From beyond, p.1
From Beyond, page 1
From Beyond
Jasper T. Scott and Nathan Hystad
Copyright © 2022 Jasper T Scott and Nathan Hystad
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Cover Art by Jake Caleb
https://www.jcalebdesign.com/
Edited by: Scarlett R. Algee
& Christen Hystad
ONE
Lake Como, Italy
The house was obscured from view until Atlas crested a steep incline, passing dense layers of tree cover. The sight was breathtaking. He’d seen a lot of beautiful things in his life, but this estate house on the coast of Lago di Como was among the finest.
A security guard in a white tuxedo stopped him at the entrance, giving his car a once-over, like he’d never been this close to a Flaminia before. Gentle twinkle lights reflected off the newly polished hood’s white surface.
“It’s a sixty-three,” Atlas stated with an air of importance. He expected his American accent wasn’t unusual at this man’s parties, but it was rare enough to surprise the guard.
“Name.” The man held a clear Holo, waiting for the introduction. He grinned as if he might have the luxury of rejecting Atlas’ entrance.
Atlas didn’t bother. He accessed his own personal device and sent the credentials. His holopad was the latest model, a clear palm-sized unit with more processing power than the first Mars colony lander. The security guard’s smirk vanished.
“I apologize, sir.” He turned and barked a series of orders at a boy lingering near the temporary valet stand.
Atlas maneuvered past him, parked the car in the open, and climbed out. The kid couldn’t have been more than sixteen. He tossed the keys.
Atlas whispered to the boy in Italian. ”Put it near the exit. Facing forward.”
He seemed dumbfounded, but nodded fervently when Atlas sent over two hundred euros from his device. The valet noted the transaction on his watch. “Al momento.” Right away.
Fifty cars lined the giant driveway leading to the mansion on the lake, each nicer than the previous. Mattia Barone was an affluent man, and he drew kindred spirits like a moth to a flame. Atlas was pretending to be one of those tonight. The car was a loaner, his suit borrowed from an old acquaintance. His fresh haircut was the only thing real about him.
Atlas checked his reflection, straightening his collar. The ivory shirt stayed tucked beneath a snakeskin belt, the jacket crafted from fine Italian wool. It was a little hot for the time of year, but it would do. Atlas didn’t plan on being here long.
The house itself was flanked by matching statues. Angels. Why was it always the same things? A colossal fountain lay in the center of the courtyard, and he passed by two elegant women, smoking cigarettes while their rich husbands discussed business in wine country. The pair stopped talking for a moment to study Atlas, and he smiled at them, continuing through the open doors up a quick flight of marble steps.
Music wafted through the room, and he paused to survey the area. A double staircase led to the second floor. Thirty-foot ceilings. Ornate woodwork. Golden accents. Mattia had a specific taste, and it was extremely Old World. It made sense that he was so interested in expensive artifacts.
Atlas went slowly, trying not to look out of place.
What did people do at events like this? They drank expensive wine. He headed to the bar across the room, which provided a barrier to the outside living space. Armed with a sloshing glass full of a robust local red blend, he strode into the fresh air. A five-piece band strummed their stringed instruments, and he caught sight of her.
Isabella Barone, the daughter of the host. He’d done his research, but she was even more striking in person. It was a shame her father was such a dreadful man. Her dark hair hung low, her hazel eyes glazed over as an older man vied for her attention.
Atlas perched himself near the swimming pool, wondering why there were always six or more people in the water at these events. Were they here as guests, or hired to make the party seem enjoyable?
The scent of a cigar carried to his nose, and Atlas spotted his target. Mattia was a large man, his belly a testament to his opulent tastes. He coughed and patted guests on the back as he strode through the living space, sauntering into the yard.
Beyond the rows of cypress trees, Atlas caught a glimpse of the lake. Starlight reflected from the water, reminding Atlas they weren’t alone in the universe. He was certain of it.
“I don’t believe we’ve met.” Mattia was behind him, speaking in English.
Atlas spun around with an easy grin. “I’m afraid not. My name’s Buster Francis.” They shook, and he noted the strength in his opponent’s grip.
“Buster, I’ve heard about you. It seems you’re quite the collector.” The man’s cheeks were red, his face clean-shaven in contrast to Atlas’s neatly groomed beard.
Atlas laughed like a wealthy socialite. “I’ve been known to partake in the occasional bidding war.”
“Would you care for a cigar?” One materialized in Mattia’s fingers, and Atlas had no choice but to agree. He enjoyed the odd smoke, but he was here to do business, and didn’t want to delay any longer than necessary.
He puffed while Mattia lit the tip using a golden lighter. “Quite the place you have.”
“My wife. She loves Como. I prefer the city, but you know how it goes.”
Atlas nodded agreeably, but in truth, he’d never been married. Buster Francis, on the other hand, was married, with two strapping sons. “I sure do. Is there any chance you’d entertain a tour?”
Mattia’s brow furrowed, and he waved at someone across the room. “Mr. Francis, are you interested in anything specific?”
Atlas shrugged. “A man of your stature must grow tired of accumulating so many rare items. Surely you’d be willing to share with an admirer such as myself.” To his own ear he sounded fake, but Mattia didn’t seem to notice or care. His ego had been sated, and that was enough to sell the tour. Atlas had worked tirelessly for this invitation, and was aware Mattia was hoping to pawn off some of his lesser finds to a rich dupe like Buster Francis.
Mattia walked to a woman, whose sparkling silver dress threatened to burst at the seams, and whispered into her ear. She glanced at Atlas, then gave a flirty laugh and returned to her conversation. He thought she was Mattia’s third wife. He’d skipped his usual deep-dive research due to the expediency required for tonight’s event.
“I hear you pulled up in a Lancia Flaminia,” Mattia said, leading Atlas up a set of stairs near the kitchen. Atlas glanced past the railing, finding a dozen serving staff filling shiny chrome trays with hors d’oeuvres.
He’d been watching for Atlas to arrive. That meant he was intrigued, which implied he might share the private showcase he reserved for his wealthiest acquaintances. “It’s a bit rustic, but that’s what I love about Italian cars. All guts, curves, and power.”
“Like our women, no?” Mattia smiled, ashing his cigar on the marble tiles.
They passed a wide hallway, skirted by guest rooms and opulent bathrooms, and stopped at the end of the second story. Mattia Barone pulled a Holo from his jacket pocket, and held it to the invisible lock. Atlas heard the click as it opened, and the door slid into the wall, revealing a study.
Where the rest of the house was light and authentic to the region, this room was anything but. A powerful scent of wood escaped from the black shelving. The floor had a thick carpet, soft enough to swallow your toes. Inside, a fireplace roared and crackled. Above the mantle was the largest tiger’s head Atlas had ever seen. Its teeth were bared in a snarl.
“Shot her when I was twenty-three years old.” Mattia rubbed his expansive stomach, as if the sight of his kill made him hungry. “First trip. One shot. Back before the regulations changed and”—he smirked—“when this rare breed was still around.” Mattia tapped between his own eyes, and Atlas thought he might be able to see the patch work on the animal’s stuffed head from the entry point. Atlas hated a lot of things, but there was a special place in hell for men like this. Instead of throttling the man, he grinned amiably as the door sealed behind them.
“This is spectacular.” Atlas paced the room, running a finger over the shelving. Books of ancient origin were protected by tinted glass. He figured he could be trapped in here for weeks, and never get through all the astounding collection.
He found an ashtray and set the burning cigar on it. The man was a complete sod, but he still respected the collection too much to be careless.
Another set of stuffed mounts was on the adjacent wall, but Atlas ignored them. His eyes were on the desk. “I heard from a little birdie you recently acquired a new piece.”
Mattia actually coughed at this. “Who told you?”
Atlas smiled. “It’s my job.”
“I usually don’t show this, but I like you, Buster.” Mattia poured a drink from a bar, filling the glass half full of a brown substance. He handed it to Atlas and repeated the process for himself. “I’m actually in the market to sell. To the proper buy er, that is.”
Atlas raised his glass. “To the proper buyer.” They clinked cups, and he tested the vintage.
“You’re confident, aren’t you?” Mattia used the device again, and the desk unlatched. The drawer was six feet long, with a 10mm layer of bulletproof glass covering seven objects. Atlas recognized each and every one of them, but only a single piece mattered. It was smaller than he’d expected, about the size of his palm, but the material was identical. The markings on the upper portion were a perfect match. Three dots in a triangle. Dark blue on the slate gray substance.
The artifact was misshapen, beveled at the edges, and somehow glossy and matte at the same time, depending on which angle it was held at. The blue dots were depressed as though to form indentations for someone’s fingertips. Atlas suspected that might actually be their function, but the markings were too modest to accommodate anything more than a child’s hand.
He pretended to scan the items with interest, and patted the glass near the far end, seeing if anything was triggered. No alarms sounded, and the Holo didn’t chime. “Wasn’t this secured by the Smithsonian?”
Mattia downed his drink and shook his head. “No. Let’s just say, I wouldn’t let it slip by.”
Atlas struggled not to stare at the object he desired. He spent the next ten minutes asking about the others, pretending to gauge whether anything was truly for sale. When he got to the artifact with the three circles, he feigned ignorance. “That’s unusual. Where’s it from?”
Mattia glowered, but recovered quickly. Atlas sensed a possible lead if he played his cards right. “Coast of Croatia. It was brought up in a fishing boat, of all things. Stayed in a local shop for a decade. One of my contacts saw it listed online by the company’s new owner.”
So simple. Atlas had spent fifteen years searching for fragments of the ship, and this had been sitting under a pile of stinking fish nets right in the open. “What is it?” He almost laughed at his own question. Most were clearly totems or mementos of a long-dead civilization. It was obvious Mattia Barone was obsessed with phallic fertility gods. This didn’t fit that bill.
“It’s… from Egypt. A piece of the ancient machines flown here from the heavens.” Mattia flashed his teeth. “I personally don’t believe in that foolishness, but some out there do.”
Atlas clenched his teeth to stifle his reaction. “What would you ask for it?”
“Four million.”
Atlas froze.
“Euros.”
He gave Mattia an appreciative nod. “I hope you find a buyer.” Turning from the display case, he walked away, looking at the fireplace. “You have a magnificent study. Thank you for showing it to me.”
They exited in silence, and he could tell Mattia was disappointed. But once the booze hit him, and he found another cigar, he returned to his previous enthusiasm. They joined the party, which had become more energetic with time.
“It was a pleasure.” He reached for Atlas’ hand. “Hopefully we’ll have the opportunity to speak later.”
Atlas offered him a brisk hug, with no choice but to comply. “Thanks for the hospitality.” He felt the man’s personal Holo shift from the pocket, while he dropped the decoy in. Mattia was none the wiser.
He waited until someone else had Mattia’s attention, which literally took seconds. Atlas returned to the house, grabbed a bow tie off a rack, and draped it over his neck without tying it. He stole a tray of stuffed peppers and crab, grinning at a waitress.
Instead of resuming the party, he headed upstairs. An elderly woman was being escorted by a younger man down the steps, and Atlas clung to the edge of the railing, offering them food. They declined with a huff of Italian, and when they were at ground level, he jogged the rest of the way.
The coast was clear.
Atlas set the tray on a decorative table, which probably cost more than his first car, and hefted the holopad out. It was still unlocked, but he doubted it would be for long. He found the hidden security feature, and tapped it with the device.
“You’re American, no?” a husky voice said.
Isabella Barone emerged from the shadows, holding a tube of lipstick. She slowly reapplied, and turned the handle, slapping it into a small clutch.
“That’s right. Your father asked for some…” Atlas glanced at the tray ten feet away.
“He’s allergic to shellfish.” Her English was excellent, and he could smell the expensive perfume on her skin.
“What do you want?” Atlas asked, hoping the electronic unit didn’t deactivate before he opened the next lock in the desk.
Isabella leaned closer, shoving him into her father’s private study. She scowled at the tiger head as the door shut behind them. ”Lui è così crudele.”
“Yes, he is cruel.” Atlas approached the desk, and opened the hatch. The relic remained intact. Ripe for the picking. He didn’t delay, boldly retrieving it with the man’s daughter present before him. His time was running out, and her amusement at his actions only made him braver.
“This is mine. It belongs to me now. Understood?” He clutched the cool metal artifact, feeling the dots indent slightly from its side. He slipped it into his jacket pocket, along with the stolen holopad.
“Will it upset him?” Isabella asked, biting her lip.
Atlas nodded as his gaze floated to the camera above the door. He was being recorded, and that was problematic. “I have to go.”
“What’s so special about it?” Isabella walked across the room, her heels clicking on the hardwood.
“It’s not from around here.”
“You mean…” She pointed to the ceiling with a skeptical smile.
“Something like that.”
“Take me with you,” she pleaded. “I can help you escape.” Part of him wanted to consider the offer, and he lost his concentration as he gazed into her hazel eyes.
Atlas took a deep breath and smiled again. He reached for her, softly grazing her arm even as he retrieved the pen from his pocket. The needle inserted near her veins, and he doubted she even felt the injection. Isabella whimpered, and he gently lowered her to the floor. “Maybe in another life, bella.”
Everyone was gathered downstairs when he emerged, and Mattia Barone was holding court, clinking his champagne flute with a golden spoon.
Atlas ignored the beginning of Mattia’s speech as he pushed out of the kitchen’s exit, feeling the cooler evening breeze. He was sweating under the wool jacket, and he double checked its oversized pocket to ensure his prize was securely stashed.
His car was parked as he’d instructed, and he snatched the spare set of keys from his pants. The valet gawked as he almost ran the kid over, racing from the property.
Atlas Donovan had done the impossible. He’d uncovered another piece for his collection. Years of dead ends, and here it finally was.
The roads were winding, and he sped down the coast, continually watching his rear-view mirror for signs of pursuit.
Mattia Barone may not have understood what was in his possession, but there were others who did. Powerful people, with unlimited resources.
His real Holo beeped, and he checked it, easing off the gas pedal.
The link from his friend took him to an article. He scanned the headline and nearly drove off the road. Orbital Development Group Announces Emergency Change to Scheduled Colony Supply Run.
There was something about the timing of it that made him feel uneasy. Maybe this was an omen.
Atlas had to move quickly.
He used the Holo to read the article as he drove. ORB considered bumping up the mission schedule because of critical damage to one of the greenhouses on Mars, but Atlas couldn’t help wondering if there was more to it. Mars was a year away from its close approach with Earth, which made it exceptionally expensive to send the crew of Beyond III now, not to mention doing so would make the trek much longer. Coincidence or not, he needed facts. Atlas minimized the article and opened his mail to convey a message to his Russian contact.
Meet me in Rijeka, Croatia.
Atlas hit send, and sped down the road.
TWO
St. Ann, Missouri
