Third Fall

Prologue

The Disquiet That Follows Her Soul

By B and B

Time:  Xandarian Calendar 8052 AWM  (Annihilation Day Minus One)

Location:  Xandar Cluster, Orienta Shard. The Cloning Facility.  N-Tetraherdon One One Two

      Countess Sevilica Dru’s sapphire blue eyes stared intently through the long curving observation widow as she momentarily paused to get her bearings. She looked down to where gestation Crèche three four seven two resided two sub-levels distant. The structure was bathed in soft yellow light providing some comfort from the shadows around her but doing nothing to soothe the inner turmoil that chipped away at her soul. 

The facility’s internal geometry still overwhelmed her. Sixty semi-circular gantries – stacked one above the other, each one giving egress to over five hundred individual crèches and resurrection chambers housed within a Shell over half a klick wide, two deep. A sterile, serene environment placed one point five klicks below the hectic day to day chaos of Orienta City way above her head.

She caught sight of her reflection. She’d requested her coiffeur two weeks ago to cut her auburn hair shorter than the permitted regulation style for a Corps Reservist; but Millennian Jalik Llan barely batted an eyelid as he fulfilled her request, cutting her locks to order. Neither did Mother - but then again Lady Ronica Dru was always very, very understanding. She’d grown accustomed to all the myriad nouvalis riche trends the young adopted these days. It was a clear sign that the culture was becoming less entrenched in the older traditions. Of course it was an act of rebellion – something in her indomitable spirit, fiery and exuberant; her way of showing defiance against the rising tide of bureaucracy she’d endured ever since her true love left her - leaving a void that had been filled with a royal marital obligation that she barely tolerated. Her obligation hadn’t driven her away from her social life - or her commitment to the Corps. Her reservist status had ensured that her body, tall and supple, broad shouldered, complimenting a toned physique presently swathed in one of her favorite one-piece skin-suits accessorized with a short dark jacket; was both sensual and strong - and she needed to be strong for this visit to the crèche was intimate; a personal covert mission to ensure preservation of a single, precious life.

            Sevilica’s retinal HUD confirmed her proximity to the allocated crèche that had been in her family’s facturi for several generations. Not that she really needed the HUD to find it. It had been burned into her mind at the tender age of six when she had stood in this very same spot, holding tightly the hand of her father. She recalled the Duke’s usual confidence had been subdued that day. She could tell because his sky blue eyes showed a great sadness despite his efforts to conceal it. Her mother, Ronica, had been killed in a spacecraft accident. Sevilica, her mind numb, had distracted herself from the pain by remembering the days when she played in the Arboretum, the great transparent dome of Sura City’s large botanical garden overhead, almost encompassing the great Silver Veil arcing from the periphery of the constellation of the Seven Sisters of Frammi. Her parents’ smiles that day were treasured memories as they played hide and seek between the grove of Halthri trees - tall slender trucks widening into large canopies of red leaves. Their laughter had echoed around the tranquil groves which led to the Garden of Memories.

           Her father, Duke Severus Dru, had bided time in silent vigil waiting for a response from the Worldmind. When news came that Lady Ronica’s consciousness had been successfully uploaded into the Worldmind, Severus gave immediate consent for re-iteration. He allowed Lady Ronica’s gene pattern to be replicated and a new cloned body prepared. Young Sevilica had watched the embryo begin to grow in the gestation modulo, listening to her father’s soothing assurances that she would be reunited with her mother soon. One afternoon, exactly one year after the tragedy had occurred, The Duke and Sevilica watched as Lady Ronica stepped from the modulo, fully restored, exactly the same as Sevilica had remembered her.

       Sevilica had felt the Worldmind’s presence in the back of her mind that day, just as she felt the connection even now as she studied the Holomatics. It was often an unwelcome intrusion - especially when she was experiencing moments of intimacy - raging in the throes of intense passion deep inside The Maze of a Pleasure Club or, five years ago at the age of eighteen - on that one special night so fondly remembered when she had made love to the man of her dreams, bodies entwined against a backdrop of stars in one of the hanger bays - a traditional spot where newly recruited junior Corpsmen embraced the ritual of mearo astrum before being accepted as part of the “pack.”

            Tearing away from memories of the past, she chastised herself for pausing so long; for letting the fear of being detected and the dread of visiting the Crèche overwhelm her. She laughed at her fear this day, remembering how, completely alone and burning with fierce hatred, she had fearlessly faced an army of Skrulls numbering in the thousands during the Second Xandar-Skrull War. The memory gave her courage to proceed.

She turned away from the observation port and walked briskly to the end of the gantry.  She took the left hand set of steps, holding the rail tightly for support as she made her way down, distracting herself from her foreboding by focusing on other worries.

If the rumors she’d heard circulating on the Scape were even remotely true, Xandar was on the cusp of diving head-first into a new, bitter conflict. Father had been in council session for over eight hours, real-time; but she had no idea how long his corporeal form, along with the rest of the Council, had been conjoined with the Worldmind Consensus behind closed doors. The last time the two secular Governments had been in session this long was on the day sixteen outer colonies had been indiscriminately purged by the long daggers of the Skrull Empire - the long prosperous trade links wiped out in an act of aggression, forever changing the surrounding Verge Systems. The age of the Xandarian Imperiali seemed destined to collapse. Re-colonization was mothballed - cultural preservation having become a necessity.

The vestiges of the Imperiali were again thrown into bloody confrontation when the Lumphon utilized the opportunity to brutally decimate the proud world - heralding First Fall. Sevilica had just entered her teens. She and her family had been lucky enough to be residing in Orienta – one of the four large cities saved from Xandar’s first destruction. She had spent her early years working with the rest of the surviving population in constructing the Shards. Time had healed most wounds from First Fall; but peace had not endured.

Sevilica reached the bottom of the stairs and paused to glance at her retinal HUD – watching the seconds tick away relentlessly - each nanosecond uncaringly widening the emotional abyss that threatened to consume her soul.  The HUD indicated she was still alone in the facility.  She left the stairwell and began to walk along the gantry. Her family’s crèche was situated at the half-way point.

Exposed to the rarified atmosphere kept at an ambient temperature of fifteen degrees, she welcomed the tranquility - almost as if, like the embryo she’d come to rescue, she’d retreated back into the safety of the womb - where nothing could harm her, nothing could shatter her dreams. Pausing at the observation port to the Dru Family Creche, she stared inside at resurrection modulo two two seven one, still bearing the label Sevilica Dru, Countess of Sura.  Her brief moment of tranquility now shattered, she felt a chill – the kind of feeling one experienced when looking at one’s own gravesite. She drew a sharp breath as the unbidden memory of her first death overwhelmed her. Sevilica remembered the excruciating pain and fear prior to death as she watched the flesh burn from her still living body during Nebula’s treacherous attack. Upon first-death, she had unwillingly Ascended; her consciousness uploaded into the Worldmind gestalt where she “lived” for more than a year before resurrection into her second iteration form - her genetic heritage having been preserved in the allocated Dru crèche. She remembered the joy and vibrancy upon the renewal of corporeal life, her cells given the opportunity to divide and multiply after Second Fall, bringing her back a sense of normalcy as she adjusted to the resurrected world - a world whose life had been renewed in an act of selflessness on the part of the man she loved. 

Her cousin, Queen Adora, had related the story of Second Rise to her while her embryo had floated in the Modulo - absorbing data streams directly from the Consensus – downloading her consciousness into her new cloned body, reacquainting her mind with the rich history of a proud, technologically advanced civilization that traced its lineage back to the time when the Universe was the dominion of the Trinity.

            Reeling from the flashback to first-death, Sevilica desperately sought to clear her mind, trying to focus on happy memories that made her laugh - her spirit rising once more before she felt again the agonizing realization that everything she cherished was on the verge of being purged, possibly forever. Happy memories gave way to bitter ones that she tried to ignore, yet couldn’t. They hung around her like specters - long painful flashes that poked and pressed against her consciousness, feeding regrets. Shaking her head, she recalled the conversation leading to her consent to the marriage.

        How could she have been so foolish? How could she have let Tiberon lead her astray? But even now, she suspected that Tiberon – Rul family loyal, foolish Tiberon had done what Rul family loyal, foolish Tiberon had always done. He was a Mother’s Boy - doing whatever her mother-in-law, Lady Rul, wanted. She wished the old hag was dead. Dead and buried… and beyond resurrection. If Xandar was on the edge of another fall - if she believed the rumors were true - at least she had the unerring hope that the one good thing out of all the heartache and angst she’d endured would culminate in a final release from her royal obligation of marriage to Tiberon – a hated arranged marriage to keep the peace between House Rul and House Dru. It was a hope that had given her renewed strength as she’d taken the brief journey in the descender leading to the resurrection facility.

        Tearing her eyes from her own resurrection modulo, she forced herself to resume her journey to the resurrection crèche of her in-laws. She approached the large oval shaped door of the Rul Family Crèche and hesitantly keyed in her personal I-Dent. She was in luck. Tiberon hadn’t changed the code or denied her access. Perhaps he hadn’t discovered her ruse and ordered the embryo terminated; or maybe if he did suspect, perhaps part of him remained loyal to her, though how much was something she would never truly know.

The door swung open and she stepped inside, her footsteps echoing around the elliptical chamber. Sevilica’s eyes widened as she looked at the modulo, a translucent ellipsoid just shy of six meters tall, one point five in circumference that hung suspended two meters above the floor. She breathed a sign of relief. The embryo was still inside. She immediately noticed how much the embryo had developed since she’d last seen it. Holomatics hovered to one side of the modulo - denoting the name of the paternal donor: Commodore Tiberon Rul, Baron of Oesta. But if she was successful, that lie would be finally undone.

Underneath, the recipient was still listed in her name - the Consensi hadn’t been amended. Biometrics indicated that heart, blood, and brain activity were nominal. A wry smile briefly graced Sevilica’s lips; and she felt a wetness in her eye that she wiped away with the side of her hand as she looked upon the seed of hope that lay immersed in nutrients, illuminated by a warm soft light that filled the modulo. The light warmed her skin - sensual warmth that was heightened when she placed her outstretched hand onto the glass - forming a psychological connection between her and the tiny, yet oh-so-fragile and beautiful thing that lay suspended before her.

Sevilica remembered how she had held Tiberon’s hand as they’d entered the gestation facility, maintaining the illusion of the happily contented couple, aiming to appease her father, maintaining the fragile peace between House Dru and House Rul. Even so, she’d noticed that the genecouncillor was quite acute in her perceptions - noting how awkward she and Tiberon stood together - that they’d tried to mask their feelings too hard, those body signals and inflections defiantly not in synch. She had felt awkward, considering the circumstances. She’d wanted to annul the marriage there and then. She’d known it wouldn’t last and perhaps that was the reason why she’d done what she felt was right.

       She had witnessed the first stages of the union. Two samples had been procured. She had allowed the extraction of a viable unfertilized egg while Tiberon had provided the donor enculee - the procedure requiring ratification from both Houses in a system of bureaucracy that Sevilica Dru had found quite pleasing. She suspected her father’s intervention, his way of delaying the inevitable in an intangible game of cat and mouse with Lady Rul. The delay had been a welcome distraction, allowing time and opportunity to perpetrate her ruse. Inevitably, with legalities resolved to mutual satisfaction, she had watched as the paternal seed had been introduced in her unfertilized ova - biogenesis taking place as a cluster of blastomeres formed a pearly white miasma - cells sub-dividing, each cell now taking on the traits of donor and recipient. With satisfaction, Sevilica saw the lie unfolding before her eyes but wisely revealed nothing; fearing the actions Tiberon and his mother might take if they discovered her ruse.

       Now she saw the fruit of her lie. The mesenchyme cell cluster had taken on vaguely Xandarian characteristics - heart pumping blood through veins and capillaries, the lymphatic system now well advanced, skin and muscle forming over a skeleton, a central spine interlaced with nerves which flowed upwards to the primary seat, a brain, linked by optic nerves to a pair of dark eyes half closed, the face partly obscured by two tiny hands. Blinking back tears, she saw the embryo had inherited its father’s eyes. She wondered if it was self-aware - whether the embryo knew what it was, maybe even perceiving the distorted face of its mother as she peered through the nutrient gel over an umbilical cord that fell away from the small fragile life to the artificial placenta that gave it sustenance.

       This was not how she had always dreamed of having a baby; and Tiberon was never the man she had dreamed would father her child. She absently caressed the silver locket she wore around her neck. She opened the locket – finding within the precious thing that had made her ruse possible - a lock of hair from her true love, the man she had hoped would father her child through a normal pregnancy. He was gone now – more than four years. Due to the machinations of her late father-in-law, she knew her true love would never remember her. The painful choice her true love had made still caused her to cry at night, alone, those fleeting moments when her strength would falter in the late hours. She often strove unsuccessfully to keep her tears at bay while Tiberon’s eyes fluttered with dreams that she did not want to share.

       She laughed sadly to herself. She had always harbored secret fantasies about being somehow reunited with her true love; again fondly remembering those moments of passion while they’d kept a discreet eye hoping the duty-officer would not catch them in the hanger bay. These idle thoughts had no doubt at least contributed to the dissolution of her marriage to Tiberon. There would be no normal pregnancy with her true love now. This baby, eyes closed, its eyelids fluttering - its own mind dreaming wonders that she wished she could share - was as close to such a pregnancy as she was likely to get. Sighing, she resigned herself to the fact that the chapter in her life that included the man she hoped would have shared her life in a different set of causality was closed forever.  It was way past time to move on. She dreaded the day when the Rul family learned of her ruse; but her happiness was worth any consequence the Rul’s might inflict. 

        She sighed thinking: I never believed this would be easy – but with this baby at least I get the last word with House Rul. They just don’t know it yet. She began to type instructions via her HUD. Just a few quick lines of syntax and it would all be done. Her HUD flashed with a reservist activation alert. She was required to report to the Nova Crista. It was a Code Omega. She couldn’t ignore it. She cursed. Transfer of the baby to the Dru Crèche would have to wait. Already all unnecessary administrative functions were being locked out. She completed the transfer order; requesting it take place immediately upon resumption of routine administrative functions. It was all she could hope to accomplish.

Sevilica gazed into the modulo again, allowing her palm one last lingering touch of affection before she turned and slowly walked away, frustrated. It was time to rejoin the world above and face the oncoming storm. In her mind, she allowed herself one last indulgent memory of her true love – the echo of Richard Rider’s reassuring voice; soft and caring, coming from beyond the Silver Veil.

*

       She came literally out of the shadows, her black robes swamping her tall, frail form in a veil of nebulous malignancy. Eyes cold and clinical stared with intense scrutiny through a sliver pinch-nez that balanced on the edge of a hooked nose framing a face of ancient distaste. Her skin was warped with endless deep wrinkles and blemishes which were for the most part subdued by the lowering of ambient light from the bio globules above her head. She felt the psionic wake as Countess Dru’s essence receded back to the descender. Sevilica’s thoughts were plain - her inner turbulence shone like a quasar - love and hate, diametric opposites that the old lady savored with relish as she laughed to herself, contemptuously amused by the Countess’s childish attempts at deception.

       The old lady wasn’t alone. Binary phasic ripples coalesced into two accompanying reptilian forms. The Veradinae Ruler, or Kan-sak as he was titled in the old Veradinae language of Veradias, was over six meters tall, impeccably dressed in a form-fitting dark tailored suit that endeavored to soften his brooding mesomorph frame. His scales were a deep cyan becoming a darker red around narrow eyes that darted left and right, working in unison with a flickering tongue that tasted the air, transferring the textures to his vomeronasal organ. Granj’al’Beliim tasted the lingering odor of the Countess’s fragrant scent.  It partly reminded him of a pheromonic perfume a favored concubine had once worn to arouse his stamina. Her performance had been exemplary; but her birthlings had been inferior. He remembered the taste of their meat. 

       His mercenary bodyguard or Jantaal was slightly taller - his loyalty was impeccable; but he possessed average intelligence - a gene trait that ensured that he was no rival to Granj’s clan. The Jantaal wore modular battle armor made from a high performance mono-polyethylene composite that was both light-weight and supple; yet perfectly matched the Veradinae‘s augmented scales that had been given a coating of liquid adamantium to reinforce durability in close combat situations. The mercenary’s face scales took on a reflective aquamarine hue with two parallel lines running beneath his eyes delineating his allegiance to his adopted clan. His firearm retracted back into the armor’s left aventail while he received orders from Granj’al’Beliim in Veradias, sounding to any observer as merely a series low grunts and clicks. The mercenary glanced toward the receding form of the Countess; but Granj shook his head negatively.  The Countess would not die by their hands today.

       Granj and the old woman stood to one side while the mercenary walked forward and interfaced with the holomatics. Protocols were overwritten. A slight clicking sound was followed by a series of silver tubes that slowly descended from the ceiling, encasing the modulo within a cat’s-cradle configuration - embracing it like a pair of loving hands. The cradle would ensure the modulo could be transferred directly to their ship without causing harm to the precious life force that lay within.

       The old woman walked up to the modulo and gazed into it. The light from within illuminated her face with an eerie infra-phosphorescent glow. A close observer would have been witness to one of the rarest events in the universe when a small smile of delight temporarily replaced Lady Verada Rul’s typical disapproving scowl. 

       “Be quick,” she said to Granj, her scowl returning. “We do not have long. They are coming and I have no intention of dying this day or any other in the near future. Let the fates decide whether Xandar rises from the ashes once more or embraces the eternal dark.” Turning back to the modulo, her eyes narrowed. 

“But you, my precious seed, you will be spared; for this is the beginning of your new destiny…...”

To be Continued!!!

  

  

  

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