Prophecy

by Paula Bradley

  Mariah’s eyes wandered past her forehead (oh, good, no horn) to her hair. She tugged gently on a few strands, hoping it was a wig. No such luck. Each strand was attached all right.

  The dark auburn color of her hair was gone. It was now a brilliant white. No trace of gray, no little patches of yellow. White, like the color of snow before man or beast has had time to desecrate its pristine-ness.

  Afraid to open her mouth but knowing she had to (best to know if something odd lurked in there) Mariah steeled herself for the worst.

  Just as she was about to take a look, the door opened again. This time it hit both Emily and David, forcing them to stumble forward several steps.

  “What’s going on in here?” As if hearing the voice of Charlton Heston as Moses parting the Red Sea in the Greatest Story Ever Told, Emily scuttled off to the right while David took one giant step to the left. It created a clear path from the door to the bed for Doctor Menachim Silverstein, accompanied by Doctors Recine, Ward, and Bouzane. Lincoln Brown was absent.

  Manny’s smile faltered then faded completely. He stared at the woman sitting on the edge of the bed, obviously trying to act like nothing was wrong.

  “This cannot be happening,” he muttered, his distress apparent in his dazed expression.

  “Au contraire, Dr. Silverstein, I believe it can,” Mariah rasped.

  As he approached her, the other physicians entered cautiously, eyeing her with conflicting emotions.

  Chapter 24

  When anxious or frightened, or when things got way too serious, Mariah would mask it with humor. And if there was ever a time for a good laugh, this was it.

  Batting her eyes coyly at Dr. Silverstein, she simpered in a bad imitation of a southern belle. “Good mawnin, suh. Ah presume ah have the pleashah of fahnally meetin Doctah Menakim Silvahstein, Chief a’ Staff of this fahn establishment. And a peachy day to y’all, Doctah Recine, Doctah Wahd, and Doctah Bouzahne. Nice of y’all to drop bah so unexpectedly, but next tahm y’all ah in the neighbahhood, please make an appointment so ah can be presen’able to receive callahs.”

  For a second no one moved. Then the room was filled with the sound of Manny Silverstein’s laughter as tears leaked from the corners of his eyes. Art Bouzane grinned broadly, captivated by the woman, mesmerized and thrilled by the slightly pointed teeth he saw when she smiled.

  Aubrietta Ward just stared. She did not find anything amusing about the fascinating—and just a tad scary—vision before her. No one seemed surprised that Mariah knew them by name.

  Luke Recine was so excited he trembled. Edging closer to the bed, he was so intent on an unobstructed view of this woman that he didn’t notice when the laughter died down.

  Mariah’s eyes settled on him. Before anyone could speak, she said softly, “Doctor Recine, we haven’t met formally, but you probably know more about me than I know myself, genetically speaking. However, it makes me uncomfortable, you staring at me like I was a slide specimen under a microscope.”

  Embarrassed, Lucas pulled back, a blush staining his cheeks, a profound apology on his lips. He was being insulting, treating her like she was an experiment. She smiled wanly and said, “No offense taken. I must be a geneticist’s dream come true.” Grateful for her understanding, he returned her smile, elation and anticipation still gleaming in his eyes.

  Manny Silverstein spoke in his clipped commanding voice. “Emily, please remove all this bathing paraphernalia; you can come back later. David, we need to make sure no reporters sneak in here, not just yet. Plenty of time for that later.” With a “yessir” from both of them, David returned to his post outside the door and Emily cleared off the rolling tray, retrieving the articles from the bed, and depositing everything on the dresser before she fled. Manny disconnected the telemetry equipment sensors from Mariah’s body.

  While he did this, Mariah said, “I was about to look into my mouth and see if there were any more surprises, but I think my tongue feels what’s happened there. Anyone care to confirm what I think I feel?” She might have said it in an off-handed manner, but Manny heard dread behind the words.

  With compassion, he said, “You’re beautiful smile is still beautiful. Your lovely white teeth are still lovely and still white. They’re just slightly ... pointed.”

  “Yup, thought so. Pointed.” Mariah rolled the word around in her mouth as if it had texture and taste—and found the flavor terrible. She gazed down for a moment then raised her head slowly, looking into the eyes of each doctor.

  With an attempt to shrug off these anomalies (and failing miserably) Mariah said in a husky voice, “Well, well, well. This ought to give them something new and exciting to talk about. I always wanted to be different, but this is ridiculous. Being taller is nice, and having a long thumb has some advantages, but nothing compares to this white hair and these yellow eyeballs. I suppose the pointy teeth will be handy if I want to open aluminum cans.

  “Oh, one more thing. Since none of you have ever heard me speak, this hoarseness is also a gift from the mutation fairy.”

  Silence, full of mystery and tinged with empathy, settled over the room. No one knew what to say. Even Doctor Silverstein was silent, unable to find words of comfort. There being none, he opted for the one thing he knew the best ... the truth.

  “Mariah—if I may call you by your first name—we will not minimize or make light of your situation. Your external changes are just the proverbial tip of the iceberg. The internal ones documented to this point are even more extraordinary.

  “However, if it’s any consolation, they’re all for the better. Whatever is causing these modifications is also improving and repairing everything inside you. You’re running at a proficiency level unheard of; healthier, stronger, and just about immune to all known viruses. The things we don’t know, like what you’re capable of doing with the increased brain activity, will take time to understand. But they’re still not a detriment.”

  A disquieting expression settled over her features. It wasn’t hostile or unfriendly, just a bit disturbing. Vaguely uneasy, he continued under her watchful stare.

  “Remember this: people throughout the world already know you. They now have irrefutable evidence that psychic energy exists, and are madly in love with you for using this talent to find abducted children. After a few moments of shock, they’ll accept these changes as quickly as we did ... because it’s still you. So they’ll hear a different voice: so it’ll be part of the changes. But their love for Mariah Carpenter, the intelligent and humorous woman who saves the lives of their children—that’s what will remain in their hearts.”

  He paused, watching for a sign of acceptance or rejection. Still that unsettling expression. Fleetingly, Manny wondered if she had blinked during the entire time he’d been speaking.

  Taking a deep breath, he plunged on. “I will not minimize the impact you’re going to have on the scientific community. Our friend Lucas here salivated over the results of your DNA mapping. He’ll be happy to share it with you. All the doctors will go over your test results as soon as you’re ready. Before the public sees you, before the press blinds you with flashing lights, before the researchers and evolutionists and fundamentalists try to get their hooks into you, I promise that you will be armed with as much information about yourself as we can provide.”

  Something finally stirred deep in her eyes; something that made his heart beat just a bit quicker. Without conscious thought, he spoke a bit more rapidly. “Someday, we hope to explain why this is happening. Right now, we have nothing. To find a logical explanation, everyone is going to want to poke and prod you. If you’re willing to help us and teach us, we guarantee that you’ll be treated with respect and consideration. I will also give you my solemn promise that nothing we find will go beyond my staff without your permission, no matter the pressure of disclosure. Your rights as a patient in this hospital are the same as any other—and that is the right to privacy.”

&nb
sp; Mariah seemed to be lost in thought. Her eyes were unfocused as she stared at the wall over Luke Recine’s shoulder. The silence in the room hung as low as the ears of a Bassett hound.

  The ambiguous expression finally gave way to something they could identify: pure, concentrated anger. Anger so intense that a narrow rim of red encircled her yellow eyeballs which were as cold and hard as marbles. Anger so extravagant that her pupils dilated. Anger so pulsating that she began breathing through her mouth as if her lungs were being squeezed like a blacksmith’s bellows.

  A small squirt of adrenaline shot into Manny Silverstein’s bloodstream. His body tensed. Everyone was equally affected as they collectively held their breaths.

  “Nice speech, Doctor,” she said. Her gruff voice now sounded like someone walking on broken glass. “Let me add something, if I may.

  “You and your colleagues are intelligent people, accustomed to dealing with physical and mental abnormalities. However, the average person can’t even stand to look at someone they consider different. That’s why the bearded lady is a freak show at the circus. That’s why the Elephant Man wore a hood over his head until his master was ready to satisfy the audience’s prurient desire to be frightened.

  “Not so long ago, people with minor physical abnormalities, like harelips or splay eyes, were thought to be possessed of the devil and burned alive at the stake. Since the American Civil Liberties Union would probably consider that a civil rights violation, we’re more subtle now. Perhaps people are afraid that afflictions are contagious.”

  Without moving, Mariah seemed to grow larger. Her words cut into them as effectively as a scalpel.

  “You say that people already love me. But love is fickle. Even before the trial where I was accused of stopping a man’s heart, they had already begun to be leery of me. It doesn’t take much, Doctor. One day you’re ‘The Chosen One’, the messenger from God, just singing in the choir. The next day you’re the Antichrist, indwelt by Satan.”

  Her voice was an assault on their ears. Her words caused their hearts to wrench with compassion.

  “When Mr. and Mrs. Average Person become frightened by something they don’t understand, they expect the experts to throw seven syllable words at them and make the bogeyman go away. In this case, you doctors are the experts, but even you don’t have a clue about the beast, so you can’t give them the expected comfort. Mr. and Mrs. Average Person become terrified because, long ago, they stopped thinking for themselves and now feel abandoned by the very people who encouraged them to become so dependent.”

  Her fists were pressed into the mattress and her elbows were locked. Everyone in the room felt the hairs on their arms and necks quiver as if a cool breeze had entered through an open window.

  “And fear, if left unexplained, turns irrational. The longer the fear remains, the more twisted it becomes until some will seek to destroy the object that has created the fear. Panic knows no reason, has no control.”

  Suddenly she levered off the bed, her bare feet making a thump as they hit the floor.

  Doctor Recine stiffened and back-pedaled about three steps. He would’ve stomped on Art Bouzane’s feet if the orthopaedic surgeon hadn’t simultaneously done the same thing.

  Aubrietta Ward didn’t move, though her nostrils flared and her eyes widened, paralyzed like a spider caught in the glare of a flashlight.

  Manny Silverstein remained where he stood, his eyes bright with unshed tears.

  Mariah looked at each one, saving him for last. Unknowingly, he would be the last person ever to see her face twist in pain and fear, to see hot tears of anguish overflowing her eyes and sliding silently down her cheeks.

  In a voice choked with misery, she grated, “And you’re the experts. If you’re frightened ... if you don’t mind, I’d like to be alone.” Mariah lay back down on the bed, suddenly exhausted and emotionally drained.

  Manny was the last to leave. As he stepped through the door, he turned to look back at her. The smile she gave him was so tender and forgiving, his heart constricted in pain.

  He would never see that expression again. Mariah Carpenter had turned a corner. And there would be no going back.

  Chapter 25

  Ton So’Galaxaril, Minister of Finance, folded one hand over the other at waist level and stared at the translucent sphere, patiently awaiting an acknowledgment of his presence.

  If there was one virtue the Minister of Finance possessed in abundance, it was patience. Being the highest ranking and eldest member of the Synadracus, he was the one in constant attendance to the Min’yel’os. Frequently summoned, he would remain in this position for what seemed like eons, waiting until They decided to address him. Time was irrelevant when you were seventy-five million years old.

  The sphere abruptly filled with a swirling rose-colored iridescence. Galaxaril felt his mind entered as a pinpoint of light darted from its center to gently touch his forehead.

  The mind of the one beside you does not harbor conspiracy. Nor knowledge of one. Nonetheless, We did unearth something that gives Us cause to investigate not only possible insurrection at the highest level, but a threat to Our Domain.

  Galaxaril remained silent. He had only received information. Response was unnecessary until an order was issued.

  He ignored the one to his right, a young geologist named Maka’rius whose body was effectively held captive in rigor. While not corporeally dead, his mind had been plundered and shredded as the Min’yel’os outrageously fragmented his brain. The Anorasian geologist was now without coherent thought; could, in fact, no longer communicate. His brain would never retain what it had heard or even what he himself uttered.

  The Minister cared not. After nearly a million years in service to the Min’yel’os, he was callous to the madness and torment suffered by those probed and discarded with such cavalier disregard.

  He continued to wait. Behind his mask of impassivity, his interest was piqued. What had been in the mind of this one that caused the Min’yel’os to speak thus? What had been so disturbing that They continued this silence?

  Abruptly the light in the orb converged into the center. An ellipsoid formed then darkened to the color of aortic blood. Tendrils oozed from its center, waving malevolently in the suspension.

  Still Galaxaril waited.

  The sphere became opaque. The blood-red core with the waving tentacles turned purple, and began to pulse rhythmically in a replication of a heartbeat. A thin beam of light shot from its center, piercing Galaxaril between his eyes with such intensity it nearly took his breath away. His mind was besieged with poisonous thought—so malignant, so penetrating, so compelling—he thought he would succumb to insanity. Yet there was something else that swirled in the abhorrence. It astonished him into nearly losing his tight control.

  Before he could do no more than register this emotion never before sent from the Min’yel’os, he at last received his orders.

  This one has wisdom of a planet We thought to have obliterated millions of years in the past due to blatant collaboration to overthrow Our rule. Yet it lives and teems with resurrected life, albeit dissimilar from the original inhabitants. Something is there of which We must have intelligence. Something that would cause our trusted subordinates to risk eradication.

  Find it. Bring it to Us. Do not arouse suspicion. Complete the task expeditiously.

  You are dismissed—and take that with you.

  Galaxaril guided the body of Maka’rius out of the chamber. The sphere flashed a myriad of colors around the black core as the Min’yel’os began a stream of consciousness begun with the dissected information They had extracted.

  This geologist had knowledge of Netsor’ah, the Prophecy They had uncovered millions of years in the past. So ancient that no sentient being currently alive should have been aware of its existence. They had shared Their findings with no one, including their Minister of Finance.

  Then They recalled th
e nuisance of having to eliminate all those who clung to a bizarre mysticism. It concerned a charismatic figure who declared descendancy from a most potent entity—believed, by these misguided, to be more powerful than Them.

  Furthermore this charlatan told them to accept their life of suppression and misery by paying homage to this unknown entity, as they would reap their reward after their essence became one with the universe. Although not dangerous, these ill-advised dissenters continued to build a discipleship mostly of the poor, the miscreants and the castaways.

  But they had developed a dangerous attitude concerning their servitude to the Empire and the only supreme beings they needed for their survival: the Min’yel’os. Smiling in the face of great misfortune, even in the throes of extreme pain, they cast their eyes upward and gave themselves to this imaginary power.

  Why this nonsensical foretelling came to mind was unsettling.

  Preposterous. An Anorasian—more likely an unstable mutant—who would possess the power to destroy the Min’yel’os and set free all the inhabitants of the Empire?

  Impossible. No Anorasian could ever attain a psychic level that would exceed THEM, a collective of ten class seven psychics in accord.

  Ludicrous.

  Nonetheless, They had not attained this power seventy-five million years past by ignoring anything. No doubt something on Touranim (now known as Earth) needed Their attention. They would do as always; study scrupulously, assimilate assiduously, then take action and assume control. Once intelligence became available and the aberration unearthed, it would be destroyed. Permanently.

  Annihilation of an entire star system was not beyond Their capability. Nor required hesitancy. If doing thus was deemed prudent for the good of Their Empire, let it be so.