Intel gathered over the years by his friend had benefited the Rzash Empire time and again. Tarik was also a talented escape artist, having just gotten his valuable ass out of the Xandor-II system by the proverbial skin of his fine white teeth! Ari, on the other hand, considered himself a desk jockey, content in his labs with his staff.

Tarik, still grinning at Ari, could not help but think he was sitting in the presence of an unassuming man who was a true genius, the caliber of whom their universe seldom encountered. Both men laughed out loud, knowing what the other was thinking.

Tarik, you understand modern genetics, DNA, and cloning. Ari began his layman’s lecture for his friend. New advances are being made every day, and our labs have produced many, many improvements in the human form. Some of these improvements, such as longevity and resistance to disease—both chronic and infectious—have mainstreamed and are available to all of us. These enhancements have been available for several hundreds of years. Longer in TC III societies, as their funding stream has always exceeded ours.

Ari paused to think for a few seconds. What was the best way to explain complex genetics in layman’s terms?

My new theory steps well beyond any current research and moves into the realm of the extraordinary. I have developed a novel genetic manipulation technique I call shadow cloning. It is quite complicated, but basically it means I take a sample of DNA from two completely different subjects who have the traits we desire and merge them, one superimposed over the other. Essentially, instead of the tried and true double helix, my subject will have a quadruple helix. But since one helix hides behind the other, at first glance, the subject will look human, completely normal under the scrutiny of basic genetic testing.

Ari grew silent again, savoring the complexity of his discovery, then continued his explanation.

"The beauty of my theory is that the subject, through extensive training and behavior modification techniques, will be able to access traits, skills, and talents from either helix, thus vastly increasing the subject’s potential. The aggressive genes linked with physical training should be most impressive.

We are, in fact, about to create a superior human. A new type of human who will far exceed the old concept of supersoldier our labs have toyed with over generations. The subject will use these traits and be quite capable of infiltrating any TC III world, rise to the top, and simply take over that particular enemy government. This individual, or weapon, we are about to create will spearhead a new kind of war. One that does not include blowing enemy planets to bits!

Tarik laughed as Ari mimicked the blowing-up part of his discourse with his hands. He continued to listen attentively as Ari went on.

Again, I must emphasize that the training is crucial and must begin almost at birth—very subtle at first then, as the subject ages, with much more intensity. Do you follow me, Tarik?

Most certainly, Ari, my friend. I plan to work with you on the training component of this project and will personally oversee the subject’s development.

Tarik decided he could trust his friend with the highly classified second phase of the project.

While you are working your lab miracles, I will be setting up a base on Tellis. The plan is to raise our subject where it will be exposed to UD-RB 220.

Ari raised his eyebrows and then laughed uproariously.

Tarik, you sneaky son of a bitch! You really know how to add layers to an already complex plan. Our subject will become a new type of superior human, with access to many physical and mental traits, and now you will add a twist of extrasensory perception! What wonderful times we live in, my ambitious friend!

Tarik and Ari were pleased with the project to date. It had required much time, energy, and perseverance for them both, and some risk on Tarik’s part. They would soon accomplish the impossible. Their arrogant confidence in the completion of the project was extraordinary; both men knew they could, both men knew they would, but never once did it occur to them to wonder if they should.

Chapter 3

It’s a Boy!

It was a year before Tarik heard from Ari Osbaldo again. Ari had left a coded message to contact him the previous week. Tarik had been off-planet and nowhere near a secure line. Now that he was back on a Rzash Navy patrol ship, Tarik had all the secure lines he needed.

He had been busy and, he considered, had accomplished quite a lot. Plans to secure a base on Tellis were moving forward. He had handpicked a family—one couple with three children—to apply for a settler’s visa through the TC III Genetics Program, the organization overseeing the colonization of the planet. The Rzash spies’ cover story was quite elaborate and must have worked, as their visas had been accepted three months prior.

All Tellis settlers were heavily subsidized by the TC III government, which made the subterfuge even more satisfying. Each family or group received one section of free land, with the option to purchase more. They also received funds for construction of homes and/or businesses, including whatever supplies they needed.

Maximizing the utility of these guidelines, his family had purchased ten more sections of land. They would soon make landfall and begin building the ranch. Construction plans included certain underground facilities Tarik had personally designed for future security, educational, and training purposes.

Tarik sat at the desk in his borrowed cabin and took a moment to review his other line of pursuit. He needed to find out, through his network of spies, all he could about Xandor-II. It was surprisingly little, considering that TC III was an open society.

He was still trying to piece together what he did know. GenProg had moved the majority of their program to Tellis, leaving behind a small contingency of staff stationed at House Lonmere on Xandor-II. What prompted this sudden move was still a mystery.

Since access to Xandor-II was cut off, he had already decided to deploy his spies on Primis, hoping for more information from the bureaucrats who worked for the TC III government on their capital world. There was no doubt in his mind that whatever had occurred on Xandor-II had something to do with UD-RB 220 and the boy he had met briefly, Kydin Brandish-Lonmere. Tarik absently rubbed a hand over his face. He was a patient man and could wait while his resources gathered more information.

He clicked a switch, murmured a code into his comp, and let the wheels turn, so to speak. Quite soon, he had Ari’s subtly changed face staring at him from the comp screen.

Ari, you look tired. I hope you have good news for me.

Indeed, I do! I waited a few weeks just to be sure, but know this, our fifth attempt at shadow cloning was successful. We removed 64C270A31M from the artificial womb exactly one month ago. The infant is healthy and growing well. Congratulations, Tarik, it’s a boy!

A smile crossed Tarik’s usually stern face.

Wonderful news, Ari! Congratulations to you and your team!

In some ways, Tarik, we had the easy part. Now it is up to you and your team to turn little Cam—the nurses have already tagged him—into the genius world-conqueror you mean him to be. I will expect you to take him off our hands as soon as you arrive on the planet. The facilities you’ve requested are ready. Here are the codes you will need for access.

Ari looked down and voiced a comp command, sending the codes to him.

Thanks, Ari. My ETA is 0100 tomorrow. The team and I will be at your labs at 0900. Until then.

Tarik leaned back and let the conform chair massage his neck and shoulders. He was quite pleased that his plans had just taken a huge step forward, but he was also cautious enough to realize that he was most likely exchanging one set of worries for many, many others.

* * *

Surrounded by his five-person team and a security detail, Tarik arrived at the labs at exactly 0900. Ari met him in the building’s lobby and, sporting a huge grin, clapped him on the shoulder and shook his hand.

This way, Tarik. Leave your detail here, as they do not have clearance for my labs. Fortunately, your team has just gotten clearance this morning.

Ari led them to a lift and recited a code into the screen while pressing his palm against a depression. The lift took them down into the depths of the building, moved sideways, then went up again.

The lift doors opened to a quiet foyer with a wide door on the left. Ari, again, used a code and his palm print. The door slid open, and he ushered Tarik and party into a rather-large and very noisy nursery. Rows and rows of bassinets held babies, some quiet, some crying, and some being tended by a large number of nurses dressed in colorful scrubs.

Ari motioned to one supervisor, who had been forewarned of his arrival. She immediately went to a bassinet in the third row and picked up a small bundle, waking the said small bundle in the process. The bundle began to cry. Well, howl is more like it, Tarik thought.

For a usually competent man in all areas, he was quite overwhelmed. He had never in his extensive career entered a baby factory such as this. Furthermore, he was unmarried and had no children of his own. He felt entirely out of place. Ari had been watching his reaction and smiled to himself. Old Tarik’s life was about to change in oh so many ways.

The supervisor tried to soothe the squalling infant, who only cried harder at her attempts. Having had her fill, she walked directly to Tarik and placed the cacophonous bundle in his arms, quickly showing him how to support the infant’s head. She popped earplugs in and took herself to her office and shut the door.

Tarik tried not to panic. Good gods, what was he supposed to do now? He found himself swaying back and forth, murmuring soothing hush noises, the likes of which had never before issued forth from his mouth. To his surprise, the infant quieted. Tarik used his free hand to fold back the blanket flaps so he could take a look at the now-calm infant. Black hair covered it’s—no, his head, Tarik amended, contrasting with the infant’s pale rose-milk skin. The baby turned his head and gazed into Tarik’s eyes. Tarik felt his heart skip a beat, for the infant stared back at him with Lady Danna’s and Kydin’s lovely gray eyes! Tarik bent and gently kissed the infant’s head.

Chapter 4

Cam

Travel was out of the question for these very informative years. Tarik, as a consequence, established an office and private living quarters adjacent to the nursery, playroom, and classroom where Cam was being raised along with three carefully chosen standard clones of the same age.

He spent some of his time preparing basic learning and teaching plans for Cam, contingent upon the baby’s growth and development. Tarik also felt it was important that he limit his contact, especially physical, with Cam.

He did not want either of them to become too attached, though it might be too late for him, he mused, for he found himself understanding how new fathers must feel. Still, Tarik tried to keep control, knowing the challenging and harsh training this baby must face in the future. As Cam grew, it would be too difficult if Tarik began to love the child. He tried to leave the comforting and consoling to Cam’s nurses. Tarik watched Cam’s progress pretty much every day but limited his face time to once a week.

Cam was growing and, at age two and a half, was already bigger than his classmates. He was quite the handful, running, climbing, and generally excelling at being a pain in the ass. Tarik thought back to the night he had been abruptly awakened in his private quarters by Cam’s nurses with the news that Cam was missing.

Tarik had dressed hastily and joined his team in the nursery and surrounding rooms to look for the misplaced toddler. He noticed his team was searching in obvious places where a normal two-plus-year-old could have gotten to. Tarik stood in the center of the largest classroom and thought, Now, where would a very bright and clever older-than-his-years toddler have hidden? His gaze fell on a screen near the floor that covered a vent. Three of the latches holding the screen in place had been loosened.

Aha! Tarik thought. The little shit had figured it out and climbed in. Not wanting to frighten Cam, Tarik bent and quietly removed the screen. He got down on his stomach and stuck his head and shoulders in the vent opening. The motion-sensitive auto lights activated, and sure enough, there was the little boy, curled up with a stuffed animal, sound asleep. Conveniently just out of reach.

He backed out of the vent conduit, removed his shirt, and this time, stuck his head and one arm inside. He found that if he stretched, he could just snag one of Cam’s feet. He pulled the little boy gently back toward him. Cam woke, and his peals of laughter nearly deafened Tarik in the confined space.

Tarik got a fully awake Cam to the vent opening and picked him and his stuffed bear up. Cam, still laughing and holding his bear under one arm, put his little hands on Tarik’s cheeks and said in his sometimes-lispy baby voice, You finded me, Tharik. You finded Cam! I was thleeping with Cecile, waiting for you. Cam rested his head on Tarik’s shoulder and stuck his free thumb in his mouth. Cam thleepy now.

Tarik carried Cam back to his bed and tucked him and Cecile the Bear in. He closed the door and found his staff waiting for him. They quietly clapped their approval as he told them to get the hell back to bed.

* * *

The next three years flew by with Cam growing and Tarik trying to keep up with his training and lessons. Tarik sometimes wondered who was training whom. As much as he tried to keep his distance, Cam would not let him. It seemed to Tarik that the bright little boy spent considerable time manipulating his environment, teachers, and handlers (he had six assigned to him now, three shifts 24-7) in ways that inevitably pulled Tarik into the fray.

When Cam reached three and a half, he had developed night terrors. Tarik had set his team to research this childhood phenomena, and they concluded, as did the experts, to