Prelude
By Edward H. Bart IV

2261 Anno Domini
Qumran Ruins
Dead Sea Region

        John Castellano wiped the sweat off his brow and glanced up into the clear azure sky. He shaded his eyes from the morning sun, and surveyed the scene before him. In the distance, Castellano could make out the ruins of a community. Further on, he could see the Dead Sea basin.
        Stubby remains of walls were surrounded by rope markers, preventing anyone from walking into the area by accident. A group of grey prefabricated tents were set up together in a relatively flat expanse of the desert plain Castellano was on.
        A rocky gorge ran in between the high plain and the other cliffs and hills. Castellano stood just outside of his prefabricated tent. The grey tarp stood firm against the desert wind that whipped across the hilly terrain. Castellano untied the kerchief from around his neck and used it to wipe the sweat that collected on his bristly scalp. Dirty grey and brown hair scraped against the wet kerchief, and Castellano retied the kerchief back around his neck.
        He turned at the sound of tumbling pebbles.
        “Good morning, Patrick,” Castellano smiled, squinting to look at the other man approaching him. The other man’s light blond hair shimmered almost like a halo around his head in the direct sunlight. His white ruddy skin was weatherbeaten from the weeks of digging in the ruins.
        “Good morning, Father,” Grogan tilted his head in greeting.
        Castellano turned away from the sun and dropped his hand. “Why so formal this morning? As you can see, I’m not in my priestly garb.”
        Castellano gestured to his dusty khaki pants and tan shirt. His brown boots were made brighter by a layer of sand and dust. Castellano smiled and scratched at the stubble which lined his strong lean chin and neck. Castellano’s tan skin bore wrinkles of age and experience, and more than his share of smile lines.
        “Sorry, force of habit,” Grogan shrugged.
        “No problem at all, Mister Grogan,” winked Castellano. “It’s a glorious morning that God has given us, isn’t it?” He shifted on his feet and adjusted the black strap that held his large tricorder onto his shoulder.
        “Oh yes. Beautiful. But hot.”
        Castellano started walking down a rocky trail, with Grogan following closely behind. “Well, that’s what you expect for digging around here. If you want air conditioning, you can take the next shuttle back to Jericho.”
        “I wasn’t complaining. Just making a note of the temperature. So, what’s the plan for today?”
        “You have to ask?” Castellano asked incredulously. “Well we’re going to use the laser drills to dig further into Cave 16.”
        “That’s what I thought.”
        The two men walked along silently. Castellano peered into the distance to another dig site. “Do you know what Rabbi Golb is planning today for Cave 17?”
        “No,” Grogan replied. “I suppose he and his team will be running tricorder surveys in the antechamber. They’re going to catalog the document fragments they found in there yesterday.”
        “Ah,” Castellano replied. “Marvelous things- these tricorders?” He patted the black rectangular device hugging his hip.
        “How do you mean?”
        “Well, these devices save a lot of time, and they do so many things that only fifty years ago, would require a wide array of instruments. X-Rays, spectrographs, gas chromatography, infrared scanning- the list goes on.”
        “That’s true.”
        “My only complaint is that it’s pretty heavy and clunky. Look, I’ve nearly got a permanent indentation on my neck from the strap digging in my skin.” Castellano shrugged. “Perhaps someday technology will get better and we’ll have a new tricorder small enough to fit into a coat pocket.”
        “That does seem to be the natural progression of technological evolution. Smaller and better.”
        “True enough. I hear they’re doing marvelous things at the Daystrom Institute these days. Professor Hartman, you know, the Czech linguist from the university of Prague- is there now, working with Dr. Schriber on a new translation program, for use with the universal translator. Pretty soon, these tricorders will not only be able to scan the document fragments we find, they’ll be able to assemble and translate them for us.”
        “Looks like you’ll be out of a job soon.”
        “Translation is not the same as interpretation, Pat. So men like me will still be needed.”
        “I understand. So why the early start? Before everyone else gets here? Their shuttle isn’t due for another few hours.”
        Castellano smiled. “Oh, I’m just excited. I thought since you and I were camped out here, we could get some preliminary scans done, then when the rest of the team arrives from Jerusalem, we can get started right away.”
        “Ah. Makes sense,” Grogan nodded.
        “Aren’t you excited too?”
        “A little, I suppose.”
        “Only a little? Why, Pat, we’re living in the dawn of a new age! The Federation is growing, Starfleet continues to explore more and more of our galaxy, and we’re making history right here. After all, we’re the first archaeological expedition to explore the Qumran ruins since before World War Three. Why, the last real comprehensive search was in the ‘Operation Scroll’ expedition in the late Twentieth century.”
        The two men paused at the edge of a cliff. A large metal scaffolding lined the cliff. A ladder led from the scaffolding to the craggy side of the cliff. Castellano started down the ladder, and Grogan followed the priest down.
        After climbing the ladder down several meters down, the two came upon a large mansized opening. A metal plank served as outer lip on which the men could step off the ladder and walk in through the hole. Castellano, being the taller of the two, had to bow in order not to scrape his head on the top.
        Castellano went on with his exposition. “They found four new caves, but unfortunately, the political unrest at the time barred a thorough search. They missed two caves, but we didn’t. We’re some of the first men to walk around in these caves for millennia. Tell me that doesn’t evoke a sense of history in you?”
        Grogan’s mouth twisted into a grin. “Well, yeah.”
        “There you go. That’s why I’m excited. That’s why you ought to be as well. Need I mention the new discoveries we’ve made in these caves? Turn on the lights.”
        Grogan walked over to a freestanding console, and pressed a red switch. A row of lights brightened, illuminating the entry chamber, and the string of lights continued on down a dim passageway.
        Castellano unslung the tricorder and peered on the top console, adjusting the knobs on the top. “To be honest, another reason why I wanted to come down here early was that when I reviewed the tricorder readings from last night, I noticed something odd.”
        Grogan turned to look at Castellano.
        “Odd?”
        “A possible small concentrated vein of mineral deposits at the end of the cave.”
        “But these caves don’t have a lot of metal in them.”
        “I know.” Castellano walked into the passageway, his boots crunching in the still dust. “Grab a couple of lanterns for me, would you?”
        “Okay, John.”
        “You brought your recorder right?”
        Grogan reached into his satchel and pulled out a large electronic clipboard and waved it at Castellano.
        “Good.”

        After setting up several lanterns before a tan wall, Castellano kneeled and peered in the readout display on the tricorder. He slowly tilted the tricorder in a wide arc, scanning the wall.
        As he scanned, he recited a litany of minerals and concentrations to Grogan, who then wrote them down with his recorder and stylus. The sunlight moved slowly around the mouth of the cave, marking the climb of the sun.
        “Well what do you think?” Castellano said finally.
        “I don’t know. It sounds like there’s too much mineral content to get an accurate reading on what’s beyond that wall.”
        “It’s another chamber. I’m sure of it,” Castellano said, scratching his chin. “There’s enough oxygen in there, a proportionate amount to account for a closed off chamber.”
        “Well, I can’t disagree with that,” Grogan shrugged. “One way to find out...”
        Castellano glanced back at the entrance, where the larger cylindrical laser drill perched atop a tripod. “Well, shouldn’t we wait for the others?”
        “Well,” Grogan began.
        “I didn’t think so,” Castellano smiled. He stood up, wincing as his knees popped. “Oh, I’m getting old.”
        Grogan gave a short chuckle.
        Castellano frowned. “Oh, just you wait until you’re my age, Mister Grogan.”
        “Hmph,” Grogan only offered as a retort.
        “Now, come and help an old man set up the drill.”

        With the help of two large anti-grav carriages, the laser drill was moved into place. Castellano and Grogan adjusted the drill’s intensity, and powered it up. After a few moments, the onboard readout indicated it was ready to begin.
        Grogan stood at its side, controlling the drill’s output.
        “Go ahead, Patrick,” Castellano urged.
        Grogan activated the drill, and a blue energy beam spat out from the long drill, cutting into the rock. The scent of ozone filled the room as the drill vaporized several centimeters of matter from the wall.
        “So, what do you think we’ll find?” Grogan asked.
        Castellano shrugged. “Another chamber, a hiding hole for some treasure, or just nothing. Have you read the preliminary translation of the new scroll they found in Cave 17?”
        Grogan nodded. “Seems interesting. I’m inclined to agree that it’s an addendum to the Manual of Discipline.”
        “One certainly would follow that conclusion, after reading column 8, line 4. The blessing seems geared towards a large mass of followers.”
        “Soldiers,” Grogan said.
        “That’s another way of putting it, I suppose. These people are fighting for a cause, so you can’t just call them followers.”
        “Fanatics, zealots.” Grogan shrugged, as he checked the drill’s power readout.
        Castellano looked at Grogan. A smirk played at his mouth. “Zealots or zealots?”
        “What?”
        “Do you mean zealots as in the Jewish sect, Zealots. With a capital Z? Or do you mean zealots as in the adjective?”
        “Lower case z.”
        “Ah. Well, I think there’s something noble about believing in a cause enough to fight and die for it.”
        Grogan stepped back from the drill and crossed his arms. “Then I suppose the death toll from the Crusades, from the Vietnam War, from the Islamic wars, they don’t bother you?”
        “No, I’m not saying that at all. I abhor violence. I’d like to think we’ve progressed to a point where war is a thing of the past. You’d think that’d be the case, after all the wars Earth has seen in the past.”
        “What of the Federation’s relations with the Klingons?”
        Castellano sighed. “Well I can only pray that cooler heads will prevail and we won’t have war with them. I’m afraid that as our technology continues to make leaps and bounds, our capabilities to wage war gets more terrible and terrible.”
        “Mmhmm,” Grogan replied.
        “Why, it’s not too inconceivable that the next war we have could potentially be the war to end all wars. Planets could be shattered. I just hope it doesn’t happen within my lifetime.”
        “I don’t think you’ll need to worry about that.”
        Castellano smiled sadly. “Thank you, Patrick. I’m glad your faith in people remains optimistic.”
        Soon, Grogan had cut a two meter rectangular groove into the wall.
        Castellano scanned the wall with his tricorder again. “Adjust the drill to vaporize two centimeters more. If there’s another chamber, that ought to punch through.”
        “Okay.” Grogan made the appropriate adjustments, and the drill whined again, emitting a blue laser again. A crackling sound could be heard beneath the whine.
        “Stop!” ordered Castellano. Grogan quickly shut off the drill as the priest approached the wall. He peered into the smoking groove. “Yep, that’s done it. Bellismo. Beautiful.” Castellano poked a finger in the small hole made by the drill. “Empty space,” Castellano declared, standing straight up, removing his finger.
        He stepped back away from the wall. “Continue at the same settings.”

        Moments later, the wall crumbled to the ground, kicking up a storm of dust. Castellano and Grogan coughed, and Grogan went back into the entrance chamber to retrieve an air circulator.
        The circulator filtered the dust and moved it outwards to the mouth of the cave. Castellano was already shining a handlamp into the newly made darkness. The handlamp’s beam shone upon a jar that laid on its side in the dirt.
        Castellano’s breath caught in his throat. He slowly stepped into the small niche and kneeled before the jar. His tricorder bleeped, and he looked down at the readout.
        “What is it saying?” Grogan asked.
        “Oh, it’s just on automatic record, cataloging everything for future review,” Castellano said. “I want to see this with my own two eyes, not through an instrument.”
        “Ah.”
        Grogan looked around the chamber, and noticed the walls sparkled slightly, like a starry night. “Look, Father. The walls are lined with metallic paint.”
        “Ah, that’s what was confusing the tricorder. I wonder why the inhabitants did that,” Castellano mused, looking at the lantern lights’ playing off the walls.
        “Are you going to open it?”
        “Hm?” Castellano looked up at Grogan.
        “The jar.”
        “Oh. Well, you know better than that. We have to carefully record its position and everything else in the room. Then we’ll remove the jar and take it up to the mobile laboratory, and open it in a sterile room.”
        “Sorry, I guess I got too excited.”
        “Oh me too. The possibilities abound. This jar looks just like a pesher, just like the jars that held the other scrolls that’ve been found in the past. It looks a little too large and sturdy though.”
        Castellano handed the tricorder to Grogan. “Continue recording. I’m going out to the scaffolding to try and contact the shuttle and see when our team will get here. I want to get going as soon as possible.”
        Grogan nodded, staring at the fallen jar by Castellano’s feet.
        The priest stood up and walked back through the passageway. He reached the freestanding console, and pulled a large communicator out. He flipped the golden lid open and twisted the frequency knob open.
        “Castellano to Shuttle David. Come in, please.”
        Nothing came out of the speaker as the priest held it to his ear. Castellano twisted the knob again and started to repeat himself when a loud crash reverberated through the cave.
        “What happened??” Castellano shouted, lowering the communicator from his mouth.
        He rushed back through the passageway to see Grogan standing in the nook. Grogan looked up from the ground to Castellano. “I’m sorry. I accidentally kicked some rubble from the wall, and the rubble smashed the jar.”
        Castellano looked down at the shattered jar. His jaw dropped at what he saw. Even in the dimly light niche, the priest could tell that the jar’s contents were metallic.
        Castellano kneeled down and reached into the shards of the jar to pull out a long silvery cylinder. “It looks... like a silver scroll,” Castellano whispered. “But... that makes no sense.”
        “Can you open it?”
        Castellano looked at the scroll. “Well, possibly. It doesn’t look too badly oxidized. This just doesn’t make sense.”
        “Well, they found a copper scroll, didn’t they? In the 1900’s?”
        “Yes, but... if this is silver, then how could the Qumran inhabitants acquire the wealth to purchase a silver sheet?”
        Castellano pried open the lip of the scroll. The metal crackled as he unrolled the first part. In the light, Castellano could make out the impressions of script, embedded into the metal.
        The priest’s mouth moved slowly as he read the first few lines.
        “What does it say?”
        “Um, I’m not quite sure,” Castellano replied. “I think it says, ‘Unto the Sons of Light, are given tools to aid them.’ Or maybe not tools but weapons, I’d need to read more to put the word in the proper context.”
        “Oh. Anything else?”
        “No, I can’t read anything else, I need to open this up some more. But I won’t, not now.” Castellano held the scroll close to his chest, cradling it. “I’m going to try contacting the shuttle again. Keep scanning, and do be more careful where you step.”
        “Okay,” Grogan nodded.
        Castellano walked back to the entrance chamber, hugging the heavy scroll. Once in the entrance chamber, Castellano set the scroll down on a workbench, and reached for the communicator that he left on the console.
        As he flipped open the metallic antenna, Castellano heard the crunching of bootprints, signaling the approach of Grogan.
        “What is it, Patrick?”
        “Nothing, Father. I just want to look at the scroll.”
        “There’ll be time enough for that. Your tricorder scans are more important right now,” Castellano replied with a sigh.
        “No, now,” Grogan’s voice took on a sharp edge that Castellano had never noticed before.
        Castellano turned to look at Grogan. The other man emerged from the passageway, holding a laser pistol.
        “What... what’s the meaning of this?” Castellano took a few hesitative steps backwards.
        “Nothing that really concerns you. You’ve done what I needed of you. And your usefulness to me is over.”
        “What? You’re going to steal the scroll? You’ll never be able to sell it on Earth or any other planet in the Federation. The New Vatican will put out an bulletin as soon as I report this theft to them.”
        “I don’t intend to sell it,” Grogan said, stepping to the workbench. He stroked the silver scroll with his free hand.
        “Then what?”
        Grogan regarded the priest, and recited, “ ‘...and there came hail and fire mixed with blood, and it was hurled upon the earth.’ Hmm?”
        “Book of Revelation, Chapter eight, verse seven,” Castellano replied. “The start of Armageddon.”
        “That’s exactly right.”
        Castellano glanced at his communicator, still in his hand.
        Grogan gestured with the laser. “Drop that, and kick that over to me.”
        “What are you going to do?”
        “First, I’m going to kill you. Then I’ll set the laser drill on overload, and it’ll explode, taking the cave with it. It’ll all look like an accident. No one will be the wiser. And I’ll have gotten what we wanted.”
        “We?”
        Grogan smiled and stepped towards Castellano. The priest found himself near the opening of the cave. He glanced around, gauging how far he’d have to run to make the ladder on the scaffolding.
        “Go ahead and run,” Grogan said.
        Castellano’s eyes narrowed suspiciously at Grogan’s suggestion.
        “Or not,” Grogan said. He pressed the firing stud on the pistol, and a blue beam, like the one that the laser drill used, flew out from the emitter. It struck Castellano squarely in his chest.
        The priest stumbled backwards, gasping. He found himself just on the edge of the scaffolding platform. Below him lay a gorge, full of rock and boulders.
        Grogan fired again. Castellano choked at the pain, and as he squinted, he thought he saw Grogan’s mouth twist into an inhuman grin. The force of the laser blast drove Castellano over the edge.
        He found himself sailing backwards through the air. He sniffed at the air, smelling something burning. He looked down to see that it was his chest sizzling. His shirt had burnt away, and so had his skin. He could see the whiteness of his exposed ribs and the wetness of his intestines.
        He smiled. He was dead. A serene peace washed over him as he accepted his fate. And his spine shattered in eleven places as his body smashed into the rocky outcroppings below.
        Dust and debris from the explosion of Cave 16 settled down on Father John Castellano’s broken and scorched body in a coda to his death.

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