THOUGHT WARRIORS
The Coming of Kalki
Poulomi sanyal
Copyright © 2019 Poulomi Sanyal
All rights reserved.
Cover artist: Anelia Savova (Website: annrsdesign.com)
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual locales, persons, living or dead, businesses, or actual events is purely coincidental.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic or mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the author.
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ISBN-13: 978-1-7753950-1-0
CONTENTS
DEDICATION
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
EPILOGUE
AUTHOR'S NOTE
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
DEDICATION
“May it be a light to you in dark places, when all other lights go out.”
― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring.
This book is dedicated to all those who seek the light.
CHAPTER One
At last, Zoya was on her way to University. After months of tedious applications and countless interviews, she had been selected to Stanford. Stanford! What an accomplishment! Her dad, Dr. Carter, had dropped her off at the Los Angeles International Airport (LAX) and she was checked in and all set to board her flight in about an hour. She found a seat at a café, sat herself down on a comfy looking couch and pulled out her latest copy of the Scientific American.
“Coffee?” A waitress came over to ask.
“Yes, please. Cream and sugar,” she requested.
Soon her steaming cup of coffee arrived with a butterfly pattern of foam floating on the surface. It looked delicious. She took a sip and stared across the table, feeling warm and fuzzy.
There was a man sitting at a table across from her a few metres away; blue jumper, glasses and a freckled face that was somewhat hidden by his large black hat. Her eyes met his.
“DIVE!” A voice shouted.
Zoya looked around, confused and startled.
“DIVE!” The voice roared again, more ferociously than before and her eyes flit back to the man across the room. The way he looked at her, intensely.
“Did you—” she started.
“NOW!” The voice thundered in her head, and the man stared at her, hard. Somehow, he was the one speaking, but without uttering a single word or moving a muscle.
Ever since Zoya was a baby, she had learned to trust her instincts. Somehow, she knew that if she felt that something was about to happen, it inevitably did. She could sense things from miles away or predict what movie would be on TV before even turning it on. It was weird, but she had a gift. A gift of “impeccable intuition” her friends called it. So yet again, she trusted her intuition, listened to the strange voice in her head and dived forward and away from her seat against the wall and landed with a giant thud on the cold hard floor.
Within a second there was a loud explosion and the wall behind her partially collapsed with pieces of cement and mortar shooting out of it like raging bullets.
The whole area filled with thick smoke and the smell of gasoline. Zoya could hardly breathe. She lay on the floor, still in pain from her violent landing. Lying low seemed to keep the smoke out of her eyes. People were running around in panic. There were some announcements. It sounded like the police were trying to clear the area.
“You okay, young lady?” Zoya glanced up to spot a female police officer at her side, who began gently pulling Zoya up to her feet.
“Yes… yes… just a little bruised…” She gasped for breath, some of the wind still knocked out of her.
“Alright, we will take care of that, but right now we need to evacuate immediately. Please follow that man over there and he will get you out,” she said, pointing to a uniformed first responder about ten feet away who was ushering people out of the building.
“Can you walk?” She added.
“Yeah….” Zoya muttered. “Wait, there was a man…” she whispered, almost inaudibly, looking around to see if she could spot him. But he was nowhere to be seen.
Zoya made her way out of the terminal as instructed. Shards of glass littered the floor intermittently and jagged chunks of masonry and twisted metal structures obstructed her way. To her right was a prone figure, lying in a pool of blood. Zoya couldn’t tell if he was still alive. She tried not to look at the destruction and instead pushed frantically through the crowd, hoping to get to a spot away from the bedlam so she could call her dad.
Outside the terminal was a scene of complete chaos and devastation. Ambulances and police cars were everywhere with people streaming in and out of every entrance and exit in sight. Some were injured, others crying, with loudspeakers shouting and sirens ringing all over the place.
Zoya quickly checked her physical condition. She had cuts and scrapes in a few places and a horribly twisted ankle, but she would rather go home and have her mom look at it than stay in the disaster zone for much longer. She trudged on, limping horribly, stopping now and then to grab onto any possible form of support, her head still buzzing with a million questions from the aftermath of the attack. Finally, she managed to elbow her way out of the crowd and into the periphery, when she saw him.
Walking away from her and towards the parking lot across the street was the unmistakable figure of the man in the blue sweater who had essentially saved her life.
“Hello, hello, sir, wait…” She tried to stagger up to him, making herself slightly breathless.
He looked back and stood in his tracks, frowning curiously in her direction. She caught up with him as quickly as she could manage.
“He…llo…sir, I…I don’t know who you are…and neither do you…and you will probably think I’m a whack job and hell I probably am….” She hesitated, unsure how to put it into words.
He deepened his frown and looked confounded.
“I mean... I… back there… you told me to dive. I heard it. Clearly, you said ‘dive’. Didn’t you? How did you do it? Without actually saying a word…” She trailed off, still completely flabbergasted.
He didn’t answer and stared at her with an incredulous look in his eye.
“You think I am crazy... ” She sighed.
“I don’t know what you are talking about,” he finally responded. “Do you need me to walk you to an ambula
nce? The shock can be—”
“No, no, I’m fine. Thank you. My family will come and get me,” she hastily responded, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. The man nodded and flicked her a knowing smile before disappearing quickly into the crowd.
In about half an hour, special action forces in full-gear had arrived and the entire area around the airport was cordoned off. Zoya waited with bated breath for her dad’s black SUV to pull in to the parking lot where she had taken shelter. But hours went by and the cops were yet to clear the traffic. Every agonizing moment that elapsed felt like an eternity when finally, she saw it. Her dad’s car around the corner.
“Oh baby, we were so scared!” Her mom wailed, engulfing her completely within her giant embrace.
“Well, at least she is safe now,” was her dad’s more measured response. “You are not hurt, are you?” He added as he quickly checked his daughter for any visible signs of injury.
“Twisted my ankle I think, but mostly I’m okay,” Zoya replied, her memory flitting back to her unusual savior.
“On the news it said that Aifra claimed responsibility,” Dr. Carter explained, once they were all in the car.
Aifra? Zoya thought.
The Aifra surfaced a few years ago as a secretive international terrorist organization and were wreaking havoc across the world. It appeared that their primary goal was to disrupt and demolish. They had built an undercover network of hundreds, even thousands. No one knew exactly how many but there was reason to believe that their reach went all the way into top levels of Governments and large corporations. They were like a virus, you kill one strain and another completely mutated version appears seemingly from nowhere. They were a faceless enemy attacking with precision and stealth and never getting caught. Brilliant minds, cyber wizards but as with all things brilliant, vulnerable to the temptation of evil. Answering to this temptation they had become the world’s most powerful and notorious crime group of all time. What baffled everyone however, was the motive behind their actions. There seemed to be no definitive pattern for their attacks. Sometimes a bustling train station or airport was targeted and at other times an innocuous research center in the middle of nowhere and manned by under a dozen scientists took the full brunt of their wrath. They didn’t seem to single out any particular nation or social group either. What then, was the point of this senselessness? What were they trying to achieve? The investigative branches of Governments worldwide were searching for this answer.
As they drove home, Zoya checked the news on her phone. Her head was spinning from the news feeds related to Aifra. She wanted nothing to do with that. All she wanted was to lead a quiet life with her family without having to worry about getting blown up. Sadly, that did not seem feasible in the world she inhabited.
Zoya rolled down the car window. She was feeling queasy. A gust of breeze brushed over her tired face.
“Dad, can you pull over? I want to throw up,” she said, tapping him on the shoulder.
CHAPTEr two
Although LAX was back open a couple of days after the attack, Zoya’s dad was not letting his daughter venture anywhere near that area anytime soon. On Friday, he was going to drive her to Stanford himself. It was five-and-a-half-hours from Los Angeles. Not too bad for a fall afternoon drive. This way, he would get to drop her off right at her dorm.
Dr. Jordan Carter was a practicing neurosurgeon in Los Angeles and couldn’t be prouder of his daughter getting in to Stanford, becoming the first in his family to attend such a prestigious institution. He regretted that she didn’t want to go to medical school, but at least she still wanted to major in neuroscience. He would be able to teach her so much. He could barely contain his excitement.
On Friday morning, the family was gathered at their kitchen table for breakfast when Zoya looked up from her plate with apprehension written all over her face.
“Dad, Mom, I don’t want to go,” she said, in a small voice.
“Honey, what’s wrong?” her mother asked, swallowing a piece of toast.
“It’s just that…”
Doctor and Mrs. Carter exchanged a look. Zoya hadn’t slept much or eaten properly the last couple of days. She was constantly anxious and suspicious of every sound and movement around the house. Clearly, she was distressed.
“We can understand how you’re feeling Zoya. But we spoke to the University and they’re going to give you all the support you need, once you’re there,” Dr. Carter assured.
“Really? How?”
“Well, they’re going to have counselling and support sessions. The staff will be available to chat with you and…”
“Sure Dad, I get it. But I’ll still have to leave my family and all my friends—”
“Not all. Your bestie will be there with you. Isn’t she the most important?” her mother interrupted, smiling affectionately.
“But Nancy isn’t even in my department or my dorm. I’ll hardly ever see her.”
“Hmm. Maybe I can fix that,” said Dr. Carter after a bit of thought. “I will call the Director of Student Housing, Mrs. Bianchi and see if she can help. She’s an understanding lady.” He looked at his wife and nodded a silent agreement.
“Honey, none of this means we are forcing you to go, though. I hope you know that,” Mrs. Carter added.
“Yeah Mom. I know. I think I’d regret not going. I worked so hard for this. It was my dream.”
“We know,” Mrs. Carter comforted.
“So you’ll speak to Mrs. Bianchi, then?” Zoya asked, her face lighting up.
“Right away,” said her dad as he hurried to fetch his phone.
Jordan’s call with Mrs. Bianchi proved fruitful. In a couple of days, she was able to arrange for Zoya to share a room with her childhood bestie, Nancy. This new arrangement seemed much more sensible to everyone, given the recent developments. Zoya’s relief was also quite apparent and she made up her mind to go to Stanford, after all.
After settling Zoya in her dorm on Tuesday, Dr. and Mrs. Carter decided to spend a couple of days in the Bay area to give her some company during her first week away from home. They had gone to Napa Valley. The family were at lunch at a quaint little winery in the area when Zoya drifted off into one of her recent spells of absentmindedness.
“Honey, here, try some. It’ll put your mind at ease,” Dr. Carter said with a hint of a grin as he passed her his glass of merlot.
“But I’m not 21, yet,” Zoya whispered.
“It’ll be our secret. Don’t tell mom,” her father said encouragingly, checking to see if Mrs. Carter was on her way back from the bathroom. “You survived a terrorist attack by yourself. I think you’ve earned it.”
“I wasn’t exactly by my…”
“What? I couldn’t hear you.”
“Nothing. Never mind.” Zoya sighed, taking a sip from her father’s glass.
* * *
Zoya’s first week at the university was met with orientation after orientation and drunken freshman parties. Zoya stayed clear of the parties because large gatherings were making her anxious lately. Instead, she spent time figuring out where the various buildings were across the large campus, exploring the cozy little cafeterias, the computer labs, the bookstore, and most importantly, the libraries. She could tell these would become her favorite haunts, especially the huge Victorian-looking main library that smelled of wooden desks and dusty tomes. She was always cautious. Always on her guard while making her way between her favorite spots. Checking every bend in the corridors for possible attackers lurking in the shadows. But the books kept her company during her nights of fitful sleep and offered much needed solace to her troubled heart.
On her first Friday afternoon on campus, Zoya was at this large, hundred-year-old library, walking around it, looking for a nice cozy nook to settle down into with her newly borrowed book when she saw a flyer on the poster board near the Biological Sciences section:
“STUDENT EXCHANGE IN EUROPE,” it read in big bold letters.
It went on to
explain that the Department of Neuroscience, in collaboration with the Department of Electrical and Computer Engineering at Oxford University in the UK, was looking for qualified exchange students for a one-year program. This would also involve working on a research project with a renowned scientist studying advanced functionalities of the human hippocampus. The application deadline was Monday by midnight.
Cool! Zoya thought. The deadline was fast approaching, so she was going to apply right away.
And then she saw the footnote in much smaller print that said: “Only applications from third year Honours students will be considered. Others need not apply.”
“Bummer!” Zoya sighed.
She no longer felt like hanging around in the library and went instead to the cafeteria in the Architecture Department that was student run and consequently had a warm, homey feel. She sat down on a couch with a large mug of French Roast and languidly opened the book she had brought from the library. A small, crumpled piece of paper slipped out and fell to the floor. She picked it up and found some random doodles, probably by the previous borrower of the book.
She smiled at the bit of writing scrawled under the drawings.
Where there is a will there is a way.
A cliché but a wise saying none the less. She had heard and read this saying countless times before, but somehow today, as she saw it scribbled on a discarded piece of paper by a bored student of Stanford University, the message finally hit home. She slid the note into her pocket, finding comfort in knowing someone else at this prestigious school may have wrestled with the same issues she had, and hastily got up from her seat, book in hand and returned to the library. She found the flyer that had caught her attention and took a picture of it with her phone.
She was going to apply. If you don’t ask, the answer is always no, she thought.
* * *
About a month into her term, she was standing in front of her mirror, dressed in her neatly pressed cotton trousers and Stanford themed polo shirt. The semester was going well. She’d yet to miss a class, her professors loved her. She was watching the dewy-eyed teenager disappear, being replaced by a young, mature woman. Her flawless dark skin had a radiant glow and behind her heavy glasses, her eyes packed a wisdom that was well beyond her mortal years. She tied her bouncy curls in a neat ponytail, and let out a sigh of contentment, just as her roommate, Nancy, walked into their dorm room.
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