Werewolves in Space

This was the origin of "Book of Lycaon," my second WIP.

“You are . . . Tatiana Lang?”

She bristled at that. Tati hated interview small talk. Of course, I’m Tatiana Lang, she didn’t say.

“Yes.”

The interviewer gave an amused grin and glanced down at his tablet.

Arrogant pig.

“You’re applying for a heavy equipment operator position on the Aswan project.”

“Yes.” She glanced around at the administrator’s office furnishings. Nice digs for an HR toad. It was all polished glass and steel with lots of sharp edges. An old-style oil portrait hanging over the desk seemed out of place with the sleek furniture. She couldn’t read the tag on the frame. Somebody’s many times great grandmother—or the founder of the company?

The interviewer laid the tablet on the desk. “You’re well qualified: the Three Gorges Dam reconstruction, the Gibraltar Bridge project, Chunnel Two—that was an impressive bit of work. Your supervisors seem pleased with your work. But nothing off-planet in your resume. Why is that? We’re actively recruiting tug operators for our new orbital transfer station. The pay is twice planetary scale.”

He glanced up as if expecting a response.

Tati didn’t blink. Twice planetary scale. She’d finally be able to afford something more than her crummy 60^th-story Kowloon apartment.

“I’m afraid not, Mister, uh.” She paused. “Sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

The man smiled as if at a private joke. “I am Pieter Gallard.”

Pieter Gallard. The owner and CEO of Advent Industrial is interviewing me for a job. Well, nuts.

Tati glanced back up at the portrait. Yes, the resemblance was unmistakable: the broad face, the full chin. “Mr. Gallard,” she said, pointing at the picture, “who is she?”

Gallard laughed with genuine amusement. “She was my ancestor, Wilhelmina Gallard. She was a countess or something back when they had such things.”

“She was beautiful.”

“Indeed. But we were talking about your resume.”

His eyes were silver-gray, almost metallic, like the woman in the painting.

“Ms. Lang,” he began. His voice bespoke a languid self-assurance. “May I call you Tati? That is what your associates call you, I believe.”

Tati shrugged. “Okay, Mr. Gallard.”

“Please call me Pieter.”

With anyone else, this smarmy gig would be too much. “Uh, look, you’re the head of this company. I’d feel better not calling you by your first name.”

He smiled and took the tablet, swiping his finger across the display. A monitor beside the portrait flashed to life. Tati saw her name and “Employment Record” below the Advent Industrial logo on the screen.

Gallard tapped again, and a calendar filled the screen, with dates highlighted. “Every four weeks, you request time off. Why is that?”

Tata scrambled for an excuse. “It was, uh, a woman problem. My supervisors have been very supportive. I do good work, and they’ve accommodated my schedule requests.”

Gallard laughed. “Indeed. Shall I tell you what it was, Ms. Lang? Tati?”

When she remained silent, Gallard continued. “Do you remember the Tagus?”

Tagus. Tagus. Nope. “Wait,” she said. “It was a Mars shuttle, wasn’t it? Seventy, eighty years ago? I remember reading about it in school. It blew up or something.”

Gallard nodded. “It was a commercial transport. News feeds reported that the pilot suicided and crashed into an ore freighter at the Aperon station in Earth orbit, killing a hundred Mars colonists and laborers, plus the freighter crew. It was an Advent Industrial shuttle, Ms. Lang, though that’s not generally known. Tagus was flown by my great-uncle, Marcel Gallard.”

Tati raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t know that.” She hesitated. “Look, I’m sorry to hear it and all, but what does it have to do with my work schedule?”

Gallard stood, tablet in hand, and walked around the desk. “It has everything to do with your work schedule, Ms. Lang,” he said, leaning against the desk.

Tati’s blood ran cold. He knew.

Gallard fiddled with his tablet, and a holo appeared over his desk, displaying the Earth, Luna, and the major spaceports in low orbit. “Tagus departed the Johannesburg spaceport en route to Aperon. As Marcel came in range of the station, he also exited the shadow of the earth and came into a full and spectacular view of the moon. The full moon, as it happens. It was then that Marcel learned that he carried the Lycan metagene. His first transformation into a werewolf was his last. We never learned how he came to possess that gene. He was obviously bitten shortly before his flight.”

Tati shuddered. Gallard’s silver-gray eyes seemed to bore into her.

“Marcel Gallard carried the same pathogen in his bloodstream that you do, Tatiana Lang. You know, of course, that Advent Industrial has wide-ranging interests and vast resources. I am particularly proud of our analytics department. It might surprise you to learn that of our twelve point four million employees, precisely six take a leave of absence every 28 days, coincident with the full moon. You are the seventh. I’ll tell you that four of these seven are men, so as to your ‘woman problem,’ no.”

Tati glanced down at her right fist. She’d clenched it so hard that she’d driven a fingernail into her palm. Blood trickled onto her pant leg. She jammed her fist into her jacket pocket. He knows.

“I’ll be blunt, Ms. Lang. You are a werewolf, and I have a job for you.”