Prophecy (10 page)

Aleris was not as agitated over the loss of psychic connection, being totally absorbed with Mariah’s every gesture. She was delighted with the female’s presence.

The reading on the MERS vid-screen had been a jolt.
The female was now more powerful than herself. No doubt, if she knew her potential, she could find us with little effort. We remain undetected because she is inexperienced and distracted
, Aleris mused. For the first time in centuries, she received no reply to her thoughts.

One of their many discussions included a course of action to be followed when Mariah was brought to the lab for the first time. At first, the Three did not understand why the Anorasians would not initially show themselves. They finally understood when they realized how much Mariah would need to assimilate; her surroundings, who they were, and the reason for her physical and mental mutations. It would be more than enough. The reality of the aliens would be saved for another time.

Our theory of assimilation will need to be revisited,
gloated Aleris,
considering she now senses us
. Mariah Carpenter was surprisingly not overwhelmed, considering she’d found herself in an alien environment surrounded by three celebrated figures in her history. Nevertheless, as long as she remained focused upon the screen and the Three, Aleris felt no immediate need for her and her colleague to expose themselves.

“Mariah.”

Emmanuel spoke her name out loud; she heard censure in his tone. Smiling, she said, “Yes, I know I can’t stay here. You were quite clear about that.” Her slightly breathless voice and her hands clasped together against her chest made al-Amin and Siddhartha grin behind her back. They had not seen this gesture since her childhood, buried along with her insatiable curiosity and psychic talents. Gradually their smiles were replaced by the look on their faces when she first appeared: shock.

“As long as I’m here, can I please see this whole place? I know that my weird dreams about an alien planet weren’t dreams at all but subconscious astral projections. With you three handsome guides, I know I’ll enjoy myself so much more, especially since I’m dressed.”

She looked eagerly from one face to another, trying to make herself believe their silence was a sign of encouragement. “I want to see the tropical forest again, the one with the strange plants. Does it really just drop off into nothing after the trees thin out? And that place with the pink wheat; how in the world do you get it to grow in salt water? And what kind of animals and birds live here and where do you sleep and what’s with those odd skies and ... oh yes, one more thing.”

She took a deep breath, her eyes wide with excitement and anticipation. “I really,
really
want to meet the two aliens I saw when I was trapped in the desert and they were on the other side of some kind of force field.”

Emmanuel felt as if he had been hit in the head as he rocked back on his heels. After her unexpected arrival at the lab, he did not think anything she could say or do would surprise him, but he was so very wrong. The panicked expression on the faces of his brothers mirrored his own state of agitation.

How could
...

We did not
...

Has she seen
...

Cannot communicate with
...

Their disjointed thoughts tripped over each other, panic causing incoherence. How had she achieved astral projection through her sleep? From the first introduction of dicit when her psychic power had not even been as great as theirs?

And, the most staggering thought of all:
she had seen the Anorasians, but they had not seen her
! It was inconceivable that she had remained undetected from the highly developed telepathic acuity possessed by the aliens. They were able to sense the smallest happening, from a bird taking wing in another Zone to an animal that drank too deeply of the water and chuffed it out from its nostrils.

In her self-imposed cocoon, Aleris quivered with excitement.
She was right
! The female
had
been on the other side of the vectored energy field. Her uncharacteristic ebullience and overwhelming desire to meet Mariah face-to-face nearly caused her to drop her mantle. However, sensibility prevailed. She would not do this without consulting Sateron. Furthermore, there were potential effects to be analyzed. Common sense won out, but her joy did not abate.

Sateron was so shocked he gave no more thought to his imprisonment. He was now sure of one thing:
something
inexplicable happened the night Emmanuel visited Mariah Carpenter, the night he stopped her from causing her own death.

Something that may have nothing to do with the inoculation of dicit-I
.

On that auspicious morning, Emmanuel had transported one measured dose of dicit
-E
from the bioinoculator into Mariah’s bloodstream. Before removing the instrument, he caused an inverse and took a DNA sample by excising skin cells. They were automatically deposited into a sterile chamber designed for just such a procedure. The Anorasians then spent many hours in the genetics laboratory, dividing and subdividing those DNA strands until every fiber of Mariah Carpenter’s essence was studied intently then compared with those of the Three and catalogued for future use.

Evidence of her power and promise was there in her genetic code. It was accompanied by something else so stunning that the scientists decided to keep it to themselves until such time as it was necessary to divulge the information to the Three. Scientific data based on centuries of studying the effects of Eocene dicit’ledoni on the DNA of sentient beings gave them much hope that this human female would be able to assimilate dicit
-I
in a way unlike The Three.

But this unexplained augmentation of her psychic aptitude without benefit of concentrated training was totally unforeseen. Not only astral projection at such a vast distance—never, to his knowledge, performed by
any
Anorasian—but at the subconscious level when the brain’s motor activity should be at its lowest.

Sateron’s sigh was nearly tremulous. Nothing about this female corroborated their clinically-based calculations. There was something they missed, something that should be right in front of...

And then enlightenment, as powerful as a sun going nova, burst in his brain causing his eyes to widen. Forcing his mind to stop looking at the data, he (for once) allowed it to just accept without dissecting down to the least common denominator. If he had been visible, the others would have seen his eyes glowing. His inability to move, to shout, to fling himself about in exultation was nearly causing him physical pain.

“Mariah, I don’t believe...”

“As much as we would love to...”

“... impossible at this time...”

Her excitement faded as the three men broke out of their private reveries, anxiety causing them to babble. Growing more exasperated by the minute, she finally threw up her hands and shouted, “Enough!”

Instantly, there was silence. With her arms folded across her chest, Mariah looked from one to the other, anger evident in her stance. Their gaze slid away from the hurt they saw in her eyes. The air around them crackled and the hair on their arms shivered.

Her voice grated in their ears. “I have a
right
to know what’s going on. Dammit, you’ve manipulated me and made me a freak and ruined my life. And now that I’m here, you won’t even tell me where ‘here’ is, or what it is, or let me look around? Well, gentlemen, I’ve had enough of your interference. Let me tell you how it’s going to be. I don’t need any of you to...”

Mariah’s eyes widened and her tirade ground to a halt. The expression on her face changed from astonishment, to confusion, and finally, to resignation. She seemed to fade from the outside in, like the picture on an old television set collapsing until there was nothing left but a dot in the middle of the screen.

And she was gone. The Three immediately looked at the vid-screen, frantically checking her vital signs to assure themselves she still lived.

Freed from their confinement and bursting with excitement, the Anorasians joined them.

“She was not able to hold the projection longer. Mayhap something to do with the chemicals they now transport into her body,” said Sateron hurriedly. “She is fine, she needs rest—and I have unprecedented information.”

Before he could continue, Aleris uncharacteristically interrupted him, her enthusiasm causing the air to become charged.

“Sateron, I
knew
I felt her on the other side of the Vectored Energy Field! She has already seen us so there is no longer need for secrecy. We must bring her here to teach her, and...”

Before she could finish her thoughts and before Sateron could speak of his revelation, the Neural Matrix Information Processor—the intelligent core that linked all vital functions in the Izorach lab—blanked the vid-screen. One short tone vibrated from the surrounding audiospheres, and then—

“
You have a visitor in the hangar
.” The NMIP’s broadcast voice, programmed by the mischievous Sateron, sounded like a Spaniard in a terrible melodrama. The Anorasians felt the familiar touch of their colleague and trusted confidante, Ton Re’Deutriion, Master of Geology.

“We will return,” Aleris said as they blinked out simultaneously.

They instantly reappeared in the hangar before Deutriion. Fear filled them as they beheld his eyes, dull with acute helplessness, suffering etched on his haggard features. He said without preamble, “Maka’ruis is gone.”

Silence, gravid with implication, filled the hangar as the geologist appeared to wither before their eyes. To an Anorasian, “gone” did not mean what it did to humans; it meant a loss of psychic communication with one held dearly, more than just an associate, more than just a friend. It meant a vacuum created in the soul.

He continued bleakly. “We received intelligence from reliable sources of a boast made by an Osratas to his fellow beady-eyed, whisker-twitchers that, having compiled ‘immensely important data’ over many years, he was soon to be rewarded with an audience with none other than the Minister of Finance. And the Min’yel’os. To most, it was nonsensical ravings. His data was nothing more than gibberish; highly placed scientists in clandestine affairs, secret structures ... just foolishness. Few gave credence to these assertions, knowing that those whiny, fussy vermin always bemoaned their state, hoping to garner some respect and a better lot in life by attaching importance to themselves.

“Obviously,
we
were interested. Quietly, carefully, we made inquiries. At the point where we were ready to dismiss these chatterings, Maka’rius disappeared.”

Unable to do more than whisper due to the tremors that shook his body, Ton Re’Deutriion murmured, “I am sure They have him.”

Michael marveled at the unnatural silence that blanketed St. Vincent’s Hospital. Incredibly, not one true fact about the results of her tests ever made it into the headlines. Credit for that certainly went to the Chief of Staff—or did it? Could Mariah possibly be involved in some inexplicable way?

With no printable information at their disposal, credible reporters circumvented the stone wall erected around the hospital and went to the experts in psychic phenomena to write on what was possibly, and probably, happening.

He met the famous Doctor Menachim Silverstein during one of Manny’s frequent visits to Mariah’s room. They liked each other immediately. While it was
Doctor
Silverstein he looked forward to seeing, it was
General
Silverstein who was in control of the information given to the public.

Michael knew Mariah also welcomed Manny’s visits. When the gentle and compassionate medical practitioner told funny stories about his days in the Mossad, the Israeli version of the FBI and CIA combined, Mariah’s fluctuating vital signs stabilized, a testimonial to his soothing voice.

Michael would have been flabbergasted had he known where she went when she initially fainted ... and where she was now.

When Mariah realized she could no longer hold the astral projection, she relaxed, resigning herself to the journey back to her corporeal form. It was a lot more pleasant than the psychedelic trip out; maybe because she knew what to expect and was not afraid.

She remained in limbo, drifting in and out of consciousness, hearing snatches of conversations between Thomas and Michael, Michael and Dr. Silverstein, and Dr. Silverstein and the nurses and doctors. She sorely missed Thomas, but was glad he finally got some rest.

She was enjoying this escape. No cameras thrust into her face, gawping like the jaws of a ravening beast about to devour her. No microphones with fuzzy black covers shoved into her mouth while demonic reporters bellowed her name in unison. Why couldn’t they understand that she didn’t answer them because all she heard was an indistinguishable din that made her head hurt, made her feel like her eyes were bleeding, and caused sound to distort, like listening to rock music at full volume?

She was not ready to come out of this, not even for Thomas. She missed him, but she knew he needed a break from her and the close scrutiny of the FBI. She listened while Michael explained his meditation theory to Thomas and was relieved when she felt the tension and anxiety drain from his body as he accepted it. Now when he visited, he gave her anecdotes from his day, including little tricks he played on the agents still at the safe house. He also told her, again and again, how much he loved her, how much he missed her—and how horny he was. (That almost made her wake from her state of suspension.)

She drifted, feeling miraculous and scary changes taking place inside her. There was a second heart attached to her aorta; she marveled at its efficiency in miniature, its throbbing beat the same as the larger one. She felt oxygen circulating up to her brain and red and white cells mutating in her bloodstream.

When she became bored, she had a swell time pinging her telemetry equipment, making people run around fiddling with dials and needles. She was shamed into contrition when Doctor Silverstein happened to come in one of the times she was tormenting the nurses. He leaned down and murmured in her ear so no one else could hear. “Quit it, young lady, you’re giving these people conniptions.” Instantly, all the monitor levels steadied. Manny chuckled as he shooed the bewildered nurses out of the room.

Before he left, he took her hand in his, admiration obvious on his face. “I wish you’d come out of this soon. I can’t wait to meet you. I have a feeling we’re going to be great friends.”

The village appeared to be deserted. The debilitating heat had, obviously, driven the prudent indoors. Mariah walked lethargically down the main street, nothing more than a dirt road that disappeared into a forest some two hundred yards after the last structure. She plodded on, intrigued by the voices she heard coming from somewhere in those trees. It sounded like singing.

Where am I
? This was definitely not the experimentation lab.

She was, thank heavens, not naked. She wore a robe of pale yellow, the material finely woven cotton. The robe didn’t cling to her perspiring body; it acted like a ventilation system. A hood, attached to the robe, covered her head to protect her brain from melting. She wore brown leather sandals that were constructed by human hands.

Mariah sensed a presence to her left. Turning her head slowly—in this heat, any sudden movement could make you pass out—she saw an old man, as shriveled as a raisin and just as brown. A length of coarsely spun white cotton was draped over his left shoulder, wrapped around his small waist then caught up loosely between his legs, ending back at his waist and secured into the folds. There were no shoes on his feet (
Jeez, the entire bottoms of his feet must be as thick as a brick
) or hat on his head. His pure white, close-cropped hair seemed iridescent in the unmerciful glare of the sun.

They proceeded sedately toward the forest, his pace matching hers. He never looked at her nor did he break the silence, and Mariah was grateful. She was reluctant to expend any energy in conversation.

The minute they entered the forest, the temperature dropped by ten degrees, the tree branches offering blessed protection from the remorseless sun. She followed her mute guide through many twists and turns, her heart quickening as the singing voices became more distinct.

Just when she thought she was doomed to watch the back of her white-haired guide through eternity, the trees parted and he led her into a clearing.

The outer edge was lined with men and women as small and spare as the one who had brought her. They were chanting, swaying to its rhythm.

A man stood in the center of the clearing. He was a commanding figure, more than two feet taller than anyone else in the congregation. Even in the limited light filtering through the trees, his skin was as dark as port wine.

Standing ramrod straight, his hands were folded across his midsection, his face expressionless, his eyes straight ahead. The cloth that draped his body in the same manner as her aged guide was gold, shot through with threads of vermilion. Somehow he seemed vastly older than anyone at the gathering.

His unblinking eyes now moved to her face. The chanting grew softer, softer, until it gradually died away. The glade became hushed with expectancy. The parishioners stopped swaying, their attention riveted on the tall man.

Behind him were six columns that towered over the roof on the dwelling they fronted. Around the base of each massive column, hewn from immense trees, was carved symbols and characters in obvious patterns. Not understanding them, Mariah’s breath caught as her eyes swept past the columns to an unimposing, ancient stone structure built, she knew, not by the people before her, but by those long gone.

Spellbound, she began to move slowly toward the man in gold. The assemblage closed the circle behind her, moving inward at the pace she set.

Mariah stopped several feet from the man. Staring into his eyes, she felt faint from the heat—or was it something else?

His face gradually lost its blank expression. His coal black eyes flared with the light of jubilation, and the smile on his lips proclaimed his joy.

And then he spoke, his voice deep and melodious. She was instantly reminded of James Earl Jones.

“Welcome, Man’asorai. I am your Kana Gidrol. Long have we waited for your arrival.”