by Bob Mayer
Then he went to the heavy door that led to the reactor core. Slowly he unbolted it and swung it open. He was drenched in sweat, and the inside of the mask was beginning to fog up. Even the oxygen coming from the tank tasted strange.
He stepped into the core and saw the black triangle. Each side was fifteen feet long, and the entire thing was about ten feet high. Its composition was hard to make out, not appearing solid, but the sides were perfectly straight. It was almost as if the triangle was made of a thick, black liquid. Pytor approached and stopped just a few feet short of the side. He knew Felix was watching on the video monitor, so he turned and waved. He reached out with his hand. As the glove touched the black, it felt as if it were going into molasses. He pulled his hand back out and looked at it. No apparent change. With no hesitation, he stepped into the black and was swallowed up.
*****
“The second probe is transmitting,” Ahana announced.
“Linkage?” Nagoya asked as he looked over her shoulder.
“The transmission is propagating,” Ahana said as a red line on the screen began extending slowly toward the dot that represented the probe that had been taken into the Devil’s Sea gate. “Contact,” she said as the line met the dot.
The probes were preprogrammed to run through a variety of tests in contact with each other, and Nagoya stepped back to allow his people to accumulate the data.
*****
Major Pytor Shashenka was kneeling over the probe. He smiled as he saw the readout scroll through various programs, indicating it was working. Then he looked around once more. He was in the center of the triangle, the floor beneath him perfectly smooth, the air full of that thick yellowish gray fog, just as Kilkov had told him areas inside the gates on Earth appeared. He realized this was an anteroom to the real portal. The fog was so thick he couldn’t see the edge of the black triangle across from him.
He could feel the effects of the radiation now. His stomach was churning, his head pounding in pain. He was soaked in sweat. He vomited into his mask, fouling it. Bowing to the inevitable, he removed the mask. He knew he was shortening what little time he had left, but he saw no reason not to.
As the probe continued to work, he got up and walked around. His foot hit something, and he paused. Reaching down, he picked up the object. A bronze helmet with a chinstrap, the metal highly polished, he leather on the chinstrap oiled. A spasm passed through his body, and he collapsed to the floor next to the probe, the leather in his lap.
The air was foul almost oily. Pytor ran a hand across his forehead, wiping the sweat away. He placed the helmet on top of the probe. There were Lain numbers imprinted in the bronzed in the front. He squinted. XXV.
Most strange, he thought before he passed out.
In front of him, a circle of black appeared, eclipsing down to the floor until it was six feet high and three feet wide.
*****
“We’ve got the Chernobyl probe!” Ahana announced. “Through the Devil’s Sea gate,” she added. “So there is a definite connection between the two on the other side.”
“Excellent,” Nagoya said. “Phase two is successful. Now it is time for phase three.”
“Which is?” Ahana wanted to know.
“Going into the gate itself and opening a portal.”
‘How do you propose to do that?” Ahana asked.
Instead of answering, Nagoya asked a question in turn. “What do you think of the physics of the gates now that you have this data?”
“I think the muon emissions are important,” Ahana said, “to understanding the gates.” She had the data gathered from the probes spread out on a large table and was checking it as she spoke.
Nagoya nodded. “Muons are part of the second family of fundamental particles. Most of what we are used to in our world is in the first family, consisting of electrons, up-quarks, and down-quarks. The second family consists of muons, charm quarks, and strange quarks. And all these things are not single points, according to string theory, but rather a tiny one-dimensional loop hat that is vibrating. That gives it several characteristics that allow us to merge relativity and quantum mechanics.”
Ahana considered that. “I understand what you are saying, but we cannot even see particles at that level. We only know they exist because of their effect, as evidence by the tank we are on top of.”
Nagoya nodded. “I know, but you don’t need to see something to manipulate it. Reverse what you just said. We know these basic particles exist because we can study their effect. Then why can’t we use an effect to manipulate the particles?”
He continued, “I think this is what the Shadow is doing and why the muons we detect are not decaying as quickly as we believe they should. Because the Shadow is using the muons and the quarks.” He held up a finger. “Power. That is the key. We know the Shadow likes to draw power from this side, whether it be in the form of radioactivity as it did at Chernobyl, or from the planet itself along the tectonic plates, one of the greatest, if slowest, powers on the planet. I think it uses the fault lines not just before attacking us but to draw power. That is what this is all about. And how many base forms of power are there?” he asked Ahana.
“There are four base forces in nature: gravity, electromagnetic, strong, and weak.”
“Correct.”
Ahana gave a slight smile. She viewed Nagoya as a father, and when he got in this mode, she felt a strong affection for him. It was how they had worked out many problems in the past, going to the elementary level and examining things from scratch.
“And the force particles for each?” Nagoya asked.
‘For electromagnetic it is the photon. Gravity…well, it’s postulated that there is a particle called the graviton but again, only because of effect, not that we’ve ever seen one. For strong, the particle is the gluon. And for weak, you have weak gauge bosons.”
“I think the Shadow can manipulate the strong and weak forces,” Nagoya said. “We can do so, but only crudely. A nuclear weapon explodes when we split atoms, and the strong forces are released. When uranium decays in a reactor, we are using weak forces. But what if you could manipulate strong and weak forces like we use electricity?”
“The power would be tremendous.” Ahana was beginning to get excited. “Also, consider gravity. Very powerful, but we cannot manipulate it at all.”
“Correct,” Nagoya said. He held his hand up and let it drop to his side. “We fight it constantly. Think of the energy required to put a rocket into space. Something that weighs relatively little requires a tremendous expense of energy. Turn it around. Imagine the energy that is going the other way, all the time. But I do not think the Shadow can manipulate gravity. If so, there would be an inexhaustible supply anywhere in the universe. No.” he shook his head. “It is the strong and weak forces at the smallest level that the Shadow controls.
“Imagine then,” Nagoya continued, “if one could manipulate those forces at the smallest levels, then apply the right focus to bring it to the visible universe! I think that is what the gates are. Now, the issue is, how do we use that?’
Ahana’s mind was racing. “The Shadow comes to our side and extends its environment to a certain extent into our world to tap power here. Would it not make sense that we could do the same to it? Go into their world and tap their power?”
“With what?” Nagoya asked.
Ahana pointed down at the superkamiokande. “We’ve only used this to receive, never to transmit. The first probe proved that we can make contact with the other side through the portals. The Russian probe proved that the gates are connected on the other side. What if we develop a portable superkamiokande and take it to a gate and transmit using the data we’ve just picked up?”
Nagoya considered that. “That might work, but I doubt if we could focus enough power to open the gate.”
“We do what the Shadow does,” Ahana said.
“What do you mean?”
“We take power from the Shadow’s side like it’s taking power f
rom our side and bring it to bear at the portal.”
“How?”
“We run an extension cord and plug in,” Ahana said.
*****
Pytor’s eyes hurt to open. It was as if his eyelids were crusted shut. With great effort, he opened them and blinked, trying to clear his vision. His entire body throbbed with pain.
The first thing he saw was a smooth, white face with no mouth or nose, just two red eyes staring at him. He looked down. The body of the creature in front of him was also encased in white, something that looked like plastic, but he could tell it wasn’t. A cloak covered its shoulders. He was startled to note the thing was floating a few inches off the ground.
His arms were locked to his sides, and straps ran over his chest and legs, holding him in place on a vertical table. He struggled to move, but there was no give to the straps. The air was strange, even thicker than where he had just been. Beyond the creature was a cavern hewn out of black stone.
Looking to his right. Pytor saw a row of tables similar to the one he was strapped to. He cried out as he saw the condition of the poor souls on them. Many had been flayed, their skin gone, replaced by some sort of clear wrapping that glistened obscenely, revealing the muscles and internal organs beneath. Various leads went into the bodies, particularly the heads. Most of those he could see had had the top of the skulls neatly sliced off, and needles went into the exposed brains. The tops of the needles were small, glowing bulbs of various colors, the entire spectrum of the rainbow.
Piles of clothes lay near some of the bodies, and he could tell that some were the uniforms of American sailors. It was impossible, given the condition of the bodies, to tell nationalities. And they were alive. That was the worst part, as he watched the slow rise and fall of the chests of those nearest him.
He shifted his gaze back to the creature in front of him as it finally moved. Its left arm ending in a shining blade. The tip came forward to Pytor’s sternum. He looked own and could see ugly red splotches on his skin, blisters breaking though as the radiation ran its course.
Another creature appeared, floating smoothly, a group of needles in one claw, a small red tube with a glowing tip in the other. The tube was raised, and despite his high level of pain, Pytor screamed as a beam cut into the top of his head, neatly cutting through flesh and bone, stopping a millimeter from his brain. With dazed eyes, he saw the top of this skull tossed to the ground in front of him. He distantly felt pokes as the second creature inserted needles into his brain.
He cursed at the creature in Russian as the first one slid the blade into his chest, smoothly parting the skin. The radiation was taking too long, he realized. And the cancer… The creature stopped the blade as if reading his mind. It turned and faced the other. They stayed like that for several moments as if exchanging information, then the second disappeared behind him. It reappeared a moment later with a pair of inverted forceps.
Pytor screamed as the tips went in between his ribs and split them open, shattering bone, exposing one of his diseased lungs. They seemed to find the cancer most interesting as both hovered there, probing and poking. Blood was flowing out of his chest, he could feel it seeping down over his legs, but one of the tubes that they had put in him was replacing it as quickly as it left.
Then they both disappeared. One—which one he had no idea—reappeared, with a tube. It jabbed it into his chest, right into his heart. Pytor finally passed out.
How long he was unconscious he didn’t know, but when he awoke, one of the creatures was still in front of him. Pytor forced himself to look down. The creature with the blade was cutting, slicing his lung out of this chest. The other lung was already gone. Through his pain, Pytor was amazed. How was he alive? Or was this hell, he suddenly thought, and these were demons tormenting him?
And why was he able to tolerate the pain? It was bad but not what he would have imagined for the damage that had been done to his body. The tube that went into his chest pulsed, and he had to assume that it was supplying his blood with oxygen, although how, he had no idea.
The second creature floated into view, something lumpy and grayish red in its claws. A lung. Pytor had to look away as he felt them working on his chest. He passed out once more.
When he woke once more, the creature was simply there in front of him, not moving, unblinking red eyes staring at him. Pytor looked down. The same transparent wrap was over his chest, covering the muscle and bones. The tube was still stuck in his chest, and he realized he wasn’t breathing: although not painful, this was the most disconcerting experience so far.
Seeing he was awake, the creature reached forward and ripped the tube from his chest with one abrupt jerk. Pytor gasped, air streaming into his mouth, down his throat and to the new lungs. He screamed, the sound echoing through the cavern.
*****
Dane stood on the beach, staring out at Chelsea playing in the Pacific Ocean. The golden retriever would dash out with the surf, then retreat as each wave approached, then repeat it each time as if it were a new experience and she was surprised at the water coming in.
“You’re not very bright,” Dane said.
Chelsea turned and gave him a disapproving look, only to get soaked as the next wave hit her in the side. Dane was also startled as a voice suddenly caught his attention to his left.
“My brother disappeared out there in 1945.” Foreman nodded toward the ocean off the coast of Japan. They were waiting for a helicopter to meet them and fly them north to meet with Nagoya. The runway was adjacent to the beach, and Dane had taken the opportunity to walk Chelsea. He had been surprised when Foreman accompanied him.
“You believe he went into the Devil’s Sea gate?” Dane asked.
“The entire flight, minus my plane, simply disappeared,” Foreman said. “I was spared because I had engine trouble and had to ditch. The weather was fine, visibility to the horizon. They were all experienced pilots on their way back to the carrier. We had the Japanese licked to the point where there was practically no opposition in the air. What else could have caused all those planes to vanish?”
Dane saw no reason to argue with Foreman’s reasoning. The old man had his own crosses to bear with regard to the gates. “You recruited Sin Fen, didn’t you?” Dane asked.
Foreman nodded. “She was living on the streets of Phnom Penh. Barely surviving. I sensed something about her, that she had some connection with the gates. Just as I sensed it about you.”
“Are you sure you recruited her,” Dane said, “and it wasn’t the other way around?”
“What do you mean?”
“What she did to stop the Bermuda Triangle gate,” Dane said, “was not normal, to say the least. She was special. It seems strange that you would be so lucky to simply find her on the streets of Phnom Penh. It seems more logical that she sought you out.”
“What difference does it make?” Foreman asked.
“The difference,” Dane said, “is that if she sought you out, then you’re not running things like you want to believe.” He let the silence after that statement last for several seconds before he spoke again. “You had no idea she was part of the pyramid system or the role she was to play. The problem, as I see it, is that Sin Fen is gone now, and we’re on our own.”
“And?” Foreman finally asked.
“And,” Dane said, “I suggest you start being honest with me. Stop making plans behind my back and informing me of them after the fact. We might have been able to get that information about the gate without losing the Reveille or the Deepflight and all those people.”
“I do what I have to do,” Foreman said.
“One of these days you’re going to be the point man,” Dane said.
“And if I am, I’ll do my duty,” Foreman said.
Dane realized that Foreman meant what he said. He was willing to give up his life if it meant defeating the Shadow.
“There’s another problem,” Dane said.
“Which is?”
“We don’t have
another Sin Fen handy,” Dane said.
“And?”
“And that means we don’t have an important piece that’s needed to shut a gate,” Dane said. “She came from a long line of priestesses. Do you have any information on that?”
“No.”
“Don’t lie to me,” Dane said.
“There’ve been many cults that promoted priestesses,” Foreman said. “And, yes, I’ve looked into them. I’ll have a copy of the file forwarded for you. But I don’t have a line on a current group.
“Sin Fen was current,” Dane noted.
“I’m not an idiot,” Foreman said. “I checked Sin Fen out as much as I could. She was an orphan on the streets of Phnom Penh. I think she was descended from the priestesses of Angkor, but the line has been scattered, and it was the power of the gate and my investigating it that drew her to me, not a deliberate plan on her part.”
“How did she know her role in the pyramid?” Dane asked.
“That I don’t know. I would assume some sort of genetic memory. Or the voices of the gods you two were babbling about.”
Dane wasn’t sure how much he agreed with Foreman. It could have been genetic memory, or it could have been the voices of the gods that he himself heard: where that came from or what exactly it was, he didn’t know, but he was learning to trust that inner voice more and more.
“How would—” Foreman began, but Dane held up a hand, hushing him.
Chelsea was absolutely still in knee-deep water, her head cocked, ears erect, looking out to sea. Dane almost mimicked her pose, intense, still, except his eyes were closed as he tried to see with his special sense.
There was a strong presence in the water not far away. Dane didn’t feel any danger, but the presence was something he had never experienced before, very foreign and alien. He picked up thoughts but could make no sense of them. Correction. There were several presences, highly intelligent, very close by, studying Foreman, Chelsea, and him on the beach from the security of the water.
