The Truth a5-7 Page 8

  “Not yet. But think. Think hard. Artad is going to Mars. Where do you think the Swarm trapped here will want to go also? If it gets a message out to one of its fleets, your planet is doomed. A most terrible fate. I have memories from Aspasia of worlds that the Swarm harvested. Another reason I would really like to leave.”

  Yakov finally spoke. “We should not be listening to him, my friend. He fills our heads with lies to confuse us. It is a tactic as old as any.”

  Turcotte was uncertain what to do. He knew he could not allow Aspasia’s Shadow to have the mothership. He also knew they had to get after Artad. He had to assume the missing Talon was going to rendezvous with the alien, and then head toward Mars — the clock was ticking.

  “Perhaps we can make an alliance,” Aspasia’s Shadow suggested.

  Yakov stepped up next to Turcotte. “We should not be listening to him.” “A paranoid Russian,” Aspasia’s Shadow said. “How refreshing.”

  “What kind of alliance?” Turcotte asked.

  “I will help you stop Artad and destroy the array on Mars.” “How?” Turcotte demanded.

  Aspasia’s Shadow pointed down. “With the mothership. We will destroy him and those on Mars. Destroy the array. This planetary system will be isolated once more. Then I will depart on the mothership. I will not activate the interstellar drive for one hundred Earth years. By then I will be far enough away from your solar system that if the Swarm picks it up, they will not be able to track it back here.”

  Yakov’s voice indicated he believed none of what Aspasia’s Shadow said. “You’d wait a hundred years?”

  “I have waited thousands of years to partake of the Grail,” Aspasia’s Shadow said. “And now I am immortal. A hundred years is nothing. Also there are deep sleep pods in this ship. For me it will be as if no time has passed at all.”

  “We should not do this,” Yakov said.

  “The array is not complete,” Aspasia’s Shadow said. “Nearly, but not quite done. Do you think you can stop Artad by yourself? You think you can outfly his Talon, outfight him, when it is his technology?”

  “Someone destroyed the Swarm craft in 1908,” Turcotte said. “Luck,” Aspasia’s Shadow said.

  “I doubt it,” Turcotte shot back. “Who did it?” “It is not important.”

  “I think it is very important,” Turcotte disagreed, “because I think it was a human, using a weapon he or she invented. Something we achieved on our own, without interference from aliens.”

  “I will give you the Grail and the stone,” Aspasia’s Shadow said, ignoring Turcotte. “You can be immortal.”

  Turcotte shook his head. “Why do you think immortality would be such a blessing? The planet is already overpopulated. If we extend the gift of immortality to everyone, it would be an ecological disaster. We would destroy ourselves with overpopulation. There are more humans alive now than have lived throughout history — it’s the worst possible time for immortality to rear its head. We’d deplete the world of natural resources within twenty years. And if we don’t extend it to everyone, there would be war unlike anything this world has ever seen between those who have it and those who don’t.”

  Aspasia’s Shadow spread his arms wide. “That is not my problem. You can keep the Grail and its gift a secret. Share it with a select few. You are very good at secrets. It will give you tremendous power. You will be like a god — immortal and with the power to grant the same to others. I’ve seen all the major religions on this planet flourish and many have that at the core. The promise of eternal life.”

  “And how many of them were the Airlia or their minions like you involved in forming?” Turcotte demanded.

  Aspasia’s Shadow smiled slyly. “A few perhaps. Humans are very gullible. Especially when you offer them a way around that which they fear. And you do fear death, don’t you?”

  Turcotte ignored the last comment. “Which makes me wonder why the Airlia brought the Grail here in the first place. Was it just to be a symbol? Or was it to be used sometime? And if so, when? And who would be given the gift?”

  “All very good questions,” Aspasia’s Shadow said. “And the answers?”

  “Not my province,” Aspasia’s Shadow answered. “Wrong answer,” Turcotte said as he pulled the trigger.

  The round hit Aspasia’s Shadow in the right leg, knocking him off his feet.

  “What are you doing?” Aspasia’s Shadow shouted, his hands trying to stem the flow of blood.

  “It hurts, doesn’t it?” Turcotte advanced, weapon aimed. “Immortality might not be all it’s cracked up to be.”

  Aspasia’s Shadow staggered to his feet. “You are making a huge mistake.”

  “Bye,” Turcotte said as he pulled the trigger again. The round hit Aspasia’s Shadow right between the eyes, flipping him backward, a pool of blood spreading beneath his head.

  CHAPTER 6: THE PRESENT

  Qian-Ling, China

  Tanks led the way along the dirt road, passing between the rows of destroyed statues that had once marked the ceremonial path to Qian-Ling. Each statue represented one of the foreign ambassadors who had attended the funeral procession of the first emperor, Shi Huangdi, who had ruled from nearby Xian.

  The stone was scorched and all the statues were missing their heads. The former had happened when the current Chinese government had detonated a nuclear bomb in an attempt to destroy the mountain-tomb and what it held, prior to joining sides with Artad. The latter had occurred when vandals had desecrated and stolen what they could reach in ancient times.

  Beyond the statues, as the road wound its way higher, lay the mountain that was called Qian-Ling. It rose three thousand feet above the countryside and even the most casual observer could tell from the evenly rounded sides that it was not a natural formation. It had been known as the largest tomb in the world, even bigger than the Great Pyramid of Giza.

  The squeal of tank treads echoed off the side of the mountain, superseded by the supersonic roar of a jet fighter racing by overhead, providing cover. The shield wall that had guarded Qian-Ling and Artad had disappeared, an ominous sign to those Chinese soldiers who had watched the site.

  Beijing’s desperate messages to Artad had gone unanswered, and with the United States claiming victory over both Artad and Aspasia’s Shadow, those in power who had decided to side with Artad were panicking. Their forces in South Korea had been forced to a standstill by American nuclear weapons and those who had landed in Taiwan were being hunted down and exterminated.

  Disaster loomed and Beijing wanted answers from Artad. The word from the United Nations was not encouraging, as the United States was now reporting that it had not only regained control of its fleets in the Pacific but additional submarines and ships that the nanovirus had constructed.

  The lead tank went around a bend in the wide road and stopped just in front of an entrance set between two large boulders. A statue of a crouching tiger was perched on each boulder, overlooking the entry. The main gun on the tank was aimed directly between the boulder at two massive bronze doors covered with rune writing, the metal blackened and bent, but still blocking the way. There was a small hole about chest high where an early entry had been accomplished by Che Lu, but since then the doors had been shut and sealed.

  The cannon roared and a SABOT round hit direct center, punching through the doors. The tank followed that with several high explosive rounds until the doors were shattered and dangling from their hinges.

  Several armored personnel carriers came up and stopped just behind the tank. Back ramps swung down and two companies of infantry emerged and moved toward the opening. Every second man carried a large flashlight that he turned on as the troops entered the tomb.

  Directly inside was a large anteroom, the walls covered with ornate paintings. A wide tunnel was beyond, leading down into the depths of the mountain-tomb. The tunnel was ten meters wide and straight as an arrow.

  The lead soldiers moved cautiously, not sure what to expect. They came to a crossroads
where two tunnels split off at ninety-degree angles. The officer in charge detailed smaller elements to go down each of these.

  As he moved forward to lead the way down the main tunnel a dim red glow appeared twenty meters ahead. He signaled for his men to halt as the glow changed from a circle to a seven-foot-high line touching the floor. It widened, coalescing into a figure. The officer had seen the video Artad had sent the Chinese Parliament, so he was not surprised to see the alien form that took shape. The bright red eyes of the image stared at him, the elongated catlike pupils giving no hint of emotion.

  The figure raised its right hand, fingers clenched tight in a fist. It raised the other hand, fingers wide open. Then it brought the fist smashing into the open palm of the other hand.

  At that moment, deep inside the main cavern, where Artad’s supplies and guardian computer were stored, an Airlia weapon exploded. Similar to a nuclear weapon, but smaller and more compact, the effect was devastating. The blast incinerated the men in the tunnels, then blew apart the mountain-tomb itself, spraying the country for fifty miles all around with debris, leaving nothing but a gaping hole in the ground where a three-thousand-foot-high mountain had once stood.

  Beijing had its answer from Artad.

  Easter Island

  Four F-14s approached Easter Island at high altitude. The first thing they noted as they came close was that the opaque shield that had guarded the island was gone. While two of the fighter jets remained at altitude providing cover, the other two swept down to do a flyby of the international airport. Thousands of sailors and Marines lined the runway, waving their arms like mad and jumping up and down in joy as the planes roared overhead. The pilot of the lead plane radioed in an all clear to the approaching American fleet and the following planes, then resumed a medium-altitude circling.

  Easter Island covers only 171 square miles, a lonely spot in the middle of the vast South Pacific. The land was dominated by the three volcanoes that had formed its triangular shape. Surrounding the long-dormant volcanoes were the artifacts the island was best known for prior to the discovery that a guardian computer was secreted there: the eight hundred moai (statues). Why the islanders had gone to such great lengths not only to carve the statues out of the soft volcanic tuff of Rano Raraku crater, but then to transport them to locations along the island’s shorelines, the stone faces glaring out to sea, remained a mystery until now. Now it was clear that this magnificent achievement was meant to serve as a warning for any who might happen by to stay away.

  The warnings had not been heeded.

  Less than five minutes after the flyby, eight C-2A Greyhound transport planes, from the carriers Kennedy, Stennis, and Washington approached. One by one they touched down on the runway and taxied over to the main terminal. Upon arrival, the medics and other disembarking personnel were mobbed by the thousands who’d once been held under the thrall of the nanovirus and guardian.

  A special detail headed for the tunnel that had been dug by UNAOC — the United Nations Alien Oversight Committee — into Rano Kau, one of the three volcanoes on the island. The tunnel led to the chambers where Aspasia’s Shadow had briefly ruled from and a guardian computer had been secreted millennia ago.

  The detail found the chamber empty except for a withered figure lying on the floor near the dark pyramid. At first they thought they were recovering a corpse, but one of the doctors checked more closely with a stethoscope and was astounded to hear a very faint heartbeat. He quickly assigned a stretcher crew to carry her to the surface and radioed ahead for one of the C-2As to be ready to take off ASAP to take the body to the fleet for medical attention.

  Only then did someone notice the flashing light on the control console.

  Gulf of Mexico

  Lines of sweat dripped down Duncan’s face onto the cold steel surface of the gurney. She moaned through clenched teeth as her body writhed against the restraints. There was a slight humming noise in the air, indicative of the high level of power surging from the Ark of the Covenant through the crown and into her mind.

  A kaleidoscope of colors flashed on the small screen. Garlin watched it impassively, completely ignoring her. His hand was on the controls, just the tips of his fingers caressing them as he directed the probing. A scene appeared for a split second, a cluster of upright stones arranged in a semicircle, with lintel stones across the top, in the middle of a large field. It quickly disappeared, but Garlin’s hand was already moving, directing the probe to bring it back in more detail.

  The stones reappeared — but now there were six upright, and three lintels across the top. Around the base was a cluster of white-robed figures holding torches. The stones were over four times their height. The Swarm tentacle inside Garlin recognized the center two stones as those that been placed there in the previous scene by Duncan and her partner when they had buried their craft.

  And there she was in the image, standing near the rear of the group, a hood covering most of her face. The man was to her right. There was the glint of armor underneath his robe.

  The scene faded.

  Garlin manipulated the controls. The humming noise grew louder. Duncan’s back arched, then she slammed back down on the steel surface.

  The image reappeared, except the chanting crowd was gone. Just Duncan and the man. A full moon hung overhead, casting long shadows from the standing stones. The man had a sword in his hand and was looking about anxiously. Duncan moved forward to the center stones.

  Duncan cried out, a mixture of pain and denial. Her body vibrated against the table and restraints. Then suddenly she stopped.

  The image disappeared.

  Garlin shifted his gaze from the screen to the table. Duncan was still, not moving for the first time since he’d placed the crown on her head. He reached down, fingers around her neck, feeling for the carotid artery.

  No pulse.

  She was dead.

  Garlin was still as the Swarm tentacle pondered this development for a few moments. Then he was directed to check the Ark, retracing the probe. The cause of death was uncovered almost immediately: an aneurysm in her brain, the cells of the blood vessel set to burst if activity exceeded a certain level in a specific portion of her mind.

  The Swarm had seen such extreme conditioning before among Airlia captives, programmed to die before giving up the final secret. They had never discovered the Airlia’s home world because of this. The captives all died before giving up that information, and captured guardian computers shut down when that data was attempted to be accessed.

  And now Duncan wasn’t revealing where her ship was hidden. She was conditioned to die before giving that up.

  Except Duncan was now immortal. Garlin stepped back and waited. The artery repaired itself. After slightly over a minute her heart began beating again.

  Garlin’s fingers caressed the controls, the Ark’s probe shooting for that memory. To press beyond and find the location.

  The Ark’s electronic probe followed the same path and smashed through the blockage. The screen flickered. Duncan and the man were inside the ship, standing in front of some equipment. The Swarm recognized the scene and gear — two regeneration/sleep tubes. Duncan was older, her hair almost completely white, her back bent with age, her face lined.

  How had they gotten in? Where was the ship?

  The artery gave way, blood poured into Duncan’s brain, and the screen went black. As the virus inside the body rebuilt the artery, the blood in the brain was forced through the brain lining and trickled out Duncan’s ears, forming a pool under her head, staining her hair. The virus she had been given by the Grail not only worked on repairing the blood vessel, but produced additional blood cells as needed.

  Garlin waited, the Swarm tentacle freezing him in place. Waiting was something the Swarm was very good at. Scouts, such as this one, sometimes spent thousands of years on target planets, observing and preparing. Occasionally acting. This Swarm had followed a previous scout’s path into this star system. A scout that had simply d
isappeared.

  That happened. The universe was a large place, and many dangers accompanied traveling through it. But such a disappearance had to be investigated, even if it was thousands of Earth years later. The weapon that had destroyed this Swarm’s scout ship was something that had not been encountered before. Because of that — and the way these humans had thrown off the shackle of the Airlia — the Swarm knew it was important that information about this world be sent back so that this world be targeted for priority harvesting.

  The Swarm had encountered other potentially dangerous life-forms in the past, most of them at such a primitive level that harvesting quickly prevented them from developing sufficient technology to become a true threat.

  Duncan was alive once more, the pool of blood underneath her head now so large, some of it dripped over the edge onto the floor. Garlin’s fingers manipulated the controls, pushing the probe toward the same spot.

  The image of the resurrection tubes reappeared. However, this time the screen showed a newly cloned Duncan inside one of the tubes while the man watched. He pulled a ka out of a slot on the console in front of him and placed it in a case. Then he went over to the tube and helped Duncan out. A young Duncan.

  The screen went black again as Duncan’s brain once more shut down. The Swarm tentacle inside of Garlin waited.

  Kyzul-Kum Desert, Kazakhstan

  Four glittering dragons waited on the desert floor, one in the lead, the other three flanking it slightly to the rear. Each was ten meters long and five wide. Long arced necks stretched up from the short-winged bodies to end in serpent faces with large jaws that held black teeth. Dark red, unblinking eyes peered out over the sands.

  Inside the lead dragon, Artad was watching the display screens showing the outer world. When he saw the Talon come toward his location, flying just above the desert floor, he hit a control and the back ramp to his dragon-machine slowly opened, lowering to the sand. He got up and walked out of the aircraft, followed by his Kortad.