by A. G. Riddle
“It means that they intend to fight to the very last man.”
“So be it.” Ares stalked toward the door. “Yours is a very foolish race, Dorian.”
Yes, Dorian thought. But they were brave fools. That distinction was important to him. And at that moment, for some odd reason, he felt a bit of pride at their response, as nuts as it was.
Dorian had almost drifted off to sleep when the alarms in the Situation Room rang out.
“We’ve got incoming,” one of the techs called out. “Over a hundred planes.”
The massive screens in the center of the room switched to a map of Antarctica and the Atlantic Ocean beyond. Light green dots pulsed in the blue sea, just outside a round white line that radiated out from the Immari Base. The Orchid Alliance fleet, composed mostly of American, British, Australian, Japanese, and Chinese aircraft carriers and destroyers, inched closer to the line, but none crossed it. Smaller yellow dots, which represented the planes, ticked toward the white continent.
“All the ships are still outside the rail guns’ firing radius, sir. The planes just entered. Should we engage?”
“How soon until they can fire on us?” Ares asked.
“Five minutes.”
“Launch the drones,” Ares said.
Dorian turned to him. “Drones?”
“Patience, Dorian.”
The screen changed. Three of the smaller green dots broke from the fleet, moving south, across the white line.
“Three destroyers inbound.” The tech paused, studying the screen. “We can hit them with the forward rail gun battery, sir.”
“How long before the destroyers can fire on our guns?”
The tech worked the keyboard. “Twenty minutes. Thirty tops.”
“Ignore them,” Ares said.
Two minutes passed with hardly anyone saying a word. Dorian felt the tension in the room.
Another group of yellow dots sprang from the fleet. Hundreds of points, like sand from an hourglass, falling across the firing line, toward the white landmass and the Immari base.
“Second wave of planes. Three, no, four hundred this time.” Alarm spread across the tech’s face. “They’ve launched cruise missiles. We need to—”
“Hold your fire.”
Dorian eyed Ares. What was his plan? The rail guns could shoot the planes down but not their payload. If the first wave of planes fired, the Immari base would be essentially defenseless. And even if they survived the first wave of bombs and shot those planes down, the rail guns had a limited amount of power—and it took hours to recharge. They needed to be firing now.
“Show me the drone telemetry,” Ares said.
The right-hand section of the massive screen switched to a series of tiles that showed video feeds of the American, Indian, and British planes in the distance. Three of the video blocks were black squares.
“They’ve shot down three drones.”
Two of the lead planes launched missiles.
The tech turned to Ares and Dorian. “We’ve got incoming. They’re targeting the rail gun batteries. We can—”
Ares held up his hand. “That’s enough. Turn the drones around. Keep recording.” He walked to the front of the room and stood before the group. “They started this war. Now we will finish it—in the most humane way possible: with one strong blow. A strike that takes their very will to fight.”
Dorian took a step closer to him. What’s he talking about?
Ares tapped at a console on his wrist. The drone telemetry revealed the result. Massive fissures of light rose from the ice and then every square on the far right of the screen went black.
On the map, the hundreds of yellow dots that represented the planes went out.
The map flickered, then froze.
Dorian stared, finally realizing the truth. The drill teams. The devices Ares had buried had melted the ice along the perimeter of Antarctica, away from the Immari base, close to the fleet. The drones. The photos and video. He would try to use it as proof that the Orchid Alliance had started the war and caused the flood. Would the world believe it? How much ice had Ares melted? A flood of historic proportions would engulf the world.
Humane. That was Ares’ description. Dorian wasn’t so sure.
10
Alpha Lander
1,200 Feet Below Sea Level
Off the Northern Coast of Morocco “Hungry?” Milo asked.
“No.” David had no idea if it were true or not.
Milo nodded.
“You should go,” David said, his voice hollow, his eyes on the floor. “Bring some back. She might be hungry when it’s over.”
“Of course.”
David didn’t remember Milo leaving. He blinked, and the teenager was gone. He was only vaguely aware of himself sitting at the metal table that had risen out of the floor in the adaptive research lab where he and Milo had found Kate. Two glass vats towered in the middle of the room, and just beside them, lights flickered in the cylindrical bay where Kate lay, undergoing surgery at the hands of the mysterious ship.
David’s eyes drifted down, the room faded, and the countdown seemed to jump forward in leaps.
3:14:04
2:52:39
What’s happening to me?
David put his head on the table and glanced up at the countdown only occasionally.
2:27:28
Milo was back, sitting at the table. A series of packages spread out. He asked a question. And another.
2:03:59
1:46:10
1:34:01
1:16:52
0:52:48
0:34:29
Milo sat silently.
David stood and paced, staring at the countdown.
0:21:38
0:15:19
0:08:55
Surgery complete
The words blinked for a moment; then, when the next words appeared on the screen, David exhaled deeply and smiled as Milo jumped into his arms.
Survival probability: 93%
Post-op Recovery Procedures Commencing
Maintaining medically-induced coma
Time to completion: 2:14:00
David hadn’t considered that there would be a post-op period. This was the first time a loved one had been operated on by an ancient Atlantean ship. He would have to do a blog post about it afterward—for everyone out there who might go through the same thing. His grin widened. His giddiness had turned to foolishness. He tried to focus. “Alpha, what happens after post-op?”
“The procedure will be complete.”
David glanced at the Immari military MREs. He realized he was famished. He grabbed the closest pack and ripped it open. “Have you eaten?”
“I was waiting for you.”
David shook his head. “Dig in. You must be starving.”
Milo shoveled a mouthful of the closest ration pack into his mouth without even reading the label.
“Want it heated?” David asked.
Milo stopped in mid-chew and spoke with his mouthful. “Don’t you eat yours cold?”
“I do. But it’s just an old habit.”
“Because your enemies could see a fire?”
“Yeah, and the dogs could smell the food. Better to eat it cold and quick, then bury it and move, if you can.”
“I like to eat mine like you eat yours, Mr. David.”
They both finished two ration packs.
David didn’t notice the countdown anymore. He felt different now. He was confident Kate would live, though he didn’t know how long. Alpha’s prognosis, the result of the initial scan, had been four to seven local days. They would cross that bridge together. For now, he knew he would talk to her again, feel her in his arms.
A flood of memories came back to him—thoughts he wouldn’t let himself think during the surgery. It was like his mind had been holding every memory of his time with her at bay. The day he met her, how they had argued in Indonesia, only hours before he had saved her. His extensive wounds in China. And then it was her saving him, pra
ctically bringing him back from death’s doorstep.
They had truly sacrificed for each other, laid it all on the line when the stakes were highest. That was the definition of love.
At that moment, he knew that whatever she was doing, she was protecting him. But from what?
When the round portal slid open, David and Milo both rushed to it.
They stepped aside as the flat table extended.
Kate opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling… confused?
Her expression changed upon seeing David and Milo. She smiled.
Milo glanced back and forth between Kate and David. “I’m very glad you’re okay, Dr. Kate. I… need to do something on the surface now.” He bowed and exited.
David was actually impressed at the young man’s intuition. Milo never ceased to amaze him.
Kate sat up. Her face was fresh, the blood gone, her skin glowing. David spotted a small area, just beyond her ear, where Alpha had shaved the hair to access her brain.
Kate quickly pulled some of her brunette locks over it and turned her head away, hiding it. “How’d you find me?”
“The power.”
“Clever.”
“I was due.” David sat on the rigid table and put his arm around her.
“You’re not angry.”
“No.”
Kate narrowed her eyes. “Why?”
“I have some bad news.” David took a breath. “Alpha did a scan before your surgery. You have a neurological condition. I can’t remember the name. The life expectancy… Alpha could be wrong, but it said four to seven days.”
Kate displayed no emotion.
“You knew?”
Kate stared at him.
David hopped off the table and faced her. “How long?”
“Does it matter?”
“How long?”
“The day after the plague.”
“Two weeks ago?” David shouted.
“I couldn’t tell you,” Kate said, sliding off the table and closing the distance to him.
“Why not?”
“I have a few days left. If you knew, every day would be agony for you. This is better. Sudden. You can move on when I’m gone.”
“I’m not interested in moving on.”
“You have to. That’s your problem, David. When something bad happens, you refuse to move on—”
“What’s happening to you?” He pointed to the vats. “What is this? Why are you dying?”
Kate stared at the floor. “It’s complicated.”
“Try me. I want to hear it all. From the beginning.”
“It won’t change anything.”
“You owe me this much. Tell me.”
“Okay. I was conceived in 1918. My mother died in the Spanish flu pandemic, a pathogen my father unknowingly unleashed when they uncovered an Atlantean ship buried off the coast of Gibraltar. He placed me in a tube, where I remained until I was born in 1978. What I didn’t know, until a few weeks ago, is that those tubes were used for resurrecting Atlantean scientists in the event that they died unexpectedly.”
“You’re one of those scientists.”
“Close. Biologically, I’m the child of Patrick Pierce and Helena Barton, but I have some of the memories of one of the scientists on the Atlantis expedition. What I didn’t know is that Janus—”
“The other member of the Atlantean research team.”
“Yes. Janus erased some of his partner’s memories. I only got some of the memories. Janus’ partner had been killed by Ares.”
“Another Atlantean.”
Kate nodded. “A soldier. A refugee from their fallen homeworld. Thirteen thousand years ago, off the coast of Gibraltar, he tried to destroy the scientists’ vessel—this vessel. He only split it in half. Janus was trapped in the section on the Moroccan side of the Straits of Gibraltar. He longed to resurrect his partner, but he had a secret, something I didn’t realize until two weeks ago.”
“Which was?”
“He wanted to bring her back without some of her memories.”
“The corrupted resurrection files.”
“Yes. I think they’re about something she did. I believe those memories take place on the Atlantean homeworld or possibly on their expedition.”
“Why hide the memories from his partner?”
“It’s something that damaged her beyond repair, changed her.”
“Why didn’t you know about the memories before? Why now?”
“I think her memories were always there, driving me, influencing my decisions. My choice to become an autism researcher, my quest to isolate the Atlantis Gene—it all makes sense in light of these repressed memories. But I think they were activated by the Atlantis Plague. I was only able to see the repressed memories after the final outbreak.”
David nodded, prompting Kate to continue.
“The Atlanteans isolated the genes that control aging. They’re disabled for deep-space explorers. The resurrection process takes a fetus, then implants the memories and matures it to around my current age.”
“Then you emerge from the tube, ready to pick up where you left off,” David said.
“Right. But for me, it didn’t happen. I was a fetus, trapped inside my mother’s body. I got the Atlantean memories—those Janus wanted me to have—but the tube couldn’t develop me to standard age. I was born as a human and lived a human life. I formed my own memories.” She smiled. “Some with you. And then the Atlantis Plague hit. I think the radiation retriggered the resurrection process, the evolutionary components. It’s trying to overwrite the memories I formed, but it’s failing. The resurrection process has a failsafe. If the brain is damaged or resurrection fails, the tube destroys the biological matter and recycles it. It starts over.”
“You’re not in a tube.”
“Correct. But the hard-wired processes are the same. My brain, specifically my temporal lobe, will shut down in a few days, and then my heart will stop. I will die.”
“Won’t you resurrect?”
“No. The tubes in this part of the ship are destroyed.”
David’s mind flashed to a memory of four tubes cracking and crumbling to the floor in a pile of white dust.
“It’s better this way. If I resurrected, I would be the same age, with the same memories and neurological condition. The outcome would be the same. I would die an endless number of times.”
“Purgatory. Like the Atlanteans in Antarctica.”
Kate nodded. “This will be better. I will die here and never resurrect. It will be very peaceful.”
“The hell it will.”
“There’s nothing I can do about it.”
“So why all this?” David pointed to the glass vats.
“I’ve been trying to access the lost memories, hoping they could correct my condition.”
David stared at her. “And?”
“They’re gone. Janus must have deleted them. I don’t see how—there are strict regulations around resurrection memory storage. The computer core may have been damaged during the attack. Some memories are corrupted. I had hoped I could find some clue about the enemy that destroyed the Atlantis world, the enemy that could one day come for Earth. It’s the best thing I can do with my time.”
“Not true.”
“What would you have me do?”
“Leave.”
“I can’t—”
“I won’t watch you die here, in a lab, floating in a vat like some experimental rat. Leave with me—”
“I can’t.”
“You can. Look, I grew up on a small farm in North Carolina. I have about half a PhD in Medieval European History, and I’m a really good shot. That about sums me up. I’m in so far over my head here I can’t see the surface, but I will go wherever this road takes us—if we’re together. I’m in love with you. In fact, you’re the only thing I love in this whole world. We can leave here. I can take care of you. You can die like a human. We can enjoy the time you have left, live every day to the fullest.”
>
“I don’t know…”
“What’s to think about?”
Kate walked away from him. “I’m not going to run away and wither and die. I want to fight. I’m going to press on. I’m going to do whatever I can to help people. That’s why I became a scientist. It’s what I dedicated my life to, and I won’t change in my final hour for a few days of comfort. This is how I want to spend my last hours.”
“What about dying with dignity? About spending the time we have left together?”
“I want that too.”
“I can haul you out of here if it would make you feel better.”
Kate smiled. “I’m not scared of you.”
David couldn’t help but shake his head and grin. “I’d like to remind you that I’m a trained killer.”
“I’m only afraid of untrained killers.”
He laughed, almost against his will. “Unbelievable. Look, all I ask is that you consider it—leaving here. The Immari are defeated. The plague is cured. You’ve given enough. Sleep on it. Let’s talk in the morning, and I hope, leave together.”
He walked to the doors.
“Where are you going?”
“I need some fresh air.”
Paul had been watching the weather system out the plane’s window, wondering if it was a hurricane or just a bad storm. The rain came, first in sheets, then in a constant gale of water, pushing the plane down, bogging the engines and tossing him, Mary, and the three soldiers around.
The plane banked and plunged again, throwing Paul hard against the seatbelt. He felt Mary’s hand cover his and squeeze hard. He wondered if they would make it to Morocco.
11
Alpha Lander
1,200 Feet Below Sea Level
Off the Northern Coast of Morocco
Where Kate had needed time and space before, David needed it now.
He tried not to think as he trudged down the ship’s narrow corridors and up the lift to the dank, dark shaft that led to the surface. Against his will, his thoughts drifted to the looming decision. Stay or go.
