THE
AT-LANTI CHRONICLES Time Marker
Š Nic Wayne 2008
First published in 2008 by Osborne Porter Literary Services, Second edition published in 2013 by BK Press
ISBN 978-0-9814237-1-5
E-book ISBN 978-0-620-58693-1 This book is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to any persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the written permission from the author.
THE
AT-LANTI CHRONICLES Time Marker
Nic Wayne
Published by
Acknowledgements To all my friends and family who encouraged me – thank you. Thanks to Greg, Michelle, Louis and Lynne for all your positive words. A special thanks to Nombasa, for being the first one to critique the book and to Fred Turck for painstakingly doing the proof reading. Thank you to my parents, especially my dad, who got me hooked on sci-fi. Last but not least, thank you to Meryl, my love, for being there for me while I was attached to my notebook. I would also like to acknowledge the following for all their help in turning my dream into a book: Osborne-Porter Literary Services Cell: 082 730 9384 (Ginny Porter) email: info@osborne-porter.com Web: www.osborne-porter.com Louis Lombard Photography Cell: 072 426 4627 (Louis Lombard) email: louislombard@telkomsa.net Web: www.louislombard.co.za The Cover was designed by Garon Reid of Karen Haynes Design Consultants Cell: 082 854 4424 (Karen Haynes) email: karen@karenhaynes.co.za Web: www.karenhaynes.co.za The Salon Tel: 031 309 7135 (Claire)
For Paloma and Mila
Prologue Location: The city of At-Lanti, 10832 BCE
‘W
here is it?’ Jago mumbled to himself. With his forehead pressed against the massive windows, he scanned the dark apron outside. Anxiety coursed through his veins. He distracted himself by counting aircraft; he counted at least nine. There was however only one he was hoping to see – the Falcon. An ominous chill swept through his body as the approaching storm flickered silently in his eyes. Soon the air would cool and the noisy squall would roll in. I hope the storm waits until we’ve taken off. Lightning ruptured the darkness. The radiant glow faded to reveal a man’s face, his grim vulture-like features staring malevolently at the boy. ‘Ah…!’ Jago stumbled, almost losing his balance. He pushed against the glass to steady himself. Dread coursed through his veins as he spun round to see the man for himself, but the apparition was gone. Get a hold of yourself it’s only a storm. Turning back towards the window a sense of something awful began to materialise. This evening he and his family were flying in the new aircraft, the Falcon Light Transport Two Hundred. Everyone referred to it simply as the Falcon; everyone except father. He smiled at his own reflection. They were relocating to Zapor. Their move was a mystery, but Zapor had all the aircraft factories and that’s all that counted. He shifted his balance and turned towards father who appeared deep in thought. He looked grey; fear darkened his eyes. This was not important though, father’s mood would surely change when he saw the new aeroplane. ‘Father, which aircraft are we flying in tonight?’ he tested. The exhilaration of the journey ahead made him a little overexcited, which in turn caused him to do crazy things like ask silly questions. Well that’s what his mother always said. ‘I believe it is the new Light Transport Two Hundred, son,’ replied his father in a strained voice. ‘That means…’ ‘I know what it means, father. It’s the biggest aircraft we have, and everyone except you calls it the Falcon,’ he replied excitedly.
Mother looked up from her letter writing and smiled faintly. He realised that she also seemed afraid. Maybe both his parents had lost their love for travel. Although not particularly enthusiastic about aircraft, his mother had given him many reading programs on the subject. She was always kind and patient and he loved her dearly. Laila, his two-year old sister, lay asleep on mother’s lap. ‘Come sit next to me and rest son,’ mother said in a quiet voice. He nodded and turned to face the window for one more look as his thoughts returned to the Falcon. ‘Light Transport Two Hundred. Of course, “light” is for the troop’s equipment. I think I also prefer calling it the Falcon…’ Looking around, he realised he was talking to himself. No one else had noticed; that was good – very good. He became aware that he felt very tired. Perhaps mother is right. He turned and walked over to her. Looking around the lounge, he saw that there wasn’t a whole lot going on tonight. In fact, the airport seemed too empty. He counted the glass panels, the people sitting and standing, even the lights in the ceiling. He sat down next to his mother and quickly settled into a dreamy slumber. The loud rumble of the full-blown storm woke the boy as huge raindrops exploded against the airport windows. Sporadic lightning, punctuated with deafening thunder, crackled through the heavy air. His sister was asleep; mother still looked pale. Jago went back to the window. The extreme downpour pelted the glass making it difficult for him to see the aircraft as they pulled up to the terminal. More and more lightning ripped violently through the sky, charging the air as unnerving thunder exploded around him. Storms frightened him, especially when flying; his palms grew clammy as he began to shiver. He distracted himself by counting the people he could see, and noted again that there were not many travellers flying tonight. Softly he counted, ‘One, two, three…’ To his surprise, the angst began to subside. Counting is good. He could just make out the flat rectangular shape of what he hoped was the Falcon. Jago breathed onto the glass and began to draw what he imagined the aircraft would look like. In the reflection, he saw a man approach them. He was tall, and looked somewhat like an Akkadian vulture, which was very scrawny, very bald, and very ugly. He shivered at the thought.
Father stood up and the two men walked towards him. Father now looked even more stressed. Jago concentrated as hard as he could to overhear what they were saying. His anxiety quickly returned. ‘One, two, three…,’ he counted softly. The vulture man spoke in a raspy voice. ‘As you know, we have successfully negotiated your freedom and you will not be prosecuted by the Senate. You and your family will assume new identities when you arrive in Zapor.’ Father stood statue-like. ‘You will also be protected from your former associates in the Kavadii. A new life, and careers await you both,’ finished the beaked man. Father nodded blankly in silent resignation. Why does father need to change his name to be a biologist, he wondered. It sounded as if he was going to hide from the Senate. What could he have done? He knew he would never be able to ask; that he would never know. ‘There’s just one thing left for you to do before you are free to go,’ continued the vulture man. ‘You must sign a pledge to remain silent regarding your activities whilst a member of the Kavadii. You must agree never to involve yourself or your family in their activities again.’ Father said nothing. Jago’s palms began to perspire as the vulture man retrieved a small rectangular glass panel from his pocket. He depressed a corner, and text instantly appeared through its transparent silhouette. He strained to see the display, but it was impossible. ‘From this day on you’ll be cut off from the Kavadii. Your freedom and life depend on it.’ The vulture man appeared to enjoy having power over father. A feeling began to arise within Jago, one that he didn’t recognise at first, but he recalled the emotion soon enough, it was hatred. Father slowly reached for the glass panel and began to read. The vulture man seemed impatient and kept pointing out where father was to put his signature. ‘Patience, I will read the entire text.’ Father stubbornly read on for what seemed like forever. When he finished reading, he calmly placed his thumbprint in the indicated area, a faint beep followed. Jago recognised this from school. Father’s thumbprint would be converted into a signature. It must be some sort of contract, he realised. With another beep, the vulture man slipped the panel back into his coat pocket. ‘Follow me,’ he said. ‘It’s time to go.’ ‘One, two, three…,’ Jago counted.
Father walked over to his young daughter and took her up in his arms, resting her gently on his shoulder. She opened her eyes briefly, but returned to sleep. ‘Come,’ said father. Jago walked over to his mother. As they gathered their hand luggage, she slipped the letter she had been writing into an envelope and got up to follow father. No one spoke as the family began moving towards the departure gate. When they arrived there, the vulture man whispered something into the attendant’s ear. She immediately allowed the family to pass. Despite his angst, the boy was hardly able to contain himself anymore. He almost burst into the aircraft from the sky bridge. As he got inside, he stopped dead still, as if he had come up against an invisible barrier. ‘What’s wrong son?’ asked father as he entered the aircraft a second later. ‘This isn’t the Falcon. What happened to the Falcon? Why are we the only people on board?’ he asked, frantically. The vulture man quickly interjected, ‘The Light Transport – the Falcon – was delayed due to a technical problem. The design team is looking into it. There won’t be anyone else aboard this aircraft tonight as this flight has been specially chartered for your family…’ ‘Who cares…?’ ‘There is no need for disrespect! You should be grateful that you have got the entire aircraft to yourself!’ rebuked his father. ‘Yes father,’ he said as he cast a fleeting look of suspicion at the vulture man. Then he turned and ran down the aisle. ‘Stop!’ said the vulture man. The boy almost lost his balance as he spun round to face the annoying man. ‘One area is out of bounds, and that is the command centre. Do not disturb the aeronauts. Is that clear?’ he demanded. ‘It is.’ ‘Good, then help your parents settle in. I believe that you are something of an expert on aircraft.’ Jago ignored the vulture man and stood silently counting the seats. Father did not shout at him this time. The man returned his attention to father. ‘It is time to say goodbye, my friend,’ he said as he began moving towards the exit. He failed to offer the informal farewell embrace, and seemed to regard this as a mistake, but it was too late – father was already out of reach and strapping his daughter into her seat. A feminine voice suddenly addressed the passengers. ‘Please take your seats and ensure you are secured for take-off.’
Wondering when the vulture man would go away, Jago reluctantly found a seat a few rows away from his family and slumped into it. ‘Have a safe journey and may At-Fah grant you great success and many renewals,’ the scrawny man said coldly. This seems a rather strange greeting, thought Jago. His words are very friendly, but his voice sounds angry. Father did not reply as he continued settling Laila into her seat. Mother, still strangely silent, was already secured and staring impassively out of the window. Father finally sat down next to her and secured himself as the vulture man walked away and then exited the aircraft. The door closed behind him with a soft hiss, sealing him and his family inside. He turned to face his mom. ‘Mother, why did the man say At-Fah must give father many renewals?’ His mother turned to him and with a grin said, ‘It is a very old saying, not often used today.’ ‘Hmm… like this aircraft everything about that man is old.’ Mother chuckled as she continued, ‘Once every fifty years or so our adult bodies are completely rejuvenated, we even grow new teeth. We call this renewal. If you have had many renewals, it means you have lived a long time.’ ‘That’s odd.’ Satisfied with the response, Jago fastened his harness and began counting the passengers, which was a bit frustrating as he could only get to four. He became aware of the even hum of the generators, as the gravity-deflector plate energised. The noise grew louder as the aircraft suddenly seemed to break free of its attraction to the ground. Laila started to cry. The aircraft began moving straight upward accelerating at a gentle pace, until the rain stopped streaking down the windows and the storm boiled far below. He always marvelled at the fact that he could not feel the acceleration. As it neared the required altitude, the aircraft slowed its ascent and began moving in a north-westerly direction. He retrieved a reading program from his pocket and pressed the activation button. The three-dimensional text and animations appeared in front of him as he began to read a story about Vinsen, brave conqueror of Xathia. After a few seconds, he became too excited to read. He deactivated the device, unbuckled his harness, and ran off to play. Several minutes later, he was standing in front of his father again. ‘Father, isn’t it strange that we don’t have one of those machines that serve us dinner? I’m hungry. What is there to eat?’ ‘You’re right son, let’s go see what we can find,’ replied father. He unbuckled his harness and they walked together to the galley, but found
no dispenser android or any food. Father started towards the command centre. ‘He said not to disturb the aeronauts...’ ‘My son is hungry and there is no one to help him. For this I would disturb the Nexorian himself,’ father replied gruffly. ‘Now wait here while I take care of this.’ Jago looked back nervously towards his mother, but she was comforting Laila. He followed his father to the command centre. There was no response from father’s knocking so he opened the door and looked inside. He quickly shut it, his face white with shock. ‘What is it, father?’ ‘Nothing, the aeronauts do not wish to be disturbed. I think it is best if we go to our seats now.’ ‘What about my food, father? I’m hungry.’ ‘I don’t think there is any food on this aircraft, son,’ father replied quickly. ‘Never mind, we’ll be at our destination shortly. Let’s return quietly to our seats.’ He could sense that father was uneasy. If I can’t eat, I will have to pass the time counting everything in the aircraft, including the aeronaut’s seats. ‘I want to play then,’ he tested. ‘You will return to your seat now, boy! There will be no more play or disobedience tonight!’ That was that. Once father gave an order, it would be a big mistake to go against him. With his head down, he quietly returned to his seat. His thoughts were racing; he had to see what was in the command centre. Perhaps the aeronauts had said something horrible to father? Almost as soon as they were strapped in again he said, ‘I need to use the waste unit.’ Father would surely not refuse this request. ‘Very well, but be quick and return straight to your seat.’ His fingers were holding the armrest so tightly that his knuckles were white. Jago raced towards the waste disposal cubicle, which was near the galley where father wouldn’t be able to see him. He slipped past the cubicle and opened the door of the command centre. It was a wondrous sight with tiny screens and dials everywhere; too many to count. It must be great fun to fly. He would ask the aeronauts even though they’d probably clip his ears for disturbing them, but he had to ask. He would have to walk up to their seats, as he couldn’t see them from the door. ‘Excuse me, mister aeronauts…’ There was no answer. He walked closer until he was standing to the side of the command chairs.
‘Zero; zero; zero…,’ over and over again he counted paralysed. It seemed as if he would be stuck there forever when suddenly he felt himself being lifted up. Father’s angry voice broke through his panic. ‘I thought you were told you not to come in here!’ ‘There are no aeronauts! There are no aeronauts, there… hmm!’ Father’s hand covered his mouth. ‘Be quiet son, you’ll upset your mother and sister. Now calm down, the aircraft is able to fly without aeronauts. Let’s go back to our seats and sit down.’ As they returned to their seats, the aircraft jerked, not violently but just enough for the boy to begin another count. ‘Stop counting nothing,’ father said impatiently as he secured the boy in his seat. Then he sat down in his own chair, slowly fastening the harness as if he were in a trance. A loud bang suddenly shattered the soft drone of the gravity deflector, jolting everyone to attention. Laila cried louder. Mother looked frightened as the quiet hum of the gravity deflector changed to a rough grating noise that grew louder and louder until it drowned out his sister’s disturbing screams. The aircraft banked hard to the left as its nose pitched towards the ground. ‘Take the children to the back!’ father barked suddenly as if the emergency had brought him back to life. ‘I’ll try to regain control of the aircraft. Go!’ Everything seemed to be going slowly now, as if time had started to reverse. When they got to the back of the aircraft mother held them both in a vice-like grip. ‘I love you both dearly. I am so sorry, I am so sorry,’ she sobbed. ‘Here my son, keep this with you. If anything happens to us, read the contents, but only when you are safe and with people you trust.’ She slipped an envelope into a secret pocket on the inside of his robe and strapped him and his sister into the crew’s emergency seats. She then headed off to help his father. ‘Mother!’ he screamed. He did not want her to go. Frightened he began crying as she disappeared down the aisle and into the command centre. He felt so alone and held onto his sobbing sister’s hand. ‘Don’t worry little sister; our parents will save us.’ They were in the storm again.
For a moment the aircraft seemed to level out, maybe it even started climbing. Then suddenly another loud bang ripped through the aircraft as it pointed steeply downwards; everything began to shake violently. Father appeared to gain control as the aircraft briefly levelled out, but it was too late; they had ran out of airspace. The aircraft hit the ground and bounced back into the air. Then it dropped swiftly and collided with the surface a second time, instantly breaking in two. The forward section crumpled against the rocks and exploded into a billion fiery pieces. He watched in disbelief; his parents were no more. At the rear of the aircraft, the experience was intensely quick. First, there was the loud crushing sound as the aircraft decelerated against the soil and rock. Then there was darkness as they rose back into the air. Smoke and fire followed in strobe-like sequences. He felt himself turning repeatedly as his sister was torn away from him. He was on the ground again and the taste of soil and blood filled his mouth as a sensation of freezing air washed over his rain-soaked body. He felt his head hit something hard and then a dark quietness engulfed him. * The boy awoke to the sound of his own agonised cries. He was counting. ‘One, two, three…’ ‘What are you counting boy?’ asked a strange voice. He was shivering. ‘I’m counting my… Where am I?’ He was crying again, his tears diluting the blood on his injured face. It was still raining and the icy wind was howling. ‘I’m sorry – you are the only one.’ Nausea washed over him. ‘Who are you boy?’ ‘I don’t know… wait!’ he said, as he seemed to gain strength. ‘I am… who am I?’ He vomited and returned to blackness. * Exhilarated, a tall thin man who looked somewhat like an Akkadian vulture entered a decrepit building. He went down a short flight of stairs until he came to a steel door. He knocked once. A thick metal gate quickly rose from the floor, trapping him. ‘Identify yourself,’ demanded a crackly voice through an oddly pristine-looking intercom.
‘May At-Fah restore the Neshi. I am Lord Quod.’ The phrase he uttered, outlawed centuries before, meant he would soon be killed if this were a trap. Instead, the door opened with a rusty creak and he stepped inside. The room was dim and smelled of mouldy old dust; a hastily set up clandestine meeting place for those who dreamed of a world where the Neshi were great again. A world where the Neshi were not pathological isolationists bent on sacrificing themselves to nature’s savagery. ‘What is your business here?’ It was the same voice as before, but without the crackle of the intercom. ‘I am here to report a successful mission. The traitor has been executed, his family extinguished.’ ‘Not so fast,’ hissed a new voice from the darkest corner of the room. ‘The family is not dead.’ An old man in a motorised wheelchair moved into the light. ‘What do you mean? They were in the aircraft. They could not have escaped. They could not have survived.’ ‘The parents did not survive, but it appears that their son did. In addition, Quod, we cannot find the body of the daughter. We must therefore assume that she too is alive.’ He was surrounded as the room filled with more people. Their faces seemed to accuse him of failure. Lord Quod lowered his head. He had come expecting praise, but instead received scorn. Unless he did something extraordinary, he would never rise in the ranks. He was as good as finished. ‘What are my instructions?’ he said bowing his head. ‘The boy has been retrieved, but we cannot kill him now. To do so would risk everything we have achieved so far.’ ‘Of course…’ ‘He must be raised as one of our own and taught the way of the Kavadii. We will groom him for leadership so that one day he will achieve what his father would not. He will lead the Neshi back to greatness.’ The old man in the wheelchair stood up and took the man’s face in his hands. ‘The traitor is dead so the secret of the changelings is safe for now, but we cannot afford to fail, Quod. Soon nature will obliterate us and it will have the Senate’s approval. You have no children of your own and the boy has amnesia. The doctors say he may have developed a permanent memory block to protect himself against his loss.’ ‘Then the boy is in psychological crisis?’
‘It will pass, but it is unlikely that he will regain his memory. You will raise him as your son and teach him our ways.’ ‘But…,’ protested Lord Quod. ‘Silence! Give him a new name and show him a future where we are great again Quod. This is the price you must pay for failing. You will devote the rest of your life to this boy – and our future.’ ‘As you wish,’ finished Lord Quod as he turned and walked out.