Conway took a few more steps, his eyes drawn to something on the nearest row. He was dimly aware of a quiet buzzing in the background. It was persistent but in no way irritating.
“What the hell is this?” asked Freeman, his voice reverent.
“I know what it is,” said Conway.
Set into each of the partitions which made the rows, he saw alcoves. Each alcove contained a single body.
With careful footsteps, Conway entered the gap between two of the partitions. It was narrow and he could have probably touched each of the sides had he stretched out his arms. The alcoves went on and on, three high and open to his sight. Each partition was perhaps fifty meters in length and ended at a narrow cross passage. These cross passages effectively turned the room into a huge grid.
Conway stopped and looked into the closest middle alcove. It was a little more than two meters in length – a rectangle cut from the metal of the partition. The alien inside lay on a thin, decaying mattress, its arms by its side. It was startlingly human in both size and overall appearance, though with skin that was so grey it was nearly black. The alien’s features had a peculiar serenity and its wide, flat cheekbones, elongated nose and oval eyes were nothing like those of a human, though its black hair could have been cut straight from Private Torres’ head. It was dressed in a loose grey robe and wasn’t obviously male or female.
The creature’s eyes were closed and at first glance it could have been sleeping. Conway knew otherwise. He had no idea when it had died – it was perfectly preserved and showed no sign that it had been life drained by the Sekar.
“Corporal Brice, bring that med-box,” he said.
Brice came into sight and lowered her pack onto the floor. Sergeant Lockhart never forgot the basics and he arranged the squad defensively at the head of the rows to the left and right. The soldiers were as shocked as Conway and the enormity of this find hadn’t yet sunk in.
“How many?” asked Warner.
“Dunno,” said Torres. “Thousands. Tens of thousands.”
Conway thought the room contained way in excess of a hundred thousand of the aliens, but he didn’t feel like ordering a count. He watched numbly while Corporal Brice attached a couple of sensors to the forehead of the alien in front of him. The med-box gave a quiet beep and its screen filled with text.
“Dead,” said Brice. “But you already knew that.”
“What does the reading say? How long ago did this happen and what caused it?”
“Cause of death, unknown, time of death…” Brice hesitated and peered at the display. “Time of death approximately six hundred years ago.”
“You’re shitting me?”
“No Captain – this alien died a long time ago.”
“Stick those sensor pads on this other one,” said Conway, pointing at the alien in the ground-level alcove.
Brice did as she was ordered and a short time later, reported the same thing. Conway went through the motions of demanding a third test. The outcome was no different.
“This is screwed up,” he said.
“So many dead,” said Brice, nodding. When Conway looked through her visor, he saw that she was close to tears. He thought he might be close to breaking down himself.
“We should get out of here,” he said. “Leave the mysteries for the alien research teams back on Earth.”
For some reason, Conway felt like he was failing these dead people by walking away. It was a stupid notion, but he couldn’t rid himself of it. He had the living to watch out for and a mission to finish. Yet here he was, surrounded by countless unexplained deaths, with a feeling of duty which demanded he find some answers.
He recalled the troops from their defensive positions nearby. By their expressions alone, they were coping, but Conway sensed a change amongst them. Some of them had experienced the meat locker, yet this was worse. It felt as if the species here should not have died in this place. A voice whispered words of vengeance in his head, offering him the heaviest burden of all. Conway couldn’t accept it and he shook his head.
“Sir?” asked Lockhart.
“Let’s go,” said Conway, ignoring the unspoken question.
The map indicated that this room linked to another and another. He wondered if they would all be this size and storing the same tragic tale of mass death. The next marked teleporter was several rooms away from here, which struck Conway as strange, since so many people would require numerous teleporters. It was another unanswered question and he was sure he’d come across more before this was over.
Passage through the room was difficult and Conway tried to focus on other things. The Sekar didn’t show up and he was becoming increasingly confident they were not able to access this level of the facility. He didn’t let his guard down and glanced along each of the cross passages. It was silent except for the faint buzzing and the quiet, respectful footsteps of the squad.
After what seemed like an age, the soldiers came to the far wall and Conway reflected that not a single one of the alcoves had been empty. Nearby, a door offered escape from the funereal atmosphere and he made straight for it. The squad watched and waited like interlopers, their rifles trained towards the door.
“Linking,” said Conway.
The override finished up and he sent a command for the door to open. It did so, revealing a passage leading away.
“To death or redemption,” said Private Kemp.
It was a strange thing to say, but nobody gave a wiseass response. Conway would have been disappointed if they had. Without further delay, he strode into the corridor and the squad followed.
Chapter Thirteen
Judging from the map, this level of the base was sprawling. Not only that, Conway found his understanding of that map was incomplete, since the soldiers came to places that he was not expecting.
The first such area was sealed behind another security-locked door. The software in Conway’s combat suit opened it after several seconds of maximum utilization on its processing unit. The door slid aside to reveal a space which was about fifty meters square. Everything was metal – the walls, floor and ceiling – except for an area in the center, which was surrounded by a border of small, roughly-hewn stone blocks.
“Plants,” said Conway.
“Dead plants,” said Warner.
The center of the room had been turned into a kind of garden filled with shrubs, grasses, and gnarled bushes, nothing taller than a couple of meters. A much larger light sphere directly above cast a yellow illumination which seemed to Conway to have an edge of cold white, like summer giving way to the onset of winter.
In spite of this replica of the sun, everything was dead or dying. One or two brown withered leaves clung tenaciously to branches, their determination to endure no match for the onset of time. The rest of the leaves covered the dry, parched soil in thick clumps.
Conway couldn’t help himself. He reached out a hand, intending to touch one of the branches. His hand met a solid, invisible barrier and he withdrew it slowly.
“Look, don’t touch,” he said.
“Whatever’s keeping the lights on must be running out of juice,” said Barron.
“Or somebody’s been pissing about with the supply,” said Kemp. “Raggers or Sekar – take your pick.”
“I don’t want to be here if the death pulse stops working,” said Warner.
“Except there isn’t a death pulse on this level,” said Lester. “And no Sekar either.”
Lester was proven incorrect on his first assertion. The death pulse came and its waves of energy brought several of the squad to their knees, retching and cursing. Conway’s head pounded and he felt like absolute crap.
“Are they getting worse or is it just me?” asked Private Calhoun.
“That one felt worse,” said Warner, leaning against the wall. “Maybe I’m talking out my ass.”
Conway wasn’t sure one way or another, which probably meant each death pulse was as bad as every other one. He checked his HUD timer, which sho
wed exactly forty minutes had elapsed since the last pulse.
“Long interval,” he said. “No way we can rely on them to save us from the Sekar.”
The squad set off once more. Four exits led from the garden room, which meant that Conway’s understanding of the map was definitely wrong. He spoke briefly to Rembra and Lockhart to see if they had any suggestions.
“Backtrack until we are certain of our position,” said the Fangrin.
It was an obvious plan and one which Conway had already mentally rejected. “I’m willing to gamble that we’ll run into another teleporter quicker than we would by retracing our steps.”
Behind his visor, Rembra grinned. “I hoped that would be your preference. We Fangrin prefer to push on, rather than fall back.”
“Most humans do too,” said Conway, feeling like he had to defend humanity against a minor challenge.
Rembra didn’t want a discussion on the matter and he waited for Conway to get moving. Conway obliged and chose the eastern exit from the room. The door was open, so he walked straight through and into another passage. This one was short and ended at a closed door. Conway enacted the procedure to open it, while his squad automatically readied themselves for possible conflict with whatever lay on the far side.
There was no threat behind the door, only another room which offered further insight into the species which had created this facility. The area was large – thirty meters from side to side and with several exits. Chairs and tables were everywhere, with other mundane objects visible whichever way Conway looked. He saw plates, bowls and cups, all rimed with frost. Pictures hung from the walls, displaying images of rugged coastlines, mountains, waterfalls, and windswept plains, all of them oddly familiar yet alien at the same time.
Huge widescreen display panels hung from the center of two walls, and many of the chairs had been arranged in front of these screens. The displays were blank and with no sign they were connected to a power supply.
“No TV today, huh?” said Torres. “This place sucks. Like it really sucks.”
Torres was not so good at words, but far better at conveying emotion. She didn’t need to be articulate – everyone understood.
“These aliens were living like refugees,” said Lockhart.
“Hiding out down here, waiting for the end,” said Nixil. “This is not what I want for my species,” he finished, with a dangerous edge to his voice.
“Makes you wonder how much worse than the Raggers these Sekar might end up,” said Warner.
“I think we know the answer to that already,” said Conway. He skirted past some of the chairs and checked cautiously along the nearest exit passage. Ten meters further, it ended at another room. “Looks like more of the same along here,” he said. “Maybe another after that.”
“The recreation area,” said Torres. “A place to kick back, chew the fat and forget your whole species is going to be wiped out.”
“We don’t know this was their final outpost,” said Conway, hoping it wasn’t. “This could be one of many. Hell, these people could be out there, fighting the good fight against the Sekar. They’ve got the knowhow and the tools. We’ve seen it.”
“The fact that they have the tools and still lost is what worries me most of all, human,” said Lieutenant Rembra. “The death pulse kills the Sekar and it was not enough.”
Conway didn’t want to think about it too much. He was a good officer – he wasn’t shy to admit it – but he also knew his limitations. In this facility, he was confronted by so much that was new and different. Someone else – maybe someone smarter – would see options and opportunities. Not Conway. All he saw – all he knew - was guns and death. It angered him to think that his life could be distilled into those two things.
Suddenly, Conway had an epiphany. He recalled seeing the change on Kemp’s face way back on Qali-5 when the soldier came to terms with his father’s death and the role of the Fangrin in it. Conway was struck by a realization of his own. The limitations he saw in himself were self-imposed – like he’d long ago accepted mediocrity and convinced himself that was good enough. That it was all he could be. Here he was on Glesia, with a chance to make a difference for everyone. Not just for his squad, but for billions of people, who looked to the ULAF to protect them and keep them safe from exactly the kind of shit that was running unchecked through this facility.
A shiver ran through Conway’s entire body. It wasn’t a shiver of fear, rather an acceptance of what he could be – what he should make himself become. A cloak of pure determination wrapped itself around him and the last vestiges of physical ache from the last death pulse vanished in a moment.
“I think we should find some answers,” he said on the squad comms.
Maybe it was the tone of his voice, or maybe his message resonated with the others. Nobody complained and nobody said anything flippant or wiseass in response.
“I’m for it, sir,” said Kemp, like he got exactly what Conway was saying.
“Yeah,” said Torres. “The more intel we haul out of this place, the better it’ll be for us.”
The words added to Conway’s strength and he smiled grimly. “We’re not going to accomplish anything standing around here and waiting to see if the TV comes back on.”
With that, he backed away from the passage leading to the next room and returned to the other soldiers.
Determination was one thing, getting something useful out of it was another thing entirely. Conway checked each of the exit passages to see if any led to a place that looked more useful. In fact, every one of them connected with a similar-looking room. Undeterred, Conway selected at random and set off.
One room became another and another. They were clearly recreational areas, but with no sign of a teleport cubicle. Given the quantity of people this area could accommodate, it seemed increasingly unusual that they had no way of getting around. He mentioned it to Sergeant Lockhart.
“This goes to show how easily we accept new tech, sir,” Lockhart said with a laugh. “Did you consider they might have walked from place to place?”
“I did. It just seems like this area would choke up if you put too many people through these corridors.”
“Maybe they had other teleporters in the empty corners or something,” said Lockhart, giving it serious thought. “Places you just walk up to and get taken to somewhere else.”
Conway nodded, glad that Lockhart had come up with a halfway reasonable idea. “And we’re pretty sure there’s a problem with the power in the facility, so it could be that some of the teleport network got shut down.”
“If this place was under attack, they may have decided to limit movement.”
“Except the Sekar didn’t come through that last teleporter.”
Lockhart gave another gruff laugh. “Everything is speculation.”
“Yeah. I want to know this stuff. It could help us out.”
“Something changed you,” said Lockhart, his eyes narrowed.
“Maybe.” Conway shrugged. “We’ve got a job to do in here, Sergeant. Any result that doesn’t go far beyond the mission briefing is going to be half-assed.”
“That it is.”
The squad exited the recreation area and entered a long corridor that turned left and then right for no apparent reason. Each new turn frustrated Conway’s efforts to see what was coming next. They saw no doors and nothing other than tharniol alloy walls. The lights were strong and unwavering, which was a reassurance that the Sekar weren’t anywhere close. On top of that was the additional reassurance of having a head free of pressure.
At last the corridor ended at a slab-like door which had several alien symbols etched in red upon its surface. Conway’s language module couldn’t comprehend the words and the Fangrin suits didn’t fare any better.
“Red – the universal color for danger,” said Kemp.
“Yeah, well we’re going see what’s on the other side anyway,” said Conway.
He sized up the door – it was larger than the ones
which protected the two previous teleport cubicles. The significance of the fact was uncertain and Conway didn’t spend long thinking about it. He moved his arm steadily up and down the door’s frame and his override software found a panel. He linked and set the program running.
“Taking its damn time,” said Warner, shifting from foot to foot.
Thirty seconds later – nearly three times longer than normal - the security lock was disabled. Conway delayed to ensure that everyone was prepared. Relaxation was enough to add a few tenths to a soldier’s reaction time and the fighting with the Sekar seemed like a long time ago.
“Is everyone ready?” asked Conway.
A few people straightened and others nodded.
“Let’s do this.”
The door opened, not onto a teleporter, but onto steps. The treads were wide enough for three humans or a couple of Fangrin to descend side-by-side. Down went the steps, to what Conway thought might be a landing below. He couldn’t be exactly sure, since the gloom had returned and it sucked away the light emanating from the spheres in the ceiling and the walls.
“Ah shit,” said Berg. “Maybe we should go hunting for those data arrays on this level? It’s not like we explored everywhere.”
“Did you see any sign of tech other than a few TV screens and a room full of preserved dead people?” asked Lockhart.
“No, but—”
“We’re going down these steps,” said Conway, his words bringing an end to the discussion.
Berg shut his mouth and waited for the command to move. Conway waved the soldiers through and then paused in order to close the door behind them. It seemed like the right thing to do.
The door slid across the opening, cutting out the light from the passage and plunging the steps into an even deeper darkness. Conway waited for his eyes and the sensor in his helmet to adjust. When he was ready, he took his place at the front of the squad. Whoever built this place had put in handrails and Conway took hold of one.
He knew that danger lay below, but also, perhaps, some answers. Conway felt no trepidation, only eagerness to get on, mixed with a healthy dose of caution. Down he went, leading his squad into the darkness of the abyss.
Refuge 9 (Fire and Rust Book 5) Page 11