Divine Destruction (The Return of Divinity Book 1) (11 page)

Playing with the thought, Griffin opened his eyes, looked down at his feet and found he was dressed in an ornate heavy robe and wearing primitive sandals made from natural fibers. Griffin marveled at the robe's fabric. The feeling it gave on his forearms was familiar, warm in an inviting comfortable way, as if he had it for years. But it was clean, brilliantly white, with gold and black embroidery. And then Griffin remembered. He remembered the other here, in this place, who wore this same robe. Griffin looked right and saw the tree he had leaned on before. The light smooth bark and dark foliage were two paces away.

Recalling the stranger who had appeared behind him, Griffin turned left. But half way round he saw a beautiful young woman of darker skin than his own. She was wearing similar clothes to what he was wearing, a white robe of heavy material. Her robe was such a brilliant white that it seemed lit from within. And she was beautiful indeed. Her skin was a shade darker than olive. Her eyes were large and dark, and her head was partially hooded from the robe. Griffin saw the woman had not seen him or wasn’t looking toward him now. Her gaze was transfixed on nothing. Looking closely he saw she wasn’t moving.

At first Griffin had been transfixed by the appearance of this female apparition. But as he watched her go through the astonishment of being ripped from wherever to here, he knew two things. First, he wasn't hallucinating. He didn't know what else was happening, but all of this around him wasn't inside his mind. This out-of-body experience was outside his body and real. The woman was still taking in their shared “what the fuck” moment. Second, Griffin wasn’t going insane. Tumbling over the thought allowed Griffin to relax. His shoulders fell slightly. Three things Griffin realized, correcting himself. Third, from what he was witnessing of this woman in front of him, she was in the same boat as he. Griffin made a mental note to not appear aggressive, and he froze in place. Knowing how strange and scary this must be for her, Griffin relaxed his arms down to his sides and stood calmly straight. After all, these visions were almost commonplace to Griffin now. Either more than just him were bat-shit crazy, or something amazing was taking place. Last thing he wanted to do was scare her. Besides, to Griffin this place was tranquil, almost holy, somehow. Damn, she was regal.

Griffin acknowledged neither had moved from where they came into this state of conscienceless. Griffin was fixated on her. She was frozen in place, Griffin knew her mind had been blown inside out. As Griffin continued to watch her her eyes shifted. She looked over the ground cover and out over the riverbank. Then, her eyes scanned over to Griffin. Griffin made an effort to smile. She was staring now.

“Have I died?” the Indian young woman said. Fear shot across her face. Tears welled in her eyes. Griffin was crushed with the empathy he felt for her. He wanted to approach her, to embrace her, to put her at ease somehow. But his apprehensiveness had him frozen in place. Griffin didn’t know what to say, or what to do for the woman. He made a clumsy step toward her, faltered, then took another step.

“Is this heaven?” she asked as she looked around. Griffin imagined she was looking for a “Welcome to Heaven” sign. “Tell me!” she demanded of Griffin. She backed away from Griffin's advance. Feeling her fear and confusion, Griffin stopped and brought his hands back to his sides, realizing that not saying anything to the woman was probably doing her more harm than good.

There was a sudden and quick change in air pressure and a flash of white light coming from Griffin's left. Turning, Griffin saw it was the observer from his last hallucination. Griffin heard a slight squeal from the Indian woman. She was going to pop from fear.

“It’s all right. Don’t be afraid,” Griffin said. He kept his eyes on the observer. The observer appeared as before, human like but with features resembling the children Griffin had watched.

“Gabriel, Herald of God?” Griffin asked. Gabriel nodded.

“What?” Griffin heard the woman ask.

“This has never happened before. This isn't by design,” Gabriel said as if not recognizing the other two.

“What did he say?” the woman asked.

“What hasn't happened before?” Griffin asked facing Gabriel.

“Wait!” the woman shouted, “If he is the Archangel Gabriel, who are you?” She pointed at Griffin.

“I’m Griffin DeLuca.”

“The vessel of wisdom,” Gabriel added. He gestured toward the woman. “You are Itishree, the prophet, messenger of God”

“Itishree,” Griffin said to himself, an exercise in remembering. He liked her name. Hell, he liked everything about her, he realized.

"Me? What?" Itishree yelped.

“Never before have I held the vessel and the prophet in my mind,” Gabriel said, again as if noting an attribute of an anthill.

“We’re in his mind?” Itishree asked. She looked at Griffin for confirmation.

“Yes. I believe we are,” Griffin said. And he was back in his living room still holding his near empty glass.

Itishree completed her last step towards the trash can. She stumbled a little as her mind caught up to her body. She managed not to crumple to the floor in her effort to drop in her trash. Itishree’s eyes were still wide from the off-world experience. She walked quickly to the terminal and crossed back through customs without saying a word. Itishree made her way to the plane and crashed into her seat. A feeling of weightlessness came over her and she wanted to cry, but she refused to cry.

Another thirty minutes later, Itishree was curled in her seat, full of food and under the drowsy influence of vibrations and hums of systems she imagined were normal. She opened her eyes and peeked above the small airline blanket as the pilot gave his latest report.

“We’re going to be delayed forty minutes while we wait for more information of a weather system west of Pittsburgh.” Groans came from the few passengers still awake. Itishree imagined the cabin lights had been turned down to assist in riot control.

“We apologize for any inconvenience this may cause, and thank you again for flying Delta Airlines.” The intercom fell silent.

Itishree wanted nothing more than to get off this flight in Pittsburgh, meet up with her cousin, laugh, talk about her ordeal, family, etc. and forget what happened in the terminal. She looked around, guilty of even thinking about the loss of control. “I came all this way, half way around the world, chasing my dreams — yet freak out kilometers before I reached my destination,” Itishree scolded herself. She folded under the thin blanket and drew as much comfort out of the small pillow as she could. Itishree laid her head inside the window alcove and closed her eyes, hoping when she woke Pittsburgh would be under these wheels.

Darkness and Dawn

What seemed like moments after Frank had closed his eyes, his government issued Blackberry vibrated on the night stand. Frank rolled gracefully out of bed, and slid into the hall, and closed the bedroom door gently behind him before thumbing the answer button.

“Director Lovas,” he answered without a trace of sleep in his voice.

“Frank, it's Matt Fountain, NASA Space Tele-“

“I know who you are, Matt,” Frank cut in. “And I know you don't call someone like me without a serious reason.” Frank headed down the hall thinking of coffee. After an awkward pause Frank added, “So let's have it.”

“So, as normal procedure dictates, once a NEO gets within a certain distance of Earth, we scan it with radar and other instruments to gain more information like-“

“Uh huh,” Frank growled.

Matt made an uncomfortable nasal sound. “We bathed this thing with radar-“

“Are we still talking about Green X20something?” Frank cut in.

“Yes, Green X2018d,” Matt answered.

“So, you bathed it with radar….and?” Frank asked. He was growing tired of Matt’s circling conversation.

“Frank, this would go much faster if you would let me tell you why I called.”

“All right, Matt, I'll shut up. And forgive me — I’m not a middle-of-the-night person,” Frank said.

“Frank, everyone in NASA is awake right now. Everyone!” Matt shouted. “Radar was negative.”

That got Frank’s attention.

“What does that mean, Matt?" Frank asked.

“Well, it means it isn't made of solid matter.”

“Or it's stealth,” Frank blurted.

“No, Frank, we weren't convinced it was an alien craft driven by intelligence, at that point,” Matt said.

Frank said nothing. But, his eyebrows ratcheted up a notch.

“After it slowed and executed minor course adjustments, we became concerned,” Matt continued.

Frank jumped off his kitchen stool, “Wait, Matt, are you reporting to me this is an alien stealth craft?”

“No, Frank, you're not going to hear those words come from me,” Matt said. "What we believe is that the object is an unusual ball of plasma under the influence of gravitational and atmospheric pressure.”

“Sounds like something I'm not going to be able to repeat without laughing, Matt,” Frank said. “What does your gut tell you?”

“We don't know what it is because NASA has yet to witness or theorize such matter and behavior,” Matt said after a long pause.

Frank didn't know what to think about that comment. “Do I need to ask for a military response?” Frank asked pointedly.

“Too late for that, Frank, the Air Force got involved minutes after JPL woke up,” Matt said.

Frank made a note of the skipped protocols. "I'll contact the Air Force myself to cover policy,” he said, trampling Matt's small effort at self determination. “What are the details?”

“Two PA Air National Guard F16s will converge on the object if it makes it into our lower atmosphere. Four Air Force F22's are on stand by out of Wright-Patterson if they're needed.” After a pause Matt admitted, “Or so I overheard.”

Frank let out a sigh. “I’d better call the Air Force now before we're dropping bombs on New Jersey,” Frank said. “Matt, thanks for the heads-up, it will be an interesting day.”

“Have fun with that, Director.” Matt hung up. Frank marched off to his home office, coffee in hand, thinking of where to begin the parade of communications.

The officer on watch at this late hour was Lt. Col. Justin Braden. Braden was used to odd shifts at Wright-Patterson and was not at all slowed by the hour, but not usually one hundred percent. For the exercise of intercepting an interstellar object, Braden was wide awake. After being alerted at his duty station, Braden and his direct reports were briefed by NASA and Air Force Command and given access to data and equipment Braden hadn’t known the Air Force had until this moment. The entire operation was spooky, Braden thought.

The Air Force had five special mobile command facilities within the continental United States, someone had told him in the recent past. His duty station was the closest that had such a mobile command unit. Or, so he had learned tonight. Braden looked over the equipment of the modified tractor trailer. It was impressive. The many workstations were wheeled and covered with electronics, communication gear, speakers, computers, and many monitors. The walls of the trailers were hinged along the length of the trailer and laid down to expand the operational footprint of the mobile unit. The command platform had been driven into an unused hanger and opened up like a gigantic erector set.

Braden watched the technicians. They had been flown in from God knew where and had arrived at various intervals throughout the night. The techs were coordinating data between Air Mobility Command, Catalina Sky Survey, and the PA Air National Guard. On many of the monitors the technicians reviewed, sorted, and slaved over image data straight from cameras and telescopes locked onto the strange object, X2018d. He had four F22 Raptors on his deck, two fueled, armed and sitting on the end of the runway 4 East, and two in similar kit waiting outside their temporary hanger.

By Lt. Col. Braden’s side was Flight Officer Major Dean Sutton. Sutton had been Braden’s Executive Office for two years now and had become Braden’s most competent flight officer. The two men, surrounded by technicians and equipment neither knew, caught the two glancing at each other with ‘Pinch me, where the fuck am I?’ faces. There were two communications channels open. One was a conference call to a NASA senior technician from California. The other was a coded direct line from the Pentagon. That line was being used by a reporting Director to the White House, Frank Lovas. Braden couldn’t give a pinch of monkey shit about the NASA technician but the Director made Braden’s cheeks pucker.

After a long silence, Lt. Col. Braden heard a voice come over the conference call. “Object is entering lower atmosphere over West Virginia,” said a member of NASA, whose name Braden already forgot.

“Are the F16's up?,” asked Director Frank Lovas over the intercom.

“Yes above Morgantown, West Virginia at 53,000 feet and holding, heading due south,” Flight Officer Sutton replied.

“Matt, current speed of object?” Frank’s question passed over the speaker phone.

“Just below 2,000 nauts, Frank,” the NASA geek's response came after a few second’s delay. Lt. Col. Braden caught the NASA senior tech’s name and made an effort to remember it was “Matt.”

“Lieutenant Colonel Braden, I suggest you turn those birds north. The object will pass over West Virginia in nine minutes,” Director Lovas spoke again over the table-top speakerphone.