Centuries before the El tesoro del cielo had sunk with her crew and left Rufio Catalán and an Englishman named Albert in a small escape boat, the island in the Dragon’s Teeth had been home to a higher breed of nature. They had investigated the island and found it to their liking, and so, with meticulous attention to what nature now offered them, they approached the tropical paradise to replace the one they had previously left.
The beach stretched wide around the cove, the white sand warm and inviting, shells shining like earthy gemstones in the shallow blue waters of the shore. The view of palm trees bending gracefully over the sand to catch the mild breeze was interrupted from the sky by the small points of creatures nearing the island. A handful of winged men and women ascended to touch down.
They were tall, their skin holding a delicate silver glint, their movements both elegant and powerful. They could have stepped off a Doric column of an ancient temple, dressed as they were in white tunics, but their wide belts were hung with tools and jewel-encrusted devices whose technology passed far beyond the pristine shores of the era.
As colonists, they were the advance party to secure the island, if need be, and arrange for it to become their new habitation; their new paradise. They were a handsome breed, beautiful and strong, intelligent, with the confidence that came with that intellect.
They were armed with sword blasters, and on each of their white tunics was the emblem of a gem-studded serpent, a sort of heraldic device. The women arrived first, stepping onto the soft sand, smiling a bit as they did, adding a gentler tone to their elongated facial features.
Of the two females, Commander Maya was darker in complexion with black hair, a strikingly beautiful woman whose grasp at her authority matched her looks. Equally attractive in a much softer, fairer manner was her second in command, Vice-Commander Astara. As blonde and light-skinned as Maya was dark, Astara resembled the future Estelle, and for good reason.
Astara smiled up at the sky. “It was a beautiful descent,” she said. “The arms of the Manifold spread apart and let us gracefully glide to our new home.” She looked to the otherworldly spacecraft, the Ascender, that hovered further out over the ocean, within sight of the island. Its lights pulsated rhythmically ten miles out. “Look at the Ascender. She resonates wonderfully in this world.”
Astara took a deep breath, smiling as her wings opened and ruffled in the gentle warm breeze scented with coconut and pineapples. She stretched her arms high, as if to embrace the very air, letting her wings flare, enjoying the day’s warmth. “Have you ever felt such vibrancy in stretching your wings in a strange atmosphere?”
Maya shook her head, and turned to watch the males approach.
The winged men from the spacecraft joined their company and touched down. Between them they carried a purple cloth like a hammock, weighted with a body inside.
“Ah, there’s the Pilot now,” Astara said as Maya nodded to the men. “And Lord Zahve.”
Maya watched the men. “What are they carrying?”
“Perhaps the saplings,” Astara said. “I have always said Samyaza has the soul of a farmer.”
Maya nodded knowingly. “Ah, Astara, if anyone should know, it should be you.”
“I have foresworn Samyaza,” she said with a different smile. “He is like a drug.”
The Pilot, Samyaza, was occasionally referred to by his title, as they all were. Zahve was Chief Scientist of the Expedition, and they met the women and wordlessly laid the cloth between them gently down on the beach. They stepped back, folding their wings behind them. Samyaza looked to each of the women. He was shorter than most of the colonists, his movements abrupt, almost angry at times, but he was a militant and precise. He was also third in line for the chain of command, something that at times made itself known.
Zahve was older than the other three, often addressed more formerly by his title of Lord Zahve, and generally had the respect due his office from the other colonists. He and Samyaza looked to the commander.
“It was a fine journey, Captain Samyaza,” Maya told the shorter man. “You’re to be commended.”
“Appearances are deceiving, Commander,” he said tightly, eyes going to the purple cloth that still covered the frail shape below it. “Although the descent seemed smooth, the ship was damaged in making entry. Many systems are damaged.”
Maya frowned at him. “Have we at least landed on the Target World?”
Zahve answered. “I don’t know, Commander.”
Samyaza didn’t mince words. “We don’t have good news for you.”
He and Zahve unfolded the purple cloth to reveal an older woman. She was their oracle, and badly injured. She was unconscious, twitching, almost convulsing in her sleep, soft mumbles coming from her accompanied by winces of pain.
Maya knelt. “My God, it’s the oracle! She has aged!” She looked to Zahve. “How is that possible?”
Samyaza answered her. “She went into a trance before we descended. This is not unexpected, for she had her orders, but of course, she had to be isolated. Whatever happened, happened on descent, in her cabin when she was alone.”
Zahve bent down besides her, unfolding the woman’s tunic at her arms to reveal bruising and abrasions. “There are contusions. It must have been more turbulent in the rear cabin than at the helm.”
Astara stepped closer as Maya rose. “She is injured then and not healing,” the first woman said. “I see.”
Maya looked to Zahve. “How is this possible?”
He took a hand-held scanner from his utility belt and held it over the oracle, moving it slightly to take readings. He then held it higher to take a reading from the immediate air supply. “The geologicals are right,” he said. “Not much else. The foliage looks weak,” he added, pointing to the trees and long grass fringing the sand. “Not the Paradise suggested in our orders.” He looked back to the oracle as he holstered the scanner. “No, this isn’t what we expected.”
Maya studied the trees and thick foliage she could see further into the island. She turned to Zahve. “The Manifold?”
He looked down and rechecked the last reading on his scanner. “The biologicals possess a kind of immortality, but at a severely downgraded resonance level,” he said. “Lower than anything I’ve ever seen.”
Maya nodded. “What does that mean for us?”
Zahve stood up. “It means that their Manifold won’t support us.” He looked to the oracle as a convulsion shook her for a moment. “It means that she has serious, possibly lethal injuries.”
Astara’s expression softened as she watched the older woman in the cloth. “Fatal injuries?”
Zahve nodded. “Yes, she could die. This world is under the Law of Accident,” he explained. “Although our life reserves can protect us from the aging process, it cannot if we sustain injuries like these.”
The oracle opened her eyes slowly, and then wider as she took in her surroundings. She lifted one hand, a finger extended. “The Pilot...”
Samyaza immediately knelt beside her, nodding.
“I have dreamed,” she began in a weakened tone.
“Yes, milady,” he said almost tenderly. “We know.”
She made an effort, spreading her arms to encompass the beach before her. “We have landed... Yes?”
“Yes, we have,” he said, his eagerness sounding foreign to those that new his mannerisms well. “What was your dream?”
“Patience.” She coughed, the effort taking her breath for a moment. “You all know that I am dying; one of those strange twists of life.” She gave them each a thorough study. “Do you think I am afraid of dying? Do you think I think that the end of the form is the end of life?”
The other colonists shook their heads.
“You have grown too attached to your immortality,” the oracle said. “You have grown complacent.”
“Is that why we’re here?” Maya asked. “As punishment?”
“No, it was a personal comment.” The oracle caught her breath slowly. “I don’t know.”
Samyaza inched closer, his tone pressing. “You have dreamed?”
“Yes, Pilot,” the oracle said to him. “And it is to you I speak now.”
He leaned back a little, knowing the chain of command and the results of breaking it. “Do you not want to speak to Maya? She is in the High Command.”
“No; you, Samyaza.” The oracle waited out a fit of coughing again before continuing. “You play a treacherous game with yourself, Pilot. You play with...” This time the coughing was longer, taxing her weakening strength. She wheezed as she took a careful breath. “You should guard yourself,” she told him. “You should guard the sacred fire. If you do not, no one can help you, and no one can protect this world. Do you understand, Samyaza?”
“I am just a Pilot, Oracle,” he said. “I have no power.”
She laughed, a gravelly sound that coupled with her wheezing. “This is no game, Samyaza. Not to me. Not to them.”
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“Do not give in to the primal, Samyaza,” she cautioned, “or you will face the Thrice-born. Do not...” Her words broke off as a convulsion overtook her and sent on another coughing jag. She attempted to speak again, but her words failed, and she exhaled her last sigh, eyes closing.
Zahve moved closer, kneeling beside her to put a hand to her heart. For a moment all remained silent, and then he nodded, looking to the rest.
“There is no heartbeat,” he said. “She has expired.”
Maya watched the old woman slump into the purple cloth, seeming thinner than ever. “How long do we have before our own life reserves run out?”
“Five years or so,” Zahve said. “Then the aging process will begin and mortal symptoms will appear. Unless...”
Maya waited for him to continue. When he did not, she prompted. “Unless?”
“Unless we sustain injuries.” Zahve pulled the cloth over the oracle and stood up.
Maya motioned them all to step away from the body, but Samyaza lingered, contemplating what she’d told him. “What did she mean, the Thrice-born?”
Maya nodded for him to join them. “How should I know? She is an oracle.” She turned to the other man. “How long for harvest, Lord Zahve?”
“Two weeks with the accelerators.”
Maya looked to Samyaza as he joined them. “Have the seeds held out?”
Samyaza took a scanner from his belt and used it to scan a few small pouches he took from another section of the belt. He nodded at the readings. “Yes, we can plant tomorrow.”
“Let it be so, Samyaza,” she said. “Make ready for the seeding. Go now!”
He nodded and replaced the scanner and pouches, and then leaped into the air with a swift flap of his wings. Within moments he was nearly out of sight, heading for the spacecraft still offshore.
Zahve turned to Maya. “We must construct biogenerators if we are to prolong our bodies’ life force indefinitely.”
Maya nearly laughed. “Create artificial prolongation of life? Synthetic immortality?”
It was exactly what he’d meant. He pulled the scanner from his belt and took readings of both of them. He nodded to Astara. “All except yours, my dear. You are from the Levandra, are you not?”
She nodded. “It is well-known, yes.”
“Your race, if I may call it that, thrives quite nicely on this level of resonance,” he said, returning the scanner to his belt. “You don’t need biogeneration.”
“It is not an accident, Lord Zahve,” she said.
“Be that as it may,” he said, dismissing the fact, “as for the rest of us, we must find Vidral to fuel the biogenerators, or we’ll die on this godforsaken world.”
A crispness came to Maya’s tone. “No world is godforsaken, Lord Zahve. Let us pray.”
She, Astara, and Zahve knelt in the sand of the sunny afternoon and bowed their heads reverently. “Oh, powerful and good Creator,” Maya began, “we have not foreseen the problems in this journey. Guide us lovingly, Father. Bring us hope in this wilderness. Nurture us now with Thy immortal light and power.”
A soft light that had nothing to do with the sun overhead shone on them, washing over them in a welcome and encouraging glow. They rose as the light faded.
“We’re blessed,” Maya concluded, watching the light dissolve back into mere daylight, “even in this place.”
Astara looked around at the tropical trees and foliage. Some of the birds were now returning to song after the disturbance of the colonists’ descent onto the shore. Or, Astara thought, perhaps the birds now sang again in response to the Creator’s light. She took a deep breath. It was a lovely island, full of scents and sounds, color and textures.
She looked to the cloth shrouded oracle’s form on the sand. And death.
She turned to Samyaza. “Is there a way to contact the Home World?”
“No, Vice-Commander,” he said. “This world is beyond the seven known galactic thresholds. We’ve lost our capacity for dimensional navigation or communication.”
“So we are, in effect,” Maya surmised, “stranded.”
He nodded slowly.
The island offered both beauty and the curiosity of the unknown. It was raw materials to the colonists. Very raw.
To make it into a place to live, to even create it into an environment they could dwell while attending the necessary details of mining, it had to be exclusively theirs. That meant no intruders, and no interruptions.
They set about making camp, a collection of tents erected on one of the flatter, inner areas of the island where the volcanic mountains overlooked the palms and brushes. Not all of the work was physical, and Zahve occupied himself rerunning the preliminary scans and tests he’d initially taken. He didn’t like the results, and knew no one else would, either. He decided to run a third batch of tests and scans. Their new world was volatile in atmosphere fluctuations, more so when the volcanic and seismic activity was higher; perhaps his readings were off.
He certainly hoped so.
Astara and Samyaza flew over the beach as the afternoon sun lent a glimmer to the aquamarine waters below. Even at their height they could see the white, gray, and pinkish pebbles that made up the cove’s bottom, occasionally interrupted by a shell of fish swimming in the warm waters.
Samyaza reached for Astara’s hand at his side, but she moved away, barely out of touch, her arm recoiling slightly, but distinctly.
It wasn’t her first such reaction he’d noticed lately, even before coming to their new home. “What?” he asked, frustration evident in his tone. “Why did you do that?”
“Ever since you became Pilot you have become hard and cold, Samyaza.” She glanced to him, a mixture of hurt and guardedness in her eyes.
He shrugged, edging closer to her as they made a swoop past a clump of palm trees. “You’re a notch above me in command, Astara. I’m not complaining.”
“Not in words,” she said, keeping the distance between them. “But I feel your complaining within me. You hate anyone above and you scorn everyone below. Unlike the others, perhaps, I listened to the oracle.”
“That’s not true, Astara.”
She saw through his thin veneer of carefully constructed logic. “I am Levandra, of the same tribe as the oracle. Do you think you can hide any truth from me?”
He flew in front of her, blocking her path and making her stop, hovering. “But I love you, Astara,” he said, this time his tone gentler, as she recalled it from times past. “I have given my life to you.”
“Give your life to the Creator first,” she said, letting herself lower until they were just above the palms. He followed, keeping her eyelevel with him. “You do that, and then speak with me.” She sighed, glancing to the beach front where they had last seen the first casualty of their new world. “She was one of our greatest oracles.”
“She was great,” he agreed, annoyance rising. “But she died.”
Astara’s irritation returned with his callousness. “With her last breath, she spoke to you, Samyaza. Remember it!”
She dodged past him and flew off speedily.
Samyaza didn’t follow; he watched her go, appreciating the flow of white linen tunic around her, smiling despite himself at the elegant movements of her wings. She couldn’t stay upset with him for long.
Astara’s affections would come around to him again.
There was little time for Samyaza to contemplate Astara’s change in attitude. Commander Maya assembled the colonists to the beach that afternoon to address them about Zahve’s most recent findings.
The group of off-worlders was both male and female, a few dozen in all, bringing to their new home a collection of skills and determination, but united in beliefs. While the mining of Vidral, a necessary ore to their existence, was foremost, the needs of daily life were also important.
Time was essential, especially now, with Zahve’s recent findings. They would need a workforce of basic intelligence. Behind the Commander the other officers waited, hovering just below her height.
Maya put the mining issue aside for the moment as she hovered above the colonists gathered just enough to be seen. She knew their delicate outlook was important to their immediate survival in the caustic environment of a world under the Law of Accident. She also knew her choice of elevation was crucial; they needed to see her as one of them, vulnerable, yet still able to lead effectively.
She raised one hand, summoning the colonists’ attention. “Lord Zahve has done a deeper analysis,” she told them. “There may be only two or three years left before the irreversible deterioration of our life forms begins. The need for Vidral is absolute.”
A murmur of alarm went through the colonists, all still looking to her, awaiting direction. And hope.
Maya saluted them respectfully; the colonists returned a bow. She turned to the officers, who each made a salute and flew off to the Ascender hovering nearby.
Maya waited until they were gone, and then turned back to the colonists, and then flew off to her tent deeper into the island.
The semi-circle of tents was for both officers and the colonists, and opened to a large grassland to one side. There the grass and soil was scorched and short from the ship’s landings. Maya knew some of the colonists would gather in a few of the tents to discuss the recent announcement; there’d be some concern, some doubt, but in all, there would be cohesion in any order she gave.
She went into her tent, an adequate structure of canvas-type material and bamboo supports. It was divided, with the first room for work and meeting with her officers and her personal living quarters at the rear. She settled at one of the loo tables where a viewing screen showed the island’s most recent volcanic activity.
Their mining activity would be slow, the island surrendering little promise so far for their much-needed golden Vidral. She adjusted the screen, searching for the heaviest deposits. Under the volcanic mountains was the best choice, of course, but the unstable atmosphere of the island with its heavy rainfall, bouts of volcanic activity, and seismic rumbles made for difficult true readings. The best readings came from Zahve’s laboratory on the other side of the arc of tents. It was the most permanent of buildings they’d erected, with solid walls of native bamboo and slabs of limestone. It had been strenuous work, laden with potential injuries, but worth it. It was their best hope for a future.
From outside a sudden whirring and drone sound grew, stirring the air and making the canvas tent walls tremble. Maya stood and moved aside the tent door flap to see the ship touching down at its designated grass pad. Colonists peeked out of their tents.
From the Ascender came Samyaza, Zahve, and another crewmember, whom Maya recognized as Turella. They approached her tent, saluting.
Maya nodded, and went back inside.
Samyaza followed, along with Zahve and Turella.
“You have news?” Maya asked, stopping in the center of the first room when she saw the dirty bag Samyaza carried.
He nodded, stepping to another larger work table nearby, still as low as the loo table where Maya had been studying the screen. He poured the bag’s contents onto the table. A mound of muddy, egg-sized lumps fell out. Through the mud glinted gold.
Maya looked to Zahve and then Samyaza.
Turella made a slight bow to Maya. “We found Vidral deposits about thirty shandars away, on the Mainland.”
Maya nodded, attention returning to the mound of dirty clumps. “Very good.”
* * *
The Sea Pilgrim rode the early morning waves of the Caribbean, easily maneuvering among the shoals of the outlying Bahamas, farther out than any of the fishing boats. It was a research vessel, equipped with the usual navigating and testing devices, and a few more that came with the unorthodox nature of the sponsor’s interests. The Captain stood at the mainsail boom, looking out at the late fog burning off closer to the largest island.
His mind turned along the purpose of the trip, and to his sole passenger. He chuckled. Noted author or not, Professor Bill Norwood was an eccentric among eccentrics, and the Captain had seen his fair share of that clientele. In the waters most known for sinking ships and pulling down or ‘disappearing’ planes, he’d headed enough private trips to know odd when he saw it.
An Indian youth in his early teens ran up to him, skidding to a stop on the wave-wet deck boards. “Cap’n?”
The Captain nodded to the largest guest cabin where the professor was still sleeping fitfully. “What’s he sayin’? He’s loud enough to drown a chainsaw.”
The cabin boy glanced back to where the cabins were housed at the rear of the boat. “Uh, can’t tell.”
The Captain knew that could mean several things. “Good God, boy. He snores, he shouts, talks to no one?” An amused lilt came to his voice. “Does the Professor have a lady in there?”
The Indian gave a sly smile, but shook his head. “He’s like that every morning. No lady, Cap’n. He talks in his sleep.” A different look came to his face, one of unfound fear. “Scream is more like it sometimes. Like demons is after him.”
* * *
Professor Norwood’s dreams would have given anyone nightmares, had he shared them, or could recall them with the clarity he wished he could. His unconscious mind summoned the island as it had once been, the island under the command of the colonists, and under the supervision of forces beyond even the professor’s imagination.
The colonist set to work planting crops and altering the island to fit their needs. They set up coiled devices along the crop fields to enhance the yield. Under the pulsating energy fields emitted from the coils, the engineered crops burst with robust harvests, able now to glean every drop of nutrients from the fertile island soil rich from years of volcanic residue.
The crops responded well, the yields heavy and full, and the colonists adjusted and prospered in their new environment. But, as time passed, the colonists were also aware of the tenuous state of their livelihood in the strange, colorful and fragrant world they now found themselves.
Successful crops and mining efforts left time for leisure, and pleasure, and it didn’t take long for some of them to find other ways to amuse themselves on the sandy beaches and deep tropical jungles.
One of Zahve’s favorite pastimes was overseeing, as he called it, the life and death games the younger colonists liked to engage in. He sat now on a large boulder at one of the beaches in the warm afternoon, watching and directing two men dueling with sword blasters.
He watched as Saniel and another young male colonist traded blows and slashes, evenly matched, driving each other back along the white sand. Each was shirtless under the hot sun, both with the emblem of a plumed, winged serpent ingrained in their chests.
“Raise that saber, Saniel!” Zahve called out as the darker haired man was beaten back by the other man. “Block his blaster or he’ll put an end to you!”
Beside the scientist sat Danel also on the rock. He was a younger colonist, under Zahve’s tutelage, and had an eager mind. He was also in awe of anyone who could master swordplay, as he was more inclined to intellectual prowess than athleticism.
“Isn’t it strange how we immortals love to feign these games of death?” said Danel, his tone holding a bit of envy at the duelers’ agility and skill.
Zahve recognized the twinge of jealousy in Danel’s tone, but ignored it and emphasized the more meaningful matter. “The Angelos are still Masters of Life and Death,” he reminded. “Sometimes, we immortals must kill. Immortality is a gift, not a right, Danel. No matter how we evolve, we’ll always play with death,” he said solemnly. He looked to the sky where the Ascender was hovering. As much as he preferred to run tests and scans closer to the surface, his laboratory on the ship surpassed the land-bound one at the campsite. Until he had a fully functioning lab at their land complex, he still conducted more sensitive scans from above. He turned to Danel as he stood up. “I’ve a meeting with Commander Maya soon. My scans should be ready to read; hopefully, with good news for us.”
Danel nodded, sending the spacecraft an optimistic glance. “Yes, Lord Zahve.”
It was shortly thereafter, and with good news, that Zahve and Samyaza left the Ascender to meet with Maya later that afternoon. She stood on the beach, watching them fly down from above, her hopes rising as she tried to gauge their expressions.
They touched down, bowing before her.
She nodded, looking to each.
“We did a full scan of the planet’s surface, Commander,” Zahve said, smiling. “There are massive amounts of Vidral here, but they’re all in small deposits scattered over large areas on and below the surface.”
She nodded with satisfaction. “Do we have the manpower to mine it ourselves? We’ll need a great deal of Vidral to fuel our planetary biogenerators.”
Zahve nodded more slowly this time. “We’ll need outside help.”
Maya looked to Samyaza. “Is there intelligent life here?”
“Primates,” he said. “Not suitable for directed labor. Un-teachable on many levels, as is.”
Maya looked to the trees where the birds were chirping among the wide, reedy leaves. She glanced to Zahve. “As is? These primates, can they be accelerated?”
He’d expected the question, but gave a thoughtful answer despite his preparation for it. “Yes, possibly. In two years, we could create several thousand workers from these creatures.”
Maya looked to the craft above them. “Would the ship last? Do we have enough time to mine this planet?”
“We can get it done in three to five years.” Samyaza cleared his throat. “The ship will make it.”
She saluted him, hoping he was as ready to lead the responsibility as he appeared to be. “See to it then, Samyaza.”
He nodded, adding a salute. “As you so order, Commander.”
Within the month the land-bound laboratory for Zahve was finished. They were pressed for time, and work with the crops had been eased to allow more labor to go to the completion of the lab, but Zahve knew it was worth it. It was the largest of the buildings among the tented campsite, taking up a full acre, and the most advanced.
The technology was still under par with his laboratory on the Ascender, but the ship was steadily being drained of power, and he’d made alternative use of other sources available on the island. Now in the laboratory he stood at a granite table, chronicling the progress of the chimpanzees with which he was working.
Center in the room were thirty clear capsules, each large enough to hold the chimpanzee inside, and large enough to allow for the specimen’s expected physical evolution into a taller, stouter, and more intelligent being. Around the capsules stood several Angelos in dark purple robes, each making adjustments to the devices they held in their hands, constantly allowing for fluctuations to the specimens, keeping the progress slow yet consistent.
The delicately balanced infusions feeding into each cell were done by a thin stream of energy that danced out from the hand-held devices as the Angelos made adjustments, streaming to the chosen cell to deliver the proper intelligent information in a wave that embraced and fluctuated up the cell exterior. Too much information resulted in mutations, and too little or weak of flow could result in imbalances, such as mental retardation. It took a perfect balance, and a steady hand and mind.
Overall, Zahve was pleased with the progress. The chart he consulted showed great promise. Commander Maya would be pleased.
He looked to the door at the far wall as it opened briefly and Astara stepped in. She met him at the table, her deep blue eyes gazing at the cells.
“Maya sent me over to inspect your progress, Lord Zahve,” she said, finally looking to him, her voice hushed, as if not to interfere with his work in the dimly lit environment.
“I’m glad you could come,” he said, bowing slightly. He was ready for another comment, perhaps a compliment as she looked back to the Angelos, but Astara wasn’t in that sort of mood.
Her attention went to him. “That looks boring, all day, every day, little bits of intelligence imparted.”
He didn’t take offense. “We cannot infuse the evolutionary impulse without human participation and focus, Astara. This should be elementary information for a Levandra,” he said, appealing to her own genetics. “But see what we’ve accomplished with all this boring activity!”
He turned to gesture to the wall behind him. It was lined with a mural-like picture showing the stages of the chimps’ development. They weren’t life-size, but close, and Astara stepped around the table to get a better view.
“All this in so short a time,” she murmured, her interest held by one of the stages, where the specimen was fully erect, its arms shorter than the preceding image, its forehead smoother and less protruding.
She turned to look at the celled chambers. “May I inspect further?”
Zahve smiled. “I’d be honored.”
Astara quietly went to the collection of tube cells, giving a few of them long moments of attention as they investigated the progress. Many appeared to look the same, some with minor changes, a few more without any changes. She stopped before one, noting the lack of body hair and how it seemed less tightly-limbed than the others. She passed this one, moving carefully around one of the Angelos that was attending several of the capsules, and halted again.
This specimen was more evolved, unusually humanoid, its face and torso early hairless and without the prominent brow and flaring nostrils. And male, she also noted.
“What of this one?” she asked as Zahve caught up to her. She looked the physical build over better of the specimen, eyes lingering on the well-shaped muscles and definite jaw line that set it apart from the others. “Is it another breed?”
“No; that is Jacinto, the oldest,” Zahve told her. “Our first success in this world. The same breed, but more readily adapting.”
She nodded, looking to the three capsules in line near Jacinto’s cell. They were similarly evolving, but at a slower rate. “And these?”
“Once I cleared Jacinto’s genetic pathways for reprogramming, I began experimenting with these,” Zahve explained. “As you can see, there’s clear progress.”
She gave them a thorough study, for her report to Commander Maya, she told herself. “These creatures are losing their bestial traits,” she said, eyes roaming over the less primate characteristics of the specimens. “Are you traveling beyond the seventh Threshold?”
Zahve claimed his most scientific sounding tone. “We’ve developed a protocol for creating several thousand workers in a few years. If we don’t make that quota,” he said gravely, “there’ll be no planetary biogenerators.”
Both Astara and Zahve looked to Samyaza as he stepped from the shadows of the laboratory where a few empty cells were stored.
A slight frown came to Astara’s face.
“Is that why you’re here?” Samyaza asked her, overhearing a few words of their conversation. “To worry about evolutionary thresholds?”
“I came here to see the experiments,” she told him, her voice level, but with a hint of coolness, “but I didn’t expect to be treated to any clear violations of the Codex. I expected to see beasts of burden – advanced, somewhat - but not humanoid. We don’t need to create planetary biogenerators. We can survive well enough with smaller units.”
Samyaza looked from her to Zahve, and back to Astara. “Our mission was to take this entire world for the Angelos.”
“Not with these methods.” She flipped one hand in the direction of the cells. “I must ask you to stop, Captain Samyaza, or I’ll be forced to intervene.”
She turned abruptly and crossed the floor to the laboratory door. He followed.
“I don’t want any conflict between us,” he said, making her turn to face him. His voice was lower, not wishing to share the conversation with the scientist. He waited for her face to soften, to let him know that the primates’ progress was nothing personal for her, too. “Nothing has changed for me. Not between you and me. Nothing will ever change.”
Her face didn’t relent to softness. There can be nothing between us if you persist in this way.”
She opened the door and left.
Samyaza watched it close, muting the sunlight outside. He felt the cold of the shadowed laboratory slip over him, as if Astara took the warmth with her.
He shot a glance back to the cells of specimens, and then left.
That evening Commander Maya called a meeting for the council at the semi-circle of tents in the complex. Dusk settled over the encampment canopied by stars, and the Ascender hovered several miles above them, its pulsations slightly fading. It was an ever present reminder of the necessity for speed in their present world, Maya knew. A world that, so far, may only consist of a few square miles.
The colonists knew of their need for swift progress, too, as did Zahve.
Maya stood to one side of the raised platform of bamboo that had been constructed for just such an occasion. She crossed her arms and watched as Astara stood at the podium, looking out over the colonists who had given much time and energy into making the island hospitable. Not every colonist was present, as some had obligations, but the few dozen that were gathered would talk, and gossip, perhaps, and take away the vital aspects of the meeting to the other colonists.
At least, that was what each of them was hoping. Maya looked to Zahve and Samyaza waiting their turns to speak. She knew each had their own agenda.
“Thank you,” Astara said, taking a step back from the podium after her initial greeting to the colonists. “I have called this meeting,” she said, and then turned as Zahve took a few steps toward the podium. She quickly glanced to him, shaking her head. “You’ll have your say in due time, Lord Zahve,” she said just loud enough for him to hear.
He stepped back, dissolving into the shadows again, slightly miffed.
Astara looked back out over the assembled listeners. “I’ve called this meeting to inform the Colonial Council that Captain Samyaza and Lord Zahve have gone far beyond the improvement of bestial stock to provide us with workers for our Vidral mines,” she told them. “They’re in the process of creating a humanoid species, an evolutionary process that would normally take hundreds of thousands of years.”
Unable to keep silent, Zahve took a step closer to the center of the platform. All eyes from the colonists looked to him as he spoke to Astara. “This is an extraordinary interruption of my work. And most insulting.”
She gave him a level look, ignoring the disappointment in Samyaza’s glance to the side of the platform. “What you two are doing is absolutely against biological procedures permitted by the Codex.”
Maya looked to Samyaza. “Is this true, Captain?”
“You’ve placed the laboratories, excavations and agricultural regions under my command, Commander,” he said, talking around the question, as he’d been doing lately. “I’ve been ordered to expedite the extraction of Vidral from this planet’s surface. To do this,” he said, giving Astara a stunted glance, “we need intelligent labor –”
“Have you crossed the threshold, Captain?” Maya asked him pointedly.
“You can’t mine Vidral with a bunch of monkeys,” Samyaza said, his tact gone. “Miners need at least a Class Three mechanical aptitude. They need to make calculations. They need to read simple reports.”
Maya was startled at both his attitude and overstep. “You must stop these efforts at once or I’ll demote you, Captain.”
He gestured to the congregated listeners. “I call for a vote of this council.”
Maya didn’t laugh. “This is far too serious for a simple colonial vote.”
He raised a hand to the Ascender, but did not look up. “The ship’s communications have been permanently damaged. Her resonators can barely send signals in this atmosphere, much less across the Great Barrier. There’s no possibility of communicating with the High Council.”
Turella stood up from the front row, listening avidly to the higher officers’ conversation. “We must poll ourselves, then.”
Another colonist called Akibel stood, joining in with a nod. “I propose we let Lord Zahve evolve these creatures now,” he cried. “We must make this entire planet safe.” He turned to look at his fellow laborers. “Will we allow death to overtake us? Allow ourselves to die because of outdated laws in an archaic rulebook?”
Astara felt her control slipping as a general murmuring went through the seated crowd. Some of them stood, their agitation rising. “The Codex has protected the Angelos for centuries,” she reminded, earnestness making her voice edge higher. “Do we abandon it because of a temporary isolation? We can survive on the island forever with the Vidral right at our fingertips.” She saw the crowd’s eyes shift to her side and looked there.
Samyaza stood at the center of the platform to her right, standing taller in his moment under the starlight. “My fellow colonists,” he beseeched them, his tone now devoid of its typical snappishness. “I ask you, do we mine the Vidral as we need to or do we live forever on three square miles of immortality on a world capable of infinite abundance? I say aye, we cross the threshold, follow our mandate and take this world!”
The colonists responded with a rousing cry, everyone now on their feet, a cheer for Samyaza that seemed to rally their innate pride and self-preservation. He smiled, not looking to Astara.
“Aye!” came the vote from the collective throat of the assembly. “Aye! Aye!”
“Aye!” Akibel waved an arm to them, relishing his part in the uproar. “Let the primates evolve! Harvest the humanoids!”
Samyaza looked smugly to Maya. “It’s decided,” he said as the “ayes” continued around the gathered crowd. He nodded, turning his attention to the colonists, his voice rising. “It is decided. You have decided,” he said more empathically to them. “The work will continue. Lord Zahve will continue his operations. We will have our workers.”
The listeners gave another respectful cheer; approving, it seemed to Samyaza, his direction.
Maya turned and stepped down from the rear of the platform.
Astara remained, watching for a moment as Samyaza basked in his victory. She shook her head. The rift between them was ever-widening. She followed Maya off the platform.
Samyaza was aware of the women leaving, particularly of the gentle rustle of Astara’s feathers as she left. With her absence the approval of the colonists didn’t seem quite so satisfying. Zahve barely noticed the officers as they left, content as he was in the acceptance of his continued course of operation.
Samyaza sighed, and left the platform, letting Zahve field any further questions. He went down the few steps, catching a glimpse of Astara’s white wings as she disappeared among the tents. He knew where she was going.
Within the hour, Maya found herself alone inside her tent. Sounds of the colonists moving about the other tents grew louder, their excitement over the direction Zahve was taking the humanoids giving a conversational buzz to the camp; no one was arguing against progressing the primates’ evolution.
Maya settled at her desk at one canvas wall and sorted through the reports Zahve had left her on Vidral deposits, but her mind drifted back to Astara’s mood before the Levandra had parted her company for a walk in the mild evening. Stepping beyond the established parameters set down in the Codex was not usually an issue when dealing with Lord Zahve; she was both dismayed at his determination to violate the order, but also understanding of his resourcefulness.
She pushed aside the reports on the desk, her attention focusing inward at the recent developments. Eagerness to progress the workers was necessary, but not at any expense. Not at this expense.
She looked to the doorway as the canvas flap was pushed aside. Samyaza and Zahve stood there, the former looking contrite, the latter brimming with expectation. She turned in her chair, eyes narrowing on them, her attention going to Samyaza.
“You think it wise to venture here after that affront before the colonists?” She watched the meeker expression on his face embolden. “You clearly lobby for my command and you’ve the nerve to come here to my tent, with the proverbial remorse of an innocent.” Before he could respond, she looked to the scientist. “And you, Zahve, a member of the High Council,” she said nearly mockingly, “supporting Samyaza’s every effort to continue these abuses when –”
“We’re not here to debate politics,” Zahve cut in with a controlled tone. “We’re here on behalf of all of the Angelos; even you, Commander.”
“You do not speak for me, officer,” she said. “Remember that.”
Samyaza didn’t look at the older officer. “You know our needs, Commander,” he said, his most diplomatic stance in force. “Once the biogenerators are finished, we need Astara to help us ignite them. All of our lives are at stake,” he said pressingly. His next words were not ones he thought he’d ever utter. “You must order her to comply.”
Maya’s look cooled on him, her fingers pressing on the nearest report on the desk. “Your audacity is noted, Pilot.” She saw him bristle, knowing the word would rankle him, given his relationship with Astara. “Ordering her is out of the question, but I will allow her to make her own choice. I’m not personally afraid of the cycle of death and rebirth. Your concern over the matter surprises me.”
Samyaza opted for indifference, attempting to hide his personal closeness to the issue on several levels. “Our only sin is to protect you and the other colonists.” He didn’t look to Zahve, but was aware of the older officer’s slight nod. “Surely you can understand that.”
“There are limits, Pilot.” She looked to Zahve. “Astara and I abhor your abuses with these human guinea pigs. Slavery is forbidden in civilized worlds.”
Samyaza passed this off as inconsequential. “Slavery isn’t the issue here, Commander. We simply want to assure our survival.”
This time Zahve’s nod was more emphatic. “The biogenerators cannot begin functioning without a small amount of signal,” he said, “which can only be produced by an immortally-grounded resonance field. All of our signals too weak or corrupted. Except for Astara’s. Her cooperation is our only hope, Commander Maya.”
“That is your opinion, Lord Zahve, and also dully noted.” Maya turned back to her desk, attention back on the report. “I’ll tell her, and leave the decision up to her, but I’m sure she will decline.”
Samyaza began to speak again, but Zahve touched his arm, shaking his head slightly. The scientist cleared his throat, estimating how far in the reports the commander had gotten. “The Vidral veins on the mainland show a healthy abundance, Commander Maya,” he said carefully. “Of all the islands we were forced to inhabit, we are indeed fortunate to be so close to such a supply.”
Maya nodded, not looking to him. “That fortunate providence had nothing to do with the piloting of the Ascender, we must understand.”
Samyaza let his first impulse to take offense at the remark slip away. “Yes, of course; but it was a divine guidance we found this island, wouldn’t you say, Commander?”
“There is guidance in any matter if one chooses to look for it, Pilot,” she said, sparing them a brief glance before turning a page of the reports. “But yes, it seems we have been fortunate.”
It was the best either officer could hope for from the commander, and they knew it. They both bowed and murmured a leave, and went back out into the campsite where the colonists were milling in small groups, the general discussion the previous decision led by Samyaza.
As much as Samyaza would have liked to linger and absorb any tidbit of flattering conversation that might drift his way from the now enthused colonists, he left Zahve’s company and sought out a fairer companion.
Samyaza found Astara on the beach where they’d first touched down several weeks before. She walked the sandy beach with languid steps, her face turned to the cool blue of the evening waters. The soft scent of wisteria was on the breeze crossing the shore, carrying with it the day’s heat and promise of later rain.
She liked the way the sand left small indentations as she walked, the tiny crystalline grains marking her steps. She looked to the trees edging the beach. It was a beautiful spot, the natural graces arguing against corrupting the island into a tribute to the pursuit of immortality. As if to plead against the argument, she saw Samyaza break from the vine-laden trees where the grasses met the beach; she sighed, knowing the conversation about to engage.
“You’ve been thinking, Astara,” he said, catching up to her. He frowned at her pensive expression, but resisted letting it sway him. “You always come here to think lately.”
“It’s beautiful here, don’t you think?” She gestured one hand to the surrounding foliage, letting her fingers remain on the rippling waters beneath the starlight. “You can still enjoy beauty, can’t you, Samyaza?”
He nodded, turning to walk with her as she resumed her stroll. “I can always enjoy beauty with you.”
“You can save the pretty words,” she said, her tone crisper. She breathed deeply the fragrant air, wishing their thoughts were still aligned to each other. “This is no light matter.”
He stopped walking, looking to her quickly. “You...you know what –”
“What do you want from me?” She nodded, continuing to walk.
He took the few steps to her side, watching her eyes rest on the water lapping at the sandy shore. “You are needed, Astara. You know that.”
She nodded. “And you know that what you are asking is against my beliefs, Samyaza.”
“You’d let us all die, then?” Saying the words aloud brought an instant irritation to his otherwise productive day. “Here?” He flung one arm out over the waters. “Here on some forgotten little corner of the galaxy?”
“Levandras do not believe in the unnatural prolonging of life,” she said gently. “Immortality is a gift from the Creator.” Her tone grew accusatory. “The newer tribes have forgotten that.”
“All of us are immortal on the Home World.”
She nodded, sighing as she continued on down the beach. “That is true,” she admitted, “but your fields are weaker than ours. We do not need a planetary field to sustain us. Still,” she allowed, “even your life is precious, Samyaza.”
She’d meant it lightly, but he took offense.
“You hold out because of the workers?” He shook his head, his hand brushing her arm to resist grabbing that arm and forcing her to see reason – his reason. “You object because we have a theological disagreement over their use?”
“No. I will put that aside for the moment.” Her gaze dropped to his hand at her side. It was any angry hand, tight, fingers rigid. Not the hand that had been so tender with her in the past. She shook those thoughts from her mind, remembering the present. “We of the Levandra find synthetic mortality repulsive, even blasphemous. Nonetheless, I’d hate to see the death of a single Angelo on this planet.” She was reluctant to voice the next words, as if the very audibleness of them would engrave her acquiescence to the matter. “I will therefore give your request more thought.”
He breathed a shallow sigh. “I know you will be fair to the colonists, Astara. You’ve a good spirit.” He wished she’d look at him, but her gaze dropped to the sand as they slowed their walk. “It will not be long now, not with Lord Zahve’s progress and the potential mines we have discovered,” he said, arrogance prompting his exaggeration of their possible progress. “Within the lunar passing.”
She finally looked to him, her expression saddened by his blind eagerness. “I am aware of that, Pilot.”