In the floor along one of the walls, eight and four large indentations had been cleared of food stores. The openings were half a stick wide, about a stick long, and half a stick deep-just about the right size if the young Arzats curled up. They reminded Mot of some of the holes in the hot-spring baths. How he wished he were soaking in one of them now.
*
As Mot stood in the cold, he saw the older females looking at the openings and having a discussion. He began to pray to the Creator that whatever the wise old mothers had planned, they would get on with it so he could get some sleep. The cold was making him drowsy.
Fet put two of the guards to work clearing an additional storage space that had been carved into a wall just above the open spots on the floor. As Mot watched, he assumed that this would be his bed, though he would have much preferred to be closer to Ara.
The females, after what seemed to be an overly lengthy discussion, finally finished and approached the group. Fet spoke. “Young Arzats, you have been chosen among the many to survive the great fire rock that is soon to wreck the world. If the Astrologers are correct in their predictions, a great storm will ensue when the rock hits, and much of our world will die, if not immediately, then in the aftermath. I have seen the rock with my own eyes. The Elders have seen it. Mot has seen it. It may be several seasons before the world is ready to sustain our lives once again. We have selected you, the strongest and most able in the Zanta Clan, in the hope that you can live through the disaster that is upon us—by literally sleeping through it—and carry our species and our clan into the next world when the danger has passed.”
Everyone looked at Mot, the only one among the young Arzats who had actually seen the coming danger, but he was too cold and frightened to get any satisfaction from Fet’s comments or their attention. Mot was sorry now that he had ever seen the rock, and sorry that he had put himself in this position. He was very tired and just wanted to go to bed. But another thought suddenly occurred to him that caused him to panic as Fet spoke.
“We have prepared a drink that will help you sleep, take it now.” Fet said.
A large bowl was produced, and the older females began to distribute a dark liquid into smaller wooden bowls, which were passed to Mot and each of the adolescents. To Mot’s nose, the smell was terrible, but when he made the mistake of darting his tongue, his senses got the full force of the brew and he coughed and almost dropped his portion. But he felt the gaze of Za’a upon him, and dutifully sipped the concoction until he had choked down all of it.
*
Mot had barely spoken to his mother since his encounter with the Evil Ones, there simply had been no time. First he had been called before the Council, and not long after he had been led down to into the bowels of the caves. But he knew he had disappointed her and disgraced her in front of the entire clan. In the Arzat culture, the children were the legacy of their mothers and fathers. The behavior of any offspring directly reflected on the parents and their standing. In this, Mot knew he had failed Za’a entirely.
Nonetheless, he had wanted to ask her, when Fet had finally finished her long speech, one simple question: “How do we get out?” If all of the clan is gone, who will release us? Who will resurrect us? Of course, the females must have a plan, he thought, trying to reassure himself. If so, he would surely like to know what that plan was. But Mot had looked at his mother and softly probed her mind and knew he must remain silent.
Za’a watched her son from the side of the cave. So handsome, so brave, she thought to herself. What a tragic ending for him. But tragedy was something she was not new to. It was the way of this world, she thought. Za’a was not the only female who had lost children, but most had not lost all of their sons. She would owe Fet a lifetime of favors for tonight. Za’a had asked Fet to save Mot, and Fet had done it on her behalf.
Fet knew that Za’a was past the ability to generate eggs, well past the ability to produce new offspring. There would be no more sons for her. Fet could fully recall when she herself had experienced the loss of her own womb, so she had great empathy for Za’a regarding her predicament, for what good were females who could not bear sons? This, at least, would give Za’a some hope that her one remaining son might live.
Like Mot, however, Za’a had stumbled upon the problem of the youngster’s eventual release. This had initially caused her great consternation, but she was at heart an Arzat of great faith. The matter would soon be out of her hands and thrust into those of the Creator of all things. Now, it was her job simply to lay the foundation for a chance of her son’s survival.
She approached Mot and slowly reached up and gently placed her hand to the side of his head. Za’a could easily have communicated with him without such a gesture, but she was painfully aware of the fact that this was to be the last time she would ever see him, and she wanted the physical connection.
“I feel fear in you my son,” she told Mot without uttering a word, “but have none, for I have conferred with the Astrologers and have myself conferred with the Great Creator. You will live again—and thrive.”
Mot’s head was already beginning to spin from the drugged potion, but he was able to feel the sincerity of his mother’s words as they flowed from the tips of her fingers and they helped to calm him. For his part, there was so much he suddenly wished to say, to apologize for and to acknowledge, but he found himself simply replying, “Thank you, Mother. Thank you.”
Za’a removed her hand from his temple and moved it into one of Mot’s hands. “Here, let me help you, my son.”
“Yes, thank you, Mother, thank you,” Mot said silently.
Mot suddenly felt like he weighed one hundred stones and fought to keep his footing as Za’a led him to the space that had been cleared and prepared on the wall. As she helped Mot step up into the opening, he could feel the layers of resin and animal fat around his feet and then around his torso as he settled down inside the sarcophagus. Had he not been so drugged, Mot probably would have jumped out of the hole screaming, begging the council to kill him. It was like stepping into death.
The other adolescents had been similarly assisted and, although he could no longer see them, Mot could hear their frightened pleas, though none of them had uttered an audible word.
Suddenly Mot realized that he had not even had a chance to say goodbye to Ara. This disturbed him to the point that he momentarily overcame his shyness and he let his mind reach out to her. A few seconds passed, but finally he heard her response, “Sleep well, Mot. I hope to see you soon.”
Mot’s heart sang. He couldn’t believe it. Had Ara actually said those words? He could feel his chest tighten as his hopes soared. He had never had the courage to directly speak to Ara before. And there was promise in her response—not just in her thoughts—but in the way she had delivered them.
“Mot! Mot!” The desperate words of his mother brought him back to the present. “Mot, you must listen to me! Take three slow and deep breaths, and on the third, blow until you have completely emptied your lungs.”
How was that possible? He could hold his breath for a very long time, but…. Mot wanted to protest, but he was too tired to argue, he just wanted desperately to sleep.
He drew in one huge breath, then blew, another, then blew again. The last breath, he took in slowly and more purposefully. Even in his highly drugged state, Mot suddenly realized, despite his mother’s assurances, that it was probably his last. There was the sweet smell of the cave air, the distinct scent of his mother, the water, the rocks, even the unpleasant scent of animal fat he was lying in, but the one scent he wished to smell most eluded him: the scent of Ara. He vaguely thought about trying again, but according to his mother’s instructions, he blew out purposefully and fully on the third breath, and dropped into a complete and total sleep.
*
Za’a stayed with Mot for some time, as did the rest of the Arzat mothers and assistants, watching the young Arzats closely in their drugged state. The Medicine Men moved between them, checking for p
ulse and breathing. It was critical to get the timing perfect. As their bodies cooled, and at the moment the youngsters completely ceased any discernible life function, the Medicine Men would order them covered with the animal fat and sealed with the resin of Ne’e.
Mot was the last, his heart was strong. When they finally came to cover him, Za’a looked at Mot one last time and tried to send him a final message of affection, but there was no response—he was “gone.” She looked to the top of the Chamber and made one final plea to the Great Creator to preserve and protect her son, then watched as the animal fat was poured over him and his crypt was carefully covered with a thick seal of resin.
As a final act, the Stone Carver went to each of the holes and chiseled the name of the appropriate individual on the floor next to it. Za’a watched as he carefully cut the words into the wall below her son, making sure that the carver did it correctly: Mot son of the great Hunter Url.
*
When it was finally over, Za’a looked at Fet. “Have we killed them?” she asked without speaking.
Fet felt her gaze and looked back. Her eyes, usually golden, had gone crimson. Her message to Za’a was clear and concise, and yet it avoided directly answering Za’a’s question. “Now we have done all we can do,” she replied. “Their fate is in the hands of the Great Creator and destiny.”
The two females made the long climb back up through the caves together, the rest of their group following or just ahead. As they neared the main Chamber, they felt the earth shake, and both of them instinctively knew that they had been right, and had acted just in time. Fet paused for a moment, slightly unbalanced, but Za’a was there to steady her.
She took Fet’s arm and led her back toward the Great Fire.
Chapter 6
The ARC
Tom walked Alex over to a small ATV vehicle, the kind typically used for hunting or farm work. They were just outside the rectangle of trailers near his office. There was only a vague hint of twilight left in one corner of the sky. Batter had completely disappeared.
“Tom, what the hell was that all about? Who is that guy? And what is all the military doing here?” Alex asked as Tom jumped in the driver’s seat of the ATV.
Tom gave Alex a reluctant smile. “Hop in, I’ll tell you about it on the way.”
“On the way? On the way where?”
“Just get in Alex, would ya?” He gently tossed her a hardhat with a miner’s lantern attached to the front of it and put another on himself.
Lights on, Tom fired up the mini four-wheeler and drove around the trailers and headed directly for a large opening in the desert floor. As they approached it, a huge dump truck with wheels the size of a small house rumbled up the ramp seemingly out of nowhere. Alex thought for a moment that the giant truck might run them over, but the driver flashed his lights from two stories up in the cab and steered a wide path around them.
“That means there is another right behind.” Tom noticed that Alex had an uncharacteristic death grip on the grab bar in front of her, mistaking her excitement for fear. “It’s OK, Alex, the drivers know we are on our way down.”
“Down? Down where?” she asked, her eyes focused on the next truck that had just reached the surface.
Tom looked over at Alex and flashed the very familiar smile that had completely enchanted Alex the first time she had ever seen him. “I am going to show you something absolutely amazing, and then I am going to show you something I’m sure you will find even more amazing,” he said, speaking loudly over the sound of truck passing them.
They came up over a slight rise and then were suddenly headed down through a massive opening at least four cars wide in the desert floor. It was like entering a steep freeway tunnel, complete with lights and bright yellow directional lines painted on a concrete roadway. Alex squinted to try to see where the road went, but the tunnel bent back upward after a half mile or so, appearing to level out at what would be several hundred feet below the desert floor, so she could not determine what might be at the end of it.
“I think I am already amazed Tom,” she shouted back.
“Just wait, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet.” Tom smiled and winked as he drove down the ramp.
Yes, still “Mr. Charming,” Alex thought as she glanced at him. They hadn’t spoken in months, and Alex flashed to their last conversation. Tom had mentioned something about a special assignment he had been working on, but it had gone past her at the time. She had been more concerned about wrapping up a couple of loose ends in their divorce.
During their short marriage of only two years, Tom was always working on some “special assignment” somewhere far away that—as Alex later found out—apparently involved another woman. She had eventually forgiven him since she herself had more or less “stolen” Tom from some other woman he had been seeing at the time they first met. Tom was just that kind of man; the kind women want and are bold in pursuing. Unfortunately, he was also the kind of guy that probably needed to remain a bachelor.
Divorcing Tom had been painful for her but she was a realist. They were both very independent. They would both survive. But she still loved him, and while there was no way in hell she would contemplate ever becoming involved with him again, she counted him on her very short list of best friends. He was a good man, and totally reliable with the apparent exception of his behavior with other females. One thing was for sure, he was a hell of a geological engineer-one of the best in the world.
“I can’t believe Batter is letting me show you this,” he said, shaking his head. They passed another of the giant dump trucks grunting along in low gear as it made its way past them toward the top of the tunnel.
“Why’s that?”
“Alex, this project is top secret, and I mean top secret. The guys working on this practically have to sign their lives away to be here, and all of them have to pass a super-high level of security. They can’t even tell their families what they are doing, or even where they are,” Tom said, glancing over at her, as if he were expecting some response. They passed a rough handmade sign that read “Welcome To Underworld, Population: Not Yet, Elevation Minus 915 Feet.”
The tunnel flattened out and they entered an area the size of two or three football fields. It reminded Alex of a super-sized astrodome, complete with very bright lights beaming down in rectangular patterns from overhead. She tried to keep her jaw from dropping.
“Pretty impressive huh,” Tom said, noting her reaction. He wheeled the ATV off of the main road and stopped. He just kept quiet and let Alex look.
The place was massive. Alex got out of the cart and let her eyes wander. What the hell was supporting this, she asked herself as she surveyed the ceiling which looked to be more than two hundred feet over their heads. They were almost a quarter of a mile below the surface. How had they managed to create such a large space with no visible supports?
“I know what you’re thinking. Impossible, huh?” Tom was looking at the scene like a proud father.
“Yes, Tom, this is friggin’ impossible,” Alex said, her head back, looking up. There was no doubt in her mind now why Tom had been selected to build it. He was probably one of the few people she knew of in the world that had both the engineering skills and geological background necessary to construct such a project.
“Was, Alex, was impossible.” He smiled again. “Two words, carbon fiber. Look closely at the rafters. We’re building it like a giant egg using carbon fiber beams.” Tom raised his head and proudly looked to the ceiling himself. “Makes the pyramids look easy, doesn’t it? It’s going to be rated for a 9.0 quake when we get it done.”
“But Tom, the expense…,” she said as her eyes scanned the structure.
“Nothing is too good for the ole United States government, Alex. They are basically letting me build this thing with no budget constraints. All of those lights, LED,” he said pointing toward the high ceiling. “More of your tax dollars at work in places you never imagined possible, right?”
Once Alex had got
ten over the shock of the rafters, she let her eyes wander over the facility itself. There were several buildings, some of them eight or ten stories high, set on the floor of the structure. It looked like a small town complete with storefronts and small streets, with the exception that everything was painted pure white and it appeared to be deserted. The project looked virtually finished, but for a large gash in one wall where a crew with heavy equipment was working removing debris. Alex could feel the hair on the back of her neck rising.
“So, Tom, here is the obvious question, what the hell is it for?”
The smile disappeared from Tom’s face. “It’s a doomsday shelter Alex, a doomsday shelter.”
Alex just looked back at the place in silence.
“Actually they are calling it an ‘ARC’—short for Auxiliary Repopulation Center. This is going to be like a small city when we get it done.” Tom kicked a lose piece of rubble away with his foot.
“But why? What specifically is it for?”
“Who knows?” he shrugged. “But no one needs to tell you about extinction events, or nuclear bombs, or world pandemic. Maybe one of those new telescopes spotted something. Maybe some politicians just got freaked out. I don’t really know, Alex. All I do know is that I was given an unlimited budget and a very short window of time to get my part of this thing done, with a rather large incentive bonus if I’m on time. Which brings me to our next topic. See that area down near the bottom of the ramp? We were doing some controlled blasting there, trying to get ready to install one of the last reactors…”
“Wait, reactor?”
“Yes, Alex, this place is all going to be powered by a series of small self-contained nuclear reactors.” He pointed to an area where six large cylinders several stories tall were lined up near the gash.
Alex shot him a look of complete disbelief.
“I’m not kidding. They are all chained together. When one wears out it automatically shuts itself down and another fires up. The scientists say that they could theoretically power the entire complex for several hundred years. Just one of them will produce a hundred thousand kilowatt hours a day for fifty years at full power. They’re like giant batteries. The boys are working on placing the last one of them now.”
In Situ Page 6