Origin Equation

by Charles F Millhouse

  “Martin, how did you...”

  “I hitched a ride hiding in the locker at the back of the shuttle,” Martin confessed. “I wasn’t about to allow you to come down here alone, was I?” He offered a hand and pulled Moyah to her feet.

  She turned back toward her husband’s fallen body.

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t save him,” Martin said remorseful. “I wasn’t in position.”

  Moyah regarded Martin, and offered a reassuring nod, but didn’t offer any words, unsure what to say. She wanted to say it was alright, that they couldn’t alter the course of time, but in her heart... she choked back the tears. For her Chapel had been dead for three hundred years, yet his body still lay warm at her feet. Her emotions were like a double-sided coin. On one side she was relieved that she had a final moment with him, and on the other side she was relieved she’d passed through this moment and was prepared for the future.

  In a few short weeks, Moyah would have come full circle. She will no longer know what’s ahead of her, only what’s behind. She wasn’t sure how to process that. What happened next was out of her control. She hoped that she’d prepared well enough for what was to come.

  “Help me take his body home Martin. He has to be left where... where his people can find him.”

  Martin knelt down and rolled Chapel over, folding the dead man’s arms in front of his chest. He glanced up to Moyah, and asked, “Who was he, Milady?”

  Moyah studied Chapel’s face. A ghost of a smile graced her lips, and she said, “Someone I knew, a long time ago.”

  Evergarden, High Earth Orbit

  Home of Family Everhart

  April 13, 2442

  Had Moyah Everhart lived so long that she no longer understood remorse? It was a question that weighed heavy on her after she returned home in orbit. Though she shed tears on Earth when she watched her husband die, they were tears not of his passing, but tears of her longevity. She had lived longer than any human in recorded history and that permanence had hardened her. Her emotions were callous and dry. She didn’t weep for Chapel, but for her unending.

  Moyah had reached a place that she didn’t care anymore. She had lovers, but there was no love. She had a close friend in Delta, but she didn’t feel the friendship between them. How could she even begin to understand how anyone felt, nor did she care to know. I’ve outgrown them, she thought.

  Moyah poured herself a glass of brandy and surveyed her apartment. It hadn’t changed much since she arrived. It was well-kept and looked after by her servants. But it didn’t feel like a home. There were fine pieces of art that her grandfather brought from the Earth on the day of the purge. Lovely furniture that she had designed and built. Expensive carpets and decorative pieces from all over the world, but they meant nothing to her.

  In three hundred years she had become obsessed with the future, and now that the future was upon her, she could only lament about the past, and how she squandered her life. The gears were turning, time was fleeting, and she couldn’t feel more alone.

  The door chime rang, and gathering some composure, covered her face with a silk scarf and said, “Come in.”

  Lady Carmela Anders was escorted into the room by Delta. Moyah’s longtime companion said, “Milady Everhart, may I introduce the Lady Anders.”

  Moyah gave Delta a subtle glance. Over the years Moyah’s title became more as a joke between them, then anything else.

  Cautious, Carmela stepped forward and with a level tone said, “I was warned that I’d be surprised by your appearance, though I must admit I thought I’d find a haggard old crone.” She drew a breath and eyed Delta and said, “I meant nothing disrespectful.”

  Delta was now in her early eighties, and despite her age, she was in good health and acted more like a young girl than an old lady. She offered Carmela Anders a twisted stare and bowed curtly.

  Moyah choked on a laugh. No matter how depressed, or unsure she was, Delta always found a way of lightening her mood.

  “I didn’t mean to offend,” Carmela said as she watched Delta leave the room.

  “My friend takes it all in stride,” Moyah replied. “We don’t discuss age, or the passing of time. Both of us have had plenty of that and the regrets that come along with it.”

  “Your eyes are young, though I suspected you to be much older,” Carmela said.

  Moyah steered away from the question, and showed Carmela to the davenport and said, “I’m sorry to hear about the passing of your husband.”

  Carmela sat and placed her hands in her lap, and said, “Richard was old, and a drinker. Some of the gossip is, that I had something to do with his death, considering I’m much younger than he. I’ve heard some say it was my vitality in bed and these that put him in an early grave,” She pushed out her chest and her large breasts pressed against her blouse. “No amount of medication could save him from that, I’ve heard whispers.”

  Moyah drew a breath and coughed in her hand, but before she could think of a reply a servant entered the room with a tray of finger foods, and a pitcher of raspberry tea. After a long period of engaging in idle gossip, Moyah brought the conversation back to Carmela’s husband, saying, “Richard and I have been working on a project for the last several years. Did he mention that?”

  Carmela arched an eyebrow and replied, “No. Richard never told me anything about his dealings, and I was all the better for it.”

  “How so?”

  “I get frustrated with the details of the Union meetings, and all the backstabbing. I’ve had enough of it, and we as a society should too.”

  Moyah grinned, and said, “Go on.”

  “I loth the idea of taking part in the Union meetings. Since Richard’s death I’ve been lost in going over all his notes of his dealings. He was very cryptic.”

  “Let me get to the point, Carmela.”

  Shifting in her seat as if uncomfortable with Moyah’s use of her first name, Carmela said, “Please do.”

  “Richard and I have been working together to enhance the breeding process over the last several years. It took some convincing as to share with him the true origins of the facilities, and what my ultimate goal is, but after he learned the reasoning behind them, he and I worked hard to build a strong relationship.”

  Carmela’s hand went to her mouth and she said, “Oh, God, you were lovers.”

  “Oh, no,” Moyah assured her. “We were not. We were working on a project to prepare the Earth for an impending attack.”

  “An attack?” Carmela asked.

  Moyah stood and walked away from the couch and stopped at a table. She picked up a controller and said, “This is going to be difficult for you to understand, so it might be easier for you, if you hear it from Richard, himself.” She pressed a button on the controller and a holographic image of Carmela’s late husband appeared in the room.

  Carmela went to her feet.

  “Hello, Carmela,” Richard said.

  “What is this?” Carmela asked.

  “Please,” Moyah begged. “Once you hear what he says, you’ll understand.”

  After the video finished, Carmela sat on the couch. Her lower lip trembled as if she had a thousand questions on her mind. “And all of this is true?” she asked.

  “Every word.”

  “And you’re...”

  Moyah removed the scarf from her face, and said, “Three-hundred and thirty-three years old on my next birthday.”

  “And the breeding facilities...”

  “Ruses, to build an army to battle a violent wicked creature. Uklavar.”

  “Why tell me all of this? I mean you really don’t need me,” Carmela said.

  “The cause needs you, the world needs you to help,” Moyah said.

  Seconds later the apartment door opened, and Martin entered. “The Lady Carmela Anders, this is Commander Martin. He is the commander of a small strike force that I am offering to you.”

  “Me?”

  “In the next few weeks, events will be put into motion that
will need you and the men I’m assigning you to help protect and aide the family Tannador.”

  “The Tannadors are old friends of my family,” Carmela said.

  “Yes, and soon Lord Hek’Dara will need Martin and his men to stop a takeover by the Orlanders, and perhaps putting future events in jeopardy. A unique opportunity has been bestowed on me. But my knowledge of the future ends soon, and the last thing I know, is that the Earth and the future of humanity rests in the hands of one man.”

  Carmela swallowed and asked with a hint of uncertainty, “Hek’Dara Tannador?”

  “No,” Da’Mira said. “Our last best hope is in the hands of his son. Quinton.”

  The Watchtower

  High Earth Orbit

  October 31, 2442

  Quinton hadn’t left Da’Mira’s side since the guards brought her back into the chamber. Dark blood stained the bandages on her shoulder wound, and she had a high temperature. Sweat drenched her clothes, and her pulse raged out of control. Besides her well-being, all Quinton could think about was getting his hands around Avery’s scrawny neck. To have treated anyone of high ranking in such a manner was unheard of and uncalled for and Quinton found it hard to comprehend. As much as it maddened him, he had to consider Da’Mira for the time being.

  The wound had gone infectious, and Da’Mira’s shoulder grew redder by the hour. Quinton applied cool towels to her forehead, but there wasn’t much hope unless someone called for a doctor. She needed antibiotics before the infection became uncontrollable. There was a good chance she would lose her arm but as time passed, losing an arm would be the least of her worries.

  Carmela Anders hovered over Quinton, and said, “Let me see to her for a while. You need to get some sleep.”

  Sleep was the least of Quinton’s concerns, and he replied, “Unless we get help soon, there’s nothing we can do for her.”

  “There’s no reason for talk like that,” Carmela said. “We have to have hope.”

  Quinton shot to his feet almost knocking Carmela over as he did. “We need to get out of this room,” he raged and found himself at the chamber door. He slammed his fist against it screaming, “WE need a doctor... WE need help.” With each strike to the hard metal door his fists grew redder and redder.

  “Can’t a girl get some sleep around here?” Da’Mira whispered.

  “Quinton,” Carmela called.

  Quinton dropped to his knees next to Da’Mira. He grabbed her arm and she let out a painful sigh. “Easy brother,” she said.

  “How do you feel?” Quinton asked.

  “I’ve been better,” Da’Mira replied.

  Quinton leaned in, his face flushed red-hot and he asked, “What happened?”

  Da’Mira pursed her lips, and with weak eyes said, “There’s something wrong with Avery, he was acting, acting...”

  “I know,” Quinton said. “He and Lucinda Xavier were acting odd in the Union chamber during the meeting.”

  “Gregaor...” Da’Mira coughed. “Gregaor’s dead. Avery shot him.”

  Quinton, Carmela and Commander Martin shared a quiet stare before pressing Da’Mira for more information.

  “I feared he would have killed me too, if the Orlander security men wouldn’t have arrived. He told them I killed Gregaor,” Da’Mira grimaced in pain.

  “Why?” Carmela asked. “What’s he hiding?”

  “I... don’t know,” Da’Mira said.

  Quinton relaxed back on his knees. If Avery was out to kill Da’Mira, then the chances of a doctor coming to assist her was out of the question. It was odd that her wound was bandaged in the first place. Unless Avery didn’t know, he thought.

  “Da’Mira,” Carmela leaned in close and asked, “Do you think Uklavar is controlling Avery?”

  Quinton’s brow furrowed, shocked that Carmela accepted the idea of this Uklavar creature.

  “No,” Da’Mira said. “Not Uklavar. Something else.”

  “What could have Avery done to be so diabolical?” Quinton asked. “His mother wasn’t even so bold.”

  Da’Mira fought to control a cough as she said, “That’s just it. When I was up there in the penthouse, I caught... caught a lilt of Iris’s voice coming from Avery. As if he was possessed.”

  “Yes,” Quinton said. “In the Union chamber, during the meeting, I thought for a brief second that I also heard a feminine lilt to his voice.”

  “Yes,” Carmela said. “Both he and Lucinda had these odd expressions on their faces, as if they were...”

  “Disconnected,” Martin said.

  “Are you sure this alien creature isn’t involved?” Quinton asked.

  Da’Mira lurched in the cot, convulsing, fighting for a breath, she rose up, her horrid eyes begging for help.

  Martin shoved Carmela and Quinton out of the way. With a fist, he struck Da’Mira in the back, and upon impact she drew a hard breath, sucking in air she collapsed back to the mattress.

  “Lady Tannador, Lady Tannador, can you hear me?” Martin asked, helping her sit up.

  Quinton moved in behind Martin, surprised that he would have reacted in such a barbaric action. “Da’Mira!” he shouted.

  Da’Mira took hold of Martin’s neck and held on. She eyed Quinton, struggling she said, “Not Uklavar, we would know if it was. It’s something else, something else.”

  “Whatever it is,” Carmela said. “We won’t figure it out trapped in here.”

  Quinton silently agreed with Carmela when the chamber door swooshed open. Martin joined Quinton waiting for whatever entered the room. Both of them drew a relieved breath when the little redheaded proxy of Moyah Everhart appeared. In her petite hand she held a small pistol and behind her on the floor lay two Orlander security men.

  “I have deactivated the ORACLE Watcheyes in this section,” the proxy said. “But it won’t take long for them to realize what is happening. We must hurry.”

  Quinton’s brow furrowed and he gave Martin a suspicious glance. The officer offered a reassuring nod and Quinton stepped aside when Carmela pushed her way past him.

  “The Lady Tannador is in need of medical aide at once,” Carmela instructed.

  “I will have a medical team standing by when we arrive,” the proxy replied.

  Carmela turned and commanded, “Martin.”

  Commander Martin went to his feet with Da’Mira cradled in his arms.

  “Can someone please tell me what is going on?” Quinton asked.

  “My lord,” the proxy said in an even tone. “All will be explained once we get off Watchtower.”

  “Your father and I had a great deal of respect for one another,” Carmela said. “All I’m asking is that you trust me, as he would have.”

  Quinton acquiesced. Hek’Dara never trusted anyone over the years, but in the months before his death, Quinton saw a bond form between him and Lady Anders. At the time Quinton couldn’t explain it, but clearly there was much more going on than he was aware of.

  The proxy led the way down the corridor. They were one level up from the landing areas. The back of Quinton’s neck burned. Tension was high, especially when they turned the corner. Every Watcheye in the new corridor turned toward them. ORACLE knew where they were, and it wouldn’t be long before...

  Two Orlander men charged from an adjacent hallway, but the proxy was ready for him. She leveled her pistol ZAP... ZAP... the troopers hit the deck hard and the redheaded spitfire stepped over their fallen bodies as she led the group up the hall.

  Quinton stepped over the Orlander men, eyeing their fallen bodies, half expecting them to get back to their feet. Again, Quinton heard the ZAP – ZAP of the pistol and when he rounded the corner into the new corridor, two more troopers lay motionless on the deck.

  “We must hurry,” the proxy ordered as she pressed a button on the wall, calling for the lift. She trained her gun on the elevator doors when they opened, expecting to find more security men. The car was empty.

  Quinton followed everyone into the lift and when the door slid c
losed, the proxy said, “They know we are headed to the landing bay. They’ll be enforce there.”

  “You didn’t foresee this?” Quinton asked.

  “I’ve made contingencies,” the proxy said.

  When the lift door opened, weapons fire filled the deck area. Quinton threw his body over Carmela and the proxy. Screams and commands shouted throughout the deck, dozens of blasts echoed until everything stopped and someone called, “All clear.”

  An officer dressed in the same green and black uniform as Martin greeted them, saying, “We have secured the deck, Milady, but we will soon be outnumbered.”

  “Is the shuttle secure?” the proxy asked.

  “Yes, and ready for takeoff,” the officer said.

  The proxy ushered Quinton and the others forward. “The Tannadors are of the utmost importance, see they are on the shuttle first before you recall your men.”

  The officer garnered a salute and shoved a finger toward two of his troopers.

  The escorts instructed everyone to stay low as the group crossed through heavy weapons fire on their way to the shuttle.

  Quinton was impressed by the unit’s calmness and ability to conduct such a rescue, and it wasn’t difficult to figure out that these men were more than just a private security force that Carmela Anders’ deceased husband had put together. They were well-trained. Better trained than the Orlander men, and up to this point, Quinton didn’t believe anyone could challenge them.

  The shuttle took some weapons fire once the rescue force was aboard, but it didn’t impede their departure as the ship blasted away from the Watchtower. Martin was looking after Da’Mira, and Carmela joined the pilot at the front of the ship. Quinton stood out of the way, studying everything and everyone. Whispers were exchanged between the soldiers. Their murmurs drowned out each other’s words and Quinton couldn’t discern what they were saying.

  This band of warriors were too well-trained and disciplined. Like the militaries of old Earth, these men were ready to fight. But where did they come from? He wondered. And how does such a force even exist without being discovered? When the shuttle leered away from Evergarden and changed course, a welp tightened in Quinton’s neck. The Moon filled the front viewport and he pushed his way past the soldiers toward the flight station.