by Brandt Legg
As she jogged away from the ledge, for some reason, Julae thought about Shanoah. They had met several times, although Trynn, wanting to protect Shanoah from the conspiracy, had not told her that Julae was a globe runner. I wish she knew, Julae thought, but Shanoah is too important to risk. By going in person, the Imazes are doing in the physical form what Trynn is doing in the Eysen. Julae so admired Shanoah, and often feared that Trynn’s work could lead to her being expelled from the Imazes.
I’ve got to reach those trees, she thought, remembering her mother saying a thousand times, “The trees will always keep you safe.” She, like the other Etherens involved in the shadowy, solution-seeking world, resisting The Circle and their “mistaken decrees,” knew time was short. It was all coming to a critical point—the Imazes were about to leave, Trynn was juggling the future among Eysens . . .
I can’t even imagine how those people of short lives so far in the future can be so important to our survival, to anything.
She burst into the woods at full speed. Cosegans could run three times faster than their far future descendants, and Etherens could run even faster than that.
She thought of her sister and mother. They are making progress with great minds in the far future, but it is slow work, and the Terminus Doom is looming like a desperate, hardened blackness, closing faster and faster, as if we’re on the last day and I can already see the colors of the sunset muted behind the clouds.
The guardians would not give up. Since they had shut down air mining operations of globotite, they had moved to intercept and uncover every trace of the rare mineral.
I’ve got to get through . . . this could be the last shipment of globotite. How much more is there? How much more does he need? Where will I go? How far back are they?
Without slowing, Julae checked behind herself again and saw the first guardian enter the trees.
The trees will always keep you safe.
Ten
“Excuse me,” the Arc said, standing. “Please continue in my absence. I must attend to an important matter.”
Markol continued explaining the history. “We Cosegans have been working on the Eysens through millennia, never imagining it could be used to manipulate the future, let alone the far future. Why would there have ever been a need?” he asked rhetorically.
“The Eysen sciences have allowed us to greatly expand our knowledge,” one member said.
“In so many areas,” Markol agreed. “Then the Terminus Doom was discovered by the Eysen Science Commission. It was there when Trynn, without question the leading Eysen scientist, believing the Eysen could provide a solution to the Doom, made the breakthrough.”
“Many have contributed to the Eysens development,” Shank said, more harshly than he intended.
“Of course, but Trynn stands on the shoulders of giants, and says so often. He can name more of his predecessors than anyone I know, likely more than most of you here today could probably do with the past members of The Circle.”
“Carry on,” Shank said curtly, while making the effort to smile.
“You’ll recall that as an emergency measure, The Circle convened our best minds at the Terminus-Response Conference. That’s where Trynn first gained the attention of The Circle.”
“Yes, but his Nostradamus disaster . . . ” Jenso, a female member, said. “He is lucky to not have been banished.”
“He is not the enemy.”
“He may intend no harm, yet his radical experiments, seeking to save us from the Doom, were likely to bring it much sooner,” Jenso said. “This is why we shut down his far-future program.” Her white teeth flashed between her dark lips, and she shook her snowy, shoulder length hair, which formed a perfect U around her dark skin.
“But did he comply?” Shank asked, looking at as many faces as possible. “I charge that Trynn is still attempting to manipulate the far future.”
There were several gasps among The Circle.
“Can you prove this?” the Arc asked, walking back into the great hall.
“I believe so,” Shank said. “There are globotite deficiencies.”
“Is there a report?” the Arc asked, knowing that globotogolists devoted their entire careers to studying the rare mineral, which had a trackable characteristic.
“Forthcoming,” Shank said. “But the preliminary conclusion is that there is a significant amount partitioned.”
“Meaning it has been pushed to another time.”
“Yes.”
“Enough to power an Eysen over that time?”
“Enough for three.”
More gasps, and a rumbling.
“Does that take into account the Nostradamus incident?” the Arc asked.
“Of course.”
“Any other possible explanations for the deficiency?” She looked from Markol to Shank.
Markol shook his head.
“Nothing we know of,” Shank said.
“It could be someone other than Trynn,” Markol said.
“Please,” Jenso scoffed. “You just told us he is so far ahead of any others.”
“That doesn’t mean—”
“He’s correct,” the Arc said, waving a hand to silence further dissent or debate. “We cannot prosecute without proof. Our system and tradition are absolutely clear on this point.”
“Surely the Terminus Doom makes for an exception,” Shank said.
“No. Only proof.”
“Once we have the report—” Shank tried.
“No,” she said again. “We will step up surveillance on him.”
This was the first Markol had heard The Circle was watching Trynn, but it came as no surprise. He did find it somewhat disturbing though.
The Arc, seemingly distracted and angered, soon adjourned The Circle.
After the meeting, Shank found Markol outside the great hall. “What was that?” Shank asked.
“I told the truth.”
Shank took a deep breath and nodded. “Yes.”
“It is all I can do.”
“You should be in charge of the Eysens.”
“What do you mean?” Markol replied with a confused look.
“Accessing the far future. Trynn may be right.”
“But you just said—”
“He is not authorized by The Circle, he is reckless, he is not the one . . . and yet, can we rely on the furious flights of the Imazes as they gasp in the darkest and most obscure corners of space, searching for an impossible seam in which to slip through time and then convince, or teach, our primitive descendants enough to change . . . then, now . . . everything?”
Markol stared, suddenly afraid. “But The Circle . . . ”
“They don’t know what else to do.”
“But then Trynn—”
“He has made it worse, but I believe we could convince them that you can do it.”
“I’ve heard the Etherens are engaged in the solution.”
“Etherens,” Shank said, as if it were a dirty word. “I’m aware of their efforts. Contacting quote geniuses of the far future, as if such a thing exists.”
“There are some individuals who—”
“Aren’t as mundane as the rest.”
“—have true genius,” Markol finished.
“You would do well to consider the scale on which they are judged. Geniuses, but not by our standards.”
“Regardless, the Etherens speak to these people through meditation—”
“Yes, they reach them in their own meditations and dreams, inspire and guide them, but this is supposed to change the Doom?”
“We should explore every chance,” Markol said, wanting to sound more confident than he felt.
“Of course, but we should not count on every chance. Yet it is on your point that we agree. And why you should pursue the strategy Trynn laid out, only you should do so correctly.”
Eleven
Normally a government scientist walking into Trynn’s lab would cause him worry that there might be an inspection, or a
resource audit, or any number of difficult oversights or inquiries, but when he looked up and saw Anjee, Trynn smiled.
They shared a quick embrace before he ushered her back outside into the gardens that surrounded the building. Trynn and Anjee had been friends ever since they’d trained together as young scientists, and had collaborated on many Eysen projects.
“What about the archaeologist?” Anjee asked as they sat in the shade of a tall evergreen.
“He found the Eysen,” Trynn said.
“The archaeologist?”
Trynn nodded. “And so it begins.”
“Or ends.”
“Don’t say that, it will work.”
“I was not being serious. Don’t let the pressure consume you, Trynn.”
He could see the concern in her eyes. Anjee and his late wife had also been especially close. “Everything depends on the actions of a man living in a dangerous time eleven million years from now. If he, or someone in his government, makes one wrong decision, we are all through.”
“I know all of this, of course, but you know it is impossible to operate at full mental capacity when you are stressed. Besides, if the archaeologist makes a single mistake, we’re all dead anyway, so it won’t matter.”
“If it was just me,” Trynn said, ignoring Anjee’s bad attempt at levity, “it would be much easier to refrain from worry, but the distances are so great . . . It’s hard to know what they will do.”
“You know I support you, and I believe what you are doing will save us all. That is why I am risking everything to help you.”
He nodded. “I know.”
“The adjustments have to be precise, yet that same distance of time means they don’t have to be perfect,” she said, touching Trynn’s shoulder.
“But the pressures, the overlapping history futures, everything that has ever been, it is overwhelming sometimes trying to control and manipulate it.” They continued their stroll through the trees.
“That’s what I’m saying. You don’t have to get it just right. There is enough allowance for wobble that we can correct and tweak as changes occur.”
“You’re forgetting, there may be room to tweak and play in the adjustments going forward with the modern humans, but here, in our present time,” he leaned up to see the top of a tree and pointed to a beautiful bird’s nest, “we also face constraints. It is getting more and more difficult to avoid the guardians. You know The Circle is suspicious.”
“They’re more than suspicious. I do fear they will find you and discover that you did not stop.”
Trynn looked at her as if the weight of everything had crashed down on him all over again. He leaned against the tree. “I’m not afraid of what they will do if they catch me.”
“I know you’re not.”
“But the work . . . “ He waved toward the lab building. “None of the others will be brave enough to carry on.”
“They will all wait for the Imazes,” she agreed.
“And none of them realize that the Imaze mission is a far riskier strategy.”
Anjee nodded as they walked on. “I know. Less control, and talk about precision—they must enter at exact times. But Shanoah is very smart, very capable.”
Trynn smiled. “And very brave.”
“But it may not be enough.” Anjee looked off into the distance, contemplating. After a brief silence, she spoke, this time in more of a whisper. “Tell me about the archaeologist. When will you make contact?”
“There are many already in pursuit of him.”
“And the Eysen?”
“Yes. There was a traitor among those who made the discovery . . . someone who did not understand.” Suddenly a flourish of brilliant butterflies encircled them, then fluttered away.
“Do any of them understand?” she asked.
“Of course not. Not the ultimate stakes. How could they know the fate of the world rests in each breath they take? But this one didn’t even know what it meant to their time. Regardless, I have already taken steps to assist them in their flight.” One butterfly had landed on Anjee’s shoulder. Trynn placed his finger near it, and it perched. He gently let it lift off and fly away.
“Them?”
“He travels with a woman.”
“Don’t they all.”
Trynn allowed a smile. “This one is with the information agencies they call ‘the media’.”
Anjee looked concerned.
“At this moment, she is working against him, but that will soon change.”
“The drama,” she said. “It bogs us down.”
Trynn nodded.
“The frequency you needed . . . ” she began.
“You have it?” Trynn said, a little too loud.
She recited a series of colors and numbers slowly.
Trynn memorized it. “Thank you,” he whispered, knowing the risks she took, knowing if caught, her life as she knew it would be over.
“Save us,” she said, kissing his cheek before she turned and walked away.
Twelve
Julae somehow ran even faster, moving deeper into the forest. The two guardians kept close enough to be a threat, but not close enough to shoot. But there were more behind them, and others on the way. In the quiet of the woods, she could hear her breaths, and knew her only hope was to keep it controlled.
I also have to listen for the flyers, she thought, knowing the guardians with jet packs would be arriving any time. As soon as they received the report they had a globe runner cornered out here, the guardians will deploy everything they have near.
She looked up through the trees as she heard the first few flyers arrive.
The canopy is thick . . . they can’t get through yet.
She checked behind her. Barely keeping her lead, she fought to slow her breathing.
They’ll catch me soon. She patted the globotite pouch at her thigh. They can’t get this.
As she ran, she looked for somewhere to hide it, but knew there wouldn’t be time to slow. Her lead was too short. Then, suddenly, she remembered where she was.
There might be a way, she thought. However, the idea made her sad. I won’t get the delivery there . . . I’ll miss my friends and family.
Yet, as she thought about it more, Julae knew it was the only answer. Her first priority was to stop the guardians from getting the globotite, and the second was to make sure they never knew who she was.
I have to do it. But can I make it that far?
A quick glance back told her she was maintaining her lead. Julae steadied her breath and looked ahead. The break in the trees meant she had a chance, but it also meant the flyers could get her first.
There wasn’t much need to conserve her energy now. She poured on the speed, broke through the other side of the forest a few minutes later, and never slowed. Back on the edge of a canyon, Julae quickly got her bearings as lasers hit the dirt all around her. As long as I don’t stop, they won’t be able to either, she thought at the same time she spotted the bridge.
It wasn’t really a bridge, more like a thin stone arch connecting the expansive mesa she was on to a much smaller one. Julae leapt upon it, relieved to see it wasn’t as high as she thought—maybe five hundred feet.
Still a far way to fall . . .
The flyers closed in on her, surrounding both ends of the arching stone bridge. “Stop!” one of them announced over a broadcasted voice device. “There is nowhere to go.”
She did not stop. Better to lose the mineral than to get caught and jeopardize the mission.
“Final warning,” the voice said. “We just want to question you.”
Of course they’d prefer not to kill me, she thought. They want to know everything I know—about the secret supplies of globotite, our smuggling routes, Trynn . . .
No way.
Tracer, the division leader, gave the order.
An instant before they locked on, while on the highest point, in the middle of the arch, Julae jumped.
She hit the water below with
such force that the guardians were not surprised when she did not surface.
The flyers were there within a minute. They watched every inch of the deep, churning river around her impact spot.
“Set up cameras!” Tracer yelled. “And start a timer.”
“You don’t think she survived that jump, do you?” one of the others asked.
“I doubt it, but we have to be sure. Calculate the current, I want to know how far she could move.”
They all knew Cosegans could hold their breath for thirty to thirty-five minutes. Etherens, perhaps a little longer. “We’ll wait, just in case.”
The other guardians made their way down from the top. Soon they had more than twenty-five personnel searching, watching, reviewing the images. After forty-five minutes, they were confident that she had died.
Tracer called the chief to report the outcome. “We’ll pick up her body in a few days at the Lows,” he said, referring to a shallow section of the river located outside the canyon.
“Send us the images. We’ll try to get her identified.”
The guardian’s chief contacted the Arc to fill her in. She had a standing order to hear about all things connected to globotite or Eysens.
“Patch me through to the division leader, now!”
Tracer, surprised to hear directly from the Arc, accepted the video call while standing on the banks of the river. Even before she spoke, he could tell by her face she was angry.
“Search that water,” the Arc demanded without any greeting.
“It’s the swirling depths,” Tracer replied. “She could not have survived.”
“I understand she may have been an Etheren.”
“What difference would that make?” Tracer knew they might be able to hold their breaths longer, but it was way past that time.