The Aether Project: Aikon

  The red sun glared down on the sand, not heating, not warming, but burning everything that was green. The burning globe was at its highest point in the sky, midday, and a hot wind blasted over the dunes, blowing dust through the air at speeds high enough to rip any exposed flesh off of anything that lived.
  The skeleton of a desert wolf, separated from its pack in an especially fierce sandstorm, lay half submerged in the sand. She had been dead only three days, but without her brothers and sisters pressing in around her, protecting her, the sand had striped away skin and muscle, exposing bleach white bones. In the bare ribcage of the fallen beast lay the bones of her unborn cub, never to see the light of day, never to experience the exhilaration of the hunt.
  To the east a lone bull walked slowly north, in search of water and grass. Half of his herd had been driven away from their oasis by a pack of wolves; the other half had been eaten. One by one, the survivors had collapsed from thirst or exhaustion and been slowly buried by the endless sandstorm, denied a relatively quick death because their leathery skin kept the biting sand at bay. The proud creature would be dead by nightfall.
  To the south three figures walked. They walked on two legs. The arid wind abated for a moment that might have been an eternity, as if unsure of what to make of the three intruders walking its sands. Then the ceaseless wind picked back up, trying to force the strange creatures back from where they had come. But the two legged animals were prepared for this and had wrapped themselves in the leather from the back of a bull, covering their hands in gloves made from the same material, and shielding their faces with the softer skin from the wolf.
  The figures approached the shaft of a rusted rod rising forlornly from the sand. The tallest, who carried himself like a leader, delicately placed his hand on the rounded top of the rod, and an unnatural humming filled the air, drowning out the sound of the wind. To the east, the bull stopped his slow march and looked to the direction of the sound, then continued hopelessly on.
  The sand at the base of the pole seemed the fall in on itself. Underneath it a heavy door slid out of the way as if pulled by unseen hands allowing the sand to flow into the opening. The figures climbed into the darkness and the heavy door slid back into place leaving the three in total darkness. There was a rustling as the figures removed the wolf skins from their faces.
  “Mira?” the sound of a man’s voice broke the silence.
  “I’m here daddy,” this time a young girl’s voice; Mira.
  “Why don’t you make the light this time?” suggested the first voice.
  The girl squeaked with delight, than humming noise came again, this time less overpowering, less intruding than the time before.
  A pale blue light appeared, just bright enough to expose the hand held palm up underneath it and the shadowy outline of the three figures.
  “We need it a little bit brighter than that, sweetie,” said the voice.
  If it had been lighter, the man knew he would have been able to see his daughter’s face wrinkle in concentration. The hum became a slightly louder and the light burst into a bright orange, exposing ancient computer equipment gathering dust in the corners, a floor made of metal panels, and steel beams running up the walls. Aikon, who had spoken first, looked at his two children, Mira and Lluthe, and thought again over the misfortunes that had them running from station to station in this cursed desert. He thought of the years in Paradise, where they were blissfully unaware of the outside world, the invasion of the outsiders, and the fall of his people.
  “I think I found the switch, dad,” called out Lluthe from behind some crates, bringing Aikon out of his reverie.
  “Ok, you can go ahead and turn it on,” answered Aikon.
  Very little light from his sister’s globe made its way behind the boxes and Lluthe almost hadn’t seen the iron rod sticking out from the wall. In fact he hadn’t seen it, so much as bumped into it while feeling around in the dark. Now he placed his hands on the cold metal and entered the trance-like state necessary for mind-bending. He cleared his mind of all things except the iron beneath his fingertips, than he focused on the energy in his body. A small bit of electricity from his palms was enough to jumpstart the generator, powering the yellow lights in the ceiling and activating the computers.
  Lluthe climbed out from behind the boxes and looked around at what would be his home for the next few months. One of the computer monitors had gone from the boot screen to a map showing the locations of the other stations and another screen showed the humidity level, temperature, altitude, wind speed, and other information about what was happening outside.
  Aikon looked at the wooden crates his son had just emerged from, and calculated how long the food inside them would last. It looked like enough for around ninety days, depending on how well they rationed the food, than they would have to make the dangerous trek to the next outpost.
  “Look, daddy, there’s peaches in this box! Real peaches!” said Mira excitedly.
  “Wow, real ones?” asked Aikon, playing along with his daughters excitement.
  “Can we have some right now, daddy?” asked Mira, looking at her father with shining eyes.
  Aikon felt his heart melt in his chest. He had been about to say that they should save the fruit for dinner, but he found he was unable to force the words out. They were safe here, at least for now. Why not celebrate a little?
  The muffled sound of the howling wind masked the sound of the helicopter blades tearing through the wind. It was more than enough to cover the thump of military boots hitting the sand and the faint click of the safety of an XM8 assault rifle being turned off.

  Special agent David Strom wore a black combat jacket that covered his entire upper body and thick pants that wrapped tight around his legs. His hands were covered by tough but flexible gloves, and he wore a full head mask. With the whole outfit on, not an inch of skin was left bare.
  Strom would have preferred lighter clothing, but they had said that he would be dead before he landed on the sand if he didn’t protect himself from the sandstorms. He had almost fallen anyways. The chopper couldn’t get low enough for a landing because of the wind, and parachuting was out for the same reason. So he had had to slide down a very, very long rope. Not easy when the wind seems to be trying to yank the rope from your hands.
  But he was down now, and he was standing in front of a large rusted iron pole. From his pack Strom pulled a small prototype generator that could produce enough power to run New York for a full eleven seconds. He attached it to the pole and checked his gun one more time, than activated the generator. At first Strom had thought that something had gone wrong, and that nothing was happening, than the sand beneath his feet began to sink.

  Aikon had just opened the first can of peaches when he heard the door activate. He instinctively crouched behind one of the crates.
  “Lluth, get your sister and hide.” He called in an urgent whisper. His order was answered by the sound of two pairs of scuffling feet. He had to trust that they were safe for the moment. It was all he could do.
  From his hiding place Lluth saw a flash of sunlight from the opening door. The light was blocked by a man dressed all in black.
  Like death, thought Lluth, leaning forward to get a closer look.
  The man looked calmly at the box behind which his father was hiding. He lifted something he was holding with both hands. A gun! His father had told him of these weapons. To look down the mouth of such a beast meant almost certain death. His father rose slowly from behind the crates, his face betraying no fear. The man and his father stood like that for a full second, than the room seemed to explode.

  When Mark Lancer, the director of Strom’s division, had told him that his targets could move objects with their minds, Strom had almost laughed, thinking Lancer had been joking. He had than remembered who he was talking to. Lancer never joked.
  But nothing in the mission briefing could have possibly prepared for the maelstrom whirling around him now. Pieces of metal sheet had been ripped from the floor, and were whirling around the room slicing dangerously close to his head. A swarm of what looked to be cans of peaches blasted through the air towards his head. Strom threw himself to the left, but one of the cans clipped his shoulder, knocking his gun out of his hands and sending him spinning to the ground. Strom brought himself up to a crouch quickly scanned the room for his target. He quickly located the man standing with his eyes closed next to one of the computers.
  Strom dove, reaching for the assault rifle, but just before his fingers closed around the grip, the gun was sent spinning around the room by whatever force was causing all this chaos.
  Strom rolled onto his side and yanked his sidearm out of its holster and unloaded the entire clip, sending a volley of bullets at the man. But before they found their mark they too where snatched out of the air and sent flying around the room.
  Gripped by a grim determination, Strom pulled his combat knife from its sheath. He knew that under normal circumstances he would have easily been able to burry the knife in the man’s throat, but there was no way Strom was going to let the knife out of his grip. He nearly dropped the knife anyways than, because a jagged piece of metal ripped through his right upper arm, tearing the muscle to shreds. Strom let out a short cry, than forced the pain to the back of his mind. He shifted the knife to his left hand, and ran for the man. As he passed one of the computers, Strom saw out of his peripheral vision the glass on the computer screen explode outward. Several razor sharp shards of glass buried themselves deep into his already bleeding and exposed right arm, but Strom barely felt the pain. He was, however, knocked off balance, and sent crashing to the ground at the man’s feet. The man didn’t look at Strom; he just kept his eyes closed and his arms lifted slightly, palm up, from his sides.
  Strom struggled to his knees, than, with no hesitation, buried the knife deep into the man’s chest, piercing his heart and killing him instantly.
  The effect was instantaneous. All noise ceased. The objects that had been careening through the room stopped mid-air for a heartbeat, than clattered to the ground, inanimate once again. Strom walked through the room and lifted his assault rifle from the ground with his left hand. He than began searching the room for his primary targets.

  Lluth sat holding his sister tight, tears flowing from his eyes. Mira’s face was buried in his shoulder, her soft sobs soaking his shirt in tears.
  A shadow loomed over him, blocking the light.
  “Get up” came a voice. The voice of the man who killed his father. He was standing there pointing the gun at them, his right arm hanging bloodied and useless by his side.
  Lluth closed his eyes and imagined he was somewhere else. He was sitting on the dune where he, his father, and his sister had seen that town, the other day, when everything was fine, when his father had been still alive, still breathing. He could remember every detail about that dune, its exact shape, the feel of the sand beneath the soles of his shoes, the sound of the rushing wind. Even now he could feel the sting of the sand beating agonizingly on his face. Lluth instinctively pulled the wolf skin mask over his skin. The sting of the sand had felt so real, that for a moment he opened his eyes and actually saw the scene he had imagined. But the apperation did not disappear. Lluth waited five seconds, than ten, before realizing that he really was feeling the sand under his feat and that the sound of the wind was not in his mind, but real. He could see the town in front of him, beckoning him to its safety.
  He suddenly felt dampness on his shoulder. Mira! She was gone! He looked frantically around for her, but his little sister was nowhere to be found. Lluth tried to go back to the station the same way he had left it, but the details of the room always gave way to the image of the moment of his father’s death, the knife protruding from his chest.
  Not knowing what else to do, Lluth began to walk down the dune, towards the town.

  Strom gritted his teeth. He was beyond surprise now, but frustration was still well within his range of emotions. When he saw that the boy who had been there a few moments ago was gone, just disappeared into nothingness, his mind clouded over. He had had the boy within his grasp! Strom shook it off, dropped his gun, and injected the unresisting girl with a syringe he had pulled from a pocket of the combat jacket. She slumped to the floor unconscious.
  “I have the girl. I am heavily wounded. I need an evacuation team. Over,” Strom spoke into his radio.
  “Request granted. What about the boy? Over.”
  “I’ll explain when I’m in that chopper. Just get me out of here.”
  “Ten four.”
  Strom looked at the unconscious child in front of him. What was she capable of? Strom sighed. He would probably never know. He would be told to forget everything that had happened to him, than they would send him out on some other crazy assignment that he would have to forget about.
  Strom sat down to wait for the evacuation team. It would be a long ride home.