by Hodden, TE
President Croft blanched. “You want to… to… operate on her?”
“A simple procedure,” the Doctor said, “There is some risk, but¬”
“Of course,” Grace said, urgently. “Whatever can be done.”
The doctors set quickly and efficiently to work, preparing the procedure.
The Doctor placed the scalpel to Eloise’s scalp.
The anaesthetist gave a cray of alarm as the monitors wailed and buzzed.
Eloise roared, with a sudden savage fury. Her veins bulged, her eyes snapped open, and she tore herself free of her restraints, hurling herself into a punch that flattened the face of the nearest doctor.
Catherine sank into the washed out grey of the warp, to where time had slowed to a crawl, and sprinted out of the observation gallery and down the stairs. The doors warped and buckled under the force of her crashing through them, hanging loosely from their hinges.
Eloise was on her feet, fighting back against the doctors who tried to hold her back. She punched, and clawed, and twisted an arm until it snapped.
Catherine danced through the chaos, slowly moving back up towards the surface of the warp, as she placed her hand against Eloise’s chest. She broke free of the warp, and there was a pop of displacement, that threw Eloise into the wall.
Catherine grabbed a syringe of sedative. “Are you all okay?”
The doctor with the broken arm shook his head. “She’s not down!”
Eloise peeled herself off the wall, and ran at Catherine, already throwing another punch.
Catherine blinked in and out of the warp, to step aside, the punch narrowly missing her head. It struck a fire extinguisher instead, bursting it in an explosion of compressed carbon dioxide. The twisted skin of the extinguisher fell to the floor.
“Eloise!” Catherine barked. “I do not want to hurt you. If any part of you can pull yourself together, you need to stop!”
Eloise grabbed a scalpel, and lunged at Catherine.
Catherine popped into the warp, ducked under the blade, and surfaced, catching Eloise in the displacement, and throwing her back across the room.
There was chink of sound, as two crossbow bolts popped holes in the gallery window, and hit Eloise in the neck. The stun bolts went off. Eloise did not waver. She looked up at the gallery and snarled.
Scimitar snarled back.
Eloise leapt, up, impossibly high, impossibly fast, and crashed through the window.
Catherine sank back into the warp, and sprinted back up the stairs. “Oh come on! She seemed such a nice girl on TV!”
Catherine burst into the gallery. Two Secret Service agents were trying to drag the President and First Lady clear. Scimitar was putting himself between them and the rampaging Eloise.
Catherine ran at Eloise, but the girl span about, and landed a punch so hard it knocked Catherine out of the Warp. The punch felt like an anvil. It scattered her thoughts, buckled her knees, and sent Catherine bouncing and rolling across the floor.
Eloise smiled, and kicked the spear out of Catherine’s reach. “Die!”
“No,” Scimitar growled, and fired a lightning bolt.
The bolt detonated Eloise’s feet, and the forks of lightning washed over her. The girl stood still, shaking and thrashing, screaming out loud. Then her eyes crossed, and she slumped to the floor.
Catherine gasped through the pain, and dragged herself back to her feet.
This time, Eloise stayed down.
01000
The cryo-pod chamber was the size of a stadium, the wall covered in the transparent caskets. Only one was active, the insides glowing, a small, slight, figure suspended within, the outside caked in ferns of ice.
Matthew scraped the ice from the controls, and tapped at them. “She’s alive. Bringing her down now.”
A robotic arm rose up, selected the pod, and brought it down to the deck. The canopy opened, cracking the ice, and releasing a cloud of acrid steam. The Dweeb hoisted the lid aside, and reached into the stasis-jelly, to scoop the figure out. She wore a skin suit, hibernation harness, and a tight mask of a rubbery cloth. Her breath wisped through the air.
“No!” She tore herself free from the Dweeb, and flopped out the casket, on wobbling legs.
“Easy!” Barney caught her. “We mean you no harm.”
“You should not be here!” She barked. “The Legion could be here any time!”
“Sure!” Barney said. “And as we have a planet full of people out there, we kind of wanted to know… what’s going on?”
“People?” The woman seemed confused. “I thought the Martians went extinct a hundred Ages ago…”
“They did,” Matthew promised. “We are from Earth, the world the Martian’s called Deesee.”
The woman sat against her casket, and put her masked head, in her gloved hands. “Our records said that world was a class three primordial ecosystem.”
Barney wrinkled his nose. “A who?”
“Neanderthals.” The Dweeb crouched by the woman. “I think your records are out of date. Please. We will find a way to help you send your message, but if a threat is coming here, we would very much like to know how to prepare for it.”
The woman touched his gauntlet, and shook her head. “You evacuate your world, as far, far away as you can, and hope the Legion do not reach you, before you grow old and live a good life.”
“Yeah…” Barney puffed out his cheeks. “We aren’t that advanced.”
“Then you are doomed,” she said, coldly.
“But,” Matthew said, in a boldly confident tone, “neither are we defenceless. For now, we should get you back to Earth. On the way, maybe we can work on sending your message onwards.”
She nodded. “Might I find my clothes first?”
The Dweeb helped her up. “Of course.”
“Right!” Barney held up his hands. “The apocalypse could turn up at any moment, so, by all means, we should waste time… We have clothes on the ship.”
The woman stopped, and looked back at him. “No,” she said, firmly.
The Dweeb and the woman walked off. She went in the locker room, and he waited by the door.
Matthew grinned.
“What?” Barney tugged at his Osprey suit. “what’s wrong with this? I think it looks kind of cool!”
01001
Scimitar and Catherine hung back at the end of the corridor, as the Special Forces team moved the First Daughter out of her room, on a trolley and stretcher.
President Croft offered his hand to the gaggle of frustrated doctors, and put on the smile he used for public appearances. “I, my family, and the country, are all grateful for your help, but the matter is now in hand.”
The Secret Service agents stepped behind him, to block the way, as armed guards escorted Eloise on a trolley, out towards the lifts. There were a number of drips attached to her wrist.
The doctors shook their head. One of them spoke up. “Mister President, I must advise against moving her in the strongest possible terms. If she has another episode on the helicopter…”
“It is all in hand,” Croft said.
“We don’t even know what it is!” Another of the doctors complained.
“She is receiving treatment,” Croft said, his tone hardening. “The issue will no longer be of your concern, and… my lawyers will be contacting the hospital. These events are to be considered in absolute confidence. You understand?”
Catherine stepped forwards. “Mister President? What are in those drips?”
The President shook his head. “I am not at liberty to describe that.”
“Or how your Secretary Of State knew it was a mould?” Catherine demanded.
The President folded his arms. “I’m sorry. I wish I could tell you more.”
As the presidential party entered the lift to the rooftop, Luther Allistaire gave Catherine a long, warning look. His eyes were as cold and dark as a shark’s.
01010
The commotion woke Summers in the early hour
s.
She pulled on her trousers and sweater, and stumbled out to the corridor.
Members of the expedition ran past her, carrying the emergency kits, wearing their all weather coats with the high visibility patches. One of the Team Leaders was barking into a radio. She stopped and gave Summers a look. “Are you okay?”
Summers shrugged. “What’s the emergency?”
“Oh.” The Team Leader put a hand on her shoulder. “I thought you knew. The Professor’s missing.”
“Missing?” Summers rubbed her head. “What do you mean?” The realisation hit her. “You mean out there?”
The Team Leader nodded. “He took one of the finds, and went out for a walk. In this storm!”
Summers’s heart shattered. “How… What can I do?”
“Stay here. Stay safe.” The Team Leader patted her shoulder. “We will find him. Do you know where he went?”
Summers swallowed. “To find the power source under the ruins.”
The Team Leader nodded, and walked away, to join the search.
Summers walked back to her bed, and sat there, numbed and hollow. She wanted to believe that it was all a mistake. That the Professor had managed to lock himself in the pantry again, or was asleep in somebody else’s bed (it happened out on the White), blissfully unaware of the commotion.
Deep down she knew he had gone for the walk.
Summers didn’t want to admit it yet, but she was already certain she would never see him again.
It would be some years before she knew how wrong she was.
Part One: Omens And Ghosts
January: 1999
In Washington DC the Museum Of Humanities is about
To unveil its latest exhibition in a black-tie gala event.
*
Matthew Driver (Code Name: Praetorian) continues to train
His protégé, Angel, at his farm in Spurrier County, Wisconsin.
*
Melisa Williams (Codename Melody) and Charlie Gull
(Codename: Yeoman) investigate missing pets in
Los Angeles
*
Transatlantic flight JRJ-616 from Paris to New York is making good time…
00000
The airliner shuddered, as a bone rattling jolt shivered down the length of the aircraft.
Captain Douglas James glanced over his flight instruments. “What was that?”
“Nothing showing here,” Robbie Durham, the First Officer reported. “I would say we hit some rough air, but conditions out there haven’t changed.”
“Shep?” James demanded.
Sam Shepherd, the Flight Engineer, gave him a helpless shrug. “I’m showing normal operations.”
Durham gave the Captain a look.
James answered with a nod.
Durham pressed a button on his controls. “Ladies and Gentlemen, we apologise for that. As you can imagine, the weather out here can sometimes be a little unpredictable. Apparently I jinxed us when I promised we would make good time. For now, as a precaution, I am lighting the Fasten Seatbelts sign, and will ask you to remain in your seats, at this time.”
James flicked his microphone on to the radio. “Control, this is Juliet Romeo Juliet, Six One Six.”
There was a banshee howl of feedback from the instruments.
James glanced at Shepherd.
The Engineer toggled his screens. “It should be working.”
James tried again. “Control, this is Juliet Romeo Juliet, Six One Six. Are you receiving me?”
The radio howled with feedback again.
“Changing channel,” Shepherd reported. “Emergency channel open.”
James clicked his radio open once again. “Control, this is¬”
The airliner juddered again, this time with a hefty jolt that almost whipped the control yokes from the pilots’ hands. The flight deck plunged into darkness, as the screens and instruments went dark, and the cabin lights flickered off. The nose of the aircraft dipped, with the sudden lurch of a rollercoaster.
“Shep!” James barked. “Speak to me!”
Shepherd pulled open a panel, and inspected the circuit breakers. “I have no idea. It all just¬”
One by one the screens in the cockpit flashed on. None of them showed the flight data, or navigation screens, instead they all displayed the same icon of overlapping circles.
Durham swallowed. “What is that?”
James gave him a helpless look. “I have no idea.”
The aircraft banked, the nose dipping, as the plane altered course.
“No…” James hoisted on his controls with all his weight, to no avail.
The plane continued to seek a new heading.
Somebody, or something else, was controlling their flight, and it was aiming them down towards the empty ocean.
00001
Melisa Williams perched on the hood of the car, and stared up at the tenement blocks, and apartment buildings. They were a long way from the Los Angeles that a lifetime of TV movies and sitcoms had promised her. It was grubby and tired, showing the signs of age and decay that fresh coats of paint couldn’t quite disguise.
The city was saturated in sound, the overspill of thoughts, and echoes of impressions left in the wake of passers by.
Melisa was nimble and elfin, with streaks of pink and plum in her pixie bob. She wore a dark hoody and a body warmer, over a plaid skirt and well-worn combat boots.
She sipped her coffee, and glanced at Charlie. “Why are we really here?”
Charlie Gull gave her one of his skew-whiff smiles. He was a little older than her, in his early twenties, gangly and gawky, with a mop of curls and a small beard, wearing an old leather jacket over earth toned clothes, and bare feet. “I told you. Missing pets.”
“Yeah?” Melisa cocked her head, and fixed him with a hard stare. “Do you really think a few missing pets are Honour Guard business?”
Charlie blipped the locks on the cruiser, and struck off across the street.
Melisa caught him up.
Across the street there was a coffee shop, with notes tacked inside the window, advertising missing pets. There were more on the lamp posts and trees. Dozens of them. All, Melisa realised, dated within the last week.
“Okay,” she whispered. “It’s not just a few missing pets, and… something weird is going on.”
“That is definitely true,” he said, his tone wavering.
“What’s wrong?” Melisa asked.
His aura prickled with unease. He was always a difficult one to read, but she had the uncomfortable feeling of there being a churning maelstrom under the slate green surface.
Charlie looked away, closing the defences over his aura. “In my meditations, I was… given a vision of this place. I was… called here by… A friend. They were very insistent that there was a danger here that needed to be investigated.”
“A friend?” Melisa asked.
“Somebody I trust,” he assured her. “Somebody who… would not reach out to me without reason.”
“Okay.” Melisa took the telephone numbers from the three newest looking posters. “So… lets see why these pets went missing.”
A few phone calls later, they were on the fourth floor of an apartment building, talking to a nice single mother, whose angelic little beagle had vanished a few nights before. The apartment was the cosy kind of small, with the kind of mess only a pair of kids could leave in their wake.
A quick look around suggested the apartment was at least as secure as piece of mind (and a good insurance policy) demanded. There were deadbolts and a chain on the door, and locks on the windows. Charlie took his time inspecting the apartment, just to be sure.
Melisa lowered her shields, and let her aura roam free around the apartment. It was saturated with the buzz of emotions, the afterglow of giggles, arguments, harsh words and tender moments, all the stress and love you would expect from a family home.
And nothing more. No sharp spikes of cold, from the fear, or hate, or whatever
else flared when somebody convinced themselves to do something horrid, or the lingering turmoil of guilt.
The Mom leant on the kitchen counter, cradling her cup of coffee, and staring out the window, radiating unease, a little fear, and a dash of hope. “Are you really Honour Guard?”
Melisa flipped open her ID. “We sure are.”
“Just not…” The Mom flushed. “You know… the real ones?”
“Oh?” Melisa whistled. “Hey. Charlie. Do the thing?”
He sniffed the windowsill, rubbed a finger along the edge, then licked his finger.
“Charlie!” Melisa snapped.
He looked around at the Mom. “Yes?”
Melisa waved at him. “Do the thing.”
Charlie pulled back his sleeve, and touched his fingers to a brass stud embedded in his wrist. The air around him distorted, and suddenly the barefoot scruff was the looming green knight, in his scale-mail spacesuit, and angular helmet. He stood taller and straighter, and his soft, fuzzy body language turned hard as steel.
His aura blurred out of focus, and became harder to read.
The Mom stepped back, a jolt of terror giving way to a flutter of excitement. “Okay. You are the real ones.”
Charlie gestured to the apartment. “You woke up one morning, and Benson the beagle was just…gone?”
The Mom nodded, and her aura tinged with fear, the kind she tried to bury deep and not look at directly. “It was kind of creepy. I can only think I must have left the window open for air, and he got out, and… it must have slammed closed behind him.”
Melisa nodded. “That sounds… possible.”
Charlie went back to looking at the window.
A few minutes later Melisa and Charlie were stood in the alley at the back of the building, looking up at the four floors to the window that Benson the beagle was supposed to have escaped from. It was a long drop to the ground.
A fatal drop.
“Okay…” Melisa said. “What do you see that I don’t?”