Origin Equation

by Charles F Millhouse

  Upon further scrutiny, Da’Mira found that several of the cushions on the divan were sliced open, the stuffing pulled out and tossed to the floor. The armrest was discolored in a dark amber that looked a lot like dried, blood...?

  “You two know how to bring disorder to an otherwise ordered society, don’t you?” Avery Lexor stepped out of the shadows. He had discarded his dress jacket, and his tie was loosened around his neck. The sleeves of the shirt were rolled up on his arms, but even with the casual look, there was something robotic about him.

  Avery’s eyes were glassy, and lifeless. His expression seemed forced and dejected, his lips were rigid when he spoke, almost like an old ventriloquist dummy, and his words were less masculine than Da’Mira remembered. She’d only met Avery on a few occasions, and even then, he rarely spoke to her, but when he did, she remembered his vocabulary to be limited, and his choice of words demeaning and intolerant.

  Da’Mira locked her arms at her side. Questions whirled in her head, but they all came back to one simple question, “How much longer are we to be held here?”

  With a flat expression, Avery said, “You think yourself special, don’t you?”

  Da’Mira kept her temper even and didn’t answer.

  “Because you’re not. You’re spoiled and you’ve done everything to circumvent authority since you were a child.”

  Da’Mira glanced Gregaor who watched her intently. She drew a breath but held a reply in her throat. Anything she would say in her defense would be contradicted by Avery. Instead of an answer she asked a question of her own, and said, “There must be a reason you brought us up here. What do you want, Avery?”

  “You might find this hard to believe, but I want to hear more of your story,” Avery said.

  “So, the council voted against hearing more?” Da’Mira asked.

  “The decision ended in stalemate, three to three. I must say I was surprised at who voted to hear more of your fantastic story, and who voted against it,” Avery said.

  “So, what’s next?” Gregaor asked. “We are here so I guess there was some kind of decision made.”

  “There was,” Avery said. “Only I chose to ignore the outcome. Being head of the Union has its privileges. I was the deciding vote, and I voted against hearing the rest of your story. As far as the rest of the houses are concerned you were released and remitted back to your respected platforms. None of them the wiser.”

  The glow of the sun reflected off the Earth. The planet encompassed the large observation window. Its eerie glow highlighted Avery’s devilish grin, and the temperature in the room seemed to drop a degree or two.

  Da’Mira folded her arms in front of her, fending off the chill, and asked, “Why would you do that?”

  “The Union can be stale and unimaginative. They would find your story nothing more than idle fantasy.”

  “And you wouldn’t?” Gregaor asked.

  Avery’s eyes flittered around in their sockets, and he said, “I have, an open mind and can process... can evaluate things objectively. What can you tell me about this Uklavar being?”

  Surprised by Avery’s sudden interest, Da’Mira said, “I’m willing to tell you everything I know about him, and his intentions. We have...”

  “Wait,” Gregaor stepped into the conversation, elbowing himself past Da’Mira. “You don’t actually believe her, do you?”

  Avery offered a fake smile, and replied, “You protest too much, which leads me to believe there is some validity to Da’Mira’s story. We need to know all we can.”

  Confused, Gregaor asked, “We?”

  Avery’s expression twisted, as if rethinking his words, and said, “I, I need to know as much as you can tell me.”

  Validated, Da’Mira should have felt relieved that there might finally be some action when it came to Uklavar, but she couldn’t help having a sense of dread. The odd behavior of Avery notwithstanding, the entire infrastructure of the Nine had crumbled. The once strong union of wealthy houses had become a bickering infestation of backstabbers, vying for power, and control. The Tannadors had always been at the top of the Nine, but since Hek’Dara’s death, the power was shifting away and her family no longer had the influence it once did, though in her heart, Da’Mira was somewhat to blame for the Unions disharmony – even if they should have been stronger than just her rebellion.

  Then there was Avery, his odd behavior mimicked by Gregaor’s mother led Da’Mira to fear more than corruption was involved. Like Hek’Dara, Iris kept her family in order. The old guard was dying, and those left in their stead, were trying to navigate through the years of gerrymandering, bribery and division.

  “This is outrageous,” Gregaor raged.

  Uncomfortable, Da’Mira had little choice. Time was fleeting, and with it any chance to save even a part of her civilization. Taking a chance, she said, “Give me time to explain, and you’ll understand what we are up against.”

  With a sinister tone, Avery took half a step forward and said, “Understanding is part of my ultimate goal.”

  Behind Avery, two men appeared. Haggard and disheveled their clothes were filthy and hair knotted into disarray. Their eyes were glassy and lifeless like Avery’s. Their movements and actions were mechanical as if they were being controlled. They took up positions on opposite sides of Avery, waiting for instructions.

  “What’s this?” Da’Mira demanded.

  Avery looked past Da’Mira to the Orlander security men and said, “You can leave officers, we can handle them alone.”

  The Orlander men offered a salute and left the apartment without protesting. When the lift doors closed, Avery’s men crossed the room, coming in behind Da’Mira and Gregaor. Their breaths were labored and forced.

  Hands into fists, Gregaor took a defensive stance, and asked, “What are you up to, Lexor?”

  “We require information, all information given freely without prejudice,” Avery said. His voice became lightened and more feminine. “It’s a simple procedure, one that will bring you into the fold.”

  “What fold?” Da’Mira asked.

  Avery gave a smile. The first honest smile Da’Mira had seen him give since she stepped into the Union chamber. When he said, “The mainframe of course.” Da’Mira lunged toward him, her thought, scratch out his eyes and make a run for the elevator, but the man behind her snagged her by the neck. His grip unusually strong, even for a man.

  Da’Mira reached to the back of her but couldn’t find anything to grab ahold of. She buckled to her knees with the weight of her attacker pressing down on her. She cocked her eyes to the right and saw Gregaor struggling with his opponent who was wielding some kind of knife.

  Gregaor held his assailant’s arms back, using his legs as leverage, keeping the weapon at bay. There were three blades protruding from the strange looking knife and seemed to be more of a tool than a weapon. When the attacker shifted his weight, Gregaor lost his balance and the man was able to reposition himself and come in behind Gregaor. It appeared that the attacker wasn’t trying to stab him just anywhere, but he was aiming for the back of the neck.

  Da’Mira gulped, turned her head to find the man holding her had the same type of weapon. He was going to stab her in the back of the neck too. Da’Mira kept her wits and forced her legs up under her and pushed. Though she didn’t have the strength to get up, she did knock the attacker off balance enough that he had a choice, hold her down, or stab her. He couldn’t do both.

  A grunt drew Da’Mira’s attention back to Gregaor. He’d managed to slip out of his opponent’s grip and face him. When the man lunged forward, Gregaor snagged him by the arm and pulled the man to him. Gregaor delivered a chop to the throat, and the man dropped the knife, his hands clutching his neck gasping for air, he buckled to his knees and finally fell all the way to the floor.

  Gregaor swung around toward Da’Mira, coming to her aide, but Da’Mira screamed, “Gregaor, behind you!”

  A gun shot rang out behind Gregaor, and he staggered forward. His
face spider webbed with pain, but he didn’t allow that to stop him. He leapt toward the man holding Da’Mira, forcing the man off her. She fell one way, and Gregaor and the attacker fell the other. She turned just as Gregaor plunged the three-prong knife into the man’s chest. Another shot blasted in the room.

  Da’Mira staggered forward but stopped. She and Gregaor regarded one another for a brief moment, but it felt like an eternity. He smiled at her, as to say, ‘I’m sorry.’ Da’Mira wanted to go to him, wanted to tell him thank you. He’d saved her life. No matter what Uklavar did to him, he couldn’t alter the fact that she and Gregaor shared something, once. But more importantly, the horned beast couldn’t deprive Gregaor of his inalienable right of free-will.

  Before Gregaor collapsed to the floor, another gunshot caught Da’Mira off guard. The blast tore through her shoulder – it spun her around and she slammed to the floor. Her arm folded up under her, a warm sensation blanketed her side. She wanted to move, wanted to get up, but couldn’t. Her determination left her as quickly as her blood.

  From the corner of her eyes, she saw Gregaor’s body writhing... he still lives. Avery’s black shoes came into view, stepping near the silver knife. He reached down and scooped it up in one hand, and he held a smoldering gun in the other. “It’s a shame,” he said in a primal tone. “I would have liked to have gotten perspectives from both of you, but it seems I’ll have to take what I can from you.”

  Da’Mira tried to get up, but the searing hot stabbing in her shoulder prevented her from moving. She couldn’t fight back, and she didn’t understand what she was supposed to be fighting against in the first place.

  Avery loomed over her, and when he said, “The hurting will stop soon, my child,” Da’Mira thought she heard a lilt of Iris Lexor’s voice in his.

  Da’Mira drew a tight breath, ready for the inevitable, but she released it when the lift doors opened and the two Orlander security men rushed in, weapons drawn. She heard, “Milord, are you all right,” seconds before she blacked out.

  Deep Space

  The Tannador Explorer Ship, Requiem

  October 30, 2442 – Earth Time

  “The signal is weak, Professor. But I’m sure it’s Origin.”

  Charles Long stood at the lighted star map on a large table and followed the course set by Navaho Night. It had been eight days since the planet Shin’nor’ee collapsed in on itself. Eight days since he said goodbye to two of his oldest friends. By all rights, he should have set course for Earth, find Da’Mira and figure out their next course of action. Only that would have taken too long.

  The Requiem had lost its captain in the first few days of arriving at Origin’s planet and had been functioning without any clear guidance since that time. Charles didn’t want to captain. He was a scientist and a Low-Born. But he used the opportunity to chase a hunch.

  Origin was in the hands of Uklavar. The beast was far to intelligent to be allowed access to the supercomputer. The information stored in its processors would tell Uklavar precisely where to find his army. He had to be stopped. But Charles doubted the crew of the exploration ship was up to that task.

  Some of the Tannador family onboard protested his decision to go deeper and deeper into space, but when Charles challenged them to take command, they refused. “Commanding an explorer ship is the work of a Low-Born,” one of the family members told him. What Charles heard was, ‘I’m too lazy to do such a thing’.

  There were reasons the extended Tannador family was on Requiem, so Hek’Dara Tannador didn’t have to deal with them.

  Charles went on the assumption that Da’Mira would have wanted him to chase down Uklavar and try to retrieve Origin, though it scared the shit out of him to think about facing that creature again. Yet it had to be done. The fate of the world was at stake.

  “Is the signal stationary, or still moving?” Charles asked.

  “It’s traveling at a leisurely speed,” Spencer said.

  Charles rubbed his face and said, “That means they haven’t found his army yet, or they’d be traveling at a more aggressive speed. Have they detected us yet?”

  “No,” a man at a computer console replied.

  “We are too far out of range for their sensors to detect us,” Navaho said.

  “Then how are we seeing them?” Spencer asked.

  “That would be Origin. He’s emitting a distress call, guiding us to him,” Charles said. “We aren’t actually seeing the Seeker. If we were, they’d know we are here.”

  “Is that where My Own is?” Van asked thumping his index finger on Origin’s signal.

  “Yes,” Charles said under his breath as if he didn’t want to think of My Own. If she did have a hand in Hyta’s death, that meant the Highlander girl had changed, and fallen under the power of Uklavar. Being captive for so long changed people. On old Earth it was called Stockholm syndrome, where a captive became sympathetic to their captor’s cause. Charles grimaced. That didn’t fit My Own’s profile at all. Besides Da’Mira, he’d never known someone as headstrong as her. She would never fall victim to such a thing.

  Charles wasn’t able to reflect and analyze Uklavar as he would have liked, but what he learned didn’t lead him to believe that My Own could build an intimate relationship with the beast. He withdrew from the star map and looked through the glass dome over the control deck of Requiem. This ship wasn’t built for combat, he thought. It was more of a glorified cruise ship. The outer decks, including the control center were designed to impress rather than protect.

  “Can this glass dome be sealed?” Charles asked pointing at the sky.

  “It can,” a technician said from the other side of the control center. “But they never have been.”

  “Well, I think it’s time we try,” Charles said.

  “What are you thinking Professor?” Spencer asked.

  “We need to turn this exploration ship into a warship. This area, even with the dome closed, is too exposed and vulnerable. If we’re attacked, and we lose containment, then this ship won’t survive. We need to move the control center further into the ship, in a more secure area. And all other vital systems near the outer hull, moved inwards, including living quarters and medical facilities.”

  “That’s a lot of work,” someone in the control center said.

  “Then we better get to it,” Charles replied. “Have all department heads and technicians meet me in the captain’s chambers within ten minutes. Spencer, you’re in charge of getting the Tannador family members to retreat inside the ship.”

  “They’ll protest,” Spencer said.

  “I’m sure they will. Ask them if they’d rather be dead when the ship is attacked? Drag them to their new quarters if they give you too much grief.”

  Spencer cracked a wide grin with that idea.

  “What about me... what do you want me to do?” Van asked willingly.

  Charles looked into the eager young man’s eyes, if anything Van seemed determined to prove himself. Charles suspected that the Xavier boy never had that chance back on Earth. “Van I’m giving you a very important job. Do you think you’re up for it?”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Van replied enthusiastically.

  Charles placed his hand around Van’s shoulder and drew him in. He pointed at the star map, and the blip that indicated Origin’s position. “You see that signal?”

  Van nodded glaring at the map.

  “I need you to keep an eye on that light. If anything happens to it, you need to let me know right away.”

  “If anything happens to it?” Van asked with a raised eyebrow.

  “Yes, if it changes course, or comes back towards us I need to know right away. Can you do that?”

  Van nodded, stiffened into attention and said, “Yes, I can do that.”

  Charles patted Van on the back, and said, “Good man, Van.” He eyed the rest of the crew who were offering Van looks of encouragement. “What are the rest of you waiting for? We have a lot of work to do, and I doubt we have a lot of time
to do it in... so get to work.”

  Like Van, the rest of the crew stiffened their postures, and for a second Charles thought they were going to throw salutes at him. Instead they scattered in different directions off on their appointed tasks, and Charles chuckled under his breath.

  The Xavier Exploration Ship, Seeker

  Deep Space.

  October 30, 2442 – Earth Time

  My Own found the estate room wrecked. Tables were broken in half, furniture toppled over, and chunks of the walls were missing. She eyed the patch of wall where Uklavar threw her, to find an impression of her body indented into it, the pain still nagging at her side. Even after nine days, her ribs still hadn’t begun to heal.

  In those days since My Own staggered from the estate room, Uklavar had been quiet. He hadn’t been seen or heard from by any of the crew and My Own was more than curious to know why. Had it had something to do with his army, were they lost to him? Were they out of his reach? It couldn’t be something else. Could it, she wondered.

  My Own tripped over something as she went further into the dimly lit room. A whiff of something sour swirled around her and turned her stomach. She reached for a panel on the wall and brought the lights up full.

  Uklavar growled and said, “That’s too bright.”

  My Own brought the lights down, keeping them bright enough for her to see. She saw the horned beast's shadow cast on the wall, and she stepped towards it and said, “You called for me?

  “Where have you been?” Uklavar asked.

  “In the medical bay mostly,” My Own replied. “No thanks to you.”

  Uklavar replied with a labored breath and stood up. His shadow grew on the wall.

  “Did you need something?” My Own asked.

  Uklavar stepped into the light. His green skin had darkened since the last time My Own saw him. The bones of his external skeleton looked bigger than she remembered, and his horns had grown considerably.