Prophecy

by Paula Bradley

  Mariah turned back to those seated around the table. “So, we have two issues here and I don’t know yet if they’re related.

  “First, if Galaxaril knows I’m here, so does the Min’yel’os. And I’m positive they want me eliminated. Like, immediately. They know I’m not strong enough to hurt them, but I’m an unknown factor: a sentient being and a nearly class seven psychic they can’t control through injections of their manufactured dicit. This makes me a very real threat. Winters is right; just to get me, they won’t hesitate to turn this planet—probably this entire solar system—into a cinder.” Her eyes took on that far away stare that always preceded some pronouncement. She didn’t disappoint him.

  “I have to leave. Right away. I have to draw their attention away from Earth and keep it focused on me.” She paused, making eye contact with each person in the room. No one disagreed.

  Her gaze settled last on Aleris. Mariah had no idea why she was so drawn to this light-skinned alien, but she was not going to waste time analyzing it.

  “Second, I received psychic distress signals while we were in the PDSU. It was weak, but I’m sure whoever sent it was not Anorasian.

  “Don’t ask why I know this; again, you’ll just have to trust my gut reaction. I also sense that it’s of some major significance and that I have to do something about it. But I have to deal with the Min’yel’os first.

  “So, here’s the plan.”

  Chapter 69

  Mariah was amazed at the speed with which “the boys” (as she called Winters’ government affiliates) pulled the broadcast of a lifetime together.

  Thomas was given the task of organizing the shoot, a colossal feat he executed with precision and professionalism. From his list of buddies, he lured several world class cameramen away from their current jobs, men who had worked with him in the past and could be counted on to create a top grade seamless performance. The lighting was critical; the Anorasians needed to appear benign and friendly, their obvious alien aspects softened and their more human characteristics enhanced.

  Mariah listened to heated debates among the CIA, the Joint Chiefs of Staff, the Secret Service, and the President who waded in with his own advice. They disputed the public’s readiness to accept the aliens and the images given to her in the PDSU.

  In the end, her simple argument won ... if people today were sophisticated enough to accept the truth about her metamorphosis, they would accept aliens if introduced properly.

  This meant multimedia news broadcasts. Mariah’s favorite, Tom Brokaw, eagerly agreed to accept the task of interviewer. He would also get to speak with the President, plus an esteemed representative of the church, Michael Jenkins.

  While agreeing not to disclose any more than was necessary, Mariah was determined to share Hesad’s holographic image with the world. Since they knew she would somehow get the information out if they denied her this broadcast, they decided they could at least control the production.

  The President had their meeting classified with disclosure on a need-to-know basis. Even though it was illegal to reveal classified information, he also issued a strong directive against leaking anything to the press.

  Four days before the broadcast, the media was notified. They were told that “a momentous and historical event would take place on all channels at eight o’clock in the evening, Pacific Standard Time.” Foreign correspondents were given a dedicated satellite uplink; however, a sizeable number of them managed to get flights to the United States to be present when the announcement was made. If Mariah Carpenter had something to say that was backed up by the President of the United States, they were beyond curious.

  Unsubstantiated information (leaked by the government) concerned an amazing discovery by Mariah Adele Carpenter. It would explain who she was and what she was becoming. It became public knowledge the morning of the second day.

  The media frenzy became more intense. Speculation ran rampant throughout the world’s population. Some were excited about this broadcast; others were fearful. Regardless of the positive impact she had created, they were certain she was now corrupted by the power she wielded.

  On the evening of the broadcast, it was estimated that over a billion people were either watching it on television, listening to it on the radio, or viewing it on computer screens via the Internet.

  Once again, Tom Brokaw’s moderate voice and deliberate mannerisms lent authenticity and the necessary reassuring effects to the broadcast. The Anorasians were introduced like they were newly discovered relatives visiting this branch of the family for the first time.

  To provide context, the interview included companion pieces which expanded on the main one. One bit was about America’s fascination with UFOs and alien abductions. It was well crafted, based on the principal that the average person loved to be scared. Overblown sensationalism they had seen in the movies or in the tabloid rags, like life on other planets, was negated by the two geneticists who were articulate, friendly, and knowledgeable of Earth.

  The other piece was devoted to their scientific explorations of planets in the Sol star system, and further conjecture about outer space and the obvious certainty that the Earth was not the only planet teeming with life.

  Ton Re’Aleris’ thoughtful and exceptional intelligence shone through clearly when asked about alien invasions. Her smile was a relief when she explained that any race sophisticated enough to have intergalactic space travel had long since given up aggressive methods of conquest. Furthermore, Anorasians had accidentally found Sol over sixty-five million years ago. If this phenomenon was repeated by other explorers, they would only be avidly curious about the sentient life on this planet.

  Ton Re’Sateron was himself: energetic and enthusiastic, his humor, quick wit, and avid interest in any broadcast media winning over the viewing public. His intimidating countenance was nearly forgotten in his delight with anything Earth-like.

  Michael Jenkins lent spirituality to the experience. Himself a man of science, he electrified the audience with his strongly held belief that, since God was the creator of the universe, He created the aliens and, therefore, humans and aliens should coexist quite nicely together.

  To complete this picture of tranquility and bonhomie, there were smiling government officials from the United States and ambassadors from China, Russia, Argentina, England, Korea and South Africa. Thomas’ proficiency, and the soft illumination, created an atmosphere of trust, peaceful coexistence, and anticipatory excitement for new things to come.

  #

  We look like the Beverly Hillbillies on performance enhancement drugs, Mariah thought dryly, keeping an inane smile plastered on her face.

  By the sheer power of her psychic ability, she took the holographic image, meticulously recorded from the PDSU, and projected it onto a screen. No artist’s brush, no archeological speculation, no film edited by Hollywood or the government could have brought to life this breathtaking mosaic of the flora and fauna of their planet in its infancy.

  The audience was spellbound as they beheld their ancestors sixty-five million years in the past. Only later would they realize that, had the Min’yel’os succeeded in destroying Earth, Anorasian evolution would have continued uninterrupted and Homo sapiens, as they appeared today, would not exist.

  Archaeologists would have a field day studying the colony of Lortinias; anthropologists would salivate over the evolution of man from the DNA left behind by the Anorasians; and geneticists would plead for a sample of the moss-like entity known as Eocene dicit’ledoni. There was enough data in that brief holographic encounter to foster scientific experiments for decades.

  The similarities between Hesad, Shel’Zib of Lortinias, and Mariah Adele Carpenter, human being from planet Earth, were apparent. His Anorasian features were not as strongly pronounced as Sateron’s and Aleris’. Mariah’s likeness to the two geneticists was also apparent, giving rise to a whole new meaning of “the missing link.”

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  As was expected, two days after the introduction of the Anorasians, verbal assaults erupted on public and network television where religious fundamentalists caused some panic among their constituents, positive the government was perpetrating a hoax. As far as they were concerned, there was no such thing as evolution. It was horrific to even consider that humans came from aliens, and that Earth—which they still believed was flat and only five thousand years old—was the only populated planet in the entire universe. For the most part, however, the knowledge that an advanced civilization (especially one that spoke clear, albeit stilted, English) had no interest in planetary conquest caused excitement, not fear.

  Mariah did not edit out Hesad’s anxiety and foreboding about the Min’yel’os. It was sixty-five million years in the past: no one would lose sleep over some ancient bullies. Thinking it prudent, she also did not talk about the SOS since she had no explanation for it, or her fleeting exchange with Galaxaril. No need to discuss either. Let the world digest what they had before them; it was more than enough for now.

  Winters was delighted with the final results, a benevolent meeting of races without the theatrics of first encounter fireworks. But he knew the real story and all the smiling and hand shaking in the world would not change the truth.

  #

  With her head pressed against his chest, Mariah listened to the soft rumble of Thomas’ voice.

  “Are you coming back?”

  Her arms tightened reflexively around him as she tried to burrow into the heat and safety of his body.

  Michael Jenkins asked her the same question only this morning. He looked older, more tired, his hair slightly thinner than the day she met him. All this publicity and stress was taking a toll. The sadness in his eyes had been hard to bear, but no more so than the look Thomas gave her several hours ago when they found themselves alone for the first time since the Anorasians made their dramatic appearance in the basement of the CIA building.

  When he suggested they rent a hotel room in Monterey, she agreed, expecting his need to talk privately. Instead he had pulled her into his arms, kissing her wildly, hungrily, and she had responded just as feverishly. They spent the last two hours making love in an abandoned, sometimes frenetic manner, their ferocious passion seemingly endless.

  She moved apart from him, luxuriating in the warm and loving look in his eyes. She shook her head slightly, still amazed at his ability to accept what she had become.

  “I have all intentions of returning, my love,” she said softly.

  He sighed, his eyes sweeping over her features as though trying to memorize them.

  His gaze hardened abruptly and a look of exasperation tinged with fear settled over his features. “Sateron told me that you aren’t psychically strong enough to go against the Min’yel’os, and even lending his and Aleris’ combined efforts won’t help. In his way of thinking, he was just telling me the facts, not trying to rat you out. Are you getting caught up in your own press?” His words were harsh, but she knew they came from fear of what he viewed as a suicidal undertaking.

  Rather than answer his question she decided it was time to give him more information. “While you were napping a little while ago, something happened inside me.

  “Remember, Emmanuel has given me two injections of dicit; the first during the Visitation, and the second when I was in the hospital in that, uh, sort-of, um, coma. Well, a little while ago I blanked my mind from all distractions, and suddenly I felt a ... presence inside me.” She hesitated, waiting for a response. When none came, she took that as encouragement and continued.

  “The Anorasians are now positive dicit is not native to Izorach, but don’t have any idea where it comes from. Even though the biologically engineered version has been given to them throughout their lifetime, they’ve never interacted with it because they can’t. To them, it’s nothing more than an unintelligent, living organism.”

  Thomas held his breath, mesmerized by the excitement in her eyes.

  Breathlessly she said, “They were right. Eocene dicit’ledoni is not native to their star system. It’s alive, all right ... and it has intelligence. And I believe it’s been trying to communicate with me since that first injection.”

  He was stunned, remaining still while she tried to get her jumbled thoughts together. “I have to go to Izorach before I go to Hakilam. I don’t know what’s going to happen there, but I’m sure I’ll find out. I feel sure that dicit has been guiding me the entire time, and it’s not through yet.”

  Chapter 71

  Strapped into her pod in the personal transport vehicle on her way to the Mobile Exploratory Research Station, Mariah replayed her last few minutes with Thomas. Assurances that she would be back rang hollow and they both knew it.

  Before she left she begged him to accept the deed to the house on Mastenhege, requesting that Michael purchase it from the CIA and transfer the title into Thomas’ name. She was pleased when he reluctantly accepted her gift. He loved the house; the lighting was perfect for a photography studio—and more so, that he wanted to live in the house that held such warm memories of their time together.

  She tried to communicate with the dicit inside her, to find out if she would return, but received no answer. Not that she expected one. There was no contact between them, only strong intuitive feelings on her part that she ascribed to them. Strangely, there was comfort in knowing there was purpose behind her mutations, that she was part of some racial destiny.

  Momentary sadness filled her when she remembered her friend and confidant, Frannie Manzetti; however, this powerful force would not allow her to wallow in misery for very long.

  The Lepitera came into view, hidden from Earth’s technology by alien technology. Mariah’s eyes widened, awed by its aesthetic beauty.

  It looked like a butterfly. The main body stretched twenty-five hundred feet end to end, housing all the necessary operations and mechanics to keep the vessel in space forever. At what would have been the butterfly’s head was the bridge and Neural Matrix Information Processor. The NMIP linked together power, environment, communication, long and short-range sensors, hyperspace drive, navigation, and weapons. It communicated like a living entity, having functional speech plus audio and visual recognition.

  Protruding from both sides of the “head” were the weapon rods, designed for defense. They had perforations down the top third of the shaft which, when the pulse laser was activated, would bombard an opponents’ spaceship with high energy beams that could slice metal.

  Four compartments attached to the main body, two on each side. One was living quarters, more than adequately accommodating the crew of three hundred. Joined to it by a suspended rail system was the medical unit, equipped with technology far in advance of Earth’s.

  The third section, opposite the living quarters, was the research facility consisting of fifteen individual eco-chambers whose controls could be manipulated to mimic nearly ten thousand different environments. The last compartment was for social gatherings, recreation, dining, and physical fitness.

  Sateron entered the MERS through a protective energy array beneath the main section then relinquished control of the Personal Transport Vehicle to the NMIP who guided it to its cradle. Although Mariah was fascinated by everything, a sense of urgency filled her. She knew they needed to be out of this solar system as quickly as possible. Reaching the bridge in minutes, Sateron brought the Lepitera out of hold with a few brief commands, giving the NMIP the coordinates for Izorach.

  #

  “Prime Commander, permission to speak.” Meron Drango, Bridge Pilot, stood rigidly, staring straight ahead. He wore the military work uniform of a bridge pilot; a stiff, high-necked black tunic that came to mid thigh, girded with a silver transport belt. Silver-gray Jodhpurs tucked into black boots above his calves completed the severe outfit.

  Shekron Prime Commander, Meron Senala, sensed the young pilot’s excitement and s
urmised its source.

  “Permission granted, Bridge Pilot.” The Prime Commander wore a purple tunic, similar to the bridge pilot’s, with the insignia of his rank decorating his chest.

  “We have locked onto the Lepitera’s signature.”

  No surprise, this intelligence. To the Prime Commander’s knowledge, nothing had ever escaped a Stirilium Cruiser. It was the most powerful and intelligent medium class military spacecraft in the Cheloran fleet. In addition to a full array of defensive and tactical weapons—energy beam projectors, smart missiles, various particle emission detectors, and sensors that spanned from radio wave through the Gamma ray spectrum—the Cruiser had a fully functional NMIP programmed for extended range and detection capabilities. While the genetic code for pride had been bred out of the military, Senala, of the military designation Meron, still felt satisfaction in knowing that he commanded a vessel never before defeated.

  “Signal them. Do not drop our screens. We will allow the traitors an opportunity to surrender. Arm the beam projectors. Stand ready to fire warning bursts on my command. They will understand that we will not sanction delay while they attempt ineffectual and meaningless maneuvers.

  “Feed their signature to the Intezelin. I instinct they will not give up their precious cargo.”

  Drango acknowledged the Prime Commander’s orders with a quick nod then fed the information to the NMIP. Senala ordered a screen view of the Lepitera and the processor acquiesced immediately.

  Scientists were a strange coterie, he reflected, drifting through the galaxies in spacecrafts barely capable of anything more than defense against mediocre attack. True, there were few known civilizations that could penetrate the MERS protective force field, and he granted the defensive weaponry was sufficient to lay waste to many known military vessels, but the Lepitera was useless against the superior design of a real war ship in the same class as a Stirilium Cruiser.