Saturday, May 15, 2010

What are you doing, old man? Pope asked himself. The volcano was looming straight ahead, its pillar of ash and smoke rising miles into the air. The Indonesian city, with a name he could not recall, was right in the path of the rushing pyroclastic flow. There were mere minutes before all hell swallowed the tens of thousands of residents. Have you thought this through? Or is this a fancy form of suicide? Penance for your mistake at the Rally? Are you really going to do this?

"AhhhHHHHH!!!" he screamed as he plunged in to the toxic plume. It was burning hot. The winds were whipping at hurricane speeds. Ash, and molten rock splashed against his nimbus. But he was not burned. He tuned his vison to a much lower wavelength, allowing him to peer through the debris into the gaping mouth of the volcano. The orange and red magma in the vent roiled and surged. This is insane! He thought as he dived deep into the magma. Moving hundreds of feet into the vent he was able to absorb the heat, but the pressure of the molten rock pressing against him began to cause significant discomfort.

Let's do this! He thought and started concentrating. He began siphoning the energy of the volcano into his body. It flooded his body, overwhelming him. He felt it forcing open the conduit with whatever source his powers came from. This allowed him to absorb even more. It was a feedback cycle that forced him to draw in further energy.

Around him the magma began to cool, hardening in to basalt. He moved up towards the crater, cooling the volcano as he rose. Less than a dozen yards from the surface the rate of energy absorption overtook his rise and he found himself embedded in stone. Oh shit! This ain't good.

He struggled with all his strength but was unable to budge the rapidly cooling rock around him. Looking up, he could see the surface of the crater tantalizing, just out of reach. He was still siphoning the heat from the volcano. He did not want to stop. He had plans for that energy. Tapping just a small fraction he unleashed a powerful beam of nuclear force from his eyes. Spearing upwards the beam reversed the strong force in the nuclei of the atoms of the matter in a path a meter wide. It carried the stripped particles up into the ash filled cloud. He flew out of the hole.

Looking at the slopes below he could see pyroclastic flows moving towards the city. Above was the massive ash cloud. Both were dangers. He could feel the captured energy of the volcano pulsing inside of him. He reached out with it, much farther than he could have on his own and reversed the pull of gravity on the ash, lava, and rock, until it all started floating upwards. He rode the gravity wave with the ejecta. It rose at just over two Gs. Enough to reach escape velocity, eventually.

Double check. Make sure you did not pick up anything, or more importantly anyone. unexpected. He remined himself. Look for passengers. He flew around, scanning for anyone or anything but ash, gas, rock, and lava. He was lucky. He found no one. Is that because they were not there or because the lava had already burned them to ash? Nothing I can do if that were the case so don't dwell on it.

He rode the massive cloud high into the mesosphere, high enough that it would all burn up when it finally fell back to Earth. To ensure it would not keep rising to become a danger to satellites or space stations, he used the last of his absorbed power to reverse the pull of his gravity field, drawing the debris back towards the planet below.

Man ... I need a nap, he thought. Facing the Earth, he continued to drift out further into space at several hundred miles per hour. He watched as the new meteor field started raining down, burning brightly as they hit the atmosphere. I haven't been this tired for ... since I got to this world I think.

Three hours later, Pope floated in space, somewhere between the Earth and the Moon. By holding his hand out at arm's length he could cover the whole world with a clenched fist. Below him, if that had any meaning in his current location, North America bathed in the Sun's light. Look where I am. Is this all a dream? I still don't know. I still don't know how I got to this little world, or why. His thoughts, as they so often did these days, drifted back to the Rally. Right now, I kind of hope it is all a dream. Otherwise my carelessness almost killed more people than 9/11.

He turned to face the Moon. It was larger than he had ever seen it. Like all kids growing up in the sixties, he had wanted to be an astronaut. This was closer than all but a very few had ever come. If this is a dream, maybe I should just let myself float away. I can't be the son, or brother, or friend that Oran's people deserve. If I just float away, I can stop pretending, stop lying to everyone. And maybe I'll never hurt people like that again.

He spun slowly, the giant Moon chasing the shrunken Earth across his field of vision. Think this through Old Man. Wallowing in self-pity is no good to anyone. Damned hormone driven teen angst!

Trying to throw off the funk, he pulled out of his spin and flew towards the Moon. He accelerated as fast as he could, pushing his speed, trying to find a limit. Two minutes later he was near the lunar surface. He felt he could still go faster. But I still don't think I'm ready to go playing too far from home. I might get lost and not be able to find my way back.

Delving into Oran's memories he came up with a distance between the Earth and Moon as around 240,000 miles. Pope figured he had gone half that distance in those two minutes. Might as well look around while I'm here.

He fell into a low orbit around the grey satellite. Passing near the Dark Side Watch Station Pope made himself invisible to the radar and other sensors with which the station was scanning the sky. The old soldier decided he was not yet ready to deal with the High Guard. As he left the dark side he was watching the Earth rise over the lunar mountains when a beam of concentrated x-rays slashed in front of him from below.

Old aerial combat reflexes kicking in, Pope rolled into an evasive maneuver, slowing down drastically. He saw a grey and silver diamond shape closing from below him at tremendous speed. What the hell!

He dodged as the object, easily the size of a tank or large helicopter, flashed past him. It was bristling with tentacles and had four large turrets, two above and two below. Pope dove for the lunar surface, hoping to lose it in the craggy mountains. It banked around and followed him. After a minute of playing tag he realized that the thing was as fast as him, at least as fast as he was able to go this close to the surface.

It fired a blast of plasma that just missed him. This was followed a moment later by a beam of microwaves. That hit him but was absorbed with no ill effects. Pope tried to maneuver around a tall rock spire, hoping to draw his pursuer into a crash. Instead the thing snagged the rock with a pair of tentacles and used them to slingshot around the spire, gaining enough speed to overtake the smaller man.

As the behemoth came abreast of Pope, it whipped out five appendages to wrap around him like an anaconda. The drone, for he could see there was no one on board, started squeezing. Arrgh! Fighting to break free, the old soldier found the arms were too strong.

He tried using his gravitational or magnetic manipulation powers, but the thing was too strong with too many arms. The constriction was increasingly painful. His ribs started to creak. It's stronger than you. Stop trying to out-wrestle it, he yelled at himself.

He pulsed his nimbus in all directions like he had the first time he used his powers. But it was not enough to force the tendrils loose. They just kept squeezing. Motes began to swim in front of Pope's eyes, a familiar precursor to unconsciousness.

Not twice in one day! He thought, remembering how he had gotten out of his basalt tomb that morning. The same disintegrating beam shot out of his eyes, stabbing into the massed tentacles. Amazingly they resisted much of the power, but one of the arms started to fray. Pope maintained the beam, targeting the damaged appendage. While he fought to retain consciousness.

Back and forth they struggled. Then he noticed that every time he damaged the tendrils the main body released a cloud of something that seemed to repair it. Crap!

On the other hand, Pope realized the thing could hold him and cause him pain, but it was not really damaging him. They were stalemated. That is when the nearest turret opened fire, pumping an x-ray laser into his face. Oh yeah! Pope drank in the energy, refreshing himself from his efforts. This enabled him to renew his disintegrator beams with fresh eyes.

The device used all four of its weapons on Pope. But as they were all based on the EM spectrum, he just swallowed them, refreshing him, topping up his reserves. Eventually the tank ran out of repair clouds and Pope was able to cut his way free. Then using a combination of disintegrating beams and pulse blasts he finally took the thing apart. It took almost fifteen minutes.

Helmet on his knee, one hand running through his hair, Oran was sitting on the edge of a crater, the pieces of the tank spread out around him. Two active radio sources were closing in on him from different directions. Adjusting his vision, he examined the details of the approaching craft. That's High Guard markings, he decided. I guess we made a ruckus and they're coming to investigate.

**High Guard to Pulsar. Please respond if you are receiving this transmission.** The radio transmission was from a small troop carrier coming from the direction of Dark Side Watch Station. It was surrounded by a force filed that prevented his examining the interior.

Donning his helmet to maintain the fiction that it contained his radio, Oran replied. **Pulsar here. I can hear you. Sorry to drag you out here. I believe the idiom is "It's not my fault?"**

A second transmission, this one coming from the small solo flyer that was approaching from the light side, cut into the conversation. **Are you in need of assistance? Are there likely to be more attackers?**

**Good question. No idea where this thing came from, so I have no idea if there are more out there. I'm fine. Tired, but uninjured.** Pope was used to answering questions after combat. He fell back into his old habits. **Requesting a clean up to gather evidence. Maybe someone can determine what this thing is and who sent it.**

**Chief Zhao, please begin artifact documentation and collection. I am about ten minutes behind you. I will take Pulsar's statement when I arrive.**

**Affirmative, Ma'am.**

Several minutes later the troop ship landed. It was obviously using some sort of anti-gravity propulsion as it showed no signs of reaction thrusters. It barely disturbed the regolith as it settled. A half dozen guardsmen poured out of the ship and set up a perimeter. They were dressed in lightly armored vac suits with enclosed helmets and they carried long energy weapons like assault rifles. Then another dozen came out. Their suits were less armored and they only had sidearm. Oran's memories named these the technicians. Last off was an older East Asian man in an armored suit with a transparent faceplate. He moved to Pope with a careful bouncing gate that allowed him to maintain balance in the Moon's micro gravity.

"Who are you?" the man asked. While the voice carried over the radio, there was no lag or crackle to make it obvious.

"They call me Pulsar. I live on Earth." Again Pope decided to play up the oddness of his speech. He had a vague idea that involved the High Guard, but he was not ready to explore it yet.

"You are not listed as registered with any of Earth's governments, nor are you a registered alien with UNOSA."

"I am not yet certain I trust any of Earth's governments with my affairs." This seemed to take the fellow aback. Pope thought he would have become belligerent, save for the arrival of the single-person flier. It was shaped a bit like a jet ski, but surrounded by a clear bubble.

"I thought I said I would take his statement, Chief." The pilot cut in. She was a striking young woman dressed in the 1960's vision of a space suit. Like so many book cover heroines from his teen years, she wore a mini-skirt, thigh boots, and crop top, all in white with gold piping all enveloped in a tight transparent sheath. She had on a clear bubble helmet that displayed her honey blond hair and jade green eyes. At her waist was a slender sidearm and what looked like a tricorder. A complex, almost organic looking golden lattice bracelet sheathed her left arm.

She turned to him and held out her hand. "Hello. I'm Dr. Naomi Royale. I believe you are Pulsar?"

"Indeed. An honor to meet you." Sparked by the name, Oran's memories brought up a quick history of the woman, but Pope ignored it as much as he could. He was tired of having a teenage narrator in the back of his head. He did get that she was famous and one of the founders of the High Guard. Taking her hand he gently and deliberately shook it. He did not want to accidently fling her around in the low gravity. Pointing to the wreckage of the drone tank, he asked. "Do you recognize it?"

Standing on an antigravity disk the size of a skateboard, she floated closer to the main hull. The tricorder looking device seemed to serve a similar function as she used it to scan the broken machine. Many of her crew were carrying out similar tasks, examining the debris before transporting it to the troopship. Pope realized they would not be able to transport it all, as the tank was larger than the carrier.

Floating next to Dr. Royale, he looked at the energy emitted by her device. He could make out the spectra it was operating on, but the signal density was beyond his ability to decipher. "What is the verdict?"

"I am unfamiliar with the design." She checked her device. "Our database offers a 78% match with technology from a race we have not yet encountered called the ... Erneis. 28% chance it is from a multi-racial polity called the Vordon Dominion. We have not encountered them either, but they have a bit of a reputation for acquiring and adapting technology from other groups. And a 7% chance it is from the Rosty. I think the latter unlikely, but not impossible. They have no reason to be in Earth Space, especially after the Rho Cancri Incident."

She turned to Pope. "Do those names mean anything to you? We have no idea where you are from or if you are human."

"I've not heard of any of them. If you will tell me what is needed I may be able to help." He pointed to where her crew were moving pieces of the tank.

"I think it would better to leave this to them while you and I go to the Station. I need to take your statement and it is better to do so there."

"I was flying along and this thing attacked me. It captured me, tried to kill me, and I was forced to destroy it. That is the story," Pope replied.

"Nonetheless I would be grateful if you would accompany me to the Station. There are procedures to be followed."

Pope noticed three of the guardsmen were now paying armed attention to his response. "As you will."

"Thank you." She smiled and bounced an almost curtsey. "I can offer you a ride, or you can follow on your own, but I would request that you match my flightpath for security's sake."

Pope was tempted to snuggle up behind her on the moon bike, but thought riding pillion might cause embarrassing reactions from his adolescent body. "I can fly on my own. Please lead the way."

Dr. Royale floated to her bike and mounted. Pope followed her into the lunar sky. "How fast can you go?" she asked.

"I cannot answer that," he replied honestly. "Please accelerate to your desired velocity. I will attempt to match your speed." It proved no problem for Pope to keep up with her.

"What brings you to the Moon?" She asked several minutes later. Her tone was conversational. Just killing time while they traveled. "I don't think I've seen you around here before."

"This is my first time to the Moon. I did not expect to be attacked. Is that common here?"

"No, I can't say it is. We get the occasional hostile visitor. That's why the High Guard is here. But random attacks seems a little unusual."

"So it is just me." He smiled. Dr. Royale was very personable, and Pope had to remind himself she was still much too young for him.

"Do you have enemies that might want to attack you?"

"I suppose I must," he replied. "This is the second alien drone that has tried to kill me."

"Really? I don't recall any reports of alien incursions recently."

"About a month ago a much smaller drone attacked me in New York. N-Forcer of YoungBlood analyzed the remains and determined it to be of extraterrestrial origin."

"It would have been better for that to have been reported ..."

A wash of energy struck the sky-cycle. Pope tried to absorb it. The energy washed through him like fire through a dry forest. He screamed as the pain pounded through his body. Then he blacked out.

~ ~ ~

Pope jerked awake. Something held his body, keeping him from moving anything but his head. The small, metal room was well lit. He was almost entirely encased in a metal box, almost like one of the old-fashioned steam cabinets. Only his head stuck out. All around there was the sound of unfamiliar machinery and electronics. Unaccustomed smells flooded his nose. He sneezed.

"Good. You're awake." He recognized the voice. Dr. Royale was in a similar casing against a different wall. "I was worried I was going to have to get out of here on my own."

"Where are we?" he muttered. He had to clear his throat and try again louder. "Where are we?"

"I'm not completely certain, but I would guess we are on a spaceship. It feels like we are in hyperspace."

"What!"

"There is an odd feeling of being just out of phase. Of things not quite connecting. Hard to detect, but if you're familiar with it, you can tell. It's worse for this ship. Either the hyper-drives are out of tune or the pilot is pushing their limits." Pope was shocked at how calmly she seemed to be taking their situation.

He tried to force his way out of the box. Nothing moved. Nor could he access his energy powers. When he tried he felt a sucking sensation as if his energy was being absorbed by the box.

"I can't get out of this," he finally admitted.

"No, I'd imagine you can't," Dr. Royale replied."I can't either. I'd say we're prisoners."