DOM#67A
LOSTON, COLORADO
AD 1999
10:12 AM TUESDAY
***ALERT MODE***
"How long until we get there?" asked Adam.
"Not long," answered the pilot. He checked a screen.
"Let me know when we reach the mines," said Adam.
"Why the mines?" asked the pilot.
"The metal there blocks our homing device," answered Adam. "We’ll have to be right on top of them, in the mine system itself, before we can find them." He motioned to a stone inset in one of the circuitry boards of the ship, a stone that was the mirror of one Malachi had taken when he defected. It was a dull green, signaling that Fran's beacon was not being picked up.
"Would John know that?" asked the pilot. "Would he know to get into the mine to avoid us?"
"Yes," answered Adam. "Not consciously, of course. But, like Fran, our John is so much more than he realizes, and his subconscious would send him there just as surely as a salmon would swim upstream to spawn."
***
Malachi, Jenna, and Deirdre descended through the shaft on the cage-like lift. Deirdre looked up and smiled. Malachi followed her gaze and saw the icy spears that hung over them, glistening like pointed crystal turrets, extending from a castle that was hopelessly inverted. He did not smile, however, unmoved by the crystalline structure above. Beauty to him was not found in ice. It was found in fire, and pain.
He brought the elevator to a halt at the next level down and motioned for Jenna to get off.
"Is your com-link charged?" he asked. She nodded. "Good. Signal me if you find anything. Kill them if you can, but get us if you need help."
Jenna nodded, and the Malachi thumbed the button again, dropping himself and Deirdre further down the shaft.
Another few levels, and he let Deirdre off. She took a few steps away, and Malachi continued his descent, dropping further until the darkness swallowed up Deirdre's light.
He was alone.
***
"Here we are," said the pilot.
Adam felt a soft thump as the ship set down.
In seconds he was outside, standing before Resurrection Mine with the Recovery team: ten men and women who were heavily armed and armored. Like the Cleanup Crew had been in the plane that took Fran from LAX to Denver, these men and women were Controllers. However, they were not here to turn back the clocks. No, these people were here to get Fran - and John, if possible - before Malachi did.
They all checked their instruments and weapons one last time. Adam did the same, checking to see if his pulse-gun was charged. He was grateful that Malachi did not have access to such advanced weaponry. Over the years, too many Controllers had defected to join Malachi and others of his ilk. They had taken with them numerous gadgets and technological devices to aid them in their quest for the complete eradication of humanity, but luckily had not been able to steal many weapons.
What arms they did manage to smuggle out with them were generally small, and soon lost their charges, becoming nothing more than interesting conversation pieces. That meant that the Controllers would be better armed than Malachi and his adherents, who were forced to steal weapons while going from time to time looking for people to kill. Malachi's team would probably have rifles and shotguns, maybe even automatic weaponry, but they wouldn't have any pulse-shots or cathode arrays, thank goodness.
Adam led his team into the open mineshaft as the dropjet took off behind them. It would hide itself in the mountains nearby, the pilot waiting for Adam’s pickup signal.
They entered the shaft, and began splitting up, shearing off in ones and twos. Adam knew some of them might get lost, but they couldn’t afford to go slowly. This race would go to the quick. Because there would only be one victor, and the rest would only earn death.
***
One of the Recovery team, a woman whose high cheekbones and dark skin bespoke a native American heritage, stumbled in the darkness. Esther had a light, as did they all, but it was woefully inadequate to illuminate her every footstep. Plus, she dimmed it periodically so as not to give away her position to any of Malachi's people that were down here.
Fanatics, or Fans, some of the Controllers called Malachi and his insane army, and Esther knew the name was apt. Completely dedicated to their mission, single-minded in their pursuit of humanity's end, and zealous in their belief that God was with them, they were dangerous men and women. Esther knew they would fight to the death - and in some cases beyond death - to win their battles, and so she turned off the light every few feet and walked in blackness in order to confuse any Fans who might be hiding down here.
That was why she walked in darkness. That was why she stumbled.
She fell forward, her hands reaching out automatically, grabbing the wall for support. She narrowly avoided a spill, but any relief at that small victory fled her mind instantly with the sound she heard.
It was a deep groan, like a million bass singers screaming an aria from the depths of the earth in angry protest of her hands touching the wall of the tunnel.
A tiny spray of silt fell on her head.
She brushed it off and looked around.
The Controllers lived inside a mountain, one of the only places that provided adequate shelter from the adverse conditions of the time and place they lived in. But it was nothing like this. It was steel and ferroconcrete all around them. This was bare rock, and dirt that would rain down on a person who merely fell into the wall.
She was afraid, and stood still for a moment, listening for more noise.
There was none, and in a moment she continued. She did not notice that in the darkness behind her, a fine mist of dust continued to spill downward from the ceiling, forming a small pile of sediment on the packed tunnel floor below.