Origins (33 page)

Chapter 52:  Let’s Talk

Mark burst into
the NASA flight director’s office, slammed the door shut and locked it behind him.

Alfred Kranz casually looked up from his computer monitor while seated at his desk facing the door.  He regarded the intruder with a patient smile.  “You look upset.  Would you like a Prozac to take the edge off?” he asked while extending an open palm with a pill in the middle.

Mark’s only response was a flaming stare that threatened to melt everything in the office.

“Suit yourself; more for me,” Alfred said with a shrug.  He popped the pill into his mouth, took a drink of water and swallowed.

“How’d you do it?” Mark shouted as he leveled his pistol at the flight director.  “No more games.  You reinstalled the probe’s message and strengthened the signal.  How?  Why?”

Alfred slowly raised his hands in the air to show his surrender, though his laidback posture in the chair indicated he could care less about the gun pointed at him.

“I suppose it all started five years ago when I designed Rex and commissioned the boys at Raytheon to build him,” Alfred said.  “Things really got set in stone six months ago when I got a hold of Rex’s programming and added a few extra lines of code.”

“Your plan for sabotage really went to hell five minutes ago when I typed the execute command into my computer.  This enacted my protocols and instructed Rex to reinstall the message your people deleted, gave the transmission signal some balls, and then sent the probe on her merry way.  The last line of code told Rex to commit suicide into the receiver equipment so nothing could be done about it.”

Mark shuddered as he fought an overwhelming urge to pull the trigger.

“As to the question of why I did it,” Alfred continued without a care in the world.  “I knew the only reason the probe mission got funding was for the fusion reactor.  The transmission was designed to be somewhat powerful, but everyone knew it would never be heard, or at least not for another ten or twenty thousand years.  To everyone else it was just about the reactor, but to us it was the message.  We wanted to reach out and touch someone.  Now that the signal has some oomph, it will be heard.”

“And what if the wrong people hear that message?” Mark protested.  “It tells them where to find earth for Christ sake; we’re all toast.”

“Then the trick is making sure only the right people hear the message,” Alfred countered as he let loose a hearty yawn.

“Is that where the frequency of the transmission comes into play?” Mark challenged.   “Is that your guarantee only specific recipients will get the message?”

“Figured that out all on your own did you?” Alfred mocked.

Alfred’s flippant answer was the last draw; Mark knew he needed to dial the interrogation up a notch, because obviously just pointing a gun at the flight director wasn’t getting the job done.

Mark stepped forward and violently whipped his left arm across the desk sending the phone and a stack of papers and folders crashing to the floor.  He brought his arm back across the desk and sent the flat screen computer monitor careening to the ground as well.  He then leveled the pistol point blank at Alfred’s nose.

“What made you flip like this,” Mark demanded.  “You had a distinguished career with NASA, and now you throw away that legacy to conspire against your people.  Why?”

“I am a patriot,” Alfred insisted through half shut eyelids.

“You’re a traitor,” Mark screamed at the top of his lungs.  “You’ve sold us all out.”

“Patriot or traitor depends on your point of view,” Alfred lazily instructed.  “I’m a patriot to my cause.”

“And what cause is that,” Mark demanded.

Alfred let out a chuckle as he picked up the only remaining object left on the desk, his lucky baseball cap.  He looked upon it with reverence and then placed it on his head.  “I still need to keep some secrets.”

Mark dashed around the director’s desk and hit him over the head with the hilt of his gun, then pointed the weapon at Alfred’s nose again.  “Soon I’ll know all your secrets; it’s just a question of how much pain you endure before I do.”

Alfred cried out and grasped his head with both hands.  As he did, he slowly turned the lucky ball cap around backwards.  “It’s rally cap time,” Alfred said as he began laughing uncontrollably.

“You’re going to need more than luck,” Mark said.  Then he clubbed the director over the head again with his gun.  Alfred let out a loud shriek of pain that lasted a few seconds, but soon turned back into laughter. 

“Damn you, tell me,” Mark hollered, but the laughter continued.  Mark was left with little choice.  He pressed the barrel of his pistol into the meaty part of Alfred’s left thigh and pulled the trigger.  The muffled gunshot was drowned out by Alfred’s ear piercing scream that brought the NASA flight director’s laughter to an abrupt halt.

“Okay.  You win,” Alfred said as he struggled to remain conscious.  “I’ll tell you my secret.”

Alfred gestured with his hand for Mark to bring his ear close.  Mark leaned in, careful to keep his gun pointed at Alfred’s mid section. 

The flight director waited a pair of heartbeats, and then whispered in a soft voice.  “That wasn’t a Prozac I swallowed earlier.” 

With the last word uttered, Alfred placed his lucky cap on Mark’s head and then slumped forward onto the desk. 

“No,” Mark bellowed as he desperately checked for a pulse but it was no use.  His only lead to the frequency source was dead, and Mark didn’t have a clue what to do next.

He leaned back against the desk in despair and looked down at Alfred’s body strewn across the desktop. 

He pulled the ratty Texas Ranger’s baseball cap off his head and looked at it for a few minutes while he contemplated his predicament.  “Let’s see if you bring me more luck than Alfred here.”

Mark then placed the cap back on his head, pulled the director’s body back onto the chair and proceeded to rummage through the desk drawers.  He knew it was a desperate move since Alfred was smart enough not to leave any useful evidence just lying around, but desperation was all he had at the moment.

Finding nothing of interest in the desk, Mark moved on to searching through the trash, which only contained a couple used tissues.  He was about to give up all hope when he spotted a half-full paper recycle bin with a document shredder sitting on top. 

“God bless those tree hugging types,” Mark said as he tossed the shredder aside and carefully sifted through the tattered narrow strips of paper.

With some effort he pieced together an airline flight itinerary.  Alfred was due to catch a plane to Cairo that evening. 

“Lucky cap indeed,” Mark said to himself.  Then he grabbed his cell phone, tapped his favorite speed dial button and raised the phone to his ear.  “It’s me.  Looks like I’ll be joining you in Egypt after all.”

Hastelloy hastened his
strides to catch up with Mosa.  The group of exiles was far enough away from the city to be out of sight.  The day was uncharacteristically hot, and that was saying something for the middle of a desert, due to the ash cloud trapping the heat and humidity close to the ground.  It was a small consolation that the sun’s intensity was muted by the cloud, but that also would become a serious issue before long.

“The time for confident displays is over Mosa.  We need to stop for a few minutes to get ourselves organized,” Hastelloy said.

Mosa slowed to a stop and turned to face Hastelloy with tears in the corners of her eyes.  “Get organized for what?  Organize ourselves so the vultures can have an easier meal when we all collapse from starvation or heat exhaustion?  What have I done?”  Mosa cried as she sat down on her knees on the sand and held her head in her hands.

Hastelloy gently laid his hand on her shoulder and outlined the burned flesh from the branding iron.  “We’ve pas
sed the point of no return, there’s no room for self pity or doubt anymore.”

Captain Hastelloy then signaled for his crewmen to come up and join the conversation and instantly morphed into authoritative command mode.  “I need the three of you to take a head count so we know what we’re dealing with.  We especially need to know how many elderly and young children we have as they’ll be the limiting factor for our mobility.”

“Yes, sir,” the three crewmen responded in unison and immediately moved to perform their assignments.

Hastelloy pulled out the navigation unit he’d concealed in the palm of his hand since disrobing to leave the city.  Hastelloy showed the shiny object to Mosa and turned it on.  A detailed holographic map of the surrounding five mile radius filled the air between them.

Mosa’s hands fell limp at her side as the mesmerizing sight took hold of her.  With great trepidation she reached forward to touch the hovering map.  Her eyes widened to the size of saucers when she witnessed her outstretched hand pass right through the ghostly image.

“How . . . how are you doing this?” she finally stammered.

“In the coming days you’ll see many wondrous things that may seem impossible to you.  Let’s push past the question of how and simply move onto the what,” Hastelloy said dismissively.

“This is a map of our surroundings.  We are here,” he said while he pointed to the map with his index finger.  “The city we just left is here, and this blue line represents the river.  Tomal told me there is a village where most of the slave traders operate out of on the far side of that river.  This is the only source of shelter nearby.  Those men perpetuated the evil of slavery
by rounding most of us up.  I have no moral reservations about taking that village by force and using it for our own benefit.  Do you?”

Mosa still looked dazed by the display of incomprehensible technology.  She collected her faculties enough to shake her head to confirm her agreement.

Hastelloy tapped a few buttons on the small device causing the scope of the map to narrow, and the detail broadened to show the rise and fall of the terrain and the depth of the river water.  “Fortunately, it is the dry season so the river level is very low.  It narrows to about 100 feet wide, at this point and the water is only three or four feet deep.  I’m a little concerned about the current, but it should be fairly tame so I think we can forge a crossing there.”

Hastelloy looked up from the map to make sure Mosa was following his explanation before continuing.  “Once the census is done we need to walk directly east for about a mile to reach the crossing point.  Do you agree?”

Hastelloy’s instinct was to take complete control of the situation and force Mosa into the roll of a subordinate but that was not possible.  She was viewed by all as the leader.  To usurp her authority would be a grave mistake.  She needed to make the decisions, so Hastelloy waited obediently for a response.

Mosa shook her head and blinked her eyelids rapidly and then looked at Hastelloy with a renewed sense of purpose.  “I agree.  How will we take the village once we find it?”

“The old fashioned way,” Hastelloy replied with a wink and then turned off the navigation unit.

Despite the exiled group’s size exceeding five hundred people, they moved at a fairly quick pace.  When the march to the riverbank began there was only two hours of daylight left.  It was an odd sensation that as the daylight drew to a close the light level actually increased around them as the ash cloud continued to dissipate. 

Hastelloy was concerned they may need to force a dangerous crossing of the river during the night time.  As it turned out, they made excellent time and arrived with an hour of daylight to spare.

As expected, the water level was only waist high at its deepest point.  The current was stronger than Hastelloy would have liked, but was still manageable.  He gave Gallono the signal and the commander led forty strong men into the water.  The men locked wrists with each other and collectively stood their ground against the current.  Any man who lost his footing was instantly supported by the strength of those around him.  This formed an unbreakable human chain that spanned from shore to shore.

With the human supports in place, the exiles crossed.  Small children were hoisted onto the shoulders of parents to assure their heads remained above water.  Under normal circumstances, five hundred naked bodies pressing against each other might have made a person blush, but all sense of modesty was long gone with this group.  When someone slipped in the current it was perfectly acceptable to grab hold of whatever body part was nearby for help, and no one even gave it a second thought.

As the last individual completed the river crossing, the men who formed the support line retracted to the other side.  Only Tonwen and Valnor remained on the original riverbank.  Hastelloy signaled with a wide arching wave and the two men set off jogging to the north.  They had a daunting journey ahead of them, but Hastelloy was confident they would fulfill their orders.

Back on the eastern bank of the river, Hastelloy and Gallono found the highest sand dune nearby and ascended its height to take advantage of the view.  Once at the summit, the two men waited for the darkness nighttime brought with it to fall across the landscape.  Gallono was the first to notice a faint glow on the horizon about a mile, perhaps two, away.

The two men scampered back down the slope and returned to the exiled group.  Mosa was making sure everyone had something to do.  Most were gathering driftwood along the shore to make fires during the night.  Others rounded up grass and leaves to serve as kindling.  Still others scoured the river for any stones larger than a person’s head to surround the bonfires.  Stones were useful because they retained heat quite well and would amplify the warming effects of the fires.

Everyone else was busy raking up the bodies of locusts that littered the ground.  A meal of insect bodies wasn’t gourmet, but it prevented starvation. 

Hastelloy felt satisfied everything was in hand for the group to survive the night so he made his way to Mosa and reported his findings.  “We spotted the village southeast of here, about two miles away.  Gallono and I are going to move in for a closer look to see what we’re up against.”

Hastelloy lowered his body to the ground as he crawled over the last hill to reveal the slave trader village.  The compound consisted of six large buildings in a roughly circular pattern around a courtyard with a water well in the middle.  There were fenced areas to hold cattle, or slaves if needed, but they were empty at the moment.  Th
e occupants of the village hadn’t replaced the animals lost to pestilence yet.

Even if
the light of the bonfires hadn’t guided Hastelloy and Gallono to the village, the loud roar of drunken laughter and music would have done the job.  The courtyard was filled with rugged men drunk beyond the point of being able to stand.  Others sang songs with friends or molested their concubines.

Gallono let out a soft laugh of amusement.  “It’s like they know this is their last night to live.  I don’t think they could make this any easier for us if they tried.”

“Perhaps, but we’ll prepare the attack as if we’re facing a well-trained and sober army.  Plan for the worst and hope for the best,” Hastelloy said dryly.  “I see thirty-two males and ten females, what is your count?”

Before Gallono had a chance to reveal his figures another man stepped out from the largest structure.  He announced his presence in the courtyard with a loud growl as three half naked women slinked out of the tent behind him.  He was an absolute giant of a man compared to those around him, with scars all over his torso and face.  The man was unmistakably familiar to Hastelloy and Gallono.

“Anum,” Hastelloy spat.

“The slave trader who captured us in the first place; this assault just got personal,” Gallono stated without a hint of his usually playful tone.  “Let’s see how tough that guy is when I’m not unarmed and outnumbered twenty to one, or chained to the ceiling.”

“Doing one’s duty can be unpleasant at times, but on a few rare occasions it’s a real pleasure,” Hastelloy said as the two men crawled backwards down their lookout mound.  “Anum’s day of reckoning is finally at hand, and it’s my pleasure to turn that hand into a fist and smash him like the grubby bug he is.”