The Nexus Colony

by G. F. Schreader

  * * * * *

  As the winch reeled the cable back in, Abbott hoped he had made the right decision in bringing Dr. Bryson back to the surface. Not that she wasn’t contributing anything to their progress down below, but rather that there was the chance she would panic once she put two and two together and figured out that John Lightfoot had disappeared. Worse yet, that somebody—or something—had done the taking. Monroe had his specific instructions. Don’t tell her anything more other than Lightfoot had gone back down to the tent, having taken sick.

  “No,” Abbott reprimanded her. “You many not go back down and help him.”

  “If the man is sick, somebody should be helping him,” she protested as Monroe continued helping her out of the harness which had gotten all twisted during the ascent up the crevasse wall.

  “The man will be fine,” Abbott replied, trying to divert her attention to the task on the ridge. He was adamant. “I do not want this rig left with only one person attending to it.” Abbott turned. “Donnie? Make certain Dr. Bryson knows how to operate both the rig and the radio.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You know what, Colonel Abbott?” Allison responded scornfully. “You’re a very heartless man. You wouldn’t care if the man was dying down there, would you?”

  “Frankly, no,” Abbott responded. “But he isn’t. Right now I’m more concerned about seeing that these people down here don’t get left abandoned.”

  “Ready,” Prall announced, having hooked himself up to the harness along with his weapon and a large gear bag that he had retrieved from the snowmobile.

  “Lower him down, Donnie,” Abbott said, giving the hand signal. “Now please…Allison,” he implored, softening his approach, a psychological ploy she missed. “Watch what he’s doing. I need you up here to help Donnie, and I need Colonel Prall down there to help us bust into the place.”

  “You don’t need anybody to bust into the place,” Allison said sarcastically.

  Abbott looked at her. “Why not?”

  She hesitated for an instant. Then decided, what the hell? It doesn’t make a difference anyway, and said, “Because they’ve already found an opening.”

  They must have just found it, Abbott guessed. He replied, “Look, Allison. I’d appreciate a little cooperation. I want to get us all out of this place, and the sooner the better. I’ve got a job to do, and I intend to do it. But we’re going to do things my way and that’s it! Now please…” he gestured. “Help Donnie.”

  The cable was reeled back in, and within five minutes Abbott was back down at the bottom of the crevasse. The other five men were congregating in the alcove. Their movement cast an eerie shadow across the cavern ceiling. They were silent. When Abbott approached behind them, he could see where, in his absence, they had cleared away a significant portion of the wall to reveal more of the panels. And there, to the left just as Lisk had suspected, the structure had been extensively damaged, the ice having somehow gotten inside breaking apart the outer covering. They had found the base of the severed structural beam, and it was twisted and broken like a tree branch, having given way to the most powerful force in nature. Ice.

  There was still a solid wall in front of them, but as Abbott moved closer to inspect what Lisk and Ruger were pointing out to him, he found where they had punched a hole. Lisk passed a pry bar through the opening, wiggling the handled end around to show that the thickness of the wall was minimal and the bar was suspended in air on the other side of the wall.

  “It’s hollow,” Ruger said, breaking the silence of the group.

  “Just found it about fifteen minutes ago,” Lisk said. “Figured we’d wait until you got back down. Needed a breather anyway.”

  Abbott nodded. “Any rush of air when you punched through?”

  Lisk indicated negative. “No apparent change in air pressure, either.”

  Prall, who had been fumbling in the gear bag, handed him a small, odd-looking tubular device attached to a lanyard. Abbott stuffed it through the hole.

  Watching intently, they could see when the device had reached the other side, as it dropped toward the floor under gravity. Abbott fed the lanyard through the hole until it reached the bottom.

  “About ten, twelve inches thick,” Abbott said.

  “What is that thing?” Ruger asked.

  “Detects the presence of certain toxic gases,” Abbott replied.

  “Certain?”

  “Not all. Most of the bad ones, though.”

  Prall was holding up another device. This one was equipped with a meter. Ruger could see the red LED numbers blinking.

  Abbott said, “Same type of device. Little more sophisticated.”

  After a minute or so, a green light came on. “All clear out here,” Prall said.

  “Keep it handy,” Abbott said. “I want it kept on when we go inside.”

  Abbott pulled on the lanyard. The device made it to the top of the hole on the other side, but apparently got caught, not able to negotiate the angle to be brought back in through the hole. “Bust it open a little more,” Abbott said.

  Lisk took the geologist’s hammer and made the hole bigger.

  “Ugh-h-h,” Grimes suddenly gagged. “What in God’s name is that smell?”

  They all began to turn their heads away from the ghastly odor that was apparently emanating from the widened opening.

  Prall was already holding up the meter near to the opening.

  “My guess is that it’s just stale air escaping,” Almshouse said.

  “Sure is awful,” Ruger said, moving away from the hole.

  “It’s got to be,” Abbott responded. “It’s air that’s been pent up inside for who knows how long.”

  “Kind of like the air they released when Carter opened up the Great Pyramid,” Grimes commented.

  “That’s real encouraging, Hilly,” Almshouse responded. “I guess that means we’re all going to die from Carter’s Curse of the Pharaohs.”

  “Wasn’t any curse that killed them,” Grimes replied. “It was the lethal bacteria.”

  “What’s the difference?”

  “How many masks are in the bag?” Abbott asked.

  “Three,” Prall replied.

  Abbott gestured, and Prall gave one each to Abbott and Lisk. Ruger looked slighted, and Abbott said to him, “We’ll handle the next phase alone, Mike.”

  Ruger responded, “Come on, Marsh. You’re not going to bring us all the way to this point and leave us hanging!”

  “I just want to make sure it’s safe first. That’s all.”

  Ruger was silent.

  Abbott made a quick check of the time. In about another hour—if the estimated time of arrival was accurate—the LC-130 would arrive at the glacier to pick up the frozen body. It would be a lot easier if everybody was still down here in the crevasse. Less complication. Even if Abbott had to stay down. He could still pass any new info. They could have the body out before anybody was the wiser, especially Ruger. Donnie could handle Dr. Bryson.

  Abbott paused to take a breather. The foul odor seemed to be dissipating, but the smell still lingered in the confine of the cavern.

  Ruger, sensing the break in the action, said, “Everybody’s exhausted, Marsh.” Ruger sat down next to him. “You might want to consider going in tomorrow. Might give the place more time to air out.”

  Abbott didn’t respond.

  “We could bust open the hole wider,” Ruger offered.

  Abbott was unmoved. “I didn’t come this far to take any break now.”

  “Everybody’s tired and hungry,” Ruger implored. “Body resistance goes down. Then we’re all a candidates for frostbite or hypothermia.”

  “We’re out of the elements down here,” Abbott responded. “You know that as well as I do. Those portable heaters are sufficient. You cold, Mike? Anybody cold, Mike?”

  “That’s not the point,” Grimes replied.

  “It is the point, Dr. Grimes,” Abbott snapped. “Nobody’s suffering. At least that
I can see. You’re all every bit as excited as I am to see what’s back there. Don't give me that shit!”

  “You’re right,” Ruger responded. “But it can wait a few more hours until morning, can’t it?”

  Abbott looked at Ruger. “No. It can’t.”

  “You worried about the weather up there?” Grimes asked.

  “Yeah,” Abbott responded. “The weather.”

  Abbott stood up, gesturing to Prall to get ready to bust through the wall. “I want to know what’s behind that wall. And I want to know now!”

  * * * * *

  Allison Bryson sat huddled in the back seat of the snowmobile. Exhausted, cold, hungry and bored, she remained at odds with Major Monroe over her disallowance to take a short trip down to the camp. “Female thing,” she voiced as a last resort.

  “Too bad,” he responded. “You’re staying here.” She noticed the change in his demeanor since yesterday. More callous, angry. Like the man’s whole personality had changed. Not that she ever really knew it in the first place. Must be The Ice. They say it changes people out here.

  And aside from her apparent detainment on the ridge, off to her side the frozen body sat precariously next to the sled on the down slope side. It hadn’t been taken to the camp, which was what Abbott had told the others as the reason he was coming topside. She shuddered looking at it. Up here on the surface, it was different. More foreboding. More mysterious, even though it was now exposed to natural light. Maybe because she was looking at it alone. Maybe because it symbolized what could happen to every living thing that stayed out here too long.

  The wind to this point in the day had remained relatively calm, and Allison watched the distant sun roll with uncertainty around the Antarctic skyline just above the horizon. What had been a tapestry of pastel colors was once again starting to darken, as another passing storm system seemed to be rising far off in the distant mountains. The charcoal blot slowly encroached on the blue sky that had been there for hours. The glistening crystals that were omnipresent far down on the glacial field had disappeared, either the angle of the sun’s rays or the growing haze blotting out the refraction from the crystals. The panoramic landscape was metamorphosing yet again, heralding another episode of the ever-changing face of Antarctica.

  Monroe didn’t want to talk, either. Allison had attempted several conversations, each time being met with a disinterested response. These people were beginning to frighten her. As she sat huddled in the machine, at the moment out of harm’s way of the frigid element, Allison began to reminisce the events of the past forty eight hours. She could describe them only as an ordeal. This was not a scientific mission, at least as scientific missions were designed. But rather one in which she—and Hilly and Ruger for that matter—had more or less been impressed into service at the whim of who knows who? The powers to be. Whatever those powers were.

  The thought was depressing. She was now very concerned about how all of them were going to fare after this ordeal was ended. Abbott and his people were the kind you only read about in books. They really don’t exist except in somebody’s imagination. These individuals have notions about extraterrestrials, and somehow they’ve managed to project that scenario into the human realm of reality, and they’ve made the perception almost believable with this situation.

  The experiences out here on The Ice had been all around her, had now become ingrained as a part of her conscious memories. But still, the rationale of Allison Bryson was refusing to accept it. She breathed a long sigh of frustration, and the white streamer of her breath lingered in the frigid air. She glanced again at the distant storm clouds. How far are they? she asked herself.

  Recalling that somebody had binoculars, she got up to move around and spotted the case in the snowmobile occupied by Prall and Monroe. Looking over toward the solitary man, Monroe was staring off in the distance looking away from her. What if I just started this machine and drove off? she asked silently to herself. Are you going to shoot me like you were going to shoot Lightfoot?

  She reached inside the machine to retrieve the binoculars. Monroe didn’t flinch. Screw you, you bastard! she thought, defiantly. Taking them back to her machine, she removed them from the case, adjusted the focus, and aimed the glasses off toward the distant mountains. The resolution of the images was crystal clear. Fascinating, she thought. Allison couldn’t judge the distance accurately, but she remembered Mike Ruger telling her that you could only see a maximum distance of twenty miles to the horizon, and that was on the flat ocean. The storm had to be at least ten miles away. Sure hope it doesn’t come in this direction.

  Allison watched the weather activity for quite a while until it finally started to bore her. Glancing periodically over her shoulder at Monroe, he was still staring off into space. The gargoyle pose, she thought. Either he hadn’t noticed her peering through his binoculars, or else he didn’t care. Panning the area through the glasses, she gazed again at the majestic peaks that rose like crystalline spires above the ice-encrusted mountains. Then down along the glacial field, imagining in her mind how the ice was actually a massive frozen river flowing with great power over the face of the earth. Finally here eyes came to rest on the encampment. Poor Lightfoot, she thought, even though she disliked the man intensely. No wonder he was sick. It was a wonder everybody wasn’t sick the way Abbott has been pushing everyone to their physical limits.

  And then it struck her that something was amiss. Something was odd about the encampment below as it filled the field of view in the lenses. She knew how meticulous Mike Ruger was about the configuration. The camp looked in disarray. She could see where the supply sleds had been moved around—that was going to set Mike off—but the other snowmobile was right where Mike wanted them all to be parked. Why would they have moved the sleds? Lightfoot must have moved them, or maybe these two goons had been looking for something and moved them out of the way, or…then she noticed the odd depression directly in the center of the camp. She was certain it hadn’t been there before. The circle was so apparent, so perfect, that she wondered why she hadn’t noticed it up until now.

  Allison dropped the binoculars from against her face, then turned back to check on Monroe, who was still staring off. What in the hell is going on out here? She peered again through the glasses. What is that thing? It wasn’t there when they had left camp earlier that morning. For some reason, she turned quickly around to see Monroe staring at her. Caught. At first, Monroe didn’t react. Allison felt the fear rising from the pit of her stomach. Trying to quell her panic, uncertain how this maniac was going to react to her, she called to him casually, “Looks like the storm might be heading this way.”

  Monroe approached her. The annoyance was evident on his face, what little she could see of it through the overhang of the furry parka hood. He stopped next to her. Slowly, he reached out for the glasses and took the binoculars from her weak grasp. He said in a very low, condescending tone of voice, “Don’t even think about going down there.”

  She hesitated, swallowing the lump in her throat. “I wasn’t.”

  “Good.”

  As he turned to walk away, the panic still rising up inside her, Allison found herself blurting out, “Stop!”

  He turned.

  “What’s happening down there?!” she cried out. “I demand to know right now!”

  Monroe replied, “Just stay put and you won’t have to worry.”

  “What?” she exclaimed. “What are you telling me?” Her heart was pounding wildly in her chest cavity, and she felt the tension rising to her neck.

  “Nothing is going to happen to anybody,” he responded callously. “If they were going to do anything to us, they would have done it by now.”

  “Where’s Lightfoot?!”

  “Just follow the Colonel’s orders. You got that, lady?” Monroe stomped away, taking the binoculars along with him.

  You asshole! she screamed inside her head. Trying desperately to maintain control over her emotions, feeling totally abandoned, Allison
Bryson realized she had only two choices. Either huddle down in the lee of the snowmobile and wait for Ruger’s return, or else steal the damn machine and go down there and get it over with, whatever it was that was going on down there that Abbott was keeping them away from. Hell of a choice, she thought.

  A brief wisp of frigid wind found its way into the seam of her parka hood, sending a chill all the way down her spine. Hunched back inside the shelter of the big snowmobile, Allison Bryson would weigh the dilemma only a short while longer before the choice would be made for her.

  * * * * *

  It was an outer shell. The panels, the pieces of artifacts, they were all part of the protective dome that surrounded an inner structure which was shaped like a giant honey-combed gumdrop. They had cautiously entered the opening in the ice wall, Prall leading the way, carbide light in one hand, his weapon held steady in the other, although what purpose weapons would serve at this point was moot. Abbott entered second, instinctively holding the weapon pointed forward, followed closely by Lisk.

  They emerged into a corridor which apparently wrapped itself around the massive facade much like a tire wraps around a rim. They estimated the corridor was about ten feet wide. The facing of the inner structure was equidistant from the inwardly curving panels of the outer shell. The facings of both appeared to continue to remain equi-distant all the way around and all the way upward making the spatial plane slanted inward. Abbott immediately realized that your standard six foot human actually only had about five feet of usable space, as the headroom was reduced along the curvature of the wall.

  They shone the lights up along the curvature of the inner facade, but the angle of the surface and the effective length of the carbide light beam prohibited them from seeing anything beyond fifty feet. Abbott aimed the light in both directions down the corridor. Again, they could only see about fifty feet into the blackness. Whatever this structure was, it was immense. Whatever this structure had been, it hadn’t been put here by human hands.