Teramar: The Gathering Night

by Thomas Michael Murray

  The commander in chief had a loud voice that was designed for public speaking. After taking his seat at the head of the table, he immediately turned to the colonel. “McNamara, whatchya done here? You find us some sort of E.T.?”

  The President of the United State came from the state of Virginia and was an expert purveyor of old boy charm. Like most presidents, the man radiated charisma.

  In a dry, deferential tone, McNamara answered, “Yes sir, I just came from my own briefing. The honest truth is we have no idea what to call this. I believe my people have forwarded an image of the event for replay here.” Instantly, the unmistakable black orb appeared on a large video screen opposite the president. There was a quiet hush as the prestigious gathering observed the unmistakable sphere come into view and then abruptly disappear.

  “That image is certainly something,” said the leader of the free world. The president, however, was a man who was also used to the controversy of dubious situations. “Are we sure this thing couldn’t have come from another country on this planet?”

  In full military mode, the colonel briskly answered, “Impossible. We know about every piece of hardware orbiting the earth, sir.”

  The president grew serious. Large, important brown eyes scanned his team and rested on one of the few women. “Dr. Justine, you got people helping the spy boys here?”

  Dr. Justine Martin was Director of NASA. A graduate of MIT, she joined the U.S. Air Force hoping one day to become a shuttle pilot. After serving time flying F-16s in the mid-east, she went back to school and completed her PHD in astrophysics at another prestigious Ivy League school. A savant in complex arithmetic, the U.S. Military quickly got wind of her remarkable talents and recruited Justine Martin to serve in a number of aerospace positions culminating as the head of the space agency.

  They could thank Justine for the advanced K-12 satellites her agency built. The military originally believed the extras she requested were wasted money in an era of tight budgets. The advanced specifications she put forward lacked a direct military application. “They’re happy we added them now,” she smugly thought. The NASA director was a naturally competitive person.

  Wrapped in her thoughts, digesting the meaning of today’s findings, Justine looked blankly at the president. The handsome face raised his already loud voice, “Director, I am asking ya-s a question? Is there anyone home over there?”

  Sensing the room’s attention on her, she jumped back into the present. “Sorry Mr. President. I was thinking. Taking it in I guess. Yes sir, my people are currently studying the orb and this transmission, albeit for less than an hour. Based on the preliminary data, I think we might be able to locate the final destination using other satellites. I’ve pulled people off projects, throwing significant resources at the assignment.”

  The president turned to the FBI Director, Jolly Perkens. Like Colonel McNamara and many of the other people in the room, Director Perkens had given a lifetime of service to the country. A notoriously ruthless and ambitious man, the name “Jolly” didn’t quite fit the real anathema of the man. The president said, “Jolly, have you got men out there looking for whatever was supposed to be at the other end of this?”

  “We do, sir. But of course New York is New York. There is, however, a file the bureau maintains, a catalog of people who quote, ‘should not exist.’ Most of these are suspected international criminals. Yet within this file, there is another smaller list of the truly invisible people for whom we don’t even know their real names. They don’t travel through commercial means, which includes checkpoints at airports. These individuals drop in and out of society and they almost always have access to lucrative assets - rare commodities like gold and other precious metals. As one would expect, they use their wealth to expertly hide from the world’s governments - the Howard Hughes types. We are revisiting the names on that list.”

  “Sounds like we don’t know much. Until we get a better idea for what this really is, we need to keep the whole situation under wraps.” The president looked up and down the table. “No leaks. We don’t want panic out there - markets going crazy, runs at the super market - that kinda thing. Only involve direct staff, agents and researchers who are absolutely necessary.” Getting louder so his voice boomed to the other end of the room, he trumpeted, “Let me say that again. Don’t let me catch any f-ing leak from any f-ing department. You got that?”

  “Yes sir,” the group said in unison.

  “Let’s reconvene in two days. I’ll have returned from touring the earthquake.” Just as quickly as the meeting started, the leader of the free world abruptly left the conference room. Through the window, they could see Marine One had landed and was waiting on the lawn outside.

  Director Martin looked at her two counterparts, “Bob, Jolly, I’ll let you know the moment we find anything. Bob, my team can continue to direct your commanders? We need to use those other satellites.”

  “Anything you need,” the gruff colonel smiled. “You’re a smart little girl and we have to find out what the hell is going on out there.”

  Gossamer Pavilion

  Her serene majesty, ruler of the known universe, regent of the throne, Queen of Teramar, lay on the royal tummy, loudly moaning as her favorite dug his thumbs into the royal buttock. Forcefully, the young man pulled her open and positioned himself against the outer regions of the queen’s wet, blond spot. Her hole sprung open and then she snapped at him like a sucking sea creature. The boy let out a lone cry pleasure.

  Completely forgotten were the cares of the crown for an afternoon. Whimpering with joy in his half-man voice, the boy easily carried her majesty to all levels of delirium on a broad shoulder. Due to these remarkable exertions, the young man’s alabaster skin was dewy with a warm sweat that steadily dripped onto the royal back. Humidity hung over the bed. Today, Livia’s fantasy delivered her as a young maid to this rough and randy shepherd-boy.

  As queen, Livia had access to hundreds of men. If something fresh caught her eye, she would nod in his direction, and the lucky individual would be immediately conscripted into service regardless of the young man’s inclinations. Once in custody, her staff would take all the important measurements. If the new recruit surpassed the required dimensions for a certain physical attribute, then the queen stabled him in what was known as “lovers barracks.” Although she cultivated dozens of these protégés, today’s boy, this Cannon, had quickly become one of her favorites, if not the favorite. She once said to herself, “If my husband behaved more like young Cannon, there would never have been a coup.”

  A doting patron, Livia rewarded these young men with gifts and generous allowances, which could include a minor command here or there. Such partiality often proved to be a mixed blessing for her favorites. Others in her court, especially the real warriors, made scornful note of the frivolous favoritism.

  Wise beyond his years, Cannon had a knack for knowing and administering to the queen’s eclectic preferences. And usually, these proclivities were something he equally enjoyed. Each of them had a tremendous endurance akin to a great farm animal. Accordingly, the young man happily ploughed his mistress’s field for hours upon hours. They were both getting close to the finish line today. Deep underneath, he felt her convulse and then she pushed him off. The queen turned on her back breathing hard. He leaked all over her belly and then collapsed next to her.

  “Your majesty?” The deep whisper of Cataline’s voice gently filled the room as if rousing a baby.

  Annoyed, her majesty let out a very long sigh. “This better be good,” she said panting for air. “I almost reached the heights. What could be so important program? You love interrupting me here. It’s become terribly annoying.”

  “I waited for a break in the action so to speak. May I raise the light?”

  “No.”

  The boy giggled in his young masculine way. The pretty head was perched on the royal tummy lying in his mess. Sensing that Cataline brought a much needed distraction to the proceeding, Cannon carefully
said to his lover, “Majesty, be nice to your machine. Let’s see what the program wants. We could use a break?” Immediately, the lights carefully got louder, although the gossamer encampment still blocked the splendor of her darkened bedroom. She propped herself on elbows and reclined against large pillows with damp hair in complete disarray and ample breast sagging onto the royal chest.

  “Something has happened, majesty,” said the computer. “Please watch this footage.” A halo-screen then fell and Cataline played a visual recording of Alian’s attempt to free the king. As the violent scenes rolled across the halo, the queen refused any emotion. She had been drinking a good deal that afternoon and it took her a few moments to fully appreciate what was happening on screen. When her daughter’s foot flew in a bloody thud against the wall, there was the slightest of winces. After Alian took down a fleeing guard with a thrown knife, Livia said, “I never realized she was as talented as my son when it comes to hand-to-hand combat. She’s apparently killing people right and left. I had no idea.” There was a slight slur to the royal intonation. What was most troublesome was that in the end, her daughter came very close to freeing the king.

  As Commander Singh’s head exploded on the screen, she commented, “Why did we kill that captain? We can’t get much from him now.”

  Cataline’s video then panned to the prison’s high ceilinged spotlights and followed the bright beam into a small cell. The queen’s saw her daughter deep in the hole, horribly chained in the same manner as her husband. Alian tried to hide from Cataline’s light.

  “How long has she been in the cell?”

  “Three hours!”

  Furious, the queen pushed herself up off the pillow and said in a roar, “Why am I told of this now? When did this attempt to free the king actually occur?”

  “Just past three hours, majesty.”

  Livia leapt out of bed with a surprising alacrity. Cannon slipped to the side. With the intonation of an angry mother, she demanded, “Did someone have the good sense to reattach the princess’s foot?”

  “Yes, majesty.”

  “Control panel now.”

  When the screen appeared, Livia was at the edge of the bed. She then grabbed the halo and slammed the panel onto her lap. The queen began to furiously enter the imperial deactivation codes. This innocent string of numbers triggered a complex shutdown of the main computer. In his most sympathetic of tones, Cataline beseeched his master, “Majesty, please. This whole situation is squarely my fault. Yes, something had the ability to break through our network. I was blinded to everything in that prison. Yes, I failed to stop whatever power aided the princess.”

  “At least, Cataline freely admitted to his few failures.” He always did. She thought it interesting that the machine, in his own way, was begging for his life. Rational thought slowly returned to her majesty. In a softer voice, the queen asked, “How long we’re you out?”

  “A little under an hour, majesty.”

  The queen thought, “Could this be Hadrian reaching into our affairs?”

  A rough panic raced through Livia. The detention center was one of the most secure locations on Teramar. “Who made the decision to put Alian in that cell without consulting me?”

  “Your brother was the one who issued the order to put the princess into solitary. He believes these accommodations should eventually make her pliable, without causing serious harm. He thought you would approve.”

  “I do approve but I am also profoundly disappointed that I am learning about all of this, hours after the event occurred. You should have immediately informed me. Alian is my daughter!”

  “You were indisposed with strict orders to not be disturbed.”

  “Do not go there, machine!”

  Across the capital, another halo-screen rolled down. The spotlight dimmed so the prisoner could make out the image on screen. Alian had expected her. As the princess’s eyes adjusted to the light, her mother appeared wearing the most appropriate of expressions - sympathy.

  Suspended by sharp chains, the guards had shaved the princess’s head and cut away her clothing. Alian shivered in the cold. The queen said, “Daughter, how could you do this? Why would you not first speak to me about your concerns?”

  Alian avoided her mother’s gaze. She did not answer.

  “The entire family will know about this little escapade.”

  Alian thought “her family.” The princess still refused to speak.

  “Here’s the thing, daughter.”

  Alian thought, “At least she gets to the point.”

  The queen found it difficult to see Alian’s face. Livia pointed at the screen in frustration. “Fix this!” Cataline adjusted the light on the princess’s side. “Daughter, that thing that flanked your operation is a serious menace. Whatever it was, temporarily turned off our own great computer. My brother is furious. He thinks you should be put down and without a hearing.”

  “Of course he wants me dead, mother. I welcome death.”

  Impatiently, the queen stammered, “My dear, you don’t mean that. Think of the people. So many look to you, especially the women of our realm. You are a beacon.”

  “Mother, Teramarian women will get along without me.”

  “I’m sorry to see you so unconcerned for your own welfare. I am told that your interrogators will adhere to a special protocol. I shudder to think of what they are capable.”

  “If it has anything to do with coupling with more than one man, then you would consider it a vacation.”

  Livia didn’t like that at all. She pulled herself up and curtly said, “Very well then.”

  The queen’s image evaporated. Thankfully, the merciless light also went off. With nothing but black space before her, the princess’s mind returned to the dreadful ache of the newly repaired foot. Her guards refused to administer a numbing agent. Quietly, she recited the warrior’s verse like her father. As the minutes - or were they hours - moved with pernicious stagnation, rational thought began to abandoned her. Worry and fear flitted through the mind. “When would the interrogations begin? Can I hold my silence? Am I near father’s cell?” The princess had never mastered how to self-induce a suicide.

  An eerie quiet descended on the jail. All Alian could hear was the feathery jangle of the chains. She floated through the darkness. In time, the princess fell into a restless sleep. Then, ever so slowly she noticed that this black world had eased into a drab grey. A careful light revealed a curtain that concealed another room. As the glow gathered and grew, Alian recognized familiar objects. A bird’s call and the soothing rustle of leaves trundled to her senses.

  The princess’s body spread onto something soft and smooth. Reaching out, Alian no longer felt the press of cold walls. She carefully stretched aching legs. There was no wall. Her body screamed in ecstasy. This was a bed. The chains were off!

  “I must be dreaming.”

  Gingerly, Alian raised herself. A survey of the room showed the familiar blond columns and a terrace to the garden. A sunny breeze brought in the morning.

  Her personal maid tiptoed into the room. The girl delivered a tray of juice, tea, fruits and a giant egg. The eggshell carried a delicious soup inside. Alian smelled a hint of pepper. “Highness, your breakfast is on the terrace.”

  The timid girl bent low to show respect and backed out to the door. Alian could hear the wood close with expensive stone locks clicking shut.

  “Did they move me while I was asleep?”

  The princess got on all fours and crawled to the end of the bed. She gingerly limped toward the terrace where a statue of a large fish played in a tub of water. Huge trees shaded the smooth stone. Reveling in the day’s early heat, the forest chirped in a full orchestra of nature’s sounds. Carefully lowering herself into a warm wood chair, she moaned, “Aghhhhhhh.” The princess pulled up to the hot and cold breakfast buffet. The soup’s sugary smell wafted across the table. Just as Alian raised the spoon to her mouth, there was a blur of change. Interrogation lights grated cold walls, p
ushing her back into the impossible jackknife. The wound started to throb again. She heard the sordid sounds. The heavy horror of the prison quickly crushed upon her.

  “Motherrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr,” she screamed. “I hate you! I will always hate you!”

  Livia appeared on a halo-screen. “I am sorry, daughter. You required a strong dose of contrast. You needed a visceral reminder of your old, comfortable life of privilege. I can return you to that life, but you must come clean with us. Tell me, how did that computer reach out to you?”

  Alian looked away and the small screen followed her, moving even closer. The queen’s face was distorted. The prisoner closed tired eyes. She could hear her mother groan with disappointment. “It is a shame you won’t cooperate. My brother’s interrogators will have their way with you. Good luck, Alian. I do love you.”

  The queen waved off the halo-screen. This drama annoyed her to no end. “My daughter is a fool.” To Cataline she said, “Contact my brother and have him begin only low level interrogations. We can see how far this bravery of hers will travel.”

  The Good Fight

  The boy was high astride his blaster and looking good. Handsome and tall for a Chiang, young and oblivious, Quan Chung gloriously rode the loud and touchy machine. Like others his age, Chung’s blaster was a pinewood-derby-model, a two jet, open-air roadster that delivered the freedom every young pleb yearned. As the word “blaster” was a pseudonym for “dangerous rocket,” all the mothers throughout the galaxy fervently despised these machines. A rush of turbulent air could easily bounce even the heaviest like a child’s ball. Every pilot had to have a strong dose of athleticism to successfully operate this fidgety mode of transportation.