The Light of Our Yesterdays

by Ken Hansen

  “How did you know?”

  “That is twice tonight you used the past tense with her, and each time there was a tone of sorrow in your voice.”

  Huxley’s eyebrows rose.

  “Did she die recently?” Sonatina asked.

  “A year ago, but I don’t want to talk about it.”

  Sonatina paused for a few seconds and then leaned forward. “That’s fine, but you did ask me what I think. If you cannot even talk about your mother, will not your memories of her taint your consideration of the case? Someone obviously is messing with your head. Could it be this Pardus?”

  Huxley stared at Sonatina a long time while she just smiled gently back at him. It was an image he would never forget and a statement that would continue to haunt him.

  An hour later, the image still followed Huxley as he awaited his lift to Aviano. Sonatina had read his past emotional state like she had known him well during that year of depression. But she had not. Was she just that perceptive from the few clues he had shared with her, or did she have some kind of inside information from someone else, someone who might have written the clues? She was wrong about one thing—he could handle the emotional baggage, couldn’t he? His phone finally rescued him from his thoughts. The screen read Captain Yadin, Home. He answered it.

  “Mr. Huxley?”

  “Captain, I was beginning to worry about you.”

  “I am touched, Huxley. Look, this is off the books, you understand? You didn’t get it from me or anyone else at Aman. You guys pieced it together for yourselves. We just talked about cowboys.”

  “Yes, I understand. What can you tell me?”

  “Rosenthal—he is a chemist, but much more than that. He figured out how to block most of the gamma-ray and neutron signatures of fissile material—the special nuclear material in nuclear weapons. His method also blocks the radiograph imaging techniques employed by modern detectors. It has not yet been deployed by us, but we think it is possible that he could replicate his work in another sophisticated laboratory if he is given sufficient time.”

  “How much time?” Huxley asked.

  “Unsure—a couple months, maybe. Could be less with proper motivation and resources. It depends on access to raw materials, the quality of assistants, the availability of lab equipment, and a variety of other factors.”

  “Are you familiar with our global capabilities?”

  “Maybe.”

  “And?”

  “We think it may block those detectors,” Yadin said.

  “You familiar with the Container Security Initiative, where we use detectors on container ships in foreign ports before they head to U.S. ports?”

  “I am.”

  Huxley exhaled hard. “Well? Can it block those detectors?”

  “I assure you that was not our goal, but it may be a corollary effect.”

  “Damn. So, according to your intel, if the bastard gets Rosenthal to cooperate and somehow gets hold of a warhead, it will be invisible.”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Then we are blind and the whole damn world may be at the whim of a nuclear terrorist?”

  “That’s why I’m alerting you. We must find him. But this did not come from Aman or anyone else in Israel. You’ll have to follow up on the tech through other channels.”

  When he disconnected, the implications of Yadin’s revelations hit him square. If the Ghost Leopard was seeking to develop the ability to hide a nuclear bomb from detection, then the terrorist must either have access to a nuke or believe he could soon secure one. When Huxley shuddered at the thought of a terrorist wielding that kind of power, he saw again the image of Sonatina smiling and challenging him. She had been innocent, compassionate even, yet her words burrowed deep into his core and managed to threaten him. Emotional baggage. Someone was messing with him. Could it be Pardus?

  His mind was spinning nearly as fast as the helicopter blade approaching him from above. He must find the Leopard, but his only real clues were the puzzles he had begun to unravel. Yet if Pardus produced the puzzles, then would they not lead to a false end, or was something else going down? Huxley closed his eyes. He had to find the answers soon, or millions could perish at the hands of a ghost. Yes, he was chasing a ghost—a ghost of the apocalypse. Huxley laughed at the word and remembered the terrible images from Revelations that frightened him as a child. The images danced anew in his brain. There was the ghost rider on a red horse carrying a huge sword. When the horse reared, its hoofs nearly struck him in the head. Then the rider raised his hand toward Huxley, though the hand no longer held a sword but a nuclear missile. The rider laughed derisively in Huxley’s face. Huxley opened his eyes and shook off the image while he approached the helicopter. More religious baggage. Just the kind the Ghost Leopard would use to confuse him. Yes, Huxley was chasing a ghost, but this one was not made of vapor and shadows. This one Huxley could catch and send straight to hell. If there were such a thing.

  Secunda Primae: Inspiratio

  “Brief and troubled is our lifetime; there is no remedy for our dying, nor is anyone known to have come back from Hades. For by mere chance were we born, and hereafter we shall be as though we had not been; because the breath in our nostrils is smoke, and reason a spark from the beating of our hearts, and when this is quenched, our body will be ashes and our spirit will be poured abroad like empty air. Even our name will be forgotten in time, and no one will recall our deeds. So our life will pass away like the traces of a cloud, and will be dispersed like a mist pursued by the sun’s rays and overpowered by its heat. For our lifetime is the passing of a shadow; and our dying cannot be deferred because it is fixed with a seal; and no one returns.”

  – Liber Prophetarum—W 2:1–5

  “The life of this world is like this: rain that We send down from the sky is absorbed by the plants of the earth, from which humans and animals eat. But when the earth has taken on its finest appearance, and adorns itself, and its people think they have power over it, then the fate We commanded comes to it, by night or by day, and We reduce it to stubble, as if it had not flourished just the day before.”

  – Liber Prophetarum—M 10:24

  “Even now the ax lies at the root of the trees. Therefore every tree that does not produce good fruit will be cut down and thrown into the fire.”

  – Liber Vitae—J 14:17

  Chapter 15

  Tomadus of Roma first experienced the light just before unveiling his new invention at the Annual Lumenology Conference of 1890 (AH). He had chosen a stuffy title to fit the nature of the proceedings: “Computational Apparatus Employing Extreme Focusing and Amplification of Ultra-High-Frequency Photonic Logic Diodes.” “Photon Computer” might sound more appealing to the masses, but the more technical name had served its purpose: over 200 of the most elite technologists from all over Roma had already registered.

  He entered the huge exhibit hall and frowned. His lecture room awaited him on the other end of this mega-market maze, full of booths with robed men hawking various trinkets to the tech crowd. He set out across the floor, weaving and gently pushing his way between the masses.

  A hawker from a nearby booth stepped in front of him. “My esteemed technologist, I can see you are in a rush. My new Tech-Sched will save you time.”

  “No gratia.” As he skirted by the man, Tomadus’s crimson and white silk robe temporarily caught on the metallic edge of the booth. He could not rip it, not today. He slowed down and slid the robe off the corner.

  Emerging from the throng, Tomadus saw the familiar face of a man in white robes among a group of men from the lower classes. Neither handsome nor ugly, it was a face he could never forget: long and gentle with thin lips, angular nose and high cheekbones, all framed by dark hair dangling down to his shoulders. He had seen him on the visi-scan news spouting something about saving the world—or at least saving everyone from themselves. So many pseudo prophets littered the landscape, but this one somehow seemed different.

  As Tomadus stared, the man
looked up and stared back for a few seconds. His eyes, Tomadus thought. There is something haunting there. Somehow, he felt like the man could see right through him. No, that’s not it. Not through me, into me.

  The man in the white robes smiled ever so softly, took a few steps toward Tomadus, and held out his hand. “Peace be with you, sir. My name is Isa.”

  Tomadus’s eyes narrowed. The guy doesn’t bow but shakes hands like a Tetepian? Yet some force drew Tomadus forward, pulling him closer, making him want to touch this man’s hand. “And mine is—”

  A hot-white light flashed across Tomadus’s eyes and remained there for what seemed an eternity—glowing, piercing, searing a hole in his consciousness. An image burned in his mind, an image of a stranger dressed strangely, surrounded by others dressed even more oddly, with colored insignia on their chests and metallic symbols near their necks. But it was more than a mere image. He could feel the angst, the loneliness of this man, his thoughts repeating the word “forsaken.”

  The experience passed as quickly as it had begun. Confused, Tomadus ducked quickly and jerked his head around. Had his head been knocked silly by shrapnel? Had a Demosep shaitaanist slipped by security? No, he had heard no explosions, no screams, no body parts whooshing by. All seemed normal now.

  Isa stood erect yet relaxed, his right hand moving to his heart and then slowly to his side, his face showing no apparent concern. His weightless eyes gently focused on Tomadus’s own. “Peace, Tomadus,” was all this man Isa said. Then he nodded slightly and turned slowly away.

  Tomadus stood there blinking rapidly, trying to regain his bearings. What the damnation was that? Had he even told Isa his name? Too much arak last night. He craned his neck around from side to side, shook his head and strode toward the lecture hall. Come on, refocus: photon logic, light amplification, spatial coherence…

  Chapter 16

  Tomadus’s eyes opened abruptly, fixing on the antique ceiling fan twirling gently above his room. The light from inside his dream seemed to cast a glimmer on his entire viewshed, washing over each blade of the fan with a yellow-white hue. He blinked a few times and realized he was shivering. The breeze from the fan quickly evaporated the sweat still dribbling down his naked body, chilling his skin. He could hear the thump of his heart, the great muscle contracting nearly every half-second.

  It must have been a nightmare, but he couldn’t remember a frame of it—except for the light. The same light that had flashed yesterday when he was with that preacher. There was something else. Shadows crept to the edge of his memory, just a tendril away, but they quickly slithered into the dark corners of his mind.

  Yesterday he had achieved more than he had thought possible. An attentive crowd. An occasional, collective ooh or ah. A cheer when he finally unveiled the device. An exuberant standing ovation to conclude the demonstration. Never seen technologists do that before. And then that party that made him feel like one of the Three Emperors. He had bathed in the glorious steam of accolades for nearly a full day and fooled himself into feeling it would never end. But his old nemesis, that little creature in the depth of his gut, had snuck out during his slumber, opened up Tomadus’s emotional valves, and roared in triumphant laughter, watching the gentle, uplifting steam seep out.

  Tomadus sat up on the edge of the alabaster bed. The entire hotel room was adorned in white with the occasional interruption of an antique in dark mahogany, so obviously an attempt to capture the recent trend of modern Romanus nihilism mixed with a bit of the Mongolian Imperial touches from so many centuries ago. The two worked surprisingly well together and gave the entire room a feeling of great luxury. He smiled softly, feeling the warmth of success in his belly. I deserve it, don’t I?

  But then that little creature tugged from deep inside his belly and sent a tingle up his spine and down his arms. Not that pleasing little tingle that comes from an unexpected and joyous surprise. No, this was the sting of overwhelming dread, fear, and loneliness. He had struggled with the creature in his gut for so many years that he had almost forgotten the first time…

  It was the year his beloved mother had died suddenly from the fever. His mother—hadn’t he abandoned her? He shook his head. Strange—why had he just thought that? If anything, by succumbing to the fever, she had abandoned him to his great uncle. His great uncle was a hard man. That summer had been horrendous. Cast so quickly from the apex of adoration to the cesspool of contempt, Tomadus had turned to the streets to avoid lashings from the tongue and hands of a man who reminded him more of a slave master than a loving guardian. But the streets were unkind to him, and he had quickly found himself starving. Forgetting his mother’s lessons, he had turned to petty theft.

  It was only a loaf of bread and every bite had tasted like the greatest meal in his life. But then the creature stirred within him. At first, he thought he had eaten too much or the bread had been bad, but the feeling would not dissipate—not even when the baker ratted him out and he was taken to a delinquency ward in the Praesidium Sector. After his great uncle collected him, he nearly beat Tomadus to death, yet the creature continued to stir.

  The creature finally quieted when the great uncle decided to rid himself of his new burden by dumping Tomadus at a work-for-scholarship boarding school on the north end. Tomadus never heard from his great uncle again. Quickly losing himself in work and study, Tomadus became the star of his class. Once again, he was the gentle prodigy his mother had cultivated and loved and adored before her death. The creature would not stir for several years, but it always returned—more as a warning than a curse—and eventually he learned to listen to it…

  So the creature was chewing at his bowels to tell him something. But why now when all was going so well?

  Despite a little abuse of arak and vinum last night, he remembered tidbits of the conversations at the party but nothing substantial. Everyone had been as drunk as he. Maybe it wasn’t the creature at all. Maybe he was just reacting differently to the liquor this time. There was a perfectly good reason the empires banned alcohol outside of Roma, but he sure enjoyed partaking when he was home again. He rubbed his rough face with his palms a few times, shook his head, and stood up. “Go away, you beast!” This time the thing obeyed his command and crawled back into the deep recesses of his abdomen, falling asleep.

  Tomadus began filling the tub and clicked on the visi-scan. Demosep shaitaanists targeting a governmental building in New Åarhus, trying to sow more terror in the minds of the Juteslam populace.

  He smirked and shook his head. Couldn’t they see that every bomb blast and every innocent maimed or killed just undermined what little support they had around the world? They showed courage, he would give them that, but they chose the wrong weapons. Why did they prefer bullets and bombs when wisdom and a little eloquence could seize the day? And now bullets and bombs seemed to be the only weapons they had left. Their irrepressible din had drowned out the soft voices of reason in the collective mind of world opinion.

  That world opinion could no longer see Demoseps as the oppressed champions of an upstart political movement for democracy and self-determination in a little backward corner of the world. Now the world damned them as political extremists bent on killing innocent Muslims, well, Juteslams anyway, rather than accepting the Great World Peace of ‘39, who some in the Three Empires thought had been ordained and enshrined fifty years ago by Allah.

  The visi-scan report went quiet and a little chime rang out three harmonious notes followed by a gentle male voice: “Sorry to disturb you, sir, but you have a call from the Romanus Imperium. Shall I put it through?” He reached down and turned off the bath. The voice repeated, “Sir?”

  “Yes, please.” The tri-tone chime repeated. “Hello, this is Tomadus of Roma. How can I help you?”

  “Please hold for the First Consul.” Tomadus’s eyebrows rose and his mouth opened slightly. As he waited, he looked up at the visi-scan, which played without sound. Although the clips still covered devastation in the Tonquizalixco Tetepe re
gion, they had switched to a burning meetinghouse in a Demosep-controlled Tetepian village that had probably been shelled in reprisal by the New Jutland army.

  Damn Juteslams, Tomadus thought. They were worse than the Demoseps. They enjoyed the military backing of the Three Empires, so they could afford to be magnanimous and search for a real, lasting peace. Instead, they used their military superiority to put their rather large boot on the Tetepians’ necks every chance they got.

  “Civis Tomadus, this is First Consul Khansensius. Let me congratulate you on your impressive presentation yesterday.”

  “Gratias, Your Eminence. I did not expect that level of interest from the Imperium.”

  “We believe that your invention has great potential in many applications. I would like to see you right away at my office in the Antiquus Sector. Could you be here in an hour? We may have a proposition for you. I will provide details at the meeting.”

  “Yes, Your Eminence, but—”

  “Good. Can you bring the device with you?”

  Tomadus looked down and scratched his head. “I, uh, I’m sorry, but it was shipped to my company’s other office in Barcelona yesterday afternoon.”

  “Ah, that is a pity. Well, come here anyway. We have much to discuss.”

  “Gratias, Your Eminence. I will be there in an hour as you request.”

  Strange, thought Tomadus, I don’t remember representatives of the First Consul at the presentation. He shrugged as he entered the bath. The visi-scan sound returned just as the screen switched to an image of the long conference hall from yesterday’s Lumenology Conference. Showing uniformed security personnel leading a group of preachers out of the building, the visi-scan reported, “Members of the Way were escorted away from the conference to retain the strict sect neutrality demanded by the Florentia Protocol. The incident remained peaceful, but Way members were reminded dire consequences awaited anyone who proselytized their religious beliefs in the neutral Romanus Protectorate in violation of the protocol.”