Chapter 17 - Part 1

The doors exploded outwards, tearing them violently from their brackets. Krank and James instinctively lifted their weapons and aimed them at the smoke filled gap.

Carter smiled as he saw a small grenade device roll through the thick fog. 

"Flasher!" Krank screamed. A second later the vast observatory was consumed by white light.

Gunfire ricocheted through the hollow chamber and Carter, hand still over his eyes, dove to the floor. 

"Atkins?" he yelled.

"Sir!" a thin voice barked from the corridor.

Magnificent, Carter thought, daring to uncover his eyes and survey the scene, Atkins was here to re-address the balance of power. Carter appreciated the ruthless, dogged efficiency of a man like Atkins. Unlike Anthony, if he was given a task, he would follow it through without remorse, or die trying. 

"Get the girl," Carter shouted, trying to get a visual on Atkins or one of his men. He saw Krank lying on the floor to the left of the entrance, but it was not obvious from this angle if he was shot. James had seemingly vanished, perhaps hiding behind the equipment. He saw the shadows of three men dressed in combat fatigues sneak across the open area heading to the telescope. But Ebbe and Anthony were nowhere to be seen, despite having been at the viewing station only seconds earlier.

Scrabbling forward on all fours, Carter took a peek over a computer terminal, and saw Atkins stride through the thinning smoke. He had an arm dressing, several cuts and bruises deforming his face into a permanent scowl, and he appeared to be using a rifle as a make-shift crutch. His eyes scoured the room intensely, immediately spotting the prostrate Krank. A flick of his free hand sent a fourth man in Krank's direction. The soldier pulled out a handgun and looked to Atkins for orders. Atkins gave a nearly imperceptible nod, in response to which the man unloaded six shots point-blank at Krank. 

If the man weren't already dead, he sure is now, Carter thought. Time to reveal my whereabouts he decided, having yet to identify where any of Anthony's team were hiding. Best to get behind the armed men, and let them seek out and destroy. 

Cold steel pressed against the nape of his neck gave him pause. Slowly Carter turned to find himself face to face with Jake's steely visage. Jake kept his semi-automatic pressed firmly against skin as he gestured with a shake that he didn't want Carter going anywhere. Without removing his gun, Jake looked up for a second, before returning his attention back to Carter. 

Moments later Art emerged from the shadows, keeping ducked and low, his eyes seeming to flicker to scour the whole room as he moved. 

They won't kill me, Carter tried to tell himself, Ebbe said she needs him. That means they have no choice. But the indentation of the gun barrel was all too real, and the quivering sensation in his bladder and bowels was impossible to ignore. They may not kill, but God only knows what else they could do. The temptation was to shout to Atkins, to get these two bastards outnumbered. But this guy, whatever his name was, he had the same look Atkins had in his eyes. It was cold, undoubtedly a sociopath. Great soldier, but difficult to reason with. The other guy he had called over, he looked like a man of reason. But he was on lookout, presumably for Anthony, Ebbe and the other kid. 

"There's no way out," Carter hissed, trying to making it sound like a threat.

He received a gun butt to his forehead for his troubles. From the man of reason no less. Guess your character judgement is a little off today Carter old boy, he told himself.

"Do you think?" Art asked Jake, who responded with a toothy shark grin. "Yeah me too," Art concluded the unspoken conversation without further elaboration.

They think Ebbe can do something, Carter suddenly realised. Of course she could! What an idiot. They had been transported here in a second, therefore they can transport out without detection. But they were still here, why? That doesn't matter now, take advantage. They won't kill you. They need you.

"Atkins!" Carter yelled urgently, "quickly!" 

Jake didn't flinch, and Carter heard the deafening crack of his gun blasting at point-blank range. Numerous bullets tore through his flesh, and he felt a hot, burning sensation at the point of entry. 

A dark cloud fogged up his vision, the room fading into murky nothingness. 

I'm dying, he concluded, feeling curiously light, almost as if he were lifting up and beginning to float from the ground. A pin-prick of light emerged in the pitch black of his mind, and soon began to widen, flooding his eyes, if that was how he was seeing this, becoming like a tubular tunnel of light. 

Ebbe? What was she doing standing in the tunnel? 

Anthony too walked into his field of vision.

"Wakey  wakey sleepy head," chided a hollow voice which sounded like it came from within his skull. 

"I'm not dead?" Carter mumbled with a dry mouth. 

Laughter echoed from within his head. 

"I told you." That was Ebbe's voice, clear and confident. 

"What did you tell me?" Carter muttered, finding he had arms with which he could rub his eyes. Blinking, he re-focused on the pure white room, with no definable join between the ceiling, wall and floor, it was almost as if they were floating. Except he was definitely lying on a firm surface.

"You aren't really here. None of us are. This is, er... like a memory bank for our original selves."

Carter sat upright, rubbing his temples, before patting his chest where the burning sensation from his gunshot wounds had been. 

"But, he shot me," he gasped incredulously.

Anthony cackled with unreserved amusement. 

"Let me guess, Jake?" he asked. 

But Carter didn't care to answer. Frantically he scrambled back to his feet, only for a large forearm wrap around his neck.

"Going somewhere chap?" a familiar voice boomed, the sound dropping silent unnaturally. Carter squirmed and the arm loosened its grip, allowing him to whirl around to see Krank towering over him with a large grin plastered across his face.

"You... you were shot," Carter fumbled over his words, taking several steps back, only to find himself tumbling into Anthony's arms.

"Yeah," Krank agreed, "hurt like a son of a bitch oddly," he added, "how could that be?"

"With quantum linking it's perfectly possible," Ebbe responded matter-of-factly.

"Sure, sure, I thought so too," Krank muttered sarcastically.

"If you could transport everyone away, why didn't you?" Carter asked, pulling himself away from Anthony, trying to smooth out the creases in his suit.

"Best to keep up the illusion as long as we can," Ebbe replied.

"Keep Atkins busy fighting ghosts," Anthony added with a chuckle, before the humour dropped away from his face, "Krank!"

Carter found himself in a bear grip before he had a chance to react. He made a futile effort to wriggle free, before concluding the first time he had not escaped Krank's grip, he had been released. 

Anthony strode up to him slowly, coming closer and closer, until Carter felt his warm breath on the skin of his nose, though oddly he could discern no obvious odour.

"Minister," Anthony hissed, "you know what we need," he started, "you understand we don't have a lot of time to fuck around," he paused and leaned in so they were almost touching, "can you deliver?"

Carter tried to pull back, recoil from the hot breath heating his face, but Krank was immovable, and Anthony lingered uncomfortably long, his eyes fixed on Carter's. 

What choice did he have? The technology he had so long wanted to investigate was now firmly in the grips of Ebbe, and he had, for the moment, lost control of her. His usual tricks wouldn't work right now. The only choice was to play along, play the long game. He was good at that. Sure, they could organise their little space trip. He could even make it seem like they were in charge. But ultimately, no one fucks Carter Huntington over and doesn't live to regret it.

"Fine," Carter sighed with convincing resignation. "Whatever you need, I'll help if I can."

Anthony slapped his cheek a couple of times.

"That's a good lad," he grinned with a cheeky wink.

Enjoy your small victory now, Carter thought, you'll soon wish you'd died back in that basement. 

Chapter 15 - Part 1

A cool breeze whispered though the tall grass, making it sway back and forth gently. Crickets chirped to each other, and the scent of wheat drifted from surrounding fields.

Ebbe and Anthony were sitting in the meadow, their backs to the crashed helicopter, both munching silently on energy bars he had scavenged from the wreckage. To the right of them, Art, Jake, Krank and James had congregated, and were also chewing contentedly on the bars, chatting and joking as they did.

Ebbe gazed up at the sky, purposely trying to clear her mind from the buzz of recent events. The day she had driven home in her Land Rover, to be confronted by a group of armed men, tasked with her, and her loved one's, slaughter, seemed an age ago. It seemed a million more mysteries than she had contemplated had sprung up over night, like a dam being deluged with more water than it was designed to retain, slowly cracking and beginning to leak. That meant the water was certain to burst through shortly, but what that actually meant was still beyond her mental reach.

It doesn't matter, she concluded. Watch the sky Ebbe, watch the sky. That's where the mystery began, and that is where it shall end. 

Clouds had lackadaisically filled up the light blue expanse, leaving only small gaps where pillars of light streamed out, highlighting random patches of countryside like a spotlight. 

"Rays from heaven," Anthony said for no reason, as if sensing what she had been looking at.

Ebbe nodded in agreement, she may not believe in heaven, but the sentiment seemed fitting. Anthony had not yet asked how Moon Face was walking and talking, nor had he asked how they had appeared from thin air. She appreciated that right now. Especially because the desire to know was written all over his face. His green eyes were practically quivering with intrigue every time he looked into her own. He also kept glancing over his shoulder at Moon Face, who was currently laughing raucously with Krank.

"Moon Face," she whispered under breath, thinking maybe she ought to refer to him by his actual name. Though perhaps saving a man's life was enough to allow you to call him whatever you liked. 

"Do we still need to go to this observatory?" Anthony questioned after a long silence. 

Ebbe turned and studied his tired face, wondering how gaunt she must look herself. He had asked a good question. The whole point of going to Keilder was to show what she had learned, but now things were so advanced, it seemed a moot point. But yet, she could not truly explain the phenomena that had filled up their lives with so much recent drama. She could explain what was wrong with the view from that telescope. And ultimately, if a mission to fix the problem was to be arranged, the money men needed to understand how far reaching the issue was. Men of power tended to have isolationist viewpoints that didn't allow for the sort of thinking she would require for her ultimate goal to be realised. Facts that even a layman could understand were needed. She had a team of laymen, ready to have their minds expanded. There was one more man she also needed to convince, and she may now have a way to get him where she needed, without having to send in her new recruits to extract him from his always well-guarded locale.

"We do Anthony," she confirmed, turning her eyes back to the rays of sunlight streaming through the clouds. "Fearless Leader," she added, more to herself, with a little chuckle. She couldn't really remember when she started assigning nicknames to people, rather than use their own. It was just more efficient in her mind. Names were arbitrary, random designations. Her nicknames had reasoning and logic behind them. What did Anthony mean? Beyond being a random collection of vowels and consonants. Fearless Leader was so much more dramatic and descriptive. Gives a man something to aspire to. 

Ebbe turned and surveyed the rest of her team. Grim Reaper, Moon Face, Chum, and young Ganymede. Those names all meant something to her. Jake, Art, Krank and James; they meant nothing, just a sound.

"What's my name?" Ebbe pondered out loud, lying back, crushing the stalks of grass behind her.

Anthony turned and almost looked as if he may lean over her and land a kiss on her lips, their eyes locked in a brief tryst, before he too leaned back and stretched out with a content sigh. 

"Ebbe!" he declared, baffled about having to state the obvious.

"No, I mean, what name would you give me?"

Anthony's thick brows sunk low with confusion.

"I don't get you," he admitted, sliding his left leg up and crossing the right over it.

"You're Fearless Leader, Art is Moon Face, Jake is..."

"Grim Reaper," Anthony chucked, "I remember." He sat back up and studied Ebbe with such intensity she was certain she was starting to blush. 

"I don't know," Anthony said with a sigh, "Brains?" he shrugged in defeat.

"Oh please!" Ebbe grumbled, "be original!" 

Anthony waved his hand, his way of showing he couldn't do any better. Ebbe smiled and also sat back up. She caught him eyeing Moon Face again.

"It was the machine below the house," she decided to offer, "it cured him."

Anthony shook his head vigorously. 

"No," he retorted bluntly.

"No?" Ebbe replied in confusion.

"No! It was you," he explained, fixing his stern green eyes upon hers, "I know it was you. Whatever you may have used, however you may have done it, It was you." The pair allowed the words to linger in the late morning air momentarily. Ebbe found herself unable to respond, taken aback by the sheer earnestness of his declaration. 

"If you say we need to see this observatory I trust you also have a way of getting us there quickly?" he finally continued, as if he had been giving her time to digest his initial statement. Ebbe swallowed, and offered a gentle bob of her head to confirm his assumption.

"In which case, Miss Nystrom, my team is your team," he broke his attention from her, and stood, turning immediately to offer his hand to her. She waved his hand aside and picked herself up. The pair stared out at the countryside.

"It looks so ordinary," Anthony commented. Ebbe agreed with a single nod. "You're wrong you know," he added, causing Ebbe to turn to look up at him, his frame suddenly seeming more impressive and comfortingly muscular. "I'm not Fearless Leader," he paused, his ocean green eyes unblinkingly focused on her, "you are." 

Chapter 13 - Part 2

Anthony raised his hands and stepped out from the hatch.

"All right, all right," he spat at an unseen captor, turning his head to look back down into the hole. "I'm going as fast as I can," he grumbled, stumbling over the lip of the opening.

In the few seconds this ruse had afforded him, Anthony had clocked three men in the corridor. Two had been watching as he stepped out, their guns trained on his head the second it was visible. The third seemed to be sitting with his back to the hatch. He suspected his charade had about ten seconds max before they rumbled him. That left the concern of the third person. Dealing with two armed men was possible, but a third man could just shoot him by the time the second man was disarmed. Anthony, in the few seconds he had left, had a snap decision to make; continue with the current plan, or retreat. 

"Okay I'm clear. Let them go," he shouted back into the basement, infusing his voice with a quivering fear. 

The guard to the left of the hatch took the bait and peered down, curious to see what might be happening. 

In a second Anthony had sent an elbow into the nose of the man who had never taken his eyes off him since he'd emerged. Not pausing, he launched his body at the other guard, and winded him with a knee to the stomach. A swift palm to his throat left him incapacitated. Anthony then grabbed at the knife strapped to the guard's combat jacket, and slit the leather gun strap, enabling him to slip the semi-automatic weapon away and turn it to face the third man. Much to Anthony's surprise, he did not appear to have reacted to the commotion behind him. Tentatively Anthony tip-toed up to the man, still wary of who else may be nearby. A gentle prod with the muzzle of the gun on the nape of his neck gained no reaction. Lucky for you, pal, Anthony thought, any wrong move and the trigger would have been pulled. He crept cautiously to the left, keeping his focus directly on the sitting figure, the gun primed to shoot with any untoward movement.

The grotesque face that greeted him confirmed that the third man was no threat. His nose was crushed inward, his right eye socket empty. The upper lip had been ripped away, exposing his upper jaw. Poor sod looked like he'd been dropped from a great height and landed somewhere unfriendly. Probably one of the external guards, that, as Anthony had guessed, had been lifted upwards during the event. 

That's the best bloody news for days, Anthony snorted to himself, if this bugger had gone on a flying trip, so had anyone else outside. Now there was a little time to get sorted, he concluded. Ebbe and the others weren't coming back out from the basement entrance, so that would suffice as a cell for anyone left alive. A quick pat down revealed no evidence of ID or an employer. It was a faint chance, but Anthony never made assumptions. 

After relieving them of their weapons and radios, Anthony unceremoniously dumped the two guards into the hatch, not really caring what damage the fall could do. Work for scum like Atkins and think yourself lucky you're not dead, he figured. 

Now fully armed, Anthony started to feel normal again. I wonder how extensive and powerful the gravity event was, he pondered as he began a security sweep of the farmhouse. Before heading outside, he needed to be sure no bugger would come bursting from the house all guns blazing. With simple efficiency he secured the building within two minutes. Not another soul. Anthony paused in the front room and stared at the monitors, trying to assess the surroundings. One of his questions was answered, the Land Rover was lying on it's side, with what looked like the door twisted underneath. The extent of the damage was difficult to assess via the CCTV, but it confirmed that the event had extended far enough to lift the weighty vehicle from the earth. Anthony wanted Ebbe here now, to coldly explain the cosmological cause of such phenomena. She seemed to understand more about all this shit than anyone. The brass knew something. Whoever had sent Atkins knew something. But if they had understood it the way she did, would they have used her simply as a pawn to get entry into the basement? Probably, Anthony snorted with derision. The guys in chance had a way of misusing their greatest assets, and putting their eggs in the wrong baskets. You didn't get into power by being the smartest, but by being the most ruthless. Smart people had to hide in farmhouses, under threat of imminent assassination. 

Too much thinking buddy, he chastised, wary of time slipping by. Ebbe was somewhere below his feet, and the best he could do for her now was to get back to base and find out who or what was operating the cogs in this particular machine. The sons of bitches clearly came in some sort of transport. Hopefully they didn't all end up on their sides like the old Landy. 

With one semi strapped across his chest, a second grasped in his hands, a pistol strapped to his thigh, and a knife slotted into his sheath, Anthony furrowed his brow with determination and made his way to the front door. 

The CCTV had not revealed any obvious sign of life in the immediate surroundings. That made him nervous. It would be much better to have seen a body or two lying face down, having suffered a similar fate to the guard, still solemnly guarding the basement hatchway. If not that, guards patrolling, or hiding in the shadows. But both were notable by their absence. Anthony feared this meant there were no such guards, but instead snipers who were well out of sight, possibly far away enough to have escaped the weightlessness. Too many damned unknowns were piled up on this balls-up of a mission. Anthony hated being in the dark. It was dangerously close to losing. Anthony didn't like losing.

There was no way around it. He would just exit the building as if he was the boss. His prisoner ruse would fail in the scope of a sniper, primed and ready to splash his brains on the driveway. The ruse now was to be disconcertingly confident. 

The fractured wooden door creaked open and Anthony strode out, back straight, guns at his side casually. His assessment of the exterior via CCTV had already informed his route. He did not show surprise as seeing the toppled Land Rover. He barely gave it a glance. Moreover he looked into a thicketed area to the far right and gave the area a smile and a nod. If there were a sniper, that's where he'd be. There were several trees tall enough to provide a good view of the whole house and driveway. Plus, with the thick foliage, enough cover to hide. Not too close, but close enough that if sniping became impossible, such as a close quarters fight, he could bail on his rifle and get to the fight on foot within minutes. 

That right buddy, Anthony smiled to the potential sniper, I'm the fucking boss and nobody shoots the boss. Something else stirred Anthony's courage further. It was an odd, immeasurable sensation that Ebbe, somehow, was watching. Logic and common sense told him that was ridiculous, yet he couldn't shake the feeling. 

"Ebbe," he said out loud, wanting to externalise his thoughts, "if you're watching, check the bushes at 2 o'clock and sort any son of a bitch who may be about to crack my skull open would ya?" Curling his lips into a foolish smile, he told himself off for letting all the spooky business turn him into a crack pot. A week ago I'd have kicked my own arse for thinking such hippy crap, he cursed. 

No bullet yet. Brain was still intact. Skull was not shattered. Moreover the cool morning air, thick with moisture, was invigorating. What did his mum used to call it? The breath of God? That was it; she used to say God was blowing away the night, and just like when you blow with your lips pursed, the breath was cool. She said, once the darkness had been blown away, God let out a sigh, and warm breath would replace the cool. 

God had done a good job of clearing the night this morning. Anthony could see no apparent clouds in the heavens, only pastel blue from horizon to horizon. He paused in his tracks, staring up, the concerns over the guards, or the sniper temporarily forgotten. His eyes scanned back and forth intently, his face wrought with bemusement. If it was morning, if there were no clouds, where was the sun, peeking over the horizon to the east? Where was orange, red, dark blue, and shades within? There was simply blue. One shade. From east to west, from north to south. The sky was merely a blank canvass this morning, upon which the artist had yet to start.

Ebbe, Ebbe, where are you woman? Nothing makes sense any more. Was it even morning? He had assumed as much only due to the blue sky and the light mist lifting from the surrounding fields, having deposited jewels of dew upon the blades of grass. But the scene was frozen. It was as if he were walking through a paused nature documentary. 

Shaking his head in frustration, effectively trying to fling the bafflement aside, Anthony forced his focus back to the potential, unseen threat he could still be walking towards. The consolation currently, was that every footstep took him closer towards the bushes, theoretically meaning he was one step further from being shot. If he was going to shoot, why not earlier? If he was waiting, it would soon be too late, Anthony would be too close for a rifle shot.

The lack of either surviving members of Atkins' team, or their bodies, was still playing on his mind. Had they simply flown off and never returned? Just what had happened whilst they were duking it out below? Unknowns, and unknown unknowns. All bloody useless. Anthony could extrapolate information from most combat situations. This one was unreadable. As blank and illogical as that stubbornly blue sky above him.

Rather than get concerned about that again he focused on the tree he suspected the sniper would be ensconced. It was a chunky oak with plenty of thick branches to provide support for a man and his weapon. If there were a sun he would be looking out for a glint of glass from the scope. But there was nothing, and wishing for tools you did not possess was not wise.

More steps. Still no bullet. Within a few steps he would be too close for a sniper rifle. 

Three. Two. One. Anthony broke out into the best approximation of a sprint his tired legs would allow. If, for some reason, the sniper had been waiting for him to get closer, Anthony wanted to be upon the tree as swiftly as possible. He had already concluded that the only thing he could expect in this mission, was the unexpected. So although he expected there to be a sniper, what that ultimately led to was hard to quantify. 

Within a minute he reached the gnarled trunk of the oak, half smothered in a creeping vine, slowly extracting the life from the leviathan. 

"Throw down your weapon," Anthony hollered, having already spotted a foot peeking from the undergrowth. No response, no movement, no noise. "I said thrown down your weapon,or I'll shoot," he yelled again. Nothing. "God damn it," he cursed. Why didn't anything work as it should any more? What kind of moron stares at his enemy through a rifle for ten minutes without shooting, then refuses to act when threatened? 

"Fella! This is your final warning." Again, nothing. Anthony raised a gun and primed it to shoot directly into the foliage at the approximate position the sniper's head ought to be, Anthony was not one for idle threats. If he says he will shoot, he'll shoot. 

But the gun was lowered. It wasn't right. It was bloody foolish and Anthony had to check it out. 

"I'm gonna regret this," he told himself, before releasing his weapon and grasping at a low lying branch. With a few grunts, he pulled himself up the tree and peered through the dark green leaves, trying to discern the figure of the man he had partially spotted below. There! A limb resting upon a thick, twisted branch extending towards the drive. Andrew twisted his body and dropped a toe onto the joint, where the branch merged with the trunk. A quick kick to the foot garnered no reaction. 

Jesus, maybe he's only here because he fell here after the gravity returned. Maybe all the bodies he was expecting to see had been dropped into the trees and bushes! Shaking away wild theories that had no evidence to back them up, Andrew carefully stepped further out onto the limb. Wary of toppling over, he balanced on his worse-for-wear legs, and leaned over the torso of a sturdily built man. He could see the man had his fingers grasping a long-range sniping rifle, his face propped against the scope, as if he were about to release a killer shot. Curiosity building up to bursting point, Anthony leaned further forward, straining to see the man's face. 

The face was pale, eyes open, still staring vacantly into the distance. But there seemed to be light in the pale green orbs. These were not the eyes of a dead man. Anthony held a shaky hand close to the sniper's nose, swiftly withdrawing it when he felt a hint of hot breath upon his cold digits. Anthony withdrew and stood to the back of the branch, steadying himself against the rough bark of the trunk. What the hell was going on? He stared at the motionless man, unable to comprehend. His eye was attracted to a dark patch of matted hair in the rear of the skull. With shaking hands he leaned back over and gently rubbed the skull with his thumb. There was a bullet hole! Anthony stood back up with a start, almost toppling from the tree in the process. He turned to looked behind, concerned about another sniper, a rival team perhaps. But all he could see was thick branches and foliage. Nobody could see into the damn tree. And the sniper would have known if someone was in the tree long enough to move away from his gun. Besides the bullet hadn't even passed out of his skull, that was evident from his brief look. Even a stray bullet from another sniper would have torn part of his face out. 

Somehow this highly trained sniper had been victim to an attempted assassination twenty feet in the air, by an invisible assailant, who hadn't bothered to stay and finish the task at hand.