by Jack Vantage
“Guys, I know this is your first week, but please, please get it together. This story is your dream come true. Get it together,” Helena said, as the recruit worked her digital makeup magic.
The broadcast vehicle stood thirty metres to Helena’s right, a white large-backed transporter with Channel 1765 News boldly written along its large torso, door panels, and rear doors. Small satellite dishes flowered atop the vehicle, ready to broadcast the worldwide story of the minute.
The recruit’s fussing stopped. Helen’s jet-black hair shone with perfection and ran down over her shoulders. She turned her body and checked to ensure the image she needed was still there. Yes. The ground-level mayhem was still there.
A sky-truck lay burning, its carbon metallic frame all that was left from the raging flames. It was mangled and twisted by the fall.
Water-spouts spurted over the smoking charred rubble, from half a dozen elongated sky-fire trucks that surrounded the disaster zone. Authoritarians and red-suited fire fighters sifted the wreck. They pulled out scorched bodies, while the paramedics nursed the injured and pronounce the dead under a makeshift blue and white canopy.
Medical equipment dangled from their necks and arms as they frantically tried to save as many lives as possible. The flashing lights of emergency vehicles lit the area with nightmarish emergency as dusk approached.
The ground-zero sight was spectacularly horrific. Farther down the road, Helena observed the trail of debris and death that stretched for three miles. There, various sky-mobiles, sky-bikes, and unlucky dead were smashed in spots of flames. It was like the devil had open hell and rained evil on the people of Quazar.
The long suburban street was a five-mile length of low-living homes, a retirement location. Everything was grounded for the elderly, but the street was smoking along its tarmac length from the dropped carnage. Identical homes ran the street with fake red brick, fake orange tiled roofs and old-fashioned sash like windows serving as its architecture. Cute little green gardens plotted the fronts of the bungalows.
Some homes had caved in as mobiles and bikes had crashed through. The truck in Helena’s rear had levelled three homes and had claimed many lives that were inside.
Central Capital 8’s city outskirts stood over the area in its rear, but its size did little to protect the small buildings of the suburban street. The high-rise super-scrapers lurched over the suburban area. Helena wondered how many people would have seen the events that had caused this devastation from there. She would be sending a team member to investigate there shortly.
Snap, snap went the fingers of her new camera operator Eddy Lake. “Helena, ready when you are,” Eddy said.
Helena shuffled on her cream heels, pulled her black knee-length pencil skirt taught, and composes herself for the spotlight.
“Audio check,” she said.
“Loud and clear,” Eddie replied.
“Roll,” Helena said.
Eddie held his hand above the camera and counted down from five with his fingers. After one he pointed her, their que.
“This is Channel News 1765. It’s six o’clock and I’m Helena Reeves. Today terror took to the sky with a sky-chase turning into a deadly shootout between two narcotics dealers and Authoritarian guards. Numerous innocent bystanders and drivers were drawn into the chase and murdered with cold blood. Names and motives are yet undisclosed, pending further investigation.” The dramatic tone increased in her voice with concise and controlled strength. “Bodies are strewn all around. The death toll is yet untallied, but from what we have observed the figure will rise above two dozen. Behind me lays the ruin of a large vehicle that fell a thousand feet out of the sky. A three-mile stretch of devastation has scarred the land here in the residential suburbs of Alpha 121, where buildings where hit by the falling vehicles. It appears the damage will run into millions of credits. Reports and rumours is all we currently have, and all witnesses are in questioning over the incident. There are reports that the offenders used an Authoritarian vehicle to carry out the macabre offence, while other reports suggest the criminals travelled on a sky-bike, tearing through the air on a killing spree that has left this trail of murder. As we know, you will know. There are people scared for their lives all around us. This is a bleak, dark moment for the good people of Quazar. With the criminals still at large, it seems the people would like to know when it will be safe to return to the skyways of Quazar. This is Helena Reeves, for Channel News 1765, your trusted eyes and ears of the moment. Back to the studio.”
She looked at Eddie. “How was that?”
“Perfect, Helena. Perfect,” Eddie replied with excitement. “You looked great and sounded glorious, fluid.”
Helena marched from her spot and towards the broadcast transporter. She spoke as she moved.
“Cheryl, mic detached please.”
Cheryl rushed and unclipped the mic from under her blouse while walking. “That was amazing, Helena. I would love some tips.”
“Keep up the good work and you might yet be of use,” Helena said. She glanced back. “Eddie, wrap things up out here. I’m looking at the playback. We’ve got twenty minutes before broadcast, and don’t forget tonight. My place, nine, sharp.”
She neared the rear end of the transporter and tapped with three knocks. When the door unlocked, she went inside. “Tell me it’s good,” she said.
Vander Lee, a gleaming-bald thirty-year-old, with a curved nose and sunken eyes, sat on a padded black chair. His six feet five struggled in the condensed van. “It looked good first time around. Well done,” he said.
The editing suite was mirrored on its parallel walls with consoles, editing equipment, colouring pads, and monitors. All screens were forty-inch, with image mixers, audio mixers, and hard drive recorders running the transporter. The desk units allowed the legs to slip beneath with comfort. The walkway lay just four feet in width and trailed to the front of the van. Helena’s heels clip-clopped down its metal flooring.
Vander sat beside his less-experienced sidekick, Mark Lewis, a shy thirty-year-old guy with short, bushy black hair, thin, rounded features, and a glint in his eye.
“Another successful show, Helena,” Mark said. His eyes were a little droopy.
“Thank you, Mark.”
“Mark, start your magic on the cinematograph.” Vander said in a thick German accent. “Be quick.”
“Make me look spectacular, there’s going to be millions of Quazonian’s watching this. This could mean big things for us. We’ll be the main eyes on the incident overnight. I want us to be here when they disclose the people responsible, and I want us to tell the capital how it all went down.”
Helena sat in the chair next to Mark. He and Vander began perfecting the image with their cinematography program that could colour anything in the image like an artist coloured his canvas.
Helena spun on her swivel chair and faced the wall of consoles and monitors that paralleled the working pair. She picked up a set of pink headphones and flicked a button on the console unit. “What frequencies are used around here, guys?”
“In Capital 8 the frequency is between 1145678 and 1145900. That covers the city’s entire Authoritarian force,” Mark replied, while his complete concentration was on the grading of the report.
Helena placed her headphones on and moved the frequency dial to 1145678, which digitally tuned and cleared.
What she picked up first was as mundane as it came. A kid had lost his hover-board. He said it had been stolen while he was in the park. The young boy was in tears, poor sweetheart.
Helena altered the frequency, and this time the intercepted talk was between two Authoritarians. One male officer spoke to another, and both were confused over the same thing. They’d spotted an unauthorised people carrier. It was the fifth one in a matter of hours that had been spotted heading for the southern hemisphere express way.
Interesting. And when they’d hailed the carrier no response came, like there was no one on board. A squad of guards had been selected a
nd were on route to the galactic ship ports at the hemisphere. There were reports that similar sightings and incidents were rumoured to be happening in all major cities.
Helena moved the headphones from her ears and wrapped them around her neck. Puzzlement swept her mind. It was startling and baffling. A move of this magnitude would have been declared, or at least explained.
“Guy’s, what’s the frequency of Central Capital 4?”
“1111889 to 1120000,” Mark said as he worked.
Helena raised the dial to 1111889 and placed the headphones back on. Was this happening anywhere else? Why was it happening?
The dedicated reporter inside her switched on. An investigation began. Like Authoritarians, her job was to shield the public from lies and protect them with the truth. She was trained to assess, discover, and pry the story. Then she would sell it to the people of Quazar with speedy dedication. Once she began, there was nothing that could thwart her.
The frequency sounded. At first, she heard a woman, middle-aged by the sound of her complaining voice, drivelling on about a malfunctioned door in a toilet cubicle. She moaned that she was trapped.
Helena shifted the dial with a giggle and intercepted another call. Again, it was between Authoritarians. This call was coming from a precinct to an Authoritarian vehicle that was attempting to engage and hail a carrier.
The Authoritarians were speaking. “Attempting to hail for the third time. We are up beside the carrier and can see people inside, sitting at the windows.” A pause. “Third hail failed. They’re not talking.”
The guys at the precinct began talking back. “Drop off the carrier. We have just received orders from the head of the force saying it’s a military training exercise.”
Helena’s eyes widened. Something was wrong. She turned to the guys and slipped her headphones around her neck.
“Listen to this.”
She hit a button to put the call on speaker in the van.
“Make no attempt to follow or hail again. This comes directly from the president and his military leaders. They have said that no explanation is needed, and that it is only a training exercise. Should you encounter the military force on the ground we have been advised to let them continue their work. It is apparently a matter of national security.”
“I wonder why they need no assistance?” replied the tracking Authoritarians.
“Just report back to your regular duties. We are assured that nothing is out of order. Maybe some training exercise on biological warfare or something. Remember the time they ran that test in that building to see how fast our response to a biological threat was? Who knows?”
“Reporting back to duty, sir.” The line went silent.
“They can’t be stupid. Something is happening,” Helena said. Her inquisitive nature was raw.
“You’re damn right something’s up,” Vander replied.
“Let’s assume this is happening in all major cities. What for? They wouldn’t do that just for a training purposes,” Mark said.
“They could be empty for all we know. Maybe it’s just an exercise like the precinct said. Hey, Helena, I don’t mean to be rude, but we must finish this broadcast, and fast. We’ll work out what to do about this other thing when it’s aired,” Vander said.
“You guys do that. I’ll get Eddie to hurry outside. We need to check this out. The channel can get another crew here to watch unfolding events until we return. There is something behind this.”
Helena was constantly pulled in all directions, one minute there, the next here, like a never-ending trip. The globe was small when you travelled it regularly. Helena owned no property, no place she could call home. She just lived off the broadcast channel’s motel provision, never in the same place for long. Some people were born to get the story.
Chapter 17
The Source
The presage was still soaking in. The sheer magnitude of the situation was threatening to overcome David’s mind. He stood in the sun’s observational zone aboard Space Station Two, three over from the meeting with the president.
Michael faced the same direction from beside him, the direction of the source, the life-giving ball of fusion that still baffled the greatest of scientists. Even after a millennia, it still hid its secrets like an unbreakable encrypted enigma, its internal contents unobtainable.
The observational bay cloaked a dim atmosphere, its grey smooth carbon-fibre walls softening the ambience to a concentrated level, while black porcelain tiles reflected the finite sun across its floor. They were looking through a large floor-to-ceiling window of ten-inch thick reinforced digital-laced glass. The window was the most complex piece of glass ever manufactured.
Both stood a few feet from the glass, which served as a touch-screen computer that was prepped to deliver any information, calculations, and data known to man. It was also a state-of-the-art spectrograph and chronograph window that projected the sun in its entire spectrum at its photosphere. A person could view its activity in one glorious live-feed image. The rest of the room lay empty, a ten metre by ten metre standing view point to a miracle of science.
He and Michael would be breaking the sun down into its individual spectral wavelengths, in order to determine the effects of the black hole as it ripped the sun to pieces over what time was left for Quazar.
David was never the quiet type when facing work, but this situation was overwhelming. He and Michael had entered the room with discussions underway, raising questions such as What’s going to happen? And how will the devastation unfold?
But when they approached the observational window, words drifted away like a dropped note in the wind. David’s heart still thumped at his chest. The world was different, and his tongue was tied in a million knots.
All he and Michael could do was relay their best assumptions to the military task force. The daunting task all but crushed him.
The sun sat menacingly in the void of space. David eyed it blankly. He always took time to observe it, study it, but he was always frightened of the immense light.
He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the sun’s photosphere that moved with boiling granulation. The image of the sun, magnified a thousand times in the observational window, gave a detailed view of its photospheric surface, and was one of the reasons David came here every month. The sheer sight of its five hundred-yottawatt power delivery was worth the trip. The virulent convective motion of the photosphere bubbled like a natural spring in a volcanic pit.
Granules designed the suns structure around its disc. Bubbles of gas raised from bellow the soaring crust and boiled all over its surface before falling back under, like a bubbling human brain. The bubbles resurfaced every fifteen minutes with their oscillation brightening and dimming, never seen by the naked eye, but clear here in the observational bay as the bubbles lightened and darkened.
At the edge of the disk, toward the poles of the sun, faculae brightened, and sun spots darkened where the rim of the polygon regions gathered strong magnetic fields below the surface. The sun’s visual photosphere was created by supergranules that covered the surface like tinny continents, each at thirty thousand miles across. Each granules life span was only a few days, before it collapsed and gave way to another load of ion.
The surface of fusion was the big payload of the inner immense clashing of particles, atoms, and dance of electrons. Nothing could tear David’s eyes away from the visible sun, nothing could compare to the biggest sight in the universe.
Darker areas surrounded each granule with a filigree design.
Around the suns’ circumference, the scientists observed the effect of limb darkening. This was an effect of line of site. Like looking through heavy rain, the rim of the sun appeared darker as the observer looked through layers of hazy curving gas to view its spherical edge.
The differential rotation of the suns’ surface was wonderful. Towards its poles the gas flowed slower than the inner levels around the equator, like unscrewing a bottle top the suns rotation split. At
the poles it took the mammoth sun thirty-six days to complete a full rotation, while at the equator it took only thirty.
David knew each layer, from the chromosphere, transition layer, convection zone, radiative zone, and the central core. Each layer moved with viscosity at different speeds and different radi. Each layer served its own purpose, like a giant production facility. Step by step the final product of the surface was shifted there from within the core.
The haze of the corona could be seen at the top limb of the sun, its baffling temperature soaring into millions of K, its highly ionized atomic structure a miracle of nature. The temperature enveloped the photosphere with more energy than the mind could comprehend.
Spicules traced into space with eerie stream from the corona, like hairs that stood on end, over its six-million-degree cover.
Around the suns’ circumference exploded coronal mass ejections, only viewable due to the transparent chronograph that the windows technology filtered. Much like the heavenly aurora lights that danced the poles of Quazar, the sun flailed solar radiation from its body and into space with spiritual waves. Some of the powerful particles that flew from the sun would hit Quazar, some may even cause it problems.
Five sporadic solar flares burst over its surface before David’s eyes. He loved the enigma of flares, where cooled condensed matter trapped by internal magnetic fields were catapulted through the sun due to energy increases. The filaments shot into space for hundreds of thousands of miles like ghostly arms reaching for heaven, before their surrounding magnetic fields broke, shone, and then reconnected in a post flare loop. Like a tidal wave curving an internal tube, the solar flares formed rings in a final helmet streamer, then absorb back into the suns body of heat.
Man stood no chance of stopping the universe and its will, he had no choice, no room for bartering, just the cold harsh fact that it wanted to change something. Like a distributor erasing a typing mistake, the solar system would be erased, and the lesson would continue. Facing a situation where defeat was the only outcome came as quite a shock. David could not comprehend the emotion, the emotion of inferiority. He had to break the silence.