The Aurora City

  Trill was waiting in the control room of the Centrex Pyramid when Markman materialized. For the first time, Trill wore a confused expression. It caught Markman’s attention immediately.

  “Good evening, Trill. Is something the matter?”

  “Greetings, my lord. Forgive my distraction. You have received a communiqué’ from the Crillian council. It is most unusual.” Trill approached Markman and handed him a single sheet of heavy gauge paper. A decree was declared on it.

  You are hereby advised to cease and desist any further incursions into the subterranean chambers beneath the Aurora Central Library. This decree is effective immediately and is not subject to injunction by any higher authority nor does it provide for any a termination date.

  Signed and sealed on this day,

  The Crillian High Council

  Markman looked up at Trill. “What does this mean?”

  Trill seemed uncomfortable in his answer. “They are trying to forbid you from visiting the underground, sir.”

  “Can they do that?”

  “Sir, I do not know. That is a matter for politicians, lawyers, and bureaucrats. It is surprising they took notice and acted so quickly. Politicians seldom do anything expeditiously.”

  “When does the council meet?”

  “Sir, they are meeting this minute. The decree was just sent.”

  “Can I transport directly there?”

  “Sir, yes you can, and your status as ambassador allows you to petition the council in that manner. It should be a notable event, however.”

  Markman rolled up the decree, went to the transport tube, and stepped inside. “The Crillian High Council Chamber please, Trill.”

  Trill nodded and passed his hands over the crystal control stack. A second later, Markman found himself emerging from a transport tube in a heavily decorated hallway. He suddenly realized that in addition to his knee-high black boots and suit, he now also wore a black cape that ran from shoulders to floor. Apparently, the sensesuit computer had deemed this appropriate wear for visiting council chambers. At hallway’s end, huge, engraved double doors carried a sign that read, Council Chambers. Markman did not hesitate. He pushed both doors open wide and walked in, his new cape billowing out behind him.

  It was a lavish chamber, filled with colored windows, gold and silver statues, paintings, and a domed ceiling of art that looked like the work of Michelangelo. A long, polished table ran the length of the room. Twenty council members were seated at it, dressed just as lavishly as the room was decorated. They all stopped to stare in surprise at the new Overlord now standing at the foot of the council table.

  Markman was too determined to be intimidated. He spoke with resolve. “Excuse me, but I have some questions. It’s important.”

  Reluctantly, two elderly men rose from their seats near the head of the table. They wore dark robes that separated them from the others. Their hair was silver gray. The lines in their tanned faces were marks of age. The man on the left spoke.

  “Fellow elders, senior and junior council members, may I suggest we conclude business for today and reconvene tomorrow at the scheduled time. May the Lords of Terra guide you all until then.”

  There was no hesitation. A flurry of papers gathered and people rushing toward the doors ensued. There was little conversation other than occasional nervous remarks punctuated by gestures of agreement that leaving with vivacity was the most prudent thing to do. When the room had cleared, a security guard standing by the doors gave a military nod to the two councilmen and closed both doors. Markman looked over his adversaries. “I’m sure you already know who I am.”

  The man on Markman’s left spoke immediately. “I am Councilman and Elder Pelos.”

  Across from him, the next man spoke. “Councilman and Elder Mendos, at your service.”

  Pelos spoke, “How should we begin?”

  Markman spread the decree on the table between them. “Gentleman, why have you sent this?”

  There was no answer at first. Finally, Councilman Mendos spoke reluctantly. “Mr. Baker, you are unfamiliar with Crillian law. You must not have known. It is unlawful to enter the tunnels.”

  To Markman’s surprise, Councilman Pelos voiced disagreement. “It is not unlawful, Mendos. It is only an archaic statute.”

  Mendos persisted, “Though it be only a statute, it is from the holiest of texts, Pelos. It is higher than law.”

  Pelos countered, “Those statutes come from the Book of the Dead, Mendos. They are not laws. They are wisdom from the Founders.”

  “Is there a higher law,” argued Mendos.

  Markman raised one hand. “Gentleman, gentleman, please. I’m trying to understand this. Exactly why is entry to the tunnels forbidden?”

  The two men hesitated. Markman folded his arms and waited. Mendos spoke reluctantly. “My lord, entry to the tunnels is forbidden in the ancient texts. These texts are from the book of Exodus, the wisdom left to us by the original founders. Crillian law was carefully shaped from these ancient texts. They are our most sacred relics. Your ordainment as an Overlord came from these texts, as well.”

  “Can I see this book?”

  The three men immediately began to argue in low tones among themselves. Markman finally coughed to interrupt them. Mendos spoke. “Mr. Baker, no one is allowed to cast their eyes on the book of Exodus except we Elders. After many years on the council, we were trained for that purpose by those who came before us. We look upon only that which is necessary, nothing more. It would be blasphemy for anyone else to touch the Book.”

  “Then just tell me why the tunnels are forbidden.”

  Pelos looked up at Markman with sympathy. “Sir, we do not know why the tunnels are forbidden. We are only permitted to read from the ancient texts that which is necessary, no more. We only know that machines are to be maintained to perform any work within the tunnels and that no Crillian is to venture into them.”

  “Gentlemen, I am trying to prevent the destruction of an entire planet and its people. I must go into those tunnels to do that. Unless you can give me more answers than you have, I will need to go down there again. I am not Crillian, anyway. I am human. My only interest is in saving the people of planet Earth. I have no interest in harming Crillia or violating its laws. You must tell me more.”

  The two councilmen took their seats in stunned silence. Markman did not understand. “What is wrong? What did I say?”

  Pelos replied, “My Lord, you said you are trying to save Earth. That is not possible.”

  “You know of Earth? What do you know of it?”

  “Sir, Earth was the name given to Terra during the fourth or fifth age of man. That name has not been used for centuries. Earth was Terra many, many centuries ago.”

  Markman’s mind went into a back spin. He had to place one hand on the council table to brace himself. Something in the back of his mind suddenly clicked. He marched over to the tall golden curtains covering the picture window on the long wall of the council chamber. With both hands he threw the curtains open. There hanging in full view against an inky black sky was the Crillian moon, Terra. Markman’s mind was stunned. Why had he not noticed before? The moon was bright white with large sections of darkened areas. On its left there was the rough but unmistakable outline of North America, tapering down to a section of South American. To the west, a fragment of Europe remained attached to the vast Russian continent, and far below it a dark outline of a portion of Africa. Markman stood in disbelief. He pinched his nose and fought off a sudden headache. He turned and looked at the councilmen. “Gentleman, if you’ll bear with me, I need some time to think.”

  They sat without moving in wonder of what was happening. Finally, Pelos slowly rose. He motioned to Mendos. Silently they left the room, quietly closing the doors behind them.

  Markman rubbed his forehead and looked up at the new moon. The dulled outlines of the continents he knew so well stared back. This was chaos. Every clue found here on Crillia only created more confusion. Nothing m
ade sense. He went to the council chamber doors, flung them open and entered the transport tube. “Terra Nova Castle, Overlook Chamber.” A single flash of light later, he emerged into the Overlook room. He went to the overlook windows and stood out on the balcony gazing over the lights of the courtyard below. A black, horse-drawn carriage was waiting for someone to board. Overhead, Crillia’s Earth-moon remained suspended in the night sky.

  A new fear found Markman. He could not put his finger on it. An ancient unused vortport in tunnels forbidden to Crillian citizens. A full moon that looked just like the outline of a cold, dead Earth. Perhaps his mind had already made the connections but dared not offer them up. Perhaps in the back of his conscious, he already understood but refused to face it. In any case, there was something nagging. Nothing was left to do but pursue the unknowns and solve this sinister secret.

  The main doors to the Overlook Chamber pushed open. DuMont stood in the light of the doorway. “Sir, thank you for gracing us with your presence. May I get you anything?”

  “DuMont, is Jax around?”

  “Sir, yes I believe he is somewhere on the grounds.”

  “Would you ask him to come up, please?”

  “Right away, sir. Is there anything else?”

  “No DuMont. That will be all. Thank you.”

  DuMont backed out and shut the doors behind him.

  Markman stood staring at the night sky as the horse-drawn carriage pulled away across the courtyard toward the main gate. The horse’s hooves clicked and rang on the cobblestone pathway. A lone whippoorwill chirped a farewell to the carriage as it passed. The smell of freshly trimmed flowers filled the cool night air.

  Jax ducked into the room through the partial opening of one main door. He peered in as though looking for an ambush. His blue flight suit was wrinkled and in disarray. He had an open brown leather jacket over it and appeared to be hiding something inside it with one hand. His hair was askew, and something red was smeared on the back corner of his jaw.

  “Jax, come in. I need your help,” called Markman.

  Jax looked around with distrust and then entered with an awkward swagger. Markman began to suspect alcohol was involved.

  “Come over here a minute. I want to show you what I need.”

  Jax straightened himself up and tried to look professional. He shuffled across the room, missing a step or two, and stopped beside Markman.

  “Beautiful moon tonight, aye…Sir?”

  “Jax, I believe you’ve been drinking.”

  Jax attempted several different dissuading facial expressions, then gave up and pulled the bottle out of its hiding place. He held it up and stared at the label. “Parentian bourbon to be exact. …Would you care to sample it…Sir?”

  “Your speech is pretty slurred. I need you to fly me somewhere. Can you do it?”

  “Sir, you cut me to the quuiccck. I am sharp as a tack, take you anywhere this side of Orion. This is not even my bottle. It belongs to the gatekeeper’s daughter, but for God’s sake don’t say anything. He’ll be at me with a spanner…Sir.”

  “I want to go there.” Markman pointed at the full moon.

  Jax stared up at it.

  “I know it’s late. You’re not necessarily at your best. But I need to visit one or two locations. Tonight. Now.”

  Jax teetered in place and looked back at Markman. With a wrinkled brow intended to feign innocence, he tilted his head from side to side and said, “Okay.”

  “Jax, are you sure?”

  “Hell, who could miss something that big. Just give me 15 minutes to warm the tachyons. Then come up to the Tyway Skerrace.”

  “Jax, are you sure you can do this?”

  “Are you kidding? Any chance to fly…Sir.” Jax lumbered out of the room leaving a door half open as he left. Markman laughed and decided departure would be delayed as necessary.

  DuMont appeared in the doorway a moment later. He looked at the half-closed door as though it was a violation of some sort, then turned his attention to Markman.

  “Will you be needing anything, my Lord?”

  “Thanks no, DuMont. It’s just a short trip to the Moon and back.”

  “A dreary and foreboding place, sir.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “So little is known about it. It has been mapped and explored thoroughly. There was apparently an untimely end to the place, sir.”

  “Who does know about it, DuMont?”

  “No one, sir. There are no records to speak of.”

  “Should I just transport to the Skyway Terrace, DuMont, or is there a better way?”

  “Elevator to the seventh level will get you there as well, my lord.”

  “Thank you, DuMont.”

  “I shall anticipate your return, sir.”

  DuMont backed out and slowly shut the chamber doors. Markman paced around the room to use up the 15 minutes, then thought of turning on the video but feared he might accidentally get the Crillian Convention. When time was up, he went to the main doors, opened them and looked out into the heavily decorated hallway. To the left, there were suits of armor, elaborate paintings on the wall, and other closed doors. The elevator was a few feet away on the right. The polished silver doors seemed out of place and opened automatically as he approached. Inside, there was no control panel. He simply commanded, “seven.” The doors shut and the elevator rose.

  When the doors opened again, Markman was confronted by a huge, open hangar bay divided only by tall stanchions supporting the highlighted ceiling. On his right, the bay was open to the outdoors by a terrace that ran the length of the hangar. Black sky lay beyond. The floor was a polished dull green with black guide lines running everywhere to direct the movement of aircraft. As far as the eye could see, spacecraft of every imaginable type sat ready.

  Markman began weaving his way through them and the many service carts parked along the way. Occasionally a staff person in gray work coveralls would take notice of him and stare. Near the front of the hangar, he spotted Jax, talking to a technician and signing off some form of documentation. The technician noticed Markman, said something to Jax and handed off the electronic pad.

  The spacecraft beside Jax appeared powered up and ready. It was not quite what Markman had expected. There were only two seats, side by side, covered in black leather, large and heavily padded. A tinted clamshell canopy was raised to provide access, and there were windows in the floor in front of each seat. Swept wings reached to the back of the spacecraft, attached to two cylindrical sections that suggested dual engines. The craft had a V-tail. Thruster ports seemed to be located everywhere. The entire ship was gunmetal gray with black pin striping and sat so close to the deck that the cockpit could simply be stepped into for boarding.

  Jax gave a final command to the mechanic and turned to Markman. “You ready, boss?”

  “I’m not sure now.”

  “You know how to fly?”

  “No.” Markman looked Jax over, surprised to find he had apparently shaken off the effects of alcohol. At least, it seemed that way.

  Jax walked around the left-front of the craft and stepped into the cockpit. He sat and positioned himself, strapped in, and looked at Markman. “If you want to change your mind, now’s the time…Sir.”

  Markman rolled his eyes, climbed into the cockpit and realized he was still wearing the cape. He scooped it around front, took his seat next to Jax and watched the canopy lower around him. The sound of rushing air marked the seal. As the cockpit finished pressurizing, more and more lights and screens came on. A large image of the moon occupied the biggest display screen on the center console. Other screens in front of Markman showed the hangar bay, the moon, and star fields. Jax flipped switches and made adjustments. As he did, two red lights on the center console appeared and began buzzing. He tapped a cancel switch nearby and sneered at them. “Damn ion cartridges. I replaced them myself. Never know what you’re getting these days.”

  “But it’s okay right?” asked Markman.
>
  Jax ignored the question. “Lesson number one for Overlords who don’t fly. You see this center display screen with the Moon. Touch it where you want to go.”

  Markman cast a doubtful glance but reached up and touched his finger over what would have been New York on the North American hemisphere. A red dot appeared where he had touched the screen.

  “Now if I wasn’t here, all you’d need to do is tap this big engage button here at the top of the center panel, and the spacecraft would automatically take you to that point on the moon. If the surface area was okay, it would deploy pads and set down on the surface. If the landing area was no good, it would lower down as far as it could go and hold there. That’s if I wasn’t here. Then, you want to come back, you just call up a Crillia display on this screen and do the same thing. Simple as that.”

  “I have no plans to do any driving, Jax.”

  “Well, I’m just saying.”

  “Forget it.”

  “Okay, well you don’t mind me taking it up on manual then, do you, boss?”

  “No…?”

  With that, Jax tapped in a few more commands causing two long rows of green lights to come on the center display. He looked over, smiled at Markman, and shoved the center console thrust levers full forward. Markman was jerked back in his seat as the vehicle shot out of the Skyway Terrace and nosed up toward the stars. To Markman’s dismay, Jax jerked his side stick controller and rolled the aircraft one complete roll, then held the nose steady and up.

  “She’s a dream to fly, boss. You’re crazy if you don’t let me teach you…Sir.”

  Markman smiled in awe at the journey into simulated space. The realism was overwhelming. Stars filled the canopy. The spacecraft shifted and moved beneath him. On his display screens, the Skyway Terrace had already receded to become a small patch of lights within the huge colorful expanse of the Terra Nova Castle complex. Though Markman suspected none of it was real, the dangers that went along were. If Jax crashed this spacecraft, the sensesuit would immediately effect all the appropriate impact damage. Markman would be just as injured or killed as if he had actually been in a crash. As he watched Crillia fall away on his monitors, he thought he’d discovered an imperfection in the simulation.

  “Jax, no weightlessness?”

  “Acceleration compensators give us enough to simulate gravity. If we were stopped completely in space, the acceleration compensators would still be used to give a rough approximation of it. Same thing in the deceleration phase. For now, we will accelerate toward the target for twelve minutes, then the reversers will kick in, and we’ll slow down for another twelve minutes. We don’t have to orbit. We’ll stop in over the target area and then descend from there.”

  “So we’re going faster than light?”

  “Yep, unless you want to take a few days to get there.”

  Outside the canopy, a crest of moon began to come into view. It was bright and big and at the same time cold and ominous.

  “So what’s the deal with the gatekeeper’s daughter, Jax?”

  “Oh, yeah. Her father’s retired combat military. Nobody wants to mess with him. He thinks his princess daughter is all prim and proper, and she plays along with that to keep him fooled, But, every time he takes a trip, she’s down at the local pub drinkin’ every man there under the table. That’s where I hooked up with her. She’s not lookin’ for any permanent linkups, if you know what I mean, and neither am I, so it’s a good match. She can’t get out when her father’s home, but there’s a secret stone doorway to the dungeon right in her room as it used to be housing for dignitary security. Her father don’t know about it. So, I can come and go as I please, long as we’re careful. There’s been a time or two when we got a bit too loud, but I always get out of there in time.”

  “The castle has a dungeon?”

  “Oh, hell yes. A big, deep one. Nobody’s supposed to go down there, though.”

  “Just like the tunnels.”

  “Yeah, just like Crillian underworld stuff.”

  “But you go down there.”

  “Not all the way. Just to the stairs that lead to her room.”

  “You’re a brave man, Jax.”

  “Yeah, if the old man don’t get me, the monsters from the deep might.”

  “What monsters from the deep?”

  “I dunno. It’s just an expression.”

  A crest of moon began to fill the canopy. Surface details formed into view. There were hills and mountains but none with sharp peaks. All were dulled and covered with white dust, so much dust that ramparts of it had formed. The spacecraft’s descent to the surface seemed steep, the topography racing toward them as though they were in free fall. Jax noticed Markman’s concern and laughed. He tweaked back on his control stick and brought the nose up so that the curvature of the gray-white horizon lay ahead.

  The outlines of man-made architecture began to take shape. Wrecked cities, all the same gray-white color as Terra’s surface, skyscrapers reduced in stature to two stories except for jagged shards rising up from the carnage. As descent continued, the jumble of pandemonium began to be divided into a fractured geography of ancient dust filled streets, highways, and broken bridges. Markman struggled to identify the area. As they settled down to street level, a toppled church steeple gave him the clue he needed.

  The twin towers of St. Peters Cathedral lay crossed in the gray dust. Portions of the cathedral stood, fragments of the original base. Jax noticed Markman’s intent stare and held the spacecraft in place, twenty feet above street level.

  Markman looked over at him. “Can we set down here a few minutes?”

  Jax nodded and lowered the spacecraft to a clear flat area of dust. It jostled and kicked up gray fog as it came to rest.

  “There is atmospheric pressure here. Twelve-point-two pounds to be exact. You don’t need a pressure suit. Get ready for a blast of cold, but this side is always in sunlight, so you’re okay. There isn’t enough oxygen. You’ll need this.” Jax reached behind his seat and pulled out an oxygen mask designed to cover the nose and mouth. He handed it over, and Markman pulled it on. With breath confirmed, Jax popped the canopy of the spacecraft. It opened with a hiss. Markman sat in wonder at the sight of New York City in ash-covered ruin. He raised one leg and pushed himself up and out of the cockpit, his feet crunching in the deep gray powder on the ground. In a daze, he walked along Fifth Avenue, winding between the stone and debris, his black suit in sharp contrast to the barren, silver world. His footprints left a trail in the dust, his cape dragged over them. Jax remained in his seat, marveling at the strange man so preoccupied by such a dire place.

  There were still a few doors and windows visible in the portions of structures that remained, though in most cases there was nothing left behind them. In some places, the dust was five or more feet deep. Sunlight cast strangely shaped shadows across the landscape. The black sky bore wavering stars, shaped by an alien atmosphere. Even through the breathing mask, there was a strange smell like gunpowder and sulfur. The place felt like a terrible ghost town.

  Markman waded back to the spacecraft, shook the powder from his boots and stepped in. As he took his seat, Jax asked, “What is this place?”

  “It was called New York City.”

  “How do you know that? Nobody knows that stuff.”

  “There’s one more stop I’d like to make.”

  “There’s a gigantic trench a couple thousand units to the west. It’s half full of dust and it’s still 2,000 steps deep. Want to see it?”

  “That was called the Grand Canyon.”

  “How you know this stuff?”

  “There’s one more place,” replied Markman. “Right here.” Markman touched the moon diagram on the center consoles main readout. A new red marker appeared on the screen.

  “You got it, boss.”

  The two men rode in silence as the spacecraft carried them along a few hundred feet above Terra’s mono-colored topology. The ruins of city after city passed by below, all g
host towns, all signaling some global calamity in time. As they approached the second location, Markman held up his hand for Jax to slow. He tucked his breathing mask back behind the seat and stared down at what he thought must be Independence Avenue. Hovering high above what remnants of civilization were left, there was little to indicate Congress had once existed here, though the foundation of the White House still remained, and to his great surprise, a tower rising up against the black sky offered the remains of the Washington Monument. Somehow it had survived the collapse of the society that had raised it.

  “Head home, Jax.”

  “Strap in, boss.”

  The ride back to the Skyway Terrace was quick. Jax skillfully guided his ship in and set it down gently on the terrace tarmac. Both men climbed out and met at the front of the ship.

  “Jax, I’m heading back to the Centrex Pyramid, but on my next visit I’ll need your help with something.”

  “You want to go up again?”

  “Just the opposite. Down in those tunnels, there were two walls, the brick one we opened up, and the other one that looked like solid cement. I need to see what’s behind that second wall.”

  “Could be just a load-bearing support, you know. Maybe nothing behind it but dirt.”

  “I’ve got a hunch. How can we make an opening in that thing?”

  “Easy enough. Laser drill. One of them could open a man-sized hole in twenty minutes.”

  “Can you get me one, and stage it here ready to go? I’m not sure when I’ll get back, but it’ll be soon. And, there may be trouble. You may not want to tag along this time. They may try to stop us from going back down there.”

  “Hell, sounds like fun. Not a problem. I’ll have the stuff ready.” Jax leaned in close to Markman. “And remember, don’t say nothin’ to nobody about the gatekeeper’s daughter, okay?”

  Markman laughed. “That’s a deal. Just don’t get killed before I return.”

  Chapter 13