The Cydonia Objective (Morpheus Initiative 03)

by David Sakmyster

  Jacob flashed his eyes at him—whether in anger or gratitude Alexander wasn't sure. But then he snatched up the key from his brother and slipped it into the slot. The twins jumped back with a cry as a flash of light erupted from around the crack in the lid. A hiss of steam shot out in all directions, and then the cover propped up an inch.

  Calderon stepped through them, put the cane under his arms, and with the brazen confidence of a man fulfilling his believed-in-destiny, he lifted the lid up and off.

  He peered inside and smiled.

  Alexander couldn't see at this angle, and then the twins were climbing up, gathering around and looking inside.

  "Just a bunch of clay tablets," said Jacob.

  "Goofy writing," Isaac added. "Boring!"

  "Have some respect, boys." Calderon lifted one tablet out, holding it up. The script was familiar in places, Alexander saw. With alternating lines of ancient Greek and then the familiar script that was on the Emerald Tablet—which Alexander realized now was slightly reminiscent of the Rongo-Rongo carvings his mother had translated, the ones at that Mohenjo-Daro place, and Easter Island.

  "Hey," Alexander said. "That-"

  But then the scene melted away and he was on an island, standing on a flat grassy hilltop under a pure blue sky. Below, miles from the waves that caressed the rocky shore, a hundred workers toiled in a quarry, hacking at the black granite chunks. Molding them into giant Moai that would be aligned into sacred patterns and stand guard, warding off the annihilation that comes for men when they become too advanced.

  "We will be safe here?" someone asks. And there is a woman, beautiful and shapely. Tall, with long black hair blowing in the breezes around her face, obscuring her eyes. She holds a smooth piece of driftwood in her hands. On it is written that script in alternating rows, front and back.

  Instructions set to animalistic myth. Instructions on how to hide. To live simply and to protect themselves.

  And wait.

  Wait for salvation.

  "Will it be long?" she asks, her voice cracking in the wind.

  "Undoubtedly," the chief replies. "Many, many generations."

  He looks to the sky, to the defiant moon hanging high and triumphant, stubbornly refusing to yield to the rising sun. And he trembles, recalling the legends.

  She notices his gaze.

  "How can we think to hide?"

  "We just do as we were brought up. Just as there is evil, there is good. Darkness and Light. We must hope the light will protect us." He sighs and reaches for her hand. "But come, enough of this melancholy. We have much living to do before we pass on."

  #

  Alexander blinked and it was gone. Xavier's bushy red hair was centered in his vision, the wide blue eyes searching his. "You okay? Lost you there for a minute."

  "Yeah, I'm…"

  Xavier was shoved aside by the cane, and Calderon stooped down. "Tell me you didn't go looking anywhere you weren't invited."

  "What do you mean?" Alexander stammered, still woozy, still smelling the salty ocean breezes and mistaking the sound of hammering and digging of the rescue attempt with the construction of the giant heads on Easter Island. "I don't have much control over what I see. I just saw that writing and-"

  "And did you see anything… blue? A wall of blue, or a congregation of people, like monks in white robes?"

  "What?"

  Calderon continued staring at Alexander, searching his eyes for a fear that wasn't there. "Never mind. You're okay." He shot a glance at Xavier. "You too, watch yourself. We're in dangerous territory now. Now that we have this…" He motioned to the box, the tablets.

  "What are you afraid of?" Alexander asked, his voice meek.

  "Nothing you need to worry about."

  "Does it have to do with the… Custodians?"

  Calderon made a sharp breath. He spun and gripped Alexander's shoulder, tightly. "Where did you hear that name?"

  "Stop it, that hurts."

  Xavier's hand settled on Calderon's wrist, squeezed and pulled it back—and for a moment both men stared at each other in a contest of wills. Until the barrel of an MP5 was shoved against Xavier's temple.

  "Take it away," Calderon whispered.

  "You first," Xavier replied, squeezing harder. "You don't touch him."

  Calderon opened his fingers. And the gun pulled away. "Fine." He slapped at Xavier's hand, then turned back to Alexander. "Tell me. What do you know?"

  "Oooh," said Isaac, moving in close to Calderon's side. "Our brother's in trouble. Learned secrets he shouldn't have."

  "Shut up," Calderon hissed. "This is serious shit. Up until now I've had the luxury of operating without their interference, mainly because the Morpheus Initiative have drawn their attention with their plunder of the Tablet."

  "But they want it too," Alexander said. "It's why it was hidden so well. I learned the Custodians can see, but not as well as us. They've lost focus over the long years, and they've lost touch." He snapped his head to Xavier. And it all spilled out of him as if he now believed it to be pure fact, never any doubt. "They're underground, most of them. The survivors of the last age, the ones with the powers to see the damage the wars would do to the planet. Claimed to be the shepherds of the next race, the ones without any psychic abilities."

  "The grunts," Isaac said, "as me and Jacob call 'em."

  Jacob moved into view, looking pale, as if this was a subject he had heard once and didn't care to revisit.

  "What else?" Calderon urged.

  Alexander hunched his shoulders, trying to appear thinner and less consequential. "I don't know. My mom and some of the Keepers deciphered some ancient document from the Pharos vault that had these legends."

  "About what?" Calderon prodded.

  "Wars. Ancient wars," Alexander said. "Myths like a lot of the others. The gods in the sky battling it out. Good and evil." Excitement started building in his voice. "But they used great lightning bolts and blasted the planets. And there were two of those power things—the Tablets of Destiny. Each side had one and let loose on each other, first in small targeted ways and only to the warriors. But then it got worse, and more desperate and the one side—who based their weapon on Mars, attacked and flipped the Earth…"

  "Flipped its magnetic pole," Xavier whispered.

  "…and the Earth's forces retaliated with a weapon shot from a great pyramid that wiped out life on Mars, and then something else happened. Someone managed to steal the bad guys' tablet and break it with a lance."

  "Marduk," Calderon whispered, nodding and caressing the slain dragon on his cane.

  "And then-"

  "All right, that's enough." He stood. "You've read the same legends I have, which I'm guessing is what Robert Gregory saw as well and conveyed to me. Just proof of what our leaders have always known."

  "But," said Alexander. "It's true?" He waited, and after no response, said, "But if they're still here, waiting, and there's only one tablet left..." Alexander made the realization. "It should have been destroyed, too, if Thoth had not been so cautious."

  "Maybe," said Xavier, "he kept it around in case mankind had need of it again someday. In case the threat wasn't gone for good."

  Calderon nodded in agreement. "In case the enemy regrouped and was determined to claim its revenge. Well, thanks to that foresight, we now have it and can finish the job. Pack this up," he ordered the guards. "And we all ride together. We'll scan the tablets on the way to the airport, then send the data to my translation team standing by."

  "Standing by where?" Alexander asked as he followed Xavier into the Hummer.

  Jacob and Isaac moved in front of him and both turned at the same time and answered:

  "Alaska."

  8.

  New York

  The ferry to Ellis Island was nearly full, surprisingly so for a weekday. But Caleb quickly worked his way past the gift shop, where he bought a liter of orange Gatorade, then up two levels to the roof where he found an open seat on a bench near the back. He had
bought a classic Yankees hat on the street outside, so now he looked like another tourist.

  He sat and waited for the ferry to leave, and was grateful for the cloud cover, even if darker storm clouds seemed to be massing along the skyline. After all the days of heat and direct sun, he'd welcome the shower. From this vantage point he could keep an eye on the line outside, watching for anyone suspicious who might have been following him since he'd come back into the country. Watching, especially for Nina.

  For all he knew, she may have recovered, learned where he was going and beat him here. In a minute he'd try to remote-view her, but he had other objectives weighing on his mind, vying for his attention.

  An Asian family sat in front of him, parents and grandparents, while their kids—two boys and a girl—scooted into his row and sat on the bench beside him, grinning.

  "First trip to the statue!" the girl said, waving a large foam finger at him. She had a pink crown on her head, contrasting with the green spiked crowns worn by her brothers.

  Caleb smiled and nodded. "Going to the top?"

  "I am!" one of her brothers boasted.

  "Are not," said the girl. "I heard it's too hot in there, and too hard to climb."

  "And," said the father, turning around. "We didn't get enough tickets."

  "Tickets…" Caleb rubbed his head. "I forgot we need a separate ticket for the crown." The one he held only granted access to the museum and the lower pedestal.

  "Sold out," the man said. "Months in advance, since they reopened it. Eight years after the attacks, it's been off-limits."

  Caleb nodded, wondering… What else is up there? What else are they protecting? Mason Calderon knew something was there, but his boys weren't skilled enough at finding it. And whoever hid it there kept the knowledge to very few people.

  Caleb would have to view it, and would have little time for trial and error, little time to spend getting the questions right. He took a deep breath, trying to relax. And then, even if he found it…

  "Excuse me," he said to the man in front of him. "I heard that your children might not be interested in the long, hot climb. Might you have an extra ticket for the access to the crown?"

  #

  Halfway to their destination, as Lady Liberty appeared to grow in size, becoming the colossus that can only be appreciated from up close, the kids got out of their seats for photo opportunities along the railing. Caleb, pretending to sleep, now had some time to really concentrate. He put out of his mind all the things he could no longer influence: Alexander's situation, Phoebe and Orlando, the twins, Nina, Lydia… Everything.

  At first, none of them would relent, and the weight of responsibility—as leader, father and husband—put up a brazen resistance. But finally, after gently pushing, he created space. Sent his other concerns drifting, out far but not out of sight. And for a time, he let go. And let his mind seek out the answers to a question he kept posing, focusing the words, preparing his thoughts. He felt his spine tingle, the back of his head break out in a sweat under the hat, and then-

  The first vision rises up: A great workshop. Enormous sheets of bronzed copper rest on tables. A giant's shoulder, partially completed, and an arm gripping an enormous tablet in its huge hand. A dozen men stride through the chaos, barking orders, assisting at different stations; hammering the copper sheets into the wooden framework.

  Another glimpse: a different warehouse floor, this time with the enormous head resting on the floor, two men standing before her melancholy eyes, admiring the workmanship. They're pointing to the crown of spikes, whispering and nodding their heads...

  Is that it? Caleb wondered, briefly returning to the world of light and wind and sound. The ferry rocked gently on the waves as it sailed toward Liberty Island. Is it inside one of the spikes? Signifying the seven continents and seven seas, maybe there was a riddle to solve, a way to determine which held the treasure by the location of its designated continent? Then he cringed, imagining having to crawl up onto the head and fight the winds and the view almost three hundred feet above the base.

  Keep looking, he urged. He had to consider everything, and this was free-viewing, a brainstorming session. Next, he saw a huge fairground, great crowds dressed in late-1800 fashions. Women with umbrellas and long dresses, men in top hats and canes, all strolling the grounds despite the heat and humidity, the flies and the refuse bins overflowing with trash faster than the workers could empty them. A long banner reads: 1876 Centennial—Philadelphia. Past the tents and display stands, invention stands and horticulture exhibits, to a line snaking around and around, where people wait to pay their fifty cents to enter the immense outstretched right arm and ascend into a huge copper torch. Along the balcony around the torch's simulated flame, people are crammed in, waving to their friends below and marveling at the sights.

  "Just another month," says the promoter at the tent's entrance. He spins a cane up and down, pointing at the gaping spectators as the sweat pours down his face and soaks his black suit. "Before this engineering wonder will make its way to New York, to Madison Square Garden, before it'll be shipped back to France, and then… You'll see the whole thing, the new colossus—Lady Liberty—assembled in a few short years in New York's Harbor. But here, and only right here, you get to climb inside what will be the highest point. Imagine the view, imagine the spectacle! Just fifty cents! Get inside and see for yourself this marvel of the modern world!"

  The vision swells, money changes hands, then a blur and now the interior appears. A winding staircase, a tight fit cramped with people on every side, going up and coming down. Then, up on the balcony. Others looking out at the scene, but the vision continues to study the flame. Moving around the torch from all angles, looking for any obvious seams or compartment entrances, not finding anything, but still…

  Makes sense, Caleb thought dimly, part of his mind still lucid. Just like at the Pharos… which the Statue of Liberty was modeled after, in part. The treasure, the wisdom, was secured in the light, or in actuality, its mirror reflection below…

  As above so below…

  Caleb's eyes snapped open. They were very close now, circling around Liberty Island and veering toward the docking point. But the statue was there, rising like a giant in all her splendor. Caleb immediately focused on the pedestal and again had to marvel at how closely it resembled the Pharos' structure as he had seen it in his visions. If not for Liberty standing upon it, this could be the Pharos itself, it was that similar. Instead of a small statue of Poseidon gracing the top of the Pharos, this monument had the massive goddess of wisdom and justice—originally intended by Bartholdi to be a representation of Isis.

  But in all other senses, both were beacons of truth and hope. And, Caleb recalled, both were lighthouses. The Statue of Liberty's torch had been meant to provide illumination for the harbor, to guide ships in during the darkest of nights. But…

  Show me, he thought. Maybe that was the direction to search.

  New York harbor, filled with ships. Spectators and business vessels alike. Anchored and watching the dedication. The scaffolding removed, the gleaming statue stood revealed in all her towering splendor. Fireworks blasting into the sky, exploding in brilliant reds and blues with showers of white stars pinwheeling over her crown. But the lights on the torch, eight lamps around the base, barely provide enough illumination to compete with the pyrotechnics display in the sky.

  A flash, and later… Engineers are working on the torch, cutting into the flame, creating two rows of portholes and inserting lamps. Below, a steam-powered electric generator powers the lamps, but… Shift to Manhattan Island, and a gray-bearded man with an armful of designs stares out at the statue and mutters, "It's the light of a mere glowworm."

  Another shift… A cool fall day, and again several engineers are at work along the torch's balcony… A thick belt of glass replaces the portholes, and an octagonal pyramid-shaped skylight is fitted as a skylight on top. An oil-powered generator replaces the old one. From the crown, the same bearded man lo
oks up through the windows and frowns at the fractured, mutilated light that still fails to perform as expected.

  Again a shift ahead… And a man in a brown suit stands on the deck of a yacht, with American flags waving around him, and a crowd of reporters and aides. It's night, and the harbor is dark, with stars blinking overhead, and a fleet of ships all around. Ahead, the black shape of the enormous goddess stands mutely in the dark. "President Wilson," says an aide. "You may now light it."

  Grinning, he gives the signal.

  And from high above, the torch springs to life. Different again, now fitted with six hundred small windows of yellow-tinted glass and fifteen gas-filled electric lamps.

  The reaction is anything but spectacular. Wilson bites his lips and listens to the muted applause before turning around and heading down below.

  It never quite worked as a lighthouse, Caleb knew. Even though it was retrofitted along with technology advances every couple decades. But certainly the torch was now hollow and could serve as a hiding spot. But technicians who changed the bulbs would surely have discovered anything like a slender ancient blade hidden inside. Wouldn't they?

  Caleb shook his head. They were approaching the dock. People were getting up, heading down the stairs to get in line to get off the ferry.

  He still had time.

  Time to keep looking. To go back to something else he had seen. The dedication day. The ceremony…

  A small group of men in full Masonic garb stand before the base while behind them, a great procession approaches, led by the Grand Master, all in attendance for the rite. A pastor gives a benediction, speaking of this statue as a symbol of freedom… And then the dedication. A copper box set into a space in the cornerstone and overlaid with a plaque. The box… containing among other items a copy of the Constitution, bronze medals earned by the Presidents, city newspapers, a portrait of Bartholdi and a list of Grand Lodge officers.

  The box…

  Caleb shivered with excitement. Was it possible? It could have been opened up, the spear placed inside, then reset into the cornerstone, guarded and most importantly, hidden in plain sight.