The pilot adjusted the transport’s speed to match the large station’s pitch and rotation. Da’Mira’s stomach lurched with queasiness. She closed her eyes. Landing on an orbital platform always made her sick. As a small girl, her brother Quinton made fun of her when she turned seven shades of green upon an approach. Memories of him pestering her brought back the past. Da’Mira took a deep breath and opened her eyes just in time to see the transport fly through the docking port. The massive landing bay’s bright light blinded her. She shielded her eyes with the palm of her hand.
The transport flew along a guided flight path and moved toward a raised platform. Bright yellow landing lights flashed in unison. The pilot fired the ship’s landing thrusters and gently maneuvered his craft into position. When the ship touched down the platform lowered into a second well-lit chamber, coming to a slow secure stop on the deck.
Outside the ship several security officers assembled in formation, dressed in the purple and yellow colors of the family Tannador. They drew their weapons, but aimed them down toward the deck, they rushed the ship.
“I knew it,” the pilot said shooting Da’Mira a scowl.
The access door of the transport blew open. The hydraulics hissed, and the door filled with coolant, spilled over from the ship’s engines. The guards ran in. They quickly secured the pilot and the girl, but no one laid a hand on Da’Mira.
“This is uncalled for. These people are under my protection!”
“I beg your pardon Milady,” the lead officer said. “I am under orders to secure anyone in this ship and have you escorted to your father.”
Da’Mira stiffened. “No harm will come to them?”
“I’ve been instructed to hold them in the security area and await orders.”
Da’Mira looked at the girl. She wanted to reach out for her, but the child looked away, lowering her eyes to the floor.
The long walk from the landing bay through the empty corridors of the mansion gave Da’Mira time to rehearse what she planned to say to her father. She knew their exchange would be more of a lecture and less of a conversation. Her father, Hek’Dara loved to hear himself talk, and Da’Mira often suffered on the receiving end of many of her father’s rants.
Da’Mira blocked out all her past experiences with him and focused on what she needed to say this time. The palms of her hands began to sweat, and her heart raced when she entered the cathedral room. A massive flamboyant chamber that, when empty, echoed from even the slightest sound. Hek’Dara loved to hear his voice resonate off the walls.
Her father stood at the balcony, hands tucked behind his back. His freshly pressed dark suit bore a stiff collar around his thick neck. His equally dark beard spilled over his clothes and melded seamlessly into one another.
A massive window towered as high as the vaulted ceiling and frightened Da’Mira as a child. Her teacher Kab’ic Gear had trouble getting her to listen to his lessons when their day ended up in the ornate room. Even many years later, Da’Mira found it difficult to concentrate in here. Her father’s reflection shimmered off the glass. She ignored his abrasive stare and fixed her eyes on how his image looked with the Earth shining behind him. The thought of Kab’ic Gear flooded her mind and she bit her tongue. How can I ever forgive you for what you did to my teacher? He was a good man and didn’t deserve his punishment.
Hek’Dara’s nostrils flared. He eyed Da’Mira’s clothing and cleared his throat drawing her eyes to him. “That will be all,” he told the guards.
The security team saluted and turned, no words were spoken, the sound of the men’s boots echoed throughout the room.
Da’Mira stared past her father at the Earth. Dark patches littered its surface, dead areas where life no longer thrived. The planet merely existed as a cesspool for the breeders, dirty and disease ridden.
“Look at you,” Hek’Dara said, and waved his large hand at her attire. “How could you wear such a thing?”
“Don’t you mean to ask how could I do such a thing?”
“Of that I have no misgivings daughter. You have always been a disappointment.”
Da’Mira glared at her father. He’d never been the type of man to mince words. Why would he start now? “I…” She held her tongue and refused to tell her father she was sorry – she wasn’t.
“Do you know what you’ve done and how many favors I had to ask of Avery Lexor, so your mercy mission would go unnoticed. If Iris discovers what has happened, I won’t be able to protect you. Why did you do something like this, daughter?”
“I thought that might have been obvious. The people are starving.”
The angered look on Hek’Dara’s face turned grim. “Those aren’t people down there Da’Mira, they’re cattle. They breed, we care for them. It’s the way it’s always been. We high-born take their wellbeing seriously.”
Da’Mira pointed at the Earth behind her father. “That isn’t care, that’s mass genocide! There may be less people on the planet than ever before. We’re devolving them into animals. We’ve destroyed our culture, our vast history and our inevitable future… and for what?”
“You know what for!” Hek’Dara shouted. “Our way of life would be over if we didn’t move to orbit. The slaves are the –” He lowered his voice, realizing it was carrying off the walls. “The slaves are our backbone. If it wasn’t for those people you champion, our society would crumble.”
“Has it ever occurred to you father, that we are destroying who we are as a race?” Da’Mira turned her back on her father, surprised that she could be so bold. “Perhaps we deserve to crumble.”
Hek’Dara’s voice thundered through the great hall. Da’Mira winced. “How long do you think the human race would have survived if we hadn’t taken steps to ensure our culture? Earth is a dying world – we had no other choice. If it wasn’t for the hierarchy, we set in place our way of life would have ended… long ago.”
Da’Mira turned back to her father, her voice hardened, “And what about the rest of humanity? Are the nine families the best we have to offer the future? It frightens me. As long as we remain here in orbit of Earth, mankind will not survive. We need to colonize another planet.”
Hek’Dara exhaled. “We’ve had this conversation before.”
“One of the many worlds we’ve excavated and claimed for our own could be a suitable planet to move to.”
“The Union Charter clearly states that the human race must remain on Earth and never sacrifice our home planet. We are humans of Earth,” he said.
“Don’t recite the litany to me. It was crafted by the Everhart family who wanted to keep us here for some made up reason. Humans of Earth. Haven’t you ever wondered why? Isn’t it strange? What unearthly experiments are the Everhart’s performing in those breeding facilities of theirs?”
“Enough Da’Mira… enough!”
Da’Mira’s demeanor sunk. How can he be so blind?
“We might not be the best. We may have made some mistakes along the way. But we keep to the Union Charter. It’s our judgments here and now that will secure a future for those that will follow in our footsteps.” Hek’Dara took a deep breath. “Your devilish actions might have jeopardized our status with the other eight families today my daughter. Partnerships that have delicately allied us for almost three hundred years. The family Orlander will discover sooner or later that it was you who interfered in one of their facilities. When that happens, I won’t be able to protect you. It was my quick thinking today – and a few favors called in with the family Lexor – that prevented your discovery.”
“You don’t owe me any favors.”
Hek’Dara tightened his large hands into fists but relaxed them. His dark beard furrowed. “I am your father Da’Mira. I protect you even if I don’t condone what you do. But, sadly I can no longer trust you. So, I have taken steps to see that you don’t do it again.”
Da’Mira’s brow tightened. “What do you mean?”
“A one-man expedition on one of the new planets, designated Kepler 369, has stoppe
d sending out its regular signal. I intend on sending you to investigate.”
“Me – how?” Da’Mira straightened her shoulders and placed her hands on her hips.
Hek’Dara’s eyes narrowed. His bushy eyebrows rolled down tight over his eyes. “On our exploration ship, of course. With your penchant for adventure this should be the perfect quest for you, daughter.”
Da’Mira placed her hand to her mouth to hide pursed lips. “But Quinton is on Requiem.”
“I’ve recalled your brother. He is on his way home. In a few days, you will depart as the ship’s new master.”
Da’Mira drew down the zipper on her overalls. She swallowed into a dried throat and hoped her father was joking. Yes, that’s right, it’s a joke. “I’ve never been master of a ship before, especially something big as Requiem.”
“The crew will see to the mastering of the ship, you will simply accompany them and oversee any discoveries the archeology team might uncover.”
Da’Mira tossed her hands in the air, she caught a whiff of the previous owner’s body odor from the overalls and she put her arms back down. “Why must I go?”
“A Tannador must command the ship to claim the planet as ours. Otherwise the claim is forfeit, you know the rules, Da’Mira. Besides, productivity is down from Requiem and I hope you can put it right and bring it back up.”
Da’Mira glared at her father. Was he telling the truth or not? She hadn’t paid attention to acquisitions and claiming of a planet when her lessons fell to that. To be master of Requiem was her brother’s destiny. Not hers. “I don’t want to…”
Hek’Dara waved his hand in absolute ruling. “I’ve made up my mind Da’Mira. I mean to send you away, so you can’t cause this family anymore trouble. Sending you into deep space will put an end to your anarchist ways.” His nostrils flared again, and his eyes brightened in triumph.
Da’Mira acquiesced and clenched her jaw, she wanted to lash out, refuse to go and refuse to be treated like a… like a slave. She wasn’t a slave – she was his daughter, which in many ways was worse. At least a slave wasn’t the daughter of Hek’Dara Tannador.
The Highlands of Dalnaspidal
Five miles south of the breeding facility
Scotland – April 14, 2442
Colin McGregor ran across the open rock face of Dalnaspidal, his tightly laced knee-high boots slipped under the loose gravel. He gripped his splinter rifle in his hand and it kept in time with the rest of his body while he sprinted unchallenged over the rough terrain. He felt the weight of the ancient broadsword on his back; it bounced along with each stride. Its leather wrapped hilt bumped against the back of his head. The braid of his sangria hair cushioned the impact. Though rarely unsheathed, he inherited the sword from his father who inherited from his father and so on... A generational weapon that stood more for rank than it did for battle.
His red and green kilt blew behind him, a cool spring breeze whipped up under the garment. He repositioned the broadsword strap across his chest, the gray dingy long sleeve shirt he wore, drenched with perspiration, stuck to his dark sunburned skin.
He raced toward a niche of trees in the distance. Nearly an hour passed since he received the weak signal from his friend Shane Gibson. Colin snuck out of his camp after strict instructions from his clan chieftain, James Stewart Langland, forbidding him to leave the encampment. An order he happily disobeyed. He didn’t want to go on a long hunt anyway, but he couldn’t ignore the message he received.
It said, come quick to the Hallmark.
The Hallmark was a small crop of trees where he and Shane played as children. Just trees to most people, they held no significance at all. For Colin and Shane however, it was a place to escape, to drink stolen whisky from his father’s private store and to meet girls. Colin lost his virginity among the trees of the Hallmark to the young Caroline Black. It was a private affair between her, Colin and Shane. She freely gave herself to them in an afternoon of unbridled passion.
Those were long ago times before the breeding facility was built within shouting distance of the trees. From that time on the Hallmark, no longer a place of retreat for Colin, but a place to spy on the high-born. Through sun washed eyes Colin saw the form of a man running toward him. Though it might have been Shane, Colin dared not take the chance. He slid to a stop, stooped to one knee, raised his splinter rifle and focused his sight through the weapons scope lens. Colin steadied his breathing. Sweat ran down his face and stung his dark eyes. He saw Shane running toward him like he was being chased. Colin focused his lens past his friend. A long moment passed, and no one appeared, Colin breathed easy, but he saw the panic on Shane’s face. Something scared the hell out of him and Colin knew in an instant it could only be one thing.
Colin stood up, continuing to watch the Hallmark through the rifle lens just in case. When Shane neared, he lowered his weapon, rubbed his weathered hand over his red beard and waited for what he feared the most.
Shane stumbled when he came within feet of Colin, falling face forward into the slag. His cinnamon hair covered with blood. He’d been shot, and Colin didn’t waste time sitting his friend up. He checked Shane for a wound but found none.
“Have you been shot?” Colin asked, ripping open Shane’s green vest.
Shane shook his head no, “Killed a guy in the Hallmark – an Orlander security man I think.” He reached up his hand to Colin, who pulled him to his feet.
Colin stared at Shane for what seemed like an eternity. His thoughts were filled with one outcome after another. “Are you going to tell me what happened?”
“It’s your sister, Colin – your sister they took her…” Shane said; his voice filled with sadness and dismay.
It was what Colin feared. He’d fought for months to find a way to rescue his sister from the breeder camp but on every attempt, he failed. The Orlanders took her for one reason. To subdue his attacks against them, and it worked. With his mother and father dead, his sister was all he had. “Who took her?”
Shane shrugged his shoulders. “The transport was unmarked. From my vantage point whoever was on board was trying to drop off food for the breeders. Your sister got caught up in trying to fight off the camp security men from stealing it.”
Colin grinned. His sister without a doubt was a McGregor, and she had the temper synonymous with the name. They both came by it honestly. Their father Douglas McGregor had his fair share of bad temper. Many times, he and Lord Langland, the clan chieftain, were at odds over something. Douglas reminded Langland that lives were at stake and hiding from the high-born wasn’t living at all. Colin carried on his father’s tradition by uttering his words, the fight needed to be taken to the enemy. Colin collected his thoughts, asked, “Why would they kidnap a breeder – that doesn’t make sense?”
Shane gripped Colin’s arms and steadied him, said, “They didn’t – they didn’t kidnap her. She jumped on the transport of her own volition.”
Colin narrowed his eyes. He tried to figure out what his sister might have been thinking.
“Maybe Lexor could help,” Shane said.
“Blah – he can’t be trusted,” Colin snarled. “Avery Lexor’s been telling me ever since my sister was captured he would get her out. He’s failed! I –"
“Wait – wait,” Shane said. “Listen!”
Colin recognized the familiar eerie buzzing sound that he’d heard many times before. “Mobile ORACLE watcheyes.” He pulled up the rifle to his eye and looked along the horizon through the lens. Soon enough he saw the airborne watcheyes buzzing about like giant insects. “Damn it! We better go,” he said and bolted across the basin that separated the Hallmark and the breeding facility. Shane followed him.
The buzzing sounds ever present behind them. Colin kept their run to a steady jaunt. When the two were younger they covered many miles over the years running between clans to deliver messages. Living on the run, the clans needed to remain off the grid. Any technology could alert the high-born to their presence. After three hund
red years the free men of Earth had learned to live off the land again, to find things like drinkable water and food to hunt; which was not an easy thing to do, considering most of the planet was uninhabitable. Even the highlands of Scotland were not immune to the damages the Earth went through when the high-born led the low-born into orbit. Leaving them and other nomadic tribes scattered throughout the planet seeking a way to survive. The strong were able to adapt while the weak died off quickly.
After the U-6 virus killed off most of the people, the population of the planet had been drastically diminished. People were starving after the sudden collapse of Earth’s infrastructure. Simple things like growing food and preserving were considered a lost art. The population turned to those who seemed to know what to do. The Nine, the high-born families of the newly formed Union said and promised the right things.
Two billion people evacuated the planet – in the first days when the Union became the aristocratic leaders of the human race. The McGregor’s were among them. Low-born subordinates to the high-born, however following rules were never a McGregor’s strongpoint. After a hundred years they returned to the Earth, and when other clans followed, the truth came out.
Those who were left on the planet became the breeders, the very souls that kept the upper-class in luxury at the expense of their humanity. Breeding more and more slaves so the high-born could continue their way of life. Through each generation, the slaves became more obtuse, education was limited to general tasks, the less they knew the better, and the high-born liked it that way. Mankind sat at a crossroads.
From that time forward the clans were hunted like animals by the Orlander’s security force. Every day became a fight for survival, forging a life on a planet that no longer wanted to support life, while hiding from the high-born. For the Highlanders the war meant survival – to the enemy it meant eradication of anyone that threatened their new way of life.
The mobile watcheyes were persistent. The harder Colin and Shane raced to draw them away from their clan the closer the airborne hunters came. The watcheyes never gave up. They wouldn’t retreat, not until they reached their prey. Before long the mobile devices would be close enough to use their stinger missiles. Though limited in range, the rockets were accurate and powerful when fired in close quarters.
Origin Expedition Page 2
