Dust and Ashes: The Apocalyptic Prequel to The Alien Corps (Prosperine)

by PJ McDermott

  Contents

  Thank You

  AD 2102

  AD 2095 (seven years previously)

  AD 2096

  AD 2100

  AD 2102

  AD 2103

  AD 2104

  AD 2119

  Thank you

  Continue the adventure

  About the Author

  Thank you for purchasing this prelude to the Prosperine Trilogy. As an author, I highly appreciate the feedback I get from my readers. It helps others to make an informed decision before buying my book. If you enjoy this book, please consider leaving a short review at the following link: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01C9TSJDY#customerReviews

  Avanaux: The Adventures of the Space Heroine Hickory Lace.

  World War III lasted five years, and the New Dark Age lasted another ten. When humankind emerged, a new era of prosperity followed. The Alien Corps was formed to search for signs of the second coming. Sixty years on, they’re still looking for the Second Son of God. When an extra-terrestrial is reported to be performing miracles on the planet Prosperine, Hickory and her team are sent to investigate.

  available on Amazon.

  Dust and Ashes

  (The Apocalyptic Prequel to Prosperine)

  AD 2102

  “The Vatican is in flames.” The reporter’s face was ashen, his eyes wild with horror, and his hair disheveled. He flinched as an explosion shook the ground. In the distance, the tail of a missile lit up the night sky, and red smoke billowed upwards from a dozen air strikes.

  The correspondent shouted to make himself heard over the cries of distress from those witnessing the destruction. “Here, on the balcony of the Waldorf Astoria, the screams of the rockets are terrifying. They have only one goal, and that is the Vatican. They’ve been coming in from the north, one salvo after another, every two or three minutes. Italian Air Force jets have ejected thermal traps and are trying to shoot the missiles down, but for every one they destroy, two others find their target. St Peter’s Basilica and the Sistine Chapel are in ruins.” The reporter’s voice broke, and he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, leaving dark smudges across his face.

  “The priests, the bishops… cardinals, thousands of tourists and churchgoers. We don’t have an official report on the number of dead and injured, but it will be tens of thousands, God help them. The emergency services—the police, the ambulance staff and the firefighters—they have been unbelievable. These heroes give a new meaning to the word bravery. They’re out there right now digging through the rubble looking for any survivors even as the rockets continue to fall.”

  As the reporter turned towards the destruction, his words were punctuated by static. “All—magnificent, irreplaceable—art by Michelangelo, Carlo—and Antonio Averulino—some of them dating back to the fifteenth century—all gone.”

  He paused, his eyes searching the skies. He licked his lips and spoke. “There’s been no attack in the last few minutes…perhaps the madness has ended.”

  AD 2095

  (seven years previously)

  Talya flicked the sweat from her brow and watched it sizzle on the rock. She’d worked without a break since early morning, and it was now after two, the hottest part of the day. Dropping her trowel, she reached for the water bottle and glanced over to where Father Battista scraped at a rocky outcrop. The girl swallowed some of the warm liquid and grinned at the sight of the fat priest on hands and knees, backside wobbling from side to side.

  “Would you like a drink, Father? Something to eat? It is past our lunch break.”

  Alberto Battista unwound and placed his hands on the small of his back. He groaned as he thrust his ample stomach forward, and then climbed stiffly to his feet. “An excellent idea, Talya. If I remain on my knees much longer, even my Lord Bishop would be impressed. Not that he would mind my suffering. On the contrary, he would consider the penance good for my soul, but he would be offended by my lack of consideration for your wellbeing.” His eyes twinkled with amusement. “Let’s move out of the sun for a few minutes. This heat is unbearable.”

  Talya pointed to an opening in the rock face behind her. “Shall we take advantage of Josiah’s resting place then, Father?” The tomb of the prominent sixth-century gnostic promised relief in its shade.

  “I don’t think he will be offended my dear, and it will be cool within the depths.”

  The archaeologist-priest hobbled across the hot sandy soil and joined his assistant at the base of the cliffs.

  For two weeks, they’d been working this small dig near Colossae in South-Western Turkey. Over recent years, the surrounding area had proven to be a treasure trove of ancient Christian artifacts, and the pair had already unearthed some valuable pieces from the barren slopes.

  Battista leaned back against the cold wall and sighed with relief. “Bishop Verroni, blessed be his name, is an erudite and Christian gentleman, but I feel he has little appreciation of the resources required to investigate a site even this small. A team of six or more would not be amiss on this dig.”

  Talya noted the mild criticism, but she felt thankful that the bishop had not been more forthcoming. If additional funds were available, the priest might have hired someone with more experience. Talya was being supported through the final year of a Bachelor of Archaeology at Istanbul University by her elder siblings. The honorarium offered by Battista wasn’t much, but it would help repay some of the faith her family had shown in her.

  She said, “Do you know why Bishop Verroni sent us to Honaz. They excavated this site many years ago, and there are unexplored digs nearby.”

  When Father Battista laughed, his belly jiggled. “The good bishop does not need a reason, my dear, and if he does have one, well then, he does not need to share it with us lesser mortals. However, I will hazard a guess he has discovered some passage in the ancient scrolls suggesting it might be beneficial to re-examine the area around Colossae. What that may be, or what he hopes to find, I know not, and I doubt he knows either.”

  Talya pushed the hair from her eyes. “Are we hunting wild geese, then Father?”

  The priest chuckled. Over the last few weeks, he had been teaching his young co-worker the intricacies of the English language, with limited success. “Perhaps, but then again, we may catch them if we are diligent in God’s work. Now, Talya, let us give thanks and then we will eat our repast with gusto.” He joined his hands and bowed his head. Talya followed his example. “Bless us O Lord and these Thy gifts which we are about to receive from Thy bounty. Through Christ our Lord, Amen.”

  He reached for the bag of sandwiches and fruit they had brought with them, then froze. He looked at Talya questioningly. “Did you...” he began. The earth trembled, grains of sand danced on the floor and the sound of falling rocks echoed ominously through the empty cavern “Earthquake! Quickly—out of the cave.”

  Talya scrambled to her feet and ran.

  The ground shifted and cracked, and the priest lost his balance and fell heavily to the ground. Small particles of grit bounced on his bare head. He looked up, praying that the roof of the cavern would not collapse. Pushing himself to his hands and knees, he flung himself forward and landed amid a cloud of dust. Sand scratched at his eyes and forced its way down his throat. He coughed violently and crawled over the rubble towards the exit.

  Talya lay on her back, unmoving, near the entrance.

  The tremor ceased, but the priest shuddered as he reeled unsteadily toward her. “Talya!” His voice croaked. “Are you all right?”

  The girl sat up, rubbing her eyes. “That
was unpleasant,” she said, laughing nervously.

  Battista fell to his knees and looked to the heavens, his hands clasped together. Tears left streaks on his dust-covered face. “Blessed Jesus, we thank you for preserving us in this moment of peril. Thou hast spared this unworthy sinner from a terrifying death.” He wiped his eyes with a handkerchief and let out a long breath.

  Talya cleared her throat and looked away from the awkward sight. “It could have been worse, Father,” she said. “It is terrifying when the earth trembles so. In this part of the world, seismic activity is a common event, but this was worse than usual.”

  “Thanks be to God. Is it safe, do you think?” He peered into the cave, his brows drawn together. “The dust appears to have settled, and in my haste, I left our lunch behind, as well as our digging tools.”

  Talya nodded agreement. “It should be sound enough. These rocks have survived many thousands of years. It would be bad luck if they collapsed at this very moment.”

  The priest gave the girl a searing glance, then let out an explosive laugh. “I deserve that.” Brushing himself down, he led the way back inside.

  They recovered their lunch, then sat down to eat. Alberto picked up a sandwich and squinted at the walls and roof. “It does seem stable—” The bread fell from his hand.

  Talya saw him start and glanced around. “Father, what is it?” She noticed particles of sand sliding across the floor towards the rear of the cave.

  The priest clenched his fists and chastised himself for his timidity. “It’s probably nothing, my dear. I think the ground may have sunk in that spot—the quake might have caused a fissure.” He rose to take a closer look. “Wait here, Talya. I will call if it is safe.”

  He stepped out cautiously, one foot searching in front of the other. After a dozen paces, he turned to face the girl, relieved. “It’s all right. It seems quite firm.”

  Abruptly the ground fell away beneath his feet.

  “Father, no!” Tanya yelled as a cloud of dust erupted from where the priest had been standing. She hurried to the spot and dropped to her hands and knees. The air cleared as she peered into the hole. Father Battista sat six feet below, blinking. She covered her mouth and stifled a laugh. “Father, are you all right?”

  “My dignity is bruised, indeed, but my bones appear unbroken.” He brushed his arms and glanced around absently. Scooping up a handful of sand, he let it trickle through his fingers. “Luckily the sand down here cushioned my fall.” He lurched to his feet. “Help me out, Talya. We have work to do. There is more to Josiah’s crypt than meets the eye.”

  They retrieved ropes and tools from the back of the Landrover and erected a bucket and pulley system over the crevasse. For the next few hours, they shifted sand until the priest’s shovel struck solid ground. Talya climbed down the ladder and poked at the floor with a crowbar. Near one wall, her prodding produced an echo. They brushed away the remaining sand, revealing the outline of a flagstone. After they’d scraped the silt from the perimeter, Talya inserted a crowbar. The flagstone resisted their efforts for a few seconds, then lifted with a pop and a hiss of air.

  Battista leaned forward and shone his torch into the hole. A flight of steps led down to a chamber. “It seems we have uncovered something new.” He looked at her, smiling. “The good Bishop will be pleased. Bring your camera. We will need to record this.”

  The priest waited until Talya returned and then led the way down the rough-hewn steps. The light from his torch picked out a massive slab of rock in the middle of an otherwise empty room. Sitting on top was a large rectangular block.

  “Are you filming, Talya? Come closer,” he said as he approached the slab. The torchlight picked out carvings on the face of the stone block: two rosettes and a fish complete with scales, fins, and eyes. A stick figure stood in the open mouth of the fish. The priest’s eyes opened wide. The fish symbol had been shunned by religious Jews in biblical times as a “graven image.” It was adopted by Christians as a symbol of Jonah and the whale, signifying death and re-birth.

  “A burial box!” cried Talya, excitedly.

  “Yes, indeed,” said Battista. He looked around eagerly. “This must be the resting place of an influential man to merit a tomb of such size. Moreover, it looks to be undisturbed.”

  Battista examined the box through his magnifying glass. “The carvings are well defined and—look here—these marks resemble an ancient script.” The priest’s finger trembled as he pointed. He turned to Talya and hugged her briefly, his face beaming. “This is without doubt of early Christian origin.”

  Talya checked that the recording light was on. “It’s a magnificent find, Father.” She pointed the camera at the face of the perspiring priest, then back to the ossuary.

  “Oh, yes!” The priest took a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at his brow. “It’s unbelievable. Thirty years ago, they found ten ossuaries in one tomb in Talpiot. It was the biggest discovery in centuries, but even those do not compare with the workmanship on this.” He pointed out the elaborate frieze border and the rosette’s petals that were in high relief and washed with a reddish-rose paint. He took a brush from his bag and caressed the dust away from the lettering.

  “What language do you think it is?” asked Talya.

  “I’m no expert in ancient tongues, but there are three phrases here. Possibly different languages. I recognize Greek, and this might be Aramaic. Look at the construction of the box lid. I have never seen anything like this.” The top of the box fitted snuggly into the vertical walls, and there were numerous circular marks around the perimeter. He scraped lightly at one and exposed a metallic luster. “If I didn’t know better, I would say these are lead nails.”

  He debated whether he dared disturb the site. If he was right, this was a rare find, and he should disclose it at once to the Turkish government. However, he would be required to obtain permits from many different departments and complete an infinite number of forms to investigate it further. That could take years, and even then, dependent on the whim of the politicians of the day, it might never happen. On the other hand, the site was remote, standing just outside the boundaries of Mount Honaz National Park, high on the slopes and at least ten kilometers from the nearest village.

  Pragmatism got the better of him.

  Battista’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “Talya, how would you like to see Rome?”

  AD 2096

  Pope Innocent XIV was a humble man. Before the College of Cardinals elevated him to the Apostolic See, he led a quiet life, progressing by degrees from priest to bishop. He donned the red robes of a cardinal in his late seventies by virtue of his passion and proven expertise in early Christian archaeology. As Vincenzo Bartolo Agostina, he held the office of Dean of the Pontifical Academy of Roman Archaeology for ten years and carried out his role with distinction before being called to the papacy.

  He had been dumbfounded to be elected pope. The Conclave of Cardinals, unable to agree on a suitable candidate by the necessary two-thirds margin, moved to choose the head of the Church based on an absolute majority. Cardinal John Rousseau, who headed up the International Theological Commission on which Vincenzo served, nominated him almost as an afterthought. In the end, they elected the new Pope unanimously.

  Now Rousseau waited outside for an audience. Vincenzo signaled for his aide to admit him. The ornate double doors opened, and the cardinal approached, hands clasped and head bowed. He fell at the feet of his pontiff and pressed the ring of Peter to his lips.

  The pope regarded his friend with approval. “Rise, John. There’s no need to stand on ceremony. We are old friends as well as colleagues. Tell me, what have you discovered?”

  “Your eminence is as perceptive as ever.” Rousseau smiled and bowed. “I have received a call from an old colleague of mine. You might recall Bishop Verroni who is our resident expert on Turkish history?”

  The Pope nodded. “Yes, I have met him a few times. A dedicated scholar.” He guided his friend to the sofa
.

  “He’s been studying early texts related to the works of the Apostles, post-Christ.” Rousseau lowered his voice, even though there was no-one else to hear. “Your eminence, he discovered an interesting reference in a fragment of a letter written by Paul to Timothy.” He cleared his throat. “How much do you recall about St Philip?”

  “I assume you do not mean what’s written in the Gospels, and we are talking about the discovery of his tomb at the turn of the century?”

  “Yes. And the disappointment when it was found to be empty.”

  The pope glanced towards the massive bookcase that took up one wall of the room, and which contained many ancient and modern texts. In many ways, it was a relic of the past, but he still preferred print to other media and read regularly. “I believe the current thinking is that the body was removed in the sixth century and re-buried somewhere in the catacombs.”

  “The letter from Paul suggests Philip’s followers took his remains to a secret location within Turkey only a few years after his death.”

  “Interesting,” said the pope.

  “That’s not all. Last year, Verroni sent a priest to the Hierapolis area to look around. And he found something.”

  “Let me guess—an ossuary.”

  Rousseau grinned. “The priest, a Father Battista, and his assistant arrived in Rome four weeks ago. They smuggled the ossuary over the border into Greece and sailed from Athens to here.”

  Vincenzo pursed his lips. “I suppose that means we are in trouble with the Turkish authorities? And who would blame them? I will want to talk with Battista. Have our legal people begin work on the permit approval process straight away. The last thing we want is an international incident with a country that’s under the influence of the People’s Crusade.”

  Rousseau nodded. “As yet we’ve had no word from Turkey. They have been particularly difficult to work with over the last few years.” His face burned as he realized he was making excuses for Battista’s behavior. “I will start work on that right away.” He hurried on, unable to keep the excitement from his face. “Father, this is the earliest evidence of Christianity ever found! I used PROCYN to confirm the date as the beginning of the first century.” He waited, anticipating the pope’s objection.