Godschild Covenant: Return of Nibiru

by Marshall Masters

  Unlike a Finnish sauna, a Russian banya used a little less heat and a bit more moisture, and after adjusting to the heat and humidity of the sauna, they took turns gently beating each other with the birch branches.

  The branches had been harvested and frozen years earlier before the massive deforestations that shook Russia, and had been thawed by Razumovsky's bodyguard earlier in the day. After about fifteen minutes, they left the sauna and jumped into a four-foot deep cold-water pool, grunting and groaning with delight as they splashed about in the refreshing water.

  “Pavel Sergeevich,” Razumovsky finally said. “You are here this evening because I'm looking for a man to lead us in our effort to destroy Shiva. Frankly, I was deeply impressed by your proposal to ring Shiva with these massive integrated disrupter stations as you call them. Some parts of this will not work, I think, but overall it is the right solution in my mind. It's a good vision, and that is what we need right now, a strong man with a vision, who can make it happen."

  Pavel blinked with amazement. This was the very first comment about his proposal and his mind immediately began to search for what may have been the unworkable parts of his plan. Razumovsky could see his distracted look and poked him in the chest to get his attention. “Forget technology for now. These are simple details.” The older man then leaned back against the side of the pool and said calmly. “An undertaking of this magnitude must begin with a most human question. Tell me, what is your single greatest regret?"

  Pavel splashed some cold water over his face, realizing that he was now facing a moment of truth and that if he answered with anything less than the truth, he would lose the most incredible opportunity in his life to make a real difference. “I have regrets, but none are greater than losing my family through my own blind stupidity. I treated them like possessions that I could put up on the shelf, where I could take them down whenever I needed them. I never thought of their needs; only of my own. The realization of this has stained the depths of my soul with an everlasting pain. The only thing I can be thankful for is that my ex wife was practical. She remarried well, and her new husband is good to my son.” Pavel bowed his head in shame. “If I am unfit for this position because of this, I've earned it."

  The older man looked upon him with wise compassion, deeply respectful of Pavel's own brutal truthfulness about himself. “Don't be too hard on yourself,” He observed wistfully. “Let me share a little secret with you. There was a time in my life when I felt the same way about my family, too, and I made a similar mistake. Trust me; I know how you feel."

  Tears began to stream down Pavel's face. “Then you know how much it hurts. I was such an ass.” He sniffed, and splashed some cool water on his face to melt his tears.

  Razumovsky patted him on the shoulder. “It's OK; let it go. That's what vodka is for. Yes?"

  “That and headaches,” Pavel replied.

  The older man laughed. “Take it from me, Pavel, being truthful with yourself like this is the more important thing that could have ever happened to you. You see, lad, any foolish oaf can bully people into doing things and sometimes this is what works best. However, only through an understanding of our own frailties can one find the inner qualities needed to lead brilliant minds on a desperate mission. I now see that you have such an understanding, and this is good."

  “No offense, but I'd rather have my family and a little less understanding."

  “No offense taken. I think you now feel a basic need for a sense of balance in your life and of having someplace where you can enjoy it. For me, this banya and my daughter and grandson are my hidden paradise. You, too, must make your own hidden paradise, I think."

  The older man's words resonated deeply in Pavel's mind. They had come at exactly the right moment in time for them to sink in. “Igor Petrovich, I still do not know if I am the right man for this job. If not, so be it, but your words are so right. I've been looking to fill this terrible emptiness in my soul, but I didn't know how until you shared your own experience with me. You've helped me more than you can know."

  “Of this, I'm glad,” Razumovsky replied as he slowly climbed out of the cold-water pool, “but do not count yourself out of the running yet. If anything, I see more of what I needed to see in you, and this serves you well."

  Pavel stayed close by to him to make sure his steps were safe. Once he was out and reaching for a towel, Pavel asked, “May I ask a few questions?"

  “You can always ask, but I'll only tell you what I can."

  “Why didn't the Americans decide to build the Shiva destroyer themselves and leave us to build the space arks? We have more experience in such things."

  Razumovsky threw his towel in a hamper, grabbed up two fresh linen sheets and wrapped them about his body. “Because there is a problem with Yellowstone National Park in America. It seems that there is a large magma chamber beneath the caldera. This chamber is fed from a magma reservoir in the Earth's deep interior and it has been increasing in size since the Nibiru flyby. Even if Shiva does not hit our moon in 2019, the caldera could erupt because of the added tidal gravitational forces. If that happens, whatever is left of the United States of America will be a dirty, miserable third world state. That is why they want to build the space arks. No matter what happens with Shiva, they have a real, immediate problem in Yellowstone and a terrible one at that. Thank God we are not faced with such a terrible prospect."

  * * * *

  THE TWO MEN had talked and drank their way into the early hours of the morning, until Razumovsky finally showed Pavel to a guest room opposite his daughter's bedroom and bade him good night.

  A self-described night owl, Pavel often worked well into the night and would rise the next day shortly before noon if nothing important had been planned. However, it was obvious that whoever was banging his door now wasn't aware of his living habits. “Pavel Sergeevich Lebedev,” Yelena shouted through the door. “Junior Seedling Planter Assistant Second Class Lebedev, snap-to! It is nine thirty in the morning and you're sleeping like a lazy cat. On top of this, my Father left early this morning for Moscow with my son Dimitri. This last minute change in plans has left me desperately short-handed in the hot house."

  “I'm up,” he shouted back as he looked around his room with bleary eyes. Thankfully, someone had already brought his things up to his room. With his head throbbing from the vodka, Russell crawled out of bed and began fumbling through his shaving kit, looking for his Naproxen Sodium tablets.

  “I'm making breakfast for you in the kitchen,” Yelena shouted through the door.

  Pavel grabbed his head and wished she would go away.

  “OK,” he shouted weakly. “I'll take a quick shower and I'll be down in fifteen minutes."

  “Any more than fifteen minutes and your breakfast will be cold,” She called back, “So get going, the day is wasting."

  Not bothering to answer, he staggered into the bathroom, swallowed some tablets and then started the shower.

  She knocked loudly on the door. “Two eggs or three?” She asked.

  “Fresh eggs?” Pavel thought to himself. Hangover or not, fresh eggs was not something to pass up. He shouted through the door, “Three if you don't mind and I'll be down in fifteen minutes—honestly!"

  “OK, I'll make you a nice omelet,” she replied, leaving him to take his shower.

  Fifteen minutes later, exactly as promised, he showed up in the kitchen with an old hard bound book tucked under one arm, though he was still buttoning his shirt as he walked into the kitchen.

  Yelena looked at him from the corner of her eye and pointed to the table. “Sit,” was all she said. Moments later, a steaming hot mug of sweet tea along with a plate of black bread with tinned butter, were set before him as Yelena began preparing his omelet. “Relax and enjoy your breakfast,” she said pleasantly, returning to the stove.

  As was his morning habit, Pavel would always read a few pages from his book as he enjoyed his breakfast. Sipping his tea, he began reading, stopping only to munch on
a buttered slice of black bread.

  Yelena craned her neck to read the book title on the word cloth binding as she served him his eggs. The faded lettering said, “Worlds in Collision, by Immanuel Velikovsky."

  According to Velikovsky, earth experienced great cataclysms because of the flyby of a giant comet, which according to Velikovsky eventually became the planet Venus. At the time, scientists scorned his work, most notably the famous American astronomer Carl Sagan. However, after Velikovsky's death, science would soon realize the profound impact he had made on scientific though, although many still disputed his theories.

  “I've heard of him and Zecharia Sitchin as well,” Yelena noted as she sad down at the table with a hot mug of tea. “Many people talk of their work now that Nibiru has turned our Newtonian view of the universe upside down.” She ran her fingers along the edge of the binding. “I collect books as a hobby. Is that the Macmillan or the Doubleday printing."

  Pavel was surprised and impressed by her question. “A Macmillan printing from 1950 I believe. You know, before the American scientists blackmailed Macmillan Publishing into halting publication of his book.” Pavel added proudly. “I want to show you something.” He opened the book to the flyleaf and showed her a handwritten inscription from his father that said; “Destiny finds those who listen and fate finds the rest. So learn what you can learn, do what you can do and never give up hope."

  Yelena read the inscription twice with great appreciation. “What beautiful words. Your father certainly had a way with words."

  “Yes, he did,” Pavel agreed with a longing sadness. “He gave me this book after I graduated the Moscow University. Did you know that Velikovsky graduated from Moscow University too, and that he had personally known Einstein?"

  Yelena smiled. “Of course. I graduated Moscow University too."

  “Well now that is interesting. Then we both have something wonderful in common, a mutual interest in Velikovsky."

  “But what do you think of his theories,” she asked.

  He rubbed his chin for a moment and thoughtfully replied, “They were relevant then, but far more relevant now if for nothing but his vision and determination. I think this is why my father was inspired by him."

  Yelena ran her hands along the top edge of the book. She loved the feel of old books. “It has been a long time since your college days, Pavel, and you still haven't finished reading it?” she teased.

  He laughed and closed the book. “I've lost count how man times I've read this book since my father passed away. We talked about Velikovsky so often, and I've always felt that reading a few pages each morning was a way for me to share a little time with my father each day. For some reason I cannot explain, but if feels as though he is looking over my shoulder and reading along with me."

  “You're a lucky man to have had such a wonderful relationship with your father, Pavel. Is his inscription in this book the reason for your successful career?"

  “That and another bit of wisdom he once shared with me.” He took a large bite of eggs and rolled his eyes with deep appreciation. “Oh God, I forgot how good a fresh egg could taste."

  She smiled. “We have a few luxuries out here, and one of them is our chickens,” she answered. “So I'm curious, Pavel. What is the other thing?"

  He winked and took another bite, enjoying it slowly. “He taught me how to succeed in spite of my genius I.Q. after seeing a horse race in England with a brilliant analogy. He told me, ‘Pavel my boy, in life, a genius must win by a nose when he is alone with his friends. But when the world is watching, he must win by a length.’”

  Yelena watched with keen interest how soft his face became as he spoke of his father. It revealed a tender and compassionate side to him that drew her to him. Even with the homey odors of the kitchen, she could still smell his musky scent. It had been a long time since she had noticed such things, and it awoke feelings that touched deeply on her own sense of femininity she hadn't felt since her husband Anatoli had passed away. Had her father not taken her son with him to Moscow early that morning, she would not have had this unique opportunity to get to know Pavel on such intimate terms.

  In what seemed a timeless moment, she studied him warmly as he relished the remainder of his breakfast, and she felt a warm and refreshing feeling fill her soul. A feeling that could only come from pleasing a man she both admired and wanted.

  * * * *

  LIKE HIS HIGHLY educated mother, Yelena Volkava, Dimitri Anatolivich Volkav loved to learn and a private tour of the Armory Museum in the northwestern section of the Kremlin with his Grandfather was a privileged treat.

  The first thing he wanted to see was the famous Imperial “Pamyat’ Azova” Faberge egg and then the 16th, 17th, and 18th Century horse drawn coaches used by the Czars and their families.

  As the museum guide, who just happened to be a high-ranking intelligence officer with a mutual love of history explained the exhibits to the 12-year old, his doting grandfather walked alongside Russian President Kirill Alexandrevich Chebotarev, just out of earshot.

  The same age as the portly and distinguished looking Razumovsky, President Chebotarev worked out regularly in the Kremlin gym, keeping himself in reasonably good shape. Slightly shorter than Razumovsky, the twinkle in his blue-green eyes and his relatively smooth complexion made him look ten years younger.

  “Grandfather,” the young boy blurted out excitedly. “Come listen, this is so incredible!"

  Razumovsky smiled, “Dimachka,” he said with warm affection, using the diminutive form of his grandson's first name. “This is your day, so go ahead without us. Besides, President Chebotarev and I must discuss some important things. Remember, the museum opens in an hour, so make every moment count.” Dimitri thanked him and turned his attention back to the exhibit.

  “He is a wonderful boy,” Chebotarev commented softly. “When all of this Shiva business becomes too much of a burden for me, I find new hope and peace with my grandchildren, too. In this regard Igor, we are equally fortunate."

  “Yes Mr. President,” Razumovsky answered, “we are indeed lucky, and we must see to it that our grandchildren also enjoy such luck. We must destroy Shiva. We absolutely must!"

  Chebotarev nodded his head in agreement. “I've been reading your reports about Lebedev and his proposal. So has my Minister of Science, Vladmir Zacharenko, who thinks Lebedev is a fool and that you are also a fool for seriously considering his proposal to destroy Shiva by ringing it with twenty Disrupter Stations as he proposes. I must admit, I see some merit in his position. Putting that much hardware into space, especially for an untested theory is too risky. That is, if we could even do it."

  “I must concede that parts of his theory are problematic” Razumovsky answered thoughtfully, “but I believe we can do something like this."

  “And why is that?"

  “When I was his age, I developed a theory of my own, on which I regrettably never finished my work. I never published my work, of course, but his proposal does bear some uncanny resemblances to my own work."

  “Tell me, if I support this plan, how long will it take to build a proof of concept prototype?"

  “My best guess is no less than 2 years and no more than 5."

  Chebotarev gestured to a bench facing the icon of the Virgin of Smolensk. As the two men sat down he said, “what if I told you that there is a proven, working disrupter device already in existence?"

  Razumovsky turned his body towards the Chebotarev. “Mr. President, if such a thing does exist, as you say, then we can do this."

  “It does exist, and if we are to have any chance to get our hands on this technology, you will have to agree to replace Zacharenko as my Minister of Science. But that would require you to leave your beloved dacha outside of Obninsk City and to live here in the Kremlin, away from your family. Are you ready to make such a sacrifice for the Motherland?"

  “I would happily give my life for the Motherland, Mr. President, but there would have to be a greater reason than mere po
litics for me to move to Moscow."

  Chebotarev patted him on the knee and said, “There will be reason enough after you hear what I have to say.” Razumovsky nodded in eager anticipation.

  “As you may recall, the Israelis launched a 12-ton communications satellite called Shofar 7, into a geosynchronous orbit directly above Israel."

  “Yes, I remember the launch notice although frankly I thought the Israelis could build a more compact satellite."

  Chebotarev held up his hand. “You'll understand in a moment. You see, Shofar 7 is not only a communications satellite; it is also a scalar weapons platform. We as well as the Americans have been developing scalar weapons for some time now, but they've done two things we've never been able to do. First, they do not need to vector two scalar beams on a target. They only need one. Second, and this is the part that really troubles us, is that they can send an EM pulse a distance of approximately 35,850 kilometers without dispersion. From that distance, our footprint would cover a whole continent, but their footprint is less than a meter."

  Razumovsky was stunned and a thousand questions began to fill his mind. “Have they used it yet?"

  “Oh, yes. While the UNE has taken full credit for the New Islamic Reformation that began last year after the bombing of the UN headquarters in New York, what really ended the Islamist terror attacks on Israel was this satellite. The Israelis have been selectively assassinating radical elements of the Islamic leadership. Men literally go to bed healthy and when their wives wake up, they find them dead. In each case, the autopsy reports which are kept secret reveal that the internal organs of these men have been turned into meat jelly."

  “Who knows about this?"

  “For now, only we and the Americans know about this, save for the Israelis, of course. We haven't even told the UNE and have no intentions of doing so."