When Turn’s eyes narrowed even further in confusion, Walter speaks.
“Epsilon Boötis is 203 light years from Earth. The message that the ham radio operator decoded supposedly came to us 13,000 years ago.”
“There’s more” Bennewitz says. “That ham operator was a Scottish science fiction author and he also dabbled in astronomy. He wrote up his findings, sent them off to the British Interplanetary Society, and they published them up in their magazine. What was so interesting is that he claimed the exact same signal that he’d found — the one telling us of Epsilon Boötis — was actually discovered forty years earlier, in the 1920s.”
“Group of researchers were looking into the long delayed echo effect back then, Walter says, picking up the story again, “but they dismissed it as an echo of an Earth-originating signal that was simply bouncing off the moon. Forty years later our Scottish sci-fi author does not, however, and he decodes a message telling us that…” he trails-off and looks around for a few moments, finally focusing back on Bennewitz. “Isn’t there a—”
“On the computer,” Bennewitz says, reading Walter’s mind. He goes to the nearest console, does a few quick keystrokes, and sits back after a few moments to stare at his handiwork. “Here it is.”
Both Turn and Walter head over to the computer and read what’s there. Bennewitz reads it aloud.
“Start here. Our home is Upsilon Boötis, which is a double star. We live on the sixth planet of seven, coming from the sun, which is the larger of the two. Our sixth planet has one moon. Our fourth planet has three. Our first and third planets each have one. Our probe is in the position of Arcturus, known in our maps.”
“Wow!” Turn says.
“And that’s not even the half of it,” Walter says before glancing at Bennewitz. “Should I tell him about Philip K. Dick?”
“The author?” Turn says, his face screwing up in confusion even more, if that’s at all possible. Turn can’t remember the last time he was as flummoxed as he is now.
“The author,” Bennewitz confirms. “Back in ’74 he got zapped by an information-rich beam of pink light, one that came directly from the Black Knight Satellite. This created all kinds of awakenings in Dick, so much so that he was able to glean a deeper understanding of the Vast Active Living Intelligence System of the universe, or what he termed VALIS.” He cocked his head to one side in a kind of shrug. “In two years he’ll have a book out about it.”
“VALIS and our idea of ‘God’ can be thought of interchangeably,” Walter says.
“And it all comes back to the soul catchers,” Bennewitz says.
“Sure does,” Walter agrees, “though hopefully Tommy’s death won’t be in vain.”
“Damn well better not be,” Bennewitz says, nodding, “and I’m sure Stu will see to that.”
“Whoa, guys…” Turn says, giving the men a wry look, “could ya maybe fill me in on what the hell you’re talking about here, please?”
Bennewitz chuckles and walks over and claps Turn on the shoulder. “I sometimes forget that you’re not fully ‘in-the-know’,” he says. “For now, just realize that when we die, our souls aren’t going to Heaven but are instead being stolen to feed the Gray’s insatiable appetite for that soulful energy.”
“Soulful energy?” Turn says.
Bennewitz laughs. “Don’t worry — it ain’t some James Brown song we’re talkin’ about here, just the fate of the universe.”
“And one man knows that fate better than anyone,” Walter says, looking over at Bennewitz.
Bennewitz nods. “Time to bust him out.”
15 — Traitors
Jake has searched high and low, but he can’t find Donlon anywhere on the base. He’s run into a few of the others he’d fought beside down in Dulce, but they were about as much help as Bobbie had been, which was to say not much. Jake won’t give up, though, and continues down the base hallways, poking his head in meeting rooms and labs and every office that presented itself. In one of those offices he comes face to face with General Anderholt.
“Uh… sorry, sir,” Jake says as soon as he opens the door, takes a step in, and then sees the general. He immediately starts to turn around.
“Hold up there, Jake,” Anderholt says. Jake is surprised that the general still knows his name. It was quite a few years ago that he woke up in that hospital room with the general sitting there at the end of his bed. Since that time Jake had seen things he never could have imagined. He didn’t regret it for one second.
“Yes, sir?” Jake says, turned about now. Before him, Anderholt leans back in his chair and takes the still-smoldering cigar from the ashtray on the desk, begins to smoke it back to life.
“Have you heard about what happened to Mark and Ellis?”
“Yes… yes, sir. I was there when Carl took Mark away.”
“Oh?” Anderholt says, as if this surprises him, which it does not.
Jake nods. “Was passing by at the time, heard the commotion and saw the soldiers and figured I’d check to see if everything was alright. Then I pop my head into the room and lying on the floor is the Dutchman, er… Ellis… and he’s dead.”
“And then what?”
Jake shrugs. “I was in shock, and when Carl — he was the one that was in charge — picked up the gun that was near Ellis’s head he said right away, ‘this is Mark’s gun.’ Well, after that he turned the base guards loose and we headed to Mark’s room. We found him there, in bed with one of the women we saved from Dulce, and after taking her away Mark was taken away as well.” Jake shakes his head at this point and lets out a sigh. “Sir, I’m not sure what’s going on, but it sure doesn’t seem right to me. I mean… Mark killing his own father? I just don’t buy it, sir.”
“You’re smart not to,” Anderholt replies, and then leans back in his chair and looks up at the ceiling. After a few moments of that he leans forward, stubs out his cigar, and then folds his hands together atop his desk. He stares at Jake intently. Finally he shrugs, cocking his eyebrows as he does so, and slowly begins to shake his head before meeting Jake’s eyes. “Jake, you’ve seen too much.”
Jake’s eyes narrow, but he doesn’t say a word. He’s starting to get a bad feeling about this, however, and wonders if telling the general his thoughts was such a good idea after all. Surely Anderholt can’t be in on it… can he? Jake thinks to himself as the general gets his cigar put out and leaves it in the ashtray.
“You’ve seen too much and there’s just no way we can trust you not to keep looking for answers… like you are now.”
Jake narrows his eyes. “What do you mean, sir?”
“I mean, your use here has run its course, son.” Anderholt reaches below him to a desk drawer he’d already pulled out. Reaching inside, his fingers fall on what he’s seeking and he wraps his hand around it.
“My… use?” Jake says, confused.
“Oh, Jake… why’d you have to ask so many questions?” Anderholt pulls his arm up, and there in his hand is a flashgun. Jake’s eyes go wide.
“Sir,” he says, taking a step back and putting one hand up in front of him, “sir… don’t do this.”
“Do what…” Anderholt asks, “…push this button here and vaporize you into a little pile of ash?”
He has his head cocked to one side as he points down at that button on the flashgun, his eyes going back up to Jake as he finishes. For his part, Jake just stands there, like a deer caught in headlights and unable to move. Then just like that, he decides he’ll make a break for it. He dashes to his left, with the plan to swivel, get down, then get that door open. If he can just–