Emerald Sky

by David Clarkson

  ‘Don’t come any closer!’ the man screamed in heavily accented English, his hand holding a small box that was connected to his deadly vest by a short black wire.

  Jimmy did not need to be a psychic to know this was the detonator. At least the man spoke the same language and could maybe be reasoned with. Reason was always Jimmy’s favoured method of persuasion.

  ‘It’s okay,’ Jimmy shouted back, for there was at least twenty feet separating them. ‘I don’t care if you get away. Just take off the vest and I’ll let you walk out of here unharmed. You have my word.’

  ‘What worth has the word of an infidel?’ the terrorist replied, standing at the centre of the stage. Elevated. Superior.

  Before he was able to respond, Jimmy’s foresight revealed that the stakes were no longer quite so high. Lying at the terrorist’s feet was an exact, though slightly translucent, copy of the man. This thug was going nowhere and the bomb would not be detonated. Jimmy was free to leave with the knowledge that when the S.W.A.T. team arrived they would complete the job for him. For all he knew, a sniper was already within range, so he would do well to make his escape quickly.

  ‘You win,’ Jimmy called out. ‘I’m going. You’re free to do whatever you want.’

  He backed away; ever vigilant for the forewarnings should they come. It was then that he saw the other person in the room.

  It was a man with a masked face, clad in black body armour, carrying an assault rifle, and most definitely in the here and now. The gun was pointed at the terrorist rather than Jimmy, indicating which side this newcomer was on.

  The terrorist sensed the change in Jimmy’s demeanour and in altering his gaze to match Jimmy’s, he made the worst possible mistake.

  The marksman did not hesitate.

  The shot was greatly magnified by the flawless acoustics of the room and was followed instantaneously by the impact of the bullet into the terrorist’s wrist.

  It took its target’s hand clean off and the detonator along with it. Then without pausing to show mercy or remorse, the gunmen threw down his rifle and replaced it with a smaller, more compact weapon. This too was fired before the terrorist could even process what was happening to him.

  A small dart impacted into his neck causing him to collapse into a limp heap on the floor. His moment of triumph, if ever he had one, was well and truly over.

  ‘Not so fast,’ the gunman called out as Jimmy turned toward the exit.

  ‘It’s okay,’ Jimmy replied, attempting to buy time. ‘He was the last one.’

  The man did not flinch.

  ‘This isn’t over,’ the gunman said. ‘My intel informs me the vest is likely to be fitted with a failsafe device. If so, the bomb will be programmed to revert to a timer should its host be killed. That tranquiliser has lowered our friend’s heart rate to a whimper. The sensors will not be sensitive enough to distinguish between forced unconsciousness and death. I’d say we have less than thirty seconds before it goes off.’

  Thirty seconds was well within Jimmy’s psychic threshold. If that bomb was going to blow, he would have known about it by now.

  ‘Well, you better do something about it,’ he told the gunman. ‘All you have to do is pull the blue wire’

  ‘Not me, Jimmy – you.’

  Jimmy was still unconcerned. So the man knew his name. Probably knew his secret too, but it mattered not. If it came to apprehending Jimmy or defusing a bomb; there was only one logical choice to make. The guy had to be bluffing.

  Jimmy decided to go for the door.

  ‘Twenty seconds,’ the man said.

  ‘In that case, you better hurry,’ Jimmy replied.

  He sensed no danger coming from the exit and knew it was clear. They had tried to ambush him before and each time they had failed. Fate was always on his side. There were no others, just this lone gunman. The man had to be bluffing.

  The appearance of another vision soon changed Jimmy’s mind as a ghostly foreshadow of his near future ran straight through him and towards the bomb. This left him with no option other than to take another step forward, turn and obey his fate.

  Usually, Jimmy would have nothing to fear from a sniper’s bullet. No matter what, he would always have the element of foresight. However clean and precise the aim, he would always be able to intuit its trajectory. This time, however, the shooter knew exactly when and where to make the perfect shot.

  As Jimmy grasped hold of the blue wire, the tranquiliser dart hit him squarely in the wrist. He was not even sure if he had made the required pull as the world around him descended into a haze.

  The last thing he saw was a digital clock counting down.

  00.04

  00.03

  00.02

  00.01

  ...and then blackness.

  Chapter 2

  She could see she was losing them. Even the ones who were still looking at the whiteboard had one eye on their phones.

  In a town where the biggest employer was a potato chip factory, not too many of the kids were interested in theoretical physics. All they really cared about was gossiping over who was dating whom and the location of the next after school party. If her success as a teacher was to be judged solely on what her students took out of her lessons, she was not really earning her pay-check.

  It had not always been this way. There was a time, not too long ago, when she could easily have taken up tenure at any university, not just in the country, but the world. Her chosen field was highly competitive, but such was the magnitude to which she excelled that she had no peers. She could effortlessly rewrite any of the standard text books lining the shelves of her classroom and completely redefine mankind’s understanding of science in the process. To do this, would, of course, draw a great deal of attention. As it was, the disinterested reaction of her students was just the kind of reaction she needed - from everybody.

  When the final bell sounded, she did not know who was more relieved; her or them. She cast a last feeble reminder about homework onto deaf ears and then watched as the students shuffled out of her classroom.

  She was not yet alone, however. One girl deliberately held back in the doorway, waiting for the others to leave.

  It was Amy Brewster; a bright girl - her most promising student and one of only a few in the class with the potential to go on to university after graduation.

  ‘What can I do for you, Amy?’

  The girl clutched her textbooks to her chest like a comfort blanket, whilst staring awkwardly at her feet.

  ‘Um, er, um...’ her voice mirrored the rhythmic thrum of a didgeridoo.

  ‘If this is a problem to do with schoolwork, I’d be happy to give a little extra tuition. And since it’s you, Amy, I won’t even charge my usual fee.’

  The girl relaxed into a smile.

  ‘Don’t be daft, Miss; nobody would pay you to teach.’

  ‘You’re right. This isn’t really my job, you know. I’m actually here because of a court order. Teaching high school kids is a form of community service. It’s the same with all the teachers at this school.’

  ‘Even Mr Roberts?’

  ‘Tax fraud.’

  ‘And Miss Andrews?’

  ‘Soliciting.’

  ‘She’s a lawyer?’ Amy displayed a look of puzzlement.

  ‘Actually, no – that’s a different crime altogether, but it’s probably best you didn’t get that one. Suffice to say, she’s bad.’

  ‘And the Headmaster?’

  ‘He fixed the Melbourne Cup. Biggest betting scam in history – I’m surprised you didn’t read about it.’

  ‘I must have missed it. What about you, Miss – what did you do?’

  ‘I was caught speeding.’

  ‘Speeding – is that all?’

  ‘What do you mean “is that all”? I was going really fast, you know.’

  ‘How fast?’

  ‘Faster than anybody has gone before. Faster than the speed of light.’

  Amy shook her head, but her expressi
on was one of satisfaction.

  ‘Now I know you’re lying, Miss. Nothing can go faster than the speed of light. Even Einstein knew that.’

  Amy rolled her eyes to emphasise how silly it was not to be privy to so simple a concept devised by the man many thought to be the greatest scientific thinker of all time. Her teacher liked it when the pupils thought big.

  ‘Einstein doesn’t impress you?’

  ‘Well, yeah, I suppose. The thing is; he died a long time ago. There’ve been loads of discoveries since then. He didn’t know half the stuff we do. But I do know he was right about the speed of light.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Absolutely certain. Nothing can travel faster than the speed of light.’

  ‘So you do agree with me!’

  This wiped the smile from Amy’s face. She aimed her firmest frown directly at her teacher.

  ‘No, I don’t. NOTHING can travel faster than the speed of light.’

  ‘Okay, okay, calm down,’ replied her teacher. ‘Perhaps I should explain. Tell me, Amy, what exists in the space between galaxies?’

  ‘Nothing, Miss – it’s just space.’

  ‘Exactly, yet the expansion of the universe continues to accelerate. In fact, it is moving in all directions without any boundary. This nothingness does not pay heed to any laws. The fact the observable universe is many light years bigger than it is old proves this point. Therefore, nothing can travel faster than the speed of light.’

  The girl struggled not to let go of her fragile grip on the conversation.

  ‘So what drives space to expand so rapidly, Miss?’

  ‘Nobody is sure. Dark energy is the best bet; it accounts for ninety percent of all space, yet we know virtually nothing about it. Can you imagine the possibilities? What if somebody could find a way to manipulate this dark energy? What if we could somehow ride through space like a surfer does a wave?’

  Amy giggled.

  ‘Is that what you did, Miss?’

  ‘Do you really think I’d be here if I had that sort of power? And anyway, if I wanted to be a surfer I would have picked a school on the coast. Now I believe you wanted to see me about something.’

  The girl sighed.

  ‘Yes, Miss, but I don’t think this is as simple as just breaking the light barrier. You see, it’s about my uncle. He’s really ill. Nobody tells me anything, but I think he’s going to die soon. All the grown-ups have been acting really weird, like nobody wants to say it, but I know it’s true.’

  ‘Are you close to your uncle?’

  ‘I guess so. I mean, I don’t see him all that often, but it would be really strange if he was gone.’

  ‘Would you miss him?’

  The girl tensed at the callous implication of the question.

  ‘Of course, Miss – he’s my uncle. It’s just that I’ve never known anybody who died before.’

  ‘And why do you think I would be able to help?’

  The girl paused to consider the question. When she thought about it, there was nothing that her teacher could do.

  ‘I’m sorry, Miss. Maybe you’re not the best person to ask. It’s just...’

  Her voice trailed away behind the shelter of the textbooks she was pressing ever closer to her body.

  ‘It’s just what, Amy?’

  The girl’s demeanour shifted once more. This time she seemed agitated, angry even. When she spoke, it was with raised octaves and in a tone that did not fit the usual student teacher dynamic.

  ‘It’s just that everybody says all we can do to help is to pray,’ she shouted. ‘They have all given up. They say that what happens is in God’s hands, but that isn’t true, is it, Miss? I’ve read those books you gave me and they all say there is no God. There is nothing. Sometimes we are happy and sometimes we are sad, but in the end we are always sad and then there is nothing. People don’t just die – they lose everything. And it’s all for nothing.’

  Amy’s teacher recognised the pain the young girl was feeling. She once wrestled with the same emotions herself. That first loss at such a difficult age could often prove to be a tipping point in any young person’s life. A girl who promised to be her biggest success as a teacher could yet prove to be her biggest failure.

  ‘Forget about the books for a moment, Amy. What do you think happens when we die?’

  ‘I don’t know, Miss. I guess nothing happens – we just die.’

  ‘What about the law of conservation of energy – can you remember what that is?’

  The girl thought for a moment, fighting the temptation to run to one of the books lining the classroom walls.

  ‘The law of conservation of energy states that energy cannot be created or destroyed. It can change form, but the amount of total energy in the universe must always remain constant. I don’t understand how that can be of help. I’ve thought about this before and it just proves that God really can’t exist.’

  ‘What makes you think that, Amy?’

  ‘Well, if we had a soul then that soul must’ve been around since the beginning of time. That means my soul is billions of years older than I am. If that’s the case, why can’t I remember anything from before I was born?’

  ‘Your soul is not that old – just the energy that created it. If you break everything down small enough you’ll see that all there really is in this universe is energy. That energy becomes compressed and combines in many different ways that go toward creating everything around you, from the rocks and the trees, to the people and the animals, and even the stars in the sky. With each cycle it renews itself, but just maybe a little piece of that energy doesn’t get thrown back into the mix. What if we all leave an impression upon a small part of the energy that will last – like footprints on the moon?’

  ‘But where would it go, Miss? Energy can’t escape this universe. Even if Heaven existed, we’d still have no way of getting there. Wouldn’t we all just be turned into ghosts and be stuck haunting the world forever?’

  ‘Not if Heaven was a place within the universe. What if when you die, the smallest part of energy that still contained the essence of who you were is able to cast out into the universe and find this Heaven? Who knows, maybe it just needs to surf on a wave of dark energy to get there.’

  The girl finally allowed her shoulders to relax and lowered the books away from her body. They had come full circle and she did feel better for it.

  ‘Is that what you believe, Miss?’

  ‘I don’t think it’s important what we believe, just that we do believe. You shouldn’t trust religion, but you should not solely rely on science either. All you need to believe in is the glorious possibilities of an open mind. The only certainty in life is that one can never be certain. If we can never be certain then anything is possible. Do you understand?’

  ‘Not really – but I do feel better. Thank you, Miss.’

  She hovered a moment in the doorway before deciding there was nothing more she could think to ask at that time.

  ‘I have to go now. I really enjoyed this talk, so thanks again. Goodnight, Miss Rose.’

  Her teacher smiled. The pay was terrible and recognition did not come often, but when it did it was worth a thousand Nobel Prizes.

  ‘Thank you, Amy. And you know, after the bell has gone I’m not really your teacher anymore. Miss Rose is so formal. Why don’t you call me Alex?’

  The girl giggled at being presented with such a grown-up privilege.

  ‘Okay, Miss...I mean, Alex. When I grow up I want to be just like you.’

  It was a well intended compliment, but one her teacher hoped with all her heart would never come to pass. The girl had the youth and the brains to achieve anything she put her mind to. It would be such a shame if she were to throw all of that away and become a fugitive.

  Chapter 3

  Even when consciousness returned, the darkness remained. It was not the natural darkness of night time or the forced deprivation of a blindfold. His eyes were most definitely open and unobstructed, y
et they could see nothing at all. He was in a completely sealed, windowless cell.

  Then there was the music. He sensed it was coming from at least four different directions at once. The strange thing was that each speaker was playing a different song. The overlap between each of the tunes left no gaps and the sound created was uncomfortable, nauseating even. It was like a giant tangle of knotted strings that his brain could not help but try to unravel. With every thought about where he was or how he could get out, he found himself breaking concentration and going back to the music. Perhaps if he could isolate just one of the tunes and concentrate on that it would block out the pain it caused him, but doing so seemed an impossible task.

  At least some of his bodily senses were still working. His sense of spatial awareness informed him that he was seated. He tried to stand, but nothing happened. Attempting to move his arms gave the same response. Whoever had brought him to this place made sure he was not leaving without their knowledge. He did not even get any flashes of foresight to help him. Or maybe he did, but they were of no use. The future, like the present, was nothing but darkness and noise.

  There was no way for him to know how long he had been kept in this state. His mind was just as incapable of rest as it was cognitive thought. At times like this, darkness was as blinding as light and noise as isolating as silence. Whoever was holding him, it was their intention to deprive him of his senses. All of his senses. In that respect, they were proving highly effective.

  Then the music stopped. The silence, however, did not offer respite for long.

  ‘Jimmy Johnson?’

  The voice came from the speaker in front of him and it was familiar. It was the last voice he had heard before waking up in whatever prison this was.

  ‘Okay, scratch that. We both know who you are. Perhaps it would be more useful to explain who I am. My name is Esteban Cruz. You and I have already met – very briefly. My employers have been following you for some time, although my involvement has been somewhat more recent. What you need to understand is that, ultimately, we both want the same thing.’