The Independent Worlds (The Sixteen Galaxies Book 2) (16 page)

“The Starchild is his own person, Nuthros. He is an extension of me, that is true, but he retains his individuality.”

“But how could he do this? Why allow himself to be captured? He’s put the entire world, let alone the Sixteen Galaxies, at risk, for the sake of two lives. If Kestil’s AI gets into David’s’ mind, that thing will be unstoppable.”

“This event was permitted, as it is within the limits of our allowances for beneficial developments in the future,” Truly replied.

“Which means,” Ron said as he entered the room, “they planned it this way.”

“Hang on a sec,” Jack said. “The Starchild’s connection to Truly and the rest of the Entity can’t be broken, right?”

“Correct,” Nuthros said. His eyes widened. “Yes, so you should be able to pinpoint his location, Truly. So that’s why you let this happen.”

“I’m afraid my real self is currently headed toward Kareetha at faster than light speed, Nuthros.”

“But,” Nuthros replied, “the connection to the Entity’s other parts is still secure, is it not?”

“No,” Truly replied, “that is incorrect; it has been modified. Over a distance of more than 5 light years, the connection can be severed at will by either party. As soon as my real version went to faster than light, David was cut off. It was his wish. It cannot be reconnected until he is free.”

“Well,” Jack said, “how do we free him when we can’t find him?”

“That’s my problem.” They turned to see an elderly woman at the doorway. She was dressed in a frumpy old floral dress; her short grey hair was blue rinsed under a frilled hat, and she wore a pair of bright blue block-heeled shoes.

Nuthros’ eyes narrowed. “Mandy?”

“Don’t ask,” Ron said. “It looks crazy, I know, but it just might work.”

Jack shifted uncomfortably. Mandy pointed at him. “Not a word, you. I’ll speak to you when I get back.” She hefted the knapsack. “Right, Truly. Go.” She disappeared.

“I should go with her,” Jack said.

“I can’t let you do that, Jack,” Nuthros said. “There would be twice as much risk as someone on their own.”

“Besides,” Ron interjected, “right now, you’d be a damn sight more uncomfortable with Mandy than in Kestil’s hands, believe me. She’s angrier than a sack full of wet cats.”

*****

Chicago, Illinois, 2005

He zipped up the jacket pocket with the 2 USB drives in them. Wouldn’t do to go back to the UK without them; Hilary would be incandescent. He opened the hall cupboard and placed the required ingredients at the front of the shelves. Next, he took out a pile of lightly crumpled newspaper from his tote-bag. Some of these were placed in a thick line from the adjacent power point to the underneath of the lowest shelf. The rest was stuffed under the same shelf. Next came the accelerant. Just a tiny amount of paint thinner on each ball of paper; no more than the paper could easily soak up. The paper under the shelf got a more liberal dose sprinkled over it.

He relocated the plastic bottle of mineral turpentine on the lowest shelf; it needed good exposure to the initial flame, to provide a steady flow of fuel to the small blaze below as it melted. With the cupboard door wide open to provide ample air supply, the set was ready. He went over to the sliding glass door at the back of the house and opened it wide enough to run through. He made sure the lock was on, so the door could be slammed shut on the way out. After the tote bag was placed over the back fence, he went back in and, using a long match, lit the paper under the power outlet.

*****

Vincent Technologies Prototype FTL spacecraft, Present Day

Bryant Rawlinson looked out at the beautiful blue sphere as he hurtled around it. Even after many space shuttle flights to the International Space Station, followed by a brief stint with the Dragon spacecraft, the sight just never got old. Vincent Technologies had made Bryant an offer too good to refuse. How would he like to be the first astronaut to fly a ship faster than the speed of light? The money was good, naturally, but he was here for one reason, in truth. To feel a kick in the pants that nobody, at least from Earth, had ever felt before. He knew damn well the aliens were mixed up in this; mankind was possibly centuries away from such a breakthrough. But, that only gave him confidence the project would succeed. Those guys knew what they were doing, and he was set to gain the most from their interference, as far as he was concerned.

There’d been delays, of course. Such things were natural. Still, here he was in orbit and waiting for the green light to push that button.

“How’s she looking up there, Bryant?” He smiled at the sound of Cindy McKellar’s voice.

“Green across the board, Toaster.” Cindy had earned her nickname in college after she’d set fire to her room’s curtains while trying to toast bread on a purloined Bunsen burner.

“Standby, Bryant, we’ve got apogee in sixty seconds; repeat, T minus sixty.”

“Copy that, sixty seconds.” Bryant felt a cramp in his gut; damned nerves, he thought.

“All systems reported clean and clear, T minus 45.”

Bryant watched the screen in front of him. The destination was locked in, and all he had to do was wait for the countdown. He saw nothing but green on the screen; damn this thing was good. Vincent had spared no expense on this build, and some of the best in the aerospace industry had put time into this project. He looked at the button that engaged the star-drive. It all came down to that one little button.

Cindy cut his meditation off. “T minus 20, switch clear.”

He reached over and flipped the clear plastic cap off the button. “Switch is clear.”

“Copy that, switch is clear and commence burn in T minus 10…9…”

Of course, in reality there was no burn. With this star-drive you switched it on and turned it off when you wanted to stop. Or at least, the computer switched it off. But, he got to switch it on. Well, it wasn’t really him that did that, either. FTL travel required nano-metric adjustments well out of the reach of mere humans. The button just authorized the computer to initiate the navigational program that controlled the star drive.

“3…2…1…Clear to burn.”

“Engaged…” He pressed the button. “Here,” he yelled, “hold my beer and watch
this
!”

There was no great cacophony of sound, no sudden blurring of stars, no magical twisting tunnel of light. The ship just…accelerated. And kept on accelerating; Bryant felt himself pushed back despite the compensator field that was part of the system and permeated the entire ship’s structure. Without it, he would be a thin, flat puddle of goo on the bulkhead behind him. The ship started to shake somewhat, but not enough to worry him. The vibration stopped, and he realized that was it. Not much to see, just star-filled void. He waited for the indicator to light up that would tell him it was safe to maneuver the ship. It lit up, and he turned the ship in a gentle 180-degree pivot about its axis.

And there it was; the sun. Filtered through an incredible amount of protective radiation shielding, of course, but still jaw-dropping in its majesty. From here, it was still bigger than he expected. Bryant sat and drank it in; a view he may never see again. Mind you, he thought, if Vincent was to send another ship out anytime soon, he’d do it for free, if he had to. He was so absorbed in the staggering beauty of the view that he nearly missed the spaceship that suddenly appeared right next to his.

“Quite the view, Bryant, is it not?” The voice came out of his headset, which was impossible, because he was long out of communication range with Earth.

He sat there for a minute, before he decided to reply. “Indeed it is.” Weird as the situation was, he still had the presence of mind to notice the voice was female.

“I am Commander Trestere, of the Independent Worlds. You may have heard of us.”

“I have heard of the Independent Worlds, yes. I have a sneaky suspicion you may be the ones to thank for my being out here.”

She laughed gently. “I think you may be right. Supreme Commander Kestil asked me to meet you here, but begs you to keep this meeting off the record, if you would be so kind.”

Bryant smiled. “I don’t think anyone would believe me anyway.”

He watched as several tiny machines left the Independent Worlds ship and approached his craft.

“Please don’t be alarmed, Bryant,” Trestere said. “Kestil wanted me to make sure your ship is fully intact and capable of a run back with no risk. There is a lot riding on your success.”

“Understood,” he replied. “Well, thanks.”

The machines orbited his ship a few times and then returned to Trestere’s ship. “Everything is fine, Bryant. I’ve never seen a star-drive of such an old design before. But, your people have done a magnificent job of it. Enjoy the ride home.”

Trestere’s ship shimmered briefly and vanished. “I will, and thanks again,” Bryant called, but there was no reply.

Kestil’s base

David lay quietly in the middle of the little room. Kestil paced around the restraint bed they had David strapped to. “Well,” Kestil said, “what do we do with you now, hmm?”

“According to my current calculations,” David replied, “you get your AI to do its best to hack into my mind and thus theoretically gain access to the Entity.”

Kestil shook his head. “Well, your calculations are a bit off, to be frank. We already know the Entity has cut you off, David. On the upside of that, your friends really will never find us, now; something that was a concern, before.”

He walked up behind David and leaned over his shoulder. “Tell me, David, what do your calculations predict as to our chances of successfully entering your brain?”

“That depends. At the moment there is an unknown factor.”

Kestil stood upright and stared at the young man before him. “What unknown factor?”

“How much of its runtime it intends to dedicate to penetration of my mind, as opposed to the omnipresence it maintains on the global network. It cannot exert full pressure on me and stay on the web.”

Kestil blinked.
‘Is this true?’

‘It is’
the AI replied.

‘Why did you not advise me of this?’

‘You never asked.’
came the reply.

Kestil’s face reddened. “Okay, so how long if it runs at full capacity?”

“100% chance of success over a 76-hour period. It descends from there. 92.3% over 75 hours, 87.6% over 74 hours, and so on.” David replied. “Reduce the capacity dedicated to the task, and the time grows exponentially.”

‘He is right.’
the AI told Kestil.

Kestil scowled.
‘What about you maintain a classic architecture presence on the human network; just binary code? How much capacity would that take?’

‘Very little.’

‘Do it.’

Kestil rubbed his hands together. “Well, it looks like we’ve found a way to do both.” He patted David’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, we shall be left alone. Your friends will never find us anywhere near quick enough to intervene.” He nodded to two men who waited in the doorway. “Get him connected up. The AI will keep me advised as to its progress. Keep him hydrated at all times.”

The men wheeled in a little trolley, and started to connect stick-on patches to David’s skull around the area of his frontal lobes. The patches were connected to a small box via thin cables. One of the technicians paused and said, “I’m afraid there will be some pain when these probes go live. They will extrude tendrils down into the brain itself, to increase connectivity.”

David just nodded and remained silent.

*****

Global News Update

“…After the successful maiden voyage of Vincent Technologies FTL spacecraft, plans are already in place for a flight further; right out of the solar system. Independent Worlds representative Kestil has applauded the development. In a press conference earlier today, he urged humanity forward, but underlined the need for global unification to properly address the planet’s needs. In a frank and open statement, he said, ‘Just as every race in the Independent Worlds does, mankind must accept responsibility for their homeworld. The planet Earth is very unique and special, and humanity must recognize that fact. Expansion into the cosmos is closely linked to a race’s ability to care for the planets it colonizes. Ruthless exploitation of any planetary body is simply not acceptable to the greater galactic community.’

“Meanwhile, anti-globalization protests continue to gain momentum around the world, despite increasingly aggressive countermeasures by authorities. Some governments, including that of the United States, have appealed to the United Nations for intervention to help stem the tide of violence sweeping across the globe.”

*****

New York City

Demery Donaldson watched the old lady shuffle into his army surplus store. He rolled his eyes and muttered to himself. They never bought anything, these old biddies. They just browsed for freaking hours, and you had to watch them the whole time, in case they were a klepto, or something. Still, they were less of a challenge than the damned kids he always kicked out as quickly as he could.

The old dear nodded to him and shuffled down a packed aisle of camping gear. He frowned as she headed for the rear of the store. Nothing back there but knives, crossbows and the gun racks behind the counter. He put down the pile of old magazines he was pricing and walked up behind her. “Can I help you ma’am?” he asked.

The old girl didn’t reply so he moved in closer and put a hand on her shoulder. As she turned to face him, he offered, “Excuse me, but you might be more interested-”

He shut his mouth when he felt a hard object poked into his waist. He looked down and saw a 9mm pointed at his gut.

“Not a word, son,” the old lady whispered. “Your camera still busted in here? Squeeze my shoulder twice for yes, once for no. You lie to me; I
will
kill you.”

He squeezed her shoulder twice. The gun disappeared and she pulled off her hat. “You really ought to get that fixed, Demmy.”

His eyes flew wide open and he gaped. “Holy cow,
Mandy?!
” He swept her up into his huge arms like she was a rag doll. “I ain’t seen you in ages!”

“Sshh! Not so loud,” she hissed. “And put me back down, you big oaf.”

Demery was a huge lump of a man; an ex-marine who literally owed Mandy his life. He set her down and waved a finger at her. “What the hell you come in here pointing a gun at me for?” he demanded.

“In case the camera was on, Demmy. I’m sorry, but if it was, I would have needed to make a run for it. I wanted to make it look like a robbery gone wrong and not give away that you knew me. Then you really would die.”

Demmy held up a hand. “Wait here for a second.” He lumbered over to the door and locked it, and flipped over the ‘Closed’ sign.

Five minutes later, the two were huddled in the little office out the back, two glasses and a whiskey bottle on the desk.

“So,” Demmy said, “what you neck-deep in this time?”

Mandy shook her head. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

He gave her a big smile. “Like I don’t watch every show you do. You’re wrapped up in this alien thing, ain’t ya?”

She laughed. “Well, that’s a bust. Yeah, I’m with the Nuthros guy, and the Sixteen Galaxies. They’re good people, and this Kestil is dangerous beyond belief. Look, Demmy, I have very little time, and I have a friend in real trouble. No weapon shipments go through the docks in this city that you don’t know about, even though I tell you time and again to get out of the trade. I need to know if there’s been any big deals headed out of town and to the west. If possible, I need to know what’s in them.

He rubbed his chin. “Well, nearly everything comes into the docks and gets sold right here. Most of it then goes out to sea again, headed for all sorts of places. Very little goes west; most guys buy what they need local, you know? There was an order of heavy gear that went out towards Arizona a while back; some M60s, two mini-guns and a couple of crates of ammo. Think that was for a Vietnam vet’s historical society, though. There was a big order went to North Dakota, but that was for that whack-job
Isaac Gillingford. Apart from that, lots of smaller orders
going to these anti-globalism guys. Mostly personal protection gear; some body armor, gas masks, and small crates of automatics; mainly 9mm Glocks and stuff like that.”

Mandy shook her head. “I’m talking about
big
contracts; assault weapons, handguns, ammo, belts, boots, camo gear; whole piles of stuff.”

Demery narrowed his eyes in thought. “Well, nothing lately.”

“Could be up to 6 months ago, possibly even longer.”

He snapped his fingers. “There wasn’t no shipment like that, but there
was
something else.” He rummaged in a deep drawer. He dug out paperwork, old gun magazines and newspapers. “Yeah, here it is.” He held a page up and passed it to Mandy. “Whole armory got rolled not twenty miles south of here; we’re talking CAR15 carbines, a few long-range rifles, sidearms, all-weather gear, night vision stuff, you name it.”

Mandy shook her head. “No, I remember that. Six days later they found it all in a different depot. Whole thing was a foul-up by army stores. Massive bun-fight in the pentagon and then it died out for lack of interest.”

Demery leaned forward. “Yeah, that’s what they
want
you to think. Word is that the whole deal went west; a private sale. Done through a government black department. Guy I know is a big conspiracy theory fanatic. He has filing cabinets full of paperwork on all sorts of stuff. He was wound up tight about this one. He thinks it went to some CIA backed terrorist group to do false-flag stuff right here in the US of A. It all got packed into shipping containers and trucked out past Pittsburgh.”

Mandy tapped her glass on the desk. “You know how far it went?”

Demery nodded. “He had some photos of the trucks the shipment was supposed to be on. They were snapped just outside Louisville, Kentucky. But he heard it ended up a lot further west; last seen on the interstate in Oklahoma somewhere.”

Mandy had just taken another swig of whiskey, and nearly spat it back out. “Oklahoma?!” She slapped the glass down on the desk. “Of course! Where else?!” She jumped up and gave Demery a big hug. “Thanks, Demmy, you’re a gem, you really are. Here, help me get this old lady stuff straightened; I gotta go.”

“Okay,” Demery replied, “you want I should call you a cab to get you to the airport?”

Mandy laughed and gave the big man a kiss on the cheek. “I don’t need a cab. I can get there a whole lot faster than any plane ever built.”

*****

Western Queensland

Garth walked into the main area where Nuthros, Ron and Jack were deep in discussion.

“Hey guys, I got a weird one; I need your help.”

“Of course, Garth,” Nuthros replied. “What is it?”

Garth held out a sheet of paper, with just one sentence printed on it. “Well, we just intercepted a text from one of Mandy’s burner phones to one of the dead drop numbers. It came through from a cell tower in New York.”

Jack grabbed the sheet and read the sentence off. “It’s a beautiful morning to be in a surrey with a fringe on top.”

Ron looked askance at Jack. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Jack held it out to him. “Not a clue. You?”

Ron frowned as he read it. “She lost the plot?”

They all had a look. “The guys in our room said they had no idea,” Garth told them. “It sounds like gibberish to me.”

Ron snatched the sheet back from Nuthros, who looked as perplexed as everyone else. He read it through again, and started to laugh. “Oklahoma,” he said. “Kestil’s base is in Oklahoma.”

They all stood and stared at him in silence. He smiled. “My folks loved their musicals. ‘Oh What a Beautiful Morning’, and ‘The Surrey With The Fringe On Top’.” He held out his hands. “No? Really? Come on guys, get with the program! They’re both songs from the musical Oklahoma!”

*****

Oklahoma Department of Libraries, Oklahoma City

“Excuse me ma’am,” the librarian said, “you’d find the computer a lot quicker, you know.”

Mandy kept her head down. “I’m afraid I’ve never made the change to the modern way of doing things, young man. But, thank you anyway.” She waited until he lost interest and wandered off. She pulled out the next map book. She’d been here for two solid hours, and didn’t have a lot to show for it. The second Demery mentioned Oklahoma, Mandy remembered that was where John Crabtree lived. It stood to reason Kestil had simply set up shop at John’s place when they were stranded on the Earth together.

She’d done a search for the name Crabtree, but there were hundreds of them. Turned out the name Crabtree was common in this state. Mandy smirked despite her frustration. Lots of inbreeding in the Crabtree household, obviously. She’d checked obituaries, crime reports, public housing records, birth records, wedding announcements and anything else she could think of. There was plenty of John Crabtrees, but no mention of the one she knew. Why couldn’t his parents have named him Wilberforce, or Cuthbert? Looking for a John was needle-in-a-haystack stuff. She rubbed the back of her neck.

She had a sudden thought; one of those true kick-yourself-in-the-butt moments. The bar where they’d got the footage of Kestil and John’s first meeting. It stood to reason John didn’t live far from there. She searched her mind for the name of the town. She couldn’t recall it, but she knew the bar was called the something Hog Bar and Grill. She cursed under her breath. Why did it have to be the first word of the name that she couldn’t remember? Then it came to her; Rampaging, that was it. The Rampaging Hog Bar and Grill. Five minutes search in a telephone book and she had a town; Cutlass Creek, Oklahoma State. She went to the ladies’ toilets and pulled out another burner phone.

*****

Kestil’s base

“How has he held up so far?” Kestil asked the attendant responsible for David’s health.

“I have managed to keep him lucid, but I’ve let his energy reserves run right down. He’s had some water, but little else, so far. His strength is remarkable; most people would have died by now. His brain is under incredible pressure from the AI, but he shows no acknowledgement of pain. He’s had no sleep for 37 hours, and his body is literally consuming itself to keep him alive. I’ve never seen anything like it.”