January 5th
Guardian Master Naomi Cruz sat at the command console of the South Polar Orbital Station reviewing the rollercoaster ride her life had experienced over the past week.
She’d adjusted to the new routine established aboard the covert control centers quite nicely after the majority of the Guardian fleet had left for Kalliste, as their satellite facilities had always been cloaked and shielded anyway. The only real difference was the fact that they had released the gravity anchors that kept them in a geosynchronous orbit above their respective continental sites. Four stations had been relocated to the far side of the Moon, while the remaining two, formerly positioned at each pole, now shared a hemisphere each and varied their longitudinal and latitudinal position as well as their altitude on a daily basis, to ensure no one could stumble across them by accident.
Just as well too, she acknowledged, with the way members of that Council have been snooping about looking for our dormant bases.
As irritating as they were, the Council’s shenanigans had soon been forgotten in light of the latest shocker. Naomi had only been able to spend a single day with the Shadow Lord before her particular skill set had been called upon to help confirm the implications of what the deep space probes and monitoring buoys had picked up just over twenty-four hours previously:
It was called Abaddon—aka, the Angel of the Abyss—and from what Naomi had been able to determine from repeated analysis, it would be unleashing the wrath of its fiery demons upon an unrepentant world within the next few minutes.
But she was determined to do something about that.
Her ability to compartmentalize multiple scenarios simultaneously was well known among her people and had been a great boon to the Lord Inquisitor, who had been impressed at the response options Naomi had swiftly formulated when originally asked for her views.
Naomi was surprised that someone so senior had asked for her opinion over such a critical matter and was totally stunned when they actually implemented her suggestions. That’s why Naomi had insisted that she be allowed to experience the outworking of her grand design firsthand.
Thinking of the ultimate panacea to each and every impasse was one thing. Being willing to stand side by side with your colleagues as they applied what you’d dreamed up was another. Mind you, up until now my little scheme has managed to cope with the threat level quite nicely. Here’s hoping that continues as we enter the final stages.
She had already thought to initiate repeated scans of the rapidly approaching storm to assess its ever-changing composition. As each cycle ran its course, Naomi updated the fleet as to which fragments to concentrate on first, leaving the lesser threats to the modified atmosphere. Here we go, let’s see if my strategic action plan will keep enough of us alive for long enough to do some good.
Entering a sophisticated firing solution into the station’s Automatic Targeting Recognition—ATR—computers, an AI enhanced network linked to the 10,000 MW Z-Band, Tracking High Orbital Resolution—THOR—multisensory array and the Search Enhancing Psi-optics—SEPs—surveillance program, Naomi counted down the seconds in her head and for the first time in her life, focused the entire sum of her awesome cognizance upon the matter before her.
Then the waiting was over. The batteries opened up and the tranquil beauty of endless night erupted in a shimmering blaze of contrasting distractions as the interstellar shit truly hit the fan.
*
Cathy West had discovered there were two things she didn’t particularly like about being a journalist: First was all the hanging around involved when you were waiting for things to happen; second was how quickly the situation could change when things eventually did kick off!
The bridge of the dreadnaught, Olympus, flagship of the Guardian task force, had been more spacious than she imagined it would be. But that was understandable, as she had been thinking of things from a human standpoint.
The larger starships of the fleet had been designed to be captained by transcended individuals if the need arose and as such, had been constructed accordingly. The center of the operations room was a hollow bowl measuring some ten feet in diameter, into which a three-dimensional, holographic and full sensory interface milieu had been incorporated. When in their higher state, the Captains could position themselves within the projection matrix, where they would not only receive a full corporeal input of all prevalent conditions throughout their vessel, but also be able to exercise instant control over many onboard functions as well. Other critical stations were positioned around the edge of that bowl, facing forward, toward the giant view screen which covered almost the entire front wall. To Cathy’s critical eye, everything appeared extremely functional and the only ornate embellishments she could see were the two Guardian emblems in silver and white hanging from either side of the view screen itself. Such austerity was a boon at times like this, for Cathy discovered she was able to report on things without any danger of getting underfoot.
Not that there was much chance of that as the crew went about their duties waiting for the clock to count down and the offensive to begin. Even the excitement of being in the presence of two of the most powerful Guardians in existence—in their glorified forms—had gradually diminished as the seconds, weighed down by monotony, dragged by.
Then, just when she feared the tedium would last forever, she’d been teased by the mother of all anticlimaxes: The Olympus was called to action stations and the bridge staff became much more alert. A voice over the tannoy announced the advent of a gigantic explosion. The trouble was, the dreadnaught was so far away from the site of the opening engagement that the light from that detonation, impressive or no, hadn’t reached them before they began firing their torpedoes.
When the main screen erupted in a momentary cough of static, only to clarify an instant later on the view of the Moon against an interstellar backdrop, Cathy realized they had jumped back to Earth—a move signaling the second stage of the campaign—without having seen a thing on which to report.
Feeling somewhat deflated, she turned to her cameraman, Brad Zuckerman, to complain. That’s when the patron saint of journalists took pity on her.
A sudden burst of frenzied activity erupted in the holo-field above Jade Heung’s position. Those Guardians already at their posts responded to it—and no doubt to further, unheard telepathic commands—and a second or two later, a klaxon began sounding. Cathy noticed the backlighting to a number of panels change from a gentle orange glow to scarlet. Looking back at the holographic display, Cathy saw thousands and thousands of tiny ruby dots, like pinpricks, streaking across the intervening gap toward the blue nucleus at the center of the picture. Some of those pinpricks were much, much larger than the others. But they all had a common goal: The blue dot . . . them!
Cathy was about to request the services of a liaison officer to help interpret what was going on, but the psychedelic fanfare that abruptly ignited outside the ship took her breath away. Frozen by indecision, she didn’t know what to concentrate on first; the arrival of the leading fragments of Abaddon, or the activities within the bridge itself.
Fortunately, Brad Zuckerman came up with a perfect solution.
Rushing to his equipment bag, he reached inside and rummaged around until he found what he was looking for. Running back with a handheld camera and tripod, he declared, “You never know when you might need backup. I started carrying this baby around last year after my job camera got shot out of my hand in Afghanistan. I didn’t have a spare and spent the rest of the attack with my head stuffed up my ass and nothing to keep my mind off dreaming up all the ways I was going to die. I literally pissed myself silly!”
Cathy laughed at his candidness, but was still puzzled. “What good will that little thing do? I mean . . . look at it out there. It’s absolute bedlam.”
Brad proudly waved the camcorder in front of her before setting it on its frame. “This little thing has state-of-the-art HD picture resolution and motion stability graphics. Even on its “superfine setting,” the inbuilt hard disc will give us eight hours coverage of the fireworks, more than enough to capture all that!”
He flipped his thumb toward the main view screen and they both stopped to stare at the jaw dropping results of the Guardians tactics. Dozens upon dozens of blue, white and crimson ribbons of energy crisscrossed the blackness with wanton abandon. Lurid flashes bloomed, again and again, as endless streams of meteoroids met their end. So volatile, so intense was the riot that Cathy found she couldn’t blink away the retina burns fast enough to stop her senses reeling.
This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.
Nonetheless, she retained the wherewithal to notice some of the larger chunks of Abaddon were managing to evade the withering crossfire. Those particular specimens were singled out by Raptor Rail Guns—RRGs—firing fifty pound projectiles at speeds exceeding six thousand miles per hour, or, with the especially large examples, Infiltrator missiles. Once shattered, the photon cannons and lasers took out any remnants still deemed to be a threat, leaving the other fragments to the mercy of the modified atmosphere.
“Right!” Brad patted the top of the recorder assembly. “Now that’s taken care of, let’s see who can help us in here.”
Together, they walked over to one of the consoles at the rear of the bridge and began looking for a suitable person to ask for assistance. A female Guardian materialized beside them, the single silver stripe on each sleeve identifying her as a Grand Master Designate. Smiling, she held out two earpieces incorporating wrap-over headbands, with what looked like minicams on the side.
Without preamble, she introduced herself. “Hi, my name’s Loren. If you’d slip these on, they will help enhance your latent telepathic ability. That way, you’ll be able to listen to what’s going on in here and out there.”
Taking the devices, Cathy and Brad placed them on as indicated while Loren attached a similar, smaller version to the top of Brad’s shoulder mounted BBC camera.
After a moment’s disorientation, Cathy was stunned to hear a choir of voices echoing somewhere in the ether.
Lifting their hands until they felt a small stud at the back of each ear bud, Loren ensured they acknowledged it’s presence with a nod. “These are to make certain you don’t get sidetracked as things heat up. You’re currently listening to ship-to-ship transmissions. However, if you want to hear what any particular person is saying, all you have to do is look at them and press the button I’ve just indicated. It will tune in to their mental frequency and allow you to eavesdrop without disturbing anyone. It will also transmit an audiovisual link to your camera, okay?”
They both nodded again and Cathy was about to ask where it would be best to stand to ensure they remained out of the way, when an unfamiliar vibration ran through the structure of the hull. The scene outside flashed brightly and the shields blazed red as if absorbing the potency of a devastating blast. Then the Olympus lurched violently, before righting itself with an audible groan.
“What the hell was that?” Cathy gasped, aware that the vocal exchanges in her earpiece had intensified considerably. She also spotted several of the Guardians around the perimeter of the bridge had stopped what they were doing and were now staring at each other in shock.
Loren’s expression hardened for a moment. “That, my friends, was the Magenta.”
Cathy was momentarily confused. “What? You mean the dreadnaught Magenta? The vessel the other news crew was on?”
“Yes, from what I’ve learned, the Magenta took out one of the larger meteoroids making up Abaddon’s debris cloud. The damned thing was more than two hundred and fifty feet across and jam-packed with fluctuating anti-particles which showered down on them following its destruction. Whatever that stuff is, it disrupted their shields and snapped the spine of the ship.
Cathy glanced toward Brad and found his usually permanent grin had been wiped clear off his face. Turning back to Loren, she could see the young woman’s breast was heaving with barely repressed emotion. “How many?” she gasped. “How many were killed?”
“We don’t know yet.” Loren replied, before spinning on her heel and stalking off toward her station. “Please excuse me, I’m needed elsewhere.”
Aghast, Cathy breathed, “Brad, what crew compliment does a dreadnaught carry?”
“I’m fucked if I can remember, Cathy. Sorry, I was too amazed when I first came aboard, but it must be close to what, two, perhaps three hundred people?”
*
The monitors along the wall of Lei Yeung’s office were filled with the images of his trusted Apostles; twelve extraordinarily gifted individuals who represented the cream of his empire.
When news of the impending catastrophe had broken, Yeung had assured his prized assets were segregated and ensconced in fortified Council facilities in various parts of the world, along with the pick of his top scientific minds. And in this regard, he’d been given something of a head start.
He had always suspected the interfering angelic busybodies would never leave Earth, no matter what the referendum of the year before decided. His suspicions had been confirmed several days previously when Angelika Papadakos had apprised him of the results of her failed treasure hunt. Learning that the Guardians now knew about his organization had spurred him to begin spreading his resources into smaller, hidden congregations. Then, should confrontations ensue, less of them would be captured at any one time, giving the rest an opportunity to flee to pre-designated bolt holes unknown to anyone but themselves and a few trusted aides.
What had started as an irritating necessity had been transformed into a godsend once news of the impending holocaust broke.
His top people were already dispersed within those complexes the Council deemed as safe around the globe. So, instead of panicking, Yeung simply extended his strategy to include a variety of scientists and other psychics whose skills would be useful to his Apostles in the weeks to come. And if things went as planned, they’d prove very useful indeed.
There was no doubt in his mind that many of the meteors would get through. There were just too many of them for the Guardians to deal with, especially as their numbers were so few. Additionally, early indications appeared to suggest the composition of the planet killer was so unnatural that the Guardians had raised concerns about their inability to neutralize the threat effectively. And that was what had interested him the most, for it presented an open window of opportunity.
A pragmatic individual, Yeung had split his holdings accordingly, ensuring that each congregation contained a suitable blend of talent and expertise. The Council would not only survive the coming storm, but be in a position to capitalize on the strife that followed. After all, there were bound to be so many meteorite strikes that no one would notice if one or two of those lovely, troublesome little rocks went missing?
Addressing his Apostles, Yeung began, “Ladies and gentlemen, the first item on our agenda . . . .”
*
Naomi was in her element!
So far, her tiered response to the threat had produced incredible results. The dual braking maneuvers and thickening of the interplanetary medium had succeeded in slowing Abaddon’s mad dash to one hundred miles per second. Though that velocity was still lethal, their adversary’s advance was much reduced from its original charge. Hopefully, the extra cushion we’ve added to the Earth’s atmosphere will be able to cope in negating many of the smaller fragments making it past our blockade . . . because from the look of it, we’re going to need all the help we can get.
Now that the flak was well and truly flying, Naomi was thankful she’d thought to include the automatic targeting protocol into their weapons systems. Many of her colleagues, not blessed with her exceptional ability to compartmentalize various aspects of their consciousness, had been distracted by the sheer volume of meteoroids swarming their defenses and the ATR had more than compensated for that deficit.
Naomi experienced no such hindrance, of course. Under the AI’s guidance, her gunnery bubble strained in its sheath, pivoting and gyrating so rapidly that, had she not been held in place by a gravity field, her organs would have quickly been reduced to mush.
Even so, she was becoming increasingly apprehensive that her valiant efforts—and those of her colleagues—might not be enough.
A mutiny of luminous vapor trails continued to scar the thermosphere, pulsing sickly orange, yellow and red as exotic compounds found their mark. Igniting like magnesium flares, Abaddon’s minions were countered by a throng of neon sunbeams as the Guardians fought back, struggling vainly to seek out the worst of death’s harbingers before it was too late.
Intermittent blue and white flashes erupted in too many places, too often, each implosion signaling the demise of yet another ship or firing platform. Jesus! How many will die before this swarm ends?
Thankfully, Naomi didn’t have time to dwell on such morbidity, for her awareness was attuned to a cadence of hope. Lock on . . . fire! Lock on . . . fire! Lock on . . . fire!
However, the longer the spiral of madness stretched on, the more desperate the situation became. Naomi’s mind raced ahead, completing arcane calculations at a rate far beyond what should be humanly possible—sometimes six or seven targets in advance—anything really, that might help achieve a moment’s respite from the tsunami threatening to drown them under its weight.
A warning buzzer sounded in the background. Checking the nature of its cause, Naomi was surprised to find her magazine capacity had already been reduced by forty-three percent. Soon, it would hit the halfway mark. If the bombardment doesn’t end soon, I’ll be a sitting duck!
*
Anil Suresh, Lord Evaluator of the Guardians, was pleased to find the newly modified layer of the Earth’s atmosphere worked quite satisfactorily in the first few minutes of the barrage. He had personally led the team of elementals who had joined in harmonic union to generate that shield, fifty miles up on the outer edge of the mesosphere as it was the perfect altitude to place what they had termed, the “flak jacket,” a superheated protective ring that could later be stripped away and discarded.
To ensure no permanent harm would be caused to the planet’s natural cycles, they had gradually excited the particles within the jacket and, as an added precaution, air pressure throughout that narrow band was raised in excess of one thousand kilopascals by the deliberate infusion of various carbons, sulfurs, and fluorides.
A welcoming byproduct of such manipulations was the formation of thick blankets of cloud in the lower regions of the atmosphere, a sure sign that barometric density had increased across the globe. Though temporary, the modifications made short work of the smaller, leading shooting stars and Anil was initially relieved by their success.
His relief was short-lived. The meteors that followed close behind were much larger, and all too soon everyone found out to their cost exactly what the exotic material could do.
*
Victoria took a moment to check her coordinates and then fine-tuned her senses to the character of the age-old fracture between actualities.
She’d recognized early on that the bizarre matter Abaddon had brought along with it would cause major problems beyond their ability to manage safely. So, instead of blindly enduring a relentless assault they couldn’t hope to control effectively, Victoria decided to do what she did best: take direct positive action.
To start with, she jumped to the site of the original incursion, her intent being to learn all she could about what they were facing. Once there, Victoria harmonized her probes until they teetered at the threshold of the alternate reality.
Invisible to the human eye, the badly knitted rupture flexed and pulsed at irregular intervals, issuing spasmodic bursts of gamma rays and neutrinos in response to the push and pull of their polar opposites on the far side of the schism, in a mesmerizing display that belied the destructive forces at play.
Satisfied, Victoria settled in to wait, hoping with all her heart that the breakthrough she so desperately needed would come soon.