“Alex, do you read me?” he then said slowly and distinctly.
The bitter silence let them each know: Alex did not read him.
Chapter 21
Chapter_21
“I have a lock on the shield,” Jules said self-assuredly. Dropping the Achilles Shield emblem from his hand, he pointed towards the forest behind them. “Alexander naively believes he would be able to sneak right under our noses.”
Jules slipped out a playing card-shaped digitizer from his lapel jacket and placed it on his palm. A holographic black and white image appeared above it, displaying everything around them for about a mile radius. In the center of the holograph were tiny representations of both him and Drew along with the forty WOGs surrounding their position. Two elite striker crafts were visualized adjacent to them with a distinct red figure deep in the jungle.
“I’ve locked on his position,” Jules announced. Examining the holographic numbers that appeared above the image, he noted, “Our dear friend Alexander is but a mere 500 feet from us right now. Poor unfortunate boy.”
The red figure moved side to side, not making any headway. Maybe he’s stuck, Jules thought, zooming in on the image. Or possibly attempting to hide himself.
“Surround target’s designated position and deploy the biogrounders,” Jules commanded into his auricular chip, while providing his men with the proper coordinates.
About half the WOGS dispersed into the woods while the remaining ones stood with Jules along the shore. As the WOGs ran, two of them grabbed a small cylinder from their back along with a hockey puck-shaped ordinance from their belt. In unison, both got down on one knee and pointed their weapons high into the air.
“Launch biogrounders,” Jules commanded while looking at the holograph still above his hand. With great anticipation, he sprinted into the forest as two projectiles pierced through the forest canopy in front of him.
Drew and the remaining WOGs had great difficulty keeping pace with Jules. His agility was better than the best-conditioned soldier among them.
“Wait for it,” Jules said as he stopped running at the line of WOGs encircling Alex’s position.
A moment later a loud thud reverberated through the area. Birds fell from the sky in front of him, and he could hear the wildlife in the immediate vicinity collapse from the trees to the ground like raindrops on a rooftop.
Alex’s holographic image fell—just like the wild beasts surrounding him.
“Got you!” Jules celebrated.
He then touched his ear, “Let me do the honors. Close in behind me.”
The closer Jules walked towards Alex, the tighter the circle of WOGs around his position became. As Jules traversed the forest, he stepped over different birds, a few deer, and a wild pig.
“Are they all dead?” Drew asked one of the WOGs.
“No,” he responded. “It’s a no collateral damage weapon. The biogrounders just momentarily paralyze all animal life in the impact vicinity, rendering it helpless for up to ten minutes.”
Jules held up his hand, curtailing any further approach. Putting away his digitizer, he proceeded to his target alone. As he closed in on his prey, Jules noted that both Alex and the shield at to his side looked gray in color.
“Your silly little stealth technique has certainly failed you here,” Jules said as he grabbed the shield. Immediately, he noted its texture and feel were different than he remembered. However, what truly disturbed him was a small, intensely black cube on the ground, which had been hidden by the shield
Before Jules could react, Alex jumped to his knees and punched him square in the chest. The force of the blow propelled him to the ground. Barely able to breath, Jules leaned forward awaiting the next attack.
Alex simply winked at him as his image—and that of the shield—dissipated.
“What was that?” Drew asked, running to Jules’ side. “What just happened?” Though a well-versed scientist, he was completely astonished by what he had just witnessed.
“It’s one of those quantum entanglement cubes Alexander somehow made,” Jules coughed, catching his breath.
“How does it work?” Drew said. Taking one of his hands, he pulled Jules to his feet.
“I don’t know how the damn thing works,” Jules responded. Frustrated at the situation, he sputtered, “It uses some scientific principle which Alexander refers to as quantum entanglement. It’s when atoms are inextricably linked through some process that Lord knows I don’t understand.”
Drew decided not to inquire any further. He surmised that Alex must have another sister cube, and somehow they interacted through this process of quantum entanglement, whereby solid, three-dimensional images could be transmitted from cube to cube. Amazing!
Brushing off his sleeves, Jules smiled at the challenge Alex presented to him. Never before had he ever come across such brashness, intelligence, and overall bravado as he had with Alex. Though he knew the man must be terminated, he admired him as a worthy foe.
Jules went to grab the Achilles Shield medallion around his neck once again but the sudden shaking of the island knocked him to the side.
“Not Pumapunku again!” Drew lamented.
The island shook for a second time, sending a WOG next to him tumbling onto the ground. A few trees fell and birds in the far distance scattered in the sky. It was as if they knew something grave was about to occur but could do nothing to stop it.
“Evacuate,” Jules commanded on his auricular chip. “Evacuate.”
This is insanity! Drew thought. What are we doing? The more we meddle with these ancient ruins and shield, the more destruction we cause.
Jules walked through the forest as if he were taking a morning stroll; though the earth rumbled around him, he seemed little inconvenienced by the wrath of Mother Nature.
“Let’s go, Mr. Windsor,” urged one of the WOGs retreating behind him.
“Can you swim, my boy?” Jules asked.
“Well, yes,” he replied, confused by the question.
“Then you can survive,” Jules responded.
He stopped and looked at the man directly in the helmet. “Be the master of your life,” Jules admonished. “Don’t let your surroundings or circumstances rule you. You rule them.”
Jules relinquished his reprimanding gaze and continued walking through the forest. Though the WOG simply wanted to flee for his life, his fear of Jules exceeded his fear of death. Instead, he nervously walked by Jules while attempting to stay afoot on the shaky land.
“Mr. Windsor, we—” reported a WOG commander as the communication abruptly ended.
“Come again,” Jules requested as he neared the closest striker craft on the beach.
WOGs clamored up the two ships’ steps as the island behind them began to crumble in their wake.
“Blasted auricular chip,” Jules said aloud.
“I don’t think it’s the chip.” Drew responded. Also fighting the urge to run, he tensely walked by Jules’ side as his heart pounded in terror.
Jules needed to hear no more. He understood Drew’s insinuation. Somehow the destruction of Nan Madol was causing a destabilization in the world grid, interfering with communications.
“Let’s get out of here before it’s too late,” Drew pleaded, realizing that this latest fluctuation in the grid would also most likely affect their ships’ engines.
Jules held up both arms and pointed directly to the ships. Between the rumbling of the island and ineffectiveness of the auricular chip, it was his only means to convey a more urgent order. “Double time!” he shouted.
The WOGs boarded the ships in as orderly a fashion as they could muster. Attempting to maintain the strict discipline that Jules had instilled, they marched in line as the earth shook beneath them.
A shriek in the sky caught all of their attention. Looking up, Jules saw the striker craft that had been hovering above the island fall like a brick. The high-pitched sound was the pilot’s attempt to manually override the engine and hyper-magnetize
the entire ship in order to generate an antigravity effect. As Jules watched it helplessly plummet to Earth, he realized the pilot’s attempt was painfully futile.
With a monstrous explosion, the striker craft struck the ground about a mile from their position. Flames and black smoke bellowed up from the site.
Those that witnessed the event shuddered in fear. Instead of running, they stood motionless, as if paralyzed by the realization that they were no safer on board the ship than they would be on the sandy beach.
“Go, go!” Jules ordered the last of the WOGs up the stairs into the remaining two ships. After the last soldier finally entered, Jules followed. Straightening his jacket, he walked to the cockpit with his head held high.
“Chins up,” Jules demanded. “Discipline!”
The soldiers in the hull instantly obeyed. With their heads held high and chests puffed out, they all sat in attention on the benches along the walls.
“Mr. Windsor,” the WOG pilot said rapidly. “Striker Craft number eight. It simply fell from the sky.”
Jules strapped himself in the copilot’s chair in front of Drew. Without much overt concern, he looked forward and said, “Sir, be not concerned about striker craft number eight. Let us bring our full attention to this ship and striker craft number ten, which are both still in one piece.”
“But the dashboard?” the pilot responded. “Everything’s going crazy. The engine’s depolarization is waxing and waning, and the flight control is spotty at best.
A sharp jolt hit the ship. As the earth moved underneath them, it became impossible to sit without rocking back and forth.
“Improvise my boy,” Jules insisted. “Improvise.”
“Sir?”
“Have you ever flown instrument-free before?” Jules asked.
“No,” the pilot replied.
“This island’s about to sink,” Drew’s concerned voice chimed in from behind them.
“You heard the man,” Jules responded. “We all will assuredly die if we remain grounded on this beach.” He pointed to the sky. “Now’s the time to take a chance.”
The ship lifted off the ground. On its ascent, the striker craft randomly dipped and swayed.
“Stay low and head east,” Jules instructed.
“Yes, sir,” the pilot responded as sweat rolled from his brow down his beat-red face.
Touching a button on the steering wheel, Jules asked the other striker craft accompanying them on a secure line, “What are you waiting for?”
“It’s not safe to fly,” replied the pilot from the ship still on the island. The communication was choppy, but the message was clear.
“Get out of there,” Jules insisted.
“It’s not safe,” the pilot again reiterated. “Poor flying conditions.”
“Think, man,” Jules chastised. “Don’t be a blind fool.”
As Jules admonished the pilot, Drew looked out the window. Though only about 100 feet above the sea, it still felt too high. The further and faster they flew away from Pohnpei, the more apparent it became the island was sinking piecemeal into the ocean.
“Get off the island!” Jules reiterated.
“Mr. Windsor,” Drew interrupted, “it’s too late. Pohnpei has completely sunk. The striker craft is lost—sucked down into the ocean by the vacuum effect.”
“Fools,” Jules muttered. “Utter fools!”
The ship dipped violently and shuddered back and forth.
“I’m losing her,” announced the pilot.
The dashboard lights flickered on and off.
“She’s not responding,” the pilot bellowed.
“Take us down over there,” Jules said, pointing to a barren landmass rising along the horizon. “Just a little further, my boy. Concentrate. Be more than the sum of your parts.”
The pilot grasped the steering wheel, holding on for dear life. It seemed as if the ship were flying itself as his control slipped by the second. Just a little further, he willed. He wiped his brow.
As the ship reached the landmass, the pilot pressed one of the only two remaining lights still lit on the dashboard. Holding his breath, he hoped the ship would properly respond.
With a thud, the striker craft struck the ground and began to skid along the uneven terrain. Without wheels, the ship’s smooth underbelly spewed sparks as it bulldozed its way along the crusted land, leaving a deep, long crevice in its wake.
“Steady,” Jules said calmly.
Drowned out by the earsplitting roar, Jules’ calm words were lost in the commotion. The pilot pulled up on the steering wheeling, attempting to stabilize the ship so that it did not flip.
The striker craft skidded for another fifty feet before coming to a complete stop. The pilot took a deep breath and put his head between his legs. Totally exhausted, he uttered, “Successful landing.”
Jules patted him on the shoulder. “That’s the way to do it!” He then unstrapped himself and stretched his aching muscles. “Drew,” he said, “let’s get some fresh air.”
“Yes, sir,” his lead scientist replied. Though sick to his stomach, he was glad they were safely on the ground.
Jules walked back into the hull. The soldiers there fared no better than his lead scientist. Most appeared sick, and vomit was splattered along both the floor and walls. “Exit ship,” he then ordered.
Relieved, the soldiers all stood and staggered out of the striker craft onto stable land. Many fell to the ground and simply laid there, looking blankly up to the sky.
“Which island is this?” Jules asked as he exited onto the crusty, coral filled landscape. As he gazed along the vast, monotonous scenery, he wondered why he had not noticed such a massive landmass previously.
A holographic imaged flickered above Drew’s wrist. “Mr. Windsor,” Drew noted with astonishment. “This isn’t an island at all.”
Chapter 22
Chapter_22
Run Bhadra, run, Christine thought, watching the young, beautiful woman flee for her life.
Though Christine wanted to look away, she was engulfed in the entire scene. Unable to interfere, she watched helplessly. With the key in hand, Bhadra athletically sprinted out the open doorway. Her tan leather moccasin-like shoes flew off in the process.
Now out on an open grassy field, Bhadra headed straight towards a golden beehive-shaped ship. With four small propellers around the base and four circling the top, the ship was at least thirty feet in height and glimmered in the sunlight.
Two pillars stood adjacent to the vehicle. Each boasted a wing at its top and two snake-like coils wrap around its entire length. Between them was a golden carpet leading up to the ship. A symbol similar to that of the pillars was emblazed above the ship’s door, ten feet above ground.
Bhadra ran to the ladder at the base of the ship and began climbing, holding the key under one arm and pulling herself higher with the other. She refused to look back, fearing someone was just behind her. After her last step, she bent down and yanked the ladder up and into the ship.
“Close the door!” she ordered a crewman who was standing next to one of the four huge cylindrical shafts in the center of the room.
The man, who was wearing a long tan robe tied at the waist and similarly colored pants, complied without hesitation.
“Start the boilers,” Bhadra ordered. “Set the hydrargyrum engines into motion. We must take flight this instant! There is no time to spare.”
The two other crewmen present rushed down the steps onto the lower level. “Set the hydrargyrum engines into motion!” they shouted while descending. Pointing towards large boilers at the base of each of the four cylindrical, metal shafts, they signaled the other crewmen on this level to immediately get to work.
Bhadra then ran up the steps to the upper level. At the helm were two men sitting at opposite ends of the conical room. “Fly,” she ordered holding the key prominently out in front of her.
“Fly!” she repeated.
Both men were in disbelief as they stared at th
e legendary relic. The beauty and radiance of this shield-like artifact exceeded their expectations. Both were unsure whether to bow down and give grace or follow their consulate’s orders. Doing both would be inappropriate. However, doing one seemed just as unfitting.
“Take me to Dilmun at once,” Bhadra commanded as the men continued to sit motionless as if in a trance. “I need to return the key to the cradle.”
Hesitantly, the pilot to her right responded while bowing his head, “Consulate Bhadra, that area is forbidden by the council, and all flights there have been grounded due to geographic instability.”
“I am the council,” she demanded. “Now do as I say!”
The other pilot waved his hand over a red crystal on the dashboard. The cylinders in the center of the room began to hum as heat radiated from each, raising the room’s temperature in response.
“The mercury is almost at a boil,” he then stated. “One more minute, and we can set the engines into motion.”
“Very good,” she commented while nervously looking out the window. Because she was facing away from the council hall, she could only surmise how the brawl there had ended.
Christine watched as the magnificent ship began to glow and float up into the sky. It looked like a giant orb radiating a brilliant white light. What technology, she thought.
The ship then took flight like a dart shot out of a gun. Accompanied by a gentle hum, it zipped through the sky.
Though Christine knew nothing about engineering, she felt as if she understood everything about this ship. Her mind was inundated with the most amazing information explaining its technology, construction, and means of flight. It was almost like she had known the information all along but had forgotten it until just now.
Rhukma Vimana, Christine thought. It’s the name of this type of ship. And there are many more of these vehicles, many with different shapes, designs, and sizes.
She also came to realize that unlike combustion or the magnetic dipole engines of her day, these ships flew by the nascent energy within the element mercury. By heating this liquid metal to its boiling point and subjecting it to alternating electromagnetic currents, the mercury became ionized and released the zero-point energy stored within it. Because this energy has anti-gravitational, ultrasonic properties, flight became a possibility.
The Final Reality (Alex Pella, #3) Page 15
