Orbiting Sins

By Steve S. Grant

In this thrilling sequel to The Dreamer Genome, a fantastic and symbolic space odyssey ruthlessly exploits biotechnology and leads to foul play at the very limit of known space.

The surviving test subjects of a secret experiment are humanity’s first, true space travelers. One mission uses refurbished space shuttles and outdated technology while the competition is funded by STAM, a corporate giant with insatiable ambition and deep pockets. When the astronauts’ cloudy past finally catches up with them, elaborated plans are jettisoned in order to survive. How much are each team willing to sacrifice to get there first? Will there be a return trip?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Steve S. Grant
• Release date: Oct 30, 2013
• ISBN: 9780991739356

Steve S. Grant

Steve’s love story with fantasy and Sci Fi goes way back to childhood, where his passion for comic books eventually evolved to novels. After being chief editor of a high school newspaper, he graduated from University with a deep knowledge of the used book stores in the Montreal area.The desire to write came on gradually, sporadically, over the next years. It was done in spare time, on table corners, during breaks, after nights on the town or whenever the mood struck. Stories took shape, ideas were committed to paper and eventually to computers. It was all done in a disorganized way, as an artistic release.And then life changed. Steve left a secure employment and left Canada, working at countless jobs that he never knew existed. He traveled extensively through Europe, visiting many medieval cities along the way. Contracts eventually led him to Japan, Australia, and even to North Korea, where Americans are perceived as Imperialists Evildoers.Steve’s writing also changed, becoming more structured and oriented. He wrote two novels, that he peddled half-heartedly to agents and publishing houses. Alas, it was not meant to be, the books were not published and Steve quickly got discouraged. He kept on writing for his personal enjoyment, without serious motives or expectations, but always with the afterthought that his work had never really had a decent shot.Back in Canada, Steve now raises a family and enjoys a sedentary life. His love for reading and writing is still strong, and the evolution of the electronic book market is making his head spin.

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Orbiting Sins

By Steve S. Grant

Copyright 2013 Steve S. Grant

Smashwords Edition

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

ISBN : 978-0-9917393-5-6

ACKNOWLEDGMENT

When putting the final touch to a novel, one should always thank immediate family for enduring such sheer stubbornness. I do this without reserve. Unfortunately, I can’t include my children because they’re too young; Orbiting Sins was completed despite their demanding presence. I know they’ll enjoy the story when the time comes.

Special thanks are in order to the following people for their direct involvement in the editing and polishing process: Louis-David Tremblay as initial beta reader, Cynthia Dawn Griffin for her thoughtful insights and brutal honesty, Katy Sozaeva for her editing powers. They left their mark on Orbiting Sins in more ways than they realize.

Illustration by Frank Garoufalis.

CORPORATIONS & SPACESHIPS & TECH

(Part of what went on before)

STAM: Science, Technology and Advanced Medicine is a pharmaceutical giant with diversified operations in many sectors, including space. It is owned by Samuel Kite, who also heads its board of directors.

Godseye: Huge research satellite sent to Pluto to conduct experiments outside the influence of the sun. Technical problems prevent all communications with it, but scientists suspect that it is functioning as planned.

Savior: Spaceship sent to Pluto by STAM to retrieve information from defective satellite Godseye. Russell and David Reynald are aboard, in deep sleep.

Revival: Company started by Eric St. Amant to build a private space station. Exploited and partially owned by Helena Kristova and William O’Toole since St. Amant left for Pluto.

Recover: Spaceship also sent on a mission to retrieve information from Godseye. It is composed of three space shuttles (Calypso, Valiant and Kepler) and one habitable module called The Pill (because of its shape). Recover is sent by Revival and is operated by Eric St. Amant and Mark Vasquez.

Dreamer technology: Process that allows humans to go into cryogenic sleep (or deep sleep) for long periods of time (years). Only perfect candidates (genetically modified humans) can use the technology repeatedly. Because of the effects on the brain (similar to concussions), unmodified humans can only use the technology once without suffering permanent brain damage.

Table of content

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER 1: December 16, 2058

CHAPTER 2: January 29, 2059

CHAPTER 3: May 6, 2059

CHAPTER 4: March 9, 2065

CHAPTER 5: March 12, 2065

CHAPTER 6: March 14, 2065

CHAPTER 7: March 16, 2065

CHAPTER 8: June 10, 2079

CHAPTER 9: October 11, 2083

CHAPTER 10: July 3, 2084

CHAPTER 11: August 19, 2084

CHAPTER 12: August 26, 2084

CHAPTER 13: October 3, 2084

CHAPTER 14: October 7, 2084

CHAPTER 15: Jan 10, 2085

CHAPTER 16: March 21, 2085

CHAPTER 17: May 18, 2085

EPILOGUE

PROLOGUE

The three nurses walking the aisles between the rows of cribs were like waitresses attending to the needs of the tiny but important patrons. One of them even carried a tray, which completed the comparison in Samuel Kite’s amused mind. He turned to the man next to him. Everything is ready for a demonstration?

Absolutely. Jerry Fitzgerald was burly and compact, with receding, brown hair joining an unkempt beard. At fifty years of age, he looked older than Samuel, with a pot belly and excess weight hinting at good eating and little exercising. A thin sheen of sweat covered his forehead.

I expected no less of you, Jerry; I really did. Remember that my friend is not as young as he once was, and might require detailed explanations of your work.

I was under the impression that Dr. Reynald was still very active, despite his age.

Yes, but he hasn’t worked in genetics for quite some time now. The poor man had his hands full trying to keep his test subjects in line.

I’m sure that he’ll have no difficulties understanding what we’ve done. After all, we basically duplicated his work, with a few refinements. DNA information that was uncertain in his day is now very accurate. Many variables in his manipulations are solid constants in our experiment.

You’ll need to be patient with him. Neil can sometimes be difficult.

I have nothing but the highest respect for Dr. Reynald. He pioneered what we’re accomplishing today.

Hmm, the feeling might not be mutual, but here he is. Neil, how are you? Samuel smiled as the bent but still solid form of Neil Reynald walked into the wide room.

* * *

Although Neil Reynald had been working at the Houston medical complex for years, he had never been in this particular corridor before. He couldn’t understand why Samuel wanted to meet him in one of the maternity wards, and the eccentric businessman had stubbornly refused to answer his questions about the meeting. It was supposed to be a surprise. He hated surprises.

What could he possibly want?

Since the departure of his sons for Pluto, Neil felt that he was unofficially retired. He wandered around the control center whenever he pleased, still enjoying his high priority clearance, to check on the mission status. What occupied most of his time was giving conferences on the Dreamer technology. He thoroughly enjoyed the fame that came with his Nobel Prize, and hadn’t heard from Samuel in over two years.

So what could he possibly want now?

Neil raised his head at Samuel’s friendly greeting, and froze at what he saw. A nursery. Cribs, with nurses and babies. Samuel, standing in the middle of it all, with arms extended and a knowing smile on his lips.

Something buried inside Neil stirred, and dark secrets carefully stored away rose to the surface. He tried to suppress the images that flew through his mind, but it was hopeless, and a wave of raw emotions slammed into him. Memories of the Ylonoc lab and everything that came afterwards were back with a vengeance and made him dizzy. James, David, Russell. The Ylonoc babies. All gone. Along with Carol Reid.

A bearded man that he did not know was suddenly at his side, supporting him as Samuel rolled a chair forward. Neil sat down and took deep breaths, keeping his eyes closed. A young nurse gave him water and the images finally left him, returning to their hiding place for the moment. They were not far and would soon return, he was sure of it. Once his heartbeat returned to a normal rhythm, he looked up into his ruthless employer’s gray eyes.

Feeling better? asked Samuel.

Neil nodded.

Had I known that this would upset you so, I would have met you outside. Do you require anything else?

No, I’m fine now. Neil stood on shaking legs and straightened his wool sweater.

The bearded man cleared his throat expectantly.

Where are my manners, said Samuel. Allow me to introduce Doctor Jerry Fitzgerald.

The pleasure is all mine, said the bearded man earnestly. I’m a great admirer of yours, Dr. Reynald.

Thank you. Neil shook hands mechanically. Samuel, is this what I think it is?

It depends on what you have in mind. My guess is that you’re probably very close to the truth, being the shrewd chess player that you are.

Dear god, whispered Neil. It isn’t over. Not by a long shot.

I believe that Dr. Fitzgerald is anxious to give you the grand tour, Neil. Would you like that?

Why am I here? Why now?

I’m surprised you ask. To involve you in STAM research, of course. Like always. With the space mission well under way, I thought you might like to renew ties with your true flame.

Neil ran a hand through white hair. Fine, be that way. I’ll find out sooner or later.

Please, Dr. Reynald, follow me to my office where I can enlighten you on what we’ve done here, proposed Fitzgerald.

You’ll like this, added Samuel in a sing-song voice. Neil nodded and Fitzgerald led the way through the aisles toward the other end of the room.

The cribs were all occupied by babies that Neil evaluated to be around three weeks old. He noticed two things before leaving the nursery; unlike the Ylonoc experiment, these babies were not all from the same gene pool. Some were clearly Caucasian, while others appeared darker, and he suspected that one or two were Asian. The second difference occurred when a nurse removed a diaper while they were passing by. It was a baby girl, something he had not expected. He waited until they were sitting in a spacious office before speaking.

When did you start with female subjects, and how many of those babies are girls?

The question was asked to Dr. Fitzgerald, but the bearded man waited for a nod from Samuel before answering. "This is our first experiment with females. All forty of the subjects in the nursery are girls. Would you like something to drink before we get into the thick of it?’

No, thanks. Why girls? And what were their dominant enhancements?

I told you that Dr. Reynald could sometimes be very direct, didn’t I? Samuel stood and moved to the door. I’ll leave you two to your genetic discussion. I have to attend some matters of a more commercial nature. Let’s all meet here in an hour. You’re my guests to dinner, both of you, and we’ll talk about the future.

Better make it two hours. I think I might have more than a few questions, said Neil.

As you want, dear Doctor. Take your time.

An extraordinary man, commented Fitzgerald when the door closed. Neil crossed his legs and did not comment. He was staring at the office walls, which were decorated with plush paintings entwined with holograms, giving a stunning visual effect of movement and depth to historical renaissance scenes. It was a physical effort to tear one’s eyes away from them.

We were talking about female subjects, I believe, resumed the bearded man from behind his desk.

Yes, I asked about their enhancements.

Controlled appearance and intelligence. And the obligatory Dreamer adaptability, of course.

By controlled appearance, you mean height and weight?

Yes, but also much more. The subjects will all grow up to match the highest standards of physical beauty.

Neil’s eyebrows twitched in surprise. How can you justify this sort of manipulation? It appears to have no real value.

I must disagree. Physical appearance is a marked advantage in our society, now more than ever, and is doubly important for women. Psychological tests reveal that their interactions with others are greatly facilitated by their looks, but we didn’t need shrinks to explain that. It’s a way to give every possible advantage of success to our subjects.

You are obviously comfortable with the notion of experimenting on trivial issues.

Sperm banks have done this for years, Dr. Reynald, countered the bearded man with palms extended.

So you’re creating a bunch of prom queens. How intelligent are they?

Various levels.

Can you compare them to my three sons? I assume that Samuel gave you unrestricted access to their medical files.

It was a great starting point for our work and the only real reference we could build on. We refer to it as the first generation.

And those babies out there are the second?

Dr. Fitzgerald looked away. The question seemed to touch a nerve, and he wiped an invisible dust speck from his desk before answering. They’re the fourth.

The fourth? My god, what have you people been doing?

Following in your footsteps, Dr. Reynald, nothing more. I always thought that witnessing the culmination of your life’s work would be extremely pleasing. You seem upset.

I’m sorry. It’s just that two of my sons developed devastating, untreatable health conditions. You know David’s situation and must be aware of James’ early death. To learn that further experiments of the same nature were conducted is unsettling, especially when those experiments were done by a stranger who claims to have mastered what I know to be extremely complex. Makes me wonder whether you know what you’re doing.

Very natural concern, Dr. Reynald, and I should have anticipated your feelings. You were emotionally attached to your subjects.

I still am.

If I may be so blunt, we’ve learned from your mistakes. Cerebral potential of David’s magnitude has never been our goal because of the high probability of a gland imbalance in adult years. So we limit ourselves to what we understand and stay in the realms of medical feasibility.

I see. My mistakes? And just how bright are your prom queens?

"Let me quantify this in familiar terms. We use a grading technique that would place James among the most intelligent of our subjects, but not the most, mind you. Russell would be the less talented individual."

So you’ve narrowed your field of manipulation. Very nice. What have you done to prevent James’ unfortunate condition?

I took the liberty of preparing a file that goes over the entire process. We benefited from recent breakthroughs in engineering epigenetic regulation and have applied these new techniques to our work.

What were generation two and three?

Our first effort, what we call generation two, was a failure. All subjects were nonviable and euthanized in their first week. The third generation were boys, and fifteen three-year-old subjects are presently growing normally in special foster homes. You will meet one of them when we’re done here, at our daycare center.

What went wrong with generation two?

Response to Dreamer treatment was below generation one. It was unacceptable to Mr. Kite.

And what does generation three look like?

All male subjects from different gene pools. Manipulations are comparable to generation four, explained the bearded man as he lit a cigar and a small air filter in his desk automatically sucked away the smoke.

In other words, intelligent studs.

Jerry Fitzgerald took a long pull of tobacco and slowly exhaled toward the ceiling. The little desk fan went into high gear. Dr. Reynald, I feel we got off on the wrong foot. I’m very sorry if what we’re doing offends you, but you had to know, or guess, that someone, somewhere, would eventually follow in your footsteps. Surely.

Neil looked away from the bearded man’s piercing eyes. Samuel had promised him, over thirty years ago, to fund another lab when the time came. Somehow, and it should be obvious for everyone, the Dreamer technology made those experiments irrelevant. What was the point of creating people capable of surviving a cryogenic process when that process was accessible to the general public? Obviously, Samuel didn’t think that way. Why?

Samuel and I go way back, said Neil. I know him as well as anyone. He never does anything without a reason. Don’t you find it strange that after all these years of close collaboration he wouldn’t come to me—and I use your own words—to follow in my footsteps?

Fitzgerald cleared his throat. Until today, he had specifically refused to involve you in the project in any way. I was led to believe that you were too busy elsewhere and that your… health was not what it was.

Is that the reason he gave you? Oh, Samuel, you incredible bastard. Still, you gotta hand it to him, he played his cards right.

I don’t understand, said the bearded man.

He needed someone malleable, someone who would blindly execute his orders. He knew he couldn’t push me around anymore. Not after I decided to end Carol Reid’s suffering without his consent. Neil shuddered. Not after I killed her. He could still hear her clear voice, thanking him when he overrode the nurses and gave the go-ahead for the fatal injection.

No disrespect intended, but you almost fainted when you entered the nursery. It lends a bit of credibility to his reasons.

Neil painfully returned to the present. A moment of weakness, nothing more.

Fitzgerald tapped his cigar on the ashtray. If you say so.

So why do you think I’m here?

I assumed it was to involve you in the project.

Assuming is never a good idea with Samuel. But, okay, let’s pretend we like each other and get back to the test subjects.

You mean the studs and prom queens?

Exactly. How do you—

Fitzgerald cut him off. If we are to collaborate in any way, you’ll need to change your attitude.

My attitude? Is he serious?

Yes. First, you’ll have to refer to test subjects of generation three and four with respect. Fitzgerald clamped his teeth on his cigar as he leaned forward. This is not negotiable. I certainly don’t refer to your work as loonies and gorillas.

I can do that, conceded Neil. Enjoy it while you can, you arrogant pup.

Secondly, you’ll have to accept the fact that I took your work to the next level. It’s as simple as that.

To the next level? For the first time since meeting the stocky scientist, Neil smiled and appeared comfortable. He placed both hands over his knees in a perfect image of serenity.

Have I said something funny?

"You sure have, sonny. Your third generation is what? Three years old? And your fourth one, based on exactly the same principles, is still in the crib. So you’ve experimented on only one variable, intelligence, without a single normal adult subject to verify your manipulations or prove that you did your homework. And here you are, serious as the pope, claiming that you’ve taken my work to the next level."

Fitzgerald put out his cigar with stubby fingers. I think this would be a good time to visit little Frederick. He’s one of our most promising subjects, and an interview with him might go a long way toward changing your view of my accomplishments.

Why not, agreed Neil with a mocking smile. His accomplishments.

They walked in silence toward the end of a white corridor. It was amazing that this whole section of the STAM complex was conducting such illegal work and had been doing so for at least three years. It just went to show how much STAM had expanded in a short period of time; entire departments or building were owned without it being common corporate knowledge. The best hiding place for a secret STAM lab was at the center of the STAM complex. Neil was certain that every employee involved was convinced they were working in a company hospital or clinic. After all, STAM did a lot of medical work and employed an impressive amount of nursing personnel.

It was a terribly clever idea.

After a few turns they arrived at a daycare center where kids of different ages were playing with big plastic toys. Two young women were supervising the scene.

Uncle Jerry! yelled a small boy before running into Dr. Fitzgerald’s arms. Frederick was a beautiful child, with almost white hair and deep-blue eyes. The old doctor suppressed a chuckle as he thought of Hitler’s supreme Aryan race embodied in the small, healthy body before him. The Fuehrer would be pleased.

…and this is my colleague, Dr. Reynald. Say hi, Frederick.

Hi. The voice was clear and sure, just like his boys at that age.

What did you learn today, Frederick? asked Dr. Fitzgerald.

We played with a magnetic field like the one around Earth. Only this one was really small.

What else.

We read the story of Tom Sawyer.

What else.

That was enough! exclaimed the boy with a serious expression.

Of course it was. All right, you can go back to your friends.

Good-bye, Uncle Jerry. Good-bye, Dr. Reynald. The little blond head bounced back toward the playground with the characteristic energy of a kid that age.

They watched the boys interact and play together for the next fifteen minutes, acting like normal kids everywhere in the world. Neil didn’t say a word as flashbacks of his three boys kept popping to mind. He supressed the mixed emotions that came with them.

Well? eventually said Fitzgerald as he led the way back to his office. They were walking in an empty corridor.

Impressive awareness and attention span. Frederick is a charming specimen.

Thank you.

But then, nothing different from my boys at that age.

There is a major difference.

Really? I didn’t notice anything.

It’s not something that will show at that early age. In time, though, the precautions we’re taking today will show their worth.

Precautions?

Children with special aptitudes must be allowed to grow in environments tailored to their abilities. It’s a basic requirement for their proper development. Constant and regular intellectual stimulation.

Neil missed a step but quickly caught himself. He felt his cheeks blush and knew that this discussion was aimed at his inability to raise one of his sons properly. It was an indirect rebuke that stabbed deep because it went along with some of Russell’s accusations.

If Fitzgerald noticed his discomfort, he never showed it, and plowed along with more of the same. All our subjects are adopted by families of professionals. They’ll grow up in stable homes. They’ll go to a special nursing school and will later attend an elite science academy founded and operated by STAM, here in Houston. This will guarantee them the best possible education, and influence them toward scientific careers. They will pave the way for the girls, who will surely follow the same process and benefit from the educators’ accrued experience.

Neil stopped walking. It’s one thing to overprotect kids and keep them away from the real world, but you have to be careful they don’t think themselves better than the rest. That’s dangerous. The combination of highly-educated and good-looking young men might make them arrogant bastards. It happens all the time in snobbish private schools.

I’ll take the risk of arrogant, hard-working bastards any day over doped-out, tattooed, antisocial freaks.

Neil could only stare