Fracture
A Window Overlooking the Universe
By Aidan Grave
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Copyright 2014, 2016
Aidan Grave
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Table of Contents
Preface
Part One - Summons
Chapter One - Rude Awakening
Chapter Two - Visitors
Chapter Three - Secret Journey
Chapter Four - Secret Destination
Chapter Five - Preparations
Chapter Six - A Short Walk
Part Two - Deadly Revelations
Chapter Seven - Narrow House
Chapter Eight - Entering the Maelstrom
Chapter Nine - Visors
Chapter Ten - Words
Chapter Eleven - Encounters
Chapter Twelve - Surfacing
Chapter Thirteen - Deadlines
Chapter Fourteen - History
Chapter Fifteen - Reactions
Chapter Sixteen - Charnel-House
Part Three - Dark Investigations
Chapter Seventeen - Mortality
Chapter Eighteen - Fate
Chapter Nineteen - Time
Chapter Twenty - Prophecy
Chapter Twenty-One - Labyrinth
Chapter Twenty-Two - Meaningless Meanings
Part Four - Ordeal
Chapter Twenty-Three - Identity
Chapter Twenty-Four - Choices
Chapter Twenty-Five - The Cage of Fire
Chapter Twenty-Six - The Hunt
Chapter Twenty-Seven - Airlock
Chapter Twenty-Eight - The Last Ordeal
Part Five - The Dew of Dawn
Chapter Twenty-Nine - Theory
Chapter Thirty - Departures
Afterward
Preface
I summoned you.
Now your dark investigations
Yield my deadly revelations
And before the dew,
Before the dawn breaks:
Your last ordeal awaits.
From Prophecy by Rodrik Breen
Part One - Summons
Chapter One - Rude Awakening
The screeching phone knifed through Mark Fenton's haunted sleep.
'Answer,' he mumbled.
The shrieking stopped. Light gently diffused from the wall, dimly illuminating the chaos of his rented flat. Work on his book was taking over. Tablets and other devices sprawled across the desk and spilled onto the floor, mingling with the debris of empty snack wrappers and an overturned coffee cup. The wall behind his monitor was plastered with a collage of hastily scrawled Stickit! notes. They blossomed around the screen, a multi-coloured halo radiating like a spreading stain, brushing the edge of the window. The room had a view of a tranquil vista of space making it, incredibly, one of the better apartments on Accom Station K5, far out in this forsaken solar system, Karnos. On the other side of the room a battered armchair flanked a small table, its surface covered by a stack of dirty dishes, a plate of unfinished food and another tablet. By the bed there was a growing pile of discarded clothes.
The wall glowed softly displaying a simple, disturbingly familiar white crest.
The Special Security Division.
Instantly he was wide awake, reliving his first weeks at the University of Gadder, seven years ago. The Division had detained an innocent couple but this time they couldn't hush it up. He remembered the activism, the debates, the article he'd written. There would be an enquiry. The SSD would finally be dragged from the shadows.
But most of all he remembered the disappointment. Everything had blown over. The enquiry never happened. Nothing changed. The Division still operated above the law. But nobody cared, the public quickly lost interest. And his career in student journalism had fizzled out with it; no-one in the media had picked up on his work. But he'd never forgotten what he'd written: If the Division come calling you can forget about any rights you thought you had.
And now they were calling him.
'Mr Mark Michael Fenton.' A male voice, unemotional, unsettling.
'Yes?'
'Please engage visual.'
Fenton almost laughed. They wanted to see him in his dishevelled, unshaven squalor.
'I repeat, please engage visual. We would appreciate your cooperation and do not wish to override your systems.'
They could take control. Fear gripped him. They'd be able to cut his phone and lock his doors penning him in his flat like a cornered animal. They'd be able to access all his files, including his book. He was furious. It was a total violation of his rights. But then reality struck him. He was totally alone, unprotected and impotent before them.
He had no choice.
'Visual on.'
There was no corresponding concession. The SSD insignia remained inscrutable. But then to Fenton's surprise it dissolved to be replaced by a flickering image, a roar of interference shattering the silence.
Fenton's wall was dominated by the giant image of a man's face, etched in blue monochrome. It towered over him. It was a face carrying the authority of experience but showed scant evidence of age: the nose and chin were striking and angular, the skin hardly wrinkled. The hair, though ruthlessly cropped, was thick, threatening to re-emerge as the flamboyant mane nature had intended. Only the streaks of grey at the temples gave any hint of the years he had witnessed. It was the eyes though that made it a face to be reckoned with. They were intense and alert, burning with fierce intelligence. He was clearly a man who had used time rather than allowing it to use him, emerging from his past strengthened in body and spirit. Fenton envied him.
The picture wavered and shimmered casting eerie blue shadows across the room.
Something was wrong.
'….Fenton,...Mr Fenton..'
The voice was barely audible, just breaking through static.
'Yes?'
'We urgently require your assistance in our investigation.'
'What investigation?'
'That information is...' he lost the sound for a second '...two officers are on their way to escort you here.'
'Where? What if I don't want to be ''escorted'' anywhere?'
The huge lips twitched, curling into what might have been an amused expression. Fenton chose not to interpret it as contempt.
'Mr Fenton, don't be so aggressive. We're not blaming you or charging you with anything...yet.' The expression broke into a metre wide grin. Instinctively Fenton smiled back, relieved, sharing the joke, laughing at his own paranoia. But then his smile froze. He was being manipulated by an expert.
The face suddenly vanished, collapsing into a frenetic burst of zig-zagging blue light, the audio howling. There was an empty second before the oscillating lines coalesced back into a picture, the head reappearing in profile urgently mouthing orders. Then the volume dipped back and he was looking steadily at Fenton again.
'Mr Fenton, I look forward to meeting you.'
The room crashed back into silence as the stark white SSD crest reasserted itself. Fenton stared at it, shocked by the conversation's abrupt end. They must have been forced to cut it. But there was another possibility. Talking to him was a waste of their time. That was more likely. Either way the dialogue was over. His questions had been ignored and his objections overruled.
A memory cascaded in his mind. He was seven years old at that expensive school paid for by the money his parents had left, arm straining into the air, waving excitedly at his teacher. She was scouring the class, desperately looking for someone else who knew the answer.
'Yes, Mark.'
'The symbol of the Special Security Division of The System's Central Authority is a bird called
the dove. Its motto is Peace, Protection, Freedom from Fear.'
Fenton shivered.
'Your escort will arrive soon. Please be ready.' He jumped as the voice broke through his reverie. It was the same monotone as before. He lifted his head to protest but it was too late, the logo vanished, plunging the room into brittle darkness. He sat in silence, vacancy enveloping him like a shroud, conscious only of how tired he felt. He called out for subdued lighting then reached for his wrist-strap, checking the time. It was three am. He'd been asleep just over an hour. He cupped his head in his hands, ran his fingers through his long dishevelled hair and moaned.
The doorbell rang.