Parallel Extinction (Extinction Encounters Book 1)

by T. R. Stevens

  Through some mechanism, of which all of the manifested relatives disclaimed understanding, the attacks had been halted around twenty-four hours before their materialization. This mysterious cease fire eased concerns to a small but welcomed degree. Some sort of negotiation was being attempted, and the latest contacts had been confined to the simple release of the captive wormhole-forces. This had been cosmically fostered despite the subsequent loss of interstellar capability and communication.

  The name now on the lips of many, after the visitation, was that of Quilliam Spence. The ghosts had brought the bad news of the attacks to the rest of humanity, who had been kept in the dark by the military, but at the same time, they brought the hope of a solution for the stranded parts of civilization.

  On the Arc outpost in the Arcturus Quadrant, Quilliam had received a visit: his dead uncle. Uncle Alan informed him that an answer might rest on his shoulders. The loss of communications had prevented Spence from sending a message to Dock Toroid Alpha, asking for instructions on how to proceed. He was helpless to act without a ride back to Earth.

  His outpost was a doomed habitat if nothing could be done to reestablish a food supply. The nearest planet that had any hope of supporting life had been a standard-hour away, but was now years away at the reduced level of technology. His outpost had retained no interstellar ships in any case. They relied on outside visits.

  Quilliam pondered how cannibalism might evolve if things did not improve soon.

  Considering the almost prophetic pronouncement of himself as the hope for Humanity, he contemplated what actions he could take in his isolation with his stationmates. Unfortunately, his uncle’s miraculous manifestation was too short. He’d had little time to quiz him on the nature of how he could possibly help in this dire emergency. The most helpful thing his uncle said was that it had to do with the alien that he interacted with all those years ago.

  That didn’t say very much. The only lasting thing that he’d carried away from that experience was his meditation technique. What he assumed was meant by the proclamation of his saviorhood would be something to do with the ship that had been transformed by the event, rather than himself personally.

  If that was the case, then Humanity was doomed.

  He had no idea what became of the little craft after it was appropriated by the military. The General—Clarence Swan—would be the one to talk to. And he now had no way to do that.

  There was a knock on his cabin door. “Come in.”

  It was Ernst, one of the station mechanics. The man normally had a hangdog expression, but now his face was practically melting with an emotion that shouted a personal devastation, tears still streaming down his face.

  “Ernst. What’s wrong man?”

  Through a rough throat, choked with emotion, he managed, “It’s Evan! He’s dead, Quil…” His words degenerated to unintelligible blubbering. He covered his face with his oversized, worn hands, hiding from a world of pain.

  With concern, Quilliam reached a hand out to rest on his shoulder. “How?” Evan was Ernst’s co-worker, best friend and constant companion.

  “S-Suicide…” the man broke into convulsing sobs.

  Quilliam eased the man down to sit on his bunk. The visit from the realm of the ethereal was not a good thing for all. In some cases, it destroyed certain faiths that people relied on. In other cases, as it was in Evan’s case, no one visited. It was a rare event, but still common enough across the vast numbers of humans. For personal reasons, which he had taken to the grave, having been left out like that had served to severely depress Ernst’s late friend.

  With only one day gone by, the Human Resources staff had not yet gotten its own feet under themselves. This might have been prevented had the man received immediate treatment.

  Out in the farthest reaches of man’s explorations, the value of friendship was magnified in both a beautiful and terrible way. In this case, Ernst’s loss of his friend could easily turn darker. Quilliam was on suicide watch.

  But that wasn’t the end of the man’s pain. In a hoarse shout, “The bastards have put him in the freezer.” He shook as a tide of rage rose up from within him, smothering his grief for a moment in an animal howl, before he collapsed back in on himself.

  The standard practice in the case of a death was cremation, the ashes scattered to space.

  It had begun. Quilliam knew why they had put the man’s body on ice; it was now a resource to help stave off the inevitable.

  For as long as possible.

  CHAPTER 82

  EVENT: DAY 20, 0700 UT

  The ghostly manifestation had wrought havoc in different ways, all across human space.

  On Earth, where the anxiety of fatal isolation was not the overriding concern, the devastation was on a more subtle and economic level, as every man, woman and child was forced to reckon with what had just been revealed. The effect was not one of visible chaos for the most part; people had withdrawn into their homes, and into their psyches. They had less motivation to regroup than the spacers.

  There were some exceptions. One was the occasional true believer, shouting vindication for all that had been espoused and prophesized for centuries—despite the fact that no known prophet ever predicted precisely such an event, nor, did anyone step forward and claim to be Jesus.

  The mass introspection had caused nearly every aspect of human life to come to a grinding halt.

  Ironically, those who wound up suffering the most from this broken weave of the social and economic fabric were the people and groups with particularly strong beliefs that were in alignment with the event. To these individuals, the apparitions seemed almost normal. Their personal reality was not shifted by a drastic measure. They would have been able to continue along with a rather joyful attitude, missing hardly a step, their beliefs only reinforced. But normal life was not possible for the moment, in the midst of the larger dumbstruck population.

  Then there were those who refused to miss a step. Their experience was the same as the rest of humanity, but they saw themselves as saviors in their own right, with more or less ego involved. When no one else was there to step up to the plate, that’s when they were needed.

  Admiral Sumner was this type of soul, a demanding authoritarian, yet with less egocentricity than most. He was on Toroid Alpha picking up the pieces, in the wake of Swan’s dereliction and desertion.

  “I want any and all reports on the drive systems of the fleet. Swan’s got some explaining to do. Send out all interstellar-capable birds, full or skeleton crew, whatever gets them off-station faster. Bring home any ship that’s out of system.”

  The AI’s avatar responded with its smooth, emotion-free face. “All interstellar drives are non-functioning at this time.”

  Sumner was still getting up to speed on just what impacts he faced. “What? Don’t give me that crap. Get those maudlin-bastard fly-boys off their asses! Goddamit, everybody’s gone and shit themselves. Am I the only one at work here?”

  “Sorry, sir.” The avatar’s programming responded to his rank and his emotional state. “I meant that, at this time, there is a malfunction of all FTL drives aboard interstellar-class vessels, docked here and at Dock Cylinder Alpha.”

  The admiral just stared at the AI’s projected avatar face for a moment, computing the unthinkable. “Do you mean to say that we’ve got humanity spread halfway across this goddam galaxy and we can’t get to them?”

  “That would be one result, sir.”

  “And? And?”

  The AI was not able to infer his question from just the one word, so remained silent.

  He was happy to direct his upset at a specific source. “You god-damn sim, what the hell other results are there?”

  “All incoming communications from the outposts and mission-engaged interstellar ships have subsequently ceased. This fact could be indicative of a similar motive loss aboard all inte
rstellar-capable vessels.”

  Sumner did not understand the tie between comm and the drive. “Are you telling me that all the birds that are already out there are lost to us completely?”

  “That would be conjecture. No missions are scheduled for return for at least one more standard day. I could be more conclusive after that deadline. My apologies.”

  “Are the drive and comm systems linked?”

  “Sorry sir, I am not able to access that information. This could be inferred.”

  “What kind of goddam mess did those ghosts get us into?” The avatar recognized the rhetorical nature of the question and did not respond. “Are we getting any communications at all? Can we send?”

  “There is one anomaly in the monitored communication frequencies. The link with the Quantum Butterfly One does not exhibit the same type of loss characteristics.”

  “Translate that.” His patience with the AI was drying up.

  “The Quantum Butterfly’s transmission failed fifty-seven minutes, forty-nine-point-six seconds after the comm loss with Celestial Wheel Station. At oh-seven seventeen and thirty-two-point-one seconds, reception of all other frequencies failed in synchronicity with the loss of the Rapscallion’s signal. Nine minutes and eight-point-one seconds later, this station lost its FTL sending capability. Despite these losses, the line to the QB1 indicates a remaining open pattern, but they do not respond. Additional monitoring systems aboard that vessel, established by Admiral Swan, also failed when they stopped responding.”

  “Why do we get that signal from them and no one else?”

  “I’m sorry, sir, there is not enough information to answer that question.”

  Sumner did not like the way Swan had set up the interface on this avatar. “Alright. Enough with the apologetic crap. Who can answer that question, any ideas?”

  In its default androgynous voice, “There are some on the station that might know, though they are just boarding a Bullet for Earth.”

  “Block that. I want them here. Right now! Who are we talking about?”

  “Her name is Doctor Zhyanka Tasimov, she is with Bridge Cooper. Both are scientists who worked on the interstellar drive project when it was first developed.”

  “Perfect. And lockdown that entire transport. I don’t want anyone entering or leaving the station till I get some answers. Now, under current emergency protocol, I need full access to Swan’s files.”

  Biometrics were verified; the avatar responded. “Granted.”

  CHAPTER 83

  EVENT: DAY 19, 0100 to EVENT:

  DAY 20, 1000 UT

  After pitiable ministrations at Wheel station, they headed back in-system.

  The Light Skipper was incredible in its ability to make the jumps that it did, but frustrating, because Garrison could not decipher what made it take the action. He had already developed an expectation, and so their present FTL speed struck him as a plodding pace.

  They took the time in flight to focus on the rehabilitation needs of the two survivors, and their own need of rest. Garrison did his best to ignore thoughts of Taylor, and the growing acid in his stomach.

  One of the women was responding well to Dominique’s attempts at conversation. Doctor Comani whispered that this one was receiving some familial support from the other side. The second, younger woman had no similar support, unfortunately.

  Garrison attempted to calm his unease with the affirmation that the Butterfly was going to get them to the Medallion quickly, just as it had gotten them to the Wheel.

  In the space of the first, inbound day, “The Miracle” came to their small, ship-sized universe, dumbfounding everyone: Dominique received a visit from her grandmother; Garrison from his mother; Comani’s Jessica made a physical appearance; and one of the two women also got a visit from her mother. The second woman did not have a visitor. Each of the manifest apparitions had come one after another; someone somewhere had taken into account the limited space on QB1. When the last, expected visitor was a no show, everyone was thankful that the girl slept, as she had been doing since departure from the devastated station. They worried if it might be a dark omen for her rehabilitation.

  While the most emotional component of the visitations came from the reunion of Comani and Jessica, of the small group, Garrison was the most taken aback by his visit, second-in-line after Dominique’s grandmother left. With clear effort, he pushed through the shock that overtook him. He had been off balance already, stunned, as he’d watched the brief interaction between his co-captain and her similarly stunning, youthful grandmother.

  His mother, as he remembered her from his earliest memories, took the initiative, hugging him tightly. Words slowly came back as he ushered her into the cubby, where the woman slept, for what little privacy it offered.

  The ghosts commended them on their efforts, though imparted no additional wisdom; they just wanted a chance to send their love and that of other ethereal relatives. Aside from the appearance itself, the most significant thing that they brought—to Humanity—were the statements that mankind was the Soul before it was the body, and that reincarnation was the way of things.

  In the following, surreal, twenty-four hours, they’d taken turns sleeping in the flight couches, in deference to their debilitated, overstrained patient. Garrison found his exhaustion provided him a mercifully dreamless slumber.

  All were awake now, even the quiet, heavy-hearted young woman. She remained nearly mute while dabbing at a steady leakage of tears.

  Crowded into the main cabin, the group was waiting, more or less, to hear an urgent message from the ghosts.

  Comani was listening to his re-etherealized Jessie sum up what was happening on the other side.

  “Our most advanced residents, on this side of the curtain, have come forward. They are suggesting a method of communication with the Elementals.

  “They say that they have been allowed access to that record that the scientists were talking about, the database that the creatures draw the energy from. They call it the Akashic record.

  “The plan they are proposing—that two are volunteering for—is one that will have an obliterating impact on these individuals’ pasts, essentially erasing them from the life record. They say that they have gotten support for this act from higher still. It will be an act of self-sacrifice, in the name of the relationship between Humanity and these beings.

  “Some knowledge has just been passed down from higher realms, and we are now told they are a keystone creature in the universe. Inhibiting their natural function through imprisonment was creating a critical imbalance. Mankind would eventually imperil the universe if a path of capture and imprisonment were sought to handle the present conflict. It would lead to a sudden end of both of our parallel universes.”

  Comani acted as interpreter, striving to accurately repeat the essence of this to his small audience of Garrison, Dominique, and the recovering crewwomen. He explained that ‘Elemental’ was the name used by the scientific community. The two survivors nodded absently as he spoke, having heard it for themselves.

  When he paused, Garrison spoke. “Whoa, whoa… End of the world? Are we being just a bit dramatic here?”

  “Garrison,” Dominique inserted gently, “he didn’t mean end of the world—he meant ‘the end of everything’, right Doctor?”

  “Si’.” Comani confirmed that she had understood. Garrison rethought his objection and then approached a different question that was less difficult to wrap his head around: “Did you say they lose their past?”

  Comani struck a pose of attentive listening: “Essentially, what will happen could be compared to taking several documents, and cutting these apart, then reassembling them as a new document. The original documents are destroyed forever and the new document will be consumed, as if by fire, in this attempt at breaching the communication barrier. The result will be a message designed to enlighten the Elementals t
o the harm that they are responsible for. We’ve been told that it’s very possible they have no idea of the consequences of their actions.”

  When Comani finished conveying this next piece to the best of his ability, Garrison, in his blunt fashion, requested that one of the two “ghost-attuned” women volunteer to be the interpreter. He had difficulty with the man’s heavy accent, sure that the paraphrase was being fumbled. It was just too fantastic.

  The more recovered woman took the initiative. Garrison asked, “What happens to these folks; I mean, how significant of a sacrifice is it to have your past chopped up and forgotten? That doesn’t sound too bad to me. Even I could do with forgetting some of my past.”

  After a moment, the woman, Gazelle, responded, “They won’t have a past anymore.” She shrugged afterwards as Garrison stared a further question at her. Still listening to inaudible voices, another short delay and Gazelle said, “Oh. Oh, I see. Oh my.”

  Garrison was irritated by the second-hand delay of the conversation. “What? What do you see?”

  “Okay, she said that these two will cease to be—to have ever been. They will not go on to greater evolution. Their souls will disassociate and no longer be… them.”

  Dominique spoke up now. “How bad could that be? They won’t suffer, will they?” Her tone expressed some doubt and confusion.

  Gazelle listened for a moment and said, “I am going to repeat the next thing, verbatim.” Inside her head a different woman’s voice had taken up the explanation from Jessica. After many pauses, this is what the ghosts had to say:

  “The message will be assembled from many lifetimes worth of the death events of these two; those life-records are being destroyed for the purpose. These experiences will be manifest in a human body as the message delivery means. The manifested human analog will be confused because of the disjointed, discontinuous memories it will have, and may need to be guided to presenting itself to an Elemental; but there will need to be a possession-host for the Elemental.