THE GENESIS SAGA: BOOK TWO
Marco Rossini is the Vice President of Genesis, and the civilian commander of the elite Alpha Corps special forces. His skills and courage are about to be tested in ways he could not have foreseen.
It is 2797 CE, and after centuries fractured along religious and social lines, planet Genesis is inching painfully toward unity. The civilian and Churcher executives of a new, hybrid government are convinced that without reform their society will not survive… but they are beset by challenges from fanatics who are determined to destroy all initiatives that might lead to positive change.
Marco’s close brush with death and his miraculous recovery with the help of the Earthers has steeled his resolve to fight for an egalitarian society… but can this academic-turned-political leader vanquish his enemies, save his love, and still preserve his own humanity?
Excerpt From Treachery & Triumph
(From Chapter 3)
Three hours after ENS Flame’s departure, with Marie Brooklynn and three Alphas aboard, a marine private, aboard the orbital station Genesis One, exited the lift at the fourth level which housed Records and Archives. Under his arm was a small, rectangular package wrapped in shiny, red paper with a lacy, gold bow. He stopped at the Information Desk to get directions only to find that, with the new heightened security measures, he lacked the necessary clearance to enter the section.
“I really don’t know what to do now, ma’am. You see, I was asked by the regular delivery staff to bring up this package for a Miss Barbara Dunn. They’re just swamped down there, and somebody thought that it should be delivered quickly since it looks like a gift.”
“Private, I have my orders. You’ll just have to take it back to G-One Delivery.”
The middle-aged receptionist reminded the young man of his least favorite aunt. She sported the same gray hair rolled into a severe bun at the back of her head and a similar sour, no-nonsense expression on a face that seemed carved from granite. Realizing he couldn’t bluff or intimidate her, he opted instead to play the sweet, dutiful nephew.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name, ma’am,” he replied trying for a supplicating tone and a sappy smile.
“Mrs. Hart, not that it makes any difference,” she snapped.
The young man blinked and stood, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
“Thank you, Mrs. Hart… and it does make a difference to me. My Aunt Gertrude taught me to be polite and respectful by using people’s proper names.”
Nodding approvingly, Mrs. Hart replied, “Your aunt sounds like a fine woman, young man.”
Noting her softening attitude, the private was encouraged. “Yes she is, Mrs. Hart. She raised me and my two sisters from an early age, after our parents died. We never had much because she wasn’t well off, but she taught us manners and good morals. In fact, ma’am, you remind me of her.”
At that, Mrs. Hart’s face softened and formed a warm smile, “You are a sweet boy, but I’m afraid I can’t let you in to deliver that package.”
Seeing his crestfallen face, she thought of her options, “Tell you what. I’ll deliver the package myself in a few minutes. I’m sure Miss Dunn will be excited to receive a gift.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Hart. I hope so too. Please have a nice day!”
With that, the young private re-entered the lift and disappeared.
. . .
Five minutes later, Mrs. Hart looked up as the lift opened and a smiling worker from G-One Delivery stepped smartly to her desk with a bag of letters, documents and a few parcels.
Surprised to see him, she raised her eyebrows, “Hello, Mac, I didn’t expect to see you until later this afternoon.”
“And why would you think that, Mabel?” he queried, looking confused.
“Well, that nice young marine private, helping you, told me you were swamped down in Delivery.”
“What private? I got no marine helping me. What’s going on, Mabel?”
Now it was her turn to register confusion… and that transformed into fear as she eyed the innocent-looking red gift sitting on the corner of her desk.
“Well, I don’t rightly know…”
Her sentence was cut off as the package exploded into a crimson ball of fire.
Copyright © 2015, John Fioravanti