by Brandt Legg
The full Circle convened and brought up a visual link with the Imaze Space Summit prior to the initiation of countdown.
“We apologize for this late distraction so close to launch,” the Arc said. “However, with the importance of this mission, several members asked for some specific detail that I thought best to get from you.”
“Of course,” the Time officer replied. The somewhat impatient, stocky officer showed a large degree of confidence since his charge of all issues relating to moving through time and dealing with all consequences of encounters in the far future were on his shoulders. He adored The Arc, but was annoyed by delays.
“I’m quite familiar with mining missions and supply missions to the colonies,” a Circle member began, speaking of Cosegan stations on Mars as well as the moons of other planets. “And, of course, black hole and nebula research missions, but I don’t understand the spectrum belt.”
“This one would be better answered by our science officer,” the Time officer said.
The science officer, standing in front of a line of circular and conical shaped star ships that were being readied for departure in the morning, nodded, glancing at Shanoah, who was just out of view, and began a long explanation of the spectrum belt, concluding with, “—a place where dreams and nightmares collide in a horrifically beautiful kaleidoscope of physics-bending insanity.”
“Sounds pleasant.”
“No, it is not.”
“I was merely attempting a bit of levity,” the Circle member said.
“Assuming we safely navigate the spectrum, then we must quickly locate the Epic-seam.”
“The space-time tear?”
“As some call it, yes,” Shanoah said. “It is an incredibly hazardous part of the mission.”
“But not the most dangerous aspect,” the man added.
“No,” the science officer said, briefly closing his eyes and shaking his head slowly in a circle as if it was painful to think about. “Departing the far future and returning is even riskier, as we have only onboard instrumentation available to us.”
“Why is that?” another Circle member asked.
“Once we pass through the portal, we may lose communications with ISS.”
“And if you get trapped there?” the Arc asked.
“There is very little chance that if such an event occurred, we would be able to escape,” he said. “It would, of course, depend on the nature of the accident. If we had enough remaining fuels and minerals to affect repairs, an exit might—”
The Arc waved a hand to signal this wasn’t the direction of response she was looking for. “That’s not what I mean.”
The presenter looked at Shanoah, who gave him a slight nod. Hesitantly, the presenter began again. “If you mean, how would our presence affect the Terminus Doom . . . ?”
The Arc nodded.
“Well then, assuming we could not escape, and there was no other avenue,” he paused and again looked at Shanoah, who this time shook her head ever so slightly, “then we would make efforts to destroy and conceal our ship, and then ourselves.”
“You mean you would end your lives?”
“Yes,” the science officer said firmly. “Without recourse or escape, there is clear danger that our presence would, in fact, amplify and/or hasten the Terminus Doom. Therefore, that final option would be taken as the way to best complete our mission.”
“And what other attempts would be made after your unfortunate demise?” the Circle member asked.
The officer looked at Shanoah. This time, she stepped into view and answered herself.
“There are other crews and ships on standby, and they would leave immediately.”
“But not for a rescue,” the Circle member said quietly.
“No,” Shanoah clarified. “The resources could not be spared, and beyond that, the timing would be outside the entrance window. The impossible odds of reaching that same spot in time . . . I mean, there could be a way, but it would be way beyond . . . ” She paused, then stood straighter, pulling her shoulders back. “Let’s just leave it at this: the complexities of such a mission would increase the risk too much, and the chances of success would be frighteningly low.”
“It is not possible,” the Arc interjected firmly.
“Correct,” Shanoah agreed, although knowing she was not speaking the absolute truth.
“Okay, well, let’s just make sure your mission is a success then,” the Circle member said a little too brightly.
“I couldn’t agree more,” Shanoah replied, forcing a smile.
They all knew Shanoah would be on the first ship, the one at greatest risk.
“Could I see you privately?” the Arc asked her.
Shanoah felt a knot in her stomach. She’d been hoping she would be able to avoid another one-on-one conversation with the great lady. “Of course,” she said, trying to sound as if she would like nothing more.
The links to the other members went dark, and Shanoah adjusted her own feed so that only she could see it. A second later, a sound curtain surrounded each of them, ensuring complete privacy for the conversation.
There is a fine line between great lady and dragon lady, Shanoah thought, and I have a feeling I’m about to find out just what that line is.
“Shanoah, I was hoping we would have another chance to speak before your departure,” the Arc began. “As you know, we are behind you completely. We have actually gambled the entire future of humanity on your success.”
“Yes, thank you, Arc. It is my great honor to have your confidence.”
“But we know there are many possible outcomes. The predictive league has issued numerous reports to The Circle,” she said, referring to the tens of thousands of scientists and engineers studying the Doom. “They show the outcomes constantly changing, and although they haven’t seen it, some within the league theorized that if we make the right moves, either purposely or accidentally, we might survive differently.”
“Surviving is the mission.”
“Yes, but the Missing-Time . . . Instead it could be Cosegans all through from now to the far future, and perhaps we never have to bother with the people who inherit the earth,” she said, as if discussing riffraff.
Shanoah thought of Trynn’s descriptions of the people who lived in those final years, the archaeologist and others. “I’m sure the league has seen a million solutions—”
“No,” the Arc said, suddenly sounding distracted. “Millions of outcomes, only a few potential solutions.”
“Which are?”
“Don’t get lost in the spectrum belt.”
Forty-Seven
Rip and Gale exchanged a weary glance, but before they could react, Cira was pulling them to the van. “He knows Crying Man!” she shouted. “And there are people shooting at us!”
Without time to think, they reluctantly followed their daughter into the van, which was already pulling away before they’d made it completely inside.
“Who are you?” Rip demanded as the man concentrated on driving, as if not the least bit interested in his new passengers.
Gale wasn’t sure if she wanted to pull the sliding door shut, trapping themselves inside, but as bullets hit the van, she didn’t hesitate.
“I am here to help, that is all,” the man said at last.
“You’ve been following us,” Rip said, checking the front seat for weapons.
“To keep you safe,” the man insisted, concentrating on a tight, high speed turn.
“Why?”
“I told you, Crying Man sent me.”
“Impossible!”
This seemed to surprise the man. Gale watched his expression in the rear view mirror.
“How did he send you?” Rip demanded.
“Hard to explain. It is through the mind. You should understand, as you have spent so much time looking into the Eysens.”
“Prove it,” Rip said.
“He hasn’t hurt us,” Gale said, looking out the back window of the van. “In fact, he seems to have lo
st the gunmen.”
“Where are you taking us?”
“I will drop you off up here in a few blocks,” the man said. “There is a parking garage. You can find your way from there.”
“Our way where?” Gale asked.
“You call Booker. He will get a team to you quickly to replace . . . the ones lost.”
“How do you know Booker?” Rip asked.
“Trynn told me.”
“Who is Trynn?” Rip asked, his agitation growing.
Gale put a hand on his thigh. “Rip, he saved us. Be nice.”
“Who is Trynn?” Rip repeated, a bit less hostility in his voice.
“Crying Man. His real name is Trynn.” The man turned into a high-rise parking garage.
Rip looked at Gale, then back at the man. “Do you have an Eysen?”
“No.”
“Then how are you talking to Crying Man?”
“I told you,” he said, parking the van and opening the driver’s door. “It’s complicated.”
“I have time,” Rip said, looking around, wondering if an ambush was coming.
“No, you don’t,” the man said. “Go now.”
Rip took one last look at the man, intent on memorizing his every feature, then turned to flee.
“Thank you!” Cira shouted as they ran toward the stairwell.
They burst breathlessly out onto the street a minute later, quickly deciding there were no gunmen. Gale flagged a taxi, and soon they were at a new hotel, where Rip called Booker.
“I’m sorry,” Booker said, upset at the loss of the Blaxers and also that they’d had to endure the attack. “I’ve sent someone to your old hotel to retrieve your luggage.”
“How did it happen?” Rip asked.
“I don’t know. It wasn’t the NSA or the Foundation,” he said, speaking of their two main rivals. The Aylantik Foundation was a secretive organization with seemingly unlimited funding. The private “think-tank” employed futurists, scientists, engineers, economists, as well as former members of the military and intelligence communities. The brain trust was charged with planning and preparing for the future—a future that they would help shape. However, the Foundation had an even more covert mission within its hidden work: to locate and acquire the nine Eysens of the Cosegans.
“Then who?” Rip pressed. “And how did they find us?”
“We’re working on it, but it has to be someone big.”
“Bigger than the NSA or the Foundation?” Rip asked, unable to imagine that was possible. “Wouldn’t we know about them?”
“There are a few billionaires who are good at hiding assets,” Booker replied. “But hiding power—this kind of power—that has to be a major corporation, or one of the big-six.”
“Big six?”
“US, China, Russia, Germany, Israel, UK,” he listed. “But it’s not China, Russia, or Germany.”
“How do you know?”
“I know,” Booker answered impatiently. “Don’t worry, we’ll figure it out shortly.”
“Who was the guy who helped us?” Gale asked.
“No clue.”
“He said Crying Man sent him,” Cira said.
“Did you believe him?” Booker asked, astounded, yet certain it was true.
“He could have killed us, but he saved us,” Gale said. “Then he disappeared.”
“Told us Crying Man’s name is Trynn,” Rip said. “Denied having an Eysen.”
“Interesting . . . Did you get a name?” Booker asked.
“No.”
“I’ll see if we can find an image from the surveillance and traffic cams. Meantime, I need you to get back to the States.”
“When?”
“Now.”
“Not until we see what’s in that wall,” Rip said firmly.
“I’ll send a team in tonight to retrieve that.”
“They need to do it now,” he insisted, afraid whoever was after them would already be tearing stones out of the wall. “It could be the Jesus Eysen.”
“It’s not. Maybe Leonardo’s,” Booker said, “if there’s even anything still in there.”
“How do you know it’s not?”
“Because I know where the Jesus Eysen is. It’s in Boston.”
Forty-Eight
Shank and Welhey stood on the highest skybridge overlooking Solas.
“We must banish him,” Shank said. “You’re the only one that supports him.”
“I am not the only one.”
“You’re the only one being vocal about it. He’s going to destroy us all if we don’t banish him!”
“The Circle has already acted. All Cosegans have been forbidden to pursue the Eysen far future manipulations.”
“You and I both know he’s not stopped,” Shank said. “He is simply doing it covertly.”
“Where is your evidence? You make these accusations, and yet there is no evidence. Our laws are clear that a person cannot be accused without proof. If you had any, he would be banished. This is about something else.”
“This is about saving our civilization—the future of humanity! We cannot allow a reckless—”
“Trynn may be bold, and definitely pushes the edge of what is known to be possible, but he is not reckless,” Welhey countered. “You have never liked Trynn for personal reasons.”
“This is not personal, it is my duty.”
“You haven’t liked Trynn since Guin.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Trynn’s wife, Guin. You were in love with her.”
Shank’s face colored. “Guin has nothing to do with this.”
“Oh, I think she does,” Welhey pressed. “You couldn’t get over the fact that she chose him over you, and then you blamed him for her death.”
“Who else would I blame for her death? It was his fault.” Shank looked away in anger and guilt. “However, that does not weigh in on my decisions.”
“Weak denials.”
“One could add those—cheating, causing a woman’s death due to his negligence—to this man’s long list of character flaws. However, my reasons for disliking him are professional, not personal.”
“I am unconvinced.”
“I could easily state that you are clouded by your personal friendship with him.”
“Yes, one could say that,” Welhey agreed. “But I am not marching on a vendetta. I have simply voiced my support and confidence in him, and believe we should not limit our quest for a solution to the Doom.”
A squad of flyers below, in a distant part of the city, caught his eye, and he wondered if the guardians had intercepted more globotite.
“You ignore the tremendous odds against the Imazes,” Welhey went on. “Most of the calculations and projections I have seen predict the Imaze’s missions will fail, and what else are we relying on? The meditations of the Etherens? The Eysen is by far the best approach.”
Shank stared at Welhey for a long moment, disbelief in his eyes. “How can you say that after Nostradamus?”
“Nostradamus was a disaster,” he agreed. “But great achievements seldom occur without following failure.”
“Then the Imazes will eventually succeed, even if their initial missions fail.”
“The Imazes’ missions take too much time. We are extremely low on time to gamble on long, risky spaceflights.”
“We’re short on time because of Trynn and his Nostradamus fiasco,” Shank muttered.
“Given another chance, Trynn’s next insertion could buy us considerable time, much more than we lost with Nostradamus. It might even solve the entire Terminus Doom.”
“Or it could kill us in an instant, or leave us with three days remaining—who knows? Certainly not you, and definitely not Trynn.”
Welhey stepped in front of Shank’s face and demanded eye contact where his compassionate words might somehow soften the agitated Circle member. “You’ve let hatred cloud your judgment.”
“If that were true, what of the rest of The Circle? Th
ere are twenty-seven other members beside you and I, and they have firmly chosen to stop Trynn.”
“Some of them were shaken by the Nostradamus incident, some of them don’t trust the technology of the Eysen, some of them were swayed by your well cloaked personal attacks, but you know as well as I that their minds can be changed,” Welhey said. “That is why you’re pushing for his banishment, because you know that if we get any indication of a failing Imaze mission, or some other new information regarding the Terminus Doom is discovered by the predictive league, they will vote to restart Trynn’s programs, perhaps even increase them.”
“Trynn hasn’t stopped his program,” Shank said, disgusted. “You know he hasn’t, and I may not have the proof right now, but I will get it. Then you will be banished along with him.” He scoffed. “A great circle member banished. I don’t think that has ever happened before. You’ll be the first.”
“No,” Welhey said. “The first Circle member to be banished will not be me. It will be you, Shank.”
“What for?”
“Murder.”
“How dare you—”
“Deny it?”
“Proof?”
“Soon. Unless Trynn stops you first.”
Forty-Nine
After determining his location, Trynn quickly made his way to the edge of the forest. The salt air of the ocean greeted him as he got closer to the coast. The familiar sense of excitement that always filled him when he neared High-peak seemed even more palpable today.
Maybe it’s how close I came to being caught, maybe it’s Shanoah’s launch in the morning, maybe it’s Leonardo da Vinci . . .
Trynn easily climbed a large twistle tree, reached across a long, gnarled branch, and found the concealed control panel extending high up in the leaves. It had been installed long before the wave of Circle crackdowns, back when he had sensed the future to come.
Eysens had difficulty interpreting predictions about current Cosegan time. Scientists and Eysen makers, unable to explain the reasons for the limitation, felt certain the anomaly had to do with the assembling time, and globotite’s point of origin being in the same era as they were trying to predict. To get around it, Trynn experimented with using the Eysen to view near future events so he could reverse engineer expected outcomes. His results were mixed.