Makers of Destiny: Sequel to Die to Live Again

Preface

This book is a sequel to my science fiction post-apocalyptic novel, Die to Live Again. It was originally planned as a stand-alone piece, a story of survival against incredible odds. Since its publication in 2013, Die to Live Again has earned the appreciation of readers, and, for me, it still stands as my favorite of all the novels I have produced. The story of an ordinary college girl, Tanya Gray, who survived the nuclear holocaust was initially created as a short story in 2010, and later turned into a full novel. This project was challenging and enjoyable to work on and with the help of my wonderful editor, Mary Holzrichter, and the Foremost Press publishing team, Tanya Gray’s story has found its audience around the world.

Now, four years later, I thought of a sequel following the advice of my friends. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that Tanya Gray’s story of survival and revenge was far from over. I felt that this character had more potential for developing after her transformation into a powerful, almost superhuman being as a result of her salvation. In planning Makers of Destiny, I wanted to explore the aftermath of a human society recovering from the most unimaginable and most devastating conflict in human history. This is a new story of Tanya Gray, a mutant with a human heart, a warrior, a healer, and an explorer.

Prepare yourself for new adventures in a post-holocaust world—the world of Tanya Gray.

David Crane, 2017

PART I

JUDGMENT CENTURY

CHAPTER 1

Every time I enter a forest, I am reminded of the best years of my human life. Civilization ends where wilderness begins. My father’s words echo in my memory sharp and clear. Before the war, wilderness was my friend. I was never afraid of the forest. I was a tomboy, and I imagined myself as an elf exploring and protecting the forest that held so many wonderful secrets and surprises. From my father, I learned every trick in the book when it came to wilderness survival. I enjoyed the challenges of building a shelter from the elements and hunting for my own meal. Human beings almost forgot how to live and survive outdoors. They grew too comfortable in the big metropolitan cities where the comforts of civilization have spoiled them.

Civilization came to an end when fifty years ago I turned on a TV set just in time to catch the bad news. They weren’t just bad—they were terrifying. My father’s phone call saved my life. As the missiles roared from their hidden land silos, warplanes, and nuclear submarines, I raced against time to fulfill the promise I made to my father: survive no matter what. Survive at any cost. They said that those who survived the nuclear war would envy the dead. I didn’t envy the dead. I wanted to live so badly that I was willing to endure the unendurable. I survived against all odds.

I fell in love with a man named Jack Mitchell. He died in my arms in the nuclear wasteland when we were banished from the nuclear sanctuary called Crystal Temple run by a tyrannical general, Douglas Pierce. We joined the rebellion against his tyranny and paid the price. The war changed our planet. It changed me almost beyond recognition. The mysterious black trees that grew after the war across the tortured landscape became the key to our salvation.

Nature offered the remnants of mankind a chance at redemption, if we were willing to pay the price. Against my will, I paid that price in full coin. If I knew what I would’ve become, I might have hesitated, and Jack and I would have died in each other’s arms. But I had made a promise to my father. A promise I kept at the cost of my humanity. To this day I wonder what might have been if Tanya Gray died in the wasteland and never became a Panther. Only many years later did I realize that back then I had no choice. . . .

I moved through the forest thinking of the past, but my Panther senses were always attuned to my environment. I am a predator with teeth and claws, encased in tough organic armor impervious to edged weapons and most conventional firearms. You’ll need to empty an entire clip of a modern-day assault rifle to make a few dents in my hard outer shell. Grenades and armor-piercing rounds can hurt and kill me, but I’d be damned if I would make myself a stationary target for any enemy.

Leaves crunched lightly under my feet as I moved in a light, energy-conservation mode, habitually avoiding stepping on the fallen branches. My three-hundred-pound weight was balanced by my powerful muscles, which allowed me unprecedented punching and kicking power and twenty-foot leaps across any obstacle. Radiation, lethal enemy of almost everything alive, is my source of life and nourishment. Drops of my blood, diluted in water, create a serum that cures radiation sickness and enhances the ability of human blood to weed out toxins and adapt to changes in dangerous environments.

The sun was shining from above, and I immersed myself in the unique music of the forest, its sights, its smells, its very essence. Nuclear war had little effect on the tiny creatures living underground. Rodents, snakes, and chipmunks survived, as did the wolves, deer and bears. Half of the mammalian kingdom, however, was gone, but the niche was quickly filled by the mutant creatures born of Sapphire Water. Nature’s hidden defense mechanism produced many new beautiful and terrifying species that now shared our planet with us. Humans have a healthy fear of these things. Panthers can beat almost all of them single-handedly.

I took these refreshing solo trips into the forest to hike, mediate, and find something nice and interesting for my husband, kids, and friends. My canvas hunting pouch was half-full of ginger, ginseng, and licorice roots, as well as exotic berries. I figured I would hike for another two hours and head back to my old family summer home, which miraculously survived the nuclear nightmare and the Second Civil War that followed the collapse of law and order.

Spotting a fallen tree covered with the growth of exotic mutant lichen mushrooms, I was about to head for it when I distinctly heard a distant scream. I straightened, trying to pinpoint where the scream came from and heard it again, louder this time, and full of terror and pain. Forgetting about the mushrooms, I turned ninety degrees and made my way toward the disturbance. My instincts were on full alert, and I hoped I would be there just in time to save innocent human lives from whatever threatened them. As I plowed through the forest, I smashed small branches and dodged the large ones that got in my way. When it came to responding to danger, Panther speed and strength was phenomenal. I emerged from the trees and into the clearing, and my eyes took in a sight straight from the children’s scary fairy tales.

In the middle of the clearing sat a lake or a pond roughly one hundred feet in diameter. A group of terrified kids aged between eight and ten were screaming in fear, running away and hiding behind the trees from a mutant monstrosity slithering out of the water. The beast had its long, curving black teeth deep inside a middle-aged man, shaking him like a dog shakes a mouse. The man was thrashing, gurgling and flailing his hands and feet, trying to stab the thing with his hunting knife, only making it madder with lust for blood.

A young woman, dressed in a pale green field trip suit, lay roughly thirty feet away, slumped against a tree, her head twisted at an unnatural angle. Apparently, she tried to help the man by attacking the monster from the side. Judging from her twisted body, she was hit with its powerful tail hard enough to toss her away into a tree. I instantly recognized the species and instantly recalled everything I knew and learned about them though theoretical studies and personal experience.

A Hunter Leech was a product of new evolution, a blood-sucking monster fifteen feet long, capable of draining a human dry in a matter of minutes. It resembled a fat anaconda with sleek, smooth, featureless gray skin and had a natural ability to mask its presence on land like a chameleon. Humans were fair game for this predator that could attack you on land, in the water, or fall upon you from a tree branch. I faced some nasty species in my life after the war and these were the ugliest of them all.

The hunting knife fell from the man’s weakened fingers as I unslung my shotgun, switched off the safety lever, aimed and fired at the creature. My weapon was loaded with solid slugs, and they entered the Hunter Leech’s gray flesh with a sickening wet sound of disintegrating tissue. My modified Remington shotgun held eight rounds and was designed for large game. I pumped four slugs into the Hunter Leech in rapid succession, but the sucker, wounded as it was, refused to let go of its prey. Hissing like a broken steam pipe, the Hunter Leech began dragging the man into the water. I emptied my remaining four rounds into its hide, but the wounded beast succeeded in its grisly task.

Oh, no, you don’t, I snarled, throwing away the shotgun and unsheathing my big hunting knife. I tossed away my gear and the hunting pouch and leaped forward like a missile. Soaring into the air, I landed directly on the back of the descending Hunter Leech and began slicing and dicing. Foul-smelling dark blood sprayed in all directions. I carved it up in cold savagery and finally forced it back to the surface. The monster gurgled, hissed, and spat out its prey. The man covered in blood and filth landed on the ground with a dull thud.

That should have been the end of it, but I wanted to finish the job. The last time I killed a Hunter Leech was two years ago. Lucky for all of us, these bloodsuckers were loners and never lived or hunted in packs. Twelve inches of my thick, razor-sharp, stainless anodized steel struck the gray wet flesh repeatedly and without mercy. I stabbed and gored the Hunter Leech until the damned thing finally stopped moving. Cursing at the smell, I jumped into the water and made my way back to the dry land. I immediately went to help the wounded man. Besides my weapons, I always carried my first aid kit on my field trips just in case.

The man had suffered a massive loss of blood and was barely conscious. Our eyes met, and he stared at me with confused emotions of shock and surprise. Panthers have been interacting with humans for many years since the war had ended, but human-Panther relations in some cases remained strained. To many humans, we were an evolutionary enigma, an unknown, powerful and dangerous species that somehow ended on top of the food chain. I had no time for niceties or introductions. I gave him a quick look over and producing a silvery injector tube from my med-kit injected him with the stabilizing solution.

He had too many wounds for the amount of bandages I carried, so I pressed the hematic clotting sponges to the most dangerous wounds and surveyed the tree line. As I expected, not all of the kids ran away. The older ones stayed put, hiding behind the trees, and the younger ones had no choice but to stay with them and pray for a miracle. I stood up to my full height and waved my hand.

The Hunter Leech is dead! I called out. Come out, you’re safe now.

The kids didn’t move. They were most likely still in shock, but I saw their eyes on me and wondered what to expect. Human children were less suspicious of the Panthers and that made our interaction easier. To them, we were near magical beings that were called many names by our enemies and allies alike.

I activated my portable transmitter and pressed the emergency call button that got me in touch with the Federal Rescue Service. I gave them my name, rank, and location of the Hunter Leech attack and received a confirmation.

Please tell us your situation and how many casualties.

Situation is critical. One adult is seriously wounded from the blood loss, one is dead.

How many people need to be evacuated?

Fourteen.

Is the wounded person stable? the female dispatcher inquired.

For the moment, I replied. I gave him an antibiotic shot and injected him with a stabilizing solution. He lost a lot of blood, but I hope he will make it. How soon can the copter get here?

We’re dispatching the emergency rescue copters at your coordinates now.

Thank you, I replied. Please hurry.

My mind turned on the kids still hiding in the grass and behind the tree line.

Don’t be afraid, I yelled. I mean you no harm. I am Tanya Gray, warrior-healer and advisor to President Gaetani.

The mention of the president’s name did the trick, and after making sure the man was out of immediate danger, I went to check on his young female partner. Unfortunately, I was unable to do anything for her. The impact with the Hunter Leech’s powerful tail had shattered her ribs, driving broken bones into her internal organs. Her skull was caved in, and her neck bones were shattered. Sightless, glassy brown eyes looked back at me, and I shook my head sadly. There was nothing to be done.

I gently laid the woman on her back, closed her eyes, and said a short prayer. The kids tentatively approached me and I slowly stood, my wet clothes still dripping water. From my height of two meters, these kids looked like munchkins from an old children’s fairy tale. I looked at each of them in turn and tried to smile.

Hi, I said. Is everyone okay?

The kids exchanged glances and finally one of the older boys nodded and stepped forward. We’re okay.

Is everyone accounted for? I asked.

The boy looked around, made a mental count and nodded. Yes, we are all here, he said, then looked down at the young woman. Is Miss Tiller okay?

No, I said. She is dead. The Hunter Leech killed her. I am so sorry.

The children reacted to the woman’s death better than I expected. There were no hysterics or tears, just a grim acceptance of the fact. They looked at her with sadness in their innocent eyes and admiringly held their emotions in check.

What about Mr. Wilson? Will he be okay? asked a little blonde girl.

I looked into her sapphire eyes and knew that every kid with her had the same eye color that came as a result of a serum derived from donations of Panther blood. Their parents and grandparents had taken it and passed the genes to their offspring. Humans around the planet no longer breathed oxygen-dominated air but a totally different mixture that now comprised the earth’s atmosphere.

Mr. Wilson will be okay, I replied. What were you guys doing here?

They satisfied my curiosity by telling me that they were on an ecological school field trip with their teacher and a local guide. The Hunter Leech attacks could happen anywhere outside the cities. These things weren’t territorial but there were places they avoided. The black trees that spawned our Panther race tore them apart with their tentacles if they ventured within striking range. They also avoided the red mutant forests like a plague because the pollen falling from the trees was poisonous to them.

I listened to what the kids had to say, and we waited for the rescue copters. I didn’t try to cheer them up. In this situation, nothing I said or did would change the fact that these kids had just witnessed a real death and probably would have nightmares for many nights to come. We sat and waited until the rescue copters came. They descended from the skies like beautiful white dragonflies with bold red crosses adorning their sides. As the kids, the wounded man, and the dead woman were loaded into the copters, I wondered how the children would cope with this tragic experience. Their parents, psychologists and behavioral experts would work on their fragile minds and hope they would forget it like a bad dream. I doubted they would forget. Things like that are never forgotten.

CHAPTER 2

There is no place like home. Fifty years ago, I ran in terror from our family’s summer house carrying only a backpack filled with items I thought necessary for survival. I was trying to escape the nuclear Armageddon. Back then, I didn’t know if I could survive something like this but I did. I made a promise to my father that I would survive no matter what. The war changed me into who I am now. It changed everything. Even now, half a century later, the reclamation teams were still burying the bones of those who perished in the most devastating military conflict in human history. Cities lay in silent ruins. Wilderness slowly moved to reclaim the land from man, but human history didn’t vanish in nuclear fire. We survived, and we came back stronger than before.

As I walked down the hill and down the paved road to my family residence, my two hearts beneath my outer organic armor plates began to beat faster. My spiritual human heart felt a brief pain at the memory of my survival. Forty-five years ago, I returned to my family home and found it exactly as I had left it. Nothing had been taken or stolen. All I had to do was to clean away the dust and restore the electrical power. I passed through the gate of the wooden palisade and approached the main entrance. The only alterations I have done to the house are the additional solar panels on the roof, a satellite dish, and the expansion of my garden.

I used my key to open the front door, and as I got inside, I inhaled the smell of exotic herbs. My husband Eric, when he moved in with me, started the tradition of refreshing the house with incense, and I liked it. Our children, twin girls Faith and Hope, loved it as well. Since the end of the war, we had rearranged the furniture and brought in sturdier tables, beds, and chairs. Everything looked nice and neat: the paintings and photographs on the wall, and the flowers inside a ceramic Japanese vase with a beautiful painted dragon that Eric presented me with on my seventieth birthday.

I’m back. Is anybody home? I called out.

Just a minute, honey, Eric’s voice replied from deep inside the house. I’ll be right out!

I grinned, sniffed at my sleeve, and grimaced. My recent encounter with the damned Hunter Leech had dirtied my clothes and now they smelled of swamp and Hunter Leech blood. I put my gear and weapons down and waited. Eric appeared wearing a flannel shirt, old faded blue jeans and slippers. He smiled and moved forward to embrace me and paused in mild confusion just a few inches away.

You took a swim in a swamp? he inquired trying to keep his face straight.

Yeah, I know I stink, I replied with a sigh. I went to get some roots and berries and instead had to fight and kill a damned Hunter Leech.

Oh, I see. Eric’s sapphire eyes looked deeply into mine. His onyx face looked almost human if one dismissed the sharp fangs, thick tubular hair, and total absence of facial hair. My Eric was a handsome devil, and I loved him more than any man in the world. I sniffed at the air and sighed again. His smooth onyx skin smelled of bay rum cologne that I liked so much.

What did the Hunter Leech do to you? he said teasingly.

Well, it killed one human adult and seriously injured another, I explained. It also scared the hell out of a dozen kids.

What kids? Eric said and frowned. There were kids too?

It was a school trip for an ecology class. They decided to take a break by the lake and the Hunter Leech attacked them. Don’t worry, the kids are all safe. The male will most likely recover with a full blood transfusion. The female was not so lucky.

I am sorry, Eric said. I’m just glad you’re okay.

Thanks, baby, I said.

His hand gently caressed my face, and I kissed it. I need a good shower and change of clothes, I remarked. Despite the incident, I did bring back some nice roots and berries. It will be a nice treat for the kids when they get home from school.

Cool, Eric said. Are you hungry? I can fix us some nice protein shakes.

Sounds lovely. I smiled.

I also have a surprise for you.

Oh? What is it?

I finished the project I have been working on, Eric said with pride.

Aha, I said. So the girls and I will finally learn what you have been doing in the carpentry room in secret for the past four months.

Yes, you will. The long wait is over.

I kissed his hand again, took off my soiled clothes, dumped them into the laundry machine and walked into the bathroom. My species didn’t smell as bad as humans when they sweated a lot. Our sweat simply evaporated from our pores in a form of steam. Panthers bathed for purely aesthetic reasons. Every single Panther was once a human. Old habits die hard. Some of our old human habits never died, and I was thankful for that. The hot and then cold shower felt good. I emerged from the bathroom smelling of soap and shampoo and put on my white cotton bathrobe.

Eric waited for me in the carpentry room, and as I entered, he pulled the covers off of a large boxy structure on the table with the grace of a magician. Behold one of the finest ships in human history! he announced.

My eyes fell on a meticulously carved and intricately detailed sailing naval vessel of incredible beauty. Carved from several species of fine, exotic wood, it was a masterpiece that belonged in a naval museum. The ship was truly a work of art, sturdy yet delicate, with perfectly recreated features such as canvas sails, multiple gun ports, masts, and beams. Corded lines connected the three main masts, and the broad deck was filled with wooden painted miniature sailors at work.

Umm, I said my eyes still wide in astonishment. You did spend some quality time. I give you that. It’s beautiful. Share some data on it if you don’t mind.

"HMS Royal Sovereign, Eric explained, striking a lecturer’s pose. A one-hundred-gun flagship of British Admiral Collingwood. Launched in 1786 and distinguished itself at the Battle of Trafalgar against the Franco-Spanish fleet in 1805. Famous British Admiral Horatio Nelson commanding the fleet died in that battle, but the Brits were victorious."

Nice, I said. You certainly know your history. It’s a beautiful ship, but I wonder where we will put it. It’s big and we don’t have much space for it.

I plan to donate it to the Historical Museum in New Washington.

You’re very generous.

I guess I am. Theoretically we can write it off in taxes and save some money. I just have to calculate how much material I’ve bought to build it plus the construction time. I think it’s worth about ten thousand dollars.

I think it’s priceless, I remarked. I like it. Come here, Admiral, and embrace your fair lady.

Two seconds later I was in his arms, and we shared a long kiss. I felt a pang of desire, but realized that we would have plenty of time to express our intimate feelings when the sun went down. We walked hand in hand back into the kitchen. Eric had my hunting pouch open and the roots and berries arranged neatly on a wooden tray. We had vanilla pudding and milk shakes, washing it all down with strong coffee. Inside our living room, we sat and smoked a hookah, discussing the day’s activities, politics, facts, and rumors.

I was seventy-four-years old in human years, but it would be centuries before I succumbed to the weakness of old age. I was twenty-four the day one of the black trees in the nuclear wasteland changed me into a Panther. I didn’t know what I would become. Jack Mitchell, the man I loved and with whom I shared all the hardships, had refused salvation at the cost of his humanity. My former Panther boyfriend Michael Lane had died during the savage Second Civil War, fighting the fanatical forces of the self-proclaimed savior of humanity, madman Reverend Trevor Bay.

I met Eric twenty years ago during the recovery and reclamation mission to the city of Boston. He worked on a Panther recovery crew digging and searching through the ruins for the bones of the nuclear war victims. The reclamation and recovery missions were necessary to clean the cities that could be reclaimed and resettled, and to give the remains of the dead a proper burial with full civil honors. Cemeteries were deemed obsolete, and the bones of millions of the dead were interred inside the nuclear impact craters that dotted America’s tortured landscape.

After our meditation session, Eric became engrossed in a novel, and I went to inspect our garden and the small grape and tobacco plantations. Our family became famous in town for making some of the finest wines and cigars, a business that supplemented our regular income nicely. After the nuclear war, money and items of luxury became worthless, but as civilization slowly recovered, it became economically necessary to revive values and virtues. President Linda Gaetani had skillfully and gradually replaced the bartering system with the reintroduction of a new silver dollar as New American currency. For now, countries that survived the Armageddon were in necessary self-imposed isolation, but we all knew that one day commerce and international trade would be restored.

I walked through the garden noting the wooden house in the trees built for our two cats, Muffin and Roxy. The felines were taking a nap at the present time, but would be wide awake by the time Hope and Faith returned from school. Our children were both ten and physically much stronger and agile than any human child that age. They were unbeatable in a gym class and did pretty well on almost all their subjects. I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply the smell of fresh moist earth, the fragrance of the flowers, and felt an incredible feeling of joy and peace.

This was my home, my sanctuary from everything that was still wrong with our shattered world trying to put itself back together. The evil men who started the nuclear war were all punished for their terrible crimes against humanity. The savage Second Civil War was nothing but a painful memory now. It was a long and bloody struggle, but in the end, reason and law had prevailed over madness and barbarism.

There was one weapon that theoretically would have guaranteed a total victory for President Gaetani. The evil Omega Group, a secret cabal of the richest people on earth, had put two nuclear-powered, laser-weapons platforms into orbit before they pushed the button. In the post-holocaust conflict that followed, the leaders of the nuclear sanctuaries came together to oppose and confront them. We managed to gain control of one of the space laser cannons and destroy the other, effectively depriving the Omega Group of their most powerful and most terrifying weapon. Gaetani refused to use Helios 2 as her weapon of terror. She wanted people to join her by free will, not by the threat of force. The measure saved countless lives, but the country remained divided.

The warlords that claimed huge chunks of the United States territory were too numerous and too strong to defeat in costly campaigns. The New America was divided by the new peace treaties, and the western borders of our new country ran along the Rocky Mountains. Texas again became an independent republic. New America now controlled the East Coast, Bahamas, and the Island of Cuba, which was annexed to protect its population from a Castro-like brutal dictator.

I went up to my study room and found everything in order. I hated a mess and never had a problem in finding anything I needed. The twenty-first century digital age was supposed to eliminate the paperwork. Thanks to the efforts of talented and determined people, who had the skill to revive the data from the computers after the war, digital and paper age were now in harmony. Older generations still loved the physical and tangible paperback books. The new generation preferred digital imagery, virtual reality, and holograms.

The New Washington Library was the biggest and best in the country. Most of the records and works of art were destroyed when the old world died in nuclear fire. The recovery teams managed to uncover the old bunkers where the previous American government kept mankind’s priceless treasures in huge time capsules. The artifacts confiscated from the evil Omega Group nuclear sanctuary were absolutely priceless. The nuclear holocaust had killed billions across the world, but it failed to extinguish humanity’s legacy.

I sat behind my desk, booted up my personal computer, and checked my messages. I had two birthday party invitations, one funeral to attend, and three messages from the American Historical Society requesting my lectures for the next month. As I examined my calendar for availability, my special government-contact-only videophone began to play Wagner’s Flight of the Valkyries. I was one of the top advisors to President Gaetani and one of her closest friends. Our friendship formed at mankind’s darkest hour after the war and endured for half a century.

I reached for the connect button, and the flat laser high-definition screen lit up. From the screen, a young attractive Asian woman in her thirties with a stylish haircut and expressive large sapphire eyes glanced back at me. Kumiko Takashima was Gaetani’s private secretary. I knew her from the old days when Gaetani had chosen her from many candidates who were graduates of the North Star University, an elite college where merit and talent were held in highest regard. Takashima bowed her head and smiled politely. I nodded and smiled back.

Hello, Tanya, Takashima said. I hope I am not disturbing you.

And hello to you too. You’re not disturbing me, Kumiko. You wouldn’t be calling me if it wasn’t important, right?

Correct. President Gaetani requests your presence at a special secret meeting tomorrow at noon sharp.

No problem. I will be there. How’s your family?

All is well. Thank you, Tanya. How’s yours?

We’re doing great, Kumiko. Eric wants to make a surprise donation to the historical museum. Believe me, it’s a beautiful thing. I won’t tell you what it is. You will have to see it when we ship it to the capital.

Okay, Kumiko said. Best wishes to you always. See you tomorrow.

See you tomorrow, Kumiko.

Kumiko’s face vanished and was replaced by a blue screen with a stylized American bald eagle. I turned the screen off and leaned back in my comfortable reclining chair designed to accommodate my three-hundred-pound weight. My eyes shifted to the photo of President Gaetani in a silver frame on my desk. In this picture she looked dashing and young, wearing a military beret with the insignia of a Supreme Commander of the Sanctuary Coalition. The photo was taken shortly after the Omega Group bodyguards had taken their former masters into custody and surrendered to Gaetani in exchange for presidential pardon.

In the photo, Gaetani was young, barely into her early forties. Her striking good looks helped her to become a model. Then she became a decorated soldier, a superb intelligence officer and later a smart and successful politician. She was the unifying force of all the sanctuaries after the bombs fell and became a voice of reason and hope. She was among the first leaders to recognize the Panthers as equal and allied with them, bringing confidence and strength to the remnants of mankind. She was elected president for life, and ran the country with admirable skill and finesse.

But now, fifty years later, Gaetani was very old and approaching the end of her natural lifespan. I knew she would refuse to become a Panther. Despite the incredible natural strength, powers, and longevity that the black trees could offer, very few humans volunteered to accept such a gift. My friend and my president wanted my help again, and I would gladly provide it. The question that still lingered in my mind was if Gaetani’s chosen successor would be as just and as strong as she was. Power was seductive, but it came with heavy responsibility. We still had enemies we had to deal with, and our new society wasn’t perfect. Still, I think we did the best we could under the circumstances.

CHAPTER 3

I awoke rested and ready to take on the challenges of the new day. Panthers, like humans, can have dreams, and last night I dreamed about attending a feast during one of the official state ceremonies. Strangely enough, in my dream I could eat anything I wanted on the lavishly set table. Panthers’ powerful and unique body chemistry can’t process any type of solid food. In my dream I was human again, but every time I looked at any type of reflecting surface, I saw the face of a fantastic creature spawned by the black trees. I wondered about the meaning of my dream. I firmly believed that every dream has a meaning. The answer eluded me and after lying in bed with my eyes open for a few minutes, I glanced at the digital clock on our nightstand and smiled.

Lights at fifty percent, I said out loud.

The house computer complied immediately. The room brightened and my eyes swiftly adjusted to the new level of illumination. Eric, who was a deep sleeper, stirred under the blanket and rolled toward me. Glancing at the digital clock again, I heard a familiar sound of soft footsteps. Cats walked without sound to human ears, but a Panther could hear them coming. Roxy and Muffin came into the room and swiftly jumped onto our bed. They meowed for attention, and I stroked their coats and playfully scrunched at their heads. Yes, children, I know, it’s breakfast time, I said.

I rolled out of bed just as the numbers on the alarm clock changed and one of the recorded military marches blasted from the tiny speakers. Eric groaned, stirred, and