Origin Equation

by Charles F Millhouse

  My Own took another step back. She was right. Uklavar can read minds. Has he been in mine? Does he know what I know? She cleared her throat and asked, “Are we going to Earth?”

  Uklavar’s gaze returned to My Own, and he said, “Not at this time. There is much to do. My army is out there somewhere and there is the Origin computer to consider. It must be dealt with – I should have done it an eon ago. While it exists, I am in danger.”

  “What can harm you My Greatness?” Gregaor asked.

  My Own wanted to slap the piss out of Gregaor. But she had a feeling it wouldn’t do any good. He was too far gone and in the creature’s grips. She hoped that if she succumbed to Uklavar’s will, she would have enough self-control to put a knife in her throat. She would rather be dead, than Uklavar’s puppet.

  “Your loyalty is unsurpassed. Not even Draco the Bold was as loyal, as you are Lord Xavier. And because of your loyalty I am rewarding you with a mission.”

  “I live to serve,” Gregaor said and threw out his chest.

  “I want you to take a shuttle back to Earth. Tell them that both exploration ships have been destroyed and you are the sole survivor of both ships. Warn them to stay away – and not to attempt a rescue.”

  “I am at your command,” Gregaor said.

  “While you are on Earth, I want you to seek out this hybrid intelligence, find it, study it while you await my arrival.”

  Gregaor snapped to attention and replied, “I will do as you wish Great One.”

  Uklavar narrowed his eyes on My Own and said, “You and I will take the seeker to the Milvon system. To a planet called Argoron, to prepare an attack on the Origin computer. Once we have possession of it, the information stored deep in its core will be mine, and the location of my army will be at hand.”

  My Own broke her gaze, she thought of her brother still on Origin’s planet. If Colin McGregor still drew breath – any attack on the planet would be met with deadly resistance. Her brow furrowed, skeptical, My Own hoped she was strong enough to face the consequences ahead.

  Tannador House, High Earth Orbit

  Home of Family Tannador

  October 9, 2442

  The door to Hek’Dara Tannador’s private chambers remained closed and Quinton Tannador waited outside – the moment he feared the most, was becoming a reality. It was only a few months ago that his father led a resistance against the other great houses to remain in control of the food processing facilities that the Tannador’s had been in control of since mankind moved into orbit of Earth three-hundred years ago.

  Now, Hek’Dara lay on his deathbed feet from Quinton on the other side of the door and there wasn’t anything he could do.

  A warm hand came to his back and Quinton turned to find Carmela Anders. The long corridor behind her was filled with distant family members, those Quinton only saw when there was a party, or money to be handed out. He drew his attention on his father’s companion.

  Carmela Anders was a handsome woman in her mid-fifties with short ginger hair and russet eyes. She wore a purple silk dress that drug the floor at her feet. She offered a comforting smile and interlocked her fingers inside those of Quinton’s right hand.

  House Tannador and House Anders had become close since the confrontation with House Orlander. The Orlanders were the security force for the Nine Houses and took it upon themselves to do the bidding of House Lexor, the family responsible for maintaining the ORACLE watcheyes and spreading hostilities between the Nine.

  “Has there been any word?” Carmela asked, her hand still tight inside Quinton’s.

  “None,” Quinton replied. “This happened so quickly.”

  “Things like this often do,” Carmela replied.

  Quinton’s lips thinned and turned up into a smile and he said, “You’re blunt, now I know why my father likes you.”

  “We know why he likes me,” Carmela said thrusting out her chest – her ample breasts pressing against the dress. “Most men do.”

  Quinton smiled wider. He eyed members of Carmela’s security team standing outside the main elevator. For a moment, he and Commander Martin shared a look. More than a fleeting glance. He nodded toward the officer and Martin nodded back.

  Martin had been Hek’Dara’s ally since Carmela made it known she had a small contingent of men – though the Union Charter expressly forbad any house having an army. But there was more to it than that. It was something Quinton didn’t notice until now. Each member of the security team looked remarkably similar, including Commander Martin. They all had that same chiseled jaw, and short narrow nose. They each had fair hair, some blends darker than others. But their height, all of them the same, almost six foot. Even the women in the small band, had unremarkable features – golden hair, tall in stature and formidable. They weren’t twins or identical, but it was clear that the members of the strike force were from the same gene pool. It gave Quinton a moment to pause and come up with some interesting hypothesis.

  Hek’Dara’s chamber door swooshed open and Doctor Breoak came out of the room – the tie around his neck loose, the gray shirt he wore stained with perspiration. His facial features downtrodden – his eyes sullen. He looked directly in Quinton’s eyes, but he didn’t have to say a thing.

  “How long Doctor?” Quinton asked.

  “Sometime soon, tonight maybe,” Breoak said shoving his hands in his trouser pockets – fumbling nervously. “I’m sorry, but there is nothing I can do for him. For a man in his late sixties I wouldn’t have thought his situation would deteriorate so quickly.”

  “Why – what made him suddenly get sick like this, Doctor?” Carmela asked.

  “Stress. Let’s face it – he’s been under considerable stress for the last several months, but even more so since the last Union meeting. And considering there hasn’t been another meeting since the last one – well... I’m sorry. I gave him something to rest, so he won’t be in pain. It’s just a matter of time.”

  Quinton didn’t reply. He stepped past the Doctor and stood at the entry to the chambers. Hek’Dara had a way of blaming himself for things out of his control. When the last Union meeting ended in gunplay, he hated himself for being the instigator of his small resistance. So much so, it drove him to an early grave.

  Carmela stepped up next to him and Quinton drew a breath, said, “I’d like to go in and see him alone if I may.”

  Carmela touched Quinton on the arm, and replied in a comforting voice, “Yes, of course.”

  The chamber smelled stale – an indescribable odor lingered in the air. The room was dark, except for a dim light over Hek’Dara’s bed. He lay there motionless, his stomach rose and fell with each labored breath. His skin had turned gray and lackluster. Quinton paused and for a fleeting moment wanted to run from the room, afraid of what was to come.

  As Quinton came closer to the bed, Hek’Dara turned his head toward him. He offered a painful smile and Quinton replied with a forced one of his own, trying not to look despondent.

  Hek’Dara reached out a hand and Quinton stepped forward. His father’s hand was chillingly cold. He stood there for a long minute staring into Hek’Dara’s milky white eyes when the old man drew a labored breath, Quinton moved closer to him.

  “It’s come to this,” Hek’Dara said, forcing out his words. He’d always had a bombastic tone, and as a child, Quinton would cower when his father went into one of his rants about family, honor and tradition.

  Quinton didn’t have a reply, didn’t know what to say.

  “Listen to me,” Hek’Dara said. “The Union has collapsed. Do you remember what I told you a long time ago about the Nine?”

  “Yes, I do,” Quinton said. Anarchy.

  “I always thought I would be able to withstand anything, but all I held dear has ended. Do not allow House Tannador to look weak, do not allow the other houses to run over you. It’s time to listen to your sister.”

  “What are you trying to tell me?”

  “Da’Mira has always been right, I was too st
upid to listen. Too stupid...” Hek’Dara fought for his next breath as if he refused to die before he had a chance to finish. “Migration away from the Earth is the only home mankind has left.”

  “Migration... you mean leave the Earth...? The Union charter expressly forbids...”

  A raging cough rose Hek’Dara out of the bed, his grip on Quinton’s hand tightened, and he forced out, “There is no longer a Union... only houses vying for power. House Tannador must be that power. We – YOU must lead.”

  “I don’t understand...”

  “Listen to me. Listen. I cannot explain, because I have no answers for what I am about to say. But your sister is involved... I know that much to be true. There is an evil out there in space, Quinton... an evil so terrifying it darkens my soul.”

  “An evil?” Quinton said trying to make sense of what his father was saying.

  “I have felt it – saw it firsthand. It eats away at our resolve and it will keep eating until there is nothing but hatred in our hearts. Carmela and Martin will corroborate this, and they will warn you the same as I. It’s coming son, it’s coming, and I fear for mankind’s survival. It is up to you to prepare humanity for it – lead son, lead.”

  Quinton grimaced, confused. Da’Mira was always the headstrong go getter in the family. She was a born leader not him. “Maybe things aren’t that bad, maybe we can save the Union.”

  With effort, Hek’Dara pulled Quinton close. His breath was sour and sickly, but his words were saccharine and pleading. “Don’t let them walk over you, my son,” he said. “Lead this house, carry on the bloodline... do this for me. Bring House Anders into House Tannador, you’ll need a union with them if any of us are to survive. Trust Carmela – she’s not telling me everything, but I trust her. I’ve always been on opposite poles of you and your sister. But if you’re going to trust me in one thing in your life, trust me in this and do as I wish. Will you do this for me, son?”

  Quinton tightened his grip and said, “I will do as you ask – I swear it.”

  Hek’Dara’s hand laxed, and drawing in another long breath, said, “Tell Da’Mira, tell her I was wrong... tell her I love her...” His body went limp in the bed, his darkened pupils rolled to the back of his head and Hek’Dara Tannador was gone.

  Quinton stood there for a time watching his father, trying to make sense out of what he said. The Union was gone and an evil from deep space was coming to Earth. The ramblings of a dying man... he wondered. How could he know these things...? How could he? Quinton needed to find Da’Mira, that much was certain.

  Placing his hand to Hek’Dara’s cheek, Quinton said in a barely audible voice, “House Tannador will prosper father, but I have to do it of my own accord – If my choices are a mistake, I will have to live with the consequences. I don’t think you would have done it any other way.”

  Carmela stood at the door when Quinton came out of Hek’Dara’s chamber. He didn’t have to tell her of his father’s fate. By the downtrodden look on her face, she knew Hek’Dara was gone. She reached out for Quinton, but he took a step back and she stopped in her advance.

  “I’m sorry for your loss, Lord Tannador,” Carmela said.

  Quinton replied with a thin smile and said, “He was very fond of you Lady Anders. He spoke of a union between our houses, hoped it would be possible.”

  Carmela’s expression was blank, but said, “I can see a time where our houses could merge into one, yes.”

  “He also told me he wanted me to mend the hostilities between the Nine and reinforce the Union. Without the Union, mankind will faulter.”

  “Excuse me My Lord... but Hek’Dara said that to you?” Carmela asked in a confused tone.

  “He was adamant, and I assured him I would do as he asked,” Quinton said with a dryness in his throat.

  “Are you sure that’s what he said?” Carmela asked following Quinton up the corridor toward his private chamber.

  Quinton turned around, asked, “You doubt me Lady Anders?”

  “It’s just last week he told me he didn’t see an outcome where the Union could be saved.”

  “Nevertheless, he expressed things differently to me and I must follow his dying wish.”

  Carmela withdrew, bowed and replied, “I understand, My Lord. If you prefer, I will return to my orbital platform and await conformation of a Union meeting.”

  Quinton returned the bow, and looked into Carmela’s eyes, and said, “House Tannador and House Anders can be strong together My Lady. I assure you I will make the transition of power an easy one. And soon, we can discuss a merger of our families if you so desire.”

  “I am open to a proposal, My Lord.”

  Quinton turned toward his chamber door but stopped and looked at Commander Martin and back at Carmela and asked, “Could you leave a few men on Tannador House to aide in security for a time?”

  Carmela looked at Martin, and said, “Commander, you and a squad are to remain here until further notice.”

  Martin snapped his boots together and replied, “As you wish My Lady.”

  Quinton and Martin glanced at one another for a fleeting moment before he stepped into his chamber. He staggered forward once the door closed behind him and placed a hand on the wall nearest him. He drew a cleansing breath and thought of what Hek’Dara told him. An evil from deep space... it had to be the ramblings of a dying man... had to be. “I’m sorry father...”

  Watchtower – High Earth Orbit

  Home of House Lexor

  October 9, 2442

  Hek’Dara Tannador was dead. With the patriarch of House Tannador out of the way, the time to act was now. Since Iris Lexor died and awoke as part of the ORACLE system, she had one desire. Make everyone like her. Iris was no longer human – she was something more. More than woman, or machine. She was everywhere.

  Liberated, her conscious was a part of the computer watcheye network. ORACLE was conceived by the Everharts but designed by the Lexors as a watcheye, to keep the masses in line and feed everyone’s deepest secrets to the family Lexor. There wasn’t a place anywhere, that the ORACLE watcheyes weren’t present. Everyone was analyzed, monitored and categorized. Even the other great houses weren’t without scrutiny, though they believed otherwise. Lexor superiority and dominance was paramount and the family’s manifesto.

  Though Watchtower started as a symbol of stability, it became a representation of deceit over time, and house Lexor reviled. Iris would have it no other way. Her father told her many times, ‘Make them fear you – it goes farther than respect’.

  Iris Lexor became her families longest living matriarch. In her one-hundred and thirty years of life she secretly grew and strengthened her house into the holder of all the secrets. Her family was feared and rightfully so.

  During her reign she oversaw the construction of more breeding facilities, and increased production of babies born to a staggering amount.

  In the months since her conscious woke in the ORACLE mainframe, Iris went to work solidifying her presence by infecting everyone that came in contact with her – injecting artificial micro-probes into the cranium of her victims she took over their conscience, and replaced it with her own. One by one she infected each member of her family, staff and slaves, taking control of their minds. They were no longer individuals, but a collective of herself. She was everywhere. Through the eyes and ears of those she possessed, Iris Lexor digested, collected, stored and maintained everything she was exposed to.

  With the Watchtower completely in her control, it was time to expand her reach, it was time to grow.

  The possession of her son, Avery came soon after her rebirth. Taking control of his mind was simple. He was an indecisive man, driven by lust and greed, yet hesitant and emotionally wrecked. He preyed on others to boost his ego, yet he hated himself and everyone around him. His constitution was pathetic, and it was a pleasure to control him. Avery was the master of manipulation, so it was a dish best served cold and rewarding for Iris to manipulate him – like a puppet on a strin
g.

  Iris considered it a kindness. With her in control his self-esteem had grown tenfold. He bathed, ate on a regular basis and dressed in clean clothes, instead of wearing the same garments for days on end. Yes, Avery had never looked so good, she thought.

  With a smile planted on his lips, Avery offered a hand of welcome when Lucinda Xavier entered the penthouse on Watchtower. She was alone and dressed in a tight black one-piece body suit that barely contained her oversized breasts. Her dark hair was woven a top her head, a thin wooden needle kept it from unraveling.

  She walked with a seductive stride, arms at her side and chest heaved out. She returned Avery’s smile with a toothy one of her own and said with her thick Russian accent, “This was unexpected.” She extended her hand and placed it inside Avery’s. Their handshake was light and feminine. They stood close to one another, hands remaining clasped and stared each other in the eyes.

  “How so?” Avery asked.

  “I’m not sure anyone of the Xavier family had been invited to the Watchtower penthouse before,” Lucinda said. “Still, if anyone were to invite a member of my family to your home it would be you Avery. God knows your bitch of a mother never would have.”

  Avery took a breath, holding his composure and still holding Lucinda’s hand, said, “It’s far overdue, then, isn’t it?”

  “Three-hundred years overdue, yes,” Lucinda said slipping her hand out of Avery’s. “Though I’m not sure why you asked me here.”

  “Yet, you still came,” Avery said taking a half a step back.

  “Curiosity always gets the better of me,” Lucinda admitted. “And, since you asked me instead of my husband... well again, curiosity.”

  Avery motioned toward a divan and guided Lucinda toward it – they sat at opposite ends of the sofa leaving a wide margin between them. A moment later two servants entered with food and drink, but Lucinda waved them away.

  Taking a glass of wine from one of the trays, Avery said, “You were a great supporter of my mother and she appreciated it, even though she knew your reasons were self-centered and judicious.”