Cyril glanced over at Cumby and smiled. Then he shrugged.
"Tangent," he said. "I had planned all sorts of important messages. I had so many questions scant moments ago. Now – instead – I will share with you a single moment in my life. It may prove to be the most miraculous thing I have ever witnessed.
"Moments ago, through the telescope, I saw you approaching The Second Veil. You seemed to be floating, moving very slowly. Then, in an instant – so quickly that, had I blinked at the wrong moment, I would have missed it, you shot into the void. The Veil shimmered. From the point where you impacted it, light rippled outward, alive with color. When you were through, it snapped tight, as if you had torn through a bubble that refused to pop. Where it sealed, there was an opaque circle, just for a second. Then it was as if nothing had passed, and I saw you on the other side. High Councilor Cumby is watching you now. I would tell you to wave, but you are nothing but a glimmer."
"Thank you for sharing that," Aria replied. "I am handing over communications to Euphrankes, who would like to offer something in trade."
A moment passed, there was another static crackle, and then Euphrankes voice, as clear as if he'd stood beside them, flowed from the speaker.
"From where I sit," he said, "I have a view behind us via Bonymede's miraculous mirrors and lenses. What I see is very, very beautiful. The planet, from here, is a globe. The veil shimmers all around it with every color imaginable. Beneath that, the roads, and the cities glow. It's like an intricate drawing made with light. You can make out little in detail, but the whole is a sight I will never forget. If I can, I will find a crewmember with the skill to draw it in the log."
"I suspect," Cyril replied, "that you will bring a great many wonders. I look forward to the day we can go through that log together."
There was a moment of silence, and then Euphrankes voice came across again.
"We have a lock," he said. "We are testing the mag drives, and all seems to be working even more smoothly than expected. There is literally no resistance out here. I'm going to have to do some calculations to understand the full implications. It may mean several other systems won't work at all."
Cyril laughed.
"If anyone is equipped to meet such a challenge, it is you, Euphrankes Holymnn. Travel with The Protectors watching over your shoulder. And before you are completely out of sight, ask your Navigator to show you the final gift we've given you."
There as another moment of silence, and the Euphrankes chuckled. "It's perfect. Thank you, my friend. I will gaze upon it often. When we return, maybe we'll know what it means.
"For now, we are signing off. I need to run a systems check, and to be certain everyone in the crew made it as safely as we did here on the bridge. We will be in contact in a few hours at the appointed time. Tangent, signing off."
"Chamber of Stars, offline," Cyril said softly. He glanced down and chuckled as he realized he'd forgotten to key the microphone.
"They really did it," Cumby said. He stood and let the other priests, one by one, have a look at the dwindling sliver of the great ship receding from sight. "By The Protectors, Cyril, they actually did it."
"That they did," Cyril agreed. "What remains to be seen is – what will it lead to."
"The future," Cumby said, turning toward the door. "According to a great man I know – it's a place worth visiting."
~ * ~
On the bridge of the Tangent, Euphrankes unstrapped himself and stood. He walked over to the chart table where Maester Zins sat with a big grin on his face. On the table, standing upright on a small metal stand, was the shard of debris with the unknown message on it.
"What do you mean?" Euphrankes asked it softly. "And where did you come from?"
He turned, and he stared off into space, the letters Lockhe d strobed before his eyes.
"Mag drive is at full power," Aria reported.
Euphrankes returned to his seat, strapped in and gripped the arms tightly.
"Then, by all means," he said. "Take us out of here."
The ship shivered just slightly, and then, with a rush of force that pressed them into their seats once again, shot out toward the stars. Behind them their planet, their world, and their past dwindled to a small dot of reflected light…and winked out. As their speed leveled off, the pressure decreased, and Euphrankes was able to smile again. It was a very long time before he stopped.
ALSO FROM THE SCATTERED EARTH:
The Birth of the Dread Remora – by Aaron Rosenberg
Chapter One
Midshipman Nathaniel Demming glanced at his pocket watch again, the luminous face easily readable through the water. T minus four to launch. No worries, old boy, he told himself. After all, we’re about to attempt the first launch of an untested ship with an untried crew and an uninformed captain, on a mission to an unexplored domain after an unexplained target.
Why fret?
“T minus four to launch,” Lizette Mills reported from the helm. Demming hid a smile. She was half a second off in her count, but what did that matter? And what would he possibly gain by pointing that out now? Far better to keep silent and rib her about it later, in the officers’ mess. Lizette was always a fun one to rib.
“Roger that,” Captain Mendez replied, sitting tall in the command chair. From his position behind her Demming could still make out the topknot of her dark blond braid beneath her cap. Not a hair out of place, as usual. “Are we secure?”
That last was directed at him, Demming realized after a heartbeat, and scanned his console, studying the readouts. “Secure, captain,” he confirmed a few seconds later. His heart was thudding so loudly it was a wonder the water was rippling all around him. “All crew in their harnesses, all ports locked down.”
“Good. Mister Dittmer?”
“All secure, Captain,” the quartermaster replied right away, his voice as lazy as always. With any other man Demming would have assumed he had taken the time to double-check while the captain was waiting for his answer first, but with Dittmer he knew that wasn’t the case. Dittmer didn’t need extra time. He already knew where every scrap of material was on this ship. The man had a memory like a clamshell, latched on tight.
“T minus three,” Lizette updated. Everyone on the foredeck tensed with anticipation. Behind him Demming heard someone, most likely one of the ensigns, gasp for breath—and start choking as water filled his lungs. Classic rookie mistake. A wave of quiet laughter filled the cabin. Demming could hardly blame the ensign, though. It was all he could do to keep his own mouth closed, nostrils clamped shut, gills narrowed. What he really wanted was to start gasping himself, but that would never do. He was a midshipman of the line, for current’s sake! He had not only his own dignity but the dignity of the entire ship and the entire Royal Navy to maintain!
Plus the others would laugh at him just as they were all laughing at the ensign now. And that was no way to begin a mission. Especially this mission.
“T minus two.”
“Throttle us up, Miss Mills,” Mendez ordered. Lizette nodded, her hand going to the smooth coral inlay of the throttle and easing it down a quarter toward the console. Beneath and all around him Demming could feel the thrum as the ship’s engines started to spin.
Soon. Very soon.
“T minus one.”
“Ready on my mark,” the captain warned. She reached for the speaking tube built into the arm of her chair, and her next words echoed faintly, as they repeated from speakers all throughout the ship. “Ladies and gentlemen, we are about to embark on our mission. I consider it an honor and a privilege to lead you into history. May the waves grant us success, and water save the queen.”
“Water save the queen,” Demming repeated softly, along with the other officers and, no doubt, the seamen in their compartments. And water save us, he thought. But did not say out loud.
“Mark!” Mendez hissed, and Lizette’s quick fingers tapped controls, releasing the clamps that bound them to the docks and slamming the throttle do
wn full. With a roar and a twist the ship’s engines boomed to life, revving instantly to full speed, and with a mighty rushing sound the HMES Remora shot up from the ocean floor, her long, tapered prow pointed up at the air and at the stars beyond.
The force of their acceleration slammed Demming back in his seat, and he was grateful for the webbing that secured him there. He gripped the armrests on either side, feet planted flat on the floor, and kept his eyes squarely on the narrow windows that sliced down over the foredeck and arced along it toward its nose. For now all he could see was water, lit by the Remora’s powerful searchlights but shifting past too quickly to leave any real impression. This was the easy part, however. He had seen all of this before.
It was what came next that would be a shock.
In what seemed only moments but Demming knew had to be closer to an hour the water began to lighten. He could make out fish and reefs rushing by. They were nearing the surface. He felt his lungs constrict at the very thought of it.
The surface!
“Prepare for wave breach!” Lizette announced, her hand tightening on the throttle to one side and her fingers poised over the sonic pulse array to the other.
“All hands, hold fast!” Captain Mendez ordered through the speakers.
The water continued to brighten, forcing Demming to squint against the glare. He fought the instinct to turn away, or close his eyes. He had to watch this. After all, how many could say they had experienced true wave breach? And he wanted to remember all of this journey, every second, so that he could chronicle it later. For posterity.
Or for those who wondered what became of them.
With a surge of sound that set the hull ringing, the Remora’s prow burst upward through the waves. The light was blinding. Demming blinked, trying to clear his sight, and after a few seconds he found he could see again. It was so bright! And so empty!
His body pushed back in his chair, feeling heavy and sluggish. The Remora groaned around them. The noise had increased when they’d broken through, but the sense of momentum had dimmed rapidly. Now it felt as if they were barely moving, yet he could make out strange white shapes, filmy like jellyfish but puffed out like ink clouds, appearing in view and then vanishing below. So they must still be rising.
But for how long? Even now the waters exerted their hold, attempting to draw the ship back into the deeps.
“Sonic pulse on my mark!” Captain Mendez told Lizette. She didn’t shout—their two chairs were less than a body-length apart—but every word was crisp and clear.
“Aye aye, captain!” Lizette tensed at the ready.
“Mark!”
The pilot’s fingers jabbed down on the array, and the Remora shuddered as a rush of energy exploded behind her. Demming held his breath. All of this had worked in theory, and on the probe, but they had never had the chance to test it on a real ship, with a real crew.
This was the test.
Right now.
With them in it.
He waited, not sure what he was expecting. But after a second he realized that the Remora was still rising. If anything, her velocity had increased. It had worked!
“Again!” Mendez ordered, and Lizette complied. The ship shook again, though some of that faded as Lizette throttled down the impellers to three-quarter speed, and the Remora leaped skyward again, forced upward by the focused sonic burst it had just released behind.
And above—
Demming peered through the window. The sky was lighter and lighter in color as they rose, approaching pure white now, and through it he could just make out the twinkling of lights.
The stars.
They were close.
“How soon?” Mendez demanded. The question didn’t seem aimed at anyone in particular, so it was her first lieutenant, Daniel Holst, who answered.
“Fifty kilometers and closing, captain,” he reported. “And all systems are performing admirably.”
“Thank you, Mister Holst.” Demming could hear the smile in her voice. “Miss Mills, please continue.”
“Yes, captain.” Lizette fired off another sonic pulse, the energy wave pushing off the waves and earth below and propelling the Remora further. The pressure was immense, slamming everyone into their seats, causing whines and creaks from spots along the hull and around the inner port, making it hard to breathe, hard to focus, hard to think. Demming kept his eyes trained on the stars beyond and took short, shallow breaths, letting the water filter into his gills almost of its own accord. The scientists had all agreed this pressure would let up once they breached the air. And they were so close! Almost—almost—
Wham!
The Remora lurched as if she had slammed into a strong current head-on. The ship flipped onto its side, all its momentum spent, listing and drifting with the dregs of that lost velocity. Water buffeted Demming, slapping his face and hands and chest and legs, and again he resisted the impulse to gulp for breath. Beyond the window, the glare had suddenly winked out, replaced by a darkness as deep as any abyss. There had been no lights in the cabin—none had seemed necessary—and in the sudden darkness only the telltales on various consoles could be seen. And here and there the gleam of those lights reflected in wide, terrified eyes.
And there was silence.
Demming had found the noise deafening as they’d shot through the air, but its absence was far worse. He had expected normal sounds, if slightly diminish—the roll of the waves, the rush of water through the impellers, the hum of the engines, the song of whales and chatter of dolphins and flutter of fish.
Here? Here there was nothing.
Everyone, it seemed, was holding their collective breath.
And then the sounds came all at once. But only from within the Remora herself.
Shouting. Whispering. Cursing. Whimpering. Even crying.
The ship generated its own wave of noise as crew and officers alike began to panic.
Demming fought down his own urge to do likewise. This would not do! This was a ship of the line! They had their honor to maintain!
He forced himself to calm down, to breathe slowly and evenly. He unclenched his hands where they had dug into the armrests. He uncurled his toes and set his feet flat against the floor once more. And he waited.
Waited for the captain to tell them what to do.
Captain Mendez was an experienced captain. Not of a ship like this, of course—no one was. But she had years of training handling other vessels, and crews this size and even larger. She was quiet and competent and very much by-the-books. He knew that, once she had taken time to collect herself, she would regain control and restore order.
So Demming waited.
The seconds seemed to stretch on. The cacophony did not diminish. If anything, it grew in volume and diversity as more of his shipmates found their voice. There was thrashing as many wrestled with their harnesses, and banging throughout the Remora indicated that at least some had already worked their way free, though to what end Demming could not imagine.
He was content to sit and await orders.
Until he heard the one thing he had feared the most.
It began as a whisper. Rapidly it grew into a wail, a single ululation that sound spread into words.
Words that chilled him to the very soul.
“Oh, great wave!” were the words that struck terror into his heart and blood. “Great wave, we’re lost! We’ve been consumed by the abyss! Our souls will be devoured by the darkness!”
All other sounds on the foredeck ceased, then, as every officer turned to stare at the command chair—and their tall, blond captain, who curled up in it, sobbing and crying out in despair.
A NEW SERIES FROM CROSSROAD PRESS
O. C. L. T.
There are incidents and emergencies in the world that defy logical explanation, events that could be defined as supernatural, extraterrestrial, or simply otherworldly. Standard laws do not allow for such instances, nor are most officials or authorities trained to handle them. In recognition of these f
act, one organization has been created that can. Assembled by a loose international coalition, their mission is to deal with these situations using diplomacy, guile, force, and strategy as necessary. They shield the rest of the world from their own actions, and clean up the messes left in their wake. They are our protection, our guide, our sword, and our voice, all rolled into one.
They are O.C.L.T.
The following is Chapter One of the first full-length O. C. L. T. novel – The Parting by David Niall Wilson. Other works in this series include original novellas by Aaron Rosenberg and David Niall Wilson. Watch for these titles and many more at http://www.crossroadpress.com
I
In a low bunker in the desert near the border of Jordan and the Dead Sea, a dozen men have gathered. They arrived over a period of hours, none too close to the other to avoid being seen together. They were not men given to solitary excursions, but each had left comrades and security behind in the interest of security. They were robed, and their faces were covered against the whipping desert sand. Far above, the moon shone pale and cloaked in clouds.
Salt clusters along the bank of the water glimmered oddly, almost glowing in the dim light. The water was as flat and lifeless as a sheet of glass. None of the twelve even glanced at it, though the last of them stopped and gazed directly across the surface toward Jerusalem. He stood there for only a moment, and then passed between the two squat, expressionless guards stationed outside the door. The two were associated with none of the twelve. They were carefully vetted mercenaries without affiliation. They did now know who they guarded, or why, and they didn't care, as long as they were paid well, and on time.
Inside the building was a single long room. There was a small kitchenette, and a bathroom, but these were sealed. The room was centered by a long rectangular table set very low to the ground. The twelve gathered around it. There were drinks, but for the most part they were ignored. The room was lit by a single lamp on the table, as if those present weren't even comfortable knowing one another, let alone getting a good look.
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