~~~
Sonya felt much better, now that Dr. Tolliver had removed the mindwave implant from her midbrain. The change had been immediate, as the overlapping conversations and images had ceased, and so had the unbearable lances of pain. Though she still had some soreness where the surgery had been performed, she could think straight, and no longer considered killing herself, as the only way to obtain relief. She didn’t have an implant at all now, and would not be able to receive a replacement for several months. The military doctor wanted her to heal completely first.
She had a bottle of pain pills Dr. Tolliver had given her, but she’d only taken half of the recommended dosage today, not feeling as if she needed more. The bottle sat on her nightstand, beside a half-consumed glass of water.
Sonya had been provided with a comfortable room in the female officer’s barracks of the main base, on the outskirts of Imperial City. She was sitting up in bed, propped against the headboard with pillows, reading Ocean, a popular fantasy novel about dangerous marine animals declaring war against human civilization, because they were tired of oil pollution, floating plastics, sewage dumping and the other abuses committed by mankind in their waters. She had selected this book from the base library today because it looked intriguing, and because she was interested in environmental issues.
Her concern about such matters was one of the reasons she had changed her mind about Billy Jeeling, because when she spent time near him on Skyship she had seen the beneficial things he was doing for the health of the atmosphere and the air people breathed—and she came to the opinion that the citizens of AmEarth should be more grateful to him for what he had accomplished. They should treat him with more respect, instead of trying to throw him out like garbage. There had to be another way to convince him to retire, one that would be good for him and good for the Empire. A win-win situation.
She read through the end of the third chapter. Feeling sleepy, she closed the book and turned off the lamp beside her.
A couple of minutes passed, and she was drifting off to sleep quickly. Then, suddenly, something lit up the room. She opened her eyes, and was startled to see a bright silver sphere floating in the air by her bed, illuminating the entire room in an eerie metallic glow.
Was this a nightmare? Her first inclination told her it had to be, because it was too strange to be real. The silver ball brightened, so that it looked like a miniature sun. She had to shield her eyes with her hands.
A wave of terror came over her, but she wasn’t sure why. This had to be a dream, didn’t it? She put a pillow over her face, but tried to peer around it.
The blinding sphere drew closer, causing her to pull back from it, still shielding her face. It was only centimeters away from her, and she felt a freezing, cold wind coming from it, as if a door to the center of the universe had been thrown open. She shivered, looked at the walls around her, illuminated in eerie silver.
Sonya wondered if she could roll out of bed and run, but when she set the pillow aside and tried to do that, her arms and legs moved so phlegmatically that she couldn’t even reach the edge of the bed, because her joints were so stiff and cold.
Suddenly the room went dark and grew warmer, but she continued to shiver. She switched on the light, climbed out of bed and walked around, feeling uneasy and confused. It was the strangest dream she had ever experienced. It had to be a dream.
She looked around. Nothing appeared to be out of the ordinary. Then she caught her breath, as she noticed something strange about the water in the glass. It looked cloudy. She lifted the glass. It was freezing cold to her touch, and the water inside had frozen solid.
With shaking hands, she put the glass back on the table, and turned off the light. Her fingers had gotten so cold that they burned. She blew warm breaths on them, then climbed back under the covers, but could not stop shivering.
She lay awake, shivering and staring into the darkness, wondering what had just happened.
A soldier knocked on her door, identifying himself and telling her he had an urgent message. Slipping on a robe, she went to the door and opened it.
A captain stood there, in an impeccable black and tan uniform, with red stripes of rank on his arms. “I’m sorry ma’am, but there is terrible news. Your brother is dead.”
He went on to tell her what little he knew about how the General had died—his body had been found in a pool of silvery blood, and it appeared that the organs in his body had exploded. Then the officer said, “The same thing happened to Jonathan Racker. Silver death, they’re calling it, and before that silver blasts of light destroyed half of our force when it tried to attack Skyship. Something to do with Billy Jeeling, everyone is saying. A terrible new power he seems to have, and he’s using it against us.”
He went on to say that top military officers had been summoned, and they were preparing a report for the Prime Minister that would be delivered that evening. But they’d decided to inform Sonya first, knowing how close the two of them had been.
Sonya wept at the news of her brother, and wondered why she wasn’t killed too, because she had worked with him. She had never heard of such an awful weapon, couldn’t imagine what it might possibly be.
CHAPTER 32
“There are proper and noble ways of going about things.
I am constantly in search of them.”
—Renaldo Yhatt, to his wife
A tall, dignified man in a dinner tux, Prime Minister Renaldo Yhatt took a seat at the head of the palace dining table, set with silver, crystal, and fine linens, beneath a glittering antique chandelier. He was the only one there, took a sip of sauvignon blanc while he waited. Maureen Stuart was almost an hour late, which was not like her. Her husband, in the adjacent parlor talking with the First Lady, had said Maureen might be running late, because she had an important meeting with General Moore.
Yhatt snapped his fingers, causing draperies to spread open dramatically, revealing Imperial City in all of its nighttime splendor. He was on the second floor, and his palace sat on the only hill in the city, above the surrounding buildings and monuments. This provided the leader of the Empire with a clear view of the wide boulevards and moonlit river, where two ferries glittered like floating candelabras as they passed one another. It had been foggy earlier in the evening, but the fog was lifting, carried away by cool breezes.
The magnificent, sprawling city represented all that the AmEarth government had achieved—actually all it had plundered, Yhatt admitted to himself—from weaker peoples in distant lands. Much of the wealth of the planet had been gathered and brought here, to be displayed by the wealthy in their mansions, and in the many large museums, arenas, parks, and other public places around the metropolis. A century ago, this goal had been achieved at the expenditure of blood and treasure, but that had been a necessity, so that the whole world could come under one dominion.
Centuries before the AmEarth Empire, the British had managed to put one-quarter of the world’s land mass under their rule, but their empire had gradually crumbled after the death of their sovereign, Queen Victoria. This modern version of an empire—much larger and more magnificent—was not dependent upon any one personality to keep it together. By rule of law and military force, the Empire was strong, and getting stronger. Around the world, there were only a few minor rebellions to quell periodically, and to a large extent this was done with personnel-seeking drones, little remote-controlled aircraft that could sniff the trails of enemy leaders like bloodhounds, and fire tiny heat-seeking missiles into their brains—missiles that exploded on contact.
Hearing voices, he looked up. The white-haired First Lady, Lorissa Yhatt, was slender and elegant, dressed in a shimmering, pale blue gown. Seeming to float over the floor as she walked, she was accompanied by a younger man who looked out of place in a tweed sport coat and dark slacks. This renowned artist, Paddy Stuart, had long black hair, secured at the back in a silver clasp, and a neatly trimmed, graying beard. He and Mrs. Yhatt had been discussing painting techniques in
the parlor while they awaited the arrival of Stuart’s wife. Uniformed female servants stood at attention by the table, with white cloths draped over their arms.
As Lorissa and Paddy took their seats, the Prime Minister’s top aide entered the room and awaited permission to speak. Harrison Jennings stood stiffly, a short distance from his superior. His blond hair and moustache were not as groomed as usual. When Yhatt nodded to him, Jennings said, “Mrs. Stuart has finally arrived on the grounds. And she appears have a problem.”
“What do you mean?” Yhatt asked, as servants poured white wine from carafes into tulip-shaped glasses.
Jennings ruffled his own moustache thoughtfully, with a thumb and forefinger. “I watched her on surveillance from one of the guard stations, sir. She looks disheveled and upset, and has spilled something on her dress. It must be why she’s so late.” Jennings listened to an earpiece, said, “Sir, I’m also receiving word that a military messenger is on his way to the palace, with an urgent report.”
“What’s it about?”
“I don’t know, sir. Excuse me, I’ll go and find out.” Jennings bowed, and left quickly. He passed Maureen Stuart, just as she entered the dining room.
Lorissa Yhatt gasped at the sight of Maureen Stuart, jumped to her feet and hurried over to her. “My dear!” she exclaimed, “Are you all right?”
“No, I’m not.” Maureen slumped onto a side chair. Her eyes were full of agony as she looked past Mrs. Yhatt, to the Prime Minister. “A truly awful thing has happened, your eminence. A horrible thing. I’m sorry to come here with my dress like this, but it was unavoidable. I wanted to come directly here and warn you about something terrible.”
“Warn me?”
~~~
Maureen Stuart was only partially aware of her bearded husband kneeling beside her chair and holding her hand, and the Prime Minister and First Lady standing in front of her, looking down at her with concern. She had come straight here from the horrors at the officer’s club.
“They’re dead,” she said. “The most horrible way imaginable. Both General Moore and Jonathan Racker. I didn’t have time to change, wanted to rush straight here.”
“To warn me of what?” Prime Minister Yhatt asked.
“All the organs in their bodies exploded.” Shaking, she pointed toward the silvery stains on her dress. “Their brains blew, their hearts too, splattering blood this color. I was near them, when the interior organs in their bodies detonated—as if bombs had been planted inside.” She stared up at the Prime Minister. “It was gruesome, sir. And I’m afraid we’re going to be next.”
“Silver blood?”
“That’s right, sir. You need to notify security, put the palace on high alert.”
“No one can get to me,” Yhatt said. “Not with all the layers of protection I have.”
“I wouldn’t assume that, sir. The General and Racker also had high security. They didn’t die prettily. And it occurred at a military base.”
“Their organs blew? How can that be possible?”
Her entire body was trembling, and she struggled for control. “Something silver caused it, Mr. Prime Minister. A strange metallic light bathed both of them, and they died horribly, screaming—it was the worst thing I ever saw. They were mutilated and their blood turned silver.” She pointed again at the stains on her dress.
Looking up, Paddy said, “Mr. Prime Minister, I heard that silver blasts of light destroyed part of your fleet when it attacked Skyship. Could the events be connected?”
“I wouldn’t call it my fleet, Paddy. I’m a politician. That was a military venture without my approval, and a foolish one, by any rational definition. General Moore’s Folly.”
Paddy Stuart looked surprised at the frank comments, and just nodded.
Maureen was surprised, too. And watching Prime Minister Yhatt, she thought he looked concerned, but not panicked. Saying nothing, he walked across the large dining hall, stood at a high window and gazed out.
“I don’t know why I wasn’t killed, too,” Maureen said. “This all has something to do with Billy Jeeling, doesn’t it?”
Yhatt didn’t reply, continued to stare out at the capital city, so transfixed by it that he barely heard Harrison Jennings, asking to speak with him again.
CHAPTER 33
There are forces in this universe that cannot be accounted for, and cannot be analyzed, at the risk of setting them loose. The only safe thing to do is to avoid them, or find a sure way of destroying them.
—Billy Jeeling, one of his unspoken and unwritten thoughts
Skyship floated in the atmosphere at an altitude of eleven kilometers, directly over Imperial City. It was nighttime on board the great vessel, as it was in the sprawling metropolis below.
Billy was on the high walkway, riding his maglev chair back and forth, thinking and worrying. He had sent electronic signals to disable all access to this area, shutting off the highlifts and blocking the doorways. For extra security, Starbot and the other five robots in the series stood sentinel nearby.
The Master of Skyship paused to stare at himself in a mirror wall, and was terrified to see the silver glow still in his eyes, like bright, shiny spotlights gleaming from the depths of the universe. And as cold as he was, it didn’t seem to alter his skin color. Something not of AmEarth had taken hold of him, something that Tobek had described in his journals—a collective entity that killed the inventor, and could very well do the same to him. They stirred within, and he felt a strange rush of cold pleasure. It was unsettling to him, in an extremely odd way.
This power, these creatures of light that combined into a single deadly organism and now occupied his body, acted of their own deadly volition. They had destroyed half of the Imperial fleet and sent the survivors fleeing. They had killed General Rivington Moore VIII and the fabulously wealthy Jonathan Racker. Only minutes ago, Billy had seen the men die in vivid images that flashed in full color through his brain, as if he were watching a video production. Then, their horrific task completed, he’d seen the gleaming creatures of light—a long thread of them connected to Billy—retreat from Racker’s headquarters and go to Sonya Orr in her room on AmEarth, hovering there for a few moments, but not harming her. Why they’d shown this brief interest in her, he didn’t know. Moments later, the long thread of light returned to Billy on Skyship, merging entirely into him.
During the frenetic activity when the creatures were in their murderous attack mode, Billy had gotten colder and colder, so that he didn’t think he would ever get warm again. Icy winds had raged through his body, freezing him all the way to his soul. Eventually the heightened activity had subsided and Billy had warmed somewhat, but he shivered at the memory of how impossibly cold he had been. It seemed unimaginable to him that he was able to survive anything like that.
Now he continued to look at himself in the mirror, as if that would provide him with the information he needed. It was terrible to realize that he was so contaminated.
The alien presence is entirely inside my body now, he thought. It is peering out through my eyes.
And he realized, too, that the creatures could fire their deadly silver blasts from Skyship itself, while linked to Billy’s body. The great flying vessel, and Billy as well, seemed to provide them with safety and security. Maybe Billy gave them more than the ship, because they had moved into his body.
Curiously, the creatures described in Tobek’s journals had decided to use Billy as some sort of a horrific conduit for their destructive energy. Maybe he somehow amplified them, or otherwise enabled them to gain more power for their deadly, macabre weaponry. He felt trapped, didn’t know what to do. He felt violated, too. Years ago Branson Tobek, though not physically possessed by the space devils, had wanted to destroy them, but they had gotten him first. Billy didn’t want that to happen to him. He would cooperate to the extent necessary, would do whatever they wanted him to do, for his own preservation.
In the mirror, the twin orbs were the brightest silver he’d ever
seen, so bright that his eyes were like metallic suns in the heavens. He shouldn’t be able to gaze upon such brightness in a mirror, such raw and primordial intensity, without going blind. But he had special eyes that were permitting him to do so anyway. He hated the alien presence, wanted desperately to be free of it.
A wayward, dangerous thought intruded, that he should make his own attempt to kill the creatures himself, no matter what had happened to the old inventor. Tobek had been his mentor, the greatest man Billy had ever known, or ever expected to know. Branson Tobek was one of a kind in the whole history of mankind; of that there could be no doubt.
Maybe it would be better if I died, too, he thought.
At least then he would be free of these creatures. He let the dangerous thoughts sink in, allowing them to permeate the chemistry and neural passageways of his brain. As he did so, he expected everything to go black at any moment—or explode in a freezing, last flash of silver.
Seconds passed. He felt his pulse hasten and cool, and he tried to prepare himself for the gruesome inevitability, his sudden and horrific death. But how could one prepare himself for something like that?
A minute passed, then two and three, without anything happening. Yet he did not breathe a sigh of relief. Instead, Billy leaned into the potential storm. He intensified his antagonistic thoughts, his hatred of the alien presence.
Alien presence. It made his skin crawl. He filled his brain with loathing toward the creatures, with thoughts of how much he wanted to destroy them—every last one of them.
Moments passed, then minutes ticked away—and he still counted himself among the living. But he knew the monsters remained inside, hadn’t gone anywhere. He sensed their presence, felt a slight, ever-so faint tickling now when they moved around, and their ever-existent, inexplicable coldness.
The Assassination of Billy Jeeling Page 23
