by Alex Bratton
“Wait,” he said.
“The Condarri are not pleased,” Calla whispered in his ear. “They think you have betrayed them.”
“What? No!”
“Who did you meet last night?”
Williams shifted uncomfortably. Calla dug her knife into his neck, the blade drawing a trickle of blood. Williams was not afraid of bleeding, but he knew she would kill him without thought. Perhaps that’s why he said, “There have been rumors that the Condarri are hiding technology in the mountains north of here.”
Calla pulled his head back further. “Who did you meet with?”
“Halston. He said he found something the Condarri don’t want us to know about.”
“You mean he’s turned traitor.” Calla let up a little, allowing Williams to breathe.
Halston. She knew the name but not him personally. Dar Ceylin would catch him, though.
“What technology has he found?” she asked.
“Don’t know. From what he said, I gathered he was recruiting. Said he needed big numbers.”
“Did he recruit you?”
“Of course not!”
“Then why did you run from me? You should have killed him or died trying!” Calla prepared to slit the traitor’s throat and pressed the blade harder against his neck.
Williams didn’t fight back even though he could have. “I admit I wanted to know what he was up to, but there are others. If I’d killed him, we might never have found them. I wanted him to lead me to them!”
“I don’t believe you. I could kill you now just for lying.” Calla remembered what Dar Ceylin had said about using Williams and begrudgingly admitted it was a good plan. “But I won’t.”
Williams blinked in confusion. “And why is that?”
“Because you’re going to help me. For your sake, I hope you can act on what you just said.”
Chapter Eight
One of Nash’s teams had swept the mineshaft for dangers, marking a path as they went. After days of searching and three men lost and found again down one of the side tunnels, they declared the ARCHIE facility safe.
As soon as word came back about the tunnel, Lincoln’s team prepared to go down. They walked through the trees, this time in broad daylight and with Schmidt as their escort.
Everyone was concerned about Halston, especially Nash, who felt personally betrayed. Halston, of course, had lied about his orders. Nash had no idea the man was going down into the mine. No one had a clue why he would attack a team of civilians. Nash questioned anyone who’d had contact with Halston since arriving in the mountains, but even the lieutenant’s closest friends were shocked by his behavior. The only conclusion anyone could reach was that Halston had gotten lost in the dark and panicked when someone finally found him.
“It’s a pretty weak explanation,” Carter said as the team followed the markings into the mineshaft. He ducked his head to go under a beam, careful not to hit Nelson with the torch he was carrying. “Halston can’t have been down here more than a few hours. Is that enough time to go crazy? And then, why would he run deeper in and not out?”
“Maybe he really had lost it,” Nelson said. He carried his bag on one shoulder. “He’s probably dead in here somewhere.”
“Unless he found another away out,” Alvarez said. She walked next to Lincoln, carrying a second torch.
Lincoln shook his head and wiped the sweat from his face. The hike to the mine had been easy, but he was nowhere close to being healed yet. He’d ignored the medic’s orders to stay at camp.
“There isn’t one,” he said. “I was down here a few hours before, remember? And it would have been completely dark.” Lincoln looked at Nelson’s bag. “You really think you’ll need your laptop now?”
Nelson smiled. “Don’t have the whole laptop, just the drive.” He patted the bag and looked up and down the tunnel. “Which way first?”
“Let’s look at the big room and then go back down Corridor A and take a look at that metal door. I’m sure we could bust a hole through it, given a little time.”
The torchlight flickered on the dark stone as they stepped down into the corridor in front of the sign. A large patch was darker than the surrounding stone, where Lincoln’s blood had stained the ground. Looking at it reminded him of just how close he had come to death.
When he had found out about the attacks, he wished he had died in them. But now, after a few days of recovery, Lincoln’s depression and guilt were turning to anger. Anger not just for Mina but for everyone who had been lost. For the cities that were destroyed. For the destruction of society.
And Lincoln wanted revenge.
Feeling helpless, he had begged Nash to let him back into the mine despite his injury. He could try to figure out why they were here. Although he hadn’t voiced the change to anyone, Lincoln’s sense of purpose had returned. This time, it was no longer a boyish curiosity about alien life but a hot, burning desire to find out everything he could about the aliens and use it to destroy them.
“Still feels creepy in here,” Nelson said, bringing Lincoln’s thoughts back to the present.
Lincoln scoffed.
Nelson shrugged. “Best word to describe it.”
Alvarez ran her hands along the smooth walls. “It almost feels polished, doesn’t it?”
The others joined her at the wall.
Schmidt stood with his hand on the stone. “Remember all that video of the towers—er, ships? They resembled polished stone. The news commented on it more than once.”
Carter nodded. “He’s right. What are you saying, Corporal?”
Schmidt hesitated, his gaze darting to Alvarez.
Lincoln noted the young man’s discomfort. “Go ahead.”
Schmidt swallowed and continued. “I’m saying it’s a big coincidence that the ARCHIE facility and the alien ships look like they’re made of the same material.”
“I agree,” Alvarez said. “Good call.”
Schmidt beamed with pride and held his skinny frame a bit straighter.
Carter handed his torch to Lincoln before reaching in his pocket for a cigarette, which he put it in his mouth without lighting. “We just need to figure out why they resemble each other.”
Lincoln nodded and walked along the walls, past the sign toward Corridor A. He lifted his torch to look at the ceiling. Something caught his eye. He turned. “Hey guys.” His voice echoed back to them.
“Yeah?”
“There’s a new wall here.”
Everyone walked over. Where Lincoln’s light should have flickered in the dark corridor, it met a stone wall that completely blocked the passage. It looked exactly the same as the walls the team had just been discussing—smooth and dry and polished. They stared at it, dumbstruck. Carter reached out to touch it. Lincoln handed his torch to Schmidt so he could press both hands against the stone.
“A new wall?” Carter choked as he tried to light the cigarette with shaking hands.
“Schmidt,” Alvarez said. “Do you know anything about this?”
“There wasn’t a wall here before? We just assumed there was.”
“No. We met Halston on the stairs down Corridor A.”
Carter tapped the new wall, feeling around the edges. “The wall looks exactly like the others. Maybe there’s a lever or something to close off the corridor? And someone accidentally pushed it?”
Lincoln took his torch from Schmidt and mimicked Carter.
A tall woman in uniform walked by en route to the other corridor, hefting a fresh stack of torches in her arms. The sharp smell of diesel fuel permeated the air.
Schmidt called out, “Captain Baker!” She turned, and he asked, “Do you know anything about this wall?”
The captain shrugged. “Looks like it did the day we found the tunnel.” She passed them and continued down Corridor B.
Nelson stood in front of the wall. “There has to be a mechanism for lowering it. Something triggered it.” He jerked his head toward it. “Think Halston’s in there?”<
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“No way of knowing,” Alvarez said darkly. “But if he is, he got what was coming to him.”
Surprised at the anger in her voice, Lincoln faced Alvarez. She glanced at him. Instead of anger, he saw fear in her eyes and disgust.
Reluctantly, the team left the wall to walk to Corridor B. Lincoln stared at the wall until everyone had left. This place was getting weirder all the time. He turned to catch up.
When Schmidt, Alvarez, Carter, Nelson, and Lincoln arrived at the cavernous round room, soldiers were lighting handfuls of torches. Apparently Nash’s men had trouble clearing the room on their first excursion because they couldn’t produce enough light to illuminate it.
“Wow,” Alvarez said softly when they stepped in. “I know you said it was big, Lincoln, but I didn’t picture anything like this. Imagine the weight of the ceiling. How is it supported?”
“What ceiling?” Nelson asked, holding his torch aloft. “We can’t even see it. Is this a cave?”
“Can’t be. Too round. It’s more like a silo than a cave,” Alvarez remarked.
“But the walls and floor are stone, right?”
“Maybe it was a natural cave that someone carved out,” Carter said.
“Someone like who?” Nelson asked, turning to Carter. “And why?”
A cool breeze swept around them, making their torches flicker.
“Where’s the air coming from?” Alvarez asked.
“Maybe it’s everyone moving around in here.” Nelson turned around, trying to light the walls with his torch.
“No,” Lincoln said. “The air felt like this before.”
Soldiers paced around the room, leaving torches propped against the stone every fifty feet, creating islands of yellow light all the way around the circumference. The branches they’d used were long, so each torch rested at eye level. From the opposite side, each torch was a tiny pinprick of light, twinkling eerily on the walls and floor.
“It looks like the entire inside of the mountain!” Nelson said, rotating slowly in place, taking it all in.
“Right. First, let’s measure this room,” Alvarez said as she began to unpack the rope and tape measure she had brought.
“Not yet,” Lincoln said. “I want to go to the center.”
“Why?” Nelson asked.
“Because we can’t see it, that’s why. We’ll leave a trail of lights as we go.”
“We’re already running out of torches, sir,” Schmidt said.
“I’ll just use the one I have.”
“What about Halston?” Carter reminded. “We’ll go with you, just in case.”
“Why?” Lincoln asked. “Do you think he’s sitting out there, waiting for someone to pass by? I thought we agreed he attacked me because I had the gun?”
“We did. All I’m saying is we haven’t found him yet,” Carter pointed out.
Carter called to Nelson, who had wandered away. Lincoln and Carter started toward the center of the room, walking in front. Alvarez and Nelson walked in the middle, and Schmidt followed.
Lincoln fought off dizziness. They didn’t have any pain medications except morphine, and he refused to take anything that would inhibit his ability to focus.
The floor below them remained smooth and dry, gleaming in the light of the torch. It didn’t have any flaws, not one crack. They walked until all the surrounding lights appeared equally distant.
“Nothing. No change,” Schmidt said.
“It feels a little cooler, though, right?” Nelson asked.
“Yes.” Lincoln welcomed the fresh air on his overheated face.
“How many paces?” Schmidt asked.
Alvarez shook her head. “It’s impossible to tell if we’re really in the middle of the room.”
They decided to walk to the other side. At the opposite wall, they turned. Everything looked the same. The small points of the flames along the wall. The islands of light. Had they walked in a straight line? They couldn’t be sure without locating the entrance. Apparently, the soldiers hadn’t thought to mark it with extra torches.
“Let’s just walk around the wall and measure the circumference,” Alvarez suggested. “We can’t see the center, anyway.”
The team followed the torches around, falling out of line now they had the security of the lights along the wall. Lincoln trailed behind the group. Schmidt turned to wait for him.
Lincoln waved him on. “I’m fine. Just keep moving.”
“Yes, sir.”
The pain in Lincoln’s side had intensified. A cool breeze blew on his face again, and he paused to let it refresh him. Just then, the torch next to him went out.
Startled, Lincoln looked ahead. The others had already reached the next torch. Schmidt said something to Alvarez, making her laugh. I should call for them. But a wave of nausea coursed through him, and he pushed on and walked toward the next light. The breeze had not seemed strong enough to blow out the torch, but maybe they hadn’t properly soaked it in fuel.
When he reached the next torch, he saw Alvarez’s coat. Two torches ahead now. Still not far, so there was no need to panic. Lincoln paused to rest against the wall. The heat of the torch hurt his face, already uncomfortably warm.
Then, he felt something else. Not a breeze, exactly, but something at his back. He turned but saw nothing. The light sputtered. Lincoln waited for the cool air to touch his face again.
It never came. Darkness pressed in around him. He was about to pass out. I should definitely call the others.
The others were yelling to him. He could hear them as they discovered he wasn’t immediately behind them. Lincoln opened his mouth to speak, but it was so dry. The darkness continued to creep into the room. The voices of his team were talking loudly now. Then, they were muffled like the torches. Lincoln watched the torch, which still burned but no longer gave off light. Weird. The wall and floor had turned inky black. He couldn’t see his feet even though he hadn’t moved out of the glow of the torch. Probably his team would appear any second.
“Hey! Everybody! Back here,” he managed.
No answer. The torch ahead of him went out. Darkness crept in further. He shivered. The next light went out too and the next. Was he still awake? Lincoln pinched himself. Then, all the lights died.
Except the torch next to him still burned. He held his hand up to the light but couldn’t see it at all, even as he felt the extreme heat of the fire on his fingertips. The darkness was hiding it. Lincoln laughed inwardly at the thought.
A shadow rose up, blacker than the other darkness around him. It smothered Lincoln, cutting off his cry. His chest constricted like a giant snake had wrapped its coils around him and was squeezing. Stars burst into his vision, and Lincoln, terrified, could only think of dying and of Mina.
Calla walked through the dark corridor with her eyes trained on the floor. Instead of going to the gallery, she turned into the hall and glanced around. Satisfied she was alone, Calla looked up. Like everything else on Condar, the hall had been built for a larger race. The ceiling disappeared completely in the dim light, and even Calla’s eyes had trouble penetrating the darkness there. Adarria, the circular writings of her Condarri masters, covered the walls, but the floor was smooth as calm water all the way to the middle. There, in the very heart of the hall, a stone dais hovered ten feet in the air. Adarria covered it too, deep etches in the black stone. They were quiet now.
Last time Calla had been here, the hall had teemed with Condarri and their slaves. The stone giants ringed the dais, which glowed from within, the only light source in the circular space. Calla and Dar Ceylin had worn their masks so their masters did not have to gaze on their unworthy faces.
Upon the dais, they had sparred one last time for all to see. The day before, Dar Ceylin had been chosen for command, but Calla had challenged him. She had earned it, proven her loyalty beyond doubt. So, they fought for it while the Condarri race looked on.
Dar Ceylin’s black ethereal mask covered his entire face with no adorning symbols.
Only his eyes showed through it. Calla had taken care to let the darkness of her mask reflect the Condarri symbols, and it swirled and changed like the adarria on the dais.
They had faced each other many times in training. Dar Ceylin had no weaknesses. Equal to him in every way, Calla knew his every move and had planned to use that knowledge against him. Calla would win. She had been certain.
She and Dar Ceylin had squared off in the center, arm’s length apart.
“No games today, Calla.”
Calla had looked into the dark eyes shining from behind the smoky mask. “I want this.”
“So be it.” Dar Ceylin had taken a step back and motioned for her to make the first move.
The stone dais below them had flashed as the adarria shifted and changed. Condarri and hybrids had silently watched the skillful dance above them. Calla, the challenger, had made the first move and struck at Dar Ceylin’s head, but he had blocked her and spun around to strike back. Swiftly, Calla had ducked and delivered a kick meant to throw him off his feet. But as well as Calla knew Dar Ceylin, he knew her. The fight had continued with neither backing down nor giving up. The watchers had stood at attention as Calla pinned Dar Ceylin, locking her arms around his neck.
“I will not be the one who kills you,” he had whispered.
Dar Ceylin had wrenched her arm back, dislocating her shoulder. Pain had stabbed through her arm and chest, but Calla had expected this move and used the force of his motion to twist and face him. She had kicked his head, sending him sprawling.
Dar Ceylin had stood in an instant, attacking, drawing her back in. She met him, anticipating another blow. He delivered a final kick, which she failed to block in time. Calla had sprawled across the dais, stunned. In the second she had taken to recover, Dar Ceylin was there, pinning her to the ground. He had ripped off her mask before the Condarri, the beautiful hieroglyphs dissolving into nothing.
