Song of Ariel: A Blue Light Thriller (Book 2) (Blue Light Series) Read online

  “No, no, no,” said Cobain, the excitement rising in his voice. “I wasn’t thinking that at all. Actually I’ve always believed it to be true. There have been too many stories, too many contradictions. The government tried way too hard to discredit those who were involved. There had to be something to it.” He was sitting forward in his seat now and his hands were trembling slightly. “I’m sorry I interrupted you. Please continue.”

  “As I was saying,” Shutzenberger went on, “even though the government did not trust us, did not even like us, they had no choice but to utilize us. They were faced with a technology the likes of man had never before seen, and, at the time, we three were their only hope of understanding it. We were called to the site within hours following the crash. We were expected to make an immediate determination about its technology.”

  “What did you find?” Cobain said, unable to contain his excitement. “What did you see?”

  “Even now it is hard to describe. A technology far surpassing anything we were capable of understanding. Perhaps millions of years ahead of our own. We still do not understand it. The government has been trying for more than six decades to reverse engineer this alien technology without success. But there is no time to go into that. The important thing is, there was a survivor.”

  Cobain sucked in his breath. “My God,” he said. “I knew it.”

  “It was the government that leaked the story in the first place,” Shutzenberger said, “and then they denied it. It was all a calculated attempt to squelch the truth. A favorite trick of governments and it works remarkably well.”

  “Yes, that’s what I’ve always assumed,” Cobain said, unable to contain his excitement.

  “We were allowed inside the craft,” Shutzenberger said. “Soldiers had preceded us, of course, and had removed the bodies of several dead aliens. Only when the government was certain that it was safe did they allow us scientists inside to make our determinations. They did not like what we told them. We said it would take perhaps years to even begin to understand this alien technology. They were very angry with us and quickly ushered us back to our laboratory. They brought the remains of the craft to us and ordered us to study it carefully. We tried everything, but it was no use; we were not scientifically advanced enough to grasp its complexities. So they took the craft away to a secret location and that was the end of it.”

  “The end of it?” Cobain said, his heart sinking.

  “Yes, until three days later when the surviving alien sought us out.”

  “Dear God,” Cobain said.

  “Indeed,” Shutzenberger replied. “It seems the alien had escaped the craft before the military arrived. It found a suitable hiding place and watched all the activity from afar. Sensing that we three were scientists not soldiers it somehow made it onto the base and found us. It was injured but still managed to get past security and pass something along to us. Something we have always referred to as The Gift.”

  Cobain sat forward in anticipation. “What was the gift, Dr. Shutzenberger?”

  “I will get to that in a moment. First I want to tell you a story. The entity explained that their species had been watching humankind and that it was extremely concerned about humanity’s violent nature, and the implications mankind’s actions might have on an eventual universal scale. The entity explained that evolution had not been kind to man. It had instilled in man the propensity to destroy, and destructive tendencies could not be tolerated in developing intelligent species. These tendencies had to be squelched before they became too powerful and humans took these values off the earth and out to other civilizations. The alien implored us as reasonable beings to do the right thing.

  “It subsequently passed along information about a miraculous . . .” Shutzenberger hesitated as though at a loss. “I’m not sure there is even a word for it . . . you see, because the alien gave us the information as mathematical formula. So for the sake of this conversation I will refer to it as a . . . life-force, although it is much more than that. It is an empathy, a link to all that is good in the universe. I believe it began long ago as technology but evolved over eons into something . . . perhaps not organic, but infinitely alive and aware, and ever so wonderful. It has the power to do miraculous things. For instance it can render weapons of mass destruction totally useless. It can act as a deterrent against self-annihilation. But it can do so much more; perhaps even take humans to the stars. It is quite likely the very key to mankind’s salvation. But it can also do nothing, and quite likely will do nothing if man does not come to his senses.”

  “How do we come to our senses?”

  “Perhaps we cannot. Perhaps it is already too late.”

  There was an uncomfortable silence between the two men.

  Cobain sat forward in anticipation. “Please,” he said. “Is this . . . life-force you speak of tangible? Can we see it? Can we feel it? Is it here amongst us?”

  “It has been here since long before man emerged on this world. It is part of a universal system that keeps track of developing civilizations. It is my belief that all habitable worlds contain them.”

  “This isn’t a joke, is it?” Cobain said.

  “No, Mr. Cobain, no joke at all.”

  A long silence ensued. The only sound was the laboring air conditioning unit beyond the veranda.

  “What happened to the alien?” Cobain asked finally.

  “The government wanted more information than the alien was willing or able to give and ultimately they destroyed it.”

  “You mean they killed it?” Cobain said. “Jesus.”

  “This surprises you?” the old man said. “Mankind has always destroyed what it cannot understand. It is a knee-jerk defensive mechanism bred through millions of years of evolution.”

  Cobain nodded. “Where did these aliens come from, Dr. Shutzenberger?”

  The old man made a gesture that might have been a shrug. “I am not certain,” he said, “another star system, an alternate reality, a different dimension, perhaps another universe entirely. It does not matter. They have been watching us for a very long time. It seems there is already in place a universal council of sorts which keeps watch over developing intelligences. In our arrogance we believe that we are the only ones who exist, the only ones that matter. Intelligent civilizations flourished and died long before man ever emerged on this planet. Most do not survive. We are not as smart or as special as we think we are. However, we are smart enough to destroy ourselves.

  “What did this entity look like?”

  “Like nothing we had ever before seen. The form was humanoid, but it was not human. It could become diaphanous, ghostly, and hover like an angel, as though gravity had little effect over it. Somehow this species has mastered the secrets of the physical universe.”

  “So does anyone know where this . . . life-force you spoke of a moment ago is located? Is it separate from the aliens who came here?”

  “Yes, it is separate, although the aliens know about it. It helps to guide them. And, it is everywhere.”

  “Everywhere? I don’t understand.”

  “Several years ago something extraordinary was discovered in China, and then something similar was discovered in Africa and in several locations in the United States. Now they have been located all over the world in more locations than can be counted.”

  “What are they?”

  “No one knows for certain. I believe they are part of an interconnected web that spans the entire universe. There is speculation that they are some sort of transport system. What we sometimes refer to as wormholes. But I believe that they are much more than that. They are alive, and they are not without empathy. They hide in the earth. They hum at a specific frequency that is beyond the audible range of humans, and they glow with a warm blue light that is somehow alive in its own right. We do not hear them and most do not see them because they are so well hidden. But a special few human beings can feel them.”

  “Why do you suppose that is?” Cobain asked.

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sp; “I cannot be sure. Evolution is an odd thing. It favors some in special ways. Perhaps these selected humans, the ones that can feel it, are important somehow.”

  “You’re talking about those blue light things that erupted several years ago around the world, aren’t you?”

  “They didn’t just erupt, Mr. Cobain. The governments of the world have known about them for quite some time. Their presence has been known for eons. They were written about long ago in scripture. Facsimiles of them have been discovered painted on cave walls. Great philosophers have alluded to them. Yet they have always managed to keep their place in mythology, until recently, when the United States conspiring with several other powerful nations tried to destroy them. But of course they failed. And I fear that the attempt was the last straw for humankind.

  “We were given a stern warning by the entity. If we did not mend our destructive ways then a determination about our fate would be made. The government balked at these warnings then they killed the messenger.”

  “What do you want me to do?” Cobain said.

  “I want you to expose the cover-up, Mr. Cobain. Likely it is already too late for humankind but the people of this world need to know the truth.”

  “You want me to do this based on the account you’ve just given me?”

  “Correct.”

  Cobain could not suppress a smile.

  “Just as I suspected. You do not believe me?”

  “Oh, I believe you, Dr. Shutzenberger. I absolutely believe you. I think the question is whether anyone else will believe you. If what you say is true then I myself will most probably become a target of the government. And to tell you the truth, without corroborative evidence the Post will never run the story.”

  Shutzenberger’s small animated eyes implored the reporter. “There must be ways. You could post it on your own using a web log. I believe the modern term is blog.”

  Cobain was silent for a long moment.” I’ll need the names of the other two scientists.”

  “You will do it then?”

  “I’ll do what I can, but I must say, this is an extraordinary tale.”

  “It is not a tale,” he said. “Everything you need to know is . . .”

  The remainder of Shutzenberger’s sentence was drowned out by a gust of torrid wind rattling the aluminum canopy above them. His lips moved but Cobain did not hear what he said. That odd feeling was in the air again, heightened, like something disjointed, not quite true. A dry electric charge seemed to course through Cobain’s body, causing the hairs of his arms to stand on end. He glanced out at the back yard. For a moment he thought he saw movement in amongst the jacaranda trees. He fixed his eyes on the spot, but did not see anything else. Despite the heat, gooseflesh crawled along his spine like something alive. The gust of wind died, and just as suddenly the air conditioning ceased working, the turbines winding down, grinding to a lurching halt. The world was suddenly and irrevocably silent. Cobain twisted in his chair and looked behind him, baffled. He could not imagine what had happened. Before he could turn away a small hole appeared in the unit’s outer frame, accompanied by a dull, auditory ping. He gawked in amazement. Just as suddenly, the process was repeated, a second, third and fourth time, each accompanied by the same metallic ping. Brackish water sprung from the holes in small streams. Cobain twisted back around, aware of his heart suddenly beating too fast, and saw that Dr. Shutzenberger had tilted forward in his wheelchair, as though he might tumble from it any second. The old man’s eyes were closed. It was as if he were sleeping. A piece of railing directly in front of Shutzenberger splintered and shot off in a dozen different directions, showering them with bits of jagged wood. Something stung Cobain’s cheek. He put his hand to it and came away with blood. His heart galloped. He grabbed Shutzenberger and pulled the old man from the chair. They both tumbled to the floor, sprawling face down behind the porch’s knee wall. But Shutzenberger was too limp. Cobain grabbed the man’s head and twisted it toward him, staring in horror at the glassy eyes which were quickly losing their vitality. Dark red arterial blood ran from the old man’s nose and mouth. More bullets from silenced weapons whizzed around them.

  “Dr. Shutzenberger?” he cried. “Oh, Christ.” He pulled the limp man closer to him and saw the gaping hole in his chest. The heart was still beating because blood was pumping from the wound in rhythmic bursts. Shutzenberger groaned. “Dr. Shutzenberger?”

  “My . . . hand,” the old man said.

  “What?”

  “Haaand!”

  Cobain looked down and the old man’s hand, the one he had tried lifting earlier, was convulsing spastically.

  “In . . . my . . . haaand!”

  Bullets splintered the railing above them, others punched holes through the knee wall just inches from where they lay. Cobain ducked down until the reports stopped, and then he lifted his head slightly and saw two gunmen, both dressed in military-style desert camouflage. They were down on their haunches, out of the trees now, working their way cautiously through the parched garden toward them.

  “My . . . haaand!” Shutzenberger croaked.

  In irritation Cobain grabbed Shutzenberger’s hand and turned it over. Out fell a folded sheet of paper. It clattered to the deck as if something made of metal was wrapped in it. Cobain picked it up and opened it. On the paper was written the names of two people. The names barely registered in Cobain’s mind, for in the paper’s folds lay two objects; one was some sort of artifact, a small brightly-gilded object in the shape of a triangle. He remembered what the nurse had told him moments ago about an object.

  The second object was an ordinary looking brass key with a number stamped on it. Cobain picked up the golden object, which looked decidedly futuristic. It felt extremely lightweight in his hand, and each side was imprinted with symbols. Upon contact with his flesh it immediately began to pulse and he felt heat. Suddenly his mind was cluttered with dizzying images whirling like a video on fast-forward. “Jesus,” he said. “What the hell is this?”

  “The gift,” the old man wheezed. “You must go now. The key opens a safe deposit box at Samaritan Savings Bank in Los Angeles. The papers there will explain everything.” The old man expelled a gasp of air, and for a moment Cobain thought it would be his last. “There were three of the objects. One for each of us. A gift from the . . . entity.” The old man stopped again as a second shuddering breath expelled from his lungs. “We . . . never . . .”

  “You never what?” Cobain said.

  “Told the . . . government . . . a secret pact. Our . . . ace in the hole. You must locate . . . them all.”

  “But, what are they for?”

  “Together they will . . . unlock the . . . secret of the gift, and . . . perhaps save humankind.”

  “But . . .”

  “There is a fourth object borne of this Earth. It is the most . . . important of them all. Without the four objects the devices will not work and we are doomed.”

  “Where do I find this fourth object?”

  “It is in the possession of a special . . . child. You must find her.”

  “But how?”

  “Trust the object. It will show you the way.” With these final words Shutzenberger expelled a final gasping breath and went limp in Cobain’s arms. Cobain hastily refolded the two objects in the paper and crawled toward the door on his belly. Bullets pinged around him. The door opened suddenly. Holly, the nurse stood there with her mouth agape. Cobain sprang to his feet, dropped the folded paper in his pocket and lunged toward the startled nurse, hitting her like a lineman sacking a quarterback. Together they sprawled through the door and into the nursing home’s hallway. Holly was on her back with Cobain on top of her. He jumped to his feet. Bullets splintered the doorjamb and whizzed into the hallway. One struck a ceiling light fixture detonating it in a shower of glass and sparks. Cobain pushed the door closed and locked it. It was a heavy steel-clad fire door and the bullets could not penetrate it. They left small indents on the inside. Gray paint flecks fluttere
d around them.

  “Dr. Shutzenberger!” Holly screamed and made for the door.

  Cobain grabbed her by the arm, turning her violently around. Her eyes were filled with panic. “It’s too late,” Cobain said. “They killed him.”

  “Oh God, no,” Holly moaned. “Why?”

  Patients and staff were now running around in panic. “Someone dial 911, now!” Cobain screamed. But it had obviously been done because the sound of sirens could be heard in the distance. Bullets had stopped punching into the door. Cobain turned to leave through the front entrance.

  “Where are you going?” Holly said grabbing him by the arm.

  “I have a story to tell.”

  “Are you crazy? A man is dead. You can’t just . . . leave! What am I supposed to tell the police?”

  “Tell them anything, I don’t care. If I stay it’ll only detain me and probably end up getting me killed.”

  “Oh dear God, why?”

  “Because Shutzenberger knew something important that he passed along to me. Something that got him killed. I’m a reporter. I need to tell the story before it’s too late. Before it kills somebody else. He took the young woman’s face in his hands, looked into her wet eyes. “Please,” he said. “Don’t tell them I was here?”

  “But maybe they can help you.”

  “Believe me when I tell you, it’s some sort of conspiracy, and telling the authorities about me will only get me and probably you killed. Play dumb, Holly. Please, promise me. If you value your life you won’t say a word.”

  “Okay,” Holly said nodding earnestly.

  “Thank you,” said Cobain, and on that note he turned and left her standing by the door, staring after him.

  CHAPTER 5

  Kardell, Texas, July 4th, 4:45 am.

  Four hours and forty-six minutes after the arrival.