Aliomenti Saga 6: Stark Cataclysm (10 page)

Sensing Angel’s discomfort, Fil smiled. “Angel, this is Sarah. Sarah Swann. She joined the Alliance a few decades ago. Not long after we graduated high school together.”

Angel snapped her fingers. “I
thought
you looked familiar, unusually so.” Then she frowned. “I’m not sensing anything from you, no Energy, no thoughts, no…”

“I’m an Aeterni,” Sarah replied, nodding. Seeing Angel’s look of confusion, she explained further. “It’s a name for those in the Alliance who choose ambrosia but not morange and zirple. I can’t do Energy work. But I’ll be around for a while.” She gave a shy smile in Fil’s direction.

“Oh.” Angel found that decision odd. Having been born with Energy skills few could attain even after centuries of work, she found the decision to forgo Energy altogether… foolish. She turned back to Fil. “What brings you to the Cavern, besides visiting your wonderful sister?”

Fil smiled. “That’s actually the primary reason we’ve come. We wanted to see you.”

We?
“Really?”

Sarah and Fil nodded in unison as her sense of unease grew. The thoughts and emotions coming from her brother were nothing she’d ever expected to sense from him. “Well, come on in! Do you need something to drink or eat?”

“We stopped by one of the restaurants on the way here from the Beach,” Sarah explained. Angel felt a greater sense of unease; she could detect uncomfortable thoughts from Fil, but absolutely nothing from Sarah. How could a woman without Energy block her?

“She went through the same training each new recruit receives,” Fil said. Angel sighed inwardly; Fil could still read her thoughts as needed. “She’s quite skilled at the process, and that’s important, given the work she does Outside.”

They moved into her apartment. As she shut the door, she noticed Fil and Sarah’s hands. Joined together. She sucked in a quiet breath.

They moved to the sofas and sat down. Angel forced a smile before asking a question she didn’t want answered. “So… what’s new, big brother?”

Fil glanced down at his hand, joined with Sarah’s, and looked back at his sister as he beamed. “We’re getting married.”

Angel stood, ran to her room, and slammed the door.

They could hear her sobs through the thin walls.

VI

Fifteen

2060 A.D.

It was Adam’s fault that she was here. If he’d told her who her parents were, she wouldn’t need to be here right now. She needed to know, and if he wouldn’t tell her, then she’d find out on her own.

He’d shared the story—most of it, she corrected herself—of her birth, and for his efforts she’d be forever grateful. She couldn’t understand the need to hide her parents’ names from her fifty years later. They’d be in their seventies or older, or dead of old age. They’d not recognize her even if she knocked on their door this day for what would be her first, and only, glimpse of those who’d created the life Adam fought so diligently to save.

If he wouldn’t tell her, she’d figure it out on her own. The clues were out there; she need only use them to finally learn the secret of her true identity.

That mission had led her back to the first place she knew she’d called home.

Darkness filled the old Pleasanton orphanage, creeping into every cobweb-infested corner. She’d lived here from shortly after her birth—which one, she wasn’t sure—until the Adamses had adopted her as their own. Her adoptive parents had been vague about the process; they’d moved thousands of miles and expanded their family in a short period of time. She thought that meant they’d brought her to Pleasanton with them. Her search in the old town had turned up nothing, and she turned her attention to Pleasanton. Had she been here the entire time, moving just a few miles from the orphanage to her home? Had her birth parents been neighbors? Had they seen her and realized who she was?

No one lived here now. The orphanage closed decades earlier, the endowment established by the Starks squandered like so much else after their deaths. They’d bolted the doors shut, claiming the shutdown was temporary, if “temporary” meant at least twenty years. Though she knew the facility was empty, Gena felt she was trespassing, as if a guard would discover her presence at any time and arrest her.

Her footsteps kicked up dust and she coughed, pushing aside cobwebs as she explored the main office. Huge, rusting metal filing cabinets lined the walls, an inch of dust sprinkled on top. Inside the drawers were clues to her origin, no matter how slight. The records ought to show the exact date she’d arrived here, hinting at the amount of time she’d lived in Adam’s Energy cocoon. She hoped to learn her birth name, but considered that highly unlikely; the orphanage might use that name to track down her birth parents and send her back home. She wondered if notes in her file included a description of the stranger who had handled her transport from the Cavern. She’d never learned that person’s identity, but felt certain it was a member of the Alliance. No human would willingly choose to undertake the mission, and Adam wouldn’t force a human to do so against their will.

The cabinet labels showed a filing system based on alphabetical order. Gena frowned. That presented a challenge. Were records filed based upon adopter surname, birth surname, or adoptee first name? She only knew two of those. Or did she? Had the Adamses changed her name to Gena only after they’d gotten her home? She pulled on the drawer, jumping back as several insects scurried out after she disturbed their slumber, and retrieved the first folder. A quick scan revealed a folder based upon adopting family surname. She put the file back and closed the drawer; the sound as the drawer closed sounded like a gunshot in this space.

She needed the file for the Adamses.

She wiped the dust from the labels every few cabinets, using her flashlight to scan the uncovered text. When she found a label starting with the letter Z, she reversed course and moved from cabinet to cabinet until she found the cabinet labeled “AA-AE.”

She gripped the metal handle with her shaking hands and pulled, wincing as the drawer scraped and moaned on the tracks. After an inch of movement, it stopped. She pulled harder, once, twice, three times, before slamming her fist into the drawer front in frustration. When she pulled again the drawer slid out easily, screeching along on the rusted tracks. She flipped through the alphabetized folders before finally spying the one she needed.

Adams
.

She seized the folder with both hands and moved to the desk at the center of the room, using her sleeve to push aside the ever-present dust before setting the folder down.

She held the small flashlight with her teeth, unwilling to use Energy to hold the device or provide lighting, and opened the folder. Descriptions of her behavior, physical milestones, and dates for appointments with those who’d considered her and moved along. She felt an unexpected wave of sadness; others had visited with her and decided she wasn’t for them? But their decisions meant she’d ended up with the Adamses. She’d waste no energy feeling hurt. The remainder of the packet held printouts of questions they’d answered, notes relating to interviews with the two of them, discussions about when they’d complete the sale of their previous home and finish the move to Pleasanton.

On the last page was a handwritten note:
matched with Gena.

There was nothing else, no further clue, nothing that would help her learn her true identity. Frustrated, she threw the folder on the floor. What use was this, anyway? She’d confirmed only what she’d already deduced: that she’d been placed in Pleasanton rather than elsewhere. The thick stack of papers gave no insight to her origin, no guidance about who her birth parents might be.

She glanced at the papers strewn across the floor and regretted her show of temper. With a sigh, she picked up the empty manila folder, put it on the desk, dropped to her knees, and worked to gather the individual papers. She tried to order them as she picked them up. Why did she bother? It wasn’t as if anyone else would enter this building again soon, look for this exact folder, and wonder why the contents were obviously scrambled. She stood and moved back to the table and the open folder.

She saw the handwritten note on the folder and froze. Could it be? She moved closer to read.

Woman of regal appearance arrived with baby girl in the evening on September 9, 2010. The woman denied being the mother and stated that the birth parents were deceased. No name provided for the child. The woman described the baby girl as an angel; the name Angel was used during the girl’s time at the orphanage. Adoptive family changed given name to “Gena.”

She breathed deeply.

A woman of “regal appearance” could refer only to Eva. Why would Eva help Adam transport Gena here for adoption? Had Adam gone to her to ask for help? Or had Eva gone to Adam to tell him that it was best that Gena be raised among humans, despite her long pre-birth exposure to Energy and the Alliance?

She had new answers and more questions. She also had another source of information, though she doubted Eva would provide any more detail than Adam. She might not even know Gena’s birth family name. She’d look for the chance to talk to Eva back in the Cavern.

A startling thought entered her mind. Could the answer be closer than she’d ever dreamed? Where was the lab Adam used to restore her health? Could it be here in Pleasanton? She shook her head. Even if he’d settled down here while Outside, the daily time commitment had been enormous. Such large swaths of time spent hidden away would draw attention from human friends. Adam wouldn’t draw that type of attention to himself.

The lab must be in the Cavern. If nobody had noticed his experiment—and that seemed the most likely scenario—it meant he’d not worked in the public labs. He’d worked in a private space in his own home, where he could retire in comfort and a reasonable degree of privacy without undue concern.

She put the papers back in the folder, hesitated, and then replaced the folder back into the cabinet. There was no reason to think she’d ever need it again, and it was probably safer here than anywhere else. After all, she’d found it twenty years after all personnel had left, and no one had broken in to do so much as loot the building for valuables.

She teleported to the flying sphere, set the autopilot on a direct course for the Cavern, and sat back, thinking.

Eva knew at least some portion of the story. She’d never mentioned her involvement, never given any indication as to her understanding of Gena’s unusual origin. Why? Why not pull Gena aside, after all these years, and tell her what was so important? That wasn’t difficult to explain; perhaps Eva was leaving that chore to Adam. Perhaps Eva thought Adam had already explained the situation to her, and didn’t know Gena remained uninformed.

Was there something strange about her they’d known since the beginning? Could it be the unusual Energy skill she’d developed sans morange and zirple? She doubted that. They’d deduced that had come from her near constant exposure to Energy as she’d been formed and reformed in whatever artificial womb Adam constructed. They might know the real reason, a different reason, one that they didn’t want anyone—including Gena—to know.

That left only one possible answer. There was something about one or both of her
parents
they didn’t want known.

She shivered. Was she descended from the Leader of the Aliomenti? That would be… awkward. Although… she frowned. If that was the case, she’d be the half-sister of Hope. Why not tell both of them the truth, then? Would even the Alliance, so open and welcoming to everyone, shun her for sharing a common descendent of one of their most beloved members? Had Adam rescued her from what now seemed a fate worse than death—growing up in the Aliomenti stronghold as daughter of the tyrant in charge—but was unwilling to test how others in the group might react? Perhaps they didn’t want Arthur to find out. That made sense in her youth; Arthur could learn the truth of a second daughter and send the full force of the Aliomenti upon them all to retrieve her as if she was Helen of Troy abducted by Paris. She wrinkled her nose at the obvious relationship flaws in the analogy, then frowned again. The logic still seemed faulty. She had sufficient power to defend herself; the truth, if that was the truth, was no further danger to her.

The mental machinations had tired her. She set her head back against the comfortable chair, let her body relax, and fell asleep.

The alarms sounded what seemed seconds later, alerting her that she’d docked outside the Cavern. They’d expanded the pod system by building more pods and adding longer tracks to account for the expanded fleet of submarines and flying craft capable of “flying” underwater. She shook herself awake and watched as the glowing red stripe of the next pod approached in the complete darkness outside, two frigid miles beneath the ocean’s surface. The glowing red stripe reached her craft and she teleported inside. The pod was empty. As it slid along the track, three others popped aboard. Gena knew the red stripe outside grew fainter as more people joined, until it went dark with a full pod. Fifteen minutes later, the four passengers teleported themselves out onto the beach.

Gena looked around, took a deep breath, and set off for Adam’s house. She didn’t notice the artificial rainstorm, ignored the automated eateries, and avoided eye contact and conversation outside superficial greetings to those she knew well.