Verron_Birth of a Nation

by Douglas Varnell

  “Paul, from what I can determine, there is very little left for me to teach you. For some reason making something materialize in the physical realm just by creating it in your mind comes naturally to you. I know I mentioned this before, but of the 24 Elder’s there are several that excel at one aspect of psychokinesis or another. I’ve seen the weather controlled, earthquakes created, fires extinguished, explosions, you name it. However, I have never seen anyone do some of the things you’ve done. Can you even understand or explain how you did what you did last week at Snake Canyon or how you can now fight four highly advanced fighting droids at once and beat them?” Zimuel thought long and hard for a few days before he confronted Paul with his question. They were sitting on an upper terrace of the Mansion drinking a Diet Coke and eating sandwiches loaded with Jack Daniel’s BBQ Chicken and Kettle Cooked Jalapeño Chips. It seemed like Paul was eating nonstop as he practiced his skills on Verron. The continual exercise and practice of The Power always left him hungry and weakened, although he had noticed that with each passing day these things took less and less energy on his part, his endurance and strength continued to increase.

  Paul stared out toward Mt. Alene and paused a moment to gather his thoughts before answering, “I’m not absolutely sure all the time of how I do what I do. As you’ve noticed, I do have a very vivid imagination and probably because I’m from a totally different culture I really don’t think like a typical Xhondarian. No offense, but I believe you guys, the Elders, have been doing this stuff for so long you have lost the initiative to try new or different things. It’s sort of like you’ve put your abilities in a box, much like people put God in a box. The status quo of a 50,000 year comfort zone has stifled your creativity and your faith. I, on the other hand, have suddenly been granted the privilege of these powers at an age when I thought my life was almost over. I lived my entire life filled with hopes and dreams, literally fantasizing about saving the world, about beating the bad guy, getting the beautiful girl, of being rich. At life’s end I was living with the reality of all my failures, but everything has changed. I wake up excited each day to try new things, to face new challenges, and see just what I’m capable of doing. I never even consider the fact that there may be some limit to the things I can do, so I just do them. The Elders already know what they can do and are perfectly OK with it. I’m not; I refuse to settle for anything but my best. I owe it to my God, I owe it to Xhondar, I owe it to Mankind and I owe it to myself. So, to answer your question, when I think of something I want to do, I first imagine it in my mind, then I think of how it can be done technically speaking, like how is whitematter formed, then I draw on The Power and simply do it. When I do what I do, I never doubt whether I can do it, I just do it because I know I can. Does that make sense to you?” Zimuel, never one for lengthy conversations, simply responded with, “I’m really proud of you son; patted Paul on the shoulder and headed back into the Mansion.

  Paul had been freestyle running all over Verron for months now, daily defeated the fighting droids, even when he was unarmed and they were not, familiarized himself with the massive amount of spaceship technology, was an expert with every weapon in the armory, could do things with The Power that had never even been attempted before, possessed a working knowledge of the steel mill and the whitematter reactor and had been developing in his mind, along with Lucy and Zimuel, a plan to begin populating Verron in the near future. He knew he had accomplished some pretty incredible things over the past year and a half, but something was really bothering him. Everything he had done for this entire time was geared toward developing him and doing whatever made him a better and more powerful person. In his heart, he truly believed that his abilities were only given to serve others, not himself. So, when he went to his room at the days end to watch the perpetually negative news, his security briefing and to see Robin Meade, he was greeted with, “I know exactly where Amid Umar is and how long he will be there.” Paul stopped in his tracks. He had been mentally developing a plan of how he could get his hands on this Emir who was declared to be the leader of al-Shabab, and responsible for the London subway bombing a few months earlier. He sat down in his study and said, “Show me.”

  Lucy projected a holographic image in the middle of Paul’s desk then began telling him, “He’s in a moderate sized villa in Farlibaax, Somalia. It is a small village right on the border of Ethiopia and very close to Kenya. It is not a nice place. The town is located in the middle of some of the most intense al-Shabab fighting. It is literally an al-Shabab stronghold. This is surveillance from a Chinese satellite. It seems they know when their enemy’s satellites are overhead and stay inside or send out decoys. The Chinese actually have a pretty good optical enhancement system. Here you can see a convoy of six SUVs pull up in front of the villa, then proceed through an opened gate. As they climb out of the vehicles some of them actually look toward the sky, probably attracted to the sound of one of their own helicopters. The third man from the left that just climbed out of the 3rd SUV is definitely Umar. From encrypted messages I intercepted, it looks as if there will be a meeting held at the villa beginning tomorrow morning. This satellite footage was taken exactly 2 hours and 18 minutes ago. It is now 9:00pm in the East African Time Zone. The meeting will be over at noon tomorrow. If you want him, you have 15 hours.

  Paul had Lucy magnify the area for 300 yards around the villa. The villa was surrounded on all side by encampments of al-Shabab soldiers. The place was very well protected. It was little wonder that no Special Forces team from any government had attempted to infiltrate Farlibaax. Paul had Lucy zoom in closer to the compound that housed Umar. It wasn’t extremely large, probably 200 feet square, surrounded by a thick masonry wall at least 8 feet high. There appeared to be one main gate in front and a small service gate off to one side. The residence itself was a 6000 square foot masonry structure, two stories high and surrounding a small center courtyard. He couldn’t help but notice the rather advanced communications equipment located on the roof. There were no less than two dozen security personnel inside and outside the villa. All carried AK-47s. There were also two strategically placed machine guns on opposite corners of the walls. Paul asked, “Do you by chance have the floor plan of the villa.”

  If Lucy could smile a grin of satisfaction she would have done it now, she answered, “As soon as I confirmed that your target was indeed at the villa, I immediately dispatched one of my own observation drones to the area by way of a gateway. It is very well cloaked and is sitting 10,000 feet directly above the villa. The hologram switched to a three dimensional image of the villa. Lucy had used an advanced life-form imaging targeting system to show 16 people inside the villa and their exact locations. There were also two large dogs. By using a substance density program, she was able to determine the location of walls and size of the rooms. It was a good bet that the largest room in the center back, upstairs overlooking the courtyard was the Emir’s. There were three people in the room. Lucy informed Paul, “This is real time. It appears the Emir is having a talk with some of his people.” Shortly afterwards, two of the men left the room and you could tell the remaining occupant was changing clothes, probably getting ready for bed. Paul hoped and responded, “Alright sweetheart, let’s do it. It’s now or never.”

  Paul headed for his almost empty closet and began to get dressed in his newest clothing acquisition. He had taken all his measurements and sacrificed a pair of his favorite Earth-made Dockers, just for a pattern, then got pictures of military cargo pants off the internet, and had Lucy and the droid “sweat-shop” make him a custom pair of dark gray, size 32, military cargo pants woven from thread-thin Verron Steel. With the flex additive and the tight weave, they felt like thick silk. He also had a matching dark gray long-sleeve form fitting shirt made from the same material, along with a full face hood, a pair of gloves, a utility belt and a pair of below-the-knee dark gray military boots, complete with a knife scabbard for a Ka-Bar Knife in each boot, topped off with a dark gray boonie hat. After getti
ng dressed Paul went to the rear of his closet and opened one of many built-in drawers. From it he took the items he needed to attach to his utility belt and a small back-pack with his remaining gear inside. He took no handgun or rifle. This was a quick in-and-out operation and hopefully so unorthodox that the enemy wouldn’t know what was happening until it was over. To coin an overused phrase, “the element of surprise was on his side.” Paul exited the closet, went back to his office to get one final reading on the satellite GPS and one additional coordinate for when he departed, drank a bottle of water and formed a gateway to Somalia.

  It was dark in the room as Paul entered it. The only light was leaking under the door from the hallway beyond. He could hear a light wheezy snore from across the room. He refocused his vision using his optically enhanced eyes and switched to a version of night-vision that literally turned the room into daylight, with none of that green or red image. It was as if the lights were on in the room. There was no doubt about the identity of the man in the bed, Amid Umar. The only problem was there was, quite unexpectedly, a woman curled up in bed next to him. Paul hesitated a moment to decide the best re-plan of action then decided to gently choke the woman until she passed out. There would be no bruises on her neck; he had no intentions of ever touching her. He focused on the woman and she began to stir a little when her breathing became impaired. She rolled over on her back and reached to fluff her pillow before getting settled and her eyes flew open in horror as she saw a man standing at the foot of the bed. She could not speak or scream. She passed out before there was a chance to warn the man beside her. Paul quickly pulled a plastic wrapped syringe from one of the utility pouches. He moved to the side of the bed and in one motion, placed his hand over Umar’s mouth while injecting him with a full dose Kahlan. Umar’s eye flew open in panic, but Paul was more than strong enough to restrain him long enough for the “Mother Confessor” to do her work. When he noticed Umar relax, he whispered in his ear in perfect Somali, “Do not move, do not speak. You will do exactly as I tell you to do, is that clear?” Umar nodded his head slowly. Paul removed his hand and told him, “Quietly get dressed, now.” He did exactly as he was told. While he was getting dressed, Paul reached into his backpack and removed a small round object about the size of a baseball. It was his plan to make the world think that Amid Umar was dead. He set the timer on the plasma grenade for 10 seconds, grabbed Amid by the arm, slung the limp body of the woman across his shoulder and stepped to his next destination. The compound and everything for at least a ½ mile around it would be disintegrated to ashes shortly after his gateway closed. Lucy’s drone at 10,000 feet above had a great picture of the before, during and after of the explosion. She would make certain that all the major security organizations got a copy of it. Then as quick as a flash, the drone was returned to Verron.

  Paul, however, had one more stop to make. It was almost midnight in Farlibaax, Somalia when Paul left with his captives. That made it a little before 9:00pm at MI-6 in London. Lucy had hacked into the MI-6 intranet and determined where Sir John Sawer’s office was located. When Paul came through the gateway into the luxuriously appointed office, he was thrilled to see that the Director was not working late today, as he was in a habit of doing. He commanded his overly compliant detainee to sit on an overstuffed chair of some antique British design, dropped the still unconscious woman on a nearby sofa and told Amid not move. Paul had a look around the office and checked to make certain the office door was in fact locked. He wanted to be sure the Director had not simply stepped out for a moment. He proceeded to command Amid to stay in that chair and only that chair until Director Sawer arrived and told him to get up. He next commanded him to tell Sir John everything he knew about the London bombings and the plans to attack the United States. He also informed him that he is to answer any and every question in complete honesty when MI-6 questioned him. Paul thought a moment and added, “If you do not answer in total honesty, you will die immediately.” He then went to the Directors personal refrigerator and got Amid a bottle of water. He sat at the Director’s desk and was about to write a note when suddenly the Director’s door burst open and Sir John’s assistant, accompanied by four security agents armed with Heckler & Koch MP7s, came rushing through. The armed agent encircled Paul and ordered him not to move, as the assistant approached the desk to see exactly what Paul was doing. No one had noticed Amid just yet as he sat to one side of the office in the overstuffed chair.

  “What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing, and who the hell are you? Remove that hood this instant!” shouted Sir John’s assistant, a large man in his fifties that was used to people doing as he commanded. Paul didn’t move to take off his hood or answer his question. He did however nod in the direction of the chair where Amid Umar, the most wanted man on the MI-6 hit list was seated. The assistant turned and did a double take, asking “Is this some kind of a joke? Who is this man?” Paul finally spoke and simply replied, “He is exactly who he appears to be, aren’t you Amid?” Amid nodded his agreement. Paul continued, “And to answer your other question, I am the man who just delivered a very cooperative terrorist leader to your doorstep and destroyed the al-Shabad compound in Farlibaax, Somolia. I don’t need your 10,000,000 pound reward, so be so kind as to donate it to the victims of the bombing.” With that Paul stood up and said, “I’m always eager to serve” then vanished. Though stunned by Paul’s disappearance, the security agents managed to maintain their composure and immediately turned their attention to Amid, who sat there smiling like a child in hope of pleasing his parents. By this time Sir John himself had arrived back at his office in response to a call from MI-6 as he was being driven home. Amid would not respond to any questions or follow any orders until Sir John arrived. In a flash, he became 100% cooperative in every way. Before long a forensic team and an interrogation team arrived and Sir John requested that Amid cooperate with these men and that he could leave with them, and to take his female companion with him.

  Not until then, did Amid Umar move from the chair. After the office was cleared of everyone except his assistant, Sir John asked “What exactly happened here?” For the next thirty minutes he was given a play-by-play of what happened. About the time he finished briefing the Director, there was a knock on the door. The man who entered only said, “You’ve got to see this.” He walked to the desk and picked up the remote control for the 52 inch monitor and explained, “This was just sent by an anonymous source to MI-6, the CIA, INTERPOL and Mossad. We’re not certain if others got it, but know that these agencies did.” He clicked a small icon at the bottom of the screen and it began with the Chinese satellite footage of Amid Umar arriving at his villa, along with a timeline clock in one corner. It next showed the villa in unbelievable detail as it looked from Lucy’s drone. They had never seen night video so clear. Suddenly there was a blinding light. The clock indicated 11:59pm. When the light cleared there was nothing left except puddles of steel where there had once been tanks or trucks, everything else was gone.” Sir John, for the first time, walked over and sat at his desk. As he sat down he noticed a piece of paper in the middle of his desk that he did not leave there. It had one word written on it in capital letters, “JUSTICE.”

  For the next several days Paul did not alter his plans and continued to do his runs, workouts and cram more and more information into his head about the tons of technology available on Verron. He would walk through the forests or the mountains, often by himself, and practice telekinetic motor-skill manipulation by controlling the movements of animals and birds in the forest, he was able to make weapons from dirt, water, pieces of wood and even the air itself. It amazed him how he could knock over a firmly rooted tree by hitting with a burst of condensed air moving at sonic speeds. He made a spear out of water, froze it solid and telekinetically projected it through a three foot wide tree. He was certain he could manipulate human thoughts, actions and motor skills, but had no one to practice on. He was anxious to see just how big an explosion he could make and decided
to ask Zimuel if there was an uninhabitable planet where he could experiment with a few things he didn’t want to try on Verron.

  Ever since his little clandestine exercise, he had looked forward to catching the evening news and security briefings from Lucy. For the past few days the news media was obsessed with the death of Amid Umar and 600 Somali’s. They of course blamed Great Britain’s MI-6 or the United States for using Predator drones to kill innocent people. Somalia’s government was accusing the U.S. of using nukes, but United Nations investigators discovered no radiation in the area, in fact they found no bodies, no buildings, no trees, and no grass, only sand that had been turned into glass by the heat and melted pools of steel where vehicles used to be. No one knew exactly what had happened, but the Muslims and the liberals were blaming the U.S. and Great Britain. In America the big news was the deterred attempt of a terrorist attack on the Mall of America in Bloomington, MN. The FBI was being hailed as heroes as video footage was being shown over and over of them arresting the terrorists responsible for the failed attack.

  Meanwhile, the Chinese were trying to figure out how four foreign national security agencies obtained surveillance video from one of their most top secret satellites. They had begun a witch hunt inside China trying to find the traitor. In London, someone had made an anonymous donation of 10,000,000 pounds to the victims of the subway bombing. There was all kinds of speculation about which wealthy benefactor had donated such a large sum. Nowhere in the news was there ever any mention of Amid Umar being held in a secret underground facility in Scotland, spilling his guts about everything he knew, nor of the mystery man who had arrived and vanished from the MI-6 Director’s office. There were, however, a great many encrypted messages and conversations between friendly agencies about just who this man was and how he did what he did. NATO scientists on the scene in Somalia were completely baffled trying to figure out what could have generated so much heat and do so much damage and not be nuclear. Every agency was pointing a finger at the other about who had developed such a destructive weapon without anyone else knowing about it. Even inside the United States, teams of investigators were attempting to determine which agency had this bomb. The Navy, Air Force, Marines and Army investigators were in a quandary. The CIA, Mossad, MI-6, FBI and NSA were calling the entire operation: Code Named “Justice.” Paul never realized that one simple act could generate so many repercussions. He thought to himself, “Wait till they get a load of what’s next.”