Flying around Mt. Shasta, the snow-capped peaks, the dizzying precipices and sharp cliffs. Day turns to night, stars burn fiercely in the black night, then spin as the point of view circles the mountain, faster and faster.
Then: angelic lights sparkle below, snapshotting shadows past the icy ridges. Orbs that start off as golden spheres, then transform through the color chart, turning silver, crimson, turquoise, violet… The spinning stops and the lights flicker, then form a line and blast through the mountain wall, all except the last one, the violet-shimmering globe that sweeps past and collects the vision-
- and draws it inside, then propels forward. Straight at, and through the ice-blocked mountain wall.
A brief shimmer of Blue, a protective shield that closes, then scatters in the wake of the violet ball.
And Orlando’s in.
He’s done it: found a back way inside, past the great unbreakable door, to the very heart of the mystery.
The Dove licked the vanilla icing off his fingers, then turned to regard his guest. Orlando’s head lolled to one side, his body slumped almost to the point of falling off the chair. His eyelids flickered rapidly.
Wiping his hands on the front of his shirt, then on his pant legs, The Dove reached down under the right armrest. His fingers moved around, searching, searching. All the while, his attention didn’t leave Orlando.
Under the chair’s arm, he finally found it—a section of duct tape securing a .357 Magnum.
Inside the mountain.
The viewpoint magnifies, roars through crystalline tunnels. Gleaming walls of quartz and topaz, pillars of emerald, into a vast a chamber where the other colored orbs settle into alcoves, sparkle, fizzle, then fade into the surrounding shadows, revealing singular riders—robed, bald men and women who, heads bowed, retreat into tunnel-like structures.
Viewpoint shifts.
This orb’s parking space. After the light fades, a robed man (or woman?) exits. His/her bald head from behind is indeterminate, and the shadowy quartz walls do little to illuminate any features.
Follow.
In darkness, a long corridor, finally emerging into a chamber, plain walled…
Empty, but for a single machine. A reclining seat not unlike the one Orlando has just left, except more elaborate. More… comfortable. It’s on a track, a track leading forward into another glittering tunnel.
The figure moves to a wall, touches it and presses her (it’s definitely a her) forehead against the smooth quartz surface. As if activated by her mind, an image appears. It’s the Stargate complex interior. Phoebe and Temple are talking quietly in the main room.
Viewpoint changes: back to that lone chair. Moving in, closer.
Closer
Something out of place.
Something… left on the floor.
A piece of crumpled plastic. Lettering on the outside.
A wrapper.
With an unmistakable imprint.
“Twinkies!” Orlando shouted, his eyes flying open.
He leapt out of the chair—then froze, staring at the hefty gun gripped in the Dove’s unwavering hand, and pointed right at his heart.
The huge head shook slowly back and forth as beads of sweat fell unnoticed off the chin. The Dove made a clucking sound with his tongue.
“They said you were good, so I didn’t really have any choice.”
“You’re working with them?” Orlando was still trying to process everything. “They’ve taken you beyond the wall.”
“What can I say? Apparently I’m the chosen one.”
“Or the fool.” Orlando cleared his throat while inching ahead. “Or maybe the tool is more like it. What do they want you for?”
The head continued to shake. “Uh-huh. No, don’t think I’ll blab about it, not while others could snoop. Sorry, but you’ll die without answers.”
Orlando lunged just as the gun fired.
3.
Grand Princess Cruise Liner
“Room 2311,” Nina whispered, looking up from the terminal. They were in the business office, and Caleb stood by the door, nodding to passing guests, keeping an eye out for security—or suspicious parties.
“You sure?” he called back.
“Sure. Easy to hack into their reservation system. A lot of unsold rooms, bad economy and all, but this one’s the most out of the way, yet convenient to stairwells for an easy getaway.”
Caleb looked back and met her stone-cold eyes. “If there’s an abundance of rooms, we can each get one.” He smiled. “On different floors.”
Nina smiled back, a catlike grin. She picked up a card, swiped it on a nearby imprinter and held it up. “Sorry, darling. Only one key. And we’ve got to keep up appearances.” In a flash she was up, slipping her arm in his and leaning her head against his shoulder.
“Bring me back to our honeymoon suite, darling.”
Caleb rolled his eyes. “Honeymoon? Seriously?” His free hand tapped the object strapped to his ribs. “I’ve got the most powerful object, potentially, in the world under my shirt, and you want to–”
“I want to live,” Nina whispered. “Long enough for us to use that thing and save the damn world.” She tugged him toward the elevators. “Now, let’s move.”
In their suite, spacious as far as cruise accommodations went, Nina sprawled out on the bed, kicked off her shoes and pulled up a map on her smartphone.
“Okay, the next stop is at Juneau. We can charter a plane from there and–”
“No more planes,” Caleb said, groaning. He was at the desk, bent over the spear point. Two lamps trained their lights on its surface, and Caleb reverently lifted it, one side up at a time, studying the markings. Every nick and scratch, every line of etched markings.
“Fine,” Nina said. “Although parachuting out over HAARP would be a hell of a lot easier than the driving close and then having to ditch the vehicle and hoof it through the ice and snow.”
“Stealthy approach is what we need.”
“But we’ve got that. Surely—”
“Surely it can’t stop the whole arsenal available to such a heavily guarded installation.”
Nina shrugged. Turned over and arched her back in a long stretch. “Have it your way. I’m starting to think you just want to spend more time with me.”
Caleb gave her an acid stare.
“Come on,” Nina chided. “Now that you know we’ve created life? Brought not one, but two children into the world?”
Caleb stared at the spear, shaking his head.
“Come on,” Nina repeated. “I know that’s what did it for you and Lydia.”
Caleb’s eyes closed.
“She backstabbed you just as good and hard as I did, yet you took her back with open arms once she showed you pictures of little Alexander, the son you never knew you had.”
“That was different.”
“Was it?” She rolled onto her stomach now, then pivoted on the bed so she was facing him, chin cradled in her hands. “She was following orders from her Keeper father, following the rules. Playing you to get what they wanted. How was I any different?”