The domed ceiling was made of translucent panels inset in a circular pattern around a meter-wide vertical shaft. The floor was glassy smooth and a darker shade than the rock-brown of the cavern walls. Silent walnut-tone consoles with black upper surfaces were aligned against the back wall. In the center of the room, directly beneath the shaft, was a waist high dull-gray cylinder. Its black upper surface was ringed by geodesic shapes of varying shades of blue.
“What, dear god, have we got here?” It was the first time O’Brien heard archeologist Matty Brewster speak. She cautiously approached the barrel as the others entered the room.
O’Brien’s officers remained arrayed outside the opening. He stepped over the threshold. Within moments he felt somehow comforted and put his gun away. A part of him wanted to rebel, to run from the room and destroy it completely. Yet, he could not react. His spirit buoyed, a sense of well-being permeated his mind like a sedative. His thoughts became scattered.
“Colonel. I...I...feel...wrong.” Reaching out to him, Doctor Myer’s eyes reflected both confusion and alarm, though she looked otherwise serene. He grasped her arm and pulled her to him, perceiving her disquiet, but not trusting his own reservations, which he regarded as foreign and inexcusable.
“Colonel!”
O’Brien turned and faced the opening. A translucent image of him leaning over an enormous con swelled, his thoughts suddenly blackened by a seething rage. Fear gripped his chest like a steel band. Death rushed at him in the form of a muddy, clouded ball. He knew it was Earth, a dying world. No, he scrunched his eyes and balled his fists. No! His chest swelled, and the band shattered.
Clapton beckoned to him. “Come out of the chamber.”
“Why?” It was enormously important that he knew what time it was. "What time is it?"
“I’ll tell you, out here.”
What an idiot, O'Brien smirked. He let go of Doctor Myer and raised his arm to his shield and read the display. The red numerals melted and reformed. He was drunk, no drugged, no, but why couldn't he read the...o- nine-fifteen hours. Beyond his arm, Myer looked bewildered. He jerked his head and she pushed up against him, her shield close to his. From the corner of his eye, he glimpsed Clapton holding out a hand to him. He half turned, but a silent voice arrested his movement. Jubilation washed over him, then ebbed. From deep within, a restrained warning bubbled up. Something was wrong. He was confused, lulled, yet oddly fearful. It was imperative they leave the chamber. All of them, but he had to get out now, while he still could.
“Come with me, Doctor Myer. We must leave this room.” O’Brien pulled her along, despite her gentle resistance. A long staggering step, then another. Euphoria surged. God, he wanted to stay! Another step, his leg shook, then another.
Doctor Myer's defiance grew. He gripped her tighter. Another step and he was at the portal. She jerked an arm free, but he latched on to her enviropak and used his weight to force her past him and out of the chamber. He had no idea why he would do that. Only that Clapton was a good friend and he wanted to please him.
Greco pocketed his weapon and rushed to Doctor Myer's side. Together, Greco and Clapton grabbed O’Brien and jerked him through the opening. He fell heavily, bruising a shoulder and knocking Doctor Myer to the ground. Before he could rise, Greco hefted him to his feet with surprising strength. O’Brien’s sense of well-being faded, but his mind remained clouded. His body responded sluggishly to his demands.
Beside him, Doctor Myer turned back to the chamber and reached out. “Get out of there! All of you!” she cried.
“Hellfire. What the...” O'Brien glanced at her, then to the chamber, but saw nothing wrong.
“This is magnificent! Can you believe what we’re seeing?” Doctor Brewster twisted away from the barrel, brushing her fingers across the top. A radiant, pulsing orange glob enveloped the barrel. From its rounded peak, a narrow beam shot up through the shaft in the ceiling, suffusing the chamber with an orange glow. Startled, the scientists began backing away, then drew closer, as moths to light.
"Glory, glory be!" Mastifson shrilled. "We have found the eternal well of happin..." The scientists shriveled up and disappeared in a puff of smoke. The beam blinked out and the orange glow dissipated.
“Mary, Mother of Jesus.” Doctor Myer crossed herself. Terror dilated her eyes. She knelt, then lurched back to her feet. Her head swung wildly from O’Brien to the chamber. A nearly imperceptible squeak issued from her open mouth. Tears welled and rushed down her cheeks.
Clapton came up behind them, his weapon drawn. “We’d better get the hell out of here.”
“I agree. The rest of you...come on.” Pulling gently on Doctor Myer’s arm, O’Brien felt the drugged affect wane. They had to warn the base. He pointed to one of the vid-ops. “Lieutenant Greco, are we still connected to the Spacenet?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did you get all of it? And transmitted?”
“Yes, sir. Tammer's getting it live on the base vidfeed. According to this," Greco indicated a red dot on the vidcorder. "he's still linked.”
“Then WorldVid will soon know what happened here. Most likely they've got rebroadcast agreements with all the major networks.”
“If Tammer sends it straight through, Colonel, they’ll get it off the Spacenet in about six minutes.”
“Then they’ll know soon enough. Regardless, we must get to the surface.” Though his mind was afire with the 'what-ifs' and partially conceived notions of 'what next', O'Brien kept his emotions firmly in check.
The artifacts were a trap. That was certain. If the shaft penetrated the surface, the orange pulse was most likely a beacon. Depending on the intensity and duration, O'Brien concluded the beam would be visible for thousands, if not hundreds of thousands of miles. If his deduction were correct, who or whatever created the device would have a means of detecting the beacon from a vast distance. They were in grave danger. He faced his junior officer.
"Greco, you take the lead."
“Yes, sir.” Greco shifted the vidcorder on his shoulder and pocketed his laser. O’Brien turned to Clapton.
“Major, you and Sergeant Doomes take up the rear. Assassins rarely work alone.”
“Yes, sir,” Doomes answered. "Colonel, you think the assassin is connected with what just happened?"
Though he was on to other considerations, O'Brien hesitated, and met the Sergeant's gaze. This situation demanded rational detachment, and Doomes was as cool a professional as any among O'Brien's staff of volunteers. Cool professionalism was required here.
"No, Sergeant. No I don't."
With a sharp nod, Doomes pocketed his weapon and set to locking down the drill. The simple task would take only a few moments. Long enough for the others to get lined up and moving.
“This way, Doctor Myer.” He pointed after Greco.
“Thank you, Colonel.” Subdued and frightened, she brushed past him. She was quivering. Shock was setting in.
No one spoke as they hurried to the surface as fast as the suits and low gravity would allow. O’Brien stayed close to Doctor Myer. She was the only remaining civilian, and he was worried the shock might lead to something worse. She was pale and shivering. Twice he raised her suit temperature. Even if they had a kit with them there was no way to administer a relaxant. Unless she could calm herself, her stressed reactions could become life threatening.
Up ahead the entrance stood out in sharp contrast, the affect amplified by the huge halolamps beyond. In single file, they were nearly out when an odd feeling gave O’Brien pause. Sergeant Doomes bumped into him.
“Uh, excuse me, Colonel.”
”Excused, Sergeant.” For a brief moment the men stared at each other. There was dread in Doomes’ eyes too, something he never expected to see. O’Brien turned away and grasped the cable. With renewed strength, he pulled himself along, but his mind was way ahead of them. “Lieutenant Paider, can you hear me?”
“Loud and clear, Colonel.”
“You note anything unusua
l?”
“Yes, sir. The power output of the generators has fluctuated several times in the past few minutes, but I can't find the cause.”
A premonition swept over O’Brien with the force of a tidal wave, leaving him slightly nauseous. “This is a red alert. Shut down your generators. Inform the base and launch site to do the same. Make everything as dead as possible. Not even emergency lighting or life support. Vid my orders to the other manned bases. I want everybody into envirosuits and far from anything generating a residual power signature. Time is of the essence. Life or death. Understand?”
“I hear you clearly, sir, but it will take a couple hours to scram the reactor.”
“Nothing we can do about that. At least it's some distance from the base. Have the techs put it into auto shut-down and get the hell away from it.”
“Yes, sir. Changing to emergency frequency.” His signal ended. Seconds later the entrance went dark. The cavern lighting blinked out.
“Greco, stop transmitting.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Wha...whaaat’s happening, Co...Colonel?” Doctor Myer cried.
“Just taking precautions. My gut says we set off some kind of beacon, though I've nothing to support that contention. ”
“That mi...migh...might be a go...good thing?”
“I don't think it means anything good. Make sure your tethers are attached to the cable and keep moving.”
He sensed her ahead of him, then nearly fell over her. She was on her knees and quaking uncontrollably. As tired as he was, O’Brien lifted her up and nudged her forward. After a few steps, her breathing became less erratic and her quivering eased. The higher they climbed, the less she needed his support. As they passed under the entrance, she slipped in the loose sand and fell, bringing their climb to a halt. O'Brien's officers drew back until they stood together, none seemed inclined to leave the sanctuary of the rocky cliff. Out over the sands far to their left the refracted light from the launch pad halolamps blinked out. The base remained illuminated.
The ground trembled. Shaken loose from the cliff face, dirt filtered down, but soon gave way to rocks and dust clouds, then an increasing barrage of small boulders. Paider and his assistant, lucky enough to be inside the entrance, stumbled into O’Brien’s party.
“What the blazes is that, Colonel?” Paider asked.
“I don't know, but I suggest we move closer to the walls.”
In semi-darkness, they abandoned the cable and scrambled after Paider up the increasingly steep embankment of sand and rock until they reached a ragged ledge some distance above the cavern floor. Across the ravine, so invitingly visible beyond the shifting dust clouds, every possible lamp was burning at the base.
“Paider, did you get the word to the base?”
“Yes, Colonel. The security staff indicated they would comply immediately.”
“Obviously they haven’t.”
The rumbling grew more ominous and the ground quake continued to build. Large boulders broke free, pulverizing the equipment arrayed outside. Billowing dust clouds washed over them. Sunlight dimmed. O’Brien's hair stood on end, as if a tremendous static charge permeated the area. Through the thickening clouds, a massive, dark ship knifed into view. Though its bottom cast in shadow, the vessel's side was bathed in brilliant sunshine. Shaped like a domino, the matte-black hull concealed all but the largest projections, of which there were few. At once the ship blocked what little light remained, throwing the valley into total darkness. A blinding flash emanated from the base of the ship. A conical orange beam encapsulated the base, remained for several seconds, then blinked out.
Doctor Myer screamed and buried herself in O’Brien’s arms. Abruptly the shaking ended and feeble refracted light from the sun returned. Through the thinning clouds of black dust, O’Brien searched for the base. A wisp of smoke remained where the nine structures had stood. The alien ship was gone. In the still atmosphere, thicker dust particles settled and in a few minutes, with the help of several litemates, they could see well into the cavern.
Throat constricted and heart racing, O’Brien’s biomods could hardly restrain his alarm. His thoughts and emotions tumbled in on him. He struggled to accept the enormity of what the attack portend and for a fleeting moment horror gripped him, but could not maintain its hold. He recalled the fifty-seven men and women at the base. Their file pics glared at him from a fluid montage. Chastising himself for busying his mind with matters out of his control, he took two deep breaths and exhaled slowly while focusing on his gloved fingers rising and falling as he clenched and released. With a start, he set aside his anguish, his fear. The emotional avalanche would have to be dealt with, but for now dwelling on it wasn’t in their best interest. How he reacted in the next few hours could mean their lives.
O'Brien turned to his second. “You catch that on vid?”
Major Clapton screwed his eyes shut and ground a fist into the palm of his hand before answering. “No...Colonel...it was still off.” The vidcorder lay beside him, covered, as were they, with fine black dust and red sand. Clapton leaned down and wiped the vidcorder with his forearm, clearing a thin band about the lens array.
“What do you make of it?” O’Brien, steadied his voice and prayed this wasn’t happening, prayed he was having a lucid dream.
“That was the biggest damn ship I ever saw.” Sergeant Doomes’ rumble was thick with awe, tempered by dismay.
“Me thinks we opened Pandora’s box, Colonel.”
“Who’s this?” Startled, O’Brien straightened.
“Captain Garson, USN, Colonel. I’m at the launch base, aboard the Mars Explorer.”
“They spared the ship?”
“Apparently so, Colonel. I masked our presence with a molecular dispersion field. I suggest you make your way here."
"I agree. Have you established contact with the other bases?"
"Only the unmanned sites, Colonel. No response from the others.”
"We can assume the worst."
"Yes, sir. We can."
O’Brien gently nudged Doctor Myer. “We’d better move out.”
Sergeant Doomes eased over the edge and offered her a hand. She took it and slipped off the ledge, but O’Brien could see she was only going through the motions. Her eyes were wild, stricken, her teeth clenched so tightly he thought she might break a tooth.
The others followed in chaotic order. O’Brien came last. They slipped and jumped down the sandy slope, then gathered beneath the entrance overhang. With a calculating eye, O'Brien scanned the depression. Legs protruded from beneath a boulder. The rockslide had smashed most of the equipment.
Doctor Myer sighed, dropped to her knees, then eased her legs out before her, and hugged herself.
“Clapton. You and Greco see if there are survivors and scrounge up what spare oxy packs are still viable. On foot, the landing pad is forty minutes away. We’d better get moving in case those murdering sons-of-bitches are still nearby.” He glanced at his enviro tab. Five point two hours remaining. Enough to get them to the Mars Explorer with plenty to spare. Providing their journey wasn't interrupted. “Forget the oxy packs.”
“Yes, Sir.” Clapton motioned for Lieutenant Greco to help him and together they plodded off to search among the damaged equipment.
Still concerned about Doctor Myer, the only civilian among them, O’Brien sat beside her and patted her arm. She managed a thin smile. Terror still lurked in her eyes, but some color had returned to her cheeks and she had relaxed her jaws. He tried to say something, anything, but he could think of nothing that would take the edge off the moment.
Feeling utterly powerless against the alien’s overwhelming show of superior technology, he stood, then paced. Could he warn Earth? What of the other outposts? Had they received his warning in time and gone offline? Would calling them up bring the aliens back? There were too many questions and too little data to draw any reasonable assumptions. For now it was best they reach the Mars Explorer. Perhaps by the time they were
safely aboard, Garson would have a few answers.
Chapter Three
13:28 Hours, July 12, 2386 - Earth
“C’mon, Wendell! Shake a leg!” George bellowed from the stern of a black polyply boat secured to Slinker with a slim white tether. The inflatable boat rose and fell to the rhythm of a gentle current gurgling past Slinker’s hull. George kept pace with the surges, swaying to a cadence so ingrained he gave it no conscious thought.
Seated in the middle, Heather laughed. “Relax, George. It’s not like we’re late for a meeting or anything.”
“It’s taken us an hour and a half to get one dingy in the water. What’s he doing, picking out a wardrobe?” Just like a woman, George thought. With a flash of guilt he glanced at Heather, as if she could somehow read his mind.
“I resemble that remark.” Heather smirked. “Though for once it’s not directed at me.”
“Funny.”
At the bow, loosely gripping the mooring strap, Baider shot a disgruntled glance toward the forward hatch, then at George. “I’m tired of waiting.” His chiseled, impassive features melded into a scowl. “How about we just leave him behind?”
“We’ve got sophisticated electronics with us, big guy,” Heather snapped. “Can you fix the comset or a medscan? Or figure out a way to recharge our weapons without a recharger or set up a...a...oh, forget it." She shook her head and hand no. "All you know how to do is sail, so...why don't we leave you behind?”
His pique over Wendell’s tardiness mollified by the childish interplay, George smiled at Heather, but she wasn’t looking his way. “Baider’s a damned good fighter and a crack shot. The kind of thug you’d want at your back in a tough fight.”
Powerfully built, coarse and swarthy, and tanned to a deep mahogany, Baider’s piercing black eyes exuded confidence and a deeper intelligence than one would suspect of a man who began his seagoing career as an oiler on a rusty hulk plying the sea lanes off Nova Scotia. He had an innate sense of the oceans and had taught himself the mechanics of virtually every vessel afloat before joining the Federation Navy. His meteoric rise from ensign to commander in eight years was nothing less than astounding. On his thirtieth birthday he had strode into George’s office at Seascape and demanded a spot on the team, even though it would end a most extraordinary military career. Already on a short list of nominees, George had agreed before Baider even sat down.
Mankind's Worst Fear Page 5