The Professor looked delighted and his little smile returned as Will’s curiosity was struck.
"There is a story I must tell, and it is not easy story to comprehend, young Will. You see.... it is as complicated as it is old." The room appeared to darken and all attention was on Professor Marin, whose face was the most serious it had ever been.
"In the beginning, God created the world, an idea not often accepted but nonetheless the truth. The people in the beginning were lost and confused in this strange new world. What had they been given? What was the purpose behind their lives? Their life spans were nearly ten times the length of ours, and their genetics...pure, for a time. Knowledge had increased beyond our own now, uninterrupted by political and linguistic issues. The sky was their limit, and their desire. The world had become completely populated by the year 1689 after creation and the people looked for a leader, and so they found one. The man’s name was Hashem and his goal was to populate and rule the galaxies. Despite our ideas of mankind before the flood, they were very much capable of accomplishing this feat. So they started a space program much like NASA at the beginning of our exploration of space. Through this program, they created a ship capable of going light years away. The goal was to reach the farthest known star and then populate the gaps between it and Earth."
Will sat there in his chair, staring like a young boy hearing stories of pirates from his father. Outside, rain began to fall and drops streaked down the window behind him. A flash of lighting glowed for a moment, unnoticed by William as he was glued to the words of the Professor.
"How do you know all this? This is impossible, there's no way," Will mumbled in disbelief.
"It is possible," the Professor replied excitedly. "The flood wiped out all of the evidence that this people group ever existed, discounting Noah and his family. So, no evidence on Earth was left behind to give us any clues. Luckily on their way to this distant star, they stopped for a final fuel run, in an area not far from here, located in Coff's Crater. When they arrived, they left a stone describing all of this and more in ancient Aramaic in full detail. They even left the blueprints for designing another ship with these capabilities." The Professor let that hang in the air for a moment, as if leaving room before connecting the next dot. He continued, “The request then, my dear young Will, is that we need a pilot. Not just any pilot, no no no! We need you. You have the skills we need and the lifestyle suitable for this mission. Also, according to your old sergeant from the Air Force, you were the best pilot he had ever seen."
Will sat there unmoving. Had you walked in at this moment, you would have thought he had a heart attack and died on the spot, with his eyes still open.
3 The Choice
"Will?" said the Professor, searching for a response.
"What?" was all he could push out, crushed by the amount and depth of information he had just received. "Why do you need a pilot, wh- where are you flying to, and why me?!"
Saleem felt it was his turn to butt in, "It's because you are alone and you are good flier, this is the only reason."
"No, no, those are not the only reasons," jumped in the Professor. Will looked at him longingly, searching for some clarification as to why he had been chosen for this. "I have faith in you and I truly believe God has led me to you, William."
"Ya, Allah. William, God has not led us to you. Your bad habits forced you to us. This is all. Allah has forsaken you, but now has given you a second chance to do great things," Saleem said derogatorily.
"Wait, you’re not a Christian too?" questioned Will.
"No, he is a Muslim," intervened the Professor. "Our organization, though small, is intertwined with different faiths."
"Why would he want to look into this? Don't Muslims believe in a completely different story?"
"Do you remember Ibrahim? From the Bible?" Saleem asked almost angrily.
"Ya, kind of," lied Will.
"He had two sons Ishmael and Isaac, do you remember this? This man, Ibrahim, connects both faiths to the same creation story. It was just after that when the Jews, Christians and Muslims split in their religions," replied Saleem.
The Professor sat back, looking slightly disgruntled with his eyebrows furled, concentrating on his plate before him.
"So what exactly are you all planning?" asked an exhausted Will.
The Professor looked up from his plate and put on his previous smile. “We’re going to the star."
Dumbfounded, Will sat in his chair, shoulders slumped, eyes empty. Could anyone even understand what was going on in his mind at this moment? He kept repeating in his mind what, why, how... huh?
"I understand if this is too much for you right now Will. I will not ask you to answer tonight. Instead, I am inviting you to stay here in my home until you've reached your decision. My food is available, and you will have a bed here for as long as you need," the Professor insisted. Well it was much better than what the streets were offering tonight.
Will kept the same confused face and stared at the turkey leg toward the middle of the table. It was a light brown and the smell of it was enticing, not only to Will's empty stomach but to anyone else with a nose. The chef walked in, unaware of the suspense in the room. In his hand he carried glass cups filled with an amber liquid. Will followed the chef across the room until his eyes connected with the Professor’s. His light brown eyes looked golden, reflecting the light of the chandelier. His wrinkles were a lot more noticeable in this light and his nose looked slightly longer. His mouth, regardless of the situation, was still perked up into a smug smile. His happiness and friendliness was like nothing Will had ever encountered before. If there was any reason he would agree to this, it would be because of that smile, that warmth, that gentleness, but at the moment it was just too much.
"I need to leave..." Will found himself saying. "I'm sorry."
The Professor's lips tightened, and his eyes lowered. "I understand my dear man, I'll walk you to the door."
On their way out, not a single word was said. They passed through the wide halls until they reached the red door.
"I will keep the door open if you decide to return, young Will," the Professor said solemnly.
"Thank you," Will stood their awkwardly, concerned with the well-being of this tall man he had grown to like so quickly. "Are you going to be okay?" Will found himself saying impulsively.
"Oh yes," said the Professor happily, yet with a slight concern. "And you?"
So much emotion had filled Will from the night’s events that finally one had to burst out. Unfortunately, and habitually, it was anger. Will always was on the guard when it came to emotion. He had to be, if he slipped once he wouldn't be where he is today.
"I'll be fine. Like I said, I don't need any help," Will said, immediately regretting it.
"Right," the smile had left the Professor’s face and concern took over. "God be with you, Will." He slowly closed the door.
As the door shut and the cold wind hit him from the night air, Will recognized what that door had meant to him. It had symbolized his ever defeated hope for a better life. He couldn't go back inside after everything he was just bombarded with, it was too much. He needed time to think.
Will began walking down the poorly lit street toward... nothing. He had just given up the only and best chance he had ever been given. He arrived at a street where all the apartments were connected like a giant duplex stretching for miles. This was a prime example of the architecture on the moon during the first decade it was colonized. In between each apartment were four foot high square holes where homeless people stayed most nights. On the moon homelessness was a common problem with no foreseeable solution. Most homeless weren't feared on the moon, they were just another class of people making up the large concoction that was the lunar society.
Will lay in a hole between 413 and 414, staring at Mars and recalling the events from a couple hours prior. It wasn't until the cold had truly set in that he realized he needed something more than what he had: nothing. The op
portunity given by the Professor was the best thing he had ever been offered. A chance to start over, a truly fresh start. Drifting off to sleep, he came to the conclusion that in the morning he would go back to that big house, knock that gold knocker and accept his proposal. Finally he fell asleep, shivering in his tiny box, the only other place that would take him in.
4 Crimst
A low red light cast its color onto the messy room, silhouetting the shadows that seemed to dance on the walls. Without a second glance they looked like demons dancing in the flames of hell. This was fitting, because the man in the back of the room would soon be drowning in those infernal waves that crash eternally onto screaming souls. His face was hidden by his fedora, helping set the mood for incoming clientele. No one could say that they didn’t know what they were getting themselves into, he made sure of it. He sat facing the only door to the room, a habit he had formed as a child. Ensuring that, no matter what, he would see his attackers coming and could take them out with the press of a button. He was wearing a loose fitting suit, nobody knew the brand. His desk was clear of any papers and his walls bare, ensuring a quick getaway. This room was only a front, as it were; the real operation took place in the back of a restaurant off 3rd.
His empire stretched from Earth to the open land of Ganymede, but for now he liked the moon. It seemed strategically intelligent to stay in between his two biggest arenas, guaranteeing his ability to be anywhere as quickly as was necessary. You see, he was a banker of sorts. He dealt mostly in loans, and right now he had to be here; he had to take care of a problem, a problem named Will. The thought of Will infuriated him, not that Will had made some gigantic problem. No, it was all the people like Will – who tried taking money off him and then didn’t pay – that infuriated him. Who did they think they were? He let his blood boil while he pondered this question. It wasn’t an issue of their identity, he decided, but making sure they knew who he was. The multi-millionaire killer, the god-like gangster, the boss of beat downs. His name was Crimst.
Crimst smiled at the thought of his name, the same name covering all his establishments from district 412b to the farthest territories of that goldmine, Ganymede.
A knock came at the door, and Crimst’s smile flashed away. He moved his finger to the button under his desk. One push and the roof above the door would blow, killing everyone in the doorway and the hall.
“Who is it?” Crimst asked in a low mumbled voice.
“It’s Tsoy, and Riller” came a voice in a thick eastern European accent, possibly Russian.
Crimst smiled again, he like toying with the button while the help stood there helplessly. Images of the ceiling blowing and the two morons in the hall being shredded to bits gave his heart a jump. His mouth was salivating and his eyes had grown uncomfortably wide, it was good no one was around to see him when he was like this. The smile was erased again, “Come in,” he said sternly.
The first man, Tsoy, walked in. He was around 250 pounds and stood 6’4”. He had a round shaved head and a tattoo of a spider on his left cheek. Behind him was Riller, at around 190 pounds and 5’9”; but the way he carried himself, any man would be more afraid of him than Tsoy. Both of them had tattoos from head to foot and were built to kill. They both walked in slowly, showing respect for their boss who was to be feared.
“Well?” Crimst said impatiently.
The two men looked at each other, afraid of the answer. Riller took the initiative and started.
“He got away boss, but we know where he is.” A voice amongst the dancing shadows nervously reported.
Crimst moved his hand toward the button underneath his desk, out of rage at the two imbeciles who had failed him again. Tsoy had seen his hand moved and his eyes closed out of fear of knowing what was there. Riller remained motionless, except for his nostrils which flared furiously; he had felt Death’s hand on his shoulders many times before. If it had not been for Riller’s fearless response, Crimst would have sent them both to hell, bags packed or not.
Normally, Crimst wouldn’t care about some dumb kid, but this kid had gotten away with too much. The first and only time Crimst had ever met Will, Riller had thrown him into the front room like a rag doll. He was bleeding and, by the looks of his attire, penniless.
“Get him out of here!” Crimst yelled at Riller.
“Wait,” Will yelled, smiling through his blood drenched face. “I need money.”
“That’s not my problem, kid.” Crimst’s hand moved toward his hip holster; he didn’t have time for this.
“I need 25,” Will had said.
Crimst’s hand stopped.
25,000 was a lot of money these days. With the civil war back on Earth, most currency was disappearing.
“How, pray tell, do you expect to pay me back these 25 big ones? Huh? You’re just some stupid kid who probably has a gambling problem.”
“Well,” Will continued as he stood up, wiping his face. “You’re right about that last part, but I’ve got a big game to play, and you can only benefit.”
Crimst looked down at his green shag carpet.
“What’s the game?” Crimst said through his teeth.
Will continued to try and sell his “big game” to Crimst, a game he had no intention of playing. He spoke of security, money movement, stamps, an entirely made up plan with data to boot. The real game he was playing was the get-out-of-jail-free card. His plan was to get off this lunar dung hole and head to Ganymede, the new frontier. With every new frontier came new shady places for shady characters to hide.
Crimst gave him the money but watched him like a hawk. After Will had tried to hop a shuttle, Crimst’s goons had chased him half way across the city to that alley.
“Where?” was all Crimst said, still veiled by the shadows.
“An old man’s place on Jupiter Lane,” Riller said slowly, still showing no fear.
“Jupiter Lane?” Crimst was confused, what would riff raff like this punk Will be doing in such a reputable area? “Is the old man family?”
“Not that we know of. His old man died when he was young. Maybe his grandfather.”
A thought came to Crimst, “maybe gramps holds his money.”
Riller and Tsoy stayed silent but nodded in agreement.
“Let’s go give grandpa a visit.”
5 Jaheem
William woke up to the sun shining down on him. Mornings were a lot hotter on the moon due to its closer proximity to the sun. He crawled out of his little hole and started heading toward the Professor‘s house. Today was the day for him, he knew after the night's sleep that things could only get better.
As he rounded the corner of Jupiter Lane, Will's eyes widened and his jaw dropped. People were outside on their lawns watching, while others stared through their windows. Will raced down the street as fast as he could.
The mansion was no longer a mansion. All that was left was smoldering wood and rubble strewn across the street. The firefighters were spraying down the scene in order to avoid spreading fires. Will ran up to a policeman shaking his head at the chaos that once was such a beautiful home.
"What happened!?" Will asked, gasping for air.
"A bomb exploded and it looks like the door was barred from the outside. One of the neighbors’ cameras caught the whole thing," proclaimed the policeman.
Will stood there, sweating under the hot sun, staring at what had been his only hope. A man came running toward him, ash all over his face. "William!" It was the man named Tripp, from the night before.
"What happened?" asked Will impatiently.
“Cameras caught three men in the middle of the night, they were looking for you,” yelled Tripp while tears rolled through the ash on his cheek.
"..The Professor...?" asked Will, confused.
"He's gone... they barred the front door and killed the Professor, Ms. Collins and everyone else who stayed in there. They called out the Professor, looking for you, and he said he didn‘t know where you were. They didn‘t believe him, they thought
you were inside!” Will’s heart dropped, his world shrank, and his hope faded.
“They said you had their money, but the Professor said he didn’t have it so they searched the house. They didn’t find anything so they decided to blow it.”
"Where are they!?” Will asked enraged.
"They died in the explosion. Went off prematurely, as they were setting it,” Tripp said.
Will shook his head and clenched his fists, images of slaughtering the men who did this riddled his thoughts and took over his body.
Will looked at the mansion, a pile of rubble commemorating his mistakes. The Professor had taken his debt and died because of his idiocy, and vengeance was gone with him. There was no joy in that, no revenge, no eerie chuckle to be heard, just a somber silence.
Will stood there in the middle of Jupiter Lane with everything gone, including the only person who treated him like... Well, like a person.
"I'll do it!" Will turned toward Tripp. "If you still need me, I'll do it!"
Tripp stood there for a moment, staring at Will. He could have blamed Will; even Will knew he should have blamed him. Instead he just muttered, “Okay.”
Will returned his sights to the catastrophe before them. Smoke billowed up from that sacred place that Will had fallen in love with in mere hours. All he could think about was the last conversation he had with the Professor, how he had acted so short-tempered, unwilling to give up his pride. Now the Professor was gone, and that all-too-familiar shadow of hopelessness began to take its place once again in Will’s mind. Will shook his head at the thoughts he was having. Genuine people were just so rare these days.
Two weeks had passed and the funeral was today. The dark sky was full of clouds and a light rain began to fall. The sun was half covered by the Earth and the trees were dying because of the lack of sunshine over the past month. Even the grass now withered where once there was a garden. A couple drops of rain hit Will's forehead, causing him to lift his eyes up and stare at the clouds. Behind him was the destroyed mansion. In his last will and testament, the Professor had requested to be buried in his garden.
The Crooked Staff (The Chronicles of Will Book 1) Page 2