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22: The Contact
Starsha sat alone in the vault beneath the palace. Light was beaming through the translucent ceiling, belying her downcast spirit. The glowing beams bounced around the vault, leaving trails of radiance sparkling everywhere.
The Rophi Shamayim stood, stately, as always, its silver dome gleaming in the light. Even though its own lights were dim – as it was no longer in use – the machine seemed to come alive in the beaming brightness of the morning – the only positive thing, it seemed, as this sad day dawned on Iscandar.
King Alexander had spoken with Leader Deun only last night, and the Iscandarian had conveyed the news first, to his wife, then to his children, and finally, to his people.
There were groups of mourners roaming around outside, bemoaning their fate, expressing their hate and resentment towards their sister-world. Dangerous, anti-Gamilon sentiments had arisen this morning among a number of the Iscandari people, many of them failing to understand that this disease they now suffered from was not the doing of their entire sister-race. The instigator and self-appointed executor – and executioner – was only one young man.
They had unearthed the old man who had come to Iscandar the day before yesterday. The physicians' postmortem examinations of the poor representative – who had apparently been sent to Iscandar carrying the deadly virus within his ship – indicated that he seemed to have no knowledge of what was to transpire upon his arrival. He had been a mere pawn in Deun's hands.
"The terror he must have felt in those last moments..." Starsha thought to herself as she recalled the look on the dead man's face. "Oh, Yahweh... deliver us from this fate... this certain death. Save my people – Your people, a small piece of Israel. Preserve from us a remnant."
The bench she had occupied only a few days ago when she, in joy, had first used her Interface was now sprinkled with tears. She had gone from a state of triumphant discovery to deflated sorrow. What she had discovered about Deun's potential replacement now had no bearing on her life – very little did really. She would be dead within two years. That was what the calculations said.
Inyesayna and several of her colleagues had examined the bodies of the deceased and compared the age of their internal organs with each of their last medical records. Thankfully two out of the three original victims and two more deceased thus far had had some sort of physical examination within the past year. Using this as a basis for their work, the doctors had taken the corpses and had roughly figured out the time of death for every age group on the planet. The calculations were becoming increasingly precise every hour as more and more Iscandarians began to fall prey to the virus.
They hadn't been able to conduct tests on everyone to see who had and hadn't contracted the disease yet, as they were unsure of what to look for, other than faster-than-normal organ aging, and it had yet to be determined if the virus could enter a person's system and lie dormant for a time before manifesting itself.
That was Starsha's greatest fear – that someone, perhaps even her – would be thought untouched by the disease, then turn out to be a carrier, aging everyone she came into physical, or near-physical contact with. She shivered at the though of bringing death to others in such a way.
The elderly would be gone within the next several weeks. That was a certainty. Starsha's age group had been given a maximum of two years to live before their systems shut down – a veritable eternity compared with the handful of days that others had remaining.
She had contemplated her own death before, but never with the knowledge that it was coming so soon. What would she do with the two years she had remaining? Travel? Write? Attempt some great daring feat never before accomplished by one of her people?
The princess sat still and silent, letting her tears roll down her cheeks, staining her sky blue dress.
She was thankful that the guards who normally stood outside the vault had been dismissed to go join their families – as had all the palace servants. Most had chosen to return home, but the few who had no living family – or at least, none here on Iscandar – had stayed to see to the needs of their monarchs in their last days.
All inbound traffic bad been stopped and all outgoing vessels were detained – quarantined to prevent spreading this terrible disease thrust upon them by Deun, that conniving child of darkness.
A number of ships had already been warned off, among them several Galeran vessels and many Iscandari ships whose captains had heard of the tragedy and wanted to lend their aid however they could. They had even had offers of help from a few Gamilon ships – they obviously had no idea what their Leader had done.
In fact, Starsha doubted that anyone besides Deun knew what he'd "accomplished".
The thought made her cry harder. If no one knew what he had done, no one would try to interfere. They had to tell someone what had happened, reach out to whoever might be able to lend them aide in this hour of trial.
"What about Admiral Talan?" she thought. "He might be able to help us."
She started to pull out her communicator, to call the infamous Admiral Talan. She even keyed in his private number, and sent the call.
Her heart felt as though a piece of it had been torn away.
All she received was static.
She dialed a random Gamilon calling code. Then another. And another, all with the same results.
"Deun, what have you done...?" she despaired, realizing that the Leader had cut them off entirely, jamming their outgoing communications to Gamilon and ensuring that they could never reveal his deed to his people.
She laid the communicator down beside her and let out a cry of anguish for her people and her world. It echoed off the vault walls, bouncing off the crystalline surfaces and swirling around the chamber in a cacophonous whirlwind of despair.
Her wail returned to her ears, making her chest ache with inner pain. Her eternal destiny was sealed, as was her family's, and though it hurt to think of losing them, even for a short while, it was all of the others for whom she mourned – the others that would be thrown into an eternity of death, "Adonai, help us!" she pleaded aloud. "Please, help us!"
The only sound that came to her was the receding echo of her own sad voice. There was no divine intervention; no sign from Heaven; no writing on the walls; no thunder from on High.
The sounds of anguish died, replaced by utter silence.
Starsha let her chin fall to her chest, dejected when suddenly she saw something out of the corner of her eye.
A glow – not like the sunlight shining in from above – began to spread out across the other side of the bench she was sitting on.
She raised her head and looked towards the strange light.
It was her Interface.
She had brought it with her on a whim, not really sure why she had done so. What use was it now anyway?
She wiped away some of the wetness around her eyes, then carefully picked up the glove-like instrument and slipped it on, curious as to what was making the thing glow again.
The other only time it had done this was the first time she had put it on.
Letting the material slide over her left hand, she waited, wide-eyed, for the Interface to respond.
"Do you wish to connect?" the A.I. said vaguely.
"Connect to what?" the princess asked, her voice shaky from her tears.
"Do you wish to connect to other available Interface users?"
"There are others?" she asked, stunned that such a thing could be so. She had never contemplated being able to communicate with anyone through the thing.
"Do you wish to connect to other available Interface users?" the A.I. repeated.
"Please list all available connections." the princess finally said.
"Interface number 3 is active. Do you wish to connect?"
Starsha thought about this for a moment. Then, deciding that her life would be over soon anyway and that what she did now wouldn't make much of a difference, she said, "Yes, connect to Interface 3."
Maybe Lazarus was searching for an answer to their current peril. It would be nice to talk with her again before the Historian's inevitable death before the year – or even a few months – was out, but the shadowy face that appeared before her eyes was definitely not that of the middle-aged woman.
Her troublesome life temporarily forgotten, Starsha peered at the face that floated before her. It appeared to be that of a young man, but she could only see bits and pieces of his face lit by the glow of the Interface he wore.
"Hello?" she ventured.
Desslok almost jumped off of the log he was sitting on when a girl's face suddenly appeared before him and spoke.
"Hello?"
Her gentle voice sounded wonderful to him, somehow taking away a little bit of the self-blame he carried for Masterson's recent fate at the hands of the zealots.
The girl's face was beautiful. And familiar. Her hazel eyes peered at him inquisitively. It was obvious she had been crying about something, though her tears had stopped for now. But the tear-stains marring her white cheeks couldn't hide her loveliness.
Long blonde, red-tinted, hair hung down on either side of her face and she brushed some of it out of her eyes, blinking long lashes as she did so.
"Hello?" she repeated.
The prince realized he had been staring and somewhat recovered from the sight before him."Hello." he replied dumbly.
"Are you Gamilon's Historian?" the girl asked, somehow noting the color of his skin in the darkness.
"Yes." he lied, having no idea what she was talking about, then quietly replied, "And you?"
"I'm Starsha." she said, her next words almost knocking him over, "One of the princesses of Iscandar."
There was silence, Desslok too stunned to reply and Starsha too uncertain to continue.
The awkward moment dragged on until the prince finally managed something that sounded half-way intelligent.
"Is there something you wanted to know about Gamilon?" he said, keeping up the ruse he hoped was in keeping with this "Historian of Gamilon" individual.
"No." she replied slowly. "I... actually thought - hoped you would be someone else... Or at least... that you could find someone else..."
To his chagrin, the girl, Starsha she's said her name was, seemed disappointed to see him. He quickly wracked his brain for something to offer her.
"Who are you looking for? Perhaps I will be able to find them for you." he said.
"Thank you." she replied, seeming sincerely grateful for his offer, "But I don't think you can find who I'm looking for..."
He smirked to himself, "I have... resources... not available to many here on Gamilon. I can find anyone if the need arises."
The girl's face seemed to brighten just slightly at this, "Do you know Admiral Talan?"
The prince froze, something in his brain cautioning him to tread lightly as this could very well be a trap. If she had asked for anyone else – except perhaps for Eliora – he would have had no suspicions about her, but with the name of Admiral Talan came certain implications.
He decided to ask a few "safe" questions before he committed to anything.
"You know the Admiral?" he asked, nonchalantly.
"Not personally..." she admitted, seeming sad, "But he is a good friend of my mother and father."
The prince weighed her answer, looking into her eyes. All he saw there was honesty, so he asked his next test question.
"I know where he is, but unfortunately, he is unavailable right now. Is there a message, perhaps that I could bring to him?"
The princess's face turned into a strange mixture of hope and sadness. "I have a message for him, yes. But I fear that you may be too late in delivering it to him."
"What could be so dire an event that it must do told to the Admiral at this very moment?" he asked himself, then replied with his final question, "How can I know you are who you say you are?"
At this, the girl's face fell. "I... do not have anything to offer you as proof, Historian..."
Desslok studied Starsha's face, noting everything he saw there, trying to remember why she seemed so familiar to him.
Suddenly, he remembered where he had seen this vision of beauty before. "You're her..." he breathed.
The girl's hand jerked to her throat, grabbing a heart-shaped pendant hanging there, covering it from the prince's eyes, but not before he got a good look at it.
""Her', who?" she asked, obviously knowing what he meant, but pretending she didn't.
"The one in the painting – in the throne room in the palace in Rapha'owr." he replied, playing along with her feigned ignorance.
"Oh..." she said, looking away for a moment, almost as though she were ashamed that he had associated her with the legendary picture.
"It is not a point of shame, I assure you." he offered with a quiet chuckle. "Most woman I know would be flattered."
"I am not 'most women...'" she said, "And why is it not a point of shame...?" she asked, regret thick in her voice.
"It is a symbol of Gamilon and Iscandar's union – a union that has been neglected these past six years." he replied. "But one that can be renewed again."
"Yes... Under false pretenses." she said caustically.
"I do not know what you mean." Desslok replied, genuinely puzzled by her tone.
"Your Leader" she spat the title at him, "has decided that his whims are more important than my people's lives." hot tears began to roll down her cheeks.
"What?!" he whispered harshly. "What do you mean?"
"I am not surprised you don't know." she said shakily, "Leader Deun has cut off our regular communications to Gamilon. I am surprised I am even able to speak with you this way."
The prince's eyes widened. If his brother had jammed Iscandar's communications arrays, then something was dangerously, dreadfully wrong.
The princess continued, "He was inspired by that painting; for some reason he thought his was the face of the man and mine the face of the woman. My father would not grant my hand to him in marriage." she wiped some of her tears away, "So he's decided to kill us all."
"A decision can be unmade." Desslok said, realizing that something about this girl made him want to reach out to her – to make her happy again. Grasping to find something that might make her hope again, he said, "The Leader could be persuaded to leave you alone, I am sure."
She laughed sharply, "It's too late for that, Historian."
Desslok felt sick as all the pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place: the search for Krenshaw and Deun's reconnection with Iscandar, coupled with this odd conversation with this "Starsha of Iscandar."
"Oh no..." he breathed, his mind crying out, "What have you done, brother?!"
"He's released a virus on us. Our oldest citizens have already died, soon to be followed by the rest of us."
The prince felt as though he had been clubbed in the gut. He let his face sink into his unoccupied hand as the significance of what he had just been told washed over him.
The young man's face disappeared for a moment. He was still there, she was sure of it – absorbing the news, no doubt.
It was only now that she couldn't see his face that it registered in her mind that the pieces of his conutenance that she could see seemed very familiar. If only she could see him in better lighting...
After a long while, the young man looked up again, his face filled with a raging fire – righteous anger spilling from him almost tangibly.
"He has no right." the words came to her through gritted teeth. "No right!"
She could see his other hand – curiously gloved, even in the heat she knew Gamilon summer provided during the night – clenched in a black fist, full of vengeance.
"If there is a way to stop this, I promise you, Starsha of Iscandar, I will find it." He said this so sincerely that Starsha's breath caught in her throat.
"How can he make such a promise?" she asked herself. "He is only a chronicler. He has no power to speak of.." Then, turning to the only One Whom she knew without doubt did have the power to rescue them she prayed fervently, "Yahweh, save my people." Her plea gave her a tiny reason to hope that this tide of death could be stayed somehow.
Starsha looked into the eyes of the mysterious young man she didn't even know, but somehow now felt connected to.
Despite the wall Deun had put up between the twin worlds, somehow the young woman had been given a single way to reach out to the young man she now spoke to. And he had reached back to her.
When she realized the picture the coincidence conjured in her mind, she shivered.
"I... must go." she said, suddenly uncomfortable. "Will you tell Admiral Talan what has happened?"
"Alright... I will." the Gamilon replied. "Will you return again? Sometime?"
The question surprised her. He wanted to talk with her again?
"I don't know..." she replied honestly.
"I would consider it a personal favor if you did." the young man ventured boldly. "And, if what you say about your communications is true, then I would appear to be your only avenue of communication with the Admiral."
Despite the circumstances she now found herself in, she let a tiny smile turn up one corner of her mouth, "Alright." she said. "I will come again."
"Good" the young man said. "I look forward to it."
With that Starsha ended the conversation, pulling the Interface off.
As the strange reality of the conversation settled over her, her mind began to match up the facial features she had just seen with the ones she had seen not so long ago. Then she saw clearly what she had not seen a few moments ago.
She knew why he looked so familiar.
Chapter 22 was Inspired by:
- "A History of the Star Blazers Galaxy, Part 3" by Bruce Lewis and The Iscandar Project. Found on ourstarblazers dot com, first accessed December, 2003.