Skies Over Tomorrow: Constellation (7 page)

“No, Gailen, we are much different from them. We are continuing to evolve, so we must find our own God. Our own way.”

“True, and we can find it here, on Earth.”

“No. If we live here, then we will only fall under the influence of their culture and be trapped. If we become trapped here, then we'll go insane.”

He looked at me.

“If you think that I find all that you believe in is beneath me—us—those of our kind, well, it is. To incorporate any values they have would be a tragic mistake on our part. We are children of science, not of the divine miracle of conception. As I see it, we are an abomination to God and Heaven. Tell me, when we die, will our life force join with this collective you talk about? I doubt it. Because of the way in which we came to be, Gailen, our purpose for living will never be found here on Earth, or in their Ancient Text.”

“You are just like the old humans. Your denial of God will condemn you to Hell.”

“We've come to a standstill, then, so as I said, go your way, and I'll go mine.”

“Very well then.” He turned away from me and approached the video-com unit on the wall next to the entrance, as I heard it become active. “Doctor, your patient is ready to leave,” he said. “What is your prognosis?”

“What?” said the voice. “She has recovered? How does she look?”

“Fine,” he said, and stepped aside. The unit's monitor glowed with the image of the doctor.

“Well, she can leave if she wants, but I suggest she be careful in her activities.”

“Why?” I said, approaching the com-link.

“You were shot with an eleven-millimeter round. I must say it was amazing to see the way it was lodged in your plated thoracic corral—a natural bulletproof vest, indeed.”

“Doctor, I am aware of the physiology of my ribcage.”

“Yes, of course,” he said. “I was only able to remove the body of the bullet, seven millimeters of it. The rest—the head of the round—is lodged in the cartilage tissue between the third and fourth rib of the corral's left anterior.”

“She shot me with a smart bullet?”

“It would seem so,” said Gailen. “The doctor didn't attempt to remove it right away. Lucky for you because after analyzing it, he found that it was programmed to release a chemical agent that would have given you more than heartburn.”

“What do you mean?”

“Doctor, explain.”

“Quite simply, if the bullet head is removed before it is disarmed, you will burst into flames.”

“What about me teleporting?”

“I don't know about that,” said the doctor. “You can try it and see what happens.”

“I guess I know what I must do, then.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” said Gailen.

As he pushed a button and made the doctor disappear, I turned away from the com-link, and then he said, “If you must go back to Mars, then I'm available to help you.”

“No thanks, Gailen. Your generosity is a spider's web I cannot get caught up in.”

“Very well. At least take some medical supplies.”

“Thanks.”

“Are you going to attempt to teleport?”

“Of course.”

“Before you do, there are two things you should know.”

I turned around to see him at the entrance.

“First, there is a conspiracy in motion in which you're already entangled, and it goes far beyond your need to balance your humanity with some sort of cultural identity as a Neo sapien. You are what you are, and that should suffice.”

“Well, it doesn't. That's not enough for me, Gailen.”

“I have seen the future in my sleep,” he said.

“If that's the case, then you should be able to handle things.”

“I would think so, too; but I am one of the conspirators. Besides, I will not be a part of the future of which I dream. Still, people will worship me just the same.”

I looked at him.

“Don't think of me as being another potential enemy. My interest is Earth's freedom, and I will ensure it by any means necessary.”

“Well, do whatever you feel you have to.”

“I'm telling you this so that you may live for another day, provided that you find a way to take care of your condition first.” He then said, “You told the GDI agent who shot you that our actions are a direct result of a destiny we must fulfill.”

“Yes. I did, and I believe that.”

“Then I need say nothing more.”

“What's the second thing I need to know?”

“Your footwear is in that drawer of the bed,” he said.

I looked to my bare feet and wiggled my toes.

“With that, good-bye and good luck.” Gailen turned about and pushed through the doors of the room's entrance, and they were left swinging in his wake.

I returned to the single bed and squatted, pulling open the drawer at the foot of it. Retrieving the pair of cotton stockings and short boots, I then sat on the floor to dress my feet. When I finished doing up the shoelaces, I stood and looked around the room, wanting to be somewhere more pleasant.

I closed my eyes and imagined the yellow fields of coreopsises I had once visited. I laid there as the smell of nature filled my nostrils. With a slight breeze blanketing over me, I felt alive. My eyes opened to see the pale moon trailing westward after the sun. The canopy of the blue sky draped over the horizon, and the tiny, blooming tickseeds protruded upward into my peripheral vision. Lifting my right hand and examining the bullet head between my thumb and forefinger, I smiled.

The little momento would be kept until I saw Ivy again, as I had every intention to return to Mars; but I wondered what then. My hand lowered to hold the bullet against my belly, as I looked to the sky. How would I reach out to Ivy, or even sway her to stop pursuing us? Perhaps… If it were a matter of keeping my enemy close while in pursuit of peace, then I would have to hide in plain sight, as I knew of a sister who did so now. Then my smile broaden. I also knew that sister had married a GDI agent. If I could emulate a similar guise, then perhaps it would afford me a couple of opportunities: connecting with Ivy and experiencing a life different from being hunted—if only for a little while.

I yawned, deciding to pay that sister a visit, after my catnap.

“Again?” said Felix, as he entered Supply Depot C to find gone were medical and weapon provisions and hardware. “This is unbelievable.” His case was falling into a black hole, and for his sake, he could not figure out why or how Federation reserves were vanishing, let alone who or what was behind the larceny. What he did know was that his superior wanted answers to report to the leaders of the High Council, who demanded answers. By no means was this a textbook case as Commander Wilkes had said it was to be. Felix exhaled a sharp breath, as he stood dwarfed within the cold, metal charcoal-colored storage area. The 12,000 cubic meters of space was so empty.

Twenty-four hours ago, he stood in the very same spot where the floor marker of aisle thirteen had been placed, surrounded by crates and canisters of all types, shapes and sizes that carried various weapons, tools, mechanical parts, uniforms, med kits and other gear and supplies. Now, only the primary colors of lines and pathway numbers were left. Even shelf units were gone. There was nothing. For the fifth time in a four-month period, an entire warehouse of equipment just disappeared.

“What the hell is going on?” he said, with his back to the wide, open, low-level entrance, unaware of the guard that entered.

“Excuse me.”

Felix whipped around, raising his right arm, and as quick as he spun, a weapon sprung from under the sleeve of his long coat into his hand.

The guard froze in her tracks; she looked at the agent with expectation of recognition appearing on his face.

Felix lowered his arm, and the handgun retracted, disappearing back up the coat-sleeve the instant he released it from his grip. “I apologize,” he said.

“I shouldn't have startled you like that. I could get killed sneaking up on a GDI agent.”

“Not true. Perhaps paralyzed for a few hours. It's a Venom Gun.”

“Yes, of course.”

“Please, pardon my overreaction. I'm only wishing this investigation were that exciting.”

“Then you're the one that my sergeant said wants to question me.”

“You are—”

“Shaunya McBride, Private First Class, Macrocosm Alliance Corps.”

Felix noted the way she stated her name, rank, and affiliation. She was well trained and loyal. “Please, formalities aside,” he said. “I just have a few questions.”

“Of course. It's not as if I could refuse to answer.”

“Yes, you're right.” Felix reached under his coat for his voice-recorder.

It was a wide known bylaw that organizations of the Federation, including MAC, and even the High Council, were to yield to the GDI because the agency was charged with preserving the integrity of the Martian regime and its utopian existence. The recorder, a dowel-shaped device no longer than the palm length of the hand, was ready by its green lit bottom. “Keeping with protocol then, I'm Special Agent Felix Ilom of the Galactic Division of Investigations, lead investigator of case number 014603, as it relates to provisions that have mysteriously disappeared over the last few months.”

“‘Mysteriously disappeared'? Now that's an interesting euphemism,” said McBride.

“Do you have another way to describe how entire cargo depots are being cleared of goods?”

“The provisions were stolen.”

Felix eyed the MAC soldier, and then said, “How do you know they were stolen?”

“Small talk among the rank-and-file.”

“Among the rank-and-file,” he said. “Is there small talk of a who among the quote-unquote rank-and-file?”

“No one comes to mind.”

“Any ideas about why governmental provisions are being targeted? Is there an independent faction wanting to break away?”

“I don't know,” she said, “but now that you mention it, the stolen provisions are enough to feed a growing army.”

“Question is how much does this growing army need?”

“I didn't say it was an army for certain.”

Felix smiled. “Of course you didn't,” he said. “You were on duty at the time these provisions were stolen—is that correct?”

“Yes, from 19:30 to 04:30.”

“Where were you most of the time?”

“At the surveillance desk.”

“And you didn't see anything unusual on the cameras?”

“No.”

“What percentage of time did you spend at the desk as opposed to foot patrol?”

“I don't know percentage of time, Detective Ilom. I do know at the top of every hour, I was on foot patrol for twenty minutes. I also know for sure that during my shift I saw nothing and heard nothing.”

“Nothing at all?”

“That's correct.”

“OK, that's all I have to ask you for now,” said Felix, looking at and stopping the voice-recorder; its bottom now yellow. “Thank you for your time, Private.”

“My pleasure.” McBride turned about and walked off.

“If I have any more questions—”

“Then it shouldn't be hard for you to find me,” she said from over her shoulder. “After all, you are GDI.”

“That I am,” Felix said, his words reverberating off the alloy walls as he put the truth-stick—as the recorder is sometimes called—away after it indicated deceit by the amber light. Then under his breath while watching McBride's retreating figure, he said, “I should have asked you to join me for breakfast. It would've been interesting to hear you lie some more.” She passed the entrance and turned left once she was in the corridor.

Felix checked his watch for the time; it was 06:35. Having been up for almost two hours since being called out of bed to the storage facility at the urgent request of his commander, he did not have a chance to eat anything, and his stomach weakened during the questioning of the private.

Controlling his hunger, Felix reached inside a coat pocket and pulled out a headset. Unfolding the communiqué peripherals, he slipped the earpiece over his left ear and let a cord dangle as he adjusted the mic on his Adam's apple. He went under his coat again and retrieved his com-link, and then took hold of the cord and plugged it into the handheld device.

“Commander Wilkes,” he said, and with its voice recognition software, the face of the com-link illuminated, presenting the emblem of the GDI while flashing: CONNECTING. Several seconds elapsed before the link established itself. When the face of the director flickered onto the display, the conversation started with motion from his lips.

“Well, I'm in the cargo hold,” Felix said, giving the space a once over as he then said, “and it's just like the others.”

Wilkes spoke, with few words and an austere demeanor.

“It looks, empty. If you were expecting it to be some other way, then I'll have to disappoint you.”

Indeed, Wilkes' expression turned to disappointment, as he mouthed a response.

“No, I haven't. However, in questioning the guard, I've ascertained that it's shaping up to be like the previous incidents. She too saw or heard nothing.”

Wilkes replied with a contemplating look on his face.

“No, I don't' believe her. I'm telling you it's like déjà vu. I know if I dig into her background, as I did with the others, I won't find anything. It would be nice if there were some increase in their credit accounts, to indicate they were paid to take a walk, or something. Pawns set up to take the fall would definitely make me feel better about this case.”

Curiosity then overcame Wilkes, as words parted his lips for a brief moment.

“Five different guards claim not to have seen or heard anything during their shifts when questioned after the provisions were reported missing, and all of them are so certain about it that they'd bet their livelihoods on it.”

Wilkes responded with restless lips.

“Even if that were the case,” said Felix, “they should have shown up on surveillance recordings. Extreme class B humans don't hide. No, this is just too brisk, and the implications of what is going on worry me, sir.”

Wilkes then replied with the curious look reappearing on his face.

“Yes, I do, but it's only grazing the edge.”

The hands of the GDI director moved to support his chin when he leaned forward on his desk. There was a slight bob of his head as he replied with anticipation on his face.

“Well, for now it seems an unknown group of individuals is staging a coup. And the way these guards are acting, I'm inclined to think this group exists within MAC. It would seem some high-ranking officer has commanded their loyalty.”

Wilkes remained at rest, giving the impression of understanding.

“It sounds preposterous, I know,” said Felix, “but I suspect that MAC is conspiring to either overthrow the High Council or secede from the Federation. Maybe both. I don't know, but something is in the works, and it isn't good. Like I said, I wish the guards would take the fall for this. The implications would definitely be less vexing if that were the case.”

Wilkes retorted with winded words, as he leaned back in his chair, his lips moving almost non-stop before they paused.

“Yes, sir,” said Felix.

Then Wilkes spoke again, though only for a moment.

“Yes, but how can I find evidence to verify my theory if you're restricting any progress that I may have? It's too soon to classify this case supernova. Surely you see the contradiction here.”

Commander Wilkes composed himself and responded with an intense stare, his lips repeating their last motion verbatim.

“Very well. However, I think we should wait until I have conclusive evidence to—”

Wilkes responded with a stern, uncompromising look on his face.

“Now you understand why this investigation worries me.”

Displeased, the director leaned forward again and replied, staring at his agent.

“Yes, sir.”

The commander's image then blinked off, replaced by the GDI emblem; and when Felix disconnected the com-link's headset, the device powered off. “Supernova,” he said, removing the earpiece and mic. “And after all my efforts with trying to break this case.”

Unhappy with the new status of the investigation, he put the link away, and wrapped up the headset and tucked it into the pocket from which he retrieved it. He checked the time: 06:41. “I really should have stopped by the Velvet before coming here,” he said, ignoring his growing hunger and deciding to continue his inspection of the hold. Duty dictated diligence with the case, despite Wilkes' direction.

Felix walked toward the entrance while pulling out a pair of high-tech spectacles and a flashlight from under the opposite side of his coat. At the entry, just to the left, was the location of the door and light controls; he depressed a couple of switches. Turning off the lights and closing off the cargo hold, he sealed himself in obscurity. With a click from the flashlight, an intense blue beam sliced through the darkness, and having slipped on the stylish eyewear, he adjusted its optical settings with the controls on its right arm. It enabled him to see chemical or organic matter or residue as revealed by the flashlight. He was looking for fingerprints, hair follicles, sweat, blood, saliva, something—anything. It was forensic surveying at the basic level. For Felix, it was tedious and time consuming.

He started at the control panel and moved counterclockwise in examining the walls, the floor, the ceiling, and the cameras suspended in each corner of the space.

Since the previous thefts, he had speculated that in order for the guards to avert suspicion and give credibility to their heard-nothing-saw-nothing claim, they knew storage facility cameras could not simply be turned off, as to do so required notifying and receiving bio-permissions from a couple officials high in the MAC command structure. Those adjutants would have had to then implement a more stringent security protocol, which would have logged their involvement. As there was no record of such activity, it was also a good thing the two executive officers had proven to have no knowledge of the prior four events. He was sure it would be the same this time around.

Moreover, at such a level, the matter could have escalated with ease and attracted political scrutiny and unnecessary interests in Mars' affairs, especially from its colonial representatives, and even the United Nations of Earth—if were to become widely known that MAC was losing provisions. Whoever was stealing from the Federation, like the High Council, preferred the entire situation be under wraps.

After finding nothing, as expected, Felix found himself back at the entrance. He looked over every square centimeter of the hydraulic-driven doors and still found nothing. His stomach growled in protest of being ignored. Looking at his watch, only forty-five minutes had passed since he last checked, and he paused with thoughts of what to eat. It was at that moment that a faint glimmer caught his eye.

Directing the beam of the flashlight to the floor, he tapped on the right arm of the glasses to start its filming, and as he approached the point of the reflection, more twinkles occurred. The spectacles recorded the languid shimmer of blue light and stored the digital footage in the memory bank within the left arm of its frame. The iota of molecules shown from where aisle nine should have been situated—where a menacing line of Hard Shells were racked, Felix remembered. He rescanned the floor, holding the flashlight ever lower, at a more leveled angle. Scribbled patterns, though ill-defined, were discovered; they seemed to be tire treads. He got down on his knees and set the flashlight next to a line that was part of one pattern. Swiping his index finger across a section of it and looking at his blackened fingertip, smelling it, and then rubbing it with the tip of his thumb, it seemed like some type of earthen residue.

“Well, this has been a long time coming,” he said, pulling a small vial and brush from under his coat. After unscrewing the lid from the container and setting it down, he swept some of the particles into it for study. When he felt he had enough, he picked up the lid, twisted it back on, and stashed the evidence into an inside pocket of his coat. Taking hold of the flashlight while putting the brush away, he stood and walked back to the entrance. Pushing on a switch, the doors opened, and the light from the main corridor flooded into the cargo hold and cast his shadow along the floor, onto the opposite wall.