Chapter Thirty-four
Kat gazed in amazement at the still, silent pool of verde. Other than being green, the biofilm resembled the skin of scalded milk, a tissue of slime that floated placidly on the surface. She couldn’t suppress a rush of excitement at having discovered what was likely the organisms’ source. The blinking lights recorded themselves in special memory cells in her brain so that she’d always be able to retrieve this moment. But a stab of pain in her chest reminded her that her time on earth was running out, and that this moment would be extinguished along with all the others, from the first time Mark had captured her heart to the first time she’d spurned him. The stab faded, but the ache remained. All the moments they’d shared—the tenderness, the thrills. It brought her back to the lab in Houston, when Charles Adley, her boss at NASA, had placed the legendary sample beside the FESEM where she was working in Building 13 of the Johnson Space Center.
“What’s this?” she asked.
“You know.” He grinned, winked, and ambled toward the door. “Let me know when the slides are complete.”
As she gawked at the sealed plastic container, Kat’s skin prickled with exhilaration. No crack pipe or hash brownie could ever make a scientist this high.
She was sitting in the compact lab off the Vehicle Assembly Building, where the entire wall was dominated by the Philips field emission scanning electron microscope. This device could magnify images to over 100,000 times their actual size, and her boss had just given her the first dibs on the SPIDER sample from Mars. SPIDER was an acronym for Self-Propelled Independently Directed Exploratory Robots. These were deployed on the Red Planet and sent into the caves and lava tubes to collect specimens that might harbor life in the protected underground environment. Charles had prepared the sample in a tiny room at the rear section of Building 13. Using the coating machines, he’d etched the rock where the organism was growing and coated it with gold atoms. Now it was ready for her to insert into the central chamber of the microscope, a rectangular box that was cushioned against movement by a small airbag. But she couldn’t do this alone. She couldn’t experience this moment without sharing it with her closest companion.
She picked up the phone and dialed Mark, who was working with some robotics experts in Houston on his new toy.
“You’re not going to believe this.”
“You have the Mars sample.”
“Right. I have it, in my hands,” she breathed. “You have to come, Mark. You have to see this with me.”
“I was right in the middle . . . Of course I’ll come. But will they even let me near their precious sample? I’m not cleared to go into 13.”
“I’ll sneak you in,” said Kat, giggling.
She hung up, tiptoed down the hall, and snatched Greg’s pass. The geochemist always ripped the thing from his neck and left it on his desk as soon as he’d cleared the last checkpoint.
“Labels make me feel like I’m in first grade,” he often remarked. Kat was not the best forger, but it was easy to paste Mark’s picture onto the pass. Most of the guards didn’t know half of the scientists who came and went, and it was really the code that allowed them access. She exited the building and waited for Mark, handing him the pass when he arrived. His reaction to it was a tilted eyebrow, but he didn’t comment. He followed her into the VAB.
She kept a straight face as long as she could, but giggled almost uncontrollably when they wound their way through the complex to the FESEM room at the back.
Mark rolled his eyes. “All right, Bond. You’ve had your fun. Let’s see this sample.”
Kat felt tears welling up, her throat choking with emotion. She swiped at her eyes and turned the handle to the FESEM chamber. The door slid open silently, supported by pistons, and a tray with a stainless steel disc emerged. Kat delicately placed the coated sample in one of the drilled holes on the disc and pushed the door closed. Then she sealed the air lock and switched on a raucous vacuum pump.
“Sit.” She motioned for Mark to take one of the leather office chairs and join her in gazing at the two lit monitors in front of the gigantic instrument. Kat directed the disc to rotate with her computer mouse so the sample would pass beneath the XL40 field emission gun. By clicking a bar on her monitor she flooded the sample with waves of electrons smaller than the wavelength of visible light. Reflected electrons would pass through various lenses into the eye of a specialized camera.
The image blinked to life—an imprint of biofilm and discrete colonies of rods and filaments. Some were thirty to fifty nanometers in width and one hundred fifty in length, well below the standard for small bacteria, but now widely accepted as a viable size for life forms. There were even distinct flagella—the tail-like propelling mechanisms on some bacteria—on two of the organisms.
“This is it,” said Kat, unable to contain her glee. “It’s true.” She looked at Mark, whose eyes were gleaming, whose face was flushed.
“There’s life on Mars,” he said.
Kat nodded and threw her arms around him. “Tiny, almost invisible life. But it’s still life.”
“Are you sure?” he asked. “I mean, they look like bacteria, but you know what you’re up against.”
“Yes, I’m sure. Look at the flagella. Look at how they develop in colonies. Let the nay-sayers dispute this all they want. They doubted the fossilized bacteria found on meteorites, but how can they argue with this evidence?”
“They’ll find a way,” said Mark with a sigh, pulling her closer.
Kat lifted her head from his shoulder, probing his eyes.
“They’ll say you switched samples. They’ll question your expertise.”
“Are they still blocking human testing of your submarine?”
Mark nodded, the muscles contracting in his jaw. “It’s always the same, Kat. Scientists are their own worst enemies.”
“I know,” said Kat. “But they won’t be able to fight us for long. We’ll prove to the world that we’re right, and eventually they’ll have to accept it. You know, scientists think they are the most enlightened creatures on the planet, but sometimes they can be as closed-minded as redneck bigots.”
The pain seemed to fade from Mark’s eyes. He smiled at her. “You’ve made quite the discovery here, Kat. I’m thrilled for you.”
“And I’m not finished yet,” she said. “I’m going to search the deepest caves for the equivalent. I’m going to prove that we have identical life forms on earth, formed in the same sort of conditions.”
The smile evaporated. Even his arms fell away.
“Deepest caves,” he muttered, and she knew she’d lost him again.
Pete’s voice sliced through the memory like a blade, bringing her quickly back to the present. “We should get some samples of these, right from the source. It might give us clues as to why they began here.”
“Right,” said Kat. “We’ll collect the biofilm from various sections of the pond.” She slipped off her pack and rummaged through it for her sampling kit. She removed Petri dishes and specimen tubes, handing half of them to Pete and donning gloves again. The sampling was second nature to Kat, and she scooped up the film in minutes, working her way around the perimeter of the pool. The disturbance jostled the water in its tightly confined hole, sloshing the winking organisms over the rim and segmenting the rafts of matter in the middle. Kat was careful to keep her distance and concentrate on the job at hand, but when she’d swabbed the last area, she looked up and nearly dropped the tube she held.
“P-Pete?”
“Yes, I’m almost finished. What’s the problem?”
“I might have figured out why this is the source.”
As Pete raised his head, Kat pointed to the middle of the pool. Where the segments of bioluminescence had parted, a mound of skulls had appeared.
He sighed. “More bodies.”
“Yes,” said Kat softly. “But these are different. They’re just skulls. I don’t see any other skeletal remains. I think these are sacrificial victims.”
> “Hmm,” said Pete. He reached out as if to touch the skulls, wobbled on the edge of the pool, then thought better of it and retracted his hand. “So you think the organisms spawned in the presence of human tissue. That they’re not unique.”
“I wouldn’t go that far. They might have begun as something else. Certain dinoflagellates, the algae that produce the red tides on the ocean, become bioluminescent when acid is added and the pH lowered. Certainly there’s enough sulphuric acid in this cave. But the organism could have evolved even further after the Mayan intrusion. They might have incredible powers, hopefully to heal.”
“Right,” said Pete. “That is—”
A guttural scream and a shrill whistle cut him off. Kat met Pete’s eyes, surged to her feet, and bolted toward the far side of the cavern.
Chapter Thirty-five
As Mark tossed and turned in his sleep, stone indented his face, abraded his skin, crunched against his bones. He felt a flitter above his head, a brush of wing or claw or bristly leg. Thousands of tiny feet seemed to prickle through his coveralls. He swatted and swiped, memory igniting panic. The darkness seethed around him, alive and yet so cold. He shivered.
Mark blinked awake, sat bolt upright, and still could see nothing. He was awake now—he was sure of it—but the undulation against his clothing, the tickle on his cheek, told him this wasn’t a dream.
“Jorge.” He tried to call out, but his voice stayed locked in a hoarse whisper. “Jorge!”
The beam from Jorge’s headlamp snapped on and illuminated the cave. Mark looked down and nearly fainted at the mass of millipedes swarming over his body. “My God!” he yelled and leaped to his feet, brushing frantically at the creatures, some the size of small snakes. “What the hell are these?”
“Just millipedes,” said Jorge. “Really, doctor, you have a problem with cave creatures.”
Mark swatted a few more writhing bodies from his coveralls and watched them shuffle away into the darkness. He picked up his pack and rebreathing apparatus and shook off another cloud of insects.
“I have a problem with caves,” said Mark. “And I’ve never seen millipedes this big before.”
Jorge shrugged. “Neither have I, but I think it has to do with the snottites and the proliferation of life that occurs in the caves where they’re found. Seems to be a gigantic food chain. Either way, millipedes are harmless, except . . .”
“Except? ”
“There were a few found in a cave to the north that excreted some sort of foul-smelling acid from glands along the sides of their bodies. ”
“Acid? ”
“But I don’t think these are dangerous.”
“You don’t think . . . ” Mark hopped away from the next millipede to wander close. “Will we keep running into these creatures?”
Jorge shook his head. “The deeper we go, the fewer creatures we’ll find that can survive. The only life that really persists without the food stores from above are the microbes your wife is looking for. They seem to be able to survive anywhere, even on Mars.” He grinned caustically. “A worthwhile venture if there ever was one. Billions of dollars to search for miniscule droplets of life.”
Mark met Jorge’s narrowed eyes and bit his lip. He took a breath, gathered his thoughts, and rose to the challenge. “We will eventually outgrow this planet. We need to strike out into space. Find new resources we can use when this planet’s are depleted.”
“Ah,” said Jorge. “New resources. Perhaps we would have enough for some time if we learned how to share and conserve. But I can’t see striking out into space when we can’t live peaceably on our own planet. No wonder the first thing that comes to mind when people talk about traveling in space is Star Wars. And the reason we can’t live in harmony is because of a distribution problem—uneven distribution. A few elite people traveling to other planets is not going to change that. It’ll just mean more resources consumed by fewer individuals.”
Mark sighed. Jorge’s logic was irrefutable, but he knew that backing away from space exploration was not the answer either. If this man wanted fair distribution, an increase in aboriginal rights, then the world would have to do away with government corruption. Mark didn’t see that ever happening.
“I can’t say that you’re wrong,” said Mark slowly. “But I don’t see any easy answers to the problems of the world. You know, if the U.S. government attempted to, say, redistribute the NASA budget and send money your way, through your government, as they do to countries that suffer disasters, it would eventually filter out into filthy hands. Only a trickle, if that, would ever reach you. The only way to help you is to start at the top, or at the bottom.”
“What do you mean?” Jorge tilted his head and sponged his neck.
“At the top, weed out the corruption in your government. At the bottom, get some aid workers to come into your town and deal with the immediate problems of health care and food.”
“Yes,” said Jorge. “I tried to work from the top. I failed. I tried to plead for the bottom, but no one came. No one will pay attention to me. Someday, however, that will change.”
“How will you change it?” asked Mark. Perhaps he could still wheedle out Jorge’s agenda. But the man turned away and began gathering up his blanket and climbing equipment and stuffing it into his sack.
“You know, Kat and I aren’t important enough to mobilize governments to action. They’ll just let us rot.”
Jorge snorted and slung his pack over his shoulder.
“You won’t accomplish anything by killing a couple of innocent people.”
“Who said I was going to kill you?” asked Jorge. “If I were, I would have done it already.”
“Then what . . .” Mark bit his tongue in frustration.
“You, doctor,” said Jorge, jabbing a finger at his chest, “will have all your answers soon enough. And hopefully, so will I.”
He pivoted and trotted forward, crunching millipedes beneath his boots. Mark trudged behind, cursing and dragging his feet, more disturbed than ever. His helmet light peeled back the darkness, revealing the revolver-shaped bulge in Jorge’s pack. If he could sneak up on the man while he was sleeping and steal the weapon, he might have a chance to control this rescue mission. As it was, he was at the mercy of a madman, or maybe a saint. In either case, there was death at the end of this journey—he was sure of it.
Now they were nearly nine hundred meters beneath the earth’s surface. Jorge plunged on. After two more hundred-meter rappels and a tight spiral crawl that made Mark dizzy with claustrophobia, they came upon an underground river. Jorge splashed along the edge until he came to a halt at a point of terminus: a solid sheet of rock.
Mark scanned up and down, but couldn’t find a crack where they could squeeze through. “What now?”
“We dive through the sump,” said Jorge. The man pointed to the churning water of the river and the dip where it disappeared like a vacuum hose into the wall.
Mark scratched his head and gnawed on his lower lip. “But that’s impossible.”
Jorge smiled condescendingly and indicated a piton pounded into the rock on the river’s bank and the nylon guideline that looped from it. Beside it was a relay box for a radio. “Your wife came this way.”
Mark eyed the box and nearly screamed in frustration. They’d seen these devices higher in the cave—the solution to cave communication—but had failed to raise anyone on the other end. She’d come this way, but was she still breathing now?
“The current isn’t too strong with a rope assembly,” explained Jorge. “Just follow me and we’ll make it to the next drop.”
Mark nodded, not at all convinced. He struggled into his drysuit again, snugly sealing the mask on his face and activating the oxygen/helium mix. The purr of air was soothing, but one look at the foaming white water and he was trembling in his boots.
Jorge snapped his belt loop to the guideline and rigged Mark in an identical fashion. Then he plunged into the water, firmly gripping the rope to keep fr
om being swept away in the current. Mark carefully slid off the bank beside him, murmuring soft encouragement to himself as the river slapped into his body and tugged insistently at his feet. Jorge patted his arm and said, “Just remember to keep close behind me. You wouldn’t want to miss the exit.” He chuckled.
“No, I wouldn’t,” Mark grunted. Amazing as it seemed, he’d actually gotten used to the guide’s macabre sense of humor. Even though he didn’t trust the man’s motives, he’d come to trust him with his life, at least until they reached Kat.
Jorge ducked beneath the surface. Mark closed his eyes, willed the fear from his shuddering mind, and submerged. The current mercilessly dragged him under and down into the sump. Mark’s fingers bit into the rope as he fought to keep from being battered against the side or flung helplessly through the winding tunnel. He could see Jorge patiently threading his way along the guideline, fighting the suction with apparent ease. Mark could barely hang on—his fingers kept slipping on the slick nylon and his hands cramped from the strain. He hoped this would be a short dive, but he had visions of a river that spiraled right into the Earth’s mantle where his body would liquefy.
He continued, nevertheless. Twenty brutal minutes that seemed like hours. Jorge spoke a few times through the PA system—something like, “Easy swim. Almost there. Just a gentle current. No problem.” Mark wondered if he was trying to be encouraging or cajoling, but all he could manage in reply was a grunt or a sigh. He was far too exhausted to speak.
At last Jorge began to ascend. The roof of the sump ended abruptly. Mark kicked toward the interface between water and air—a blessed sight if there ever was one. Jorge had propelled himself out of the water and was crawling onto the limestone bank, extending his hand out to Mark. Mark reached for it, thought that it was in his grasp, but somehow slipped free. He flailed and fell back, the current catching him and flinging him downstream.
Mark screamed. He clawed at the guideline, but it kept zinging through his hands, shredding his gloves and knifing into the raw flesh. It was all over. He was nothing but a floundering vessel caught up in a violent clash of waves. Had Jorge let him go on purpose, just when he’d developed some sort of trusting relationship? Rage flared up and sputtered away. What did it matter now? He was going to die down here, in a cave, and some little part of him—the part that had screamed and screamed in the unholy darkness—told him it was destiny.
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