Although the medilab was neat and tidy, the complete absence of medical staff was a mystery. When Moss demanded Excalibur tell him where the security team and medical staff were, the computer could only say that they were nowhere on the medical deck.
Heart pounding, Moss slammed into Jennifer's private room and came to an abrupt halt when he saw what, or rather who, was there. Jenson and Sandpiper ran straight into the back of him and the three very nearly collapsed in a heap on the floor.
'Good God!' Jenson exclaimed when he saw the 'life-form'.
Sitting on the edge of the bed was the apparition of a woman—a woman they knew well. Her face was narrow with pale, almost translucent skin and long jet-black hair that flowed down her neck. A strange halo surrounded the intruder giving her a ghost-like appearance. The naked woman's figure was lean and firm and she faced the three men oblivious to her nudity.
However, it wasn't the appearance of the apparition, which made Moss cry out in alarm—it was the bundle she carried in her arms. Wrapped in white cloth, gurgling quietly and held to the intruder's naked bosom was Moss's newborn son.
'Nimue!' he whispered hoarsely.
'Hello Moss,' the apparition murmured. 'I've been expecting you.'
'What are you doing with my son!' he demanded. Then realising the bed was empty cried, 'Jennifer! Where is she? What have you done with her?'
'Jennifer has already begun her trip,' the apparition of Nimue told him.
'Trip? What trip?' Moss exclaimed, shaking his head in bewilderment. 'What's going on here? You're dead! You died on Dyason several years ago!'
'It's a hologram Moss,' Jenson declared taking a step forward. 'That's the only explanation! Excalibur, locate the whereabouts of Jennifer Pendragon!'
'I'm sorry group captain Jenson,' the female tones of the computer responded, 'there are no signs of Jennifer Pendragon on the ship.'
'What? She must be here somewhere!'
'The intruder is not a hologram,' the computer stated. 'It is a life-form, although I cannot confirm it's claim to be the woman once known as Nimue.'
'I've had enough of this!' Sandpiper declared, making a move to snatch the child from the apparition.
He got no further than a couple of steps before his knees collapsed beneath him and he began to choke violently.
'Please gentlemen!' the apparition spoke to them. 'I have no wish to harm any of you, particularly the child. I urge you to restrain your aggression.'
'What do you want Nimue?!' Moss shouted, clenching his fists in rage at his sides. He attempted to mentally probe the ghostly image, but as far as he could tell, Nimue, or whatever it was; wasn't actually there in the room with them. It was as Jenson said, some sort of projection, but it was also a life form, albeit completely alien.
He attempted to trace back the projection to its point of origin, but failed miserably. He could sense something in the sub-ether, but it was so vague, so indistinct, there was no way he could follow the track.
'We have a need that has to be fulfilled!' the apparition of Nimue told Moss, her face strangely calm and expressionless. The fiery spirit Moss remembered was absent; which confirmed in his mind that he was indeed confronting something other than Nimue's re-incarnation.
'Your wife and child will be well looked after,' the ghostly figure said. 'You need not fear for their safety!'
Then, as they watched, the apparition became more translucent. A swirling mass of light grew from a point somewhere within the alien life form. There was a rushing sound, as if the air were trying to fill a vacuum. Moss leapt desperately toward the disappearing image of Nimue, who was still cradling the gently gurgling infant. He braced his mind against mental attack, but as his fingers reached out to grab his newborn son the apparition slipped back to the dimension it came from. His fingers slipped through thin air and he collapsed in a heap on the bed which until so recently had contained his beloved wife and child.
'NO!' he screamed in agony, fear and frustration.
Moscow 'Reds' football stadium.
21.35hrs June 5th 2057
Laser beams criss-crossed the evening sky, and holographic images appeared to rise hundreds of metres into the air, in a spectacular computer generated display. The fifty thousand-seat stadium, built soon after the end of the war, was filled to capacity with a crowd made up of all ages, and all the ethnic groups from the Russian Federation. Their upturned faces displayed excited anticipation, their emotions so strong it was an almost physical, tangible thing.
If it weren't for the clearly religious icons being holo-graphically displayed, Myrddin would swear he'd arrived at a rock concert by mistake. He grudgingly conceded that Bishop Dydnski and the Triplanetary Church knew how to stage a spectacle. He was beginning to understand their phenomenal following, particularly amongst the more down at heel proletariat. He glanced sideways at agent Delaware, who sat beside him in the security control box. Her face was impassive, but he could sense her curiosity and anticipation.
Just as the excitement amongst the people had reached fever pitch, there was an incredible blast of surround-sound trumpets and synthesized angels. The massive holographic images faded and the crowd became silent. Faces turned toward the vast stage, which had been constructed at one end of the stadium, and the lights dimmed. Then, with a flash of light and numerous pyrotechnics, the back-lit form of a tall, giant of a man, stepped forward. Remotely controlled mini-cams zoomed in on the flame-red haired Dyason, projecting his image on vast three-dimensional screens sited on each side of the stage. Bishop Dydnski faced his congregation, raised his arms and fifty thousand worshipers roared.
The self-appointed leader of the Triplanetary Church lowered his arms after nearly a minute of wild cheering, and then stood impassively silent. Arms crossed about his barrel chest, he waited for the vast congregation to settle. Gradually, the applause died and an expectant hush descended upon the stadium. Even the sounds of coughing and shuffling feet faded, until the fifty thousand-seat stadium was completely silent. The mass congregation stared with complete rapt attention at the church leader, but still Bishop Dydnski said nothing. He simply stood like a statue with only his dark, beady eyes moving steadily through the crowd.
Myrddin was impressed; remaining silent for a time, to increase a crowd's anticipation, was a well known psychological technique. However, few were brave enough to wait for more than a few seconds before breaking the suspense. The only person Myrddin could recall having the same sort of control over their audience was Adolf Hitler. Myrddin wondered if the bishop and the murdering fascist came from the same mold.
Finally, when it seemed as if the mass of worshipers would burst from anticipation, the head of Triplanetary Church spoke. His first words were soft, almost whispers, his international English virtually perfect. Myrddin could see individuals in the stadium lean forward to hear better, what their prophet had to say; they’re attention undivided. It was, he had to admit to himself, superb crowd control.
The tone and intensity of Bishop Dydnski's voice grew and grew in crescendo until he was virtually screaming at the crowd. In response, the congregation cheered and roared in an outburst of mass hysteria. Myrddin knew it wasn’t what the bishop was saying which raised such intense emotions—it was the way he was saying it.
He glanced sideways at agent Delaware and the Russian police officers that shared the control room with them. Myrddin was astounded to see that they too were watching the church leader with rapt attention and blank eyes. A vein throbbed on the side of Delaware's neck, an indication of the strength of emotions coursing through her.
Admiration gave way to alarm as Myrddin watched the bishop manipulate the massive crowd. They were like putty in his hands, hanging on to his every word. He realised there had to be something more than just carefully chosen words at work here. He wondered if the Triplanetary Church were using some sort of telepathy or mind-control to manipulate its worshipers. But if that were the case, why wasn't he being affected in the same manner as al
l the others?
He resisted the urge to scan the Dyason church leader's mind, he didn't want to announce his presence just yet. Instead, he concentrated his thoughts on the operant Masorak agent, Delaware. Strangely enough, he could feel no trace of outside interference affecting the young woman's emotions. Yet, there was no doubt, her mind was somewhere else; Myrddin was easily able to scan her entire mind. Her thoughts were entirely unshielded, something a trained operant would never do willingly. Perhaps that was the clue to the mass hysteria?
Myrddin carefully watched the remainder of the theatrical service, examining the orchestrated pomp and pageantry, searching for a clue to the bishop's incredible crowd control. He didn't bother to question Delaware or the Russian police. They were as brainwashed as the masses in the stadium.
It was during a session of communal singing that he first noticed the young woman. An ethnic choir were singing some sort of gospel hymns, with the bishop leading from the front. Everyone on stage was singing for all their worth, except for one person. She was somewhere in her thirties, slim and athletic, her face was handsome rather than pretty, and like the bishop she had flame-red hair which was cut to shoulder length.
Picking up a pair of binoculars, Myrddin examined the woman more closely. There was some resemblance in her features to Dydnski and he wondered if the two were related. Could she be the illegitimate daughter of the bishop? He thought about asking Delaware, but one glance at her face was enough for him to give up on that idea. A positive identification would have to wait.
Looking through the binoculars once more, Myrddin saw how the flame-haired woman watched the masses that filled the stadium like a bird of prey, waiting to swoop and snatch some poor unsuspecting soul. Her eyes were like beads, constantly scanning the sea of faces. Suddenly, she looked up and stared straight at him, her face tilted toward the security control room. Myrddin didn't know how the woman realised he was watching her; the control room's picture window was mirrored on the outside, so it was impossible to see in. However, there could be no doubt, she was staring directly at him with arrogant, narrowed eyes. She held his stare for maybe thirty seconds before moving her gaze to the other side of the stage with a dismissive toss of her shoulder-length hair.
Myrddin followed the strange woman's gaze and frowned at what he saw. A group of Russian policemen were forcing their way through the crowds and clambering up onto the stage, stun-batons drawn. What was going on? What did the police think they were playing at? Their intrusion was guaranteed to inflame the fifty thousand followers; the fools were instigating a riot!
He turned to the Masorak agent, shook her by the arm and called out, 'Delaware! Snap out of it! Come on agent! All hell is about to break loose!'
There was no reaction; the agent was oblivious to what was happening around her. Myrddin pushed with his mind and her eyes suddenly came into focus. With a gasp she turned to look at the ancient, her face a picture of amazed bewilderment—the spell had been broken.
'How…what?' she stuttered. 'What's going on?'
'We can discuss that later,' Myrddin snapped at her, extending his mind toward the still vacant-eyed security offices sharing their booth. 'We need to stop those goons from starting a riot down there!'
Delaware peered toward the stage and immediately saw the danger. The police squad were clambering all over the stage and were trying to force off the choir and ministers, their stun batons flying. The crowds were angrily surging in response, with people climbing to join the melee on the stage.
As Delaware tried to rouse the lethargic security officers, Myrddin grabbed a radio and called up the Russian police commissioner in his control vehicle sited just outside the stadium.
'Tupolevski!' he called out. 'This is Myrddin. What the hell do you think you're playing at? For God's sake, call your people off! They're causing a riot!'
'I'm watching it on the CCTV, but I can assure you Myrddin, I didn't order that squad in!'
'Well if you didn't who the blazes did?' the irate ancient retorted, dismayed at the chaos that was unfolding in the stadium below.
'I don't know! All my officers are accounted for!' the distraught police commissioner told him. 'That bunch of goons aren't from my force. I don't know where they've come from. We've tried desperately to call them on the radio, but they're ignoring our calls.'
Suspicions aroused, Myrddin looked back toward the flame-haired activist on the stage. She was watching impassively as the mayhem broke out around her. Her expression was cold and calculating. Why had these riot-police squad stormed the stage? It didn't make any sense…
Since the end of the war, the new constitution of the Russian federation had at its core the individual's right to freedom of speech. A new generation of Russians felt an overwhelming desire to compensate for the atrocities carried out in the motherland for most of the twentieth century. Consequently, the new federation of Russian states had the most liberal of policies on the planet. The idea of the police storming a public gathering batons drawn was ludicrous. Myrddin smelled a rat, and he was almost certain the source of the trouble was the red-haired woman.
'Dydnski's been struck!' Delaware yelled, pointing to the bishop who had collapsed to his knees. Blood poured from a gash on his forehead and a collective gasp rose from the entire stadium. 'That's it—all hell will break loose now! Tell the commissioner to open all the stadium gates, before people start getting crushed in the fighting!'
Even as she spoke, worshipers stormed the stage en-mass, and swamped the police who prodded and swung their stun batons. Others began to rip down scaffolding and other equipment to use as weapons. As screams of anger and pain arose from those being trapped and crushed by the surging masses, one of the police pulled out a standard issue automatic and fired it into the air.
'Get the gates open Tupolevski!' Myrddin desperately called into the comm-unit. 'Fighting is breaking out, people are getting crushed!'
'I can't let that angry mob onto the streets of Moscow!' the commissioner cried out in fear and alarm. 'They'll tear the city down! I don't have enough officers to control such hysteria!'
'If you don't open the gates hundreds, possibly thousands, will be crushed to death!' Myrddin snapped back, pointing out the catastrophe that was about to envelope them. 'Do you want those deaths on your conscience for the rest of your life?'
Reluctantly, not knowing what else to do, the Russian police commissioner opened all of the stadium's emergency exits. Within minutes, fifty thousand irate and hysterical people poured out onto the streets. Their emotions running high, angry and confused by the chaos within the stadium, a mob set upon a police patrol car. They dragged out the hapless officers and beat them to a pulp, only ceasing their kicking and punching when their bodies lay bloody and inert on the road.
As more and more bodies spilled out of the vast stadium, the mob—intent upon revenge, swelled its ranks. Grabbing sticks, pipes, bottles, anything that came to hand, they marched on downtown Moscow, determined to set the city alight. The open-air service had developed into a full-blown riot.
Myrddin could only curse and look on helplessly. The Triplanetary Church had finally shown their true colours.
CHAPTER FOUR
Excalibur. In orbit around the planet Heligsion.
Captain Black, Excalibur's commanding bridge officer, looked at the data being displayed on the main viewer in amazement. A few minutes ago, the starship was at the lowest state of alert with many of her crew relaxing in the ship's bars and recreational decks. Now, they were at full alert and preparing to pull out of orbit from the planet Heligsion.
The distress call from the colonial transport Shanoa had been intercepted by the sub-ether scanners and her last known position plotted. The message the comm's-officer had received, spoke of a possible saboteur on board, threatening to blow up one of the singularity status fields. Excalibur's comm-officer had attempted to respond to the Mayday when the transmission abruptly ended.
Black was well aware of the dangers c
reated by a collapsing status field, particularly when a ship was traveling through the sub-ether. If an explosion had taken place onboard the Shanoa, the likelihood was that the ship and all her passengers were now scattered throughout the fourth dimension. The chances of surviving such a catastrophe were virtually nil. However, it was their duty to do what they could, so he ordered Excalibur to head for the colonial transport's last known position at maximum drive.
It was as they were powering up the engines that the second alarm sounded.
Black immediately dispatched a security team to the medilab, even though the alarm was probably triggered by a fault in the ship's sensors. Then the disturbing reports from Moss and Jenson started to come in. His old friends swore the medilab was completely empty of staff and there was no sign of the security team. Yet, Black had been in touch with the same security team who had told him there was no sign of an intruder in the medilab. To them, everything had appeared normal except…except that they could find no trace of Moss, Jenson and Sandpiper. In fact, they could agree on only one thing…Jennifer and the baby were gone. He scratched his head in bewilderment; just what in God's name was going on?
The turbo-lift doors opened and a distraught Moss, followed by a breathless Jenson and Sandpiper pounded onto the bridge. Black nodded curtly to the three of them and indicated they head for the briefing room. As soon as they were inside he demanded, 'Start from the beginning and tell me exactly what happened.'
Moss was far too distraught to say anything; he simply kept pacing up and down, wringing his hands in anguish. It was left to Jenson to give Black the entire story.
'But I don't understand this,' the bridge officer said after being briefed. 'I sent a security team to the medical deck as soon as the intruder alert sounded. But, they found nothing…no sign of any mysterious intruder, and the medical staff going about their business as usual.'
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