The Syn-En Solution

Introduction

When the human race bordered on extinction, a group of wounded soldiers volunteered to become the first Synthetically-Enhanced humans (Syn-En). These proto-cyborgs donned a new generation of prosthetic limbs in order to enter areas ravaged by disease, war and radiation. Their heroic efforts saved our species and united mankind.

Now, one hundred-twenty years later, a stratified civilization has emerged:

Citizens—Composed predominately of the rich and powerful ruling class. Citizens control the government and its laws. They avoid technological penalties by using genetically-engineered tissue and organs to improve their looks, health and longevity.

Civilians—Former middle and lower-class citizens who needed cheap technology to save their lives, were convicted of a crime or became so indebted that they find themselves stripped of their rights. Each are offered the option of cutting off a limb or two and replace it with prosthesis to earn their way back into society quicker than their sentence.

Syn-Ens— Inducted into the Corps as infants, the cyborgs are taught, trained and programmed to believe the best in humanity, the sacredness of human life and to fairly enforce the law of the United Earth Council. They are prohibited by law and the amount of technology in their bodies from ever becoming citizens.

The Syn-Ens ideals of honor and duty, plus their inability to be bribed, bought or blackmailed stand in the way of power hungry citizens and their agenda. Worse, the civilians trust the cyborgs more than Earth’s citizen rulers. When a wormhole is discovered on the fringe of Earth's Solar System, these citizens believe they have found the final solution to their Syn-En problem.

Chapter One

Why did I agree to leave Earth and aim my ship toward the stars? For the same reason that small tribe of humans left the Rift Valley in Africa. To get away from the people—

Beijing York, First Syn-En Admiral

December 12 , 2138

Earth did not send us here to die. Admiral Beijing York took care to keep his fury in check and his voice even. His blue almond-shaped eyes may betray his Eurasian heritage, but not his emotions. Never his emotions. Control and obedience had been drummed into Bei’s head before he took his first step or spoke his first word. The same could not be said for the woman fuming in his sterile briefing room.

Then why did they send us on a mission in ships that keep breaking down? Picking at the black rank insignia on her navy uniform, Lieutenant Burkina Faso reeked of human disdain and arrogance over the Synthetically-Enhanced human she’d become, what he was. She looked down upon his men and women because she’d been raised a citizen—a human without any technology penalties to keep her alive or make her useful.

We are the first humans to travel through a wormhole, to seek settlement outside our solar system. Although Synthetically Enhanced humans resembled people, no one ever treated the Syn-Ens as such. The soldiers had been stripped of their rights just as their limbs had been amputated and replaced, their skin substituted with dermis-looking armor, and their organs altered. No one could have predicted the toll caused by the stress of interstellar travel.

Face it, with a population nearing pre-plague levels, Earth no longer needs her cyborg freaks.

Bei cleared the expletive from his throat. He’d yet to meet a citizen or civilian who didn’t share her opinion, but that didn’t mean either he or his men were freaks. Unlike normal humans, the Syn-En knew their purpose—to preserve order and protect life. Lieutenant Faso’s derision of basic Syn-En behavior grated now much more than it had attracted him a year ago, when she’d arrived with newly-minted prostheses.

The Syn-En are neither freaks nor appliances. Bei’s stomach turned at the injustice. He was human, dammit. He felt and thought and dreamed, maybe a little too much. Lieutenant Faso didn’t seem to appreciate his temperance in dealing with her delayed transition into his kind; neither did she notice that he only took her to task in private. None of his crew had such accommodation. Ever.

Faso pressed her fists against her temples while rage blazed a red path across her brown cheeks. They keep their little tin space men locked in a box without even air holes and you just accept it.

We know our duty. Bei glanced around the briefing room. The décor was standard issue. On the dull gray walls, LCD monitors displayed pictures of space outside the solid hull. Most humans had difficulty adjusting to life without windows, but without a solid hull they’d be exposed to lethal doses of radiation in nanoseconds even with the magnetic shields. Interstellar space travel wasn’t a good place for sightseeing.

Or for recently inducted Syn-En humans. Why hadn't the judge sentenced her to civilian life? She would have coped much better with having only one or two limbs replaced. Yet some judge in his finite wisdom had sentenced her to a full conversion. And he hadn't had a decent two hours sleep since.

Duty! You’ve been trained. They say bark, you ask how loud. They say jump, you ask how high. Just like a good little machine obeying your programming. Well I’m not some stupid machine. The lieutenant pounded her fist against the metal table in the center of the rectangular room. Although lithe, her synthetically enhanced hand dented the thick slab.

You’re Syn-En. And you need to start behaving like one. Soon the Shape Memory Alloy would smooth out the dent, but what about the circuits embedded inside? Bei couldn’t afford for another computer interface to break down.

For a moment the plating on her mechanical arm flicked from the navy color of her uniform to the gun metal gray of the SMA. Is that tin man enough for you?

No. Leaning against the Spacefarer’s bulkhead, Bei felt the hum of the circuits across his back. The electromagnetic field caused his hair to rise as a static charge built in the metallic threads woven through his uniform and on the plates encasing his bones. He’d have to ground himself soon, or face a nasty shock across his cerebral interface. Given Faso’s impending tantrum, he didn’t need his enhancements fried by excess electricity.

Well it’s the best I can do. So you’ll just have to accept my human failings. The woman excelled at causing trouble and escaping the blame or consequences.

I do not. Pushing away from the ship’s exposed bulkhead, Bei strode to the table and discharged the current. At his touch, thin lines of blue light crackled over the surface before traveling down the metal legs and dissipating into the ship’s hull. His fingers slipped into the ports along the metal skirt while his fake fingernails peeled back, allowing him to connect with the table’s systems. A blue screen popped up inside his head. The diagnostic sweep reported no problems due to Lieutenant Faso’s punch. You must realize that your human failings are no different than anyone else’s aboard my ship.

That’s flesh tone pigment on your scaly body, not flesh, Admiral. Faso’s full lips thinned as she rubbed her cinnamon-colored skin. Hatred blazed in her ebony eyes and quivered out her wiry, black hair. Raising her fist again, she caught his look. Gently, she set her palm on the table. And you haven’t been human for a long time.

Unfortunately, he'd never stopped being human.

A shudder rippled through his ship.

Ignoring the typical biologic disdain, Bei hooked his booted foot around a nearby chair, pulled it toward him and sat on the flat cushioned seat. Using his cerebral interface, he switched from the diagnostics blue screen to the Starfarer’s main menu looking for whatever caused his ship to tremble.

Red flashed inside his skull. The hull integrity icon moved to the fore and opened the ship’s schematic. Compression had damaged the outer hull where the magnetic shield had brushed against the walls of the wormhole at a narrow point. With the ever growing number of dangers posed by long interstellar space travel, babying this Syn-En had to end.

That Neo-Dymatech Armor will save your life. We’re settling an alien world, Lieutenant. Despite benign reports from the probe, there will be danger ahead. Pinning her with his steely gaze, he mentally sent the command to the ship’s computer to release the wardens.

Real time data streamed into his consciousness. The eight-legged, square wardens crawled like spiders out of their airlocks, hooked themselves to guy wires and skittered over the outside of his ship to inspect the damage.

Yeah, yeah. The amazing body armor. NDA helps maintain body temperature, recharges our enhancements, and deflects bullets. That doesn’t make it skin. When she spied his cybernetic connection to the ship, revulsion flitted across her high cheek bones and narrowed her eyes. She quickly smoothed it away. Her loose hipped gait carried her down the table’s length to his side. Neither does a relatively untouched brain make you human.

Because science had yet to improve upon the design of the human brain, it alone remained relatively untouched and kept the Syn-En clinging to the fringe of humanity. Human. The word was as much a prayer as a curse. This trip had turned inalienable human rights into a possible dream. One he’d give everything to make a reality. All of his crew would, but if they revealed how much they craved enfranchisement, they would have been denied the right to make this trip. As he’d been trained, Bei compartmentalized his true feelings.

You forgot NDA is a hundred times more sensitive than regular dermis. A distinct advantage when defusing bombs, detecting a lie from a prisoner, and a hundred other things. Pulling his fingers out of the table’s jacks, Bei disconnected from the mainframe, leaned back in the blue upholstered chair, and waited. Four hours had passed since her last sexual overture toward him. She was overdue.

Her hands glided over her narrow waist, cupping her full breasts through her uniform, while her pink tongue glided across her lips as she stared down at him. I haven’t forgotten that.

Bei clamped down on his rising disgust. Like a typical female citizen, Lieutenant Faso used sex to coerce or punish. He didn’t doubt she’d used her bedroom skills on the bankruptcy judge so she could enter the Fleet as an officer instead of enlisted. The discrepancy caused hostilities among his men who earned their rank, the only distinction most humans bothered with when it came to the Syn-En.

If only she spent as much effort into her job of technician as she did seduction, she might not be a half bad soldier.

Yet, you’ve forgotten that under all the enhancements, we are still human. Bei clasped his hands over his roiling stomach. Sex with Faso had lost its appeal the second she tried to use it to shirk her duties.

Lieutenant Faso’s jaw thrust forward. Planting her fists on her hips, she glared down at him. I’m not human anymore, Admiral. I’m Syn-En, same as you.

Bei gripped the arms of his chair. To think that she could be anything like him was insulting. He’d spent his entire life, all forty-two years, in the Syn-En Fleet. He knew the price of service. She cared more about chipping a synthetic nail than her fellow soldiers. This trip, no matter how dangerous, meant freedom for them all. Rage built inside him until his arms trembled to contain it. Her insolence threatened his mission. If we have this conversation again, you will find yourself in the brig.

You can’t order me around, Tinman. Syn-Ens have no rights. The law says so. Flopping onto the chair next to his, Faso smirked, leaned back in her chair and propped her boots on top of the table.

Leaping to his feet, Bei grabbed the front of her uniform and yanked her out of the chair. Her toes skimmed the floor as he lifted her to eye level. Nose to nose, he faced her, yet his voice didn’t rise a decibel. I’m the law on this ship. Thirty days in solitary for insubordination.

Solitary! That’s inhuman. Fear dilated her pupils. She clawed at his grip but a lieutenant’s upgrades couldn’t compare to his.

By your own admission, you’re not human anymore. You’re Syn-En and all Syn-En in the fleet are under my rule. Bei inhaled deeply as fear soured her skin. For the last twelve months, he’d tried to incorporate Faso into his unit. She’d resisted at every turn. No more. She’d stay in solitary until assimilating into the Fleet looked like heaven compared to the dark four-by-four-feet cell.

He only wished he could shove her in a life pod and send her back to Earth. Controlling his rage, Bei carefully set her on her feet.

The humans are using us, sending us to our deaths, she spat at him. We’ll build a new empire for them and they won’t share it.

Bei barely refrained from rolling his eyes. She’d used the argument so many times, she should have digitalized it. It might have been more effective.

You will not fight Chief Rome when he arrives to escort you to solitary. Is that clear, Ensign? After sending a coded transmission through the Wireless Array to Chief of Security, Commander Frankfurt Rome, Bei waited for Faso’s demotion to penetrate her anger. Settling his hands around her throat, he cradled his thumbs in the hollows of her neck and waited.

I’m a lieutenant and no Syn-En lap dog is going to deprive me of my due. She drilled her finger against his shoulder.

Smiling, Bei pressed his thumbs at the slight nub located at the base of her carotid arteries. The action caused the plating of her Neo-Dymatech armor to lock her body in place, paralyzing her. He hated to use the technique, but she’d left him no choice. He would not sacrifice this mission or his men’s chance at freedom because she couldn’t adapt to Syn-En life. Either you go willingly, or the chief will carry you and everyone will know of your dishonorable behavior.

What have you done? Why can’t I move? Ensign Faso’s black eyes darted around the room as she squeezed the words through clenched teeth.

Too bad the armor couldn’t stop her from speaking. At least her time in solitary would stop her from spewing her venom to the citizens on board. Too many shared her views. But then, they too had been enfranchised humans. Once.

The professor will be around to begin your instruction in basic Syn-En behavior. Stooping, Bei looked her in the eye. If you learn your lessons, I’ll upgrade you to the brig for the duration.

A month of isolation might not break her spirit, but his men would enjoy the respite from her foul temper and her emotional tirades.

The duration! Spittle clung to her full lips. You’ll regret this, Tinman. Those of us humans forced to endure the humiliation of fake body parts will make certain your kind never enjoys an ounce of freedom. I swear it.

Bei smiled at her threat. Freedom was a word none in the Fleet, except her, had ever experienced. But all that would change once they reached Terra Dos, the new world waiting a month’s journey from the wormhole’s event horizon.

The briefing room’s double doors sighed open. Security Chief Frankfurt Rome’s blond crew cut skimmed the door’s header as he breezed inside. His brown-eyed gaze flicked over the recently demoted Faso. A grin revealed the gap between his two front teeth and deepened the laugh lines in his olive complexion. Tell me you’re finally planting the Syn-En wannabe where the sun doesn’t shine.

Bei nodded. Bury her in solitary and inform the professor he can see her in a week.

Don’t touch me! Faso ground out.

My birthday came early this year. Chief Rome rubbed his palms together and settled his hands on Faso’s waist. His Syn-En limbs rippled under his black uniform as he stared at Bei. Can I carry her stiff body or should I unlock her armor?

Unlock me, you bastard. Faso glared at her escort. Red tinted her dark skin. You two need a lesson on how to treat humans.

Striding toward the door, Bei smiled at his security chief. Although both men stood at six and a half feet, Bei outweighed his friend by at least ten kilos. Rank carried its own burdens, as did the hundreds of versatile units incorporated into his sixth generation bionics. Your choice, since I won’t have to get you a present next month.

The chief tucked Faso’s stiff body under his arm and carried her feet first out of the room. Hell Admiral, her confinement for the duration is the gift that keeps on giving.

Exiting the briefing room, Bei stepped onto the command deck, taking in his three man bridge crew, the fleet’s second in command and two civilians. He scanned the half circle shaped room and his crew. Ten steps could carry him to any of the work stations embedded in the hull, five steps to his chair in the center of the room. Panning from left to right, three Syn-En soldiers and the Starfarer’s captain manned the com, navigation, weapons and telemetry stations. Their associated LCD screens banded the room like a bank of dark windows. Overhead white lights shone harshly down on the soldiers.

On his left, two civilians sprawled on the floor working on the fiber optic wiring of the empty science and tactical bays. Both frowned as the chief toted Faso, like unclaimed luggage, to the elevator tucked into the quarter moon space off Bei’s left shoulder.

Next to the doors and connected to the communication’s hub, Commander Havana Keyes turned toward him. Admiral.

She stroked the black fiber optic cables hanging from the knot of black hair restrained at her nape while her brown-eyed gaze skimmed Chief Rome.

Commander Keyes and the chief’s sexual tension clogged the wireless array his command staff shared. Although the link was originally created to transfer data and orders during an emergency, the Syn-En had quickly learned to express their repressed emotions through the WA. These bursts of feelings not only allowed others to know how a particular soldier felt but also caused a sympathetic response in the recipient’s brains.

Bei shifted as Rome and Keyes’s arousal wormed its way into his body. As soon as they set foot on Terra Dos’s lush landscape, Bei would use his authority to unite those two in marriage. Using the WA, he pinged both soldiers to get their attention. Save it for later.

The chief smiled, flashing the gap in between his front teeth at everyone.

Commander Keyes flushed.

Their arousal melted into the background noise of the WA. One problem solved.

Still grinning like an extinct baboon, Chief Rome stepped inside the elevator and propped Faso against one wall as the door slid closed.

Bei strode closer to the two civilians. Would these two cause trouble over Faso’s confinement or did they view her as Syn-En? Report, Commander Keyes.

After a fearful look in his direction, both civilians ducked their heads inside the workspace under the flat LCD panels.

Even though they had no WA capabilities, news of Faso’s confinement would soon reach the civies. Good. It would make it easier for his men to discover those Faso’s mouth had turned against the mission.

Commander Keyes cleared her throat and her dark eyes narrowed. Using only her fiber optic connection, she brought up images on the LCD in front of her. "The Ursa Minor is experiencing engine trouble."

Telemetry streamed down the screen next to dart-like ship plowing forward ten kilometers and twenty degrees starboard off the Starfarer’s stern. The three fins of her cylindrical hull glowed red against the white light of the wormhole’s interior. The Ursa Minor would soon lose steerage if she couldn’t find a means to dissipate the heat.

Bei kept his expression blank, although he allowed a spurt of frustration to join his crews’ swamping the WA. Just for one day, he’d like to have no life or death emergencies. Eying the com screen, he strode to his chair. Restlessness filled him, making it impossible to sit down, so he stood and waited for his bridge crew to do their job.

Despite nearly six decades of service, Captain Cassis Pennig moved with ease and strength. He unplugged from the Starfarer’s telemetry station, stepped around the two young Syn-En soldiers, and jacked into the com system. He bumped in the Commander. Is it major trouble or just minor?

A black curl escaped the bun at Commander Keyes’s nape and tumbled down her back. Humor lifted her lips for a moment before she sighed. Their captain requests emergency docking under the safe haven protocol.

Captain Pennig, the fleet’s second in command, ran his hand through the sprinkling of white hair fringing his age spotted head before tugging on the fiber optic cable connecting his cranial implant to the ship. "Ursa Minor reports total systems failure imminent."

Bei’s gut clenched. Of course it would be a life threatening emergency. Even nestled in the Starfarer’s mammoth wake and protected by her magnetic shields, the smaller ships endured more of the wormhole’s space-time riptides. They’d already lost twenty of their original eighty ships. Seventeen hundred people dead, but not in vain, the survivors would make it to Terra Dos. Which docking bay has room?

Worry filling his green eyes, Captain Pennig scuttled back to the telemetry station. Bays one through seven are full. Eight through twelve can accommodate her.

Bei nodded. Clogged with salvaged wreckage, his men were trying to weld together into something space worthy. The project kept them busy during the long months as well as giving them a sense of control over their future. It was the only thing Bei could offer them, for now. "Bring the Ursa Minor into bay eight."

Captain Pennig straightened his thin shoulders. Ignoring the glowing keyboard on the LCD panel, he relayed the instructions directly through his interface. Bay Eight prepare for emergency docking, Orion class two ship. Bay Eight ready. Fire, rescue and medical crews en route.

Commander Keyes bracketed the Ursa Minor on her com panel with her tan hands as if to protect the ship. Her fusion engines are running hot. Even with a boost, she doesn’t have enough thrust to close the gap.

Worry flickered over Captain Pennig’s wrinkled features, but he set his jaw as he stared at the image of the failing ship. She’ll make it.

Fear and doubt flooded the WA. Bei blasted the system with his calm determination, before taking everyone offline. No one needed a distraction.

Distance? Bei yanked the finger-thick fiber optic cable from its channel along his spine. He plugged the nickel-titanium interface into the metal opening at the base of his skull before inserting the other end into the port in his chair. The influx of information slammed into his brain in the image of files and video clips. Gritting his teeth against the pain, Bei called forth his avatar to sort the data into usable bytes. A digitalized version of himself popped up on the blue screen in his mind.

Captain Pennig’s jaw clenched. Zero point four kilometers and holding.

"Ursa’s engines are nearing critical." Commander Keyes twirled the end of her lock of black hair around and around her finger as her raw words festered in the empty space.

If she blew, the Ursa Minor would take out the ships flying in tight formation around her. No more dead. Bei pleaded with the fates, God, some higher power while running his options through the mainframe, looking for anything to increase their odds. He’d have to close the gap, use the exhaust to slow his ship. Vent plasma through the bow. Inform fleet.

The ensign at the navigation hub had his hands balled into fists as he fell back on his training and used only his fiber optic link to control the engines. "Aye, Admiral. Venting plasma through bow. Starfarer speed down zero point five. Zero point seven-five. One percent."

Captain Pennig leaned closer to his monitor. The white and black image deepened the grooves of his face, aging him. "Wake ships decelerating. Distance between Ursa and Starfarer at zero point one kilometer."

Bei jerked as his avatar displayed his best option for rescuing the damaged ship. A forty percent chance the Ursa Minor would make it. He’d take it. Duty finished, the avatar nodded and dissolved.

Commander Keyes’s fingertips bit into the com LCD. Her nails flashed white against her tan skin. "Plasma leak in Ursa’s port engine, Admiral. The Perseus is in her vent stream."

Pennig nodded. Perseus altering course and slowing.

Tapping his boot heel against the metal floor grates, the ensign at the navigation hub barked, "Starfarer speed down five percent, Admiral."

Maintain speed. Tension bit into Bei’s shoulders. How many more ships wouldn’t make the rest of the six week journey? "Wardens, target Ursa Minor, use thrusters to bring her in range of grappling hooks. Authorization Omega-Alpha-Foxtrot."

Wardens away. They got her, Admiral. Commander Keyes’s white teeth flashed in her brown face as she grinned at the screen displaying the box-like barnacles clinging to the Ursa Minor’s hull. Plasma contained. Her captain reports a hard fix.

Bei’s knees shook. Hard fix. Two Syn-Ens had sacrificed themselves to manually shove a plate of steel into the escaping plasma, buying their crew a precious tenth of a second.

"Grappling hooks in place, Admiral. ETA of Ursa in Bay Eight in four, three, two, one. Captain Pennig’s weathered hands slapped the telemetry hub. She’s in."

Sinking into his chair before his legs buckled, Bei breathed a sigh of relief. They had saved another ship and most of her crew. He opened the WA, basked in the jubilation for a moment as his avatar danced. Pings bounced off Bei’s interface, the Syn-En equivalent of a citizen’s high five. Good job, everyone.

The news spilled into the Starfarer’s systems, lightening the tension.

Captain Pennig reached inside the slot beside the telemetry hub, swung down the narrow plank hidden there and gingerly lowered his body onto the utilitarian seat. He groaned and closed his eyes. Balls of light flowed from his interface under his white hair to the hub. Updating course and destination arrival date with current speed and weight.

Are you in a hurry to arrive at Terra Dos? Smiling at his second-in-command’s eagerness, Bei noted the absence of one civilian tech from bridge. Using the WA, his avatar performed a diagnostic of the closed science hub. The digital man shook his head. Patched but not fixed. Such shoddy work was not acceptable.

The captain stretched before crossing his arms over his thin chest. Space travel has made me a little sick. It will be good to get on land and feel the air on my face.

Commander Keyes squatted next to the com hub and wrapped the lock of black hair around the bun at her nape. Wardens have successfully returned to their dens, Admiral.

Bei nodded and unplugged from the ship. Status on our engines.

The elevator door whispered open and Chief Engineer Sydney Shang’hai sauntered onto the deck. They’re running hot. Some ham-handed ensign diverted the plasma in a rush instead of slowly. Striding over to the ensigns at the navigation and weapons hubs, she placed a hand on both their shoulders. Report to engineering.

Both young men jerked their fiber optic cables out of their respective hubs and jogged to the elevator.

As the doors closed behind them, Engineer Shang’hai’s full red lips curved upward. Poor kids. They had just completed tank maintenance when the call went out for volunteers to settle Terra Dos. Repairing the engines will reinforce the lecture they’re about to get.

And they’ll learn from their mistakes. Bei watched the remaining civie, still stretched out on the floor working on the tactical bay.

Nodding, Shang’hai worked her fiber optics from her spiky pink hair then jacked into both vacated stations. Even with my genius at work, the engines were never designed to do more than jump from Earth to Mars then back again. I’ll be glad to return to normal space.

After hanging the panel in place, the civie wiggled over to the science hub. His green eyes locked with the engineer’s brown ones.

The sensors integrated in Bei’s armor picked up the civilian’s accelerated heart rate and the sudden shunting of blood to other pieces of the his anatomy. Had Shang’hai appeared on the command deck hoping for a little face time with the civie? Was Bei the only celibate person on his ship? He swallowed the bitterness.

The first joint of the civilian’s fingertips peeled back to reveal an assortment of lasers, drivers and pliers. Shifting his lower body slightly, the civie removed the access panel near the floor and ducked his head inside.

Bei pointed his index finger at the civie’s mechanical arm and read the identity chip embedded underneath the shiny alloy skin. Montgomery Smith. He’d turned to enhancements to pay his father’s gambling debts. Bei respected a man who gave up his own freedom so his mother and sister could keep their liberty. Still, the balance had been paid in full two years ago. The same time the civie had been assigned to engineering. Had the Chief Engineer’s Shang’hai’s considerable assets been enough to keep him, or was it something else? Something that would cause him to do the work of two men, while his comrade caused trouble?

Civilian Smith. Pushing out of his chair, Bei walked the two strides to the civie’s feet.

Smith sat up, banged his head and swore under his breath. Rubbing the red spot on his black forehead, he slid out of the bay’s guts. Yes, Admiral.

Where did your fellow civilian go? Squatting next to the Smith’s splayed legs, Bei activated all his sensors, waiting to detect signs of deceit.

Civilian Smith’s frown deepened the brackets around his mouth. Tim said his plates were slipping and he wanted to go to the medical bay before the injured arrived. I offered to tune him up, but you know how newbies are. So used to doctors handling everything, they don’t think that a good mechanic is better than a biomedic any day.

Bei scratched the itch between his shoulder blades. Although Civilian Smith told the truth, neither of them believed the other tech’s story. What could the man be up to? Find Civilian Tim and send him back here. Let him finish the repairs.

Accessing the medical logs via his WA, Bei noted the absence of anyone named Tim or Timothy. Where had the man gone? Bei woke up his avatar, handed him Tim’s photo and file to carry to security before pinging Chief Rome.

Civilian Smith’s forehead wrinkled as he hid his tools behind his fingers. I already finished the repairs, Admiral. Don’t know why Tim didn’t complete them before he left, but I could undo them again.

From the corner of his eye, Bei watched his men straighten. Had the missing man sabotaged his ship? Bei’s hands tightened into fists. Find the civilian and send him to me.

The tech quickly replaced the panel and leapt to his feet. His gaze drifted to Shang’hai. Bei’s