by JB Penrose
The voice came from nowhere, everywhere, and Rachel froze in place. Rachel could never run, but tonight something else held her step.
In the darkness, a light swirled into shape in front of her, the image of a face. Now her own fears held her step; urgency held her eyes open. The face belonged to the woman in the crowd at John’s party, her voice, the same voice, softly speaking.
“Remember the ties of Inner Worlds
Remember the vows of crystal words
Truth revealed from skies above
Lost is found whose gift is love.”
“Hurry, Spokesmon. Remember.”
* * *
Saturday
December 24, 2044
The crowd was unruly, shouting out for mixed judgements. He followed them through the alleys, moving on the outskirts of the mob.
“Aren’t you Peter? Aren’t you one of them?”
“No,” he turned away. “I don’t know what you mean.”
He slipped anonomyously into their midst, letting the motion carry him without knowing the destination. People poured into the palace, filling the benches around the courtyard and Peter sat among them, watching, horrified.
“Aren’t you one of His followers? Aren’t you also a believer?”
“No,” Peter lied to protect the truth. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” But he rose quickly and wanted to exit. He moved against the mob, unseen hands pushing and pulling him like a riptide. When he finally made it to the steps of the portico, Peter rested heavily against the pillar.
“Will you tell me what’s happening inside?” A maiden approached him, beseeching.
“No,” he cried openly. “I can’t watch.”
Peter woke from the nightmare just as the crow from a rooster morphed into Andrew’s knock at the doorway.
“Have you been here all night?” Andrew was asking. “You have a bedroom, you know.”
Peter stood, and ran his fingers through his hair, grateful to be awakened. He still wore most of last night’s tuxedo; his belt and bow tie hung on the doorknob and his jacket and shoes were abandoned across the room. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
“No, I guess you didn’t.” The morning sun fell across the sketchbook on a desk next to Peter. Andrew grabbed the tablet and flipped through several pages of pen-and-ink drawings of Rachel. “Couldn’t sleep last night?”
“Too much to think about,” Peter shrugged.
His brother whistled, and turned another page. “Reality check, Peter. Are you planning to tell her you’re one of the Aurora’s crew?”
“I have a few things to ask her first.” Peter nodded to the computer printout on the desk corner. “Have you ever run a background check on Rachel Bolton?”
“Sure. Clean as a whistle.”
“I found her parents’ names, but not a shred of history on either of them.” Peter tapped on the stack of papers for emphasis. “She said she went to school in France, around Rocroi, but there’s no evidence of her ever having been registered in the area. This system has too much information, compiled from too many sources, to not even have the basics about her.”
The computer in John’s study was linked to the massive storage bank buried deep on PROBE-Tech grounds; Andrew had assimilated information for centuries. There were virtual tours of museums from around the world. The contents of private libraries of art and history had all been catalogued. Music and literature from every country, artifacts and languages from civilizations that no longer existed existed still in Andrew’s compilation. Every public record, media report, and governmental statistic had life in the electronic storage banks of the PROBE-Tech system. His brother had literally buried the truth.
Though the survivors of their original stellar spaceship, the Orygin, were bound by their oath to Jesus not to reveal their existence as aliens to Earth, Andrew had chronicled the story of their lives, of how they were brought here, and why. When Mag’Dalyn’s daughter was kidnapped in the 6th century, Peter recorded every aspect of their centuries of searching for Roko. If the information hidden deep underground was discovered, he hoped the world would be ready for the truth. Peter had been searching for the truth all night.
“There’s only a week left, Peter.” Andrew pulled his arm to rouse him from the couch. “You shouldn’t care so much.”
“You’re still upset that I haven’t given you a Christmas gift. Wait just a minute.” Peter went to the desk and pulled open the drawer, reaching for a small box.
Andrew snatched it from him and tested the weight in his palm. “It looks small,” he teased. “But it’s the thought that counts.” Andrew lifted the lid and gently dropped a Swiss Army knife into the palm of his hand. He whistled with appreciation. “Would you look at this? It’s the first we one made, isn’t it?”
Andrew’s thumb rubbed the metal crest on the wooden handle and slipped out the hidden fishing hook and string. “You told me you dropped this in the water.”
“That’s because I wanted to keep it. Now, I want you to have it.”
“It was too heavy to be practical.” Andrew opened each blade and checked for nicks with his thumb. He smiled when the sharpness cut him. “And too practical not to have one.”
“That’s why they’ve been obsolete for decades?” Peter teased his brother.
“Competition is good for business.” Andrew slipped the knife into his breast pocket and patted it smartly. “I’ll be carrying this to Biatra-IV. We’ll see what they think of our technology. And thanks.” He hugged Peter.
“So this is where you’ve been! Good.” John stood at the door holding a miniature model of the Aurora spacecraft. “Aren’t you ready to launch this time capsule, yet?”
“You’re going to launch something at this hour? It’s barely dawn.”
“You didn’t think we’d drop it down a well, did you?” Andrew opened the door to the outside veranda and Peter followed John outside. The full moon still hung in the sky, and partnered itself with the DayStar.
“Beautiful, isn’t she?”
“Yes,” Peter said softly. “I admit my curiosity as to what this DayStar really is.”
“No, silly. I’m talking about the Aurora II.” John placed his trophy gently on the table and demonstrated with pride the detailed features of the half-meter sized model. “We’ll launch it into the Atlantic Ocean and be immortalized.”
“I thought you’d be tired of immortality by now,” Peter joked.
Peter knew the design intimately. John had done an excellent job of replicating the Orygin that brought them to Earth; a model the Aurora was designed to replicate as well.
“This is all in the name of technology,” Andrew informed him matter-of-factly. “I’m testing a new shielding device; something no one has thought of yet. Have you got a token?”
He opened the model’s hatch and dropped in a computer chip. “I gift thee with schematics of my design.”
“Mags and James sent Roko’s baby spoon.” John began to search though his pockets. Peter reached for the sketchpad from his valise and flipped through several pages before deciding on a sheet of Rachel’s face posed in many moods.
“Couldn’t sleep?” John asked as he placed the baby spoon inside the open hatch.
Peter ignored him, as well as the pointed look from Andrew, and folded the page. “Such beauty is not to be forgotten.
“Reider? What was your final choice?” Andrew asked. “Or have you given everything away?”
“Almost, but I’ve chosen something stunning.” John produced a clear, cut diamond the size of his fist from a coat pocket.
Andrew feigned blindness and Peter whistled in appreciation as John let it slip from his fingertips into the miniature cargo bay. “I was saving it for a rainy day, but from where I stand it looks like clear skies ahead.”
“Here! Here!” Andrew closed the hatch and moved the miniature ship to a spot on the base of the veranda for launching. He programmed a few commands into the device he carried on his bel
t and it soared quickly, and silently, into the morning sky with a sweeping movement, and melted into the rising sun like a white star.
Beep! Beep! Beep!
An alarm sounded from the computer handset Andrew was holding, and he immediately began to program commands.
It was echoed by a beep from John’s wrist-control, but John was already headed into the house for the next closest computer.
“Damn!”
Peter hunkered over Andrew as he continued to hammer commands into the handset. Neither of them liked the results.
“Every new attempt worms its way deeper through the code and leaves a virus that is getting more difficult to purge. I can’t believe he’s that good.”
“You’re sure it’s him?”
Andrew always suspected the BGA Director of the cyber-attacks. Frank Morrow was the Director of the Bureau of Global Affairs, an appointment that gave him access to more information than he could be trusted with.
“It has to be him!” Andrew sneered at the admission. “I can’t believe Morrow has gotten anyone inside PROBE-Tech to divulge codes, but someone has given the information to Morrow.”
“You mean Iscar, then.” Peter understood his concerns.
“I don’t think anyone at PROBE-Tech is helping him!” Andrew tossed the handset aside in frustration. “I’ve lost it. Now, I’ll have to spend the afternoon chasing that virus.”
John leaned against the doorframe, shaking his head. “Let me know whatever he accessed as soon as you can. And let me know what kind of virus he dumped on us as well. We don’t want to take-off with any surprises.”
* * *
Rachel woke in the early afternoon to the ringing of her phone and she reached for it involuntarily, forcing her vision to recognize Li’Ana’s number on the caller ID.
Ring! Ring! Ring!
“Hello?” She finally answered.
“Rachel! Thank goodness. Are you busy?”
“No,” she lied. “Just working on my next story.”
“I hate to call you, but Nathan thinks he left his glasses on his desk at the office. Do you think you could bring them before we have to leave?”
Rachel stole a glance at her watch. The plane was scheduled to take-off in a few hours. “Sure. I’m close to the office, and you’re already at PROBE-Tech.”
“Oh, thank you dear. You know how much trouble it is when we try to go anywhere.” Rachel could feel her excitement. “John said he’d leave clearance for you at the Ridgemont security gate. And Rachel?” Li’Ana paused dramatically. “Peter’s here, too.”
Although she could sense the commotion before she saw it, Rachel wasn't prepared for the protesters that crowded the entrance. The chants were deafening, and they carried signs marked in bold red stencil: Not OUR Spokesmon. She jumped when a few of the demonstrators pounded on the trunk of her sports car as she drove toward guarded entry. When she lowered the window to show her ID, Rachel hoped the guard didn't notice her hand tremble.
How could anyone be against peace? Didn’t they realize once the world worked together as a community everyone would benefit? PROBE-Tech was an example of that.
"Thank you Ms. Bolton. Sorry about the trouble.” He attached the GPS monitor to her bumper. “Mr. Reider reserved parking spot number seven for you. It’s right up front. Just follow the green-triangles."
The signs were electronic, designed to lead as well as monitor her progress into the grounds. She traveled uphill on a one-way street lined with hedges trimmed high to block the view on either side of the road. Her route took her directly to the parking lot of the main building, and she found the numbered space in front of the entrance.
PROBE-Tech was more than a base of operations for independent aeronautic exploration. The facility’s embassy status afforded the protection to house any number of foreign dignitaries, yet it still maintained the atmosphere of a community-based village. Every piece of ongoing research was published monthly for general knowledge.
Rachel never imagined being inside PROBE-Tech but she wouldn’t have guessed it would be so uniform. The layout was void of the personality expressions usually connected to John Reider. The elevation of PROBE-Tech’s main building offered an expansive view, but there was nothing distinct among the sea of white-domed hangars that spread out below her. The only movement she saw was a series of trams that ran between buildings.
Rachel felt the faintest charge of heat from the palmprint scanner when she placed her hand on the brass handle of the tall glass door to the lobby. And when she passed through the foyer she sensed the light vibration of a harmonic detector as it scanned for the residue of plastiques. Most people wouldn't have realized the security precaution but Rachel always had a sense when being monitored. With a resigned shake of her head she stepped into the reception lobby.
“Rachel, I’m glad you’re here. John keeps handing me something else to read.” The President-elect held a fistful of papers as proof. He’d been waiting in the lobby but Li’Ana was nowhere in sight. John smiled at her approach. Andrew turned as she neared, and Peter stepped in to her view from behind him.
“I don’t understand how someone so dependent on glasses could leave them behind without a thought.” She handed Nathan the case containing his reading glasses, and laughed.
“I thought they were in my briefcase,” he defended himself.
"Merry Christmas, Rachel. It’s nice to see you again.”
“Hello, Peter.” His handshake was electric; she released their grip as soon as she could draw away. “Hello, Andrew; John. Good luck at the conference.”
“If you’ll excuse me, though, I’d better start on these notes.” Nathan pocketed the leather case.
Rachel hugged him lightly. She sensed him rehearsing his opening speech for the conference. Ladies and Gentlemen, Scientists and Politicians, the words tumbled over and over in his mind.
“Don’t worry,” she laughed. “You’ll do fine on the speech.”
Nathan stopped thinking and looked at her, surprised, and then shook his head, smiling. “Thanks! And thanks again for making the trip out here. Li’Ana says she’ll call you as soon as we return. Something about lunch...”
Rachel hugged him again. “No problem. It gave me the chance to see inside PROBE-Tech. Merry Christmas. And good luck.”
“That’s right! You’ve never been here before!” John realized. “I feel bad about last night - leaving you in the middle of our little tour. We’ve got some time before we leave for the conference. How would you like to see the ship?”
John’s impulsive offer surprised her, though maybe not as much as it surprised those standing around them. She heard Andrew’s quick intake of breath.
But Rachel didn’t hesitate. “The Aurora? Of course!”
Only the most essential personnel had access to the ship. There were no photos or press releases; there were even some who doubted its existence. Rachel was about to see what the world was missing.
“I’ve still got a few things to check on,” Andrew said. “I’ll see you on the plane, John. Peter? Are you coming?”
Peter waved off Andrew’s pointed look and followed Rachel and John toward a back exit. “No, but I’ll see you again before you leave for the Conference.”
John guided her with a gentle touch to her arm. “This time I’ll give you a real tour,” he promised.
Peter followed, holding his hands behind him as they walked. He pretended his attention was focused on the displays John pointed out as they passed through the halls, but she couldn’t believe he’d never seen them before.
She tried not to stare when they passed the Amelia Erhart exhibit, but her heart skipped a beat; it was a moment from her own past. The likeness was only general, but it was enough to make Peter stop and look at her, and then again at the statue of the female aviator. Even back then she was shy of publicity, but the glory she felt in the silent skies was a healing measure she really needed. And it was a transition to another lifetime.
She was
glad when they exited; the cold temperature would more easily explain her flushed cheeks. Peter double-stepped to catch up with them.
The courtyard behind the main building of PROBE-Tech was alive with activity, a total contrast to her first impression. The DayStar hung overhead like an ominous reminder of the Star of Bethlehem that announced the birth of Jesus. Rachel could feel the changes of the world coming on – it didn’t take a new light in the sky to warn her of that.
Ice skaters alternated time on the pond with warming at the fire braziers that circled the rink. Colored lights were strung from tree to tree and the sloping hills of the surrounding meadow belonged to a wide variety of snowmen. A large sleigh was parked inside a corral on one side of a building.
“Are those reindeer?”
“It’s a backup system for the Aurora.” John laughed. “Andrew considers them lucky.”
She wondered about luck, and why hers seemed to be running out. Peter’s pensive mood didn’t make it any easier to pretend she didn’t know he was a crewmember. “You seem very confident for a man about to embark on a suicide mission.”
“Oh?” John cocked his head. “You really see it like that?”
She looked up at the DayStar stationed in the center of the sky, and shrugged. “You have indicated in more than one press conference that you don’t know how long it will take for you to reach the source of the Light.”
“How do you measure time in space?” John asked. “We won’t know the source until we understand what it really is. And that could take an eternity.” John admitted. “That’s why we built the probes to send back information as we get it. It could be years before the first one reaches Earth.”