Note: This story is Part 3 of the Tales of Dr. Drake. For Part 1, see One Populace (featured in TK75: SolarPunk), and for Part 2, see Reentry (featured in TK74: A Very Superhuman Christmas).
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Julia set down her bag just inside the door of her tiny studio apartment. It looked like a foreign landscape to her, a hazy memory like a fragment of a dream. She knew she owned all of the mundane items that caught her eye as she scanned the room, knew they were hers, the sofa that turned into her bed at night, the small white modern kitchenette with her great-great-grandmother's cobalt blue tea kettle, a bamboo folding screen behind which lay a small desk and dresser, the magnificent view from the 157th story overlooking the Green City in the Sun. Nairobi, her home since starting graduate school just over five years ago. She felt like a ghost here now. Her hands brushed the top of a silk pillow. She reached down and squeezed its cool, soft surface, then collapsed on the sofa and buried her face in it. Julia didn't think she was crying but soon the fabric wet clung to her cheek.
She struggled to internalize the gravity of her actions but remained numb. Her brain couldn't seem to process thoughts logically. Reality continued to flash before her in single frames, impossible to string together, as it had since she landed on Lacedain, the sole survivor besides the embryos and ship's robotic captain. How had she escaped? What had she done? She picked up her home communication tablet and attempted to connect to her sister. No response which wasn't surprising. Her sister Kia lived a chaotic life and could be anywhere in the galaxy. She looked through her contacts and found Shay. Few of her fellow classmates remained in Nairobi, but Shay grew up here, and as a natural leader would never leave. Her ancestors had fought for independence over a thousand years ago in 1963 during the Mau Mau uprising. Subsequent generations of her family had followed in one another's footsteps to run the United Nations Environmental Program. Shay had decided she would earn a Ph.D. and carry on her mother's environmental engineering legacy by the time she turned five.
No response from Shay either. Julia stared at the blank tablet for forty-five minutes. Suddenly she felt the need to flee, to do something, to feel anything and forget the disaster. She stood up to leave and caught sight of herself in the mirror. Red Lacedain dirt was smudged across her face and stuck in her hair. Reluctantly she dragged herself to the shower stopping in front of the fridge on the way and found a beer. It tasted marvelous, crisp and cold while the hot water beat against her back. She stood in the shower for another forty-five minutes, a luxury afforded her by the solar-powered water recycling program pioneered by Shay's mother in Nairobi and responsible for Africa's rise as a world superpower.
Julia's head buzzed slightly as she pulled on jeans and a clean white t-shirt. She slid on her favorite sneakers and glanced at the tablet. Kia and Shay had left identical texts, You're back! Where are you?
Gunkles. She replied to both. She needed another drink.
Two metro stops away, Julia descended into Gunkles subterranean crypt-like locale. Just off-campus, the bar drew older and alternative students as well as a unique and interesting intergalactic clientele. Always dark and busy, but never crowded, Gunkles offered solitude in its shadowy corners or drunken intellectual conversation and lively debate around communal tables. One could also enjoy both at the same time by partaking in the latrinalia scene in the all-gender, all-species bathrooms. Gunkles, always understated, didn't need to brag of its reputation of hosting possibly the most literary intergalactic toilet graffiti in the universe.
Today Julia sought more booze and a corner to herself. Comfortably settled in a dim section of the bar on a large oversized worn red wingback chair, she sipped a cocktail and tried to relax. Scanning the room she noted a group of students drinking pitchers of beer at the largest table. They seemed so jovial and care-free. A group of workers all wearing dusty worn heavy canvas pants appeared to be well into a celebration, likely having just returned from a mining distant planet with enormous paychecks.
A pleasant numbness gradually replaced a heavy ache between Julia's eyes. She leaned back leisurely in her chair. The bartender came out from behind the bar and refreshed her drink, a benefit of being a regular. Movement in a far corner caught Julia's eye. The flash of metal from a titanium arm. Julia's heart skipped a beat as a tall gentleman stood up, surrounded by four or five friends. In the low light, Julia caught glimpses of metal chest plates and a mechanical half facemask. It couldn't be. Julia couldn't breathe. The memory of his scent, his skin against hers, their passion, flooded Julia's senses.
Julia caught a glimpse of the man as he turned to walk out. He moved stiffly with a limp but his large, but given the birth the other unsavory men seemed to give him, his powerful presence clearly commanded respect, fear or both. But in that brief moment, she registered his clenched steel jaw matched by equally minacious eyes that fell briefly upon her. Julia shivered, not sure if she was thankful or disappointed that this steampunker was decidedly not Brandon.
Julia hung suspended in her own clouded thoughts while emotions swirled within her like a maelstrom. She couldn't have told Shay how long she sat staring at her drink after the steampunkers left when her old classmate interrupted her.
"Julia," said Shay. Julia snapped back to reality and, relieved, rose to hug her. Towering above her, Shay stood well over six feet tall. She also caught people's attention with the looks her ancestry afforded her. Were they living thousands of years ago, no one would dispute the fact that given Shay's marked beauty, the graceful way she held herself, the regal lines on her face–she was clearly a queen. A whip-smart one at that, now leading her country, and the continent in the leading practices of water and farming management. Shay and Julia were close in their first year of graduate school, but as Julia dove deeper into her Ph.D. thesis and Shay's moved towards her current line of work, they rarely saw each other anymore.
"How was the Intragalactic Conference on Saving Endangered Life Forms?" asked Shay squeezing in next to Julia. "I realized I never congratulated you on your achievement of being selected to go and present your Ph.D. thesis. I've been involved with some projects that have consumed my time and energy. I thought you would have been home weeks ago. Did you travel after?"
"Oh, Shay," said Julia, her voice cracking.
"What happened?" asked Shay. She looked with concern on her face into Julia's eyes. "Is a man responsible for those tears?"
Julia's eyes started leaking profusely again. She shook her head no, then, yes, then proceeded to confess her entire story. Shay wasn't a bosomy hugging type, but she listened with empathy and concern, the later growing steadily.
"Julia," said Shay. "You were in shock from the crash. You weren't in your right mind, but this is serious. It's one thing to genetically alter a species, it's quite another to do it in an uncontrolled, unmonitored environment."
Julia looked up at Shay's calm demeanor, felt her steady hands on her shoulders. "I can't think straight," said Julia. She felt hopeless.
"I know," said Shay with a half-comforting smile. "Look, I have a lot of connections. I'm really sorry. I'd like to stay tonight and be with you, but I'm catching a ship tonight for an important business trip. I'll be back in 48 hours though and we can meet-up again. I'll reach out to some trusted contacts in the meanwhile who may be able to help us."
"Thank you," said Julia.
Shay rose to leave. "And Julia," said Shay, her face now in the shadows, her voice low and even. "I wouldn't notify the authorities yet. They move so slowly I worry what the nanites will accomplish by the time they can control or eliminate them." And with those words, she was gone.
Eighteen hours later in an equally dim-lit bar on the post-apocalyptic planet of Rodos, a tall man examined the fine grit at the bottom of his chipped glass. His hand felt numb like it didn't even belong to him. An alien hand. He wondered how his drink had emptied so quickly. What is that substance? He gave it a swirl struggling to focus. No matter. He threw back the dregs.
"Another mate?" asked the bartender. Brandon looked up and saw six eyes on the large gruff creature serving drinks. He shook his head and they merged back into three.
"Whyyy not?" said Brandon wobbling a bit on his stool. He grabbed the edge of the bar to steady himself and glanced around. Rough place they had landed. Packed with riff raff from across the galaxy, a line wound out the door and around the outside of the grimy watering hole. One at a time, various aliens and humanoids entered through the medieval-looking metal turnstile and underwent inspection by a toothless muscular bouncer with scales resembling maces. The clientele here on Rodos, particularly the ones at this joint, weren't much less intimidating. He stared dazed through the thick smoky haze. An intergalactic band tuned bizarre instruments on a small stage. The turnstile was clearly the only exit should a fight erupt. In his mind, he pictured tentacles, scales, and limbs all smashed into its metal spokes and laughed. He should be nervous but his heart ached too badly care. Whatever he'd been throwing back for the last three hours had certainly helped him relax too.
He caught glimpses from time to time of his crew, drunk, celebrating the success of their mission, and mingling with the colorful crowd, hitting on all manner of creatures, hellbent on getting laid.
Brandon wasn't in the mood. In fact, he wasn't even sure if he could live with himself.
The band started up. Oh, dear God is there no place in the galaxy where one can escape cheesy music from the 1980s. How has it endured through the centuries? "Always on my Mind," threatened to ruin Brandon's intoxication.
"There you are!" A tall beautiful woman with a regal air about her put a strong hand on Brandon's shoulder. She looked out of place. A slow ballad began to play and the crowd lit lighters and various torches and began to sway along to the music.
"Oh, Shay," said Brandon. He thought he might cry, suddenly longing to put his head on her shoulder and weep.
"We have a problem," she said looking disgusted at Brandon's intoxicated state. She held him at arm's length. Brandon looked up clearly struggling to remain upright, let alone focus. "The Lacedian embryos were implanted and left unattended."
Brandon staggered back. "Impossible," he said, shocked, but his heart soared. She's alive! A large Rodian thug threw a punch at his pal and his green blood splattered hitting Brandon in the cheek. Fists began to fly, and within a split second, the alcohol-soaked bar was ablaze.
"We need to get out of here now!" screamed Shay above the melee. "Come this way, I know a secret exit!" She yanked Brandon behind the bar and shoved him down a hatch in the floor.