Project Aura Read Online Free Page B
attending the wedding. All those things combined to give him a bad feeling about the situation, but it was their duty to stop the boat.
"Range three thousand meters."
Foster reached up and turned on the forward spotlights, fixing the other boat in their harsh glare. There was no one visible on deck. He leaned out the open side window. "Warning shots," he ordered.
The twenty-five millimeter spit out a burst of rounds, the tracers arcing across the front of the other boat.
Foster exchanged the night vision goggles for a set of powerful binoculars. He trained them on the other boat He could make out the name stenciled on the bow. "Aura II," he read aloud.
Caprice had already accessed their onboard computer registry. "It's not listed, sir."
"Why doesn't that surprise me," Foster muttered.
The yacht had not slowed or changed course, despite the warning shots. They were now less than two thousand meters from the other boat and closing. He scanned the boat once more. Something was strange about the silhouette. There was what appeared to be a large SATCOM dish just aft of the bridge, but instead of pointing up to the sky, it was level, pointing right at Foster.
The captain once more keyed his SATCOM handset. "Key West this is Warde . Over."
There was just static, but he transmitted anyway. "Identity of vessel is the Aura II . Not listed in registry. We are-" There was another sharp break in the transmission and Foster almost dropped the handset as a shock went up his arm "What the hell?"
"Sir-" Caprice was next to him
"What?"
"Something's wrong. Don't you feel it?"
"'Feel it'." Foster repeated. "What do you mean?"
"There's something-" Caprice began but then they all felt it.
Just above the slight swell of the Caribbean, between the Warde and the Aura II , immense power rode on electromagnetic waves at the speed of light. It washed over the Warde , penetrating the hull and every person on board.
Caprice dropped to her knees, hands pressed against her ears, mouth opened in a silent scream. Foster staggered back, feeling a spike of red-hot pain ripping through his brain. Blood seeped out of his ears, nose, and eyes. Within seconds, he collapsed on the steel plating. The body twitched once, again, and then was still.
With a dead crew, the Warde continued straight on course, cutting across the wake of the other ship and disappearing into the darkness.
The Aura II slowed to a halt. Two Zodiacs were lowered over the side, each filled with a load of cocaine. The rubber boats headed directly for shore. As soon as the boats were clear, the yacht's engines powered up and it cut a wide turn, heading back to the southeast.
*****
There was no where, no when, no form, no substance. Time and space, the two linchpins of human existence, were a vague memory, like the taste of an exotic food that he could not recall the name of and didn't know whether he had really tasted or merely dreamed up.
The entity that was the psychic projection of Jonathan Raisor on the virtual plane was trying to form something that he might call self. It was one step worse than that feeling of being between sleep and consciousness, when one was somewhat aware of the outer world, but commands from the brain couldn't make it through the nervous system to move the body, and the mind, the self, was frozen in place unable to influence the real world. Raisor was having a difficult time connecting the scattered images to form a cohesive thought to even begin to send a command. And where would he send it, with his body frozen in its isolation tube back at Bright Gate?
All he knew was gray, stretching in all directions around him. Even his psychic essence was gray; a formless fog of gray inside a limitless cloud of gray. Where did he end and the outside begin? And what was the outside in this virtual plane? And where was the real world? Beyond, below, outside, inside of-- with respect to the virtual?
The one thing Raisor's psychic essence clung to, one
"Range three thousand meters."
Foster reached up and turned on the forward spotlights, fixing the other boat in their harsh glare. There was no one visible on deck. He leaned out the open side window. "Warning shots," he ordered.
The twenty-five millimeter spit out a burst of rounds, the tracers arcing across the front of the other boat.
Foster exchanged the night vision goggles for a set of powerful binoculars. He trained them on the other boat He could make out the name stenciled on the bow. "Aura II," he read aloud.
Caprice had already accessed their onboard computer registry. "It's not listed, sir."
"Why doesn't that surprise me," Foster muttered.
The yacht had not slowed or changed course, despite the warning shots. They were now less than two thousand meters from the other boat and closing. He scanned the boat once more. Something was strange about the silhouette. There was what appeared to be a large SATCOM dish just aft of the bridge, but instead of pointing up to the sky, it was level, pointing right at Foster.
The captain once more keyed his SATCOM handset. "Key West this is Warde . Over."
There was just static, but he transmitted anyway. "Identity of vessel is the Aura II . Not listed in registry. We are-" There was another sharp break in the transmission and Foster almost dropped the handset as a shock went up his arm "What the hell?"
"Sir-" Caprice was next to him
"What?"
"Something's wrong. Don't you feel it?"
"'Feel it'." Foster repeated. "What do you mean?"
"There's something-" Caprice began but then they all felt it.
Just above the slight swell of the Caribbean, between the Warde and the Aura II , immense power rode on electromagnetic waves at the speed of light. It washed over the Warde , penetrating the hull and every person on board.
Caprice dropped to her knees, hands pressed against her ears, mouth opened in a silent scream. Foster staggered back, feeling a spike of red-hot pain ripping through his brain. Blood seeped out of his ears, nose, and eyes. Within seconds, he collapsed on the steel plating. The body twitched once, again, and then was still.
With a dead crew, the Warde continued straight on course, cutting across the wake of the other ship and disappearing into the darkness.
The Aura II slowed to a halt. Two Zodiacs were lowered over the side, each filled with a load of cocaine. The rubber boats headed directly for shore. As soon as the boats were clear, the yacht's engines powered up and it cut a wide turn, heading back to the southeast.
*****
There was no where, no when, no form, no substance. Time and space, the two linchpins of human existence, were a vague memory, like the taste of an exotic food that he could not recall the name of and didn't know whether he had really tasted or merely dreamed up.
The entity that was the psychic projection of Jonathan Raisor on the virtual plane was trying to form something that he might call self. It was one step worse than that feeling of being between sleep and consciousness, when one was somewhat aware of the outer world, but commands from the brain couldn't make it through the nervous system to move the body, and the mind, the self, was frozen in place unable to influence the real world. Raisor was having a difficult time connecting the scattered images to form a cohesive thought to even begin to send a command. And where would he send it, with his body frozen in its isolation tube back at Bright Gate?
All he knew was gray, stretching in all directions around him. Even his psychic essence was gray; a formless fog of gray inside a limitless cloud of gray. Where did he end and the outside begin? And what was the outside in this virtual plane? And where was the real world? Beyond, below, outside, inside of-- with respect to the virtual?
The one thing Raisor's psychic essence clung to, one
Readers choose
Cathy Hopkins
Jayne Castle
Breena Wilde, 12 NA's of Christmas
Donald Tyson
Rachel Gibson
Colin Barrett
Caroline McCall
Beth Kery
Melody Carlson