The Atlantis World (The Origin Mystery, Book 3)

by A. G. Riddle

  “Yes,” Kate said.

  “Any ideas who it’s from or what it is?” David asked.

  “No.” Kate said, lost in thought.

  “It could be an ally,” Sonja said. “Help.”

  “The world could use it.” Paul proceeded to share his experience with the group, how the American government had tried to use Continuity to eliminate people it felt were too weak to fight or fend for themselves. “I assume other nations are looking at the same scenario. The global flood would presumably increase the urgency.”

  “Makes you wonder who to even pull for in this war,” David said.

  “Indeed.”

  “What’s our status here?” David asked Kate.

  “Dire. The ship is more or less offline. The main computer core is gone. We’ve got emergency power and communications; that’s how I could access the beacon. We’ve got hull breaches all along the perimeter. The shaft leading out of the mountain is completely flooded.

  “Assuming any of the mountain is still above sea level, we’d have to swim for it.” Kate read David’s expression. “No, there are no oxygen tanks down here. There are plenty of EVA suits, but they’re in these sections.” She brought up a map on the screen. “They were destroyed in the blasts.”

  “We’re trapped,” David said.

  “Almost. There’s a portal room at the other end of the ship.”

  “Similar to the one in the other section—that connected to the ship in Antarctica?”

  “Yes. The portal can conceivably take us to two locations. Antarctica or the beacon. But access to Antarctica is closed from that end.”

  “Going there would be too dangerous anyway,” David said.

  “I agree. Ares would know the second we stepped through the portal. But we can go to the beacon. If we make it there, we can see the messages and send a response.”

  “I like it,” David said. “A lot better than drowning.”

  “Me too. But, there may be a… slight problem with getting to the portal.”

  CHAPTER 15

  Immari Operations Base Prism

  Antarctica

  Through the habitat’s large picture window, Dorian watched the Immari crews disassembling the white caterpillar shaped buildings, along with the rest of Fortress Antarctica. Ares’ order to break down the camp was nearly as surprising as what he wanted them to do with it: drop it into the ocean.

  For hours, the crews had been tearing apart the rail guns, buildings, and everything in between, loading the parts into the fleet of planes on the ice runway for disposal at sea.

  Why? Dorian wondered. It made no sense—to build all this then toss it in the sea.

  Ares had ordered Dorian to evacuate the remaining staff to the mountains of South Africa, where the new Immari headquarters would be established.

  Behind him, a small group of middle managers, morons, and scientists argued over the details. Dorian had bowed out of the conversation early, unable to justify wasting his time. Their planning was pointless. They were simply doing Ares’ bidding. He had planned this sequence of events thousands of years ago, and he didn’t care to share any particulars of it, didn’t think Dorian was worthy.

  “If the Isthmus of Panama is underwater, the Atlantic and Pacific have been joined again. All our models are wrong. Global sea currents are…”

  Their models, Dorian thought, smiling.

  “The axis is a bigger issue. We know the weight of the ice at the South Pole tilts the earth. If we’ve lost enough, the axis will shift. The equator moves—”

  “Which would melt more ice.”

  “Yes. We could be looking at a complete melt off. That could be the reason for the full evacuation.”

  “Should we call up more personnel?”

  “He didn’t say to—”

  “It’s implied in our mandate. Full evacuation at best speed possible.”

  A technician approached Dorian. “General Ares has asked for you to join him in the ship.”

  Dorian desperately wanted to tell “Lord Ares” where to shove his summons, but he simply trudged out of the room.

  Fifteen minutes later, he was two miles below the surface, inside the expansive Atlantean ship, standing in a room he had never seen before. Ares stood at a terminal that scrolled text in a language Dorian couldn’t read.

  “I know you’re not happy with me, Dorian.”

  “I salute your penchant for understatement.”

  “I saved lives today.”

  “Really? I’m sure my primitive earthman math can’t hold a candle to your advanced Atlantean calculus, but I count millions of bodies floating in a toxic soup all over the planet as lives lost. But hey, that’s just me, your humble pet caveman here.”

  Dorian sensed that Ares wanted to reprimand him, strike back at him as he had in the corridor, but the Atlantean restrained himself. He needs me for something, Dorian thought.

  “I didn’t tell you the plan because you would have tried to stop me.”

  “No. I would have killed you.”

  “You would have tried. So in not telling you, I’ve saved your life—once again.”

  “Again?”

  “I’m counting my genetic interventions that led to your species in the first place. Now for the matter at hand. We control the world, Dorian. We have won. Now we will build an army and win the future. There is an enemy out there. It’s only a matter of time before they find this world. You will not survive—unless we work together. We can save the survivors of this flood. We can lead our people off this world to meet our enemy, surprising them, winning our right to exist in the universe.” He turned, pacing away, letting the words sink in.

  When Ares spoke again, his tone was gentler. “If I hadn’t done what I did today, every person on this world would have perished. We’ve sacrificed lives today, but in war, you must sacrifice lives to win—and you must win to preserve your civilization and your way of life. Losers don’t write history. They’re burned, buried, and forgotten.”

  “You started the war out there.”

  “The war out there started thousands of years ago; you just can’t see the battle lines. They reach the length of this galaxy, crossing every human world.”

  “What do you want from me?”

  “You have a role to play, Dorian. You’ve always known that. When we’ve defeated our enemy, you can return here and do whatever you want with this world.”

  “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.”<
br />
  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.”

  CHAPTER 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 qu
ery 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.

  CHAPTER 17

  My world is dying, Dorian thought as he watched the storms over the sea form, rage, and fade just as quickly.