Date:  4th of February 2017

Location: 28° 14’ 38.7672’’ N 80° 35’ 59.5644’’ W

Time: 3.05am

Thalia’s scan for the quantum harmonic energy signature they’d sampled in their version of reality led to this large military base on a spit of land on the coast of Florida. The rebels had barely moved from their point of insertion. Heinrich decided on caution. This wasn’t his realm.

This almost feels like the old days, Heinrich thought dully. He examined the military base with a strange sense of déjà vu. During the almost seventy five years since the Monarch War which cemented their consolidation of power, their technology  and weaponry in particular had improved significantly. In this version of reality, the shinkari cannons and shields aboard The Songstress were easily a match for the crude explosive weapons positioned around the military base. The locals’ weapons were positively quaint by comparison. Prince Al Aziri commented upon the primitive technology with a disdainful sniff.

The  The Songstress’ batteries were significantly reduced from the transfer.  Despite the energy cost, he energized the shields to maximum deflection before easing The Songstress forward slowly, expecting a response.

When no response to his careful approach materialized, he commanded Anna to deploy an assassin drone to reconnoiter exactly where the Rebels were and continued studying the base. With any luck, the drone would go unnoticed and destroy the rebels. Then he could start looking into what their purpose was in coming to this place. Upon his command, Thalia started collecting information on this realm that would no doubt be of interest to his fellow Monarchs.

In case the drone failed, he prepared contingencies with his military staff. They had already identified several key targets across the large base. The awkward, bulky aerial vehicles, likely fuel stores and important buildings, were easy targets for the cannons and attack craft.

Heinrich looked up as the door dilated and his adjutant Ernst stepped through, balancing a tray with an ornate tea service. The ascetic middle aged man still possessed a rigid military bearing, despite the domesticity of serving tea.

“Mein König,” Ernst said, holding out the steaming cup. “And how goes die Kampaigne?” he asked with easy familiarity in his heavy German accent.

Heinrich took a sip, nodding his approval. “Thalia’s scan revealed structures below the surface. We can’t get a clear reading. I’ve sent a drone to see if we can’t flush these Rebels out or take them unprepared.” 

“Very well, Mein König. Should I instruct den küchenchefs to prepare a celebratory meal?” Ernst inquired.

As Heinrich was about to answer, Thalia’s calm tones interjected “The drone has failed Sire. I am unable to determine how it was rendered inoperable.”

Heinrich’s thoughts turned to Countess Anna. As the drone pilot, she would have suffered neural feedback from the destruction of the drone and would need a minute to recover before she might make her official report. No time to lose.

“Damn. Begin bombardment above the Rebels last known position and launch attack craft. If the batteries fall below twenty percent, call them back and begin transit transfer protocol.” Heinrich commanded.

Thalia relayed his orders through all sections of The Songstress, her voice echoing through the closer hallways.

“Do you require anything further, Mein Konig?” Ernst asked, tucking his tray under an arm as if it were a military baton.

“No Ernst. Go see if our guests need anything would you please?” he instructed.

Heinrich watched Ernst take his leave with a polite bow.  The man nearly collided with Countess Anna as she moved unsteadily into the command room, one hand pressed to her forehead. Only an adroit step saved his adjutant from a painful encounter.

“Sire. I didn’t lose all connection. The drone may still be able to self-destruct,” Anna managed through her obvious pain.

“Do it.” Heinrich responded authoritatively, almost his old self. Then his mouth twitched downwards.“Burn them out.”

Date:  4th of February 2017

Location: 28° 14’ 5.4564’’ N 80° 36’ 15.2316’’ W

Time: 3.05am

The ward was a shambles with gurneys and overbed tables smashed and still smoking shrapnel dotting the walls like performance art gone badly as Stanford got shakily to his feet.

The sounds of sobbing, muffled against Mack’s shoulder, continued as everyone in the room paused to take stock. Stanford knew he was in a state of shock. He’d seen the unbelievable. The girl crushed the robot with a scream and a gesture. Mack’s earlier comment repeated in his mind. “It’ll just be safer.” If she could do that, what else was she capable of?

Stanford numbly looked between the crushed remains and the teenager responsible for destroying it as Colonel Hardaker strode in with a squad of armed soldiers at his back.

“Report. Now. What just happened?” barked the Colonel as his men fanned out to check the wounded and the crying Nurse Simpson who shakily tried to stem the bleeding of her wound. Aside from the cut on China’s shoulder, none of the other visitors appeared injured.

“I-I don’t know Sir,” stammered Stanford. He shook his head, trying to clear away the fuzziness in his thoughts, his distracted gaze kept returning to the compressed metal shell of the drone  and wondering how she, Jay, had done it.

He couldn’t help it. He was a scientist, and here was something that nothing he knew as a physicist could explain. It was like a mosquito bite. He itched with curiosity to find out how she had accomplished it.

“I do,” replied Mack, her voice hard. She cradled Jay’s head as the waifish teen sobbed piteously.

Did that hurt her? The errant thought flickered across Stanford’s mind as he watched the inconsolable girl.

“That was a Royal assassin drone. Which means our enemies are here, hunting us,” Mack stated, matter-of-factly in response to the Colonel.

“Enemies,.” Snake grumbled, idly rubbing an angry red elbow he’d bashed during the fight throwing himself to one side. “That’s just brilliant. We barely know who we are and someone is trying to kill us already.”

“How did they find us? Until five minutes ago, we didn’t know where we were,” China inquired.  Concern littered the tone of his voice even as he applied pressure to his shoulder to slow the bleeding.

“What enemy?” demanded the Colonel, focusing on the threat implied in Mack’s statement.

“The Royals. Dammit, there’s no time!” Mack revealed urgently. “Now they’ve found us, we have to leave. Where is . . . the Instrument? They won’t stop at this. They’ll blow this facility to rubble and pick through the pebbles to find our corpses.” Mack slowly lifted Jay’s chin, looking into her dark eyes with clinical compassion. The storm of tears seemed to have passed.

As if her words spoke in prophecy, the lights in the room flickered when an explosion above them rocked the facility. Stanford covered his head as another wave of impacts above them shook the concrete walls.  He could barely hear their responses as klaxons echoed through the corridors adding to the cacophony.  He felt fear building, churning in his guts.  Invisible killer robots, bombs, what else followed these people here?

The Colonel flinched, then swore around his stogie, taking it from his mouth and throwing it to one side as an airman rushed forward. “The base is under attack!” the messenger exclaimed through heaved breath.

Stanford  watched and listened as if from a distant gallery viewing a strange scene unfold on stage. Half disbelieving, he felt  it all seemed to be happening to someone else as the floor seemed to shiver, and more dust drifted down through the air. He couldn’t take his eyes from the remains of the royal drone, as if by focusing all his attention on this one thing, he could ignore everything else that was going on around him. This is real. This is real. He repeated the thought like a mental mantra in an attempt to talk himself out of shock.

Peripherally, he was aware of the Colonel barking orders and the visitors crowding around the teenager. A couple of lights still blinked on and off inside the twisted and compressed mess of metal and wires that was once a human-esque, robotic, death machine.

“Should those lights be blinking?” Stanford muttered aloud. No one seemed to hear him over the noise within the room. No one except the strange teenager.

Her eyes were red and puffy from crying but the alarm in them shone out.

“Get back!” the teenager shouted hoarsely at Stanford. She waved an arm, her face a mask of concentration and Stanford yelped in surprise as invisible hands gripped his clothes and pulled him towards the group clustered around the young woman.

Time stood still as Stanford felt actual hands catch his backwards movement. With a grunt of effort from beside him on the bed, Jay reached out, gesturing once again as if pressing her palms against a wall.

He held his breath as the lights on the drone flickered rapidly a mere moment before another shuddering explosion ripped across the space. Stanford squeezed his eyes shut and cowered, expecting that this explosion would be a shrapnel laden hail of white hot metal that would tear him apart. The teenager screamed. After the span of two heartbeats when he wasn’t racked with pain, he opened his eyes to watch as the explosion, or part of the explosion, was somehow contained.

The blast, focused against the tiled side wall, ballooned out against some restraining force. Strain was clear on Jay’s twisted features as a scream seemed to tear its way out of her slender form. The wall had crumpled as if struck by an enormous blow, pieces of tile and cinder block blew into the adjoining room.

As dust filled the air amid multiple cries of pain, the lights in the room finally gave up from the repeated shocks, plunging them into immediate darkness. At Colonel Hardaker’s bellow to the armed airmen to get above ground now, Stanford began to move towards Nurse Janet and assist the airman bending to pick her up and carry her.

“Go, through there,” Commanded Sarge with all the power of a battlefield order behind her words. Stanford hesitated. Go with the visitors or go with Hardaker? After insuring the airman had a steady hold of Janet, he stumbled in the direction of the hole on shaky legs. Blinking against the gritty, stinging dust, he could barely see faint green light through the hole and he made for the dim light source.

This is the lab. Stanford thought as he made it past the shattered cinderblocks. There was just enough light emanating from the instrument to make out the shape of the table where Stanford and his team had examined the visitors equipment.

“There! Snake, grab Sheila. Get us out of here!” Mack pleaded.

“Grab who?” the man sounded thoroughly confused.

Stanford stepped forward, almost tripping over the body of Doctor Brown. The green light in the next room made it seem she was covered in black oil, her spattered form staring into the distance with a vacant gaze. He shuddered and resisted the sudden urge to vomit as he realized the black spots were blood.  Her lifeless eyes told the rest of the story.

“THE INSTRUMENT DAMMIT!” Mack screamed.

I should have insisted. I should have sent you away. Stanford thought, bending down to check for a pulse out of habit as the last otherworldly visitor stepped into the room behind him. Sarge carried Jay, who hung barely conscious in her arms like a rag doll. China, hampered by his injury, started grabbing equipment and packs. Meanwhile, Snake, his hands shaking gently as if touching a lover, lifted the glowing instrument.

“DNA signature match, Hello Pilot Adder. We are at thirty one percent residual charge. Sufficient for non-dimensional transit. Are you operational?” inquired the strangely organic, yet still mechanical, feminine voice from the guitar-shaped device.

“What do I do?” Snake demanded as the floor shook from another explosion from above. “I don’t know what to do!” he frantically yelled, his voice cracking and looking at the others with wild eyes.

With a languid hand from within the circle of protection offered by Sarge’s arms, Jay reached towards Snake, placing a soft palm against his bearded face.

“Remember,.” Jay commanded, her tone both urgent and comforting at the same time, before her head lolled back as she lost consciousness.

Snake shivered, closing his eyes as his mouth opened and shut like a goldfish. Stanford watched as strange expressions of wonder and a frown of discontent warred on his features at the teenager’s touch. It took Snake a long moment to recover.

Sarge slung Jay over her shoulder fireman style, reaching forward to grab the rifle and whatever she could reach in the dim light. China and Mack were twin tornadoes of activity as they scrambled, scooping up equipment with frenetic haste. Stanford knelt frozen in place next to the body of Dr. Brown, trying to make sense of it all he’d just experienced.

As he slipped the support strap over his head, an expression of confidence settled over the musician’s face. “I need coordinates! Now,” his tone urgent.

Stanford spouted the first thing that came into his head. “Twenty two point nine five degrees South, forty three point two one degrees West.”

He’d been there on his honeymoon and shown his precocious older daughter on a map program not more than two weeks ago.

Snake repeated the coordinates to the machine.

“Transfer protocols initiated. Equipment and personnel for transfer identified. Pilot must generate harmonic wave pattern Alpha Zero One Nine. Passengers need to hitch with harmonic one nine. Transfer will begin in 30 seconds mark. You ready, Snake?”

“I get it! I remember. You need to make an intertwining harmonic wave pattern. Quick! Sing this pattern.” Snake sang a four note melody, the sound pure and bright in the maelstrom of thundering bombardment from above.

"Snake, can anyone travel with the Instrument as long as they match the harmonic wave pattern?" Stanford inquired urgently.  

He tore himself away from Doctor Brown’s unresponsive body as another impact shook the facility. He hadn’t felt a pulse, she was gone  and there was no sign of Doctor Wright or the other lab technicians.

Snake slung the nearest backpack onto his unoccupied shoulder and cradled the instrument in both hands. An audible hum could be heard from within the device, coruscating blue-grey energy began to swirl inside the resonating chamber, picking up speed.

"There’s a limit on the amount of non-hitched weight that can be carried. Jay is unconscious so she’s dead weight, along with all the equipment. Hope you can carry a tune, Stan or this will be a bumpy ride,." Snake yelled over what sounded like the roof collapsing in the next room as a gout of dust poured in through the hole in the wall.

The rebel guitarist moved to stand in the middle of the room, giving himself as much room around him as he could to enable everyone to get close. Stanford felt the instrument powering up, filling the air fill with the hair raising sensation of static electricity.

“Transfer protocols initiated. Hitch with harmonic one nine. Transfer in 9 . . . 8 . . . 7 . . . 6 . . .”

With a slightly furrowed brow and a gaze of brutal concentration, Snake stood at the ready his fingers poised over the strings of the instrument, focused on the task at hand as the floor shook. Stanford prayed as he desperately repeated the musical notes in his head. The onus was on the musician to  carry the others through to the other side and the enormity of that responsibility weighed on his features.  Then Snake rolled his shoulder and from Stanford’s view, the musician seemed to release some of the tenseness in his posture and to let his reflexes take over. Snake’s fingers strummed across the air. Muscle memory, Stanford thought.

The musician’s left hand moved confidently up the neck of the guitar to the tuning knobs, performing a slap harmonic with his right. The strings sung out clearly as the shock sent the metal coils vibrating. He paused a half-second, seeming to enjoy the action, grinning at the sound. Snake then twisted the tuning knob, dropping the note and creating just the right chord.

Snake then silenced the strings and carefully positioned his fingers. He appeared calm to Stanford, but he could hear the slight tremor imparted to the strings. Poised and ready for the completion of the countdown,  Stanford took a cautiously deep breath as did everyone else, trying not to fill his lungs with dust, as they prepared to sing.

. . . 3 . . .  The oscillating well of energy in the resonance chamber of the instrument extended a nest of tendrils which rhythmically snapped quickly towards the visitors and Stanford in a staccato fashion. The group sang the notes that Snake had demonstrated, against the rising cacophony of the facility coming down around them. Blue-grey tendrils wrapped around them all, covering them in a fine net of energy that gave Stanford a tingling sensation.

. . . 2 . . .  The energy expanded, forming a translucent, blue-grey, pulsing sphere that contained the group. Outside the sphere, sounds were muted, only the rising hum from the Instrument and the rough singing of the group could be heard. What little could be seen through the translucent bubble that surrounded them appeared chaotic. Time itself appeared to slow down in the last seconds before transfer. The world outside the sphere rocked urgently, as the ceiling started to rained large chunks that ricocheted off the energy barrier.

. . . 1 . . .  As Snake’s hand struck the strings, a powerful blast of energy rippled outwards from the instrument in a palpitating wave of brilliant blue.  It reverberated along the tendrils and moved with a purpose both strange and wonderful in Stanford’s eyes. It’s like looking at sound come alive, Stanford marveled as he sang the notes desperately. Everything outside the sphere disappeared from his vision and he felt himself pulled, in a direction impossible to quantify.