The Rock Page 17

  Hawkins shook his head. "I've never seen this place before."

  "You have lied to me once already. Why should I believe anything you say?" Tuskin asked.

  "All right," Hawkins acknowledged, accepting the strangeness of the situation. If this was a Russian setup, it was by far the most complicated and sophisticated he'd ever imagined. "Those were my men. The one who escaped and went through the Tunguska portal, as you call it, came out in Ayers Rock."

  Tuskin shook his head. "How can that be? We went through the Tunguska portal over an hour ago and we ended up here."

  Hawkins spread his hands. "We went through the Ayers Rock portal fifteen minutes ago and ended up here."

  Tuskin looked worried for the first time and Hawkins could understand his consternation. The Russian was realizing that perhaps he could not simply return through the portal he'd come out of and end up back in Tunguska. It must have taken extreme bravery for him to bring his men through the portal in the first place-that or a very strict order to do so.

  Hawkins was about to say something when a distant noise caught his attention. It was a hissing sound, almost like a steam jet, and it appeared to be coming closer. Tuskin heard it too. He suddenly turned and his three men deployed in a defensive line, facing the noise.

  With a great blast of dust a large airborne vehicle appeared, hovering over the nearest machinery and clearing it. The vehicle's four large thrusters pointed to the ground as it slowly settled down and came to a halt ten meters in front of them.

  Tuskin's men stood there, pointing their rifles at the dull gray sides of the craft. It was fifty feet long by twenty wide, flat on the bottom except for the thrusters, with the sides sloping up to a slightly rounded roof. The front was blunted, with no apparent cockpit, although a wicked-looking barrel mounted on three arms protruded from above the front-obviously a weapon of some sort. It wasn't pointing at them, but Hawkins had no doubt that whoever or whatever was inside could readily make up that deficiency. He also had little doubt that Tuskin's rifles would probably have little effect on this craft. The dull sheen of the metal sides had that same tough, unyielding look as the armor on a main battle tank.

  Obviously, Tuskin was thinking the same thing, too, because his men lowered their weapons for the second time. He looked over his shoulder at Hawkins. "Any suggestions, Major?"

  "No, Colonel."

  The weapons swung up immediately as a crack appeared on the nearer side of the craft. A section of metal folded down to the ground, making a ramp. A low red glow pulsed out of the inside. The tableau stayed frozen for a long minute and it was Levy who broke the spell. "I suggest we go on board, since it seems no one is coming out. I think this is our ride."

  Hawkins started forward, only to come to an abrupt halt as Tuskin swung his weapon around at him. "How do I know this is not a trap set up by you to catch me and my men?"

  Hawkins smiled grimly. "How do we know it's not a trap set for all of us?" He continued toward the craft, past Tuskin. Glancing over his shoulder, Hawkins watched the Russian consider the situation and then bark orders into his radio. With one of his men he headed for the ramp behind Hawkins and Levy. The other two Russians held their position on the rock floor.

  The inside of the craft consisted of benches all along the walls, facing inward. The front was blocked off-if there was a pilot, he, or it, was behind that wall. Hawkins settled down on the bench, Levy at his side. Tuskin walked up to the front and studied the bulkhead, looking for a door. As he was doing that, the ramp picked up without a noise and slid back into place, closing them off from the world outside.

  Tuskin stumbled slightly as the craft lifted and then banked hard to the right. There was hardly any sound inside from the thrusters underneath, and Hawkins briefly allowed his mind to wonder what was propelling them. He'd been on Hovercraft, but this was different. He certainly didn't want to waste any brainpower guessing where they were going or what they might run into. Since coming through the portal he'd taken things one step at a time, and even then he'd been overwhelmed by events.

  He glanced across the compartment at the Russian officer. Tuskin was seated uncomfortably on the far bench, his headgear still tightly in place. Hawkins recognized the cylinder on the man's back as some sort of rebreather-lighter and easier to carry than oxygen. Despite Levy's and his apparent good health Tuskin was obviously not going to trust himself to the strange atmosphere. Hawkins didn't blame him-for all they knew, there was some slow-acting particle in the air that might have already passed a sentence of death on the unprotected.

  That train of thought was interrupted as the craft settled with a slight thud and the thin whine of the thrusters was silenced. The ramp folded out again and Hawkins stood quickly, looking out. He brushed past the hesitant Russians and stepped down to the ground. They were inside a smaller room off the large open area-he could see the ceiling about fifty feet above, and the walls were eighty meters away on the near sides. There were two other craft similar to the one they had just ridden in parked nearby, but no sign of life.

  A door on the nearest wall slid open. Hawkins glanced at Levy, who started forward without a word. Hawkins followed and Tuskin and his trooper brought up the rear.

  They entered a twenty-foot-by-twenty room. The door slid shut and the floor practically jumped from beneath their feet as the room hurtled downward. Within ten seconds the process reversed and Hawkins's knees almost buckled as they rapidly decelerated and the elevator came to a halt.

  The door slid open, leading to a small room with eight chairs set in a row facing a raised platform with a large flat white surface. In front of each chair was a curved arm, rising from the floor, looking like the equipment tray a dentist uses, except thicker, with two openings in it, each about four inches across and spaced shoulder width apart.

  The elevator door shut just as silently and quickly as it had opened. Tuskin was nervously fingering his rifle, the cold steel giving him scant comfort.

  "Well, we know they've got to be similar in size to us," Hawkins observed, his words sounding abnormally loud in the room.

  "Why?" Tuskin asked.

  Hawkins pointed at the chairs. "They're the right size."

  "They could have specially made those for us," Levy observed.

  "The benches in the craft were the right size also," Hawkins continued. "I doubt they built those just for us."

  Levy was surprised at that; she was accustomed to being the knowledgeable one. "You're probably right." She looked up at the ceiling. "How far underground do you think we are?"

  Hawkins shrugged. "A long way."

  "Why do they want us?" Tuskin asked.

  The light in the room dimmed. The arms on the front of the chairs swung out, leaving the chairs invitingly open. A dim red glow emanated from the holes in the arms.

  "What do you think?" Hawkins said, his voice unconsciously dropping to a whisper.

  "I think we should sit," Levy said, and she did just that, settling into one of the center seats. As soon as she had settled down, the arm swung back in. Levy looked at it for a second and then extended her hands, one into each hole.

  Hawkins looked at Tuskin, who shrugged and took a seat. Hawkins followed suit. As soon as he sat down, the arm swung back in over his lap. He extended his hands into the holes. He felt a slight crackle of static as his fingers penetrated into the red glow.

  Hawkins felt a calmness settle over him. It was a feeling he was used to. The worst part of any combat mission for him had always been the preparation and the waiting. Once things started happening, he'd always felt strangely calm and had a sense that time slowed down and everything was moving in slow motion.

  The room went totally dark and a single point of light appeared directly ahead, just in front of the white wall, hovering in the air. Hawkins felt something prick the back of his right hand and he tried jerking it away, but neither hand would move. He no longer had control of them. He heard a startled yell in Russian and assumed that Tuskin or the other R
ussian had just experienced the same thing he had.

  He felt a coppery taste in his mouth and his vision blurred for a brief second and was clear again. Hawkins blinked, still focusing on the white point of light, the only thing he could see. He suddenly realized he couldn’t hear anything — there was a deep, echoing silence in his ears, as if he’d put on an expensive pair of stereo headphones but no sound was coming out them.

  Taking a deep breath, Hawkins settled back against the chair, waiting for whatever was coming, his eyes focused on the white point of light.

  THE RUSSIAN III

  Don River, 80 Kilometers South of Pavlosk, Russia

  22 DECEMBER 1995, 1500 LOCAL

  22 DECEMBER 1995, 1200 ZULU

  The truck rolled down the frozen dirt road and halted, front fender facing the slowly flowing waters of the Don River. The Russian looked to his left at a well-constructed log house built into the river bank. The front door opened and a man with a long, flowing black beard stepped out, looking quizzically at the military vehicle.

  "Can I help you, comrade?"

  The old ways died hard in the countryside. The Russian opened the door to the vehicle and stepped down. "I need to cross."

  The man looked at the truck, then down at his large flatbed barge drawn up on the crossing site. "Can you pay?"

  Some of the new ways had made it out here. The Russian reached into his overcoat and pulled out a wad of bills. "Yes."

  The man nodded. "Let me get my coat." He disappeared into the house and when he reappeared, his son was at his side, a strapping youth who looked sullenly at the Russian soldier.

  "My son will load your vehicle onto the barge. If you'd like a cup of tea, my wife has some inside. We'll be ready to go in a minute."

  The Russian's stomach twisted at the thought of putting anything into it, but he kept his face expressionless. "Thank you, comrade." He left the two to maneuver the truck onto the barge and walked into the cabin.

  A woman of indeterminate age, her features withered by the harsh living here in the forest, greeted him without a word, simply extending a chipped mug of steaming tea.

  "Do you three live out here alone?" The Russian asked, cradling the mug in his hands, allowing the warmth to sink in.

  The woman nodded. "Yes, General."

  The Russian smiled. "I am only a colonel." He glanced over his shoulder. The truck was on board the raft. The old man was starting the two ancient outboard engines. The son was walking about the truck, going to the rear and peering over the back gate, trying to see what was tied down beyond the canvas.

  The Russian gently set the cup of tea down. The old woman was back at the fire, stirring something in a large blackened kettle. He pulled his pistol out and shot her in the back of the head, the body pitching silently forward into the fire.

  The Russian strode out of the cabin and down the sloping bank toward the barge. The youth stepped away from the rear of the truck and made his way over to his father, to take control of the second engine. The Russian hopped on board and they were on their way across, the engines fighting not only to make it to the other side but to keep them from being swept downriver.

  Up to this point all the lesser rivers and streams had posed no obstacle, as the fierce winter weather had frozen them over with enough ice to be negotiated even by the ten-ton truck. The Russian had known the Don would be a major obstacle and in preparation for his final mission had studied crossing sites, finally settling on this one. The bridges were to be avoided-they were choke points with the potential of being closed off. Here, more than a hundred kilometers from the nearest tar road and bridge, this family was one of several that operated along the river, giving access to the other side for those willing to pay the freight.

  In five minutes the far bank drew up and the father and son expertly maneuvered the front end of the barge into the landing site. The son laid down the two squeaking metal ramps and gestured for the Russian to drive off. As he stepped up to the cab of the truck, the old man appeared.

  "If you don't mind, comrade, I'd like my payment now before you drive off."

  The Russian reached into the cab and pulled out his AK-74. The old man's eyes widened. "Forgive me, comrade, you do not have to pay."

  The Russian fired a three-round burst, the rounds producing a triangular pattern in the old man's chest and blowing him off the barge into the swirling frigid waters of the Don. The son turned and ran, leaping off the barge and scrambling up the snow-covered bank. The Russian flipped the selector lever to single shot, nestled the folding metal stock into his shoulder, aimed, and fired. The son tumbled down the bank into the water, and was washed away, a streak of red on the snow the only sign of his futile escape attempt.

  Clambering into the cab, the Russian started the engine and carefully rolled off the barge, up the far bank, and into the cover of the woods. He knew he'd be long gone before anyone found the bodies, and even then the authorities would most likely conclude it was the work of bandits and not pursue the matter aggressively or quickly enough to affect his mission.

  He felt no emotion over the death of the family. In fact, he felt he had done them a favor. At least they had died quickly-if all went as he planned, in forty-eight hours they, and millions more, would have begun to die slow and painful deaths.

  THE COALITION

  The Other Side

  A discordant sound reverberated in Hawkins's ears, like the sound coming out of a car's speakers as you try to tune in to a distant station. The spot of white light in the center elongated and pulsed. Hawkins started as the static suddenly disappeared and words echoed in his head. "You can call me the Speaker. It is my role to communicate with you."

  A red dot appeared to the left of the white light, followed by a blue one to the right. The white image remained elongated, pulsing as the words came. "I am joined by the Mediator and the Defender. We represent the Coalition."

  Another long silence filled Hawkins's head.

  "It is the Defender's message I will communicate first." A multicolored glow appeared in the air between Hawkins and the others and the far wall. It fluctuated briefly, then coalesced into an intricate system of numerous glowing dots. With great effort Hawkins twisted his head and looked to his left. He could now see the others in the reflected glow. Levy's eyes were focused ahead and she seemed unaware of anything except the lights in front of her.

  Hawkins tried to speak and nothing came out. He concentrated hard and tried again. "What is it?" he managed to croak out.

  Levy blinked and only her eyes turned, acknowledging his words. "That's a star map," she replied.

  "I will orient you," the voice in his head said. The left center section of the map glowed bright green. "That is the Coalition." On the outer edge of the Coalition a spot started flickering. "You call the third planet of your system-the planet you live on-Earth. I will use the same term. Earth is there."

  Hawkins licked his lips nervously. If that one dot was the Earth, the Coalition consisted of thousands of star systems.

  A large section outside the Coalition suddenly turned bright red. "That is the Swarm. For three hundred and twenty thousand of your years there has been war between the Coalition and the Swarm. It is not a war we wish. It is a war we must fight for survival."

  One factor stood out to Hawkins immediately: The tiny flickering dot that represented Earth stood at a point where green and red surged up against each other.

  "Although we are not of your species, we are similar. We are able to communicate with you in this manner and through our transmissions. The Swarm is different. You would not understand their thinking. They would most definitely not be interested in understanding yours. And they would not attempt any form of communication other than death. They hold nothing outside of themselves"-for the first time the Speaker, hesitating, seemed to be searching for words, — "they hold nothing outside of themselves worthy of respect. They are not individual entities as you understand life to be. They have what you might call a ra
ce consciousness that supersedes the individual life-forms that make up their race. We have never been able to speak to them. The only communication between our races has been death.

  "We first encountered the Swarm over three hundred thousand of your years ago. To that point we had not known interstellar war. The last planetary war in the Coalition had ended a millennia previously. Once a planet was accepted into the Coalition, it was past the point of aggression-otherwise it would not have been allowed in."

  A large section of the red area bordering the green was highlighted. "For six hundred of your years the Swarm overwhelmed us before we were able to make adjustments and defend ourselves. We lost all those systems marked and all the life in them in that time. Billions of life-forms perished in the fighting. Entire species were obliterated.

  "Since then we have been able to keep the Swarm at bay." A brief red glow showed on the far side of the star map. "We believe that the Swarm has expanded in the other direction away from the Coalition, but no probe through Swarm space has ever returned. Over the years the Swarm has continued to attack our border at sporadic times, at points seemingly chosen at random."

  A bright white line suddenly glowed, dividing the red from green. "To contain the Swarm, two hundred thousand of your years ago we developed a defensive boundary. Because the border was too vast to patrol constantly, we devised a static planetary surveillance line to be supplemented by mobile Space Forces."

  The map swirled and the glowing dot that was Earth expanded. Hawkins realized that the area around Earth had been blown up for clearer viewing. He could see small representations of the sun and the other planets, hovering in the air in front of him.

  "Your solar system was chosen to be incorporated in that surveillance line for two reasons. Primarily because of its location. But also because of the presence of life on the third planet. Deep-space sensors and weapons were placed at the edge of your system and oriented outward." A series of small glowing dots appeared outside the orbit of Pluto.