Godschild Covenant: Return of Nibiru

by Marshall Masters

  “Well then, close your eyes and pretend to relax."

  “Yes, Anthony.” She closed her eyes and relaxed her face.

  He took a few deep breaths and then worked his hands into the cabinet, placing them on the Plexiglas housing. Within an instant, he was out-of-body and in his garden, waiting for Andrea, only she never appeared.

  Strolling around his garden, he called out her name several times and could never sense nor hear her. “So much for the quick and easy,” he mumbled to himself. As lifelike as she was, Andrea had definite limits. He stopped to fondle a rose and mused, “Well, if she cannot come to me, maybe I can find her a new friend."

  With a wave of his hand, the opaque milky sky of his garden turned into a dark night from pre-Nibiru flyby days with stunning view of the Milky Way overhead. He stopped to admire the image he had recalled from an old Discovery Channel program he remembered from his youth. Most likely, his creation was anything from precise, but its beauty touched him with sadness as he marveled at the view. “Our memories truly are the elixir of hope,” he thought aloud as he materialized the image of an old Meade 4.5” refractor telescope next to him in the garden.

  He closed his eyes, returned to his memory and then raised his hand. As he opened his palm up, the telescope eyepiece Captain Jerome Richard had given Ramona Baker after their landing at Livermore materialized in his hand. “It's worth a try,” he mused to himself. Fitting the small chrome cylinder in to the telescope, he peered through the glass, focused the telescope on a bright star and stood back. “Care to do a little stargazing with me Dusty?"

  A moment later, the spirit of Dusty Richard, father of Captain Jerome Richard stepped through the edge of the garden and joined him beside the telescope. “Son, did anyone ever tell you that you've got a flair for the dramatic?"

  “Would you rather I wail and scream,” Anthony replied with a cocky grin.

  Dressed in the roughneck clothes he'd worn during his life as a lineman for a small power company, he shook his head from side to side. “I've been keeping an eye on you, hot shot, so a simple, ‘Hey Dusty’ would have worked just fine."

  Anthony laughed. “OK Dusty. Point taken. I was wondering if you could help me with a little situation."

  “I assume you're talking about that Andrea contraption?"

  “So you're reading my thoughts already."

  Dusty smiled and turned to look through the eyepiece of the telescope. “For a man with a mighty destiny, you can be as dumb as a sack of hammers some times,” he muttered as he adjusted the focus. “For starters, this conversation was my idea. You know, you're a little like my son Jerome. If you're not asking, you're not listening."

  “Has anyone ever called you a crusty old coot,” Anthony replied in a low voice.

  “You can bet your sweet ass they have and you won't be the first. So let's cut to the chase. Neither of us can spend all day here busting our jaws."

  “Fine by me,” Anthony agreed. “I can see that you're already working on this Andrea problem. However, the question in mind is can Andrea actually work with a spirit guide?"

  Dusty stood back and looked solemnly at him. “In terms of being a spirit host, she's about one notch ahead of a lab rat, so a step-in is out of the question for now. That's not to say she won't evolve to a point where it's possible. But that won't happen for years. Maybe not even in your lifetime. For now, a more simple approach is needed."

  “Got any ideas?"

  “Yup. If she knows what to look for and trusts the source, I can tweak her I/O circuits in the same way I was tweaking the gauges on my son's C-130J Hercules. The trick is, can her programming allow her to trust my signals when I kick her in the slats. That's something you'll have to help us with."

  “Just tell me what to do, Dusty."

  “Have you seen, or been shown her brainstem?"

  “No."

  “It's a pretty simple arrangement. The folks who build her have infused a web of gold fibers smaller than spider silk around the core of her brain. If you can explain to her that she needs to adapt herself to smaller micro voltage inputs to coincide with the external input she's already receiving from her sensors I can let her know when she's getting the right data."

  Anthony nodded. “Sounds like a good idea to me. Question. Do you think you could eventually be able to communicate with her at some basic level?"

  “Eventually, but we'll have to work out a code of some sort. Even then, it will still be primitive."

  “But she'll at least be able to ask yes and no questions?"

  “I think we'll be able to that in the near future. But that will depend more on her than on me."

  “Then we've got a plan,” Anthony said with a smile.

  “Guess we do,” Dusty smiled back. “I've got to be going now."

  “I know. Thanks Dusty."

  “You're welcome,” he replied as he turned to leave. Walking towards the edge of the garden, he stopped and turned back. “By the way, thanks for the stargazing. You may not know the universe from the side of barn, but you make a pretty one nonetheless."

  “We do what we can,” Anthony chuckled as Dusty turned and disappeared past the edge of the garden.

  Feeling the need to reenter his own body, Anthony took one last look at the night sky he'd created and closed his eyes.

  * * * *

  JEFFREY LEBLANC PACED back and forth in Tanya's outer office like a caged lion and fumed “What in the hell is he doing in there? He's been in there for over an hour!"

  “Relax,” Vigo replied as he casually sipped his second cup of tea.

  As if on cue, Anthony opened the door and walked into the outer office. “She is already far beyond your own perception of her, Jeffrey,” he noted wistfully. “As far as it goes with your sensor problems, I've given her what she needs to work it out, and the last thing she told me was that she needs to be left alone for a few hours while she generates some new biomass cells. I would definitely say she has already evolved enough to destroy Shiva, but as to turning it into some kind of floating space mine, well, that's another thing. That will take a lot more work. In the meantime, you need to avoid making modifications to her brainstem or whatever it is you call it. She'll be changing it and those changes need to be left alone."

  LeBlanc's jaw dropped. “I can't believe it. How could you do this so quickly?"

  “Give Tanya the credit for that. It was her demonstrations at The Mystery Spot that did the trick for me. At least in terms of the sensor problem."

  “After we get Russell, I look forward to working with her even more closely.” He glanced at Tanya, “and she wants to have a girl talk chat with you if you're interested."

  “Oh shit,” LeBlanc lamented as Tanya bit her lip to keep from laughing.

  “Hey, bucko,” Vigo said putting down his tea. “You're ahead of the game."

  “I know,” LeBlanc admitted as the relief in his eyes became patently clear. In terms of his own employers, he had already succeeded, but what about the boy? The issue that meant even more to him personally. “And what about Russell? Will you let me help you rescue your son, Anthony? After all, he is my nephew."

  “I've thought about it and frankly I still see this as a push,” Anthony replied solemnly. “If you pull it off it gives us a powerful edge. If not, the effort will be doomed, and so will Russell, I'm afraid."

  Tanya took Anthony by the arm. “If Jeffrey can trust you to help him save the world, why is it you cannot trust him to help us save your son?"

  “Well, I uh...” Anthony fumbled for the right words.

  Tanya drew close to him and whispered in his ear. “Henry told me you could trust him. But do you trust Henry?” She drew back and watched his face.

  Anthony closed his eyes and reached down inside himself for a gut feeling. If this failed, he could not endure the though of going through the rest of his life second-questioning his trust in others. This decision had to come from within, for if it failed, it would be the only way he could ever ho
pe to live with those consequences.

  His pondering seemed like a drawn out, agonizing moment for Tanya and Jeffrey, wondering what he would decide and hoping for the best.

  Finally, Anthony opened his eyes and extended his hand towards Jeffrey. “Let us know when your gizmos are in place bro. We'll see you in Fort Hood 24 hours later."

  Jeffrey grasped his hand and shook it, then in an impulse of joy, threw his arms around Anthony and hugged him.

  * * *

  Breeding Stock

  YVETTE COCHEREAU STOOD patiently on the fitting room pedestal as her seamstress, Manisha, carefully fitted her floor-length satin silk wedding gown. She fancied her thoughts of her new life in Las Vegas with her fianc© Douglas Thornton. At first, she had planned on a crushed velvet wedding gown because she preferred the depth and shine of the fabric, but given the warm climate of Las Vegas, she opted for satin silk for its gentle flowing coolness.

  Before she had first informed Secretary General Antonio De Bono that she was invoking her right of motherhood, she had wondered how he would take the news. To her surprise, he received the news with gracious happiness for her and her future husband and wished them luck. De Bono had been expecting the news of her impending nuptials for some time. He had already made plans for her to assume a new position in Melissa Chadwick's organization in Las Vegas and insisted on paying for her gown.

  With De Bono enjoying a few days away from the hectic pace of the UNE headquarters in Geneva at his Swiss chalet overlooking the Val Lumnezia, Yvette had decided to remain in Geneva to have her hand-sewn dress fitted by one of Geneva's most highly regarded wedding boutiques.

  The design she chose featured an open back with graceful and slimming lines to accentuate her shapely figure. The seamstress was fitting the sleeves with puffed chiffon over silk brocade when two men in dark gray business suits entered the private fitting room, shutting the door behind them.

  Yvette eyed their entrance into the fitting room from behind her through the panels of mirrors that surrounded the pedestal. She recognized the first man immediately, Bob Puhl, a senior CIA field operations officer assigned to the American Embassy in Geneva with the cover of a low-ranking consular officer. The other man was younger and unfamiliar to her. Most likely, he was a recent graduate of “the Farm,” the CIA's training ground at Camp Peary near Williamsburg, VA.

  She glanced over at her handbag, wishing she kept it closer to the pedestal so she could quickly grab her Walther 9mm caseless pistol if needed. Puhl followed her eyes to the handbag sitting on the Elizabethan style chair and positioned himself between her and the chair. “Relax, Yvette,” he assured her with a gratuitous smile. “I just wanted to come by and personally congratulate you on your upcoming nuptials."

  Holding several pins between her lips, the seamstress backed off cautiously, eyeing the two agency men with suspicion.

  “Your timing stinks, Puhl,” Yvette hissed. “If you needed to speak with me, why didn't you contact me in the usual manner?"

  He shrugged indifferently, “Terribly sorry, Yvette, but one must take his opportunities where he finds them. I'm sure you can understand that.” He glanced back at his second man. “I believe you were interested in one of those lovely evening gowns for your wife we saw as we passed through the dress shop. Perhaps this gracious lady will show them to you."

  Yvette turned to the seamstress. “Manisha, perhaps you would be so kind as to show this other gentleman your selection of evening gown designs while I have a private conversation with Mr. Puhl here?"

  “Yes, madam,” the seamstress replied. Grateful to leave the room, she followed Puhl's second man out of the fitting room, gently closing the door behind them.

  Yvette stepped down from the pedestal and tried to navigate towards her purse. Puhl held up his hand; “This is a friendly visit.” He pointed to another empty chair. “Please have a seat."

  Picking her gown up from the floor, Yvette slowly maneuvered around him to an empty chair as he picked up her purse. They sat down together and Puhl scooted his chair towards her, placing her purse on his lap.

  “So what's on your mind, Puhl?” she said glaring at him.

  “I want to show you something, so don't get jumpy.” He reached into his suit jacket and drew out a small wireless webpad from the inner pocket. A familiar clamshell design, he opened it and the color LCD screen flickered to life with a live image of a young teenage girl sitting in a metal chair, dressed in a white hospital gown. The girl was looking into the webcam Puhl had installed in the girl's hospital room, but oblivious to it. She just sat there rocking back and forth in small movements tapping her right foot on the tiled floor of the asylum. He handed Yvette the webpad.

  “Is this girl familiar to you?” he asked, knowing Yvette would never dare acknowledge his question. Yvette closed her eyes. It was the Swiss Banker's daughter, whom her team had accosted in order to get Jeffrey LeBlanc's private bank account numbers from her father.

  “I never saw her in my life. What's this about?"

  “Let's not play games here,” he said with a disgusted nod. “I've been watching you for a few years now, Yvette, and you're one of the best I've ever seen. Heck, you run better field ops than anyone I know. I'll give you that. Of course, there is nothing linking you directly to the brutal crime against this poor child. But then, she wasn't the target, was she? It was her father, and what you did with the information you squeezed out of him did lead back to you. Or should I say the slick manner in which you carry out your field ops.” He leaned back in his chair with smug smile. “Don't worry; we both know there is no way we could ever link you with this, but look at her. It could be years before she comes out of this, and now they're thinking of giving her electric shock therapy."

  “It is most unfortunate,” Yvette admitted, recalling how she had begged De Bono not to force her to use sexual assault on the girl to force the information she needed from her father. As a professional, she abhorred the use of innocent wives and children to force information, and now this miserable shit of a man was shoving it in her face.

  “Oh yes, the old collateral damage ploy. The end justifies the means. Right?” He leaned towards her and said with an honest face, “I've always respected you because of your skills, Yvette, and because you always seemed to know where to draw the line. Now, you and your employers have gone beyond the unwritten rules of the game. You've bought your own propaganda, and now you're playing with human lives as though you are gods beyond the reach of any semblance of accountability. Is this what you have become?"

  “I haven't the slightest idea of what you're talking about,” she protested as his words cut through her soul like a hot jagged knife. “But if you're here to shake my cage while looking for a little payback for this banker you've wasted your time."

  “Payback for the banker,” he chuckled. “The agency is not interested in such things, especially for a man who has helped his employers to expand the wealth they've built using the mountain of unclaimed Nazi dental gold they've got cached away. As far as we're concerned, he bought himself a curse."

  “Then what are you looking for?"

  “I must admit, your use of the word ‘payback’ was quite to the point, which is the murder of Senator Connie Chavez.” He pointed to the small webpad she held in her hands. “Push the right-arrow key."

  She pushed the key and the webpad displayed an edited sequence of UNE Governor Merl Johnston signing the Maglev bill in his Houston office, with Senator Chavez and her congressional party standing behind him. The three-part sequence showed him unconsciously rubbing his hands before picking up the pen with the gold clip, signing the document and then handing it to Chavez.

  “After Chavez died,” Puhl explained, “her chief of security ordered an autopsy and had a biopsy sample of her pancreas sent to the FBI crime lab along with several blood samples. It seems that Chavez had no history of pancreatic cancer in her family and no genetic predisposition to this type of cancer either.” He sat back in his c
hair. “It seems the boys at the FBI crime lab are getting more resourceful each day, and they found residual traces of an engineered virus. But don't worry; you and your associates were most fortunate because one of her staffers managed to lose the pen, which, as we both know breaks any form of a direct evidence chain. Also, we both know that a few video images are not enough to charge Johnston, although there is no doubt in our minds that he assassinated Chavez that day. Further, given your close working relationship with his personal secretary, Danielle Peters, whom we feel engineered this assassination; there is also no doubt in our minds that you at least knew of it beforehand."

  “You're barking at the Moon, Puhl,” she said with a disgusted look.

  “Under normal circumstances, I'd have to agree with you,” Puhl admitted. “But then again, there is Johnston unconsciously rubbing his hands, no doubt to shield himself from infection and the fact that he has a clear motive. You see, we also have a full copy of the investigation into how he sold his vote for America's ratification of the UNE treaty. Obviously, Johnston had a clear motive for his revenge.” He sighed. “Then again, it is the same situation as with the little girl—no hard evidence. What a windfall it must have been for you and your associates when you learned that Chavez's staffer had lost the pen."

  “Senator Chavez's death was most unfortunate, Puhl, but it was the result of natural causes. If you think you can make a case, then by all means, do so. Otherwise, get lost."

  “As to what happened to the banker and his daughter, that's as you say, most unfortunate. However, when it comes to assassination of an American senator by a UNE governor who also happened to be one hell of a crooked American senator as well, we're not satisfied with the word unfortunate. Rather, we're more interested in another one of the words you so casually dropped during our conversation; that being payback."