Vostok

by Steve Alten

  “Catacylsm? What kind of cataclysm?”

  Susan held my hand. “Zach, honey, there was a reason you were contacted seven years ago in Lake Vostok. We believe an extinction event is going to happen in the near future. It could be natural or man-made, or induced by the E.T.s. To prevent it, we need to know what it will be and when it is supposed to happen.

  “I’m sorry, baby, but we need to take you back.”

  28

  “You’re entirely bonkers. But I’ll tell you a secret. All the best people are.”

  —Lewis Carroll

  “Take me back where? To Lake Vostok? You’re nuts!”

  “Zach, the space-time portal you accessed allows you to move within the multiverses of your soul’s existence. You can use the portal to access the future. Not only can you learn what disaster awaits us, you can determine the proper course of action that will save our species.”

  “And how the hell am I supposed to get back down into that godforsaken lake?”

  “The Colonel will explain everything. For now, let’s get you cleaned up and moving about.”

  I let out a loud yelp as Susan removed my catheter. She pulled loose the Velcro straps from my ankles and wrists, then removed the EKG tabs from my chest.

  “Ow.”

  “Sorry. Try to stand.”

  I attempted to climb out of the chair, but my legs lacked the strength.

  The Colonel summoned his physician, who returned with a wheelchair. “Susan, take him to the dining hall and get him something to eat. The transport leaves tomorrow morning at 0800 hours. I need him fit enough to travel.”

  “Twelve hours? I’ll do my best. Zach, let’s see if we can get some solid food into you.”

  Susan wheeled me out of the pneumatic door to an antiseptic-white, tiled outer corridor. We passed a dozen similar doors, each chamber’s electronic keypad marked by either a green or flashing red light. I wondered who else they had hooked up to their insidious machines, whose memories they were probing.

  At the end of the hall were three elevators. Susan swiped the magnetic strip on her identification card and pressed the UP button. The middle car arrived and she backed me inside.

  We were on the twenty-third floor. The thirty-three elevator buttons were arranged in ascending order to reflect the subterranean location of our facility, the top floor listed as G.

  She pushed SEVENTEEN. “Zach, we’re being watched. Don’t react—I know you can hear my thoughts. I want you to tell me you’d prefer to take a hot bath to get your circulation going before you eat something.”

  My pulse raced as I heard her words whispered into my consciousness. “Susan, if it’s okay with you, I’d like to take a hot bath to get my circulation going before I eat something.”

  “Good idea. I’ll take you to your quarters.” She pushed FIVE.

  The elevator passed the seventeenth floor and stopped on the fifth.

  The doors opened and Susan wheeled me out to a seemingly endless corridor that felt more like a dormitory than a secured floor. Corkboards spaced at intervals along the walls held flyers advertising the week’s schedule of social events. We passed a dozen rooms, a lounge, and a weight room before we reached Suite 514.

  Susan indicated the keypad, and I pressed my thumb to it, unbolting the door.

  The room brightened as we entered, revealing a small living room that looked out onto a dazzling view of a Mediterranean beach and an azure sea. The balcony door was open, venting the air-conditioned apartment with warm gusts of briny air. I heard the ocean washing along the shoreline and seagulls cawing—and none of it was real.

  Susan shut the door of the video-screen balcony, extinguishing the view.

  “Zach, keep all verbal communication to small talk. Once we’re in the bathtub, I’ll answer all of your questions.”

  I caught myself nodding. “Uh, nice place.”

  “Let’s get you into a hot bath.”

  I stood and leaned on her shoulder as she led me into her bedroom.

  A queen-size bed faced bay windows that were part of the same holographic system as the balcony. There was a sound system and a flat-screen television. A wall of mirrors concealed a closet.

  I stripped out of my surgical greens while Susan ran the bath water. My arms were covered in bruises from multiple I.V.s. My leg muscles had atrophied. Remembering the weight room, I decided a workout would follow my meal, if only to regain some strength to escape.

  Susan was naked, waiting for me inside the whirlpool tub. “Come in and lean back against me. I’ll massage your shoulders.”

  I climbed in and lay back against her breasts.

  She wrapped her muscular quadriceps around my waist, running her hands along my groin.

  I grabbed her wrists. “Hey, knock it off! I want answers, like how we’re able to communicate telepathically.”

  “Now, don’t react… I’m a Nordic.”

  I tried to sit up, but her legs were far too strong.

  “I won’t harm you. I’m here to help you, but you have to trust me. The Colonel lied. He needs you in Vostok to access the alien vessel. Once MJ-12 has access to the portal, they’ll be able to time-jump, altering third-dimension reality. We can’t allow that to happen.”

  “What’s this ‘we’ stuff? You don’t need me, Susan, you’re Nordic. Destroy the damn portal and be done with it.”

  “We can’t. The magnetic shield is far too strong. Even if we could destroy it, there’s a hierarchy in play. The being that communicated with you exists in the upper dimensions. When it comes to these higher-vibration entities there are no coincidences. The portal is in Lake Vostok because it knew you would be there. It offered you the gift of energy for a reason. If it knows what is to come, then we must trust it.”

  “And why should I trust you?”

  “Nordics have been mentoring humans for thousands of years. The Mayan teacher, Kukulcan, was a Nordic, as was the Inca leader Viracocha. If Colonel Vacendak knew I was a Nordic, neither one of us would ever see daylight again.”

  “Where do Nordics come from? How long have you been on Earth? Were you born here?”

  “I’ll tell you everything, but you must remember we’re being watched. Close your eyes.” She kissed the back of my neck while massaging my shoulders. “Life thrives in multiple plains of existence throughout the universe. Imagine each galaxy as a garden, most of its flowers cultivated within its central greenhouse. Star systems like yours, situated along the fringes of the galaxy, must be seeded for life.

  “Seeded how?”

  “The process begins with water. Billions of years ago Earth was bombarded with asteroids and comets, each impact releasing moisture into the atmosphere along with the chemicals and amino acids necessary to foster single-celled organisms. Life took root almost four billion years ago; however, eons of evolution failed to produce a species worthy of harboring a higher soul.

  “Cataclysms are a means of testing the worthiness of a species or merely starting over. The asteroid that wiped out the dinosaurs was intended to end their reign and pave the way for the ascension of mammals, primates, and finally primitive man. When it comes to hominids, Nordics are purebreds: our genome possesses DNA strands designed to adapt to each world’s unique environment. Homo sapiens were selected for an interspecies breeding program designed to accelerate your hybrid faster up the evolutionary ladder.”

  “Why?”

  “The purpose of existence in the physical dimension is to provide suitable harbors for the soul. Intelligence is a trait that blossoms when fertilized by a higher species. Nordic hybrid development tends to follow similar progressions, spurred by adversity. Nomads forge clans and clans form alliances, usually out of the need for protection. Eventually, these unions expand to tribes, with the manner in which disputes are settled determining the potential reign of each budding group.

  “Agrarian societies replace hunter-gatherers with farmers, stone tools with metallurgy, chaos with the rule of law. Chiefdoms and kingd
oms are absorbed into geopolitical systems. Geographical territories are defined and redefined, with empires rising and falling as the world seeks equilibrium. Market-driven economies empower democracies over autocracies, with the availability of energy determining population levels, wealth, and military might.

  “It is at this stage that every intelligent species either succeeds or succumbs to its own weaknesses. Technology is the great equalizer. As it evolves, global communication and information challenge the elite, the majority demanding freedom and an equitable share of a better life. The institutions in power either raise the standard of living among the masses or seek violent means to preserve the status quo. What’s at stake is the future of the species.

  “Equality is the key to survival, Zachary. It leads to free-market globalism and new energy systems that eventually unite the entire planet. Energy, both physical and spiritual, is what ultimately transforms a Type-0 civilization like yours into a Type-1 civilization. It is at this point that the dangers of splitting the atom are replaced by the threat of extinction. Cataclysms like asteroid strikes, caldera eruptions, lethal viruses, and ice ages induced by climate change will either unite a species or destroy it.”

  “Assuming we survive these challenges, what then?”

  “Unity is what defines a Type-1 civilization. Societies thrive using clean, renewable energy. Type-2 civilizations are those which terraform other worlds within their solar system. Type-3 civilizations—the highest level attainable for third-dimension physical beings—have mastered zero-point energy and faster-than-light travel, uniting them with the community of intelligent beings in their galaxy.

  “What prevents a Type-0 civilization like yours from evolving and ultimately surviving is the resistance by institutions to turning their power over to the people. When economic tribalism dominates the political system, civilization reverts to a system of fiefdoms. Contempt divides the masses, and conflicts result in war and a deeper divide. When the first potential extinction event arises, the stagnating Type-0 civilization will always perish.”

  “And what is my role in this equation?”

  She slid me around, slipping her tongue in my mouth. “Colonel Vacendak and his MJ-12 brethren are convinced the space-time portal you accessed in Vostok will give them access to zero-point energy, a technology reserved for Type-3 civilizations. You must pretend to assist the Colonel—”

  “Susan, I’m not going back in that subglacial icebox. No way.”

  “You have to. The future of your species is at stake. It’s the reason the Grays are here, the reason the trans-dimensional being sought you out.” She gripped my face, staring hard into my eyes. “Unless you act, your people and every air-breathing being on your planet will perish.”

  29

  “Heroism on command, senseless violence, and all the loathsome nonsense that

  goes by the name of patriotism—how passionately I hate them.”

  —Albert Einstein

  Over the next twelve hours, I managed two meals, dedicated a few hour-sessions in the weight room working my atrophied muscles into shape, and spent a restless night curled in bed next to Susan.

  Who was she? What was she? Frankly, I didn’t care if she called herself a Nordic. It wasn’t like she had two heads. What bothered me more was that our relationship had been strategic, not emotional. She had baited me into loving her to satisfy her species’ agenda, and that meant I couldn’t trust her.

  They came for us at six in the morning.

  Two armed security men escorted us up to the third floor to a chamber the size of a middle school gym. Members of the team that were being flown out to Antarctica waited in line to receive shots and collect their Extreme Weather Gear, most of the crewmen already dressed in nylon Bio Suits.

  Dr. Stewart pulled us out of line and led us into a private room. We were handed dressing gowns and asked to strip down for our pre-flight exams. The “booster shot” into my right buttock administered the requisite biochip and tracer into my bloodstream.

  We dressed in nylon navy-blue Bio Suits and boots, selected our breakfast from a buffet line, and ate. When we finished, our armed escorts took us down to Level 16.

  Susan reached for my hand as we stepped off the elevator. There’s a Gray on this floor. You’ll feel it reading your mind. Don’t think about last night; focus on a distant memory.

  We entered a small room with porous steel walls that exuded an electromagnetic current that caused my hair to dance away from my scalp. Two chairs sporting wrist and ankle couplings were bolted to the white tile floor, facing dark glass that spanned most of the front wall.

  Colonel Vacendak directed me to occupy the chair on the left, Susan the one on the right. I sat upright, wincing as my limbs were secured in place.

  “My apologies, but this pre-flight pep talk could get emotional. Captain, are you carrying a firearm?”

  The senior security guard nodded.

  “I’m going to ask Dr. Wallace five questions. At the first wrong answer or his refusal to respond, you will shoot Ms. McWhite in the head.”

  The guard methodically removed his gun from its holster, coldly chambered a round, and then pressed the barrel to Susan’s left temple.

  I felt a wave of hot blood rushing to my face. “What’s your problem, arse? Weren’t you hugged as a child?”

  “Question one: Dr. Wallace, is Susan McWhite able to communicate telepathically with you?”

  I glanced at Susan, who was staring intently at the dark glass. “Yes.”

  A green light flashed on from behind the glass for just a blink.

  Colonel Vacendak nodded. “So far, so good. Question two: Is Susan McWhite a Nordic?”

  I felt myself shaking. “How the fuck would I know a Nordic from a human?”

  A long moment passed before the green light flashed again.

  “Your answer is deceptive, but accepted. Question three: Can I trust Susan McWhite once our team has gained access to the interdimensional portal?”

  I stared at our reflections, registering a strange sensation inside my head that felt like icy fingers probing the crevices of my brain. I hesitated, knowing a truthful answer would condemn Susan as much as a lie.

  And then another thought occurred to me, one that altered my interpretation of the question. Maybe the bitch is setting me up again.

  I looked at Susan. “Yes, you can trust her.”

  The light flashed green.

  Susan exhaled.

  Colonel Vacendak’s eyebrows raised. “Question four: Can I trust you once we’re in Lake Vostok?”

  I turned to face him. “No.”

  I didn’t bother looking for the light.

  “So far, you’ve been truthful, confirming things I already knew. And, by telling me that I can trust Susan, you’ve told me that you don’t trust Susan. By now, you must have considered her role in the theft of the Vostok units from your warehouse safe?”

  I closed my eyes. “I trusted you, Susan. I loved you! How could you set me up like that?”

  “I’m sorry, Zach. But there are things in play that you can’t see. If it means anything, I do care about you.”

  “Stay out of my head!”

  The Colonel was watching us, smiling. “A lover’s telepathic quarrel? If only we humans could handle them the same way. One day, perhaps, assuming we can survive what lies ahead. And that, after all, is the point of this mission, is it not? To see what catastrophe lies in wait for us, the very survival of an entire species hanging in the balance.

  “This exercise served its purpose, I believe, for it made you realize that our Nordic friend here can’t be trusted. And now I realize that if a come-to-Jesus moment arises in Lake Vostok that requires you to trust me to do the right thing, you no longer value Ms. McWhite’s life enough to persuade you. So then, we’ll need to up the ante. Question five: What do you value above even your own welfare?”

  The Colonel signaled to the glass.

  A moment later a hidden door pushed o
pen along a sidewall, and another guard entered the room with a ten-year-old boy.

  His hair was raven-dark like his mother’s, and when William saw me, he ran to me and hugged me, curling himself in my lap. “Da, I don’t like this place. Mum blames ye fer us bein’ here.”

  I stared venom into Colonel Vacendak’s eyes. “Where’s the boy’s mother?”

  “She’s safe. She’s a handful, that one. Your son and ex-wife will spend the next few weeks with us here at Dreamland. Once you complete the mission, they’ll be released unharmed.”

  “Why should I believe you?”

  The Colonel signaled for the guard to remove Willy from my lap. He waited until the two had left the room and the door clicked shut before nodding to the guard aiming the gun at Susan’s head.

  “No!”

  The muffled blast splattered a Rorschach pattern of blood, brain, and bone across the white tile.

  I turned my head and puked up my breakfast.

  “Trust is all we have, Dr. Wallace. Susan McWhite was a valued ally and friend. She was also my lover. If I was willing to sacrifice her life for the greater good, you have to trust that I won’t hesitate to kill you and your family should you attempt to deceive me in Lake Vostok.”

  He turned to the guard who had shot Susan. “Have her remains taken to the seventeenth floor for dissection, then clean him up and get him aboard the transport.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Thirty minutes later I rode the elevator up to ground level with my armed escort. A wave of early-morning Nevada heat greeted me as we entered a “scoot and hide” hangar the size of six football fields. Beneath the high roof I could see a slice of red rock, the mountains concealing the rising sun. To the west rose a cluster of radar antennas. To the north a building meant to resemble a mess hall was flanked by several antiquated housing facilities, and farther down the road, by a perimeter fence, stood a guard house.

  The surface facilities were there for window dressing because Area 51 conducted most of its business deep underground.

  Two long tarmac runways, constructed on a dry lake bed, ran parallel to the hangar. My escort led me to a Lockheed C-5 Galaxy, an immense military transport that dwarfed everything else under the roof. Painted in green camouflage, the plane—nicknamed FRED (Fucking Ridiculous Environmental Disaster) by its crew—had twelve internal wing tanks and was equipped for aerial refueling. The T-shaped tail towered three stories overhead, its nose and aft loading docks lowered open to receive its payload.