Overture

by Mark Wandrey

The telescope stopped and focused. It was very close to the horizon. The image was terrible. She fed the captured images into her computer. Nothing.

  “I can’t see anything,” she typed.

  “Can you send us the images?”

  “Sure,” Alicia typed. She made a dozen digital images and sent them through the internet. They arrived at her new friend’s computer in moments.

  “Got it, please stand by.”

  “I only have visibility on those coordinates for another 40 minutes.”

  “Understood.” Alicia sipped her nearly cold tea as she waited. “I think we have it,” the screen displayed, causing her heart to race. “Focus on the following grid reference of your reception point.” Alicia typed in the correction, double checked it, and pushed the “Enter” key. The telescope motors moved fractions of a millimeter. She pushed in the focus and looked at the image.

  There, in the center of her view, was the potato shaped asteroid she’d last seen many weeks ago. “Bloody hell,” she whispered, then typed. “That’s it! Good show!” She took more than a hundred sightings, zooming out to match stellar details of LM-245’s surroundings until it fell below the horizon and out of view.

  “Sending you the data,” she typed. “Can you plot it?”

  “With only 30 minutes, I don’t think so. But we’ll take a shot at it. Good job, Alicia. Thanks.”

  “No,” she typed back, “thank you. Ironic, isn’t it?”

  “What’s that?” Mindy asked.

  “That two disgraced astronomers from halfway around the world are helping each other.”

  “It sure is. We’re going to study the data and prepare a press announcement. We’ll let you see it so you can agree when we’re done. Good night.”

  “Nite,” she typed back and shut down the computer. Inside she had some good wine she’d put back. She decided it was time to open that bottle.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Five

  April 20

  “Asteroid Appears as Planned,” read one of the headlines on his tablet. Billy Harper swiped the screen with his finger and moved to another page. He wasn’t very interested in a story about some whack job astronomer from Britain claiming aliens were moving asteroids around.

  He usually read the sports section, a few of the comics, and the local news, then went about his business. Lately, he found himself more and more interested in the science and technology news. He carefully scanned for any mention of the thing in Central Park. He’d even followed the directions in a YouTube video to set up a search bot that would email him if any articles appeared with the word ‘portal’ in them. So far, the only results were stories having nothing to do with his desired subject.

  He knew he was among a tiny minority of people who’d seen the portal at the Heaven’s Gate temple, but he was not the only one. Yet, despite the saying that the internet never forgot, he couldn’t find a single image of what he’d watched on TV that night. It was as if some magical force had scoured it from existence.

  The number of protesters around Heaven’s Gate had grown to hundreds of thousands, nearly disabling the capital. The press was completely ignorant as to why, but Billy knew better. A few interviews with the protestors made it onto the internet, but none of them made sense to most viewers. There was a strange mixture of quasi-religious fervor over the place being a true gate to Heaven and the rightful Emperor of China finally returning.

  The talking heads were postulating the return of emperor worship was almost logical after so many decades of Communist rule. Others, experts on Chinese mythology, spoke about the significance of this location for religious revival. None spoke of alien portals or centaurs.

  There didn’t seem to be much in the world that concerned him besides that. Pakistan was accusing India of developing a doomsday weapon at, of all places, a New Delhi Golf Course just south of the city center. In Buenos Aries, a riot had been raging for a week. City police and a group described as anarchists were jousting back and forth for control of the eastern district of the city.

  “Seems like the world is discontented,” Billy said and turned the tablet off. He headed down the stairs to go to work, waving at Mr. Nebowitz, who was taking out his garbage. In his unmarked patrol car, he pulled out into traffic.

  A few hours later he got back in his car after taking a report on a burglary. Checking his computer, he found something he’d been dreading. There was an outstanding arrest warrant for Victor Leonard Smith. The police wanted Victor for drug possession (a class C felony). His trial was scheduled January 10th of the following year, and he would be released on his own recognizance pending trial. The complaint section of the warrant said ‘wanted for questioning by federal authorities.’

  “I knew they would catch up with him sooner or later,” Billy said. He knew him as Prophet Victor, leader of the Followers of the Avatar church. He pulled a cheaply printed flyer from his sun visor and unfolded it, then grabbed his microphone. “Abel-five-two-nine, going ten-seven for a bite,” he said.

  “Ten-four, Abel-five-two-nine,” came the dispatcher’s reply. It was a little early in the day, but no one micromanaged a detective lieutenant’s time. He pulled into traffic and headed north on the Henry Hudson. In a few minutes, he was pulling into the Washington Heights area.

  The flyer he’d found on his windshield two days ago piqued his interest. Followers of the Avatar didn’t sound like any street church he’d ever heard of. “Follow us through the portal to heaven,” the printing said. The word ‘portal’ instantly grabbed him. They had several daily outreach spots on street corners that moved every day, but a few days ago, they’d opened an actual sanctuary in Washington Heights.

  As he exited the Henry Hudson, he could see the top of the Cloisters museum. Reconstructed piece by piece from parts of five European abbeys, its tallest tower was visible for miles. He turned down several of the rather tight, angled streets of the district until he found his destination.

  He had to park a block away; there were far too many cars in the area, most likely due to the Followers. As he walked down the sidewalk he could see he was right. They were everywhere.

  Nearly 100 Followers, with blue scarves wrapped loosely around their necks, crowded the sidewalk. They talked excitedly with whomever they encountered. Some spoke with wild-eyed intensity, while others spoke with simple compassion or even assertiveness.

  “What have I started?” Billy wondered. It all went back to his making sure Victor was released on a minor charge. How could this have grown so fast?

  “Cops are here, Duke,” someone yelled. Billy glanced and saw a man with a blue scarf looking at him. His attire was that of a professional businessman.

  “You got you a warrant, cop?” a huge African-American man asked as he approached. Easily six and a half feet tall, he was built like a professional weight lifter. The long sleeve shirt he wore stretched over the muscles of his broad chest and thick arms.

  “I need a warrant to talk to someone?”

  “If you want to go inside you do. We got us a lease, all legal-like.” Billy glanced up at the old historic theater.

  “I wonder how that will hold up in court. And who are you?”

  “Duke,” the man said simply.

  “And Duke, what kind of God can be found inside?”

  “The one what waits for us in Central Park. We’re just teaching about it here.”

  “Cute. Do I get inside or not?”

  “Not. Who do you want to see?”

  “I want to see Victor.” The man stiffened. Casually, a group of at least 10 others had slowly disengaged themselves from the crowd and moved into a semicircle around Billy. They formed a clear and obvious barrier between him and the building entrance. “I’m a friend.”

  “The Prophet doesn’t have any cop friends. At least not current cops.” Billy’s eyes narrowed slightly at that.

  “Look, just tell him Lt. Billy Harper is here, and I’d like to talk with him.””

  “You are Billy
Harper?” Duke asked.

  “That’s my name.”

  “Well shit, man,” Duke said and put a massive hand on his shoulder. “Why didn’t you say so? Come inside. Victor said to let you see him if’n you should show up.” Billy allowed himself to be steered toward the aging building.

  The inside of the theatre had not changed much from its short stint as a performance art center. It was a poorly-conceived compromise between glitz and glamour. Now it featured a soup line where the faithful fed anyone who showed up hungry. Everyone got a bowl of soup, a sandwich, a can of soda or bottle of water, and a pamphlet. The pamphlet was printed on blue paper and had a drawing of Victor’s centaur/angel, complete with halo, gesturing toward a portal to heaven. All the servers wore the blue knitted scarf.

  “Can I have one of those?” Billy asked a scarf-wearing redhead. He pointed at a stack of pamphlets she carried. She smiled broadly and handed one to him. He thanked her and glanced at it as Duke led him deeper inside.

  “The Avatar of God has delivered the Portal to Heaven,” it read. He shook his head in amazement. It wasn’t overly glossy or professional, but it was better than many of the other street ministries managed. They’d come into some money from somewhere, and it sure wasn’t from the hungry homeless types they were feeding nearby.

  “This way, man,” Duke urged him. He held the door to the main auditorium open, and Billy followed him inside.

  The main seating area was poorly lit. People filled most of the more than 1,000 seats on the lower level. They ran the gamut from desperate homeless to street punks to the generally well-to-do. There were even a few who might have been borderline famous. Billy thought he saw at least one B-rated movie actor in the crowd.

  On the stage was the man he sought. Gone was the confused man sitting on the hood of a police cruiser, unsure what had happened or what it meant to him. He strode back and forth on stage, telling how the archangel had flown above the park like a huge ghost as it deposited the angel itself. He talked about the otherworldly visage of the angel, and how it had proclaimed itself their savior. But savior from what? The world’s doom. His words were well thought out and delivered with a direct sense of purpose.

  “Quite impressive, ain’t he?” asked Duke. “Ever since we met in the lockup I’ve believed. Never before, but he taught me.”

  “He doesn’t look much like the man I arrested,” Billy admitted. “How’d he get so good at this?”

  “Practice,” Duke said, then after a moment shrugged. “That and some instruction from Paul.”

  “Paul?” Billy asked.

  “He was a priest before.” Interesting, Billy thought. He was about to ask more questions when Victor spotted him and quickly wrapped up his sermon. He’d been reading a passage from Psalms and explaining how it was relevant to their current situation.

  Another man moved to take over the sermon. He was better at it than Victor, though not immensely better. Billy guessed he was Paul.

  As Billy talked with Duke, another man moved closer and watched him. He was at least 50 and had a certain way of examining Billy that was familiar. More so, the man himself was familiar.

  “Captain Hicks, wasn’t it?” Billy asked.

  “Once,” the man said. “Now they call me Gabriel. And you would be Lt. Harper? Fifteenth Precinct?”

  “Fourteenth,” Billy corrected. “What’s an ex-police captain doing working for this outfit?”

  “Believing in something bigger than myself,” Gabriel said, leaving Billy shaking his head. “You remember my fall from grace?”

  “I remember you went on the take,” Billy said with a sneer.

  “This is no worse than I deserve,” Gabriel admitted. “I’m not a cop—haven’t been one for almost three years. I understand what’s going to happen. If you’re smart, you’ll understand too and join us.”

  “So where is the money coming from for all of this?” Billy asked. “Surely not from that crowd out front. Most of them probably can’t feed themselves every day.”

  “No, we’re doing that for them. We have our sources. Is this an official investigation, Lt. Harper?”

  “Not at this point. I’m just here to see Victor as a friend, but there is a warrant out for him.” Instantly Gabriel’s demeanor changed from calm to alert. He looked hard at Billy then scanned the crowd. “Don’t worry, I’m the only one who knows he’s here, and I haven’t reported this location. I’m curious about this game you’re playing.”

  “Maybe we should grab him,” Duke said darkly. “If’n he’s the only one that knows where Victor is…”

  “That wouldn’t be smart,” Gabriel said, and Billy nodded. “NYPD detective goes missing, all hell would break loose.”

  “Nothing of the sort will be happening,” Victor said from the edge of the stage. Billy looked up, and he smiled hugely. “Good to see you again, Lieutenant.”

  “You too, Victor. Or should I call you Prophet now?”

  “Victor is fine,” he said and dropped down gracefully from the stage. “I’m a little surprised you made it in here; many of my disciples are a tad exuberant in their defense of my interests.”

  “Are all these people your disciples?” Billy gestured across the crowded theater.

  “No, only a few. Gabriel and Duke, you already met. There are a few more like Paul who’s up there preaching. They’re my disciples. My moral guides, too. The others,” he gestured at the theater, “are believers who have joined the movement.” Billy nodded in understanding. “So, can I ask why you are visiting us?”

  “He says there’s a warrant on you,” Gabriel said. Victor looked at Billy who nodded and explained that the Feds wanted Victor for questioning.

  “I suspect if they get ahold of you for seeing that alien—”

  “Angel,” Victor snapped.

  “Okay, whatever. But if they get ahold of you, they’ll probably toss you in a hole for a year. There’s so much security on that portal, you can’t get within a quarter of a mile of it.”

  “Can you tell me some about that?” Duke asked. The bluntness of the question stunned Billy, and he didn’t reply for a minute. During his silence he noticed they were all watching him, and he decided he’d said enough.

  “Look, Victor, I just wanted to give you fair warning about that warrant. Best of luck to you.”

  “Then I thank you,” Victor said and offered his hand. Billy shook it without reservation.

  “I’ll walk you out,” Gabriel said, and he walked ahead to the exit. Out on the street he nodded to Billy and turned to go back inside.

  “Hicks,” Billy said. The former captain turned part of the way around and looked at the young lieutenant. “You’ve got a tiger by the tail here. You know that, right?”

  “As I see it, a tiger can take you a long way if you just hang on.” And with that, the man was gone.

  * * *

  Dr. George Osgood watched the bustle of activity inside the dome and tried to make sense of it. He was still nominally in charge of the research project designed to understand the enigmatic portal, however the effort was so large, his actual function was akin to that of a coordinator. Making matters worse, the amount of equipment in the dome had increased since the incident 10 days ago.

  To better facilitate multiple research projects, they abandoned the airlock arrangement and cut two more entrances through the spraycrete structure.

  Osgood didn’t know how many personnel had access to the dome, though the NSA guards had tablets that held everyone’s clearance level. If you didn’t have “Dome” clearance, you’d never get inside. You weren’t likely to even get a look, especially since the incident.

  In the early days, he could tell who was new and who wasn’t by the way they looked at the dimly glowing opalescence of the portal dais. Now none of the techs, scientists, or workers gave it so much as a glance. Even stepping on the dais and activating the hovering portal often only resulted in a quick look.

  Today was one of those rare occasions when the
portal was visible from outside. The largest of the newer doors was open as a work crew was carefully maneuvering a scientific apparatus off a heavy hauler and through the doorway. Dr. Osgood watched with some trepidation. While the dais had proved impermeable to any of their attempts to sample it (thereby buttressing the force field theory), who knew what dropping a 5-ton magnetic resonator on it might do?

  “Another machine?” Dr. Osgood looked over even though he recognized the voice of Agent Volant.

  “I don’t tell you how to trample civil liberties, don’t presume to tell me how to analyze alien artifacts,” Dr. Osgood replied. Volant snorted and grinned in appreciation of the jibe.

  “Any sign of Mr. Scott?” Volant asked, letting the doctor claim victory for that round.

  “Nothing.” Both men regarded the dais, deep in their own thoughts. Since Ben Scott, laser expert, fell through the portal 10 days ago, he’d proved surprisingly adept at surviving in the alien world. There was no longer any doubt that it was alien.

  The Swiss Army knife Volant had thrown him proved to be a good move. He used it to construct a shelter and start a fire, among other things. They couldn’t send him anything else. After the portal shut down following the incident, any attempts to throw items through resulted in them sailing out the other side, not transporting to Mr. Scott.

  Direct communication also proved impossible as no sound came though. They spoke to him via a white board at first, and a tablet computer later (held up to the portal). He could reply via words spelled with stones set on the dais for them to read. It was slow, but it was communication.

  They brought in xenobotanists to examine the plants Mr. Scott presented to them. As they examined them through visual observations and notes, they were unable to make exact pronouncements. After two days, Scott decided to cook a meal of several different roasted tubers. He suffered no ill effects.

  They started a log. Atmosphere—breathable. Biosphere—compatible. Water—plentiful. Not only had it rained on the first day after his arrival, but he’d found several small ponds within several hundred yards of the portal. On the second night, he reported there was a moon, appearing quite large and greenish. Then, on the third night, there was another moon. This one was quite small, moved quickly, and was nearly black. He’d only seen it when it passed over the first moon.