Bach snatched his berry midair, with one hand.
Lavender’s landed on her plate. She tried to pick it up, but her numb fingers squeezed too hard and it spitched to the floor. “Ohhh,” she sighed, leaning over farther than necessary to ensure body contact with Bach. Then she pulled herself up hand-over-hand on his body and dangled the fuzzy fruit by its stem in front of his face, taunting, “Doooon’t eeeeat it, Baaaach.”
Grinning, he dangled his berry by the stem and replied, “Ooooh kaaay.”
Star tried to get his attention. “Bach, firefruit’s an antidote for intoxication. Please eat it. You’ll recover immediately. Let’s finish your orientation.”
Bach paid no attention.
Altemus raised his voice, “Lavender Rose! Eat the firefruit!”
She tauntingly wrinkled her nose, then leaned on Bach and fed him her firefruit.
He sucked the marble-sized sphere from its stem and smacked his lips, savoring the hot cinnamon flavor. Grinning, he leaned sideways and fed his firefruit to her. Both sat closed-eyed and smiling while the fruits dissolved in their mouths and the aquamarine liquid’s intoxicating effects wore off.
Star slid a plate of desserts toward Bach. “Try a spiced cream tart. They’re made from mots, flavored beads that grow in pods on planet Maon.”
Bach selected a green-frosted tart. He smelled it. “Mmmm, smells like vanilla coffee. Do you eat like this all the time?”
“It used to be better,” Lavender replied. “But you can get everything you see here, and more, at the refectory during the daylight phase.”
“Daylight phase? I hadn’t thought about time,” Bach said. He looked at his earth watch. “How is time measured on Jenesis?”
“We regulate periods of manufactured light into two equal segments to coincide with our body’s natural wake/sleep rhythm,” Altemus said.
“Sounds like a 24-hour day on Earth.”
“Right. We simulate what used to be the natural light and dark periods. And be forewarned, when we ‘turn out the lights,’ so to speak, blackness outside the Skyprisms is total, except for the barely visible beam on distant Mount Hope.”
“We experienced the total darkness when we first crash landed,” Bach said. “Then, before our eyes, the planet seemed illuminated from within with the beautiful golden glow. So that’s considered daytime?”
“Yes. You’ve had your first experience with a light cycle,” Altemus replied. “Call it day and night if you like. The golden light isn’t as bright as we want, but it’s the best we can do with our remaining energy.”
“The superior intelligence of your race is remarkable.”
“We’d advance dramatically if we had more materials to work with.”
Bach mumbled, “I have a lot to learn.”
Altemus put a dark brown dinner roll on Bach’s plate and reached for a bowl filled with pastel colored, nickel-sized balls. “Here, Bach, try these flavored spreads. Sweetcream’s my personal favorite, the little yellow ones.” The patriarch slathered the spread on a roll and reminisced. “Your space station reminds me of our technology long ago. It’s much like one I designed in my youth. Back then we called ours Kingships.”
“Kingships?” Bach mumbled under his breath.
Star smiled. “Dad was born into our space program, like his father before him. He has more in his head than we have stored in all of our electronic brains in the labs.”
“I’m fascinated by what I’ve seen so far,” Bach said. “I’d like to know more about those lightweight solid-fuel briquettes you mentioned in the rescue ship.”
Wilde responded before Altemus. “It’s newly developed and takes us farther, faster on less quantity. We make the basic briquette from processed refuse, then it’s compressed and chemically engineered for combustion. There’s a final step that’s not recorded anywhere. Altemus applies it, so if the Rooks hack our intel or pirate our records they’ll never have the full formula. They haven’t invented anything comparable, so we’re one step ahead of them.”
“Processed refuse? You mean condensed compost materials?”
“Yes, Bach. Believe it.” Altemus nodded as he spoke. “We have minimal trash. We also aid planet Zarephath—remove their trash and turn it into space fuel. The Specter takes advantage of Zarephath’s less advanced culture, using their planet as his dumpsite.”
Lavender whispered into Bach’s ear. “The Specter is desperate to learn the last step in our fuel formula. With our lightweight solid fuel, his army could expand into other galaxies.” She leaned back and stopped whispering. “He experiments with genetic engineering, cloning, bacterial warfare, anything he can use to further his cause.”
Bach shifted in his chair. “Has it always been this way?”
“No,” Altemus said. “Two generations ago, after the meteorites damaged our planet’s energy core, our research personnel began experiencing paranormal thought patterns that muddled their concentration. Intense investigative efforts pointed to a supernatural phenomenon as the cause. Later, during a meeting of Dura’s scientists, an astral projection hovered above the table—a man’s face sheathed in yellow light. It was our first encounter with the Specter. Through his manifestation, he spoke as a mastermind presenting convincing solutions for restoration of our planet and hope for future development beyond our abilities. We welcomed him and eagerly anticipated his random appearances, but that was his plan. He’s a genius of higher intelligence, but not wisdom. Wrapped in the guise of pleasure, he introduced fear, hate, and misery to our cultures. Many Durans lost control of healthy emotions and positive thinking.”
Altemus stopped talking for a moment, as if reliving those troubling times, then continued. “The Specter recruited on all the planets with methodically applied, emotional manipulation, and enticed many of our family members, friends, and loved ones to join him. His recruits overran an undeveloped civilization on Jenesis’s other inhabitable land mass and colonized the continent they renamed Ulwor, the Ultimate World. They are his mighty, self-proclaimed army, the Rooks—Rulers of other kingdoms. A few Durans recruited by the Specter are still here, covertly serving him, so be careful whom you trust.”
Star added, “Before the Specter appeared, Jenesis and the ten other planets functioned ideally through cooperation, respect, and self-control. We had no need for leadership other than guidance and counsel from our Creator. Now our Creator is all but forsaken.”
Wilde added, “Be forewarned. If the evil one gets inside your head, he’ll seize your conscience and prey on emotional weakness. In times of stress or doubt, when least wanted, his face will manifest in the midst of your activities just to take you off-guard. No one’s ever seen more than his face.”
“I…” Bach cleared his throat. “I think I saw him. Does he have refracting eyes that hypnotically hold you?”
Wilde jumped to answer first. “Yes.”
Altemus let out a huff, “He’s already working on you. Where did you see him?”
“In my earthship. His face was projected from somewhere … an apparition.”
“I’m surprised he revealed himself so soon,” said Wilde. “Did he speak to you?”
“He said, ‘Follow me.’ Then I saw him again here in the mirror in my room and he said a lot more.”
“He’ll be back,” Altemus said. “Remember, when he appears your power to resist is reduced. He creates strong delusions, but the pleasure he promises is backed with control. He’ll manipulate your heart and mind.”
Bach shook his head with a far-off stare. “What’s happening to my crewmates? I know they’ll resist him.”
“They might at first,” Lavender said, poking at her food. “But they’ll weaken over time. Most of the planets’ inhabitants in our zone have fallen under his mind control and no longer want Dura’s help. They await the Rooks because of their false pleasures.”
“How do I avoid him?” Bach asked.
“You don’t,” Wilde replied. “Over time he’ll assess your vulnerability,
then he’ll either back off or relentlessly wear you down.”
*****
CHAPTER TWELVE
Bach spent the morning in the training/recreation Skyprism undergoing physical and emotional testing. Later, an instructor escorted him down an austere hallway to a soundproofed, cylindrical room twelve feet in diameter. With no idea of why he’d been taken to the small room, which was empty except for two chairs, he reluctantly stepped inside and chose a chair overlooking the open doorway.
Altemus arrived in a blue hovercart, closed the door, and sat across from Bach. Saying nothing, he turned on a hand-held data processor. The device clicked in varying sequences, then beeped. The old man’s non-wavering, steely blue eyes held no expression as he focused on the small data screen.
Feeling uneasy, Bach bounced the heel of his foot up and down on the floor without realizing it.
When the elder looked up, the two couldn’t help but look each other in the eyes in the close quarters.
Bach repeated inside his head, this will be good, this will be positive.
“I’m pleased with the results of your tests,” Altemus said. “You’re a competent man of honorable character.”
Bach stifled a sigh of relief. “Thank you.”
The elder looked again at the data screen. “Bach, I trusted you even before these tests proved me right. Now I’d like your help in our efforts to restore order to this zone. I welcome your fresh insight and enthusiasm.”
“I appreciate your trust.”
“However,” Altemus continued, “data shows you’re harboring a strong desire to rescue your fiancée and crewmates.”
Bach stiffened.
“Eliminate that goal immediately or the Specter will use your countrymen as bait. Then he’ll destroy your honorable spirit once he has you. You must understand that.”
“I understand.”
“That aside, I’m giving you free reign of our intelligence and research. You’ll gain an understanding of Dura’s strengths and obstacles regarding our future and the Specter’s increasing threats. Your background and intellect are well suited to our scientific endeavors. I’ve notified Lavender Rose to give you unrestricted access to data and operations.” Altemus stood, as if to indicate the briefing had ended.
Bach jumped up with a burst of nervous energy and shook his mentor’s hand. “I won’t let you down.”
The old man nodded and opened the door. “Stop by my office later today. You’re sure to have questions.” He initialized his hovercart.
“Thanks for your confidence,” Bach said, “I’m ready to learn.” He walked away relieved, yet continued planning to rescue his crewmates.
#
Bach headed straight for the operations Skyprism—Dura’s heartbeat, and headquarters for communications, intelligence, research, and the spaceport. He’d been given a tour of the facilities after the briefing dinner, and was assigned a workstation in the intel center at that time. But now, having free reign, he couldn’t wait to explore on his own. He hopped aboard one of six rail-riding air-jets used to shuttle people and supplies through passageways connecting the three Skyprisms.
When he stepped off the air-jet, a half-dozen human-shaped robots moved forward to unload the monorail-like cars. The programmable people operated machinery and delivered supplies in response to infrared communicators set in eye-like openings on their faceless heads. Working twice as fast as their human counterparts, the robots floated three inches off the floor on air-powered feet that maneuvered over and around obstacles.
Bach next took a mechanized walkway to the spaceport terminal where teams of employees and robots assembled sections of a new, state-of-the-art starship that looked somewhat like Earth’s earliest Mercury space capsule, only ten times larger. Awesome. That’s the huge structure I caught a glimpse of when the dragonfly landed. He watched for a while, then mumbled to himself, “That’s gonna be one powerful machine. I want to be aboard when it first traverses the zone.” Moving on, he passed a glassed-in research lab where a dozen jumpsuited workers monitored scientific devices he couldn’t identify.
Eager to delve into the incredible technology, Bach was as hyped as a kid who’d received everything on his Christmas list at once. A vacuum lift nearby would deliver him to the upper-level intelligence center faster than the peoplemovers, so he stepped into the sleek tube and rode it to the third-floor work area. The spacious room looked like a techno-wizard’s no-holds-barred science experiment with more lasers, electronics, and gadgetry than he could have ever imagined. The engineer in him gloated, the candyland of a future millennium.
On the way to his assigned workstation he stopped at a snack area and selected a spicy brown energy drink in a mug, then headed to the far end of the room and sat in his work bay. Surrounded by a maze of astral electronics, he looked for something, anything, familiar, and muttered, “Whoa. One big hands-on experiment.” A flexible black cap hanging by no visible means on the wall alongside the computer caught his attention. He poked at it with his finger then pulled it from the wall. It crackled with the sound of static electricity and seemed to vibrate in his hand, but there were no wires or attached devices. “What in the world?” Looks like one of those rubber skullcaps worn by clowns. He examined it with a smirk. Try it on, Bozo. After raising it to his head, he hesitated. Maybe I should ask someone first. He set it on the desk. But, Altemus gave me free reign. He picked it up again, leaned back in his chair, looked to the right, then to the left, then scooted closer to the workstation, took a deep breath and pulled the cap onto his head. A hand-sized, desktop video screen lit up, and a small ball of green light revolved around a larger, orange ball in the center of the screen. Oh, no, what have I done?
A monotone female voice spoke into his ears through the cap. “You have activated the thought cap.”
Thought cap? he said in his head.
“Yes.”
Hard swallow. My thoughts are read from inside my head?
“Yes,” the voice replied.
Oh, God.
“I am not God,” the voice stated.
Bach lifted the cap from his head as if it might detonate, then examined it with a wild rush of curiosity. Feeling like a kid who’d found a secret answer box, he mentally raced down a list of questions he had regarding his new environment. Unsure of his standing with the Duran geniuses, he’d kept many thoughts to himself. Now he could explore secret territory without them knowing what was on his mind. He put the cap on and focused on his first thought.
I notice the women of Jenesis wear the most delightful fragrances, each different from the other. Is this a requirement of some sort?
“No.”
It’s strictly a pleasurable act?
“No.”
Then what purpose?
“Scent is a genetic blueprint,” the voice answered.
Bach gasped. You can identify someone by scent?
“Yes.”
But I haven’t smelled fragrance on the men.
“That is correct.”
Why?
“Male scent genetic identifier ceased after chemical targeting.”
Chemical targeting? What’s chemical targeting?
“Yes. An attempt to eradicate our society.”
By whom?
“The enemy,” the voice replied.
Why?
“To eliminate future superior generations outside the realm of his authority.”
Bach exhaled sharply, wondering, how can I word this?
“Use normal words,” the voice replied.
How did it happen? When did it happen?
After a brief silence the voice said, “Processing two requests.” Then it answered, “Biological warfare. One generation ago.”
So, the enemy used chemicals to disrupt the gene pool?
“Yes.”
Bach prepared his next mental question. If male DNA is disrupted, how do men pass through the DNA security scanners?
“Fragmented DNA remains unique in each indi
vidual.”
Fragmented DNA? A more troubling thought came to Bach’s mind. Is that why I’ve seen no children?
The voice answered, “Yes, and yes.”
Now Bach’s mind drifted beyond input for the thought cap. So there will be no more Duran children….
The female voice replied, “Processing statement, processing question.” It then said, “Dura’s males have lost reproductive capabilities.”
Trying to absorb the information, Bach’s mind raced through an array of possibilities. Oh, my gosh. What if Durans see me as a sperm donor? What if I become a target of male jealousy? Oh, God! What if the Specter tries to neutralize me?
The thought cap beeped and the voice stated, “Input stacking, input stacking.”
Erase! How do I erase? he thought in a panic.
“Erase?” asked the voice.
Bach singled out his thoughts. Yes, erase, delete.
The green ball of light on the screen stopped circling the orange ball. “Whew.” Bach lifted the cap from his head, but after a few moments decided to take full advantage of this resource while he could. Maybe all the scientific concepts he’d thought up over the years could now become reality. So he recalled his innovative theories one by one, then put the cap back on and mentally presented them. The monotone voice informed him time after time that his ideas were old technology. He grimaced, thinking to himself, I’m light years out of my league.
The voice replied, “Light years does not apply to mental process.”
With the cap still on his head, Bach thought, Now I feel foolish.
“You are no different than before,” said the voice.
He returned the cap to the wall and grumbled, “Enough of this.”
Mentally processing all he’d just learned, he fiddled around with a light-emitting pen that projected 3-D images on vibrating airwaves. He wrote his name, and drew a spaceship in midair. When he accidentally flashed the light across a framed panel left of the viewscreen, the semi-transparent contents flinched in reaction. Stunned for a moment, Bach hurriedly investigated. The panel, made of stimuli-responsive living tissue, reacted to touch, light, heat, cold, odors, sounds, liquids and simple voice commands. Awesome technology.
Alpha Rising Page 8