North Atlantic Ocean – Off the northern coast of Ireland – 4:00 a.m. – December 23rd

  HMS Valhalla was the epitome of what a Nuclear Attack Submarine was meant to be.

  The first of her class, she was four hundred feet in length, had a beam of fifty-five feet and a draft of forty-seven feet. Her incredible design and triple layered hull allowed her to dive to an unprecedented depth of two thousand six hundred and fifty feet—four hundred and forty fathoms.

  Powered as she was by two Rolls-Royce, PWR-4, dual pressurized gel, nuclear reactors, she would not need refueling for thirty years and could remain submerged for periods of up to eight months, whilst cruising underwater in excess of thirty-eight knots. That task would be completed in near silence—thanks to the revolutionary, Stealth Aqua-Jet Propulsor System—courtesy of the Weapons Division of Yeung Technologies. Her uniquely designed skin, comprised of individual bio-acoustic tiles grown in a laboratory, were said to mimic the signature of a dolphin. This, together with her intra-hull Optronic Stealth Mast and Atlas Hydrographic echo-sensing equipment, would render her invisible to sonar, surface radar and any other current radio or hydrophonic systems.

  In other words, once the Valhalla went tactical, she ceased to exist.

  Block V, Tomahawk Orbital Cruise Missiles, with the latest ground-breaking gravo nuclear variable yield payload; Bloodhound, Hunt & Capture EMP homing-harpoons; and the radically new, Hammerhead Seek & Destroy, high explosive torpedoes—all controlled by an AI Combat Management System, similarly tailored by the aforesaid Yeung Technologies—meant she was not only the most advanced specter to sail the seven seas, but also the perfect killer.

  For the past five months, this new flagship of the Royal Navy’s submarine fleet had been undergoing final battle exercises between the Atlantic Undersea Test and Evaluation Center, in the Bahamas, and the US Navy’s missile ranges in the Gulf of Mexico. Passing with flying colors, the Valhalla’s compliment had stood down for a two week break, stateside, and now they were nearly home.

  The crew themselves had behaved impeccably. Even better, the boat would be berthed in time for Christmas, and they would enjoy over a month with their families before setting sail again on their first active commission.

  While happy, Captain Elway Rowland found the timing rather poignant. Pity she’s going to be the last Attack Class vessel ever designed. Still, I suppose the boys at the Ministry know what they’re doing, bringing us into line with the Guardians aim of global security. Mind you, it won’t really bother me soon. Two more years and Florida, here I come!

  Checking their position with his Executive Officer—Lieutenant Commander George Deacon—Rowland noted they were now well past Hebrides Seamount and Donegal Fan, and closing on Rathlin, a small boot shaped island six miles off the northern coast of Ireland and a mere sixteen miles east of the Mull of Kintyre.

  “George, take her up, will you?” Rowland sighed. “We might as well take in the open sky one last time before we get back.”

  “Yes, Sir. Which approach into the Firth would you prefer?”

  Using the digital ghost antennae to scout their route ahead, Rowland could see several fishing boats a few miles out from Colerain, Ireland. “Take her round the top, surface approach. We wouldn’t want to upset Her Majesty by getting her latest toy caught in nets, would we?”

  “Aye, Sir . . . Helmsman! Prepare to surface, automated standard response. Set hydroplanes to alpha-one, forward tanks with propulsion broach.”

  The helmsman echoed, “Preparing to surface, response set to automated standard. Hydroplanes now calibrated to alpha-one; forward tanks ready to purge; depth steady at one hundred feet.”

  Rowland walked back to his duty cabin to find something warm to wear in anticipation of the brisk night air and felt the deck beneath his feet start to tilt upward as the gradual ascent began. Collecting his coat, he grabbed one for his EXO and was re-entering the control room when the duty engineer, Chief Petty Officer Bob Clarkson, snapped his fingers to draw their attention.

  “Sirs, you need to take a look at this!”

  Captain and EXO ambled over to the wraparound triple display unit encompassing the senior rating in a diffuse verdant glow. Once they were standing either side of him, the Chief pointed to the right-hand screen and highlighted his concerns, “For some reason, we have a uniform buildup of heat in the reactors?”

  Scrutinizing that console, Rowland could see a dual, diagrammatical replica of each core, with input and output relays and temperature indicator bars. Both reactors were showing the usual rate of absorption. However, they were failing to adequately cool the fuel rods, all of which showed an identical rate of elevation across the board.

  “Bob, have you run a diagnostic on the cooling system?” the EXO asked across the Captain’s shoulder.

  “Just finishing the second one now, Sir. Ah, here we go.” The results flashed up. “This can’t be right! We’d normally get a fractional temperature variance between the two cells, corresponding to their individual isotopic decay ratios. For them to be so precisely aligned means something’s controlling the increase.”

  “And I take it that something isn’t us?” Rowland interjected wryly.

  “No, Sir! It bloody well isn’t! If this continues, it will rupture containment.”

  The EXO leaned in to whisper in Rowland’s ear. “Sir, may I recommend we shut down both systems and revert to passive cooling? We’re only two hours out from Faslane and the ocean will do the job just as well?”

  Fortunately, the Valhalla was designed to tolerate a complete loss of primary power for short periods and was able to utilize seawater to regulate the propulsion system. “Do it! We can sort this out once we’ve berthed and the crew has disembarked. Give the boys at Clyde something to do for a change, eh?” For goodness sake! We had a clean sheet until this glitch. Why now?

  Beside him, the Chief commenced listing the necessary criteria to isolate the reactors and cool them using the icy expanse of the North Atlantic. Thirty seconds later, he turned to the two officers and asked, “Will you input your respective codes, please?”

  George went first, typing out his executive twelve digit shutdown sequence, before stepping aside for his captain, who swiftly did likewise. Once the appropriate etiquette had been satisfied, Bob Clarkson added his own confirmatory password and selected: enter.

  Interior lights began stuttering on and off throughout the boat. Seconds later, the inevitable whine of electrical systems shutting down followed. The bridge went dark.

  What now? “Bob, report!” Rowland barked.

  The sound of metal being pounded by something soft resonated out of the gloom. “Bob?”

  Emergency lighting kicked in. Rowland glared at his engineer, who appeared eerily deformed in the intensifying ruby flush illuminating the backups.

  “Just a second, Sir.” Holding up one hand as a sign of forbearance, the Chief continued pummeling at the caplock to an emergency plunger situated on the far side of his desk with his opposite fist.

  As he waited, Rowland could feel the boat leveling out. Though annoyed, he had to acknowledge the discipline of his crew. No shouting, no panicking, just the sound of them quietly and competently checking their own stations and equipment, as the most expensive weapon the Royal Navy had ever produced began a slow and graceful glide to the bottom.

  Then the siren kicked in.

  The EXO’s voice cut over the ramping warble of the klaxon. “Blow tanks and take her up. We’ll sort this out on the surface.”

  “Blow tanks, aye, Sir.” the helmsman sounded back.

  “And turn that damned alarm off! We all know we’re up shit creek without a paddle!”

  “Shit creek it is, aye, Sir.”

  It went quiet again and everyone glanced up reflexively as the re-pressurization of the ballast tanks generated a telltale thrum. The nose began to rise, their gradient increasing the more positive buoyancy returned.

  Rowland took a deep breath to calm his nerves. “So, have you worked out what the problem is yet, Bob?

  The Chief was staring at his monitors, a look of puzzled consternation on his face. Waving furiously, he beckoned the captain closer.

  Rowland stooped to take a look and was immediately reminded of one of his all-time favorite classic science fiction films—The Matrix—in which everything, reality included, was represented by tumbling, fluctuating code. And with good reason. The Chief’s readouts were filled with indecipherable emerald symbols that dribbled down each screen in a never-ending cascade. “Is . . . is that what I think it is?”

  “Yes, it damned well is! Though, how the hell anyone managed to crack the firewalls of this system, God only knows.”

  Rowland shook his EXO by the shoulder. “George, release the beacon, just in case.”

  They all held on as the Valhalla continued to ascend rapidly, forcing the EXO to swing like a monkey along the grab rails. Reaching the sail module, he entered the appropriate code to unlock the outer cover protecting the emergency locator buoy. Grasping the piston release lever with both hands, he hung on tight and let his weight tug it downward.

  A sharp rumbling hiss reverberated along the hull and the indicator light changed from red to green. “Beacon away, Sir,” he yelled.

  Everyone clung on grimly as the Valhalla broke surface and crashed back down like a giant fairground ride. Once everything had settled, Rowland scanned the command deck and was dismayed to discover that all the main stations had been compromised by the same virus. A tiny, selfish part of him was relieved. It meant the problem was not of their causing, and it would make the inevitable ear-bashing he would get from Admiral Lake on their return a little easier to take.

  Then he had a disturbing thought. Spinning on his heel, Rowland quickly made his way toward the weapons compartment.

  Leading Seaman, Alan Grayson, gave him a smile and thumbs-up before he got there. “No problem here, Sir. Whatever’s fucking with the other systems—begging your pardon for the language— has either missed this station entirely or it wasn’t designed to deal with the defensive hardware incorporated into the AI.”

  Thank the stars for that! Rowland was just about to call for a handheld radio unit to take up onto the sail deck, when the arrival of five, black-clad individuals made him jump.

  The unexpected visitors pulled back their hoods and raised their heads, filling the control room with a warm yellow-white light, courtesy of the power generated by their minds. The Guardian in charge—identified by two, navy style bronze bands on the cuff of her sleeves—strode directly toward Rowland himself. “Captain, I am Guardian Master Adams. We detected your buoy and with your permission, can render assistance?”

  Recovering his wits, Rowland replied, Thank you. My chief engineer’s the best one to explain things to you. I hope you speak techno lingo, otherwise you might not understand a word he says.”

  The Guardian commander grinned, revealing an appreciation for military humor that put Rowland at ease. Taking her by the elbow, he ushered her across to where Bob Clarkson was still trying to free the emergency catch.

  “Got yourself in a pickle?” she observed.

  “You could say that,” the Chief replied. “This bastar . . . er, button should activate a re-boot of the systems, allowing the weapons AI to take over and control the boat for the few minutes it takes for an uncorrupted back-up program to assert itself. For some reason the restraining collar won’t budge.”

  Pushing him gently to one side, the Guardian Master insisted, “Allow me.”

  Looking on, Rowland watched as the woman concentrated on the lock. She must be using telekinesis or something similar?

  She frowned, reaching out as if grasping at an imaginary handle in midair. Then she closed her eyes, her movements becoming increasingly energetic by the second. That doesn’t look promising.

  Abruptly, her eyes snapped open. “Excuse the intrusion, but I don’t have time for twenty questions.” Stepping forward, she placed her hand over Clarkson’s head and allowed her gaze to turn inward and lose focus. The Chief stiffened for a moment, and then relaxed.

  What in the blazes?

  “She’s just doing a quick mind ream,” a voice behind everyone said.

  Turning, Rowland found himself face to face with one of the other Guardians, a younger man with a studious expression. “She’s doing what?”

  “A mind ream. It’s a technique we use if we need information quickly. Guardian Master Adams tried to use her TK to free the mechanism but the darn thing doesn’t want to play. So she’s currently sifting through Bob’s memories to find out exactly how the latch works. That way, she won’t break anything expensive if she has to get a little . . . aggressive.”

  “I trust I can rely on your integrity should you glean the context of our more sensitive operating procedures?”

  Smiling, the young Guardian replied, “Of course, Captain. I’m James, by the way. Jim to my friends. But like all my compatriots, integrity is my middle name.”

  “Got it!” the Guardian Master announced triumphantly.

  She glanced at her younger companion who had been speaking, and then to another member of her party. Both saluted and started moving toward the stairs leading down into the bowels of the vessel, only to linger near the top step as if awaiting further instructions.

  Addressing the Executive Officer, Adams said, “George, isn’t it? Would you be kind enough to escort my colleagues, James and Pam to your reactors? Both are highly skilled in dealing with all things nuclear and will be able to assess exactly what the dilemma is.”

  He nodded and quickly led the way past the waiting Guardians.

  Returning her attention to the trigger mechanism, Adams explained out loud what she was doing. “Seeing as it’s only a safeguard, I’m going to apply increasing pressure to the collar to force it open. A tricky task as my efforts don’t seem . . .? They don’t . . . eh?”

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  A dull retort signified the instant the caplock snapped and the plunger engaged. All the surrounding screens and monitors went blank. Then a metallic voice intoned, “Artificial Intelligence override activated. Systems re-boot initiated. Combat Management Protocols coming online.”

  Rowland noticed the Guardian commander seemed preoccupied. “Is everything alright, Master Adams?”

  “Huh? Oh, it’s nothing really. I must be a little under the weather is all. My TK didn’t want to play properly at first, and then came on way too strong. I’ve probably picked up a bug.”She shrugged. “Anyway, I understand this phase takes about two minutes?”

  “Yes, that’s right. There’s a redundant drive kept on an isolated network. It’s fully functional and programmed to take over operations until we return to port.”

  “Captain, my contingent has some hand-held devices with them capable of meshing with your software and other electronic systems. They employ some of our latest hunter-seeker tech, which link directly to our deepscanning abilities. Would you mind if we snoop about? We’ll be able to pinpoint the source of any virus very swiftly.”

  Rowland deliberated for a moment before the Guardian gently added, “Remember who we are. We’re here to assist, not steal your secrets.”

  She’s got a point! “Yes, please go ahead. The flacks’ going to fly thick and fast anyway when we get in, so at least I can dodge most of it by telling them exactly why this balls-up occurred in the first place.”

  Adams signaled her remaining two colleagues and they got to work, fitting what looked like wraparound visors with cables coming from the rear, to their heads. Those leads were plugged into an orb that emitted a wide cone of light.

  Once attached and activated, the beam intensified and a gentle humming could be heard, which increased slightly as it swept over the other people present. The Guardians worked their way slowly up and down the compartment several times, pausing every now and then to check their readings.

  Even though their eyes were covered, it was clear something was troubling them and Rowland grew more anxious as time passed.

  He was on the verge of asking what the snag was, when he heard alarmed voices and clanging deck plates echoing from down the aft gangway. Somebody was shouting, “Off! Everybody off! Both cores are going to blow!”

  Rowland glanced back toward the Guardian Master, who appeared as equally surprised. Her gaze became distant for a second, before focusing in anger. Gritting her teeth, she tried to do whatever it was she wanted to do again. To no avail. “Goddam it!”

  A sense of urgency gripped her. Sweeping her cloak to one side, she slapped the palm of her hand against a sky-gray emblem sewn into the bicep area of her uniform.

  Rounding on him, she growled, “We’re going to have a little talk about the technology you’ve incorporated into this craft. Something about it is interfering with our ability to function.”

  “I don’t know what you mean, there’s nothing here to . . .”

  He was interrupted by a silver-white brilliance. Shimmering like concentrated moonbeams, it washed through the room from end to end. He shot the Guardian Master a look. She declared, “It’s an emergency transport web. Any second now and everyone will be dosed with lethal radiation, so we’re taking you all off!”

  The sound of running feet grew louder and was almost on top of them. The net continued to flicker, crisscrossing each person multiple times as they stood there waiting to see what would happen next.

  James, the younger Guardian who had spoken to the Captain earlier, burst onto the bridge leading a crowd of panicking men and women. Glaring at his leader, he yelled, “For fuck sake, Sue, what’s taking so long? Get everybody out of here before it’s too late!”

  Everything went silent.

  Rowland was struck deaf, blind and dumb, yet experienced the most awful pins and needles sensation under his skin. Then he was somewhere else. Stumbling, as if he’d lost his balance, he looked around to find himself in a large chamber full of his fellow submariners, who all started talking at once. “Pipe down you lot,” he roared. “Show some discipline while I try and . . .”

  At that moment, his eye caught the extent of the vista outside the huge window on the starboard side of the room. A blazing yellow sun had just burst into view over the edge of a beautiful world hundreds of miles below them. Earth!

  Everyone’s gaze followed his, and all were struck dumb.

  “Captain Rowland, where are you?” The sound of George’s voice cut over the now muted chatter. “Captain?”

  One of the crewmen next to Rowland raised an arm and began waving. “He’s over here, Sir.”

  As the two men met in the center of the milling throng, a large hangar door opened opposite their position, revealing Master Adams from the rescue team and a male colleague, who sported two silver rings on his sleeves. The crowd parted as they walked to where Rowland and his EXO stood in astonished silence.

  The older Guardian inclined his head and spoke in accented English. “Gentlemen, I am Grand Master Gabriel Piccolo, Commander of Observation Station two. Please follow me. We have some urgent matters to discuss, with you and your Admiral Lake.”

  “Admiral Lake is here?” Rowland asked.

  “No, we have him on holo-link at the moment. But we will be taking you to him shortly—after you and your men have received a check up from our station healers. We need to establish exactly what the anomaly was that caused the catastrophic failure aboard your vessel, as it created an unusual side effect. Now, if you’ll just follow me.”

  Tagging along behind their hosts, Rowland glanced at his EXO, whose visage mirrored the exact same question as his own. What on earth did we have on the Valhalla that would worry the Guardians so much?

  The Premier Hotel – Belfast – Northern Ireland

  The elderly oriental gentleman stood in his pajamas next to the panoramic floor to ceiling window of his room, stared down through the rain drenched air in the direction of the River Lagan, only several hundred yards distant. Those lights strung along the walkway bordering the water’s edge threw back the indigo hue of the pre-dawn sky, the raindrops distorting their radiance and casting twinkling starbursts of rainbow brilliance along the path in a fairytale procession.

  Thankfully, the centrally heated executive suite revealed no hint of the bitter conditions outside. Time passed slowly, and Lei Yeung uttered a mournful sigh as he considered the hypnotic allure of the unceasing downpour.

  Three days they had been waiting. Three long, laborious, drawn out days of building expectation in a city that seemed forever gray beneath a mournful blanket that never stopped expressing its sorrow. Still, at least it will soon be over.

  Padding back into the dining and office area, he took a seat, opened his encrypted “Yeu-Tech” laptop computer and cracked his finger knuckles, one by one. Might as well get some work done to while away the hours.

  A voice in his mind replied: Work can wait, my friend. It’s time to celebrate in earnest!

  Yeung spun back toward the window in time to catch the materialization of his latest co-conspirators. Despite their awesome shielding capability, all three radiated a heady mix of euphoria and satisfaction. As a matter of habit, he phased in his special sight and was treated to the strontium-red glare displayed by individuals when in a highly emotional state.

  Their feelings were infectious. Breaking into a broad grin, Yeung almost skipped toward them. “I take it our dry run was successful?”

  The usually hostile Esther Perry was absolutely gushing. “Successful? We were more than successful, my clever little wolf in sheep’s clothing! Your toys provided the most agreeable entertainment I have experienced in a long, long time.”

  “Hah! Entertainment indeed,” echoed Harry Johnson, his bluff fa?ade gone for the moment. “They were as lost and confused as blind puppies snuffling for the teat.”

  Maintaining eye contact with Esther, Harry poked his chin toward the spare bedroom, and then scooped up a bottle of champagne and a couple of glasses. “We are going to celebrate in a time honored fashion. Don’t wait up!” He was followed moments later by Esther, who, though she didn’t say another word, nevertheless selected two more bottles as she breezed past the bar.

  Frowning in distaste, Yeung looked toward Simon and waited for a more rational explanation.

  Simon helped himself to a large brandy and flopped down on the leather couch, indicating for Yeung to come and sit with him. Realizing this may be an appropriate moment to share the mood, Yeung also poured himself a generous serving of the same beverage before taking his seat.

  “Forgive them, my friend,” Simon chided. “We haven’t had a lot to celebrate these past millennia, so times like this must be savored.”

  Yeung bowed his head in reply and remained silent, exercising heroic patience while Simon fought to control his own feelings of obvious pleasure.

  Eventually, Yeung could abide the wait no longer. “Tell me.”

  His face alight, Simon began, “As you so astutely counseled, the craft was indeed making its way around the northern shore of this island less than an hour ago, taking the usual routes employed by vessels travelling to this, Faslane?”

  “Yes, it is one of the main military harbors they use for that type of warship, so it is a simple thing to anticipate their movements.”

  Simon continued, “So, as planned, we secreted ourselves on the ocean floor in our natural forms, muted and cloaked, and scanned the craft as it passed the undersea mounts. Your sensors hidden on those prominences triggered the virus, disrupting the thermal exchange in its reactors.”

  “I take it they entered the necessary codes to shut them down and employ the seawater to take over the cooling process?”

  “Exactly as you predicted they would! We were watching closely as they initiated the override, and their surprise was an absolute treat to savor . . . although I must admit, that captain has a well disciplined crew.”

  “And then?”

  “As you envisaged, they deployed their emergency buoy to call for aid and made a rapid ascent to the surface, drawing the attention of our adversaries’ associates.”

  Now Yeung was really intrigued. “How did the EMUs fare?”

  “Better than I expected they would. We allowed these Guardians to enter the submersible craft and instead of simply attempting to mirror their abilities outright, I thought it best to avoid suspicion by intermittently triggering your devices.”

  “So they worked?”

  Simon looked thoughtful for a moment. “There was a momentary delay before the Guardians’ talents were negated, but each and every time we triggered the EMUs—as you call them—those benevolent fools were prevented from operating effectively.”

  Yeung grimaced. “That delay is an unfortunate consequence of the unit’s scanners. They have to read and then harmonize with the frequency of the particular ability employed. If Esther can reduce that factor, well and good! If not, do not worry yourselves unnecessarily, as our intended ambush will allow us time to completely isolate our target.”

  “Yes, there is that. Still, it would be prudent to ensure the emitters are operating at maximum efficiency on the day. We have almost two weeks before the event itself and I want to do everything possible to ensure our chances of success are maximized.”

  “I agree,” echoed Yeung. “And by then, we should have increased their energy harnessing potential too, so they will be capable of nullifying someone of a much higher mental capacity. An added bonus will be the fact that we will also have completed the miniaturized DNA encoders, thereby preventing their effects spilling over onto us.”

  Both devils studied one another, sure that the other would plan some future treachery if those adaptations were successfully incorporated and the opportunity presented itself.

  Raising his glass, Yeung proposed a toast, “To the joy of continued success.”

  His partner in crime echoed the sentiment. In the next room, the sound of the other celebrants’ means of expressing their elation became much more pronounced.

  Moon Orbit – 1:00 p.m. – December 23rd

  The youngsters on the observation deck of the Star Cruiser, Pathfinder, were finding it increasingly difficult to stay quiet or occupied. Yes, their extra sensory faculties were exceptional, but at only six and seven years of age respectively, Joshua Drake and Becky Selleck were still susceptible to the natural exuberance of childhood and the malady inflicting all kids—no matter where they’re from—when a journey is on the cards: the, “Are we there yet?” syndrome.

  When they began prodding each other for what must have been the sixth time with their telekinesis, Victoria had to take a deep breath and make an effort to remember the uphill struggle both children had been through to make it this far.

  “I’m bored!” Joshua whined. “You said we were going on a trip. Why haven’t we left yet? I’m hungry and it’s taking forever!”

  Keen to emphasize his torture, he threw himself to the floor and commenced drumming his heels against the deck in a relentless tattoo.

  Becky sneered and—in the condescending way a child does when they’re slightly older than those around them—declared, “That’s because it’s a special journey, silly! They have to make sure we don’t fly into a sun. Or a planet. Or even another ship. If we go too quickly, we could crash.”

  “No, we couldn’t,” Joshua retorted.

  “We might.”

  “Will not.”

  “We w-ill.”

  “Won’t!”—with an additional telekinetic jab added in for good measure.

  “Ouch!” Retaliating, Becky lashed out with her own ability, only to meet an invisible, opposing force.

  Both youngsters leaped upright as Victoria administered a brief psychic tweak to their nervous systems, and mentally and verbally shouted, “Enough!”

  Almost immediately, Joshua’s eyes narrowed, a litany of mischievous scenarios forming anew in his subconscious. “I thought you said it was going to be a surprise?”

  Is he skimming my mind? Not for the first time was Victoria astounded by the precocious strength of these tiny prodigies, talents who would one day mature to take the lead in mankind’s continuing adventure.

  Walking over to her charges, Victoria chivvied them toward the main viewport. “It is a surprise and we’re almost ready to depart. This is the first time a trip of this magnitude has been attempted, so we have to ensure everything is safe before we go.”

  “Told you,” Becky sniped, casting a smug grin Joshua’s way.

  Ignoring the jibe, Victoria pointed to a U shaped construct of dull metal and winking lights. “Right, let’s see if you remember your lessons. What’s that?”

  Appearing uninterested, Joshua kicked the trioxyresin glass gently, and grumbled, “It’s a spatial anchor for the big crystal. You already told us that.”

  Sharp little bugger! Victoria was amused. Sneaky too. He looks like he’s not paying attention, and all the time he’s soaking things up like a sponge. Out loud, she replied, “Clever boy, well done. But what type of crystal is it?”

  This time, Becky answered. “It’s a big piece of the old psitronic crystal we used to use, before Grandpa Adam found the new one of course.”

  Victoria loved the friendly informality Becky employed whenever the little girl spoke of her illustrious father. And the way she referred to the Guardians as we, as if she had always been a part of their extended family, was most endearing. “That’s right, Becky. But what does this piece do that’s special?”

  Joshua continued to kick at the window, seemingly more determined than ever to test its integrity.

  Continuing her charade of superiority, Becky adopted a studious pose. “It shows the way to . . . No . . .” She paused and gently scanned the anchor facility with her highly developed ultrasenses. “It calls out to its twin at the other end, giving the ship a tunnel to travel along.”

  “It’s not a tunnel, stupid. It’s a hyperport matrix!” Joshua abruptly chimed in.

  “Shut up, stupid. She didn’t ask you,” Becky retorted.

  “I’m not stupid, you are! We can see that by the way you don’t know how to explain things properly. That’s because you’re a girl who plays with dolls too much.” He started singing. “Stupid, stupid girl . . .”

  Victoria was stunned. Since his gifts had emerged, Joshua’s aptitude for absorbing knowledge had expanded way beyond the norm. I’ll have to ensure father completes another assessment of his potential, and soon, otherwise it’ll be impossible to keep his attention in class. But first, let’s nip this in the bud.

  “Joshua! That’s not how a Guardian would act. I know you’re not as dumb as you pretend, so you know that’s a very naughty thing to say. Psi-etiquette is there for a reason. Now what do you need to do?”

  The inevitable sulky bottom lip appeared, extending so far outward that Wyle E. Coyote would have been proud to run off the end of it before peering into the camera and plunging to his doom. But at least the window was spared its merciless beating.

  With his head cast so low it was almost grazing his knees, Joshua’s grudging apology trickled out into the ether: Sorry, Becky. I shouldn’t have said bad words.

  “That’s better,” Victoria crooned, “and anyway, you’re both right. It’s is a hyperport matrix and it does send out a special signal to the other crystal. So when we turn it on, what happens?”

  Joshua glanced at Becky who swiftly said, “We travel without moving!”

  “Yes, we jump—or teleport—a long, long way. It’s like stepping into a hole and coming right back out at the same time, only to find you’re someplace else. How cool is that?”

  “Super cool!” they chorused.

  “And where do we end up?”

  “Kalliste,” they cried in harmony.

  “Ah, but where is Kalliste?”

  Neither youngster could answer that, nor did it take long for them to start probing her shields for any weaknesses through which they might glean the answer.

  “That’s why today is a surprise,” Victoria explained, expertly fending off their efforts, “This is the first time we’re going to make sure the crystals are holding on to each other properly. If they work, we’ll build a big gate at both ends for all sorts of people to travel backward and forward every day. Are you ready to see them in action?”

  “Yes!” they both shouted, pressing their faces so hard against the glass, she thought they’d get nosebleeds.

  Reveling in the sudden silence, Victoria relaxed a little too much and said, “Uncle Andrew and Grandpa Adam are waiting at the other end. Evidently, they have another treat for you.” Ah shit! That was a mistake.

  Too late.

  A treat? What is it? Is it a toy?

  Does it explode? Can we eat it? Is it a monster?

  And in unison: Why won’t you open your mind and tell us?

  “Patience, patience. You’ll be there in less than a minute. Now, look out outside and tell me, what do you see?”

  Miraculously, they obeyed.

  The ship executed a sharp loop, so it had room to make an accelerating run at the temporary anchor point. In future, the hyperport matrix would coalesce within the boundary of the gate’s threshold. For now, though, someone with transcended capabilities was needed to hold the sheath in place.

  Exerting herself, Victoria formed a nexus-tone attuned to the specific harmonics of the crystal. As soon as the vibrations synchronized, a brilliant chord of blinding luminescence flared between the focusing arms, creating a shimmering veil of light. Through it, a tantalizing void of pulsating, spiraling colors could be seen.

  Enraptured by the delights of the astral rainbow calling to them, Becky and Joshua squealed in delight. “Oooooh!”

  The viewport darkened slightly as the UV filter engaged, and before they knew it, the Pathfinder had swept into the curtain.

  A brief pinch to their sinuses later and they were swooping away from a huge blue-white star. Before them, two alien moons vied for dominance against a verdant world bedecked in fluffy white clouds.

  “Oooooooh!” the children cried out again, transfixed by the sight of the beautiful planet below.

  Victoria marveled at the way Becky and Joshua were already ranging with their senses, scanning everything they could and drinking in the vista of new sensations this home from-home would offer. Well, it looks as if the physics involved is sound. It won’t be long before we get the two-way shuttles up and running.

  Spinning on her heels, she headed toward the door. “C’mon kids, let’s go and see what your surprise is!”

  She was stopped in her tracks by a double-whammy.

  “People are going to live here?” Becky squeaked.

  Where the hell did she get that from?

  “What’s a Guppa?” Joshua wondered aloud. “And why is one asking me for food?”

  Victoria was shocked. Yes, Father needs to re-assays these two, and quickly, or else there won’t be anything we can’t keep from them.