Asylonia

12. The Plan

XII.

When David Attreus next awoke, scrunching up fists and rubbing the knuckles of his index fingers into sleepy eyes, it was from a vivid dream.

He had seen The New World of Asylonia. He had seen that impenetrable electric storm and had seen himself making his way through it, using a daring manoeuvre he had first learned in the Jet Fighter 2: Battle of Atillia video game. He had seen himself landing on the surface, and finding General Noah Fallon, safe and well, yet hopelessly stranded.

In the cold light of his reality, with nightfall once again descending beyond his window, he started to draw together the blurred fragments of the half-formed thought that had seemed so vague and elusive just a few hours earlier.

The dream validated his suspicions. The General had to be on that planet. Just had to be. He could not, would not, have simply abandoned Earth, not on his own free will anyway. Nor could Noah Fallon have perished. If he had died on Earth, or at least to the knowledge of the United Earth Force, there would have been lavish ceremonies and tributes in his honour. The death of the General would not have gone unnoticed.

Fallon could not have died in battle on some distant star either. He was far too strong, too cunning, too intelligent for that. There had been nothing the Temüjin could throw at him in The Final War that Fallon had not overcome, and even if something had happened, David was sure he would have read about it in the confidential UEF files he had spent most of his night rifling through. The most recent item he had found concerning Noah Fallon had been little more than an update on his pension arrangements.

No, for reasons David still could not figure out, Noah Fallon had to be stuck somewhere on Asylonia, and he, David, would find him. Somehow, someway, he would command a ship to The New World. He would penetrate the impenetrable, and he would rescue his hero.

David Attreus cracked his knuckles and got to work.