StarPassage: Cyber Plague

Prologue

The Storm

A shadowy figure paced at the edge of a forest clearing. A dark hoodie shadowed all but two evil piercing eyes. Black slim-fitting jeans and Velcro strap-across trainer shoes looked nearly new. The hooded figure’s hands fidgeted impatiently.

Why can’t anyone take me seriously! He could be here in a second if he wanted. But he keeps me waiting.

Donny knew time didn’t matter to his kind. It held no meaning in general since he crossed over from his real life to the shadow world of a Tracker. But to be ignored like this when he had discovered something Trackers had sought since history began felt like a slap in the face.

They’ll listen to me now. I’ll be the greatest Tracker of all, he cried to the verdant forest around him.

Perhaps one day my hasty young friend, came a deep resonant voice in return. A tall man dressed in a bowler hat and pin-striped, three-piece suit with its vest buttoned to the top stepped from the dark evergreen shadows. There is power here and opportunity, but for whom? That is the dilemma.

Horst, look at those trees. Up high where they cross…it’s the star.

Yes, very curious. But not the one we have encountered before. This one is different.

Donny hesitated. Different? But it’ll still work…right?

Other dark figures began arriving, stepping from their dark travels through time and space. One of the new arrivals, dressed in buckskin with a bearskin, fur-lined hat that might have been worn by an early American trapper, stepped toward Horst and tapped him heavily on the shoulder. Ain’t we gonna jus’ grab the bauble and be off?

This is something new, Horst said, deep in thought. We are unaware of the power it possesses. It must be approached with caution.

Aw come on, Donny said. It’s just stuck there on the tree waitin’ for us to take it.

You should do the honors then, Horst said. Bowing formally, he gestured toward the clearing.

Really! You’d let me do that?

Of course, Horst said, revealing no emotion. After all, it is your discovery.

Donny was not sure if Trackers still had hearts, but he felt something jump where his should have been. Okay, here goes.

He stepped forward, crossing the edge of the clearing. Nothing happened. Not so bad. He took another step, then a third, and he was halfway to the tree. This is easy.

He continued and cautiously paused after each step until he stood an arm’s length from the base of the nearest crossed tree. He felt something. It was subtle, but it was there. A buzzing sensation began, as if he had touched a low-voltage electric circuit. He knew Trackers could not be injured by electrical charges or anything really. Yet he hesitated and cast an apprehensive glance at Horst and the others.

Continue on, boy, Horst said. Claim your prize.

Donny sensed sarcasm in Horst’s voice and felt a surge of anger. I’ll show him. I’m his best Tracker ever! He turned and touched the base of the tree. Suddenly, the empty space between the crossed trees began to swirl. It grew quickly, spinning ever more rapidly like a whirlpool. Dark storm clouds seemed to churn within. He heard what sounded like thunder and saw flashes of light from its center.

He hesitated again and looked back at the gathering of dark figures. Some were cowering, stumbling backward, hands shielding their faces. Donny felt a surge of pride that refreshed his flagging courage. They’re afraid. This is my chance. Determined to show Horst and the others he was an important member of their group, he began his climb up the leaning trunk. The swirling storm raged, but Trackers could feel none of the sensations of weather or temperature. He shrugged. I’ve got this.

He reached for the star.

Suddenly, he felt a tingling sensation in his extended hand. Heat. I’m not supposed to be able to feel temperature. The heat grew to painful burning. He turned to Horst who smiled as if he had anticipated what was happening. It hurts. It’s not supposed to— Donny’s statement was cut short as he turned to view his hand. Fingers began to flake like cheap, weather-worn paint.

Fear gripped Donny as he watched his fingers peel away like leaves in a wind-swept field. The flakes were sucked into the spinning whirlpool storm. He watched his fingers disappear in disbelieving shock. His outstretched hand was next, then his arm and shoulder began to flake and disintegrate. He looked at Horst in alarm What’s happening to me?

Horst’s voice came back in a calm, almost bored, response. I told you this was a time for caution. Donny tried to move away from the growing whirlpool, but he felt as if he had been superglued to the tree trunk. I…I can’t move. Horst…help!

Thank you, my brave but foolish lad. We had to have someone test it.

Donny’s mind filled with confusion just before it winked out. I’m a Tracker. This can’t…

His last view as a Tracker was of Horst’s sad smile and curt nod as the remainder of his body baked, disintegrated, and blew into oblivion.

A twelve-year-old Native American boy sat up suddenly from a deep sleep. He shook his head, trying to wrest the startling image from his mind. It was just a dream. But it had seemed so real. He looked around at his companions. They were sleeping soundly. The mountain air betrayed its first crisp edge, telling him colder weather would be upon his people soon.

The dream had been so clear. Did it mean something? Was it a warning from the Great Spirit about his upcoming first trip with the hunting party? The person’s body seemed to have been turned to sand and blown away by a strong wind. The terrible sight would stay with him and perhaps haunt future dreams. He shook his head again. It was just a dream. He would tell no one lest they think him a child, unworthy of joining the hunt. The morning will come early. I need my sleep. He lay down again, begging the Great Spirit for better omens to greet his mind’s nighttime wandering.

Across time and space another dreamer was greeted by confusing images. Courtney moved rapidly through a long dark hallway. She was led by someone, who pulled her by the wrist. She seemed to have difficulty running. Something was wrong. But she couldn’t tell what it was. Moving with urgency, she sensed they were being hunted by something dangerous. A tug on her arm told her she needed to move faster. The danger was closing the distance.

They approached a double door with signs that were unreadable in the dark. She wanted to slow down and figure out where she was. What is going on?

Her guide burst through the double doors into a large space. It was pitch dark, but suddenly, as if Christmas tree lights had been turned on, small pinpoints of multi-colored light appeared randomly scattered around the room. Their greens, yellows, reds, and blues were not bright enough to provide real light, so she continued to stumble along behind her guide.

They ran, looking for something. The double doors they had just passed through flew open, banging against the walls, and she heard footsteps and voices—lots of them. An angry mob! Her mind flooded with fear. Everywhere she looked she saw the multicolored pinpoints. The guide turned a corner, then another, and a third. The pursuing mob’s footsteps faded a little.

She heard someone fumbling with a doorknob and a door squeaked open. In here, a voice said. Stay down. I need to think. Be very still.

She followed the hand into the room, heard the door latch lock, and sat down against the cold metal door they had just entered. The footsteps grew closer and stopped outside the door. She heard rhythmic chanting, as if words were being repeated in unison by the mob. Courtney couldn’t understand what they said.

Suddenly, she felt as if she’d sat on an ant mound or had burst open dozens of spider sacks. Thousands of little legs were crawling all over her. She let go of the guide’s hand and frantically tried to brush them off. Courtney wanted to scream but knew the pursuers would hear. Valiantly, she tried to swallow the cry. Her panic mounted as she felt the crawling things burrowing into her skin.

It overwhelmed her senses. Self-control vanished, and a bloodcurdling scream exploded from her as she sat up in bed, viciously fighting to get the crawling things off her.

She felt arms wrap around her. It’s just a dream, Court. You’re all right. I’m here.

Courtney slowly surfaced from the night terror, realizing her twin sister Callie had come from the other bed to comfort her, rocking her gently as she had done before.

I’m the one who usually has these nightmares. What’s up?

I know, Callie-girl. But it was so real and icky. I wasn’t just watching someone else. It was me.

That’s odd. We are usually observing. Can you tell me anything about it?

Not really. I ran through a dark place. Someone else was leading me. We were being chased and then crawly things covered my body.

No way to get your bearings then?

Pitch black. People chanting and little colored lights…that’s it.

Courtney’s breathing calmed. Callie returned to her bed and threw the sheets over herself. It was just a dream. I’m here. Now lay down and get some restful sleep.

Courtney’s eyes glistened with tears. But—

Callie shook her head, preempting her sister’s comment. No Court. Let’s not relive it right now. We’ll talk in the morning.

Courtney took a few deep breaths and felt her heartbeat slowing. Okay. No chases or monsters and especially no more spiders tonight. She smiled at Callie, I promise.

And remember, it’s usually my job to wake up shaking and sweating, Callie said, smiling. Can’t have this. You’re the calm one.

Yeah…really strange.

Chapter One

Hunting Party

The high mountain valleys provided excellent game during the early fall. Twelve-year-old Tuwa felt his skin buzz with excitement. The dream had faded. This would be a time of proving. They would know he was worthy to walk in the steps of the hunter. I must be quiet to show the others I belong. His older brother, Tocho, had reluctantly agreed to allow Tuwa on the hunt.

But the Shoshoni Council of Elders announced I am of age, Tuwa had argued with his seventeen-year-old brother, leader of the hunting party.

Your treatment will be the same as any other, Tocho had stated firmly, arms folded over his chest. There is no easy path.

Tuwa stood as tall as his smaller frame allowed, smiling from ear to ear. I will do my part. I will not be a burden.

We will learn if your heart is as great as your words.

Tuwa spread his legs apart and held his hands out, making fists, trying to flex every muscle in his arms. I am strong. You will see.

His older brother softened. "It will be your first real hunt, not spearing gammu (jackrabbits) for stew."

They broke into laughter, and Tocho slapped his younger brother on the back. There are no second chances with the great beasts.

The hunting party passed through the wild world like a gentle breeze. Tuwa and the others moved like shadows, following the narrow trails of the deheya’ (deer) through the oak and pine forest. Each moccasin step was carefully placed toe first as eagle eyes scanned the hillside and trail ahead. Tuwa saw something on the trail. He waved a hand to get Tocho’s attention and pointed. Together they inspected the small, round, pebble-like objects. The deer scat felt warm and soft. It was a good sign. Tuwa felt his skin prickle from the adrenaline rush. We are close. He held his spear at the ready.

Tuwa rehearsed in his mind the advice received from others in the hunting party. Deer were quick and jumped in high graceful arcs that could effortlessly clear large boulders and fallen trees. Even the greatest warrior would lose such a chase. But they could also be dangerous. Their horns were hard as rock and sharper than spear or arrow.

Tocho had seen them rear on hind legs and use hooves as weapons. More than one warrior had the scars to prove this. But the forests held greater dangers, and some of these also hunted deer. There was the black and brown aagwayq (bear), tocho (mountain lion), baadeheya (moose) and bia deheya’ (elk). Any of these could appear without warning and, if provoked or protective, take even the strongest man to the ground in an instant. There were enough sad tales to tell around the coo-nah (fire) without becoming one more.

The eight-person hunting party followed the trail like ghosts from the steeper mountain forest toward the tall grassy foothills. On the distant valley floor, they saw an extensive stand of sehevi (willow) trees mixed with thick oak brush. The yellows and reds of the fall leaves stood out in the grassy prairie like a multicolored island in the center of a faded amber lake. Tocho looked back at Tuwa and touched his eyes, then pointed toward the island forest. Tuwa nodded in understanding. Tocho had told him that such trees grow near water. That’s where we are going. We will find water, and the deer will be there too.

Tocho touched his eyes again as they approached the tall prairie grass. He made a wavy motion with his hand and arm and wiggled his finger in the air. Tuwa hesitated. Watch for dogowa (rattlesnakes) in the grass. The larger ones could be as long as a man is tall, with bodies as thick as one’s arm. There would sometimes be a warning rattle but not always, and the sharp-fanged bite of one of these serpents held bad medicine that could kill. They also were drawn to water. Everything is drawn to water. Tuwa walked carefully, all his senses prickling and alive. His fear calmed, overcome by rising excitement. What else might be drawn to the watering hole he did not know.

Overwhelming curiosity drew him forward. His excitement made him careless. He did not see the rock. Suddenly, his right foot smacked into a hard, immovable object. A cry came before he could stifle the sound. He fell sprawling into the tall grass. The rest of the party froze, then quickly dropped below the level of the grass. Tocho appeared at his side, glaring disapproval.

Tuwa instinctively began to explain, but Tocho held his hand flat over his mouth and shook his head. Tuwa knew there could be no argument. He had embarrassed his brother and threatened the day’s hunt with his clumsiness. He mouthed the words, Sorry.

Tocho patted him on the head as if to ask, Are you injured?

This was not the time for lectures. The late season hunt was everything to the Shoshoni people. Tuwa held out his hand palm outward to let Tocho know he was all right. Without responding, Tocho rose and in a low crouch returned to his position. Tuwa rose to his knees, just high enough to see over the waving grass. The others were moving, and he followed, enduring a slight limp.

They covered the remaining distance and went to their hands and knees about a stone’s throw from the forest. There was movement. It was not a deer. Instead, an enormous moose emerged and strolled directly toward them. The top of the animal’s back was higher than a man’s head. Its flat, wide, moss-covered antlers gleamed bone-white in the afternoon sun. Tuwa knew moose lost their antlers and regrew them each season. The lateness of the season meant this male’s antlers were large and dangerous. Moose were extremely territorial and would charge if startled. This one seemed to be in a protective mood. Suddenly, Tuwa understood why.

Two females emerged from the trees followed by a couple of younger moose clearly seeing the end of their first summer. Tuwa had been warned about moose and their sacred status among the Shoshoni people. Killing one when other game was available would bring bad luck to the tribe. Tales of a giant magical moose protector had been handed down by storytellers. His mind wandered to the mystical tale.

A giant moose had once appeared to avenge the unnecessary death of one of its people, as they were called. Several brave warriors had been killed before the giant protector was satisfied the land had returned to its balance. It had disappeared, and the Shoshoni did not trifle with its people and tempt the return of their magical protector. There was other game available. They could do nothing but crouch lower and hope they remained downwind. The moose moved slowly to their left and disappeared in the tall grass, heading for the hills. Tocho signaled they were to follow him into the trees.

The dense, bushy oak, tall willows, and cottonwoods forced them onto the deer trails that led to a large pond. The calm, mirror-like surface was stunningly beautiful and appeared about the flight of a well-loosed arrow in width. There, thirty paces in front of them, were six deer, one of which was crowned with a set of impressive four-point antlers.

This would be a great trophy in any family’s gahni (dwelling). The warrior possessing it could tell stories of its taking throughout the coming dommo (winter). He also knew the meat from just one animal that size would be salted, dried, and stored, perhaps becoming the difference between life and death during the harsh winter that would be upon them within two mea (moons).

Tuwa readied his spear, knowing those with bows would get the first shot. Tocho signaled three of the other hunters to circle to the left with one bowman while the other two bowmen remained with him. Tuwa crouched in the thinning trees about six paces from his brother. They waited for the others to get into position.

It seemed to Tuwa this took forever. The deer would surely hear or sense something and be gone in an instant. His palms felt sweaty, and his heart raced. Tuwa felt he would explode with excitement. But the hunters knew their trade and like phantoms took up their positions blocking the animals’ escape. Tuwa felt humbled to observe their skill. I have much to learn before I will call myself a warrior like Tocho and the others.

There was no need to signal. Tocho seemed to know it was time. He nodded and smiled at Tuwa as they both readied their spears. The two nearby bowmen nocked their arrows, pulling bowstrings to their cheeks. All was ready and Tuwa dared not breathe. Suddenly, arrows and spears flew from two sides.

Tocho’s spear took down one of the smaller deer while two arrows struck the mighty buck. He jumped high in the air, causing the third arrow to miss its mark. Then the buck charged toward the forest so quickly the hunters were unable to loose any more accurate shots. The startled buck snorted as arrows clattered on the rocky banks. It veered from the misses and charged directly toward Tuwa, who froze. His mind took a split second he did not have to comprehend what was happening and how to respond.

Wounded and enraged, the buck came on like a boulder flying down a steep hillside. Tuwa screamed, not really a war cry, more surprise mixed with fear. The buck lowered its head toward the last obstacle to freedom, and all Tuwa could see were eight spear-like points that would make him another sad story. He fell onto his back, and his spear came up still held in both hands and somehow lodged against the base of a large oak root.

The spear point met the charging buck, sinking deep into its chest and piercing the heart and left lung. The great beast’s head jerked upward at the force of the collision. Then the shaft broke and the animal tumbled heavily onto Tuwa, antlers skimming just past his head, leaving a long, deep slice down the right side of his face.

Tocho yelled, and in brotherly panic ran immediately to Tuwa’s side. With the help of others in the party, he pulled the buck from the young boy. Do not die, my brother.

Tuwa lay momentarily still, his eyes staring wildly toward the sky. Tocho slapped him on the shoulder. Speak to me. Are you alright? Tuwa breathed, making a long, shrill, sucking sound. He struggled for a full breath, having had the air knocked out of him. After several anxious moments, Tocho heard his brother’s breathing returning to normal. He reached down and touched Tuwa’s cheek. His fingers came away stained with rich dark-red blood.

You will have a mark to prove your tale.

Tocho gazed down at his brother, feeling proud and relieved at the same time. He saw an attempted smile on the face of the young boy. Then Tuwa collapsed into shock-induced unconsciousness. Tocho looked at the great buck and then back to his brother. His well-deserved sleep would not be disturbed.

He turned to the others, gesturing toward the deer. We will prepare these and rest here until morning.

Tuwa awoke after dark on the bank of the pond. The fire roared next to him. He turned his head to the side and realized he lay only a few steps from where he had felled the great buck. As he sat up, he was immediately surrounded by well-wishers, each with a story to tell about Tuwa’s deed. The tales sounded too different and fantastic to have all happened to one person. Soon the conversation slowed, and Tocho sent them back to their work preparing the long meat strips for drying near the fire and cleaning the skins.

How long…?

You have been asleep while the moon has moved halfway across the sky.

Did we do well?

Three, but the others are of little matter, Tocho said, smiling proudly. You have become a legend already while you slept.

Tuwa shook his head. I only fell back and lifted my spear.

I cannot change the telling of others, Tocho said with humor in his voice. I can only tell my part that surely will be swallowed up in the more fantastic tales. Someday young Tuwa on his first hunting trip will have slain bear, mountain lion, moose, and elk all with one sweep of his magical spear.

They chuckled at the shared picture Tocho created.

But the truth is different, Tuwa said.

"There