Iris sat down in a high back cushioned chair and snapped her fingers at Eesh. She pointed at her hair. “I went for a spin around the planet. Is that so out of the ordinary?”
“It is – considering you haven’t left Watchtower for over fifty years!”
Eesh stood in front of Iris and pulled small pins out of Iris’ hair. “Ouch – careful,” she snapped and slapped at Eesh’s hand, clawing him with her long fingernails.
Eesh recoiled and balled up his hands, blood seeped from a deep scratch.
“Get on with it,” Iris insisted. “And don’t get blood on me.” She leaned forward and Eesh removed her wig, exposing her smooth baldhead.
Avery stood impatient; his arms folded in front of him. “I’m waiting for an explanation,” his yellow inset eyes stared at her.
“I’m getting older. The thought of not seeing open space one more time didn’t set well with me.”
Avery’s face tightened. “And that’s your explanation?”
“The only one I’m prepared to give,” Iris said. She felt a twinge in her chest. Her bionic heart implant skipped a beat and she could feel the power surge in her chest. She knew for some time the artificial heart was failing her. The doctors told her sixty years ago, the device would wear out in time and at her age, Iris understood that getting another one would postpone the inevitable. She looked at Avery. Her eldest child at seventy-years-old, she thought he would be ready to take control of watchtower. Age no longer meant wisdom, however. People lived longer than they used to. Even at seventy, Avery had some growing to do. His adolescent behavior didn’t fill Iris with hope.
“Alright,” Avery threw his arms in the air. “I guess I’ll have to take your explanation.”
“Yes, I guess you will,” Iris said. She reached out her hand and Avery stepped forward to take it.
Avery retracted his hand and eyed Eesh when the short man stepped in front of him. Avery stepped back and turned away.
On her feet Iris walked slow and steady toward a loveseat recliner and sat down. “Yes, more comfortable,” she said and looked at Avery who stood with his back to her. “Stop brooding and join me. Where is your sister?”
Avery sat next to Iris; he leaned away from her. “Candace is–”
“Is here,” Candace said when she stepped off the servant elevator. Her long sleek body fit into a tight and revealing red dress. For a woman in her mid-forties she dressed like a twenty-year-old huntress. Candace’s crystal blue eyes sparkled when she leaned over to kiss her mother. Her long dark hair down over her shoulders.
Avery stood and moved away from his sister. “Seeing what it’s like being among the servants are we, Candace?”
“The rail cars make me sick brother, I prefer the lifts,” Candace sat and took Iris’ hands into hers.
“Word is you prefer other things from the slaves, too.”
“Don’t be crass. I won’t spar with you Avery –”
“Enough! Both of you!” Iris snapped and then growled, “I see Watchtower is in good hands with my offspring.”
“Mother, I…”
“Quiet Candace,” Iris said. She loved both her children, but like Avery, she didn’t trust Candace. Avery spoke the truth. Her daughter, no matter how innocent she looked, wasn’t. Much younger than Avery, at forty-one Candace enjoyed her slaves a little too much. Iris knew trying to prevent her daughter from what she desired proved fruitless in the past. The family Lexors greatest enemy was its own members. “What news from the ORACLE station?”
Candace gave her mother a sharp stare. “All seems quiet on Earth. The breeding complexes are not showing any unrest, even after the shuttle infiltrated the breeding sight in Scotland.”
“Still no evidence of who it might have been?” Iris asked and looked at Avery, who turned away.
“Not yet, mother,” Candace replied. “But we are still running a diagnostic on the systems. So far, we’ve found no fault or no reason for being unable to detect the outbound shuttle. We know it made its way into orbit, but after that the records show no sign of them or where it went.”
Iris watched Avery squirm where he stood. She refused to reveal her hand. There was more to her son’s treachery than just protecting Da’Mira Tannador and settling a debt with Hek’Dara. Some observation would be in order.
“Keep looking for a reason the ORACLE system failed,” Iris said.
“The ORACLE system has never failed, not even in your lifetime, mother,” Candace said surprised. “I’ve never heard you dismiss something like this as a fault.”
“What else could it be?” Avery snapped.
“Yes,” Iris said with a flippant tone as she eyed Avery.
“What is wrong with you?” Candace asked Avery. “You don’t seem to be too worried about this.”
“He’s not,” Iris said. “And you shouldn’t either. “Let’s go on... “What about the rebels?”
Candace cleared her throat and looked at her mother and then to Avery. With a baffled expression she said, “Of the fifteen rebel cells operating on the planet. The only one that has given the Orlander security force any trouble are the Highlanders in Scotland.”
Iris wondered if there could be a connection to Da’Mira’s insolence and the Highlanders. It seemed more than a simple coincidence. She searched for a theory, but the answer eluded her. “What of our plan of sending in an infiltrator, one person to collect information?”
“Avery was in charge of that… brother?”
“I’ve sent two men in on two different occasions,” Avery said. His voice cracked when he spoke. “Neither heard from again – and the ORACLE devices they carried never returned a recall signal.”
“This is a disappointing report,” Iris said, “How are we… are we…” she coughed, struggling to take a breath.
Candace stood and backed away, Avery didn’t move. The only person to react was Eesh who rushed to Iris with a glass of water.
Iris took a drink. Some of the water spilled from her mouth and landed on her blue gown. “Thank… thank you Eesh,” she said looking at both her children who stood stone faced. “Oh, don’t worry about me, my caring children. It will be a little time yet before I leave you both in charge of all of this.”
Candace reached out for Iris. “How can you say that?”
Iris brushed Candace away with a wave from her hand. “I’ve heard enough about rebels. Tell me something that these old ears will like.”
“We’ve learned that the family Tannador will hold an arrival ceremony for Hek’Dara’s son, Quinton when their explorer ship arrives tomorrow. It will also be a departure ceremony. Da’Mira Tannador will leave within several hours after his arrival as new master of Requiem.”
“Is there a destination?” Avery asked. His voice filled with interest.
“The information we got points toward a planet called Kepler 369,” Candace said. “It seems the one-man survey mission they sent there has failed to report. It’s been over a year since the Tannadors filed a petition to excavate it.”
“Do you know what this means?” Avery said with excitement.
“It means,” Iris said; her voice more raspy than usual. “That the planet is up for a new petition. This information could be valuable to the right family.”
“Money in the bank,” Candace said with a beaming smile.
“Candace, you and Avery must think bigger,” Iris said. Her eyes were full of ideas. “This might be more than just money in the bank.”
Ioshia Station – Low Earth Orbit
April 15, 2442
Travel from a high-born platform to Ioshia station although difficult, wasn’t impossible. The right currency transfer to the right person and almost anything can be done. Gregaor Xavier learned that at an early age when he wanted to run away from the telecom cameras that constantly followed him. He thought it degraded the dignity of the upper class. His mother told him many times, "Where we can’t match the Tannadors in wealth we can surpass them in popularity." As always Gregaor�
��s mother knew the tricks to success.
At five, paraded in front of the cameras, Gregaor got his first taste of being in the limelight. Lucinda wanted her children to have time to grow up before being exposed to the public.
Gregaor chuckled under his breath. His mother considered – grown up – to be the age of five. The attention, the fanfare and the constant recognition overwhelmed a young boy and for many years Gregaor enjoyed the stardom, until the birth of his brother. From the beginning his mother treated Van different. Even at one time reporting her youngest son had died from complications of child birth. The scandal over her false declaration almost destroyed the family’s reputation. After several years and in true Lucinda Xavier style, the public flocked back to the family, with Gregaor as its focus.
Lucinda molded the new reputation of house Xavier from Gregaor’s chiseled smile and abrasive good looks. Against his better judgment he went along with his mother’s spin that brought the family back in the public eye. It wasn’t long after that Gregaor turned to manufactured stimulants to allow him to forget how much he abhorred his life.
At least on the family expedition ship, Seeker, he could hide. He didn’t feel smothered by the constant press and fanatics who lived their bored, dejected lives, vicariously through them. Still he had his free time away from the public eye. Gregaor’s mother allowed the cameras into the private living quarters an hour in the morning and an hour in the evening. Other than that, they were in the public eye the moment they left the suites.
The pressure of being an archetype for his family weighed heavy on him the moment he returned to Earth. Surrounded by too many people who wanted to make sure he wore the right thing, looked the right way and said the right things became too much for him. At least on Ioshia station, Gregaor could move around without the cameras following him.
Cloaked in a long flowing cape and cowl he hid himself well, moving unnoticed, he blended in with the other dregs of society. He made his way to a seedy drinking establishment. The dark lit room reeked of smoke and alcohol, the sticky floors cleaner than some of the tables throughout the drinking establishment. Gregaor searched for a clean one but settled for a table in the corner of the room out of the way, with a wall to his back. Its patrons oblivious to who sat in the dark corner drinking a mug of cinnamon beer.
Gregaor kept to the corner, his silver eyes were the only things peering out from under his hood. He watched the others in the saloon. Some played games arguing over who had the next move, or who cheated. Fights broke out, and no one interceded. After a while they rectified themselves, after blood spilled to the floor.
A second mug of cinnamon beer arrived at Gregaor’s table, delivered by a tall slender woman. “I didn’t order that.”
The woman leaned in on the table and Gregaor noticed the crystal blue eyes of Candace Lexor. He lowered his face to the table hoping she wouldn’t recognize him.
“I’ve been watching you,” Candace said with a lower mischievous voice that sounded a lot like the purr of a cat. She circled the table and sat down.
Gregaor didn’t reply, assuming Candace didn’t know who she spoke to. Her reputation of being the family slut was true. She gave her body away to whoever wanted a turn with her, no matter their status. Not surprised to find Candace here. Nor was it a surprise she approached him. He felt her hand reach up under his cloak and take a tight grip on his crotch.
“My, you do have some girth don’t you,” Candace said with a low purr.
Gregaor turned his head toward her. His handsome features peered out from under the cowl and he said in a whisper. “It pales in contrast by its length.”
Candace didn’t flinch, didn’t detract her hand. Instead she tightened her grip, smiled leaned in and... “Gregaor Xavier. Why am I not surprised?” she chuckled leaned in and gave Gregaor a wet sloppy kiss.
Gregaor didn’t pull away. Instead he grabbed a handful of her long dark hair and held her in place. The kiss became heated until he pulled away from her.
Candace smiled. “It’s been a long time Gregaor.”
“Why is it every time we meet it’s in a place like this?” Gregaor asked.
“Because we are degenerates,” Candace replied and smiled.
Candace Lexor embodied everything Gregaor lusted about a woman. Something about her immoral, degenerate side stirred his blood. They’d met many times before, simply for sex, in the most outlandish places. Their passion for each other came and went like a craving. Besides intercourse they had little else in common and Gregaor saw no future between them besides the sex. Unlike Da’Mira Tannador whose beatific side stirred his blood for other reasons, Gregaor considered he could have the best of both. A loving caring, driven woman with Da’Mira and a slut in Candace. His pride swelled, along with other parts of his body.
“You seem distracted,” Gregaor said when he noticed Candace watching the dark room.
“I don’t like coming here. Not since I almost ran into Avery once. Who would have thought he and I would like seedy places.”
“It’s in the blood.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Candace snapped. Her eyes widened with anger, she hooked her right lip exposing her teeth like a wild cat.
“Siblings have the same desires. You and your brother are more alike than you think.”
“Then that means you’re as stupid as your brainless brother.”
Gregaor snatched Candace by the neck and tightened his grip. He’d grown up with people belittling his family. He’d grown use to it. “If you would have said something disrespectful about my mother, or even my father I could have overlooked it. But I won’t allow someone – anyone to speak ill of my brother.”
Gregaor blamed himself for his brother’s slowness. During his twelfth birthday and his mother’s second trimester of pregnancy he punched her in the stomach. Anger consumed him then before he learned to control the rage. Lucinda paid the price for Gregaor’s ire. She bled a week and gave birth to Van prematurely. Small and frail when born, Gregaor learned of his brother’s torpor and found his actions came with consequences.
Candace struggled to breathe, and drew Gregaor’s attention. Water welled up in the creases of her eyes and when he released her, she took a hardened deep breath. “I’m – I’m…”
“Forget it,” Gregaor said. “I know you won’t do it again.”
Candace replaced her hand on Gregaor’s crotch, once again giving it a tight squeeze. “Cinnamon beer gets your blood boiling.”
Gregaor saw the distress in Candace’s face. No matter how cruel he could be to anyone, it didn’t match the vindictive feelings he had for himself. Van paid the price for what he did and Gregaor wouldn't let anyone ridicule his little brother.
Candace squeezed tighter furrowing Gregaor’s crotch, the distressing look on her face replaced by naughtiness that reminded Gregaor, that Candace hadn’t forgotten the reason they were there. He knew despite how he treated her, she wouldn’t allow a misunderstanding to impede sex.
Gregaor responded by moving his hand up her shirt and cupping her breast. They would not move from behind the table until both satisfied. Though Gregaor’s satisfaction came because he controlled Candace, no matter how nasty he treated her. He liked that feeling that power gave him.
North American Wasteland
Tribe of the Free
April 15, 2442
Surrounded by polluted water to the west, burned off chunks of land to the south, packs of wild animals to the east and blood thirsty scavengers all around, the Tribe of the Free lived in constant danger. They were a proud and content people. In the secluded patch of land, they called home they had ample supplies. A spring gave them fresh drinking water. The unfettered soil near their village grew lush crops that kept them from starving. Even though the yield had been less and less the last few years – and hunting parties found less game in safe areas to hunt. Many in the tribe knew what it all meant, even if no one said it too loud.
With the air becoming more diffi
cult to breathe, respirators were constant companions, every member of the tribe kept a portable breathing apparatus close to them. It was a matter of time before they would have to move on to find cleaner air, or die. For two hundred years the Tribe survived, through the racial wars, the U-6 virus, the break-down of civil governments and the purge. The day the nine great families seized control and moved the elite into orbit, while others, like the tribe sought a way to survive.
The predictions of an arduous journey through the arid wasteland would be hard for the population. Many wouldn't survive before they found a more suitable environment in which to live. The trip would be that hardest on the old and young. No one, not even the tribal leaders wanted to decide when to go, but the time fast approached. Many would die, but the people of the village didn’t need constant reminding, when death was a respected and vital member of the community.
Avara Rodan stood at the edge of the grave and stared down at the shrouded body of her husband, Chapel. Her eleven-year-old daughter, Veranda stood at her left and sang: In the cradle of the land, a song of mourning and forgiveness. Though she didn’t remember all of it, the words were barely recognizable as she sang them in remorse.
To Avara’s right stood her father Norvene, the Sheppard of the Tribe of the Free. He hummed along with Veranda’s song and held Avara’s hand. His white wiry beard blew in the brisk spring air. He tucked in his old mended coat close to him. It had been cold for this time of year, even colder since Chapel returned to them.
Avara forced herself to be strong. She fought back the tears. Not for Veranda’s sake, but because she promised Chapel she would be strong. She pleaded with him before he left, not to go into the wilderness, begged him not to, but he went anyway. Nothing good can come of this, she remembered telling him.
The scavengers had been raiding their village for many years and Chapel knew he had to negotiate a peace with them if the tribe were to survive. The scavengers were animals in human form, and would as soon cut a throat than broker a deal of peace. Who else is going to try? He asked her. She knew he was right.
Origin Expedition Page 7