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  Mission: Mistletoe

  Gemma Brocato

  Copyright: Mission: Mistletoe

  Copyright © Gemma Brocato, 2014

  All Rights Reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system without prior written permission of the publisher

  The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Brocato, Gemma

  Mission: Mistletoe / Gemma Brocato

  1. Science Fiction—Romance. 2. Science Fiction 3. Holiday—Fiction. 4. Romance—Holidays. 5. Science Fiction & Fantasy/Science Fiction—Genetic Engineering.

  Table of Contents

  Mission: Mistletoe

  Copyright: Mission: Mistletoe

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Also by Gemma Brocato

  About The Author

  Newsletter Sign Up

  Cooking Up Love

  Hearts In Harmony

  Exposed To Passion

  A Winter Wedding

  Dedication

  For my Sassies. Mentors, friends and sisters.

  Acknowledgements

  Without help from a lot of quarters, this book might never have happened. My family: my publicity-shy husband, whom I affectionately call Mr. Gemma and my two children, Erin and Andrew. You support me, and cheer me on, and remind me of the good that happens

  when you share a great love.

  My editor, Corinne DeMaagd, who spotted all the problems in the manuscript and help refine my words to achieve this work.

  Chapter 1

  Journal Record—11 Dec, 2258. Approaching Space Station Kronos.

  Seven days. That’s all it took. It’s a tribute to the engineering genius of this modern age that what used to take a year, now can be accomplished in days.

  Saturn’s rings are visible out the port window. Years of studying holographic images of the planet didn’t prepare me for the spectacular view. The scientist in me can easily explain why the colors vary and why the rings look like cotton candy. I even understand enough quantum physics to know why it only took seven days to get here. From where we are, Earth is barely a speck of light out of the observation deck viewing portal. We’ve come so far. But the human in me is awestruck by the beauty of the rings, and the knowledge this journey was made with such dazzling speed.

  Those on board who despise space travel opted for the comfort of induced sleep. In 2106, travelers coming this distance could only do it through suspended animation. They slept through all but a few days of the journey. Advances in light speeds and stasis changed that. Now, those who prefer can hibernate for the journey, but remain fully aware of their surroundings. It has saved many souls from being bored and potentially dangerous on these interplanetary journeys. This trip has been lonely. I haven’t interacted with another living soul the entire journey. Come to think of it, I don’t recall even seeing anyone on the ship’s staff.

  Even if I had someone special to share stasis with, I would have chosen not to submit to the disconcerting waking-sleep mode. I hate the very idea of knowing someone might be watching me sleep, but I’m helpless to wake. It’s creepy.

  Instead, I used the trip to conduct further research into the reason for my trip to Kronos. Some sappy junior researcher had dubbed the project Mistletoe, the common name of the plant we are studying. It stuck. It’s all a big joke to him. He and the other scientists liked the tie-in to Solstice, the present day celebration of the defunct Christmas holiday, the station’s location near Saturn, and the mythology about mistletoe as the bestower of life and fertility. Titan! All I care about is the hemi-parasite that grows better on Saturn than anywhere else. It has demonstrated a molecular make-up capable of rearranging human cells to combat aging and disease. If we’d known about this ten years ago, I might have been able to save my father’s life. I pray we’ll discover the key to saving someone else’s dad before it’s too late.

  “Disembarkation will commence at nineteen hundred hours. Please be prepared to vacate your quarters on the Calypso Explorer at that time.”

  The mechanized voice announcing the end of her journey jolted Rhayne Drake from her focus on her personal journal. She nibbled a nutrea-wafer as she reviewed what she’d written. She considered taking out the bit about the human in her being awestruck, but decided against the effort to revise the sloppy prose. It was a personal journal after all. None of her colleagues would ever see it. She tapped the screen to save the log note, then reduced power consumption on her tablet to sleep mode.

  Her assignment to the project would start just as the Saturnalia Festival began. It was an annual celebration of light, of rebirth. Humans no longer celebrated Christmas…at least not openly. The ruling party had banned ecumenical themes. All of them. Rhayne found it humorous since Saturnalia’s origins were religious in nature, an occasion glorifying harvest and the Solstice. Kronos’s location in the shadow of Saturn made it a huge draw for revelers.

  It also posed a potential distraction for Rhayne, whose primary goal for the past three years had been to seek a cure for a horrible disease. That same quest had consumed all of her time on this space trip.

  That included time she should have spent cleaning her temporary quarters.

  She glanced around the room she’d traveled in for the past seven days and winced. Life in the lab had to be so orderly and tidy, she frequently rebelled in her private space. It appeared as if a Martian dervish had swept through her small, temporary quarters.

  Docu-nimbis, a necessity for travelers without access to data storage, littered every flat surface. Clothing hung haphazardly off every knob and hook in the room, with more strewn across the floor as if she had walked out of them. She’d told the steward she wouldn’t need the nightly turndown service so the bed hadn’t been made since launch. The sound of drops of water plunking into the sink drew her attention. She cringed. Water was a precious commodity in space; it wasn’t readily available and shouldn’t be wasted. Rhayne wrinkled her nose as she got a whiff of the coffee dregs from the tottering stack of used cups under the mirror.

  Oh, Goddess, how could she have destroyed this cabin in just seven days? Maybe she should have opted for induced sleep. Aghast that her messy rebelliousness might become public knowledge when she checked out of her quarters, she bolted into action.

  * * * *

  It took the entire two hours before disembarkation, but by the time the cabin attendant arrived to pick up her bags, Rhayne had managed to clean her quarters to the point where it looked less like a disaster zone.

  Rhayne dodged the steward’s hand and tightened her grip on the satchel containing her research notes and calculation. Seeing the argumentative look on his face, she smiled. “I’ll hold on to this one, please. I’d prefer to take it off the vessel myself.”

  “Management is kind of funny about passengers doing the work of their employees. I don’t know…”

  Pulling back the sleeve of her traveling uniform, she bent her hand backward, exposing the tender flesh of her wrist. She took the card reader from the steward’s hands and scanned the three-centimeter spot over the credchip embedded under her skin. A familiar tingle raced up her arm as she tapped the screen to register a generous tip. Amping up the level of her smile, she dipped her chin an
d glanced up at him through her eyelashes. “I’m sure they’ll understand. If there’s trouble, you can tell them I insisted. So sorry about the mess in my cabin… I was very bad and got lost in my work. I forgot I wasn’t living at home.”

  When the man glanced over her shoulder into the cabin, his eyebrows shot into the parking lots where his hairline should have been. Rhayne was positive the size of the tip she’d transferred to him would make the cleaning job a lot more palatable.

  He glanced at the display on the reader and wiped the horrified look from his face. “Very good, miss.”

  “Can you point me toward the off-load bay?”

  He supplied directions, then bent to retrieve the bags waiting just inside the doorway.

  In the seven days of the trip, she’d only been out of her cabin for fast runs to the galley to grab meals. She’d consumed the disgusting, dung-colored prepackaged mush from the food delivery system in the solitude of her cabin.

  She rolled her eyes. She’d behaved as if she was one of the sleeper travelers…without the benefit of rest.

  By the time she reached the end of the corridor, she’d already forgotten if the man had told her to turn right or left. Twisting around to see if the steward still lingered behind her, she found it vacant, as if he’d never been there. She stood in indecision for a moment then proceeded down the passageway on the right.

  She passed through industrial style doors at the end, stepping into a much rougher part of the ship. Grated floors and dull gray walls with visible metal struts surrounded her. The lighting was different, too. High efficiency Na-vapo bulbs glared a unique orangey-yellow at infrequent intervals, leaving entire swathes of the area shadowy. Even the occasional pocket of high-def lighting seemed swallowed by the odd-colored gloom.

  Every classic, digitally-mastered scary movie she’d watched growing up flickered like an old-school video through her mind. The person who walked down the spooky hallway ended up dead, consumed by aliens or done in by someone with space sickness. She hesitated, questioning her decision to turn right and glanced over her shoulder one final time before shrugging. This wasn’t a movie. She was a scientist with four advanced degrees and a good head on her shoulders. She continued along her chosen path. Her footsteps clanged loudly on the metal mesh of the floor. Turning a corner, then another and a third, she kept moving. Eventually, she would arrive at the large bay where other passengers waited to exit.

  Wouldn’t she?

  Unease slithered down her spine, settling in her stomach like a cold, greasy lump of synfood. She had to find the off-load bay. She couldn’t afford to miss the transport to Kronos. Glancing backward with each new turn, Rhayne wasn’t certain she was on the right path or if she could even find her way back to the original intersection.

  Where was everyone? Lost and isolated on a ship full of people grated. Harshly. Like sand in her swimming costume the one and only time she’d gone on holiday to a beach. Uncomfortable. And without any human companionship, lonely. Rhayne gripped her briefcase tighter and sped up. The portal in front of her opened with a soft shushing sound as she approached. Ears popping at the slight change in pressure, she entered a vestibule. Bright lights, droids, and humans were visible through large windows in the doors. Relieved, she scampered toward the other side of the small lobby and burst through to the large bay when the automatic doors slid open.

  Directly into the path of a large cargo mover.

  Rhayne froze as the over-laden Airfloat bore down, her mouth opened in a silent scream. Holy Titan! She’d die on this transport without ever stepping foot on the space station, not to mention Saturn.

  Her breath squeaked out in a rush as someone grabbed her around the waist and swung her out of the path of crushing death. Her body went one direction while her briefcase flew the other. The screeching sound of the airbrakes engaging on the cargo float rang in her ears. A cacophony of other sounds erupted—men roared warnings to watch out and glass broke as boxes crashed to the floor with the sudden stop.

  Rhayne’s body came to rest between the solid wall behind her and a hard, man-sized body that covered her, protecting her from falling containers and shattering glass. The aroma of Cassini Ale tainted her olfactory cavities, bitter and astringent, as broken bottles released their contents onto the floor in front of them.

  “Are you okay? What in Titan’s name are you doing in the cargo bay? This area is off limits.”

  The deep voice was velvety smooth in her ear. Warm breath tickled her cheek, and she rubbed the spot as she nodded her head. The large man eased away enough to give Rhayne her first glimpse of his rugged features.

  The flow of his face was mesmerizing. From the top of his perfectly-shaped and completely bald head to strong brows, poised over eyes the color of Earth’s sky just before leaving the atmosphere. A shiny gold earring winked on his earlobe, an oddity in a society that had ceased mutilating their bodies with piercings and tattoos generations ago. He was the kind of rebel she’d fantasized about while at university, where she’d been forced to conform to a regimented curriculum with no room for individuality. Sharp cheekbones and a square, stubbled jaw completed the look. This man was beautiful and dangerous. Rhayne’s breath caught. She cleared her throat attempting to appear less awestruck.

  “I turned right when I should have turned left. I’m looking for the off-load bay.” Rhayne frowned at the raspy quality of her voice.

  Suddenly aware of her rescuer’s body pressed intimately against hers, she put her hands on his chest and pushed. “You can back away now. The danger is past.”

  “No, it’s not.” He glanced over his shoulder, then back at her. “Safe…that is. The company prohibits passengers in this area of the ship for a reason. Didn’t you see the signs?”

  “No, I didn’t. Let me go,” she demanded. A puddle of spilled ale approached her satchel. “Oh, my research!”

  Rhayne stepped sideways but a dock android with an industrial-sized suction apparatus nudged her out of the way, forcing her back into the man. He’d turned, so now her behind was tucked snugly against his groin. He grunted as she gasped. Oh, Titan, his body was more solid than the rock moon, Hyperion. He slid an arm around her waist, holding her in place, out of the way of the maintenance machine.

  The mechanized janitor quickly set about cleaning the mess created by the fallen bottles of ale.

  “Stop! Make it stop. Those are very important papers.” What had she been thinking to make notes on old school synpaper like she was Louis Pasteur or Madame Curie? Most of her peers scoffed at her silly affectation and used the more advanced, and more importantly, redundant, note storage nimbis systems.

  Panicked by the potential loss of her information, she shoved hard against the arm trapping her. He stepped away, his foot coming to rest on the strap of her bag. Muttering a quick prayer that nothing breakable remained in the bag, she jumped toward the dock droid. She stooped to pick up the scattered disks and papers. The robotic vacuum just missed her hand as she reached for the handle on the satchel. She flinched, then jerked the strap from where it rested under the man’s foot. He stumbled, but she didn’t deviate from her mission. Once it was free, she shoved the contents in haphazardly. Her rescuer bent to lend a hand, and she connected with his chin as she leaped to her feet. Her teeth clattered together, sharp pain wrenched through her skull. Clutching the briefcase to her chest, she rubbed the tender spot on the crown of her head as the droid darted toward her feet, a hose sucking up the puddled ale like a boozer on a bender.

  The man wrapped his large hand firmly around her upper arm and steered her to the automatic doors. As they entered the vestibule, he released her, then waved his fingers near her face, pointing toward the corridor. “Turn left at the first corner, then right at the next two. That will take you back to the passenger section of the ship. Left, right, right, okay? Then follow the signs that read ‘To passenger off-load.’ You can read, can’t you?”

  Now that her work was safe and the danger to her body had
passed, she could only stare mutely at the gorgeous hulk in front of her.

  “You’d better hurry. Off-loading begins in about ten minutes. Wouldn’t want to miss the boat.”

  Nodding, she tightened her grip on the satchel slung over her shoulder, then started out the door.

  “Hey!”

  She turned back toward her rescuer. He frowned and tested his chin with a large hand. “I just saved your life. You tripped me with your bag and hit my chin with your hard head. You could say thanks. Or sorry.”

  The heat of a blush speared across her cheeks. She knew she lacked in certain social skills, but it hadn’t really mattered before. Her father would not be proud of her at this moment. “Oh. Um…thanks. You know, for saving my life and pointing me in the right direction.” She gestured toward his handsome face. “And sorry about your chin.”

  “You’re welcome, Grace.” He smirked at her then turned, moving away from her.

  She tipped her head quizzically. “My name is Rhayne, not Grace.”

  As the auto-door swished open, he glanced over his shoulder, still rubbing his jaw. “Somehow, you seem like a Grace.”

  Perplexed, Rhayne watched his retreating back until the doors shut behind him. Shrugging, she whipped around and smacked into the auto-door that hadn’t slid open fast enough. She bounced back, then rubbed the spot on her forehead that had connected with the steel portal. A light source flared in her mind.

  Oh! Now she understood why he’d called her Grace.

  Chapter 2

  Rhayne paused in front of the ready-room window. Her sigh was covetous as she scanned the state-of-the-art lab through the glass doors of the airlock. In ten years as a research scientist, she’d worked in the best labs in the universe. This place shone like a synthetic diamond…all gleaming alu-steel, copper, and glass. Equipment envy overwhelmed her. The fume hood gleaming in the corner was an Evac2000. She flexed her fingers, itching to get to work.