Protocol 7 (38 page)

“Lay down,” whispered Max, as the team watched the scene unfold on the half-blind wall panels.

Simon had reached the same conclusion. “Max, these guys don’t seem like they’re after us. They seem as scared as we are.” He couldn’t help but notice how the men were studying the Spector’s exterior in amazement. Not like soldiers at all. More like…

“Let’s open the door,” he said impulsively.

Samantha almost choked in fear as she tried to express herself. “I don’t want to die.”

“Don’t think that will be the case,” Max said. “Just relax and lay down.”

There was a sudden thud toward the front of the vehicle as one of the men smashed his rifle against the thick armor of the Spector. Inside, the team only heard a faint sound, but could clearly see the man trying to smash the exterior.

“He has to stop that,” Hayden said. “The surface is still carrying a charge, he could—”

Other white-clad gunmen attacked the hatch that Max had sealed only moments earlier. One had found a piece of torn metal he used to scrape and scratch at the smartskin; the other had an actual crowbar he was trying to insert in the tiny crack that outlined the hatchway.

“They’re going to kill themselves!” Hayden said, jumping up in spite of Max’s orders. “The skin is still charged, it’ll electrocute them if—”

“Andrew!” Simon screamed. “Open the fucking door to the outside hatch!”

Simultaneously, Max bellowed at the others—a deep voice, a commander’s voice: “All of you into the ready room! NOW!”

This time they moved, scrambling over each other for cover.

The instant they were safely out of sight, the hatch began to shift and open, very slowly. Max turned and raised his pistol with the laser guidance system and pointed it straight at the hatch door.

Simon stood flattened against the door, a two-foot piece of razor-sharp steel in his hand. It was the only weapon he had.

They weren’t going to take any chances.

And they sure as hell weren’t going to die today.

There was no time to think. Everything happened in a matter of seconds.

The door depressurized with a hiss, and the armed men outside moved back a pace, their rifles still high. The temperature isnside the Spector plunged as the arctic air invaded, rushing in with a crackling sound as everything that could freeze in an instant did exactly that. The only other sound was the ominous, rhythmic rush of heavy breathing through the masks that everyone wore, friend and foe alike.

“Identify yourself!” shouted the man in front of the foot soldiers as the beams of light from the laser-guided rifles penetrated the Spector. The illumination created an eerie glow on the ice, on the dying instrumentation, on the flat glassy surfaces of masks and goggles.

“We mean no harm,” Simon said loud enough to be heard but—he hoped—quiet enough to sound reasonable. He was still out of sight, his back pressed against the inside of the vehicle.

The man standing just outside the hatch responded, “Show yourselves!”

Simon knew this was his chance. Either he would be shot, or this would be the beginning of their journey. He looked at Max across the open hatch. His oldest friend nodded in silent agreement. Simon slowly turned and moved sideways into the open doorway, exposing himself to the enemy, first his hand, then the rest of his body with arms lifted and hands empty.

He felt the chill of the tunnel as half a dozen laser-guided rifles moved to point straight at him. He squinted into the glaring lights and heard a voice ask him, “Who are you? You’re clearly not Vector5.”

“Who’s Vector5?” he asked.

Max, close behind and to one side, moved toward the door with his pistol up.

“Drop your weapon!” screamed one of the men—not the one in front but one of the men behind him who was gripping his odd rifle so hard it trembled.

Nervous, Max thought. Nervous men are dangerous. Very gently Max lowered his pistol and set it on the deck of the Spector. When he rose again, his empty hands were up and in front of him, fingers spread wide.

The leader shouted again, “Identify yourself!”

“We’re scientists,” Simon said, loudly and carefully. He wanted everyone to hear. “We’re not soldiers. We’re looking for my father.”

For one long second, everything froze in place. Then the tip of the rifle held by the man in the lead slipped down. He gestured for the others to drop their weapons as well.

Simon let out a tremendous sigh. He wasn’t even aware he’d been holding his breath. The lights from the robotic Spiders still cut through the tunnel, randomly illuminating the bodies of the men standing outside the Spector.

As the man in the lead moved closer, Simon heard him ask another question through the filter of his mask, “Who did you say you were here for?”

He was a tall and stocky gentleman with layers of clothing that made him look heavier than he really was.

“My name is Simon Fitzpatrick. I am looking for my father, Oliver.”

The man seemed frozen for a long moment. Finally he said, “Oliver Fitzpatrick?”

“Yes. My father.”

There was another long pause. Then the man seemed to shake himself out of a dream. “How many are you?” the man asked.

“Eight, including myself.”

“How the hell did you get here?” It was hard to decipher exactly what he was asking through the heavy mask.

“It’s a long story,” Simon said, almost smiling. “Who are you?”

The man snapped open his mask to show his face. He was a gentleman in his fifties with gray hair and pale skin. His sharp, bony features looked like they had not seen sunlight in years. “I’ll ask the questions for the moment,” he said, careful to keep from inhaling too much of the fatally frigid air. “If you don’t mind.” After a moment, he let the heated air of the mask blow back against his mouth. “Come on out.”

He shuffled back two paces, and Simon and Max stepped out of the Spector and stood on the tunnel’s ice for the first time. Behind them, the others crept out of the ready room, arms up, legs moving very slowly and carefully.

The leader casually switched his lowered rifle to his heavily gloved left hand and stuck out his right one. “I’m Lucas,” he said. “Thank god you’re here.”

Not too far in the distance, they all heard the screeching of the robotic Spiders tearing a path through the passageway.

“Those are the CS-23s that are after you, you know.” Lucas pointed to the tunnel they had just come through.

“CS-23s?” asked Max.

“Crevasse Spiders,” Lucas said, looking grim. “One of the most dangerous vehicles in Vector5’s arsenal.” He looked back in that direction with an expression that was half eagerness, half dread. “If we could get hold of one of those things, we could actually get out of this hell hole,” he said.

Simon found himself nearly hypnotized by the steam rising from Lucas’ breath. It all seemed so impossible.

Max cocked an ear. “But that’s not them hissing in the background. What’s going on?”

“It’s the hydrogen generators,” he said. “Fuel for the cycles and other things. Hidden in places too small for the Vector5 people to detect or destroy.”

Lucas turned suddenly to his men and called out, “Let’s get the rations out of the vehicle,” he shouted, and then turned to Simon. “Get your team ready to go quick as you can. And have them travel light. We don’t have room for all of them as it is.” He turned away again, intent on looting the Spector, and threw his last orders over his shoulder. “Hurry. We have little time. They will cut through this tunnel in a few hours to reach this thing.” Lucas said, referring to the Spector.

As if in response, the not-so-distant Crevasse Spiders cracked a pillar of ice in half and stumped another ten yards closer.

Simon’s team scrambled back inside the vessel, trying to grab their meager personal belongings while Lucas’ men methodically and rapidly stripped every useful thing from the inside of the Spector. The men wasted no time, dragging the cases of food along the icy floor of the tunnel toward their vehicles, still brilliantly lit with their own spots.

Hayden was in a daze from the gunfire, the sudden turn of events, the looting of his precious invention. “What about the Spector?” he asked Simon, sounding lost and a little shaky. “We can’t just leave it here. It’s…we can’t just abandon ship, can we?”

Lucas didn’t look at Hayden; he spoke to Simon directly—and firmly. “Listen, this thing can’t go down much further. These tunnels get pretty narrow and dangerous. Not to mention, it’s a sitting target. And it won’t stand a chance against the dense ice and fire from Vector5’s heavy weaponry.”

“Heavy weaponry?” asked Hayden. “Here?”

Lucas dropped what he was doing and turned to look Hayden straight in the eye for the first time. “You have no idea. You need to get out of here.” Hayden gaped at him, stunned to silence, until Lucas turned away in frustration and helped Samantha carry a large bag of medical supplies out of the Spector.

Simon put a hand on Hayden’s shoulder. Suddenly the inventor seemed frail. “We’ll come back for her,” he said gently. “I’m sure we’ll need the fuel cells.”

“If it’s still here,” Hayden said hollowly. He looked up at the walls, turned to look at the console. “If we’re still here. If anything…” He trailed off, overwhelmed by everything that had happened.

We can’t afford this, Simon told himself. He took Hayden by the shoulders, turned him so their faces were very close together.

“Hayden,” he said severely. “Hayden! Focus! Remember why we’re here! You are a brilliant man, and I appreciate how your incredible invention brought us here. It was a miracle. I mean it. But right now, we can’t care about what happens to the Spector. Something is very wrong down here. Very wrong. We need to find Oliver and get the hell out of here.”

Nastasia passed close to him on her way out, clutching her satchel as if it was a life preserver. Ryan was frantically grabbing at anything that wasn’t bolted down. Max stood off to one side, grimly amused at the chaos. He turned to see Lucas watching him from the hatchway. Clearly, the leader of the men in white had identified him as different than the others.

You have no idea, he thought, but he said nothing aloud. He just smiled and touched a finger to his brow—a little salute between friends.

“We’re out in one minute, people!” Lucas called as he backed away from the Spector. “No stragglers!” The clanking roar of the CS-23s was growing louder, their lights more intense than ever.

Moments later, Simon and Max joined Lucas on the ice, gulping at the heated air from their suits, feeling the cold seep through the insulation with sharp, cutting fingers. The Spector was a dark and broken husk behind them.

Max noted how awkwardly Lucas handled his strange rifle. In that moment, he was reminded how little he knew about these people—where they had come from, what their agenda might be. Still, he told himself, they were lucky to find them and they may have something to offer: energy, rations, knowledge…hope.

They walked up to the massive cycles and stood in front of them, frankly astonished.

“What the hell are these?” Andrew asked.

Each cycle had a huge cockpit—comfortable for two, a squeeze for three—with a cargo hold and some sort of engine compartment. It seemed to be built to fit around a massive wheel and knobby tire, twelve feet tall, but the cockpit and cargo hold didn’t actually seem to touch the wheel at any point. The two components seemed to be held together by some type of magnetic force-field—a field that was deactivated at the moment, so the cockpits sat crookedly on the ice itself, waiting to be lifted up and borne away.

“These are MC-7s, or better known as Mag-Cycles,” Lucas said as he approached the nearest upright wheel. It towered over him, almost twice his height. “They are the old-generation Vector5 tech. Used to be standard issue for fast ice transport.”

“MC-7s?” asked Andrew. He’d never heard of such a thing. “How did you get them? How do they work?”

There was an ominous thoom from deeper into the passageway. They all turned to see the lights blazing brighter than ever.

The Crevasse Spiders were on their way.

“Later,” Lucas said. “Let’s get moving.”

As one of the cycles fired up with a thundering, sizzling WOWWing sound, Simon smelled the tang of ozone in the air, despite the frigid temperature. A blue glow radiated from the wheel housing, and Max and Simon stood in awe, their faces lit by the blue light of the MC-7 as the cockpit levitated, floating rapidly to ten feet above the icy ground, and hovered just above and behind the upright wheel. There was a breathless pause—just an instant—and then the wheel spun madly, dug into the icy floor, and sped away. The cockpit rode high above it in complete silence—except for the deep vibration of the ice itself, the vibration that Simon’s team had felt in the Spector just moments before when the cycles first approached.

The first cycle to leave had been stuffed with provisions and equipment, so completely filled there was barely space for the pilot. But it was clear that two passengers and the pilot were all a MC-7 could handle—and there were only two cycles left. Simon saw Nastasia being helped into one of the remaining vehicles already, by a pilot who kept looking nervously over his shoulder at the Crevasse Spiders as they broke barrier after barrier, still slowly approaching.

Simon gestured to Samantha and Ryan and pointed to the cycle nearest to them. “You go ahead,” he said. He looked at Sam for a moment, then looked at Max. “Andrew can handle a little exercise,” he said. “He and I will go on foot along with Lucas. Will you take Sam with you in that last cycle?”

Max looked positively offended. “What the fuck are you talking about? You know I’ll have nothing of that. I go where you go.” His expression was fierce, even angry. Simon had seen that look before; he knew there was no arguing.

He sighed. “All right then. Sam, why don’t you go with Andrew, and we’ll join you on foot.”

Samantha looked back at the rapidly approaching Spiders. A few more barriers, a few more twists and turns, and they would be right on top of the Spector. Then she looked forward at the darkness beyond the down-sloping passageway—more unknowns, more danger.