Book One
PLANAR WARS
APERTURES
EDMUND A.M. BATARA
First Published
December 2018
ASIN: B07K6XK3XH
This book is a work of fiction.
Names, characters, places, interactions, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, unless otherwise indicated. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. All Rights Reserved by the Author. 2018.
To my family.
My wife, Julette-Marie, and my daughters, Amina Francesca, Katrina Fae, and Ana Bettina –
for all the support and joy you have given me.
To my sister Amy –
for being so supportive.
To readers of the series and those at the website where the first draft of this continuing story was posted –
for the encouragement and constructive feedback.
Copy Editor: Annie Jenkinson at just-copyeditors.com
Image Credits:
Cover: Base image by darksouls1 from Pixabay.com under a Creative Commons CC0 license. Alterations by the Author.
Illustrations: Title Page image from www.kisscc0.com under a Creative Commons CC0 license; Chapter End image (infinity symbol) is from publicdomainvectors.org. Public domain.
Contents
Author's Introduction to the Series
An Ancient Prophecy
Series Prologue
1 Beginnings
2 The Fog of Lies
3 Fetching Jen
4 Carnage
5 Escape
6 Evasion
7 Predator and Prey
8 More Strange Beasts
9 Rock Salt and Cocktails
10 Pazuzu of Kur
11 Stupid Idiot
12 Not a Simple Matter
13 Is There a War On?
14 The Gathering
15 Evicted
Epilogue
About the Author
Published Books
Upcoming Works
Author's Introduction to the Series
Hello.
I have several fantasy books on Amazon, some of which have reached the bestseller status in their particular genre of mythology.
However, I noticed that most of the fantasy books today deal with a human from this world going to another reality, or the world and the characters found in such wonderful stories all sprang from the writer’s fertile imagination, which in turn got me thinking – what if fantasy came into our reality instead?
Of course, there has to be a plausible reason for its occurrence and the fantasy world or worlds must have some basis in Earth’s myths and legends. Not that I am averse to writing a fantasy totally unrelated to our reality, but right now, I believe our ancient stories of magic and fantastic creatures are rich enough to explore as a basis for writing fantasy and science fiction stories.
This book is the first of a planned series of stories exploring that possibility. And I say possibility because, who knows? It might actually happen. Stranger things have come true.
Enjoy, and thanks for reading.
The Author, December 2018.
Theoclymenus:
“Ah, wretched men, what evil is this that you suffer? Shrouded in night are your heads and your faces and your knees beneath you; kindled is the sound of wailing, bathed in tears are your cheeks, and sprinkled with blood are the walls and the fair rafters. And full of ghosts is the porch and full the court, of ghosts that hasten down to Erebus beneath the darkness, and the sun has perished out of heaven and an evil mist hovers over all.”
– Homer, The Odyssey, Book Twenty
Series Prologue
Diary Entry
December 2019
Hello. I am Eric Weber.
I am twenty-six at the time of writing this.
I am with my girlfriend, Jen Stuart, and it’s now December 2019; I have no idea about the date. Running for your life makes you forget those things. Not that digital watches and cell phones are of any help in our situation.
The assault on the town’s defensive grid also brought with it that bizarre energy field which rendered modern gadgets useless.
The weather outside is freezing, so we’re holed up here in this abandoned hunting cabin and I decided to make the most of our time by writing these notes. Or do we call them memoirs? A diary? I really don’t know.
We intend to reach another reported safe area across the border in Saskatchewan, Canada. Other safe zones were mentioned in the last report we heard but they’re all too far away for us. Hopefully, we’ll make it to an existing safe zone.
The list of sites, though, is shrinking day by day. But the report we have is now a week old, dated from the day before the Great Falls Defense Area fell. That’s in Montana, by the way. We’re lucky we got away. I really don’t know if it’s still valid—but what other option did we have?
I am human, by the way (in case some other entity gets hold of this record). We were the dominant species on this planet until what we call the Event happened.
Now, we don’t know who’s the top dog on this planet we call Earth.
Hell, we don’t even know what we’re sharing the place with.
1
Beginnings
“Hi, Mom!”
She was seated in front of the television in the living room. Some breaking news was being broadcast on the television.
“Hi, honey. Dinner?”
“I’m good, thanks. I had dinner with Jen before I took her back to her apartment,” I replied as I took my place beside her. She appeared engrossed in the unfolding drama before her eyes. I looked at the news ticker on the screen:
TERRORIST ATTACK ON SECRET GOVERNMENT BASE?
“Not secret anymore, then, huh?” I flippantly commented and immediately regretted it.
“Eric! This is really serious!” Mom objected, pointing at the screen. “It’s in South Dakota! That’s virtually next door!”
“Really? Sorry, Mom.” My mind was somewhere else. I was just happy from being with Jen. With exam time coming up, the only time I got to see her was when I took her home.
“Nice girl. I do hope you two stay together,” Mom replied, turning her attention back to the screen. Following her lead, I watched what had caught her attention.
Apparently, something had happened at a top-secret government installation in the South Dakota Badlands, in an area owned by the US Air Force somewhere in the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation.
The newscaster said the media was not allowed into the site or anywhere near.
I could see an endless parade of military equipment and soldiers passing in the background. Abrams tanks, Bradleys, MLRS launchers, MRAPs, you name it, it was there, rolling along at a crawl, as if ready for a war. Helicopters flew overhead and the telltale contrails of jets were flying in the direction of a black and purple cloud in the distance. Considering that the news teams weren’t allowed within a thirty-mile radius of the site, the thick swirling cloud must have been enormous. From time to time, flashes of light could be seen streaking through the unnatural miasma.
“That’s not fire-induced smoke,” I commented.
“What makes you say that? Those colors could be chemically induced,” said my ever-observant Mom. Hands-down, she beat me in the brains department.
A work-at-home accountant, her expertise in her profession was matched by the number of accounts she hand
led. I knew how many firms and individuals she had as her clients, as I did the client management updates. Well, let’s say I was going to be doing them until I could land a job. But there weren’t many employment opportunities for a history graduate with a few masters’ units under his belt. So, I was waiting for word from a high school on the outskirts of town but that was it.
I’d forgotten how many resumes I’d sent out, even to non-related fields. I just wanted to find work nearby so I could be closer to Jen, my mom, and possibly enroll in a few additional post-graduate subjects. Academic credentials did matter in the real world. That was a fact I was now learning the hard way.
“Got me there,” I said.
“But I don’t understand the overkill in the military’s reaction. Tanks? Attack helicopters? Jets? If I’m not mistaken, there’s already a brigade worth of army assets in the background. I don’t believe a mere terrorist attack would warrant quite that response, do you? Unless you’ve got a division’s worth of attackers, which I doubt. Immigration and customs surely wouldn’t be that idiotic?” I continued. But any reply from Mom was cut off by more statements from the news station.
“We do have more information on the installation which is the subject of an alleged terrorist attack. According to the military, it is a scientific research facility jointly run by NASA, DARPA, and the Armed Forces with the participation of leading private scientific institutions such as…” said the newsman who then proceeded to rattle off a long list of companies.
Impressive, I thought. A who’s who of cutting-edge scientific research. Even I have heard of them.
“As to the installation’s research, we’ve been informed by unofficial sources that it was a Large Stage 3 Muon Collider, an allegation our station’s scientific panel has already declared as improbable, saying that a muon collider, of any size, is still a theoretical concept undergoing preliminary examination. We now bring you back to our station where our panel of scientific experts awaits,” the man continued.
Oh, I get to listen to a bunch of talking heads. I’m out of here, I thought with disgust. They’ll only end up contradicting each other. But it never devolves into a fistfight. If it might, I’d stick around.
“Good night, Mom. I’ll head to bed. It’s nearly midnight anyway,” I told Mom.
“Go ahead, honey. I’ll try to see if there’s any clue on what’s happening. Terrorists! On American soil! Whatever are they doing with our tax revenues?” she exclaimed. I snorted but tried to look serious-faced as I looked back at her.
That’s my good old Mom. In the end, it’s all a question of taxes, I thought. I looked back again when I reached the second-floor landing and saw my Mom still glued to the television. Smiling, I went to my room.
It had been several years since my Dad had passed away from a massive coronary. I was glad Mom had been able to get over the loss. Sure, it had taken a bit of time but we now had some degree of normalcy in our lives—though there was still that void that couldn’t be filled. We both still missed him.
Entering my room, I went to the bathroom, cleaned myself, brushed my teeth, and changed into shorts and an old but clean shirt. There was nothing quite like wearing a well-used cotton t-shirt; it was like an old friend and a reminder of comfortably familiar things. I promptly fell asleep.
I woke up to the smell of breakfast. A quick visit to the bathroom to wash my face, and I rushed down to the kitchen. Hungry would have been the perfect description of my condition, though my grumbling stomach would have said famished was a better word.
“Good morning, Mom,” I murmured as I sat down at the table. To be honest, I was still half-asleep.
“Good morning to you too, sleepyhead. Help yourself. I have to go to three client conferences in the next town. It won’t take long. I’ll be back this afternoon.”
I then noticed she was wearing her professional clothes, the ones that said, “I am an exceptional professional, and my expertise is well worth what I charge for my services.”
I stood up and went to help her.
“Don’t worry on my account, Mom. I’ll take care of my breakfast. I wouldn’t want you to be late.”
“That’s a dear boy,” she smiled and kissed me on the cheek. “Bye, Eric. I do have to hurry.”
I got my hands on a plate of pancakes and a cup of coffee and sat down at the breakfast nook. I could see Mom’s car backing out of the driveway and driving down the street.
And I will never forget the sight of that simple, forgettable thing.
But I never saw her again.
Digging into the food, I noticed the small LED kitchen television was on and set to the news channel. Mom did take her news feeds seriously. Sometimes, she would surf from one news channel to another just to make sure what she was seeing and hearing bore some truth to it. My own tendency toward “reading between the lines” also came from her. No surprise there.
A different reporter was on the screen by now.
The news ticker read that the man was now reporting from Rapid City. As I continued to listen, all non-military personnel had been told to evacuate toward the city. It also appeared that the inhabitants of nearby towns had already been or were being evacuated, too. Scores of soldiers and military vehicles, including several tanks, were stationed in the downtown area where the reporter based himself. News outlets were still clueless about what had really happened, and the government was still rigidly sticking to its terrorist attack theory. It seemed everyone was reading off the same goddamn script. And it just wasn’t credible.
Just how big a terrorist attack could it be? Against a scientific installation? If they had that kind of manpower and firepower, there’d be other more viable and important targets, I mused.
Then the camera shifted. It showed the familiar cloud, now of gargantuan proportions, on the horizon.
WTF?
Well, that was my reaction. I guess some people would have been more vocal and eloquent about it. But the cloud had grown and filled half of the observable horizon. I didn’t think too much about it at that time, but looking back, that was when things had really changed. There I was, drinking a cup of coffee, still sleepy, at around eightish in the morning, watching events unfold in a nearby state.
I should have been alarmed at that point, but television does have a way of inoculating its viewers against the reality behind the thin screen of pixelized dots. It was the news, that was all. The real world was something else. But somehow, the pancake sat balanced there on the prongs of my fork and never got moved to my mouth, even if I knew what I was seeing couldn’t be real, couldn’t be that bad. Even if it was half made up and all exaggerated anyway.
As the camera focused on the cloud, the reporter’s voice came back. It began to buzz around my brain.
“As we can see, the cloud arising from the scientific installation appears to have grown overnight.”
Sheesh. Tell me something I don’t know, Mr. Obvious!
“We could also hear a faint continuous rumbling sound. But no explanation has been given by the authorities.”
Well, what did you expect? Do they ever tell you anything?
“One of our reporters tried to go forward and got as close as the deserted town of Scenic. However, he was arrested and we understand he is now in the city jail.”
Again – what did you expect? It’s a military active combat zone. Stupid!
“However, he was able to tell us that columns of troops, tanks, and armored vehicles were still being sent in the general direction of the installation. Mike Wittman informed us he could hear the sound of artillery fire and explosions from bombing runs, though the sound of the rumbling we could only faintly hear in Rapid City does grow louder the closer you get to the Pines Valley area.”
Duh. Of course, it’s louder there. It’s closer. Dimwit! Though… more troops? Artillery? Air attacks? Where am I? The sandbox?
“We also have been belatedly informed that the entire state of Montana, as well as the states of Wyoming, South and
North Dakota, Nebraska, Minnesota, and Iowa, have all been placed under martial law. National Guard units have been mobilized or are mobilizing in these states. Additional military assets are reportedly being flown in, though we have not been able to confirm that report aside from saying that the observable number of aircraft arriving and departing from Ellsworth Air Force Base near Rapid City has vastly increased. A three-mile radius around the base has been declared off-limits to civilian personnel. The base is home to a B-1 Lancer Bomber Wing.”
What the hell? Under martial law? Fuck. I guess William, Jeff, and Dan have been called up. But martial law?
“Portions of Route 90. Route 190, as well as Route 29, have also been set aside for military traffic. Civilian and military authorities have strongly advised that people remain in their homes and limit their traveling plans so as not to clog the highways.”
Yeah, but it looks like a good time to visit Hawaii!
I stood up and ran to my room to grab my cell phone. I was already pressing the speed dial button to call Mom as I came down the stairs. All I got was a busy signal. I immediately sent her a text, hoping it would get through – Martial law declared. Weird things happening. Come home. Now.
I went back to the kitchen. I could have used the big television in the living room, but my mind needed the coffee. A single cup of brew wouldn’t be enough. I missed more of the field reports as the scene on the screen was now back in the studio.
A news anchor was interviewing two men, scientists of some sort. Something about a radiation field.
Planar Wars: Apertures (Book 1) Page 1