Syn-En: Registration

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Authors: Linda Andrews
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fatally. That would be wrong.
    Surrendering was out.
    Which left him one option——being taken prisoner. His stomach cramped at the notion. Incapacitating one or two guards was better than harming two dozen.
    But he had to make it convincing.
    And minimize the damage, lest they decide to kill him.
    Bei allowed a few strikes on his arms, a kick to the knee, then a blow fell across the base of his skull.
    Systems coming on line .
    “What?” Bei felt his legs being swept out from under him. He landed on his hip, ate dirt. Who had spoken? There wasn’t a woman close enough.
    Bare feet and hard-soled boots kicked him.
    Raising his arms, he shielded his head from the blows. Had he made a mistake? Were they planning to kill him?
    Temporary paralysis initiated while diagnostics running.
    Bei froze in place. He tried to draw his legs in, but they didn’t move. What was that voice? Was it God? Then why didn’t the others hear it?
    “Enough.” The leader yelled.
    The kicks stopped. Dirt rose in small puffs when the mob shuffled back.
    Bei remained still. Maybe the voice was trying to help him.
    Mobility restored. Anomalous code detected, placing in quarantine. Memory access will be restored in five. Four.
    The leader squatted in front of Bei, grabbed his hair and yanked his head backward. “Tie him up. Maybe we can ransom him for extra rations. A digger like him should be worth a week’s worth of food.”
    Three. Two.
    Rough cord slipped around his ankles, tightened, then wound around his legs. More rope bound his wrists behind his back, then a loop was placed around his neck.
    One. Access restored.
    Images and sensations flooded his head. People’s faces. Young faces. Old faces. Laughing. Smiling. Killing. Bei jerked as he tried to process everything. His eyes fluttered. A green place. Space. Ships sailing through the stars. Weapons. Friends. Black uniforms on everyone he saw.
    His clan.
    Arms looped through his, lifted his torso. “Damn, he’s heavy.”
    Bei’s head lolled backward. A green world with frolicking animal life. And her. The blond-haired, blue-eyed woman. Grinning at him. Touching him. His wife. “Nell.”
    He nearly snapped his bonds.
    Where the hell was she?
    “Eh?” His captors dropped him in a pile of slag in the center of camp. “What did you say, slant-eyes?”
    He moaned and allowed his head to drop back. If the fools thought he was unconscious, they might leave him alone, give him time to work. Status of Keyes and Rome.
    Welcome back, Admiral. Searching for others. Shall I begin the self-repair subroutines?
    Negative. His captors were already short-circuiting over his Asian heritage. God knew how they’d react if they watched his skin heal and the drops of blood be reabsorbed. Find my men. Find Nell.
    We are out of range of the Icarus, Admiral. But I have found an access point in the corner of this room. Attempting to connect.
    Peering through his lashes, he scanned the encampment. Using his enhanced optics, he mapped each house, port, doors and entry points relative to his corner. Fifty-nine humans. Thirty adults, twenty-nine children. All semi-malnourished. Two females were pregnant. A man ran up to the leader standing near the two-story shack in the seven o’clock position.
    One water tap in the center of the makeshift village near a series of electronic cooking plates. In the ten o’clock position, two basic toilets with built-in plumbing stood behind metal walls. A five-foot wall enclosed a tub. Laundry soaked in the basin made of rocks and mud.
    Everything was crude. Everything except the electronic device in the far right corner. The thing resembled a soda machine from one of Nell’s video clips. Given the lack of a garden, Bei would bet his best circuit that thing dispensed food and medicine.
    The United Earth Nations had used similar measures to control its unruly population.
    Or to eliminate them slowly.
    Bei’s hands fisted. The movement tightened the rope around his neck. He

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