Darkness on a Pale Blue Stone Read online

  Darkness on a Pale Blue Stone

  By D. T. Peterson

  Text copyright © 2013 D. T. Peterson

  All Rights Reserved

  To my family and friends for their support and hard work to make this everything it could be.

  Table of Contents

  Part One

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Part Two

  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

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Part Three

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Part Four

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Message from the Author

  Part One

  “Darkness”

  Chapter 1

  Gimbal Systems Headquarters, NYC - August 3, 2072

  The lightly acidic rain glistened in a host of various colors, reflecting the vibrant displays that lined the Manhattan street. Alexander Gresson stared across the gleaming asphalt at the bright Gimbal Systems Incorporated sign that stood directly in front of the tech company's headquarters. The remarkable levitating gyroscope the sign featured was often what drew attention, but Gresson was hunting Gimbal technology that could produce a whole different type of "shock and awe." He sat on a city bench, dressed in an inconspicuous black overcoat, though his 6' 3'' frame did not aid his desire to remain anonymous. The device he wore on his face, however, did. It was a prototype that projected a thin holographic mask, disguising his appearance. It slightly modified how his eyes, nose, cheekbone, and jaw appeared to anyone who saw him, all with a hologram displayed roughly a millimeter from his skin.

  The rain rhythmically pounded down on the city street, already leaving inch-deep water that ran over the pavement. The weather fortunately kept most people looking down, hurriedly seeking shelter, and paying little attention to Gresson, but he was anxious about the moisture's effect on the prototype. His bench was beneath an overhang, protecting him from the downpour, but he would still need to walk across the street and into the building with his likeness sufficiently masked.

  After a few more patient moments, Gresson stood up and began his approach. He despised being this unprepared. Other than the lobby and a conference room he had visited many years ago, he had no idea about the skyscraper's layout. He was still unsure if he would need to go up or down to find what he needed.

  Time was also not on his side. He glanced at his watch. Its holographic projection displayed 6:06 PM. Only two hours left, he thought. Now or never.

  Gresson arrived at the glass front door, which opened before him, and he stepped inside. A glance at a mirror in the lobby allowed him to exhale a sigh of relief when he saw that his false, projected face was still intact. Gresson scanned the area as he walked toward the front counter. Besides the counter, there was only a waiting area filled with couches to the left and a security checkpoint to the right. His improvisation skills would be put to the test.

  The receptionist looked up from her monitor and smiled. "Can I help you, sir?"

  Gresson gave her a grin. "I sure hope so. I was supposed to meet with a Mr. Thomas Johnson, but I'm afraid I'm quite a bit late. He was going to wait for me here in the lobby, but it appears he's left. Would you be able to get a hold of him for me?"

  "Do you know his department?"

  Gresson put on a puzzled expression. "I don't really know. I'm sorry, this was all very last minute."

  After running a search, the receptionist replied, "There is a Thomas Johnson up in the research department... If you give me your name, I can see if he is still here."

  "Winchester."

  The receptionist pressed her headset and waited for an answer from Mr. Johnson. After a few moments she looked back at Gresson and said, "I'm sorry Mr. Winchester. It seems he's not in. Would you like me to leave a message?" Gresson was already well aware Mr. Johnson was not in. He had seen him leave half an hour ago, still wearing his name tag.

  Letting out an exasperated sigh and leaning forward with his hands on the counter, Gresson begged "I have something that needs to get to him. Is there any way I could leave something at his office?"

  "I'm sorry. Only authorized personnel are allowed past security." She motioned over toward the security checkpoint. A lone security guard sat nearby, no match for Gresson in a fight if drastic measures became necessary. "If you leave it here, I can make sure it gets to him," the woman offered.

  Shaking his head, Gresson said, "No, it's a bit too personal. Would someone from his floor be able to come down and escort me, at least?"

  The receptionist smiled, but this time it was obviously forced. "I'm sorry, that won't be possible."

  "What if I gave it to someone who could take it directly to his office? I'd feel much better then, and it would be a big favor for both me and Mr. Johnson."

  With a short sigh, the receptionist said, "I'll check and see if anyone is available." She looked back at the monitor.

  Gresson suddenly felt a sharp pain on his cheek and a soft buzz. Damn it. The prototype was failing. He turned his head and reached behind his ear where the the image projector itself was located. He wiggled it, hoping it would last long enough for him to at least make it past the lobby. What a waste, he thought.

  He heard the receptionist begin speaking to someone on her headset. The prototype jolted him again. He glanced at the mirror on the wall and saw that half his face was upside down. He gave the prototype a strong nudge just as the receptionist looked back at him.

  "There's someone coming down now, Mr. Winchester. Go ahead and take a seat," she said a bit perturbed and pointing toward the couches. The prototype had recovered. For now.

  Gresson took a seat on the closest couch, keeping his face away from the receptionist in case his mask projector had any more problems. For the next several minutes he sat there, listening to the rain as it hit the glass exterior of the building while several people came and went behind him.

  Eventually he heard an older man speak with the receptionist and be directed over toward the couches. Gresson stood up and turned around.

  "Mr. Winchester?" the old man asked. He was dressed in a lab coat and seemed rather unhappy that he had been disturbed from his work.

  "Yes. I apologize for how unorthodox this is, but I have something for Mr. Johnson at his personal request."

  "I see. And apparently you need me to leave it at his office?" The man crossed his arms.

&n
bsp; "Exactly." Gresson pulled a palm-sized personal computer out of his pocket and handed it over. "Here. Just make sure it's on his desk where he can see it."

  The man gave Gresson an odd look. "All this for a mini-comp?"

  "It's a personal matter. All I need you to do is put it on his desk."

  The man rolled his eyes and said, "Alright. Anything else or can I get back to work?"

  "That's all. Thank you very much."

  Without a response, the old man walked back across the lobby, through the checkpoint, and to the elevators. Gresson left the building through one of the glass front doors and began walking along the building's exterior wall. A minute later, he had made his way to the back side of the building, where there was only a small, one-way alley that offered authorized vehicles access to an underground garage.

  Opposite the alley from Gimbal System's headquarters stood a large apartment building. On the side of the apartment building was a fire escape. Gresson again looked at his watch. There wasn't much of a choice. He needed to get in undetected, or at least have a head start in front of any security. Gresson lept up, grabbed the bottom landing, and hoisted himself onto it. He made his way up the fire escape until he reached the top of the apartment building.

  Gresson stepped onto the roof and looked over at the glass office windows of the skyscraper. Then he looked down. He was about twenty stories up. The distance between the buildings was farther than he had thought, but he was not concerned.

  He pulled out a pistol from inside his overcoat. He took aim at a window across the alley and one floor below. The silenced weapon let out a pop and the bullet cut through the glass. After a few more shots, the entire windowpane shattered. Some of the glass fell down the side of the building, while the rest piled onto the floor of the empty office. Rain now poured into the room.

  There was no going back now. Gresson jogged away from the edge until he was satisfied with his running room. Then he turned around and, without another thought, began to run. In seconds he hit the edge and leapt across the urban expanse.

  With outstretched arms, he grabbed the newly-created ledge as his legs slammed against the window below. His hands, cut by the glass remains at the bottom of the window, grabbed at the wet carpet, but he could not maintain a grip. Feeling himself about to fall nearly twenty stories, he threw all his weight to the right and grasped the edge of the adjacent windowpane. It was just enough to stabilize him.

  He pulled himself into the room. Before he could catch his breath, he heard an oncoming voice beyond the closed office door. "Hello? Somebody there? Is everything okay?"

  Gresson took a deep breath and got to his feet. He was halfway across the room as the door opened.

  The short woman in the doorway jumped at the sight of Gresson's ominous frame. "Who..." she began to ask, but Gresson slammed his palm into her face. The woman fell back into the hallway, nose broken and unconscious. Gresson looked around. There was no one else in the hallway and it seemed the woman had been alone. He grabbed the woman's arms and dragged her into the office. Then he walked out and shut the door.

  He was finally inside. His next destination was the research department. He took out another mini-comp and brought up an application that gave him access to the one he had given the old man. The application showed that his other mini-comp was located about 40 meters above him. Keeping his computer out, Gresson followed the hallway signs to the stairwell.

  Gresson hustled up the stairs for about twelve floors until his computer showed him on the same level as what was hopefully Mr. Johnson's office. It was not very far away from the stairwell. He remotely accessed the mini-comp in the office and activated its primary feature.

  The computer-disguised robot extended four small legs and turned on its camera. Gresson could now see the inside of an office on his own computer's screen. From what he could tell, the old man had followed through. He remotely controlled the robot off the office desk and onto the floor. Once there, he turned it toward the door. The robot walked across the floor to it, climbed up, and attached itself to the door handle. Satisfied, Gresson put his own mini-comp back into his pocket.

  Before opening the stairwell door, he pressed a nodule behind his ear, randomizing his projected facial features. Gresson took off his wet overcoat and hung it over the stairwell railing. After smoothing out the suit he had been wearing underneath, he opened the door and stepped into the research department of Gimbal Systems Inc.

  Inside roamed many scientists, most wearing lab coats. In the center of the floor was a giant glass-walled laboratory, surrounded on all sides by a wide hallway. Opposite the lab, the walls were lined with offices. Gresson calmly began to walk, keeping an eye out for the office of Mr. Johnson. He passed many others in the hallway, but none gave him a second glance.

  Soon he arrived at Mr. Johnson's office. The door read, "Thomas Johnson - Associate Director of Energy Research." Very prestigious, Gresson assumed. He noticed the ID scanner on the door, as expected, and pulled out his computer. One click later, the door handle turned.

  Gresson stepped inside and shut the door. The lights came on automatically and he collected his robot from the door handle. He walked across the room and sat down at the desk. A holographic computer monitor flashed on. No security, Gresson muttered, now surprised Mr. Johnson had become Associate Director of anything. He managed to quickly gain access to a database that included all the on-site research projects. After a bit of scrolling, Gresson found what he wanted. Project Blackout. Stored in room 19B on the 34th floor. Just two floors up.

  Gresson shut off the computer and left the office. As he began to walk down the hallway, he looked over at the glass laboratory. He froze. The old man from the lobby had looked over at him at the same time. They both stared at each other for several long moments. Then the old man looked down, shook his head, and returned to work.

  Gresson swallowed hard and started walking again. He was glad he had reset his mask projector. It had apparently been just enough to break the old man's recognition. He only made it a few more steps before his gaze met with another's. But this time it was quite different.

  Within the lab stood a dark-haired, blue-eyed man wearing a lab coat, yet he seemed out of place. among all the other scientists hustling about, this man stood still. He stared directly at Gresson. There was certainty in his eyes. Recognition. A keen curiosity.

  Fear trickled down Gresson's spine. He waited for the man to say something or to get others' attention. But he did not. He didn't move at all, not even a blink. He simply... observed.

  The locked stares between these two men seemed to last hours to Gresson. There was something striking about this man. Some mystical energy behind his bright blue eyes and piercing stare. Gresson began to feel less threatened and more curious. Who is he?

  Suddenly aware that he had not moved for several seconds, Gresson turned his gaze and hastened his pace to the stairwell. Though seemingly impossible, he was certain that the man knew exactly who he was and what he wanted. But he decided to put the man out of his mind. He had not said anything yet, and Gresson hoped it would stay that way.

  Gresson arrived at the stairwell. Once there, he went up two flights and walked onto the 34th floor.

  There was far less glass on this floor. It contained a maze of hallways and a vast series of storage rooms. Only a few people walked in the halls.

  Gresson began his search for room 19B. The rooms next to him were in the 60s, so he followed the numbers in descending order. He rounded a corner when he reached the 30s and continued walking.

  A jolt hit his cheek. The prototype was failing once again. Someone farther down the hallway walking toward him gave a curious look. Gresson pretended to rub his forehead, trying to cover his face. The projector held up long enough to not raise any more suspicion as the person passed by, but soon after another jolt shocked Gresson's face, this time causing searing pain in his right eye. He leaned against the wall, breathing heavily.

  He grunted as the p
rototype shocked him again. He used a knuckle to prod the base of it behind his right ear, but it only made things worse. Another jolt hit his face, this time undoubtedly burning skin.

  Gresson angrily tore off the two pieces behind his ears and the mesh they connected to that covered his face. He threw the prototype on the ground and slid down to the floor with his back against the wall. Sitting there, he looked both ways down the hallway. He was lucky. Nobody had seen him yet. He touched below his right eye and found blood on his fingers. He could still see, but there was still a dull pain that ran across his face.

  After a few seconds, Gresson stood back up. He had come this far and time was running out.

  He no longer made any attempt to remain anonymous. It would be pointless with his true face in full view. He began to run in the direction of room 19B. 25. 24. 23. 22. Gresson saw a group of people turn the corner in front of him. Several of them let out gasps. Gresson did not know if it was because they recognized him, saw the blood on his face, or were surprised by his fast pace, nor did he care.

  Gresson arrived at room 19B. He tried the door, but it was locked. He raised a leg and kicked down the door. He ignored more gasps from down the hall. On a lone table sat Project Blackout. But Gresson froze when he saw it was only half of the machine he needed and the rest was missing. "No," he said in disbelief and slammed his fist against the table.

  Next to the concave imprint his fist had made laid a large computer tablet displaying research notes. Gresson picked it up and skimmed through them until he found the most recent project update. The project had been modified last week and moved yesterday to a site in Charleston, South Carolina. The update had been overseen by someone named "Michael Case." Gresson knew Project Blackout would now be worthless, even if he had it, without Mr. Case.

  There was a computer monitor on the wall of the room. Gresson moved over to it, ignoring the group of concerned people gathering in the doorway.

  "Are you alright?" a man from the group asked. Gresson gave no reply and once again searched for the information he needed. Within seconds he had the personnel files for Michael Case. He downloaded the home address and left the computer.