Flyers of Condor

By Rod Martin

Carl Condors is an engineer with nightmares. A fellow passenger on a flight tells him her Hopi grandmother taught her to help ease such dreams. But the dream is more than she can deal with and so she takes him to meet her grandmother.

The aged woman tells them they have come back together for a purpose. One they had worked on before and failed to accomplish. Now that cycle of the game has come around again and they must work together to accomplish it this time.

Serendipity brings them into contact with others who have received the "call to arms" and together they work toward their common goal while trying to fight off the enemies - those who have stopped them before - and achieve a place of sanctuary for the human race before time runs out.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Martian Publishing
• Release date: Apr 29, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476445519

Rod Martin

Dr Rod Martin, Chief Executive Officer of MERL Ltd in Hitchin, UK, is a Chartered Engineer and Chartered Scientist. He has conducted research on composites used in many applications including space, aeronautics, land transport and the petrochemical industry.

Book preview

FLYERS OF CONDOR:

To Sanctuary

By Rod Martin

& Terry Martin

MARTIAN PUBLISHING

Copyright 2012 by Martian Publishing Company

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved.

No portion of this volume may

be reproduced in any format

without the express written

permission of the copyright holder.

This is a work of fiction.

Any resemblance to persons or

organizations, living or extinct,

is entirely coincidental.

DEDICATION

To Lance, the Big Russian, and to Del, the Genii of computers everywhere and, of course, to Dalmas and the whole Flagstaff gang for making this mini-trek possible.

PROLOGUE

[From the Blue Bell, Scenario Outline BRAX-27G, per the

Master of Games, as told by the Red Headed Sage of Mythos.]

This history is only authorized for distribution in Tikh Cheki Realities of Terra which have lost the Mythos of the Bells and no longer have Playmasters capable of returning them to the fullness of autarkhia, self-rule of self.

That means, if you can read this, you can cut the mustard.

The Sage of Mythos

~~~~

CHAPTER ONE

Give me your fear; you do the flying, the voice said, with a trace of laughter from someplace behind my right ear.

What!? I blurted out, jerking around angrily and jumping up to see who'd invaded my office – I knew I was alone ... or thought I was. Surveying the whole space, the anger converted to confusion. There was no one – nothing except my own reflection in the glass wall and the night lights of the city beyond – but I'd heard the voice. Heard it clearly! Now that's scary. I was shaking and felt disoriented.

I ran through the memory, groping for an explanation – there had to be one. There'd been another sound with the voice, a sound of wind howling. Sure, that explains it, I walked to the window wall and inspected it for a loose pane. Hmm ... no, that couldn't be it. They felt tight to the touch. The sound I'd heard was like a very fast wind ... faster than a gale ... more like that heard while flying. That's it, I'd heard that same sound in the open cockpit of the old biplane I used to fly out west.

I stood there at the window looking down at the street, forty floors below. Something else had been with the sound, something besides the words and the noise of the wind ... a feeling of falling ... hmm ... like sky diving ... and of spinning ... but with a sense of it being an out-of-control spin. And there was fear ... like the fear one might experience if their parachute hadn't opened. All of that had been only a flash of perception during the moment the voice spoke.

I turned away from the window, looked down and saw the pages of my freshly typed report strewn across the carpet. I must have thrown it in the spasm of turning to meet my imagined speaker. God, I must be more tense about this trip than I'd realized. You better get your act together, I told myself while picking up the loose pages, hands still shaking. Voices? I thought while recollating the pages. Maybe Doc Stetson was right, maybe I do have acrophobia, fear of heights, and just wouldn't admit it, couldn't admit that I might need to see a shrink ... not until now, anyway. Man, if you're hearing voices that say you're afraid of flying ... Well? No, damnit, I argued with myself, I won't buy that garbage ... not from Stetson and certainly not from little men who aren't there. I love high places; love flying open-doored helicopters and small planes. I love rappelling off high cliffs to check geologic formations, or just for the fun of it. When Stetson made that diagnosis, I'd laughed and told that flint headed doctor, I'm about as acrophobic as an eagle.

The report was soon back together; I took it to Copy and Binding, an all night service on the next floor up, and waited for the extras. I glanced at my watch, 11:20, still plenty of time to catch the midnight flight from the roof. I tried to relax and take my attention off the strange experience – no use – the medical argument started up again. Doc Stetson had accused me of being hard headed for not following his advice; I think he'd been trying to give me his hardheadedness ... hmp, maybe even his fear. I felt no fear at the thought of flying again – never had. Stetson just hadn't been able to diagnose my problem and tried that acrophobia cop-out.

My problem, nausea and dizziness, only happens two hours or so after flying or early the next morning. That sure as hell didn't sound like a psychosomatic thing to me, at least not one connected to flying. I've seen too many people with acrophobia get sick before or during flights and at other times I've had to coax a few fear-stricken climbers off cliffs.

Now the copying job was finished, I took the package from the clerk, signed the ticket absentmindedly, and left, still thinking about the voice. Now hearing voices, that's a different symptom. Only crazy people hear voices, so I've heard. So, maybe Stetson was right about my needing to see a shrink, I thought.

As I walked back down stairs with my seven freshly bound copies, the memory of the emotions and feelings that came along with the voice brought a strange tingling sensation down my spine.

I shrugged it off, thinking, oh well, if I do get sick tomorrow, I've at least allowed enough time to recover before meeting with the Minerals Committee in Phoenix. I'd arranged to leave four hours early just to play it safe. I put the reports in my briefcase with the maps, picked up my overnighter, and took the elevator to the roof with minutes to spare before the ride to JFK.

***

The 1 a.m. non-stop to Phoenix left on schedule with a light load – mostly empty seats on the upper deck in ambassador class. I settled in to get some sleep to be ready for the 10 a.m. meeting. Perhaps it was the strange voice or wondering about the acrophobia question that kept my mind too alert for easy sleep, but after a bit I realized that I'd been anxious about this trip even before the evening's unusual incident. I laughed at myself. Portents? Ominous feelings? Probably just relief to be getting away from the concrete jungle and returning to the wide-open space out west. That geological paradise of which the Grand Canyon is but the loudest natural statement. Reassured by my lighthearted observation, sleep crept over me. Sometime later, the dream began ...

***

I was falling ... high above the earth ... the wind was howling and tearing at my clothes as I spun end over end. Even with the spinning and the dust and debris all around I soon realized the ground was receding ... I was falling 'up' ... up ... rather than down ... but it felt like free fall ... like zero gravity. Very fast, in only a few seconds, I fell – was blown by the wind? – from about 1000 feet up to nearly a mile high.

Abruptly, the upward motion and the spinning stopped; I noticed then that someone seemed to be stuck to my back, or strapped to it. I knew I was dreaming, holding myself apart from the persona of the dreamee, but even so the fear hit me, like a fist slammed into my gut.

As we began to fall toward the earth the fear turned to pure panic. Then before we'd picked up much speed, the person on my back spoke from behind my right ear, Give me your fear; you do the flying. It was the same voice, the one I'd heard in my office, and it had the sound of laughter in it. God, I the dreamer thought, what a crazy time for lightheartedness. Still, as the dreamer, I felt the fear vanish in the dreamee.

The fear in the dream was gone, given to the person behind me. But, as the dreamer, a different kind of fear began to grow toward panic. I was putting it into the dream, not taking it out. Something awful was about to happen, I knew it without knowing how or what. But neither the dreamee nor the person on my back seemed to realize that. They were calm and collected – like it's okay to fall a mile. I tried to tell them about some impending, but unknown, danger – couldn't break through the veil of the dream. I tried to awaken. I couldn't. Horrified, I was becoming the person in the dream. In vain, I struggled and tried to shout, tried to shake off the merging of personae.

***

A pressure on my shoulder increased and a new voice, quite feminine and without laughter, came through the rapidly fading sound of the wind, Don't be afraid, you're still flying. The panic vanished. I was saved.

I opened my eyes and there beside me was another dream. A living breathing dream with the most beautiful face and dark eyes I'd ever seen. Beautiful but concerned. Then I must have made some sign of being back in control because the concern fell from her face, she smiled. Even more beautiful. I could see that plainly even with the cabin lights dimmed.

Pardon me, she said softly and took the seat next to mine. I hope you don't mind that I shook you awake. But you gave me quite a scare. That must've been some dream you were having. Now her voice had the lightness of laughter in it and a very slight accent. I guessed Hopi with a touch of French – correct, I would later learn – a beautiful combination for a beautiful voice.

Oh, no, I'm glad you did. I was trying to wake up and couldn't, if you know what I mean. Thank you.

She nodded. My grandmother says that nightmares should be given to someone quickly upon awakening so they won't bother you again. Since I seem to be the only other one awake, you better give it to me.

I laughed, rather unconvincingly, Your grandmother is very wise. But let's have a brandy while I tell it. I need one after that. She agreed so I led the way to the rear of the cabin and found a game table with facing seats. With the lights up, she looked even more beautiful.

After the steward bought our brandies, I said, I'm Carl Conders, geologist, of New York City, on my way to Phoenix. And who are you, O, saviour of wayward dreamers? I was being corny, still trying to pull myself back into the reality of the present.

Again that marvelous smile. I'm Rachel Reddic, professor of archeology, also of that city, on my way to visit my very wise aforementioned grandmother near Kayenta on the Hopi Reservation. She could play the corny game too.

Glad to meet you, Dr. Reddic ... It is Doctor, isn't it?

Please, call me Rachel.

Rachel, you're going to one of my favorite places. I just finished a two-year survey of the Black Mesa area for the Navajo.

Oh, oh. She laughed. I'll leave that part out of my report to grandmother. She pretends she is all Hopi and has a sham battle going with the Navajo. She calls them the 'late-comers'.

Well, you can tell her that I worked with the Hopi first. Her Tribal Council hired me for my first Arizona assignment. I swirled the brandy and took another sip while trying to think of something witty to say. Do you have to report all 'fear takings' to her?

Oh, yes! It's an old family custom. Like Boy Scouts helping old ladies cross streets. She scolds me horribly if I haven't aided at least one white man to be more human. The laughter was in her voice again and her dark eyes sparkled. See what a fate you can save me from? Now give me your fearful dream so I won't be scolded.

I told Rachel the dream, then clarified it with the experience in my office of last evening, and went on to tell her half my life story before the steward shut me up with a request that we return to our seats and buckle up for landing. It was 6 a.m. I'd talked for nearly three hours.

Rachel Reddic, you're a very good listener and your grandmother should be proud of you. You've gotten things out of me that I've never told anyone before. I feel ten pounds lighter and more human than I've felt in years. I feel a little giddy too.

Brandy at high altitude will do it every time.

No, I've had brandy in flight before. It's you and your magic. You can tell your grandmother it still works even on white eyes.

She laughed. Carl, that'll cost you, my grandmother is going to insist that you visit her next time you're up that way. And I'm going to insist that you buy me breakfast at the airport. Eating your fear has made me very hungry, and grandmother says, 'If you make someone hungry, you incur a debt to feed them'.

I laughed now, then said, Your grandmother has a saying for everything, hasn't she? Okay, breakfast it is, but only if you promise to do all the talking and let me listen. Your voice has made me hungry to hear it. I couldn't believe I'd said that, I must really be giddy.

Over ham and eggs, Rachel told me her story of growing up on the reservation and spending her summers in the French Alps with her maternal grandparents. Her interest in archeology had been spawned there at a dig site on their farm.

Her parents had been artists and met in Paris, that Mecca for all young artists. They'd fallen in love, married, and lived in a variety of places around the globe until they were killed in a car crash when Rachel was four. After that it was the reservation for the school year and summers in France. She had taken her undergraduate degree at Northern Arizona University in Flagstaff and her Masters at Arizona State in Tempe. Then she had gotten her Doctorate at Columbia and had taught there since, when she wasn't on a dig. The chronology of her field work caused my eyes to widen.

We must've just missed each other in Kayenta several times and her dig sites at locations in Africa, the Middle East, and Mexico had been close to where I was doing geologic surveys. Our time schedules were nearly a perfect match; seems we'd barely missed bumping into each other on all those jobs.

As wild as it sounds, it seems as though we'd been chasing each other around the world.

When I realized it was time to go, my hunger for her voice had grown rather than being sated. I wanted to stay with her but I had a meeting in an hour and she had a charter waiting to fly her north. We'd visited for nearly two hours over breakfast and over extra coffee.

I got her promise of a dinner date the next week when we'd both returned home, to New York. As she walked away toward the charter service, I felt fear again, but this time it wasn't fear of flying or falling, it was fear of no Rachel. Now that feeling, wanting to be near one particular female, was as odd to me as hearing voices. I shook it off and went to get a taxi for the hotel – my luggage had gone ahead in the Hyatt Regency limo. While walking I wondered if my meeting with Rachel and my feeling about her was the reason for my pre-flight anxiety. But that seemed unlikely; like getting the cart before the horse. Then I wondered why the thought had come up, since I don't even believe in prescience or any of that stuff – still, there was that strange feeling that went with the idea of chasing each other around the world ...

I got the taxi and gave the driver the address. As we drove away from the terminal, the usual Phoenix feeling came over me and I let all my attention go to it. I might not believe in prescience or mumbo jumbo but I did believe in feelings. I have these special feelings, like any good geologist, that go with the different geologic formations. They usually do anyway, but this one, the Phoenix feeling seems to relate to having palm trees and saguaro cacti close together. I relished the feeling for a few moments, compared it with other similar feelings I'd had in Los Angeles, North Africa and Mexico; and then put my attention back on my morning's schedule. I would just have time for a shower and a shave before the meeting. I'd forgotten that I was supposed to be ill.

***

The Navajo Tribal Council Minerals Committee had reserved a small meeting room at the Hyatt Regency. We shared the floor with a science fiction convention and I followed a Darth Vader character down the crowded hall. The Committee had arrived just ahead of me.

The presentation went well and I finished at the noon break. We were to have lunch together and then have a discussion period in the afternoon to iron out the details. Aside from the usual six committee members, an old Navajo sat in the back of the room. He was dressed in faded denims and checkered shirt; his shoulder length white hair was held back by a red woolen band – like a sweat band. No one had bothered to introduce us so, after we broke for lunch, I waited for him in the hall.

I introduced myself and extended my hand to shake. He took it in both of his and shook it briskly; he seemed to gain in stature until he too was six foot tall and gazed directly and intently at me a moment. His eyes twinkled with laughter.

I am Sea Wolf, he said. I came too late and the sea has gone, or I have come too early and the sea is yet to be. He was being cryptic but with laughter in his voice.

I turned, following after the others with him on my left still holding my hand with both of his. At first I thought he wanted my support but soon realized that he's as muscular as I am. He'd seemed to grow six inches in height as we shook hands, as if he was pumping himself up; now, as we walked, he seemed to be gaining weight and strength until he was about my weight – 160 pounds – and, he certainly had as much vitality as me. Strange behavior for anyone but especially strange for an elderly Navajo.

When we were at the foot of the stairs leading to the dining room on the second floor he said, You have been a long time in coming back, but you are neither too late nor too early. His voice had taken on a mystical quality, one I'd heard many of the older Hopi and Navajo use when talking to non-native Americans. But something was different ... hmm ... he didn't have the accent I'd come to expect from the older Navajos. Hmp, I couldn't place his accent at all, yet it seemed that I should be able to. I thought of the accent of the voice in the dream and earlier in the vision. Then I thought of Rachel and her grandmother – as if there was some connection. We had reached the second lobby, he stopped but still held onto my hand.

You looked for her, he said, in many far places where she was looking for you, and you were both digging for old things. Last night she met you in the sky and took your fear. Then you made her hungry for you. Now you owe a debt. Her grandmother will be pleased; tell her, for me, that she should be pleased.

He turned loose of my hand and walked rapidly across the lobby toward the restaurant. How the hell had he known about Rachel? I stood a moment in shock and then followed, expecting to find him at our reserved table. He wasn't there. I asked White Fox where the old man had gone.

He looked around. We're all here. What kept you?

I was talking with that old man, the one who was sitting in the back of the room during the meeting – Sea Wolf.

Startled for a moment, he then said, almost in a whisper, You were talking to a legend. He turned away and there had been a note of finality in his voice.

I knew of no custom which dismissed old people as legends, but let it drop assuming I'd just met up with one. I intended to find out more, however, after the next session.

***

The afternoon discussion period went well. And though I kept expecting to see him, Sea Wolf didn't appear. The core drilling schedule was voted on and approved. I would be working at Black Mesa again in two weeks with a drilling crew, subject of course to the approval of the full council, but that was usually only a formality with this committee because they were all experienced geologists.

Before going to my room to catch the sleep I'd missed the night before, I called White Fox aside and asked him to tell me about the custom of legends.

He held a finger to his closed lips. You should not tell anyone what transpired between you and a legend. Keep it secret. If he had wanted me to know, he would have instructed you to tell me. I thought at first he was pulling my leg – the Navajo are good at playing some kinds of jokes – but then I saw from his expression that he was serious.

He continued in the same vein, The Sea Wolf Legend has it that after long ages, the sea returns to the land of the Navajo. But the Sea Wolf comes first to show the people how to go into the earth and live in the second world until it is safe to come out again into the third world. He dropped the serious mein, laughed and added, We geologists can understand that kind of legend.

Okay, I thought, so it's a nice story to tell the kids so they don't worry about the sea shells they find, so far from the ocean, but it doesn't explain the man pretending to be Sea Wolf.

He put his left hand on my shoulder, said, intently, Carl, you are a friend, and I want you to know that I'm not kidding about the old one you saw. None of us saw anyone else at the meeting this morning. Accept what has happened and keep it to yourself. He shook my shoulder, smiled wide. Like my grandfather taught me, a visit from a legend is a private honor ... he took my hand and shook it ... See you in two weeks. Then he walked away, leaving me with my confusion.

Had I known what the legend had planned for me, I would have headed for New York at once. Instead, I went up to my room thinking of Dr. Reddic, who I hoped would be more than just a legend in my life.

The phone rang as I entered. Hi! This is Rachel the dream-eater. Did your meeting go well?

Warmth spread all over me. Yes, it did. Too well. Now I'll only have a week of dates with you in New York before they move me back to the reservation. I sat down on the edge of the bed and loosened my tie. I was just thinking of you and your grandmother. Hmm ... well, I don't know how this will sound to you but I had a visitor at the meeting ... and the committee members claimed they couldn't see him.

I was afraid of that. Grandmother insisted that I call you at once, after my report on your dream last night. Hold on.

She had turned from the phone and was saying something I couldn't hear.

She returned. Grandmother wants to know which legend and did he have a message for her?

I hadn't mentioned legends. Under any normal circumstances I would have hung up the phone. I have never gone in for any sort of mystical mumbo jumbo, but this was Rachel I was speaking to, and ... well ... so what if her grandmother knew there was a message for her? Tell her it was Sea Wolf, and, yes, he gave me a message, said, that she should be pleased.

She turned aside again to talk to her grandmother. It seemed to take a very long time, much more than was needed to relay those few words; and when she came back on I sensed a change even before she spoke.

Carl, she said, urgency in her tone, I'm sure you must think us crazy but grandmother insists that you come here at once. She says that you must not spend another night away from here until she does something about Sea Wolf. She's very excited but won't tell me what she plans to do. Oh, hold on again, please, Carl. A pleading tone had crept in. I felt embarrassed for her. After a long minute or two, she came back on,

Carl, grandmother just told me your whole conversation with Sea Wolf. Did he say that I had been looking for you all over the world while digging for old things? She sounded excited and a little scared.

I was too stunned to speak.

Carl? Pleadingly.

Yes, and ... uh ... that I'd been looking for you.

He actually knew that we had met in the sky last night? He mentioned eating fear? Her voice had an unreality about it. I had that strange sensation down my spine again.

Yes again, to both questions. He also said that I had incurred a debt to you by making you hungry for me. I tried to laugh. I wanted to tell him that he had that part backwards but he ran away. Looking back on that, I don't know why I never considered the possibility that Rachel's grandmother and Sea Wolf were playing a joke on us, but for some reason that thought never came up, not then – it did later though.

There was an embarrassingly long silence. Carl, could you come now? Sea Wolf was right, and I guess I really have become too 'civilized' to believe in legends ... or in love. She sighed, laughed nervously and continued trying to hide her emotions, By telling grandmother about our meeting, I guess I've made her hungry to meet you – tonight. Well ... I'd better include myself in that category, too, so would you come?

Okay, I said, glancing at my watch, I'll rent a plane and be there just before dark. Can you meet me?

We'll both be there. Thanks for helping.

***

On the flight northward, I began to wonder why the hell I was making this trip, to see Rachel a few days early or just out of curiosity about the entire weird affair. Of course it could just be my total lack of sleep; I'd simply lost my grasp on reality. And then there was a fleeting thought that Rachel had told the old man what had happened last night and I was being set up for some kind of con.

That last thought could be blamed on lack of sleep, for nobody else had seen him ... unless the entire committee had been in on it as well. And I've never been that paranoid.

So, thought I, it might have been just curiosity, but I rather suspect it had more to do with wanting to see her again, otherwise I would never have been alert enough to fly the plane.

[Later, you'll learn that, when playing games with old ones and with legends, no amount of paranoia is enough. The paranoid are often just poor souls who for some obscure reason have lost their ability to ignore the obvious.]

The Sage of Mythos

~~~~

CHAPTER TWO

As I passed over Route 160, the highway from Tuba City to Four Corners, the Kayenta landing strip stood out sharply even in the setting sun; it's new asphalt a dark slash across the landscape mottled by clumps of cedar. Losing altitude to make my approach I recalled the name of the dry creek just south of the airfield – Laguna – and laughed, wondering if it was some sort of prayer for the sea to return. I touched down with the altimeter reading 5790 feet and taxied to the apron. An old jeep station wagon was the only vehicle around; Rachel was standing by it and came forward to meet me as I exited the plane.

She startled me by putting her arms around my neck, pressing close and tiptoeing to kiss me warmly just as if we were long parted lovers. She was trembling; my head spun with new sensations, but I managed to get my arms around her and held her closer for a moment.

Thanks a bunch for coming, she said, then stepped back, keeping her hand on my arm. Something strange is happening with grandmother. Well, she's always been a little strange by some standards, but since I told her about your dream this morning, she's been getting more and more agitated. It's a little scary. We tied down the Cessna.

She took me to the jeep and opened the back door, and said, Carl, this is my grandmother, Soje. Soje looked very old with long white hair and dark wrinkled skin, but even in the twilight her eyes looked young and full of sparkle. As she took my hand, I felt the same vitality and strength I had sensed in Sea Wolf; but she hadn't pretended to pump