Faulty Prophet

by Karl Beecher

  He took the yellowed paper and followed the coordinates, tracing with his finger the same path that Colin had just traced in his mind, only in the opposite direction. That, naturally, brought him to the singular rocky outcrop.

  "There!" He looked at Gunga and smiled. "The House of the Almighty, we've found it, Gunga!"

  The Doctor closed his eyes and bowed his head, seemingly overcome by the moment. "Let us pray," he beamed.

  "You pray for the both of us," said Hanson hurriedly. "I'm landing this ship right now!"

  Hanson eagerly dashed away to a different console. While nobody was looking, Colin palmed the paper and slipped it into his pocket.

  The bridge suddenly became a whirl of activity. Within moments, the ship was careening through the planet's atmosphere. Such was the urgency of Hanson's piloting, the turbulence felt like riding a shopping trolley over a cobbled street.

  Colin's sickly feeling returned with a vengeance. Planted in his chair, he gripped the arms until his knuckles turned white and fought his urge to vomit. The ‘prophet' puking would spoil the sanctity of the moment.

  Gunga meanwhile had turned white as a sheet. He looked like Colin felt.

  "W-w-we're g-go-ing too-ooo f-f-fa-st," yelled Gunga, sounding like someone sitting atop a washing machine on high spin.

  Hanson yelled back with glee, "N-n-othi-ing can-n-n sto-o-op u-us, w-w-we're on-on a mi-i-ision f-f-fro-om G-G-God!"

  After a few more moments of heart-pounding terror, the turbulence died away, and the ship finally touched down. Colin saw the familiar yellow fog through the glass of the bridge viewport.

  Hanson, meanwhile, leaped from his chair and buzzed around like a child on Christmas morning. He paced through the bridge doorway and across the passageway towards the airlock entrance. Colin, watching him, half-expected the man to march straight through the door and out into the toxic atmosphere, but even Hanson didn't have that much faith. Instead, he stopped beside a series of lockers flanking the airlock entrance and pulled out a pair of survival suits. He dragged them back to the bridge and thrust one into Gunga's hand.

  "Suit up!" Hanson said.

  The Doctor, still grey-faced, peered uncertainly at the suit and held it at arm's length like a dirty old sock. "Erm…I'm not sure about this."

  Hanson was already pulling a leg into his suit. "Come on, man," he barked. "Time's a-wasting. Where's your faith?"

  Gunga cleared his throat. "Hmm, yes. Faith…of course." He reluctantly began changing into the suit.

  After Hanson was dressed, he turned to Arfang who still sat beside a console. "We're in suits one and three, Arfang. Tie in the transponders and monitor our signals."

  He then marched off towards the airlock door.

  Colin piped up. "You're going out there now? What about me?"

  Hanson shook his head. "You're in no fit state for an excursion." He paused, looking momentarily like a man who'd said too much, then his smile returned. "I mean, you may stay here in comfort. Arfang will keep you company."

  Colin could hear Arfang behind him, breathing like a grizzly bear.

  "If all goes well," Hanson continued, lifting up his helmet, "and your information is correct, I shall return to this ship an extremely happy man."

  He pulled on his helmet and stepped into the airlock chamber. He didn't mention what he might do after inevitably finding Colin's information very, very incorrect indeed.

  11

  Hanson wasn't accustomed to this amount of physical labour. The most strenuous activity he undertook during the course of a normal day was massaging his own ego. Judging from the heavy breathing that crackled through the speakers in Hanson's helmet, Gunga must also have been realising he was no longer a young man.

  They'd both trudged through the lashing winds of the dead Earth, each dressed in thirty kilos of survival suit. It had been no picnic, but their spirits had been lifted upon locating the rocky outcrop. Their spirits had positively soared upon finding an entranceway in the side of the rock. The yellow mist was as thick inside as it was out, so they proceeded carefully. That caution had been vindicated when they almost tumbled down a deep shaft, which caused Hanson to reveal he had some choice curse words in his vocabulary.

  The shaft was the only way to go, so they had set up some ropes and abseiled down. Hanson had to build up his courage before descending, despite his intense zeal. Gunga, who'd been an amateur climber in his youth, took it more in his stride. The shaft was deep, and the descent had taken a long time. Hanson could never have imagined that dangling from a rope could be so exhausting.

  Finally, they reached the bottom.

  Hanson detached himself from his rope and looked around. Spikes of light from his suit-mounted lamps burrowed through the yellow fog that enveloped him.

  "Look!" gasped Gunga, pointing.

  Hanson turned and followed Gunga's finger, seeing that one wall had an opening in it. He stepped through and into what seemed to be a corridor that stretched off into the mist.

  He took another step, when a light suddenly shone above him. Hanson froze. The source wasn't clearly visible, but it was a long, thin strip of light beaming through the gloom. Then, the light went off, and an identical one lit up a little further ahead. It, too, shone for a brief moment before being replaced by another one even further down the corridor. This curious pattern continued and repeated, a wave of lights rippling off into the distance.

  Gunga sidled up beside Hanson.

  "Is it guiding us?" asked the Doctor.

  That seemed a sensible notion. Hanson took a step, but Gunga grabbed his arm.

  "Are you sure we should do this?"

  Hanson was exhausted. His muscles ached, and in all honesty, he felt frightened too. Understandable. One didn't face a parley with the creator of the universe lightly. Plus, he'd reached this place via a few crooked steps. He might face divine wrath for the things he'd done to get here. But this was the Creator! When He was waiting at the end of the path, what other choice was there but to keep going?

  Hanson shook off Gunga's grip. "Come on," he growled.

  Slowly, they followed the direction of the lights. It led them past old-fashioned doors, each displaying signs written in some ancient, unknown language. As much as the excitement coursed through him, Hanson also had to admit to feeling a little disappointed. None of this was quite what he'd expected. In his dreams, he'd imagined a grand temple with stone columns, wide avenues and vaulted ceilings a hundred metres high. Perhaps, if it didn't put the Creator to too much trouble, a row of singing angels throwing rose petals at his feet would have been nice too. But poky, cramped corridors shrouded in toxic mist and doors that looked more suited to an office block didn't seem quite right.

  But Hanson forced a stop to these thoughts. This disappointment was merely his vanity. Its gnawing voice, fed by rationality, was attempting to sow the seeds of doubt in his mind. And doubt, Hanson knew, was evil. His faith fought back and pushed the misgivings aside.

  Eventually, they were led around a corner towards a wider doorway. It led into a large chamber that was lit from above. The light illuminated the smoke and, if anything, made visibility worse.

  Hanson peered into the chamber but could discern nothing but fog.

  He stepped forward…

  … and a voice boomed out.

  "Welcome."

  It was a loud voice and so absurdly deep and resounding that it rattled the glass on Hanson's visor. His heart jumped into his throat, and he instinctively grabbed hold of Gunga. The Doctor grabbed him back, and they shared an embrace.

  "Great Stott!" gasped Gunga. "Is it…is it the voice of…Him?"

  The two men looked apologetically at each other, embarrassed by their womanly reactions, and hurriedly let go.

  The voice boomed again. "Welcome, my son."

  Gunga might still have been hesitating, but Hanson was in no doubt. This was the voice of the Progenitor, He Who Created All Thou Can See And Not See. He'd waited for this moment his whole lif
e. Religious devotion coursed through every fibre of his being.

  He dropped to one knee, bowed his head as best he could in a survival suit, and held his arms aloft. "I am here, my lord. I bid thee greetings!"

  Gunga tapped him on the shoulder and leaned over. "Hey," he whispered. "How do you know he's talking to you?"

  Hanson looked up. "Huh?"

  "He said, ‘Welcome, my son.' Singular. But there's two of us. How do you know he meant you?"

  Hanson clambered awkwardly to his feet. "Of course, he meant me. I'm the leader, after all."

  Behind the glass of his visor, Gunga looked taken aback. "You're the leader? How'd you figure that?"

  "I organised this expedition," said Hanson. "I'm paying for it."

  "The True Origin Society is paying for it," retorted Gunga.

  Hanson glared. "And I lead the society."

  "I just think we ought to establish which one of us he means."

  Hanson sighed impatiently. "Fine," he spat and turned back to the light. "Oh, lord," he called out. "Um…wouldst thou satisfy our curiosity and by thine grace inform us which—"

  The booming voice cut him off. "You have travelled far on this holy quest, my son. Now you shall receive your reward."

  Hanson turned back to Gunga. "Look, we're wasting his time. He's clearly got a lot to cover. It's obviously me, so you stay here and be quiet."

  "But…"

  "Or perhaps you'd like to find a different spaceship for the return journey?"

  Gunga pouted and tried to fold his arms. It was difficult in the suit, but he persevered just to make a point. "Fine," he mumbled.

  "Come forward, my son," instructed the voice.

  Hanson stepped further into the room alone. A thrill surged through his body, and he quivered at the prospect of what awaited him. As he moved forward, a shadow became apparent in the mist. The indistinct, blocky shape stood about waist-high and a couple of metres across. Nearing it, the shape came into focus. This must have been it. The great communicator that would allow him to come truly into the embrace of the Creator. Again, like the corridor outside, it was not quite as Hanson had expected. He'd imagined maybe a great marble archway. Or a golden throne, that would have been more like it.

  But this looked more like a refrigerator that had fallen over.

  That little voice in the back of Hanson's mind returned, the incessant voice that tended to crop up when things seemed wrong. It grew louder, pleading with Hanson. But Hanson steeled himself. He'd got this far in life by suppressing that voice, he wasn't going to start listening to it now!

  As he looked closer at the metal contraption, he noticed a screen set into its side. He knelt and examined the writing on it.

  NEOCRYONICS POD UNIT v1.2

  REVIVAL PROCESS COMPLETE

  HAVE A NICE DAY

  He read the words aloud. They made no sense to him but nonetheless, seemed out of place. Something was very wrong here.

  The voice of doubt suddenly found the volume dial and turned it up to ten. Now, will you listen to me? it bellowed. Hanson decided maybe it had something worth listening to.

  Meanwhile, the booming voice returned. "But, my son, before you may claim your reward, you must complete for me three tasks which will…"

  It continued, but Hanson stopped listening. He'd noticed something. The voice sounded very close by. Very real. Mechanical almost.

  He followed the sound, looking around until eventually, he saw a small, black circle mounted on the nearest wall. He put his hand against the circle and felt vibrations in time with the voice.

  It was a speaker. A crude, old-fashioned speaker.

  Told you, said Hanson's doubt. You never listen to me.

  Gunga's voice crackled in his ear. "Hanson, you're not going to believe this."

  At that moment, Hanson was prepared to believe anything. "Go on."

  "I've just found a…well, a poster hanging on the wall here."

  "A poster?" Hanson echoed incredulously. "This is supposed to be the house of the Lord, not a community theatre space."

  "I know. Not exactly what you'd expect."

  "What's on it?"

  "I see a guy wearing a medical gown. He's being led by someone in a lab coat towards a…well, it looks like some kind of sleeping pod."

  A sleeping pod. This wasn't the communicator, hand-crafted by the mightiest being in eternity. It was just an old sleeping pod.

  "I don't understand any of the writing," continued Gunga, "but the biggest word says…CryCorp?"

  In a rage, Hanson pounded his fist against the speaker. The so-called voice of the Creator began to cut out.

  "…your f-rst t-sk will b- to rec-te the open-ng verses of the H-ly Book…"

  Colin Douglass had lied to him. And if Douglass had lied, then he was no prophet!

  12

  The outer doors slammed shut. Air hissed into the chamber as the airlock repressurised, sucking away the traces of yellow mist that had drifted inside. Eventually, the hissing died down and the inner door opened to reveal the ship's interior.

  Tyresa eased off her helmet and placed it gently aside before pulling her pistol and stepping gingerly into the corridor.

  Sweet ride, she thought as she peered around the interior of the SS Rabbit. A wood-panelled corridor stretched off left and right. Straight ahead lay an open door to a luxurious-looking bridge.

  There seemed to be nobody around. The ship was utterly still and quiet, although her ears were still ringing from loud, vicious winds she'd just trudged through. But Colin had to be in here somewhere. She'd already verified that neither of the two people who'd gone into the CryCorp chamber were him. They must have left Colin behind on the ship, figuring he had no way to escape. However, they hadn't figured on Tyresa being here already.

  She reflected briefly on the improbability of her being here. Astoundingly, her gamble had paid off and repeatedly watching Colin's message hadn't made her see things that weren't there. Colin really had sneaked in a secret message to her. "I am taking Brock Hanson back to Earth," he'd said, "back to the place where I have slept these past two thousand years."

  In other words, to the cryonic stasis chamber where Tyresa had originally found him.

  And if that weren't enough, he'd thought to add, "As you in the Alliance say, ‘Safe travels and savour in success.'" They said no such thing in the Alliance, of course, but the ignoramus Hanson wouldn't have known that.

  It had taken a while, but Tyresa had finally seen it.

  Safe Travels And Savour In Success.

  S.T.A.S.I.S.

  And so, the effort she and Ade had spent setting up the underground light and sound show hadn't been for nothing. It had especially been fun cooking up those three time-wasting tasks. They should keep Hanson busy for a good while. In the meantime, she could find Colin and get out of here.

  She grabbed the scope that hung at her waist. A quick scan showed there to be one life form aboard: straight ahead on the bridge. Curious. She'd expected them to have locked him up somewhere. But to leave him on the bridge, free to mess with the controls? Perhaps he was tied up.

  She jogged through the doorway.

  "Colin?" she called out. "Are you in he—"

  An arm swiped out from behind the doorway. It was a big arm, thick as a stone column and just as dense judging by the force with which it struck. The hand connected painfully with Tyresa's wrist and sent her gun flying across the room.

  A second arm hooked around towards her face. Her reactions leaped unthinkingly into action. She ducked, and the hairy fist sailed over her head and into the wall with a crunch, leaving a huge, splintered hole in the panel.

  Tyresa staggered backwards into the corridor. The arms' owner emerged from his hiding place: a towering, bald-headed man built like a grizzly bear. A menacing smile stretched across his stubbly face.

  "I'm sorry," she said apologetically. "I must be on the wrong ship."

  He lunged forward to grab her, but the nimble Tyresa was to
o fast for him. She ducked, leaped sideways into a roll and flipped back onto her feet. The man said nothing, he just grunted, grinned and came towards her again.

  Tyresa desperately sought options. Her only weapon was gone, so shooting him was off the menu. The brute now stood between her and the airlock, so a quick escape was unattainable too.

  That left fighting. Hardly her favourite choice considering the size of him, but even a well-placed jab could topple a giant. That might work, especially if he wasn't expecting it.

  Tyresa put on her best weak and feeble woman impression.

  "I'm so sorry." She cowered before the great ape, priming her back foot. "Please don't hurt me. I'm only a—"

  She sprung forward and thrust out her fist with all her might. It met the side of his jaw with a satisfying meaty thud. She'd delivered blows like that before and seen men tumble like a house of cards. In this case, the man's head jerked an inch, and he stood as steady as before. She had probably done more damage to her own hand.

  Suddenly, she heard banging and a muffled voice coming from the corridor behind her.

  "Tyresa! Tyresa is that you?"

  It was Colin's voice. She chanced a brief look behind her but saw only a couple of doorways along the passageway.

  "Colin!" she yelled back. "Colin, I'm here!"

  "Watch out for Arfang," Colin yelled back. "He's waiting for you!"

  "Yeah, we met already!"

  As Arfang closed in, he adopted a wrestler's pose, arms wide and feet apart. She didn't relish the idea of a bear hug from this beast, but on the plus side, he'd exposed the sensitive spot common to all human males. Seizing her chance, Tyresa swung a heavy, boot at his crotch, but Arfang caught her foot before it could meet its target. He grabbed her ankle and swung her against the nearest wall.

  It was like being hit by a speeding train.

  She groaned in agony, and the air rushed from her lungs, but managed to land on her feet. Her legs almost buckled, but the thought of letting her opponent in close kept her from falling.