The Doomsday 2: Awakening

by Joel Gray

A short time after the first manned mission to Mars, as told in The Doomsday, John Isenberg, an astronomer, makes a stunning discovery. Soon strange events begin to unfold on Earth. A man is brutally murdered. People begin to see things coming...

Authors Note:

This is the second part in the continuing story of the first astronauts to land on Mars.

Beware; concepts noted here may be realized one day.

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~The Awakening begins when they come.~

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The Doomsday 2: Awakening

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Prologue:

The sky darkened, as a token of doom.

The weather, as of late, had been baleful and overcast. The town of Little Springs, Montana, was cheerless.

John Isenberg sat before his computer, gloomily studying the inexhaustible data charts on his screen.

The observatory on Tyndall hill, ten miles away from the nearest town, Little Springs, was vacant, except for the lone astronomer. He had been assigned to monitor the 15 inch-diameter telescope, Big Ben.

Monitoring an optical telescope in overcast skies was just as satisfying as staring at a stone wall.

The myriads of scintillating, luminescent orbs, hundreds of light years away were concealed by the dark, cumulous expanse.

Bennett's Comet was due to pass through the Zenith that night.

John occasionally peered at the box, in his screen, containing the electronic image from the telescope, as he did his work.

He was trying to solve a complex equation that would reveal to him the density of a certain star, when his attention was reverted by a strange site in the image box on his computer screen.

John rushed for the telescope.

Quickly, he removed the video camera and focused his eye on the lens.

His skin turned pale.

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Chapter One

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Snow fell softly through the dense forest, turning it into a white wonderland.

The trees were pillars in a giant, snowy cathedral.

Samuel Percy finished loading his dodge pickup truck with firewood newly acquired from the forest. The chain saw was all that needed to be loaded into his large rig.

Samuel sauntered back to the clearing where he had obtained the wood from.

What he saw made his breathing cease. Sam stood still, in frigid terror, as a bright light enveloped his body.

Samuel Percy never made it back to his truck alive.

John peered at the dark void, through the telescope, speechless.

"John," a voice came from behind him, "are you ok?"

John turned, incontinently. "Mark, it's good you have come."

"John did you watch the news last night?"

John was too distracted by his memory of the apparition to listen.

"John?"

"Yes?" John awoke to the present.

Mark paused. "You awake?"

"Sorry Mark. I stayed up all night."

"John, a man getting fire wood last night was found dead near his truck."

"What about it?"

"The man was found in two pieces and his truck was totaled. It was spread over three hundred square feet in thousands of pieces."

John gazed at Mark with an intense stare. "Where did you hear about this from?"

"The morning news. Why?"

"Mark, you won't believe what I saw last night."

Mark turned directly to his friend, "What?"

"Wait, I can show it to you." John went to his computer and opened the program for telescope video footage. He scanned through the voluminous lists of data. "This will only take a minute." John searched through the files with his eyes scanning like a homing device.

"Mark," John turned sharply, "the video footage of last night is missing. The phenomenon I wanted to show you is gone."

"Couldn't you have forgotten to save it?"

"No. I remember saving it on a thumb drive as well as the computer. The thumb drive was attached to my Key chain."

John stopped as he tried to remember the details of last night. He withdrew the contents of all his pockets.

"Mark, I had my keys with me. What happened?" John stood, incontinently, and rushed to the exit of the observatory.

Mark found his life time friend in listless silence, focusing on a vacant parking lot.

After a moment John whispered, "My car is stolen."

The dark void had been replaced by a bluish light.

Miles rushed by in rapid succession.

The atmosphere produced a force of attrition on the space vehicle's heat shields.

With the ablation in action, the three astronauts feared the worst.

If the angle that they penetrated the atmosphere (the angle of incident) was two shallow (too close the plane that they penetrate), the space craft would fly off into outer space, but if the angle was too wide (that is; too close to

90o) the space craft would experience too much abrasive friction for the heat shields to bear.

These technical factors permeated the pilot's mind.

Ronald Duroy glanced from one plasma screen to another.

The mission to Mars, only five months ago, had terminated in a catastrophe even before it had begun.

The U.S. astronauts would never forget the mysterious disappearance of their captain while he was on an expedition into the Martian territory.

The unprecedented attack of their space craft, by armored, malevolent beings, sent the astronauts in retreat for Earth.

By misfortune, the located another planet similar to Earth and landed on the mother-world of the malevolent beings they were trying to flee from.

The subsequent audience with the dictator of the armored beings informed Ron and his fellow astronaut that he would send them back to Earth.

It had been a lie. The dictator shipped them to Mars where he had mining bases for production of the munitions of his military.

The prisoners concocted a plan of escape which ultimately brought them freedom.

Now 7 miles away from the Earth, a captured enemy space craft transported the three of the astronauts to their home planet. The others were unaccounted for.

"Captain, when should we activate the retropac (system that slows down the space craft by means of repulsive, excited gases)?" Franklin Tomas, who was the field journalist for the Mars mission, asked with trepidation.

"Fifty seconds from now." Ron replied hastily. "Mac, do we have the planned descent trajectory?" His gaze shifted, like a homing beacon, to the copilot.

"Roger." Matthew-Andrew Collin (Mac) Peterson, the second in command, replied as he began entering data into the ship's navigation system.

The three men had become like brothers through the challenges of their time in space. Finally, after intense stress and overexertion, they would be able to rest on Earth.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

A warning system activated with out admonition.

"Ron, we have run into a hurricane!" Mac exclaimed. "We are going to be sent off course."

"Activate the maneuvering system." Ron replied, austerely.

"We have run out of fuel. We are heading towards North America! If we don't reach a body of water we will die." Mac replied with terror in his voice.

"John, what did you see last night?" Mark asked after a moment of silence.

"I saw a meteor falling through Earth's atmosphere." John turned from his emotionless gaze into the expansive distance, to Mark. "The meteor was luminescent."

"What's so strange about that? I mean, isn't light produced when a meteor is traveling through an atmosphere?" Mark interrupted.

"Yes, but Mark, the light wasn't coming from outside the meteor, as produced by ablation, when a meteor is burnt up by the atmosphere, but light came from within the meteor—through windows."

"You must have stayed up too late. John, I think you need sleep."

It was a calm day. The placid lake glistened with a scintillating reflection of the sun. A small yacht glided crisply though the copious water.

A sound, resembling that of a high altitude jet airliner, screamed through the still air. It was of no concern to the pleasure seekers. It was probably an airliner.

The sound increased from a mere roar to a thunderous sonic boom.

People began to look skyward in incredulity. The mysterious cause of the noise began to materialize in the stratosphere.

A ball of fire roared through the clouds on a crash course for the Swan, a beautiful, million dollar yacht. The falling object's shadow could already be seen expanding over the boat rapidly.

"Attention, do not be alarmed. Please proceed in an orderly manner to the life boats provided you." The screams of passengers struggling for positions on the lifeboat drowned out the voice of the ship's captain. They scurrying passengers were too late.
With a deafening roar, the unidentified object punched the water with extreme ferocity, barely missing the yacht.

A huge wave swamped the decks.

Ron stood, stiffly. The view screen revealed an unearthly landscape.

"Men, we made it!" Ron breathed with relief.

"Ron, how will we get out, though?" Mac turned from his monitors.

Ron's euphorbia was extinguished.

"Ron, our oxygen is low. The instruments indicate that we should exit our space craft within five minutes."

Five minutes. Three-hundred seconds were left and each second was gone before three words could be spoken.

At the bottom of the lake, the captured space craft rested, tranquilly—a deceptive image; for, inside the men were frantic.

"Do we have any space suits?" Ron asked.

"No, we left them on Mars." Frank replied.

"Ron, we only have three and a half minutes left until the oxygen reservoirs are empty!" Mac looked at his watch, with trepidation.

Ron began to act quickly. He was formulating a plan which, if it failed, would condemn the three astronauts to an aqueous death.

"What are you doing?" Mac voiced Frank's question.

"You'll see. Take a seat."

Ron's hands flew over the controls. Hours of flight in space prepared him for the worst obstacle he ever faced in flight simulators or in reality.

"Men, hold on." Ron depressed the last button.

Hiss. Wirr.

Vital air, fuel, and waste materials were released, into the lake, from formerly closed apertures.

In seconds most of the air was gone.

"What did you d—" Frank exclaimed.

"Provided a means of escape." Ron interrupted.

Mac was furious. "You're going to kill us!"

"No I am not. Look." Ron calmly replied as he pointed to the view screen.

The lake bottom was rapidly departing from them.

In moments they reached the surface.

"How did you do that?" Mac asked, incredulous.

"When excess weight is removed from a floating body to the degree of causing the body to have a mass less dense than an equal volume of water, the body will rise to the surface by the principal of buoyancy." Ron replied, methodically.

"You scientists are always sniffing like bloodhounds in places where they don't belong." Mac teased.

Night penetrated the apartment with its icy fingers of despondency.

John was restless. A mystery tugged at his mind, not allowing it sleep.

Out the window, a white crescent cast its pale light on the city, illuminating the upper sides of buildings in garish detail.

Just as the clock indicated eleven o'clock, and John was about to drop off into the surreal world of dreams, he turned, suddenly, to the window.

Getting up from bed, he peered fervently at the moon.

What he saw would erase all lethargy from his body for the subsequent hours of night time.

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Chapter Two

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"Mark, this time I am sure I saw a space vehicle." John insisted.

He paced back and forth in the wee hours of the morning, phone in hand.

"John, really; you need to see a doctor. There are no space vehicles with large black bodies. NASA uses white colored space craft and the next trip to the moon is scheduled for the next year. You probably saw a satellite." Mark, tired and annoyed by his friend's enthusiasm, replied.

"You don't understand. I saw-aliens." John could not believe what he was saying. The outlandish word was the only one he knew, in the vernacular, to describe the phenomena he had witnessed.

"What ever." Mark hung up.

"He won't listen." John whispered, dejected, "He just won't listen."

Alfred Morely, director of the National Aeronautics and Space Administration (NASA) knit his brow in intense contemplation. He did not disparage John Isenburg in the least.

"Mr. Isenburg, your story is incredible but not absurd. I empathize with you. I am sorry that I cannot talk with you, in more depth, about this over the phone. I would like to hear your story in person, if you do not mind going to Washington D.C." Alfred replied.

"I have only a bachelor degree in astrophysics." John replied.

"I will personally pay for your plane ticket." Alfred understood John's implied meaning: 'I am only a poor scientist.'

Why does he want to see me so badly? John thought.

A cold void of nothingness surrounded the space craft. Space; the ethereal continuum of time and spatial dimension, was a lonely place to travel through.

Inside, armored beings sat in emotionless silence.

In the view screen a blue orb appeared, floating surreally among the stars.

Their target was approaching.

Soon, the inhabitants of Earth would realize that they were not alone.

Cold air passed through the disk of indigo light, in the metal wall.

Frank had just passed through the space craft's main hatch.

"Mac, Ron, come up here." Frank called his two companions from on top the vehicle.

"What is it Frank?" Ron's voice, trapped in the metal envelopment, sounded as if it came from deep within the earth.

"Just come."

Ron balanced on the precarious, bobbing, metal surface as he stared, in profound silence, at a new menace.

A dark shape in the sky was growing in size.

The ship that they had narrowly missed, no doubt full of terrified and curious survivors, was on its way back to the harboring town it had come from.

Meanwhile, the dark shape resolved, before the astronauts' eyes, into a space vehicle.

Ron remembered seeing his enemies' space craft. They were hideous, metallic, black weapons of terror that roamed the void of space in search of the renegade captives. His men had captured one, despite his disgust, for their escape.

Ron wished he could do something to destroy it—it was so repulsive.

"Captain if they see us—" Mac was interrupted by Ron.

"Get below. Hurry!"

The astronauts' space craft was now hovering at a less rapid speed.

"Frank, how much fuel do we have left?" Ron asked.

"Not enough."

Ron could see the dark vehicle making its way for the yacht. "Frank do we have enough fuel to reposition?"

"Yes."

Ron grabbed the controls and guided the space craft to the right.

"What are you doing?" Mac asked.

Ron ignored him, fighting with the controls to smoothly maneuver 90 plus tons of mass.

The enemy craft suddenly deviated from its attack course and turned around. They had spotted the astronauts' ship.

"Ron, I think they spotted us." Frank's voice was shaky.

Chunk.
Ron depressed the weapon ignition button on the control sticks.

Boom.

Water was blasted into the air three hundred feet high as the massive guns on Ron's space craft fired. Now it would take a few split seconds for the projectile to hit.

In a split second Ron realized that the enemy ship was in a firing position.

Whap—-blam.

The projectile had made contact.

The enemy craft was hit in its main fuselage, transforming into a giant firework.

Frank slapped Ron on the back. "Captain, you did it."

"No, we all did."

Ka-boom

It had come with no warning.

The yacht was splintered into a billion pieces in an instant.

"What!" Ron shouted in dismay.

"Ron, look." Frank pointed at a small object in the water.

Ron keyed the zoom button on the view screen.

The features of a man, clad in black, with a powerful gun on his shoulder, appeared.

Apparently, he had come from the desisted enemy space vehicle.

Ron swore as he repositioned the space craft, aimed and fired near the soldier.

One shot would be more than enough to do the job.

"Men," Ron sighed, "It appears that we have been followed to Earth."

John Isenburg peered out the airline window at the verdant ground far below.

He was not thinking about the wonder of looking down, at his home world from thousands of feet above; rather, his mind focused on many prying questions.

One that seemed to recur was; Was the strange space craft, that I saw in the telescope, an alien ship?

This question led him to the corollary; If aliens exist, are they benevolent?

"Sir, can I do anything for you?" A flight attendant asked.

"No, I was just thinking." John replied, absent-mindedly.

A large metropolis with glistening edifices of concrete, wood, stone, plastic, glass, and steel cut the Washington D.C. skyline jagged silhouette.

John made his way, meandering through dense forests of people towards his destination.

He alternated between a map and occasional glances at the street.

The capital of the United States of America, with a population density of 9,000 people per square mile, was a busy center of politics and commerce.

John had to find the new Armstrong Space Center on the out skirts of the city, where he was to meet the director of NASA.

Little did he know that he was being followed.

John hailed a taxi.

A few blocks away a man entered a black Corvette.

The newly constructed Armstrong Space Center was a huge cluster of edifices covering ten square acres. The buildings contained every thing from 1950's vintage space suits to satellite cameras used by the military's spy satellites.

Huge replicas of the Saturn V rocket, Russian proton rocket, Atlas rocket, and many others, consumed the space of the large hangars.

John walked around the Armstrong facilities, lost in admiration.

"Are you John Isenburg?" A voice from behind John asked.

John turned to see a large, broad shouldered man, with a black trench coat and a brief case.

"Yes.", John replied, apprehensively.

"My name is Alfred; Alfred Morely. You talked to me on the phone."

John's memory clicked into place. "Yes. I remember you."

"If you don't mind," Alfred continued, businesslike, "would you follow me to my car? I didn't plan on discussing anything here. This was just our little meeting place."

The two men entered a taupe Lincoln car.

"So where are we going?" John asked.

"You'll see." Alfred replied quickly.

John entered a nice, three story mansion.

In a tranquil library, before a crackling fire, Alfred and John took seats on plush, leather couches.

"Nice house." John complemented. He noticed the thousands of old classics on the book shelves and the hinted gleam of gold letters on the leather book covers.

"I inherited it." Alfred replied, simply.

After a moment of silence Alfred began, "Mr. Isenburg, I will get down to business now. The reason I asked to speak to you in person instead of on the phone, or over the internet, is that I have some confidential things to present you."

"Why do you trust me?" John asked, narrowing his gaze on Alfred.

"You have already witnessed what I have feared."

"You mean the—"

"Aliens." Alfred finished.

"Are you sure what I saw is—"

"Undoubtedly. John, last year we, at NASA, witnessed the destruction of one of our space probes. A rocket weapon had been fired at the probe from the Martian surface. I can show you on video footage if you like."

Alfred stared solemnly at the flickering fire as he continued, "We sent a team of astronauts to Mars and none of them have returned. They told us, not long after landing, that they were doing fine. A few hours later, when we tried to get contact,

not even static came from them." Alfred swiveled toward John.

"They were expected to return to Earth by now, after collecting data.

John, we have a problem that is much more serious than what the media has to say about it."

"I only heard that the Mars team had problems with their radio systems and that we would soon get contact with them." John wondered where the man was heading in the discussion as he answered.

"My colleagues believed as you have. Anyways, John, we have a global problem. The U.S.A. won't fund a rescue mission. They won't even fund the launching of a reconnaissance probe. I need the help of as many trustworthy people as possible in convincing the government about our problem. If our astronauts are not in good hands then we will not be as well."

The sniper unpacked his rifle.

He was in top floor of a vacant four-story mansion, five-hundred feet away.

His three piece weapon was soon assembled.

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Chapter Three

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"Well, Ron, it looks like we made it to civilization." Frank stated with ecstatic fervor.

The three astronauts had just reached a highway that cut through a dense, hardwood forest. After reaching the shore of the large lake, they had hiked through verdant, deciduous, woodland for roughly six miles.

"Now all we need to do is find a means of rapid transportation." Ron replied, cheerfully.

"Do you hear that?" Mac asked, suddenly.

"What?" Ron asked, curiously.

Mac was silent.

The quiet breeze through the serene forest was, for a moment, the only sound Ron heard. Seconds later a high pitch wine—faint at first, pierced the stillness.

A dark shadow, zooming across the ground, revealed a sinister presence.

"Men, find cover!" Ron ordered.

A jet-black vehicle hovered to stop above the asphalt.

Ten feet above the ground, the space vehicle released its occupancy.

Dark figures embarked from the transport, rushing into the forest on either side of the road. The space ship took off in a northern direction.

Once it disappeared into the horizon, Frank's attention was caught by the drone of an on coming car.

James Damtre drove through the beautiful Pennsylvanian, northern woods in his newly purchased Porsche Benzene. He smiled at the picture of his fiancé on the dashboard.

He hoped, in another thirty minutes, to be at her house.

Little did James know that he would never see her again, on Earth.

The armored beings emerged from the woods fifty yards away from James's car. They spread out to form a living wall.

James braked to a stop. Never in all his life had he seen anything so bizarre.

Would the forest service have acquired body armor for intense blazes? James wondered.

Clank. Clank .

An armored fist knocked on his window.

He rolled it down, mystified. "Yes? What do you want?"

The black gauntlet plunged into James's face.

Ron watched the scene with horrified stupor. He had known his captors, on Mars, to be brutal, but this act of violence went beyond anything he had witnessed in real life.

Frank and Mac were equally horrified.

Click…

A piece of armor was removed from one of the soldiers, and fell to the pavement.

Another plate was removed.

Ron realized, then, that his worst fear had become fact.

The soldier was going to dress as a civilian. Ron had seen their faces at a rare time during his capture when he had killed one and dressed up in its suit. The "aliens" were definitely human—at least in appearance.

Ron formed a plan in his mind as rapidly as a calculator computes a mathematical problem.

"Frank, Mac, come over here. I think I know what we can do for 'rapid transportation.'"

"John, the creatures that have destroyed our space probe are here—at this very moment." Alfred leaned forward in his chair and continued solemnly. "The government denies satellite and radio signals from the invaders.

"My colleagues have not listened when I told them of this cover up by our government.

You are my only hope. We have to alert the world of this new threat, despite the infeasibility of aliens coming from Mars."

"Mr. Morely, why do you think the government is hiding this from us?" John asked, slightly nervous.

The sniper took aim. His infrared scope could detect body heat five-hundred yards away. The cartridge was chambered and ready.

"The government may be scared of a potential alien invasion and our authorities may not want to cause commotion among their citizens." Alfred locked his fingers together slowly as he continued, "Or, they may be working for the aliens."

"Excuse me." Alfred leaned forward to tie a loose shoe lace.

Before a second had passed, since the initial statement, it happened-

Smash-thunk.

The sniper's bullet, invisible to the eye, had crashed through the window, passed a mere millimeter about Alfred's stooped head, and punctured through the wall behind him. The sniper had not foreseen the last minute ducking of the old man's head which had cost him a shell.

When the window had exploded John, instinctively, dove to the carpet, pulling Alfred with him, just before two more projectiles punched into the place where he was a moment before.

He looked, in shock, at Alfred's limp form. Unknowingly, he had knocked the old man out with the sudden, forced body slam.

John was remorseful for a moment and then began went into action.

He, remembering his former military training, as a private, during the Iraq war, crawled to the door of the library.

'Go to the left five paces and you will reach the stair way. No. That's no good. You will be an easy target.' John thought to himself.

One story later, and five doors down, John found the master bedroom.

He paused for a moment before a large walk-in closet.

Creak, Creak, Creak

Foot steps. Possible sniper or accomplice.

John stepped into the closed and groped, upward.

Creak, Creak

The foot steps were approaching.

Yes. He found Alfred's shotgun. Now, where were the shells?

Creak—

The foot steps paused outside the room.

Clank…Crunch, Clank… Crunch…

Metal covered bodies collapsed onto the pavement as large stones contacted with their bodies.

The soldiers at the front of the group turned in time to see their comrades being pelted with large stones from an unseen source.

"Mak'a!" The leader shouted as he stepped out of the car in a pair of civilian clothes.

His men dashed into the forest in search of the source of granite projectiles.

Just as he turned, a solid object composed of silicon, granite, and carbon came into view, for a split second, before it was in his face.

Ron moved the unconscious body deep within the trees.

"Mac, Frank." He whispered loudly.

"Yes, captain." Frank replied.

"We have our means of transportation. Let's go." Ron commanded.

"Da'konda!" A thunderous voice rang through the trees.

Ron's two subordinates rushed into the Porsche just as armored men began to emerge from the tree.

"Go!" Mac shouted to Ron.

"The parking brake is jammed!" Ron replied.

Armored guards raised their weapons.

"Hurry!" Frank pressed.

"Got it." Ron released the braked and accelerated.

"That was close." Mac said.

"John?" a voice penetrated the closet door. "What are you doing?"

John lowered the shot gun and opened the door.

Alfred held a travel bag.

"The sniper's gone and I think we should leave as well. It is no longer safe."

"How do you know the sniper is gone? Did you see him?" John asked, tersely.

"I saw him leave in a blue pickup truck."

"Are you all right?" John changed his tone.

"The bullet missed me completely."

"We need to call the police." John turned towards the phone.

"Wait, John. The police are the last we should tell."

"Why?" John was incredulous.

"Remember the space vehicle you told me that you saw?"

"Yes."

"John, I have a theory that our alien visitors are not foolish. They have attempted to kill me because I knew their plans. The police hierarchy work for them, ignorant of whom they really are."

"Who are they?" John asked with growing interest.

"That I do not know."

"How do you know that the aliens work for the police? John was starting to become apprehensive of Alfred. Who was this man who knew so much about the mysterious invaders?

"I am not allowed to tell you." Alfred replied slowly, "We do not want any secrets to leak out. I am sorry John."

The Porsche slowed from 100mph to 60 after they had traveled four miles in the vast New England forest.

Ron threw a cell phone, he had found, to Mac.

"Call our boss."
"Ok." Mac powered on the phone. "Ron, what's his number?"

"John, do you still have the recording you made at the observatory?"
The subject of conversation had led to John's discovery at the observatory where he had first witnessed an encounter of the first kind (a government code for a visual sighting of a UFO).

"No. It was stolen." John replied.

"That is too bad. I would have liked to see it."

A sudden thought came to John's mind. "Alfred, do you think that the video footage was stolen by the Aliens?"

Beep, Beep, Beep

"Excuse me." Alfred withdrew his cell phone. "Yes."

"Mr. Morely," A voice said, "this is Mac— Mathew Peterson..."

Alfred frowned in consternation. "Who is this again?"

"Sir, remember the mission to Mars that you supervised. We were to collect data about the planet and possibly build a small, temporary base on Mars. I was the copilot of Slavon I , the space ship sent to Mars."

Alfred raised his eyebrow. "I thought you were dead. The mission was a failure."

"You wouldn't believe what we went through."

"What happened?"

"Sir, you won't believe this- to make a long story short; we were captured by malevolent people, who lived on the Mars, in a mining base. We arrived on their home world, met their dictator, and were sent back to Mars as prisoners.

"We finally escaped in a captured space craft, landed in—I think, lake Erie, and we are making are way to Washington D.C., following the onboard G.P.S. of a car we found." Mac replied.

"Mac, is Ronald Duroy with you?" Alfred asked impulsively. He needed to talk to the captain of the ship.

"Yes."

"When will you be here?"

A moment later, the voice replied, "In, about, two days."

"Good. I have something urgent to tell you once you get here." Alfred replied.

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Chapter Four

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"It is all commencing as pre-designed, potentate." A solemn voice resonated in the dark chamber.

"I know. Send three battalions of the Mala'kon'die." An emotionless voice penetrated the darkness with a hint of malice in its tone.

"Yes, sir. About your deception campaign; I would like to personally partake of it."

"If there are only positive results, you may." The sole-less voice replied.

"Did you succeed in eliminating the director of their space program?" It continued.

"We tried." The subordinate replied.

"And?"

"It failed."

"You didn't try hard enough. I want him dead."

A rock station played over the old speakers of the ford pickup truck as it made its way through the city limits.

Beep Beep. Be—

The driver opened his cell phone.

"Yes?" He said dryly.

"The subject is alive. Finish your job, properly if you do not want to be terminated."

"The man's dead. I saw him die."

"He just made a phone call you #!^!. Now finish your job!" The telephone voice snapped.

"I'm on it."

"Do you have a good internet connection?" John asked Alfred.

The two men had paced back and forth for half and hour in anticipation.

"Yes. Why?"

"I need to see something." John replied as he ambulated to Alfred's home office.

John entered his web site and waited for the page to download.

A few mouse clicks later, he found what he was looking for.

John had just opened the program for his observatory's live telescope-camera video footage of space.

With the arrow keys he directed the telescope to the declination and right ascension, on the celestial sphere (its location on an imaginary sphere, centered on Earth), of Mars. Mars was now the size of a marble. Deimos and Phobos; Mars's two moons appeared as crumbs against the Red planet.

Wait. John dragged the screen to the right. Oh, my- "Alfred, you got to see this."

A few minutes later…

"Are you sure this is not an asteroid field?" Alfred asked as he studied what looked like a cloud of specs to the right of Mars.

"The only asteroid field in this part of the solar system is between Mars and Jupiter."

"Isn't this the asteroid belt?" Alfred asked, knitting his eyebrows in consternation.

"No, the asteroid belt is invisible from this range and they're moving to fast to be asteroids." John replied, deftly, "We

have to alert NASA."

"No." Alfred replied firmly.

"What?" John couldn't believe it.

"NASA works for them."

It was three o'clock by the time the astronauts arrived at Washington D.C.

The city was in its usual congested state. People, with billions of thoughts, occurring simultaneously, hurried to appointments.

Ron turned on the local news station.

"We now go to the Capital where the president of the United States of America is giving a special speech. We apologize for the lack of proper forewarning. The President just announced today that he would be giving the speech."

The sound of clapping and cheering began.

Soon the president began his monologue.

"Citizens of the Unites States of America, we have grown from a colony, fighting for its freedom, to a nation in the past two hundreds years. We have seen the rise of a freedom, justice, and integrity in our nation…Today I would like to let you know of my deep gratitude for this nation for its friends and allies, and for everyone who has shared the American dream... Friends of the United States of America do not want to see our country fail as a world power. We must realize that unity and diversity go hand in hand. Our friends in Europe and abroad want to help us…so today I present you a new America—one which will help bring true peace to the world. Today we will join with the Global Alliance and tomorrow we will see a bright new day..."

Mac was shocked. The president was going to give the U.S. over to the Global Alliance. He could not help remembering when the United Nations withdrew their constitution and became a new global organization. No longer were they just members, they had become individual states and provinces of the new Global Alliance.

"He can't do that, it's unconstitutional." Frank exclaimed.

"That just means that we will no longer be U.S. citizens." Mac replied.

The clock paced off the hours with a repetitive tick tock.

Alfred lay dozing on the leather couch in his library. No one would try to kill him again if they thought he was dead.

John stared at a plasma screen monitor, endlessly typing away an e-mail message to his boss that summed up his recent experience.

His head turned slightly as the sound of a slamming car door reach his ears. Who would be here at this time?

Suddenly the door bell rang.

John held his breath.

Ding-dong…Ding-dong. The door bell intoned.

He was petrified.

Alfred opened the door. "Mathew, Ronald, Franklin, how good to see you. I take it your journey went well?" Alfred said.

The three visitors looked like bums. Their clothes were black and torn. Beards, matted hair, and dirty skin indicated they had a rough life.

The men were in good physical condition despite their haggard appearance.

"Come in. Have a seat." Alfred disappeared into the kitchen and soon came out with a plate of meat sandwiches and glasses of water.

"John, this is Frank Tomas, Mathew Peterson, and Ron Duroy."

John shook their hands.

"Men, this is John Isenburg." Alfred continued.

After John had gotten to know the men a little Alfred debriefed the men on the present events.

"So there is a fleet of space vehicles on their way to Earth?" Frank asked Alfred.

"Yes." The NASA director replied.

"You know, that is strange because the news made no mention of any extra-terrestrial objects or space craft. We listened to it all the way here." Ron sipped his ice water.

"That reminds me, Mr. Morely, of a speech the President of the U.S. made today." Mac declared, "He stated that he would leave his office of President to another man."

"Impossible. It is unconstitutional." John interjected.

"I know." Mac replied.

"Men, you have given me extra proof to add to my theory." Alfred resumed his role as the astronaut's boss. He stirred his ice water slowly with a spoon. "I cannot keep a secret from you any longer. The sightings John has had of alien craft entering our biosphere, the encounters you astronauts have had with aliens, and the president's resignation are only a few of the things I now know."

John eyed Alfred with a curious gaze as the latter continued,

"Not to many weeks ago an alien corpse was found. DNA testing revealed that it had the human genome; thus it was a member of the species Homo sapiens.

"Scientists studied the material its armor was composed of-I don't quite understand all the details but they explained it to me much like this 'The metalloid armor is composed of a unique, interminable, latticed pyro-ceramic material. Pyro-ceramic is a hybrid substance composed of glass structured in an acute lattice'-which is a sturdy, repeating, molecular pattern. They further told me that pyro-ceramic is able to withstand intense pressure, temperature, and physical infliction.

"This is all interesting, but what does this have to do with anything?" Mac asked.

"This is important, for you may need to know some day. We all ready know of alien visitors.

"Anyways, the neurologists have found that—I quote, 'The alien's brain was in-grown into a computer chip by a silicon growth-connective media.'

"The computer chip is believed to be connected, via radio waves, to another chip." Alfred continued.

"That's exactly what we found out on Mars." Ron commented, thoughtful.

"The only way we can stop the alien deception and invasion is by going to the source. We need to destroy the alien leader's computer chip." John exclaimed.

"He is far away. How will we find him?" Ron asked.

Alfred paused as he looked around the room with apprehension. "I think it would be best that I should show you the answer to your question, instead of telling you. Would you like to see something that few have heard about?"

Alfred turned from one man to another with a question on his face.

After a moment of silence Mac answered, "Why not?"

---

Chapter Five

---

The last vestiges of urbanization were gone and the only cars on this stretch of the road entered the verdant, New England forests.

Several hundred miles above, invisible to the unaided eye, a satellite aimed its sensors at the cars miles below.

A man entered the coordinates, from the spy satellite, into the computer. 76o45' longitude and 38o30' latitude were the coordinates of the location of the South Eastern bound cars, which were near the lower portion of the Patuxent river in Maryland, approximately 15 miles away from Washington D.C.

The computer mapped out the topographical features, speed, and altitude of the subjects with a precision that could not have been accomplished without the innovation of the laser.

The savvy computer technician called his boss.

"Sir, it looks like the subjects are on their way to a forest 15.4301 miles from Washington D.C."

"Good, order unit 0300 to the optimum position for sniping." The 'boss' replied coolly.

The cars turn off the main highway onto a rough forest road that meandered through the dense verdure, like a sinuous snake trail.

"…Understood. I'm on my way." The sniper snapped shut his cell phone. He gunned the engines and a few minutes later, he turned onto another forest road.

"So what do you have to show us?" John asked Alfred.

"You'll see."

The sniper found the perfect spot to watched the forest road—an intersection. He pulled out his gun and loaded it.

John enjoyed the ride. Sunlight filtered through the trees, painting the landscape with serrated patches of light and giving the impression of a giant patchwork quilt.

Thunk. sssss.

"What?" Alfred pulled off to the side.

Just as John was turning his head, a movement caught his attention. It could have been the wind rocking a tree, or a small bird alighting on a branch.

John knew what it was. His heart shifted into high gear. Sound was mute. Light became unstructured colors and vague shades.

Slam. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

Subconsciously John knew that he had just left the car, dashing for the trees as fast as possible. It was all a vague notion. Adrenaline rushed profusely through his blood in a surge of raw energy.

He did not hear the slam of other car doors nor see his friends exit their cars.

All he saw, as he looked over his shoulder, was the explosion of both cars.

He whirled around, running in the opposite direction.

The cars were piles of rubber and metal, fused in an amorphous mess. Fire licked away the remnants with wolfish hunger.

No!

The word was lost in the waves of heat and sound that propagated from the fire source.

The sniper packed away his rifle. Job well done. He thought with a professional satisfaction.

"No.", John shouted. "No. Why did you let this happen, God?"

"John, we're all right." A voice said calmly from behind John's back.

John grinned sheepishly. "I thought you died. How did you get out alive?"

"We left the car once we saw that you stopped." Mac replied.

"How did they explode?" John meant the cars.

"I don't know. They may have planted a bomb." Alfred entered the conversation.

"But our tire popped first." John protested.

"If the tire was shot, the sniper may be around here still." Mac offered.

"We must move, then." Alfred turned to the forest. "I have a base in a clearing not too far from here."

"Yes, they are all dead…Well, one is still alive… He didn't look like he would be of any value to us…He is?...You want me to kill him?...Yes sir."

Slam.

He closed his cell phone, roughly.

The sniper turned around. No one would get between him and his pay check.

Sunlight poured into the meadow, illuminating the finest details in the grass and trees.

"Here we are." Alfred said as the men entered a huge meadow.

"So, what did you want to show us?" Frank asked.

"This." Alfred had his cell phone open and he was pressing the small buttons with precision.

A sonorous propagation resonated through the ground, disparaging all sense of balance.

Ssss….

An aperture was dilating in the center of the field.

What? Mac's jaw dropped.

Luminous, green light escaped from the opening bringing with it a profusion of discordant sound.

Alfred approached the hole. He descended a short stair case and mounted a platform.

"Are you coming or not?" The director asked the shocked men.

The sunlight cast weak rays into the shaft. The whining of the elevator motor stopped as the platform reached the bottom.

Ron calculated that they had descended at least three thousand feet.

"What do you think?" Alfred asked his passengers.

The men were too breath-taken, by the scene, to answer.

A limestone cavern had been transformed into a space craft hangar. Crews of technicians, mechanics, scientists, and engineers dashed about, busy with their work.

At the center of the activity and at the center of the cavern, a massive pillar of metal stood, like an imposing edifice, anchored firmly in stone.

"What is that?" John asked Alfred.

"That, my friends, is the project I have kept secret, from NASA and the world, for years. I needed some insurance for my NASA missions. Just in case something goes wrong. You are the first people from the outside world to see it.

This is Slavon II; the first of its kind." Alfred pointed at the pillar.

As Ron looked closer, he realized that the pillar was a space craft.

"Sir, our subjects have disappeared." The computer operator exclaimed.

"What happened?" The voice of a not-to-pleased superior asked.

The subordinate pointed the camera of his internet connected, television-cell phone to a computer screen.

The subordinate keyed in a command and a scintillating, red dot appeared on the computer screen.

"The car seemed to have evaded our sniper and it arrived at this point. Since then, it has not moved. Sir, this may be their destination."

"Where is it located again?"

Alfred took the men to the edge of the cavern and activated a thumb touch pad. The red light changed to green on the device as a metal door opened.

An elevator brought the men to Alfred's office.

The room was cut into solid stone—a masterpiece of masonry. A carpet, desk, computer, filing cabinets, a few foldable chairs, and lamp were the only furnishings.

Alfred went to the computer.

"What are you doing?" Ron asked, curiously.

"You'll see."

In a few seconds Alfred opened a program.

The men watched in silence as a voice from the computer came on and a three-dimensional image of the pillar space craft appeared.

"Welcome to Matrimox, the virtual simulation expert. What you see before you is the Slavon II, the first of its kind…" The computerized voice intoned. It went on to explain the characteristics of the ship, the living facilities, the skeletal structure, the life support systems, and various technical details that Astronauts would need to know.

"Are their any questions?" The computer voice asked.

Mac was amazed the computer had asked the question. He had seen a talking robot as a kid once. The device was limited and incapable of processing long questions or comments.

He wanted to test the program out. "I have one."

Most voice programs had strict protocols and would be unable to respond unless questions were asked.

"Yes, sir; what is it?" The soft female computer voice responded.

"Does the space ship have gravity?" Mac asked trying to see how 'smart' the program was.

"If you mean 'artificial gravity', we do."

"Could you elucidate?" Mac asked knowing that most computers do no have the ability to process a multi-syllabic word.

"Yes. Slavon II is equipped with an artificial gravity generator. The use of a miniature cyclotron, in the main cavity, causes artificial gravity, due to the acceleration of X-particles-"

"What's an X-particle?" Mac interrupted.

"We don't have time, Mac." Ron said, "Computer, continue with explanation."

"Yes sir. The X-particles are propelled through anti gravity fields resulting in the expulsion of gravitons-"

"What is the engine of the space craft like?" Ron interrupted, wanting to change subject.

"The engine of Slavon II is like no other. Weighing 25,000 tons, with an energy displacement (the amount of energy it uses per second to propel the ship) of 16x106 pounds per square inch. The engine of Slavon II is more powerful than any of its predecessors. It is the first of its kind. The unique chemistry of the engine involves the use of anatoms- particles that have negative mass and negative energy. The anatoms will react with regular "positive" atoms to produce a powerful propulsion prerequisite for rapid space travel."

"Thanks, computer." Alfred brought the speech to a close. Turning to the astronauts he asked, "Would you like to be part of the crew of the Slavon II?"

There was a moment of reflective silence. Ron was thinking deeply about whether he should go on to another hazardous mission in space, or stay on Earth.

On the other hand, it would be nice to get revenge. His past experiences with the aliens were fresh in his mind.

Beep, beep, beep.

Alfred touched his cell phone-a thin box on his belt- and began to speak;

"Hello…Yes…No!...Are you serious?...They're on their way—Now?...ok…Thanks." Alfred replaced the phone in its cradle. "Men we have a serious problem. One of my spies intercepted a message from officials in the government, saying that my base was to be raided and that I was to be arrested.

"We have no time to lose. I am sorry we do not have more time to get you better orientated. Ron, are you, Mac, and Frank ready to enter the plan I am about to give you?"

"What is it?" Ron asked, dazed with all the information he was being bathed in.

"You, Captain Ron, are going to head a team of astronauts on a mission to exterminate the evil leader of the invading aliens and get back alive. We do not know exactly where they are located, but we do know that it is in the same orbital path as Earth. You are going to have to use your wits and skills to combat this diabolic menace." Alfred rose from his seat with full sincerity and solemnity.

"Will you?" Alfred pressed.

Ron thought for a moment and then answered, "When do we leave?"

"Sir I am at the target's location. It appears to be gone." The sniper replied to his commander as he stood on a lookout rock which commanded a good view of the clearing the astronauts were last seen in.

"It's not absent, unit 34. They have to be there. Our satellites gave us an exact location. You are at that location." a voice in the sniper's cell phone replied firmly.

"Sir," the sniper got a brilliant idea, "the target is not at the location you gave me; it's below it."

"In that case," The voice in the cell phone replied slowly and thoughtfully, "we don't need you anymore. Our latest installment of forces will be appropriated for a special subterranean mission. You can return to base."

"This is the cockpit." Alfred introduced the cluttered room, with its banks of monitors, controls, and lights, to the astronauts. "It has a few unfamiliar controls, which you have never heard of. My technicians will be able to help you with any unfamiliarity's. Are there any questions-which I can answer?"

"Did you say that we were to leave today?" Ron asked Alfred with scrutiny.

"Yes, Captain. The sooner you leave; the better. We have been concealing this place for months. Protection the base has been fairly easy until the alien sightings, recently. If people get wind of this facility-especially if the-the invaders get wind, we will be severely punished. Perhaps a life time in jail would be the minimum governmental punishment."

"You sacrificed your career for us?" Mac asked.

"Not only for you but for the Earth." Alfred replied.

"Eight…seven…six…," the cavern resonated with powerful boom of the intercom. The last of the ground crews dashed for the protection of sheds and grottos in the cavern.

Ron, Mac, Frank, and four other men took their places in the cockpit of the massive space craft.

The engine was heating up. The control panel, and instruments were watched with intense fervor and anticipation. One small mistake in the design of the space craft's hardware or software could produce a tragic explosion.

The computer calculated the angle the space ship would have to leave the Earth, the path it would have to take in order to follow the curve of the Earth's orbit around the Sun, and many more mathematical problems that were crucial for the astronauts' survival.

A massive iron panel began to open, like the diaphragm of a camera, in the ceiling of the cavern.

Six large metal objects sped across the hardwood forest. From below they would have looked like a blur of steel. Their weapons were primed and fully charged. They had one target. The target was nearing rapidly.

"Five...four…" The countdown continued. Ron checked his gear to see it was all in order. Good. No problems. And now for step two. He activated the anti-matter engine.

Wooo…Whoosh…Roar

"…two…one…ignition."

Boom.

It was an explosion that rocked the cavern and created a microseism. Luckily urbanization was miles away.

In moments the space craft was airborne.

Soon the cavern was gone and the hole they had passed through was a black dot among the verdure.

Chunk…Whap.

The metallic sound resonated macroscopically through the space craft.

Ron was jolted, violently, in his seat. "What's happening?"

"Sir," Mac screamed, "something hit us. It appears that a projectile was fired at us."

Chunk…Boom

There was another huge tremor. This time, there was no doubt that they were being attacked. The tip of the space craft began to dip back towards Earth.
"Frank, get us perpendicular. We are pointing in the wrong direction." Ron shouted. "We'll crash if you don't get us straight!

"I can't." Frank's hands raced over the controls as he tried to stabilize the ship.

---

Chapter Six

---

Alfred watched, from behind a thick panel of Plexiglas, in the cavern wall, as Slavon II activate its powerful launching rockets and roared through the ceiling with an igneous trail that brightly illuminated the cavern with incandescence, for a moment, before it was gone.

"Where are they going?" John asked slowly.

"To the alien's planet." Alfred replied abruptly, as if most of his sentence was unspoken.

Alfred smiled. The first step of his plan was complete.

The ground crews were packing up and preparing to go home.

There was no need for him to stay any longer.

"Come, John. We're going home."

They entered the mini-hangar of the facility and boarded a helicopter.

In moments it has passed through the hole in the ceiling and had left behind the dark underworld. E _

"Sir, I have a solution." Mac offered.

The perturbation had not ceased.

"What?" Ron was fighting with the ship to bring it back to a perpendicular flight.

"Why don't we activate the antimatter engines?"

"That would be impossible."

"Why?" Mac asked.

Ron growled a reply, "Do you know how an anti-matter engine works?" He shifted the controls hard left to stabilize the ship.

"Not exactly." Mac replied slowly.

"In quantum mechanics energy is localized as a packet-" Ron replied slowly, once he had the ship stable.

"Sir, what are we to do?" Frank held his control sticks firmly.

"Turn on the anti-matter engines." Ron ordered.

"Sir, we aren't allowed to." Frank reminded him.

"Just do it. This is an emergency." Ron turned back to Mac.

"As I was saying, matter is made of packets or quanta of energy. They travel in a sinusoidal, up and down wave-pattern. Every fundamental particle has a particle of opposite charge. Even matter, its self, has an opposite-anti-matter. When matter and anti-matter combine, the product is an extremely large amount of energy released. This-"

A ringing explosion shook the foundations of the vehicle and muted Ron's words.

"What is that?" Frank asked excitedly.

"The anti-matter engine is just demonstrating its power for us." Ron replied, as he messaged his ear.

"Is it safe?" Mac asked.

"Don't worry about it destroying our space craft." Ron turned to Mac, "The powerful super-conductive magnets in the combustion chamber focus all the output energy away from the ship. Thus we move. Einstein stated that where ever matter or energy was, the continuum of space and time is curved."

"What is a continuum?" Frank asked.

Ron smiled. This would be a good time to explain the hardware of the ship to his men. "A continuum is much like a three dimensional grid that is knit into the universe. In fact, it is really the framework of space. Time is a dimension which indicates how far away things are from each other and time separates matter from other matter and events from events. Where ever matter is found, space and time is curved towards the matter, depending on how much mass and energy the matter has. This is much like the way round objects on a mattress roll towards a person sitting on the mattress."

"Sir we have a problem that needs you immediate attention." A stocky man with a crew cut approached Ron.

"Ok, Fred, what is it?" Ron rose and followed the man to a stair way which led to an upper level.

"Look." Fred pointed.

Ron forgot about his monologue.

In a large monitor he could see the emptiness of outer space.

Nothing appeared unusual. Millions of white orbs contrasted with the black sheet of outer space were the only objects-wait.

Ron seated himself behind the computer and activated the digital zoom.

He saw a white cloud. It could have been a nebula, but the dull, grey specs were unusual.

The screen zoomed in. His jaw dropped. The image froze.

Thousands of sleek, silver, elongated space craft appeared.

He zoomed in further. A strange cylindrical structure was attached below the ships.

It hit him. Round, elongated, curved, bullet-shaped-vehicles—space craft—death. His mind raced. What do we do?

"Sir, they just launched some pods. And their approaching fast!" Mac exclaimed.

The forest was canvas splashed with green.

John stared through the helicopter window, in silence, at the landscape zooming by below him.

Why had those men got to go in space? Few have gone. I could have gone with them, so why didn't I?

"John," It was Alfred.

"Yes?"

"Would you have liked to go with the astronauts?"

"I would have liked to see space in real life." John replied, "Yes, I would."

"I am sorry you were not able to go. It would have required a month of training at least and we did not have the time." Alfred said, "I hope you understand."

Frederick Yewman rushed after his captain.

Ron was seated before the immense control consol. A large view screen revealed their plight. From one side, of the panoramic screen, to the other were paranormal space vehicles—a vast cloud of metal, lights, and death.

"Mac, activate the emergency engines, now!" Ron ordered.

Just then, something on the view screen arrested his attention.

The number of space craft was increasing.

Thirty green, luminous objects were headed toward them!

Ron zoomed in on a ship. The scintillating metal of the enemy space craft contained a large deformation.

Through a hole in the side of the ship came a smaller space vehicle.

He zoomed out to get the complete picture.

No! Ron's mind screamed. Every ship was releasing a vehicle.

Whirrr…

An engine revving.

"What?" Oh, its just the anti matter engine. Ron breathed a sigh of relief that was momentary.

Clank

A powerful mechanism locked. Four powerful super magnets had lowered into the reactor and had locked together around the fuel cube.

Boom.

The reaction between the matter (a type of ionized radium) and the antimatter sent an earthquake vibration through the Slavon II.

Just them Ron remembered that he had to tell his men to "buckle up". Too late!.

A sickening jolt, one might feel, on a roller coaster, as it is descending from the apex of the ride, came to Frederick as he felt his feet leave the security of the metal floor. Time slowed down to a dull ambulance. The motion of the moving space vehicle caused the room to move forward while he was still, creating the illusion of his backward motion. The far wall, behind him, was approaching like an on-coming train. At the speed the Slavon II was going, he would be shattered into a million pieces!

Suddenly, the time dilation ceased, and with a smooth repulsion, a strange ethereal cushion decelerated the petrified man. He came to a slow, tranquil stop at the wall.

"What-happened?" Fred asked Ron.

"Sorry about that. We forgot to warn you about the emergency boost we activated." Ron apologized, "The anti-gravity generators seemed to have worked to slow you down. In a few moments you will be at the exact speed of the ship and you will be able to float around freely."

"What do we do now?" The tough military vigilance showing as Fred stood, ignoring Ron's comment.

"Captain, help!" Mac shouted as he clenched the controls and fought to maneuver space craft.

Mac jabbed the control stick to the left as a huge mass of deadly stone hurtled toward them rapidly. He slammed the stick right almost simultaneously.

They had entered a small asteroid field and passed out safely.

"Captain, it looks like were in trouble." Mac said slowly after the last asteroid was gone. "There is something else that needs your attention. We're off course by 15o ."

Ron knew that a mere degree off course could mean an unnecessary use of precious fuel. They would not have enough to return.

Ron grabbed the controls and maneuvered out of the field successfully.

Ron paused after completing the stressful maneuver. Why is this happening? He thought, aggravated.

He sighed. Ron's fingered caressed the undulations in his forehead. Have I aged that fast? The moment of peace was ended.

Clank…Clank…Thunk

What was that?

Ron stood, incontinently.

The sound died.

"I think we've got company." Mac commented quietly.

"What should we-" Frank asked Ron.

"Get your space suit on, grab a weapon, and round up a crew, and then meet me at the stairway." Ron replied as he made his way into the ship's gallery.

The vague, anemic sound of a powerful suction began to come from some where above. Something is up there. Ron tried to ignore his deep unease as he opened a panel and activated the intercom.

"Attention all stations, execute emergency, security containment. I repeat…"

"Captain," the voice caught Ron off guard.

"Yes, Frank."

"The crew is ready."

Ten men approached Ron in space suits.

Ron touched his thumb to a neon-green square on the wall. The ergonomic, security device unlocked a weapons vault with a smooth hiss.

Ten seconds later, they were armed.

The Asimov x-ray emission gun made use of intense, lethal x-rays, which destroy the cells of its target with deadly speed, and precision. Armor could not obstruct the path of the fatal, invisible corpuscles.

Armed and ready, the team mounted the stair case to the top floor.

The hall was composed of woven carbon nanotube and synthetic materials that rivaled the strength and solidity of steel. Its surface was as smooth as glass and had a unique luster that resembled sterling silver.

Ron's mind was on other things.

On either side of the hall, a row a doors presented a demanding stipulation.

Something has attached to the ship, but where?

Clunk.

The sound caused his head to turn left. "Ok, men. Don't fire until I say."

Clunk

Behind a door, to their left, something had dropped.

Slam, Slam, Slam.

Something was hitting the armored door.

---

Chapter Seven

---

The canvas of green had passed below in a moment. Farmland appeared now in a dreamy haze of brown and green in never ending patches.

'Wait', John wondered, 'where are we going?'

John removed his head set and signaled for Alfred to do likewise. Once the two men were close, John whispered loudly, over the discordant helicopter blades, to Alfred. "Alfred, I thought we were going to Washington."

"We were." The older man replied.

"The chopper is going in the opposite direction!"

The palpitation had ceased.

All eyes were magnetically attracted to the door.

"Steady." Ron spoke. "Weapons ready."

They waited for a sound.

Silence...

With a sudden, intuitive impulse, Ron bolted away from the door and shouted, "Run!"

A moment later the door was vaporized.

Ron was mystified.

It could have been a dream: at least thirty armored creatures were withdrawing weapons.

Ron could see a gaping hole in the far end of the room, which was behind the door. Out from the hole, a smooth appendage emerged, scintillating with a surreal luminosity.

The armored beings executed a synchronized movement: guns were removed from their backs and positioned to kill.

The word kill dissolved Ron's stupor.

"Fire," Ron shouted.

His men needed little persuasion.

Bodies began to collapse left and right.

Ron gritted his teeth and ignored the voices screaming in his helmet. He did not want to think of the astronauts falling dead around him.

Right after Ron discharged a clip on a large soldier, something caught his eye.

The smooth appendage, in the hole, was moving sideways.

That's what vaporized the door—it's a gun.

Ron's blood froze. It was pointed at him!

"Hey, pilot," Alfred depressed a button that would activate the radio link between himself and the cockpit.

"What do you want?" The copilot asked.

"Where are we going?"

"Philadelphia, Pennsylvania."

"We were to go to Washington. I have business there."

"Not any more."

Dropping his gun, Ron raised his hands.

All his men did likewise.

Is this it? Is my mission a failure? Ron thought, bitterly.

The armored soldiers approached the astronauts.

Two sturdy soldiers pinned Ron's hands behind his back. Ron struggled. It was no use; the beings were too strong. A third soldier placed a queer metallic disc over Ron's head.

The surroundings faded and Ron was encompassed in an illimitable sea of darkness.

"Why are we going to Philadelphia?" Alfred asked, pointedly.

Click.

Alfred's heart began to throb. The sound of metal—the sound of…

A pistol was aimed at Ron.

"This does not have to be hard, Mr. Morely," the copilot replied, coolly, "all we are going to do is take you to the airport. If you give us trouble, we will not hesitate to eradicate it. Now, don't ask any more questions."

Mac peered through the forward view screen in apprehension.

Two flight technicians sat across from him, working on various computer systems.

Clank. Pong.

"Mac," Frank screamed, "we're under attack! Lock the security door."

Mac rushed to the control interface.

Hsss…

The four-inch-thick, pyro-ceramic door began to slide shut, with a groan.

Frank limped to a chair and fastened the restraining brace across his chest.

"What happened?" Mac asked, dubious.

"They're coming! Do you have a gun?" Frank was fanatic.

"Who's coming?" Mac ignored the plea.

"Do you have a gun?"

"Yes."

"Get it." Frank shouted.

Mac stood… Something caught his attention…It was a blur of color…a dim, murky, metallic sound, an apparition…it was approaching.

The doors were still closing.

The apparition materialized in his mind-multiple serrated, armored plates…a sturdy frame…muscular build…

It was a soldier from the abysmal planet of his former imprisonment.

He could remember the dark, Martian mines, the coldness, the pain, the hopelessness, and the terror he had endured.

One of those innumerable guards was here.

Mac was unarmed…or was he?

All these ruminations had occurred in a mere split second. Mac withdrew his pistol, provided by Alfred, from its holster, in the next second.

He fired before he had time to consider the soldier's imposing armor.

Bing.

The bullet impinged.

Suddenly, a fist flew through the air.

Mac dropped, unconscious.

John awoke after what seemed like hours of sleeping.

He looked out the window, wearily.

A bluish-grey continuum spread below for miles upon miles and merged with the blue sky at the nebulous band of the horizon.

"Where are we?" John asked the copilot.

There was no response.

John nudged Alfred. "Alfred, do you know where we are?"

"I think we're in the Pacific." Alfred turned toward his window and a moment later exclaimed, "John, look. Can you see it?"

"What?" John asked as he turned toward his window.

Below the helicopter, a patch of green and tan appeared.

The patch resolved into and island. A verdant jungle covered the all but a thin beach.

Once the helicopter landed, the doors were opened, and both John and Alfred were confronted with an armed man.

"Welcome, Alfred. It is so kind of you to drop by." The man near Alfred spoke.

"Kevin," Alfred was astonished. "Is it really you?"

"You remember me don't you?" the tall, blond haired Caucasian asked, condescendingly.

Alfred remembered the skeptical scientist who had challenged him on decisions concerning the existence of extra-terrestrial beings.

"Yes, I remember you. Why did you kidnap me?" Alfred asked with subdued anger.

"Don't tell me you never heard of my recent promotion to Director of NASA." Kevin smirked.

"What?" Alfred asked, with disbelief.

"I was promoted this day."

Alfred laughed. You wish.

"I'm serious. You are an international criminal." Kevin subdued a smile as he said. "You have been fired from NASA as well as being placed on a want list."

"You—"Alfred gasped. "How could you?"

"In your bedroom of your house was found a semi-automatic pistol, twenty grenades, a plastic explosive, and a terrorist training manuscript. You have been charged with terrorist attempts and the acquirement of illegal weapons." Kevin withdrew a pistol. "Alfred, you're under arrest."

"What about my friend?"

"He is a companion of a terrorist and will be arrested too."

"What!" John exclaimed. "This is bogus. We didn't do anything."

The man near John aimed his weapon at John. "Quiet."

The men were escorted across the white sand and into the jungle.

I knew that something was wrong with the pilot. John thought. Now we are trapped on an island, miles from civilization.

---

Chapter Eight

---

Frank flew through the air, landed, and tumbled to a stop before a group of bruised astronauts.

They were enveloped in a cold, metal room. The only door shut with a harsh clang.

They were locked in a room in their own space craft, Slavon II.

Ron was unconscious near a drowsy Mac.

Frank's attention was attracted by a singularity in one wall.

A vast field of stars shone in the black expansion of space. He could see the sun; a conflagrating sphere.

Frank flinched. The sunlight was intense. He opened his eyes, after a few minutes, and did not close them again.

Mac yawned and sat up.

"Mac, come here."

"What?" Mac groaned.

"Look."

Mac could see a green spec in the distance. He knew which planet it was. It was not one of the nine, nor was it a minor planet. He did not even know what it was called.

As Mac stared out the window into the void of space, he could imagine traveling through the window, through the coldness of space, through the atmosphere of the planet, and into its immense, verdant jungle.

He could see the armored soldiers capturing his friends and taking them to the dictator of the inhabited planet.

Mac blinked and stared at the floor for a long time. The ruminations were painful. For the first time in the mission, he did not want to go to that planet.

He was a captive now and would have to.

"The ultimate virtual reality was once deemed fiction." Kevin explained as he led John and Alfred down a steep, winding trail.

Alfred decided that he would ignore the jabbering scientist.

"You mean 3D movies, right?" John retorted.

"No." Kevin approached John with a steady smile. "I mean virtual reality—a world so realistic, in every sense, that it has become reality. A world where people, places and scenery are so real you can touch, taste, hear, smell, and see the virtual world."

"That's impossible." Alfred entered the conversation. "To create a world like that would include the use of technologies that don't exist."

Kevin approached a large, vine wreathed rock. He pressed the rock firmly with the palm of his hand.

"What's he doing?" John whispered to Alfred.

Before Alfred could answer, an armed man pushed him toward an aperture that had just opened, in the rock.

They found themselves dimly lit, stone gallery.

"Alfred," Kevin began as they walked, "Some scientists some years ago were hired by an underworld organization called the 'Finders'. They were given computers, sensors, and anything they would need. They were told to create a technology that would give people dreams. The 'Finders' told them it would be used to help doctors understand the human brain."

Kevin raised his eyebrows slightly, "What they didn't know is that the technology was intended for another purpose."

"Figures." Alfred replied, un-amused.

Kevin ignored the implied insult. Kevin stopped walking and approached a dark recess in a rock wall. After inserting his hands into the spot, he continued, "Alfred, welcome to my world."

As if it were computer animation, a square hole, luminous with an intense light, began to open in the rock wall.

What John saw was the worst nightmare he could imagine.

Alfred stood still in a surreal shock.

A huge coliseum was lit in a pale, blue light.

Thousands of people sat near one another, motionless and silent with their eyes fixed at a strange black pyramid in the center of the coliseum.

Not a sound could be heard.

"This is my synaptic vortex." Kevin said pleasantly, "These people are my patients. Would you care to join them?"

Ron awoke.

Light, scintillating in a dark field, was transfixed to the scenery that began to appear before him.

Something cold and wet covered his face and arms; rain.

Brown and green objects resolved into sharp detail and formed a network of vines, branches, and broad-leafed plants.

The slippery, silky surface of tropical vegetation caressed his weary body.

Plip Plop .

Droplets of water plunged into a puddle, sending miniature waves, resonating through the liquid, wave- propagation medium.

Ron stood to his feet, only to find that his hands were chained. The metal links disappeared beneath a dark object.

Ron moved closer to see what it was. A body.

The chain passed from one body to another and disappeared into the jungle—for a jungle it was. Trees with glossy, dark trunks and large, milky, green leaves did not provide a canopy that would inhibit the descent of rain.

Where are we?

Presently, the sound of sloshing came. Ron turned to see a column of muddy, black-armored soldiers trudging through a quagmire of a path. He shivered.

Wait…Ron thought, I remember this place.

The people chained to him began to awake. None looked familiar. He could see that the men and women, he was chained to, were in the same horrible condition as he was.

Who were these people?

Ron remembered his accidental landing on another planet, during an earlier space mission. He had been captured and put onboard a huge space ship along with other people. These people were not from Earth. Ron and several other men astronauts were the only ones to leave Earth. The other prisoners were…

Prisoners, Ron answered his own question. His mind began to revive as his memory was engaged. Would the government of this planet be so cruel as to place innocent men and women onto prisoner transport ships in route to the prison camps on Mars? Is there a good reason why they were captured and…

Ron's attention was caught by the sound of a women pleading or crying (he could not tell which).

He saw a small cluster of women. Their long hair was muddy, and dirty. Their faces were noble, yet sad. Their eyes were closed and their hands; clasped.

A metal-covered soldier approached them. He shouted something to them.

Ron could not hold back his emotion as the steel boot of the soldier sent the women sprawling on the muddy Earth. Blood started to come from wounds. And yet they still continued to pray. The word struck him as being strange.

It was not too long ago that he had become a Christian. Something was different…he could see people in a new way—not as just merely 'highly evolved', fellow man, but as real, true-Ron was a loss for words-brothers and as souls that were filled with needs and problems.

Ron had seen people pray before, but never like this.

"Why, God, does this cruelty happen?"Ron whispered as he saw the armored soldiers drive the prisoners onward, "Why?"

"Stand up." A deep voice ordered.

A cold, immaculate, white room contained three persons and nothing more.

"Welcome to your domicile." Kevin Kramlin smirked. "Furnishings are minimum, but provender is not lacking. Have a nice stay."

Alfred groaned as he lowered to a sitting position on the cold floor.

After a long day, anything felt comfortable than standing.

John remained standing.

"Alfred, we must find a way out of this prison."

"Forget it. Kevin is no idiot. He has us bugged, no doubt."

"There has to be some weak point." John sighed.

Ron had marched for five hours with only a few fifteen minute brakes. His legs were sore.

The Jungle was a monotonous maze of trees, swamps, plants, and rivers. His entire body was covered in mud. His boots were filled with water.

When would this ever end? He thought, miserably.

The quagmire began to be replaced with solid ground some time later.

It seemed they were gaining elevation.

Just then, through the trees, he could see pillars of granite, and buildings of stone.

A city!

John paced back and forth on the white, linoleum floor.

His search for secret panels or switches was tedious, long, and inconclusive.

In the end, he had to conclude that the only way out was the way in- one locked door.

"Pacing back and forth won't help, John." Alfred said.

"We need to think of a way to escape." John answered.

"No one has ever escaped from here, Mr. Isenberg."

"Who said that?" John whispered, hoarsely, in trepidation.

"I did." The emotionless voice replied.

For the first time, John stared at the ceiling and noticed a dark, square hole located above him.

Suddenly, something whistled through the air and came to a violent stop on the floor.

A person, clothed in black, stood.

"I am unit 2304, what is your number?" He asked with a robot-like stiffness.

"I don't have a number. My name is John, and this is Alfred." John replied, slowly.

Who is this? John wondered.

The man, clean-shaven, with cold, clear features and vacant, blue eyes, just stared at them, in silence.

"What is a name?" The man asked after a while.

What Ron saw made his mind soar. Sunlight, in picaresque beauty, splashed onto a forest of edifices, with multifaceted walls and high buttresses, which rose above the jungle canopy.

Cracked city streets and marble fountains that had long ceased to flow, thoroughfares, boulevards, houses, temples, and strange, unfamiliar structures rose around him in a beautiful panorama. The city reminded him of ancient Greek and Roman metropolises. What stood out to him were monumental pillars with unusual, triangular cross-sections. The pillars seemed to taper to a fine point. What were these used for?

Clank click

The sound of chains being unlatched drifted through the still air.

Five guards began herding Ron and his nearest neighbors to a large courtyard surrounded by stone walls.

The long slave train was being dissembled. Ron's group was ushered, in through a yawning door way, into a courtyard.

The cold walls soon enveloped the group and a large granite door was shoved into place.

Ron could see that he would have ten new neighbors.

Ron felt awkward. He was the only English-speaking human in the group. The sound of a foreign language was whispered among a circle of women-the same women that had been in prayer.

The sound of feet depressing grass caused him to turn.

Three men were approaching him.

What do they want? Are their intentions hostile?

"Captain." The men said in unison.

"A name is a word that identifies you." Alfred explained the stranger.

The man's cold blue eyes seemed animate with subcutaneous life, as if the explanation rang a bell in his mind as he replied, "I once had a name."

"What was it?" John asked, suddenly.

The man did not answer.

John turned in time to see the door open.

Two soldiers in full body armor entered the cell. "Units 2305 and 2306 come forward."

"I think that means us." John whispered to Alfred.

"Mac, Frank, Fred, how did you find me?" Ron was astounded to see his friends after what seemed a long time.

"Do think there is a way out?" Frederick asked.

High, granite walls enclosed the prisoners-evidently, the remains of some ancient civilization.
The stone doors blended into the walls completely. The architect must have been a genius.

"Not likely." Ron replied, sullenly.

The blue stratosphere was beginning to transform into a crimson sunset as the burning orb dipped beyond the horizon.

How he now wished that he was on Earth. It would be so nice to see children playing on play equipment, to hear the sound of a dog barking, to see his messy house. Ron had never enjoyed any of these while he was on Earth.

They had been annoying aspects of life. Now they were enjoyable.

He had wanted a wife, but a life as a NASA astronaut was demanding and he rarely talked with women.

Ron sighed. He had wanted to end the mission and return to Earth, live a normal life, and get married.

Of course such pleasures were-

"We found you unconscious, Captain." Frank's voice interrupted Ron's thoughts. It seemed Frank had been talking for some time.

"Ron, are you listening? Ron?"

"Uh, yes." Ron rubbed his eyes. "Sorry, I was thinking. What were you saying?"

"Ok, I was telling you what happened before we found you." Frank continued, "Will you listen?"

"I will. Sorry."

"Our ship crashed landed into a lake. You were unconscious while we placed you in an inflatable, emergency boat and located a beach." Frank began.

"Then a large group of armored guards located us." Mac continued the narrative.

"We were placed in the same part of a slave convoy." Fred added.

"So now we are in the same predicament that we had been in only a few months ago." Ron lowered his gaze. What has become of my mission?

His entire plan was wiped out in minutes. He had not foreseen the enemy infiltration of the Slavon II while it was in space.

It seemed they were getting smarter.

Night descended with the rise of a large moon. The man in the moon was smirking down at the horde of humans that lay sprawled among the artifices of the ancient city.

Its surface was almost smooth. Its cold rays illuminated a cluster of women at one end of the courtyard, huddled together in the midnight cold. The men shivered, likewise, on the other end. Stars and constellations were luminous with unpolluted clarity. No city light reduced their intrinsic beauty.

Ron was just about to fall asleep when a strange grating sound drifted across the courtyard.

He stood and hastened to a nearby wall. Pressing his back to the shadowed wall, he watched the source of the sound-the granite door-begin to move.

An opening widened three feet and several figures in armor emerged.

What are they doing? They have to know their prisoners need sleep.

The men were heading toward the women.

A dim, blueish light suddenly appeared, like a candle in a dark room fighting the black void to be seen.

The sound of a hissing, similar to what a blowtorch produces when it is cutting metal, shrieked. A chain fell to the ground.

The armored men were releasing the women.

Ron's companions were awake.

"What's going on?" Frank croaked.

Mac squinted his eyes. "What?"

Sparks arced into the air in a miniature fireworks demonstration.

The armored men turned from the women and approached the astronauts.

Who are these people? Mac wondered. The alien guards would not release prisoners.

The armored men soon had the astronauts free of the chains.

"Come." A baritone voice urged.

They speak English? Frank was helped to his feet and led out through the doorway in the wall. Mac, Ron, and Fred followed, along with the women.

Where are they taking us? Ron wondered with foreboding. It could be a trick to lure them away. Perhaps some of the aliens want to play 'games' with them, in the dark.

---

Chapter Nine

---

"Welcome, my friends." The man inside addressed the two prisoners.

John and Alfred had just passed, through several halls, into a nondescript, bare room. Their escort had left as soon as the steel door had shut.

"What do you want with us this time, Kevin?" Alfred asked, pointedly.

The scientist smiled. "Were about to embark on an adventure. I think you will enjoy this more than any theme park ever created."

"What are you talking about?" John asked. John didn't like the mischievous glint in Kevin's eyes.

Kevin opened a door that had somehow escaped John's notice.

The prisoners followed him through and into pitch blackness.

The sound of the door slamming behind caused Alfred to turn.

A voice, five feet ahead of John, spoke. "Welcome to my world."

John stopped walking. His heart began to speed up.

Dim, concealed lights flashed on to illuminate a spectacle.

Rows upon rows of people, sitting in an auditorium below, were staring straight ahead at something—or nothing.

What in the cosmos is going on? John wondered. They're looking at nothing.

"Over the years," Kevin's voice began, "people have tamed animals that were wild. Never has anyone tamed the mind—until now.

"I have established parameters for the mind. People are too free to contrive evil: killing, murder, and theft. I now have a way to end such and to bring the world into an age of peace. You see before you the result of my psychology: a mass of humanity that will create a bright posterity."

"What have you done to them?" John asked, astounded.

"They are perfect. I have given them light."

As if in cue, lights came on to reveal a white room that resembled a gigantic classroom. At each desk, a person was seated. Each person wore a black suit with a number sewn onto the left breast. Their eyes were emotionless, cold, and inanimate, as if they were not really alive.

"Class, welcome some new students." Kevin addressed the mass of people.

The class stood, in perfect unison as if it were an organism with one mind.

To Alfred Kevin said, "I hope you enjoy them, for soon you will be one of them."

Where are they taking us? Ron was worried.

Two men were on either side of Ron.

Covered from head to foot in a greenish-brown armor, and armed with guns, the guards were formidable.

There must be some way to escape.

The guards seemed to know that he was the leader of the men and were watching him closely from out of long, narrow, black lenses.

The ruined city was now left two miles behind. Dense jungle had replaced its graceful architecture.

Mac, Fred, and Frank trudged behind Ron.

"Once those men get distracted let's make our escape." Fred suggested quietly.

"They speak English, and they rescued us from the armored guards." Frank whispered quietly.

"They probably rescued their own people. They might be benevolent, however; once they find out that we are not from this planet-who knows what they'll do." Mac interjected.

"We-" Frank stopped as he noticed Mac's alarmed expression. "What is it?"

"Listen." Fred whispered.

From some where distant, rushing through the thousands of tree trunks, vines, undergrowth, and vegetation of the jungle, a sound came like a flash of light in a dark room.

Mac tried to remember where he had heard that sound.

It was like a continuous explosion, a cascade of volatile gases, and a powerful rush of energy.

The verdure soon began to lighten as the trees thinned, slightly. What once was a flat jungle had become a jungle-covered mountain.

They had come to a ridge or a mountain chain. Spread before them was a valley. A river wound across the concave topographical feature. The sound, Mac had heard, came from one lake at one end of the valley. Crashing with a great force, a mighty cataract fomented the lake.

It was the largest waterfall Ron had ever seen. The Niagara Falls was incomparable with this. The party halted for a moment to view the spectacle and then continued on its way, to the top of the waterfall.

The women were chatting and laughing with the armored men. Ron turned to his companions. "Now might be a good time to escape."

"There will be no escaping here." A gruff voice caused Ron to spin.

A guard lowered his rifle. "We're taking you to the Vis-a-ract. He will determine your fait. You will not find food, habitation, or humans for miles, should you try to leave our escort."

It was late afternoon when they arrived at the waterfall.

Logs, branches, and debris were carried over the edge, where they crashed into a small lake far below.

Ron eyed the guards. What are they going to do? They can't cross that river.

The sun pierced the dark forest with its golden sunset light. The effervescing lake appeared as an igneous spring of molten gold in the sunlight.

Guards motioned for the four astronauts to come forward to the edge of the river.

Once they were gathered, the men felt strong arms shove them. "What?" Ron exclaimed. The word was out just as the ground left His feet.

Ron could feel the air rush past him. They were going to die!

They were falling fast—too fast. The lake, far below, would certainly not save their lives.

Kevin turned and headed back the way they had come.

John was about to follow when a firm hand restrained him.

"Go to your seat. You are disrupting order." A monotonous voice ordered.

John turned to see a figure composed of plastic and metal stare at him with unwavering eyes. A robot.

The robot led him to a cold, hard chair. Alfred was seated, by another robot, six seats away.

They've got talking robots. O great. John lowered his head. The world is getting worse and worse as time goes by. Pretty soon technology will upgrade to Star Trek sophistication.

"The course, 101, will now be executed." A robot at the front of the room said. "All units, class is now in session.

"We will begin today by ruminating consecutive integral counting."

This is like school. John thought, nostalgically.

"1, 2, 3, 4…." The electronic voice began and was soon drowned out by the multitude of voices that caught up in a mindless, rhythmic chant.

John stopped himself after he had counted up to fifty. What am I doing?

The class kept counting. "100…150…200…"

John eyes were on Alfred. Maybe they could escape once the body of students left the room. With several hundred students leaving a room, the robots would be sure to miss some.

After a few hours, the class stood. They had counted to 2,100.

John staggered to his feet. The dull voice in his ears was intelligible.

Something deep inside told him to snap out of it: to do so would be like waking up while anesthetics are operative.

He could clearly see the doorway crowed with students walking slowly out.

He could easily see how he could slip past the robots, undetected.

Something restrained him: he was tired.

There rarely was a time when one experiences the sense that death is a heartbeat away. This was one of those moments.

Ron could feel oxygen, nitrogen, and other gases rush past his face as if they were terrified of what was below.

What could have possibly gone wrong? Why did fait send him to an early death? He could have died many times before. Why was luck leaving him now?

Does God care if I die? What a foolish question. Ron thought. He was new at being a Christian. Christian doctrine, such as giving up one's life so that one can find it, was hard to grasp. Now I am going to do just that-at least the first part.

Whumph.

The sound had come unexpected. Ron felt an elastic surface contact with his chest. He was eased upwards as the substance tightened. A net had saved him from death.

Mac, Frank, and Frederick grunted as they landed.

The next thing Ron saw was a strange rock, protruding from the water fall.

A rigid, transparent half-cylinder cut a path through the falling water.

Ron crawled to the edge of the net, which was only a foot away from the rock bridge.

Looking, upwards, he noticed a couple slightly smaller protruding rocks. Cables attached the rocks to the net.

The three subordinates followed Ron onto the precipice.

Just then, a shower of women landed on the net. Armored men came next.

So they had not intended to kill the astronauts. What do they want us for? Ron wondered.

A guard approached Ron. "Come. The Vis-a-ract is waiting."

---

Chapter Ten

---

There had to be some way out. John and Alfred were once again in their cell with the unnamed prisoner.

John stopped pacing when he saw the man whispering.

"What are you saying?" John asked, inquisitively.

The man stopped. "Nothing," he replied.

"What is it?" John prodded.

"Alright. If you really want to know I suppose concealing it would be useless.

I am not a prisoner at this base. I came of my free will."

"Why?" Alfred entered the conversation. His large eyebrows were raised.

"Because I want to save you. You do not realize the danger you are in."

"They are trying to brainwash us aren't they?" John asked referring to the robots.

"There is something more dangerous then that." The man replied, solemnly.

"What?" John and Alfred asked in unison.

Water rushed around Ron—a deafening thunder of endless noise.

They had just entered the transparent half-cylinder that penetrated the amorphous wall of water.

Mac, Frederic, and Frank followed him into a grotto on the other side. The guards led the way down a gallery that began at the end of the grotto.

Something flitted in the darkness. A small screech pierced the silence. Mac's heart jumped. It's only a bat. He told himself

The palpitation of air being beat by wings dwindled as the flying animal vanished into the dark recesses of the cave system. Ron felt as if he was being led on his way to Hell.

Are these people friends or foes? He wondered.

The women were talking softly with one another cheerfully. Were they women? Could they be aliens that resemble women? Perhaps they were like the women of Rome who would go to the coliseum to watch the bloody fights between slave gladiators. Is it possible that he would be forced to kill..?

"What is dangerous?" Alfred asked the unnamed prisoner.

The man's blue eyes seemed to shine with hope rather than despair—a stark contrast to what he had just said.

"Do not worry about this new danger; there is a way out." The man replied.

"How?" John was breathless.

Errrr…clang

The door had opened. A silver and blue humanoid robot stood in the doorway; metal gleaming in the harsh cell light. "Your presence is requested at suite D, section A, room 430, at 14:30 hours. Further information will be issued at the stated location. Please follow me."

"Robots," John sighed, "Computers with limbs." Now where is this electronic bone head taking us?

"From whence have you come?" A deep voice emanated from a lone figure.

Guards in armor surrounded Ron and his companions, eying the prisoners warily.

The women were gone.

An open inglenook sent a flickering, luminous texture across the stone walls of a voluminous cavern.

A man, dressed in a brown robe, was interrogating Ron.

His aged, blue eyes stared intently at Ron with a youthful glimmer that contrasted his age. A beard decorated his face, giving it a pleasant, medieval look.

"Your highness," Ron felt as if he had entered a time machine and gone back to the middle ages, "we came from the third planet, Earth, to yours on behalf of our world. Your planet is ruled by a very evil potentate. His heart is black and his mind is cold. He sent soldiers to my planet for the purpose of destroying my people." Ron had already been introduced to the Vis-a-ract, the leader of the people of the planet he was on. The old man seemed to be educated in English. Why would a people millions of miles away from Earth know English? Ron still could not understand. He would ask questions later. For now, he would have to answer many.

"What is thy purpose here?" The elder asked.

"We are on a special mission to end the corrupt rein of the evil potentate of your planet." Ron paused to take a breath.

"And you came all the way to help us defeat Xeor (pronounced Zay-or)?" The old man chuckled losing his archaic language, "It cannot be done."

"Who is Xeor?" Ron asked. There was a lot he did not know.

"Alas, Xeor is the potentate of this planet, Mons." The man sighed, "My people, the Monsians, have tried countless times to defeat Xeor and every time he has taken captives, from my people, and brutally tortured them. Just recently he abducted some of our women."

"We can kill Xeor." Ron felt strange saying the name of the man he had been captive to.

The time he was sent to an underground mining base, with some of his fellow astronauts, came back to him in its dark reality. The potentate, Xe'or must be the most evil man alive. Ron remembered seeing captives with missing appendages, slaving away under the hot breath of black armored slave drivers.

Xeor must be defeated at all costs.

"How could you kill a man that is practically invisible? No one has seen him and lived." The Vic-a-ract replied, glumly.

"We heard his voice. We were in his throne room." Ron looked from his companions to the elder. "We never saw him but we know that he is a mortal."

"It is impossible, Ronald Dueroy. When I was younger I tried to kill him."

Ron's eyes shifted to the old man's face.

"What happened?" Ron asked.

"I was one of Xeor's personal body guard years ago." The Vicaract lowered his eyes. "Yes, Xeor was a man at one time. He led this planet into an age of technology. He was a great leader, but alas, I realized he had something about him that wasn't right. I watched his activities daily. One day, while I was off duty, I happened to see him enter a doorway that I never saw before. I approached cautiously, inch by inch, and overheard a conversation beyond the door. Xeor was taking with one of his chief officials about the creation of a slave-based economy. Never in all of Mons's history has slavery benefited anyone. Those who bought slaves might become slaves to another individual." The man shifted in his seat. "I decided to formulate a plan with some of my friends. We had the strictest confidence. At dawn we slipped into the bakery and poisoned Xeor's food. This poison was used to kill humans in many of Mons's past wars. A minuscule amount of this poison would kill any man." The Vicaract sighed. "Xeor ate the food. For two days he laid in his bed. The poison should have killed him within the minute it was ingested. After the second day, he was back on his feet and running the government; he was immune to fatal poison." The man turned to Ron "He is not human."

"Welcome." The emotionless voice drifted from behind an immaculate, wooden desk.

The prisoners had just entered a room—not just any room: it was vacant of furnishings, except for the lone desk and chair—the latter contained the body of a man Alfred had grown to hate.

"What do you want, Kevin?" Alfred could feel anger rise in his chest.

He tried to calm himself. It's ok. He is only a man.

Somehow, he wasn't so sure.

"I have decided to give two of my clients a favor. Naturally, I selected you two, since I like you." Kevin, dressed in a white suit and tie, stood from his chair.

John eyed him suspiciously. What is that in his hand?

Kevin approached Alfred, hand extended. "I have chosen you to do and assignment for me. You both are going to be given your freedom. We will give you transportation to any location you wish, free of charge."

"What is this 'assignment'?" John asked.

Something stirred within Ron's body. 'He is not human.'

All this time he was dealing with entities that transcended human existence.

It could have been his heart beat, but then again, it was like and electrical current racing through his nerves. For the first time in his journey Ron was afraid.

He remembered the walking in the throne room of Xeor on the planet Mons.

He could feel a real sense of evil present in the room as if he was immersed in a cold lake and the water, its self, was evil.

The man could not possibly see Ron when he was in the pitch-black room.

What if Ron was not in the clutches of a man but a spirit—a diabolic entity with supernatural power?

The next thought can like a successive thunderbolt.

What could laser guns do to things that are not made of matter? Time froze to a stop.

The words of the old man were fixed in space and time at the exact moment time froze in Ron's brain. A thousand thoughts filled his mind and overflowed it like rain in a full bird bath. His whole world collapsed to meaninglessness. Everything was imaginary. Life was a figment of the imagination. No! Ron stopped the sledgehammer of thoughts that was pounding into his reason, threatening to destroy his sanity. No. This is not a dream. I am here on a strange planet with real people who have real problems. One of those problems is a problem present on my planet Earth. Something must be done. The computer chip. If the computer chip in the dictator's brain is destroyed, his myrmidon armies will find their common sense and return to their home planet.

"Your highness," Ron snapped out of his reminiscence. His thought had taken only five seconds to come to his conclusion. "I remember what someone told me once—I didn't really believe it, but now I do. There might be a way to destroy Xe'-or and the black armies."

The island passed below—a lonely garden on the open sea.

The helicopter blades sliced the air with a discordant thwack.

John stared through the plexi-glass window at the endless peaks of water.

The darkness is growing.

John sighed. The words of Kevin rang sharply in his mind as if they were just being spoken. "Kill the man, and you will be set free."

Kevin had clearly told them that they would be given their freedom from the island base if they would just kill one man.

John could not commit murder. Was the average man capable of murder? Perhaps criminals could, but not upstanding citizens—or were they?

"If you decide to make your escape," Kevin's voice had said, "we will not be slow to terminate your lives, via cerebral electro-chemical stimulation. A device has been imbedded in your brain that will establish fatal, electric contact with neurons in the brain. In other words; we'll electrocute you."

John turned to Alfred. He needed his help to find a way of escape. The man was asleep.

"How? Xeor is practically invincible." The older man objected. "His palace is fortified. He has thousands of troops in training. Alas, my own son is one of them. There is no way to enter."

"What happened to him?" Ron asked slowly.

"It's a long story." The older man noticed Ron's curious look. "Ok. Follow me. For you to understand the story, I must show you a few things."

The man stood and motioned for the guards to stay as he and Ron proceeded towards a stairway.

After lighting a torch, they descended underground, passed through many darkened rooms, and went down many flights of stairs until they arrived at a locked door.

The old man removed a strange, crystal-shaped object from a pocket and inserted it into a hole in the door.

The dust, accumulated during many forgotten years, covered the objects of the underground safe. Shovels, swords, spears, and cross-bow-like weapons were scattered everywhere.

Ron noticed something familiar, among a pile of cross bows—a pistol.

Ron handled the semi-automatic gun. It was in fair condition with a fully loaded clip.

"Where did this come from!" Ron was astonished.

"Many years ago, a man from your world, built a ship that could fly in space. He arrived here and helped us improve our technology and economy. He taught us English, Science, and Math. We learned rapidly. Soon schools were built, towns established, and our old, primitive ways of living forgotten. Factories produced what we needed and for a long time everyone was happy."

The old man's voice dropped to a whisper. "Then we discovered that our sons were missing. They would not return home from school. We were told a special educational class for boys, that would prepare them for manhood, was taking place. I never saw my three sons again." The old man breathed deeply through the cold, musty air. The torch light glistened on the beads of water that were sliding down his cheek.

Ron felt awkward. He had never been a father. He lost a pet dog. To lose a son would be fare worse.

"They were turned into soldiers, machines, myrmidons." The old man continued and then he couldn't continue. Tears slide across the wrinkled face.

Ron felt uncomfortable. Something very evil had happened to these people. "Do you know why this happened?" Ron asked quietly.

Once the old man regained his composure, he replied, "Because Xeor wanted them for his mighty military and industry. Half the population of Mons, my planet, is in enlisted as a soldier. The rest of them work in underground factories as slaves. I led the remnant of the last free Monsians (Mon-z-I-on-s) here. We live like our fore fathers in peace and love as much as possible."

"What do you think happened to your people's sons?" Ron prodded.

"Xeor knows that we are few in number and too weak. He put some kind of voice in the heads of the lost Mosians so that they would not think for themselves and be freed from his abominable curse. Ronald, the only way to end this madness and to return Mons back to her glorious state is to destroy the voices in my people and destroy Xe-or."

"I think that we can do both at the same time." Ron replied.
"How so?"

"Sir, I believe that Xeor has a device in his head that makes the 'voices' in the heads of your people." How could he describe a computer chip to the man? "I think that a device like Xeor's is inside the heads of those people. This device makes them have those controlling voices that tell them what to do."

"How do you know?" The old, blue eyes stared intently at Ron.

"In my world the technology already exists for this to be possible. Here they have implemented it. The ramifications of such a technology already are in effect." Ron replied. Now if there was a way into Xeor's base, we could kill the dictator and…

Thoughts flooded his mind and he began to smile for the first time in a long time.

Ron paced back and forth slowly. He stopped and then turned to the Vicaract. "There is a way to enter his palace and now you have given me a real reason why it would work."

"What do you have in mind?" The elder asked.

---

Chapter Eleven

---

Two men emerged from the black van. Both were armed.

Long, black trench coats concealed their weapons. Two short guns, mounted with laser scopes. The scopes had a digitalized night vision option for sniping at night. Compact and powerful, the rifles were designed with a primer and ignition chamber that was located in the actual stock of the gun to maximize the volume of the weapon for concealment.

The van drove off and merged with the stream of traffic.

They mounted the sidewalk and stretched. It had been a long ride from the airport.

Norfolk, Virginia was a congested city. Hopefully they would be inconspicuous.

They paced slowly back and forth as if waiting for someone or something. Their waiting did not take long.

A man approached the men. His grey overcoat and black hat concealed a stash of illegal weapons and micro-miniature electronic equipment.

He ushered them into an alley behind the forth street bar.

"Ok. Here is a radio transmitter. Keep it on you at all times. You have SKG's, so use them with care. If you notify anyone of what is happening, you will be terminated. Understood?" The man in the grey overcoat whispered as he handed them each a black object that appeared like a cell phone.

"Yes." John forced himself to reply. He did not like the idea, but there was no way out.

"Remember, the man you are after is at the Community Church." He showed a picture of the man to John and Alfred. A picture of an elderly man with pleasant features—graying hair, bright blue eyes, confident smile, appeared on the palm computer screen. He wasn't the type of guy anyone would want to kill.

John clenched his teeth. He couldn't kill anyone, much less that innocent man.

He wished that he could have found a way to escape on the long ride from the airport in the black van, but even if he could, he would be killed by the implanted computer chip. When did they implant it anyways? Could it have been while he was asleep? Or was it just a hoax meant to scare him into complying?

"You have two and a half hours to execute the mission. Satellites are monitoring you. If you fail, we will terminate you. If you succeed, we will deactivate the synaptic electro-chemical disruptor and give you your freedom. Now go." The man turned and walked off.

John turned to Alfred. "What do we do?"

"You heard what he said." Alfred replied.

"We can't kill an innocent man. Who is he anyway?" John almost shouted. What did Alfred think by saying that?

"Do you want to die, John?" Alfred asked.

"No."

"Come on then. We don't have much time."

"I see now what you mean. Xe'-or put a mind in my sons head that tells him what to do and he does it without thinking." The old man said.

Wind ruffled his grey beard. The serene world was a contrast to the underworld that the old man had mentioned. Ron remembered the dark tunnels, the hard work, the torture, and the agony he experienced while a prisoner of the Monsians on Mars.

"What is you name?" Ron asked suddenly.
The old man smiled. "Beniah Ra'-amah."

"Can I call you Ben?"

"If you wish."

"Do you have any more pistols?"

"There are very few of those left." Ben's voice came from the darkness behind Ron in a stone room cluttered with armor, cross-bow-like weapons, swords and strange mechanical gadgets. Ron held a semi 45 automatic pistol in his hand.

"That's fine. I only need my companions, a guide," Ron replied as he handled the gun, "and this weapon."

The Community Church in Norfolk, Virginia was an old, handsome, white building once on the outskirts of the old city, but now it was enveloped with sky scraper buildings.

The stain glass windows were definitely a challenge for the prospective assassin, but the SKG's were not ordinary rifles.

Alfred peered into the green scope that resembled a HUD from a fighter jet.

The church was five blocks away and ten stories below. It was convenient to use the abandoned office building. Due to hazard reasons, the tenth floor was under restricted to all unclassified persons. It was not too hard to find a way in.

"Alfred, we cannot do this." John was agitated. His hands were sweaty.

"They'll kill us, John. We have to."

Alfred's eye was now focused on his target. With infrared emanation and detection capabilities, the X-s neon 1 hyper-scope was a revolution in optic technology.

The infrared emissions from the clergyman, five blocks away, were received and translated into visual light patterns that constituted a realistic reconstruction of the actual target and his surroundings.

Alfred tensed. This must be done if we are to survive.

The pastor was a green figure at a podium in a large, vacant sanctuary. Of course, his black suit was green and his white hair was a light green, but other than that it appeared as crisp and vivid as a digital photograph.

An orange cross positioned its self over his chest. Numbers to the left of the cross indicated altitude which was used for indicating the amount the bullet would drop once it would leave the barrel. The intersection of the two perpendicular, orange lines pinpointed the desired position the bullet would strike.

"Alfred, we cannot kill and innocent man. He's a pastor. Why do you think they want us to kill him?" John whispered, harshly. He couldn't believe that his friend was about to commit murder.

"Do you want to die?" Alfred asked. "Besides, this man will probably be killed by them anyways. We will be doing him a favor."

John couldn't believe what he was hearing. How could it come to this? Was a good man capable of murder? His mind shifted back to its self. Am I capable of murder?

John saw Alfred take aim and watched as Alfred's finger began to slide toward the trigger.

"No!" John shouted. His voice echoed through the room and time slowed. John was in mid air before he knew what he was doing. His foot made contact with the solid stock of Alfred's rifle. A loud whump rushed through the air. John rolled to the floor and collapsed in a heap.

Alfred's eyes focuses, in that lurid moment at John's body.

Something wet was trickling down his chest: blood.

"What have I done? O God, what have I done? John!" Alfred gasped.

The rifle with one spent shell, dropped to the floor. Alfred sunk to the ground.

"Mac, Frank, Frederick, I have a plan." Ron stood with his companions in the Monsian fortress. A Monsian soldier stood near Ron. The guide was equipped. Tools were laid out on a table—rope, cables, knives, and others. Ron began to explain his plan.

"Are you sure it will work?" Mac asked.

"It will work." Ron replied. "Are you in?"

"I'll join." Fred replied.

"Count me in." Frank strode forward.

"I guess I'm in." Mac replied reluctantly.

"Mac, are you sure?" Ron asked.

"Yes."

It was cold. It was wet. Mac took a breath. Cold, damp air entered his lungs. The effervescence in the water indicated where his companions had just dived. The dark, cold cave sucked as much heat into its self as possible. Mac also knew that it had just swallowed his friends. He would be next.
Mac placed an object that resembled a diver's breathing apparatus, into his mouth.

The miles of jungle that had to be traveled, the mud, the pests, and the distance he had endured to arrive at the cave that would lead to Xeor's throne room could not have prepared him for the actual infiltration of the psychopath's palace. Anything could go wrong.

Mac breathed a prayer. He had never been religious, but something in him knew that prayer was needed. "God, if you exist, protect me. Let this mission go well."

Once he finished, Mac dived into the water-filled tunnel.

Darkness. Abrasive rocks. Darkness. Hopelessness. Mac's emotions were convoluted. His perception of his surroundings was diminished. When will it end? He thought. Mac could see four other figures moving towards the surface in the dim light that emanated from small water proof lights that the Viciract, Ben, had supplied. It seemed that he had more technology than Mac knew of.

Light danced through the water ten feet above him. They were reaching the surface.

Heads passed through the liquid medium into still, warm air.

They were in a rocky cave which contained a deep pool. The four men helped Mac onto the edge of the pool.

"Alright, were at the south end of the base." The Monsian guide informed Mac, Frank, Ron, and Frederic.

"Thank you, Yian. We could never have found it without you." Ron replied.

"You are welcome. I am not leaving yet. I wanted to see the inside of my enemy's base too." Yian, the guide, said.

"Alright, team, we are going in. Make no sounds. The idea is to enter stealthily and exit quietly." Ron informed the men. "We will enter the throne room of Xe'-or and execute the plan. Once completed, we will exit speedily and the effect desired should be produced on his guards. Xeor is the key to the strength and cruelty of his men: he is the target. We must use caution. We do not want the whole base on our tails. Ok, let's go."

Mac removed his weapon from a shoulder holster. It was a bulky, dark object. The stock of it resembled a gun, except it had a strange elastic, cross-bow-like launching mechanism. Basically, it was a high tech crossbow with an automatic firing system.

The group made their way to a low hole in the cave wall. Ducking down, they began their trek through the numerous galleries, passageways, and chambers of a huge cave system that permeated the sublevels of Xeor's base.

"Ok, quiet now. This hatch leads to the lowest level of the base. We want to get to the highest point in the base." The Yian commented.

They had just emerged from a tunnel and entered a dark room. In the metal ceiling of the cave, a grey square of lighter metal flushed out from the surface of the metal.

Ron used a crowbar to pry open the hatch. After a heave, it was open.

"How are we to get through?" Mac asked.

Before any could reply, a shrieking crash of metal reverberated through the cave.

A hinged latter had just swung down.

"There's your answer, Mac." Ron replied.

The men mounted the latter and entered a bare cut-stone room.

Looking around Ron whispered, "Good, no guards. Level one is successfully penetrated-twenty more to go."

---

Chapter Twelve

---

It came as a harsh discordance in the surreal air.

Alfred opened the cell phone he had been given and spoke into the communication device.

He voice was dry and weak. "What?"

"Have you finished your assignment?" The voice on the other end replied with no hint of emotion.

Alfred mumbled a reply.

"What did you say?" The cold voice asked.

"J-John is dead."

The voice on the other end hesitated and then resumed. "That is unfortunate. However, the mission must be complete if you wish to survive."

"I killed a friend and you say that the mission must go on!" Alfred released his pent-up emotion. One of his best friends had been shot. "I don't care if you kill me! I'll go to Hell for all you care! You better understand something sir. I was the director of NASA. I worked with the government for ten years. I have dealt with the CIA and other organizations. Whoever you are, get this: you are not going to see my face ever again! And if you try to kill me, you will have executed an innocent man."

Alfred ended the call and slammed the phone shut. The thought occurred to him,

'You're not going to live much longer. You made a bad move.'

His mind began to race over a progression of thoughts.

"You have two and a half hours to execute the mission. Satellites are monitoring you. If you fail, we will terminate you…"

A voice echoed in the progression of thoughts and intensified.

"A device has been imbedded in your brain that will establish fatal, electric contact with neurons in the brain…" Kevin's monotone droned through his brain, successively.

Two and a half hours to kill an innocent man. Alfred dropped his head. He had even wanted to in order to save his life. He had been selfish. Now his best friend was dead.

Already one hour had passed since he was ordered to kill. One and a half remained.

Alfred could not kill intentionally. The shot had been a mere reaction to John's sudden movement; or had it?

Alfred lowered his face into his palms. "Dear God, save me. Save me."

Alfred remembered the words of an old man that were spoken long ago.

When he was a child of seven, Alfred had broken a window of a neighbor, while throwing a ball.

The old owner of the house found the little boy on his porch, crying.

"What's the matter, son." Alfred remembered the gentle voice.

Alfred had blurted out, in a sob, that he had broken the man's window.

"Son, it's ok. For you to tell me that, you must have been a Christian. It was very brave of you."

"What is a Christian?" Alfred had asked.

"What; you don't know? A Christian is a person who has confessed their sins and asked Jesus Christ to save them from Hell, by His death on the cross. It is so simple and yet, profound."

Alfred never forgot the old man or what he had said.

"Dear God" Alfred prayed. "I guess, I have been stubborn, all these years, I need you to—to save me…"

He could now picture what was so hard to imagine for his 58 years of life; a dark sky, a barren hill, a blood stained, Roman execution cross, and a man who loved those who hated him: Jesus. For the very first time, he could see the sadness and love in the heart of his Creator and Savior. Jesus had died for his sins because He

created Alfred. He created everyone.

Alfred finished the prayer to his Creator and then stood to his feet.

He had to remove John's body.

"Where are you going?" A voice from behind broke the silence.

It was cold and silent. The stone on its impregnable surface glistened in the dim light that pored from the infiltrators' flashlights.

Truly, the wall was a difficulty.

Ron scrutinized the stonework that blocked their path.

After five levels upwards they had encountered no menace or enemy presence.

Now a wall lay between them and their goal.

"There has to be another way." Ron stammered.

"The only way to Xeor's throne room is through this hall way." Yian replied as he surmised the quandary.

"Well have to find a way to blast through this wall." Frank added.

"Shh. Listen." Frederick interrupted. His brown eyes darted to the left.

Thump… thump…thump…

The sound of heavy movement came, mellifluously, from a hallway to the left.

Yian signaled for the others to follow as he turned to the left and moved quietly down the hall, disappearing into the impenetrable darkness beyond.

The others followed, reluctantly.

Ron, last in line, heard a sound come from around a bend: running shoes.

Frank was ahead, running behind Mac.

"Where are we going?" Ron shouted.

No one answered.

Ron started sprinting.

The stone on either side was splashed with dim, white light which bobbed up and down on its surface as the men ran, through the dark tunnel.

Shouts came from behind a bend, and as Ron rounded it, he entered a small room.

The men were peering wide eyed around them, as they shined their lights into the corners of the room.

"What is it? What were you chasing?" Ron asked between quick breaths.

"A soldier was watching us." Mac explained, "We decided to follow him, but he started running when he saw us and he entered this room."

"He's in here, then." Ron replied, "But where?"

Suddenly, a grinding sound shot through the still, damp air and before the men could fully comprehend it, the door had closed, ceiling their only way of escape.

"Blast, it was a trap!" Frank exhaled.

Whump… thunk…ring.

Something metallic had been struck or placed on the ground outside.

"What was that?" Fred asked.

"It sounded like—"Yian was interrupted by a deafening concussion.

In a moment, the hard, stone walls of the room were transformed into a billion shards of rock in motion.

The voice had arrested Alfred's attention.

Turning, he beheld a pale face hovering in the dark room.

As the man emerged from the darkness, his body materialized in the dim glow from the window.

"Who are you?" Alfred gripped his pistol firmly.

"Don't you remember?"

At that moment a memory came back to Alfred. The man was the fellow prisoner at the island base.

Alfred remembered the strange words of the man just before they had been sent on their mission; "…I am not a prisoner at this base. I came of my free will…Do not worry about this new danger; there is a way out…"

"Yes. I remember now." Alfred replied. "But, how did you get here?"

"I have my ways." The man replied. His brown eyes gleamed in the dim light that came through the window.

"What was the danger you spoke of?" Alfred asked. He felt something mysteriously comforting about the man.

"We do not have time. Your friend can be saved." The man replied.

Without further explanation, the man picked up John and exited through a door.

Alfred was immobile, in consternation. The man was a prisoner, Alfred thought, how could he have left the prison? Unless, of course, he was sent on a mission by the base and he too was implanted with a self-destructing computer chip.

Alfred ignored the thoughts and dashed for the door. Upon opening it he realized the painful truth; the man was gone.

Beep… beep… beep

Alfred opened the ringing cell phone. "Yes?"

"Have you completed the mission?" the dry voice asked with enough of an edge to heighten Alfred's attention.

"No." Alfred replied.

"You have 29 minutes to execute the pastor." The phone call ended with a click.

Ron awoke with the sense that he had been asleep for a while. Darkness surrounded him.

His skin felt heavy and coarse. It almost seemed that someone was sitting on top of him.

Ron moved his arms but found that they were pinned down by something heavy; rocks.

He had survived the explosion. Where are the others? Had they survived too?

Light began to focus on his retina and crystallize into an image.

Through gaps in the rocks, Ron could see something moving. A light beam flashed in his eyes, causing temporary blindness and then it swept the far side.

"Bendrak de balon." A gruff, muffled voice cut through the still air like a knife.

"Den dra dune." A slightly higher voice replied to the first.

The sound of heavy boots crunching rock drew near.

Rocks were swept away from Ron's face and chest by the armored glove.

Ron froze.

The evil Monsian soldier stared at Ron for a few seconds and then turned away.

"Bran frune compie." The other soldier said.

"Dume on." The guard closest to Ron replied as he left Ron, and the two passed down the hall that was now visible, since the walls were obliterated, and into the obscurity of the labyrinth.

Ron shoved the rest of the rocks aside and stumbled into a standing position.

How could I have survived that blast? Ron thought. I don't even have a scratch. Are any of the others alive?

Ron began digging through the rocks and groping for bodies.

His hand contacted one not long after.
Ron removed more stones until the body could be moved. He began chafing the wrists of the body. Nothing happened; no sign of life.

Then, Ron felt the man's chest. A sticky, wet substance covered it; blood.

"He's dead." Ron whispered. "And I am the only one alive. The only one alive!"

I must have been lucky. He thought. Now what am I to do? The mission has failed. Earth is doomed.

"What am I to do?" Alfred groaned.

"Do not worry. Follow me to the Hospital. Your friend does not have much time left to live unless we hurry!" The man replied.

The taxi left off the three men at the entrance of a white edifice.

Far more sleek and ergonomic than any previous facility, the Norfolk Medical Center was the first of its kind.

Entering an immaculate and spacious registration room, Alfred and the prisoner, rushed forward to the island desk where ten secretaries were at work.

"This man is dying. We need a doctor!" Alfred explained rapidly.

"Oh, my!" A brunette secretary exclaimed. She pressed a few keys on the computer and said, "Doctor Bruce, we need you here immediately. There is a chronic case of unknown origin…"

The prisoner handed the limp body of John to the blue-clad medics and soon the body was rushed, on a wheeled cart, into the elevator.

Alfred paced back and forth nervously in the lobby. He couldn't murder anyone, much less and innocent pastor.

"Don't worry." A voice from behind whispered as if the speaker knew Alfred's thoughts. "You will not have to kill the pastor."

"How? There is a computer chip in my brain that will kill me in 19 minutes, unless I kill the pastor, and you tell me not to worry?" Alfred responded to the prisoner.

"There is no need to save your self." The voice replied.

Suddenly, Alfred felt a sharp prick in his skin. "You will need your rest." It died out to an unintelligible volume. Before he could move an inch, darkness overcame him.

Ron drifted out of consciousness as he wondered through the vacant, dark, stone halls of the labyrinth.

His companions were no doubt dead. He could not complete the mission alone.

A pang of fear gripped his heart. Death is in the hall. A thought came.

A beam of light had cut through the darkness. Its source was hidden behind a bend.

Ron's muscles tensed. There is no place to hide. He thought

The passage had no apertures in its adamant surface.

Something entered the passageway. The searching beam of light suddenly flashed in Ron's face.

"Ronald! Is that you?" The voice was surreal in the darkness.

"Who's there?" Ron asked, apprehensive.

"It's me; Mac." The voice replied.

Sure enough, when the man shined the light on himself, Ron was able to distinguish the muscular body of Mac.

"I thought you were killed when the walls exploded." Ron asked, incredulous.

"Something protected me, Ron. I swear that I could not have possibly survived the explosion unless—" Mac wiped his forehead in contemplation. "Unless God Himself did."

"You could be right." Ron replied slowly. He looked at his friend again. "Mac, did any of the others survive?"

"I haven't seen them."

Click. Crunch.

An ominous sound whispered from an adjacent tunnel.

"What's that?" Ron asked.

"Sound's like foot steps." Mac whispered as he extinguished his light.

Footsteps could mean death or they could be the footsteps of one of the survivors. Ron thought. What should we do; stay or leave?

Mac's sharp breath echoed in the tunnel further back. "Ron, I see them; guards." After a short breath he exclaimed, "Run!"

---

Chapter Thirteen

---

Alfred awoke to the sound of a dull humming.

He was lying on a bed in a concrete room. A square in the ceiling identified a hatch.

A low, wooden table, a throw rug, a bed on which he was lying, a refrigerator, a plasma television, a wooden cabinet, and a couch furnished the room.

On the leather couch sat a man in his early thirties.

"Are you aright?" He asked.

"Where am I? Who are you?" Alfred asked.

"You are somewhere safe. As for the latter question; I was your fellow prisoner."

Then, Alfred remembered the man who had helped him take John to the hospital.

"Why was I knocked out?" Alfred asked.

"I had to save you and the only way that I knew was to knock you out. They were in the Hospital, so I dosed you with a sedative, and took you to an old bomb shelter. Down here, the radio waves used by the enemy will not be able to penetrate, and consequently activate the destroying mechanism in your computer chip."

"You saw soldiers?" Alfred asked, slowly. His mind was still numb.

"Yes."

"What's your name, by the way?"

"Lance."

"Thanks for saving me, Lance."

"No problem." Lance replied with a slight grin. He resumed his serious expression. "Alfred, there is something momentous that I must tell you; the leader of our enemies is present on Earth. He is here as we speak. More troops are landing. They enter this world as nondescript citizens and they infiltrate the very frame work of our governments. Already, they have complete control of the CIA." Lance's eyes darted apprehensively from Alfred to the hatch in the ceiling, as he spoke, "Get this; all CIA agents were terminated by surreptitious means. The U.S. government is being blackmailed. If they give a hint of the problems they are now encountering, ten top government officials will be secretly exterminated."

"What are we going to do?"

"The only thing that can be done."

"What?" Alfred was plaintively attentive.

"Before we do anything, we need to remove or neutralize your computer chip. Then, we must locate the—"

At this moment Lance was interrupted.

Someone was thumping on the ceiling hatch.

Ron's heart was a drum, palpitating in his chest.

A bluish cone of light shot through the darkness and illuminated the running figure of Mac for an instant, before the man disappeared around a tunnel bend.

Ron followed.

A hand suddenly shot out from a cavity in the wall and pulled Ron into its tenebrous recess. A moment later, six armored soldiers rushed past Ron.

"That was close." A voice spoke quietly from behind Ron.

"Mac, how are we going to escape?" Ron asked his friend.

"Shh." Mac cautioned.

The sound of footsteps clicked on the stone floor a few yards away.

Mac tensed.

The steps were approaching.

Ron clenched his fists.

A light beam entered the hall and soon a man stepped into view. His hair was ruffled and soiled. His clothes were torn and serrated. Lacerations ran across his face.

"Frank!" Ron gasped. "I thought the explosion killed you?"

Frank turned, incontinently. "Ron, how did you survive? I thought I was the only one."

"It was God. God saved us." Mac injected.

"We have to find a way out of this labyrinth." Frank wiped his dusty face.

"Guys, I have a feeling that the Dictator, Xeor, is gone." Ron said.

"My light only has a few hours of battery left." Frank gripped his flashlight firmly.

"Then, we'll have to exit this base before it runs out." Ron replied.

"What about the others?" Mac asked.

"They will have to find a way out, if they survived." Ron said as he began to leave the recess in the wall.

Blam. Blam…

Two reports shattered the silence. Their echoes impinged and resonated off the cold, stone walls, in the labyrinth, and passed out of range, into the dark network.

A body fell to the floor.

"What in the world!" Mac exclaimed.

Lights began to appear and disappear. Foot steps echoed down the hall.

Blam

The gunshot was close and the muzzle flash illuminated the hallway for an instant.

In the next instant a man rushed by.

Mac shouted, "Fred!"

The man stopped and turned. "Who said that?"

"It's us, Fred; Frank, Ron and me."

"I thought you were all dead?"
"Never mind. We need to escape." Ron interrupted. "Fred, do you know the way out of here?"

"No. I was chased by those armored men so I hid and when an opportunity came, I took out a soldier, stole his gun…found you." Fred replied as he caught his breath.

"Since we don't know the way out." Ron began. He knew that there was only one person he could turn to for help. "Men, I am not a very religious man, but I found out that God loves us. I know that only He can help us find the way out. He saved us from imminent death. He can help us now."

Even as Ron prayed, a peaceful feeling settled over his mind. In the midst of danger the men prayed. At any moment a soldier could find them.

"…We thank you, God, that you can help us to find the way. We thank you for your protection." Ron finished. He opened his eyes to see that all the men were smiling. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing." Mac answered, "Except, that I feel—weird. Like I am by a quiet river in the country."

"I know what you mean." Ron replied. "Let's go."

The thumping stopped for a moment.

"What are we to do?" Alfred whispered, hoarsely. "They know where I am."

Lance didn't reply.

Alfred turned.

The man was gone.

The vacant room seemed to say 'Alfred, you are a fool. It was a trap.'

Suddenly a finger snagged Alfred's pant leg. "Come on. We must go further down."

It was Lance. The man's face protruded from a circular opening in the floor. A matching lid lay near it.

Quickly, Alfred entered the aperture.

A moment later, the hatch in the ceiling opened.

A man, dressed in black body armor, dropped to the floor and scanned the vacant, sub terrain room with his piercing eyes. A gun was clenched in his muscular fists.

He began searching the room for secret doors. An idea came to him.

Lowering his gun, he proceeded to hit the floor with it and listen for any echoes.

Only a foot below the man's boots, Alfred held his breath as he and Lance waited out the searching with excruciating patience, as the seconds crawled by.

Without warning, the circular hatch above Alfred was flung open!

After passing through countless passageways and galleries, the astronauts found them selves at the threshold of a vast cavern.

Ron could see innumerable multitudes of multifaceted objects, illuminated by large spot lights.

"Space ships." Ron muttered.

"Captain, look." Mac pointed at a procession that made its way, solemnly down a center isle, toward the largest spacecraft. On either side of the extensive isle, a profusion of wings, fuselages, and cockpits glistened in the white floodlight.

Thirty armored soldiers, gleaming like demons in the white light, marched forward. Heading the procession was a man clad in white.

As he neared the lowered ramp, of his space ship, he turned toward the astronauts.

Ron froze. His heart began to throb in his ears.

After a moment, which seemed like an eternity, the man entered his ship.

Ron backed into the doorway he had come from, hastily.

"I think he saw us." Ron whispered, tensely.

"What are we to do?" Frank asked.

"We were at least fifty yards away." Mac interjected.

"We must kill that man." Fred, who had not spoken for some time, added.

"What do you mean?" Ron turned toward Fred.

"The man in white must be Xeor." Fred looked at Ron and then at the others as he continued. "Only Xeor would be escorted in such a regal procession."

Fred had never met Xeor before. Ron tried not to remember his experience in the dictator's throne room. Ron had a strong feeling, then, that something, nefarious, was in the dark palace. That man of evil was now dressed in white: a striking paradox.

"How will we? He is almost immortal." Frank shook his head.

An idea was beginning materialize in Ron's mind. It morphed slowly and crystallized into a complex plan.

"Men," Ron began, "there is no way we could kill the man here. If we could borrow some of those armored suits, we could infiltrate his space ship and-"

In a few minutes the men had knocked out some inconspicuous, rear guards and had entered the space craft.

Ron looked out of his helmet vision screen and analyzed the crowded room, in which he was seated.

Twenty soldiers, three spy's incognito (his men), and a couple humanoid robots, which he had never seen before, occupied the room.

The security door at the front of the room was locked and all men were seated in two parallel rows of seats, facing each other.

With an arcane groan, the ship began to levitate.

The soldier entered an empty chamber, through the circular hatch. He grunted.

Foot steps, in the dirt, led to a door that was ajar.

Twenty feet away from the soldier, two men ran through a tunnel. A dim light guided them.

Alfred was beginning to gasp for breath. He was not in as good a shape as he wanted to be.

Lance slowed down when he saw that the middle-aged man was having trouble.

"It's not that much further." Lance complemented. "We'll emerge soon."

A man, wearing a worn, grey overcoat, paced back and forth slowly, by the dumpster in an abandoned alley.

He pretended to shift through the garbage whenever a person was in line of sight.

He glanced at his watch. It would only be a matter of minutes before—

A sewer hatch lifted a few centimeters from the pavement.

Lance peered, cautiously, through the crack.

"All clear." He whispered.

Presently, the two men were walking down an alley toward the industrial section of Norfolk.

"Ok. In order to neutralize the killing mechanism in your computer chip, we have to run you past powerful electromagnets." Lance explained, quietly.

"Where will we find those?" Alfred asked.

A large, brick building suddenly came into view.

"There." Lance nodded, "The power plant."

Pi-chunk Pi-chunk

Without warning, masonry erupted nearby, sending small showers of dust from two craters in the stone building.

"Run!" Lance shouted.

Before Alfred could comprehend the meaning of the pits in the stone, Lance had grabbed his hand and was taking them into a different alley.

The space craft was 20 million miles away from the Earth and closing.

Ron had grown accustomed to the routine occupations aboard the ship.

The soldiers would sleep, for the most part.

Ron had not seen Xeor during the entire flight, thus far. Something with in his psyche could feel a diabolic presence nearby.

The third day in space was one of significance.

Ron was patrolling through the giant vehicle, when he heard an announcement through the intercom, in English. (Xeor had, no doubt, taught his men the language so that he could communicate with them more precisely that what the Monsian language could afford.)

"Attention," The monotone computer voice intoned, "all personnel are requested to evacuate level four. Repeat: all personnel are…."

Guards and robots began scuttling towards elevators.
Ron was shoved into the wall and before he could enter the elevator, a blast-lock door closed, with a sharp hiss, to block the elevator.

There must be a life-support system failure. Ron thought.

Suddenly, the lights on the ceiling extinguished and darkness pervaded.

Ominously, a faint clicking sound echoed down the hall to Ron's left.

Someone's coming. Ron thought. Perhaps, it is a maintenance android.

Ron wasn't too sure.

"What are you doing, son of the Earth?"

The voice startled him. It was totally unnatural and unprecedented in tone and annunciation.

Ron began to sweat with fear. He remembered that voice distant and cold from the throne room of the Dictator of Mons.

Now the same voice was ten feet away and coming from none other than Xeor himself!

"Surely, you didn't think that I was ignorant of your presence aboard my ship?" The unseen man asked.

Ron, only 10 feet away from the most evil man in the solar system, began to pray. God only could help him now.

"You are a bold." Xeor continued. "And I like bold people. You would be a good commander in my army. People obey those who are bold."

Ron could not entirely understand how the Xeor could know that he was not a soldier.

"How do you know that I came from Earth?" Ron asked after what seemed like an eternity of hesitation.

"We all came from Earth." Xeor whispered. "Long ago, when our most ancient ancestors were alive, a few of them left the planet Earth on a bold enterprise to settle other planets."

"They didn't have that type of technology." Ron interrupted the narration.

"Yes they did." Xeor replied, "There are many hidden secrets that have been censored from all current knowledge. Take the legend of Atlantis. I was not only a myth.

A real continent sunk into the Ocean, bringing with it the aqueous destruction of an advanced culture.

As I was saying, the humans that left the Earth traveled around the Sun to planet Mons. They settled it by means of their advanced science and technology, and soon a great empire arouse.

Now, son of Earth, will you join this great, benevolent Empire, or will you remain loyal to your corrupted governments?"

"You have only brought death and destruction to your people." Ron replied, fiercely. "I was sent to one of your pit mines on Mars. Is this what you call a great Empire?"

"All ancient and modern cultures were founded on the blood of slaves or tyrants. I am continuing their noble tradition." Xeor replied.

"No, you aren't!" Ron shouted.

He raised his weapon and was about to fire, when a solid object slammed into his head, sending him to the floor, unconscious.

Beep…Beep…Beep

Quiet sound penetrated the silence; its constant beat rhythmic and monotone.

John opened his eyes slowly to take in the strange surroundings. An array of wires and adhesive disks covered his chest, arms, and head. Where am I?

He was strapped down to an operating table in an immaculate, white, hospital room. A stainless steel door concealed the outside world.

A computer monitor atop a nearby desk displayed a digital, magnetic resonance image (MRI) of his brain.

Portions of it were varying colors, indicating levels of neurological activity.

Something caught his eye.

A red light was scintillating in the lower portion of his brain.

Suddenly a box popped up on the screen.

John strained to read the words. "The symbiotic, extra-communication vector chip is now fully compatible with the neuronic pathways of the hypothalamus." John read. What does that mean?

Without warning, the steel-plated door unlocked and swung open.

"The patient has revived." A male nurse in blue exclaimed.

An older man followed him in and ordered, "Give him another injection."

Fear took hold of John. What did they do to him? His heart began to beat fiercely.

The blue-coated nurse was approaching him, needle in hand.

Time slowed.

John ripped the restraining belts and sensors from his chest as if they were straw. Raw energy surged through his veins. His fist contacted with the man's chin before he realized what he was doing.

He burst through the steel door and into a white hall.

What am I going to do?

John looked either way and then ran towards the elevator.

Once the elevator doors closed, he began to breathe deeply.

"Attention all personnel, a patient has escaped from room 899. He was last seen on floor 60. Repeat: a patient has…" A female voice interrupted the tranquil elevator music.

---

Chapter Fourteen

---

Thud…Thud…Thud.

John's heart began to speed up.

Bing.

The doors opened. Only then, did John realize that he was only wearing orange pants.

His chest was bear and covered with red spots, where the suction-cup electrodes had been.

He was in another white hall. This time there was a door at the end of the hall with a red exit sign above.

Just as John was six feet away from the exit door, a steel door opened to his left and a strong technician emerged.

Before the man could stop him, John opened the exit door and found himself on a fire escape stairwell.

A new fear began to take hold of him. The men inside were going to do something terrible to him. What kind of vector were they trying to insert in his brain?

He had to escape. The only problem now lay before him: the fire escape was too short. No doubt, it rusted apart long ago.

Suddenly the exit door began to open.

Lance jogged apprehensively ahead, as Alfred followed. A cold mist began to fill the alley, slowly.

The garbage bins and refuse was not too cheerful to see.

"Where are we going, Lance?"

"Shh. They might hear us."

Lance was referring to the near escape when the two bullets struck near Alfred's head.

Alfred was not too happy with Lance. The man had tranquilized him, brought him to an underground shelter and now—they were being chased by snipers.

"Lance." Alfred grabbed the man's coat and pressed him into the wall. "I don't know what you think you're doing, but I am almost middle age, the president of NASA, and a very displeased, tired man. Now would you be so kind as to tell me where we are going and how or why you escaped?"

"I wanted to help you. They were going to kill you, so I had to bring you to my bomb shelter, unconscious." Lance replied.

"Who's going to kill me? They already implanted a chip in my brain." Alfred was nervous and agitated: a combination that wasn't compatible.

"There is no chip in your brain." Lance began, "They lied. They didn't have enough supplies for you to be given one."

Alfred released his hold on the coat. "So why did they release you?"

"I should tell you." Lance clenched his fist in agitation. He murmured to himself for a few seconds, and then looked at Alfred full in the face. "I am not a prisoner. I was sent by the government of Mons to-to spy on you. I am a dead man, Alfred."

"You are a—" Alfred was speechless.

"When I saw that you were different than the other prisoners, I realized that you had something that I wanted. I have always felt empty inside. I was injected with a vector chip." Lance paused in thought. "The vector chip controls the brain of the person injected with it and it can respond and obey commands from radio sources. There is another counterpart to the arrangement. A man, with a special command chip, can transmit his commands to a routing station—an artificial satellite—which then sends the commands to the vector chips of human subordinates." Lance glanced down the alley for a moment and then back at Alfred. "These men are, thus, controlled by one man. I was lucky enough to get a malfunctioning vector chip. I saw that you had none and I wanted to perhaps arrange an escape with you and your friend. It failed, as you can see. Now they want to kill us."

Alfred turned to survey the alley. "I don't think were safe here." He said, quietly.

Lance caught sight of what Alfred was alluding to.

A man in dark clothing had just entered the far end of the alley.

Frank walked down the empty hall on level 6 of the Monsian governmental transport ship.

He had an inkling that something was wrong- very wrong.

The lonely gallery was filled with the echoes of his footsteps.

A sound came quietly through the hall: a sliding, metallic sound.

Suddenly two men appeared around a bend, carrying—or rather, dragging an armored body.

"…take him to the emergency room and inject him with the biochip." An emotionless, accent-less voice was speaking.

Frank stood in attention when he saw that the man speaking was wearing a symbol of the Monsian officers, on his right shoulder. The officer's helmet concealed the man's white face.

"You soldier, help him with the body." The officer commanded to Frank.

He's talking to me? "Yes, sir." Frank replied. He had almost forgot that he was wearing Monsian armor.

The man was gone and soon Frank found himself alone with the other soldier.

"Grab his legs, will you?" The man asked Frank as he tried to get a better hold on the body.

Frank helped him drag the body into an adjacent room and onto an elevator.

A few floors later, they arrived at a threshold of a white, immaculate room. A sophisticated array of what appeared to be advanced medical equipment was arranged in a systematic way around the room.

They lifted the body into an operating chair.

"What happened to him?" Frank asked the guard.

"He's a traitor. He saw our Potentate and for that he shall die." The man replied firmly.

He turned away from Frank and seemed to be staring at the wall.

In a few moments the door opened and a robot entered.

The android's shiny nano-crystal fibers and self-adjusting, electro-activated plates gave it the appearance of cutting edge technology.

The robot's nose-less face peered at Frank for a moment, and then turned toward the body.

"To begin; we will require absolute immobility during the extant of the operation." The robot said, monotonously.

It stepped closer to the limp form and stretched out its arms.

The helmet came off with a hissing, as the pressurized suit, released its air.

Frank's jaw, unseen, dropped open.

The man, seated at the operation table was Ron, his captain.

Frank was acquainted with fear, but this—this was the failure of a mission-a mission that had massive, negative repercussions, if it was not fulfilled.

Without waiting a moment further, Frank raised his captured rifle and fired at the soldier.

Chunk.

A hole, framed in glowing metal, appeared in an instant.

The man collapsed, dead.

The next instant Frank rotated the gun toward the android—too late.

The robot's fist was in motion, only a foot away from Frank's chin.

Crash.

He shot backwards and landed with a skid. Frank's helmet detached with the blow and rolled into a far corner of the room.

"I have just received orders. You are not a Monsian soldier. Prepare to be terminated." The robot said coldly.

Frank's gun had slid five feet away—to far to reach.

Something on the robot's arm was moving. A long cylinder rose from a newly opened slot, in the robot's forearm. It was a gun.

The hospital security officer opened the door that led to the fire escape and surveyed the metal landing. Not a person was in sight.

After a few moments he turned and left.

John was hanging from a bar that was below the landing. He pulled himself up onto the landing and began to shake, with a combination of stress and fear.

That was close. He thought. Just then, he remembered the feeling intense pain in his shoulder when the bullet had struck it. The powerful blow had knocked him back and had sent him into unconsciousness.

He felt where the wound was and suppressed a cry.

He could not jump to the ground. It was 20 feet away.

Only option: go back.

Frank could almost imagine the feeling of a glowing, hot iron bar piercing through his flesh.

Wirr.

The gun was heating up.

Suddenly, before the robot could fire, a powerful object slammed into its back and sent it crashing to the floor as Frank rolled out of the way just in time.

"Frank." A voice came from the man by the operating chair.

"Ron! How did you awake so fast? You were unconscious."

"I don't know. All I saw was that a man was just about to shoot you."

"That wasn't a man." Frank replied slowly, "That was a 'droid."

"Anyways, we need to get out of here. Xeor knows that I saw him." Ron replied.

"Xeor had ordered the robot, there, to kill you."

"He's going to have them kill you too," Ron said, "unless we kill him first."

"Then let's move." Frank was already heading for his helmet.

Alfred and Lance flattened, quickly, against the wall.

The man turned in their direction. His eyes were searching the alley.

He turned away. Apparently, he had not seen them.

In a moment, the man was gone.

"Come." Lance whispered as he led Alfred towards a door on the side of the building.

Graffiti and rust covered its aged surface. The door swung open with a squeak to reveal a dark, musty storage room.

"I don't know if we should go in." Alfred didn't like the looks of the place.

"We have to get concealed." Lance replied.

The door closed behind them, and darkness reigned.

"There must be a light switch somewhere." Lance commented.

A strange whirring sound suddenly filled the air and like an explosion, a voice interrupted the silence. "Halt, prisoners. You are under arrest."

With a blinding sequence of flashes, white lights began to appear on a metal surface.

Two eyes cut the darkness with their blinding light, illuminating the men.

It was a robot.

---

Chapter Fifteen

---

Lights on its arms illuminated a built-in gun in its right arm.

"Hands up." The android ordered.

John opened the door a crack to peer in.

The hall was swarming with doctors and security guards.

He quickly shut the door and began searching for any way of escape.

Johnnoticed the rungs of a latter, above the door, that led to the roof.

Quickly, he grabbed the rungs and began climbing.

"Hey." Someone below him shouted. "There he is!"

Mac was seated at a table in a rather deserted, mini-restaurant. Fred was across from him.

They hadn't ordered anything yet. Eating was impossible without removing their helmets and to do so would betray their presence.

Mac bent over towards Fred and whispered, "I don't know about you, but it seems that we should contact Ron soon."

"Mac, have you ever wondered what happened to our guide, Yian?" Fred seemed not to be listening.

"No."

"I guess we left him." Fred responded.

"No. Wait. I think he died in the explosion in the base we infiltrated." Mac replied.

They were silent for a while in contemplation.

As if it came from nowhere, a voice spoke. "Actually, I was with you the whole time."

Mac and Fred turned to face the speaker.

"Yian!" They both said in unison.

"That's right. And now, if you'll be so kind as to allow me to arrest you-"

The man in armor approached them, weapon drawn.

"What? How could you?" Fred exclaimed.

"Was it really that hard to guess?" Yian smirked.

Suddenly, both Fred and Mac's hands were forced behind their backs by strong robots.

"It was nice working with you. My little, planned explosion in the base seemed to be a little small. I guess you thought that I was on your side. That's what I love about mole-work. You never know who the mole is until its too late." Yian continued with his narrative.

Mac was speechless. He had trusted the man only to find that—

"You really are quite a specimen." Yian was speaking to Mac. "When you escaped with your friends from the Mars base I thought that you would be quite a useful ally. You are not. Allowing you to live this long was a privilege that you abused."

"What are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about you." Yian smiled. "You were trying to kill me."

The revelation struck Mac at full force. Yian was the dictator of Mons—Yian was Xeor.

This was it. They had been caught. Alfred remembered that he had not preformed his assassination assignment. For that, he would be killed.

Alfred and Lance raised their hands in compliance with the robot's order.

Alfred could never have thought that a robot—a machine would tell him what to do.

The robot approached Lance.

"You have been given orders to spy on Alfred." The robot's monotone, emotionless voice said "You have defected to your enemy. For that, you will be destroyed."

"Wait." Ron told Frank to stop. "There is only one problem. We do not know where the dictator is."

"I have an idea," Frank replied, "Ron. I think I know where he is…."

The exit door opened again and this time, the guard saw John.

"Halt." He shouted.

John ignored him and was soon safely on the roof.

Clang, clang, clang…

Someone was climbing the latter he had just used.

"You're the Dictator of Mons." Fred asked slowly.

"You are slow-witted creatures. Of course, I am one and the same." Yian replied.

"You—" Mac was furious.

"The use of expletives is exemplary of a lower species." Yian smiled with malevolence. "Now, that you have tried to murder me, and hunt me down, you will realize that it was futile. Your planet is now under my complete authority. It was clever of me, wouldn't you say to sublimely take over your world. My incognito representatives and spies infused your government, economy, citizenship, and politics with elements of my agenda, until the whole world was brought under complete subjection to a virtual dream—a dream of prosperity, peace, harmony. Of course, these virtues don't exist, but when you have infused each individual with propaganda, disguised as truth. When you have disguised homicide with love for the welfare of the global community and when you have eradicated justice and replaced it with tolerance, you have a world that is ready to be taken with any nice promise. I now have your world. What can you possibly do to stop me? I have you in my sight. Soon you will be under my control. There is no hope for you now."

Mac was silent during the whole narrative. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. Earth was under Yian's—Xeor's control.

"Now, if you will, kindly follow these S-1 units to the service center." Yian shifted his attention to two robots that had just entered.

Mac and Fred were watching the man. As Yian turned to the robots, Mac suddenly had the impulse to fire at Yian. In a split second, Mac's gun was aimed at Yian. His finger was on the verge of pulling the trigger, when- blam.

His gun was knocked out of his hand.

The robot who had fired, had aimed its built-in gun at Mac. "Sir, should I kill him?" It asked, Yian.

"Not yet." Yian walked up to Mac and smiled. "So you thought you could finish your mission after all? I am not stupid. I anticipated your move and sent a signal to my trusty robot. You do not realize something. I could have that android kill you now even as we speak, without my having to give a verbal command."

The robots grabbed Mac Fred and roughly.

"Wait. I change my mind. These fools are of no use to us. Kill them." Yian ordered.

Just as the words had left his mouth, a shot rang through the air.

Yian suddenly jerked sharply. His eyes caught Mac's for a moment. Fear and hatred filled them. The next moment, he fell to the ground.

No second shot came.

Mac and Fred were incredulous. How—what—who did that happen?

The robots fell silent and lowered their arms.

From behind the fallen body of Yian, the dictator of Mons, were two armored soldiers.

The soldiers approached Fred and Mac and suddenly ran at them.

Alfred cringed. He could just see the intense beam of heat coming from the robot, and slicing through his body.

After what seemed an eternity, he looked up. The robot was still and cold with its arm-gun lowered.

"What's happening?" Lance asked.

Alfred just shook his head, unable to answer.

John looked around for a way of escape. The roof was flat and empty. There were no ventilation ducts.

A man's head appeared above the side of the roof and soon he had climbed onto the roof.

"Halt. Stay where you are." The man shouted.

Fred and Mac reached for their guns.

"Don't. Wait." One soldier exclaimed.

Quickly, he removed his helmet and the face of Frank appeared.

Ron's face was soon seen as well.

"Ron- Frank, how did you know where we were?" Fred asked.

"Ron had noticed a red moving dot which was surrounded by yellow dots, on a computer screen. He figured out that the red dot was the dictator." Frank replied.

"Hey, is that really the dictator?" Ron asked. He could now see the man's face. "It's Yian!"

"You are right. The man was a traitor. He, in fact, was the dictator in disguise." Mac replied.

Ron studied the face carefully. Yian—Xeor had light-brown hair, blue eyes and tight lips.

As Ron reached his hands under the head, the hair all fell off in a heap—it was a wig.

He could now a bald head and a rubber flap. Grabbing the flap, he pulled. A mask came off.

He stood up, suddenly, with a gasp.

The man's face was ghostly white. His blue iris was beginning to peel off to reveal a red circle underneath.

"His eyes are peeling!" Fred exclaimed.

"No. Those are blue contact lenses." Frank bent over the body and carefully removed the blue, plastic lenses. Red-pink irises stared up at the ceiling, lifeless.

"The man's an albino." Ron said.

The men stood.

"Now what?" Frank asked.

"Well from what I have heard-and please remember that this is highly confidential- the computer chips in each soldier should be deactivated when the dictator dies." Ron replied.

"Meaning-" Mac asked.

"The soldiers have no one controlling them." Ron turned from one man to the next. "They should be very confused and bewildered about where they are and why they are there. The computer chip Xeor—Yian used was alleged to be designed to control the brain of the person implanted with it. The person should have forgotten everything that occurred to them after receiving the chip implantation."

John ignored the man's harsh voice as he dashed across the roof.

His heart was beginning to punctuate the seconds with a throb.

The flat roof presented no escape.

John glanced back. The man had a gun.

Alfred and Lance left the dark room with the inanimate robot and entered a cluttered room.

Knives lined one wall and the smell of meat lingered in the air. It was a meat pantry.

A large, table stained with blood from beef, and a rusty sink occupied the other wall.

"This must be a butcher shop." Alfred commented.

"I don't like the place." Lance was scanning the room.

They approached a door. Cracking it open, Lance peered through the vertical slit.

He rapidly and quietly closed the door and backed away.

"We have customers." He whispered.

"Mac, do you know where the cockpit is?" Ron asked.

"It may be a floor above." was the response.

"Attention, there has been a security infringement." A computer voice intoned over the intercom. "All personnel, report to the main hall. Attention, there has been a…."

"Uh, Oh: we blew our cover." Ron frowned. "Everyone, we must find a secure area and hide. Move."

The men quickly put on their helmets and followed Ron as he made his way to an elevator.

The shiny, silver halls echoed with the discordant sound of running and bustling.

"An S-2 unit has been deployed to restore optimum security." The intercom blared.

John was about to give himself up, in despair, when he spotted an adjacent building. He would have to jump a ten foot gap, 30 stories high, to make it to the other building.

Ping.

A bullet struck a narrow ventilation pipe nearby.

John braced himself and ran.

The rushing of air in his ears temporarily deafened his hearing as he approached the ledge.

He was in mid air. The other building was approaching fast. What if he didn't make it?

Alfred looked through the aperture. After a few moments he began to shake with fear.

"It's an apparition." Alfred whispered to himself. "It can't be real. People just don't grow that large."

"They're real. We have to get out of here as quickly and quietly as possible." Lance replied.

Ron turned to the others, once they had found a vacant room, and had shut the door.

"Change of plans. We have to shut down this ship's power."

"Why?" Mac asked.

"Once their power is off we will be able to hide more easily." Ron turned to the others as he explained, "The artificial gravity generator would be off and our enemies would not be able to chase after us in zero-gravity conditions. We need to locate the ship's engine and shut it down. That will call for team work. Mac-"

"Yes?"

"You and Frank will be in charge of locating the engine and shutting it down." Ron continued. "Fred and I will be your cover you and take out any soldiers in the engine room. Does everyone understand?"

"Yes." They all replied except for Frank.

"Captain, how exactly do we find the engine room and how do we shut down the engine?" Frank wondered.

"You can find a map of the ship and as for the engine-you'll figure it out. Now let's move."

Mac and Frank were on their way down one of the many halls in the giant space craft.

"We need a map." Frank whispered, "Where will we find one?"

"Just look." Mac replied.

"Mac, someone's coming."

Mac saw who Frank was indicating. Mac's eyes froze on the moving apparition. His blood began to throb in his ears.

He could remember the dark mines in Mars and the coldness and misery. He could remember his captors well. Like a vortex of darkness and evil, the armor of the guards absorbed all light. A sound came, like the ringing of a sharp blade against a grinding stone, from the guards as they withdrew their firearms, from holsters on their backs.

Ten legs extended and dropped to the ground with a harsh impact on the metal floor.

Ten heads turned to view the two intruders.

An electromagnetic signal propagated from their visual and electronic sensors in their helmets. The built in computer screens, in their helmets displayed a short message: 'Enemy intruder—destroy.'

Ten guns extended towards Mac and Frank.

The silence began to beat with a palpitation of anticipation.

Ten fingers moved for the ten triggers.

His feet contacted with the roof and his knees buckled under him.

John took, shakily. Dull pain coursed through his legs. He knew one thing: he had to run.

Whap

The enemy's silenced gun had fired again.

John didn't look back. He ran to the nearest ventilation duct and crouched behind it.

They were outside, in the alley. Lance grabbed Alfred's hand and ran.

They were on the street. Cars rushed by towards their destination.

Hordes of people jostled past them. Something caught Alfred's attention: the people were emotionless. Not a smile or a frown creased any of their faces.

Alfred shuddered. He couldn't help thinking; they are the living-dead: zombies.

"We need to leave the country." Lance whispered to Alfred without turning his head.

"Where's the airport?" Alfred asked.

"Just a mile away. We go down-" Lance paused.

"What is it?" Alfred turned to look at what Lance's gaze was fixed on.

A group of bobbing heads shuffled through the crowd toward them.

Navy-blue uniforms and silver badges revealed their occupation: police.

Ka-boom

The explosion ripped through the air with a deafening concussion.

Mac and Frank saw the armored soldiers blasted to oblivion before a rippling shockwave contacted with them, knocking them off their feet.

Sparks flew into the air as Mac's armor slid across the metal floor.

Frank rolled onto his back and slowly stood. He peered into the hall, through his helmet's view-screen.

A man was watching him. After a brief moment he began to approach Frank.

"Mac, is that you?" the approaching man asked.

"No I'm Frank. Mac's on the ground."

The man removed his helmet.

"Ron. What happened?"

"I fired a rocket. It looked like you were having trouble."

"We need to find the engine room." Frank replied.

"We know where it is now. The only problem is how to shut it down."

Mac stood and approached the talking men.

"Your explosive gave me an idea." Mac entered the conversation.

"Say on." Ron commanded.

"We could use powerful explosives to knock out the engine."

"Mac, you don't understand." Ron explained. "This engine is surrounded by a thick wall of nano-structured pyro-ceramics. The pyro-ceramic is a material resistant to heat, pressure, and explosions. The engine its-self, runs on anti-matter. Anti-matter collides with positive matter to make a powerful explosion. Part of the explosion is directed away from the ship for locomotion, while the rest of the explosion is channeled into transformers which provide the ship with a power supply."

"What could we do then?" Frank asked.

"The anti-matter is stored in a special negative-energy field, containment chamber. It is released whenever a signal is sent from the main computer, which happens to be powered by the anti-matter/positive matter explosion, indirectly." Ron continued. "We need to shut down the negative energy that is supplied to the chamber. This negative energy is what keeps the anti-matter away from the walls of the chamber. Once it is shut down, the anti-matter will collide with the positive matter in the walls of the chamber and obliterate the ship. We must be gone before that happens."

"How do you know this?" Mac asked.

"I found the main computer of the ship." Ron answered with enthusiasm in his voice, "It gave me this information as well as instructions on how to shut down the negative-energy field in the storage chamber with strong admonition against it. We need to find the endo-control-cell. It is supposedly a room that has controls for the negative-energy levels…"

A blind covered a three by four foot aperture in the ventilation duct.

If only he could access the duct.

Wait. John noticed a screwdriver nearby. A maintenance man must have left it there.

John quickly found the screws and began unscrewing the blind.

---

Chapter Sixteen

---

A moment later, he removed the blind and entered the duct. The ventilation system was an extensive maze of metal tunnels that branched off in all directions. John found a vertical shaft. John could see a room below, through the tunnel. Saying a quick prayer, he entered the shaft.

Thwa-chunk

A bullet hole appeared in the side of the duct, only inches from his head.

Lance grabbed Alfred's hand in a convulsive motion and they ran.

The police shouted, "Stop where you are."

Alfred's blood froze. The police might, at this moment, be pointing guns at them.

"Lance. They told us to stop." Alfred said in between gasps as the half-jogged.

"Don't stop. They can't shoot us in this crowd." Lance replied.

Ping

A small pockmark appeared in the concrete not far away.

"I take that back." Lance shouted, "Run!"

"We can't do this alone." Frank whispered.

He and the rest of the men were in armor standing before a large, sliding, blast-lock door. Ron was trying with repeated failure to enter the correct code into the computer terminal.

"You're right." Ron said, finally. "Let's pray."

Everyone there had realized that only one Being could help them: God.

Frank had doubted the existence of God ever since his father had told him that the only reality is what you make for yourself.

If it is true, then where did life begin? He had come to the conclusion that God created it.

"God, I guess I'm new at this whole Christian thing." As Ron prayed, a tear ran down his cheek. He was grateful the helmet covered his face. He had never asked God for help before. "We can't do this alone." He continued. "The world count's on us to set them free from the mental bondage they are in. You have set us free from eternal death, Jesus, so could you help us to set others free. We thank you again for what you do."

A sense of peace suddenly overcame him.

Frank lost some of his trepidation and allowed himself to smile, in wonder.

"Let's go." Mac said presently.

Ron took a deep breath and approached the controls for the door.

Just as he was about to type, the door opened.

A man, wearing a grey-silver jumpsuit paused in mid-step.

"We'll let you live if you take us to the endo-control-cell." Ron spoke firmly.

"Brithnae crontae." The man replied.

"Do you speak English?" Mac asked.

"Yes." The man admitted, sheepishly.

"Then, take us there." Ron commanded. Ron could hear footsteps down the passage. The footsteps sounded more like marching. Only soldiers marched.

"Take us now." Ron commanded as he raised his gun towards the man.

The man typed in the code, rapidly and soon the whole group was through the doorway moments before the first soldier rounded the corner.

John was falling. He felt powerless; his arms flaying. The ground slammed into his feet and he rolled to the floor with pain shooting up his legs.

When he finally was able to stand, John couldn't believe what he was seeing before him.

A large, windowless room appeared before his dazed eyes. A large, digital clock on the wall indicated the time, 4:23. Rows of desks faced the far wall. Each desk contained a person. Each person was rigidly stiff and facing the far wall.

At the far wall was a large plasma screen. John quickly turned away, when he saw what was playing on the screen.

John had never had cable, satellite, or digital TV growing up. When he got an apartment he had signed up with a cable channel. He had seen shows and movies that were R rated.

All the violence, profanity, immorality and killing that he had seen would have been considered mild compared to what he saw on the plasma screen.

Then, John noticed something his dazed bemused mind had never noticed before; the people seated at the desks, watching the plasma TV were not adults, they were not teen- agers, they were young kids.

Their eyes were emotionless and magnetically attracted to the images.

John caught himself staring at the screen. He blinked his eyes and glanced at the clock.

When he had arrived it was 4:23, now the clock showed 4:50.

How much time had he spent watching the sadistic action?

Suddenly the violence and immorality ended. A large face appeared. The man, on the screen, was smiling benevolently. He wore a fine necktie and suit. His hair was short and well groomed.

"Attention, my students, there is a source of dark matter in your classroom. Please do your best to capture him." The man said with a pleasant, accent-less voice.

The message was shocking, to say the least. John could feel goose-bumps form underneath his clothes.

All heads turned in his direction. All vacant eyes fixed their gaze on him.

Something demonic appeared in their cold eyes—a ghost of malevolence.

As Lance and Alfred pushed through the crowd, five police officers followed them- guns in hand.

The leader, named Carl Denning, could feel intense hatred toward the running fugitives. He wanted not just to kill them, but he wanted them to suffer as much as he had suffered all his miserable life on the street. He had been a foster child all his life. He evaded the orphanages and gangs. He had lived for days on dumpster food behind Joe's Cafe'. Joining the police force at age 21, he was able to get a job that paid more that the bare minimum wage and one that gave him the right to punish his abusers.

Now, Carl's mind was focused like a surgeon's scalpel, hovering above the patient's skin. Soon it would strike. The men were not innocent as far as he was concerned. They had been sentenced to death but he wouldn't let them go so easily. Death is merciful. Jail is monotonous. Torture is enthralling.

Carl found an opening in the crowd. He aimed his dart-pistol and fired.

Alfred dashed around a bend just a moment before the dart struck into Lance's back, toppling him to the ground, instantly.

Alfred turned to see if Lance was behind him. He gasped. Lance was on the ground, motionless.

They had come through endless hallways, dodged guards, and had finally arrived before a ceiled door.

Ron could see no controls for the door.

"How do we get through?" He asked the technician. His gun was not far from the man's back.

"They use a retina scan to activate this door. Once activated, a signal travels to the security center, informing them of its activation." The man replied.

"Can your retina be used?" Ron pushed.

"They will kill me when the find out that I have helped you." The fearful man whispered.

"We won't let them, if you help us. We will give you freedom if you will just show us how to shut down the ship's engine." Ron responded.

For moments Mac, Frank, Fred, and Ron watched their captive in silence as the man contemplated the issue.

Click.. .click ...click….

The sound of footsteps approaching echoed down the hall.

"Either you help us and get saved or you die." Ron pressured. It would only be moments before they would be detected.

"Oh—alright." The man stepped up to the door and spoke. "Drain-cromtra-rume."

The door hissed open just as the approaching footsteps broke into a run.

The astronauts entered through the doorway and began running down the new hallway.

Frank looked back. "Captain, their after us!"

Ron turned to see the Monsian soldiers pass through the open doorway they had just entered through.

Mac raised his gun and fired.

Blang. Cha-cling.

He had fired once before his gun jammed.

Blang Blang.

Frank, Ron, and Fred ducked behind inset doorways, open firing on the soldiers.

Projectiles shot through the air in both directions as the soldiers returned fire.

A few of them fell dead, while more began to enter and take their place.

"Let's go." Fred shouted. "We can't fight this much."

Ron knew they were outnumbered. There was no hope but to run.

The men dashed off down the hall.

Blang.

The shot had come from the leader, a tall burly guard.

Ron jerked his head around and stopped in mid-step. Frederick had fallen to the ground. A glowing hole in his armor identified the energy beam's penetration point.

The soldiers in the distance grew dim. Ron was in shock. The sensation of a cold breeze on wet skin chilled him.

He could see a graveyard, a crowd of people, a casket being lowered into the ground. A prayer. A tear. A grieving heart: his own.

The man in the casket was dear to him. He had taken Ron on many fishing trips. The man had loved Ron as any good father could love his son.

Ron paled. That same feeling came back to him now as he saw the limp form of a man he had grown to know and a man he had grown to admire and respect through the challenges and dangers they had faced.

That man was now…dead.

The firm feeling of a gauntleted hand on his arm brought Ron back to the present.

Mac pulled his captain away from the corpse as projectiles impacted into the walls nearby.

The rounded a bend, entered through a sliding, armored door, and found them selves, at last, inside the endo-control-cell.

John had never seen the raw hatred and murder in the eyes of children before. His skin became like a wire charged with electricity. Fear took hold of him. The children began to approach.

Before John could think he was running.

"Lance!" Alfred stifled a cry. Surely the man was dead.

He couldn't wait around. Any moment, the police would be on him.

Alfred turned and ran.

Pain washed over the faces of Mac, Ron, and Frank. They had lost a faithful comrade.

They had got to know Frederick well during the past few weeks.

Ron whispered after a while, "We need to do our mission."

They headed down a hall lined with doors, and arrived at the far door. Soon this was accessed by the guide, and they entered a bare, steel-walled room.

It was a large plasma-screen that had first caught Ron's attention. The screen was a deep, indigo hue. It covered the whole area of the far wall. On either adjacent wall were two sealed doors. The screen was lifeless and static at the moment.

"Ok now. How do we shut the engine down?" Ron asked their guide.

The man was silent.

Frank pointed his gun at the man. "Tell us now." He was not in a good mood after what had happened.

The man was motionless—a living statue.

"I don't think he will talk." Mac offered.

"They must be in control of him, via his implanted chip." Ron added. "We'll have to figure it out ourselves. Frank, Mac, see if you can find any controls.

They searched the room to no avail. No secret panels could be found.

"Stop." Ron commanded. "This is not going to work."

Ron approached the giant screen and spoke, "Computer, turn on."

A strange undulating distortion came on the screen as a face appeared.

"What can I do for you?" The face was talking.

As Ron walked closer, he could see that the face was a genderless apparition. It was a combination of feminine and masculine features, balanced in a very smooth, subtle texture.

"I would like to have access to the engine." Ron replied after some hesitation. The others were staring in amazement at the screen.

"Access is denied unless you specify the proper initiation command." The face replied with a weird tone that had qualities of both a man and a woman's voice.

"What is the password?" Ron asked the guide.

No reply came.

Ron swore under his breath. His eyes lowered. No. It is wrong to use cuss words.

Clang… clang.. clang.

"What's that sound?" Ron asked.

Frank approached the door and listened. "It's the soldiers: they're on the other side."

The thumping on the door ceased.

"Maybe they realized it would be impossible for them to enter, since only technicians like this one know the entrance code." Mac assured them.

Ron wasn't assured. "They might find a technician to type it in for them. We need to find that initiation password."

Mac turned to Ron. His brows were furrowed in concentration. "You know, Ron, we asked God for help in knowing what password to type in. God let that man open the door for us, unknowingly."

Ron lowered his chin. "You're right, Mac."

The men huddled together once more. They knew deep within their being that God cared for them. Each man had asked God into their heart to save them from their ultimate fate: eternal separation from God and an eternity in Hell.

"…we thank you, Jesus that you can somehow provide a way for this to occur." Ron ended the prayer.

Ron waited in the silence for God to work. Nothing happened.

"Will you show us the password?" Frank asked the silent technician.

The man, as before, didn't reply.

"Ron, it didn't work." Mac said, coldly.

"I don't understand. After we prayed before, the man had opened the door from the other side." Ron replied.

"We all are doing this wrong." Frank commented. "We shouldn't expect God, the creator of everything, to always do what we want. Maybe, He doesn't always do things the way we think He will."

Ron nodded. "You're right. My Sunday school teacher, Mr. Denson had told me that."

"Dear, God, please do something for us—something to get us out of this predicament." Frank whispered a prayed.

Just as Frank turned back to the group of men, a hand shot out from the side, and with a steel grip tore his rifle away.

In an instant, the technician, with hatred in his eyes aimed the gun at Frank.

"You shoot and he dies." The man said quickly.

"Lower the gun." Ron commanded, resolutely.

"You kill me—my finger jerks spasmodically—trigger goes off." The technician replied between breaths.

"Don't obey that chip in your brain." Mac said. "You want to be free, right?" Mac was sweating. Somehow the words came from his mouth contrary to his extreme desire to shoot the man.

"Yes." The tech replied.

"Then drop the gun and we will guarantee your freedom." Mac continued.

"Never." Blam

The gun fired.

It was aimed at Mac.

---

Chapter Seventeen

---

John found an elevator, after ten minutes of running. Gratefully, he entered it and dashed for the controls.

"Come on." He whispered.

The demonic children had found sharp pieces of steel somewhere and were approaching rapidly.

Bing.

The elevator door closed and John was on his way to the bottom floor.

Bing.

The doors parted to reveal something he could never had dreamed of. It was a nightmare of nightmares.

A theater, dark and noisy, appeared.

On the screen was playing a movie—the worst movie John had seen. Killing. Gore. Immodesty. Cuss words. Images of demons devouring people. It continued: Killing. Gore. Immodesty….

His heart sank into the pit of his stomach. The seats were filled with children. They were staring at it in perfect, emotionless, attention.

Then, it came. He could feel an irritation in his nose. Sneezing would not be a good idea.

Alfred had come to his wit's end. He was done for-dead meat—ruined. His career was destroyed and soon his life could be.

Luck came—no not luck. It was providence.

A taxi pulled up to the curb a few feet away. Alfred ran to meat it and hastily got in.

"Take me—" Alfred had to think. Too many thoughts filled his brain. Not far away the police were coming. "Take me to the coast."

"This is a taxi, not a rental car." The man replied gruffly.

"Then take me to a rental place."

The car was on its way just moments before the police arrived at the scene.

"%!" Carl swore when he saw the yellow taxi cab drive off.

He had to calm down—to think. Where would I go if I was Alfred? I might try to escape.

"Come on, men. We're going to the rental service. If he isn't there, we'll try the air port." ere would I go if I was Alfred?" taxi cab drive off.

A gasp came from Mac's lips when the orange-rimmed hole appeared in his armor.

Ron, with no sound, screamed in his mind, in agony.

His mind was aflame with a mixture of hate and sorrow.

Mac crumpled to the floor, dead.

The technician turned the gun towards the other men.

"Drop your weapons." The tech ordered, fiercely.

For an instant Ron could feel deep sorrow. Mac had been with them during their first mission in outer-space. They had gone through many dangers together. Ron was loosing men. He could feel an intense passion of hatred take hold of his mind.

"Love your enemies." The words entered Ron's mind suddenly, from a nebulous past, when he was in Sunday school. His Sunday-school teacher was talking about one of Jesus's parables. At that time he could never remember having any enemies before.

He could feel his hate diminish slowly when he realized that the technician was completely controlled by the computer chip.

The man needs his chip be eradicated. Ron thought.

The thoughts in his mind took only a split second.

"Men, do what he says." Ron ordered as he set his own gun down.

"That man will kill us if we do." Frank shouted with hate.

"Frank! Do what he says if you want to live." Ron commanded.

Frank had never heard his captain use such a strong command. He set his gun down.

Ron began to pray. He did not know exactly why. He did not think that it was possible to in such a tense situation.

The technician began to approach the locked security door at the end of the room.

"Now, put your hands on your heads." The tech ordered.

They obeyed.

Ron suddenly spoke. "You can kill us if you want but you will only be harming yourself."

"What do you mean?" The man asked, tensely.

Ron believed what he was about to say with a growing, deep passion. "We are Christians. I never had believed what Christians had told me about God. God was either non-existent—I had thought-or He didn't care about us at all. I found out later that I was wrong."

"Get to the point." The tech interrupted.

Ron was relieved that the man had not shot them yet. "We are going to a place called Heaven, not because we are good people—we all have committed some moral crime—but because God gave us His Son to take our place. He was perfect." Ron did not know how he could have remembered all this from 15 years ago in a Sunday school class. He knew that what he was saying came, in some way, from God. Ron continued after a breath. "Jesus, God's Son, never sinned once. He died for our crimes and sins so that we could live with Him in Heaven for eternity. You will go to the place God established for the Devil and his demons, unless you ask God to take away your sins by His Son's death on a Roman cross. Please accept His gift."

The tech was silent. Time passed slowly. The blue wall-size computer screen was static.

After what seemed an eternity, the man lowered his gun.

He quickly raised it. "How do I know that this is true?"

"What does your conscience tell you?" Ron asked.

The tech was silent.

A delicate balance was focused to this point in time. Anything that occurred afterward would be affected profoundly by this singularity.

Time was stopped.

tha-thump…tha-thump…tha-thump ar was on its way just moments before the police arrived at the scene.

e were coming. "ea.

e. It continued:

Frank's heart beat palpitated in his hearts.

Any moment that gun could go off and he would be dead.

tha-thump…tha-thump…tha-thump-Clang-ring.

Frank nearly died from shock. The sound was piercing and stunning.

The gun had fallen to the metal floor with an echoing ring.

The technician was sobbing—a grown man was crying with sorrow. It had been a long time since Joseph Wheeler had felt any emotion. He had been taken from his school on Mons as a young, thirteen year old boy, and sent to a military training program on Mons. The dictator, Xeor wanted all the young males he could get for his army. After the first month, Joseph had forgotten who he was, where he was born, what the names of his parents were, and what he was. He had not thought much about anything. Now he was 28 years old. Life had been a dream since the chip-implantation surgery, 15 years ago. Today, something had changed. He had awoken from a nightmare. Somehow the computer chip was not working as it should.

He knew what he had to do.

The tech walked forward until he stood before the blue computer screen.

Ron was speechless. He could not believe what he was seeing.

Frank, equally confounded, watched as Joseph began some verbal commands.

"Computer," Joseph commanded.

"Yes?" The neuter face materialized in the screen.

"Access the anti-matter engines." Joseph replied.

"Please enter the proper access code." The face said.

Before Joseph could enter the code, his mind fogged up. He could not remember it.

"What's wrong?" Ron asked when he saw the tech's hesitation.

"I can't remember the password." Joseph replied.

"Do you have a code book?" Frank asked.

A light turned on in the tech's mind. "Yes!" The Joseph said as he reached for his portable computer. "Wait," Joseph whispered as he was checking the computer's memory. "The password is gone!"

"Cant you—" Frank began.

"It won't work."

Ron couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"But, I do know what will." Joseph replied.

He approached the wall-computer.

"Computer, access energy supply."

"Please enter the correct password." The computer asked.

"Xeonitrone. 232000." Joseph answered.

"Access granted." The computer face dissolved and the screen lit up with a complex system of labeled squares that were interconnected like a computer circuit.

"Energy modification depot."

A huge diagram appeared of the anti-matter engine.

Chambers, electromagnetic repulsors, and a vast network of components that Ron had no idea what they were filled the screen. One region was highlighted in neon-blue.

"Select anti-gravity capacitors."

The highlighted region zoomed in to reveal an even more complex system of correlating parts.

Ron was glad they had the technician on their side. He could never have figured it out alone.

After a few more menus, Joseph entered a final password.

"Your operation is commencing." The neuter face rematerialized. "All energetic, proto-genic substrates have been accessed. Energy erasure is commencing. Warning: execution of this task will shut down all functional support and maintenance systems. The astro-ship will self-destruct in approximately 1200 seconds. Repeat: warning: execution of…"

"We need to leave." The tech turned to Ron and Frank. "Escape crafts are this way."

Joseph led the men out through the security doors.

Relief: The irritation in his nasal system ceased.

John searched, with his eyes, for any exit door he could find.

Ah. He thought. Here's one.

John entered, through the exit door, into a hallway. He could not believe how large the building was.

Something was coming. John flattened himself against the door, incontinently.

The being resolved in his vision, into a smooth shiny body supported by long, articulated appendages.

The android approached John. Its eyes were like two intense Suns, powered by fusion.

They pierced into his face with emotionless intensity.

For an indefinite time they scrutinized him.
"Where is your microchip? Has it been degaussed?" The robot asked with a nasal, electronic voice.

John eyed the robot's arms. In each forearm a hollow metal cylinder protruded out from the arm, parallel to the length of the arm.

John had no doubt they were guns.

The robot repeated its question: "Where is your microchip?"

John thought of an answer, but gave it up. There was no way he could lie to a robot like that.

"You must have a microchip to be in this station. I will take you to a censor." The robot continued.

John knew where he was going. The hospital was the only place that could insert microchips.

There has to be a way out.

Alfred was entering the country. Farms and fields drifted past the side windows like barges on the Thames.

The G-600 Pontiac was a nice car. John had to get used to the high tech taxi-cab.

The cab driver was 53 thousand dollars richer. Alfred was 53,000 dollars poorer and not a penny more. He was most likely fired from his job as well as bankrupt. The cab driver had his debit card and number.

Alfred tried to forget about how ruined he was financially and enjoy the view. He couldn't. The police were after him for no reason. Then again, not much made sense these days.

Suddenly, the digital navigation screen lit up with a red, flashing symbol of a police car.

The radio, news station was interrupted by a computer voice. "This is your vehicle computer system. Attention, driver, the police require you to pull off to the left side of the road. Repeat: attention driver, the…"

Alfred sighed and pressed the power button on the screen. Its polymeric screen darkened and the voice ended while the radio station continued.

Alfred glanced in his rear view mirror. Flashing lights reflected in the glass.

A siren reached his ears.

Then, a smile began to grow on his face. His car was built to endure. It was in fact, a slightly older police car model.

Alfred hit the gas pedal.

"By the way," Ron turned to the technician once they had entered an elevator. "What's your name?"

"Joseph Dean. That is just my English name. The name my parents gave me is, Yoshlen Avkaree." Joseph replied with a little anxiety in his voice.

The elevator 'binged' just as the doors opened.

Frank gripped his gun tightly. "Do you know if this level is guarded?"

"We have only two androids in this level." Joseph replied.

"We'll have to keep a look out." Ron added.

The three men, two in armor, one in a jumpsuit, entered the desolate hall.

A muffled sound whispered through the still air.

"What's that? Do you hear it?" Frank asked.

"It sounds like voices." Joseph replied.

Just then, a sound could be heard seeping from under a closed door: voices.

Ron approached the door, warily, and removed his helmet.

With his ear to the door, he was able to hear a deep, guttural voice talking. "Our Leader is dead. The moles onboard have exterminated him. Our best soldiers failed to kill them."

"Nothing like this has ever happened before." A cold and emotionless voice replied.

"We need to find these infiltrators and exterminate them." The guttural voice replied.

"There is no way we can with our computer chip technology since they have no chip implants." The cold voice added.

"I have a way." The deep voice chuckled softly. "There is no need to exterminate them. I have a plan that has been developing since Xeor built that infernal base on Mars. This plan of mine will go far beyond extermination. We will not control people's minds with computer chips. Xeor was rather antiquated in his methodology. After all, he was born on Earth."

The words hit Ron with a powerful revelation. Xeor, the dictator of planet Mons, was born on Earth? Ron thought.

"Xeor was a puppet in the hands of Abbadon." The guttural voice continued. "Abbadon will be my equal. We will not take over the brains of people, but over the very essence of human existence."

"There is only one problem." The second voice added.

"What's that?"

"How can you control a human to his very soul?"

"You have worked for Xeor all these years and you still do not know?" The deep voice asked with a mocking tone.

"You have always had queer ideas." The cold voice replied, defensively.

Ignoring the retort, the deep voice continued, "Feed them lies mixed with truth. Give them and enemy to hate, give them entertainment, and give them a cause, no matter how absurd, to fight for, and they will bow at your knees. Remember, brainwashing is limited, computer chips are expensive, and terror-induced obedience is short-lived."

"It may work." The cold voice replied, contemplatively.

"It will work. Once we have total control, we will become God."

Ron had had enough. "Frank. On my lead, we'll enter."

Ron replaced his helmet on his head, backed away from the door a few paces, and then aimed his gun at its flushed handle.

Joseph back away.

Blang. Blang.

The two shots echoed down the hallway.

Ron kicked open the door.

A room appeared in his helmet view screen.

A crescent-shaped conference table, a large wall-screen, and twelve seats furnished the metallic-grey room.

The crescent-shaped table was facing the large wall-screen.

Ron, with trepidation scanned the room for the source of the voices.

Nothing could be seen of the speakers.

Suddenly two chairs swiveled around.

---

Chapter Eighteen

---

Black. Ron could not believe what he was seeing. Two black, human-shaped vacuums were seated at the table.

They were not wearing armor. They were simply two three-dimensional shadows of men: black voids shaped like men.

Suddenly, both of them drew pistols.

Ron, Frank, and Joseph had left the room in and instant.

They were not human. Ron thought as they ran down the hall- fear impelling them forward.

"We need to get out of here and fast." Frank whispered hoarsely. His eyes darted around the room as if they were searching for specters.

Ron bowed his head. Dear God, save us. Please…do something to bring us to safety…. Ron prayed silently.

Frank glanced behind to see if anyone was following them. His mouth dropped.

Doors had opened and metalloid bipeds pored into the hall.

"Robots!" Frank shouted.

Ron half turned. The androids raised their arms in a firing position.

Before the death rays could fire, the three men had entered a door.

A large room stretched out before them.

Ron found himself in awe.

All over the room were large, black spherical objects, 20 feet in diameter.

Concave indents in the ground inhibited the spheres from rolling, while strong, thick metal appendages with concave suction-cup-shaped ends held the spheres in place.

Joseph had been keeping track of time. "We have only 30 seconds left."

"Let's hurry then." Ron prompted.

"Right." Joseph approached one large sphere and unlocked a manually opened hatch.

"Get in."

Bam!

The door to the room was blasted off its hinges.

Robots pored into the large sphere-filled chamber.

The leader scanned the 30-some escape pods with his electronic eyes.

"All units: capsule 5, has been activated." A command from the central computer-hum entered his computer-brain.

"Fire at capsule 5." he ordered.

Suddenly, before the robots could fire, a voice blared through the intercom. "Alert: System failure; Energy supply has been erased. System failure. Abort ship. Re-"

The intercom message was muted by an intense explosion: layers of titanium and reinforced steel were obliterated as easily as it takes to shred paper.

In an instant the robots and all humans on the space craft of Xeor were reduced to space dust.

Alfred suddenly jerked to a violent stop almost as soon as he had hit the gas.

The car screeched to a stop off road.

Dazzled, he groped to find the door handle and found himself in a different world.

The police cars had stopped. The sky had suddenly lit up with an aurora of color.

An explosion in deep space had illuminated the world with light that far preponderated that of the sun. All shadows had for an instant vanished. He blinked and wiped his eyes.

He caught movement in his peripheral vision.

A police officer approached him.

"Are you ok, sir?" The officer said. "We had an accident back up the road a short distance away and I was not sure if you had one."

"I'm fine, thanks. What is your name?" Alfred replied with a forced smile. He was a little incredulous that the officer who had killed his friend and had chased him was asking him how he was doing.

"My name is Carl: Carl Denning. And yours?"

"Alfred Morely."

"You know. I can't remember when anything like this ever happened." Carl said as he watched the sky turn orange with the aftermath of the explosion.

"Neither can I." Alfred shook his head. "Neither can I."

The robot didn't move after ordering him to follow it.

John's heart skipped a beat. Was it testing him?

Suddenly the door burst open behind him.

A child was crying. "Mommy. Mommy. Where's my mommy?"

John could not believe it. He remembered seeing her as one of his pursuers. Her malevolent, hateful expression was gone and the face of a precious little girl replaced it.

John built up the courage to tap the motionless robot. It moved for a moment and then lost balance and fell to the floor, lifeless.

John stooped to the little girl. "I'll help you find your mommy."

The girl was crying. John patted her head and said. "It's ok. We'll find her, alright?"

The girl forced a smile. "Will you?"

"Yes. Now do you know where you live?"

"Mommy!" The girl sprang, with delight, towards a woman who was approaching them.

A column of women and men were approaching. Children nearby, who had been crying, rushed forward to meet their parents.

"Well." John muttered to himself. "That was an adventure."

In the dark vacuum of space, a small, black orb sped on its way to the Earth.

Inside the cramped quarters of the pod, Ron, Frank, and Joseph watched the stars from a view screen.

"Do you think it really worked?" Frank asked.

"What do you mean?" Ron said.

"Do you think that the destruction of that spacecraft caused all Xeor's troops to be released from the influence of the computer chips?" Frank restated.

"The space craft was the only thing that could transmit the radio signals to the soldiers' brains." Joseph replied. "Now they and I are liberated."

"You know." Joseph said after a moment of contemplative silence, "I always wanted to see what Earth was like."

"Well, my friend, now you can." Ron replied.

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—THE END—

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