by Grant Fausey
Across the great pond Callen stopped, standing dead in his tracks; Travis in front of him. He pulled the branches back of a tree to clear his view. His field of vision forced his companion to take up a position behind him. "The transport––where's the transport?" His voice thundered, loud with no intention of lowering it. "It’s supposed to be here at dawn," he shouted.
"It will be!” yelled Callen. The sun isn't up yet. Now run!"
A metallic sphere countered his move. The ball-shaped gismo sliced through the air just above the tallest branches on the hunt, moving and listening to every sound; literally gunning down anything that moved or so much as twitched. The sphere had no eyes, no mouth; in fact, it had no openings at all. It just spit bolts of thin, white-hot light in a steady stream from a weapon that was not visible. Callen’s eyes danced across the forest line, darting back and forth trying to keep focus on any incoming jolt. A streak of hot light pierced the branches in an ongoing barrage that left charred limbs, severed to the ground.
The young aristocrat leaped out of the way, galloping through the underbrush, leaping and ducking at every turn. Callen stepped in unison with Travis as if by magic. He finally pivoted sharply, covered his face with his forearms and fell to the ground face down. The wind rustling through the trees from above, hitting him with a barrage of flying brush, leaves, and the blustering wind of a gale force storm.
"There it is!" screamed Callen. The transport vaulted over the treetops splintering the foliage from above the well-protected canopy in a dozen different directions. The machine hovered in the sky for only a moment then leaped toward the surface, falling out of the sky in a blinding white that brought the transport to the ground in a billion pieces, followed by the loudest clap of thunder Callen had ever heard––the thunder of a sonic boom. A sleek, grey blur came barreling across the heavens, soaring back into the clouds as it disappeared just as swiftly as it appeared. Like rats, Callen and Travis scurried to their feet running for their lives. Callen, only slightly taller than Travis, ran for his life; his added height, slender build and bright clothing made him a good target. Travis was glad he was in the lead. The laser bolts where aimed at him. At least, that was what he kept telling himself.
The two weary companions rounded a bend in the terrain, flanked by trees, where they emerged from the woods to an abrupt halt. Travis stammered, skidding to a halt, faced with a cliff wall and roaring water. The drop off in front of him marked one side of a trap, the Industry's hunting machine the other. The machine was on his heels, and there was no place left to run.
"Which way?" screamed Travis, thrashing from side to side.
"Jump!" cried Callen giving him a push; his feet dangled over the rim with a clear view of the pool of churning water a hundred feet below. He grasped for any place his fingers could hold on to in his own living hell. Then in a moment of blind rage, Travis reached for him but missed, fate sending him over the edge into the basin below. The young bureaucrat plunged over the bounds of the waterfall in a hail of laser bolts that shattered the edge of the waterfall, dislodging the rock face. The fall took an eternity in slow motion as if his body lashed out at the universe, only to be swallowed by the bellowing waves, as he slammed hard into the waves narrowly missing the rocks.
Callen hit the surface second, crashing into the choppy water as he too was swept away by the force of the undertow. The young man screamed in pain, blood covering his waterlogged shirt, but no one heard his cry except the hunting machine hovering over the edge of the waterfall. The machine searched relentless crisscrossing the waves like a child kicking a toy. The volley impacted on the surface and in one last desperate attempt to triumph, the machine toppled into the river rushing toward Travis.
Callen knew he was about to die. The impact would be an inconceivable force. One that would push him across the lake, leaving him face down in the water ... dead.
–– 15 ––
NIGHTMARES
"I'm alive!" Travis screamed awakening from the nightmare, gasping for air. Callen sat up on the bed next to him in a cold sweat, frightened; his sheets soaked, feet on the floor: Terror in his eyes. The screams in the night really startled him. His next move was anyone’s guess. Callen was perfectly still, not reacting. There were too many similarities between their dreams to overlook the past. They were almost to the point of having identical experiences, except their rolls were reversed.
For the most part, the room moved or at least the darkness was shifting from the window curtains cutting across the room in the morning breeze. Travis sighed, the shadows on the wall where moving with the light. The furniture, and most of the gold lined trimmings weren't a reason to be afraid, but they visibly shook Callen regardless of how much he tried not to let it bother him. Even as a boy, he never seemed to age. He thrived on youth. They were like brothers, Travis and Callen, fighting all the time; playing games on each other, sibling rivalry was at an all time high, but somehow, women were different story all together. They were the best of friends, and the worst of enemies.
The door to the room cracked open, creaking like countless times before. The hall light crept into the room, silhouetting the shadowy figure in the doorway. "Are you all right, Travis? I heard you scream," asked the woman silhouetted in the doorway, softly. "Another nightmare?"
There was an odd sense of concern. "Yes––" answered Travis, a matter of fact.
"That makes five tonight."
Travis moaned; his mother died when he was just a baby and his father remarried when he was not much older than ten. His stepmother walked part way into the room until her soft pail face came into full view. Still partially silhouetted in the shadows of the room, Travis smiled at her smile.
"You okay?" she asked, encouraging him as she put her arm about his shoulder to comfort him in the darkness. She rubbed his head.
"I'll be fine––thanks, Mom," he said. She pulled the youth close giving him a hug–A loving touch–Maybe this woman wasn't his real mother, but she treated him well enough, as if he was her natural born son. Still, there was a natural wonder about his real mother. He asked himself if she would have been as kind and loving, but of course, there was no way of knowing. Travis knew this mother the longest, most of his teenage years.
"It's almost dawn," she admitted, her eyes weary and heavy. She looked tired, as if she had not slept in days.
"Try and get some sleep now, okay?"
Travis smiled, said “Ok, Mom.” But he knew there was something wrong, he had an odd feeling. "What’s going on?" he questioned. "I can feel it."
His stepmother didn't answer just lowered her eyes. Time seemed to pass slowly the last few days. She tapped her fingers then stood up and walked across the hardwood floor to the window and pulled down the shades to cut out the excess light from outside. Travis looked at Callen then back at her. It was the oddest thing he had seen so far. His mother never entered his room, let alone, adjusted the bedroom curtains. She was definitely saying yes with saying it: There was something more. She didn't move the same. Callen noticed it too. It was like she was moving in slow motion, neither dead, nor alive. There was no way of putting a finger on it, but something was definitely different about her. Travis shrugged it off. He was too tired to worry about it after the nightly dreams he shared with Callen. Perhaps it was just his inhibitions. "All right," she whispered finally, "... back to bed." The woman headed for the door, stopped and turned around. "Try and get some sleep now, okay?" she said closing the door behind her. The room fell silent, and nearly featureless, blackened by the shadows in the night.
Travis glared at Callen staring at him, incessantly. "I had the dream too, " he announced frightened; enough of seeing and hearing things that weren't really there. "I'm afraid too," he continued, being inherent about the situation. "I don't understand what's happening to me. Something is going on, I can feel it but I can't touch it. I keep hearing voices in my head like they're in another room, but I can't find them or talk to them. It's giving me a headache."
<
br /> "Maccon?" asked Callen.
Travis shivered. He already knew the answer. Of course, him; he acknowledged him with a shake of his head. "I don't know what I am, or what he is: I just can't get him out of my head. I'm not sure I could even if I wanted too. It's like he's a part of me somehow."
Travis pulled back the shades and pointed out the window to the far side of the City to where the bay the complex met the sky. He waited impatiently for Callen to join him on the balcony. The salty air filled his lungs with the scent of early morning dew. "I saw the city in flames again," he said to Callen. "The towers were crumbling, people dying … explosions. I'm really afraid of what is coming.
“What's going to happen to us, Callen?"
Callen choked back his fears. Kept them at the top of his throat, as if to muffle the piece of meat caught in his windpipe.
"We have to get out of here," Callen said finally. Travis patted him on the shoulders and back.
"And go where?" Travis asked, stunned by the reality of his remark. "There isn't any way off this rock … it’s a dust ball. We're stuck here; always will be."
"I don't believe that," snapped Callen, "... and neither do you."
Travis stopped listening. His mind jumped the city lights, and came up captivated by the towering complex at the center of town––the home of the Industries. He knew his father was out there somewhere among the moving lights or behind the darkened windows of some far off office. His safety wasn't his concern, not yet. He was in the arms of the company, gone for days at a time. And it wasn’t the first stretch.
Travis stared at the flying traffic, the early morning travelers on more than one occasion; he liked watching the glitter domes of bronze pyramids between the towers. The genetics laboratory dwarfed everything except the core complex. The bronze superstructure was etched with designs from an ancient form of hieroglyphics. Each layer laced the outside of the building's floors from edge to edge. The auto controls left the tempered glass darkened during the day and brilliantly lit at night, its beauty helped him with the dissension among his thoughts. Like some ancient pagan deity–alive–all seeing and breathing from a thousand floors. But it never lasted, the ominous shape of the laboratory with its towering circular structure always returned, linked together panel for panel in an iron–fist grip that represented the universe of the Empire of the Industries. The sections glistened, pulled skyward on three extended supports of solid bronzed metal, covered in leafy gold trim. There was legend, more folk’s tale than anything else about the structure being poured in a single day. The tower built in a single night. No one remembered the truth; not even the core companies. Perhaps there wasn't a real truth after all, only legends to cover the obvious.
Callen watched a shuttle departed the top of the tower, his heart pounding into the longest day of his life. There wasn't a thing he could do about it; dealing with destinies wasn’t quite his cup of tea. He didn’t know how to hold or exploit the feeling. He felt like a tiny bird on the edge of a cliff watching its mother with nowhere to fly. His eyes shifted, glued to the shuttlecraft as it soared overhead like an eagle. He wanted to be on that ship; yet, there was no way of following it skyward or beyond to the threshold of space.
–– 16 ––
CYCLONE
The fifth dimension ... the sixth universe
Like a graceful bird, Senator Clarion Starr's shuttle, the Prestige, cut across the heavens reflecting the light of a thousand stars on its metallic surface. The shuttle was on a direct course to space skirting the edges of the great Trithen Barrier at the heart of the Nexus. The Senator sat alone in the main cabin, except for a refection in the viewport window of his own brazing face. He moved, revealing his own personal flight attendant. She was of medium build, average in height and size with an unusual multi–eyed finger–like extension attached at the top of the neck in place of where her head should be. One of the extensions smiled at him, while across from her, a holographic projection of a distinguished–looking gentlemen in his mid forties, a Senator John Creed, engaged with Clarion in the heat of conversation.
The Senator was completely unaware of his surroundings, the conversation with the Senator was far more important than any happenings on the barrier runner class shuttle. "I realize the importance of secrecy in this matter," he continued, directing his attention to the monitor. "However–– your decision to dispatch the Trods to the Eden sector is ludicrous, they’ve been discovered. The outcome is still unknown."
Clarion sat back in his highly cushioned chair, heartily sipping a brownish orange-shaded liquor from a tumbler shaped glass with an inverted bottom. The liquid poured from the center, flowing over his lips. "Ah," he said, acknowledging the fine flavor of the wine. "But I must say the efforts to deploy your bounty hunters into alternate time zones was … shall we say of great interest and it should take an enormous amount of time and manpower to counter the move."
Senator Starr took another sip then downed the remainder of the liquid. The image of Creed wavered, jittering with interference from time to time. "Thank you, Clarion," answered the dignitary. "I believe the use of Trods as a diversion will be rewarded once the Industries have discovered the truth behind the plan."
Senator Starr nodded, said: "I've sent a clone to Rampia. I'm returning to Trillian space myself and should arrive on schedule."
"Good–– I'll inform him of your decision to join us."
Clarion looked at the bottom of his empty glass and punched the reorder button on the arm of his chair, while continuing to listen to his holographic companion. "For safety's sake," said the dignitary. "I've taken the liberty of diverting the Cyclone from the scheduled flight plan. Your shuttle will take her place. I believe both you and the Cyclone should be safe until you reach the Emperor's escort fighters in the Trillian System."
"Fine–– that's fine, Senator Creed," agreed Clarion idly, expecting another drink at any moment. "Whatever you feel is right."
"Oh––" he continued, "... as for our dear inquisitive Oceanna Governor Colonel ... well ... I shouldn't worry about any damage done. I can justify the deployment. But I'm afraid we have no choice but to ride out the diversion. No real danger remains unless the true locations of Trithen Kellnar and his counterpart clones are discovered.
Controlling the rebellion is well versed, Senator. The Industry plan should be effective regardless of the Trod outcome."
Senator Starr looked down the isle. The attendant was still nowhere in sight. He shrugged his shoulders, paying more attention to the empty isle than the conversation. "Are you sure the Trod deployment will be a strong enough diversion?" He asked his fluttery companion.
The projection sparkled, unfalteringly. "We've no choice but to hope for a miracle. If the high council discovers our true intention, well–– let’s just say our lives won't be worth anything, in any time."
Senator Clarion Starr looked up the isle for a second time, and smiled; his drink was on its way down the isle. "All right, Senator," laughed Clarion. "We're preparing for dimensional travel now. Let me assure you the plan is on schedule. My agents tell me the Atlantis project was a complete success. The cover-up operation is now in effect or at least it was a couple of million years ago."
Senator Creed smiled again. For a moment he was pleased with himself. He looked straight into Senator Clarion Starr's eyes. "One last thing Clarion,” he said a matter of fact. “Should your mission prove to be a failure I'll have no choice but to dispatch bounty hunters to correct the matter, understand?"
"Understood, Senator Creed, “ he said soberly. “Understood. I'll keep you informed."
"Senator Clarion," she said the flight attendant with his drink in hand. "Your drink, Sir."
"Thank you," answered the dignitary, taking a sip. "Tell the captain we need to make an unscheduled stop in the fourth dimension ... the fourth universe. I need to clarify a little matter with one Senator John Creed, and his little band of elite."
"As you wish, Senator," said the attendant
. The communications device on the arm of the chair lit up and Clarion depressed the button. "Senator," he said addressing the voice on the intercom. "We've achieved trajectory for future wave corridor travel and should rendezvous with the escort ships on schedule. I've made allotments in our transfer for your unscheduled communication." The ship shuttered from the wake of the dimensional shift.
"We're entering dimension four ... the fourth universe, Senator."
"Very good, Captain," he answered. "Keep me informed."
An electrical arc of energy raced across the surface of the shuttle, sweeping along the length of the craft until it engulfed the wing tips in a beam of intense illumination that pulsated in a wide range of colored rings forming a shell. The energy blended into a flash of white light and the shuttle faded into oblivion, emerging into the fourth dimension of the fourth universe.
–– 17 ––
TWIN MESSAGES
The fourth dimension ... the fourth universe
One of the Juniper extensions smiled, and said, "Senator Clarion."
"Yes," answered Clarion.
"We've an incoming transmission for you from the Senate on Athin."
"Ah..." answered Senator Clarion Starr. "I'll take the call here, Juniper. Thank you!" Juniper nodded.
"You're welcome," she answered casually. "If you need anything else just push the attendant button and I'll come right up."
"Thank you," the Senator acknowledged, watching her holographic image fluttered as it was replaced with the persona of a second Senator John Creed. The project appeared somewhat misaligned with the chair across from him.
"Senator," said the projection. Clarion moved the chair so he looked more comfortable.
"That's better," answered Clarion. "You were sitting in the middle of two chairs, so I figured I'd better make an adjustment. How are you, John? Is there any news from Trithen?" The ghostly image of Senator Creed nodded as a smaller very pretty green skinned, dark–eyed Valnonium woman joined him, sitting on his lap.
