“This pyramid,” said Lex, changing the subject. “You really think it could be under the ice?”
“I would like to think so,” Sebastian replied. “It would be the discovery of the century. In fact, it would validate some of my own theories. I believe that four thousand years ago…”
Sebastian’s voice trailed off. Lex was no longer paying attention to him. Instead, she was gazing at something over his shoulder.
“Am I boring you?”
Lex pushed her chair away from the table and touched Miller’s and Sebastian’s arms. “Come outside… all of you. You too, Thomas.”
“What is it?”
But she was already up and out the door. Sebastian rose and followed, Thomas on his heels. Miller swallowed the last bit of his filet, washed it down with Chateau Lafite ’77, and hurried to catch up to them.
Lex led the others through a thick waterproof bulkhead, then onto the deck. A stab of icy wind cut through them, stealing their warmth. But any discomfort was forgotten when they saw the spectacle in the firmament.
“My God!” Thomas exclaimed.
The entire night had become a waterfall of shimmering radiance. Vertical ribbons of light snaked across the southern sky, a colored profusion of visual chaos. Successive bands of brighter colors flamed while darker patches pulsated rhythmically. The vast curtain of reds, greens and blues seemed to move as though ruffled by an interstellar wind.
Lex threw her arms wide, as if embracing the panorama. “It’s an X-class flare accompanied by a halo coronal mass ejection. Otherwise known as aurora australis… the southern lights.”
Sebastian was transfixed. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything so beautiful.”
Miller adjusted his glasses, then pulled the digital camera out of his jacket pocket.
“It’s in the upper atmosphere,” he explained. “Streams of protons and electrons from the sun are being deflected by the earth’s magnetic field, causing a solar radiation storm.”
“Whatever…. It’s beautiful,” Sebastian replied, “even the way you describe it, Doctor.”
“Thanks,” Miller replied. Then he snapped a picture. “And I agree.”
Lex leaned on the rail and gazed up at the sky. “Shackleton called Antarctica the ‘last great journey left to man.’ It’s the one place left in the world that no one owns, that’s completely free…” Then she grinned. “Me? I’m kind of partial to the penguins.”
“I wish you’d reconsider coming with us,” said Miller.
Lex looked at him and smiled. But she shook her head.
“Not for me. Obviously,” said Miller. “But I think a lot of the other guys really need you.” He poked her arm. “C’mon, don’t make me pull out pictures of my kids again.”
“Your kids aren’t that cute.”
Sebastian chimed in. “What if we got pictures of other people’s kids? Would that do it?”
Lex looked at them both. “Want my advice? Stay on the boat.”
It was Sebastian who bristled. “We’re not staying on the boat.”
“Guys, the first rule of this job is to not take people to places they’re not ready to go.”
“Listen,” Sebastian replied. “I was on the next plane to Mexico. My team’s waiting. But if Weyland’s even half right, this find could change history.”
“Weyland is more concerned with making another billion than with anything else,” Lex replied. “Including your safety.”
Sebastian stepped up to her. “Let me ask you something. You’re here. You know this place. Do we stand a better chance of surviving with you than with the number two choice?”
Lex did not reply, but her face gave the answer away.
“Because if we do and you don’t go with us, and something goes wrong, are you going to be able to live with that?”
Lex opened her mouth to reply, but no answer came. Suddenly a tall, blond woman strode onto the deck.
“Ms. Woods? Your helicopter is refueled and ready. They’re waiting for you.”
CHAPTER 7
Two Thousand Miles Above the Sea of Tranquility
Just beyond the reach of the moon’s gravitational pull, an enormous vessel dropped out of hyper-space. Gracefully following the curvature of the moon, the craft passed across the sun, casting an ominous shadow along the lunar surface.
Nearly a kilometer in length, the ship’s sleek, organic form more resembled an oceangoing manta ray or predatory bird than an interstellar vessel. As the craft plunged silently through the void, the warp engines disengaged and a thin stream of charged ions began to spew from the engine nacelles, propelling the ship on the final leg of its journey to the cloud-wreathed, blue-green orb still over 238,000 miles away.
Inside the ship, energy and life-support systems self-activated. Mazelike corridors and domed chambers were flooded with the hot, muggy, oxygen-rich atmosphere of the tropics. One by one, decks were illuminated by a green reptilian glow. The architecture was primitive, and many sections of the craft could pass for the interior of a samurai warlord’s fortress or the grim torture chamber of a medieval castle.
In the half-light, shadows danced along walls etched with sharp-edged hieroglyphics. High, vaulted ceilings resembled those in a Gothic cathedral, but here they gleamed with the blood-red hue of the abattoir.
Other sections of the ship were more organic in appearance. The armory mimicked the fleshy interior of some vast monster’s belly. Curved terra-cotta rib bones festooned the space. Between those faux-ribs, the walls were frescoed with pictographs and were hung with an array of fierce, techno-medieval weaponry: spears with retractable shafts; curved blades carved from yellow bone and bundled together like the fasces of ancient Rome; double-bladed ceremonial knives with serrated edges and ornate handles; metal clubs studded with raked white teeth; hubcap-sized shuriken edged with needle-thin blades; sharp-finned throwing darts larger than rail spikes.
The bloodstained trophies of previous hunts were also mounted in this bleak chamber—skulls of varying shapes and sizes, some broken, with empty sockets and jaws lined with fangs. A panoply of weapons, ranging from a quartz-tipped spear to a meson-interrupting particle beam weapon powerful enough to cut a mountain in half, hung in stasis behind a translucent metal bulkhead.
Beyond the armory, deep within the heart of this otherworldly ship, a computer screen brightened to reveal a thermal image of the Piper Maru floating on the vast expanse of ocean. Foreign cryptographs scrolled across the screen as the spaceship’s cybernetic brain calculated the distance between the icebreaker and the array of interconnected squares on Antarctica.
Process complete, the computer sent out an alarm—a sibilant hiss audible throughout the alien vessel. Around that central monitor, lights flickered to reveal a circular chamber heavy with moisture. A deep pool of dark liquid dominated the floor. A white mist curled over the ooze. Surrounding the pool like petals on a flower, massive shapes drifted inside of five translucent cryostasic cylinders.
Suddenly the cryo-tanks burst, spilling their contents into the central pool. The liquid roiled as colossal shapes began to stir in the muck. Broad, mottled faces surfaced in the rippling fluid, their features a nightmare amalgamation of insect, shellfish and reptile. Sentience burned behind eyes that seemed strangely human—intelligent eyes that focused on the image of the Piper Maru still flickering on the monitor. Around the mouth of each creature, fingerlike mandibles flexed.
CHAPTER 8
Aboard the Piper Maru,
Eleven Miles Off the Coast of Antarctica
The sky was a canvas of lead, a low full moon occasionally visible through breaks in the clouds. After the unsettled weather of the past few hours, the sea was now surprisingly calm, its smooth surface broken only by chunks of ice, many the size of an SUV. This moment would seem almost temperate for the Antarctic Circle if a frigid wind weren’t cutting across the steel deck, sending icy claws into the men huddled there. Despite their layers of wool, flannel, cotton and the Polartec c
overalls that supposedly protected them from the elements, a few shivered.
Sebastian De Rosa and Thomas came onto the deck to find themselves among the busy workers. Avoiding stares from the roughnecks, who were hauling tracked vehicles out of the hold with a crane and lining them up on deck, Sebastian drifted over to the scientists and mercenaries gathered near the rail. Although he wore so many layers of clothing that he felt like a walking teddy bear, he was shivering and sporting a thin layer of frost on his chin by the time he reached Miller’s side.
“You okay?” Miller asked.
“Too much time spent in the tropics.”
“Yeah, that tan does make you look like the odd man out around here.”
Sebastian turned his eyes skyward, hoping for a ray of warm sunshine. But only the moon was visible in a slate gray sky. “What time is it anyway?”
Miller glanced at his watch. “Midday.”
“Then where’s the sun?”
“This far south they have six months of darkness. The sun never rises. Perpetual night… or whatever this is.”
Sebastian suppressed a shudder. He should have guessed that already, of course, but he’d been distracted, his mind on the ancient pyramids of Mexico, Egypt and Cambodia. “Charming.”
“When is this survival lesson to begin?” Thomas asked. “I have way too much to do before we reach the excavation site.”
Sebastian watched Alexa Woods approach from across the deck. “Recess is over. Here comes the teacher now.”
Miller grinned when he saw her. “See,” he said. “I told you she’d stay. It’s my animal magnetism. It’s irresistible.”
“Everybody gather round,” Lex began without preamble. “It is my job to keep all of you alive on this expedition and I need your help to do that. Antarctica is the most hostile environment on God’s earth. It is difficult to thrive in this climate, and very easy to die.”
As Lex spoke, Thomas took out a video camera and began to record her briefing. As she spoke, Adele Rousseau—a tall, striking woman with a shock of blond hair and an Amazonian physique—began to issue everyone communication devices. Meanwhile, a Weyland technician laid an array of cold-weather tools and equipment on the deck for demonstration purposes.
“Since I don’t have the time to properly train you, I’m laying down three simple rules,” Lex told them. “One. No one goes anywhere alone. Ever. Two. Everyone will maintain constant communication. Three. Unexpected things do happen. When they do—no one tries to be a hero.”
“For some of us it comes naturally,” said Miller, chuckling.
“Laugh it up, Beaker,” barked the mercenary Verheiden. He pointed at his own cheek. “You get scars like this when some hero on your team screws up their assignment.”
Lex stepped between them.
“If one of us goes down, we’re all going after them. Understood?” she said, directing her question to Verheiden.
“Understood,” said a consensus. Verheiden said nothing.
Next Lex directed their attention to the identical, bright yellow Polartec coats issued to all the scientists and technicians. She held one up, turned it inside out, walked in a circle so everyone could get a good look.
“What you are wearing now are state-of-the-art cold-weather suits. The outer material is fabricated from recycled plastic soda bottles and is practically airtight. The polypropylene inner lining will whisk perspiration away from your skin before the moisture freezes.
“Our gloves are also manufactured from Polartec, with Capilene lining that will absorb a moderate amount of perspiration—but your hands sweat a lot, so always carry an extra pair of gloves.
“This gear is the best there is, so if you feel cold now, get used to it, because it is only going to get worse—”
“Great,” muttered Sebastian.
“Temperatures out here drop to below minus fifty Fahrenheit on a regular basis, with wind chill that can become minus one hundred and fifty.” Lex paused in front of the workers and locked eyes with Verheiden.
“Stay still for too long, you will freeze, you will die. Exert yourself too much, you will sweat, the sweat will freeze, and you will die…”
She looked at Sebastian and Thomas. “Breathe too heavily and moisture will enter your lungs, the moisture will freeze within you and you will die.”
She paused to let her words sink in. “Okay, I want you to take a look at the equipment I have spread out here. In a few minutes we’ll go over their uses. Any questions so far?”
Smirking, Sven, one of the mercenaries, raised his hand. “Is it true you were the youngest woman to climb Everest?”
“No, that is not true.”
Miller nudged Sebastian. “She was the youngest to climb Everest without oxygen…. I looked it up on the net.”
The group broke up as individual members checked out the equipment they were expected to use—ice axes, tents, stoves, safety harnesses, ropes, thermarests, neoprene water bottles and several types of first-aid kits for various illnesses and trauma.
Lex noticed that the mercenaries—readily identifiable by the khaki parkas they wore—were pretty much ignoring the equipment. They were either experts at cold-weather survival or just arrogant. Lex wanted to know which.
She crossed the deck to Adele Rousseau, who was cleaning a handgun.
“Seven seasons on the ice and I’ve never seen a gun save someone’s life,” Lex began.
Rousseau looked up. When she spoke, there was a hint of amusement in her blue eyes.
“I don’t plan on using it,” the blond replied.
“Then why bring it?”
Rousseau shrugged. “Same principle as a condom. I’d rather have one and not need it then need it and not have one.”
She tucked the weapon into her belt and thrust out her hand. “I’m Adele.”
“Lex.”
“I’m glad that you decided to stay.”
Lex shrugged. “Couldn’t let you have all the fun.”
Adele was about to reply when there was a noise like an explosion. The ship shuddered and lurched violently to starboard, tossing men to the deck. Miller was thrown backwards, against the rail. He nearly tumbled over the side, but Lex, standing near Adele, caught him just in time. Miller looked up at her through thick glasses.
“This is getting to be a habit.”
Lex tossed her wavy dark hair. “Doesn’t mean I have a thing for you.”
“Oh, you hide it well, Ms. Woods, but I know.”
Another massive impact shook the Piper Maru. This time a ten-ton Hagglunds tracked vehicle dangling from the crane swung over their heads like the Sword of Damocles. There were cries of surprise and panic. Sailors scurried onto the deck to secure all watertight hatches, and Captain Leighton suddenly appeared among them.
“Everybody off the deck please!” he commanded. “We have hit the ice pack. Return to your cabins, secure everything that is not nailed down. Quick as you can, people….”
The reinforced steel bow struck the ice pack again. The ship lurched before plowing through it with a sound like ripping metal. Miller and Thomas became anxious.
“Nothing to worry about,” Captain Leighton declared. “This ship is an icebreaker by name and nature. She can take it, and she can dish it out.”
When the deck was cleared of all but essential crewmen, Captain Leighton climbed the superstructure until he reached the bridge. He found his executive officer at the helm, as well as Max Stafford and Charles Weyland, who were studying the data spewing out of the navigational system.
“Holding steady at five knots, sir.”
“Very good, Gordon.”
Charles Weyland approached the skipper. “How soon to landfall?”
Leighton glanced at the Breitling on his wrist. “At this speed I should say within two hours.”
Weyland nodded, his jaw tense.
“Let’s get our people ready, Max. I want to disembark as soon as we arrive.”
Two hours later, the Piper Maru weighed a
nchor in the shadow of a dark mountain. Within minutes, a solid sheet of ice had already frozen around her stationary hull. Roughnecks swarmed across the decks, and the crane was busy once again, lifting tracked vehicles and drilling machines off the deck and lowering them onto the pack ice.
On the bridge, Captain Leighton directed Charles Weyland’s attention to the three mountains in the distance, a snowcapped gray-brown blot on an otherwise moonlit, snow-white terrain.
“The closest one is Olav Peak—the whalers used to call it the Razorback. Not much of a mountain compared to Vinson Massif or Erebus, but whalers used Razorback as a navigational beacon in the days when such trade was still profitable.”
Weyland gazed through the lens of an AV/PVS-7 lightweight, high-performance passive image intensifier system. These military-issue night-vision goggles turned the Antarctic twilight into day.
“You’ll find your whaling station in the mountain’s shadow,” Leighton continued. “I’m sorry I can’t take you closer, but the draft is just too shallow.”
Weyland scanned the distance until he spied the cluster of buildings a few miles away from the foot of the mountain. The whaling station was at least ten miles away—too far to make out much detail.
“You’ve done enough, Captain,” said Charles Weyland. “Just don’t go home without us.”
CHAPTER 9
Five Hundred Miles Above Bouvetoya Island
The Predators were awake now, and active. Naked, their pale, mottled flesh still gleamed from their immersion in the pool of primordial ooze. Five powerful beings swaggered onto the starship’s bridge, their eyes gleaming with innate intelligence.
Computer monitors flickered all around them as red, green and violet ripples of energy pulsed throughout the chamber. The cybernetic brain’s voice—a constant, sibilant hiss like the sound of an angry rattlesnake—greeted its masters with an endless barrage of data. The bridge itself was dominated by a wide window that offered an awesome view of the planet Earth.
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