Daughter of Destiny

by HC Playa

  DAUGHTER OF DESTINY

  BY HC PLAYA

  Copyright © 2014 HC Playa

  Published by Pro Se Press at Smashwords

  The stories in this publication are fictional. All of the characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is purely coincidental. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the permission in writing of the publisher.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  I would like to thank the many people who have helped me along my journey of discovery in the world of writing. From that first "what if" conversation with Brigitte that spawned not only a series, but unearthed a passion, through years of editing and re-writes and critiques from fellow writers, I appreciate all of the assistance. I became a better writer through your help. I especially want to thank Denise for reading this untold numbers of times and culling those pesky typos. Last, I would like to thank Anne for both her invaluable opinions and insight, but most importantly for being the best friend I've always wanted.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Prologue

  Blinding sunlight reflected off the surface of the pewter urn. Rows and rows of newly turned earth baked in the Texas heat. Beside Katarina, Naia shook with loud heart rending sobs. The crowd of mourners which attended her mother's funeral a week ago made no appearance today. No one but close relatives bothered to attend any more. People were dying too fast.

  She and Naia watched as a weather worn man shoveled desiccated soil until her father's grave became one more patch of disturbed clay. At least twenty workers carried out similar duties within sight. Katarina stared at the rows and counted the plots of new graves, counting the number of victims. She stopped when she reached a hundred and fifty and realized the plots went farther than she could see.

  The most deadly virus in human history struck with the stealth of the common cold, but inserted deadly oncogenes. Those cancerous time bombs sent cells into mitotic frenzy, which then spit out more copies of the virus. Katarina closed her eyes as data ran through her head. Reaper. It has a ninety-five percent morbidity rate, average virus replication rate of ten hours, and incubation period is three days. Nothing to date kills it.

  Naia released her grief and despair in an ocean of tears, but Katarina's eyes remained dry. Anger burned hot in her gut. No one listened. She warned them. She showed them the data, the lists, the genetic analysis, but they brushed her off. Without the reputation acquired through degrees and age, her voice fell on deaf ears. Like the ancient Greek oracle Cassandra, she prophesied and no one believed.

  Reaper stole any hope of reconciliation with her parents. It stole the answers she needed to understand the strange abilities she possessed. It granted her the curse of being its discoverer. If left unchecked, Reaper would sweep across the planet and rob humanity of the advances forged from the sacrifices of generations before her.

  Katarina put her arm around Naia's shoulder and urged her to stand. "I found Reaper. I'll stop it. You have my word."

  Naia sniffed and a hiccup shook her whole body. She gazed up at Katarina with puffy, red rimmed eyes, but a fire burned in them. "How can I help?"

  Chapter 1

  Memphis, Tennessee, Thirteen years later

  The fume hood in the lab provided background white noise as she poured over the clinical trial results. Across three separate computer screens she cross referenced dosages and genetic variances, but still the solution eluded her. The engineered retro virus still lacked something critical. Sure, patients scrambled to benefit from the fifty percent survival rather than the mere five percent of a non-treated patient, but it felt like playing Russian roulette with their lives.

  "Eo tere mio fa."

  Katarina jerked upright in her chair as a telepathic voice slammed into her mind. "What the—"

  "Eo tere mio fa."

  She shook her head at her foolish mistake. Alone in the building, she relaxed her guard and paid less attention to her mental walls. She closed her eyes and reinforced her barriers, as her mother taught her when she was a small child.

  "Eo tere mio fa."

  "Seriously?" She raised a hand and rubbed at the exhaustion headache which drilled into her temples. Whoever was thinking so damn loud didn't seem to be speaking to her, but to get through her walls implied more than mere thoughts. Another telepath? The idea snagged her attention, but she dismissed it as wishful thinking. No doubt she just underestimated her exhaustion level.

  "Eo tere mio fa."

  Katarina saved her files shut down her computer. No one thought the same darn thing that many times unless they were meditating. She sighed. Was it too much to ask that she get a few hours without people's thoughts pressing against her mental walls?

  Katarina glanced at her watch as she stretched her legs out in front of her. "Four o'clock? Jeeze. Lights off," she said. The fluorescent lights blinked out. Not even the pale green glow of instrument panels penetrated the blackness. She closed her eyes to snatch some sleep before morning dawned.

  "Eo tere mio fa."

  "Oh, for heaven's sake!" Once again she attempted to block him out, but it was as if having lowered her walls enough to allow the voice in, her brain tuned refused to change channels. She let her telepathic powers surge and sent out the mental equivalent of a shout.

  "WILL YOU SHUT UP!?"

  Silence answered her. Her lips curved in a small triumphant smile.

  ***

  "Kat!" Naia’s voice pierced the fog of slumber with its sharp tone. Katarina’s eyes snapped open and focused on a precariously piled stack of plasti. She stared at it for a moment. The low hum of the fume hood and the distant sounds of voices and buzzing comms finally clued her brain into the fact that she wasn't at home in bed.

  "This has to stop, Kat. It isn't healthy. Since I moved out, you all but live in the lab. When was the last time you went home?"

  Katarina sat up, letting her muscles un-kink. She frowned down at her wrinkled blouse and slacks. "I'm fine Naia. Stop worrying."

  "Someone has to." She held a hand up as Katarina opened her mouth to rebut Naia's comment. "You push yourself too hard."

  Katarina ignored the hand, stood up, and shoved her desk chair aside. "Trust me, Naia. Sitting on my butt at home is more likely to kill me than being useful here."

  Naia pushed aside the mountain of plasti sheets, sending several tumbling across the desk and a couple clattered to the floor. She perched on the corner of the desk. "Bullshit. Besides, who appointed you savior of the world?"

  Katarina retrieved the sheets of plasti and tossed them on her desk. She wadded up her lab coat and dumped it in her chair. "Better I save a few lives than destroy them."

  "Huh?"

  "Are you blind, Naia? I have to push myself."

  "Maybe if you actually talked to me like you used to, I would know what you're talking about. I have no clue what goes on in your head anymore."

  "It's not my head that's the problem."


  Katarina glanced around the room and spotted an empty box set by the door for the janitor to collect. She flung her palm out and blue-white light hit the box. It used to take days to build up enough energy to do that, but now a few hours of sleep sufficed. The box burned so fast it seemed solid one second and a pile of ash the next.

  "That's why I work for two or three days straight until my brain screams for REM sleep. That's why I spend at least two hours a day running through katas until my muscles shake with fatigue, but damn it; it isn't enough anymore. My brain was so mushy last night some guy got through my blocks. Worse, I violated my own damn rules and told him to shut up, and not verbally either."

  Katarina didn't want to stick around to hear Naia's reply. Everyone else had deemed her a freak and turned their back maybe Naia would finally do so too. A part of her hoped she would. If she did, Katarina no longer had to fear losing control one day and hurting her best friend.

  "I’m going to freshen up in the ladies’ room." She left without meeting Naia’s gaze.

  In the restroom, Katarina splashed her face with lukewarm water that smelled of chlorine and rust. She wished the antiquated sink provided hot water, but water heaters cost money and the university only turned them on when code enforcement officers came snooping. She stared at her damp image in the mirror.

  "You’re a freak," she told her reflection. Katarina shook her head in disgust and then dug into her black hole of a purse to find a hairbrush. She considered it a small miracle when at last her fingers closed around the handle. When she faced the mirror again to tame her tangled locks, her vision dimmed. Instead of her own face looking back at her, a striking male visage with deep brown eyes, set in a chiseled golden face, and surrounded by a curtain of raven black hair stared back at her. "Qi esa?" Before she could even blink, the image dissolved as did the brief telepathic connection.

  Katarina stumbled backward. Her hand clenched around her hairbrush. "Damn it! How did I let that happen?"

  "Let what happen?"

  Katarina startled at the sound of Naia’s voice echoing in the small bathroom. Katarina took a couple of deep breaths before speaking.

  "What?"

  "I’m not an idiot, Kat." Naia folded her arms under her breasts and struck a very familiar pose with her hip cocked and one booted foot tapping the floor.

  "I don’t want to discuss it."

  Katarina finished cleaning up as best she could. Her hands trembled and she clutched her purse to hide the evidence of her fractured calm. The memories that fought to surface eroded her now tenuous control.

  Naia marched over and poked Katarina in the arm. "You won't frighten me off, Kat. I love you, and that's that. Ever since Mom and Dad died you've pulled inside yourself. You even stopped using your telepathy. Did it ever occur to you that maybe instead of trying to bottle your talents you should use them?"

  A twinge of guilt pricked her conscious for allowing Naia to assume that grief guided her actions. Katarina moved her shoulders and feigned a shrug. "I don’t see why I should accept so called gifts that cause me pain more than anything."

  Naia placed a hand on her arm. "Kat, you need to stop acting as if you are only half alive. Your telepathy, these powers, they are part of you. Use them. Finding out more about the vision you just had sounds like an excellent place to start."

  "I didn't say I had a vision."

  Naia scowled and removed the hand on Katarina's arm and wagged her finger. "Don't give me that bull. I'm worried about what will happen to you if you keep going as you are."

  "Maybe I buried it because it needs to die."

  Naia put her hands on her hips. "You can't kill a part of yourself, not without damaging the whole person."

  Katarina averted her eyes from Naia's perceptive gaze. Naia didn't know what she was asking. The power both called and repulsed her. Nevertheless, the vision of the man piqued her curiosity. Why was she hearing him? What did seeing him mean? Perhaps she could use her telepathy without tapping into the other power.

  Naia continued her lecture. "You know very well your gifts are not all bad."

  "I know, but the price is steeper than you know." She turned and took a few steps away from Naia. She might recognize the pain of memories in Katarina's eyes.

  Naia grumbled, "Stubborn woman."

  Katarina stared at the wall in front of her. Time and lack of funds left the institutional white paint cracked and peeling, but it held no answers for her. Naia's heels clicked on the bathroom floor and then the door creaked open. Disappointment, anger, and a longing that Katarina understood more than Naia could ever guess radiated from the woman who was a sister in all but blood. Naia wanted the old Kat back, but she was gone, lost in the past. She couldn't give Naia the old Kat, but she could try to make Naia happy.

  "Naia, wait."

  Naia let the door swing shut again and waited, but she had to step aside when the bathroom door squeaked open again and Ms. Anderson, the research technician in the lab next door, walked in.

  “Oh, morning Naia. I didn't hit you with the door did I?"

  “Morning, Sarah. No, you're fine." Naia moved out of Ms. Anderson's way and her smile faded when Katarina came into view.

  “Good morning, Dr. O'Brian."

  Katarina nodded acknowledgment of the greeting. “Ms. Anderson."

  Ms. Anderson scurried into the nearest stall. Katarina waited for the stall door to close and then said, “We’ll talk later, Naia." Katarina preferred an OSHA surprise inspection over talking within hearing of the biggest gossip in the department.

  Naia nodded. “Tonight?"

  “Yes, I promise."

  ***

  "Where did that thing go?" Katarina dug in her purse for several minutes. Naia timed it, but Katarina failed to set a new record. She patted her pocked and triumphantly pulled out her key remote. Naia rolled her eyes and shook her head. Katarina placed her palm on the reader. It confirmed her identity, disarmed, and the door swished open.

  Once inside, Katarina called out, "Lights. Evening setting." Naia followed her in just as the recessed lighting blinked on, chasing away the shadows. The eclectic collection of twentieth and early twenty-first century lamps around the room remained dark, awaiting a human touch.

  Katarina strode into the room depositing her briefcase on a sagging brown chair. She shed the rest of her belongings in a haphazard trail as she flicked on a few lamps. A lighter sitting on the coffee table served to light several candles that sat on various surfaces throughout the room. Naia parked all of her things by the hideous sofa and then stopped to examine her reflection in the antique, decorative mirror hanging on the wall.

  "What do you think? Should I go green or blue next?" Naia asked as she raked her hand through her purple, spiked hair.

  "Do I have to choose?"

  Naia laughed. “I'll ask Robert. He likes my hair."

  "Of course he says he likes it. You know where he sleeps."

  Naia harrumphed and abandoned her reflection. She turned and grimaced at the familiar, but annoying sight of Katarina’s living room. At least the flickering candlelight softened the tackiness of the room and almost succeeded in making it charming. Naia perched on the sofa’s arm while Katarina tidied up a bit, or rather relocated piles of research journals, books, and old junk mail from the sofa to other unoccupied surfaces.

  She smiled as Katarina frowned at a piece of plasti, muttered to herself, and laid it down while moving a pile of laundry. After transferring the laundry to her room she returned to the living room and glanced around with a puzzled expression.

  "I just had the damn thing. Where’d it go?"

  Naia considered telling her to look on the back of the sofa, but found it more amusing to watch Katarina hunt for it. Naia counted and three minutes elapsed before Katarina found the plasti by placing her hand on it by mere accident. Who would think this woman was a genius? Then again, operating on a few hours of sleep might numb brain cells in anyone.

  "I’m going to take a
quick shower and change into something more comfortable," Katarina said and then put the slip of plasti on her desk.

  "Good idea." Naia said. She leaned down and with an experienced tug, slipped off her spike-heeled boots. She breathed a sigh of relief as she stretched her arches and wiggled her toes.

  "Why don’t you raid the kitchen and see if there is anything decent to drink?" Katarina called over her shoulder as she left the room.

  As soon as the water turned on in Katarina's bathroom, Naia’s skin-tight cat suit followed the boots. She rummaged through her small bag and pulled out a faded shirt. Robert’s old t-shirt stopped a couple of inches above her knees. She could just catch his musky scent in the fabric. That small essence conjured images of his hard body wrapped around hers, both of them relaxed and sated. She sighed and hugged the shirt close after slipping it over head. She wandered around the living room in her bare feet.

  She didn’t bother to contain her shudder as she surveyed the room. Katarina’s tastes, or rather lack thereof, continued to baffle her even after all of these years. An ugly plaid couch, whose repulsive color defied its extreme comfort, held court among the flea market rejects in the middle of the living room. Naia made a mental note to buy a sofa cover. Kat might not care or even notice, but at least she wouldn’t go blind looking at the hideous sofa every time she came over.

  Despite the color-clashing decor, every item held a memory. She tiptoed past the fish on the wall, hoping it wouldn't bust out singing, but she passed safely. Kat must have forgotten to find replacement power cells. The sound of running water ceased, so Naia headed into the kitchen. She picked up a hard candy sitting in a bowl on the counter, un-wrapped it, and popped it in her mouth. Tart lemon tang made her saliva glands water and she sucked in her cheeks for a minute before getting accustomed to the sour flavor. Naia eyed the bowl, wondering if they were all sour. The clear cellophane divulged nothing, but she refused to act like a little kid at Easter taking a bite out of each one.