Prophecy (19 page)

The narrow passageway beneath Experimental 826 was nearly too cold to endure. Sateron’s SRIG, his Self-Regulating Insulated Garment, had to work diligently to maintain his normal body temperature. Snaking through a labyrinth of seemingly never-ending corridors led by a peculiar guide caused his first episode of claustrophobia. Only the soothing thoughts of his partner tempered his anxiety.

You are exhilarated
, he thought sourly.
Thanks be the geology master accompanies us. At least he shares my apprehension
.

Their escort was a hunched, shuffling figure swathed in a cloak with a cowl that shielded its face from inquisitive eyes. The mantel, a slate gray, blended with the walls. Its feet were elevated off the uneven floor by platforms held on with straps, and its hands were hidden in the sleeves.

It finally came to a halt before a wall at the end of another passageway, seemingly no different than the many they had just traversed. It turned and lifted its face to them, the hood covering its head slipping backward. Sateron peered over Deutriion’s shoulder, the better to see their escort in the weak light.

“Welcome ... Seekers. May Truth the Beacon be ... to lead you ... to the Great and Glorious ...He who willyour Spirits bathe ... in His Brilliant Light, forever more.”

The hesitant, hoarse voice conjured up a house filled with dust and decay, abandoned for eons. The hovering spheroids cast muted light; nevertheless, Sateron was able to see that the ancient one was female.

The creases in her face were as deep as a river carved through a canyon. Wrinkles splayed outward from the corners of her eyes as cracks would in the hard desert sand. Once they were eyes of blue; now the color was obscured by a milky substance that turned the crone’s eyes white.

But it was a face filled with peace and hope—and more. Sateron’s breath caught in his throat: millions of years of evolution dissolved as he stared at the face of one who appeared akin to contemporary Anorasians, but just different enough to see how slowly was the development of his race.

She who led them turned to face Aleris. Reaching up, the ancient one gently touched Aleris’ eye ridges with the tip of her gnarled finger then continued down to trace the outline of the nose, finally ending with a feather-light touch across the lips.
She is without sight
, Sateron and Deutriion received from Aleris. While her sending held no surprise to her companions, they were perplexed that their guide’s blindness had never been genetically corrected, along with the element in her code that blinded her.

In a voice that scraped as would a rusty weathered hinge on a corroded metal gate, the revenant murmured; “This one do we know. Long did we observe ... as she probed ever deeper ... searching for her spirit in the words of the ancient lore. More did we feed ... her unquenchable thirst ... as her curiosity became increasingly awakened. Now comes it ... the time of revelation.”

She paused and cocked her head, apparently listening to something they could not hear. With a tremulous voice that rattled deep in her chest, she concluded, “Only do we ask of you ... and this: to keep counsel that which we impart trustingly. Those there are ... who would cause the Beacon to be destroyed ... and thus prevent the Truth ... from Finding the Light.”

Seemingly drained of energy, the withered old woman withdrew her misshapen finger from Aleris’ face and turned back to face the wall. With elbows bent she raised both arms to form a ninety-degree angle, her palms turned to face the wall. She sent forth a verbal command; the three behind her heard but it was incomprehensible. At first the language appeared to be Ju’nedha, the spoken dialect of the common people. However the inflections were incorrect and some words, while recognizable, were slurred and abbreviated.

The wall shimmered. The holographic image lost consistency, revealing a chamber of stone beyond. Following their guide, they progressed toward a block of granite in the center rising many feet over their heads. The top two feet were carved with symbols and characters that caused Ton Re’Sateron to gasp, his feet now rooted to the spot where he stood. Beside him, Aleris sighed with wonderment while Deutriion stared slack-jawed, his eyes bulging in disbelief.

The carvings matched the insignia on their garments. The implication—that this ancient lore transcended millions of years and had become part of their culture—was unfathomable. Glyphs in four groupings they thought were nothing more than design now took on a meaning of greater importance:

Tiers of rock pews, smooth from millennia of use, circled the chamber. Approximately one hundred were in attendance, females with their heads covered by cloth that tied beneath their chins, males with caps made of woven synthetic fabric that glittered in the light from spheroids hovering in wall niches. No one eyed the newcomers; the assemblage had worshipful gazes only for the monolith.

While their escort took her place among the gathering, a figure detached itself from the assemblage and approached them. His smile reminded Sateron of Emmanuel, he who had this same demeanor of warmth and serenity.

The amber-colored Anorasian (if that be truly what he was) stopped before them and raised his arms in the same manner as had their guide when she removed the holograph of the rock wall. His delight at their presence was obvious as he gazed invitingly from one to the other. Without conscious thought, Sateron mimicked the gesture as simultaneously did his two companions. Aleris smiled eagerly, the thrill of discovery evident by the satisfied gleam in her eyes.

“Welcome, Seekers. I am Bov’shiatvan, he who, by the Grace of the Glorious Shen’dalah, remains in this His sacred temple to assist those who come with open hearts. I delight in receiving such august initiates.” He lowered his arms and folded his hands at his waist. “Perilous is the way, but immeasurable the reward. Take seats amongst the Transformed. Hear the words of truth from a Shel’Zib, a High Priest, long past. Let the Light fill you in never-ending joy.”

They complied, finding empty seats on the second tier. Aleris was transfixed, finally hearing the ancient speak she had extracted from her clandestine readings. Also from the same data record, she recognized Bov’shiatvan’s loosely flowing garment that gathered at his waist with a coarse and braided tie and the same leather platforms on his feet as their guide.

No sooner were they seated than his strong voice rang out, reaching the farthest corners of the chamber. They listened in awe to the legend of Shen’dalah, teachings precisely passed down from those who came before him. The names were unknown to the three scientists, but the meaning became clear as belief and tradition unfolded from records secreted away millions upon millions of years past. Some were mere parables passed down orally, but it mattered not. The three scientists accepted all they heard with their hearts even though their intellect rebelled against the absence of scientific evidence.

For many years they had known that dicit-H, the biologically-engineered compound on their home world, Hakilam, was used to control the evolution of the Anorasians while being touted as beneficial, necessary to extend life. Even though the why eluded them, they still risked their lives to find the truth. And here in a labyrinth of twisted tunnels, hidden beneath the very laboratory that spawned the complexity—and part of the Sho’revra Complex—they were shown a path to the Light from a source which mayhap appeared more ancient than the Min’yel’os itself, guarded by these extraordinary beings.

The knowledge they acquired that day shook their fundamental belief that there was no truth in faith. The reason for the fear that prompted their soulless rulers to keep an obsessive hold on the Anorasian race became clear. Cautiously, the scientists dared the tiniest flame of hope to flicker into existence, their hearts and minds and spirits thawing in the presence of righteous heat.

What the Min’yel’os most dreaded had shape and form.

What They most feared had substance and power.

And she had a name.

Emmanuel sat at the vid-screen in the MERS relay room, tears of sorrow tracking silently down his cheeks. Siddhartha swallowed noisily, trying to keep a moan of anguish from escaping his lips as his hand clutched the shoulder of his brother seated before him. It was only al-Amin who gave voice to the horror before them, murmuring, “No ... no ... no...” in a measured cadence, as if it were an incantation.

They watched the child of their hearts, the one filled with sunshine and promise, demolish the surveillance van. Their souls wept for her spirit that could be filled with such rage. Well did they know the temptation of power, having experienced it themselves in their corporeal existence. It was the blackness of this force they now witnessed, terrified that she would be wooed by its beckoning call.

But they took heart, breathing a collective sigh of relief when she held the fury in check long enough to allow the two men in the vehicle to escape. It would be this humanity that would defeat the seductiveness and evil of unbridled power.

What caused a collective gasp was the fluorescent green numeral that began to pulse on the blackened screen:

They were shocked. According to their teachings, never had an Anorasian recorded a psychic reading higher than 5.8, much less a human. Panic struck as hard as a physical blow. After the heinous way the Min’yel’os had destroyed Maka’rius, it would only be a matter of time before they discovered her existence and dealt with her in a similar (or worse) manner. The Three railed at their inability to protect her even though they knew three together were not strong enough to do so. Though her power continued to grow, they were sure she could never withstand the merciless power of the Min’yel’os, ten class seven psychics in mutual accord.

Mariah flew out the front door, exhilaration propelling her down the hill. She regretted manipulating Reuben’s mind. But she shrugged it off: he wasn’t hurt and he would never remember what happened.

Mariah’s indifference, plus her nearly uncontrollable rage, was just part of the personality being transformed by the dicit.

At the bottom of the hill she took a sharp right turn off Mastenhege, spotting a car idling a hundred feet ahead. With a burst of speed, she reached it in seconds and yanked on the door handle, throwing herself inside. When the vehicle didn’t move immediately, she yelled at the startled man behind the wheel, “For crying out loud, go!”

Coming out of his paralysis with a shake of his head, Stephen Carpenter tromped on the accelerator and the nondescript rental car roared to life. Clearing the side street, he headed toward the highway, glancing quickly at the person next to him.

“
Jee-zus
, Mariah ... at least I
hope
it’s you and not Paradise. This is the
damnedest
thing you’ve done so far!” His eyes glowed behind his glasses. “Old Thomas wasn’t just whistling
Strangers in the Night
when he warned me about this.” Chuckling delightedly, he said, “I wish I was going with you two.”

Mariah grinned back at him then glanced at the suitcase in the back seat, satisfied that the size was just right for a businessman who planned on being away no more than a few days. She was sure the appropriate clothing was inside.

She checked the contents of the brown paper bag lying on the console between them. Everything she requested was in it … and something extra. As Stephen sped toward the San Francisco Airport, she unfolded the piece of paper, her eyes misting as she read the familiar and precise penmanship:

Six minutes. That’s all it had taken to destroy the surveillance van. Six minutes of a potent force that coursed through her body, only marginally controlled. Now calm and rational, Mariah remembered the sensation of massive energy building inside her and the elation of knowing it was hers to command—anytime, anywhere. How tempting it was to use it; how rewarding the outcome. And then she felt a chill, remembering one of her father’s favorite expression: “
Power tends to corrupt; absolute power corrupts absolutely
.”