by Nick Thacker
Mark noticed immediately why Carter had chosen this target. The building, raised from the floor of the base by cinder blocks, had large pipes shooting outward from the base of the building and into the ground. They were the same type of apparatus that housed his company’s long-distance cabling, meant to help them communicate on a closed network across the entire campus.
It was a communications building—small, but most likely home to some sort of station-wide schematics, internal diagrams, or something else that might be useful.
“Mark, come inside with me and Erik. Saunders and Mason, stay behind and keep watch for anything suspicious. I don’t want us to all get caught inside that building. We’ll be sitting ducks.”
Mark and Erik followed closely behind Carter and entered the small shack. It was dusty and dark, but Carter found a working light switch. Dust covered everything, but Mark could see lights blinking on and off below the thick layer of silt, and he could smell the heated electronics. This place is on and working.
He immediately started looking around. Stacks of processors sat along one wall, surprisingly small considering the decade in which the station was built, and rows of computer monitors sat on a waist-high table along another.
“Know what any of this junk is?” asked Erik.
Mark didn’t answer, but began dusting off one of the monitors. He reached below the table, slid out a keyboard, and began to examine the screen. He typed in a string of commands, then another. And another.
“It doesn’t seem to be responding. I’m not sure what it’s waiting for.”
“A password, maybe?” Erik and Carter watched over his shoulder, staring at the blinking cursor on the otherwise blank screen.
“No. At least I don’t think so. It’s a command prompt screen, like DOS or BASIC, but it’s not responding to the usual commands. Maybe it needs—”
“Hey, check this out,” Erik said from behind Mark. He spun to see the large man flipping through a book on the other side of the small room. “I found a manual or something.”
Mark joined him, and together they looked at the front cover. The first page was faded almost beyond recognition, but they could see the pale outline of some kind of computer company logo.
Erik flipped the page, the flimsy manual almost falling apart in his hands, and Mark gasped.
“Look,” he said, pointing at the bottom of the left-side page. “It’s a copyright page.”
Carter spoke from behind him. “Does that say ‘Copyright 1998’?”
“It does,” Mark said. “All rights reserved.”
“Wait—why does a research station that was built in the seventies have a computer manual from the nineties in it?” Erik asked.
“For the same reason there would be modern computers down here. Because, Erik, this place wasn’t abandoned in the eighties, like we thought. There’ve been visitors since then.”
Carter seemed to be focused on the stacks of binders and manuals resting on the table behind Mark. Mark’s eyes wandered over, and noticed the titles on some of them.
“Look at this. ‘Energy Systems, Agartha: Storm.’ You think that’s Mitchell Storm?”
Carter reached for it, dusted off the cover, and flipped it open. “Yes, you’re right. ‘Mitchell Storm, Three Mile Island.’”
Erik spoke from across the room. “I’m sorry, wait. Three Mile Island, the site of the nuclear meltdown?”
“Right. In the ‘70s, in Pennsylvania,” Carter said. “We know Storm was working there at the time of the meltdown, but we have no idea what happened to him after. We assume he went to work for Nouvelle Terre.”
Mark turned a few pages, then read the section heading aloud. “Energy Control Mechanisms and Maintenance - Section I. I think this is a good bet. Mark, want to take a look?”
Mark didn’t know anything about energy systems—certainly not geothermal or nuclear reactors—but he grabbed the binder anyway. He read for a few minutes while Erik and Carter glanced through other binders on the table. “It says the geothermal plant will be a core component of the base, basically stretching from the lowest levels—Ten through Fourteen—to the main level.”
He read on, trying to make sense of the highly technical drawings, graphs, and text. “I think the plant is the main reason the base was built. There’s a quote here: ‘Agartha Base, referencing Alexandre Saint-Yves d'Alveydre’s account of the subterranean world of the same name, will feature an enhanced machinery component larger in size, scope, and energy output than any other modern power facility of similar design.’” Mark paused for emphasis and looked up as his captive audience as he read the next part. “‘Agartha Base will, assuming positive test results, be capable of powering the equivalent of a major metropolitan area without the need for redundant or chained systems.’”
“This base, then, is a prototype?” Erik asked.
“I don’t know. So far though it doesn’t seem like it. This place has been running continuously for over thirty years, self-contained, energy independent, and without any major breakdowns. My guess is that this is the real deal.”
“Hold on,” Erik said, flipping back a page in the binder. “This is not right. I mean, this is different than what I have seen.”
Mark didn’t understand what he was talking about, but he let the man finish. The diagram in front of them was a cross-section of what looked like the base; all levels were stacked on top of one another, and with their round circumferences, the cross-section of the base had the appearance of a giant sphere, the top half of which was above ground, and the bottom half built directly into the Earth’s crust. The bottom four levels—like the map from the main atrium—contained a large machine in the center of the sections. The machine here in the book, however, was much larger than the one referenced on the map.
“I have seen a geothermal plant. This is one. See how it continues down, below the station? It is built into the crust itself, and is therefore more efficient.”
Mark and Carter saw what Erik was talking about. The plant they were looking at was shaped like a cone, upside-down, with the point of it pointing straight downward.
“This is incorrect, though. It is not useful to build one with a point like this. It makes no sense.”
“Well, I’m sure they knew what they were doing,” Mark said.
“They did, but I am not sure that the builders intended this machine to be used explicitly for energy production, at least in the traditional sense. I studied for a semester at a geothermal power plant in Siberia. A traditional plant will essentially have one pipe that carries water or steam up into the plant and another that injects the water back underground.”
“What’s the point?” Mark asked. “Maybe this one’s more powerful?”
“A larger pipe doesn’t necessarily lead to more energy withdrawal. Further, this is a completely different design. It almost looks like a corkscrew. I cannot believe it is simply a larger version of a geothermal power plant.”
“Okay,” Carter interrupted. “Impressive. But what does Nouvelle Terre want with it?”
Erik opened his mouth to offer an answer to Carter’s question, but a man’s voice yelled from outside. “Carter! Move out—we’ve got company!”
Chapter 25
DR. PAVAN HAD SPENT THE last five years of his professional life on the lecture circuit. He wasn’t able to pull down the same amount of money as a guru motivational speaker, but in his field—marine archeology—there was enough grant money floating around that enough of it seemed to come his way.
During his tenure at Dalhousie University in Nova Scotia, he’d taught a total of three classes—graduate Archeological and Geological Oceanography, three semesters back-to-back—and spent the rest of his time traveling for guest lectures.
When he’d discovered a new form of marine plant life, a bacteria that thrived equally well in deepwater vents reaching temperatures of over five hundred degrees Fahrenheit as it did in the chilled waters surrounding them, he chose to write his paper, to th
e dismay of many of his esteemed peers, in the nonacademic vernacular.
Essentially, the paper was an article fit for the cover story of a Popular Science magazine. Not surprisingly, that magazine approached Dr. Pavan and offered him a hefty sum to write another article, this time “distilling the information to make it accessible to the common hobbyist.”
He complied, and soon found himself the author of multiple pieces of popular nonfiction in competing industry magazines, trade publications, and the guest of a few TV talk shows. His fame in the academic oceanography world soon grew, as did his monthly income and celebrity status.
When he was approached by Daniel Carter and his team, he wasn’t sure to what extent he’d be useful to the mission. There was the obvious need of scientific knowledge, but most of the details he’d received were vague or altogether completely unstated. His interest in the mysterious, unknown properties of the deep ocean were what finally tipped the scales. Aside from that, his publisher, who only knew that Dr. Pavan’s leave of absence would possibly end in a commercially-viable book, urged him to take the assignment.
So he was here, under five miles of ocean, walking around freely on a patch of dry ocean rock. His initial shock of the locale was quickly replaced by the sheer amount of research he’d be able to do.
His half group—Jen, Nelson, and himself—had been studying the rock outcroppings for almost an hour. Nelson wasn’t much help, and after fifteen minutes relegated himself to fiddling with his gun at the opposite side of the cavern. He and Jen continued their scientific banter.
“Do you think the scratches here are the same? They seem to have similar properties,” Jen said.
“I do. The substantive evidence we have here—albeit not much—seems to indicate that. What I do not understand, however, is why they are here.”
“Well we’re assuming they’re here for the same reason they’re all over Lindsay’s body?”
“Yes. But again, why? Why did they end up on this wall if they were attacking Lindsay? And if not, why did they end up on Lindsay?” Dr. Pavan asked.
“Again, let’s consider what we have,” Jen offered. “We know they exist in streaks of five parallel lines, each streak crisscrossing one another in seemingly random ways. Some of the streaks are made up of lines that are about an inch apart, while others are made up of lines that are much closer together.”
“Which would imply what?”
Nelson spoke from the other side of the room. “Seems obvious, don’t it? The lines are from hands, and the difference in the distances are because the hands are from different people.”
Dr. Pavan and Jen exchanged a glance.
“What is that supposed to mean, Mr. Nelson?”
Nelson let out a harumph, but answered the question. “Just what I said it did—no more, no less. Lindsay was attacked, and by more than one attacker. It’s a group, most likely, living in the caves or somewhere else in the station.”
“That much is obvious, Nelson,” Jen said. “Where else would they come from?”
“Where else would anyone come from?” he asked in return. “Look, all I’m saying is that you can ‘scientifically analyze’ these rocks all day, but I’m telling you—Lindsay was attacked, and by a group of something. My guess would be humans, judging by the height of the scratches on the wall, the lack of anything else resembling life we’ve found so far, and the severe amount of understaffing they’ve got here nowadays.”
Dr. Pavan didn’t like what the man was implying, but he had to admit he had a point. Jen’s raised eyebrows suggested she agreed. He sighed. “Okay, I didn’t think about the height of the scratches. They go from about seven feet above the floor of the cave to no less than two…” he stepped toward the wall and placed his open palm against one of the streaks, “meaning that they could indeed have been caused by a human.”
Jen looked back at Nelson. “What else do you assume about this situation? Anything that might help us out?”
“Yeah. Sure. Seems like we’re in over our heads if you ask me. But hell, I ain’t got a choice in the matter. I’m a loyal member of the team, you know?” He lifted the side of his mouth in a quirky grin. “Besides, I ain’t the brains behind this operation. You two are. I’m here to protect you. Lend a hand, keep you out of trouble, you know.”
“I feel better already,” Jen said.
Dr. Pavan found himself agreeing with the soldier. “I don’t know, Jen. He’s got a point. There aren’t any staff members or researchers still here other than Bingham, and we don’t even know where he is. Plus, he’s not exactly sane, if you ask me,” he said.
“You heard him yourself, Doctor. He’s the only remaining member of a team who left years ago. He probably stayed back to manually launch the sub and close the docking station.”
Dr. Pavan frowned. “Right. It all seems odd, though. Why did one member choose to stay behind?”
Nelson answered. “Probably didn’t. Shortest straw, or something.”
“I don’t think so. This doesn’t seem like the type of place where someone would want to be isolated for very long. I cannot imagine wanting to maintain all of the systems here alone.”
“Well,” Jen said, “I know there were labs and all kinds of research buildings on Level Four, not to mention what we might find on the other levels. Maybe we can meet up with Carter up there and figure more out?”
Nelson jumped up. “I’m in. I hate dark places, and this place has been giving me the creeps since we came in.”
Dr. Pavan thought for a moment. There wasn’t here they could do, especially since they’d exhausted their evidence. Their understanding so far was based on hypothesis, basic analysis—they had no equipment—and fantastical theories. “Sure. Let’s get to the main level, meet up with them, and—”
A distant noise reverberated through the caves.
“Was that a gunshot?” Jen asked.
“Hard to tell, but with them bogies running around, I’d bet it was,” Nelson said. His gun lay in pieces on the ground, and when Jen swung her light around to Nelson’s body, Dr. Pavan saw the man assemble the rifle in what had to be record time. “Ready,” he said, clicking a magazine into place.
“Let’s get up there and have a look around,” Dr. Pavan said. He tried to stifle the fear that he felt creeping into his voice.
Chapter 26
CARTER DROPPED THE BINDER HE was holding, moved his gun around to the front of his body, and ran out the small door. He turned immediately to the right, stopped, and lifted his gun. “Get down!” The order was directed toward Mason and Saunders. The two soldiers dropped prone to the ground simultaneously, allowing Carter to fire a few shots over their heads. Mason twisted around and did the same.
Mark saw what they were firing at. A group of four black-clad military gunmen had positioned themselves about two hundred yards away, behind one of the fish hatchery buildings. They had yet to fire, but Mark knew that was soon to change.
He ducked behind Carter, but Carter ran to his teammates’ side. Erik stumbled out of the communications shed, dumbstruck, and Mark snapped into action. “Follow him,” he shouted, grabbing Erik’s arm and forcing him forward.
They ran to the others and hid against a long white wall, another in the sprawling fish hatchery compound.
Mark felt helpless as he stood behind the building with Erik and watched the three soldiers hold their position against the opposing force. Carter and Saunders yelled for him and Erik to follow them. Mason stayed to make sure none of the others were following, and together they ran alongside the hatchery building toward a group of round silos in the distance. As Mark saw where they were heading, he shouted forward to Carter.
“Don’t you think they’ll split and try to flank us? There were enough of them.”
Carter didn’t respond at first, until they reached the first of the three silos. There, he turned and answered. “You’re right, but we needed to get somewhere somewhat isolated, so we can see them coming.”
Mark
knew he was right. The silos were along the side of the dome, bound on three sides by open fields and on the fourth by the rock wall. This side of the rock wall was not the same side they’d exited from before, but Mark knew from the map layout that there was another entrance into the cave system somewhere around here. He understood immediately the ingenuity of Carter’s decision. They couldn’t get back to the cave entrance near the housing district, as the enemy forces had cut them off. If they had to stay and fight, they were at least in a somewhat defensible position now, but they also had the option of retreating to the caves as a last resort.
Carter showed Mark his sidearm, a lightweight Glock, and asked if he knew how to use it.
“I’ve shot before,” Mark responded.
Carter explained to him how to turn the safety on and off, how to hold it, and then handed the gun to him. Saunders did the same with Erik, and then Carter gave them all a brief overview of the plan.
“These guys are most likely going to split up, flanking us from the sides. We still don’t know who they are, but they’re definitely military trained. Probably mercenaries or private. Keep your eyes open and be ready to move.”
As soon as he delivered the order, Mason shouted from the right side. “Boss, I’ve got eyes on. Two o’clock, behind the last hatchery building. They definitely know we’re here.”
“Right. Engage. Saunders, get this left side with me. Let’s see if the other half of them are coming around too.”
Mason waited a moment to get a better shot, then fired off three rounds in succession. A black-clad soldier on his knees fell forward and lay still on the ground next to the hatchery building. Just as quickly, another soldier took his place and fired back. Mark tried to move next to Mason to help out, but the larger man pushed him back. “You’re in the line of fire. Just stay on my six and don’t let anyone get behind us.”
Mark looked over to Erik and saw that he was having even more trouble being useful. He and Saunders were at the other of the round silo, but Erik wasn’t even looking around the edge of the structure. Instead, he was crouched on the ground, covering his ears. Must be a little skittish, Mark thought.
