The Zygan Emprise: Renegade Paladins and Abyssal Redemption (19 page)

“It’s rrrravishing!” Fydra broke into a warm
grin and leapt over her desk to give me a wet nose rub. I hugged
her back as Spud began tugging on my arm.

“Come on!” he urged.

“Where are we going?” I asked him as I
followed him inside the station.

“Gary’s office. We have work to do.”

“But Fydra just told us he isn’t here.”

“Exactly,” Spud said, as we arrived at the
suite. “Shh.”

Spud pulled out his Ergal and manipulated
some of the dials. After a few moments, Gary’s door opened, and we
gingerly stepped in. As it closed behind us, I asked, “How did you
do that?”

“Better you do not know,” he said. “Let us
hurry.” He started to scan the stylish room, lined with bookcases
and what I guessed was expensive art.
^xx

“What are we looking for?”

“Gary may know more than he is telling,” Spud
explained. “Anything MacGuffin-related.”

I chuckled, and started to pore through
Gary’s books. Amusingly, a large number of them could be found in
the self-improvement section of your local bookstore. Well, at
least they weren’t filled with tissues. Spud went and rapidly
downloaded Gary’s holo-files into his Ergal and then joined me in
searching the rest of the room.

“Hello!”

I turned towards the door, terrified that
Gary had walked in. It was still closed—Spud had only spoken an
exclamation. I walked over and punched him in the arm before asking
what he had found.

He punched me back, then answered, “Look at
this textbook.”

The book looked at least twenty years old and
was titled,
Cosmological Physics: A Unified Theory of the
Universe,
by Whit N. Miletus, PhD. I raised an eyebrow, “Glad
we don’t have to learn all that any more.”

“Miletan Theory.” He flipped through a few
pages. “Look at these notes in the margins.”

I glanced at the formulae lining the text,
then joked in my best ancient Greek, “It’s Chinese to
me.”
^xxi

Spud, concentrating as he skimmed page after
page, didn’t laugh. He closed the book, micro’ed it and slipped it
in his pocket. “Let’s go.”

I looked at him as if he were crazy. “Are you
crazy? You’re taking Gary’s book?”

“It isn’t Gary’s,” he returned soberly. “It’s
Benedict’s.”

* * *

We M-fanned back into my Malibu bungalow.
Spud put my whole house under an E-shield, explaining that he
needed a few quiet hours to study the text and Benedict’s
scribbles.

“How do you know Benedict did that?” I asked.
Sure, Spud was a whiz at studying handwriting and being able to
identify writers—and forgers. But this was amazing. Where would he
even learn what Benedict’s writing looked like?

Spud, annoyed, opened the book to its
coverleaf and showed me the nameplate. Chagrined, I read, “This
book belongs to: Theodore Benedict.”

“Any other questions?” he mumbled, his head
still buried in the formulae.

“No … no … I’ll, uh, just hang …”

Spud’s hand slipped into his jacket and he
took out a new, full pack of cigarettes. On second thought, I
realized I hadn’t seen the family in a few weeks; maybe this would
be a really good time to deliver Kris’s package to Andi.

* * *

Maryland—present day

I M-fanned at the farm in Maryland and ran up
the path to avoid being drenched by a pouring spring shower. Taking
cover under the awning on our front porch, I wiped the mud off of
my shoes before I rang the bell. Some of the gang was bound to be
home. I didn’t expect to see George, as ‘Osborne, Conrad, and
Jeffries’ was a killer law firm to intern for, and he’d likely be
working at his office all weekend. Connie was probably at
Georgetown studying for her upcoming finals, and Blair should have
already gone back to the UK for planting season. But, Andi and the
boys still had a couple of months left in the school year, so I’d
have enough company for a few hours, at least until Spud’s smoke
cleared. Literally, as well as figuratively.

Bobby opened the door eagerly as I
approached. Seeing me, he crossed his eyes and stuck out his
tongue. “Oh, it’s you.”

“Want to make it to fifteen?” I favored him
with a faux frown as I walked past him into the foyer.

Billy waved his free hand from the home
theater in our family room, his eyes glued to his game. I ducked to
avoid a holographic Romulan warship as it almost sliced through my
head. Two years younger than Bobby, the blond “starfighter” was
already beating his brunet brother in battle games. In a few years,
I’d love to nominate him for Mingferplatoi when he turns sixteen.
The boys were back at their controllers even before I headed for
the kitchen. At least I knew what to get them for their
birthdays.

Andi was making a peanut butter sandwich,
strands of her long auburn hair falling into the paste as she tried
to keep it from tearing the doughy bread.

“Whole wheat isn’t as fragile,” I
suggested.

“Shiloh!” she squealed, and stretched out her
peanut butter-covered hands for a hug. Thirteen is old enough to
know better. Really. I hugged her anyway.

“I’ve got a present for you,” Andi’s face
brightened as I pulled out Kris’s package from a plastic bag. “From
Christine.” I handed Andi a towel to clean off the remnants of
peanut butter that didn’t make it onto my T-shirt.

Andi carefully unwrapped the shiny paper and
folded it into a small square which she laid on the kitchen
counter. She raised the lid of white box underneath and squealed
with excitement. “A Mid Kids jacket!”

The olive windbreaker looked wonderful next
to her auburn locks, and I complimented her on her style. I pulled
out a second box from the plastic bag, this one unwrapped. “I got
you a little something, too.”

Andi’s eyes lit up when she saw the sketch
pad and colored pencils. She gave me another big hug. After taking
off her new jacket so it could stay peanut-butter free.

We made a pitcher of lemonade for us all and
sat around sharing some family and Hollywood news and gossip. I
learned about George’s plans to intern in Congressman Acton’s
office in July. And Connie’s student teaching in an urban DC
school. Blair and Uncle Ari were planning to double the potato crop
this year, and the little guys were balancing school, baseball
practice, and acting in the occasional local commercial pretty
well. Bobby had admitted that he wanted to join Kris in LA this
summer, and maybe get a shot at a guest part on ‘Mid Kids’ next
season, but George and Connie had both responded with a vehement
‘no’. For once, I was on their side. Kris wouldn’t be a real good
role model for her younger brother. And me? No way could I babysit.
I already had a second job.

Neither Andi nor I mentioned John. We drank
lemonade, and, until the rain stopped, I sat in the home theater
and played a few rounds of war games with the boys while Andi
sketched us. I let them win, of course, ‘cause I don’t know when
I’ll have time to come back and see them again.

Only when I was at the door, giving Andi a
good-bye hug, did her eyes well up with tears. “I can’t remember
what his voice sounds like anymore,” she whispered. “And I never
wanted to forget.”

I held her in my arms for a very long
time.

* * *

Hollywood—present day

I M-fanned back into Malibu as the sun was
setting. I don’t like to miss the sunsets over the Pacific at this
time of year. The sun paints the clouds orange and pink, with
bright yellow halos. June gloom will arrive in several weeks, and
with its marine layer coming in around 3:00 pm, you won’t be able
see anything out my windows at all for most of the day, even the
paparazzi crouching behind the dunes. It gets pretty lonely
sometimes…

The first thing I did was prop up Andi’s
sketch of us on my desk in my bedroom. I was so glad she gave it to
me. I’ll add it to the others I’ve mounted on the wall as soon as I
can find the right frame.

My very next task was to open the windows,
especially in the living room where Spud was ‘cogitating’. I knew
we were able to regenerate our lungs with one trip to Nejinsen, but
I still didn’t want to breathe all that smoke.

Spud ignored my sour face, and began
cryptically, “Van Allen Belts.”

“Yeah …?” I waited.

“Radiation belts around the Earth.”

“I know that,” I said, exasperated.

“Most planets don’t have them. They’re burned
off by the sun.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“So, why does the Earth have them?” Realizing
I wouldn’t have a clue, he raised a hand and answered his own
query, “The Earth’s magnetic field traps the radiation.”

I nodded, pretending to understand.

“Or.”

Sigh. “Or?”

“They’re the remnants of attempts to
transition to other branes …”

“Well, that’s a leap. Literally.”

“Bear with me. I shall try to explain. What
are the belts made of?”

“Sugar and spice.” No response. “Green
cheese?”

Spud was not amused. “Charged ions.”

“Okay …?”

He sat back, pursing his lips. “I’m not an
astrophysicist, but …”

I snorted. “You should be.”

“Recall, we were only in the portal for a
second or two. We needed something, an energy source, perhaps, to
propel us forward. Our Ergals, even together, couldn’t provide
enough power to make the transition.” Spud leaned forward, his eyes
bright. “What if—and this is simply a presumption—what if the
Somalderis somehow provides or channels energy. One is then able to
fully transport to another brane.”

I’d
like another brain right now, I
thought, as Spud continued, excited. “Without the Somalderis, one
would need to provide one’s own energy. An enormous amount of
energy.”

“Mm-hmm.” I shrugged. “Then how ‘bout using a
nuclear bomb?”

Spud grinned. “Bravo! So, you try to harness
nuclear energy to push you into the next dimension. But—”

I nodded. There’s always a ‘but.’ “Something
goes wrong?”

Spud echoed my nod. “Very wrong. The energy
is still inadequate, and, as you are ejected there is a nuclear
backdraft. Voilà, you have created a Van Allen Belt.”

I frowned. “But, if what you’re saying is
true, they, the belts, would have to be pretty recent. I mean,
wasn’t the Bomb only invented in 1960 or something?”

“In 1945 or something. I did a little
atmospheric measurement before we left Kohlis,” Spud glanced at his
Ergal. “I read no Van Allen belts in BC.”

“Really? Wow.” I checked my Ergal’s reference
files. “Says here Christofilos and Van Allen did their work on the
belts in the 1950s…”

Spud nodded. “That fits perfectly into our
timeframe. No belts in ancient times. Belts now. The nuclear
blowback then must have created the belts sometime soon after 1945.
Van Allen finally confirmed the belts’ existence in 1958. Now all
we require is evidence tying the belts into a nuclear explosion in
the late forties or early fifties of the 20
^th
century.”
He paused for a brief moment. I saw a hint of an ironic smile. “And
we both know who has access to that evidence.”

Spud looked at me earnestly. I rolled my eyes
and let out a long, long sigh.

* * *

Earth Core—present day

Temporal analysis at Earth Core was Ev’s
baby. We needed access to Earth radiation tracking data from the
past hundred years or so to prove Spud’s theory. And the only way
to get it was through Everett Weaver. I wished I hadn’t been so
hard on the dork all this time. I hated having to eat crow.

Oh, well, nobody ever said acting was easy.
Well, yes they did, but anyway. Back at Earth Core, I came up
behind Ev and gently put my arm around his shoulders. It took all
my skills to push the words “I’m sorry” through my gritted
teeth.

Everett wasn’t entirely convinced of my
sincerity. “What do you want, Rush?”

Innocent eyes. “I just wanted to apologize. I
haven’t been very nice to you really.”

Everett stared at me for a few moments,
frowning. My eyes dropped, drawn to the pizza stains on his shirt.
Dork. Finally, Everett sighed and said, “Okay.” He turned back to
his holos.

I smiled and nonchalantly started ambling
away. Wait for it. Wait for it.

“Hey!” Ev called out to me.

I turned towards him, batting my big
blues.

“Hey,” he continued, looking sheepish. “I
thought you were, uh, kidding. Thanks.” He smiled, genuinely
pleased.

I smiled back, and turned back away. Wait for
it … Wait for it…

“Rush!” Ev said again. I turned around and
smiled. “Anytime you need anything, you know …”

Warm smile. “Thanks, Ev. I’m okay.” I
shrugged oh so casually. “But, hey, now that you mention it … Spud
was asking me about something earlier today …”

* * *

New Mexico—1947

June 12, 1947: No Van
Allen Belts.
June 14, 1947: Van Allen Belts. Contact
metrics. June 13, 1947: Chaves County, New Mexico.

I had on Amelia Earhart duds, right down to
the aviator goggles. Spud wore a leather cap with some
military-type insignia and a madras shirt and jeans. We both looked
very
Grapes of Wrath
.

Spud guided us to the right coordinates, and
we settled in under a large oak tree to wait for whatever was to
come. I could only pray that any nuclear backdraft wouldn’t blow us
away with it.

The night was unusually crisp for summer, and
I drew my legs up under my arms to stave off the shivers. I looked
up at the black sky, and, to my surprise, actually saw stars. LA’s
bright lights reflect back up into the sky after dark, drowning out
the constellations. I had almost forgotten what Earth’s night sky
was supposed to look like.