Breeding Ground Part 2

The work pod grew quiet enough to hear a pin drop. Alex's heart felt as though it might beat out of her chest. She realized that no good news would be forthcoming from the transmission. Without knowing to expect an incoming signal on a particular frequency, the odds of the Methuselah picking it up were one in a trillion. Houston had to have known that fact. That they'd opted to chance it and send one anyway didn't bode well.

By the time the holographic image of a bald man who looked to be in his early fifties appeared, perspiration was dotting Alex's forehead. The crew could only see the man from the waist-up, as he appeared to be seated in some sort of foreign looking winged-back chair.

"Greetings to you from the year 2792, Methuselah. This transmission is being sent two hundred and eighteen years prior to the pre-established rendezvous time. I am speaking to you from Zutair, the largest city-state in New France. Zutair is located in the area that was once called Houston, before the former United States fell to the French in the year of our lords 2686."

"No f.u.c.king way," Peac.o.c.k mumbled, his eyes unblinking.

"I could see Germany," John added, wincing. "The Germans have always been some fierce mother-f.u.c.kers. I can even see j.a.pan. But G.o.dd.a.m.n France?" His jaw clenched. "No way."

Alex threw both men a commiserating frown, then turned her attention back to the holographic image of the bald messenger.

"But Zutair is not transmitting to you today to tell you of the fall of the country you once called home, for New France welcomes you with the same open arms as the United States would have. Instead, Zutair has contacted you to warn you of-"

The transmission scrambled, inducing Alex to swear under her breath. "Get the signal back up, Phariz. Now!" When the transmission continued in the same fuzzy manner for another twenty seconds despite the droid's best efforts, she flew up to her feet. "Elinor!" she shouted out to the scientist aboard ship who was the best versed in holographicary in particular and transmission waves in general. "Can you unscramble the signal?"

"I'll try," Dr. Elinor Fitzsimmons-Ivanov threw over her shoulder as she dashed toward the mega-computer console two feet away. "I don't know what's jamming it. s.h.i.t! Vlad! Peac.o.c.k! I need some help getting behind this thing. Can you move it?"

Twenty seconds later the mega-computer had been moved enough for the slight female scientist to get behind it and Elinor was busy fumbling with its wiring. "It's coming back up!" Alex announced, her heart rate over the top. "Okay it's back online! Good work, doctor."

Only the images they were now seeing were nonsensical. Apparently whatever part of the bald Zutairan man's speech they'd missed had been important.

"What the...?" John's forehead wrinkled. "A Paris fashion show in 2190. The invention of the 'nanny droid' in 2287-huh, she can breastfeed. Freethinking cyborgs in 2350. The resurgence of polytheistic religion in 2467..."

"We're being given a history lesson," Alex murmured. "Everybody pay close attention."

A worldwide stock market crash in 2675. Immediate pandemonium. The fall of the United States a decade later...

The images became almost too horrific to watch from that point onward. Alex's hand unconsciously flew up to cover her mouth as she learned what had become of the country she had once called home.

The stock market crash had affected the United States and j.a.pan more drastically than any other countries. Both nations had risen to become the undisputed mega-powers of the world by the year 2499, a status way and beyond that of superpower. But because of their dramatic rise, the two nations apparently had the furthest to fall and therefore the most to lose.

And lose they both did.

Not wanting one to subvert the other during a time of vulnerability, the mega-powers had faced off, eventually turning their grotesque biological weaponry against the other. The effect was devastating.

Famine. Poverty. Disease. Complete and utter chaos.

Mutated offspring.

Alex shivered when images of deformed survivors filled the center console. Half-freak and half-human, the race of people that emerged from the ashes of biological warfare was hideous in appearance and more shocking than words could say. Their eyes looked crazed, their animalistic behavior maniacal.

"Jesus Christ," she heard John mutter. "Holy G.o.d."

France recuperated from the worldwide fallout the quickest and soon emerged as Earth's only mega-power. Within a decade the French army managed to drive the deformed race of humans underground and reestablish a semblance of normalcy for the entire globe. A globe which had, incidentally, been renamed New France in honor of its unlikely savior.

Alex stared surrealistically at the holographic image playing out before her. Wide-eyed, her stomach knotting, she was as shocked and dazed as her crew.

The images flash-forwarded to the year 2789-and to a new and far more horrific battle that was being fought, freak versus human.

The deformed humans had stayed underground for close to a century. For so long, in fact, that the people of Earth-or New France as it was-had believed they'd all died off from their hideous afflictions.

They had been wrong.

The freaks emerged from their lairs stronger and deadlier than before. Within six months they wrested control of the planet and it was now the humans who were forced into hiding. The holographic images glossed over most of the particulars, showing only the bare bones of the turmoil that had long since erupted.

"And so on this night, the eve of Armageddon, we send this final report to you not knowing what the outcome of the battle ahead will be."

Alex swallowed over the lump in her throat as the Zutairan man continued his speech.

"In roughly six hours time, the mobilized troops of New France will attack the demons' stronghold in the city-state of Tongor. If we can penetrate their stronghold, then we still have a chance at winning. If we cannot, then I leave you to speculate as to what has befallen humankind."

Alex threw a hand toward Phariz when the lat.i.tude and longitude coordinates of Tongor were given. "Find that area," she said firmly as she watched the holographic image play out. "If it's not in your memory bank, then find a map. Do it now."

"My G.o.d," Peac.o.c.k murmured, his brown eyes wide. "This is unbelievable."

"To you, only two years have gone by. To us, hundreds of lifetimes worth. By the time this transmission reaches you the human race as you once knew it will either be victorious or extinct. I know not which. Only that it must be so..."

The transmission scrambled and somehow Alex knew that this time it wouldn't bounce back. A deafening silence filled Work Pod 3 as all a.s.sembled absorbed the information they'd just been given. It was long minutes before anyone moved.

As if they'd all lost the power of speech, the crew of the Methuselah stared at each other like deer caught in headlights. Out of all of the would-be scenarios concerning what Earth was liable to look like when they disembarked, no one had envisioned something like this in their worst nightmare.

Elinor's eyes were wild with fear. Peac.o.c.k and John looked as though they might vomit. Vlad, Wolfgang, and Kyla looked faint.

"I think we better go see how much ammunition we have left for our weapons," Alex murmured, breaking the silence as she slowly rose to her feet. On the inside she was shaking like a leaf, but she knew she couldn't let her crew see that. Someone had to remain strong. As captain and commander, the job fell to her. "Let's go."

Chapter Three.

Akron. Based upon the lat.i.tude and longitude coordinates the Zutairan man had given them, it appeared that was where the final battle had taken place.

Of all the possible places for the most important and deciding war in the history of humankind to be fought, Armageddon had been fought in what was once Akron, Ohio. When the Methuselah had left Earth, such a scenario had been as unlikely as France taking over the world and emerging its only mega-power. Both, however, had come to pa.s.s.

Alex lay naked on the satiny-soft bed in her private cabin, her legs spread wide and her eyes closed as Marax orally pleasured her. She could see the droid's tongue flicking below the triangle of blonde curls, his mouth latching on to her swollen c.l.i.t.

Besides their ability to perform tireless manual labor, there was a reason human-looking droids were sent on missions with astronauts and this was it. That's why at least one male and one female droid were always present on missions expected to go beyond the two or three month stage.

She wasn't in the mood for a cold, emotionless f.u.c.k, she thought on a gasp. Her hard nipples stabbed upwards as climax loomed closer and closer. She fantasized about Robert, pretending it was her husband's mouth sucking vigorously on her c.l.i.t instead of the emotionless droid's. It was so much easier to pretend during oral s.e.x than intercourse. So much d.a.m.ned easier...

Alex came on a loud groan that reverberated throughout the cabin. Her thighs shook around Marax's head. "Oh Robert!" she groaned. "Oh G.o.d."

Blood rushed to heat her face as her nipples stiffened impossibly more. She moaned as she rode out the wave of pleasure, having needed the release more than she could ever recall needing one.

"I was named Marax by my creator," the droid stoically reminded her as his face emerged from between her legs.

She closed her eyes again, hating how quickly the fantasy had been shattered.

"Not Robert. Dr. Robert Frazier was the name of your deceased husband. He died in the year-"