The Aledan PSION: The Aledan Series Book 1

by Myers, Christine

  "And the lab?" Grant demanded.

  "We saved it."

  "Good. How many horses?"

  "Thirteen. Victor's men killed some and stole the rest."

  "Damn! Not enough left to go after them. We can't risk the few we have left for revenge. That will have to wait… But our dead will be avenged. Victor Rode will pay! They will all pay."

  Marcus nodded grimly, his eyes filled with compassion. Only a man who loved a woman as Grant had loved Wynne Schaefer could understand how Grant was feeling. Marcus hadn't. He just knew his friend was hurting deeply.

  "Tell the others I'll be there in a while," Grant said after a moment. "I'd like to be alone for a little while longer."

  "I understand. I'll tell them." Marcus turned slowly and left the room. When the door closed behind him, Grant turned back to the journal and open it to a page to begin reading than neat, feminine script…

  Personal Journal- Wynne Schaefer

  January 26

  It's been about 10 months since Grant, and the rest of us put this colonial expedition together for the Tyrell Corporation. There have been a few problems with the new Procyon crystal drive, but nothing Marcus Solomon and couldn't handle. According to Captain Lochner, we should make Demus in about three months. It's a good thing because morale is deteriorating. There's a lot of grousing over work assignments. My crews are working with the problem but were having trouble getting them interested in the standard rec program. They're growing impatient with restrictions of ship life. They want to get started with their new lives instead of being held in limbo in this tin can.

  They seem to a forgotten what this expedition would mean to our people. Millions of men and women had died in the war with the Mesaarkans on Procyon Three before our agents managed to steal the crystal star drive from them. If the Mesaarkans destroyed Earth home and the inner Colonies before more ships can be built, we could be the last of our kind. But if we can't get along together here, how will we do better on Demus---DM-237-4?

  January 30

  Group sessions went the little better today. I expected so with Grant in attendance. He has such a way with people; it's amazing! Behind his back, they do nothing but complain. Face to face, they hung on most every word he said even though he hardly told them anything different than what we've been telling them. He made them feel like they matter, and they believed him. He made them feel it because he meant it.

  When I have dinner with him in the formal dining room this evening, I'm going to see if he can schedule more personal appearances. I need him to help me keep their spirits up. Life is not going to get any easier for them once we get down on Demus.

  3:45 AM

  Business happened to be the last thing Grant had on his mind tonight.

  I should be sleeping, but it's not easy with everything that's on my mind. I smile watching Grant sleep. His dark hair is ruffled, and he breathes so contentedly sprawled over most of my bed. He is so strong in gentle, wonderfully male. I've cared for him for a long time, hardly daring to hope we would become lovers.

  I am even more amazed at Grant. I always knew he would be a satisfying lover, but he was actually uncertain when the moment came---not sexually but emotionally. He didn't know how much I care for him or how much I wanted him. I never thought I was very good at hiding those feelings. My only regret is that Victor will be hurt if there is more than this one night. Victor has been my good friend for a long time, though I'm afraid he wants more than friendship from me. He has no right to act possessive of me; yet, he looked like he wanted to kill as both when he saw Grant dining with me. I'd better talk to him today.

  Ah, good! Grant turned and made room for me again. Good night...

  The words took him back, sweetly back to those first moments he'd held are in his arms. How he had needed her then when the pressure of his position had become such a strain. The memory was so vivid; Grant could almost smell the scent of her as he had smelled it on her sheets when he woke in her bed that morning alone.

  Of course, making love to her hadn't solved the problems it had been piling up day by day since their departure from Sol, but losing himself in her took them away from that for a while. God, he needed that! Somehow, he pulled together his motley group and got them to Demus… Or at least the planet they thought was Demus.

  Personal journal of Wynne Schaefer - February 4

  Trying to talk to Victor was useless. He said I'm making a big mistake allying myself with Grant. That's the word he used---almost like we're not in this together. Whatever he meant, it's clear he no longer considered us friends. The way he looked at me was almost frightening. I wondered if I'd made a mistake and saying anything to him until Grant came to my quarters this evening. He asked me to marry him just like that! Yet, it was as though he'd been considering it for a long time. He gave me half a dozen reasons, logical reasons for our pairing off---including the fact that we are a good genetic match for superbly viable offspring. The man was so serious and unromantic that I nearly refused him. He made me so angry.

  Finally, after he finished talking all that scientific refuse, he laughed and hugged me. He says he also happens to love me. If this is love, it's great. Naturally, I agreed to the marriage contract, and we had a whole six hours to celebrate together. Whatever comes we will share it.

  And they had. For the next few months, they shared a hardship after hardship… Grant turned ahead a few pages.

  Personal journal of Wynne Schaefer March 17

  My brother was buried in space this morning. He will drift among the stars for eternity in answer to the ultimate far call.

  We finally learned what's been happening to divide our people. A rival corporation—Brady Corporation—had hired our own chief of security Victor Rode, to sabotage our expedition. He's done his job well, too.

  That wasn't the only terrible thing he did either. The riot he started on Level B killed eight people; one that was my brother Jake. Damn Victor! How could he have done this terrible thing? Jake was like a brother to him as well.

  Victor's men nearly killed poor Marcus to secure the engine rooms so they could sabotage our engines. Now we cannot achieve sufficient deceleration in time to lock Mari-Sanna into Demus orbit. Our ship, so costly in human blood is heading straight into DM237, and there's nothing we can do to stop her.

  We have isolated ourselves and secured six launch bays and a dozen shuttles, and it will be crowded, but they will get us to Demus---if that is actually Demus we're approaching. At this point, we can't know for sure, all we know is that it’s a habitable class M planet. We have no choice now. Whatever planet this is we are calling it Demus.

  Victor's people have already left. They took the main shuttle with most of the extra oxygen and supplies. He planned his treachery well, but Grant planned well, too. He suspected sabotage sometime before he told me about it. We will depend on the Mari-Sanna is life support system until the last possible moment, then we launch the all the shuttles for Demus. Because of Grant, we are supplied better than Victor expected.

  We will survive, and Victor will be sorry. Someday he will be very sorry.

  Personal journal Wynne Schaefer March 26

  There's been little time for the journal these past days. The shuttle was crowded, and I've spent a lot of time calming the others even as part of me is threatening to panic. So far, I've kept that irrational fear under control, but it keeps coming closer to the surface.

  This journey to Demus as even harder than Lochner and Marcus expected. Some will not make it. And I am afraid. Not so much of dying, but that Grant and I will never have a real life together---never have children to inherit the empire he plans to build on Demus. The fear keeps me going, fear and determination that our plans will be realized.

  April 3

  Only two did not make it. Our shuttle has landed in the snow-covered Cerulean Mountains of the largest continent far inland. We lost contact with Blake Falkner's group and Scott Bundy's. Scott's shuttle carried the beacon with which we could co
mmunicate with the next incoming ship. Grant says they will be here in two years at the most. The others believe him, but I know he is just hoping because we don't really know where we are.

  Ray says the lab is set up now and some of the crops have been planted. Grant has also produced horses and cattle embryos for the nurturing tanks with the genetic material we brought. In the spring of the next Demian year, we should have two small herds. Then, perhaps he will produce some cats and dogs with the next group. Life has been a lot of hard work and sweat, but are people are content because they have begun to build futures for themselves again.

  June 17

  There's been so much work these past weeks. I've had very little time for the journal again, but I must write this. Our first child will be born in the spring---or what would've been spring back on Earth. It will be autumn here. Grant has finally decided it's time to start working on our own high hopes. He is happy, but it can also see that he is worried. I'm not. We're going to have a fine, healthy child. I can feel it.

  June 22

  We had our first town meeting in the community hall today. Grant was elected as chief executive of our village. The vote was almost unanimous: no one even ran against him. We have also voted to name the village Blue Summit. It seems appropriate since we landed in the Cerulean Mountain range. We named it that because of how blue it looks from space. Beyond our mountain's there is a Sapphire Lake and a Gentian Plain.

  It doesn't matter what we call this place it's beautiful, and it's our home, green and full of life. Flora and fauna are reminiscent of an earlier age on Earth, but much is suitable for human consumption; a good thing because we're getting low on supplies.

  September 4

  Our home is finished and grander than I expected. They made it from the wood from a kind of rubbery tree that hardens almost like rock when it dries. It can be stained and polish to a lovely shine. Most of the houses are finished now 37 of them for 79 settlers. Ten other women are pregnant now, too. There will be many babies in the spring. Already the waiting is hard. I yearn to hold our child in my arms. I want to fill this beautiful house with our children---

  There were many more pages of the neatly written script, but Grant could no longer see to read them. All her hopes and dreams could never be realized now… All of his own that died with her… Two tears slid down his cheeks into the silver streaked beard that covered the lower half of this face. Memories were all he had now thanks to Victor Rode. Grant brushed back the tears and swallowed hard against the aching lump in his throat. He closed the journal, caressing the pale blue cover lovingly. He was glad she had guarded her private thoughts by recording them the old way. Otherwise, they would have been lost on the computer of the Mari-Sanna when it fell into the sun. At least he had them.

  Finally, he got up, his eyes haunted and his mouth a grim with the pain he held inside him. It was time to lay her to rest with the others. Then he would plan in his revenge…

  Personal journal of Wynne Schaefer-McKell

  Supplement by Grant McKell

  October 23

  Two years have passed since your ruthless murder, my beloved. Our children have grown tall and blossomed without you. I know they still miss you, but they have adapted better to life without you than I have. Not even revenge was taken away the emptiness. I killed Victor Rode today. I made him suffer for every moment of torment I suffered, for those brief moments you suffered at his hands. Yet nothing is changed.

  You are still gone, and I am alone with the guilt I will carry for the rest of my life. I fear my revenge will spill the blood of our children's children---maybe their children, too. I killed Victor Rode; now his son may one day come to kill me to avenge his father. Then our son may kill him. All their blood will be on my hands.

  I know in my heart that what I did was wrong, but I'm still too filled with hate to feel much remorse. Victor Rode deserved every moment of pain he suffered for all the years he stole from us, you and me and our children together---for the children you'll never have with me now.

  I hope one day they will forgive me for this bitter blood feud I have begun.

  Maybe one day I will forgive myself.

  Excerpt from Abduction 2140

  Chapter One

  Whimpers and little cries filled the hallways of the mothership as the Slythonians walked around, preparing everything for the slaves’ auction. It was their job after all: provide the best slaves in all the galaxies.

  “Are the slaves ready, Eskol?” Rurik asked, his forked tongue hissing the words.

  The Slythonians would be easily described as huge lizards, able to walk on two feet, but still covered with brownish scales and with beady eyes, and let’s not forget their tail, hovering behind them, and known as a potent weapon they used whenever in need. They wore long, dark tunics that covered their bodies and several golden accessories, and the highest the rank the more accessories they would wear.

  But the Slythonians weren’t warriors; they preferred to let others fight while they dedicated their time to search the galaxies for the best slaves they could find. Their reputation as the best traders wasn’t built on words but on facts. They possessed the fastest spaceships and the best technology known in all the galaxies that money could buy. They were able to travel through space and time, likes others would cross the street to get to their homes.

  Coming from a small planet, without lofty ambitions, they had become the most known merchants in all galaxies, who stopped at nothing to get what they wanted, providing their clients with all they needed, no matter what that was.

  For that night’s auction, they had traveled very far; to gather a good group of specimens they were sure would sell quickly.

  “Yes, Captain Rurik. They all have been collared and prepare,” the trainer answered, bowing to his captain.

  “Show them to me.”

  “Of course, Captain Rurik,” he opened the gate leading to the slave cells and stepped aside to allow his Captain to go in.

  A long row of specialized cells sealed with metallic vertical bars and containing a simple bunker and small bathroom facilities lodged females from a few different species. Most of them had been purchased from their families, but others had simply been abducted.

  They only looked for humanoid slaves. Even species like theirs seemed to be more attracted to that kind of females, so amongst their slaves, you wouldn’t find women such as the Slythonians, unless, of course, a customer would specifically, ask for them.

  “We have an excellent group this time,” the captain said as they walked down the hallway, pointing at the naked bodies of the slaves imprisoned in the cells.

  “Yes, Captain.”

  They reached the cells where they kept one of the two human females.

  “Open the cell,” the captain ordered, approaching the female in it.

  “Stand up for inspection, slave,” Eskol ordered the woman, and she reluctantly got up.

  “These Earthlings… I believe we should remove their body hair, permanently,” the captain suggested, observing her thoroughly, as he ran a finger through the woman’s arms, belly, and mound. “They don’t add anything to their bodies.”

  “Very well, we shall do it immediately.”

  “When did you capture these ones?” the captain asked, with a slight frown, barely perceptible under the scales covering his face.

  “In the year 2140, captain. May I know why do you ask?”

  “Look at them, Eskol. They look practically the same. The same hair color, the same eyes’ color, the same body type… are they related?” the captain pointed out.

  “No, captain. They were abducted in different continents. Earthlings have been experimenting with genetic improvement,” the slave master explained. “I guess that’s why they all started to look alike.”

  “When did they start doing that?”

  “According to our data, around the year 2100, captain.”

  “We must stop going to the future then. These females are too dull to inte
rest our customers,” the captain ordered.

  “Who are you? Who gave you the right to bring us here?” the woman ranted furiously in response to the observations.

  “Shut up, female, you are not entitled to question us,” Eskol ordered the woman.

  “I won’t be shut up by you, you disgusting lizard,” as soon as the words came out of her mouth, the collar she had wrapped around her neck discharged some kind of drug into her body that immediately paralyzed the woman and inflicted excruciating pain, making her fall to the floor.

  The captain lets out a cruel laugh. “Eskol, didn’t you explain to them the function of the collar?” he asked, turning to look at his man while crouching next to the helpless female.

  “Of course, I did, Captain. I believe she chose not to believe in me.”

  Rurik grabbed a full fist of the woman’s hair and pulled her head up, forcing her to face him. “The collar you’re wearing will react that way every time you chose to disobey a direct order, female. Here, you are nothing more than merchandise, meant to answer questions, not ask them. Is that clear to you now?”

  The woman whimpered, as the drugs’ effect washed off, and nodded.

  He dropped her hair and stood up.

  “It is time to ring them,” he ordered the slave master. “Our customers will soon be here.”

  “Very well, captain. We shall proceed immediately.”

  The captain nodded and left the room.

  Eskol called his assistants and one by one, they took the females out of their cells and inserted small metallic rings on the female’s left nipple. It was the Slythonians’ brand, and all of their slaves carried one. Most masters would remove it after the purchase, but meanwhile, it was the traders’ way to identify their merchandise.

  The ring also carried a tracking device, in case some of the merchandise was stolen from the traders.