Alpha Rising (17 page)

“
But what about the
two
A’s
with three
question marks in-between, like a code, as if they know about
Alpha.”

Altemus sat up in his chair and motioned
Bach to the window overlooking the production floor. The two wurr
animals were missing from the ledge. Bach looked out to see Dura’s
long-awaited starship painted, groomed, and ready for her maiden
flight. Thick black letters running the hull’s length christened
her ASTRA.

He hooted, rushed to the
desk, and lifted his genius friend from the chair with a big hug.
“You named the service vehicle Astra! A perfect ploy! It begins and
ends with an
A
,
and has five letters like Alpha. They’ll think that Astra is the
ship they’re looking for.”

Altemus took a deep breath. “I like to stay
a step ahead when I can.” He shoved his trembling hands into his
pockets. “And I scheduled Astra’s test flight for tomorrow to keep
everyone busy.”

Bach sighed with relief. “Your insight’s
amazing.”

Altemus smiled weakly. “I got a few
instructions of my own from the Creator.” He shuffled a stack of
papers. “I’ll get more fuel. I’ll rig the stats—tell the lab crews
I increased starship Astra’s engines to burn hotter, it’ll take
more for her test flight, and I’m flying her farther than planned.
In the meantime, I have a few last minute things to do out at the
Alpha site.” A long stream of air blasted from his lips before he
lowered his voice to a whisper. “You know I’d love to see Alpha
rising tomorrow, but these old eyes don’t see much of anything
anymore.”

Bach turned to leave, fighting emotion.
“There’s not much to see on the outside—low tech exterior.” He
stopped at the office door and ran his hand over Altemus’s
nameplate. “But your mastermind put it where it counts—superior
mechanics. By the way, the name’s not on it yet. Instead of Alpha,
I think we should name it after you.”

“
The Altemus? I don’t think
so. But thanks anyway.” He dug in his shirt pocket and pulled out a
coin-sized object. “Almost forgot. Look at my wedding ring. I took
it off at the Alpha site—hands were swelling—found it later when I
stepped on it.”

Bach examined the flattened ring. “Hmmm. Not
good. I’ll get it fixed for you.” He hung the tree of life ring on
the chain with his eternity circle. The tree’s trunk with its two
small branches now formed the shape of a cross. His mind flashed
back to the symbol the Creator burned into the ground at Mount
Hope. His heart skipped a beat. The ring, overlaid on his circle,
formed the same icon. He couldn’t hide his feelings.

Altemus nodded. “A sign of hope, my
partner.”

Bach wiped his eyes as he stepped behind the
desk to hug his accomplice one more time. “I have work to do … have
to hurry.”

*****

Altemus gathered his strength and stuffed a
pillowcase-like duffel bag into his jumpsuit, then left the office
and ambled through the communications center to a vacuum lift. His
gait was erratic, but his authority evident.

At the fuel depository, he overrode security
devices, left the lights off, and slipped into the storeroom.

As the old man worked fast and furiously,
stuffing briquettes into the duffel bag, a lightning bolt of pain
ripped through his torso and, for a moment, left him senseless.
Doubled over, desperate for relief, he pressed his fists hard
against his chest and held tight. Seconds of agony sapped his
strength, but he struggled to continue the heist.

A duty-guard in the security room detected
movement in the fuel storage area. He monitored his systems for a
moment, then taking no chances, activated the warning system. A
screaming siren split the air and massive iron gates dropped to the
floor with bone-jarring force.

Altemus cut short his pilfering, and with
cool authority exited the storeroom with the duffel bag. He used
his security key to pass through the gates and, with feet
shuffling, moved watchfully along the facility’s wall.

“
Stop!” A voice amplified
above the shrill siren. “Don’t move!”

Altemus ignored the command and rounded a
corner. By dumb luck, he came upon a trash hauler ten feet away
halted by the alert. The tram’s flatbed carried garbage bags and
empty boxes. Altemus hustled forward and dumped all but six
briquettes into a box marked ARCHIVE LABELS then walked on with a
lighter load.

“
Halt!” the voice
commanded. Two burly guards rounded the corner—one grabbed the
elder from behind.

“
Altemus?” the guard said
in surprise. “What are you doing? You’ve triggered a vandalism
alert. Our fuel inventory shows an unexplained
shortage.”

“
An obvious error,” he
sniffed.

“
You know it’s forbidden to
override security,” the other guard stated. “Now give me that
bag!”

Altemus wrestled from his captor’s grasp and
held the duffel bag to his chest. “I’m allowed in that room
whenever I please.”

“
Data shows a sizeable
amount of fuel missing,” said one guard. “How do we know you’re not
acting under duress—that the enemy’s not forced you to steal?” He
jerked the bag away. “You made the rules, Altemus, you must follow
them.” He shook the lightweight bag quizzically, then reached
inside. Moving six squares around the bottom he said, “What’s going
on here? This is nothing.”

“
Let me see that,” grumped
the assistant. He shook the briquettes around. “Not even enough for
a start up.”

Both guards shrugged, and one radioed in an
all-clear. The alarm ceased, and activity resumed in the
facility.

Altemus lifted the bag from the guard’s
hands and announced, “I’m taking this fuel to the construction
hangar. Going to roll out Astra and fire her up.” He took a deep
breath. “I’m the grandson of the first pilot to traverse our zone,
you know. No, you wouldn’t remember, you’re too young. But, I know
all there is to know about starships. I’m the best test pilot there
is. Built the old Kingships from scratch.” He took off his glasses
and nonchalantly cleaned them on his sleeve. To his horror, the
tram driver pulled away.

“
There’ll be no test flight
today, Altemus,” said a guard. “Astra’s inaugural run is scheduled
for tomorrow; you can hitch a ride then. And you, of all people,
know it’s a bad idea to have the fuel out of a lockbox.” He reached
for the bag. “Let me put this back for you.”

Nervous sweat dotted Altemus’s forehead. He
tucked the bag under his arm, drew the back of his hand across his
dry lips and said, “No. I’m the only one to fuel her up and fly
her!”

The guard put his hand on the bag and
pulled. “You can fuel and ride Astra tomorrow. I’ll return this for
you now.”

The elder clutched the duffel bag with both
hands. Even though he hadn’t applied the final touch to the fuel,
he wouldn’t dare let a speck of it out of his hands.

The guard grew impatient. “Give me the bag
and leave right now and we won’t take you in. Otherwise, you’ll be
faced with interrogation by the elder council for breaking your own
rules, and you know all about that.”

Altemus’s demeanor changed.
“Very well,” he snapped, “but
I’ll
be the one to put the fuel back in the storeroom,
not you.”

Ready to get the incident over with, the
guards followed the old man to the fuel depository and waited
outside while he unlocked a series of gates and stepped into the
vault to return the meager ration of briquettes. He emerged a few
minutes later and tossed the empty duffel bag to a guard, then
wiped his hands together. “Now be on your way.”

With the six fuel briquettes stuffed in his
jumpsuit, Altemus slipped through the shadows in an all-out search
for the tram. Rushing and wheezing, he roamed the lengths of three
corridors until he grew so weak he braced himself against a door
frame to catch his breath. But thoughts of lost time and the fuel
shortage stoked his determination. “Not yet … haven’t beat me yet,”
he said with a dogged snort.

Knowing the tram’s route would end at the
basement reclamation facility, Altemus stepped into the nearest
lift to start a floor-by-floor search. The rapid descent one floor
down reeled his head. The deserted area had lights out, so he
descended another level. When the lift door opened, he was face to
face with the young tram driver. But the tram wasn’t there. He
squinted and looked harder. No tram. He smiled at the youth. “You
off work? I don’t see your tram.”

“
Not off yet. Got to the
compactor and realized I forgot to check for boxes on this floor
after the alarm. Didn’t want to bring the tram back if I didn’t
have to. Got lucky, they only had two bags today.” He held up two
full bags.

“
Well, that sure worked out
well for you.” Altemus smiled as best he could through his pain.
“By the way, can I get a few empty boxes?”

“
Yeah, no problem. But I
can’t bring ’em to you. You’ll have to catch me down at the
compactor. I’m late for checkout due to the stupid
alert.”

“
Oh, don’t worry, I need to
pick out the right size anyway. I’ll just follow along.”

The two rode the lift to the underground
destruction facility where the trash hauler was parked beside
massive shredding and compacting equipment. The sight of the tram,
now loaded to overflowing with an array of refuse and containers,
weakened the old man’s spirit.

The youth leapt into action, tossing boxes
and debris into the compactor’s crushing jaws.

Head spinning, Altemus ambled to the front
of the tram and purposely stumbled into the metal railing enclosing
the flatbed. Dozens of boxes thundered down.

The young man stopped working and
glared.

The elder held up his hands. “So sorry.
Please forgive me. I didn’t mean to make more work for you.”

“
Forget it.” The kid kicked
the boxes along the floor to the shredders.

Altemus mumbled to himself, “I know it’s
near the back.”

He’d rifled through a dozen boxes when a
crushing chest pain took him down to one knee. Gripping the tram’s
railing with quivering hands, he squeezed until his knuckles
whitened. The pain subsided.

Oblivious to the old man’s plight, the
hyperactive youth worked with rhythmic moves, tossing boxes and
trash into the huge grinding mechanisms. Every toss moved him
closer to the back.

Altemus watched from the
corner of his eye and picked up the pace. Stretching over
waist-high railings with arms aching, thoughts of defeat goaded him
on.
All or nothing
. He pulled a door-sized piece of cardboard from the pile. An
avalanche of boxes rained down.

Shouts from the youth dissolved in the noise
when the old man saw the box stamped ARCHIVE LABELS. He pulled it
free and disguised its weight by tucking it under one arm while
juggling a larger empty box in the other hand. “Thanks, buddy,” he
shouted as he headed for the lift.

*****

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Bach slept fitfully, muscles jerking. In his
dream, he descended a floating staircase leading to a fog-shrouded
garden of vibrant greenery and gigantic flowers. One deep red
flower beckoned him and he succumbed to the crimson temptress’s
overpowering appeal. Trampling over lesser flowers to reach it,
head dizzy with anticipation, he cupped his hands around the petals
and inhaled its magnificent raspberry fragrance.

The flower responded to his touch and, in
what seemed like computer art unfolding pixel-by-pixel, revealed
the Specter’s face in a yellow haze. “Behold the Ultimate World,”
said the evil one. “Alas, you’ve rushed in vain to take your true
love back to Dura.”

Now the dream became a panoramic view of the
garden with a pathway winding through vibrant flowers. A man and a
woman, both wearing matching red shirts with black crossed-circle
emblems on the back, walked away hand-in-hand. They stopped for a
passionate kiss, turned their heads and looked back—Kaz and
Lynch.

Bach ran after them, legs moving in slow
motion, waving, shouting, “Kaz, I’m here.” She looked back again,
this time patting her pregnant stomach. Bach’s eyes darted from her
stomach to Lynch’s gloating face. He pressed his hands against his
eyes. When he looked again, the scene had changed, now the waving
flowers were hundreds of warriors in red shirts with black symbols.
Their orange eyes summoned him onward.

The Specter’s image slowly overtook the
dream. The yellow haze grew larger. “We are the chosen ones,” his
evil voice resonated with a distant echo. “And we have Altemus with
us.”

Bach lurched awake to frantic raps at the
door. He jumped out of bed, disoriented and mumbling, “Kaz …
Altemus?” Drifting into clarity he yelped, “Oh, no, this is the
day! I’ve overslept!” The knocking intensified. When he opened the
door, Star rushed in talking faster than she ever had, saying her
father was missing. Mouth agape, Bach only half listened as he
noticed that the eternity circle pendant hanging around her neck
aligned with the cross necklace he’d given her when they buried his
crewmate Faith. The two necklaces formed the sacred icon.

Wondering if Bach understood her, Star
rewound her message and delivered it a second time. “Dad didn’t
come home last night. He left a note at Wilde’s workstation.” She
took a quick breath and continued while Bach stared at the
necklaces. “Oh, Bach,” she pled, “wake up. Dad’s note said you
defected to Ulwor to rescue Kaz, and that he and I have gone to get
you. Why would he leave a note like that?”