The circular conference table around which they sat was made from the finest mahogany, its deep, reddish-brown finish polished to a high, lustrous sheen. The room itself was cozy, designed to impart a sense of camaraderie. The wood-paneled walls were lined with bookshelves, but also two paintings by Rembrandt and another by El Greco. A fireplace, which had been converted to natural gas in the previous century, occupied a sizable portion of one wall and supplied relaxing warmth during the cold Christmas night.
The castle’s seventy-three-year-old owner leaned forward in his ornate mahogany chair. Each person in attendance was considered his equal, yet the back of his chair was taller than the others, signifying his seniority and unofficial leadership status.
“Gentlemen,” he said in perfect English, “as you well know, all of our efforts to sabotage the Ark Project have been unsuccessful; each one stymied, either through general incompetence or a lack of opportunity.”
Pausing dramatically, he reached for the demitasse coffee cup sitting before him and took a long sip of freshly ground Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee, one of the priciest in the world.
Glancing around, he noted that many of the other attendees were mimicking him, taking long sips from their own cups. His smooth, baritone voice took on an almost confessional tone. “As you also know, time is running out to quash Chavez’s plan to spread humanity’s corrupted seed throughout the galaxy. Our exalted organization, which has endured for nearly one thousand years, has been the bulwark against mankind’s headlong rush toward technological advancement. Without us keeping a check on scientific progress, the human race would’ve destroyed itself ages ago. Humanity is a shortsighted, envious, adolescent race of people, filled with an abiding death wish. There are times when I look back on the pathways of history and I’m surprised we’ve made it this far.”
He listened to the other men as they added tepid mutterings of agreement. They’d heard his harangues before, but it wasn’t their unenthusiastic response that surprised him. The newest member of the group, a fifty-three-year-old French aristocrat, who’d inherited a place at the table upon his father’s death, spoke up. “Monsieur Chairman, might I suggest that we have reached the point where mankind can cope with technological progress. Perhaps it is time to start guiding the human race instead of holding it back. If we were to—”
The Chairman slammed his fist on the table. “I will not listen to this heresy!”
At this, the Frenchman averted his eyes, his breathing shallow with fear.
The Chairman’s steely expression softened. “Forgive me, brother. Your sentiment has been expressed many times over the centuries,” he purred. “Each generation believes it will break the cycle of insanity that keeps mankind tearing at its own throat. Unfortunately, the human race has learned nothing from its mistakes, and each passing year our mission becomes more difficult. I fear we are fighting a losing battle … yet battle we must.”
Directly across the table from the Chairman, the American representative cleared his throat. Like the others, his family was from old money; though it would appear otherwise, judging from his distinctive Texas twang. “It’s a damned shame the CRA couldn’t pull off their end of the deal. They’re a good patsy. The thing is, now security’s so tight it’d take a miracle to smuggle an unregistered fart into Elevator City. So if you don’t mind me askin’, what’s the next step?”
“Your American colloquialisms never cease to amaze me, brother,” the Chairman said. “All the same, you make a valid point. With less than a month before the Arrow leaves orbit, it is difficult to conceive of a way to stop its ungodly trek to the stars. I fear that any further attempt at sabotage will ultimately lead to our own destruction. We cannot allow that to happen. Therefore, I vote that we step aside and let the Ark Project proceed unimpeded by us or any other branch of this organization.”
As expected, the delegates responded with disappointed grumbles.
“I realize that we are unaccustomed to failure,” he continued. “However, I have reason to believe that the Ark Project will fail in the long run. Chavez will not succeed in colonizing another planet, for Earth is unique. The good Lord has placed us here for a specific reason. If a collection of foolish apostates decides to leave for greener pastures, why hinder them? They are sealing their own fate. In fact, I am confident that those pastures are anything but green. Solomon Chavez and his thrall will find, to their everlasting sorrow, that the planet they hope to turn into a new Eden will run red with the blood of their own blasphemy.”
•
CENTRAL COMMAND, LAKE VICTORIA COMPLEX: 9:51 A.M., JANUARY 15, 2061
Mona sat in her office across from Dr. Solomon Chavez, pouring them both a flute of seventy-four-year-old Moet. The expensive bottle of champagne was well worth the price. She handed Solomon his glass and held up her own to propose a toast: “Here’s to the fulfillment of a cherished dream … that one day we would leave Earth behind and reach for the stars.” Leaning forward over the cherrywood coffee table, she clinked glasses with her boss and took a sip of the dry, wonderfully tasty champagne, its bubbles tickling her nose in just the right way. Chavez nodded appreciatively at his glass. “An exceptional year,” he said, offering Mona a warm smile. “It’s good to see you in a positive mood, my friend. When you requested this meeting … well … I have to admit I was expecting it to be another one of your attempts to worm your way onto the Arrow.”
Frowning, Mona took another sip of champagne before sitting her glass on the table. “Don’t be that way, Solomon. I haven’t brought that subject up in months.”
Solomon held up his hand in a conciliatory gesture. “Forgive me, Mona. I’ve become a bit paranoid. You wouldn’t believe how many politicians, businesspeople, celebrities, and assorted other VIPs have been trying to buy their way onboard. Some have even resorted to blackmail, claiming the most outrageous things. People are also dying. A Ukrainian scientist told everyone he was on an alternative list of colonists. A few days ago, the authorities found his entire family poisoned. It’s getting crazy out there.”
Mona shook her head in dismay. “I haven’t watched the news lately.” Averting her gaze, a pang of guilt swept over her. There had been times over the previous few years when she wished her elderly, bedridden mother would die, so there’d be one less reason to keep her off the ship. She could be callous, even underhanded, but she’d never resort to murder to achieve her goals. “Judah, activate HV, secure channel L-1A.”
The 52” set masqueraded as a framed work of art that normally displayed famous paintings from yesteryear. It switched from Picasso’s Starry Night to the Arrow, three hundred fifty miles above Earth. What an impressive sight! The gray and white ship looked like an arrow … albeit a pregnant one; and was the most complicated construction project ever conceived by the mind of man. The exhaust and doughnut-shaped engine compartment connected to a cylindrical stage that led to a massive storage compartment containing provisions and construction equipment. A bulge housing the cryogenically frozen colonists and genetic samples taken from a wide array of plant and animal species came next, followed by the crew compartment, where they would eat, sleep, exercise, and entertain themselves during their off hours.
The workdays would be divided into two twelve-hour shifts with no days off, each crew rotation lasting a little over a year, after which a fresh crew would be decanted to take their place. The Arrow held a grand total of five crews in all; each crew of forty-eight personnel serving two rotations. Combined, the rotations added up to ten and a half years, the time it would take to reach the Epsilon Eridani star system. A majority of the crew members were assigned to engineering and technical maintenance, with each rotation containing seven command officers.
Dotting the ship’s outer hull were the black, bead-like warp broadcasters which, when activated, would encapsulate the entire ship in a warp bubble, allowing the ship to travel near the speed of light without disintegrating. Every section of the ship had been tested and retested, every nut and b
olt fastened securely in place, every ration loaded in the cargo hold, every genetic sample—from elephants to pigs to earthworms—safely stored in deep freeze. Everything was ready to go … except for one thing.
“In three days’ time, the last of the colonists will have been transported to the Arrow and be stored in their cryogenic chambers,” Mona said. “That being said, one colonist is running late but will arrive the day after tomorrow. It’s Bram Waters. He’s asked to meet with you, to express his gratitude for—”
“That won’t be necessary,” Solomon cut in, seeming oddly perturbed. “If everyone thanked me in person, we wouldn’t leave until next year. Please extend my apologies and inform him that I’m busy with last-minute preparations.”
Mona was confused. For weeks now, Solomon had hosted nightly dinner parties for arriving VIPs. However, he was the boss, and if the boss didn’t want to meet with certain colonists (even one as famous as Bram Waters), that was his right.
“As you wish,” she said, trying to sound indifferent to his decision. “Per your request, your personal effects have been stored in your private cabin aboard the Arrow. Seeing as you’ll be the last person placed in cryo-stasis and your cryogenic chamber is located in your cabin, I’ve taken it upon myself to personally supervise your freezing procedure. I’ll then depart on the last shuttle back to the elevator platform.”
Solomon studied her warily. “I’d rather have you supervising the departure from mission control, not looking over some cryotech’s shoulder.”
Mona rolled her eyes. “That’s not the only reason I’ll be there, Solomon,” she said huffily. “There’s the final inspection of the zero-point engine to contend with. It’s my baby, and I want to be there during the start-up phase.”
“Really?” he scoffed, taking a sip of champagne. “Sounds like you don’t trust your people to do their jobs.”
Mona felt her cheeks flush with anger. “It’s not that. There may be a need for some last-minute adjustments. I just want to make sure the chief engineer is on top of things.”
“Like I said—”
“You’re being paranoid again,” she snapped, shooting a withering glare. Solomon’s eyebrow rose inquisitively. “Fine … if you must know the truth,” she said, leaning forward. “I do intend to give the engineering department a final once-over, and I do want to make sure your cryo-chamber is working efficiently. But my real reason for wanting to be there is this: When the Arrow starts its journey, I intend to be on the orbital platform’s observation deck, watching the departure with my own eyes … not on some HV screen like everyone else. I think I deserve that much, okay?”
Solomon studied her a moment longer before turning his attention back to the image on the screen. “After all you’ve done to make the Ark Project a success … I certainly can’t deny you this one last favor.” Solomon sat his glass on the table and stood up. “Thank you for the drink, Mona, it was refreshing. I wish I could stay longer to chat, but I have other business to attend to.”
Mona shook Solomon’s hand and walked him to the door. As it slid shut behind him, she smiled with satisfaction. For months she’d worried he would press her about being onboard during the Arrow’s final hours in orbit. Like his old man, he was extremely perceptive, almost frighteningly so. There were times when she’d looked into his coal-black eyes and wondered if the rumors about him were true … but not today. Today she played him perfectly. Today she felt confident that her plan would at last succeed.
•
Sitting in the rear of the open-air tour bus, Bram glanced over his shoulder to catch one more glimpse of Graceland. The bus was packed with tourists, most visiting the mansion for the first time, while others (like Bram) had made many pilgrimages to the King’s home and gravesite.
This would be the last time he’d see Graceland with his own eyes, and he wanted to burn the memory of the two-story, classical-revival mansion with its pink, Alabama fieldstone frontage and dual white columns in his mind forever. The bus pulled onto Elvis Presley Boulevard, and the black iron gates—decorated with musical notes and two guitar players—closed behind him, transforming itself into what became an open music book.
Despite being a blues aficionado Bram became a fan of Elvis in his mid-twenties—mainly because the woman he loved was a huge fan. Jennifer Parker, a newspaper journalist whom he met during an investigation and whom he’d fallen madly in love with, had been tragically killed in an automobile accident, setting in motion the events described in his memoir. He’d later discovered that one of Conrad Snow’s many clones had caused the accident. Given that Snow controlled his clones’ minds—even to the point of seeing through their eyes—Bram refused to distinguish between the two, knowing that if a clone did something, Snow was truly to blame.
Bram had never stopped loving Jennifer. She’d been everything he’d hoped to find in a woman: not only was she beautiful, with long, honey-blonde hair, a fabulous body, and a face to make Helen of Troy jealous, she also possessed a keen mind and a kind, compassionate heart. There were times when he thought she was too good for him—and perhaps she was, having lived only twenty-five years. Since then, he’d failed to meet anyone to replace her. Over the intervening years he’d gone to bed with his fair share of women, but none he wanted to marry.
Perhaps it was for the best. Colonizing space would be a thrilling adventure in its own right. Bram thought of the text he received while standing in Meditation Garden gazing down at the King’s grave. It was from Lawrence Murchison, telling him that his meeting with Dr. Chavez had been denied. He was disappointed, and the text had nearly ruined his last minutes with Old Swivel Hips, but he’d get over it; there’d be plenty of time after the colonization process to meet with the reclusive trillionaire. But the more Bram thought about it, the more it bothered him. Every time he thought about Chavez he felt conflicted, like he was picking up on a wellspring of hidden meaning, a play of light and shadow—a mystery.
With the tour bus trundling down Presley Boulevard, Bram came to a decision: instead of leaving for Kenya as planned, he would reschedule his flight and leave town this very evening.
His personal possessions had been sent ahead. He’d said his goodbyes to Charlene and his small circle of friends. Except for placing a final bouquet of roses beside Jennifer’s gravestone, there was no real reason to wait.
•
LAKE VICTORIA COMPLEX, KENYA: 8:19 P.M., JANUARY 16, 2061
“Sir, if you don’t leave now, I’ll be forced to notify security.”
Bram tugged at the collar of his tux, feeling a bit strangled by the formal attire. This was one of the few times he’d worn a tuxedo, and it of course felt uncomfortable. Part of that discomfort was due to his inability to crash the final cocktail party Solomon Chavez was holding before boarding the Arrow. Bram had been scheduled to arrive the following morning, with barely four hours to spare before his cryogenic procedure. Since he’d arrived in Kenya a day earlier than expected, his name was not on the list of partygoers.
“If you inform Dr. Chavez’s press secretary, I’m sure he’ll tell you to let me in. The only reason I’m not on the list is because—”
One of the guards, a stern-looking behemoth of a man, took a menacing step toward Bram. “Sir, you have five seconds to vacate this hallway.” The second guard shifted his bulk, ready to lend a hand.
Bram could see he was getting nowhere. “Fine.”
As he turned to leave, Bram heard a familiar voice behind him. “Waters? My, my … you do clean up rather well, don’t you?” The voice belonged to Floyd Sullivant, security chief for the Lake Victoria complex, and a man Bram had grown fond of during their Canadian adventure. Sullivant wore a custom-fit tuxedo, a quizzical expression on his wide, angular face. “What’s the matter? Are you having trouble getting into the party?”
Bram nodded, hooking a thumb over his shoulder. “They’re a couple of tough customers.”
Floyd shifted his attention to the two guards. “Sam, Karol, looks like
you’re making some easy money tonight.”
After exchanging a nervous glance with his partner, the closest guard spoke up, “You know how it is, boss. A little moonlighting never hurt anybody.”
Floyd reached into his jacket pocket and removed his invitation. “I used to do it myself on occasion. Oh, by the way,” he said, handing the invitation to Karol, “Mr. Waters is my plus one.”
Karol studied Bram closely. Under his piercing gaze, Bram felt like a fly under a magnifying glass.
“Do you have a problem with that?” Floyd’s voice took on a hard edge.
The guard immediately shook his head. “No problem at all, sir. I … um, I hope the two of you have a pleasant evening.” He stepped aside, making way for Floyd and his date to enter the penthouse suite.
The party itself was taking place in an exclusive hotel owned by Solomon Chavez. Located in the heart of the city and called The Victoria Palms, the fifteen-story building was a technological marvel, with many of its jobs performed by robots. A battery of concealed scanners, designed to detect weapons and explosives, was built into the building’s ceilings and walls. If Bram had been armed, he wouldn’t have made it past the lobby before being taken down. The security detail at the door was mainly for show … and to stop the occasional party crasher.
Luckily for Bram, Floyd had come along at the right time.
“Thanks for getting me in, Floyd,” he said, giving his bow tie a last-second adjustment.
“Think nothing of it, Bram. You can thank me later … when we go to my apartment.”
Momentarily puzzled, Bram wondered if he’d heard correctly. His head suddenly jerked up to stare in shock at Floyd’s wide, expressive face. “Excuse me?”
The big Welshman couldn’t keep a straight face and burst out laughing. “I was only joking, my friend. I’ve known you were straight since the day I met you.”Enjoying his humor, Bram quipped, “Good, you would’ve been bitterly disappointed … since I never put out on the first date.”
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