Howl of the Wolf (Heirs to the Throne Book 1)

by Diane Rapp

  Questions plagued Donovan. How many assassins worked in league with Fremont? Was this meeting an Institute trap? Everyone in this room could be a target, massacred in one fell swoop with the blame placed on anti-technology radicals. He scrutinized famous faces as they entered the room and felt tension radiate from the crowd like a wall of heat. Donovan mentally shook himself. He’d been spending too much time in the company of empaths. He’d rather work on a robot salvage tanker than share “feelings” with everyone.

  He met Dr. Alexander’s gaze and forced a crooked smile. Could the good doctor read thoughts in a room filled with people? Alex shifted his lanky frame in the plastifoam chair, greeting Jerome, Stewart, and Hartman as they joined him on the dais.

  Donovan sighed. How could he protect the four most important scientists in the galaxy? His gaze darted around the room, suspicious of everyone but detecting no danger. It was an exciting day. If the situation were not so deadly serious, he might almost enjoy himself. How many of these scientists attended the meeting that announced the miracle of Transfer to the galaxy? How many spans passed since that day?

  Spans. Transfer influenced the way men measured time counting spans rather than years; every fifty years the Institute granted permission for a person to Transfer into a perfect clone. Together genetic manipulation and Transfer eliminated death, old age, and disease, but the price tag was high, life-long dependence on the Institute. Unable to pay for the high cost of Transfer, people signed contracts to work off the debt, sacrificing freedom for immortality. Their debt to the Institute was never gone.

  Donovan noticed that dark hollows outlined the doctor’s pale eyes. Fatigue plagued the entire crew, but Alex roamed the Zebulon like a ghost, feeling responsible for the death of his friends. It was time to stop asking questions or assigning blame. Murder tainted Transfer and it was time to act.

  As if prompted by Donovan’s thoughts, Alex stood. “This special meeting is called to order.” A hush swept the room as plastifoam desks creaked and eyes focused on the dais.

  “This meeting was called to examine the increase of Transfer failure. Kindly direct your attention to your desk monitors.”

  Faces glowed in the bluish radiance of vidscreen panels built into each desktop.

  “It’s been nearly 60 spans since we perfected Transfer, eradicating failure by employing skilled empaths to monitor the procedure. However, during the last year our Transfer failure rate spiked to an alarming level.”

  Silence hung like a shroud.

  Alexander gestured at his companions on the dais. “As inventors of Transfer, we investigated and found no tangible cause. The equipment works, empaths detect no impending rejection, and genetic modifications remain within acceptable tolerance levels.”

  Dr. Jerome took the floor, his bulky frame leaning forward as he addressed the audience in a soft bass voice. “There is one factor common to failure victims.” The vidscreens changed to a mortality list. “Members of one specific group are dying rapidly—the members of this society.”

  Shocked murmurs broke the silence, but Jerome’s booming voice cut through the discord. “Members of this Society risk failure at levels reaching nearly ninety percent. We have been targeted for elimination.”

  “Who would do such a thing?” several voices asked in unison.

  “The Institute,” Dr. Stewart calmly announced. The crowd erupted. Dr. Stewart held his hands up in a pleading gesture. “Hear us out! We’ve become a threat to the Institute.”

  “Absurd!” Belding scoffed.

  Dr. Jerome bellowed, “Think about it! Regulations erode our freedom to conduct research, and we chafe under Institute control. Our Society is a threat to the power of the Institute.”

  “We formed the Institute! It can’t function without us,” Dr. Lowell objected.

  Dr. Jerome laughed. “Transfer technology is in place, operated by freshly conditioned minds.”

  “Mind conditioning is only used to cure psychotics. Conditioning healthy minds is prohibited,” Belding said.

  Dr. Stewart shook his head. “Conditioning is routinely practiced in all boarding schools.”

  “They can’t use our inventions in forbidden applications. It’s in our bylaws.”

  Dr. Alexander laughed. “Bylaws! Who enforces our bylaws? The Institute functions independently and no members of our Society currently serve on administration staff!”

  “How did that happen?”

  Alex shrugged. “Initially we hired administrators to run the business and perform clerical functions. During the war strong leaders emerged, who issued orders we found distasteful. Now the Institute has total control so we must die.”

  Dr. Alexander stared silently at the crowd. Donovan shifted his weight, preparing for trouble.

  Dr. Jerome said, “We must act. We can’t wait to be killed off one by one. Look around! Our colleagues are missing. You know it’s true!”

  Fremont interjected, “Have you consulted administration? Perhaps these executions of traitors were necessary.” Fremont’s voice faltered as Dr. Alexander’s steely gaze focused on him.

  “Traitors! Executions! You spout words used by governments! We formed the Institute for Scientific Research to promote life-saving research.”

  Fremont shouted, “The Institute is better than a government! They know what’s best for all of us!”

  “Really? Then why did the Institute ignite a war costing millions of lives?” Dr. Alexander asked.

  Fremont paled. “Anarchists intent on destroying society started that war.”

  “You are lying! Look at your monitor, Fremont!”

  “Monitor? You’ve scanned me?” Fremont jerked his hands away from the desktop.

  Donovan moved forward.

  Dr. Alexander nodded. “All your desks are wired with an invention of Hartman’s. The design originated from an old machine called a lie detector.”

  Fremont tried to leave his chair. Suddenly a blue haze surrounded the desk, forcing him to stay seated.

  Donovan relaxed. Trenton’s gizmo worked beautifully. He glanced at Trenton and nodded. Grinning, Trenton crossed his arms and leaned casually against the wall.

  Alex said, “You’re caught in a portable force field. We won’t allow you to leave just yet. Stewart, he’s your patient.”

  Dr. Stewart strolled toward Fremont. “Have you been a spy for the Institute, Fremont?” Stewart’s evenly modulated voice sounded soothing, but sweat beaded on Fremont’s forehead. Wild-eyed, he struggled against the force field.

  Dr. Stewart stood within a foot of Fremont. “Is it true that the Institute eliminates our Society members?”

  Fear turned into anger as Fremont glared at Stewart. “You won’t get answers from me, shrink!”

  Stewart smiled. “Shrink, an archaic term I’ve always found interesting. Was it derived because headhunters shrank heads, or the fear that revealing our inner thoughts might shrink our personalities?”

  Stewart leaned toward Fremont. “You can’t hide the truth. Your physical responses are displayed on everyone’s screen, so you don’t need to verbally answer my questions.” He turned to the crowd. “Fremont’s reaction to my question is positive.”

  Fremont glanced at the monitor. “No!” he shouted. “I didn’t say that!”

  “Don’t become agitated, we’ve independent proof.” A holographic image of Fremont flickered above the dais, hovering in the air. Angry murmurs rippled through the room as the crowd listened to Fremont’s image deliver his message to Jarrack.

  Dr. Stewart pointed at the holo. “Don’t deny your own testimony. Is it true the Institute started the war?”

  Fremont’s face turned crimson. He shouted, “You sniveling cowards were beaten long before the war! Yes, we started the war! We eliminated enemies and gained total control over the company. It’s too late! You’re all doomed.” As Fremont laughed the monitors confirmed the truth.

  Donovan ground his teeth. He thought of all his friends who died during the war, good
honest people. Resisting an urge to blast the traitor with a laser, he turned to see anger reflected in faces throughout the room.

  Dr. Alexander sighed. “Are there any other questions for our subject?”

  “Why eliminate us?” Belding shouted.

  Fremont leaned back in his chair with a sarcastic grin. “You resisted our methods and we knew you’d cause trouble. If you develop an alternative to Transfer, we’d be out of business.”

  Humphrey shouted, “You murdered my family!”

  Fremont sneered. “We provided the catalyst for a war that was already brewing, but we did not fire the bombs.” Suddenly Fremont froze in mid-gesture, his chair and three others engulfed within a steady blue glow.

  Dr. Hartman explained, “We’ve frozen Fremont and his confederates in a temporary stasis field. We didn’t want them to hear our escape plans. The stasis fields will dissolve well after our departure schedule. They can’t harm us further.”

  “A vote is in order,” Dr. Jerome said.

  “What kind of vote?” Belding asked. “What’s the plan?”

  “An organized exodus,” Dr. Jerome said. “We’ll escape before Institute assassins come after us.”

  Shouting broke out but Dr. Alexander raised his hands for silence. “We formulated an evacuation stratagem, including diversions to draw attention from our destinations. Given enough luck, we’ll elude the Institute. Do I hear a motion?”

  “I move that we adopt the escape plan,” Humphrey said.

  “I second the motion,” Stewart added.

  “All in favor press your hands on the monitors.” Dr. Alexander squinted at the screen. “It’s unanimous. I applaud your excellent judgment. Now, pay close attention, as we have limited time.”

  As the Zebulon crew passed out hard copies of lists and diagrams, Donovan took the dais. “We split the membership into teams and assigned leaders to make all final decisions. Separate lists of habitable planets are provided to each team. There are no duplications and after making your choice, do not reveal your destination to anyone outside your team. If captured one team can’t divulge the secret location of another. Our schedule allows fourteen days to prepare until departure. It’s important that all teams flee on the same day. Good luck.”

  Donovan glanced at their enemies. Helplessly frozen in a blue light, each man stared into space with eerie eyes. Donovan shuddered. The Institute lost this skirmish, but who would win the war? He felt determined to ensure the survival of his team.

  3 ~ On Drako ~ Earth Calendar 3155

  Kriegen summoned his designated host. It was time. Still, he worried whether the young host could handle such awesome responsibility. Had he been ready at that age? Gazing into young eyes, Kriegen recognized youth, vigor, and eagerness. Kriegen’s body ached, his shaggy coat contained more gray than black, and his dim eyes drooped with fatigue. Yes, it was time.

  Are you ready to fulfill your duties as host? Kriegen asked.

  Ears flicked forward as the youngster’s tail thumped with enthusiasm. My training is complete and I am prepared.

  Prepared? Did this young whelp understand his future? Kriegen growled, but the sound issued from his aging body like a groan. Tendra rushed forward and snapped at the youngster. Why disturb Kriegen as his strength diminishes? There is no time for conversation with worthless cubs!

  The youngster cowered. Kriegen summoned me to join him.

  Kriegen gazed into Tendra’s young face, searching for a sign of his old mate, lost only a few moons past. My love, he speaks the truth. This body outlives its purpose much as yours did. We summoned him.

  Tendra’s head hung low.

  Kriegen sighed, understanding Tendra’s reluctance to lose him. He eyed the youngster. We must ask the questions.

  I stand ready to answer. His tail swished, and his face said get on with it old one.

  You memorized the lessons but might fail to understand the meaning. Without hosting a line, you exist as single entity. Do you know what it means to host the voices? Never will your mind be alone, free to think your own thoughts, live your own life without your ancestors hearing and giving advice. Are you willing to forego individuality?

  Shocked, the young wolf hesitated. His nostrils flared, and he flattened his ears in submission. Gazing into the unflinching stare of the old wolf, the youngster said, What other destiny may I choose? Roaming the countryside as a lone wolf, living without the knowledge and advice of my ancestors? A life alone is more frightening than living as a host. If I host an ancestor line, I learn our history from those who lived it, and may help improve the line with my own deeds.

  Impressed, Kriegen relaxed. He stretched to ease the ache in his old bones. We accept your reasoning, my son. Many seasons ago this entity hosted the line of Kriegen and never regretted the joining. It’s difficult to remember living a life without the company of our ancestor minds, and would hate the thought of it now. We hear your true choice. Kriegens of our line, meet your new host.

  The young wolf felt a warm tingling inside his scull as minds gently touched his barriers. He lowered the walls. As each entity approached, he viewed scenes from a life lived long ago, absorbing the entities and learning their history.

  He beheld the peaceful time before the two-legs arrived, witnessed first contact and the forming of the Forest Guardians. The pack observed two-legs and protected the hunting grounds. As two-legs swarmed over the land from the highest mountains to the desert and into fertile valleys, other packs joined their surveillance. The Council of Elders established a pattern of wary acceptance.

  Finally, the oldest entity touched his mind. He did not supply a visual diary to Kriegen, floating like a ghost the oldest mind said, Should you need my knowledge, I will provide guidance. Until that time I watch. The voice sounded strange, unlike the other wolf minds, but Kriegen accepted the hosting without further questions.

  Hours passed. The ancestors settled into a quiet place, separating their minds from that of their young host. The newest Kriegen in the ancient line, drifted to sleep.

  *****

  Filled with awe, Krystal watched children emerge from the shuttle. How long has it been since I’ve seen children? Spans. Seeing their faces aroused a deep longing. Why did I abandon my dream of raising a family? Wide eyes sparkled with excitement as the children entered the space station. Krystal smiled. This will be fun.

  “Welcome to space station Delta.” Her voice echoed inside the space helmet. “My name is Krystal, and I’m your guide during the space station tour. Please save your questions until we complete security processing.” She nodded at the teacher, who accompanied the group and led them into the pressure chamber.

  Krystal passed her ID across the scanner. The door closed silently, air hissed, and a green glow filled the chamber. She said, “These lights eliminate bacteria from downworld. We vigilantly maintain a sterile atmosphere onboard a hospital station.”

  As the lights changed from green to red, and the hissing sound diminished, Krystal monitored the gauges. “Atmosphere normal. Remove your space gear, activate your gravity boots, and line up.” The children acted well-behaved as they formed a single line. “As we enter the station, you’ll see color-coded corridors.

  “If loss of pressure occurs, your emergency pack beeps and an oxygen mask pops out. Position the mask firmly over your mouth and nose, breathe normally, and follow the flashing red light-trail to the nearest emergency pod. Remain inside the pod until notified.”

  Krystal scrutinized the young faces, as their fingers traced the lines on the corridor map. “Any questions?” she asked.

  The teacher said, “The children attended space camp and are acquainted with proper emergency protocols. Please continue with your little speech.”

  Krystal bristled. “Follow me, children. The blue light-trail leads to medical laboratory six. Walk on the right and yield to station traffic.” Krystal led the small group down the corridor. “Your gravity boots work by electromagnetic pulse. A micro-processor auto
matically adjusts the current based on your stride and releases your boot just before you step. Watch me.” She demonstrated a smooth stride. “Take a few steps to set the mechanism, and then maintain a steady pace. Soon you won’t notice the magnetic pull.”

  The sour-faced teacher looked awkward, moving in jerky strides. Krystal smirked and the children tried to stifle giggles.

  Krystal said, “Swing your arms to develop a rhythm. Don’t sway, just glide.” The children mastered the technique, but the teacher glowered as her gait remained wobbly.

  Tour-guide duty was usually a reprimand, dished out to Krystal because she requested transfer to the Zebulon. Most people coveted space station assignments; however, Krystal viewed the space station as a glorified prison. She couldn’t wait to join Dr. Alexander’s team.

  She’d worked for Alex many spans ago, and remembered thrilling life-saving discoveries that stimulated the intellect and honed her medical skills. She’d been transferred during the war, and today her work in the medical labs felt monotonous. They churned out bodies for profit.

  Stopping at the laboratory window, Krystal told the children, “Please observe the work in Medical Lab Six. Technicians skillfully operate components of Transfer equipment.” What a lie! Techs learned to operate only one piece of equipment, performing like robots, span after span.

  “The quality of work means the difference between life and death during Transfer.” The truth! I’ve heard about too many accidents lately. Is our quality slipping? “This area contains the genetic testing facilities. We screen patients for genetic anomalies that once killed patients.” Her explanation produced blank stares, since these children were never exposed to disease or death. I hardly remember the heartache of a patient dying, but now I’m afraid it will happen again.

  “At one time life expectancy was one single span of about eighty standard years. Imagine having just one short span to live a full life.” Young eyes widened in awe. “A team of four doctors developed the Transfer procedure. Dr. Alexander cloned the first human and created human parts for organ transplant,” Krystal explained. “In those days doctors replaced hearts, kidneys, livers, and other vital organs to prolong life. Clones still had hereditary defects. A genetic engineer, Dr. Jerome joined the team to solve the problem.”