by F Stone
Sidney glanced toward the meadow. A spray of tiny yellow flowers could be seen here and there between tall grasses waving in a soft breeze. She wound a lock of her mother’s brown hair in her fingers. “So they just forgot, right?”
Terri nodded. “Unfortunately, the sleeping Guardians may not have time to realize their true nature. The Darkness of fear is stronger than ever among those in power.” Terri turned back to her daughter. “Some Guardians step out into the Darkness, like your father, in the hopes of waking the sleeping Guardians. It’s not an easy task. Great care must be taken with sleeping Guardians. Their fear is easily triggered and often escalates to anger and violence, and some Guardians have been lost. That’s why the outside world must never know about us.”
Sidney groaned. “I know, I know.” She leaned into her mother’s shoulder. “It would be so much more fun if they all remembered; wouldn’t it?”
“Yes,” Terri said, chuckling and tweaking her daughter’s nose. “Some are beginning to remember, like you in a previous life. Your return to the sacred truths is a tremendous gift to humanity.”
“Especially for Greystone, I think,” said Birthstone, laughing.
Then her face became somber as she closed her eyes and lifted her hands toward the sky. Suddenly, Birthstone and Sidney’s mother disappeared. Darkness surrounded Sidney. Her heart raced. She could vaguely sense dark shapes moving beside her.
“Mommy, I can’t see you. Where are you?”
Terri stroked the top of Sidney’s head. “I’m right beside you, Sidney. We’re fine, nothing to fear, my girl. We’ve traveled into the future on Earth, a dead planet. This is what may happen if we can’t change the forces of Darkness. Darkness will rule. It’s time we returned to the lodge, Birthstone.”
For the first time, Sidney had seen the truth with her own eyes. The Earth had been a paradise. She understood more than ever why the Elders believed the Earth was dying. In the next moment, the three were again seated on the floor of the lodge.
Sidney sat quietly pondering her experience. She looked into Birthstone’s kind face and sighed. “Birthstone, that was awesome. But, well, except for that last part. That was awful. Was that for real?”
Birthstone placed her hand under Sidney’s chin and lifted the child’s face up for a moment. She saw Sidney’s fearless spirit. “Sidney, our tomorrows are shaped by the choices we make today. The Dark place we saw may never come to pass if humanity chooses to embrace the Light. As Guardians, it’s our desire to help humanity return to the sacred truths. When you’re old enough, you may choose to cultivate a path of Light for others to follow. It will be dangerous, and you may fail. The choice will be yours.”
It was a lot for a young girl to consider. “Birthstone, how long will I have to wait, you know, till I can do some cultivating?” Then, tired of the tension, she teased her audience. “My brother, Danik, he’ll help. I know he will. Have you seen him dig Mom’s garden for her?”
If Darkness had found a niche in the meditation room in which to hide, it was promptly evicted. Laughter sent waves of joy and Light into the shadows and traveled through time to the Dark planet.
2. Madame - Year 2039
In hushed voices, the six scientists debated the lunacy of Madame’s outlandish claim. They were waiting for her in the basement of the administration building on Admiral Garland’s naval base. Two armed military personnel stood guard outside the door. The walls were as gray as the sinking mood of the six men and women who’d accepted the million dollar annual salary in exchange for an opportunity to resolve the planet’s energy crisis.
Madame was an enigma. It was understood that she was highly intelligent and had unlimited wealth. She called no place home. She owned a highly trained militia, which was positioned in strategic locations across the planet. She had become a “person of interest” in the national security offices of many governments. Some believed she was an evil omen and had evolved out of the terror that had gripped humanity during the Great Quake.
Some might have liked to explain to this “ice woman,” who no one ever dared address as anything less respectful or more personal than “Madame,” that they were unavailable to assist with her project. Two scientists experienced with Madame and her reputation had revealed that working for her meant both wealth and personal risk. Anyone accepting a position with her was hers to do with as she pleased until the project was successfully completed. Then again, opportunities for research work since the Great Quake of 2020 were rare. Survival and rebuilding had taken precedence over research.
When Madame entered the room, the waiting scientists nodded and offered mumbled greetings. She ignored their approach and marched to the table. Two men dressed in dark suits shadowed her every move. With a swift stroke of her hand, Madame motioned for all to sit.
One refused. The woman stood fidgeting with her hands. “Madame, I’ve changed my mind. I’d like to leave. Now, please.”
Madame turned to the female and casually stepped toward her. With uncharacteristic softness, Madame said, “Of course, my dear. I appreciate your change of heart. What area was, er, is your expertise? So that we may find a replacement, you understand.”
“Physics, Madame.”
“Ah, yes. You’re Katherine Turner.” Madame patted the scientist’s arm. “Goodnight, my dear.” Madame then placed a brief kiss on the scientist’s cheek. “Mr. Smith will obtain transportation for you.”
Miss Turner walked to the door, flushed almost as bright as the red lipstick stain on her face, and left, never to be seen again. As the door closed behind her, two of the other scientists turned pale and glanced nervously at each other.
There was nothing soft about Madame. From her short gray hair and chiseled features to her clenched fists and rigid stance, she exuded self-control and mastery over all. Her feminine qualities were carefully cloaked. Pretty blue eyes were barely visible behind shaded lenses, and her slim frame was concealed under a man’s black business suit. Speaking in her monotone voice, she reminded those remaining in the room of the requirement for strict confidentiality.
They nodded.
“Zero tolerance. Is that clear? Any breach of your silence will be fatal.” She enunciated each word, and then paused briefly. The men and women shifted in their chairs, avoiding eye contact with her. “You’ve received the information package. Any questions?”
The scientist least experienced with Madame replied. “Yes, Madame. I presume, however, that this information is just rumor. It’s quite bizarre, really. No evidence. At least none that’s — ”
“It’s no rumor.” Madame smiled. “I personally witnessed the events,” she said in almost a whisper. She paused, and her gaze drifted away from the group, not fixed on anything in particular. Her mind traveled to a jungle village in South America. “I saw primitive people perform miracles using crystals, sun crystals, they called them. These sun crystals responded to their touch. Whatever was commanded materialized instantly. Perhaps a type of psychic connection.”
Madame turned her back on the scientists, her face grimacing from the frustration of having to admit her failure. Glancing at each other, the scientists’ smirks betrayed a reluctance to indulge in the woman’s fantasy. She turned, thrust her hand into her pants pocket and tossed a brilliant object into the air. Shards of light danced, illuminating the corners of the room. A rainbow of colors played on the faces of the startled scientists. Before it fell to the table, Madame grabbed it and displayed it in her open hand.
“There you have it — the sun crystal,” she said.
It was magnificent — a multifaceted blue green crystal encased within a clear crystal.
“It will power our machinery, grant unending summers, and transform water to wine. And you, my dear scientists, with the assistance of Admiral Garland, are going to unleash the crystal’s power.” She paused and snorted. “Too bad that miserable tribe died with their secrets.” Tossing the crystal across the table, she announced, “Ladies and gentlemen, the kingdom
of the gods is within our grasp.”
One year later, on a cold spring evening, the scientists stood in breathless silence. Deep within the admiral’s New Seattle Base, their laboratory still glowed from the light which had emanated from the crystal. The glass of water resting on the counter was now sweet red wine. Captain Butchart smiled and slipped away.
3. Seduction of the Rule Book
August 7, 2040: Samaru Waterhouse held his young wife’s hand and wondered if she was aware that he was terminating her life. Brain dead, she’d never wake to speak the name of the man who had struck her down with his vehicle at a crosswalk, then dragged her body for nearly a block. With the flick of a switch the hissing of the machine stopped. The rise and fall of Joy’s chest stopped. For a long, breathless, eternal moment, time stopped. He watched intently for any sign of a struggle from Joy — any movement at all. There was none. He realized he’d forgotten to say goodbye to the woman who was the wind in his sails while she still could have heard him.
“Joy!”
Throughout the sterile intensive care unit, down the shadowed hallway, and out beyond the windows to the empty night sky they heard him cry out. Someone dropped a tray; then a quiet fell upon the entire ward. For a moment it was all a part of his exploding, inconsolable grief.
Waterhouse couldn’t bear to look upon his wife’s lifeless face. He turned away and stiffened his posture in a hopeless effort to dam the flood of tears. He stumbled to the waiting room and let his grief flow. It took nearly an hour before he was composed enough to make his way out of the ward. He glanced around, watching medical staff continued their routine, ambling down the hallways, chatting with visitors, moving equipment from one room to another. He heard the sounds of a couple sharing a laugh, saw them touching. A janitor removed some trash and carried on without lifting his head to make eye contact with Sam, as though he wasn’t there.
Life continued on. It did a dance around him but didn’t invite him to enter its rhythm or pleasure. As grief took root, his connection with his higher wisdom began to detach itself. In place of his Japanese mother’s Buddhist mantras, his military training set up a protective barrier and the door to his heart slammed shut.
His military code of conduct provided a measure of comfort. It gave him motivation to sustain his control. He had Joy’s murderer to capture, two sons to protect, schedules to keep, and, above all, the decorum of a high-ranking naval officer to maintain.
Waterhouse needed answers. The day after Joy’s death, he went to the naval base administration office. The staff fell silent when he arrived at the admiral’s reception floor. Entering Captain Butchart’s office, he approached the officer, who was seated at his desk.
“Lieutenant Commander Waterhouse reporting, sir.”
Captain Frank Butchart, Chief of Internal Affairs and Security, glanced up and began to rise from his chair.
“At ease, Lieutenant Commander. Did you say Waterhouse?”
Waterhouse relaxed slightly. He’d never met Captain Butchart before but had heard about him, enough to know they had little in common.
“Yes, sir. You probably knew my wife, Joy. I’ve come to pick up her personal items.”
Butchart continued to simply gaze at him as if transfixed by some new thought. He nodded. “My condolences, Lieutenant Commander,” he said with the appropriate amount of sincerity and began to walk away. “I’m due for a meeting with the admiral. See Celine with your request.”
Waterhouse followed him. “Sir, Detective Flanders from the police station believes Joy was deliberately struck down, perhaps by someone from this base.”
“Yes, I’ve heard that’s his theory.” The muscles in Butchart’s jaw flexed. “Quite impertinent to question me.” Again, Butchart believed the discussion was over and turned away.
Waterhouse was becoming annoyed with the captain’s obvious arrogance. “Sir, if I can assist you in this investigation … ”
“Not necessary, Commander. I’ve reviewed your wife’s personnel file and other related files. There’s nothing out of the ordinary. No indication that anyone was threatening her life.”
Waterhouse used his six-foot body to hinder the captain’s turn into another hallway. It was an aggressive move, but he wasn’t going to let Butchart off the hook. The captain, seven years older than Waterhouse, must have known Joy in the ten years she’d worked for the admiral.
Surely, Waterhouse thought, a man with that maturity would have more personal regard for someone who’d assisted both him and the admiral. “What other investigations are being conducted? Interviews? Who was away from the base at the same time?”
“Captain Butchart,” roared the admiral, standing at the door of his office. “I expected you five minutes ago.”
Lieutenant Commander Waterhouse and Captain Butchart snapped to attention.
“Yes, sir,” replied the captain, unmoved by the admiral’s impatience. “Lieutenant Commander Waterhouse was inquiring about the investigation, sir.”
The admiral turned to Waterhouse. “At ease,” he ordered. “Frank, see to it that Mrs. Waterhouse’s personal belongings are boxed and given to the Lieutenant Commander. Commander, you’ll be provided with a copy of our report at the conclusion of our investigation. Is there anything we can do to help you and your boys?”
The offer sounded genuine. Waterhouse gave the standard reply. “Sir, your offer is appreciated, but we’re going to be fine, sir.”
“Good. Captain Butchart, let’s get on with it.”
The next day, Sam searched for options as to where he could place his sons while he was on duty in the Pacific as the operations commander of an aircraft carrier. The U.S. naval forces, still suffering shortage of manpower since the Great Quake, wouldn’t release him from his contract for another four years. With no relatives or close friends, he kept running into empty options and brick walls.
On the third day, Waterhouse and his sons returned home from the funeral to find an envelope on their doorstep. After sending his boys to visit their friends, he opened the envelope. The message on the single page was clear. He was in grave danger.
The following morning, Waterhouse arrived at the New Seattle Police Station and waited for Detective Clay Flanders. The threatening letter was tucked inside his breast pocket. During the investigation of the “accident,” he’d gained a trust in the detective’s “good old fashioned horse sense” approach to getting to the truth. He’d told the detective that Joy had inadvertently accessed a confidential file belonging to Admiral Garland. But he’d carefully omitted information about her involvement with underground civil rights efforts.
“Hi, sailor. Doing okay?” said Detective Flanders, approaching from behind.
“Oh, hello, Clay. Got any news from your investigation at the base?”
“Just enough to make my skin itch.” Clay spotted an empty table in a corner of the station’s cafeteria, and the two men sat down with their simulated coffee. Clay shook his head. “God, I swear I’ve never seen a more nervous bunch of people. Like a bunch of rats in a science lab. When I asked to talk to security staff about Joy Waterhouse, they just plain disappeared, clean out of sight.” He waved his hand up above his head. “A secretary said the Chief of Internal Affairs and Security wasn’t available, and then she disappeared.”
Clay leaned back in his chair and considered the value of his findings. “I talked with the admiral’s staff. Military personnel are the worst, no disrespect intended. They clam up tighter than a bullfrog’s ass. I decided to nose around a little. I could tell the security staff was hoping I’d leave. Made a real pain of myself. Finally got word this Captain Butchart fella would give me a few minutes. Sure the hell didn’t like being questioned about the base activities. Quite arrogant. Is he that way normally?”
“Can’t say. He basically refused to discuss the case.”
“Right, right. Apparently on the day of the ‘accident’ the admiral had sent Joy downtown to pick up a present for his grandson. I told the captain
he’d have to produce Joy’s records — everything from her work records, computer access records, grievances, complaints, and such.”
“Is he going to cooperate?”
Clay smiled. “The murder took place on my turf. He has to cooperate. Shit did he ever turn six shades of purple when I explained that to him. Well, Butchart doesn’t agree that it was deliberate. If he and his staff are clean, I’ll get all her records. If not, I might spot some tampering with her files.”
Waterhouse handed the mysterious envelope to Clay.
The detective took out the sheet of paper, which had an imprint of a kiss in red lipstick. “Sam, I suspected this. Smells of underground stuff, specifically an ice woman who goes by the name of Madame. If I were you, I’d pack up the boys and disappear.”
“Not the sort to run, Clay.”
“Uh huh. I didn’t think so. Well, Sam, this file will remain open, but I can’t spend much more official time on it. From now on, watch your back.” He waved his finger at Waterhouse. “You let me handle this. Understand? Don’t go and get deeper in this shit. If the culprit makes a mistake, I’ll get him. Agreed?”
“Sure, Clay. Keep in touch.”
Waterhouse left the police station frustrated. The idea that his wife’s murderer might not be punished tormented him. But there was one man who’d certainly know more than the police — Joy’s underground contact, Badger. Even though most civilians, as well as many military personnel, had dealings with the underground to some extent, Sam never thought he’d personally contact them. Joy, on the other hand, had long been active with the organization’s more mainstream, benevolent activities that sought change in government policy regarding children’s rights and educational access. Though Sam didn’t necessarily like her involvement, he’d let her follow her own path.
He’d never met Badger, but Joy had commented once that he was a cold and calculating man, always looking over his shoulder. Finding a public comlink, he gave in to the temptation and keyed in Badger’s numbers. It gave him an uneasy feeling, as though he was sailing into uncharted waters.