Chapter 8

“Odeb, I don’t like this—” Pastor Levi Jacobsen protested into his iComm link to the LEP Commander, nodding and shaking his head until his tidy, more-salt-than-pepper hair fell across his greying brow as if the caller could see his gestures. His squared-off jaw, framed by distinguished laugh trenches, hung suspended, ready to counter when he could.

“I—I realize she is a trained offic— ... yes ... of the LEP force, I—I understand ... I get that—” A fatigued muscle clamped down on his neck from continuous nodding. He massaged the bulging ligature and continued his defense.

“—Come on, Odeb, she’s my daughter ... We nearly lost her sister ... I don’t feel comfortable facing this risk again ... Do you realize what her mother and I have been through?” Levi raked his fingers through his hair. A father’s fears eroded his pastoral patience. He bulged his eyes, over finite wire-framed glasses, toward his missions coordinator and pursed his lips to convey his frustration, immediately regretting the emotional display.

Marti Tyris fingered the ribbons protruding from her Bible, her worried, watery eyes never leaving his. She bore far too much blame for Kita’s current situation. He didn’t blame Marti for what had happened to his daughter. No one was to blame, other than Austin Abraham, for the way The Abraham Project had been exploited. Still, the chiseled worry lines in Marti’s round face grew deeper with every unsuccessful protest he presented to Chief Chisulo.

Without a cordial salutation or any salutation at all, he disconnected and stared at Marti. There were no words.

“Well...?” The ribbons blurred under her worried fingers.

“The Commander and I go way back. College, you know? I thought I could have some leverage.” He drew in a long, slow breath and let it out just as slowly.

“They are sending Molly.”

“I gathered that.” Her voice barely above a whisper.

“Undercover.”

Her eyes widened as did her mouth.

“This thing is big, really big, Marti. They’ve got one person on the inside and now they need an officer on site. She’s their logical choice.” He rubbed his hand down his face. “You know, I get that, but when it’s your own daughter—”

“I know.” Tears spilled from Marti’s empathetic eyes as she met his moist, bloodshot gaze. A vacuum of silence hung between them.

“Okay.” Marti swallowed. She was a quiet woman who worked diligently behind the scenes. The success rate of the missionary projects she and her husband coordinated was one-hundred-percent, with this one exception. But it was her husband, Steve, who had the sanguine personality to articulate what she masterminded.

“Oh, Pastor, how can we send anybody to that planet? We need to ensure Molly and others, are safe and in one piece?” She startled and sat straight up. “Oh Pastor, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know you didn’t, and you’re right, if they’re gonna knowingly send my only other daughter, and more recruits, into this marauders’ den, we need to have a solid plan to get them there and back safely and—unharmed.”

A simultaneous nod confirmed their resolution.

Molly led her partner into the simplistic, stagnate church office. “Hey, Dad.”

He glanced up, but it was Marti who responded. She rushed to her feet, tossing her Bible into the seat she’d vacated, her voice saturated with emotion. “Oh, Molly!”

Rising on the balls of her arch-supporting shoes, she pulled Molly down into a guilt-laden hug. This wasn’t helping Molly’s nerves. Molly’s eyes beseeched her partner as she endured the claustrophobic canoodle.

Sal dawdled two or three paces behind. His palatable unease did not escape her senses. Many long hours of surveillance, with nothing to do but talk, had revealed his painful history with a family church and the vehement break from it. Knowing what she did accentuated her appreciation for his continued participation. Soon, he would be reassigned. They both knew it was a matter of time. However, preparing for this extreme expedition was terrifying enough. Having her partner present, as he always had been, much like her dad’s unchanging office, gave a comfortable familiarity to an otherwise overwhelming future.

Sal’s eyes roved over her father’s walls and paused on one spot. A half smile softened his otherwise stern face. She followed his gaze to the professionally framed grammar school artwork displayed as if it were a national treasure. Heat flushed her face.

“Let’s sit down and discuss our plan.” Her dad had stood at last, gesturing for them to come on in. His personae of coherent confidence, as if they were planning a quick trip to the eastern hemisphere, annoyed Molly, until her eyes leveled with his. They revealed exhaustion and weariness.

These same eyes she’d seen the months before Kita’s departure. The Pastor, as she and Kita referred to him when they were irritated with him, was always strong and faithful on the surface, but she knew deeper down, exactly how he felt in this matter. She was fighting the same objections.

Glancing at Sal, she chuckled to herself. Want to compare painful histories? Try being the pastor’s daughter. The one who didn’t get it. All this supernatural hocus-pocus hadn’t made sense to her for a long time. It was Kita who had absorbed these teachings like a sponge. She was the perfect pastor’s daughter ... and look where it got her.

But this came down to family. That bond had never been broken. Only her bond with the faith her father clung to so adamantly had crumbled from Molly’s heart. What had happened to her twin was wrong from so many angles. Anger didn’t begin to describe the cesspool of emotions churning inside her. This wasn’t as simple as a playground bully. This was much more ominous.

Sal and Molly pulled in extra chairs as they eased down, favoring sore ribs and thigh muscles, for the briefing. A heaviness, like a fifth person, settled with them. Brainstorming and strategizing usually exhilarated Molly’s senses. But this, this was so far out of her element. There were too many unknown variables, and suspicions of powerful and underhanded counter strategies, and she would be all alone, no backup, no time-out, no King’s Xs.

If there was a God, He, literally, would be the only one who knew what was going on in that organization so far from Earth. Was she truly strong enough to carry this through, alone? Her trained legal enforcer mind said, “Yes.” Her gut screamed, “No!”

Still—this was for Kita ... and Michael. Her nephew. Kita’s son. The idea had not solidified in her thinking yet.

Her father laid out the plan he and Marti had etched out just moments before. Her chief hadn’t given her much choice with this assignment, but who better to investigate Kita’s case than her own twin sister? As terrifying as this assignment was, Molly knew it was right.