Chapter 28

"What is pomp, rule, reign, but earth and dust?

And, live we how we can, yet die we must."

-William Shakespeare, Henry VI, Part III, V, ii, 26

Elizabeth had watched Christoph's speech broadcast from Moscow in the evening, and then fallen asleep early. She woke around seven the next morning, feeling well-rested, and decided to go out to breakfast before work. When she got to work at nine, she went straight to her office and worked until noon, when there came a knock at her office door.

"Yes?" she said, expecting Deidre the temp.

To her surprise, it was the Director who opened the door.

"Director Randall," she said, jumping up. "Did you try to message me? I'm sorry, I haven't checked –"

"No, no," he said, coming in and sitting down on a spare chair. He had his hands clasped together, his elbows on his knees. He seemed very solemn and serious, so she waited for him to speak. When he did it was in a gentle and sympathetic voice.

"Dr. Bennet … I just wanted you to know that … you are free to go home today, and have the next few days off, too. If you feel you need it. For the others, it's different. But for you – I know how close you are to her –"

"I'm sorry, Director Randall," Elizabeth interrupted, bemused. "I'm afraid I have no idea what you're talking about."

He looked blank for a moment. "You – don't know?" he said at last.

"Know what?"

"Oh, dear me," he said. "I … don't think I ought to be the one to tell you. Perhaps you'd better go down to the cafeteria… that's where everyone's watching it."

She went down to the cafeteria with curiosity, and watched one of the large TV's embedded in the wall there. Her heart stopped at once when she saw what was on the screen. There were eight pictures – one of each of the Vellorians' faces.

"If you see any of these individuals, or hear any news about them, please call this number." The announcer's face appeared on the screen. "They were last seen at the Metropolitan Art Centre in Moscow."

Elizabeth looked around. Everyone nearby was staring at her.

"As I said, feel free to take a few days off," said the Director again.

"Thank you. Thank you, I will."

She did not even go by the office to get her things, but took the bus straight home. There she was able to get the whole story from the news.

Apparently it had only been discovered around 10 a.m. Moscow time that the Vellorians, whom the security had assumed got back to the hotel safely, were in fact far away.

Their trackers had indicated that seven of them had continued back to the hotel. The eighth, Esma, was, on the contrary, travelling west. However, when all eight Vellorians arrived alive and well at the hotel around midnight, the concern was laid to rest.

Elizabeth could see on the screen a recording of all eight Vellorians entering the hotel lobby, wearing glasses, hats, or scarves as if to hide from the paparazzi, as they often did.

"We assumed these people to be the eight famous Vellorians," said the news announcer. "They all went upstairs into the suite of their leader, Laufa, and did not come out or respond until ten the next morning, when a maid entered to clean the room. She found instead eight human prisoners, each with a bomb strapped to his or her chest. They were wearing the same clothes that the Vellorians had worn the night before, and were, in some cases, covered in make-up or wearing lifts to make them look like the alien visitors. After the hotel had been evacuated, and the bomb squad had defused all eight bombs, the imposters revealed that their families had been taken hostage and that they were forced to play this part. A search has gone out for their families.

"But the bigger question remains – where have the aliens gone? All eight imposters were wearing the tracking bracelets that had been put on the Vellorians a year ago for their own safety. Upon close examination of Esma's bracelet, they found the small tracking mechanism missing. Authorities were able to pick up the signal from her bracelet heading west. They are still unsure whether or not this is another trick, but are following all leads.

"National authorities believe this to be the work of radical terrorist group the Rage, who were responsible for the bombing of Beijing's underground train system a year ago, and the assassination of Cabinet Minister Jules Clive of the E. U., and attempted assassination of President Jason Hernandez. They are also responsible for the destruction of St. Peter's Basilica in Rome two months ago, which resulted in the death of 368 people.

"If you see any of these Vellorians, or notice anything suspicious, call this number right away."

Elizabeth's phone rang. She picked it up and saw it was John calling.

"Hello?"

"Elizabeth, it's so good to hear your voice. Are you all right?"

"Yes, yes – I think so," she said. She still felt numb, and could not quite absorb what had happened.

"I just found out – that is, we just woke up and turned on the TV to let the kids watch some cartoons before breakfast and saw the news. Are you in Moscow?"

"No, no, I'm safe here in Oxford."

"Thank the Lord! We weren't sure if maybe you had gone to Moscow with Dresle, to translate, you know."

"No, I don't travel with her anymore."

"Thank God you're safe. We've been praying especially for Dresle lately."

"Oh. Why?"

"Well, she called me, about a week ago, you know."

"No, I didn't know. But, now that I remember, she told me she might. She wanted your number. What did she call about?"

"Strangely enough, about death. She wanted to know the origin of death – why it is that we die, and wanted to know what different religions said about death. She wanted to know if I believe the story of Adam and Eve, and what I thought it meant. She said in her culture they are taught that death is a mere disassembling of elements and that there is no soul or spirit."

"Yes, I've heard."

"I told her all I could about what the Bible says. She seemed very concerned."

"I wonder why. It'll be hundreds of years before she dies. I mean…" She trailed off, and looked back up at the screen. "I'd better go," she said.

"Of course, of course. We'll keep you – and Dresle – in our prayers."

After she had hung up, she stayed glued to the news until around five, when someone knocked at the door. It was Will. He let himself in.

"Are you all right?" he said, just as John had. "I just got off of work and came at once to see you."

He sat down beside her where she was still watching, in shock, as the search for the Vellorians continued. She didn't even seem to notice him; but he brushed her hair from her face and softly kissed her cheek. Then all at once she turned to him, put her arms around him, and kissed him. But at the same time she burst into tears and wept on his shoulder.

"It's all right. It's okay," he said, rubbing her back.

"I'm just so – worried," cried Elizabeth, but in a moment she had sat up and was wiping at her eyes. "This is why I never get close to anyone, because I always lose them."

"You haven't lost me," said Will, after looking at her thoughtfully for a long moment.

"I'm sorry," she said, trying to stop her tears. "I feel so stupid, crying like this."

"No, you mustn't be sorry," he said. "It's perfectly natural. She's your friend."

"It's just that – she's so young. I mean, not in years – but she's just so innocent and confiding, and doesn't really understand the way of our world. What'll happen to her if terrorists have a hold on her?"

"They've got their best people on it," said Will. "Don't worry."

It was a long time before Laufa and Marco came back. It was hard to tell the time of day, because there were no windows underground, and their watches had been taken from them. But Dresle's biological clock seemed to tell her it was night. She was growing tired. Also, there were fewer guards on duty. She could hear the others speaking together in their own tongue.

"I heard them talking," Christoph was saying. "I can understand some of their language – it appears that they heard on the news that one of the tracking devices has gone astray. Don't worry," he added, when they all turned pale. "They decided it must be a trick by the A.C. to get them to try to move us, which would result in their capture. They don't suspect us."

"This isn't going to last long, you know," said Laufa. "Soon they're going to figure out we can't make them the weapons."

"If we can just hold out a little longer…" said Marco.

"We need a plan of escape," put in Arjen. "Some way to distract them so we can get up to the surface."

"We don't even know where we are underground or how to get out. We could be miles underground," said Esma.

"Let me –" began Dresle.

"I should try talking to them," said Christoph.

"You can't talk with these degenerates," answered Svaltu disgustedly. "All they understand is violence and power."
"Maybe if I –" began Dresle again, but Laufa cut her off.

"We need to think of some way to convince them that we can make the weapons."

"But how? The human scientists seemed confused when we tried to explain it. I don't know if they even understood," said Marco.

"Let me try to talk to them," said Esma. "I have a knowledge of physics that you two don't –"

She was interrupted by the heavy door unbolting and opening, and the angry Ibrahim stood before them, with two of his white-coated scientists trailing behind, looking scared. They all stopped speaking suddenly. Ibrahim approached Laufa, and casually rested his gun on Laufa's shoulder.

"I hope that I have understood my scientists incorrectly," he said. "They're telling me that, in order to create the kind of weapon you suggest, would require twelve years of labour and trillions of dollars. That can't be true, can it? Please tell me that either I, or they, have misunderstood."

"I have tried to communicate to your scientists, and so has Marco, the kind of equipment and resources we would need to build –"

"To build a few guns?" said Ibrahim angrily.

"Please, sir, I'm an astrophysicist. Perhaps I can explain," said Esma.

Ibrahim removed his gun from Laufa and looked at her. "Oh, now, you're willing to talk, eh? Before you said you knew nothing about these weapons."

"I understand the laws of matter and antimatter," said Esma. "You would need to first build an Antimatter Cyclotron, because whenever antimatter touches matter, it destroys it. So you would have to direct the stream of antimatter in a way that it would not touch matter of any kind. What we devised, on our planet, was a great donut-like structure one hundred miles across, although the tube itself would only be a mile in diameter. Inside the structure are very strong electromagnetic fields created by coils, which would direct the flow of antimatter to the centre of the tube so that it touches nothing and therefore does not explode. That's the only way we've found to harness antimatter on our planet. Electromagnetic field pulses could then be directed at anything of any size and destroy it."

"It's true, sir," said one of the scientists, bowing. "That is the conclusion we came to as well."

"Really?" said Ibrahim menacingly, turning to him.

Then all of a sudden a Bang! rang out and the scientist fell dead with a bullet in his brain.

"Take him away. And find me someone who will do my will!" cried the fearsome leader.

It was then everyone noticed a gasping sound. It was Dresle.

For the last several minutes, no one had noticed that slowly she had begun to lose her breath, and that within a few minutes her face was turning blue and her body seemed to be writhing for every breath.

"Please!" she gasped. "Please! I can't breathe!"

"What's wrong with her?" asked Ibrahim. "Unchain her. Take a look at her," he told his scientist.

"She can't breathe!" yelled Arjen "You imbeciles took away our breathing masks and we've been underground too long. She needs it more than we do. She's a singer."

The scientist was leaning down over her, but could not seem to do anything.

"Let me go! Let me tend to her! I'm her physician!" cried Laufa.

Ibrahim did not answer, but as Dresle began to choke Laufa cried, "If any of us is hurt or dies, none of us will help you."

Finally, Ibrahim gave the signal for Laufa to be unchained. He raced over to Dresle, but instead of leaning to help her, he knocked the guns out of the hands of two of the guards, breaking their arms in the process. Dresle knocked Ibrahim's legs from under him, and pounced on him, dragging his gun away. In another second, Laufa had a gun to Ibrahim's head and was facing the other four guards, whose guns were pointing straight at him, and Dresle, whose breathing seemed to be completely normal.

"Put your guns down," said Laufa. "Or your leader has his brains spattered all over the wall."

"Do it! Do it!" said Ibrahim in panic. One by one they lowered their guns.

"Put them on the floor," said Laufa. "Dresle, collect them."

Dresle, who now was breathing perfectly, stooped and picked up the guns, but made no attempt to wield one.

"Unchain my companions," said Laufa to the four guards, but one of them said, "We don't have the keys."

"What? Who has them?"

"I do," said Ibrahim.

"Where?"

"They're in my left pocket."

"Dresle, reach over and get them. No one else move."

Dresle, trembling inside, reached over and feeling in the terrorist's pocket drew out a set of keys.

"Go free the others," Laufa said.

One by one, as she freed them, they picked up the weapons that had been laid down. The two guards Laufa had knocked out were stirring, and Laufa ordered that these six chain themselves to the wall. Once this was done, he ordered Ibrahim to get up, and put his hands in the air; then to go in front of him and lead the way out.

"You'll never get out of here alive," spat the leader. "Enjoy it while you can, alien scum."

"There's no use making idle threats, dog," said Laufa, pressing the cold muzzle of the gun against the back of his head. He was so terrifying at that moment that even his companions drew back a little. "Now show us the way out, or you'll never see the light of the sun again."

Dresle felt extremely nervous holding the gun, but Laufa had ordered them all to take one. She just hoped she wouldn't shoot one of her compatriots accidentally. Christoph and Svaltu seemed equally uncomfortable. Nevertheless, they followed, and each passage or room they came to where there were new guards, Ibrahim, at Laufa's bidding, made them lay down their weapons.

It seemed to take an hour to go up all the winding rocky passages and steps, led by Ibrahim, until finally they could see sunlight. There was what seemed to be a trap door right above them, through the kinks of which sunlight was shining.

"Open it," said Laufa, "and go up first."

Ibrahim pushed the heavy doors outward with a great effort, and then emerged into the light. Then Laufa and the others followed. At first Dresle could see nothing except the white blaze of hot sun on sand. Then her eyes adjusted and she saw they were completely surrounded by at least forty men, holding automatic rifles pointed straight at them. Laufa still stood, his gun pressed to Ibrahim's head, but glancing around him with terrified eyes, as if unsure what to do.

Another bearded man, unarmed, dressed in dirty white robes and a turban stood by them.

"Well, well," he said in a thick accent. "I can surely see that our guests are more courageous than I thought. Too bad it was so misdirected."

"Put down your weapons or I'll kill your leader," said Laufa, panting, eying all sides.

The bearded man laughed. "You don't seriously think the leader of the Rage itself would be in charge of such menial tasks, like making sure you do your job? Ibrahim is only my second in command. Shoot him, if you wish; but if you do, I can assure you that every one of your companions will be killed. We'll still reserve you for the work we need."

Laufa slowly lowered his gun, and the other seven followed suit. Dresle could now see what appeared to be an entire outpost surrounding them, tents and huts set up, and men in long robes loading vehicles or practicing marksmanship.

"Very good," said the turbaned man, as the Vellorians' guns were taken from them. Then he took one of the guns, and pointing it, shot Ibrahim through the head. He was dead before he landed in the hot sand.

"This fool has let me down. You never should have been allowed to get so far. He has paid for his mistake. Rajib, you will take charge of these prisoners now," he said in Farsi to one of the men. "Do not make the same mistakes as Ibrahim, or the same end will be yours. Now, get them back downstairs."