Slowly, the combined force of astronauts and sailors took position around the pathway leading to the pyramid’s entrance. Thankfully, the canal had been seemingly carved out of the Martian bedrock, leaving plenty of places to hide along its sides. They managed to get within twenty meters before Diaz radioed ready.
Shaila and Weatherby saw her gingerly step down from the top of the ridge onto the canal bed, aiding Durand down as well. Thankfully, the canal curved slightly, masking them from the entrance until about fifteen meters away.
“Ready, Steve?” Diaz asked over the comm.
“Terrified, but ready,” Stephane reported.
Shaila smiled. “Newbie,” she said, intentionally allowing Stephane to hear her. He gestured something unkind at her, but she could see him smiling.
“He is not a brave man?” Weatherby asked, nonplussed.
Shaila keyed off her comm before responding. “He’s a scientist, Lieutenant,” she said, trying not to sound defensive. “He’s never been shot at in his life. But he’s held up pretty well so far.”
The young Royal Navy officer frowned, but said nothing as he watched Diaz and Stephane walk steadily toward the pyramid entrance.
“Hello!” Diaz called out. “We mean no harm!”
“Bonjour! Nous ne veux de mal!” Stephane echoed just as loudly.
Shaila saw the four guards at the pyramid doors immediately go for their weapons, aiming their pistols down the walkway. “They’re ready to fire, ma’am,” Shaila reported over the comm.
“Roger,” Diaz said tersely. “Steve, get up against the wall. How do you say, ‘Don’t shoot?’”
“Ne tirez pas,” Stephane said, huddling against the wall behind Diaz.
“All right,” Diaz sighed, then stepped out slightly from behind her cover, arms up. “Si vous plait, ne tirez pas!”
Smoke immediately erupted from the muskets, with the popping sound of their firing reaching Shaila a split second later. Diaz immediately threw herself behind the cover of the wall and started retreating back down the canal. “Plan B, guys!” she shouted over the comm.
“Roger,” Shaila replied. “Taking ’em down,” she added for Weatherby’s benefit. She then aimed and fired her zapper— just as Weatherby’s pistol barked. She hadn’t even seen him aim.
All four guards went down quickly. Two remained twitching on the ground in immense pain, while two were very still, blood pooling beneath them.
“Shit,” Diaz said, running back up the canal as the rest of the group assembled. She wheeled on Weatherby. “What part of non-lethal don’t you get?”
“They were firing upon you, madam!” Weatherby said, standing his ground. “Any man who fires upon an ally, let alone a woman, deserves no less!”
Diaz looked ready to clock Weatherby in the head, but apparently thought better of it and visibly calmed herself. “They probably heard those shots inside. That’ll make peaceful contact a lot harder now.” She held out her hand to Yuna, who surrendered her zapper.
“I have no interest in peaceful contact,” St. Germain said, smoking pistol in hand. “He is ripping open a gate to Hell, I tell you!”
“Then I want to see el diablo himself before you fire again! You got me, chief?” Diaz barked.
Stunned, St. Germain said nothing.
“Jain and I will take point,” Diaz said. “Guys with flintlocks behind us. Use those damn pistols in self-defense only, and only if our weapons don’t work. Clear?”
Weatherby frowned. “I hope for our sake, then, their numbers are few inside. If not, I will order my men to fire.”
Diaz shook her head but said nothing as she turned to the doors and walked toward them. “Hinges are on the other side. No sign of a handle or doorknob.” She reached the doors, carved with ornate sigils, and gave them a shove with her shoulder. They didn’t budge. “Stone. And heavy as hell. Sensors?”
Yuna held up her sensor pack. “Several heat signatures inside, at least six up against the other side of the door. One of them looks large, and odd. Not moving like the others.”
Finch ventured a look at the sensor pack screen. “Amazing,” he breathed. “It is as if you can see inside.”
Diaz looked up at the door in irritation. “Fine then. Jain, you and Weatherby go around the sides, see if there’s another way in.”
“That will not be necessary, madam,” St. Germain said, kneeling on the ground and fishing through his backpack. “If you can but give me a moment’s time, we shall gain entrance through these doors soon enough.”
Diaz looked questioningly at Shaila, who merely shrugged. “We’re sitting ducks out here, Count, so make it quick,” Diaz said.
“Sitting ducks?” Weatherby asked.
“Never mind,” Shaila said.
Weatherby gathered the guards’ weapons, distributing pistols and swords to the astronauts—all of whom looked perplexed as they weighed the weapons in their hands. As he did so, a very familiar leather-bound book fell out of his pack.
“You know, that could be where I found it,” Shaila said, eyeing the book on the floor of the canal. She then caught herself, realizing what she had just said.
It was the same inflection, the same tone, the very same words that had intruded into her thoughts the first time she was in the lava tube, three days prior.
“Miss Jain?” Weatherby asked, stepping in front of her and breaking her reverie.
“What?”
“Found what?” he asked.
Shaila struggled to compose herself. “Your journal. I found it right here, when this was still a cave.”
Weatherby stared at the book for a long moment. Despite himself, he was impressed with the Hindu woman’s courage and seeming competence, and she had indeed somehow found his journal. If time itself had truly been twisted and bent, then it stood to reason that their aid now was a direct result of their obtaining his diary.
“Then this is where I shall leave it,” he said, giving Shaila a small smile. “So you can find it later. Or three days ago. Whichever applies.”
Shaila blanched as her mind snapped into focus. “ . . . where I shall leave it.” That’s exactly what she had heard in the cave when she found the book. She thought she was going a little crazy at the time. Now . . . perhaps not. She couldn’t explain why it was happening, but the fact that his words were echoed in her head a few days ago was . . . OK. It fit.
After a moment, she managed a weak smile. “Thanks, Lieutenant.”
The Count, meanwhile, was mixing various liquids and powders from a small kit in his bag. Within a minute, he was vigorously shaking a glass vial of something that smelled god-awful. “Ladies and gentlemen, we should retreat down the canal somewhat.”
Everyone clambered back down the dry canal bed and crouched down. St. Germain joined them last, still shaking his concoction. “Put your heads down,” he said, throwing the vial at the door and covering his own head with his arms.
Everyone huddled against the side of the canal. Shaila thought there would be some kind of explosion. Instead, there was a loud hissing, effervescent sound that lasted about six seconds—followed by a massive rumbling. Dust and rock billowed down the canal; screams echoed from inside the pyramid.
The explosion came afterward. Shaila felt intense heat wash over them, even from their position away from the doors. And then all was silent.
St. Germain poked his head around the corner to look at his handiwork. “It is done. We must still proceed cautiously, however.”
The doors had collapsed inward in a pile of rubble. Shaila could see parts of the doors that looked like they had been eroded by some kind of acid.
“Not bad,” Diaz allowed. She then tapped Shaila on the shoulder and pointed to the right side of the door, and motioned for Weatherby to take the left. In a few moments, the group had split up on either side of the doorway, weapons at the ready, as the dust settled.
There was silence from inside.
Weatherby and Shaila peered into the hallway beyond
. The doors had collapsed upon four or five men—it was hard to determine exact numbers in the rubble—along with some kind of contraption made from wood and metal, now charred beyond recognition. “Greek fire, I imagine,” St. Germain murmured.
The hallway stretched out toward the center of the pyramid, covered in darkness.
Nobody from either century was willing to take chances. The group slowly entered the corridor. Weatherby grabbed a torch from a sconce on the wall, lighting it while Shaila flicked on the flashlight on her left gauntlet.
Together, they crept slowly into the heart of the Martian pyramid.
CHAPTER 26
June 19, 1779
July 28, 2132
Shaila focused her light on the shadows the torch created, tensely anticipating an ambush at any moment. Yet a surprisingly intense part of her wanted to stop, to look at the strange hieroglyphics on the wall, to study and learn about this alien culture.
Thankfully, there was an even more intense part of her interested in self-preservation. She systematically covered the hallway with her lamp, weapon at the ready. Diaz and Weatherby were likewise ready for ambush.
Not everyone in the group had military training, however. “These are utterly fascinating,” Yuna murmured. “Count, are these details of rituals of some kind? You see here?” She pointed at one of the pictures of what appeared to be a procession toward an altar of some kind.
“Yes,” St. Germain whispered. “And if you look at the position of the orbs above, it is obviously some kind of alchemical—”
“Shut up, both of you!” Diaz hissed. Yuna put a hand to her mouth and nodded at her, while St. Germain merely glared.
The walls of the corridor were smooth, though there were small alcoves placed roughly five meters apart. Some of these held pedestals, others did not. There were columns in between each alcove as well, supporting an arched ceiling that peaked some seven meters above their heads.
Shaila concentrated on the alcoves, while the rest of the McAuliffe officers used their flashlights to check the floors, walls and ceilings. Greene was uncharacteristically quiet; Shaila looked back and saw him recording everything on a holocam, looking focused and, if anything, serene.
A whisper from Weatherby regained her attention. He pointed to one of the alcoves, then held up one finger. She stopped, took aim with her zapper, and fired into the dark.
The shout of a man pierced the hallway as the microwaves scrambled his synapses. He fell into the torchlit hallway, twitching.
And that’s when the gunfire erupted from the other end of the hall.
“Down!” Shaila shouted.
Shaila and Weatherby darted behind two of the columns, while everyone else either hit the deck or slid into the alcoves. Ignoring Diaz’ order about non-lethal weapons—he wasn’t technically part of the chain of command anyway—Weatherby immediately returned fire, though the targets could not be seen. Even Stephane squeezed off a shot with his flintlock. Shaila looked back at him, and he merely shrugged despite the terrified look on his face.
“Weatherby!” Finch shouted. “Phosphor shot!” The doctor threw a small pouch at Weatherby, who caught it cleanly and began to load his pistol.
“What the hell’s that?” Diaz asked from her spot behind a column.
“Illumination,” Finch responded. “Watch.”
Weatherby finished reloading and aimed for a space above the end of the hallway. He fired—and a streak of blinding white light erupted from his pistol, arcing through the hallway before embedding itself above another set of double doors and illuminating six people armed with muskets.
“The sanctum doors!” St. Germain said. “He is inside there!”
Shaila darted out from her cover and took aim with her zapper, downing two of the assailants with two rapid shots. Diaz hit a third before they finished reloading and took aim again. Their shots echoed through the hallway, and were followed quickly by a cry from Finch, who slumped to the floor.
“Doctor!” Weatherby cried. Having reloaded, he took aim and managed to hit a fourth, leaving two riflemen left, before turning and rushing back to his shipmate.
“Just the arm,” Finch said through gritted teeth. “I believe it passed through.”
“Tell me what to do, Finch,” Weatherby said. “Where is your bag?”
“No time,” he said. “Give me your kerchief. Go and finish them.” Weatherby tossed his kerchief at Finch, then wheeled around and, crouching, dashed back to his column opposite Shaila.
“I’m low on charges,” Shaila said.
“Your weapon?” Weatherby asked.
“Yeah. I need to conserve in case there are more inside. Got a spare pistol?” Shaila figured Diaz’ self-defense caveat was now in full effect.
Weatherby pulled a pistol from his belt and tossed it to Shaila. She looked at it for a few moments, then held it out, aiming, before she squeezed the trigger. “Dammit. Missed. How the hell do you fight with these things?”
“Practice, milady,” he replied, taking aim once more. He too missed. “I admit, they’re horribly inaccurate at this range.”
Two more shots whizzed down the hallway toward the group, but neither hit. “Now!” Weatherby said suddenly. He dashed up the hallway, sword drawn.
“Shit,” Shaila muttered. She chugged off after him as fast as her suit would allow. She could see the riflemen fumbling with their muskets, trying desperately to reload before the charging officers could reach them.
They were too late. One of the riflemen tried to parry Weatherby’s sword with his musket, only to find it cleanly sliced in half, along with his left forearm. He fell, shrieking, while his compatriot hit Weatherby in the ribcage with the stock of his rifle. The Daedalus officer stumbled to the side, leaving himself open to the rifleman’s bayonet.
Shaila arrived just in time to grab the rifleman’s arm, using his forward motion to spin him around, where her other fist met his face. She then used a jujitsu move to throw him over onto his back and take the rifle from him, then thrusting the weapon’s butt into the hapless man’s face to finish the job.
“Hand-to-hand training, I take it,” Weatherby said as Shaila helped him up. To his credit, he didn’t hesitate in taking the proffered hand. “Quite impressive, Lieutenant.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant,” she said cooly. Take that, Neanderthal. She turned around, expecting the rest of their combined force to be right behind them. Instead, they were back down the hall, huddled together over one of the McAuliffe astronauts.
Shaila took off at a run back down the hall, only to find Diaz prone on the floor, her pressure suit blotched with a growing pool of red blood on the left side of her abdomen.
“Report,” Shaila said curtly, worry on her face.
Finch didn’t bother to look up as he cut open the pressure suit with his good arm. “Musket shot,” he said. “The round appears to be still inside.”
Diaz was still awake, grimacing through the pain. “Jain, get everyone in there and figure out what’s going on. I’ll be fine right here.”
Weatherby knelt beside her. “No, madam, you must be treated. Dr. Finch, are you well enough?”
“It is not me I am worried about,” he said as he stripped off his waistcoat and used it to put pressure on the wound. “I must create more curatives. And I need more light!”
Shaila and Weatherby glanced at each other a moment, asking and answering the same question wordlessly. “Stephane,” Shaila said, “help Finch get her back outside. Take her to the side of the temple, out of sight as best you can.”
“Yes,” Stephane replied. “Colonel, we must get you standing up.”
“Negative, dammit. Just leave me here and go!” Diaz hissed. But her protest went unanswered as the two men slowly pulled her up, supporting either side of her.
“Sorry, Colonel,” Shaila said gently. “You’re too exposed here, and you’re bleeding out.” She paused and smiled. “I’m sure there’s a reg somewhere that lets me countermand your orders.”<
br />
Diaz tried to laugh, but grimaced in pain instead. “Ow, dammit. OK. Let’s go, guys. Yuna, take my zapper and put it on wide-arc.”
Yuna carefully took the weapon from Diaz’ belt. “Yes, ma’am,” she said softly, adjusting the zapper’s setting. “Get better.”
Shaila watched the doctors take Diaz haltingly back down the hallway, then turned to the rest. “OK, move out. Let’s get a look at those doors.”
A moment later, they were assessing the large double-doors that apparently led to the building’s central space. They were seemingly made of metal, not stone. Each door had an image of the Tree of Life in relief upon its surface, and was otherwise covered in patterns of sigils. There were no handles, and it appeared the hinges were on the other side, meaning that they swung inward.
Weatherby put his shoulder to the door and felt it give slightly. “I believe it is merely barred from the inside,” he said, taking his sword in hand. He slid the blade in the crack between the two doors, and swung downward. A crunch indicated the blade hit true, and the doors rattled as voices could be heard shouting from the other side.
“Well done,” St. Germain said. “Now, let us see what my errant student is up to.”
Before they could go forward, Shaila’s comm buzzed. “McAuliffe to Diaz, come in, over.”
“Jain here,” Shaila said. “The colonel’s been wounded and we’re all pretty busy right now.”
“Sorry, ma’am, but I have the results of the search Col. Diaz asked me to do.”
Shaila held her hand up, motioning for the others to stop. “Talk to me, Adams.”
“Well, I had to go back quite a ways, and I had to account for the access roads that cross through that area,” Adams said. “There really wasn’t much regular activity going on until about eight years ago.”
“Get to the end,” Shaila snapped.
“Right, sorry, ma’am,” Adams said. “The only person who repeatedly visited the area in question was Dr. Hiyashi, and she’s been through that area regularly every few weeks since she got here, until about six months ago. Then it was a bunch of Billiton people taking over. There’s a handful of those radio signals in those same areas as well.”
The Daedalus Incident Revised Page 41
