by James Axler
The ops room was a huge space with a high roof and two aisles of computer terminals, lit indirectly so as not to distract their operators. Carved from the inside of the mountain itself, the ceiling looked like the roof of a cave. Within that space, twenty-four computer desks ran from left to right, facing a giant screen on which specific findings could be highlighted.
A giant Mercator map dominated one wall—it was dated, still showing the world before the nukecaust had reshaped the coastlines of North America and other locales. The map was sprinkled with numerous glowing locator dots, which were joined to one another with dotted lines of diodes, creating an image reminiscent of the kind of flight maps that airlines had given to passengers in the twentieth century. Those highlighted routes were not flight paths, however, but the locations and connections of the sprawling mat-trans network that the Cerberus redoubt had originally been tasked to monitor over two hundred years ago.
Developed for the US military, the mat-trans network was primarily confined to North America, although a few outposts could be found farther afield at US air bases in Germany, Scotland and other parts of Europe.
A separate chamber leading off from one corner of the operations room, far from the wide entry doors, contained the Cerberus installation’s mat-trans unit along with a small anteroom that could be sealed off if necessary. The chamber had reinforced armaglass walls tinted a coffee-brown color.
Lakesh studied Mariah’s findings with an inscrutable gaze. “What am I looking at here, Mariah?” he asked. More formally known as Mohandas Lakesh Singh, he was a man of medium height with dusky skin, vivid blue eyes and black hair threaded with gray who appeared to be in his midfifties. His hair was slicked back from a high forehead, and he had an aquiline nose and refined mouth. A highly skilled cyberneticist and theoretical physicist from the twentieth century, Lakesh had been cryogenically frozen and endured organ transplants to survive well into his two hundred and fiftieth year. He led the Cerberus operation, albeit as more of a manager than an active investigator, guiding its fifty-strong complement of staff in the protection of humankind from threats outside and within. Lakesh wore a white jumpsuit with a blue, diagonal zipper running up its front, as did Mariah and the other people in the room. This outfit was the standard uniform of the base, although some chose to augment the look with their own accoutrements, giving them an air of individuality amid the vast operation.
“I think it’s a sinkhole,” Mariah said a little timidly. “It’s opened up in the Libyan territory, roughly sixty miles south of Tobruk. I found it after we recorded some seismic activity in the area.”
Lakesh nodded, comparing the close-up image to a wider map of the area. “And why do you feel this should concern us?”
“Because there’s a parallax point at that location,” Mariah explained, “or at least very close to it.”
Still holding the printed-out sheet of data, Lakesh stroked his chin sagely. “That is certainly a worry.” Although Cerberus had originally been dedicated to the use of the man-made mat-trans network, in recent years Lakesh had helped construct the interphaser, which tapped into the ancient parallax-points system to enable instantaneous travel across the globe. Changes at the location points were not unheard of, but changes on a geological level could mean something more significant was occurring there. “Could you explain to me what a sinkhole is?” he asked.
Mariah smiled her sweet smile, comfortable at last to be able to discuss something within her specific realm of expertise. “Sinkholes are depressions in the ground caused by a collapse of the surface layer,” she explained. “This can be through human activity—such as mining. Or it may occur through natural changes to the environment, as with suffusion where a buried cave may be revealed due to problems relating to water drainage, for example—the water weakens the rocks over the cave until they collapse, revealing the cave beneath.”
“And how large might such a sinkhole be?” Lakesh asked.
“They have occurred at sizes from a couple of feet to over two thousand feet wide,” Mariah told him, “and with the same depth variables.”
“So this thing in Libya,” Lakesh mused, raising his eyebrows in surprise, “might be two thousand feet deep?”
“The data shows it’s significant,” Mariah said, “which is to say it’s deep, but we’d need to put someone on the ground to measure that with any level of accuracy.”
Lakesh nodded thoughtfully. “The parallax points frequently occur at sites of specific religious significance,” he said, “but they have become so because of their earlier purpose as sites used in alien transportation. If a sinkhole has opened a path into one of those sites, then...” He trailed off, but his meaning was clear enough.
“Precisely,” Mariah agreed.
Lakesh turned to a man stationed at a nearby desk who was currently poring through screen after screen of computer language, checking each line for a bug in the program. The man had ginger hair that was wild and tangled in front, where he kept unconsciously running his fingers through it, and he wore a permanent expression of worry on his face. This was Donald Bry, computer expert and Lakesh’s right-hand man.
“Donald,” Lakesh began, “how soon can we scramble CAT Alpha for a recon mission?”
“CAT Alpha,” Bry repeated, looking away in recollection. “They’re all on-site right now, Dr. Singh. Brigid’s fully recovered from her ankle injury, so they should be able to depart inside of ninety minutes.”
“Call them,” Lakesh said. “I’m going to plot out alternative parallax points in case our preferred destination has—” He stopped, unsure what to say.
“Sunk?” Mariah offered.
“Yes, sunk,” Lakesh agreed with a smile. “That’s very good, Mariah. A sense of humor; I like that. Sunk.”
Mariah followed Lakesh to the mat-trans chamber located in one corner of the room, from which he could activate the interphaser and do a run-through of the parallax points.
* * *
KANE HAD BEEN PRACTICING in the Cerberus firing range when the call came through. The range was located in a subbasement, close to the armory, which stocked multiple units of almost every firearm available, from single-shot .22-caliber Derringer pistols to surface-to-air Dragon Launchers capable of taking an aircraft out of the sky. He had a Colt Officer’s ACP in his right hand, a compact and lightweight automatic pistol with an aluminum frame, which still handled large-caliber bullets granting it respectable capability for its size. It was a good weapon to use for practice, even though it was not one that Kane would choose for the field.
Before him, three drop-down targets came into view, paper sheets, each showing a life-size, faceless silhouette like a shadow, each silhouette containing a diagram of circles showing particular vulnerable points, head, heart and so on. The targets appeared at random, between sixty and one hundred feet from where Kane was standing at one end of the firing range, and they cycled toward him on an automated track located on a rig above the firing field. Music was playing from large speakers rigged high against the walls, the booming bass and heavy guitars muffling the loud reports of the Colt as it spit bullets from its muzzle.
Kane stroked the trigger as the next set of targets appeared, moving his perfectly straight arm in a swift arc to deliver two bullets to each target as they were winched along their tracks toward him. As the targets trundled closer, wounds now showing in their heads and hearts, Kane worked the ammunition release on the Colt. In an instant he had loaded a fresh clip and switched the Colt into his left hand, before bringing that arm up and sending another rapid arc of bullets into the looming targets, the closest of which was now thirty feet from him.
Kane relaxed as the second clip clicked on empty, watching as the paper targets completed their wobbling path toward the near end of the range. He smiled as he saw the results of his efforts—he had hit all twelve times, scoring the center ring of the target w
ith ten of the twelve shots. His right hand was dominant and so he had little doubt that he could hit the targets with that—he had been trained as a Magistrate since birth, combination law enforcer and soldier whose sole purpose was to efficiently operate the weapons he was assigned—and to be a weapon himself. But his left was also strong, not quite as fast, nor as accurate, but enough that he could take out a target at forty feet without going wide.
Kane removed the target sheets from their fastenings and tossed them behind him, adding them to the piled-high trash can that was located beneath one of the roaring speakers. Then he flipped a switch located at the side of his booth which sent the command to restart the session, providing clean new targets with which to hone his prowess. When it came to using guns, there was no such thing as too accurate, Kane knew.
As the first of the new targets dropped down, a device called a Commtact came to life inside Kane’s skull, sending a radio communication message directly into his inner ear. “Kane, this is Donald,” the voice in Kane’s head said, drowning out the prerecorded wail of guitars. “Do you think you can prep for a recon mission setting off in the next ninety minutes?”
“Roger that,” Kane acknowledged, squeezing the Colt’s trigger and sending bullet after bullet into the silhouetted skull of his would-be opponent. The Commtact was a remarkable communications device that Kane and his fellow Cerberus field operatives relied upon for global communications. The Commtact was a small, radio communications device that was hidden beneath the skin. The subdermal devices were top-of-the-line communications units, the designs for which had been discovered among the artifacts in Redoubt Yankee several years before by the Cerberus rebels. Commtacts featured sensor circuitry incorporating an analog-to-digital voice encoder that was subcutaneously embedded in a subject’s mastoid bone. As well as offering radio communications, the Commtacts could function as translation devices, operating in real time. Once the pintels made contact, transmissions were funneled directly to the user’s auditory canals through the skull casing, vibrating the ear canal to create sound. This functionality also meant that the Commtacts could pick up and enhance any subvocalization made by the user, which meant that it was unnecessary to speak aloud to utilize the communication function. Broadcasts from the unit were relayed through the Keyhole communications satellite to anywhere in the world.
Thanks to the nature of the vibration system used by the Commtact, if a user went completely deaf they would still, in theory, be able to hear normally, in a fashion, courtesy of the Commtact device.
“Where to?” Kane asked as he finished the clip.
“Mat-trans chamber for departure to Libya,” Donald confirmed before signing off.
“Great,” Kane said, delivering the last bullet of his clip into the silhouetted head of one of the targets.
* * *
CAT ALPHA ASSEMBLED fifty minutes later in the Cerberus operations room. Kane was joined by his two partners, Grant and Brigid. All three were being outfitted for the operation while Lakesh and Mariah outlined her discovery and what they would be looking for.
“Big hole in the ground,” Kane said, nodding. “I think we’re capable of spotting that. Y’know, if we look real hard.”
Lakesh ignored the man’s sarcasm. “If this sinkhole has disrupted the parallax point, then your arrival may not be possible,” he said. “I suggest you travel prepared.”
Grant shrugged, broad shoulders shifting like an avalanche. “We always travel prepared, Lakesh,” he said. “Just part o’ the job.”
“It may be that the floor has dropped out from under the parallax point itself,” Mariah outlined, “or that the materialization point is surrounded by damaged terrain such that we are unable to investigate further.”
Kane raised an eyebrow. “We, Mariah?”
“Ms. Falk will be joining you, friend Kane,” Lakesh confirmed. “I want an expert on-site in case we only get one chance to look at what’s happened.”
Kane considered bemoaning having to chaperone a civilian, but he said nothing out loud. He liked Mariah; she was trustworthy and dependable, the kind of operative who formed the backbone of the Cerberus team. Instead he said, “We might be better looking on our own for a first visit.”
“As I say, Kane, I want Mariah with you in case this is your only visit,” Lakesh said. “If there’s any sign of danger, I am certain that you will handle it and get her, and your team, out of there.”
Kane nodded. “Yeah.” It was all part of the mission.
Grant checked his Copperhead assault rifle, securing the ammo clip before slipping it into the holster rig under his jacket. “Are you bringing a gun, Mariah?” he asked, his voice a deep rumble like distant thunder.
Falk shook her head.
“Then stay behind us.”
Together, Kane, Grant, Brigid and Mariah entered the mat-trans chamber, outfitted in camo suits to better blend with the terrain they were about to leap into. The interphaser was waiting in the center of the chamber, already powered up and ready to start the jump. Lakesh spoke from the doorway as the field team made their way into the chamber.
“I’ve taken the liberty of tapping several nearby parallax points in case your destination proves disagreeable,” he explained. “They are highlighted on the screen—you just need to select one of these alternates as required and the interphaser will begin its jump cycle.”
“Thanks, Lakesh,” Brigid said, running her eyes across the narrow horizontal strip of screen that was located at the base of the pyramidal unit. “Do you know what we’re jumping into?” she asked.
“The area’s called the Bir Hakeim Oasis,” Lakesh said. “It’s in a desert and was once the site of a strategic stronghold for the Turkish military, and it was the location of a bloody battle during World War II.”
“And what’s there now?” Kane asked.
Lakesh smiled. “You can tell me that, friend Kane, in about two minutes.”
With that, Lakesh left the chamber and Brigid activated the interphaser. A swirling tempest of color blossomed from the interphaser, forming two cones of light with the mat-trans chamber, one above the deck and the other, somehow, beneath it. A moment later, Kane led the way into those impossible depths, stepping into the quantum window and onward to a ruined fort in the Libyan desert.
Chapter 5
Kane ducked back behind the pillar, pressing himself and Mariah against it as another jarring scatter of bullets rattled against its edge.
“You okay?” he asked, watching the scene playing out all around them.
“Fine,” Mariah said, her voice high and breathless. “What about you? That bullet—”
“Shadow suit,” Kane said by way of explanation.
Although she didn’t consider herself a field agent, Mariah knew what Kane meant. While Kane might be sporting a bruise for the next few days where the bullet had struck against his arm in a hammer blow, it was a preferable alternative to what would have happened had he not been wearing the miraculous armor weave.
Kane remained tense, watching as the two armies—if indeed it was only two, it was hard to tell—exchanged fire, striking down unfortunate soldiers in sudden spills of red blood. It looked a lot like chaos, but then, in Kane’s experience, when it came down to it most ground wars did. “They’re not moving in unison,” he muttered, making a conscious effort to focus on a specific group—platoon or squadron, maybe?—who were all dressed in similar dirty white robes.
“What?” Mariah asked, confused and feeling woefully out of her depth.
Kane ignored her query, instead engaging his Commtact and hailing his partners, who had taken cover less than twenty feet away. “They’re not moving in unison, have you noticed?” he asked.
Brigid’s voice came back first, the confusion evident. She was crouched on her haunches beside a mangled column of stonework whose top h
ad been sheared through as if bitten away by some gigantic monster, trying to piece the broken interphaser unit back together. “They’re not what?” she asked.
“Moving,” Kane said, “in unison. They’re shooting and they’re kind of moving forward in one direction, but there’s no strategy between the players.”
“Inexperienced, maybe?” Grant asked, chipping in on their shared frequency. He was standing close to Brigid’s hiding place, his shoulder pressed to another of the mangled stone columns, using a scope to watch the turret gun that had been set up on the upper level of the aged fort.
“Inexperienced could be it,” Kane agreed doubtfully, “but usually that brings out two styles of fighting—the gung ho who gets shot the moment he breaks cover and—”
Boom!
A shell struck near the cluster of ruined pillars, kicking up dirt and curtailing Kane’s speech for a moment.
“And?” Brigid prompted, glancing up from her work on the busted interphaser to make sure Kane was okay.
“And the coward,” Kane averred, “who hangs back and lets the others get shot. But I’m not really seeing those patterns, are you?”
“Uh-uh,” Grant confirmed after a few seconds’ observation of the running battle. “You might be onto something.” He brought the scope away from his eye, glancing across at Kane. “I don’t think the tripod cannon’s choosing targets. Its operators are firing wild.”