Authors: Maureen O. Betita
“Yes, I accept.” She wiped at the tears on her cheeks. “I truly thought…” She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. I will help to search for Howard, and attempt to make reparations. But, I drove a young backalong to death when fleeing the library, they will not carry me now.”
Thandin stared at the seamstress as she wept. “If nothing else, this demonstrates the nature of this poison. We will reconvene this afternoon.”
Pindari sat with Daniel as the rest left. She said softly, “My sister’s leaving affected Jefarin as much as it did you, Dani. He was never so analytical, or so narcissistic before.”
“Yes, yes he was.” Daniel shivered, then drew himself erect. “He was always self-centered. But I agree, he wasn’t so analytical. To experiment on others is monstrous.”
Pindari stood with the physician. “Thandin has assigned Bandi to keep watch on Cameron. He saw her reaction, he will keep her safe. Sil is also on watch.”
Daniel suddenly grew aware of the empty room. “Where is Teemin? He will…!”
“He will not be allowed near her. And Tendar swims. Teemin was never as strong in the water, so he won’t look for him there. He will plan, with Jefarin’s brothers. We will finish this afternoon. It will be too late for him to scheme, it is more likely he will choose direct action. And we are ready.” She nodded at the two Kharmon in the doorway. “Stay with Daniel.”
“I need food.” Daniel sighed, “I need them.”
“Soon, Dani, soon,” Pindari urged, moving him to the door. “To the kitchen, see him fed.”
She sat again as the rest left. In her heart, she prayed. “Oh, sister…did you know? Did you see this? Oh, how I miss you now.”
Cameron looked up as she exited the amphitheater, as she thought of it. Sil took her hand and stroked it, offering comfort. She nearly threw herself in to his arms. He easily picked her up, commenting to Bandi. “If you will see a meal to her room, I will take her there and keep watch.”
“Thandin has increased the house guards.” Bandi continued to speak to Sil, using a language Cameron didn’t know. She just closed her eyes, her mind full of Tendar and the ocean. Her awareness focused on him, and on Daniel. She felt so close to them both.
She stood at the balcony of her room, looking out at the water. It flickered between various shades of green, so intense it was nearly painful to her human eyes. The wind danced across the wave tops, stirring up foam that looked like curls of fresh cucumbers. It was warm, and caressed her face. Bandi saw her fed while Sil was at the door. She was safe.
Thandin’s home was full of Kharmon from far flung estates, all debating the testimony of the last few days. Cameron was grateful for Sil’s assistance in seeing her back to the room. It had been hectic to break through the clumps of excited Kharmon. She welcomed the quiet of her room
Bandi approached her rear and sighed, “The dragon sign is unprecedented.”
“This…” She gestured at the ocean. “…is dragon sign?”
“Out of season and much stronger than what is normal,” Bandi replied.
“Does it mean anything?” she all but whispered.
“That we may see dragons.” He tilted his head at her. “Isn’t that enough? Most human visitors hope for that.”
“This human just hopes for resolution.” She leaned into the wind, her nostrils flared. “I smell Tendar.”
“He is likely swimming.” Bandi smiled at her and left her on the balcony.
*****
Tendar had been in the water all morning. He felt the spear of longing as Cameron saw Daniel in the courtroom. He felt Daniel’s sorrow as the testimony continued. The details didn’t travel through the connection he held with the two humans, but the emotions did. He calmed them as best he could, radiating the peace of the bay through the essets dancing between the three.
When he felt the wash of a larger presence nearby, Tendar opened his eyes to gaze down into the deeper channel of the bay to behold a rare sight. Two dragons swam below him, tails entwined. A third joined them, passing near enough to the Kharmon to spin him in the water until halted by a powerful grip. The tail held him a moment, then spun him toward the surface. It was time for Tendar to leave the water.
He stroked to the surface, rising with a shout of joy. The echo of that shout traveled through the estate walls, loud enough to bring Kharmon to the shore.
Teemin already stood on the shore, deaf to the joy, intent on anger. With him stood his paternal uncles and a large group of supporters. Tendar strode from the waves to meet them.
Cameron felt the joyful shout and came. Daniel rushed from the kitchen. The dunes rumbled with the weight of backalongs, pushing past their shepherds to join the call. The flying lizards, the birds, every living thing hearing the shout, came to witness.
Tendar gazed at his brother. “You cannot stop this.” He was strong, aware and shining with sea water. He felt supremely confident.
“I can and will,” Teemin growled. “However I can. I hold Jefarin’s will. You are not his son, Tendar. You hold no rights to an estate. No rights to hold Thinkers. No rights to anything!” He whirled, his hand thrust into the air, holding a scroll. “His father was Feldon the traitor!” Those on the shore gasped.
Tendar felt a tear at his heart. He blinked, considered his past swiftly. And then he laughed, because it didn’t matter. This was not the reaction Teemin expected.
Daniel heard the charge and tore down to where the water broke on the sand. Cameron turned to Sil.
“Feldon was the Kharmon who led the humans in escaping?”
“Yes.” Sil shook his head. “The last war ended with that betrayal. Or rescue.”
Daniel came to a halt. His voice carried over the suddenly quiet shore. Tendar’s laughter having died down. “I was there, Teemin. I heard Feldon’s last words to your mother.”
“We all know his words, animal.” Teemin hissed. “
Keep them safe
…he bid her keep the Thinkers safe!”
“No, he bid her keep his
sons
safe, you idiot! If you use paternal line to deny Tendar, you deny yourself and Thandin. You are all his sons! Jefarin knew, this is just his last attempt to sow discord. Diladi was his, your sister is the only one of his blood. Diladi!” Daniel was near to spitting in Teemin’s face.
“Tendar had a sister?” Cameron whispered.
“She lives far to the south, she was born simple.” Sil softly replied. “Teemin tormented her when they were younger.”
The tension along Teemin’s back was impressive to observe. His frill stood totally vertical, stiff with outrage. Thandin broke the sudden quiet with a chuckle. “Well, I’m not giving up Opal Bay.”
“You don’t have to. Maternal lines are paramount, according to the old traditions.” Pindari spoke up. “Daniel is right, she admitted as much to me.”
“No!” Teemin moved faster than anyone Cameron had ever seen. A knife flashed in his hand , then drove down, buried it in Daniel’s shoulder. The Kharmon froze in shock. Tendar took one step toward Daniel as the knife was withdrawn, raised to strike again but halted when Cameron landed on Teemin’s back, screaming.
She had not paused.
The beach erupted in action. Teemin spun, trying to pull Cameron from his back, but she clung, tearing at his frill, adrenaline pouring through her. All her life, she’d been sedate, let the winds of life push her about. Not anymore. Sil attempted to intercede and the knife slashed at his arm, drawing blood. Tendar concentrated on Daniel, who was gasping, blood pouring from his wound.
Cameron locked her legs around Teemin, knowing her only recourse was to hang on, aware that her human strength wasn’t the match of Kharmon. Teemin dropped the knife and gripped Cameron’s arms, digging in. With a heave, he pulled her over his head and threw her hard, down upon the sand. He loomed above her as she fought to catch her breath.
A sudden shadow fell on all of them. The arguments between the opposing factions halted, all eyes gaped overhead. Teemin screamed as a tail came out of that shadow and struck him, wrapped about his torso and then literally threw him out to sea.
Cameron heard Tendar call to her. “Cameron! We need you!”
She turned and crawled to where Tendar cradled Daniel. Above them, a massive body dripped seawater, standing guard. She was aware of the huge flippers, one at each side of her lovers. A long beard of frill like tendrils dangled above them. Far beyond that was a face.
Cameron pushed her awe away, ignored it all, reaching a shaking Daniel. Tendar’s hand, discolored with blood, held the sliced skin together, keeping the physician pressed tightly on his lap. The Kharmon eyes bore into Cameron. “He needs you. We need you, to focus the healing. Take him, Cameron.” He tore Daniel’s tunic away, caressed the doctor’s belly, drew him more fully erect, supporting him, ready for Cameron.
Daniel gazed with pain at her. “Cameron?”
For a bare moment, she wondered how she was supposed to help. Then a deep awareness of Daniel’s needs thrust into her, along with knowledge of what do to.
She didn’t hesitate. Throwing her tunic to the side, she maneuvered over Tendar’s knees and touched Daniel. His cock hardened instantly as Tendar moaned in harmony. She spread her legs, smelling the blood, the sea, the desire rising for all of them.
In the shadow of the dragon, she slid down upon Daniel and bent to his face, whispering, “I love you, Daniel.”
He sobbed, even as Tendar swept them into a cascade of sensation. Her cells opened, skin shifting to the same place she’d experienced with Tendar. The two of them wove a web of chemistry, alien combined with human. Cameron felt the bloody seepage lesson, even as Daniel leapt inside her. She knew when Tendar’s flesh slid around Daniel, to join in the them. She clung to Daniel, held to Tendar’s strength, even as a silver rain fell upon them from the dangling dragon frills.
The fluid felt cold, then warmed up, slid down the three bodies and into the sand, sealing their essets. The perfumed fluid glowed and filled the air with perfume. Cameron gasped, licking at Tendar’s face as Daniel drank from her neck. All fear and uncertainty fled. This was right, this was home.
The dragon raised its head and trumpeted into the sky. On the beach, the scattered Kharmon fell to their knees, gazing upward. Into the sky, behind the great beast, dozens of sea beasts soared into the sky. A cry of welcome and thanks rose with them.
Pindari cried, as she clung to Thandin. “There will be children!”
All debate ended abruptly. The dragons had settled the issues. The Kharmon scattered, even as the land bound dragon curled about the threesome, sheltering them. The rush was on, to return home, to embrace partners and create life.
The beach lay deserted when the huge matriarch slid away, back to the water. Cameron rested with Daniel, both held by Tendar. They hummed with contentment. She finally raised her head and gazed out at the pearlescent world. “What happened?”
“When dragons fly, life rises. No better confirmation of our union than that,” Daniel whispered to her. His hand rose to touch the injury Teemin had inflicted, a bare scar on his perfect skin.
“Is Teemin dead?” she softly asked.
“No, but he’ll be a long time swimming back to shore,” Tendar all but sang.
“Oh, now what?” She lightly touched Daniel’s neck.
“Now, it all begins,” Tendar replied, slowly rising to his feet, then helping the other two join him. They gazed out at the water, holding hands, seeing the last airborne dragons disappearing on the horizon.
They returned to the library and within months, Cameron found herself pregnant. The first child was a boy, with Daniel’s features plain upon his face. Next, she bore twin girls, both fully human. Then the true miracle. A girl, with frills instead of hair and greenish skin. Tendar was blissfully stunned. Cameron cradled her new daughter and simply smiled.
Meanwhile, Saphiri found Howard, fully recovered with the help of the Thinker village. Teemin made it to shore to find his estate now run by his maternal uncles. They offered him a home, but no authority. Empty of fight, he gladly took the welcome.
Cameron’s daughter, Pedra, was the first of mixed blood, but more followed. When the time of Harvest fell upon Ix, no new humans came to them. They opened the room where arrival normally took place to find crates of books.
And puppies. A gift of the Gatherers.
*****
Maureen O. Betita is a maniacal writer with a talent for binding unlikely elements into a book full of adventure.
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*****
Another Alien Encounter
Another Alien Encounter
Federal Agent Sam Montgomery had seen amazing things in his career as a chief investigator for the Homeland Research and Security Department. He’d traveled across the world, met thousands of people, good and bad, and taken part in clandestine operations whose complexity would choke Einstein. But this was a first. Tilting his head, he studied the woman on the computer monitor. She certainly didn’t appear to be dead. Despite the evidence of all available data.
In 2039, Rachel Inez Aster, at the admirable age of eighty three, committed suicide by jumping off the stern of a cruise ship, into the water off the Bahamas. Her body was never recovered. Now, twenty six years later, she was back, currently a resident of a security cell in Virginia. According to Dr. Drummond – Drum to his friends – she was forty three years old. DNA didn’t lie, but he wondered, could it be fooled? According to the chief medical officer, no.
Sam tapped a few keys, bringing up a still from Ms. Aster’s suicide video. With another keystroke, the video feed from the prison cell appeared next to the first image. He found another recording, of the author from the year 2000, and studied the three faces. According to the computer, they were the same woman.
She’d been striking at eighty three, good bone structure stood out from the lines on her face. He started the video from the beginning.
The laptop’s autofocus took a moment to center on the woman as she sat down. She appeared to study herself on the screen, eyes darting from point to point. Then she settled and began to speak. Her voice was rough. She coughed, cleared her throat and began again.
“I, Rachel Inez Aster, know exactly what I’ve done. Or will do. My will is in the hands of Cardonza and Sons, San Francisco. My home is packed, everything ready for the estate brokers.”
She gazed beyond the screen, the light reflecting in her light brown eyes. He noticed the white halo around the iris, a sign of her age. She looked fit, her color good and skin actually quite radiant. The reports he’d read said she’d been in good health when she made the recording. He turned the volume up.
“I have led a good life. Long and productive. Eight-three years is enough. I’ve made it quite clear, in the last two decades, of my general opinion regarding the direction my country and the rest of the world is heading. To be blunt, I don’t want to live in this world. I don’t want my DNA entered into some vast data bank, though I lost the argument on that one.”
Sam found it ironic that she’d resisted having a sample taken, considering that tissue was now providing him with a baffling question regarding her identity. He took a deep breath and returned attention to the video.
“It doesn’t matter at this point. I hope the crew of the ship will not waste time searching for me. And I apologize to any passenger who misses the next port because they insist on looking. At least you can brag that you were on the ship when that wacky romance author threw herself from the stern. I hope you can milk that for something once you’re home.”
She ran her hands through her short crop of silver hair and took a sip from a martini glass, shivering as the bright green liquid slid past her lips. A smile lit her face and she tilted her head to study the glass. “Reynaldo, you made a wonderful drink. I hope the tip I left for you is sufficient. I don’t know that I believe in the afterlife anymore, though I hope that what is left of me sinks to the seafloor and provides some comfort to the dying ocean. Sorry, another lost cause I embraced.”
She upended the glass and let the last of it drain into her mouth, and then carefully set the glass down. He wondered if she’d been drunk.
“Ah. Now, the crux. Don’t bother to look through my computers for bits and pieces of unfinished manuscripts. They are purged. Don’t dig through my papers looking for unpolished stories to sell. They are gone. I wrote what I wrote and that is it. My agent has a final manifesto, but whether she finds a place to publish it, or is allowed to publish it…well, that isn’t up to me, is it? Perhaps it is up to you. I don’t know. This video will go live minutes after I have leapt from the stern of the boat. To my loyal readers, I hope I have brought you some light in the dark days.”
He’d already done the search. She’d been quite thorough and nothing was published after her death. The manifesto had been posted, but ridiculed and torn to pieces by those who found her views unpatriotic. Officials had done an excellent job at suppressing any hints of validity regarding her observations.
At this point, the camera focus wavered, searching for the point to sharpen. All Sam could see was movement. Finally, she returned to center screen just in time to record her picking a full length black cape from her chair and settling the garment onto her shoulders with a theatrical flourish. She paused for a moment, gaze meeting the camera’s unblinking eye. Then she began to remove her jewelry. Her earrings and necklace first, and then her rings, which seemed reluctant to leave her fingers. After a few struggles with the reticent bits of sparkle, nearly all her finery lay on the keyboard. She fingered a flashy charm bracelet and left it clasped on her left wrist. Then, with a wave at the camera, she hit a key. The screen went black, the date, August 02, 2039, stark against the background.
Sam took a deep breath and played the recording again. He glanced at the image on the screen to the right, mounted on the massive wall shared by twelve different monitors, and back again at the woman in the cruise ship cabin.
Was it the same person? How could it be? He tapped a few keys and the frame froze at the point where she looked above the laptop and he studied her face. Another few keystrokes and he captured the image, transferred it to a special program and watched as the age fell away. He stopped it when he felt it was closest to the woman in the cell, a date and time continually blinked on that screen.
05/11/2065 02:45
.
He switched to a fresh keyboard and a moment later a montage from her funeral played across the screen. Photos of the author from younger days, some video, some stills, began to play. He listened as fans of her writing, along with friends and acquaintances, spoke of how much they would miss her, how her books influenced them to write, or to smile, laugh. She’d been beloved by her fans, that seemed obvious.
A politician spoke of her commitment to the restoration of individual freedom and how much the funds she’d left to the cause would be appreciated. Though he made it clear they would rather Ms. Aster had chosen a different path.
It all seemed terrible pointless. She’d killed herself.
Sam's focus swiveled from the frozen frames of the suicide video, the composite from the identity program and a still from the memorial service.
Damn. Whoever created her, did a good job of it.
Remove the cap of short, scrappy hair she’d worn in her
original
forties and replace it with five feet of wavy auburn curls and the woman could be the author’s twin. According the DNA bank, they weren’t twins, but the same woman.
Not a clone, reported Dr. Drum. At least not according to what they knew about current cloning techniques. After the international ban on cloning went into effect in 2020, rumors would rise of renegade labs in Sweden, or deep in Asia, making astonishing progress, but no scientific papers were published. The scare of the poultry plague killed off that branch of research. At least, the rest of the world assumed that.
Dr. Drummond’s words from earlier in the day played across his mind. He’d known Drum for decades and could tell when the man was finding the entire puzzle much too amusing. His face betrayed the fascination, the curl of his lip and raised eyebrow illustrated excitement. Not to mention the near bounce as he gave his report
“She isn’t a clone, Monty. Her DNA structure is much too stable and the radioactive trace in her skeletal structure, along with the mineral make up of her cells, indicate she didn’t mature in a lab environment.” Drum had met his eyes and smiled crookedly. “And why, in God’s green acres, would scientists who could clone this perfectly choose a romance author from early in the century as a subject? It doesn’t make any sense.”
Drum had a point. It didn’t make sense. Nothing about this mystery appeared simple. A clone of a terrorist, or a beloved politician or celebrity would make sense. Someone to win over the public, or rally the troops, fool the voters. But an author? She’d been well known, but not of superstar status. If this were a plot of some sort to win public sentiment, a more recent candidate would make more sense.
He glanced at the list of awards she’d won in her day. No, the
author
had won in her day. Something called a KATHY, four of them. She made the New York Times Bestseller list eight times, when it was still a print paper. There had been three television movies and an aborted big screen attempt to dramatize one of the best sellers. She’d been a popular speaker and only in the latter half of her career had her outspoken liberal politics impacted her sales. But even then, she remained a darling of the coastal populations, who embraced her Save the Seas Foundation.
She’d left most of her money to that effort. He’d been on the oceans most of his life, and to be truthful, totally agreed with her cause. Raised on the eastern coast, he loved to sail and took every opportunity to still find time on the water. Economic hardship hadn’t done the waters covering most of the earth any favor. The big oil spill and fire off of San Diego had been an environmental catastrophe to rival every disaster of the century before. Millions had died.
With a sigh, he switched over to another screen and called up the reports from that charity. He pulled a chair out and sat to read. For over an hour he examined the news coverage after her death and, buried in the numerous stories, he caught something that made him smile. Evidently, Rachel Inez Aster had been partly responsible for the breakthrough in oil cleanup, since her foundation funded a scholarship for Angela Frederick, the scientist who would go on to patent the compound that neutralized spilled oil and turned it into benign chemicals.
He explored Dr. Frederick's background and read that she still worked in a lab on the west coast. And all the proceeds from her patent continued to fight for coastal waters.
Could she have covertly funded an effort to bring back Rachel Aster? It certainly didn’t seem feasible.
He straightened his back and lifted his hands from the keyboard to stretch. A yawn threatened to break his concentration, but he shook it off.
Another cup of coffee would probably fry his brain, but he needed a breakthrough and something nibbled at the back of his head. Drum promised completed lab tests the next day, frowning as he studied the preliminary report. “Something isn’t right, here. Might be a normal genetic abnormality, I’ll send it in for further testing.”
“What sort of abnormality?”
Drum had pointed to a series of lines running down the full body scan they’d done of the prisoner. “Might be scratches on the films, might not be. I’ll get the Professor to analyze my equipment.”
“She’s busy looking over the video from the
Ballard
.”
“Yes, but her imaging diagnostics are fully automated. She can let the program run while she works on the
Ballard
’s video feed.” Drum had slapped him on the back. “You can’t wave your hand and have all the answers. I know sixty-five sailors and scientists are missing. But you found no sign of violence, no ransom request, plus no group has gone online and claimed responsibility.”
Sam didn’t respond, his mind spinning with the horror of some new weapon that would cause the crew to throw themselves off the ship. He had a wicked imagination. She was the only clue regarding the crew’s disappearance, if she’d only talk!
Monty pushed the chair away, stood and paced before the wall of monitors. After several minutes, he brought up the live feed from the cell where she sat. The subdued lighting mimicked night, but she didn’t sleep. She sat on the cot, her arms wrapped around her knees. The bright yellow set of surgical scrubs came from Drum. A single ray of light, probably from a fault in the mirror, illuminated her bare foot and the vivid cuff of the pants.
When the Navy pulled her from that raft, floating four hundred miles from the South Carolina coast, she’d been naked. According to Drum, she must not have been there long. No sunburn, no dehydration.
He clicked another monitor on and loaded the video from the rescue. She’d been on her stomach, an impressive swath of hair providing some shelter from the sunlight across her back. When the Navy dingy reached her and one of the sailors slid onto the raft, she’d risen up, stared straight at him and then tried to throw herself into the water. It had taken three men to calm her down, get a blanket around her and one sailor had to hold her tight against his body as they sped back to the ship.
She’d tried to get away over and over again, never saying a word. She made no sound. Just attempted to escape. Finally, the medic declared her in shock and suffering from hysteria. They sedated her, locked her up in a quarantine area of medical bay and contacted the base. Three hours later, every electronic device on the ship failed, the video cameras and recorders stopped and seven minutes later, when they all returned to function, no one remained but the rescued female, still unconscious.
The Navy answered an emergency beacon, independent of the ship’s power. In fact, it went off because the systems ceased so abruptly. After arriving and only finding the woman, they called his unit in and transferred her to the care of Homeland Research and Security Department for interrogation.