- Posting Speed
- Speed of Light
- Writing Levels
- Douche
- Preferred Character Gender
- No Preferences
"Well, there's no going back now." Green spun his wheelchair to face the others around the table. There was a smile as he made the joke, but it was doomed to fade in the next few moments. As the broadcast ended the door of the dining room cracked and one of the billionaire's aides slipped in, earpiece trailing, expression grey against his suit. One hand went to the grip of Green's chair and in a fluid motion the man stooped down and spoke softly into his employer's ear. Though soft was no word for the staccato urgency of the exchange, nor the wide shock that flooded Green's eyes. For a moment he was paralyzed altogether, then remembered himself and nodded quickly. The aide straightened and prepared to wheel Green out, while the billionaire shot a look to each of his colleagues.
"I'm sorry, everyone." The voice cracked with some unknown strain. "Something's happened..."
He wanted to say more, but colour had drained from his face. He fumbled the words then gave up and nodded to the aide, who wheeled him quickly away. Through the swinging door of the dining room, as he exited, the crew saw beyond the lobby a car pulling up: Green's personal limousine, with full staff compliment. An urgency unlike the media frenzy had gripped the household.
It would not be a long-lived mystery though. Rachaela's pager was already notifying her of the news...
"I never got his real name. Everyone at the lab just called him 'Sil'. Y'know, he'd worked there in that parking lot for fourteen years, even before Raquia Industries took over the space. I remember he always said he was grateful when you rehired the old staff."
Green smiled weakly and nodded. Yes, he remembered Sil.
"I was..." The speaker shifted a little in the bed. "I was finished up and getting in my car. Had the door open. Then I heard Sil's voice. 'You've forgotten something' - that's what he said to me."
Green lifted his hand from the arm of the wheelchair, reached across the bed covers, gripped the speaker's fingers, squeezed them.
"He had his old travel mug. Remember, that beat-up metal thing his dad gave him?" There was a slight breath, like a laugh. "I thought he was bringing me a cup of coffee."
He felt his own arm trembling. The grief had not yet reached his eyes. It had started in his fingers, blood once shock-cold now starting to tremble. He could almost feel it in his legs. Green forced himself to look at the patient. "I'm so sorry, Ann..."
There were dressings on Ann Whittles' eyes, held in place by a ring of bandage thick enough to hide the scarring on the cheeks and brow. A halo slipped. Below the burns the jaw and mouth were perfect, and they creased now into a whimper. "No..." Ann replied. "I'm sorry I didn't come to the meal when you asked me, Matthias."
Their tears broke together. Green leant over to touch his head against her hand, his shoulders trembling. All he could do was hush her, whisper that it would be okay, whisper that he was sorry. And pray... pray that this could all be undone. There were doctors beyond the paneled door of the hospital room, and down the hallway murmurs of police as they kept reporters at bay. It seemed the dinner announcement and worldwide broadcast was old news now - a prelude to the tragedy that lay before Matthias Green.
The doctors said it was hydrochloric acid. Where Sil had gotten hold of it was still up for debate. The police suggested there were ties to a religious group, or anarchists. Neither theory fitted what Green knew of that old security guard... what he thought he had known...
From Ann's bandages came a trail of tears, cutting through the brows and furrows of her scars. Green put his hand against them. "Ann, I'll fix this. I promise. I'll get Nikolai over here and we'll put in a call to the bio division. We'll get the latest optics and push the timefra--"
Now it was she who hushed him, her own hand coming to his. She shook her head. "It's too late, Matt..." Then her mouth inverted to a desperate smile. "I don't think the Spires of God will have braille on them."
The joke only worsened their sobbing. They clung to one another - she blind and beset by pain, he unable to pull himself closer, to get out of his chair, to put his arms fully around her. "It should've been me... God... You broke the conspiracy, Ann. It was all you. The memos... None of us would be here without you."
"That's why you have to carry on, Matt. Don't let these five years be for nothing."
His hands curled, clutching the wet sheets around her, twisting them as anger took him. "You're the linguist. We can't read the Spires... without your eyes."
She brought her other hand to his head, drip trailing. Her face was pitched upwards, sunlight catching on the white halo that blinded her, on the red of scars and tears. Like mother and child they remained, forgetting all the world as night drew in.
"If it truly is God out there, Matt.... then you already have everything you need... to speak with Him..."
"I'm sorry, everyone." The voice cracked with some unknown strain. "Something's happened..."
He wanted to say more, but colour had drained from his face. He fumbled the words then gave up and nodded to the aide, who wheeled him quickly away. Through the swinging door of the dining room, as he exited, the crew saw beyond the lobby a car pulling up: Green's personal limousine, with full staff compliment. An urgency unlike the media frenzy had gripped the household.
It would not be a long-lived mystery though. Rachaela's pager was already notifying her of the news...
* * * * * *
"I never got his real name. Everyone at the lab just called him 'Sil'. Y'know, he'd worked there in that parking lot for fourteen years, even before Raquia Industries took over the space. I remember he always said he was grateful when you rehired the old staff."
Green smiled weakly and nodded. Yes, he remembered Sil.
"I was..." The speaker shifted a little in the bed. "I was finished up and getting in my car. Had the door open. Then I heard Sil's voice. 'You've forgotten something' - that's what he said to me."
Green lifted his hand from the arm of the wheelchair, reached across the bed covers, gripped the speaker's fingers, squeezed them.
"He had his old travel mug. Remember, that beat-up metal thing his dad gave him?" There was a slight breath, like a laugh. "I thought he was bringing me a cup of coffee."
He felt his own arm trembling. The grief had not yet reached his eyes. It had started in his fingers, blood once shock-cold now starting to tremble. He could almost feel it in his legs. Green forced himself to look at the patient. "I'm so sorry, Ann..."
There were dressings on Ann Whittles' eyes, held in place by a ring of bandage thick enough to hide the scarring on the cheeks and brow. A halo slipped. Below the burns the jaw and mouth were perfect, and they creased now into a whimper. "No..." Ann replied. "I'm sorry I didn't come to the meal when you asked me, Matthias."
Their tears broke together. Green leant over to touch his head against her hand, his shoulders trembling. All he could do was hush her, whisper that it would be okay, whisper that he was sorry. And pray... pray that this could all be undone. There were doctors beyond the paneled door of the hospital room, and down the hallway murmurs of police as they kept reporters at bay. It seemed the dinner announcement and worldwide broadcast was old news now - a prelude to the tragedy that lay before Matthias Green.
The doctors said it was hydrochloric acid. Where Sil had gotten hold of it was still up for debate. The police suggested there were ties to a religious group, or anarchists. Neither theory fitted what Green knew of that old security guard... what he thought he had known...
From Ann's bandages came a trail of tears, cutting through the brows and furrows of her scars. Green put his hand against them. "Ann, I'll fix this. I promise. I'll get Nikolai over here and we'll put in a call to the bio division. We'll get the latest optics and push the timefra--"
Now it was she who hushed him, her own hand coming to his. She shook her head. "It's too late, Matt..." Then her mouth inverted to a desperate smile. "I don't think the Spires of God will have braille on them."
The joke only worsened their sobbing. They clung to one another - she blind and beset by pain, he unable to pull himself closer, to get out of his chair, to put his arms fully around her. "It should've been me... God... You broke the conspiracy, Ann. It was all you. The memos... None of us would be here without you."
"That's why you have to carry on, Matt. Don't let these five years be for nothing."
His hands curled, clutching the wet sheets around her, twisting them as anger took him. "You're the linguist. We can't read the Spires... without your eyes."
She brought her other hand to his head, drip trailing. Her face was pitched upwards, sunlight catching on the white halo that blinded her, on the red of scars and tears. Like mother and child they remained, forgetting all the world as night drew in.
"If it truly is God out there, Matt.... then you already have everything you need... to speak with Him..."
END OF CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO: ASCENT OF THE BLESSED
It was the morning of the seventh day. Seven days since the dinner at Green's mansion and the assault on Ann Whittles. Seven days since the crew were taken by private jet to Galveston City to begin their hermit-like week of final preparations at the Irideus Launch Center.
And now, at last, it was the morning of the day when all the world would hold its breath.
For some, the Launch Center would be a hotel, for others a prison. Raquia had lavished funding on making the place as comfortable as possible, but following Ann's tragedy security had been ramped up. One could almost feel the suffocation beyond the walls - the rings of cameras, guard patrols, biometric locks and checkpoints that surrounded the facility. And what lay within this protection was little more than 12 private suites, a hi-tech gym with running track, medical center, communal kitchen, arboretum, swimming pool and, of course, the hangar where every possible scenario in heaven and earth had been practiced and re-practiced in intensive drills over the last few days.
A tower in which ten princes and princesses were kept safe from the dragons.
They were already wearing mission fatigues - pale blue coveralls with darker utility jackets and boots - and eating the spaceman's diet of nutrient bundles and isotonic drinks. Hair had been cut (even Mr Biloxi's dreadlocks), body mass weighed and injections given. Regular health screening had accompanied the rigorous drills and exercise. They were like Shamanic warriors, dismembered and rebuilt in fire for the journey ahead.
As the morning clocks struck five, Green was already up. In his adapted quarters, just down the sterile hall from the others, he sat at a perspex desk laden with papers. And he almost wished his wife were here, to throw them up in the air and call him a fool again.
Press releases... insurance documents... health reports on each crew-member... last wills and testaments... inventories of personal effects... legal disclaimers... funding frameworks... time schedules. Green was still dealing with the backlog of administrative tasks that came with the mission. A private company sending ten humans into space was no gung-ho affair. The legal and insurance issues alone were enough to liquify the brain. And that was before Green even tried to draw up a transitional corporate plan in the (very likely) event of his death on this mission. The board members were ready to shit a brick, and his wife was ready to make them eat it.
A tangle of paperwork, like the vines of Mother Earth holding him down. This morning, more than ever, Green was struck by the feeling that the planet wasn't yet ready to let him go.
It was now 5:30. In an hour's time he would have to report to the hangar with the others, to witness the primary firing up of the Irideus.
He hoped the others were still getting some sleep.
Sighing, the billionaire took a sip of his isotonic water and turned to the next page of the legal papers.
Alexander the Great would not have envied him.
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