Endgame - Episode 2 - "The Quickening": The Magnificent Seven, #2

By Dean C. Moore

Based on sanctioned leaks from the secret space programs themselves, and communicated through Corey Goode, their spokesperson, The Magnificent Seven "documents" the rollicking tales of the seven divisions of the secret space force.

 

I say "documents" because the leaked information is still very lean; meaning these stories, and this book, the first in the series, which recounts just one such tale, are based largely on the author's imagination.

 

Those who are among Corey's detractors, and believe he is disseminating falsehoods, may be offended at my pretense that these stories have any truth to them. If you belong to that camp, let me be more modest, and say that what you're about to read may well be 100% fiction. I certainly have no whistle blowers whispering in my ear that I can say for certain one way or the other. Which camp is right or wrong doesn't concern me in the least; as I don't deal in reality. It doesn't much interest me, even when it is as high flying as this. I believe, as Lewis Carroll did, that "imagination is the only weapon in the war against reality."

 

"Fact-based" talking points that originate with Corey Goode, when not quoted directly in the text, are recognized in the Author's Notes and/or in the Acknowledgments at the back of the book.

 

So, without further ado…

 

The timeframe extends from the early 2000s to our present day. The clock is winding down for both sides to achieve decisive victory. The predicted solar flare to end all solar flares looms on the horizon. With that solar flare comes God's judgment. Souls prepared for the opening of the gates of Heaven will ascend, along with the planet, to 5th density, or possibly higher. Those who are not will either be delivered to another third density world, or, they will face far worse: purgatory, or hell. It's a race to claim souls at this point—for both sides. And both sides will be judged. You can understand why everyone is feeling the heat.

 

For those on Earth, far away from the battles in space... The transition is not going to be any walk in the park.

 

Join us to see who lives and who dies—and why.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dean C. Moore
• Release date: Oct 23, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223697459

Book preview

"I'm sure we deserve all this...

I'm just not sure I know why..."

― Warren James Palmer, Minds of the Empire

ACT ONE

ONE SETBACK AFTER ANOTHER

ONE

THE SSP ALLIANCE SPACE-TIME BUBBLE

ABOARD THE POLARIS,

DUNCAN’S TEARDROP SHIP

––––––––

Athena swiveled around on her seat at the navigator’s console, to address Duncan in the captain’s chair. Damn it, Duncan! You so sure about your pet theory that you’re prepared to lock up the Alliance’s greatest asset? Or is this more of an ego thing? You just can’t stand the idea of a piece on the chessboard more important than you to the Alliance?

Duncan was surrounded by the Warrior Class Cleo Clones on the command bridge—all chosen because their psychic abilities were so pronounced, that should they entrain their minds, not even the ship shields could offer more protection. Still, he didn’t think Athena was boring into his head right now. She’d just gotten lucky, because he was wondering the same thing.

Duncan stormed off the bridge. The next thing he remembered, he was vomiting into the bathroom sink of his private suite. My God, what have I done?

***

THE SSP ALLIANCE SPACE-TIME BUBBLE

ABOARD THE SOLAR WARDEN VESSEL,

STARGAZER

THE BRIG

Ridell stood facing his second in command, Logan, on the other side of the force field, providing the invisible fourth wall of the cell. He wondered if that shield could truly hold Logan, or if he was still merely cooperating. What should I expect, Logan? He snorted. I’m sorry. You’re going through hell, and still I’m making this about me.

Logan smiled. I’m glad you still trust me enough to ask. I would expect my incarceration to be just the first of the setbacks for the Alliance.

Ridell inhaled sharply. Why?

Whichever take you have on me, it makes sense. Either I was part of a planned attack against the Alliance from Day 1, and my incarceration was planned also, and so too its timing. Because it will allow the Rogue Federation to attack with impunity, hoping to bring all the dominoes down, now that the first has fallen.

Grimacing, Ridell said, I can’t say I care for your logic.

"And if my heinous role in all this, as some kind of sleeper agent who has yet to be fully awakened with a key phrase or trigger of some kind, is pure fantasy, concocted in Duncan’s mind because the Anakin clones hate being upstaged, then, because you will be much weaker without me, as soon as the Rogue Federation finds out, they’ll pounce."

Ridell huffed so hard his nostrils flared. Are you talking to me as my trusted psychic, the most powerful in the Alliance, or as the strategic mastermind who will certainly replace me in time with a vessel of his own to command.

Logan snorted. The latter, I’m afraid. And since it is yet to be proven that I’m any kind of mastermind, maybe you should take the ominous warning with a grain of salt.

That I doubt I’ll do. Take care, my friend.

They’ve cleared you?

Ridell nodded. "They’re giving me another ship. Another Solar Warden vessel as old and antiquated as me. They’ve decided there’s too much going on right now for any ship captain to be sitting on the sidelines."

You’ll do well, captain.

Without you to alert me to the baited traps in advance?

It’ll be good to exercise your grey cells for a change.

Ridell chuckled halfheartedly. No doubt. But it won’t be the fun for me that it is for the Anakin clones. I stopped having something to prove a long time ago.

Ridell turned and took a few steps away from him, his head hanging low.

That’s your first mistake, Logan said. If you are not in a state of gratitude, and joy always, you’ve strayed from God. That’s the only way you can truly hamper yourself. Maybe in that sense, you have a thing or two to learn from the perpetually buoyant Anakin clones.

Ridell huffed. I still can’t forget one of them put you here. It’ll take me a while to let go of that. He continued marching out of the ship’s stockade, the other cells empty, for now.

Logan would use this time well, to search his own soul, hoping beyond hope, that indeed he had not been used against his will to pull the wool over the Alliance’s eyes, with the freedom of the solar system at stake, and so much more.

TWO

THE MILKY WAY GALAXY

EN ROUTE TO THE BELTWAY

ABOARD THE TEARDROP-SHAPED SPACESHIP POLARIS,

DUNCAN AJANI’S COMMAND SHIP

HIS PRIVATE SUITE

Duncan laid on his back on the king-size bed, stretched out, his hands clasped behind his head, staring at the ceiling.

Athena entered, figuring he’d need consoling, or someone to tongue-lash him some more, or make love to him. She wasn’t sure what was best for him right now. "You’ve ordered the Polaris back to Volla, deeper inside the Beltway. Why?"

Can’t you just get inside my head and see for yourself?

I figured you could use all the room in there you could find to think.

"I’m taking us back so the beltway energies can wash over me and hopefully dissolve the last of my ego, in the hope that is not what compelled me to arrest the Alliance’s greatest asset."

"Noble. But perhaps foolish. We believe we’ve plugged all the intel leaks flowing back to the Nazis and the Draco built into the Polaris, but we can’t be sure. So even thinking about Logan’s predicament could provide them the intel they need to strike. They will be certain we’re at our weakest now that he’s behind bars, and blocked from seeing what they might try next."

Can’t you girls do that thing you do, entrain your minds to amplify your psychic abilities, and shield me with them, so I can’t be read?

"We’ll do that, of course. But what makes you think there isn’t a spy among us?"

Duncan flinched and sat up. How could that be?

All you need for a good spy, is someone who can get so far into character, they convince themselves they’re on our side. A sleeper agent, what’s more, may not even know they’re a plant until someone calls in to get the data dump, using the trigger word or phrase, or action that gets them to spill the beans. Such a person, in theory, could survive the beltway. The breakaway personality, free of evil or ill-intent, would not have to fear the higher vibrations. It’s the personality buried deep down that would go progressively mad. So, if the root personality got free, it might be explosive, like a human bomb. No doubt it’s just waiting for someone to spring the jack-in-the-box. It’s hard to say which personality would be the more dangerous one at that point. The Nazis and Draco knew they couldn’t withstand the beltway’s energies directly; they’d go mad. So they had to get crafty, real crafty. Duping us into dragging Volla into the beltway might have been the setup of the century. Just so we could crank out more teardrop ships, faster; all defective, all riddled with Rogue Federation spy tech. And now, possibly, also commanded by split-personality spies.

Duncan regarded that big brain of hers backing up her words. Athena’s watermelon-sized head sloped upwards slightly, and back and away from her face, and was veined in darker hues, much like an actual watermelon, only the hues were dark grey against the broader swaths of whitish grey. On account of the size of her brain, she’d been tested to see if she had what it took to be a Calypso Class Clone, the highest tier of Warrior Class Cleo Clones, and the most psychic. The Calypsos focused on seeing the woods for the trees, on long-range scanning, and left the short-range scanning to the standard line of Cleo Clones. There was one Calypso clone for every bridge crew surrounding an Anakin clone. But Athena, like Sepia before her, had failed those tests. That didn’t mean she couldn’t use that extra brain matter for better strategic thinking, like now. Athena had no hair anywhere on her body. Her form-fitting black leather outfit had a collar that rose like a giant rounded leaf behind and protecting the watermelon. Her enlarged eyes were enclosed in even larger and very pronounced eye sockets that helped anchor that giant head to the face so as to make it just as much a mark of beauty as her every other facial feature. Her sleek, even thin neck, was thickened by jewelry—rope-like coils of gold that also echoed the color of her eyes. The overall impression she gave off was of someone who was a most powerful psychic and a sorceress. That didn’t exactly make it easy to dismiss her.

Duncan slammed his back into the bed and hammered his head against his pillow repeatedly in a vain effort to punish himself for his stupidity, or at least his shortsightedness. Strategy was technically more his department, and not that of the Warrior Class Cleo clones. "Us taking Volla into the beltway...A short term gain for the Nazis, yes, but maybe a long-term gain for us. With Rommel’s help, the factories on Volla that spit out clones at the same rate they spit out teardrop ships... The faults in both have been repaired. Hell, the Cleo clones are technically not even clones anymore. They just share certain all-important aptitudes, as their aptitude for warfare, and their psychic abilities. And those repairs mean the clones can withstand prolonged exposure to the beltway frequencies without going mad and taking crew positions just so they could play Dr. Smith from Lost in Space roles on our Teardrops. Maybe the Warrior Class Cleos on Volla can help me in ways the Warrior Class Cleo clones on this ship can’t. Or perhaps some other germ line has arisen with a lot to offer." Despite his dismissals, with the Warrior Class Cleos powerful minds, Duncan wondered how many alternate personalities they could store in there, each possibly with its own superhuman abilities and mission mandates. The horror was too much to contemplate, even to entertain. Besides, Rommel, familiar with how supersoldiers were first broken so that their shattered psyches could be put back together into the perfect mission-specific assets, would have thought to check for this, right?

Athena sighed. Maybe, Duncan. But you’re still seeing things from a single perspective. A lot of those clones, now that they are even more one of a kind, after Logan’s intervening, are maturing in directions that are of little or no help to the Alliance, who had a hand in clone creation, picking models that made the most sense for the war effort. Now, I hear some of them refuse to fight at all, and refuse to participate in making any more teardrop ships. Not only have teardrop numbers dropped on the planet accordingly, but now there are reports that the ships’ AIs are declaring themselves too enlightened to fight. They will joyfully take you wherever you want to go in the galaxy and beyond, delighted to go on exploratory peace missions, but they will not fire, except in self defense. And some, not even then. As a consequence, there are now strict limitations placed on how long any of us can spend on Volla. Soon, we will be denied access there altogether. And even if we aren’t, it won’t matter. The planet itself is subject to beltway energies, evolving its own consciousness faster than we’d like. If it discovers it has been put in the service of a war machine, it may well beam itself somewhere out of our reach. It may only be humoring us now because it fancies the cause of the freedom fighters.

A planet can beam itself somewhere else?

Athena shrugged. It may make such a request of the gods, yes. There are beings out there powerful enough to do it with a wave of their hands. I’m no expert on planetary evolution, Duncan. Maybe it won’t need the help of the gods for long; maybe it will do it all on its own."

Duncan got off the bed and paced. This is a fine pickle I’ve gotten myself and everyone else into.

Don’t take too much on yourself.

You’re the one that put the ideas in my head! And you were right to do it. I can’t stand the idea of playing second fiddle to Logan, or anyone else. None of the Anakin clones can.

"No true hero of the alliance would ever risk everything just so he could save the day, Duncan. Give yourself some credit."

She says, playing devil’s advocate, to keep me from spiraling to my demise, and possibly slitting my own throat.

Well, if we do cure you of ego, I doubt anyone will cure your clone line of its penchant for high drama. She got up from the edge of the bed and made her way toward the sliding doors.

Wait, so now you’re on board with us going to Volla?

"Now that I’ve thought it through, maybe it is our best chance to find out what went on inside your head. The psychics on Volla ought to be able to outstrip what the Warrior Class Cleo clones can do for you now. And with all the higher frequencies bombarding the planet, and even the teardrops getting enlightened, maybe the ships have finally mended any remaining hacks the Rogue Federation put in them that our humanoid minds have yet to find. With regard to any sleeper agents remaining on the planet, maybe the light has dissolved any barriers between the pretend personality on the surface and the impostor buried deep down. So either they’ve been mended, or maddened enough to expose themselves."

It just takes one, Athena, to bring down the whole house of cards.

She nodded. I don’t think there’s any avoiding a huge risk, whatever path we take. Locking Logan up is like taking the queen off the chessboard. We have to get to the bottom of this, quickly, one way or the other.

I feel better now.

Yeah, sure. She slipped through the susurrus of the sliding doors and was gone. He smiled at her anyway, glad she was reading his mind again; he had felt her inside him. If he didn’t trust his own mind right now, the more people calling him on his shit, the better.

***

SOMEWHERE OUTSIDE EARTH’S SOLAR SYSTEM

ALBRECHT’S COMMAND SHIP,

THE KRAKEN

HIS PRIVATE SUITE

Christoph, Albrecht’s second in command, entered Albrecht’s suite, the murmur of the sliding doors closing behind him the only real sign Albrecht’s privacy had been disturbed. Christoph’s footsteps couldn’t be detected on the carpeting. Aren’t we supposed to be dead? Christoph laughed that hyena laugh of his that made him sound more animal than human, and that got on Albrecht’s last nerve more often than not.

When Albrecht ignored him, glued to his monitor, Christoph came up and stood over his shoulder. You’ve been watching Duncan?

Yes, he just had the most informative meeting with Athena, his second in command. Did you know that they’ve incarcerated Logan, and locked him in a containment field to impair his psychic seeing?

Christoph reprised his hyena laugh. So, they fell for it, hook, line, and sinker. The Hammerhead ship did its job, thrusting Duncan into a timeline that begged the question, how come we’re not on it, if it’s so much better? Christoph’s hyena laugh got the better of him again, erupting with a force and a mind all its own. And the Anakin clones, ever quick to jump the gun, without taking the time to think things through, never considered that they just jumped ahead in their own timeline, to what happens after they get rid of us. Christoph laughed harder than ever, clapping the bedside table, then the wall, beating out his delight as if the entire room had become his favorite drum set. I swear, when people’s buttons are easier to push than machines, it really doesn’t matter how advanced the tech they’re wielding.

There’s more good news, Albrecht said soberly, ignoring Christoph’s latest outburst, as if providing the bass beat in their duo, as the wild percussionist improvised all he wanted to, to the steady, heartbeat thumping of Albrecht’s heart, and the steady ticking of his calculating mind. Their ability to crank out teardrops has dwindled to next to nothing. Soon production will stop altogether. It seems, in their determination to get that planet away from us, they failed to factor in the beltway’s effects on Volla.

Christoph was so beside himself with glee, he was break-dancing on the floor, channeling his squirming with delight into dance, just to bleed off the extra energy. The hyena laugh kept getting interrupted now by percussive outbursts of deeper laughter.

Last but not least, the tweak to the neuro bacteria I placed in the Anakin clones’ minds ought to hold deeper inside the beltway, at least for a short while. Long enough for us to learn what they plan to do next.

I can’t believe you got away with that stunt on Io—letting them blow up your ship, just so you could make away with the The Burning Abyss’s bacteria. That gave you the time you needed to tweak your neuro bacteria, which you then infested the Anakin clones with. A step so key to the next stage of your plans. And you did it all without anyone being any the wiser.

I hated parting with a clone of myself. Since I’m the only one I can expect to provide me any real stimulation in these war games. I would have loved to have him defect for just that reason. Albrecht sighed. "I couldn’t tell him what I was planning, or he may well have escaped from the trap on his own. The last thing I needed. The instant the Kraken’s AIs cracked the code for the bacteria and transmitted it to me, he’d fulfilled his mission. At least he and the cloned ship went out on a high note."

"How is it he didn’t escape?"

I sabotaged his ship, of course, otherwise he certainly would have. There’s no way even a contingent of Anakin clones were any match for him.

But how did you get the bacteria into the Anakin clones? Christoph asked.

I transmitted the digital information containing the bacteria’s formula for the teardrop AIs to activate inside them, and only them. So many leaks in those vessels as yet unplugged. That time Albrecht indulged a small chuckle.

Still on his back, Christoph reprised his break-dancing, pushing his fists out to the side and up syncopatedly now, as he spun himself on his back like a pill bug determined to right himself, laughing all the while. Christoph’s dimpled chin protruded too far. His forehead sloped backward unnaturally, as if he might have been a forceps child. His strange hazel eyes had a green corona about a yellow one about a brown one, about his black pupils, like those fold out telescopes, that even when collapsed, drilled down to the blackness of his soul. That break-dancing he was doing gave a good glimpse of that blackness as well.

Shush, Albrecht said, returning to his flat-screen monitor that gave him not only Duncan’s p.o.v., but the p.o.v.s of the many cameras in his suite under Polaris’s AI’s watchful eyes. His hacks had yet to be discovered. Then again, the teardrops in active duty were scarcely allowed to re-enter Volla’s airspace now, or spend enough time in orbit, that far into the beltway, for fear of the teardrops’ AIs becoming too enlightened and refusing to fight any longer. So, it didn’t surprise Albrecht that his more undetectable bugs had yet to be found; just the more obvious ones he’d left behind to give the opposition a sense of victory having unearthed them all.

Duncan is beaming down to Volla to consult with the more enlightened clones, seeking their advice.

Christoph sobered himself on a heartbeat, leaped off the floor, rather acrobatically, as if he had been a break-dancer in a past life, and hovered over Albrecht’s shoulder again.

***

DEEP INSIDE THE ECLIPTIC OF THE BELTWAY

THE RELOCATED WATER WORLD, VOLLA,

THE ISLAND OF PERELANDRA

Duncan hadn’t finished beaming down yet, and he was already hugging Faramir, his very first girlfriend, who he’d yet to sleep with, by the way. He felt her arms squeezing him tight and lovingly as he finished solidifying, knowing he hadn’t done anything to warrant her unwavering affection for him. Her turquoise skin shone nearly as brightly as her turquoise eyes and golden lips.  I’m finally back where it all began, he said, at least for us. 

We’ve missed you, Duncan. We’ve missed all the Anakin clones.

You don’t make them here anymore? He gazed out at the island from the beach. One Anakin clone was throwing a rubber ball at a coconut tree hard enough to coax the coconuts into dropping for him, catching the ball with each rebound off the trunk. Two more Anakins were playing volleyball on the beach with a harem of girls each on opposing teams.  The Anakins didn’t look any less impish or playful and joyful, going from their behavior and their laughter, than the originals, but definitely more at peace.

Faramir shrugged. A few. Wandering nomads, mostly. We seldom know what any of them are getting up to. Since they laid down the sword for good, no one much minds what they do, so they aren’t monitored closely, as before.

Duncan smiled painfully at the thought, but then brought his mind back on track.

And you! Faramir shoved her open palm into his chest. Am I to forgive you for lying down with another woman, a Warrior Class Cleo Clone, no less?

When he tensed up and started fishing around in back of his mind for a proper response, Faramir laughed, to reassure him she was teasing. "The plan all along was for you to sleep with as many women as possible, to breed a class of warriors no one could get around. No one expected any of you to show the restraint you’ve since shown."

He smiled warmly at her, still caressing her, leadingly, hinting that all she had to do was but to ask now."

It’s okay, Duncan. No need to feel guilty. We’ve come a long way since you’ve been gone. Now, if I want to be in your arms, I have but to manifest you. She showed him by conjuring a perfect double, every bit as real as he was. His green-haired twin winked at him, gave him a two-finger, offhanded salute, and disappeared.

Duncan laughed nervously. I feel so much better now that I know you’re not entirely over me.

Faramir laughed. Perish the thought. No one ever gets over an Anakin clone.

He