Awestruck, MacAllistair watched the ghost-ship plow through the deep-space flotsam before jumping to FTL travel. As the newscasters tried to recover their composure, an MEA seal broke through the video feed switching the channel to full media blackout.
MacAllistair shook off the initial shock and contacted Guy. With Dekker and Vesuvius still planet-side for an appointment he felt someone should be aware of what he’d just seen before the MEA buried the story under loads of celebrity yellow-rag stories. If the ghost ship forces were behind this kind of attack in the border worlds, the Dozen were sure to encounter them again.
***
Dekker and Vesuvius paced in the small waiting room containing them just beyond the heavily fortified Jerusalem complex. The second leg of their post-funeral trip delved into even deeper mysteries than the status of their odd romantic entanglement.
More than an hour ago they’d been granted access through the exterior force-field and into the outlying strip of land. Now, locked securely in the holding area, they sat completely susceptible to attack as the guards researched their profiles and made inquiries within. It wasn’t often that Jerusalem allowed anyone entry into the city.
Jerusalem remained independent and sovereign, one of few such places remaining on Earth. It transcended the MEA and endured perfectly content in her unattachment. Several years previous The Pheema had tried to gain access, hoping to begin talks and mediate a union between the MEA and Jerusalem; prior to that, Chief Magnate Janus had attempted the same. Both had been laughed off and left to wait for days on end in rooms much like this until they abandoned their efforts.
“Well, at least we still have our weapons,” Vesuvius remarked, leaning against Dekker.
“I’m not sure what that means,” Dekker remarked. “Either they are so confident they can handle any threat we’d pose, they don’t plan to let us beyond this room, or they simply have enough respect for anyone with such a bold request as entry.” Jerusalem was widely renowned for its defenses. Nothing short of a capital-warship’s orbital bombardment would be able to harm her.
“None of those are mutually exclusive prospects, you know?”
“Yeah,” Dekker said. The long wait had finally begun to make him nervous. He rapped on the door to the room where they’d already waited for several hours. Only silence replied.
An hour passed, and then two. Finally, a small door opened and two food trays slid through a small aperture and into the room as if they were prisoners—although the food was excellent and they could always exit the holding room and give up their quest.
Dekker shouted through the opening. “Hey! How much longer before we know anything?” Through the slot he could see a small, olive skinned man.
The man returned to the slot and shrugged. “I have no information for you, friend. But, it is good that you brought a companion. Perhaps it may still be many hours.”
Hours stretched out, conversation dwindled and ceased. Vesuvius and Dekker ran out of small talk; he’d only cared to share a glimpse of what he knew of Ezekiel, the one who’d told him to journey to the Jerusalem fortress. Eventually they drifted into sleep—slumping against the far wall; the room lacked comfortable furniture, perhaps another effort to discourage guests.
If they’d had any windows, they might have noticed the sun’s dwindling light as night crept up. They might have noticed the sunrise the next morning. As it was, they slept in a seemingly time-locked environment under the harsh fluorescent lighting.
Dekker finally awoke in the early morning; he found his fingers intertwined within Vesuvius’s. He peeled himself out of her grasp and gently propped her against the wall before using the tiny restroom adjacent their resting place.
As Dekker returned, Vesuvius shuddered awake. The locked door opened and a medium-sized, but very muscular man entered and extended a hand.
“Dekker? Sorry about the extended wait. My name is Krav. Jerusalem has a great many protocols in order to admit outsiders into our walls, and I’m impressed. There were a number of men willing to speak for you.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “I didn’t realize I had any contacts inside Jerusalem. I didn’t think anybody did.”
The man laughed. “You speak truly. There are very few that have been allowed to pass our walls these last several years. But your father and his Watchmen had friends here among the Jerusalemites.”
Dekker nodded, understanding the connection that had gained him access to such a stronghold. Vesuvius gave him a quizzical look; she would not understand, few could—not much was known about the fabled Watchmen. “Did that ever change, perhaps shortly before his death?”
Krav returned a tight-lipped smile. “You are trying to discern if his relationship was strained by the fact that his son married a former Jihadist.” He paused for a second and the moment passed. “It might have stressed it, but Jude Knight was a man of such character that it could not damage him. His family always did put feet, words, and fists to their convictions.” Krav waved Dekker inside and pointed at Vesuvius.
“Vivian is with me,” he stated.
Krav shrugged and waved her in as well. “From what we’ve seen, you have put more fists than anything else into those convictions these last two decades. We do share that, I think, my friend. But tell me,” he asked as they walked through the winding halls, “Do you still share your father’s deep convictions?”
“I am the last of his Watchmen. I alone protect the book and know his way. I feel them deeper than any other.”
“And yet, you do not proselytize as he did. Knowing the way of the Watchmen, I don’t understand why not.”
Vesuvius remained silent and hung half a pace behind. This was all foreign to her, a part of Dekker that she did not know about.
Dekker grimaced, trying to find words to describe his feelings to Krav. “Since the years prior to the Intergalactic Singularity War the Watchmen have lived their faith. We preach very little, and perhaps my fists have always been my strongest attribute.”
Krav was still curious. “Does that make it hard to grow your number?”
Dekker sighed. “We’ve not grown. I am the last of us, and I can do little to fulfill my oaths except protect the ancient tome. It is the only task I am qualified for anymore.”
“You can still live that life, make your converts.”
“Not without the primary attribute. Love.”
Krav understood. “You’ve only shrunk since her death?”
Dekker nodded. “The wounds haven’t healed; they might never.”
“It’s been so many years, though. And there are several in our city who yearn to see the Watchmen restored; some even share in basics of their faith. How many years must pass before your heart is restored?”
Dekker swallowed and they entered a vast library. He admitted, “It’s been longer than it should have been, but I am recovering.” Their footsteps echoed, announcing their presence in the massive facility. This repository of historical tomes had outlasted the cyber-warfare of the previous generations which had destroyed so much rich history. He glanced at Vesuvius and they took seats as a trio of elderly men approached.
The eldest of the trio bowed to Dekker. “I am Yitzchak ben Khan,” he introduced himself. “I am one of the elders of the Great Synagogue.” Yitzchak spoke slowly and deliberately. He leveled his gaze squarely at Dekker. “Your father was well respected by many of my peers. I did not know him, but I know that he once possessed this sacred artifact and I thank you for returning it in his memory.”
Yitzchak procured the bronze serpent talisman and showed it off. The surprise ran up his spine, but he didn’t let it show. Dekker knew Ezekiel must have swiped it earlier, when he’d left the note, and delivered it to Jerusalem on his behalf; the time traveler set this whole encounter in motion. Yitzchak continued, “My family has desired this piece for many years, and your giving of it so freely is a marvel. The least I can do is grant you access to our city and help you procure whatever you might need.” Yitzchak wink
ed, “I think our beliefs do closely align in so many areas. Tell me, Dekker son of Jude, is there some special errand that brings you to Jerusalem?”
Dekker mulled it over. He felt grateful to be here; admittance inside the wall was an experience to brag about. On the other hand, something inside him rose up—resentment for being played by Ezekiel; he felt like he’d been given no choice, but he knew exactly what Ezekiel would say to that. Dekker’s rebellious spirit wanted him to make a scene, but he knew that the time-traveler’s insight and recommendations would be sound. Plus, he felt it best not to meddle with fate.
“I thank you for your hospitality, Yitzchak ben Khan. You know some about me, for sure. You may or may not know that I lost one of my men several days ago and I came hoping that I could find an ally among your people. The one who delivered the bronze serpent recommended this to me.”
Yitzchak nodded solemnly. “You shall take my son,” he said. “He is our most talented security officer.” Turning to his son he stated, “Krav, prepare to leave with the Watchman as his schedule demands.”
“Yes, father,” Krav bowed to him. “I can be ready at your convenience,” he told the investigator.
“And Dekker,” Yitzchak said quite sincerely, “If you ever choose to resume the work of your father, you have a standing invitation to do so here in Jerusalem and with our support.”
Dekker nodded seriously; he hadn’t known what to expect with his request—but it hadn’t been this. An uncanny peace washed over him when he considered Yitzchak’s offer: he and Vesuvius continuing Jude Knight’s mission inside the Great City. “Yes. I think I would like that very much.”
Besides taking down Prognon Austicon, there was nothing else he wanted more. He intuitively knew that this city might hold the key to his future. If Austicon’s reign of terror ever ended, Dekker knew his life would continue to have purpose.
***
Guy stood over MacAllistair’s shoulder and watched the video feed. The footage suffered from scratchy pixilation, an attribute of hacked feeds. A watermark prominently covered a portion of the lower right hand corner of the screen and declared the hacking exploit belonged to an underground, anti-krenzin tech group.
A partitioned screen enabled viewers to see the frustrated newsroom as the MEA controllers tried regaining ownership of the pirated media-stream. The rolling footage and details displayed on the largest media tile; text data scrolled over the recurring ghost ship footage, listing the fallout of this unknown menace which the MEA had tried to downplay. Amateur reports and footage of vacant colonies popped up on the portioned feeds. Even the MEA controllers could be seen to stop and watch when one tile showed an outbreak icon over the graphic representation of Earth.
The video played. Against the unmistakable backdrop of District Three landmarks, the former United American Emirates, a human population fell under attack from savage humanoids with elongated horns protruding from their foreheads.
“No,” MacAllistair spoke in hushed tones. “It’s somehow spread to Earth.”
“It’s worse,” Guy added. “It seems like most of the nearest space colonies have been wiped out, too.”
A stream from an automatic traffic monitor in District Three showed an old man trying to protect a small group of people with an old rifle—an illegal act with a restricted weapon. He waved the firearm at the attackers, but they rushed him undeterred. One assailant fell before they overwhelmed and ripped him apart before falling upon the defenseless family.
“This is outrageous,” Guy vented. “If these people had any kind of protection… I don’t think the words of politicians give them any comfort right now!”
MacAllistair flipped networks. Only one MEA network still operated; the dedicated propaganda station was a direct information route from the global politicians to the populace. The Pheema railing against the hacker’s subversion in a brief announcement; he condemned their actions and accused them of falsifying information and inciting hysteria with staged and doctored footage.
“Here’s the truth,” The Pheema claimed, “MEA scientists have confirmed that there is an outbreak of a mysterious disease. We don’t have all the details, but it is confined within District Three and we’ve quarantined that entire district.”
Guy toggled a command and set The Pheema’s broadcast directly parallel to the hacked feeds. The Pheema explained how a sat-based continental force-field would be established just as soon as the motion was fully approved by the council.
“We are working on a cure just as fast as we can,” the charismatic leader stated. Here are the facts: this infection is transmitted at close-range; it is airborne. The incubation period is short: a couple days at most. About twenty percent of the population is naturally immune, but a state of psychosis induced by the sickness compels the infected to attack and kill the immune group. We are taking this situation very seriously. District Three may be the poorest, and arguably, the most backwater of the nine districts, but the planet cannot turn her back on their own. As soon as the approval is ratified, that force-field will be erected; with airborne threats, we cannot risk transmission of the infection into other districts, whether it is transmitted from spores, pathogens, contaminants, or whatever else. But we must first discuss all the potential ramifications of our actions in committee.”
“Did you see that?” Guy exclaimed.
MacAllistair looked at him curiously.
“The Pheema is behind it all. He knows! When he said ‘spores,’ his nose twitched! I’ve been studying him—he has a tell: a nostril flare right there!” Guy pointed at the image.
A communication crackled over the intercom. “Why is there an army assembling in my cargo bay?” Dekker asked.
Guy’s eyes brightened and he grabbed the communicator. “Why do you always assume it’s me behind these things?”
“Have I ever been wrong?”
“No, but have you been watching the news feeds?”
“The whole way back from Jerusalem.”
“Did they actually let you in?”
“Yes. Now get down to that bay and find out how many pilots we have. I’ll have Nibbs coordinate with Darkside Station and our other resources to find out how many freighters and cargo ships we’ve got access to. Move on this right now—as soon as that force-field goes up all those people in District Three are all doomed.”
The hacked network crackled and shifted to a feed labeled live. A class E MEA military cruiser fell under attack by three smaller MEA frigates for some unknown reason. The bow of the military ship ripped open. As the vessel began tilting starboard, their shields flashed under heavy laser fire, flickered, and failed. A barrage of capital missile fire tore into the cruiser’s side until she erupted in a ball of fire. The inferno quickly winked out as vacuum silenced the momentary flames.
“I’m on it.” Guy jumped into action. “Something very bad is going to happen,” he predicted.
***
“This is an evacuation mission,” Dekker spoke through a headset to the other ten ships he’d been able to scrape together at a moment’s notice. “You were all riled up enough by the MEA’s phony propaganda to volunteer in the Salvation’s cargo hold, so I trust you all want to do something to rescue as many from this plague as possible.” A large percentage of his live-aboards were former residents of District Three.
“So here’s the deal, my team has actually encountered this plague before. It’s an airborne spore that kills its host. Do not feel remorse if you need to pull the trigger on an infected victim. The ill aren’t contagious until the horn breaks through the skull. If their cranial protrusion is short, they are only recently converted—almost a mindless zombie; the longer and more deformed the horn is the older and more devious they become. The antler is velveted with spores, so keep them at a distance and keep your airmask on under all circumstances and don’t remove it until you’ve been cleared after we’ve returned to the Salvation. If you become infected, you will be eliminated as humanely as possible. Don’t tak
e any chances with personal safety.
“Start your descents now and hold at your position until your entire group is ready for liftoff. There’s strength in numbers. Be careful. Save as many as you can, but be smart. Do Not allow anyone you fear is infected to board!”
***
Nibbs watched the screens from the command deck. He was sure he could be of help, but his recent injuries still hadn’t fully healed, forcing Dekker to leave him in charge of logistics. He grimaced slightly and transmitted the updated coordinates to each ship as they descended through the atmosphere. He grimaced; Nibbs didn’t like Dekker’s decision. MacAllistair was more than capable of this job; Nibbs felt he was more useful on the ground. Besides, SHIP was capable of automatically overseeing anything that Nibbs might be asked to do.
A barrage of incoming messages from various MEA administrative offices blasted his screens, demanding clearance codes for orbital entry, condemning the investigator’s actions, or both. Salvation had completely broken with standard protocols. Nibbs replied to all with the canned answers they’d prepared depending on each office or complaint. After all, the quarantine hadn’t yet been made official.
Spinning in his chair, Nibbs set SHIP to analyze and automate the responses. His perspective shifted as he turned the seat back to the framed skin and Prognon Austicon’s tattoo. The red tree caught his eye as he moved. Everything suddenly fell into place in Nibbs’ mind like some mental key had turned. It’s all about perspective and point of view!
Dashing to the table and his collection of information, Nibbs frantically shuffled papers, toppling the sugar dispenser he’d raided earlier. He found the star chart he was looking for and brushed the sugar onto the floor where a maintenance drone would eventually sweep it up.
Grabbing the tattoo from the wall, he pulled up another, interactive chart on the Salvation’s navigation console and dialed in a set of coordinates. Nibbs spun the angle on its reverse axis, around Osix instead of on Earth—flipping the default for star-charts. He angled it, then a little more, and began marking waypoints on the screen—each point marked a red star in the general vicinity of the area. He toggled the options and painted each marker with an extra-bright red beacon.
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