Artad knew he had made a mistake. Killing as many human seedlings as his abortive attack had just done set the program back many years. The empire would not be pleased. He looked up from his command chair as a red light flashed on the main screen — a message from Aspasia. The red light coalesced into his enemy’s form.
“You cannot destroy my headquarters without seriously damaging the planet,” Aspasia announced. “Admiral,” he added in a tone that indicated what he thought of his foe’s higher rank.
Artad said nothing. He was more interested in the person standing to the right and rear of Aspasia. A female. Tall and willowy with flowing red hair over her elongated ears. Her catlike red eyes seemed to be boring right into Artad’s own eyes. Harrah.
“Why do you bring her into this?” Artad demanded.
“Because she is part of it,” Aspasia responded. “Destroy me and you destroy her.”
“Is this what you choose?” Artad posed the question past Aspasia.
Harrah nodded. “I made my choice long ago.”
“So be it,” Artad said, but he took no action as he pondered the two figures on the screen in front of him. “Why did you cut yourself off from the empire?” he finally asked.
“I tried to tell you,” Aspasia said. “I am as surprised as you to find out my outpost has been out of contact as long as it has.”
“Do not lie to me,” Artad said.
“He does not lie.” Both were startled by Harrah’s interjection. “I have checked the Master Guardian’s database. Someone accessed it five hundred years ago and set up that loop.”
“Who reprogrammed the Master Guardian then?” Artad demanded.
There was no answer to that question for several seconds, until a worried look flitted across Aspasia’s face. “The only possibility I can think of is that this outpost has been infiltrated by the Swarm and one of my people or a Guide has been infected with a Swarm tentacle.”
Artad spun in his seat to his subordinate officers. “All Talons are to do a system sweep on high scan for a Swarm ship.”
Aspasia likewise immediately issued orders via the Master Guardian to his own people to search for infiltration.
Donnchadh and Gwalcmai sat in a small canoe right next to where the shield wall met the water surrounding the innermost island of Atlantis. Since the meteor shower there had been no further activity, so they had decided to try to regain the initiative or — at the very least— find out what was going on. At that range they could feel the power coming off the shield, a tingling sensation that covered their entire bodies.
“Are you certain?” Gwalcmai asked for the fourth time.
Donnchadh had a large stone clutched in both hands. She had stripped down to just a short pair of pants and a thin shirt. Two black daggers were tucked tightly into the belt around her waist.
“I can only work from the data we gained on our world,” Donnchadh patiently replied as she looked toward the lights of Atlantis. She took a deep breath and slowly let it out. “I am ready.”
“I will be waiting for you,” Gwalcmai promised.
“I know,” Donnchadh said.
She sat on the edge of the canoe, facing the shield wall, as Gwalcmai took the other side to keep the craft from capsizing. She looked over her shoulder and gave him a quick smile, then took several deep breaths, holding the last one. She then slid over the side of the canoe into the dark water, making sure she was still facing the wall.
The stone took her down quickly and she felt the pressure increase first in her ears, then on her chest. She was counting to herself, letting air out as she descended. When she reachedfifteen, she let go of the stone and kicked with all her strength, pushing herself forward as the remaining air in her lungs slowly caused her to rise. Her main focus was to go toward Atlantis, hopefully under the shield wall. On her planet they had learned that the shield only went down about twenty meters into the water and it was possible to go underneath it.
Donnchadh prayed that she had descended far enough as she used her arms and legs to propel herself forward. She knew that if she had not — or if this wall was different from the one on her world — then she would be killed any second.
It was pitch-black at that depth and she could feel the air in her lungs growing stagnant and her body beginning to ache for oxygen. She swam as hard as she could. After twenty seconds, she had to assume she’d made it and angled toward the surface, legs and arms thrashing.
On the canoe, Gwalcmai breathed a deep sigh of relief as he saw Donnchadh’s head break the surface thirty meters away, on the other side of the shield wall. She was gasping for air and waved weakly at him before heading for the island.
Donnchadh made landfall near the high priest’s ceremonial dock. She knew the area, having been there several times centuries ago. As she expected, little had changed. She crawled up onto shore, water dripping from her body. She could see Guides on the dock itself and those manning the wall ahead that surrounded the city. She followed a drainage ditch toward the wall.
A metal grate covered the ditch where it cut through the wall. Donnchadh put the edge of one of the daggers underneath the left side of the grate and levered it outward. She and Gwalcmai had opened the same grate on their last visit to the main island. As she expected, it swung open and she slid through, closing it behind her.
She waded through the filthy water into the city.
VI
THE PAST, 10,000 B.C.
The Swarm scout ship was trying a desperate maneuver, heading in toward the system’s star. It was going to use the gravitational acceleration gained to slingshot around and out of the solar system, hopefully outrunning the three Talons in pursuit. It passed Venus’s orbit with a slight lead over the Airlia ships that had discovered it hiding behind the Earth’s moon.
The Swarm inside the scout ship knew the Talons’ capabilities and recognized that the numbers at current trajectory were not favorable for escape. It chose a more drastic measure, edging inward toward the sun beyond the limits of what wisdom would dictate. The Swarm knew its survival was not important — what was critical was that a message be sent out to the closest Battle Core, and that required gaining some distance from the pursuing ships and getting far enough away from the interference of the solar system in order to send its transmission.
On board the mothership, Artad watched the chase and knew exactly what the Swarm was trying to do. There was no hesitation as he ordered one of the Talons to follow directly while the other two were to loop around the star at the minimum safe distance.
As the scout ship and Talon dived deeper into the sun’s gravity well, the Talon opened fire. Golden bolts of energyshot from the needle nose of the craft toward the scout ship. One struck, sending the scout ship tumbling for several seconds before the Swarm regained control of the damaged vessel. Other bolts were absorbed into the sun. Responding to the incoming power, a solar flare suddenly boiled up from the surface of the sun and enveloped both ships in a bright explosion of light. When it disappeared, both ships were gone.
Artad ordered the surviving two Talons to return to the mothership, then he turned his attention to the image on the screen.
“Did you see?” he asked Aspasia.
“Yes.”
Artad scanned the instruments on the console in front of him. “It does not appear that the Swarm ship was able to get a message out before it was destroyed. However, that does not mean it did not get an initial message out prior to our discovering it. If the Swarm was behind the reprogramming of the Master Guardian via tentacle infiltration of one of your people, then it has been in this system a very long time.”
Aspasia held up a six-fingered hand. “I propose a truce to deal with this problem.”
“You propose?” Artad glared at the image of the High Commissioner. “It is your failures that have led to this.”
“Accept the reality of the situation,” Harrah cut in. “You have always let emotions rule you, Artad, and that was, and is, your greatest sho
rtcoming.”
Artad slammed a hand down on the side of his chair and glared at the screen. “How dare you—”
“If the Swarm come,” Aspasia said, “they will not care who is at fault. They will kill us all.”
“What do you propose?” Artad demanded.
Donnchadh slid the dagger’s black blade across the throat of the Guide, then stepped back to avoid the spurt of blood that issued forth from the severed jugular. She felt no guilt — one who had been turned into a Guide was a creature she no longer considered human. In fact, she was freeing whatever core human part remained trapped inside the unfortunate soul’s mind. She removed the medallion from around its neck, the ring from its finger, and added them to the ones already in the small leather satchel she’d taken from the others she’d killed.
She was weaving a bloody path into the palace, not caring how many corpses she left behind. As soon as she’d climbed out of the ditch and entered the city proper, she’d been in the midst of confusion. People ran to and fro, some with their belongings, others with nothing. Some were heading toward the palace spire crying out in supplication, others away from it. A voice was echoing out of loudspeakers listing name after name, directing them to report to the palace. Looking up, she spotted half a dozen golden saucers bracketing the spire. The key to the uproar, though, was the massive black mothership that hovered over the top of the temple spire. Its shadow covered the entire city. Something unprecedented was happening and for those humans who lived under the unchanging thrall of the Airlia, such a development was terrifying. The Airlia had beat routine and consistency into those who served them for generation after generation.
Donnchadh was taking advantage of the confusion to wreak a small measure of vengeance and get closer to the center of activity to discover exactly what was happening. She made her way onto the large plaza in front of the spire and halted at the near edge in the shadows of a building.
Thousands were gathered in the plaza. Prayers were being chanted by the masses, incense was burning, and rich offerings were being made to the Guides who manned the gates atthe far end of the plaza at the base of the spire. Donnchadh quickly saw, though, that no one was being allowed in unless they were on a list held by a high priest who stood to the rear of the Guides. A desperate man tried to push his way past the Guides and he was cut down without hesitation. In panic those behind him tried to retreat, but the pressure from the thousands behind kept them in place.
Looking up, Donnchadh could see that a narrow metal gangway ran from an opening near the top of the spire to the mothership. She entered the building behind her and tried to get a higher angle so she could see what was on the gangway. It was too close and not tall enough. She was forced to back away from the center of the city, to the high city wall, before she could get a glimpse.
At first, the gangway was deserted except for a pair of Guides standing guard. Soon, however, they got out of the way as several high priests bustled across and entered the cargo door on the mothership. Donnchadh’s breath drew in as four priests appeared out of the spire, two by two, each carrying on their inside shoulders a wooden pole. The two poles supported an object covered by a white shroud. Behind the four priests and what they carried was another high priest, this one garbed in a white linen robe over which he wore a blue sleeveless tunic, fringed in gold. Over the shirt was a coat of many colors, fastened at the shoulders with precious stones. The priest had two pockets over each breast, and even from the distance Donnchadh could make out a slight green glow coming from each pocket. The high priest wore a crown consisting of three bands of metal and his mouth was moving, as if he were chanting, although the words did not carry to her position. It was the accouterment of the Supreme High Priest.
Donnchadh knew she had to be witnessing the removal of the Ark containing the Grail from the temple. Others hadclearly seen it too as a collective moan issued forth from those watching. They knew from what the high priests had preached that if the Ark and Grail were being removed, then they were being abandoned. The word spread quickly across the city, reaching those in the plaza who were not able to see what was happening high above them.
As soon as the Ark was inside the mothership, people poured forth from the spire, two by two, some running, rushing to be inside the mothership. The chosen ones, Donnchadh thought, but chosen for what? Was the temple being abandoned? Why?
The sound of fighting echoed back to Donnchadh as more of those surrounding the spire tried to make their way into the temple and were beaten back by the Guides. A golden orb extended from the pinnacle of the spire and Donnchadh knew what was going to happen next. Golden bolts shot forth from the orb, striking the surrounding area, killing dozens with each blast. The plaza in front of the temple quickly cleared and the doors were bolted shut. At the top, the boarding continued and Donnchadh envisioned a long line of the chosen spiraling up the long ramp that she had climbed so many years ago with Jobb and Gwalcmai.
There was only one reason why this would be happening, Donnchadh realized. The Airlia would not simply abandon this base and leave it empty. It was not their way. On her planet, each outpost that the Airlia had retreated from had been brutally destroyed as soon as it was cleared. It had been a scorched-earth policy on a planetwide scale.
Donnchadh turned away from the spire. She noted that the shield wall surrounding the inner island had been turned off — probably when the mothership had arrived from wherever it had been hidden. She pondered that development as she made her way out of the city. If the shield was off, whatever the threat had been was no longer feared. Had the Airlia here defeated whoever had come? She knew where to find Gwalcmai now that the shield wall was down. He was just outside the metal grate, waiting in the canoe.
“Look,” Gwalcmai said, pointing up as she climbed on board.
The gangway retracted into the mothership and the door slid shut. The mothership moved smoothly and without sound to a position a kilometer and a half above the palace. Larger cargo doors in the front of the Airlia craft opened. Two golden saucers exited a door just above the base of the palace. Below them, caught in a tractor beam, was an object that Donnchadh had heard of but never seen — the one on her world had been destroyed in the nuclear explosion that took out the palace — a massive crouching Black Sphinx, over a hundred meters long from the tip of the paws to the rear. The Hall of Records. It was supposed to have been the place where the Ark and Grail were securely stored.
The two saucers flew the sphinx into the cargo bay and set it down. As soon as they released it, they raced back to the palace and made several more trips, each time carrying a twenty-foot-high golden pyramid.
“They’re bringing out the guardians,” Gwalcmai noted.
“They’re deploying to Stage Two,” Donnchadh said. “Dispersing.” She stiffened as one of the saucers came out of the temple with a red pyramid caught in its beam. “The Master Guardian.”
“That means they’re really abandoning this place,” Gwalcmai said.
“We need to get out of here.” Donnchadh grabbed an oar and began paddling.
As they reached the innermost ring, the cargo bay on the mothership closed and the huge craft began to move away to the southeast. They leapt out of the canoe and raced across the land to the next circle of water. Even as they slowly madetheir way across the land, the mothership disappeared from sight.
Aspasia sat in the command chair in his mothership. His tactical display indicated that Artad was in orbit, shadowing his movements to make sure he complied with the terms of the truce the two had agreed on. It was a patchwork solution to a problem both had contributed to. If the Swarm had transmitted the location of this star system to a Battle Core, then there was only a slight chance they could survive — and that slight chance would revolve around making themselves as scarce as possible and making it appear that the Airlia had abandoned the system. The ruins of the transmitter on Mars would help in that matter. A Battle Core might harvest the humans and be satisfied with that. Eve
n if the Swarm had not sent a message out, Artad’s precipitous destruction of the interstellar array on Mars had made an already bad situation worse and implicated him in Aspasia’s isolation. There was no way either could return to the empire without getting to at least Phase IV of the seed program on Earth. That would take at least ten thousand revolutions of this planet around its star. A long time for the humans, but not so long for the Airlia, especially given the fact they had the deep sleep tubes.
Aspasia watched as the mothership passed over a strait connecting two oceans — what would be known as the Atlantic and Mediterranean and the rocks on either side would be called the Pillars of Hercules — and flew along the northern coast of Africa almost to the eastern end of the continent, where it paused above a lush land with a large river coursing through the center and emptying into the Mediterranean. On the entire planet, this was the place where Aspasia’s scientists had decided human life could best develop. Because of that report he had sent his chief engineer, Rostau, to prepare the site many years previously for part of Phase II. This was going to be a bit different, but the site would serve nicely.
They flew upriver to a point where a stone plateau projected up on the west side of the river. Aspasia had the mothership halted. A weapon fired from the nose of the massive ship, cutting into the rock, burning out a large hole at a spot that Rostau had predetermined and programmed into the ship’s weapons. Two saucers emerged from the forward cargo bay, the Black Sphinx in tow. They carefully lowered it into the still-smoking hole, far enough down that even the high top of the head was not above ground level. They quickly followed it with the red pyramid.
Aspasia watched all this while six of his subordinates entered the control room and came to a halt in front of him, heads bowed, awaiting his commands. Isis. Osiris. Horus. Amun. Khons. Seb. Three female. Three male. All young and in the prime of their long lives.
“It is almost dark,” Aspasia said in the language of the Airlia. He pointed one of his six fingers upward. “Artad is above us. Watching to make sure we fulfill the parameters of the Atlantis Truce. I have no doubt that he will violate it; is already violating it in fact. He will try to destroy me while I sleep. It will be your job to watch out for any strike he might make. It will come from a direction you might not expect, so you must be vigilant.”
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