Herald leapt into the pilot seat aside Jay. He wiped his face which now had more than just one tear. “Jay, let’s do this. Give me your best.” He momentarily looked back to Ana, lending. How am I going to break the news to her? It had to be done. I had to make a decision. It was the only way to completely ensure her safety. And as the others saw the full scope of what headed their way, they knew it too.
The hover-jet unleashed a double sonic boom, and they knew, it was gone. The eerie rumble in the distance had become a full-blown roar. A half moment later the assailants flew over the forest like locusts dragging a wind that bent the pines—snapping some. A few smaller ones descended, pausing, looking around. One neared the team—the other side of their boulder. They froze, even breathing. It seemed to be sensing, searching—then soon departed. The sniffing stragglers rose together as a swarm, rejoining the deafening mass. This swarm was by far more intimidating. It contained tractor-tire-sized chrome saucer-shaped drones, military secret weapons, and armed fighter-jets capable of Mach 3. Jerry held Amy’s ears while trying to cover at least one of his own with a shoulder, and the others held theirs. The cacophony roared not unlike a category-5 tornado filled with runaway locomotives, and then it was gone, and the winds settled, and the orange sky was wiped clean—thousands assumed chase after the lone hover-jet.
“Floor it Jay!” They brought the already tortured hover-jet to max speed—then pushed it beyond that. “Give me everything you’ve got!” Herald yelled. They decided to take it as high as possible. To space!
They dodged and evaded, maneuvering widely, then Herald deployed all remaining buzzers. The lasers were experimental, hadn’t been tested, but he had no choice but to employ them also—to the possible detriment of rupturing the ship’s power supply. They worked! Four aft lasers zapped the trailing horde. Yet they had no choice but to fly higher, longer, and further. Come on Rafael. Come on. We need that signal, now! Evading the horde drove them far to the southwest—way too far. There were just too many.
Herald had never intended to travel so distant from Amy. As they descended from the boundary of space at near Mach-3 with exhausted engines the Pacific Ocean quickly came into view—an unwelcome sight. Under it, miles away, a smoldering sea, the navigation confirmed: San Francisco. But they could already tell. The towers of the Golden Gate Bridge and the tops of buildings were somber grave markers, protruding mere feet from the ocean’s new level. The sea steamed as if a mountain-size crock pot had exploded; and boiled as if the seafloor was a hotplate. The steam rose into the sky like an upside down waterfall and as it hit the ceiling grey puffy white clouds expanded umbrella-like. America had a new coastline, miles in! An alarm sounded for the umpteenth time—engines, in the RED, again. Herald silenced it. But then—it came. And just in time. Rafael must’ve did it! It was odd how the attackers just stopped, and they knew it couldn’t be anything else. The swarm fell back and dissipated like mindless zombies. The signal came at 7:59 a.m. Success! Had it been minute longer, on time, they would’ve been done for.
The hover-jet had taken a lot of damage, too much. The engines had overheated and they’d taken many hits. Not a single one of the buzzers had made it back—they’d did their duty—saved them. But it was everything that worked together to create the sliver of advantage, and the win. Herald knew, sadly, the reduction of weight was one of the factors. I should have left the builder, kept the team together, but I didn’t know. And the blocker might not of been able to hide the builder’s mass. I couldn’t have known that we’d make it. It was, too close to call.
The horde, operating as a single cognitive entity, had driven them like a million cowboys rustling only one cow. A cow that really had no chance; they’d been out-gunned and outnumbered, and the assailants had faster jets; they were overwhelmed, a trillion-to-one odds. They’d had no choice but retreat continuously, hundreds of miles away, or be destroyed. But, they made it, had eluded the force long enough with clever thinking and unprecedented maneuvering. Peace, for as long as that signal would hold. How long? No one, not even Rafael could foresee...
They used the last of the hover-jet’s power to level out then turned around. Skimming the ocean, dodging building tips, they hovered slowly like a limping turtle, back to dry land. The jets were toast, that final descent was their last stand, and the last burst of speed they would be seeing for a while. After landing on the nearest sliver of earth Ana and Felix logged out. They all stepped outside, feeling lost and helpless. Felix came forward with a suggestion. He knew of a special place nearby, in a tiny Mexican Pueblo further south, packed to the brim with supplies and tools, guns and ammo, and good honest people—where they could hide and rebuild, and repair: his bunker.
The signal lasted long enough for the US military—literally mere handfuls of men and women—to regroup, and a small sliver of the world had relief from the surge. It lasted longer than any of them imagined it would have, and every minute brought a greater chance for survival, allowing for recovery, rebuilding, and preparations. Planes and automobiles were stripped of computers and reverse engineered to be exclusively manual—powered by humans. Back to the Stone Age.
Herald and the remaining crew (Ana, Q, Ted, Lia, and Felix) eventually repaired the quantum communicator—discreet and undetectable communication was a must from that day forward—which had been tossed about the ship during their evasive maneuvers. They made contact with Rafael, and then the military. With Ana at his side Herald went on to become the last leader of all mankind. Just like the team in the hover-jet, the rest of humanity followed him undoubtedly.
And then, he unleashed the builders, and they did what they were made to do. They built! He spread his vision and kept many secrets—allowing only Ana and Q to know any specific details henceforth—and controlled an army of machines—all ALIVE with a lent, and licensed consciousness. Together they created that chance he had imagined long ago. He did it. He saved the human race from extinction—for now.
Amy never left his mind, and with Ana at his side they never stopped searching. No, unfortunately things didn’t go as planned, they rarely do, and when he was able to come back to the Cibola Mountains where he’d left them, he searched. And he searched, and searched. Amy and the group were nowhere to be found—they were, blocked. Ana never blamed him, nor did the others—he did what he had to do: made a tough decision. And his mission was—from that day forward—and nothing else mattered—find Amy!
74. END
Jim awoke on the lending bed. His eyes opened and he took in a meditating breath then rose to his feet. The room was full with every lender, and overflowing with emotions. Cries of joy, happiness, and euphoria flooded the air. Sadness also lingered, but Amy, somehow, upon death made sure it was beneath the rest; what she would have wanted. And he saw her bed, the ash, her robotic arm. He was destroyed over that damn choice, her sacrifice, and although he knew he should feel anguished over what had happened—he couldn’t. His imagination was exploding like a fireworks finale. He saw colors he’d never seen before, felt feelings that melted his heart with elation, to a depth he couldn’t have realized before. It was as if he could reach inside his own mind, with his own physical hands and grab the emotions, fly through experience and insatiable curiosity; the feeling was empowering, liberating, and overwhelming.
“Jim,” Ted said arriving to him. He paused, smiled larger than Jim had ever seen, then hugged him. “It feels—” Ted obviously had no scientific explanation, likewise any string of data to describe it. “—amazing!” He wasn’t his usual monotone calm self. He was exploding with the very same burst of creativity. “Are you okay Jim?”
“I will be Ted. I need, a minute.”
“We all feel it. It’s, it’s what we’ve been missing. And there’s a ship outside. It came to rescue us! Saved us all.”
His head was now jam-packed. It was Amy’s gift, he supposed. Yes, he knew everything, and more—or so he thought he did. He knew of Herald and many minute details of his life. He knew Amy as if he
had lived her life. He knew it all from her last moment in the cave and back to her birth. And the second she arrived to Jewel City and beyond; as if he had lived in her shoes, as if he was once the cheerful, very special young girl. There was a lacuna in his knowledge, but he put things together like other times in his life; he took it all in, added everything up and surmised. His intuition was in overdrive. Then he thought about the ship Ted mentioned. “Ted, can you put it on screen. I want to take a look.”
“Sure, we’re patched in with Rico. Come on, let’s head over.”
He was on screen spinning and awing at the panels in the control room—the HAT was electrified like a sparking brain, other screens were actively running codes—and Jim caught his attention, “Rico.”
“Jim, you’re OK!” Rico said. “What happened to Amy?”
“I don’t know exactly, but I’m getting a bad feeling. Patch us a video of the outside. And don’t head out yet.”
“We’ve already sent a runner. I think we’re good to go. Here, I’ll patch you in. All cameras are operational again. You’re in for one hell of a view.”
He patched the feed to the hologram table behind them. It was magnificent, a monstrous ship half the size of the entire park. Rescue #486 its panels read, and its hull was littered with flags, logos, and striping. The runner could be seen darting toward it. He bolted up the ramp and disappeared inside running past waving people in orange jumpsuits. They changed, first time since, smiling big as he passed them by. Less than ten seconds later the runner returned with the same smile and stood on the ramp waving toward the facility with both arms. “Yes! I knew it,” Rico continued. “Open the safe room, let’s go people, quickly, all aboard!” He changed the status to a very welcome green and people flooded from the safe room.
“Rico no wait please,” Jim yelled. The others had gathered around him. And they all, having been affected by the purple electricity—although they hadn’t received Amy’s memories—felt the same disturbing vibe. And eerie suspicion, something wasn’t right.
“Don’t you see Jim? It’s like you said, we have to take charge, make our own decisions. The runner, he’s right there with them, waving us in. We are finally saved.” The automation was blaring, telling Rico to halt, yet he no longer wanted to listen. The people were dashing into the ship at a fast pace. Standing aside, the security team and a few members from the town panel formed lines to control the flow, and two by two people went up the ship’s ramp, and into the darkness of its insides. And a few others came out, and like the runner they began to wave the townspeople in. It was a powerful affirmation, and joy abound.
The lenders watched in the BROCC. The HAT administered its high-resolution view and they could see the entire demolished town, the fractured wall, and the ship at its center. And above, forming in the air, they saw something else. A portal of some sort was opening. It was black like an upside-down funnel and purple-edged as if wallpapered by the star-speckled universe in all of its splendor. It grew large, half the size of Rescue #486. And something squeezed out: a glob of liquid chrome, or mercury. It flattened as if resting on the atmosphere to which it had arrived and solidified into a rounded saucer shape.
The ship, if it was one, gleamed seamlessly. And it arrived quickly, as if defying the laws of physics; it moved almost instantaneously and zipped down toward Rescue Ship #486 which was a Goliath more than twice its size, then rode the air as if to saddle it, mere feet above.
At least a third of the townspeople had made it into the ship when suddenly the ramp closed. But not before the orange jump-suited individuals disappeared. The runner and others who had come outside to wave wildly, spreading affirmations of a well-intentioned rescue, also vanished—holograms! People dove from the fast-closing ramp like it had become a chomping maw, unbiased to devour them. And the bridge atop the ship disappeared, as well the decals and markings and stripes. Even the panels, silver and man-made looking, all of it was a hologram. The hull retained its overall shape, mostly, becoming less bulbous, more sleek; and it took on a deep-green almost-black glassy appearance, almost as seamless as the globule-like saucer floating above it. The engines powered up with a low roar and it began to rise. It emitted a defiant screeching noise making eardrums bleed as it pushed upward. The saucer above moved as it did, keeping its position dead-top-center of the craft.
It was attempting to depart, yet as much as the former #486 tried it could not evade nor dent nor push the chrome saucer. Max thrust: its engines roared in vain, incinerating any remaining trees to black ash, and likewise futile were all attempts to get beyond the saucer. So, it descended, defeated—and the saucer descended with it.
Outer perimeter ship #11 arrived. The automation ceased forcefield generation as it entered then reapplied. The ship shimmered in dark-silver, and contrarily was not smooth and sleek like the ships below yet sharp with a myriad of textures and curious protrusions; and it was large, but only a quarter the size of former #486. It was shaped like a single pointed claw, arced back as if it could deliver a punishing stab and had small razor-sharp wings on its frontal tip that swept toward its rear getting larger and thicker until merging with the immense propulsion of its aft. As if noticing the exotic assistance that had arrived it crept inward slowly, cautiously, and hovered in the center of the park taking up a position one hundred feet above the ensuing duel. In a brilliant display it fired laser pulses in an encircling motion as if to demonstrate: there will be no exit. A dazzling starburst of red light went around the wall fast enough to create a red vectored ceiling, capping the wall. The worthy demonstration stopped, and it waited. A purple field—the show continues—illuminated blending with its jagged dark-grey hull—sparking animatedly, lighting brightly on its claw-tip—solidifying its presence, as if to pronounce its superior capabilities. And it hovered silently, ready to assist if needed, obviously having had brought its own very powerful force to be reckoned with.
Former #486 held a position mere feet from the ground, as if thinking—then again came the intense screech. Its lasers fired onto the saucer, yet none made even a spark against the mirror-like curiosity. It fired all lasers at once, hundreds, focused on a single point, still nothing. And the needle began to rise—as if to make a another special attack like that of the storm that had vacuumed drones and spit them miles away—but again, ineffective. The saucer came down crushing the extension. And it pressed, pushing former #486 into the ground. The engines reened with all it had, in vain. The saucer bore down harder—as if it had the gravity of a neutron star to focus and purpose as needed—and the body of former #486 began to buckle. Loud cracks ejected streams of high-pressure white smoke. Again the screech—shouting less defiance, more wail—louder and high-pitched, diamonds to a chalkboard; and again the townspeople plugged their ears.
In a desperate move to escape former #486 launched forward like a sled, carving earth, directly toward the lender facility. With dives and leaps the awing audience that was the rest of the town again retreated into the safe room. The ship hit hard on the bulging south edge which deflected the behemoth toward the end of 3rd Street. After taking out several houses it smashed into the wall aside the facility cracking it from top to bottom. The ship reened, and reeeened: engines at maximum pushing against the wall; but the wall didn’t budge. The saucer above moved with lightning speed, darting to the bow. It silently pushed back crushing the nose, and drove the ship back through the wedge which it had dug into the earth.
Back again.
Support ship #11 created its red laser ceiling once more, as if to taunt: fool me once, not twice, ooh you’ve had it now.
With another deafening and more constant wail rotation began. Creating huge dirt piles under the pressing force former #486 turned, spinning slowly like a pig in the mud and stopped facing northwest, directly toward the hospital across the park.
The stalemate lasted for at least five minutes before the engines re-fired. Heat blasted the facility and people dove for cover. After revving the engines at max
imum for a good twenty seconds it let loose. The muddy pig rocketed with all it had once again, pushing dirt, digging a new canal—and the saucer remained, locked above it like a halo. The chrome glob pressed, not allowing it lift.
It hit. Hard. The wall exploded where the mouth of the spring was capped. The saucer, as if finally allowing it passage let up, then followed it away and out of sight, far into the air. Former #486 had seriously damaged itself trading the colossal hit for freedom. It painted a black trail of smoke, like a winding road into the northern sky, eventually banking due east, until it was gone. The saucer escorted. Then, it returned.
Almost instantly it arrived to the yard affront the facility, as if light speed was mere strolling it defied rules of inertia and physics. It floated mutely. Once panicked people calmed, peeking out, then tip-toed toward the curiosity, creeping near cautiously. They once again emptied the now only half-full safe room. The intruder, former #486, had gotten away with almost half of the town.
“We can all head outside now,” he said. Jim didn’t know how he knew, he just did. Rico was distraught from his choice and saw the diagram of his decision clearly within his mind. And Jim felt his pain. He’d made a decision that cost many lives. He knew what Rico needed and said slowly, “Rico, come over here, please.”
“I—Jim, I sent—” Rico broke down and he looked like he was going to do something he’d regret.
Sternly Jim said, “Rico. I want you over here, right now. Trust me and do it. Things are going to be okay.” Rico got up slowly, disappearing from the control room, leaving the door open and unsecured.
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