"Keep the channel the team is using. I will be speaking to you all on that. Anything specifically for you will come through on thirty-two. Keep them both open for receiving but remember you will have to manually switch to thirty-two if you need a private transmission to me. I do not want you fumbling around with comm-channels while you are in there, so switch only if you absolutely have to. Otherwise stay focused on your surroundings. Understood?"
"Of course. Anything else?"
"Just this: keep to the rear. If things grow out of hand in there, I need you to be able to get out quickly. Do not forget where your loyalties are."
"Let's just hope it doesn't come to that," Alberto told her. He took a deep breath and pulled on his helmet.
Oui, let us hope. "Plan for the worst to prepare for the best," she quoted.
A few minutes later, Alberto had rejoined the rest of the team outside the vehicle. Marette watched him attach a sensor boom to his helmet. This was a simple device that every member of the team wore, consisting mainly of a video and thermal imaging system with a few miscellaneous functions. As one of the three primary sensor technicians, he also took one of the bulky Class II scanners. The other five team members, unencumbered by such a scanner themselves, slung recoilless ARG-rifles specially designed by ESA for extra-terrestrial use. What they would be used on here, if anything, was something at which Marette did not attempt to guess.
Yet first, they would need to deal with the door. She continued to watch from inside the vehicle as two of the sensor techs brought in the tools that would help them either open or cut through it. The plan was that the armed members of the team cover the two while they breached, with Alberto keeping a wide scan for anything behind the door. Once the door was open, the two would take up their scanners again and mix with the rest upon entry.
The entire team was now in the airlock with the door sealed behind them. The vacuum remained in place until more was known.
"I can't read past it," reported one of the sensor techs—another man, named Freitz. "But I think it's at least sixteen centimeters thick."
"You think?" Marette asked.
"Harder to tell when I don't know what it is I'm reading through. It's some sort of alloy by the initial scans, but beyond that would take more time."
"Hold off on the composition for now until it becomes necessary. Check for breaks in uniformity."
Within a few minutes, the tech reported bands of denser material within the metal. The bands extended the length of the door along both the top and bottom. Other than that nothing, including in the space framing the door, was detectable.
"Try to make a hole between the bands," she ordered, watching the view on her screen from Alberto's camera. The third tech, a woman with the last name of Littlefield, brought a laser cutter to the mysterious surface. "Lowest setting," Marette ordered, probably unnecessarily. A blue light flared and reflected off the visors of the team.
It burned, for a while.
"Doesn't seem to be doing much," the other tech reported. "Switching to a higher level." Marette's only response this time was a nod, letting the tech do her job. Another blue light flared, pulsed for a short time, and again winked out. "Looks as though we might've made a little progress," came the report. "It's starting to glow a bit where we cut. Permission to switch to the highest setting? I think we may be able to punch through with that."
Marette scowled. "It will take longer at that intensity," she remarked. "Proceed." There wasn't much point in complaining about it. A third time the brilliant blue light flared. Marette waited.
"It's glowing again. Quicker this time. And a little brighter. We'll know in a minute if it's going to work." On the camera, the laser drill continued to bore against the surface, which glowed whiter by the second. "God, that's bright!" Littlefield exclaimed. "Freitz, do you think—"
She screamed.
Marette's screen burst with light. It continued to glow as she switched to other cameras and the voices of the team came through the speaker.
"Is he okay?"
"He's hit—! His helmet's cracked!"
"Freitz, report!"
"His suit's decompressing!"
"Freitz!"
Marette watched as the light faded and the camera cleared. Littlefield and another were holding onto Freitz while he thrashed on the airlock floor. "Siri!" she called to the head of the team, "What has happened?"
"Pressurize the lock! Now!" It was Siri's voice, but he wasn't speaking to her.
Freitz's helmet had been compromised. How? The hiss of air filling the lock followed shortly, and Marette waited for a report as things calmed down. Freitz, still on the floor, stopped thrashing.
"Siri! Report," she ordered after a moment.
"Freitz's helmet was cracked. His suit was depressurizing. He's breathing now."
"I'm all aces," came Freitz's voice. "Just a little shaken."
Marette watched Littlefield help him to his feet. "What hit you?"
"Don't know. All I saw was the flash."
"I think it was the drill, ma'am," Littlefield said. "Like it just reflected off the surface. It happened so suddenly I—"
A sudden, dull humming came from within the structure.
"God," Alberto whispered. "It's opening."
Marette switched to his camera as the team turned in unison towards the slab of gray metal that was now quietly sliding back into the side of the previously lifeless structure. Marette said nothing as the darkness unveiled itself beyond what was now assuredly a door. For what seemed like an eternity, the door rolled open. Nothing moved beyond it; nothing broke the blackness that seemed anything but empty. There was no rush of air, no escaping hiss. Marette realized the pressure must be equal on both sides, but beyond acknowledging this in the back of her mind, no other thoughts would come. No words passed her lips.
And then it stopped, and all was quiet.
"Looks like we don't need to drill. . ."
The comment from one of the team went unanswered while they regarded the opening. From what Marette could see on the screen, the blackness continued beyond their vision. How far the light would penetrate—
She stopped short. "The air!" she exclaimed. "Check the air! Get Freitz to the rear of the lock!" The pressure might be the same but that was no guarantee against poisonous gases. Freitz obeyed quickly while Littlefield and Alberto analyzed the structure's atmosphere. Marette went through the options in her mind if it was poisonous: They could close the lock on the structure's side, but with no helmet there would be nowhere for Freitz to go, and the air would already have mixed to some extent. The small vehicle she waited in would not fit to the other side. The only way to get him out—
"This is incredible," came Littlefield's voice. "Seventy-eight-point-one percent nitrogen, twenty-point-nine percent oxygen, point-nine percent argon. Trace amounts of carbon dioxide, methane, noble gases. The thing has nearly the same atmosphere as Earth."
"Alberto?"
"Stand by. Scanning for lethal trace gasses," he replied. "I'm reading identical here. Nothing hazardous."
"That can't be right and I'm the one that has to breathe the stuff. Hang on." Freitz ran a scan of his own, with the same results. "Thank God for coincidence."
"Coincidence or no, I am not letting you move in without that helmet," Marette said.
"Begging your pardon, ma'am but how would you suggest I get a new one? The lock wasn't designed for that rover you're in—or anything else we're going to fit in this tunnel."
"There is another way," Siri said.
"I don't relish the thought of EVA without a helmet, sir."
"No. You could wait inside the structure while we vent the lock and bring in a new helmet."
"We do not know what's in there yet," warned Marette. "Can you make out the confines of the room, Siri?"
"I can't, no."
"That may just be because the walls are so dark," Alberto suggested. "According to the scanner, it's not much larger than four hundred square met
ers—long and thin into the structure."
Marette clasped her hands and tapped her chin in thought. She didn't like it. "Siri," she said finally, "lead them in and secure the room. Freitz—"
"If it's all the same to you, ma'am, I'll go with them, helmet or not. I'm not much use hiding in here."
"Granted. Take your position."
They entered.
Marette watched through Alberto's camera, viewing from his position in the rear. The walls were intensely black: completely void of light and utterly strange. The light from the team seemed to simultaneously reflect off of and yet become absorbed within the midnight surface. The walls, floor, and ceiling seemed to be made of the substance. It almost reminded her of liquid tar, though it was obviously solid.
The footsteps of her team echoed through the chamber. She watched them explore.
"Can you get a reading on the material of the walls?"
"It's not something the scanners recognize. I'm reading carbon, silicon. . . in varying amounts. Possibly some organic material."
"Possibly?"
"Sorry; it is organic. Parts of it, anyway."
"Do you mean to say it is alive?" For a moment the image of the team walking to an enormous stomach flashed in her mind.
"No. No more than a log cabin would be called alive, I think. But. . ."
"It smells like a forest," Freitz observed in audible fascination. "Like the forest just after the rain. The air feels humid."
"Chief, I'm not seeing any other exits from this room," Siri reported. "That would make it easier to secure but it would seem our door may have led us nowhere."
"Or it could be we do not know where to look," she answered. "Sensor techs, can you determine the thickness of that substance?"
"Not from the passive scans," reported Littlefield, "but give us a moment." The scanners were already collecting and analyzing low-level data about the chamber, but for some things a more intensive scan was needed.
"Freitz," Littlefield said, "let's do a coordinated gamma burst on the right wall."
Marette watched through Alberto's view as the other two techs turned their scanners. A moment later there was a change.
"Look at that," Freitz whispered.
Like the still surface of a pond broken by a child's stone throw, the previously solid wall began to react, rippling out from where the scanners were concentrated. The ripples grew in size in less than a second, and the black substance withdrew with them.
"Littlefield, Freitz: terminate the burst."
Both techs acknowledged Marette's order, but still the inky tar withdrew soundlessly. Behind it was a material visually identical to the outer hull. The black over-coating retreated to reveal almost half a meter of the gray metal, and then, before Marette could tell it had stopped, it began to reseal the bare area.
"Looks to be just under four centimeters thick, ma'am," Littlefield said. "Though that wasn't how I expected to find out. Given what we just saw I'd say you're right about hidden doorways."
"Sweep the walls," she said. "Find them."
The techs traced the gamma bursts along the walls, parting the strange black substance in their wake. Marette wondered at the purpose of the inky quasi-solid and how difficult it would be to collect a sample. Once Freitz's helmet was replaced, that would be their first task.
"Ma'am, I think I've got something. It might be another door."
Before Marette could switch to Freitz's camera, another voice broke through. "It's moving! At the end of the chamber!' Marette looked. At the far end of the chamber the black covering was indeed rolling back—but differently than before.
"Sensor techs, is anyone scanning that area?" The reports came back negative as she observed the opening. It moved faster than the others, but even more unique was that it was retreating in rectangular form. By the time she heard Siri order the weapon techs to form up, it had opened two meters wide and was on its way to reaching the ceiling.
"Is that opening to a door?" By the time she finished the question, it had been answered. The black had withdrawn up to the ceiling and the gray metal behind it was swiftly sliding away.
"Stay back, Alberto," she said on the private channel. As she finished the words, the door had opened completely. For a moment the chamber beyond was just as black.
And then it came out.
Marette watched the metallic object float out to the team. It looked like nothing so much as an upturned porcupine; thick protrusions and bristles covered the rounded bottom while the top was smoother and flatter, though slightly concave. It made its way into the chamber and then stopped five meters from the team where the top began to glow a dull red.
"Somebody want to tell me what that is?" Siri ordered.
"Working on it, sir."
Light flared from a lance of lightning-like energy suddenly connecting the object and the floor. Less than a second later, it swung up towards the team. The video feed was lost instantly. It wasn't until a few seconds later that the screaming stopped.
X
Romulus nudged a broken bottle with his foot as he and Felix waited and watched in the alley.
"Stubborn, isn't he?" Felix said after they had stood a while.
"The cultist?" Romulus shrugged. "I don't know. He seemed willing to talk after a bit I guess. Though it wasn't what we needed." He looked up at where the Moon hung over the alley. "He's more evasive than stubborn," he added absently.
Felix made what might have been a chuckle. "I was talking about Diomedes, actually."
"He does what he has to do, I guess." And he does it right. He was still thinking about what had gone wrong, if he was somehow to blame that the gas didn't work. From everything he could tell, he'd done it right. Had he thrown it wrong? Had he somehow given an accidental warning? His attacker should have been unconscious. As it was, Romulus had nearly gotten killed, and would have been if Diomedes hadn't. . .
He left the thought unfinished and brushed his fingertips across his cheek, checking them.
"Flynn?" he heard Felix say.
"Hmm?"
"I asked how long you'd known him," said Felix.
Romulus drew a blank. "Known who?"
"Diomedes."
"Oh." Romulus glanced about for any sign of trouble and then, after a quick calculation, responded with, "Ten years, off and on."
Had it really been that long? Diomedes had left the farm for his own adventures when Romulus was nearly sixteen and had been out of contact for most of the time after. From the little information Romulus had managed to get from him after their reunion, he had first spent time in the military, although Diomedes wouldn't say which branch or for how long. Wherever it was, the experience had trained him well.
"Something bothering you, Flynn?"
Romulus turned to the smaller man at the question. Felix was looking up at the Moon as well, but turned to meet his gaze.
Romulus opened his mouth to say something, at least to vent—to a man he had only recently met, and someone whom Diomedes had warned him about talking to. "Ah," he said, shaking his head, "it's nothing."
"You just seemed a little distant there."
Romulus looked towards the darker end of the alley. "Just thinking."
"Well, thinking is good. What about?"
Again Romulus glanced at Felix. The man met his gaze quietly, an expectant look in his eye. What good would it do to tell him? Felix wasn't there. He wouldn't be able to tell him what he'd done wrong. Romulus looked away to the floater, to where Diomedes interrogated the cultist behind tinted windows.
He needed to talk through it with somebody.
"I was just trying to make sense of those things that cultist told us," he lied. "What it means. Or if he just made it up."
"Did sound a bit ridiculous, didn't it?" Felix said. "He seemed to know a bit of scripture, though. Do you know the Bible well?"
"Just the basics. What did he say?"
"That 'upon the coming of The One Who Will Be, men will seek death, but will n
ot find it. They will long to die, but death will elude them.' That's a great deal like Revelations 9, 6."
"Sounds like you read it a lot," Romulus said.
"Not as often as you'd think. Though I do like what it has to say on the nature of love. But mainly I just have a spectacularly good memory."
"All right, so he quotes the Bible, that doesn't make him a prophet."
"No," Felix said. He stretched. "But not everyone makes the best choices when deciding who to follow. Sometimes. . . sometimes the words that have rung true in the past can influence someone's judgment in a time of weakness."
What exactly was Felix trying to say? "So he added that part in to, what, try to influence us?"
"Maybe. Or maybe he was just repeating what his 'One Who Sees' influenced him with. Not much is really known about the Nosferatu. Mostly people just let them be since no one really cares to try to find out much. From what I've heard it's safer not to. This is the first I've heard of the One Who Sees."
"So do you believe it?"
"The prophecy or just that he exists?"
Romulus shrugged and watched a rat scamper across the alley. "Both."
"I don't think I have enough information. I wouldn't rule it out. But I'd be more inclined to believe in the existence of the One Who Sees than the total truth of him, or that prophecy." Felix looked at him. "For the moment, anyway," he added with a grin.
"Well it's not a help to us," Romulus decided aloud. "We might as well forget it."
"I didn't say it wasn't interesting," Felix said. "I'd be glad to find out more. Maybe after we get the job done I'll venture down into those tunnels myself," he said cheerfully.
The wave of guilt covered Romulus again at the mention of the tunnels. It couldn't have been entirely his fault, right? There were too many other factors, but he still had a lot to learn and no real clue what they might be. Geez, maybe he should mention it to Felix.
"Doesn't look like you much liked it down there," he heard Felix say.
"No," Romulus admitted. "Er, well, no. I mean, it felt good—exciting—the searching I mean. Like we were making some progress."
"But?"
A Shadow in the Flames (The New Aeneid Cycle) Page 11