Atlantis Gate

by Bob Mayer

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  THE PRESENT

  Ariana woke to a gentle tap on her shoulder. In the darkened cabin of the Air Force C-130 cargo plane, Miles was leaning over her. “We’re approaching McMurdo Station,” he said.

  It had been a long flight to New Zealand in the Learjet with several refueling stops along the way. They’d even been forced to switch out the crew to get fresh pilots halfway to their goal. Once in New Zealand, they had switched over to the Air Force cargo plane that Foreman had arranged to transport them south.

  Miles was sliding up the covers on the small portals, letting bright sunlight in. Ariana pulled her seat upright and peered out. White-capped ocean was below as far as she could see. She spotted a large iceberg, at least three miles long and half that in width. She knew that recently there had been several major bergs spawned off the Ross Ice Shelf, along the edge of which lay McMurdo Station, the largest settlement in Antarctica.

  Ariana went forward, opening the door to the cockpit. Directly ahead loomed Mount Erebus, towering over both the Ross Ice Shelf and McMurdo Station. A steam plume came off the summit into the cold, clear Antarctic sky. She knew the mountain was named after one of the ships in James Ross’s expedition that discovered the volcano in 1841.

  “We’re on approach to McMurdo,” the pilot informed her. “We’ll be landing in ten minutes.” The C-130 was equipped with skis bolted on over the wheels, allowing it to land on the forbidding terrain below them.

  Ariana nodded and went back to the cargo bay. She sat down at the laptop that had a satellite link and accessed the web. She brought up the latest report from MEVO, Mount Erebus Volcano Observatory. MEVO was a joint venture run by both the New Mexico Institute of Mining and Technology and Victoria University in Wellington, New Zealand. It continuously monitored the volcano using geophones, gas emission detectors, and seismic recorders. During the short period of relatively mild weather, geologists made the dangerous climb up the mountain’s slopes and checked out the crater, in which a convicting lava lake was constantly brewing.

  “Better buckle up,” Miles advised as the plane abruptly banked.

  Ariana leaned back against the red cargo webbing that lined the wall of the plane and made up the seats. She could feel the air pressure shift in her ears, and then the plane touched down, bounced, and began sliding.

  Twisting in the seat, she could see outside. A tractor with a red flag flying from a pole flashed by as the plane gradually slowed. The pilots turned the craft and headed toward the tractor.

  “You can go back with the plane,” she told Miles.

  The security man smiled. “I don’t think your father would approve. Besides, I like seeing a job through to the end.”

  “I don’t know what the end is going to be,” Ariana said.

  “That’s what makes this interesting,” Miles said. He tossed a parka, over pants, and gloves at her. “Better put these on. It’s going to get very cold very quickly,” he added as the crew chief hit a lever and the back ramp of the plane began opening.

  Ariana stepped into the over pants and pulled the suspenders up over her shoulders. Freezing air swirled in, and Ariana zipped up the parka. The tractor appeared behind the ramp, and men scrambled on board, off-loading supplies on a large sled that was hooked to the tractor. Two more tractors with large, enclosed cabs behind, approached the plane.

  One man in a red parka came forward to Ariana.

  “Dr. Michelet?” he asked, pulling back his hood and revealing a completely bald, black head.

  “Yes.” Ariana stood.

  “I’m Professor Jordon. I’m the ranking person here with MEVO.”

  “How’s the volcano?” Ariana asked.

  “Bad,” Jordan said succinctly. “More active than any time since we began recording. We estimate it’ll go in seventy-two hours, but this is a rather inexact science. Add in the fact that this is being propagated by a foreign source…” He shrugged.

  They walked onto the ramp and looked to the east where Mount Erebus dominated the horizon, over twelve thousand feet high. The plume of smoke seemed even thicker than just a few moments ago, when she’d seen it from the air.

  Jordan jerked a thumb over his shoulder as the doors to the cabs on the two trail vehicles opened and people began piling out, carrying luggage. “First-stage evacuation of nonessential personnel. There are supposed to be two more planes en route to take the rest of us.” He gestured toward the tractor. “Come on.”

  Ariana and Miles followed him. The cold was biting, hurting the little skin Ariana had exposed.

  “It’s actually a nice day,” Jordan said as they climbed into the cab of the tractor, the three of them a tight fit. “We’re very lucky this is happening during summer. A plane wouldn’t be able to get in during winter, although we would have less people at the base. God knows what we’d do then other than bend over and kiss ourselves good-bye.” He threw the tractor in gear, and with a lurch, it began moving, pulling the loaded sled.

  “Why the supplies if everyone is leaving?” Ariana asked.

  “Just in case,” Jordan said. “If the base isn’t destroyed we want to be able to get back in business quickly. Can’t afford to waste a flight.”

  He glanced at the volcano. “I’ve lived in the shadow of that thing for five years. Did you know Erebus was named after one of Ross’s ships? But the interesting thing is that the ship was named after a figure in Greek mythology, one who ferried the souls of the dead over the River Styx in Hades. Seems kind of appropriate now.”

  Ariana could see the cluster of buildings ahead that made up McMurdo.

  “Are you here to observe?” Jordan asked. “We’re plan to get airborne and circle in the last plane at a safe distance, or at least what we hope is a safe distance.”

  “No,” Ariana said. “We can’t let it blow. If it does, it will start a chain reaction up through the entire Ring of Fire.”

  “Then what are you here for?” Jordan glanced over at her, confused.

  “To stop it from erupting.”

  *****

  The interior of the Crab was pitch-black, and Loomis’s voice echoed off the metal. “We’ve no power at all.”

  That had been obvious to Dane as soon as the lights went out and the engine died. “Rachel’s in front of us,” he said. He let go of the dead controls.

  “How do you know?” Loomis asked.

  Dane didn’t bother to answer. He had his eyes closed, focusing on the dolphin’s aura. “The surface is just above us.”

  “I can drop ballast,” Loomis said. “But do we want to surface if we have no power? The thirty-millimeter chain gun won’t even work. It needs electricity to cycle the rounds into the chamber.

  Dane sensed that Rachel wasn’t scared, but she was uneasy. Surface, he thought, projecting it at the dolphin. He squeezed his eyes tighter shut, focusing everything on Rachel. Light. Very dim, but there was light above. She gave a thrust of her powerful fin and went up, her nose punching up through the flat surface.

  Dane could see inside his head what Rachel was seeing. Dark water, perfectly smooth. There was some light, but it was secondary, reflected, the source not visible in the haze that made visibility poor. Rachel slowly did a circle, adjusting her position with slight movement. There was a shore about three-quarters of a mile away, just barely visible through the haze. Rachel ducked back underwater and swam toward the Crab.

  “There’s land,” Dane reported.

  “What kind of land?”

  “Hard to tell,” Dane said. “It’s very hazy outside. I can’t see much. I can feel it’s different, though.”

  “You can see what Rachel sees?” Ahana asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Interesting.”

  “Different, how?” Loomis asked.

  Dane ignored him and concentrated on sending another message to Rachel. Everyone except Dane was startled when there was a light thump at the back of the Crab.

  “What’s that?” Loomis was hal
f out of his seat.

  “Rachel,” Dane said. “She’s giving us a push.”

  With nothing from Rachel to see, Dane opened his eyes. The darkness inside the armored craft was complete. They didn’t even have battery power, which meant things were different inside the portal than just being inside the gate. He could pick up the moods of the other three people. Ahana, whose intellectual curiosity kept her fear at bay. The Russian, Shashenka, who had not said a word since they entered the portal, burned with anger and a desire for revenge for his brothers; and Loomis, who was the most scared of the three, hanging on only because of his sense of duty.

  Rachel’s powerful tail, capable of lifting her three-hundred-pound body almost completely out of the water, was thrusting back and forth, with her forehead firmly planted against the rear of the Crab, just below the propellers and rudders. It was slow, but they were moving.

  “I have a rather ignorant but important question,” Shashenka broke his long silence.

  “What is it?” Loomis asked,

  “How do we reopen the portal to get out with no power?” the Russian inquired.

  The front of the Crab bumped into something, and they came to a halt, but no one moved right away as they considered the question.

  “I will figure something out,” Ahana finally said. “We picked up power from the probes coming out of the portal, so there must be a way.”

  “Very unspecific,” Shashenka said. He shrugged. “It does not matter to me, but this is a reconnaissance, and we must get information about whatever we find back so that a proper assault can be prepared.”

  “We’ll get it back,” Dane said.

  “How do you know?” Shashenka asked.

  “Rachel can get us out to the portal,” Dane said. “If Nagoya is still transmitting, we should be able to get through, right?” he asked Ahana.

  “I think so.”

  “I suggest we take a look,” Dane pointed at the hatch.

  “Are we sure the air is breathable?” Loomis asked.

  Dane was getting tired of questions from the two military men. He hit the lever that unlocked the top hatch nest to the turret. It swung open on springs, and several drops of water fell in. He climbed up the ladder. The air was different, thicker, with an oily quality, just as he remembered it had been inside the Angkor gate in Cambodia.

  He stuck his head up and took a look. They were grounded about five meters from the shoreline. The land was made up of a coarse, black material, and it rose to a dune about fifty meters inland, beyond, which he couldn’t see. Looking up, the view faded into the haze, but he had a strong feeling there was a top up there, as if they were in a very large enclosed space. He heard a splash and turned to look as Rachel swam behind the Crab.

  He leaned back in. “I’m going ashore.”

  “Someone should stay with the Crab,” Loomis said.

  Dane had expected that. For a soldier, Loomis didn’t have much of a warrior’s edge. “Fine. You stay. Is anyone interested in doing what we came here to do?”

  “I’m with you,” Ahana said.

  Shashenka had an AK-47 in his hands. “I, too.”

  Dane climbed onto the top deck of the Crab. He could feel the air on his skin, almost a slimy sensation. The water didn’t look very appealing, pitch-black and flat. Carefully, he edged down the slope until his feet touched the water, then he slid off the craft. He went under and kicked for a short time and in a second had something solid under his feet. Behind him, Ahana followed, while Shashenka held the AK to his shoulder, covering them.

  Dane walked up onto the shore, the black material giving way slightly under his feet. It was like sand, but with larger granules. There was no indication of vegetation, and the haze still limited observation. He heard a splash and Ahana was swimming ashore. As soon as she was next to Dane, Shashenka followed, holding the AK out of the water above his head to keep it dry.

  “Which way?” Shashenka asked.

  Dane answered by walking inland, toward the crest of the black dune, Ahana and Shashenka following. His lungs labored for oxygen as he climbed.

  Just short of the crest, he abruptly stopped.

  “What is it?” Ahana asked as she came up next to him.

  Dane pointed down. A set of footprints cut across their path, heading to the right.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  THE PAST

  79 A.D.

  Falco felt the aches of old wounds aggravated by sleeping on the cold, hard ground. He slid out from under the blanket and stood. It was still dark, about a half hour before dawn, the most dangerous time for an army in the field. He stretched his arms over his head, then slipped on his gladiator’s lorica segmentata, trying tight the laces that held the metal together in the front. He drew his sword, wiping down the metal with a cloth to make sure no moisture remained on the blade.

  Putting his helmet on, he began to make a circuit of the camp along the interior of the hasty perimeter. He checked on the guards, insuring they were alert. Then he detailed a water party and made sure those in charge of breakfast were at work. By the time he made it back to the center, General Cassius and Kaia were also up, and the first hint of dawn was in the east.

  “The word has spread about the barbarians behind us,” Falco told Cassius. There was no such thing as a secret in a legion.

  “And the mood?” Cassius asked.

  “Most are more worried about the black wall than the barbarians,” Falco said.

  “I want a cohort ready to move in an hour,” Cassius said.

  “Already taken care of,” Falco said.

  Breakfast was eaten in silence, the men chewing on dried meat and stale bread. Falco ate nothing, his usual preparation for combat. He’d seen men with food in their gut suffer a wound in the stomach and knew the odds of survival were better with nothing inside.

  He glanced over at Kaia. The priestess also was not eating. She met his gaze. Falco was startled; he caught something in her eyes, something that reminded him of Drusilla. It was gone so quickly he wasn’t sure if he had really seen it.

  “Let’s go.” Cassius was buckling his helmet. He paused, his eyes shifting between the two. “Do you—”

  Falco stood. “I’m ready.”

  Kaia checked the knife in her belt. “I am also.”

  Cassius nodded. Without another word, he headed for the gap in the north side of the square camp where the cohort was drawn up. Cassius took the lead, Falco a half step behind to the right, Kaia the same distance back to the left. They moved forward, toward the wall.

  They negotiated through the swampy ground, but despite their best efforts, everyone was soaked to mid-thigh and exhausted by the time they reached the quarter-mile-wide stretch of dry ground between the swamp and the black wall.

  Cassius had the cohort draw up in battle formation, facing the darkness. Falco could pick up the fear among the men, but it was like the buzzing of a fly in the midst of the almost overwhelming negative aura of the gate. Even during the siege and sack of Jerusalem, he had never felt such darkness in his soul.

  Cassius turned to Liberalius. “I need a volunteer to go with Centurion Falco.”

  Liberalius’s face was pale, a line of sweat trickling down either side of it. “I would be honored to accompany the centurion.”

  “Very good,” Cassius said. “I will have part of the cohort patrol around the perimeter of this wall.”

  Falco had the Naga staff. He walked toward the black wall, Cassius, Liberalius, and Kaia close behind. He could not tell what the wall was made of, and he halted less than a pace from it. He extended the staff, and the metal tip went into the black, disappearing. He quickly pulled it back out: the metal was unchanged.

  “I think—” he begun, but he couldn’t complete the sentence before Kaia walked past into the black and disappeared.

  “I’ll be right here,” Cassius said. “How long should I wait?”

  Falco shrugged. “That is up to you, sir, I would not recommend sending anyone in a
fter us.”

  “All right.”

  Falco stepped forward. The moment he made contact with the darkness, his skin rebelled, almost causing him to stop, to retreat, but he pressed on. He staggered, fell to his knees, and was on his feet again immediately. There was the same ground beneath his feet, but the air was hazy, full of a thick, brownish gray mist. He could see Kaia standing still about ten feet in front of him. His sword was out of his scabbard, and he was beginning to strike at the figure that suddenly appeared to his left, when he realized it was Liberalius. Falco kept the sword in his hand as he moved up next to Kaia. They could barely see forty feet in front of them. Behind, the black wall stretched as far as they could see left and right and up.

  “Where to?” Falco asked.

  Kaia pointed directly ahead. “Can’t you feel it?”

  Falco focused his mind. The place was oppressive, but there was something even darker in front of them, a darkness so complete that Falco knew that if he went there, he would never return to the world of light.

  “It matches your soul,” Kaia said.

  Before Falco could reply, she set off, walking briskly. Falco hurried to keep up. The land was going up. The grass and scant vegetation was brown, dying. There was no sign of anything living. The land had been swept clean of all life, or it had had enough sense to leave as soon as the gate appeared. Falco paused and kicked the dirt with his sandal. There weren’t even any ants apparent. He looked over his shoulder. Liberalius was rooted in place, a stricken look on his face.

  “Kaia,” Falco was surprised to find he had hissed the name, as if afraid of being overheard. The priestess halted. Falco went back to the tribune.

  “What is wrong?”

  Liberalius shook his head. “I cannot continue. There is pain”—he tapped the side of his head—“here. Unbearable.” A trickle of blood marked the tribune’s face below his nose.

  “Come,” Falco tried to guide him forward, but the tribune fell to his knees, agony on his face.