“Dr. Cross looks like she’s going to hyperventilate,” I muttered to Catherine, who angled her green eyes up at me and blinked.
“Should I give her something?” she whispered in reply.
“What, like a pep talk?”
“No, like an Ativan.” I didn’t know what that was, but Cat had already made up her mind. She placed a hand gently on Araceli’s shoulder to draw her attention. And when Ara bent to listen, Cat stepped up on tiptoe to murmur something into her ear. Ara nodded and excused herself, earning a look of reproach from Christian as she went.
I stayed by Mr. Ward, but watched the women from my periphery. Cat led Ara by the elbow from one end of the grand hall to the other, disappearing into the restrooms, only to emerge again mere moments later. And I had to admit, Ara already looked better.
“What did you give her?” I asked Cat in low tones after Ara had resettled next to Christian, and Cat next to me.
“We airbrushed some blush onto her cheeks, and I had her pop an antianxiety pill. She’ll be totally fine in fifteen minutes.”
Antianxiety medication. I could never conceive of a Galatean woman needing something like that. But we are made of stronger stuff—literally. Our bone density is made to move easily in much higher gravity. The air pressure aboard the Leviathan makes me feel almost weightless, and I thought I might lift off and float in the air like the chandelier if I did not mind my steps.
When finally our little party was called to the stage, I was glad to see that the medication Catherine had administered seemed to be working its strange, alchemical magic on Dr. Cross. Cat, Ara and I stood at the bottom of the stairs as Christian ascended, the GenOriens logo behind him bursting to life in a flurry of animation as he moved across the stage.
The lighting in the hall shifted as the hundreds of guests took their seats and a spotlight focused itself on Christian.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” he began, plucking a microphone from its stand in the podium and moving center stage with it. He stood straight and tall, looking like he was as likely to break into a tap dance as anything else. “For those of you who do not know me, I am Christian Ward, President and CEO of GenOriens, a scientific research organization that my great-grandfather built from the ground up. But it was my mother’s contribution to the company that really brings us here this evening. Lucille Ward opened a series of pre- and perinatal clinics that have allowed us to use state-of-the-art genetic manipulation to eradicate gene-based diseases, and—”
“Eugenics!” shouted someone from the audience. I did not see that someone; I knew only that it was a man’s voice, and that he was quickly escorted from the premises by a duo of armed Galatean guards.
But Christian rolled with the interruption, smiling a broad smile as he paced to the far end of the stage. “‘Eugenics,’ he said, as though it were a bad thing,” he went on. “Eugenics is simply the science of improving the human population. And we at GenOriens have done just that, by eliminating conditions that have plagued humanity for centuries. Cystic Fibrosis, Down Syndrome, Huntington’s Diseases—gone. But tonight, we’re here to discuss the next step in our evolution.
“Dr. Araceli Cross has always been a prodigy. Completing her undergraduate studies at the age of sixteen, she went on to receive her doctorates in genetics and molecular biology. She is the recipient of innumerable awards, and the youngest recipient of the Thomas Hunt Morgan Medal for lifetime achievement in the study of genetics. Fortunately for us, her work has only just begun. Ladies and gentlemen: Dr. Araceli Cross.”
The room erupted with applause as Ara took the stage, neither looking like a stiff automaton nor gliding like an ice dancer. Christian kissed her cheek, handed her the microphone, and abdicated the stage. She made the quick decision to stand at the podium, whereupon she replaced the mic in its stand. She cleared her throat, took in a deep breath, and began to speak.
“When we discovered Kepler 452B over a century ago, we knew only that it was Earth’s closest kin, with water on the rocky surface, and billions of years spent at the same distance from its sun as the Earth is from ours. The difference in size and mass has meant that Kepler 452B—known more widely as Galatea—has a gravitational force higher than what we humans are used to. So it was no surprise to us, really, that its proud and beautiful people—our intergalactic cousins—are taller, broader, and much stronger than we are.”
The GenOriens logo on the LCD screen behind her faded out, and in its place was an image of two Galateans, one male and one female. We had all seen this image, or one strikingly similar, hundreds of times before: Galateans in formfitting jumpsuits that displayed our well-defined musculature. Our skin tones come in varying shades of grey, but the ones in this image are always white as marble. They are the statue that Pygmalion carved out of ivory. I’ve seen My Fair Lady; I guess that makes us Galateans Eliza Doolittle.
“But perhaps the most fascinating thing about our Kepler cousins,” Ara went on, gripping the sides of the podium, “is the natural antibodies they carry for a number of diseases that remain prevalent amongst the human population. Antibodies that prevent them from contracting autoimmune diseases, or sexually transmitted infections. Antibodies that even make them resistant to developing certain forms of cancer. They are stronger and hardier than we are, and they have been good enough to let us study them to see what we can glean from their blood and skin cells, from their plasma and, when their considerable lifespan has run out, from their bodies themselves. These studies, however, are only the first step.”
The image on the screen shifted again, and the words Project NovaGenus were displayed in teal. It looked more like a logo for a dentist’s office than a heavily funded scientific endeavor. Yes, I have been to the dentist; there is candy in my life now.
“The NovaGenus Project,” Ara continued, “will be the first interspecies breeding effort in the history of mankind. Together in cooperation with the Galateans, we are launching into creating a new species: half of Earth, half of Galatea.”
Twelve figures filed onto the stage, all clad in the same white jumpsuits that the Galateans had been wearing in the picture: three human men, three human women; three Galatean men, three Galatean women. All twelve of them were examples of exceptional beauty and, no doubt, exceptional health.
“Ladies and gentlemen, donors and distinguished guests, I give you the pioneers of the NovaGenus Project.”
The room swelled with applause as the twelve guinea pigs smiled at their adoring audience. I wondered absently if they had tried breeding the old-fashioned way, or if everything was done in a lab with petri dishes and a syringe.
Ara went on to explain some of the science behind her discoveries, and what she and her team hoped to learn, even if the experiment itself proved unsuccessful. It was all very interesting, I’m sure, but I had my eyes on Christian, who was engaged in a heated—if quiet—argument with another man in a tuxedo. I canted my head to the side and watched them both gesticulate wildly, half-obscured by the staircase that led up to the stage. I didn’t know why he wasn’t watching Ara, whose body had lost all of its tension, who looked like a queen at her coronation on that stage. I could hardly take my eyes off of her, even though it was my job to keep my eyes on Christian. Even when I could hardly understand what she was talking about, I at least wanted to hear her say it.
Ara descended the staircase to an ovation, and she was smiling when Cat and I approached her.
“Marvelous,” Cat said, enfolding her in a hug that she had to bend down to receive.
“Was I all right?” she asked.
“Better than all right,” I said, extending my hand to her. She took it, and the smile she wore made me feel warm somewhere in the pit of my stomach.
“Thank you.” She gave my hand a squeeze and dropped it, her eyes darting frenetically over the crowd that was gathering around us. “Where’s Christian?”
I started and looked around, embarrassed to have momentarily lo
st my charge. But I was pulled back to Ara when I saw a man approach her and grab her by the arm.
“Tell me, Dr. Cross,” he sneered, “is it part of your job to watch them fuck?”
“I beg your pardon,” she said, and tried to wrench herself free. Cat turned a pair of frantic eyes on me, and I didn’t hesitate to step in.
“Kindly unhand the lady,” I said in a tone that would brook no argument. But he didn’t so much as spare me a glance. He was full of vitriol, his eyes shining with disdain as he stared down into Araceli’s face.
“You are an abomination, and so is whatever disgusting spawn your project brings into this universe.” I had my hands on him, but before I could pry him off of her, he reeled back and spat in her face.
It hit her like a slap, and she shrieked. I hoisted the offender off the ground as though he were nothing but a sack of grain and hauled him toward the elevator. “Get her out of here,” I shouted over my shoulder to Cat, who was wiping at Ara’s face with a handkerchief. Christian emerged from the men’s room and darted over to me as I brought the man to the guards by the elevator.
“What’s happened?” he asked as I deposited the man, who looked rather more smug than someone who was headed to the brig ought to have looked, I thought.
“This asshole spat in her face,” I grumbled. Christian’s mouth was a stern line as he turned on his heel to head back over to Ara, pushing through the small crowd that had gathered around her.
“Stand aside,” I heard him call out, and he gripped her by the arm and dragged her through the throngs with Cat close on her heels.
The four of us got onto the elevator then, and I was grateful for the quiet as the doors closed behind us.
“He just came out of nowhere,” Ara was saying.
“Did he give you a name? An organization, anything?” Christian asked.
“No,” Ara replied, baffled. “He just—why? Is someone after us?”
The silence in the elevator was thick and tense as we dropped twenty levels. Ara was the one to break it. “Cat, please make sure that all of our subjects are all right and get some extra security to the lab wing.”
“On it, boss,” Cat said, swiping her fingers at incomprehensible speeds across the touchscreen of her tablet.
We got off the elevator, our pace slowed, each of us distracted and involved in the worlds of our own minds. Cat bid us goodnight, congratulated Ara on her speech, and made no further mention of the incident.
Then, we reached the suite and I opened the door for them, taking a silent post next to the exit as Christian headed directly into the bedroom.
Araceli hesitated for a moment, picking absently at her nail beds as she turned to look at me. “Thank you for your help tonight,” she muttered, shifting uneasily from one foot to the other.
“I’m only glad I could be of assistance.”
“It was…” She paused, canting her head to one side, an errant red ringlet falling into her eyes. “It was kinda scary there, for a moment.”
“But you are unharmed.”
“Yes,” she confirmed, “thanks to you.” She was frozen in place for an instant, then she darted to my side. She took one of my hands and gripped it in both of hers before bringing it to her lips and pressing a kiss to the back of it.
She left me then, without another word, looking after her shadow as it disappeared behind the doorway.
Chapter 4:
Dr. Araceli Cross
I plucked the earrings from my ears as I moved across the carpeting, a whisper of silk skirts brushing past Christian as I went.
“Don’t let one asshole ruin your whole evening,” he said from his spot against the far wall. On Earth, he may have been looking out of a window, but here, he was silhouetted by the backlit screens depicting a faux landscape: ocean, at first, then forests, then a city skyline, in constant rotation. “You were a huge success tonight.”
“It had been going well,” I reluctantly remarked, “hadn’t it?”
“Yes. Very well, indeed.” He was loosening his bow tie, doffing his jacket. I was plucking the diamond-studded pins from my hair.
“I didn’t even get to eat,” I said sourly. He grinned.
“I’ll fix you something.”
“You cook?”
“Christ, no. But I’m pretty sure they have room service.” I couldn’t help but smile a little as I abandoned my collection of pins on the vanity before moving to sit on the edge of the bed.
“Perhaps I’ve been naive,” I mused. “I should have thought there would be people against this program. I suppose you’ve always known?” He nodded his head in confirmation. “Well, you’ve been quite good at keeping them from me.”
“The board and I wanted you and your staff to remain focused on the work, not constantly looking over your shoulders.” He unbuttoned the top button of his dress shirt and sat beside me. “I’m sorry. I should have told you.”
I gave a slow shake of my head before raking my fingers through my curls to get them out of my face. “I probably would have made the same call, in your shoes,” I said. “I’m not angry. I’m just… sad. You should have seen his face, Christian. He hated me. And everything I stand for. Never in my life have I been confronted with such raw animosity.”
Christian took my hands in his and gave them a small squeeze of reassurance. “He doesn’t hate you, Ara. He doesn’t know you. He’s a religious nut, and he deserves not a minute more of your consideration.” I nodded and made myself smile. I felt like weeping, or scrubbing my face again and again. I thought I could still smell the man’s saliva on my skin. “And besides,” Christian went on, “this should be a night for celebrating.”
“I am rather pleased that I didn’t sweat through my ballgown or speak any major malapropisms during my speech, so—”
But those were not, apparently, the things Christian Ward thought we should celebrate. I hardly noticed when he slid from the bed to get down on bended knee in front of me. But when he revealed a black jewelry box in the palm of his hand, I felt like I’d been shot out of an open airlock.
“Araceli Cross,” he began, and if there had been any question about his intentions, his formality gave him away. “Will you marry me?”
The ring glowed as though it was its own source of light. A princess-cut diamond glittered against the black velvet of the box he presented it in, a collection of marquise diamonds clustered like petals around the disc of a daisy.
I just sort of stared at it.
“I wanted to do this after dinner, in the observatory. I wanted to tap my spoon against my champagne glass and draw everyone’s attention to us so they could see how right we are for one another. Bravo, they would have said, what a smart match.” Christian plucked the ring from the box and took my hand, sliding it gently over my knuckles. It was heavy on my hand.
“We’ll be the power couple of the century, darling,” he said, running his hands up my calves, over the slope of my knees, along the trail of my thighs. “Think of what we can do together.”
“Is this a marriage proposal, or are we forming a limited liability corporation?” He thought I was joking, so he chuckled. But he had already hooked his index fingers around the elastic of my panties and was sliding them down, down, from underneath the fabric of my dress.
“And I do love you,” he said, his voice husky with desire. But it was too late, an afterthought. And I didn’t know what to say. I suppose I should have been grateful that so handsome, powerful, and wealthy a man wanted me, of all people. A plump, nerdy redhead.
We had met when I was a research assistant on the GenOriens Stem Cell team, and I spent most of my time growing tracheal tissue in petri dishes. Christian was touring the lab with his mother, and he came over to introduce himself. His dark, unblemished complexion, his easy swagger, his affectation, they all drew me in. But he and I really found one another in bed. Whatever our differences, we could always return to each other there. He was a confiden
t, commanding lover and he had opened me up to the richness of a sexual life which I had denied myself prior to meeting him. Oh, sure, I’d had a few partners, but he had taught my body what it liked. And he made me want more.
“Christian,” I murmured, but it would be only the feint of a protest, because his deft hand had found the pith of my desire, and he was curling his fingers in a beckoning gesture that made me wet with my wanting. Pulling away, he reached behind me and unzipped my gown, unclasped my bra, until my clothes were bunched up around my waist and my full, round breasts were bared to him. Leaning forward, he took one of my pert nipples in his mouth, tonguing it playfully until a tiny little moan escaped my lips and my hand went instinctively to the back of his head.
He stood, then, and pulled me to standing so that the dress dropped and puddled at my feet and I was completely naked. Christian still wore most of his tuxedo, the bow tie loose around his neck. He led me gently by the hand to one side of the bed and pushed me down onto it. “Spread your legs for me,” he commanded in low, throaty tones, and I did as he bid me. “Touch yourself,” he said, and I obliged, rubbing at my clitoris with my middle finger as Christian began to undress. He had his dark eyes locked on me as he unbuttoned his shirt, kicked off his shoes, and let his dress pants drop to the floor. I could see the bulge of his erection in the confines of his boxer briefs, but I barely had a chance to ask him to take them off before he’d abandoned them entirely and his engorged member sprang free.
He climbed onto the mattress and slid two fingers inside of me. I gasped at his sudden intrusion, and he grinned, his expression full of hunger. “How I’ve missed that sweet, pink pussy,” he all but growled. I moved my own hand away and he leaned forward, flicking his tongue over my clit until I raised my hips to meet him.
When he finally withdrew his fingers, I sat up on the mattress, shifting until I was standing on my knees atop the plush down comforter. I felt emboldened by his proposal and I wanted to ride him with my hands pressed against the hard planes of his chest. But he met me with ferocity and wrapped an arm around my waist as his mouth met mine in a demanding kiss. Then, he broke away and used his considerable strength to turn me around and press me forward, until I was on knees and elbows on the mattress in front of him. He put his hand on the back of my head until my cheek rested against the linens, my slick and ready orifice exposed to him.
Alien Survivor: (Stranded on Galatea) An Alien SciFi Romance Page 3
