Alpha Rising

by G. L. Douglas

  “Don’t worry. Eezee’s not intoxicating. It’ll clear extraneous matter from your mind. You’ll have full concentration. Then we can talk.”

  Bach feigned camaraderie and took a few sips. I wonder if she’s telling the truth about the effects of this stuff. The syrupy, acidic Eezee burned going down, and he couldn’t help but recall his frivolous experience with Lavender and a few drops of sparkling water. He set the cup back on the bar. “Don’t like it.” When he turned around, Lavender was twelve inches from his face. She wrapped her arms around his neck like tentacles and before he could react, her open-mouthed kiss warmed his gasping lips. He resisted for a moment. Then, perhaps it was the purple drink, her enchanting scent, or the forgotten taste of a female’s kiss, but his body responded with a tinge of pleasure that stirred emotions he didn’t want stirred.

  She whispered in his ear, “You know what? I could rescue your fiancée and crewmates tonight, but I’m going to make you wait.”

  Fists clenched at his sides, Bach tried to step back. “Lavender, help me. How can we get them back?”

  Another whisper. “I’ve got an ‘in’ with the Specter.”

  Wilde appeared as if summoned by an alarm and forced his way between the two. Lavender draped her arm over her cohort’s shoulder. “Wilde knows all about that. Don’t you Mister Wilde, oh wild one?”

  Wilde’s knuckles whitened in a grip on her arm. “Enough, Lavender. You’ve gone too far.” He smirked at Bach. “She’s a great little manipulator … just doesn’t know when to quit. Thinks because her spouse is with the enemy she’ll have privileges.” She tried to shake from his grasp. “Apply your moral brakes, Lavender.” Wilde escorted the loose-lipped seductress through the crowd toward the snack table. She resisted all the way but he held fast, then searched for a camling and force-fed it to her, seeds and all.

  Bach’s emotions rocketed toward deep space. Damn, she was ready to help me. I know I can get my crewmates back and I can’t let more time pass. Should I defect and join them as a ruse? With what I’ve learned, we can all escape. But what if the Specter keeps me from Kaz … uses our love against us as torture? Party sounds melded into meaningless jumble.

  No one noticed when Bach slipped through a side door into the darkness. A box of light-emitting wands on a patio table caught his eye. He stuck two into his pocket, and activated another. The wand illuminated an area fifteen yards in diameter. Music from inside played through the patio speakers. A female singer’s haunting lyrics seemed a twist of fate. “When darkness clouds a starry sky, and suns and moons give up and die; when quenching waters fade away, and mighty lives fall to decay; there is a higher ground.”

  Bach stared into the dark Jenesis night where nothing could be seen except the glowing, golden thread of light suspended over the crest of distant Mount Hope. He pulled the eternity circle necklace from inside his jumpsuit and let it rest on his chest. The singer continued, “You’ll see the sign of truth … the light … the mountain’s higher ground.”

  He had to reach the holy hill.

  *****

  Heart pounding, Bach set out toward the light with a strong, steady pace. As he clipped off mile after mile of barren terrain, his feet grew steadily heavier and a drenching sweat pasted the shimmery jumpsuit to his skin. Yet he labored on, hot air funneling down his throat and salty sweat droplets streaming from the ends of his hair into his eyes. Struggling to breathe as the last mile approached, he slowed his pace to rest—body aching and thighs spasming into knots. But with the light from infinity growing ever nearer, he relentlessly pressed on toward his goal.

  Finally! The mountain! Bent over with hands on knees, Bach struggled to catch his breath. Dry coughs emptied his lungs.

  One more obstacle.

  The sweating, groaning soldier sprinted a hundred yards up the incline and stepped into the golden beam. Weakened and weary, he dropped to his knees, leaned his forearms onto the ground, and rested his head on his clasped hands. After a gasp for breath he cried out, “Almighty! Your will is done.” Another gasp. “The earthship’s restoration will be completed in ten days … by the new year.” He paused, as if anticipating a reply. “I need guidance.”

  Agonizing silence, punctuated by Bach’s labored breathing, spanned what seemed an eternity.

  He waited … and waited, searching the awe-inspiring oracle and holding open light-blinded eyes until involuntary muscles slammed them shut.

  A pale breeze fanned the mount. He felt it drift over his head. Then an incoming charge of positive energy surged through his every bone and muscle, and a cool mist quenched his thirst.

  Renewed, he called out, “I am ready.”

  From the startling stillness came a sound like the slash of a sword, only magnified a hundred times. A white shaft of light projected through the golden tunnel, and the beam etched a perfect circle into the sand at his knees.

  Bach’s eyes followed the light as it crossed the circle—top to bottom, then right to left.

  The Creator spoke.

  “Bach, my faithful apprentice. Remember this sign of my chosen ones. Your travel will take you through the zone of Balal in search of one man and one woman from each of the planets. You will recognize those most faithful ones by this symbol of hope, but they will not have it knowingly. Be not defeated in your search. Resolve trials through spiritual discernment. The faithful ones will accept your calling.”

  As further instructions arrived from above, Bach’s eyes stayed riveted to the icon burned into the ground. Then, with heart thumping and prayers caught in his throat, he looked into the blinding light and nodded agreement.

  When the energy subsided, he covered the symbol with sand.

  *****

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  During the next nine days, Bach didn’t see Lavender Rose again. She was somewhere at the Skyprism facility because his research and hers interfaced, but her absence was peculiar.

  With the new year and liftoff a day away, Bach rushed to Altemus’s office and, as he entered, flung the half-closed door full open in his haste.

  Busy checking a schematic, the old man motioned without looking up for his colleague to wait. Bach fidgeted, but said nothing during the few minutes it took Altemus to finish.

  The elder rested his arms on the desk and squinted at his partner through bloodshot eyes that seemed not to focus. He removed his trifocals and tossed them aside with a stifled huff. “Our fuel production specialists are making enough briquette bases for Alpha to fly to planet En Gedi and back. I designated two bogus co-op missions to cover the fuel you’ll need, and it went without question from the security board.”

  Bach hovered over his mentor like a worried parent. “Altemus, the Creator gave me another instruction last night. We’re not flying to one planet at a time. It’s a seventeen-day mission. I’ll need enough fuel to reach all the planets and to get back home.”

  “All … and back home in one trip? At the last minute?” Altemus rested his forehead in both hands. “Bach. I don’t know. Producing that much fuel will raise suspicion.” He tapped on a small device and complained. “It’s well beyond our normal production run and, worse, Alpha’s fuel chamber isn’t designed to hold that much. You’ll be vulnerable with extra fuel stored on board.”

  “We need it by tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow?”

  Bach paced the floor. “Why, all of a sudden, is everything getting even harder at the last minute?” He looked at Altemus. “And tell me what you make of this. This morning, I found an Electro Glove sketchpad at my workstation. Not mine. Something about it bothered me, so before anyone claimed it, I processed it to see if I could make out writing or sketch indentations. Something at the top looked like a title with a capital A, three question marks, and another capital A. Numbers ran downward—like answers or questions. Beside the first number was ‘new year’ followed by a question mark. That’s all I could make out. Altemus, does the Specter’s underground know about Alpha?”

  “Well, Bac
h, we can’t rule that out, but our new year is always significant as a fresh start. It’s generally the target date for lengthy projects.”

  “But what about the two A’s with three question marks in-between, like a code, as if they know about Alpha.”

  Altemus sat up in his chair and motioned Bach to the window overlooking the production floor. The two wurr animals were missing from the ledge. Bach looked out to see Dura’s long-awaited starship painted, groomed, and ready for her maiden flight. Thick black letters running the hull’s length christened her ASTRA.

  He hooted, rushed to the desk, and lifted his genius friend from the chair with a big hug. “You named the service vehicle Astra! A perfect ploy! It begins and ends with an A, and has five letters like Alpha. They’ll think that Astra is the ship they’re looking for.”

  Altemus took a deep breath. “I like to stay a step ahead when I can.” He shoved his trembling hands into his pockets. “And I scheduled Astra’s test flight for tomorrow to keep everyone busy.”

  Bach sighed with relief. “Your insight’s amazing.”

  Altemus smiled weakly. “I got a few instructions of my own from the Creator.” He shuffled a stack of papers. “I’ll get more fuel. I’ll rig the stats—tell the lab crews I increased starship Astra’s engines to burn hotter, it’ll take more for her test flight, and I’m flying her farther than planned. In the meantime, I have a few last minute things to do out at the Alpha site.” A long stream of air blasted from his lips before he lowered his voice to a whisper. “You know I’d love to see Alpha rising tomorrow, but these old eyes don’t see much of anything anymore.”

  Bach turned to leave, fighting emotion. “There’s not much to see on the outside—low tech exterior.” He stopped at the office door and ran his hand over Altemus’s nameplate. “But your mastermind put it where it counts—superior mechanics. By the way, the name’s not on it yet. Instead of Alpha, I think we should name it after you.”

  “The Altemus? I don’t think so. But thanks anyway.” He dug in his shirt pocket and pulled out a coin-sized object. “Almost forgot. Look at my wedding ring. I took it off at the Alpha site—hands were swelling—found it later when I stepped on it.”

  Bach examined the flattened ring. “Hmmm. Not good. I’ll get it fixed for you.” He hung the tree of life ring on the chain with his eternity circle. The tree’s trunk with its two small branches now formed the shape of a cross. His mind flashed back to the symbol the Creator burned into the ground at Mount Hope. His heart skipped a beat. The ring, overlaid on his circle, formed the same icon. He couldn’t hide his feelings.

  Altemus nodded. “A sign of hope, my partner.”

  Bach wiped his eyes as he stepped behind the desk to hug his accomplice one more time. “I have work to do … have to hurry.”

  *****

  Altemus gathered his strength and stuffed a pillowcase-like duffel bag into his jumpsuit, then left the office and ambled through the communications center to a vacuum lift. His gait was erratic, but his authority evident.

  At the fuel depository, he overrode security devices, left the lights off, and slipped into the storeroom.

  As the old man worked fast and furiously, stuffing briquettes into the duffel bag, a lightning bolt of pain ripped through his torso and, for a moment, left him senseless. Doubled over, desperate for relief, he pressed his fists hard against his chest and held tight. Seconds of agony sapped his strength, but he struggled to continue the heist.

  A duty-guard in the security room detected movement in the fuel storage area. He monitored his systems for a moment, then taking no chances, activated the warning system. A screaming siren split the air and massive iron gates dropped to the floor with bone-jarring force.

  Altemus cut short his pilfering, and with cool authority exited the storeroom with the duffel bag. He used his security key to pass through the gates and, with feet shuffling, moved watchfully along the facility’s wall.

  “Stop!” A voice amplified above the shrill siren. “Don’t move!”

  Altemus ignored the command and rounded a corner. By dumb luck, he came upon a trash hauler ten feet away halted by the alert. The tram’s flatbed carried garbage bags and empty boxes. Altemus hustled forward and dumped all but six briquettes into a box marked ARCHIVE LABELS then walked on with a lighter load.

  “Halt!” the voice commanded. Two burly guards rounded the corner—one grabbed the elder from behind.

  “Altemus?” the guard said in surprise. “What are you doing? You’ve triggered a vandalism alert. Our fuel inventory shows an unexplained shortage.”

  “An obvious error,” he sniffed.

  “You know it’s forbidden to override security,” the other guard stated. “Now give me that bag!”

  Altemus wrestled from his captor’s grasp and held the duffel bag to his chest. “I’m allowed in that room whenever I please.”

  “Data shows a sizeable amount of fuel missing,” said one guard. “How do we know you’re not acting under duress—that the enemy’s not forced you to steal?” He jerked the bag away. “You made the rules, Altemus, you must follow them.” He shook the lightweight bag quizzically, then reached inside. Moving six squares around the bottom he said, “What’s going on here? This is nothing.”

  “Let me see that,” grumped the assistant. He shook the briquettes around. “Not even enough for a start up.”

  Both guards shrugged, and one radioed in an all-clear. The alarm ceased, and activity resumed in the facility.

  Altemus lifted the bag from the guard’s hands and announced, “I’m taking this fuel to the construction hangar. Going to roll out Astra and fire her up.” He took a deep breath. “I’m the grandson of the first pilot to traverse our zone, you know. No, you wouldn’t remember, you’re too young. But, I know all there is to know about starships. I’m the best test pilot there is. Built the old Kingships from scratch.” He took off his glasses and nonchalantly cleaned them on his sleeve. To his horror, the tram driver pulled away.

  “There’ll be no test flight today, Altemus,” said a guard. “Astra’s inaugural run is scheduled for tomorrow; you can hitch a ride then. And you, of all people, know it’s a bad idea to have the fuel out of a lockbox.” He reached for the bag. “Let me put this back for you.”

  Nervous sweat dotted Altemus’s forehead. He tucked the bag under his arm, drew the back of his hand across his dry lips and said, “No. I’m the only one to fuel her up and fly her!”

  The guard put his hand on the bag and pulled. “You can fuel and ride Astra tomorrow. I’ll return this for you now.”

  The elder clutched the duffel bag with both hands. Even though he hadn’t applied the final touch to the fuel, he wouldn’t dare let a speck of it out of his hands.

  The guard grew impatient. “Give me the bag and leave right now and we won’t take you in. Otherwise, you’ll be faced with interrogation by the elder council for breaking your own rules, and you know all about that.”

  Altemus’s demeanor changed. “Very well,” he snapped, “but I’ll be the one to put the fuel back in the storeroom, not you.”

  Ready to get the incident over with, the guards followed the old man to the fuel depository and waited outside while he unlocked a series of gates and stepped into the vault to return the meager ration of briquettes. He emerged a few minutes later and tossed the empty duffel bag to a guard, then wiped his hands together. “Now be on your way.”

  With the six fuel briquettes stuffed in his jumpsuit, Altemus slipped through the shadows in an all-out search for the tram. Rushing and wheezing, he roamed the lengths of three corridors until he grew so weak he braced himself against a door frame to catch his breath. But thoughts of lost time and the fuel shortage stoked his determination. “Not yet … haven’t beat me yet,” he said with a dogged snort.

  Knowing the tram’s route would end at the basement reclamation facility, Altemus stepped into the nearest lift to start a floor-by-floor search. The rapid descent one floor down reeled his head.
The deserted area had lights out, so he descended another level. When the lift door opened, he was face to face with the young tram driver. But the tram wasn’t there. He squinted and looked harder. No tram. He smiled at the youth. “You off work? I don’t see your tram.”

  “Not off yet. Got to the compactor and realized I forgot to check for boxes on this floor after the alarm. Didn’t want to bring the tram back if I didn’t have to. Got lucky, they only had two bags today.” He held up two full bags.

  “Well, that sure worked out well for you.” Altemus smiled as best he could through his pain. “By the way, can I get a few empty boxes?”

  “Yeah, no problem. But I can’t bring ’em to you. You’ll have to catch me down at the compactor. I’m late for checkout due to the stupid alert.”

  “Oh, don’t worry, I need to pick out the right size anyway. I’ll just follow along.”

  The two rode the lift to the underground destruction facility where the trash hauler was parked beside massive shredding and compacting equipment. The sight of the tram, now loaded to overflowing with an array of refuse and containers, weakened the old man’s spirit.

  The youth leapt into action, tossing boxes and debris into the compactor’s crushing jaws.

  Head spinning, Altemus ambled to the front of the tram and purposely stumbled into the metal railing enclosing the flatbed. Dozens of boxes thundered down.

  The young man stopped working and glared.

  The elder held up his hands. “So sorry. Please forgive me. I didn’t mean to make more work for you.”

  “Forget it.” The kid kicked the boxes along the floor to the shredders.

  Altemus mumbled to himself, “I know it’s near the back.”

  He’d rifled through a dozen boxes when a crushing chest pain took him down to one knee. Gripping the tram’s railing with quivering hands, he squeezed until his knuckles whitened. The pain subsided.