by James Somers
The clone responded to the external stimuli that Jacob and Aleister fed to his brain through a neural receiver band in place around his head. The clone’s eyes moved rapidly beneath his eyelids—Jacob had induced the guinea pig to dream. His salt and pepper hair whirled around his head in the fluid like a frantic sea anemone.
The clone was approximately fifty years old, anatomically. Advanced growth factors had sped his aging to achieve the desired affect. He was virtually identical to his genetic material donor.
Aleister watched their creation as he twitched and jerked with the stimulus being fed to his brain. The image seemed perfect in almost every detail. He lacked any scars, wear, or tear that the donor had accumulated during his prestigious life, but otherwise he was perfect, nearly ready for placement.
Jacob left the control room and came into the chamber to examine his masterpiece. “He’s almost ready, eh, Aleister? And none to soon—the master grows impatient with our progress.”
“Delays that could not be helped, sir.”
Jacob gave him a sarcastic glance. “And when has that ever mattered?”
“True, but he will no doubt be very happy with the results of our labor.”
Jacob grinned. “He is perfect, isn’t he, Aleister?”
“Of course he is. He will make a fitting body for our lord when the time comes.”
Jacob stared into the cylinder again, amazed at the human clone. Only the Almighty could create a soul, but this was an advantage for their purposes. Their master needed an empty vessel to possess, and the marionette needed someone to pull its strings. They had a perfect plan for world domination.
“We should contact the master and share the good news of our improved progress, eh?”
Aleister nodded his agreement.
DRAGON
Aleister stood within a completely black room. The walls had been painted in such a way as to return no light whatsoever. The circular wall extended all the way around, and the dome of one way mirrored glass allowed moon and starlight in without prying eyes being able to see within the sanctuary. A pentagram had been etched into the dome on the underside and it cast a moonlit shadow on the floor.
Aleister stood robed in a blood red cloak with a hood covering his head. He stood within a huge hexagram drawn out on the floor. At every point on the wall where one of the symbol’s points was directed, there stood a single lamp stand with oil burning in it.
Aleister chanted very low in Latin, Greek and Hebrew. He seemed in a trance when Jacob entered the room coming from around a corner hidden by an optical illusion in the construction. Jacob walked over to the only other object in the room, a black pedestal altar trapezoidal in shape. Upon the altar sat a chalice of gold with blood inside. Jacob came before it, raising his hands into the air toward the transparent dome. Moonlight bathed his form.
Aleister faced Jacob behind the altar. His rhythmic chanting continued, but became more forceful in tone. At a key phrase, Jacob joined his efforts. They said it loudly in unison before Jacob broke away, leaving Aleister to continue. The chalice of blood sparked, a flame erupting within the golden cup. Their master had arrived.
The moon appeared to turn blood red, casting the entire room in its crimson light. Jacob, with his arms still outstretched, closed his eyes slowly as though being washed in the light made him feel revived in strength and purpose. He opened them again. Motion on the floor caught his eye.
The shadow cast by the pentagram in the dome began to move across the floor. Even though the blood red moon remained fixed in its position in the sky, the shadow moved from the far side of the cylindrical chamber toward the large hexagram on the floor. Aleister still stood chanting in its middle.
When the shadow symbol came to rest upon Aleister’s cloaked form within the hexagram, he jerked upright. His hood fell back. He grimaced against intense pain. His every muscle locked into position. The hexagram form upon the floor glowed bright red. Aleister’s face contorted. He spoke, but the voice was not his own.
“I expect you bring me news of your improved progress?” The voice made the entire room tremble.
Jacob replied nervously. “I do indeed, my lord. The clone is nearly ready for you to inhabit its form. Our progress has been sped by our desire to please you.”
“If the clone is ready, as you claim, then you will have pleased me.”
“When exactly will the time be, my lord?”
“When Theed is brought down to death, three days later I will rise and enter triumphantly into Jerusalem amid the praise of my followers.” Aleister remained rigid as the voice bellowed from his frail form.
“Forgive my asking, my lord, but is there no way that Theed might be saved from this fate? Would he not willingly surrender himself to you?”
“Oliver Theed is a chosen vessel to accomplish my pleasure, but his willingness to serve me is only because of his greed and lust for power. Theed does not understand the true nature of his ability nor the power behind his conquest and fortune in this world. He is but a tool—a means to an end. Like all others before him who thought to gain advantage by me, he will find himself consumed by the flames of eternal judgment. His death is a delightful necessity that will seal the people to me when I rise before them, the conqueror of death itself.”
“I understand, my lord.” Jacob paused as though another question danced upon his lips.
“Is there more you would know?”
“The scripture, my lord, it troubles my mind as to my own fate. Please forgive me. I cannot seem to shake the fear of its forecast.”
“Ah, this again. Has my reassurance failed again to quiet your restlessness, Jacob? Doubting my words would make you my enemy.”
“Please, my lord, I only—”
The voice resounded hot with anger. Turbulent waves of spiritual power pressed into the chamber. “Do you follow the God of Heaven, Jacob, or the god of this world?”
Jacob instantly responded. “I follow only you, my lord. Please look away from my human cowardice. Strengthen me to the task of obedience. I submit myself to you alone.”
“Very good then. And I will do more than strengthen. If you remain faithful, I will empower you to do great and mighty miracles before the people.”
“Thank you, my lord. I will obey.”
“Be ready with the clone on the third day of Theed’s demise. As the day of battle approaches, I will require an earthly haven to be at my ready. Theed will fall when I deem the time. It is not a matter for you to deal with personally.”
The moonlight returned to its original pale glow. All of the changes in the chamber, taking place upon the spirits arrival, reverted back to their original state. The fire dissipated in the cup, having burnt the contents to a blackish pitch that stank as the vapor boiled out of the chalice.
Aleister’s rigid body relaxed. He crumpled to the ground inside the hexagram. He panted heavily as Jacob walked around the altar to him. Jacob knelt down, held him under the arms for support, then lifted the frail man to his feet. Aleister looked drained from the experience—a result of extended tetanus in his muscles and the invasion of the darkest, most malevolent spirit in existence.
“Good news from the master?” Aleister spoke between labored breaths.
Jacob smiled. “Oh yes. Very good news.”
FLIGHT
The second meteor fragment had been confirmed passing into Earth’s atmosphere on a collision course with the Russian Empire approximately forty miles west of Moscow. The Russian strategic defense network monitored the fragment’s descent and the ascent of three separate defensive warheads triangulated to take out the meteor—they couldn’t afford to miss. Conservative estimates on an actual fragment impact inside the Empire were grim at best. Most of the population would be obliterated if it hit. With any luck, they hoped to actually strike the meteor with all three missiles and pulverize it.
A bonus had to be considered as well, and the President had certainly noted it behind closed doors. If they could successfully
defend Empire territory from such a calamity it would do much to embolden Russia’s position on the world stage, especially with the almost certain appointment of Oliver Theed to the position of High Representative of The New Eden Alliance. Theed had inserted himself into Middle East politics at just the right time to undermine the Russian Empire’s claims in the region.
The original hope had been to invade the land of Israel after conquering the majority of the United States of America. Israel’s main supporter had gone down underneath the Russian Empires’ boot without too much trouble, but Theed had rushed to Israel’s aid as its new benefactor, even restoring to them their ancient temple site. Rich resources in the region were now at Theed’s disposal instead of the Empire.
The world’s eyes focused on the second meteor fragment as it broke through the atmosphere at speeds well beyond sound. Within the Russian Strategic Defense Network war room, everyone watched tensely as the missiles closed in on their target. The computer sounded the last five seconds until missile impact in Russian—pyat, chetyre, tri, dva, odin.
Nine miles above the Earth’s surface, three Russian ICBM SERIES-9 ballistic missiles homed in on the meteor fragment. The massive chunk of space rock burned like a small sun as it sped through the atmosphere trailing white hot debris in a long tail as it descended. The missiles found their target at almost precisely the same moment. A cataclysmic explosion erupted high in the atmosphere.
Nearly eight miles above Northern Africa, a total of twelve Phantom warheads carried within three ICBM missiles pulverized the fragment. The non-nuclear warheads delivered a potent payload. The combined forces of the explosions sent out a shockwave in all directions.
Flocks of birds, overcome by the terrible wave of atmospheric turbulence, were sheered into pieces. Trees flattened under sudden microbursts. Small buildings crumbled, trapping their occupants inside. Every window shattered, even before the turbulent wave hit, as pressure differences created great vacuum that sucked away the air momentarily, like a tsunami pulling waters away from the shore. Many vessels traveling upon the Mediterranean Sea capsized as the invisible blast-wave hit them.
On the positive side, air traffic had been restricted until the disaster impact might have occurred. Almost no flights whatsoever were allowed anywhere. Disaster in the skies had been averted by that foresight.
Wraith watched the instrument panel closely as a warning light flashed. His onboard computer took various readings outside of the plane and also coordinated the data with International Weather Satellite systems available to them. The data the computer gave him painted a very nasty picture in his mind.
The team had been aware of the meteor fragment that the entire world’s defense organizations and media outlets were tracking. The last impact site they had heard confirmation on had been smack in the middle of the greater Russian Empire. Unfortunately for the other nations watching the event, Russia had not bothered to share her plans to destroy the meteor in flight.
Wraith watched a rapidly expanding wave of turbulence radiating out from a central point over North Africa, like ripples on the surface of a pond. The guidance display rendered the phenomena as massive rings that were already about to overtake them. He had no time to evade it.
Wraith hit the cabin intercom button on the panel. “We’ve got trouble! A massive turbulent wave is headed straight for us. It must be something to do with that meteor.”
Nightstalker reacted. “Everybody, be sure your harnesses are secure! What’s our position, Wraith?”
“Ten miles north of the Dead Sea!”
“Any way to avoid this thing?”
“No.”
“Do what you can.”
“I’m on it.” Wraith cut the intercom.
The wave hit them like a brick wall. The jet tossed like a toy upon the multilayered wave of turbulence created by the meteor explosion. Wraith fought the controls as systems failed, and warning lights flashed across the instrument panel.
He tried to gun the engines and propel them through the wave. At first, it worked. The jet sliced through the invisible shockwave at an angle. Then another layer slammed into them, and the first of two engines failed. He cursed under his breath as he strained to correct their trajectory. The guidance scope display had failed already, and he had no way of knowing if they were almost through the turbulence.
Another layer slammed into the jet. It tumbled chaotically. Nightstalker and the others back in the flight cabin strained just to stay conscious against the gravitational forces.
The second engine failed as Wraith tried unsuccessfully to ignite the first. “Blast! Government contracted junk!”
The jet tumbled again despite his persistent struggle with the controls. This time, the right wing tore away. Wraith felt it go as the metal twisted and popped, giving way to the sheering wind currents produced by the shockwave. Mere seconds seemed like an eternity. Wraith wondered how such a powerful phenomena had been produced by a falling meteor?
Wraith reacted to the lost wing by ejecting the left one. It was a crazy move, but he hoped the fuselage would actually drop out into a nosedive without the wind able to catch the wings. As the left wing’s body joint exploded, they tumbled then steadied somewhat.
As Wraith had hoped, the remaining fuselage shot through the final portions of the shockwave like a torpedo through water. As the jostling ended, Wraith activated the emergency parachute for the plane. The entire tail section burst away from the rest of the body, and a massive Kevlar web parachute unfurled above the inverted aircraft. Buffer balloons, made from the same material as the parachute, popped out from body panels all around the fuselage like automobile airbags.
Wraith’s view became obscured by one of the gas filled balloons at the nosecone of the plane. His last glimpse had been of the Dead Sea approximately two miles ahead of them. The plane floated along of its own volition—a beaten metal cylinder tangled in a bunch of circus balloons.
It took a few minutes before the fuselage rested on a firm surface—time for the men to overcome the nausea of the last minute’s brush with death. The inverted body of the plane tipped over, coming to a rest horizontally. The men were glad to be righted again. Inside the cabin, they started to remove their flight harnesses and check their gear. Mad Hatter patted Rogue on the shoulder. “Wasn’t that great, amigo? This is what special ops is all about, baby!”
Hatter clearly enjoyed an adrenaline high while young Rogue was simply trying to understand why he had ever signed up for this kind of abuse. Jason ignored Hatter’s jabbering, leaving them to check the equipment while he made his way to the cockpit to check on Wraith. Before he could reach the small door, it burst open to reveal Wraith standing on the other side. Jason saw that he wasn’t hurt, so he bypassed any show of concern.
“Another happy landing, Wraith?”
“That’s why you wisely had me fly the plane, right?”
Hatter spoke up. “I’ve got to hand it to you, Wraith…very sharp moves up there. Thanks for my life…I think.”
“I told you ladies, Wraith always comes out on top.’”
Nightstalker spoke up to cut the chatter. “All right, men, we’ve still got a mission to tend to.”
The men nodded and set about the task of gathering their equipment for the trek to Jerusalem. Hatter caught a glimpse of their surroundings through one of the windows least obstructed by the safety balloons. “We’re sitting on dry land, fellas! I can see the sea about twenty yards off this side.”
Jason tapped his wrist-bound GPS display to accurately locate their position. “We’re near the Northeast corner of the Dead Sea. We’ve got a good twenty mile hike to get into Jerusalem.”
The men groaned at the thought.
When they had their equipment satchels together, ready to depart, Wraith released the gas inflow to the balloons. They quickly deflated.
Jason tapped his perceptor display and took on the holographic disguise of an Arab man in casual attire. “Let’s assume disguises.” The ot
hers did the same. Their equipment satchels already had the appearance of carry-on luggage. They looked out the windows cautiously to be sure no one was around before coming out. Their way appeared clear.
Jason opened the battered door of the plane, stepping cautiously out of the fuselage. The deflated balloons lay in saggy piles all around the battered body of the aircraft. He stepped away, leaving the plane behind him.
He heard a quick rustling of fabric and found a gun barrel hanging inches away from his chest. Jason cursed under his breath at his own carelessness. The man spoke Arabic. He yelled for someone unseen then instructed Nightstalker to remain still.
A man riding on a camel, with another camel following on a lead, appeared over a nearby rocky hill. The gunman covering Nightstalker took a moment to motion with his hand to the man on the camel, instructing him to come down and help him secure the wreckage. Jason quickly exploited the distraction.
Nightstalker whirled around with one hand, knocking the barrel of the gun out of his way while he slipped Stella out of her sheath with the other hand and sank the black blade into the throat of his would-be captor. The gunman never even got off a shot.
Jason heard a quick triple thump and whirled around toward the source. Wraith stood in the fuselage doorway with his capsule gun pointed just above Jason’s head. Back on the hillside, the man on the camel slumped over in his saddle. The camel sloughed off his dead body.
Jason called back to the others, as they began to exit the plane. “Well, boys, it looks like we’ve got a little transportation to help us get to Jerusalem.”
JERUSALEM
August 23, 2094
“WNB news correspondent, Shepard Sloane, is on location in the city of Jerusalem, where Alliance forces have once again attempted to remove the so called, “Two Witnesses of Jehovah God,” and have been pushed back.”