The Tenth Legion (Book 6, Progeny of Evolution) (38 page)

A slow, mushy clunking sound told Cynthia the
make-up completed, sealing the shuttle to the mother ship. An
attendant, practically exploding with pleasantness, appeared as the
seatbelt sign extinguished. Being closer to the exit, the other two
passengers who’d accompanied them cleared out first. Just as well,
as her charges would need extra time.

A young, clear-eyed hybrid attendant offered
a hand. “Here, let me.” She presented a blue-sleeved arm to Uncle
Tommy; Aunt Sadie frowned at being ignored for the moment.

“Great-mom’s going to have her hands full
with this pair,” Cynthia muttered under her breath. Samantha, a
lycan, celebrated her two hundred and twenty-third birthday a few
months before. She’d looked after Cynthia’s companions as babies.
Now, as they neared their end, she would care for them again, as
she’d done for their parents. Such defined the tragedy of the
relationship between hybrids and their lycan/vampire parents.

“How do you cope with children and
grandchildren growing old and dying before your eyes?” She once
asked Great-mom.

The matriarch smiled with the face of someone
in her mid-thirties. The iconic green eyes still had a ton of
sparkle left. She fingered a Christian cross on a chain around her
neck. “I accept that it’s God’s will and part of His plan.”

“And what of the rest of us who aren’t
blessed with your faith, Great-mom?”

“God’s purposes are mysteries, and burying a
child is never easy, but it’ll all work out. It always does.”

Cynthia nodded. With time, understanding and
the courage to breed might come, but for now she thanked Providence
she had no children of her own.

“This way, Aunt Sadie.” Cynthia extended a
patient, graceful arm toward the intended path, down a curved
walkway leading to the mother ship’s interior. A sheath of black
cloth molded to the willowy appendage, emblazoned by three gold
stripes to indicate her rank as Commander. On the upper left breast
of the coat, a multicolored blaze of fabric and metal badges
attested to completed missions. Only Uncle Charlie, who commanded
the first expedition to Mars sixty odd years before, possessed a
higher total. On her initial space voyage, in 2107, Cynthia had
relocated to Mars. The experience stimulated a desire to learn what
more lay outside the warm, downy blankets of atmosphere wrapping
the earth, and inhabited parts of the moon and Mars.

On trips between Earth and Mars, going “up”
meant to the Red planet, while returns to Earth went “down”.

Compared to the often senselessly hectic pace
of life on Earth or in the crowded colonies, the solitude of space
held appeal. From first sight, the precise mechanical movement of
each heavenly body fascinated her—its mass, the subtleties of the
orbit, whether it radiated heat and if so what type. Soon, few
denizens of the trackless depths of space retained their secrets.
From a single look at a cyber star chart, she could calculate the
base track of the longest mission.

On the first voyage “up”, as an apprentice
astronaut she volunteered for extra “awake” watches. Back then, the
trip to or from Earth still lasted twelve weeks. To be safe,
travelers entered stasis cocoons to shield against cosmic
radiation. Someone had to remain up and about, to tend
communications or address equipment failures. The crew rotated the
task to spread the risk of exposure. For voyages to Mars, Cynthia’s
lycan physiology protected her almost as much as a stasis cocoon
could. On watch, she read eBooks or stared for hours at the
unchanging patterns of stars spangled across the seamless darkness
of sidereal space. Always the feeling persisted that something
gazed back. Nothing had changed in the fifteen years since. Often
she wondered if the curious experience during the expedition to
Jupiter was part of what the cosmos had to say.

Upon entering the reception area, a staff of
solicitous blue-uniformed attendants surrounded them. Only deep
space explorers wore The Black. In Cynthia’s case the material
molded to the curves of a frame topping out at six feet. The heeled
boots added three or four more inches. Glossy hair dyed a cobalt
blue, cut in a tight page boy to accommodate the various head gear
worn in her line of work, framed a narrow, rectangular,
square-jawed face. Flesh pale as the earth’s moon at apogee on a
cloudless night made the depth of her inky, almond-shaped eyes
appear almost infinite. Only a little blush in the hollows beneath
the high cheekbones, and a touch of lip gloss, disturbed the
head-to-toe pattern of black uniform over porcelain skin.

If the prestige of the Explorer outfit and
emblems didn’t do it, the fact her party belonged to the bloodline
of the White’s settled the issue of who got priority staff
attention. “We have transportation for your guests, Commander,”
announced a young woman, pointing to an electric cart accompanied
by a waiting driver.

“You guys ride. I’ll walk,” she said to her
elderly relatives.

After situating the two fragile humans
comfortably on the conveyance, the party took off. Cynthia led.
Vigorous high-stepping strides pranced ahead, often calling to mind
another Cynthia—her grandmother, The Fashion Model Known as
Cynthia, who died in the Great Plague of 2026. Cynthia disliked the
comparisons people made between them. To make one remained the
fastest way to get on her wrong side, whether meant innocently or
not.

Before emerging, her hybrid older brothers
had ridiculed her without stop, planting her perception she was
unattractive, one that still lingered, even after emergence. She
lived overshadowed by the specter of Gran Cynthia’s now legendary
beauty, coupled with her heroic deeds; never allowing complete
comfort with either appearance or accomplishments.

* * * *

From above, the panorama of Earth setting
behind the Moon drifted into the view ports, brought there by the
rotation of the mother ship’s main ring. Long ago, Cynthia
acclimated to viewing a planet or heavenly body from below, when an
Earth-based sense of direction dictated the perspective should be
from above. She forgot the disorientation that seeing the spectacle
for the first time, from a counterintuitive viewpoint, had on
novices to space travel.

“Oh Cindy, we’re going to fall!” Aunt Sadie
exclaimed, clutching the handrail beside her seat.

She answered with the patient tone used by
experienced seamen of a bygone era when advising landlubbers
embarked on their first sea voyage. “No, it’s quite safe. Keep your
eyes on a fixed object. You’ll feel better.”

Soon they entered the stasis preparation
area, a long, narrow, curved space populated by a row of fifty
horizontal, transparent cylinders—the cocoons. Attendants had
nearly completed installing the passengers. After the last of any
lycan or vampire who wanted to relocate to Mars made the trip,
passenger traffic changed to human Indentures. Return trips carried
cargo. Mars contained rich deposits of uranium. The corporation,
Coven International, Inc., or CI, did a brisk commerce in the
element as interest in nuclear power plants on Earth renewed.
Fusion technology burned clean, but couldn’t be adapted to
planetary gravities, remaining, for now, in space, powering the
mother ships.

Besides uranium, gold provided a windfall for
the company. Founded by an international consortium of prominent
members, including The Greats, early in the Twenty-first century,
the company became one of the largest in the world, eventually
funding construction of The Colonies as well as migration to the
Red Planet.

“No dear,” said the pleasant young woman
attending Aunt Sadie, “the procedure won’t hurt.” At Cynthia’s
approach she raised relieved eyes, explaining, “We’re having
difficulty accepting The Cup.”

The Stasis Sanitation and Recycle Cup, or The
Cup, removed bodily waste, sending it to a treatment plant
resulting in eventual reuse. Upon seeing one for the first time,
the double catheter probe intimidated most people.

“But we fasted and purged according to
instructions,” the venerable uncle protested weakly. To Cynthia,
his voice sounded like it came from beyond Pluto.

Four long, warm fingers crossed her uncle’s
sleeve. “I know you did, Uncle Tommy, but this is all very
necessary.” She beamed kindly down on both relatives. “Take the
pill to sleep. You won’t feel a thing, I promise. The next you
know, you’ll be orbiting Mars.”

Small, yellow-flecked, green eyes cut
skeptically toward the silver tray holding the pills and cups. “Are
you sure?” Aunt Sadie asked.

“Have I misled you yet?” Cynthia countered.
“Forget about The Cup. Think instead of how much easier the lighter
gravity will be for you. Remember, your mom’s there.” Cassandra’s
ashes rested on Mars, as did Gran Cynthia’s.

The elderly cousins exchanged glances. “She
has a point, Sadie.”

“Of course I do. One pill and you’re
done.”

Silently, a thin liver-spotted hand reached
for the paper cup. Aunt Sadie took the tiny red medication without
water. A quick snap of her head put the pellet down. A relieved
attendant helped her into a cocoon.

“And you, Uncle Tommy, are you ready?”

A confused, little smirk wrinkled over his
face. Apparently having forgotten the issue in contention, he
accepted the tiny cup, taking his sedative, augmented by a healthy
swallow of water. Cynthia sat between them until they fell asleep,
holding a frail hand in each of hers. Having that part of the trip
behind, she turned to the woman in charge of the attendants.

“Didn’t I tell you not to discuss The Cup
procedure with them?”

The attractive, blue-uniformed young vampire
supervisor shrank back from the imposing presence of Commander May,
Deputy Mission Leader to Jupiter. At last she managed to say, “I
thought an explanation wouldn’t hurt, Commander.”

“You thought wrong. I’ve known the male all
my life and the female since we located her ten years ago. I knew
we’d have this kind of problem. Next time, follow your orders.”
Turning on her heels, Cynthia walked away, leaving behind a
thunderstruck attendant.

“Are you lost, Commander?” A loud, jolly
voice erupted from behind as she approached the bridge of the
mother ship.

“Leo Barclay, you old space rat, what are you
doing here?”

A wiry, straight-shouldered vampire who stood
a couple of inches shorter than Cynthia’s vertical, blue-crowned
loftiness threw back a russet mane of hair. Leonidas “Leo” Barclay
fixed a pair of smoky, gray eyes on her. “You’ve been Earth side
too long. Hello, I have a Command Pin now.” The left half of a
uniform shirt thrust toward her, displaying a small gold badge in
the shape of a five-pointed star. “You’re looking at this mission’s
master.” Continuing to close the distance between them, he
enveloped her taller, slimmer frame in two sinewy arms as she
kissed his cheek.

“They must be handing out Command Pins in the
birth control allocation these days,” she quipped.

“What would you know about that, you old
dyke?”

Both laughed, slapping one another on the
back in continuation of the unexpected reunion.

“Blue hair? That’s different,” he said,
stepping away for a better look.

“You know me. New mission, new color.”

“I can’t understand why you change so much.
Your natural shade suited you perfectly.”

A memory of the glossy, sable tresses she had
when she’d arrived on Mars crossed her mind. She scowled. “That
belongs to somebody else.” The “somebody” was her grandmother.

Leo understood and changed the subject. “Have
you connected with a voyage mate?” he asked, raising his eyes to
meet hers.

“Not yet. I just got two elderly relatives
settled in. I thought I’d check out the bridge area first. I worked
up something promising before leaving Earth. We’ll see how it turns
out. Why, are you interested?”

Staring at her crotch, he said, “Not unless
you’re packing a penis these days. You know me.”

“Some things never change.” They met shortly
after she arrived on Mars. His softness of feature contrasted with
the sculpted, rugged angles of typical males of their kind. The
lack of physical formidability made him less threatening, allowing
her to feel relaxed in his company.

Leo pulled her back to the present. “Well, if
your arrangements don’t work out, there’s still the Jump-off
party.” A twinkle of eye accompanied a glow of rosy cheek as he
smirked.

“That’s where we agreed to meet. I took the
corporation stateroom. It has a self-contained cocoon which I won’t
need.” Only for the voyages beyond Mars did radiation become an
issue for The Others. “But a human guest will appreciate use of a
luxury model.” She gave him a mischievous once-over. “Promise to
behave and maybe I’ll keep you company.”

Small, pink lips pursed to the shape of a
Cupid’s bow indicated that he was considering the idea. “I suppose
it’ll be all right when I’m not knocking boots with one of the boys
in Navigation.”

“Navigation? What about corporation rules
against fraternization?”

He smiled. “There are ways around that. I’ll
find an Indenture who works the back half. On the second part of
the trip, I’ll get one who’s completed obligated service.”

“Frat rules don’t apply to me.”

“I’d love to talk more, but I’m into
pre-underway checklists.” He glanced in the direction of a
timepiece on the bulkhead across from them. Brushing lips across
her cheek he added, “Better get hopping. You have only four hours
and forty minutes before jump off.”

Leo’s concise, well-proportioned form
retreated from Cynthia’s warm gaze, warmed by the pleasantness of
crossing paths with a close friend. “Got it covered.”

Prior to leaving Earth, Cynthia searched the
networks for sexually like-minded individuals making the same
voyage. For two nights she sat in the green glow of the
corporation’s master computer monitor at the Rocket City Florida
base, evaluating the replies to her inquiry. Most conducted their
own searches, but Cynthia engaged a professional matching site.
Family members frequently reminded that her position within the
corporation demanded caution. Many stories circulated of blackmail,
extortion—or worse—stemming from careless pairings on voyages.
Particularly hazardous were Indentures seeking a wealthy patron
they could manipulate into paying off their contract.