by Brandt Legg
So as Shanoah prepared for The Circle review, she was uncharacteristically tense. She didn’t exactly know why the Arc disliked her, and perhaps “dislike” was too strong a word, but there was something personal there that she had never been able to figure out. And yet the Arc had signed off on her promotion. Sometimes, when she hadn’t seen the leader for a while, Shanoah even wondered if she’d been imagining the dilemma.
Soon I’ll either be a hero, or dead. Either way, the Arc will not bother me anymore.
The Imaze Space Summit, spread out around her, stretched for miles on a high, massive plateau. Although an ancient facility, its earliest structures dating back half a million years, everything looked sleek, ultra-tech, sci-fi modern. The gleaming metals reflected the abundant columns of light at the ISS. It had been at the Summit that some of the first forms of sonic construction were developed.
Shanoah would not be handling the presentation. The Circle had other Imazes much better equipped to explain the intricacies of their proposed missions. However, she would be taking most of the questions. The Circle, and especially the Arc, generally preferred to deal with the top people.
Shanoah greeted the Arc and the other four members of The Circle. As they exchanged pleasantries, a casual observer would not have noticed any tension between the two women.
They climbed into two self-driving goeze vehicles, which looked like triangular wedges of glowing light that hovered inches above the ground. Each goeze automatically extended to accommodate any number of passengers and unlimited cargo, and could travel at virtually any rate up to lightspeed.
Several support flights lifted off while they were cruising through the ISS. Other flights would continue throughout the day. Although space mining was conducted under the direction of the Planetary and Star Surveyors, who operated two facilities that were each ten to twenty times larger than ISS, the Imazes did some specialized mining themselves for scarce space minerals, and worked with another Cosegan space agency to tap energy from black holes. The time jumps into Earth’s future were the riskiest space missions, but black hole “drilling” was the second most dangerous mission, and the number one cause of death among Cosegan astronauts from all agencies.
Twenty-Three
Trynn left the lab, his goeze flying along at blistering speed as he tried to put the raid behind him, recalling the first images of when the archaeologist had appeared. He had looked into the floating 3D composite, and although he had known it was going to happen, and even what to expect, the sight of the two people had stunned him. There was Ripley Gaines, a man living eleven million years in the future, a man who might save the world. Next to him had been an older man, who, like the younger Gaines, was intelligent and experienced in their lifetime. And yet they knew nothing.
As he often did, Trynn recorded a conversation with himself. The process helped to clear his mind, and gave him an insurance policy should the time twists of the Eysen’s far future manipulations get out of hand.
Trynn remembered that first Eysen day when he’d stared into Rip’s eyes, trying to decide if this future human really had what it took. Could he endure the life-threatening odyssey he had just begun? With all Trynn knew of the future, he couldn’t be certain. He had seen it play out many different ways in the Eysen.
“It will all come down to just how committed Rip is, how persuasive, how much luck he can attract.” He thought about Rip’s expression that day, when he’d first seen Crying Man looking out at him. Rip’s eyes had mirrored his own wonder.
So many questions, and an immeasurable amount of shock . . .
“And that was before Nostradamus,” Trynn shouted to the recorder. The encrypted recording could only be opened by Trynn or his daughter, at least in this time. He’d also set a provision that it could be opened by Ripley Gaines or Rip’s daughter, just in case something horrible happened. “The archaeologist is the failsafe. I hope he never finds it.”
However, Trynn knew that Rip might be the last hope if the other insertions failed.
“How can they ever imagine that such incredible accomplishments could have been done in their own past?” Trynn tried unsuccessfully to imagine what it would be like to encounter such magnificent technology, things Cosegans took for granted, things he had always known, that would seem mythical, science fictional, futuristic, impossibly dream-like, to the modern humans.
“That first day, it was all I could do not to tell the archaeologist what was coming, what had happened, what was at stake, the possibilities of a merged existence . . . and yet, I knew it was far too soon to reveal any of this.”
The goeze whizzed past a smaller Cosegan town, a distant suburb to Solas. It still featured light buildings, but none higher than a few stories.
“I’d learned through trial and error, from the calamities of the Nostradamus incident, that if I uttered a single word at that moment, it would be over . . . it would be too much for them to handle. Just one wrong word could initiate a spiraling series of events that would destroy any hope that the Cosegans had to survive.”
Trynn checked the view screen to see how much further it was until he reached his destination. Now the scenery was all nature. Cosegans had left almost ninety-six percent of the land unspoiled.
“It didn’t matter that much to me because what would take days and weeks in the archaeologist’s time would be mere minutes in our Cosegan time. Still, the emotion of it, the contact, the final chance to save us all, it overwhelmed me for a moment. There you were, standing in the mountains, not too far from where we’d inserted your Eysen eleven million years earlier. And as I saw you see me, I felt tears stream down my cheeks.” Trynn paused, suddenly realizing he had switched from recording a journal of his work to a conversation directly with Rip. “I do hope you never hear this. But, anyway, that’s why you called me Crying Man, and when the older man disappeared and then returned with Gale, I cried more because in her eyes I saw something else. With Rip I hoped there was enough intellectual capacity that maybe we could get through. In Gale I recognized a spiritual understanding of not just what it might mean, but what it could be.”
A signal broke into his narrative, informing him the goeze was approaching its destination.
“I sensed that Gale was one of those rare people who could see and understand through the human soul. It was as if she could look across time, that she could really know, that she was actually seeing me. Gale reminded me of Shanoah, a fierce determination that magnified her inner strength and made her extraordinarily magnetic. I knew right then that Rip and Gale together would have the best chance to succeed where the others had failed. But I would have to go slow, at least in their time. Yet even then, with the abilities taught to me by the Etherens, I began the process of communicating with them. I spoke to them in a kind of seduction, conveying subtle universal truths, imparting wisdom of the ages directly into their minds, intermixed with silent whispers of their names, attempting to fortify the considerable strength both already possessed with as much as I could possibly give, knowing that they were running for their lives, having no idea that they were really running for everyone’s lives.”
His vehicle stopped, but he did not disembark, wanting first to finish his journal entry.
“I went deeper, taking advantage of every precious moment I had with them. Those moments would be scarcer than I liked due to my circumstances with The Circle decree, and because half of their world seemed to be after them. I was running from the secrets of what I was doing, running from the consequences of bad decisions made by The Circle. They were running from a similar kind of ignorance. All of us were being pursued for the wrong reasons.”
Will any of us escape?
His strandband lit with an urgent communication from Welhey. Even before he heard his voice, Trynn knew everything had just gotten worse.
Twenty-Four
The Arc silently stared at the mountains for several seconds. Shanoah suspected the woman was intentionally holding her in suspense. Always the p
olitician looking for the upper hand.
Finally, the Arc turned and fixed her strong stare on Shanoah, catching the younger woman by surprise even though she knew those powerful eyes well.
“You are a hero, Shanoah.”
“Not yet,” she replied.
“Oh, but you will be. Trust me on that.”
“That is a lot to live up to. I don’t really need any more pressure, but thank you for your kind words and confidence.”
The Arc smiled, as if she knew much more about Shanoah than Shanoah knew about herself. “Pressure . . . there is plenty to go around.” The Arc turned back to the window. “Our civilization has flourished for millions of years, and yet it comes to us to try and save it. And not just our own, but also the clumsy ones that come after . . . Sometimes I wonder if we should be fighting so hard to save everything when we are on such a course.”
Shanoah actually gasped. The Arc turned to gauge the surprise on her face.
“You are thinking, would the Arc really entertain the idea of surrender? Oh, don’t be so shocked my dear. When one is in charge and responsible for so many, a leader must consider every option, explore any possible outcome. So I consider these things. What happens if the Imazes crash and burn?”
“I think that is inappropriate—”
“Please forgive my bluntness, another hazard of the position, but failure is a real possibility. Your missions come with extraordinary risk. And beyond that, I must always face the remote possibility that we have chosen the wrong one. The Circle is a collection of our wisest council, and yet, we are human.”
“We will succeed.”
Their eyes locked briefly, each feeling the other’s power and vulnerability.
“Don’t worry,” the Arc said. “There is no question that we must attempt to defeat the Terminus Doom, and I have every confidence that you will succeed.”
“Thank you.”
“You may not be aware of my background in aerospace anomalies, shift-seams, and other space sciences, but long before you were born, I was flying out in the stars. I’ve been to the edge of the spectrum belt.”
“How did I not know this?” Shanoah asked, truly surprised yet again.
The Arc smiled. “There is much you don’t know. That’s okay, there are a great many things I don’t know as well. But I did not ask you here to tell you of my accomplishments.” The Arc held her gaze. “I wanted to let you know that I, and the entire Circle, have every confidence in you and the other Imazes. We believe your missions will erase the Doom.”
“Thank you,” Shanoah said again.
“However, there is a matter that clouds your bright future . . . possibly all of our futures.” Still not turning away, Shanoah knew what was coming next, and this time was not surprised. “You know of what I speak?”
Shanoah involuntarily nodded, acknowledging it.
“You are deeply involved in a relationship with Trynn. There is talk that he is defying The Circle, that he is pursuing the dangerous Eysen manipulations into the far future . . . even another insertion.”
It required all of Shanoah’s concentration and mental capacity not to nod, as if she were under a spell from this great leader. But she managed to stare silently, unmoving.
“You understand that I, that everyone on The Circle—well, most everyone—like Trynn personally. We have enormous respect for him and his accomplishments, but we cannot have anyone defying The Circle. Ever. And especially in these times, the days of the Terminus Doom.”
“Of course not,” Shanoah said. “However, whatever issue you have with Trynn, you should take up with him. He is not hiding.”
“Yes,” she said, smiling, yet sounding annoyed. “There are those on The Circle who believe Trynn should be taken into custody, tried, and banished.”
“But that is against our way,” Shanoah said, shocked they would consider such a thing against a man of Trynn’s stature.
“Against our way only if there’s no proof,” the Arc snapped.
“There is no proof,” Shanoah replied quickly. Perhaps too quickly.
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because Trynn is a good Cosegan, a good man.” She paused. “And because even if that wasn’t true, if you had proof, then you wouldn’t be talking to me about Trynn. He would already be in custody.”
“That’s right, my dear. However, should something occur, something that changes the situation with Trynn, you will let me know?”
“If the situation changes, of course.”
A knowing smile from the Arc, and silence lingered between them for a moment.
“Because I cannot have you flying to the stars, entering the spectrum belt, arriving in the far future with our future in your hands, while you are distracted or distraught about the situation. Or worse, if you are being disloyal to The Circle. Do you understand?”
“You are threatening my command of the Imazes?”
“‘Threaten’ is not a very nice word, but you have summed up the intent of my meaning quite succinctly.”
Shanoah stared at the woman while trying to control her anger. “I think you underestimate me.”
“No, I do not. I most definitely do not.”
Shanoah squinted. “Will there be anything else?”
“There will be, but not at the moment.”
“Because we are departing tomorrow,” Shanoah said, “with the fate of the world in our hands, and there is much to do.”
“Well then, get doing. Until then, I’ll look forward to our next conversation.”
Shanoah walked toward the room’s exit.
“And Shanoah?” the Arc called after her.
The Imaze commander turned and looked back.
“Remember, my dear. You are a hero.”
Twenty-Five
Cira walked into the room, yawning. “Did I miss anything?”
“Take a look at this,” Gale said, pointing to the painting displayed on the large monitor.
“Is that an Eysen?” their daughter asked.
“We think so.”
“Wow! Wait,” she gave them a disapproving look, “have you two been up all night?”
“We slept some,” Rip replied, trying to recall how much sleep they’d actually gotten.
“Not enough, I’ll bet. Who painted it?”
“Leonardo da Vinci.”
“No way!” She looked at it closely. “It does resemble the Mona Lisa . . . You didn’t finish the baguette, did you? I’m starving.”
“I vote we bail on Nostradamus,” Gale said. “Let’s go after Leonardo’s.”
“What about Jesus?” Rip asked.
Gale shook her head. “Can you imagine how coveted that one would be? Might as well just go looking for the Holy Grail or the Ark of the Covenant.”
“Also, Leonardo’s is much more recent,” Cira added. “It should be easier to find something that’s only five hundred years old rather than something that was lost two thousand years ago.” She chewed on the heel of the crusty bread.
“I guess I’m outvoted then,” Rip said. “We weren’t getting anywhere with Nostradamus anyway.”
“So where do we begin?” Gale asked.
“I know a guy,” Rip said. “A real art wizard, kind of a big-shot with museums.”
While Rip called his friend, Gale and Cira ordered room service.
Rip smiled as he ended the call. “We’re on our way. Turns out Mitchell, a colleague of mine from way back, was one of the experts who helped with authentication and restoration of the painting.”
“The Salvator Mundi?” Gale asked.
Rip squinted in a grimace as if to ask how many paintings they were dealing with.
“Well, the Salvator Mundi is the biggest thing to hit the art world in decades, so all I’m saying is Mitchell must be a major talent.”
“He is,” Rip said. “Kind of like the Rip Gaines of the art world.”
“So he’s an egomaniacal prima donna?”
“Funny.”
“So do you want to know what Mitchell told me?”
“Yes,” Gale prompted, “unless you want to pout.”
“The painting disappeared after the 2017 sale. The rumors of who actually owns it and where it is have been swirling ever since. Some say it’s in a secret art vault in Geneva, others believe it’s being held on Saudi Arabia’s Crown Prince’s luxury yacht. Might be in Abu Dhabi, could even be in China.”
“What do we do?” Gale asked.
“Maybe Booker owns it,” Cira suggested.
Rip and Gale laughed. “We said the same thing last night.”
“But he would have told us, wouldn’t he?” Cira said.
“I think so,” Gale said. “Either way, Booker is our best chance to get to the owner.”
“Booker knows everyone,” Cira said proudly. She was particularly fond of the billionaire, as the two of them shared a kind of grandfather/granddaughter relationship.
“Mitchell says if, by any miracle, we can find out who the owner is and convince them to allow us to examine it, we’ll want to do infrared reflectogram and X-ray diffraction, which will show us anything hidden beneath the paint.”
“Always the archaeologist,” Gale said. “Really think something is going to be hidden there?”
“It’s Leonardo da Vinci, one of the greatest geniuses in history. He painted Jesus holding an Eysen, he knew someone would come looking, he left a clue. That’s what he does.”