Closer To The Core (25,000 Light-Years Book 1)

by S. Hansen

  25,000 Light-Years: Closer To The Core

  Copyright 2017 by S.Hansen

  Dedicated to Louise Taylor

  The English teacher that started it all. She sparked in me a fiery passion for literature that it seems even the most torrential of downpours is unable to extinguish.

  In the beginning…

  'There is much humankind has learnt about space, but what remains undiscovered far outweighs the known. We are confident that space travel will be possible for humankind, but even then, how much will humankind know about space. They are not ready and will not be ready before it reaches them,' Trillan said in his powerful and wizened voice.

  'We must prepare them, I did not want us to intervene but we can't let this happen.' Nashana reasoned with herself that it was the right thing to do but remained unsure and it showed in her voice.

  'We cannot intervene. To give them the knowledge they would require before they discover it themselves would be catastrophic. You know that rushing development only leads to chaos, we have seen it too many times especially in their world.'

  'With or without that knowledge there will be chaos on Earth Trillan, an observer may only be here to watch but no one can be expected to watch without acting.'

  'Then perhaps we should be the ones to stop it before the humans even know of its existence.' Trillan spoke with a masked uncertainty that made him sound more arrogant than usual.

  'Do you wish us all dead? You know the penalty for direct intervention. Code seven stipulates that should we make any changes to our sector we shall be seen as traitors with the penalty of death. However if the circumstances require intervention to prevent damage to the galaxy as a whole then local races may be contacted.' Nashana repeated the code loyally.

  'Don't quote the code at me Nashana, code six, should your sector create a danger to the galaxy that goes unchecked by you as an observer you will be seen as neglectful with the penalty of incarceration or in extreme cases death. Humans are frankly the most pathetic race I have ever observed, you can't really think that we can rely on them to protect our sector. Humans have a history of violence in order to get more wealth and power, with our technology they would ravage the galaxy-' a meek voice interrupted him.

  'If I may interject, you may find that there is one other solution.' The voice intrigued Trillan and Nashana who turned their attention to the third person in the room who had previously been all but forgotten. As a junior observer Hajeel was often left out of conversations but he didn't mind much because often he couldn't think of anything clever to say. This time he could see the obvious solution that a clever mind would pass over.

  'Well Hajeel?' Nashana said.

  'What if we took the most promising human and prepared just one to stop it?' Hajeel suggested, suddenly becoming less confident in himself.

  'What makes you sure that only one could do it?' Trillan had grudgingly accepted his place as senior observer of the humans but still placed no faith in their evolution.

  'I'm not sure that only one could do it, but the more we take the larger the risk. We could take more than one but how do we know that two could do it, or even three?' Hajeel's confidence was almost non-existent now.

  'I suggest we take a vote, we three know that we must take at least one human but how many?' Nashana's voice of reason presided over the group and each took up a pad, pressed a button and waited for a result. Trillan's face gained a frown as Hajeel smiled and Nashana remained neutral.

  'We are decided then,' Nashana said as she rose to leave.

  'Yes my senior.' Hajeel made a cross over his chest with his arms and bowed his head, while Trillan grunted in agreement.

  Chapter One: It’s Not Harmless Fun

  Meanwhile on Earth, agent Adam Stark burst through the roof access door of a warehouse, his icy blue eyes surveyed his options and he sprinted to the edge of the building before leaping through the air and landing on a lower building with a cleanly finished roll. Angry faces appeared at the top of the warehouse that suggested they had no intention of leaping that distance. A gleaming mischievous grin spread wide across his chiselled angular jaw; but he had to quickly duck for cover when the faces decided that their bullets could do the leaping. Stark checked his gun to find only one remaining bullet and searched his pockets for anything of use, only his phone could be found. His phone that could take pictures. His phone that could show him everything without risking the loss of brain matter. He poked his phone around the cover, snapped a picture and examined the area.

  Stark's cunning idea suddenly became useless when he realised that it helped him in no way. Unfortunately for him there was no convenient gas tank on the roof with a surprisingly flimsy casing. His muscular chest rose as he took a deep breath and he gripped his gun for reassurance. Stark strode out of cover, shot his remaining bullet directly into one man's head and ran for a drain pipe leading down the building in a haze of bullets. He cautiously but hurriedly slid down the pipe and sprinted away from the building, vaulted over his car door and landed in place. The engine roared to a start and a flash of material flew down Stark’s vision before wrapping tightly around his neck. But before the assailant even had a good grip Stark was holding the barrel of the gun he kept under his seat to the intruders chin.

  ‘If you are going to take up sneaking into other people’s cars you might want to consider not being such a mouth breather.’ He paused as he waited for the stranglehold to loosen around him. ‘Would you mind getting out my car now? It’s a real pain to get blood out the seats, or so I hear, they always complain at the office when I come back with blood in the car.’

  ‘I can’t. He’ll kill me if I just walk away now,’ he said nervously. Stark sighed.

  ‘Very well.’ He awkwardly turned in his seat, shot once and felt the blood spatter spray across his face. He got up, yanked the lifeless body from his car and drove away in a blur of British Racing Green. His effortlessly quiffed chestnut hair fluttered in the air as he wiped his face carefully with a tissue.

  A brief look at the Agents file would show an impressive record of achievement albeit with maximum destruction. A closer inspection would show he had not always been so destructive and very little else. He is not an orphan out for revenge on the killers, he is not an ex con turned crime fighter nor is he tragically widowed. Agent Adam Stark is the average man with the right training and a streak of patriotism. He is the much talked about but rarely found dashing Englishman; a prime specimen of mankind, which is exactly why he was chosen.

  Trillan however couldn't believe that Stark was the best that humanity had to offer.

  'Are you sure there is no one better?' he queried.

  'If you want to know if there is one stronger, the answer is yes. If you want to know if there is one smarter, then yes. And if you want to know if there is one who is more experienced, then yes there is. But we need quick thinking, fast moving and most importantly destructive. English human Agent Adam Stark of London is the best man.' Nashana always had all the facts and always made the decision that would help the most, regardless of who disagreed.

  ☆★☆

  'Suspended!?' Stark looked as though he'd just been punched in the gut. He thought back over his latest successful mission and aside from his usual over kill in the form of building destruction it was the perfect result.

  'What for?'

  Colonel Christopher Franks looked at his best agent in exasperation and prompted Stark to sit down, it was hard to reprimand a man who was standing taller than you and Stark stood taller than many. "By now you should know what I'm going to say by heart Stark. The agencies rules on fraternization with your colleagues is quite clear."
<
br />   'It's just harmless fun, and you can't deny it's important to have a good relationship with your colleagues.'

  'It's not harmless fun, so far we have lost two agents in action, one has taken herself off active duty, another has refused to work with you again and I have one agent persistently requesting to work with you again in what I suspect is an elaborate plan to orchestrate your death. All because of your actions. You are a spy Stark, emotions cannot be a part of your working life. Better yet they can't be a part of your life, period.'

  Stark opened his mouth to speak but the words caught in his throat, no-one had laid out his emotional destruction in such a manner before. Stark felt sick with guilt as his gaze dropped to the floor and his head bowed in shame. The silence was broken when Franks swung the final blow to Stark's conscience.

  'Of all my agents you and you alone recklessly pursue these relationships and you alone cause the fallout of emotions in a life threatening environment. You were warned, so now Agent Stark you are benched until further notice.' Colonel Franks had always had a lenient approach to Stark and had probably let Stark's fraternization go too long without punishment. But Stark could see this time that Franks was not going to back down.

  ☆★☆

  Stark had a tradition of having a celebratory drink in his favourite pub after every successful assignment, not wanting to break tradition he stopped at the Drunken Lord on his way home and sat quietly at the bar enjoying the beery taste of success, sadly soured by the taste of guilt. As he gazed into the abyss of his glass a red haired man with yellow eyes burst through the door, made eye contact with Stark, shouted to him and left as quickly as he entered.

  'THE STAR!' At first Stark questioned the contents of his drink but when the other patrons seemed just as confused and bewildered he shrugged off the incident and tried to complete his mission ritual. To avoid talking to the bartender who undoubtedly had some pearl of wisdom to give him he would often concentrate on listening in to peoples conversations. A nasty spy habit but it was something to do, sometimes it gave him a sense of normality to hear other people’s conversations about high maintenance girlfriends, cheating husbands and what Gary did the other night.

  This time he was more intrigued by the woman sat on her own in the darkest corner of the room, he used glass reflections and a mirror behind the bar to avoid turning around to look at her. She had soft enticing mahogany eyes with pronounced cheek bones and a harsh yet appealing jawline, her long inky black hair was loosely plaited and rested over her shoulder. She was definitely beautiful but what he liked most was the fact that she was drinking tea, in a pub. He had decided she wasn't English, her dark hair and bronzed skin had led Stark to the assumption she was Middle Eastern. As far as he could tell she hadn't noticed him watching her reflections but she had become visibly more conscious of her surroundings. She placed her cup perfectly on the saucer and reached for her phone, it was only when she spoke that he became worried. He knew very little Hebrew. He could talk competently in German, French, Italian, Spanish and Russian but he only knew a few words of Hebrew. Now he really wished he knew more, while on the phone he was certain she had said 'target' and 'follow' but that was by no means damning evidence. Her phone call ended abruptly, she gracefully rose from her seat as a coin rolled out of her hand, clanked against the saucer and slowly spun to a standstill.

  Out on the street Stark found his rhythm in order to follow her through the city. He paced through the crowds behind her for a few streets; he was surprised to notice that in all that time she didn't look around once, she just kept moving. She turned down an alley but Stark was slowed by a heavy set woman waddling lazily in front of him, by the time he reached the alley she had disappeared. He sprinted after her only to be struck in the throat by the woman, he gasped for air as his reflexes kicked in and began blocking an onslaught of jabs and swings from the woman. He managed to grab her arms, they locked in place, face to face, and he examined her closely before speaking.

  'Who are you?' She twisted out of his hold and forced Stark to swerve to the right whilst jumping over her sweeping leg.

  'The honesty of my answer depends on who you work for.' The pair began to put some distance between each other. They side stepped in a circle keeping a fixed gaze on the other. The two rivals kept light on their feet and spoke with glares alone until the lioness dropped into a spinning leg swipe at Stark. Stark easily avoided it once more and prepared for a counter as she rose. But as a smooth continuation of her first movement she grasped an empty beer bottle from the ground discreetly, completed her three hundred and sixty degree rotation and fiercely smacked Stark across the side of his face with the bottle. The bottle fractured and mostly fell to pieces as she tossed the remaining shard to the ground. Stark's face scrunched in pain as his head turned away from the bottle, he could taste blood and his brain felt a little rattled.

  'I suppose I should have guessed you wouldn't fight like a gentleman.' The pair returned to their predatory waltz, the woman smiled at Stark as she spoke with only the hint of an Israeli accent.

  'I fight to win, not to dazzle you with my charm and honour. Your fighting skills seem rusty, or is that you being a gentleman?' A flurry of swings and counters followed her mocking tone, very few blows landed with full impact as they seemed equally matched to defend themselves against each other. In another fluid motion the woman flung her right fist towards Starks abdomen as her left hand adeptly blocked his incoming attack, Stark was able to jolt back from the force of her fist but not able to prevent her from grasping his wallet. She rolled back and away from him with the wallet, opened it and scanned for information before he could distract her with continued combat. She laughed when she saw his driving license.

  'I'm not sure I believe you are Adam Stark, I mean really?!'

  His eyes searched her and as if paralyzed they landed on the Star of David hung from her neck. "THE STAR!" the words rang through his mind before he realised an uncomfortable silence had started whilst he was staring barely above her breasts. He dragged his eyes away from the necklace and back to eye level before giving her a charming smile.

  'The one and only, and you are?'

  'Your Mossad equivalent.' His mouth opened almost imperceptibly as his eyes rolled, he raised his hands to signal a truce then thrust one hand forward in greeting.

  'Agent Mazar, to what does England owe this pleasure?' Mazar accepted his handshake cautiously, retracted her hand and wiped it down her side with a look of disgust on her face. Stark looked at his hand, it was a little sweaty but he didn't feel there was any need for her to look quite so offended.

  'So you don't fight like a gentleman and you don't act like a lady, I'm running out of appealing qualities for you to have. What is Mossad's poster girl doing in England anyway?'

  'Worried I've gone rogue Stark? Or perhaps you are worried my country knows something yours does not?' As she spoke she circled him and left words lingering in his ears.

  'My fears would be justified. Many an agent has gone rogue and it wasn't so very long ago London was clearing up and mourning a hateful religious attack.'

  'Well last time I checked on the reports none of them were Jewish were they?'

  'Well it seems to me that all wars and conflicts are caused by two things, money or religion. Don't think your religion any better than the others.' Mazar was surprised to hear no mocking tones in Stark's voice, he had a genuine distrust of religion and she had no time for philosophical debate so she moved the conversation along.

  'As for the idea of betraying my country, Agent Stark I was wondering if you were aware of my name?'

  'Of course I read the files of all possible threats, it's nice to put a face to the name Bat-Ami.'

  'You aren't as good a liar as your file says, I'll correct that when I report home. Unlike you I do read files, so I have read yours and know that you won't have read my file. Although I'm flattered that you have gone out of your way to learn my name. Did you know that Bat-Ami is Hebrew for “daughter
of my people”?'

  Stark was beginning to see where this was going and he was hoping to get away before she hit him again.

  ‘As a matter of fact I did not know that.’

  'An honest answer Agent Stark, I'm shocked.' Agent Mazar stood right in front of Stark, leaned to his ear and whispered

  'I would never betray my people and I will always do everything I can to protect them.' She pushed his chest, swept his legs and smiled at him as he lay flat on his back.

  'If you wanted me on my back all you had to do was ask but I usually buy a lady a drink first.'

  'No you don't, I read your file remember.' She smiled at him smugly.

  'Perhaps I could change, would you let me buy you a drink?' She crouched beside him, leaned in close to his face, close enough that he could feel her breath on his cheek. His eyes were caught up in hers and she took the opportunity to slip a small black circle into his pocket. She patted his chest and stood up.

  'Emotionally devoid. Not really my type of man.' As she turned to walk away Stark was left sitting on the floor wondering just how big his file was and whether it was really that detailed. Mazar disappeared when Stark checked the time but he didn’t much care. He sulked back to his car.

  ‘Who was she calling emotionally devoid?’ He noticed in his mirror that his lip had split and would probably scar but he was most unhappy about having to go home. Stark always hated going home, he wasn’t sure he could call it that, he was in a restless state of being in which he yearned to go home even within the confines of his house. He turned the key in the door and somehow instantly knew someone else was in there. He slipped off his shoes, lightly closed the door, readied his weapon and began prowling around the ground floor. Either whoever it was was really good at hiding or they weren't downstairs, as he reached the bottom step the doorbell rang and he slipped the gun behind his back as he opened the door.