The Inheritors of Earth

by Jerry Ahern

“That’s not what I mean. Remember my mentioning Captain Dodd, the Eden Project Commander?”

  “He went bad, afterward—right?”

  “He did. Ever wonder what he looked like?”

  “I can’t say that I have,” Emma admitted.

  “Well, if you ever do, just look at the photos we’ll have of this guy’s face. Right down to the almost triangular shaped mole on his left earlobe.”

  “What are you saying, John?”

  “I’m saying you’re looking at a perfect clone of Captain Dodd, wearing an environment suit, electronically shielded, a man who’s been dead for centuries, whom I just shot before he could use his energy weapon. The suit, the shield, the weapon—all beyond our technology, unless the military is suddenly holding back from me; we have a problem.” Finding the closure mechanism for the environmental suit, Rourke carefully exposed the torso of Captain Dodd. There was a tattoo on the left side of Dodd’s chest between the collarbone and nipple; Rourke frowned. He had seen that image before, a long, long time ago. Turning toward the bow of the boat where the SEAL had gathered, Rourke shouted “Lieutenant Torquelson, come here please.”

  At the double quick Torquelson responded, “Aye Sir?”

  “Lieutenant, I want the body and any others in these environmental suits you have located secured immediately. I want them placed in body bags with every scrap of material, equipment, anything associated with them; arrange to have them refrigerated. I need you to contact Mid-Wake and get a military transport here—and I mean yesterday. The transport is to take them back to Mid-Wake for examination. I want you to place your team and every survivor from this event in immediate lock-down isolation until they have been debriefed at Mid-Wake, me included. I want zero media coverage of this event—zero. I am declaring a Delta Red Condition. Do you understand my orders?”

  Squatting down, Torquelson whispered, “Sir, yes Sir. Do we have a biohazard situation?”

  “No, something much worse. I also want you to contact my son and have him standing by to meet the transport when we arrive. Have you got a digital camera?”

  Torquelson nodded and over his shoulder shouted, “Sparks, bring the camera, now.”

  Seaman Sparks jumped to and presented the camera to the Lieutenant, “Here Sir.”

  Torquelson stood, took the camera, “Stand by Sparks—Smith, I need you over here now, Jamison I want a direct and secure comm. link with Operations at Mid-Wake. We are now in a Delta Red Condition. I want this area secured immediately; I want two men in the water with a third on over watch ready to respond. Let’s jump to it people.”

  Rourke took the camera and snapped several shots of Dodd from different angles, finally reopening the environmental suit and snapped several pictures of Dodd’s chest before handing the camera back to Torquelson. “I want this camera placed inside three separately sealed plastic bags and secured in the strongest water proof transport container you have.”

  “Understood Sir, I take it this is important.”

  “Lieutenant, you are hereby relieved of your duties within the team; have your second-in-command take over and finish preparations for our removal from this area. You are, as of now, personally responsible for insuring this camera is delivered to Mid-Wake. If none of us and nothing makes it to MidWake, that camera has to. I want a radio beacon attached to the case, so that if the plane goes down it can be found. You will personally insure when the photos are seen, my son, Michael is in the room. Are there any questions?”

  “Dr. Rourke, I have a bunch of questions but I suspect they are ones you’re not going to answer. Am I correct?”

  “You are Lieutenant and I’m sorry. You’re going to have to trust me on this. I want that transport here as soon as it can be. Contact the archeology team and tell them this site is closed and is now considered a National Security Area.”

  Several hours later a Mid-Wake Airboat transport landed off the port bow and anchored. The Desperado moved into position to transfer the wounded, the dead, the survivors and the camera.

  Chapter Eight

  Paula Rourke plopped down on the bed. Amanda’s far wall was the room’s computer screen and, as Paula watched, streams of numbers ran across the entire wall. “This is old computer code stuff,” Amanda told her. “I just thought you might like to see a little. All of the original computer stuff for the Eden Project? That’s how it was.”

  “Holy crap,” Paula murmured softly. Amanda Jones was a year plus her senior, just turned seventeen and already attending classes at Mid-Wake University, home to Hawaii for only a few days, her mother—born with a congenital problem—finally relenting to an artificial heart transplant—it was that or death. It was routine surgery, but Amanda’s mother disliked any sort of medical procedure, which was why Amanda was an only child. After Amanda had been born, the OB/GYN had advised Amanda’s mother that any future deliveries would have to be Caesarian. This was also the reason Amanda spent only half her time living with her mother and the other half with her father, who lived at Mid-Wake, a Naval Commander.

  Amanda’s mother, Paula thought, was likely the reason why Amanda was sort of the ultimate computer person. She could even build her own computer. But, her genius—everyone admitted it, took it for granted—was in her ability to bring what amounted to a “sixth sense” to data decryption, no matter how obscure.

  As a fourth grade science project—Paula, in third grade at the time, had built a working model of a volcano. At about the same time, Amanda had begun decrypting the computer logs of the Eden Project on its approximately five hundred year voyage in an elliptical orbit which took it far, far away from earth—no one really knew exactly how far and flung the vessels back to return to Earth five centuries after The Night of The War, when humanity had nearly been obliterated.

  Unlike a lot of girls her age, Paula took history very seriously. After all, her father, John Rourke, had not only been there to observe history, but had literally saved humanity. He was the greatest hero in the history of all mankind. Without his efforts, life on Earth and below the Sea would be totally different, if there were any life at all.

  After becoming fast friends, Paula and Amanda had a pact. Amanda would decrypt history and Paula would translate it into prose which people could read and study, stories at which mankind could marvel. Her uncle/brother-in-law Paul Rubenstein, perhaps the most famous writer on the planet, had been helping her with things like style and all the other things writers had to know. Uncle Paul was a great guy, Uncle Paul and Aunt Annie (her half-sister) two of her most favorite people ever.

  The concierge’s voice interrupted Paula’s thoughts. “Would either of you girls care for some refreshments?”

  “What have you got?” Amanda asked the disembodied voice.

  “As to liquid refreshments available to young ladies your ages, we have six different types of soda, including two colas. I can have the kitchen make pizza, if you girls would like.”

  Amanda stood up and walked to the center of the room, Paula joining her. “Pizza sounds good,” Paula remarked.

  “Pepperoni pizza and a water and…” Amanda looked at Paula.

  “Root beer, concierge, if you’ve got it.”

  “The refreshments you ladies have ordered will be ready shortly. I will alert you when they are.” The voice of the concierge was gone. Amanda was staring at the vanity wall. Paula stood beside her. The vanity wall—not every home had one, but Amanda’s step father—whom she really didn’t like—was always trying to win her over with luxury. There was a vanity wall at Paula’s house, but everyone kept paying her father to make speeches and dedicate things and this huge military pension—he’d been made a general—had accumulated for him while he was in cryogenic sleep. Her mom and dad had more money than they could ever possibly spend.

  As Paula looked at the wall, Amanda ordered it, “Left profile.” The field of view changed their image in the vanity wall shown from their left side. “Full face close,” Amanda directed it. Their faces were filling the sc
reen that was the wall. Amanda’s chocolate brown skin was spotless, her brown eyes beautiful, her black hair short and kinky. Paula had read the term “afro” and Amanda, always a little retro fashion-wise, was fighting a one girl crusade for the style to return. So far, the crusade wasn’t working. Amanda was the only black girl Paula knew who wore her hair that way.

  Paula looked at herself. At almost sixteen, her face had lost most of its youthful chubbiness. She had her father’s brown eyes and brown hair, wearing her hair past her shoulders, as her mother did. Her mother’s auburn hair was really beautiful, unlike her own. Her father—because of, to a large degree, the cryogenic sleeps John Rourke had taken—despite the date when he was born back in the 20th Century, looked to be an extremely vigorous forty or so. She had heard him described that way so often by so many people that she never questioned it.

  Amanda interrupted her thoughts. “Now, you can’t breathe a word of this until I’ve written the paper on it, Paula. Swear.”

  “I swear.”

  “In the Eden Project’s computer logs, I found an anomaly. There’s a period of almost three Earth years while the entire fleet is in some sort of ‘geosynchronous’ orbit around some large object that’s not large enough to be a planet or even a good-sized moon. And then, the whole Eden Project Fleet is back on its way again.”

  “What happened in those three years?” Paula said, sitting down on the edge of the bed again, pulling her legs up under her skirt.

  “I don’t know yet, and I’ll never mine all the data I need to tell anything for sure; but, I’ve discovered I can track movements between the individual ships in the Fleet and whatever they were orbiting around for three years. And, I can maybe find more.”

  “What would it mean?” Paula asked her friend.

  “I’m just guessing. But, I think they were waylaid—and boarded.”

  Paula sucked in her breath.

  The voice of the concierge alerted them, “The pepperoni pizza and the beverages are now available. I’m afraid there’s no staff member available to serve you young ladies.”

  “That’s okay, concierge. We’ll get it ourselves,” Amanda responded. The apartment was fully automated and the bedroom door opened as Paula and Amanda approached it; the two girls ate ravenously.

  Michael, her uncle and half-brother, picked Paula up at eleven, as promised. Paula could never get over how good looking he was, like a younger version of her father, but different, somehow. “Get in, kid,” Michael told her, the gull wing door of his sports car rose up. Paula slipped into the front seat, the door lowering, her seat restraints securing around her. “So, you and Amanda have fun?”

  “Yeah. She told me something I can’t tell you or anyone. I promised, you know?” Paula looked at Michael and he nodded.

  “Is she in some kind of trouble?”

  “No, Uncle Michael, nothing like that. It’s just some historical discovery she may made.” Even though Michael was actually her half-brother, Paula enjoyed picking on him with her pet name for him, “Makes you seem older and wiser than a brother,” she had told him

  “Well, I’ve never heard of anyone getting hurt by history. Not knowing history can hurt you a lot. But, knowledge is power.”

  “Golly, Uncle Michael! Can I write that down so I don’t forget it? ‘Knowledge is power.’ Wow.”

  “You’re a smart ass.” Swatting her on the knee he heard the beep on his comm. link. Pulling the device from his pocket he hit the icon to get the message. He read it once, frowned and pulled off the highway onto the shoulder and read it again. He hit the call link when the line was opened. He said, “This is Michael Rourke, message received and acknowledged. Do we have any details?” He listened for several minutes before speaking, finally saying, “Is there an ETA?” The answer came but only Michael could hear it. Paula was beginning to frown, “What’s wrong?” Michael waved her to hush, Paula frowned deeper but stopped asking questions.

  “That’s affirmative, I’ll be there in...” he consulted his wrist watch and made mental calculations. “Give me forty-five minutes,” he broke the connection and turned to Paula after making a U-turn and getting back in the flow of traffic now going the opposite direction. “Paula, I need you to call Annie and Paul, I’m going to drop you off with them. There has been some trouble but your mom and dad are alright. They are headed back to Mid-Wake and will be here in about two hours. I’m going to have Natalia meet me at the base.”

  “What’s going on, Uncle Michael?”

  “Honey, right now all I know is your mom and dad are okay; others have been injured and they are returning home on an Airboat. I’ll have your mom get in touch with you as soon as I can.”

  Paula nodded and began making her call. Michael contacted Natalia and said simply, “There has been an incident with Dad and Emma, they are okay but are returning to Mid-Wake, arriving in the next couple of hours. I need you to meet me at the base operations building. I’m dropping Paula off at Paul and Annie’s. I have her in the car with me now.” He wanted Natalia to know he could not speak freely with her sitting there. “I’ll call you as soon as I hear something else and I’ve got the Smart Ass delivered to Annie,” he said with an over-the shoulder glance at Paula. She gave a half-smile and continued to talk to Annie; Paula was trying to eaves drop on Michael’s conversation as much as talking to Annie.

  She broke the connection to Annie and said, “Okay, they know I’m coming and I told them everything that you told me.”

  “Good, thanks Paula. This probably isn’t anything... I just don’t know and I don’t want you having to hang around the base needlessly when you could be having a good supper and watching a movie.”

  “Uncle Michael, you are a lousy liar, but I appreciate it. Let me know something as soon as you can and have Mom give me a call so I know they are really okay.”

  “I will Honey, I promise.” Then he squeezed another ten miles an hour out of the car’s speed.

  Chapter Nine

  Michael was half-way across the parking lot headed to the Operations Building when Natalia drove up. She slid to a stop next to his car and hurried over to him, her high-heels clicked on the pavement. “What do we know?” were her first words.

  “Not much more than I told you initially,” he gave her a quick kiss and they started walking. “There was some kind of an attack force at the ship wreck site. After an underwater incursion in which some SEALs were killed, Dad and Emma were able to get to the Desperado and get their weapons. The bad guys had some kind of environmental suit that the SEAL weaponry was useless against. A couple, don’t know how many were killed; others were injured or wounded, again don’t know how many. At least one of the opposing forces was killed and Dad called Delta Red Condition and ordered an immediate evacuation back to Mid-Wake. They are in the air now.”

  “A Delta Red, that is pretty serious. Why a Delta Red?”

  “I don’t know Natalia, but you know Dad is not one to exaggerate.” They flashed their IDs and were escorted to the Operations Building nerve center. A Marine Guard asked again to see their IDs. Once passed him, they were allowed in the Command Post. “Mr. Rourke, I’m Commander Johnson. I got the duty on this one.”

  “Pleasure Commander, this is my wife Natalia.”

  “Ma’am,” Johnson turned back to Michael. “Mr. Rourke, as you know with a Delta Red Condition normal communication is highly restricted. Therefore, there is not a lot more information I can tell you at this time. The Airboat is on final approach, about 45 minutes out. We have emergency responders and equipment, medical personnel, military intelligence and investigators on site and ready to respond. We can do nothing more at this moment. Do you have any questions, Sir?”

  “No Commander, it sounds like you have it all covered. Now all we can do is wait.”

  “You’re correct Sir, ain’t it a bitch.”

  Michael found the standard Government-issue coffee pot and poured two cups, handing one to Natalia. Taking a sniff she wrinkled her nose, “Wha
t is this?” Michael smiled and took a sip, “That Ma’am is what passes for coffee in our military.”

  Michael was rinsing out their mugs when Commander Johnson waved him to come over to the Comm. Center. “They’re about five minutes out, another eight for the descent from the surface and they will be in the hanger. Corporal Daniels here will show you the way.”

  “We know the way Commander,” Natalia said standing.

  “Ma’am, we are in a Delta Red Condition. That means this entire center is considered a No Lone Zone. No one, no civilian anyway, is allowed anywhere without an escort, period.”

  Under Marine escort they descended to the Hanger level. After the final docking sequence had been complete, hatches started popping open both fore and aft. “There they are,” Michael said to Natalia pointing. Emma and John tossed a wave and started toward them. Michael spotted a slight limp in his father’s gait. Emma and Natalia embraced, John and Michael first grasped hands then did the “guy-back-slap” hug. Michael handed his phone to Emma, “Call Paula, she’s with Paul and Annie, I promised.”

  Emma took the phone with a “Thanks” and dialed the number. Paula answered on the first ring, “Mom, are you guys okay?” As they walked to the debriefing room Emma tried to fend a hundred or more questions while trying to convey that her parents really were healthy and unharmed. Finally Emma said, “Honey, I have to go now but I’ll call you as soon as I can. Let me speak to Uncle Paul.”

  “Emma is everything okay?”

  “Paul right now all I can say is John and I are fine, we are back in MidWake. Take care of Paula for us, we’ll call you in a couple of hours,” then she broke the connection without waiting for an answer and handed the phone back to Michael. The four of them joined Lieutenant Torquelson and the military debriefing team and closed the door behind another Marine guard. As soon as John Thomas Rourke approached the table, Torquelson stood and saluted. “Sir, here is the package,” and handed the case with the camera to Rourke. “Thanks Lieutenant you did a good job. Gentlemen, give me a minute to get this unpacked. Lieutenant, will you explain what occurred?”