Arms locked into position, grip tight on the flexisteel rod,
I swung into a perfect
handstand and poised for a split second, my body a curve in
the air. Before gravity could
kick in, I jackknifed, reversed my grip on the fly, and let
the force of my body hitting the
lower bar carry me into a tuck and roll somersault, my hands
grasping the upper bar on
the way down.
#
I’d watched holovids of the old Olympics, and it always
amazed me how well
natural humans did on the uneven bars. Too bad the games had
died out with the advent
of Genetically Engineered Persons. But anything a Natural
could do, a GEP could do
better and faster. I guess it made the games seem rather
pointless.
It had also caused a lot of hard feelings and no small
amount of prejudice toward
GEPs in the beginning. Theoretically, all that changed when
the Galactic Federation
Council passed the Equality Edict, but in reality, no law
can do away with bigotry. It just
goes into hiding.
I know because I’ve been on the receiving end of some
Naturals intolerance. Not
only am I a blonde bombshell, I’m one of the luckiest GEPs
ever made. My creation was
commissioned by the Bureau of Alien Affairs, and my boss,
Doctor Jordan Daniels, is a
real sweetheart of a Natural. Not only is he an expert at
untying the knots of red tape
governments create, he always treats me like a lady.
It’s at his insistence that I record the following events in
my own words, for
posterity, and so historians will have the facts straight
from the horse’s mouth, so to
speak, above and beyond what the official records show.
Unfortunately for him, I’m
more of a doer than a writer.
#
The upper bar twanged as I released it and made a two-point
landing on the floor
mat, arms extended. “How was that?”
From his position on the weight table, Crigo sneered, and
then went back to
licking his paws.
“Yeah? I’d like to see you try it.”
He ignored me, of course. We both knew his lack of thumbs
would severely
hinder his chances of gripping the bar.
#
Crigo’s a rock cat, so called because his kind inhabits the
rocky hills of his home
planet. He’s been with me since my assignment in the Alpha
sector several cycles ago.
I’ve never understood why he decided to come along when I
left his world, since our
relationship is, at best, an uneasy one. It goes something
like this: if I promise not to
compromise his dignity by petting him, he promises not to
rip my arm off at the elbow.
No mild threat, that, since he weighs more than I do and
reaches the middle of my thigh
in height.
In return for the food he consumes while we’re on board Max,
my ship, he keeps
me humble by following me around, making derogatory feline
comments about
everything I do, and turning his back when I talk to him.
But he’s living, breathing
company, so I put up with him.
Besides, he’s gorgeous, a fact of which he’s well aware. His
coat is russet-colored
with black stripes zigzagging down his sides like dark
lightning bolts. His eyes are a pale
shade of amber that reflect an intelligence unusual in rock
cats. Most of them are dumb
as posts.
#
I snagged a towel and headed for the lav, wondering if he’d
adopted me because
his own species bored him stiff. It was a distinct
possibility. Plus, he knows I understand
him like no one else could. I’m an empath, an enhancement
the boss keeps out of my
personnel records, along with a few other things no one
needs to know. It’s a talent that
comes in handy when one of the big trade companies tries to
pull a fast one on the
sentient species of a planet they’re interested in exploiting.
That’s my official job. After a new species is located and
studied by a team of
scientific experts, I go in and make sure they know their
rights according to the Equality
Edict. I also help them negotiate marketable resources with
the independent trade
companies. If the culture is too primitive to understand
their rights, I have two options.
Taking the scientific reports into consideration and
weighing them against my own
observations, I can either ask the bureau to set up a
protectorate, or I can close the
planet to all further commerce until such time as the bureau
deems the race capable of
handling its own affairs.
It’s also my job to root out breaches of the edict and bring
the trade companies
involved to justice. So because of me, more than a few have
lost their privilege license
and had their ships impounded, and some owners have even
ended up on Inferno, the
prison planet.
Or worse.
Needless to say, I’m not the independent companies’ favorite
person.
Occasionally, one of them will get ambitious and put a hit
out on me. Not the way to get
on my good side, as I really hate disposing of bodies. Too
messy for my tastes, not to
mention time consuming.
On the bright side, I promised Crigo he could have the next
assassin who comes
along. He does love new toys.
Thanks to the boss, Max was currently parked dirt side on a
small tropical planet
with a low population density and lots of sunshine. Doctor
Daniels had insisted I take a
vacation after my last job, in spite of my protest. So we
had a tiny island all to ourselves,
with gentle surf, white sand, and lots of weird ocean life
for Crigo to pile at Max’s entry
hatch. We also had tons of fresh water in the form of a mist
shrouded waterfall spilling
into a pool near where we were parked.
After two weeks of enforced idleness, I had a great tan,
gorgeous white streaks in
my light blonde hair, and sand in places I didn’t like to
think about. Good thing all that
fresh water was handy. Showering three times a day can drain
a ships tank real fast, even
with recycling.
I was going stir-crazy, and even Crigo was looking a little
desperate as each new
ocean wave swept in a fresh batch of crawly things. A rock
cat can only do so much
hunting and pouncing, and he’d reached his limit a week ago.
As a result, I spent four
hours a day exercising in Max’s gym instead of my usual two.
It kept Crigo and me from
killing each other.
The hot water felt good, so I stayed in the shower longer
than usual after my
workout on the uneven bars. I was almost asleep on my feet
when the water suddenly
turned icy cold.
“Max!” With an indignant yelp, I scrambled to exit the
shower. “What in the
thirteen hells did you do that for?”
“To wake you up.” The computer voice was male, smooth and
mellow. “Doctor
Daniels wants to speak with you.”
“Why didn’t you say so?” I grabbed my emergency robe and
shoved my arms
into the sleeves. Having been raised in the crèche, nudity
didn’t bother me, but I knew
Naturals were funny about things like that, and I didn’t
want to embarrass the boss.
“Transfer the call in here, will you, Max?” I stepped into
the exercise room and
belted my robe while the boss materialized in front of me.
Even Crigo sat up and paid
attention. He knew authority when he saw it.
“Kiera, my dear, I didn’t intend to interrupt your shower.
Max should have
waited.”
“Max knows I would have dismantled him chip by chip if he
had.” Hope for a
reprieve from my boring vacation bubbled inside me as I
pushed a lock of wet hair away
from my face. “What’s up?”
“As much as it grieves me to cut your vacation short, I have
an assignment only
my best agent can handle.”
Boss was a nice looking man, even at his advanced age, tall
and well built, with
silver hair that gave him a distinguished appearance. If he
weren’t happily married with a
dozen or so grandkids, I’d be tempted to jump him. But being
an oldfashioned
gentleman, he’d no doubt be horrified at my lascivious
thoughts, so I respectfully kept them to myself.
I tried to let my expression mirror his, a trick GEPs learn
early in life. We may
not completely understand the taboos and cultural norms of
Naturals, but we’re damn
good actors. Most of the time. “Cool.” I couldn’t hide my grin.
“Cool?” His brow furrowed in puzzlement. “If you’re chilly
this can wait until
you’re dressed.”
“No, no, I’m fine. Cool is slang for excellent. It’s an Old
Earth term.”
He stuck his hands in his pockets and leaned against the
edge of his desk with a
sigh. “Sometimes I think you watch entirely too many old
vids. It’s as if you’re speaking
another language entirely. As I was saying, a company is
invoking chapter twenty of the
edict.”
My eyebrow arched in surprise. I’d been working for Alien
Affairs since I was
thirteen cycles, and I’d never heard of a company invoking
that particular clause before.
In short, it allowed a company to stake a claim to full
ownership of a planet if the
sentient, indigenous species would die out in a period of no
more than one hundred
cycles.
A shiver ran over me from the air brushing my wet skin.
“Which company?”
“Dynatec.”
Woo boy. Dynatec was the largest of the independent trade
companies, with
fingers in everything from mining to power supply. Rumor had
it that they were even
into drug smuggling, but no one had proved it yet. I’d been
frothing at the mouth to get
something on them for cycles.
I parked my butt on the weight bench, ignoring Crigo’s growl
of warning when I
pushed him to one side. Naturals usually can’t tell what I’m
thinking, but the boss could
read me well enough to make me uncomfortable.
His lips curved slightly. “My sentiments, exactly. But I’ve
got a bad feeling about
this one, Kiera. They’re being too damned cooperative.
They’ve even requested an agent
be sent as soon as possible to ‘expedite’ the matter.” He
paused. “Their word, not mine.”
“Oh, yeah. There’s something going on all right.” I nodded
agreement.
“Companies usually turn themselves wrong-side-out to keep us
away from a new species
as long as possible. Do we have any details on the aliens?”
“Sketchy ones, at best. I’ve already downloaded what we know
to Max’s files.
According to Dynatec’s report, the native population
includes less than seventy
members, with an extremely low birth rate. If their reports
are correct, there’s only been
one live birth since the original exploration team
discovered the planet ten cycles ago.”
“That’s bad.”
“Yes, it is. I know you aren’t usually the one to make first
contact, but we have
no choice. Thanks to an unforeseen loophole left by
lawmakers, under the provisions of
chapter twenty you only have two months to render a
decision. There isn’t time for a full
scientific team to investigate. So part of your job will be
to find out why they aren’t
having children and see if there’s anything we can do to
reverse their decline.”
I nodded, thinking rapidly. “Dynatec obviously doesn’t want
our scientists on
site. They must be awfully sure one lone agent won’t have
the time or resources to find
anything that will negate their claim.”
He pulled his hands out of his pockets and straightened.
“That’s what worries
me. Be careful, Kiera. You’ll be alone with the Dynatec crew
members, all of whom have
a stake in any profits the company might make from Orpheus Two.”
I stood and saluted. “Yes, sir. You can count on me.
Besides,” I chuckled. “Max
will have all the relevant information we uncover. He’ll
send it as we find it, even if they
hold me hostage.”
“Make sure the Dynatec crew knows that, too.” He dipped his
head and the
hologram vanished.
“Max?”
“I have the jump plotted out, Kiera.”
“How long—”
“Three days, sixteen hours, and twenty-four minutes. That’s
if we stop off at
the ZT Twelve station for supplies, which I highly recommend
if you’d like to
continue eating civilized food in the future.”
“Smart ass computer,” I mumbled, heading for the front of
the ship.
#
The hop to ZT Twelve, a bustling hub of commerce that served
as a way station for
this sector of the universe, took approximately three hours.
Normally Max and I use space
time to immerse ourselves in Old Earth vids from the late
twentieth and early twenty-first
century. We were both addicted to the old movies. Me in
particular because almost
everything I knew about Naturals I’d learned from the vids.
Having been raised in the crèche
with other GEPs and then going straight to living on a ship
and dealing with alien races, I’d had little opportunity to
learn about them in person.
This time, however, I used the hours to wade through info on
the Orpheus system,
sitting at the command deck near Max’s central brain. Crigo
curled himself on an antigrav
chair and went to sleep, his snores keeping me company while
I worked.
The planet on which Dynatec had filed their claim was the
second from the sun, a
yellow star similar to Earth’s Sol. If the planet had been
in Earth’s system, its orbit would
have fallen closer to Earth’s than to Mercury’s. Oddly
enough, there was no tilt to its axis,
which meant it would have one season all cycle long. Combine
an average temperature of
thirty-five degrees Celsius with a relative humidity of
eighty-eight percent and what you got
was hot and wet.
No polar ice caps, I mused as I scrolled down the reports
that appeared in front of me,
and no oceans. But there were hundreds of fresh water lakes,
big and small, dotting the
surface of the planet. Lots of mountainous regions, but
mostly jungle interspersed with
plains near the lakes. And according to the reports, it had
an Earth normal atmosphere.
“Holo?” I questioned Max.
An image popped up that took my breath away. Orpheus Two
hung in the black
vastness of space like a glowing emerald, the bigger lakes
giving it a sheen that made it
appear polished. Wisps of silvery-white clouds circled it
like gossamer strands of spider silk,
enhancing rather than hiding its beauty. It was escorted on
it travels by one medium sized
moon.
If Dynatec’s claim was legitimate, they could make a fortune
off selling colonization
chits alone. One look at this holo and half the galaxy would
stampede the Orpheus system.
Habitable planets were a dime a dozen, but the Galactic
Federation Council used the term
habitable loosely. If it had breathable air and some form of
drinkable water, it was deemed
fit for occupation. The majority of them were harsh, deadly
places where life hung on by the
old tooth-and-nail method of survival.
Unless Dynatec had failed to mention some nasty surprises
with the flora and fauna,
Orpheus Two looked to be a habitable paradise by comparison.
Plus, since it was earth
normal, I could expect the Dynatec crew to be comprised of
humans. Why spend big bucks
paying for a gas-breathing alien’s special equipment when
you don’t have to?
I stared at the image a bit longer, then cleared it and
scrolled down to the report on the aliens. This one was a
lot shorter than the report on Orpheus itself. The original
Dynatec exploration team that discovered the planet ten
cycles ago had dubbed the race Buri.
“Max, any reference to the word Buri in your data bank?”
Immediately another holo appeared, this time a drawing of a
man, apparently made of
stone. “Buri,” Max intoned. “According to Norse legend, he
was the male from which the
Gods originated. Freed from stone by the primeval cow, he
was a perfect specimen of man
and quite beautiful. He was the father of Bor and
grandfather of Odin. The old texts are
unclear on his status. He may have been merely a giant, or a
God in his own right.”
I nodded. There must have been a mythology buff on the
exploration crew to come up
with a reference that obscure. “Okay, let’s take a look at
the Buri. Still shot first, please.”
Leaving the drawing in place, Max projected another holo
beside it and I leaned back
in surprise. Not at their appearance, but at their size,
although their appearance was
something to see, too.
“Record,” I snapped in excitement, leaning forward again as
the holo revolved slowly.
“Senior Agent Kiera Smith, Alien Affairs, ID 64732. Report
number one on the sentient
species of Orpheus Two, hereafter referred to as Buri.”
I stopped to gather my thoughts. Anything I recorded was
admissible in the Galactic
Federation Courts and I was doing this without the benefit
of our normal scientific team’s
report, so I needed to be precise. “The Buri are bipedal
hominids, similar to Homo sapiens
with one major difference apparent on cursory visual
examination. Their bone structure
seems to be slightly denser, making them both taller and
heavier than man. Due to the lack
of mammary glands on the two in holo 618, and with a
loincloth hiding the genitalia of both
individuals, I’m assuming they are male until further
examination can confirm this data. The
shorter male is approximately two meters, or six feet, seven
inches, and weighs about twohundred
thirty pounds or one-hundred five kilos, but is perfectly
proportioned with no sign
of fat or abnormalities. Both his hair and eyes are a deep
auburn color, unusual in that they
are the exact same shade. His hair is magnificent, thick and
full and hanging to just below his
shoulders. Note: I can see why the exploration team called
them Buri. Not only are they
beautiful, they truly are giants. They could easily pass for
very tall, very large humans.”
I had the distinct feeling that the guy was very young, the
equivalent of a teenager in
earth cycles. It was the other one who keep drawing my gaze,
and a shiver chased down my
spine as I stared at him.
He stood well over two meters, closer to seven feet, six
inches tall in Old Earth terms,
and like his younger pal, his skin was a deep bronze. Wide
gold armbands circled his wrists,
and his long, muscular legs were encased buckskin boots that
hit him mid-thigh. There was
something about his stance that spoke of absolute confidence
with a good bit of arrogance
thrown in for spice. And he was the most beautiful male of
any species I’d ever seen. Even
his short, thick beard couldn’t hide his chiseled jaw or
sharp cheekbones, and his ebony eyes
sparkled with shrewd intelligence. Hands on his hips, chin
high, he stared at me with proud
defiance, black hair waving in a gentle breeze.
No, not at me. At whoever had taken the holo. Food for
thought, there.
I entered his description into the record and then stretched
to loosen my muscles.
“What do you think about the hair and eyes being the same
color, Max? Are all of them like
that?”
“From the exploration team’s report, it would appear so. My
best guess is that the gene
for hair and eye color is the same in their species, instead
of two separate genes as they are in
humans. Possibly an evolutionary adaptation, although I’m
not sure what’s it purpose would
be.”
“I agree. Add that to the record and then stamp it with the
date and time.” With a
wave of my hand, the holo image vanished. “Do they have all
the Earth normal hair colors?”
I was trying to picture a blonde Buri with blonde eyes. Now
that would be alien indeed.
“No. They seem to range from a light silvery gray to a deep
black, with all shades of
brown in between. All of the Buri have the same skin tone,
though, and the males have
shoulder length hair. The females hair is longer, usually
down to the waist, and it appears
both sexes use braids for style.”
Yeah, I’d noticed the big guy had a single braid anchored at
his right temple, but for
now I was more fascinated by their hair colors. “So no
blondes.” I ruminated. With their
bronze skin and rippling muscles and long hair they looked
like extra large, very buff,
extremely sexy holovid stars. The hair and braids also gave
me some ideas on ways to get
closer to the Buri, get them to accept me. “How long until
we dock at ZT Twelve, Max?”
“Thirty minutes.”
“Okay. I’m going to dress. I’ll look at the rest of the
reports on the way to Orpheus
Two. As soon as we’re connected, pipe the stations manifest
to my quarters.”
#
Max wasn’t big by luxury space liner standards, but my
quarters were roomy and
comfortable. Alien Affairs treated its field agents well. It
had to, since the majority of us
lived and worked on our ships. Humans—Naturals or GEPs—were
simply not capable of
remaining in small, tight spaces for long periods of time.
It did funny things to their heads.
As Alien Affairs’ senior and most experienced agent, I was
luckier than a lot of their
representative. Max was a top of the line Surge Zephyr, an
artificial intelligence with all the
bells and whistles the company could install, whose power
source was a rare and costly surge
crystal. He was also something of a prude, and insisted on
closing off all vidports and sound
to my quarters on the rare occasions I brought a playmate
home for some rest and
relaxation.
There would be no fun and games on this trip to ZT Twelve,
though. It was strictly
business.
I hesitated over my dress uniform, and then opted for
standard spacer garb: a plain
black jumpsuit with lots of nice pockets and pouches for
holding weapons. I wasn’t
expecting trouble, but if it came, I’d be ready.
Once dressed, I whipped my hair into a braid and tugged a
black cap over it, pulling
the brim down enough to leave my green eyes shadowed. A
quick glance in the mirror
assured me I’d blend in with the other spacers on ZT Twelve
perfectly.
My perusal was interrupted when Max lit up my vidscreen with
the station manifest.
Anything that was for sale in the known universe could be
found on ZT Twelve. If not
legitimately, then through the black market.
I parked my fanny in front of the screen, searching for and
ordering certain items to be
loaded into Max’s cargo hold. It was common practice for an
agent to carry wampum when
making their initial contact with a new race. It not only
smoothed the way, it gave the potential inductees a taste of
what being part of the Galactic Federation could mean.
Choosing the correct wampum, an Old Earth AmerInd term for
trade goods, was
always risky business for an agent. You could never be
positive the items presented wouldn’t
mortally offend some cultural taboo and get you tossed out
on your ear. Or worse. But
thanks to their long hair, I was pretty sure of my choices
for the Buri.
Satisfied that Max would see to the rest of our supplies and
make sure everything was
loaded and paid for, I left my quarters and walked to the
forward hatch. “Standard security,
Max,” I said, punching in the code that would equalize the
air pressure and allow the outer
door to open. “Let me know when we’re ready to leave.”
I didn’t even look at Crigo. His first and only trip on
station had convinced him that
hordes of running, screaming people weren’t his cup of tea.
We’d almost been banned from
ZT Twelve over that escapade. Now he stayed on Max unless we
were dirt side.
The air in the corridor smelled metallic as I made my way to
the nearest lift, and I
could hear the heavy-duty whine of the giant pumps that
circulated oxygen through the
station. There were only a few people hanging around in the
docking area. Mostly some
spacers watching servomotors load cargo onto ships and a few
mechs with tools spread
around them.
I waited beside a pallet of boxes, and when the lift door
slid open, stepped inside.
“Level six, please.”
“Level six,” the mechanical voice droned. “Boutiques, bars,
pleasure houses, and fine
restaurants.” On the wall a vid screen sprang to life
advertising individual businesses. I
watched them idly until the lift stopped. I already had a
destination in mind, but vendors
could change rapidly on ZT Twelve and it paid to stay up to
date.
As always, the corridors on level six were packed with
people. This was the real heart
of the station, the place where everyone wound up sooner or
later. It was also the place
where information could be had for the price of a drink.
Hugging the wall, hand hovering near my weapon, I slid
through the crowd, constantly
on the alert. Before I reached Jolaria’s Jewel, a small bar
and whorehouse hidden in a back
corridor, I intercepted busy fingers twice, both intent on
lifting anything of value from my
pockets. With a fatalistic sigh, I dislocated a few joints
for the second youngster and pushed
my way inside the Jewel, paying no heed to the mewls of pain
behind me. If you play, you
pay.
The inside of the bar was dim and smoky, but Douggwah,
Jolaria’s bartender, looked
up and watched me make my way to a corner booth in the back.
As soon as I was seated, he
vanished through a curtained door, reappearing in a second
with a slight nod in my direction.
It wasn’t long before Jolaria appeared and made her way to
my table, already talking
before she sat down. “Been while since chew come round,
friend. Chew still seeing dat
man?”
I grimaced. “I dumped him over a cycle ago. And frankly, I
don’t know why I let him
hang around as long as I did. The man turned out to be a
total Zorfa’s ass.”
“Zorfa?” She tilted her head inquisitively.
“Big ugly critter that lives in the swamps on Gartune. They
have two purposes in life,
to eat and fornicate, and they aren’t real particular in
either instance. If it doesn’t run, it’s fair
game. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“Chew were thinking wit jer heart, not jer brain. Next time,
chew use both. So, chew
let me buy jer indenture and come work to me, now? In one
cycle, chew be free woman and
rich to boot. Ze men will love chew.”
Jolaria was a Meltanie, a race that stood a willowy six feet
tall, all of it a straight shot
with no curves to break up the territory. With their
platinum hair, white skin, and red eyes, it
was nearly impossible to tell the males from the females.
I’d met Jolaria on my first mission, when I’d accidentally
stumbled across the Jewel
and was rather insistently mistaken for one of her whores.
She assisted me in disposing of
the body—I wasn’t quite used to handling the slower reflexes
of Naturals and had done
more damage to the spacer than I’d intended—and we’d been
friends ever since.
“Thanks for the offer, Jo, but I’m done with men. All I’m
after today is info.”
Truthfully, I was in no hurry to pay off Alien Affairs’
investment in my creation, even
though the job had become a little boring. I’d pretty much
climbed to the top of the heap on
the agent ladder and there was nowhere left to go. I
whittled my debt down a bit more every
cycle, but it wasn’t like I had other things to do or places
to be.
Personal wealth didn’t hold much appeal for me, either. All
things being equal, I was
content with my rut and saw no reason to change it.
Jo propped her elbows on the table, the loose sleeves of her
red silk robe falling away
to expose her thin forearms. “What chew need to know dis time?”
Douggwah interrupted us long enough to slide two glasses of
amberberry wine onto
the table and then slipped away again. I lifted my glass and
sipped. “Are there any rumors
floating around about this new planet Dynatec discovered?”
“Ah.” She leaned back and toyed with her glass. “Eberbody
know dey invoke chapter
twenty. Big news. Lots of talk, but no fact. Some say
Dynatec make big find, kind dat get
people dead if dey be too nosy.”
“The kind that would be worth killing off an entire race
for?” I arched my eyebrow in
question.
One thin shoulder lifted in a shrug. “Maybe so, maybe not.
Nobody know fer sure, and
Dynatec, dey ain’t tellin. Just de news dat dey trying to
close legal loopholes is worrisome.
Means dey don’t want any questions about dis claim. Dat yer
next job?”
“Yes. They’ve requested an agent as soon as possible.”
“Dey know Alien Affairs send de best dey got?”
I smiled. “Not yet, but they will in a few days. I’m heading
out as soon as Max is
loaded.”
She studied me a moment, her eyes filled with concern. “Chew
be best off givin’ dis
one to somebody else, girl. Bad vibes eberwhere ‘bout dis
business.”
“You know I can’t do that, Jo. It’s my job. Besides, I’m not
easy to kill.”
Her pale hair swung as she shook her head. “Chew too
stubborn fer jer own good
sometime.” Pushing her untouched glass across the table, she
stood. “Chew want jer usual?”
“Yes, I’m dying for some real red meat.”
“I send it out. And an extra fer dat beast of jers.”
“Thanks, Jo. Just bill it to my expense account.”
She paused. “Chew be careful, girl. Chew hear me?”
“Yes, Ma’am.” I touched the brim of my cap in salute, then
watched her sway off to
the kitchen. Every time I stopped at the Jewel, Jo waged her
campaign to hire me. Due to
their sexual training, GEPs can make a lot of credits
working in pleasure houses. More than
a few had bought their freedom.
Of course, those were normal GEPs. Jolaria might stop
offering me a job if she
discovered the facts of my creation. But only the boss and I
knew the truth.
Because, thanks to Simon Gertz, a geneticist with a god
complex and my creator,
neither of us was sure I was human. In a universe filled
with diversity, where all creatures
went two by two, I was one of a kind. Superwoman or monster.
Either choice made for a
very lonely existence.