Teleport 3: Into the Light

TELEPORT 3 INTO THE LIGHT JOSHUA T. CALVERT CONTENTS Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Epilogue Afterword 1 James lay on his back, enjoying the gentle tickle of the grass against his bare skin. The stalks were damp enough not to be scratchy, but dry enough so as not to cause a chill. The temperature was very comfortable, so he was neither sweating nor shivering. He closed his eyes and saw an orange-red glow behind his eyelids that created a warm wall, inviting and relaxing. A light breeze blew in the distance and gently brushed against him. A lightness spread through him, lifting the burden he had become so accustomed to. Only now was he fully aware of it. Like an avalanche of suppressed fear, anger, and tormenting thoughts that could steal a grown man’s mind, they swept through his stomach and chest… a ball of unspoken reactions that he had never acted upon, either because he hadn’t had time in the hectic necessity of survival or because he hadn’t wanted to unnecessarily frighten his friends. The avalanche brought with it a wave of nausea, a leaden heaviness in his guts that rose convulsively within him and settled as a lump in his throat. He swallowed and calmly inhaled the fresh air through his nose, felt it fill his diaphragm, which gently rose and fell, unaffected by the emotional hurricane causing his autonomic nervous system to run at full speed. He settled in to listen to his breathing, that foundation of life, and experienced it as an attentive but uninvolved observer, the lump in his throat eased. Immediate panic became a mere stirring, which he accepted and saw as the fleeting physical reaction that it was. He allowed his body’s innate intelligence to detach itself as a deep sensation of peace slowly spread through him. The fact that he was not wearing a stitch of clothing and that the others lying in the grass around him were similarly naked did not bother him. A half a year ago he never would have thought that he would one day be able to walk—or lie—around in front of others like an unashamed European. Yet their time with the Tokamaku, who dealt with nudity as one should, namely naturally, had changed him. Added to this was the closeness he felt toward his team, his friends. It was an intimate closeness forged out of their shared confrontation with illness, death, the adverse conditions they had faced, and the absolute cohesion necessary for survival. They had become like family to him, and it was only when they had nearly died while battling Altan-117, the Kazerun hacker-possessed Servitor on Al’Antis, that he had realized that he would die for each and every one of them if he had to. “Isn’t this wonderful?” Mila asked from beside him. Her voice brought him back from his thoughts. She lay close to him, her shoulder and thigh touching his upper arm and thigh. His right hand and her left were clasped tightly. “Birds are chirping, the sun is shining—or rather, the suns are shining—and the sky is a fabulous turquoise.” “I’d feel even better if there were trees here, but yes, you’re right.” “What do you mean?” “There are no trees or shrubs, just endless meadows, and yet birds are chirping all around us.” James listened, letting the avian chatter and melodies wash over him. Every bird call seemed to awaken something raw and evolutionary in people that came with life and security. It just felt good to let those ethereal sounds affect him: gentle melodies of delicate creatures that had not allowed gravity to pull them down, but had overcome it millions of years ago to soar through the air. He tried to remember how he must have looked at them when he was a small child, before he had been told that this mysterious creature fluttering above him, beating its wings, was a “bird.” As soon as he knew their name and was told what they were, they had somehow lost their magic, the unknown mystical, and he had seen only seen them as “birds” since, and not the indescribable being that had so enchanted him. “Every explanation is merely a label we give things we basically don’t understand,” he said aloud. “We only imagine that we comprehend because we give them names, but we actually know absolutely nothing about them. Not where they come from, why they exist, or what it must feel like to be them.” “Are we still talking about the birds?” Mila asked. “Maybe,” he said as vaguely as he felt. “We haven’t seen any vegetation here for them to hide in, yet we hear them singing around us—and it’s wonderful. I don’t have an explanation for it, but for the moment, I don’t need any. I’m content to just enjoy how good it feels.” “We do that far too rarely.” “Exactly.” He turned his head and kissed her forehead without opening his eyes. Her hair tickled his nose and she smelled faintly of grass. What a gift these simple sensations were! He didn’t have to question it, just welcome it gratefully, and that made it that much more precious and profound. Slowly he opened his eyes and looked up into the turquoise sky. A lone white cloud drifted along like a sheep that had lost its flock. Like us, he thought and looked at Mila. Far from our flock, which we can no longer see, lost in a sky that no longer seems hung with dark clouds. A decidedly friendly sky. “Do you think it worked?” he asked. “I don’t know. I expected something different, I guess.” Mila fell silent, enjoying a peaceful moment. She seemed to hope