by Lysa Daley
“A job?” Chad seems confused.
“Yes,” Fitz says. “A job as an actual agent.”
Chapter 41
“I know you’re young. Not out of college yet,” Fitz says to Chad. “But I’ve been doing this a long time, and I know in my gut that you’d make a damn fine agent.”
“Thank you, sir.” Chad appears genuinely touched. The couple times we talked about what we wanted to do when we got out of school, Chad always said he wanted to be a forest ranger like his dad. Perhaps his time away with us has changed his mind. “But I’m going to have to pass on that for right now.”
“Just remember, you’ll always have a place with us if you want one,” Fitz holds out a hand. They shake. “Call anytime.”
Then Chad turns to the rest of us. He hesitates, searching for the right words. What exactly are the right words to say when there’s an excellent chance that you may never see the person to whom you’re saying goodbye to again?
Finally, he just goes with, “Good luck. I’ll be rooting for you guys.” Then he shoulders his backpack, pops the door and slides out.
“Bye, Chad. Thank you and be safe,” I call after him. That sounds stupid. I want to say more, to say something that will be meaningful, but I don’t find the words in time.
We silently watch him cross the street, backpack slung over his shoulder. He slowly climbs the driveway that leads to a neatly paved walkway to the front door. A walk he’s surely made a thousand times before but never as meaningful as right now.
When he gets to the front door, he hesitates like he’s wondering if he should just walk in or knock. After a moment, he decides to ring the bell.
His mother opens the door. Her hands fly up to her mouth, and she bursts into tears. Then she throws her arms around her baby boy. The child she believed was dead. The joy she feels totally overwhelms her. And who can blame her?
It’s a powerful moment, and everyone in our car feels it profoundly.
Fitz waits until Chad steps into the house, without so much as a glance back at us, and shuts the door. The SUV is silent as we drive down the mountain.
Before we left D.C., Dr. Maggie arranged for Ruby’s dad to be temporarily checked into a local Ocean Grove hospital for observation. Once we get him squared away, and it’s time for us to go, Ruby starts to cry.
“Hey, it’s okay,” I say standing in the hospital’s main waiting room. “Everything’s going to be fine.”
“No it won’t,” she sniffs. “Everything is so different now. Everything has changed. I thought you and I were going to rent that apartment off campus next fall. The one by the library.”
I hesitate. I can’t stay mad at Ruby anymore. Not after all of her brave and selfless acts. They outnumber anything bad that she may have done.
“I don’t see why we still can’t do that?” I reply. “How long can it take to overthrow a massive, evil alien invasion plan? Not more than a couple of months, right?”
She laughs through her tears. “Probably at least three whole months, I would think.”
“When this is all over, we’ll find our apartment. The one walking distance to the coffee shop and that amazing nail salon. Oh, and the library, I suppose.”
“You promise?”
“I promise.” As I speak, the bright overhead lights in the hospital flicker, going out for a split second and them flashing back on. Uh oh. This is exactly what happened when all the abductees went into their weird alien trances.
Then, every TV, monitor, cell phone, anything with a screen, flashes back to life as a live image of the Crimson Lord appears. There’s a collective gasp of surprise. Everyone around us is watching him. Is it possible that he’s literally on every screen in the country, or even on the planet?
The Crimson Lord glowers at us, looking totally terrifying. Flames and rolling black smoke shoot up behind him.
He speaks directly into the camera. “People of Earth, I am Ciakar Rigel, supreme leader of the great Draconian empire. You measly humans will soon all bow down to me.”
Chapter 42
Everyone around us in the hospital hallway, people rushing past and those just lingering, has stopped in their tracks to watch the television. Doctors, nurses, waiting families, everyone is staring at the screen.
Like bird chatter, I hear their murmuring questions rising: who is that, what’s going on, is this some sort of prank?
I scan the faces of the strangers around me. It’s clear no one is exactly sure what to make of this scaly alien monster addressing us on their screens.
Some people look terrified, but others are clearly more skeptical probably wondering who’s behind this joke.
Unfortunately, I know it’s no joke.
My attention turns back to the screen when a photograph pops up and I see my own eyes looking out.
“All we want is this girl,” the Crimson Lord says.
It’s an image of me.
From the background, I can tell that it was taken back on my college campus in California. I think it’s near the library. I see faint green buds peppering the trees, so I know that it was taken in the springtime. That was at least six months ago. A shiver passes through me as I realize that someone took my picture when I didn’t know it.
“Her name is Astrid Jones. She has nowhere to run,” he continues. “Hand her over, and we will leave your planet in peace. Failure to comply will be met with swift and severe punishment.”
I look around to see if anyone has recognized me. No one seems to. Nobody has made the connection yet.
But both my concerned uncle and Fitz take a protective step closer, their bodies shielding me from everyone around us. I instinctively pull the hood of my sweatshirt up, covering my face.
The screens cut away from my photo to what appears to be a live shot of the International Space Station floating peacefully on a blue velvet sea of stars. The tranquil image is interrupted by a stream of purple plasma, similar to what the alien blasters shoot, hitting the station. A blinding flash of light follows.
“This is just a small demonstration to show you that we are serious,” the Crimson Lord explains.
When the flash of light fades, the International Space Station is gone. It’s not that it exploded into pieces. It’s just gone. There’s no wreckage, no tiny bits. The alien plasma vaporized it.
A chorus of sharp screams rises us from the people around us. No one is snickering anymore.
Then the image shifts to a live shot of the Eiffel Tower then the Taj Mahal and then the Statue of Liberty. The images keep changing from one live stream of an iconic site to another.
The screen cuts back to the intimidating face of the alien warlord. Ciakar Rigel asks, “Which one of these Earthly landmarks will be next if you don’t hand over the girl?”
My photo again appears on the screen.
“Whoever brings her to one of our ambassador ships, will be handsomely rewarded,” the Crimson Lord explains.
Then it all goes to black. Every screen goes dark as the power all around us goes out. We’re only thrown in darkness for a few seconds before the whirl of electricity comes back on, and the lights flicker to life.
“Look!” a man yells, pointing out the window. “What’s in the sky?”
My uncle and I move with the wave of other people toward the tall hospital windows.
I gasp. I can’t believe what I see. The skies are dark with alien warships. From where we are we can see five ships. One large and four smaller. “Ambassador ships,” I say at the irony of the name.
“What a joke,” Fitz mutters. These ships are no good will ambassador.
“Oh my God! We’re being invaded!” cries a woman.
“It’s aliens!” says a doctor. The shock and terror in their voices is palpable. “It’s real. This isn’t a joke.”
People panic, fleeing in every direction. It’s chaos as they bolt for the stairs and elevators, frantically dialing their cell phones as they runaway.
“Let’s go,” my uncl
e says, putting a firm hand on my shoulder. Fitz steps in front of me, shielding me from curious eyes. “Before things get totally out of hand.”
Like fish swimming upstream, we fight the crowd heading toward the main exits. Instead, we make our way down a service stairwell that empties to an alley behind the hospital.
As we turn the corner and get a clear view of the sky, we see it’s really true. A dozen spaceships hover like dark birds of prey in the cloudless sky.
Fitz engages his earpiece to radio our location to the SUVs.
Stunned, the three of us stand staring up at the floating warships. Because we’re distracted, no one notices when a small elderly woman with a knot of gray hair wearing dark sunglasses suddenly attacks me.
Chapter 43
Before I can react, the small woman viciously throws her full 95 pounds at me. It’s stunning that an elderly woman can move so fast. Because she’s taken me by surprise, it’s enough to knock me to the ground.
I’m sprawled on the pavement before my uncle and Fitz realize what’s happening.
“Get her off of me!” I cry out.
My uncle springs into action, grabbing the elderly lady by the shoulders and easily lifting her straight up in the air, so she dangles helplessly above me.
In the process of getting her away, he knocks the oversized designer sunglasses off her face revealing the coal black eyes of a Horlock.
“She’s one of them,” I gasp. “That little old lady is a Horlock?”
“They’re clearly not picky,” Fitz comments.
“She’s been implanted by the Greys,” my uncle says, still holding her in midair, her arms and legs frantically moving.
I can see the indecision on his face. Normally my uncle won’t hesitate to eliminate a threat.
Except, this time it’s different.
Ultimately, it’s not this little old lady’s fault. She’s under the control of the Horlocks, and he doesn’t want to kill her.
“How does this work? Does that mean that anyone who’s been implanted knows who and where I am?” I ask, trying to put the pieces together.
“It’s potentially even worse,” Fitz says. “If her implant is being controlled by the Horlocks, then she may be sending information on your location back to them.”
“Which means they do know I’m here.”
He shrugs. “It’s highly likely. We should get out of here. And now.”
Meanwhile, my uncle has solved his dilemma by gently removing the scarf from around the lady’s neck. He then quickly secures her wrists to a nearby chain link fence.
She struggles to get free and snarls at us like a rabid dog, but the scarf is strong enough to hold her.
“That should do the trick long enough for us to get out of here,” he smiles at his handy work.
“Uh oh,” Fitz says, watching something happening behind us. “Looks like she wasn’t the only one.”
We turn to see a young Asian couple stalking aggressively toward us. They’re both wearing dark sunglasses. More Horlocks.
My uncle looks up and down the alley. “Where is the car?”
“C’mon, we can’t wait around for the car any longer.” My uncle grabs my hand and hurries in the opposite direction with Fitz right behind us.
As we start to run, so does the couple, charging after us. The man wields a baseball bat, and the woman holds a thick kitchen knife like a dagger.
Fitz pulls his revolver out. Even though I’ve seen my share of aliens get blown away by alien weapons, I’ve never seen a human get shot with an actual bullet.
I can’t believe it’s come to this. Innocent humans are going to die because of me. Somehow this feels so much more real. And so much more terrible.
“Stop!” Fitz yells back at them. “Or I promise you I will shoot.”
But nothing is going to make the man and woman stop chasing us. Not if they’re being controlled by the Horlocks.
“They’re not going to stop,” my uncle says. “All humans totally expendable to the Horlocks.”
Fitz turns and aims, ready to shoot.
But then, for once, we luck out and the big black SUV with O’Malley behind the wheel comes tearing around the corner. Screeching to a halt, O’Malley reaches back and pops the back door open just in time for us to pile inside.
Fitz, the last one in, just barely beats the Asian couple who continue to bear down on us full bore. He pulls the door closed after O’Malley is already speeding away.
The man still manages to take out our rear tail light with his baseball bat.
“Now what, boss?” O’Malley asks Fitz.
“This situation has changed,” Fitz pauses, weighing his options. “Bring everyone into the D.C. office. All missions and research trips are canceled until further notice. We’re at DefCon 1.”
Chapter 44
As soon as we enter headquarters back in D.C., we’re instructed to report to the infirmary. Dr. Maggie has made a remarkable discovery.
“As you all remember, we performed brain surgery on Waylon back at St. Benedicts.” Dr. Maggie stands before our group. “And now, even though Waylon is gone, we’re still connected to the feed from his brain via the biosynthetic implant. This means we have direct access to the information that’s being fed into his brain.”
On the screen, an image pops up. It’s the same photo of me that the Crimson Lord displayed to the world.
Dr. Maggie explains, “We have reason to believe that this image, along with several others, has been implanted in the brain of every abductee.”
“That confirms our suspicions that every former abductee with an implant can track her. That’s nearly one million people.”
“According to Kraken, it’s a whole lot more,” my uncle adds darkly. “Millions and millions.”
“She’s not going to be safe anywhere,” Fitz says.
“That’s why it’s time for us to go,” my uncle replies darkly.
“What?” I say. “Go where?”
“Through the Stargate and back to Lyria where you’ll be safe.”
“No,” I object, stunned that he’d even suggest it. “I thought we agreed that the Stargate is not an option after St. Benedicts?”
“I agree with your uncle,” Fitz says, his gaze unwavering. “This might be an idea who’s time has come.”
“Not happening,” I shake my head. “I’m not abandoning everyone I love and care about on this planet.”
“That’s an admirable sentiment, Astrid,” Fitz begins, using his calm grown up voice.
“Why do I feel like a big “but” is coming?”
“But… there’s also a possibility that if you were to leave the planet, the Draconians might also abandon their quest and leave this world too.”
“So if I go, they might depart as well?”
He nods. “It’s a distinct possibility.”
“Won’t they just follow me back to the Pleiades?”
“Yes, but the armies of the Pleiades are more well prepared to defend against the Draconian Swarm.”
The room falls quiet as everyone absorbs this new information. All eyes are on me.
My uncle turns my way. “Astrid, do you still have the key?”
The key?
Oh right, I was given a seven-sided star made out of an unearthly crystal by the Oracle Señora Mariposa at the Gathering. The small star, the size of a charm bracelet trinket, precisely matches the scar I have on my shoulder.
For a moment, I ponder the idea of pretending that I lost the key.
Three things are necessary to open the Stargate: me (or any other of the Seven Sisters of Light), BrightSky (or any other stardust weapon) and the key.
Without the key, the Stargate cannot open.
Stargates are these amazing cosmic passages built into the very fabric of time and space.
Einstein pretty much had it right.
A Stargate is like an intergalactic shortcut. Let’s say you took a piece of paper and put a dot on the top of the page to repr
esent Earth, and then put a second dot on the bottom of the paper that represents the Pleiades star system. Then you fold the page to make the two dots touch each other, that’s a Stargate.
When my six “sisters” and I were born, we were each given access to these Stargates via a key. However, each key can only open the gates three times.
I’ve already opened it once.
When Jax and I traveled to the Gathering the first time, it was to find the Oracle and get the key. Imagine my surprise when the Oracle turned out to be the nice little old Salvadoran lady who runs a market/cafe in my old neighborhood.
“Princessa,” Mariposa said to me, pointing to the counter of the little intergalactic bakery where we found her hanging out. “Bring my tip jar over here. It’s next to the cash register.”
I placed the nearly full jar on the card table next to her bone china teacup. It looked like your average tip jar from your average coffeehouse, except some of the coins and bills were completely unfamiliar. Along with U.S. currency, there were Canadian bills, euros, pesos, and what must be old Chinese coins with a square cut out in the round coin.
Still, nearly a third of the contents of the jar looked, well, alien. There were strangely shaped coins made from unique materials, unusual slips of paper, mixed with crazy-shaped trinkets that don’t look like any sort of money at all.
“Your key resides within the container,” Señora Mariposa said pushing the jar closer to me. “I have kept all seven, for all seven Sisters of Light, in here.”
“How will I know it?” I asked.
“Ah, it will know you,” she smiled.
As soon as my fingertips gently skimmed the top layer of coins, something buried in the pile started to glow. I pulled out what resembled a charm for a necklace, more than a key.
I held out my hand to show them the seven-sided star glowing brightly in my palm.
“Unusual,” Mariposa smiled. “It found you very quickly.”
