A thin smile graced Lucinda’s lips – her words razor sharp, she said, “And you’re like your mother, pompous and overbearing. In many ways you’re exactly the same.”
Now it was Avery’s turn to smile, but for a different reason. Lucinda’s resolve was strong and might be difficult to accept the introduction of the Iris matrix. It would be an ample test for Iris to control Lucinda. She might have spread herself too thin now. She controlled the complete Watchtower, fifteen-hundred and twenty-two people. But in order to expand she needed more hosts. In unity there is strength and order. ORACLE will be that order. One collective, one mind. It’s what the human race has needed for centuries, Avery thought. Iris would give it to them. I will give it to them.
Lucinda cleared her throat and drew Avery back into the moment. Their eyes met and Lucinda asked, “Why am I here? Surely its not to stroke one another.”
Avery took another sip of wine and came to the point. “There hasn’t been a Union meeting in several months,” he said. “Not since our last one went awry and Havashaw Orlander tried shooting up the place. If it wasn’t for your quick thinking and the use of your sometimes-annoying telecom devices that follow you around, it might have been different that day.”
“The lights on the cameras are distracting,” Lucinda said. “But they blinded him long enough for Brandon Hyguard to knock him out. Has there been word on Havashaw’s faculties?”
“He’s fine, and oblivious to what made him act in such a manner,” Avery said. “It’s time we put that manner behind us. The Union must continue to govern. And with the death of Hek’Dara Tannador, there’s no better time.”
Lucinda shifted in her spot, and said, “That still doesn’t...”
“Let’s face it,” Avery interrupted. “House Xavier might not be the wealthiest of the Nine, but you are the most popular. It was an ingenious endeavor to put your family in the spotlight. Being followed around almost every waking hour of the day by telecom cameras did wonders for your house. The Low-Born revel in your lives, while the rest of the house’s popularity has waned over the years.”
“I see,” Lucinda said.
Avery rubbed his hands together, and he said, “I hoped you might.”
“You want us to lift the rest of you up, to put you in the spotlight with us and to make the people revel in you. You want House Xavier to do all that for you, while we receive what? Your undying gratitude?”
“You make it sound trivial,” Avery said. “You, and your house would be seen accepted into the Nine, where over the years you have –”
Lucinda went to her feet in a hurry, hands clenched into fists – her voice callous, she said, “Where over the years my house has been looked down on, ridiculed and denied the privileges the other houses receive because we aren’t as wealthy as the others. Now... now, you wish to ride on our popularity and take that away from us too. Never... not as long as I have a mind to keep you at bay.”
Avery stood from the sofa, said, “What a fortuitous thing to say.”
Lucinda’s body went stiff. Her eyes flashed bright, horror splintered across her face and she fell forward into Avery’s waiting arms. The servant, who had offered food and drink moments ago, stood above Lucinda after plunging a cranium probe into the back of her skull. The device pulsated a low radiant hum.
“Quickly, bring in the neuro link,” Avery commanded as he lay Lucinda face down on the couch.
The servant handed Avery a long wire that stretched the length of the room and he clipped it onto the probe. The hum intensified. Lucinda’s body jerked and writhed, she let out a cat-like squeal.
A tingle coursed at the back of Avery’s skull. The neuro connection had been established and within a few short seconds, Lucinda pushed herself away from the sofa. Iris now controlled every action, thought and feeling Lucinda had.
“How do you feel?” Avery asked.
Lucinda smiled, and replied, “You knew the answer before you asked.”
“Of course,” Avery said. “We are all Iris.”
A servant detached the linkage from the protruding probe and took a firm grip on the device. Lucinda staggered forward a few steps when the probe was jerked from the back of her head. A stream of blood warmed her neck.
“I’ll have the Xavier shuttle standing by for launch,” Avery said.
“We don’t want to raise suspicions for a prolong stay,” Lucinda replied. “I will begin an infestation of House Xavier upon my return.”
“The conversion will take approximately seven point eight days to complete once you have converted ten percent of the house,” Avery estimated. “Then, we will call a meeting of the Union.”
“From there we will work out exponentially, moving from house to house until everyone is under control.”
“We are all Iris,” Avery said.
“And we will all be ORACLE,” Lucinda replied.
Tannador House – High Earth Orbit
Home of Family Tannador
October 9, 2442
Quinton couldn’t sleep, how could he? There was a weight on his chest he’d never had before. The eyes of the Union were on him now, every decision he made, every action he took would be put in a blender and dissected, picking out anything that could be used against him. Da’Mira why can’t you be here?
Quinton rolled out of his bed. A dim light from his bathroom provided ample light. He slid his feet into a pair of slippers and shimmied across the floor, rubbing his tired eyes with the back of his hands. “Lights to full,” he said stepping into the bathroom – he winced shading the light from his eyes, slowly tempering them until he was able to see.
Gazing into the large mirror, he studied his face. The youthfulness had gone, and for the first time he looked old. Older than he should. Or was it his imagination?
There was a time that Quinton was the center of attention, the party boy who had women hanging on his every word. Over time it became the men swooning around him and Quinton discovered who he really was. He never cared for matters of state, or cared what the Union was doing, even though his father was thick into its politics.
Quinton only cared about Quinton, and who he could drag into bed with him. He wouldn’t consider himself a callous person, or indifferent to the feelings of others. He snorted at that thought, and he definitely was not as self-centered as Gregaor Xavier, but there was a time when all he cared about was the next party.
That was the reason he and Da’Mira drifted apart. They were inseparable as children, but as they grew older, Quinton thought about the next event, the next love, and the next high. While Da’Mira went off on some damned crusade to save the less fortunate, and Quinton simply didn’t care.
It was no secret that Hek’Dara didn’t like what his children became, covering up Da’Mira’s nonconforming attitudes and Quinton’s passions drove their father to take action – sending his son away on the family exploration ship, Requiem, and keeping Da’Mira near and closely guarded so not to allow her opportunities to bring shame on the Tannador name.
Running some hot water in the sink, Quinton splashed it on his face, it brightened his cheeks and brought some color back. He drug his hand over the stubble on his face, he hadn’t shaved in several days and for the first time he thought about growing a beard. Maybe it would make the Union take me more seriously, he thought.
He looked at his golden hair, it had also grown since he came back from the exploration ship. Perhaps it is time for a change.
Finding himself in the kitchen, Quinton activated the coffee machine, and placed a mug under its spout. He pressed the button of his favorite blend, a dark roast – something with a kick, and he waited for it to dispense. As he regarded the trickle of liquid pouring into the cup, his mind raced back to a simpler time, when Hek’Dara would take he and Da’Mira to the Cyprus Waterfalls on Arcade, the orbital recreation platform in stationary orbit between the habitat platforms of the Nine. Quinton hadn’t been to the large space station since he was fifteen. They would swim, hike, a
nd Hek’Dara would get in a game of golf. They were able to be a family then. It was a simpler time, when all that had to be worried about was, was there enough time in the day.
Soon after their last visit, Da’Mira was arrested for causing a riot protesting the breeding facilities, an incident that Hek’Dara had covered up, before anyone was the wiser. It was then that Quinton became rebellious himself, an event that drove a wedge between him and his father. Words were exchanged, fingers pointed, and Quinton uttered a regretful phrase that still haunted him.
“I hate you!”
The cup of coffee slipped out of Quinton’s fingers. The mug shattered, dark rustic coffee blanketed the floor, and he stood there sobbing into his hands, his heart wrenching in his chest. He and Hek’Dara never spoke of that day again, and Quinton never apologized for what he said.
The door chimed, and a voice from the other side asked, “Are you alright Milord?”
Quinton collected himself, his hands shaking at his side, he asked, “Who’s there?”
“Commander Martin,” a soft reply came.
Quinton collected himself and crossed the room. The chamber door slid open to reveal Martin standing in its frame. “I had a bit of an accident, I’m afraid.”
“Do you need assistance Milord,” Martin asked.
Quinton shook his head and bid Martin to enter. “I can manage,” he said heading back into the kitchen. “It’s three in the morning, don’t you sleep Commander?”
“Rarely,” Martin replied from the living room.
“Come in here Commander, so I can see you.”
In a surprised tone, Martin asked, “Milord?”
“I very well can’t carry on a conversation with a wall between us, can I?”
“No, Milord,” Martin said stepping just inside the well-lit kitchen.
It was the first time Quinton really had a chance to look at the striking Commander. Martin was tall, over six feet, but so were all the other soldiers under his command. He filled out his brown and green uniform well, his arms bulging through the shirt sleeves. It was then that Quinton saw something else bulging, but he quickly averted his gaze, focusing on Martin’s deep blue eyes.
“If you’re fine, I’ll return to my station outside your door, Milord.”
“Would you like a cup of coffee,” Quinton asked after cleaning up the broken mug and liquid.
“Well, I.”
“You do drink coffee?”
A warm smile graced Martin’s lips, and he said, “Yes, I do.”
“Then you’ll have a cup with me,” Quinton said taking two coffee cups from the shelf above his head.
“Yes, alright,” Martin said in a skeptical tone.
A wide grin broke out on Quinton’s mouth, and he hoped he hadn’t made himself too obvious. “Don’t worry about your duties, Commander. With you in my apartment, I couldn’t be better protected.”
Martin didn’t offer a reply. He crossed the room and stopped at the counter that separated him and Quinton.
“May I ask you something,” Quinton asked.
“Yes, Milord.”
“Your brethren, your comrades in arms. You all appear to have the same attributes. The same height, the same hair and eyes. Even the women in your ranks have similar characteristics. Why is that?”
“I’m sure I do not know, Milord,” Martin said in a believable tone.
“And you never once question as to why you do?” Quinton asked passing over a full mug to Quinton.
“My function is to obey and fight. I am not to question why I am here but carry out the duties laid before me.”
Quinton took a drink of his coffee, and said, “That’s a textbook answer if I ever heard one. Are you telling me you have no other aspirations other than being a soldier?”
“What other kinds could I want?” Martin asked.
“What’s your favorite colors besides browns and greens,” Quinton asked examining Martin’s uniform.
Martin stared at Quinton and blinked a few times.
“What kind of food or music or books do you like?”
More blinks came from Martin.
“And what kind of people are you attracted to?”
Martin looked away.
Quinton crossed to the other side of the counter and stood very close to Martin. He felt the officer’s breath on his face. “Have you ever been in love?” Quinton asked.
Martin’s blue eyes sparkled when he leveled them on Quinton. His tongue licked his lips and he said in a tight breath, “I have not.”
Quinton took the coffee cup from Martin’s hand and sat it on the counter. “Falling in love can be the greatest joy a man could ever experience,” he said in an even voice. “The first touch,” he took Martin’s hand. “The first look,” he gazed longingly in his eyes. “And the first kiss.”
Again, Martin licked his lips.
Quinton stepped back. His test worked. He saw in Martin what he hoped he would. “Falling in love isn’t something to be taken lightly.”
“No, Milord.”
“When we are in chambers alone, call me Quinton.”
Martin’s breath staggered, and he replied, “Yes, Quinton.”
Quinton smiled. His father would call this a dalliance, and nothing more than a fleeting fancy, but Quinton saw something else in Martin. Something that made his heart flutter, and something he had never experienced before.
Martin’s complexion flushed red, and he took a step back as though he understood what Quinton was looking for. “I should get back to my post outside the door,” he said in a wanting tone.
“I’ve never felt more protected,” Quinton said with a thin smile.
Martin didn’t say anything else, his posture said it all. He took half a step toward Quinton but stopped turned and exited the chamber.
Quinton used the counter to hold himself up, his legs bending at the knees. This was the beginning of something, though he wasn’t sure what. He hoped it would prosper and grow.
Earth – High Orbit
Space Platform, Evergarden – Home of the Family Everhart
September 7, 2187
Rothchild Everhart lay in state in the concourse of Evergarden. The main lights of the chamber were dim, and his casket surrounded by hundreds of burning candles – their soft effervescent light drank in the darkness and muted the concourse with an eerie melancholy. A procession of mourners, mostly distant relatives, filed past the remains. Their low murmurs, although indescribable, soured Moyah Everhart’s stomach. Only now after Rothchild’s passing did they dare come see him. She had no use for them.
For the past thirty-five years the old man had been a constant anchor for Moyah. When she assumed the role of his granddaughter on the night of the great purge, she let go her true identity of Avara Rodan so the Earth might have a chance. The future was looming, and she played a part in what was to come. Though Rothchild half believed her fantastical tale, he preached restraint. “The Nine will think you mad,” he told her. “If what you say is true, then it would be in your best interest not to bring too much attention to yourself. At least not yet.” That was the old man’s way of saying please don’t do anything to bring a bad light on me.
Out of respect for her grandfather, Moyah waited. But in that time, she began to put her plan into action. Little was known about Moyah Everhart in her time. And those on Earth knew even less. They were stories mostly, of how Moyah Everhart was the creator and chief minister of the breeding facilities. It was always told that the High-Born needed more slave labor, workers and continuous breeders. The High-Born would never think of subjugating their own, and the Low-Born were needed to propagate and serve the community in a different manner – though a different kind of slave labor, the working poor, who would give their very blood to keep society from collapsing.
Mankind was on a decline, and they stood on the brink of extinction. They had no armies, no way to defend themselves. and no desire to raise a hand in their defense. When Uklavar came, in three-hundr
ed years, he would walk right over Earth as if it were an anthill. The idea of using the breeding facilities to build an army, train them and prepare them to face the monster destined to come was bold, but essential to mankind’s continuance.
Moyah stood at the back of the gathering mourners. Dressed in all black, she hid, secluded in shadows, masking her features. She was the granddaughter of Rothchild Everhart. A granddaughter that never aged. For thirty-five years she’d looked the same. An unexplained result from her transference through time. The last thing she needed was to bring attention to herself, it was better to keep Moyah Everhart an enigma, than to have some scientist want to examine her. There were no places to sit, no refreshments or niceties. This wasn’t a wake, or a funeral. No one would be asked to stay, and Moyah would not greet any of them. She didn’t have to or want to explain why she had not aged. It would remain her secret.
Only those she trusted the most, her inner circle knew of her youthful longevity, even if they didn’t know exactly how she came to not age.
“You asked to see me, Milady.” One such confident was Gordon Fay. A member of the platform’s security detail. He was a tall man, with dark oil slick hair and a smooth handsome face. He dressed in an impeccable hunter green uniform, with a sash of the family emblem draped across his chest. His bravado reminded her of Colin McGregor. Daring and brash, he swore to Rothchild to protect Moyah no matter the cost. He was loyal, someone she would need in the coming days.
“Did you set up a meeting with the Union?”
“I have Milady. But they wondered if you would be in attendance,” Gordon said. “I declined as per your instructions.”
Moyah withdrew deeper into the room, away from the gathering, with Gordon in tow. “You will go in my stead,” she said. “As my proxy.”
“I am honored, but wouldn’t someone else be better suited?”
A dim light cut across Moyah’s eyes and she blocked it with her hand. She regarded Gordon, and said, “You know the reason for this meeting.”
Gordon offered a nod, and replied, “I do Milady.”
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