Nolan's Ark

Nolan's Ark

by Hugh Andrews

Copyright 2014 Hugh Andrews

All Rights Reserved

Smashwords Edition

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, trademarks, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events etc. is purely coincidental.

Thank you for downloading this ebook. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy from their favorite authorized retailer. Thank you.

Table of Contents

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

EPILOGUE

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

PROLOGUE

We are clear for launch. Begin the countdown.

The wall display began ticking off the seconds until launch, and Dr. Delaney smiled smugly. There was concern that the weather in South Florida would turn nasty since a low-pressure system had been sighted developing 200 miles east in the Atlantic. However, at sunup NOAA had given the all clear. Soon the shuttle and its payload would be in orbit, and soon he could relax, but not soon enough.

T-minus four minutes and counting.

Ignite engines.

He had good reason to be nervous. The shuttle, one of the new Century models, carried a unique payload, one whose design specs didn't exactly match its commercial registry.

The payload appeared to be a simple network communication satellite for coordinating signals high in Earth's orbit, but it was actually much more. Anyone giving the device a closer inspection would detect a small radioactive signature. The official registry showed that the signal was from an atomic battery on the device. But in reality, the satellite contained a small atomic bomb, barely a kiloton in yield.

Once in orbit, the satellite would ignite its boosters and take up a stable position at the L4 Earth-Moon LaGrange point. There, it would continuously search for signals on a specific vector from a specific star, transmitting its findings to a few select individuals on Earth. In the event the satellite picked up a certain sequence of signals or detected an object approaching Earth, it would serve as the planet's fist line of defense.

This deception was the work of a handful of devout members of the New Society who believed with dogmatic certainty that the end of the world was near. Former SETI scientist turned prophet, their founder, John Nolan, believed that the Earth was facing colonization from an alien species. He based his assertions on a Message he had received from the heavens, a Message he alone had seen as a dire warning. With the illicit launch of this satellite, the New Society hoped that the Earth would not be defenseless when the invasion arrived

Naturally, Delaney was anxious for the launch go smoothly. It had taken two years of work to maneuver Society members into the right positions. He had seven people on his team, himself included. One was among the crew of the Century shuttle. Three others had nothing to do with the launch itself, but as staff mechanics, had engineered a way to disguise the bomb and transmitter in the satellite. Another had nothing directly to do with NASA, but occupied a tenured position in a physics department at a prestigious university. Reluctantly, under pressure from Delaney and the others, he had assembled the key components of the satellite with the help of his unwitting graduate students. The professor himself had assembled the bomb. The final member of the team, Blackwell, presently sat next to Delaney in the mission control center.

These seven men didn't consider themselves terrorists, criminals, or freedom fighters. They had no grandiose political ambitions, nor were they revolutionaries of any stripe. They, like many members of the New Society, were highly educated, intelligent, hardworking individuals. But they were dedicated to a unique cause.

For the general American populace, the New Society barely entered conscious awareness. Followers of Nolan didn't shout fanatic slogans, or call for the deaths of those they disagreed with. They didn't wear robes and shave their heads. They didn't march on Washington with placards. Instead, they promoted education, technology and scientific progress. They worked to improve schools, and they funded scholarships for promising students in the sciences. What little lobbying they did was for more research funding, especially in the physical sciences. New Society members had no reason to keep their identities secret. On the contrary. Most people would readily assert that the New Society, regardless of the quirky beliefs its members possessed, was as much a positive force in American culture as any other religious or political organization, and was probably better than most.

That public perception would soon change.

Delaney looked over at Blackwell who was chewing on a fingernail, a nervous habit that Delaney hoped wouldn't give them away.

T-minus three minutes.

Delaney's pent up energy finally reached a boiling point, and he began walking from panel to panel, checking monitors himself muttering, good, good, we're a go, good.

He watched the visual display of the shuttle on the launch pad and he realized, not for the first time, that in a matter of years this facility would be considered obsolete. Cape Canaveral had faced closure several times, but the history and prestige of the facilities ensured that successive NASA administrations could find ways to keep it running. Other launch facilities, such as Vandenberg and the nationalized New Mexico spaceport, carried the bulk of American payloads into space, presently. Furthermore, now that the military was committed to space-based weapons platforms, Congress had finally ponied up the money to begin construction of a space elevator as part of a Defense Appropriations bill. Nevertheless, Cape Canaveral remained the pre-eminent symbol of American dominance in space travel, an image that delayed its long overdue demise.

T-minus two minutes.

Delaney clenched and unclenched his fists repeatedly. Sweat trickled, almost imperceptibly, from his brow. He was sure he was going to be sick during the last two minutes, the longest two minutes of his life. Dammit, he was a scientist, not a conspirator. His constitution just wasn't suited to intrigue. Soon it will be over, he reminded himself. Soon the rocket would be in orbit, and the mission out of his hands.

While he waited for the launch, he played out all the possibilities in his mind. In one, he went on the run, hiding out in a European Union country, finding a small cottage to spend his days in quiet contemplation, writing his memoirs for posterity. In another more realistic scenario, he did the right thing and turned himself over to the authorities once the payload was in orbit, taking the fall for his compatriots. After all, what did his lone life matter compared to saving the world? If the satellite made it to orbit, he would happily go to prison a hero.

When is he going to give the go for launch already? Time sure had the uncanny ability to make you wait longer when you were uneasy.

He remembered the way time stretched itself out indefinitely, slowing down to a snail's pace, the first time he had asked out his wife. He remembered the anxious wait before his first interview for a position with NASA, sitting in a waiting room with the sinking feeling that he wouldn't measure up, eying the competition. Neither of these events had rattled him as much as this one.

T-minus one minute.

Abruptly, there was a commotion at the back of the room. Delaney turned to see two men in black enter escorted by a security guard. Several more men were behind them with weapons drawn. One of the men looked up and down over the control room, and then caught Delaney's eye. Delaney froze, feeling suddenly naked, knowing the predator had just caught up with its quarry. In that instant, Delaney's future flashed before him, beginning with arrest and trial, and ending in a dark concrete cell.

Abort the launch! he heard Blackwell say. We have orders to abort the launch!

Don't you dare! Delaney yelled, running over to him. The clock on the wall read T-minus thirty seconds. So close…so close. Launch it now! he yelled.

Blackwell hesitated. He had already removed the cover of the abort button, and his hand hovered over it.

This is what you are trained for! Give the launch order! Delaney yelled.

John Delaney, he heard someone behind him say. You are under-

Delaney spun around, and his fist connected with a federal agent's jaw. All of his nervous energy became channeled into the punch, and the agent fell back, surprised and stunned. Reacting wildly, Delaney fumbled to grab for the agent's gun, a bad move, an impulsive move, and one which, even had he succeeded, was useless, for he had no idea what he would do with a gun.

For the rest of his life, he would replay this moment in his mind over and over again, wondering what had possessed him.

A shot rang out, and an explosion of pain ignited in his arm and shoulder. He fell, hitting the floor hard with his injured shoulder. As he lost consciousness, he thought he distinctly heard Blackwell call out, announcing that the launch was aborted.

The clock read T-minus eight seconds.

CHAPTER ONE

I can give you about a half an hour, but then you gotta go, the attending nurse said as she let Rebecca into the room. It took some doing, but I just got the last of his well-wishers out of here.

How is he?

His condition is stable. Don't wake him. He's had plenty of visitors already today. Remember, a half hour.

Thanks, Rebecca whispered. She paused to close the door quietly and looked over at the hospital bed where her brother Craig slept. An IV was taped to his wrist, and a large white gauze pad covered his left temple. In the darkened room, the bandage stood out while Craig's short auburn hair and freckles remained lost in shadow.

Rebecca half-consciously brushed a lock of her own auburn long hair away from her face, her hand pausing at the spot on her own left temple where her Dewey Chip used to be.

I guess it runs in the family.

Before the surgery, when her body had rejected the implant, skull-splitting headaches and bouts of dizziness had debilitated her waking hours. Nightmares caused by data seepage ensured that sleep offered no relief. Surgical removal was the only solution to rejection, and the week of nausea that followed was bliss in comparison to the pain that had come before. The whole experience had been enough for her never to try another implant.

On the other hand, this was Craig's third surgery to remove a Dewey. He had been determined to make it work. But like the previous two implants, this chip had failed as well. He had confided in her just two weeks earlier that when this one failed, he would give up trying.

Craig had a private room, and several extra chairs were there for visitors. Flowers and old-fashioned Get Well cards graced the room. She knew her brother was well-liked, but the grandiosity of the display surprised her. On her way to his bedside she stopped to sniff one of the flowers, then pulled back with a twinge of guilt. She avoided glancing at the cards. The sight of them was a painful reminder of her parents' deaths.

Taking a seat by the bed, she reached out for his hand, taking it in her own. He was breathing the long, slow breaths that come with deep sleep. She sat there for a long time, not saying anything, just listening to his breathing.

Craig, she said softly at last. Craig, I want you to know I'm sorry. I hope you understand.

She paused, holding her breath, trying not to cry. He drew in a breath, sharply. She felt his hand twitch. He was awake.

Craig, it's me. Rebecca.

Third time's a charm, eh, Sis? He forced himself to grin. His eyes fluttered open. I'm getting to be an expert at recovery.

Yeah, I guess so, she said and sniffed.

I think you're the most serious person who's been here today. Shouldn't the patient need cheering, not the other way around? Even Elder Barker doesn't look as sour as you do now.

She laughed, weakly, unconvincingly.

If you can't laugh any better than that, I'll call the nurse to throw you out, you know.

Can't threaten me. I already bribed the nurse.

That's the spirit. He sat up a little and looked around. What time is it? I was wondering when you were coming by. You really did bribe the nurse, didn't you?

Guilty, as charged.

They sat in silence for some time. Thoughts turned around and around in Rebecca's mind, but she couldn't bring herself to give voice to any of them.

They say you've left us, Craig said at last.

Yes. She thought they might have said worse things than that.

You always did have to question everything. What was it? Did you just stop believing? Or was it the Canaveral incident? Or something else?

I don't know, Craig. All of it. She sighed. Look, people are going to talk, and you should at least hear it from me. I've had my own doubts for a long time. And the Canaveral incident scared a lot of people. That's when I finally decided to leave.

So exactly how long has the government been paying you?

Hearing the accusing tone in his voice, she burst into tears. He reached out, though, and pulled her close while she sobbed.

I'm sorry, he whispered. It's okay. I didn't mean anything by it.

She pulled back from his embrace, and took a moment to compose herself. Yes, the government is paying me, as a consultant. They need to know what's going on in the Society. They need to know who the extremists are. It's not my intention to rat anybody out. I know most of Nolan's followers are decent. I've told them that. Give me some credit.

I do, Sis, I do. It's just hard to hear. It feels like you're gone for good.

I am, Craig. You should come too, especially now that you've had your Dewey removed.

He stared at her, hurt and astonished. Then he shook his head, slowly, wincing.

Two minutes, the nurse called out, poking in her head.

Look, Craig, I'm not trying to hurt you or anybody. I've just come to see things differently. Just give it time.

I know. He reached out again and patted her hand. I know. You're my sister, and I'll always love you.

She leaned over and embraced him again. Thanks. I love you too, Craig. They held on to each other until the nurse came back.

Time's up.

Go on, get out of here, you brat, Craig said, sticking out his tongue at her.

Who'd want to see you anyway? You stink, she retorted. For a moment, they were both kids again, making each other miserable to pass the time. Then the moment passed.

Bye Sis.

Bye Craig.

She turned and fled the room, afraid to look back again one last time.

Down the hall, she passed a man in suit and trench coat. A pin on his collar sported the star-and-bar emblem that identified him as a New Society member. He started to nod hello. Then he recognized her, and his face contorted with anger. Traitor! What gives you the right-! She noted the Dewey implant in his left temple, and she had the certain knowledge that it was already registering the encounter on the Nolan Net. She flinched away from him, but he grabbed the shoulder of her coat.

Nurse! he called. Who let this woman in here! I'll have your job for this!

You won't have anything! the nurse planted herself squarely in front of the man. Just who do you think you are? Security's already on its way, so just let her go.

The man let go, and Rebecca ran back the way she came. When she got to the stairwell, she paused and glanced back. The nurse still stood her ground, but the man had backed down and was heading in the opposite direction to the elevator. The nurse turned around and glanced at Rebecca.

Rebecca mouthed the words, thank you. The nurse nodded, and Rebecca bolted down the stairs. A dark, unmarked government car was waiting outside the hospital for her. The car's lights came on when she emerged. She ran to the car, and climbed in, trying not to cry. The driver of the car was her new boss, Agent Stephens, Department of Homeland Security, better known as the DHS.

Thank you for arranging that, she said.

Not a problem, Stephens said, pulling out of the hospital driveway. I know how important it was to you.

But Stephens wasn't the only one watching her departure from the hospital. Seeing the government car pull away, the man in the trench coat, Elder Barker, muttered a curse on all traitors, turncoats, and apostates.

CHAPTER TWO

This third Dewey chip rejection was worse than the first two had been, but from earlier experience Craig knew how to mitigate the after effects. The headaches came late in the day, and although he had a prescription for pain-killers, he refused to fill it, preferring to treat the headaches with mild, over-the-counter drugs instead. Bouts of fugue were likewise predictable and generally occurred in the mornings and evenings. The only way to prevent these was to relax, to nap, and then to read for a while. He had brief periods of dizziness and nausea at unpredictable times, however, but they didn't last long. He decided it would be best to wait them out.

Above all, he knew that keeping his mind active was the best way to recover from the loss of his Dewey. Nevertheless, he missed its gentle prompts to study and meditate on what he had learned. He missed the information he could access through it, missed scanning the News Nets or the Nolan Forum while commuting to work. Whatever he wanted to read, to view, or to know had come immediately to him through his Dewey. Without it, he felt at a loss.

He could wear an Exo-Dewey, of course, like children do before they can have a chip safely implanted. He was reluctant to buy an Exo, however. It would make him conspicuous in public. Grown adults don't wear Exos, except the elderly. It was as bad as wearing glasses. It advertised to the world that there was something wrong with you.

Because of his two previous implant rejections, he had learned to rely less on the Dewey and develop greater self-discipline. It wasn't necessary to read Nolan's Speeches regularly when the Dewey made them available at any time or place. Without the Dewey, he had to force himself to read on his own. The Dewey had also provided instant commentary on any passage; now he had to work to develop his own ability to pick out the important passages to memorize and contemplate.

In the hospital, he had made sure there was a complete, unabridged copy of Nolan's Speeches and Writings on his personal computer. The local Society chapter had gifted Craig with a hardbound paper copy of Nolan's works while he recovered. Initially, the quaint novelty of it evoked only polite gratitude from Craig, who noted that it was much heavier than his PC. But by its second day in his possession, he had taken to reading this edition, rather than the digital one. It felt good to reach out and turn the pages manually, to teach his hands to aid in grasping knowledge instead of simply imbibing what appeared on his defunct Dewey chip.

Craig had been out of the hospital for just a week when he received an invitation from the Committee on Standards Review Board to evaluate his status as a member of the New Society so he could gain public validation that he was still in good standing. While the Board's invitation had been friendly and polite, it was authoritative in tone. Over ninety-five percent of the Society's members used the Dewey implant as an aid to their faith. The Board indicated it wanted to confirm that without this implement, Craig could still meet the minimum standards of the Society. They assured Craig that even if he had trouble reciting the Litany or discussing the basic tenets of Nolan, he wouldn't be disbarred from membership. There would simply be recommendations for further remediation and a follow-up evaluation.

Although they were kind enough to inform Craig that he would have the time to recover that he needed, Craig insisted on getting this ugliness over with as soon as possible. He set the meeting for late morning on the tenth day after his surgery.

Because his driver's license had been temporarily suspended due to his recent surgery, and because he had waived the Board's offer to drive him to the meeting, he took an auto-taxi which was a new experience without his Dewey. He watched the world go by through the window and found the view disorienting. Did the world always go by this fast outside the window of a moving vehicle? Normally his attention would be on the Dewey display that overlay the outside world with its ready information and options. But today, things looked different, clearer in some ways, and more colorful.

The atmosphere at the Office was friendly and informal, despite the immaculately clean and orderly surroundings. The receptionist recognized him immediately, inquiring after his health.

‘Mental fitness comes from knowing that every day opens new possibilities to learn,' Craig quoted.

Someone's been studying! the receptionist noted. Just go on in. They're expecting you.

Thanks.

The Review Board typically consisted of five members. At least two members of the Committee on Standards would be present. The remaining three members would be volunteers from the Society at large, members in good standing who could confirm the Board's conclusions. In a case such as Craig's, at least one of the members would be a physician who could attest to the possible effects of his medical condition on his testimony.

In the middle of the meeting room, there was an oval table with comfortable chairs arranged around it. A reproduction of the classic image of John Nolan against a background of stars graced the far end of the room. Craig noted that four of the board members were present, and among them he saw Jenny Talbot, the local head of the Committee of Standards. She was a programmer by profession and responsible for ensuring the quality of communications on the Society's DeweyNet. He shook her hand. It would be particularly important to convince her of his good standing.

Craig also recognized Deacon Harlowe, an engineer who had lived in the area until being transferred to Atlanta. I'm just back to visit my kids, and was asked to sit in for this, he explained when Craig shook his hand. He was one of the non-Committee members.

Dr. Lizette Watley had been his and Rebecca's personal physician since childhood and would attest to his medical condition. She gave him a warm smile.

How are you feeling? she asked. I've read your records, and I'm rather surprised at your insistence on meeting so soon after the surgery! Are you up for this?

Certainly am.

"You know I can't mitigate the findings with your medical condition, only explain any irregularities?

I know.

Talbot introduced the fourth man present, a dark-skinned man named Tariq Azam, a mathematician by training. He gave a polite but stiff smile, and shook Craig's hand firmly.

I don't believe I have met you around. You're on the Standards Committee? Craig asked.

I am. I just moved up here from Houston.

The four Board members sat on one side of the oval table, and Craig took a seat alone on the other side. All four had the telltale bulge under the skin of their left temple that meant they had functioning Dewey Chip implants. They could access any information they wanted throughout the meeting, checking and verifying his answers. He imagined that at least Talbot had the newest model, the one that could directly read the user's thoughts. Most Deweys were still activated by subvocalized speech or keyboard commands.

We're waiting for one more person, Talbot explained. The chair of the Board should be along soon, and we can begin. Help yourself to something to drink or eat while we wait.

Craig was surprised to hear that Talbot wasn't chairing the Review Board, but he wasn't left wondering for long. The fifth member of the Board strode into the room, pausing ceremoniously to close the double doors behind him.

Elder Barker! Craig exclaimed, rising from his seat. He stuck out his hand, and Barker gave it a polite shake. I didn't know you were going to be here. Craig had felt only mildly apprehensive before he knew that Elder Barker was going to be on his Review Board. But now he was nervous knowing that the Elder was the chair.

I was rather concerned about your case, the Elder said, smiling. Craig suspected that the Elder's kindly demeanor was a facade, hiding a stern and critical mind. Despite the difficulties I'm sure you've experienced, it is rather inspiring to see that you gave the implant three tries.

It's more than is advisable, Dr. Watley said. Your record from the first rejection suggested that the problem was not with the implant brand. The second rejection was the proof.

Since you've already spoken up, Barker said, why don't we make a review of Mr. Quist's medical condition the first order of business? Craig, for the record, how are you feeling? And are you able to stand this review?

I still have headaches in the evenings, and some confusion in the mornings. That should be on my medical record as updated this morning. Nausea comes at intermittent times, but even that is decreasing in frequency and severity.

Barker looked at Dr. Watley, who nodded confirmation.

And the second question?

‘Adversity is the catalyst for growth,' Nolan Collection number seventy-four, the SanFran speech of…of August… he paused. The date slipped from memory. But his quote had done its trick. The Board members reacted favorably. For the record, I'm ready for this, he added.

A direct quote. What a pleasant surprise, Barker chuckled. We have one more formality. We need a statement accepting the terms and decision of this Review Board.

There was a display set into the table in front of Craig. On it was a statement for him to read. He adjusted the screen to see it better.

I affirm that I am and will remain a member in good standing of the International New Society of the Message. I affirm that John Nolan received an extra-terrestrial Message. I affirm that there is intelligent life elsewhere in the universe. I affirm that the Nephilim have visited the Earth before, and will visit the Earth again. I affirm that our mission is to prepare for when the Nephilim return. And I voluntarily submit to an evaluation by this Review Board. The middle part of the statement was the basic Litany of the Fourfold Affirmation. Craig could recite that part from memory.

Then, the questions began. They asked him an easy one: to recite the Four Heresies, which were simply the inverse of the Fourfold Affirmation.

Then they asked him to explain briefly John Nolan's career. This was another easy one. Everyone who grew up in the Society knew the story of Nolan.

He was the astronomer who had discovered the message from the Nephilim. The message came late in his career while he was working on the Search for Extra-Terrestrial Intelligence project. Over the course of a single night Nolan recorded the signal, which lasted for two hours. It was repeated twice, without any variation before it ceased.

Nolan decided at that moment that the course of human history had been changed. This was the moment of proof, the moment when humanity learned it wasn't alone, and the moment when Nolan's professional career ended.

He became an object of public ridicule. No other scientist claimed independently to be able to verify the unique signal of the Message, although plenty of professionals explained it away. In the face of the controversy and public outcry over wasteful spending, the government shut down SETI for good. Citing scandals in the accounting of grant