Fertility Pirates

The Abraham Project Series - Book 1

© 2015 Lynn Donovan

Cover Design Copyright © 2015 Cora Graphics

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, locals or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Acknowledgements

As always, I thank God, first and foremost, for His unconditional love, mercy, and grace. Without whom I would not be able to write, or live, or breathe. You amaze me every day and I thank you from the bottom of my heart. May this book be for your glory and bless those whom you would bless.

Second, I thank all those who have been there for me during this writing. Beta readers, critique group members, and proofreaders. Among them, especially, I thank Aaron DeMott, Kessie Carrol, Emerald Barnes, Jeanette Mbewe, and my wonderful friend and grammarian, Cyndi Rule. You all rock and I could not do this without you!

Third, thank you, William (my youngest son) for staging and choreographing the martial arts scene. Play acting with you was fun and SO VERY helpful. Your knowledge is invaluable to me., I couldn’t have done it without you.

Fourth, I thank you, the reader, without you, I would not be able to continue to do this thing called writing and publishing. You make me what I am, a published author, and I thank you! Although I write for an audience of one (God), I pray I continue to please your reading palates and you will continue to be blessed and entertained by what comes out of my feeble little brain.

Last, (but, as they say, not least) I thank my wonderful, faithful husband. All I need is the air that I breathe…to quote a really accurate song…and to love you. Your love sustains me and I can’t imagine life without you. You are my number-one fan and I appreciate all your feedback, brain-blocking discussions, and wonderful suggestions that make my stories better than they would have been. I appreciate you so much.

‘For I know the plans I have for you,’ declares the Lord, ‘plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.’ Jeremiah 29:11

Prologue

Zulu Date, 16.08.2211

Sector: Deneb of Cygnus, Planet-Omicron

This was unprecedented. Not one single person had been allowed to return to Earth, until today. Kita Jacobsen chewed at her index-finger cuticle as she swung her right leg violently. A dozen most uncomfortable metal chairs without arm rests, hardly suitable for a mother cradling a baby, provided the only seating around the perimeter of the cryogenic-hibernation pods. Ignoring the increasing ache in her right arm, she focused on the automated attendants’ preparations. They seemed much more hurried then last time.

Pastor Oliver Pugh, a young man in his thirties who looked older by his refusal to receive hair treatments, had promised her she and the baby would be safe.

“It’s what’s best for everybody, I assure you,” he had said with such confidence she believed him, but something deep in her gut told her he meant something else.

The baby, to be christened Michael Levi Jacobson, fought sleep while sucking on a make-do pacifier, which was nothing more than the top of a baby bottle, stuffed with soft fabric bandages and secured with lab tape. She had had no opportunity to grab the baby’s supplies when Pastor Oliver tapped just his fingernails against her door late last night. Michael wouldn’t need anything for the next three years while in his cryogenic stasis, so, instead of being difficult with Pastor O, she resolved to simply start over when she got home.

Tender words, which usually soothed his fretting, had no effect to calm him now. Anxious tears muddled her gentle cooing. Did he sense her anguish? A mere two weeks after his birth, this was the first time he had been denied a feeding, but the cryogenic procedure required his system be void of any foods, liquid or solid, just like his mother. So nursing was out of the question.

Pastor O paced at a distance, outside of the pod chamber, giving her privacy with her son, or was he keeping watch for those who might realize she was leaving? He smiled at her often through the transparent partition, but his eyes and crinkled brow exposed a different emotion. The knotting in her stomach confirmed his deception, or was it the cleansing procedure she had endured. Even his close-held thumbs-up gesture did little to comfort her.

A shrill bolt of fear shot through her nerves. Swallowing and closing her eyes, she turned her head toward the cryo-pods. Pastor O knows what he’s doing, sending her home. Keeping Michael would upset the order of things. She wouldn’t be the cause of such upheaval in the system. If only this part was finished and she was resting peacefully in her cryogenic capsule with Michael.

What if she was caught leaving? Would she be sent back to the planet? Would Michael be lost to her, forever? Then what—The colonies? A shiver rippled down her spine. Shaking her head as if she were telling the shivering sensation, “Go away,” she forced herself to not think about that. She trusted Pastor O. She trusted God. She and her baby would be fine.

In a very short time, she would sleep for what would seem like seconds, and then she’d open her eyes on her home planet and be surrounded by Mom, and Dad, and Molly.

Kita crossed her right arm over Michael and gnawed at another fingernail. This action served two purposes. It shielded him from the frenzied activity going on around them, and it availed her already raw cuticle to be further chewed, a nervous habit she had never out grown.

Eighteen of the twenty cryogenic hibernation pods, lining the circular room like dominos set ready to be toppled in a concentric design, were frosted over, already occupied, headed for other planets along the way. One was open, waiting for the emergency-scheduled passenger heading to Earth, Kita and child.

Glancing at her baby’s sweet, velvety face, she reached for another of the tissues supplied for her needs and blew her nose. She had to be strong, for Michael’s sake. Pulling another tissue, she swabbed her wounded finger and wrapped a make-shift bandage around each of the offended fingers.

She smiled as she smoothed down a tuft of silver hair which poked out from her baby’s swaddled wrap. The soft rose-petal feel of him stirred a maternal consciousness so strong, it still amazed her today. Was she doing the right thing taking him home? Would he be accepted on Earth?

Here on Omicron his wolfish appearance was widely accepted as normal. The Omicronians who were half human, half silver wolf carried this genetic appearance. All of the fertility-assisted children bore half of the Earth donors’ DNA, which increased their human aspects, but they all retained the dominant silver wolf mane and a short, velvety layer of light grey fur. It served them well as a sunscreen under the harsh dual suns. The only variation from a human face otherwise, was noticeable once they were older, a year or so, when they opened their mouths and a wide canine maw and sharp teeth were exposed.

Michael was no exception, but Kita loved him with every fiber of her being. From the moment she felt him flutter in her abdomen, she knew she loved him with all her heart. She also knew the surrogate pregnancy was a mistake. At least, it was a mistake for her. Giving this child up would not be a viable option. Her heart couldn’t let go. Even when he was born, and she took in his canine resemblance with his blue-like-hers eyes, it had little deterrence on her emotional link to the baby, her son. She loved him so much.

She prayed her family would help her protect him from any inappropriate attitudes. Surely, by now people on Earth had become accustomed to intergalactic differences. It had been made law more than a century back to accept all peoples’ differences, be it appearances or preferences. Everyone was entitled to fair and equal treatment.

So many questions still rattled around in her head, but Michael’s safety was her utmost priority. If Pastor Oliver couldn’t have guaranteed his safety, she would have stayed. Knowing it meant she would have to give him to the waiting surrogate parents. Her love for him was so great, she’d sacrifice raising him if it ensured his safety.

The leaders of the project were adamant, surrogates were not allowed to renege. It was the “supreme sacrifice” of the mission and nothing could disrupt the continuity of The Abraham Project. Austin Abraham had made that very clear. Perhaps she wasn’t cut out to fulfill that supreme missionary attitude after all.

Thank God for Pastor Oliver’s silent disagreement. He felt Kita had the right to refuse and it was he who had contacted Gordon, an IT guy, who sympathized with the pastor and had access to the communication system to secretly hail the intergalactic ship back to Omicron. All she had to do was keep hidden for a few weeks after Michael’s birth.

Last night, Pastor Oliver whisked her and Michael to the shuttle and escorted her to the waiting spaceship hidden behind the third moon.

A mechanical attendant pressed in close to her face, drawing her out of the reverie, and swiped her forehead. Instinctively, she tightened her hold on Michael. Her heart pounded against her eardrums, distorting the almost human voice. It was the same attendant who had instructed her to release Michael while she underwent the cleansing.

“Yes, yes, I understand,” she had snapped in response to the insistent machine with a human-like appearance. “I will not let go of my baby. You can perform the procedure while I hold him.”

She remained defiant with obstinate glares. “He stays with me,” she had said through clinched teeth.

The attendant clicked and squawked, apparently addressing another machine, and then turned back to her. “You may keep the child with you, Kita Jacobsen.”

Michael had received the same cleansing, though scaled back. His liquid diet of mother’s milk did not leave much waste in his digestive tract to purge. She understood the vital importance to be free of any solids in their systems, still, it was not a pleasant experience.

Finally, she, with her baby in her arms, was escorted by the mechanical assistant to the open pod. Pastor Oliver rushed in and offered his left hand, a gallant gesture of assistance, or was he hurrying her along? She accepted the steadying proffer as she stepped up on the lip of the vertical egg-like structure, and leaned back against the cushioned padding. Michael snuggled into her warmth at her right side.

“You’re absolutely sure?” She held the pastor’s gaze with concerned focus. “Michael will be all right?”

“Miss Jacobsen, I’m so sorry—” He cleared his throat, his tone hurried. He glanced over his shoulder, fear tightened his face as he drew in a deep, resolute breath. A large hand gripped his shoulder and the pastor stepped back.

Dr. Stork’s neglected teeth, exposed by a broad, exaggerated smile gave his over-indulgent face an ominous appearance, as Pastor Oliver receded behind his superior.

“I assure you,” Dr. Stork continued his mottled Cheshire-cat grin as he twisted a valve on her IV line. “You and the child will be fine. You’ll arrive perfectly preserved as you are now. We anticipate no complications.” The Doctor glanced at the retreating pastor and continued. “I have seen to your medical file myself and promise you the healers on Earth will know exactly what to do for you when you arrive.”

Was this reality, or were the pre-hibernation drugs causing hallucinations? A pins-and-needles sensation radiated through her limbs. She tightened her hold on Michael. “Um, thank you, Doctor.”

New tears sprang to her eyes. Could she trust what she was hearing and seeing?

“And…” He turned away, but she shoved a dead arm toward him to draw him back. “Thank you…for helping me.” Her words seemed slurred. She turned her head to try to focus her vision from the corner of her eye. “…helpin’ me keeb Mighel…and fur ledding us…gaw home.”

He tenderly patted her left forearm. “Of course, my dear. Your return will be best for everybody concerned.”

Why did everybody keep saying that? She tried to smile, but wasn’t sure her face responded, as she watched the attendant administer a syringe into her IV tube. A soft hum grew to a loud buzz in her ears. Perhaps she had mistaken Dr. Stork’s true intentions with the project. Perhaps, he wasn’t such a tyrant to the cause, after all. Before she could allow these new thoughts a place to settle somewhere in her mind, she heard a distant mechanical voice.

“Just relax, Kita Jacobsen,” the attendant coaxed. It paused over Michael’s IV tube, and leaned in close to her face, obstructing her peripheral view of her baby. “Count backwards, Kita Jacobsen, from one-hundred. You will go to sleep, now, Kita Jacobsen.”

Concern filled her heart. Dr. Stork had promised Michael’d be all right. She was beyond the point of return. She had to trust God, Pastor Oliver, and Dr. Stork. Her eyelids, too heavy to remain open, drew closed. She pulled Michael in close to her side, at least, she hoped that was what she did, her arms were so numb now. She could feel the sedation’s pull on her conscience.

The attendants continued to work like hummingbirds around her pod, flitting from one task to another.

She swallowed hard, licked at her drying lips, and considered asking for some lip balm. She couldn’t move her head to look at Michael, but trusted he was still safely tucked at her side. “One-hunred…” Her tongue felt numb. “Niney-nine…” Her body seemed to float above the cushioned padding. Each blink required great effort to force her eyes open again, still she glanced over at the Doctor and Pastor. “Niney-eh…”

Wait! Was that Michael in Dr. Stork’s arms?

All went black.

CHAPTER ONE

Earth - Three years later…

Molly Jacobsen’s sister wasn’t supposed to come back to Earth—ever.

Yet, here Molly was, rushing through the crowded Denver Region Interplanetary Transportation Station to bring her sister home. Her parents and several friends waited at home for the two of them to arrive. Mom had planned the party for weeks, a party to beat all celebrations in the Jacobsen home—to date.

The telecom, sent to Earth once the interplanetary ship was within satellite range, had said Kita would need help when she arrived. But why? Authored by Pastor Oliver Pugh, who served as the Site Pastor on Omicron, it could be trusted. But why had he been so cryptic.

When Kita left, seven years ago, she had been a strong, vibrant woman of twenty. Finishing two marathons that year, nothing was beyond her abilities, and her spirituality exceeded most people her age. It certainly exceeded Molly’s. A second cryogenic transportation was unheard of, at least local medical knowledge had deemed it dangerous after so short an interval. Was that why Kita would need help? How much damage would the second three-year stasis cause? What was so much more important six-hundred lightyears from Earth to risk her sister’s well-being like this? That project leader, Mr. Austin Abraham, had a lot of explaining.

“Molly Jacobsen,” her name squawked across the mass communication system. Every person in the T-station heard it through overhead iComm speakers in their individual language. The linguistic software technology at the intergalactic station was quite impressive, even to an experienced law enforcer who has witnessed all types of modern technology. Yet, the quality of the speaker still sounded like a damaged subwoofer. “Report to…gabardine info_mation kiosk.”

Molly reached up behind her right ear to press an implanted iComm device. The message linked and repeated in her hearing. Chewing on the inside of her cheek, she pondered, Gabardine information kiosk? She looked around for something—anything, that had any resemblance to what gabardine might be. Frustration and fear roiled in her gut. The iComm-translation software missed the mark for the word, “information.” Perhaps it missed translating the color by calling it gabardine. Was that green? Grey? Greenish-brown? Who knew? It made no sense. She did not need this. She needed clear instructions: Your sister is located here, come get her.

Molly half ran, half walked through the T-Station, although running in public was considered improper social etiquette, like elbows on the table while eating, and as a law enforcer, social etiquette was mandatory.

Fear for what she would find when she got to her sister lingered in her thoughts. The math hardly added up. Kita had been gone seven years, that meant she was on the planet ten months, maybe eleven, before the decision had been made to send her back. Nobody ever returned from these things. It was a life-long commitment from the beginning. So, why Kita? What went wrong? Molly swallowed the bitter bile edging onto the back of her tongue. This had to be bad, really, really bad.

Kita was their parents’ blond-haired girly-girl, Molly, the red-haired tom-boy. But, deep down, Kita had always been the braver of the two. Still. Molly swallowed, even though her mouth had become too dry to produce saliva. She pushed herself to walk faster. Was it possible Kita had simply changed her mind? Molly rolled her shoulders and neck while trying to keep her eyes on the crowd she maneuvered through. Should she flash her legal-enforcer badge to assume Priority Passage? No, that would get her nothing but back in the boss’s office—Priority Suspended.

Anger, fear, and frustration stewed in her gut. This pilgrimage had made her mad from the get-go. She knew her sister would leave the minute she started talking about it, regardless of how the rest of her family felt. It was so like her.

Molly was all for helping the underdog, the helpless innocents, the oppressed. That’s why she had joined law enforcement. And, sure, Jesus said, “Go and deliver the good news,” but to trek across the universe, for people who needed help with fertility at the expense of her own family, no way! Not to mention forever leaving her twin—

Kita! Be all right! Molly stretched out her twin-senses but detected nothing. Her stomach knotted as her eyes darted from machine to machine, nothing resembled a gabardine kiosk. She stopped.

People rushed past her. Someone accidentally clipped her shoulder, causing her to stumble forward. Reaching up to touch her iComm link, a woman with bright blue hair and orange vertically dilated goat-like eyes, who had been walking toward Molly, collided into her extended elbow. A soul-signature surge of silver, unlike any human, pulsed around the woman’s body.

“Uhhh!” Molly staggered backward and closed her eyes. She turned to apologize, but the woman flashed an angry orange look, moving quickly on her way. Like most travelers, she was in too big of a hurry to be cordial.

Molly reached up to touch the iComm link again. “Locate Map, Denver Region Interplanetary T-Station.”

A map of the entire station appeared in her private visual range. All five levels were visible in touchable layers. “Locate—Gabardine Information Kiosk.” The layers shuffled, a green light glowed on level one. Molly’s eyes swept the map for her red mark. It was a personal, “You are here,” that appeared on any locator accessed through the iImplant software. She was on level three.

“Show. Shortest—Undo, fastest route.” A blue line appeared as if it were being projected on the floor, but only she could see it, leading her to a transfer lift to her right. She hurried and stood before the arch.

“Level one,” she announced. A thin, red beam swept down her face, and then a green light flashed at the apex of the arch. She stepped through the lift and emerged on level one. Glancing around to get her bearings, she followed the blue line, constantly stretching out her senses for her twin. Why couldn’t she feel her? As soon as they revived Kita from the stasis, Molly should have been able to sense her presence. What was wrong?

Mom and Dad had maximumly supported Kita’s decision to take the pilgrimage. Of course they would. A pastor and his wife always support a missionary spirit. But this initiative was different. The entire family had to endure a six-month therapy regimen. Regardless of your certitude, it wasn’t easy to let go of a family member—forever. The distance and hibernation cryogenics simply did not allow for return visits. Their only hope lay in future improvements to communications between interplanetary regions and-or improved transportation methods. But for now, it was a one-way trip—supposedly.

Since word came of Kita’s return, Mom hadn’t stopped crying “happy tears.” She began immediately planning the homecoming party. For Molly, an array of emotions between joy and terror filled her heart and hadn’t left. Something had to be wrong. Seriously wrong. That much she could feel. Now, whether it was what her mother called her gift of discernment, gut instincts, or twin senses, she couldn’t decide.

Stepping in front of the dirty green-grey kiosk, she panted, “I’m…Molly…Jacobsen.”

The black screen crackled and lit up. A simulated headshot filled the screen of an ancient computer pioneer, Steven Jobs, in a dark, high collar modern-day suit. His eyes seemed to find Molly’s before he spoke.

“Molly Jacobsen?” The simulated Mr. Jobs smiled as if he recognized her.

“Y-yes,” she said, trying not to blink against the Identification Recognition Scan sweeping her face. The results scrolled across the bottom of the screen, including her social identification and employment, “IRS-Confirmed, SID 932 27 T562 . Molly Nicole Jacobsen . CS-4 Legal Enforcer”

“Your presence is required at docking station J-two-nine-eleven. Please wait while I generate your Entrance Permission,” simulated Mr. Jobs said.

Right. While the machine whirled and churned, Molly stared at the placard bearing the name sake, “Steven Jobs Memorial Information System.” Chewing on the inside of her cheek and shifting her weight. There was nothing else to do but wait and read the front of the kiosk. Her eyes almost involuntarily roved over the biography of Mr. Jobs.

“Steven Jobs experimented with different pursuits before starting Apple Computers with Steve Wozniak in cir. 1976. Apple's revolutionary products, which include the iPod, iPhone, iPad, iWatch, and iComm are now seen as dictating the evolution of modern technology…”

Molly snorted a chuckle. Revolutionary products? The Apple iProducts were so antiquated, children studied about them in World History. Nowadays, technology was integrated into a person’s physiology, not in a device. Still it did bear the iconic name iComm to this day.

At last, a red, rigid film squeezed out a slot below the SJM placard. Molly held it up to read. A poorly etched picture of her as she had stood before the kiosk being scanned for the ID confirmation, and the words, Entrance Permission, was printed in black. Below that, were fourteen numbers, 24.08.2214 11:23:17—today’s date and time.

Simulated Mr. Jobs continued, “Directions have been transmitted to your locator for your convenience. May I be of further assistance, Molly Jacobsen?”

A red blinking pin-point of light in her right peripheral indicated she had received the transmission. She tucked a thick strand of auburn hair behind her right ear and activated the locator. The blue line appeared, guiding her to the designated location. She took a step away, but then turned back to the Kiosk and leaned in toward the screen, as if she were speaking through a partially opened window. “No—um, thank you.”

“Thank you for using the SJM Information System.” It responded with too much exuberance.

Adrenaline surged through her arteries. Her heart doubled its pace. She scurried as quickly as she could maneuver between the mass of travelers. Docking station J-two-nine-eleven wasn’t far from the Jobs’ kiosk, but she had to pass through two security stations and one decontamination booth.

As she approached the first station, she groaned. People were woven back and forth through a system of polls and scratchy jute rope to efficiently move them forward without causing long, unmanageable lines down the corridor. This line moved continuously, as the security clerks merely verified each one possessed an Entrance Permission, but the line was longer than Disney Planet’s latest, most favored amusement ride ever.

The second station was a whole other matter. Because she had no luggage, briefcase, or handbag, and was obviously not a traveler, plus, the Entrance Permission had been printed moments before, her pass was scrutinized as a potential forgery and she as a potential terrorist.

Pulling her out of line, they processed all the other people. Finally, they demanded she empty her pockets, which included her Enforcer Badge, so she paused slightly, making sure the front of the badge was visible, before placing it in the security tub. The badge did not impress any of the mechanical attendants, in fact it was regarded with indignation. “Your legal status cannot assist you in this matter, Molly Jacobsen.”

The mechanical clerk pushed her hand holding the badge down toward the tub. Who knew these automated clerks were programed to be snarky? Besides, she didn’t intend to use her law enforcer badge to hurry the process along. After all, it was they who insisted she empty her pockets. Was it truly her fault the badge was among the items contained in her clothing? She never wore a purse, or a shoulder bag. Her pockets housed all the things she needed to carry, even while on duty. It was more convenient and easier to maneuver when spontaneity was required without having a purse to throw down, or strap down, or whatever. Besides, if her enforcer status would have been helpful to hurry things along, it would have been activated when the iComm link scan indicated she was a level CS-4 legal enforcer.

She then was subjected to two, not one, but two body scans. After the electronic sweep, which produced no hits, a manual inspection, from head to toe, was performed much rougher than necessary. The pat-down was just rude and invasive. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. This was harassment. She considered a defensive protest as she crammed her belongings back into her pockets.

Finally, she was allowed to move forward to the next checkpoint. Lord only knew what she’d have to endure there. Her imagination churned up images of herself standing, arms and legs spread wide, disrobed, and being scrubbed down by robots in pale-green haz-mat jumpsuits and dark lensed goggles with long-handled wire brushes and anti-everything soap.

As it was, the soft spoken, third station’s attendant asked her to step into a four foot by four foot vestibule where a white mist passed down over her, like a thick fog coming from the mountain tops. A green illumination in the mist indicated she was cleared to exit the opposite side. The haze puffed out with her when the door opened, as if she were escorted by an apparition. This was the decontamination process? Nothing like she anticipated. She wanted to apologize to this third station attendant for being so agitated, but once on the other side, all she could do was stare at the attendant through the glass enclosure. She held up her hand, and gave a slight wave, to say thank you. The mechanical being nodded slightly. Perhaps communication had been achieved after all.

Now, she could go to the docking station and find her sister. She skipped sideways as the pulled her gaze from the attendant and faced the corridor.

“Tack protocol,” she cursed. Let them try and stop her from running now. It would get her a reprimand from the chief. Conduct Unbecoming an Enforcer. But who cared! Her sister needed her, and she needed to find out what was wrong! She sprinted to Docking Station J-two-nine-eleven.

A uniformed attendant of nondescript gender stood behind a metal and glass pedestal. Molly rushed to the WAIT HERE line and shifted her weight as if she were needing a relief station. A green light appeared in her right peripheral. The attendant lifted its face toward her. Molly blinked against the quick ID Recog Scan.

“Molly Jacobsen?” the attendant confirmed.

“Yes.” Impatience crawled all over her, like a cluster of spiders running from smoke, but she had to keep calm.

Fluid down, Mol! A slight smile tugged her mouth as she thought of her grandmother. She would have said, “Cool it, girl!”

“Oh Grams, nobody says ‘cool it’ any more, it’s ‘fluid down’ now.” Molly fondly remembered correcting her ancient grandmother.

Molly’s eyes darted from the attendant to the heavy metal doors to her right. Kita should come through those doors any minute in a wheel chair, or walking on her own. Molly wasn’t sure what she’d see. She still couldn’t sense her twin?

“Can you tell me anything about my sister?” she asked just for good measure.

The attendant touched the air. It was accessing its own information screen.

“Kita Jacobsen…is in route.”

Every fiber in Molly’s being jumped when the heavy metal doors broke open. She closed her eyes for a second to steady her nerves. An older man, a grandfatherly type, in a white lab coat stepped through. What hair he had on his head was mottled grey and white. He scanned the waiting area, touched behind his ear, and zeroed in on her.

Molly swallowed and watched the man approach. She was frozen in place.

“Officer Jacobsen,” he confirmed.

“Yes.” She squeezed the word out of her constricting throat. Suddenly, tears stung her eyes. Fear, relief, anxiety—all three fought for their place in her conscious mind.

“Can we sit?” The man gently guided her elbow.

Molly nodded. Not so gracefully, she collapsed in the chair. Her nerves were shot.

“Miss Jacobsen, we think your sister has suffered a…cognitive cessation.”

Molly tilted her head as her right eyebrow shot up. “A what?”

“Well, we’re not sure, yet. We don’t know exactly what has happened. Your sister arrived here in cyber-hibernation, as you know. When we reversed the stasis, she—” he looked down as if he were searching for something on the floor “—became hysterical.”

“Hysterical?” Molly struggled to understand. Why was everybody being so cryptic?

“Yes, she’s conscious, but heavily sedated. I—I wanted you to know before we transfer her to the healing facility.”

“Healing facility!” Molly repeated, dumbfounded. She sent out a quick twin-search. Nothing. “But our mother…”

The healer’s attention suddenly focused on Molly’s face. “Are-are you all right, Miss Jacobsen? You look pale.”

“Um, yes, I—it’s just that, she’s my twin. But I can’t feel her.” Could he possibly understand?

“Ah, yes, well she’s heavily sedated, as I said. We hope to learn more when we get her to the healing facility.”

“Will you be attending her…healing?”

“Yes, forgive me, I’m Dr. Polaris.” He bowed his head slightly. The ancient ritual of shaking hands had long since been discouraged. It had simply gone out of style. It still felt awkward to Molly not to shake a person’s hand. Her grandmother was a stickler for manners. Dogmatically, she had taken this ritual to her grave.

“Dr. Polaris? Well—thank you, Doctor,” she stammered.

“There—there’s one other thing.” The doctor ran his hand through his hair on the back of his head like he was trying to rub something irritating his scalp.

Molly stared at him until he looked back into her eyes.

“She—your sister has attached herself to—I don’t know how to explain this…”

“Just say it, Doctor,” Molly snarled.

“Well,” he continued to worry the spot on his head, “she clings…to a—“ he swallowed hard and lifted a cold, hard stare directly into her eyes “—a doll.”

“What?”

“A doll, Miss Jacobsen, your sister clings to a child’s doll—insists it’s her…her son.”

CHAPTER TWO

Molly stared at the shiny circle of pink scalp skirted by soft white and grey hair as Dr. Polaris walked toward the metal doors from which he had entered her confused and frustrated world. Who is this man? She shoved an aggressive strand of auburn hair behind her ear and touched the iComm link to mentally access the Legal Enforcer’s Civilian database, Search, Doctor Polaris.

Information scrolled in green letters at her lower visual range. “Dr. Norton S. Polaris, PhD, Psy. SID 874 57 T974…” She gasped when she saw the “T” in his social identification number.

“Doctor!” She walked quickly to catch up with him. “You’re a…a twin?”

“Yes, I was. Let’s hope your connection will help bring yours back.” Sadness permeated his eyes.

“But—she’s already back.”

“Not entirely.” He slipped through the metal barriers and was gone.

Molly stared at the cold, impersonal doors. “…PhD, Psy,” she re-read his credentials. He’s a Psychologist. Not a medical doctor. Molly slumped into a seat.

“What’s wrong with my sister?” She reached out with her “gift,” against her own moral code, and searched deep into his emotions.

Isolation. Twins don’t feel isolation, unless—his twin was not—what—alive?

She reached out again, but not as deep. Concern. Confusion. Kita. He was worried about Kita and he acknowledged the twin connection, but…something else. She couldn’t quite distinguish—

Agitation forced her up. She shook out her limbs as if she were about to run, but paced instead. The uniformed attendant’s eyes followed her, even though its head never rose from the standby posture. It was unusual for anyone to physically exhibit such impatience. The bot stood ready to make a security alert if she should become too animated.

Glancing to her right lower peripheral, light green numbers perpetually glowed the twenty-four hour time, 13:47.

It’s been an hour. Geez!

Interplanetary travel had begun over the last decade, to the degree that it was common now. Passengers of different cosmic origins along with Earth ethnicities shuffled past her sister’s empty arrival station. Molly still found the differences fascinating. Some were tall and slender. Others were short and broad. Some were multi-colored, while others were mono-hued. Some had markings like cheetah spots, others had stripes. They all moved as one herd toward their departure station. Their general emotion was so strongly unified, she sensed one large numb reprise.

These were business assignees, not one of them traveled for fun. Apparently, the thrill of traveling had been lost long ago by repetitious blasting into Faster-Than-Light travel to peddle their wares, attend their meetings, gather information, and appease the bosses.

The room swirled and tilted, and Molly staggered to a stop. Kita! Her knees weakened, and she fought to stay upright. She collapsed into a chair. A buzzing sound filled her ears, drowning out the travelers.

She pushed out to sense her sister. The spinning reversed directions then tilted and reversed again. It was like being on the Twirling-Tilt at the fair. Nausea swept over her, and bitter fluid touched the back of her tongue. Her arms drew up across each other as if she were desperately holding on to…something. She glanced down at her empty embrace. Tears pooled in her eyes and threatened to spill. She swiped at them with vehement desperation.

Shaking her head, she closed her eyes, reeling backward, mentally, to separate from the twin connection. Something solid banged against the heavy doors, bursting them open, and causing her body to jerk. A sheeted gurney shot through the gap. Two medical attendants guided the mobile stretcher into the waiting area. They were dressed identical to each other, white, high collar shirts, black belts, white slacks, and black, rubber soled shoes. Their uniform had an oriental combat look about it, although such practices had been outlawed decades ago. The only remnant of the ancient practice was its Korean Region dobok style and only in public service uniforms.

Molly eased herself up to stand. The swirling sensations nearly set her back down. Inwardly, she had to pull back further and completely cease her connection with Kita.

Once stabilized, Molly took a deep breath and stepped over to the gurney. Kita’s sunny highlights had faded to dull, ash-brown, damp lumps that clung to her like leeches strung across her pale face. Her eyes rolled around under heavy lids. Shiny tracks dampened her cheeks. Was it tears or residual chemicals from the Cryogenics? Even her once brilliant freckles were bleached out in her pallor condition.

A lump under her sister’s sheet did not escape Molly’s sharp, ever-monitoring eyes. The doll? Molly’s heart broke as she wrapped her arms around herself, clinging to the imaginary something her twin-symbiotic conduit had seemingly placed in her grasp and watched her sister’s gurney float by. How broken was Kita’s mind?

“Maulry,” Kita mumbled.

Molly’s senses returned to her twin. Could she filter the confusion and help bring her sister back, like Dr. Polaris had suggested? Something like a duo-psychological crutch? Kita was physically here, but her mind was far, far away. So, why did she need such heavy sedation?

Glancing up at the corpsmen, she explained her presence. “I’m her sister, Molly Jacobsen.”

The Malibu-blond attendant nodded. He stood as tall as Molly, five foot, ten inches but more broad in the shoulders. Either he had spent a lot of intimate time with free weights or he was a more realistic replica of a body builder. Probably the latter, most subservient positions were bots. Only Legal Enforcers were one-hundred percent humans. Even today, artificial intelligence technology couldn’t fully integrate the cognitive differentials necessary to appropriately handle a potentially illegal situation.

Bot or human, it was strangely onerous to distinguish the difference these days. Soon, it would be impossible. But, these corpsmen had to be bots, they were too similar in stature, like someone had picked all the five-foot-ten body builder models for this service, although they represented the typical diverse ethnicities of Earth humans.

Molly accepted the blond’s nod as permission to follow.

Kita absently cooed toward the lump under her pristine sheet. Even in her heavily sedated sojourn, her focus was on comforting the doll. Molly blinked quickly and drew in a sharp breath. She would not allow tears. Not now. Not here.

Following the two corpsmen and the gurney to the transfer lift, she waited a step or two behind. The dark-haired, Asian-looking attendant announced, “Service Garage, Level one. Personnel, two—and…” The bot glanced at Molly. “Correction, Personnel, three—and patient.” The four passed through to a cool, dim-lit garage. An emergency transportation vehicle hovered near the garage lift. A third coffee-brown skinned attendant jumped out of the driver’s seat and sprinted toward the back of the vessel. He quickly opened the rear doors while the two guided the gurney into the vehicle and hopped in on either side.

“Okay. We will see you at Hope Memorial Healing Station,” the driver said as he secured the doors, without actually looking at her.

“Wait!” Molly grabbed his sleeve before he rounded the vessel. “I can’t ride with you?”

“No! You must secure your own transportation.” He pulled himself out of her grasp as if he had been contaminated and hurried to the driver’s seat.

“What? You’re kidding! But, that’s my—” she hollered at the departing vehicle “—sister!”

Slapping her pocket, her trembling fingers fumbled to grab her badge and waved it over her head. “I’m a legal enforcer…!”

The emergency vessel decreased in size and sound as it sped away. Eventually, she turned with an exasperated sigh. She’d never been in this underground garage. Nothing looked familiar. Activating the iComm device she requested, “Locate, Mass Trans Platform.” The map glowed before her. She pinpointed the MTP, found her “You Are Here” red marker, refocused past the readout to the transfer lift, adjusted myopically back to the illuminated map, and bit her lip. It was a thirty-minute walk to the MTP. Running would get her in even more trouble, but at this point, what could it matter. She touched the virtual glowing MTP and called out, “Status.” Red letters crawled along the bottom of her peripheral, “MASS TRANS SYSTEM OFFLINE – APPROXIMATE WAIT TIME, unknown.”

Molly adjusted her vision back to the transfer lift. She fingered her LEP badge in her palm. Tentatively, stepped in front of the arch, squared her shoulders, and cleared her throat. She held up her badge to the laser scanner and announced, “Officer Molly Jacobsen, Emergency Transfer Protocol, ETP-57-562, Hope Memorial Healing Station, Urgent Care entrance.”

She drew in air and held it while she waited. The moment that passed spanned time like a documentary about the planet’s origins voiced over by a monotonous whispering Welch-region accent. At last, the green light illuminated, and she jumped through the transfer lift before it, or she, or anybody else changed their minds.

Molly looked around and saw an Emergency Vehicle gliding through a portal. She ran through a set of automated doors and located the information desk. Panting, she tried to speak with calm reserve. “I’m Molly Jacobsen…my sister…Kita Jacobsen…is in that—” she pointed toward the vehicle bay “—emergency vessel.”

The female admin’s eyes met Molly’s. A serene look of concern washed over its face. Molly blinked once, as the ID Recog Scan passed over her, and focused on settling her lungs.

“Yes, Molly Jacobsen, please have a seat in the waiting area, and the doctor will be with you after your sister’s condition has been assessed.” The admin bot smiled warmly.

“But, wait, I’ve already talked to the doctor. He-he knows who I am.” She patted her chest as if that identified her connection and relieved the admin bot’s concern for protocol. Molly leaned over the counter. “I need to be with my sister!”

She spoke too loud, another social faux pas, but it was beyond her control. Efforts to fluid down had failed. Her adrenaline had taken over.

Warmth left the attendant’s face, but the curved, smiling lips remained in place. “Molly Jacobsen, please have a seat. The patient has to be registered and assessed before she can receive visitors. Surely you are aware of the protocol.”

Heat flushed Molly’s face. She broke eye contact first and looked over at the sterile, multi-chaired room. Tucking her lips in on themselves, she slowly walked over to the designated area, took a deep breath, and flopped down, hard. A quick twin search brought back swirling, sleepy sensations. She instantly blocked them and folded her arms across her stomach. An involuntary huff escaped her lips as her eyes fixated on the now inactive admin. Angry glares left unfulfilled satisfaction when the receiver remained dormant.

A trilling, familiar ring sounded in her iComm link. At her peripheral, the word Mom glowed in blue letters. She touched the device. “Hello, Mother.”

Molly explained why she and Kita were not at their house yet and updated her with what little she knew, sans the doll detail, quickly assuring her mom she would let her know when Kita could be seen.

“No reason to come up here ‘til then, Momma. Really.” The last thing she wanted or needed was her mother’s additional high-strung emotions.

An average built man in dark dress pants, a soft green button-down shirt, and a long white lab coat approached Molly. His grey eyes were anything but average—serious, yet seductive. Did this man have any idea how gorgeous he was? Molly stood almost at attention.

“Mom, I’ve gotta go,” she said without taking her eyes off the approaching Adonis.

An expression washed over his face, a scowl of sorts. Did he disapprove her phone conversation, or was it what he had found when he examined her sister?

“I’ll let you know the minute I know something, okay?” She disconnected before her mother could protest.

“Miss Jacobsen?” the man stated. The name tag above his pocket read, “Dr. A. Abraham, MD.”

“Yes.” Her eyes dropped to the name tag a second time, as one eyebrow shot up. Abraham?

His scowl was replaced by a placid professional demeanor. “I’m Dr. Abraham. I’ll be attending your sister’s healing.” A routine statement for a routine greeting, but this would not be a routine encounter.

Molly cut to the chase. “You’re not related to Mr. Austin Abraham of The Abraham Project on Omicron, are you?”

His chin rose slightly. A pronounced bulge in his jaw tightened as he appeared to be considering her question. “Well, yes—“ his voice deepened “—he’s my father. But about your sister—“

“That’s interesting…” Molly folded her arms across her chest and glared at him. “What happened to Dr. Polaris, he said he would be my sister’s healer?”

“Yes, well, I—“ his eyebrows pressed together just before a facade, almost like a costume ball mask, transformed his face into a practiced, doctorly semblance of compassion “—is there a problem, Miss Jacobsen?”

“A problem?” Molly forced her back teeth apart. Was he serious? “Are you Austin Abraham’s son?”

“Yes.”

“Yeah,” Molly paused, utilizing her interrogative skills to decipher his body language. “Have you read my sister’s medical file?”

“Yes, of course, and I—”

“And you know that she is returning from your father’s program. Like this. She’s seriously messed uh—something went horribly wrong out there, Dr. Abraham. And now, here you are, her healer?”

A frown cracked his facade. “Miss Jacobsen, I assure you, I—”

“You assure me what, Dr. Abraham? That I can trust you?” Her eyes bore into his. “Your father assured us Kita would be safe. Your father assured us nothing bad would happen to her. Now, you want to assure me that you, of all people, will help with her…’cognitive cessation’…?” Molly scraped her teeth across her bottom lip to draw back the spit she had sprayed.

Abraham glanced over his shoulder. “Miss, I must ask you to calm down or—“

“Or what?” Molly quipped.

“Or, I may have to order you sedated as well.”

Molly glared at him. Anger burned in her face and her gut. She drew in a long composing breath, and then slowly exhaled. Her behavior was far outside the realm of socially accepted behavior. This was going to get back to her Chief, and she was already in enough trouble. She had to fluid down.

Unclenching her fists, she stepped back one step, and relaxed her posture. A sigh escaped her lips along with the surrendering affirmation, “Okay.”

Dr. Abraham’s jaw went smooth and his voice softened into almost a confidential whisper, “Actually, my father and I are…” He looked away as his hand reached for his dark-brunette mane. His fingers disappeared into the mass of waves and then emerged as his hand reached the back of his head. Something permeated his grey eyes. Molly observed the transformation through a glaring squint. Was it utter sadness?

He cleared his throat. “I haven’t interacted with my father for a very long time. We are not, shall I say, close, and to further answer your question, no, I haven’t been involved with my father’s project. I am the healer on duty here and have been assigned to Kita’s case. Dr. Polaris and I will be closely monitoring your sister’s recovery.”

Molly stared at the doctor. Did she dare? She pushed her senses—pain, neatly masked, but deeply felt. What had happened between this man and his father? She also sensed, loss. He had lost someone close.

Molly pulled back. Naked exposure of a person’s inner feelings was not always a gift in Molly’s opinion. That was why she had made it her moral code not to sense anybody without their permission. And hardly anyone ever gave permission. Today, she’d broken that code, twice. Heat swept over her face. She looked away first.

Silence filled the void between them.

“Now,” Abraham continued as he cleared his throat. “If you have a problem with that, then—“

The ER doors broke open with a sudden and loud banging sound as a nurse in maroon scrubs peeked through the opening. “Doctor? She’s ready for transfer.”

Dr. Abraham glanced at Molly and turned to address the nurse. “I’ll be right there, Roxy.” He turned back to Molly. “You want to accompany your sister to her room?”

“Of course.” She shoved her animosity aside—for now. Should she call her mother? Biting her lip, she watched Kita’s gurney, guided by the maroon clad nurse , float by.

Dr. Abraham gestured his consent for Molly to walk ahead of him. Her eyes trailed over his stature as she walked around him and followed Roxy and her heavily sedated sister.

Mom could wait a little bit longer.

CHAPTER THREE

Kita hummed a lullaby as she slowly rocked her baby. His soft, silver-haired crown brushed against the underside of her chin. With each rocking motion, she inhaled and exhaled, drawing in the scent of her baby, absorbing the full-sensory of this moment. A smile lifted the edges of her lips. This was even more wonderful than she ever imagined. Did Mom feel this way with us girls? His silky soft silver-white hair, or was it fur, felt so soft to her touch. She couldn’t get enough of him. Sleep gently beckoned her rest-deprived mind.

Beep…beep…beep.

What is that? Kita tried to open her eyelids. They were too heavy. She listened closely. Beep…beep…beep.

What…is that? It was irritating. That’s going to wake my baby. Somebody make it stop!

Beep…beep…beep.

Stop! Please stop making that noise!

“M’baby!” Kita mumbled.

“Kita, it’s Molly.”

“Maulry, makit stop.”

“Honey, make what stop?”

“Thanoise, makit stop. It’ll wake da baby.”

“Oh, Kita—”

Was Molly crying? Kita slowly forced her eyelids apart. Tubes rose from her body. Rails framed her bed. She reached up to wipe her eyes, but her wrists were held down. Someone was holding her left hand. Fear surged from her gut and into her chest, like a tidal wave swamping a lifeboat. “Don’t touch me!”

Someone stood over her. No, wait! She squinted and forced her eyes to focus. It looked like—

“Molly?” How could Molly be here?

“Kita. it’s all right. You’re in the healing station—” Molly squeezed her hand “—on Earth.”

Kita’s eyes darted from IV machine, to ceiling lights, to Molly’s face and back again. She looked down the length of her body. She was…on Earth. Her baby was—

“My baby!” Kita fought against the restraints.

“Oh, honey, your baby isn’t here.” Molly gently pushed Kita’s shoulders against the pillow.

“Isn’t…here?” Kita collapsed under Molly’s gentle press. “They promised!”

“No, he—he isn’t here.”

“Where is he? Molly, where is he?”

“Just rest.”

Mom walked up to the bed. “Baby,” she spoke softly, “it’s going to be all right. You get some rest now. We’re all here—with you. And…” Her tears spilled over her apple-red cheeks. She turned away and dabbed her face with an over-used tissue.

Kita watched her father gather her mother in his arms and guide her to the chair. Her mom whimpered, “Oh Levi, this is so—”

Dad patted her back. “Sarah, honey, I know. I know.”

Molly’s face hovered above Kita’s. The twin beacon engulfed them both as Molly spoke softly. Warm sensations washed over Kita’s body, releasing the anxiety. Her eyelids became heavy again. She resisted the sinking pull, but sleep had other ideas. Or was it the medications? She let Molly’s voice lift her spirit and gently rock it into slumber. It felt good to feel Molly again. “Maulry,” Kita mumbled.

“Shhh. Rest now,” Molly soothed. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Kita’s consciousness floated down, down, down into a world of peace, happiness, and her baby’s warmth. She inhaled deeply as the scent of Michael filled her senses once again. A lullaby gently escaped her lips, the rocking chair her metronome.

***

Dr. Abraham topped off his tepid coffee with steaming black brew, folded down into the break-room chair, and touched his iComm device. “Access patient file, number six, five, seven, three, eight.” The file appeared virtually before him. He touched the air which caused layers to move only he could see. Squinting and turning his head to peer at the information from the corner of his eye, he sighed. Either the Healing Facility on Omicron had an odd way of recording patient data, or something wasn’t right. He shook his head as he re-read the physician’s remarks for who-only-knew how many times. The words, ‘Baby Condition: Data Not Known,’ chilled him to the bone. Yet, there was a Certificate of Death for a Baby Jacobsen. He shoved those documents aside and pulled up the recent information on his patient. Something was definitely wrong. Flipping back to the referring physician’s files, he viewed a video.

“This can’t be right!” he mumbled and slapped the transmission closed. Activating his iComm link, he commanded, “Call, Dwayne Friedman.”

Tones and clicks sounded before his call was answered. “Deuce! How’s it hang—”

“Dee Wayne, old pal,” Deuce interrupted. The metal chair squeaked as he leaned back and crossed his legs.

“Oooo, that sounds like trouble. What’s up?” Dwayne chuckled.

“Listen, I need your help.”

“Uh, sure. What kinda help?”

“Your kinda help, buddy.”

Dwayne drew a long slow breath and let it out just as slowly. “Okay, who you wanna hack into?”

“No hacking—exactly.” Abraham walked to the panel of flat-screen computers, pulled a flash film from a drawer box, and inserted it in a slot on the side of the wafer thin machine. “Listen, this is important and confidential. Can you come to the Healing Station for coffee? I’m buying.”

“Uh, sure, when?”

“Now?” Abraham’s fingers tapped the virtual keyboard.

Dwayne paused, “Yeah, sure. Not like I got anything important—”

“You know, I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t—”

“I know, Deuce. I’ll be there shortly,” Dwayne sighed.

The film squeezed out from its slot. Abraham held it up to the light. “Thanks Dee. I’ll owe you one.”

“You already do my friend.”

CHAPTER FOUR

“Two coffees, please,” Dwayne said with a wink. The black-haired, black nailed teenager popped her gum, rolled her unnaturally vibrant aqua-blue eyes beneath black dusted eyelids, and stepped away to fill his order. Dwayne turned to scan the Healing Station’s coffee shop. No Dr. Deuce. He reached for his iComm, “Message, Deuce, I’m here, big guy. Coffee’s getting cold. Falling in love with gothic barista.”

Ms. Gothic placed the two heat-preserving cups on the counter and popped her gum. “That’ll be twenty credits, …sir.”

She had been taught the proper protocol of polite interaction, well at least she uttered the words. Dwayne leaned on one elbow across the counter. “It’s on Doctor Austin Abraham’s credit.”

She popped her gum and lifted the scanner.

He blinked as the light flash over his eyeball.

“You fly, you buy,” she said with an ornery grin that revealed a missing cuspid.

“Hey!” Dwayne frowned and lifted the two steaming cups.

“Dee!” Abraham patted his shoulder.

“Dr. Deuce!” Dwayne walked with Deuce to a table and chairs against the wall.

“How ya been?” Deuce took one of the cups and gingerly sipped its black liquid.

“Good, good. You?”

“Yeah, I’ve been okay.”

“Hey, listen, I heard about your mom. I’m sorry man.” Dwayne glanced at the barista. Eye contact with Deuce was too awkward.

“Yeah, it wasn’t sudden though, she was ready to go. Really looked amazingly peaceful when she passed, so…” Abraham shrugged and watched the feet of a male nurse walk past their table. The mint green scrubs indicated cardiology. Awkward silence lingered between them. They sipped and watched people move around.

“So, what’s it you need my kinda help with?” Dwayne cut the silence, curling his fingers in the air for quote marks.

Deuce pushed Dwayne’s hands down and glanced around without moving his head. “Oh, nothing really, I just missed seeing ya, buddy. Hey, you want some gum?”

That was a preview of Fertility Pirates. To read the rest purchase the book.

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