I’ll explain later. Jane gave him a half smile, hoping he would accept this, and placed her hand over his. She felt him grip it tightly. Then, after one quick glance into the back seat, he returned his attention to the road.
“Resume course, please,” he said with the same authority in his voice that brought Jane immediate comfort. On some level, she may have been their de facto leader, but she knew that, in her absence, leadership would automatically fall to him. After a brief pause, there was a beeping sound and the car began to accelerate slowly. They easily entered the line of fast-moving cars, and soon were back to their previous speed.
Jane had settled back into her seat. She was tired and wanted to close her eyes, but something still bothered her. If Ciara had felt her friend being taken from the other side of the North American continent, what power did this otherworldly presence have over them—and more importantly, as Max had said, were they at risk too?
Ciara? she asked tentatively.
Yes? she heard her friend reply sheepishly.
Has Zatera tried to affect us?
There was a brief pause, and through their telepathic link, Jane could sense Ciara gathering her thoughts. Yes. Constantly. I’m doing what Max told me; I’m keeping him at bay. But…the closer we get to the city, the worse it becomes. He’s growing stronger all the time. He’s built something, Jane, and it’s helped him channel his power. He’s channeling a portion of it into Daniel now, so that’s taken some of the strain off. Beyond that, I can’t see much. It’s taking most of my strength to just keep him away from us.
But for the moment, he can’t touch us, right?
That’s right.
OK.
Jane relaxed, but just slightly. Until that moment, she had ignored the obvious possibility that this being would try to gain control of her once more. However, now she knew the truth. She was in just as much danger as before, with only Ciara—using her incredible telepathic strength—to keep her and her friends protected. But how long could she keep that up? How long would it be before she buckled under the pressure? Jane’s eyes returned to the road as it passed rapidly beneath them.
CHAPTER 6
SAN FRANCISCO
The Committee kept a monitoring station on the outskirts of San Francisco. It was a small building, hidden behind a crop of forest. It was extremely well guarded, and if a civilian were to come upon it, they would most likely think it was a small power station, as it had been designed to appear as such. Three workers were posted there at a time, six in total, rotating in two shifts. The current team consisted of Eleanor, Jackson, and Riley. They sat at their respective screens. Although their main roles were similar, their tasks varied slightly.
The installation was scant, and the monitoring room itself was only about eight yards by ten at the longest length, where a row of four computer terminals was housed. The wall to the right was covered by a large screen, which presently displayed a constant readout of psionic activity in the area. At that particular time, the glowing indicator dot was just above the baseline reading, which was represented by a horizontal line stretching across the screen near the bottom. The fact that it was above baseline was of little or no significance; this was where it was most of the time. Many people exhibited minor psychic ability, though they would never be classified as Ethereals. The current position of this green dot indicated the vast sea of psychic noise from which very few interesting things ever emerged.
That all changed moments later as the green dot began moving in a steady upward line across the screen to which none of the three had been paying attention.
Riley spoke first. “I have a spike of activity over here,” he said, surprised, his voice dry and groggy.
Jackson leaned back in his chair. He was one terminal over, at Riley’s right side. The terminal between them was reserved for emergency situations. Eleanor was on the far right side in the corner, crunching numbers; she barely gave him so much as a glance and a raised eyebrow before returning her attention to her own console.
“What is it?” Jackson asked as he swiveled his chair toward Riley’s station. Riley could feel Jackson’s breath on him as he leaned in closer and stared at the monitor.
“Doesn’t look like much,” Jackson said as they stared at the blip on the constantly moving graph, which he now enlarged so that it occupied 80 percent of the monitor’s display.
Riley’s eyes narrowed as he stared at the screen. “No. Something’s off.”
A tremor shook the office. Eleanor’s computer slid back and forth across her desk. Her hands shot out to steady it. Now she stared at the other two, her eyes widened and her arms locked solid against the sides of the computer.
The spike in the center of the graph on Riley’s screen had shot so far above the threshold of background noise that the bottom baseline of the graph could no longer be seen; all they could see was the elongated stretch of the graph line that indicated the presence of psionic activity.
“What the hell is going on?” Jackson asked, his voice dripping with just as much confusion as fear. As he said this, a loud, beeping alarm sounded on the ever-silent computer terminal next to them. The terminal then came to life, switching on by itself. The once-black monitor lit up and filled quickly with grids of information: graphs, charts, measurements, and maps, where locators moved across the terrain of the nearby area. Eleanor had moved in from the right, and now all three of them were crowded around the monitor.
“It’s local!” she exclaimed. “It’s here in San Francisco!”
“Triangulating,” Jackson said. He rubbed his black beard nervously as Eleanor left his side and returned to her own computer. He dashed his fingers across the keyboard, inputting a series of commands. After a few seconds, another display appeared on the screen. This had a point of origin flashing above a topographical map. “It’s near the bridge,” he said quietly. “Uh, a residential area.” He leaned in closer. “The epicenter was in—”
“Bridgeway,” Eleanor said, beating him to it.
“Yeah,” Riley added.
“I’m bringing the satellite online,” Jackson said, the confidence the situation demanded now becoming apparent in his voice. He tapped the virtual keyboard, then took a deep breath. “Requesting access,” he said, and hit the Enter key. Eleanor had moved her chair closer to them once again, and the three now watched the blinking cursor at the end of a series of lines of code. A pensive silence built up in the room as the three waited. Then there was a distinct beep and a new window opened in front of them. “Got it!”
Jackson addressed the facilities’ AI. “Jeffrey, show me the source of the signal we’re currently monitoring. We want to see its present location and a live view.”
“One moment please,” the pleasant voice responded.
The three turned around to face the large screen, which covered the right wall of the room. The only other monitor was the one on the opposite wall, which also contained the well-secured door—the only door leading in and out of the room. This one remaining screen, which as of yet remained blank, was saved specifically for secured communication with the primary control center of the Committee in New York.
The larger screen, which they were now facing, went blank. Then, what appeared to be dark wisps of clouds appeared in a rushing motion as the zoom factor increased. They gradually made out the outline of terrain below. Thankfully, the clouds were minimal, and as the satellite zoomed toward the earth, the picture below became clearer. The advanced software corrected quickly and resolved the image so they could make out every last detail. First, it was clear that they were over the North American continent. Then, as they expected, the imaged shifted toward the West Coast. After a few seconds, they could easily tell that it was zooming toward California, and then San Francisco.
“Almost got it. Clear skies. We’re good,” Jackson said as he held one hand tightly to his bearded chin.
A body of water came into view, quickly followed by what appeared to
be two separate landmasses. After a moment, a glint of light appeared on the screen, reflected from a thin line that separated them—the Golden Gate Bridge.
“The image is resolving straight toward the bridge,” Eleanor said, her voice edgy with anticipation. Still, the image area covered by the satellite was probably four square miles—not nearly close enough to report back to the Committee.
“Subject location will be available momentarily,” the AI added.
***
The satellite they used was designated for the Committee’s use only; they had unconditional access to it, and it was rarely outside of their control. In the darkness of space that came from behind its position in orbit around Earth, the surge of electrical energy that coursed over it then was brighter than a lightning strike. The electricity grew brighter until it appeared as thick, molten bolts stretching across it like primordial hands exploring its surface. One particularly thick arc curved upward, and a surge of energy rushed across the back of the dish, coming from somewhere unseen and unknown. It gushed down into the central portion, where the satellite’s delicate and complex control circuitry was housed.
The satellite exploded. The two fragile arms at either side remained partially intact and floated away in space, pushed by the resulting shockwave. The fires that burned in the center were extinguished almost immediately in the vacuum of space. Only a cloud of debris remained, drifting away and glittering like diamonds in silent illumination.
***
Jackson, Riley, and Eleanor had been staring at the screen when the feed from the satellite was cut. They looked at each other for answers, but none seemed to have any. Eleanor rushed back to the terminal that had so recently come to life.
“What happened?” Jackson asked from behind her. “Where’s the video feed?”
“Terminated. I can’t reconnect with it,” Eleanor responded, her voice shaking. She turned back around in the swivel chair and leaned into her hands, rubbing them through her hair. She took a deep breath. “Jeffrey, what happened to the satellite feed?”
“The satellite feed was terminated by unknown means.”
Eleanor glanced at Jackson.
“Was it the Committee?” Jackson asked in a flat tone.
“I did not detect their influence,” the AI responded.
“OK then, what happened?”
“The last data I have from the satellite indicates a catastrophic systems failure beginning approximately twenty-eight seconds ago. Transmission stopped one point seven seconds after. Cause: Unknown.”
“Was any data transmitted before the outage?” Eleanor asked.
“Yes. Based on the last data transmitted by the satellite, I can ascertain that it was most likely destroyed. Probability is ninety-eight percent.”
The three shared the same horrified glance. Eleanor stood and they moved closer together in the room. Jackson folded his arms and stared at the ground, deep in concentration. Although Riley was standing with them, it seemed as though he was retreating from the situation; he looked to his side from time to time and avoided eye contact.
“By what means?” Jackson asked, his voice still firm.
“Presently unknown. However, a spike of psionic energy registering along the spectrum of psychokinetic activity was detected seconds before contact was lost.”
“OK,” Jackson said. He took two quick, deep breaths. “Jeffrey, what is the likelihood that the subject we were tracking caused its destruction?
“The likelihood is difficult to ascertain; probability is sixty-eight percent.”
Jackson paused and appeared frozen for a moment as he absorbed this information. “OK. Based on the last data you had about the subject just before we lost contact with the satellite, could you indicate his or her approximate location?”
“No. However, based on trace psionic activity detected in the area just before, I can extrapolate a trajectory. This would be accurate to within eighty-nine percent.”
“What is the trajectory?” Eleanor asked.
“According to said data, the subject is moving in the direction of the Golden Gate Bridge, going south toward the city of San Francisco. Analysis of the energy readings suggests the subject is likely traveling on foot.”
There was a pause in the room, punctuated only by breathing. Then Riley looked up at Jackson. “You have to make the call.”
Jackson had balled his right hand into a fist and was rubbing it against his beard. After a moment, he responded, “They probably already know.” The new quiver in his voice was obvious.
“For God’s sake, I’ll do it,” Eleanor said, walking behind them to face the one screen in the room reserved solely for this purpose. “Jeffrey, I need to contact the primary control center. Can you please establish a secure connection? I need to speak to Marie Donaldson.”
“Certainly. One moment please.”
Eleanor waited. Her stomach sank, and she felt like gagging. She had to resist the urge to wince as the screen lit up with a basic blue interface. The blue screen remained for ten seconds. The only other things on the display were three flashing white dots, which rotated in the center of the screen.
Finally, the blue color resolved and Marie’s face appeared on the monitor. She was looking down at something that was apparently more important. “What is it?” she asked without looking up.
Eleanor summoned all the confidence she could and just managed to speak clearly. “Did you detect the psionic shockwave near San Francisco?”
“Yes, we were about to contact you.”
Jackson stepped forward behind Eleanor. “We were triangulating its position using the satellite and…” Marie looked up now as Jackson hesitated. “We lost contact with it.”
“Our AI is predicting a sixty-eight percent probability that it was destroyed by the Ethereal who caused the shockwave, though clearly, we can’t be certain,” Eleanor added.
“What?” Marie spat, her brow creasing.
“Yes. You can pull up the data yourselves. A huge spike of psionic activity was registered in the psychokinetic spectrum. This was apparently followed by a surge of electrical energy, and then two seconds later, it was gone. The last known coordinates of the subject we were tracking indicate that he or she was about to cross the Golden Gate Bridge, heading south toward the city. Probability is eighty-nine percent.”
Marie glared at them for a moment, her eyes darting between them. Then she gritted her teeth and swiped a hand, muting the audio. She looked to her side and they watched as she addressed somebody off screen. Eleanor felt a bead of sweat drip from her brow despite the air conditioning that circulated in the room. She quickly reached up a hand and wiped away the drop of liquid. After another moment, Marie turned back to face them, her eyes full of darkness. Eleanor didn’t breathe, and suppressed the urge to gasp as Marie resumed the audio feed with a swipe of her hand.
“Just continue monitoring from where you are. There’s nothing else you can do.”
Marie had already turned back to her tablet and was just about to disconnect the feed when Eleanor made a gurgling sound. Her eyes widened, but she managed to stay focused and clear her throat. “Uh, Miss Donaldson. I’m just wondering. The shockwave we registered was far beyond anything we were led to expect. It can only indicate the presence of…an Ethereal capable of…well, I can’t speculate on that, really, but, something…astonishing. We were never told to prepare for an Ethereal with that kind of power.” Eleanor realized why she was still speaking to this woman; she was afraid for herself and the two colleagues with whom she had been working for the last few years. Her connection to Jackson and Riley was thin at best, but she still cared for them. If some kind of superhuman was walking around in their vicinity, they deserved to know. “And the thing is, we’re quite near the city.”
Jackson had stepped away and was using one of the computers to check news footage. “Reports are already showing up about a serious level of destruction at a house in Bridgeway.” He
looked over his shoulder at Eleanor, who had turned back in his direction and now met his gaze. “It’s a father reporting about his own son—says he wasn’t acting like himself. Nearly lifted their whole house out of its foundations, according to him.” Jackson glanced back at the monitor. “Uh, guys—he’s talking to the press. Drone cameras are all over the place.”
Eleanor turned back to face the screen. “Marie, what should we do?” She hesitated before asking the next question. “Should we evacuate?”
Marie stared at them from the high-definition screen. Her expression spoke of concealed rage, and Eleanor knew there was only a small chance it wasn’t directed at them. Instead of expressing this anger, Marie turned away from the screen and swiped her hand in a different direction. This time, the display reverted to its normal blue interface.
Eleanor took in a deep breath, let it out, and felt her body fall from the taut position in which she had been holding it. She placed both hands on her face, rubbed them forcefully and then brushed them through her hair. Quickly, she rubbed the back of her neck, straightened out her sweater, and resumed the posture, knowing this interlude wouldn’t last long. However, Eleanor’s mouth gaped open when the blue light disappeared and the screen went blank; apparently the discussion was over. Her face was frozen, her eyes wide open as she stared at the black monitor in disbelief.
Eleanor clenched her fists and walked toward the wall next to the monitor. She slammed one against the white concrete there, hitting it hard. “I can’t believe that absolute—”
Jackson, as though expecting this, had stood up and was waiting in the center of the room for her to turn around.
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