Area 51: Legend

by Robert Doherty

“I know,” Donnchadh acknowledged, “but I can still mourn.”

  “Mourning is all that seems to come of this.”

  Donnchadh nodded. “There will be more grief before it is all over.”

  Aspasia had the Talon’s visual sensors zoom in on the planet that was receding behind them. He could see Artad’s mothership passing over the massive wave that was moving out in a perfect circle from where Atlantis had been. The wave was moving at almost six hundred kilometers an hour.

  The first land it hit was the western tip of Africa. As the water grew shallower the wave slowed, but that energy was translated in water displacement and the tsunami grew taller, doubling in height by the time it hit the shoreline.

  For those onshore, the first indication of something amiss was the water actually withdrawing from the land, baring the sea bottom to the sun. Fish were caught by the sudden disappearance of the water and lay flopping in the mud. Some humans went out to gather this unexpected bounty, not knowing their doom was racing toward them.

  The air was filled with the sound of a thousand thunder-storms. Then the wall of water appeared. It swept ashore first in western Africa, then all around the Atlantic coastline as the circle expanded. It surged inland, in some places penetrating over 150 kilometers before finally coming to rest. Some of the wave even passed through what would be called the Pillars of Hercules into the Mediterranean, causing devastation throughout that basin.

  The tsunami, greatly diminished, even made it around the capes on the southern tips of America and Africa and into the other oceans, circling the globe. So worldwide was the effect that the legend of the Great Flood would pass into legend among all peoples of the world.

  Aspasia cared little about what the water had done. His sensors tracked Artad’s mothership as it crossed Europe. It came to a halt above a tall peak in the land that was located between Asia, Europe, and Africa, where it off-loaded the thousands on board. After the people had dispersed, the pilot of the vessel did as Aspasia had done in North America— hollowing out a cavern inside the mountain and caching the massive ship inside.

  Even though his Talon was drawing farther and farther away from the planet, the sensors were able to pick up a half dozen golden saucers zooming off to the east, disappearing around the edge of the planet. Aspasia had no doubt he was witnessing some plan Artad had set in motion to keep his own side in play through the truce. It was the Airlia way.

  Many people must have died.” Donnchadh was lying next to Gwalcmai, his arm around her, near the stern of the boat. The sail flapped in the light breeze, propelling the ship to the northwest.

  “Yes.” Gwalcmai said no more and they were quiet for a while, both looking up at the stars.

  “Do you think—” Donnchadh began, but Gwalcmai gently put a hand over her mouth.

  “Shhh,” he whispered. “This is what we came here to do. Some dead now versus many dead later. This is going to be a very long war. Very long. And it’s just begun.”

  VII

  THE PAST, 10,000 B.C.

  Donnchadh and Gwalcmai passed other ships on their way to the northeast, most of the craft hav-ing been badly battered by the wave. Twice they stopped and took on board survivors of vessels that were foundering, also off-loading whatever supplies they found. One of those vessels had two dozen high priest supplicants on board. They had run away from the temple when the door was slammed in their face by the Guides during the loading of the first mothership. Seeing the Ark and Sphinx being lifted out had convinced them that the end was near and they needed to leave.

  In Donnchadh’s view this meeting was a fortuitous opportunity and she spent most of the journey with the twenty-four supplicants, telling them the truth about the Airlia—up to a point. She did not tell them where she and Gwalcmai were from or of the other planets. Simply that the Airlia were not Gods, but rather creatures that used humans for their own ends. The supplicants had no difficulty believing her, given recent events. By the time they landed on the southwest coast of England, Donnchadh and Gwalcmai had come up with a plan for these men.

  They led them inland. During their time on the island, the two had prepared for various contingencies and were using one of those strategies now. After several days of hardmarching, the group arrived at a lake. In the very center, a hill rose precipitously up out of the water to a cone-shaped top. It was a great tor, towering over five hundred feet above the lake. Donnchadh and Gwalcmai had come across this strange geological structure several lifetimes ago. There was a small village on the south side of the lake. Seeing the strangely dressed party approach, the inhabitants fled and the group appropriated several boats to cross the lake to the island. Before they departed, Donnchadh had the supplicants gather several torches.

  A thin trail wound its way back and forth up the tor to the top. They wove their way upward in silence. When they reached the top, the view was magnificent. A large plain surrounded the lake and tor in all directions. A small circle of blackened stones indicated where the locals had set a fire. Next to it was a larger stone, about a foot high by six long and three wide. Donnchadh and Gwalcmai had placed it there with great effort. They noticed that there were objects of worship on the stone—dried flowers; mummified corpses of small animals; smaller, carved rocks.

  With one arm Gwalcmai reached out to sweep the objects off the stone, but Donnchadh stopped him. “Myth is valuable,” she said, and she carefully removed them and placed them at the base of the stone as the supplicants waited.

  Once the stone was clear, Donnchadh used the medallion around her neck. She pressed it against a spot near the top of the stone. The supplicants were not overly surprised when the stone slid down two feet and moved sideways, revealing steps descending into darkness. They had seen such and more while on Atlantis.

  Donnchadh led the way down the stairs, the supplicants following, Gwalcmai bringing up the rear, closing the stone behind them. The flames from the torches flickered off the stone walls as they descended.

  Donnchadh and Gwalcmai had taken a chance years previously, using a stone-cutting tool appropriated from the Airlia supplies on their planet to carve out this passageway. They’d done it because, by using sensors, they had been able to determine there were several large voids deep underneath the tor and they had cut their way down to reach and connect those voids, making their own version of the Roads of Rostau. The air inside was damp and chilly. The stone walls were perfectly cut, the steps smooth and unmarked.

  They came to a halt on a landing with a stone wall ahead and more stairs descending ninety degrees to the right. Donnchadh put her medallion to a spot on the stone wall and a hidden doorway appeared.

  Donnchadh led the way through, the rest following. The dampness was gone now, although it was still chilly. The light from the torches grew much brighter as it was reflected a thousand times over from crystals that lined the cavern. The open space was two hundred meters long by a hundred wide.

  Donnchadh went to the right along the wall to another door, flanked by two pillars of crystal. She opened the door and a level tunnel lay beyond. They walked along it for a kilometer before Donnchadh abruptly stopped. She placed her medallion against the left side of the tunnel and another hidden door appeared and opened. They entered a small chamber, ten meters long by five wide. The twenty-six crowded inside. There was a small wooden table in the middle of the room and Donnchadh went to the far side of it. A scroll of papyrus was on the table, held down on each corner by small pieces of crystal.

  Donnchadh turned and faced the supplicants, Gwalcmai’s hulking presence at her side. “This is where our order will be headquartered. The order of the Wedjat in the old tongue,which we must remember. The Watchers, in your new language.

  “You were promised by the Airlia to be part of the order of the high priests. The high priests were promised that someday they would be allowed to partake of the Grail. All lies, as you now know. It is something you should have known before the destruction of Atlantis, as successive generations of h
igh priests and Guides were promised the same thing and each generation died off, passing on the promise to their followers. But you held on to your faith until you were betrayed.”

  There was no dissent. There was an aura in the room, one that Donnchadh paused to try to assess. Then she realised it was anger—fury. At the betrayal of the Airlia. At the loss of everything that had meant anything to them—their faith, their homes, the families they had come from.

  “You would want to fight the Airlia,” she said. “Have revenge on them for their betrayal of you and mankind.” A growl of assent rumbled through the chamber and echoed off its stone walls. “But you cannot fight them. You do not have the means. Not yet. But you can watch, as we discussed. There are places on the planet where the Airlia have hidden themselves and their machinery. We must find those places, then watch them until mankind is ready to fight the Airlia.”

  Donnchadh took the leather purse containing the medallions and rings she had taken from the high priests and Guides she had killed. She emptied it on top of the papyrus on the wooden table. Then she drew a black dagger from her belt. She held it up in the flickering torchlight, and then brought the blade down across her palm, drawing blood.

  Donnchadh held the palm up toward the supplicants. “You will now take a blood oath—an oath of human blood that will bind us and our descendants. To be the Wedjat. To dedicate our lives to watching the Airlia and their minionsuntil the day mankind can destroy them.” She held out the dagger, handle first. “Who will bind themselves to humanity? Who will vote with your blood to be part of this?”

  One of the supplicants stepped forward without hesitation. “I am Brynn. All I have known was destroyed by the Airlia. All they taught me were lies. I will be of the Wedjat and I promise that all who descend from me will be of the order.” He took the dagger and slid the blade across his own palm, drawing blood, then placed his palm against Donnchadh’s. Their blood mingled. With her free hand she gave him one of the rings.

  One by one, the other twenty-three stepped forward and did the same. By the time the rite was over, a pool of blood had formed on top of the papyrus.

  Donnchadh let Gwalcmai do the next step. He was the military expert and had spent his life fighting the Airlia. He laid out a map of the planet’s surface, developed during the orbits they had done prior to landing at Stonehenge. It was quite detailed, showing the topographical features in various colors that he explained to the Wedjat gathered round.

  “We do know they have prepared a base here,” Gwalcmai said, tapping a thick forefinger on a long river that one day would be called the Nile. “Who wants it?”

  “It is a long way,” one of the Wedjat murmured, taking in the scale that Gwalcmai had demonstrated by comparing the distance they had traveled from their landing on this island to this location to the entire world’s scale.

  Gwalcmai laughed. “Some of you will have to go much farther.”

  “I, Kaji, will take that assignment.” The man who spoke these words was short and slight but he spoke with confidence.

  “Good,” Gwalcmai said. “Beyond that known location, we will have to scatter and cover the entire planet. It might be your grandson who finds one of their lairs. And you must beware. Not only of the Airlia but of those they sent out to protect themselves. Guides and high priests most likely. And even humans who, as you did in Atlantis, believe they are Gods.”

  Gwalcmai turned to the map once more. He was done asking for volunteers. He pointed. “You. You will take this area.” He designated a part of the planet’s surface. “You. Here.” And so it went until he had apportioned the entire surface of the planet.

  “You will draw copies of any maps that you will need,” Gwalcmai said. “We will give you gold and other valuable things to take with you. You each have either an Airlia ring or medallion that will act as a key to many of their secret doors.

  “I want to emphasize what you have already been told: Do not try to fight any of these creatures.” He drew his sword. “This is not the path for you to take.” He put the sword down and touched his eyes. “Watch. Report. Make sure you propagate and keep your line of Wedjat going through the years. We are joined in a battle that goes beyond a future any of us can see.”

  The rest of the day was spent preparing the Wedjat for their departure. A restless night passed, then as the sun rose the next morning they all climbed the stone stairs to the top of the tor, which Donnchadh named Avalon.

  They gathered on the top of the tor. For once it wasn’t raining. Rays of sun slanted toward them over the green fields and glinted up off the dark water of the tor lake. The Wedjat were wrapped in black and brown cloaks, heavy packson their backs laden with supplies. Most had long walking sticks they had hand-carved.

  “We will have a gathering here,” Donnchadh said. “In twenty-five years. If you can come back, do so. If you cannot, send your child. Let us know what you have discovered. If you have no children, send a report by any means possible.”

  Donnchadh and Gwalcmai then went down the line shaking hands. One by one, the Wedjat went down the track to the base of the tor where they were shuttled across the water by Brynn. Lone figures set off in all directions of the compass, searching out the Airlia and their minions.

  You will keep the reports that will be sent to you,” Donnchadh said to Brynn the next day. She held up the papyrus that had taken her blood and that of the Watchers and extended the rolled-up tube to the first man who had given his blood to join hers. “This is the first record, one only those who were here would understand.”

  Brynn, who had been chosen to be the Watcher of Avalon, as Donnchadh had named the place, took the papyrus. “I will do my duty.”

  Brynn stood with Donnchadh and Gwalcmai atop the tor. A gray sky hung low over their heads and there was rain to the east, coming toward them. A most miserable and entirely typical day for the place.

  Donnchadh looked to the south, where the small village was on the edge of the lake. “You must take a wife and bring forth an heir to take your place. You must encourage the supersition of the villagers about this place so they will fear to come here.”

  Brynn nodded respectfully, even though he, along with the rest of the Watchers, had received the same briefing prior to the great dispersal the previous day. Gwalcmai shifted hisfeet impatiently. He too had heard Donnchadh say the same thing and had no patience with her repetition.

  But Donnchadh felt a deep sense of sadness. They had altered the course of Airlia rule on this planet by causing the Great Civil War and subsequent Atlantis Truce. But it was still going to be a very, very long time before humans developed to a point where they could fight the Airlia, if they ever did.

  She put her hand on Brynn’s shoulder, knowing he would most likely be dead before she returned. “Remember your oath.”

  On Mars, deep under Cydonia, Aspasia and his closest followers lay down in the black tubes that awaited them. Overall, Aspasia felt he had done well. He had weathered Artad’s initial assault and extracted a truce from his former and present enemy.

  As the lid closed on him and left him in darkness, Aspasia drifted off to the deep sleep knowing that there would come a time of reckoning. He had ceded Earth to Artad, but there would be a day when he returned. Meanwhile, there was always his Shadow on Earth to deal with things.

  In China, Artad had not settled on a natural resting place, but used his saucers and their tractor beams to erect a mountain over three hundred feet high that would one day be called Qian-Ling by the locals. He burrowed deep into the ground, surrounding his refuge with traps.

  He also prepared his own contingencies. First, he prepared his own Shadow, set in a chamber near the top of the mountain. He loaded his own essence into a ka and placed it in the machine. He set no timer, but rather linked the console to a guardian computer that monitored the outside world. He would allow the machine to make the decision to awaken the Shadow, then the Shadow could make the decision whether to awaken him.

  As a redu
ndancy to the computer monitoring, he also prepared creatures that could walk the surface of the planet and, with some slight disguise, pass among the humans. His scientists generated two dozen Airlia-Human clones. Ones Who Wait. They were given regeneration tubes and sent forth to keep an eye on Artad’s side of the truce. They were sent to a base hidden in a mountain in Africa.

  Artad then set his guardian computer and went into the deep sleep, confident that when he awoke the issue of whether the Swarm had reported this planet would be resolved. Then it would be time to deal with Aspasia.

  Donnchadh held Gwalcmai in a last embrace. They stood between the two tubes in their spaceship, preparing to go into the deep sleep. Their bodies were young—fresh out of the tubes. It was always a disorienting experience to see her mate so young after spending years growing old with him. She had enough vanity, though, to appreciate her slender, smooth body and the feel of his hands on her.

  “We are in no rush,” she told Gwalcmai.

  He laughed, a rumble deep in his chest. “Really?”

  “The tubes can wait for a little while,” Donnchadh affirmed.

  “How little is a little while?” Gwalcmai asked as he lifted her off her feet with a tight embrace and his lips hovered just above hers.

  “However long we wish.”

  VIII

  THE PAST, 8,000 B.C.

  Were things different?

  That was the question running through Donnchadh’s mind as she pressed her medallion against the inner lock for the door in the standing stone. It slid open and Gwalcmai, as was his way, stepped past her and into the open, sword in hand.

  Donnchadh followed. Into rain. Which was to be expected. What did surprise her were the new standing stones flanking the three original ones. Just as large as those she and Gwalcmai had emplaced. They both stared at the stones for several minutes in silence as the rain drizzled down, soaking their clothes.

  “How could—” Gwalcmai began, but then stopped, at a loss for words.