Cloned Chaos

© 2017 Lynn Donovan

© 2017 Cover Art by Cora Graphics

© Depositphotos.com

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system without the prior written permission of the author.

This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this novel are fictitious and are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

To William, because Sci-Fi rocks.

PROLOGUE

In the last quarter of the year 2221

Hundreds were dead… or soon would be!

They all vanished through a gigantic hole ripped in the starboard wall. Half of the humanoid attendants were flushed out with several hundred cryogenically dormant passengers. In the flash of a neuron, they were gone.

After nearly three years of faster-than-light flight, The SS Canaan Land Interplanetary Transport had suddenly been attacked just days before her first manifested port, Omicron. The assaulting ship had fired its fatal shot and taken off—a twenty-third century’s version of a drive-by shooting. But why? How could Canaan Land be misconstrued as a threat?

She was a fully automated, luxury, cryonic space ship. There wasn’t a conscious person on board to cause any harm. Furthermore, she wasn’t equipped with defensive weapons or programmed for combat. Her only tactic: evasive maneuvers, and that algorithm was intended for unexpected asteroid fields or uncharted space debris.

Now, half her passengers were space debris.

It would take only seconds for the Cygnus system’s twin suns to completely thaw the jettisoned occupants, rupturing their cells, like billions of water balloons bursting. Without the controlled rehydrating procedure, nothing of their life-force would be left except a gooey, biological mess, forever encapsulated by a shock-absorbing gel-filled chamber.

The computer program dedicated for the charge of the ship, the Captain essentially, engaged an algorithm to broadcast an ancient universal distress signal for help on a Wideband frequency, and simultaneously initiated the Hail-Mary Protocol which set the remaining attendants into action. They rushed from pod to pod, preparing each capsule for self-contained extraction.

Vitals screens were folded and latched over the capsules’ observation windows, creating a radiologically protective shield. Hoses were disconnected from the ship’s source and connected to the pods, creating a self-sustaining loop of cryo-fluids. Everything pertaining to life-support was readied for the occupants’ reanimation.

If they ever were reanimated.

A tempest of debris from the crumbling ship slammed into the attendants’ human-like bodies. Even so, they struggled to prepare the pods.

Time was critical.

The Captain’s artificial intelligence was aware that help could not possibly arrive in time to save the ship. It had simply been the Standard Operating Procedure.

Suddenly, a violent vibration shook the ship. Once-solid walls fragmented and fell away. All the pods, whether readied or not, were sucked out into space, some with umbilical strands trailing behind them. Microseconds later, these occupants’ bodies would burst, splashing against the observation windows, and seeping varied flesh and blood colors into the cushioning gel. The robotic attendants helplessly witnessed this grotesque phenomenon as they tumbled weightless among them. A third of the passengers’ capsules had been fully prepared. They would be found alive.

If they were ever found.

In the devastating wake, the interplanetary ship disintegrated. Its glittery particles floated in the lack of atmosphere as if zillions of nanomites had been released to drift for eternity. Hot ash sprinkled around the pods and attendants, creating a firefly effect. It would have been beautiful if it weren’t the result of a vicious attack on innocent travelers.

A chilling echo remained, “… M’aidez… M’aidez… M’aidez—”

At That Same Moment…

Scarcely casting a shadow in the purple-grey dusk that was night on Omicron, a lone figure quietly guided a hover cart stacked with six symmetrical crates through the back hall of a Fertility Lab. Diffused illumination spilled from the main hall into this seldom-traversed corridor.

Do these geeks ever sleep?

The hooded figure touched a gloved hand to the cold metal door with no visible locks or handles and activated a security app on temporary loan.

Access to the cavern was needed to store a few crates of select wines in the perfect environment of the grotto. This route through the Fertility Lab, downstairs to the Cryogenic Embryo Storage, and out into the cavern, was so much shorter than starting a great distance away at the Colonies’ Mines and traversing the long shaft by train.

This was the excuse given in exchange for the access code.

The Head of ITS bought the little white lie hook, line, and bobber. Little did Billings know surplus commodities would be gathered from the cryogenic storage and hidden in the containers disguised as select wine bottles. An innovative invention by the mercenaries themselves, a liquid nitrogen lined, insulated storage device that could hold up to eight vials each.

Stashed in the caverns, practically in plain sight, the crates would be delivered to the filthy mercenaries as payment for cauterizing a loose end left undone.

Of course there would be a lot of collateral damage, but these things happen when murder is required to resolve an issue. The bottom line remained the same:

Kita Jacobsen could not return to this planet.

CHAPTER ONE

Molly Jacobsen-Abraham slipped up behind her husband, wrapped her arms around his bare chest, and brushed her lips against the tiny hairs on his neck. Butterfly kisses.

Deuce Abraham shivered.

Named for his father, he had always been called ‘Deuce.’ A nickname Austin Abraham Senior had given him as a play on the two Austins, and his signature playing card, Deuce of Hearts.

Deuce pressed his hands over hers and gazed at his wife’s hazy reflection in the steam fogged mirror. “You’re in a good mood.”

“Today’s the day!” She yanked the towel wrapped around his hips and flipped it over her shoulder as she slipped into the closet.

“Hey!” He laughed and chased after her. “How do you know?”

Her husband gathered her into his arms and held her against his still-moist body.

“Spider senses.” She lightly fluttered her fingers across his defined collar bone and toned shoulders, giggling when he sucked air through clenched teeth. She laid her head on his chest and breathed in the clean aroma of him that she adored. Lifting her face toward his, she placed soft kisses on his freshly shaven neck. It would be so easy to stay here in his arms all day, but they both had responsibilities. He needed to see patients in the Infirmary and she had promised Davidette Pierce she’d attend the council meeting for moral support.

“Okay, but don’t you think Gordon would have notified you if an Arrival Comm had come?” Deuce stiffened in anticipation of her usual reaction.

“Nope.” She stepped away to stare at her half of the wardrobe.

Deuce turned to his clothes, also. “Honey, I just don’t want you to be disappointed.”

“I’m not. Not today.” She decided her Security Officer Uniform shirt would convey a stronger message at the meeting. She pulled one of the six khaki cargo shorts from its hanger and slid them on. The top button of the shorts barely reached the button hole. She sucked in a lung full of air and squeezed her tummy as flat as possible to fasten the shorts and then pull the zipper. This wasn’t going to work much longer.

Her gift, the perceptive senses that alerted her to trouble, were humming. She refused to believe it was a warning. Her twin sister was due to arrive any day. The three-year trek for her parents and Kita was nearly over. Determination in her heart insisted the tingling vibes were her sister’s presence getting closer. Even though, when Kita had come back to Earth, but was still unconscious, Molly couldn’t feel her sister’s vibe at all.

Surely, the cryogenic processes had been improved. She hoped.

Stretching her uniform shirt over her fuller-than-normal chest, she watched her husband choose light-blue linen slacks and a pale yellow, short sleeve cotton shirt. Business casual was the norm in this dry heat. His tasteful silk ties gathered dust behind him on the swing-out rack.

“So…” Deuce teased. “Besides tormenting Gordon for not receiving an Arrival Comm, what’s on your agenda?”

“I do not torment.” She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. “Davidette has an audience with Her High Exalted’s Council.”

“She still trying to free the clones?” He sat on their four-poster teak wood canopy bed, parting the white pest net, to put on his socks and shoes.

“Ooo, don’t say that to her face. She’ll jump all over you.” Molly imitated Davidette’s high-pitched voice, “They are hybrids, Dr. Abraham! Not clones.”

“Thanks for the warning.” He pulled her into his arms again, at six feet he had a good four inches on her, and kissed the top of her head, breathing in her scent.

“Stop smelling my hair!” Molly laughed and swatted him away. She lifted her face to his and accepted a gentle, sweet kiss which filled her senses more than the foreboding hum that had been taunting her since early morning.

“Mmm, I love you,” she breathed.

“I love you more,” he patted her rump before stepping out of their bedroom. “See you this evening, Mrs. Abraham.”

“Later, Dr. Abraham.”

He padded across the hardwood floor and ordered his “go to” breakfast from the Food Replicating Computer: bacon and egg sandwich on lightly toasted whole wheat flat-bread. She giggled to herself. He still called it the magical box.

Just before he closed the front door he shouted, “Take care of Trey!”

She smiled and laid her palm over her abdomen.



The Abraham’s pastel-pink adobe home sat behind the late Senior Abraham’s extravagant mansion. Deuce’s father had gifted the so-called ‘Servant’s Quarters’ to him when he first arrived over six years ago. Deuce had accepted the quarters in an effort to keep a close eye on his father’s goings and comings. Molly loved the spacious three bedroom house, and persuaded Deuce to remain in it after they were married. Had it already been four years?

She climbed into her two-seater bud, balancing a toasted bagel with cream cheese and cactus fruit jelly on top of a travel cup of orange juice. The Council meeting was after lunch, so she put the vehicle in gear and headed for the Information Management and Sciences office. Gordon should be in by now.



Gordon Billings closed his eyes, moving them all around underneath the soothing wetness of his eyelids. The SS Canaan Land Interplanetary Transport was due to arrive any day. He glanced past his holographic screen to Aliis Oculis, a native ITS staffer. As Head of Information Technology and Sciences, he could rightfully delegate this watch to her or any of his staff. But this one, especially this one, he watched for himself. Still, he prayed that darned Arrival Comm would come already.

So far, nothing.

A three-year trip across the galaxies required a certain amount of leeway. He wished it were a more exact science. Maybe then Molly Abraham would stop pestering him for its ETA.

“‘E’ stands for ‘Estimated,’ Molly, not ‘Exact.’” His standard reply had been, “I’ll let you know when I know.”

“Remember, you owe me!” she always reminded him.

“I believe it was your husband who cut my ties.” Gordon would refute. The visceral memory lurked in his mind, never far from the surface of his thoughts. Kidnapped by Mr. Abraham’s goons, six years ago, and abandoned in the lethal afternoon heat. Somehow, Deuce and Molly found him and rescued him. He was forever in their debt, emotionally and spiritually.

“I kept watch!” she said, every time.

“Hi.” Molly’s real voice traipsed into his thoughts. “Give me some good news, Gordon.”

He held his eyes closed, rolling his dry eyeballs around. “Molly, I haven’t heard anything. I’m sorry. ‘E’ stands for—”

“but I feel her!”

“‘Estimated’” Gordon stared at her. “… I don’t know what to tell you, Moll.”

“Today’s the day, Gordon.” She smiled sweetly. “I feel it.”

Oh man, that smile… Nothing but trouble comes when she’s that sweet. “All right, but…”

“So, just send me a text when you hear, okay?” Molly stepped away from his desk, scooping up a handful of chocolate candy bits as she passed Aliis, the programmer gal’s desk. “Talk to you later, G-man.”

“Talk to you later, uh, M-… woman.” Gordon sighed. He slid his chair over to the Wideband receiver and scanned through the frequencies. Usually, the airwaves were mostly inactive. Maybe today he would hear something from the Canaan Land. After all, he mused, Molly feels it.

A weak, low-quality message, barely audible, hardly a blip, showed up on his comm screen above the receiver. There was something about that fragile signal Gordon couldn’t ignore. Donning his sound-canceling head phones and closing his eyes, he listened—

“Sweet Jehoshaphats!” He spun around, yanking off the headphones and activated his implanted comm device behind his ear. “Call: Security!”

Other ITS personnel started and glared at him.

“Chief Dunn!” Gordon controlled his tone as best he could. “Something’s happened to Canaan Land! I think—” He swallowed. “Sir, I think it’s been destroyed.”

He covered his face with his hand and inhaled a long breath. Burning acid roiled in his stomach. “I don’t know, sir. You need to hear this.” He slid over to his receiver, pounded on the laser-projected keyboard and hit enter.

Startled eyes stared at him in silence. He didn’t care. The Chief barked out a string of questions.

“That’s all I’ve got, sir.” Gordon ran his hand through his tight, wiry hair. His mouth opened and closed, but no words came out.

“Is there anything indicating survivors, Billings?” the Chief growled.

“Let me check.” He slid back to his satellite computer, banged several keys, and glared at the holographic screen. Tears spilled from his eyes. “Sir, I see hundreds of blips near their last known coordinates. You don’t suppose—”

“Get Air Command on this immediately, a… Search and Rescue, under my orders!”

“Yes sir. Right away, sir.”

Gordon touched his comm device. “Call: Air Guard… This is Billings in ITS, I’m sending you guys orders for an S and R from Chief Dunn. Something’s happened to the SS Canaan Land.”

Air Command’s Comm Officer laughed. “This is a drill, right?”

“What? NO! It’s not a drill! I’m forwarding the Last Known Coordinates. but listen up, there were, like, a thousand passengers on that transport“ —Gordon’s voice broke with emotion— “you’ll need a really big cargo ship!”

CHAPTER TWO

Molly left Gordon’s ITS building and crossed the compound, walking toward her Security Building. The peace and quiet of Nidum’s community, the smell of fresh cut grass, the sound of birds in the woods, and the dog-foxes scurrying in and out of the clearings soothed the foreboding senses.

The first sun was nearly mid-sky, the second had just crested the horizon. The day was dry and warm, but not scorching like it would be in a few hours. Deuce had told her Nidum meant ‘Nest’ in Latin. She nodded her head and smiled as she passed locals and Earthies. It was an appropriate name for the Omicron village. Half human and half silver wolf they retained many characteristics of the wolf, like nesting. Their acute senses were also heightened, like a wolf. They could out-see, out-smell, and out-hear all the Earthies.

Earthie. The term rolled off her tongue now. It had taken some getting used to, but it was better than being called an Earthling. Way too Sci-Fi. Molly chuckled. It was how it was. The Omicronians were a lovely and interesting people who happened to have a light covering of fur. It was easy to forget they weren’t human, until they opened their mouth. So much like the gaping maw of a canine with sharp, white teeth and a long, dark tongue. Even her nephew, with his identical blue eyes of her twin, caught her off guard every time he smiled that wolf-like grin.

Molly drew in the fresh dry air and let it out slowly. She was happy to serve the Missionary program, known as The Abraham Project. Life here was… perfect.

“Morning, Mary.” Molly greeted the dispatcher through the small cut-out window.

Mary Conway’s office was always dark. She liked it that way. She said it made it easier for her to take in all the different screens and information read-outs.

“Mornin’—Hey Moll!” Mary called out. “Any word from your sister?”

“Not yet, but today’s the day!” Molly grinned. “I can feel it.”

Silence echoed from the dark dispatcher’s room. Molly was quite accustomed to her gift being misunderstood. Opening the food preserver in the break room, Molly searched for a snack. Scuffing feet drew her attention as two officers, Nicoli Stanson and Evan Woodrow, ran out the door.

She stepped into Chief Roger Dunn’s office.

“What’s going on, Chief?” Things were fairly casual in Nidum due to the fact that the employees were either locals or missionaries with TAP and not Legal Enforcers from Earth. She was the one exception there.

“An accident at the Colonies.” Dunn quickly disconnected his holographic screen. “Sending a couple of first responders to assess the situation.”

“Oh no! Anybody get hurt?” Molly considered contacting Davidette.

“Yeah, a handful of them clones were caught in a cave-in, but I don’t think there were any serious injuries.”

“Mind if I go?”

“Knock yourself out.” Chief Dunn waved a dismissive hand.

Molly activated her comm device behind her ear. “Call: Davidette.”

“Hey, Molly, you're still going to the Council meeting, aren’t you?”

“Sure, but you need to know something.” Molly swallowed.

“What?” Trepidation filled Davidette’s voice.

“There was an accident at the Colonies. Some of the… hybrids may be involved. I’m going out there, you wanna ride?”

Silence.

Finally, Davidette managed, “… Absolutely.”

“Okay, meet me at the vehicle pad. We’ll take my bud, and listen, Chief says there were no serious injuries.”

Davidette cleared her throat. “Give me two seconds.”



Molly gathered Davidette into a hug. Her friend was an emotional mess.

“Chief says it’s not serious,” Molly reassured. She lifted the passenger door and let Davidette get seated before releasing it to latch on its own and stretch a security strap across the passenger’s lap, waist, and chest.

Tall and slender, Davidette still retained her cheerleader athletic build. Her blond hair fell softly around her face in natural curls and cascaded to her shoulders, like a golden waterfall. She had cut it, just before serving as Maid of Honor in Molly and Deuce’s wedding. But after four years, it had grown back and she looked like the beauty queen she had been in Higher Learning School.

This beauty queen’s blood-shot eyes told Molly she’d cried all the way over. Molly skipped sideways to the driver’s door and jumped in. “Try not to make this bigger than it is.”

“I’m not.” Davidette delicately dabbed beneath her mascara-covered eyelashes. “I hate the Colonies. Why can’t Julio and Daniel implement that automation plan out there? Then things like this wouldn’t happen. Those poor kids.”

Molly engaged the vehicle and hovered out of the parking space. “They will. They are. I suppose it’ll take some time, and programming.”

“No.” Davidette shook her head. “The council enjoys the cheap labor of the hybrids. Until I can get the younger ones educated and placed in other lines of work, the Council is going to use those precious people ’til there’re no more.” She stared out the side window.

“They’ll only be around another fifteen years, if it’s true their life expectancy is thirty. Fifteen years of cheap labor. Why would they want to shell out funds to automate? That’s the Council’s way of thinking. Oh, my blood boils every time I think about it.”

“Hey, fluid down, Dee. You’re going to get yourself all worked up. The Chief assured me it’s a minor accident. I figured you’d want to see for yourself that they were okay, and maybe use the opportunity to remind them how dangerous this work choice is. Possibly convince a few of them to come back into town and start a new career.” Molly flashed a grin at Davidette and whipped her eyes back to the long sandy road. “Besides, what else can you do, knit ‘em all hats and set ‘em free?”

“Of course not, but I will talk to them.” Davidette lowered her gaze to her lap, but Molly saw a slight smile. “Maybe getting hurt is just the thing to convince them…”

Davidette’s voice trailed off as she continued to stare at the passing countryside. The hybrids who were considered eighteen years mature had already been given a choice. They all chose the mines, much to Davidette’s chagrin.

This duty was exactly what the hybrids were designed to do. Unlike the surrogate children, these workers were spliced into existence by illegally cloning human embryos. With genetic weaving, such as: a fine layer of puppy fur from the Omicronian gene to beat the fatal mid-day effects of the two suns; and radiation desensitization while they matured in the incubation jars. This, especially this, resolved the original cause for infertility—radioactive isotopes in the mines.

Granted, these hybrids were a conundrum for everybody; Davidette, especially, had a burning passion to give them a choice for other occupations.

If only she could convince the hybrids they wanted to choose other occupations.



Molly’s bud hovered next to a Security vehicle. The two officers she had seen scurrying out of the Security Building, Nicoli Stanson and Evan Woodrow, had set up triage and were examining five hybrids. Her High Exalted’s Guardsmen paced to and fro. Their purpose was unclear, but they were covered in purple dust.

A sharp pang gripped Molly’s gut when she saw what her Chief called ‘not serious injuries.’ Davidette burst out crying and ran to them. One would think these workers were her own flesh and blood.

True to cloned form, the hybrids’ appearance varied little. Until Davidette, they had no distinctive identity. Bred for function only, they were thought of as a piece of machinery, not needing an identity. And only Davidette, like the mother of quintuplets, possessed the ability to tell them apart. From Adam and Eve to the Apostles, from oldest to youngest, she had given them each a moniker of honor by naming them from the Bible.

Stanson had already prepared a report, and updated it when Davidette identified the five. They were: Jacob, Matthew, Luke, Ruth, and Esther. Molly asked him to bump it to her comm.

A short section of the mining shaft had collapsed on three workers. Matthew, Luke and Esther were seriously hurt. Matthew’s right leg was crushed, and he was covered in contusions. Luke’s arm had penetrating compound fractures in the ulna and radius, and his shoulder was terribly displaced. Esther was unresponsive, and her breath was very shallow, possible rib fractures. Jacob and Ruth had minor abrasions and contusions from falling debris. The two Guardsmen had pulled them all from the rubble.

“Ah, the purple dust.” Molly mumbled.

The Infirmary Transportation Vehicle had been called and was five minutes out. Molly could hear the echoing siren approaching.

Stanson and Woodrow carefully placed stabilizers on the three hybrid's necks. Back boards had been precisely slid underneath their bodies and secured. Saline IVs had been set up with morphine doses to help with their pain. Except for Esther. With her being unconscious, they didn’t dare introduce morphine into her system. Should she awaken, they were prepared to deal with her pain. Matthew’s entire leg had been wrapped with an inflatable brace, and Luke’s arm was strapped to his torso, to be set at the infirmary. Matthew and Luke made little noise, but looked as if they wanted to cry.

Molly fought her own tears and tried to comfort Davidette, but her friend was one shade short of hysterical.

All the hybrid workers dressed in dusty monks-cloth tunics with loose-fitting pants and moccasin-style, soft-leather boots. They reminded Molly of a tribe of rawboned Native Americans from Earth on the Trail of Tears, except for their puppy-fur. All but the five had returned to their monotonous march of entering the mine, gathering the ore in baskets, bringing it out to a mechanical bucket, refilling their water canisters, and re-entering the mine.

A residual memory flashed in Molly’s head of Pastor Oliver Pugh and the missing missionary women, standing in this very spot, filling the hybrids’ canisters and seeing to their well-being. Pugh had refused to come back with her and Deuce when they rescued Gordon. It wasn’t until a retrieval team returned and gathered all the hybrids and the women that Pugh agreed to return to the village.

It broke her heart to witness these young people’s solemn dedication to such a tedious task. Molly shook her head. Even with their fellow workers downed by a terrible accident, nothing halted their production.

The emergency transport arrived and Deuce jumped out of the passenger side.

“I’m so glad you’re here.” Molly ran to him. “Three of the hybrids are hurt bad.”

“Okay,” he said, moving her aside. He trotted to the wounded. Stanson gave report, while Deuce quickly looked them over.

Nicoli bumped his report to Deuce’s comm, who concurred with an automated signature, and filed the report. A holographic paper floated away in all three comms and disappeared.

Deuce’s sad eyes met Molly’s. “This is not how it was called in.”

“I know.” She nodded with a shrug.

Deuce helped the medic lift Esther onto a hover-gurney and guided her into the transport. He climbed in with her. She would need constant monitoring. Stanson and Woodrow lifted Matthew and placed him in the transport’s bunk-like bed above Esther. The two guards carried Luke and latched his back brace to the bunk across from Esther.

Deuce hollered from the transport. “Molly, I’ll let you know.”

“Okay!” she called back.

Davidette whimpered, “I’ve gotta go with them.”

“Dee, the Council meeting?” Molly touched her shoulder, stopping her from climbing into the transport.

Davidette darted her eye to the time in her peripheral. “I forgot all about it.”

“They’re in good hands.” Molly met Davidette’s sad eyes.

Davidette approached the two who had been treated and released just before they joined the procession entering the mine. “Jacob. Ruth. Can we take you home?”

They shook their heads. A sad smile barely lifted the corners of their mouths.

“No, Miss Davidette,” Jacob said. “We must return to our work.”

“No, honey, you don’t.” Davidette took Ruth’s hand. “You were wounded. You should go home and rest. You can come back tomorrow if you’re feeling up to it.”

They looked at her as if she had spoken pig latin, backward.

“We feel up to it now,” Jacob glanced at Ruth. “We must return to our work.” He and Ruth joined the workers.

“Oh, good Lord!” Davidette threw her hands in the air. “How do I get through to them?”

Molly guided Davidette toward her bud with a hand on her back. “I don’t know, but we need to get to that Council Meeting.”

CHAPTER THREE

Deuce whistled as he walked down the Infirmary hall. Despite his father’s tainted legacy, Deuce was respected in the Nidum Community. His patients were doing well, only Esther was critical. Her ribs had been broken. She was being closely monitored for pneumonia, and her pain was being kept to a minimum. Deuce was confident her recovery would be text book. He had a beautiful wife and a baby on the way. Life couldn’t get any better—

He halted.

The Fertility Lab’s secured doors were slightly ajar. What on Omicron… Stork would never be so careless. If it weren’t for the stealth design, he’d have never noticed. Deuce pushed the doors apart and stepped onto the staircase landing. A muffled giggle echoed off the concrete and metal of the underground storage.

“Who’s down there?” Deuce called.

Gasping, shuffling, and bumping into cabinets told him an amorous couple had hidden in this cold but secluded room. Hesitantly, he flicked the light switch.

Nurse Viridian stood quickly, struggling to right his scrub shirt, and slip it over his bare torso. Nurse Rebecca, an Omicronian, had her back to the landing, but was obviously fumbling with buttons on her scrub top.

It was no surprise to Deuce that the Earth pilgrims were starting relationships with local Omicronians, but certainly not while they were on the clock.

“Seriously?” Deuce chastised. “You guys can’t wait ’til you’re off duty? There’s a lovely Bed and Breakfast behind the Abraham Project Building. They have amazing pancakes!”

Deuce smiled as the two nurses scurried up the stairs, neither making eye contact with him. “You want me to make you reservations?”



“but Mr. Chairman!” Davidette rocked up on her tiptoes, yelling at Councilman Manus Faciem. “Just because these kids were” —she considered her words carefully— “engineered to work in the mines, doesn’t mean they have to work there.”

Her passion to see the cloned workers treated equitably, along with the accident at the mines today, made her reckless in this meeting.

“Fluid down!” Molly muttered. Davidette was going to destroy all diplomatic standings they had built in the six years since the clones had been discovered.

“You chose your profession, didn’t you, Mr. Faciem?” Davidette had gone too far. Molly glanced at Miriam Moore, who sat on Davidette’s other side making a frustrated face. Should Molly pull Davidette back into her seat? No, that wouldn’t demonstrate a sovereign front to the Nidum Council. The whole reason Molly and Miriam were in attendance was to back Davidette up.

Chairman Faciem turned his gaze to the windows. A guttural whine rippled from his throat.

“Mr. Chairman!” Davidette hollered. “They are living, breathing, human be—well, people.”

Julio Sanchez shoved an elbow into Daniel Menez’s ribs, prompting him to defuse Davidette’s outbursts. Hayden Cambel leaned forward to glare at Molly.

Why was it Molly’s responsibility to rein in the zealous woman?

The chairman’s eyes widened. His acute hearing had picked up on something outside, and then Molly heard it, too. Several dog-foxes howled and faded into the wooded expanse beyond the Hall.

But what held Faciem’s attention to the window?

Surely the domesticated bassares, as the natives called them, weren’t holding the Chairman’s interests? They were cute little animals, resembling a fox, or weasel, but howled like a dog. Their keen sight and hearing adapted easily between the dusk of night and the blanched two suns of day like a cat. They varied in color from dark grey to white, yet their tail always carried the distinctive eight rings of black, white, and brown.

Something about the commotion outside sent a hum of anxiety across Molly’s perceptive senses. Something was going on, but what?

“MIS-TER CHAIRMAN!” Davidette screamed. “The hybrid workers deserve to live wherever they want, work wherever they want, and… marry whomever they want.”

Molly ducked her head low so her words could not be seen by the Council. “Fluid down, Dee!”

Daniel jerked to his feet. “Mr. Chairman, if I may—” He held up a film.

Davidette continued, “You have to consider them as equals in the community.”

The Chairman’s beady eyes focused on Davidette. He looked as if he were snarling. The sound that came across the speakers was the clearing of the throat. ”Miss Pierce! We of the Nidum Council do not have to—“

“If you’d just listen to me!” Davidette’s voice warbled with tears.

Molly rolled her eyes. Crying, really? Stop being such a sissy girl! Molly caught Daniel’s eye and tilted her head toward the Chairman.

Daniel held his film higher. “Mr. Chairman, We have a proposal that will resolve this issue fairly and efficiently.”

The widowed Nidum leader, Lily Lupus, touched the Councilman’s arm. “Chairman Faciem…”

Glancing at Molly and then Davidette, Mrs. Lupus smiled a warm canine grin, leaned toward the councilman, and spoke softly.

Daniel lowered the film while Mrs. Lupus spoke. The three men did have a decent proposal for the Council. Daniel had been a carpenter on Earth, Julio an architect, and Hayden a machinist-slash-programmer. They devised a plan to automate the work, eliminating the need for flesh and blood workers.

The Chairman’s half silver wolf, half human features made him hard to read, but he turned to the microphone, bearing moist white teeth as he parted his dark thin lips to speak. “Miss Pierce, we appreciate your heart for these unfortunate clones—“

“Pleeeease…” Davidette pressed her front teeth together. “Stop calling them clones. They are people, hybrids if you must.” An enraged flush filled her face.

Molly seriously considered pulling Davidette into her seat, no matter how anti-sovereign it might appear.

Daniel lifted his film again. “Mr. Chairman! If we could just show you—“

Suddenly a vibration rumbled across the large room. Molly leapt to her feet. Engrained instincts from her years as a Legal Enforcer kicked in. She activated a recording device in her comm and opened a notepad. Bumping the recording to the pad, she documented date and time of the phenomenon and a note to herself to copy Gordon Billings. Surely someone in the ITS department was tracking such a bizarre event.

Did Omicron have Earthquakes? Or Omicron-quakes, she mused. Whatever this was, she understood why the dog-foxes were causing such a ruckus. Animals sense these things before they happen. Maybe this was why her own senses were buzzing.

Chairman Faciem’s fervent frown prompted Molly to take control of Davidette’s outside-of-the-pack behavior. She demanded quietly, “Davidette, sit down!”

“I’m sorry, Chairman.” Davidette remained standing. “I just hate to see any living being oppressed simply because of…how they got here. These people didn’t ask to be born, um, created. But they are here now. And while they were created with special radiological tolerances for the sole purpose of working in the mines, doesn’t mean they should be forced to work there.” Davidette inhaled. “That’s all I’m trying to say, sir. Please allow them to make the final decision as to where they” —she raised her chin— “contribute to the community.”

Now Davidette was doing this right. Molly folded down in her chair and grinned. That ought to pierce their pelts. The Omicronians were all about “contributing to the community.”

The Chairman placed his hand over the microphone; it looked like a large black bug hovering above the chest-high podium; and leaned over to speak to Mrs. Lupus. She spoke quietly as he nodded. Finally, he returned to the microphone. “Miss Pierce, Her High Exalted has asked that we curl up this discussion and let it rest… for now. She would like to meet with you in person to develop a plan that will be comfortable for everyone.”

Mrs. Lupus murmured to the Chairman. He vented his mouth, panted, bowed his head, and added, “She asks that you bring some representatives of the clo—hybrids, so that she… and you… and they can come to a consensus.” He glanced at Mrs. Lupus, who bowed her head in approval.

Davidette tipped her head to Mrs. Lupus. “Yes, Your High Exalted… thank you.”

Daniel opened his mouth. “Mr. Chairman—“

Suddenly, the two screens at the far end of the Community Hall crackled.

Davidette eased herself into the knotted-wood chair. Molly patted her shoulder. “Good job.”

Daniel tried again. “Mr. Chairman, if I may—“

A scratchy voice leaked through the PA speakers. “Uh—Y-your High Ex—" The blurry image of a person flashed in pixlated static, then faded to distorted streaks.

More crackling and studded words blipped on the screens. The communication popped and static hissed through the speakers.

Molly jerked to her feet. Something was horribly wrong, she could feel it. Her senses were on fire and saliva flooded her mouth. She swallowed hard, regretting the creamed-herring sandwich and kosher dill spears she’d eaten at lunch.

Finally, the bloody, dirt-covered face of Her High Exalted’s guardsman appeared through the blurred pixels. He bounced and swayed close to the camera televising his message. “I repeat,” he panted as if he had run a six-minute mile. His image sharpened. White columns of smoke trailed up from his thick, tawny vest.

Cavern walls sped away behind him. The rumble of the open train that initially took the hybrids into the mining area, nearly drowned out his feeble voice. “There’s been… an attack… at the Colonies. A large ship… fired laser weapons at us, Ma'am. They came… out of nowhere. Me and” —he nodded toward the camera bearer— “and Lykos are the… only two survivors.” He lowered his eyes.

“The cloned workers—the Guards—They’re all dead, Ma’am.”

He stared at the camera for a moment as if he were struggling with his words.

“It’s the pirates, Ma’am. They’re back!”

CHAPTER FOUR

“My God!” Molly swallowed hard. The nausea overwhelmed her senses. She had just been out there an hour ago. The hybrids were still alive, infuriating Davidette for refusing to stop working. Now, Davidette’s face drained of color. She gasped, pressing white knuckles against her lips, and sobbed. The council members whimpered and muttered between themselves. Miriam wrapped a comforting arm around Davidette and wept with her. Daniel sat down, silent. The film dangled from his limp hand.

Molly glanced up from her friends. The tremors, they weren’t omicron-quakes! She closed her eyes to gain control of her stomach and focused on the guard’s report.

Slowly he lifted his gaze but didn’t speak. His thin black lips parted with the slightest whimper. At last, he continued, “We are heading to the infirmary now. Lykos is hurt bad.”

The guard’s battered image slipped into white static. Mrs. Lupus shot to her feet. “Get a recovery team to the Colonies at once!” She turned as if she were directing her orders to various people. “Inform the community, especially the Infirmary, there may be more casualties. Molly! Notify Security.”

Lupus gnashed her teeth and growled, “Battle Stations, everyone!” She slumped down into her chair and stared at nothing.

Molly had already activated her comm device and had spoken to Mary when Lily ordered her to notify Security. Speaking loud enough for the Council to hear, Molly announced, “I’ve got dispatch, she’ll relay to the Infirmary.”

Molly met Miriam’s eyes. Both nodded with understanding—Miriam would take care of the devastated Davidette. Molly sprinted out the door. Others rushed out behind her.

Bassares scurried to hide under the buildings’ foundations. Villagers scrambled in a frenzy, blocking Molly’s otherwise quick trot across Nidum’s community yard to Security.

“Go to your assigned positions! This is for real, people!” She wove through the mob.

These peaceful inhabitants had little experience with violence or assuming battle stations. The emergency-training drill had been barely more than a social gathering in the common yard followed by a humorous jog to an assigned location. Once in place, the simulated assault faded into sweet pastry treats and merriment.

Only Security Officers and Guards were truly prepared.

Pressing her face against her locker scanner, Molly forced herself not to blink as the thin red light passed over the security chip in her pupil. The catch released with a click. She yanked open her personal storage and lifted a black protective vest along with her weapon. Spinning around as she shoved her arm through the vest sleeve, she smacked the Chief in the face.

Not a hair moved out of place as Chief Dunn absorbed the blow with a scowl. “Stand down, Officer. Where do you think you’re going?”

“but sir. The Colonies, there’s been an attack—“

“I am aware of the assault, Officer Abraham. You’re not going! Stand. Down.”

“What? but sir. I-I wish to volunteer!” She drew herself up taut.

“Seriously? You cannot volunteer. You’re pregnant! Pregnant officers do NOT go into active combat.”

Frustration escaped her lips in words unbecoming a lady, let alone a Christian lady. She wrestled the vest onto her shoulders anyway and struggled with the latches across her hormone-engorged chest. “Chief, I’m barely four months!”

“Four days or four months, pregnancy disqualifies you from any active combat!” The Chief flushed with frustration. “Deuce would have my head if—"

Dunn sighed. “Look, you can’t even fasten your safety vest. I’m assigning you to the Infirmary. They will need help keeping order. You’re dismissed.”

Molly jerked out of her traitorous vest, and slammed it and her weapon back into the locker. A second thought stopped her from closing the solid metal door. She grabbed her weapon and slapped it into place on her hip. At least she’d be armed.

With a sluggard’s gait, Molly trudged to the Infirmary. “This is ridiculous.” She crossed the compound. The frenzy of people had dissipated. They must have found their stations, despite the lack of sweet treats. She sighed sharply.

Everyone was where they were supposed to be—except her.

A loud whistling sound overhead pierced her ears. Pure instincts buckled her knees, and she hit the ground in a tight ball. Her arms automatically covered her head. Only then did she glance up. A bright blue-orange light streaked through the sky and penetrated the Infirmary with a devastating explosion. Black particles of the hospital’s roof arched up into the air as fire licked up toward the pieces, like a dragon leaping after every morsel.

“Deuce!” Her feet were moving before she realized she was running.

Molly reached behind her ear to activate her comm device. “Security!” she panted. “This is Officer Abraham, I need a forty at the Infirmary” —panic choked her words and she lost all sense of protocol— “Get back up, NOW! It’s been blown to bits!”

Automated doors remained closed as she slid up against the solid glass. Pausing for a split second, she gulped down cold panic. Various personnel ran to and fro through smoke and debris, coughing as they scrambled.

Did anybody know what to do in an emergency?

Molly quickly assessed the damage—walls were intact, for now. She slammed her shoulder into the narrow, polished steel frame. “Evacuate the patients!” She gestured her arm to summon them toward her. The smoke clawed at her throat. “Evac… uate everybody!” A fit of coughing doubled her over.

Shock-stunned medical personnel stared at her. They, too, were fighting the smoke. She cleared her throat, twice. “Pirates! Attacked the Colonies and now the Infirmary!” she hollered, as if yelling would make them understand better. “Evacuate the patients and get out of here yourself!”

Opaque smoke and debris billowed through the opened doors as scrub-clad zombies glanced at one another. But as Molly’s words penetrated their numbed minds, their eyes cleared with comprehension. They crouched down below the smoldering air and began to fan out away from Molly like a drop of oil on the surface of dirty water.

Soon patients were being moved toward the front doors along with IV poles and oxygen tanks. Molly held the large doors open and waved her arm to hurry the exodus. She choked out the words, “Take them to the Community Hall. Set up a triage.”

Matthew rolled by, with the air-filled leg brace. Luke behind him. His arm bore an indigo cast and his shoulder was wrapped in a huge bandage. but where was Esther? Molly’d probably just missed her in all the confusion.

Looking around, she grabbed a folded towel from a laundry cart, shoved it against her face, and skipped sideways as she began to run against the flow.

She had to find her husband.



“Pulicem! You idiot!” Captain Porcos cursed at his Weapons Officer. Dark spit flew from his rot-stained teeth. “We needed that Infirmary! Are you trying to destroy everything we came for?” Umber drool slid through a gaping scar in his lower lip and ran down his wiry bristled chin. The V-shaped stigma, a present reminder of a past battle, remained little more than a nuisance. A vapor of decaying flesh and blood wafted from every pore of his rigid-fur covered [ Cyndi: rigid-fur-covered body or rigid-fur covered body? His fur is rigid not his body.]body.

Standing upright like a human, but retaining the hunting adeptness of their hyena and swine ancestors, these Canisian Pirates terrorized the galaxy. They took what they wanted, when they wanted, and how they wanted. Mercenary ventures were accepted when profitable but not always reported.

However, this mission had been ordered by the matriarchal leader, Queen Venator. Her instructions to Porcos were very clear: Recover the lost supply of human embryos, or be eaten by his own pack.

The last thing Porcos needed was an imbecile such as Pulicem causing his own final destruction for failing the Queen.

The fertilized human eggs had proven to be an invaluable resource for the scavengers of Canis. By tweaking a little technology of their own, the embryos were cultivated for many sustaining and lucrative commodities. For one, a tribe of slaves who were strong in muscle, but docile in mind, served their Queen to her satisfaction. Abraham and Lupus had made a rewarding agreement for both parties and had supplied the Canisians well for years, decades even. Until the fools got themselves killed six years ago—stupid, greedy dictators.

“Do I need to replace your station? Permanently?” Porcos whirled around to glare at Pulicem. A cloudy, yellow fluid still oozed from the cauterized gash which divided Pulicem’s face vertically from right to left, slicing through the bridge of his nose and forever blinding the right eye. Porcos swallowed his disgust. The kwakzalver they called a medic had deemed his wound healed enough for the Weapons Officer to return to active duty, but Porcos wondered.

“No sir.” Pulicem stood taut. A habitual sniff flared his disfigured nostrils. Sweat glistened on his wrinkled and scarred brow. “Scans indicate damage is isolated to the hospital, Sir. Laboratories and embryo storage are unharmed.”

“Are you certain of this?”

“Yessir! All underground, sir.”

“Then perhaps our diversion is still of use.” A wicked smile rippled Porcos’ face.



CHAPTER FIVE

“Deuce!” Molly shrieked as dirty smoke reduced her outcry to a hacking cough. She ran through the abandoned stucco corridors, bracing her slight baby bump. Sucking air through the towel, she scanned every open door, and prayed her child still had a daddy. She cleared her throat. “Deuce! Deuce Abraham!”

She prayed her training on Earth had been right. Even if unconscious, a person will respond to their full name.

At a distance, she heard him.

Tilting her head, she honed her hearing to his voice, and sprinted down what was left of the Med-Surge hall. “Deuce, I’m here.”

“Molly! What are you doing?” Deuce’s strained voice came from behind a deteriorating masonry wall. “Get out of here!”

“Deuce, I can’t see you! Where are you?” She crouched down, and then lifted up on tip toes, searching.

“Think of the baby!” Deuce panted. “Get outta here! Please!”

Her eyes roved over the crumbling walls for any sign of him. “Are you hurt?”

Panic sickened her already upset stomach.

“No, I-I’m fine. I’m with Esther. Can’t leave her!” Deuce choked and coughed. At last he said, “Get outta here! Please, Moll.”

“NO!”

Running footsteps came toward her. She squatted. Should she hide? Squinting through the debris and smoke, she tried to make out friend or foe.

“Officer Abraham?” a familiar voice called through the haze. Security Officers Stanson and Woodrow closed the distance, handed her a rebreather, and parked a robotic machine against the broken wall. “Dr. Deuce in here?”

Molly sucked against the breather and choked, “Yeah.”

Deuces’s scratchy voice called out, “No, wait guys. Esther’s here. And—make my wife go home!”

Molly stood to her full height, shoved her fists onto her hips, and glared at the officers.

Woodrow swallowed. “Uh, I don’t think she’s going anywhere.” He turned back to the wall. “What’s your situation, Doc?”

“I’m not sure, the ceiling started crumbling in… and I wanted to protect Esther… and… I’m… trying…”

The floor shook as a rumble penetrated the building. A creaking noise grew to a cracking sound and dust billowed through the splintered plaster. Deuce moaned and heaved a sharp exhale.

“Doc? Are you trying to hold the ceiling off of her?” Stanson said.

“I… need… help!” Deuce groaned.

Molly leaped toward the crumbling barrier, but Woodrow stonewalled her. “We’ve gotta see what we’re up against before we take down this partition.”

Stanson nodded at Molly and turned to examine the structure. “Give us a sec, Doc!”

Molly closed her eyes and prayed. “Oh Lord, please, please, please, help them save Deuce.” She reconsidered. “… and Esther.”

“Okay,” Stanson thought out loud. “What if we worked between the framing, just get a hole big enough to—?” He glanced at his partner.

Woodrow shrugged. “It’s as good an idea as any.” He maneuvered the machine into place.

“What is that?” Molly stared at the contraption.

“It’s an invention the locals use in the cargo houses.” Woodrow touched a white light armband that wrapped around his wrist and forearm. “They call it a MiNT RiM.”

Molly squeezed her brow together and frowned.

The machine whined and slid apart like a telescope, rising level with the officers’ shoulders.

Stanson stretched his neck to watch the machine work. “It’s a Multipurpose Nanite Technology Robotic Machine.” He shrugged toward Molly. “MiNT RiM.”

“Whatever,” Molly widened her eyes and shook her head. “So long as it gets Deuce and Esther out of there!”

Woodrow touched his band again. Sliding a finger across the surface of the light, a high-pitched whirring sound started deep in the machine, nanites quietly snapped apart to form a small opening where a spinning tri-blade emerged and pressed into the plaster.

“It’s a handy little thing,” Stanson added.

Woodrow touched the armband and the three-bladed tool retracted. The nanites swiftly filled the opening. He lifted an optical enhancer and pressed it in.

Molly shoved him aside and peered through the enhancer. She could see the entire crumbling room in an obscured fish-eye mode. Deuce stretched across Esther, shielding her as best he could. Large chunks of plaster covered his back and Esther’s legs. “Oh, dear Lord!”

“Molly, get back,” Woodrow said. “Let us do our job!”

“But he’s trapped—”

“Which is why we are using this.” He gestured to the machine.

She glared at him and then the MiNT RiM. With a strained huff, she jerked back. Her pursed lips and clinched fists whitened as Woodrow pressed his eye against the optical enhancer.

“We see you doc. We’ll have you two out in three shakes.”

The machine bore through the stucco with precision, making a man-size rectangle. So far, the ceiling held and the walls did not collapse, but debris continued to sift through the fractured ceiling. Ever so carefully, the machine moved into the fragile room. Nanites snapped together to form fork-lift tongs and eased in between Deuce and the thick plaster.

Another rumble permeated the building, and the spider cracks in the ceiling widened, causing huge pieces to fall over the MiNT RiM and the two under the debris.

“Deuce!” Molly ran forward.

Woodrow blocked her again. “Whoa, you can’t go in there!”

“Let go of me!” She pounded tight fists against his vise-grip hold.

Stanson touched her shoulder. “Molly, let the machine do it.”

She vehemently shrugged off his touch. Tears burned her eyes, blurring her vision. She could barely see Deuce under the fallen plaster. “Are you all right, baby?”

Terrifying silence emanated from the rubble.

A sound like thunder, distant and faint, rolled through the infirmary, shaking the ceiling, walls, and floor. Molly and the fellow officers lifted their eyes. Dirt and plaster poured through splintering cracks. Woodrow shoved a forearm into Molly’s shoulder. “Molly, get out of here!”

“That’s my husband in there!” she screamed, tears trailing down her cheeks.

As if the reverberation of her words weakened the building, the ceiling collapsed. Long aluminum light boxes, electrical wires, air duct tubes, and ceiling joists crashed down with the plastered lattice. Dirt billowed, filling the space. Woodrow threw himself over Molly as they dropped with the weight of the debris. A high pitched hum continued from the MiNT RiM.



“Cargo Air Niner-Niner to Ops.” The Omicronian pilot, Captain Deni Pellis, reported in. An explosion on-planet turned his head.

Co-Pilot, First Lieutenant Jax Aures, watched the fire ball instead of his instruments. He scanned the black horizon for the cause, but saw nothing, so he scanned his instrument panel. A residual energy trail disappeared behind their planet. Aures tapped the display, drawing his Captain’s attention to it.

Pellis nodded.

“Go ahead, Cargo Air Niner-Niner,” Operations interrupted their diversion.

Pellis pulled his eyes back to his instruments and re-read the lighted panel. “Sub-light scans confirm SS Canaan Land destroyed. Over a thousand objects remain near the wreckage, verification indicates the debris does not belong to the ship’s structure. Life signs are present in three hundred-thirty-seven. And exactly twenty robotics are confirmed functioning.”

“Copy that, Cargo Air Niner-Niner.”

“Sir, confirming an explosion on planet?”

“Affirmative.”

“And an energy trail leading to the dark side of Omicron?”

“Affirmative. Appreciate the eyes-in-the-sky, Captain Pellis.” Air Command sounded relieved to receive this information.

“Copy that. Engaging FTL to Retrieve and Rescue.”

“Affirmative. Godspeed, Cargo Air. Operations out.”

“Copy that, Ops. Cargo Air Niner-Niner out.” The Pilot engaged FTL engines. A sucking sound imbued the vessel, ending in a loud pop. Their heads pressed against the high-back seats while the scene before the two pilots altered from an indigo canvas of stars to multi-hued fluorescent streaks zipping past them.

“That trail,” Aures still looked over his shoulder. “Where you suppose that ship’s headed?”

Captain Pellis sniffed. “No way to know, unless we followed.”

How Aures wished he was in one of the Defense Daggers. He’d love to take a bite out of one of those hyena-swine-faced pirates. But that was not their assignment. The co-pilot’s tiny wolf-like ears twitched as he spoke, “Do you think we can really revive a cryogenic pod that’s been cast out into space?”

“Our job is not to revive them, Aures. Our mission is Retrieve and Return. That means grab the pods, put ‘em into the cargo area, and high-tail it back home. Somebody from the science labs will be responsible for any reviving.”

“Copy that. And I s’pose it’s just a matter of fetching the robotics?”

“Uh huh.” Pellis nodded. “What’s our ETA to wreckage?”

Aures glanced down at his gauges and sniffed the panel. “Thirty-two hours, fifteen minutes, Sir.”

“Thirty-two-fifteen, copy.” Pellis leaned back in his chair, curled his head against his shoulder, and muttered, “Wake me in six.”

Aures sighed, “Aye, Captain.”



Pastor Jacques Breneé glared at Pastor Oliver Pugh. The man had once been his mentor. Emergency weather sirens blared beyond the Parsonage. It had nothing to do with weather. Annoying red letters scrolled in his lower peripheral, updating perpetual dooms day information, starting with the pirate attack on the Colonies, and then the Infirmary. “Battle stations,” had been the initial report, but now it boasted, “If you are outside of a building, find shelter immediately. Stay indoors. DO NOT move about the compound for any reason.”

Over twelve years ago, before Pastor Pugh’s return from a six-year captivity in the Colonies, these two spiritual leaders would have clasped hands, bowed heads, and prayed for the villagers with such earnest hearts. Today, Pugh held the title of Senior Pastor by homage alone. A gradual slide into Persistent Depressive Disorder, as Dr. Abraham called it, had rendered Pugh almost comatose, certainly not functioning in society or the church. More likely he suffered from “guilt disorder,” for deceiving that Kita Jacobsen. His wife, Lucy—such a mouse, she hardly ever spoke to anyone. They were quite the inert pair.

In Pugh’s stead, Breneé had dutifully fulfilled the senior role, although he had never been officially given the title. Titles did not matter in this small community. If there were things that needed doing, as long as they were being done, no one cared who did them. Besides, it was the way his dear Maman had raised him. Pomp and circumstance were not necessary. The missionaries and locals respected him, and that was that.

But what he needed to do right now was make an appearance in front of Her High Exalted, Lily Lupus. Helping the people with this savage attack from Satan’s disciples would be a valuable credit to him. With a disdainful glance at Pugh, he decided he should invite the man to come with.

“Pastor!” Jacques yelled in his lingering French-Regions accent, as if Pastor Pugh were nearly deaf, and shook the man’s shoulder. “We need to attend to this emergency!”

Oliver raised an eyebrow. “Huh?”

“The emergency, Pastor, your help is needed!”

“Uh.” Pugh lifted an index finger in a dismissive wave.

“You’ll be all right, then, if I leave you here alone?” The Junior Pastor searched Pugh’s eyes for any sign of comprehension.

None could be found.

Jacques sighed. It was useless to even try, but at least his conscience would be clear should anything happen while he was away, God forbid. He rose and lifted his well-worn Bible.

“Mrs. Pugh?” He rapped on her constantly closed bedroom door. “Lucy? I’m leaving the Parsonage now. You’ll be all right?”

Silence, as always, answered him. He rolled his eyes.

Despite the red-letter warnings, Breneé selflessly risked his own safety by slithering under the eaves of the stucco buildings. As he maneuvered toward the Community Hall, he considered the first report confirming the SS Canaan Land had been destroyed. For three years Jacques had anticipated the Jacobsen’s arrival. It would be just his luck they should be among the one-third who survived. No one knew as of yet. A retrieval and rescue ship was en route and soon the good news would be relayed back to the planet. A snarl curled the side of his mouth.

Pastor Levi Jacobsen, with his silver seniority, had been the Missionary Coordinator on Earth since the Abraham Project’s inception. He would likely feel obliged to take Pugh’s position. On the other hand, Kita’s return might be the guilt-ridden straw that breaks Pastor Pugh’s proverbial back and send him God-knows-how much deeper into his den of despair. Either way, this family presented a threat to Jacques’s current station. Her High Exalted could easily be his ally should weighted decisions become necessary in the near future.

“Not my will, but thine alone.” He smiled. This pirate invasion could work to his advantage after all.

“What Satan intended for evil, God shall remake for my good.” He squeezed his Good Book with crisscrossed arms, as if he were choking the life from it.

CHAPTER SIX

Lucy Pugh stretched her five-foot-five frame to reach the top shelf. Imported teas and fine pastries filled that elusive part of the cabinet, which only Jacques Breneé could reach easily. He certainly had exquisite taste, but how on Omicron did Jacques manage to obtain these fineries?

He was such a stingy swindler, but she delighted in sneaking a few bites when she could. Besides, she only took from what he had left opened. Any decent person would have shared from those. She pulled down a half empty cellophane-wrapped box and inhaled its buttery bouquet.

The emergency messages warning everybody to stay indoors had scrolled in her peripheral most of the day. She longed to go help at the temporary infirmary, but Breneé would eventually disobey the warnings to make a sacrificial appearance before Her High Exalted. The thought of being in the Community Hall at the same time he was kept her home.

She shook her head. It had taken him all this time to decide he should go. He was so obnoxious, yelling at Oliver and then her. He really should know by now, she wasn’t going to answer his savage bellowing through her door.

Finally, he was gone and she could come out of the bedroom. As usual, Oliver was napping in his favorite chair in the living room. Her heart fluttered. She filled one of Breneé’s fancy plates with an assortment, since three boxes happened to be open, and plopped on the couch. Gingerly, she bit into the golden, crumbly goodness and savored the indulgent flavor. She sighed. Being alone in the parsonage with Oliver was almost as much of a treat as these delicacies.

Oliver stirred and snorted. Opening his eyes, he blinked several times, until he could focus on her.

“Wake up, sleepy head.” She held the plate out to him. “You want a cookie, oh, excuse me, a Pâtisserie?”

Oliver chuckled and took a delicacy. “They are good, aren’t they?”

She took another. “So, why didn’t you go with Breneé?”

“And let him miss an opportunity to impress Her High Exalted? You know he lives for these moments.” A crumb dropped from Pugh’s lip and landed on his shirt. He flicked it off and laid his head back. “Besides, I was napping…”

Soon his breath slowed. A snore rumbled deep in his throat.

She stared at the spot where the crumb had fallen. Should she vacuum? No, it would wake him. She popped the last pastry in her mouth and brushed the crumbs from her fingers onto the plate.

Standing at the kitchen sink centered in the island that separated the living room, she watched him sleep. He’d always been good to her and she loved him so much.

The water ran until steam clouded her view of him. Absently, she held the plate under the hot water. Her task escaped from her present mind like the water slipping down the drain. The gnawing nightmare that knew no limits of day or night awakened. Fear shook her like a rag in the wind.

Her Oliver was gone! She was all alone!

Residual tears moistened her eyes. The humidity from the steam saturated her hair. Wisps tightened into little ringlets around her face. The time she had spent straightening the aggressive curls was lost along with her conscious mind. She swallowed hard.

Her hand rose, clawing at her throat, she gasped for air. Those helpless, desperate feelings of inadequacy, the inability to rescue her husband, it all overwhelmed her. Anger toward Abraham and Lupus roiled in her gut. All along, she suspected Abraham and Lupus had everything to do with Oliver’s captivity, which explained a lot about their behavior during the ordeal. Fear is not of the Lord. She had to turn it and the anger over to God. Her faith had never faltered while he was gone. Why did she find it so hard today?

Her knees buckled and she leaned on the counter for strength. Her pills! She fumbled with the prescription bottle, finally getting it open, and shook out two yellow tablets. Sucking saliva into her mouth, she swallowed them.

Lucy bit her lip and willed herself back to the reality of now. He wasn’t lost. He slept right there, before her eyes.

Her hand trembled and the plate clattered as she placed it in the cabinet. She cringed. If it had broken, she’d be in big trouble with Breneé.

A warm sensation permeated her mind. She closed her eyes and basked in the calm wave that washed over her. The tremor in her limbs subsided. She stared at Oliver. Her love for him grew stronger with each passing day. Even though he wasn’t himself anymore.

Whatever had happened to him when he tried to help Kita Jacobsen or while he was held captive in the Colonies, he harbored deep inside. The young Dr. Abraham called it something fancy, but depressed was the bottom line, like PTSD. Her Oliver had issues to deal with and until he did, he would suffer. All she could do was pray his terrors would be divinely taken from him.

It was different for her. The day he came home, it ended for her. She thanked God and treasured it in her heart as a sacred time of celebration. Silently she honored it every year. He didn’t realize her homage to the date. It was just a little fancier meal than normal, but it was her way of expressing appreciation to the One who kept Oliver safe. The pills Dr. Abraham gave her helped with the hauntings and she needed them less and less.

Crossing the living room, she couldn’t resist giving him a kiss on his little ol’ bald head. He was such a kind and caring man. Even while in captivity he had made sure others were taken care of. She smiled. He snored soundly. If only she could take the acridity from him. She’d gladly bear the burden, if that were possible.

Back in her and Oliver’s bedroom, she stretched aching limbs and shoulders, then settled down with the book she had set aside after Breneé left. He would probably be back any minute. Surely he’d put in enough of an appearance by now. She’d rather be here in their bedroom than sitting in the living room when Pastor Hoity-Toity came in. God love him.

Once Lucy knew Breneé was no longer at the Community Hall, she would slip out and see what need Lily had for her. The makeshift infirmary needed a lot of volunteers. Lucy could assist in cleaning or laundry without much notice. It was the way Lucy preferred to serve God and the people: quietly, behind the scenes. She didn’t need the accolades, like some people she lived with. She rolled her eyes toward the bedroom door, as if Breneé were standing there to receive her chastising glare. She sighed and leaned back on her pillow, content for now to be alone in her sanctuary.



Captain Porcos held a geosynchronous orbit on the evening side of the planet, where the two suns’ light presented a twilight of sorts for a few hours. He loaded his crew of three into a smaller version of their ship and ejected out the aft. Everything was in place for them to fulfill the Matriarch’s demands.

The attack on the mining operation had drawn the village’s military might far out into the country. Porcos chuckled. If those pathetic workers they had killed were the best cloning these Omicronians could conceive, they really could learn a thing or two from the Canisian technology. But he wasn’t here to share expertise.

As a bonus to his perfect plan, Pulicem’s misfire on the Infirmary had driven the remaining masses into their dwellings, further aiding their successful landing without any counter disturbances.

Porcos and his mercenary warriors emerged with breathers across their nostrils, and ran in a crouched fashion into the Clinic’s fragile loading dock. The damaged Infirmary lay to their left, a large laboratory to their right. Following a schematic of the building that had been downloaded from previous intel into his comm chip, they scurried like rats directly to the designated doors in the laboratory. Porcos slurped the ever-escaping drool through his split lip, and lifted a fist to signal the others to wait. Two squatted on their hind haunches, snorting and farting.

Unable to bend at his knees, due to a devastating thigh injury, the third, Navigation Officer Pedibus, folded slightly at the waist to reduce his height. His weapon precariously balanced with two fingers and a thumb. The other two digits were missing. His left hand was hardly more than a melted stump, but enough to support the shaft of his gun.

The Captain examined the cool metal door with a callused palm. There were no handles, no locks. Anger escaped through his sharp, plaque-stained teeth in a guttural curse. He adjusted his vision to scan the map in his ocular chip display, confirming this was the only entrance. Squinting through the dirty atmosphere of the Infirmary corridor, he sniffed.

The building was not empty. He signaled to his sounders to stay: let him scout ahead. Cautiously, he moved down the hallway, sniffing over his respirator in quick drafts for any useful smells and twitching his tiny ears to pick up any sounds.

Most of the interior rooms had collapsed but the thick outer walls still stood. His nose was overwhelmed with cleaning fluids, human and wolf stench, gypsum, dirt, blood, smoke, and fear. Easing forward, he silently moved farther down the hall, his weapon at the ready.

Muffled, coarse voices came from under the rubble to his left. “Molly! You okay?” a male said.

“I-I think so,” a female responded.

“We’re all right on this side, Doc,” another male replied. “What’s your status?”

“Esther’s still breathing. We’re okay for now,” the one called Doc said.

“What happened?” Fear filled her voice.

“The machine’s nanite technology was programed to… to aid in user’s safety—first and foremost,” yet another male said. He sounded weaker than the first, brainier. “ I-I think the nanites detected danger… when the ceiling collapsed and made an umbrella of sorts… to-to cover us.”

Captain Porcos grunted. An umbrella? He turned to signal his men to come.

The female hissed, “D’you hear that?”

The Captain held up a tight fist: halt. He pointed to the pile of debris and signaled with four fingers. His men nodded.

“Guys,” the one called Doc whispered. “I’ve gotta get Esther out of here.”

Porcos shoved five fingers up next to his shoulder. He had miscounted.

“Shh!” the female commanded. Obviously she was in charge.

A motorized whine emanated from under the ruins. Could it be this umbrella they spoke of? Porcos stared as dust danced in the streaks of sunlight, large portions of plaster moved toward them. Fixtures, metal, and dirt slid from the slanting pile and crashed to the floor. One small step by one small step, he and his men moved backward.

Weapons at the ready, their eyes fixed on the monstrous mound, until the angling debris exposed a shiny metallic shield, of sorts. Ah! The umbrella. A clicking sound, barely audible to his ears, accompanied the umbrella’s movement up toward the exterior wall. A high pitched spinning sound began. A motor bogged down as if a saw blade were struggling to cut through a rock-hard object.

“Hup! They’re escaping!” the Captain shouted, firing at the metal barrier. The men joined his assault. Energy blasts ricocheted off the shiny metal.

Pedibus jerked backward. A stream of snot trailed the breather as it flew from his face. His body splayed on the floor. A concentric pool of blood oozed out from underneath his sizzling chest.

Weapons Officer Pulicem took a knee. Blood gushed from the tip of his ear. A dark stain saturated his rough, rhino-hide suit.

“Cease fire!” Porcos growled. Bearing down on the remaining exterior wall, he blasted a hole through it. Chunks of chalky debris fell on him and his men as they ran to the opening.

Spotting the four escapees pushing a metal bed, he took aim.



The MiNT RiM had bored a hole large enough for Molly and her team to escape—hospital bed and all. Esther had been stable. But after the Infirmary collapsed, she was critical again. Molly cradled the IV bag in one arm, like a football, and pushed Esther’s bed with the other. They needed to get her to the makeshift care center, and quick! Deuce had done all he could. He ran along the other side, Woodrow and Stanson flanked the rear. All four ran as fast as possible with the bed rolling over the courtyard lawn.

The blazing heat was as much of a threat as whoever was behind them. Despite all this, Molly aimed for the shortest path possible, knowing this exposed route could be deadly for them all.

Barely ten feet from the Infirmary, all four double-wheels dug into the soft loam. The momentum and sudden stop caused them all to tumble forward. Without hesitation, Molly’s comrades took point and trail to carry the bed. She and Deuce continued at Esther’s side.

Molly wanted to deny the grunting sound, the ricocheting blasts. It had to be her fear filled imagination or debris falling as they escaped the building. Still, she prayed the heathens wouldn’t find a way to follow. Just then, the Infirmary wall exploded.

They’d found a way.

An energy blast sizzled over Molly’s head. She and her comrades squatted next to the only cover available, Esther’s bed. Deuce sprawled over his patient. Another blast hit the bed frame and energy danced across the metal, like electricity on a lightning rod. Deuce vibrated and Esther groaned. The effect had drawn Deuce’s eyes tightly closed, his jaw clamped down, and linear muscles bulged in his temple. Frothing drool slid from the corner of his mouth and pooled on Esther’s dusty linens.

“Deuce!” Molly fought between instincts to climb up to him and legal enforcer training to stay down.

Through clenched teeth, he groaned. The energy dissipated to crackling static and was gone. At last, he said, “Geesh, that hurt.”

“Baby, you all right?” Molly reached toward him. Tiny residual sparks leapt to her fingertips.

“We-we’ve gotta get outta here.” Deuce slowly moved away from his patient as if his limbs had turned to stone. “Uh!”

Molly unsnapped her weapon and scanned for the enemy. Where had they gone? As if in answer, a vile creature leaned out through the huge hole blown in the exterior wall of the Infirmary. The black charred terra-cotta wall framed his hideous form. Molly cringed. The pirate looked like a science experiment gone badly wrong. Had someone crossed the DNA of a hyena and a pig, and then spliced it with a human? He held out a large silver and black object and fired another shot. Molly fired back. The creature’s vertically-slashed face snapped back as he fell.

“Yes!” Molly pumped her fist as she slid down behind Esther’s bed. She turned to Stanson, grinning. His wide-eyed stare had no focus. His body shuddered as a current of energy danced across his bloody shoulder and chest. He collapsed to his knees.

“Nicoli!” Molly scrambled to him. Her victory faded, but the dead pirate’s cloudy blind eye remained a residual image in her mind.

“Hold on, Doc!” Woodrow hollered. “Get Esther!” He muscled the bed over on its side. Deuce lifted Esther and eased her to the grass. Molly struggled to drag Stanson’s injured body behind the protective bedding and leaned him against the mattress.

Cold sweat drenched Stanson’s face and his breath was shallow. Deuce examined Stanson’s wound and grabbed Esther’s bed sheet. Pulling at the seam, he ripped several strips and tied a bandage over the man’s bleeding shoulder. Stanson gritted his teeth and groaned as the cloth drew tighter. He fell against Molly, unconscious. Deuce pressed two fingers against Stanson’s neck, and then nodded.

He turned to glance at the hybrid. “Esther!”

Deuce scrambled to her side. He placed two blood-saturated fingers against her neck and choked, “No, please no!”

Woodrow pulled his eyes from his buddy. “What?”

Deuce’s red rimmed eyes met Woodrow’s. “The blast… it must have stopped her heart.” Deuce turned to Molly. “She’s gone.”

Molly swiped grit and tears from her face. She sniffed and scraped a shaky hand through her filthy hair. Shoving an auburn tendril behind her ear, she activated her comm device and cleared her throat. “Security, this is Officer Abraham, we need a forty. Active fire at Community Courtyard. Subjects are in the Infirmary, east wall, we have one” —she swallowed hard— “thirty, and one injured.”

Deuce wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “What’d you tell them?”

“I called for backup and told them we had a… a fatality.” She choked on a sob and bowed her head. Lord, where are you when we need you?

“Security Central,” the alternate dispatcher, Cyndi Ruleman, said in Molly’s hearing only. “All units respond to the Community Courtyard, one thirty at scene, active shooting from the Infirmary, east wall.” Cyndi lowered her voice. “Molly? Stage a safe place ‘til scene’s cleared… please.”

“No can do, Security.” Molly arched her back against the mattress to stand. Another blast hit the bed. She glanced over to see the pirate disappear behind the gaping hole. She fired anyway.

Another grotesque creature reached out and shot.

A strong tug caused Molly’s knees to buckle, and she fell on her bottom. Woodrow had a firm grip on her wrist. The blast had lifted her hair with static, but missed her body.

“Thanks.” She grimaced.

“No problem.” He stood and fired wildly in the pirate's direction. Two creatures leaned out. One had a horrible V-shaped split in his lip, the other looked as though he had once held a grenade while it exploded at chest level. His face bore up-blast scars, the tip of his nose was gone.

Molly and Woodrow returned fire.

Woodrow’s arms flailed level with his shoulders, like a crucifix.

“Evan!” Molly scrambled to her feet. In slow motion, he fell backward, smoke rose from his protective vest, the smell of burning flesh and metallic material assaulted her senses. His blank eyes were fixed on the sky. He was gone!

Molly bent at the waist and retched.

Turning to regain her stance, she found herself back on her bottom. Deuce held her firmly. “No, Molly!”

“Let go of me!”

Deuce held her down. “No!” He hissed through clenched teeth. “The baby!”

She stopped struggling and sighed. Just then, two hideous creatures peered over the protective bed. Umber drool dripped from the one pirate’s lip. The other’s face dripped soured sweat that splashed on Molly’s forehead.

She gagged in spite of herself.

The first one flipped something on his weapon and took aim at Deuce’s chest. A blast buzzed across Molly’s senses as Deuce’s body undulated and collapsed. Residual energy stiffened Molly’s body. She had little control.

“No! Please!” She fought hardened muscles to claw her way across Deuce’s legs and collapsed.

The slobbering one spoke, his voice fading as if he were moving farther and farther away down a tunnel.

“Take the female…”

CHAPTER SEVEN

Lily Lupus elevated her nostrils. The stench of smoke, blood, and fear raised the hackles along her spine and accentuated an annoying migraine crescendo at the base of her head. Instincts for self-preservation fought against ambassadorial obligations, but she stayed put. Cognizant of the impressions she made, she lowered her face. She had a duty to fulfill. But she didn’t want to appear arrogant while doing it.

Once she conquered the initial stymie of the pirate's second assault, she sent for her son, AJ. Davidette, obviously feeling similar maternal inclinations, sent for her class of hybrids. She claimed a legitimate excuse that they could use this experience for their First Aid credits. Lily fully understood the need to gather one’s pack into a single den.

Personally, Lily relished an informal opportunity to witness the hybrids’ abilities to adapt beyond their expected functions. This observation could help solidify decisions needed on behalf of the council. Lily’s gaze casually followed the hybrids as they filed into the Community Hall.

They migrated directly to the two hybrids who had been brought over from the Infirmary. Mrs Lupus smelled Davidette’s unrest. There had been no news of the third worker’s whereabouts. It would be interesting to see when Pierce moved beyond maternal fussing to tutorial instructing. Sometimes, the difficulty lay in blending emotion with duty. Lily had fought that very obstacle most of the day.

When Jacques Breneé entered the makeshift infirmary, Her High Exalted sniffed deeply in his direction. He reeked of distorted intentions, but she had no solid evidence or reason to ostracize him. Other than the fact that he had blatant disregard for the compound-wide warning to stay indoors. After all, extra hands made for lighter work. She nodded her acceptance of his entering.

“Your Excellency.” Breneé bowed his head and closed his eyes as he approached her, his arms crisscrossed over the Bible held against his chest.

“Pastor Brenny.” She rose to her full height next to the cot where she had been wiping a fevered brow. “Your presence is welcomed, I assure you, but are you not needed by your superior?”

His eye twitched.

She suppressed a smile.

“I-I asked my… superior—no, I begged Oliver to come help with this emergency. I’m afraid he and Mrs. Pugh are too deeply invested in their own… well, they do not wish to leave the Parsonage at this time, Your High Exalted.”

His French laced English had presented yet another language barrier for her to overcome. However, since her husband’s death six years ago, she had many difficult tasks to digest. This had been one of the smoother transitions. After all, he was only one person and she interacted with him often enough to become accustomed to his dissimilar dialect. “I shall rely on your judgement.”

Tilting her head, she slowly inhaled. “You are confident he is safe… alone in the Parsonage?” His dedication to Pastor Oliver Pugh smelled superficially honorable, but where waters run deep, one couldn’t help wondering if his loyalties drifted.

“What else can I do, Your High Exalted, drag them here against their will?” Jacques glanced around the room.

His disdain so obvious to Lily’s wolf senses, her elongated lips tightened in a sardonic grin. “Of course not, Pastor. Please, go about your duties. Many fears will be put at ease with your spiritual coddling.”

“I beg your pardon…” Displeasure tightened his forehead. “I. Do. Not. Coddle.”

“Oh!” She touched his hand still pressed against his Bible. “Please, Jocks, forgive me! I do not always speak the English correctly. I believe I should say, ‘spiritual co-mforting.’” Her hand left his and rested on her twelve-year-old son. AJ slowly pulled away from her touch. He remained near but out of reach.

Jacques stared at her for a moment. His eyes slid to AJ, as if he were considering her words. “With your permission, Mrs. Lupus, I shall fulfill the duties of my superior in my superior’s stead, as is needed.”

A snarl exposed her long teeth, but she recovered by forcing an acceptable smile. “Of course, Pastor Brenny.” She bowed her head with reverence.

“Merci beaucoup.” He turned on his heels and surveyed the room.



Davidette paced between cots. Her class stood by ready to do whatever she asked. Her mind fretted over the one who was absent. Irony piggy-backed grateful praises. If the cave-in hadn’t injured Luke, Matthew, and Esther, they’d be dead—like the others at the Colonies. If Ruth and Jacob had listened to her, they’d be alive.

Now Esther was missing.

She had to be all right!

A local nurse walked past them, carrying a med tray. God wouldn’t abandon Esther twice. Until Davidette heard otherwise, she would assume the best. Biting her lip, she surveyed the large room. She needed to busy herself, and these students needed to be productive. Lily’s attention was subtle, but Her High Exalted missed little.

Pastor Breneé had been talking to her. He looked agitated. Mrs. Lupus appeared composed, like always. Davidette turned to her students and motioned for them to follow her. She walked straight over to the local nurse who had handed out the meds and moved gingerly toward the hybrids.

“How can we help?” Davidette gave her best debutante smile and glanced at the Omicronian nurse’s name tag. “Nurse Rebecca.”

Rebecca perused the students. “And, how, exactly do you think they can help? We have not rocks to move.”

Davidette let the insult slide off like syrup on a hot waffle. “Think of them as Aides in training.” Davidette intentionally stood close enough in front of Rebecca to block her view of the kids. “What would you have an Aide do?”

Rebecca leaned her head, trying to peer around Davidette, “Fine! I’ll show them how to change bed linen with a non-ambulatory patient, but I shall only do it once. I don’t have time to be a wet nurse.”

“That’ll be great.” Davidette switched to her best loving-Christian smile. Pivoting to face her students, she announced, “Let’s all watch carefully as Nurse Rebecca demonstrates the proper procedure to change bedding while not disturbing the patient. All right, let’s begin.”

She turned back to Rebecca, and widened her eyes—giving Rebecca the floor.

Nurse Rebecca spoke loudly and slowly, as if she were speaking to deaf people. Davidette pursed her lips but said nothing.

“All right, our objective is to change the linens but not hurt the patient! Remember! They cannot get out of bed on their own! Thus the reason we change their linens with them in it!” She took a long slow breath and continued. “You’ll find the linens are always washed and folded here on these shelves.” Rebecca paused, as if she were considering something, then she continued with a demonstration.

The students watched attentively and nodded to one another. When Rebecca concluded, she turned to Davidette. “So, Miss Pierce!” she choked and lowered her volume. “Do you think they can do this?”

That was a preview of Cloned Chaos. To read the rest purchase the book.

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