Aegis League series Boxed Set

by S. S. Segran

  “A generator, I think,” Jag answered. “They’d probably want their own source of power that isn’t connected to the grid.” He’d taken out his flashlight as well and traced it around the garage. “Bingo.” He strode over to the corner where both of the shelves met. What appeared to be a cap for a fuel tank was sticking out from the ground. Jag unscrewed it and took a small whiff before covering it back up. “Yep, definitely fuel down there.”

  Mariah waved her light under one of the shelves. “Bet that manhole under there leads to the generator.”

  “Seems like a good guess to me.” Jag wandered around the garage. “I don’t see anything that could house the nanomites. Unless they just roam free in here . . . ”

  “Doubt it,” Mariah said. “Take a look at this.”

  Jag found her staring up at the pipe that connected to the chimney outside. His forehead pinched. “I wonder why it’s not attached to anything? It’s just sticking out a few inches from the ceiling.”

  “It’s probably just an open passage for the nanomites.” The beam from Mariah’s flashlight bounced off something at the back corner of the garage. “Hey, look. Another pipe. It leads right into the floor.”

  Jag followed her to it. The opening of the pipe was shaped like a funnel and covered by a metal cap that didn’t budge when he tried to pry it open. “What in the . . . ?” Then his flashlight illuminated a thin black wire that linked to the cap. “Oh, I see. It’s like a valve or shutter. When it’s time for the nanomites to leave, it slides open automatically.”

  Right beside the pipe was another manhole; it was larger than the one they’d found earlier. It looked heavy and had a recessed locking handle on it. Jag twisted the handle, then pulled open the cover and looked down. A ladder descended into a separate space below.

  “Are we looking into the underworld?” Mariah wondered.

  While it was obviously not so, Jag had to admit that it was a fitting question. The lower chamber was dimly lit just like the garage but was tinted an eerie red. It also seemed to be the source of a humming sound that reminded him of the drone of a dishwasher.

  He swung his legs down. “Shall we?”

  “Take it away,” Mariah replied.

  He climbed down and Mariah landed shortly after him. A structure stood at the center of the chamber, taking up nearly all the space of the eight-by-eight room; a dark, five-foot-tall sphere that rested on a concrete pedestal. The stainless steel pipe that pierced the ceiling beside the access cover connected near the base of the sphere.

  “The nanomites’ hive,” Jag breathed.

  Mariah made herself as small as possible so she could maneuver through the tight space around the sphere. “There’s a hatch here with writing on it—P.O.D. 003-16”, she said. “I think they call these things pods.”

  Jag was barely able to fit in after her. He directed his flashlight at the hatch Mariah had found. It was hardly larger than the size of his head. “Looks like a maintenance access.” He took out his phone and snapped photos of different angles of the sphere, as well as the serial number.

  “We found it, finally.” Mariah pointed her light upward, strobing it as if they were at a rave, and did a little dance.

  Jag grinned lopsidedly. “Yeah. Now let’s get out of here.”

  They scurried up the ladder and closed the cover behind them. Jag took a few more pictures of the garage and the equipment before heading out. Mariah levitated the cloths off the devices she’d covered and Jag shoved the section of siding he’d sawn back into place.

  Then, retracing their steps, Kody and Mariah ran out so Jag could shut the gate and chain it back up. He methodically rested the padlock at an angle so that it would appear to be locked, then jumped back over the gate. Mariah was removing the fabric that covered the middle camera when Jag heard Kody whisper. “Guys, the nanomites are coming back . . . and they’re glowing red.”

  “What?” Mariah squeaked. “They didn’t return till almost dawn the last time we were here!”

  Jag lifted his head and noted a faint red cloud approaching the garage in the shape of a bird. That’s not right . . . I’m not supposed to see them!

  The nanomite swarm was expanding, extending the wingspan of the formation from six feet to an intimidating sixty.

  “Run.” Jag backed toward the pickup, fear finally setting in. “Run!”

  They turned and made it to the vehicle at breakneck speed. Jag could hear an incensed metallic buzzing like angry bees behind him. The buzzing grew louder too quickly for his liking. He dared a glance back. They’ll be on us in seconds!

  The friends crashed against the truck, peeled themselves off, and dove inside. Just as they slammed their doors, the nanomites struck the side of the vehicle like countless minute missiles. Jag brought the truck to life as the bird shape reformed and banked like a fighter jet, turning to attack them from the front. The teenagers screamed.

  The oncoming assailants smashed into the pickup before scattering into angry glowing particles, leaving behind countless pits on the windshield. Jag didn’t wait for them to regroup. He hit the gas and sped out of Ransom as the nanomites returned to formation and pursued the friends.

  “Everyone okay?” Jag asked. “Did any of those things get in?”

  “No,” Kody said, checking himself over. “I think we’re fine—”

  Mariah cut him off with a shriek. “Something’s biting me! They’re on my arms!”

  Kody unbuckled himself and climbed into the backseat. Jag heard Mariah slapping at her arms while Kody was telling her to stay still so he could help her get the nanomites off.

  Jag kept his foot on the gas pedal and looked into the rearview mirror to check on the swarm. He was startled by how quickly they were closing the gap. Are they gonna chase us all the way back to Concordia?

  The swarm was only yards behind them. As Jag came into the next town, streetlights began to appear. Mariah and Kody were still struggling to get the nanomites off. “They’re moving too fast!” Kody exploded. “I can see them drilling into her with their blades! We need to open the windows, Jag! It’s the only way we can get them off her!”

  Jag drove past the first set of streetlights. “We can’t do that! They’ll be on us any moment now!”

  But to his astonishment, when he checked his mirror once more, he saw that the swarm had hung back before reaching the first lights. The nanomites hovered, as if staring at the truck. Then, with a perfect barrel roll, the entire swarm turned as one and headed back in the direction it had come from. The menacing glow faded.

  “They’re leaving,” Jag said breathlessly, easing off the accelerator. “They’re gone. We’re safe.”

  “Then we can open the windows!” Kody rolled down the screen next to him. Jag couldn’t see what they were doing, but he figured that Kody was holding Mariah’s arm out the window and swatting the nanomites away with his vision magnified.

  “Are they gone?” Jag asked.

  “One second . . . ” Jag heard two taps, then Kody’s triumphant voice. “Peace out, jerks! I found a new use for my debit card!”

  “Thanks, Kody,” Mariah said, relieved. “Is there a Kleenex or something? I’ve got blood on my arms.”

  Jag, taken aback, demanded, “What? How bad is it?”

  “It hurt a lot when I was getting bit, but it only stings a little now. It’s like I was poked with sewing needles.”

  Jag passed her some spare napkins from the cup holder. “Sooo . . . I guess we set off an alarm somehow.”

  Kody wound up the window. “You don’t say?”

  “I still think we managed to waltz in and waltz out pretty easily, disregarding what just happened,” Mariah said.

  “I’m guessing the strategy of their security setup is to be nondescript,” Jag told her. “All the cameras and stuff are most likely there to act as a failsafe. It’s possible that we missed other sensors they had because the nanomites came back with their attack mode engaged, just like Marshall’s contact said they would i
f they were threatened. I’ll have to send the photos we took so they can figure out an alternative to the anti-nanomite. Then hopefully we may still be able to find the means to put an end to the crop destruction.”

  54

  Tegan, Aari and Marshall gazed at the elegant Victorian house. Its pointed roofs and multiple stone chimneys, along with the many carved facets, made the violet home seem truly one-of-a-kind. A well-maintained lawn with a few small, gurgling fountains welcomed them as they walked up the cobblestone path to the house. There was a fragrant aroma of flowers and herbs from gardens on either side of the path which Tegan found to be pleasing.

  A golden lion-head door knocker shone in greeting as they approached. Tegan marveled at the artwork and how lifelike it seemed, then reached for the metal ring and knocked a few times.

  The door opened partway a couple of minutes later and an elderly, curly-haired woman peered out. She was small and wore her makeup lightly, but something in her watchful manner bespoke a spirited edge. Her voice was strong yet gentle when she said, “Yes?”

  Marshall smiled kindly at her. “Good morning—Mrs. McDowell?”

  “That would be me . . . do I know you?”

  “No, ma’am, you don’t. I’m Marshall Sawyer. This is Aari and that’s Tegan.” Tegan and Aari tried to make themselves look as sweet and charming as they could while Marshall continued. “We were wondering if you would be able to spare us a few moments of your time. We would like to speak with you about an important person. Someone we believe is very special to you.”

  “And who might that be?” she asked, curiosity lifting her brows.

  “Elwood McAllister.”

  As soon as the words left his mouth, the woman’s ocean-blue eyes widened in surprise. “Who are you and what is it about Elwood that you want to know?”

  “We’re people who are very concerned about the crop failures affecting the country. I’m sure you know of it. We have done some extensive research and believe that you may be able to help.”

  “Me? What makes you think an old lady like myself, content in my quiet corner of the world, can possibly be of any help?”

  “There was an event that happened a long time ago, when Elwood was a teenager. We think he may have seen something that could help us stop this horrific attack on crops across the country.”

  Tegan noted how carefully the woman tried to guard her expression; it was easy to see that she was uncertain of what to make of this encounter.

  “It was the summer of ’48,” Marshall ventured. “There was a plane crash at the lake. Elwood was there.”

  The woman opened the door a little wider and signaled for the Sentry to go on.

  “We’re hoping—well, we were at the end of our rope when we found out about Elwood. We’re hoping you might know about an object he may have seen at the wreck site that day; a metal container about this big. Silver colored.” He held his hands apart, describing the shape of the canister. When she hesitated, Marshall added imploringly, “Please, ma’am, this is incredibly important. You may have the key to stopping the destruction we are seeing across our country and now, around the world.”

  “But how?” she asked, confused.

  “What is inside the canister could put an end to the crop failures.”

  She exhaled and opened the door the rest of the way. “Come in.”

  Tegan, jittery, crossed the threshold and was instantly taken by the interior of the house. To her left was the kitchen and to the right was a parlor. The woman led them toward the parlor and invited them to sit on the wooden-legged, floral-patterned sofas. The curtains were drawn back from the large windows to provide a view of the garden and street. A tall cabinet sat in a corner, filled with china dolls and dishes. There were a couple of bookcases on one side of the room and countless framed pictures hung on the walls or sat on corner tables.

  “You have a beautiful home,” Tegan told their host.

  The woman smiled graciously. “Thank you, dear. My late husband used to build houses, so everything you see here is his work. Of course, I did help with the decorating. He passed away a year ago, may his soul rest in peace.” She sat on the sofa across from them and rested her hands on her lap, one on top of the other. “Now, tell me what you need to know.”

  Marshall tapped the tips of his fingers together. “Before I begin, Mrs. McDowell, I have to say that it is crucial that this stays between us. There are some bad people out there who will stop at nothing to halt our progress.”

  “Why in the world would they want to do that?”

  “I really don’t have a clue, but one thing we do know is that they intend for this crop failure to lead to a global catastrophe. Nations could be pitted against each other in a desperate fight for food.”

  The woman’s eyes widened. “Don’t the authorities know about this?”

  Tegan and Aari shot Marshall a look. You’re handling this.

  Marshall glanced at them for a microsecond before addressing their host again. “They do to some extent, but they aren’t equipped to handle this scourge. I will provide you with the complete explanation, I promise, but not today. I really need you to trust me, Mrs. McDowell. I know I’m asking a lot of you but my plea is not for myself. There are malevolent forces at work. The circle of trust is very small . . . and it needs to stay that way for now.”

  Tegan couldn’t tell if it was the earnestness in the Sentry’s voice or the sincerity in his eyes, but a sense of calm filled the room as soon as those words were spoken.

  The elderly woman slowly rose from the sofa and smoothed out her long beige skirt. “Well . . . alright. But we cannot begin without some tea first. As well, please, do call me Rose.”

  Tegan looked at Aari, who in turn stared at Marshall in wonder. The Sentry smiled and simply shrugged at the positive turn of events.

  Rose returned with a lacquered tray and set it down on the table between the two sofas. “Help yourselves, dears. Use as much sugar and milk as you’d like.”

  They thanked her and picked up their teacups. She poured for herself as well and took a sip before asking, “So how can I help?”

  “As I mentioned earlier,” Marshall said, “we need to know if Elwood revealed anything to you about a canister he may have seen after the crash at the lake all those years ago.”

  Rose took a few more sips from her cup before setting it down and picking up a small photograph from the side table. “Oh, Elwood, you beloved fool.” She held up the photo for Tegan and the others to see.

  It showed a young couple standing with their arms around each other and wide smiles of utter joy on their faces. “This was us just over six decades ago,” Rose said. “I loved him dearly. Still do. And I know he certainly loved me. You know, as a young man he imagined buying a motorcycle and traveling across the country with me. And he actually made it happen! We covered every state in the lower forty-eight on that bike of his. It was an amazing time.” Her face softened as she reminisced. “A dreamer he was, too. Always looking for a big break, some kind of fortune that would make him rich so he and I could live lives of adventure.

  “That morning of the plane crash, he was supposed to be doing chores at the farm. I still remember how his eyes lit up when he told me about it. How astounded he was! It was a clear blue summer day and he was fishing in his canoe when this huge plane flew right over his head, so close that he thought it was going to hit him. The waves from the crash toppled Elwood out of the canoe and into the water amongst all the debris from the plane. He managed to right his boat and got in, only to find it half-filled with water! The men from the plane were clambering into lifeboats and seemed to be having an argument. He called out to them to ask if they were alright, then paddled to shore to get help.

  “Elwood wanted to stay, but he knew his parents would be furious with him for missing his chores so he headed back to the farm. When he emptied water from the canoe, though . . . ”

  Tegan leaned forward, toes curled. “What?”

  “He
found something—that silver container you’re looking for. Of course the silly boy thought it was some kind of treasure and took it with him back to his house. It was sealed, so it took him ages to get the thing opened. When he did, all he found was silvery-blue dust. Still, he took a sample to the nearest pawn shop to see if it was worth anything. Obviously, the pawnbroker said it wasn’t. Around that time—this was a couple of weeks later—we heard stories about men in black suits going around town asking questions about the crash. Elwood panicked.” She giggled. “He thought he would be in trouble for taking the container, so my adorable dunce took it and hid it where he was certain no one would be able to find it.”

  “Where is it?” Marshall asked, his tea forgotten in his hand.

  Rose put the photograph back on the table and picked up her cup. “There used to be an old Mormon missionary town that was settled in 1865 on the Colorado River. Over time the town grew into a sizable community. When the work on the Hoover Dam started, that would be 1931 or so, the valley started to flood and the townsfolk were forced to leave. The story they tell around here is that the last resident reluctantly left in his rowboat as water reached his front door. That was in 1938. Eventually the Colorado completely filled the valley and became Lake Mead. The name of the town that was doomed to this watery death,” she paused, “was St. Thomas.” She looked her guests in their eyes. “This was where Elwood hid the canister.”

  Aari was astounded. “He dove underwater to hide it?”

  “Yes,” Rose said, nodding her head firmly, then beamed. “The water in that part of the lake wasn’t too deep and Elwood was an excellent swimmer. The settlers had dug a few wells in the town. It was inside one of those that Elwood dropped the canister, weighted with heavy rocks so it would stay down. That was the last we ever spoke about it.” Rose lifted her gaze skyward and took a deep breath. “If only Elwood were here. If you’re right and the dust in that canister will help stop this scourge . . . then he really did find treasure after all.”