Godschild Covenant: Return of Nibiru

by Marshall Masters

  “I think that is why the programs have become so popular. Everyone is waiting to see him crack, and he simply keeps on going."

  “Yes, he does that. So what in your life is more, shall we say, entertaining, these days?"

  Jeffrey was glad that Pavel had redirected the conversation away from its dark tones onto something lighter. “Just working hard and playing with the ladies when I can."

  “You'll never change. Why don't you find a good woman and settle down? Wouldn't you like to have something running around underfoot some day calling you daddy?"

  “OK, OK. Let's not get on that kick again. As I've told you a dozen times before, I still haven't met the right woman. So, other than your usual philandering, what's new in your life Pavel?"

  “I'm working on some exciting, new projects, which unfortunately I cannot discuss with you. Other than that, I think I've met someone special."

  Jeffrey held up his hands, “Wait! Stop the presses! The ex-husband from hell is going to take another shot at romance?"

  “Speak for yourself. You're still an old coot who's never married."

  “What's this old stuff? As I recall, I'm a year younger than you, and you just turned thirty-eight, so spare me the old coot stuff."

  “Fine, then I'm the old coot, but I'm an old coot who's in love again."

  Jeffrey's eyebrows danced with curiosity. “Well then, that makes you a great old coot. So, who is she?"

  “Her name is Yelena. I think you may already know of her."

  Jeffrey laughed. “Well, kiss my grits! Are you talking about Razumovsky's daughter, Yelena? Is that the one?"

  Pavel's eyes sparkled. “Yes."

  “Leave it to you to go chasing the boss’ daughter. I take it she's “the one,” and that you've already done the bended-knee routine."

  “That's very premature right now. As a matter of fact, I haven't even discussed the possibility yet with her."

  A knowing smirk crossed Jeffrey's face. “Oh yeah, Pavel. I hear you, and as usual, you're trying to play it cool but the fact is that, if you're telling me, I know you're about to pop the question. Don't try and weasel out of that one, either, because I know you too well, my friend, so let's get down to it. You know I'm the pits when comes to picking out wedding gifts. You guys just tell me what you want, and consider it done."

  “When the time comes, I'll do that, and I promise you, it will be expensive,” Pavel laughed.

  “Now, you're talking my language. Besides, coming to your wedding will give me chance to kiss your sly mug in person. Heck, we haven't seen each other face-to-face since the IBM symposium."

  Jeffrey's offer gave Pavel an excellent opportunity to slip in a question he was meaning to ask. “I may be coming to Washington soon for some official business. Perhaps we'll get a chance to meet while I'm there."

  “Will you bring some of that great Georgian cognac with you?"

  “I believe that can be arranged. I'll let you know when I'm coming as soon as I can. I look forward it with great anticipation."

  “So do I, good buddy. I'll leave the light on for you."

  * * * *

  WITHIN DAYS OF accepting President Chebotarev's offer to become Russia's new Minister of Science, Igor Petrovich Razumovsky relocated to a spacious and tastefully decorated Moscow flat. Forced to attend to the political and social obligations of his post, the trappings of power did little for him, as he missed his family, dacha and the private banya he so cherished. As cushy as his life had become, for him it was still nothing more than a sacrifice for the motherland.

  In his absence, his daughter Yelena and Lebedev, whom he had named to replace him as the head of the New Obninsk Centre had begun spending a great deal of time together. Officially, Lebedev spent many nights in Razumovsky's dacha as a guest of the family, but he had become much more than that, according to his 12-year old grandson Dimitri Anatolivich Volkav, who relished sharing every new bit of news with his grandfather each day. The blossoming relationship between Pavel and Yelena was a welcome new development for the family, one that Dimitri and his grandfather both secretly welcomed.

  As was his habit, Dimitri liked to watch HDTV with his mother in her bedroom, before going to bed. Snuggled up next to her on the plush cover of her bed, he idly surfed his favorite channels as his mother gently rubbed her hands and arms with a pleasant smelling moisturizing gel.

  “Mother, why should we leave Pavel alone in his room tonight? Why don't we invite him to join us?"

  The suggestion caught her by surprise. “Do you think that would be proper?"

  “Mother, I do not understand why you think I am still a witless, naove little boy. Ever since grandfather moved to Moscow, Pavel has been spending more nights in our home than in his own flat. Besides, mother, I know what is happening with you two, so why hide it?"

  “Why hide what?” She answered demurely as she slowly squeezed more of the gel onto her forearm.

  “Each night after you think I've gone to my room and fallen asleep, you sneak out of your bedroom, go to his room and make love."

  Flabbergasted by her son's comment, Yelena's hands gripped tightly and she accidentally squeezed half the contents of the tube onto herself. “Oh, now look what you made me do, you precocious, little boy,” she huffed.

  She set the now-deformed tube down on the nightstand and began cleaning herself with tissues. “Frankly, I ought to spank you. Did your grandfather put you up to this?"

  “No, mother, he didn't. As a matter of fact, I haven't said a thing about this to him, because I think what you're doing is wrong.” The boy knew he was lying through his teeth, but he also knew how to manipulate his mother and had carefully scripted this moment beforehand.

  Dimitri's last comment cut Yelena like a knife. Secretly worried that he would reject Pavel out of a sense of loyalty to his deceased father, Anatoli, Yelena knew that a dissonance like this between Dimitri and Pavel could threaten her chances of growing closer to Pavel. Troubled, she kept her composure. “So tell me, Dimitri, what exactly do you think is wrong?"

  “Well, mother, the fact is that this is grandfather's dacha and I'm tired of seeing you sneak into Pavel's room to make love. It is time for him to sneak into your room, if you like!"

  His frankness surprised her, but not too terribly. He was a brilliant child and mature beyond his years. “And what do you like, Dimitri?"

  “I would like for him to move in with you, into your bedroom that is, because he makes you happy. Grandfather and I have noticed that you've begun to sing while you're working in the hothouse. I see how he makes you happy, so why feel ashamed?"

  She wrapped her arms around him, and hugged him closely to her chest. “My wonderful, little man. You know sometimes you make me feel like a witless, naove little girl. I really hadn't noticed that I had begun singing."

  “You have, mother, and you sing so beautifully, especially when you know Pavel is coming to stay with us. I wish Pavel could sing with you, but I see how he looks at you. He is in love with you, mother, and I think you are in love with him too."

  She kissed him gently and continued to hold him close. “You have your father's soul and my father's intellect. You got the best of both, my son. I'm so proud of you. So tell me, what can I do to show you my love?"

  He raised his head. “Ice cream!"

  “It so happens that Pavel brought some this afternoon and we've been keeping it a secret. But then, who can keep secrets from such a wise, young man as yourself.” Dimitri had found the ice cream within five minutes, but knew if he acted as if it was a surprise, that he wouldn't have to reveal his sleuthing secrets. “Ice cream, it is."

  “Wonderful. I'll go to Pavel's room and get him, and then we'll meet you in the dining room."

  She shook him lovingly. “Be quick, or I will be forced to eat it all before you get there."

  The young boy shot out of the bed laughing. “Last one to the kitchen is a rotten egg!"

  * * * *

  DIMITRI TAPPED SOFTL
Y on Pavel's door. “Come in,” Pavel answered laconically. He opened the door and found Pavel lying in bed with a bath towel wrapped about his midsection.

  Focused on the small HDTV monitor in his own room, Pavel didn't notice Dimitri until the young boy was standing at the foot of his bed. It was something he hadn't expected at that very moment and, clearing his throat, he quickly switched off the monitor and grabbed a robe that was draped off the side of his bed. “Uh Dimitri, isn't it past your bedtime?"

  “Yes, but tonight is special. We're going down to the dining room to eat the ice cream you and mother have been hiding from me."

  “Well, now that the secret is out, we cannot let such a wonderful treat go unappreciated, can we?"

  “Absolutely!” Dimitri agreed as he sat down on the corner of the bed, assuming his most manly expression. At least the one he felt he'd perfected in front of the camera. “Before we go downstairs, Pavel, can we have a man-to-man talk?"

  The announcement surprised Pavel. He had spent many hours with Dimitri and Yelena in the hothouse and around the house, and this was the first time he'd ever seen him act so bold. “I see. This sounds serious. Fine. Let's talk man-to-man then."

  “When grandfather moved to Moscow, he made me the man of the house, and I want to talk with you about this sneaking-between-bedrooms business between you and my mother."

  Pavel's jaw dropped. He had absolutely no idea of where this would go next, but it was clear that for the time being, Yelena's son had the upper hand.

  “There will be no more sneaking about in the house. From here on, you will stay with my mother in her room until she says otherwise."

  “Agreed! But, how do you feel about this? I mean, doesn't it make you feel awkward?"

  “You are like my mother. You think I'm a witless, naove, little boy. Well I'm not; I know a good thing when I see it, and you make my mother sing!"

  “Dimitri, I want you to know that my intentions to your mother are honorable and that I'm in love with her. But I also know I could never fill your father's shoes. How do you feel about that?"

  “I've tried to fill my father's shoes since he died, but you're the first man to make my mother sing. And besides, I really like you, too."

  With that, the young boy stood up and went to the door. “If we do not go quickly, mother will eat all the ice cream.” Delighted with the results of their man-to-man chat, Pavel jumped into his slippers and followed Dimitri downstairs.

  As they walked down the stairs, they could hear Yelena singing in the kitchen and paused a moment to enjoy her melodic voice together as the two exchanged knowing smiles.

  She met them in the dining room, carrying a tray with three heaping bowls of ice cream—a very rare treat, and the three of them ate it with great relish. The first helping had gone quickly, and enough remained for a second, with Dimitri getting the largest portion.

  They ate, teased each other about little things and made jokes, filling the home with laughter that even the gardeners in their small cottages out to the rear of the dacha could hear.

  After they had finished their late night desert, Yelena began clearing the table and said, “Pavel, I'd rather clean this up than to leave it for the staff in the morning, so would you mind tucking Dimitri in. It is way past his bed time."

  “But tomorrow is Saturday, and I do not have to go school,” the youngster protested.

  “Granted, but you're still a young boy."

  Pavel smiled knowingly and, taking him by the hand, led him up to his room at the top of the stairs.

  As he tucked him in, Pavel asked, “Just out of curiosity, how did you know when your mother was crossing the hall to my room."

  The boy pointed to his door. “I can see the light from her room under the bottom of my door."

  “You mean to tell me that you sit here all night looking at the bottom of your door?"

  Dimitri smiled. It was time to show him. “I'm usually up when Mother goes to visit you.” He sat up in bed and leaned over towards his nightstand. “Let me show you something.” He opened the top drawer and pulled out a webpad.

  “A year ago, grandpa setup up a special login for me on his office computer with my own virtual desktop. I can monitor everything that goes on in the house, and when I was checking the logs on the HDTV monitor in your room, I came across the oddest URL."

  Pavel grunted. “And you call me a sneak?"

  “I've linked it to Grandfather's workstation downstairs.” He tapped a few buttons, and a blue video screen appeared with a satellite transponder frequency selector. “I've been watching the BBC live feeds from a place called Los Gatos, California, in America."

  “So this is what you've been doing while I've been getting to know your mother. You're supposed to be getting your rest, you know."

  “I know, but this is really interesting.” Pointing with his finger, he introduced each of the people in the image panel. “That's Professor Idan Goldberg; he's the producer, and Rose O'Hara, his narrator. I think the cameraman's name is Jerry, but I'm not sure. Anyway, I like to watch the interviews they film of Anthony Jarman, especially when he is doing a three-way with Rose O'Hara and a patient. I think Rose O'Hara is brilliant. She really gets things going. Sometimes, I also watch Tanya Wheelwright, but she's not as interesting as Anthony and Rose. Sometimes, I cannot understand what they're saying so I play it back with the translation.

  “So that is why your English is becoming so good lately."

  “Yes. Better than learning it in school, too!"

  Without saying a word, Pavel folded down the laptop display switching it into a dormant, standby mode, and placed it back in the nightstand. “Still, it is no excuse for staying up late, but I'm interested in what you think of this man, Anthony Jarman, and what he does."

  “He helps people to die, but only if they want to die, and sometimes he will not help them because he thinks they are confused. Everyone says he is doing a good thing. I think they're right. I think he is a very special man."

  “Have you seen him do it—that is, kill people?"

  “Yes, but I mostly watch the interviews with the sick people the night before they die. My friends in school think it is morbid but I think it is fascinating. Especially when the people talk about how they are moving in and out of their bodies. Anthony calls it ‘walking’ when they go to visit their friends and families before they die. It is really beautiful, Pavel. I don't want to die, but I'm not afraid of it either. It is, like Anthony says, just a part of the cycle of life."

  Pavel was deeply impressed by the boy's insight. He had watched the same footage and seen it more as a news event rather than as a truly significant human event. Then, an idea clicked in his mind. “Dimitri, would you like to work on a special, secret project with me?"

  The boy's eyes lit up with glee. “Oh yes, Pavel, and I will never tell a soul—I promise!"

  “Not so fast. We'll have to tell your mother, and if she agrees, we'll study the Jarman interviews together. I need to see this through your eyes and feelings. However, there will be one very special promise you'll have to make besides secrecy. You must promise to go straight to bed when your mother tells you each night, and no computer nonsense. We can save the broadcasts on the PVR and watch them together before your bedtime. Do we have a deal?"

  “Oh yes, I'll do it!"

  “Good. Now, I have a special favor to ask. I have to take a long trip with your grandfather, and while I'm gone, I want you to record the programs instead of staying up all night. Watch them, if you want, during the day, and, when I get back, we'll look at the ones you feel are best. Can you do this for me?"

  “Sure. I'll save the best interviews and edit them together for when you return."

  Pavel leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you for sharing this with me, little man, and for our man-to-man talk today. It means a lot to me.” He tucked him in, stood up and before switching off the light said in a hushed voice, “and now, with your permission, I'm going to sneak into you
r mother's bedroom.” Dimitri giggled with delight.

  * * * *

  DESIGNED TO FLY long distances high above the deadly ash streams, the Antonov An-170EX transport was a relatively comfortable aircraft. It was also well suited to the demanding needs of clandestine diplomatic missions because of its ability to operate out of smaller airports, such as a secret military airbase in the south of Israel where Israeli scientist Isaac Aronovich Bachtman, awaited the arrival of his old mentor Igor Petrovich Razumovsky, Russia's new Minister of Science.

  The An-170EX was an updated variant of the problematic An-170. Similar in some ways to the Hercules C-130J, the An-170EX was also a four-engine, medium-range transport, except that it sported a more rakish design and four counter-rotating ZMKB Progress Propfans, making it the only aircraft of its kind in the world. While the design had never managed to receive more than lukewarm interest from international buyers, it had proven itself well adapted to the dark and dangerous skies of a post-Nibiru world. Re-purposed as an extended-range political mission transport with a soundproofed cabin, state of the art avionics and long-range, low-power radar, the An-170EX was simply the safest way to travel short of the new Gulfstream scramjets, which were still limited to heads of state.

  Upon landing, the Antonov pilot expertly steered his four-engine transport straight through the cavernous mouth of a large, camouflaged hangar. The landing had been precisely timed to avoid the prying eyes of various commercial and military spy satellites in low Earth orbit. Likewise, the departure time would also be timed so the Antonov would not be acquired until it was in Jordanian airspace.

  A young Russian crewman lowered the short air stair to the ground and took his position next to the stair on the hangar floor. Immediately behind him, Razumovsky walked stiffly down the stairs, still tired from the long and thankfully uneventful flight.

  Isaac Petrovich Bachtman walked across the hangar and greeted him warmly at the foot of the air stair. “I am honored to see you, old friend,” the lean, weathered Israeli said. Ten years junior to Razumovsky, life on a Kibbutz had given Bachtman a much healthier and hardier appearance than the 68-year old Razumovsky. “You look as handsome as the day I left I left Russia."