by E. R. Mason
Markman leaned against a fat, old oak tree, a restrained look of disgust painted on his Florida-tanned face. He watched the chaotic proceedings taking place around the Hillock reservoir and wondered if anyone was really in charge.
Within twelve hours of the discovery of the Salantian base, a special group of military divers, experienced in combat and capture, had been assembled. They were like no divers Markman had ever seen. He managed to get a glimpse of one of their full face diving masks on the floor of an open van. It appeared to have a heads up display built in, and it was scrolling map and data on the inside of the lens. The wetsuits were one piece with boots and gloves included. They had sensory instrumentation that looked like telemetry transmission capability. On the outside of their helmets, stereo cameras were built in. The underwater weapons they were toting around had LCD screens and laser sites. It was becoming difficult to tell the good guys from the bad.
With them, had come a small army of engineers who descended on the Hillock reservoir and set up operations stations complete with satellite communications and classified video coverage. Hillock Street was closed off and residents from the area were evacuated. Specially prepared, unmarked Airstream trailers were brought in and parked at various points around the perimeter.
The cover story was simple. A long-disbanded company had secretly disposed of several dozen barrels of highly toxic waste inside the reservoir. The government had arrived to save the day. The bogus story allowed the media a sordid front-page feature and helped keep them back from sensitive areas.
Last but not least, there were the black-suited men with the dark sunglasses. Markman watched as a group of them stood nearby arguing in low tones whether or not he should accompany the dive team. One of them kept insisting that because he was the only one who knew the actual location of the strange, underground invasion, he had to be included. The debate ended abruptly when a man in a black wetsuit joined them and said with finality, “That’s it. We’re wasting time. He doesn’t know the hand signals. He goes, but he goes unarmed.” With that, they all looked at Markman.
Gradually the confusion around the site settled into a more businesslike atmosphere. Three aluminum ladders were installed on one side of the pit as the dive team gathered and began donning their gear. They were loaded down with an assortment of weaponry and surveillance electronics. Special pockets on their suits allowed quick access to it. When communications had been reliably established, the team leader waved his men down into the hole.
Markman was second in line. He lowered himself into the cool, black pool and followed the dive master down. At the cave entrance, the dive master looked back through the towers of exhaust bubbles and checked to be sure his team was ready. Satisfied that all was well, he made a bowing gesture to Markman to lead on, and they began their journey into the tunnel.
When the tunnel opened up to the large inner chamber, the group fanned out in preplanned positions that allowed them three hundred and sixty-degree coverage. On cue, they slowly surfaced and stayed low in the water.
Grotesque-looking people were still present in the cave. Lines of them were frantically taking turns entering or exiting the guarded doorway in the rock wall. The yellow light escaping it cast eerie shadows on the water and cavern walls. The dive master studied the scene repeatedly, as though he was having trouble comprehending it. He raised his left hand and motioned his men to the edge of the shallow ledge. Markman came up on the side nearest the exit, making sure there was a quick escape available. To his left, on the opposite wall of the dimly-lit cavern, the other tunnel, half-filled with water, disappeared into darkness. A smooth, stone walkway ran along it, and as the divers held to the edge and readied their weapons, another line of chalky, ghost-white figures emerged on their way to the entrance. Like the others, their clothes were worn and dirty, and they walked without interest, like machines in a factory assembly line. There were ten in the group, and their path would lead them very close to several dive team members. Markman was surprised to see how easily the tanks and backpacks slipped off the backs of the divers as they lay in wait. The equipment remained floating just below the glistening black surface, easily available for a quick recovery.
When the line of Salantians approached within ten feet of the closest diver, the dive master held up his hand and pointed at them. As they passed by, one diver shot out of the water and cut them off. A split second later, the rest of the assault force was on them, taking the confused Salantian workers to the ground. Their hands and feet were tied, and they were quickly dragged out of sight. With confused stares, the dive group looked silently at their leader. None of the prisoners had made any attempt to call out or resist. Nothing in the foul-smelling place seemed to make sense.
The alien guard at the cave entrance had seen the entire affair. He assumed an awkward-looking posture and danced in nervous little steps, like a man trying to stay warm on a cold night. He jerked around in a way that made him seem agitated but made no attempt to leave his post or call for help. The team leader watched the peculiar antics with a puzzled expression. He lowered his weapon and stood up from his crouched position in the shallow water. The nervous sentry only continued his agitated dance.
Markman watched with intense interest, as the team leader began a guarded walk toward the sentry. He carefully avoided making threatening gestures and kept his weapon held low. At the entrance, the sentry became even more nervous. When the team leader came too close, he tried to usher him back by bumping him with his upper body. His arms hung uselessly at his sides as he did so. The baffled team leader looked back at his men and held his arms up in a gesture of bewilderment.
As the team leader turned back, a loud rumble rose from within the cave. An instant later, a multitude of haggard-looking Salantians burst through the stone doorway. They knocked aside the inept guard and crashed into the unprepared team leader. They dragged him roughly to the ground and fell upon him. With a mindless ferocity, they began to attack everyone in sight. Machine-gun fire began to echo in spurts off the hard walls and in seconds the entire area was filled with groups of unarmed Salantians assaulting dive team members. Markman climbed onto a ledge and kept his back to the rock wall. He easily kicked away the attackers who came at him, astonished by how badly they fought. They charged blindly ahead, throwing themselves at their intended targets with no clear plan.
As the battle continued, it became clear that the Salantians were no match for the dive team. Gunfire from the team became unnecessary and ceased for fear of ricochet. Salantians had stopped emerging through the yellow light of the entranceway, though occasionally there were glimpses of frantic activity going on within the cave. As the fighting ground down, attack became pointless. The few remaining Salantians lunged hopelessly at their nearest adversary only to be knocked down, leaving fewer to rise up and try again. When the melee was finally over, the assault team members, their black wetsuits smeared with a yellow-red, pus-like substitute for blood, stood in disbelief. The ground was littered with the torn and battered bodies of Salantians. They had fought without uttering a sound and were left lying in piles around the site. They had failed to seriously harm anyone, including the team leader. The grotesque sight left everyone speechless until the team leader’s voice snapped them back to reality. He waved toward the cave entrance and commanded, “Let’s go....”
The inner chambers of the cavern were teeming with still more mutated humans. Some were rushing around gathering all that they could in hopes of carrying it away. Most ignored the intruders. Others were alarmed by their presence but made no attempt to attack or hinder them. One by one, they were overtaken and subdued.
A holding area was sectioned off near the entrance, and they were held there in groups seated on the floor. They waited speechlessly and seemed to have no further interest in anything that was happening.
The caverns were in complete disarray. Peculiar-looking metallic furniture had been turned over or partially dismantled. The huge, gray, oval portal was locked in the open position
. Within it, molten rock had hardened in a graceful swirl. More than half of the white cocoons built into the stone walls had been torn open and emptied. Their unconscious half-human contents were scattered everywhere in a broken trail that led to a second tunnel connected to the N. Y. sewer system. Electronics consoles throughout the rock chamber were partially disassembled and pulled out of place.
Astonished, Markman wandered through the confusion, trying to make sense of it all. He left the main group and found his way into the deepest cavern of the complex. It looked sacked and abandoned. Several green, metal dividers on his right looked as though they had been used to set up an office area. Strange machines were arranged within, bearing controls not designed for humans.
Intending a passing glance into the last of the cubicles, he moved cautiously forward and peered around a corner. Something standing within it shocked him. A slightly tarnished TEL robot, with a black box fastened to its chest plate, waited silently in standby. It was identical to the robot from the home of Professor Cassell. To find another, here in this pit of desolation, seemed as absurd as everything else. A pang of affection came over him as he approached the TEL. He had come to feel affection for the machines, almost as though they were friends. A touch of homesickness crept in. He moved toward the robot to take a closer look, but something else even more startling suddenly came into view. It was someone in a helmet-less Sensesuit. A powerful wave of emotion hit him as his eyes followed the silver-blond locks of hair up to the soft features of the beautiful, gagged woman held captive in the iron seat. Her eyes were wide with shock and disbelief as they met his.
His throat locked and his stomach turned in fear and anger. The day had become a roller coaster nightmare, with each turn more unpredictable and shocking than the last. His mind fought to believe what he was seeing, and when at last it surrendered, thoughts of the unstoppable player in the Aurora City rushed in, the player who had saved him from the inescapable skeleton-beast. Markman’s mind struggled to understand. He lurched to Cassiopia, knelt, and placed one hand gently on her cheek. A tear formed in his hand. She was warm and soft, and she leaned into his touch. He ripped like a madman at the restraints that held her, and when she was free, pulled her into his arms and clutched her tightly. Between stifled sobs, she managed to speak.
“How did you find us?”
Markman looked over her shoulder at the opening that led into the next cavern. There had been no sign of Inkman or Fishkin. Silently, he promised himself he would find them.
The man in the expensive black suit leaned forward in his seat and stared coldly at Markman. Over his shoulder, the gray, sliding doors of the windowless Airstream trailer began to close. Other men in black suits were gathered just outside talking. Markman sat across the small, gray metal table and wondered what government agency the man represented. They had relieved Rogers’ staff and taken over the Salantian affair completely. They would not answer his questions but had many of their own.
They had thoroughly searched and secured the caves. Most of the entourage had been relocated to a nearby abandoned business complex where a section of one city block was cordoned off, and a manhole entrance enlarged to allow removal of equipment, bodies, and people from the underground hideout. A crane was brought in, and pallet jacks and other transport equipment lowered into the sewer system. All of it had been done under the cool stares from these odd men in expensive black suits
“You understand, Mr. Markman, that all of these matters are to be kept in the strictest of confidence. Under no circumstances are you to discuss them with anyone, including others involved here, particularly Ms. Cassell. Your signature here on this affidavit indicates you understand this and agree to comply.”
“And if I don’t sign?”
“Mr. Markman, I think you will. You seem to be a person concerned with the greater good. Our methods of dealing with people who do not have the welfare of their country foremost at heart are most persuasive. We don’t expect to have to consider them with a law-abiding citizen such as yourself.”
“What will you do with those people?”
“Sign this document, and I’ll answer that.”
Markman looked tiredly at the stiff expression on the interrogator’s face. He picked up the gold-plated pen and signed.
“Those that are deceased will be shipped in a freezer compartment to a remote facility for study. The resulting data will be used in the most beneficial ways possible, particularly to help suppress any further encroachments that might occur.”
“And the ones that are still alive?”
The stone-faced administrator removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. For a fleeting moment, emotion seemed to escape the windows in his eyes. A quick tightening clamped it off.
“They are dying. We have people doing everything possible. They seem unable to exist without their group intact and functioning. It’s unlikely any will survive the day. In any case, that’s it, Mr. Markman. You’re free to go. If we need anything further, we know how to contact you.”
“And what about Inkman and Fishkin?”
“They are of no further concern to you, Mr. Markman. Our people will handle any subsequent investigations.”
Markman left the interrogation trailer feeling deep discontentment. He was leaving a job unfinished, and there wasn’t a thing he could do about it. His mind refused to submit, and secretly he continued to work the problem there, a place where no legal document had jurisdiction.