“Do nothing. There’s women and children on that ship from a half-dozen different countries. You want to be responsible for killing them?”
There was no adequate answer to that.
The bow of the Jahre Viking was less than a half mile from the shield wall when a dark cloud came swarming out of the blackness.
His crew thought him quite mad. Johan Verquist had been forced to relieve both the captain and first officer. The junior officer now running the bridge felt the same as his predecessors, but the presence of half a dozen Progressives armed with pistols had been enough to persuade him to follow the orders the others thought insane — head straight for the shield wall that protected Easter Island.
Verquist glanced over at Dennison, but the Guide’s eyes were fixed on the black wall. On the broad deck of the tanker, the thousands of passengers were gathered, all facing the same direction. Every square foot of deck space held a person. All were above deck except for those that drowned in the 3-starboard hold.
A cloud came out of the darkness and Verquist started. “What is that?”
“Our salvation,” Dennison said. He leaned forward, pressed a button, and spoke into the ship’s audio system. “Our rebirth is at hand.”
An audible moan swept over the bridge, torn from thousands of lips, a mixture of fear and anticipation. The people began chanting something in a low tone that Verquist couldn’t make out.
Verquist couldn’t take his eyes off the unnatural cloud that was approaching his ship. “I’ve done what I said I would — what you asked of me. I want what you promised.”
Dennison nodded. “What you were promised is also at hand.”
The cloud swarmed over the bow of the ship, over four football fields in distance from the bridge. Screams now mixed with the chanting. Those farther back reacted, some staying in place, others shoving and pushing to try to get away from the rapidly approaching cloud. It was mass panic, but as the cloud slid down the deck, those caught in it quickly became quiet.
“What is that?” Verquist demanded.
“What you were promised. The beginning of it, anyway.” Verquist could now see that the cloud appeared to be a swarm of flying insects. One smashed against the bridge glass but rebounded, buzzing around, searching for a way in. They were machines, Verquist could see that now, smaller than mosquitoes, almost invisible to the naked eye. They poured through the open side doors to the bridge. Verquist dashed toward the rear of the bridge, through the door leading to his cabin.
He slammed it shut and locked it. Screams, quickly cut off, echoed through the expensive wood. Verquist threw himself into the chair behind his large mahogany desk. He pulled open a drawer and wrapped his hand around the pearl handle of a revolver. He pointed it at the door.
They came under the door.
He fired five shots in rapid succession, knowing the futility as he pulled the trigger.
He put the hot muzzle against his temple as the first of the micromachines landed on his skin. His finger twitched, caressed the metal, then relaxed. He loved himself too much to do it. He lowered the gun.
The micromachine let loose its load of the nanovirus and the microscopic machines bore through his skin and into Verquist’s bloodstream. He screamed and tried to bring the gun up, but he was too late as the nanovirus poured into his brain.
“It is now daylight in Cairo.”
“I am aware of that,” Yakov told Che Lu. They were in the conference room, Professor Mualama still behind the computers, typing away. It was an indication of the seriousness of the situation that Yakov had a mug of hot coffee sitting on the table in front of him, the vodka bottle nowhere in sight.
“And your awareness improves the situation in what manner?” Che Lu asked. Yakov spread his large hands wide apart. “And how does your informing me of what I already know improve the situation?”
“Are you aware the Americans lost one of their surveillance aircraft over the Mediterranean?” Che Lu asked.
“I saw the report Major Quinn sent down.”
“And that aircraft was tracking two helicopters that took off from the vicinity of the Great Pyramid?”
Yakov nodded.
Che Lu continued the questions. “What — and who — do you think were on those helicopters?”
To that Yakov had no answer. He knew Che Lu was frustrated. She had been working on the grid coordinate system she thought she had figured out in Qian-Ling, but it was not fitting as she had hoped. Close, but not quite there. Her numbers were slightly off, and she didn’t know where the problem lay.
“I have more of the manuscript ready.” Mualama didn’t even raise his head to announce that. “It’s coming up on the screen now.”
Yakov walked over and sat down. As soon as the translation appeared, he began scrolling.
BURTON MANUSCRIPT: CHAPTER 6
The Middle East is the crossroads between three continents — Asia, Africa, and the eastern edge of Europe. Because of this, it has seen numerous invading armies pass through.
The Jewish state has been conquered many times. Jerusalem, the home of the Grail and Ark for so many years, has seen its share of warring armies sweep over it in a flood of blood.
This small place on the surface of the world has given rise to the great religions of western culture — Judaism, Christianity, and Islam, all born in the arid terrain of the Middle East. Beyond the impact of these religions and their subsequent spin-off faiths on history, another important factor needs to be considered.
The Grail is said to do two things — grant immortality and give knowledge. But what knowledge? For a long time I thought this simply meant knowledge of the Truth, the tariqat that I was upon — the truth of mankind’s past and origins, of the aliens who came to our planet. But on my travels around the world I have met many wise men and women, and studied various cultures. And it came to me, not in a flash, but like a slow tide of awareness seeping into my brain so that I cannot state clearly the moment at which I was aware of it.
This awareness? It is that perhaps the knowledge the Grail gives is not an accumulation of facts or history, but a different way of thinking. And perhaps some of that has already made its way into our societies.
Think about it, my friend who reads these words. The earliest civilizations thought differently than we do now. For them, life was an endless cycle of birth and death and birth. Their thinking was cyclical, more concerned with the whole than the parts. Time was a wheel that each generation trod upon only to return to the same place.
When did that change? Where did this change come from?
I believe it changed with the Jews, and this was continued with the Christians and Muslims. Think about the concept of faith as these religions espouse. Think about the way they change the view of time itself. No longer circular, it is now linear. There is a progression from birth, through life, to death, to an after-life. With such thinking, a new concept emerges — something called hope. Hope for a better life, that things can improve. That life can be better.
And they made another change, one that I do not know the ultimate effects of. These religions focused on one God, and that God was removed from immediate contact with man. Certainly this is better than when men worshipped the Airlia, but perhaps it also saps some of our belief in ourselves? I do not know.
For almost ten thousand years human civilization did not change, but in the past two thousand, it has grown in leaps and spurts. There has been progression. Toward what end I do not know. Whether this is a good thing, I know not either.
But I do believe that the Grail changed these people. Just knowing of its existence changed them and all of us who follow. Think what a powerful icon it has been, and then imagine what the reality of it must be.