“Everybody here thinks we’re screwed. I mean, they think Atlantis as a whole is screwed,” Gordie continues blandly. I can just imagine him shrugging.
“Far from it,” I say in an upbeat tone.
“Why, what do you know?” Gordie asks, immediately perking up. “Did Aeson say something?”
“All I know is, no one is giving up yet, and the SPC is a powerful force protecting us.”
“Yeah, okay. . . . But if you know something, just let me know, okay?”
“Love you, Gee Three.”
Then I talk to Gracie who’s at the small personal apartment issued to her, courtesy of the Fleet (same as all other Poseidon-based Earth Cadets), and located near downtown, not too far from HQ. She’s off from flight duty or training today, sitting around at home and waiting for deployment orders. I can hear Blayne’s voice, so he must be off too, and they’re hanging out together.
“Oh, yay! Such a relief, Dad and George are on our side of the universe now!” she says with excitement. And then her tone gets serious. “When are you going to tell them about the things here? It’s very possible they are coming into a war zone.”
Out of the Earth frying pan and into the Atlantis fire.
I sigh with a shudder. “I know,” I say. “And I don’t know—when or how to tell them, that is. Probably best to let them get here safely and then we can talk . . . about everything.”
“Yeah. You’re probably right,” Gracie says.
Neither one of us wants to voice the ugly thought:
There are no guarantees that any of us will be here tomorrow or the next day.
Meanwhile, later that night, the earliest unmanned drone probes arrive at the two distinct alien grid locations. They make it all the way to within a mag-heitar of the immense grid objects around Helios and just a quarter of a mag-heitar from the Rah diamond grid.
And then they stop, assuming fixed-distance orbits, and starting to drift in parallel to the grids.
Nothing fires at them, nothing out of the ordinary happens—at either of the locations.
“The units are programmed to stop and proceed with preliminary data gathering and analysis from this fixed distance,” Keruvat says, as people gather around screens in the workroom.
“So far, passed the first stage safely,” Xelio remarks. “If they are undisturbed within the next few hours, they can proceed closer to take the next series of proximity scans. For now, this is sufficient to give us visuals and other useful data.”
“Yes,” Aeson says. “Let’s not risk sending the equipment any closer until we extract as much useful raw data from this distance as we can.”
The data transmission begins minutes later, including new nano-cam visuals of the grid light objects, for the first time, up-close and personal—relatively speaking.
The immense objects comprising the grid around Helios are confirmed to be huge spheres of an unknown physical composition. From a mere mag-heitar distance they are planet-sized, or at the least, asteroid-sized, filling up the view completely so that the cameras transmit only a featureless surface—a field of blinding golden light. . . .
The diamond grid formation next to Rah consists of much smaller spheres, and their shape and curvature is easier to perceive, even from this much shorter distance. So far, their surface radiance is similar in intensity to the huge objects of the Helios grid. And once again, there are no topographical features.
“It is hard to tell if what we’re seeing is light energy coming from its own source, or if this is some kind of stealth reflective tech,” Oalla says. “Or even a thin, surface veneer of plasma shields.”
“The next, closer stage of approach should give us a better idea,” Ker says. “At least in theory. As our drones get closer, the alien objects or entities could assume hostile intent and start to fire.”
“They haven’t fired so far,” Xel says, watching the screen.
Aeson rests one hand on the desk and his fingers tap the surface lightly. “We only send one to make the approach. One unit at a time. When—or if—it succeeds in making contact with the surface of the alien object, we will know infinitely more than we know now.”
“Or we’ll see a very big explosion,” Oalla says, shaking her head. “And depending on their response, it could be multiple explosions, if the grid decides to treat one hostile unit as a part of a greater whole and fires on all the other drone units.”
“For now, proceed with the data gathering,” Aeson says. “Let’s hope for the best.”
The probes stay positioned at their tasks for several more hours, and overnight are directed to approach closer. On the morning of Green Ghost Moon 17, when I wake up reasonably early around seventh hour, I learn that not one but five automated research units have come up to within a few meters of one of the mega-grid objects around Helios. Since there are no differentiating features among the individual components of the grid, the particular spherical light object was picked at random.
So far, none of the research probes have been shot down.
About two meters short of the light object’s surface, the first probe already took a sensor “snapshot” and sent back energy readings. They are being analyzed right now.
“This is very strange,” yet another unfamiliar-to-me astra daimon says to Oalla as they both stare at scrolling numbers on one display while the others watch different screens. “It appears to be similar to our own plasma energy quantum field, only in a state of even greater quantum uncertainty. And by ‘uncertainty’ I mean crazy shebet. That’s an impossible quantum state—not flux but suspension. I’ve never seen anything like it. Could it be trans-dimensional? Or, multi-dimensional—no, I don’t even know how to describe it. See those values? It exists simultaneously as matter and antimatter particles without annihilating each other, which means it has to be present in more than one dimensional reality at once. Otherwise it simply makes no sense.”
“Yeah, I see it,” Oalla muses, frowning. “Maybe—to occupy the same place without cancelling themselves out, the particle pairs have to be . . . time-entangled?”
“Are we talking time dilation of some sort?” Ker says, stepping up to look at the same screen. “The kind you get within the ergosphere of a black hole?”
“No,” Oalla says. “And now, I’m thinking, it’s not even time entanglement. It’s more like being stuck at the actual event horizon boundary, a location paradox—instead of particle pairs separating and one of them falling inside the black hole while the other ends up outside, they both remain at the boundary. . . . Neither here, nor there. . . . A strange, perfect equilibrium point achieved, which keeps them ‘together yet apart’ in one place and doesn’t let them split off in either direction or annihilate each other.”
“Or, as I say, plural dimensions,” the other astra daimon says.
“No, again, not quite that,” Oalla interjects, furrowing her brow. “It’s more like being quantum-stuck somehow. Particles fixed in place?”
“Huh? That goes against the very fundamental nature of quantum reality. Being ‘stuck’ at that level makes no sense. All particles are in constant motion, even when entangled—”
“All right. Save the fun theories for later,” Aeson says. “Have we received sufficient sensor data at this position? If so, time to move in even closer. Let’s reach out beyond its plasma field and attempt to touch one of these alien things.”
The astra daimon nods, and the probes are directed to make their final advance—to make physical contact with the light object.
We all watch with suspended breath as the vanguard drone slowly drifts forward, creeping toward the alien object’s surface.
Three meters. . . .
No reaction from the golden form of light.
Two meters. . . .
Still nothing.
One meter. . . .
Silence in the room.
The drone makes contact. Its oval nose section touches the alien object with the tip of its hull. . . .
Just for one instant, ther
e’s some kind of hair-fine fluctuation at the surface—a strange, razor-sharp white glimmer followed by a rainbow glint in the visual field—and then it’s as if the front portion of the drone sinks and drowns in the homogeneity of golden light.
It keeps going, drifting forward, its front slowly disappearing into the light.
“So—no surface resistance? Not a solid mass?” Keruvat speculates. “Interesting.”
And then the impossible happens.
Even as the long cigar-shaped drone continues moving into the visual boundary of the object, suddenly something begins to emerge from the alien surface, about half a meter to the right of its entry point, and at a slight angle—of about fifteen degrees.
It’s the nose section of the same drone.
“What the—” Oalla mutters.
The drone and its nose section appear next to each other, pointing in nearly opposite directions plus the fifteen-degree angle, like a fractured reflection in a distorted, funhouse mirror. There’s no other way to describe it—right now, physical solid matter is acting like refracted light, bent at an angle and redirected, when passing through a different medium such as water or a prism.
“What is happening?” Ker’s mouth is open. “Is that the actual drone? Its reflection, maybe? It’s like someone sliced it in two pieces.”
“What readings are we getting?” Aeson asks impassively.
“Not exactly sure.” Ker frowns, examines the stream of data on a split screen. “The unit sensors are not registering anything unusual, and no malfunction either—still transmitting. As far as visuals, right now the on-board cameras are showing space in the opposite direction, from the vantage point of the weird, sliced-off nose section.”
“Stop the unit in place,” Aeson says. “Freeze at present location.”
Seconds later, the slow forward advance of the drone stops. It sits, visually “sliced in two,” suspended halfway into the object’s surface, while its front sticks out at an angle into space.
“Have another drone unit approach and make contact with the nose section that’s emerging from the alien object.”
A second drone is sent to approach, slowly and carefully. It comes very close, drifting in parallel, and sends out a tube arm with a full sensor array which reaches out and brushes the hull front of the first drone, still suspended at its weird angle.
Ker shakes his head in growing confusion. “All readings normal. Temperature, mass, chemical composition, solidity, everything.”
Aeson exhales loudly. “All right, now resume moving the original unit forward. Let’s see what happens.”
The first drone resumes its slow creeping motion deeper into the alien light surface. Seconds later, it disappears completely from the back, while its front section continues to emerge at an angle—until it is completely out, but pointed in the opposite direction, away from the object of light, as it continues drifting in space.
“This is impossible,” Oalla says.
“Now, reverse the unit,” Aeson says. “Back it into the alien surface. I want to see if it comes back in the same place it entered.”
The command is sent, and sure enough, the probe reverses course, backs into the golden light at its weird angle of “refraction,” and then its rear section comes out at the original point of entry, perfectly straight.
There is a pause of silence.
Aeson rubs his chin and exhales. “I want that unit salvaged, taken apart and examined at every level. Meanwhile, continue the sensor sweep of the alien object with the other probes and let’s see what else we can find out. Get me a full surface analysis. Call in additional experts if needed. I want detailed reports from your tech teams regardless of what is found.”
The astra daimon get to work.
In the course of the afternoon, numerous other measures are taken and tried with the probes and the grid object.
Every attempt to penetrate its glowing golden surface results in the same impossible “matter refraction.” The only variations are the angles of reemergence. Those degrees appear to be unpredictable, but the techs run programs to analyze and find patterns.
At the risk of starting a new hostile incident, Aeson finally issues the order to fire plasma weapons into the alien object.
The drones fire short, exploratory bursts. The resulting energy discharges come blasting back out of the surface, but again at some unpredictable angle.
“They’re not actually firing back,” one daimon says. “This is our own fire, ricocheting back out in the general outward direction, redirected into space.”
“Almost mindless—as if it’s an automated deflection routine,” Keruvat remarks.
“Keep gathering sensor data, keep trying different things,” Aeson orders, with a grim expression. “There has to be something we can do to penetrate their defenses and understand them. I also want an analysis of any differences between the behavior of the grid objects around Helios compared to the smaller objects at Rah.”
And the work continues.
I watch Aeson and the others busy and overwhelmed, and I continue to worry. At least the situation appears stable so far. Even the media feeds calm down, after the initial reports filter down to the public.
“ . . . the hostile objects seem to be dormant for the moment, but rest assured, SPC is working tirelessly to protect you,” the familiar calm voice of Desher Keigeri gives an update on the Hel-Ra evening news.
All I know is, Aeson is absent most of the night again, meeting with the ranking officers up in orbit at the Atlantis Station, and I feel useless and unable to help.
But not even the dire threat hanging over us can get in the way of continuing preparations for our Wedding. At tenth hour of Khe, the First Priest of Amrevet-Ra, Darumet Azai, sends his assistant with a formal reminder to Aeson that he is due for the next event on his own Bridegroom Schedule, tomorrow. Naturally, I am not informed what it is, but I’m willing to bet it’s something duly excruciating.
Oh yes, when Aeson gets home tonight, he will love hearing this.
Chapter 48
It is remarkable how days and events start to blur, considering that no new crisis happens in the remaining weeks leading up to the Imperial Wedding.
Maybe because I’ve been functioning in survival mode for so long that I need to be over-stimulated by the fight-and-flight hormones in order to stay sufficiently sharp to routine daily events and circumstances, but I find that I have trouble focusing on much of anything.
Survival mode has turned into wait mode. It’s now a sometimes-unbearable wait for the big and the little things. . . .
I wait with happy anticipation for my Dad and George to arrive, I wait with slight anxiety for the Games Champion wish fulfillment process to be over, I wait with background dread for the Imperator to make sudden new demands on my Logos Voice, I wait with eagerness and impossible wonder for the Wedding Day and all that it entails for Aeson and me . . . and meanwhile, I wait for the other alien shoe to drop—for something to go terribly wrong.
Surprisingly, in all those days leading up to the big day, nothing does.
The alien golden light grid system remains dormant and impenetrable to Atlantean sensors, intrusive equipment, and even provocation. It’s as if, once the light objects lined up in place, and then performed their one hostile act of destruction at Rah, they have ceased to be a threat—or at least completed their primary function.
No one understands what or why, when it comes to anything having to do with the grids, their reason for being, or their ultimate purpose. But the SPC remains on high alert, while new tests and research equipment is being deployed to the various grid objects on a daily basis.
Meanwhile, Tammuz Station has been evacuated on mandatory orders, leaving a skeleton crew and War-8 parked nearby in a higher Tammuz orbit. The planet Tammuz is currently in a position of closest direct alignment to Atlantis, even though its orbit places it further out than the next planet closet to Hel (which is Septu, currently on the opposite side of He
l and extremely far away from Atlantis). The strategic assumption is that the alien enemy will take the direct line of approach toward us—if and when they decide to strike next. Which means, they’ll most likely show up at Tammuz and make that station their target.
Is focusing on Tammuz the best move? How predictive is this strategy? The frightening answer is: unknown. There’s no precedent for anything like this happening in the more recent Atlantean history. However, a great deal of data analysis and military science went into this painful conclusion, derived from the consensus of top international military experts and veterans during endless global council meetings within the high command of the SPC. And Aeson is in charge of implementing this strategy.
The other potential next target is Septu, assuming the line of attack is based on simple orbital proximity to Hel. As a result, a considerable percentage of Septu Station’s civilian and non-essential personnel has been relocated also, on a voluntary basis, leaving a much smaller population. The Station is on secondary alert. It is also protected by War-9 in high orbit.
As far as any other immediate next targets, it becomes hard to say. With what limited information is currently available since the attack on Rah, it’s nearly impossible to make projections that far ahead.
In short, all outposts around the system are now duly warned and, considering the logistics of relocating so many people, everyone is looking at a big problem. Aeson explained to me that these space stations serve as miniature human colonies all around the system, with industry outposts, scientific research facilities, and basic lifestyle options for some, including retirement. Therefore, forcing everyone to evacuate, even in a leisurely manner, is a truly daunting task—not unlike mandatory evacuations of cities in the path of hurricanes or other natural disasters on Earth. No one wants to do it, especially since the threat seems less immediate by the day. And in some cases, not everyone can.
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