Markman milled around the sensesuit lab sipping coffee from a white Styrofoam cup. He went to an open disposal container nearby, dropped his empty cup into it and watched it dematerialize before it hit the bottom. It was the third time he had done so just to see it happen. He looked around the room expecting someone to scold him for wasting coffee cups but was ignored completely. Cassiopia sat at the sensesuit computer control station across the room, keeping herself busy while waiting impatiently for John Paul to return from his office. As Markman secretly admired the beauty of Cassiopia, John Paul appeared through the electronic curtain and went to her. Markman hurried over to hear.
“Cassiopia, let’s move over to the meeting table,” he said.
Cassiopia looked up and rose without speaking. The three went to the round table and took their usual seats.
John Paul began. “The net is tightening. Your father’s location is still unknown, but it is expected that a specific location or least a general area will be derived sometime tomorrow. When that happens, we will be contacted and will participate in the plan to contain that area. The primary basis of any plan will be the safety of your father. These kinds of extractions can sometimes be extremely complex. It is likely one or both of you might be directly involved since your presence will allow us a wider latitude in the rules that apply.”
Cassiopia interrupted. “There’s nothing we can do now? We have to just sit and wait?”
John Paul placed a hand on the table near Cassiopia. “I’m sure you will agree, there are times when waiting is by far the safest, best option. Let me suggest; we are on the verge of accessing the Crillian library records. The threat from the Salantians remains just as real and just as dangerous as it was before the unfortunate abduction of your father. I put it to you; we should hold our emotions at bay for the time being, and proceed with our research inside the sensesuit computer. That would be the most beneficial use of the time we have. Can you focus, Cassiopia?”
Cassiopia’s expression went through a storyboard of changes, from irritation to dismay, to anger, and finally frustration. She looked over at Markman. He nodded in agreement. She sat back and stared for a thoughtful moment at John Paul. “I have your word that the instant you learn anything, you will tell me immediately?”
“You have my word,” said John Paul.
Cassiopia relaxed. She suddenly realized she trusted the man though she had only known him a short time. “Yes. I can focus.”
“How about your injuries, your knees and shoulder?”
“I have had worse. What about the others in that accident, John Paul? Was anyone killed?”
“I am relieved to say no one was killed by a driver too elderly to be driving. There were some serious injuries, but none debilitating and no one incapacitated. If the woman’s car had been going in any other direction, there likely would have been deaths. Ironically, the only individual who could not be killed took the brunt of it.”
“And you’re sure this was not some kind of set up like the train?” asked Markman.
“A sheer coincidence, which despite the trauma to the victims, was actually a lucky break for us. I can’t say when we would have detected Professor Cassell’s duplicate had that terrible event not happened.”
The three sat silently sharing a moment of understanding.
“How about you, Scott? Enough clarity to put that suit back on and revisit Aurora?” asked John Paul.
“No problem,” replied Markman. He sat back and locked his hands behind his head. “After all, I’m an Overlord!”
John Paul did not laugh. Instead, he gave Markman a questioning stare, wondering if there was enough discipline in the man to do the job. He decided frivolity was Markman’s cover for apprehension and put his concern aside. ”We need to again briefly review your previous experience with the Salantians. The information they gave to Cassiopia during her captivity in those caves provides the foundation we need for our library records search.”
“John Paul, is there no way into those library records from outside? Is it necessary to enter the computer’s domain to get to them?” asked Cassiopia.
“It is necessary, Cassiopia. Like any complex program, several criteria are required to gain access to the file path. In this case, Scott’s DNA signature is a part of that criteria, and that signature must be a current, up to the minute input. An individual’s bio-signature evolves from minute to minute. It is like a massive, ever-changing code. This system is that sophisticated.”
Markman nodded, pretending to understand. Cassiopia rested her chin in her hand and sat in thought.
“The Salantian society resembles one very much like a colony of ants, only on a much more evolved level.”
“I’m not so sure that’s true,” offered Markman. “I can think of a lot more beneficial characteristics in ants than I can in those creatures.”
“Point taken,” replied John Paul. “In any case, the Salantian invaders, after stealing vortport technology from some more advanced race, began invading and colonizing other worlds. When you get inside the sensesuit computer, your records search should begin with the attack of Salantian soldiers on Crillia. Next, you should concentrate on anything available on the Salantian race itself. Those are the things we need to begin looking into. Do either of you have any thoughts to add?”
“From what I’ve seen of Crillia so far, it would have been a terrible thing if the Crillian race was completely destroyed by the Salantians. There is a lot to admire about them. Their cities are beautiful. They do not seem warlike at all,” said Markman.
“It is a chilling thought,” added Cassiopia. “The complete annihilation of a beautiful culture.”
John Paul added, “And that brings us to something of a mystery, my friends. What we know of Crillia and the Aurora City from the few glimpses we’ve had of it, suggest that it is a healthy, thriving civilization. Yet Cassiopia was previously told by her Salantian captors that the Crillians had been all but wiped out. Our research on the sensesuit computer suggests that its programs remain synchronized with the actual places they portray, although how they do that is beyond anything we’ve ever seen. Because of that synchronicity, we would expect Crillia to look like a planet devastated from a Salantian invasion, but it is not. That is a contradiction we do not understand.”
Cassiopia said, “It could simply be that the sensesuit computer does not contain records of the Crillian invasion, so it’s showing us Crillia as it was before the invasion.”
“True, but I sincerely hope that is not the case,” replied John Paul. “We know the Salantians were operating and using the sensesuit computer, but if no Crillian invasion records exist, we may have a very long search ahead of us to find any useful information about them.”
Markman asked, “John Paul, something that’s always bugged me. Are we absolutely sure that the Crillia we’re visiting is really a simulation and not some kind of real place?”
“Is that what your instincts are trying to tell you, Scott? You’re the only one that’s been in there. Are you sensing real life from the people you meet?”
“I can’t tell that they are not real.”
“What you are suggesting is that entry into the sensesuit computer could be a passage through a singularity-type of doorway to another world. But, your friend Trill has described himself as a duplicate of an actual person. He considers himself a subroutine, not a biological creature.”
“Yes. So my next question would be, can a computer program of a person become so complicated that it actually becomes alive? Those people inside that thing fear for their lives when threatened. And, Trill described his life as taking place inside an egg that can never be shut down.”
John Paul tapped one finger against his lips and stared at Markman thoughtfully. “Your questions deserve thought, Scott. I do not know the answer. Perhaps we will know before we are done.”
Markman sat back and shook his head in agreement. “So I think I’ll begin my search at the Terra Nova Castle in the Ov
erlook Room. I’ll transfer directly there. There’s something mysterious about that place. I’d like to see more of it. There may be secrets there.”
John Paul straightened up and stretched. “It’s been a very long and difficult day. Let’s all get some rest and regroup here in the morning. Cassiopia, as I’ve said, if there are any new developments I’ll wake the two of you immediately. Does either of you need anything?”
After tired goodbyes, Cassiopia and Markman made their way to their new ride and headed back to their hotel. The mood was a mixture of anxiety and anticipation.
“We’ll get him back. You know that don’t you?” said Markman sympathetically.
“I would doubt that except that you’re around. I’ve seen you at work too many times. You have a strange way of sniffing out trouble and getting into it, or trouble just decides to seek you out for one reason or another. I can’t explain it. It’s weird. I just hope we all get out this in one piece.”
“Gee, that sounded like a compliment, I think,” quipped Markman.
“Well, I love you, after all.”
“Wow! Did you just say that?”
“I give up. The drag down the mountain finished off my resistance.”
Markman glanced over affectionately. “Me too.”
Cassiopia paused and looked out the side window at the lights of Culpeper. “Have you stopped to think how much our lives have changed in the past few days?”
“Yeah, it’s like that old black and white movie, ‘Ship Of Fools’. It’s like we’re walking a line between two worlds.”
“Doesn’t it scare you?”
“We’ve been so damn busy. I haven’t had time to think about it.”
“There’s something that’s scaring me.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s complicated.”
“The suit is too dangerous?”
“No. Not that, even though it is.”
“Well, what then?”
Cassiopia spoke reluctantly. “The questions I keep asking John Paul. I’m like compelled to ask them whether I want to or not.”
“Which questions?”
“You know.”
“I’m not a mind reader. I don’t know what you mean.”
“About the Celestials.”
“You mean the questions you keep asking him about the higher planes of life?”
“It’s more than that.”
“Well, what do you mean?”
“It’s what he keeps referring to without actually saying it.”
“Please, you’re twisting my brain into a pretzel.”
“What he keeps inferring without actually saying it.”
“God? Are you talking about God?”
“Well, that’s what all his references keep pointing to. That’s like the common denominator. He never mentions that name, but you find yourself filling it in the blanks for him without it having been said.”
“But why does that scare you?”
“Because, I’ve always relied on science, just like he says, and often with an amount of skepticism to anything outside it. You can’t build a thesis for God using science. There is no science available. You can’t support such an argument with equations. There are no equations.”
“So?”
“So? So John Paul proves just about everything he says, one way or another. He proves it because he’s living it. So when you add all this up, it comes out that God is a real thing that actually exists.”
“So? Haven’t you admitted in the past that you believe in God?”
“Yes. I have.”
“What’s the problem?”
“The problem is I’ve never had to face the fact that God might be real. It was easy to say yes there’s something out there we don’t understand, something so much greater than us that it is beyond understanding. It’s easy to say that and then put it aside. But when suddenly you’re faced with the prospect that God might actual be a real and present part of the fabric of your life, it’s frightening.”
Markman sat back and smiled. “Ah, the disclosure syndrome.”
Cassiopia looked irritated. “What?”
“It’s something from an old B-grade science fiction novel I once read. It tells how when people learned there was other intelligent life in the solar system many of them went koo-koo and did crazy things because they couldn’t handle it. One character in the story talks about that and says something like, even though not one thing had actually changed, only that we knew.”
“I don’t get it.”
“The power of belief. It is one thing to say you believe something. It is a whole different ball game when you suddenly really do. It’s the point when believing turns into knowing. With believing you can still change your mind. With knowing, there’s no going back.”
“My God, Scott. Every now and then you turn into Socrates. I’m not sure which scares me the most, God or you.”
“So what about it? Isn’t there still a tiny bit of doubt there, so that you don’t have to completely admit God exists? Aren’t you still safe from that frightening prospect of knowing?”
“I don’t know. My brain seems to be preoccupied now with defining God.”
“Oh… Well… That’ll take a while.”
Morning in the sensesuit lab felt like preparations for a rocket launch. Everyone understood the objective; search records from another world. There were many sidebar discussions by staff in white lab coats. Others were dashing about setting up special monitoring stations. There was no way to anticipate what might be discovered. It was necessary to be ready for anything. Markman almost felt ignored as he stood in the suit test area awaiting the signal for helmet-on. Cassiopia looked on from her console beside John Paul. The big monitor screens built into the walls were flickering whiteout, set to display a computer representation from Markman’s eyes. With a nod from John Paul, Markman was finally allowed to pull the helmet on. Clicking and hissing gave way to absolute darkness and then rising suns. As the pyramid room lit up around him, Trill stood ready by a crystal control column.
“Praise the Gods of Terra. It is a joy to see you, sir.”
“Good morning, Trill. Why do you always refer to the Gods of Terra?”
“Sir, they mark the beginning of our Crillian heritage.”
“I will be transporting to the Overlook Chamber in the Terra Nova Castle. Is there any reason I shouldn’t do that?”
“Sir, none that I am aware of. Your staff will be waiting when you arrive.”
“On a different subject Trill, tell me, you know this is all part of a computer program, correct?”
“Sir, yes. Centuries ago this system was set up so that disputes with neighboring cultures of a higher order could be settled in a chosen form of competition. Provisions were also made for those petitioning for citizenship to circumvent the long immigration process by using the overlord clause for warrior status application.”
“So you’re saying this program that gives me access to the Dragon Masters game and the Aurora City has been operating for many years then?”
“Centuries, sir.”
“Trill, this doesn’t seem like a computer program to me.”
“I assure you, Sir, this entire Centrex pyramid complex was designed and set up for receiving and transmitting visitors in this fashion.”
“Have you always been here to receive these visitors?”
“Sir, I assumed this post from Sujar when he retired.”
“Do you have parents, Trill?”
“Sir, of course.”
“And you grew up here just like anyone else?”
“Sir, yes. Just like everyone else. What an odd question.”
“So you were trained to be here as an emissary for visitors?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you consider yourself a real person?”
“Yes, sir. What else would I be?”
“Thank-you, Trill.” Markman went to the transporter column and entered. He turned to face Trill
and nodded. “Terra Nova Castle, Overlook Chamber.”
The familiar flash of blinding light carried Markman to his destination. He found himself standing in the Overlook Chamber transporter column, looking out at a room brightly lit by the three open doors of the overlook balcony. He slipped out of the tube and went to the balcony to reflect a moment on the beauty of the courtyard below. The rising suns were casting shadows on the colorful gardens and their decor. A horse drawn carriage was clickity-clacking across the grounds. Two soldiers in bright red, heavily embellished uniforms marched slowly back and forth in front of the main gate. Gardening was taking place at various points around the yard. It was a peaceful and beautiful setting. The air was cool. He turned to find a fire in the huge fireplace. He could feel gentle waves of warmth from it and smell a faint touch of cedar. A knock at the chamber door broke the spell.
“Come in.”
One of the double doors pushed open. A chambermaid in a black serge dress with a wide, white apron and white collar maneuvered a cart through the door. She had wavy jet black hair past the shoulders, a tiny nose, and dark bedroom eyes. She was intoxicatingly attractive. She pushed her cart up to the lounge control seat, set down a tablecloth on the small table near it, and poured tea from a heavily engraved silver tea set. A tray of strange-looking finger food was placed next to that. The chambermaid turned, bowed, and pushed her cart back out the door without ever speaking. DuMont entered the doorway as she left.
“Sir, may I be of service?”
“Thank you, DuMont. No, I’ll be studying some library records. If I have a problem, I’ll call you.”
“Very good, sir. I’ll be standing by.” He nodded and pulled the single door closed behind him.
Markman shook off the entrancement of the place and took his seat. He couldn’t help but lift the cup of tea to his face. It was almost too hot. It tasted sweet, like Earl Gray with honey. He tapped at the controls for the video display on the wall, and to his dismay, it came up showing the same Crillian Convention talk show that he had seen on his last visit. Crillian delegates sitting around the discussion table were debating, just as before. A woman in a red dress with her hair in too high a tower wrap spoke with mild indignation. “This outsider certainly does not engender a sense of openness to the Crillian people. Don’t you agree, Representative Mandell?”
The individual she was addressing was a short man with a crew cut and flowing black beard. “Perhaps we are to know him by his actions and not his appearance, Gerenda. There have been no negative effects to the Crillia that we know of, and no declarations of change to our immigration policy. Could that not be considered a positive reflection on this new Overlord?”
“Yes, but all we’ve seen of this new citizen is that short derived video when he briefly visited the Thought Exchange. Is that enough for you? It is not enough for me.”
“By the way,” said the man sitting next to her. He was bald with no eyebrows or lashes and had white corneas. “That video has since been uploaded to the Global Gossip Network. It has had six billion hits in only one day.”
“That makes my point beautifully,” replied Gerenda. “Crillians want to know who this person is and where he came from. It’s only natural.”
“We all would like to know what his plans are, I’m sure,” offered a fourth woman wearing a gaudy crown of jewels on her violet and silver hair bun. “How can we feel comfortable about his intentions here?”
“There is already word that the petition for dissolution of the overlord clause in the constitution has been accepted for debate in the public forum,” added Gerenda.
“An impulsive overreaction if ever there was one,” said Mandell. “Perhaps a lynching will follow.”
“Representative Mandell, you know very well that absurd ancient mandate was never expected to be implemented. There has even been talk of redesigning the Dome of the Dragon Masters so the area can be used for a new government facility,” argued Gerenda.
“Gerenda, I would not suggest destroying a part of Crillian heritage quite so lightly were I you. The dome is one of the oldest, most revered structures on Crillia.”
“We are not sure even why it was originally constructed, only that it supports an obscure, nonsensical legend, one that now threatens our sovereignty. How many others will now follow in this man’s footsteps and begin a new colonization of Crillia?”
Markman had enough. He shook his head, shifted in his seat and tapped the controls until a master menu finally appeared on the screen. One of the choices was ‘search.' He hit the same button and managed to get a search form, but could not figure how to fill it out. There were no lettered keys anywhere on his console. Annoyed, and without looking, he reached for his tea on the cart in front of him. Clumsily, he bumped the cup and sent liquid flying into the air, and the cup over the side. As it slipped over the edge, he instinctively made a lunge for it with his open hand, but his reach was six inches short. To his surprise, the tea cup and the liquid froze in midair. Keeping his hand in the same outstretched position, he looked around. The fire in the fireplace was still burning. Curtains by the overlook balcony were still drifting with the wind. He looked back at his suspended tea cup and focused on it. Slowly, the liquid hanging in the air filtered back into the cup. As he continued to hold out his open hand and focus on the cup, it gently drifted back into his grasp. He closed his hand around it and sat back. Inside the cup, the tea was still hot and smelled fresh.
A noise from behind distracted him. He turned and looked to find DuMont standing in the doorway, his mouth agape. DuMont lowered his head and spoke with dismay. “Sir, please forgive me for witnessing the power of an Overload.”
Markman came out of the moment. “DuMont, it’s perfectly okay. Please come in. I need your help with something.”
“Sir, as you wish. I merely came to inform you all spacecraft are now operational and ready on the Skyway Terrace if you should require transportation.”
“DuMont, I want to search library records. Does it look like I have the right screen?”
“Yes, my lord. From the search prompt you can access anything.”
“But how do I enter what I want to search for. There are no keys.”
“Sir, we can install manual keys, if you would prefer them.”
“But how do I do it now?”
“Sir, you need only speak what you wish to search for. The system will recognize your voice and proceed accordingly.”
“But I don’t know what words to use. Which words does it not understand?”
“Sir, it is the library. There are no words it does not understand. You merely look at the display and command it.”
Markman looked back at the display on the wall and said, “Crillian history.”
Immediately the screen became a slow scrolling list of subjects related to Crillian history.
“Thanks, DuMont. I think I can manage from here.”
“Sir, again my apologies for my intrusion. If you need anything further, please summon me.”
“DuMont, if I would like to go out into the city without attracting so much attention, could you bring me a jacket with a hood that would conceal who I am?”
“Sir, you would not want to wear such a garment. It would be too lacking in style. A full-length cloak would serve that purpose nicely, and would be ignored by all.”
“Can you provide me with that?”
“Certainly, sir. Normally I would caution our people not to wear such a covering since highwaymen or other undesirables might consider you easy prey. In your case, the mistake would be theirs, not yours.”
“Great. When you are able, please have one sent up, will you?”
“Right away, sir. I will take my leave of you.”
Markman began the search and quickly found it more difficult than hoped. Back when he had been involved with their first intrusion of Earth, the Salantians had told of a victorious incursion into Crillian society. They had said the culture did not coexist well. They doubted any Cri
llians were left. Such a devastating occupation should have been headline news in the Crillian historic records, but after two hours of searching, Markman had not found a single use of the name Salantian, or of any foreign species causing havoc on Crillia. It was baffling.
DuMont arrived a short time later wearing a long brown cloak that reminded Markman of Obi-Wan Kenobi attire. He started to laugh but cut it short when DuMont’s expression turned to one of concern.
“Is it not acceptable, my lord?”
“No, no DuMont. It’s perfect. It just reminded me of an old story.”
As Markman finished speaking, the ground suddenly began to vibrate beneath his feet. The vibration quickly became shaking. A rumbling sound echoed through the castle.
“Do not fear, sir. It is Terra passing too close to Crillia. It happens every third moon on a four-moon period. It only happens just shy of three cycles and is said not to be serious. The trembling will return periodically this day and the next, but the Crillian Ministry of Geology has decreed that no tremors will ever exceed the architectural standards set by the ruling council.”
“Oh. You’re talking about a blue moon.”
“Sir, blue moon? I am not familiar with the phrase.”
“It’s one of the names given to the third moon of a four-moon cycle.”
“I could have it entered into the Crillian dictionary, sir.”
“No, DuMont. That’s not necessary. Tell me, does the Aurora library have any printed records, rather than just video records?”
“Oh yes, my lord. There are underground floors kept in the library which contain bound documents of almost all that are in the transmittable.”
“So if I visit there, I could search those records too, right?”
“Yes. You have access to everything there, sir.”
“I think I’ll do that. The cloak will let me come and go without being recognized, right?”
“Sir, yes. You may need to show your triangle to the library custodian for access to some documents, however. I’m certain they will be discrete.”
“Thank you, DuMont. I’ll take a tube rider to the library. I’d like to see some more of Aurora on the way.”
“Let me help you with your cloak, sir.”
Markman pulled on his floor-length cloak and drew the hood up over his head. He closed the front with the cloth tie provided and went to the tube rider station in the far corner. Before he could speak, an empty clear tube rider coasted in and popped open its door. Markman climbed in, sat, and commanded, “Aurora Library.”
The tube rider accelerated out of the castle, moving quickly out over the connecting Terra Nova bridge. Markman leaned back in his seat, taking in the sites of a noonday Aurora. Two orange suns hanging directly overhead. As the rider approached the city, busy commerce came into view. People on walkways above and below the tube rider line were gathered or going within the bright colors of the futuristic city.
At the disembarkment point, a small crowd was assembled. The cloak seemed to work well. No one paid any attention to the stranger stealthing by. Markman looked both ways and awkwardly followed the lighted rectangles in the sidewalk and street to the other side. Many of the strangely designed buildings still seemed mysterious and undefined. Most had symbol signs, but no lettering to explain. The library turned out to be a huge expose’ in tinted glass. Written announcements scrolled across thin air above the entrance. It seemed to be constructed entirely of one-inch thick glass with heavy support columns just as transparent as the walls. The transparency varied with the changing light level outside. Ten rows of long, glass steps provided access.
Inside, the place was busy. Display terminals covered long, white illuminated tables where people sat doing research. The place was dead silent. In both corners, near the front of the building, attendant holograms were fading in and out, addressing inquiries from visitors. Hood still carefully pulled down, Markman made his way to one of them. When he was close enough to the lighted purple circle in the floor, a hologram appeared and smiled at him.
“Printed material?” thought Markman.
The hologram nodded. “Elevator C,” and pointed to the back of the library.
Markman spotted the area and headed for it. Halfway there, vibration began to build beneath his feet. Patrons around him looked up with expressions of concern. Apparently, not everyone was convinced about the accuracy of the Crillian Architectural Society. The vibration quickly turned into shaking and rumbling. Markman had to pause and put one hand on a table. These tremors were worse than the last, much worse. They lasted a minute or two and finally subsided. Everyone returned to their studies. Markman resumed his quest for elevator C.
Elevator C was just as transparent as the rest of the building. Though Markman knew he existed within the safety of the sensesuit test area, looking down through the glass floor of the elevator at a multistory drop into darkness still gave him the creeps. He forgot himself and said out loud, “printed documents.” The elevator responded by impressing the words, “specify category,” into his brain. Markman responded with, “Historical records.” The elevator dropped quickly downward.
The ride down was deeper than expected, possibly ten floors tracked by figures on an overhead display that Markman did not understand. It looked like the elevator could have gone much deeper if required. The doors slid open to a vast expanse of shelves and cabinets. Most aisles were blocked by carts and other equipment and seemed to go on forever. At points around the room, there were video terminals on research tables with the word ‘FINDER’ displayed on their screens. Markman went to one, pulled back his hood and began his hunt.
The exhaustive search still brought no references to ‘Salantian.' Many alien cultures were listed, but none by that name. ‘Invasions’ was no help either. ‘Vortport’ was listed in several spots, but was not related to the device the Salantians had used. After another two hours wandering around the endless chamber randomly picking out printed material, Markman gave up and sat at a reading table drumming his fingers in frustration. This place could not be allowed to be a dead end. There had to be something. The feeling that something was being missed plagued Markman.
There was a glass ornament on the table, a translucent winged horse about the size of a drinking glass. As his mind began to wander, Markman remembered the tea cup caught in midair back in the Overlook Chamber. He held out his open hand on the table and focused on the horse. To his delight, the horse began to slide across the table toward him. It picked up speed as it went and stopped in his grasp. He sat back and held the horse in his open hand. Focusing on it, he tried to will it upward. The horse slowly levitated and hovered above his hand. Apparently, the Coffer of Dreams had given him the power of sensesuit telekinesis. Forgetting his mission objective, he placed the horse back on the table and sat back with both hands outstretched, then concentrated on the table itself. Slowly the table rose. Celebrating his new found power, Markman raised it all the way to the ceiling and held it there. It was a spectacle to behold. What power to possess. But, someone could be watching. Markman quickly lowered the table back down and looked around worriedly. What was he worried about? Nobody ever came to this place. No one had seen his magic trick. But, it was something not to be done carelessly. If anyone ever saw, word would spread like wildfire. His identity would be blown. He would probably have to escape using the gold triangle, possibly another indiscretion. Use of the power would need to be done more discretely. He looked around the deserted hall. This records search was a bust, at least for now. It was time to return to the real world and seek help from Cassiopia and John Paul. They needed some other search criteria. At least there was time for a last look outside at the city. He took the elevator back up, almost forgot to raise his hood, and went outside to the street.
Outside, the ground began a foreboding shaking once more. Crillia’s two suns were in the afternoon sky. The white orb of Terra was rising in the east, still barely above the cityscape. It loomed there as if threatening tremors
on the people of Crillia.
Markman searched and found a nearby alley. Concealed within it, he checked carefully for anyone in visual range. There was no one. He tapped the gold triangle on his chest and in a flash found himself back in the Centrex Pyramid. Trill was waiting.
“Disengagement please, Trill.”
“Was your quest well-fulfilled, sir?”
“Not really.”
“Sir, will you be returning soon?”
“Yes.”
“We will be honored, my lord.”
“Please disengage.”
A second white light brought Markman back to suit darkness quickly followed by clicking and hissing. He lifted off his helmet and shared a tired stare with Cassiopia, John Paul, and the others. Everyone knew the endeavor had been for naught. More trips to Aurora would be needed.
Chapter 10