CHAPTER 13
Outside Operations Base Prism
Antarctica
Dorian waited calmly as the basket ascended in total darkness. The faint light of the ice chamber below had long since faded, and there was no sunlight or artificial light above, only complete darkness.
Dorian squatted over his father’s body, thinking about what he would do when he reached the surface—and what they would do.
Sending the basket down for him was a shrewd move. They assumed Dorian was an enemy combatant. It was always better to fight on a battlefield of your choosing and near your own army. The Immari could only send a handful of troops down the shaft, and once they reached the bottom, they could find additional Atlantean troops there. Reinforcements couldn’t be sent down quickly, so whatever force they sent could easily be lost—or worse: captured and worked for intel on Immari troop strength and defensive capabilities.
Dorian was certain of one thing: they would incapacitate him the second the basket reached the surface.
He lay down on his back in the basket, shoulder to shoulder with his dead father. He watched and waited. The floodlights of the platform above pierced the blackness, grew brighter, and finally took shape.
The basket snapped to a halt and wobbled slightly in the wind. Dorian listened to the crunch of snow as boots rushed toward him, and then he was surrounded by rows of men pointing automatic rifles at him.
There was no sound and for a moment nothing happened. They were waiting on him. Dorian didn’t move. Finally a soldier stepped forward and bound his hands and feet, then two soldiers lifted him and his father and carried them toward the base. Bright lights bathed the area, revealing what had become of the base. The closest section was just as Dorian remembered it: a giant white caterpillar, stretching for over the length of a football field and curving around at the ends. But there were more of the caterpillars now—at least thirty—spread out as far as he could see. How many troops were camped here? He hoped there would be enough. He would find his father’s killer and hold him accountable, but first he needed to deal with the threat below.
The soldiers entered a large decontamination room, and the sprinkler heads opened up, drenching Dorian and the contingent guarding him. When the liquid stopped, the men carried him out and threw him on a table.
The closest soldier popped the latch of Dorian’s helmet and lifted it off. The man seemed to freeze.
“I escaped,” Dorian said. “Now untie me. They’re awake. We need to attack.”