The Orthogonal Galaxy (16 page)

“
I’m guessing the
radiation couldn’t have screwed with those solar
readings?”

“
South Africa was not in
the radiation path, Professor. They were on the opposite side of
the planet when the rays hit.”

Zimmer shook his head
vigorously. “I’m sorry, Vurim, but I’m not convinced. There simply
must be a correlation. Sensor failure is the only rational
explanation. The solar event could be a coincidence.” Then he
glanced back at the yellow stripe. A sickening feeling hit his
stomach. His voice grew quiet, as he spoke more to himself than to
the NASA administrator. “But then again… there hasn’t been anything
very rational about this whole mystery, has there? Dr. Gilroy,
thank you for the call. We will continue to
investigate.”

As he tapped his ear to
terminate the communication with Gilroy, he stared at the streak in
the image. Briefing his researchers on the situation, he explained,
“So, we have a yellow streak in the sky, the likes of which have
never been seen. Further, we have a communication failure from
Mars, a radiation event on Earth, and a solar flare on the Sun that
all happened within three seconds of each other.”

“
But, Professor,” Reyd
protested. “Light takes twelve minutes to travel from the Sun to
Mars. No single event would be synchronized between these three
heavenly bodies within a matter of seconds, unless the source of
the event was equidistant to all three orbs.”

“
Or, perhaps three
different synchronous sources which were all equidistant to their
respective locations,” suggested Kath.

“
You realize,” Joram
chimed in, “that either of those answers would suggest something
orchestrated.”

“
But, but whom? And why?!”
Zimmer spoke more to himself than to the students as he fixed his
gaze on the yellow undulating beam in the large video monitor
overhead. “And what does that yellow beam have to do with
it?”

Zimmer shook his head
slowly, his brow furrowed in confusion and frustration. “I—I—don’t
know.”

As the world’s foremost
expert on all things astronomical, he tried to formulate a theory,
but failed to think of anything reasonable. The entire room was
embraced in silence. Zimmer, flanked by three confused graduate
students, looked back up and continued to watch the yellow streak
until the light of dawn persisted in obscuring it completely from
view.

9

Summer thunderstorms
blackened the sky outside of the Atlanta courthouse. The thunder
and driving rain were a stark contrast to the quiet hall in which
Paol Joonter was found pacing back and forth. The defendant, his
wife, and attorney were all speechless as they waited for the
second day of deliberations to finish. He looked at his watch. It
now said 4:38 PM, just four minutes past the last time he glanced.
He turned on his heels and began pacing the opposite direction. As
his anxiety level was increasing, his lawyer looked more and more
comfortable.

“
I’m telling you, Paol,”
the lawyer broke the tense silence with a cool voice, “the longer
this jury hashes it over, the more likely they are to
acquit.”

“
Or hang,” sighed Paol as
he stopped to face the man who had given it his all to help his
cause. “And then, we’d just have to start all over again. Warron, I
don’t think I can go through this again.”

“
Even if they hang, Paol,
it gives us great confidence. Then we know that we can inject doubt
into jury members. If we can do it once, we can do it better the
next time around, because it buys us more time to create an even
better case.”

“
Warron,” Paol broke a
faint smile onto his pale face. “I’m sure glad you’re here. Thanks
for believing in me. It’s just that this is torture, waiting around
to hear the verdict.”

They heard footsteps
rapidly approaching down the hall. As a lady in a gray skirt and
white blouse turned the corner hurriedly, she looked at the lawyer
and panted.

“
Warron,” she gulped for
more air. “They’re ready.”

“
Thanks, Monay,” responded
the lawyer. “Please inform the clerk that we’ll be present in two
minutes.”

She vanished down the hall
as quickly as she arrived, echoes of footsteps trailing off
quickly.

“
If the worst happens,
Paol… we’ll appeal, you know.” Warron assured
confidently.

Paol did not return an
answer. Instead, he faced his wife, grabbed her hand, and began the
walk towards his fate.

The courtroom was empty,
except for the district attorney, who was pacing in front of his
table with his hands clasped behind his back, and the court clerk,
looking through a stack of papers on her desk just beside the
judge’s bench.

They took their seats and
other court participants and spectators began to file in. Paol
watched the jury enter intent on picking up body language that
might indicate the decision which was reached. Warron was less
interested in this technique, because he’d been wrong on these
clues too many times—usually in his favor. In the end, Paol wasn’t
sure what to make of any facial expressions or other body movements
as each of the twelve jurors took their seat. He suspected that
most were eager to finish up this ordeal and get back to their
normal lives. He only hoped that they were going to afford him the
same privilege.

“
All rise. The honorable
judge Walldar J. Etherton presiding.”

“
You may be seated,”
Etherton offered just before taking his seat. At Warron’s request,
Paol always remained standing until the judge was comfortably
seated in his own chair—a sign of respect for the authority who
presided over Paol’s future. Warron noted that defendants typically
received lighter sentences than might otherwise be the case, when
his clients followed all of his courtroom instructions
perfectly.

The judge looked over to
the jury stand. “Ms. Foreperson, has the jury reached a
verdict?”

A middle-aged woman
dressed in a tan business suit stood and faced the judge. “We have,
your Honor.”

“
Will you please read your
verdict to this court?” asked the judge.

“
We will, your Honor,” she
paused as she unfolded the verdict form she had filled out just
moments before. “On count number one, we find the defendant, Paol
R. Joonter… guilty of first degree murder against Rawson Becker. On
count number two, we find the defendant, Paol R. Joonter… guilty of
first degree murder against Shannyl Cox.”

Joonter bowed his head and
stared at the table. While he managed to maintain his composure
emotionally in spite of the quiet sobbing of his wife that word
guilty echoed violently through his head. It was the last word he
would hear before he was nudged by Warron.

“
Mr. Joonter,” the judge
addressed him. “Do you understand the verdict which have been given
by this jury of your peers?”

Paol stood and faced the
judge. He could not blame this man whose life service was in the
performance of justice. In fact, he did not know who to blame for
the failure in justice being delivered to him. “Yes, your
Honor.”

“
Ladies and gentlemen of
the court, I thank you for your patience and service here in this
courtroom. Jury members, I thank you and release you from the
service of this court. My clerk will provide you with instructions
upon your return to the jury office downstairs. This court is
adjourned until a date for sentencing can be arranged.”

With that, the gavel came
crashing down onto the judge’s desk, and the sharp noise made Paol
flinch. With wide eyes, Paol watched the jury file out of the
courtroom, but nobody returned his gaze. As the door closed behind
the last juror, he knew that this day would be a tremendous turning
point in his life and in the life of his family. However, even he
could not begin to comprehend how tremendous that change would
be.

10

“
Ah, here is box of tools
we will need.” Dmitri Boronov had rifled through the contents of
one workbench after another in the under-ground bunker. He looked
up at his new colleague. “I must apologize. I am not usually so
careless with equipment. I am some little off routine with your
arrival.”

“
No problem, Dmitri,”
accepted Garrison O’Ryan. “I knew we would find the toolbox. Even
Martian gravity is sufficient to keep things from floating off
into—”

The junior astronaut was
cut short by thick darkness, so complete that in looking all around
him, he could make out nothing—not a scrap of light to be found
anywhere.

“
Dmitri, what happened?”
called O’Ryan loudly, as if the sudden darkness had greatly
increased the distance between the two astronauts. After a series
of load clicks were heard, a faint blue-green light filled the
room. Thankfully, O’Ryan’s companion, toolbox in hand, was still
right by the workbench just a few feet away from him.

“
We lose power,” Dmitri
answered. “Emergency battery system has engaged, which is why the
light is so dull now.”

“
Dmitri,” Garrison’s voice
cracked with concern. “How often does this happen?”

“
Must be less than once
every two years. I have not seen this happen since I
come.”

“
What could cause a power
outage?”

“
My guess is malfunction
in power delivery grid.” He set the toolbox down. “This will likely
put our gauge repair work on back burner.” He said this lightly and
with a smile, hoping to ease the concern of his new
comrade.

He placed the headset from
his space helmet over his head and turned in on. “Mission Control,
this is Boronov. We notice power failure in bunker at local time…”
He looked down at his digital watch, which kept track of two
different time zones. “…Local time: 17 hours, 21 minutes; central
time 07 hours, 22 minutes. Please advise of repair work or
maintenance procedure required.”

Boronov looked up at his
companion. “We should hear from mission control in 10 minutes.
Meantime, we go look at power array control panel.”

“
Yeah, maybe it’s
something simple that we’ll spot quickly, like a plug that fell out
of an outlet?” He smiled in order to prompt Boronov on his joke.
The Russian returned the smile and began walking back to the bunker
entrance. As O’Ryan placed a firm grasp on the lever of the steel
door connecting to the underground tunnel, Dmitri noticed a sensor
panel next to the handle.

“
Het!!!” shouted the
Russian slipping into his native tongue, but the warning was too
late.

With a click of the latch,
the door flew outward and O’Ryan fell face first onto the concrete
floor. Blood stained the spot where he landed, lacerating his
forehead upon impact. He clawed at the ground, but found himself
being dragged slowly on the surface by a gale force wind, as if a
vacuum was sucking all of the oxygen out of the bunker. Boronov
embraced a support beam on a workbench near to the door and gasped
for oxygen as the rushing wind of the bunker replenished the
depressurized tunnel. He shielded his face and head as best as he
could, while small objects flew by. An assortment of hardware
glanced off of the Russian’s body as they sped through the recent
breach in the environment. Worried about his partner, he peeked
under his arm to see the body pulled by the unseen force, a small
trail of blood marking the straight trajectory of the body as it
slid down the poorly lit tunnel.

As Garrison gasped for
oxygen, he felt his lungs filling with more dust than air.
Realizing how helpless he was during this violent turn of events,
he attempted unsuccessfully to scream for Dmitri’s help just as
everything stopped as abruptly as it began. He lay on the ground,
drained of energy and choking in a mix of dust and blood that was
trickling into his mouth. He looked up to see a pair of astronaut
boots arrive.

“
Garrison, you alright?”
asked a voice in a thick Russian accent.

Coughing more than
answering, O’Ryan rolled to his back, lifted his head and nodded.
“I—think—so.”

Boronov collapsed to the
ground and rested his back against the wall. Breathing heavily, the
two astronauts took some time to recover in the dusty, dark tunnel.
At last Boronov raised himself and ran down the tunnel towards the
greenish hue where Garrison was standing at ease just a couple of
minutes before. The sound of footsteps dimmed, faded away, and then
quickly resounded their echo into the tunnel. Dmitri kneeled at the
head of his colleague. Lifting his head with one hand, he slowly
poured water into Garrison’s dry mouth with the other. As the
liquid trickled down his throat, it had the effect of a life-giving
elixir.

Raising up on his elbows,
Garrison’s senses were returning. “Dmitri, what happened? What is
going on here?”

Boronov took a deep
breath. “When you went to open door, I remember environment sensor.
Green light means environment on other side of door is safe. Red
light is not safe.”

“
So, the light on the
sensor was red?”

“
No, the light on the
sensor was out. It had no power. On Mars, one must never assume
environment is good.”