Barriers

by Patrick Skelton

  _____

  The one-story cabin had two bedrooms off the living room. Nathan threw his duffle bag into the first bedroom down the hall, the one he and Sarah always slept in. He told Bennie to take the master.

  Bennie passed Nathan, lugging his giant suitcase down the hall. “After I relieve myself, and you get some heat rolling in this place, we’ll start searching for clues as to where Chairman Alkott’s thugs might have taken Aidan.”

  Bennie entered the master bedroom and shouted, “Nathan, come in here and have a look, will ya? There’s no water in this toilet.”

  Nathan headed into the master bath and peered into the toilet. “Interesting.”

  “What’s wrong with it?” Bennie asked.

  “Nothing unusual about the low water level. The valve leaks and dad always shut it off after a flush. I’ve been on him for years to fix it.”

  “Then what’s the problem? Just turn it on already.”

  “The seat is up. Did you do that?”

  “No. It was up when I came in.”

  “Dad’s been obsessive-compulsive about leaving the lid down ever since I was a kid. Weird, I know, but dad has always been fastidious. ”

  “So what are you saying, Nathan?”

  “Somebody else was in here after dad.”

  “What about the Alaskan authorities and the decontamination crew?”

  “Neither would be this sloppy on a crime scene.”

  Bennie started unzipping his pants. “So you think one of Alkott’s goons relieved himself and didn’t put the lid back down?”

  “Who else could it have been?”

  “Smart thinking, Nathan. Now could you get outta here so I can pee?”

  Nathan opened the valve and left. He went into the front room, immediately spotting the seven empty bottles of Jim Beam reported by the Alaskan authorities. They were scattered about on the dining room table, along with his father’s opened Bible and a half-eaten piece of toast. He grabbed the bottles in pairs and made several trips to the kitchen, tossing them into an empty bin under the sink.

  Next, he removed his gloves and checked the thermostat located above the kitchen counter. Thirty-seven degrees.

  “How’s it going with the heat?” Bennie shouted from the bathroom.

  Nathan flicked the thermostat several times. Nothing. He headed toward the back porch.

  “Nathan?”

  “There’s a generator under the deck.”

  “Something wrong with the fireplace?”

  “Dad rarely used it,” Nathan said, unlocking the back door. “Every standing and fallen Alaskan tree requires an expensive permit to cut into. People come here to see trees, you know.”

  “Right…and they’re delightful. Now hurry up and get that generator going. My hands are as cold as ice.”

  Nathan trudged across the elevated deck overlooking the woods, wading through a pile of fallen branches. He started down the steep wooden steps, but stopped halfway.

  Cracking under his feet.

  He yelped as the step collapsed, throwing him backwards against the slippery wood.

  He sat up and rubbed his backside. Wonderful, dad. Rotten boards.

  “You alright?” Bennie hollered out the back door.

  Nathan stood, his tailbone throbbing. A tall aluminum ladder he didn’t recognize lay on the ground beside the base of the steps.

  “Any luck with that generator, Nathan?”

  “Getting to it.”

  Nathan went to the shed where the portable generator was located. He entered and wiped spider webs off his face. A second, larger generator sat in the back beside the unit he purchased with his father two years ago.

  Odd.

  If Nathan recalled correctly, the smaller 4000-watt unit ran flawlessly and had proven to be more than adequate to power the cabin. Along with private planes and motorized vehicles, fossil-fuel generators were still legal in Alaska, with a limit of one per cabin. Another indulgence his father looked forward to every two years. “There’s nothing like the aroma of burning gasoline,” he’d say as he yanked the cord with a wily grin. He repeated a similar mantra whenever he started up Big Bird.

  Nathan removed a flashlight from his coat pocket and aimed it toward the rear of the shed. Cabling snaked from the smaller generator out a hole at the base of the shed. The larger generator was not hooked up, and a loose pile of cabling lay beside it.

  “Status, Nathan?” Bennie wailed from the patio door above.

  “Working on it.”

  “Well hurry up.”

  “You might want to come down here and have a look at this.”

  “Are you kidding? You broke the steps, remember?”

  “Forget it. Stay inside.”

  Nathan pulled the cord on the smaller generator. It choked a little, then fired up and spewed fumes. He fanned white smoke away from his face and looked around the shed. Six twenty-gallon fuel containers sat beside the generators. Four were empty, the other two still full. They were most likely pumped at one of the Anchorage fueling stations where outfitters filled their seaplanes and snowmobiles before heading into the frontier. Strange, however, that he’d flown in so much fuel. The family had always gotten by with half the amount for an entire season.

  “Nathan,” Bennie shouted. “Are you camping out down there? It’s still freezing in here.”

  _____

  Nathan started a fire from a load of fallen branches, then plopped down at the dining room table in front of his father’s old Bible. Even with the furnace cranked, it would take hours before the cabin warmed to a temperature that pleased Bennie. He wasn't sure if his choice of kindling was legal or not, but he didn't care. It was a risk worth taking, given the circumstances.

  Bennie took off his shoes and collapsed into his father’s favorite rocking chair. He propped his feet near the fireplace. “My apologies, Nathan.”

  “For what?”

  “My feet.” Bennie said, removing a sock and caressing a toe. “My first wife made me scrub them every night after twelve hours on my feet at NASA. She said they smelled like rocket fuel.”

  “And what does rocket fuel smell like?”

  “It's odorless, actually. But she thought she was being funny, so I humored her and played along. But such is marriage, right?”

  “Right,” Nathan said, rubbing his temples. “So what exactly are we doing here, Bennie?”

  “Thawing out.”

  “Then what?”

  “We investigate.”

  “Can we start now?”

  “Fine.”

  “What’s your take on the second generator?”

  “Hard to say. I need to look at it.”

  “When will that be?”

  Bennie shrugged. “As soon as you fix that step.”

  “I told you there’s a ladder. The same one dad was using.”

  “I hate rickety ladders.”

  Nathan sighed.

  Bennie continued massaging his toes. “We’ll get to the bottom of things, kid…I promise.”

  “Time’s ticking, Bennie, and I can’t justify wasting a second of it. My son’s down to a week before they stick a needle in his arm and take his life.”

  Nathan rubbed his back, still throbbing from the fall on the steps. He flipped his father’s worn Bible to the page the Alaskan authorities found bookmarked with the suicide note—a highlighted passage in Ecclesiastes about the meaninglessness of life. A portion of scripture easy for the casual reader to take out of context and misinterpret. The Alaskan authorities had reported the highlighted passage and the exact pages the suicide note was tucked between during the initial phone call to his mother.

  Bennie pulled up a chair to the table and pointed at the Bible. “Is that where the police found the note?”

  “Along with his LifeTracker chip in a vial beside it.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Dad always swore he’d cut it out on his deathbed just because he could.”

  “Aidan was pretty vocal about
his distaste for the chip,” Bennie added. “Smart move for Alkott’s men to do their homework and incorporate it into the crime scene. Not only does it make Aidan impossible to track, but it makes his suicide more plausible.”

  Bennie picked up a slice of moldy toast from a plate near the Bible. “They could have at least let Aidan finish his breakfast.”

  A thought struck Nathan. “Or maybe dad didn’t have time to finish his breakfast.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Nathan walked to the kitchen window and looked out at the ocean. The surface was still and devoid of any hint of turbulence. Pretty much the opposite of his life.

  “What’s out there, Nathan?”

  “I promised my son I would get him out of that horrible hospital.”

  “You’re doing the best you can.”

  Nathan spun around. “You’re wrong, Bennie. I tried to bribe the doctor and got myself kicked out permanently. Now there’s little chance of saving Ian, just like there’s little chance of finding dad and smuggling the synaptic device into Ian’s room in the next seven days.”

  Bennie frowned. “You sure are placing a lot of stock in that device. How do you know Aidan completed it?”

  “It’s a risk I have to take. Ian has no other options.”

  “I get that,” Bennie said as he joined him in the kitchen. “How about bribing someone in Sanctuary Admin? Get them to push out Ian’s date and reinstate your security clearance at the hospital. We need more time to find your father.”

  Nathan bit his lip. He’d had his fill of similar advice from friends and family. People who meant well, but had no clue what he was up against.

  “Got any names or phone numbers handy?” Nathan said. “I’ve left Sanctuary Admin two dozen voicemails, but it appears they haven’t reached the right people.”

  Bennie put a hand on Nathan’s shoulder. “I know you’ve been through the wringer bud, but how about a little optimism. For Ian’s sake. Can you do that?”

  Nathan pulled away. “Easier said than done.”

  “How about we start with the facts.”

  “That's the problem—we have the same facts everyone else does.”

  “Only trying to help.”

  Nathan leaned against the kitchen counter, folding his arms. “The deal was that dad would call mom every evening at 6 p.m. sharp. That was the only way she would permit him to come here alone.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Mom contacted the local police the next morning after dad failed to call her the night before. They showed up a few hours later, had a quick look around and reported a dial-tone on the landline. They found his Bible open with the suicide note, and the note mentioned the Cessna. They investigated the plane and...well, you know the rest.”

  Nathan sat back down at the table and stared at the open Bible. “What if dad wrote the note without coercion?”

  “So you think your father killed himself?”

  “I’m saying that maybe he collaborated with Preston on the article, cut out his LifeTracker chip and faked his own death. Maybe he doesn’t want to be found…not by the authorities, not by Chairman Alkott’s men, and not by us.”

  Bennie shook his head. “But what about what Preston told us? He said Alkott’s men forced him to write the article.”

  “If you ask me, your pal Preston seemed a little too eager to keep talking when he could have easily gotten up and left.”

  “He talked because I made him,” Bennie said, narrowing his eyebrows. “Besides, why would he have any reason to lie?”

  “You tell me. You’re the one who’s known him for fifty years.”

  Bennie paced the kitchen, scratching at his white whiskers. He stopped and looked out the window facing the dock. “How would Aidan survive off the grid? You can’t even purchase a can of baked beans without a thumb scan.”

  “Maybe dad didn’t need to purchase anything.”

  Nathan went to the pantry and flung open the door. His father normally stocked a one-year supply of every kind of non-perishable food known to man.

  All six shelves were empty.

  13

  Previously

  Jillian Catterton opened her eyes inside Stasis Chamber Three.

  Blinding light. A low frequency rumble as her capsule opened.

  Collin hovered over her numb body, shaking her with more force than necessary. “Rise and shine, sleeping beauty.”

  She squinted and rubbed her eyes. Blood surged into her limbs and cheeks as if a floodgate had lifted from a main artery. Her temples pounded to the rhythm of her pulse. Half a dozen Ellis Three missions under her belt and not much had changed about the miserable resurrection from stasis. It felt like the world’s worst hangover, times ten.

  “Get your hands off of me,” she said, pushing him away.

  Collin drifted to a mirror and pulled a razor from a Velcro bag. He was wearing the white tank-top she detested, the one that showcased all of his tattoos. “What did you dream about for the last six months?”

  Jillian groaned and unbuckled her body restraint. She sat up. “None of your business.”

  “We’re ready to enter the Fold, by the way.”

  “What? You let me sleep past day 179?”

  “You were cranky before we all went into stasis six months ago,” Collin said, lathering his scalp. Jillian thought he might look remotely attractive if he stopped shaving his egg-shaped head and let his hair grow. Truth be told, her co-pilot looked like a convict when he was out of uniform.

  He turned and grinned. “I woke up first and decided to give the crew one extra day, but I figured two days couldn’t hurt you.”

  “You broke protocol, Collin. Thanks a lot.” She left her stasis chamber, dressed, and coasted through the dining bay. She ignored the calls of her other five crewmates coaxing her to indulge in coffee and a bite to eat.

  Must be nice.

  She floated into the cockpit, buckled in and flipped a row of switches above her head. The Fold flickered in the distance, always looking like a star that had been stretched into a glowing stitch in space.

  Several minutes later, Collin strapped himself into the seat to her right. At least he was in uniform now. “Quite a view, huh?” he said. “I never get used to seeing the Fold. Six missions now with Zathcore and it still astounds me. How do you think it got there sixty years ago?”

  “You ask me that same question every time.”

  “And?”

  “We’ll never know how it got there. Just like we’ll never know why gravity waves appear in vast, empty stretches of the universe.”

  “But you must have some theories?”

  Jillian shrugged. “The only sure thing about the Fold is that it allows humans to travel to an otherwise unreachable planet. And it probably won’t be around indefinitely, like gravity waves.”

  A yellow warning light flashed on the console.

  Jillian raised an eyebrow. “What’s going on with the aft port steering thruster? The sensors are detecting electromagnetic interference.”

  “I saw that yesterday,” Collin said. “I’ll get out and have a look after we get through the Fold.”

  “You should have woken me two days ago, Collin. This could be serious.”

  He sighed. “We’ve seen similar readings in the past and it turned out to be nothing. You know how temperamental thrust sensors can be—kind of like you before you’ve had your morning coffee.”

  She ignored the jab. “Any ideas why the sensors didn’t report the glitch before stasis sleep six months ago?”

  He shrugged. “Hard to say.”

  “A device that activates with a timer wouldn’t have been detected six months ago if it was still dormant—did you think of that, Collin?”

  “What are you implying?”

  “I’m saying we need to keep this mission in perspective. There are people who want to prevent us from doing whatever it is Elliot Gareth has planned…something so important he feels it necessary to hide it from the re
st of us until we arrive.”

  “And what do you think that is?” Collin said, folding his arms.

  “I’m tired of speculating.”

  “How about one more guess? Speculating is good for the brain after six months of unconsciousness.”

  Jillian analyzed oxygen supply readings to her left, then checked fuel ratio data to her right. “I dreamed about this mission the entire time…and it wasn’t a tranquil experience.”

  “And what did your dreams tell you?”

  “This entire crew has one commonality, and perhaps the unifying reason we were each selected by Elliot Gareth.”

  “And what is that?”

  “We all have family in Sanctuaries we want to save: both of my sisters; your father; Jake’s son. Everyone onboard is in a similar situation. We see this gross injustice in the world and we want to do something about it, but we’ve been helpless all these years. And somehow, in some way, Elliot Gareth has something wonderful and beyond comprehension planned. Something he can’t do without us.”

  “Yeah, I suppose.”

  “You suppose?”

  “I’ve got to be honest, Jillian,” Collin said, scowling. “I’ve got no delusions of things changing back on good ol’ planet Earth. I’m here because this gig pays well. I’m the best co-pilot Zathcore has and Elliot Gareth knows it. Hard to refuse an Ellis Three mission paying triple what it normally does.”

  “Well aren’t you a slice of humble pie.”

  “It’s called confidence,” Collin said, tapping at a console over his head. “And I’m confident we took all the necessary precautions to conceal the mission. As far as Space Traffic Control is concerned, Zathcore’s conducting a routine archeological dig along the Great Riverbed. The only outside party who knows where we’re really going is Vance Tremont. And Vance has been good to us over the years, has he not? Like I said, I’ll investigate the steering thruster shortly. We’ll be fine.”

  “I hope so.”

  “Mind telling me what you’re really worried about?”

  She ignored him, checking gravitational readings emitting from the Fold.

  “It’s your husband, isn’t it? You’re afraid what you’ll discover on Ellis Three.”