Area 51: The Truth (28 page)

When the rest of the inhabitants of the planet saw what came out of the invading craft the shock and fear paralyzed most. Some fought but were quickly overwhelmed. Then the harvest began and the screams reached into the heavens.

Duncan realized she was screaming in concert with what the Swarm had just shown her. The images disappeared and she opened her eyes, blinking away tears. She wondered how much of what she had seen was her memories, Swarm information, and her imagination. She knew the images of her son grown were her mind, projecting forward, as it had done so many times. But she also knew all she had seen was true in essence.

“Why do you do this?” she demanded. “Why do you kill and destroy?” “We keep the universe clean.” “‘Clean’?”

“Species like you are a disease that must be eradicated before you infect and destroy us.” “And the Airlia?”

“Yes. If we did not fight the Airlia, they would have destroyed us. We have found it is the way of all intelligent life. It centers on itself and sees all others as threats.”

“As you do.”

“Yes. And as you do.”

“Can’t species coexist?” Duncan asked.

“The history of the planet we just left indicates humans can’t even exist peacefully within their own species on a single planet. What do you think they would do with other species from other planets? They are a disease that must be stopped quickly before it infects us.”

“How much of Earth’s history has been due to interference from the Airlia?” Duncan demanded. “Have humans ever had a chance to make it on their own?”

“We do not care.”

Duncan wondered if she had led the Swarm to Earth. If the scout ship had successfully followed the mothership she and her husband, Gwalcmai, had been on. And her son? She had abandoned him to a terrible fate.

Garlin turned on the Ark and the probe blasted into Duncan’s brain, ending her ruminations as her head slammed back on the gurney from the pain.

The round table reappeared on the screen. But this time there were no knights sitting around it. Just a single man in battered armor seated facing the door to the chamber. A sword was on the table in front of him, the blade covered with dried blood.

The door opened and Duncan entered, walking around the table. She was in the same long robe with silver fringe as the previous vision. She took the seat next to the man, turning it so that she faced him.

The screen suddenly went dark and Garlin turned to the table. Lisa Duncan was staring at him, a muscle on the side of her jaw twitching. “No more. My memories are mine.”

Garlin turned back to the machine and upped the power for the probe.

Tension filled Duncan’s face as she consciously fought the invasion of her mind. Sweat poured down her forehead.

The screen flickered with color but no coherent images. Garlin continued to raise the power level.

The battle became so intense, the sweat was replaced with blood. But still no image appeared.

Mike Turcotte slept. And for the first time in months, he had no dreams. It was a deep, body-and- mind-replenishing slumber.

In the mothership control room, Yakov was carefully checking out the instruments, assuming that anything as drastic as a self-destruct for the mothership wouldn’t be easily accessible. He used the Majestic binder as a guide as much as he could. He was particularly focused on the part of the control panel that Aspasia’s Shadow had accessed. Weapons would be a useful thing to have ready when they reached the ship the Swarm was on and then Mars.

In the forward left hold, Major Quinn held a roll of duct tape in one hand and an eight-foot-long crowbar in his other. His fatigue shirt was soaked with sweat and his short hair was plastered tight against his skull. Doctor Leahy was leaning over a set of diagrams, running her finger along a circuit, occasionally looking up to compare the diagram with the device that she was directing Quinn to build.

So far, all he had done was lay out a set of plastic “footprints” as Leahy called them, in an elliptical configuration, twenty feet long by ten wide.

“One of the problems people have had with Tesla coils,” Leahy said, “is that they were using the wrong material for the wire and they were simply wrapping it in a standard, circular coil. However, the major problem is that they used the wrong material to support the coils. When you produce an electromagnetic field of such intensity, most material will draw off some of the power. More importantly, though, is the frequency.”

Quinn nodded, as if he had a clue what she was talking about.

Leahy left the plans and went to a large plastic case. She undid the latches and threw the top open. “I’ve been working on this off and on for the past twenty-five years.”

“Why?” Quinn asked as he walked over to see what was in the box.

“Because I studied Tesla and his inventions in college and I realized he was on to things, but for some strange reason, the scientific community had never followed up on his theories.”

“What is that?” Quinn asked. A complex series of different-colored wires, woven about six marble posts was inside the box. He had never seen anything like it.

“The core of a modified Tesla coil—pretty close to what you uncovered, but I see now I was wrong about a few things.”

“Can you modify it?”

Leahy smiled. “Hell, yeah.”

Mars

Six space-suited Airlia clung to the top of the quarter-mile-high third pylon. Below them was the bowl the mech-machines had dug out, covered with black mesh laid on top of struts. Other Airlia were in the center of the bowl, having secured cables from the tops of the other two pylons and awaiting the last set of cables from this one.

The final piece of pylon was secured in place. The six Airlia stood on a narrow platform to the side and activated a control. Cables inside the pylon spun out, slowly descending in the weak Martian gravity.

Once the cables reached the bottom, they were secured by the waiting Airlia to a large wire mesh basket. Then they turned and looked toward the lip of the bowl, where the track that carried the green crystal had been parked. With a lurch it began to move, heading down toward the center, moving very slowly underneath the metal array.

Space

“I think Aspasia’s Shadow disabled the mothership’s weapons system.”

Turcotte kept his eyes closed. He recognized Yakov’s voice and assumed it was the Russian’s large hand on his shoulder that had just woken him.

“I’ve been trying to work the console he was using,” Yakov continued, “and it’s dead.” Turcotte sighed. “So even in death he still tries to foil us.” He opened his eyes and swung sideways, putting his feet on the deck. “We didn’t know if we could use the mothership’s weapons anyway. So we stick with our original plan. How is Leahy doing with Tesla’s weapon?”

“I don’t know.”

Turcotte stood. He felt better but still tired. It would take a week of sleep for him to make up for all he had recently been through. “How far from intercept with the Swarm ship?”

“An hour.”

Turcotte left the room and turned right down the main corridor. The hatch to the hangar Leahy and Quinn were in was open and Turcotte paused in the opening, taking in the strange device that the two were laboring over. It looked more like a power substation than a weapon. A center twenty-foot tower stood among a series of looped coils. On top of the tower was a platform with six marble columns and wires wrapped around them.

“Is it ready?” Turcotte asked, not expecting a positive response. “Almost,” Leahy replied.

“We’re less than an hour out from the Swarm ship,” Turcotte said. “Will it be ready by then?” “Theoretically.” Leahy had a wrench in her hands and was tightening something down at the base of the tower.

“‘Theoretically’?” Turcotte repeated. “Why doesn’t that give me a warm and fuzzy feeling?”

Yakov cleared his throat. “Do we have a plan B for intercept if we can’t use that?” He indicated the Tesla weapon.

“I wasn’t too clear on the details of plan A,” Turcotte said. “Never mind come up with a plan B. Theoretically,” he continued, loudly enough so that Quinn and Leahy could hear him, “plan A should be ready by the time we make intercept.” He turned toward the main corridor. “I’m going to suit up.”

“What kind of weapons does this ship have?” Duncan stared at Garlin. “None.” “You lie.” “Why do you need weapons?” Duncan asked.

“What kind of weapons does this ship have and how are they activated?”

Duncan shook her head, trying to clear the pain of the most recent probe. “This ship has no weapons.”

The drip of blood from Garlin’s left ear was a steady trickle. His skin was paler than it had been. The side of his face was constantly jumping as if from a nervous tic.

“Nothing? Particle beam? Plasma? Arrayed pulse?”

Duncan laughed bitterly. “Those were all beyond our capabilities.”

“Then how did you overthrow the Airlia on your planet?” “Blood. Lots of it. And we helped them defeat themselves.”

Garlin remained still as the tentacle inside absorbed this information. Her answers were not acceptable. The orb had detected a mothership closing on this ship with an intercept coming shortly. A scan of the oncoming craft revealed its weapons systems were off-line, which reduced the threat considerably. The Swarm was evaluating options.

“Defensive capabilities?” Garlin asked. “Is someone chasing us?”

“If this ship is destroyed,” Garlin said, “you will be adrift in space. You will die, come back to life and die again. For eternity.”

“Who is after us? The Airlia?” Duncan’s eyes widened. “Turcotte. He’s coming.” “It would do you well to tell me about the ship’s capabilities.”

Duncan laughed. “I will never help you.”

“Then you will suffer until you tell us.” Garlin picked up the saw he had used on her hand. He slashed down with it across Duncan’s right arm, cutting through the forearm.

Duncan screamed and thrashed against the straps holding her down.

Just as Garlin finished cutting through her arm, there was an explosion, and the ship canted hard left. He fell forward, the saw cutting into his own chest, splattering his blood on lop of Duncan’s. Garlin staggered back from the gurney, looked at the hole in his chest, and died.

At the controls, the Swarm orb jerked the ship about to avoid hitting another mine.

“Range?” Turcotte asked.

“One thousand kilometers and closing rapidly,” Yakov replied over the radio net. “Hold on. It’s changing course. Taking evasive action.”

“Then it knows we’re coming,” Turcotte said.

“Hard to hide this ship,” Yakov said. “We’re still closing.”

Turcotte was in a forward cargo bay along with the rest of Captain Manning’s team. They were suited and ready to go.

“Quinn,” Turcotte said. “Status on the weapon?” Leahy’s voice responded, “I think it’s ready.”

Turcotte bit off his retort. He realized her life in academia had not exactly prepared her for the realities of their current predicament.

“Six hundred kilometers,” Yakov announced. “Leahy’s set up a remote firing system for the Tesla gun.”

Gun? Turcotte wondered. They didn’t even know if it would work. “What kind of range does she think we can fire from?” he asked.

“The closer the better.”

Again, Turcotte choked down a smart-ass retort. He considered the situation and came up with the only possible solution. “We don’t know what kind of armament this ship we’re approaching has. Tell Leahy if it fires anything at us, she fires immediately. If it doesn’t fire, let’s get within five hundred meters. Then she fires, hopefully breaches the hull, and we assault.”

“And if the weapon doesn’t breach?” Captain Manning asked.

Turcotte shrugged even though no one could see the gesture inside the
TASC
suit. He was tired of being the one people turned to for plans in situations where there were no established parameters from which to work. “Then we back off and lob a Cruise missile at the damn thing.”

“And Ms. Duncan?” Yakov asked.

“Now you’re worried about her?” Turcotte didn’t wait for a response. “We don’t have any choice. We’ve got to stop the Swarm first. If we can rescue her, fine. I don’t see any other way to do this. Do you?”

A long silence answered his question.

“One hundred kilometers and slowing,” Yakov finally said. “It’s no longer trying to evade.” “Open the cargo doors,” Turcotte ordered.

A fifty-meter-wide door slid open in front of the team. Turcotte looked ahead but he couldn’t see the Swarm ship, even when he shifted to night-vision mode. It was somewhere against the blackness of space.

“Fifty kilometers.”

“Anyone see it?” Turcotte asked. No answer.

“Ten kilometers.”

“I see something,” one of the team members called out. “Ahead and slightly to the right.”

Turcotte oriented himself, went to maximum amplification, then he saw it too. The same ship that had escaped him at Stonehenge. He could tell Yakov was slowing the mothership as the objective got closer.

“Leahy?” Turcotte found he was almost whispering. He half expected some sort of weapon to be fired at them from the craft.

“Yes?”

“Are you ready?”

“Yes. I’ve got a lock on the target.”

Why hadn’t she said so? “Then fire now,” Turcotte said. He saw no point in waiting.

For several seconds nothing happened, then the display inside his helmet went bright white and he closed his eyes as the computer shut down the night-vision mode to prevent it from burning out.

Duncan felt the throb of pain from her right arm. She turned her head and saw that Garlin was lying on the floor dead. Then the ship rocked once more. There was smoke billowing from several panels.

If the Swarm had wanted to know about weapons, then someone must be after them. Duncan looked down at the straps holding her to the gurney. Her right arm was severed halfway down the forearm. The spurt of blood ceased as she watched, but the jagged edge of the two bones poked out unevenly because of Garlin’s aborted cut. She jerked back on the arm, slipping the shortened length under the restraints. She twisted her body and jabbed the end of the bone into the restraint on her other arm. The sharp end punctured the nylon. She began sawing, using her own bone to cut, ignoring the throb of pain.