Guardians of Eden (4 page)

Neither surprised nor concerned to encounter resistance, Owyn and Ambrose stuck to their cover and waited. Gradually, order was beginning to be restored. The frantic shouting had faded away and the scattered soldiers were quickly assembling into squads that had begun searching the perimeter for the bombers. Their organisation was impressive. The rebels on Earth had always been completely bereft of discipline, while these men had it in abundance.

Ambrose kneeled, lifted his rifle and put an eye to the scope. Owyn held back. Time was against them, but they weren’t ready to panic. He held his breath to steady his aim. His rifle lacked the precision of Shaw’s – or any modern weapon for that matter – and so he had very little margin for error. He allowed his crosshair to sway a few times to either side before choosing his moment.

Owyn rushed down the steep embankment as the crack sounded and one of the guards was thrust backwards with blood spraying from his chest. The second immediately took aim and opened fire, but Owyn easily anticipated his every move. He hit the floor and slid beneath a line of shots. With the distance suitably reduced he rolled onto one knee and fired the finishing shot.

He leapt back to his feet and approached the structure. Unlike the rest of the base, this small and unassuming building – barely larger than a modest motor home – was built to last. Its walls were plated and its windows reinforced with numerous layers of steel mesh. The door was several inches thick and sealed by a complex combination lock. Owyn cursed. There’d been no warning of anything like this level of security. They didn’t have the time or the means without Sully’s help. He tried his comms. Nothing.

Ambrose marched up behind him and headed straight for the lock. Without a moment’s hesitation or thought he began reciting a long numerical code and entering the combination. The door clunked as a bolt retracted. Ambrose pushed through. “Come on,” he said, beckoning his partner to follow. Owyn was initially startled, although he shouldn’t have been surprised. After all, he’d said it himself. It wouldn’t be Ambrose if he didn’t at least keep something close to his chest.

Directly inside was a tiny, enclosed room. Opposite the entrance was another even more formidable looking bulwark door. This one was tightly sealed around the edges and was seamless but for a square metal plate cut out in the centre.

“Sully, are you with us?” Owyn tried again as he went about securing the door behind them. Again he was met with the stale sound of static. “Comms are still down,” he informed Ambrose. A lengthy pause followed. “Sir?”

Still there was no response. It was as though he was possessed. Already he had gone about removing a section of panelling from the floor and was all but unaware of everything else around him. Rather than try for his attention again, Owyn fell back to guard the entrance.

After a period of rooting around beneath the floor Ambrose returned to reality. “This’ll buy us a minute at most,” he called. As he climbed back up the door suddenly lurched upwards, stopping just a few inches above the floor. Owyn didn’t waste any time. He discarded his helmet and exoskeleton to make himself as small as possible then lay flat on his back and shuffled himself into place. With one arm he reached beneath the door and felt for the other side. He had to stretch as far as he could, straining his muscles to near breaking point before he managed to hook his hand around and secure himself an anchor. Ambrose gave a nod of approval and he dragged himself under.

To say it was a tight fit would have been an understatement. Owyn needed to press his cheek to the floor just to avoid losing his nose and his ankles were turned so sharply that they burned. He pulled again with all of his strength, desperate to escape the confinement. As he emerged he gasped for air as though surfacing from a deep sea dive, then clambered back to his feet and stood ready to greet his partner.

The seconds passed, yet still there was no sign of Ambrose. He should have followed right behind. Where was he? Owyn ducked down to take a look through the passage. Was anyone there? He could hardly see a thing. Uncertainty crept into his mind. Had Ambrose been ambushed? He hadn’t heard anything happen but he wasn’t quite sure that was a good sign. Should he go back?
Could
he go back?

Without warning the door crashed down to the floor, closing the gap entirely. Owyn lurched backwards. He was immediately flooded with panic. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Ambrose was the only one who knew the rest of the plan. He jumped up and slammed his fist against the door. “Fuck,” he hissed. “Sully?” There was no response yet again. “Shaw? O’Brien? Anyone?” He was now breathing heavily and out of control. Panic had overtaken him. “Fuck!” he repeated, this time gathering all of his strength into a yell.

He slumped helplessly back down to the ground. Yet again his mind was in overdrive, jumping from question to question without ever finding any answers.
No,
he told himself. He had to keep his calm. Taking a deep breath he looked around and took in his confined surroundings. In front of him was an open elevator door. Assuming Ambrose had his facts straight it was a direct route into the rebel weapons facility. He wanted another option, but one was all he had. There was no way out; no way to call for help. He needed to get the job done.

He stood up, dusted himself down and stepped inside. On the wall to his left was a single green button. He reached out. Doubts crept their way back in. His fingers curled back into his palm and he squeezed his fist. There had to be another way. He shook his head. No. The mission was the priority. He pushed the button.

After a few seconds of anxious waiting the elevator door slid shut. He took another drawn out breath. From this point on he would be stranded in uncharted waters. All he had to follow was his instinct. No orders. No team leader. Find the weapon and destroy it. That was the mission. All he had to do was finish the mission. The elevator began to move downwards. This was it.

INSTALLATION 3

The air rapidly thickened and pressed closer to Owyn’s skin as the elevator carried him deep into the bowels of Altaris. His altitude had dropped further than a mile below sea level yet still he was descending. Whatever this weapon was, it was being kept extremely well protected – unbelievably well even. From how Ambrose had explained the situation it seemed as though the DPD had known about this place for some time. If that was the case then how could an operation like this have gone under the radar? Surely tunnelling more than a mile down into the ground would have been seen as reasonable cause for suspicion. Why had it taken until the discovery of a weapon for anyone to be sent in? And what exactly was the reasoning for the weapon to be buried so deep in the first place?

Owyn shook his head. He was only thinking into it so deeply because of Ambrose’ absence. This was hardly the first time he’d gone into a mission without knowing the whole story. He never knew the whole story. That was the nature of the job. ISO Operatives were kept as far as possible from everything going on down on the surface to ensure they went into every mission with perfect clarity. It wasn’t the best way to live but Owyn had known exactly what he was getting into before he signed up.

The sudden mention of a rebellion and the knowledge of Ambrose’ departure were distractions but they shouldn’t have been enough to disrupt his focus. Being forced to complete the mission on his own had shaken him in a way he couldn’t allow it to.

Finally the elevator came to a steady stop, and after a brief delay the doors opened. A small circular room illuminated before Owyn’s eyes. He panned around with his Gratia held out in front of him. He was alone. Tentatively he stepped out and edged his way around the room.

Rather than the cramped makeshift bunker he’d expected, he had arrived in a wide open control room. A panoramic window reached all of the way around and a ring of computer consoles were positioned around its centre.

Every time Owyn’s boot touched the floor distant echoes called back to him, repeating over and over, never seeming to grow any weaker. He peered out through the window, but all he saw was darkness. Turning back he headed over to one of the consoles and reached towards the display, but as soon as his hand drew near it shut down. As soon as it did the comms device in his ear started screeching loudly with a horrid, grating tone. Immediately he pulled it from his ear but that hardly muted the sound. Anyone could have heard it from a mile away. He hurriedly dropped it to the floor and crushed it under his heel. Silence resumed. After waiting a few seconds with his breath held to make sure it stayed like that he sighed and wiped the sweat from his brow. Somehow, against all the odds, the situation had got even worse. Now he had no way of contacted the rest of the team even once the jammers were down. Great. One thing to be positive about, at least, was that no one seemed to have been alerted to his presence. That was something to be thankful for.

He crept cautiously backwards and looked around once again. Still the silence persisted. Petrified of triggering anything with a second attempt he returned to the window and touched his hand to the glass. It was cold. Too cold. The air inside the room was heavy and humid yet the window was colder than ice.

All of a sudden the glass glowed green. Owyn leapt backwards. The shock hit him so quickly that he fumbled his gun and it clattered to the floor. In a flash of panic he scrambled across the floor to retrieve it. Loud clangs echoed from outside. He glanced up. One by one lights were appearing in the darkness surrounding the control room. Gradually he stood himself back up and approached the glass once again. He gazed down and his jaw dropped.

The control room was at the top of a giant spherical chamber with a surrounding wall consisting of hundreds of huge metallic panels. Each one must have been more than 1,000 square feet in area. Beneath Owyn’s feet the base of the sphere was so far from view that his eyes strained to see it, blurring before they could reach the depths.

His perception of the mission had been flipped on its head. This wasn’t a bottom of the line makeshift IED factory. This matched what ISO had access to; perhaps even surpassed it. A rebellion with these kinds of resources was a terrifying prospect and brought a sense of the sheer devastation that their weapon could be capable of. This kind of facility couldn’t have been brought about quickly. Perhaps the DPD hadn’t initially been aware that there was an underground portion to the base meaning they would have only recently learned what kind of resources the rebels had at their disposal.

That would explain why they hadn’t been more concerned before now. It would also explain why Ambrose had been unable to give much of an insight into the latter stages of the mission – he didn’t know what to expect.

Four walkways extended from equidistant points around the chamber, eventually forming into a central platform that surrounded an inner sphere. That had to be it. Once the lights had finished activating, a door opened automatically on one side of the control room. After keeping his sights on the opening for a few seconds to ensure no one was on the other side Owyn headed through.

Along either side of the corridor were dozens of doors marked as all sorts of labs and offices, but Owyn had his eyes fixed. He stretched his legs and sprinted towards the far end.

Another elevator took him down the side of the sphere, delivering him into another lab. Weapon raised, he crossed the threshold and checked his sides. Again, he was clear, and the entrance to the chamber was within sight. He hesitated for a moment. Things weren’t quite adding up. Evidently this was some form of research facility, yet still he hadn’t come across a single member of its personnel. It had a small army guarding the entrance yet not a single man on the inside. There was no logic in that. Surely they couldn’t have known the attack was coming, but what other explanation was there? Perhaps he was too late. Perhaps the weapon was gone. Was he walking into a trap?

Cautiously he pressed on. He needed to be on full alert from this point on – not that he hadn’t been before. As he crossed the centre of the lab he kneeled down and planted a proximity detector. If anyone came after him he’d know. How he’d react to that situation he hadn’t the faintest idea, but knowing was better than nothing. Once the device was in place and active he approached the entrance to the chamber.

Like before the door had no access panel, only a square, metal plate at its centre. Owyn hadn’t a clue how Ambrose had passed the first, and he didn’t have time to figure it out. The best he could do was take a gamble. He pressed his gloved right-hand against the panel. Nothing happened. He ripped off his glove and tried again. Still nothing. He cursed and kicked out at the door. There was no reason that it should have worked, but he wasn’t prepared to admit defeat. He looked tentatively down at his opposite hand. A thought crossed his mind. No. He tried to dismiss the idea, but still the thought lingered. It was reckless beyond reason, but with his desperation building he couldn’t help but consider it.

Every citizen of Altaris had a chip implanted in the palm of their right hand, containing data of their name, their date of birth, their fingerprints, their DNA; everything. Every piece of information that could be used to identify them. That differed slightly in the case of ISO personnel, however. They too had a chip in their right palm, but the identity stored on it was false – a cover – and was regularly altered. Chip scanners were everywhere in the cities, and the nature of their organisation couldn’t allow them to spread such delicate information so easily. Their true information was instead implanted in their
left
palm. That allowed them to be identified only by those already aware of their occupation.

If the door’s panel was indeed a scanner, then for Owyn to surrender his true identity could be catastrophic. His cover would be compromised.
ISO
would be compromised. Even ignoring all of that there was no reason his real identity would yield a different result. There wasn’t a chance it was stored in the system. Yet still he hesitated for a moment. He had never been too good at considering consequences, and right now he didn’t care an awful lot for them. Ambrose would understand. He would expect Owyn to make this call.

Not allowing himself any more time to think it over he uncovered his left hand and pressed it to the plate. Immediately the panel activated and flashed red. Owyn’s heartbeat set into a gallop. “Verifying identity,” said a lifeless, robotic voice through speakers all around the room. Owyn spun around and anxiously checked his surroundings. “Special Officer Owyn Carter, service code A06C. Intelligence and Special Operations Operative,” the voice identified. “Welcome to Installation 3, Officer Carter.”

The room fell silent once again and the door moved aside. Owyn was in. He wasn’t quite sure what it meant – whether to be elated, relieved or terrified – but he was in.

How did a rebel facility know about ISO; about him? Why, even then, would it grant him access? His head was spinning. With every new development the haze in his mind only thickened.

Ahead of him stretched the walkway. From here the walk appeared even more daunting than it had from above. Down here there was nothing to take away from the terrifying fall that lay in wait below. To add to that was the chilling atmosphere inside the sphere. Owyn had never heard such silence; such emptiness. He could hear the sweat scraping his brow and his pulse pounding inside his ears. The air was thinner than he had ever felt it. There was no heat, no humidity – only cold; pure, strangling cold.

He crept forward, petrified of disturbing the air. Each step felt heavier than the last. His feet barely touched the ground, yet every echo was like an earthquake, repeating eternally like the persistent beat of a metronome. The other side only seemed to be falling further and further away. Owyn took a deep breath and drove himself on. He couldn’t afford to waste any more time. 

Having seemed so small from above, dwarfed by the emptiness that surrounded it, the inner sphere now loomed large in Owyn’s path, casting him in shadow. Unlike the panelled outer walls, its surface was smooth and seamless. It wasn’t until Owyn had ascended the steps and approached its side that a compartment gave way to reveal an opening. As he stepped inside his eyes were instantly drawn. Isolated in the middle of the room was a broad metal column. There was no doubt in his mind – he had found his prize.

He marched straight towards the column but once again his thoughts brought him to a halt. A chill crept up his spine. He steadily turned his head and looked around him. He was in yet another deserted lab yet this one was even emptier than those before it. Most of the equipment had been taken away – seemingly in a hurry. The benches had been cleared and wiped clean. There were odd components and pieces of wire scattered about the floor. This facility wasn’t just deserted; it had been evacuated, and the only equipment that had been taken had come from this one room.

Out of the corner of his eye Owyn noticed the light of an active console. He briskly headed over to it and examined the display. A file was open and a waveform was displayed on-screen. He set the track back to the beginning and set it to play.

“Testing should be wrapped up in a couple o’ days,” a man’s voice said. “You can make the transfer as soon as we’re done.”

“The sample needs to be transferred today, doctor. You can finish your testing once it is here.” The second man’s voice was much more distinct. He had a thick Spanish accent and a tired, withering tone only inflicted by the best part of a lifetime of stress and strain.

“No can do, boss. We still don’t know if the sample’s stable enough for transport,” the first man replied, remaining perfectly calm and casual.

“Twenty-four hours. That’s what you’ve got. If we lose that sample then it’s on my head. I’m not letting you fuck this up.” The anxiety in the older man’s voice was becoming increasingly apparent.

“It can’t be done. Two days
minimum.
I don’t see what you’re so worried about anyway. There aren’t a whole lot of people on this planet who have a clue this place exists. How the hell are we going to lose it? Just relax, why don’t you?”

The contrast between the attitudes of the two men was becoming stark. “You really haven’t got a clue have you? Our organisation is rotten to the core, as is this planet. You’d better realise that before I abandon my trust in you. Twenty-four hours, doctor.” The recording ended.

Owyn looked back to the column. What if he was too late? If the weapon was already gone then the mission had failed. He rushed over and frantically ran his hands all over it, trying desperately for a switch; for something to restore his hope. This had to be it. What else could it be?

There was nothing. Owyn stepped back and dropped his head into his hands. What was he supposed to do? He couldn’t just go back empty handed. He booted the floor in frustration and clenched a fist ready to hurl it at the column. Something hissed above him. Cautiously he lifted his head. White gas was seeping in through the ceiling around the column. He retreated a little further and measured his breathing. A clunk. The column jerked into motion. It spun around and split at the waist. The halves separated. The upper part rose into the ceiling, while the other descended to Owyn’s level.

He wafted the gas aside. Atop the pedestal sat a small canister, no more than a couple of inches wide and twice as tall. Part of the casing was transparent, through which he could see a bright blue liquid bubbling vigorously inside. Engraved on the metal section at the bottom was a peculiar symbol; a circle with three lines cut through it, forming four triangles within.