by Mark Kraver
“What did he say?” Faraday asked, feeling personally connected to the Ajax incident.
“Not much. Just that this thing is not a blackout or Judgement Day or the end of the world.”
“Then what the hell is it?” blurted out the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, General Powers.
“He called it a new beginning. A new world order. The way it should have been.”
“A new beginning? Hell, who oversees this world order?” Powers puffed.
“Not me.”
“What?”
“I’m the last President of these United States of America.”
“If you are the last president, then who will run the country?”
“I guess they will.”
“They?”
“The aliens and Atlanteans, of course.”
“Atlanteans? Who the hell are they?” Powers asked.
“Oh, come on General, you haven’t heard of the lost city of Atlantis?” the President asked.
“Not since college humanities.”
“Well, the way it was explained to me from the Atlantean, Ajax DiRoma, is that they are a race of people from this world who have lived under Antarctica for over twenty-five hundred years.”
Powers crossed his arms. “Antarctica?”
“Yep, and they have been preparing for this day for a very long time.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
General Cathguard cleared his throat and stepped closer to the President’s chair. “Sir, Key West just went off-line,” he said. “It’s time to get you to Andrews where your family is already waiting on Air Force One.”
The President looked at Cathguard, his eyes clear and direct. The confused bubble in which he’d entered the room had evidently burst. “I’m not flying out of here until it gets closer. Orbiting the Arctic in an airplane isn’t helping anyone. Do I make myself clear?” He spoke loud enough for everyone in the room to hear with no uncertain terms. “The American people need me at my post, and I’m not abandoning them at the last minute.”
“Sir, Al Jazeera has the Iranian parliamentary session on live.” General Powers said.
“Live? They never go live,” Cathguard said.
“This should be interesting. On the main screen,” said the President.
The largest monitor in the room was showing a live broadcast of the Iranian parliament with the Supreme Leader addressing the session. The floor of the chamber was almost completely abandoned.
“Looks like everyone’s gone,” said General Powers.
“There are reports of a massive Iranian evacuation to the North as far as the Russian border states of Chechnya and Kazakhstan,” Cathguard reported.
The President grunted. “Well, at least we have something in common. Turn it up.”
An English interpreter translated the Supreme Leader’s words in progress:
“—the confrontation of hegemonistic enemy governments with the Islamic Republic are mounting pressure on the necks of the United States and Zionist allies. This is complicated in nature and is a reality that should not be ignored by our helpless neighbors. During one period, Iranian ships were being targeted in the Persian Gulf; oil platforms and industrial centers were under bombardment from the evil coward Satan.
“But today, the ill-wishers of the Islamic system do not dare to approach Iran. Their guns have been silenced by Allah who is coming to reward his people who have withstood the tests of time. Another reality is that the hegemons confronting the Islamic system, spearheaded by the Zionists and their jackals, the United States, are much weaker than before. Their fleets have been consumed by the coming judgement. Today, the Islamic Revolution will spread and cast out the Zionist with the coming gift from Allah.”
“Can you believe this crap?” General Powers complained. “The blackout is at their doorsteps, and they are saying it is a gift from Allah.”
“We have exhausted the Zionists’ defenses, and we are unleashing Har Megiddo. The light of hope will shine on the Palestinian people, and this Islamic land will be gifted to the Palestinian nation by Iranian technological superiority. The puppet Zionist interlopers will disappear from the landscape of geography like cutting out a cancerous tumor. They will be written into the history books as an Islamic-hegemony footnote, so the world will always remember and stamp out the Zionist metastasis where ever it spreads. Everyone in the world will see—”
The Al Jazeera broadcast went static.
“What happened?” the President asked.
“The blackout has swept through Qatar. Looks like no more ‘Island of Islamic voice,’” Cathguard said.
“Har Megiddo?” Powers asked.
“I believe that was in reference to the word Armageddon,” Cathguard said. “Revelations, referring to a real hilltop inside Israel where scholars believe will be the place of the last battle on Earth before the end of the world.”
The President ran a hand over his head and looked wearily at Cathguard and Powers. “The last battle?”
“Sounds like a use-it-or-lose-it mentality for a preemptive nuclear strike,” said Powers.
“They are right about one thing: exhaustion. Israel’s Iron Dome was not designed for such a sustained barrage of missile fire. It is beginning to show signs of failure, especially around Tel Aviv. The Israeli Air Force has launched a massive wave of fighter jets toward Iran,” reported Cathguard. “And Sir, need I remind you Israel has their own nukes?”
“The Ayatollah wouldn’t want to poison the well for their Palestine brethren with a nuclear strike. And I can’t see Israel risking world condemnation for a first strike,” said the President. “Or would they?”
Powers shrugged. “With a use-it-or-lose-it mentality in the hands of religious fanatics, all bets are off.”
“Israel’s the only country in the world whose population has not evacuated to the North,” Cathguard said.
“Because they have no place to go?” Powers asked.
“No,” Cathguard answered. “Because there is no other place they’d rather be.”
“If the Iron Dome fails, they’re sitting ducks,” said the President.
“Maybe Har Megiddo means something else? Maybe it is simply a reference to destruction. Maybe they’re going for an area of the country that is not populated enough to defend, but close enough to wreak havoc,” said Cathguard. “The Iron Dome program is designed to intercept those missiles that are destined for populated areas. Shooting a nuke at a non-populated area would astronomically decrease the chances that it will not be shot down.”
“This would isolate the population centers with an electromagnetic pulse, making them more vulnerable to attack from every side,” said Powers.
“Interesting,” said the President. “Indirect Armageddon. By the time we retaliated, Iran would be inside the Judgement Day blackout being praised by Allah for eliminating their mortal enemies, the Zionists.”
“Interesting indeed,” said Cathguard.
Chapter 61
Hell is empty, and all the devils are here.
William Shakespeare, 1564-1616, Earth
Library of Souls
Mount Terror
Silently gliding over wind polished ice sheets, cherubim transported the encapsulated seraph, Armilus, past the summit of Mount Erebus. Steam and poison sulfur gases rose around them, spewing from Antarctica’s only active volcano as a perpetual ice fog. Layers of ice and dark volcanic rock made the inside of the crater look like exotic cheese. Dropping the chrysalis payload into the Erebus molten lake of lava would rid the universe of the notorious seraph once and for all. But the cherubim flew on.
The origins of the Elohim people were not well known and shrouded in mystery. It was said that they came from a sector of the universe, the Mingus Galaxy, which was recycled in a little bang a long time ago, far, far away. But few written records exist, and those Elohim who came after had ample opportunities to rewrite history.
Armilus’ master, Gog, was the earli
est known Elohim intergalactic Creator, and according to the Library of Souls, he came from the other side of the universe. Armilus’ one saving grace was that he was the oldest known agent in the universe, and Yahweh didn’t have the heart nor the will to sentence him to death by disassemblement. Instead, his fate was to be buried deep inside the Earth’s crust, forever.
Flying down the leeward slopes of the volcano, the cherubim could see their destination, Mount Terror, the wicked little sister of Mount Erebus. Entering at the base of the valley between the two mountains, the scalloped ice opened into a cave called Hades, ran deep underground. The low light of the sun-filtered entrance quickly diminished into complete darkness. The soft red glow of hot rock increased on their infrared sensors the deeper the cherubim flew into the crust, until they entered a massive subterranean pool of molten lava. In the middle of the volcanic firepit, a small island up-cropping of rocks blunted off into a flattened spot large enough to place the exiled seraph. The little babies hoisted the crystalline crypt onto the plateau and disengaged their gravity bubble. Hot popping fumaroles glistened through the clear casing and off Armilus’ golden body as if alive. The cherubim circled around the cave cavity once and then left though the same entrance they had come through. All but one.
“Until the Exodus,” the little preprogrammed cherub grunted to the frozen seraph’s grimacing face. Then he streaked off to catch up with the others.
Chapter 62
Trust in dreams, for in them is hidden the gate to eternity.
Khalil Gibran, 1883-1931, Earth
Library of Souls
Area 41
“ETA for the blackout is T minus one minute, and counting. Everyone to your stations,” announced a booming voice. The intercom system had been installed by the Army Corp of Engineers under the directions of the newly formed Big Cypress Swamp Space Command, Area 41.
“Why do you think this blackout will react differently here?” asked Colonel Solomon. The colonel was left in charge by General Cathguard to watch over the alien spacecraft in his stead.
“Because I think this ship, or whatever it is, is responsible somehow for this blackout,” said Lieutenant Johnston, now working for the colonel. “That’s why.”
“I hope you’re right, cause here it comes.”
“Oh, I’m right. You wait, and see—God, I hope I’m right…” he said, staring into the oncoming ominous storm.
Off in the distance the first white flakes were streaking back and forth like a hurricane of sand, and leaves began to accumulate in the air like a gigantic eye wall.
“Brace yourself for impact.” The voice over the intercom system had a more solemn edge this time. The word ‘impact’ was barely out when an enormous thunder clap exploded overhead, rattling everything around the refortified airplane hangar.
“What the hell was that?” yelled Solomon, ducking and holding his ears.
The storm wall began to wrap around the hangar like they were inside of a giant jar of glass. The roar sounded like a freight train racing past at one hundred kilometers per hour. Keeping his hands in place to protect against the overwhelming sound, Solomon reluctantly raised his head and peered around the space. The other men were crouching throughout the hangar, against walls, under makeshift desks, in various nooks, all covering their own ears as he was, but nothing in the entire hangar appeared to be shaking or slipping as he’d expected. The pervasive noise persisted for a little over a minute and then silence fell. The men began slowly rising and looking around. The maelstrom had passed-by without ruffling a hair.
“I told you there was something special about this damn place,” Johnston rejoiced.
The men working inside the Area 41 top secret refurbished airplane hangar hooped, hollered, and celebrated. High fives and hugs swapped as the joy of relief overcame everyone, including Colonel Solomon.
The celebrations melted into a stunned silence as everyone noticed a bright light hovering over the artifacts, emanating out in every direction. It was so bright nobody inside the hangar could look directly at it.
“Check it out,” Johnston said, pointing up in the air as the light diminished into floating figures.
Hovering over the ship were Numen and Yahweh in their golden suits, as they appeared in real life.
“Hello, Colonel. Remember me?” Yahweh said, hovering thirty feet over the ship.
Colonel Solomon was speechless.
“Gather everyone around this facility, for your master Yahweh will bless you all,” commanded Numen in a forceful voice.
His words even went out over the intercom system, and they could be heard inside everyone's head. To make the message more poignant, cherubim flew around in every direction, frightening the hardest of hearts into obeying his command.
“You have been spared from the initial wave of the Anti-Babel,” Numen said to the crowd of military and civilian workers assigned to Area 41.
“Anti-Babel?” shouted Solomon. “What the hell is that?”
“You are all to be commended by your Lord Yahweh,” Numen announced.
“He’s not my lord,” yelled out someone from the crowd.
“I am grateful for your dedication to my well-being,” Yahweh said. “Being guardians of my ship is a noble act that will not be forgotten. Continuing to serve by watching over my ship will set you apart as my chosen people. It is greatly appreciated.” Then the aliens from another world disappeared through a dematerialized port opening in the side of the spaceship.
The confused men on the ground began turning to one another.
“What the hell was it saying? I’m not a guard.”
“Yeah, I was employed to fix this hanger and secure the area from busybodies.”
“Me too, I’m getting out of here.”
The murmur of “me too” began spreading through the hangar until, seconds later a flock of winged babies flew into the building, and everyone fell to the ground like matchsticks, unconscious.
Inside the ship Numen was busy waving his golden hands over sphere floating instrument panels as if he had never left over a millennium ago. Glancing at the four-dimensional screen of the exterior view that showed the humans sprawled on the ground of the hangar, each with an attentive cherub at their side, he looked at his master and asked, “50:50 from now on, right?”
Yahweh nodded, “Thank you, Numen, my guardian angel.”
“I'll begin your hibernation, and then shut down everything, including the rescue beacon, before I leave,” Numen said.
“Summons the Halo at the appropriate time. There will be no rescue from Helios,” Yahweh said, with a wink and tug on his earlobe.
“The Halo is already on an incoming trajectory that will take over a thousand planetary orbits to intercept. It will disrupt every planet’s orbit as it passes. According to my calculations, this will cause Jupiter’s orbit to merge with the sun, essentially refueling it. But unfortunately, not until after the red giant is scheduled to appear and after the destruction of Earth,” Numen said.
Yahweh contemplated his timeline calculations and smiled. “I and all the planets are in your capable hands.”
“It is what I live for, master.”
“And the Bots?”
“They have never demonstrated the ability to interact with a Halo.”
“Thank you, Numen. You’ve been a useful piece of equipment, and once again very comforting to me, but leave the beacon active, just in case,” Yahweh said, stepping into the hibernation pod. He lay down and curled into the fetal position. The door shut, sealing him in with his thoughts of the last time he hibernated. Then, he was just a pioneer on a failed rescue mission; today, he was to sleep as the Creator of an unexpected realm.
“That’s what I live for,” whispered Numen, sending his master into a one-thousand-year intermission.
Numen glanced at the solar limiter and remarked to himself out loud, “I hope we can initiate a successful exodus in time with the resources we have at our disposal.”
He w
ould not be able to shut himself down, even for just a wink, and would be aware of everything until the exodus was completed. As the realization hit that his plans had been approved in total by his master, Numen began to reconsider their prospects. As he reviewed the Anti-Babel inventory of the Earth’s natural resources for the job ahead, his calculation fell short. The looming red giant star was scheduled to envelop this solar system in less than an anton of time, which meant he would have to hurry to make up for short supplies. Maybe we need to survey the moon and surrounding asteroids as well?
Yahweh’s hibernation pod filled with a clear solution and then froze solid. Through the observation portal, the inanimate gaze of the space-pioneer-turned-Creator stared off into the distant future, looking forward to awakening again under entirely different circumstances—the exodus.
Numen adjusted several floating spheres on his instrument panels in the usual fashion, and then examined the recall mode for the Halo transport. He fingered the spheres controlling the emergency beacon. Still holding out for rescue, he scribed in his mitochondria-core. Was this good judgement or was his master still winging it? Or did Yahweh’s request to leave the beacon on express lack of confidence in his ability to prepare for the exodus? He would have to process this data for a while longer, later.
All lights turned dark inside the cabin, except for a small glowing red light on the face plate of Yahweh’s hibernation pod. “Good dreams,” Numen said, exiting the spacecraft and waving his hand over the ship’s hull, rematerializing the opening until the exodus was at hand.
Chapter 63
For where God built a church, there the Devil would also build a chapel.
Martin Luther, 1483-1546, Earth
Library of Souls
Freshwater
“I don’t get the pickles and ice cream routine. Now fried chicken, yeah buddy,” Logan said, digging into a platter of what looked like chicken nuggets. She swallowed a loud gulp of water as Conrad slept on the couch next to her. “Hey Mac, your father wasn’t a glass maker.”
