Alien Exodus

By Gary Beene

Some fifty thousand years ago, a race of extraterrestrials visited Earth. In their quest to seed the cosmos with sentience, alien scientists created the first modern humans by altering Homo sapiens’ DNA. However, the alien race’s noble intentions were derailed by greed and power lust, leading to the birth of a galactic slave trade and a war that spanned multiple worlds.

In the midst of this chaos, a miscalculation by Domhanian scientists produced a vicious race of giant humans known as the Nefilim. The Nefilim Project staff were forced to adopt a shocking strategy to correct the flawed genetic manipulation. Failure was not an option, but were they prepared to pay the price of success?

In the second book of Gary Beene’s ‘Eden’s Angels’ series, Admiral James Cortell continues sharing his extraordinary fifty-thousand-year-old “memories” of Earth’s ancient alien visitors. Readers will be taken on a thrilling journey through a multiverse filled with intrigue, danger, and adventure.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Next Chapter
• Release date: May 31, 2023

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Admiral James Cortell’s House

Lake Norman, North Carolina

January 2020

Frank Williams set a heavy acrylic case at the center of the table. Admiral Cortell, Captain Roibal, Carla and Gary Beene gazed at the transparent cube. Inside were three pieces of a fossilized jawbone. Frank gripped the top edge with his long fingers and slowly spun the box. It was not the fossil that was so mesmerizing, it was the fact that the jaw held two titanium screws with zirconium tooth crowns.

CHAPTER ONE

THE GAMBIT

~Ramuell~

The weapons, Ramuell! Vapula whispered urgently. She tapped the box with her six fingertips. "We need these weapons…to survive, we must have them."

Then we need a distraction.

So, I will distract. Vapula snugged her helmet down over her forehead, squeezed my arm, and staggered into the corridor. As the two Serefim Security sentries approached, she wobbled to the left, pushed off the wall, stumbled several steps to the right, looked up at the officers, fluttered her eyelids, and fell flat on her face. She didn’t even extend an arm to break the fall. She tucked her chin into her chest, letting the helmet clonk hard on the deck.

Unprepared for her theatrical realism, I gasped and uselessly threw my hands over my mouth milliseconds after the sound escaped. No matter, both sentries were sprinting to Vapula’s aid.

One kneeled to check her carotid pulse. The other pulled his communicator and called the infirmary to dispatch emergency medical personnel.

When Vapula began to moan and thrash around, I ducked back into the armory and finished filling a cargo box marked SUNDRIES with charged particle weapons. Using the hubbub of the medical technicians’ arrival, I slipped unnoticed into the six-metre-wide corridor. Believing bluster was better than stealth, I ran toward the crowd gathering around Vapula, pulling the caster-mounted crate behind me.

Good gods! That’s Science Officer Vapula. She’s on my team at SWA-7. What happened?

I don’t know, the shorter of the two sentries replied. She had a seizure or something and just flopped on the floor.

The medical technicians immobilized Vapula’s neck with a brace. One, two, three… With choreographed synchronicity, they slid her onto a gurney and lashed her down.

As they began rolling toward the zero-grav transport tube, I told the Serefim sentries, I’m going with her. My shuttle back to the planet’s surface departs from this torus in about an hour. Motioning toward the box stuffed with illegally procured weaponry, I asked, Would it be okay to leave this behind the security counter?

The taller of the two men eyed me suspiciously. His partner was more gracious. Sure, we’ll keep an eye on it.

For some reason, the tall man had his doubts. Okaay, but I want to get your identification information just in case you’re late getting back for the shuttle. He pulled a handheld digital reader out of a cabinet behind the counter and scanned my badge.

Oh, I won’t be late. The folks at SWA-7 are needing these supplies.

Yeah, but if your partner takes a turn for the worse…it’s best if we have your contact information.

Butterflies shot through my stomach as I turned to leave.

Hope your partner’s okay—she sure fell hard, the more gregarious officer called out.

I looked over my shoulder and saw the taller man’s face etched with suspicion. I thought, ‘Shit, shit, shit…I hope I haven’t overplayed my hand.’ I worried if they opened the crate I’d be spending at least a few nights in the orbiting station’s brig. A bead of sweat trickled down my back.

I had to leave the artificial gravity created by the rotation of the enormous Torus-5, enter the zero-grav transport tube and exit at the spoke leading to Torus-3. When I got to the infirmary I found Vapula in a tiny treatment room with a sliding transparent acrylic door. She was still pretending to be unconscious. One of the med-techs was loosening the straps that secured her to the gurney. I asked her, So what’s the plan?

First, we’ll do a scan of her head and neck to be sure she doesn’t have any fractures or internal bleeding. Then we’ll hook her up to a neuro-scanner to see if there’s any seizure activity. The woman studied me for a few seconds. Now be honest, this is important. Do you know if she had consumed any intoxicants?

Vapula! I laughed. She’s such a straight arrow she’s borderline boring. She drinks tea in the morning and can occasionally be coerced to indulge in a café.

So, that’s a no.

A definite no.

Is it possible she could have consumed an intoxicant by mistake? the technician asked.

Do you mean someone slipping something into her food? Why would anyone do that?

Who knows? We’ll do a toxicology screen just to be sure.

As soon as the technician left, Vapula opened one eye just a slit. I stepped over to the gurney and leaned in close to her face. She whispered, Borderline boring…really?

Hey, I had to think fast.

Speaking of which, I didn’t think you liked to gamble.

I don’t.

Vapula continued to whisper, Hiding the crate of weapons in plain sight – that was quite a high-stakes play for a non-gambler.

And you don’t know the half of it. I asked the sentries to stow it behind the security post counter.

Vapula’s stunning amber-colored eyes shot open. You’ve got a big dick for such a young man! But you don’t want to leave the box with them too long.

"Yeah, I know. What are you gonna do?"

At this point, we’ve got no choice but to play this out. In a couple of minutes, you can announce that I’ve regained consciousness. They are still going to want to take their pictures and hook me up to a neuro-monitor for at least a day. I’ll talk them into discharging me late tomorrow or early the next day, Vapula answered.

Okay, I better go—you want me to tell them you’re awake?

Yeah. Then shaking her head slightly, If this succeeds it’ll become known as Ramuell’s gambit.

"Vapula’s and Ramuell’s gambit, I think. I couldn’t believe how hard you conked your helmet on the floor."

Grinning, she replied, Well, I suppose.

Both sentries glared at me as I exited the access portal from the zero-grav transport tube. ‘Oh no! They’ve opened the crate.’ But when I approached the counter I saw the lid was still clamped shut. They’d not have reclosed the lid if they found the weapons. Trying to be nonchalant I said, Dr. Vapula regained consciousness, but they’re going to keep her overnight to run some tests.

I had expected some kind of response but got only stony stares. As I stepped behind the counter I said, Can’t thank you guys enough for your help. I better grab our supplies and make a dash for the shuttle. It’s scheduled to leave from Port 4 in a few minutes.

You see, Ramuell, the taller man said, we want to talk to you about that. He pointed at the foliopad lying on the counter.

I looked at the screen and saw my security file was open. I didn’t look up for fear my eyes would give me away.

Making air quotes, the sentry continued, "Before you ‘make a dash for the shuttle,’ perhaps we ought to take a quick look at the supplies that are so desperately needed by the good folks down at SWA-7."

CHAPTER TWO

NEFILIM

Forcas and Samael hid behind sprays of grass over a metre tall and two metres wide. They had been monitoring a clan of nineteen sapien-hybrids for two days. The one adult female nefilim was at least half again the size of the clan’s largest male. The gigantism mutation had also manifested in two of the clan’s pre-adolescents. Their long, heavy jaws and deep-set eyes with protruding eyebrows set them apart from the other children. And even at their young ages, they were already demonstrating aggressive, violent tendencies.

Forcas whispered, I think either a group of males are out on a hunting foray, or a number of them have been killed off. The ratio of adult males to females is skewed. She continued studying the group at the bottom of the ravine some three hundred metres away. Setting down the binoculars, she shook her head. And I don’t believe the two nefilim youths are the offspring of the nefilim female.

Yeah, Samael agreed. Perhaps one of them, but not both – they’re not twins and they’re too close in age to be siblings.

And if she is the mother of one of them, who’s the father? Did she rape one of the sapien-hybrid males?

That’s not common, but it’s not unheard of either. Samael grimaced and asked, What should we do?

Forcas blew out a grunt. According to our rules of engagement, we should probably infect.

But?

But if the retrovirus infects any of the non-nefilim clanspeople, the group may not have the numbers to survive, Forcas replied.

"On the other hand, if we don’t infect and nefilim males return with a hunting party, they will continue to breed and spread the mutation."

Can we hide and watch them for a few more days? Forcas asked.

We’ll only be able to keep the retrovirus vials cold for another day, perhaps a day and a half, Samael answered.

Okay. Then we’ll watch for one more day, Forcas decided.

Pop, pop, pop. The reports of the charged particle weapons were loud enough to be heard by the clanspeople, but they didn’t understand what they were hearing. The sight of the three nefilim clan members flopping on the ground so startled the sapien-hybrids, they dove for cover in the nearby bushes.

Forcas had targeted the adult female nefilim. The direct hit was instantly fatal. Samael had shot the two nefilim youths, but they had been moving and he wasn’t certain he’d made kill shots. He continued watching their bodies. When one of them convulsed, Samael fired another shot. Now they’re all dead, he muttered.

Slowly, one of the adults in the clan inched out of the brush where he’d been hiding. He picked up a stick and approached the nefilim woman lying face down in the dirt. He poked her in the buttocks and jumped back a metre or so. Again he approached and poked and again he jumped back. He did this a couple more times then stood upright and looked around. His fellow clanspeople began warily emerging from their hiding places.

Emboldened, the man stepped forward and brought the stick down hard across the woman’s back. When she didn’t move, he lofted the stick overhead and whooped. Then demonstrated his primitive hatred of the brutal, remorseless nefilim by slamming the stick into the back of the female’s neck and head several times.

A toddler picked up a stick, not much more than a twig, waddled over and began spanking the dead nefilim’s butt. This caused the clanspeople to start laughing, particularly the adult females.

No one made to remove the dead bodies. No one even touched them. Instead, the sapiens began packing up their belongings. Within an hour the remaining sixteen members of the clan filed down a well-worn path through the tall grasses, leaving the nefilim corpses to feed the scavengers flying above or prowling across the tundra.

That complicates things, Samael observed. We can wait here to see if a hunting party returns, or we can follow them.

Forcas pulled off her hat and scratched the back of her egg-shaped head. Nah, either way, we’re going to have to check on them within an annum.

Then we need to tag them.

Yep. Let’s follow, and when we see one alone we’ll stun and inject a tracking chip.

Okay, that’s a plan, Samael replied. If we get the chance, we should chip two, maybe even three of them—mortality being what it is out here.

Right, Forcas agreed. It’s a small clan and their hunters may not return. Should we put down a mammal where they can find it to scavenge?

Whoo boy! Ramuell’s not going to be happy with this mission’s contortions as it is. The crow’s feet at the corners of Samael’s eyes deepened as he chuckled. Providing food for the clan would have him spittin’ and cussin’ to be sure.

Yeah, you’re right. Then he’d write up an even more rigid set of when-to-infect and when-to-kill rules.

Samael wore his typical expression of amusement as he picked up Forcas’s backpack and held it out. She wrinkled the freckled skin on her narrow straight nose and said, Aren’t you the gentleman, as she turned to slip on the pack.

CHAPTER THREE

DAMN LUCKY

~Ramuell~

My stomach churned when I thought of what the Serefim Security officers might have seen in my security file. They might know about my involvement with the Crow Clan and the Port Authority battle. They could know I was suspected of collaborating with Oprit Robia from Realta-Gorm 4. The Serefim Presidium had designated Oprit Robia a terrorist organization.

But even if they knew all that, I also figured they knew I was Kadeya’s grandson and enjoyed the protection of the Law and Order Directorate on the homeworld; a protection that was stipulated in the agreement Grandmaster Elyon had negotiated with Sean, the Law and Order Directorate’s Special Assistant. When one of the sentries pulled my crate full of stolen weapons out from under the counter and popped open the first of three latches, I decided to be bold.

"I really don’t have time for you to inspect the crate’s contents. Those supplies are needed by Nefilim Project staff, and I must not miss the shuttle back to the surface."

I grabbed the crate’s pull handle and turned to leave. The larger man seized my shoulder and spun me around. Your friends downstairs just might have to wait a day or two for their precious supplies.

As the other sentry popped open the second latch I said, May I remind you that the nefilim eradication mission is an authorized project; one the Presidium has a special interest in.

The sentry paused and stood upright. He looked up at his colleague, whose face had taken on the hard adamancy of a man needing power and control. The shorter man shrugged, reached down, popped open the third latch, and lifted the lid. The two men peered into the crate. They saw two boxes of UV Protectant skin gel, three containers of laboratory equipment cleaning detergent, several bottles of topical disinfectant solution, and two boxes of sterile surgical gloves.

Before either sentry had time to pick up one of the boxes and expose the cache of weaponry, I slammed the lid hard, barely missing the shorter man’s fingers. I snapped the latches closed, turned and hauled the crate away. Over my shoulder, I called, "If I miss the shuttle, you will be responding to a formal complaint from my supervisor."

I’m pretty sure they knew Azazel was my supervisor. They probably also knew that Azazel and Trace, the Presidium’s Chief Administrator, were close friends. I glanced back and saw the taller sentry’s belligerence had morphed to worry.

As soon as I rounded the corner, I leaned over, placing both hands on my knees. I wasn’t sure if I was going to vomit or faint. I sucked in several deep breaths. Standing slowly, I pulled the bottle from the side pocket of my backpack and squirted water on my face. I took a couple of gulps then grabbed the crate handle and began trotting toward Port #4. I knew the shuttlecraft was awaiting my return and would not leave without me.

As he listened to the story of our misadventure aboard the orbiter, Azazel ran his fingers through his thick chestnut hair. His expression seemed to be more one of concern than disapproval. This won’t do…won’t do at all. You’re damn lucky to not be in the orbiter’s brig or dismissed from service and on a 4-D ship back to Domhan Siol.

I was taken aback by the Director’s comment. I thought we were pretty clever getting out of a tight spot.

He plopped his hands on his office desk and leaned forward. Heck yeah, you were clever—and courageous. Waggling his finger he added, "But we are not being clever."

I looked over and saw Vapula’s confused expression.

Azazel continued, Look, when we were laying in our stock of supplies for the long haul, Kadeya could not have foreseen our need for additional firepower. Given the fighting that has broken out, no matter how you cut the loaf, we need to stockpile a lot of items that will be considered contraband by the Presidium and the Serefim Security apparatchiks.

He blew out a forceful exhale. We need to be much more clever. Sending G-12 team members to raid the armory or the pharmacy or wherever just won’t do. We need to get together with Semyaza and develop a better strategy. If we continue on this path it’s only a matter of time before one of our people gets caught.

Vapula looked down at her lap then back up at Director Azazel. I suppose we should have abandoned the crate in the armory, hightailed it for the shuttle and gotten our butts back down here. But in the excitement of the moment, all I could think about was accomplishing our mission. She bit back a grin. And we did!

Azazel looked back and forth between Vapula and me. Yes you did, but…

But, I interrupted, "we put ourselves, you, and all of the Nefilim Project team in danger.

Sir, I’m sorry. And you’re right. We must abate the risk factors. We need to rethink how we obtain the more…uhm, the more controversial supplies. Do you want me to set up a meeting with Semyaza?

No, Azazel answered. I’ll do it and let you know when he’s available.

CHAPTER FOUR

THE COLLABORATORS

Dr. Althea and Professor Egan had returned to Realta-Gorm 4. They were there when information began trickling in about the renewed abductions of sapien-hybrids. Oprit Robia’s Covert Operations and Intelligence Services had groomed a large cadre of informants and assets among their sympathizers on Ghrain-3.

In an undecim, we’ll begin putting together strike forces, Major Anso announced out of the blue one evening while eating dinner at Egan’s and Althea’s cottage.

The couple stared at the man with whom they’d become good friends since the Port Authority battle. The setting sun’s light streamed in through the kitchen window and reflected off the light grey lens implants in Anso’s eyes.

He had not expected an enthusiastic response, but the couple’s silence surprised him. Now look, I know you have family on Ghrain-3, and I understand you’re not combatants by nature or training. But I also know you understand the immorality of the slave trade.

Egan drew in and blew out a deep breath.

Anso continued, And the fact is, we’re gonna need you.

Taken by surprise, Althea asked, What can we possibly have to offer?

Your knowledge of the Beag-Liath – or perhaps more importantly, their knowledge of you, Anso answered,

Egan reacted, So, you believe after a decade of failed attempts by Oprit Robia, somehow our involvement will result in a Beag-Oprit alliance?

Anso took a bite of his fruit salad and chewed thoughtfully. Maybe, maybe not. For all we know, their history is littered with alliances that failed spectacularly.

Sooo, Althea drawled, What are you thinking?

We’re thinking the only time we had a successful collaboration with the Beag-Liath was when you were present. You showed up on Ghrain-3, and they showed up on Ghrain-3.

Althea and Egan exchanged a knowing look. Althea said, That’s probably not exactly true. They were already there. They likely just turned off their cloaking devices when they saw us.

Yeah, that’s likely, Anso agreed. Now look, we’ll do what we can to avoid combat. But Oprit Robia is not going to allow a resumption of Grandmaster Elyon’s slave trade to go unchallenged. For obvious reasons, we need to ally with the Beag-Liath. As you said, we’ve been unable to make contact for several annum. You two are our only real hope for ending that hiatus.

And what happens to Kadeya and Ramuell if the Serefim learn of our collaboration? Althea asked warily.

Anso studied Althea for a moment and though her face was lined with worry, Anso could not help but think that with her chiseled features and bright teal-colored eyes, she remained a striking beauty. He pushed back from the table and said, Okay, I’m going to tell you something, but you didn’t hear it from me. Kadeya has announced her retirement. She plans to return to Domhan-Siol.

What! Why didn’t she tell us?

Egan reached over and took his wife’s hand. Sweetheart, she couldn’t tell us. There’s no way she could have sent a message to us without alerting the Serefim Presidium that we’re on Realta-Gorm.

Egan’s right. Anso folded his napkin and set it on the cream-colored dinette table. It’s my understanding the reboot of the slave trade finally just broke her spirit. With Ramuell working on the surface and Lector, Evander, and Durela deported, your mother has been pretty much all alone on the orbiter. She’s had enough. For her mental health, she needs to walk away.

And abandon Ramuell to what?! Althea exclaimed.

Holding up a finger Anso said, Althea, Ramuell is not a boy anymore. He’s a young man in charge of a major project. He’s supervising a score of people charged with remediating one of the biggest scientific blunders in the history of Domhanian space exploration.

Kindness showed in Anso’s eyes as he looked at Althea. She acknowledged the truth of his statement with a half nod.

At any rate, Anso continued, it’s my understanding Kadeya has done anything but abandon Ramuell and the others on the planet’s surface. They devised some kind of scheme to lay in supplies to last the Nefilim Project staff for well over a decade. Now we don’t know the details of how they’ve managed to do that, but we’ve been told they’ve hidden several metric tons of medical supplies, power packs, surface vehicles, and other consumables somewhere in SWA-7.

That’s kind of a good news/bad news story, Egan observed. Althea and Anso looked at him inquisitively. Good news – they have the supplies to last a good long time on the surface; bad news – they anticipate being abandoned by the Presidium.

Abandoned or worse, Anso added.

Althea stiffened momentarily then said, Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof. With an almost smile, she added, You know, someday one of those sapiens will likely give words to that notion.

Egan chuckled, reached over and rubbed Althea’s forearm affectionately. And someday in a far more distant future, some sapien galactic explorer will use the quote for no other reason than to seem ever so erudite.

CHAPTER FIVE

INTERLUDE 1

Admiral James Cortell’s House

Lake Norman, North Carolina

February 2020

Over the course of their thirty-year relationship, Frank Williams had been Admiral Cortell’s only true confidant. He knew the details of Cortell’s fifty thousand-year-old memories of Dr. Kadeya’s long-ago life. Because he knew the story so well, Frank rarely sat in on the sessions when Carla and I recorded the Admiral’s recollections. Frank did, however, read every word of the transcriptions and assist with editing our voluminous notes.

On this particular morning, he was puttering around with the lighting and recording equipment and listening to the Admiral’s recitation. You know, Frank said, I can completely understand Kadeya’s burnout.

Carla leaned forward and placed her forearms on the table. I agree, but why do you say so?

Well, Kadeya went to Ghrain-3 with the best of intentions. Her purpose was…hmm, I suppose you could say it was principled and virtuous. But man alive! She and Ramuell hadn’t even settled in on the orbiter when she became aware of what was really going on at Ghrain-3. She realized the situation was, to say the least, chaotic. The Domhanians may have started out with the best of intentions but, well… Frank held out both hands and shrugged.

Ahh, the best of intentions…pavement on the road to hell. Cortell chuckled and turned to Carla. Why do you say you can understand Kadeya’s burnout?

Because she was so alone. I remember you telling us about Kadeya’s and Ramuell’s first voyage on the 4-D ship from Domhan Siol of Ghrain-3. They were so excited and optimistic. They believed in what they were doing. I suppose they envisioned so many promising possibilities. Carla touched her hand to her throat and narrowed her eyes. But…

Cortell nodded, But things on Ghrain-3 were a good deal more morally ambiguous than they had anticipated.

Right, Carla continued. And if I recall correctly, that took the wind out of Kadeya’s sails even before she lost her support system. After Ramuell was assigned to the surface and all of her friends were deported back to Domhan, Kadeya was alone, probably frustrated, probably angry. So yeah, I can understand why she burned out.

I wouldn’t say Kadeya was angry, but she was frustrated and discouraged. You are right, she was alone…lonely even. Cortell folded his hands together on the table and stared at them for a moment. "We have to remember that she was dealing with a mission that had drifted far afield from what she had envisioned when she and Ramuell left Domhan Siol.

"When Domhanians mastered interdimensional travel, they ventured out into the galaxy anticipating they’d find it teeming with advanced life forms. However, after centuries of 4D galactic exploration, they’d only found fourteen worlds with sentient life forms and none with technologically advanced civilizations.

"It was on that 4D voyage to Ghrain-3 when Kadeya shared with Ramuell that Domhanian thinkers understood at some point Domhanian society would collapse; that someday their species would become extinct. They believed it would be an incalculable and unforgivable loss if they failed to figure out how to pass on their most important contributions to the cosmos—their love of art, music, physics, mathematics, literature—their self-awareness—their sentience.

"That understanding led Domhanian theorists to coin the phrase, ‘Life belongs to life,’ which articulated the belief that life’s prime directive is to reproduce itself. A belief emerged among many Domhanians that the enhancement of evolving sentient life forms was a noble endeavor worthy of a great species, and they did consider themselves a great species. In fact, they were.

Now remember the decision to genetically fast-forward the evolution of other species was made more than a thousand annum before Kadeya was born. Their scientists even hypothesized, using credible scientific models, that the genetic makeup of Domhanians had been manipulated by some unknown spacefaring species in their distant past. The evidence was convincing enough to persuade a significant number of that era’s decision-makers that not only was genetic enhancement a justifiable undertaking, it was an obligation to sentient life throughout the cosmos. So, you see, Kadeya and Ramuell arrived at Ghrain-3 believing they were carrying on a noble galactic tradition.

And instead, what they found was a royal shit show.

Cortell grinned. That’s a bit coarse, Gary, but pretty dang accurate.

CHAPTER SIX

WEAPONS: TO WHAT END

~Ramuell~

When Ipos had been forced to leave the Ghrain-3 Expeditionary Mission after the Port Authority battle, he managed to get an under-the-radar posting with the Law and Order Directorate back on Domhan-Siol. But he was the type of person who was not happy unless he was in the thick of things. Quite soon he became bored and longed for the thrill of the chase.

Doing something dangerous, probably even stupid, Ipos used fake personnel records to secure an assignment with the Nefilim Project. Even though he was on the Presidium’s persona non grata list, he managed to slip through the fingers of the overwhelmed and confused Serefim Security personnel during the first few tumultuous days following Elyon’s triumphant return to Ghrain-3.

When I saw the lion’s mane head of hair emerge from the shuttlecraft at the SWA-7 landing pad, I sputtered and choked back the urge to call out, Ipos! lest I reveal his subterfuge. I ran up and gave my friend a hug.

Ipos beamed. Ramuell, kinda looks like you’ve come up in the world. In fact, you’re probably in way over your head without my help! We laughed, but I took the wisecrack to heart. For obvious reasons, I couldn’t make the appointment official, but Ipos became the de facto Nefilim Project Security Chief.

Several days later Ipos and I journeyed some two hundred kilometres northeast of the SWA-7 headquarters to monitor a sapien clan our Project had infected with the retrovirus. We were returning to our camp through an area heavily wooded with tall conifers when we came across a large box in the middle of the path. When I reached to open the box, Ipos grabbed my arm and said, Hold on a sec. Clearly, someone left this here for us to find – but why?

You think it’s a booby trap? I asked.

Ipos walked around the box studying it carefully. Not really, but it’s like I always say, if we don’t know what it is, we don’t know what it isn’t.

He tied a knot to one of the box handles and then spooled out about fifty metres of light rope he always carried clipped to his tool belt. We hid behind a tree. With his thick, muscular shoulders and short, tree-stump-like legs, Ipos had plenty of heft to tug the box several metres in our direction. He stepped from behind the tree and said, Okay, it’s not an explosive with a pressure plate trigger. It doesn’t have a vibration trigger either.

So it’s safe?

Not necessarily—trigger mechanisms could be in the hinges or latches. Let’s take it back to camp. We can rig a pulley to a tree branch and open the top from a safe distance, Ipos replied.

An hour later we stood staring into the open box. Packed in shock-absorbent cellulose foam were six spheres measuring about eight centimetres in diameter. We also found two sixty-centimetre-long tubes; open on one end and with some kind of electrical device mounted at the other.

Ramuell, are you thinking what I’m thinking? Ipos asked.

If you’re thinking we saw these at the Port Authority battle, then yes.

Ipos said, These were not left in the middle of the trail by accident.

No, they weren’t, I agreed. But we don’t know for sure what they are or how they work—and we don’t have an operating manual. What are we supposed to do with them?

Ipos had torqued up the courage to pull one of the tubes out of the crate. Not sure what the Beag-Liath may have in mind, but we just might have the operating manual. He pointed to several pictogram panels etched into the side of the tube.

The next day on our way back to SWA-7, we saw campfire smoke rising from a shallow ravine not far off our course. Ipos landed the quadcopter a couple of kilometres away on a grassy knoll. We hiked to the rim of a cliff from where we had a good view of the camp below. Eight sapien-hybrids were all standing with spears at the ready. Three Domhanians in Serefim paramilitary uniforms had just entered the clearing. Not far away we could see sunlight glinting off the metallic hull of their personnel transport ship.

One of the Domhanians seemed to be speaking to the sapiens and gesturing toward the ship. A few of the sapiens lowered their spears but none made any movements indicating they welcomed the unexpected visitors. After three or four minutes of what appeared to be cajoling, the Serefim soldier pulled his sonic blaster and discharged a stun blast.

We watched in horror as the soldiers cuffed the disabled sapiens’ hands and ankles, dragged them aboard the ship and departed. All of this happened in less than a quarter of an hour.

Ipos turned to me and asked, Ram, did the Beag-Liath know this was going to happen? Did they leave us the crate of weapons so we could prevent this?

I—I don’t think so. I doubt they can travel forward in time.

But maybe they had some intelligence pointing toward the possibility of an abduction in this area, Ipos replied.

Yeah, that’s possible. They may have known, but if so why wouldn’t they have intervened themselves?

Good question, Ipos agreed. Surely they understand we’d never dream of using one of those devices without testing it under controlled conditions.

You’d think so, but we just don’t know what the Beag understand about us.

Back at SWA-7 a team of scientists studied the pictograms on the side of the tubes and spent two days designing an experiment to fire one of the weapons. After three days of analyzing the data, they detonated two more devices at lower and higher altitudes. They were unable to determine how the sphere’s explosions emitted targeted electromagnetic pulses. The bomblets were not nuclear devices and produced no gamma radiation. Domhanian scientists had only postulated the possibility of artificial EMPs from nuclear detonations at altitudes above a planet’s atmosphere. We’d never dreamed of creating and detonating such a device.

The Beags’ weapons were precise and effective. The cone of influence was always proportional to the altitude. Detonation fifty metres high produced an EMP effect in a circle on the ground with a 37.5-metre radius; detonation at one hundred metres produced an EMP impact circle with a 75-metre radius. The radius always equaled .75 the cone’s vertex height. All electronic devices within the impact circle were fried whether or not they were powered up. However, flora and fauna within the impact area suffered no ill effects and seemed to be unaware of the detonation, except for the loud pop overhead.

When the experiment reports were presented to Azazel, he asked, What in some frozen hell are we supposed to do with these things?

Ipos asked an additional question, "Perhaps more to the point, what do the Beag-Liath expect us to do with them?

Answers to both questions eluded us. We stowed the case with the three remaining devices and launch tubes in the fireproof vault in Azazel’s office.

CHAPTER SEVEN

SURPRISES

~Ramuell~

Inna is a member of the security detail assigned to the Nefilim Project. This evening I received an odd text-com from her. She’s not saying something, and her message is too cryptic for me to figure out what’s missing. When I sought clarification, she remained evasive. For her to request a one-on-one meeting in a remote area of the SEE-1 region is perplexing. I’ll run this by Azazel.

After reading Inna’s text-com, Azazel laid my communicator down on his desk. Massaging the back of his neck, he studied the message as if trying to divine its meaning. Yeah, Ram…I’m not sure what to make of that either.

Is it possible Serefim Security has figured out that we absconded with a crate of weaponry and they want to get me alone for questioning?

It’s possible they’ve done an inventory and found that weapons were missing. He frowned. I suppose it’s even possible they figured out you may have been the person to take the weapons—but there’s no way Inna would be roped into assisting them with entrapping you. She adores you and has serious misgivings about the Presidium.

And you know this how?

Inna and I go back a long way, Azazel answered. She’s been candid, more than candid, blunt with me regarding her feelings about Serefim Security’s role in the slave trade.

And she said she likes me?

Azazel shot me a sidelong grin. Everybody likes you. Her perhaps more than most. That’s so obvious she doesn’t need to say it.

I felt my ears grow hot, but I was determined not to let the boss think he’d flustered me with the innuendo. Her mysterious request must be important. I think I should go see her. What do you think?

Absolutely, but it’s too far away for a quadcopter. Check with Adair and see when he can fly you up there in the shuttlecraft.

The next day Adair flew the P-6 up from NWA-1 and the following morning we headed out to SEE-1. The coordinates Inna sent were just northeast of the southern glaciation area. It was all so mysterious I felt pretty anxious.

We hovered over the area for at least a quarter-hour searching for Inna’s beacon signal. On our third pass, it popped up on the screen. Adair said, She must have been scanning us to be sure the energy signature was that of the ship she was expecting.

If so, she’s being extremely cautious. Man, I wonder what’s going on.

We’ll know in a few minutes. She’s guiding us to the swale just north of that ridge, Adair observed.

Should we do a slow fly-by just to be sure there isn’t a Serefim welcoming committee?

Yeah, we should, Adair agreed.

He set the shuttlecraft down smack in the middle of the grass-covered clearing. We panned the meadow with the ship’s camera and saw no one nearby.

Adair said, Grab a sonic blaster and a charged particle pistol out of the weapons cabinet. I’m gonna open the door.

Okay. And I think we should wait at the bottom of the ramp.

I’ll leave the levitator motors idling. You go down and I’ll stay at the door. That way if there are any surprises, I can get us airborne in a matter of seconds. Adair pulled off his hat and stroked his almost bald scalp. I hate to doubt Inna’s loyalty or intentions, but this seems pretty strange.

You’re right…best to play it safe.

I strolled down the ramp trying to affect an air of calm that I did not feel. I saw four people emerge from a copse of scrub trees a couple hundred metres to my left. By the time they had taken four steps, I knew who they were and took off at a dead run in their direction.

Two of them broke from the group and began trotting toward me. We met and I gathered both of my parents in a group hug. Tears rolled down Mother’s cheeks. After a few seconds, I stepped back. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t this!

I looked up and saw Inna and a stocky woman with short-cropped black hair approaching. Both were beaming. Inna said, "My apologies for all the subterfuge, but you can see why I