WOLF DAWN: Science Fiction Thriller/ Romance (Forsaken Worlds)

by Susan Cartwright

  In each Temple was a Prefect, waiting for the Trueborn, forced to remain a maiden by her vows. He intended to change all that. No one need remain chaste. He had found his one true love. When Lindha had asked where he wished to go, he hadn’t hesitated. In his heart he knew where he would find ex-police Captain Larren Forseth.

  “Kalar,” Ash spat with complete certainty. The chill of death was in his voice.

  Epilogue

  You would live forever, Lord, if not for the Delian child.

  — Personal Seer of High Lord Andros

  The party was in the ballroom. This opulent space was furnished and fitted, gilt edged and magnificent. It took up an entire floor of the skyscraper, the foundation of which was as large as a city block. An Earth Antiquarian of some note, High Lord Andros had spared no expense to make it into an exact replica of a North American ballroom from the late 1900s. The waiting staff was dressed in realistically reproduced black tuxedos with crisp white shirts. The orchestra, dressed appropriately, played Benny Goodman, Tommy Dorsey and Glen Miller, suitable for the “Big Band” era. While invitations had requested “black tie,” a number of guests, excited by such a prestigious event, had gotten into the spirit of the occasion and had also come in imitation costume. The event was being copied for Icom viewing for select friends, staff and significant political partners or interests that were unable to attend.

  “Thank you, my friends. Thank you.” High Lord John Andros stood smiling after the birthday toast. He was uniquely dressed in a double-breasted white tuxedo with silk lapels and black shirt. He alone, as Guest of Honor, was wearing a white tie.

  “Speech! Speech!” came the cries from the party guests.

  “Yes! Speech!”

  Andros nodded benignly and raised his hand in submission, his other hand still holding a glass of authentic Crystal Brut, 2210. It may have been the last drop of genuine Earth champagne.

  “On this, the year 2400 and my fifty-fifth year, I give my heartfelt thanks to you all,” he said, nodding at the crowd. “A toast: To my fellow government servants in High Command; to those who have followed and assisted in my career; to my family, my good friends,” he paused, “and to the rest of you.” The audience laughed.

  “This has been an excellent year for us all. A fulfilling year. The UWG is flourishing, expanding and running in surplus. We have many, many plans that are coming to fruition. I don’t need to tell you: Our cup runneth over.” He raised his glass and drank once more, to a chorus of laughter.

  The birthday celebration was held in his home and went on until early morning. Andros left as soon as courtesy and discretion would allow. Walking down an enormous hallway, he passed a gallery of priceless sculptures and historic portraits and entered the tube that took him to the upper levels. His journey upward took a few minutes, though that was not due to a hesitant speed. The fact was that there were hundreds of floors in the gigantic, modern mansion. He owned the top hundred levels of the skyscraper; his servants lived below. His penthouse was over two-thousand-meters high.

  With real satisfaction and pleasure, Andros stepped out into his Intelligence Room. Here was where he loved to spend his time. He activated the display. Like in a large entertainment complex, a bright and colorful array of information came alive. Each world had its own clear panel, projecting detailed graphic information. Above him the entire Milky Way was displayed, each Freeworld represented in the vastness of galactic space.

  He unclipped his white tie, tossing it on an alcove desk. Cirani, the prison planet, was what he set eyes on first. It was a small, compact world, one-and-a-fifth times normal gravity. The percentage of oxygen to air on Cirani was sustainable, with a normal ratio of oxygen to nitrogen. However, the air was thin. While a lucky few had no symptoms, most living on Cirani at first experienced serious, often fatal, altitude sickness. With little to recommend it, and capital punishment unpopular throughout the Freeworlds, it had been set aside as a prison planet for murderers, traitors, misfits, Ferals and psychopaths. When Andros was younger and had less guard on his actions, he had occasionally sent someone there on a whim. An unexpected stab of memory tightened something inside his chest and he frowned, all pleasure momentarily disturbed. Such inexperienced, impulsive behavior was beyond him now that he had matured.

  Andros’s eyes fixed as he gazed momentarily into the past. Reaching up, he unbuttoned two small buttons on the black collar of his dress shirt. It was over one-hundred-and-ninety years ago now, but it seemed like yesterday. The Lady Iritha, Temple Prefect, dark haired with silky dark brown skin and dark intelligent eyes, a resourceful and courageous woman — he had wanted her more than anything. Andros had been certain that she wanted him, too. Despite his position, she had rebuffed his every attempt at seduction. Would his life have been different had she given in to him? Married him? He had fancied he had found genuine love at the time. He no longer believed in the concept.

  On her last rejection he had lost his temper. Oh, it hadn’t been obvious. Well trained, he had hidden his emotions; he hadn’t lost control. A few days later, when he would not be implicated, he had had an operative stun her, kidnap her and place her on Cirani. Just for ten days. Ten days would be enough to make her understand his power. He had no apprehensions that she could have died there: the woman was astonishingly capable, a master at self defense. Further, she hadn’t been sent without resources.

  When the time was up, the same operative was sent in. With codes to pass the planet’s force field barriers, he went to extract her. A locator had been added to Iritha’s Icom — finding her hadn’t been a problem. What he hadn’t counted on was her reaction to altitude sickness. The Lady Iritha had died on Cirani. The operative, with no direct orders, hadn’t even thought to retrieve her valuable Damithst, the stupid fellow. But, there it was. She was gone and all his adolescent ideas of love and a genuine life partner had died with her.

  Andros shook his head, returning to the present. He had matured and was well past such idealistic and youthful dreams. His current wife was an implanted puppet. It was safer that way.

  Internment policy for Cirani was that each prisoner was sterilized before being transported. Andros smiled. He had stopped all sterilization over a hundred years ago. Through natural selection, only the strongest and most cunning would survive. The offspring on Cirani might become useful, training as his loyal soldiers in the unnaturally harsh environment. By nature, Lord John Andros was not a wasteful man. He was also curious. He had the time to observe this social and physical experiment; he would be there, at the outcome.

  Andros touched the clear plasti-panel of Cirani reverently. He was two-hundred-and-fifty-five years old today. So many alterations over the years: names, hair and skin color, facial features. He had almost forgotten what he originally looked like. He alone, in all the United Worlds, had the power of virtually eternal life. And he could bestow long life to others, with or without their knowledge. So far he had kept this information completely to himself, although Admiral Neopol Jones, typically astute, suspected the truth.

  A screen flashed, and Andros moved toward it with interest. Ah, he thought. An info ship from Opan must have come in, transferring data. Hmm. This was interesting. It was a report. “Accounts concerning Delian Damithst: Initial results.” Another item flashed and Andros was instantly diverted. He had marked incoming information of this kind with an alert. The Delian Prince, Ashton Chayton, was confirmed dead on Opan. Opan, of all places.

  Andros laughed. Out loud, he said, “Seek and ye shall find; knock and the door shall be opened to you.”

  He had taken care of the Delians, except for those surviving two. Could it be that the Queen and the traitor Forseth were also on Opan? If so, the Testimonials and the Talisman would be with them. He was close to his goal: complete eradication of the Delian people. Then he would be safe. He needed to be safe. For he alone was vital to the expansion and survival of the human race.

  A tadium message would need to be sent to the Conqueror, noti
fying Neopol immediately. Neopol would know exactly what to do.

  Aboard Conqueror, Admiral Neopol stood on the bridge. They travelled in normal space, toward the nearest Omni corridor. Over time, while working on other missions, he had searched a dozen Freeworlds, and had not yet located Assurance, the Lady Sartha or her son, Ashton.

  The Admiral’s eyes narrowed as he seethed with an old fury.

  Opan. There was no other habitable planet remotely en route from Delian to Kalar. Even Opan was well off all plausible charted possibilities. According to Captain Forseth’s mindtap they had been bound for Kalar. Had he somehow lied? Even during mindtap? The Lady Sartha must have lied to Forseth, but that was out of character. A woman like her would tell the truth to her lover. He frowned. That old mystery still irritated him.

  Thinking of Larren Forseth made his blood temperature rise. Forseth had escaped and they had been searching for him off and on for almost five years. He would have found them if not for the other tasks that HC had given him. Meanwhile, the Delian affair was the only blemish on his record. His only failure.

  Never mind, Neopol thought, willing himself to calm. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t found many interesting things to achieve over the few years. He had been kept busy and was closer to his goal: complete control of the human race.

  Neopol had not given up. The game was still in play. He would have the last laugh. All things come to the man with persistence and proper motivation. Completing that mission would ensure his promotion and he still desperately wanted the power that it would afford. He was High Lord Andros’s right-hand man. As such, his long life was assured.

  He patted his vest pocket, reassuring himself that the legal document that he had been given was still there. The Vice Regal of Opan would welcome him with open arms, for Neopol was a formal emissary from the UWG. If Assurance was here, he would soon find it, along with the woman, her son and Forseth.

  “I’ll be in my quarters,” Neopol said, turning toward Gene Pagett, Captain of Conqueror.

  Neopol took the tube and entered his quarters with his aide, Sub-Lieutenant Janson, trailing behind. As usual, Janson was an enigma. Neopol had been so concerned and distracted by his recent pursuits that he hadn’t much considered the mystery of how to break Janson. Nothing ever affected Janson. The man was part of the scenery. Like the walls of the ship, he was nondescript and emotionless. Leaning back in his chair, Neopol studied his lieutenant for some time, drawn to the puzzle that was Janson. Jason stood motionless, his eyes rarely blinking. The man was undisturbed by Neopol’s scrutiny.

  A knock sounded.

  “Come.”

  “Excuse me, sir,” Pagett said. “We were just about to enter Omni, and this message caught up with us. I have a sealed tube from HC marked, “Urgent and Important — Neopol’s eyes only.”

  The Admiral took the tube. “Fine. You may go,” he ordered. Taking precautions that he could not be overseen, he opened the message. It read: “Delian Prince confirmed dead on Opan. Find Queen and Forseth. Secure Talisman and Testimonials. JA.”

  Neopol laughed out loud. Here he was, already moving toward Opan. His reasoning was correct. No surprise there. After sending Pagett an Icom message, confirming orders to continue to Opan, Neopol threw the message into a disintegrator and nodded toward his Aide. Janson began to unbutton the Admiral’s tunic, helping him remove his dress uniform.

  Neopol lay down on his bed and snapped his fingers. Janson immediately removed his boots and gently, albeit robotically, began to massage the Admiral’s feet. Neopol had always loved having his feet rubbed, even when he had been a woman.

  He shut his eyes. His tension eased with the good news and the foot massage. All his plans would come to fruition in due course. So. It seemed the Delian woman’s son was dead, but the woman herself may yet live. If so, she and Forseth would be together. Assurance, the Testimonials and the Talisman would all be found on Opan. He would go there. He would search every meter of that world. He would confirm every report and view Ashton Chayton’s corpse for himself.

  Neopol smiled. Such a lot of work for a man with his skills. On Opan he would be able to engage himself in his favorite activity. Anyone connected in any way to the Prince’s death would need to be thoroughly interrogated.

  The Admiral mused about Janson for a bit, his attention on the excellent massage he was receiving and the mystery of the sub-lieutenant. But soon he was aware that Janson’s ministrations had sent him into an almost meditative state. Neopol’s thoughts were drawn back to Opan. Was there anyone on Opan who would be a challenge to break? He hadn’t had an interesting subject for some time. What he needed was an intelligent individual, someone he could really pit his will against. His skill level was too extensive now, and most people were boringly normal. The vast majority were completely transparent to him, with moderate intelligence and utterly predictable actions and motivations. None could really command his interest. Perhaps someone on Opan would be unique and clever, and most valued of all, difficult to break.

  Neopol breathed in deeply and tingled with excitement. He often had moments of almost prophetic insight. Usually it happened when his attention was fixed — for example, when engaged in breaking a subject and tracing the source of the subject’s fear. It occurred to him then that he was beginning to feel that familiar sensation right now. It was a strong sensation, a combination of déjà-vu and premonition. He held perfectly still and examined the feeling.

  Yes. In the depths of his being he felt certain. The idea electrified him.

  Suddenly Neopol sat up on his bed, putting his feet on the floor. Janson, who should have been surprised … wasn’t. Janson remained at the end of Neopol’s bed on his knees. He simply stopped massaging the Admiral’s feet, straightened and waited.

  Neopol’s brows drew down in a frown, his mind deep in thought as he focused. There was someone on Opan, someone different from the others. He knew it. An individual who was capable, intelligent and unique. Was it a woman, perhaps? Women, the weaker sex, had a genetic need to be sly in order to compete with the strength of men. They could be quite cunning. A woman might be a proficient adversary.

  Neopol stood up and went to the bathroom. As he washed his hands he looked into the mirror and smiled at himself. It was a broad grin that he thought would be considered quite charming, except perhaps for the expression in his eyes. His brown eyes held a cold glint of predatory malice. This was a part of him he could not show anyone, the real him. Neopol liked his eyes, as he was a predator. It was a choice, really, and he had made his choice early in life: He chose not to be prey.

  As he wiped his hands, he realized that he liked everything about himself. For he was a genius and he had work to do, and a whole new world to do it in.

  Whoever it is that waits on Opan, woman or man, Neopol thought, I will treasure and value them as only I can. Then I will take my time … He smiled with cruel satisfaction. … and I will destroy them completely.

  THE END

  Author’s Note

  Thank you for reading Wolf Dawn. The sequel is Wolf Revenge, Book Two of the Forsaken Worlds series. Here is a short synopsis:

  PASSION AND VENGEANCE BEYOND THE STARS!

  The man killed his family and was responsible for the genocide of his people. Ashton Chayton wants revenge, and he has unique, superhuman powers to help him get it. Not to mention more wealth and power than governments or kings.

  But is his target the real villain? Or a hero mistakenly accused?

  Will Ash kill the wrong man? Will Lindha, the love of Ash’s young life, become a victim of the sadistic genius Admiral Neopol while Ash is away on his mission of vengeance? Can Ash save a world fallen victim to a vicious plague? Ultimately, can he even save himself?

  The answer to those questions lies somewhere in the vast spaces between planets. And the Red Wolves of Opan may deliver the final verdict.

  Wolf Revenge is the sequel to Wolf Dawn. Enjoy the continuing nail biting adventure of love, spaceship chases, p
lagues, alien planets, mind-control and the wonderful Red Wolves of Opan.

  You are welcome to write me via my website: http://www.susancartwright.com

  List of Characters

  In Order by First Name

  Anton and Dorian: Identical twins of Greek descent. Light-brown skin, green eyes, with wavy black hair. Both damaged by working as sexual slaves during early childhood.

  Ashton Rynan Chayton: Prince of Delian, heir apparent to the throne. Known as Ash. Small for his age, prone to illness, barely survived birth and failed to thrive during infancy. Weak in body he has a powerful psychic ability. Surrounded by people, isolated by circumstances, he is shy, awkward and intelligent.

  Batalov the Thrice Damned: Murdered Prime Minister of Delian. Referred to traditionally as the “thrice damned,” having been damned first through the loss of his wife; secondly, through the madness that came to him when he avoided healing mind-touch; and thirdly, by violating strict moral convention in unlawfully reading minds and keeping a comprehensive diary of the knowledge he acquired. He and his family were torn apart by a mob.

  Brent Jenkins: PhD in quantum physics who discovered Omni-space and Omni-drive in 2050. Half Sioux Indian. Changed his name to Brent Chayton and settled on Delian as King in 2080. Husband of Janice Chayton, the renowned Seer.

  Carrah: Sister of the Opan High Temple of Jana. Elvan features, slim, hair tinged with flecks of red. Light brown eyes, and a sprinkling of freckles. Her manner of achieving goals is at one with her personality, subtle and unassuming. Close to her brother, Dwanne.

  Ching: Admiral Neopol’s personal physician. Calm and meticulous. Mannequin-like, his Asian features never seem to move — only his eyes seem alive. Specialist concerning anything physical to do with the human body. Can tell to the minute when a bone will break or a subject will reach unconsciousness.