Dedication (The Medicean Stars Saga Book 1)

by Crawford, McCullough

  Sitting on the faded blue and gray quilt, one that looks almost like a storm at sea, his mind wanders. How can it be that a woman from the Resistance would fall for an unsuccessful politician? Does she even know anything about him? Does she even really like him, or is it all in his mind? Is he just messing in his own head? The thoughts continue in this vein for a while longer before he gets tired of the same questions repeating over and over again with no progress toward any answers. He decides to not think about it. He changes into a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt stenciled with the logo of some now-defunct branch of the military.

  “Let’s go see if this place has a gym,” he says to no one in particular. “Maybe I can go sweat it out and then be able to think straight.” With one last scan of the room, he turns towards the door, checking his pocket for the key.

  Pulling the door towards him, he steps out in the hallway. Narrow like in a prison, the corridor has fluorescent bulbs that hang from the ceiling, creating pools of light, separated by dark sections. Parts of the hallway, like the one into which he steps, are constructed from concrete, but others, often those in shadow, are carved directly from the living rock.

  Picking a direction at random, he decides to go left. Only a few strides into his quest for a gym, he is forced to press himself against the far wall, as a line of young men and women in combat gear go running by hounded by a quintessential drill sergeant. With both palms pressed firmly to the damp stone, he feels a thrumming, almost like a large truck is passing by, yet it is constant. As he continues walking, he finds that by keeping his hand in contact with the wall, he can feel the pulse. It is as if the rock itself has a heart that is beating. The farther he walks, the stronger it gets, until, after a twisted section of the passageway, he turns to his right at a junction and steps out onto a catwalk that is strung across the top of a brightly lit cavern.

  Sprawled beneath the catwalk to either side are machines: large cylinders. The upper halves of the cylinders that are not buried in the concrete floor extend up to the cavern’s ceiling, within arm’s reach of the catwalk. He stands, momentarily stunned by the harsh glare of the light and the sudden emptiness beneath him. The surfaces of each of the six cylinders visible to him, before the gentle curve of the chamber blocks his view, seem to be in constant flux. The three stories of gray metal that comprise each of them is vibrating enough that the exact position of each is impossible to determine while looking at it. Staring at the one nearest him, it seems that Gavitte’s gaze passes right through, as though the pulsing of the machine makes it flash in and out of existence.

  Searching for something more concrete on which to focus, he lets his eyes fall down to the ground beneath the catwalk. There, dwarfed by the gigantic machines, is a small party of technicians, seemingly excited about something. They are clustered together, gesturing wildly and yelling loudly enough that Gavitte can almost hear them over the bone-rattling vibration coming up through the catwalk at his feet.

  As he strains to hear what is so interesting, it seems as if the people below notice his intensity. As one, they turn to look at him, all casting dark glares his way. Then they scurry like so many mice behind one of the machines. Their lab coats flare out behind them and, like tails, are the last thing that Gavitte sees of them. Before the last one ducks out of sight, he looks back over his shoulder and straight into Gavitte’s eyes, with a glare that says: “Get lost.”

  With his head feeling as if it is about to vibrate off his shoulders, and figuring he has overstayed his welcome, Gavitte jogs across the catwalk to the far side of the chamber. This whole base seems to be crazy, and Gavitte is unsure if he should run screaming for the nearest exit or join in the fun.

  Once more out in a hallway that is fashioned from weathered concrete, the vibrations of the machines seem to fade into the background; only a slight trembling through the soles of his shoes reminds him of the strange chamber.

  Continuing to his left, the passage opens into a number of galleries similar to the one through which he has just passed. The difference with these is their contents, or at least the apparent purpose of the contents. As the hallway curves to the right, the left wall recedes into the floor, revealing an arboretum full of carefully tended fruit trees, complete with a natural stream winding its way along the cavern floor. The pathway continues along the edge of the cavern, about three feet from the floor, like a shelf cut into wall. Following the path, he finds himself moving along a series of caverns, each seemingly dedicated to some sort of beautiful functional garden. After the orchard, he enters a massive cavern covered from wall to wall with a vegetable garden. In the next one, the path is partitioned off from a field of wildflowers by a fence and fine screen. Pausing for a moment, Gavitte ponders the reason for these apparent protections, until his gaze roams to a stream that crosses through the middle of this chamber as well, where, grazing along its banks, are five horses. The screen over the path, however, is not explained, until his gaze wanders up the course of the stream to where it too disappears into the cavern wall. There, standing in a row like sentinels overlooking the meadow, are a series of bee hives. The tranquility and scale of the pastoral scene transport him momentarily from under a mountain to an idyllic setting that could only exist in the imagination of a poet. Certainly, Gavitte has never seen anything like it before, except in advertisements. The largest open space he’d seen before this was the playing field at his hometown’s arena. The cavern extends into the distance far enough that its end is lost in haze, allowing Gavitte to imagine that the hanging grow lights are replaced with open blue sky and the sun.

  Tearing himself away from the beautiful vista, he resumes his quest for the gym once more by continuing around the chamber on the sheltered path. Crossing the point where the stream disappears into the wall, he arrives at a junction. In one direction, the path seems to continue into a cavern of tranquil forest, winding down on to the floor of the cavern and disappearing into the trees. The other has a sign mounted above that simply says “Hub,” with an arrow pointing up a ramp that seems to lose itself in the darkness.

  Figuring that whatever the Hub is, there is bound to be at least someone who can point the way to the gym, Gavitte turns and heads up into the darkness. So slight is the movement that Gavitte does not notice it. In fact no one notices it. He simply scuffs his foot on the inclined tunnel floor as the entire mountain that contains the base shifts upward by the tiniest amount.

  Chapter 23

  Western Mountains

  Underground Training Facility

  William, David, and Maria enter the cavern from the rear, and before them, the floor slopes down towards what looks like a stage. It is placed in front of a series of terraces that are cut into the floor, each with a long trestle table flanked by benches. The hall is already mostly full; five hundred voices fill the air with their low murmurings, making the walls buzz with the echoes.

  William sees an opening at the end of a table and starts towards it. However, before he can get two steps, David grabs his arm and hisses: “You don’t want to sit over there.”

  Looking a bit closer at the occupants of the table, William sees why: The table is home to the meanest looking group in the room. Everyone has their hair cut to uniform length; even the girls, of which he thinks he can make out two, have their hair buzzed. All of them sit at attention, blank looks on their faces. One of them notices that William had headed their way and then changed his mind; he leans in and says something to the others. As one they turn with uniform looks of contempt and stare down their collective noses at him, despite the fact he is higher up than they are in the terraces by several levels.

  “That’s the overseer’s gang of little cronies,” David informs them both, as he leads William firmly by the arm to the opposite side of the room. “You don’t want to go messing with them. Just try and avoid them. They’ll rat you out to him for nothing, and then it will be kitchen detail for a month for you.”

  They slide in at the end of a table against the w
all, David with his back to the stage, William and Maria crammed in next to each other across from him. As they settle in to await whatever fate will come for them through the large doors to either side of the stage, be it food, another simpering speech, or a death squad, Maria's leg brushes against William’s, causing him to turn towards her. She returns his gaze at first but then quickly smiles and glances down, seeming embarrassed.

  David turns back from his study of the rest of the hall.

  “What are you two on about?” he asks, noticing that both of them are intently looking in opposite directions; studying every detail in hall but each other. His accusation causes Maria to blush more and William to start to stammer. Fortunately for all involved, a recorded fanfare cuts William off before he can say something that will embarrass them all.

  The lights in the hall dim leaving only those on the stage, which slowly converge on the podium rising from the center. When the podium reaches its apex, the overseer who’d given the welcome speech in the canyon steps from behind the curtain at the back of the stage. The golden hair of the overseer is visible even from the back of the room. As he steps into the light, it casts back the radiance and washes out his unassuming dark gray jumpsuit.

  “My children welcome!” his rehearsed voice booms. “Today is a truly momentous day for us all. Today, the last of our volunteers have joined us. Tomorrow, we begin training in earnest!”

  Everyone starts clapping politely, except for William and Maria. David taps them on their shoulders and corrects them.

  “Clap. You don’t want the guards seeing you disrespect the overseer.” They begin to clap dutifully as the overseer continues inspiring them to “greatness.”

  “I’m sure you’ve all heard rumors as to why we are here, deep under this mountain. Some, I’m sure, are based on truth; others, undoubtedly, are nothing more than lunacy filled with wisps of dreams.” He smiles faintly, pleased with his imagery.

  “Our mission is simple: We are tasked with ensuring that freedom and liberty will not be tethered to this one small rock, that its fragile flower will be protected from all the jealous nations that would attempt to steal it from beneath us. Which brings me to why we shelter here, deep within the mountains. There are many out there who would see us all perish a painful death before we complete our mission, but we must persevere.

  “We, gentlemen and ladies, will be building this planet’s first colony beyond the boundaries imposed by this single planet! We are going to take our light of liberty far out into the black, going farther than any human has gone before.”

  Turning to Maria and whispering, William wonders: “Why’s he giving us the same speech he gave before?”

  “I bet he just likes to hear his own voice,” she responds. Maria starts to laugh but quickly blushes and faces forward once more when she realizes that William is only a few inches from her face, and she can feel the soft caress of his breath on her cheek. He is grateful that she turns away without any obvious disgust, because her proximity makes him uncomfortably aware that he hasn’t brushed his teeth since before that fateful night in the rain.

  The overseer drones on: “The rockets many of you worked on before coming here are now nearing completion, and the provisioning has begun. This leaves us with only a few weeks before it will be time to take flight and bring the wind of liberty to the farthest reaches of the solar system. We shall surely have enough time to get you all settled in your teams if we all work together and try our hardest.”

  The overseer’s speech finally begins to grab William’s attention. As he talks it is becoming clearer and clearer that this is real, not some elaborate hoax, not a cruel trick, and not a bad dream. He really is going to be sent into space with only a few weeks training on what amounts to a prison ship to found a distant colony. The hellish preceding weeks separate him from his previous life. As the reality of his current situation sets in, it seems that the life of a young suburbanite is a distant fantasy. Something that never really happened to him. He feels reborn. A small wave of excitement laps at the edge of his consciousness as he focuses back on the overseer’s speech.

  “Those of you who have just joined us will not have the time to become the technical experts that your fellows are. We were aware of this when we selected you. Through our careful study of your records, it has been deemed that you will make excellent team leaders. You will be expected to coordinate and support your team’s efforts.”

  William’s small wave of excitement is stirred by a current of trepidation, but instead of calming the waters it only serves to churn them up further. True he feels like he is in way over his head, but here is a chance for him to make a difference in someone’s life. He can finally do something that might have meaning: help his as-of-yet unmet team grow and be successful. Allowing the emotion of the moment to wash over him, the ordeal he’s been through rapidly fades from the forefront of his mind; instead of being sullen and angry at where he is and how he got here, he begins to see the opportunities that it presents.

  “Tomorrow, you’ll get to meet your teams and begin to learn where your teammates’ technical expertise lies. But tonight, eat hearty, for a long journey lies before all of us.”

  As the lights come back on in the rest of the hall, windows open along both sides, revealing cafeteria counters heaped with food. Everyone begins forming into jostling lines, and William is surprised that the food actually smells quite good.

  Chapter 24

  Foothills of the Western Mountains

  A University Campus

  The crowd on the snow-covered field before the podium stirs restlessly, each person moving like a stalk of grass touched by a breeze. The speaker behind the podium gestures towards the buildings of the university campus that rise around the field, his breath fogging in the cold air and his thick coat giving him a rotund appearance. Yet the point he delivers is sharp and resonates with the crowd. Some turn toward each other to exchange a few words of comment, others shift from foot to foot and glance around furtively. The only people who don’t seem to react to this particular point of the speaker’s are those on the outside of the crowd. Completely surrounding the crowd and forming a line in front of the podium is what appears to be the entire local police force, supported by a division of the local military reserves. The officers ring the relatively peaceful crowd, whose members, given the potency and skill of the orator before them, have even stopped hurling the occasional jeer or rude suggestion and are listening intently to the speech.

  The speech being given is discussing the continuing rise in student fees and tuition costs along with the cutting of a number of scholarships. The orator is one of the school’s deans, and the crowd is comprised primarily of students. The dean began the speech by attempting to connect with the students before him. Now his discourse has moved into a more detailed examination of the school’s funding.

  “As an institution, we’ve been reliant on the control of others for too long. Our research dictated by the whims of those who provide the grants, our faculty and students dedicating their careers to fighting for the opportunity to further some private or government interest that only wants to see positive results. Research has become a quest for the next profitable idea. We no longer explore all the possibilities to prove a thesis, we no longer embrace the negative results as opportunities to explore what didn’t work. No, they are mistakes that are to be feared and ashamed of, swept under the rug and hidden. We have to produce a positive result if we want to continue drawing our funding, and if we don’t, there are ten other applicants waiting in line to snatch up the money.

  “Admittedly this course was not the one we’d hoped to find ourselves on. Once, we were able to rely on the government to assist us with general funding, but those days are gone. We only see very specific grants that support specialized projects that serve some politician’s agenda, and even these are being cut back.” Trying to drive the crowd towards reason with an open discussion of the bitter truth, the dean continues. “We, the counc
il of deans and the president of the university, were faced with a choice: sell our research and our integrity to the highest bidder to be used for private gain or employ more of our own funds so our knowledge could be shared for the greater good.

  “Here at this proud, storied, institution, we want to change this status quo. If we can take charge of our funding, we can take our university back. We, meaning all of us,” the speaker continues, opening his arms to embrace the crowd before him, “can have a voice in the direction we head. We can pursue knowledge for the sake of knowledge, not the next grant check.”

  An observer well practiced in watching the ebb and flow of a speech before a hostile audience would be able to note that the most recent point, salient and well-reasoned point that it was, was exactly where the speaker tipped the scales and won the crowd’s favor. Such an observer would be able to conclude, with a minimum of doubt, that if the speaker were to continue, the crowd would in fact eventually be brought to support his position. The speaker continues trying, with honesty, to unite the crowd before him if not in support of his position than at least in understanding why their fees are increasing.

  Unfortunately for the speaker’s chances of being remembered by history in a positive context, such an observer has, in fact, been watching this speech from the security of the police command post—a vehicle parked on the street by the field. Specifically it is unfortunate because this particular observer has been tasked by his superiors to ensure that this particular speech does not end in peaceful manner. If the university is able to successfully free itself from its current funding model—one that his employers have dedicated generations to ensnaring it in—his career would be cut short, terminally. The observer thinks back over the conversation that he had this morning, during which it was made very clear that in no way should this particular event be allowed to challenge the benevolent authorities. And if things are to turn violent, which, according to his superior, they most certainly will, he is to spare no measure of mercy, since those participating in the rally have already condemned themselves. While his superior regretted that any would get hurt. He stressed that the proper order of things must be maintained, and if the crowd were to disperse with its message intact, the seeds of dissent and sedition would have been irrevocably sown. The observer straightens his suit and keys the microphone in front of him.