The Dreaming Stones

By G.J. Busiko

After the discovery of a young indigenous warrior with radiation poisoning in outback Australia, a team of international experts from the United Nations Investigation Taskforce must battle mercenaries sent by a secret organisation to find the source. From New York, through Europe and on the Mediterranean Sea, former Australian Federal Police officer Joshua Carver searches for answers and discovers truths from the past that may forever change the world. His team must now protect humanities greatest secret and prevent an ancient alien device from falling into the hands of one of the most powerful families in history.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tellwell Talent
• Release date: Nov 22, 2015
• ISBN: 9781925353945

G.J. Busiko

G.J. Busiko resides in Queensland, Australia, with his partner, Donna, their adopted animal rescue dogs, Darby and Xena, and the true ruler of the house, Khan the cat. After thirty-five years of working in a pathology laboratory, following procedures, G.J. Busiko decided that it was time to let his imagination loose. A few exotic overseas holidays and the works of other science fiction / action adventure novelists have inspired him to give it a go himself. As a kid G.J. Busiko read everything he could find in his local library in the Australian outback country town of Charleville on myths and legends from around the world. As a teenager his interests changed to action adventure and murder mystery novels, with the ‘Biggles’ and ‘Boney’ books early favourites. A life long enjoyment of reading has progressed to crafting his first novel.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

After the passing of fourteen wet seasons Miro was already a man in the eyes of his father, ready to take on the roles and responsibilities of a tribal hunter. He had been taught in the ways of the bush and could track all the creatures of the desert lands. He was able to determine from the marks on the ground whether the prey was female with young, in which case he would let it go, as this was the way of his people who relied on the continuing supply of wildlife for their own survival. His skill with woomera and spear was equal to any other hunter in the tribe and his boomerang was almost as deadly as his father’s, much to the delight of his grandfather who had instructed them both in the ancient art.

His father, Pindari, stood by the campfire and watched as the young men of the tribe paraded around showing off their newly acquired initiation scars, many of them still seeping blood through the sand filled cuts on their abdomens. The long days and nights of ceremony were almost over and the women of the tribe would soon be able to return to the area surrounding this sacred site to weep for their lost boys who were now men. His own woman, Miro's mother Miandetta, would lead the others in the final part of this time honoured ritual.

As the sun was rising through the tree line on the horizon, the distant voices of the women could be faintly heard as they approached from the tribal campsite further down the side of the rocky outcrop of this men’s only ceremonial site. The women would wait patiently for the men to emerge.

Miro looked over to his father with a huge wide smile. His white teeth, reflecting the early rays of light, highlighted the white lines painted on his body that indicated his new position in the tribe. His black skin glistened with sweat from all the ceremonial dancing and the white and red ochre paint was starting to run and blur across his toned lean body. Miro was nearly half a head taller than the other boys his age. His father bragged to the other elders that it was a sign of Miro's birthright and evidence of his own prowess as a leader and producer of fine men for the tribe. Miandetta had produced three other children for him, two boys, Nailing and Togar, and a girl, Wyuna, but Miro was the first born and received his father’s special attention as heir to the tribe’s leadership.

Now it was time for Miro, and he alone, to leave the ceremonial site, pass through the wailing women and go into the desert for his last test. Miro moved quietly away from the others, through the scarce underbrush. He had seen the great red Narragoon pass before him in the distance and he was ready to undergo the final challenge that would allow him to sit on the tribe’s great council, as was his birthright. His father and his father before him had been part of the council and so would he.

Miro’s expertise with the boomerang and woomera was widely known among the tribes of the valley and his accuracy with the spear was the envy of many young warriors. Years of practice and the expectations of his father had all led to this moment. He would ultimately demonstrate his skill as warrior and hunter, proving his ability to lead his people as his father had done. The giant roo was the hardest of all to kill. Its death was required to establish his ascent into manhood. Normally revered and worshiped as a living symbol of the greatness of the dreamtime spirits, the elusive giant roo was also the tribal chief’s rite of passage, forbidden to all other tribal members. The massive creature was seldom seen near the campsites of the tribe, but evidence of its passage through the scrub was clearly visible to all who were trained in the ways of the land and the ways of the dreaming. 

The sun rose higher on the horizon, its warmth welcome against the early morning chill. He stood in silent pose, a solitary figure alone in the desert, at one with all that lay before him. Standing on one leg, balanced against his killing spear, his silhouette was striking against the orange of the morning sky. Around him stood the occasional tree that struggled to survive in the harsh daytime conditions of the desert.

Miro became aware of the sudden stillness all around him. Then, in a rush, all the creatures of the desert moved as one away from where he stood, the birds that had been resting in the trees and beneath the lowly mulga scrub all took flight. For an instant he felt what they had, the vibrations in the air that forecast the violent shuddering of the very ground beneath his feet. The earth moved and trembled and he knew the great rainbow serpent was tunnelling under the desert before him just as his grandfather’s father had told of the serpent’s movement many generations back. As quickly as it had begun it was over. His eyes surveyed the surrounding landscape and became fixed on a point where the land touched the sky. There was a shimmering haze on the horizon at the base of the great mountain.

He had seen this type of haze before during times of extreme heat, but not so early in the day when the sky was just showing colour and the temperature of the air was still cool on his skin. The shimmering apparition seemed to beckon him. Miro forgot his quest and began to walk towards the anomaly. Almost in a trance he crossed the desert sands oblivious to the quiet that had befallen the landscape, even the gentle buzzing of the insects in the grasses were silent.

After several hours of walking the land before him dipped into a gully, once carved by the mighty river that use to flow here in the wet seasons. The gully had now become a gorge and although the shimmering was no longer visible it still beckoned him. Miro followed the path of the dry river as it dropped down lower into the now rocky ground. The walls of the gorge became higher as he descended and the air became more chilled in the shadows as he wound his way through the exposed rock facade that was now surrounding him. The red sand of the desert trickled down huge slabs of rock, like numerous coloured waterfalls creating beautiful lines against the stark vertical walls.

Turning a bend he stopped. Before him, thrust out of the ground by some benevolent spirit was a structure like he had never seen before. A massive stone and quartz pyramid blocked his path through the deepened gorge like a wall. It reminded him of the stone towers that he built as a child using large flat stones on the bottom and building up with progressively smaller stones to a point at the top. The structure was enormous with precise contours, contrary to the natural surroundings. He and his tribe had hunted this land for years and never come across it before. Truly this must be the work of the sky spirits or the great serpent, even though his people had no stories or songs of it. The pyramid hummed with energy as Miro approached. When he got closer the humming ceased.

Slowly he walked up to the sloping facade and touched the smooth stone blocks with his spear. It was solid and the cold grey of the stone stood in sharp contrast to the fiery red of the surrounding desert sands. Its base was as wide as the gorge and at its highest point it peaked over the top of the gorge wall. Miro sat on his heels before the wonder and took note that it was at least five times his height at its base and probably that again if he climbed the ravine wall. The shimmering on the horizon was temporarily forgotten as he moved back and just sat, observing this strange structure.

Miro had heard many tales of the Rainbow Serpent that lived at Kandimalal, a great distance away where the sun rose and of the cave where the serpent dwelled, however, this was no cave or hole in the ground. Who else but the great snake could have made such an enormous ravine where none had been before? It seemed obvious to him that this was the result of the trembling ground he had felt earlier. His warrior spirit took hold of his thoughts and he instinctively raised his spear and stood facing the monolithic pyramid ready to strike at the first sign of the serpent spirit. All his childhood tales and songs came flooding back to him. The trance like state he had been in was gone and the hunter Miro emerged, ready to engage the spirit if it attacked him.

Slowly he approached the structure, intently listening for any sound of movement other than his own. All was silent. None of the bush creatures could be heard, no insects, flies, or birds, nothing but the sound of his own shallow breathing and his feet moving almost silently across the ravine floor. Again he touched the smooth surface with his spear. Cautiously he lowered it and moved closer to touch the wall himself. The stone was cold, colder than anything he had felt in his life. It was colder than a flat stone lying in the desert night in the season of the rains. Miro laid his spear on the ground and leaned in to touch the stone with both hands. The pyramid resonated as he touched and the cold was so intense it burned his palms.

Miro leapt back and fell to the ground crying out in agony. The skin was ripped from his hands, stuck to the grey stone that now seemed to be glowing like the embers of an exhausted campfire. The shock of the experience bewildered him. His eyes were watering as the pain in his hands began spreading up his arms. Miro reached over to his spear and grabbed it with his fleshy fingers. He couldn't feel it but he saw that he had it in a firm grasp. Stumbling he turned and ran back down the gorge the way he had come, the pain in his arms becoming even more intense. The ritual markings on his back by his father and the elders had been painfully bearable, but this sensation was excruciating, deep and lasting. He scraped against a boulder that had fallen out of the wall of the gorge but continued to run as fast as possible away from the serpent’s hill.

Rising back up to the desert floor, the morning sun now shone harshly down upon him, heating his pain ravaged body. His flesh was sticking to the spear as he stumbled in the soft sand and spinifex grasses. Once again ahead of him was the strange shimmering that had entranced him in the dawn. Still it beaconed, but for now Miro fought the allure, he knew it was essential he tend to his wounds. He looked around and saw to his far left a clump of desert mulga trees that grew above a water source. He hastily turned towards them. Reaching the shade he fell to the ground and rested for a moment. Beneath the trees was a witchetty bush. Miro dug down in the roots where he found the Tyape witchetty grubs that he needed to concoct medicine for his hands. Pulling out a number of fat white grubs he placed them into the hollow of his woomera, crushing them into a mushy paste which he applied to his raw fleshy hands before covering them with strips of stringy bark that he tore off the tree. His wounded hands were now protected until he could find more medicinal remedies, like the natural antiseptic from the gum of the Arrkenke desert blood wood tree.

Miro sat back and breathed deeply. The pain in his arms was now subsiding slightly, so he picked up the woomera again and dug below the trees making a small hole into which groundwater slowly seeped in. He thought it was the sweetest water he had ever drunk. After a few moments he closed his eyes and then passed out.

CHAPTER TWO

Miro awoke as the sun reached the highest point of its journey across the desert sky. The shadows of the trees had shrunk to almost non existent and the radiant heat had dried the water hole that he had dug so that it was now no more than an indentation in the hot sand. Miro shook the dirt from his face and crawled back into the last bit of shade that he could see beneath the struggling bushes that tried so hard to survive in this most unforgiving place.

He knew that in his weakened state further travel would lead to his certain death. Working quickly he striped some bark off the mulga and fashioned a crude but effective lean to which he could squeeze himself under to escape the life sapping sun. He spotted some small holes in the compacted earth, partially hidden by tall grasses. He placed his spear down, reached behind his back to where his woomera was tied and using the sharpened edge like a bush axe he broke open the top of the ground. Reaching inside he extracted a handful of agitated Ngwarle yerrampe honey ants. Dropping them down onto the sandy floor, he then picked them up one by one and sucked the nectar from their abdomens.  Feeling slightly better Miro again closed his eyes and rested.

When he awoke all was still quiet, there was not even the rustling of leaves in the bushes and trees above him. Miro knew that in a short time the passing sun would be low enough for him, and all the other desert creatures, to move again. His position amongst the trees would soon be a haven for all that required water in the immediate area. He felt better. The actual heat haze on the horizon beneath the mountains did not disguise the shimmering. Its hypnotic affect radiated out to him, as if it was his destiny to reach it. The burning pain in his hands was now gone, replaced by a numbing effect due to the deadened nerves. The crude bandage of grub and bark helped mask the loss of sensation in his fingers.

As the afternoon sun began its final descent behind him, Miro rose and began to walk directly towards the brightness that called to him. His body now ached all over and his vision was blurred, an experience he had never had before, and it worried him but not enough to prevent him from reaching that spot in front of him. Over many hours he slowly made his way forward. He stumbled and fell a few times, but his hands felt no pain as they hit the sharp rocks that lay on the ground beneath him. The dry desert sands had given way to brittle decaying rock that had been burnt by centuries of exposure to wind and sun, stretching out before him, almost like a path. The sun had long set but out of the darkness the shimmering grew larger as he approached it. Even with his blurred vision his only focus was to reach the brightness and touch it. Sweat was stinging his eyes, but he would not wipe his brow or drop his spear, he must reach it before he passed out again. Stumbling, he lurched forward at the light that now looked like a sheet of water falling over the rock. He reached out to touch it, but instead fell through it.

Miro passed out and slept. When he came to, the cool of the night was invigorating, but something else made the hairs on his neck rise. The air smelt different, it did not have the freshness that he was used to, it was drier, and had a strange taste to it. Miro turned and the shimmering light was behind him, not as bright as it had seemed to him earlier. His mind was confused, he was delirious and not fully aware of his surroundings. He couldn't concentrate or make sense of it. For now he must leave this place and return to the tribe, they would be able to help him. With the hazy light behind him he began to run straight ahead, not realising that he was moving further and further away from his home.

The stars above were not as bright, for Miro’s vision was still blurred. His hand, although no longer able to feel pain, seemed locked around his spear and he was unable to open it. The sand felt good beneath his feet, cool and smooth. His camp could not be that far away, if he kept moving he could reach it by first light. He continued to run.

The sun began to rise in front of him. Even in his rapidly declining state of mind, Miro knew that this was wrong. The sun should be behind him. The desert was familiar, but not quite the same. Miro stopped. He looked all around, his mountains were gone, even the bright haze that had drawn him was now too distant to be seen. For the first time in his life he was lost. He turned in a circle, the sand beneath his feet was the same, the flowers and the trees were the same, but somehow, it was all different.

Disorientated he started to stumble forward again. There was a strange line on the horizon in front of him, his vision was blurring more but he walked toward it. There were sticks in the ground at regular intervals and they seemed to go on in a line as far as he could see. He reached for the line running horizontally between the sticks and touched it. It was smooth and very hard, like his cutting stone. He tried to bend it but it did not bend easily. His strength was gone, the exertion of running all night was now too much and his body began to shake and shut down. Miro grasped for the strange line and fell. This time he would not awaken, his life force had drained and he felt he would soon join his elders. He closed his eyes and began to slip into a state of blackness, so deep that he barely heard the approaching object in the sky above him. With just one eye partially open he saw the giant insect begin to descend toward him but he no longer cared. He welcomed the dark.

CHAPTER THREE

Joshua Carver awoke to the usual morning sounds of the dogs next door barking at the birds nesting in the old mango tree in the bayside backyard. He thought to himself, the sun is shining, the birds are singing, I’m still breathing, it’s a beautiful day. He rolled over and placed his feet on the carpet, stretched out his arms and shook his head from side to side to ease the kinks from his neck. As he stood and gazed out his window he saw glimpses of Moreton Bay through the branches of the trees lining his back fence. The old wooden home creaked as he moved from the carpet to the polished floorboards that was throughout the rest of the house and made his way into the kitchen to turn on the pod coffee machine for a breakfast espresso.

At 188 centimetres and 82 kilograms, Josh was in good condition for a forty-three year old single man. His tanned complexion complemented his toned body as he stood in his boxer shorts watching the coffee slowly fill his favourite cup. He was in two minds whether to eat in or get dressed and wander down to the local cafe for a plate of really good eggs Benedict. Weekends were made for these hard decisions.

The aroma of the black coffee was intoxicating and his stomach growled in anticipation of sustenance of any kind. He arched back to stretch his muscles making his chiseled torso more evident. The neighbour’s tabby Maine coon cat, that had adopted Josh as a secondary food source when he first moved into the house, started to rub around his feet signalling her desire for attention, and more importantly, for food. Princess Khan was a force to be reckoned with if she wasn’t fed when she demanded and Josh knew better than to ignore her impassioned pleading, especially when he had bare feet. He opened a kitchen cabinet, removed the dry cat food, put some in a bowl and placed it at his feet for her majesty. Although his coffee was piping hot he gulped down the first mouthful as if dying of thirst, while the cat attacked her food with equal gusto. They both stayed in the kitchen enjoying the moment, Josh just staring out the window towards Moreton Bay and Princess Khan licking her paws clean.

His neighbours knew him as a mining consultant, who regularly took weeks away in exotic locations doing mundane stuff like surveying and taking mineral samples. The truth was anything but mundane. Josh was an investigator for the Security Council of the United Nations. The Security Council was perceived to be an outdated and unsuccessful ideal that the world had embraced and then forgotten. What the general population didn't know was that as the global situation changed, so too had the inner workings of the Security Council. The old United Nations Security Council had long been seen as a toothless white elephant, so when the world changed after the 9-11 tragedy, so too did the UN. It had now evolved into a force of immense power and its resolve was to do what is right for the planet, and to no longer be a political tool for individual governments to grandstand.

The United Nations Investigation Task force, or UNIT as it was known, was a multinational body composed of the best of the best, voluntarily given by their respective countries to be utilised as required by the UN Security Council. In the years after the war on terrorism many changes had occurred in global power. The United States had become less powerful globally, as had other so called super powers, whereas Asia, particularly China, began to grow. The shift was more economic than military and the advent of the internet meant people were more aware and better informed than ever before. The world had become a smaller and far more dangerous place.

In response to the changing climate of world politics, the UN had approached its members, as well as the emerging powers and proposed an independent body, a global police force of sorts, that would be funded by every government. This body would have access to the latest technology and would be answerable only to the UN special committee. Its role would be to monitor the conflicts around the world and intervene when the outcome became of global concern, such as the threat of nuclear deployment, the use of banned biological materials or instigation of an environmental disaster. Such a force would be multi national, operate within strict guidelines and be without political bias. Their mandate was simple, investigate and report, to do so with no restrictions of access, and to use whatever means necessary to obtain their goals. The charter also stipulates that no team of investigators should be composed of less than three individuals of which