The Children of Eternity (29 page)

Serena’s comment was followed by a round of laughter from all. “What are the odds?” she said.

Jerry looked over at Christopher, then back at Bedillia and Serena. Then he turned to Christopher. “Should I be the spokesman?”

Christopher nodded.

Jerry turned to Bedellia. “We have a problem, a big problem…and we really need your help.”

“I’ll do whatever I can,” promised Bedillia.

And so the story began. Jerry spoke a bit about their adventure in Sarel, but mostly he spoke of his birth mother and their journey to Hell through her book. He spoke of her terrible fate and his determination to rescue her. In the years since, he had traveled back there several times using the book, gathering more information and determining exactly where in Hell she had been sentenced.

“About two years ago I finally thought I had all of the information that would be needed to perform a rescue,” said Jerry, “so I went to see Dr. Kepler. I explained what had happened and where she was. I knew that the people of Refuge had rescued many deserving people from their tortures in Hell.

“He told me of the thousands upon thousands of requests just like mine that he had received since the eyes of so many of the children of God had been opened. He tried to pass some of the names along to Abaddon, but he explained that you folks had limited resources and even more limited power. He also told me that the politics of Hell was, well…complicated.”

“It is that,” confirmed Bedillia. “But two years ago we were in the midst of a real power crisis. I knew that those requests were coming in, but we couldn’t do anything about them. I’m really sorry, Jerry.”

“It’s not your fault,” said Jerry. “I guess I figured that what I and the others had done at Sarel would count for something—that my request might get moved to the front of the line.”

“I don’t think that we were able to honor any of the requests,” said Bedillia. “More recently our power problems have been solved, but our political situation has become even more difficult. You could say that, for a time, we had friends in high places when it came to the demons of Hell, but that is no longer the case. For all I know, Satan may be in full control once more.”

“I guess what I’m asking is…could you talk to Abaddon on my behalf, see if he might be able to rescue my birth mother?” asked Jerry. “I know that you have some influence.”

Bedillia nodded. “Yes, but influence may not be enough. Still, I will try.”

Jerry handed Bedillia a sheet of paper. “This gives the coordinates of my mother’s sarcophagus. There is one more problem I didn’t mention. We don’t have much time left. Every day that terrible Sea of Fire hammers at the base of that cliff. It is very rapidly eroding it. Large chunks of it are falling into the sea and with it go the sarcophaguses. The demons make no effort to relocate them. They simply allow them to fall. For a time, the spiked sarcophaguses are tossed about on the surface of that rough sea, as they are heated well beyond the boiling point. Imagine the tormented souls within, having those spikes thrust in and out of them with every crashing wave even as the heat within builds.

“The sarcophaguses eventually float out into the sea, into deeper oil, with only about their top quarter exposed. All the while, oil slowly leaks into them. Eventually they sink to the bottom, pulled down by the weight of their stone bases. And there they are forever. For the helpless occupants, matters are now much worse. I’ve measured the rate of erosion. If we don’t act within the next six to eight months, my mother’s sarcophagus will end up at the bottom of the sea.”

“That’s unimaginable,” gasped Serena. “I know what that sea is like. To be floating on the surface is horrible beyond imagining—I experienced it. But to be trapped in one of those spiked boxes on the bottom…well…I can’t even imagine what that would be like.”

Serena turned to Bedillia. “Mom, you’ve got to do something.
We
have to do something. Maybe if we both asked, something could be done.”

“We’ll do it today,” vowed Bedillia. “We’ll go to see Dr. Kepler and use his telesphere to contact Abaddon. I’ll propose a special rescue mission. Do you know where my mansion is?”

“Yes,” confirmed Jerry.

“Meet me there in three days,” replied Bedillia. “I should know more by then.”

The young men quickly agreed. After a few minutes they gated away, leaving Bedillia and Serena alone once more.

“I think your retirement is over,” noted Serena.

“Yes,” confirmed Bedillia. “Our visit to the geysers will have to wait. We need to be off to Dr. Kepler’s laboratory. I’ll need to stop off briefly at my own home first; then we can go from there.”

Serena nodded.

The blue mists formed before them, and Bedillia and Serena vanished. The quiet isolation of this arctic wilderness returned.

Late the following day, Christopher joined several other scientists and engineers at Pad B of Dr. Faraday’s launch complex. They were looking toward the sky. After over three and a half years of study here, Christopher was still considered an apprentice in the trades of starship propulsion and electromagnetic manipulation, but he had moved to the very top of the roster. He could easily make journeyman in the next few months.

His gaze shifted from the sky to the 180-foot-diameter metallic saucer 400 yards away, which was glistening in the late afternoon sun. It was named the
Intrepid
, and over the years he had watched as it slowly transformed from a skeletal substructure to a completed vessel. He never tired of gazing at it.
Intrepid
was a thing of beauty. Next week it would take to the skies for the very first time.

Only 50 feet away stood the smaller crafts—the daggers. The three crafts looked not so different from small earthly fighter jets with exceptionally short wings. Each of the twin engine, 35-foot-long crafts seated two crewmembers, one in front of the other, beneath a clear crystalline canopy, and each bore a number and the insignia of a brown cross superimposed against the background of a golden crown. It was the emblem found on all of the vehicles here—an emblem to honor the One who made this bold enterprise beyond life possible.

Yet the daggers were not typical jets in the earthly sense. Each was equipped with two distinctly different forms of propulsion. For flight within the atmosphere, they utilized a form of jet propulsion, but these were no ordinary jet engines. These engines tapped the power of the Father’s own Spirit, a power that permeated the entire universe to generate a powerful electric current, which in turn drove the engine. For propulsion in the very high atmosphere and in space, the vessels used an electromagnetic-drive, wormhole-generating hybrid, which was capable of speeds approaching that of light in normal space and far beyond it in hyperspace. These crafts were designed to fit into four independent launch bays built into the belly of the
Intrepid
, and they had both exploratory and military application, with an array of sensors and twin particle cannons.

Christopher again gazed up into the clear blue skies. He could hear the faint whine of the twin engines of Dagger 1, and that whine was growing ever louder—yet the craft was nowhere to be seen.

“Very nice,” said a young engineer to his right. “Very impressive.”

Christopher continued to scan the skies. Then he saw it. It looked like a distortion in the sky, a slight ripple that took the form of Dagger 1. The ripple became a translucent form; then the dagger materialized in all of its glory about 100 feet away. “You gotta love it,” he said.

Less than ten seconds later, Dagger 1 set down on the pad beside the others, and the whine dropped swiftly in pitch. The canopy opened, and Jerry stepped out dressed in his tan flight suit. He was followed quickly by his flight engineer, John Caroway.

“That is the closest to invisible we’ve been,” said one of the engineers. “You were virtually undetectable to the eye and on high frequency radar. I don’t think we can do much better than that.”

“But we need to try,” said Jerry, approaching the group. “I’d like to think that it’s possible to make this bird totally invisible, totally undetectable.”

“There is always going to be a residual signature,” said another engineer.

Jerry seemed prepared to make another comment, yet he didn’t.

“Good job people,” said the group leader, a 117-year-old engineer by the name of Mitch Headlands, who appeared only about 35. “Let’s spend the rest of the afternoon crunching the data and meet in the conference room at ten tomorrow.”

The others nodded and went their separate ways. Jerry walked with Christopher.

“It was really very effective,” said Christopher.

“Yeah, but demons have very good eyesight, especially in the infrared,” countered Jerry. “About the only way I could hide my engine signature from them would be to come in low over the Sea of Fire and then put her down right on the edge of the cliff in that small open area we’ve seen.” He paused. “I’ve been to the Hall of Records again and I looked into her book. Another big piece of the cliff tumbled into the sea yesterday, and there is a crack forming about two feet behind her sarcophagus.

“The Sea of Fire has been unusually violent of late. It took a bunch of those sarcophaguses with it last time. We thought she might have six months. I don’t think she has anywhere near that long. We may only have a matter of days. If we have another collapse like the last one, it could take her with it. Then we might never recover her.”

Christopher nodded. He could sense Jerry’s pain. He had been planning this rescue for so long. They had thought they had more time.

“She was praying, Christopher,” continued Jerry, “I heard her. She prayed for mercy from God, but she also prayed for me. How I wanted to say something to her, to comfort her, but I couldn’t.” Jerry paused. “But there are other times, times when she howls like a crazed animal. She struggles wildly within that awful sarcophagus, struggles until the blood just pours out of that thing. If we don’t get to her soon, there may not be any part of her humanity left.

“I’ve started to study what the torments of Hell do to people, especially ones like that. In the Sea of Fire, the victims eventually go totally nuts. I don’t want her to get like that. If Bedillia isn’t able to convince Abaddon to help us, I’ll have to go in there myself. We’ll have to go through with our own plan…with or without their help.”

Christopher shook his head. “Jerry, we’re not ready. I looked at your temporal capacitor data from the last flight. It isn’t carrying enough power to get you there and back. Once you pass into outer darkness, your dagger won’t be able to tap the Father’s Holy Spirit for power—you’ll be relying on that capacitor for everything.

“The cloaking field, those two engines, and your navigation system all draw power. Just getting there will drain you down to about fifty-five percent. Once you maneuver in, land, get her out, and set course for Refuge, you’ll be down to forty-five percent power or less. That’s assuming that you don’t have to work those weapons repelling a demon attack.”

“I could override the safeguards, charge the capacitor to one hundred and ten percent,” countered Jerry.

“And potentially blow the capacitor and the ship apart, and you along with it,” objected Christopher.

“I’m willing to accept that risk,” replied Jerry.

“But I’m not,” replied Christopher. “Your heart is in the right place, Jerry, it always is…but there are bigger things to consider. Suppose you were shot down and captured? Suppose you were seen entering and exiting Refuge? The blame for our actions might fall on Abaddon and his people. They could end up paying the price for our mistake.

“Abaddon and the others in Refuge are in a difficult situation. I don’t think we can appreciate how difficult. They are isolated, surrounded by demons, and hopelessly outnumbered. Yes, they have superior weapons, but I don’t think that’s going to help them if they end up in an out-andout war. Our interference could trigger that war. Do you want all of those lives on your conscience?”

“No, of course not,” replied Jerry.

“You’re right,” said Christopher, “the cloaking field isn’t good enough yet. If it were, you could go in there, free your mother, knock her empty sarcophagus into the sea, and then basically disappear. No one could prove a thing. For all the demons would know, her sarcophagus tumbled into the sea due to natural forces. It’s only a couple of feet from the edge. They would write her off. They wouldn’t search the bottom of that black sea looking for her. There would be no need for it. That was the plan, wasn’t it? You go off half-cocked now, and we could have real problems—bigger than us probably being kicked out of this program.”