“Isn’t that what you do?” Shane asked.
“There’s one difference between Da’Mira Tannador and me.”
“What’s that?” Colin asked.
“She’s a Tannador,” Avery said snidely. “And to discredit her family will lessen their popularity. I couldn't care less about the slaves, but I relish the chance to bring discredit to the Tannadors.”
“Nothing but politics,” Colin said. He knew deep down Avery Lexor was a devious man. No high-born cared about a few slaves. Colin felt a pin prick in the lower part of his neck when Avery injected medicine into him. “What was that?”
“A relaxer,” Avery said stepping back in front of Colin. “The pain is gone?”
“Yes,” Colin stood. Though still tender, his back felt much better.
“The medicine will quickly heal you.”
Dizzy and disorientated, Colin reached out for Shane.
“So, will you do what I ask? The reward will be a reunion between you and your sister.”
Colin looked at Shane; his eyes out of focus. Shane shrugged his shoulders.
“Alright, I’ll do what you ask,” Colin said. Another sharp pain throbbed through his body. This time the pain didn’t come from his wounds, but from the fact that he just made a deal with the devil.
Tannador House – high Earth orbit
The private apartment of Da’Mira Tannador
April 16, 2442
Da’Mira stood in the shower. The powerful jets washed the gold tint off her skin – she tired of the color, it reminded her of failure. Her nipples on her ample breasts were hard from the water spraying across them. She moaned a little and turned her body, letting the water caress her. Her scarlet hair lay flat against her back, soaked in water and cleaning gel.
She poured soap over her body and used a harsh abrasive scrubber to work the gold color out of areas that the water jets could not reach. Still disappointed from the fiasco at the breeding facility, Da’Mira took it out on herself, scrubbing her skin until it turned a rusty red. She wanted to help; instead she did the opposite and, in the process, got banished from Earth. She didn’t hate her father for his decision, but she didn’t understand him, or his antediluvian way of thinking.
After clearing her body of the gold skin color, Da’Mira turned off the water jets and activated the drying system – warm air from vents opened in the wall. Artificial skin coloring began as a fad with the low-born over fifty years ago. Teens used the expressive coloring to rebel against their parents but when the high-born discovered the craze, the fad became a fashion.
The choice of a new color for her pale white skin came easy. At first, she considered blue, to match her disposition, but after a few presses of the buttons Da’Mira chose a light green. She tied her red hair atop her head and closed her eyes, a red laser light scanned her body looking for the right tones and highlights before the spray covered her body. Precise detailing around her scalp and hairline placed the color without once touching her hair. Lighter color applied in some areas of her skin and darker shades in others, highlighting her muscle tone. The color matched perfectly and looked natural.
Out of the shower, Da’Mira checked her new color in the mirror. A perfect tone of light green covered her body and dried instantly. She wrapped herself in a large towel and moved to her bed. She sat at the head of it and took down her hair, gliding a brush through it with slow smooth strokes. Rejuvenated she shuttered at the thought of wearing someone’s dirty overalls.
On her nightstand, Da’Mira opened a drawer and removed a memory stick. The small, red, palm size appliance blinked when she pressed the button on its end. She held it to her forehead and recounted the events from the past day, concentrating hard. Her memories uploaded into a storage hard drive that Da’Mira called her diary. Developed at the start of the last century by the family Everhart, most high-born used the memory stick, to record events in their lives that they didn’t want to forget. Da’Mira had a premonition that the facts concerning her life might be fabricated. She was a black spot on the family name.
A chime at her bedroom door sounded. It opened, and the young Scottish girl stood in its frame; a Tannador security officer behind her. Da’Mira replaced the memory stick back in the top drawer and stood.
“Come in My Own,” Da’Mira called the girl, My Own, since that was the answer the child gave to her upon the request of her name. She waved the security officer out of the room.
The girl kept her eyes to the floor. She’d been cleaned and given new clothes and food soon after her arrival. Da’Mira was surprised her father didn’t order the girl returned to the breeding site the moment the shuttle touched down on the platform.
“Come in here,” Da’Mira said. She stood and let the towel drop to the floor.
My Own blushed and looked away. She pulled strands of her clean dark hair over her lavender eyes.
Da’Mira smiled, and with a chuckle asked, “Haven’t you seen someone naked before?”
My Own did not answer, but Da’Mira caught a glimpse of the girl peeking at her through the strands of her hair.
“I’ve decided that you’re to be my personal servant.”
“Suppose I don’t want to,” My Own said, and looked up at Da’Mira with a defiant stare.
“I suspect you have little reason to refuse, unless you want to go back to Earth?”
My Own shook her head, and said, “Yes, as long as I don’t have to go back to the breeding plant.”
“I don’t think you or I have that choice. Right now, you being here will cause more trouble than my father might want to undertake. So, if you serve me, keep a low profile and in two day’s time, you will be with me on Requiem bound for deep space.”
My Own shook her head – her voice deeper and defiant said, “No.”
There was a feistiness in the girl’s tone, and De’Mira liked it. She leveled her eyes on the girl, said with a hidden smile, “No, is it?” She motioned, and said, “Follow me.”
Da’Mira led My Own toward a large walk in closet. The lights came on when they entered. “My wardrobe is here. Most of these things will go with us on the explorer ship. I will choose what I want to wear a day in advance and you will have it laid out for me. You will help me dress, fix my hair and anything else I require to my specifications.”
My Own folded her arms against her chest and drew her eyes up and down over Da’Mira.
Uncomfortable, Da’Mira asked, “What?”
“For someone who wants to feed the breeders on Earth you sound and act like a high-born – someone better than us.”
Da’Mira realized how she must have sounded. She’d had slaves tending her, all her life. Everyone knew of her hatred for owning another human. Yet she kept up the pretense for her father. A man stuck in the old ways. Da’Mira’s actions caused her father nothing but trouble and she hoped by her actions she could convince him to believe the way she did. Though she knew it was a useless cause.
Da’Mira looked at My Own. As trouble went, freeing the Highlander from an Orlander protected breeding facility would cause enough dilemma for her father. There were enough riffs between the houses, without her adding to the problem.
“Don’t you have other slaves that are better suited to serve you? I’m just a breeder,” My Own said.
“I do, but I require you. I don’t want you to go back to Earth. This is the only way I know how to prevent it. You need to blend in.”
“Maybe I don’t want your help.”
Da’Mira found it hard to understand the girl’s rebelliousness. She rescued her from the breeder camp, surely she – Da’Mira paused her thoughts and chewed on her bottom lip, and asked, “Why were you in the breeder camp? Shouldn’t you’ve been chosen for a slave? You’re young, strong and smart, or are you just too disobedient?”
“The reasons are my own.”
Da’Mira tightened her jaw, but loosened it. She found the stubbornness in My Own equal to her. Maybe that’s why I like her.
; Da’Mira picked out a pair of yellow slacks, and a white frilly blouse. She pointed at a long purple formal dress, and said, “Have that laid out. I’ll wear that to the reception tonight.” She pointed at several other accessories to be placed with the dress.
My Own took the dress off the rack and clenched it in her fist. She narrowed her gaze to the floor.
“Careful. It must look nice when I entertain.”
“You are a high-born alright,” My Own said with a sneer. “I doubt if you understand what’s happening down on the surface.”
“I understand what is happening to everyone on Earth and in its orbit,” Da’Mira said and walked out of the closet. She stopped at an old oak dresser and looked for a nice pair of underwear, said, “The breeders on Earth are not the only thing I’m concerned with. One day our race will cease to exist if we don’t colonize other worlds.”
My Own followed Da’Mira out of the closet, asked, “Are you the champion of what is right for everyone, or what is right for you and the rest of the high-born?”
Da’Mira stopped rifling through the drawers and looked at My Own, her eyes penetrating, she held her temper and said, “I’m just one person. I can’t fix all the world’s problems. When others of the high-born join my cause, we will be able to help those on the planet.”
“Will you save them all by wearing things like this,” My Own asked and threw the dress to the bed.
Da’Mira clasped a white bra around her waist and pulled it over her breasts, struggling she said, “I’m a Tannador. I need to save face for my family. Everyone in our society knows that I have a defiant streak. And I’m sure by now fifty different reasons are circulating about why I am leaving Earth. The only real truth is that I don’t have a choice.”
“We all have a choice,” My Own said. She straightened the dress out on the bed working out the wrinkles.
“We both know that neither of us have a choice. You are born into your world of rules and I am born into mine.” Da’Mira slipped on her slacks and fastened the front.
“So why leave? Stay and change those rules,” My Own told her.
Da’Mira spent her entire life in the shadow of her father and had seen the politics and the red tape he endured to feed the mass of people in orbit and on Earth. Even the greatest of the great families jumped through hoops. Da’Mira knew it would take much more than speeches to change things. She drew a cleansing breath and said, “I wish it were that simple, My Own. I hope that out there on Kepler 369 I find something that will change the way the high-born view the universe.”
Da’Mira gave My Own explicit instructions on her duties before she departed for the landing platform on the lowest level of Tannador House. Da’Mira hoped the girl understood her responsibilities and with apprehension left My Own to familiarize herself with her new surroundings; with a guard posted at the door of course. Her trust in the girl only went so far. She hoped in time she and My Own would come to trust one another.
On a walkway above the landing platform, Da’Mira watched the activities below. The launching and receiving of shuttles bound for other orbital stations were regular activities throughout the day and night. Da’Mira spent little time in the landing area when she was growing up, even though she would sneak down to the observation area sometimes and watch shuttles circling Tannador House waiting to land.
Her teacher and mentor Kab’ic Gear would allow her to visit the deck, instructing her not to go down to the platform. “It isn’t what noble women do,” he told her.
Even at an early age Da’Mira challenged the way of things. Because of Gear’s teaching she thought for herself, not what others thought she should think. A high-born meant solitude and Kab’ic Gear became the closest thing Da’Mira had to a friend.
From the walkway Da’Mira looked out into the empty vista, the glass shield surrounding the platform gave her an ample view into space. The light from Earth shimmered behind her and obscured her view of the stars. She kept an observant eye toward Mars. If she blinked she’d miss the arrival of the family ship coming out of wormhole space.
A flash, that looked like an exploding star came and went in less than a microsecond. Not as grand an arrival as she hoped, Da’Mira raced for a magscope, one of several along the walkway, and highlighted the area. Closer and closer she scanned until the image became clear.
Requiem moved toward Earth. She’d seen it many times and never tired of the massive vessel. Twenty decks, that consisted of science and archeological departments, including storage compartments to fill the ship with riches found on alien worlds.
Atop the vessel was the domed living space of the ship’s high-born master. Its crystalline shell constructed to withstand the harsh vastness of space and reminded Da’Mira of a turtle hiding within its shell. The dome caught the gleam from Earth’s light and shimmered with a myriad of flashes that looked like a sparkling gem. Da’Mira’s chest tightened. Come tomorrow she would be master of Requiem, a position she was sure her brother would not relinquish without protest.
Instructed in the duties of a noble woman, destined to take her father’s place as any eldest child would, Da’Mira’s brother, found his destiny as master of the exploration ship. It’s what he knew and – Da’Mira believed – it’s what he loved. Now Quinton returned to Earth stripped of that privilege. She wondered how he would react to her relieving him.
As children they barely knew one another. Quinton was ten years younger than Da’Mira and reared by a nanny. Their exposure to one another came during state event days and even then, they didn’t speak. Yet when they did it was polite and considerate. Da’Mira loved Quinton, but she didn’t start to know him until they grew older, by that time Quinton left on Requiem. Da’Mira believed their father arranged it out of jealousy for their forged friendship. It’d been so long since she and her brother saw each other, Da’Mira wondered if he’d be upset over his recall to Earth and wondered if this transfer would put a wedge between them.
Through the magscope, Da’Mira watched a shuttle fly toward Tannador House. She held the scope tight in her hands and grimaced. In a few moments she would know how her brother felt. The landing crews rushed to their stations. An alarm whaled and Da’Mira covered her ears. A receiving port lit up with bright strobe lights and turned the whole area red.
Watching the shuttle in the magscope, the ship altered its course and turn toward the open landing port. More warning sounds blared and the workers on the deck below scurried out of the shuttles landing path. Da’Mira stepped away from the magscope, the shuttle came in close, the Tannador markings clearly on the side of the craft. The streamline white shuttle came to a dead crawl when it passed through the force field at the landing platforms opening. The ship’s landing thrusters made a loud thunderous sound and reminded Da’Mira of a cry from a wild animal.
In the grasp of the artificial gravity, the shuttle maneuvered through the bay. It turned, pointing its nose toward an alcove and fired its landing thrusters, engine coolant spilled from the exhaust and the turbines whined down. Another, less exhilarating alarm rang throughout the bay.
Da’Mira leaned over the railing of the walkway; the shuttle sat in the mist of its coolant. The sirens died, deck hands rushed in to secure the ship. In minutes her brother stepped out of the ship once the doors lowered to the deck. She wanted to call out for him but held her tongue. Da’Mira had to know Quinton’s mindset first. From this distance she couldn’t judge his demeanor. Da’Mira waited and watched until Quinton looked up at her. He placed his hands on his hips and stared. From her distance Da’Mira couldn’t figure out his temperament. She took a deep breath, waved toward him and flashed a smile, but Quinton didn’t return the gesture. Instead he turned away, spoke to another man that Da’Mira assumed was the pilot and walked toward the lift that ascended to the walkway.
Da’Mira waited. Quinton appear through an archway at the end of the walk – she stiffened. His striking appearance radiated confidence. Handsome, in league with Gregaor Xavier, yet humb
led. He stood regal. A true Tannador, Da’Mira thought.
His tan pants and long sleeve grayish blue jumper gave him a militaristic mien. He stood just outside the entrance. For a moment Da’Mira caught a glint of anger in his blue eyes. When Quinton grinned and let out a loud chuckle, she breathed a sigh of relief.
Quinton raced to join Da’Mira scooping her up into his arms. “I’ve missed you,” he said spinning her around.
Taken aback Da’Mira wasn’t sure how to react. Quinton stopped spinning her, he held her tight in his arms. Da’Mira smiled and looked into her brother’s eyes. She played with his gold hair that reminded her of their mother.
“You chose green, I like it,” Quinton said letting Da’Mira go, he turned her to get a better look.
“It’s always been my favorite,” Da’Mira replied with a reserved tone. “You seem a little too happy after being recalled home. Are you all right with this?”
“What’s not to be all right with? I hated every minute I spent in deep space. You don’t know how boring it will be until you get out there. Trust me big sister, you’ll hate it too.”
“I’m disappointed to hear that,” Hek’Dara said from behind Da’Mira.
Da’Mira spun around. It’d been two years since she, Hek’Dara and Quinton had been in the same place together. The thick tension in the air reminded her of why. They came together in a semicircle. Hek’Dara’s rigid jaw tightened, his dark beard looked like a porcupine, the wiry bristles stood on end.
“I didn’t mean for you to hear that father,” Quinton said; his eyes looked to the floor.
“I dare say,” Hek’Dara replied. He folded his arms behind his back and threw out his chest. The Tannador crest – a single red rose – on his purple and gold tunic furrowed. “I never thought both of my children would be disappointments,” he said in a callous tone.
Da’Mira felt a ping in her chest and she bit her lower lip. She wanted to scream and let her frustrations fill the rafters of the docking ring. But she didn’t want to fight with her father. Not in front of the dockworkers and not on her brother’s arrival day. She looked into Hek’Dara’s hazel eyes. Her reflection cast in them. She got her attributes from her father. Quinton got his blue eyes and gold hair from the mother he never met. “Please father,” Da’Mira pleaded in a forgiving tone. “Tomorrow is Quinton’s reception and my induction as master of Requiem, can’t we put aside this until after that. This should be a joyous occasion.”
Origin Expedition Page 10
