by Bob Mayer
AIRSPACE OVER THE ATLANTIC OCEAN
The Citation X+ is rated as the fastest civilian airplane available with a max speed of .935 Mach, or over 700 miles per hour. Nosferatu, of course, owned a Citation that wasn’t available on the open market. It was capable of cruising at 1.1 Mach or 843 miles per hour with much greater range.
Nevertheless, it was going to take a little while to traverse the five thousand miles to their destination.
“You didn’t bring me blood,” Nekhbet complained.
“I’m sorry,” Nosferatu said.
“You could have taken someone at the airfield. They wouldn’t be missed. There was so much commotion.”
“We’ll make do,” Nosferatu said.
They were in the dark cabin, shades closed, the plane on autopilot, with no one in the cockpit. Nosferatu did enjoy some of the benefits of modern technology such as the plane and the computer that was flying them. However, he felt a bit uneasy allowing a machine to control his fate.
Nekhbet had her seat reclined, a pillow under her feet. She found that lessened her almost constant headaches.
“The New World,” Nekhbet said. “I’ve never been there. When you left me in the deep sleep the Europeans didn’t know of it.”
“There is much that happened while you slept, my dear.”
“I suppose. Why do you care what this woman wants?”
“If she’s descended from Tesla then she’s a Myrddin.”
A slight frown creased the perfectly smooth skin on her forehead. “Then are we not flying into an ambush? Didn’t they just try to kill us in Paris?” When he didn’t reply, she sat up. “You keep too much from me.”
“It’s for your own welfare,” Nosferatu said.
“Mine? Or yours? You tell me stories of history, but rarely of what is happening now. What did she tell you that has upset you so much? I haven’t seen you like this since—“ she paused, trying to think. “I don’t know since when.”
“There is much happening,” Nosferatu said.
“It doesn’t affect us. Why are you bothering?”
“I’m afraid it does affect us,” Nosferatu said. “We may have killed Vampyr, but his legacy is troublesome. That is what we must deal with.”
“Why us?”
“Let me tell you another story.”
“Oh, do please,” Nekhbet mocked.
“It involved you,” Nosferatu said. “You might have a vague memory of a moment. And it involved Vampyr’s penchant for destruction, which I fear outlasts his demise.” He thought for a moment. “It was many years ago. In the mid-fifteenth century. I’d been given what I thought was Airlia blood by Aspasia’s Shadow. Blood I believed could bring you back. I brought the blood to your tube, gave it to you. But I’d been deceived. It was human blood. You came awake for just the briefest of moments. A devious trick. Do you remember?”
Nekhbet’s eyes were closed and her chest rose and fell very slowly. “Not really. Why didn’t you taste the blood yourself beforehand?”
“I wanted to save all of it for you,” Nosferatu said.
“Oh. That was kind of you, my love.” She reached out and put a hand on his. “Although foolish to trust a Shadow. What happened after I woke?”
“Nothing,” Nosferatu said. “The human blood gave you a little bit of strength, but not enough. You had to go back into the deep sleep. A plan I’d spent years on had come to naught. I sought my revenge on Aspasia’s Shadow. But I needed help because he’d built a mighty army in what is now Turkey.
“I went to Vampyr. In a country that no longer exists. Vampyr had set himself up as ruler of a kingdom. Aspasia’s Shadow came after us with a massive army. But there are things more powerful than numbers in war. Vampyr was known as Lord Vlad Tepes by his people. Vlad the Impaler.”
Nekhbet’s eyes flickered open. “What does that mean?”
“I will get to that and I will make my story brief so you can rest. We faced Aspasia’s Shadow’s army as they entered the kingdom. Vampyr’s men feared him more than they feared death by the enemy. Recognizing we were outnumbered, we retreated, but Vampyr left five hundred of his best knights to hold a pass against tens of thousands of Turks. His purpose was more than to delay the enemy. Vampyr warned those five hundred knights that they must fight to the death; or else he would kill their families most cruelly. They knew him. They’d seen what he could do. They had no doubt of the truth in his promise. Thus they fought to the last man, never giving an inch of ground. Not a single one surrendered or survived. And they killed many Turks, more than five times their number. They had the advantage of terrain in the narrow pass, but, more importantly, the fate of their families.
“This unnerved the soldiers that made up Aspasia’s Shadow’s army. That warriors could fight so fiercely to the last man and not retreat. Never ask for quarter? What if they had to face an entire army like that? But Aspasia’s Shadow pushed them forward toward Vampyr’s castle. And there—“ Nosferatu paused, remembering.
“There what?” Nekhbet sat up. “Now you have my interest.”
“Vampyr was known as Vlad the Impaler because he would kill prisoners, criminals, those he randomly decided to, in a particularly vicious way. By having them lifted and then placed upon a sharpened stake set in the ground. Some died quickly. Some lasted days. As Aspasia’s Shadow’s army approached, there was a forest in front of Vampyr’s castle. But it was not trees. There were over twenty thousand impaled. The sight was awful, the smell worse. Even Aspasia’s Shadow and his Guides couldn’t hold together their army. The Turks fled in fear.”
“And now?” Nekbet asked. “Vampyr is dead. What do we have to fear?”
“His legacy,” Nosferatu said. “We, and everyone, must fear the legacy of a being that can impale twenty thousand without a second thought. Because even in death, Vampyr might have the last victory over mankind. That is what the human wants me for. To help.”
“Help humans? Why?”
Nosferatu leaned over and kissed Nekhbet on the forehead. “We would not last long without any humans, would we, my dear?”
DREAMLAND, TEXAS
Mrs. Parrish was in her command chair, surrounded by a clear, circular cone. It had come down from the ceiling at her command. It not only kept her conversation secure from the others in the center, it was bulletproof.
Just in case.
Maria, with George, was standing near the door. Doing what she did most of the time: waiting on Mrs. Parrish. However, her flexpad was at the ready and her fingers were gliding over it, a concerned look on her face.
“Are you there, Major Turcotte?” Mrs. Parrish asked, given the silence after her last statement about the survival of mankind.
“I have no reason to trust you,” Turcotte finally said.
It was irritating to see only ceiling on the screen. And most rude. “In case you haven’t heard, and from what I’ve overheard, you haven’t, I have the mothership secure in hangar two.”
There was no response. Mrs. Parrish reached up and rubbed the ka on the chain around her neck. “Major Turcotte, you are being unreasonable.”
“I’m known for that,” Turcotte said.
“Colonel Mickell,” Mrs. Parrish said. “Please talk some sense into your man.”
“He’s not my man,” Mickell responded. “He’s my friend.”
“Mister Yakov,” Mrs. Parrish tried. “Perhaps you see this situation more clearly?”
“What are you going to do with the mothership?” Yakov asked.
“I’m going to make it what people believed it was in legend. The vessel that ended up on Mount Ararat,” Mrs. Parrish. “The Ark that saves mankind.” She cut the connection.
“WE HAVE BECOME DEATH”
CYDONIA, MARS
Nyx had often contemplated her demise in this forsaken arm of the galaxy. Usually, she’d envisioned it happening by her own hand. That was a still a possibility, but not a nebulous, maybe-some-day, one.
Death was coming, one way or the other,
in roughly three days according to the calculations she’d run. The Battle Core was decelerating past Saturn, but it was moving fast. Nyx didn’t have the sensor arrays needed to determine if there was scouts or warships in advance of the massive Core at this distance, but she had to assume there were.
Much of what was known of Swarm tactics came from the few times an Airlia fleet had fought a Battle Core into a retreat. Scouts led, racing in at high, reckless speed, on reconnaissance. Then a wave of warships to clear the space around a planet of any warships or defensive platforms. Finally the Battle Core would arrive, taking an orbit close enough to affect the planet’s gravity. The nominative Airlia victories had come before the Core began to actually emit drop ships to reap the target planet.
The only control Nyx had was determining how her end would occur. She could do nothing and it would come for her in the form of the Swarm.
Less preferable than the humans.
At least that was her speculation as no one really knew what exactly a reaping was. In her astrobiology education and training, the Swarm had been a subject, but precious little was known about them. Thus she had volumes of speculation she could access, but few hard facts.
Some intelligence missions had been sent to worlds after a reaping and the Swarm long gone. The surveys were disconcerting: there was little sign of the Scale that had once inhabited the planet. The only Scale remains found were those killed in battle. That was usually a small percentage of the overall population.
Recording devices were found to be wiped out by EMP blasts; whether before or after the reaping was unknown. Some non-electronic images were found, but these yielded little data.
The big question was what did the Swarm do with the rest of the Scale?
The obvious answer was the Swarm took them on board the Battle Core. And since no Battle Core had ever been captured that left a considerable number of questions: were they taken alive or dead? Either way: why? The logistics of such an operation was staggering. Taking billions of life forms on board a Core?
Nyx now faced the decision of whether she wanted to find out the truth about reaping or end things before that.
What good does truth do a dead person?
Standing Operating Procedures dictated whoever was left in command had to destruct the Cydonia Base. Which, of course, meant themself along with it.
Almost as an afterthought, Nyx accessed the msats to see the latest from Earth.
The humans had landed the damaged mothership at Area 51.
Little good that would do them now. As far as the msats could determine, the humans were unaware of the incoming and inevitable death incarnate. They’d learn about it soon enough.
Nyx went to the regress bin. Retrieved a length.
As she put it around her neck, she momentarily wondered where the nanodog was? Had she shut it down?
It didn’t matter. As everyone had taunted her: another foolish endeavor.
She pulled the regress.
DREAMLAND, TEXAS
Mrs. Parrish hit the command that raised the cone. “Maria.”
“Yes, Mrs. Parrish?”
Mrs. Parrish was trying to rein in her anger at Turcotte. She looked at the flexpad built into the right arm of the chair. Her fingers played with the lines and decision points, examining possibilities. She nodded. “We have time,” she said.
“Excuse me, ma’am?” Maria said.
“The probabilities agree with Major Turcotte in one area,” Mrs. Parrish said. “Mars and the surviving Airlia aren’t an immediate threat. There’s no rush to get there. But that very fact means Turcotte’s importance as the only one able to fly the Fynbar isn’t as high a priority to me as the regression tube.”
“To you or the Strategy, Mrs. Parrish?” Maria asked.
Mrs. Parrish wasted a glare on her assistant. “I have tolerated your recent transgressions, Maria, because you are efficient. There are many other efficient people around here who could take your place.”
That was said loud enough that several people turned to look, then quickly directed their attention back to their tasks.
“I’ve always known that, Mrs. Parrish.”
Mrs. Parrish stared at her assistant for several seconds, as if trying to decide something.
George whined, distracting both women. Maria rubbed George’s head. “It’s all right.”
“I’m done negotiating with Major Turcotte,” Mrs. Parrish said. “Order our people in. Seize the Fynbar.”
“And the Major? Yakov? Colonel Mickell?”
“If they try to prevent it, any level of force is authorized.”
“Yes, Mrs. Parrish.” Maria’s fingers sent the order via flexpad.
“What is the status of Wardenclyffe?”
“Destroyed.”
“Professor Leahy?”
“Her plane is en route.”
“Danse?” Mrs. Parrish asked.
“They’re through and waiting for the air to clear inside the vault.”
“Very good,” Mrs. Parrish said. “Excellent.” She got up. “I’m going to take a nap. We must be well rested for what is to come.” She walked out, leaving Maria and George behind.
Maria waited twenty-three seconds, knowing exactly how long it took Mrs. Parrish to cross the tunnel beyond that door, enter her private quarters and lock the door.
Then she left the control center with George.
COLORADO AIRSPACE
Leahy activated the intercom. “Gentlemen, we can do this the hard way or the way where you make it safer. Do you see what’s ahead?”
“The Rockies,” the pilot said. “What are you doing? Does Mrs. Parrish know? We had orders for Dreamland and--”
Leahy cut him off. “We don’t have much time. We’re going to an airstrip near Colorado Springs. Not the airport, but an unimproved runway on the west side of Cheyenne Mountain. According to this aircraft’s specifications it should be able to make the landing. Actually, the runway is a few feet short, which means the autopilot might have problems. I believe our odds are better with experienced, human hands at the controls rather than the autopilot. Would you agree?”
The pilot and co-pilot whispered urgently between them.
“You can plot other things after we land,” Leahy said. “Right now we’re only four minutes out. I’m forwarding you the destination data. If you agree, I will release control to you. If you try anything other than to land, I will take control back. Also, once we land, I will explain why we’re doing this, since the lives of everyone on the planet are at stake. Yes or no?”
“Yes,” the pilot said.
“Smart choice,” Leahy said. She gave the pilots control.
“You gotta be kidding me,” the pilot said as he saw the location of the landing strip.
“I told you it would not be easy,” Leahy said. “It’s the backside of Cheyenne Mountain from NORAD. They were going to put in a longer runway, but as you can tell the terrain doesn’t agree. So the plan for an emergency strip for the complex was abandoned and they settled for a helipad near the entrance on the other side of the mountain. Enough history, gentlemen. Put us down.”
The plane cleared the southern shoulder of Cheyenne Mountain by ten feet, then banked hard right, dropping altitude.
Leahy leaned back in her seat, looking out a window, content to let the pilots do their job. She tightened the seat belt. The Tesla computer was in its case, secured to the floor.
Through the locked cockpit door, the sound of various alarms and warnings indicated how difficult it was. Leahy noted that the right wing tip was ten feet from the almost sheer mountainside. Her stomach lurched as the plane suddenly dropped, then she was slammed forward against the seat belt as the landing gear made hard contact with the ground.
The engines screamed with reverse thrust and brakes screeched. The plane shuddered, bumped and finally stopped. Eight feet from a sheer drop-off into a deep ravine.
Leahy unlocked the cockpit door and unbuckled.
It was
thrown open and the pilot came back. “What the hell! That was insane. There no way we can take off from this.”
“I know,” Leahy said as she gathered her gear. “If you want to live, you’ll continue to help me.”
The pilot and co-pilot exchanged a glance and she knew they were planning to jump her at an opportune moment; once they figured out what was going on.
The pilot and co-pilot helped her unload, piling the equipment cases underneath pine trees next to a narrow trail.
“Push the plane into the ravine,” Leahy ordered the pilots.
“What?” the pilot was confused. “That’s a twenty-five million dollar jet.”
“You already said you can’t take off,” Leahy pointed out. “And someone might need those few feet for the next landing.”
“What next landing?” the pilot demanded.
“Do it,” Leahy said.
Without other options, the two men rolled the plane over the edge. It crashed through trees and underbrush before coming to halt, wedged between large boulders on the side of the ravine.
“Now,” Leady said, grabbing hold of the handle for the Tesla computer case, “follow me.”
She led the way along a narrow path. Each pilot pulled a hard plastic case of gear. The path had three switchbacks before they arrived at an old wooden door set in the side of the mountain.
“My grandfather placed his mountain lab here in 1900,” Leahy said as she produced an old iron key from a pocket. “This was a tapped out mine; perfect for his purposes.”
She inserted the key and it turned smoothly. She pulled it open on well-oiled hinges. Lights automatically flickered on, lighting a smooth tunnel cut out of granite. “Put those inside and get the rest.”
The pilots grumbled but did as ordered. Leahy rolled the Tesla computer case two hundred feet to another wooden door. She opened it, revealing an open space crowded with benches and tables littered with equipment, similar to the secret lab at Wardenclyffe. A metal, spiral staircase in the center led to another level. There were racks of old scrolls along one wall.
