SPENCER CALLAGHAN : The Fight for Heaven and Earth

by Ryan Conway

  "I am not going anywhere; I am simply not accompanying you the rest of the way. I am staying behind to take care of some necessary business. But I will meet up with you all shortly."

  "Where are we going?" Spencer asked.

  "China," Master Xin answered bluntly. "And my jet is taking you there."

  Spencer just blinked in bemusement. He'd been hit with so many new experiences lately that he just accepted this one as inevitable.

  After they completed breakfast, they left Master Xin and headed back down to the hanger, returning in the direction from which they had come the day before. When they passed through the circular hall with the enormous Golatatvamian emblem, they stopped for a moment so that Spencer could take it in once again, then continued on to the interior airstrip.

  Master Xin's jet was already powered up, facing the exit at the far end of the long runway, a kilometer away. Shin Li, Sean, Tom, and Spencer each carried their own suitcases and backpacks for the trip to their next destination; they stowed their luggage in bins overhead and beneath portions of the floor prior to buckling themselves securely in their seats. Spencer turned to Shin Li, who sat across a small table from him. "If we're going to China, don't I need my passport?"

  "No need for concern," Shin Li reassured him. "We have a passport ready for you."

  Chapter Eleven

  Shuttle Run

  S ean called the cockpit on the intercom to announce their status to the pilots, and almost immediately the jet began to roll down the runway at an accelerating rate as everyone sat back in their cushioned seats. Finally, as it crossed the lip of the entrance, the aircraft rose smoothly off the runway, all three tires leaving the pavement simultaneously just before it ran out.

  Spencer asked Sean, "Excuse me, but how can the jet take off from inside a mountain? Doesn't a plane need to ride into the wind to get lift?"

  "Not necessarily, although a typical aircraft probably wouldn't be able to take off from inside a mountain." Sean admitted. "But this isn't your typical aircraft. It doesn't really need wind for lift, because it's got a vertical propulsion system."

  "Like a Harrier jump jet?" Spencer marveled.

  "Something like that, though a little more complex."

  The jet darted out of the mountainside and soared among the snow-capped summits, before ascending through layers of clouds and turning westward onto its flight course over the Pacific Ocean. They glided above an endless sea of white, rolling clouds brightened by the morning sun.

  Spencer's ringtone began chiming, and everyone looked at him, anticipating his response. He glanced at the screen. "It's Aunt Sandra. What should I tell her?"

  "Just tell her you're in a tunnel at the moment," Tom suggested.

  Sean called the cockpit to request that the intercom remain silent during Spencer's phone call. The pilot rogered up, and Sean turned to Spencer to assure him that he was clear to answer the call. Spencer clicked his phone and raised it to his ear. "Hi, Aunt Sandra. How's everything going?"

  Aunt Sandra sounded worried. "Hi Honey, we're good here… I'm just calling because I saw the news about what happened in Chinatown up in New York City, and I wanted to make sure you're safe. Is everything okay?"

  "Oh yeah, we're fine here," he replied, glancing at his companions.

  "That's good to hear, because there was some kind of shoot-out at a restaurant in Chinatown. Were you close to that?"

  Only right in the middle of it. "Uh, no… we didn't see anything while we were there," Spencer replied carefully. "We must've been in the city earlier than that."

  "Good! I'm glad to hear you and Tom are safe. That's all I was worried about."

  "Yeah, we're good, and we've been having a good time up here."

  "That's good, honey." There was a pause, and his Aunt Sandra asked,”Where are you right now? It sounds like you're in a tunnel or something."

  "Right now?" Spencer nervously responded. "Oh yeah, actually we are in one of the tunnels. Not sure which one."

  "Really? I thought you two were out of the city already."

  "Oh, I meant we weren't in Chinatown anymore," Spencer quickly answered. "But we stayed in the city for a while, sightseeing."

  "Even with everything happening in Chinatown?"

  "We didn't hear about that until later, on the radio. We were surprised by it too."

  Aunt Sandra sounded relieved as she replied, "Okay then, I'm glad you two are safe, and I'll let you both get back to your visit."

  "Yeah, we're good." Spencer reiterated. "Thanks for calling me. I'll talk to you again soon."

  "Be safe up there, Spencer. I love you, and I'll talk to you later."

  "Love you too, Aunt Sandra. " Spencer hung up and pocketed his phone, feeling guilty. "Ugh. I don't like lying to my aunt."

  "Technically, you didn't lie… much," Tom reassured him. "We are okay, we didn't really see a shoot-out, and we didn't hear that it was on the news until just now." Then Tom paused for a moment in thought. "And technically, a fuselage is a tunnel. Kind of."

  Shaking his head, Spencer looked out the nearest window at the smooth, cottony horizon.

  ***

  More than eight long hours later—though quicker than Spencer had expected— the pilot's voice came over the intercom, announcing the jet's approach to Shanghai International Airport. Shin Li and Sean were already seated, but Spencer and Tom, who had been exploring the plane after playing a long game of chess, had to return to their seats to buckle up for the landing.

  Once he was back in his seat, Spencer peered down through the window beside him and saw a colorful, futuristic-looking city of tall high rises and interconnected highways. The jet continued its descent over the vast Chinese metropolis; 15 minutes later, they were exiting the jet, bags in hand. An airport bus waited a few feet away. After they boarded it, they were whisked to customs, where they had to show their passports. Not knowing what to expect, Spencer curbed his anxiety about his newly manufactured documentation. When the Chinese customs agent requested it, he handed it over wordlessly, open to the visa page. The customs agent leafed back and forth through Spencer's passport to verify its authenticity, then looked up at Spencer and set the passport down on the desk in front of him before stamping the visa, looking at Spencer suspiciously the whole time, and handing him the passport back.

  Spencer and Sean were waiting for the rest of the group beyond the customs counter when an international news broadcast on the televisions lining the airport walls caught their attention. Though he couldn't read the Chinese script, it was clear the report was about the Chinatown debacle in New York City a day and a half before. Spencer was shocked at how widespread the story had become, and worried a little that surveillance cameras or even witness stories could eventually lead to him; was that why the customs agent had looked at him that way?

  He located an English language broadcast—CNN—and learned there was an ongoing police investigation. Apparently, the witnesses mostly just remembered all the commotion. It also seemed there was no surveillance footage of the incident from inside the restaurant, though Mr. Wong was inevitably interviewed. He distanced himself with a cover story that his restaurant staff backed him up on. Despite the amount of damage done to the restaurant's interior, fortunately no one was killed or injured during the incident. This led law enforcement to suspect gang-related rivalries, and that was the predominant theory among investigators.

  "Is Mr. Wong going to be all right?" Spencer asked Sean, concerned. The video of the restaurant's interior showed even worse damage than he remembered.

  "Don't worry, he'll be protected," Sean reassured him. "His restaurant will probably be investigated, but there's no connection between his franchise and organized crime. I'll bet the police are going to blame Triad organizations or something."

  As Spencer was nodding thoughtfully, something fascinating caught his eye. Outside the customs area, in the direction of the outside pickup zone, stood an eye-catching display of seven terra-cotta warriors, lined up shoul
der-to-shoulder and surrounded by Plexiglas. Above the clay warriors hung a broad tapestry with a classical painting of a robust Chinese emperor. A multilingual plaque below labeled the tapestry as a portrait of Qin Shi Huang, the First Emperor of China. It turned out that the display was an elaborate advertisement for a much more grandiose exhibit at the Shanghai Museum.

  While waiting for the others, Spencer investigated the museum display further. Sean strolled over to Spencer and accompanied him in looking at the brilliant exhibit. "Fen shu keng ru," Sean quietly murmured, while looking up at the tapestry.

  Spencer was surprised to hear Sean speak Chinese. "What was that?"

  "That means 'burning books and burying scholars'," Sean translated. "It was an event that took place around 210 B.C., one that Emperor Qin Shi Huang ordered so that he could destroy any history, knowledge, and political philosophies that preceded him. He wanted China's history to start with his reign. He wasn't actually China's first emperor, you understand." Sighing, Sean continued, "There have been so many historical accounts of that kind of destruction of knowledge around the world. The destruction of Nalanda University in A.D. 1193 under orders from Bakhtyar Khilji during his conquest of India is another such occurrence. I can only imagine the amount of knowledge lost to the Nirmanian World after that event; it was essentially the first known university in the world, and the indirect ancestor of all existing universities today. The library of Antioch in Syria was destroyed by order of Roman Emperor Jovian in the 360s. The Spanish razed the Aztec capital, Tenochtitlan, destroying who knows what, and built Mexico City on the ruins. More recently, Egyptian, Assyrian, and other antiquities have been destroyed by misguided religious extremists in the Middle East."

  "The Library of Alexandria in Egypt was ransacked and burned a few times too, wasn't it?" Spencer asked.

  “Yes," Sean replied sadly. "It was actually destroyed three times, once in 48 B.C. by Julius Caesar, once by Theodosius I in the 390s, and finally by Caliph Omar in 642. But we saved the texts in Shanzenia, thank goodness." He glanced at Spencer, raising an eyebrow. "You can read all the collected works of Aristophanes, if you like. We've got them all, even the 'lost' ones."

  "I read The Frogs in sophomore year. That was enough for me." Spencer marveled at Sean's historical knowledge and immediate recollection of dates. "But now I know who to consult when I have a history test."

  "It's part of our core teachings, all the destruction," Sean responded. "The Tamisichians were implicated in most of the events, and the best way to preserve knowledge is to understand how the destruction and concealment of it has influenced the world." Sean turned to Spencer, and his voice became somber. "Destruction of knowledge only results in ignorance. Never destroy knowledge, even if it contains ideas you disagree with. Opinions and mistakes can shed light on how individuals and groups of people think, and it's the mark of an educated man to be able to entertain a thought without accepting it."

  Just then, Spencer noticed a group of three men in dark suits standing against a distant wall. They drew his attention not only because they were dressed uniformly, but they also seemed to be inconspicuously watching him, Sean, and the rest of the group. One was Caucasian, the others Asian in appearance. Spencer felt the need to alert Sean about the suited men, but waited a bit to ensure his reaction would be less obvious. As they walked away from their location, he inconspicuously brought the suited men to Sean's attention.

  "Yes, I noticed them," Sean confirmed. "They could very well be agents for the adversary, trying to surveil us, or they could be human Thubanian agents."

  "Thubanian agents?" Spencer repeated inquisitively. "More secrets?"

  "Afraid so. The Thubanians are another group we disagree with, different from the ones we discussed yesterday. But I'll bring you up to speed on them later. This isn't the right place to discuss that sort of thing."

  "I understand."

  "On the other hand," Sean noted, "they could also be friendly forces just watching out for us from a distance, including one of the Nirmanian governments who are vaguely aware of our existence. Either way, we have to remain vigilant."

  After rejoining the others, they continued toward the pick-up and drop-off area and exited the airport onto the curbside. Once outside, they were immediately and graciously greeted by a driver with a blue van. "Mr. Galloway, I am ready to take you and your group to your accommodations," he said in lightly accented English.

  Sean heartily shook the man's hand. "Ah, Mr. Lee, it's so nice to see you."

  "And you too, Mr. Galloway." Mr. Lee directed his attention to the others. "Can I help you all with your bags?" Without waiting, he took Shin Li's bag and hoisted it into the back of the immaculate van, then helped the others get theirs situated. As soon as everyone was seated in the van, Mr. Lee closed up the back of the van and slid into the driver's seat. As he was merging onto the main highway, he informed them, "We are heading west toward Hubei Province."

  The ride was going to take about eleven hours from the airport to their next destination. Since Sean was well rested from napping during the flight, he made arrangements to take over at the wheel for Mr. Lee, when he would need the rest.

  “Sean, why didn’t we get a connecting flight to a closer airport?” Spencer inquired, realizing how much longer the trip was going be.

  “Because honestly, it’s safer for us to stay as far off the grid as possible,” Sean replied. “Airports, bus stops, and train stations are easy traps for Tamisichian forces to exploit.”

  “Speaking of which,” Spencer said, continuing a topic from one of their earlier discussions. “Those suits who, were watching us at the airport; could they be Tiandihui?”

  “They could very well be,” Sean replied. “But the question then is, ‘What kind are they and who sent them?’ That would pretty much determine their intentions for us.”

  They had already been driving for a few hours and Mr. Lee informed the group, he needed to stop for gas. He pulled into the next petrol station on their route to Wudang. Unfortunately, the shuttle for this trip was just an ordinary van; not a vehicle, modified with Shanzenian technology and infinite energy sources. It only ran on gasoline and eventually had to be refueled. Normally travelers would also find accommodations at a hotel during a trip this long, but they couldn’t risk the dangers of stopping too often or for extended periods time. They just needed to get to Wudang Mountain as soon as possible and keep a low profile.

  Spencer noticed a large cemetery, not too far from the gas station on the same side of the road, right before they pulled into the parking lot. It was arranged in very neat columns and rows, looking almost like a grand stadium on a hill. The tombstones were mostly gray and white with painted engravings in Chinese characters. The only few visitors, Spencer had noticed placing flowers at one of the grave sights, began walking back to their car as dusk gradually darkened the sky.

  Just as the visitors’ car pulled away and drove away from the cemetery, Spencer saw two other visitors even further away, that he hadn’t noticed before. He curiously watched the two new visitors, wandering around aimlessly, like they didn’t know which tombstone they were visiting. They were dressed in nice suits, almost as if they were attending their own funerals.

  Tom drew Spencer’s attention away from the odd couple in the cemetery. “Hey Spence, you want to go inside?” He asked, gesturing to the gas station convenience store.

  “Definitely,” Spencer replied, thinking it was time for a bathroom break and refreshments.

  As Mr. Lee pulled up to the pumps, they were greeted by a short, stocky middle aged lady with a round face and a broad smile, wearing the gas station’s trademark uniform. Mr. Lee lowered his window, conversed with her in Mandarin, and handed her a credit card. As was the custom in many countries in the world, it was a requirement in China for a gas station attendant to operate the fuel pump for their customers. Spencer had never really experienced that kind of service before, but it allotted the whole group some time to walk inside the
convenience store, shop for snacks, and use the restrooms. As they approached the store, they saw scaffolding, covering one side of the building for a renovation project, that was probably being conducted during an earlier timeframe each day. It was a messy and unfinished sight but at least the store was still open for business.

  After his visit to the restroom, Spencer strolled around the store to peruse the snacks and beverages. It was smaller than the average convenience store in the United States, but nonetheless, it was stocked with everything they could need for their trip. There were some interesting - and for Spencer - some rather novel products, that he’d never seen before; like the various brands of bagged chicken feet and other snacks, including dried fish and dried exotic fruits. There were a few snacks Spencer did have his eyes on, and he grabbed a few of them, but the bottles of chilled coffee is what really got his attention. He couldn’t read the Chinese on the labels, but the flavors were obvious from the illustrations on the bottles.

  “Jiangshi! Jiangshi!” they heard someone screaming right outside the shop doors. It was the gas station attendant, who had been filling the tank of their van, running into the store; her face pale with fright. She moved to the back of the store, standing far away from the front doors but watching them vigilantly, anticipating something dreadful. Despite his old age, the store clerk jumped up, sprinted over to the doors, and locked them immediately. Only the glass doors of the shop shielded everyone inside from the pitch black night and whatever lurked outside, causing this woman to urgently seek refuge. Shin Li approached the lady to find out what was happening. The attendant rattled off in Mandarin, recounting her story to Shin Li.

  “Wha-what’s going on?” Spencer asked, worried.

  Shin Li glanced back at Spencer with a nervous look on her face. “Walking corpses,” Shin Li replied.

  “What?”

  ‘Thud’ An undead corpse plopped itself against the front door, pushing its face against the window and drooling some kind of liquid down the outside of it. Everyone jumped and backed up, startled by the mindless ghoul trying to see its prey through the glass of the front door. This particular living corpse didn’t appear to be deceased for very long; it was barely decayed with a colorless, waxy complexion and its funeral suit still looked pretty intact despite all the dust and grime from its evident breakout through the earth. Then it leaped away from the locked door, most likely to search another way into the store.