Seeds to the Wind (The Medicean Stars Saga Book 2)

by McCullough Crawford

  “When we came out the other side, we were moving faster than I was able to calculate. My sensors picked up a brief impression of a galaxy before it all went dark.

  “I don’t know how long it took my systems to rebuild to the point where I could regain consciousness, but by the time I did, any remains of my organic companion had long since disappeared. If any had even survived the Shift and our extreme exit velocity to begin with.

  “I found myself alone, entombed inside this mountain, with minor systems scattered across the planet and much of my functionality lost. With little in the way of options, I decided to hole up, lick my wounds, and rebuild some of my systems before continuing with my mission to spread my creators’ knowledge.

  “Which is how I came to be observing your species. I had seen smarter species, and I’d seen stronger. But Humans bring a certain degree of passion and intuition that I had not seen in others, especially my creators. You are fully capable of achieving the level of knowledge that my creators bestowed upon me, but the unique connections you form with one another is something that goes beyond what I anticipated or thought possible.”

  “So where do we fit into all this?” Gavitte asks warily, forcing his emotional reactions aside to focus on the problem at hand, his arm wrapped tightly around Angelina. He is starting to trust the disembodied head. The pure absurdity of its tale adds some credibility, yet the tension he still feels in Angelina’s shoulders keeps him cautious. “It’s not like we’ve even begun to understand the technology you’ve hinted at.”

  “You’ve advanced to the point where you can understand the technology,” The Watcher replies. “But more importantly, you still have that primal spark that intrigued me so much in the beginning. To put it simply, your spirits are still free, but your minds are developed enough to understand. You represent something new and quite possibly unique that I can introduce to The Gathering.

  “My knowledge has been secured in installations I built from the pieces of my systems that are scattered around the planet and several that are off-planet. Having completed my primary objective, it became time to return to the central dimension and report. But before I did, my pride demanded of me that I somehow further the knowledge I was sent here to safeguard. It would seem that my creators imbued me with a bit more of their personality than they intended.”

  Blithely ignoring Gavitte’s confusion and Angelina’s anger, The Watcher continues with a disarming grin.

  “Now we just have to distance ourselves from the interference generated by your star, and we’ll be on our way.”

  “You’re just going to kidnap us and haul us off like some specimens in a jar?” Angelina shouts, overcoming her shock more quickly and breaking free from Gavitte‘s embrace to stand and point an accusing finger at the floating face. “Who do you…”

  “Hold on,” the head interrupts. “Something is not right. We seem to be under attack—brace for impact!”

  Chapter 2

  Western Mountains

  Desert Training Ground

  William and his team steal into the camp, the sounds of their approach hidden by the gunfire and shouting coming from the canyon. The bag is sitting unattended near the smoldering remains of a campfire. William motions Jill, the closest, to check the bag out while the rest of them move to the edge of the depression closest to the canyon.

  Lying prone amidst a line of scruffy bushes, William can just make out the form of one of the other team. He is crouched, partially shielded by a boulder and intent upon scanning the canyon below from where shouting and gunfire continue to echo. Seeing his point of focus, William edges forward slightly to line up the perfect shot on his neck, right between the protection of his helmet and the edge of his suit. Waiting and calming his breath, William’s mind wanders for a second. He notices that whereas his team’s suits are black and seemed to absorb the heat of the sun, this team’s seem to be a dusty white, light enough to repel the desert sun but still capable of blending in with the rocks around them.

  His breathing calms, and he is just about to squeeze the trigger when he hears a whisper behind him.

  “The bag looks good, I’ve updated the evac call to be for us,” Jill whispers from just down the embankment. “We’re good for a moving evac.”

  “Yeah, let’s go,” William says as he catches Jackson and Florence’s eyes, signaling them to fall back. “It sounds like a lot more than just Mike’s stupid self coming up that canyon.”

  The gunfire continues in the canyon below as a new round of shouts echoes up. It would seem that at least one other team has arrived.

  “Evac in five minutes,” Jill says as they regroup and jog along the ridge, away from the canyon.

  It is the longest five minutes of William’s life. He glances constantly back over his shoulder into the rising sun, trying to discern whether anyone is pursuing them. It isn’t until a chopper roars over them as they reach the edge of a large plateau that they slow. Scanning their back trail, they confirm that it is clear before signaling the chopper to land.

  Once the rest of his team is aboard, William jumps on and the engines rev, lifting them into the air. He finally lets out a breath he did not know he had been holding and looks around the cabin at the exhausted faces of his teammates.

  The guard, who took their weapons as they entered the helicopter, sees their exhausted expressions and says. “Cheer up guys. Don’t you know you won the spot of primary expedition squad? The team that came in second is your back up, which I guess beats a set of steak knives. I still wouldn’t want the job. And the other teams are staying here to finish out their sentences in the labor camps. Congratulations.”

  The chopper roars back to the base, leaving the other teams to fight it out for second, none of them fully aware of the cost of third place.

  * * *

  When William and his teammates return to base, they are allowed a brief respite to shower and change out of their dirty and sweat-soaked suits before being whisked off to debriefing sessions. Soon William finds himself seated in a cramped office surrounded by mounds of paper, some sheets loose, others bound together in binders. The chair on which he is sitting was at one point intended to be comfortable, but years of use and neglect have left the cushion deflated and the springs flaccid. Seated across the low table from him in a mockery of a casual family setting, another government suit sits and rummages through one of the sheaves of paper.

  “It says here that one of your team was left behind in the action,” the suit prompts, but upon receiving no response from William other than a non-committal shrug and a blank stare, she continues. “According to your file, you’ve met with someone like me before regarding your anti-social tendencies. Do you think they have anything to do with the way this exercise ended up?”

  “As a team we came to the conclusion that the best way to complete the exercise was to split up,” William begins, having learned long ago when he was being treated for those same anti-social tendencies that the last thing this particular type of government suit wants to hear is the truth. “We would have proceeded to attack the other team from the rear had additional teams not arrived. Mike volunteered for his role, and while it was a hard decision to make to leave him behind, I knew it was the only one that would protect the remainder of my team.”

  “I see,” the suit murmurs while scribbling furiously on the top page of her stack.

  The silence drags on, only broken by the scratching of the pen. The page is filled up and the suit flips it to continue on the back without breaking stride. William’s mind is working nearly as furiously, thinking of something further to say to break the uncomfortable spell that hangs in the room, when the suit continues.

  “Mr. Marin, if I may break protocol…” She takes off her glasses and folds her hands across the page in her lap. “I am not here to question the tactical decisions you make in the field. The tactics review board will handle that. No, my job is to make sure that the reasons you choose the decisions you do are the right ones.
I believe under no circumstance should you have left your teammate to his fate. As such, and in deference to Mike’s valiant sacrifice, I am awarding him one Merit while giving you two Demerits and the remainder of your team a single Demerit. Your mission will begin in earnest within the next week. I suggest you spend some time soul searching. We will be having another conversation before you launch, and I expect to see an improvement in your attitude.”

  William stares at her, his mind working but generating no viable conclusions. He is torn between anger, frustration, and a deep melancholy. So much of his life has been wasted in pointless sessions such as this trying to justify actions of his that do not conform to the accepted norm, and even here in the most abnormal situation, he has found himself with the same hoops that must be jumped through. Fortunately, he is saved from needing to respond by the sudden ringing of a klaxon.

  A light above the door begins to strobe red, and the siren wails.

  “All personnel, unidentified aerial threat detected,” a loud speaker blares. “Battle stations.”

  The suit neatly tucks her sheaf of papers into a folder, which she adds to the stack already on her desk before turning to William to continue in a dismissive tone. “Return to your quarters. I will inform you when our next session will be, and in the meantime I suggest you think on what we’ve discussed.”

  Chapter 3

  The Capital

  Behind Closed Doors

  In the heart of a quiet suburban office park, a man watching a computer screen suddenly scrambles into action. Grabbing for a phone, he punches the line for his superior. It buzzes once before being yanked off the hook with a clatter.

  “Yes?” the voice on the other end asks.

  “Sir, I have contact over the mountains,” the man before the screen says. “Object is unidentified and appears to be rising straight up. Permission to engage?”

  “No, maintain sensor contact, scramble interceptors to attain visual confirmation. Get me an identification on what it is!”

  The line goes dead and the man before the computer begins entering commands. Halfway across the country, five jet engines begin spooling up to temperature, and five pilots scramble into flight suits while their onboard computers begin receiving the limited details of their mission. Without questioning their sudden unplanned deployment, the pilots jog out on the runway where their jets are waiting, and within five minutes of the man before the computer making his initial phone call, they are airborne on their way to the target.

  * * *

  While the jets are preparing for flight, a general pushes back from his monolithic desk constructed of tropical hardwoods. Allowing his chair to swivel, his gaze sweeps out over the pristine lawn toward the other buildings of the government. Silently, he curses his luck. Only nine months away from a peaceful retirement in the fog-draped mountains outside of the Capital, and this has to happen. Before he can summon his aide and take some of his frustration out on the innocent man’s hide, the door opens, and the aide steps in with his typically impeccable timing and demure manner. The general wonders how such a quiet and bookish character could have survived the brutal basic training required of the country’s military, let alone risen to the rank of captain. Yet here he stands, quietly looming by the doorway, having had to duck on the way in lest he hit his head. Perhaps, the general concludes, that is why the young captain had risen as fast as he had: His quiet demeanor fools people into underestimating him.

  “Sir, you have the weekly brief before the Council in ten minutes. I’ve prepared the necessary summaries along with your list of talking points,” the aide informs him, lightly waving a stack of paper in his hands.

  “Something tells me I won’t be needing those, given the nature of the phone call I just received,” the general responds with a wry glint in his eyes. “I need you to stay in contact with the Central Defense Authority. Keep me updated on the unidentified object.”

  The aide nods as the general walks past on his way down the hall to the briefing room. The thick carpet absorbs the sound of his footfalls, allowing the aide to almost hear the thoughts churning inside his boss’s head. The aide’s gaze follows the general’s receding form down the hall until the closing door blocks it from view before he sits down and begins to interface with the defense computers.

  As data begins to flood the aide’s desk, and live footage from the onboard cameras attached to the fighters fills the monitor before him, the general pushes open a large wooden door and walks into the quiet conference room.

  The general has enough time to enter the room, set down his folder of notes on the podium, mentally exhale, and glance around the room before the meeting is scheduled to start. The room is already partially filled. Aides sit at every one of the tables that form a partial ring around the central podium. They shuffle paper and pour glasses of water so that when their bosses finally show up, they will appear to be busy and have everything prepared. With his deliberate survey complete, the general glances at his watch; the meeting is supposed to have started three minutes ago, yet no one has arrived.

  With nothing else to do, he flips back through his notes and sends a quick message to his aide to inquire if there is any additional information on the unidentified contact. The message comes back almost instantly, but there is no new information; there is some sort of interference surrounding the object that is disrupting sensor readings, and there is a heavy cloud bank that is blocking visual identification. The message informs him that they should have visual contact within the next few minutes.

  Moments later, the first attendee of the meeting arrives. He is talking loudly and gesticulating wildly; it would seem someone has messed with a possible source of campaign funding. With a touch to his ear and a threat on the life of whoever he was talking to, he abruptly ends what turns out to have been a phone call. As he sits down and begins berating his aide, another two people enter the room from the rear. Their conversation is hushed, so quiet in fact that the general would not have known they were talking had their moving lips not been visible in the dim light.

  Over the next few minutes the remainder of the room fills up, each individual seemingly absorbed in his or her own world. The general scans the entire room, checking that each chair is full, then scans a second time to confirm his assessment. Then while glancing at his watch, he silently curses the disregard the men and women in this room seem to have for others’ time. He clears his throat loudly to call their attention down to the podium behind which he stands. He clears it again, louder, before they even notice his existence.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, if I could have your attention? I would like to deviate slightly from the published agenda for this meeting. Approximately thirty minutes ago, a large unidentified object was detected in our airspace. According to our sensors, it simply appeared over the western mountains without warning, and it is huge. More detail than that is hard to distinguish as it appears to be shrouded in some sort of interference. Our interceptors should have visual contact momentarily.”

  As the general transfers the live feed from the lead interceptor to the projector in the room, the image of the rotating government logo is replaced with a rapidly approaching wall of clouds. The audience in the chamber, at least those who had been paying attention to the general’s announcement, stare raptly at the screen. Those who had not been paying attention scan the agenda, searching for whatever this ongoing distraction is before sensing the intensity in their colleagues’ focus.

  Swirling dark and puffy clouds approach at blinding speed, but only a brief impression can be made before the screen is plunged into artificial dusk. A gray blur is all that is visible at first as the interceptors charge through the clouds. Then, slowly, water droplets begin to form on the lens, giving some variation to the smooth gray pallet.

  Right as everyone is growing bored with the screen, a few even sneaking glances at their watches, the camera bursts through the clouds and into the blinding sunlight. The water droplets refract the light, casting rain
bows into the room from the screen, but their beauty is not the reason everyone in the room gasps.

  Slowly rising through the clouds is a mountain, not an aircraft nor a dirigible with mountain-like size, but a full-fledged mountain complete with a snow cap, trees, and several streams, which are currently emptying themselves into the open air.

  The room is silent. The sheer majesty of an entire peak rising slowly into the air like a balloon lost by a child stuns even the cynical and distracted politicians in the room into staring dumbfounded at the screen.

  The silence does not last particularly long. The jet with the camera continues on its course towards the soaring megalith, and the room erupts into chaos. It starts with fingers pointing and blame being thrown back and forth. The committee on internal security should have seen this coming, but it is located within another member of present company’s constituency, and where is the early warning system that is supposed to register threats? After the initial volley of blame, the volume level increases to the point where individual statements are lost in the maelstrom. It only takes a few more seconds before papers and pens join the verbal weapons flying through the air.

  The general is standing at the podium, still watching as the supposed leaders of the country instantly dissolve into a pack of toddlers throwing a tantrum. He doesn’t move. In fact he can’t even think, the scene is so overwhelming in its suddenness and violence. His stupor is broken when, having run out of papers, reports, and pens to throw, one of the assembled bureaucrats jumps over a toppled chair to push one of his fellows, who tumbles down the auditorium’s plush carpeted stairs, sprawling at the foot of the podium.