Atlantis Gate a-4

by Robert Doherty

“Worst case scenario is that the intrinsic structure of the planet becomes unstable,” Ahana said.

  “Which means?” Dane asked.

  “The planet will break apart. Earth will become the collection of fragments it was in the beginning.”

  Dane summed it up. “So one way or the other — tectonics or core crystal — we’re doomed.”

  “Unless we can stop the tap,” Ahana said.

  “Which means we have the same problem,” Dane said, “which is we have to stop the portal the tap is running through.”

  “And do you have a plan to do that?” Kolkov’s voice was harsh.

  A long silence reigned.

  “My government,” Kolkov continued, “is in the process of evacuating Moscow. There is little patience.”

  “I think—” Dane began, but fell silent.

  “What?” Foreman pressed.

  Dane chose his words carefully. “The path we must follow is not clear but I know I must get Sin Fen’s skull and then the Naga staff. I haven’t been shown the step after that.”

  “I can’t go to my superiors with that,” Kolkov said. “I am sorry.” The half of the screen he had been on went blank.

  THE SPACE BETWEEN

  Amelia Earhart looked at the smooth skin on Fred Noonan’s chest and frowned. Even if he had survived the kraken — and enough time had passed for the wound to heal — there should still be some scarring. Her navigator’s condition was worsening and he had not regained consciousness.

  She looked up and saw Taki watching her closely. She had explained Noonan’s message as clearly as she could to him and the samurai had made no comment. She’d found the lack of dialogue with the samurai to be disconcerting at first, but had quickly grown used to it.

  She found it an ironic twist, given that a secondary mission of her around the world flight had been to spy on Japanese installations in the Pacific and forward that information to the US Navy. She had even learned a smattering of Japanese in preparation for the flight, which had stood her in good stead when she ran into the samurai here in the space-between. They had latched onto her as their new Lord and would do what she said, no questions asked.

  “He will die.”

  Earhart couldn’t tell if Taki’s words were a statement or question, but she nodded anyway. “Yes.”

  “The Naga staff will not come to us. We must go to it.”

  Earhart stood and signaled to Taki, circling her hand over her head and then pointing toward the center of the space-between. He nodded and yelled commands to his men. They gathered round as Earhart grabbed her sword. She paused, looking down on Noonan’s blistered face, then she set out.

  They traveled through a low area between two ridges of black. Amelia Earhart had no idea how large the space-between was. There was the surrounding wall that curved out of sight overhead and once she had followed it one direction as long as she could, before having to head back to her base-camp for food. While on that journey she’d had the eerie sensation that the ground was extending in front of her and that she could go forever and never come back to her start point, even though her best guess was that she was traveling in a circle around the center lake.

  The temperature was mild and unvarying, about sixty degrees Fahrenheit as near as she could guess. The air tainted with a distasteful odor that she couldn’t identify but one that despite all her time here she hadn’t quite gotten used to.

  After several miles, Earhart raised her hand and her small band came to a halt. She got on her belly and edged her way up the slope to the right, ignoring the gritty sand that rubbed against her and slid into her flight suit. She moved more slowly as she reached the top and edged up enough to see over. They were near the lake that filled the center of the space-between.

  The first thing she saw was a wide pillar of black that extended toward the roof far overhead — a portal. She slithered up further to get a better view. She could see the surface of the water- flat black, extending out as far as she could see. To the left and in the distance she could see another portal.

  She scanned the shoreline. She sensed someone crawling up next to her and spared a glance. Taki, sword drawn, was at her side. She turned back to the shore.

  She reached out and grabbed Taki’s shoulder, pointing with her other hand. “There.”

  There were five limp forms scattered along the shore. Earhart began to stand when an abrupt jerk on her right arm pulled her down into the black sand. She turned angrily toward Taki, but the samurai’s focus was to the left. Earhart followed his gaze. A half-dozen white figures were floating above the black ground. Their faces were featureless except for ruby-red eyes.

  Earhart bit down, grinding her teeth together, feeling the futility of her position. Five of the Valkyries scooped up bodies. The sixth stood by. With the bodies secured, the Valkyries began heading back the way they had come. The sixth followed, then paused. It turned, facing the ridge behind which Earhart hid. She stopped breathing. She heard a sharp intake of breath from Taki and it was her turn to grab his arm, keeping him from doing something foolish.

  After several minutes, which seemed like hours, the Valkyrie finally turned and followed its mates, sliding along the beach. Earhart watched until it disappeared. Then she stood.

  “Come,” she said to Taki as she headed down the slope in pursuit. When she looked over her shoulder, she saw Taki and the rest of his samurai following.

  * * *

  Since its launch in 1986, Mir has circled the planet over 85,000 times. Astronauts from dozens of nations have lived and worked in the station. Since the end of the Cold War eleven American shuttle missions had rendezvoused with the space station. Both NASA and the Russian Space Agency had touted the station as a sign of international cooperation. It was all a lie.

  Launched while Ronald Reagan was still President, Mir had been Moscow’s reply to Star Wars. If Reagan wanted to throw down the gauntlet and develop space weapons, Moscow, in its basic working class way, had picked up the challenge. Heavy boosters rockets lifted the components of Mir into space and hardy cosmonauts bolted them together, including a section that contained a half-dozen multiple warhead nuclear rockets.

  There was little the United States administration could protest about given Star Wars, so the entire matter was kept classified. When the Cold War ended, the rockets were still up there along with their warheads and it became the thing no one talked about among those in the know. The danger of bringing the warheads back to Earth was considered too great, so that section of Mir was sealed off. The United States invested considerable time and money into making sure Mir stayed operational and in orbit while the Russian Space Agency deteriorated and was unable to provide the maintenance required.

  Mir’s current crew consisted of three Russians and one American. Upon receipt of a highly classified and secure communication from Moscow, the senior Russian had the American locked in a storage area and then the three began unsealing the missile compartment.

  Three hundred and fifty-five kilometers below the space station, lay the blue of the Pacific Ocean with the western coast of South America rotating into view.

  CHAPTER 10

  480 BC

  Leonidas entered his home to be greeted with the site of Cyra holding his daughter on her lap, bouncing the squealing girl up and down. His mind was swirling with all the preparations to be made for the march-out in the morning and for a moment he was taken aback at this strange site.

  “Husband.” A hand was on the small of his back, just below where the armor ended.

  Leonidas turned. His wife, Thetis, stood in the shadows of the entryway. Her hair was pinned up and she wore a white robe fringed with gold, a gift he had brought her from the sack of a neighboring town many years previously. He recognized it for more than that though — it was what she wore the night their son Amphion had been conceived. Or had been wearing, he realized as a flush spread across his tanned cheeks. Her hand was still on his back and he glanced at Cyra in embarrassment but the prie
stess was focused on Briseis.

  Leonidas took her hand in his, removing it from his back. “Wife,” he acknowledged. He could see the smile on her face and the sadness in her eyes. Word of the assembly’s decision and the morning muster would have made it here, even though he had left the assembly and headed straight home. It was the way it always was and Leonidas had never figured out how the women knew such things as quickly as they did.

  “Xarxon has prepared your equipment for travel.” Leonidas had not had time to tell his squire to get things ready, so he was grateful for his wife’s intervention.

  “Greeting, King.” Cyra had finally acknowledged his presence. She stood, holding Briseis in her arms.

  “Priestess.” Leonidas felt uncomfortable. He suddenly realized that if the Oracle’s prophecy were true, tonight would be his last with Thetis. He turned to her. “We march in the morning.”

  “I know.” Thetis was a slight woman, her hair prematurely gray as befit one who had waited out so many campaigns. She reached down and picked up a wicker basket that Leonidas had not noticed. “I want to go up the mountain. To our meadow.”

  Leonidas frowned. “It is late and—“

  “I know it is late.” There was a sharp edge to Thetis’s voice. “Cyra will watch Briseis. Amphion is at his agoge and will see you in the morning on the field. Tonight, I want you to myself. Under the stars. On the mountain.” Her hands were on the clasps that held his armor, unfastening it.

  Leonidas looked at Cyra and the priestess gave the slightest of nods and for some strange reason he stood still and allowed Thetis to remove the metal from his body until he was clad only in his short tunic.

  “King?” Cyra seemed reluctant to interject herself between husband and wife.

  “Yes?”

  “What was the decision of the council?”

  “We march on Antirhon to secure our west, then to Thermopylae.”

  Cyra put Briseis down in her cradle. “How long will this campaign against Antirhon take?”

  “That is something no one can predict.”

  “How far away is this city?”

  When Leonidas told her, Cyra shook her head. “There is not time. Xerxes is marching quickly. He has already crossed the Hellesponte. He will reach the Gates and be through them before you arrive.”

  “We are sending three hundred troops directly to the Gates of Fire to prepare the defenses and hold the pass.”

  “Three hundred? What can three hundred men do?”

  “Three hundred Spartans,” Leonidas corrected her. He held up a weary hand as Cyra started to say something. “We may indeed be too late, but the council has spoken and it is law. I must obey.”

  Thetis took his raised hand and led him to the door. “We will be back at dawn,” she called over her shoulder to Cyra as she pulled Leonidas through the door. Once outside, she continued to lead the way, heading toward the mountainside where they had spent the first night of their marriage so many years previously.

  Cyra stood in the doorway, watching the couple disappear into the darkness.

  * * *

  King Xerxes looked down from the mountain at the glow of lights ahead. It was a small town, the eastern-most outpost of Macedonia, a kingdom that was in search of an identity. North of Greece proper, Macedonia was the invasion route for both the Persians from the east and the barbarians to the north. He thought so little of the small kingdom that Xerxes had not even bothered to send emissaries to the Macedonians to smooth his passage through this land.

  “My Lord?” The commander of the Immortals waited for his orders.

  “Destroy the town. Kill everyone.”

  A female voice cut in. “That is not wise, King.”

  Xerxes was tired. The army was marching hard and despite all the comforts he was provided, it was taking its toll on the King’s body. “Why?” he asked wearily.

  “There is no need to destroy the town, King,” Pandora said.

  “There is no need,” Xerxes acknowledged, “only my desire that it be so, which supersedes need.”

  “Yes, lord.” Pandora remained quiet, which irritated Xerxes even more.

  “You have a reason beyond it isn’t necessary, don’t you?” he demanded.

  “Yes, lord.”

  Just as Xerxes was about to explode in anger, Pandora continued.

  “Time is like the ocean. It ebbs and flows. Much like kingdoms. Today one is powerful and can destroy. In a generation the power goes the other way.”

  Xerxes nodded as if he understood. “True. But today—” he jabbed his finger down at his throne—“I am the one with the power.” He turned to the commander of the Immortals. “Do as I order.”

  “May I go with him, Lord?” Pandora asked which surprised Xerxes.

  The King waved his hand. He could care less.

  Pandora followed the commander down a slope where a battalion of the Immortals waited. She was ignored as the troops moved forward. The rest of the Persian army had halted for the night, the glow of the thousands of campfires lighting up the eastern horizon like a false dawn.

  The gates to the city were open, the inhabitants clearly aware of what approached. A cluster of men stood in the open gates, waiting. As the Immortals approached they held their hands up and called out entreaties. Pandora began moving her way up in the column of troops. There were screams as the Immortals cut down the men.

  Belatedly the soldiers in the town jumped into action. They tried to shut the gates, but it was too late. The Immortals surged through, overpowering the defense. Men, women, children and animals were cut down wherever they were found. Pandora stepped over bodies, pushing her way toward the vanguard of the Immortals. She saw merchants, hands full of offered gold, have their heads lopped off.

  Unerringly Pandora stalked through the streets. Immortals continued to ignore her, knowing her as the right hand of the King. Of course, none of them seemed concerned about her safety either.

  Screams of agony and fear echoed through the air. Both human and animal. A red glow was lighting the sky as the town was being put to the torch. Near the center of town Pandora shoved open the door to an elegant house. She walked in, and then up a set of stairs. She threw open a door at the top of the stairs and entered a room where a woman huddled in the corner, a baby in her arms.

  “Please,” the woman pleaded.

  Pandora walked over and took the child out of the frightened woman’s arms. “His name?”

  “Phillip.”

  Pandora nodded. “Philip the First.”

  “What?” The woman was confused.

  Pandora heard footsteps thundering up the steps. Two Immortals stormed into the room, blades drawn. Pandora put the child under her cloak. The soldiers looked at her briefly, then one stepped forward and separated the woman’s head from her body with an expert stroke. Then they left.

  Pandora went down the stairs, keeping the child hidden. The streets of the city ran with blood and the flames were spreading, leaping from building to building. Pandora kept her eyes straight ahead as she strode out of the gate and into the darkness. She turned to the left, heading toward a cluster of hills. She paused for a second and her head swiveled back and forth, almost

  like an animal searching for prey, then she moved forward.

  In front of the hills was a stream bed and she went down into it. “Come out,” she called.

  Nothing moved.

  Pandora removed the child from under her cloak and held it up. “Come out.”

  Bushes moved, then a woman stepped out. She stood tall, her jaw set. “You took your time.”

  Pandora ignored the comment and held the child out to the woman. “His name is Philip.”

  The woman remained as still as a rock.

  “He will be your King.”

  “We have a King.”

  “You saw what Xerxes did to your city?” Pandora didn’t wait for an answer. “What he does to your capital will be worse. Your King will die as will every member of his family.
This—” she indicated the child she held—“is a relative. A distant one, but the only one who will survive Xerxes’ march. He will be your King.”

  The woman finally moved, coming forward. She held out her arms and took the child into them. She looked down at the child’s face, then up at Pandora. “His name again?”

  “Listen closely. He is Philip. Philip the First. He will have a son who will take the same name. Then his son will have a son. His name will be Alexander. To those who follow he will be known as Alexander the Great. He will conquer all the world.”

  “How do you know this?”

  Pandora reached out and grabbed the woman by the shoulders, her fingers sinking in. “Trust me that I do. You are brave. You came out while the men still cower in the bushes. You will raise him to be King.”

  Pandora turned and walked off into the dark, leaving the woman holding the child.

  * * *

  Leonidas woke and the first thing he realized was that he wasn’t wearing his armor. Indeed, he became aware that he was naked as a warm breeze raked over his body. It did not bother him. He felt at peace, most strange for a man who was to march off to war shortly.

  Turning his head, Leonidas saw the rising sun, highlighting Thetis’s left breast. Leonidas leaned over, kissing it lightly.

  Thetis’s eyes opened and she smiled, her face relaxed. In less than a second the calm look was gone.

  “No,” Leonidas placed his fingers on her lips. “Let us have now like we had last night.” He rolled over, placing his body on top of hers.

  Later, the sun was clear of the horizon and the King held his wife tight in both his arms. He felt the pressure of duty. He could hear distant yells and knew his troops were marshalling.

  “Thetis.”

  His wife buried her head into his scarred chest. “Yes?”

  “I know I have not been there for you as I should have been.”

  “You were there as you should have been as King.”

  “But not as a husband who loves you. For that I am sorry.”

  * * *

  The Persian army moved past the smoldering ruins of the city. Pandora walked alongside the Imperial litter, which was carried by a dozen burly slaves. Immortals surrounded the King, a moving wall of humanity.