Area 51: The Truth (26 page)

“Why?” Turcotte asked.

“Because of the potential.” She smiled. “And I was right, wasn’t I? You’ve called, haven’t you?” Turcotte nodded. “Good. Let’s move then. We’ve got a long way to go.”

Mars

The Airlia convoy reached the edge of the array. The large vehicles were dwarfed by the pylons arching overhead. They maneuvered around to the one that wasn’t complete and came to a halt. Hatches opened on the vehicles and Airlia piled out dressed in black pressure suits. All the survivors that Aspasia had left behind.

Most began putting together prefab enclosures. A handful walked over to the thick base of the pylon. They looked up. The unfinished portion was far above them, but in the lesser gravity of Mars a half dozen Airlia began climbing up the slightly curving outer surface. As they climbed, others began backing up the tracked vehicles, leaving a space in between which they started covering with a heavy material to form a living area.

Twenty miles away, on the ramp, the last vehicle, the one bearing the crystal, was approaching.

Space

Garlin was near the Swarm orb, waiting placidly as his tentacle, now attached to the orb, made a report.

On the gurney, Duncan slowly opened her eyes, the virus having repaired the physical damage done to her mind. She lifted her right arm—a fully formed hand with smooth skin was at the end.

There was a throbbing noise inside the spacecraft, something she vaguely recognized. She stared up at the ceiling for several seconds, trying to orient herself. It too was familiar although she couldn’t immediately place it. Her head hurt and it was hard to concentrate.

Her last conscious memory was of Garlin cutting off her hand. She stretched the fingers of the new hand. It was strapped to the table at the elbow, limiting her movement. Another strap ran across her ankles, thighs, and chest. She lifted her head, noting the dried blood encrusted on the robe she wore.

Immortal.

The word echoed in her consciousness as her head slumped back on the table. What good was immortality in the current situation? Where was she? That was the question that bothered her as this place seemed familiar, almost comforting despite her predicament.

Her spaceship—the Fynbar. It came to her with a wave of sharply conflicting emotions. A warm, familiar feeling, spiked through with the realization that the Swarm was in control of it. Memories poured through her mind in an overwhelming cascade. Her conditioning had been broken. If she could remember, then the Swarm knew what she did. She felt despair, then, as she was able to sort through the memories, she was crushed with a flood of grief.

Duncan turned her head as tears streamed from her eyes. Two cloning/sleep tubes were at the edge of the room, pressed up against the bulkhead. Her hand closest to them strained against the strap as she reached toward one.

“My love,” she whispered in a language she had not spoken for over a thousand years. “My love.”

Ten thousand kilometers behind Duncan’s ship, the mothership was moving away from Earth. Yakov was in the pilot’s seat, directing the ship onto the vector that Larry Kincaid had programmed in order to intercept Mars. On his lap he had the thin instruction manual containing all the material that Majestic had managed to assemble on the workings of the mothership after studying it for fifty years.

“How long until we get there?” Yakov asked.

Turcotte was seated behind Yakov, eyes closed, head back, apparently asleep. A slight opening of one eye indicated he was awake and also waiting for the answer.

“Just over a day at this speed,” Kincaid said. “And the Swarm and Talon?” Yakov asked.

Kincaid checked his laptop. “The Talon will get to Mars about two hours before us. The Swarm ship about two hours after that.”

“At the same time we arrive?”

“Roughly,” Kincaid said. “We’re faster than the Swarm ship, but moving at pretty much the same speed as the Talon. I think we might even get to Mars before the Swarm ship.”

Two hours. Turcotte considered that. “When will the array be done?” he asked, still without opening his eyes.

Kincaid shrugged, the motion lost on Turcotte. “Hard to say. The convoy just arrived at the construction site.”

“What we need to know,” Turcotte said, emphasizing the last word, “is whether it will be done before the Talon arrives. If it is, I’m sure Artad can get a message out in two hours.”

“We should get an idea pretty soon,” Kincaid said. “I think it’s going to take them a while. They’ve got to complete the third pylon by hand, and then who knows what else they have to do to get operational.”

Turcotte opened his eyes and wearily got out of the seat. “I don’t know much about space travel, but since Mars is moving around the sun, our track isn’t exactly a straight shot, right?”

Kincaid brought up an image of the inner four planets of the solar system’s orbits on his laptop. “We’re heading for this intercept point right here.” He indicated a location on Mars orbit ahead of where the planet currently was. He tapped the touch pad and a green dot was fixed in that spot. “The Talon will reach Mars when it’s here.” Slightly before the mothership intercept a red dot appeared. “And this is its vector.” The Talon’s path was to the “right” of their track.

“What about the Swarm ship with Duncan?” Turcotte asked.

“Here.” A third track and dot appeared, this time to the left of the mothership’s.

Turcotte rubbed the stubble on his chin. “You said we’re going faster than that ship, right?” Kincaid nodded. “Somewhat.”

“If we change our path to intercept it, where would that happen and how much time would we lose?” Turcotte asked. Yakov had left the pilot’s seat and come over during the conversation.

“What do you have in mind, my friend?” the Russian asked. Turcotte ignored Yakov for the moment as Kincaid calculated.

“We would intercept here.” He indicated a spot well short of Mars orbit. “Because we’d change vectors slightly and then have to redirect to intercept Mars, we’d lose a little time, but not much. A couple of minutes, give or take.”

“How far out from Mars would the intercept be?” Turcotte asked. “Three hours.”

Yakov cleared his throat. “We must stop Artad first. That is our primary mission.”

Turcotte shook his head. “We have to stop both. They’re equally important. Artad is first because he gets to Mars first. But”—Turcotte dragged the word out—”if the array isn’t complete, then it doesn’t matter. And if it is complete, then it doesn’t matter if we get there a couple of minutes late.”

Yakov frowned. “Are you suggesting that we intercept the Swarm ship first?” “Why not?” Turcotte asked in turn.

“But what if the array is completed during that few-minute window?”

“Then we screwed up,” Turcotte said. “But if we intercept en route, then we have three hours after that to get ready for Artad. If we go straight to Mars, we have to attack Artad and the array, then have the Swarm ship show up a couple of minutes later. Things could get very busy.” Something had occurred to him as he spoke. “And we have three, not two, groups we have to stop. Artad and the Swarm aren’t enough. We also have to stop the Airlia on Mars. Even if we stop Artad, the Airlia on the surface can still send a message. And let’s remember something else. The Airlia on Mars were Aspasia’s. We can’t be sure that Artad is going to be welcome when he shows up. That might gain us some time.” Turcotte turned to Yakov. “What do you think?”

“It is taking a chance intercepting the Swarm ship. I agree, though, that having the Swarm show up right after we get there could be a problem. We could be battling the Talon and it could go straight to the array to send a message. If we do intercept the Swarm ship en route, how do you propose to stop it?”

“The old-fashioned way,” Turcotte said. “We board it. Just like pirates used to in the old days.” Yakov shook his head wearily. “Pirates in the old days. Another great plan.”

Artad was lying on his back, his command chair enclosed by a curved display. He brought up the tactical situation, noting his ship’s projected course to the fourth planet. He also saw the two spacecraft chasing him.

The mothership he expected. The humans were nothing if not persistent.

The other ship, though, was a puzzle. There was no record of its type in the Talon’s database. Of course, much might have happened in the universe during the ten thousand plus years that he had been disconnected from the Airlia Empire. There was even the possibility that the empire no longer existed.

That was something Artad choose not to dwell on. The empire had existed for millions of years. There was no reason to believe that something drastic had happened in the relatively short time span Artad had been in deep sleep to change that. Even the war with the Swarm had gone on for such a long time, more a war of attrition along a front encompassing galaxies than one of vanquishment. The universe—and empires involved—were simply too large for decisive strategic victories. It was a bitter lesson the Airlia and other species had discovered when they moved out among the stars.

The second ship bothered him. Could it be a human one? Historical records downloaded from the guardian indicated that the humans had achieved minimal space travel, barely able to reach their own moon with a manned mission. This craft was clearly beyond the technological level of the planet. They had barely managed to launch a few primitive probes toward the fourth planet and his Ones Who Wait had sabotaged most of them.

While he knew there was nothing he could use effectively against the mothership, this spaceship was another matter. Artad slid his hands into holes on either side of the command chair. His six fingers made connections with the controls.

A portal opened amidships on the Talon. In rapid succession, a half dozen small pods were ejected. The portal shut as the pods moved through space on an interception course with the third spaceship.

Space

Turcotte walked down the main corridor, taking note of the activity on board the mothership. He had Excalibur in one hand and the sheath in the other. Directly behind the control room, the Space Command troops were billeted in one of the many large holds. The doorway was open and Turcotte could see that most of the men were asleep, lying on pads they had rolled out on the floor. That seemed like a good idea to him.

On the other side of the corridor, through the open door, he could see Professor Leahy and Major Quinn holed up with their pallets of equipment. He was tempted to go in and ask about the weapon and whether they could do it—and if so, when it would be done. But he held back, knowing his asking wouldn’t make any difference. Either they would get it done in time and it would work, or they wouldn’t. He’d deal with it when the time came.

Turcotte continued down the corridor and stopped at the entrance to the Master Guardian room. The door slid open and he entered. He walked across the narrow metal bridge to the platform on which the red pyramid rested. The surface glowed from within.

Turcotte slid the sword into the sheath and the glow faded. He put the sword down, leaning it against the pyramid. Then he turned to the other objects in the room: the Grail and the thummin and urim.

Turcotte sat down cross-legged, his back against the Master Guardian, Excalibur by his side. He picked up the Grail. It was surprisingly heavy. He placed it right in front of him.

When he reached for the thummin and urim the stones began to give off a green glow and he paused, his hands over them. Gingerly he picked them up, feeling their warmth seep into his flesh. He held his hands out in front, as if weighing the stones. He lowered his left hand toward the Grail and the top irised open, revealing a slight depression in which the stone would fit snugly. His hand hovered over the opening, then he shook his head, putting the stones back down.

“My friend.”

The words startled Turcotte, who had not noticed Yakov entering the chamber. The Russian walked across the gangway until he was right in front of Turcotte, towering over him.

“What are you doing?” Yakov indicated the Grail. “I don’t know.” “It draws you, doesn’t it?” Yakov asked as he also sat down.

“It is a dangerous thing.”

Yakov nodded. “All powerful things are dangerous. And this”—he reached out and tapped the Grail—”this is the most dangerous thing.”

“I believe what I told Aspasia’s Shadow,” Turcotte said. “This will destroy the world if we bring it back to Earth.”

“Yet here you are,” Yakov said. “Yes.”

“What should we do with it?”

“If we partake, it will give us an advantage in our upcoming battles,” Turcotte said.

Yakov frowned. “But you said you believed what you told Aspasia’s Shadow. If we go back to Earth after partaking and don’t bring the Grail then”—Yakov paused as the implications sank in—”you don’t plan on returning to Earth?”

“The thought has crossed my mind. I don’t think any of this”—Turcotte indicated the mothership, the Master Guardian, Excalibur, the Grail and stones—”should be brought back. It’s caused so much trouble over the years and will cause much more in the future now that some of the truth is out. And if we partake, then we don’t belong either.”

“Then we will not partake,” Yakov said simply.

“We might need the advantage immortality will give us.”

“We haven’t yet. It did not help Aspasia’s Shadow much, did it?” Yakov stood. “My friend, do not doubt yourself now.”

Turcotte tapped the side of his head. “What about this thing inside?” “It hasn’t impaired you yet, I would not worry about it.”

Turcotte laughed. “You have very easy answers.”

“It is the Russian way.” Yakov reached down and offered his hand to Turcotte, who took it. Yakov pulled him to his feet. “I say we rest.”

“Agreed.”

She had failed. More than failed.

Duncan numbly watched the tentacle detach from the Swarm orb and enter Garlin’s mouth. He walked over to the gurney and picked up the crown, setting it on her head. Through the dried blood on her face, her tears had cut their own course, leaving tracks of uncovered skin.