Cosega Source: A Booker Thriller (The Cosega Sequence Book 5)
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Markol took a deep breath. At nearly seven feet tall, he might have cast an intimidating presence, yet his narrow face and almost elfish features made the fair-haired scientist seem too young and casual to have any wisdom that would interest The Circle.
“Yes,” the Arc said impatiently. “Are you ready?” Her powerful stare, firm speaking tone, and commanding presence sometimes masked her raw beauty. She had been the ranking member of The Circle, and therefore the de facto leader of the Cosegans, for nearly a century. Her exact age would be hard to determine, particularly with the Cosegans measures of time, but certainly it was many hundreds of years. However, if a modern human had seen the luster of her smooth cocoa skin, the awareness and vibrancy in her large dark eyes, and the intensity of her stare, one might easily guess the Arc to be in her thirties.
“I am,” Markol said a little too softly. “Esteemed Members of The Circle, thank you for the invitation to present to you today. As you are aware, I am a scientist and technologist. Amongst my areas of study, perhaps none am I more passionate about than the Eysen.” As he said the final word, a series of the magnificent spheres lit and levitated around him, seemingly appearing from thin air. “You each, no doubt, have a profound understanding of this remarkable device. However, I hope you will indulge me with a more in-depth analysis of its history and workings, so we may better understand its place in the crisis.”
Markol was surprised at how relaxed he became once his speech effortlessly started. All Cosegans possessed extraordinarily high intelligence, tremendous capacities to reason, along with other advanced abilities, yet their society had reached such levels of brilliance that their collective knowledge included an understanding of everything, which meant specialists were required to utilize smaller aspects of that insight and acumen in more practical ways. Thus, Shank, a member of The Circle, had suggested they invite Markol to “bring them up to speed” on the great technology.
The Arc nodded for Markol to continue.
“The Eysen is the culmination of hundreds of thousands of years of research, experiments, explorations, study, and theory by some of the greatest minds in our long history,” he continued. “Names like Toesah, Mapeznov, Keenin, Grunfel . . . If you take into account the earliest contributions to map and record activity in the first universe, one could say that it took more than a million years to develop the Eysen we have today.” He pointed to a virtual image floating above him that depicted the history of Eysens.
“It is still being improved, is it not?” one of the members asked.
“Yes, but since the Doom declaration, virtually all resources have gone into seeking the solution.”
“Do you believe a solution is possible without the Eysen?” the same member asked.
The question surprised Markol since The Circle had banned further Eysen exploration and manipulations into the far future. “Uh, yes, I believe the resource allocation toward the Imaze mission is a wise course.” Instantly he felt on the defensive, and rubbed his thumb around his forefinger, trying to muster up confidence.
“You aren’t really answering my question,” the woman said.
Markol looked self-consciously at Shank, a powerful member of The Circle who, more than anyone, was responsible not just for him being there today, but for his entire career. It had been a long tradition for Circle Members to sponsor scientists, artists, and creators in numerous disciplines. Members helped shape their careers by introductions to others in the fields, others who could help.
Shank’s usually wise, joyous eyes darkened. He nodded hesitantly, indicating Markol should answer honestly, but was clearly worried that the reply might not be one he would desire.
“The Terminus Doom is a major . . . well . . . It’s the biggest thing we’ve . . . I mean . . . ”
“It’s the end of the world,” the woman said firmly. “You may fear such a cataclysmic occurrence, but you should never be afraid to speak of it.”
Seven
Rip and Gale sat in one of Booker’s private jets, heading toward Europe. “Ironic,” Rip began, as he sipped a yerba mate power smoothie filled with one of Booker’s special blend of herbs.
“What?” Gale replied, drinking another one of the eccentric billionaire’s creations, a five-nut herbal concoction.
“After all these years, we’re still on a Cosega Search . . . looking for Eysens, trying to reach back in time.”
“But we’re closer,” Gale said, as she looked across the aisle at Cira, listening to an audio book. She tried to see the title—CapWar something. “I mean, don’t you feel it? We might actually get there.”
“There?”
“The source.”
Rip nodded. “If we’re so close, why aren’t we hearing from Crying Man?”
“He warned us,” Gale said softly, trying not to let her own concerns take over. “The Cosegan civilization was collapsing. There was so much fear among the Cosegans.”
“If we were our only hope, I’d be afraid, too.”
“We are our—”
“I was trying to be funny.”
“I know, but it isn’t funny.” Gale leaned across the small table and touched Rip’s hand. “Someone, maybe the Cosegan leaders, or perhaps some nefarious element among the Cosegans, is blocking him.”
“Do you really think there could be bad Cosegans?”
“Hard to imagine, when they’re so evolved and advanced in technology to produce Eysens and show us all we’ve seen in them.”
“And to have someone like Crying Man,” Rip added, thinking of the soulful being who had consumed the past fourteen years of his life. “Could it be possible that he can still see us, even if we can’t see him?”
“I hope so, or . . . ”
“Or it’s so much worse than we think.”
“Yes.” Gale looked out the small window as they broke through the thick clouds. A large island came into view in the ocean below. “But if there aren’t any bad Cosegans, why is their civilization crumbling, why is the world about to end?”
Rip shook his head. “Maybe Nostradamus can tell us.”
They were going to France to investigate the great sixteenth century seer who some believe predicted the great London fire, the French Revolution, Hitler’s rise and World War II, the Atomic bombs, JFK’s assassination, the 9/11 terrorist attacks, and many other events. And who, Rip and Gale believed, also had an Eysen.
Cosegan Times
While listening to Markol, The Arc recalled a critical meeting she’d had with the chief of the guardians months earlier. They’d been staring out over Solas. The city was always lit, its constantly changing views profound.
“We must cut off the globotite,” the Arc had said to the man who controlled the elite Cosegan security force as they stood atop the Cosegan’s tallest occupied building. Rising up more than three thousand feet from the coastal plain, the magnificent structure housed more than eight thousand families. Entirely constructed of sound and light, the shimmering, gleaming edifice was known simply as “The Reach.” The Arc occupied the top floor for both her residence and offices.
“The mineral is critical to the Etherens,” the chief had replied, a pained expression on his face.
“It is also critical to the Eysens,” she snapped. “The Etherens can weave baskets or collect tree nuts for all I care.”
“It’s a very difficult mineral to mine,” the chief said. Globotite was not in the ground, like many minerals. It could only be found in the air, but it was an incredibly complex operation to extract the shimmering, nearly invisible cobalt blue mineral. “We have enough surveillance and spies among the Etherens that I can safely say they are not extracting new supplies.”
“I certainly hope you’ve stopped the mining,” she’d barked. After all, she’d ordered that.
“There have to be all kinds of specific conditions to even find the substance. Only Etherens seem able to do it.”
“Yes.” She knew all that, but allowed him to review his knowledge.
“I believe it requires a shaman, or at least one would speed the locating aspect considerably.”
“Right. There’s even some elaborate ritual of who’s chosen to mine it. Apparently, they have to have had a certain dream, or they have to demonstrate something in their life that makes them worthy of mining and caring for the mineral.”
“Incredible that something so primitive, and odd, is needed to power our technological achievements.”
He nodded. “And even after all that, they only get these minute amounts. Then it has to all go through a process of cleaning and separating. They simply can’t hide that. It’s too big an operation to conceal.”
“It isn’t the newly mined globotite that worries me,” she countered. “It is the existing stashes.”
“I understand. We are working to discover how they hide and move it.”
The Arc narrowed her already intense eyes at him as if he were stupid. “I can put enough of the mineral under the fingernails of my left hand to power a dozen Eysens. How hard can it be?”
The chief inclined his head. “We soon expect to have portable detectors in the field.”
“Excellent,” she said, truly pleased, sharing a rare smile.
“We will find and confiscate every last speck of the mineral.”
“Control globotite, control the Eysen makers.” Her lovely brown eyes had instantly gone hard again.
Unbeknownst to her, the chief would later doubt he had ever seen a smile at all.
Eight
The twenty-nine Circle members each stared at the young scientist, waiting for his response.
“Yes, thank you,” Markol said, trying to recover his confidence and train of thought. “As I was saying, in the face of the Doom, we should not limit ourselves to a singular course. We would be wiser, and I don’t presume to speak for The Circle . . . ” He looked at Shank nervously, noticing his eyes were deflected, head cocked slightly as if not believing the words of his protégé. “Well, it seems more advantageous to throw everything we can at it. We really don’t know exactly what might work.”
“Really?” the woman asked. “With all your intelligence, gadgets, and views into the shadowy ethers of time, you cannot test a theory, project an outcome?”
“Of course we can, but there’s no certainty until occurrence.”
“No, there is not,” the Arc chimed in.
“And if you would have us pursue the reckless path of Eysen manipulated events,” a man began, “what do you have to say about the Nostradamus incident?”
“Unfortunate—”
“To say the least,” the Arc injected so quickly the four words sounded like one.
“Yes, but if I could finish,” Markol persisted. “The Nostradamus insertion showed it is possible to affect events to cause a circular ripple effect that could reach past and future outcomes, thereby giving us the potential to change the course of trackable reality, which means the Terminus Doom might be reversible.”
“The Nostradamus incident hastened the Doom. It cost us decades,” the man said. “The Eysen Maker had a chance, and used it to rob the years we needed to find a solution. The Eysen made things worse.”
“I’m aware, but that proves my point,” Markol said. “It could work.”
“We may not survive because of the mistakes of Trynn,” Shank interjected. “We all agree on that.” He shot Markol a cold look before continuing. “Our young friend here believes in the astonishing abilities of the Eysen, as we all do. The spheres can do mindboggling things. Indeed, we access all of creation through them. However, we are not here today to debate the Eysen’s role in future manipulations and how that relates to the Doom. That decision has been made. I wanted us to hear from Markol because he can provide the insight and understanding we need to make certain our directives are being followed . . . that Trynn is not continuing with his dangerous pursuits.”
“Trynn is not a dangerous man,” Welhey, another member, interrupted. “With all due respect to Markol here, there is no other scientist with more knowledge and experience in these matters than Trynn. His brilliance has no equal.”
“Yes, we all know how you feel about him,” Shank countered. “Needless to say, you are idolizing a criminal.”
“Criminal?” Welhey stood. “What laws has he violated?”
“This will be revealed shortly.”
Welhey’s face clouded in silent fury, his dark features darkening further. “I demand to hear any charge against Trynn this instant.”
“It is a growing list,” Shank responded. “Let Markol speak first of the Eysen’s history, and then I will disclose the charges.”
“The quest began more than a million solar-revolutions ago,” Markol continued. His long arms punctuated animated inflections that endeared him to the less cynical among the members as he spoke in reverence of the Cosegan ancestors known as ‘earliests.’ “Our earliests having reached a firm plateau of generous technology, and having moved past crime, war, and disease, sought higher elevation, and dreamed of monumental pursuits: limitless free energy, space travel, anti-gravity, even time travel, something thought then to be a fanciful fiction.”
“Yes, yes,” the Arc said. “Basic history lesson not needed.” She leaned back, interlacing her fingers behind her practically shaven head.
Markol nodded, and skipped ahead. “As our earliests developed the mind-crystals to do ever-advanced mathematical equations, integral calculus, quantum physics, and artificial intelligence, they explored farther into space, searching for the keys to creation, for the secrets of the universe, and they came across the idea for a machine to encompass it all—the Eysen.”
More holographic Eysens formed around him, showing the cycle of development, with the earliest spheres being the size of small mountains. “Those gigantic ones took millennia to construct and were in use for tens of thousands of years. By utilizing the power of those first Eysens, they were able to soon gain and expand through machine learning and exponential growth. At the same time, our earliests were venturing deeper into space in search of more knowledge, where they began identifying space vortexes.”
A guardian entered the great hall and made his way to the Arc as Markol continued speaking.
“It was the discovery of the rare air mineral globotite that finally transformed the massive, clumsy machines into something closer to what we see today,” Markol said. “As you know, it is exceedingly rare, incredibly difficult to mine, hard to transport and store, yet it is a power source unlike any other.”
As the guardian whispered into the Arc’s ear, her face became increasingly distressed.
Nine
Trynn knew it had been too long since he’d contacted Rip and Gale. They don’t realize that the best thing for all of us is if we never see each other again . . . if we’d never seen each other in the first place.
He thought back on the years since Rip had discovered the Eysen. A blink in Cosegan time, and yet it seemed like forever to Trynn. When you’re about to lose everything, the perception of time is a far less dependable thing. He had occasionally caught glimpses of them in projections from his Eysens, but had not allowed them to see him.
After taking all the precautions he’d established to prevent the guardians from discovering he was still carrying out the forbidden work, Trynn entered what he called “the room of a million futures”. It was there that he hoped to save humanity.
He nodded to one of his assistants. The woman, surprised to see him, motioned to a large 3D scene playing out among thousands of others. He watched for a moment. Tension filled him as he digested the images.
They were able to see snippets of the future, a type of prophecy show. It helped him decide what to do.
“Every ins
ertion prospect is making it worse,” the woman said.
“How long?” he asked, wanting to know the duration of the views she’d accessed.
She shook her head.
He knew that meant she’d gone at least ahead three hundred thousand years, beyond that, the visuals would break apart unless the insertion worked.
“Buying time?” another assistant asked upon seeing Trynn.
Trynn glanced at the Terminus clock. An algorithm constantly calibrated everything they were doing against all known occurrences and calculated the time remaining until the Terminus Doom ended it all.
Twenty-eight days until we die, he thought. Some improvement, but hardly any . . . I can still taste the final breath of humanity.
“Well?” the assistant asked.
“It won’t work,” Trynn said. “If we commit to an insertion just to open a thousand millennia, it will close back in on us, and we won’t know when, and—”
“We won’t be able to stop it,” the woman finished.
“Exactly,” Trynn said.
“Why?” the other assistant asked.
“It peels the time from the back end, for lack of a better way to explain it,” Trynn said.
“So we won’t be here anymore?”
“Yes . . . we’ll be part of the Missing-Time.”
As Julae continued to assess the distance between herself and the six guardians pursuing her, she knew she had to focus on all her tricks to preserve energy. She was not just a globe runner, she was the daughter and sister of “dream senders,” the Etherens who had deepened their meditative and myree talents to the point where they could send thoughts into the dreams and, in certain cases, meditative minds of people in the far future.
Julae’s mother had grown up with Trynn, and he had been a frequent presence when she was still a little girl, long before the discovery of the Terminus Doom. Across all those years, Julae had witnessed the bond between her mother and Trynn. Nothing romantic, but a strong friendship born out of their common missions. Both were doing the same thing in different ways—the dream senders trying to affect change by communicating through mind and meditation with those in the far future, and Trynn attempting the same through Eysens.