by James Axler
The walls of the stone room were lined with shelving. On these shelves were hard-backed books still in their dust jackets, crumbling paperbacks whose cheaper paper and bindings had succumbed to time, and bound magazines and journals. Alongside them were stacked box files and folders bulging with papers. A personal computer stood idle and now dead to one side.
‘Can you use the old tech anymore?’ Doc asked, looking at the comp, which was primitive by the standards of those both he and Krysty had used in redoubts.
Odyssey sighed. ‘Alas for myself and those who come after me, the tech was powered by that generator—’ which he indicated ‘—and I regret to say that the fuel ran out several generations back. Despite the efforts of my men, not many traders come anywhere near Atlantis. That which is our natural defense is also our enemy at times. At times it frustrates me. I can read what is written in the books and in the files of those who founded our ville, but only with difficulty. Reading is something we do not, on the whole, use. The old ways of the hieroglyph were instituted, even though the history of our people and the ideas that led us to this place were written and compiled by those who used the common word and language. To see old tape of our ancestors and those who supported them, those who recorded the history, would be good.’ He swept his hand over the tapes, the TV and the comp.
Doc and Krysty exchanged glances. She knew enough of the predark histories, had seen enough of the old cultures, to know that the books were the work of cranks, and the films were made-up stories, not the recordings of true history that Odyssey seemed to believe.
Doc, who was now studying the shelves, was frustrated. He had believed that it was possible that Odyssey was housing a wealth of predark tech and power. But this? An old TV and simple comp with a generator that had been so long without fuel that it would probably fall apart if ever fired up again? A few pieces of entertainment that were passed off as great and profound legend?
And these books. Some were paranoid conspiracy theories about the old U.S. government. Others were paranoid conspiracy theories about the existence of extraterrestrial life. There were books about secret government programmes—ironically, nothing about the kind of evil empire that had led Doc to this place—and there were also books about technology that came from beyond the stars. Books and magazines about so-called UFO sightings stood next to tomes about other strange and anomalous phenomena.
These were the frippery. Delve beneath and there was something a little more substantial—if it could be called as such. The Shaver theories about races from the center of the earth stood next to books about the search for the ancient site of Atlantis. Tomes from the nineteenth and twentieth centuries about the races beneath the earth nestled next to those from a similar sweep about ancient Greece and Egypt, and about Phoenician and Macedonian society. With these were books about the Golden Dawn and the secret masters of Shamballa.
Everything was as Mildred and Doc had worked out—not so hard, perhaps, but somehow disheartening to see that their supposition was correct. What had seemed to be a society based on possible revelatory theories, corrupted by the passage of time and distortion of those very theories, was now revealed to be nothing more than the wide-eyed and raving paranoia of people deranged by the insanity of late-twentieth-century living, terrified for their future in a world that seemed on the brink of annihilation.
At least they had been right about that, Doc mused bitterly. Everything had collapsed. But their way hadn’t been the answer.
Despite the evidence to the contrary, he still harbored hopes that the old tech he had sought, that he had made himself believe, was hidden in Atlantis may yet exist. Perhaps this generator was starved of fuel because it was being saved for something bigger. Even as the thought flashed through his mind, he knew he was grasping at straws so slight that they weren’t even real.
He realized that he had been more than hoping—he had been taking as a fact that this mythic ville would have the facilities and power to help him fulfill his destiny. Whether that meant the Inuit and the identity of Joseph Jordan, or whether it meant taking these people forward and trying to forge a new way of thinking—so new that he had not as yet felt it take shape within him—that would sweep across the land, he wouldn’t find the means to further that ambition here.
He realized that this feeble construct was all that was holding him together. The fragmentation that he had been feeling since their arrival in the frozen wastes hadn’t gone away; it had not been unified into the new aim that he now held. Rather, that aim was an attempt to paper over the cracks in his psyche, to weld the shards of himself together into a strange, angular, ill-fitting construction that would give him purpose and drive, would stop him from crumbling into the gibbering wreck that he feared most of all. For, without any kind of purpose, what did all the hardship and torture that he had endured mean? What purpose had it served?
When Doc turned to face Krysty and Odyssey, the woman shuddered at the glint in Doc’s eye. It was desperate and unhinged, and ran completely contrary to the soft tone of his voice.
‘My dear sir, you have no idea how interesting this is to me. I see that you have amassed a fine degree of ancient knowledge. I can help you make sense of this, add my store of knowledge to your own. I can help you make sense of Atlantis’s place in history, and help you to attain the greatness that your heritage warrants.
‘But first, if this is to happen, you must tell me if there is anything else that you hold, beyond this temple. Anything that remains from the old times must be shown to me if I am to help.’
‘Doc…’ Krysty said hesitantly.
The old man held up his hand impatiently. ‘No.’
Odyssey scanned Doc’s face. It was a shrewd survey and took him some time as he searched Doc’s visage for any sign of duplicity. Finally he nodded, almost to himself.
‘There are some things. Their meaning and use is long since lost. But this is partly why I wanted you both here. I need you, and I was sure I could help. Come, I will show you.’
With a sudden bustling energy that spoke a renewed determination, Odyssey led them from the chamber and past the sec guard who fell in to their rear.
Krysty looked uneasily over her shoulder. Whatever it was Odyssey needed them both for, it set alarm bells ringing in her skull. But no more so than Doc’s attitude. It was as though, when faced with the evidence of predark times, something seemed to snap in his mind once more. Now she had no idea what he was thinking. And a wild card Doc was a dangerous thing.
Odyssey set a fast pace, his footfalls ringing in the stone corridors. At each sec door he spun the colored stones to free the combination lock with a practiced ease and speed. Krysty tried to see over his shoulder, so that she could crack the code, but each time, it seemed as though Doc was deliberately blocking her.
More alarm bells.
Whatever their intended fate, it was delayed when a tall, muscular man came through a sec door from the opposite direction, followed by two Nightcrawlers.
‘Xerxes, what is it? You should be at the vessel—’
‘I’m sorry to interrupt you,’ Xerxes panted breathlessly, ‘I wouldn’t do it except in the direst circumstances. Word has just reached me—’ He stopped, looking questioningly at Doc and Krysty.
‘You can speak freely, they’re going nowhere,’ Odyssey remarked in an offhand manner that sent a chill down Krysty’s spine.
‘Very well. A force of warriors has left Memphis, headed in this direction. I have sent Nightcrawlers out to block their path.’
‘Then the matter is settled. Their people are no match for ours.’
‘Perhaps. The other outlanders are with them. They are an unknown quantity to a large degree, but the one thing I do know is that they are strong warriors. I think we should take measures.’
‘You are, possibly correct. I concur.’ He turned to the sec men with him. ‘Take these back to my chamber until I can deal with them.’
Without another word, he turned back and left D
oc and Krysty at the mercy of the sec men. Their handblasters and blades were poised, and the two companions were left with no option but to go with them while Odyssey strode away with Xerxes and the Crawlers.
Being pushed into Odyssey’s chamber, and hearing the lock click softly into place, felt like being back at the beginning, with no progress made. If anything, Krysty felt that matters had deteriorated.
Ryan and the others were on the way, yet she and Doc were frustrated and unable to do anything to assist them.
That’s if Doc, in his present state, actually wanted to lend aid. And, as she looked at him, she could no longer be sure.
AS THEY PASSED the old building painted in the red and white colors of Memphis, Ryan noted that it was empty.
‘They all are,’ Mark replied to his questioning glance. ‘I pulled all my men back within the walls after the discovery of your comrades’s abduction last night. As soon as it became apparent that we had spies within our midst, I felt it was incumbent upon me to insure that all personnel were within the boundaries of the wall, to prevent any further leaks of information. I am sure that there was no way in which news of our operation could have leaked out.’
‘Good,’ Ryan said simply. ‘It was the right thing to do.’
The war party was on its way out of the old suburbs surrounding Memphis, passing those buildings that were dotted around the ruined city and that formed the ring of outer sentry posts, once populated by two-man sentry teams. It was uneerily quiet as they passed, the area now deserted of all life.
Ryan knew that Mark had made the right decision. As it was, they would need every break they could get if this was going to work, and to get as far as the maze before having to enter into a firefight would be a positive addition to their chances.
The party was sixteen strong. Ryan, Jak, J.B. and Mildred were each in command of a group of four Memphis sec, who were answerable to them. These included Mark, Lemur and Cyran, and the young man Affinity, who had volunteered before Mark even had a chance to ask him. The young man had an implicit trust in Ryan’s people and their potential to rid Memphis of the shadow of Atlantean oppression that still hung over them. The Memphis leader and his wife had readily agreed to be subservient to the companions, as had sec leader Mark, as they readily acknowledged the superior combat skills of Ryan and his fellow warriors.
They knew enough of the sec, handpicked by Mark as his best and most trustworthy fighters, to know that they could rely on them to battle strong and never give up when it came to combat. But Ryan was still uncomfortable at carrying Lemur and Cyran. It reduced their effectiveness, gave them two less in real manpower terms, and added an extra responsibility—that of watching the backs of the leader and his wife—that Ryan was aware was a burden on his people. But the leader had remained adamant and couldn’t be swayed.
Ryan admired the courage of them both, but doubted their judgment. Unfortunately, it had never been his call.
Nonetheless, he had done his damnedest to weight things in favor of the Memphis party. By splitting into groups he had allowed lesser fighters to be aided by those of greater combat skill. Now, as they progressed through the suburbs and hit the edges of the woodlands, they weren’t in a line, strung out as those parties he would usually lead. Instead they were operating in clusters, each within eye contact of another. The cluster consisted of either Ryan, Jak, Mildred or J.B. at the head, with the most experienced Memphis sec man bringing up the rear, keeping the slighter fighters in the center. It was a variation of the line formation, which Ryan always used to protect those on his own group who may be carrying injuries.
As they split into these groups and moved into the densely wooded areas, Jak and Mark formed the defense in the cluster that had Lemur and Cyran at center. The sec chief had been insistent that he stay with his leader, and Ryan had agreed, knowing the sec chief to be the best Memphis fighter. For a similar reason, he had detailed Jak to head the cluster.
Mildred was in a cluster that included Affinity, and as they headed into the cover of the woods, the young man murmured, ‘I confess, I feel like turning and running back to the safety of my own bed.’
‘Sweetie, you wouldn’t be human if you didn’t feel your guts churning, and you know that if we don’t do this, then that bed isn’t ever gonna be safe,’ Mildred replied. Affinity acknowledged that, and said no more.
Ryan looked up at the early morning sun as it sparkled through the canopy of foliage above. It was going to be a clear morning. That was good: the more light that penetrated the canopy, the easier it would be to see any Crawlers if they were out there. And, although he was sure that Mark had been correct in assuming that no word could escape Memphis of their plans, he was equally sure that a leader as astute as Odyssey would insure that roaming patrols would be out to either act as early warning in case of mass invasion, or to mop up smaller parties of resistance.
The companions set a fast pace for the clusters to move toward Atlantis. Speed was of the essence if they were to strike effectively. The Memphis sec used to patrolling these areas were able to assist them in direction, for even though they had studied the map before leaving, once out in the dense forestation, detours were sometimes required. To negotiate these and also keep the other parties in sight was easier in daylight, but still difficult at times as the tangled limbs, roots and trunks of the stunted trees drove them in opposite directions.
It was when they were at their most strung out and distant that the first party of Nightcrawlers chanced upon them.
XERXES’S ORDERS had been simple. As soon as his people had returned with Doc and Krysty, he had assumed that a retaliatory attack would be mounted. To that end, he had sent out three parties of Nightcrawlers, each consisting of six people. They were to take three delineated areas of the lands between Memphis and Atlantis, and run regular patrols. For each party there was a runner to act as liaison, so that if one party should locate an enemy group, the others could be alerted. These three groups had been out since before dawn and had scoured the lands thoroughly, working a system that led them out from the maze and then back to the start once more.
They were on their third route when the first party scented trouble.
Still camouflaged in their dark paint, despite the fact that the sun was now up and their dark tones made them stand out against the day, they were sweeping the woodlands when one Crawler held up her hand. The highly trained troop halted, heads up, every sense straining for the signs that had alerted their comrade. To their right, ahead of them by about five hundred yards, they could hear the slight sounds of foliage being disturbed. There was movement, and it was toward them. They knew that it had to include the strangers: Memphis sec couldn’t move that silently when left to their own provenance.
One of the Crawlers peeled off and headed in the direction of the adjoining sector, in search of another party. Backup, and an alert. The five left standing realigned their direction and began to move toward the source of the sound, prepared for combat.
JAK CAUGHT WIND of something strange. There was really little secret to his seemingly preternatural powers. He had honed his senses by hunting since he was a small child, pitting his wits against wildlife that had such highly developed senses that he was forced to train his to stand any chance of catching game.
Now it had become a second nature to him, and without even thinking what he was doing he had worked out the rhythms in which the different clusters were moving; their breathing, when audible, and their footfalls. Some had a light tread, others heavy. Some took three steps to another’s two. Some were heavier on one foot than another, while others distributed weight equally. Together, these sounds constituted a complex symphony of rhythm that he could understand. Even the rustling of the disturbed trees, grasses and plants was discernible, dictated as it was by the rhythm of those moving through it.
So when something intruded on that symphony, it was like a discord that came from nowhere, immediately noticeable to those who understood the notation.
<
br /> Jak, whose cluster was surrounded on both sides by another, as part of Ryan’s plan to afford Lemur and Cyran as much protection as possible, indicated to Mildred, who was across the line, visible through a thick and twisted clump of gnarled wood. He swiftly pointed the direction of the intrusive sound and the numbers as far as he could tell. Mildred, having spent so long in combat situations with the albino youth, was immediately familiar with his meaning, and while those around her seemed confused, she was already scanning for Ryan, signaling to him as he appeared in a gap in the cover. Meantime, Jak had turned his attention to J.B., repeating his signal.
The clusters realigned themselves so that they would meet the incoming enemy head-on. They were still moving forward, albeit at a twenty-degree angle to their intended destination, and they were now prepared.
The two forces moved toward each other, the Crawlers fanning out, having worked out by sound that they were outnumbered more than two to one. But they had confidence in their abilities, knowing that they outclassed the Memphis sec. Besides, their runner was swift and would soon bring reinforcements.
Despite the confidence of the Nightcrawlers, it was Jak who took first sight of the enemy. Although his red eyes were better suited to darker conditions, he knew where he should be looking, and his other sense augmented his albino sight. All it took was the slightest creak of fern and branch underfoot, the slightest footfall, and the scent of the oily paint in which the Crawlers covered themselves. This, allied to a movement in the distance, changing the pattern of light that fell through the canopy for only a moment, and Jak knew enough to identify the enemy.
It wasn’t close fighting, and there were no comrades in the line, so he took his .357 Magnum Colt Python and loosed a round in the direction of the disturbance. The boom of the discharge was magnified in the silence around, the echo carrying the whine of a ricochet as it chipped a tree trunk.