The Thaon Factor

by Eugene Wilson

  “Father, I know that. Some time ago, Derran boasted that he would put Messerand and a few other outer-planet mining firms out of business. Now, I am thinking that his serillian buddies are helping him to do that.” Vausteau understands the look of shock on his father’s face.

  “Why would these serillians want to help Derran? It makes no sense.”

  “A few weeks earlier,” Vausteau continues, “President María Guevara had conferred with UNA President Ahmado about powerful weaponry that had fallen into the hands of certain Afrikan terrorist groups. President Guevara was noticeably angry with Ahmado.”

  “How is this relevant?”

  “Some U.S. military officials alleged that these weapons were provided by the Fifth Legion, whom the FBI alleges has ties to certain Delron officials.”

  Lamone is becoming profoundly worried. “Illegal weapons trafficking and aiding rogue terrorist groups are serious criminal offenses.”

  “Still, I’m puzzled. How could these serillians have known about Derran? Traveling across tens of thousands of light-years just to do business with McKay makes no sense.”

  “I agree,” Lamone admits. “Regardless, I need to know what Derran is up to.”

  “I have every intention of getting to the bottom of this. Still, I need you to keep the corporate wolves off my back.

  Lamone sighs. “I will do what I can, provided you remain on the right side of the law. I have no need of a rebel son.”

  “Thanks daddy. I always knew I could count on you.”

  “Daddy? You haven’t called me daddy in years.”

  Vausteau smiles. “I only call you that when I need a favor.”

  “I’m…so touched. Oh, by the way, your brother called me.”

  “Xavier? What did he want?”

  “Not Xavier,” Lamone replies with hesitation, “James. He, Kevin and Laura will be flying in from Atlanta by tomorrow afternoon to see us.”

  “Us?” Vausteau is incensed. “You mean they’re coming to see you! I never want to see any of them again!”

  “Son, enough is enough! It’s been twenty years. End this!”

  “Father!” Vausteau yells, “They blamed me for her death and treated me like a cold-blooded murderer! James, Kevin and their demented sister were three people whom I had to contend with for all those years!”

  “For God’s sake, hasn’t there been enough of this vile hatred!” Despite Vausteau’s pain, Lamone wants to end the feud. “How often must I remind you that you were not the blame. Neither I nor Xavier blamed you. Your sister and two brothers had no right to accuse you.”

  “Xavier est mon frère! Je n'ai aucun lien de parenté avec ces gens!”

  “You know better than that! The Davidsons are your step-siblings.” Lamone calms down. “Son, listen to me! You were only ten years old. There was nothing you could have done to prevent her death. All of you will need to come together and end this feud!”

  Falling silent, Vausteau gazes down at the photo on the desk. Standing up, he walks toward the photo and lifts the metal frame. He focuses on his mother. Joëlle Alais Fosteir, a beautiful French Afrikan woman, born in Côte d'Ivoire, is wearing a blue, three-piece outfit.

  Her multicolored Afrikan headdress accentuates her deep brown skin. To her right and left respectively are Vausteau and Xavier, children from her second marriage. Vausteau taps a command icon on the surface, which causes other pictures to slide into view. After turning ten, his life was almost shattered beyond recovery. While focusing on his mother’s image, his thoughts return to that grievous situation over twenty years earlier. In her final minutes, Joëlle told him something highly unusual. Vausteau was deeply troubled by her statement: “My son, you will be the one to unite entire worlds.” The grief, anger and guilt he experienced since her death nearly wrecked his life. His contentious relationship with his step-siblings embittered him. He places the photo down.

  “For years after her death, I still kept blaming myself.” His voice cracks. “James, Kevin and many others took Laura’s side. Now, if you would excuse me, I’m heading home.”

  A few minutes later, Vausteau approaches a blue, late-model Chrysler Tolara. On sensing Vausteau’s presence, the vehicle unlocks and opens the rear passenger door. Vausteau steps in and the door automatically closes. He smiles at the young woman next to him. Both exchange a kiss.

  “So how did it go?” Karen asks.

  “It was rough, but I’m dealing with it,” he replies with a mildly solemn face.

  “Hey! I visited Xavier today. He wants us to come over.”

  “Oh Qui? Why?”

  “Earlier, he had stumbled upon a box of very old documents that had been locked away in a basement vault at San Augustan University.”

  “Good old Xavier, San Augustan University’s preeminent astrophysics professor,” Vausteau quips. “Ever since he found those old books, he’s been heavily involved in this.”

  “Books? What kind of books?”

  “My mother had kept three old paper books that were in her family for who knows how many generations. One book, History of the Waldenses by J.A. Wylie had grabbed my interest. That book was published back in 1889.”

  Karen laughs. “1889? Are you serious? That’s almost 370 years ago. Paper books are museum relics.”

  “Well, yes. But some people still read them. My father found them in the attic some time after my mother died. He threw them in the trash bin.”

  “He could have donated those books to Antique International. They sell hundreds of antiques. On the Worldnet, I’ve seen some of their antiques that also date back to the 1800s.”

  “Apparently, he felt no need to. Xavier had taken the books out of the trash and began reading them. At the time, I was still in high school.”

  Karen is intrigued. “What were the other two books?”

  “The second book, The Orion Mystery, was written by Robert Bauval and Adrian Gilbert. The third book, Stellar Anomalies, was written by an astrophysicist named Andrea Clark. She wrote about the occurrence of unusual astronomical phenomena.”

  “That’s right down your brother’s line of work,” she concludes. “In one document he had found, there were references regarding a strange device found in Ghana and something else about a long-buried Egyptian artifact.”

  Vausteau is confused. “Ghana? Egyptian artifact? I don’t understand. Are the two related?”

  “Maybe. He’s still trying to figure this out. Now get this, he discovered that the device was found 132 years prior to the formation of the UNA.”

  “What? The United Nations of Afrika was formed 157 years ago!”

  “I know. But knowing your brother, it must be mighty important.”

  “A few months after we entered college,” Vausteau adds, “Xavier, for some reason, became more involved in this. I always wondered why.”

  “I think I know why. Supernova 2250.”

  Vausteau is surprised. “You’ve lost me. That was nearly eight years ago. News agencies around the world went berserk over that thing.”

  “Still,” Karen says, “Xavier had mentioned something unusual about it.”

  “Like what?” Vausteau curiously awaits her answer.

  “About a few weeks before we graduated. Xavier told me that he had read about the appearance of Supernova 2250 the previous August.”

  “Karen,” Vausteau objects. “Supernova 2250 appeared in the sky in mid-November. How could he have read about it three months earlier?”

  “Yeah, it’s weird. Xavier said that the appearance of Supernova 2250 was predicted by an astrophysicist some two hundred and fifty years ago.”

  “That’s impossible! That star exploded in 250 A.D. During the 20th century, the light from the explosion had not even reached earth.”

  “I agree,” Karen concludes. “But that is what he had told me.”

  “Okay, let’s go,” Vausteau replies. “He has some serious explaining to do.”

  “Driver!” Karen calls out. “Take us to Xavier F
osteir’s home.”

  “Command Acknowledged,” the computer responds. As Karen and Vausteau, sitting in the back seat, resume their conversation, the Tolara starts up. It drives itself through the parking lot. After reaching the end of the parking lot, the Tolara stops for a few moments before making a right turn on North Anonwood Boulevard. After crossing Dresden Drive, the Tolara speeds up as it heads toward its destination ten miles in the distance.

  Chapter 4The Messenger

  The Clark Residence

  Tuesday, 13 August 1974 (5:32 PM)

  “Nathan and Tyrone arrested! What the hell for?” David yells in sheer disbelief as Janez breaks the shocking news to him. Janez is also in shock after learning that Anonwood police officers had arrested her sons and took them into custody. Two Air Force officers in a dark blue, 1973 four door, Ford LTD accompanied the police car to the station. After driving to the Anonwood North Hill district, Janez recoiled at what the police detective had told her.

  Police Detective Charles Wright informed her that Nathan and Tyrone-alleged members of the Bloods street gang-were among three teenagers involved in the theft of sensitive military equipment. Detective Wright tells her that on the previous date of Monday, 8 July 1974, two Beale Air Base Force senior officials and two OSI (Office of Special Investigations) officials had interrogated three base personnel. The interrogation was with regard to the theft of a sensitive communications transceiver; an act that is direct violation of the Uniform Code of Military Justice, Article 121. The three air force base personnel, Daniel Bates, Larry Wallace and Steve Lanson, had been in collusion with three civilian teenagers from Anonwood, California.

  Detective Wright also indicated that after an investigation, two agents from the Air Force Office of Special Investigations informed police officials of the Anonwood North Hill District of the situation. Janez was told that Daniel Bates had given OSI agents the license plate number, as well as a description of the car, a 1966 black 2-door Plymouth Barracuda. Subsequently, the vehicle in question, via a DMV background trace, was tracked to her home. Beale Air Force officials informed Anonwood police that the stolen military transceiver was valued at well over $30,000.

  Furthermore, Air Force officials indicated that black street gangs often work with organized crime members in various illegal activities including cocaine trafficking, extortion, prostitution and racketeering. In this case, the charge involved the theft of sensitive military technology to be resold on the international black market to middle-eastern nations such as Libya, Iraq, South Yemen, and Syria. Officials at the U.S. State Department have charged these nations with sanctioning known terrorist organizations. Despite her adamant denial of these serious charges, Detective Officer Wright further informed Janez that the two OSI officers, Major Darryl Stone and Lieutenant Major Paul Morgan, along with local police and federal officials, will be interrogating her sons. Finally, Detective Wright told Janez something even more troubling, the identity of the third accomplice in the theft.

  Janez was highly angered after being informed of this third suspect. She immediately rushed home to contact her lawyer.

  “That’s a lie!” David yells. “I am not a gang member! Nathan, Tyrone and I were never part of a gang or any organized criminal ring!”

  “Don’t call me a liar!” Janez screams in return. “You were positively identified by those base people as the third person! Now, you had better tell me what is going on among you three! Now, enough is enough!”

  As they are listening, Sylvia and Diane are in shock. Sylvia, especially, refuses to believe that David would become involved with a street gang or an organized crime ring. Diane, however, has already condemned him.

  “There’s nothing going on!” David protests angrily.

  “Stop lying to me!” Janez screams, pointing her finger. “Earlier, you told me that you all found a device in a cave. Now, did you find it or did you steal it?”

  David is fighting to control his temper. “Mrs. Clark! I am not lying!”

  “Is that so? You lied to me about what you and Sylvia did the other night! Then I find out that you and Tyrone were fighting over a whore! I will not allow my daughter to become involved with a street hoodlum!”

  “Street hoodlum? Now wait a—”

  “Honest, mother! We didn’t do anything wrong,” Sylvia interrupts.

  “You shut up, young lady!” Janez screams. “Don’t you dare take up for him! You are in just as much trouble. Now, you had better move your fast tail upstairs. I mean it! Now!”

  Angry, Sylvia turns and walks upstairs.

  “You had no right to talk to her that way! She didn’t do anything!” David nearly chokes on his words.

  “I am her mother and I can talk to her anyway I please! Now, you can forget about seeing Sylvia from now on! My sons are in jail because of a stupid device you stole. You should be the one they put in jail!”

  “I didn’t steal anything!” David yells after finally losing his temper.

  Often, he has prayed earnestly to keep his temper under control. Janez takes a step back in fear. Diane runs into the kitchen, grabs a butcher knife and runs back out. She interposes herself between her mother and David. “Yell at my mother again and I’ll cut you! I knew all along that you were no good! Now, both my brothers are in jail!” Despite his anger, David he realizes that any further provocation on his part would only worsen an already explosive situation. Despite the knife in Diane’s hand, he could easily defend himself and floor her. Instead, he takes a few steps back. He extends his hands outward in a surrender-like gesture.

  “Look! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to yell at you Mrs. Clark. I didn’t mean any harm.” He forces himself to calm down. “But this is all a set up! I’m going to prove to all of you that your sons are innocent.”

  “How?” Janez demands, standing behind her knife-wielding daughter. David feels at a lost. “I may have a way. Please! Just give me some time.” Sylvia is fearfully listening from atop the stairwell.

  “I hope you know what you’re talking about. My boys don’t steal from anybody,” Janez tells him. David turns away and walks out of the door. As he is walking toward his car, he stops. He turns back around and looks up at a second-floor bedroom window. Sylvia is looking back at him. For a few moments, each trades a gaze with the other. He sees the fear on her face. Even if just for her, he mentally swears that he will make this right.

  Lowering his head, he turns away and walks toward his car. Twenty minutes later, he is pulling into the driveway. “Something is always going wrong!” He yells, slamming his fist on the dashboard. The anger and frustration are taking a serious toll on him mentally and emotionally. He has become highly fearful of dealing with a situation that many black youths hate the most: dealing with police and possible police brutality.

  Many neighborhood residents lament the fact that various police officers automatically associate various black youths in the Belshore District with being in league with well-known gangs such as the Bloods and their archrivals, the Crips.

  Despite his mother’s stern advice about being calm and respectful when dealing with police officers, David has seen black youths being struck, beaten and thrown to the ground by policemen-often unnecessarily. Increasing reports of black youths across the nation being shot and killed by police officers frighten him. Resultantly, the physical, mental and psychological wounds experienced by black youths and other minority youths serves only to increase racial hostilities. Like so many of his peers, David continuously faces racism. Earlier, he became absorbed in reading an Ebony magazine article that outlined the disastrous effects of racism in American society.

  “The effects,” the Ebony article had indicated, “works its cancer in ways that crush the spirit of black youngsters, by imbibing some black people with a sense of self-hatred, of predetermined failure and powerlessness. It dictates substandard housing, poor health care, an embarrassingly high unemployment rate, inadequate police protection, and a justice system that is weighed heavily
against the poor.” Thus, the huge numbers of black youths who could harness important job skills are instead forced into destructive behavioral paths leading to prison life. Like so many others, David had concluded that the education system, entertainment industry and privatized prison systems work in concert to create this dire situation.

  Each year nationwide, thousands of black youths are gunned down or stabbed, much to the grief of their surviving family, relatives and friends. Many of this disproportional number of imprisoned black males and females are readily used as a free-labor source for corporations. Thus, after two and one-half centuries of legal institutionalized enslavement, various methods were found to continue slavery in a new form. Lincoln’s Emancipation Proclamation and the passing of the 13th Amendment had proven ineffective against an additional century of peonage, sharecropping and Jim Crow.

  Additionally, much of the prevailing racist attitudes are blamed on television programs, motion picture films, magazines, books and songs that continually promote negative images of black people. Often, black men are portrayed as foul-mouthed, gun-toting drug dealers, pimps and gangsters. Black females are portrayed as half-naked sex toys. Hollywood producers had found a gold mine in producing these types of films. Many people within black communities across the nation are angered by these blaxploitation films, lambasting them as having an adverse effect on black youths. Approximately three years earlier, David was also absorbed in reading a news article entitled Blacks Against Shaft, which appeared in the September 1971 issue of Newsweek Magazine.