Area 51: The Truth (4 page)

Aspasia had sown the seeds that would haunt the world for the next ten thousand years.

Two days after the mothership had departed, a second mothership, identical to the first, approached the island of Atlantis. There were still thousands gathered around the temple and living in the city. While many had left via sailing ship, most chose to stay rather than venture out on the wide sea, hoping against logic that things would go back to the way they had been.

The remaining people didn’t even realize the mothership was a different one, but they knew something was changed when instead of docking with the top of the palace, it slowly descended to just above a large field on the outside of the city walls. A metal gangplank was extended to the ground, but there was no sign of life on board the ship and no priests from the palace to give instructions.

A few brave souls ventured up the metal way into the ship. When they reappeared, saying it was safe, thousands poured out of the city and crowded their way into the ship. This went on for hours. There were still hundreds on the gangplank and tens of thousands more crowded about on the ground when the metal abruptly began to withdraw back into the ship and the cargo door slid shut, slicing in half several people who tried to climb in. Hundreds more fell to their death and the thousands left behind wailed in terror as the ship gained altitude.

Those screams were echoed by those who had stayed in the city as seven spacecraft lifted out of the top of the palace, lean black forms silhouetted against the rising sun. The seven ships headed straight up, Aspasia and the remainder of his Airlia on board, dwindling from sight. Now the people knew the rumors were true—the Gods were indeed abandoning them.

Those on the ground could feel the displacement of air as Artad’s mothership passed by overhead, finally coming to a halt a mile above the top of the palace. In the shadow of the huge ship, people in the streets fell to their knees, hands raised in supplication. Warriors looked up, holding spears and swords, aware of the uselessness of this display. In the harbor a few ships whose captains had dawdled raced to put to sea, their decks crowded with refugees.

On one of those ships a man and a woman stood side by side. They had waited to see how this latest chapter played out. She was short and slender with pale skin. A white robe fringed with silver covered her body, the hem touching the wood deck of the ship. She had dark hair, liberally marked with premature gray. The man wore leather armor, stitched in many places where blows had hit their mark. He was of average height but broad, with well-defined muscles. In his hand was a curved sword with a notched blade, the metal tinged with dried blood. Neither spoke, nor did they pay attention to the crew desperately rowing, trying to put distance between their vessel and Atlantis. Their focus was on the mothership and palace.

The air became charged with static. A bright golden light raced along the black surface of the mothership in long lines from one end to the other. It gathered at the front end and then pulsed downward in a half-mile-wide beam, passing through everything on the surface into the ground below.

Those on their knees prayed harder. Those fleeing ran faster. The oarsmen on the ships pulled more quickly. Some warriors futilely threw their spears into the air, screaming curses at the Gods who had first abandoned them and were now destroying them. On the ship, the man and woman simply continued watching, as if this was something they’d seen before and knew what to expect next.

The light once more ran along the skin of the ship, gathered at the front, and struck downward. Ten times this happened.

There was an abnormal moment of silence, as if the planet itself recognized the end of something. Even those praying paused.

Then the Earth exploded. The core of the planet below the island surged upward in one swift and devastating blast. The shock wave killed tens of thousands instantly. More died as molten magma sprayed upward and outward, almost reaching the bottom of the mothership.

Warriors held shields up against the onslaught, only to be incinerated in a second. Fathers and mothers threw themselves over children to protect them, and died. The island had lifted in the initial explosion, but now it imploded inward and downward. The ocean absorbed the force of the explosions and a wave on an unparalleled scale was born, rushing outward.

Where Atlantis had been there was only boiling sea.

Above, the mothership was slowly moving away, gaining speed. Those humans crammed in the cargo bays had not seen what had happened, but the destruction was so vast it was as if they had picked up the raw emotion of their fellow beings killed and their homeland destroyed. They moaned, cried, and prayed, now uncertain of their fate.

On the sailing ship the man called out to the ship’s captain, advising him to turn the stern directly into the oncoming wave. The man slid his sword into a worn leather scabbard and watched the towering cliff of water approaching. The captain did so and as other vessels capsized and were swept under, this ship rode up the face. So high and steep was the wall of water that all on board scrambled to grab hold to prevent being thrown overboard. The man wrapped one powerful arm around the woman’s waist and with the other he grabbed hold of the wooden railing.

A screaming sailor flew by, disappearing into the churning water below. The man’s grip held tight as gravity tore others from the ship. Still the ship rode up the wave front, now over half a mile high. The man twisted his head upward, seeing the crest just above them. Slowly the ship went from vertical to horizontal as it passed over onto the top of the wall of water.

“Hold on still!” the man yelled to the surviving crewmen as they slid down the less steep back side of the tsunami. It took over a minute, but finally the ship settled in relatively calm water, the wave racing away from them. Debris and bodies littered the ocean. The man let go of the woman’s waist, but she kept her grip on him as both looked back. Where Atlantis had been there was nothing but ruin and waste.

The woman finally spoke in a strange language. “A truce, Gwalcmai.”

The man seemed to know what she meant. “They are neutralized here. They are no longer Gods.” “For the time being.”

“Time is a valuable commodity, Donnchadh. We didn’t have it, but maybe things will be different here. We have helped accomplish the first stage of our mission. The Airlia have fought among themselves and both sides, in essence, have lost.”

Donnchadh didn’t look convinced. “But neither side has been defeated. And you know this truce is a farce. Both will try to use Guides and Shadows to—”

Gwalcmai held a hand up, stopping her words. “We’ve done what we can. Which is more than we could have hoped for. We have gained the people here time. And we will be around to help in the final war when it does come.”

He walked to the shaken captain and gave him orders. The bow of the ship turned to the northeast. When he returned he noted that the woman’s eyes were distant, as if she were looking beyond the devastation around them.

“He has long since passed on,” he said, knowing she was thinking of their son. “I know,” Donnchadh replied, “but I can still mourn.”

Gwalcmai looked at the dazed sailors and refugees on the ship. “Mourning is all that seems to come of this.”

She nodded sadly. “There will be much more mourning before it is all over.”

The mothership passed over the tsunami that the explosion had caused, the wave now over three- quarters of a mile high and moving outward at four hundred miles an hour.

The mothership crossed the coast of Europe and continued to the east. It came to a halt above a landmass centrally located between Europe, Africa, and Asia. It was above the highest peak in the area, what would be called Agri Dagi and then Mount Ararat, and it descended to just above the top, where the gangplank was extended and the cargo bay doors opened. The rescued people poured out, some crushed to death in the rush to get off the ship.

After all humans were off and well on their way down Mount Ararat, the mothership, like its counterpart in North America, carved out a cavern near the top of the mountain, in which it was then buried by its crew, who later departed to the east via several saucers. The majority of the released humans fled in all directions, but a small handful remained on the mountain, old ties to the Gods holding them in place.

In the Atlantic, the tsunami first approached land along the western tip of Africa. As the depth of the water grew shallower, the wave lost speed but rose in height, almost doubling by the time it approached land. The first sign for those living along the shore that something strange was occurring was the unusual sight of the water withdrawing away from land. Fish were left flopping on the exposed ocean floor and many rushed out to gather the bounty. Unfortunately for them, the water that had disappeared had been drawn out by the tsunami to add to its height.

A sound filled the air, the worst thunderstorm any had heard, multiplied a thousand times. Then the wall of water appeared. Moving faster than any could run, even catching birds that had been feasting on the fish. The wave roared ashore, causing devastation for over a hundred miles inland, wiping out villages, flattening forests, lifting huge stones and carrying them for miles.

Following Africa, the wave hit Europe, North America, South America, and Greenland all with the same devastating effect. Part of the wave passed through and over the Straits of Gibraltar. Diminished in power it still was immense, a quarter mile high, sweeping across the Mediterranean, crashing into shorelines.

Atlantis, the Great Flood, and the rescue of those on board the mothership would pass from truth down into legend among the humans who now spread out over the face of the planet.

Easter Island

The bouncer raced through the tunnel, up into the water of the lake in the Rano Kau crater and into the air. Aspasia’s Shadow was at the controls and once he cleared the rim of the crater he directed it to the west at maximum speed.

He left behind the most remote island on the planet, with over ten thousand former “slaves” now freed of the nanovirus with which he had infected them. Naval personnel mingled with those who had been led to the island by Guides to follow Aspasia’s Shadow. With the humans gaining control of the Master Guardian, he had lost control of his guardian computer and consequently lost control of the nanovirus.

But he was immortal, having partaken of the Grail, which now rested on the floor of the bouncer next to him. No longer would he continuously have to reincarnate himself via the ka. He also left behind the handful of guides that had been corrupted by guardian computers and come to him when he had called. Those they had misled fell upon them with a vengeance. Every Guide on Easter Island was dead within minutes, torn to pieces by the newly freed.

Aspasia’s Shadow cared nothing for those he abandoned. Being free of the ka he could finally be free of this planet and this island on the forsaken planet. Though the humans now controlled the Master Guardian, Aspasia’s Shadow had fought the humans too long not to have emergency plans prepared for every contingency he had been able to imagine over the many years he had prepared.

Qian-Ling, China

The four metal dragons carrying Artad and his Kortad exited the mountain tomb and headed west. Millennia after entering the tomb, Artad was ready to resume his mission to Earth. He had slept for over ten thousand years in the lowest chamber under the mountain, waiting.

The alien sat in a tall seat, his seven-foot frame melding into the contours. Six-fingered hands manipulated the controls while his red cat eyes scanned the displays. That he was abandoning the Chinese government with which he had allied concerned him not in the slightest. The humans, against all odds, had recovered Excalibur and taken control of the Master Guardian, and in turn his mothership. His plans foiled, he knew he had only one option: Get to Mars.

He’d seen what the surviving Airlia there had been building. And he knew it was the answer to all his problems. Then there would be time to put the humans back in their place.

Camp Rowe, North Carolina

The Eleventh Airborne Division had trained at Camp Rowe during World War II. The Son Tay commandos had also conducted their preparation for the raid into North Vietnam at a mock-up built next to the long runway. And the Delta Force commandos who had later conducted the ill-fated hostage rescue mission into Iran had also done their training at this spot in the North Carolina pine forests to the west of Fort Bragg. It was also the site of Phase I and Phase
III
training for Special Forces recruits.

Now the remnants of those who had operated out of Area 51 called the remote site their headquarters. Given that Yakov was in Turkey and Turcotte was on Everest, and Che Lu and Mualama were dead, the only ones left here were Major Quinn and Larry Kincaid.

The two worked out of a pair of communications vans that had been brought here from nearby Fort Bragg by the Delta Force commander, an old army buddy of Turcotte’s. The vans were linked into the military’s secure
MILSTAR
communication system. With access to this, both men could try to stay on top of the swirl of recent events.

Larry Kincaid checked the latest imagery from Mars relayed from the Hubble Space Telescope. Kincaid had worked at JPL—the Jet Propulsion Lab—and
NASA
for decades. He’d been drawn into Area 51 when it was discovered that the Airlia had an ancient base at Cydonia on Mars. Since then he’d been monitoring activity on the Red Planet, specifically at Cydonia and the recent construction on the high slope of Mons Olympus.

Prior to Yakov gaining control of the Master Guardian, the construction on Mons Olympus had seemed to be progressing swiftly. A series of black struts crisscrossed the massive bowl that had been excavated in the side of the volcano near the summit. By the shadows Kincaid could tell the struts were lifted above the ground about ten meters. On top of most of the struts, latticework was completed. It reminded him of a spider’s web with the spaces between filled in with shiny material. Looming over the bowl and latticework he could see three inward curving pylons, two apparently finished, twins of each other, the third slightly shorter, not yet done. Their scale was staggering, even given Mars’ lower gravitational field, only three-eighths that of Earth. Each one had to be at least fifteen hundred meters high, well over three times the height of the Empire State Building in New York City. And they curved toward the center of the bowl, coming within four hundred meters of each other.