"Swedes have a natural disadvantage writing english texts =)"
-[A-Laget]Grogg
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| Journey, part 8: The Unleashing | | | Author: | | | IP: | 12-233-1XXXX | | Date: | 06/09/02 10:06 | | Game Type: | Other | | Labels: | none | | Report Rating: , # of Ratings: 1, Max: 8, Min: 8
Lifetime Rating for citizenKane: 8.2143 |  |
I’m afraid I don’t have much time for introductions anymore. You see, I must get prepared. In a few short weeks, the end of my timeline, the end of my view of the future, and the end of this Journey will all coincide. What happens next not even I can tell. I must prepare.
I’ve already written most of this, you see. Just not the introductions. They come to me as I send these out unto the unwitting world. None of this has happened yet, but shockingly, nobody has made any effort to change it. I hope there is time for the future to change. If it doesn’t, I fear I will die.
They say fear must be conquered, but I am not one to conquer fear. It is too vast to be even faced, now. I think I write this so I take my mind of what’s coming, what I have known for longer than I can remember. It is almost upon me...
I have spent too much time writing this. Let the journey continue.
Jennifer was a writer.
Well, at least she was one now. Popular literature was a relatively recent phenomenon. She had gotten several books published, not bestsellers but they sold pretty decent. It wasn’t as if she needed the money. Her current book was about Satan in space, a little cheesy. But, she thought to herself, the book-buying public is a poor judge of good literature.
As she thought this, her thoughts turned to “The Man who was Thursday,” which had recently gone out of print. No justice.
She was not always a writer— she had done many things in the past ages. She traveled the world, usually wandering wherever women’s rights were strongest, and not sticking in the same place twice lest anyone find out that she was immortal. She currently lived in Germany, primarily because Germany was cool.
Jennifer was unmarried— how could you ask anyone to marry when you are immortal? Back when women were almost required to marry, she’d have to get a new husband every 10 years or so, which usually did not work out well. There were eight other immortals that she knew of, four of them men, but their relationships never lasted a lifetime (which was a rather long time for an immortal).
Now she wrote, among other things. She always wrote first thing in the morning and didn't watch TV, which is why she didn’t find out until well after lunch about the explosion off the cost of Spain. But she had a subscription to several major worldwide papers, and when she picked up DIE ZEITUNG, she nearly dropped it.
She looked up. By instinct, her thoughts jumped to Gerard.
This has something to do with Gerard.
* * *
It was an unearthly noise— a pure, solid force expressed in the form of sound, that seemed to be of all pitches at once and of none, shaking the earth and splitting the ears. It emenated for miles around, and people as far away as Nebraska would describe it as “the kind of sound you hear in a movie theater, you know, when it powers up and says “DTS ENHANCED” on the screen and all that.” Of course, the witnesses that survived were all a good distance away.
The column of light, a thick solid pillar of red, throbbed with resonance. The four ran.
“Wait!”
The shout came from Gerard. Admidst the noise, his voice was barely audible, but sufficient to make the other three stop and turn.
“Greg! The car!” He pointed furiously.
The tiny car lay several yards away from the brilliant light, upside down but clearly undamaged.
“Get in the car!” Against the horrible noise, Gerard’s voice was an almost indiscernible high-pitched groan. “Haman! Keep up!”
The ground was shaking hard, and running was difficult. But Gerard and Greg ran toward the car, toward the column of light, as fast as they could. Lightning flashed, but the constant din dwarfed even thunder.
When they got to the upturned vehicle, the noise was unbearable. Everything seemed to resonate. It seemed as if their insides were trying to pop out. Gerard righted it easily and both the doors popped open. They got in, Greg desperately fumbling with the multiple seat belts. Before he could get them all buckled, the car jerked— upward. Greg looked out the window, and the sprawling ground was several yards below them. They were floating. The noise continued, muffled by the car’s exterior.
“Don’t distract me,” Gerard said quickly, softly. “This takes concentration.”
The car jerked again, forward this time. Greg was pressed into his seat. They zoomed forward with unspeakable velocity, just a few feet off the ground.
Haman saw it speed off. He leapt into the air and followed.
Barnes was left on the ground.
“Haman, wait!” But the noise was too overpowering. Haman didn’t hear him.
Barnes stared at the quickly receding Haman, the glowing pillar of light in the background.
* * *
A passengerless 747 cruised through a cloudless sky. The only people in it were Banon, Travesdain, and Joni. Joni had gone to great lengths to insure that neither Banon nor Travesdain knew he was there. Of course, Travesdain knew he was.
Travesdain stood motionless in front of the cockpit window.
“Excuse me, er—”
“Go ahead, Argusdain.” Travesdain moved nothing but his mouth.
Argusdain. A voice. Banon ignored it for now.
“Where are we going?”
“Iowa.”
“Is that far away?”
“Yes, Argusdain.”
Argusdain. The voice again.
“How far?”
“Farther than the horizon.”
“How come we need to take this plane to get there, but we got to the airport so quickly?”
“A wrinkle in time. One can travel to the other side of the world at once. They’re quite rare, though, so we’ll have to settle for this plane.”
Banon had this feeling that he’d heard that before.
“But couldn’t we just—”
“No.”
“But what about—”
“No.”
“But maybe if we can—”
“No. Be quiet, Argusdain.”
Argusdain.
He was quiet.
Travesdain stood there, in front of the cockpit window.
Staring.
* * *
To all who saw it, it was a faint blur. Yet it would have been a strange sight: A very small car, traveling at an immense speed, followed by a flying man with trailing robes. Those who saw promptly ignored or simply forgot them: Their attention was focused on that hideous noise, and some of them noticed the thin but plainly visible red-white line against an angry cloudy sky. Lightning flashed, but the line never wavered. It was, actually, a thick pillar of light, but those close enough to see that did not survive.
Greg looked out the rear window. The landscape was a trailing, flickering blur, and the pillar of light had quickly shrunk to a vertical strand in the distance. The flying Haman floated eerily in the rear window, his body horizontal, his flowing hair and robes flapping in the wind. The rolling clouds flashed with lightning, and were so agitated they seemed to billow.
They were billowing. They grew larger, expanding out like quickly rising dough. The lightning flashed and forked with such rapidity that the thunder seemed to merge into a growl.
The thin pale white line burst outward and vanished. Even the noise stopped.
Gerard looked behind him, over his shoulder.
Haman looked behind him, too. Then he slowed down and sunk to the ground, vanishing from Greg’s view.
* * *
Joni was on the plane’s upper deck, where the first classers usually were, hiding from Travesdain and his companion. The thrill of danger wore off about the same time plane started cruising.
Now he lounged on one of the leather first-class chairs, examining an in-flight magazine. He removed a bag of honey roasted peanuts that he had filched from the airplane’s stores from his pocket, glanced at the wrapper (Warning: Contains Peanuts), tore it open, and popped a nut in his mouth. He had wondered for quite some time what he should do about this hijacked plane. Radio transmissions could be detected and were currently out of the question. He settled on storming the cockpit with some sort of weapon when the opportunity presented itself. So far, it hadn’t, and he was getting bored.
He flipped through the airline’s official magazine and sized up a crossword puzzle, when he heard voices from below. Travesdain’s.
Suddenly, he snapped back to attention, everything suddenly focused. He listened.
“I think, Argusdain, that you will see to this for a while. Just tell me if anything goes wrong. I am going to go upstairs...”
Joni’s mouth went dry, and he dropped the magazine. He could hear footsteps below.
He needed somewhere to hide. To his left was a little curtained doorframe, one of those places where airline stewards and stewardesses did their unseen work.
He ducked through.
Behind the curtain was a cramped little room. Boxes of snack crackers and honey roasted nuts were stacked neatly in shelves. Unused soda trays were stowed under them.
He heard the dry thocking sounds of shoes climbing metal stairs.
Heart pounding, he tried to find someplace to hide. He tucked himself behind a corner and waited.
The dry thock was gone, replaced by the dull faint thump of shoes on carpet. It was getting closer.
Thump-thump-thump-thump.
“Hmm...” Travesdain muttered. Joni’s heart jumped.
The curtain parted, and Travesdain stepped in. He quickly moved through the small room and over to where Joni was...
No time to think. Joni grabbed a box of Folgers Instant Coffee and with it whacked Travesdain’s head. The box split open, scattering little green pockets everywhere. This didn’t hurt Travesdain but fazed him long enough for Joni to grab a bottle of wine from the nearby wine rack and smash it across Travesdain’s head. It splashed everywhere and broken glass flew like shrapnel, but Travesdain (much to Joni’s surprise) didn’t even flinch. Because the wine was red, it took Joni a while to realize that Travesdain wasn’t bleeding.
Travesdain advanced. Joni backed into the wall.
“Well, well, well,” he growled. “The airport man wants to play spy.” His fingers closed around Joni’s throat. “You are meddling with forces beyond your comprehension, my man—”
Banon entered the room. They both looked.
“What do you want, Argusdain?”
“Sir, Travesdain, I just saw like a bright blue flash... or something...”
Travesdain sighed heavily.
“Well, I suppose we’d better take a look...”
Travesdain dragged Joni out by the neck, and Banon followed. They rounded the corner and went through the curtain, down the stairs with Joni’s legs limply thumping, round another corner and into the cockpit.
The sky was perfectly clear, except for some overcast far in the distance. Joni struggled to get free, but Travesdain’s grip was firm.
“Now, Argusdain, what was it you saw?”
“I dunno... I don’t think it’ll flash again...”
A voice in Banon’s head shouted Flash! Flash! Flash!
“Well...” Travesdain said. “Since there doesn’t seem to be a problem...”
He turned back to Joni, who flinched.
“My man, I’ll make sure you won’t be able to disturb me again.” He squeezed.
Joni made some funny groaning sounds. He grabbed, clawed, scratched at the choking hand. His face turned red, and his eyes bulged, screaming to leave their sockets. His face turned purple. Consciousness was slipping away...
Suddenly, Travesdain croaked and toppled over.
Joni scrambled up and took a deep breath. His face resumed his normal color, but there was a red band across his throat. He rubbed it feebly, then looked at Travesdain’s robed body on the floor. Then he saw Banon and almost worked himself into a panic, but calmed down when he saw that Banon wasn’t going to attack him.
“Is he dead?” He motioned to the body on the floor.
“No. I don’t think so.”
“How do you know?”
Banon shifted uneasily.
Kill him! a voice screamed, but Banon shut it out. He looked at Joni hopefully, but Joni had apparently heard nothing.
“What happened to him? Why did—”
“He’s... he... does things. Like that.”
“What about this plane? You can fly it?”
“No. But I think he did some sort of...”
“Autopilot?”
“Yeah.”
“But that isn’t failsafe. No way.”
“But he...” He glanced at the body on the floor. “He can do things.”
Banon looked out the window, then suddenly jerked his head at something outside.
“Did you see that?”
“See?” Joni looked out.
There was a red twinkling dot, faint but visible, far away where the clouds were.
* * *
The blast struck Gerard’s car with force, giving it a good shake. Haman got hit harder, hard enough to knock him off his feet, but neither of them were close enough to take any damage. They had gotten very far away very quickly.
When Haman got up off the dusty ground, Gerard’s car had come in for a graceful landing. He and Greg got out, and the three looked in the direction of the blast.
“There! See that?”
It was a bright red point of light, clearly visible and pulsing like a heart.
“What is it?”
“I...”
It hovered for a while, then it flew off in the distance.
“Where...”
“Toward the Atlantic,” Gerard said affirmingly. “Where the original blast took place...”
He looked at Haman, then Greg. Then something hit him.
“Where’s Barnes?”
Greg glanced around.
“Oh,” said Haman softly. “I think I left him behind...”
Gerard was expressionless.
Haman hung his head.
* * *
Over the placid waves of the Atlantic, a streak of red burned its way across the sky.
The journey continues June 16, 2002.
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