The Prophet: Life: A Sci-Fi Thriller

by David Beers

“YOU’VE GOT TO WAKE UP, NICKI! NOW!”

  She was asleep? Nicki hadn’t known that—hadn’t really even thought of it.

  “NICKI!”

  She felt herself being pulled backward, or perhaps the blackness around her was being pulled forward. The result was the same, though, and she watched as the beautiful field of explosions ripped away from her, moving rapidly into the distance and replaced by nothing but infinite darkness.

  “NICKI!” her father’s voice sounded closer, and still the black space whipped by her. Were those stars? She thought so, seeing them burn in the distance. The barrier full of orange explosions was gone now, so far in front of her that she couldn’t see any hint of it—all of this happening in only seconds, her being rushed back at speeds unimaginable.

  She saw planets in the distance. Massive things, some with rings, some with gasses, some barren. Then they were gone, too.

  And then Nicki simply opened her eyes and saw her father standing in front of her.

  She was sweating, the air around her almost crackling with heat. She saw orange flames blazing across the outside of …

  Where am I? she wondered, mental faculties returning that had been held in suspension.

  “Nicki, can you hear me?” her father asked. He stood hunched over, and Nicki could see people in front of him. One was silent, the other asking questions loudly.

  Whatever they were inside, they appeared to be in the air, but heading down.

  Oh my God. We’re crashing.

  “Nicki, say something!” her father shouted.

  “What’s happening?” she asked, swinging her feet around and sitting up.

  “You’re in a transport, Nicki, and it’s falling. You’ve got to stop it. Do you hear me? You’ve got to pull it up!”

  Nicki shook her head, her eyes wide and sweat pouring from her brow. “What can I do?” she shouted. The people in front gave no indication they had heard anything.

  “Whatever you did in that motel room, you’ve got to do it again. Do you remember?”

  The motel room?

  Her father had been there. She had, too.

  The man up front, the one on the right. He’d been there.

  Her father knelt down and scooted next to her knees. He put his hands on hers and looked in her eyes. “You have to focus now. Whatever you did in that motel room, you can do it again. It has to be done right now. If you don’t, you’re going to die, honey. There’s no other way to say it.”

  Nicki looked to her right, seeing beyond the fire that swarmed over the glass. There was sand beneath her, lots of it and growing closer with each second. The sky outside was dark, but the moon showed enough. Her father was right, they would die, and within a few seconds.

  “How do I do it?”

  “I don’t know, baby, but you’ve got to, and right now.”

  Her hands were shaking, just as sweaty as her forehead.

  Something was inside her, though—ready to be used. She could feel it even if she didn’t know what it was. There had been gray light in the motel room and it had stemmed from her. Gray light and power, and somehow, that light was still inside Nicki.

  She closed her eyes but didn’t try to find it. That wasn’t the way. If she searched for it, she’d be looking forever. The light wasn’t something that could be pinned down, but rather something that needed to be let loose.

  “Quickly,” her father whispered. Nicki heard the raw edge in his voice and understood the ground was nearly upon them, ready to shatter them all.

  She said nothing back, only tried to clear her mind.

  Five seconds passed and the fear of death wrapped around her. Threatening to take over and completely cripple her.

  Let it come. Just trust it, and let it come.

  The voice wasn’t hers.

  It wasn’t her father’s either.

  She’d never heard it before, but thought it was a woman.

  The few words stilled her mind, though, and Nicki didn’t fight or question them.

  The gray came. It filled her all at once, seeming to move as fast as the universe had only seconds before. Last time in the motel room, she hadn’t felt anything, hadn’t been able to experience it. She did now, though, even if only momentarily. The gray light—she could almost see it inside of her—felt like electricity, or perhaps a cousin to it. It didn’t burn or shock, but there was real energy.

  Palpable.

  And then, it simply became her, and she it.

  She opened her eyes and no longer saw her father. Perhaps the men in the front had felt something, because the one on the right stared back at Nicki. She saw him through gray eyes. Almost impossible to describe, Nicki peered into a world that she hadn’t known existed. Endless possibilities spread out before her, decisions not yet made, but she saw that they could be. The man on the right, he could turn around and look out the window, but Nicki understood he might also turn to the man on the left and yell something. She saw immediately where their transport would crash, but no other possibilities spread out from that.

  It’s because human choice has been taken out of it, she thought. The man has different paths because he hasn’t made up his mind. The transport, though, it’s going to crash in a single place.

  Nicki saw all of this in a single instant.

  Is this what God feels like?

  The time for thought was at an end, but Nicki felt no pressure—no more panic. Sweat still dripped from her body, but not from fear, only the heat surrounding her.

  She placed her hands down on the seat and tilted the transport up. That was it. She simply willed it, and it happened. No gray light shot from her eyes nor from her fingers. The touch and wish was all it took.

  The transport straightened.

  Both men stared at her now, but she looked past them and out the window in front. The ship’s projection had changed. It wouldn’t hit the sand, nearly disintegrating at first contact. She saw it continuing on the current path, understanding that her control of the transport decided where it would go.

  The flames were still a problem, though, because they weren’t fading.

  She raised a hand from the seat and touched the glass to her left. She felt warmth, but the gray protected her, not allowing heat to blister her skin.

  “Open it,” she said.

  “What?” the man on the left asked, his voice almost a whisper.

  But Nicki realized how foolish the command had been. Again, she willed it and the window slid down. Her hand ventured out into the fire. Flames started licking the inside, warm air rushing in and raising the temperature higher.

  She turned her palm upward and small gray orbs rose like bubbles in water. Ten or twenty, Nicki didn’t know. She didn’t understand how it happened, only that she wanted the fire to quit burning. The gray understood this and would accomplish the task for her. The orbs flowed freely around the transport, sitting inside the flames without harm.

  They moved into place and then paused. Nicki brought her hand back in.

  She was still looking in front of her, but she saw the dark man to her right. He was beyond the flames and gray orbs, outside the transport. His black outline and gray eyes looked in on her, and Nicki knew he was seeing her just as she had him on that platform.

  The orbs burst, gray flickering light expanding outward like a tiny supernova. Each orb produced hundreds of electrical strands, and each one rapidly rushed through the flames, eating them as they went.

  In moments, everything was over

  The orbs had flowed from Nicki, burst, and then the fire was no more.

  The window rose back up and Nicki placed her hand on the seat. The dark man was gone.

  “We need to land,” she said. “This thing won’t fly on its own anymore.”

  Rachel Veritros

  The juxtaposition between Rachel Veritros’s revolution, and David Hollowborne’s, must not simply be glossed over.

  The Summoning, as it had to be, was much the same for both.

  The l
ead up for each was different, and perhaps the situation contributed to it as much as anything else. Even so, the contrast was quite stark.

  Rachel Veritros took only five years gathering her troops, yet spent a year planning before war.

  David Hollowborne spent 20 years amassing his soldiers, and released them with little to no thought.

  Their blood was the same. What David lacked in strategy, he made up for in size. What Rachel lacked in size, she made up for in strategy.

  She, of course, didn’t know she would lose. She didn’t know that the bloodshed across the entire world would be for nothing, and that in the end hers would be shed as well. She didn’t know death would encompass her movement as it had the one who came before her. Not in the beginning.

  At the end of the Summoning’s first week, she sat down with her lieutenants. She looked at the four of them, taking their measure. A large, red gash sat across the man to her right’s cheek. Reynold Listoria. A name that shouldn’t have been involved with war, but teaching something, somewhere. Yet he would have a scar dripping from the corner of his eye to his chin for the rest of his life.

  “Okay,” Rachel said. “Seven days are over. Let’s hear it. Where are we?”

  Brail spoke first, and though Rachel had said nothing else about their earlier conversation, she hadn’t forgotten it either.

  “We’re in control of 40% of all cities within the True Faith. Population, 65%.”

  Reynold spoke next. “The Old World is at 90% of cities, 98% population.”

  Rachel looked to Corey.

  “One Path. 70, and 80%.”

  Finally, she looked at Werner.

  “Constant Ministry is at 98% and 98%. We control everything here except for the Citadel itself. The Representatives have walled themselves off. Getting in will be hard.”

  Rachel leaned back in her chair, a brown leather thing, old with holes in the arm rests, but still comfortable. She tilted her head up and stared at the ceiling.

  “How many dead? Them and us.”

  “We’re reaching the millions for them, Rachel,” Reynold said.

  “And us.”

  “Best estimates, putting us at 50,000.”

  She let out a long sigh, not looking down from the ceiling. She said nothing for a few seconds, stretching it perhaps as long as a minute. Thoughts were in her head, many of them, but as always, she found the truth of the matter. Any number of questions could be asked, an infinite amount of orders given, but Rachel knew only a few things were critical.

  Truth.

  That’s what she had found in the Constant’s courtyard 10 years ago, and that’s what she was going to bring to this world.

  “They’re regrouping,” she said. “You all know this.” She looked back down at her lieutenants. “The Ministries are all communicating and readying a counterattack on us. Our people won’t be prepared. More are going to die and the numbers will be much higher.”

  She saw nods across the table.

  “We know, Rachel,” one of them said.

  And they did. But still, she thought it important to remind them.

  “None of that matters, though. All of us can die, everyone except for me, and once this is finished, I can too. We’re all just tools to be used as the Unformed sees fit.”

  More nods.

  She was saying all this, only because she wanted them to remember. Earlier, before they arrived, she saw what was to come. The Unformed had shown her, and now she must tell them some of it. They wouldn’t agree, of course. They would fight it, argue with her, and do almost anything to keep it from happening—the Unformed showed her that too.

  She couldn’t tell them everything. They were dedicated, but parts of them might still hold allegiance to fellow humans. Rachel felt no such thing, and the death she saw in the near future … She would lead her people into it, and telling her lieutenants such information now wouldn’t serve that purpose.

  She told them what they were ready to hear, what they could tolerate, and no more.

  “Listen,” she started. “This is going to be tough to hear.”

  Rachel Veritros was right about what the Ministries were doing. Regrouping. Strategizing a counterattack. The four Ministries had been shocked, perhaps more so than any of them individually—or collectively—thought possible. Veritros’s ruthlessness would be spoken about for centuries to come, possibly until the last human took their last breath.

  The four couldn’t meet, not like they had in the past or would in the future. They were all trapped within their own Ministry’s strongholds, unable to leave because death waited outside. The cities beyond their strongholds knew only terror—both night and day. The four Ministers received reports and watched live feeds (though the live feeds were growing sparser, as cameras were destroyed). They saw the dead in the streets (or in the case of the True Faith and One Path, watched as they fell through the sky).

  “Reach out to her,” someone said, though exactly who was lost with history.

  “And do what?” someone else asked.

  “Let’s see if we can communicate. Understand what she wants.”

  “What she wants is clear. She’s the weapon. The Black.”

  “All I’m saying is we rushed things last time. They brought that girl in and tortured her, and they learned nothing from it. If we talk with this woman, maybe we can reach an agreement.”

  None of the other three said anything for quite some time.

  “It can’t hurt. What’s the worst that can happen?”

  “She kills us. That’s the worst.”

  “We’re not going to actually meet her, you idiot. We’ll do just as we are now, holographic meetings.”

  “We could bring her to us, though.”

  “Why in the hell would we do that?” someone asked.

  “Because if we do, we might be able to kill her.”

  “Hold on,” a Minister said. “First we’re talking about reaching a truce, of having made mistakes in the past, and now we’re talking about making the same mistakes again?”

  “We can do both. We can bring her to us, and if she won’t hear reason, then we kill her.”

  “What if she kills us? Even if it’s just one at a time. Clearly that’s a possibility,” one of the four said.

  “She has hold of our cities now because we weren’t prepared. She can’t hold them forever, and if she’s smart, she’ll know that.”

  Silence fell on them briefly.

  “So it’s agreed, we’ll bring her to one of our strongholds?”

  The other three agreed, although reluctantly.

  “Who will reach out?”

  “She’s from the Constant Ministry, so the Most Revered Representative should reach out. That’s you, Winsing.”

  More silence and then Winsing spoke. “Okay. I’ll see what she says.”

  “We’ll need to make preparations, because no matter what happens, we must get what we want out of this meeting.”

  The four left the conversation with murder in their hearts. Despite what their Gods said—and perhaps this held true for all humans of all times—when life is threatened, one fights back.

  “The Most Revered is going to ask me to meet with the Ministries,” Rachel said.

  She was leaning back in her chair, studying her lieutenants’ reactions.

  None said anything for a moment, not quite stunned, but as close to it as she had seen them. No one asked how she knew, though. Rachel hadn’t been asked such things in many years.

  “You’re not going to, right?” Reynold asked. “You’re not going to meet them?”

  “I am.”

  “What?” Werner asked, true surprise in his voice.

  “I’m going to accept their offer.”

  “Why would you ever do that?”

  Rachel had known this would come, their rebuttals. She looked at Brail. “Because I’m going to tell them what will happen, what we are, and what comes after us. I’m going to give them a final chance to join.”
>
  “Rachel,” Corey said and then paused for a moment. “ … They’re going to try to kill you. They’ll try to end everything we’ve done, everything you’ve done for the past 10 years. You can’t risk that.”

  She nodded. “It’s not a risk. I’ve seen what is to happen in the meeting, and I must go. It’s the Unformed’s will, not mine.”

  “You’re sure about that?” Brail asked, the first real challenge to her. “You’re sure this isn’t your wish, instead of Its?”

  “I am.”

  “Because I’m having a tough time understanding why our God would want to send Its emissary to talk with people It doesn’t care about converting. People It doesn’t need to convert. People that can’t possibly understand It, that don’t even want to. You’re not making a lot of sense, Rachel.”

  She looked at him but held her back against the chair. Trying to stay calm. Right now, she didn’t need to let her temper grab hold of her. These four had followed her and would continue doing so, and they deserved respect for it.

  And yet, Rachel didn’t like the tone in Brail’s voice.

  “You don’t need to understand any of it. That’s not your place here, unless I’ve been mistaken?”

  He held her eyes, but only for a second. He looked down at the table. “I … I know, Rachel. My point is you’re risking a lot by going to them, and is it necessary? Is it really?”

  Rachel turned to the others, their eyes still on her. “It’s necessary. I’m not going to tell you why yet, but you’ll all see soon.”

  “When will they make contact?”

  “Today or tomorrow.”

  “When will you meet them?”

  “By the end of the week.”

  “They’ll try to kill you?” Reynold asked.

  Rachel nodded. “Yes. They’ll try to bargain first, and when they don’t get what they want, they’ll try to kill me.”

  “Can we be there?” Corey said.

  “No. I’m going alone.”

  The four grew quiet then, all clearly frightened but unable to do anything.

  “Okay,” Rachel said. “Let’s talk about what you’ll do while I’m gone.”

  Rachel changed the subject and the five of them talked for hours longer.