The Encounter: Escape from the Abyss, #4

By Frank DeCaire

Captain Alastor has reached a dilemma. Justina is missing after being sent on a spy mission to gather intelligence regarding a planet that is suspected to be home to the Temple of Advent. He must decide on sending a probe, sending another spy, or maybe just moving on to the next planet. He has never left a man or woman behind and it's tearing him up. This time, he may not have the resources to recover Justina.

After studying the photos taken of the Temple of the Exodus, Sylvia Wright discovers the temples may hold secrets not spelled out in the Tome. If the fleet cannot examine the Temple of Advent, they may not be able to find the next temple and make it home. Can she convince Captain Alastor to embark on a mission to a planet that is sure to be guarded by the bulk of the enemy fleet?

Maura discovers her boyfriend was tested and is infected by an Archon. Now she has regrets she blamed Justina for attempting to steal him away from her. Unfortunately, Justina is missing in action and may never return. Maura realizes that she may have to live with her guilt for the rest of her life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Frank DeCaire
• Release date: Nov 20, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223032472

Book preview

Prologue

3,000 Years ago...

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Sand dunes flowed toward the horizon. Baxter had never seen so much sand in his life. Not even the beaches where he was from had this much sand. He laid flat on a blanket he had spread on the side of a dune. From his position, he could see across the tops of dunes in almost every direction. A region in the distance was flattened to allow ships to land and unload their human cargo. Streams of people exited into the desert and joined the working parties.

Engineers surveyed a rocky region near the forest. They had big plans to use the stone as a building material. There was much debate about the labor it would take to construct houses, a town hall, landing platforms, and so on. Baxter had little interest in such things. In his very soul he felt as if his stay on this planet was temporary. So temporary, that he failed to memorize the name that some people have attributed to the planet.

He rolled onto his side and stared at the woman sleeping on the blanket next to him. She was covered in a full-length dress with long sleeves, made of a feathery light material. Her massive brimmed hat covered her entire face as she closed her eyes and dozed off. Why do people prepare an afternoon in the sun and then dress to block it out? Maybe she was a cat in a previous life.

A small breeze blew her floppy brim up and a few grains of sand landed on her face. Her eyes opened a crack, then she noticed Baxter staring. Her dimpled grin appeared in the shade of that giant hat.

Are you watching me, Baxter? said Ariel.

I could stare at your face for days on end, he said.

She rolled toward him and stared into his eyes while attempting to put on a serious look. He knew the drill. The first one to blink, loses. He could feel his eyes drying out, but he persisted. A grain of sand landed on his eye. He winked with that one eye to displace the grain of sand. The rules stated that one could wink, but not close both eyes. That was a technicality that Ariel had suggested the first time she had lost to him. He had lost this game the last time, so now it was his turn to win, but she was not going to make it easy.

Ah, there you are, my brother.

Baxter blinked, then gasped. He laid on his back and looked up. From his vantage point he could see his brother, Virgil, standing at the top of the dune looking down at him. Ariel giggled while propping herself up on an elbow.

Virgil. You sure know how to kill a romance.

Virgil feigned surprise. Why, I was just walking this direction when I randomly stumbled upon you two.

Uh, huh.

Ariel giggled. Well, we have enough food for a small army. Sit.

Virgil sat and accepted a sandwich that Ariel handed him. Are you two planning a joining?

Whoa, said Baxter. Let’s not get hasty. We just met a couple of weeks ago.

Virgil shrugged and took a bite of his sandwich. Ariel passed the container of water to him and a cup that he could drink from. He filled the cup and planted it in the sand before handing the insulated bottle back to her.

There is talk of building a town using local materials, said Virgil.

I have heard, said Baxter.

Have you picked out a location for your house?

I have not.

Ariel smiled at Virgil. I have not convinced your brother that the Archons are gone for good. He still believes that this is not the planet promised to us by God.

Mirakas does not believe as well, said Baxter. I will only change my mind if Mirakas receives word from God that we are safe to settle. Otherwise, I will remain prepared to continue my journey to the promised lands.

A gust of wind blew the corner of the blanket up and over the basket Ariel had packed for their lunch. She quickly pushed the corner flat with her hand. Virgil chewed another large mouthful of his sandwich. Two bites and he was already half through with his food. Baxter wasn’t sure where the man put it.

Virgil swallowed hard. What if we remain on this planet for years and Mirakas never hears from God?

Was his brother just trying to needle him, or was that a serious question?

Baxter nodded. I think I will cross that bridge when I get to it.

Fair enough, said Virgil. He pushed the last half of his sandwich into his mouth and chewed it for a moment. Then he washed it down with his cup of water. He handed his cup to Ariel and stood. I wish you two the best. You deserve each other. My only worry is that you may wait until it is too late before making a decision.

A decision on what? said Baxter.

To get married and have babies. Is there anything more important than that? We must repopulate the species.

Ariel turned a slight red as she busied herself with arranging the items in the basket. Baxter rolled his eyes.

Virgil laughed. Well. I’m off to find myself a woman and help populate the species. He strolled down the dune like he hadn’t a worry in the universe.

Baxter watched him crest the next dune and disappear into the distance. When he turned his head, Ariel was staring at him. Her eyes were serious.

Do you think the Archons will come? she said.

I am uncertain.

What if Mirakas receives word that we must leave? Will you leave?

Baxter felt his heart skip a beat. Will you not come with me?

She stared at the blanket and shook her head. I don’t know. I mean, I want to be with you, but I am not excited about spending my life in a tin can floating through space.

Baxter wondered if he would risk submitting to an Archon invasion by staying, or leave Ariel behind? Could he convince her to leave if need be?

Maybe we should cross that bridge when we get to it.

CHAPTER 1

Today...

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Captain Alastor looked at the mission time and sighed before leaning on the plotting table. The symbols displayed on it were etched into his vision from staring at them for so long. Each numbered symbol represented a ship. Some were large and contained thousands of passengers, others were small with only a crew of ten or twelve people. Two tiny dots with military designations flew in a pattern around the ships. Those were the combat air patrol fighters. On the plotting screen, every ship was just a square, or a circle with a number beside it.

He tried to absorb the entire plotting table using his peripheral vision. Movement of a symbol he didn’t expect was what he wanted to see. Unfortunately, the only symbols moving relative to the fleet of civilian ships were the two CAP fighters. They sped through the formation of larger ships appearing on the sensor display as a pair of flies buzzing in a random pattern.

He used his index finger and thumb to squeeze the screen and cause it to zoom out. When the fleet was shrunk to a tiny dot, he could see planets and the star that they were orbiting. There were no symbols outside the range of the ship’s scanners. He suspected that there were other targets in the system, but until he received a report back, he would not know for sure. Little was known about the two habitable planets deep down in the system. He couldn’t risk bringing the entire fleet that close. The possibility of an ambush was too high.

His stomach roiled making him wish he could run down to his stateroom and dig up an antacid. Maybe he should send for one. A quick glance at his crew around the bridge changed his mind about that. He was afraid that his worries would translate into their worries. They had enough to focus on already. There was no need to put his own burdens on them.

He zoomed back into the fleet and slowly shook his head. Where is she?

She’s late! barked Commander Evans. Alastor looked up and saw the XO’s face just rising from the lower level. Evans made his way up the steep staircase, using only one hand to steady himself with a death-grip on the handrail. His other hand held his Zero-G mug filled with coffee. Alastor knew it was coffee, because that was the man’s second favorite drink, right behind any type of whiskey available.

Alastor looked at the mission clock for the hundredth time since he arrived on the bridge. It read minus 8 hours. Late was a word he would have used about six hours ago. He didn’t have a word that adequately described how late she was. If her craft was still in space, then she was out of air by now. According to the programmed flight profile, she should have flown past the planet, around the star and back to the fleet hours ago, but there was still no sign of her craft. Not even floating debris.

She’s late alright, Evans said.

He set his mug on the tabletop display and glanced around at the targets on the screen. Then he growled, which was something he did when he was under a lot of stress, but didn’t really have a specific thing to say. Alastor was used to ignoring the commander’s growls. He could sympathize with him. Hell, the entire crew was on edge. Everyone knows the stakes.

What do we do now? said Evans.

Alastor drew in a deep breath and blew it out in a manner that made everyone aware that he was stressed as well. It wasn’t his intention, but a habit he just couldn’t seem to quit. And to think that he was worried about the crew noticing he needed an antacid.

He glanced at Evans. We have to find out what happened to her.

We didn’t receive anything?

Alastor turned and glanced at the back of Ensign Brewer’s head. She seemed deep into some sort of signal analysis. Probably looking at pulsar data. A task that has consumed the bulk of her time as of late.

He turned back and glanced at Evans, then shook his head.

The plotting table had not changed in hours. Other than the constantly moving position of the CAP, every ship was still located in their assigned position in the fleet. Relative to the Dark Wolf, the other ships seemed not to move at all. Alastor was happy that the civilian captains were becoming more experienced with fleet maneuvers. There was still more work to be done, but for now, they were doing pretty good.

Sir, said Ensign Brewer.

Alastor and Evans turned at once, like suddenly receiving an emergency call they were both expecting.

She smiled and waved for both of them to come over to her console. Evans moved around the plotting table while Alastor walked to the side of her seat. Her console was overflowing with windows containing plotted graphs. Each graph was different, and Alastor wasn’t sure what she was studying, but it appeared she had been working on this problem for some time. Maybe she made a surprising discovery regarding the nearby pulsars.

We picked up a signal several hours ago, she said. Evans leaned on the left side of her seat with his head drooping down to her head level and stared at her screens. Alastor tried to give her some space by standing tall and to the right side of her seat with his arms folded.

She pointed at a signal on her screen. It’s a very weak signal buried in a massive burst of radio waves. I only stumbled onto it because the computer got a momentary lock onto the identifier of the signal. At first, I wasn’t sure if the lock was real or it was just identifying random data that looked like a military communication signal. But then... She hit a button to filter the huge block of random noise in her display. A smaller signal showed at the bottom before she turned a knob to make it grow. I filtered out the larger signal and cranked up the digital data at the bottom.

Text appeared near the top of the window she was working with. It stated that the digital data was from an attack craft that belonged to the Dark Wolf.

Could it be a reflection? said Alastor.

Normally a reflection is reversed, but this one is not. I wondered if it was perhaps a double-reflection. Maybe a radio signal from our CAP that bounced off a couple of asteroids and came back as a weak signal. She adjusted a few more controls to clean up the signal. Then the pilot’s name displayed at the top.

Lieutenant Justina Brown, call sign Hurricane.

Well, that’s pretty definitive, said Evans. Can you tell us where she is?

According to the direction of the signal, it came from that planet she was sent to investigate more than 18 hours ago. We received this signal about eight hours ago.

Alastor sighed. That means she transmitted it somewhere near the planet. The signal took ten hours to arrive at the speed of light.

Evans stood up and scratched the side of his face. What is that large signal that was drowning it out?

She switched to another screen and hit a button to put the sound on the overhead speaker. It’s noise that is coming from the star. At least, that’s what I can gather from it. The signal never changes and it looks like a broadband blast of radio waves.

Or it’s the jamming signal from one of those mother ships, said Alastor.

Um, sorry, sir. I thought about that as well, but here’s an example of the jamming signal we receive whenever a mother ship arrives. She switched to another screen. The noise coming out of the speakers was more organized and not as powerful.

Alastor grumbled. His gut told him that this was not just random noise from the local star. When did this noise start?

I’m not absolutely sure when it started, but it was there before Justina’s transmission was sent. However, I wasn’t watching for noise like this before Justina started her mission. The noise could be the result of a massive solar flare.

Evans glanced at Alastor. He didn’t look convinced. Did we detect any solar flares?

I asked Polski if she can track solar flares, but so far, she hasn’t been able to confirm any.

Alastor knew they were going down a path of speculation and making no progress. Let’s move on from that, for now. What’s in the broadcast from Justina’s ship?

Brewer nodded and smiled. That’s why I called you two over. I was just decoding the message... she hit a few buttons on her console. Blocks scanned across her screen and filled in a few lines of a digital image. It’s slow going, because the data is so badly corrupted, but I managed to get this corner partially decoded. The black pixels are unrecoverable.

Alastor squinted. Is that the edge of the planet’s atmosphere?

Yes, sir. From the curvature in this image, she was still quite distant from her flyby of the planet.

The pixels continued to fill in. The blue edge of the planet’s atmosphere became brighter as more pixels filled in where the planet was located. Something beyond the atmosphere filled in, but it was dark.

What is that?

She boxed in the area and zoomed in. Then she adjusted the brightness of the pixels until the blackness of the background of space was a gray color. The image in the foreground focused on an object they had all recently seen.

Shit, said Evans. That was my worst fear.

Yeah, said Alastor. An Archon mother ship. Right in orbit around the planet.

Brewer hit a button to zoom back. More of the image was filled in. That’s not all. She highlighted another area out further in space. Then she zoomed in and adjusted the brightness.

Evan’s jaw hung slack.

Three more, said Alastor. How many mother ships are there?

Brewer glanced at Alastor. The image processor has not finished cleaning up the pixels for this picture. So far, I hand-counted ten of them. I suspect there are more.

Alastor grunted. Yeah, probably a lot more. We’re only looking at one side of the planet. I wonder how many of those things are in orbit.

Does is matter? Evans shrugged his shoulders. I mean. Four mother ships, one hundred mother ships. What’s the difference? There’s no hope of a rescue.

Alastor glared at him. Could he walk away from this? Leave Justina to an unknown fate? He wondered if he was asking the right questions. Maybe the right question was: would it be ethical to sacrifice hundreds or even thousands of lives to save one? If she were spotted by the enemy, she was certainly dead already.

What about the temple? said Alastor.

I didn’t really have my vacation plans set on visiting that thing, said Evans. Maybe we can skip this one. I mean, we’re pretty damn sure that’s the right planet. The bastards seem to have set up an ambush for us. They must have known we were going to find this thing.

Yeah, they probably knew right after Cassandra stole my Tome and reported back.

"Well, they certainly knew about this place. Probably knew about it from ancient times."

Alastor thought about the Temple of Advent. It sure would have been nice to get a visual confirmation of that temple. I’d like to know what condition it’s in. I’d also like to know what happened to Justina. Too bad we didn’t have some sort of diplomatic relation with the Archons.

Yeah, wouldn’t that be something? We could just have one of our senators call the consulate and ask them if they would like to negotiate for our missing pilot.

Alastor stepped away from Brewer’s console. I guess I’ll have to give Sylvia the bad news. She’ll have to be satisfied with knowing where the temple is located, even though she’ll never get to visit it.

Alastor hustled down the ladder and headed toward his stateroom. He had to do some thinking and pop an antacid. How was he going to break the news to Sylvia? She was certain to protest, so he’d better spend some time thinking up potential rebuttals to her demands. At least she was a more reasonable person than any of the senators.

Which reminded him... would he notify the senators? Did they need to know? He sighed. Yes, he’d have to put together an official notification of what happened and where he wanted to take the fleet next. Otherwise, they would pound him over leaving the star system without visiting the Temple of Advent. He was certain that every politician on the Far Star wanted to go there for some R&R, not to mention that they probably all wanted their photos taken next to the thing. This was going to be delicate, and he’d have to put on his politician hat to handle it.

Something kept nagging him. Did they need to visit the temple?

CHAPTER 2

Corpsmen first class Deidre Hull stretched her legs to the middle of the transport vehicle while attempting to get comfortable in the webbed seat. Doc sent her on a mission she wasn’t really looking forward to. It ranked right up there with getting a root canal.

She closed her eyes and listened to the background roaring of the engines. Even her earplugs didn’t block that noise out. Life as a military person was a little rougher than these civilians had it. Now she was on her way to inspect a civilian passenger ship with reports of people getting sick. The symptoms were pretty generic. The usual, fever, vomiting, diarrhea, etc. She expected some sort of food poisoning. Not unusual on a small craft that was built for limited distance travel.

Are you ready for this? said Ensign Vargas.

She opened her eyes and glanced toward the cockpit area, and shrugged her shoulders. Nope. Until he mentioned it, she never really thought about what to expect. He grinned at her but said nothing.

What? How bad could it be? she said.

He chuckled and nodded. You’ll find out.

Great. She closed her eyes and crossed her legs. Just a few more minutes of sleep and then...

The ship jolted, waking her from her moment of bliss. The airlock relay panel beeped and turned yellow. Shit. We’re here already?

Vargas shut down the engines and entered the cargo compartment. He examined the airlock panel, then punched a button to pressurize the airlock. Deidre stood.

Her pocket contained a pair of medical gloves and a mask she had stuffed there before she left. She pulled it all out and arranged it on the webbed seat. After she put the mask on her face and tied the strings tight, she put her blue latex gloves on and made sure they were snug. Then she bent down to grab her medical backpack and slung it by one strap over her shoulder.

Vargas stood in front of the hatch grinning at her. Damn, he was annoying. Her stomach twisted into a knot as she worried about what came next. Are the passengers a bunch of zombies eating each other? Maybe he thinks the smell of vomit and diarrhea was overwhelming. Well, he had not spent enough time in sick bay to know what foul odors were.

The status panel dinged and turned green. Vargas activated the control to open the hatch. Then he stepped into the narrow airlock. A half-meter wide section of the craft that mated with another craft. Then he knocked on the hatch leading into the Wu Chun.

He glanced at her and pinched his nose. She rolled her eyes. Vargas was such a drama queen.

Pilots.

The mechanism made a single clank sound, then the seal popped. A foul odor wafted into the transport that made her feel a bit woozy. Suddenly she regretted she had not thought to bring a biohazard suit. Well, she always wanted to get into the medical profession. Foul odors and all.

The hatch swung into the Wu Chun and several people blocked the passageway inside. She stopped and stared at the miserable souls that blocked her path. Every person had puffy red eyes. Two men held onto an elderly woman who appeared as though she was about to wither away. Deidre thought old woman looked like walking death. Only, she wasn’t really walking, but being carried.

Get her inside the transport. There was no need to check her vitals. The old woman would need to be hooked to an IV and monitored immediately.

The two men push past her and carried the elderly woman to the transport. Deidre pushed her way into the craft, but stopped cold when she saw the rows of seats where the discount passengers rode.

Cattle car.

The carpeting was matted from hastily cleaned up vomit and stuck to her boots. The smell of overflowing chemical toilets was overwhelming. When she turned her head to the left, she noticed that the smell was coming from the thin door marked toilet. She touched the handle with her index finger and pulled it open a crack. The floor and toilet seat were covered with brown and blue liquids. She released the handle, letting the door shut on its own.

I thought they pumped the sewage out of this ship.

They did, said a man that approached her from the front of the ship. He extended his hand to shake. I’m captain Hurst. The tanks are empty, but we don’t have any cleaning supplies left to take care of the mess.

She glanced to the right and saw a man that was pale and sweaty, seated near the aisle. What about him?

Almost half of the passengers are sick, said Hurst. Probably something from living in such an unsanitary conditions.

She unslung her pack, but didn’t let it touch the floor. She removed a device that looked like an oversized syringe, then put in a fresh needle. The needle only stuck out a couple of millimeters. The pale man tilted his head in her direction.

I’m going to take a test sample. She pulled his sleeve up high. He didn’t resist. Using a pre-soaked swab of alcohol, she wiped a spot on his arm before pressing the needle in and pulling it back out. The computerized device extracted a tiny blood sample. The screen on the side lit up, and she held it near her face to read the data on it.

She sighed. Dysentery. She held open his eyelid and used the flashlight end of the test tool to check his pupil. Do you have any blood in your stool?

He nodded. Just confirmation of what she knew from the test. This guy would have to be evacuated as well.

She ejected the needle into a tiny red box with a medical waste symbol stamped on top that was attached to the inside of her bag. Then she put in a new needle.

The woman in front of him didn’t look much better. She was shaking, sweaty, and her nose was running. Someone had placed several blankets over her, but she was feverish. Deidre repeated the process with the woman. The test reported that she had severe food poisoning and was dehydrated.

Deidre stood and let her eyes wash over the people in the seats. Moaning sounds came from several of them. Stomach pains and cramps were to be expected if the remaining passengers were afflicted with the same illnesses. There were too many.

We don’t have enough room in the shuttle to take all of these sick people back at once. She turned her head to glance back at the airlock. Ensign Vargas!

His head peeked around the corner, but he still held his nose. She almost laughed, but understood his issue.

We need to evacuate at least a hundred... She turned and counted the rows of seats toward the front of the craft. Then she turned back to face Vargas. Maybe 150 people.

Can we make multiple trips?

The woman in the seat next to her moaned. Deidre looked down at the woman and wondered if she was going to make it.

Deidre shook her head. Many of these people are not going to make it through the night.

Shit. He disappeared into the airlock.

Deidre followed him back into the transport. He switched on the radio and made contact with the Dark Wolf. Then he looked at her with pleading eyes.

She held out her hand. Give me the headset, sir.

Relief filled his eyes as he handed the headset to her. She positioned it over her ears and spoke. This is Corpsman first class, Deidre Hull. We have a medical emergency involving at least 150 passengers. We need immediate evac.

Hold, said the voice from the other end. She took a deep breath, though the transport air was now mixed with the stench that had previously filled only the passenger craft.

This is the XO. What’s the situation?

Sir, there are at least 150 people here that are deathly ill. I’ve only tested two of them and those one has dysentery and the other has food poisoning. They are dehydrated, feverish and, frankly, they look like they’re not gonna make it.

There was a moment of background conversation over the headset before the XO returned. Tell the pilot of the Wu Chun to pull into bay 22. We’ll set up a temporary medical facility in the connecting bay and offload everyone on that ship for medical attention.

Yes, sir.

And Deidre.

Yes, sir.

Keep it together. We don’t want a panic on our hands. They’ll be fine.

Yes, sir.

The line went dead, and she handed the headset back to Vargas. He looked at her with inquisitive eyes.

The XO said to tell the pilot to dock in bay 22.

Mind if I...

If you want the honors, you can go tell him.

Vargas sprinted into the Wu Chun. A sight that Deidre thought she’d never see after experiencing the interior of that hellhole.

CHAPTER 3

Alastor word smithed a lengthy message he would not be ready to send for some time. He expected to spend a large quantity of his time making sure the message was to the point and accurate. Not too many details, but enough to prevent his phone from ringing off the hook as soon as he sent the damn thing. He was glad his message to Sylvia was much simpler. Something he had dispatched a few hours ago. He was just saving the difficult message for last.

His stomach continued to roil.

He stopped and pulled open a drawer in his stateroom desk. After shuffling the contents with his hand, he slammed the drawer shut and opened the next one down. On top of a pile of random stuff was his plastic bottle of antacid. Something he had meant to do earlier. He snatched it from the drawer and popped off the top. Then he tipped the bottle and dropped one of the large pills into his free hand. The pill went down hard, even with the slug of cold coffee that was left in his mug. He would need a coffee refill and soon.

He glanced at the coffee machine and remembered that he had the last cup from the small pot that it made. He set his mug back on his desk as he contemplated the lengthy task of setting up another pot. Then he turned to his screen and started typing the next word onto his keyboard. Drinking coffee at this hour wasn’t something he should be doing, anyway.

A knock at the door broke his train of thought. He growled at the sudden interruption from his important task. Who would show up so late at night?

He made his way to the door and flung it open, half expecting an enlisted person standing at the opening with a list of parts requiring him to sign off on. Embarrassment kicked in when he realized who stood at his door.

Sylvia.

Sorry for the late-night visit, she said. She stepped past him and walked toward the large table in the middle of the room. He closed the door and put on a smile.

I wasn’t expecting company, he said. You’re one of the few people that is welcome anytime. 24/7. His embarrassment was rapidly dissipating.

She set her Tome on the table and made her way to the bar. Was she into whiskey now? Was that allowed? Alastor couldn’t tell what she was getting ready to drink. When she turned and glanced at him, he could see that she was preparing the coffee machine. That was gratuitous.

I heard about the final transmission sent from Justina, she said. Then she turned back to the machine and continued to prepare the thing for a new pot. Alastor didn’t remember mentioning Justina in his message to her. He had only mentioned the fact that the planet was guarded by more than a dozen mother ships and that a landing party to inspect the temple was not feasible.

I hope you don’t mind me making a cup of coffee, she said.

I was just about to make myself another cup, so you’re just in time. He was impressed by what she seemed to know about Justina. She must have direct contact with someone on the bridge. A security violation he was willing to let slide. We only received fragments of an image from her ship’s telescope. No audio or text.

She hit the button and turned to face him, but stood in place with her hands folded in front. And all those mother ships in orbit. Your message to me indicated that you were planning to bug out and record Justina’s status as missing in action.

I was drafting a message to the senators on the Far Star with that very plan in mind. He stared at her, but her face didn’t reveal anything that she was thinking. But I suspect you’re here to change my mind.

She smiled. Picked up on that, did ya? The coffee started to fill the sealed coffee pot. The machine wasn’t the most sophisticated one that was available in the colonies, but it made a pretty damn good cup of coffee and it worked in zero-G. Though Alastor never tested it under such conditions, even though he had been on this ship for some time. He wondered if the little pump inside the pot still worked.

So tell me. Why can’t we just move on to the next temple and pass this one by? he said.

She poked a finger at him, then put her hand down. That’s the big question. Isn’t it. The machine stopped, and she turned. She grabbed a mug and poured some of the steaming liquid into it, then turned toward him. He jerked out of his day dreamy state and stepped to his desk to grab his own cup. He held it out toward her and she filled his mug as well. Then she settled into a seat at the table.

She pulled out a sheet of paper. This is a picture of the inside of the Temple of the Exodus that we visited on Banchin. I was analyzing this square section of writing yesterday when I discovered that it was a warning.

Warning about what?

I’m not sure yet, but it indicates a warning received by Mirakas from God. Each of these squares are some sort of warning and they are encoded. Probably so the Archons couldn’t figure out what they mean. So far, I’ve managed to decode part of this message and it states that the warnings are meant only for the future.

Meaning, us. We’re the future, right?

Yes. That’s what I think it means.

But, how did they know what a monk would write after he arrived on Nadthra? And, hundreds of years later?

God knows all. He’s timeless. He’s omnipotent.

Ah, yes. I didn’t consider that. Alastor felt panic built up inside of him and wondered if he was overreacting. The idea that his future was determined