From the Ashes (Conquest Book 1)

by Jeff Taylor

  “So that’s how it is then,” she said, concealing the pain in her voice. “Fine. I’ll go to the lab and do Kim’s part of your ‘master plan.’ When it’s over, I’ll disappear and you’ll never have to bother with me again.”

  Again, Nelsonn remained silent. Finally, he turned away and gazed out the large window overlooking the stern of the ship. “You’ve never really understood our cause so I shouldn’t expect you to now. Very well,” he said at last. “I’ll have Kim brief you on the details if Bledri can’t go. If he can, we’ll let you off at Selene I where you can find a transport to Earth or Mars, or wherever you like.”

  “Fine,” she said defiantly. “Until then, maybe you should stay out of my way. I’d hate for something unfortunate to happen to you before then.”

  “Agreed,” he replied. Then without so much as a glance at her, he strode determinedly toward the exit.

  She continued to stare out the window, fighting the hot tears she could no longer suppress. Searching for strength, she called to him. “Don’t bother going back to the cabin. You can find somewhere else to sleep.”

  Nelsonn stood in the doorway for a moment. “Very well.” He then brusquely left the gym.

  Eve wiped the tears spewing from her eyes. “Computer!” she shouted.

  “Yes, Mrs. Johnson,” the cheery computer voice chirped through the overhead speakers.

  “I’ll take that sparring challenge right now.”

  The digital hostess hesitated before complying. “But Mrs. Johnson, your heart rate has not come down yet from your run. Might I suggest a calming micro-gravity yoga routine instead?”

  “Run it, now!”

  “Yes, Mrs. Johnson.”

  Eve took up the harness at the center of the sparring ring of the gym and set her fighting stance. A small chirp chimed in her ear. Instantly, she stood in the center of an ancient Asian arena, surrounded by a horde of black-clad martial artists projected into her mind by her optical implants.

  “And don’t call me Mrs. Johnson. Call me Eve,” she said with deathly calm as she beckoned for the biggest challenger to begin his attack.

  “Yes, Ms. Eve.”

  CHAPTER 20

  SELENE

  Against the black canvas of space, the brilliance of the lunar surface was overwhelming. Strinnger had seen it before, of course, but from over two hundred thousand miles away. Never had he imagined that one day he would be as close to it as he was now. His grandfather once referred to the orbiter as the “silver platter upon which the gods served the universe to man.” Those words now seemed to understate the magnificence of the Earth’s companion. Instinctively, Strinnger pressed his hand to the small round window pane of the transport ship, Orbiter 1, wishing he could reach through the void and touch the pale disk that now filled his view.

  “It’s breathtaking,” Jilliana Kratin said at his side.

  “It’s amazing,” her youngest daughter remarked.

  Lost in his thoughts Strinnger had forgotten anyone else was there with him. The voices of Julia and her mother made him flinch, startled at how near they were to him.

  Since the night before, Strinnger had gone out of his way to avoid Julia. The national exposure of their kiss dominated the headlines, both tabloid and regular press. Some members of the Kratin family expressed concern about him even accompanying them on the trip. Security Chief Treyklor, however, had insisted. It was too late to find a replacement for him and he had already been briefed on the trip’s security protocols. They would just have to tolerate his presence.

  But Strinnger found that he was the one struggling the most being there. He hadn’t dared go home or answer his phone all night for fear that Loura would want to talk. Fortunately, or unfortunately, she never called or knocked on his door. They did exchange a tense good-bye before he left for the launch port, but that had been over the phone. The tone in Loura’s voice left a great deal of uncertainty about the status of their engagement. Had Treyklor given him the choice, Strinnger would have stayed and tried to fix his now fragile relationship.

  To make matters worse, the specter of Julia’s warm skin and moist lips haunted him the entire night. He had lain in the company car staring at the ceiling, fighting to sleep but wrestling more with the electricity she had ignited in him with her touch. Her zest for life and buoyant attitude invigorated him, made him feel more alive than he’d ever felt before. As he stood by her now, the aroma of her perfume, her beautifully tanned skin shimmering in the moonlight, and the intoxicating smile revealing her perfect white teeth, drew her to him more than ever.

  “What’s that over there?” Julia asked, pointing to the far left.

  He looked in the direction of her manicured finger. At first, he saw nothing, but then noticed an irregular speck against the gray lunar surface.

  “That is our destination,” the flight attendant, Devra, an overly cheerful brunette, interjected from behind her. Both Strinnger and the Kratins glanced at her then turned their attention back to the viewport. “The gray scaffolding of the lower section is hard to make out because of our distance, but the bright red paint of the station itself is very distinct.”

  Strinnger concentrated on the red polka-dot over the Sea of Tranquility. His eyes squinted and strained to discern the object’s full shape, with little luck. Julia noticed his struggle, placed a soft hand on his shoulder then pressed her left index and middle fingers against the viewport. The white tips of her fingernails parted from one another and the image of the porthole magnified.

  “Showoff,” he muttered, to which Julia quietly giggled.

  Selene I, Carsus Corp’s largest space station, hung in space like two diamonds joined at their nearest tips, the bottom section elongated like a distorted reflection of the upper. The lower diamond was a skeletal matrix of lattice work, crisscrossing down toward the surface while the upper section was significantly larger than its counterpart and completely encompassed in an attention-grabbing shell of crimson plating. At its end reaching upward were a series of towers and spires extending away from the lattice toward space. A ring of docking ports circled the station where the two sections met.

  “It almost looks like a giant flower,” Jilliana Kratin commented, now leaning over her daughter’s narrow shoulders. “Like a rose.”

  A head-up display on the window came to life, proclaiming the station’s dimensions, its occupant and docking capacity, as well as other helpful information. Strinnger read the text. As part of the security detail for the mission, he had been apprised of the layout and was already aware of many of the intimate details of the station and its compliment. He had to admit it was an incredible feat of engineering and in fact did almost look like a titanic rose bud.

  “Oh, my goodness! I am so sorry,” the sunny stewardess nearly shrieked. “You don’t need to be crowding around one another to look through that tiny window.” She reached inside the pocket of her navy smock and retrieved what looked like a writing pen. With a flick of her slender finger atop the pen, the ceiling and floor of the passenger cabin completely vanished, apart from the beige seats and the running lights along the aisles. Strinnger inhaled sharply. The maw of space now consumed them from every direction. He expected to see innumerable fields of stars, but instead saw only the blinding brightness of the giant reflective orb dominating the sky ahead of them. Being so close to the moon and experiencing the enormity of it was more than humbling.

  The others in the cabin seemed to feel the same way. Julia gripped his left bicep and gasped. An awed silence filled the compartment. No one dared speak lest they offend the majestic being looming large above them. At last, Pilan Ahkman voiced what they were all thinking. “Magnificent,” he breathlessly uttered.

  “Magnificent desolation,” agreed Brill, quoting astronaut Buzz Aldrin’s description of the Earth’s companion. “For the first time in his life, Vim was right about something; he does have the best view imaginable.”

  Julia released Strinnger’s arm and turned toward Brill. “W
ho’s Vim?”

  From the stern look forming on Brill’s aged face, Strinnger could already tell his opinion of the man. But before Brill could express it, Nathaniel cut in.

  “Jonu Vim is the administrator and project coordinator for the Selene stations. The stations themselves were the brainchildren of Mr. Brill here, but Vim is largely responsible for them as far as the actual day-to-day operations and upkeep. I’ve only spoken to him by video but he seems to me to be a very bright and energetic man.”

  “That’s just what he appears to be on the outside,” Brill growled. “The man’s a usurper, taking credit for everything good that has ever happened on these stations. If Schulaz hadn’t been his friend, I would have had him terminated years ago.”

  The venom the old man held for the administrator was palpable, even to Strinnger. He especially didn’t like the way he emphasized the word “terminated.” He knew Mr. Brill to be largely poised yet unforgivably ruthless. Strinnger had to wonder what lengths the man would go to get his way. Adding to his concern was the fact that Brill had become increasingly more agitated and prone to criticism since the explosion at corporate headquarters, or so Strinnger had been told by the other staff.

  “How long has he been up here,” Julia inquired.

  “Too long!” Brill retorted.

  Her father came to the rescue once more. “Fifteen years,” he said in a calm voice.

  “Will we get to meet him?” she asked.

  The elder Kratin smiled at his daughter. “Absolutely.”

  “Oh yes,” the stewardess eagerly interjected. “Mr. Vim is already on Selene I awaiting your arrival.”

  She flashed her toothy grin once more and then sauntered down the aisle to the cockpit. Strinnger was glad to see her go. Her cheeriness was friendly but stiff, as if she were an android. Suddenly, it dawned on him, she might just be that. He had heard rumors that the Carsus Corporation was delving into robotics with some major successes. Reflexively, he looked around the room, wondering who else might not have been completely human. Good money said either Volkor Con or Josephina Leniston were the most likely candidates, though she looked more dead than robotic. Security Chief Treyklor interrupted his speculation by placing a firm hand on his shoulder. With a stern nod to the front of the ship, Strinnger understood it was time to get into position. They would be docking soon and Strinnger needed to take his place near Nathaniel Kratin.

  “Mr. Kratin,” he said gently, “it’s time we took our seats, sir.”

  Nathaniel smiled genially. “Very well.”

  Strinnger had worked for many different types of people in his lifetime, but Nathaniel Kratin was by far the most interesting. At times he seemed oblivious, lost in his own thoughts, but in an instant, he could be brilliant, friendly and yet firm in his commitments. And despite the previous evening’s debacle at the club, Nathaniel showed no sign that he felt anything but gratitude for Strinnger’s presence on the ship. Strinnger could see himself warming to the light-haired man on a personal level, even sharing some loyalty for him.

  The rest of the passengers followed the Kratin patriarch’s lead as he dropped down into the wide, cushioned seat next to his eldest daughter Tina who had spent the entire trip glued to the datapad she’d stowed away in her handbag. Jilliana and Julia moved to the front of the cabin, eyes still locked on the ever-growing moon still visible above them. Strinnger stood in the aisle and let them pass, making a concerted effort not to return Julia’s smile. Once the Kratin family was buckled in, he took the last seat on the row next to Tina and did the same.

  The stewardess, Devra, returned from behind the navy-blue curtain separating the cabin and the cockpit area, smile ablaze once more. “I have good news,” she chirped. “The captain has agreed to let me leave the sky projection active while we dock with the station. Isn’t that exciting?”

  Jilliana and Julia shared Devra’s enthusiasm, but few others did. Tina hadn’t acknowledged anyone else was even in the cabin with her until her father leaned over and politely asked her to put the pad away.

  “Our stock won’t crash if we stop watching it,” he teased. “Trust me.”

  Reluctantly, Tina retracted the thin device into a small square and placed it in her jacket.

  Within minutes, the once minuscule space station towered over them, like a large red diamond filling visible space. Docked around the ring circling the upper tier like a day’s catch of fish, the variations of sleek luxury yachts, generic green and gold passenger transports, and clunker freight vessels that appeared to be assembled from a collection of spare parts, all awed Strinnger. But even more impressive were the two-man Moskito class fighters he’d read about clinging to the scaffolding of the lower tier of the station like the insects their name denoted. Light brown with dark amber accents on their reverse crescent wings, the ships were deadly reminders that space was not always a tourist-friendly place. Their presence was only allowed by the United Nations because of a pirate raid last year had nearly devastated the station.

  The body of the ship rocked gently followed by a low hissing sound.

  “The docking clamps are now in place,” the captain’s voice echoed over the loudspeaker. “If you’ll remain in your seats for a few minutes while we establish the airlock, Devra will further instruct you on the protocols aboard the station.”

  For the next thirty minutes, Devra explained the process of how the airlock was pressurized, oxygen mixtures correlated to match the levels both in the ship and the station, and how the threat of microbial infection was the greatest security concern on the station. Because of this risk, each of them would have to undergo a very thorough, and regrettably, invasive decontamination procedure that would be repeated once they arrived on the surface. The description and brief demonstration video displayed on the backs of their seats made Strinnger squirm. “And if we refuse to do this,” he asked.

  Devra gave him an understanding smile. “Then you’ll be returning with the ship.”

  “I think you’ll live,” Julia chided, leaning forward from the other end of the row. He caught her playful gaze briefly before she reclined back and chuckled with her mother at their protector’s bashful reluctance.

  Once the instruction was over, Treyklor and his security team consisting of Strinnger, Arla, and Tom, both of whom were also at the club the night before, assembled at the fore hatch. Ignoring the shuttle staff, the quartet pushed aside the outer door and stepped into a blinding white, luminescent tube. Their boots clicked on the metal-grated walkway beneath them as they made their way toward the far end. Two personages, their gender impossible to tell from the oversized protective suits, emerged from the airlock directly ahead of the team. The pair nearly vanished into the background as their white suits covered them from head to toe. Matching opaque visors masked their identity. Strinnger tensed. He felt eerily on edge as if the two strangers signaled some foreboding evil. He never trusted anyone whose face he couldn’t see.

  Treyklor walked briskly ahead so that he would be the first to reach the sentries. “I am Security Chief Stepan Treyklor,” he said curtly. “And these are my subordinates, Daeman Strinnger, Arla Roan, and Tom Vrick” gesturing to each. “In compliance with the protocol approved by your administrator, we request that you process us first so that we may secure the premises prior to the remainder of our party exiting the ship.”

  When the plan for the trip was being reviewed, Mr. Kratin had bristled at Treyklor’s insistence on tight security protocols. “Is all of this really necessary,” he’d asked. To which Treyklor replied, “Absolutely! Our former CEO was murdered where he stood in a crowd of people. Mr. Brill was nearly killed by a bomb in our own building. We have every reason to be cautious.” Strinnger wasn’t sure if it was Treyklor’s strong argument, or his strong personality, that convinced the CEO he was right.

  The sentry to the right stepped toward them. “Of course, Chief Treyklor,” a muffled voice sounded from the helmet. “Right this way, gentlemen, ma’am.”

&n
bsp; Devra had been right. From the scalding, high-stream jets searing his skin, to the less than gentle inspection suffered at the hands of a nurse who must have been wronged by a man in earlier in life, the entire decontamination process was horrific. The dozens of inoculations were tame compared to the other parts of the screening. He rubbed his sore forearm where the needles, which seemed as long as the trip to the station, had entered his veins. The shots protected against diseases on the station but they were also to implant a health monitoring chip that would automatically alert medical staff should there be an emergency.

  Each of the shuttle passengers, once cleaned and injected, was given a gray and white bodysuit to wear under their clothing. Prior to putting it on, each wearer was given a shot which contained a cocktail of proteins and enzymes specifically engineered to interact with their DNA. These particles made it possible for the magnetic and atmospheric controls built into the fabric of the suit to interact with the wearer’s body like a second skin, controlling the environmental conditions, pressurization and the magnetization, and protecting the wearer from the radiation inherent with living in space. He didn’t understand how it worked (something about filaments in fabric reading neurons in his body), but loved the way the sleek suit felt on his skin. The material had the look of spandex, yet it was soft to the touch and allowed Strinnger to move freely despite clinging to his body. Additionally, the suit invigorated him as he moved in it, giving him added energy and agility. He didn’t ever want to take it off.

  “What about the clothes I wore during the trip?” he asked the technician who had helped him put it on. “Do I get those back or do I have to walk around looking like a hood ornament in this thing?”

  “They will be stored in a locker until your return trip,” the man said mechanically as if this was not the first time he’d been asked that question. “We have an assortment of tunics and robes near the exit for the others to wear. As a security officer, you will be provided a uniform.”