And so they had met Hawkins.
Swain turned to Selexin. "Tell me more about Reese."
"Reese," Selexin said. "Well, for one thing, Reese is, in
human terms, female. Her tail tapers sharply to a point, like
a spear. Males of her species possess only blunted tails. This
is because in their clans, the female is the hunter, and her
chief weapon is her sharp pointed tail.
"Did you see, when Reese was moving in on your new friend here," Selexin nodded to Hawkins, "that her tail was
poised high over her body, in a large arc, pointing forward?
And he couldn't move an inch.
"That is why I told you not to make prolonged eye contact
with her antennae. Any extended visual contact with them will cause instant paralysis. Just like it did with him."
Selexin gave Hawkins a look. "That is how Reese hunts. You
look at her antennae for too long and you suffer hypnotic
paralysis, and--bang!--before you know it, she's got you
with that tail. Right through the brain."
The little man smiled. "I would say she bears a rather
strong resemblance to the female of your own species, aggressive and instinctive. Wouldn't you say?"
"fey," Holly said.
Swain ignored the remark. "Tell me more about her
hunting methods. Her stalking methods."
Selexin took a breath. "Well, as you no doubt observed,
Reese has no eyes. For the simple reason that she
does not need them. She comes from a planet surrounded
by opaque, inert gases. Light cannot enter their atmosphere,
and the inert gases are impervious to any chemical
change. Her race has simply adapted over time to utilize
and enhance their other senses: increased auditory acuity,
sensitive ampullae for detecting the distressed heartbeat of
frightened or wounded prey, and, most of all, a highly
evolved scent detection mechanism. In fact, I would say that
504
Matthew Reilly
her sense of smell is her most well-developed hunting tool."
"Wait a second," Swain said, alarmed, "she can smell us?"
"Not now. Reese's sense of smell has a very limited
range. No farther than, say, a couple of feet."
Swain breathed in relief. Hawkins did, too.
"But within that range," Selexin went on, "her sense of
smell is incredibly astute."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean," Selexin said, "that the manner by which she
detected him,"--Selexin pointed roughly at Hawkins--"was
by his scent."
"But I thought you said her range wasn't that good.
How could--"
Swain cut himself off. Selexin was waiting for him
again, giving him an expectant "are-you-finished?" look.
"That is correct," Selexin said, "in a way. You see,
Reese didn't smell him. What she smelled was the scent he
left behind. Do you remember when Reese first came into
our view in the stairwell? She bent low and sniffed the
floor?"
Swain frowned. "Yeah ..."
"Footprints," Selexin said. "A trail not long cold. With
any fresh trail like that, Reese doesn't need to smell anything
beyond two feet, because she just follows the scent of
the trail itself."
"Oh," Swain said.
And then it hit him.
"Oh, shit!"
He shot up to look out through the glass partition above
him--
And found himself staring at Reese's menacing four pronged jaws--wide open, foully salivating--pressed up against the other side of the glass, only inches away.
Swain fell backward, stumbled away from the glass.
Hawkins leaped to his feet, mouth agape.
Reese slammed against the partition, smearing saliva
everywhere.
Contest 50
"Eyes down!" Swain yelled, snatching Holly up in his
arms. Reese rammed the partition again--hard--and the
whole office shook. "Keep your eyes away from the antennae! Go for the door!"
There were two glass doors to this square-shaped office--one leading west, one east. Reese was banging on the
eastern wall of the room.
Swain ran for the other door, threw it open and charged
into the next office, Selexin and Hawkins close behind him.
With Holly in the crook of his arm, he slid smoothly over a desk in the center of the office, opened the next door.
"Close the doors behind you!" he yelled back.
"Already doing it!" Hawkins called forward.
And then, from behind them, there came a loud crashing
sound--the sound of breaking glass.
Up ahead, Swain continued to run. Over desks, through
doorways, dodging filing cabinets, sending paper flying
everywhere. Then he came to the last office and emerged on a wide marble-floored hallway. Off to the right were the elevators
and the main stairwell. To the left--and closer--was
a heavy blue door that read: To Parking Lot.
Hawkins was yelling. "She's coming! And she seems
really pissed!"
Beyond Hawkins, Swain could see nothing but offices
divided by glass partitions.
And then he saw it. Saw the long pointed tail flashing
up above the waist-high wood paneling. It was barging
through anything that lay in its path--like a shark's fin slicing
through water--launching desks and cabinets and swivel
chairs high into the air.
Two offices away and heading directly for them.
Moving fast.
Closing in.
Swain glanced back at the heavy blue door at the end of
the hallway. It looked strong, with a hydraulic opening
mechanism. It might give them time.
Better do something ...
506
Matthew Reilly
With Holly in his arms, he hurried to the hydraulic door,
opened it. He stepped into the threshold, pulled Selexin
through, and turned to look for Hawkins.
Hawkins was running hard, down the length of the marble
hallway. Abruptly, Reese skidded out into the hall behind
him.
Hawkins dashed past Swain, through the doorway, and
Swain shut the big hydraulic door behind him. It closed with
a dull, vacuumlike thud.
Then he turned and took in the area before him.
An underground parking lot.
It looked new--almost brand new, in fact A recent renovation.
Glistening newly paved concrete, white-painted
floor markings, shiny yellow wheel clamps on the ground,
pristine white fluorescent lights. It was quite a contrast to the
old dusty library they had seen so far.
Swain scanned the parking lot.
No cars.
Damn.
There was a Down ramp in the center of the lot, about
twenty yards in front of them, and an Exit ramp going up to
the street on the far side of the lot.
There came a sudden, very loud bang from somewhere
behind them.
Swain spun.
Reese was ramming against the other side of the door.
He quickly led the others over to the Down ramp. It was wide--wide enough for two cars to pass each other side-by
side. They had just reached the top of the ramp when there
came a crashing bang and suddenly he heard a hissing sound
from behind them.
/> Swain turned around slowly.
Reese was standing at the entrance to the parking lot,
her guide positioned silently behind her.
Swain swallowed--
--and then, abruptly, he heard another sound.
Clop ...
Clop ...
Contest 507
Clop ...
Footsteps. Slow footsteps. Echoing loudly in the deserted
parking lot.
Swain, Holly, Selexin and Hawkins all spun at the same
time--and they saw him.
Coming up the Down ramp.
Walking slowly, purposefully.
A six-foot-tall bearded man, dressed in a broad
shouldered animal-skin jacket, dark pants and knee-high
black boots that clip-clopped loudly on the concrete ramp.
And behind him, yet another guide, dressed completely
in white.
As the big bearded man stepped onto level ground and
stopped, Swain instinctively pushed Holly behind him.
At the sight of this new contestant, Reese became visibly
agitated. She hissed even louder.
They all stood in silence--the three groups forming a
precarious, unspeaking triangle.
It was then that Swain looked down at his wristband. It
now read:
INITIALIZED--7
Seven.
Swain looked up slowly.
The Presidian had begun.
MATTHEW REILLY was born in 1974 and
studied law at the University of New South Wales.
At twenty-seven, he has written four novels and
several screenplays. His books are published in
14 languages and sold in over 30 countries. Film
rights to his worldwide bestseller Ice Station were
optioned by Paramount Pictures earlier this year.
His other novels include Ice Station, Temple, and
Contest. He lives in Sydney, Australia.
AREA 7
It is America's most secret base, hidden deep in the Utah,
desert, an Air Force installation known only as Area 7. And
today, it has a visitor - the President of the United States.
He has come to inspect Area 7, to examine its secrets for
himself. But he's going to get more than he bargained for
on this trip. Because hostile forces are waiting inside.
Among the President's helicopter crew, however, is a
young Marine. He is quiet, enigmatic, and he hides his
eyes behind a pair of silver sunglasses. His name is
Schofield. Call-sign: Scarecrow. Rumor has it, he's a good
man in a storm. Judging by what the President has just
walked into, he'd better be. ...
FB2 document info
Document ID: 1da25fe4-65a5-4c8d-a72c-eb8e009f83db
Document version: 1
Document creation date: 23.8.2012
Created using: calibre 0.8.65 software
Document authors :
Matthew Reilly
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Area 7 ss-2 Page 48