Alien Heat
by
Susanne Marie Knight
A Wings ePress, Inc.
Futuristic Science Fiction Romance Novel
“Before we leave, Lucas, do you mind if I take a look at those blossoms? I’ve never seen anything like them before.”
At his nod, Glyneth gingerly walked over to the edge of the crater.
His voice carried the distance separating them. “We call them Venusian flowers--puffy and milky white, like the planet. I have not seen them this far south. As far as we know, they first appeared after the atmosphere settled down from the impact’s dust and debris.” He shrugged his broad shoulders. “For some strange reason, all women love them.”
Not this woman. Glyneth contemplated the flowers from all angles. They were beautiful, in a cold, calculating way, but something felt wrong about them. The Earth did not speak to her through these plants. Why was that? And why would Columont’s women love these alien growths?
She reached down and plucked one. Its willowy stalk stood tall--about a foot high--and hard, almost like bamboo. Completely covering the stalk was a type of white “fur,” warm to the touch. Inside the gauzy white flower petals, she saw a clear oval, jelly-like mass, with tiny bubbles suspended within it. As she watched, bubble by bubble floated up to the top to be released into the air.
Exquisite, but again, something niggled her about it. Without warning, the ground beneath her shifted. Dropping the flower, she took a step, but her foot slipped into a deep crevice.
“Lucas!” Before she finished calling his name, the rocks moved, opening a larger fissure. She struggled to keep her balance...but it was no use.
Even as he reached for her, she no longer stood on the surface. Falling, sliding, tumbling, she lost sight of the sky and of Lucas. Then she lost sight of everything as she hit her head against stone.
Wings ePress, Inc.
Edited by: Leslie Hodges
Copy Edited by: Elizabeth Struble
Senior Editor: Elizabeth Struble
Managing Editor: Leslie Hodges
Executive Editor: Lorraine Stephens
Cover Artist: mpMann
All rights reserved
Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Wings ePress Books
http://www.wings-press.com
Copyright © 2003 by Susan Christina
ISBN 1-59088-247-4
Published In the United States Of America
December 2003
Wings ePress Inc.
403 Wallace Court
Richmond, KY 40475
Dedication
For the Brazettes--
Carole, Cheryl, Lisa, Stacy,
and the original Braz herself!
Prologue
::The third planet revolving around the life-giving Sun was alien to the willowy growths struggling to survive in its inhospitable climate. But comfort was not the reason they were here: the plants had a mission. They’d been tasked to convert a cold, soggy world into a magnificent wonderland of clouds and heat--duplicating Mother Venus, from whence they came.
The first stage of the colonization was complete: after the great bombardment of this planet, Venusian flowers had slowly but persistently taken root in one location of the existing habitat. With strength in numbers, they now readied themselves to branch out into new territory. The transformation of this planet called Earth had begun! Soon, increased carbon dioxide emissions would blanket the atmosphere, noticeably altering the temperature. Due to the greenhouse effect, heat--blessed heat--would bake the lands and skies.
Mother Venus would be proud of her offspring. And sister planet Earth would revel in the alteration, now being a truer reflection of the Almighty Sun.::
One
On this day, twenty years ago, I was conceived. I hasten to add that this wasn’t a happy occasion. On the contrary. Nor can I ever rejoice on this particular date since it was this very day, ten years ago, that the Outsiders stormed into the village once again, but this time, they abducted my mother.
My dear, sweet Mamma. I died that day.
Glyneth paused in her writings. She allowed the ink on her words to dry and stared out at the bleak, barren landscape. Whenever she needed a reprieve from the mundane routine of village life, she would escape its confines by hiking a mile or so up into the mountains to a secluded spot. Here she was free to write in her journal or study forbidden books away from the censorious eyes of village elders.
Or remember the past. She picked up her quill pen and dipped it into the bottle of ink.
Ten years ago, warnings of the Outsiders’ imminent arrival failed to register alarm in my young mind--for we were always at war, with one group or another. True, I’d heard graphic tales about the hoard of men, north of the Great Beyond, who galloped on the fastest steeds imaginable. After all, it was a known fact that these Outsiders periodically raided our village every ten revolutions of the sun. As far back as time remembered, women in their childbearing prime were the targets. Once they were swept up onto the invaders’ swift horses, they were never to be seen again.
To me, that had been just a story told ‘round the campfire, to frighten misbehaving children. When one constantly lives with war, a tendency to become inured to the horrors of it is natural, even expected.
But this abduction! Gracious, holy Lord, nothing ever was the same for me after I saw Mamma being carried away, a jumble of screams and thrashing arms and legs. How could it have been otherwise? Mamma was everything: the light, the sky, the silvery moon. She was happiness, joy, and bubbling laughter mired in this backwards village. But even she had a cautious side, and would take care to hush me whenever I would unthinkingly prattle on about how the Earth spoke to me, telling me its secrets.
As the Earth spoke even now. Sensitive to vibrations emanating from the ground, she now felt thunder pounding through the contaminated soil of the Great Beyond toward her position just outside the village’s boundaries. The Outsiders would arrive soon. Soon.
She increased her writing speed.
Mamma was the only one who understood me. I think I was vaguely aware, even then, that I was somehow different from the other children who halfheartedly learned their lessons. They never questioned how things came to be, never thirsted for knowledge. In fact, learning and education still is almost as taboo as journeying out into the Great Beyond. Fear of radiation strangles all villagers, even our soldiers. For if you are tainted by radiation, you are a mutant.
Hearing another message from the ground below, Glyneth stopped to interpret it. Make haste! Make haste, we are coming, warned heavy rumblings of horses’ hooves against hard, dry soil. But just why were these Outsiders compelled to come here? Why did they need females to supplement their population? Were the Outsider women infertile? Did they die young?
Were they mutants?
As Glyneth was, with her strange telepathy and also her skin’s chameleon-like color changes. All due to an enlarged pineal gland located in the inner recesses of her brain. On the outside, she was as normal as everyone else. But on the inside...
She hurried to complete her thoughts.
Tush, I digress. Once again, with the dawning of this particular day, like the clockworks of old, the Outsiders are due to swoop down and steal our women. And I am at risk, as are all the young women in the village. Perhaps if I make the package less tempting, they might bypass me for one who pleases the eye more.
Glyneth closed her journal, then carefully removed excess ink from her quill pen. A sudden pain pulsed within her head, causing her to sigh. The Earth was about to speak again. This unusual ability to communicate with nature could be viewed as either a blessing or a curse. She stilled her actions to receive the message. On the ghost of a breeze came another warning. Her solitude would soon be at an end. Someone scaled the arid hillside in her direction.
The intruder couldn’t possibly be an Outsider. Which meant a villager, and villagers didn’t approve of the art of writing. Glyneth slipped the journal and inkbottle into a pocket in the long, loose fitting robe that covered her body from head to toe. Only her eyes and part of the nose remained unhidden. The ancient ones had a word for the garment she wore: chador.
She sighed. Sometimes she was guilty of blasphemy; if only she were a man so she could escape wearing this restrictive garment.
But idle wishes were seldom granted. Besides, it would’ve been more to the point to desire that both villager men and women had free choice on wearing apparel.
Glancing at the sun as it blazed a path over the mountains to begin a well-worn arch in the sky, she wiped a trickle of perspiration off her forehead. Another hot day in the making. How unusual to have a scorcher this late in the year. Mid-October should have been a time for cooler temperatures. Perhaps even a bit of frost.
Tush, I digress, again. But who was so bold as to track her movements, outside the village gates?
The answer to that question was simple--it had to be Devon.
The young man soon came into view, climbing a boulder and swatting a tangle of dried shrubs out of his way. “Glyneth! I knew I could find you.” His high forehead gleaming with sweat, he waited as if he expected her to congratulate him on his feat.
She purposefully disappointed him. She never needed men, young or otherwise, and never would. Oh, they had their uses, such as fighting battles to protect the village and tilling the soil to produce crops. But how much better it would be if they didn’t wage war. All that wasted energy. All those precious resources squandered on petty grievances or clansmen pride.
Despite the warm coverage of her chador, she shivered. A revolting village law demanded that all women enter the state of matrimony by age twenty. As she would attain her majority in nine months, Devon Dikeman had taken it into his thick head that Glyneth would be his bride.
He reached her side and curved his arm around her. “Come now. It’s dangerous for you to be out here any day, but today of all days! Glyneth, what were you thinking?”
She deftly slipped out of his grasp. “I often take walks alone.”
“Your parents are worried about you. Your father asked me to bring you back, and I told Ike it would be my pleasure and my duty as your soon-to-be husband.” His thin lips lifted in a smile, and he swept his gaze over her as if seeing her without her garments. For once, she was glad to be dressed in this traditional fashion.
“Ike and Vonda Paddock are my guardians, not my parents.” Of course Devon knew that, as did the entire village, but he still persisted in calling the Paddocks her parents. But this was one subject on which she was adamant. She had been fatherless since the time of her conception. Despite questions on the subject, her mother had refused to discuss the man who sired Glyneth other than to say he was a hated Outsider.
Her nose wrinkled with loathing. One day, she would avenge herself against the man, whomever he was. How she would enjoy punishing him, as she and her mother had been punished.
As for her mother, well, her mother was dead. Glyneth knew that fact as surely as if she had viewed the body. But she herself was alive to face the consequences of the day, and couldn’t afford to indulge in self-pity. Especially not today.
Devon shrugged and took her arm by the elbow. “That doesn’t matter, eh? For in a few months time, you will have real parents, as in a mother and father-in-law.” He guided her down the hillside’s rocky path. “But come now, we must take every precaution against the Outsiders. I vow I won’t let them take you!”
Glyneth allowed herself to be led. After all, what was the use of protesting? Through the headpiece covering her head, she pulled up on the long mane of her hair to allow a slight breeze to penetrate the garment and cool her neck. If only she had been a man, then she wouldn’t be in this predicament. More than anything in the world, she didn’t want to suffer the same fate as her dear deceased mother. She would try to make herself as unappealing as possible. Perhaps even go so far as to apply a fake appendage or two! These Outsiders were known to be fastidious in their selection of women. No female with the taint of radiation would be abducted.
Despair weighted Glyneth’s shoulders. For if she succeeded in deceiving the Outsiders, what future awaited her then?
Of course she knew the answer to that question. Her future would be yoked in eternal wedlock to the egotistical Devon Dikeman. Faith, the very idea curled her toes.
Two
The farther south the team rode, the cooler it got. Which was peculiar, to say the least, since ancient wisdom stated traveling in that direction at this latitude from the North Pole always meant warmer temperatures. That folklore might have been true during mankind’s Golden Era, but not now, after the Great Destruction.
Without breaking his horse’s stride, Major Lucas Jefferson rebuttoned his white cotton uniform top, then pulled down rolled up sleeves in preparation for less sultry weather. Of course seventy degrees was still seventy degrees, however, where he was from, mid-autumn days usually kindled the mercury in a thermometer closer to eighty marks of Fahrenheit. At least it did in recent memory.
This southern terrain differed from his homeland in other ways as well. Desolate rocks layered from erosion silhouetted the blindingly bright blue sky for as far as the eye could see. Gigantic outcroppings of all the rainbow hues of goldenrod and ivory littered the landscape with not one drop of greenery to disturb its intensity or denote any type of life. Barren. This area was completely barren, and that condition brought to mind the reason for this expedition, for other than this, there could be no other incentive for Canusa to send a team of warriors to this dispirited land.
Following behind the fourteen men as they silently maneuvered over grooved and striated rocks, Lucas frowned. Why he, as one of the heirs of the ten sons of the powerful Canusa, had been chosen to participate in this particular endeavor defied logic and conscience. And that another heir, Major Brice Adams, also joined the expedition positively staggered the mind. Two Canusa scions performing non-combative duty? What had the War Council been thinking?
Lucas’ frown deepened. Supplying fertile women to his province’s ever-dwindling population was crucial, of course, but fate had selected him as a nobleman--a leader of soldiers--one who was required to feel the heat of battle. Being assigned to this mission was curious, very curious, especially in view of the increase in border skirmishes with these primitive, barbaric villages outside Canusa’s control. Lucas was needed on the frontline with his men. To be here, instead, was something of an insult.
Another factor screaming to be considered was his father’s declining health. Although still in the prime of life, Lord Jefferson seemed to be wasting away. Soon, perhaps very soon, Lucas would have to take his father’s place as heir to Canusa. Maybe this bride-quest was some kind of leadership test. If so, then that explained Brice Adams’ presence.
“Hey, Luke! What do ya make of all this nothin’? Rocks, rocks, ‘n more rocks!” Lieutenant Will Flagg nudged his raven horse alongside Lucas’ alabaster one and flailed his scrawny arms in the air to emphasize his point. The animal, evidently used to his rider’s histrionics, threw a snort Will’s way, then continued to plod in tempo with the other steeds.
Ordinarily, Lucas wouldn’t have acknowledged such a familiar greeting as the one Will Flagg issued. Military discipline had to be maintained, after all, and as a major, Lucas outranked the man. But fidgety, impetuous Will was a law unto himself. Ever since his appointment to guard the Jefferson Compound, he had wormed his way into everyone’s hearts. But, no matter. What was the harm in Will’s informality since only Lucas could hear?
He grinned at the young man, then sobered his expression. “Very edifying, Lieutenant. I particularly liked the repetition--rocks, rocks, and more rocks. Be sure to relay that to the scribes when we return so they can record our journey in every minute detail.”
“Aw, hell,” the pug warrior spit back at him. Even the red tips on Will’s spiked brown hair seemed more inflamed. “Hey, so what if I didn’t go to university, like ya did.” He shrugged his narrow shoulders, looking for all the world like a Rhesus monkey. “Did ya ever think that maybe you’re the one that’s missin’ a few marbles, not me? I’ll show ya.” Rising up from his saddle, Will hollered out to the stampede preceding them. “Hawke! C’mon back ‘n settle somethin’ for us.”
Captain Russell Hawke, easily the fiercest member of the group, cocked his head to indicate he’d heard the request, then moving as one with his burgundy horse, slowed his pace to comply. “Sir?”
The question was directed at Lucas, not Will.
Pint-size in body and patience, Will grabbed the older man’s sleeve. “Luke’s pullin’ his superiority routine, again. I got a belly full of it, I tell ya.”
The only part of him that appeared inflated, however, was his ego. For a warrior, this breech of etiquette was extremely unusual. But, then again, Will was very young; he still had eight more years of military training ahead of him.
“So what do ya say, Hawke, how would ya describe this here territory?”
With an economy of movement, Hawke disengaged Will’s hand. “You are an annoyance, bantling.” Crossing powerful arms across his warrior chest, the man’s glowering expression further darkened his ebony complexion. The silver bars on Hawke’s shoulders echoed the severity of his stare. “Plus, you are in violation of military protocol. Major Jefferson is your superior officer.”
Will’s close-set eyes turned wild and woolly. Before Armageddon started, Lucas spread out his hands, palms up. “Peace, peace, my good men. Save your wrangling for the battle ahead. I have heard rumors those village hellcats fight with the strength of ten men.” He arched his eyebrow at Hawke, the only veteran of the raids among them, having participated in the previous one, and the one before that as well. “Is that exaggerated?”
Hawke fingered the savage slash cut deep into his dark cheek. “Slightly, sir,” he replied.
“Females!” The passion in Will’s voice had nothing to do with images of a carnal nature. Which was just as well. Warriors who were sexually spent were no warriors at all.
Marching past a barrier of boulders, the troops then stopped at the base of a dried field of soil. Thundering Jupiter, the vista in front of them had more in common with Luna’s craters than the third planet from the sun! Lucas alighted to scoop up a sample of the cracked, golden clay. “Just where on God’s... green earth are we heading?”
His province of Columont, or more correctly, his father’s province as one of the ten sons of Canusa, had recovered from the devastating calamity of years past and now brimmed full with plant and animal life. Even new growths, like the puffy, willowy plants commonly called Venusian flowers, covered much of the Columont countryside. But here, each mile they traversed hung heavy with the absence of living things. The very air smelled antiseptic.
As Lucas got back on his horse, his nostrils flared. Every sensibility was offended by this yellow mockery of landscaping. But perhaps what affronted him more was the fact that the people in these tiny villages scattered south of the site of the Great Destruction could boast of fertile females, while all too often, Columont’s wombs were as bare and desiccated as this sorry excuse for a field.
Hawke must have understood what Lucas was feeling for the older man nodded, then gazed off into the distance. “The target is six leagues from here, sir. We arrive midday.”
“Six more leagues of nothin’?” Will piped up as the horses picked their way over parched soil.
By thunder, over seventy degrees of heat could still produce a healthy sweat. The resultant perspiration trickled down Lucas’ forehead so he rubbed it back into his thick, precision cut hair. “Nothing but fecund women, Lieutenant. After we return to Columont, I will recommend to my father that you have your pick from our prizes. And you, also, Captain.”
Hawke swatted at a fly, buzzing around his grizzled black hair. The insect was the first sign of life this area yielded. “No, sir.”
“No?” Will raised his eyebrows until they almost met his hair line. He had twenty-two years to Hawke’s forty, and obviously was a bit in awe of the older man. Sighing, he shrugged. “Then I guess I refuse, too.”
Although warriors were allowed to marry, they could not set up their own household until age thirty, after they completed training. Hawke, however, remained quartered in the field barracks by choice. By comparison, Will’s assignment with Lucas’ family enabled the young soldier to live in the lap of luxury while he continued his instruction. Sometimes, however, having too much luxury proved to be detrimental.
Disappointment could not keep Will down for long. “What about you, Luke? Is that why you’re ridin’ with us, to make sure you snag the queen of the crop?”
Finally cresting the hill of unnatural clay, Lucas viewed with distaste the orange sands stretching out before them. What was next, red rivers? He nudged his horse into a gallop. “I am already under contract, as you should know. With Althea Adams of the Adams lineage.”
Restlessness settled over him and he forged ahead of his companions. Althea was a comely lass, to be sure, in addition to the distinction of having one of the tens sons of Canusa as sire and Brice Adams as brother. Lord Adams ruled the neighboring province of Alberdak. Plus, behold the miracle, the Fertility Laboratory had scrutinized her, inside and out, and proclaimed her to be a successful candidate for motherhood. She was still a virgin, as her father was quick to point out. An untouched woman commanded a higher bride price.
There was no question in Lord Jefferson’s view nor in Lord Adams’, that Lucas and Althea would produce healthy heirs together. As it was written, so would it be done, and he would do his duty.
Lucas shielded his eyes from the glare of the sun, now rising over a shrub-invested mountain. More life secured a toehold in this alien land. And as for him, since tradition demanded he perpetuate the family line by also producing more life--...
SilverWitch