by Luke Romyn
“These machines are enormous, and even after years under the ocean, no signs of decay tarnish their design. They remain perfectly intact.” The general’s face took on a faraway look, but an instant later his gray eyes snapped back into focus, piercing Talbot with their intensity. “Upon them are instructions written in a language none of our linguists could decipher, yet your brother was instantly able to understand it, word for word.”
Talbot’s mouth dropped open once more, and he yearned to interrupt, but the general’s warning still hung in the air like a hungry vulture circling a dying man.
“Nobody, not even your brother, could explain his innate ability. With his assistance, we were able to re-engage the machinery. We foolishly restarted something which should have been left lost forever. We opened a gateway of sorts; a temporal portal into another universe. Put simply, Doctor Harrison, we opened a doorway into Hell.”
Talbot’s mind exploded, and he shook his head mutely, sure he had misheard the large man.
“Not the Hell the Bible teaches us, rather the Hell from Greek mythology: a place called Tartarus,” continued General Sharpe. “I assume you have heard of it?”
Struggling to form thoughts around the terror pounding within his brain, Talbot replied hesitantly. “Thomas was the expert, but as an archaeologist I still know the legend of Tartarus quite well. It was allegedly an enormous pit, supposedly the place for the world’s evil souls – a land even beyond the realm of the dead known as Hades. Zeus expelled the Titans there after they tried to take over Olympia, or something like that. The Titans were called the Elder-gods, and stories spoke of their strength being legendary; so their prison – Tartarus – must have been mightier still. It was said to have resembled Hell very much – perhaps even providing the inspiration for the biblical place of the damned.”
The general nodded gravely. “In essence, the machinery your brother restarted after centuries of laying forgotten opened a doorway into this dimension. We discovered a land populated by creatures previously believed to be completely mythical. It is a place from Greek folklore, inhabited by creatures such as the gryphon which attacked your escort helicopter.”
General Sharpe paused, his expression somewhat haunted. “We’ve managed to stop or contain most of the beings which tried to escape, but some creatures – like the gryphon – are simply too powerful for us to contest.”
“What do you need from me?” asked Talbot, his curiosity too powerful to restrain any longer.
General Sharpe didn’t seem to mind the indiscretion; if he did, he covered his irritation well. “Doctor Harrison, your role here is simple. We need you to close the door your brother opened.”
Talbot froze, his entire body totally shocked beyond reaction.
“I-I can’t do that!” Talbot spluttered. “My brother was an expert in Greek mythology. I’m an archaeologist.”
“Mr. Harrison, your field of expertise is irrelevant. We believe there was a part of your brother’s brain which was somehow attuned to this culture, and that’s why he was able to decipher their dialect. We hope, as his identical twin, you will be able to do likewise.”
“That’s a big hope,” muttered Talbot.
“Well, it’s actually more than a hope, Doctor Harrison. Our scientists did a scan of your brother’s brain before his accident and deduced a part of his mind was in fact overdeveloped. The lobe which understands writing and language was far more advanced than any other human on record and firing in areas which are not normally so developed – a type of epilepsy without seizures of any kind. Tell me, can you speak any other languages?”
Talbot paused, unwilling to admit a truth which might condemn him to the same fate as his brother. He hadn’t missed the pause in the general’s speech when it came to Thomas’s death. Something bad had happened to his brother, something the general was unwilling to disclose.
“Don’t bother trying to lie to me, Doctor Harrison,” commanded the general, seemingly reading his thoughts. “We already know you can speak at least five languages other than English, and you apparently taught yourself every single one. That is not normal.”
“But it doesn’t mean I can understand the language you’re talking about,” protested Talbot, feeling his grasp on the situation slipping.
General Sharpe pointed at the dossier Talbot had been reading only moments before. “That’s written in a language nobody’s been able to decipher for thousands of years. Only you and your brother have been able to interpret it out of scores of linguists who’ve tried. We believe it may be the lost language of the Keftiuan – the language of Atlantis. If not, then it’s something found nowhere else on the planet. Our most powerful computers can’t even begin to understand what a single word says, but you were just studying it like it was a Playboy magazine, albeit with less interesting pictures.”
Talbot glanced at the papers on the desk, noticing for the first time the strange characters which he’d understood so easily. He hadn’t even registered the oddness of the lettering, as intrigued as he’d been with finding out what Thomas had written. Even the fact he had recognized Thomas’s script in such a language had escaped his notice.
Damn.
Klaxon alarms blasted throughout the base, and the door slammed open. Colonel Wilson burst in, panic corroding his previously stoic demeanor.
“Sir!” he gushed. “Subject number 4247 has breached its captivity.”
Talbot glanced at the general, noticing how his complexion paled at the colonel’s words, but his command swiftly overtook his fear. “Order troops into position for defending the base. All scientific staff and crew are to retreat to Base Bravo via the thermo-tube. I don’t think we’ll be able to contain that bastard again.”
Colonel Wilson promptly moved to the door, motioning for Talbot to follow. Stepping through the exit he called out to Captain Benedict, who sprinted over to them and saluted.
“Captain,” began General Sharpe, “from now on your one and only concern is this man’s safety. Get him to Professor Weinstein at Base Bravo and from there to point Zulu.”
Captain Benedict saluted once more and primed the chamber of his M-16.
Oh shit.
They all exited together, moving through corridors until, without farewell, the general and Colonel Wilson moved off down one tunnel, while Captain Benedict motioned for Talbot to follow him down another.
“Have you ever fired a weapon, Doctor Harrison?” asked the captain as they dashed along the empty passageway.
Talbot shrugged – now probably wasn’t the time to ask if Playstation counted – and Captain Benedict paused before drawing an M9 Beretta semi-automatic 9mm pistol from the waistband of his pants. Talbot noticed the much larger grip of what appeared to be a Desert Eagle sitting in the holster at his hip.
Benedict handed Talbot the M9. “Don’t use it unless you absolutely have to, sir. It won’t be much use against what just got loose anyway, but it’s best you have something to defend yourself with in case I’m killed.”
Talbot wanted to ask the captain what he meant, but they were moving again. Benedict’s boots clattered against the steel steps as he led Talbot through a bewildering series of corridors and stairs, and Talbot noticed they were always heading down – deeper into the bowels of the base.
Intense gunfire echoed down side-tunnels branching away from their escape route, and Talbot glimpsed the occasionally worried expression flashing across Captain Benedict’s features as he increased their pace in order to stay ahead of the battle.
They continued descending until the captain finally slammed through a door, his M-16 swinging, checking the area’s security before motioning for Talbot to follow. Talbot stepped out cautiously, and froze. His eyes grew wide and his jaw dropped.
Opening before them was a colossal man-made grotto, at least five hundred yards across, its reinforced concrete walls rising so high he couldn’t see the ceiling. Fluorescent tubes dotted the walls, and several spotlights flooded the area in artificial light, but the roof sti
ll remained shrouded in obscurity. Talbot had the impression of being at the bottom of a massive chasm.
One entire wall appeared to be a set of enormous blast doors; interlocking teeth strengthening the point where they joined in the middle. The doors themselves must have towered some hundred and fifty feet above them! Glancing around, Talbot saw hundreds of troops escorting what looked like civilians toward... toward....
The weirdest form of transportation Talbot had ever seen in his life.
Shaped similar to an elongated gridiron football – sharply pointed at both ends, round and thick in the middle – the carriage of the vehicle was at least three stories high. Seamless and white, the transport looked more like a spaceship than anything designed by man. It looked immeasurably aerodynamic and fast.
Marines were hastily moving the civilians up a ramp in the center of the vehicle and through a large hatch in its belly. No windows marred its perfectly sleek sides, and Talbot’s panic paused, astonishment freezing him. It must somehow travel under the earth – unless the massive sealed exit in front of it led to the surface... or under water.
Several marines had seen them and about twenty broke away from the main group, sprinting over, weapons raised. When they arrived, the troops were immediately ordered into defensive positions around Talbot by Captain Benedict. One man, older than the others, had a thin string of brown wooden beads wrapped tightly around his left hand. As he focused on the object, Talbot’s nerves rattled within him.
A set of brown wooden rosary beads coiled around and around, the barely-visible crucifix pressed firmly into the palm of the man’s hand. What could be here, within this most secure of military bases, that could leave a seasoned veteran scared enough to clutch a rosary?
An enormous, ear shattering BOOM! exploded throughout the cavern and the lights flickered momentarily. He snapped his gaze around to the huge blast doors, noting the sand filtering down from the hidden roof of the chamber. Another explosion reverberated through the cavern and the center of the doors, the area reinforced with interlocking teeth, buckled slightly.
“How thick is that steel, Captain?” Talbot asked.
“Seven feet, sir; armor-plated and reinforced with titanium.”
“Then why is it bending?”
Several rapid thuds followed and before Talbot knew it, the left door twisted inward like tin foil. A spectacularly huge gray hand groped through the hole. Gunfire and explosions echoed from beyond the doors, but it all seemed to have no effect. Whatever was on the other side calmly tore away at the thick steel.
Several military vehicles emerged from tunnels on the opposite side of the cavern to Talbot and Captain Benedict. Twelve HMARS – High Mobility Artillery Rocket Systems – shot toward the center of the enormous chamber and screeched to a halt, rapidly taking up offensive positions in front of the huge doors. Marines broke from the odd transport and rushed to the assault area.
“We have to move now, sir!” shouted Captain Benedict over the squealing tires and shrieking metal, gripping Talbot firmly by the upper arm and propelling him swiftly toward the enormous football-shaped vehicle.
Gunfire erupted behind them, and Talbot glanced back, stopping in his tracks. Wrenching apart the doors stood a creature which defied all belief, even given Talbot’s truncated briefing only moments before and what he had already glimpsed of the power of the gryphon which had attacked their Super Stallion.
The creature stood perhaps a hundred feet tall, corpse-gray, with gnarled lumps and irregular muscles pushing from beneath its skin. A startling feature dominated the bridge below a hairless cranium –
A single, lidless eye stared coldly from the center of its face above the wide nose. The bloodshot orb flicked from side to side, appearing to search the cavern for something –
“Get down!” roared Captain Benedict, pushing Talbot to the ground, only letting him back up when the staccato of gunfire resumed.
Lines of tracer bullets flew from either side of the destroyed doors just as the HMARS unleashed a coordinated barrage of missiles. The missiles zeroed in on the chest of the cyclops and exploded spectacularly, but did nothing but annoy it.
Turning, it casually tore a long strip of steel from a ruined blast door. With a sweep of its arm, the cyclops swung the steel in an arc, knocking all twelve HMARS aside like toys, flipping them end over end to smash into the concrete walls. It dropped the steel like a boring toy, the clang echoing deafeningly through the cavern. Stepping through the devastated doors, the creature stretched to its full height, glaring balefully at the only undamaged vehicle left in the cavern – the transport.
“Run! Now!” shouted Captain Benedict. Talbot needed no further encouragement.
Racing up the ramp, they were the last to enter the transport and the doors slid shut smoothly behind them. Captain Benedict rushed Talbot to the front of the vehicle into a control room. “Get us out of here!” he ordered the two drivers.
The men needed no further urging, swiftly hitting several buttons on the control panel in front of them. A narrow windshield of super-thick glass revealed the exit set into the cavern wall rapidly opening in front of the vehicle. Captain Benedict slammed Talbot into a chair behind the two controllers, quickly strapping him in before seating himself.
And none too soon. Once the exit had fully opened, the pilots hit various other instruments on the complex panel. The transport seemed to rise slightly, hovering, before an incredible force seized the vehicle, and they blasted down the tunnel so fast Talbot thought he might pass out from the intensity as the G-forces attempted to wrench him through the back of his chair.
They soon leveled out, and Captain Benedict rose, instructing Talbot to remain where he was while the captain returned to the main cabin to check on something.
Talbot sat silently for several moments, unwilling to distract the navigators as they casually flicked switches, constantly monitoring the seemingly endless gauges and instruments arrayed before them.
“What is this thing?” he eventually asked, unable to contain his curiosity any longer.
They glanced at each other, apparently unsure of whether or not to answer him. Finally one shrugged and said, “This is the thermo-carrier we use to travel swiftly between bases.”
“How does it work?” asked Talbot, intrigued.
“It’s very basic science actually,” the controller explained, flicking a few more switches above his head. “Throughout the Earth there is a constant stream of heat which, when in a controlled environment such as this thermo-tube in combination with normal gravitational energy manipulated by the hull of the carrier, can be harnessed to propel a large transport at incredible speeds underground.”
“I’m glad you said it was basic; I’d hate for every single thing you just said to have gone completely over my head.” Talbot grimaced. “How does it deal with the friction on the wheels produced from travelling so fast?” He assumed the thermo-carrier sat on rails like a train or monorail. Travelling at such speeds would rapidly melt any moving parts, owing to the intense friction created.
The controller glanced at him quizzically, and then chuckled. “There are no wheels on the thermo-carrier. It works on a complete negative-polarity system of magnetic rejection.”
“What does that mean?”
“The entire thermo-carrier is electromagnetic with a positive polarity; the tube around us is as well. The interior of the carriage is insulated against this, of course. The opposing energies push against each other like two magnets of the same polarity and we float in the middle. There were some initial issues with the carriage rolling, but they simply adjusted the magnetic power to compensate and keep the entire vehicle upright.”
“So that’s why it’s shaped like a football,” said Talbot.
“Exactly,” agreed the controller.
Talbot noticed a photo of a woman and young girl attached to the side of the control console, away from the myriad of gauges and switches.
“Is that your family?” he ask
ed.
The controller looked at the photo and smiled, his grin seeming somewhat sad. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I worry about them with what’s going on out there.” He seemed to realize his descent into melancholy and snapped out of it. “Sorry. You don’t need to hear that stuff.”
“Not at all; I mean, who wouldn’t be worried after some of the things we’re seeing out there? By the way, my name is Talbot.” He extended his hand.
The controllers glanced at each other again, their expressions unreadable. The one who had spoken shook Talbot’s hand uncertainly.
“We know who you are, Doctor Harrison. Everyone here does. At this point in time you’re quite possibly the most important person on the planet.”
Talbot sat back in his chair, stunned. The enormity of the man’s words threatened to overwhelm him, and he could only think one thing. One overwhelming word summed up everything –
“Shit,” he muttered.
***
The journey continued without incident, and Talbot eventually became bored staring through the windscreen at nothing and decided to explore the thermo-carrier.
The two controllers glanced around quizzically when he rose to leave, but Talbot didn’t give them a chance to refuse him, quickly stepping back through the door into the main hold of the carrier. Arranged before him were seats in rows – similar to those on a commercial airline – all filled with people bearing traumatized expressions; some wept openly, others merely stared vacantly at the seat in front of them. Talbot wondered abstractly who they were and what they had done at the underground base. Perhaps some were family of soldiers stationed there, or maybe their roles were closer to the core of what had been going on. He’d probably never know.
Several of the passengers seemed to recognize him, making Talbot recall what the controller had said about everyone on board knowing who he was. It disturbed him to see more than a few of the glances cast in his direction were hollow, some even outright hostile. Perhaps the bearers blamed Talbot – or maybe his brother, Thomas – for the tragedy which had seen them arrive at this point.
