by Mark Wandrey
When she’d finished her coffee, she went down to the lobby, out of the way, and used her phone to dial Skinner’s number. Unlike the night before, it connected right away.
“Skinner,” the familiar voice answered.
“It’s Mindy,” she said.
“Jesus, Mindy. You aren’t in New York City, are you?”
“Actually, yes,” she said.
“Are you okay?” His concern sounded genuine, but she had to wonder if it was because he worried about her personally, or because she was the only one who could figure out where the portal went.
“I’m fine. I got arrested.”
“What?” She spent a minute explaining her encounter with detective Harper. “You didn’t tell him anything you shouldn’t have?”
“Not a word,” she assured him. “What happened in the park?”
“I can’t explain,” he said, “this line isn’t secure.” She waited while she heard keys tapping, then he spoke again. “I want you to go to this address. The guards will be expecting you.” She grabbed a piece of paper and scribbled as he talked. “Once you’re there, I’ll be in touch.”
* * *
Senior Agent Mark Volant looked out the window of his hospital room in New York Presbyterian Hospital. He could just make out Central Park in the distance, and the constantly circling helicopters. The irony wasn’t lost on him. He’d gotten precious little sleep last night, coordinating the arrival and dispatch of 10 NSA combat teams. The biggest problem he had was that his agency didn’t have hostage rescue teams. That wasn’t their drill. And he sure didn’t want to use the NYPD’s team.
His assistant had left him with a projector that displayed maps on the wall. They showed thermographic data on the terrorists (as they were calling them to the press) and used infrared imagery to show what kind of weapons they had. The crazies had helped themselves to a lot of the army unit’s hardware after they shot the grunts all to hell. They also appeared to have a few people with army experience, which was unlucky.
“There’s just no damned way around it,” he muttered to the empty room. If they had any chance of retaking the portal camp, it had to be from above. He pulled his tablet computer over, grunting in annoyance at the collection of wires and metal braces that was his left wrist. He used the biometric ID system to log in and began composing an email.
And then he was leaving.
* * *
Victor squinted in the sweeping spotlight as he slowly climbed out of the filthy drainage culvert. It wasn’t the first time he’d been in such a place. As a homeless man, when it got cold in NYC, thousands found refuge in such places. The trouble was that it was spring, and that meant lots of slime and mold. He was filthy from head to toe, but he was in.
The first thing he noticed was armed men and women. Many of them he’d seen only yesterday in his church, feeding the hungry, helping the needy. Now they carried guns. Some wore bloody bandages, and all looked excited and afraid. What have I done, he thought yet again. It took more than four hours to get to the perimeter, time spent avoiding scores of police officers and army soldiers.
“Prophet Victor!” a woman greeted him, a machine gun in one hand, her other arm bandaged heavily. “Praise the Avatars of God, you are here!”
“I am,” he said and moved closer to her. “We need to get you to medical care, sister.”
“No,” she said. She shook her head. “I’m here until kingdom come. We’re ready to go to heaven. We’ve taken the gateway from the war mongers.” He wondered how she didn’t see the irony in that statement as she stood there wounded and holding a machine gun.
“Prophet,” a young man said. “Please come with me. Duke said to bring you to him as soon as you arrived.”
“Of course,” Victor said and followed the young man.
* * *
Dr. George Osgood tried to get comfortable on the floor. He was old and overweight, and had a bad back. It had been years since he’d last sat on the floor for more than a few minutes, and the concrete floor of the portal dome was particularly cold and not very smooth. He was hungry, and he had to pee.
After the initial orgy of violence, the crazy cultists just watched Osgood and the other scientists. That they were cultists was a guess on his part, but they all had that crazy look cultists get sometimes—they greeted each other with religious epitaphs, and they praised the Lord all the time. What Osgood wished he knew was how they’d managed to beat the army guards and all the agents Volant had. The cultists had caught them flat-footed, he guessed. He figured the government would come to take back the portal before long; he just couldn’t figure out how he’d live through the experience.
He was about to try to talk to his guard, the big black man with the machine gun, to tell him that he needed to piss, when there was a commotion at the door. Osgood craned his neck to see what it might be. Because he and the dozen technicians who’d been unlucky enough to be in the dome when it fell were in the back, there was a considerable amount of material between where he sat and the door. The black man left, and Osgood entertained the idea of making a run for it, for an entire second. Instead he sat, waited, and listened.
“Welcome Victor!” his jailer boomed.
“Duke,” Victor said, embracing him, then pushing him back to arm’s length. “Duke, what have you done?”
“We took the portal to heaven,” another man said.
“Gabriel,” Victor said. “I assume Mary, Paul, and Kadru are here?”
“Not Kadru,” the authoritative voice of Gabriel said. “She, Mary, and Paul didn’t survive the attack.”
“So many lives,” Victor said.
“The apostates had the portal,” Duke explained, “and thanks to Gabriel, we had an opportunity.”
“We knew you wouldn’t agree,” Gabriel said.
“So, you simply went against my wishes?” No one said anything for a moment.
“You never explicitly said no,” Gabriel said. Osgood heard Victor sigh.
“We have the portal,” Duke said. There was a cheer from the cultists. “We can go to heaven whenever we want!”
“Heaven,” Osgood sneered. All conversation ceased as every head turned to look at Osgood. He realized a moment too late it would have been better if he’d remained silent.
“Who are they?” Victor asked, moving around some of his people and looking at the men and women in lab coats sitting on the concrete floor.
“Who cares?” Duke said. “They were keeping us from the portal.”
“Scientists,” Gabriel said, his voice giving the impression that he was partially guessing. Most of the people sitting around Osgood nodded. Osgood was trying to take the measure of the man who was obviously the leader. He was no older than thirty, African American, with a hard-worn edge about him. His clothes, while covered in filth, were new. He wore them with a discomfort you often saw in people who were living above their station. He wondered if this man had started his life on the streets before coming to lead a murderous cult.
“Who’s in charge?” Victor asked.
“I guess that would be me.”
“And you are?”
“Dr. George Osgood. Nuclear physics is my specialty, but I have five PHDs in various fields. I head the team studying that device.’
“Device?” Victor asked, glancing at the portal. “You mean the portal to heaven?”
“Yeah, I heard you the first time. No, I mean that incredible piece of technology over there capable of creating what we believe is a stable wormhole to another star system.” Victor’s eyes narrowed and many of his followers grumbled unhappily.
“Technology?” Victor scoffed. “What kind of technology can do that?”
“Sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic,” Osgood said with a sly grin as he levered himself to his feet. Several of the cultists raised their weapons, but Victor gestured them down. “I’m an old scientist, and only a danger to your ignorance,” he said, even though their movements had caused a
stab of fear. They lowered their guns, but continued to watch him warily. “Try to imagine taking a modern smartphone back to 1776 and showing it to the Founding Fathers. Do you think they would consider it magic? They were a fairly pious bunch, like yourselves, so probably.”
“Franklin might have recognized technology,” one of the laser technicians said. Osgood nodded, then shrugged. He had to admit the man could be right there.
“Still, take that phone back a couple hundred years, and they’d burn you at the stake as a witch.”
“What’s your point?” Gabriel asked. Osgood had been eyeing him. The one they called Duke was probably ex-military; he had the demeanor and the build. This guy, though, reminded him of Volant in many ways. He had busy, inquisitive eyes, and wore a conservative suit, minus the tie. There was a military rifle slung over his back, barrel down, and he looked like he knew how to use it.
“Just that Arthur C. Clarke had a good point,” Osgood said and walked over to the portal. This time when the guns came up, no one stopped them. Osgood held up his hands in a calming motion as he reached out and touched the bottom step of the dais. Instantly the portal snapped to life, the symbols dancing around the edge and the forest glade visible on the other side. It was late evening there. The cultists gasped, and many crossed themselves. A few fell to their knees at seeing it for the first time. “This is incredibly advanced technology, and you think it’s magic.”
“The divine power of God,” Victor corrected. On the other side of the portal, Osgood caught a glimpse of a member of the advance team. There were now eight people on the alien world. The man looked up from something he was doing in the dirt and started to wave when he saw the strange men with guns. His eyes grew big, and he ran out of view. Good, Osgood thought. That was exactly what he was hoping for. They’d planned to send someone through that afternoon, and Col. Wilson needed to know what had happened in case all these crazies carried the day.
Victor seemed a little taken aback by the view. It didn’t look like it had when he last looked through the portal. It didn’t matter that he was the only one of the Followers there to see it, the rest didn’t have anything to compare this view to. He spoke while he organized his thoughts.
“I saw the angel of God deliver that,” Victor said and pointed at the portal. “I was not much further away than I am now.”
“So,” Osgood said, giving the man another appraising look, “you’re the one they’ve been looking for.” He chastised himself for not placing the name. “Victor Smith, correct?” Victor nodded. “The police report said you were a junkie. Good to see you turned your life around, at least.” Victor gave another nod.
“That was my life before I saw the miracle.”
“Have you considered that what you saw was aliens, and not angels?”
“Aliens?” Duke laughed. “Like that guy with the wild hair on the TV show is always seeing everywhere?”
“Only these brought us something,” Osgood said, turning to look at the portal. The time had expired, and the visible portal disappeared like a fever dream, drifting into nothingness. “Your angels are not divine, Victor, but they could be saviors. You need to put your guns down and stop this insanity. We’ve learned a lot about this device, and we need to learn a lot more before—” Osgood swallowed what he’d been about to say, realizing he’d already said far too much.
“Before what?” Gabriel demanded, zooming in on the inadvertent statement.
“Nothing,” Osgood said. “Hasn’t there been enough loss of life?” He moved to step on the dais.
“Take one more step, and there’ll be another lost life,” Duke warned, and moved sideways a few feet so none of his cohorts would be in the line of fire. Osgood froze like an arctic rainfall. Victor spoke to his back.
“…He will swallow up death forever. The Sovereign Lord will wipe away the tears from all faces; he will remove his people’s disgrace from all the Earth. Isaiah 25:8-12.” Osgood turned and glared at him.
“Get them out of here,” Gabriel said, gesturing to several Followers. “Go put them in that office trailer down by the generator.”
“I can negotiate your surrender,” Osgood said, speaking louder as the Followers rounded them up and escorted them out under heavy guard. “I can guarantee your safety! Don’t be an idiot!” he yelled as he was herded away.
“That quote was amazing,” Duke said.
“It was the only one that came to mind,” Victor replied. “How many faithful are here?” Victor asked.
“We have almost a hundred inside,” Gabriel said.
“That’s it? Where are the others?”
“We lost fifty in the assault, another two hundred are outside, helping create distractions. We’ve heard from at least that many more, but the police and the army have us hemmed in.”
“We can’t just leave them here,” Victor said. “The military will hunt them down like dogs.” He went over and knelt next to the dais. Slowly, like he was touching something that might be dangerously hot, he reached out a hand and, ever so gently, touched it. Just like it had for the scientist, the portal sprang into life. On the other side stood a man in camouflage military fatigues, a rifle over his shoulder and a pistol on his belt. Victor could just make out the name on his uniform; LTC Wilson.
“Besides,” he continued, turning to see his followers glaring at the man on the other side, “there appear to be some serpents in the garden waiting for us. We’ll need all our followers to be sure we can clear out the non-believers.”
“Surely, God won’t deny us paradise,” Duke said, coming up behind Victor to look at the man on the other side.
“We can hope,” Victor said, “but who can know God’s will? Maybe this is our final test.” They watched for a few minutes, facing off over the inconceivable distance until the portal once again disappeared. “Work on getting the rest of our people in here,” he ordered. “I don’t approve of what you did, but what’s done is done. You can answer to God for that, once we’re before his shining throne. Now we need to get as many of the Followers here as possible and we’ll all go through to heaven together.”
“As you wish,” Duke said, and bowed his head. His remaining disciples went to see what they could do, leaving Victor alone to look at the swirling patterns of light within the portal. Heaven was so close at hand. Still, his thoughts couldn’t help but circle back to what Osgood had said, and a tiny seed of doubt found purchase in the ripe field of his mind.
* * *
The U.S. Army private looked at Mindy’s ID and then back at her with that dubious look someone gives an obviously underage person trying to buy alcohol. She sighed and explained again.
“Have someone check the NASA priority list,” she said, “I should be on it.”
“Ma’am,” the private began once more, “I have the list issued when I came on duty—you aren’t on it. And this isn’t a NASA-issued ID.”
“As I explained, private, my name was only added two hours ago.”
“I came on duty nine hours ago,” he said.
“And that would be why you didn’t see my name. I don’t have a NASA ID because I’m a civilian.”
“I’m sorry, you aren’t on the list.”
Mindy reached up and massaged her temples.
It was almost an hour later before Mindy managed to see someone who was willing to do a live check of the cleared list. As Leo Skinner had promised, her name was on it. Once they cleared her, though, no one knew what to do with her. She had the second highest level of clearance, meaning she had access to the portal itself, but they didn’t currently control the portal. They were operating out of a commandeered convenience store three blocks from Central Park, and didn’t really have anywhere to put her.
“I don’t suppose you can come back tomorrow?” asked an obviously overworked lieutenant after a sergeant passed her off to him.
“Lieutenant, I went through hell getting here. I’d rather not leave.” Though he was not happy about it, he found a place
for her to sit at the back of the command center. She sat on a dusty case of Fruitopia bottles and watched. It turned out to be a dream come true for getting up to speed with what happened. In less than an hour, her ‘fly on the wall’ position allowed her to fill in all the gaps.
“Drones are ready to go in,” someone said, and all heads turned in that direction.
Despite the crowded conditions, they had installed a portable control console complete with a pair of monitors on top of the store’s counter. They had piled all the tiny flashlights, snacks, and vaping supplies in a corner to make room for the equipment.
Mindy had no experience with drones aside from what she’d seen on TV and movies. Watching through the monitors only gave her a view from the drones. They were somewhere up in a tall building. As she observed, she got a few flashes of the soldiers around them as they picked up the drones, activated them and tossed them off the buildings.
It turned out there were two types. One was a small airplane-like drone that used a high-tech internal electric turbine. It’s wide, transparent wings allowed it to soar almost silently. The other was a multibladed little drone designed for use in dense foliage and close to the ground.
“We have eyes yet?” Mindy turned toward the voice and saw a large man dressed in a cheap suit, sunglasses on his face, and a cast on his left wrist.
“Coming up now, Agent Volant,” an army captain said.
“Plot out as many of their positions as you can,” Volant said. “I have more agents arriving by three this afternoon.” As the drones moved around, and the military specialists plotted the cultists’ locations, it quickly became clear that there were a lot of them, and they were using military hardware. A drone operator pointed out a trio of men in street clothes learning how to operate an M2 .50 caliber machine gun.
