The Betrayal
MINISTRY OF LAW AND ORDER
Commander Rogg Jasen sits in his office when a knock at his door gets his attention. He peers up from his work and glimpses a uniformed officer. “Yes?”
“Sir, I’m on a surveillance detail at The Dome. We found a situation, and I think you need to be aware. We hid listening devices in the rooms of Dr. Marshon and each member of his team. In addition, Jerka recruited Bilden, head of the School of Engineering at the university. We bugged his room also. The spying apparatus went silent in Marshon’s room, and a short time later, those in Bilden’s room went dead. The instruments are operational in the room of the girl named Rue, but an unusual silence exists until late in the evening, before she goes to bed. I think they discovered the appliances.”
“Who authorized the spy mission?”
“The supreme chancellor did, sir. Director Joanz is overseeing the operation.”
The commander’s face flushes. “I appreciate you informing me officer—I guess you’ll want to ask him what to do about the dead bugs. Thank you for stopping by. I’m sure you can find your way out.”
The officer leaves and Jasen presses a preset on the communicator and listens…
He clears his desk, and turns the locks. Rogg passes his assistant, without breaking his stride and says, “I’ll be away the rest of the day.”
He walks down the hall taking long strides. What is going on? Why is the director going around me with this? The political situation and the problems at The Dome take on a more sinister air. He goes to the MagnaTranz and waits for the first one to the remotes Sukish. Prior to boarding, he activates the cipher in his wristwatch.
The CDC can no longer find him. Making multiple train transfers, he convinces himself no one follows. The commander gets off at a remote stop in a barren but populated area of Bunea, the most remote and rugged of the provinces. He dials and waits as the connection buzzes. Soon, Kaamren answers. “I need you to pick me up, or send someone for me at A7 one hour after sunset. We discovered a serious problem demanding immediate attention.”
“What’s happened causing such urgency? Did someone get captured?”
“Not yet, but Relo and Rue might be in grave danger. We need to be prepared to extract them from The Dome before morning.”
“What about the files?”
“We may not be able to remove the data now. They will stay hidden until we can devise another plan. Now, the safety of our people takes priority. How’s progress coming on Dérobé-1?”
“The prototype is complete but not field tested in the open. The testing took place in abandoned train tunnels. Our abilities are limited verifying the maximum speed. The engine is performing well, and we believe she will reach speeds up to 165 kilometers per hour (kph). The camouflage skin isn’t perfected yet.”
“The cover serves as a heat shield as well as a visual shield—right?” the commander asks.
“Yes—and protects against detection by the heat-seeking satellite as well as the visuals. Tiny cords of light transmitting filaments impregnate the special covering. The strands pick up imagery from surrounding objects and transfer the information to the opposite ends, making the item blend into the background. High-speed air jets erase the tire tracks. We can’t contain the dust and debris cloud. From space, the moving Dérobé-1 will appear to be a small storm.” Kaamren explains the basic design of the new four-passenger stealth transporter. “The AeroBuses used by patrols can reach 115 kph. They ride on a thin cushion of air and aren’t as flexible in rough terrain as our prototype.”
“How soon will the skin be ready?”
“I’m not sure. This is the handmade sample, and progress is slow. Relo and Rue may require rescuing soon, how will we accomplishment the task?”
“We’ll discuss the details when we meet with the others. I must find a place to hide until my ride comes. Please—be on time.”
“Will do—until then.” Kaamren hangs up. He turns and almost bumps into Lee.
She is standing behind him with her arms crossed as if to say, ‘not again’. “Please tell me you’re not going out.” The frustration in her voice accents the frown on her face. They stand staring into each other’s eyes and she says, “Alright, okay, I get it, another emergency.”
“I’m sorry, but Rue and Relo appear to be in serious trouble at The Dome. We may need to rescue them later in the day and get them to a safe haven. The supreme chancellor ordered Dr. Marshon, and his team bugged. Bilden arrived last evening, and Rueef found some in his room. Prior to them thinking things through, they destroyed the bugs in the doctors’ rooms. The director arranged for the bugging and didn’t inform the commander. You might guess he’s furious. One of the surveillance officers couldn’t find Joanz, so he went to the Jasen’s office and informed him. The officer wanted guidance about the destroyed equipment, but he told him to find his boss and ask him. The devices are still in the students’ rooms, but shadowing noted Rue’s room is silent until a short time before she goes to bed each evening. Security may review tapes from the hall cameras and note the traffic in and out of her room during the periods of abnormal silence. They’ll want to search her room to learn how she’s silencing the bugs.”
“What’s Jerka thinking? Why all the secrecy?” Lee wonders.
“Someone’s putting excessive pressure on him. Jerka made many campaign promises about getting The Dome back on schedule. He can use his entire term to correct the problems before he faces the voters again. I don’t understand. Is he afraid of what Marshon and company might find or not find? he asks.
“This sounds dangerous. Please promise me you’ll be careful. I can’t imagine what the baby, and I’ll do if anything happens to you.”
KIA’S APARTMENT
Kia is watching The Broadcast, and absorbing all the scripted news of events around Okera and the Sports Cast begins.
“Good evening, ladies, and gentlemen,” The commentator says, “The time for the planet-wide Waal-baal Championship is near. Last season’s champion and the runner up advised our reporter, they plan to be back and ready for this year’s playoffs. Let’s switch to our field sports analyst for his predictions.”
The game is a national sport played in an enclosed room with three walls, the floor, the ceiling, and the bottom half of the back as the areas of play. The remainder at the rear is a glass-enclosed observation deck. Three individuals compete at the beginning. Each, in sequence, hits the ball, which is six centimeters in diameter. They use a palm paddle worn like a glove on both hands. The sphere must pummel a minimum of two surfaces striking within a square on the front wall designated the SWEETSPOT. A player failing to hit the required walls drops out of play and must step against the back of the court. The first person eliminated during a sequence receives no score, the next taken out earns one, and the winner gets three points. The individual who wins the previous rotation serves. A set is twenty-one, and a game is the best two out of three. The first one includes three players. The second is the two winning competitors from the prior play. In case of a tie score, the challengers play a sudden death.
“This reporter followed the top ten athletes throughout the season. In their gymnasiums, I scrutinized them work out and spar with their trainers. Last year’s champion and the runner up are looking strong again this year. Their contests so far show they retain all their competitiveness. Listen up—I recommend you keep an eye on a relative newcomer—an attractive university student named Kia Nuggen. This season, she improved and her skills are remarkable. She found more spirit and motivation somewhere. Is the magic the influence of the handsome young man in whose company she’s often seen? We’ll determine if she meets my expectations. She played twenty-two matches and lost two—both near the beginning. She’ll get an invitation to participate in the playoffs I’m sure.”
Her face flushes. She is not accustomed to hearing her name on The Broadcast, and the subtle reference to Jadan tugs at her heartstrings. When will he be back—will he call?
She pushes the remote control, and turns off the Tello. She presses another button on the controller, and the entertainment center begins playing a soft and soothing piece of guitet music he recorded for her. She dims the lights and allows the melody to take her into a dreamy state. With her eyes closed, her mind starts to fantasize. She can almost believe his warm breath is on her neck. She longs for his touch and the sound of his voice. Her imagination slips off into an erotic interlude, which did not take place, but she craves. Kia’s heart takes her into a long, passionate embrace. She can imagine his fingers touching her delicate sensual zones with gentleness—buzz, she is jolted back to reality by her communicator. Jadan—please, be Jadan. She hurries across the room and answers.
“Hello beautiful,” says Gramps in a flattering tone. “They announced your name on The Broadcast Sports, and I wanted to call and tell you congratulations. I’m not surprised you get so much of the media’s attention. The exposure will be good for you. All the eligible young bachelors will line up wanting to accompany you. Why don’t you come over tomorrow and eat dinner with me? We can continue our talk about your young man.”
“I’ll come for the meal, but I want you to let me work out the romantic part of my life.”
“Okay, I want us to resume our conversation, but I’ll leave your friend out. I anticipate seeing you.”
“Goodnight.” She reflects on the points he told her about the Annunaki and their distinguishing physical characteristics, and now Kia evaluates everyone she passes. He told her pure Commonuers are dark skinned, straight black hair, muscular, and medium height, and their mental capacity is lacking. She determines the majority of the population is composed of Blendeds. She recognizes few she deduces are true Commonuers and even fewer Annunaki.
Jadan—what is he? He is tall and a powerful build. His hands show evidence of hard manual labor. His hair is light, brown, and straight with blond highlights. His skin is bronze and flawless, except for a scar on his chin and a larger one on his right cheek.
She considers his stature and concludes he is a Blended. With his blondish brown hair and tall slender but muscular physique, he is more Annunaki than Commonuer. He is a brilliant and talented individual. Why does Gramps find a problem with him?
She wonders if Jadan is aware of the secret class system on Nibiru. The truth does not seem to matter. He cares for her with intensity—if she did not ruin things by not taking his calls. Time will tell, but if he loves her, Grandfather must accept the fact.
She is jolted back to reality by her communicator. Kia scrutinizes the ID. Liza Jerka, a niece of the supreme chancellor and a classmate is answering her earlier call.
“Hello, how’ve you been?”
“I’m good, how about you?” she asks, without waiting for a reply, “To what do I owe the pleasure? I hope this isn’t school related. I’m about burned out.”
“No, no, the subject is not about academics—I say Annunaki, and you say?”
She is surprised. The statement hits her as strange, and for a few moments, she is at a loss for words. “Why Kia—I say superior in every way. Why do you ask?”
“Well, being a pureblood is of the highest importance to my grandfather. I didn’t realize how important until I started seeing Jadan Kanzz. Gramps is quite displeased with me.”
“He should be. Why would you risk emotional involvement with someone whose inferiority is obvious? Our bloodline is getting so polluted with blended unifications, a time may come when enough pure Annunaki doesn’t exist to govern the planet.” She continues, and Kia wishes she did not make the call. She pauses for a breath. “You aren’t serious about Jadan—are you?”
“I want to get your take on the subject,” she says, searching for an exit to the conversation. “I’m in the middle of something. Can we talk later?” She lies.
“Okay, but I think you should listen to your Gramps.”
“Goodnight Liza, and thanks for calling.” Kia ends the discussion before she can start again.
She undresses and steps into the shower. Her mind is in turmoil. Any direction she chooses, someone is going to get hurt and angry.
LOCATION A7
Later in the evening, the commander arrived at A7. Kaamren greets him, along with Seth and Mika. “Jaan will be here soon. Rogg, tell us about the crisis. Do you think Rue and Relo are in danger?”
“The bugs in the doctors’ rooms quit working. Did she find and disable them? Who destroyed them is irrelevant. The surveillance team suspects her, and if the director agrees, they plan to detain Marshon, Bilden, and her for interrogation. Relo’s standing in the matter isn’t clear. The shadowing squad may review the recordings of the hall camera. I’m afraid they’re going to catch Relo going into her room, making him an accomplice. We are fortunate. The director left this morning for a five-day hunting trip in the lower remotes of Bunea and no communicator services exist. He and his party are hiking to a lodge built into a large rock outcrop, a full day’s hike into the mountains.”
The province straddles the equator.
“In other words, the director is going to be out of the picture for at a minimum of five days?” Jaan asks.
“Not guaranteed,” says Rogg. “The surveillance team may go after him. The trip will take at least a day and a half to find him. Let’s assume that time as a minimum, as a safety factor, to respond to the threat. We must plan for the worst possible scenario.”
“Mika, are we ready to download the files?” Jaan asks.
“We lost our time to test the programs, but I’m confident they’ll work. Rue’s encryption program worked well on the simulated ones.”
“Are the computers geared up for such a large amount of data?”
“One computer’s memory fills, and the software will switch to the second in the network, and pass off to the third. The last computer should be capable of holding the remainder of the files,” Mika says, as long as no interruptions occur to the programs.
“Why do we want the mass of records? Considering the risks, shouldn’t we minimize the possibilities and delete the information?” Jaan asks.
“A successful transfer is critical to our mission. The technical data and engineering drawings would take years to create. Once you become aware of the stolen content, you’ll understand. Each computer resides in a mobile unit. A processor finishes receiving the transfer, and the transport will move through the abandoned MagnaTranz tunnels to a custom constructed hiding place. The units will remain hidden until things settle down. All three will download to a large mainframe at one of our safe havens. The excitement begins afterward,” Mika says with a nervous chuckle.
Kaamren clears his throat to get everyone’s attention. “Okay, here’s the plan for extracting Rue and Relo…”
THE DOME GUEST QUARTERS
Marshon meets with his team in the dining area, less Kraymer, who is on campus working on his organics project. The workday ends, and the group is ready to eat and unwind. Dr. Bilden joins them. He finished his first day of orientation with nothing planned for tomorrow. “We’re leaving The Dome at 0600 in the morning,” says Marshon. Not wanting to reveal what happened to the students who aren’t aware of the bugs, he says, “We’re going back to assist Kraymer. We’re making no progress here since no detectable fingerprints appear in the transaction logs.”
“You’re going to leave me here alone?” Bilden asks. “What if they start asking questions?”
“Why don’t you come back with us? Between now and morning we need to come up with a viable reason,” Marshon says.
“Perhaps you should do some in-depth research into the defective translucent material. You can schedule a plant visit and study the manufacturing processes from raw components to finished product,” Relo says.
“Sounds like an excellent idea.”
“Excuse me, I’m going to my room and start packing. I’m looking forward to getting out of here.” Jadan is thinking about Kia, and this gives him an opportunity to be with her earlier. He hopes she left him an encouraging message. What do I do about Rue? I am fond of them both, but this is bound to get complicated.
She returns to find her room searched and in a mess. She goes to her bag and checks for the hairdryer. “Thank goodness,” she whispers. “The device’s here.” She examines the locations of the bugs. They’re gone. They relocated them. She turns on The Broadcast, and begins her preparations to leave, but what about the files?
Dr. Marshon told them not to make any sounds, which will lead anyone to conclude they are leaving The Dome. “The element of surprise is essential.”
Caught off guard, Relo must somehow get back into the control room to activate the delayed file downloads. He picks up his communicator and calls Dr. Marshon’s room. “I hate to bother you, but I left something important in the control area. Will you accompany me so I can get the device? Yes, sir—I do understand, but…”
THE SUPREME CHANCELLOR’S OFFICE
“Betta Kahnn’s here to meet with you, sir. What shall I tell him? He stopped without an appointment.”
“Send him in,” the chancellor says with pleasure. He stands and walks across the room to greet his unexpected guest. “Do come in, Mr. Kahnn. I didn’t expect you so soon. I trust you to bring some good information for me.” He returns and sits in his plush leather chair and leans back.
“I thought about your threat—uuh—proposition. I conclude if I give in to you now, this’ll never end, and I refuse to become your puppet.” He struggles to conceal his fear.
Jerka is stunned. He cannot believe his ears. Betta Kahnn is in no position to take this stand. He rises from his chair and places both palms on his desk and leans forward glaring into Kahnn’s eyes with authority. “Boy,” he says in a condescending tone, “do you understand with who you’re screwing?”
He puts his hands on the shiny wooden surface of the chancellor’s furniture and leans toward him staring into his eyes. Their noses are about fifteen centimeters apart.
“Get your hands off my—” Jerka says, his voice nearing rage. “I think you lost your mind, and—”
“And what?” Kahnn’s asks. “Prior to you starting to destroy Connee Bhril and me, you better make sure no embarrassing skeletons exist in your family closet. I’m positive they do, but I won’t share specifics. Unless you do something stupid, they’ll stay hidden.” Without another word, he whirls around and storms out of the office slamming the door.
The chancellor stands with his chin dropped and stares as Kahnn leaves. The confrontation happened fast and direct. Jerka is at a loss for words. How dare the bastard come in here and talk to me with such disrespect. I’ll bash his head for this. He sits in his chair, leans forward with his elbows on the desk, and his head in his hands. What information does Kahnn hold to give him so much courage? He must be aware of something.
Too many people backed him into a corner. He visualizes no alternative but to come out fighting. He races down the hall, with his heart pounding in his chest. His face flushed, veins are protruding. He drifts into a dream world of blurred reality. Did the chancellor comprehend his horror? He must tell Connee what happened—in case.
KIZZIE’S CONDO
Kizzie is putting the final touches on the dining table. Lit candles, linen napkins, her best silver, and China set on the table in the proper order. A large flask of Premium Vino is chilling in a bucket, delicate flames flicker, and soft music is playing in the background. She invited a male friend.
The chime sounds, and Kizzie greets Professor Boze Landiz. “Come in,” she says, “The others aren’t here yet. May I take your coat?”
“Thank you.”
“Take a seat,” she says, as she puts his things in the guest closet. “I’m glad you came.”
Soon, a delicate knock is clear. “They’re here,” she says going to the door. She smiles and says, “Come in please. Let me take your coats.”
They walk inside, but Bannon is uneasy. Perspiration streaks his face joined by a slight shaking of his hands. “Kizzie, may I introduce you to my wife, Marla. Please say hello to Dr. Kizziah Jayne.”
“I’m pleased to meet you at last. You can call me Kizzie. I hope you’ll make yourselves comfortable. Allow me to present my friend Boze Landiz. He is a Professor of Archeology at the university. This is Marla and Bannon Eas. He is Director of the Department of Astronomical Affairs.”
“I’m pleased to meet you. Your husband and I share a common interest,” he says.
“You do?” asks Kizzie. “How are you acquainted?”
“He is fascinated with ancient manuscripts as am I. We’re captivated with the aged text I told you about a little while back. We’re stymied, unless the archeologists find something to provide us with a key to the language.”
“Well Kizzie—unless you’re interested in olden texts and documents, I suggest you take charge of the conversation now,” Marla says, with a smile.
“I’m committed but I understand little about the subject,” she says. “I hope you aren’t bored with the issue.”
“Archeology isn’t my favorite topic,” she says, “but living with Bannon, I acquired quite a knowledge base.”
“I keep hoping she’ll become as interested in the matter as I am. Life would be more enjoyable if we worked together. I find joy in learning firsthand about the planet’s history without someone else telling me what they think I should believe. Too often, the documents are translated with a bias, which distorts the original meaning.” He is passionate.
“Excuse me, I’ll bring out the food,” she says.
“Let me help you.” Marla volunteers.
Soon they sit at the table, and Kizzie walks around pouring each a glass of Vino. She returns to her place at the head of the table, raises her goblet and says, “I would like to propose a toast—to good friends—fine food—and to the continuous pursuit of knowledge.”
“Touché,” the response comes in unison.
“About good food, I hope the geneticists are successful in engineering plants and animals and eliminate a trip through the processing plant before we can eat them. I find myself fantasizing about a large piece of fresh meat, bone still in, and roasted to perfection over open coals. I’ll be disappointed if the flavor doesn’t measure up to my expectations.” Kizzie’s voice is soft as she begins passing the containers of preprocessed foods.
“A similar aroma is present in all the food items, regardless of texture and seasonings. Fresh meats, vegetables, and fruits—the substance dreams are made of,” Marla says, “Do you think the drastic modification in our diet would make us sick?” she asks.
Marla’s right—this stuff stimulates a similar aftertaste. “Perhaps we should offer a large financial incentive to the person or persons who find the solution.”
He and Bannon glance at one another. Each hoping the other will change the subject to the ancient artifacts. Kizzie, sensing their despair, asks, “Did you guys figure out what the text’s written on? He tells me the substance is not found elsewhere on Nibiru.”
“The fiber making up the document is a cellulose material unlike anything we can find in any of the historical databases. We believe the fabric to be bright white in the beginning but continues to yellow with age,” Boze says. “We analyzed the objects down to the molecular level, including the ink. Several of the components aren’t on our table of elements. A sketch in the upper right-hand corner of one of the documents raises questions. Three pyramids of differing sizes appear overlapped. We’ve no idea what the symbol means.”
“Scientific testing of the writings shows they existed before the Great War,” Eas says. “Do you think they came from another world? Easy, or our imaginations will go wild, but we don’t dare.”
“Why not?” Kizzie asks. “From what you said about the exhibits, they may be extraterrestrial. Why not accept the facts?”
“Such a stand might be the kiss of death in the world of academia, which demands irrefutable confirmation for acceptance.” Boze is apologetic in his response as he sidesteps the issue.
“How much substantiation is required? Sounds to me like you cling to enough,” she says. “You two aren’t convinced of the validity of your work.”
“Bannon, tell me about the Astronomy Department. Does life exist on other planets?” Boze asks to change the subject.
“Not so fast,” Kizzie says. “Get me a sample of the material and ink, and I’ll get them tested. Let’s assume they’re what you say—I’ll publish a scientific paper on the findings.”
DR. MARSHON’S OFFICE AT ABYDOS UNIVERSITY
Marshon succeeded in getting the team and Bilden out of The Dome without attracting attention, but now they are back…what next? They sit around a table in the corner of the room. The mood is tense.
“Why did we leave so fast?” Jadan asks. “Did the bugs in our rooms cause the reaction?”
“They caused this all to happen,” Dr. Marshon says. “I can’t believe they asked us to go to The Dome to fix a major problem and spied on us. What do they think we’re going to do? Sabotage the place—?” The longer he talks, the more his anger manifests itself. His voice quivers as he continues. His blond hair and blue eyes enhance the increasing redness of his face. “I’m ready to tell Masta Bhril this project’s over. In fact, I asked my assistant to try to set up a meeting for me later today.”
“May I join you? I’m finished as well. Besides, not going back to The Dome will please my wife,” Dr. Bilden says, shocked by the recent events.
“Rue, I’m afraid I can’t advise you. We might all be in a significant amount of trouble. I’m appalled this happened, and I hate you guys are involved.” His voice is sympathetic, as he gazes into each student’s eyes.
“We’ll meet at the Student Social this evening at 1900. Does everyone agree?” Marshon asks as he scans the group. “I hope to talk to Bhril before our meeting.”
They all nod.
“I need to make a call,” Jadan says. Once he makes the statement, he glances at Rue. The ‘please don’t’ expression is in her eyes, as if she is aware of his plans.