DayStar: Immortals Among Us (The Delphi Countdown trilogy Book 1)

by JB Penrose

  “The Lord’s work is done well with open eyes.” She gave both men a mysterious smile.

  “And with open ears, it seems. I thought the world had forgotten my language. Bless you, child.” The Cardinal turned toward the exit shaking his head in wonder.

  “You’re a puzzle,” Peter told her. Rachel laughed at the astonished look on his face but said nothing as they found their coats.

  Lanier had exchanged the sleigh and horses for a pearl white limousine that was already waiting at the curb. Rachel was quiet on the way home but Peter didn’t press her for conversation. She tried to be content with his arm lightly draped around her shoulders. It felt like their last moment of innocence and she wanted it unspoiled for as long as possible. When they arrived at the side entrance of her house he carried the basket from the party to the door.

  “I truly enjoyed myself,” Rachel wasn’t sure if she tried to convince herself or Peter. “Thank you again for inviting me.”

  “I truly enjoyed myself as well. I don’t suppose you would invite me in for coffee? I’d hate for the evening to end just yet.”

  She considered declining; that was the fear talking. “I’d like coffee, too.” Rachel palmed the security lock to her kitchen door before she changed her mind.

  Her kitchen was primarily a study, the place in her house where she did all of her writing. Although crowded, everything was neatly arranged. The desk and computer faced the greenhouse window, and bookcases alternated priority with file cabinets. Plants occupied any other free space.

  “Can I help with anything?” He unbuttoned his coat and draped it over the chair at her desk.

  “No, it’s all under control. Grab a seat where you want.”

  He sat on a barstool at the cooking island to watch her. “Kitchen’s are a hobby of mine,” he said. “I like yours. I can tell you spend a lot of time here.”

  “Yes, but obviously not cooking!”

  At the cabinet Rachel deliberated over her choice of coffee mugs. Finally, she picked two -- a set of skylines by Peter Kerroon. Paris, her favorite, and Rome, for Peter. She set them in front of him.

  “Nice cups.” His laugh was a little nervous.

  “My favorite.” Her laugh was just as shaky.

  While the coffee dripped Rachel set out the cream and sugar. “I hoped they packed some of that pie. Apple is my favorite, but they were distinct. Sweet, but tangy.”

  “Teddy uses a private grove for his apple supply,” Peter volunteered.

  Rachel opened the basket and unpacked the neatly labeled meats and pastries. Among them she found the pie. “Would you like ice cream on yours?”

  “If its not too much trouble to heat the pie.”

  “Trouble? Not in this kitchen. I do everything the easy way.” She popped both plates into a microwave and within minutes they had steaming pie alamode.

  “I thought I’d never eat again.” Rachel eyed the sweet concoction on her fork. “You said kitchens were your hobby?” They sat opposite each other, but to Rachel it was a gulf.

  “Well, cooking. Too many years of bachelorhood. It forces these things on you. I make a tasty cour don bleu,” he admitted.

  She didn’t doubt it. “Why did you never marry? You’re obviously well established... and attractive.”

  Peter thought a moment. “My travels take me out for long periods. I guess I just never found the time to give to a relationship. But,” did he blush? “Thank you. And what about you? You never married?”

  “Writing is a solitary career. Like you, I guess I never found the time.” She toyed with her coffee cup, dreaming of how Paris might have been. “Peter?” Uncalled for courage forced her to ask even if it was too soon to know. “What do you want from me?”

  “Nothing. Just to know you better.” But he didn’t look at her. “What more would you think?”

  “Well,” her finger traced the skyline around the cup; “you have some very strong ties at PROBE-Tech.” She shifted uncomfortably in her chair; sure she wouldn’t want to hear his answer. “We haven’t really talked about it, but...” Rachel took a deep breath and looked straight at him. “Well, you’ll be launching with the Aurora, won’t you?”

  Peter avoided her gaze and didn’t answer.

  “You are a crewmember, aren’t you?”

  Still, he didn’t answer. Then it came, quietly deafening.

  “Yes.”

  She was numb the instant he said the word. The sound of his fork on the plate set off the ringing in her ears. Her vision glazed. Peter reached across the table for her hand, but the electricity she felt forced her hand to pull away.

  “But I want you to know, since I’ve met you -”

  “Let’s not say it.”

  “But I want to say it,” Peter insisted. “Since I’ve met you my whole way of thinking has changed.”

  “But you’re still going.” She couldn’t look at him.

  “Yes. But it’s not the same.”

  Neither of them moved. There were a million questions she wanted to ask but couldn’t, or wouldn’t, no matter how hard she tried. “It’s not the same for me either.” She managed a whisper. “But I can’t get - friendly, and then say goodbye. Not the kind of goodbye it would take. I mean,” she laughed sourly, “this goodbye is forever.”

  “Yes,” was his hoarse confirmation.

  Her heart ached knowing their time was over. “Peter? I know you’ll understand if I ask you to leave. Now.” She pretended to stare at the Paris skyline on her cup. Another dream. His hand covered hers and even with her eyes closed she could tell he stood.

  “I understand.” He left her at the table and closed the door softly on his way out.

  “I don’t,” she whispered to the emptiness around her. Rachel caught a glimpse of her reflection in the windowglass. It was the same image she’d seen for years. She stopped aging centuries ago, and the only person Rachel ever dreamed she could reveal that truth to would be launching into space in six days.

  Rachel saw herself cowering in the moonlight and the deepest part of her consciousness knew the black-and-white image meant this was a dream. Still, she felt naked and vulnerable dressed in rags.

  Always, she was led by a menace she couldn’t see, down an invisible path in the dark. Even in her dreams she felt the cutting of every stone into the bare skin of her feet. The unseen hands groped her from the darkness, pulling her in all directions.

  This night, in this dream, she tripped. She tripped! Only training in dreams kept Rachel from waking herself in surprise. She knelt to pick up the object from her path; a silver cross fit familiar in her palm and she warmed with a new confidence.

  “Remember, Spokesmon. Remember.”

  The familiar voice echoed over and over.

  Remember, what? She asked herself constantly, finally waking on the sofa in her library.

  Who she was, was a question that plagued her – waking and sleeping. Nor did she know whom, or what the Spokesmon was, is. But the face in her dreams, the face seen in crowds at random moments, the face she could never forget or identify haunted her, but it was always the same face. And it always instructed her to remember something.

  * * *

  Monday

  December 26, 2044

  Jude Iscar hadn’t seen Reider or the crew since the night Roko was taken. His old crewmates didn’t appear to have any remorse about launching without him, and that was fine. While he might have fallen out of touch, Iscar followed the crew’s progress throughout the centuries; Reider and Pierzon enjoyed far too much publicity.

  As far as the Spokesmon went, Iscar knew Mags’ daughter remained lost to them as well. The Spokesmon belonged to Earth; she was His compromise for this world’s future, it’s what Jesus told him. Mag’Dalyn would only have wanted to take her daughter to Bia’tra-4.

  For the last thousand years Iscar had prepared to serve the Spokesmon. With the oracle's direction, everything was finally ready, her army, her headquarters, Delphi. Everything was ready except t
he Spokesmon; she’d been lost to Iscar as well. If the launch was scheduled for New Year’s Day, Iscar knew the Spokesmon would be there, too. The oracle had revealed it.

  Iscar disagreed the people of Earth could handle the extent of technology Reider offered. What the crew brought from Bia’tra-4 two thousand years ago was still too advanced for Earth, especially in the hands of such volatile global leadership.

  He agreed with Morrow that the conference must be stopped before the world was given access to information beyond their understanding, but killing Reider was never a part of his plan. Iscar wasn’t even sure if he could, although it would be the perfect opportunity to implicate Morrow. Frank Morrow too easily forgot who gave him the knowledge that ultimately led to his appointment as BGA Director. He was starting to become a liability.

  Sitting on the edge of the fountain he retied his shoes, stalling time for one final look. The Conference Security Force, the CSF, scrutinized everyone’s movements, and though he saw no conversation among them, he knew the CSF wore earphone receivers. He supposed there were cameras hidden everywhere, certainly to cover the entrance. He was prepared for the standard security. Iscar would rely on instinct for anything else.

  A line of conference workers formed between the two tables in the exterior courtyard of the Conference Center. CSF guards monitored everyone’s security scan, and double-checked each other from station to station before admitting entrance to anyone. It looked like a slow process. He joined in line and waited patiently.

  “Jude Iscar.” He placed his hand on the scanner.

  “You’re a linguist for the BGA?” The guard eyed him suspiciously after reading the computer monitor.

  “I speak over fifty different languages,” he replied in Swedish after noting the guards name was Greskeldsvik. The guard was clearly irritated. “Yes.” Iscar replied in the required English, and held his composure.

  “Here.” Greskeldsvik pressed a key on the computer and the computer printed a security badge with Iscar’s picture taken from a camera on the spot. Inwardly, he cursed Morrow for exposing him to the scrutiny.

  Iscar attached the badge to his lapel and walked toward the building. He passed through the doorway, not unnerved in the least when the alarm sounded. The CSF approached quickly and Iscar held up his hands voluntarily to acknowledge them.

  He had expected no less. Under their scrutiny Iscar slid the expensive watch from his wrist; slipped the jeweled rings from his fingers, a pin from his tie, a medallion from around his neck, and slowly unwound the leather belt from his waist. He deposited them in a bowl held by one of the guards, along with his wallet and glasses. By now, the entry was beginning to crowd but Iscar kept his pace relaxed.

  This time he passed through the secured doorway without incident and waited patiently while the guard examined his items in the bowl. He was sure they wouldn’t find what they didn’t know to look for.

  The people in line were beginning to grumble at the delay, and finally the guard thrust the bowl at him. Iscar took his time to casually put on the jewelry and replace his belt and tie tack before calmly walking away.

  Inside the Center, high definition vid-screens wrapped around the room projecting a variety of camera angles, controlled remotely by the media crew isolated in separate rooms. Iscar paused long enough to watch a video demonstration showing some of the new technology: a hologram projector being tuned and a satellite dish the size of a watch. Reider was giving it all away.

  The activity was high with last minute preparations; his timing was perfect. The lighting crew tested brightness levels on the stage for the replicator demonstration and the rapid changes distorted everyone’s appearance. He made his way to the media booths and flashed his badge to the guard on duty.

  The media control-booth was connected to the bank of computers used for the technology unveiling during tonight’s show. His access couldn’t be traced after he activated the virus engineered to corrupt the information at its source. A few keystrokes later Iscar pushed away from the desk satisfied he had accomplished what he came to do. He smiled to himself. It only took him a few moments, barely long enough for anyone to remember he’d even been there.

  Crossing the room, he melted into the bustling crowd of the main convention hall. As he brushed past a group of CSF, Iscar lifted a scanning wand from a guard’s holster with practiced agility. Part of his agility was skills mastered centuries ago; part of his talent was thought-projection, and the ability to make someone notice him, or not. Delphians had remarkable talents.

  The “Alpha” section was roped off for scientists, the featured beneficiaries of the technology to be released. “Beta” section had been partitioned for the political dignitaries. The press corp and other guests were arranged accordingly around the room. There were only two CSF posted at each seating section, and Iscar approached the guards in the Beta section.

  “I’m here to make a final security sweep for this section.” He held the scanner as proof and tried to step past them.

  “Nothing has been touched since the last security sweep,” the CSF guard informed him and stepped in his path. “And my orders were to let no one else in.”

  “The security of the President-elect is the responsibility of the BGA.” The indignation in Iscar’s voice threatened to make a scene and he spoke a little stronger the next time. “I will check his table right now or he won’t be attending.”

  Iscar moved past them without waiting for approval and began to wave the electronic wand in motions to cover the table and place settings. The CSF shrugged and returned their attention to the example of holograms being projected on the north stage.

  Neither noticed when he dug into his belt buckle for a small piece of putty. Iscar covered the movement of popping the jewel from one of his rings when he moved the glass at the setting marked: “J. Reider”. Kneeling to check under the table, he pressed the black stone from his ring into the putty from his belt and attached it to the underside of the seat marked for Reider.

  At the place marked for “A. Pierzon”, he attached the face of his watch to the underside of the chair. When Pierzon’s chair was moved, the electronic signal would detonate the plastique at Reider’s seat. There was just enough of the elite explosive to kill them both.

  Iscar made a cursory check of each setting, and then stepped away from the table. After securing the rope behind him, he nodded to the guards.

  “Of course, now it’s your job to make sure no one enters this area except those assigned to this table.”

  “Those were my orders last time,” the guard answered sullenly.

  Iscar walked away calmly, the DayStar overhead shining triumphantly. If they didn’t call out – they didn’t find it. It was always easier to exit than to enter, and he smiled supremely. Pierzon’s state-of-the-art security wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

  * * *

  The air had been exceptionally still all day. Mag’Dalyn thought she smelled a storm coming but there were no clouds on the horizon. She and James stood under the awning of their thatched roof cabin in the desert oasis that had been their home for centuries, surveying the afternoon activity of the children.

  The orphanage had been home and school to thousands of children over the centuries. Blessedly invisible from the savage wars in the area, graduates of the Dalyn School continued to keep the location secret, although no one had ever been turned away from their doors. There was still a week before the launch but the packing was essentially finished. After two thousand years, it was time to go.

  “Come with nothing, leave with nothing.” She was restless and Dalyn was glad they were leaving the next morning for the Immortal Valley. One day longer and she might have changed her mind.

  James lifted her chin to meet his eyes. “Are you sure you’re all right? I thought we had all this talked out.”

  “I’ll be the first one on the ship.” Dalyn bit her lip. “I’m just glad the good-byes are over.”

  She lied, and he knew it, but Dal
yn couldn’t help how she felt. Leaving Roko behind was harder than she imagined. James had been wonderfully patient with her, but when his strong arms pulled her close, Mag’Dalyn’s brave front turned to small sobs. Farewells were not exactly her problem.

  Roko had been lost to them for one thousand four hundred and seventy six years - and two hundred eighteen days. If she let herself, she could have easily calculated the hours and minutes; the memory of that night was precisely etched in her mind.

  Dalyn had been betrayed by the Divine safety net that protected them for hundreds of centuries. Her daughter was kidnapped as a young child of Life. She never accepted that Roko could be dead, even after this amount of time. Launching now was like giving up, but Dalyn knew the danger they faced in remaining. It was not an easy decision; she could leave without seeing her daughter again, or stay, and probably condemn the entire crew to death. The DayStar gave them the perfect excuse for the Aurora’s launch, and John assured them everything was ready.

  “Did you feel that?” James asked.

  “Yes, finally a breeze,” Mag’Dalyn fanned herself.

  “No! That’s a hoverjet.”

  “But John said he and Andrew couldn’t get away from the conference.”

  “Who else could it be?”

  “I hope everything’s all right.”

  They dropped the outside shutters just as the sand started to blow at the windows. The moment the hovercraft landed behind the cabin James was off the porch, anxious as always to see his brother. Dalyn pinned her long black hair in a twist and followed. It was an unexpected surprise, she thought, but it was a nice diversion.