Reformation (8 page)

“
Clay pots with
copper and iron electrodes dipped in an electrolyte solution,” Dr. Holmes read back from his notes.  “You’re describing a Baghdad Battery right?  Like the ones discovered a few years ago in Iraq dating back to the first century AD?  Are you telling me these devices were used by humans to attract and harness their life force after death just like the Alpha?”

“They certainly attempted to replicate the design.  Fortunately
, the Mesopotamians were only able to use very weak acid solutions like grape or lemon juice.  Their version of the system could only produce one or two volts to charge the electromagnet, which is not nearly enough power,” Hastelloy instructed.

“Well thank goodness,” Dr. Holmes exclaimed.  “I can only imagine the cultural devastation that could have
been done if mankind developed a device to preserve a person’s life force for all eternity.”

“It would have been a catastrophe in line with the errors made during Novi first contact with the Alpha all those years ago which led to this war,” Hastelloy confirmed.  “It turns out the Alpha design employs a
Carborane solution, basically a super acid that is several million times stronger than even sulfuric acid, let alone grape juice.  The charge it puts out could light up a modern day city.” 

“What about now?” Jeffery asked.  “We certainly have the technology today to conduct enough electricity to make the device work.  Why aren’t mortuaries selling this as a service alongside their overpriced caskets and urns?”

The question seemed to throw Hastelloy off.  The patient looked lost for words, but then recovered to finally explain, “Not many people could write back then.  It really is something of a minor miracle that the designs were preserved from the original device the Alpha built in Ancient Egypt.  It had to survive two thousand years of generations reciting the story until the Mesopotamians decided to give it a try and recreate the technology.  When they saw it didn’t work, they tossed it aside as folklore.”

Dr. Holmes could only nod his head in agreement.  “That does make sense I suppose.
  Now getting back to the fall of Rome, I do seem to recall the city of Rome falling to an army of Visigoths marching down from the north at some point.  How could that one uprising, one of many hundreds over the course of Rome’s rule, bring down such a well organized and prosperous empire?”

“The situation where a small
, yet extremely rich and well organized, group rules over the impoverished masses is a precarious one,” Hastelloy explained.  “More than anything else, the continued dominance by the few relies upon their subjects believing they are inferior.  Once the lower ninety-nine percent begin thinking otherwise, it results in an avalanche of change and rebellion that can only have one conclusion.”

“Alaric and his army rampaged through the Greek peninsula sacking Athens and Sparta.  Then they waltzed
down the Italian peninsula and razed everything in sight along the Adriatic Sea until finally they reached Rome and laid siege to her walls.”

“Didn’t the vaunted Roman armies resist?”  Jeffrey asked.

“Of course they did.  Dozens of battles took place and after each, regardless of how many died, Alaric’s forces swelled in number.  The impoverished masses were drawn to him like ants to sugar.  Rome, after a millennia of harsh rule, was on the ropes and everybody and their mother laced up a set of boxing gloves to try and deliver a knockout blow on their oppressors.”

Jeffrey understood the logic, but still had a hard time believing the story.  “
What about the city walls of Rome?  Why didn’t they keep the barbarian horde out?  I mean the defenses were constructed and improved upon for thousands of years.”

“True, Alaric’s army was incapable of breaching the defensive walls, but the weight of the rebellious movement made it so he didn’t have to.  Upon approach, slaves from ins
ide the city opened the Salaria Gate and the Visigoths pillaged the city and revealed to the world that, yes, Rome could indeed be beaten.”

“What about the Roman Emperor?
” Jeffrey asked.  “He couldn’t have just sat idly by while his empire was devastated.”

Hastelloy allowed a flat scowl of regret to conquer his lips.  “Actually,
Emperor Honorius did almost exactly that.  The man was so out of touch with reality that when informed of the destruction of Rome he mistook it for the death of his favorite chicken named Roma.  His exact words upon hearing the news were, ‘How could it be?  She just ate out of my hand this morning.’  When his advisors corrected his mistake, the hapless emperor was greatly relieved.”

All Jeffrey could do was laugh.  “How could som
eone so incompetent rise to be Emperor?”

“He didn’t, he had it handed to hi
m as an inherited title.  Skill and leadership had nothing to do with it.  Furthermore, the penchant of Roman high society to eat off of lead dinnerware didn’t help matters any since lead poisoning certainly does strange things to the human mind.  Yet another reason why revitalizing the old Roman Empire was not a good solution.”

“
So what happened to the Visigoths once their King was slain?” Jeffrey asked. “Did they continue terrorizing the Italian peninsula or did Tomal’s assassination save the day?”

“No, not really,” Hastelloy answered.  “Tomal’s unilateral action really didn’t amount to much because even if Alaric had survived, the swell of his rebellion all but vanished once the city of Rome was taken.  With vengeance satisfied, people that joined along the way almost immediately began deserting his army to return to their normal lives.  Eventually the Visigoth tribe ventured north to conquer Gaul and then turned south to finally settle in Spain.”

“The Gothic people
moved all the way from eastern Europe to settle in Spain?” Jeffrey asked for confirmation.

“I can tell you’re beginning to see what Goron was up to,” Hastelloy responded.  “
Under his influence, the Visigoths cut a ribbon of disruption and destruction all across southern Europe.  In their wake they left a splintered series of tiny kingdoms ruled by petty warlords rather than one unitary empire.”

“Why, to what end?”

“To disrupt my plans of progressing human civilization along at an accelerated rate so my crew and the Nexus could finally get home,” Hastelloy answered sharply.  “A unified empire allowed an unparalleled growth of science, technology and culture.  Clearly Goron could not allow that, so he worked as an agent of chaos to regress mankind all the way back to feudal kingdoms.  His actions threatened to bring all our progress to a grinding halt.”

“A
s a solution, you sent everyone in your crew forth to make disciples of all nations,” Dr. Holmes quoted from the Bible and then paged back through his notes.  “Gallono was assigned Germany, Valnor and Tomal split the British Isles, and Tonwen basically had southern Europe.  How did that all work out?”

“Considering Christianity spread like wildfire in those years following the downfall of Rome, and
that each of my crewmen were named saints by the church not long after their bodies died, I’d say it worked out famously,” Hastelloy stated with pride.

Jeffrey couldn’t resist trying to guess who they were in Hastelloy’s version of the past.  “Let me see now.  Tomal is an engineer and had a penchant
for parties and drink. I am going to go out on a limb and guess he was St. Patrick.”

Hastelloy graced Jeffrey with a smiling nod.  “Predictable wasn’t it.  The patron saint of engineering who hailed from Ireland was indeed Tomal.  Valnor stayed on
the main island of Britain and convinced the King of Kent to ally with Catholic forces from the mainland to spread the faith.  He later was named St. George and is considered the patron saint of Britain.”

Jeffrey wanted another turn and
jumped in with his next guess.  “Gallono was in Germany so that probably makes him St. Boniface.”

“Bravo,” the patient commended.  “For an atheist you are remarkably well versed in Catholic saints.”

“My mother’s side of the family comes from Germany. Having familiarity of the German apostle was practically a requirement.  Having it all forced on me like that is likely the reason I gravitate the other direction now.”

“That leaves Tonwen who did far more than any
of the others to not only promote Christianity, but set up a monastic system to record and preserve the knowledge of mankind.  He documented the Rule of Saint Benedict which even today serves to lay out the duties, expectations, and behaviors of monks and nuns living communally.”

“They certainly must have done something right since the Catholic Church still flourishes to this day, and is even the wealthiest land owner the world over,” Jeffrey commended.

With the praising words spoken, Dr. Holmes watched his patient’s demeanor melt away to a penitent man turning his head away with what could only be described as a look of shame.  “Tonwen would likely counter your statement by asking: did the Church thrive because of, or in spite of my efforts?”

Brian Russell tried
his best to tune out everything from the outside world, but found the task nearly impossible.  The roar of the mighty diesel engine powering the Humvee down the relatively empty streets of Cairo would have made even an eighteen wheel truck driver reach for a set of ear plugs.

He was still desperately trying to devise a plan for him and Alex to
escape from the situation.  He trusted that they were not in any sort of physical danger, but the prospect of being tucked away in some anonymous NSA safe house in a foreign country
indefinitely
for knowing too much was in some ways even worse. 

Alex and Professor Russell were squished in the midd
le of the back seat with a well armed Navy SEAL on either side protecting the exit doors.  That fact still didn’t stop Brian from fantasizing about opening the side door and making a run for it every time the Humvee rolled to a stop.  That plan was a no go though because every time the vehicle slowed, those soldiers visibly braced for action just in case the fifty year old professor and his undersized female research assistant decided to get feisty.

If hateful stares and ill
meaning fantasies could actually harm a person, then Frank, sitting in the front seat alongside the driver, would have been a bloody mess.  As the Humvee rolled away from the stoplight and picked up speed down the four lane road, Professor Russell glared at the back of Frank’s head wishing it to explode for all the anger he bore the man.

His concentration was interrupted by Frank poi
nting out a slow moving truck ahead.  “Don’t slow down, just go around it.”

The driver checked his side mirror and began the lane change but suddenly jerked the
wheel back over and hit the brakes to avoid ramming the truck now only ten feet ahead and moving even slower.  “Sorry sir, there was another truck alongside in the other lane.”

The semi truck hauling a long cargo container contin
ued to roll past as the truck ahead came to a full stop.  Before Frank could unleash more than a couple of obscenities at the other driver, a powerful crash from behind smashed the Humvee into the back of the truck in front, pinning the vehicle.  An instant later the Humvee’s hood erupted with a barrage of bullets targeting the engine block.  Geysers of steam and black oil let them all know the Humvee would not be going anywhere anytime soon.

“Oh Jesus, those are fifty
caliber rounds,” the driver declared with his last words.  A high powered round blasted through the side window striking the soldier in the head.  The five inch long, half inch diameter bullet penetrated the armored glass and the man’s helmet like they were made of paper to spread his blood and gore across the entire interior of the front seat.  Frank also appeared to be hit; the NSA agent was drenched in blood and slumped forward, unmoving over the dashboard.

The two soldiers on either side of Brian and Alex decided to take their chances out in the open rather than let a skilled sniper play turkey shoot with them in
the cramped confines of the vehicle.  The two side doors flung open and the well armed soldiers jumped out to find any cover available.  Brian and Alex, for their part, crawled off the seat onto the floorboards, went fetal, and started praying to survive the ordeal.

Outside the
Humvee the world came alive with a terrifying gun battle that was nothing like the movies or video games.  The SEALs unloaded their submachine guns into the truck that rammed them from behind.  Shots from all directions came in at the soldiers as they moved around the rear of the Humvee.  Between the two soldiers returning fire, Brian could hear them calling out targets to each other.

“Two on the right at three o’clock,” pop, pop, pop.  “Four on the left at ten and seven,” pop, pop, pop. 
“Reloading!”

Then came a
thunderous boom from the far right announcing another fifty caliber round had left the barrel of the sniper rifle.  A heart wrenching squeal near the rear of the vehicle let Brian know the round connected with deadly effect.

Another minute
passed filled with frantic breathing and the crackle of gravel just outside the opened door as the lone Navy SEAL scrambled for cover.  Then a maelstrom of light machine gunfire culminated in a wet thump which reminded Brian of a watermelon being smashed by a sledge hammer.  It evoked a muffled scream from the soldier still seeking cover just outside the open door.

Labored breathing was accompanied by the SE
AL emptying yet another clip from his weapon, but two more wet thumps rendered everything outside completely silent.  Neither Brian nor Alex dared look or even try to move.  They simply huddled on the floor and waited for the inevitable to hit them and end the terrifying ordeal.

A silent minute passed before the cautious crunch of footsteps approached from all around the vehicle; dozens of them.  Brian heard the front doo
rs open so the bodies of the driver and Frank could be inspected.  Then a set of hands belonging to a man in urban combat fatigues and wearing a black ski mask over his head grabbed hold of Alex and dragged her from the vehicle kicking and screaming.

“No, no!” she hollered before a
n injection needle penetrated the side of her neck bringing the struggle to an anticlimactic end.

A moment later a set of powerful hands pulled Brian from the
Humvee.  On his way out he looked to the front seat and found Frank still motionless and slumped over the dashboard. 

Professor Russell did not bother trying to struggle.  He felt the bite of a needle
in his neck followed by the sensation of liquid fire injected into his veins.  That fire quickly consumed all his extremities with a numb sensation that sent his mind into a tailspin which ended in complete darkness.

**********

Frank slowly felt consciousness return to him.  He did not dare attempt to test his motor skills just yet as the movement might still draw the deadly accurate sniper fire.  He kept his eyes closed and allowed his sense of hearing to take over. 

A motor was running in a vehicle parked alongside the
Humvee which meant the sniper’s view from that direction was temporarily obscured.  This gave Frank an opportunity to open his eyes ever so slightly and steal a glance to the side.  He saw a black paneled van with the back doors open.  He silently watched the unconscious bodies of Alex and Professor Russell get loaded into the van and ten armed men of small stature climb in after them and shut the doors. 

With all that going on outside
, Frank felt confident a minor movement from his right hand would not be noticed.  He reached toward his back pocket to retrieve his cell phone, but was disheartened to find his hand touching nothing but ass. 

His phone had been taken, probably for intelligence gathering purposes.  It was of little consequence since it could easily be disabled and wiped remotely.  For the moment, Frank was just counting his blessings
that he was still alive.  The blood all over him was convincing, but the tablet he swallowed to temporarily stop his heart and breathing to mimic death must have sold the ruse considering the abductors did not finish him off with a round to the head. 

Frank moved his probing hand away from
the back pocket and toward his belt buckle.  He was relieved to find his oversized ‘Don’t mess with Texas’ buckle was still on him.  He gently unfastened the buckle, pressed his thumb against the loop hook and snapped it off. 

Frank then relaxed his hand once more and pictured in his mind the signal reaching an NSA hub and prompting satellite links to be pulled up and recorded.

Meanwhile, the van idling alongside sped off and Frank shut his eyes once more to play dead for the benefit of the sniper who might still be looking at him through a scope.  Frank continued his impersonation of a corpse until the local authorities arrived along with the NSA recovery team posing as paramedics to bring Frank out of the situation unharmed.