The Gifted
By
Linda Mooney
(C) Copyright by Linda Mooney, Nov. 2007
Published by New Concepts Publishing
Smashwords Edition
Cover Art by Alex DeShanks, Nov. 2007
ISBN 978-1-60394-104-4
New Concepts Publishing
Lake Park, GA 31636
www.newconceptspublishing.com
This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author’s imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.
Chapter One
Proclamation
The small cadre of guards fought the crowds to bring their prisoner to the platform. Locked within their tight circle, the figure which was causing such controversy looked too defenseless to be the reason behind the mass hysteria overtaking the hundreds of people in the plaza.
The guards were having a difficult time getting the young woman to the place where her sentence would be carried out. Pelted by debris and fists, they endured the scorn and hatred from the mob that was growing steadily worse. Already their prisoner, clad only in a simple worker’s shift, bore bruises and other signs of abuse from both her jailers and the guards.
“May the heavens fry out your eyes!” someone screamed from the masses.
“Put THEM in the pod!”
“Yes! POD THEM!”
Freshly enraged, the crowd pressed closer to the cadre. One man shoved his face directly into one guard’s and growled, “How can you do this to one of your own? How can you live with yourself?”
The guard lowered his eyes but maintained his grip on the woman’s arm, determined to carry out his orders.
A short distance away, two men looked down at the scene from the safety of their balcony. As the mob jostled and hampered the guards’ progress toward the launching ramp, one man turned to his superior. “I still believe this is a mistake. You’re making a martyr out of her, and they won’t soon forget. The people adore their Gifted.”
“I had no choice,” the other man replied tersely. “She was becoming too popular. You know as well as I that the other Gifted were listening to her, and were on the verge of rebelling themselves.”
“And you thought that by issuing the Condemnation Proclamation on her, that it would dispel the rebellion?”
Angrily, the man turned to face his accuser. “We’ve gone over this worthless argument before,” he hissed. “She’s a traitor. With her gone, she won’t be able to talk to them. She won’t be able to set an example with her refusals and abstinence. The Proclamation has been set, and within the hour she’ll be launched into orbit to serve her sentence.” He straightened and brushed out the wrinkles in his jacket. In a quieter voice, he continued as he watched the near-riot below them. “Once the sentence has been fulfilled, I’m going to approach the Judiciary and ask for a Cessation of Interment.”
“You’re WHAT?”
The other man sighed heavily. “You heard me the first time. Must I repeat everything?”
“You cannot refuse the people having her body brought back for public display! Roha Non! Listen to yourself! Do you want a major civil war on your hands?”
“I can’t afford to bring it back from orbit,” Roha Non snapped. “Once her body is put on display, they’ll use her as a rallying point. No, it’s best she be removed from here as soon as possible and remain out of the public’s eye forever.”
A massive swelling of noise from below drew the two men’s attention back to the crowd. The guards had reached the platform and now held their prisoner ready to ascend to the ship awaiting her.
With the help of a few people, a young man managed to break through and fall at the feet of the prisoner. A guard started to level his hands at the man, prepared to use his Gift to fight back the encroaching figure, but was stayed by a pleading look from the woman. Shaken, the guard allowed her to kneel and help the man back to his feet.
“Go with our hearts,” he whispered to the prisoner, clasping her hands in his and pressing a kiss to her thumbs. He stared deeply into her eyes. An unspoken signal passed between them. Then he was gone, swallowed up by the jostling mob.
The woman shivered and pressed her fists to her chest. Glancing back at the guards, she barely nodded she was ready, then lowered her face to hide the tears that began to spill. She didn’t want them to see her cry, but she couldn’t stop the flow.
Her robes of state had been stripped away, along with her title and any authority she’d been granted. Her once thigh-long hair had been shorn to just above her shoulders, an even greater abasement than losing her uniform. The only thing they couldn’t remove from her was the signet of her power, a permanent mark in her flesh that would remain with her for her entire life.
She was a condemned outlaw, a rogue Gifted—a rare but extremely dangerous being. Worse, because she was a Gifted, and one of the most powerful of her kind, the guards and Council kept her under heavy sedation to prevent her from using her abilities to escape her sentence. Listless and semi-conscious from the drugs, the woman stumbled up the platform, unable to present any picture of honor or bravery to the thousands of people who’d come to the Presentation to protest her sentencing.
At the top of the platform, they were met by the head of the Judiciary. Raising his arms for silence, he patiently waited for the masses to quiet down enough so he could pronounce judgment on the prisoner. A stiff wind had sprung up, forcing him to strain to be heard.
“Sah’Reena, do you understand the crimes by which you have been found guilty?” he asked loudly.
Somewhere inside herself, the young woman managed to find the strength to straighten up and present him with a steady gaze. Bloodied, scarred, and almost broken, she was still a picture of beauty and power. The wind whipped her loosened hair about her face and shoulders, but all she could focus on was her sorrow and the pity she had for the insignificant man before her. He was just a pawn for the Judiciary, made to utter their rhetoric because the main governmental body was too frightened of her to do it themselves in person. “I know what I have been accused of. If they are crimes, it is by your belief, and not those of the people.”
A roar of approval followed her statement. The Judiciary motioned again for quiet. “Do you understand the sentence that will be carried out because of your crimes?”
“I know the punishment that has been pronounced on me by those who fear me, who fear my power, and who fear the righteousness that I believe and stand by.” A sudden surge of anger bubbled up from deep within her soul, and in a surprisingly strong voice, she raised her arm, palm bared to all, and called out, “I WILL NOT BE A WEAPON!”
The crowd screamed and pushed forward. Alarmed, the Judiciary stepped back, nearly falling off the platform as the guards shoved the woman into the ship in their hurry to escape the now out-of-control mob. The door closed with a hiss, and the enraged people beat on the outer hull and door with their fists and pummeled the view ports with debris and rocks.
Caught in the crush, the Judiciary went down, a victim to the anger and hatred of the people he was supposed to serve. From their balcony, the two men watched as the helpless official died and was left in a crumpled pile at the side of the platform.
The Deathship powered up and rose quietly, pausing to hover less than fifty feet above the crowd. A minute later it angled upward and continued to rise into the sky, toward space. When it could no longer be seen by the crowd, the people began to disperse to their homes and businesses. They never looked back at the lifeless body they’d beaten. An undercurrent of hostility rumbled like a soft growl.
The two men watched and waited until the plaza had nearly cleared, then Roha Non sent a message to have the Judiciary’s body removed from the platform and taken to an interment chamber.
“You should have sent in more guards,” Sor Set told him. He was unable to tear his eyes away from the fallen figure.
“The guards are of the Gifted. There weren’t many we could trust to carry out her sentence.”
“Still ….”
Roha Non turned away from the window and headed for the door.
“Where are you going?” asked Sor Set.
“To the communications center. I want to be kept in contact until the moment they launch the pod. I want to be absolutely certain ….”
“You’re that afraid of her, aren’t you?” Sor Set whispered.
Roha Non pivoted to stare at his assistant. Several seconds passed as he glared at the man before answering. “I’m afraid of what she can do,” he finally said, squaring his shoulders. “I’m afraid of what our world would become if what she preached and believed in became the rule for our way of life. I’m afraid of her, yes.”
“She’s only a Gifted,” Sor Set began to protest.
“No! Not just a Gifted. Had her powers been allowed to gestate, she would have been capable of destroying everything. Everything. Do you understand?”
“Everything,” the man echoed.
Roha Non nodded. He exited out the door followed closely by his assistant and they headed for the building where they could keep in contact with the ship that was heading out into the darkness of the universe, preparing to dump its human cargo like so much unwanted refuse.
Chapter Two
Anomaly
Stuart Mallory burst though the reception room as he headed for the inner door. The petite secretary, however, was faster, rounding her desk and intercepting him before he reached the other office. Barricading the door with her body, she held out her arms to bar him from going any further.
“I charge ten dollars for interlopers without an appointment,” she teased good-naturedly, but the underlying threat was clear.
Mallory stared into the woman’s crystal blue eyes and recognized the bulldog tenacity that was well-known about her. Her loyalty to her boss and her protectiveness of him were traits many wished their own assistants possessed.
“C’mon, Jack. Give me a break. I need to get these charts to him!”
“That’s Jacqueline to you, bud. And what charts? Mitchell didn’t mention anything about charts, and I was just on the phone with him not ten minutes ago.”
“Oh, gimme a break, Jacqueline!” Mallory half-whined. “There’s something on them I want him to see. I saw it first. I want credit if it’s what I think it is!”
Jacqueline Campbell gave the young scientist another stern glare and lowered her arms. “I’m going over to my desk now and buzz him. If I see you take one step toward the door, or even reach for the doorknob without my expressed, written consent, I’m nailing your hide and your charts to the bulletin board in the cafeteria so everyone can see what I do to office-busters.” Turning her back on him, she walked over to her phone and picked up the receiver, pressing the inter-office button.
“Rob? I have Stu Mallory here with some charts he wants to show you. Shall I send him in or serve him up as an entree in the cafeteria? Okay, just checking. Thanks. Okay, Mallory, you’ve been reprieved. Go on in.”
Giving her a salute, Stu opened the door and went in.
Robin Dickenson looked up from the report he’d been editing and gave the man a sympathetic smile. “What ‘cha got there?” he asked with a small nod.
“I need you to look at these star charts I just got from the observatory. Hey, man, you don’t feed your guard dog enough. She almost took my head off!”
“Which is exactly why I pay her the big bucks,” Robin laughed. He held out a hand. “Show me what’s so important that you’re willing to risk your life for it.”
Mallory pulled the sheets from their protective envelope. He spread them out over the desk as the other man cleared a space. “Okay. Remember me telling you about that anomaly around Antiphides?”
Robin pushed his glasses back onto the bridge of his nose. Picking up one chart, he held it up toward the ceiling lights. “You called it a highway of some sort, didn’t you? A strip of space that flowed faster through regular space like a current in the ocean.”
“Yeah! That’s it! Well, I think we finally got our first pictures of it.” Mallory leaned over the other scientist’s shoulder and pointed to a barely visible distortion on the chart. It definitely was there, though, and it didn’t look like ‘normal’ space.
“It’s moving, Rob. I’ll swear on a stack of bibles. It’s highly erratic, constantly changing courses, which could explain why we’ve never seen it before.”
“Have you tracked its projected course, or can you even pinpoint one?”
Mallory nodded. “But it isn’t easy. Its variables are too random. Even on its present course it gets wider and narrower. It twists and turns like a snake, almost as if it’s alive.”
“Could it be alive?”
“No. No way.”
“Then it’s not exactly like an ocean current?’
“Oh, no,” Mallory shook his head. “It’s more mercurial. Less stable.”
“Anything at HEASARC?”
“Couldn’t find a thing, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t any other reference to it in the archives. I have a couple of people reading through them, though.”
Robin nodded. “Where is it now?”
“Roughly? About half a light year from our galaxy, but it’s headed our way.”
Robin turned to look at the man. “That’s too close. Will our path take us closer to it?”
Mallory shrugged. “It’s too unstable to be certain. Between it moving our way, and us moving toward it ….”
“How fast is it moving?”
“We estimate approximately forty thousand miles per second, give or take a couple thousand. At least its speed is a constant, thank God. But that’s not the most incredible thing about it. Rob, it may travel at that velocity, but its center core we think is like a bloodstream inside a vein. I’m willing to stake my reputation on that.”
“You mean you think the interior travels at a greater speed?” Robin tried to clarify.
Stu nodded, licking his lips in preparation to drop the bombshell.
“How about ... four hundred thousand miles per sec?”
He got the effect he’d wanted. Robin’s eyes glazed over for a split-second, but there was no doubting he’d made his case.
“Any theories what causes it?”
“Who the hell can tell at this point? I’ve been arguing its existence for the past three months and nobody’s listened to me until now.” He traced a line directly from the distortion to the outer parameter of the galaxy. “My educated guess is it’ll go right past the moon and maybe swallow up Venus. If we’re lucky.”
“What if Earth passes through it instead?”
Mallory backed away from the desk, hands in the air. “Hey, I don’t even want to go there. I’m not into chaos theory, thank you very much.”
Robin looked at the other two charts and sighed heavily. “You’ve got Palomar and Adrian Peak here. Who else are you using to triangulate this thing?”
“Right now? I don’t. That’s why I’m here. I’d like to bring in one of our satellites, but I’ll need your clearance.”
”What’s our window?”
“Five weeks, maybe seven at the most. It could crack like a whip and brush past us, or hit us dead on.”
Robin muttered an obscenity under his breath.
“Yeah,” Mallory nodded, understanding. “Liberty.”
Getting to his feet, Robin slid the charts back into their envelope. “I’m taking these to Overmeyer.”
“What do you think he’ll say?”
Robin paused with his hand on the doorknob. “What he’ll say and what he’ll probably do may be two different things. If he’s smart, he’ll postpone the mission.”
“But you don’t think he will,” Mallory commented.
“For a new top secret spy satellite and a fifty million dollar launch? What do you think?” Robin opened the door. “Jack, call Overmeyer’s office and let them know I’m on my way. I have a priority two they need to review before the launch.”
Mallory hurried over to the door. “Need me to do anything?”
“Yeah. Keep your eyes on this thing. I want updates on its progress every thirty minutes and a new chart every six hours.”
“You got it,” the man promised and left the office.
Jack watched the scientist leave then turned back to her boss. Her face mirrored her concern. “Bad news.”
Robin made a face. “Could be. Hope not. We don’t need anything to happen to this project.”
“Need me to do anything after I call the general?”
“Yeah. Get a fresh pot of coffee going. Looks like we’re going to be putting in some overtime.”
Chapter Three
Podded
Once the Deathship reached a stable orbit above the planet, the guards went to retrieve their prisoner from her holding chamber.
As the door slid silently open, Sah’Reena slowly raised her head to look at the men standing in the doorway. The last dose of restraining fluids had been injected into her a few minutes earlier and were already beginning to take effect. Her vision was blurry, and she could barely feel her arms or legs. Her tongue clogged her throat. She desperately needed a drink. Four days had passed since her initial incarceration. Since then she’d had little to eat or drink, and even less sleep. Her body ached from the abuse it had endured, and still bore bloody welts and lacerations in many areas. Her back was the worst. Any touch against it sent unrivaled pain throughout every muscle and nerve.
A senior guard checked her to make sure the drugs were working. Signaling for two others to take her, the prisoner was lifted into their arms and half-carried through the narrow corridors toward the pod bay.
Inside the massive launch area, the rest of her accusers stood waiting to see her sentence carried out. Quietly they watched as the guards took the limp young woman and placed her into the narrow, coffin-shaped container sitting in the middle of the bay. Quickly, efficiently, they pressed her into the small compartment. When they were finished, they stepped away from the pod. Slowly the layers inside the tiny vehicle formed around the prisoner’s limbs, solidifying upon contact, locking against her skin and clothing as if she, too, were made of the same substance.
The senior guard checked the bonding to make sure she couldn’t raise her hands and try to escape. Even if she somehow managed to break the seals, the drugs stupefied her, thus suppressing both her will and her ability to escape her destiny.
He looked down at the woman whom he had admired for so long and took a deep breath. “Sah’Reena, it is my duty to pronounce you exiled from Murrall. Do you understand your sentence and accept it?” he intoned loudly enough for the accompanying witnesses to hear.
With difficulty, the woman managed to respond. “I understand it, but I do not accept it.” Struggling, she was able to focus on the guard who stood over her and recognized him. In a softer voice she asked, “How long?”
Am Eron shuddered. He detested every moment he had to stand there, detested his being assigned to the task of sending her away, and he prayed for her forgiveness. “Two days, Gifted. Perhaps three if you’re strong.”
Sah’Reena closed her eyes, resigned. “So be it. I do not blame you, Am Eron. I know you’re only here because of your duty.” Sighing, she took her last look around the bay, at the small crowd that had gathered to witness her removal. “This is not over, you know,” she whispered. “My death will not stop what has begun.”
“I hope not,” he whispered back. “I, too, abhor being a slave of another man’s taste for cruelty.” He reached over her and pulled down the pod door. A soft hiss echoed as the lid sealed shut. From the tiny window set in the upper section of the lid, he could see her eyes looking back at him. Giving her a small sign of goodbye, Am Eron stepped back and nodded toward the guard standing near the launch platform.
The crowd watched as the pod was lowered through the floor, into the small launch tube below. The panel in the floor closed and a small siren signaled the outer hull door opening. Moments later, the pod was jettisoned into space.
“It is done.” The crowd murmured the final sentence before dispersing. After the pod’s trajectory was finalized, the Deathship would return to the planet to await the next condemned prisoner.
Am Eron stood near the large window and watched the small cylindrical object soar through the blackness, homeless, and disdained by so many. His heart ached with guilt, but more than that he hated himself for his cowardice. He had been given the chance to join the small but rapidly growing militia that had become a part of the group of dissidents, but fear of retribution had kept him from going to their meeting that fateful night. He had a family, and he knew well the horrors that would be inflicted on them if he was discovered.
A group of nearly twelve Gifted soldiers had burst upon the rebels and quickly brought them to their knees, except for Sah’Reena, who had continued to fight. However, her own personal code had prevented her from harming or taking a life, and she’d finally been doused with the strong repression drug before being taken into custody.
Ever since that night, Am Eron had sworn to do whatever he could to aid the rebels in their cause. He had a direct link to the main Judiciary and would able to notify the dissidents of any further raids, but their forces now were mostly depleted, and their hopes and spirits had been crushed with the capture of their most influential leader. It would take months, maybe years to build up a strong enough resistance that could again challenge the main government.
“Hope go with you,” he whispered to the barely visible burial vehicle, “and thank you for your forgiveness. I will not let you down again.”
* * * *
The pod sped through the velvety void, propelled by the launch mechanism from the Deathship. Sah’Reena watched through her tiny viewport as she went literally nowhere.
There was just enough air in the pod to last her two or three days, but she had no food and no water. The drugs in her system slowed her metabolism and kept her from becoming hysterical or panicky, but they would wear off long before her time was up. Her hands were bound by her side. Even if they were free, there wasn’t enough room inside the pod to even raise them to her face. And even if she could move them, what good were her powers to her now? Would she have the ability to take her own life, and thus avoid the chance of a more torturous death? Could she abandon any fragment of hope she might live?
Live where? And how? her inner voice berated. What is there out here?
She wished she could feel for the tiny piece of plastoid hidden under her wrist. The young man who’d fallen to his knees before her and grasped her hands before she’d entered the ship had pressed the chip to her palm. Once inside her holding room, she had examined it and found it to be a miniaturized star chart.
Tears rose into her eyes. Her people still held out hope. They had defied the death sentence imposed upon her and believed she could return, would return, to finish what she had started. What she had started ….
A tear escaped and floated up to where she could barely see it from the corner of her eye. Even with her Gift she could not escape where she was. The pod was at the mercy of the great universe. If she was lucky, she would die in her sleep. She couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything except breathe … and think … and watch … and wait.
The teardrop touched the edge of the viewport and froze. Sah’Reena watched the moisture crystallize and realized how cold the outer hull had become. The pod wasn’t heated, but her tightly wrapped and bound body somehow managed to retain enough warmth. That, too, would soon be gone.
Two days, perhaps three. Death by dehydration, starvation, asphyxiation, or hyperthermia. And it was quiet—so very, very complete in its total absence of sound. There wasn’t even the soft noise of her own breathing to keep her company.
Her wrist pressed against the green chip. She wished she could see it. She wished she could hold it up to her eyes and compare the placement of stars and planets with what floated past her self-contained cell.
Closing her eyes, she thought back on many things, much of which she had reflected upon during her four days of torture. She wondered about her friends and hoped they did not have to pay as brutally for her crimes. She wondered about her allies against the Judiciary. And she wondered about her fellow Gifted, those who had called her friend, and who had provided her with their powers whenever she’d needed them.
The one thing she couldn’t dwell on was her future. She knew her time was measured now in every breath she drew and with every beat of her heart. She was completely helpless to stop her course, but she couldn’t allow herself to remain on that subject.
Regret, shame, sorrow, and fear—all emotions now were useless. Calling on them would only lead her to madness. All she would allow herself was to watch the universe float by. And when she grew tired, and when she could think no more, to sleep.
The cylinder wobbled through space, indiscernible against the backdrop of stars and neighboring galaxies, a nearly invisible drop of life in an infinite sea almost devoid of life. Unless it crashed into another object it would continue on its course for the rest of eternity, as space did not impede.
* * * *
Far away, unseen, unknown, and unsuspected, a distortion in the universe twinkled as it wriggled through the void. To the anomaly the death pod was no more than an insignificant speck of sand in a galaxy-sized desert. It licked the minuscule ship before whisking it along on its tail. In less than the time it took for her tears to freeze, Sah’Reena was no longer part of her own solar system.
Mindlessly the fluctuation lazily headed toward a little-traveled and inconsequential cluster known as the Milky Way.
Chapter Four
Rozon
The anomaly undulated from one galaxy to another, sometimes circling a star or planet. At other times it washed over a helpless moon, dragging it a million light years from its mother planet before throwing it back into the void.
It looped around black holes and threaded nebulas with abandon—a lifeless entity with a body but no soul. Derelict spaceships from long-dead alien races were caught in its whirlpool and sucked along for eternity. Other species found themselves inadvertently caught in its grip, trapped after finding out that no amount of power could pull their vessel away and out of its path.
Lazily drifting past an icy comet, it had encountered a small planet revolving around a blue dwarf sun, along with four sister planets. Not far outside the planet’s atmosphere, a minuscule object had moved slowly but surely away. The anomaly pulled it into its embrace as smoothly as a caress, and the creature inside the object never awakened from her nightmarish sleep.
By now the pod was moving at an incredible rate. Light years passed in mere minutes. The anomaly was yet unknown to most sentient beings. For although it moved itself at a steady pace throughout space, its interior contained time distortions, and ripped to shreds all the laws of physics. It was a worm hole and a black hole. It was a window and a door and a universe all unto itself, but there were also brief slices of time when it was also an ephemeral garbage disposal where things were sucked in to collapse and never to be seen again.
It was a creature unknown to most species. Those few that were aware of it feared it, shuddered in horror at what it could do if it swallowed their home world, terrified at what would happen to them if it distorted any part of their tenuous existence, if it took a moon, a neighboring planet ... or a sun.
No one knew what the ribbon of unreality really was, or where it had originated. It was like the Universe itself, with no known history. No beginning or end. It simply existed, and it moved. Yet, it wasn’t alive, or so it was believed.
The Seekers and scientists of Murrall had known about the distortion for only the past seventeen or eighteen generations, ever since the first outcast was shoveled into orbit around the planet. Back then, the great Seeker Tol’Berra had discovered a wavy line of space moving past their world, looking like a waving wall of water against the black backdrop of stars. At times it was wide. At others it twisted and appeared thin, almost invisible. That was when she gave it the name of the Rozon, and theorized it was like a road. But instead of a traveler using it to go from one place to another, the Rozon moved the traveler. Unfortunately, the traveler had no idea where his final destination would be. Or when.
When the heretic Gifted Sah’Derek had been pressed into orbit, the Rozon appeared to reach out and touch the tiny craft. One moment, the silver pod was there. The next, it was if it had never existed.
There had been a brief discussion by the Council on whether to send up a relay ship to try and search for the pod. But since Sah’Derek had already been floating for more than eighteen cycles, it was determined that it would be a waste of time and energy to look for a dead man, even if he was a Gifted.
That had been the only time the Rozon had been seen, although it had been thoroughly noted in the annals of the Council. That had been many, many, many cycles ago.
Now … it was back.
Bor Paal raced down the terraced steps toward the main gateway leading to the Council chambers. A guard stopped him just long enough to realize who the scientist was, then waved him on in.
The elderly astronomer pressed himself beyond his normal endurance to reach the main hall just as the Council session was ending. Giving up a quick blessing, he made himself known to the Regent’s assistant before collapsing at the man’s feet.
Sanderan was a thin, flat-faced man, known for his tenaciousness and his honesty, which was why he was a valued assistant to the Council, and especially its leader, the Regent. But more than anything he was known for his level thinking. He could tell immediately if a projected or impending ‘disaster’ was worthy of attention, or whether it was something concocted out of thin air and needed nothing more than a dose of assurance to the masses.
Seeing the determinant scientist nearly passed out before him, he quickly called for several of the Council members to help him lay the man in a more comfortable position until he could relay what had sent him to the hall. It had to be something important. Bor Paal had a reputation for being a firm and authoritative figure.
Once the scientist had regained his breath, and his face had resumed its normal color, Sanderan kneeled next to him. “I value your judgment, Bor Paal. This is important?”
“We must speak in private,” the scientist insisted.
“Very well. My rooms are nearby. Can you manage on your own?”
The elderly man managed to get to his feet and with a little help from the assistant, hobbled to the offices of the statesman.
Once inside, Bor Paal took advantage of the comfort couch to rest. Sanderan brought him a mug of orso, patiently waiting for the man to relay what he had come to say.
“My many thanks,” the scientist said.
Sanderan inclined his head, accepting the offer. “We’ve seen little of each other these past few cycles. Did you seek me out specifically?”
“I sought out someone who would listen to me,” Bor Paal gasped, his breath still coming in short pants. At least he felt better. “Tell me, Sanderan, have you heard of the Rozon?”
The assistant gave him a blank look. Bor Paal shook his head.
“I thought not. Then I will give you the brief explanation. It is a force. A part of space that can destroy whole planets, or just pick them up and carry them untold clusters away, then drop them.”
“Like a comet? Or a meteor?”
“No, nothing like that. It could be alive, but we’ve no proof.”
“Alive? Since when?”
“We have records dating back seventeen archivists’ entries. However, I would not be surprised to find that the Rozon is as old as the universe itself.”
Sanderan made a face. “Nothing can live that long.”
“Nothing we know of,” Bor Paal argued. “The Rozon is not from Murrall. It simply is. And it’s back.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It travels through the universe. Perhaps it even travels through time. It takes or eats or swallows anything in its path, and sometimes it regurgitates what it takes in part or in whole farther down the path.”
“This is truth?’
“More than truth. Seventeen generations ago our sister world had two moons. Two. Shoah and Stahoah.”
“Allurrall has Shoah. One moon,” said Sanderan.
“It used to have two.”
The assistant stared at the noted scientist resting on his couch. Without a doubt, he knew the man would not tell him such a thing unless he had irrefutable proof to back him.
“What happened to the second moon? The Rozon?”
“Yes, the Rozon. The moon was moved.”
“Moved?”
“Our Seekers found it six generations later. It is in a quadrant cluster so far away that it would take our ships hundreds of revolutions to reach it. But we found it.”
“How could they be certain it was the other moon? Sta ….”
“Stahoah. We had set up communities there. We were farming it for its resources. Those communities were self-sufficient, their energy sources unlimited due to the power they derived from the stars. Our Seekers found evidence of those communities. We found Stahoah.”
“Why did we never send ships to rescue our workers there?”
“The Council determined it was too risky. No more has ever been said about it,” Bor Paal told him.
Sanderan mulled over everything he’d been told. Crouching before the renowned elder, he laid a hand on the man’s arm. “You said the Rozon was back. Does it pose a threat to us?”
“That, I cannot say. It moves like a living creature, although we have no way of knowing if it really is alive. But it’s close. Very close. Too close. And it’s coming closer.”
“How can you be sure this is the same Rozon? Perhaps it’s another Rozon, a less threatening one.”
“You know better than I that you cannot make assumptions like that. We must get our people into shelter in case the Rozon swallows Murrall. We must prepare for the worst and then pray it never happens. That is why I came myself to the Council, because I knew they would have to hear it directly from me or they would never believe it. As did you.”
Sanderan understood fully. The man was right. Now, time was imperative.
“It will take me some time to gather the Council together. I will need you here to present your findings. Where are your Seekers?”
“Back at the Temple. They will not leave until this crisis has passed.”
Silence passed as both men contemplated the importance of their discovery, and the measures that would have to be taken soon. Gathering his courage, Bor Paal voiced what he’d been wanting to say ever since the Rozon had been verified.
“Sanderan.”
“Yes.”
“There is no Gifted on our world who can remove this threat from our world. Not … anymore.”
Sanderan’s face darkened with the realization. There had been a Gifted more powerful than any being ever recorded in their history, a Gifted who could have been powerful enough to eliminate the Rozon. But now they would never know. They had condemned her not one cycle ago, and sent her up into space to die.
“We need her back,” Bor Paal whispered.
“We … can’t.”
“The Council must convince the Judiciary to reverse their decision. We must bring her back. By sending her away, they may have sealed our doom.”
“No heretic has ever been recalled. No traitor has ever been brought back and reprieved. Not even a Gifted.”
“Not even Sah’Reena?” The scientist reached up and grabbed a handful of the assistant’s robe of state. Pulling him so close that they were nose to nose, Bor Paal gritted his teeth. “They’re no longer sacrificing one life. They’re sacrificing a whole planet, all for the sake of their pride.”
“She was leading a revolt of the Gifted! She would have changed our entire way of life! Our government! Our laws!”
“But we would still have our lives!” Bor Paal shouted.
Jerking the man’s hand from his robes, Sanderan stumbled backwards. His head was pounding and he needed some time to think. Everything was happening too quickly, and already they had wasted too much time. Yet, the scientist again had raised an issue that was as sensitive as it was unavoidable. By sending the Gifted to her death, they may have very likely insured their own.
Turning toward the door, the assistant gave the scientist one final glance. “You’ve made your case with me. I will notify you when you can make it with the Council. If I were you, Bor Paal, do not mention Sah’Reena. Not if you value your position and your own life.”
“We soon may not have any positions or lives to worry about,” the scientist commented dully.
Sanderan left the man alone with his prophecy ringing in his ears.
Chapter Five
Icarus
“Houston, this is Sunny Side Up.”
“Liberty, this is Houston. What’s the weather like up there, Eggles?”
“Houston, we would like to speak to Icarus.”
Frank Wharton nearly dropped his mug of coffee into his lap. Scrambling for his console, he adjusted the volume a minute setting on the dial and asked for a verification. “Say again, Liberty?”
“We need to speak to Icarus.”
Training took over and Wharton flipped the switch that relayed NASA communication with the space shuttle to the broadband satellite in orbit. People watching the telecommunications on their television sets or computers were suddenly without sound or picture.
“Affirmative, Liberty. You are in relay.”
While Wharton reached for the phone, his other hand flipped the appropriate toggle switches. All were smooth, unthinking moves ground into him from constant drills.
In the phone tree of command, Robin was fifth down the line. When the line lit up, he answered it himself, seeing that one of the other lines was tied up, meaning Jack was already busy.
“Astrophysics. Dr. Dickenson.”
“Icarus,” said the strange voice. One word, no explanation. It didn’t need one.
Robin bolted for the door, grabbing his notepad from where he’d left it near the coffee pot. Jack looked up and gave him a questioning look. He patted his beeper riding on his hip, meaning he would be in contact later if he needed her. Because of government security, cell phones were prohibited onsite.
Down the hallway he spotted Truez heading for the elevator. “Hold up, Carlos!” he yelled, and the astronomer obliged by keeping the doors open until Robin could slip inside. “What are you doing on this side of the world?” Robin asked conversationally. It was no secret where Truez was heading. Both were aiming for Building Thirty and Mission Control.
“Dropping off some star charts to Felling. Lucky I remembered my pager.”
The elevator stopped to let them out. Together they hurried out of the office building and began jogging toward Thirty. It only took them a few minutes to reach the hub of the space center and a couple more to go through clearance before being allowed into the control center.
Already the small room was in organized chaos, filled with the dozen or so workers already assigned to the space shuttle. The additional scientists, nearly two dozen more, made for very crowded conditions.
The glass windows surrounding the room had been neutralized, preventing anyone unauthorized from outside from seeing in. The tours from the space center across the highway had been diverted, as per regulations.
“Any idea why they called an Icarus?” Truez muttered.
“I’m as in the dark as you are,” Robin admitted.
It wasn’t long before Brigadier General Francis Overmeyer stepped to the front of the room where the screens were located and waved for everyone’s attention. He wasted no time getting to the point.
“At ten-sixteen hours the space shuttle Liberty, under the command of Captain Gerald Eggles, issued a code Icarus. At the moment we are under a Level Blue alert. I repeat, a Level Blue alert. There is not a problem with the shuttle or the crew as we know at this moment. We temporarily lost communication with the shuttle and are waiting for transmission to be resumed. Again, I repeat, there is not a problem with the shuttle, nor with the crew as--.”
“Houston, this is Liberty.” The giant screen behind the General grew lighter, but just barely. The picture was blurry, almost like the snowy picture of an old-fashioned television screen.
“Liberty, this is Houston. We copy. What is your emergency?” Wharton’s voice was calm and modulated, although Wharton himself was beginning to sweat bullets. Too much was riding on this mission, too much money had been invested in the space shuttle’s mission. The last thing anyone needed was an emergency to bollix up the work.
The screen cleared enough to where Eggles’ and Rojovic’s faces were distinct. Both men look worried but not frightened.
“Houston, no emergency. Not yet, anyway. At least we’re praying up here that it doesn’t turn out that way.”
Overmeyer stepped up to the screen. “Gerry, what’s the problem? You called an Icarus alert.”
“Yes, sir, I did. Have your guys been watching the stars out this way lately?”
The General turned and spotted Robin standing among the crowd. “Dr. Dickenson, I believe that’s your expertise.”
“I got your back, Eggles,” Robin replied directly to the astronauts. “If you’re referring to that anomaly that’s heading in our direction, we’ve been keeping a close eye on it.”
“Well, you should see it from this side,” Rojovic responded. Although Vaslav Rojovic had only joined the American space program five years before, he seemed to have been born an astronaut. He had a grandfather, two uncles, a cousin, and a brother involved in one fashion or another with space exploration, he himself being third generation transplanted Ukranian. He was small, compact, fast, and brilliant. He was also probably the smartest man currently on the space shuttle.
Robin crossed his arms over his chest. “Talk to me, Rojo.”
While the little man rattled off a series of numbers and trajectories, Robin made note on his notepad. The astronauts had an advantage over the earth-bound—they could see from the other side of the moon. They also had an unobstructed view of the universe.
Around Mission Control activity went up a notch. Liberty’s true and primary mission was to launch the new spy satellite for the military—very hush-hush. And while launching a space shuttle in secret was an impossibility, NASA often found ways to explain the mission by adding what was referred to as a Mardi Gras. A Mardi Gras was a member of the shuttle crew who was trained to perform a specific function on board. That function was to be the focus of the mission and where the attention of the news media would concentrate. Mardi Gras was not a frivolous gesture, not when a billion dollars worth of shuttle, equipment, and man power were at stake, but served as a suitable smoke screen for anything that needed to be accomplished without notice.
Vaslav Rojovic was the Mardi Gras, sent up to help map out the dark side of the moon. Little did anyone expect the scientist to become the most crucial member on board.
“. . . giving it a projected trajectory of six point six two degrees.”
Robin started and looked back up at the screen. “Repeat that trajectory?”
“Six point six two degrees,” Rojovic stated.
“Can’t be.” Robin shook his head. A nervous little smile crossed his lips. “I’ve been tracking that anomaly myself for the past week. Just yesterday it was on a nine nine point oh two trajectory.”
Rojovic looked off to one side, apparently double-checking the readings from his instruments. “Can’t be, Doc. From this side of the world it looks like it’s heading straight for us.”
Overmeyer stepped up, along with Fulton, Director in charge of Mission Control. “What’s the argument here, fellas?” Fulton asked with deadly seriousness.
Robin pointed toward the screen. “We’ve been triangulating with Palomar on the position and trajectory of the anomaly every six hours for nearly seven days. By all calculations the anomaly was going to bypass Earth, cut through her orbit, and miss the moon by several hundred thousand miles. Now, that may sound like a long distance to you, but in galactic terms, it’s a bullet graze.”
“Yet, by my readings I’ve just taken not two hours ago, trajectory shows the anomaly heading straight for us. No near miss. A dead-on hit,” interjected the astronaut.
Fulton stared at one scientist, then the other, in confusion. Both men were superior in their field. Both men would swear on their findings. However, only one of them could be right.
Or ... maybe they were both right.
“Rob, you said your findings are, what, twenty-four hours old? And you found the object to be parallel to Earth and traveling outward. But, Vaslav, your findings show it to be perpendicular to Earth and on a collision course? That makes absolutely no sense whatsoever. An object cannot change direction like that ….”
“Unless it’s either a space ship or a life form under its own power source,” Robin finished for him.
“Are we under threat of alien invasion?” Overmeyer blurted out. Although the question seemed ludicrous, it no longer seemed unlikely. There simply was no other way to explain why the oncoming object had changed directions.
Normal, attributable space objects like meteors and comets were predictable right down to their content, speed, size, and destination. Planets and suns could also be labeled to the nth degree. Even undependable and lesser known phenomena such as black holes and vortex fluxes followed definite patterns. But this anomaly, which seemed to be weaving its way through the universe like an intergalactic snake, was even more terrifying. Not only could they not get a handle on what it was or what it was made of, but there was no way to determine where it was heading. It was like being glued to the middle of a four-lane highway with a runaway semi-tractor trailer heading toward you, and with an inebriated imbecile with a blood alcohol content of .20 behind the wheel.
“Dickenson! Are we being invaded by aliens?” Overmeyer barked, repeating his question.
“That would be a best-case scenario,” Robin replied.
“I don’t understand.”
“At least the aliens would stop once they arrived. I don’t think this thing is going to stop,” Robin predicted.
“Then what is our next step?” asked Fulton. “How do we protect ourselves from it?”
“Can we protect ourselves?” interjected Truez. “Where would you set up the protection, for that matter, if the object is this unpredictable?”
“Good point,” Fulton nodded.
“We need to inform the President,” Overmeyer stated. “He needs to be aware of the threat.”
“Whoa, whoa.” Robin held up a hand to stay that stream of thought. “We don’t even know if there is a threat.”
“Well, right now, that thing is heading right for us!” the General argued.
“Yes, and twenty-four hours ago it was running parallel to us,” Fulton reminded the man. “What’s to say it won’t change course again a few hours from now?” Turning back to the two astrophysicists, he inquired, “Let’s suppose this anomaly stays on course at the same speed we’ve observed these past few hours. Let’s suppose it doesn’t change direction, but remains heading toward us. Where will it hit? And when?”
“I don’t have that information at the moment,” said Truez. “Rob?”
“Give me a couple of hours and I can get you some possibles. You realize, however, these projections will have no better than a forty to seventy percent accuracy rate?”
“Understood. I just need something tangible to use as a base. General? Once we’ve gotten those figures, you’re welcome to notify anyone in Washington you need to warn. Until then, we stay at Code Blue. Eggles?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You’re running the show up there. You and Rojovic stay in communication. I don’t want you signing off until we get a handle on this thing.”
“What about the satellite?” Eggles inquired. “Do we still launch?”
“What’s the ETA?”
The astronaut checked his records then his watch. “We’ll reach intended trajectory for orbit in four hours and sixteen minutes. We should then reach dark side in seven hours and fifty-three minutes.” He looked up from his clipboard. “We could wait until the next pass around, Sir.”
“That is not an option,” Overmeyer interrupted.
“It’s an option if there’s no way we can get the bird in orbit this go-‘round,” Fulton snapped back. “My men come first. When I’m certain they’re okay up there, then we’ll continue the mission. Dickenson, Truez, I want those figures in two hours.”
Both scientists concurred and hurried from Mission Control.
“Think it’s an invasion?” Truez asked the man jogging beside him. The weather was turning cold. The exercise felt good and kept them warm.
“Let’s hope not,” Robin answered.
“What if it does turn out to be little green men?” the other man wondered.
“Let’s just cross that bridge when we come to it, okay, Carlos?”
Truez laughed as they reached their building and went inside.
Two hours later they handed their answers to the Director, who studied their independent findings. Oddly enough, even though both men had come up with what could be termed educational guesses at best, both had narrowed the trajectory down to within a few hundred miles and less than an hour of each other.
If the anomaly remained unchanged in speed or direction, it would hit around the western edge of South America, either in Peru or the Pacific Ocean, by midnight tomorrow, Houston time. The United States was safe from direct impact, but that left little hope for the rest of the world.
Chapter Six
Collision
“MY GOD! HOUSTON, WE’VE BEEN HIT!”
Mission Control erupted into turmoil as the scream came over the speakers.
“Eggles! Report! Liberty! What the hell is going on?” Fulton grabbed a headset and tried to raise the crew of the space shuttle. Seconds before the cry for help, the big screen at the front of the room had gone snowy, a casualty of the three-second delay between Earth and the orbiting craft.
“Eggles! Rojovic! Foxx!” The director turned to a technician sitting in communications. The tech yelled out an answer before Fulton could voice the question.
“We’re trying, Sir!” He spoke into his headset at invisible help at the other end as they tried to re-establish contact.
“Go to Code Red,” Fulton barked. Immediately the wall of windows behind Mission Control went black, preventing any tour group from seeing into the room. The group that was already on site would pass through within minutes. Well-trained tour guides would recognize the situation, and the tourists be told personnel was on break, and hurried on to the next building. After that, Building 30 South would remain off limits until the Code Red was lifted.
Robin got to Mission Control less than five minutes after contact was lost with Liberty. Security guards checked identification of every person coming through the door, turning away anyone who didn’t have at least a Level Blue clearance, regardless of who they were or what function they performed.
He walked into controlled pandemonium. However the tension in the air was like a cloud of thick, rank air that was difficult to breathe and even more difficult to subsist in.
The screen was still snowy. Neither was there any audio. All technicians were trying to raise some signal from the craft in any method possible.
“What happened?” he asked the security guard standing just inside the double doors.
“Someone yelled they’d been hit, then the screen went out. That’s it.”
“Do we have any way of knowing what hit them or where they were hit?” He managed to make it over to a far corner of the room where a small console sat manned by a single worker. In Control lingo it was known as TELCOM. In actuality it was Houston’s direct link to every main telescope in the world. The woman sitting in front of the extremely technical-looking bank looked frazzled. Her nametag read Sobczek.
“I can get you Castro on the toilet. I can get you in on a girly show in an outdoor bazaar in Tel Aviv. But five guys in a space shuttle … we’re in deep shit city here, Doc.” She paused, hand to her ear, then adjusted her headset. “Roger that, Mauna Kea. Please hold. COMM 1! We have a visual on Liberty through Mauna Kea!” she yelled to the Director.
“Can you patch it onto the screen?”
“Done!”
The image was grainy and distant, but slowly growing closer and more in focus with a little fine tuning. Sighs of relief echoed in the room. Liberty was not destroyed, as they’d feared. However there was little doubt that something had happened.
“Can we get a better picture?” Fulton asked.
“Liberty is due to go behind the moon in three minutes,” another tech called out.
“Count it down!” Fulton ordered him.
“Mauna Kea is doing its best,” Sobczek told them.
“Do we have another telescope that has a visual?”
“Negative that. Liberty’s position is making it difficult.”
“How about a satellite? What’s up there in that vicinity?”
“PorSat Six, DEGAS One, EterStar Six, and BoROS. Only DEGAS has a camera, but it’s fixed. Won’t swivel in that direction,” came the answer from another area of the room.
“Doesn’t BoROS have a receiver?” Truez questioned.
Robin immediately saw where the astrophysicist was going. “That’s right. Fulton, what if we set up a Morse Code relay to Liberty?”
“A two hundred year old system, and sometimes the original method becomes the only choice,” Fulton muttered aloud. “SATCOM, can we rig up a relay that’ll reach the shuttle?”
“Already ahead of you,” the tech replied.
“Two minutes until far side!”
“Sir?” Sobczek called back.
The image on the screen had gotten larger, the focus clearing as the immense Hawaiian-based telescope zeroed in on the disabled craft. Now the shuttle was sharp enough to read the emblems on the side.
Liberty had not lost its orbit. Against the black velvet backdrop it sat calmly as if awaiting docking. That visual told the scientists that either whatever had hit the shuttle did not have enough force to knock it out of its assigned path, or that the shuttle’s thrusters had not been damaged, allowing the astronauts to put the craft back into position.
“Contact reestablished with the onboard computers!” the station cried out.
“Full readout!” Fulton barked. “I want to know what’s happened, and what’s going on right now!”
“All life signs stable if somewhat agitated. They’ve been frightened and they’re still in flux,” MEDCOM answered.
“O2 levels have dropped but are stable. Cabin pressure is low.” The tech looked up. “The crew is in their suits. Hull’s been breached.”
“Morse Code relay has been patched through.”
“Call ‘em.”
“Uhh . . .”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, don’t tell me ….”
“Allow me, Sir.” A young tech who had been sitting at the MEDCOM console assisting took the chair next to COMM 1. He glanced briefly at the bare wire handed him, then deftly began to tap out a code on the metal plate.
Fulton growled something unintelligible about jury rigging and went over to stare at the readouts at MEDCOM.
“Sixty seconds until far side!”
“Think they’ll get the message?” Truez whispered aside.
“The bird will have contact long enough to get it through. But it’s going to be a long wait to see if they respond,” Robin answered. His eyes had remained glued to the front screen, trying to find some sign of damage. From this side there was nothing obvious although information coming in bespoke of a hole in the hull.
His first guess was that it had to be a meteorite of some sort. Even the tiniest fragment could pierce the skin of the spacecraft like a bullet through sheet metal, and minuscule chunks of debris were always floating or flying around space. It was a constant source of danger to the astronauts whenever the men took their walks out in the unknown.
But something else told him subconsciously that it was bigger than a meteorite. It had to have been something large enough to see, something that gave them enough time to scramble into their suits without a second thought. And something that was hard enough to create a major impact.
“We have far side.”
In one movement, the whole of Mission Control pulled back from their stations and expelled a collective sigh. There was nothing they could do for the next eighteen minutes—if by some miracle the ship was still traveling at its original speed—until Liberty emerged from the back side of the moon. Nothing except analyze the data they’d retrieved in the last few seconds and pray for the safety of the crew.