“Tomorrow,” Caleb said, looking at the line of food as his stomach grumbled. Mimosas, coffee, heaps of scrambled eggs and sausage and fresh-baked rolls. “What do we do until then?”
Nina piled food onto her plate. “Why darling, we enjoy the cruise.”
2.
Mount Shasta
After Temple had finished up the presentation, he had Diana take Aria aside to debrief her. Then he turned to his other guests. Phoebe and Orlando had moved in closer to the wall-length screens, studying the pictures of Mars.
“Okay then,” Phoebe said after tearing her eyes away and blinking as if to rid her irises of the grainy Martian sands. “I guess we know our objective.”
Orlando grinned at the screen. “Big Red. The God of War, Ares to the Greeks, Mars for the Romans, and…”
“Knock it off,” Phoebe quipped. “You’re not my brother.”
“No,” Temple said, “but you’ll do just fine. Orlando, I’d like you to go and assist the Dove in his search. Both of you together should be able to crack this thing, get around those shields and see what’s really down there.”
“You mean Google Mars isn’t accurate?”
Temple rolled his eyes. “Please.” He turned to Phoebe. “I won’t even get into the layers of disinformation and outright data manipulation, but in all honesty, despite a few badly eroded surface monuments, what’s really of interest is, I believe, under the surface.” He turned to Phoebe. “I’d ask you to go too, but I’d spare you what could be rather… awkward company.”
Phoebe nodded. “Thanks. I gather he doesn’t see many girls on a day to day basis.”
“Not in the flesh, no.”
Orlando clapped his hands. “All right, I’m off to see the Dove. Or as I would have called him–”
“Please don’t say it,” Phoebe begged, shaking her head.
“-Big Bird.”
Orlando chuckled to himself and headed out, while Phoebe rolled her eyes at Temple. “See what I have to live with?”
Temple managed a smile. “Now, for you. I’d like you to—”
His phone chirped. “Hang on a sec.”
But as he reached for it, Phoebe swooned and had to grab the nearest table edge. She looked up sharply just as his eyes met hers and he spoke into the phone. “Talk to me.”
He nodded, then again. Then said: “When was this? Okay, get me a secure channel to Eielson Air Force base. Commander Maxwell. Have him call me back in three minutes.”
When Temple disconnected the call, Phoebe searched his eyes. “My brother! I saw him!”
He studied her carefully. “Where?’
Phoebe almost choked on the word. “Falling.” She swallowed hard. “From a plane.”
Temple nodded, his face grim. “They were shot down just north of Vancouver Island.”
“And…?” Phoebe’s heart was racing. “What else did you hear? Because I saw nothing! They were falling towards something below, on the water, something…” She rubbed her head. “I don’t know! Then it all just went blue again!”
“Blue? You’re sure?”
“Do I look like I’m kidding?”
“No, but that I don’t understand.”
“What?”
“I believe they fell together, or they jumped out of the plane before it was attacked.”
“They? Who do you mean?” Phoebe blinked, then winced as she eyes closed for a second. “Nina! It was her I saw falling before him.”
“Yes, it was her plane. She may have been taking him to HAARP.”
Phoebe frowned. “I… don’t think so. That’s not the sense I had. Plus, they were shot down, and not by your guys, right?”
“Right, which I suppose indicates that Nina may have had a change of heart.”
Phoebe looked down. “Still don’t trust that bitch.” Her eyes lifted. “But you think they survived?”
“If you can’t see them, then it might mean something else is acting in their vicinity. Something that’s clouding your sight.”
Phoebe blinked, then glanced over Temple’s shoulder, to the side area where Aria sat talking to Diana.
“Something,” Phoebe said, focusing on the NASA scientist, “that might be powerful enough to keep them hidden—and maybe even safe.”
#
Orlando knocked, softly at first, then a little louder. Shrugged, then pushed his way inside. After a moment, his eyes adjusted to the darkness, and then… a squeaking, and the great bulk that was the Dove turned in his massive ergonomic chair.
“Ah, so it’s to be babysitting duty, is it?”
“Uh,” Orlando stammered. “That colonel guy said I’m supposed to help out here.”
The Dove let out a belch. His eyes, serious and dark, focused on Orlando for an uncomfortable moment. Then he brushed crumbs off his bulging gut, grinned and pointed to a plain-looking metal chair in the corner. “Pull up a seat, amigo. Let’s see what we can see.”
Orlando nodded, wrinkling his nose at the smell of Cheezits, and stepped over a collection of Hostess Twinkie wrappers. “Okay, so it must be the maid’s day off?”
“Cute.” The Dove clicked some buttons on the arm of his chair and the giant screen on the far wall flickered to life. And The Face came into focus, stopping Orlando in his tracks. “Never seen it that big, have you?”
“Or in that much detail. I thought we didn’t have these kind of images. And the last one was all kinds of fuzzy. Looked like crap.”
“Exactly like some weather-eroded three hundred million year old mountain would expect to look, right?”
Orlando nodded. He reached the chair and started dragging it back as The Dove clicked and moved a joystick, and the image zoomed in on the Face’s left eye. “Of course they don’t show you the good stuff, the stuff they can’t understand. Everything else—everything released out to the world and to Google—all clever manipulations. Like you’ve probably heard from now, certain people in certain positions have known for years that something was out there long ago. Something that apparently hasn’t stuck around.”
“Or else it got blown up long ago.”
The Dove’s huge head nodded. Beads of sweat cascaded down his cheeks like he’d just come in out of a rainstorm. “That’s the thought, except we all know that just like when you try to wipe out a bees’ nest, you never get them all. Some are out gathering stuff or just buzzing around, and they’re the ones that then go into hiding, waiting out the eons.”
Orlando sat down and looked at his empty hands, then glanced around the room. “Got a spare Tablet?”
“Nope.”
“Pad of paper?”
“Negative.”
“Napkin and crayons?”
Another shake of the massive head. “Just take a deep breath, focus on the eye there, and go to work.”
Orlando sighed. “So it’s going to be that kind of day. Demoted to the Dark Ages.” He crossed his arms, lowered his head and tried not to breathe through his nose. One last peek at the rounded dark cavity on the screen, and then he closed his eyes.
And…
Nothing.
Sighing, he kept focusing, thinking about Mars, about all that red stone, about the dust, and the winds. But something kept interfering. At first he expected the blue screen, even felt it converging a few times as his mind’s eye attempted to descend into the Face’s eye. Then he’d pull back and try another angle, another route. He tried focusing on recent lunar missions. The Martian Pathfinder, the Rover. The probes…
All that technology, he zeroed in on each one in turn, but in turn he was shot down by the screen of blue.
“Not doing so hot, are you?” Came the Dove’s voice. Orlando ignored him. Kept focusing, but the Dove’s heavy breathing and raspy, almost snore-like breaths were breaking his focus.
“Trying, but can’t get in through the eye. Are you sure-?”
“Keep at it, amigo.” A raspy snort. “I assure you, something wicked-cool is down there. It’ll blow your mind.”
&nb
sp; A few more minutes, then… Finally, Orlando shook his head. He was about to open his eyes when another particularly obnoxious grunt from the Dove sent Orlando’s thoughts on a tangent.
His mind reached out tangentially to the sound, locked onto the Dove for a second and was sent spiraling off in a new direction, and all Orlando could do was hang on for dear life.
#
Flying around Mt. Shasta, the snow-capped peaks, the dizzying precipices and sharp cliffs. Day turns to night, stars burn fiercely in the black night, then spin as the point of view circles the mountain, faster and faster.
Then: angelic lights sparkle below, snapshotting shadows past the icy ridges. Orbs that start off as golden spheres, then transform through the color chart, turning silver, crimson, turquoise, violet… The spinning stops and the lights flicker, then form a line and blast through the mountain wall, all except the last one, the violet-shimmering globe that sweeps past and collects the vision-
- and draws it inside, then propels forward. Straight at, and through the ice-blocked mountain wall.
A brief shimmer of Blue, a protective shield that closes, then scatters in the wake of the violet ball.
And Orlando’s in.
He’s done it: found a back way inside, past the great unbreakable door, to the very heart of the mystery.
#
The Dove licked the vanilla icing off his fingers, then turned to regard his guest. Orlando’s head lolled to one side, his body slumped almost to the point of falling off the chair. His eyelids flickered rapidly.
Wiping his hands on the front of his shirt, then on his pant legs, The Dove reached down under the right armrest. His fingers moved around, searching, searching. All the while, his attention didn’t leave Orlando.
Under the chair’s arm, he finally found it—a section of duct tape securing a .357 Magnum.
#
Inside the mountain.
The viewpoint magnifies, roars through crystalline tunnels. Gleaming walls of quartz and topaz, pillars of emerald, into a vast a chamber where the other colored orbs settle into alcoves, sparkle, fizzle, then fade into the surrounding shadows, revealing singular riders—robed, bald men and women who, heads bowed, retreat into tunnel-like structures.
Viewpoint shifts.
This orb’s parking space. After the light fades, a robed man (or woman?) exits. His/her bald head from behind is indeterminate, and the shadowy quartz walls do little to illuminate any features.
Follow.
In darkness, a long corridor, finally emerging into a chamber, plain walled…
Empty, but for a single machine. A reclining seat not unlike the one Orlando has just left, except more elaborate. More… comfortable. It’s on a track, a track leading forward into another glittering tunnel.
The figure moves to a wall, touches it and presses her (it’s definitely a her) forehead against the smooth quartz surface. As if activated by her mind, an image appears. It’s the Stargate complex interior. Phoebe and Temple are talking quietly in the main room.
Viewpoint changes: back to that lone chair. Moving in, closer.
Closer
Something out of place.
Something… left on the floor.
A piece of crumpled plastic. Lettering on the outside.
A wrapper.
With an unmistakable imprint.
#
“Twinkies!” Orlando shouted, his eyes flying open.
He leapt out of the chair—then froze, staring at the hefty gun gripped in the Dove’s unwavering hand, and pointed right at his heart.
The huge head shook slowly back and forth as beads of sweat fell unnoticed off the chin. The Dove made a clucking sound with his tongue.
“They said you were good, so I didn’t really have any choice.”
“You’re working with them?” Orlando was still trying to process everything. “They’ve taken you beyond the wall.”
“What can I say? Apparently I’m the chosen one.”
“Or the fool.” Orlando cleared his throat while inching ahead. “Or maybe the tool is more like it. What do they want you for?”
The head continued to shake. “Uh-huh. No, don’t think I’ll blab about it, not while others could snoop. Sorry, but you’ll die without answers.”
Orlando lunged just as the gun fired.
3.
Grand Princess Cruise Liner
“Room 2311,” Nina whispered, looking up from the terminal. They were in the business office, and Caleb stood by the door, nodding to passing guests, keeping an eye out for security—or suspicious parties.
“You sure?” he called back.
“Sure. Easy to hack into their reservation system. A lot of unsold rooms, bad economy and all, but this one’s the most out of the way, yet convenient to stairwells for an easy getaway.”
Caleb looked back and met her stone-cold eyes. “If there’s an abundance of rooms, we can each get one.” He smiled. “On different floors.”
Nina smiled back, a catlike grin. She picked up a card, swiped it on a nearby imprinter and held it up. “Sorry, darling. Only one key. And we’ve got to keep up appearances.” In a flash she was up, slipping her arm in his and leaning her head against his shoulder.
“Bring me back to our honeymoon suite, darling.”
Caleb rolled his eyes. “Honeymoon? Seriously?” His free hand tapped the object strapped to his ribs. “I’ve got the most powerful object, potentially, in the world under my shirt, and you want to–”
“I want to live,” Nina whispered. “Long enough for us to use that thing and save the damn world.” She tugged him toward the elevators. “Now, let’s move.”
#
In their suite, spacious as far as cruise accommodations went, Nina sprawled out on the bed, kicked off her shoes and pulled up a map on her smartphone.
“Okay, the next stop is at Juneau. We can charter a plane from there and–”
“No more planes,” Caleb said, groaning. He was at the desk, bent over the spear point. Two lamps trained their lights on its surface, and Caleb reverently lifted it, one side up at a time, studying the markings. Every nick and scratch, every line of etched markings.
“Fine,” Nina said. “Although parachuting out over HAARP would be a hell of a lot easier than the driving close and then having to ditch the vehicle and hoof it through the ice and snow.”
“Stealthy approach is what we need.”
“But we’ve got that. Surely—”
“Surely it can’t stop the whole arsenal available to such a heavily guarded installation.”
Nina shrugged. Turned over and arched her back in a long stretch. “Have it your way. I’m starting to think you just want to spend more time with me.”
Caleb gave her an acid stare.
“Come on,” Nina chided. “Now that you know we’ve created life? Brought not one, but two children into the world?”
Caleb stared at the spear, shaking his head.
“Come on,” Nina repeated. “I know that’s what did it for you and Lydia.”
Caleb’s eyes closed.
“She backstabbed you just as good and hard as I did, yet you took her back with open arms once she showed you pictures of little Alexander, the son you never knew you had.”
“That was different.”
“Was it?” She rolled onto her stomach now, then pivoted on the bed so she was facing him, chin cradled in her hands. “She was following orders from her Keeper father, following the rules. Playing you to get what they wanted. How was I any different?”
Caleb’s right hand settled on the lower edge of the spear; his fingers curled around it in a tight grasp and his lips trembled. He was about to turn when—
KNOCK.
They both froze, met each others’ eyes, then looked to the door. Another knock.
Nina was up in a flash, digging into her purse and retrieving her silver-plated Beretta. Finger to her lips, she approached the door. Caleb followed at a distance, the spear still in his sha
king hand.
I don’t feel anything, he thought, imagining there should have been a magnetic sensation, a vibrational interface. Something like Frodo’s dagger glowing in the presence of goblins.
“What is it?” Nina called out, while eying the viewing hole.
From the other side of the door came a gruff young voice. “Delivery.”
Nina frowned, glancing back to Caleb, who was shaking his head. He whispered: “No one knew we were here, and this room was vacant. Don’t open it.”
But Nina was already unlocking the door. She slid the gun into her waistband behind her back and opened the door partway. Caleb saw the young man outside, dressed as a ship’s bellhop, holding a square box, which Nina promptly snatched out of his hands.
She dug into her pockets, but the bellhop backed away. “No need for a tip, just doing my job. And frankly, we’re all a little relieved down in the mail room.”
“What for?” she asked.
The bellhop looked around nervously. “Well, strange thing about this delivery…”
Caleb noticed now that the box was wrapped up tight with non-descript brown delivery paper, but covered excessively with yellow wrapping tape.
“…it was dropped off at our cruise director’s office three years ago. Addressed to this here room number, but—and here’s where it got really weird—instructions were that it wasn’t to be delivered until this date, which was, as I said—”
“Three years later,” Nina robotically answered. She gently shook the box, eyeing it from different angles.
“Yup,” said the bellhop, edging out of sight. “Apparently paid quite a sum for the instructions to be followed directly, and claimed he’d know if we didn’t do as he said. And he’d know if we opened the box.”
Nina looked at him. And the bellhop shifted back into view, eyeing the box, then Nina. “I uh, well… some of us, we wondered what’s in there. And well, the fact that this room only today got sold was weird enough, and well…”
Nina slammed the door on him. Locked it and turned around, facing Caleb. She hefted the box.
Caleb raised the spear. “Need a box cutter?”
The Cydonia Objective mi-3 Page 23