The Pandora Chronicles - Book 1 (A Scifi Adventure Thriller)

by Attard, Ryan

  “Thank you,” he replied. “I’ve heard many a tale about the Spaniards and their intention to conquer these lands. They will be coming soon. You do not have the tools or men to push back an armada of that magnitude.”

  He was not sure what they would do with that information. He couldn’t imagine they would uproot their lives and leave the island. Perhaps they would fight back and hold their ground. Or perhaps they would be wiped out.

  Either way, it was solely their choice.

  Hours of walking and hacking through vines and tall vegetation later and finally, the mouth of the cave loomed in view. It was not as impressive as Finnegan made it out to be. Instead, they found themselves staring at a large, gaping hole close to the edge of a cliff, masked by a wall of vegetation—albeit the placement indicated deliberate concealment.

  They had to walk in a straight file as the footpath was barely wide enough to accommodate two men side by side. If they fell off the path, all that awaited was a long fall onto the mass of serrated rocks on the beach below.

  They entered the cave, and Finnegan opted to go first, leading the vanguard with a lantern. The darkness had a visceral substance to it, as if alive, and eating away at all traces of light. The walls of the cave were towering and wide, all carved with paintings and hand imprints.

  “These pictures tell a tale,” Rodriguez said, running his hands down an illustration.

  Finnegan peered closer and noticed the light reflecting off the paint. It had a metallic look to it, like silver. There were millions of figures drawn on the walls, ranging from the ground all the way up to the ceiling of the cave. Some pictures depicted the stars and sky. Others were more familiar, pictures of humans.

  And all had some monstrous being and creature looming in the background, watching people as they went about in blissful ignorance.

  Then, as if something had triggered them, the pictures began moving. Light from the crew’s torches glimmered off of the paint as it slithered about. The shapes morphed, creating a living mural of history. Finnegan heard his men gasp and cry. Rodriguez made the Sign of the Cross while Tier stood mesmerized.

  “It’s a living depiction of God and past civilizations,” she whispered reverently.

  “Oy, Captain,” the first mate called. “Over here.”

  He was pointing at a small crack where a vein of gold snaked all the way up to the ceiling. A few crew members managed to tear their eyes off the living paintings and cheered softly. But Finnegan’s eyes caught something else and motioned for the crew to be silent.

  The slithering noise grew louder.

  Liquid gold, silver, and iron snaked along the walls, into the deeper, darker part of the cave. It was as if the cave was alive, and the veins of ore transporting minerals instead of blood. Oil, phosphorus, salt, even liquid rock; all were sucked into and along the walls deeper into the darkness, into the heart of the cave.

  The crew’s panic resurfaced. They could make sense of moving paintings, perhaps even rationalize it, but this was too much. Too many strange phenomena were happening at once. Never in their years of travel had they seen something like this.

  This must be the effect of the cavern of which the tribe spoke of, Finnegan thought, remembering the warning he received before leaving the tribe’s outpost.

  Indeed, the crew’s behavior was rapidly changing. Perhaps it was the foul smell in the air, or the exposed minerals, or maybe a drug of sorts.

  Or perhaps it was something else, something of a more fantastic nature.

  “From here onwards, we venture into the realm of the gods,” Finnegan said. “Any who wish to leave may do so without consequence. Do not, however, return to my ship.”

  He did not wait for their response. Instead he just headed straight into the darkness.

  Tier and Father Rodriguez were soon by his side, followed by the first mate, quartermaster, and a dozen other crew members—less than half the original party.

  Perhaps those who left were smarter, or saner, than the rest of us, Finnegan thought.

  They ventured down a narrow corridor until cool air hit them, and the darkness seemed to recede, followed by the eerie sounds of life and movement.

  The corridor gave way to a large, circular room, clearly marking this as the heart of the cave. It was enormous and completely alien. Steel and minerals snaked from the walls and into the center of the room.

  There, on a pedestal, hovering a few inches off an elevated bowl, was an orb made out of the blackest of black. It looked liquid and solid at the same time. The minerals went through the lower pedestal and exited from a second pedestal on top of the orb and back into the ceiling of the cave. Yet, neither of the pedestals touched, and the orb floated in between them.

  Surrounding the contraption was a wide platform, blinking alive with lights, and various consoles lit up like fireflies. A set of disembodied mechanical arms emerged from the consoles, and moved erratically about with both strength and precision.

  A faint blue light, like a clear sky, ran through lines on the walls, illuminating the bizarre room.

  Standing near the pedestal was a single man, but he was not of flesh and blood. Finnegan had seen skeletons before, and the monstrosity before him resembled a metal skeleton, yet alive and completely unaware of the intruders.

  There was a faint humming sound in the air, which reminded Finnegan of the industrial workshops he once visited. Amidst all the prayers and panicked squeaks coming from the crew, Finnegan heard a dismembered, autonomous voice echoing so loud, he felt it punch into his gut.

  “Intruders in command center. Select DNA recognized. Initiate Preservation Protocol.”

  The first mate, acting out of fear or perhaps despite of it, approached the metal skeleton with a cutlass in hand.

  “What in God’s name are you?” he asked.

  Finnegan and Tier yelled a warning at the same time, but the automaton was too quick. Its joints whirred and released steam from various parts of its figure, as its hand grabbed the first mate’s face and twisted.

  Several crew members screamed as they saw the first mate thrown away like a rag doll.

  “No!” The quartermaster leapt forward, his ball and chain already in hand.

  “Come back, you’re no match for it,” Tier screamed, but it was all in vain.

  The quartermaster spun the cannonball and threw it at the automaton. The heavy, lead ball made contact with the skeleton’s head, twisting it so that the automaton’s face now looked backwards.

  The crew cheered.

  Calmly, the automaton raised its arms and screwed its head back in place. It grabbed the stunned quartermaster by the shoulders and pulled him apart, tearing him like a sheet of paper.

  “Shoot it,” Finnegan yelled.

  Bullets from dozens of pistols flew at the automaton and sparks erupted from where the metallic creature was struck. The disembodied voice spoke again.

  “Warning. Select behavior not compatible with original programming. Terminate with extreme prejudice.”

  The automaton began walking closer, clearly unaffected by the bullets.

  When they saw this, the crew’s fear overtook them. Some attempted to run out of the room, only to be stopped by an invisible barrier. Lightning shot through, instantly incinerating them.

  They were now trapped between a wall of lightning and an impervious man of steel.

  Finnegan felt Tier pull on his arm as he took aim with his pistol. Blood trickled from her nose.

  “Shoot at its ribcage,” she panted heavily. “Its heart is beneath the metal plate.”

  Finnegan concentrated on the automaton, looking for weaknesses, until he found what he was looking for. A strategy took shape in his mind. Slowly he took aim, and fired.

  The lead shot went into the automaton’s first rib. It hit the bent metal and altered its course, then hit the inside of the breastplate at an angle which sent it flying the other way, ricocheting inside the automaton’s ribcage. The bullet tore through tubes of liqui
d until it embedded itself into a little piece of machinery which, like a heart, pumped some sort of liquid into the automaton.

  Smoke billowed from the automaton’s chest as it crumpled and fell, motionless.

  There was stunned silence, and a few crew members let out a sigh of relief. The automaton had almost reached them, ready to inflict upon them the same punishment it had on the first mate and quartermaster. Finally, the threat was gone.

  The disembodied voice resounded once again.

  “Evolution Protocol initiated.”

  From his position, Finnegan saw five chambers hidden at the opposite end of the room, and embedded into the cavern walls, suddenly light up. Whirring and mechanical thumping echoed like distant war drums and a blast of cool air exploded outwards as the chamber doors opened.

  From behind the hovering orb, Finnegan saw five pairs of automaton eyes light up all together, and stare directly at him.

  Chapter 11

  Insanity erupted as five new automatons came to life, slowly advancing towards the crew. Outnumbered nearly two to one, the automatons still attacked, waving their metallic arms like scythes. These new ones were more robust than the first and bore metallic plates on their limbs as well. Their movements were more fluid, and they seemed to manipulate the battle ground with relative ease.

  They have learned, Finnegan realized. These machines are capable for knowledge.

  But their weakness should remain all the same.

  The pirates now knew to pierce their hearts, wedging their swords and pistols in between their exposed ribs to reach the delicate wiring beneath. Finnegan saw one pirate stab home, but as smoke and buzzing shook the automaton, the pirate screamed in pain. Moments later vast amounts of electricity passed through the poor sailor, killing him instantly.

  “The orb,” Tier screamed as she ducked beneath a bludgeoning blow from another automaton. “Shoot the orb. Dislodge it.”

  No man was in a position to do so, save Father Rodriguez.

  Finnegan placed his pistol on the floor and slid it towards the priest’s direction. It bumped against Rodriguez, who was now on his knees with a rosary and the red book in his hands. He mumbled like a mad man, and Finnegan realized that he had reached his limit, with his faith broken, and his mind consumed.

  “Shoot it,” Finnegan roared over the commotion of battle.

  His voice reached the priest, who turned to look at Finnegan and slowly took the gun with shaking hands.

  “You are a man of God,” Finnegan continued. “Do not let anything else corrupt your mind.”

  Rodriguez’s eyes flashed with newfound courage. He took aim and shot the hovering orb.

  The lead bullet flew straight and true, towards its target.

  Suddenly it bent off course, encircling the orb without hitting it, and was spat back with twice its original force, right into the priest’s skull.

  There was a moment of stunned silence as Rodriguez fell dead. The surviving crew members fled from the automatons in sheer panic. There were only two metal men left, but the crew had been reduced to a scant number, and all of them had given up hope that they could ever win this battle.

  A hissing sound came from the chambers that housed the automatons, and two more emerged. The crew screamed and cursed the Devil. Some ran into the wall of lightning, preferring a quick death rather than be mutilated by the sinister metal abominations. Two of them turned their flintlocks on themselves in a fit of suicidal despair.

  “We are doomed,” Tier mumbled.

  Blood gushed from her nose as she stumbled and dropped her cutlass. The toll of using her powers was getting too much for her.

  Finnegan stepped in front of her and picked up her discarded weapon. He refused to give up. There had to be a way to survive—that lesson had been ingrained in his head countless times at sea. There was always a way.

  Always.

  The plan formed like a flash of lightning in his mind. Time seemed to stop and, like the markings on a chart, he saw exactly where he needed to move and where his blades needed to be thrust. Before he could offer any argument, any thought that might hinder his strategy, his body shot forwards, right in the midst of four terrible, indestructible men of steel.

  He ducked under one’s outstretched arms. Their moves were suddenly slow and sluggish.

  No, it isn’t them, he realized.

  His mental perception had risen far above theirs, and for the moment, he had the advantage over them. His swords pierced one’s heart, and then, another’s, in a continuous swift movement. Pushing against one and blocking the other’s grip, he thrust his secondary weapon beneath the automaton’s ribs and felt it snap. He threw the now useless sword handle in front of the last automaton’s eyes and stabbed it, too.

  He could already feel the orb understand his actions, and it had already begun building newer automatons, ones stranger than those Finnegan had defeated.

  He had to act now.

  In his awakened state, he could see the energy around the orb, spinning like a miniaturized typhoon. He also saw a small space where the energy fluctuated: the one weakness in an otherwise flawless design.

  He ran like his life depended on it and jumped. Finnegan plunged his saber into the weak spot, putting his weight behind his strike. The opposing forces were strong, but the tip of his blade was already touching the orb. He doubled his efforts, yelling with strain, and the black orb moved a fraction of an inch out of alignment.

  But it was enough.

  Finnegan felt the resistance lessen and pushed further. The orb hovered uselessly, resting against the sword wedged in its way. He pushed further and let go.

  The saber was now wedged in place, and the orb remained stuck to it. The strange black machine was emitting a soft hum, but remained quite dormant.

  “Warning.” The disembodied voice echoed throughout the room once more. “System shut down in progress.”

  Every machine began dying out in a bizarre coalition of hissing, blinking lights and the whirring of steel. Every chamber shut down and the automatons melted, as if they were no more than blocks of ice left in the afternoon Caribbean sun. They were now only a memory, like a lingering shiver after waking up from a nightmare.

  In mere seconds, the room went dead.

  As he watched, Finnegan’s mind was transported to another place, much like the visions he had when Rodriguez had spoken to him on the Belladonna. Information filled his mind and he knew of things that no man could ever dream of knowing: the birth of his species; the gods that came from the sky; they way they tampered with our nature. He saw what they meant to do with our world and he understood his place in destiny, what he was meant to do.

  He saw the future, lived it for the briefest of moments, and Finnegan felt something inside of him break. His cry echoed throughout the cavern, screaming until both the air in his lungs and the visions in his mind faded away.

  No, he thought. Not like this. It will not end like this.

  Suddenly filled with defiance and willpower he never knew he had, Finnegan scooped up the red ledger from Rodriguez’s corpse and knelt by Tier. She was conscious, but weak. Gently, he lifted her in his arms and walked out of that cursed place, intent on rewriting the destiny of mankind, and save it from certain calamity.

  Chapter 12

  Finnegan’s return to the native encampment was met with genuine surprise. They did not inquire about the other men—they knew very well what fate they had met. The chief and other elders tried to get him to divulge more details of his journey, but all Finnegan told them was that he had managed to stop, albeit temporarily, whatever was inside that cave.

  Then, he beseeched them to blow up the entrance to that place and cause a cave-in, permanently sealing that ungodly spot. The elders agreed immediately.

  Finnegan used all of the Belladonna’s powder kegs and led a team of warriors and hunters to the mouth of the cave. He warned them not to enter or even gaze at the darkness within. The explosion shook the very ground they sto
od upon and a portion of the cliff below collapsed.

  Seconds later, the cave was sealed.

  Finnegan knew it was only a temporary solution, but that was all he could do for now. He knew from his visions that another man—one with his same strange powers—would one day claim the orb inside.

  Finnegan and Tier set sail shortly afterwards, and through a series of negotiations, Finnegan managed to put together another crew from passing ships. Their new voyage took them through the rivers of Panama before Finnegan asked his men to leave, but not before paying them handsomely for their services.

  On his way to Jamaica, he settled on a rowboat with Elizabeth Tier, the red book, his captain’s log, which detailed his voyage, and a few provisions and arms for safe passage.

  The Belladonna was set on fire, though Finnegan knew it wouldn’t burn for long. In a few hours, a British galleon would intercept it. They wouldn’t recognize it as one of their own and would bring back the half-charred vessel to Port Royale. All of the ship’s documents would have become ashes by then, and the Belladonna rendered little more than a phantom. It would sit for a decade inside the ship yard until a bloke by the name of Francis Drake would become its eventual owner, and change its name to the Golden Hind.

  Finnegan and Tier settled into a quiet rural life. It wouldn’t be a very long life; what they saw and the usage of their abilities had taken a toll on their minds and bodies. Perhaps that was the price to pay for threading upon God’s territory.

  Tier had the red journal shipped back to the Order. They had not added any new information to its contents, and the Order would assume that the mission was a failure. Without more people with special abilities to undertake the task, it was unlikely the Order would be able to attempt such a mission again.

  After his last adventure Finnegan would never set sail again, although he did spend days out at sea, fishing for his family.

  Before he built his new house, new family, and new life, Finnegan had one final piece of business left.

  He acquired a sturdy coffin and filled it with dirt and hay. In a tightly sealed box, he placed his captain’s log, the only document which proved the existence of people with abilities like his, the Order, and detailed maps leading to the cave.