Watchers

by S. T. Boston

  “Then why!” he boomed in a voice like thunder, “why did our orbital craft shoot down three Arkkadian scout vessels a few hours ago?”

  Finch could only just register what was being said to him. Buer's hand was clasped so tightly around his neck, he couldn't even draw breath. As the life was being strangled out of him, he knew that his millions of tiny robotic life sustainers were busy delivering oxygen to parts of the body that needed them most, prolonging the amount of time he could survive without a breath. Finch had no idea how long that might be, and he didn't want to find out. Desperately, he tried to kick his feet and gain some purchase on the carpet, but the more he struggled, the higher Buer lifted him. He clamped both hands onto Buer's arms and tried to push him away, but the other man's grip was vice-like and strong as steel. The only time it would relent was when he was ready.

  “How can you explain that to me?” As Buer spoke he lifted Finch away from the wall and slammed him hard back against it, over and over.

  Finch felt the booming voice resonate throughout his entire body as Buer abused him. He felt himself gain another few inches of height. His eyes seemed as if they were going to pop out of their sockets. Then in a flash, and right at the point when unconsciousness began to pull at him, Buer released his grip, leaving Finch to fall to the floor like a rag doll. For a few moments, it was all he could do to get a breath into his lungs. His windpipe felt crushed. A few seconds later it began to feel better, his breath came easier and the pain ebbed away. The Gift was working its magic; the tiny passengers who had stopped him from being strangled were now busy repairing the damage done by Buer's strong, iron-like hands. Finch hadn't planned on having to find out just how quickly they could repair an injury so soon, although now, he was in no doubt that if he hadn't had them he would either be dead or in serious need of medical help. Stealing a glance around the room he saw that the five or so guys setting up the tech unit hadn't even flinched at the outburst. He flush with embarrassment; he hated seeming weak. Gathering up his strength, Finch got to his feet. Buer was already sitting back down at the desk, as if nothing had happened.

  Buer watched him gingerly sit down and straighten out his shirt. “As I said,” he began calmly, “a few hours ago our orbital craft intercepted and destroyed two Arkkadian scout vessels.”

  “I thought you said there were three,” Finch cut in, his neck and throat back to normal.

  “I did. Two were destroyed, the third was hit but managed to evade the last strike. It went down hard and fast. The reason you're in Denver, Robert, is because the craft crashed about eighty-five miles west of here in the Rockies.”

  Dread swept through Finch's body. No wonder they'd been in such a panic to get him back. “Were there any survivors?” he asked reluctantly.

  Buer nodded his head slowly. “Yes, I'm afraid so. The US Military picked up the craft as it came down; they scrambled helicopters and local troops to the area. Thankfully, we have General Stone on the inside. It's a stroke of luck for us that he's, one, in the US at the moment, and two, in charge of troops in this area. He's currently commanding out of Buckley, Aurora. He took charge of the operation and issued orders for ground troops to shoot first, not to take anyone alive. He hoped the situation could be dealt with fast and before anyone higher up overrode his decision.”

  “Well, it sounds as if the matter's been taken care of then,” said Finch, feeling relieved. “We have time to plan before they can send any more craft.”

  Buer shook his head, “No, Robert, it's not taken care of at all. You see, one escaped the crash site. Thankfully the other two on board were already dead. There's no way anyone should have survived it. I've seen some of the satellite images of the area, and it's one hell of a mess. I don't need to tell you how someone might have survived, do I?” Finch didn't need telling, he had just experienced the magical healing powers he now possessed first hand. “It's not hard to do the math here, Robert,” Buer continued. “It's just over two weeks since Malaysia. We know any communication takes a little over seven days to reach them from Earth, then another seven days to get here. Something in the plan you executed went wrong!” Buer emphasised the last word in a growl.

  “Impossible,” denied Finch. “I killed all four. As I said, the three that I executed were taken in their sleep. Remy was poisoned and that's not to mention the fact that none of them would have been travelling with the technology to do such a thing.” Finch was running the night over and over in his head. The only weak link he could think of was President Remy. While he hadn't seen him die, the lab which developed the deadly poison he'd put in the water had assured him it would only take seconds to work. Even if they were wrong, how the hell had he managed to get a message out?

  “Let's just say for argument sake – so to speak,” said Buer, pondering the problem aloud, “that the poison you gave Remy wasn't quite as fast as we thought it would be. Say the lab was wrong, and his system managed to fight it for even a minute.”

  “But it was still impossible to get a message out,” Finch cut in, immediately regretting his outburst.

  “I know!” Buer shouted, slamming his fist down onto the desk so hard, it made the telephone receiver jump into the air. “You're smarter than this, Robert; surely you can see what I'm getting at here?” he growled.

  “You think he contacted someone here, someone on Earth?” gasped Finch, the penny finally dropping.

  “I certainly think that someone on Earth sent the message,” said Buer. “Maybe they were contacted and maybe they weren't. The death of the President and the sudden disappearances of the others was all over the news by the next morning. Whatever happened, there is someone else here who knew who they were, someone capable of sending that alert out.”

  “You really think they have a fifth Watcher here?” The very notion seemed impossible to comprehend; it went against everything they knew.

  “Maybe not a Watcher, but I have no doubt at all that they had someone here behind the scenes, maybe more by luck than judgement. What I want to know, is how this oversight happened, how was it missed?”

  Finch saw how the balance was shifting. Ultimately, the proverbial buck was going to have to stop somewhere. Sure, Buer was in overall charge, but Finch had been the lead Earth-Breed in the search for the Watchers. Buer was looking for a scapegoat and Finch had no doubt he was the one lined up to take the fall.

  “How could we have known?” Finch asked. “We had them under observation for just over a year. We had lines tapped, emails hacked and there was no indication at all that they were in contact with anyone.” There was no way Finch was going to be held accountable for this. “Surely what's important now is damage limitation. We have to hope that no more are on their way, that this is just a scout crew sent to see what's happening. If that is the case, we have a good two weeks before more arrive. The virus will be well at work by then, so no matter what happens, it will be too late.” Finch was eager to steer the conversation away from Buer's control, trying to factor the blame his way.

  Buer sat for a few seconds considering Finch's words, running a hand absently over his chin. “Two weeks if we're lucky, Robert,” he began. “By then, the virus should be half way through its process, but we both know they have the ability to easily cure it. No doubt a few billion will be dead, but it's not enough. It needs a clear four weeks to take full effect. My main concern right now is the Tabut. I'm in no doubt that one of those craft carried the Key Tablet. I just hope it was either lost, or aboard one of the ships that we destroyed, but I doubt it. If they reach it in the next few days, then it's all over. You should have tried harder to extract the location of the artefact!”

  Finch shrank back in his seat. He'd wondered when the conversation would swing to the Tabut. With this latest development, Buer would be even keener to locate and destroy the device. Finch knew deep down that he'd personally been a little complacent about it before, thinking it was a waste of time trying to find something that had been buried for thousands of years. But now
the game plan had changed. If there was even a slight chance the survivor carried the Key Tablet, they had to be found and taken care of. “So…” began Finch tentatively, “where are we on locating this survivor?”

  “Nowhere!” snapped Buer. “After the crash General Stone had the site locked down. FBI and local law enforcement sealed off the area.” Buer tapped the space bar on his laptop, bringing the screen to life. A daylight Google Map view of the area lit up the screen. “This road here is the only one that runs near the crash site. The actual site of the wreck is about a mile or so to the east.” He hovered a finger over an area of dense forest. “The military got to the scene within about thirty minutes. A lone survivor was seen running from the crash site, ground troops and tracking dogs gave chase for about three quarters of a mile, to here.” Buer traced his finger over the forest to a river. “General Stone's direct order to shoot the target still stood, and one of the soldiers got a shot off and hit her in the leg. The soldier involved stated he saw her fall into the river and get carried off downstream.”

  “She?” questioned Finch. “It was a woman?”

  Buer nodded. “Yes, description is a female aged in her twenties with blonde hair.”

  “Do you know who it is?”

  “I have an idea,” Buer replied, staring at the satellite map as if it would suddenly yield some piece of important information. “I believe her name is Oriyanna.”

  “Oriyanna.” Finch let the name roll off his tongue. He knew it, but couldn't quite place why. “I recognise her name,” he admitted thoughtfully.

  “You should. She is a very high ranking Arkkadian Elder. She was one of the first to return here, years before the war, before any of us had The Gift; back then, she was nothing more than a science officer.”

  “So you knew her?” Finch was intrigued; Buer and the other Elders had lived for longer than Finch could even conceive. He longed to have seen some of the things they'd seen and shared some of their experiences. He only knew Earth as it was now; he found it hard to imagine the planet without its bustling cities full of skyscrapers and cars.

  “Yes, long ago, right back before the war.” For a brief second, Buer seemed different, as if he was remembering better times. He almost seemed vulnerable. “But then things changed, the war came and we were on different sides. It's thanks to the likes of her that we were cast out and left for dead.” His expression changed and in an instant, the old Buer was back.

  “Do you think she could have drowned?”

  “Information from the troops under General Stone's command reported that the river was very swollen and fast flowing from all the recent rain, not to mention the downpour the area suffered earlier. The troops said it was highly unlikely anyone could survive the waters, especially with a gunshot wound.” Buer halted briefly. “But do I personally think she drowned? No! Not for a second.”

  Finch heard a knock come from the door to the suite. Benjamin Hawker, who was busily working in front of a laptop shook his head in disgust at the interruption and went to answer it. Roddick's voice drifted through the room. He was obviously back from parking the car. From his seat, Finch watched as he dashed through to the bedroom, keen to be out of the way. “Is it possible that the Key Tablet was on her craft?” Finch asked, drawing his attention away from Roddick and back to the conversation.

  “I'm certain her craft would have been the one carrying it,” Buer said gravely. “As you know, the Tabuts were created after the Great War, one held here on Earth and one held on Arkkadia. The plans to build it began before the war; however, back then it was never more than theory. Oriyanna was heavily involved in the project, so I'm almost certain she will be in possession of it.” Buer paused briefly and glanced at the bank of technicians beavering away at the side of the room. “There is a slim chance we could use tonight's events to our advantage.” He grinned slyly, as if it were nothing more than an afterthought.

  “How so?” Finch could see no possible way a positive could be drawn from what was happening.

  “We know that although they eventually managed to build both the Tabuts, the project was never one hundred percent stable. If we can obtain the location of the one here on Earth, as well as the Key Tablet, there might just be a way we could deal a fatal blow to Arkkadia, one that will most certainly seal our success and literally remove any risk of them being able to strike back at us.”

  “I'm listening,” said Finch, relaxing back into his seat. If there was the slightest chance he could help to turn things around, while at the same time further his own social standing, he wanted in.

  “I don't have time to run through the details now, but our top brains are working on it as we speak. I'll fill you in on it when I know more. All you need to know, Robert, is how vital it is that you locate Oriyanna and if she has it, the Key Tablet. General Stone is still at the crash site. There's a chance it might still be found there. If it is, I'll let you know.”

  “When I do find her, which I will,” said Finch confidently, “what do you want me to do?”

  “We need her alive. She will certainly know the location of the Tabut. As an absolute last resort you have my authority to kill her, but it must be in the event of you having no other options – do I make myself clear?”

  Finch nodded slowly, absorbing all the information. He had a feeling he was soon going to be out on the road. He would relish the chance to track down another Elder. If this Oriyanna girl was out there, he was confident he could find her. “Crystal clear,” he replied, smiling confidently. “What's the media coverage on this? I take it there is some press attention from the crash?”

  “Well, you can always rely on any Earth government to cover these things up,” grinned Buer. “The official press release is that a jet containing three domestic terrorists was shot down over the Rockies and they are currently searching for one survivor. They have roads in and out of the area on lockdown; any vehicles leaving the zone are being searched. If she surfaces we will find her.” The sound of Mitchell clearing his throat captured Buer's attention.

  “Sir,” he began, “we're up and running now. We have full access to local law enforcement and all military radio communication, as well as CIA and FBI. The access codes General Stone provided are working. We're also tapped into their real-time satellite surveillance system.”

  “Good work,” praised Buer. “Robert and I will be with you in a minute. I'm just bringing him up to speed.”

  Mitchell shot Finch an encouraging look. He had obviously witnessed Buer's outburst having been engrossed in his work.

  Buer continued. “We have to work on the assumption that Oriyanna is in possession of the Key Tablet, I believe she will ultimately try to reach the Tabut, but now she's on her own. It's highly likely she will look to make contact with whoever sent the alert. Our problem is, we don't know where the contact is, nor do we know the location of the Tabut, so we don't even know where to start looking.” There was a slight hint of desperation to Buer's voice. There weren't many Elders above him. Finch certainly didn't fancy having to answer to any of them, and Buer was undoubtedly sweating it out at the moment. He had the look of a man on the edge.

  “I'll find her!” Finch said confidently. “I'll start right away.”

  Buer studied him, seemingly weighing up his worth. “I can't emphasize enough how crucial it is, Robert, that you don't fail us on this. If she reaches the Tabut, then our chances of success are practically zero. This task was entrusted to such a small number of us. It's taken us many years to get where we are today, not just the eighty years I've spent here on Earth. Failure now is not an option.”

  Finch knew what he was getting at. If they failed now, none of them would be spared. Punishment would be swift and fatal, of that he had no doubt. His brain started running through just where the hell he should start looking for this girl. “Do you have access to the police records for all the vehicles stop checked and searched leaving the area?” he asked.

  “I imagine Mitchell will be able to
get those for you,” replied Buer. “Let's see what we have so far.” he stood up and gestured for Finch to join him at a bank of laptops which were now whirring away on the other side of the room. Roddick was standing with two of the tech team, one of them being Ben Hawker, the other guy he didn't recognise. The three men were busily scanning online maps of the area. “Mitchell, can you access the local police computer records for any licence plate numbers that were checked leaving the area?” asked Buer, standing behind him. Mitchell was busy working on a screen that held the FBI seal. He was obviously deep into their system, gleaning any information he could find.

  “Sure, no problem!” he replied confidently, switching screens. In a few seconds, he was into the Clear Creek County Sheriff's Department system, navigating it expertly he found the call stack list. “This is an on-going list of all active and closed jobs for the whole department over the last twenty-four hours,” he said, tapping the screen with his finger. “The nearest Sheriff's office to the crash site was in the town of Empire, but they called in aid from Idaho Springs as well. These messages here, highlighted in red, are either still awaiting an officer, or are major incidents still running.” Mitchell scanned down the list; the majority of jobs which had come in over the last few hours were all red, obviously with activities up in the mountains, there was no one free to deal with the day-to-day stuff. Within a few seconds, Mitchell had found the incident log for the crash. The initial description just said 'Aircraft down, one mile east of Trail Ridge Road'. Mitchell selected the incident and it narrowed down the location by providing a grid reference. He ignored this, as well as the more in-depth write up. It was no more than a detailed cover story, cobbled together by the military. He scanned down to the officers running log of events. “Hmm, not many vehicles on here,” he summarised, scanning the screen with well-trained eyes. “Not really surprising. It was a pretty wild night up there, by all accounts.” Finch watched him slowly scroll down the message, taking in bits here and there but primarily it was all useless police talk and jargon. “Ah, we have one vehicle here,” said Mitchell pointing to the screen, “A Dodge pickup stopped at ten pm, driver a Mr. Brian Slater, passenger Mrs. Amanda Slater, heading to Denver. Obviously a negative search of the vehicle.” He turned to Finch. “What exactly are you hoping to find here?” he asked. “All the vehicles listed will have been searched and left the area.”