The Atlantis World (The Origin Mystery, Book 3) (4 page)

“What the hell’s it going to take to get one?”

A round panel opened, and a flat table extended into the room.

“A full diagnostic scan.”

Milo rushed to pick up Kate’s feet, and David gripped under her armpits, straining with every last ounce of strength to lift her onto the table.

David thought the table took its sweet time gliding back into the wall. A dark piece of glass covered the round hole, and he peered inside at a line of blue light that moved from Kate’s feet to her head.

The screen on the wall flickered to life, its only message:

DIAGNOSTIC SCAN IN PROGRESS…


“What happened?” Milo asked.

“I… We…” David shook his head. “I have no idea.”

The screen changed.

Primary Diagnosis:


Neurodegeneration due to Resurrection Syndrome


Prognosis:


Terminal


Predicted Survival:


4–7 local days


Immediate Concerns:


Subarachnoid hemorrhage


Cerebral thrombosis


Recommended action:


Surgical intervention


Estimated Surgical Success Rate:


39%


With each word David read, more of the room disappeared. Feeling faded. He felt his hand reach out and brace the glass vat. He stared at the screen.

Alpha’s words beat down upon him, smothering him like the heat from the fire poker on the ruined planet. “Perform recommended surgery?”

David heard himself say yes, and vaguely, he was aware of Milo putting his arm around him, though it barely reached the top of his shoulder.

C
HAPTER
4

Two Miles Below the Surface of Antarctica

The screams served as Dorian’s only guide through the ship’s dark corridors. For days, he had searched for their source. They always stopped as he drew near, and Ares would appear, forcing Dorian to leave the Atlantean structure that covered two hundred fifty square miles under the ice cap of Antarctica, making him return to the surface, back to the preparations for the final assault—grunt work that was beneath him.

If Ares was here, spending every waking hour in the room with the screams, that’s where the action was. Dorian was sure of it.

The screams stopped. Dorian halted.

Another wail erupted, and he turned a corner, then another. They were coming from behind the double doors directly ahead.

Dorian leaned against the wall and waited. Answers. Ares had promised him answers, the truth about his past. Like Kate Warner, Dorian had been conceived in another time—before the First World War, saved from the Spanish flu by an Atlantean tube, and awoken in 1978 with the memories of an Atlantean.

Dorian had Ares’ memories, and those repressed recollections had driven his entire life. Dorian had seen only glimpses: battles on land, sea, air, and the largest battles of all, in space. Dorian longed to know what had happened to Ares, his history, Dorian’s past, his origins. Most of all, he longed to understand himself, the
why
behind his entire life.

Dorian wiped away another bit of blood from his nose. The nose bleeds were more frequent now, as were the headaches and nightmares. Something was happening to him. He pushed that out of his mind.

The doors opened, and Ares strode out, unsurprised to see Dorian.

Dorian strained to see inside the chamber. A man hung from the wall, blood running from the straps cutting into his outstretched arms and the wounds on his chest and legs. The doors closed, and Ares stopped in the corridor. “You disappoint me, Dorian.”

“Likewise. You promised me answers.”

“You’ll have them.”

“When?”

“Soon.”

Dorian closed the distance to Ares. “Now.”

Ares brought his straightened hand across, striking Dorian in the throat, sending him to the ground, gasping for air.

“You will give me exactly one more order in your life, Dorian. Do you understand? If you were anyone else, I wouldn’t even tolerate what you just did. But you are me. More so than you know. And I know you better than you know yourself. I haven’t told you about our past because it would cloud your judgment. We have work to do. Knowing the full truth would put you at risk. I’m depending on you, Dorian. In a few short days, we will control this planet. The survivors, the remainder of the human race—a race, I remind you, that I helped create, helped save from extinction—will be the founding members of our army.”

“Who are we fighting?”

“An enemy of unimaginable strength.”

Dorian got to his feet but kept his distance. “I have quite an imagination.”

Ares resumed his brisk pace, Dorian following at a distance. “They defeated us in a night and a day, Dorian. Imagine that. We were the most advanced race in the known universe—even more advanced than the lost civilizations we had found.”

They reached the crossroads where an enormous set of doors opened onto the miles of glass tubes that held the Atlantean survivors. “They’re all that’s left.”

“I thought you said they can never awaken, that their trauma from the attacks was too great for them to overcome.”

“It is.”

“You got someone out. Who is he?”

“He’s not one of them. Of us. He’s not your concern. Your concern is the war ahead.”

“The war ahead,” Dorian muttered. “We don’t have the numbers.”

“Stay the course, Dorian. Believe. In a few short days, we will have this world. Then we will embark on the great campaign, a war to save all the human worlds. This enemy is your enemy too. Humans share our DNA. This enemy will come for you too, sooner or later. You cannot hide. But together, we can fight. If we don’t raise our army now, while the window exists, we lose everything. The fate of a thousand worlds rests in your hands.”

“Right. A thousand worlds. I’d like to point out what I see as a few key challenges.
Personnel.
There are maybe a few billion humans left on earth. They’re weak, sick, and starving. That’s our army pool—assuming we can even take the planet, and I’m not even sure of that. So a few billion, not necessarily strong, in our ‘army.’ And I use that term loosely. Up against a power that rules the galaxy… Sorry, but I don’t like our chances.”

“You’re smarter than that, Dorian. You think this war will resemble your primitive ideas about space warfare? Metal and plastic ships floating through space shooting lasers and explosives at each other? Please. You think I haven’t considered our situation? Numbers aren’t our key to victory. I made this plan forty thousand years ago. You’ve been on the case three months. Have faith, Dorian.”

“Give 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.”

C
HAPTER
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?”