He looked to his left down the corridor that led to the Osiris chamber and to his right down the corridor that ended with the Isis chamber. He turned right.
At the end of the dark tunnel was an eerie blue light. As he approached the cryocrypt door, Conrad could see that it was closed and that the grooves carved into its metallic surface were glowing. In an instant he knew “Isis” was inside. Yeats had frozen Serena.
“Damn you, Yeats,” he growled and struck the door with the butt of the AK-47.
He examined the square pad next to the door. He placed his hand on it and heard a high-pitched hum. The lights behind the grooves suddenly grew brighter, glowing with such intensity he had to shade his eyes and step back in the corridor. Then just as quickly the brightness faded to a dull glow, flickered like the last embers of a fire burning out, and finally went black.
Oh, God, Conrad thought. What have I done?
He struck the thick door, colder than ever, with his hands. He tried in vain to move it. But he knew it was futile. He gave up and let his body slide down the door to the floor when he felt it vibrate. The door was moving! He jumped to his feet and watched as the cryocrypt cracked open, an icy mist flowing out into the corridor. He didn’t wait for it to clear before he plunged in to search for Serena.
She was in the crypt, her translucent skin almost blue when he grabbed her and carried her out over his shoulder into the corridor. He set her on the floor and began to massage her arms and legs. She was barely breathing.
Oh, God, he prayed under his breath. Don’t let her die. “Come on, baby, come on,” he repeated. “You can do it.”
Slowly the color came back to her cheeks and her breathing became deeper and more rhythmic. When she opened her eyes, Conrad was shocked by their empty, lifeless quality.
“Serena, it’s me, Conrad,” he said. “Do you know where you are?”
She moaned. He brought his ears to her lips. “If you’re Conrad Yeats, then this must be hell.”
“Thank God.” He breathed a huge sigh of relief. “You’re OK.”
She struggled to sit up and get her bearings. “Yeats?”
“Up in the capsule,” he told her. “But he’s going to come down before the launch to put himself into the Osiris cryocrypt. When he does, I’ll be waiting for him.”
“And me?”
“While he’s with me, you go up into the capsule and get the scepter. Whatever happens to me, you’ve got to stop this ship from launching and get back to P4. Understood?”
She rubbed her temples. “So you really think we can stop the displacement?”
“I don’t know, but we have to try,” he said when the circle of lights above the central platform flashed.
“He’s coming down,” Conrad said. “I’ve got to take my position. You wait until he’s well along the other corridor before you go up.”
She nodded.
Conrad ran down the corridor toward the Osiris cryocrypt. By the time he got to the central shaft, the platform was on its way down with Yeats. Conrad ran through the mist into the open Osiris crypt and waited for Yeats.
Breathing hard, back against the wall, he felt something along his shoulder and turned to see the alien harness. The last thing he needed was to accidentally lock himself in the cryocrypt for the better part of eternity. Then he heard the chamber door open.
Conrad blinked his eyes and saw Yeats’s figure in the mist. Conrad raised his AK-47 and stepped forward. “Mission aborted, Yeats.”
“Is that you, son?” he said. “I’m impressed. I knew you’d join us.”
“Give me the obelisk and Serena.”
Conrad could see Yeats’s eyes quickly take in the bandages on his wrists and note his unsteady grip on the AK-47. He couldn’t believe he was pointing a gun at his father. Even if Yeats wasn’t his biological father, and even if he hated him more often than not, Yeats was the only father Conrad had ever known.
“You’re not going to use that on me, son.”
“I’m not?”
“Kill me and you kill any chance of fulfilling your lifelong quest,” Yeats said. “Only by lifting off in this new obelisk—the starship—and taking it to its intended journey will you ever discover your true origins.”
“And what about my fellow man?”
“You’re not a man, and it’s too late to save Earth. The human race hasn’t proved itself worthy, and the Secret of First Time can only be found at the end of the Solar Bark’s celestial journey. You want to know it as much as I do. Hell, it’s probably been programmed into your genetic code.”
“Don’t bet on it.” Conrad pointed the AK-47 at him. “Remove your sidearm. Slowly. Two fingers.”
Yeats unfastened the leather strap on his belt and carefully removed the Glock 9 mm pistol from its holster.
“On the floor.”
Yeats placed the gun on the floor and lifted his hands up.
“Step back.”
Yeats managed a smile as Conrad kicked the Glock away. “You and I are more alike than you care to admit.”
“You’re dreaming, Yeats.” Conrad could tell Yeats was stalling for time, hoping to let the Solar Bark launch into its self-directed trajectory. But Conrad was waiting for Serena, hoping she’d hurry down with the Scepter of Osiris.
“I too am curious about a lot of things,” Yeats said. “Not just the origins of human civilization but the universe itself. Ever wonder just why I wanted to go to Mars in the first place?”
“To plant your flag on the planet and be the first man to piss in red dirt.”
“Comparative planetology, the scientists call it.” Yeats seemed to grow more confident as he assessed that Conrad wasn’t really going to shoot him. “They’d like to study the history of the solar system and the evolution of the planets by comparing evidence found on Earth, the Moon, and Mars. When we explore other worlds, we really explore ourselves and learn more accurately how we fit in.”
Conrad said nothing, only watched in fascination as Yeats’s worn face lit up with an almost spiritual inner light.
“For centuries we were guided by the ideas of the Egyptian astronomer Ptolemy, who taught that Earth was the center of everything,” Yeats went on. “Then Galileo set us straight and we learned the sun is the local center about which we and the other planets revolve. But psychologically we still cling to the Ptolemaic view. Why not? As long as we stay here on Earth, we’re the de facto center of everything that matters. You don’t have to go to the Moon to understand this matter of watching Earth from afar. Space isn’t about some technological achievement but about the human spirit and our contribution to universal purpose. Space is a metaphor for expansiveness, opportunity, and freedom.”
Conrad raised his weapon again at Yeats’s chest. “I must have missed the pancake breakfast with the Boy Scouts where you delivered that bullshit speech.”
Yeats held his gaze, undeterred. “You want to know where this ends as much as I do.”
A voice from behind Yeats said, “It ends right here, General.”
Yeats spun around to see Serena, who was holding the Scepter of Osiris in her hand. Conrad could see Yeats’s back stiffen in rage.
Conrad said, “Now you know the cryocrypts work, Yeats. So you won’t mind stepping into this one for the time being.” Conrad gestured toward the Osiris chamber.
“I think you should drop your weapon, son.”
Conrad did a double take. Yeats had slipped his hand behind his back and produced a small pistol. Conrad never saw it coming. Neither did Serena.
Yeats smiled. “Be prepared, the Boy Scouts say.”
Serena said, “Shoot him, Conrad.”
Conrad took a step forward, but Yeats dug the snubby barrel of the pistol into Serena’s temple. “Stay right where you are.”
Conrad took another step closer.
Yeats yanked Serena’s long black hair until she cried out in pain. “Now or never, son.”
Conrad took a third step.
“I said dro
p it!” Yeats yanked Serena’s hair even harder. Conrad knew he could snap her neck in a second if he wanted to.
“Don’t listen to him, Conrad,” Serena strained to say. “You know he’s going to kill you.”
But all it took for Conrad was another look into her frightened eyes to convince him that he could take no chances. He lowered his weapon.
“Good boy,” Yeats said. “Now drop it.”
Conrad dropped his AK-47 on the floor of the fore-aft passageway, where it clanked. He could see tears roll down Serena’s face as their eyes locked.
“You’re hopeless, Conrad,” she whispered.
34
DAWN MINUS FIFTEEN MINUTES
CONRAD WATCHED YEATS PICK UP the AK-47 from the floor. They were only a few feet apart now and Conrad could see a manic look in Yeats’s eyes that he hadn’t detected from a distance. The man looked like an animal trapped in a snare, willing to bite his own leg off to get free.
“I knew you couldn’t kill me,” he said, keeping a tight hold on Serena, who struggled in his grip. “And I sure as hell don’t want to kill you. But I will if I have to.”
“Get your claws off her, Yeats.”
“As soon as you’re good and frozen, son. Maybe when we get to wherever we’re going and thaw out, you’ll come to your senses.”
Conrad said, “You’re going to have to kill me before you freeze me, Dad.”
Conrad dove for the gun, and it exploded, the bullet plowing into his shoulder and spinning him to the floor. Dazed, he clutched his shoulder and saw blood pumping out between his fingers. He then looked up to see Yeats step forward to finish him off.
“I’ll say hello to Osiris for you.”
Yeats was about to knock him out with the butt of his gun when Conrad rolled back on his other shoulder and kicked Yeats in the chest with both feet.
The blow drove Yeats back into the pointed end of the Scepter of Osiris Serena was holding and she screamed. Yeats hit it with such force that he cried out in agony.
Dropping his gun, Yeats staggered for a few seconds before Conrad body slammed him into the cryogenic chamber. He shut the door as a blast of subzero mist blew out.
Suddenly all was quiet, save for the low hum of the ship’s power surging through the consoles, walls, and floors.
Conrad struggled to stand in the shaft of light when Serena ran over and embraced him. Then she must have felt the warmth of his shoulder.
“You’re a bloody mess,” she told him.
“You just figured that out?”
She ripped off a strip of cloth from his sleeve and wrapped it around his upper arm and tied it tight, aware of his stare. “And now you’ve got everything you ever wanted. Maybe we really should walk off into the sunset together.”
Conrad saw the bloody Scepter of Osiris on the floor. Picking up the scepter, Conrad realized she was right. All he had to do was let the Solar Bark take them to its preprogrammed destination and he’d finally discover the Secret of First Time.
He stared at her in disbelief. “Do you hear what you’re saying?”
“I’m saying we don’t know if this ECD is a global extinction event,” she said. “Maybe humanity survives, or maybe we go the way of the dinosaur. But the only way to ensure the survival of our species is for you and me to proceed on course.”
Conrad looked into her pleading eyes. She didn’t want to go along for him, he realized, but rather for humanity. And she was willing to give up everything she held dear to do so.
“You’d have us condemn the world to hell?” he said.
“No, Conrad. We could create a new Eden on another world.”
As he considered this insane idea, the ship started to rumble. He put a finger to her cheek and wiped away a tear. “You know we have to go back.”
She knew, and she didn’t resist as they silently rode the platform down to the base of the Solar Bark.
When they finally surfaced several hundred yards from the silo, the ground rumbled more violently than ever. He had barely pulled Serena out of the tunnel when a geyser of fire shot into the air, hurling them across the ground.
When he looked up he saw a dozen other geysers erupt in a ring around the silo as the Solar Bark lifted out of its crater and climbed into the sky. Conrad watched the starship carrying his father, dead or alive, disappear into the heavens.
“I hope to God you know what you’re doing, Conrad.” Serena ripped a torn lace from her boot and tied the burnt ends of her hair back. “Because that was the last flight off this rock.”
35
DAWN MINUS TWO MINUTES
STANDING IN P4’S STAR CHAMBER, tears flowing down her cheeks, Serena watched the geodesic ceiling spin. The noise of the grinding, whirling dome was deafening, and she couldn’t hear what Conrad was saying. He was standing by the altar, motioning her to come over.
“Put the scepter in the stand,” he shouted.
She looked at the Scepter of Osiris in her hands and once again read the inscription to herself: Only he who stands before the Shining Ones in the time and place of the most worthy can remove the Scepter of Osiris without tearing Heaven and Earth apart. Was there ever such a “most worthy” moment in human history? Or was the Hebrew prophet Isaiah right when he said human acts of righteousness were like “filthy rags” before the holiness of God?
“Yeats was right, Conrad,” she said as she felt her heart sinking. “The Atlanteans were too advanced for our level of thinking. We can’t win.”
“I thought we agreed that the gods of Egypt were defeated once before,” Conrad said. He started talking faster, his voice rising. “Well, just when was that?”
Serena paused. “During the Exodus, when Moses led the Israelites out of Egypt.”
“Exactly,” Conrad said. “It was one of those cosmic events that changes cultural history, like a colliding meteorite changes natural history. If no Exodus, then no epiphany at Sinai. And if no Sinai, then no Moses, Jesus Christ, or Mohammed. Osiris and Isis would reign supreme, pyramids would dot Manhattan’s skyline, and we’d be drinking fermented barley water instead of cafe lattes.”
Serena felt her blood pumping. Conrad was onto something.
“The question is,” Conrad continued, eyes gleaming as if on the verge of a great discovery, “what was the straw that broke Pharaoh’s back and led him to release the Israelites?”
“Passover,” Serena said. “When the God of the Israelites struck down the firstborn of every Egyptian but ‘passed over’ the houses of those Israelite slaves who coated their doorposts with the blood of a lamb.”
“OK,” said Conrad. “Now if only there was a way to be more inclusive and extend the Passover to all races.”
But there was, she suddenly realized, and blurted out, “The Lamb of God!”
“Jesus Christ, you’re right!”
Conrad’s hands flew as he began to reset the stars on the dome of the chamber to re-create the skies over Jerusalem.
Suddenly the entire chamber seemed to turn upside down. But it was an optical illusion, she realized, as the heavens of the Northern Hemisphere suddenly flipped places with the Southern Hemisphere.
“OK, we’ve got a place on earth,” Conrad said. “We need a year.”
That was harder, Serena thought. “Tradition says Jesus died when he was about thirty-three, which would place the crucifixion between A.D. 30 and 33.”
“You’ve got to do better than that.” Conrad looked impatient. “Give me a year.”
Serena fought the panic inside. The Christian calendar was based on faulty calculations made by a sixth-century monk—Dionysius Exiguus. Latin for “Dennis the Short.” Appropriate, considering that Dionysius’s estimates for the date of Christ’s birth fell short by several years. Church scholars now placed the Nativity no later than the year King Herod died—4 B.C.
“A.D. 29,” she finally said. “Try A.D. 29.”
Conrad adjusted the scepter in its altar, and the dome overhead spun around. The rumble was de
afening. “I need a date,” he shouted. “And I need it now.”
Serena nodded. The Catholic Church celebrated Easter at a different time each spring. But the Eastern Orthodox Church kept the historical date with astronomical precision. The Council of Nicaea in A.D. 325 decreed Easter must be celebrated on the Sunday after the first full moon of the vernal equinox, but always after the Jewish Passover, in order to maintain the biblical sequence of events of the Crucifixion and Resurrection.
She shouted, “Friday after the first full moon of the vernal equinox.”
“Friday?” There was doubt in his eyes. “Not Sunday?”
“Friday.” She was firm. “The resurrection was a demonstration of victory over death. But the most noble time had to be when Jesus was dying on the cross for the sins of humanity and forgave his enemies.”
“OK,” he said. “I need the hour.”
“Scripture says it was the ninth hour,” she said.
He looked at her funny. “Huh?”
“Three o’clock.”
Conrad nodded, made the final setting and stepped back. “Say a prayer, Sister Serghetti.”
The geodesic dome spun round and locked into place, re-creating the skies over Jerusalem circa A.D. 29 at the ninth hour of daylight on the fifth day after the first full moon of the vernal equinox.
“But now a righteousness from heaven, apart from the law, is revealed,” she prayed under her breath, repeating the words of St. Paul to the Romans.
A sharp jolt rocked the chamber and she jumped back as the floor split open and the altar containing the scepter dropped down a shaft and disappeared. Before she could peer over the ledge, the shaft closed up into a cartouche bearing the symbol of Osiris. And she could hear something like the peal of thunder rumble below.
Suddenly it was eerily quiet. Serena could hear someone sobbing. It sounded like a young girl. She felt a tear roll down her cheek and realized it was her. For some reason she felt clean inside, as if all her worries and fears and guilt had been washed away.
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