CHAPTER 9
Two Miles Below Immari Operations Base Prism
Antarctica
Dorian strained to see the blurry shape. He couldn’t take a deep breath—only a shallow, ragged breath that made him feel like he was drowning. His body hurt all over. His lungs ached when the air entered them.
The figure came into focus. The Atlantean—standing over him, watching him, waiting… for what?
Dorian tried to speak, but he couldn’t fill his lungs enough. He emitted a scratchy sound and closed his eyes. There was a little more air. He opened his eyes. “What… do you want?”
“I want what you want, Dorian. I want you to save the human race from extinction.”
Dorian squinted at him.
“We’re not what you think we are, Dorian. We would never harm you, the same way a parent would never harm their child.” He nodded. “It’s true. We created you.”
“Bullshit,” Dorian spat at him.
The Atlantean shook his head. “The human genome is far more complex than you currently know. We had a lot of trouble with your language function. Clearly we still have some work to do.”
Dorian was starting to breathe normally now, and he sat up. What did the Atlantean want? Why the charade? He clearly controlled the ship. What could he possibly need Dorian for?
The Atlantean answered him as if Dorian had spoken his thoughts aloud. “Don’t worry about what I want.” On the other side of the room, the heavy doors slid open. “Follow me.”
Dorian got to his feet and thought for a moment. What choice do I have? He can kill me anytime he wants. I’ll play this charade out, wait for an opening.
The Atlantean spoke as he led Dorian down another dimly lit gray-metal corridor. “You amaze me, Dorian. You’re intelligent, yet your hate and fear control you. I mean, think about it logically: we came here on a spaceship that employs concepts in physics your race hasn’t even discovered. You putt around this tiny planet in painted aluminum cans that burn the liquefied remains of ancient reptiles. Do you honestly think you could beat us in a fight?”
Dorian’s mind went to the three hundred nuclear warheads aligned around the outside of the ship.
The Atlantean turned to him. “You think we don’t know what a nuclear bomb is? We were splitting the atom before you were splitting firewood. This ship could withstand the force of every nuclear warhead on this planet. You would do nothing but melt the ice on this continent, flood the world, and end your civilization. Be rational, Dorian. If we wanted to kill you, you’d be dead. You would have been dead tens of thousands of years ago. But we saved you, and we’ve been guiding you ever since.”
The Atlantean had to be lying. Was he trying to talk Dorian out of attacking?
The Atlantean smiled. “And still you don’t believe. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. We programmed you this way—to survive, even to attack any threat to your survival.”
Dorian ignored him. He held his arm out, stepped closer, and ran his hand through the Atlantean. “You’re not here.”
“No, I’m not. What you see is my avatar.”
Dorian looked around. For the first time, he felt a glimmer of hope. “Where are you?”
“We’ll get to that.”
A door slid open, and the Atlantean walked inside.
Dorian surveyed the small room. It looked like a walk-in-closet with a post-apocalyptic theme. Two environmental suits hung on the wall and a shiny silver briefcase sat on the bench below them. His mind began working on an escape plan. He’s not here. He’s a projection. Can I disable him?
“I told you we could do this the easy way or the hard way, Dorian. I’m letting you go. Now put the suit on.”
Dorian eyed the suit, then scanned the room, desperately searching for anything he could use. The door slammed shut, and Dorian felt the air draining. He reached for the suit and began putting it on. In his mind, a plan formed. He took the helmet under his right arm, and the Atlantean motioned to the silver case.
“Take the case.”
Dorian glanced at it.
“What—”
“We’re done talking, Dorian. Take the case and don’t open it. No matter what happens, do not open the case.”
Dorian took the case and followed the Atlantean out of the room and down the corridors, back to the open space where the dead bodies lay. The sliding doors that had slammed shut were open now, and the vast tomb spread out before him. Dorian eyed the open tube David had exited. Both he and Dorian had… “resurrected” in the tubes after their deaths. Would David return again? If so, that could spell trouble. Dorian motioned to David’s empty tube. “What about—”
“I’ve taken care of him. He won’t be back.”
Another thought occurred to Dorian: the time difference. His father had been down here eighty-seven years, but on the inside, only eighty-seven days had passed. The Bell at the perimeter formed a time dilation bubble. One day inside was a year outside. What year would it be out there? How long had he been in the tube? “What year—”
“I’ve also disabled the device you call the Bell. Only a few months have passed. Now go. I won’t tell you again.”
Without another word, Dorian started down the corridor. There was a thin trail of blood—his father’s. To Dorian’s relief, the droplets of blood grew smaller with each step and eventually stopped. We will be together again soon, and we will finish this. His lifelong dream was once again within reach.
In the long decontamination chamber, he saw Kate’s torn suit and the two smaller suits the children from her lab had worn.
Dorian walked to the portal door and secured his helmet. He waited with the case cupped under his right arm.
The three triangular pieces of the portal door twisted open, and Dorian stepped quickly toward them. Just before he crossed the threshold, he tossed the case aside.
An invisible forcefield as hard as a steel wall slammed into him, repelling him backward into the chamber.
“Don’t forget your luggage, Dorian,” the Atlantean’s voice said inside his helmet.
Dorian picked up the shiny case. What choice do I have? I’ll leave the case outside the entrance. It won’t matter. He exited the ship and paused, taking in his surroundings. The scene was much as it had been when he’d walked through the portal initially: an ice chamber with a high ceiling, a mound of snow with a crumpled iron basket and a pile of iron cord, and an approximately ten-foot round ice shaft leading to the surface two miles above. There was something new, however. In the middle of the chamber, just below the ice shaft, three nuclear warheads sat on an iron platform, joined by a bundle of wires. One by one, tiny lights flashed on as the warheads armed.