Menkab new very well that Mendel had not formulated any sort of a plan. It was easy enough for a computer to study the empirical evidence of that fact. The two of them had been wandering the galaxies for almost 10,000 years-- visiting this star system or that. Mendel never showed any real interest in any of these exotic destinations, no matter what the planet or its people might have had to offer him. He simply didn't care. He didn't care about anything, and he didn't care that there was no one to care that he didn't. As a matter of fact, everyone he knew was more than likely dead, and so who would be there to care about him? Vela hadn't tried to contact him for more than four centuries now, and for all Mendel knew, he was dead too, until he had arrived at Rasalas and directed Menkab to look for him on the planet's surface.
Menkab had an easy enough time of it. After all, computers were good at collecting massive amounts of meaningless data and scouring it tirelessly, limited only by the capacity to think given it by its human creators, and eventually finding the important tidbits that some human wanted to monitor. Menkab had kept tabs on Vela since the day Mendel had taken the ship from Earth, keeping him the subject of a low-level subroutine that would be sure to evade Mendel's detection. Mendel wasn't aware that the computer had access to all the information systems in the Fifty Galaxies through a series of network-to-network interfaces. Unbeknownst to Mendel, one of the software and hardware installations that was completed early in the ship's construction schedule included an interstellar C&C Module, or Command and Control. This would give the the home star port a way to not only track the ship, but direct it to return home or self destruct in the event of some sort of hi-jacking maneuver.
Fortunately for Mendel, he had known about the self-destruction device, and had jettisoned it out into deep space just minutes after his first tesserotation to another galaxy. It blew itself up at the end of a two-minute countdown set on the device that would be initiated should it detect any tampering or become detached from the body of the ship. It was a miracle Mendel had even found a way to dislodge the device and get it to the cargo hold fast enough to depressurize the hold letting the suction pull it into the vacuum of space. Later that afternoon, he had discovered that the ship was on an Earthbound course, and used his administrative login to stop the recall, and delete the program. It wouldn't have mattered anyway, considering that the device that executed the tesserotation was only added to the ship just hours before his departure.
The one piece of the puzzle that Mendel had never found, never became aware of was the indestructible information link that was created between the ships computer and Earth. Menkab was given a security subroutine that Mendel had never been made aware of. It was a basic installation that went into all star ships, and therefore would be overlooked if someone was looking for a special program or background process in the system. There was no physical hardware that was specific to the program. The captain of the ship could “jam” communications, but could not terminate the homing link. It was undetectable to anyone that wasn't supposed to know about it.
Altair Grus knew everything about every place Mendel had been to, everything he ate, and even the times of the day when he slept or woke. Grus was the chief of security for The Fornax, the Monarch's intergalactic brute task force. He'd been keeping tabs on Mendel since being promoted to his current position over twenty-five years earlier. He was shocked when he came into work this morning and found the urgent message waiting for him in his communicator.
> URGENT MESSAGE: ALTAIR GRUS, SECURITY CHIEF [THE FORNAX]> > > STAR SHIP, SERIAL # 44932A6019XDD # HAD BEEN DETECTED> > > IN ORBIT AROUND THE PLANET RASALAS. PASSENGER LIST
> > > CONFIRMED: MENDEL OMICRON; [NO OTHERS PRESENT].
> > > AWAITING FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS RE THE FORNAX.
Grus' heart began to beat fast. This was it. He'd been waiting for this for most of his adult life, ever since he'd first heard of the tesserotation theory. It was supposed to be just that, at the point in time when Mendel had walked out of the lab, and both he and the ship simply disappeared. Fast-forward ten thousand years, and the time had come. Grus had coveted Mendel; coveted his knowledge and the possession of the tesserotation device. Now, in his role as Security Chief, he had the opportunity of his lifetime. He would soon have that technology to himself. Leave the blasted Monarch's out of it. His loyalty to them was just a cover for his own selfish desires. He had used them and his position to obtain the resources he needed to track Mendel down.
Grus logged in to his secure terminal at the desk in his scarcely furnished office. He navigated to his secure personal file area, entered the password “OMICRON,” and waited for the program to load. In minutes, he confirmed that Mendel and his ship were in range for him to gain not only information access, but he could now view the interior of the ship via the embedded tracking cameras that were the center of the computer's human occupant monitoring system. He deftly switched the view screen from one camera to the next, searching the ship for it's only passenger. After about five minutes of learning the layout of the ship, and searching from fore to aft, he finally located his target, Mendel Omicron.
Suddenly, Grus felt his heart take another leap as Mendel turned to face the camera. He was speaking now, directly into the camera he had just accessed. Had Mendel seen him? No. That was not possible. It only felt like Mendel was looking at him. His gaze was deep and penetrating, yet empty at the same time. The appearance of his skin was not as Grus had expected—white, and see-through. The veins and arteries in his face and neck were clearly visible. If Mendel hadn't seen him, which was technically impossibly, who was he so intently conversing with at this very moment. He fumbled with the software settings to find the audio controls. He turned the volume up and picked up the conversation in the middle of a sentence.
“... way to appear as a local while I'm down there. I need you to synthesize some clothing that matches the current styles of Pyxis. It shouldn't be hard considering that they all seem to wear nothing but gray.”
“Mendel, they were only wearing gray clothing... uniforms actually... because the people were preparing for The Gathering,” Menkab replied. “The normal clothing of Pyxis is quite garish, and brightly colored.”
“The Gathering.... it's real?” Mendel asked the question under his breath, but Menkab answered the question as if it had been asked of the computer.
“Yes sir, The Gathering is real. The Gathering is an annual “festival,” if you will. It is a gathering of a breed of animal called ceffyls. They wander in out of the woods each summer solstice and “
Mendel cut him off abruptly. “Don't bother telling me. I know what it is. I saw it in my dream last night. I just didn't think it was real.”
“Your dreams, sir? I haven't detected you entering REM sleep cycles for the last sixty-five hours.”
“I don't know how I dreamt it, or even if I did... All I know is that I did see it, and it was as if I was there. Vela was there too. I spoke to him. He was angry with me for everything that happened after I left.”
“Very well. I will begin the synthesis process for your clothing in about twelve minutes. Rendering will be complete then, and it will take a further two hours and forty-nine minutes to generate a wardrobe sufficient to last through your visit to the plant. Would you like me to arrange for housing and furnishings while you wait, sir?”
“Yeah... that would be good. I wish I still felt up to doing those things myself, but I'm just so...”
“No need to finish the thought, sir, I'll continue to take care of you in any way that is needed and within my ability to provide. You should go and get some rest before the trip down to the surface. I'll have a supply of your maintenance medications ready for you prior to departure.”
“Thank you, Menkab. I wish you had feelings so you could feel how much I truly have appreciated your companionship all these years. If everything goes according to plan, I may not have need of your services for too much longer.”
“Your welcome sir.”
Grus glowered with excitement. He was both excited by seeing Mendel Omicron, and disgusted at the frailty of the man who had eluded the all-searching eyes of the Monarchy. It disgusted him, his weak manner of speech, his touchy-feely language with the computer. How pathetic. What a waste of the stretched and pasty-white flesh pulled tightly over his face. As Mendel walked away from the camera trained on him and feeding the terminal on Grus' desk, he decided then and there it would be a much easier job of obtaining possession of the star ship and the tesserotation device than he had previously thought. He logged off the terminal and immediately began formulating his own plan, making a note to himself to search for newly occupied dwellings in Pyxis. He'd give Mendel a few days or weeks to settle in and get comfortable, sure in the knowledge that he'd avoided detection.
Mendel slowly strode down the narrow hallway of the ship towards his cabin. What would matter if he slept another few hours before making his way down to the planet's surface anyway? No one was expecting him to show up, so the hours he was about to waste really wouldn't be a waste to anyone but himself.
After the door to his cabin slid shut, he stopped short of the foot of his bed, and pressed the spot on his collar to activate the release in his suit. After a moment, the materials slowly half-melted half-poured from its highest point on Mendel's body until it pooled on the floor. He stepped out of it, and over the next few minutes, the material formed itself into a small rectangular box, about the size of a deck of playing cards, with the dime-sized activator in the center on the upward facing side.
The skin on Mendel's body that was normally covered by the suit was even more damaged and wasted than was the skin of his face, which he treated with a special blend of chemicals. His back was covered in a lightning storm of blood-red cracks that spread from the nape of the neck down to his tailbone. Similar marks spread down each arm and leg, both front and back. He gingerly stepped over to his bed, and crept in between the sheets, laying on his back, looking up through the only real window in the ship. It revealed a vast expanse of space, and was capable of zooming in over two thousand times to expose details not visible to the naked eye.
Mendel stared out the window for nearly two hours trying unsuccessfully to fall asleep. He found himself reflecting on his spirituality and the nature of his soul when he looked out into the expanse of creation. How could he possibly live this long? God had not intended for man to live this long, surely. Even Earth's ancient prophets had lived eight- maybe nine-hundred years or so. He had lived for over ten-thousand years. But that didn't make him a prophet, did it? No; he couldn't possibly place himself in the same category with so many highly revered and righteous men. He had left the family he loved, not to save his people, but to preserve himself. He stole, he lied, he cheated his way through situations over the dark years of his life to preserve his own life.
Clearly, God had intended as part of his plan that it was appointed unto man that he should die, so why had He allowed Mendel to live this long? Perhaps man had tampered with one area of science that should never have been explored. Why had he chosen to undergo the gene therapy that had let him live so long when he should have died so long ago. Everyone who had ever meant anything to him had been destroyed in the Cleansing on Earth just fifteen years after he left. His wife, Cassie, and his daughter Ara were no more, and he had done absolutely nothing to save them. He had known before they themselves knew, and he did nothing to save them, only to preserve his life, and this forsaken ship he now lay in. He felt his time was come; time to finish his work and somehow find a way to return to his maker in whatever manner possible. But first, he had to exact his revenge for the Cleansing. His anger comforted him... it was his only true companion through the ten centuries he had roamed through the universe. It carried him off to sleep, much as it always had.
Grus had been absolutely appalled at the site of Mendel Omicron's skin underneath the clothing. His stomach turned and he felt like retching, yet he did not have the power to turn his gaze from the horrendous creature. How could anyone live in such a condition as this? By all rights, he should have died, with gaping wounds such as those. There must be something about that suit that he didn't know about. What was that? As far as he knew, no such technology existed anywhere in any of the worlds people with humans. There was no such things as “aliens” as depicted by ancient earth people in films, books, and television shows. Humans had only ever discovered humans on other worlds. Where could he have possibly gotten the technology for that? It looked like some sort of animal hide, but there is no way that animal hide could pour off a body and form itself into a neat little package, ready for the wearer to transport or wear again.
“Ahhh.... Omicron, you've been a very busy man, these many years! I'm guessing in all that time in isolation, you've had the opportunity of a lifetime to develop technologies with that ingenious mind of yours,” said Grus, aloud to himself in his office. It was entirely possible, seeing as he was the man in possession of the tesserotation device. “I suppose that's just another thing I'll be happy to pry from your cold dead fingers. You certainly won't be needing it that much longer.”
Grus heard a rapping at his door, and quickly turned off the holographic display on his desk, and turned to answer. It was one of his direct reports, Heze Volans, waiting in the hallway to bring him news.
“Chief Grus! This message was sent to you from the Monarchs. It's past my security clearance to even carry, but it was so urgent, they sent it through a third-world courier. We found him in the woods attempting to “harvest” the Great Ceffyl. Turns out it was a ruse to get our attention so he could safely deliver the message undetected.”
“Is he still here?” Grus asked, as he quickly finished reading the brief message.
“No, sir. We didn't have any reason to hold him after he revealed the reason for his activities. He checked out with Rasalan security credentials, so we had him transported back to the woods. “
“You fool! He didn't give you the whole message. Without his key code, this part of the message is meaningless. Quickly! Get out there and find him again! GO NOW! Take all of the available men you can find, and round him up!”
“But sir, he's long gone, the released him already and with the Gathering starting shortly, it's not safe for the ceffyls in the region we found him for us to be on the road. Maybe we should wait...”
“No. Go now. Your life depends on it. You have to find him now, ceffyl's be hanged!”
“Very well sir. We'll do our best.”
“Your best isn't good enough... just bring him back here as fast as you can.”
Grus was infuriated beyond anything that Heze had ever seen. He knew that this time was serious. He ran back down the hallway toward the security staff quarters and sounded the alarm.
“Gentlemen! Let's move. We've got a man to catch!”
The four or five men who had just walked in the door from releasing the messenger in the woods looked at Heze with fatigue. They had just spent hours hiking through the woods, and new a manhunt was not going to be over very soon. They roused the remaining three men from their bunks, and together they all left the security headquarters in search of the man who had brought the mysterious message to Grus.
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