Genus

Preface:

This book would not exist if not for a post-Thanksgiving discussion between me, my brother, and our cousin. We were trying to think of a way that we could do something together that utilized our talents. I suggested we form a rock band, because Tyler, my cousin, is a musical prodigy. However, my brother Justin didn’t see himself as the lead singer, so he suggested that we make a movie instead. Unfortunately, none of us had any real camera or production experience, and so Tyler mentioned that we could write the story for a movie.

We should write a book, Justin added.

I initially laughed at the idea, and started thinking of popular books that were on the shelves. I said No vampires. There’s enough of that s--- already. Tyler and Justin agreed, and then we began brainstorming. For about 45 minutes, we bounced ideas around, and had a very rough concept. We called it a night and everyone went to bed.

Except me.

Being a night-owl, I couldn’t sleep anyway. I started exploring the idea in my mind, and realized that this could be an original storyline. I pulled out a few pieces of blank printer-paper and began scribbling a plot outline, without using character names or places. In about two hours, I created a three page outline and soon discovered that the story I had could NOT be contained in one book.

The next day, I shared my outline with Justin and Tyler, wrote a snippet of a chapter, and came up with my first character name – Syun. In the days that followed we discussed character names, traits, settings, plot devices, and were generally excited about the whole concept.

But as Thanksgiving ended and Christmas neared, we found it difficult to coordinate and discuss the book. As life plowed forward, I continued to write chapter snippets, and received some pieces from Justin and Tyler. Before we knew it, another Thanksgiving was looming, and all we had was rough collection of chapters – in no particular order.

Thanksgiving 2011 was the real beginning of the book. I used Black Friday to sequester myself and started writing Genus from page 1. Using what little free time I had, I was able to complete the novel by September 2012. After I let a few close friends test read the work, I used the feedback to make some clarifications. I then sought out an editor, Teresa Caldwell Board, who worked diligently with me and helped me correct the myriad of typos my draft contained.

Finally, after receiving no productive response to my dozen-or-so query letters, I decided to publish Genus as an ebook. Justin created the cover art based on my description, and I am quite pleased with his overall interpretation of a spiked fountain.

Please know that Genus HAD to be written in the somewhat unusual manner and perspectives that it uses. Be aware that almost everything in this book connects in part with the greater whole; Some seemingly irrelevant information in Genus becomes a big clue in the follow-ups, Heterosis and Neplusultra.

If you, the reader, finds errors in this book – continuity or otherwise – please e-mail me the information with the subject line HETEROSIS, and I will see about getting you a free copy of Heterosis when I finish it. Enjoy!

Acknowledgements:

First – Glory to God – for in Him we live and move and have our being. As I was writing the book, I received several confirmations that I was doing what I was called to. Thank you!

To my wife, who spent many nights alone while I was out writing at 24 hour restaurants. Your love and patience and selflessness enabled me to finish the work. I love you, babe.

To my children - I bet you didn’t know that whenever I would get back from a late-night writing session, I always stopped in to kiss you while you slept. I hope this work inspires you to try and achieve your dreams, and I hope that I can help you along the way. I love you so much!

To my parents - Your guidance is what made me who I am, and although I was never a perfect son, is there such a thing? Any perceived enmity or apathy is just not the case. I love you all.

To Erica - Thank you for helping encourage me to write. I know that it has been difficult for you to keep writing, but I strongly urge you to continue. Keep at it, and you can name ME in the acknowledgements some day. I love you!

To all my friends, of which I have few. Clay, Chris, Matt, Damien, Chad – thank you so much for supporting me in this endeavor. I hope that each of you discovers something that inspires you to do the great things I know you are capable of. God bless you!

Pronunciation Guide:

Alflaeded - AL fluh deed

Aileah - Eye LAY uh

Aimery - A merry

Alcannad - ALL kuh nod

Calryn - CAL rinn

Elian - A lee on

Elwyn - EL win

Eryx - AIR ricks

Genji - Jen GEE

Gnimeifeldt - Guinea MY felt

Nai-Chen - Nye HE SHEN

Nai-Ko - Nye HE CO

Nai-Zhou - Nye HE ZOW

Prabhat Gupta - PROB ought GOOP tuh

Sebrus - SEE brush

Syun - Sigh OON

Trixcia - Trissy UH

Prologue: Selection Sunday

The room was pitch black, and they were all crying.

One glass wall insulated most of the sound, but the pair of adults watching on the other side could still hear them. The infants wriggled and wailed in their hospital bassinets, the sound of their cries echoing off the barren walls. The two continued to look at them - all twenty, neatly arranged in the room. The first row was all boys, their newborn eyes squinted shut as they fussed and reached out into the darkness. The second row was all girls, and they joined the boys in their own struggle against the oppressive void. Finally, on the other side of the glass wall, the eldest one, Alcannad, spoke to her younger male associate.

These are all of them?

Yes, he nodded slightly.

Alcannad looked slowly over the wailing boys, but after surveying the entire row, she was unimpressed by what she saw. She shifted her gaze to the girls and began to study them. Her eyes stopped on one bald baby straining against the darkness.

Number six, she said, staring at the child. Does its mother have a mate?

No, he replied, his eyes fixed on the infant.

She narrowed her eyes and focused intently on the little girl. Suddenly, a collage of brief images and sounds flashed through Alcannad’s mind:

...Wait! I wanna take my book...

...deux, trois, quatre, cinq...

...ended the conflict between France and Spain...

...very well. Goodbye, mother...

...what’s happening? Your eyes...

Alcannad smiled thinly, because the premonition was a promising one, the strongest she’d felt since Calryn announced Katherine Cunningham’s death two years prior. She recalled his dark smile twisting into a demonic grin as he graphically bragged of his murderous deeds to the Council. His arrogance was his undoing, for when she first sensed something was amiss with Calryn’s claim, she probed his wicked mind. Even though he presented Katherine’s bloody monogrammed handkerchief as evidence, his own thoughts betrayed him: The pregnant human had not died by his hand.

She withdrew her focus from the child, and the sounds of the other babies’ cries slowly drifted into her consciousness.

Number six, she announced decidedly. Remove the mother. Notify the Ambrose that we have chosen. Alcannad pivoted on her bare heel and began to leave.

Name? asked the younger as Alcannad’s departing footsteps echoed softly in the room. The elder stopped walking and paused for a moment. Her companion turned his head away from the glass window to look at her, his eyes glowing red in the dark chamber. She turned her head back slightly.

Did the mother name it? she asked.

Yes, replied the male, returning his gaze to the infant in pen six. Sadie Andersen.

Alcannad turned toward the glass wall and narrowed her eyes at the wriggling baby. Again, she was able to block out the sound of the other cries and listen exclusively to the wail that number six was producing. It was an odd, sharp cry that trailed off before it shuddered and repeated again. She took her focus off of the infant; slowly, the sounds of the others returned to her awareness.

Audrey, she said plainly. That will do. Notify the Ambrose that Audrey is our choice. Her lips curled into a slight smile, then she turned and walked away.

And the rest? inquired the male.

Alcannad didn’t break stride.

Sanguis.

Chapter 1: Computer Cowboy

POP!

Sonofabitch... Johnny cursed as a curl of blue smoke slowly rose from the power supply of the semi-disassembled computer on his workbench. The telltale stench of a burned-out capacitor drifted to his nostrils and confirmed what he already knew.

Johnny shoved away from the workbench, and his wheeled stool scooted across the dingy linoleum floor. He sighed and lifted the glasses off of his nose, then gingerly pinched around the bridge and rubbed his eyes. When he opened them, he looked back at the ruined computer, then flicked a glance at his wall clock.

Nine-twenty.

In less than twelve hours, Art Davenport would be coming by to pick up his computer. Johnny was tempted to tell him that this time it really was beyond repair. He smiled at the notion but realized that old man Davenport wouldn’t give in that easily. How many times had he already upgraded, repaired, and cleaned the same damned system?

That didn’t matter, and Johnny knew it. Davenport - the old cowboy turned rancher turned internet porn connoisseur - would press Johnny to see if he could salvage it, if he could somehow bring it back from the dead once more.

Honestly, Johnny couldn’t understand what attachment the old man had to that arcane Frankenstein of a PC, full of trial programs from defunct companies, more RAM than it needed, and an assortment of internet browsers that were used primarily to unwittingly download various viruses. Now that the original power supply had finally given out, long after the cooling fan had been growling irritably whenever the unit was powered on - now, it truly was dead. And that was that.

Except that it wasn’t.

Sheepishly, Johnny peered over at a stack of dusty, antiquated computers on an even older metal desk. In the middle of the stack was an old Acer desktop tower with a functioning power supply that would probably fit the bill. He slipped the glasses back on his nose and contemplated how to make the best of a bad situation.

He paused and chuckled because the thought tickled him - The Best of a Bad Situation: The Johnny Barnes Story. He could almost hear the gravelly voiceover narrating in his head:

"Born and raised in Carson, Wyoming, the son of a chain-smoking nurse and a mysterious ranch hand...

"A young man with cowboy dreams who fell in love with a big city girl...

"A teenager supporting a dying mother with a fledgling computer business...

"Then came the day that changed everything..."

The phone rang suddenly and loudly interrupted the movie trailer to his life story. Johnny shifted his weight on the wheeled stool, which squealed as he guided himself over toward the wall. He picked up the phone on the second ring and spoke the long-familiar phrase, even though he was pretty sure he knew who was calling.

Computer Cowboy, how can I help you? he said with practiced fake enthusiasm.

Hey, dad!

Hey, buddy, he said, switching the phone from his hand to his shoulder and checking the wall clock again. Kinda late, ain’t it?

Nah, it’s only ten-thirty here, and I don’t have a class until nine a.m., so I’m good, Kelvin said. What’re you still doing at the shop?

Johnny smiled and sighed. Same old thing, trying to make something out of nothing.

Davenport again? said Kelvin’s knowing voice.

Yep.

Kelvin chortled at the other end of the phone. You know, you should really tell him-

Yeah, yeah, don’t get me started... Johnny interrupted.

Alright, but, uh, you know I called home first and since you didn’t answer I knew you’d be there.

Oh? said Johnny, Is that so? How’d you know I wasn’t out on a ... hot date or something?

Kelvin’s laugh at the other end of the line brought a smile that erased the well-worn frown carved into Johnny’s face.

Yeah, anyway, said Kelvin, you don’t need to be there, dad. Go home. Go home, pack up, come and see me, maybe?

Sounds intriguing, it really does, Johnny mumbled, but I’ve got responsibilities here, buddy. His eyes shifted over to Davenport’s still-smoldering computer. I’m not just some, uh, swingin’ college kid, ya know, drinking and dancing and partying all night.

You’ve seen too many movies, Kelvin moaned. This is the place where fun goes to die.

Yeah, right, agreed Johnny. So, what about you? Maybe you could, uh, come by, bring, uh, what’s her name? Melody?

Pfft, not likely, scoffed Kelvin, she ... well, turns out she wasn’t my type - let’s leave it at that. But really, dad, you oughta get outta Carson sometime. Chicago’s not too bad.

Oh, I will, said Johnny as he scooted across the floor and began unscrewing the dead power supply from Davenport’s ancient computer. Someday, buddy... Australia.

Dad? said Kelvin, and Johnny caught the hint of concern on his voice.

Nah, not like that, I’m fine. I’m fine. I’ve finally paid the mortgage off, and now it’s only a matter of time... Johnny accidentally dropped a loose screw down into the dusty computer case and cursed under his breath.

Alright, so then you know what I’m going to ask, right? said Kelvin calmly.

Johnny sighed.

Yes and yes. I’ve been taking my pills. I told you, I’m fine. Johnny quickly changed the subject. Now, you’ve got a few years left yet before med school, so I figure I’ll just hold down the fort until then, save up some more money... That alright with you?

Yeah, exhaled Kelvin, I guess so. Anyway, I just called to see what you were up to. Same old thing, huh?

Yeah, buddy, smiled Johnny as he carefully extracted the loose screw from the dusty recesses of the computer. Same ol’ thing.

Alright, dad, yawned Kelvin. I’ll guess I’ll be heading to bed soon - you try and do the same, ’kay?

I will. Love you, buddy.

Love you too, replied Kelvin.

G’night, mate, offered Johnny in his Australian accent.

G’night, dad, Kelvin echoed before hanging up.

Johnny reached to do the same, but heard the receiver click off twice. He instantly froze and stared uneasily at the old rotary phone handset he clutched. Instinctively, Johnny felt a tinge of paranoia overcome him.

They’re monitoring the call...

He blinked, shook his head, and tried to dismiss his paranoia, but the creeping sensation was hard to dispel. The words of his psychiatrist slowly crept into his consciousness:

Focus on the task at hand...

Johnny gulped, then slowly, deliberately, he hung up the phone. When he did, his eyes caught the dusty prescription bottle opened on the shelf, and the guilt set upon him immediately. He wished Kelvin hadn’t asked him about the clozapine pills, because then he wouldn’t have had to lie to his son.

That thought hit Johnny particularly hard.

His son?

Another lie.

Johnny looked at the abandoned bottle again and then at the phone. He slowly lifted the handset, thought about calling Kelvin back and finally telling him the truth.

The whole truth.

No, thought Johnny, you made it this far. He doesn’t need to know. You’re all he has. He’s all you have...

He slowly set the handset back down and shook his head. In the quiet of the workshop, the gravelly voiceover slowly resumed its narration at the back of his mind.

"Then came the day when Johnny found his long-lost love exhausted and very pregnant on his doorstep...

"The child, raised in secret, protected from powers and principalities operating behind the scenes..."

Johnny felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He closed his eyes and tried to shake away his rampant imagination.

He’d long since come to terms with his situation: Twenty-two years of being afraid of monsters that really weren’t there, despite what he’d been told. But because of the promise he’d made to Kelvin’s mother, twenty-two years had come and gone in a blur of secrecy and repetition and obfuscation. Twenty-two years of raising Kelvin had actually stabilized him, and the past few had really succeeded in pushing away the imaginary. Now, a new reality was beginning to take shape for him.

What started as a bad situation had become the best thing that ever happened to him. Just over the horizon was an escape from all the drudgery; a modest home in Australia awaited his ‘retirement’ from his self-imposed isolation in Carson, Wyoming. A few more years, and he could finally put this all behind him.

But first, he would need to get that terrifying imagery out of his head, and he knew that no amount of psychotherapy or medicine would ever do that.

Johnny flashed back to that night, the one painfully carved into his consciousness. While Kelvin’s birth should have been a joyous celebration, the desperation on Katie’s face as she sputtered out her outrageous tale between heavy contractions screamed otherwise. Through all of the chaos of the impromptu delivery - the bloody towels, the howls of pain, Johnny’s woefully inexperienced emergency cesarean - what haunted him most was the look of abject terror on Katie’s face as she described with horror the giant, dark monster-man with the glowing red eyes...

Once more, for the thousandth time, Johnny dismissed the nightmarish scene from his thoughts. Twenty-two years still hadn’t eased the pain.

"The Best of a Bad Situation," the husky voiced narration climaxed emphatically in his mind.

Johnny pushed back his greasy hair and adjusted the glasses on his nose, scooting over to give new life to something that should have been long dead. He looked at the clock again.

Nine-thirty.

Yep, he thought wistfully. That’s my story alright.

Chapter 2: Nuclear Energy

It was always the same.

The ball spiraled swiftly through the air, approaching its target with unusual accuracy. The receiver, Sean, ran speedily underneath it, reached out his arms, and cradled the football into his chest. The whistle blew as the crowd erupted, and the referee threw up his hands to signal the touchdown.

Kelvin Barnes heard the whoops of his teammates and saw Sean emphatically spiking the ball in the end zone, but the quarterback of the Carson Knights was content to take in the other details of the moment. It was a beautiful pass, the kind that Kelvin usually made effortlessly - under pressure with the defensive linemen closing in, on the roll-out right, with spot-on accuracy. The other team’s players were hanging their heads and muttering; he could almost make out their words:

Unbelievable, bemoaned the opposing middle linebacker.

That’s just wrong, man, groaned a defensive lineman.

YOU had him! screamed one embarrassed safety to another.

He looked into the stands where he knew the college scouts were watching. They’d come to see him; Kelvin was coined the Golden-Armed Gunslinger by the local newspapers. He’d already received visits from several scouts with Division I universities and had even toured Northwestern. Although he hadn’t officially signed anywhere, he was starting to enjoy life in the limelight.

Tonight was no different. Because of him, the Pinewood Panthers would go home losers, but not Kelvin’s Knights. They would ride back to Carson as winners yet again, one step closer to the state championship - the team’s first. Kelvin felt the pride swelling in his chest.

Hey, Spaceman! SPACEMAN! yelled a voice that broke into his consciousness.

Kelvin shook his head and returned to reality. He turned and looked at the 260-pound kid grinning white teeth behind a red face mask.

Kelvin had known Marco Rodriguez for ten years, back when they were both skinny kids playing kickball on the street in front of his house. He remembered when Marco and the other boys started calling him Spaceman because he had a tendency to daydream, but Kelvin didn’t mind at all. Since he was homeschooled, he would often sit and wait for Marco and his friends to get off the elementary school bus. Without any siblings, Kelvin had no other chance to play with any kids.

Marco shook his head and pointed downfield where the other players were gathering near the end zone.

You wanna kick the fuckin’ P-A-T tonight, maybe?

Yeah, muttered Kelvin.

Well c’mon! hollered Marco. LET’S DO IT!

He clapped his large hands, then bounced enthusiastically and smacked Kelvin on the rear.

The jostling brought him into the moment again. Kelvin jogged upfield behind Marco as the rest of the Knights formed up for the routine point-after try. The head linesman placed the football down on the three-yard line, and Rodriguez settled into his long-snap stance, his huge hands gripping the ball. Four other Knights lined up along either side of him, and the holder, Sean, knelt to receive the snap.

Kelvin instinctively knew where to stand to kick the P-A-T and glanced down at the holder.

Nice catch, smiled Kelvin.

Nice toss, Sean grinned casually, before his face turned serious. He turned and barked at Marco, the center, to hike the ball. The snap came immediately, and the mass of the Panthers’ defenders surged up against the Knights’ offensive line.

The ball shot back to Sean, but it was faster and a little higher than normal, which caused it to glance off Sean’s normally sure hands. The football tumbled over his head behind him.

FIRE! FIRE! FIRE! Kelvin heard Sean hollering to his teammates.

He’d been coached on what to do in these kinds of situations. This was a busted play, and the linemen would need to hold their blocks a little bit longer. The tight end on Sean’s side was supposed to release his block and run a curl to the corner of the end zone, hoping for a pass.

Kelvin’s field of vision immediately narrowed, and the game started to slow down. His eyes tracked the bouncing football, and he could feel the defenders closing in.

He broke off his kicking run and moved to pick up the loose ball. Kelvin scooped it up off a bounce and glanced into the onrushing defender’s widened eyes. He spun to his right, and the defender dove at Kelvin’s shadow; the Panthers’ defensive back had come in with such velocity that he couldn’t control himself. Kelvin then glanced downfield, looking to pass the ball to the tight end. Unfortunately, the Panthers players were also well coached, and the middle linebacker was following the tight end on his impromptu route. Kelvin took all of this in, then peeked past the right side of the scrum. The end zone was only about eight yards away, and Kelvin instinctively knew where to go.

He tucked the ball down into his chest, feinted to the middle, then bounded out to his right as Sean sprang up and blocked the left-side defensive back toward the line of scrimmage. Kelvin rushed diagonally for the front corner of the end zone, his already-narrowed vision focusing into a tunnel around the orange pylon at the goal line. The thud of his footsteps, the gentle hiss of his breath, and his surprisingly calm heartbeat were the only sounds he was aware of, until the growing roar of the crowd overcame him.

He stuck out his arm and held the football over the goal line as the referee’s whistle blew.

Half of the Panthers’ defenders crashed into his left side.

Kelvin felt his left cleat dig into the grass; for a moment, he tried to tuck his knee underneath himself. Instead, the force of four opposing players caused it to twist and drove it into the ground. Kelvin felt a pop in his left knee and let go of the ball as he crumpled into the end zone. He banged his fist into the field and cursed loudly.

The Panthers got up slowly and Kelvin heard the voice of their middle linebacker.

Oh, God...

He opened his eyes and saw several players standing over him, yelling, waving their hands to the sideline.

C’mere! Now!

Kelvin gingerly raised his head and looked down at his left leg.

The kneecap was not where it should have been.

Instead, there was a shard of bone stretching the skin into a grass-stained tent. He felt the tunnel vision coming on again, so he quickly looked away and gritted his teeth as the pain began to seep in.

Kelvin stared into the night sky. He saw what had happened to his knee – it was dislocated, probably fractured, with the tendons damaged and some cartilage torn away. He knew this was bad. The trainers arrived and brushed away the circle of players that were staring down at him.

Okay, okay, give him some air!

Back to the bench, all y’all! yelled the Panthers’ trainer in a western Wyoming drawl. Someone grabbed Kelvin’s hand reassuringly, but by now he’d shut his eyes. Carefully, the trainers sought to immobilize the leg as a few of the Knights gathered around their fallen star player.

The pain came in a series of stinging waves, but it wasn’t on Kelvin’s mind at all. Instead, his thoughts whirled with the facts of the situation:

He was a senior.

He wasn’t going to play next week.

He wasn’t going to play in the state championship game.

He wasn’t going to play basketball, or baseball, or...

I’ll never play again.

He tried not to focus on that thought, but it wouldn’t go away. Kelvin clenched his eyes tighter, concealing the tears.

The trainers called for a motorized cart as they coordinated a few of the Knights to lift Kelvin. He heard Sean’s reassuring voice next to him.

You’ll be alright, Spaceman! lied Sean.

A flatbed golf cart arrived and his despondent teammates gently hoisted Kelvin onto it. The Knights’ trainer knelt next to him as the Panthers’ trainer hopped into the passenger seat. The cart started to roll off of the field toward the locker room as the crowd clapped and hollered their well-wishes. Kelvin gave them a thumbs-up, but now he was the one lying.

Distraught, he looked over to the Knights’ sideline. Instead of whooping and reveling in victory as they should have been, a lot of his teammates were milling around or shaking their heads. He saw Rodriguez’s hulking frame slowly making its way toward the bench seat with his helmet in hand and his head hanging low. Kelvin watched Marco sit down and then look up. Their eyes met for a moment; when they did, his old friend averted his gaze with a deeply pained look. Kelvin did the same, closed his eyes, and lay there helplessly as the cart slowly took him away from the scouts, his fans, his teammates, and the game he loved.

Forever.

Kelvin heard the siren of the ambulance approaching - an alarming, dreadful sound. Tempting as it was, he resisted the urge to look and kept his eyelids shut. Only now did he allow himself to say anything.

No, he muttered as he squeezed his hands into fists.

The siren’s blare was louder now, more consistent and persistent.

No...

The annoying klaxon was upon him now. Again, Kelvin resisted the extremity of his situation. Football was only a memory now, a part of his past and a recurring nightmare.

NO!

Kelvin quickly opened one eye, then immediately squinted as it focused in the dim natural light coming through his dorm room window. The alarm clock was repeating its annoying whine, and he noticed that it read eight thirty-seven.

Kelvin felt the summons of sleep beckoning him to hammer on the snooze button and resume his slumber. He knew better. The nightmare was less frequent now, three years later, but it always ended the same - going back to sleep only invited more pain. Nonetheless, the alarm bothered him, so he tried to reach out and turn it off. Unfortunately, his arm seemed frozen with fatigue. In fact, as he pushed his toes to a point, his whole body felt that way. Kelvin tried to roll onto his back, and he succeeded, but only after a greater than normal effort.

He stretched out his long arms and legs, his feet extending out from under the wool comforter. Kelvin then tried rolling his wrists and elbows in toward his shoulders. As he did, he felt his forearms and biceps stinging. He tried to sit up straight, but his abdomen screamed at him when he did.

Whoa, said Kelvin against the sound of the still-blaring alarm clock. The muscles across his chest felt as though he’d been doing push-ups and sit-ups all night. The pain was distinct; Kelvin remembered it from his football-playing days - days that were long gone now.

He shook his head to dispel that thought and felt the muscles in his neck twinge.

Owww... he moaned softly, chuckling at the pain. Suddenly a pounding came from the wall of his dorm.

Spaceman! Turn that damn thing off! Jeez! said a muffled voice through the wall.

Well, at least the alarm clock woke Dave up, he thought.

Alright ... alright, he said softly, although he was sure that Dave didn’t hear his response. Kelvin struggled to lift