Origin Expedition

by Charles F Millhouse

  Origin Expedition

  The Origin Trilogy

  Charles F. Millhouse

  Copyright © 2018 by Charles F. Millhouse

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review or scholarly journal.

  First Printing: 2018

  stormgatepress.com

  stormgatepress@gmail.com

  Dedication

  This novel is dedicated to “Never Giving Up”, set your goals and see them through…

  Also Written by Charles F. Millhouse

  The Captain Hawklin Adventure Series

  The Secrets of Monster Island

  The Subterranean Empire

  The Jade Dragon

  The Underwater Menace

  The Shadow Men

  The Skyhook Pirates

  The New Kingdom Trilogy

  Creatures of Habit

  Daybreak

  Reckoning

  Talon’s Epic

  In Memory Alone

  Crossroads of the World

  Tales of the Lost Empire

  The Long Twilight

  Battle Lines

  Visit stormgatepress.com for all available titles.

  Acknowledgements

  This novel, like all my published works could not have happened without the woman I love. Mary Ann Millhouse. Who works hard keeping my story on track and me pointed toward the goal.

  I’d also like to thank all my friends and fellow writers who have supported me, inspired me and rooted me on. Without them I’d be sitting in a stupor wondering why I ever wanted to be a writer.

  Most notably, I’d like to acknowledge two people for their tireless efforts.

  Charles Davenport. Over the years he has provided me with many wonderful covers, and Origin Expedition is no exception.

  And Stacy Sowers, an incredible writer in her own right, and my beta reader on this project. Thank you.

  The struggles of time are the chains of ignorance

  No machine, nor beast, nor idle hand can fix disparity

  The grandiose are indigent, the workers’ soul – relentless

  Infinite wisdom, boundless dexterity… the cornerstone of life

  One race, one world, one chance

  Man – that marvel of the universe

  – Poem of the oppressed

  Robert Trudeau – late twenty-second century poet

  Dalnaspidal Breeding Facility

  Earth – Scotland

  April 14, 2442

  The Fortitude class transport blasted its way into the restricted area, thrusters on full. Alarms of the ORACLE system blared throughout the cockpit. Its screeching drowned out the simplest of thoughts. The Lady Da’Mira Tannador stood next to the old scar-faced pilot watching him glare at the controls in front of him. He’d warned her that overriding the computer watcheye came at a risk. She grimaced. He kept his hands poised over the holographic control board, erratically flying his craft to confuse whoever might scan the area.

  Holding on to a tarnished railing in front of her, Da’Mira steadied her footing. She refused to protest. The pilot, although paid well for his criminal act, could turn and fly his ship away on a whim, if she provoked him. Out the main view port Da’Mira’s golden skin reflected on the stall glass. Her scarlet hair hung in contrast against the borrowed green camouflage overalls that smelled of someone else’s body odor.

  Beyond her reflection, people gathered on the ground, the thunderous wail of the transport’s engines drew them out of their shoddy dwellings. The facility’s inner building's moss covered with green-gray walls were dirty and rundown, the ground dry and brittle from lack of rain.

  Along the outer area of the facility, a cascading laser field of tratonic energy fenced in the compound. Power surged between tall reflector polls that stood several yards apart and encircled the area. Da’Mira clenched her fists. More people appeared from the buildings. They looked skyward, in shock that a transport flew so close to them.

  “There’s so many.”

  “Yes Milady, nearly a thousand live here,” the pilot told her, his tone rough, curtly.

  Da’Mira leaned on the railing to get a better view. Some of the breeders struggled to stand. Skinny and malnourished she worried the back blast from the shuttle’s engines could knock them over. Their clothes were filthy, and thread worn. Breeders were considered nothing more than cattle; Da'Mira loathed that term. The slaves only function was to breed more slaves. How could our society have fallen so far? She wondered.

  Dozens of haggard women gathered below the ship. Breeders kept dazed and docile through drugs. The women bore children several times a year and destroyed their bodies by the time they were thirty. “They look so hungry.”

  The pilot flipped a switch and silenced the alarm. “It won’t be long before the Orlanders send a security detail, if there aren’t some posted in the facility already,” he warned.

  “Take us closer to the ground. I’ll go to the back and release the cargo.”

  He banked the transport to the left. Its hovering thruster roared to life, Da’Mira clung to hand grips anchored along the wall to steady herself while she walked to the back of the vessel. For a transport ship the cargo area wasn’t big. The old Fortitude ships weren’t built to haul large amounts of cargo. At least not the amount Da’Mira hired the ship to transport. To contract a newer vessel, like wearing the wrong attire, would have drawn unwanted attention.

  She squeezed herself into the hold, pushed past stacks on stacks of silver cargo crates. Da’Mira didn’t have the luxury of waiting for the right cargo ship to come along, even food disks expired. The black marketer took a gamble selling them to her, but she paid him well. The fact that a high-born wanted to feed breeders came completely as a shock to the man. After all, the high-born didn’t care about the deprived, right? Da’Mira had found it more than a struggle to persuade anyone to listen to her pleas. If her father had caught wind of her conspiracy to feed the breeders, she wouldn’t have gotten this far.

  Working in secret took precise timing and planning. How many of them died before Da’Mira put her plan into action? The number incalculable... intolerable. She pushed forward nonetheless until she stood in the back of the cargo ship ready to make her arduous efforts a reality.

  A series of lights came on when Da’Mira entered the cargo bay, along with a holographic control panel near the back of the hold. As she reached the illuminated panel she turned and looked out over the vacuumed sealed crates. She smiled grimly toward them, wishing there could be more. How many will this feed and how many more will die because there isn’t enough?

  Da’Mira placed her delicate hand inside the spectrum of lights of the control panel. The scanner read her palm and she manually typed in a code. The transport’s back cargo doors opened, sliding downward. The wind from the ship’s engines kicked up dust and debris, stinging Da’Mira’s eyes. The inrush of natural air took her lungs by surprise. The high-born were given synthetic oxygen since the day they were born. She struggled to breathe, the gusts of wind tore at her green camouflage overalls and she steadied her feet so not to slip out the back of the ship.

  Yellowed dead grass flocked the grounds of the breeder facility. The trees around the camp stood leafless, dead from lack of nutrition in the soil. A byproduct of the chemical dumping and other hazardous materials pumped into the Earth over the centuries, it leached the soil fallow, a key reason the high-born left the planet almost three hundred years ago.

  Activating another code into the control panel, a conveyer belt began to deliver the silver crates full of much needed food to the people
below. Da’Mira smiled. The transport ship hovered less than twelve feet from the ground. The crates fell out onto the dead sward. Da’Mira hung out the back of the ship and watched them land. Her lungs were finally acclimating to the natural air, though she still struggled to take deep breaths. Below the ship she saw the women swarming over the crates. They ripped them open with their bare hands. The food disks fell to the ground and scattered about. The hungry women dove for the disks, gathering up all they could… before–

  Da’Mira stood in the back of the shuttle helpless as a handful of rough security men, armed with clubs and blunt instruments shoved the breeders aside. They swung their weapons wildly driving the ravenous women back, beating them brutally while the men looted the food disks for themselves. They shoved the disks into bags and baskets. Da’Mira’s fingers itched for a plasma rifle.

  She had been warned about the security men, true to their reputation. Da’Mira bit her lower lip, ashamed to be a member of the same race. The idea that anyone could treat another human so callously tore at Da’Mira. The women were weak and starving, with little time for recovery before becoming inseminated again.

  The practice sickened her. How many children have these women produced in their short lives? There were few like her – few who questioned the way things had been for nearly three hundred years.

  Questions like – How can the high-born families, the Nine, allow this to continue?

  The continuous breeding programs produced thousands of children a year, yet there had been no increase in population. Where had all the new-born slaves gone?

  Valid questions, but the answers eluded her. Da’Mira found herself stalled at every attempt. Her questions infuriated her father and blackballed her in high-born society.

  Da’Mira watched helplessly while the guards stockpiled the food disks for themselves. The handful of women in attendance cowered away. Some wept and some protested, but none had the power to fight back. Then she noticed something odd. None of the guards wore the insignia of the family Orlander. The crest they bore unmistakably belonged to the illusive family Everhart. The secretive family that hadn’t been seen or heard from since the old patriarch Baylor Everhart died nearly two hundred years ago.

  Preparing to leap from the shuttle platform, Da’Mira hesitated when she saw a young, dark haired girl bolt forward into the group of security men. The child slipped between them and scooped up an arm full of food disks before running back out. Two of the officers gave chase. The nimble young girl, no older than fourteen, did her best to stay ahead of her pursuers, but the rugged men gained ground on her.

  Da’Mira activated the transports communication device through the holographic interface. “Pilot we need to pick up that girl!” No reply followed. Da’Mira yelled her intentions again and still no reply followed.

  She raced back to the cockpit, but the pilot refused to look at her.

  “Didn’t you hear me?”

  “I did,” the pilot replied, his voice was gruff and unconcerned.

  “Well… pick up that girl before it’s too late.”

  “That was not part of our agreement. I wasn’t paid to land. Now my long-range scanners have picked up Orlander patrols closing in fast. We need to retreat.”

  Da’Mira wondered if the patrols belonged to the Orlanders or Everharts, but she refused to listen to his surrender attitude. From inside a zipped pocket on her overalls she pulled a small dainty plasma weapon fit for a lady. She pressed the barrel against the pilot’s right cheek indenting it into the man’s hardened face and spoke clearly. “You will pick up that child or I will shoot you here.”

  “Then who will fly this ship?”

  Da’Mira’s voice didn’t waver. “I will fly it, or I will die trying. Now pick up that girl.”

  He spun the transport around in a quick maneuver. Its landing thrusters kicked up even more dirt and rock when it landed between the fleeing girl and the two pursuing men.

  From the cargo hatch Da’Mira waved for the girl and held out her hand. “Come here. Trust me!”

  The young girl hesitated. Her large round lavender eyes narrowed, studying Da’Mira.

  “There isn’t much time!” Da’Mira shouted over the roar of the engine.

  The two men rounded the ship, their weapons help high.

  The sullied girl dropped the food disks and sprinted for the transport. She leapt up into the back of the craft taking hold of Da’Mira’s hand.

  “Go!” Da’Mira yelled into the communication device. The pilot blasted the transport straight up into the sky leaving a white trail of fuel vapors in its wake.

  Da’Mira led the young girl to the cockpit. Her dark suntanned face was covered with dirt and her clothes, thread-worn, barely fit her body. Clearly, she’d been wearing them for a long time. Da’Mira saw herself in the girl’s strong will.

  “You don’t have to worry. You’re safe with me,” Da’Mira told the girl, but mistrust flared in the girl’s eyes. “Do you have a name?”

  The girl did not answer. She looked out a small port window; her breathing shallow, rapid.

  “You’ll get use to the regulated air. It’s cleaner than what’s on Earth.”

  “You think so?” the girl responded but did not look away from the window.

  “I am Da’Mira… what’s your name?”

  “My name is my own, you cannot have it,” the girl replied in spiteful Scottish tone.

  Da’Mira stood and gave the girl a pleasant smile and joined the pilot at the controls. “What about the Orlander patrol?”

  The pilot shot Da’Mira an uneasy stare, and grumbled, “I don’t know. If their ships were close enough, they could have identified us. It could be bad… for both of us. I should have never taken this job.”

  The Orlander and Tannador families were old rivals. The Nine were held together by uneasy alliances. Da’Mira’s actions could rekindle old hatreds. She looked back at the dark-haired Scotts girl. Just by freeing a breeder from the facility, she might have brought more trouble than needed. I should have left her there.

  A deep bellowed alarm rung throughout the cabin indicating an ORACLE system reboot.

  “I thought you bypassed the watcheye,” Da’Mira said.

  “We are coming into high orbit. The watchtower is within range. No bypass in the world can shut that out. It has master control over all ORACLE systems, even one as old as this.”

  The Watchtower came into view. The two massive black onyx towers that hung in stationary orbit above the earth – watching, scanning evaluating everything within range and reporting it all to the high-born. How else could the Great Houses ensure compliance with those who serve them? Da’Mira stood motionless.

  - Inquiry, the ORACLE system came online with a question.

  “Proceed,” the pilot said glancing at Da’Mira.

  - Why has this system been off line?

  “Maintenance,” the pilot spoke again, like he had told this lie before. Da’Mira winced.

  -No maintenance was scheduled.

  The pilot cleared his throat. “It was unscheduled... the unit’s primary system was indicating a fault and closed it self-down for minor repair.

  The ORACLE system hummed. The reflective red light on its base pulsated. A bead of sweat ran down the pilot’s indented face. The pool of perspiration hung off his chin while he waited – his eyes circling, assessing the threat.

  The Fortitude transport hung in a high orbit. The massive Watchtower, the ORACLE system control station, loomed close. Da’Mira stood as stiff as the pilot, her breathing shallow. Once the watcheye scanned the ship it would detect her and the dark-haired girl. Questions would be asked. Would she be discovered?

  -State your destination.

  The pilot gave Da’Mira a hardened look. “I’m on special assignment for the Lady Da’Mira Tannador.”

  Da’Mira’s hazel eyes widened. She grabbed the pilot by the arm, but he shrugged her off snapping his arm away from her grasp.

  “I request perm
ission to proceed to Tannador house, to offload my cargo,” the pilot said, his voice low, humble.

  Again, the red light on the watcheye pulsated. The human benefactors, the family Lexor sat in the looming Watchtower making ultimate decisions. Time slowed, giving way to thoughts, indecisions, and miscalculations. Da’Mira knew she could have done things differently, but none of those thoughts had a pleasant outcome.

  -You may proceed to Tannador house.

  The ORACLE system’s voice thundered an added warning.

  –Do not waiver from the following flight plan.

  Coordinates flashed on the computer console, and the pilot turned his vessel accordingly. The transport flew past the Watchtower. It grew larger and larger in the view port. Da’Mira followed it as it towered over them. She looked back at the dark-haired girl who sat on the floor of the flight deck. She pulled her legs up into her chest and hid her face.

  Da’Mira wanted to tell the girl not to be afraid, that everything would be all right, but Da’Mira wasn’t sure if even she believed that.

  Tannador house orbited two hundred miles above the Earth and traveled more than seventeen hundred miles an hour, fully orbiting the planet every ninety minutes. A gyrating axis constantly turning at the center of the orbiting mansion mimicked Earth’s gravity. Several dozen small sensor probes surveyed the area around the station, continually scanning for any potential thing that could cause damage or be a threat to the Tannador Family. In the distance along the same orbit Evergarden loomed, the home of the secretive family Everhart. Da’Mira felt a strong connection to Evergarden, a connection that eluded her since she’d never been on the platform.

  “Fortitude transport.” A man’s voice cut across the communication system. “This is Tannador House operations. Follow the prearranged flight path. Once inside the station you will be instructed where to land.”