The Third Wave: Eidolon
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THE THIRD WAVE: EIDOLON
A Novel by John O’Brien
Copyright © 2017 John O’Brien
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in review, without permission in writing from the author. You may contact the author at John@anewworldseries.com
Cover art by: Dean Samed
Conzpiracy Digital Arts
http://www.conzpiracy.co.uk
Dedicated to my lovely wife, Tiffany. You put up with a lot and thanks for staying in there with all of the time I spend at the keyboard. You’re the best!
This series is a fictional work. While some of the locations in the series describe actual locations, this is intended only to lend an authentic theme. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Also by John O’Brien
A New World Series
A NEW WORLD: CHAOS
A NEW WORLD: RETURN
A NEW WORLD: SANCTUARY
A NEW WORLD: TAKEN
A NEW WORLD: AWAKENING
A NEW WORLD: DISSENSION
A NEW WORLD: TAKEDOWN
A NEW WORLD: CONSPIRACY
A NEW WORLD: RECKONING
A NEW WORLD: STORM
Companion Books
A NEW WORLD: UNTOLD STORIES
A NEW WORLD: UNTOLD STORIES 2
A Shrouded World
A SHROUDED WORLD: WHISTLERS
A SHROUDED WORLD: ATLANTIS
ARES Virus
ARES VIRUS: ARCTIC STORM
ARES VIRUS: WHITE HORSE
ARES VIRUS: PHOENIX RISING
Authors Note
So, this was an interesting book to write. The premise of the story came to me one evening a long while ago while staring at the ceiling. I began writing on it and then the energy just faded, so I jumped over to the ARES Virus series while this one lingered on my hard drive. Once I pulled it back up, the story was there again and it didn’t want to end. We fought long hours and both of us ended up on the floor, beaten and bloodied. The story wanted to be a two book series, I wanted a stand-alone novel. In the end, we compromised with a longer book.
I love the creatures inside, ones that are nightmarish to me. And the premise is an interesting one. After all, we’re just a ball of rock hurtling through space circling a huge furnace. In some instances, I’ve kept things simplified in order to keep the flow of the story. I will also mention that some locations, distances, etc. are complete figments of my imagination, whereas some locations are real.
I want to throw a couple of disclaimers in before we begin the tale. These may be somewhat of a spoiler, but I feel them necessary. First, I realize normal EMP blasts may not affect electronics or batteries as indicated in the following pages, but there also has never been one as powerful as depicted in the story. For the sake of the story, the affects depicted follow a powerful solar storm. It also might be that such an event may strip away part of the atmosphere, but that would make for a very short tale.
Second, many of you with an understanding of quantum physics will shake your head at the simplicity with which I’ve stated several aspects. Observation of photons means an interaction of light particles, thus the altered behavior between being observed and not. I didn’t want to break up the story by an in-depth explanation of the quantum world—like I could anyhow. I wanted to keep things simplified so as to not interrupt the flow. And, please keep in mind that this is merely a story.
The locations and distances are purely figments of my imagination, but are based on the localized terrain in the areas mentioned. The actual sites mentioned are real.
The focus of this story is on a few individuals thrown into the chaos of an apocalyptic event. At first, I wanted to focus on just a couple and turn this book into a long, depressing journey across the country much like The Road. But, as with all of my stories to day, it changed the moment the first word was put on paper. Even though I fought with this one more than any other, I just tell the story and what you will find on the next pages is what it wanted.
So, without any further ado, let’s get on with it. I hope you enjoy it.
John
Prologue
White House, Oval Office: December
“And that’s what happens in the end? Really?”
“Yes, sir.”
“After telling a story that long, that’s how it ends? Are you sure?”
“Yes, but it does have a certain symmetry to it.”
The president, the click of his heels echoing in the large corridor, sighed, saying nothing.
“I’m sorry, Mr. President, but you did ask.”
“I know, but now I’m sorry I did. I don’t even want to read the last one.”
“You asked, Mr. President.”
“I know, but now, well, I wish I had more time to read, and I wish I didn’t have to ask you how that one finished. And get the author on the phone. We’re going to have to talk about that ending.”
With a chuckle, the chief of staff nodded. “I’m on it, sir.”
Ten minutes late for his next meeting, President Kelson, with his chief of staff and usual entourage of secret service in tow, entered the Oval Office. This day, like most of them, was filled with endless meetings. His staff could handle most of them, but it seemed like everyone wanted the president’s ear. In the room, several men set down their cups on matching saucers and rose from where they were sitting in wait on the facing couches. Nods and murmurs of “Mr. President” accompanied his entrance. The chief of staff introduced each of the men and women present, Kelson shaking their hands in greeting.
“Forgive my lateness,” Kelson said, taking a seat in a chair situated at the end of the couches.
Byron Stoles, NASA’s assistant administrator, resumed his seat. Sitting next to him and on the other couch were members of his staff, brought along in case the president had more technical questions that they could readily respond to.
“Mr. President. I know you’re busy, so I’ll try to be brief,” Byron stated, setting a thick folder on his own lap.
“You’d be one of the few,” Kelson stated drily.
A few chuckles came from the group and Kelson was reminded of his service as an Army captain long ago. They had just completed an IG (Inspector General) inspection. He and the rest of the division officers had been ushered into one of the base’s auditoriums to listen to their commanding general give the results and administer praise. They had done well. His first thought was of an old axiom, handed down since the beginning of the armed forces—there were two types of outfits: those ready for combat and those ready to pass an inspection. One was not the other.
The general had made a joke, to which those gathered erupted with the expected laughter. One of the other company commanders leaned over and whispered, “A general’s joke is always funny. A lieutenant colonel can tell the same joke and get a murmured chuckle, a full bird colonel will get polite laughter, but a general, well, it’s the funniest thing ever heard.”
Kelson had chuckled at that, and replied: “And a master sergeant?”
“I’m not sure I’ve ever heard one tell a joke. I’d be scared to laugh, though, in case they were being serious. In which case, they’d bite our heads off. If they wanted us to laugh, they’d tell us,” the captain replied.
The two had gone on to be great friends after that, keeping in touch during deployments. Kelson had gone on to become president; Matt had lost his life long ago to an IED in the desert.
Emerging from the reverie, Kelson came back to the present, aware that all heads had turned toward him, waiting.
“Again, my apologies. It’s been a busy day. Please…continue.”
“I admit that I’ve only perused the synopsis,” Kelson interrupted.
“I don’t blame you, really. The bottom line of the report, and the purpose of this meeting, is only to inform you that we are heading into a peak in the cycle of solar activity. As you probably know, solar activity fluctuates between periods of maximum and minimum activity on an eleven-year cycle. This year, we’ll be entering the solar maximum,” Byron stated.
“And what exactly will that entail?’ Kelson asked.
“Well, we can expect three to five solar activities per day, as opposed to one every few days.”
“And will those interfere with our communications?”
“We don’t expect so. We’ve come a long way in our ability to shield electronics aboard our satellites, but that still doesn’t guarantee anything. It’s difficult to predict, but even if a CME follows a large flare, the odds of it being in our path are low.”
“CME?” Kelson asked.
“Coronal Mass Ejection, Mr. President,” Byron responded. “Many, but not all solar flares are accompanied by an ejection of the sun’s surface material. That is what causes most of the interference with our satellite communications and problems with our power grid.”
“Very well, and how much warning can we expect to have should something like that happen?”
“That’s difficult to accurately predict. At a normal rate of travel, the particles ejected from the sun take four to six days to reach us. However, they can travel faster or slower, depending on the energy of the CME.”
“Historically speaking, has there been much trouble during these cycles of heavy activity?”
“Not really. There have been instances of power grid failures, limited communications, short outages of GPS satellites, and back in the day, telegraph operators getting shocked. But, in the past three cycles, there hasn’t been anything more serious than the loss of a few satellites—nothing we couldn’t recover from.”
“And, if something does occur, we’ll more than likely get a four-day warning of it heading our way?”
“Yes, Mr. President. But, I want to be clear that this may not be the case. That number of days is only an average.”
“If it happens, let’s hope it’s in the summer. It’s far too cold outside for us to lose power now.”
“Here’s to hoping that it’s a quiet cycle and nothing happens at all.”
“Agreed. Very well, Mr. Stoles. Thank you,” Kelson said, rising and shaking Byron’s hand. “And thank your staff for their hard work.”
“Well, what do you think?” Kelson asked his chief of staff, following the usual smiles and handshakes of a meeting’s end.
“I think, with that amount of warning, we should be able to effectively coordinate our activities overseas.”
“And our military actions?”
“Those included, sir.”
“Very well. Coordinate a message to the defense and state departments, letting them know of the possible ramifications. Include a note to the DoD to structure their operations around the possibility that they’ll either need to scale back if we get a notice, or at least include it in their plans.”
“Will do, sir,” the chief stated, penning notes into the notebook always in hand.
“I can’t wait until Christmas finally arrives so I can take a break. Okay, now, what energy-draining meeting is next on the agenda?”
* * * * * *
CERN (European Organization for Nuclear Research), Switzerland: December
Werner Ulstaadt stared at the BLT lying against the white background of the plate. Long lengths of bacon poked out from the edges of the sourdough slices. Calculating the sheer number of calories in the extra bacon he had added, he figured it would take at least two miles on the treadmill to work it off…if he even decided to step onto it later that evening.
With a shrug, he lifted the tray and walked across the polished black and white tiled linoleum floor. Amid a background murmur of various conversations drifting in the large lunchroom, Werner spied his comrade and close friend eating alone in one of the far corners. Nearing, he watched his friend empty a sugar packet into a steaming cup of coffee.
“It’ll never work,” Werner said, setting his tray on the table.
Without looking up, Karl responded: “No, I’m pretty sure the liquid’s warmth will dissolve the sugar, Werner.”
“While you are correct in that regard, I’m referring to the attempt next week,” Werner stated, taking a seat.
“I’m well aware of your theories…we’re all aware of them.”
“It has to do with points of observation. Or the matter of being observed at all,” Werner said.
“The particles have been mathematically proven to exist…even you admit that. We even won the award on that matter…so to speak,” Karl countered, both of them falling into a familiar conversation.
“You’ll never find the theoretical particles, though. Just the fact of observation will alter the results. And you know that…being observed will change the nature of the quantum particles. The two-slit test…”
“I know about the experiment’s results. I’m not some physics 101 student, Werner,” Karl interrupted.
“If the observation only measures the impacts, then it shows wave pattern results in that they appear to pass through both holes at once,” Werner said, ignoring Karl’s statement. “If we instead observe their track, the behavior alters and the proton only moves through a single hole, forming the expected two-ring pattern. The method of observation changes the proton’s behavior.”
With a sigh, Karl leaned forward, cupping his chin in his hands, ready for the expected dialogue to follow. It was a familiar pattern, not unlike the behavior of an observed proton. Werner would explain the observed versus unobserved quantum particle behavior, knowing that the interaction with light particles was the likely culprit, before they moved into a discussion revolving around their current experiments to locate said quantum particles.
“I know that the mathematics demonstrate that the particles have to exist, but the fact that you are observing them to begin with will alter their behavior, Karl. As you know, the quantum world isn’t only the building blocks of matter as we know it, but it also represents the possibility of all things that could be. Only through observation are the possibilities brought into reality,” Werner continued.
“But, according to what you say, we’ll never be able to observe those particles…never go beyond a certain point to see them, other than on a chalkboard.”
“Exactly my point. Thus, this,” Werner indicated the CERN facility with a sweep of his arm, “is pointless in that regard.”
“Yet, here you are,” Karl stated.
“Yet, here I am. Your failures are my successes, in a way.”
“Because your theories can’t be proven, either.”
“Precisely.”
“So, you’re hoping we fail again next week,” Karl said.
“No, not at all, my friend. I hope you succeed because that will open up so many new opportunities and theories. It would mean we may have found a way to observe the realm of possibilities…and open up so many more. Of course, there is also a very frightening prospect if, over time, the observations become attempts at control,” Werner replied.
“But, we have to find it first. And not just with a bunch of numbers on a board.”
“That we do,” Werner said, biting into the calorie-ridden sandwich.
* * * * * *
SDO (Solar Dynamics Observatory) Satellite, 22,000 miles from earth: June
Surrounded by the cold emptiness of space, the SDO satellite, nicknamed Little SDO, completed yet another geosynchronous figure-eight orbit. Its function, were it to realize that it had one, was to study the sun in order to better understand solar variances and the impacts they had upon the earth.
Lifelessly and
without feeling, it recorded events taking place on the surface of the sun. The images it sent back to earth in multiple spectrums awed and amazed those who saw the high-definition pictures. Little SDO didn’t know how fascinating the videos of the solar flares arcing gracefully above the surface were to its creators far below. It recorded, analyzed as per its instructions, and streamed the data across the dark reaches of space.
It had received instructions some time ago to turn its eyes toward a large sunspot. Pointed as such, it recorded yet another arching flare from the surface. Its unfeeling sensory inputs didn’t widen with amazement at the size of the arching flare. Nor did they gasp in alarm as the super-heated gasses rapidly snapped back to the surface—with such speed as to leave one wondering if it was really there to begin with. That was, if the satellite were capable of wonder. To the SDO, it was just another event to monitor and record.
With its instruments recording, Little SDO caught the sudden ejection of a large mass of heated matter from the sun’s surface, propelled by the flare snapping back to the surface with such force. Sensors focused on the new event, measuring and analyzing according to its programming. It then plotted the path of the emerging solar storm and compared it with the orbital path of the earth. Satisfied that the data met the preset instructions nestled within its circuitry, Little SDO opened its communications network and sent an alarm across the cold emptiness.
* * * * * *
Goddard Space Center, Maryland
The transmission took a little more than a tenth of a second to reach the communications array situated near the Goddard Space Center in Maryland. Computer processors received the signal, evaluated its importance, and escalated it to the front of the queue. To any person on the outside, the time required would seem negligible, nearly non-existent. To the processors handling the queue, it was the equivalent of shaving days off the transmission. Routing the signal like an air traffic controller, the alarm was directed to its intended designation.