Area 51: The Truth (30 page)

Mars

Artad exited the Talon with a dozen Kortad backing him up. As soon as he was clear of the airlock, the ship rose into the Martian sky and took up an overwatch position ten kilometers above Mons Olympus.

The Airlia who had finished the array were in front of him. As he approached, they prostrated themselves. Their leader, whom Artad had known briefly many years previously, dropped to one knee.

“We have prepared the array for you.”

They had prepared the array for him because they had no other choice, Artad knew. They could not call back to the empire and ask for help after their role in the civil war here so many years ago. They were criminals, traitors, who could only throw themselves on his mercy.

“Is it ready to transmit?”

“Shortly. It is powering up.” The Airlia got to his feet and led the way to a tracked vehicle that was linked to the array with numerous cables.

Artad paused before following. He looked about. He saw the army of mech-machines that had been stopped in their tracks when the humans took over the Master Guardian and shut down the subordinate guardians. The magnitude of the loss of a master along with its Excalibur control was staggering. His reprimand when the fleet arrived would be great. And after over ten thousand years, what would his status be? He didn’t even know what the status of the empire was. He assumed it was strong, as it had existed for many times that length of time. But what if—

Artad looked up. He knew the mothership was en route, with humans on board coming to stop him. And the Master Guardian was on board the mothership. Their arrogance was beyond belief.

It would be a much better message if it contained a more positive summary than the current status report, Artad realized.

Space

They had a plan. It wasn’t the best, but Turcotte had served in Special Forces and he knew there was no such thing as a best plan, other than staying home and pulling the covers over one’s head.

They were just under an hour out. Everyone else was in the control room, watching the array. Turcotte knew watching wouldn’t make the time go by any quicker. He went down the main corridor until he reached the crossway leading to the hangar bay in which they had brought the ship with Duncan on board. Turcotte went into the bay and up the ramp into the ship.

Duncan was in the tube, eyes closed. A light on the side of the tube was green. Turcotte had to assume that meant it was functioning correctly, although he could not see her chest rise and fall. Her breathing must be down to an extremely slow rate, he figured.

Turcotte went over to the other tube. The light on this one was red. The man’s face was slack, the eyes full of a dullness Turcotte had seen too many times before—he was dead, of that there was no doubt.

Turcotte swung the lid open and examined the body. The skin was flawless, with no scars or other marks. The man appeared to be in his late teens or early twenties, in excellent physical shape at the time of death. He didn’t even have any calluses on the bottoms of his feet. It was as if the man had never left the tube.

Which he hadn’t, Turcotte knew. He’d seen a tube like this before. Deep under Mount Sinai. The one Aspasia’s Shadow had used to regenerate his new body. Apparently it had two functions, he realized, glancing over at Duncan’s tube. It not only could regenerate a new body, it also could put someone in deep sleep—a necessary thing, he supposed, for travel in deep space.

Turcotte looked about. The interior was sparse, emphasizing function over comfort, much like a present-day submarine. He walked to the front, where two chairs faced a control console. He sat down in the right-hand seat. It felt familiar, which irritated him. What had been in his brain? He had a good idea who had put it there.

He scanned the console. If the seat felt familiar, then perhaps other things would strike a chord. A flat screen to the right, set at an angle in the console, caught his attention. There were five buttons with markings below it. He reached and tapped one. The screen flickered, then came alive.

In rapid succession a series of scenes played out on the screen. Turcotte saw Duncan and her companion aboard a mothership, leaving their homeworld and son. Departing the mothership outside the solar system. Landing on Earth. Burying the ship at what would become Stonehenge. Raising the first “stones” there.

Then he caught quick glimpses of the two of them throughout Earth history.

On a wonderful island with a huge palace in the center that he assumed had to be Atlantis. They were dressed in local garb and ambushing an Airlia in the streets and killing him.

On a ship, pulling away from the island kingdom as it was destroyed by a mothership.

Returning to the buried spaceship, regenerating new bodies, transferring their essences via the ka, and emerging.

In Egypt, sneaking around in the dark, again killing an Airlia in ambush. A confrontation along the Roads of Rostau with what appeared to be Ones Who Wait, Airlia-Human half-breeds.

Regenerating.

Greece. In the newly completed Parthenon, watching and listening to orators. In a field, killing someone—a One Who Waits—who tried to ambush them. Regenerating.

Rome. In the stands of the Coliseum watching gladiators hack at each other with swords.

The scenes began to flicker by so quickly he could barely comprehend a tenth of what he was seeing. Every forty years or so the two would return to Stonehenge and transfer to a new body. The same form of “immortality” that Aspasia’s Shadow had had. So she had lied to him from the very beginning, which did not surprise Turcotte at this point.

He saw the two of them at Camelot. Aspasia’s Shadow as Mordred. Artad’s Shadow as Arthur. Duncan in the court, dressed in a white robe. The man in armor, next to the king.

Turcotte had an idea what was behind what he was seeing. Duncan and her partner had operated covertly, trying to manipulate the Airlia and their minions.

Then he saw a brutal battle, the dead and dying littering a field. Swords and spears covered in blood. Duncan’s partner taking a sword blow to the chest from someone wielding Excalibur. His ka damaged. Duncan dragging him on a travois back to Stonehenge, unable to pass his essence on to the regenerated body. Turcotte glanced over his shoulder at the tube holding the dead man.

Looking back, he saw Duncan in the mothership cavern at Area 51, but it was unopened, dark. She was sealing it with explosives. So she had tried to hide the truth, Turcotte realized. Why? And the answer came to him as quickly as he posed the question—because man wasn’t ready to challenge the Airlia yet.

Duncan in the ship. Standing over a man strapped to a table. Turcotte started as he recognized himself as the man on the table. She was doing something to his head. Turcotte’s hand reached up and touched where the
MRI
had detected the implant.

Turcotte stopped the screen and turned toward the tube holding Duncan. Quinn was right—she had never been who she said she was. He felt betrayed—as close as the two of them had gotten, she had still lied. Of course, would he have been willing to accept the truth at any point? Hell, he still didn’t know the entire story. Who were the Airlia? More importantly, who were we? Turcotte wondered.

He went over to Duncan’s tube. He looked at the buttons, then hit one that seemed likely. There was a puff of air escaping the tube, and the lid slowly lifted. He checked his watch. They were twenty minutes out from Mars. Artad might have already sent his message.

Duncan opened her eyes. She blinked for a few moments, reorienting herself. The severed arm was already half-grown back, the edge a mixture of raw red and pulsing black as the Airlia virus reconstituted the cells.

“Mike—” Duncan sat up, reaching her good hand out.

Turcotte took a step back, shaking his head. “We’re past that. You lied and manipulated me.” She sighed and sat still for a few moments, before replying. “I had to.”

“Why?”

She glanced over at the other tube. “I am sorry. I was alone for so long. And I needed help. After the mothership was uncovered and Majestic formed, I knew I couldn’t keep it under cover anymore. And that I couldn’t do it by myself.

“The Airlia. The truth. I knew a battle, this battle that we’ve fought, was coming.” “And what is the truth?” Turcotte asked.

She shook her head. “I’ve blocked it from myself.” “What?”

She climbed out of the tube without his aid, using her one hand to support herself. “These tubes—we took them from the Airlia when we defeated them on my planet. They can grow a new body. Transfer memories and personalities—the essence of a person, via the ka. They also can be used for deep sleep. But you can program them too. After he”—she once more looked at the other tube—”his name was Gwalcmai, my husband, I buried him near Stonehenge—that’s the body that couldn’t be reborn, I knew it was all on my shoulders. I also knew where my home world was. And the Ones Who Wait, the Guides, they were after me. Aspasia’s Shadow tried to track me down several times. So I blocked my own memory using the tube. Sealed off parts. My past. My home world. My memories of him. Of my son.”

Turcotte suddenly realized the pain she’d been in to do such a thing. He understood the need to seal off the information she couldn’t give up, but she’d also cut off memories that would cause her emotional pain.

“I want to know—” Turcotte began, but he was interrupted by Yakov appearing in the hatchway. “We’re less than ten minutes out. You need to suit up.” The Russian was staring hard at Duncan.

“What are you going to do?” Duncan asked. “We need you to help us,” Turcotte said.

“Of course.”

Turcotte took a step closer to her. “Not ‘of course.’ This is our plan. To free our planet from the influence of the Airlia once and for all. I killed the Swarm orb and freed you. If we can destroy this array and kill Artad, we’ve succeeded. Many people have died so far in this war. We need to end it now. I don’t know what your hidden agenda has been and I don’t care. Will you do what I tell you to?”

Duncan nodded. “My—our goal—was the same.” “All right. Here’s the plan.”

Tripler Army Medical Center, Oahu, Hawaii

Kelly Reynolds opened her eyes and immediately shut them, finding the bright glint of sunlight coming through her room’s windows unbearable. She heard someone shutting the blinds and tried to open her eyes once more.

“Take it slowly,” a woman’s voice said in a whisper.

Kelly opened her mouth to say something, but only a hoarse croak would come out.

Someone used a spoon to put some crushed ice in her mouth and Kelly allowed the chips to melt. The water felt wonderful sliding down her throat. She could see now. A nurse hovered over her, another spoonful of ice ready. Kelly gave a slight nod and the nurse put it in her mouth. She savored the coolness. Then she tried to speak again.

“Mike?” “Who?”

“Mike Turcotte. I need to talk to him.”

“You mean the fellow on the news? The one on board that spaceship going to Mars?”

Kelly weakly nodded. “I’ve got to talk to him. I know the truth. And he needs to know it too.” “‘The truth’?” Cummings asked.

“Who we are.”

Mars

The cruise missiles were lined up along the edge of the cargo bay, pointing forward. Kincaid had done the calculations and was now standing next to Yakov in the control room, giving him slight adjustments to their course as they closed on Mars.

Turcotte and half the Space Command team were crowded inside Duncan’s ship, which was still inside the bay. They had their
TASC
suits on, weapons ready. The armorer had done a quick patch job on Turcotte’s suit. Good enough for a seal. They’d off-loaded the two tubes in order to make room. Duncan was at the controls, programming in their course.

“Ready to put the brakes on,” Yakov announced over their tactical net. Duncan stood up.

“What are you doing?” Turcotte asked.

“You don’t need me here,” Duncan said. “I’ve programmed the ship—it’s called the Fynbar, by the way, after one of the leaders on my planet in the revolt against the Airlia—to do what you want. I’m more useful on the mothership.”

“That’s not the plan,” Turcotte argued, as she headed for the hatch.

“Trust me on this,” Duncan said. She paused looking up at him. “This is the end. I am sorry about what I did to you, but it was necessary. I hope you’ll understand that one day.” She reached up and touched the front of the black helmet, as if she could reach through and touch his face. “Good luck.”

Then she was out of the ship, the hatch shutting behind her and sealing.

“We’ve got the Talon on screen,” Yakov announced, startling Turcotte. “It’s closing on us fast.” “Do it,” Turcotte ordered.

Outside the ship, Duncan went into the main corridor, shutting the door behind her. As soon as it was shut, the outer cargo bay door opened. The ship lifted and exited.

In the control room, Yakov saw the ship depart, then hit the controls. The mothership slowed abruptly and halted. Maintaining the momentum, and no longer attached to their cradles, the cruise missiles kept going, exiting the bay and spreading out in the pattern that Kincaid had programmed.

Inside the Talon, Artad watched his tactical display. The mothership had halted and ten objects were still coming forward from it. A craft also had exited the mothership and was descending toward the planet.

He issued orders to his crew quickly.

Once the cargo door sealed behind her ship and pressure was restored, Duncan reentered the bay. She ran over to the empty tube and hit the keys on the side as she slid her ka into its slot. The top swung up and she climbed in, lying down. She put a thin metal band around her head. Her right arm had regenerated to the wrist so far. The top closed and the metal band sent microfilaments into her brain.

The machine powered up and removed the memory blocks she had installed.

It took all of twenty seconds. The machine shut down, the lid opened, and Duncan exited. She stood still in the cargo bay for several moments, absorbing the impact of the complete truth. It did not surprise her, given what she had allowed herself to know. It all made sense.