by Agster, Joe
As 19:50 rolls past, Max and Maria sit into the chairs as the crew diligently preps for the broadcast. No one pays much attention to the images of the presidential address, but they are attentive to its audio, comparing the president’s words to what they really know. Toward the end of the address, there is a momentary chill of silence in the room, as they know their turn is fast approaching. Eventually, one of the producers emerges from the bedroom. Her name is Alicia, tall, blond, and based on her mannerisms is the person in charge.
“Great news! The other networks are picking up our broadcast. They expect this to go viral. We go live in sixty seconds.”
The crew assembles into their stations, manning their equipment as the moment draws near. The producer Alicia signals thirty seconds and Maria and Max posture themselves for the fateful moment. The room falls silent once more as the broadcast is about to commence. The producer issues the final signal.
“Good evening I’m Maria Villanueva. I’m reporting on behalf of World News One… no… make that the world, bringing you this urgent news report. With me is Dr. Maxwell Pond, the NASA chief scientist for the Asteroid Defense System. Dr. Pond, I turn it over to you.”
Max looks square into the camera, looking confident and elated in the moment.
“My name is Dr. Maxwell Reagan Pond. I’ve worked for NASA for twenty-five years.” He opens, showing his NASA badge.
“During that time I’ve specialized in asteroid research, and currently hold the position of chief scientist for the Asteroid Defense System mission. As everyone knows by now, fourteen months ago we discovered that Icedragon was headed toward Earth. It had collided with a much smaller 350-meter asteroid, with name designation of 2019 KM91. At first glance, this seems like an unfortunate accident, except it is not. Ladies and gentleman, this was a deliberate act. By all indications this is a state sponsored act of destruction, either by our cold war rival China, or perhaps our own government. Icedragon was chosen specifically for its dense qualities, maximizing its destructive effect and its ability to exact mass causalities of all life on Earth.”
Max takes a deep breath as every eyeball is pointed firmly in his direction. Friend watches both Max on the couch and the hologram being beamed out of the room. The hologram depicts additional diagrams as Max speaks, leading Friend to one conclusion, Maria knew the secret all along!
“You all are probably wondering if I have proof, and I do. Let’s be clear, its orbit was not perturbed from passing near Jupiter or whatever the rumors are. The fact is that the orbit of 2019 KM91 was slowly manipulated over time for the purpose of colliding into Icedragon. We went back and looked at readings of its orbit from before the collision, and found that it had been altered over a period of years using a special spacecraft called a gravity tractor. This craft was designed to pull the asteroid off its orbit, on purpose. This is despite the fact the GSC never granted prior approval for any capture of this asteroid.
“Many must be wondering why we didn’t detect this sooner. Due to its high eccentricity and inclination, KM91 was difficult to detect. And since it never posed a threat to Earth, it was never on any of our watch lists. But the simple truth is this: space is very large, and very empty, and the chance of two asteroids colliding with one another is infinitesimally small.”
Max’s elation turns to sadness and anger as he reads and speaks his own words on a holographic monitor, probably to help him remember his prepared speech.
“When I showed this data to both NASA Administrator Clay Alder and President Danning weeks ago, I was rebuked and told to remain quiet. This only aroused my suspicions. I’ve been in danger and on the run ever since. So I plead to the people of Earth, especially those who survive this planned, manmade destruction of our society: Find those responsible. I have placed all my findings in a capsule, buried in a park somewhere in Houston, Texas. As my parting words I say this, if there is anything that needs prayer, it’s that we humans evolve to stamp out this sort of evil in this world, that we may grow and prosper and evolve as a species without the need to destroy ourselves. I have failed this world, and I am staying right here in Las Vegas to suffer my fate with it.”
The camera turns to a sobbing Maria. Without a word she gets up to hug Max, inspired by his bravery to do the broadcast. She looks back to the producer as she makes a throat slashing gesture to the camera crew. Maria sits back down, regains her composure and looks one last time into the camera.
“I’m Maria Villanueva, World News One.”
21
Day 2 – December 27, 20:11
Planet Real Hotel, 36th Floor
The lead cameraman gives the all clear sign, and the spotlights turn off. Several of the crew, production assistants, and other spectators embrace Max as he stands, patting him on the back with words and gestures of gratitude and admiration. As Friend looks on, he is proud of his friend as he relishes in the moment of being a true hero.
The nature of the secret sinks in for Friend. It’s an absolute surprising revelation for sure, something he knows he will never unlearn. Something about his words, ones in particular resonate with him: find those responsible. Friend’s quest has now taken on new meaning, and completely clear direction, but nonetheless even more overwhelming than ever before. If someone deliberately put this disaster into motion, can it be undone? And who is responsible? Is it that snake of a president? Or is it China and its leadership? He wonders if China’s leaders are also hiding. To him, anyone that hides and takes shelter in a bunker is possibly a conspirator.
As the crew and assistants leisurely embrace each other in the somberness of their reality, Friend can’t help but be absolutely sure the FBI is nearby. He figures they will probably kill everyone in this room just to get to Max. If they suddenly barge in, he could probably get Max out along with a couple others, but not much more. He must speak up and provide a warning.
“Everyone! Attention! The FBI will probably convene on this location at any minute. I advise you guys to leave before they arrive.” Friend declares to the listening crowd. His advisory fails to inspire them however as they display little sense of urgency to leave. He feels slightly ashamed for making such an announcement but admires their valor.
A crew member walks over to Friend, empathizes with his attempt to help but tells him, “Honestly, fuck them. Even in these final days those assholes are trying to keep secrets from us.”
Friend smiles at the man, admiring his blunt candor. He pats him on the shoulder, being inspired by him.
“Everyone! I’m making a correction to my previous advisory. Fuck the FBI!” Friend shouts, not exactly sure of its exact meaning, but having his fist raised to the roof, to a roaring and boisterous crowd.
Just then, the white double doors of the suite’s entrance are blown open, and heavily armed and geared soldiers dressed in all black infiltrate the room in pairs, using some type of canister bomb to fill the opening area with smoke to camouflage their positions. They aggressively shout orders for everyone to get down on the ground. Friend cracks a smile at the soldiers, ignoring their commands as he is left standing alone among everyone in the room, amused that the very ones who defiantly rebuffed his initial advice are now in full compliance.
A masked soldier charges in Friend’s direction, sticking the long barrel of a black assault gun directly into his nose, shouting directly at him, “What part of get down on the ground don’t you understand!”
The soldier slowly squeezes the trigger. As Friend senses this, he slows time down to a crawl, thrusting his right arm forward to grab the weapon at his own full speed as he encounters air resistance, its molecules unable to scatter fast enough. He then grabs one end with his left arm, and in a move similar to a burst, uses a flash of super strength to rip the rifle apart.
As his time returns to normal he charges up a burst of energy, releasing it on the baffled soldier, knocking him backwards at a high velocity, enough to ram him through his comrades, knocking them off balance and to the ground. Immediately after
, Friend turns to Max, noticing he is on the ground eight or nine meters away, behind the couch. Fearing that they might kill him, Friend urges him to come toward him, waving him to crawl.
As two seconds pass, a commander yells “FIRE!” as the rebalanced group of soldiers point their weapons back at Friend. This catches him slightly off guard, and he has no choice but to retreat to the ground and in the hallway between the main area and the bedroom, lying as pieces of glass rain down all around. As he looks back at Max he sees he is hit by a bullet, grazed in the torso area. Enraged, Friend gets up, turns the corner and as they begin their second wave of bullets, he creates a quantum distortion field in front of him, several meters wide, shredding the bullets into quantum dust. In the split second afterward, he cracks a tiny smile in finally being able to pit his powers against the FBI agents who have caused him so much trouble.
As they cease their firing, he thrusts himself forward in a teleporting lunge, knocking two of them to the ground hard. He then engages them one by one in close hand to hand combat, punching or kicking them far and away with super strength and speed. The remaining soldiers, awestruck and horrified at Friend’s superhuman abilities, retreat into the hallway.
As the seconds pass, Friend can hear the muffled words of one of the soldiers, communicating to a leader. “Sir, were encountering resistance. A man dressed in all black has taken out most of our team. We need backup now!”
Friend waits in suspense as this leader moves closer to the door then in view. The man comes through the door, gun drawn right at Friend’s head, unafraid of the warning from the soldier. It’s none other than Agent Stewart.
He starts to identify himself in an heavy, authoritative voice, hoping to negotiate with Friend. “I’m Special Agent-in Charge—”
“Agent Stewart.” Friend finishes his words in a strong concise tone, unsurprised to see him. Friend holds a tiny bit of admiration for his unrelenting loyalty toward his government. They stand face to face, eyes locked at each other’s as a mutual respect of powerful adversaries.
“You lost, Stewart. Your government has deceived its people, and you and your leaders are cowards for trying to silence the inevitable truth that you caused this destruction.”
“You don’t know anything do you? It is NASA, the GSC, China, they all knew this asteroid was headed here for years and did nothing. That’s a Chinese asteroid up there in case you don’t know. Now, tell me where Dr. Pond is and no one else will get hurt.” Steward orders, but Friend is unfazed as he points the gun further at his face.
“Your gun is meaningless to me,” Friend retorts, with the same tone as Stewart. “Dr. Pond will not be joining you. The only ones that have gotten hurt so far are the agents of your army. Stand down now, as you have been defeated.”
Stewart is at his wit’s end. The man that stands before him did take down his assault team, and is clearly unbothered by the gun. A man in his position has rarely, if ever faced a situation where he was out of options, down to his final card, his final modicum of leverage. He must use it now, despite the impending danger or consequences. Such is his training.
In a flash he squares up, and without further contemplation he pulls the trigger. The bullet exists the chamber as Friend slows down time again, ready for it to strike is forehead. He is unflinching, and as it pierces the skin of his frontal cranium, he immediately directs all his energy toward the healing process. This resumes things at real time, and as the bullet makes it about halfway into his skull, his directed healing power repels the bullet, violently ricocheting back to Stewart at about a quarter of its top speed. The bullet strikes his chin, grazing the skin while discombobulating him and forcing him to the ground.
“Max, let’s go!” Friend yells as he teleports back to the bedroom entrance. Max musters whatever energy he has left to sit up behind the couch after five meters away, still bleeding slowly and steadily losing life. The soldiers reenter the room and prepare to open fire as the two of them are spaced apart adjacent to the window. Friend is tiring of this endless battle, but wishes no more harm to anyone. His goal is to escape with Max.
As Friend peeks his head around the corner, they begin to fire in his direction. He looks at Max and longs to get to him. Max has that hopeless look about him, as if has accepted this as his end. The sweat pores down his face, his skin turning pale and cold and his breathing becoming more labored. Friend realizes he must act now to save his friend.
“Max, on my mark, get up and jump out of the window.” Friend whispers.
“Are you crazy?” Max responds.
“Yes I am. Do it, and I’ll follow. It will be okay.” Friend assures. Max, realizing he has nothing to lose at this point, puts his trust into Friend as he prepares to get up.
Friend emerges from the corner and flashes a big smile. As they direct their fire on him, Max summons every ounce of energy left in his being, and crawls up upon the window pane, jumping wobbly out the window unmolested. As soon as Friend sees this he slows time down, dodges whatever bullets come his way, and quickly follows Max.
They both accelerate toward the ground, passing each floor faster and faster. About halfway down he catches up to him during the fall, but is having difficulty making the grab so they can teleport. With the desert landscaped grounds closing in at about a second away, Friend lunges and just grabs a piece of the torn cloth from his shirt. They finally disappear, teleporting back to the mansion.
The soldiers and Stewart approach the window and stare downward in disbelief. They look out the window and see nothing, giving each other a perplexed look, wondering why they chose to jump, but more incredulously, where did they go?
“Come on, he figured he has nothing to live for, so he took his own life.” Stewart assesses to the two team members nearby. “Round up and interrogate the others. I’ll notify Washington.”
20:28
The Mansion
“Hold still Max. This should only take a second,” Friend instructs him as he places his hand on the puncture wound of Max’s left torso area. He concentrates hard, drawing the bullet out and repairing the flesh with his power.
“Congratulations, you’re healed,” Friend declares. Max should be one again mesmerized, but is too accustomed now to Friend’s strange workings. He touches the wound and remarkably discovers the pain is gone. With newfound energy, he stands up, ready to take on the world.
“So what now?” Max asks, then settling on an indisputable fact. “We cannot stop the asteroid.”
“Not yet, but we need to take the next step and find those responsible. Who would deploy this gravity tractor?” Friend wonders.
Max answers, “I checked. The company that had a restricted claim on KM91 went bankrupt long before they got any mission off the ground, so you can rule them out. Whoever did this knew enough about the geology of Icedragon to know precisely where and how to hit it.”
“So who owns Icedragon?”
It is owned by a Chinese state-owned enterprise, through a maze of subsidiary corporations most likely. And in case you haven’t learned yet, China is not exactly our nation’s ally. That FBI agent is right, this is primarily China’s fault. If you want to find out more, I’d go there.” Max declares, standing up back in full health and under his own power, looking on at the clearboard.
Those words of “go there” echo in Friend’s mind, prodding him to remember that Cassie is out there somewhere. He looks at his watch as it reads 20:35. He recalls that at this very moment she is most likely heading to her car with her friends, preparing to escape. The minutes might be off due to the change in events from Max’s address. Yes, he emphatically states in his mind. She would have watched Max’s speech first, postponing her escape by that duration. At this very moment she is en route or at her car, so he must hurry.
Without a word to Max he disappears, reappearing next to the car, crouched below. To his surprise they are already in the car, and he hears her muffled voice through the glass speaking to her navigation system. With no time to
lose, he stands directly behind her car, preventing her escape. She is frozen in bewilderment at the man, and briefly contemplates just running him over. He senses this as she fails to emerge from her car, and so he must coax her out somehow.
“Cassandra Whittle! You need to come with me,” he commands, with a hint of authority.
She slowly comes out of the car. For that brief moment, the summation of all his curiosity returns, all those weeks and days of wondering if she’ll be linked to him, what she’ll say when she sees him. Will his being still permeate backwards in time as a message from her dying father? Will she have no recollection of him? Something in between?
“What the hell are you doing?” She angrily demands an answer. But as she takes one glance into his eyes, her demeanor changes, as if a lifetime of memories suddenly surfaces. She’s heard the name before but she doesn’t believe it at first. It could be it, she tells herself, but I could look foolish for asking. Despite the risk of embarrassment, she fearlessly plows ahead.
“Are you… Friend?” she asks with uncontrollable curiosity, as her words fill him with amazement. He is entirely delighted that nothing has changed, that his existence is still a part of her timelines.
“I am,” he replies, but to her dissatisfaction.
“I don’t believe you,” she sternly responds. “Prove it.”
Alaina and Wyatt get out of the car and engage Friend closer, prepared to back up Cassie in case of any sort of danger.
“Take my hand, Cassie.” He speaks softly and assuredly, hoping to put her and her friends at ease. She looks at Alaina and in a leap of faith, presses the palm of her hand against his outstretch one, clinching it, feeling serene knowing this is her destiny. In the moment, her mind becomes overwhelmed with feelings of familiarity, something deep and profound, as if she has always known him from the moment she was born.