A large explosion rocked the entire metal hanger bay, leaving a gaping hole in the side of the wall. As the smoke began to dissipate, a few WOGs brandishing their weapons and four hover-rams rolled into the room amidst the smoldering dust and debris.
With a circular base floating about a foot off the ground, a single seat for a driver and surrounded by a metal cage with multiple weapons and devices along its exoskeleton, the hover-ram proved an effective, quickly portable and powerful deterrent.
As Samantha and Marissa ran up the steps into the vehicle, a quick vortex-shape pulse that distorted the light shot out from the stratoskimmer’s underbelly. Upon impact, it sent the WOGs and hover-rams tumbling to their side.
Gil remained at the bottom of the stairs while hitting a button on the side of the vehicle. The stairs immediately began to ascend back up to the ship in response.
“Gil?” Samantha shouted. “What’re you doing? Come with us!”
“Ma’am.” He responded. “I’m sworn to see you get to safety. Now go!” he shouted as he ran through the hole in the side of the hanger and began to wrestle down a few WOGs attempting to enter.
Samantha and Marissa ran into the cockpit as the stairs alongside the stratoskimmer’s hull locked into place.
“Tom,” Samantha said. “Let’s get this stratoskimmer out of here!”
The well-tanned man wearing a black Neurono-Tek jumpsuit smiled. “Strap in,” he said, looking over towards them with a glimmer in his eye. “This is no ordinary stratoskimmer. After our last encounters, Alex and I souped this baby up with a few new surprises.”
Two more explosions decimated the wall on the other end of the hanger, making the whole edifice now lean to one side.
As the hanger began to collapse on them, Tom took the wheel and said, “Don’t worry—I’ve been in worse conditions.”
Tom was certainly no novice when it came to battle. Both a well-decorated military pilot and former flight instructor, Tom had plenty of experience when it came to dangerous situations.
He accelerated the ship directly through the crumbling hanger’s roof, smashing it in the process. The stratoskimmer shot out of the building, scattering a massive amount of metal debris in its wake.
The ship quickly ascended past the cloud line and rose higher into the atmosphere.
Despite their escape, both Samantha and Marissa could not help but think of Phil and Gil. Were they hurt? Were they still living?
“Fly us to—” Samantha began to say as the ship violently jerked to its side.
The sudden impact felt as if they all were tackled unexpectedly by a four-hundred-pound linebacker. The ship then began to spin as it rapidly lost altitude.
“What’s going on?” Samantha shouted.
“We’re under attack,” Tom said, pointing at the windshield.
Different shaped spacecraft began to emerge at the bottom of the glass. Each were holographic images, and more appeared by each passing second.
“It looks like The New Reality sent an entire fleet,” Tom said, finally stabilizing the stratoskimmer. “And more keep coming.”
Another jolt hit their ship, sending it into a tailspin towards the earth. Samantha and Marissa were plastered to their seats as the gravity decelerates failed to compensate the G-forces on their bodies.
“Mayday,” Tom shouted into the telecommunicator. “Mayday. We’re going down!”
Chapter_22
“Praise the gods,” Alex’s young attendant said with joy. “You are alive!”
She continued to pat his head down with a wet cloth and say prayers under her breath. Bringing the basin to his scalp, she then poured a little water onto his hair. With her fingers, she ran them through it and massaged his neck in the process.
Though still feeling as if he were hung-over, he eased his muscles as she continued to take away all strain from his shoulders.
Maybe this could be my chance to enter The New Reality computer system, he thought.
The attendant brought a goblet to his mouth, “Drink,” she insisted. “Philip said to have you drink it all before getting up.”
Alex did feel parched. Taking the goblet with both hands, he began to down the cup’s entire contents. Though tasting like boiled cabbage, the moisture on his dry palate negated the unpleasantness.
While he drank, his attendant ran outside the tent. Feeling stronger after both the nap and a little fluid, he slowly pushed himself off the pillows he was lying on and got to his feet. His muscles ached and joints cracked in the process. It was almost as if he were made of tin and needed oiling.
“Alexander,” Parmenio, shouted with joy entering the tent. “Your attendant has informed me of the joyous news.”
The sound of the man’s bold voice felt like daggers going through Alex’s head. All he wanted was to be left in peace.
“We must celebrate!” Parmenio cheered. Taking Alex by the arm, he led him out of the tent. Alex capitulated without resistance, not wanting to show any signs of weakness.
The festivities were in honor of Alexander’s return to health. After a week of illness, he had finally recovered and was ready to lead his army once again. Drums kept the beat while musicians playing a long flute-like kaval and an ancient style of banjo known as a tambura filled the air with the sounds of Macedonian folk music.
Despite Alexander’s miraculous recovery, Parmenio still had his doubts about the royal physician, Philip. His spies had never given him misinformation in the past. Retrospectively, he wished that he had Philip put to death before Alexander had an opportunity to recover. Unfortunately, the entire army was now singing their praises to the doctor, and any attempt to discredit him would be viewed as blasphemy.
An array of torches accompanied by the glare of a full moon illuminated the Macedonian encampment. Parmenio led Alex over to a roaring campfire surrounded by his favorite generals lounging on large, white Persian pillows. Upon seeing him, they raised their goblets and cheered at the return of their leader.
Besides Parmenio, he recognized the other three generals of this army as Philotas, Coenus, and Craterus. Each enjoyed the festivities of the traveling musicians while young female attendants brought them food and wine.
Alex could not help but be in awe of the realistic feeling of this virtual montage. No detail was spared. From the scent of the incense and the colors of the scenery to the sounds of the night, it all seemed so real. In fact, he could not differentiate the authenticity of this virtual world from his own.
“Our scouts inform us that Darius remains at Sochi,” noted Philotas as Alex sat down next to him.
“How long has he been there?” asked Alex, who had completely lost track of time. Not wanting to create any suspicion that would lead to an unwanted assassination, he attempted to play the role of king as believably as possible.
“About two weeks,” answered Craterus. “It appears as if he awaits our arrival.”
“Then let him wait no longer,” responded Alex, who remembered history mandated him to answer in such a manner. “My father once told me that only a fool procrastinates.”
Alex lay back and began to sip the wine from a chalice handed to him by one of his attendants. He took a sip and was delighted to taste the honey-sweet drink in his hand. Never before enjoying such a treat, he took a few more gulps.
As the most senior officer of the group, Parmenio interjected, “Meeting them in the open plains of Sochi will surely end in defeat. Do not be tempted by the lure of a great battle and forget all that your father has taught you.”
Reverting to his Macedonian character, Alex acted as if he took offense to his general’s statement. “Might I remind you, Parmenio, that it is not my father but it is I who has led this army into Asia. Therefore, I must ask you to hold your tongue and not speak of ghosts.”
“Alexander,” said Parmenio, “please do not let my words displease you. I do not mean to compare you to the late King Philip. I just mean to warn of falling into a Persian trap.”
&nb
sp; Holding his chalice of wine in the air, Coenus slurred, “I am not afraid of the Persians. With Alexander leading the army we can defeat them anywhere in Asia!” He stumbled to his feet. “Let us show them how true soldiers fight!”
Philotas, Parmenio’s son, agreed with his father. “I must concur. Our smaller army would fare much better on the narrow coastline along the shores of Issus. Here, Darius’ numerical advantage would be nullified. Let us wait for them to seek us out for battle. Then we may choose where we fight.”
Coenus shouted, “But how do we know the Persians will seek us out for battle? They have been encamped at Sochi for two weeks now! It does not seem as if they are too eager to purge our army from their land.”
“This is not a matter open for debate,” insisted Alex. He looked side to side to ensure he had the attention of his generals. Speaking in a matter-of-fact tone, he continued, “We did not cross the Hellespont to sit like cowards and wait for the Persian army as if we were scared animals.”
Parmenio and Philotas grimaced at Alex’s innuendo. They certainly both were not cowards and had proven themselves on the battlefield on numerous occasions. Not wanting to appear weak, Parmenio spoke up, “So be it. If it is in the desert we must fight, then onward we will go!”
Parmenio assumed a dramatic pose and held his chalice high in the air. In a boisterous voice he bellowed, “To King Alexander, the rightful heir to the Persian throne!”
The rest of the generals arose. “Here, here!” they shouted as they raised their chalices above their heads.
Alex also raised his chalice. “Then it is done. We march in the morning!”
All the generals cheered as they chugged the wine left in their cups. They then patted one another on the back and boasted of the heroic acts they would perform on the battlefield. Influenced by the alcohol, Coenus began to dance around the fire, out of beat with the musicians’ tune while swinging his arms and mumbling the lyrics to a different song.
While some of the generals partied, Alex took Philotas by the arm. “Dear friend, make sure no one comes to my tent this night. Unless the Persian army itself is upon us, let there be no disturbances. I must use the time wisely to pray to Zeus himself for a swift victory.”
“Yes, King Alexander,” he responded. “May the gods bestow you their blessings. Pray well, King Alexander, for the glory of Macedonia and all of Greece itself lies in your hands.”
Alex walked away from the campfire and headed back to his tent. The fresh air had made his headache much more palatable. Two guards stood in the dim moonlight outside his tent; as he approached they pulled open the drapery so he could enter.
Inside the tent, Alex laid down upon a large, yellow Persian pillow acquired after the last victory at Granicus. Now with absolute and complete solitude, he glanced up at the top of the tent and tried to relax. He knew a battle was imminent and hoped to complete his mission before the fighting would begin.
Alex began to massage his temples. With his eyes closed, he tried to free his body and mind of all external stresses. Deep breath in… and exhale, he thought a few times while breathing accordingly.
Concentrate on the lock.
As Alex gradually placed himself in a trance-like state, he felt all the tension he had been holding inside dissipate. Like a wave coming over him from his head to his feet, he was taken aback by a sudden sense of detachment from the outside world. Fully conscious of what was occurring, Alex felt as if his mind were floating away from his body. It was such a peaceful feeling that at first Alex assumed he had simply died and was on his way to the other side.
A soft white light surrounded him. The longer he traveled, the more soothing and bright the light became. Is this nirvana?
As he delved deeper into the computer system, brief memories of people and places long forgotten presented themselves. Old friends and acquaintances, both living and dead, filled his thoughts. The images quickly passed and again were replaced by the light.
Time, unfortunately seemed to drag on in the process.
Frustration built and mental exhaustion set in. Though the light was soothing, the trip itself became taxing.
The fatigue felt overwhelming, but Alex willed his mind to dig deeper into the computer system, searching for the lock.
A thin, fluorescent-blue light streaked by him. As it passed, Alex was inundated with a flurry of information concerning the finances of The New Reality. All their earnings, financial endeavors, profits, and even illegal activities engulfed his consciousness. It was as if he had read a thousand financial ledgers in a matter of a second.
Feeling as if he were progressing in the right direction, Alex maintained an even more vigilant mental focus on the lock.
The harder he concentrated the more frequent these blue streams of light became. Each was filled with a plethora of information, ranging from historical facts about The New Reality to personal information about some of their top executives to the company’s military secrets and future clandestine objectives.
At first flying past him one by one, these majestic lights began to palisade by the hundreds. Like a thousand voices speaking to him at once, their information flowed into Alex’s brain almost simultaneously. His mind had become one with the computer system.
Just when Alex felt as if he could handle no more, the streams of blue lights stopped moving. It was like time suddenly stood still. The voices ceased talking and the sound of chatter that had previously filled Alex’s mind went quiet.
A lone stream of light directly in front of him now began to glow brighter than the rest. Alex knew he had finally reached his destination. This was the access point to the lock.
Focusing directly on the bright light, Alex reached out and grabbed it.
Suddenly, Alex found himself at the footsteps of a magnificent Greek temple. No longer asleep on the comfortable pillows, it seemed as if he were transported somewhere outside Alexander the Great’s virtual world to this place.
Alex walked up to the front of the temple. He remembered seeing something that looked like this place before. Only, this time the edifice before him stood in all its original glory and not in crumbled ruins like the rest of the Greek and Roman buildings of antiquity.
The Didymaion. Located in modern day western Turkey.
Alex placed his hand on one of the two statues of Apollo mounted on pedestals at each end of the massive 14-step temple stairs. He recognized the Greek god by his depiction. It was a young man with a full head of curly hair and long cape who carried a small, U-shaped harp known as a lyre.
The god of music, medicine, knowledge, and poetry. Alex thought, recanting his Greek mythology knowledge.
He then looked over to the other statue of Apollo. This one rode a wild horse and was equipped with a bow and arrow as if heading to war.
God of plague. Alex remembered the dichotomy of purpose many of the Greek gods possessed.
Though in awe of the temple’s beauty, Alex felt confused as to why he had been transported here. What was the purpose of this temple? What was it meant to represent? Was the lock even here?
Alex began to walk up the 14 steps. Along the way, he recalled the history of this building. Erected to honor the god Apollo, it was the third largest Greek temple ever created. Having taken hundreds of years to build, it was never fully completed.
He then admired the massive 60-foot pillars, each with ornately carved bases that surrounded the temple. Ten were aligned in the front, while another 21 ran down each of the temple’s sides. Each pillar then had a second equally impressive one directly behind it.
As he reached the top step, Alex looked up and inspected the massive, triangular tympanum at the top of the temple. In its center, it depicted a great battle led by Apollo with scenes of people singing and dancing or playing musical instruments along the sides, serving as a testament to the Greek god’s legacy.
What’s this all supposed to mean? What’s this temple supposed to represent?
Alex walked under the tympan
um and into a labyrinth of 12 more huge columns. At the end of the platform stood a large vaulted door covered by carved scenes in the shape of half-moons.
As he approached, these carvings began to glow and slightly levitate off the door. Only a circular area in the center of the door remained devoid of the art.
Alex inspected the carving before proceeding any further. While some represented more peaceful endeavors such as farming or a large feast, others took a more sinister form and depicted armies fighting or the dead being pulled from battle.
He began to recognize a few of the scenes.
Had they been in a painting?
Did I see them on some sculpture?
He pondered a few more moments but could not seem to recollect where he had observed them before. Undaunted, Alex went up to the door and pushed. The closer he approached, the brighter the scenes became and the more they levitated away from the door.
Locked!
Alex pushed again but to no avail. The entrance had been sealed.
Stepping back from the door, it all became clear to him.
“It’s a riddle,” Alex said aloud. “Albert created some sort of elaborate riddle in order to uncover the lock.”
Though he certainly did not appreciate the obstacle, Alex was not deterred by the obstruction. In fact, he felt somewhat exhilarated by the challenge.
What does it all mean?
Suddenly, the area grew fuzzy. At first Alex thought it was just the door. However, upon looking further around himself, the whole area started to go out of focus.
A loud bang made the temple shake on its foundation as the scene around him distorted in both shape and color as if he were looking through a kaleidoscope.
Chapter_23
Suddenly, everything became clear. It was as if Alex had been extremely nearsighted and put on his glasses. No longer at the temple, he blinked his eyes a few times to discover that he was again back in his Macedonian tent. At first he felt slightly disoriented, but the noise outside his tent quickly made him regain his faculties.
The Hidden Reality (Alex Pella, #2) Page 18
