Stellar fusion, p.3
Stellar Fusion, page 3
part #1 of Infinite Spark Series
He knew it was wrong to fall victim to the emotional ghosts the serum couldn’t quite block. But he was trained to never waste an opportunity. Studying her confident yet elegant poise, he was mysteriously compelled and nodded in agreement with her decision.
Out in the hall, Atana took off. Bennett watched her hustle away, weaving the most unanticipated licentious need down his spine. He stifled a blissful grunt. She was a struck match. His world was on fire.
His mind wandered. Overhearing two shepherds talking as they walked down the hall below, he casually leaned over the railing in the shadows, curious about the abnormal wavering in their voices.
“What did he mean, ‘not lose any more shepherds?’ How many have we lost?”
“I don’t know. Not in all my service have I heard a warning like that.”
Bennett’s jaw flexed. A warning from Command is never a good sign.
In a haze, he headed for his quarters to inventory his ammo and medical supplies and mull over the mission he’d just been assigned. Everything was in perfect order, as he knew it would be. Yet he was profoundly ill-prepared.
Amidst the controlled chaos outside his bunk-room door, Bennett was locked inside his own world in turmoil. For an entire week, he had been without his serum. Every vial at his base had been thrown out. Desperately gathering his pieces together, he caged the animal inside, the one that screamed his humanity.
The serum numbed the effects of hormones and neurotransmitters in the body, its effectiveness unmatched in the modern market. But someone had sabotaged the doses at the distribution center for Ocean Bases along the southern Pacific coast. The majority of the shepherds affected had to be put under quarantine until the withdrawal symptoms subsided.
The smoothed, ivory pillow on his bed reminded him of the blank faces he saw all too often, the personalities crushed by the serum. He longed to see something else, something to fill the hungry pit in his chest.
Leaning forward, he dropped his face into his hands, dredging his fingers through his shower-damp hair. A pair of dog tags hung from his neck, black rubber around their edges to keep them silent. He had always wanted to be in the military, like his father. Just not like this.
His father had been a member of the Shepherds United. He’d had a family. But Bennett had been born into the era of the serum—the mission of protecting the world and keeping the peace more important than that of personal desire. His father had given his life to the job. His mother and younger brother had succumbed to a house fire when he was eight. A few years passed, and Bennett had been selected to join the Universal Protectors.
The liberated hormones in his system caused his mind to wander. He tried to imagine a woman for a moment, sitting there beside him, calm and gentle, like his mother, hoping it might be enough to make the loneliness depart. But her shape refused to manifest. Rubbing his palms over his smooth cheeks, sticky with aftershave, he grumbled and raised himself from the bed.
Never going to happen, Jameson. Get on with it.
With the door closed behind him, he trudged toward the Serum Specialist Office, down his corridor at the end of an adjacent hall. His heart cramped up, knowing these were his last few minutes of being serum-free without getting in trouble for it. Squeezing his shoulder blades together, he straightened his back and prepared for the numbing hum that awaited him.
It was the burden of being a shepherd: sacrificing oneself—life, love, and happiness—for the betterment of Earth’s population. But it was a debt paid—a life for a life. He’d been rescued from death, like they all had. And from day one as a shepherd, he’d paid it forward in full.
In the midst of his daydream, he’d arrived at S.S.O. inattentive to his exact position. Turning the corner into the office, he walked right into another shepherd. His hands rose instinctively in response to their bodies colliding. Grasping the sergeant’s shoulders, he’d prevented himself from knocking them over.
The female jolted upright before sidestepping out of his way. Her glance was so quick that he almost didn’t notice, if it wasn’t for a peek of ice-blue contrasting their long merlot curtain.
Atana.
“I apologize.” His fingers absorbed her warmth, the sweet hint of Marusa tea and spices tickling his nose. An elastic band held up the waterfall of waves, a dress code rule only an Independent would have the guts to break.
A female Independent.
He couldn’t believe he’d met her and they were assigned to one another. An adventitious meeting, but in his gut, an elemental fire burned of the preordained. Her soft strands brushed the backs of his hands. He quivered, enthralled by every unfamiliar stimulation.
Bennett admired the arch of her light mocha cheeks. Beneath her leathers, he sensed the packed-in muscle. For a moment, he stood in fire and ice, burning with sudden and inexplicable lust and intrigue—and frozen, unsure how to react, if he should, and what he could get away with and not draw too much attention from Command.
His opportunity was cut short when Rio, the Endocrine Specialist Technician who originally created the serum, noticed the commotion at the front door. Walking into a private office, the older man in the white coat held the door open, Atana following at his request.
The attending nurse stood in front of Bennett. “Sir, we can seat you on a table, end of row seven.”
His gaze traveled behind Atana, even after she had disappeared, concealed by Rio’s closed door. He didn’t feel like moving. All he wanted was for her to walk by him one more time, to reassure himself he wasn’t dreaming.
“Sir, please have a seat.”
“Huh?”
The nurse motioned to the back of the room. When he noticed the table’s view through Rio’s office window, containing the face he’d bumped into, he practically teleported to it. A glint of light from an uncomfortably long and thin stripe on the side of Atana’s head told him exactly who she was.
Don’t stare, Jameson.
But the way her plush lips delicately formed her words made his hands tighten around the rolled edge of the steel table behind him.
Her eyes spoke louder than her muffled, decorous words. Rio shook his head. She sat, sliding her jacket off, exposing her left arm and several glossy striations in her skin, with an insistent nod. Rio’s shoulders dropped, and he placed the Comprehensive Endocrine and Neurotransmitter Analyzer over her deltoid muscle.
The nurse walked around in front, breaking up Bennett’s view. She picked up his forearm and popped open the serum case on his wristband.
“Sergeant, you are from O.B. 33, yes?” she asked, reading the chart on her illuminated tablet.
He leaned back discretely, to bring Atana’s profile back into view.
“Ocean Base thirty-three,” she reiterated, comparing the numbers etched in the surface of the empty vials from their slots to the prescribed doses listed on record.
“Correct.” He cleared his throat. Atana’s leathers were shrink-wrapped to her curves. He glanced around but found no one else had seemed to notice and was suddenly aware of his impulsive assumption of others’ interests, despite the serum mandate.
Slipping, Jameson.
“Seven-milliliter doses are your usual?”
“Yes, ma’am,” his subconscious replied for him. He momentarily caught Atana’s glance and couldn’t resist a smile.
God, she’s beautiful.
He took a deep breath to calm the hormones he knew were seething through his being. His father had spoken of his mother as his soul mate, a chance meeting of nothing but destiny. Is this what it feels like?
The nurse rested the analyzer over his shoulder. “O.B. 33 is one of the affected bases, yes?”
“Correct.” The roiling hot flares through his core and the lightheadedness from his rapid heartbeat were deceptively encouraging. I’m sure it’s nothing. Serum will fix this.
But he knew that was a lie.
“I’ll get you refilled quick so those symptoms will cease.”
“What symptoms?” Inside, Bennett cringed. He didn’t like the way she said ‘symptoms,’ like feeling interest in another human being was a disease. They were the reason the human population still existed. Yet, he was a tad unnerved he might not be holding everything in as well as he’d thought.
The device in her hands beeped. “You’re feverish and trembling, sir.”
Chapter 7
COLD STEEL punctured deep below the surface of Atana’s skin.
“What has you concerned this time?” Rio scanned her usual blank expression but abnormal inattentiveness. “Nakio?”
A stiff inhale from her rigid upright posture moved her only slightly.
“The thundering of the collectors…” She closed her eyes, trying to remember. “They woke me in a way most sounds don’t. I regained control but…”
“Environmental patterns viewed as a threat increase adrenaline.”
“A man broke through security yesterday. He said he was my brother. Looking at him caused a similar effect.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. Atana glanced at the white-coat standing over her. “Rio, sir, he felt familiar.”
“Oh, I see why you’re concerned.” His voice remained modulated and calm no matter the situation. When the test completed, he removed the device from her arm to show her the results. “One spike in the last twenty-four hours, but it isn’t even noteworthy for you. When you were first here, the numbers were off the charts, until we got your injury under control.” He gestured toward her head. “It was like a switch.”
“Why now? I haven’t reinjured that area.”
He ejected the spent needle into a bin hanging from the wall and returned the device to the cupboard. “My guess—you haven’t been sleeping enough and are running on adrenaline to keep yourself awake again. It’s not healthy, nor is it allowed by Command. I know it plagues you, but you must sleep.”
She hung her head with a bob. “Yes, sir.”
While Rio selected her doses from the chilled cabinet, she shifted focus through his office window to the crowd of shepherds and nurses in the other room. Someone looked her direction from one of the exam tables: the one who had run into her. Sergeant Bennett.
He leaned against the edge, arms straightened, waiting patiently for the nurse to finish her assessment. Through his thick, black, cargo pants and ivory T-shirt, she could easily tell his physique was fine-tuned for combat. Field sergeant or guard. I’ll research him later. Several tattoos and scars peeked out from beneath the soft fabric covering his built shoulders, marking the taut surface of his caramel skin.
Flecks of honey flashed in his golden eyes, sheltered beneath umber brows. The shallow divot in his upper lip stretched. His cheeks lifted.
The color on his face deepened with his smile, and bemused, she traced it again.
For a moment, the room slipped away. He was different from others, the few she’d interacted with personally. His high-and-tight haircut had grown out, still defying gravity. When his full lips parted, she felt the unnerving jolt of seeing the collectors and Lavrion’s familiar face lance through her again.
“Nakio?”
She blinked and eventually lifted her gaze to meet Rio’s request.
Closing the faceplate, he pointed to the screen. “The program will notify you every twenty-four hours to inject your standard dose to maintain hormone balance and alert you if there’s a need to inject before the scheduled dose.”
“I’m aware, sir. I designed several components of the CENA-7 wristbands.”
“Right. Well, I always monitor everyone’s levels. So if there is an issue while you are on Home Station, I will come find you.”
“Yes, sir.” Atana scrutinized the man in the other room one more time.
The ceiling fans stirred the air above. Don’t look away.
From Bennett? She scanned his fit outline with more interest. Why?
Rio’s voice snapped her mind out of its precarious delusions. “Are you ready?”
Atana swallowed. Wasting precious time. Focus.
She tapped in her sixteen-digit number as assigned from Human Cataloging. A swift click of mechanized parts, a tiny pinch, two seconds, another click, and the screen blinked.
Dose Complete
The cold serum flowed into her blood vessels, numbing her, the little voice suddenly dead quiet. She almost regretted it when she hopped up from the chair, the emptiness like witnessing the death of an innocent civilian. Zipping up her jacket, she shook Rio’s hand.
“It was good to see you, Nakio.” He smiled—an expression she’d never really understood.
Chapter 8
IT WAS DEAFENING, the absence of progress on their situation. People were disappearing every moment she wasted. Atana stood behind the interactive table, facing the door, awaiting her new team, her fingers drumming on the glass, whipping through all the Current Conflicts data received from the bases around the world.
Command called in through the wall screen behind her.
She spun around. “Yes, Command?”
“We have accessed video clips of the vessel in space, acquired by Space Station Hope prior to their blackout. They should be loading in a few moments and will also be sent to your Electrical Integration Specialist, Sergeant Remmi Tanner. The company docks in five.”
“Acknowledged,” Atana responded. The screen went dark.
With a few moments to spare, the data available exhausted, she unclipped the straps holding in her SIs, drawing them from her thigh holsters.
Her fingers swiftly disconnected the parts with finesse: wad and igniter magazines, radial vent chamber, and the accelerator. Slipping a small, opaque bottle from her pocket, she squeezed a drop of cleaning fluid on each component and inside the compression chamber and ignition barrel.
Compulsively scanning the individual curves and crevices, her fingertips grasped the cloth. Plucking it out of her jacket with a snap to shake off any unwanted particulates, she diligently wiped away the charcoal film from every crease and crevice, returning each unit to the table top.
‘Hurry up and wait’ was never a good thing for an Independent. They had done too much and seen too much to be left alone long with their thoughts.
. . .
A team of four shepherds unloaded from a transport in the staging area. Each individual’s band signaled with a new assignment.
Meeting Room 3-PC5, ASAP
“Where the hell’s that?” Sergeant Panton’s voice boomed from above his massive spread of shoulders. “Better be near a lunchroom.”
Sergeant Tanner responded, his multicolored eyes searching the map on his wristband, “Nope, farthest thing from it.” His fingers raked through his disheveled, salty blond hair. “Sorry.”
“Damn it,” Panton drawled, placing a thick hand on the black leather over his grumbling stomach. “If I don’t eat something, I’m going to wither away. Ten hours is too damn long without food. It’s worse without serum.”
Pulling his large, moss-green duffle bag over his shoulder, Sergeant Cutter adjusted the faded ball cap hiding his matching, smooth, coal-black hair. Catching up to Tanner, he dipped his head beside the young man’s ear. “He couldn’t wither in a million years.”
They had a little chuckle before passing the six-foot, three-inch battering ram of a man.
“Y’all don’t understand. I’m so hungry I could… Wait, are y’all saying I’m fat?” Panton’s brown-haired, husky figure twisted to squint at the two who snickered playfully. He glanced at the last member of the team to unload. “Josie, do you think I’m getting fat?”
“We’ll get some food after the meeting.” Her drawl was softer than Panton’s yet strong in volume. Her taut, strawberry blond bun bounced as her petite form hopped off the ramp, adjusting her black tactical vest, her e-rifle slung over her shoulder. “And no, Panton, you’re the size you need to be for your position. Relax.”
Sergeant Tanner took off, heading for a man in the staging area entrance. “B!”
Bennett scoped around for the familiar voice.
“About damn time. I was starting to wonder if I was going to get switched to another team,” he teased through his grin.
“I was getting mighty tired of bossin’ these three around.” The red-headed sergeant jerked her freckled nose at the team. “Please, take them back.”
Panton scoffed incredulously. “Aw, c’mon, we’re not that bad!”
“Yeah, we only give you flak some of the time.” Tanner glanced at Cutter’s forcibly pursed mouth and pressed his own into a hard line. He scrolled through their new assignment on his wristband to get back on topic. “So who’s our new Team Leader? I mean you are always our leader, B. There’s just…the female Independent assigned to us?”
Bennett’s smile faded. He led the group down the hall to the far stairwell. “Yes, she will be calling the shots. She’s quiet and hard to read.”
The memory of the soft texture of her hair made his insides sizzle. His feet sunk heavily against the steps they descended.
“You already met her?” Panton asked, surprised.
“Yes.”
Tanner followed at his heels. “Don’t worry, B. We’ll take her orders, but we’ll always operate by your rules, right, guys?”
Bennett was proud of his crew. They had grown together over the years. He had coached them, protected them, taught Panton and Cutter the tricks and secrets he knew from being a guard. He had learned from the younger, innovative Sergeant Tanner, and now knew when to step back from Josie’s fire. They were an elite operational unit.
“Make sure you call her ma’am,” he warned.
“Yes, sir,” came the group’s reply with a mix of apprehensive glances.
He lifted an open palm indicating the room. Cutter entered first, followed by the others.
Chapter 9
BEHIND VIBRANT, staring eyes lurked secrets of the deepest, darkest tomb, locked and buried beneath a headstone the size of an Egyptian pyramid.
“Ma’am,” Sergeant Cutter acknowledged. Spotting Atana’s inured gaze on him, his feet cemented to the floor. For a second, until she looked away, he saw a familiar disconnect—an understanding of the senselessness of the continuation of life for the purpose of more death. Yet, therein lay a defiance, a low burning pile of inextinguishable coals. “I’m Sergeant Cutter. This is Josandizer. She stands in for Sergeant Bennett when he is away on assignment.”
