Divine Destruction (The Return of Divinity Book 1)

by Suggs, Lester

  He said with the comfort of addressing a close family member, "They are beautiful. I feel I could watch them forever.”

  “Yes,” the other responded in a whisper, "I feel I already have.”

  Before Griffin stood a mature specimen of the humanoid children he had been watching. The skull ridges were less pronounced. He was tall and his arms were mantis-like in appearance. Griffin drew upon the insect qualities in his mind. The eyes were blue, glowing blue, ridiculously blue. The being wore a thickly woven shirt of heavy white linen embroidered with what looked like pure gold strands.

  "Who are you?" Griffin asked.

  "You already know,” the other said.

  "You are Gabriel, the Herald of God, the Archangel of Doom,” Griffin said, trance-like.

  "And you are the vessel of wisdom, Griffin,” Gabriel replied matter-of-factly. "Through you I seek the messenger of God.”

  Griffin came back to Ninth Avenue in a thunder crack of sound and sensation.

  He found himself seated, palms cooling on the granite bench. Griffin's mouth, like his mind, was dry and cottony. He stood and turned left and looked across Penn Avenue, right and looked south to Liberty Avenue.

  “What?” bounced around in Griffin's head. So did, “I’m losing my mind.” “What?” “Why?” “Alone?” “What is happening?"

  Turning back towards the bench, Griffin saw the pear core on the sidewalk in front of where he had been seated.

  “I was here,” Griffin said to the bench. The bench didn't reply. However, Griffin thought if it did, bench conversation would not have frightened him now.

  “I was here,” thought Griffin. "Was I there?"

  Griffin sat back down upon the bench.

  “I can't do this. I can't fall apart like this,” Griffin tried to reason. He put his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands and did his very best to hold onto this reality. Gathering up the paper sack and pear core, torn between reality and somewhere else, Griffin carried his numbness to his office tower. After gathering his personal belongings from his desk, Griffin took the stairs down to the fifteenth floor, so he wouldn’t run into any of his peers. The request for PTO nearly broke Griffin. The short ten minutes made him feel less than worthless. He felt broken. Griffin imagined the strange looks he got were normal from the counselor in Human Resources. But for Griffin, the looks only darkened his spirit.

  Two weeks alone to get his shit together.

  As Griffin took the elevator down to the garage floors, he tried to hold himself together until he could get home. He held himself back from crying out for help. Did he have a chemical imbalance? Was he exposed to a harmful chemical? Griffin searched his limited memory of his family's mental history. He couldn’t recall any comments about or meetings with of relatives who were complete whackos. He walked up to his car and clicked the remote to unlock his driver’s door. Fear rushed over Griffin's scalp. Could he drive home? What if he hallucinated again? He leaned against his car and blew out a ragged breath.

  “Hold it together for a little longer, buddy.” Griffin said.

  Moments later Griffin turned left onto Penn Avenue.

  Broken Hearts

  Mala heard the front door buzzer and wondered why no one else in her family ever answered the door. Despite the noise, food, guests, and general distractions on a typical Indian house party, Mala expected at least someone in her family to realize someone else was at the door. Making her way to the door Mala scanned the room for her children, especially the honoree, Itishree. Mala made a mental note to hunt for her eldest once the door was tended. She could use a hand with the last of the food trays in the kitchen.

  Opening the door, Mala was surprised to find Suresh, the boy she and her husband had chosen for Itishree. Mala could easily recall how Suresh, then an early teen, had appeared: afraid and bewildered. In the years since the families met, Suresh had grown into a handsome young man. However, also throughout those nine years Itishree shunned Suresh each time the parents arranged visits.

  And as sure as Shiva was the Destroyer, here Suresh stood, handsome as ever. "Good evening, Mrs. Aledar, How are you this evening?"

  “Well, I am well, Suresh,” Mala replied with a slight squeeze of surprise. “How may I help you Suresh?”

  "I have an invitation to Itishree's party from Deepa Ekhande,” Suresh replied a little sheepishly.

  He showed the invitation to Mala. Yes, it was Deepa's script. She would have words with Deepa later, the snake of a sister.

  "Please join us, Suresh, Itishree will be surprised to see you,” Mala said. Will she ever.

  At least now she didn't have to search for Itishree. Mala merely needed to follow Suresh.

  "Thank you, Mrs. Aledar,” Suresh replied.

  He gleamed through a smile so wide Mala thought it must have hurt. Mala extended the door's opening, and Suresh bounded through. She followed on his heels and with an eye out for Deepa, the Scourge of Pune.’

  Mala saw it didn't take long for Suresh to find Itishree. A look of anguish, mixed with surprise and a pinch of resentment, was there to greet Suresh. Once Mala saw that Itishree was more interested in her feet than the small talk Suresh was trying to attempt, she moved in like a skilled jaguar.

  ”Before you and Suresh get reacquainted, I need help with the last of the party food.” Mala said.

  Itishree, nodding to the point her head nearly popped off, followed her mother to the kitchen without a word.

  "Who invited Suresh, Mother? We spoke about this.” Itishree demanded once securely behind the kitchen doors.

  "Look to your Auntie,” Mala shot back, pointing in no particular direction.

  Itishree growled and began peeling the remaining fruit.

  An awkward silence froze the space between them. Neither had to voice the words they both felt. Mala came to Deepa's defense first.

  “Deepa obviously sent out the invitation before we last spoke,” Mala protested, knowing Itishree was furious.

  “But Suresh! He is the last person I wanted to see here! My last day!" Itishree said. Her eyes sparkled threatening tears.

  “Calm down, don't cut your thumbs off,” Mala said softly to Itishree. She took the knife from her daughter’s hand. “You’re going to have to tell him again.”

  Itishree wiped her nose on her sleeve and picked at the food. She didn't like the idea of having to tell Suresh she'd put her career ahead of marriage, again. Watching Suresh wilt was not the measure of guilt Itishree wanted to taste before getting on a plane for America.

  Just then Deepa banged through the closed door and rolled over it with her hips. She had an empty tray in her hand and a celery stalk locked in her teeth. Itishree stopped and shot Deepa her worst daggered glare.

  Mala launched into “Suresh! You sent Suresh an invite! He was off the list.”

  Deepa's eyebrows banged against her hairline as she switched her empty tray for a full one and sprang for the door.

  "We are going to talk, sister!" Mala barked as Deepa disappeared into the living room with its sounds of talking, music, and laughter.

  Hard Data

  Larry Green was giddy. He used to believe he had one of the coolest jobs on the planet. The sheen had worn off a year ago when the fresh students arrived. No, tonight Larry was giddy because the latest Iron Man comic had arrived. He placed his dinner into the microwave and headed off to his locker for his pack and the beloved Iron Man Vol.1, issue #227, still in the plastic mailer. After searching all online media outlets and dead-end correspondence, the issue was finally his. The months of searching and waiting were over. Now, in the silence of his grave-yard shift at the Institute of Astronomy on the University of Hawaii grounds, with his leftover pasta and bottled water, Larry would savor every page, every frame of primary colored joy. Sure, the digital versions were available now, and yes the various tablet computers made them convenient and highly portable; however, nothing, nothing was like holding the comic in your hands.

  Collecting the gray pla
stic mailer, Larry headed back to the break room. He heard the “ding” of the microwave. Larry turned and made for his desk. He would not risk carrying the comic and his dinner together. Dropping the comic package on his desk, he sat at his workstation and keyed up the latest batch of images. Each night the array would take thousands of images from a pre-programmed section of space. It was Larry’s job to process those images from the Pan-STARRS array. Confirming the connection with password entries, Larry began the feed and review process. Briskly retrieving his dinner and water, Larry settled at his desk and carefully opened his long awaited package.

  Sharing his attention between the triple computer monitors and the unveiling of his latest arrival, Larry pulled the standard comic book sleeve from inside the padded overnight mail envelope. The issue seemed as the lister had described, "excellent condition”. This meant many things to most people, but to a comic collector, it was a specific reference to the exact quality of the issue. No fractures, no bends or creases could be tolerated. No fading of ink. No stains. Larry glanced back at his left screen, then the center, and then right, panning his attention. Images cascaded from one screen to the next. Each new image would appear on the left monitor, then on the center with ten times magnification of the center field, and then on the right screen at one hundred times magnification from the array’s generic magnification.

  Larry noted nothing out of the ordinary and gave his attention back to the comic in his hands. Flipping the comic book protector sleeve over, he inspected the white cardboard insert to ensure it had no bent corners, indicating the package had been dropped. All corners were intact. A sense of gleeful satisfaction rolled across Larry’s mind. It was like a hundred little internal endorphin fireworks exploding together. He opened his pasta container and stirred the contents. Shifting his weight back in his chair and carefully stabbing another mouthful, Larry noticed the image that appeared on the left monitor. It showed what looked like white spheres inside the asteroid belt. As the image was passed onto the center screen, Larry set his dinner down on his desk. The white plumes looked like concussion waves. Then the image landed on the right monitor and Larry reached for the phone, noting the time: 1:28 a.m. PST. He paused to process what he was seeing. It was a visible chain of detonations with a small white comet trail. Larry quickly banged the space bar to freeze the progression of images and send the feed to the hard-disk array. Staring at the right monitor, Larry realized he had dialed the phone when he heard, “Kevin Szymanski, Duty Officer, Catalina Sky Survey.”

  Over the next couple of hours the images and data were confirmed. Next Larry sent the images to the Minor Planet Center within the Smithsonian Astrophysical Observatory, then to NEO Project Office in Johnson Propulsion Laboratory. The Smithsonian gave the comet the designation “Green X2018d.” It was named after the discovering person, “X” as in unknown origin, the year discovered, and the letter “D” indicating the fourth comet discovered in that given year. Once Larry found a few minutes to spare he walked to the far wall’s chalk board and erased the ‘III’ drawn in chalk at the board’s upper right corner. In its place Larry drew ‘IV’. He stepped back and smiled having discovered his fourth celestial body of record.

  Larry’s phone rang and he bounded after it. He was informed by the NEO night officer that after trajectory verification and further analysis, the NEO Program Executive would be briefed. Larry should expect further calls. He didn’t have to wait long. Twenty short minutes later his phone rang again.

  “Is this Larry Green?” asked the voice on the phone.

  “Yes,” Larry said tentatively.

  “I am Dr. Matt Fountain. NASA Space Telescope Science Institute.”

  The conversation was short and direct. After hanging up Larry felt the call had been to gauge his competency more than a verification of data. Larry dismissed his fears. He had his own questions. Why wasn't Green X2018d destroyed with those first belt collisions? Why hadn't Green X2018d changed course from so many collisions with much larger bodies? And, where did Green X2018d originate? Dr. Fountain had pointed out there were no sightings of a comet within that range of space until this morning. The Dr. commented a comet that seemed to come from nowhere had made a significant impact to the surrounding asteroid field.

  During the next few hours, Larry’s email blew up, becoming a riot of activity. He was being copied on each conversation thread. One scientist postulated Green X2018d was made of an unknown, super dense material, possibly star matter, which struck the field beyond light speed. However, that idea didn't gain traction and was left on its own to fade. There were many emails, like this one, based on speculation.

  By 2:00 p.m. PDT many eyes were trying to find and track Green X2018d, i.e. Gabriel. Unfortunately, most land-based digital eyes, under the control of NEO, were blinded by the Sun during daytime observation, and most orbiting arrays were tied to more important and specific terrestrial and astrological projects, mostly spying on other countries.

  At 0:27 a.m GMT, 8:27 p.m. EST, a report came from Mount Brukkaros, Namibia, that observers had located Green X2018d but indicated a course change. The SAO and the outside bodies of IAU requested more information and verification. The new information wasn't good.

  Director Frank Lovas was multitasking behind his ancient metal desk. The White House Office of Science and Technology Policy's director preferred metal desks over wood. The White House was full of historic wooden desks from America’s past. But Frank felt metal was more practical. His desk was never at a pivotal battle during the American Civil War, nor was it exposed to gas from a Nobel Winning Scientist. But Frank knew for his own investigation, the desk was constructed, by real Americans, from a manufacturer in Youngstown, Ohio back in 1974. Frank was annoyed when his phone rang. He was having a usual day: more work than time.

  ”Director Lovas,” Frank said after punching the speaker button.

  “Dr. Matt, again, Frank,” said Dr. Matt Fountain of NASA’s Space Telescope Science Institute.

  “Yes, Matt, what do you have for me?” Frank asked throwing his full attention to the phone.

  “I have more specific data Frank.” Dr. Matt Fountain continued, "We are looking at land fall in western Pennsylvania".

  There was no immediate response. Frank Lovas' mind blurred with what was about to happen.

  "Dr. the comet will strike the United States?" Frank asked in a hushed voice.

  "Frank, we sent the new numbers down the NEO JPL guys, they're very good at what they do. Right now, there's little doubt otherwise. But ‘strike’ is not a correct term.”

  The was another uneasy pause. "Everyone cleared for this threat level here has run the numbers. We have many facts in our favor Frank. That part of the country is rural; country and farms mostly between Pittsburgh and Erie. The NEO is small and will probably burn completely in the atmosphere.”

  Matt was trying to be reassuring, but from Frank's lack of chatter, he guessed the Director was concerned.

  “Given angle of ascent and size the comet, it may bounce and only give us a pretty show,” Matt said.

  “Do you have a precise event time now?” Frank asked.

  “2:00 a.m. EST Wednesday morning,” Dr. Matt said matter-of-factly. “In 24 hours I can give you an impact location down to the quarter mile,” Dr. Matt added.

  “Doctor, will you call me tomorrow at this same time with exact coordinates. Promise me you won't give that data to anyone else. Then give me 15 minutes before further disclosure?" Another uneasy pause.

  Dr. Matt said firmly, “Director, that is all I can give you. NASA must go public after that.”

  “What kinda of damage are you expecting, Doctor?” Frank asked. And he realized he was blurting out questions like a robot.

  "If it hits land, and we do not think it will, it's going to be interesting. Something kids will be studying for decades,” Doctor Matt replied, proudly Frank noticed.

  “With this data, I do not expect a crater.” Matt said.

  Frank stiffen
ed at the word “crater’’. “And what if it does penetrate the atmosphere?” Frank asked, startled to hear those words come from his own mouth. But what Matt said next startled him more.

  "50 meters wide, 20 meters deep. Some debris in the air for a couple of kilometers. Going to be felt for a thousand miles."

  Frank grasped the good doctor was beginning to churn out imaginings and cut him of.

  “I understand Doctor. We’ll talk more tomorrow. Thank you for your discretion,” Frank said.

  “Good day, Frank,” Matt said.

  Frank set the phone down and noticed he was standing. He never stood at his battleship of a desk.

  Farewells

  Itishree looked around the kitchen and found nothing else to chop or peel. Washing her hands she paused at the sink gazing into the darkness beyond the kitchen window. Itishree saw her mother’s reflection studying her. She slumped. Even as a reflection Itishree understood that look. She had left an important something undone. Her and her mother both knew it. Itishree came to the harsh reality she had to face Suresh on her own. Itishree looked at her mother like a defeated animal. But when her mother straightened and put her hands on her hips, Itishree understood. She left the kitchen.

  She wove her way through the party collecting well wishes, blessings, hugs, and the occasional tear. In no time at all, Itishree found herself face to face with Suresh. She took his hand and led him back out onto the back patio. After setting him down on the bench farthest from the house, Itishree removed her hand and looked off into nowhere. She could almost hear her father’s words.

  “Itishree, one of the most important lessons you will learn is where you are in the stream of time.”

  Her father had began this talk on a similar bench but in a park not far from the house.

  “You and I are here now, but we will be in a new tomorrow somewhere, do you understand?”