by A. G. Riddle
“Wow. Let me just thank you for slaughtering millions of my fellow humans and giving me our screwed up world. You’ve been so helpful.”
Ares exhaled. “You still don’t grasp the magnitude of what you’re involved in, Dorian. But you will soon. Very soon.”
“As much as I appreciate this post-apocalyptic pep-talk, I’m getting this sneaking suspicion that I’m here because you need me to do something. And that’s the only reason I’m here.”
“I’ve never lied to you, Dorian. I’ve kept things from you—for your own good. You’re here because we have a problem.”
“We or you?”
“My problems are your problems. Like it or not, we’re in this together now.”
Across the room, a panel flickered to life, and an image of what Dorian thought was a dark gray space station appeared.
“What is that?”
“The beacon.”
“Beacon?”
“It’s a specialized communications array. Research teams and our military deploy them. They shroud worlds, blocking all incoming or outgoing communications and light, essentially hiding what’s occurring on that world. This beacon has been orbiting Earth for the last one hundred fifty thousand years. It’s the only reason any of us are still alive.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“The problem is that our enemy is trying to disable it. And if they succeed, if that beacon is destroyed or turned off, they will be here in days, and they will slaughter every last one of us.”
Dorian stared at the floating gray station. “I’m listening.”
Ares walked closer to Dorian. “Let’s try this your way. What would you like to know?”
“Why now?”
“A message was sent fourteen days ago.”
“Janus.”
“He used his access codes to send a message when he was on the scientists’ deep space vessel just before he destroyed it.”
“A message to our enemy?”
“I doubt it. I can’t see his message, but I assume it was intercepted by our enemy. They likely know the general vicinity it came from but not the exact world. They sent their reply to every suspected world, customizing the address to make the recipient think it was tailored for them. They’re just waiting for a response or for one of the beacons to go out. You have a term for this?”
“Yeah. Shaking the bushes.”
“They’re shaking the bushes,” Ares said.
“What’s the problem? As long as we don’t respond or disable—”
“The problem is that someone just tried to access the beacon from the Alpha Lander—the scientist’s ship off the coast of Morocco. What’s left of it.”
“Kate and David.”
“I assume so. If I’m right, they’re on their way to the beacon right now. There’s a portal with access within the section of the ship they’re confined to.”
“Confined?”
“They should be completely submerged by now.”
“If they reach the beacon…”
“They could either send a reply message—directed at the origin—or simply disable the beacon. If they do that, our enemy will be upon us in days. You must stop them from reaching the beacon.”
“They have a head start.”
“Yes. If you can’t intercept them in the Alpha Lander, follow them to the beacon. The portal in the Alpha Lander is keyed for your Atlantis Gene print.”
“Mission parameters?”
“Kill. We don’t need them alive. Don’t take chances, Dorian. The stakes are too high.”
“Why can’t we access the beacon from here? We have a portal too. I could wait for them.”
“The portals here aren’t keyed for the beacon—only the scientist’s ships are. Access is strictly limited. But you have my memories and my access genes. You can follow them. The beacon is the absolute last place you can stop them. This mission will determine all of our fates, Dorian.”
16
Kate was searching for just the right words when David rubbed his eyebrows and said, “I’m sorry, but when I hear ‘we may have a problem,’ it almost always, and I mean 99.9% of the time, means we’re screwed.”
“I… wouldn’t go that far,” Kate said. Kate brought up the schematic of the ship again. “Normally, we would take the outer corridors to the portal room. But they’re flooded.”
“What about the large chamber in the middle? ‘Arc 1701-D.’”
“That’s the potential problem—traveling through it.”
“What is it?”
“Arc stands for Arcology. 1701 is the world it was collected from, and D is the size designation—the largest. This arc is five miles long and three miles wide.”
“Arcology?”
“It’s a self-contained ecosystem. The Atlanteans collected them from worlds they visited, almost like little snow globes. The landers, in this case, the Alpha Lander, carries the arc machines to the surface where it studies the world, collecting data. Then it gathers a subset of the planet’s species and makes a balanced biosphere. The goal is to collect exotic species the Atlantean citizens might like to see when the arcs are exhibited back on the homeworld.”
“So it’s like a portable zoo exhibit,” Sonja said.
“Yes. The scientists used it to generate support. Science was hard to fund, even on the Atlantis world.”
David held his hand up. “I’m thinking the key words here are ‘exotic species.’”
“Yes. That’s one of the issues,” Kate said.
“The other?”
“Usually when the arc is done with collection, the lander takes it back to the space vessel for storage. This arc hadn’t been detached yet when the ship was attacked. Conceivably the arcologies should sustain themselves indefinitely—they’re on a separate power source from the lander, and the arc computer is constantly taking readings, intervening to balance the biosphere.”
“So if we enter, could it try to… balance us out?” David asked.
“If we traverse it fast enough, that won’t be a problem.”
“So speed is the issue?”
“Yes. Well, one of the issues but not the biggest. This arc has been tossed around—once thirteen thousand years ago when the lander was split in half by Ares’ attack on the scientists, then again nine months ago when my father destroyed the other half of the ship off Gibraltar and pushed this half to Morocco, and today, when the mines rattled the ship. There’s no telling what the environment is like inside. Some species could have died out, others mutated, to say nothing of the terrain, which could be impassable.”
Paul stared from Kate to David. “Sorry but this sounds worse every second.”
David rubbed his eyebrows again. “Let’s back up. What was the arc like when it was collected? And please, please tell me exactly what the exotic creatures are.”
“Okay.” Kate took a deep breath. “World 1701 was basically a vast rainforest, like the Amazon.”
“Snakes inside?” David asked quickly.
“Definitely.”
“I hate snakes.”
“They’re low on the predator list,” Kate said. “The research logs say that world 1701 was in a binary star system—that means it has two suns.”
David and Mary both gave her a look that said, We know what a binary star system is. Paul stared at the floor, looking nervous. Sonja’s expression was blank, utterly unreadable, and Milo struck a sharp contrast with them all: a wide grin on his face, like a kid waiting for an amusement park ride to start.
“The days are long in the arc,” Kate said. “There’s sunlight for about twenty hours. The overlap of the passing of the two suns in the middle of the day is extremely bright and hot. The night lasts about five hours. That’s when things might get… dangerous.”
“The exotic creatures.” David said.
“Yes. The scientists had never seen anything like the predators on 1701. They’re flying reptiles that hunt at night, but what they do during the long days is what
makes them special. They spread out on mountain tops and collect sunlight. Their bodies are covered in scales that are essentially photocells. They charge during the day, collecting solar power that fuels the cells at night. They use the power to cloak themselves, essentially becoming invisible.”
“Cool,” Milo said.
“Can we cross in a single day?” David asked.
“I doubt it. If the terrain is like it was on 1701, it’s dense. We’ll have to cut our way through, camp for at least one night, maybe two.”
“How smart are they?”
“Very smart. They have a social structure, hunt in packs, and adapt quickly.”
“Can I talk to you?”
When Kate and David were alone in the bedroom, he said, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“What?”
“We’ve been living next door to a Jurassic Park snow globe for two weeks, and you never bothered to mention it?”
“Well, I didn’t… think it would come up.”
“Unbelievable.”
Kate sat on the bed and tucked her hair behind her ears. “I’m sorry, okay. I mean, didn’t you ever wonder why the lander was so big? Sixty square miles?”
“No, Kate, I never really stopped to contemplate why the lander was so big.” He paced the room. “I feel like Sam Neill in Jurassic Park when he realizes the raptor cage is open.”
Kate wondered what part of the male brain prioritized movie scene storage above all other details in life. Maybe the answer was in the Atlantean research database somewhere. It was all she could do not to launch a query for the answer.
“Is there another arc?”
“Yes,” Kate said. “The ship had two—one on the other side for balance—that’s why 1701-D was attached. But the other one, which was destroyed thirteen thousand years ago, is empty. It would have contained an Earth arcology.”
“The wooly mammoth/saber-toothed cat exhibit?”
“Something like that,” Kate said dryly.
“Sorry, it’s been a rough day.” David massaged his eyelids. “Between your news and… I thought Dorian and Ares were contained…”
“If we can get to the beacon, and contact help, whoever sent the message, we can turn this around,” Kate said. “There is one more issue.” She read David’s exasperated expression and spoke quickly. “But I think we can handle it. The arc access doors are jammed. Alpha can’t open them.”
“Why not?”
“I’m not sure. It could be the arc locking them down, preventing access, or something else.”
David nodded.
“What do you want to do?” she asked.
“We don’t have a choice. We grabbed as much food as we could from up top, but it won’t last. We have to try to reach the beacon—for our sake and everyone else’s. We’ll blow the arc doors open and take our chances inside.”
Thirty minutes later, David and Sonja were placing the last of the explosives on the door that led to Arc 1701-D.
“This is half of what we have,” Sonja said. “If it’s not enough, we won’t be able to get out.”
“We’ll cross that bridge when we get there,” David said.
They set the timer and retreated.
The echo of the blast was deafening, even far from the explosion. The group of six cautiously approached the dust cloud that spread out, filling the corridors on each side of the arc door. The beads of light at the floor and ceiling glowed through the gray-black cloud, guiding their way.
When David got his first glance at the arc door, he first felt relief: the explosions had punched through. But that was all the good news.
17
My world is dying, Dorian thought as he watched the storms over the sea form, rage, and fade just as quickly.
The flight had been like riding a roller coaster for hours: one second the plane was plummeting, diving into the dark unknown, the next it was coasting, sunlight shining through the windows. He and his six soldiers were strapped in tight, and no one had said a word since takeoff. Three of the men had thrown up about an hour in. Two still dry-heaved every fifteen minutes or so, when the turbulence was especially bad. The other three stared straight ahead, gritting their teeth.
At least he knew whom he could depend on now—when the fight began. And it would start soon. Somewhere under the vast sea that consumed more and more of his planet, David Vale was waiting on him.
Dorian had almost killed David twice—once in Pakistan, again in China, and Dorian had killed him twice: both times in the Atlantean vessel in Antarctica. The first time, David had resurrected in Antarctica, directly across from Dorian, thanks to David’s Atlantis Gene, which Kate had given him. David was stronger, but Dorian was smarter. Or rather, willing to do things David wasn’t. David wasn’t a survivor. His moral compass had been his weakness. Dorian had killed him for a second time, but David had resurrected in the Atlantean structure off the coast of Morocco.
Today would be their final conflict.
But Kate Warner was smarter than both of them. She was sublimely clever, and she had knowledge Dorian didn’t. That was their advantage: David’s strength and Kate’s brains. But Dorian had the element of surprise. And something else—the willingness to do what had to be done to save his people. He was the march of human history, embodied in one man. A survivor, standing against impossible odds, doing the things others, like Kate and David, turned their backs on. He was the essence of human survival.
A part of him was nervous about the final confrontation with David. That would be the true test—whether Dorian could win.
If he could, he would turn his sights on Ares. The Atlantean was a snake, a manipulator. Dorian didn’t trust him. He would have to go next, after Dorian had learned the full truth, especially about this “enemy” Ares was so frightened of.
“Sir, we’re at the drop zone,” the pilot called into Dorian’s headset.
Dorian peered out the narrow window. Water stretched out as far as he could see.
Dorian marveled. What he saw used to be the coast of Morocco.
“Drop the probe,” he said.
He raised the tablet and watched the telemetry on the split screen, which showed a contour of the new sea floor on the right-hand side and a video feed on the left. Dorian recognized a mountain top, completely submerged. He tapped the tablet, directing the probe. A few seconds later, the Atlantean ship, the Alpha Lander, came into view. It was buried deep.
“Mark it,” Dorian said.
They would find the airlock entrance after the dive.
“Form up for jump!” Dorian called to the six soldiers.
On the next pass, they spilled out of the aircraft, falling to the pitch-black sea at terminal velocity, their bodies formed into a dart, their hands held at their sides, oxygen tanks on their backs. Just as they reached the surface, the most recent storm receded and sunlight broke through, showering their entrance to the watery unknown with light.
Dorian plunged into the water and instantly spun himself about, searching for his men. One of them had veered too low and collided with the rocks just below the surface. His now broken body floated in the lighted murkiness.
The other five figures spread out, the sunlight carving their outlines in the water.
“Form up on me,” Dorian called over his intercom.
As the soldiers swam toward him, Dorian surveyed the dark water between them. Something else floated in the space. Not debris.
The silence in the water shattered. An explosion, then an eruption of white bubbles and air engulfed him, throwing Dorian into the submerged mountainside. He rolled across the rock, trying to grasp a handhold. Finally, he came to rest. His hands instinctively reached for his oxygen tank. It was intact. He was safe. He turned, peering into the water. The chaos was clearing. Four of his men still floated in the abyss. They called over the radio, sounding off, then awaited his order.
“Don’t move,” he said. “I’ll guide you around the mines.”
One by one, Dori
an directed his men down through the water, using his vantage point to spot suspected mines. He couldn’t afford to lose any more men. When they were safely at the ship below, he followed them, pushing through the water, careful to avoid anything that could be a mine.
The darkness slowly consumed every bit of light from above, and the dark shapes that could be mines grew harder to spot. Dorian had only his memory and the narrow beams of light from his helmet to guide him.
Ahead, he saw the four soldiers floating. Forty feet. Thirty. Twenty.
He was there. The airlock control was similar to the portal in Antarctica. It opened for him as he drew close, and he and his men rushed in, out of the darkness.
The airlock flushed the water out, and Dorian shed his suit and approached the control panel. The green cloud of familiar light emerged. Dorian worked his fingers inside it, and the display flashed.
General Ares
Access Granted
Dorian pulled up a schematic of the ship.
It had been badly damaged, either from the nuclear blast Patrick Pierce, Kate Warner’s father, had unleashed or by the mines. Entire sections were decompressed and flooded. The ship was on emergency power, and most importantly, there was only one route to the portal room.
Dorian pointed to the map. “Arc 1701-D. South entrance. That’s our destination.” Dorian chambered the first round in his automatic rifle. “Shoot to kill.”
18
David was covered head to toe in dirt. His muscles had ached, and now they burned, but he kept digging, throwing shovel after shovel of dirt and rock down the tunnel where Milo, Mary, and Kate waited to haul it out, pail after pail.
He felt a hand on his shoulder, and he turned to find Sonja. “Take a break,” she said.
“I can go another—”
“And then you’ll be exhausted, and I’ll be exhausted, and Paul will be exhausted, and we’ll all have to wait.” She took the shovel from him and began digging into the hard-packed ground, maintaining the upward slant they hoped would lead to the surface—an opening into the arc.
