Love, Encoded (Selected Evolution Series Book 1) Page 13

  “Marnia?” Nick turned towards the other woman. “This is your secret, do you want to take it from here?”

  Marnia gave her a long, hard gaze.

  “I’m an alien,” she said.

  Sarah stared at her. “I beg your pardon?”

  She shifted her gaze back to Nick and Adam, absolute honesty shone in their eyes.

  Holy Hannah!

  And yet . . . and yet the revelation didn’t really surprise her. As though she already knew Marnia was not of this planet, that she’d just needed reminding of the fact.

  And what the hell is that about?

  “My people are called Anaconian,” Marnia continued. “We are made up of a number of different sentient species from our home planet, Anaconia. One of the enhancements that men like Nick and Adam agreed to, is that they can detect, via touch, the DNA of one of my race.”

  Sarah’s mind grabbed that information and ran with it—to a conclusion she didn’t much care for. She tried to dodge it, but it wouldn’t leave her focus.

  Nick and Adam had been sent to find one of the Foundation’s own. And the Foundation appeared to at least partially comprise of . . . Disbelief blazed through her.

  “Are you suggesting I have alien DNA?”

  “Yes,” Marnia replied.

  Oh My God!

  “Angel,” the plea in Adam’s voice dragged her gaze back to him. The need to reassure him fought with her scepticism and rejection of their words. “Your human DNA has been spliced with Anaconian DNA.”

  WHAT?

  “It’s true, honey,” Nick murmured, his hands tightening on hers.

  Sweet Mother of God. Revulsion tore through her and she shot to her feet, Nick and Adam stumbled back then rose, stances stiff. She glared at Marnia. Theron Barclese’s words echoed in her mind.

  Don’t you want revenge for what the Anaconians did to you?

  “What the hell kind of game are you playing?”

  The other woman held her gaze and remained calm in her seat. “No game.”

  Fury and a terrible sense of violation burned through Sarah’s veins like a raging forest fire. “When?” she bit out through clenched teeth. “Why? Why did you do this? And when?”

  Marnia’s regard remained infuriatingly steady. “Anaconian DNA, which cannot be diluted, was introduced into your matriarchal family line several generations ago.”

  Several generations ago? They can’t have been here that long, surely? Sarah turned her horrified gaze back to Nick and Adam and saw the dreadful confirmation of Marnia’s words in the distress ravaging their features. Her knees buckled and she dropped into the chair.

  Dear Lord, I’m not even human?

  Something in her whispered that she knew it to be true, had always known it to be true. She swallowed her churning emotions. Did mum know?

  “Angel?”

  She lifted her gaze to Adam. He took a step towards her, anxiety bled from his wide-eyed stare. “Are you alright?”

  Hell no.

  She turned to Marnia. “Why? Why did you do this?”

  Marnia’s swallow looked painful, as though to voice the answer would be a horror beyond contemplation.

  A deep, rumbling voice came from the direction of the study door, sounding as though produced from multiple bass larynxes. “Because our race is in danger of extinction, Miss Rasmussen.”

  Sarah’s gaze shot towards the speaker and she stared at a huge creature, part griffin, part dragon. Sunlight slanting through the glass walls gleamed on its hide like mother-of-pearl. Her heart kicked her ribs.

  What the . . .? —

  —Hey look! It’s a Draken—

  —What in hell is a Draken?—

  She frantically sought through her mind for the glimpse of knowledge that had flared then vanished like light over an event horizon.

  “This is Draken.” Marnia’s soft voice pierced her daze. “Please do not be alarmed.”

  Seriously?

  Sarcasm won the battle for her tongue. “Why would I be alarmed? I’ve just had all my conceptions about my life turned on their head and now I’m faced with a . . . a . . .” She flapped a hand in the direction of the creature.

  “Draken,” Marnia said.

  Warm hands wrapped a strong grip around her shoulders and lifted her upright. Nick’s scent enfolded her as he held her against his chest. “He won’t hurt you, honey.”

  I know. Don’t ask me how, but God help me, I know.

  And that freaked her out considerably more than seeing the damn xenomorph. A shudder shook her from the inside out and Nick’s embrace tightened. She grappled the tumult of outrage and denial rampaging against her control and shaking her very soul. With every ounce of determination she possessed she gripped her wits in a strangle hold, mastered herself then turned to the Draken.

  “You think your race dying gives you the right to bastardise another individual without their consent or knowledge?” she demanded.

  His regal head lowered for a moment then he glowered at her, huge, almond-shaped azure eyes blazing with frustration and fear.

  “What would you do? What would you sacrifice to save your race? Would you forfeit your humanity? Your honour?”

  She clamped her lips together. She wasn’t about to engage in a debate on moral psychology, but . . . Would she sacrifice her integrity? How could she even speculate on such a monstrous thing?

  “Please, Miss Rasmussen,” the Draken gestured towards the chair she’d vacated, “hear what I have to say.”

  She stared at him. His distress seemed quite genuine and she resented the way his appearance seemed almost familiar. She resumed her seat and Nick and Adam took stances to either side of her, as though on guard. Their protectiveness buoyed her besieged spirit and she aimed her stiff regard at the Draken.

  “I’m listening.”

  “We need your help.”

  “My help? I’m an engineer not a”—vet—“xenobiologist. What is it you want from me?”

  Indecision pulled at Draken and he suppressed the ripple of his upper lip that could be construed as aggression. How much could he impart? The urge to be upfront and clear warred with caution to not reveal too much that could negatively influence her decision.

  “We have need of your engineering skills to repair parts of our ship damaged when we crashed into your planet, and to then integrate them into the new vessel under construction.”

  “I see. This DNA that you forced on me, I presume it will aid somehow in this endeavour?”

  A flash of respect for her astuteness warmed his mind. “Your presumption is correct.”

  “Care to enlighten me as to how?”

  “Creed memories.”

  A frown creased her small brow. “I have Anaconian race memories? That’s why you and Marnia seem . . . familiar?” She spoke the last word as though it were extremely distasteful.

  “That is correct. Subliminally you recognize one of your own kind.” Her lips compressed, he guessed in irritation of his claim, then her gaze slid to Marnia and back to him.

  “How many intelligent species belong to Anaconia?”

  “Three. Draken, like myself, Shellini who are transmorphic amphibians and Roven, a humanoid land-based species.”

  Her eyes narrowed and she stared at him for a long moment. “What memories am I purportedly able to access?”

  “You will be able to recall general information such as recognising Anaconian people and speech, and information related to your technical inclination.”

  “You mean if I needed, say, Anaconian medical knowledge I wouldn’t be able to ‘remember’ it.”

  “That is so. The communicable information is quite selective.”

  Her head dropped to one side and she studied h
im. “Yet I conceived an idea for a medical device that will synthesise biological organisms.”

  “Your Matter Integrator. Yes, it is similar to a machine of ours that could replicate any and all body parts from a given genome and incorporate them into the host’s body.”—Fortunately for me—“I would postulate that your Anaconian technical knowledge of this machine allowed you to envisage the engineering schematic for your MI.”

  “A machine of yours that could?”

  Yes, she is quick, picking up on my past tense. “The one we carried on board this ship was rendered unserviceable in the crash.” A wave of sorrow washed through his chest like a high-pressure surge of acid. “Otherwise we would have been able to save more of our people.”

  Her bottom lip disappeared under her top one for a moment as though in an expression of sympathy.

  “And you want me to use this Anaconian technical information I can supposedly access to repair your ship?”

  “Parts of our ship, yes.”

  “Why can’t your own engineers take care of the task?”

  Grief stabbed through Draken. “None with the advanced technical expertise required remain alive.”

  Miss Rasmussen’s gaze softened, the fingers of one hand bounced on her knee. “I take it that you didn’t just haphazardly decide to perform this splicing experiment on humans?”

  “No.” He swallowed at a surge of horrific memory. “Our attempts to integrate the perceptual binding into surviving Anaconians proved . . .”—his tail jerked at the dreadful recollection—“unsuccessful.”

  Her gentle, green gaze lowered then re-sought his. “How did all this come about? You being here I mean.”

  Draken tried to still his twitching tail, but the agitation coursing through him needed an outlet. One of his front claws tattooed the tiled floor.

  How to be truthful and not unduly prejudice her against us? Some background information?

  “Our sun began to lose thermal equilibrium at an alarming rate. Faced with the imminent threat of a supernova explosion we began a systematic withdrawal from our planet, sending Arks to the nearest habitable planets of close stars. We were attacked by a martial race called the Denacons. Distress beacons from our other Arks indicated they were assailed as well. The Denacons disabled our ship near your planet, damaging our propulsion system and sending us plummeting into your world.

  “During our uncontrolled descent through your atmosphere, embryonic incubators sustaining cellular Anaconian sentient life, and stasis chambers containing specimens of our flora and fauna were severely damaged. We have not the knowledge to repair them. They have degraded substantially and very soon we expect catastrophic failure. We are unable to contact our sister ships. With the information available to us we have concluded we are the last of our race. We cannot risk assuming otherwise.”

  Miss Rasmussen’s regard swirled with a mixture of compassion and speculation.

  “What caused your sun’s thermal imbalance?”

  Appalled truth squirmed through Draken. “An unsuccessful experiment by a totalitarian”—of which I am no longer a contributor—“regime.”

  “Did you agree with the regime’s position?”

  “I do not.” Now.

  She gave a thoughtful nod.

  “Were the Denacons provoked?”

  Yes, but . . . “Not by one of us.” Technically speaking.

  “So they were provoked?”

  He sighed. “That is my understanding of the situation, yes.”

  A bitter sigh left Miss Rasmussen’s lips and she slumped a little in the chair. “Marnia said your DNA had been spliced into my family line several generations ago. How long have you been here?”

  She will need to be told the whole truth, but now? “Our ship crashed approximately one thousand Earth years ago.”

  Her gasp echoed around the silent room. “Marnia said men like Nick and Adam can detect with touch, alien DNA. Are there others like me?”

  “Like you? No.”

  A twist of annoyance creased her features and she muttered, “It’s like pulling teeth.” She drew a breath and said loudly, “Have you spliced Anaconian DNA with other humans?”

  Draken inhaled a deep breath and pondered how to answer without further antagonising her.

  “We implanted a number of families in the greatest population centres.”

  Her gaze hardened and she seemed to grip her composure with some determination.

  “And where are these other hybrid women?”

  “Some have accepted positions and found a home with us.”

  “And they’ve kept your secret.”

  “These are smart women, Miss Rasmussen, they understand the necessity for their own sakes to not speak unwisely of unverifiable alien existence on Earth.”

  “Unverifiable?”

  “The current technology of Earth is incapable of detecting our physical presence, nor can it distinguish the DNA embedded in the blended women.”

  “Why do you need men like Nick and Adam to find these women?”

  “Unfortunately the wars that have ravaged your cultures scattered or destroyed some of the host families. Our records of them became incomplete.”

  “If your engineers do not possess the technical knowledge, can I, if I choose to help you, expect help from these hybrid women you have employed?”

  “Yes, however these resources are unfortunately limited.”

  Indignation flared in her widened eyes. “You consider us a resource?”

  Draken bowed his head. “I apologise. Disrespect is not my intention.”

  Miss Rasmussen settled back into the chair. “Explain what you mean by limited resources.”

  “It takes generations for the base sequences of human and Anaconian DNA to become symbiotic. Your work suggests that you are the first re—person that we are aware of to reach total communication with your Anaconian memories.”

  “So is that a yes or a no on the help?”

  “The hybrid women we have recruited recognise and can use Anaconian technology when they see it. Their expertise spans a number of fields. You however are unique. Your ability to blend Anaconian scientific knowledge with that of Earth is exceptional. I have no doubt your ability to recall the technological details of our ship will prove equally impressive.”

  “Why only women?”

  “For reasons we have yet to explain, the Anaconian DNA is reproduced only in human females. Miss Rasmussen, I believe you can save us, please consider our petition.” He paused and chose his words carefully. “Everything good that is Anaconian is at risk of being lost forever at the hands of the Denacons.”

  Chapter 8

  Sarah pressed her fingers to her brow. Confusion joined the roiling mix of anger, astonishment, compassion and goodness-knew-what else churning through her system with gut-wrenching ferocity. She put her face in her hands and pushed out a long, slow, controlled exhalation. Damn, she was going to need some time to process this.

  Part alien.

  Genetically engineered to save a race.

  Seriously?

  She might doubt Marnia and Draken’s honesty, but not Nick and Adam’s. She lifted her head and frowned at Draken. “I thought the Denacons attacked you a thousand years ago? Don’t tell me they’ve integrated into our society as well?”

  That would be the definitive explanation for determined.

  The tip of Draken’s tail twitched then stilled. “No. We have a . . . system that operates on a chronomemetic principle—”

  Hell! She shot him a censorious glare. “You meddle with time?”

  “We did, er, find it useful at one stage. Due to the damage caused by the Denacon attack, as we entered your atmosphere our ship fluctuated through the time stream and we were cast back in time.
The actual attack took place recently.”

  Alarm flared through her and she straightened into alertness. “Earth is in danger from Denacons?”

  “I believe not. We are the focus of their intent. Please believe me when I say they are determined to eliminate us.”

  “So while you’re here, Earth is in danger.”

  “They are a limited force, one ship only, and will not waste resources in futile aggression against the people of this planet. To do so would be inefficient. The Denacons will covertly search for, then destroy us.”

  “Why? Why do they want to take such extreme action?”

  Draken’s weight shifted from one haunch to the other then back. “It is what their commander vowed when they attacked us. I see no reason to disbelieve him. For an insight into his reasoning, you will have to question him.”

  Mild suspicion tightened the muscles under her eyes and she stared at him. Why do I get the impression that’s a prevarication? “So that’s it? You want me to repair the stasis and embryonic chambers before they fail then integrate them into your new ship—before the Denacons find you?”

  “That would be our first consideration, yes. We would also be extremely grateful if you would install shield emitters on the new starship, either by salvaging what you can from the crashed ship or engineering new ones. Without defensive protection we will be mortally vulnerable to any attack by the Denacons.”

  “You have no offensive capabilities?”

  “None. We are a pacifist culture.” Draken’s powerful, stubby forelegs spread wide in a conciliatory gesture. “We will of course ensure the safety of Mr Bannister and Mr McKeoun by removing them the deep space exploration programme.”

  Her heart clenched at the dreadful premise that Draken believed Nick and Adam would remain with them. Leave her. She forced a swallow and breathed deep in an effort to push the pain from her heart.