The Dance Eternal

ch 14 and 15

14

It was around four in the afternoon, as John looked at the pile of papers on the table; the various schematics made little sense to him, but were intriguing to look at regardless. He wasn’t really paying them a whole lot of attention, his mind still trying to work out what had happened that morning.

After the incident with Craig, he and Steve had seen to the clean-up and taken the young man’s body topside for a proper burial. Afterwards, they went back to the lab, where Steve opened a bottle of Jimmy Walker Blue Label and proceeded to reach a level of sloppy drunkenness that John had never before seen anyone achieve. Worse, and to both his amusement and annoyance, Steve was a weepy drunk, and John learned a lot more about the man than he wanted to know.

He’d learned that Steve was divorced about twelve years ago, and the ex-wife got everything that didn’t directly pertain to his work. He’d been destitute until some guy, whose name Steve slurred incomprehensibly, came to him with an idea and a location. A few years of grubbing about for money and support for the venture, and they finally made it to this place.

Then he rambled about his earliest teams, some of whom had left to check on families when the world’s conflict escalated – at one point, it was just him and six others. The original unnamable instigator, the “man with the plan”, Steve muttered and slurred, had “dishap-p-peared” shortly after they finished the test flights of the Celeste – nobody had seen him leave, and any trace of his presence was gone.

He descended into straight drunken gibberish after that, and eventually had slumped over the side of the chair, head on the large table. John decided to let him be, and there he slept, a little pool of saliva forming on the table.

As he stood, now, looking over the contents of the table, something caught his eye that he hadn’t previously noticed. Shuffling a stack of blueprints mixed with pages of equations, John uncovered the rest of what looked like an old and weathered leather-bound book.

Raised in the leather on the cover was a symbol that he’d seen before, but could not place; a star of seven points, with a circle that pierced each arm just inside the points. Six other markings, like strange sigils, were arranged in specific places around the star, and there was an odd eye-like shape at the top with what John thought were tears… or maybe tendrils… reaching downward.

As he traced the symbols, his friendly little filth-pal purred its clam and contentment, but when he traced the eye, it seemed to recoil from the touch. He moved his finger back to the symbol, testing a thought; again, it began its purr. He tried the eye again, and the change was the same.

He stalked to a far corner of the room and plopped into a chair, turning it to face back toward the table so he could watch for Steve.

“What the Hell are you,” he growled at the thing in his head, “I know you can talk to me, damn you.” He waited, the silence driving him to distraction, “Come on. If you’re going to be in my damned head, you’d better have the courtesy to at least tell me-“

Patience.

The single word came almost as an echo, accompanied by a calming sensation.

“Don’t tell me that s**t, or to calm down,” he tried to keep his voice down, “start explaining, or I will do everything I can to reject you. If nothing else, I’d say a bullet will do it,” he chided, pulling the pistol from his pocket that Steve had given him after the incident with Craig.

He pointed the gun at his temple, and the dirtball freaked.

Nooooooo! Please!

“Who… what are you?

Show… was the single reply. Just as John began to wonder what it meant, images began flashing in his mind; an ancient Egyptian city, with half built pyramids; a Greek amphitheater, those gathered looking on as several older men talk on the stage; a galaxy, similar but noticeably different from his own, as two of the planets collide, sending a slowly expanding spray of planetary chunks in a plume outward; a workshop, littered with all manner of contraptions, tables covered with papers, and directly in front of him, a chair with an odd, corkscrew-looking umbrella; a massive city, all towers and high bridges jutting upward from the slopes of insanely tall mountains.

An impression came with the images, one that said that this – entity – was present at those events. When that thought formed in his mind, the ball answered with a long hissed “yessssss, to inspire”.

The words echoed as more images flashed; he recognized the Sistine Chapel from a trip he’d taken to Rome in high school, and the meaning had started to become clear.

“So, you were present when Michelangelo painted the Sistine Chapel? And did I see Da Vinci’s workshop, as well?”

Correct.

The images changed, became scenes of war; battlefields, viewed from above, writhing with thousands of bodies as they fought. Armor glinted in the morning light, as the wearers did mortal battle with men clad in furs. Then the combatants were all wearing armor, and he recognized Centurion helmets among them. Then it was the American Revolution, Red Coats trading gunfire with Blue-Coated Colonists.

John’s mood darkened, “You cause war, too?”

Noooo. Help. Alexander. Washington. Patton… you.

The last word struck like a brick to the face.

“Me? I’m no general. I’m not even a soldier.”

You will be. You have the ability, learn with me.

Amazed at both what it said, and the fact that it was the most it had said at once – a mostly complete sentence – he noticed that Steve was stirring, and stood.

Prepare. Soon will be time. With that, it went back into contented slumber. Realizing that he still held the leather book, he headed back, meaning to return it to where he found it, as Steve lifted his head from the table, smacking his lips and wiping at rheumy eyes.

“Have a good nap,” John mused quietly, his fingers idly tracing the symbols, one after another. Steve looked to him as he approached, his eyes landing on the book and the motions his fingers made.

“Read it yet,” he croaked the question as he hastily wiped at the drool trail down his chin.

“Not yet, just found it,” he fibbed, turning it over in his hand. He saw the back cover for the first time, and noticed that, near the bottom, a small S was stamped into the leather, the serifs extended into curls.

“You should; it might shed some light on any questions you have. It was Jakob’s, his research.” Steve stood, wobbling with residual intoxication, and headed for the door, muttering, “Need some sleep.”

John stared at the stamped S on the cover, trying to recall anything else about his great-grandfather. He thought he remembered some of the things Steve had mentioned, but Jakob had passed seven, maybe eight years ago - he definitely remembered that it was a very quiet service, less than ten people. His father had been there during the wake, and exchanged words with three others he did not recognize.

Knowing that Steve would be a few hours, at least, in a drunken stupor, he returned to the chair he’d found earlier and sank into it. With the creak of old leather, he opened the book’s front cover, immediately seeing the scrawling handwriting.

15

The alarm buzzed for nearly twenty minutes before Steve finally rolled over and slapped it, hitting the snooze button. Seven-thirty in the morning. Six days, he thought, six days since they fell, and silence the last four. No word had come from any of the world’s major governments, either; most of his contacts in Washington had been dark for months, and the one remaining still in contact had not sent anything in a week.

He picked up the phone next to the bed and dialed the extension for the communications team.

“Jordan,” came the answer, a young man in with a group of refugees that had arrived two days ago.

“Hey, Jordan, this is Haverstad. Any incoming communications?”

The kid – he was barely twenty – stammered a bit, “H-h-hello, Mr. H-haverstad. No sir… wait, yes… there is something from-“

Steve cut the kid off just before he broke protocol, “That’s all I need, Jordan. I will be there in a bit.”

“Y-yes sir,” he said a little more steadily. Steve hung up the receiver, and stood, looking at his rumpled state; he decided a shower would be best for now.

Later, he walked into the communications room, hair still matted and wet. Leslie, one of the original team, and a woman he’d taken a liking to, smiled and handed him a set of papers.

“The one you need to see is on the bottom,” she said quietly, kissing his cheek before turning back to business. He left the room, glancing at Leslie as he rounded the corner; he’ll have to visit her later.

Walking through the halls, he shuffled the papers until the one he sought was on top.

“Comm: 23:31 Message from: T.S.E.

Steve: Op-for movement increased greatly in last twenty-four, appear to be clearing out. World: Paris is down; Warsaw is ruin, as is Cairo and Tokyo. London is hot-zone, and all have seeded.

Personal: Steve, get out of there. Activate Celeste. Full-scale nukes eminent from all sides. Days, maybe a week at most.

OTHERS: Also increased activity. Seed in Los Angeles -OPENED-, city overrun. Massive specimens seen. Most of Eastern Seaboard also.

END”

Steve slowly shook his head in awe as he read; the whole world was about to tear itself apart. Not enough that most of the major world powers were going to launch the worst weapons made by man, but after the report he saw a couple days ago, the only thing left will be these things from the seeds.

He looked up and realized that he’d stopped near the main entrance to the cavern, and headed in. He began checking off a mental to-do list; talk with Samuell about the Celeste’s progress; final test on the AI; talk to John – he underlined that one, especially since he hadn’t seen him in two days; check the ship’s supplies; find Leslie. “Save the best for last,” he said to himself.

Steve stepped off the lift at the bottom, and soon found a cluster of people who were occasionally giving cheers of encouragement.

He gently pushed his way toward the center of the gathering, and found the two men he sought. Samuell and John stood facing each other, with an odd collection of items scattered on a table next to Sam, who was taking items from the table and holding them in front of himself. John, in turn, would concentrate on the item, and within seconds, it rose from the other’s hands, drifted through the air, and landed gently back on the table, causing the cheers from the crowd.

Steve stepped forward, closing the space between them and clapping enthusiastically. “Excellent, John,” he praised, then when he was closer, “is this new?”

John nodded a bit uncertainly, “Very. Problem?”

“None at all,” Steve replied, and John seemed to relax. “We do need to talk, however, and very soon. Let me talk with Samuell, first.”

John nodded and dispersed with the rest of the gathering, going off with a few other researchers who began a barrage of questions when they realized he was among them. Steve caught Sam by the sleeve.

“How’s she coming, Sam?”

“Great, man,” Sam replied. He was always upbeat, no matter the situation. Steve imagined that Sam smiled on the toilet, then chided himself for going there. Sam continued in that same tone, “We actually just finished the AI test a little while ago; all systems are go, and Celeste is ready to fly.”

“How about the other systems; food, oxygen, water.”

Sam nodded emphatically, “Working to specs. We gave the replicator another test after the last adjustments, and it’s doing a great job – nobody knew that lunch came from Her. The air cycling and production are running at one-hundred percent…” He paused here, looking a bit uncertain.

Steve tilted his head slightly, “Yes? Sam, what is it?”

Samuell took a deep breath, shifting his feet, then said, “Well, the ship’s computer, the AI,” here his expression changed; he was still apprehensive, but a sense of wonder mixed with terror crossed his eyes, “she gave us the information before we asked for it.”

Steve seemed to consider it for a moment, then shrugged, “And? I’m sorry, I don’t understa-“

“Steve,” Sam’s eyes fixed the other man, freezing his tongue, “I mean, she had all of the usual reports ready before we told her to begin compiling the information. She performed all the usual checks herself, recorded them, and presented them to us, and none were over a minute old. She knows the schedule.”

Steve stared, mouthing, “She’s learning”, and Sam nodded in answer.

“There’s more,” Sam went on, “she’s made changes. To her programming. We spent all night re-mapping the code – my God, man. She’s made changes to complex mathematical equations that make them look like simple addition.”

“How is that effecting her performance?”

“Are you kidding, Steve?” Sam’s eyebrows climbed his ample forehead (he’d be bald before his forties), “She streamlined her entire processing system. Her memory storage looks freaking empty, man. We checked, and everything, every bit of programming we installed, is still there and functioning at increased efficiency.” Sam’s eyes were bugging with excitement-bordering-terror, and his voice trembled.

Steve, processing the weight of what Sam had said, carefully sank into a nearby chair, staring hard at the ship’s shroud in the center of the cavern. Could Craig’s AI program have really evolved like that? If it did that much, what else… he shook the thought off for now.

“Alright, then,” Steve said, gathering himself, “monitor her closely. Communicate with her. If she truly is a developing sentience, then she needs to know that there are good people… before she meets the bad ones. Try to provide any information she asks for, and be honest with her.”

“Steve, do you hear yourself? It’s a computer, not a damned baby.”

Steve held his hands up, trying to be calm, “Sam, not now, please. I know how you feel about the whole subject of artificial intelligence, but I am asking you, as a colleague and friend, to trust me on this. Please.”

After a moment, Sam finally nodded. “Don’t worry, I will see to it as you ask.”

“One more thing, Sam,” Haverstad began, then heaved a weighted sigh. “I have to ask, how soon until we can go?”

Sam’s mind reeled, the full-scope of the question threatening to pull him to the floor. Finally, he replied, “Well, if we aren’t in a rush – a few days.”

Almost without missing a beat, Steve asked, “And if we are rushed?” He tried to be casual, absently flipping his hand.

Sam coughed, “Well… no less than thirty-six hours. All systems must be primed properly, especially propulsion.”

“Any chance of making it twenty-four hours?”

Sam coughed again, genuinely this time. “Really pushin’ the envelope, aren’t we, Steve? Is it really that close?”

Steve lowered his eyes, “Maybe sooner. I think we have some protection here, being remote and surrounded by the mountains, but the sooner, the better.”

Sam went silent, mentally checking off various pre-flight procedures. “Let me look things over, see how Celeste’s “modifications” perform, and get back to you this afternoon.”

“Sounds great, Sam. Thank you.” He stood and shook the other’s hand. “I apologize for the abruptness, but I have lots to see to, as well. I will be by this afternoon, then.”

Sam turned and headed back to work, while Steve mentally checked off his to-do list. Celeste was shaping up to be a marvel; re-writing her entire programming, streamlining her functionality. Craig truly was a genius. He scanned the work area for John, the next item on his list, and found him still fielding questions near the lift.

“Okay, folks, there’s work to be done. We can arrange some time later for questions, if John is up to it.”

The curious dispersed to their duties, leaving the two men.

“John, we need to talk,” said Steve, his expression dead serious.

“Yes, we do,” John replied, equally as thoughtful.

The lab had fast become their “meeting room”, and there they found themselves again, each sunken into one of the overstuffed chairs nursing a fresh cup of coffee.

After a time, Steve broke the silence, “John, have you read Jakob’s journal?”

The other nodded, “I have. Very… illuminating. Some quite far-fetched, I think, but who’s to say?” John shrugged, here.

“I wish I could’ve gotten Craig to read it; he was already being influenced by the time I thought to suggest it.”

“Do you believe all of it? The whole “savior” thing?” John’s eyebrow climbed. As Steve mentioned earlier, Jakob had written of John extensively, and by name. It was what Jakob had written that had John galled; a lot of mention of the “man of the blood who would travel worlds” with the “mind of an Elder God”.

“Well, John,” Steve said, peering into his cup as he took a sip, “I’d say that the evidence has already been shown. The incident with Craig was enough, but you asking about ‘weird’ occurrences only cemented the idea in my mind.” He took another sip, watching over the lip of the cup for John’s reaction. What he saw almost caused him to spray coffee; John was sitting back, arms resting at his sides on the armrests, while his mug floated in front of him at chest-level.

Seeing the reaction, John, snickered and took the cup from the air while the other gathered his composure.

“I see you’ve been taking Jakob’s writing to heart,” Steve finally said, still obviously taken aback. “Have you been able to do anything else with it?”

John shook his head. “Not really, but I haven’t tried,” he replied, then he looked at Steve, “but it talks to me.”

Steve blinked, “It talks to you?”

“M-hmm. Not much, mind. It seems to communicate through images and emotion more than words, but it has spoken. I’m reasonably sure that it’s the only reason I’m able to lift things, though.”

No, came that voice in his mind. Always there.

“John, you okay?”

John blinked a few times rapidly, his eyes focusing to see Steve leaned forward, his cup in the table, reaching toward him.

“It’s okay,” he said, waving the other’s hand away. “Apparently, I’ve always had the ability.”

Steve stared, a bit confused at the sudden change, then something clicked in his mind. “It just spoke to you, didn’t it?”

Johnathan nodded, clearly not completely comfortable talking about that part. “I’m still trying to convince myself that I haven’t gone batshit crazy.”

Steve nodded emphatically, “Understandable. I’ve been trying to wrap my head around it since Craig… started showing signs.” And me, he thought.

John suddenly had a scary thought, “How long before he started blanking out and speaking tongues?”

Sensing the source of the question, Steve did his best to allay the other’s fear, “It wasn’t like that. The trances and such started almost immediately. He manifested mild abilities like yours, but lacked any control; mostly, stuff would fly across the room when he got agitated. Poor Leslie got nailed with a cup in the head last year.”

“He’d been that way for a year?”

“Three, actually,” Steve replied after a moment, and the other gaped.

“He was like that for three years?”

Haverstad slowly nodded once, his face drawn with the memories. “The last year has been the most trying, peaking, of all times, when the first of those things began to fall. That night was the worst; we tried sedation, but even after enough Morphine to put down an elephant, he shrugged it off like so much cough syrup.”

He finished his coffee and stood, “Refill?”

John offered his own empty mug, and Steve returned a moment later with a pair of steaming cups.

“John,” the other said as he sat, heaving a heavy sigh, “the situation is dire. From what we’ve been able to tell, much of the world’s developed nations are embroiled in war; major cities are nothing but ruins, now. Add these seeds – and the things that they spew out – and it becomes a recipe for total annihilation.”

“How do you know any of this,” John asked, sipping gently at the still-hot coffee.

“We have – had – been in contact with several agencies, but it’s been silence for a few days. Unfortunately, the last I heard,” Steve took another sip in the pause, as if to fuel himself for what he had to say next, “John, they’re going to fire nukes. A whole lot of them.”

John froze mid-sip, then lowered his cup, “Who?”

“Everyone. The Chinese and Arabs, the U.S. – anyone with the capabilities. One giant mushroom cloud; that’s what will herald the end of humanity on Earth.”

They sat in silence for a time, as if already mourning the end of their home, their lives, their entire civilization. Suddenly, Haverstad sat forward, his eyes intense.

“You, John, are going to help ensure that humanity is not wiped from the history of the universe.”

John slapped his hand to his forehead, “s**t, you DO believe what he wrote.”

“John, don’t you see it? Jakob was right. He predicted this in his journal. You had to have-“

He cut off as a young man ran into the lab, his forehead beaded with the effort.

“M-m-mister Haverstad,” Jordan stammered, trying to catch his breath, “Leslie is asking for you, says it’s an emergency.”

“Leslie,” his eyes went wide, “come with me, John.” He stood, setting the mug on the table, and turned to follow the man out. John slammed the last few sips and plopped the cup down, scrambling to follow.