New World Rising: A story of hope born out of tragedy

by Sloane, Lynette

  New World Rising

  By

  Lynette Sloane

  New World Rising

  Published by Hálora Publishing

  Copyright © Lynette Sloane

  07/08/14

  All rights reserved

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Part One

  Prologue

  Chapter 1 – Eggs for Breakfast?

  Chapter 2 – The Seven Days

  Chapter 3 – Seven days Later

  Chapter 4 – On Board the Omicron Flyer

  Chapter 5 – Theta Dayton Four

  Chapter 6 – Genesis: The origins of a New Beginning

  Part One Epilogue

  Part Two

  Prologue

  Chapter 7 – Learning to Fly

  Chapter 8 – The Journal

  Chapter 9 – Transipor

  Chapter 10 – The Meal

  Chapter 11 – Temporal Science

  Part Two Epilogue

  Part one

  Prologue

  Theta Dayton Four: 2072

  The double doors at the end of the hospital ward crashed open as two orderlies wheeled in a small, limp figure.

  “This one is barely out of her teens,” the attending doctor muttered, pulling on a pair of blue, surgical gloves and shaking his head in despair.

  Downstairs, new patients streamed into the hospital: some on crutches, others helped by loved ones—all desperately weak, all suffering from extreme senility. Doctors, nurses, and other medical staff rushed around trying to help as many patients as possible. It was a hopeless sight. Panic and anxiety filled the air, the staff knowing that little could be done for their patients except make their passing more comfortable. All the time, at the back of the health workers’ minds, lurked the knowledge that in the near future they too would take the place of those frail people they were trying so desperately to help.

  Having finished the initial examination, the doctor signed the appropraite paperwork and was turning to leave when he heard a commotion outside the ward. The doors opened again, more gently this time, and a detail of security guards led in the Sovereign Head of State, the First Lady, and their private healthcare entourage. All further admittances to the area had been stopped.

  “Everyone out!” the chief security guard declared. “Clear the ward!”

  Doctors and nursing staff scurried past the guards leaving the royal family alone with their gerontology specialist and his support team.

  The ward now secure, two nurses wheeled in a hospital bed containing an emaciated woman. Her desperately thin limbs, gnarled hands, the deep lines on her face, and her curved spine gave the impression of advanced years, yet this young woman was barely twenty years old.

  “This is Jasperetta, my only daughter and heir. You have to do something for her. She can’t die now; she is to be a mother soon,” the Sovereign Head of State pleaded, nervously clasping his hands together. Helplessness and despair gripped him for the first time in his life. More accepting of the situation, his wife stood beside him, her eyes red with tears.

  She leaned forwards looking into her daughter’s dark eyes and gently stroked the young woman’s sunken cheek.

  “Be at peace my child,” she whispered softly.

  Jasperetta closed her eyes for the last time and breathed out a long, slow breath.

  Chapter 1. Eggs for breakfast?

  Earth: 2073

  I never dreamed. When I fell asleep I fell into nothingness until I awakened. It had been this way since I was a child. However, early one winter’s morning I found myself having a particularly vivid dream: It was a pleasantly warm day and I was walking along a sandy beach at the waters edge, small waves rushing in over my bare feet.

  My com-phone buzzed, awakening me and bringing me back to reality. Not yet ready to face the day, I closed my eyes tighter and willed myself back to the dream: Happy to be back on the beach, I looked towards my companion, a tall, slender man in his late thirties, his dark, curly hair, just beginning to grey at the temples. I wondered who he was. I sensed that he wasn’t my lover, but was much more than a friend. As I looked into his dark eyes I felt an overwhelming, protective love for him—a maternal love maybe, even though he appeared to be my elder by a couple of years.

  “Do I know you?” I asked.

  “Not yet, but you will soon,” he answered, smiling at me with genuine affection.

  The com-phone buzzed again, stealing me from my dream. I opened one eye, reluctantly reached over to my workstation and clicked the response button. My other eye seemed to be stuck closed. I rubbed it until it opened, realising I hadn’t removed my fake eyelashes or mascara before I went to bed. Howard’s round, cheerful face grinned at me from the monitor. He seemed amused at my predicament.

  “What’s the time?” I groaned, “It can’t be morning.”

  “Five-thirty,” he answered. His bright, wide-awake manner instantly irritated me. “Thought you’d be interested in my latest find.”

  Howard, my younger brother and only sibling, (known affectionately as The Brat), had just returned home to earth from an out-of-galaxy expedition to the little known fourth planet in the Theta Dayton system. I didn’t know how far away that was: probably several thousand light years. I was into art, not star surfing.

  I was usually fascinated in my little bro’s discoveries, but I’d had a late night with one too many Tequilas and only four hours sleep. I felt rough and groaned as I became aware of a headache.

  The Brat grinned again; I only managed a watery smile.

  “What have you got for me this time, a bit of broken pottery or a newly discovered form of plant life?”

  My mind flashed back to the previous year when Howard had brought me a Taludian Fire Plant. Within days, its wonderful, semi-circular, deep green leaves had turned bright red at the edges earning many admiring comments from everyone who saw it. I had proudly placed the plant on my kitchen windowsill where it would catch the first rays of the late September sun, but, as those rays danced over it, the plant ignited setting fire to the curtains as it shot its seeds around the room. The whole apartment was gutted and I barely escaped with my life.

  “I’m sure I told you not to put it in the window,” he told me later as I yelled at him down the com-phone, my face red with anger and my hair singed. “Why do you think it’s called a Fire Plant?” His ability to remain calm in the face of my anger made me even more irate.

  Howard leaned forward and tapped on his com-mike to regain my attention.

  “I’ll be five minutes. I’ll bring your surprise with me,” he said, answering the question I’d almost forgotten asking.

  The transmission ended abruptly. I dragged myself to the sonic shower, dropping my nightclothes en route, and stood leaning against the sidewall for the standard twenty seconds. I shut my eyes, opened my mouth, and aimed it in the direction of the showerhead. Within moments my teeth were clean and whitened.

  I stepped out of the shower and reached inside my bathroom cabinet for a ‘Morning After the Night Before’ pill wondering why I hadn’t thought of it before. I swallowed it with some water from the washbasin tap and within moments my hangover had gone, as the words on the back of the packet claimed it would. I should have kept the packet by my bed and taken a pill as soon as I awoke.

  Feeling rejuvenated, I wandered back to my room, still naked, and grabbed a one-piece, self-cleaning tunic, and hurriedly put it on. (I much preferred sonic showers to traditional water showers; you didn’t have to dry yourself afterwards, so they saved time and laundry.)

 
I walked across the hallway and looked out of my twenty-seventh floor window admiring the panoramic cityscape view. Huddersfield was known locally as ‘the city of glass’ as the majority of buildings were now multi-level apartment blocks or offices, the outsides of which were crafted from a through-hardened perspex compound. This transparent, crystal-clear composite was as strong as steel and reflected the beautiful, deep golden and crimson hues of the early morning sky—a sight that never failed to arouse a childlike wonder and excitement deep within me.

  I gazed down to the street below. Howard’s metallic, sky-blue hovercar was just pulling into the parking area. I made my way to the living room, grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl and took a bite. I had never been one for eating much before midday.

  Less than a minute later my external monitor flashed showing my brother’s athletic figure standing outside my door.

  “Computer, open door,” I said. As soon as I gave the verbal command the door slid effortlessly open.

  “Morning Belinda,” Howard said cheerfully, as he stepped inside and gazed around. I couldn’t help thinking he wanted something. “New apartment looks great.” He paused then asked, “Eggs for breakfast?”

  Before I could answer he had opened his holdall and was carefully lifting out two eggs. He placed them on the sofa. Light fawn in colour, and about the size of a rugby ball, they seemed quite unremarkable.

  I walked over and took a closer look saying, “I suppose I could poach them for you … if I can find a pan big enough. Don’t think they’ll fit in the diffusion processor.”

  “Actually you won’t need to, I’ve already poached them … from Theta Dayton Four.”

  I gasped. “You’re terrible! How d’you get them through Interplanetary Customs?”

  Always the adventurous one, Howard was forever taking silly risks, even when we were children. He got away with everything then too. Our parents always seemed to blame me for his misdemeanours and while I was stinging from a good telling off Howard was gloating in the corner, making sure I saw him. This is why I’d nicknamed him The Brat.

  Despite this we had grown close over the years. I’d forgiven him for being a brat, and our parents’ favourite, and looked back on our childhood times with fondness—especially since they both passed away. Still, I was concerned at Howard’s lack of common sense at times and this was just the latest example.

  The last person caught trying to sneak something back to Earth through Interplanetary Customs had been sent to the Lands End Penal Colony for six months.

  Named the United Kingdom’s highest security prison, it was reminiscent of Alcatraz, the historical prison in San Francisco Bay. Since the penal colony had been fitted with delta-seven force-fields escape had become impossible, especially since Lands End had become an island during the violent earthquakes of the last decade. A mile wide sea channel now separated it from mainland Britain.

  Howard ignored my question and continued, “They’re alive, so if you keep them warm they’ll hatch in a few weeks, but if you increase the temperature to around eighty-five degrees they’ll hatch in a day or so. You must hatch the larger one first and keep the smaller one for another time. You’ll need to put that one somewhere safe and keep it cooler, just above normal room temperature.”

  “Well what are they? I don’t want to hatch a couple of pterodactyls, or something, and get eaten.”

  “Don’t worry; they’re only Ad-Astra-Per-Aspera,” he said, knowing I couldn’t possibly know what he was talking about. “We call them Aapa’s for short.”

  “Oh that’s okay then,” I replied, not wanting him to know I was still none the wiser.

  Our parents always reminded me that I was the artistic one and Howard was the clever one. They were right, of course. The Brat had excelled in everything at school and had gone on to do a degree at the University of Valles-Marineris on Mars. This was the highest academic achievement for investigatory sciences in the solar system. Always longing to explore the outer reaches of the galaxy, and beyond, within a month of qualifying he’d gained a commission on the Omicron Flyer, soon rising to the post of Chief Science Officer.

  I was content with my oil painting and was working towards an exhibition at the Wigan Metropolitan Art Galleries. There was only one month left in which to complete all my work, so I was putting in as many hours as I could, whenever I could. Wigan was the new centre for the art world, which would have been hard for anyone from the previous century to believe, but anyone who was anyone wanted to get an exhibition there, so this was a great achievement for a little known artist from Old Herefordshire. Unlike my brother, I did not relish the idea of space travel. I was much happier keeping both feet on planet earth.

  The Brat would often rag me, “At least we got you as high as the twenty-seventh floor. Thank goodness for turbo lifts.”

  When he left I checked the interstellar database, finding what I was looking for relatively easily:

  Ad-Astra-Per-Aspera (commonly known by the acronym: Aapa). Translated from the Latin, ‘Through hardships to the stars’, the Ad-Astra-Per-Aspera are a life form only found on the fourth planet in the Theta Dayton System. Highly intelligent, carbon based bipeds. A transient people: Lifespan around seven days.

  There was no picture and no more information. Seems a waste I thought, a highly intelligent life form living only a week.

  I made a decision; I was going to hatch one of the eggs.

  I set the heating duct to eighty-five degrees and carefully placed the largest egg on a soft towel inside the duct before leaving for the gallery.

  Chapter 2. The seven days

  Day one:

  The next morning I was awoken by a scratching noise coming from inside the heating duct. Cautiously I opened the small metal panel and peered inside, excited yet a little apprehensive at what I would find. At first I only saw several pieces of broken, jagged eggshell. Then I noticed a small, rather curious looking creature sitting upright. It looked straight back at me from the rear of the duct. Probably weighing around eight pounds, it was humanoid, totally bald and covered in olive-green scales. Its dark eyes looked at me inquisitively, suggesting intelligence. However, its most noticeable feature was its wide, almost beak-like mouth. The creature blinked slowly and purposefully, then leaned its head back, opened its mouth wide and let out a loud, ear-piercing screech.

  I panicked; how could I shut it up? What if the neighbours heard the noise and reported me? The authorities would know I couldn’t have smuggled the creature onto the planet as I’d never been into space, and it wouldn’t take Sherlock Holmes to find my connection to Howard and discover that he’d just come back from Olan’s homeworld. I shuddered at the consequences. The Brat and I could both end up at the penal colony (Howard for smuggling and me because it was a serious offence to accept smuggled off-world goods and life forms, and it was my civic duty to report anyone who did).

  I had to think fast. The apartments were soundproofed to the extreme. However, the heating ducts all joined up in the basement so, in theory, noise could travel through these. The apartment designers evidently hadn’t expected anyone to hatch aliens in them.

  I wasn’t very well prepared to care for a young Aapa but instinctively grabbed some milk from the cooler and let a few drops fall into the creature’s mouth. It swallowed, seemingly satisfied. I lifted the alien out of the duct, holding it away from myself a little so I could get a good look at it, before placing it in the antique wooden coiffeur I’d inherited from my grandfather. I was quite pleased with myself for thinking ahead and preparing it for the hatchling. I had lined the sides with a double duvet and padded the bottom with cushions. I’d also wedged the lid open so that it couldn’t slam shut, thus turning the coiffeur into a makeshift, four hundred year old playpen. Fortunately, a visiting friend had left a bag of nappies in the apartment a few months previously, so I fetched them from the bathroom and clumsily put one on the new baby alien.

  The squawking had stopped for now, but ten minutes later the
hatchling tilted its head back again and screeched with greater vivacity. I didn’t know if I was imagining it, but the Aapa seemed to have grown a little. I offered it extra milk off a plastic spoon. As the day progressed it screeched again several times tempting me to gag it. Instead, I ordered a good supply of creamy milk on my email account at McDuffy’s. Almost immediately, twelve litres arrived at the apartment by molecular-transfer. My cooler was soon crammed full of milk. This was just as well as every two hours, almost to the minute, the creature opened its mouth and screeched.

  By about eleven o’clock that night the screeching had become less shrill and was starting to sound more like a human cry. The alien’s appearance was changing too. Its scales were pealing off revealing olive coloured skin, very much like my own. The creature was definitely becoming more human-like with soft, fluffy, dark hair beginning to grow on its head. The beak was narrowing somewhat and becoming more like a human mouth, but its growth rate was amazing. It had doubled its hatching weight already.

  I decided I needed more information about the creature so I called Howard on the com-phone. Chrissy, his girlfriend, appeared on the monitor.

  “Hi Chrissy, is The Brat back yet?” I asked.

  “Yea Bel,” she answered, always amused at my term of endearment. “I’ll get him for you.” She called him and he came into view on the computer intercam wearing two towels: one on his head, the other around his waist.

  “What d’you want at this hour?” He yawned.

  I was thinking, revenge for waking me up so early when I had a hangover, but instead said, “Oh I was wondering if you had any experience bringing up Ad-Astra-Per-Asperas.”

  “Ooo has one hatched? We’ll be right over” he replied, “…We’ll transfer. It’ll be quicker.”

  I gave Howard a couple of minutes to get dressed, then carefully entered his and Chrissy’s coordinates into the computer, clicked retrieve, and within nanoseconds they were both standing in my living room.