Solomon's Arrow

by J. Dalton Jennings

  Thank you, Lord, for asking me to seduce him, she thought, just before Richard released his own climax deep inside her.

  “You are welcome, my child. It pleases me to see you so happy. However, you did not talk much before your lovemaking. I want you to invite him into your bed as often as it takes to learn about the ship’s helm. From your physical response, I assume that you have no objections to this simple request.”

  None, Lord … none whatsoever.

  •

  Jeremy Fletcher tried to ignore Dr. Singh’s bitching and moaning as the large wooden gates swung open and the carriage trundled out, carrying both men to the shuttlecraft.

  “Don’t dawdle in the shuttle, Ensign Fletcher,” Dr. Singh droned on. “I want to return in time for the birthing chamber tour.”

  “Yes, Doctor,” Jeremy replied. “It’s just … there’s something the admiral asked me to check while onboard. I’m not sure how long it’ll take, but I’ll try to be as quick as possible.”

  The carriage was similar to the one that greeted the landing party, only smaller. After parking itself beside the shuttle, the two men exited, and Jeremy entered an access code into his SID. The shuttle door opened, and a seven-foot long ramp slid out and down. The two entered the airlock for decontamination and were soon inside the main bay removing their air filters.

  “I’m not here just as your escort, Doc,” Jeremy announced as soon as they were inside.

  “What do you mean, Ensign?”

  “The admiral didn’t want me saying anything while en route, but I’m on a security mission.” He approached the ship’s computer. “I’ve accessed some unusual files from the Prime Keeper’s computer, and the admiral wants me to decrypt them while we’re here prepping the vaccine for distribution.”

  “And how long will that take?” the doctor grunted.

  “If I’m unable to crack the files in the next hour, then I’ll transmit them to the Arrow and let the quantum computer have a shot at them.”

  “Very well,” Dr. Singh huffed as he made his way aft to the medical station.

  Jeremy was glad to see the containment door close behind the doctor. At least he wouldn’t be forced to contend with the self-important jackass’s complaints for a while—or so he hoped.

  Once the files were downloaded, all that was required of Jeremy was to wait while the computer worked its magic. He would’ve uploaded the files directly to the Arrow, bypassing the shuttle-craft’s computer, but he wanted to play it safe—New Terra might possess a method of detecting and descrambling his transmission, thus discovering the theft of their hidden files.

  After a few seconds, a security barrier stopped the computer in its tracks. He’d half expected as much. After cracking his knuckles, Jeremy let his fingers fly across the keyboard screen, manually entering the artful little programs that would let him bypass the firewalls surrounding the first encrypted file. The process took longer than expected, but within a few minutes the file opened up, spilling its startling contents.

  Jeremy watched as the holographic view screen came to life. A space-based HV camera was focused on an image of the Yellowstone caldera eruption. The tremulous voice of a network news anchor was saying, “As you can see, ladies and gentlemen, the terrorists were not bluffing: they’ve blown up the caldera. We are showing you a live image, captured moments after the underground nuclear device was detonated. The blast was devastating enough, but it’s the magma and ash that is the bigger problem, according to Dr. Mica Swain, the lead geophysicist working for this network. She claims that you have just witnessed a possible extinction-level event, I’m sad to report.” The reporter’s voice caught in his throat.

  A terrorist attack? But that’s not what we were told. Jeremy watched in horror as devastation rained down—like flaming raindrops from Hell—on the states surrounding Yellowstone. It made him sick to his stomach when the broadcast switched to the various camera crews recording the devastation from ground level, all of whom knew they were doomed yet continued to broadcast up until the last moment. Each of them was either swept up in the rapidly moving, superheated pyroclastic flow or, somewhat farther away, pummeled by falling volcanic debris.

  The transmission ended with a view from space showing destruction on a massive scale.

  “Fucking shit,” groaned Jeremy.

  The idea that any group, no matter how radical their views, would purposely ruin the Earth’s biosphere was beyond Jeremy’s comprehension. Seething inside, he saved the decrypted file to his SID and set about cracking the next one. He was nearly through when Dr. Singh exited the medical compartment and approached his station.

  “Are you almost finished, Ensign?”

  Jeremy nodded, not taking his eyes off the screen. “Just a few more seconds, Doc,” he said, his fingers a blur.

  “Fine. Whenever you’re done, I’ll inject you with the vaccine,” he sighed. “I’ve already injected myself. It’ll take approximately twelve hours before full efficacy is achieved, so keep your mask on in the interim.”

  By the time Dr. Singh finished speaking, Jeremy had cracked the file and a video began to play. The image was of a retreating starship, similar in both size and shape to the Arrow. Once again, the video was accompanied by the voice of a news reporter, this time female.

  “Coming to you live from the bridge of the USS Axelrod, this is Krista Calloway bringing you a live update on the dramatic seizing of the starship, Burnham’s Hope. As we all know, confusion reigned, and still does, in the aftermath of the Yellowstone caldera eruption. We now know this was the CRA’s goal. During the confusion, five CRA rebel ships, commanded by the terrorist, Brill Easterbrook, attacked the security vessels guarding Burnham’s Hope. Her terrorist cohorts boarded the recently completed ship and murdered its crew. Before space-patrol could mount a response, nearly four thousand of Brill’s rebel allies were onboard the Hope. By the time the USS Axelrod arrived to give chase, the Hope was fully powered and accelerating toward the Burnham Space Portal, which was also seized by the CRA terrorists.”

  The pursuing starship was gaining ground, but not fast enough.

  Jeremy was transfixed. The transmission changed to a split screen, with one side showing the pursuit and the other side the announcer, an attractive black woman with shoulder-length auburn hair. She stood on the USS Axelrod’s bridge near the captain, who was staring at his view screen, a look of fury on his square, battle-hardened face.

  “Dammit! They should be slowing down, not speeding up,” the captain spat.

  “Why is that, Captain McClure?” the reporter asked.

  His reply contained an edge of malice. “The craft is approaching the Burnham Portal at full speed, Ms. Calloway. It must decelerate before entering it, or face disastrous results.”

  “Can’t you fire a weapon and disable it, before it reaches the portal?”

  “If we did fire at the ship,” he replied, “we would most certainly hit the engines and cause a massive explosion, which would engulf our own ship. Of course, if you’re ready to die today, we could go ahead and try that, Ms. Calloway.”She shook her head emphatically. “No, thank you.”

  On the other side of the split-screen, a circular object came into view growing rapidly in size.

  “Is that the space portal?” Dr. Singh asked, giving Jeremy a start. He’d completely forgotten that Singh was standing over his shoulder.

  “Yeah, Doc, I’m pretty sure it is.”

  “So, tell me, what did the captain mean when he said there would be disastrous results if the starship failed to pass slowly through the portal, Ensign Fletcher?”

  Jeremy kept his eyes locked on the screen. “I have a sneaking suspicion, Doc, but I’d rather not say just yet.”

  The image on the screen changed back to a single shot of the large starship. “To whoever is in command of Burnham’s Hope, this is Captain Ryan McClure of the USS Axelrod. I’m giving you one last chance to change course before we fire upon your vessel.” There was no response to the c
aptain’s bluff. He waited a full ten seconds before shouting, “The damned fools! Take her hard to starboard, Mr. Evans, and get us outta here. If we can’t persuade them to stop, we can at least steer clear of the shit-storm that follows.”

  The camera zoomed in to follow the escaping starship’s progress as it sped toward the space portal. A face unfamiliar to Jeremy, though very familiar to the people of the twenty-fifth century, filled the view screen. A woman in her forties appeared, with platinum blonde hair and hard, ice-blue eyes. The face belonged to Brill Easterbrook, leader of the CRA rebel group responsible for blowing up the Yellowstone caldera and stealing the starship, Burnham’s Hope.

  “People of Earth, your corrupt ways have doomed you to extinction. Mercifully, the followers of the One True God will survive to create a new Earth, on a virgin planet far from here. Think on your sins, while the flame of perdition consumes your damnable civilization.”

  The cold, calculating image of Brill Easterbrook was replaced by a shot of Burnham’s Hope, as it hurtled toward the space portal.

  Jeremy held his breath in anticipation as the ship passed through the portal. Suddenly, the screen went blank.

  “What?! Why did it stop?” shouted Dr. Singh.

  Jeremy was just as disappointed and frustrated as the doctor. “The rebel leader was probably recording the broadcast when the ship—”

  The screen abruptly came back to life in a jumble of sound and fury. Alarms were going off; orders were being shrieked in a panicked voice. This time, the images were being recorded on the bridge of Burnham’s Hope. Brill Easterbrook was picking herself off the floor. “Give me an update, goddamn it! What just happened?”

  A terrified young man gripping the pilot’s console sputtered, “It was the portal, ma’am. It blew up when we passed through.”

  “It blew up … good … perfect,” Easterbrook said, reveling in the news. “I didn’t expect that much backwash, but it blew up, just as I hoped. Now they’ll never be able to follow us.”

  At this point, the screen once again went blank—and stayed that way.

  •

  Katherine absently entered the code for the Basilica of Knowledge, her mind consumed by the disturbing information decrypted by Ensign Fletcher. She now knew that the inhabitants of New Terra were descendants of religious extremists who’d exterminated billions of lives.

  While onboard the shuttlecraft, Fletcher had decrypted two of the four files downloaded from the Prime Keeper’s computer. He’d wanted to stay longer but had run out of time to decrypt them all. The third file would have taken over an hour to decrypt. And the last file had been written in a code so far removed from anything he’d encountered that he was forced to upload it to the Arrow’s quantum computer. Even that powerful system was having trouble breaking through the file’s protective firewall. Learning of this, Katherine contacted the Arrow and reluctantly put Dr. Mona Levin on the job … from the confines of the brig, of course. Dr. Levin had designed the ship’s computer and knew how to make it work at optimum efficiency.

  After watching the highly disturbing videos discovered in the other two files, she could only imagine what the third and fourth files might contain. The duty officer had relayed the third file only moments ago, but she’d yet to watch it. That would come later in the day, after her visit to the birthing chamber.

  Katherine stepped through the foldway. The rest of the landing party was there in the Basilica awaiting her arrival. Watching the videos twice had made her late, but only by five minutes.

  “I was about to contact you, Admiral,” said Jemis Calverton, High Priestess of New Terra. She wore an expression of concern on her plump, oval face. “Why were you delayed?”

  “Um … my breakfast didn’t sit well with me, if you know what I mean,” she lied. “But don’t worry, I’m feeling much better now.”

  “Are you quite sure, Admiral Axelrod?” the High Priestess inquired innocently. “We have a very effective antidiarrheal that I would be more than happy to—”

  “No, no, I’m fine, thank you,” Katherine quickly interjected, wishing she’d come up with a better excuse.

  Jemis Calverton studied her a moment longer. “Very well. We shall proceed with the tour, beginning with the birthing chamber. Follow me please.”

  With a swish of her long blue robes, Calverton spun around and led the group across the atrium to a backroom containing a foldway, which she explained was preprogrammed for direct access to the birthing chamber.

  “Obviously, very few people other than those of us in the Priesthood and a few select Keepers are allowed inside the birthing chamber,” she said, sounding boastful. “It is a great honor for you to be allowed down there. The foldway opens using a biometric scanner instead of code, and will only work for those of us who have clearance.”

  So the birthing chamber is underground but why? Katherine wondered. Was it to protect the delicate genetic material from outside attack, or from biological or radiological damage?

  “Between three and seven babies are delivered each day,” Calverton noted. “One of those babies is due in a matter of minutes. It’s a good thing your bowel problem cleared up, Admiral. It would’ve been a shame for you to miss it.” She placed her palm against the biometric scanner located beside the foldway and smiled. To Katherine, it looked more like a sneer.

  The darkness of the foldway was replaced by a soft pink light. The group stepped through into an oval room without a single sharp edge or hard surface. With its soft floor and walls, and its delightful pink lighting, the room felt comforting, like they’d entered a huge, warm womb. On the far side of the birthing chamber stood two women in pink scrubs, positioned on either side of a two-foot wide sphincter, situated at waist level on the wall directly behind them.

  “Good,” Jemis Calverton said. “The acolytes have been notified to catch a newborn. We will soon be giving witness to the newest member of our glorious society, Praise the Lord.”

  Glancing around at the others, Katherine knew what they were thinking: this should be one helluva birth.

  The High Priestess motioned with her finger, signaling them to move closer to the acolytes and to keep their voices low. “The baby needs a quiet environment to facilitate a stress-free birth. Measures like this create well-adjusted individuals,” she whispered with assurance.

  The acolytes glanced nervously at the watchful group. They were obviously unaccustomed to having an audience but quickly regained their composure and turned back to the sphincter—just in time to see the baby start to crown.

  The sphincter bulged outward, exposing more of the baby’s head. With the acolytes standing ready to catch the newborn, a red gelatinous substance dribbled into a trough directly below the sphincter, then disappeared through a narrow slot in the wall.

  The acolyte on the left reached out and cradled the baby’s head as the sphincter extended further outward. Seconds later, the tiny gelatin-covered body slipped out through the opening and into the waiting arms of that same young woman. The other acolyte began to gently clean the red, gelatinous substance off the baby’s delicate skin. That’s when Katherine noticed something odd: a mechanical tube was attached to the umbilical cord. Staring at the unlikely sight, she heard a faint click—after which the tube detached itself and snaked its way back inside the sphincter. The remaining umbilical cord had been sealed with what appeared to be a blue ceramic clasp.

  As the newborn began to cry, one of the acolytes wrapped it in a warm blanket.

  “What is the baby’s gender, Martalin?” the High Priestess inquired.

  “The infant is a boy, Mother,” the acolyte replied, sounding disappointed.

  “Very well. Take him away.” The two left the room through the foldway. “The acolytes are now taking the newborn to the nursery, three levels up,” Calverton explained.

  “Do the people of New Terra have a prejudice against males?” asked Dr. Singh.

  The High Priestess studied him closely. “Not at all, Dr. Singh,” she
replied gruffly. “We each have our place in New Terran society. Even the best-built machine will cease to function when a seemingly insignificant part is damaged … is that not so?”

  “I agree, but comparatively speaking, that part is still considered insignificant, am I right?”

  Just what sort of game does Gurdev think he’s playing? Katherine wondered.

  “You are twisting my words, Doctor,” hissed the High Priestess. “I clearly said that males are ‘seemingly’ insignificant.”

  “Yes, but I’ve noticed that there are no men in power. They all seem to be servants of one sort or another. I was just wondering why—”

  “So, in your considered opinion servants are insignificant—is that what you’re telling me, Dr. Singh?” Calverton snapped. “Maybe in your society they were considered lowly, but they play a valuable role in ours.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” Singh huffed, sounding flustered. “I, um, I apologize for my poor choice of words. I was merely concerned that your men weren’t being allowed to live up to their full potential, that’s all.”

  Katherine had to bite her lip to keep from laughing, seeing as she always enjoyed seeing the good doctor get his comeuppance. “Please overlook Dr. Singh. In our time the sexes were, for the most part, on equal footing. It’s disturbing to see one sex in servitude to the other; although, perhaps there’s a bit of karmic retribution going on, given that men are in servitude to women this time around,” she chuckled. Most of the men under her command frowned or rolled their eyes, while the women tried to hide their amusement—albeit unsuccessfully. “By the by,” she said, changing the subject. “The young acolyte called you ‘Mother.’ I was wondering about its significance, and also how we should address you.”

  Jemis Calverton headed toward the foldway. “The term ‘Mother’ stands for Mother Superior. Since I am the High Priestess of the medical class, Mother Superior is my official title. You may address me as such.”