Protocol 7 at-1
Page 38
“SAM!”
The heat drove her back. She tried to push herself forward again, groped in the water to find Andrew’s shoulder or hand, anything to grab onto, but he was fully underwater now. She had to struggle to keep from sliding forward through the slush, where she knew she would sink into the melted water herself.
Moments later, the Spector disappeared into a vertical pool it had created. Soon after, the melted ice it had left behind with the heat of its passing started to re-freeze.
Sam saw what was going to happen an instant before it did.
“Wait!” she screamed and lunged forward. “Wait!” The brilliant light from the shaft began to fade to a ghostly glow as the Spector fell deeper and deeper. Samantha pushed even deeper into the freezing pool where Andrew had disappeared, searching.
Ice was already forming on its surface, impossibly fast.
She jerked her hands free, struggled to her feet, and kicked out a boot at the skin of ice as it formed. It cracked with the sound of a gunshot, and she threw herself forward, trying to thrust her hands into it again.
She was hysterical. Andrew’s down there, she told herself. I can do this; I can pull him out.
She felt the ice form around her wrists. It was happening so fast.
She felt Ryan’s hands on her shoulders, his arm around her waist. She felt her hands fly free of the confining ice as he pulled her back, hard, and they fell sprawling on the ground.
But that was all she felt. She could think of nothing more.
“Andrew,” she said turning around, crawling onto her knees. “Andrew.”
The ice turned solid as rock as she knelt there weeping.
He was gone.
DRAGGER STATION
The pilot’s flesh wound burned like fire as the DITV made its last turn and paused at the entrance to the Dragger Station Bridge. They were less than five hundred yards from the edge, and Simon was still holding the pistol firmly against the pilot’s neck. He didn’t seem to care that the Vector5 solider was bleeding heavily.
For the first time, Simon was aware that Nastasia was standing close behind him.
The sensor array on the console showed them the image of what lay ahead: the chasm, and then three chambers on the far side. Beyond that was a network of tunnels even more complex and ominous than the labyrinth they had just navigated. In the center of the dome, there appeared to be three vertical shafts-huge elevators that went even lower, deeper into the ice, toward the depth of the icy underworld.
“Where the hell is this leading us?” Max asked in a strangely hushed voice.
The pilot was getting woozy, but he tried to answer anyway. “The tunnels to…Central…you can only get to them through those vertical shafts. Watch…”
The DITV rolled across the bridge very quickly. On the far side, they were abruptly thrown into complete darkness as the shadow of the structure fell across them. The only light that survived was the glow from the digital displays.
The pilot activated the forward headlamps with one shaking finger. The three elevator doors were just a hundred feet ahead of them; each elevator was large enough to accommodate a vessel the size of the DITV.
The indicators above two of the doors read 000. The indicator above the third, the one to the right, read +480…and grew smaller as they watched: +470…+460…
The soldier slouched forward, losing the last of his strength. Max moved quickly in trying to grab the man as he fell, but he was a beat too late. The DITV started rolling slowly forward, toward the door of the elevator that was about to arrive.
“Stop him!” Simon said.
“Too late! Brace yourself!” The DITV moved relentlessly forward; nothing could stop it. In less than twenty feet, they would crash directly into the gargantuan doors.
Simon reached past Max and slapped the pilot, hard as he could. It shocked the man half-awake, if only for an instant.
“Look!” Simon shouted straight into his face. “LOOK!”
The pilot’s eyes widened. He saw the metal doors of the elevator surging toward him.
“NO!” he said. His hands darted out, found the controls, and pulled.
The vehicle skidded to a halt, three feet from the elevator doors.
Still the one elevator descended: +280…+270…
The pilot fell back in his seat, his mouth working as he tried to speak.
“Doesn’t matter,” he gasped. “We’re all dead now.”
“What’s down there?” Simon said. “What’s happening?”
The pilot’s eyes fluttered. He closed his eyes. His head fell to the side as he lost consciousness entirely, slumping over in the chair.
+230…+210…
“Shit,” Max said. He hesitated for an instant, then jumped forward, and ripped the unmoving pilot’s uniform from his body.
Nastasia blanched. “What are you doing?”
With sudden ferocity he grabbed her by the collar of her exo-suit and dragged her to him, putting his mouth close to her ear, speaking in a very fast, nearly-silent whisper.
“The AI hasn’t noticed us coercing him. Which means there’s no voice recognition-she doesn’t pay attention after the first security check. So I have to try this. Help me.”
It was a thirty-second struggle to get the suit off the dying pilot and on to Max. The instant it was in place, he threw himself into the pilot’s seat and scowled at the freight elevator’s indicator:
+120.
He looked frantically around the console, trying to understand the complex array of gadgets. Where was the starter? Where was the fucking weaponry? Whatever was coming down that shaft was not going to be friendly; he had to be ready for it.
+50…
They began to feel the vibration of the massive elevator as it approached. Only then did Max decide what to do.
He put his hands on the control and pulled back, just a little. The DITV obeyed and moved back.
“Lazarus-9905,” he said. “Open central shaft.”
The door to the left of the approaching elevator obediently, swiftly, opened wide.
Simon lifted the rifle that he was holding, well aware that it would be useless to stop any real threat.
+20…+15…
Bright light poured from the elevator door as it cracked open. Max had made sure the DITV’s sensors showed the space inside was empty, so he didn’t hesitate. He moved his wrist forward, and the DITV responded instantly, trundling into the massive elevator. To their surprise, before the treads had engaged the edge of the door, a voice command prompted permission.
“You are clear, 9905, for your coordinates at 2,435 meters. Please confirm depth.”
“Affirmative,” said Max. He had no idea if that was the correct response.
He had guessed right. The doors slid shut and the lights blinked off, plunging them into total darkness yet again.
Their stomachs sank as the descent to Central Command began.
Two seconds later at Dragger Station, the elevator to their right opened wide, and Blackburn emerged.
“Report?” he demanded.
No one said a thing.
“Report!”
* * *
Below him, falling away, Nastasia felt her world closing in.
She didn’t belong here. She knew that. But fate had chosen her, and it was time to do what had to be done.
* * *
Blackburn clenched his teeth as the freight elevator reached the level of Dragger Pass, and continued downward. He had no idea that Simon, Max, and Nastasia were literally a few feet away from him, descending to the Nest in the adjacent shaft at a speed only slightly slower than his own. The padded interior cast an eerie effect from the dim blue lights mounted along its interior edges.
His detachment of soldiers was absolutely silent behind him; he knew they were the only men in the entire Vector5 organization with the clearance-and the courage-to enter the Nest…and he wasn’t sure if he was glad of that or concerned. This was his operation-his goal. He didn
’t want to share it, not even with his own men.
The holo-display made the depth reading float in the open air, each numeral as large as the palm of his hand. As he watched, it slowly reached the magic number -2,153 meters, the base level of Central Command-and continued to fall. The calm, slightly amused voice of the AI that controlled the lift said it out loud, “Two thousand, one hundred and fifty-three meters,” it said. “Continuing…”
This final trip was only beginning. They had another one thousand meters to travel.
Blackburn was thinking about the man who was waiting for him at the bottom of the shaft. He knew that Oliver was very ill, perhaps terminally. I wonder how long he’ll live, he asked himself. That is, assuming he decides to cooperate.
The AI’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “Two thousand, six hun-”
“Shut up for a second,” Blackburn said. Another voice-a human one, one he recognized-was buzzing in his ear, coming from the earpiece in his helmet. He tapped his shoulder to receive the incoming message.
“Go ahead,” he growled. “I’m listening.” The men around him didn’t flinch; they knew the drill. Blackburn was the chief commander in charge of the Vector5 mission; he was always connected to everything that was happening below and above the ice. It was true, sometimes he confused the men around him when he responded to some unheard comment or question, but that wasn’t important. All they thought about-all they could think about-was the mission. That was all that mattered.
“Sir,” said the voice of his exec, “we’ve identified an anomaly at 842 meters south-southwest of Dragger Pass, four degrees of ascension above the Gorge.”
“What type of anomaly?” Blackburn growled, controlling his temper with some difficulty. This wasn’t what he expected, and it certainly wasn’t what he wanted. I’ve had enough, he told himself. He hated surprises.
“It’s a thermal event, sir. Infrared data indicates a highly condensed source, very localized, and currently descending at ninety degrees from the horizon.”
“What the fuck are you talking about!?” Blackburn shouted, sending a chill through the already cold freight elevator. The number in front of his face read -2,483 meters. The AI voice, prudently, remained silent. “It’s super-hot and moving down a tunnel?”
“No, sir,” his exec said. “Straight down. Through the ice.”
“Shit,” Blackburn muttered. “At that depth, at that temperature, I’m sure the satellites picked it up.”
“Sir, we’ve been monitoring and scrambling the information with the surface droids, but you’re right. I’m afraid this amount of energy might be impossible to hide.”
“What is it?” he demanded. Exposure didn’t matter at the moment. “What the hell is out there?”
“Sir our AIs at central command are suggesting it’s the same submersible that entered Fissure 9. We have also confirmed human activity about one mile from the incident. Acoustic and pressure wave data confirm: a small group moving around and not being quiet about it in one of the maintenance shafts we thought was sealed off.”
I knew it, he told himself. I knew Lucas and those traitors were tapping into the old air shaft system. “Send the fissure drones through the main airshafts,” he commanded. “Send them up to Tunnel 3, and when you find them, gas the fuckers out of their little mouse holes.”
“But…sir,” the exec said in his ear. Blackburn could hear his terror, even in the scratchy little thread of the audio feed.
“But what?” Blackburn snapped. “‘But sir, additional activity in the same area as the thermal event will certainly be noticed by satellites.” It was a deadly accurate parody of his exec officer’s careful, diplomatic tone. “I know what you’re thinking, and I don’t care. Whatever happened has probably already been reported. We’ll have to deal with that later. But this shit needs to stop NOW!”
“Copy that, sir,” the exec said quickly, obviously eager to end the communication. There was the tiniest of snicks as he broke the connection to follow order.
Blackburn slapped the padded door of the freight elevator in completely frustration. “Can’t this piece of junk move any faster?” he blurted out. But he already knew the answer: nothing moved fast enough to appease his impatience.
None of the men around him spoke. They knew the drill. It was safer to just lay low and not to respond at times like this.
The AI unit had more courage, or perhaps less common sense, than the humans. After Blackburn stopped speaking for thirty seconds, it spoke up:
“Reaching depth of 10,022 feet in 133 meters. Prepare to exit.”
“Shut up,” Blackburn muttered.
* * *
Samantha and Ryan knelt beside Hayden’s motionless body, too drained and overwhelmed to speak. Sam was numb, beyond feeling or thought, as she strained to see the scientist clearly in the failing light. The only source of illumination was the guttering fire from the icy shaft where the Spector had disappeared.
Hayden was breathing heavily; she knew that much. But she couldn’t seem to make herself care. It was just too dark to see, until Ryan turned on the guide lights in his ice suit, and the air was filled with a directionless, blue light that seemed almost acidic, somehow.
The blood draining from Hayden’s ruined hand was black in the odd light.
“God,” Samantha said. Then louder, fuller, “God, NO!” Even the ice around him was saturated with freezing blood.
Years of training surged to the forefront. Her hands reached out almost on their own and tried to explore the wound. She gasped in spite of herself when she saw it clearly: half the skin and part of the flesh had been removed from his right thumb-half-sliced, half-torn away. Lucas wanted his thumbprint, she realized. He thought he might need it in the Spector. He would have taken the whole digit if he’d had the time.
She pushed the horror of it away and got to work, tearing off a section of his ice suit and tying it around his bleeding thumb as tight as she could.
“I have to stop this before he dies,” she told Ryan. “He’s going to go into shock any second, maybe lose his hand, or worse.” Or die, she screamed inside her head. Or DIE.
She pushed it away again, even harder, and reached into a small pouch sewn on into the hip of her own suit. She thanked god she had packed a full med-kit into her clothes before they had left the scientists’ encampment; she was shocked that it became useful so quickly.
The pocket contained a small, foil-sealed pre-moistened cloth infused with ammonia. It was suitable for cleaning, for sterile bandaging…or for what she was about to do.
Sam pulled his mask aside and held the tiny fabric against his nose. Hayden’s body jerked instantly from the intense smell, and his clean, uninjured hand suddenly came up, trying to pull the cloth away-then clutching at his forehead as if to contain a whole new agony.
It took him a long moment to locate the pain. Slowly, slowly he lifted his wounded hand as if it were a dead thing lashed to the end of his wrist. He stared at it with naked horror as a new line of already freezing blood trickled into his palm.
“Oh god,” he said, choking on his own words. “My thumb, my god, my hand!”
“Stay still,” Samantha said, and produced a one-shot syringe from another pocket of her suit. He was weak; it wasn’t hard to hold him down while she injected a strong painkiller at the base of his neck. “It’ll take a few minutes, just be patient.”
As his struggles abated, as his breath slowed, she loosened her grip and looked at Ryan standing above them. There was horror in his eyes.
“How the hell are we going to tell him about Andrew?” he said. Samantha wasn’t sure if he was talking to her or himself. Either way, she knew, he sounded absolutely desolate. How the hell are we going to explain this, she thought.
Samantha stroked the older man’s cheek, tried to bring him back to a semi-conscious state. She knew it was possible; it was why she had chosen to give him that particular medication. “Hayden,” she said gently. “Hayden, can you walk?”
“C’mon,” Ryan said, sounding uncharacteristically gruff. “You’ve got to move or you’ll freeze.” He glanced at Sam as Hayden swayed in place, fighting to stabilize. “We’ve got to get back to the others.”
Hayden could barely hold his body upright. He had only the vaguest idea of what had happened just minutes before. And they had walked less than ten feet when he pulled up short and turned back, searching the ice, looking for something. “Wait a minute,” he said. “Where’s the Spector? Are you-”
“It’s all right, Hayden,” Sam soothed, trying to keep her voice steady. She knew what he was going to ask next, and she didn’t want to deal with it. “We have to go. Let’s go.”
“Where is Andrew?” Hayden asked weakly, still disoriented. “Is he with them, the ones who, who took the, the…?” He couldn’t seem to find the words, but there was fear and confusion in his eyes.
“No,” Ryan said. “He’s not with the others.”
“No? Then what-what are you saying?” An ounce of the old impatience had leaked back into his tone.
“He’s dead,” Ryan said somberly.
It took a few seconds before the words registered in Hayden’s brain. “What?” he said. “What? What are you saying?” He couldn’t believe his ears. “He’s dead?”
He pushed Ryan’s hand away with a violent sweep of his good arm, then spun around and staggered past Samantha, back toward where the Spector had disappeared. He had taken less than ten steps when his hands went to his head. Samantha and Ryan watched in solemn despair as Hayden fell to the ground.
He touched the icy floor beneath his feet and then pounded the ice with his fist, feeling a shocking pain that seemed all too insignificant. “Why, why?”
Ryan went to him and tried to help him to his feet. “Please, Hayden,” he pleaded. “We’ve got to get the hell out of here. We’ve got to get the others in the encampment and decide what to do next.” He paused for a moment to make sure he wasn’t out of line. “There’s nothing you can do for him now,” he whispered.