Jump Starting the Universe

by John David Buchanan

  He tossed the book on the desk and reached for Stueben Stalcrys’ book Centorians, Guardians of the Universes. He could not have selected books about two more different peoples. Stueben described the Centorians in almost mythical terms and it seemed that for every bad characteristic he had read about the Shumbrans there seemed to be a counter characteristic for the Centorians. Stueben described them as highly intelligent beings with strong family traditions and cultural inclinations toward helping others, especially those less fortunate than themselves. The book described the evolution of their culture and how such a peaceful society became the most feared warriors in all the universes, and yet remained one of the most peaceful societies ever known. Blackie thought of a phrase he had once heard in history class, “speak softly and carry a big stick”. That seemed to characterize the Centorians, it was as if their mantra was “We’re not looking for trouble, but if we have to get involved you are going to regret it”.

  Blackie thought about Sly, how he had put himself at risk to stop and get them out of Meteor Plain just seconds before the shower hit, how he had asked Paxim to watch over them, and how he had come to their aid when he figured out Paxim had left the Tree. He wondered what else he had done on their behalf they didn’t know about, and he thought it was pretty cool Sly could talk to the Pickers. By accidentally meeting Sly, and getting to know him just a little, he felt he understood the Centorians as a people. Guardians of the universe might be an understatement he thought. He also remembered how chilling it was that even though Paxim had quickly dispatched Zypho, who was known to be a formidable swordsman, he immediately laid his swords on the ground when Sly appeared on Gavalkia. He was momentarily lost in that moment and the memory of Sly being handed a bag of beans by the Pickers. He read more and for the next several hours studied the book. Near the end he found a family tree; there were pages and pages linking the tribes and families of Centorians. It was very detailed. The book had a sleeve inside the back cover where updates to the family tree were placed; every five years the author mailed it to the library. The last one was dated four years prior. He scanned to the end of each branch of the tree and read about the tribes and where they were originally located and where some had relocated. Each family had a unique seal and crest that were beautifully illustrated in fine detail and brilliant colors next to the end of their family tree. For some reason Blackie felt he recognized the seal and crest of one family. “Where have I seen that,” he thought, “The only Centorian I know is Sly, and I don’t remember him wearing a ring or anything with a seal or crest on it.”

  “You haven’t moved an inch,” said Joules as she approached the table. “Did you find what you were after in those books?”

  “I did, but now I have more questions.”

  “I’m free for lunch,” she said with a smile, “and here come your friends.” After a short discussion of their lunch options they decided to go to a new restaurant just down the street, but in the opposite direction from where they had been before.

  “No sense in making it easy for anyone to find us,” said Mark under his breath to Blackie. They reached the restaurant and took a table on the sunny side of the terrace.

  “This is lovely,” said Amelia. It wasn’t long before they were eating and deep in conversation. Blackie was describing Meteor Plain to Joules and how Sly had rescued them. Soon everyone joined in to offer their perspective of what had happened at Sub Bar and their time with Sly’s family.

  “That sounds really incredible,” said Joules, “I’ll bet there are loads of other interesting things to do there.”

  “We’re invited back anytime,” said Blackie, “you should come with us.” “I hope we can figure out how that Jump Starter works,” he thought.

  They had just about finished lunch and were ready to return to the museum when they arrived. A dark gray transport pulled to the curb. Its windows were darkened, so dark you couldn’t see in. Just like before, there were no distinguishing features on the transport, it was very plain and once again the registration plate was missing from the front fender. The car sat motionless for several minutes before the back door swung open and two dark creatures stepped out from the back seat. They looked like thick smoke compressed into the form of large packing boxes.

  “Joules, we have company,” said Blackie with surprising calm.

  Amelia was visibly shaken. “I don’t think another ploy like we used last time will work again,” said Amelia, her voice wavering.

  “I hate to do this but I’m going inside to call the guards at the hotel,” said Mark. Another dark gray transport pulled up.

  “No time to call,” said Blackie, who took a small bottle from his pocket, removed the top and stuffed in a paper napkin.

  “What’s that?” asked Wayne.

  “Just something to buy a little time,” he said as he stood the bottle on the table and retrieved a pack of matches from his pocket. “This should work just fine, I read they are very uneasy around fire,” he continued as he struck the match and lit the napkin. “I’m ready to leave, how about you?” said Blackie as he stood up and hurled the bottle over the terrace and into the street where it shattered just short of the two dark cars.

  “Dang Blackie,” swore Wayne. The liquid inside the bottle spread across the pavement and ignited immediately. The Shumbrans who clearly did not expect to be assaulted in the open shuffled backwards toward their transport trying to avoid the flames as they spread out on the pavement. Momentarily they were very distracted by the fire and seemed to forget why they were there.

  Blackie said forcefully, “Let’s go,” and they all stood and made for the opposite side of the terrace.

  “Now what?” said Mark. “Now we run,” said Blackie.

  “Back to the hotel,” yelled Wayne. “Which way?”

  “That way, that way,” yelled Joules and they all tore in the direction she pointed. Three Shumbrans had managed to get in the second gray transport and had already pulled into the street intending to cut them off.

  “That way, toward the museum,” yelled Mark, who led them down a small alley.

  The first Shumbrans to arrive at the restaurant were now back in their transport. They backed away from the flaming pavement then drove past the alley and positioned themselves to stop the group from reaching the hotel.

  “What was in the bottle?” yelled Wayne.

  “Cheap alcohol from the gift store,” yelled Blackie.

  “Got anymore?” yelled Mark.

  “No, no more.” They reached the street in front of the museum and darted up the steps and inside the door.

  “Do these lock?” asked Nita, pointing to the inside of the doors.

  “Only with a key,” said Joules, “and I haven’t one.” They retreated to the middle of the room. Blackie walked to a display on the opposing wall and removed two fighting truncheons.

  “Sorry but we may need these,” he said in the general direction of Joules and without thinking said, “Nita, take this baton.” A museum group was walking down the hallway behind them obscuring the rear doors. As they passed the doors swung open and three Shumbrans shuffled inside.

  “They’re here,” said Mark loudly while watching the end of tour group ascend the stairs at the end of the hall.

  “There’s more over here,” said Wayne as the front doors opened and three more Shumbrans entered the museum.

  “Joules, you’re with me,” said Blackie as he backed toward the east wall. She joined him as the rest of the group retreated toward the other side of the room. The Shumbrans advanced into the room and the three who entered the front door approached Wayne’s group. One lifted his arm toward them and in his hand was a small rectangular weapon. To everyone’s surprise, out from between two bookracks on the north side of the room swept a Perlucidian.

  “Just what we needed,” swore Mark who remembered being accosted by one of them in the Phoenix Hotel’s restaurant. As the Shumbran activated his weapon the Perlucidian thrust himself in front of the group an
d took the blast. Nita gasped loudly as the beam hit its mark. Time slowed to a trickle. Every eye was on the Perlucidian as his squared body expanded into a great concave sheet of silicon as thin as a sheaf of parchment paper and many times its normal size. Blackie wondered if his torso would be stretched to the snapping point. The particle beam had fractured into thousands of red threads that danced haphazardly around the thin concave surface of the Perlucidian’s silicon torso. Then suddenly time sped up. The Perlucidian’s body flexed violently into a convex shape and began to thicken as thousands of energy beams shot to the middle of his torso forming a bright red disc.

  “Get down,” yelled Blackie just before a burst of energy shot from the Perlucidian’s disc and hit the Shumbran precisely in the midsection, blasting him backwards and into the wall. The swirling smoky appearance inside his body changed as if the smoke were being frozen in place. Then he went rigid and exploded into a hundred thousand bits of charcoal like dust particles that dropped to the floor as if they were made of lead.

  A second Shumbran raised a weapon, but before he could discharge it Nita had charged forward bringing her baton down heavily on his wrist, then jumping in the air and spinning away from the weapon as it discharged she bashed him on the head bringing him crashing to the ground. The weapon’s beam hit halfway up the south wall and blasted a chunk of stone into rubble that rained down on the floor like debris from a demolition explosion. Blackie had engaged a third Shumbran using the museum’s baton and a stick fighting technique he had learned in martial arts classes. A Shumbran crashed into the bookrack on the north side of the room after Wayne landed a well-placed jump kick to his midsection. The Shumbran rumbled to his feet slowly and turned back toward Wayne preparing to raise his weapon. He was unsteady and Joules watched his arm shake as he lifted it; the weapon was almost poised and ready to discharge and without any warning her body began to vibrate as if she had been attached to a low voltage electrical current; it was imperceptible to everyone else, but not for long. Time slowed to a trickle.

  She could feel it tingling on her skin. So imperceptible and so slight was the vibration that only she knew what was happening. If they had known, if the Shumbrans had had any idea of what was about to happen they would have fled with the utmost of haste. But they didn’t know. They had forgotten. They had forgotten something that Shumbrans should never have forgotten. Before long they would remember.

  Her brain was flooded with memories she had pushed aside and ignored for years. “You are different Joules,” said her grandmother, “You have been since your birth. You have a great gift.” The little girl asked, “Like a new dress Gram?” She said, “No, this gift is very different,” and she took the small girls hands in her own. “There are some among us that have a gift, a wonderful gift,” she said, “the ability to control and to focus the glow that comes from within us.”

  The memory faded but immediately another took its place. She was ten years old and visiting her grandmother’s house. “Gram, those stories you told me are just legends.” Gram winked and said, “Yes they are, but nevertheless they are true. You have another secret too,” she said. That memory faded and another took its place. She was at school and a strange man came on the playgrounds. As he approached she felt strange, like she was vibrating all over. She could tell her friend was scared of the man; he had been to her friend’s home and had argued with her father. As he got close the friend started to cry and back away, but she fell to the ground. The man was yelling at her and threatened her father and raised his hand to strike her; in that instant it happened. Children on the playground said they saw a bright light and the man was knocked to the ground. The police reported he had been struck by lightning. Katy didn’t see what happened; she had closed her eyes when she fell to the ground as the stranger advanced. But it wasn’t lightning.

  The memory faded and another began. She was at home telling her grandmother what had happened on the playground. Gram smiled. Joules told Gram her stories were just old legends. She smiled and said, “Yes they are.” Joules was angry because she thought Gram was playing and not taking her story seriously. “I’m going to show you something,” Gram responded, “I think it’s time you see for yourself; but you can’t tell your friends.” She stood up from her chair and closed the curtain then turned toward Joules. Her arms were dangling at her sides but the palms of her hands were pointed toward the floor. The glow in her hands got brighter until you could barely see them. Then she bent her elbows and brought her hands up with her palms out and a beam of light shot from her hands. It streaked through the air stopping abruptly halfway across the room blazing in the air like a stream of fire that seemed to be straining against an unseen leash. Gram was glowing ten times her normal self so that her sharp features were smoothed by the brilliant glow. She looked at Joules with a slight smile on her face and then the light began to fade. In seconds the beam of light was gone and her glow was back to normal. She sat down on her chair and said, “I can teach you to control it; it might come in handy again one day.” Joules remembered she never did, she didn’t have time. Gram passed away in her sleep the next evening. Ten years had now intervened.

  Joules turned quickly to face the Shumbran. Her arms were at her sides, the palms of her hands were facing downward, and they began to glow like white hot metal. She instinctively bent her elbows, raising her hands perpendicular to the floor and as she did her whole body began to glow like a gigantic Tesla coil. Time suddenly sped up. A beam of thick white light shot through the air stopping abruptly halfway across the room. Blazing in the air like a beam of fire that seemed to be straining against an unseen leash. Then she unleashed it.

  The beam of light hit the Shumbran in the chest with the force of a small bomb that blasted him back into a bookshelf. Books showered down on top of him as he crumpled to the ground. A searing sound like chunks of fat tossed in a hot fire could be heard from beneath the books and curls of black wispy smoke poured out of spaces between clumps of debris; up and up they went into the air hovering there desperately trying to reform. But they couldn’t, the curls of smoke were unable to coalesce. Each time they drew close to one another small flickers of bright white light drove them apart, and each vain attempt at reforming had its toll; the wisps of smoke became less black and more and more gray, becoming noticeably less energetic and less determined to connect with other streamers of smoke. The flickers of light continued to keep the gray plumes of smoke separated until they became the lightest of gray color, finally dissipating in the air and vanishing.

  Joules turned her attention back toward the center of the huge room. Immediately another beam of white light shot from her hands and split the air with a dreadful tearing sound. The light stopped abruptly midway across the room in the direction of the Shumbrans, but it wanted to strike, it wanted to break free of its leash and lash out at its targets.

  Shumbrans don’t like light. They like shadows and darkness. They don’t like even odds in a fight and they don’t like the unexpected, because they are poor at improvising. The beam of white hot light advanced toward them slightly as if its binding was made of cheap metal that was being slowly pried open. One of the Shumbrans near the entrance moved to retrieve one of their rectangular guns lying on the floor and in an instant the beam of white light shot to within inches of his forehead blocking his advance. It sizzled in the air loudly with a sound like static noise from an old radio that wasn’t dialed into a station frequency properly.

  “Leave now and you won’t be hurt,” yelled Joules. The beam of light split into three more beams, each advancing toward one of the remaining Shumbrans. The Perlucidian, who had taken a position between one of the Shumbrans and Joules, now backed away quickly toward Mark. The museum’s emergency evacuation lights began to flash and a siren sounded loudly in the hallway.

  “Emergency response personnel would surely be arriving soon,” thought Blackie as he watched the searing beams of light.

  “Leave, leave now or so help me I will fill t
his room with your lifeless smoke and vapor,” screamed Joules. One of the beams seared through the air and struck a large concrete and plaster column that immediately exploded chucking rubble ten feet and filling the air with dust. If it were possible, the beams of light seemed to intensify while she spoke, as if they were taking on some of her raw emotion. Slowly the light beams began to advance as if they were burning their way through thick plates of carbon steel. Realizing this was not an empty threat, and more quickly than you might think, the Shumbran trying to retrieve the weapon lying on the floor abandoned his attempt and joined his cohorts. Slowly, giving ground to the advancing beams of light the Shumbrans backed toward the front door. “Don’t come back, don’t bother me again, and leave my friends alone,” yelled Joules over the sound of the white hot light beams as the Shumbrans backed their way out of the museum and into the courtyard outside.

  Joules was still facing the door where they exited. She was glowing with such intensity that her sharp features had become indistinct and she had become enveloped by flickers of hot white light that formed a shield of sorts all around her. The beams of light were no longer advancing; they hung in the air like tubular bolts of lightning frozen in a digital photograph. But there was no mistaking the enormous energy in those beams as the sound resonating from them was like ten thousand angry bees trapped in a wire mesh cage.

  “Joules, you can stop now, they are gone,” said Blackie. He could see her inside the shield, she looked frightened.

  She turned her head toward him, “I don’t know how to control it,” she said through shield of light beams, “you have to leave,” she shouted, “take everyone outside, please.”

  “Is anyone hurt?” yelled Mark whose arm was cut and dripping blood. “Where is Amelia?” Amelia was lying against the wall unconscious but otherwise unhurt except for a deep cut on her forehead where a bookshelf crashed down on her.