“Souls… they are a thing?” The concept was something the he had largely ignored in his life. “Those people… their souls, they are really gone? They have no other chance? Like you and Uncle Angelo?” Fred was dumbstruck. She let him digest the magnitude of this idea.
His concern waned after a moment, as another question came to his mind. It was a sign that he was regaining his stability. “By the way, what happens on your side? Do you live there forever? What is it like? What have you been doing since you died?”
“Always the scientist, eh Freddie? Well, it is a lot like being alive. I have spent a lot of time with you, as you jaunted through space. The irony of that never escaped me. I talked to you at length; though you never responded to me, even a little. But time was starting to drag a bit.”
The realization that she’d been with him had intense and conflicting impacts on the doctor; they virtually cancelled each other, and he kept his peace as she continued.
“Some of the people on this side that I have come across are not around anymore. Mostly, it is the people that did not know they were dead…”
Fred interrupted, “Did not know? How can you not know you are dead?”
“Well, it is actually pretty common. You did not believe in an afterlife, Freddy. What did you think was going to happen when you died?”
“Uh, I… I was thinking that… nothing; I thought that it was over.”
“Exactly. So when it was not, then you might have done what some of these folks do. They surround themselves with a kind of reality that reminds them of their former life. To go on living.
“But as I was saying, the people whom I knew, who are gone, became sort of senile first, which is strange, because, mostly, people appear to be young here. Anyway, they got less and less responsive, and then they weren’t around anymore. I don’t know where they went, or what happened to them.
“Some folks are unpleasant, just as in life; we stay away from them. Like the pirate cozza; I was glad she did not hang around. I was not with you during the time with the creature and pirates but I got her account, and then she shot off like she had an appointment to get to.”
Fred nearly blushed at the profanity his sweet Jessica used for the pirate. But he recalled the girl. Greasy hair, dirty face. Barely could tell it was a woman. “I am glad you were not there Jess; that was good luck. So what do you think can be done about these things?”
“Uh, it isn’t me who has this opinion actually. I really have not a clue about it. As I mentioned, there are some scientists on this side; you would understand them much more than I, Freddie. You need to meet them, but Angelo can tell you some of it.”
“Yes, my boy,” Uncle Angelo piped up from the recesses of Fred’s mind, “they are quite adamant about it. Say they had something to do with the development of the ship drives. They have a wild theory that these things are actually some kind of doorway to an alternate universe.” Angelo chuckled again, choosing an odd moment, as was his way. “Sounds quite demente. But what else are we to think? No, no, they are the smart ones, eh? With their PhD’s…” He recognized his uncle’s tone: as if his listeners had contradicted him. He imagined his uncle would be emphatically waving all to silence.
Fred was also remembering how his uncle would start down the road of one story and end up somewhere completely different. He had always been the worst storyteller, even when reading out of a book; it wasn’t much more than a page before he was off on some tangent. As a boy, Fred always pretended to sleep quickly, snoring loudly to get his uncle’s wandering attention. When the man noticed and left, his exaggerated efforts to be quiet usually ended in a noisy exit, nonetheless.
Fred headed him off. “Uncle, tell me what they say about these things.”
“Yes, I was coming to it.” Fred had his doubts. Angelo continued, “They say something about a fourth or… no, no, it is the fifth dimension… or whatever. Another dimension.
“Now, I do not mean time, but a whole universe, that is piggy-backed on our own. Wild, eh? Did I say?” The man’s voice was building with some excitement. Fred had no idea what he was talking about, but he could picture the short, wide man swaying back and forth on the balls of his feet, making small, then grand gestures with hands and arms, rubbing his mustache between sentences. “And, and these doorway things are made up of spacetime foam, filled with wormholes, they say, big and small, microscopic even.”
Wormholes? Wild didn’t describe it. It was unbelievable. Could it be? Fred saw then just how narrow his focus had become since he’d lost Jessica. It shocked him that he had never thought to question the prime force moving his ship about the galaxy as he did his job. “Uncle,” he interjected, “they think there are other universes? Do these things take us there? Could the souls that have gone missing still be… there? Alive?” He couldn’t think of a better word at the moment.
“I know not, my boy, truth be told. I find it all quite affascinante, but when gli scienziati start spinning their yarns, mi confondo.”
There was some poetic justice in the fact that he would find himself lost by the end of someone else’s story. Fred asked a few more questions but he’d gotten all of the pertinent information he was going to get from the two of them.
One thing became clear from what they’d told him: while not all of the ghosts were as motivated as Jessica, Angelo, and their friends, none were actively against a course of action. But, beyond their perceivable world, there were arcane forces at work that were against the idea of taking any action on behalf of the living. His uncle called them rabble-rousers, but admitted that he didn’t understand what these influences really were.
As to how he knew of the forces and their intentions, he said, “I just know it.” Jessica agreed; it seemed to be a free-floating knowledge that they picked up on—something out there was in opposition to positive action against the time-altering anomalies. Eventually, Angelo admitted that they, or it, or whatever it was, scared him. “I am not ashamed to say it,” he claimed defensively.
Fred Comani was caught between worlds of the living and the dead, and marooned on one of ice and mists. He wanted nothing to do with these bizarre manifestations. With his family’s assurances he was at least secure in the knowledge that his attacker had not followed him here.
Resigned to the fact that he could not escape the discussion, he said, “Well, I guess I need to talk to these scientists.” Making a joke out of it, he added, “Take me to your leaders.”
CHAPTER 44
EVENT: DAY 10, 2000 UT
She rumpled the covers and arranged the pairs of panties to peek out, as if forgotten in a rush.
Taylor and Jennifer were back at Hahn’s Fun House, as they now referred to it. They had made sure that they wouldn’t be surprised by Lev this time, but wanted to have a little fun with his head. Taylor artfully disarrayed his bunk blankets. So they would not float away, she tucked the bare scraps of pink and purple fabrics in to a couple of folds, just under the spinning sling.
Jennifer couldn’t stop laughing, and before she could finish, Taylor fell into it contagiously. It was not only fun having a female companion and friend on-board, it was comforting. As the journey out to the site of the mysterious attack neared its halfway point, the reality of what she and her adopted crew might face had begun to seep through her typically carefree attitude.
They both finally calmed after Taylor hid the underwear under the bedcover. Amongst spates of giggling they managed enough coordination to get into the slings.
Once they’d gotten it going and were into the thrust-and-release rhythm, Taylor got serious. “Okay, Jen, we need to be able to talk about these things that we’ll face without having to resort to the ride every time.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“Mmm-huh, so as I see it, we kinda have to have a language of our own. Do you have imprinting type oculars?”
“No, enlisteds aren’t al
lowed to.”
“Hmm, I guess that makes sense. How about other implants?”
“Yeah, I have data storage capability, for referencing the things I need to know. Saves my butt; my memory is pretty bad.”
“Well, that should work just fine. What’s your loading protocol?”
“Well, I can read something, and then it comes to mind in a verbal way, sorta like remembering a conversation that I have with someone; plus, I can do keyword searches on the stream. Or I can do a data dump; then it’s not my voice when it comes to mind. I like the first way the best.”
“So if I read you something, that works too, right?”
“Yeah, same as if I read it, but it’s a mixture of my voice and yours; that’s because I have an inner habit of repeating things that people are saying to me.”
“Okay, good. So here’s what I’m going to do: I’ve made up a sort of language. It’s some sounds and gestures, and some words. They’ll have alternate meanings when I say them with an inflection, or if I combine them differently. There’s no way for anyone to even know that we’re talking about something else, unless they know about the language, and then they couldn’t decipher it without the key, which is in my head. My imprinters can do inner-visual transcription, so I can see my thoughts in written format. I’m going to read that to you. Are you ready?”
“Wow. That’s cool, TJ. Okay, I’m ready.”
In a few minutes of dictation, Taylor gave Jennifer the key and the various components of the symbolic language. As a test, she spoke a few simple words and, at the same time, brought one hand up gesturing between them in their spinning cocoon. She added facial expressions. It created the condition that would allow her new friend to translate a meaningful but brief sentence from the gestures, sounds and seemingly random, idiomatic words. It sounded like this: “Chill girl” then a “ch” sound, followed by “Tight”; a rising hum sound in the back of her throat, then ending with the word “What.” The hand movement was subtle.
The translation seemed to work well enough, because Jennifer responded, a little shy smile on her face. “Oh. Uh, I like you too, Taylor.” There was a bit more in the meaning of Taylor’s construction, but she sensed that Jennifer got it, and it was left perfectly unsaid.
Taylor smiled back warmly. “Well, excellent, we don’t need this anymore,” she said referring to the rotating contraption, “but I think I’ll miss it.” They both giggled. Taylor stopped thrusting and embraced her sling-mate, who returned the embrace with equal affection.
After the sling came to rest, they each wormed out in turn. Sitting on the bunk, one leg locked under to minimize drift, they put on their boots. Jennifer touched Taylor’s shoulder, then used the new language for the first time, demonstrating the quality of her recall system. Taylor understood what she said perfectly: I’m scared.
Taking a breath, in the interesting combination of casual comments and flairs of gesture, Taylor responded: I got your back, kiddo. She affectionately punched her friend’s shoulder as she folded back the covers to expose the panties.
They ran out into the hall laughing.
CHAPTER 45
EVENT: DAY 15, 0200 UT
Considering his twisting gut, he hoped his appearance seemed casual to any monitoring cams.
General Hanson was in the transmission facility; it was 0200. To his relief, his CO had not made good on his threat to call him back to his office or send him on some errand-boy assignment. He hoped that, by now, Swan would be sleeping. Soundly.
In the interim, he’d spent some time in Vegas Slice draining his cred chip by a tidy sum. He’d tried not to wince when they told him how much his gecko boots were going to cost. He chose a less expensive style of the quieter geckos and an ear-insert amplifier. It annoyed him that the cheaper mag-grav boots had been issued. He suspected that the admiral might have something to do with that; he’d been the man’s whipping boy from the start.
His upgraded boots and amplifier had already proved their worth; he’d had warning to divert from his path on two occasions, avoiding any chance meetings on his way to Comm. The fact that he was a general and that he’d exercised his prerogative to have his tracking implant removed, also helped ease his concerns a fraction.
Despite whatever ease he obtained by his planning and purchases, his subversive intentions had given him a case of nerves. While out in Vegas Slice, he’d decided he could safely administer a dose of nerve-calmer: a good, stiff drink. Just one. It helped. So he had one more before he talked himself out of there. His heart still beat loudly in his ears, but he was a touch braver in the face of his risk.
Hanson had some skill with tech systems, a holdover from his youth, but he’d stayed up to date on the latest AI and nano-based smart systems. You couldn’t get through the latest systems; it was simply not possible with the biometric-readerware being reduced to the nanoscale: chemical readers for your bodily emanations, optical readers for your retinas, and others. If you wanted in to a protected system, backdoors were still the best answer. They were always there. Hard to find in the most secure systems, most times requiring another type of physical access—an internal terminal for instance—and then it was do-able.
If Hanson had any less skill or any less clearance, he would have been out of his depth. But, as it was, using this terminal in Center Comm Central, he had managed to get some data stacks reassembled from the CLET parallel stream buffer. The mysterious extra data that he’d noticed from his ocular flash of Swan’s last order, turned out to be an odd disintegrated instruction, now displayed on his terminal screen.
Hanson wasn’t sure whether he’d done something wrong in his reassembly of the message, but it was readable. It was bad news for the two captains on the QB1. Adding his own suspicions, if this situation broke down way he read it, it could be bad news for the admiral: conspiracy.
Puzzling his few pieces together, it seemed likely to be dark tidings for Hanson. For Humanity, in fact. Hanson needed to know how much truth there was in that message before he could decide what to do next.
“Hey. What’re you doin’ there?” The massive soldier seemed to appear from thin air, descending on General Hanson with a menacing posture, poised for trouble.
“Nothing, just trying to get in touch with my wife.” Hanson out-ranked the man ridiculously, but his pat story seemed weak in the face of the looming sergeant’s threatening air. He quickly stood up, attempting to shield the man’s gaze from the open screen at the terminal. His head only came up to the man’s mouth as he looked up at him. Being surprised and caught off guard, he’d fumbled his opportunity for a quick screen wipe. A glance at the sergeant’s boots said why he’d been caught unawares: gecko boots like his own, except military grade—no-noise tech—extra quiet.
“I’m General Hanson. I have every right to be here.” Even in his own ears, it sounded overly defensive, but he hoped stressing his rank would diffuse the man’s clear distrust. No such luck.
“I don’t care if you’re the Holy Mother, no one’s in here without proper clearance, let alone sending transmissions.”
Hanson read the sentinel’s tag and addressed him by his title. “Now see here, Sergeant Amio, since when does a man need to get permission to talk to his wife?” His dodge had no effect as the soldier looked past him at the screen, still filled with incriminating text.
“You don’t have clearance to be here, I woulda’ been told. What’re you up to? What’s all this?” The man easily looked past him, eyes rapidly scanning the screen. Hanson’s blood pressure rose. Immediately, the sergeant understood that the strange but highly incriminating text had nothing to do with the general or his wife. There was a crinkling sound as the sergeant’s shield came on and his uniform stiffened against impact and weapons.
Amio brought a hand up to grip Bart’s shoulder firmly while continuing to read the message. When his eyes found the admiral’s name on the document, his gaze
snapped back to Hanson. “You’ve got some explainin’ to do.”
Before the soldier took any action, Hanson attempted one more evasion, mustering up all the authority of his persona. He was dangerously close to his own arrest. “Alright, Sergeant, Admiral Swan is my CO, and it happens that you have just read something that is top-secret. In fact, I could have you arrested immediately, just for what you’ve seen. If you turn around and walk away now, we can forget about this. I don’t believe that you’ve actually seen too much. I can let this slide.” It took all the balls that general had, bluffing and returning this man’s penetrating gaze. In the end it seemed to make no difference.
“We’ll see. I’ll take that chance. At this hour I wouldn’t wanna disturb the admiral, so if you’re telling any kinda truth here, you’ll forgive me for makin’ ya spend the night in lock-up.” Amio released the clamped grip on his shoulder but, to Hanson’s horror, reached for the restraints at his waist.
“Now wait a minute, Sergeant, I’m sure I can explain to your satisfaction…”
“Ain’t my satisfaction that you oughta be worried about.” The man’s movements slowed down from Hanson’s perception, everything moving into slow motion. My God, I’m a dead man. The thought was overwhelming.
Hanson was no pansy, by any means. In his early fifties, he had not let himself run to fatness like many other generals. He kept fit and trim, able to match any enlisted in an obstacle course. All of that meant nothing, though, in this moment. Resistance against his captor, had he been so motivated, would have been futile; the man had the advantage on several levels. And Hanson’s strength was no defense against his mind’s inner assault on his reality. Additionally, his earlier alcoholic choice was working against him now—a wave of nausea overtook him. His vision whited out for a split-second; he doubled over, stifling a retch. His feet remained stuck to the deck in the zero-gravity but his forehead struck a console grip-bar.
Parallel Extinction (Extinction Encounters Book 1) Page 24
