by Eliza Green
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GENESIS CODE
Genesis Series, Book 1
By
Eliza Green
Copyright © 2012-2020 Eliza Green
Smashwords Edition
All rights reserved. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Editor: Nerd Girl Editing
Cover Design: Deranged Doctor Design
Second edition 2020
This book is also available in print.
Prologue
Dazzling lights brightened the dark sky. Hundreds of gazes looked up as a new string of lights flashed behind the thick cloud, changing the murky grey to acidic yellow. A screeching sound followed.
The adults observed the approaching danger while their young continued their innocent game of run and catch. Palpable and heavy moods switched from curious to terrified when a flare brightened the sky further. Those possessing the strongest empathic abilities glanced at the others with eyes too wide to offer calm.
A distant rumbling grew closer, loud enough to send several running to the safety of their underground tunnels. Some with a death wish stayed to watch thousands of unidentifiable objects burning bright as they passed into the atmosphere. Heavy breathing and the sound of their young’s scuffling feet was the only thing to break the silence.
A sharp whistle sounded in the sky, like an echo, its sound travelling along a current of air. Pieces of hot metal crashed to the ground. The adults dodged the air assault. The young jerked to a stop.
A thick gas followed that never made it to the ground. Instead, it lingered below the skyline, as though it were lying in wait.
The scientists among them refused to flee, too curious about the new lights that had appeared in the sky. With the game abandoned, even the young felt the danger. And yet, far too many adults remained.
Then the rain hit; cooling and soothing on most days, but not that day. Liquid toxins drenched their skin and burned their eyes. Screams and gasps punctured the heavy silence. Chemicals transformed the air into static, adding to their distress.
Weeping adults and their young dropped to their knees and smeared soggy earth over their exposed skin, despite the scientist’s warnings not to. The contaminated ground worsened everything.
New screams pierced the thick air. Hot, salty tears leaked from inflamed eyes. Several young wailed and crawled blindly on their hands and knees. Perfect spheres slammed into the earth, splitting apart and unleashing the chemicals inside—chemicals that were altering the air into something else.
Unbroken bombs transformed into mini projectiles, destroying most structures on the surface. The liquid chemicals sprayed out like a gentle mist upon impact.
With heavy legs and weak bodies, gasping adults staggered back to their sanctuary, the young clinging desperately to their backs.
New lights appeared in the skies, brighter and bigger than the ones before. These ignited the gases in the atmosphere and turned the sky a beautiful orange.
And that’s when all breathable air evaporated.
Chests heaved. Bodies collapsed several feet from their sanctuary. Broken.
1
Year 2163, Exilon 5
Thirty years later
A fucking alien hunter.
That’s what twenty years of working for the World Government boiled down to. If it hadn’t been for his wife’s disappearance, Bill Taggart wouldn’t have agreed to this gig.
But here he was an investigator for the World Government’s International Task Force, on a planet thirty light years from Earth. An investigator whose job it was to chase down a species that could hide themselves like the worst criminals back on Earth.
Never mind that it had been a year since anyone had last seen one of the creatures the children called ‘Shadow People’. Never mind that he’d tried for the last two years to get information on his wife’s whereabouts, only to have every door slammed in his face.
By Charles Deighton, especially. The CEO of the World Government on Earth. A strange individual with a flair for the dramatic and love of a good scene.
Bill pushed the food around on his plate. Cantaloupe was busier than he would have liked for a Thursday. New London, a dialled-back replica of the city on Earth, had only one Cantaloupe restaurant using real—not replicated—ingredients to make its old-fashioned fare. He stabbed at his steak that cost more than he earned in a month, but the World Government was paying so what did he care? Charles Deighton ate meals like this once a day on Earth. The biggest powerhouse on Earth controlled everything back home and on Exilon 5. Twelve leaders with total control to make or break society. And Bill was their lead investigator.
He brought the mug of real coffee to his lips. His fourth and too many cups some would say, but without it Bill couldn’t function. The caffeine jolted him into life and set his hands to shake worse than after the third. He put the mug down and made two fists to control the shaking.
This restaurant had received a visit from one of the ‘Shadow People’ recently, also known as Indigenes. How did he know? Because whatever static electricity these creatures emitted made the hairs on his bare arms and neck stand up. They’d been in here recently.
After a year of nothing.
His pulse quickened with a new hope that he might find his wife. Two years ago, Isla Taggart had disappeared on this planet while monitoring the movements of the Indigenes. Twenty-eight years after the first stage of terraforming to prepare this planet for human occupation.
As lead investigator, Bill had the power to arrest anyone deemed a threat. He included the Indigenes in that remit. But first, he needed to find out more about them. Because he was certain this scumbag species knew where Isla was.
He took another hit of coffee. The caffeine jolted his heart into more feverish action, but it didn’t feel as jumpy as before. His hands shook like a city junkie’s, but junkies weren’t the worst thing to fear on Exilon 5. Yes, the new cities required better policing, but something else made it dangerous to live on Exilon 5.
The residents were being fed half-truths about their new home.
His wife, the love of his life, was gone. Taken from him by a group of feral creatures occupying this planet long before humans even knew this place existed.
A pain gripped him as he pictured Isla: her rosy cheeks, waist-long brown hair and dimpled smile. She took shit from no one, and she did it with a positive attitude and a smile on her face. She was the polar opposite of his cynical self. She was why he got out of bed, and would keep doing so until he found her. Without her his life wasn’t worth a damn. But his mind nagged at him. It had been two years and still no contact from her.
I promise you, Isla, I’ll never give up.
Bill’s communication device shrilled. The noise made him flinch. Customers eyed him in disgust. He eyeballed them back as he stuck the earpiece in his ear. ‘Yeah?’
‘Bill? Daphne calling. Have I caught you at a bad time?’
He straightened up. The CEO of the Earth Security Centre. Deighton’s right-hand woman.
‘No, just doing some recon.’ He pushed his plate away.
‘Bill, I�
��m worried.’
Fuck. ‘About what?’
‘About how you’re handling your first solo investigation.’
‘I’m fine.’
He heard what sounded like a fingernail tapping on wood—one of Daphne Gilchrist’s habits. While he didn’t trust the woman, he found her easier to deal with than Deighton.
‘I don’t mean to intrude so late in the day but I need to make sure you’re on form. We’re concerned about you.’
Bullshit. He might be young at forty five in this era of prolonged life and better medical care, but there was nobody better to handle this case.
‘Deighton cleared me for duty.’
There was a pause. ‘Actually, Mr Deighton asked me to check in with you. This is an important mission and we want to make sure you’re up to the task.’
‘Of course I am.’ He felt his anger slip. ‘Seems a bit late for Mr Deighton to have second thoughts.’
‘It’s just... your wife, and what happened. You still haven’t dealt properly with her death.’ Gilchrist laid on the charm so thick, Bill wanted to vomit. ‘Mr Deighton knows you’re capable, as do I. We like to keep a close eye on our best people.’
The CEO of the World Government sending his lackey, Daphne Gilchrist, to do his dirty work? That didn’t surprise him. Deighton had assigned Isla Taggart to work on this planet. In his eyes, that made him partly responsible for her disappearance.
‘If he’s so concerned why doesn’t he call me himself?’
‘You know that’s not possible. Charles Deighton is a busy man.’
Bill bit his tongue. He needed out of this conversation before he said something he regretted.
‘I don’t want anything to go wrong tomorrow,’ Gilchrist added.
‘I’m ready, and so is my team.’
‘What are your plans?’
‘To observe the Indigene and see what it does.’
‘That means no interference from you or your team.’
‘I understand that.’
A brief silence followed, then Gilchrist said, ‘Are you absolutely sure you’re up to this?’
‘I’m fine,’ he said a little too fast. ‘My job is to monitor their activity and that’s what I will do. My personal feelings will not affect my work.’ As soon as he’d said the words, he knew it was a lie.
‘Look, Bill. I won’t sugar coat it for you. This could be a turning point in the investigation or an all-out disaster. Whatever happens, I need to know I can count on you to keep it together.’
Bill’s pulse thrummed in his throat. ‘Yes, you can.’
‘Good. And remember why we picked you. It was because of your success with Hunt. Mr Deighton’s expectations are high.’
‘Understood.’
Gilchrist clicked off leaving Bill to ponder his most high profile case on Earth.
Larry Hunt. Just hearing his name made his shoulder ache. One of his henchmen had knifed him there once. Even while incarcerated, the man refused to go away. To say the World Government regretted their involvement with the man who controlled seventy percent of the food replication business was an understatement. The government had a lot to lose, but also plenty to gain from their majority stake in Hunt Technologies. But what they would not tolerate was shady dealings and undervalued share prices threatening that investment.
He yanked the earpiece out of his ear and tossed it on the table. The other patrons hadn’t paid his conversation any mind. Not that he cared. His pretence of being in control was to appease Deighton so he wouldn’t take him off the case. Despite Bill’s promises to Gilchrist, he planned on doing his own investigation on the species he suspected to have something to do with Isla’s disappearance.
A tear leaked from one eye. Bill thumbed it away. With plenty still to do, he tuned in to his surroundings.
Cantaloupe restaurant, with its trademark red-and-white chequered cloth-covered tables, was full for the dinner-time rush. He watched as over-friendly servers took new orders and patrons settled their bills at the counter with a scan of their identity chips. It chilled him to think one or more of the Indigenes had been here in this very restaurant. Nocturnal creatures by nature, the Indigenes’ sudden appearance during daytime hours marked a change in behaviour for them. They were becoming bolder and riskier in their choices.
Bill knew his favourite restaurant intimately, but his goal today was to get inside the head of the species he hunted. To do that, he had to bury his anger and think like they did, put himself in their shoes to understand their motives. It wasn’t easy.
Why choose this place? Are they hunting for their next victim?
He rubbed the lingering static from his arm. They had been here in, what, the last hour or two? World Government intel passed on to the ITF had reported an Indigene was on the verge of making contact with a member of the public. The thought sickened him.
Bill ate what he could stomach and checked the time. It was early evening and he still had a bunch of confidential files on the Indigenes to comb through before tomorrow.
He stood up. ‘Time to study these fuckers.’
Habits. Behaviours. Motivations. Every piece of information the government held on the creatures mattered. Every small detail on the species who, until a year ago, nobody had known existed. That same species had survived the brutal terraforming efforts thirty years ago.
At the counter, he scanned his identity chip and charged the meal to his World Government account.
But the information the government had on the creatures was hyperbole at best. What did he or anybody really know about the Indigenes?
2
With a dry mouth and feeling colder than normal, Stephen paced the length of District Three’s laboratory. He was hours away from embarking on the most difficult mission of his life. This was the perfect time to have second thoughts. It would be the first time the Indigenes had tried anything like this.
Exposing his fragile skin to the blistering Exilon 5 sun was risky and stupid. Others had reported an intense burning to their arms and legs. Was that what too much sun felt like? Stephen had never stayed long enough to find out.
Previous attempts to contact Surface Creatures—the Indigenes’ name for the race that lived above ground—had always been at night. But this daytime mission would mark a change in their usual strategy, because that’s where Stephen’s target would be. The future of the Indigene race impinged on his success or failure the next day.
Everything had to go well. He had to get the information fast, before a Surface Creature noticed him in their world.
Failure is not an option, Stephen.
He stopped pacing when he heard a familiar voice in his head. Anton, his childhood friend, stood at the entrance to his lab.
Don’t you think I know that? Stephen replied to his telepathic conversation.
Anton entered the room. Shadow People. That’s what they call us.
I suppose it fits. We prefer the shadows and we like to hunt more than animals. In weaker moments, he’d considered joining one of the groups that hunted Surface Creatures not animals at night. What are you doing here, Anton?
‘I thought you’d like a hand getting ready for tomorrow.’ Anton switched to his voice. ‘It’s what they do, right? Talk out loud? They don’t have telepathic abilities like we do. But we have some similarities.’
Anton was not scarred by events of the past. His younger friend had not witnessed the land explosions and the early changes to their society; changes that had later killed Stephen’s parents. Anton, born after the initial horror, was not consumed by thoughts of revenge.
Like Stephen was, most of the time.
The district tunnels that ran beneath Exilon 5’s surface had preserved what was left of their species, allowing them to start over.
‘I have nothing in common with those brutes,’ said Stephen. Anton rolled his eyes in response. ‘My hatred of their kind is valid.’
If you say so. I just think you’ve let it consume you for too long.
‘It’s good, yes?’ Anton appeared at his side and handled another piece of skin on the workbench. ‘I adapted their silicone at the molecular level to make the skin lightweight and wafer-thin. And, it also cools the skin. How great is that?’
It was great. With the ability to manipulate the Surface Creatures’ technology, Anton could do amazing things, or dangerous things, with his skill.
I also added pigmentation to match the Surface Creatures’ opaque appearance. It’s not perfect, but it’s the best I can do without a sample of their skin to compare the density. You should blend in well enough.
Stephen liked how he looked, but to meet with the target he had to alter his appearance. The Surface Creatures had controlled life on Exilon 5 for too long. What happened the next day could put power back into the Indigenes’ hands.
‘Are you nervous?’ said Anton.
‘Terrified.’
This would be a solo mission. Any prior trips to the surface had always been with other Indigenes. Safety in numbers: that’s what Pierre, the Central Council elder, had always said. But more than one Indigene showing up tomorrow morning could spook the target.
‘Don’t worry. Having my tech will make it feel like I’m right there with you.’ Anton squeezed Stephen’s shoulder, a gesture meant to reassure him. It had the opposite effect.