Aliomenti Saga 6: Stark Cataclysm

by Alex Albrinck

  She saw the handwritten note on the folder and froze. Could it be? She moved closer to read.

  Woman of regal appearance arrived with baby girl in the evening on September 9, 2010. The woman denied being the mother and stated that the birth parents were deceased. No name provided for the child. The woman described the baby girl as an angel; the name Angel was used during the girl’s time at the orphanage. Adoptive family changed given name to “Gena.”

  She breathed deeply.

  A woman of “regal appearance” could refer only to Eva. Why would Eva help Adam transport Gena here for adoption? Had Adam gone to her to ask for help? Or had Eva gone to Adam to tell him that it was best that Gena be raised among humans, despite her long pre-birth exposure to Energy and the Alliance?

  She had new answers and more questions. She also had another source of information, though she doubted Eva would provide any more detail than Adam. She might not even know Gena’s birth family name. She’d look for the chance to talk to Eva back in the Cavern.

  A startling thought entered her mind. Could the answer be closer than she’d ever dreamed? Where was the lab Adam used to restore her health? Could it be here in Pleasanton? She shook her head. Even if he’d settled down here while Outside, the daily time commitment had been enormous. Such large swaths of time spent hidden away would draw attention from human friends. Adam wouldn’t draw that type of attention to himself.

  The lab must be in the Cavern. If nobody had noticed his experiment—and that seemed the most likely scenario—it meant he’d not worked in the public labs. He’d worked in a private space in his own home, where he could retire in comfort and a reasonable degree of privacy without undue concern.

  She put the papers back in the folder, hesitated, and then replaced the folder back into the cabinet. There was no reason to think she’d ever need it again, and it was probably safer here than anywhere else. After all, she’d found it twenty years after all personnel had left, and no one had broken in to do so much as loot the building for valuables.

  She teleported to the flying sphere, set the autopilot on a direct course for the Cavern, and sat back, thinking.

  Eva knew at least some portion of the story. She’d never mentioned her involvement, never given any indication as to her understanding of Gena’s unusual origin. Why? Why not pull Gena aside, after all these years, and tell her what was so important? That wasn’t difficult to explain; perhaps Eva was leaving that chore to Adam. Perhaps Eva thought Adam had already explained the situation to her, and didn’t know Gena remained uninformed.

  Was there something strange about her they’d known since the beginning? Could it be the unusual Energy skill she’d developed sans morange and zirple? She doubted that. They’d deduced that had come from her near constant exposure to Energy as she’d been formed and reformed in whatever artificial womb Adam constructed. They might know the real reason, a different reason, one that they didn’t want anyone—including Gena—to know.

  That left only one possible answer. There was something about one or both of her parents they didn’t want known.

  She shivered. Was she descended from the Leader of the Aliomenti? That would be… awkward. Although… she frowned. If that was the case, she’d be the half-sister of Hope. Why not tell both of them the truth, then? Would even the Alliance, so open and welcoming to everyone, shun her for sharing a common descendent of one of their most beloved members? Had Adam rescued her from what now seemed a fate worse than death—growing up in the Aliomenti stronghold as daughter of the tyrant in charge—but was unwilling to test how others in the group might react? Perhaps they didn’t want Arthur to find out. That made sense in her youth; Arthur could learn the truth of a second daughter and send the full force of the Aliomenti upon them all to retrieve her as if she was Helen of Troy abducted by Paris. She wrinkled her nose at the obvious relationship flaws in the analogy, then frowned again. The logic still seemed faulty. She had sufficient power to defend herself; the truth, if that was the truth, was no further danger to her.

  The mental machinations had tired her. She set her head back against the comfortable chair, let her body relax, and fell asleep.

  The alarms sounded what seemed seconds later, alerting her that she’d docked outside the Cavern. They’d expanded the pod system by building more pods and adding longer tracks to account for the expanded fleet of submarines and flying craft capable of “flying” underwater. She shook herself awake and watched as the glowing red stripe of the next pod approached in the complete darkness outside, two frigid miles beneath the ocean’s surface. The glowing red stripe reached her craft and she teleported inside. The pod was empty. As it slid along the track, three others popped aboard. Gena knew the red stripe outside grew fainter as more people joined, until it went dark with a full pod. Fifteen minutes later, the four passengers teleported themselves out onto the beach.

  Gena looked around, took a deep breath, and set off for Adam’s house. She didn’t notice the artificial rainstorm, ignored the automated eateries, and avoided eye contact and conversation outside superficial greetings to those she knew well.

  She knocked at Adam’s door when she arrived and waited for him to answer. When he failed to do so after two minutes, she tried the handle and found it unlocked. She shut the door quietly behind her, calling out a greeting to Adam in the event anyone saw her enter. They’d think Adam was home, that he’d invited her in, and therefore nothing was amiss.

  She did a quick Energy scan of the house. He wasn’t there, which meant she couldn’t confront him with her new knowledge and see if he wavered a bit. She’d have to look for answers herself.

  Like all others in the Cavern, Adam’s house was necessarily small, with just a kitchen, living space, and bedroom. She opened the closet door in the bedroom, but found nothing suggesting enough space or equipment to keep a tiny baby alive on life support for some unknown period of time. She shook her head. No, it wasn’t unknown. Her birthday was January 7, 2010; she’d arrived at the orphanage on September 9. She found it strange that no one had noticed the gap before, but she now knew he’d kept her alive for nine months before they’d taken her to the orphanage. She sucked in her breath. That was incredible dedication.

  But that didn’t help her locate his hidden lab. Where would he put something meant to be kept away from prying eyes, out of the public spotlight?

  She snapped her fingers. Of course. He’d build something underground, just like Hope Stark had done with the bunker beneath her home. That had to be the answer. If not here, if not under his house… the lab could be literally anywhere in the world. It had to be here.

  Gena settled herself into a comfortable chair, closed her eyes, and allowed her sight to travel with her Energy as it moved down beneath the surface of the house. She saw only darkness as she moved farther and farther beneath the surface. She didn’t provide any illumination, expecting that any hidden room would have lighting. She wondered how far she’d travel before she’d need to widen her search zone when faint light invaded her remote senses. She allowed her virtual eyes to adjust.

  She was looking at a laboratory, and one of the old-model cloning machines dominated the space. It reminded her of the machines installed at Peter and Judith’s house during that awful day three decades earlier, a day when Mark had chosen to die rather than accept help from just such a machine. The cloning machine didn’t look quite as sleek as those models, suggesting it was an older model. That made sense; she’d been born in 2010 and had only seen another cloning machine in 2030. Two decades of progress around here meant a lot of progress. She recalled her Energy and senses, gave herself a moment to acclimate to having her sight sourced from her physical eyes, and teleported into the room she’d seen.

  The warmth welcomed her like an old friend, dancing against her skin and triggering a cooling sheen of sweat. It was only as she began fanning herself that she realized how cold Adam’s primary residence was. Had he piped all of the heat down to this room to keep her w
arm as she grew, and never bothered to change things back once she’d left? She shivered. Just how much had he sacrificed on her behalf?

  She activated the lights, allowed her eyes to adjust, and moved toward the only piece of equipment in the room that concerned her.

  Gena touched the surface inside the open container atop the cloning machine. The texture triggered a flood of memories. It was the surface she’d rested upon for some unknown period of time—nine months, maybe more?—a surface her skin knew intimately. It was a place she’d nearly died many times, saved only by Adam’s care and attention and wizardry. She looked more closely, squinting, before gingerly picking up the single dark hair remaining on the small mattress.

  A chill ran through her. This was her hair. Had it fallen out during the occasions when she’d tested the limits of death? Or had she shed it during her last moments in that artificial womb, before Eva had whisked her away to a small town orphanage? She didn’t know, but she knew it belonged to her.

  A thought crossed her mind. It was more than a thought; it was the potential answer to her question, provided by a tiny hair shed decades earlier. She looked around, found a stack of supplies, and located a box of small plastic bags. She deposited the hair inside a bag and sealed the bag. She teleported back to the main room and glanced around. She felt for any Energy movement inside or outside the walls. Finding no indication that anyone was nearby, she left the house with a vocalized farewell to the absent owner, closing the door behind her.

  Gena set out at a brisk pace for the far side of the underground city. The massive building soon appeared, dwarfing all others in the underground city. Sitting on the opposite side of the Cavern from the beach, the Labs housed hundreds of meeting and testing rooms of various sizes, storage rooms, and all manner of equipment. It had its own separate electrical generator to power the more ambitious experiments. The Labs also featured storage rooms for the blood samples drawn from those wishing to give reproduction options to their offspring.

  She marched into the blood storage room, a room as cool as Adam’s primary residence, where a technician named Clint busied himself. Decades earlier, Clint had spoken to Will Stark in a manner widely believed to trigger the latter’s confrontation with the Hunters outside an Aliomenti-operated casino. Will Stark hadn’t been seen publicly since. That wasn’t completely accurate. Will hadn’t been seen by many since. A handful of Alliance members, posing as humans, had seen Will as he’d unleashed a tsunami of Energy that summoned the Hunter to Pleasanton. But that information hadn’t widely circulated. Clint, who’d been operating under the hypnotic influence of the Aliomenti, was devastated, and had as a penance allowed himself to be captured by the Hunters. He’d spent decades inside the Aliomenti prison, helping others escape. He now spent his time in these labs working on various mundane tasks, while his body and mind recovered from the horrors he’d witnessed.

  “Hi there, Gena!” His voice was sprightly. “How can I help you?”

  She pulled out the small baggie. “I was going through my closet and found an old book there. There was no name inside. When I flipped through the pages this hair fell out. I wonder if it might tell me who the original owner was so I can return it.”

  Clint’s face flooded with interest. “Ah, a bit of detective work! Very interesting. What was the book?”

  She’d anticipated that question and had an answer ready. “It was an original edition of The Three Musketeers. I suspect that means it was one of our older members.”

  Clint nodded. “Interesting choice of reading material.” He took the baggie from Gena, removed the hair, and moved to the DNA machine before dropping it inside. “You know, they say that’s the book that the man we call Porthos read before recommending the names of the Hunters to the Leader. The more senior members of the Aliomenti had been encouraged to discard the names provided by their human parents.” He shrugged. “I guess the names stuck, huh?”

  Gena nodded. She’d encountered Porthos before, only once, back in the time she’d thought of herself as human. He’d elicited from her the fact that Will Stark was married, and had judged her worthy of death for that assistance. “I’ve avoided reading the book myself for that reason. No real interest in hearing or reading the Hunters’ names more than necessary.”

  Clint grimaced. “Sorry about that. I was just feeling a bit nostalgic, I guess.”

  The machine beeped, and Clint moved around to the other side and glanced at the readout. “Well, this is interesting.”

  “How so?” Gena asked. She felt her breathing accelerate, felt the blood pounding in her head. Was he about to tell her the name of at least one parent? Or would he tell her the hair didn’t have a close match among all of the Alliance membership?

  “The machine found a match all right. But I’m not sure you’ll be able to return the book to the original owner.”

  Gena felt a chill down her back. The hair matched someone else, someone here, just as she’d hoped. The match would be someone closely related to her. A parent. A sibling. Perhaps a cousin. “Why is that?”

  Clint glanced at the screen once more, as if confirming he’d read the name correctly. “Because the owner of the book has gone deep undercover, and you won’t find Will Stark unless he wants to be found.”

  The truth hit her like a sledgehammer.

  Adam hadn’t been in the hospital on the day of her birth by chance.

  He’d been there to witness Will Stark’s birth.

  Her twin brother.

  It meant more than that. Adam hadn’t kept her alive for nine months.

  “Fifteen years,” she whispered.

  The world went dark as she fainted and fell to the ground.

  VII

  Reconciled

  2062 A.D.

  Angel sat at the table in the rear room of the church, folded her arms atop the plastic surface, and blew out a deep breath of air that threatened to dislocate the curls delicately crafted by the hairdresser. Sulking was far more satisfying than dealing with reality.

  The thrum of the organ traveled through the stone floor of the centuries-old building, tickling the soles of her feet. The introductory music played, inviting guests to their seats for the upcoming celebration. The organ’s thrum faded into the background, overwhelmed by the sounds of high heels and dress shoes marching into the nave, where family and friends eagerly awaited the appearance of the bride and groom. Angel peeked over her shoulder. Sarah looked beautiful, radiant, and jubilant, laughing as the stylist made last-second alterations to her long, flowing gown.

  She returned her eyes to their forward-facing position and blew on her hair again. This was going to happen. She could do nothing more to prevent her brother from making a huge mistake.

  The media loved the story. An inventor met with a self-styled investment first to tout his revolutionary inventory and ask for money. Tipped off by an old high school sweetheart that trouble might arise, he’d stowed a parachute in his computer bag. When the presentation ended, the energy company’s security forces moved in to seize his prototype, computer, notes… and end his life. With the help of his old friend, he was able to make his way to the roof, and the two of them donned their parachutes and leaped from the building, gliding to safety outside the city limits. Video footage of the attack inside the building stairwell confirmed the story. Private investors flocked to the young man, who built his factories and ushered in an era of cheap electrical power for the home, free of concerns about the safety and stability of the “grid.”

  And his old high school sweetheart, who alerted him to the threat and aided in his escape? The two of them would be married this day.

  Angel admitted the cover story of the parachutes worked; nobody could recall seeing a pair of parachutes gliding above the city streets, but most people walking city streets looked down at the pavement.

  But this was her brother, not some tabloid caricature living a life out of a romance novel, a life lived to sell books, magazines, and products rather than fin
ding legitimate true love.

  Her objections went unspoken to Fil. He’d patiently explained that the love between them was genuine and real, that he’d found with Sarah a happiness he’d never before experienced. He’d begged her to accept Sarah’s invitation to be part of her bridal party, for him if not for her future sister-in-law. A sense of familial obligation won out and she’d agreed.

  She glared at her dress. A foolish decision. She couldn’t now slip out and avoid this catastrophe without creating a scene.

  Once more, she waited, sulked, and tested the limits of personal wind power in relation to her coiffed locks. Perhaps she could blow her hair clean off her scalp.

  The thought of losing hair reminded her of her mother.

  That was another problem. They could live lifetimes, both of them. Why couldn’t they wait until they heard from their parents? Shouldn’t they be here on a day like this? Angel stopped breathing. Perhaps her parents sat in the crowd, disguised in some unrecognizable form. Her seventh sense registered them more strongly than she could recall. She gulped. Would her parents stop this foolishness from the shadows since she’d failed?

  “Can I talk to you?”

  Angel jumped. Sarah’s ability to remain silent to all her senses angered and frightened her. If Sarah could hide her thoughts, feelings, and emotions from Angel… what might she hide from her future husband?

  She turned and pasted a fake smile on her face. “Sure.”

  The two women moved deeper into the room, seeking a private spot for their conversation. They huddled in a corner, away from chaotic final chattering and makeup touchup for the remaining bridesmaids. “What can I do for you?”

  “Nothing,” Sarah said. “I’m more interested in what I can do for you.”

  “Nothing,” Angel said. “There’s nothing you can do for me.”