by M. G. Harris
“He won’t find out,” I say. “Not until I’ve found something pretty major.”
“That’s it,” he says with effort, but still joking. “You find the Sect’s secret weapon and how to neutralize it. And then tell Montoyo. He’ll have no complaints.”
We both grin. He grabs my hand. I squeeze back. “Thanks for this, mate.”
“Are you kidding? If you hadn’t been with me I’d be as good as dead.”
“I’ll check in with you,” I promise. “In a few hours, see how you’re doing.”
Benicio nods. He places both hands on the wheels of the chair and starts to roll towards the hospital’s emergency reception area.
“Take care of my Harley, Josh.”
As I mount the bike, I’m already in action mode. How am I going to get back into the city? They’ll be expecting two riders, or at the very least, Benicio. I’m meant to be passing myself off as him. I check my watch. It’ll be dusk by the time I get back to the city. With a helmet and my navy blue flight jacket, there’s a chance that I’ll pass for Benicio. But the bright white trainers on my feet and the long shorts will have to go. I drive to the giant covered market of Chetumal, where I met Ixchel once upon a time in a parallel reality. There are stalls with jeans and stalls with boots. I pick up the cheapest items I can find that will make me look like Benicio, at a distance. Inside a roadside service station, I change. Then I’m back on the road, back to Ek Naab.
It takes me over three hours to get back to the ranch on the surface of Ek Naab. With Benicio’s words rattling around my brain, I lose my way about five times on those tiny dust tracks through the jungle of Campeche. Too bad we’re strictly forbidden to ever programme any Ek Naab location into the satnav.
Luckily, the outside security gate is still unmanned. It’s only the gateway to a huge banana plantation; once you’re inside you still need to know the correct route to enter the city. And there are always ranch workers – some of them armed – wandering around. But I’m a familiar face. Once Benicio’s swipe card has got me in, everyone I see either ignores me or gives me a friendly nod. I keep my helmet on, just in case.
After I’ve stashed the bike I call Ixchel on my mobile phone and arrange to meet at the library. It has the fastest Internet access in Ek Naab, and any Web searches won’t be traced to my apartment. Not that I suspect Montoyo of tracking my Web searches . . . but it’s best not to take unnecessary risks.
Ixchel has already found us a nice quiet research booth when I arrive. She pulls me into a hug and as I’m holding her, I whisper some more information about Benicio. I reckon he’s probably going to be OK, but they may need to operate. When I release her I notice that she’s pale, almost shaking.
“I’d forgotten what it felt like . . . doing these kind of things. . .”
“I know.” I watch her closely. “We can stop, if you like.”
“No, you’re right. Even if the city is on the brink of some kind of stupid alliance, it’s a mistake to ignore the Sect of Huracan. I can’t believe the ruling Executive sometimes.”
Eyebrows raised, I say, “Don’t question the grown-ups.”
We sit down and venture together, into a wide world of names, dates, and as-yet-unnoticed links.
Very late that night, we hit pay dirt. A name crops up; a name we don’t recognize – a guy called Jonas Kitrick. He’s been leaving mean comments on an astrophysics research site, targeting a scientist called Dr Banerjee. By the looks of things, he’s picked up a trick or two from my old adversaries in the Sect of Huracan.
BLOG ENTRY: SIGNS OF RENEWED ACTIVITY FROM SUPERMASSIVE BLACK HOLE AT CENTRE OF THE MILKY WAY
OK, so, I’ve found something and I think it needs to be shared with the world.
This is about some astrophysics research by Dr Banerjee. The work can’t be published because a key, influential scientist strongly recommended that it be blocked. That’s how scientific research works; other scientists get to decide if your work gets published.
It’s the same with archaeology. My dad was often asked to decide if other archaeologists should publish their work, and they made decisions on his.
It works, so long as the researchers don’t have it in for each other!
But sometimes, they do.
At the end of this post I’ll link to Dr Banerjee’s research here so that it gets the widest possible coverage. Feel free to publicize!
The guy who is trying to block this research – Professor Jonas Kitrick – is a fraud. He shouldn’t be allowed to call himself a scientist. He works for one of the most evil organizations ever – the Sect of Huracan.
I have the list of major contacts in the Sect of Huracan, which I pulled from the computer at the lake house. They plan to reorganize the planet after a global catastrophe in December 2012. They’re counting on all the computer networks going down, and a massive wave of chaos in the aftermath. Then they’ll take over.
The last thing the Sect wants is for anyone to stop what’s coming in December.
The second-to-last thing they want is for anyone to know about what’s coming.
We started researching the members of the Sect. One of them, Jonas Kitrick, just recently posted his referee report on an astrophysics site. What could possibly make someone in the Sect of Huracan really want to block a piece of astrophysics research?
Which led us to Dr Banerjee. We looked her up – she works on a telescope in the hilly desert of Chile. She’s been observing the centre of our galaxy. And now she’s found something pretty bizarre. She’s found the first sign, real scientific evidence that a gigantic wave of electromagnetic energy is on its way from the centre of the galaxy
The Sect of Huracan don’t want Dr Banerjee’s work to be published in an official, respected science journal. So they used one of their own, Professor Jonas Kitrick, to block its publication.
Here’s the proof: the comment from Kitrick that appeared on a pre-publication website where astrophysicists put their up-and-coming research articles.
Re: submitted for publication; Banerjee, R.M. et al. Signs of Renewed Activity from Supermassive Black Hole at Centre of Milky Way
I must object in the strongest terms to this outrageous piece of sensationalism. This research is flawed in a number of ways. If this paper is not immediately retracted, not only from consideration by the journal but indeed, from the Internet, then I must warn that grave consequences will follow for Dr Banerjee’s continued work.
Sounds like pretty threatening language for one scientist to use to another. . .
Then there’s a massive long report that I guess is his entire argument, written in technical language that I struggled to follow. You can read Dr Banerjee’s article here.
Believe it, world! The superwave is on its way.
Within half an hour of posting the article on my blog, an email pops into my inbox. It’s from Dr Banerjee. There’s something horribly familiar about the scenario she describes. A scientist being warned off their research – just like the Sect tried to do to my father.
Dear Mr Josh Garcia,
The notification of your blog post rather surprised me. Obviously I was upset that Professor Kitrick had such a negative reaction to my research. I must admit, his response is extremely disappointing, because the work is a result of years of careful observations.
Moreover, some other rather odd things have started to happen. Until I read your blog post, I assumed that I was just being paranoid.
I’m not at all sure yet that it’s a good idea for you to link to my research on the Web. I suspect that you and I are somewhat out of our depth. But I thank you very much for your kind interest and your offer to link to my work.
Regards,
R.M. Banerjee
P.S. You don’t mention where you work. I can’t find you in the abstracts database. Are you an astrophysicist?
Ixchel sees it too. “This doesn’t remind you of anything?”
“It totally does. When my father went looking for the Ix Codex, I
found nasty emails to him from Marius Martineau. One of the leaders of the Sect of Huracan warning my dad against investigating; suppressing the search for the Ix Codex.”
“Well, Kitrick’s name is in that contact database. Looks like the Sect is up to their old tricks.”
“No wonder the Sect recruits all those top scientists and researchers . . . Melissa DiCanio, Marius Martineau, now this Kitrick guy. They have people at the top of every relevant field! And if they want someone silenced, they bully them, threaten their work.”
Ixchel looks at me. “What can we do?”
“I dunno. I wish we could talk to Dr Banerjee. She might know more than she’s letting on.”
“About the superwave?”
“That . . . and about Kitrick. They’re both astrophysicists. I bet she’s met him.”
“I’ve done a Web search. There’s a bit about Kitrick there, his faculty page and things.”
“It tells us nothing. Don’t you think there’s something . . . I dunno . . . dismissive about her email to me? Almost as though she wants to brush me off . . . because she’s afraid?”
Ixchel frowns. “Afraid . . . of having all her research blocked, not just this?”
“Not sure. It feels like there’s more here. Look at what she says: ‘a conspiracy to silence me’. People want to shut her up. Which people?”
“It’s true,” Ixchel admits. Her tone becomes pensive. “Have you noticed she doesn’t comment on what you’re saying about the Sect, or about 2012?”
“I know. She either thinks it’s too bizarre to mention or . . . or like I say, she knows more than she’s letting on. I wish we knew.”
“Well . . . why not send her an email, see if she’ll let you call her?”
“On the phone? The minute she hears me she’ll tell me to get lost.”
“Why? Your voice is pretty deep.”
“Yeah, but I still sound young. And I’m not a scientist. One wrong word and she’ll hang up.”
“If you were in the same room as her, she couldn’t hang up.”
“If I was in the same room. . .? How’s that gonna happen?”
Ixchel picks up Benicio’s security card from where I’ve left it on the desk in our library research booth. “This is Benicio’s card, yes? It can get you out of the city.”
I begin to grasp the audacity of what Ixchel is suggesting.
“Dr Banerjee is in Chile. South America, that Chile.”
Ixchel grins and waves the card under my nose. “Yeah, so?”
“A Muwan. . .” I manage to say. “You’re suggesting that I use Benicio’s swipe card to nick a Muwan. . .?”
“It’ll get you into the Muwan hangar, won’t it?”
“Yeah but. . .” I swallow. “A Muwan!”
“You’re a good pilot, aren’t you?”
“Dunno about that . . . I can fly.”
“You can be a taxi driver, yes? Just to this telescope place in Chile and back.”
“A taxi driver. . .?”
“With one well-behaved passenger.”
“Oh . . . oh, hang on.” Despite myself, I grin. “You’re such a con artist.”
Ixchel gives me a sweet smile. Trying to look innocent. “What’s that?”
“You want to go on an adventure! It’s been nine months since you left the city, too.”
Ixchel swallows. “Ha ha, OK. I admit it; I’d like to get out too. Even just to a desert in Chile.”
My arms go around her waist. This is the girl I went crazy for – the escape artiste who ran away from the city at the age of fourteen to avoid our arranged marriage. Who lived alone in the outside world, paying her way as a waitress. Who goaded me until I did mad things, daring escapades. She’s still doing it now.
“Email Dr Banerjee,” Ixchel whispers. “Tell her you’ll be in the vicinity tomorrow morning. Ask to meet for half an hour.”
I gasp. “The vicinity?! In the middle of the desert in Chile?!”
“She can only say no.”
Deliberately, I remove Benicio’s security card from her fingers. “You’re mad.”
“Come on! I want to see you fly a Muwan.”
“I should pass the pilot exam in a couple of months or so – you can see me then.”
Ixchel looks disappointed. I turn the security card around in the palm of my hand. “Still . . . I’m not easily going to get another opportunity to leave the city. . .”
“That’s right – Montoyo will be on to you soon. The minute it’s noticed that Benicio is missing. . .”
“It’s got to be a couple of days, at least, would be my guess. We can call to ask.”
“When he gets back, Benicio is going to need his card to get into the city.”
I hesitate. “It’s just a little trip down to Chile, really.”
“Exactly.”
“In a couple of months I’ll be doing errands like this all the time. . .” My fingers close around the swipe card. I gaze at Ixchel in disbelief at the words that are about to leave my mouth. “Let’s do it.”
She pretends to be horrified. “What, steal a Muwan?”
“Hey, not so loud!” A grin spreads across my face and my voice drops to a whisper. “Borrow a Muwan.”
“Who’s to know?”
“Benicio isn’t telling anyone he’s in hospital in Chetumal. If his security card keeps being used then people will assume he’s still around.”
“If they miss anyone, it will be you.”
“We should maybe . . . arrange a sleepover. One of your friends, someone my mum doesn’t really know. We tell them that we’re going to sleep in really late tomorrow. With any luck, none of our parents will start wondering where we are until tomorrow lunchtime.”
Ixchel nods. “I know exactly who to call.”
We’re about to close all the windows down on the library computer when a chat window pops up. When I see that it’s my old friend from Oxford, Tyler, I can’t resist sitting down for a few more moments.
Ty! What’s up?
Oii! Mariposa! Tudo bem?
Tudo bem, EddyG.
So cool how chatting to Tyler can put a smile on my face. We’ve taken to greeting each other in Brazilian Portuguese, and our capoeira nicknames.
I type: You’re up early.
It’s all going on. Got a GCSE exam today. And capoeira practice before that.
Capoeira?
Another tournament coming up, after exams. In Amsterdam.
Sweet!
How’s you? And Ixchel?
She’s great. We’re taking a little trip. Don’t tell. Pilot = ME!
Sick! Don’t crash.
DON’T crash? K, I’ll try to remember that.
I only give sound advice, my bro.
LOL. OK. I need to sleep. You need to revise.
Tres bien. Allons-y.
Let me guess, you’ve got French GCSE.
You KNOW you miss it.
I really DON’T.
Ixchel taps my shoulder and makes a face. “We need to go.”
“What . . . now?”
“The sooner the better, don’t you think? Who knows when Benicio will be missed?”
“You’re right. We need to get as much use out of his security card as we can.”
As late as it is, we’re not the last people in the library. A couple of curious pairs of eyes follow us out. When we leave we head directly for the Muwan hangar bay, past the black cenote. It’s after midnight so there’s almost no one around, apart from a few late night couples at the café right in front of the library. I grab hold of Ixchel’s hand and pull her close to my side.
“Walk slowly,” I whisper into her ear. “Make it look like we’re going for a romantic midnight stroll.”
Ixchel follows my lead and wraps an arm around me. “Don’t worry, I know one of those girls over there. She’ll get the picture – you and I want to be alone. She’ll cover for us, if anyone asks.”
With a little kiss to her cheek, I murmur, “Excellent work, Robin.
At this rate you’ll soon be driving the Batmobile yourself.”
She digs me in the ribs. “How come you’re always Batman?”
We reach the hangar bay and I slide Benicio’s card into the reader. Then we’re inside. The lights are on, but at the low power setting. We gaze at the hulking masses of the city’s Muwan fleet. Silently, I count them. They’re all here. Our timing is good – not even a routine Sky Guardian patrol to worry about. The first shift starts at two in the morning, so we have a little while yet.
I use Benicio’s card to open the equipment storage cupboard. I grab the remote for the Muwan we used earlier today. Leading Ixchel over to the craft, I open it up, watching the blue external lights flicker into action. When I check the storage underbelly I notice that the motorbike is still inside.
A fully equipped Muwan – the ideal getaway vehicle.
Ixchel climbs inside and drops into the co-pilot seat. I shuffle into place next to her, begin to run through the system checks.
System checks, all on my own. It’s the first time that it occurs to me that this may be more dangerous than I’ve let on. Normally an engineer would check too. I know what I’m doing, but without anyone to double-check I’m well and truly on my own.
The nervousness I’m feeling must show, because Ixchel notices my hand tremble slightly as I tap buttons on the control panel.
“Hey,” she says soothingly, touching my fingers. “You can do this.”
“The maiden flight of Josh Garcia,” I say, trying to chivvy myself along.
“Captain on deck!”
As I sink deeper into my flight preparations, my anxiety begins to melt away. There are checklists and protocols to follow. Soon enough my thoughts are fully occupied. Headset and visor are in place, earpiece attached for the radio; I’m wearing flight gloves with sensors attached. The antigravity generator starts. I give it a minute or two to power up, and then we begin to rise. Ixchel hits the remote control to open the outside hangar-bay doors. The Muwan floats through the air and out of the underground base.
