“Nothing,” Yakov said after about ten seconds. “The only thing”—he frowned, his eyes closed—“strange. Very strange. I’m getting some images that were relayed from the other guardians once the Master activated before I shut them down.”
“Images of what?” Turcotte asked.
“Something in the sky. Moving. Black. Spherical main body with six extensions. Some kind of spacecraft.” Yakov paused, then continued, “It’s exploding. High over endless forest. Ah, I have seen forest like that before. I know what this is.” He let go of the Master Guardian and stepped back, turning toward Turcotte. “Remember General Hemstadt on Devil’s Island?”
It seemed to Turcotte that the destruction of the Mission’s base of operations had happened long ago, though it was actually relatively recent. They had narrowly stopped the Mission’s attempt to wipe out mankind with a deadly virus. “Yes.”
“His last words before he killed himself were about Tunguska. In 1908. I just saw the explosion that occurred there. It was caused by the craft I described getting hit by some sort of energy weapon.”
“An Airlia weapon?”
“No. It appears to be a human weapon.”
Turcotte felt a stir of excitement. “What kind of weapon? Who made it?”
“I can see if the guardian has stored that information,” Yakov said, “but more importantly at the moment, there was an escape pod from that alien craft. Survivors.”
“What does that have to do with Lisa Duncan?”
“The Master Guardian confirms that neither Artad nor Aspasia’s Shadow have her — at least their guardians had no information on that and they were interfacing with their computers up until I shut them down. Its best estimate based on the available data is that she has been taken by the survivors in that pod.”
“Who?”
“The Swarm.”
Turcotte felt his skin tighten as he recalled the gray orb inside the tank that he and Yakov had seen at Section IV. That had been even more repellent than the contact with the guardian at Dulce. “Where are they?”
“I don’t know. Let me see what else it has.”
Yakov leaned against the Master Guardian, searching for more information. Turcotte radioed Quinn, telling him to get every bit of information he could on Tunguska and what had happened there in 1908. And what had managed to destroy the Swarm craft.
Yakov kept his hands on the Master but turned his head and called out to Turcotte. “The array they’re building on Mars is indeed for communications. It’s a little confusing, but the impression I’ve picked up is that with this array they can reach the Airlia Empire relatively quickly.”
“That’s all we need,” Turcotte muttered. Yakov frowned. “Something’s happening.” “You could be a little more specific.”
“Another bouncer just entered the cavern,” Yakov said. “A hatch is opening near the front in another hangar.”
“Can you override?”
Yakov shook his head. “The Kortad damaged the mothership’s control room before they left, cutting off the Master Guardian from complete mothership control so they could take the Talon. The only way to control the ship is from the control room.”
“Who’s in the bouncer?” Turcotte asked as he checked his MP-5 submachine gun, making sure a round was in the chamber and he had a full magazine.
“The only person I know who has one is Aspasia’s Shadow,” Yakov said. “Unless some have been removed from Area 51.”
Turcotte realized that his asking a question with such an obvious answer indicated that he wasn’t functioning at a very high level. “Can you get us to the hangar that just opened?”
Yakov removed his hands from the Master. “Yes.” He ran for the exit to the room and turned right in the central corridor, Turcotte on his heels.
“Remember, my friend, if it is Aspasia’s Shadow, he has partaken of the Grail,” Yakov said over his shoulder, as they raced down the passageway.
“We’ll see how immortal he is after I blow his head off,” Turcotte muttered, one hand tight on the MP-5, the other holding Excalibur. He felt a line of sweat soaking the middle of his back. His vision went blank for a second and he staggered, but his sight returned as suddenly as it had gone and he continued behind the Russian.
After six hundred meters, Yakov skidded to a halt in front of a door. He hit a panel on the side and a door slid open.
“Here.” Turcotte tossed Excalibur to the Russian, who caught it by the handle and looked at it with less than enthusiasm. “I’ll take point,” Turcotte said.
“How nice of you. And I am supposed to back you up with this?” Yakov held the sword in front of him.
“Better than nothing,” Turcotte said, remembering Mount Sinai, which was the last time he’d entered a place with Yakov holding a gun. That had ended with Yakov “killing” Lisa Duncan while trying to stop Aspasia’s Shadow from stealing the Grail. Neither man had known at the time that she had partaken of the Grail and was immortal. Of course, Turcotte realized, they hadn’t really known at the time that Duncan wasn’t who she had appeared to be either.
Turcotte edged inside the doorway, taking in his surroundings. The cargo bay was about a hundred meters wide by fifty deep. And empty except for a bouncer that was settling down on the floor about twenty meters directly in front of him. Turcotte put the stock of the MP-5 tight into his shoulder and aimed at the top hatch. He could sense Yakov’s hulking presence right behind him.
The hatch was flung open and a figure climbed out. Turcotte recognized Aspasia’s Shadow from Mount Sinai, except he had an intact hand where Turcotte had shot one off. And in that hand was a cloth-covered object.
“Hold it right there,” Turcotte yelled.
Aspasia’s Shadow laughed without humor, as if he had just been spoken to by a cockroach he planned to crush under his boot. “You humans certainly are persistent. Very irritating lo say the least.” He slid down the side of the bouncer to the hangar floor and he lifted his arms wide, the object in one hand, stretching his body. “I have fought among you stinking people for millennia. It grows tiring after so long.”
“And you’ve finally lost,” Turcotte said.
“No. Not lost. Just a setback. And Artad is running, isn’t he? So the old civil war is finally over. Congratulations.” He glanced at Yakov, noting the sword in his hand, and recoiled a half step back before stopping himself. “I will trade you.” He held up the shroud-covered object. “The Grail for Excalibur.” He grimaced as if remembering something unpleasant. “I made an offer like that once before. Many years ago. To Artad’s Shadow masquerading as Arthur.”
“And he obviously didn’t accept the offer,” Turcotte said.
“Ah, that is true,” Aspasia’s Shadow said. “And Artad’s Shadow — Arthur — like me, was smarter and more aware than the original. We were so close to—” He paused, as if suddenly aware to whom he was talking. “Ah, but it ended in blood and death as always. Merlin. The supposed Watcher. He was very troublesome. Another human interfering in things beyond his scope and awareness. As you are now.
“But back then I didn’t have these,” he added as he used his free hand to pull out two stones. “The thummin and urim. You need them for the Grail to work.” He took a step closer. “Think about it, gentlemen. I am offering you immortality.”
“If we give you the sword,” Turcotte said, “you will control the Master Guardian and the other guardians. So you’re offering us immortality in order to live in a world you dominate? You want us to give up so easily everything we’ve just won?”
“I am tired of you humans,” Aspasia’s Shadow said. “And this planet.” He abruptly changed the subject. “As I entered the cavern I saw that one of the Talons is missing. I would assume that Artad’s Kortad took one and are rendezvousing with him. Do you know where he will go with it?”
“Mars. Mons Olympus,” Turcotte said.
Aspasia’s Shadow was surprised. “Very good. Do you know why he is going there?” “The Airlia
at Cydonia whom you’ve abandoned are building a transmitter.” “Impressive,” Aspasia’s Shadow acknowledged. “For a human, that is.”
Turcotte’s finger caressed the trigger. He was tired of being treated like an ignorant child. “Artad is going there so he can make contact with the Airlia home world and get rescued.”
“Which will bring this planet back under the thrall of the Airlia,” Aspasia’s Shadow said. “And put it back on the front lines in the war against the Swarm.”
“What happened to the original transmitter at Cydonia?” Turcotte asked.
“Destroyed. And it wasn’t very powerful, just enough power to reach the nearest fleet base, which I assume no longer exists. I would further assume if the Airlia are going to the trouble of putting it on the volcano, they are building one powerful enough to reach back to the Airlia home system.”
“If the Airlia still exist,” Turcotte said.
Aspasia’s Shadow laughed. “They’ve been around much longer than humans will be. I’m sure at least their home system still exists.”
“So you were the traitor, not him,” Turcotte said. Aspasia’s Shadow had just confirmed Kincaid’s suspicions. There had been a small part of him that hoped Kincaid was wrong.
Aspasia’s Shadow shook his head. “Aspasia was the traitor. I am just a Shadow. Why should I be blamed for what he did? I have only the memories of it. I care nothing for the Airlia or their war or their civil war any longer. Or humans. Of course, neither does Artad or any of the Airlia. The Kortad are Airlia police, sent here to find out why he stopped communicating with the home world.”
“And why did he?” “It is not important.”
“What do you care about?” Turcotte demanded.
“Me.” Aspasia’s Shadow put the stones back in his pocket. “I am now immortal. Do you know how many times I died and was reincarnated over the millennia? Now is my time for”—he smiled once more—“my heaven, so to speak; my afterlife of reward for all my suffering.” His eyes lost their focus slightly. “I have Aspasia’s memories of the stars and the numerous worlds that circle them. There are wonders out there beyond your imaginings that I wish to see, places in the universe where I want to go. Much nicer places than this rock you call your home.”
Turcotte wondered why Aspasia’s Shadow had tried negotiating if he was confident in his immortality. Of course, from his experience with what had happened to Duncan, Turcotte also knew if he shot the creature it would kill him only for a little while. Immortality did not make Aspasia’s Shadow immune to damage or give him super strength as far as Turcotte knew.
“You can keep your sword,” Aspasia’s Shadow finally said, as if he knew exactly what Turcotte was thinking. “And the Master Guardian. For as much good as they will do you.”
“What do you want?” Turcotte asked. He wondered why Aspasia’s Shadow had been so concerned about the sword initially but now didn’t appear to care. Was the sword more important than just as the key to the Master Guardian? Was he trying to distract attention from it?
Aspasia’s Shadow pointed down. “The mothership. With it I can leave this planet, this entire area of the universe.”
“No.”
Aspasia’s Shadow put the Grail on the floor. “You can have that. And these.” He put the stones on the cloth covering it.
“No,” Turcotte repeated.
“And you can keep the key and the Master Guardian. We can off-load them anywhere you would like.” “No.”
“Give me the mothership. I am telling you I will leave. You’ll never be bothered by me again.” “And you’ll activate the interstellar drive and attract the Swarm here,” Turcotte said. He felt as if he had come full circle. He’d stopped the flight of the other mothership from Area 51 to prevent this very thing. He remembered Professor Nabinger decoding the rune writing on the Roro-roro tablets from Easter Island. It seemed so long ago. And Nabinger had died also, killed in China. Everything involving the Airlia stunk of death and deceit.
“Ah, the Swarm,” Aspasia’s Shadow said. “The Ancient Enemy. But you know, of course, since you seem to know everything, that it is already here.”
“I know,” Turcotte said. “I saw one of the bodies recovered from Tunguska inside the Section IV archives. And I killed a tentacle that was inside one of my people on Mount Everest.”
For the second time Aspasia’s Shadow appeared surprised. “Interesting. So it stirs again.” “Again?” Turcotte asked.
“It tried to destroy Excalibur before,” Aspasia’s Shadow said. “Why?”
“To strip the Airlia of their power here, just as you did by getting the sword and taking over the Master Guardian. It can be rather single-minded when it comes to pursuing its goals.”
“It almost succeeded,” Turcotte said. “It appears something survived the Tunguska explosion in 1908. A long time ago. And you, and Artad, the great defenders of mankind, did nothing.”
There was no longer any trace of a smile on Aspasia’s Shadow’s face. He regarded Turcotte with his dark eyes. “Yes. Something survived. An escape pod. With no means to communicate back to its fleet. Thus not a threat and no potential to be a threat. So we did nothing. In fact, doing something held more potential for disaster than doing nothing. The Swarm is a very patient species and I saw no reason to push it to action as recent events most likely have. This happened before — a Swarm escape pod making it to the surface. Long, long ago. In ancient Egypt, when the Airlia did do something and destroyed the scout ship. And nothing happened there and then either.”
“I think it has become a threat,” Turcotte said. He didn’t even realize he had lowered the MP-5. After all the battles, the desperate searching for information, he was beginning to find it strangely refreshing to be able to talk to someone who knew the truth. Even if it was a person who was responsible for millions of deaths and would easily lie if it suited his needs. Turcotte swung the gun back up as anger surged through him. “I think it took my friend. Dr. Duncan. And it has the Ark of the Covenant.”
A frown crossed Aspasia’s Shadow’s face, the first sign of concern, but it was gone as quickly as it had come. He saw that the look had been noted. “An old memory. Not mine. It is strange being me. I was born with a complete set of memories from someone who wasn’t me but was the formation of me. Who wasn’t even the same species.” He stared at Turcotte. “But perhaps you understand more of that than most?”
Turcotte didn’t reply, waiting.
“But I am not Aspasia,” Aspasia’s Shadow finally said. “Nor am I a man. I am human in body, but have lived hundreds of lifetimes. And now I am immortal.”
“As is Lisa Duncan,” Turcotte replied. “Why did the Swarm take her?”
“To try to learn the secret of her immortality and—” Aspasia’s Shadow paused. “And?”
“Where she came from and why she came here.”
Turcotte felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. “‘Where’?” “What planet she came from.”
Turcotte heard Yakov’s sharp intake of breath.
“You really are so ignorant,” Aspasia’s Shadow said.
“I will give you the mothership for the truth,” Turcotte said.
“Truth?” Aspasia’s Shadow cocked his head slightly as if bemused. “What is truth? Human truth? Airlia truth? My truth? The truth of things among the cosmos? Even the Swarm has its truth. And do you know, that none of them quite line up? None of them agree. Truth is all about perception, which differs from person to person, and from species to species. You would not like the Swarm’s version of truth and they would care nothing for yours or any other species’ for that matter.”
Aspasia’s Shadow took a step closer. “We have battled before, you and I. Many times. Do you know that truth?”
“You lie,” Turcotte said, but even as the words left his mouth, he knew that they were wrong in some way. Aspasia’s Shadow’s words resonated in his head and he knew he had met the “man” before as he said. How could that be? There was t
oo much he didn’t know. If Duncan’s past was a lie, was his own? Why did he have this strong connection to her if he had never met her before her ordering him to Area 51? Were his memories of Maine, of his mother and his military career all a lie, just as Duncan’s memories of her family and past were? He now understood her shock when he had confronted her at Area 51 with her false history. There was a pounding in his head, as if a spike were being driven into the rear part of his brain.
“The mothership for the truth,” Turcotte repeated. He felt a surge of irritation. Too many games. And he had a feeling now that he was more of a pawn than he’d ever imagined. Aspasia’s Shadow could be lying to him just to unsettle things. It wouldn’t be the first time the creature had tried such tactics.
“Now it is you who are lying,” Aspasia’s Shadow said, obviously thinking along the same lines. “You would not make such a trade. My comments got your mind working and you thought to manipulate me with a lie, but you are so unused to doing so, it is almost laughable.” Aspasia’s Shadow took a step closer. “You don’t even know your own truth, soldier,” he said.
“What are you talking about?” Turcotte demanded.
“You’ve learned Duncan isn’t who she appears to be, correct?” “Yes.” “Neither are you.”
“You’ve said that already. Then tell me who I am.”
Aspasia’s Shadow shook his head. “That is not my place. You’ve done well, you and your Russian friend. You’ve saved your world. For the moment. In fact, you would be lucky if Artad does get to Mars and sends his message and brings the Airlia back here in force. They would rule once more, but they would also protect you from the Swarm and other enemies among the stars. The lesser of two evils.”
Turcotte was holding at bay the swirl of questions and thoughts he had regarding what Aspasia’s Shadow had just said, trying to focus on the larger issue. “You said the Swarm wasn’t a threat because they couldn’t communicate.”
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