The Tenth Legion (Book 6, Progeny of Evolution)

by Mike Arsuaga

  “So I guess for the present, we’re on our own.”

  “If Earth survives 2107, there’ll be trips to Mars for both of us. When the children are twenty, we’ll relocate.”

  Shifting position, she displayed the small, firm rump he couldn’t resist. Kissing her between the shoulder blades, his fingers reached around to caress the aroused nipples.

  “All we have is right here, right now. Tell me we’ll always be like this.”

  “For as long as the Earth holds together,” he promised.

  That same night, Lorna had a dream.

  A teenaged Cithara squatted by the fire. The girl had the body of a twelve-year-old. She turned toward Lorna, dull eyes widening in happiness. “My lady,” she said in a girlish, slow-spoken voice. “So much time has passed since we last visited.”

  They were in a round tent of skins, drawn taut over a frame of cut tree branches. The fire burned in the middle of the room. A howling, cold wind outside pulled the smoke straight up through a hole at the top. Behind Cithara, Aliff’s red hair gleamed in the firelight. His sleeping form beside that of his mate Roscera stood out against the light tan hides of the tent wall.

  “You are pre-emergent,” was all Lorna could think to say.

  “So you’ve told me, but there is so much I do not know.”

  Lorna continued to observe the adolescent Cithara, finally asking, “How old are you?”

  “Sixteen summers, my lady.”

  “You said we’ve spoken before about your emergence. Have the occasions been often?”

  Young Cithara’s smooth, round face turned toward Lorna. The eyes reflected a dull, washed out brown, consistent with sluggish, unsteady movements, but soon, they would change dramatically. “Many times, my lady,” she answered, confused by the question. “As long as I can remember, you have entered my dreams. You’ve shown me likenesses of your children and their children.”

  Lorna gasped in comprehension.

  I know what will happen!

  “Thank you, my child,” Lorna wanted to explode with joyous excitement. “You are correct. We will speak more, much more.”

  Lorna awoke. After a minute she got out of bed, going to the window. In the direction of Orlando, the fires had finally died. An overpowering sense of relief melted inside of her.

  Poor, frightened humanity. If only they knew the things I do. When they find out, will they be better or worse for the knowledge?

  Having the answer when no one else did, she felt almost godlike.

  The Earth wouldn’t die when summer arrived.

  Lorna gazed at her sleeping husband. The thought that they had a complete lifetime of loving ahead seemed almost too much to bear. One day, they would sit together over a garden on a distant planet while great-grandchildren played in the ruddy glow of the Martian evenings.

  Teenaged Cithara said Lorna had visited for as long as she could remember, but Lorna had not seen child or even young girl Cithara, except through the priestess’s adult memories. To counsel pre-emergent Cithara, there must be more encounters ahead, years more of them.

  As the adult Cithara who occupied Lorna’s childhood dreams faded into memory, a new interface arose, the mature Lorna entering the dreams of pre-emergent Cithara. Lorna understood for the first time the smallest part of Eternity had touched her, a continuity outside of time and space, the continuity of the Universe, which, having no beginning, must have no end.

  And so the cycle will continue.

  Forever.

  *THE END*

  Did you enjoy The Tenth Legion? If so, please help us spread the word about Mike Arsuaga and I Heart Book Publishing, LLC.

  •Recommend the book to your family and friends

  •Post a review on Amazon and Goodreads

  •Tweet and Facebook about it

  SNEAK PEEK

  The Tenth Legion

  Lagrange Point

  Progeny of Evolution

  Book Seven

  BY

  MIKE ARSUAGA

  COMING Spring 2016

  Chapter One

  The Voyage “Up”

  Cynthia May rode the shuttle from Moon base to the mother ship. Uncle Tommy and his cousin, Sadie Lynch—for genealogical simplicity known as Aunt Sadie—accompanied her, the last living members of the family to leave Earth. A year before, her favorites—Uncle Ed, a vampire, his mate and wife Lorna, a lycan and their hybrid children—had relocated to Mars. Lycan-vampire hybrids aged as humans did. While Cynthia anticipated a lifespan approaching three centuries, her companions, also hybrids, rarely lived more than a third of that.

  Ahead, shining brightly against the black omniscient silence of space, a gigantic, silver passenger ring rotated slowly around an equally brilliant propulsion cylinder. Magnetic flux lines held the engineering plant at the center of the vast doughnut-shaped object. The centrifugal force generated by the silent rotation maintained an artificial gravity, a fifth of Earth’s. By creating a sense of up and down, the pull addressed the majority of disorientation or space sickness concerns for those who remained awake during the voyage to Mars.

  “Is that our ship?” Uncle Tommy asked. Thick, snow-colored curls carried a faint scent of a grooming gel Cynthia couldn’t place. He leaned across his niece for a better view. Less than twenty-five years separated him from Cynthia in age, but she could pass for his granddaughter.

  Two of Cynthia’s long, pale fingers, tipped in glossy red, parted the small, pleated curtain panels to maximum extent, allowing both elders a proper view. “It’s so large,” the elderly aunt remarked, her voice frail.

  “Five kilometers across, or about three miles.”

  Aunt Sadie pouted her square, wrinkled face. “I’ll never get used to all these meters and kilograms.”

  Patting her almost child-sized, bony knee, Cynthia laughed. “That’s exactly what The Greats said when they arrived. You’ll be fine, dear.” The Greats were Samantha and Jim White, first lycan-vampire pair bond of The Others, as the community of lycans and vampires were known. Aunt Sadie’s mother, Cassandra, belonged to their initial litter. To all generations of the family, hybrid as well as vampires and lycans, Samantha, or Sam, was Great-mom, while they called Jim, Great-pop.

  “Are you sure making the journey will be safe? I’ve heard about the perils space travel poses for hybrids, not to mention humans.”

  With momentary exasperation Cynthia rolled her eyes and inhaled deeply before explaining the facts for what must’ve been the tenth time. “Uncle Tommy, you’re remembering the early days of deep space travel. Neither humans nor hybrids acclimated very well to traveling beyond the Earth’s moon, only The Others. We’ve improved shielding and speed. Travel duration is reduced. Now just about any adult can make the trip at least once before exceeding lifetime radiation limits or experiencing the threatening physical effects the first expeditions faced.”

  “Try to remember what little Cindy told us Tom, and don’t be asking the same thing in ten minutes,” Aunt Sadie added peevishly. At eighty-six, the elderly woman was a year younger than Uncle Tommy. With no patience for her cousin’s more frequent episodes of confusion, she possessed only a marginally clearer mind. Retreating into herself, Cynthia thought how the old ones with barely sounder memories had the least tolerance for their contemporaries’ mental lapses. “Senior moments,” Lorna called them.

  “Hush up, Sadie. I just want to be sure.” Cynthia knew how this would go. For the next few minutes or so, they’d continue arguing, often showing surprising passion. Usually, it would end when one or both lost focus or forgot the cause of the dispute, sinking into uneasy quiet. Concentrating on the image of the spaceship’s silvery flank, as it gradually filled the viewport, Cynthia left them to their debate.

  When only meters separated the shuttle from the skin of the ship, a portal opened. Making a black circle in the otherwise unblemished metal, the aperture reminded her of a camera’s shutter. A space-suited person riding a machine that resembled a jet ski, like she used
to ride in Brazil, shot from the hole, trailing a steel cable. After attaching the tow, the rider steered clear. Cynthia watched the line grow taut, reeling them in and their craft.

  A slow, mushy clunking sound told Cynthia the make-up completed, sealing the shuttle to the mother ship. An attendant, practically exploding with pleasantness, appeared as the seatbelt sign extinguished. Being closer to the exit, the other two passengers who’d accompanied them cleared out first. Just as well, as her charges would need extra time.

  A young, clear-eyed hybrid attendant offered a hand. “Here, let me.” She presented a blue-sleeved arm to Uncle Tommy; Aunt Sadie frowned at being ignored for the moment.

  “Great-mom’s going to have her hands full with this pair,” Cynthia muttered under her breath. Samantha, a lycan, celebrated her two hundred and twenty-third birthday a few months before. She’d looked after Cynthia’s companions as babies. Now, as they neared their end, she would care for them again, as she’d done for their parents. Such defined the tragedy of the relationship between hybrids and their lycan/vampire parents.

  “How do you cope with children and grandchildren growing old and dying before your eyes?” She once asked Great-mom.

  The matriarch smiled with the face of someone in her mid-thirties. The iconic green eyes still had a ton of sparkle left. She fingered a Christian cross on a chain around her neck. “I accept that it’s God’s will and part of His plan.”

  “And what of the rest of us who aren’t blessed with your faith, Great-mom?”

  “God’s purposes are mysteries, and burying a child is never easy, but it’ll all work out. It always does.”

  Cynthia nodded. With time, understanding and the courage to breed might come, but for now she thanked Providence she had no children of her own.

  “This way, Aunt Sadie.” Cynthia extended a patient, graceful arm toward the intended path, down a curved walkway leading to the mother ship’s interior. A sheath of black cloth molded to the willowy appendage, emblazoned by three gold stripes to indicate her rank as Commander. On the upper left breast of the coat, a multicolored blaze of fabric and metal badges attested to completed missions. Only Uncle Charlie, who commanded the first expedition to Mars sixty odd years before, possessed a higher total. On her initial space voyage, in 2107, Cynthia had relocated to Mars. The experience stimulated a desire to learn what more lay outside the warm, downy blankets of atmosphere wrapping the earth, and inhabited parts of the moon and Mars.

  On trips between Earth and Mars, going “up” meant to the Red planet, while returns to Earth went “down”.

  Compared to the often senselessly hectic pace of life on Earth or in the crowded colonies, the solitude of space held appeal. From first sight, the precise mechanical movement of each heavenly body fascinated her—its mass, the subtleties of the orbit, whether it radiated heat and if so what type. Soon, few denizens of the trackless depths of space retained their secrets. From a single look at a cyber star chart, she could calculate the base track of the longest mission.

  On the first voyage “up”, as an apprentice astronaut she volunteered for extra “awake” watches. Back then, the trip to or from Earth still lasted twelve weeks. To be safe, travelers entered stasis cocoons to shield against cosmic radiation. Someone had to remain up and about, to tend communications or address equipment failures. The crew rotated the task to spread the risk of exposure. For voyages to Mars, Cynthia’s lycan physiology protected her almost as much as a stasis cocoon could. On watch, she read eBooks or stared for hours at the unchanging patterns of stars spangled across the seamless darkness of sidereal space. Always the feeling persisted that something gazed back. Nothing had changed in the fifteen years since. Often she wondered if the curious experience during the expedition to Jupiter was part of what the cosmos had to say.

  Upon entering the reception area, a staff of solicitous blue-uniformed attendants surrounded them. Only deep space explorers wore The Black. In Cynthia’s case the material molded to the curves of a frame topping out at six feet. The heeled boots added three or four more inches. Glossy hair dyed a cobalt blue, cut in a tight page boy to accommodate the various head gear worn in her line of work, framed a narrow, rectangular, square-jawed face. Flesh pale as the earth’s moon at apogee on a cloudless night made the depth of her inky, almond-shaped eyes appear almost infinite. Only a little blush in the hollows beneath the high cheekbones, and a touch of lip gloss, disturbed the head-to-toe pattern of black uniform over porcelain skin.

  If the prestige of the Explorer outfit and emblems didn’t do it, the fact her party belonged to the bloodline of the White’s settled the issue of who got priority staff attention. “We have transportation for your guests, Commander,” announced a young woman, pointing to an electric cart accompanied by a waiting driver.

  “You guys ride. I’ll walk,” she said to her elderly relatives.

  After situating the two fragile humans comfortably on the conveyance, the party took off. Cynthia led. Vigorous high-stepping strides pranced ahead, often calling to mind another Cynthia—her grandmother, The Fashion Model Known as Cynthia, who died in the Great Plague of 2026. Cynthia disliked the comparisons people made between them. To make one remained the fastest way to get on her wrong side, whether meant innocently or not.

  Before emerging, her hybrid older brothers had ridiculed her without stop, planting her perception she was unattractive, one that still lingered, even after emergence. She lived overshadowed by the specter of Gran Cynthia’s now legendary beauty, coupled with her heroic deeds; never allowing complete comfort with either appearance or accomplishments.

  * * * *

  From above, the panorama of Earth setting behind the Moon drifted into the view ports, brought there by the rotation of the mother ship’s main ring. Long ago, Cynthia acclimated to viewing a planet or heavenly body from below, when an Earth-based sense of direction dictated the perspective should be from above. She forgot the disorientation that seeing the spectacle for the first time, from a counterintuitive viewpoint, had on novices to space travel.

  “Oh Cindy, we’re going to fall!” Aunt Sadie exclaimed, clutching the handrail beside her seat.

  She answered with the patient tone used by experienced seamen of a bygone era when advising landlubbers embarked on their first sea voyage. “No, it’s quite safe. Keep your eyes on a fixed object. You’ll feel better.”

  Soon they entered the stasis preparation area, a long, narrow, curved space populated by a row of fifty horizontal, transparent cylinders—the cocoons. Attendants had nearly completed installing the passengers. After the last of any lycan or vampire who wanted to relocate to Mars made the trip, passenger traffic changed to human Indentures. Return trips carried cargo. Mars contained rich deposits of uranium. The corporation, Coven International, Inc., or CI, did a brisk commerce in the element as interest in nuclear power plants on Earth renewed. Fusion technology burned clean, but couldn’t be adapted to planetary gravities, remaining, for now, in space, powering the mother ships.

  Besides uranium, gold provided a windfall for the company. Founded by an international consortium of prominent members, including The Greats, early in the Twenty-first century, the company became one of the largest in the world, eventually funding construction of The Colonies as well as migration to the Red Planet.

  “No dear,” said the pleasant young woman attending Aunt Sadie, “the procedure won’t hurt.” At Cynthia’s approach she raised relieved eyes, explaining, “We’re having difficulty accepting The Cup.”

  The Stasis Sanitation and Recycle Cup, or The Cup, removed bodily waste, sending it to a treatment plant resulting in eventual reuse. Upon seeing one for the first time, the double catheter probe intimidated most people.

  “But we fasted and purged according to instructions,” the venerable uncle protested weakly. To Cynthia, his voice sounded like it came from beyond Pluto.

  Four long, warm fingers crossed her uncle’s sleeve. “I know you did, Uncle Tommy, but this is all ver
y necessary.” She beamed kindly down on both relatives. “Take the pill to sleep. You won’t feel a thing, I promise. The next you know, you’ll be orbiting Mars.”

  Small, yellow-flecked, green eyes cut skeptically toward the silver tray holding the pills and cups. “Are you sure?” Aunt Sadie asked.

  “Have I misled you yet?” Cynthia countered. “Forget about The Cup. Think instead of how much easier the lighter gravity will be for you. Remember, your mom’s there.” Cassandra’s ashes rested on Mars, as did Gran Cynthia’s.

  The elderly cousins exchanged glances. “She has a point, Sadie.”

  “Of course I do. One pill and you’re done.”

  Silently, a thin liver-spotted hand reached for the paper cup. Aunt Sadie took the tiny red medication without water. A quick snap of her head put the pellet down. A relieved attendant helped her into a cocoon.

  “And you, Uncle Tommy, are you ready?”

  A confused, little smirk wrinkled over his face. Apparently having forgotten the issue in contention, he accepted the tiny cup, taking his sedative, augmented by a healthy swallow of water. Cynthia sat between them until they fell asleep, holding a frail hand in each of hers. Having that part of the trip behind, she turned to the woman in charge of the attendants.

  “Didn’t I tell you not to discuss The Cup procedure with them?”

  The attractive, blue-uniformed young vampire supervisor shrank back from the imposing presence of Commander May, Deputy Mission Leader to Jupiter. At last she managed to say, “I thought an explanation wouldn’t hurt, Commander.”