Terror of the Shadow

CHAPTER THIRTY

It was the Sabbath. The bells—the cheerful kind—rang all through the city. The ringing mixed with the soft murmuring of the crowd as they awaited the arrival of the elders.

Laban drug his feet in the sand as he followed close behind his mother, hobbling along slowly towards the city square. They quietly slipped into the back of the congregation.

"We're just in time," Laban said. "The elders will be here soon."

"Thank you for walking me here," his mother said.

"Are you sure you'll be alright without me?"

"I'll be fine, Laban. You have a mission to do. Besides, I have lots of people here to help me."

"Thanks, ma. I'll be back later. Don't worry. I will be back."

She leaned over and kissed him on the forehead.

"I know you will," she said. "Those Above will be watching over you. I will be here praying for you. Now you don't have any time to waste. Go get that stone."

Laban turned around. It would be easy to slip away unnoticed in this crowd. And on the Sabbath day, the streets were empty. There would be no one to stop him.

Even if Laban silently wished there was.

That didn't mean that he didn't want to finish what he had set out to do. He still wanted to kill Ithtar. He still believed that this was the only way to stop a war and to bring two parallel worlds back into balance.

But that didn't stop him from being afraid. His mouth was dry and his breathing so sporadic that he had to consciously tell himself to take a deep breath every few seconds or he would pass out. His knees wobbled underneath him as he tried to walk.
Nothing will go wrong, Laban thought to himself. The systems on that machine have been tested over and over again. You'll be flying high above any danger. There's no way that they can hurt you, even with their rifles.
Laban remembered back to the first time he had been wandering around the empty streets of the city during the Sabbath exercises. That was the first time he had really met Nimrod. He sure could use some of those drugs right now, Laban thought. His blood was hot and pumping a thousand miles an hour. Anything to take the edge off would have been welcome.

Laban reached the doors of the garage where the bullet craft was stored. A large padlock had been fastened around the handles. That didn't worry Laban. He had a key.

He unlocked the doors and shoved them open. There sat their finished work, finally whole. They had buffed out all the cracks and dents in the hull and given it a bright, polished finish. It was no longer a mess of greasy parts strewn over the concrete floor—now, it was beautiful.

Laban walked in and used the stepladder to climb into the pilot's seat. He grabbed the small device that he had left there last night and fastened it to his stump left wrist, giving him something of a dull hook in place of his hand. Now the appendage wouldn't be completely useless. He had fashioned the device out of some spare parts and scrap so that he would be able to fully operate all the controls on the ship.
Carefully remembering everything he had been taught, he powered up the craft. The lights and computers flickered on as his fingers danced over the panels, pressing this button and that. Everything appeared to be functioning normally. The machine began to purr, sending a warm vibration through Laban's body.

Leaving the engine idling, he stepped down out of the cockpit. He walked to a panel on the side of the garage wall with several large buttons. He pressed one and the ceiling began to shake. The decades old metal groaned as it slowly opened like the massive jaws of a mouth, revealing the shimmering blue sky above. The polished body of the spacecraft gleamed in the bright sunlight.

Laban pushed another button and now the frame that supported the craft itself began to move, slowly tilting upward until the streamlined bubble of glass on the end pointed directly heavenward.
He knew that he was making an awful lot of noise. He just hoped it wasn't enough for anyone to want to come investigate. He hurriedly opened the metal locker in the corner of the garage and grabbed the oxygen mask, heavy leather coat, and small pistol that were stored there. He put on the coat and mask, ensuring that it fit snugly, then strapped the pistol to his thigh. He was ready now.

He climbed back into the cockpit, this time lying on his back, looking up into the sky. A single switch was flipped and the glass dome closed over him, sealing the air outside off from the artificially circulated atmosphere within.

Laban's breath was loud underneath his mask. The engine drummed loudly behind him. He wrapped his hand around the control stick, then looped his hook around the throttle control. He took a deep breath and held it. He closed his eyes. Forcing himself not to think about it, he pushed forward on the throttle.

The ship shuddered and roared like an uncaged Kannebore. Laban instantly felt the weight of ten men on his chest as the whole thing lifted off and shot into the sky like a bullet.