The Xylaris Cure - Introduction:
After surviving the wormhole, Kiana Benson and the AusumX team reach Xylaris under missile attack and land on a planet as beautiful as it is lethal. With predators in the forests, danger in the flora, and Solwin somewhere nearby, Kiana must lead a wounded, hunted team in a desperate search for the cure to VX-23 before time runs out—for Earth and for herself.
On Xylaris, healing plants can seduce as easily as save, new discoveries come at a deadly price, and every step draws Kiana deeper into danger. As Shelby’s breakthrough gene therapy changes the stakes, Kiana must fight to protect her people, trust her most dangerous ally, and keep humanity’s last hope from falling into the wrong hands.
The links below provide samples for your enjoyment.
The Xylaris Cure – Story Opening
“Take your seats, secure harnesses, and prepare for sudden movements. You are under attack.” AusumX’s AI agent, Vyra, announces over the spaceship’s speakers.
I slam my hands down to lock my harness clips while my eyes stay glued to the big screen in front of Juno and me. Two missiles burst from Solwin and race toward us. I’m neither soldier nor weapons expert, but this is bad. Very bad. We have seconds before they reach us. A fierce chill runs down my back. The others feel it too. Kipper’s search for the ship’s controls has grown frantic. Juno refuses to let go his mastering of manual controls for weapons. And yet there’s no time for anything except our destruction.
“Everyone harness up. Stay focused,” I say to those of us in the spaceship’s command center, keeping my voice as steady as I can. With Marlowe wounded, command falls to me. The world narrows to decisions. I feel the tremor under my skin—and ignore it.
Why don’t we have an astronaut who knows how to pilot spacecraft?
Why is Prescott Jones so determined to kill us?
“Spacecraft this size have countermeasure.” Viktor’s Russian voice is more hopeful than certain. “I took class in space warfare. Wait for it.”
Seconds stretch into eternity. The missiles streak toward us—unstoppable, inevitable. Watching them is a punishment in itself.
Our craft, AusumX, lurches to the side. At the same time, several objects shoot from our spaceship’s stern.
The incoming missiles veer toward them.
“Told you,” Viktor points, snaps his fingers, and slaps the arms of his seat. “See, see. Countermeasure.”
Our spacecraft swoops hard. It’s shockingly maneuverable. The countermeasures, drawing the missiles with them, twist around and head for the firing ship, Solwin. It turns away, but less nimbly. One of its own missiles, aimed at us, detonates against Solwin’s own stern section. Karma. The other missile explodes beyond it. Solwin spirals toward the planet’s surface, trailing debris. Then it vanishes beyond the clouds. Is it crippled? Destroyed? I can’t tell, and that uncertainty scares me.
I want it to crash in a blaze of justice or plunge into an active volcano. Then I think of the innocent ones aboard and flinch. Vengeance feels hollow when death comes this easy.
The clouds below churn like bruised silk, roiling in pale purples and ash-grays. Somewhere beneath them lies Xylaris—our destination, our trials, our tomb, maybe. I can’t tell anymore. All this for a cure that could save billions or bury us with it.
AusumX tilts, stabilizes, and begins its descent. The ship’s motion shifts subtly, the deep-bellied thrum of the drive changing pitch. Something about it feels more like diving than flying.
I glance at the nav-screen. Altitude: dropping fast. Trajectory: shallow arc. ETA: less than fifteen minutes.
Outside the viewport, fragments of Solwin’s aft section trail down through the atmosphere—faintly glowing metal, drifting like falling stars. I can’t stop watching them.
“Still no comms from Solwin,” Kipper mutters. “It might’ve survived the hit.”
Or it didn’t. And we’re the last ones standing. What a relief that could be. I shouldn’t think so glibly about the death of others, but after nearly being killed by some of them, I guess it’s natural.
As we descend, AusumX activates its shielding field—a shimmering ripple that pulses just outside the hull, interacting with Xylaris’s upper atmosphere like light through oil. Static flickers across the screens as sensors adjust. The ship groans. I feel it in my ribs.
Juno talks us through the descent, even though the ship flies itself. His grounded voice makes it less threatening. I’m enjoying this new Juno. Back at the center he was all sharp jokes and dominance games—Susan’s favorite weapon. Now he’s quieter, more watchful, like he’s finally chosen a side . . . and it isn’t hers.
“You’re not going to like the gravity shift,” he warns.
He’s right. A sudden spike presses me into the seat, like a giant palm flattening my chest. Viktor grunts. Kipper clenches his teeth. I shut my eyes and ride it out, pretending I’m somewhere else.
We break through the cloud layer. Xylaris reveals itself in a series of slow, cinematic sweeps. Jagged mountains. Sickle-shaped rivers. Pale forests moving like waves. The surface is beautiful in the way some deadly things are.
AusumX levels out, skimming a ridgeline.
“Landing site in thirty seconds,” AI agent Vyra announces, the words flashing on the screen. I clench my fists and brace.
This is it.
The Xylaris Cure – Alien Fronds
Xylaris’s sun is about the same size as Earth’s, which oddly reassures me, but the two moons? Not so much. Both are larger than Earth’s, one high in the morning sky, the other hovering near the horizon. The sun’s warmth hits just right, like a pleasant spring day back home, a few straggly clouds drifting across a mostly blue sky.
“Okay, team, keep your eyes up and spread out a little. Maybe five meters. Let’s steer clear of anything taller than we are until we know it’s friendly.”
To our left, on trees shorter than the towering lime-leafed ones, hang orange, curved fruits. Their sweet scent catches my nose as we stride past.
“Aimi, can you give these a quick scan? Dex has your kit. Let’s hold off tasting until you’ve cleared the toxicology screen.
To pick and eat fruit straight from a tree, in the wild, like our ancestors once did on Earth . . . what a thought. I imagine my mom raising a skeptical eyebrow. You’re trusting alien fruit now? Maybe we’re all losing it.
One day we’ll heal Earth’s biospheres. I’m determined. It’s Aimi’s dream, and her plan.
A little further on we take a moment to examine the earthy-smelling waist-high fungi. I touch their leathery white tops and brown gills on the underside. They look so much like giant versions of Earth’s grow-tower mushrooms, that Alice in Wonderland comes to mind, which isn’t helpful considering how that story went.
As I stroll with Aimi and Juno across the grassy slope, the warm sun on my face makes me feel sleepy.
“So, Blondie,” Juno says, grinning. “What’s that supercomputer brain of yours cooking today?”
“What makes you think I’m cooking up anything?”
He laughs. “A question for a question. You’re avoiding.”
I snort. Sure, I have a ton of plans and ideas, but after that he can wait. We continue towards the trees that Aimi spotted as she waited for me. Robot Dex follows faithfully behind us.
More lime trees surround the new organism now in front of us. I’m unsure if it is part animal, though it looks closer to plant than animal.
Most things on Xylaris look strange, but this is off-the-scale. Soft, bendy fronds, about a foot and a half long, carpet a hundred-foot circle inside the trees. While mostly pale pink, some are dark pink, purple, violet, and mauve. Lights dance among the fat fronds, as they undulate, or quiver. It is hard to know what causes their movement, though it doesn’t feel threatening.
“Let’s log this as Site Echo-One. Dex, can you start air sampling? Aimi, go ahead with initial contact.”
Aimi bends down with a probe. After a preliminary test inserting a needle into one of its pink fronds, she cuts a small piece and feeds it into the testing device held by Dex. I wait, curious.
“Definitely not edible,” Aimi says, studying the trace. “Topical activity could give dermal and subdermal healing properties, though it collapses seconds after cutting—like it needs the organism’s live current. No VX-23 antiviral match.”
“If it modulates pain pathways this strongly, it could also hijack reward circuits. Bad news with a virus that already rewires stem-cell signaling.”
She lifts the device to Juno and me explaining that the cut piece of the frond looks dead and white, like ice-numbed fingers. “We need to touch the living fronds themselves to receive any benefit.”
“Is it safe, Aimi?”
“As far as I can tell,” she says. “Nothing lethal in its chemistry.”
“Alright, we’ll try a small test. I’ll go first. Juno, keep watch; Dex, stand by.”
“Would you like to hold my hand, Miss Kiana,” Dex asks.
“It’s okay,” I tell the robot. “Just stay close.”
I tentatively peel off my bloody glove figuring that the waving plants are unlikely to make the cuts worse and if they help, all the better.
“They don’t rupture,” Aimi says. “Sort of elastic, like a half-deflated balloon.”
Above us, two pterodactyl creatures circle. Several foot wings, they soar and screech with animal-like cries. Juno eases his pistol from its holster. Even though the birds show no inclination to dive on me, it doesn’t change how uncomfortable I now feel. It’s been bad enough jumping at every jiggle in the ferns and flowers because I imagine they’re hiding a hungry lizard; now I must get used to aerial predators big enough to carry off a toddler.
“Dex, can you track them? Let us know if they drop too close, say fifty feet.”
“Yes, Miss Kiana. I have activated the camera on my crown to observe the sky.”
“Thanks. Juno, let’s keep weapons down unless we have no choice.”
“Yes, Commander.”
Thank goodness for the bots. I feel safer with them close by. We trained with all kinds of bots at the Mission Center, though Rex and Dex weren’t assigned to the mission until we reached the launch site. Their specs tell us they’re security bots: alloy frames, fast reaction, weapons-qualified, though they have skin membrane exteriors and human-type facial features. As we confirmed with the Solwin Mining Corp bots, security bots can harm a human if that’s the only way to protect the humans or enterprises in their care. Their skill is supposed to be danger detection and harm prevention. Warrior robots—WarBots—are a whole different matter. They’re programmed to fight and kill and require no social skills. They’re the infantry troops of modern warfare. I wouldn’t want to be on the wrong side of one of those things.
Surrounding the fronds, just inside the bordering trees near the tree bases I can see beds of bluebell-like flowers. Little resembles things from Earth, but what else can I compare them to? These bluebells, like other Xylaris flowers, are multi-hued, in this case in the blue spectrum.
Insects of mixed sizes and types buzz and creep everywhere though thankfully none have landed on or bitten me. I swat at a red-and-black hairy thing. Yes, insect hordes are also something we haven’t encountered before. I almost hate them more than lizards or pterodactyls as they can fly in my ears, my mouth, they can creep up my legs and sting me on the back of my neck. I really don’t want us to do our flora searching wearing full personal protective equipment (PPE). Juno agrees.
“Aimi, let’s get a screen on the flyers. If anything tests nasty—hemotoxic, neurotoxic—we’ll switch to full suits, even if it slows us down.”
“Yes, of course,” Aimi agrees. “I should’ve done that before our walk. I’ll start while you’re testing the healing inside these fronds. Can you stay close to Kiana, Juno, in case she needs help.”
“I can help catch insects, Miss Aimi,” Dex tells her. To prove his point, he snatches the red-and-black buzzing thing right out of the air, then another. He proffers both fists toward Aimi.
“Okay, I’ll take those.” Aimi laughs. “But keep an eye on Kiana and Juno, please.”
I sit down in front of the undulating pink fronds, legs crossed as I carefully touch my now bare hand to them. Right away, the fronds embrace my hand completely, though gently. It’s almost like gentle suction holds it in place.
“It likes you,” Juno says. “Look at the colors.”
“What the—” Around my injury the frond-fingers have changed from pink to dark purple as they vibrate. An intense, undulating, adrenaline-type of energy surges through me making my eyes widen and my heart thump.
“They might contain a natural analgesic or something more complex,” Aimi explains.
“Feels . . . electric. Like every cell in my hand is singing though are you sure this is safe?” I call out to Aimi who is catching insects with a suction tube that pulls them into another handheld device. “What if it’s a flesh-eating plant?”
“Come on, it’s not eating you,” she says, laughing.
“Aimi, hold on.” Juno gets closer, watching my face. “Kiana, are you aware of what’s going on?” He sounds alarmed.
My hand feels wonderful. The closest I can compare it to is a soothing vibratory massage. Juno’s worry seems almost distant. I try to move more deeply into the fronds in the hope that they can heal my broken wrist as well. In fact, I wonder if it would be okay to strip naked, to lie down. The urge takes hold of me. Part of me yearns to free myself of all restraints to let myself sink into the oblivion of peace that is drawing me to it. Not fully in control of myself—so many pains having come my way since Xian, since Momma, since all the horrors—I’m desperate to let them go. The fronds will offer me healing. I know it. I lift my injured hand and stare in amazement. It is completely healed. No scratches, no bloody cuts. Pain zeroed; motor function back. That’s not placebo.
“Look, look. It’s amazing. I told you,” I’m practically yelling. “It’s healed my hand. Aimi, do the VX-23 test again. If it cures the dermis, maybe it can cure internals too.” What if they can cure the virus in me? Fix my DNA.
“No anti-viral properties,” Aimi confirms, scanning her device. “I took a sample from a different area. “No hint.”
“Fine, thanks,” I say, trying not to sound deflated. “At least it fixes our injuries. Juno, come closer, let the fronds heal your wounds. Take off your shirt.”
“Nice story,” he jokes. “You just want to see my body.”
“In your dreams, Rossi,” I shoot back—though heat’s already blooming under my collar.
Juno strips off his shirt. I cringe at the sight of the huge bruises on his side. While keeping most of his lower body beyond their reach, he lets the fronds touch the bruises on his torso. He also pulls a few onto his bashed-up face. I struggle to keep my eyes away from his muscular, bronze body as the waving purple fronds try to touch his face and neck. His arms, his side, bruised blue and purple from Marlowe’s full-on kick, are soon wrapped in handfuls of deep mauve fronds.
Aimi comes to look at my healed hand. “That’s pretty amazing. I’m going to put my leg in.” She removes her footwear and leggings, undoes the clips on the cast and lowers her leg inside another section of the fronds. I see her sliding deeper into their center.
I remove my super brace, boot, and sock so I can slide my deeply cut ankle into the fronds. A moment later I find myself lying across a section of fronds so my broken wrist, out of its cast, can also receive healing. Warning bells dim. Logic goes soft around the edges. I want so badly to roll over and lie down, to fully immerse myself. I want to let my head, my mind, feel the fronds touch because I know deep down that they can and will heal me.
One second I’m sinking—weightless, warm—peace pouring through every nerve like honey. Momma’s lemon-honey mug at my lips, her palm circling my chest in sweet-smelling liniments, soft nest of blankets for a story about bunnies in waistcoats and blue trousers. The next, Juno’s hands clamp under my arms and wrench me up.
Cold air slaps my skin. Light knifes my eyes. Gravity hits.
Everything rushes back at once—the prickle under my skin; ribs throbbing where the harness once bruised me; a dull iron ring in my ears. My throat is dry sand. I gasp and cough, blinking hard as the pink hush of the fronds snaps shut like a torn veil.
“Why—” My voice rasps. I swallow. “Why did you do that?” The ache blooms everywhere; the calm is gone. “Please . . . I need to go back.”
“Hell, no.” Juno’s breathing hard, jaw set, still hauling us clear. “Whatever that was, it’s not just healing. These things are dangerous. Can’t you feel it? This is like heroin. Kiana, listen to me, this is reward-loop hijack. It wants you compliant.”
“I was okay in there.” I reach toward the undulating edge; my fingers tremble. “Just thirty more seconds.”
He catches my wrist, presses two fingers to my pulse. “You’re sprinting,” he says, softer but no less firm. “Pupils blown. You’re shaking.”
“I’m cold because you dragged me out,” I snap, but it comes out small and shaky. Shame licks at the edges of the want. “Juno, please.”
He holds my gaze. “We do this with our eyes open, Ki. Not like this.”
Juno seems far away. Distant. I struggle to get free of his grip so I can return to the fronds. Then I notice something. “No way, your face, Juno. It’s perfect. Not a mark. May I?” I reach over to stroke the side of his face, the healed, coffee-colored skin. “Does it hurt?”
He sits up. “No.”
We find ourselves kneeling close to one another among the fronds. I inch my knees backwards, but he takes my hand in his and touches it to his face again, letting it pass over his lips. I feel the barest movement and wonder if he kissed my fingers.
“Did you feel the wands—the fronds?” My voice comes out husky. Our hands drop.
“Intense.” He gives a quirky smile. “Very intense. What have you done to me?”
“I didn’t do anything.” My heart thumps in my ears. “I’m going to lie back down.”
“No. You mustn’t.” His hand reaches over and draws my head tenderly toward him. When our lips touch, his kiss is out of this world. Every sensation is exaggerated so intensely that I think my mind and body might explode into ecstasy. Never before did such euphoria touch me. Is this love? Or just chemistry turned up to cruel.
An echo of the fronds slams me. Highs have hooks, Juno said so himself.
I pull back and slap him hard across the face.
“Ouch.” His head jerks backward. “You’ve got quite the arm,” he says, rubbing his cheek. “You slap like a marine.”
“Sorry.” I stare at the red mark on his cheek. His wide-apart, shock-filled eyes. My hand bunches over my mouth, then reaches tentatively toward him, but stops. “Sorry,” I say again, awkwardly. “It was an accident—survival reflex. Didn’t mean to hurt you. I’ve never struck anyone before . . . like that . . . well, Chuck . . . but that was different.”
“Good to know.” Juno grins. “Happy to offer my services.” His eyebrows flick up and down. “You’ve brought me to my senses too. These fronds might heal, but they’re deadly. They are still wowing me, but I suspect your joke might be correct. I bet they’ll eat you if you lie in them long enough.”
“Okay, that’s enough. Let’s back out of the patch. Dex, hard-flag Site Echo-One as Class Delta: neuro-euphoric, topical-live, predatory restraint.” Wow, it stuck this time. I remember failing the field hazard classes test at the center.
“Where’s Aimi?” Juno’s question jolts me into realizing that I’d forgotten about her. The fronds seem to make me forget everything except their wonderful sensations.
“Get her out, Juno.” I manage to say this through the haze holding on to me. “Dex, come and help, now.”
Our robot is beside us in seconds. He wades into the fronds pushing them back with ease so he can reach Aimi. She is deep inside the fronds where we can’t even see her.
“Find her, Dex.” Now I’m panicking.
“I have her, Miss Kiana.”
With Juno’s help, Dex pulls the fronds from Aimi and lifts her into his arms before striding back out.
“Master Juno,” Dex says. “Your words are correct. I turned on my sensors as I strode inside. This creature was trying to communicate, though it didn’t understand my AI. It emits a strong narcotic to subdue prey before consumption. Painless death likely.”
“Shit.” Juno is shocked.
“Comforting,” I mutter. “Remind me to reprogram your bedside manner.”
Were the fronds communicating with me? With each of us? Of course not. How preposterous. The analgesic compound must contain a hallucinogen.
“Aimi, wake up.” I shake her gently. “Aimi, Aimi, come back.”
Part of me knows that Juno and Dex must be right about the danger, the organism’s flesh-eating habits. Another part struggles to overcome a sense of loss. I realize that whatever has taken hold of my willpower is a brilliant chimera, an illusion. In my entire life, I never felt such peace and freedom from worries as I felt in the fronds. Whatever they are, they contain an extraordinarily powerful effect that no drug I know of can come close. Not that I’ve tried heroin or plan on trying it. But if they also heal? Damn it, that is extraordinary.
Aimi gradually stirs and I see in her eyes this same loss. Did the fronds return Xian to her arms? Did he lie with her among these alien swirling membranes and receive his healing too? Together in each other’s arms once more, did the fronds assuage the hurt which rests in her soul?
I get it now, how vulnerable I am, probably how vulnerable we all are, to sirens offering relief from our torments. I must try harder to embrace my afflictions without letting them pilot me.
“Dex, set a virtual boundary and push an alert to all quants—Echo-One: DO NOT ENTER. Aimi, log the chemistry and we’ll come back with tethers next time.”
“Done,” Dex says.
“Good. Juno, let’s leave a motion cam—see if anything else wanders in.”
“I’ll take a bet that nothing gets out of those pink monsters alive.” Juno holds his hand out to me. “Let’s go while we have the power to decide such things.
I take his hand. We help Aimi to stand, though she seems dizzy and still hasn’t spoken. We walk slowly through the trees.
Everywhere I look, threat surfaces. Pterodactyls circling noisily overhead. Lizards darting about keeping their distance provided we fire warning zaps to the soil in front of them. The yellow trumpet flowers’ fiery stamens grab and eat insects foolishly landing or climbing on them.
Sitka’s artificial turf and silver-painted tree skeletons might seem a bizarre memory, but at least we were safe.
We make our way in the direction of our AusumX spaceship. When Ginny sees us, she comes over to offer us one of the curved fruits. “It’s delicious and nutritious and safe to eat,” she says. “It’s been tested.”
We didn’t make up “Xylaris tests” on the spot—we brought a portable, all-purpose safety rig. First a no-touch scan (light plus an “electronic nose”) tells the AI if a fruit looks or smells like known poisons. Next, a lunchbox lab separates the chemicals and checks them against a huge library. Then organs-on-a-chip—tiny gut, liver, heart, and brain tissues—“taste” a micro-sample; if any cell reacts, it’s an automatic fail. We also swab for germs. Only if everything is clean do we simulate digestion and try a pin-prick microdose with antidotes ready. Anything that fails is auto-incinerated. This was all part of our team’s training. Not counting our three older folks, everyone had to pass this to come here.
If Ginny says it’s tested, I know it’s okay to try.
“Nope, pass,” Juno says. Aimi also shakes her head.
“If you pick the fruits yourself,” Ginny says, “watch out as the tree trunk is covered in brutal thorns. Couldn’t figure what for until I chucked a fruit pit. These monster ants cleaned it off in seconds. That’s pretty scary. I figured the thorns are to stop the ants climbing up to eat the fruit, so don’t spill juice on your legs as they might try eating you.”
“Thanks, Ginny. Lots to watch out for. One fruit each for now until we’ve checked longer-term impact. Let’s note the tree’s location and circle back when GPS is up and running.”
I take a small bite.
“Holy kaloli, that’s good,” I say with my mouth full. “Ginny, you’re officially promoted to Chief of Alien Cuisine. Alongside our master chef, Viktor.”
It’s as hard to describe the peach-mango, chewy texture and gingery taste as it is to find words to talk about the trees and plants, the fungi and flickering flowers. “I guess we are going to have to come up with a new vocabulary for our discoveries.”
I throw away the seed about the size of an avocado pit and, as Ginny said, in seconds it’s swarmed by these hideous-looking ants the size of my fist. We turn away as I bite the last piece of fruit in half before offering the remaining piece to Juno. He frowns but takes it. After he swallows, he takes my hand and licks my fingers, then laughs cheekily.
I swat his wrist. “Boundaries, Rossi. Meeting in one hour, after I’ve checked up on Marlowe. We’ll brief the others on what happened here.”