Area 51: Legend

by Robert Doherty

  Donnchadh felt she was close to passing out from shallow breathing, afraid that the creature would pick up the noise of air coming in and out of her mouth. Her body ached, a dozen itches afflicted her that she had never noticed before, and her heartbeat sounded incredibly loud inside her own head. Fear was what the Airlia relied on with much of their automatic defensive systems—it was something they had learned on her home world. To remain in place when this machine appeared was the last thing a person wanted to do and that was why the technique worked. The Airlia had underestimated their own creation on her world and she planned on making them pay the price on this world for the same mistake.

  After a tense thirty seconds, the thing, discerning no movement, finally moved on, disappearing around the corner. They waited another twenty minutes before Gwalcmaifelt it was safe to move again, then continued downward, deep under the Giza Plateau.

  After so many centuries together there was no need for the two of them to talk. They moved as one, covering each other as they progressed. They entered a narrow corridor, barely wide enough for three abreast.

  Donnchadh paused before a set of bars. On the other side were two black tubes resting on stone slabs. Deep sleep tubes, just like the ones in their craft, which they had appropriated from the Airlia.

  Donnchadh saw that the tubes had been modified in one important way—each was secured on the outside with a latch, preventing whoever was inside from being able to open the lid. After touching the controls and programming the tube to bring whoever—or whatever—was inside out of the deep sleep, she pulled aside the latch on the closest tube and swung the lid up.

  Inside was a tall creature, appearing human, with very pale skin and bright red hair. His skin was stretched tight over his bones, making him appear skeletal. His eyes were screwed shut against the invasion of dim light. His body twitched and shook as the deep sleep faded from his cells.

  Donnchadh leaned close and spoke in the language of the Airlia. “The Gods must die or you will never escape this. You will die a miserable death after a long and worthless life.”

  The words echoed off the stone walls of the chamber and the shocked face of the creature inside as he comprehended them. The eyelids rose. His eyes had a reddish tint to them and the suggestion of an elongation of the pupil. Evidence, Donnchadh knew, of his Airlia roots. Gwalcmai was standing in the entrance to the cell, watching back the way they had come, sword in hand.

  Donnchadh placed a finger on the creature’s throat as she peered deep into his alien eyes. There was the tip of a shuntimplanted in the skin. “You’ve been used for a very long time, haven’t you?”

  The creature sat up. He was secured to the inside of the tube by a chain around his waist. There were straps around his legs, arms, and torso with leads to the side of the tube— the stimulators that kept the muscles active during the deep sleep, Donnchadh knew. She saw him look at the other tube. Donnchadh went over to it and powered it down, tapping the correct hexagonals. Then she opened it. A female was inside.

  Donnchadh went back to the male. He had not spoken a word. He was staring at her, waiting. Patience was a virtue that Donnchadh could appreciate.

  “You won’t last much longer,” she said. “You have no choice. If you do not act, you will eventually die. Each time they drain you, the percentage of their blood in you is reduced and the human percentage grows. Soon you will no longer be effective for their needs. Then they will take another human female and make your replacement. They may already have a child, like you were once, growing up, guarded closely on the surface, ready to come here and be placed in this tube and drained as needed. They are very good at planning for their own needs and pleasures.”

  The male finally spoke. “How do you know this?”

  “It is their way. They are not Gods, but creatures from—” Donnchadh pointed up. “From among the stars. They use us—humans—and they use you, half of their blood, half-human. It is hard for me to determine which is the worse of their sins. At least what they are doing to you is obvious. Their rule of the humans is more devious, pretending to be that which they aren’t.” She shrugged. “There is also the possibility that the Gods may decide to go into the long sleep, as their brethren have done in other places, in which case they will kill you and the others they keep down here, as you will longer be needed.”

  The male seemed confused. Donnchadh imagined this was all too much for him to grasp, but she knew the clock was ticking. They couldn’t stay here and chat. Gwalcmai glanced into the cell and she nodded.

  The female spoke. “Why do you want to help us? You are human. We aren’t. We’re half like them.”

  “Because you must hate them as much as I do and more than those above,” Donnchadh explained. “Most humans”—she shook her head—“they are like sheep. Simply happy their harvest comes in and the Gods make all the decisions for them.”

  The female spoke again. “You cannot kill the Gods. They are immortal.”

  Donnchadh pulled aside her robe, revealing six daggers tucked into her belt. “With these you can. They were made by the Gods themselves for use against each other.”

  The female half-breed remained skeptical. “Even if we kill the Gods, the priests will then slay us, won’t they?”

  Donnchadh looked at the female. “Not if you are immortal.”

  The male was the first to grasp the significance. “The Grail?”

  Donnchadh nodded. “You kill the Gods. You go into the Black Sphinx and recover the Grail, which is hidden there, then partake as has been promised by the Gods since before the beginning of time. You become immortal.”

  “Who are you?” the male demanded.

  “My name is Donnchadh. My partner and I have fought the Gods in other places. That should be enough for you. Your enemy is our enemy.”

  “Your enemies are our parents,” the male said.

  “One of your parents.” Donnchadh stared at him. “Yourother parent was human, taken by an Airlia—the Gods— for their pleasure and to produce you so they can use you for their pleasure also. The Gods deserve neither your homage nor your respect. They will drain you and kill you without a second thought once they have a replacement ready or if they no longer desire the pleasure your blood brings them.”

  “How can we do this that you propose?” The male rattled the chains holding him in the tube.

  Donnchadh pulled a long piece of Airlia metal from inside her cloak. “Tonight. After the ceremony of the solstice. You can follow the Gods who oversee it from the ceremony to their hidden places along the Roads.” She placed the tip inside one of the links of chain that bound him. “Do you want your freedom?”

  The answer was what she expected. “Yes.”

  Donnchadh applied pressure and the link gave way. She worked quickly and soon the male was free. As he climbed out of his tube, Donnchadh went to the female and freed her. She saw Gwalcmai roll his eyes as the two creatures embraced. She held up a hand, begging his patience. But even she was shocked as the male put his mouth to the female’s throat and began to drink her blood.

  “We don’t have time for this,” Donnchadh said. “The ceremony has started above. You do not have much time to free the others and be ready.”

  The two were whispering to each other. Donnchadh could feel Gwalcmai’s impatience permeate the cell. “If you do not act now, you will die.” She didn’t wait, moving out into the corridor and going to the next cell, which Gwalcmai had just opened.

  “And who are you?” the male asked Gwalcmai.

  “My name means nothing to you. I was called Gwalcmai, long ago. I have had other names and I will have others in the future.”

  “I am Nosferatu and this is Nekhbet.”

  Gwalcmai shrugged.

  “Vampyr and Lilith are in here,” Nosferatu added as they went into the second cell. Donnchadh didn’t acknowledge this either as she opened up the two tubes and moved on to the third cell.

  “Mosegi and Chatha,” Nosferatu said as Donnchadh opened
the last two tubes, freeing the occupants.

  One for each of the Airlia, Donnchadh thought as she broke the chains around the last half-breed’s waist. Done, she turned toward the exit, where Gwalcmai waited. “I will leave you to do what you must.”

  Nosferatu put a hand out, stopping her. “Tell me more of the Gods. Why do they need to do this?” He touched the shunt in his neck.

  “As I have said, they do it for pleasure. It is an elixir for them. They prefer it over pure human blood.”

  “That is all?”

  “Do you not relish the feeding you receive?” Donnchadh asked.

  Nosferatu nodded.

  “And was not her”—Donnchadh pointed at Nekhbet— “blood so much more pleasurable to you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you should understand.”

  “We exist only for their pleasure?”

  “Yes.” Gwalcmai nodded his head, indicating they needed to leave.

  “It is said the Gods are immortal,” Nosferatu said.

  Gwalcmai was restless in the corridor. “We must hurry.”

  “In a sense,” Donnchadh said, “they are.”

  “Then am I immortal?”

  Donnchadh shook her head. “No. But if you continue to drink human blood to feed the alien part of your blood—and don’t get drained of any more of what you have—you can live a very, very long time. You can also go into the tube and use the deep sleep to let time pass without aging. I have seen it before. Where I came from. They did the same to my people.”

  “Where are you from?” Nosferatu asked.

  “You would not understand.” Donnchadh pointed to the end of the short corridor. “You can go to the right and get out a secret door near the Nile. The ceremony will start shortly in the Sphinx pit. Wait until the Gods who will oversee the ceremony appear, then follow them down the main Road of Rostau.”

  “But—” Nosferatu clearly wanted to know more but Donnchadh left, following right behind Gwalcmai.

  He glanced over his shoulder. “They will not be able to get into the Hall of Records.”

  “Most likely not, since they do not have the key,” Donnchadh agreed.

  “Then what purpose did freeing them serve?”

  “It will cause trouble for the Airlia here.”

  Gwalcmai wasn’t convinced. “We shall see.”

  Donnchadh glanced over her shoulder at Gwalcmai. “Because of my sister.”

  Gwalcmai frowned. “You never told me you had a sister.”

  “Because she was dead to us the day she was taken by the Airlia to be used by the Airlia. As the mothers of those we just freed were used.”

  “Did she have”—Gwalcmai searched for the word—“offspring?”

  “Yes.”

  Gwalcmai knew the fate of such humans and their offspring on their world—they had died when the Airlia main base had been destroyed. He switched the subject abruptly. “We were followed through the tunnels, you know that, right?”

  “The machine?”

  “No,” Gwalcmai said. “A human. The Wedjat. He is not as stupid as he appeared. He did his job—he watched.”

  Donnchadh nodded. “Good. Then we will use him also.”

  Donnchadh shoved open the door and walked into the Watcher’s small hut, Gwalcmai right behind her. The man leapt to his feet, a dagger in his hand, his family cowering behind him.

  “Tell them to leave,” Donnchadh ordered in the ancient tongue. She pulled out her golden medallion and showed it to him.

  The Watcher’s eyes widened at both the language and the emblem. He lowered the dagger and quickly barked commands at his family. They scurried out of the hut, disappearing into the darkness.

  “There has been no one here since—” the Watcher began, but Donnchadh raised her hand, cutting him off.

  “There is something you must do.”

  Fools,” Gwalcmai hissed as the chant of the priests echoed off the stone wall below them.

  “We serve for the promise of eternal life from the Grail. We serve for the promise of the great truth. We serve as our fathers have served, our fathers’ fathers, and through the ages from the first days of the rule of the God who brought us up out of the darkness. We serve because in serving there is the greater good for all.”

  Donnchadh tapped Gwalcmai on the arm and pointed. “There.”

  Six dark forms were hidden among a pile of building stone, also watching the priests prostrated before the paws of the Black Sphinx.

  “So they didn’t run,” Gwalcmai said.

  “Vengeance is powerful,” Donnchadh said. “And the lure of the Grail—”

  Gwalcmai stiffened as two tall, thin figures appeared in the open door in the pedestal beneath the paws. One raised its right hand, six fingers splayed open. Donnchadh stared at the Airlia for several moments, then noticed someone moving to their right, in the shadows. She tapped Gwalcmai’s shoulder and pointed. “The Watcher.”

  The priests got to their feet and left, going to the nearby temple to continue praying. The two Airlia disappeared into the black hole beneath the chest of the Sphinx. Soon all that was left in the open before the Sphinx was a lone high priest. As the imprinted man turned toward the door, the six half-breeds that Donnchadh had freed sprinted across the open space and attacked him.

  “They’re actually doing it,” Gwalcmai whispered. He had expressed doubts to Donnchadh that the half-breeds would go back into the Roads, suggesting instead that they would simply take this opportunity to run away.

  “Their vengeance overpowers all else,” Donnchadh said.

  The six disappeared into the darkness, leaving the body of the high priest behind. After them went the Watcher, acting on Donnchadh’s orders.

  Only two made it,” Gwalcmai said several hours later. “More than I expected,” Donnchadh said. They could see the Watcher along with two of the half-breeds, hidden along the edge of the depression.

  “What are they waiting for?” Gwalcmai wanted to know. “The same thing we are. Reaction to whatever they managed to do in the Roads.”

  All night long they had heard priests going throughout the surrounding area, ordering all to come to the Sphinx at first light, indicating that the Undead they had unleashed had achieved something in the warren of tunnels beneath them. As soon as it was light enough to see, Donnchadh knew what was coming—on top of the head of the Black Sphinx were two wooden Xs; behind them was a deep sleep tube.

  “We should leave,” Gwalcmai said, as soon as he saw the Xs.

  Donnchadh couldn’t respond. Her body had gone numb and her eyes were fixed on the objects on top of the Sphinx head. There were thousands of people gathered in the depression in front of the Sphinx, standing in absolute silence.

  The door between the paws of the Sphinx opened and a group of high priests appeared, escorting three bound prisoners—half of those that Donnchadh and Gwalcmai had freed the previous night. All three were extremely pale and Donnchadh assumed they had been drained of their blood just short of the point of death. One of them—the one that had slept in the same chamber with Nosferatu—was also missing her right hand, the stump covered in a dirty linen bandage. They were moved up a ramp to the top of the Sphinx.

  Then four Airlia appeared. The gathered humans dropped to their knees and bowed their heads, causing Gwalcmai to growl in disgust. The Airlia wore hooded black robes. They slowly walked up the ramp to the top of the Sphinx. Donnchadh could sense Gwalcmai’s tensing—he was, after all, a God-killer.

  A high priest stepped forward and cried out to the huddled masses: “Behold the price of rebellion. Behold the price of betrayal. Behold the price of disobedience.”

  Two of the prisoners were placed against the Xs, their arms and legs splayed against the wood. Their dirty robes were torn off, exposing their pale skin to the rays of the sun. High priests secured them to the wood using strips of leather that they first dipped in buckets of water. They worked from the tips of the extremities inward. Each strip of leather w
as an inch wide and they were spaced two inches apart.

  The priests did this until both captives were secured up to their groins and armpits. When done, the high priest once more chanted: “Behold the price of rebellion. Behold the price of betrayal. Behold the price of disobedience.”

  Gwalcmai grabbed Donnchadh’s shoulder. “We should leave. We do not need to see this. We’ve—” He stopped before completing the sentence.

  “We’ve seen this before,” Donnchadh finished it for him.

  One of the prisoners cried out in pain. Donnchadh closed her eyes, but that couldn’t stop the mental image of her father, tied to a similar cross, one made of black metal, with leather straps around his limbs. It was a horrible way to die as the slowly drying bands constricted, forcing blood from the extremities into the core of the body, allowing the victim to live a long time, while experiencing excruciating pain. Both prisoners were now screaming in agony.

  Donnchadh nodded. “Let’s go.”

  They slipped away from edge of the depression. As they did so, they heard the high priest call out one more time: “Behold the price of rebellion. Behold the price of betrayal. Behold the price of disobedience.”

  IX

  THE PAST, 3,200 B.C.

  Artad and Aspasia had negotiated and agreed to the Atlantis Truce, and both had also left behind A their agents to continue a covert war against the forces of the other. The Wedjat, founded by Gwalcmai and Donnchadh, watched these minions, following their actions over the millennia.

  Almost five thousand years after Donnchadh freed the Undead from their prison under Giza, rumor trickled back to the Wedjat headquarters in England from the Watcher of Giza that something strange and unnatural was happening in the depths of Africa on the side of a massive mountain. These rumors came from travelers who emerged from the interior of the continent, floating down the Nile. A Wedjat was dispatched with specific orders to investigate these rumors.

  It was an arduous journey, crossing the continent, traversing it north to south, then around the edge of the Mediterranean to the dark continent. And that was only the first half of the trip, and, as it turned out, the easiest. In Africa the Wedjat linked up with the Watcher of Giza and spent a month resting and recuperating and preparing for the journey to the interior. There the man learned a little bit more—the travelers reported a strange forest of black poles growing on the side of a massive mountain, one of a pair of white-capped peaks known to the people in the area as the Twin Sisters.