In Search of God: the Deepest Darkness Book 1

By John Stamos Parrish

In the final decades of the twenty-first century, mankinds ambitions colonized the moon and Mars and created a technological Tower of Babel. But during the period known as the Fifty Years of Prosperity, the Time of Horrors came without warning. The Age of Horrors brought about the Orbs, mysterious anomalies that appeared in space, unleashing storms of cataclysmic proportions throughout the solar system.

On Earth, the golden age of modern humanity came to a crashing end, plunging the world into chaos. At a time when mankind thought it had the promise of immortality within its grasp, that promise was stolen away. Once humanity traveled the heavens as gods, but now, if it hopes to survive, it must cower like moles in the shadows.

But not everyone on Earth has surrendered to that fate. Two groups emerge from the rubble of civilization, and the bitter spiritual battle that has simmered for millennia intensifies beyond belief. One group is bent on displacing God, while another seeks to reunite the fallen and disenfranchised. One blames God for all the earths woes, and the other sees mankinds alienation from God as the root cause of the Age of Horrors.

In the quiet between the battles, a third group emerges to investigate the Orbs. Mankinds fate depends upon an orphan and a woman known only as the Psalter. As they enter the realm of the Deepest Darkness, they uncover the truth about a power that evil dreads.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Nov 21, 2011
• ISBN: 9781462052431

John Stamos Parrish

John Stamos Parrish, an Eastern Orthodox Christian, is a former electrical engineer, physics teacher, and distance-learning educator. He lives in Massachusetts with his family.

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Copyright © 2011 by John Stamos Parrish.

Revised second edition. Originally published by iUniverse in 2000.

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This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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ISBN: 978-1-4620-5241-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4620-5244-8 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4620-5243-1 (ebk)

Printed in the United States of America

iUniverse rev. date: 11/16/2011

Contents

PROLOGUE… EARTH: 2088

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

EPILOGUE

To my wife and children

Lo, these are but the outskirts of his ways;

and how small a whisper do we hear of him! But the thunder of his

power who can understand?

JOB 26:14 (RSV)

PROLOGUE . . . EARTH: 2088

Drenched in sweat Daniel bolted upright in his bed haunted by a reoccurring nightmare. In his hand he clutched the message he received earlier in the day; a long hoped for message: they needed him.

Wind-driven rain attacked his bedroom window. Lightning induced grotesque shadows that darted about. He sat on the edge of his bed with his hands trembling as he turned on a lamp. He unfolded the letter once more. It said there would be danger; his safety could not be assured; they realized he was young…

In the distance he heard thunder like jungle drums warning of danger; a danger that had become a way of life since they appeared. The young man folded the letter, placed it in his shirt pocket, moved to his closet, and put on his jacket. Gently he rubbed dirt from the sleeve. The jacket was a gift from the one person left on earth he cared about.

A loud clasp of thunder shook his room knocking over an empty picture frame on his mirrored dresser. For a moment he looked at his reflection. He was seventeen, but his oily black hair matted against his high forehead made him look much older. His once bright, dark brown eyes, excited with life and learning, stared back blacker than the night.

He opened the bedroom door. Tears welled in his eyes as he surveyed the room; a room once filled with joy, love, and life. Softly he closed the door behind him.

And while the world trembled, the Psalter, on her knees with her tears flowing freely, oscillated to the rhythm of a long ignored hymn. And near the Deepest Darkness, where Time and Space have no meaning, the Terror waited for him.

CHAPTER 1

Daniel Fielding strode purposefully along the weather-beaten pier, hands in pockets, deep in thought. His tall, strong frame swayed with every movement of the rickety dock. Though his eyes looked ahead, his heart was focused far behind. His countenance displayed a soul in agony.

At the end of the dock, silhouetted against a darkening, pale blue sky, sat an old man fishing. Next to him a sign read: BOATS FOR RENT.

Excuse me, said Daniel. I’d like to rent one of your boats—for a few hours.

The man didn’t speak. He moved his rod up and down.

He shuffled his feet nervously. I—uh…

The man looked at him. A deeply tanned, wrinkled face with hazel eyes studied him. You thinkin of suicide, boy?

No! Why do you say that?

Cause it’s suicide to go out there at this time of day—especially with those things up there. Lifting his fishing rod he waved it angrily at the sky.

He didn’t look up. He didn’t have to. For most of his life the orbs were there.

It ain’t my neck, continued the man. Then pointing the rod at him, Got money? Don’t take credit anymore.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a gold coin. The man’s eyes lit up. He snatched it from his hand and inspected it carefully.

This’ll do just fine, he said as he quickly put it into his pocket. He motioned with his head over his left shoulder. You can use the blue boat.

He saw several boats attached to the dock, and spotted the blue one at the far end. It was about the size of a mid-sized car, sleek and built for speed, but it had seen better days.

I’d rather have the—

The man glared at him. The blue one or no one. I’ve lost too many good boats since those things appeared!

All right, he said and made his way to the boat.

The boat, an injection molded plastic piece, had a blue tint color throughout, except for the clear plastic cabin that stood like an oversized windshield near the front. The cabin contained the steering wheel, gauges, a built-in keyboard, and stairs that led below to the engine.

He walked over the scarred floor to the cabin. Fully computerized, the boat was similar to the one his parents once owned. Nostalgia hit him for a moment, but he forced away the feeling. He was on a mission and the past, at least for the moment, was not part of it. After studying the controls for a few moments he knew he could enter in the destination coordinates and let the auto pilot take over, but he decided to pilot the boat himself.

Be sure to set the Retriever. I want the boat back even if you don’t come with it, said the old man.

He started to say something, but stopped, and set the Retriever. The old man grunted and dropped his line back into the water.

He paused before starting the engine. His dark, inset eyes followed the flight of a sea gull until it disappeared into the distance. As he scanned the region, and noted the destruction to this once vibrant area, it was next to impossible for him to imagine he spent so many memorable times here with his parents . . . Curse the orbs!

The engine sputtered as soon as he pushed the starter, but soon purred. Using the steering wheel, he guided the boat from the dock, maneuvering it through debris, and headed out into Florida’s intercoastal waterway.

The dock faded from view. An unnatural, purplish sky bid farewell to the sun and set in motion a cool wind that gained in intensity causing the ocean to swell. As the boat’s engine exerted itself, its purring turned to a high-pitched whine. He tightened his grip. No other boats were in sight.

Engage autopilot, said the computer.

I’ve got to handle this, he muttered. Or I’ll never be able to handle the rest of this trip.

The boat struggled forward. Stinging mist swirled around him, sending chills up and down his spine. He lifted his jacket collar. The wind howled, and then roared as the boat lurched from side to side.

No longer able to deal with the conditions he reached for the autopilot control just as a wave hit the boat broadside. He lost his grip on the wheel and staggered sideways. Swinging his arms like a bird learning to fly he righted himself, but just for an instant. The boat dipped back and with its bow pointing upward, he was tossed into the stern, and then into the raging waters.

The waves swarmed over him. A strong swimmer, desperately he struggled to stay afloat.

Above him the mysterious objects pulsated, pulsated.

The onboard computer detected he had fallen overboard, reduced the boat’s speed, and plotted a course to retrieve him.

Meanwhile he struggled to breathe, taking in more water than air. His lungs ached. God, help me!

The computer navigated the boat to within ten feet of him. Its stabilizers worked furiously to keep it upright as it extended a built-in rescue bar. The bar dangled a few feet from him.

The sea pounded him, tried to pull him under. Barely afloat he focused his strength into his arms and legs. Painstakingly he made his way to the extended bar, reached out, and grabbed it with one hand. A piece of wood, like a giant hand, slapped him on the side of his head; he sank beneath the surface.

A strong, compelling voice, which emanated from the water itself, called out to him, Stop struggling. It’s time to be with your loved ones!

Faces from his past flashed through his mind along with his father’s words, No matter what the odds, never quit. Stay focused on your goal and you’ll attain it.

With a powerful thrust he exploded like a dolphin to the surface, reached out with both hands, and grabbed the bar. Responding to its sensors, the computer retracted the bar toward the side of the boat. He reached for the handrail attached to the side, but his hand slipped off. Exhausted to the point of fainting, he focused on what he was trying to do. When the sea lifted the boat up and away from him, he clutched the handrail again and this time used the boat’s momentum to catapult him into it.

On his back, half-emersed in water, he gasped for air. The wind hovered over him like a vulture as the sea continued its relentless attack on the boat. With his eyes closed, hoarsely he cried out, Thank you.

His mind detached itself from his pain-racked body. Like a video recorder in fast forward, memories flashed by. For a moment his mind paused on words his grandmother said to him just before she died, All power is given unto Him in Heaven and on earth.

Chilled to the bone he crawled with difficulty to the control area, entered in his destination, pressed the autopilot key, and on his hands and knees made his way below. He returned a few minutes later wrapped in a tattered blanket. That’s life, he mumbled bitterly. Death at any moment. But these words stirred something suppressed deep inside of him, giving rise to a feeling he could not identify.

It was dusk when Egmont Key came into view. Silhouetted against the sky stood the lighthouse just as he had remembered it. For an instant he felt life could return to what he had known, to the world before The Decade of Horror. But then he looked up. No, he muttered. Life will never be the same.

The surf was too high to land the boat. Twenty-five feet from shore he checked to make sure the Retriever was still set, and then jumped into the water. Wadding through the swirling water he suddenly realized how tired he was due to his earlier struggle. The short distance to shore became a laborious journey. His lungs ached as did his arms and legs.

He reached the shore and collapsed onto soft, powdery sand. Sleep started to overtake him, but he had to go on. In the fading light of the invisible sun, he looked around the shore. The remnants of a twentieth century fort were still there, more in ruins than he remembered, but so was everything else. A sudden gust of wind shrieked like a banshee through the fort.

Gingerly he got to his feet and walked stiffly past the fort toward the lighthouse. Built over two hundred years before, it still looked useable. Be there by nine o’clock, the message read. A team member will meet you. He looked down at his watch. It was 8:50.

All he could do was wait. The two orbs, one green, the other blue, peered down at him. The green orb mocked him; the blue beckoned him. A news monitor, which hung like a poster on a dilapidated wall, sputtered to life. Its sound and picture faded in and out:

Here are today’s head-lines: The move to a one world government is becoming . . . World scientific council’s latest theory has the orbs located near . . . Millions gathered today to listen to the Christian mystic and psychic, Mylandt . . . he has . . . secrets of the failed Messiah Jesus and will—

The picture and sound disappeared.

The world embraced Mylandt and his visions, but not Daniel’s grandmother. More than once she said, Daniel be wary of Mylandt, he is a beast in sheep’s clothing.

He looked at the orbs again. Day and night they were visible and always situated in the same position. This baffled the scientific community. There were theories galore about their nature and location. Were they quasars ejected from an undetected black hole and situated at the rim of the solar system? Were they high-energy remnants from the dawn of time located at the end of the universe? Whatever they were, why didn’t their position change with respect to the orbiting earth?

Some argued they were not physical objects at all, but portals to another universe. His late father, one of the world’s renowned astrophysicists, had his own theory.

Shifting his eyes downward he sensed the darkness to the right of him move. His muscles tensed up. Straining his eyes he was sure the darkness moved toward him. Then it stopped. He broke into a cold sweat. The wind continued to shriek through the area.

Out of the darkness a green face materialized, suspended in the air. Its cat-like eyes glared hard at him. Never one to back down from a confrontation he braced himself and clenched his fists.

Daniel, said the face, breaking into a warm smile. Don’t be afraid. My name is Tobian. I’m a team member.

He breathed easier, but remained alert.

I’m wearing a light-absorbing suit. Quite handy when you want to see, but not be seen.

He relaxed. You’re a Martian, aren’t you?

Yes, replied Tobian. The smile left his face.

Were you sent by…

Hold on, Daniel. Tobian moved closer. The faint outline of his muscular body grew visible. A gleam returned to his green eyes. I know you have a lot of questions, he continued, but we’ve got a long way to go—about two days journey.

The long, lonely wail of a ship’s horn filled the night. He saw the faint outline of a cargo ship about a mile from the island.

We’ve got to catch that ship, said Tobian. I’ve got a two-man sub waiting. We’ll use it to attach ourselves, like a tick to a dog. It’ll carry us to Mexico. Here, put on this light-absorbing suit. I’ll help you.

Wow, it’s eerie watching your body disappear, exclaimed Daniel. Then, embarrassed by his outburst, he said, Sorry, I’m being childish.

Nothing wrong with that. Tobian’s eyes grew distant. I—I wish I could feel that way sometimes. Then catching himself, he said, There, now you’re a shadow in the night.

The suit’s hood had built-in infrared sensors for the eyes, and he quickly adapted to them and followed Tobian to the shore, not far from where he landed.

He knew from Tobian’s face—white hair, high forehead, and green eyes—that he was one of the experimental babies from the Martian prison colonies. In school he studied the horrors of Dr. Sendou’s genetic experiments. From his studies he knew that Tobian possessed enormous strength, but would be lucky to live beyond forty. He guessed Tobian was in his late twenties.

Surface, called out Tobian to the water. Slowly the metallic gray submarine emerged twenty feet from shore.

Open. The sub’s hood opened with a whine.

Tobian dove into the sea and reached the sub in several powerful strokes, grabbed onto the side and vaulted in. He followed close behind, but needed help to get in.

Take off your face mask, commanded the Martian as he settled into his seat.

He obeyed and sat next to him.

The hood closed with a thud. A pale blue light that emanated from a monitor in front of Tobian was the only source of interior light. As his eyes adjusted to the light, he gauged the dimensions of the sub to be eight feet long, six feet wide, and four feet deep. Besides the monitor, the inside contained a control panel, a secured cabinet to the left of Tobian, and two body-length cushions made from net-like fibrous materials which were their seats. Once he settled himself into his cushion, he could feel it contouring itself to the shape of his body. As he settled in he had the impression of sitting in a sleek sports car.

He became aware of a strong, stale scent that irritated his eyes and throat. As if reading his mind, Tobian said, Sorry about the odor, I’ve had some problems with the air filtration system. I promise you after a while you’ll hardly notice it.

He smiled and continued to examine the interior looking for a sign of weapons. Though he couldn’t see any, he was sure the sub was armed.

Tobian placed his right hand on the control panel. Within seconds there was a humming sound and the sensation of movement.

Are you comfortable? Without waiting for an answer, he continued. Every fiber of your cushion has sensors that’ll automatically make the necessary adjustments for your body’s comfort. Reaching forward he made an adjustment to the monitor’s brightness, and then said, Ever been in a two-man sub before?

Never. Truth is my experience is only above water.

You’ll enjoy the ride, it’ll take us… He paused to type in a few numbers, and then said, Exactly four minutes and thirty-three seconds to reach and attach ourselves to the bottom of the ship. After which we’ll lean back and let others do the driving for us. He chuckled making a throaty sound that reverberated throughout the sub.

Tobian brought the sub under the cargo ship near the engine. He pressed a button on the panel. A whining sound preceded a mild bump.

Well, that went smoothly, whispered Tobian.

We’ve attached ourselves?

Yes. Nothing to it. The computer deserves all the credit.

He turned to face Daniel. In the pale blue light his face had the grotesque appearance of a creature in a horror movie. Yet his eyes were warm, concerned. We won’t be able to talk anymore. We’ll pass through government scanners periodically during the length of this trip. If I need to communicate anything to you I’ll type messages on the monitor.

Is the government looking for us? whispered Daniel.

Not really, but this mission is top secret. We can’t take any chances.

I’m confused; I really wish you would tell me more. Not names of people… .

Tobian raised his hand to his lips and shook his head. With his left hand he opened the cabinet, removed a pair of headphones, and handed them to him.

He put on the headphones. At first he heard nothing. Then the faint sound of a harp was joined by a flute. Their combined sounds oscillated up and down, growing, and then fading. He found himself concentrating on trying to make out the rhythm. Slowly more instruments joined in. Up and down the music oscillated. He felt every fiber of his body unwind. He was so tired he closed his eyes. With all he had been through today sleep was what he wanted most. But I mustn’t sleep, he thought. Repressed memories surfaced. His parents, grandmother, Maura—sweet, beautiful…

He struggled with the memories; they hurt too much. The music was doing strange things to his mind. He tried to open his eyes, but couldn’t; tried to take off the headphones, but they seemed glued to his head. Finally he gave up and concentrated on the music. It was so peaceful, powerful.

Maura came into his mind. She would miss him. He realized he would miss her too. Just like he missed his parents; his grandmother. But there was no turning back. He made up his mind to get away, to travel with Holloway’s team to some secret destination deep in space…

CHAPTER 2

Wake-up Daniel, said Tobian, gently shaking him.

He felt as if he were falling through space. Instinctively he reached out to grab hold of something. What hap—was I asleep?

For two days, replied Tobian casually.

For—the music! You manipulated my alpha waves. Why? I didn’t ask you to!

Tobian paused before answering. He looked at the monitor, then turned and looked at him. His eyes were without expression. It was a long ride. I knew I could handle it; I wasn’t sure you could. There really wasn’t much to do—I hope you understand. He smiled sheepishly. Here, drink some water before you dehydrate. He extended a flask.

He reached for it, but his eyes never left Tobian’s face. He drank deeply, wiped his lips with his sleeve, and then tersely said, Can you give me more information now or don’t you think I can handle it?

Tobian stretched his muscular frame and with a measured voice said, I’m sorry to have kept you in the dark. Actually, I don’t know the whole story myself, but I can tell you this much, we’ve broken free of the cargo ship and are headed for Progreso Beach in the Yucatan. From there we’ll make our way to the Capital, Merida. We’ll travel separately once we reach land; less suspicious. In Merida I have the name of someone to contact. He’s made arrangements to fly us out of there to a point unknown. And that’s all I know.

What am I to do?

You’re to make your way to the Cathedral, some famous landmark, and wait for me there. Just be careful and don’t arouse any suspicion.

But who’d be suspicious of us? I know my father’s best friend, Noel Holloway, is involved with this, and I can’t believe he’d be doing anything illegal. When he called me after my grandmother’s funeral—

Hold on. Tobian held up his large hand, his eyes narrowed, The less each of us knows the better. I don’t know this Holloway, and you shouldn’t be using names. This mission is technically legal, but with all the disasters on Earth, the Moon, and on the Martian colonies, any venture into space must be sanctioned by the World Economic Council. And I’m sure you know all of the world’s money and resources are geared to repairing damages; not to space exploration. So we’re going, but not with their permission.

Do you know where we’re going? My letter didn’t mention any details, only that it involved a trip into space, one that under the present circumstances involved a high degree of danger.

He faced him squarely. We’re going to—to the orbs.

The sun had set when the sub surfaced off the shore of Progreso Beach. He and Tobian wadded their way to shore, removed their wet opaque suits, and buried them.

The night was muggy and the mosquitoes were hungry.

While swatting the pests he studied the area. Several Mayan-style huts dotted the landscape. The Mayans, who made up most of the population, abandoned modern ways since the orbs appeared and returned to the ways of their ancestors. Next to one of the huts he saw a stone pyramid. Perched on top of it were the two globes. The blue globe rested on the green orb. It’s a shrine to the orbs, he mumbled to himself.

Beyond the shrine he saw the remains of hotels and mansions ravaged by the storms. Centuries of progress lay in waste by nature gone mad. Shaking his head he thought, It’s the same all over the world.

Turning to the sea he watched the sub sink from view. On the surface he gazed at the reflections of