Sarah knew she had to get rid of the recordings prior to leaving the building tomorrow; the security officers, and or soldiers, would definitely be interested to know why she had launch procedure files on her person. So I won’t keep the images on my phone, she thought. Stick that up your arse, General Stevens!
Firing up a nearby printer and attempting to muffle the resulting emitted beeps, Sarah utilised the peripheral’s integrated software to print out the manual from her phone’s video footage. More minutes ticked by, the paper copy of the manual spewing forth page by inexorable page. As she waited, to her right, through the thirty foot high windows of the Control Station, the darkened shuttle bay brightened; its array of lights flickering to life and sending a white brilliance cascading through the glass to highlight Sarah within.
Dropping down to a crouch, Sarah’s heartbeat quickened. Creeping to the front desk, she peeked over the top to see who had tripped the automatic lighting below. A team of Special Forces commandos, replete in full armour, fanned out around the shuttle bay, weapons in hand. Accompanying them was a host of military engineers and scientists, who homed in on a single docking bay; also along with them was a cigar-toting man whom she’d seen earlier that day, one General Stevens.
Sarah watched the enormous metal floor retract, the wail of sirens and flashing warning beacons unusually absent. Why were they opening the bay doors? There couldn’t be an air-shuttle arriving as there was no one at the Control Station to receive it. At that thought the sound of heavy booted footfalls approached from nearby. Petrified, Sarah had no time to grab the manual, which had finally finished printing, choosing instead to dive under a desk. Curling her legs up to her chest, her hair falling over one eye, she peeked out to see her rucksack in plain view next to the printer.
It was too late to do anything now as the soldiers had arrived, their black boots treading – silently now – past Sarah’s hidden location. Trying to keep her breathing quiet and her pounding heart slow, Sarah could just see from her limited vantage point the two soldiers disappear from view. Moments later she could see them at the rear of the room and they appeared to be locking the door to where the emergency crew slept. Returning in their heavy shod footwear and grey and black camos, the two men retreated from the room, one to the right and the other to the left.
When Sarah believed the coast to be clear she crawled from her hiding place and collected her manual. Still on all fours she deposited the wodge of paper into her rucksack, which she hitched onto her back once more. Getting into a low crouch, she sidled up to the nearest door to try and get a bead on one of the soldiers. Her face pressed up against the glass, she scanned the office beyond, half-lit by the shuttle bay below. There didn’t appear to be anyone around until a dark shape moved mere inches from her face making her jump in fright, a yelp of surprise almost escaping her lips. The soldier was right there, on the other side of the door, guarding entry to the Control Station. With her back to the wall, her breathing shallow and her chest heaving as the adrenaline sought to increase its grip on her system, Sarah spied the second soldier through the door opposite, preventing entry to the only other point of access. She was trapped!
Crawling low past the nearest door, the rough carpet feeling dirty on her hands, Sarah hid beneath another desk out of sight of prying eyes. What’s going on? she wondered, surely they shouldn’t be locking the nightshift in their quarters? It could prove catastrophic if a shuttle came in and the correct safety measures weren’t activated.
Twisting round in her cramped cubbyhole, Sarah could just see out into the shuttle bay, the huge shaft now exposed, the imposing rock walls lit up all around. Above one of the twin tracks, the engineers had set up a strange mechanism along with an industrial-sized winch; which already worked away, steam rising from its thick wire cable while two men used a hose to spray it with water as it spun round at high velocity. The toughened glass muffled most of the noise from below, but the distant whine of the winch still managed to penetrate through. As she watched, engrossed in this queer behaviour, some of the Terra Force commandos, utilising metal ropes and grappling hooks built into their armour, abseiled down into the deep hole and out of sight. The winch’s high pitched scream dropped to a low whirr and Sarah knew whatever they were bringing up was nearing its journey’s end. A rush of activity preceded the arrival of a familiar shape, the tip of an air-shuttle’s nosecone. Bit by bit the subterranean craft’s silver sub-frame edged into view. Either side, the soldiers who had scaled the rock face reappeared at the lip of the shaft, returning to the thick concrete that surrounded the entire bay.
Instead of allowing the machine to continue along its track, the team of men and women hauled the air-shuttle to one side using what was clearly a specially designed crane. The shuttle, resting on secure ground, had been gutted, its usual seating removed to enable it to carry a special load. Using the crane once more, the general’s teams unloaded the single piece of cargo, which almost filled the entire shuttle, its bulk shrouded by a thick black plastic cover. Now standing erect, Sarah estimated it to be fifty foot high and half that in depth and breadth. The object, still attached to the crane by lifting slings, hung precariously suspended until it dropped down onto a waiting flatbed lorry which had reversed unseen through the maintenance road that led out into the USSB’s lower levels. Once secured onto its transport, the lifting gear fell away and with it the cover, too.
Sarah shifted closer to the glass, her hands pressed against it, eager to lay eyes on what had so preoccupied the military. It was a piece of ancient architecture, its sides made up of dense rock similar to the Anakim structure she’d witnessed on her Deep Reach mission. In fact, she decided, it looked exactly like the stone formation at the site. The size, too, sparked off her memories of the hole the military had cut into the building’s roof. Is this what had been producing the energy reading she and Riley had witnessed on their unofficial scouting mission? It must be. Obviously too big and heavy to bring back to the USSB by normal means, they had gone to great lengths to bring the load across many miles of sheer drops, vertical climbs and twisting tunnels. Such commitment meant this piece of rock must be important indeed.
Turning within the shuttle bay, which had by now been resealed, the transporter executed a one hundred and eighty degree manoeuvre, its great, deep-treaded tyres bulging from the weight of its single consignment. As it turned, Sarah saw the monument had a similar shape to the caskets she’d seen brought back by the archaeological team, only this monstrous thing had the look of a pentagonal prism. The meaning of the shape wasn’t lost on her; the same form as her confiscated pendants, a five-sided polygon. It also suggested a link between it and the image of the Anakim priestess Sarah had seen on the interior walls of the nine hundred thousand year old edifice.
The eighteen-wheeler completed its about turn, bringing the opposite side of the object into view. Unlike the rest of the dark, coral-like rock, run through with seams of lighter sediment, one of the wide pentagonal sides contained a large sunken cut-out, rectangular in shape. Within the recess, a foot in from the edge and half the length of the outside structure itself, a ten foot wide glass-like enclosure rested. Around this transparent case ran a corroded metal frame. At its base, a wide, flat panel had been installed, and sunk into its centre were three distinct and identical shapes – perfectly formed circles. Sarah knew the implication of these indented discs; they meant this mysterious object could be activated by three giant individuals who wore a special pentagonal pendant, the same as the one she now had to reclaim herself.
The juggernaut edged off, the movement causing the pale material behind the glass to shift. Slow, dark swirls spun out from the deep interior, suggesting the chamber contained a heavy, viscous liquid. As Sarah watched it being driven away, General Stevens spoke to some of his men and then he, too, departed the shuttle bay, leaving those remaining to clear up the area.
Realising the opportunity to get a record of the departing artefact was disappearing, Sarah held up
her phone and took a picture, but in her haste her finger clipped another command setting off a powerful flash. Horrified at her mistake Sarah looked down to see an engineer looking up in her direction. The man called out to one of his Special Forces colleagues. Surely he hadn’t seen it – had he? The engineer, now joined by the Terra Force commando, pointed up towards the Control Station’s windows, behind which Sarah knelt, concealed by a piece of frosted glass and a section of desk. The armour clad soldier dropped his raised visor down over his face and turned on his interior systems, sending a green glow emanating from the helmet’s eye-like sculpturing. With the forbidding mask looking in her direction, Sarah knew the man within scrolled through various spectral ranges which could identify her heat signature; her own Deep Reach headgear having the same feature. The soldier’s gloved hand moved to one side of his helmet, most likely activating a communication to the men standing yards from Sarah’s position.
Knowing the game was up, Sarah threw caution to the wind and scrambled out from underneath the desk. Standing upright, terror gripped her mind like a shrieking banshee, rooting her to the spot. Where could she go? A sound to her right triggered her flight or fight response. She found herself running full pelt in the opposite direction.
‘Stop right there!’ a man said from behind.
This failed to break Sarah’s stride as the other door opened ahead of her; instead the words, ‘Sod you!’ erupted unbidden from her mouth as she launched herself forwards into mid-air and oblivion.
TERMINOLOGY / MAP
USSB – United States Subterranean Base
GMRC – Global Meteor Response Council
Darklight – World’s largest private security contractor
SFSD – Special Forces Subterranean Detachment (Terra Force)
SED – Sanctuary Exploration Division
[For easy reference this page is duplicated in the final Appendix and is also listed as the last entry in the Table of Contents]
Chapter Seventeen
Tucked away just south of Colorado, within the state of New Mexico, sits the small town of Dulce, population three thousand, four hundred and nine. Consisting almost entirely of aboriginal Americans, the remote New Mexican reservation had acted as a home for the Jicarilla Apaches for generations. Surrounded by dry scrubland and a rocky hilly terrain, the whole area exuded an arid beauty, baked dry by the endless sunshine that had once shone down upon it.
Since the asteroid AG5 had impacted, the sun had been taken, and as some knew this was an act of the creator. The dust on the ground had now been mirrored by that in the air high above, shielding the light giver from its subjects below. What the future held was unclear, but what the present supplied was plenty.
‘Where is the sky, father?’ the young boy asked as he looked up to the heavens, seeking glimmers of bright blue he knew should be there.
‘The sky is still there, Kuruk. It is just dark.’
Kuruk eyed the brooding skies in an inquisitive yet fearless manner. ‘Like the bad spirits?’
‘No, my son, not like the bad spirits. The gods are testing us. If we can survive without the sun we can survive anything.’
‘Anything, father? Even death?’
‘The body does not survive death, Kuruk, but our spirits will live on in the Land of Ever Summer. Hardships in life give us greater strength in death.’
Satisfied with his parent’s answer, Kuruk jumped down from the large boulder he’d been sitting on and bounded away into the darkness.
‘Don’t go too far, Kuruk!’ his father called after him as the boy disappeared into the night-like day.
‘I won’t, father!’ Kuruk threw back, switching on a small torch to seek out his favourite places to play.
Kuruk loved to run in the dark. The challenge of remembering small paths and trip hazards kept his senses honed and his balance true. Today he felt energised and so he decided to reach the secret place, somewhere known only to him.
Half an hour later Kuruk pushed aside a low branch, the light of his torch highlighting the small leaves and grey knotted wood of the bushy tree which rustled at his passing. Lying down, he squirmed his way inside a tight gap in a craggy rock face, the dust of the earth kicked up by his movements hanging in the air around him. A metre further in and Kuruk found himself in his tiny den. At the back, against the craggy stone, a deep, narrow fissure sank into the bowels of the Earth. Hot warm air gushed through this crevice to the surface, heating the cavity against the cold air from outside. Now in the wilderness the silence surrounding Kuruk was perfect. Leaning forwards and cupping his hands to his ears, he sat still and unmoving, straining to catch the sounds from below. He didn’t have long to wait, as after a few minutes, on the very edge of his hearing, a small chinking sound echoed up to him. Father said the white man built their own secret places underground. Kuruk couldn’t believe that. He fancied it was the spirits of his ancestors seeking their way back to the living. I would very much like to talk to my grandfather, he thought, the vague but comforting memory of his father’s father sending a pang of yearning through his tender heart.
‘Grandfather!’ Kuruk shouted into the deep, black hole. ‘This way grandfather, this way!’
As usual only his echoes could be heard along with the ever present chink chink chink drifting up from the depths.
♦
Over a kilometre below Kuruk’s feet, through layers of compacted soil and dense rock, the men and women of USSB Steadfast toiled by hand to clear debris from an emergency stairwell. The sound of picks and shovels striking the dense rubble reverberated through the surrounding area and beyond, sharp edges of hardened tools biting deep into pulverised stone and broken boulders alike. The collapsed tunnels, leading to the surface, had been compromised by strategically placed explosions. Critical excavation machinery had been either removed from the base or disabled beyond repair and the interior-to-surface lift systems lay crippled.
In the heart of the subterranean complex stood the reinforced, fifty storey high Command Centre, its grey clad bulk cleaving through three chamber levels. Running vertically down one side of the building, large three dimensional lettering spelt out the name, U.S.S.B. STEADFAST. In the lowest rooms of this central command structure, a select team of people awaited the arrival of the man that called the shots. He wasn’t normally in charge at Steadfast, only having arrived just before the meteorite impacted in 2040, but now their director had left the base the GMRC Director General of the Subterranean Programme himself had taken direct control; which was just as well, as no one else had the experience or expertise to deal with the crisis at hand.
The large glass double doors opened with a pneumatic swish and the assembled ranks stuttered to silence as everyone stood. A man of small stature and a powerful presence, flanked as ever by his personal aides, entered the room. Wearing a simple grey GMRC uniform, the Director General’s only indication of rank was the inconspicuous golden weave adorning his cuffs and epaulettes, and a badge on his right shoulder; the symbol of the powerful and influential GMRC Directorate.
‘Please be seated,’ Professor Steiner said, adjusting his glasses and taking his seat at the head of the large conference table.
A shuffling of chairs and the muted rustle of clothing followed his command as everyone sat back down. The Steadfast personnel glanced at one another in anxious anticipation, waiting for their leader to begin.
Professor Steiner cleared his throat and spread out some paperwork before him. He then looked to the greying, clean-cut, middle-aged man to his right. ‘Nathan, can you bring up a map of the base on the wallscreens, please?’
‘Certainly, Professor.’ Nathan got to his feet and walked to the far end of the room to access the building’s internal computer system.
‘Ladies,’ Professor Steiner said, looking over the tops of his glasses at the women in the room, ‘gentleman,’ he continued, perusing the men before him. ‘As you are all very much aware, USSB Steadfast is still cut off from the surface. Critical s
ystems have been patched up as best they could be and the majority of the four hundred and seventy-five thousand souls that still call this base home have been relocated to the lowest levels for safety.
‘It has been many months since this – situation – was thrust upon us and we are no further along in securing any kind of route to the surface, despite our best efforts. The people responsible for our entombment did well when they sabotaged Steadfast’s systems. The damage caused to life support has ensured most of our efforts are directed at keeping ourselves alive rather than evacuation.
‘Every attempt we do make to reach the surface has been thwarted, not just by the previous efforts of our tormentors but by those still stationed on the surface tasked with preventing our escape—’
The doors to the room opened once more, causing Steiner to pause. Five U.S. Army officers marched into the room. At their head stalked a large, powerfully built man with a self-indulgent swagger, his scalp sprouting thick, dirty blonde receding hair, which flowed down into shorter bristling stubble that covered half of the owner’s grizzled face. Unlike his uniformed comrades he wore heavy green and brown body armour that had seen its fair share of engagements, its thick composite metal exterior bearing the marks of combat, shiny metal gashes and grazes standing out in stark contrast to the camouflage paint around it.
‘Ah, Colonel Samson,’ Steiner said, while glancing pointedly at his watch, ‘so good of you to join us.’
Samson sat down at the opposite end of the table to the professor, his fellow officers taking seats either side of him. The colonel, instead of responding to Steiner’s acknowledgement, merely glowered, his heavy brows hovering over a pair of pale, cold eyes.
‘Okay, shall we continue?’ Steiner clasped his hands before him, undeterred by the antagonism permeating from the very pores of the military leader opposite him. ‘Excellent,’ he said in his confident tone as some of the civilians looked nervously towards Samson and his cronies. ‘I have called you all here today to outline my proposal for extricating everyone from this facility. The reasons for our abandonment by the GMRC and U.S. military on the surface is still unknown, although it is clear that Intelligence Director Joiner played a leading role in the affair. Since we have been left to our own devices, it has fallen to me, and the people in this room, to take control of all our destinies. Now that we have stabilised our environment it is time to take the next step. Nathan,’ Steiner motioned with a hand at his friend and confidant, ‘if you will.’
2041 Sanctuary (Dark Descent) Page 24