me a reason.”
Ares smiled. “You actually think you can goad me into giving you all the answers your little heart desires, Dorian? Want me to make you feel good, whole, safe? That’s why you came to Antarctica originally, isn’t it? To find your father? Uncover the truth about your past?”
“You treat me like this—after all I’ve done for you?”
“You’ve done for yourself, Dorian. Ask me the question you really want to ask.”
Dorian shook his head.
“Go ahead.”
“What’s happening to me?” Dorian stared at Ares. “What did you do to me?”
“Now we’re getting somewhere.”
“There’s something wrong with me, isn’t there?”
“Of course there is. You’re human.”
“That’s not what I mean. I’m dying. I can feel it.”
“In time, Dorian. I saved your people. I have a plan. We will establish a lasting peace in this universe. You don’t know how elusive that has been.” Ares stepped closer to Dorian. “There are truths I can’t reveal to you. You’re not ready. Have patience. Answers will come. It’s important I help you understand the past. Your misinterpretation could sink us, Dorian. You’re important. I can do this without you, but I don’t want to. I’ve waited a long time to have someone like you by my side. If your faith is strong enough, there’s no limit to what we can do.”
Ares turned and led them out of the crossroads, away from the long hall that held the tubes, toward the portal entrance. Dorian followed in silence, a war beginning in his mind: blindly obey or rebel? They suited up without another word and crossed the ice chamber beyond, where the Bell hung.
Dorian lingered, and his eyes drifted to the ravine where he had found his father, frozen, encased in ice within the EVA suit, a victim of the Bell and his Immari lieutenant, who had betrayed him.
Ares stepped up onto the metal basket. “The future is all that matters, Dorian.”
The dark vertical shaft passed in silence, and the basket stopped at the surface. The rows of pop-up habitats spread out across the flat sheet of ice like an endless flow of white caterpillars dug into the snow.
Dorian had grown up in Germany and then London. He only thought he knew cold. Antarctica was a wilderness with no equal.
As he and Ares strode toward the central ops building, Immari staffers clad in thick white parkas scurried between the habitats, some saluting, others keeping their heads down as the winds hit them.
Beyond the caterpillar habitats, along the perimeter, heavy machinery and crews were building the rest of “Fortress Antarctica” as it had become known. Two dozen rail guns sat silently, pointed north, ready for the attack the Immari knew would come.
No army on Earth was prepared to wage war here—even before the plague. Certainly not after. Air power would mean nothing in the face of the rail guns. Even a massive ground assault, with cover from artillery from the sea, would never succeed. Dorian’s mind drifted to the Nazis, his father’s successors, and their foolish winter campaign in Russia. The Orchid Alliance would face the same fate if, or more likely, when, they landed here.
Soldiers greeted Dorian and Ares inside central ops and lined the hallways, standing at attention as the two leaders passed. In the situation room, Ares addressed the director of operations. “Are we ready?”
“Yes, sir. We’ve secured the assets around the world. Minimal casualties.”
“And the search teams?”
“In place. They’ve all reached the specified drill depths along the perimeter. A few had trouble with pockets in the ice, but we sent follow-up teams.” The director paused. “However, they haven’t found anything.” He punched a keyboard, and a map of Antarctica appeared. Red dots littered the map.
What’s he looking for? Dorian wondered. Another ship? No. Martin would have known, surely. Something else?
Ares stared back at Dorian, and at that moment, Dorian felt something he hadn’t in a long time, even in the corridor below, when Ares had struck him. Fear.
“Have they lowered the devices I supplied?” Ares asked.
“Yes,” the director said.
Ares walked to the front of the room. “Put me on base-wide comm.” The director punched a few keys and nodded to Ares.
“To the brave men and women working for our cause, who have sacrificed and labored toward our goal, know this: the day we have prepared for has arrived. In a few minutes, we will offer peace to the Orchid Alliance. I hope they accept. We seek peace here on Earth so that we can prepare for a final war with an enemy who knows no peace. That challenge is ahead. Today, I thank you for your service, and I ask you to have faith in the hours to come.” Ares focused on Dorian. “And as your faith is tested, know this: if you want to build a better world, you must first have the courage to destroy the world that exists.”
CHAPTER 5
Atlanta, Georgia
Dr. Paul Brenner rolled over and stared at the clock.
5:25
It would ring in five minutes. Then he would turn it off, get up, and get ready—for nothing. There was no job to get to, no work to do, no list of urgent matters to get through. There was only a broken world grasping for direction, and for the last fourteen days, that direction had nothing to do with him. He should have been getting the best sleep of his life, yet something was missing. For some reason, he always awoke just before five-thirty, just before the alarm rang, ready, expectant, as if today everything would change.
He threw the covers off the bed, shuffled to the master bathroom, and began washing his face. He never took a full shower in the morning. He liked to get to the office quickly, to be the first there, getting a head start on the staff who reported to him. He always hit the gym after work. Ending the day that way helped him relax at home, helped him separate. Or try to. That was tough in his line of work. There was always a new outbreak, a suspected outbreak, or a bureaucratic mess to handle. Directing the CDC’s Division of Global Disease Detection and Emergency Response was a tough job. Contagions were only half the problem.
And then there were the secrets Paul kept. For the last twenty years, he had worked with a global consortium, planning for the ultimate outbreak, a pandemic that could wipe out the human race—a pandemic that came in the form of the Atlantis Plague. All his years of hard work had paid off. The global task force, Continuity, had contained the plague and finally found a cure—thanks to a scientist he had never met, Dr. Kate Warner. So much about the Atlantis Plague still remained a mystery to Paul, but he knew one thing: it was over. He should have been overjoyed. But mostly, he felt empty, without purpose, adrift.
He finished washing his face and ran a hand through his short, black, wiry hair, patting down any signs of bed head. In the mirror, he saw the empty king bed and briefly considered going back to sleep.
What are you getting ready for? The plague is over. There’s nothing left to do.
No. It wasn’t entirely true. She was waiting for him.
His bed was empty, but the house wasn’t. He could already smell breakfast cooking.
He crept down the stairs, careful not to wake his twelve-year-old nephew Matthew.
A pot clanged in the kitchen.
“Good morning,” Paul whispered the second he crossed the threshold of the kitchen.
“Morning,” Natalie said, tipping a pan and letting scrambled eggs flow onto a plate. “Coffee?”
Paul nodded and sat at the small round table next to the bay window that overlooked the sloping yard.
Natalie set the plate of eggs down alongside a large bowl of grits. The bacon completed the buffet. It was covered with foil, keeping the heat in. Paul served their plates in silence. Before the plague, he usually watched TV while he wolfed down his breakfast, but he much preferred this—having company. He hadn’t had company in a long time.
Natalie added a dash of pepper to her grits. “Matthew had another nightmare.”
“Really? I didn’t hear anything.”
“I got him calmed down around three.” She ate a bite of eggs mixed with grits and added some more salt. “You should talk to him about his mother.”
Paul had been dreading that. “I will.”
“What are you going to do today?”
“I don’t know. I thought about going to the depot.” He motioned to the walk-in pantry. “We could run out of food in a few weeks. Better to stock up now before the Orchid Districts empty and there’s a run.”
“Good idea.” She paused, seeming to want to change the subject. “I have a friend named Thomas. He’s about my age.”
Paul looked up. Your age?
“Thirty-five, for the record,” she said with a small smile, answering his unspoken question. She focused on her food, the smile fading. “His wife died of cancer two years ago. He was