Sleep came easily but did not last. Sometime after the deepest rest was past, tenebrous visions began to torment Michael's mind, jerking him into wakefulness.
While the shuttle remained secure, Gabe using satellites to watch it from above, the lone occupant began to dream. At first the dreams were random, disconnected, rapid flashes of reality and fantasy. Even so, they did not disturb and Michael's subconscious drifted into a welcomed nothingness. This timeless period gave over to an awareness of pleasant feelings; the presence of his wife coming to comfort him after being absent for so long. She had not yet entered his world of dreams but she soon would and the anticipation was overwhelming.
He stood at the side of an unpaved road, light brown dirt powdering his polished boots. A warm wind caressed his face bringing with it the honeyed scent of clover. It was summer, the middle part of the day with the sun only slightly beyond the zenith. Looking off to his left, down the length of the country road by which he stood, he saw it divided deep green fields in front of a small forested area.
Purple, pink and white flowers, the purveyors of the honeyed scent, swayed in all directions among the field grass, moved by the touch of undecided wind currents, a waving ocean of color, some moving left, some right, with other parts gently swirling in place. The warmth on his forehead encouraged him to look upwards towards the sky, light blue without imperfection, clean white clouds slowly moving across the canopy.
Then it was that she appeared, displaying fully the truth of her beauty, her eyes telling Michael she even now remained in love with him. Standing in the field just beyond arms reach, Michael wanted to go to her, but found he could not. Though no force acted against him, something prevented him from moving. He was empty inside, hollow and lonely without strength. As if drained of the will to do the very thing he most wanted, defeated before an effort could even be made, he looked longingly at her, his heart not understanding its pain.
Unwillingly held in place Michael watched as she began to recede, a golden light in the distance drawing her into itself. There was no source, no point of origin for the light. Michael knew there was intelligence within it, although he wasn't sure why he knew this. He had a sense of well-being, calmness, freedom from all concern, a healing presence. It held knowledge of love given in a way and to a degree impossible to understand. A love absent any fear. He would give everything to become part of it, to find his purpose joined to it.
But he couldn't move in that direction. He could move unhindered in any other direction he might want, even to jump up or bend down, but he knew he couldn't move to attain the light or the love of his wife which was being drawn to it. He'd learned to live alone by accepting what his life was and, having accepted his loneliness, he lacked the will to choose otherwise. He could no longer bring himself to where the very thing he desired most would be his.
In the distance beyond the light sat the small German village, the steeple of the church rising above the other buildings. Without turning to look, he knew the shuttle was in place behind him and there would be no difficulty in returning to it, but he also knew that he wouldn't do so as long as he still held his wife in sight.
There was no shaking of the ground, no rending sounds or other forewarning as the field began to split apart. Down the length of the earthen road a chasm appeared, Michael on one side, his wife and the light on the other. Wisps of sulfurous smoke rose from the opening in the ground.
The strange lack of will that had painfully prevented him from moving towards his wife suddenly left him. He could move in her direction, but was now prevented from doing so by the widening divide, its presence a new cause of hurt to him. Approaching the very edge, he peered down into its red darkness. Faint sounds arose from the depths, horrible utterances anguished and tormented. Fear gripped Michael as his training failed to assist in taking control. He felt coldness on his skin. His heart raced and his defenses fell.
A complete absence of love invaded his soul, God's favor upon him drawn away into the pit at his feet. Loneliness enveloped him as if it were a cloaked feeling, one intensified by the love so recently near and once again denied to him. Its removal was more than merely a lack of emotional need. It was spiritual death, hatred of virtue, knowledge of being apart from love forever.
Michael knew that to die a physical death would not provide escape from the fear holding him. Possession of him by love's complete replacement could only be thwarted by non-existence, and he craved this release, aware it wasn't to be given.
At a great distance beneath him Michael saw shadows moving within the rising vapor, slithering movements going to and fro within the earth, ascending and descending, rising closer to the surface as they did so.
There was evil upon the shadows and he knew not to allow them to touch him. Even so, a preexisting bond with them prevented him from turning towards the shuttle, fleeing to its safety. Inexplicably he found himself unable to withdraw from what caused him so much pain.
Thickening and darkening, the vapors arising from the pit congealed, becoming an ever more pungent smoke preventing him from seeing anything on the chasm's opposite side. His wife no longer visible, Michael stepped back, lacking inner strength to regard the shadows hidden within the billowing smoke.
After many minutes languishing close by the pit's edge, listening to the torment of others drawing closer, Michael felt motion pass by his face.
Something flashed above him and then dropped back into the abyss, all the while remaining hidden as it did so. Then a second and third shadowy figure briefly passed in front of him before they too descended.
Just above him the smoke reached a gloomy climax before beginning to thin. Three shadows appeared together, rising higher than the ones that came before them. In descending they now no longer returned below the chasm's edge. Human in size and shape, protrusions extended from their heads, or torsos, or limbs, or all or any of these places. Creatures elongated and distorted without discernible features, writhing, swirling, twisting. Their movements in ascent, overcoming any distance lost in descending, they continued to rise as increasing numbers appeared, following in the obscene aerial dance.
Every so often a shadow would test the limit of the covering smoke, Michael anticipating an emergence that never came, unsure of his reaction if they were to be clearly seen. The gyrating dancers continued ever upwards, joined by more and more participants, the deadness inside Michael increasing with their numbers.
The smoke lessened, returning to its initial vaporous form as the first shadow to arise attained a point at which the veil dissipated. Where the vapor disappeared into the air above Michael's head, the shadow vanished along with it, but only in part. Maintaining a constant back and forth, up and down motion, the shadow first faded and then vanished where it lifted out of the vapor. Descending in its irregular movements, the portion of shadow that had left the vapor did not reappear as the remainder of the apparition again entered it. Disintegrating in stages, the ever more amputated shadow continued to fall back and rise again until nothing of it remained. This was repeated for all the shadows rising from the pit until there were none. As the last indistinct specter vanished, the vapor itself lifted from the crevice and it too was gone.
The sky, no longer blocked, was still blue with large downy clouds gliding past the summer sun. Clover covered grass throughout the separated pastures swirled about as before, encouraging sweetness in the air. Michael looked across the division for the light he'd seen and for his wife within it. There was uncertainty in his disappointment when neither could be found. What had he sought for when he looked; the love for his wife, or the greater love he felt coming from the light behind her? He did not know.
Except for the deep scar that ran the length of the country road, the beauty of the landscape was restored. Everything was as it had been and he could again move towards the other side. But the scar was wide, it was deep and it could not be crossed. The fear Michael felt slowly left him, but it was not replaced with kinder feelings. He was tired from the mental stress caused by trying to retain control. He was empty from having lost both the love he once knew and a love he was unsure of ever knowing again.
The caressing breeze and warm sun attempting to comfort him, only added to his weariness. It was all too much for him and he slumped to his knees before falling forward to lay prone in the grass, his head towards the chasm. Feeling momentarily the peace brought by exhaustion, he was barely conscious of the low sounds of anguish still drifting up from below.
As he rested, cradled by fatigue, a different sound slowly began to infiltrate his hearing. It too came from deep in the open ground and was not immediately distinct from the others. Gradually the lesser noise began to separate itself from the predominant noise of the disembodied cries. Intermittent echoes from tumbling rocks splintering in conflict with others before dying away, hands and feet slapping against hard surfaces, fingernails scratching along walls of stone, all mingled and became clearer as he listened.
Laying flat with the left side of his face to the ground, he could feel slight vibrations of activity under him. The trembling was not only felt where Michael rested, but ran along the entire length of the chasm. Something was climbing towards him and it was much closer than he'd first realized.
Lifting himself up onto his elbows just in time, Michael saw the top of a small, ashen head appear above the chasm's edge. Two small hands, white with stubby fingers and broken nails clawed into the surface dirt. Hands pressing down with feeble force and mighty effort, the creature lifted itself into view.
Michael jumped to his feet and backed away as the thing then gave an exaggerated heave to clear the lip of the crevice. Standing in front of him was a tiny, naked, somewhat human form, lacking in genitals of any kind, grayish, with large yellow eyes and frail limbs. It was not something to fear. With a sparse tuft of hair on top of its head, the appearance was humorous rather than frightening. Michael considered the thing for a long second as it swayed slightly and blinked at him. He decided that the creature wasn't ugly, though the visage could only best be described as something absent any beauty.
More of the creatures appeared behind the first small being, all possessing the same unredeemed repulsiveness, popping up along the opening in the earth, the later climbers pushing forward the first arrivals. As their numbers multiplied Michael stepped backwards so as not to be surrounded. They did not move, other than when shoved from behind, standing passively looking at the ground as if humiliated from knowing Michael was seeing their nakedness and that neither their appearance nor their numbers frightened him.
Continuing in his dream, Michael heard a voice from the sky, the same voice that had elicited the departure of Earth's population.
"These are those who have caused man to tremble and have terrorized humanity throughout the ages."
Nothing more was said.
Immediately, the sun's intensity increased, its heat becoming insufferable, and before Michael's eyes the silly little creatures began to dissolve. In no time they were gone, not even leaving a residue where they stood, as if having never existed. Deep in the earth the far away moaning continued as the two sides of the chasm once again came together, closing seamlessly, leaving no evidence of the events just past.
That was when Michael awoke.
The shuttle lay in darkness. With re-entry shields closed and the interior lighting off, Michael, in his initial wakefulness, was not certain he had actually opened his eyes. No longer a participant in the dream, the images remained vivid in his mind but not in his sight, providing proof he was awake. Pictures flashed through his thoughts, their sense of reality more haunting than the content they held, causing him not to feel as if he had just awakened but instead as if he had just returned from a distant journey. Embraced by dark obscurity he needed to confirm his return to the world he knew.
"Local time Gabe?"
"Six thirty-seven in the morning," came the reassuring reply.
"Anything to report? Any activity, local activity?" Michael asked, knowing what the answer would be. If anything or anyone had been about in the night, Gabe would have awakened him and reported it already. It was a conversational question only, used to further the distance from his dream.
"Nothing to report, other than small mammals foraging nearby."
Michael noted Gabe's omission of an exact distance; avoiding unnecessary detail helped to make the computer a better companion, easier to talk to. "Lights up Gabe. Shields open."
Repositioning the chair he'd been sleeping in (the executive shuttle being a short haul vehicle without beds, unlike the larger space going craft) Michael jumped up and proceeded to the galley. Stress once abated always made him hungry, in addition to needing his first meal of the day; a meal that turned out to be a dry tasteless food bar washed down with black coffee. The shuttle's food dispenser was not built for well rounded meals. The needs of his body satisfied, if just, he prepared for the day ahead.
The dream was slowly fading, assisted by a subdued morning light creeping in through the shuttle's many small windows. There was a storage compartment at the rear from which Michael removed a winter coat and gloves, a small round scanning device and a thin rectangular metal case. The last thing to be removed was a dull, green weapon; a stubby handheld thermionic gun designed for use in close quarters.
Keeping the metal case in his hand, Michael threw everything else onto a nearby chair and headed to the shuttle's lavatory. Once there he placed the case on the counter, opened it and withdrew a round piece of clear film by placing it on the tip of one finger. The binocular optic was tenderly placed into his right eye. A second clear film was then withdrawn and placed into the left eye. Michael blinked both securely into position. That done, he returned to the items piled on the chair. Picking up the scanner and the gun he clipped both to his belt. Putting on the coat and gloves he was ready to head out.
With the shuttle's door open, Michael stood at the top of the lowered ramp feeling the crisp morning chill on his face. A delicate mist hovered over the frosty ground, blocking out the bottom half of the forest enclosing the field's north and west sides. A dull sun was just beginning to push itself above the village rooftops. There was an absence of wind. Everything was at peace.
Despite the night torments he felt wonderfully alive. Refreshed by the cold air, he had a mission. The village lay less than a kilometer's distance and Michael would approach it cautiously on foot, looking for signs of any activity that wasn't automated.
Before walking down the ramp he checked the optic film over his eyes to ensure it functioned properly. Moving both eyes upwards and then back into position caused a slight muscle twitch to activate the binocular optics. Instantly the village shot towards him, the nearest house seeming close enough to reach out and touch. Another movement of the eyes and the perspective returned to normal as the village was flung back to its original position.
Next, he removed the thermionic gun from his belt and discharged it into the snow a few meters from the ramp. A reddish beam melted the snow and turned the frozen ground underneath to a slushy mess. Satisfied, he set off.
"Gabe. You still scanning?"
"Satellite scans of the village and surrounding area have continued," came the response, "there has been no unknown activity during this time."
"No rabbits foraging nearby?" Michael joked.
"That is a known activity," Gabe replied, apparently missing the human attempt at humor.
It was colder than the day before, causing the snow in those places where it was thin and hard against the ground to crunch and squeak under his boots as he walked. No sense in attempting to be stealthy, he thought to himself. If there was anything about, it would certainly hear the noise even if it couldn't see him.
As he walked across the field he took note of the surroundings, amazed that his dream had captured details he hadn't consciously remembered. Picturing the landscape around him as it would look in the summer season easily brought his dream to life. Types, sizes and placement of trees were exact in the minutest detail, so too with the outlying houses of the village. The topography was perfect. The only detail missing from his dream was the dirt road. Drones had already cleared the village streets and the main road passing through it. If there had been an unpaved road anywhere it would have been cleared by them as well. The absence of a dirt road comforted him. His dream had been so realistic at the time that he actually believed he was there. Anything not present in the waking world served to confirm the dream's unreality.
He sought for signs of other things missing or out of place, shifting his gaze left and right as he walked. Except for the lack of snow and a dirt road, everything appeared exactly as it had been when he was asleep. What he saw matched the dream with such perfection, that a few minutes later he began to feel a sense of déjà vu. Still in open field, a few hundred meters from the nearest tree line, he stopped in the exact spot where his wife had first been seen in his dream. Not only was the distance to the forest and the village exact, so were the details of both as seen from where he stood.
This was not possible, his subconscious couldn't have previously recorded the details encircling him; he'd never seen them from this perspective other than in the dream. The shuttle's altitude, the drifting snow, and his concentration on other matters when he arrived, would have prevented the holding within his memory of the details before him regardless of what position they might have been viewed from. Nonetheless, his dream had foretold without imperfection the spot on which he now stood.
Staring straight ahead towards the village he bent his knees, lowering into a crouch, a gloved hand brushing at the snow. Beneath the surface layer the snow became hard-packed against the ground. Michael pounded at it with his fist, causing it to break up. He began picking at the flat pieces, lifting and throwing them aside. The underside of each piece held flecks of light brown dirt, some with small pebbles frozen into the surface.
Michael stood and began kicking at the ground, flinging chunks of frozen snow in all directions. He moved forward, stamping with his heel and continuing to kick the snow about until coming to a grassy edge next to the underlying dirt. He turned to see a brown path through the snow the same width as the dirt road in his dream. Everything around him was as it had been when he slept.
Michael began a paced run to the village, wanting to get there quickly but not wanting to overly exert himself in the process. Last evening's evidence of an intelligent life form moving in the direction of the village was hardly conclusive, but he knew that something out of the ordinary was happening and he wanted answers as soon as possible. He also wanted to conserve his strength in case it should be needed later.
Nearing the village he began to feel as if someone were looking over his shoulder, running next to him, watching him. It was a sense, a gut feeling that in combat is never ignored. For a brief second fear intruded. He temporarily lost the controlled timing of his breathing before the regulated pattern could be restored. He needed to maximize the benefit from the oxygen being inhaled, limiting fatigue. There was no room for fear, mental discipline would be maintained. A quick look in all directions established that he was alone.
Arriving at the rear of the first building bordering the field, Michael stopped to listen. He leaned against a two-storey wooden house of a style existing in the area for hundreds of years. It would not have surprised him to learn the house was more than five centuries old.
The village, with most houses located on a few side streets branching off the one main road running through its center, had a main commercial area with small stores and service shops around a town square. This central commercial area was easily accessed from the streets that reached to the edge of the fields surrounding it. Everything in the village was dominated by the ancient stone church Michael had seen the day before when flying into the area.
Moving cautiously towards the front of the house, he once again queried Gabe about any unusual activities and was reassured by the computer's negative response. Detecting humor in Gabe's voice, Michael listened as it advised him about the lack of intelligent biological life in the area, "present company excluded," and further advised that not only was Michael alone in the village, he also remained alone on the planet. It was a reassurance not all together comforting. The feeling of being watched was now gone, although Michael could not say with certainty the sense of a presence had left him due to the information just provided by Gabe. He felt more as if the presence had simply moved on.
Michael peered around the front corner of the house and looked down a short street with similar style homes along both sides. It connected to the main road at the far end. Several drones varying in type and size busied themselves on the street and around some of the houses, attending to their scheduled duties. Maintenance was the primary task, repairs where needed, with general upkeep inside and outside the homes. Such activities continued throughout the village and everywhere else on Earth, in anticipation of the owners' return from their wanderings.
Again reminding himself that stealth was an exercise in futility, knowing anyone with technology capable of rendering themselves invisible would surely be able to track him regardless of any efforts he took to remain hidden - he walked to the middle of the road and proceeded down it.
Glancing to both sides he searched for anything that might be out of place, though he had no idea what that might be. Anything not quite right perhaps. But having never been in the village before and not having any idea of what was going on, that left open a wide door of possibilities.
Narrowing the requirements, he decided to look for a hint of anything not human, trusting if humans were involved it would not present a danger to him.
Reaching the main road he turned left, heading to the village center. Except for one vacant lot partway along the side he was on, closely packed homes lined the road on each side, seamlessly giving way to commercial buildings two and three stories tall, closer to the main square.
As with many European villages the center of this one was graced with an ornate fountain. Standing atop a column in the middle of the fountain was a stone angel, carved with wings folded across its back, eyes protectively looking at the main door of the church less than fifty meters away. The church, though small, towered over the other buildings in the village, its steeple reaching to heaven, aspiring to honor God to the same degree as grander cathedrals in the larger cities did.
Michael approached the fountain. Having no water flowing during Winter's cold, it was stark and spiritless. Even so, it was an admirably humble work of modest people. Nothing unusual was to be seen anywhere until he began walking around the fountain towards the broad steps leading up to the church doors. Just to the right of the steps, at the base of the structure's stone wall, a drone lay on its side in the snow. Drawing closer he could see that portions of its hard outer shell had been crushed, its ovoid-shaped head partially disconnected. It looked as if it had been picked up and violently thrown against the church. There were no marks in the snow leading from the road to where the drone was deposited to indicate whether it had arrived of its own accord or been carried to where it now rested.
Michael delayed moving towards it, standing silently while considering his options. Should he approach the wrecked machine and look for evidence of what might have happened, possibly proof of an alien presence, or was it best to find a secure spot nearby where he could hide and observe things, hoping the drone's attacker might reveal themselves, assuming there was an attacker?
He had no concerns about the drone being booby-trapped or used as bait for an ambush; his position had been exposed since leaving the shuttle and there had already been plenty of opportunity for harm to be done to him if that were the intent. To sit hidden would be a waste of time he reasoned. He didn't know what he was dealing with and whatever it was appeared to have the ability to be invisible. Even though the previous sense that he was being watched was gone, whatever had damaged the drone could none the less be standing next to him. It wasn't in his nature to wait, and besides, there was a third option. Simply ask.
"Gabe, what happened to the drone?"
"I do not understand your inquiry; please provide specifics."
"The maintenance drone beside the church, what happened to it?"
"There is no maintenance drone beside the church, Michael. There are two such drones inside the church and five others outside, within a ten meter radius. Please define your inquiry."
"At the base of the church wall, directly in front of me, there is an inoperative drone. It's lying on its side. It appears to have been damaged; was there an accident or was it a deliberate act?"
"There are no damaged, disabled or otherwise inoperative drones within the village. There are no drones at the base of the church wall. I cannot answer your question as presented to me. I do not understand your inquiry."
Gabe's responses confused Michael. He...it had to see the drone, had to know it was disabled. Gabe could access satellite images of the area or view things by using imagers fixed in place around the village. There wasn't any place on Earth Gabe could not 'see'. It was impossible for it to be unaware of the smashed drone.
Michael quickly put his confusion aside, knowing such a state of mind wouldn't be helpful and might actually prove dangerous to him. Approaching the drone and bending over it he found and read aloud its identification number.
"Where is the drone with that identification number at this present time?"
"The drone bearing that identification number is presently attending to duties inside the building you are in front of," was Gabe's immediate response.
"Are you certain, Gabe? Check its operational status and verify."
Gabe's response was again immediate, "Verified as operational. The drone in question is performing routine maintenance within the church."
"No Gabe, that's not right," Michael stammered involuntarily, unsure of what was happening. "There's a disabled drone in front of me. It's been battered, thrown against the wall, its head is hanging off. Can you see it?"
Michael didn't wait for a response before adding, "Can you see me?"
"Yes Michael, I have your image in view. I see you by means of two satellites, two drones working across the road, one drone inside the bakery located ninety-five degrees to your right and four fixed-position imagers on buildings in your vicinity. There is no drone as you have described within view."
Michael began to kick the drone; there was no frustration or other emotion motivating the act.
"What do you see now, Gabe? Do you see me kicking the drone? Do you hear my boot smashing into it?"
He waited. Gabe didn't reply right away. This was noticeable to Michael. Gabe's world operated in trillionths of seconds and any hesitancy on its part could be symptomatic of a system failure. Less than two seconds later the computer answered, "I see your right leg swinging in the air, your boot not contacting anything solid. I detect vibrations from the motion of your leg. Such vibrations do not result in sound audible to most human ears; I 'hear' those vibrations; I do not 'hear' a smashing sound," again Gabe hesitated, a second later adding, "Are you well, Michael?"
Michael stopped kicking the drone. "You're suggesting a problem in my mind, a hallucination?"
"I have noted indicia of such. Should I advise you of them?"
"Please do."
There was no hesitancy as Gabe began his list, speaking through the implant in a sympathetic voice, "Yesterday morning at the control center in New York you input a security protocol to open a door that was not locked. Coming out of sub-orbital flight, I was instructed to scan for a non-existent presence. In the terminal hub, you asked questions indicative of a belief there were no transmission stream interruptions taking place, contrary to the evidence presented to you; immediately thereafter, you instructed me to undertake security measures to isolate and locate a non-existent intruder. Returning to the shuttle, you spent the rest of the day reviewing recorded images of the terminal hub entrance; you looked at the same images multiple times. You also reviewed images of ground snow away from the entrance multiple times. There was no reason given for this viewing activity and nothing was achieved by it."
Michael did not reply, he only listened intently, questioning within himself the computer's operational reliability and, if faulty, whether he would need to shut it down. Larger questions loomed — should such action become necessary, if the computer were to be 'turned off', what would happen to the planet without its all-seeing protection? Even if faulty, it might still be best to let Gabe continue operating, too many vital systems were at stake. If Gabe did not attend to daily operations the planet might suffer irreversible harm. The Aliens had said they wouldn't harm the planet, but were they now attempting to manipulate him into doing so?
The considerations were vast and Michael hoped there would be a simpler explanation found for what Gabe was saying. He hoped for an explanation that would save him from choosing between either being damned for doing or damned for not doing what he felt to be right.
Gabe continued, "Last night while you slept your body movements and verbalizing were more than three times above your personal average. Your physiological signs indicated a highly perturbed state, both while asleep and for a short time after awakening. After leaving the shuttle this morning you stopped, while crossing the field, to throw and kick snow without a directed purpose, your physiological signs again indicating that you were agitated. You are now asking questions about a functioning drone attending to its scheduled duties inside the church while asserting that the drone is disabled and lying in front of you."
Gabe completed the docket of evidence supporting the allegation against Michael's healthy mental condition, without adding any further comments.
Michael was alone with his thoughts. He had listened with increasing incredulity. Something was wrong, very wrong. That something far from the ordinary was going on was a given. The suggestion that his mental state had dangerously deteriorated was not.
Both in training and actual combat he'd experienced greater stress than he now felt. Admitting to the uniqueness of the present situation and the effect it might be exerting on him did not support the allegation he might be mentally unstable. His preparation for a first contact situation had been extensive. Psychological testing had shown he was one of the best people among billions to undertake the role as Earth's overseer. The problem had to be with Gabe and not with him. How odd it was each was questioning the others 'operational' ability. He considered his response carefully before speaking.
"Gabe, please have the drone with the identification number I provided come to the front door of the church. Position it so that I can see it from my present location."
There was no response from Gabe for almost a minute. The drone did not appear at the door. Time seemed to be suspended while Michael waited for the slight tingle along the nerves in his ears that preceded Gabe's voice inside his head.
"The drone is not responding to my direction."
"Explain, 'not responding'?"
"I have sent an instruction to 'end task' and have redirected the drone to the front entrance of the church. I have not received an acknowledgment from the drone confirming receipt of the instruction."
"Can you explain the drone's failure to respond?"
"I cannot."
"Is the drone malfunctioning?"
"It is not."
"If the drone is not malfunctioning, and it isn't responding to instructions, that would suggest an inconsistency in the information you are receiving. Please explain the inconsistency."
"I cannot."
Michael's emotional state immediately went from concerned curiosity to one of anxious restlessness. He was now uncomfortable in his exposed location even though it probably made no difference where on Earth he might be. He could no longer trust any information Gabe provided to him, no longer trust in the computer's ability to perform flawlessly. Gabe possessed layers of redundant self-diagnostic and self-correcting programs. It was theoretically impossible for it to have reached this stage of malfunction; any errors should have been noted and corrected by Gabe without Michael ever knowing about them.
Gabe's operational record had been without fault for decades. Even before its duties had been increased to encompass all they now did, Earth's population had become dependent on its perfection and omniscient presence. Whatever was happening to Gabe was not possible without external interference and therein must be the problem, Michael reasoned. If someone or something was messing around with Earth's guardian, they needed to be dealt with quickly. But first he needed to satisfy himself that the drone he stood by was not, in fact, inside the church. He required reassurance that he himself was 'operating' properly, and the best way to do that was to locate and correct any problems with Gabe.
"Gabe, take whatever measures are necessary; shut down any operations you have to, and do a complete diagnostic of your entire system. Repair anything you find that is not operating as designed. You have my specific instructions to override any prohibitive programming until you can explain the drone's failure to acknowledge your instruction."
"I note your orders, Michael, and will do as directed. I must advise you that these instructions are superfluous since I am presently operating without error. I must also make you aware that such a complete diagnostic will result in a shutdown of vital operations which may include a loss of communication with you for a short period of time."
"Noted. Now do it."
Michael left the battered drone in the snow and moved to the stone steps leading up to the heavy wooden doors at the church entrance. What would he have done if the drone had appeared at these doors as directed? Undoubtedly, he would now be questioning his own sanity rather than Gabe's ability to function properly.
Ascending the steps, he stopped at the top. Removing his winter coat and gloves to increase his maneuverability should such become necessary, he took the gun from his belt and prepared to start searching for the drone, or whatever else might be present. As he began to open one of the doors he looked back toward the village square. He was level with the angel standing atop the column in the center of the fountain. It was looking directly at him, its soulless eyes meeting his own. Michael felt a chill run along the back of his neck; imagining that the angel was bidding him to go inside. Michael smiled to himself as he disavowed the thought.
The door opened smoothly and without noise on freshly lubricated hinges. Inside the church it was warm and clean with the morning sun having risen sufficiently to provide bountiful light through the many stained glass windows lining the sanctuary's east facing side. Massive uncomfortable looking wooden pews were arranged by rows in the centuries old manner customary to such structures. The usual religious icons and ceremonial apparatus were displayed at the far end of the nave.
After leaving his coat and gloves behind the first row of pews, Michael walked warily towards the chancel, darting looks to either side along each row he passed. Knowing it would only be by chance that he would find what he was looking for in this particular building, and not knowing what it was he sought - other than the 'disabled' drone he was convinced he would not find - he didn't want to waste time being unnecessarily thorough. He would open a few doors, look for anything that seemed out of place, and listen for any sounds that could only be made by something larger than a mouse, trusting in both instinct and luck to give him answers.
Moving swiftly to the front and seeing nothing of interest, he approached an open arched doorway to the right side of the altar. Beyond the door was a narrow hallway running the building's length parallel with the sanctuary. Oak doors lined the side of the hallway opposite the entrance. The doors were smaller than an average mans height, attesting to how humans had grown taller over the millennia since the church was built.
The first door he approached was already open and Michael walked into what must have been the sacristy. Cupboards and shelves were lined with gold chalices and silver vessels, some covered, others not. A small drone, different in the design from the damaged machine outside, its polishing cloth held tight in a claw like appendage, was busy at work noiselessly shining a bejeweled goblet. Colored vestments in clear protective coverings were hung at the far end of the room. Michael left, unacknowledged by the drone.
About to open the next door along, he heard the unmistakable sound of a liquid being poured. The sound came from the room at the farthest end of the hall. The door to the room was open. Michael was certain it had been closed when he'd first entered the hallway. Probably just a drone pouring cleaning solution into a container, Michael thought to himself. Yet, there was something about the sound suggesting the action was other than the casual sloshing of cleansers and disinfectants by a maintenance drone at work. The pouring was being done slowly, carefully, in a familiar manner. Michael listened as it ended, followed by the soft thump of a bottle being set down on a desk.
In one easy motion Michael pressed his back to the wall while bringing the gun, already armed, to just in front of his face. Quickly sidling his way towards the open door he stopped short, continuing to listen for sounds within the room. Someone was there. He could hear the rhythmic movement of a person strumming their fingers one at a time across the desk's surface. There was no sound other than the gentle tap of each fingertip hitting the desktop in perfect order.
Michael waited. No one else was supposed to be on Earth, he was alone, there was no one there he told himself. The strumming continued. After a few more seconds listening to it and hearing nothing else he called out.
"Identify yourself!"
Silently Michael held his breath as he waited for an answer that did not come. Again he demanded identification and then waited while the demand was ignored. Whoever was in the room seemed content to wait; making no sound except for the orderly tapping of their fingertips — one, two, three, four; one, two, three, four; over and over.
Michael positioned his weapon, ready to discharge it if necessary, and pivoted around to block the doorway. He froze, speechless, eyes widening.
Seated in a large leather chair behind an ancient walnut desk was another human, dressed in the same style military uniform as Michael wore. A large stained glass window, depicting the crucifixion of Christ, was just above and behind the man's head. On the desk were two cut-crystal glasses, each half-filled with a rich, burgundy liquid, the bottle from which the libation had recently been poured beside them. The stranger smiled, his eyes smiling too.
"Hello, Michael. I've been waiting for you to come in."
Ignoring the show of friendliness, Michael demanded identification once more; he had to maintain control of the situation and not give it over to the newcomer. There would be no comradeship until he knew what was going on.
Again his directive was ignored. Then motioning to the glasses set before them, the stranger spoke in a clear confident voice.
"Some wine Michael? It's sacramental."