The Truth a5-7

by Robert Doherty

  In rapid succession a series of scenes played out on the screen. Turcotte saw Duncan and her companion aboard a mothership, leaving their homeworld and son. Departing the mothership outside the solar system. Landing on Earth. Burying the ship at what would become Stonehenge. Raising the first “stones” there.

  Then he caught quick glimpses of the two of them throughout Earth history.

  On a wonderful island with a huge palace in the center that he assumed had to be Atlantis. They were dressed in local garb and ambushing an Airlia in the streets and killing him.

  On a ship, pulling away from the island kingdom as it was destroyed by a mothership.

  Returning to the buried spaceship, regenerating new bodies, transferring their essences via the ka, and emerging.

  In Egypt, sneaking around in the dark, again killing an Airlia in ambush. A confrontation along the Roads of Rostau with what appeared to be Ones Who Wait, Airlia-Human half-breeds.

  Regenerating.

  Greece. In the newly completed Parthenon, watching and listening to orators. In a field, killing someone — a One Who Waits — who tried to ambush them. Regenerating.

  Rome. In the stands of the Coliseum watching gladiators hack at each other with swords.

  The scenes began to flicker by so quickly he could barely comprehend a tenth of what he was seeing. Every forty years or so the two would return to Stonehenge and transfer to a new body. The same form of “immortality” that Aspasia’s Shadow had had. So she had lied to him from the very beginning, which did not surprise Turcotte at this point.

  He saw the two of them at Camelot. Aspasia’s Shadow as Mordred. Artad’s Shadow as Arthur. Duncan in the court, dressed in a white robe. The man in armor, next to the king.

  Turcotte had an idea what was behind what he was seeing. Duncan and her partner had operated covertly, trying to manipulate the Airlia and their minions.

  Then he saw a brutal battle, the dead and dying littering a field. Swords and spears covered in blood. Duncan’s partner taking a sword blow to the chest from someone wielding Excalibur. His ka damaged. Duncan dragging him on a travois back to Stonehenge, unable to pass his essence on to the regenerated body. Turcotte glanced over his shoulder at the tube holding the dead man.

  Looking back, he saw Duncan in the mothership cavern at Area 51, but it was unopened, dark. She was sealing it with explosives. So she had tried to hide the truth, Turcotte realized. Why? And the answer came to him as quickly as he posed the question — because man wasn’t ready to challenge the Airlia yet.

  Duncan in the ship. Standing over a man strapped to a table. Turcotte started as he recognized himself as the man on the table. She was doing something to his head. Turcotte’s hand reached up and touched where the MRI had detected the implant.

  Turcotte stopped the screen and turned toward the tube holding Duncan. Quinn was right — she had never been who she said she was. He felt betrayed — as close as the two of them had gotten, she had still lied. Of course, would he have been willing to accept the truth at any point? Hell, he still didn’t know the entire story. Who were the Airlia? More importantly, who were we? Turcotte wondered.

  He went over to Duncan’s tube. He looked at the buttons, then hit one that seemed likely. There was a puff of air escaping the tube, and the lid slowly lifted. He checked his watch. They were twenty minutes out from Mars. Artad might have already sent his message.

  Duncan opened her eyes. She blinked for a few moments, reorienting herself. The severed arm was already half-grown back, the edge a mixture of raw red and pulsing black as the Airlia virus reconstituted the cells.

  “Mike—” Duncan sat up, reaching her good hand out.

  Turcotte took a step back, shaking his head. “We’re past that. You lied and manipulated me.” She sighed and sat still for a few moments, before replying. “I had to.”

  “Why?”

  She glanced over at the other tube. “I am sorry. I was alone for so long. And I needed help. After the mothership was uncovered and Majestic formed, I knew I couldn’t keep it under cover anymore. And that I couldn’t do it by myself.

  “The Airlia. The truth. I knew a battle, this battle that we’ve fought, was coming.” “And what is the truth?” Turcotte asked.

  She shook her head. “I’ve blocked it from myself.” “What?”

  She climbed out of the tube without his aid, using her one hand to support herself. “These tubes — we took them from the Airlia when we defeated them on my planet. They can grow a new body. Transfer memories and personalities — the essence of a person, via the ka. They also can be used for deep sleep. But you can program them too. After he”—she once more looked at the other tube—“his name was Gwalcmai, my husband, I buried him near Stonehenge — that’s the body that couldn’t be reborn, I knew it was all on my shoulders. I also knew where my home world was. And the Ones Who Wait, the Guides, they were after me. Aspasia’s Shadow tried to track me down several times. So I blocked my own memory using the tube. Sealed off parts. My past. My home world. My memories of him. Of my son.”

  Turcotte suddenly realized the pain she’d been in to do such a thing. He understood the need to seal off the information she couldn’t give up, but she’d also cut off memories that would cause her emotional pain.

  “I want to know—” Turcotte began, but he was interrupted by Yakov appearing in the hatchway. “We’re less than ten minutes out. You need to suit up.” The Russian was staring hard at Duncan.

  “What are you going to do?” Duncan asked. “We need you to help us,” Turcotte said.

  “Of course.”

  Turcotte took a step closer to her. “Not ‘of course.’ This is our plan. To free our planet from the influence of the Airlia once and for all. I killed the Swarm orb and freed you. If we can destroy this array and kill Artad, we’ve succeeded. Many people have died so far in this war. We need to end it now. I don’t know what your hidden agenda has been and I don’t care. Will you do what I tell you to?”

  Duncan nodded. “My — our goal — was the same.” “All right. Here’s the plan.”

  CHAPTER 20: THE PRESENT

  Tripler Army Medical Center, Oahu, Hawaii

  Kelly Reynolds opened her eyes and immediately shut them, finding the bright glint of sunlight coming through her room’s windows unbearable. She heard someone shutting the blinds and tried to open her eyes once more.

  “Take it slowly,” a woman’s voice said in a whisper.

  Kelly opened her mouth to say something, but only a hoarse croak would come out.

  Someone used a spoon to put some crushed ice in her mouth and Kelly allowed the chips to melt. The water felt wonderful sliding down her throat. She could see now. A nurse hovered over her, another spoonful of ice ready. Kelly gave a slight nod and the nurse put it in her mouth. She savored the coolness. Then she tried to speak again.

  “Mike?” “Who?”

  “Mike Turcotte. I need to talk to him.”

  “You mean the fellow on the news? The one on board that spaceship going to Mars?”

  Kelly weakly nodded. “I’ve got to talk to him. I know the truth. And he needs to know it too.” “‘The truth’?” Cummings asked.

  “Who we are.”

  Mars

  The cruise missiles were lined up along the edge of the cargo bay, pointing forward. Kincaid had done the calculations and was now standing next to Yakov in the control room, giving him slight adjustments to their course as they closed on Mars.

  Turcotte and half the Space Command team were crowded inside Duncan’s ship, which was still inside the bay. They had their TASC suits on, weapons ready. The armorer had done a quick patch job on Turcotte’s suit. Good enough for a seal. They’d off-loaded the two tubes in order to make room. Duncan was at the controls, programming in their course.

  “Ready to put the brakes on,” Yakov announced over their tactical net. Duncan stood up.

  “What are you doing?” Turcotte asked.

  “You don’t ne
ed me here,” Duncan said. “I’ve programmed the ship — it’s called the Fynbar, by the way, after one of the leaders on my planet in the revolt against the Airlia — to do what you want. I’m more useful on the mothership.”

  “That’s not the plan,” Turcotte argued, as she headed for the hatch.

  “Trust me on this,” Duncan said. She paused looking up at him. “This is the end. I am sorry about what I did to you, but it was necessary. I hope you’ll understand that one day.” She reached up and touched the front of the black helmet, as if she could reach through and touch his face. “Good luck.”

  Then she was out of the ship, the hatch shutting behind her and sealing.

  “We’ve got the Talon on screen,” Yakov announced, startling Turcotte. “It’s closing on us fast.” “Do it,” Turcotte ordered.

  Outside the ship, Duncan went into the main corridor, shutting the door behind her. As soon as it was shut, the outer cargo bay door opened. The ship lifted and exited.

  In the control room, Yakov saw the ship depart, then hit the controls. The mothership slowed abruptly and halted. Maintaining the momentum, and no longer attached to their cradles, the cruise missiles kept going, exiting the bay and spreading out in the pattern that Kincaid had programmed.

  * * *

  Inside the Talon, Artad watched his tactical display. The mothership had halted and ten objects were still coming forward from it. A craft also had exited the mothership and was descending toward the planet.

  He issued orders to his crew quickly.

  * * *

  Once the cargo door sealed behind her ship and pressure was restored, Duncan reentered the bay. She ran over to the empty tube and hit the keys on the side as she slid her ka into its slot. The top swung up and she climbed in, lying down. She put a thin metal band around her head. Her right arm had regenerated to the wrist so far. The top closed and the metal band sent microfilaments into her brain.

  The machine powered up and removed the memory blocks she had installed.

  It took all of twenty seconds. The machine shut down, the lid opened, and Duncan exited. She stood still in the cargo bay for several moments, absorbing the impact of the complete truth. It did not surprise her, given what she had allowed herself to know. It all made sense.

  This was the end for her, the end of a millennia-old mission. A mission her partner had given his life for over a thousand years earlier. She went to his tube, leaned over, and kissed the clear covering. She was glad she had buried the real body on Earth.

  Then she left the cargo bay and headed for the control room.

  * * *

  “Everyone sealed?” Turcotte asked.

  He received positive responses from the other commandos as he stared at the display monitor. They were descending quickly toward Mons Olympus, the Fynbar’s engines supplemented by the gravitational pull of the planet.

  “Open the hatch,” Turcotte ordered.

  * * *

  The Airlia in the control center for the array had the incoming spacecraft locked in. The leader of the survivors hit the hexagonal buttons in front of him, building up power in the array.

  * * *

  Turcotte saw the glow intensify in the center of the array. “Go!” he screamed. They were moving too fast but there was no time to wait.

  * * *

  Instead of a message, the first thing projected outward by the array was a broad pulse of power toward the Fynbar.

  * * *

  Turcotte had done several hundred parachute drops during his time in Special Operations. From almost every type of aircraft the military owned from Blackhawk helicopters through massive C-5 cargo planes. But shooting out of the open hatch of the Fynbar as it descended toward Mars was a new experience. He was the last one out of the hatch and as he cleared it, he kicked in the jets attached at the base of each leg, keeping himself oriented head down toward the planet at a slight angle from straight descent.

  It almost wasn’t enough as the pulse of power shot up from the array. It caught one of the commandos as it passed.

  The blast ripped open his suit and pulverized the body inside. He didn’t even have a chance to scream.

  It hit the spacecraft, knocking it off its trajectory and sending it tumbling toward the planet below.

  * * *

  On his display, Artad saw the spacecraft knocked aside. Then he turned his attention to the incoming warheads, which were getting very close. A puny attempt by the humans to attack, but one that had to be dealt with immediately nevertheless. They were on a fixed trajectory with apparently no maneuvering capability.

  A golden beam shot out from the tip of the Talon, hitting one missile after another.

  * * *

  The damaged, unmanned Fynbar tumbled toward Mars. It hit the edge of Mons Olympus about two kilometers from the array, producing a large puff of red dirt. It bounced, flipped, and skidded along the edge, then down the side, gouging out a three-meter-deep trench in the soft soil until coming to a halt a kilometer from the summit.

  * * *

  Turcotte cursed as he tried to reorient himself. He was coming in very fast. Too fast in his estimation. He got legs down and burned the solid fuel rockets attached to the ends, trying to slow. A small number displayed on the screen in front of him indicated altitude and it was clicking down at an alarming rate. He was slowing, but would it be enough before impact?

  * * *

  “There’s an escape pod through there.” Duncan was pointing to the left, where a door slid open at her command.

  Yakov, Leahy, Quinn, and Kincaid looked at her dumbly for a few seconds. The screen was filled with the sight of warheads exploding just short of the Talon.

  “What do—” Yakov began, but Duncan shoved him in the shoulder.

  “Go now! It is better to get down to the surface and have half a chance, than stay here, where you will have no chance at all.”

  Yakov stared at her, the shove moving him not in the slightest. He looked into her eyes for several seconds. Then he nodded. “Let’s go.”

  As they rushed through the hatch, Duncan sat down in the command seat.

  * * *

  The first commando who’d exited the spaceship hit the array, smashed through a panel, and hit the surface of Mars at such velocity that the suit, with man inside, went four feet into the ground. Blood and oxygen poured out of the resulting tears.

  The second and third fared little better, their screams just before impact echoing to those still descending. Turcotte realized there was no way he would be able to decelerate quickly enough and he would share their fate.

  The fourth man slammed in and died.

  Turcotte used a small side jet to change his trajectory slightly.

  The fifth jumper, Captain Manning, hit the array, passed through, and died.

  Turcotte hit the top of one of the pylons at an angle, the impact jarring him hard inside the suit. He slid along the curving outer edge at high speed. With his free hand he jabbed the tip of Excalibur at the metal. It cut in and was almost wrenched from his grip. Only the power multipliers built into the arm allowed him to hold on to the handle.

  The sixth jumper died.

  Turcotte’s jets were still firing as he continued downward, with Excalibur tearing a gouge along the side of the pylon.

  Tripler Army Medical Center, Oahu, Hawaii

  The communications specialist from Fort Shafter seemed uncertain about why exactly he was here. Kelly Reynolds didn’t find that surprising. She’d had Nurse Cummings hold up a mirror so she could see herself, and she knew she looked like hell. Breathing took a major effort.

  “Move the microphone closer,” Reynolds whispered, unable to make her withered vocal cords produce anything louder.

  The specialist slid the mike nearer to her.

  “Are you sure they’ll get this?” Reynolds asked.

  “It’s on the guard frequency they were monitoring, relayed through their site outside Fort Bragg,” the man replied. “There is, however, t
he issue of time lag.”

  “What?”

  “It takes over two and a half minutes for a radio wave to go from Earth to Mars. The same for return. So it will take five minutes before we find out if anyone hears you.”

  Reynolds weakly nodded. “Turn it on.” The specialist flipped a switch.

  “Mike. Mike Turcotte. This is Kelly Reynolds. Acknowledge if you can hear me. I know the truth now. I know it all. I know who we are. Who humans are.”

  She let her head fall back on the pillow and waited.

  Space

  Duncan hit one of the hexagonal buttons, and the escape pod was shot out of the side of the mothership, arcing toward the planet below.

  She looked forward. The Talon was coming in fast. She knew the shields and weapons had been deactivated on the mothership, which left her essentially defenseless against the incoming ship. She also knew Artad was coming to recapture the mothership, not destroy it. Which was just fine with her.

  * * *

  Turcotte had the wind knocked out of him as he hit at the base of the pylon, and for that he was grateful, given the fate of the other seven men. Excalibur had left a three-inch-deep gouge down the entire length of the pylon, but it had slowed him enough for him to survive.

  He hefted the arm holding the MK-98. He put Excalibur back into its sheath, then reached to the large pack on his back and made sure the tactical nuclear warhead they’d cannibalized from the Tomahawks was still in place. When he’d been in Special Forces Turcotte had served briefly on a SADM — Strategic Atomic Demolitions Munitions — team. He’d supervised the removal of seven of the ten warheads and their preparation.

  Unfortunately, once removed from the missile casing, there had been no way to rig them for detonation on impact, only manual activation. Catching his breath, Turcotte looked about. The base of the pylon was about fifty meters from the top edge of the bowl that held the array. He saw no sign of the Airlia.