IN NATURA: a science fiction novel (ARZAT SERIES Book 2) (7 page)

  “Okay, Tom, I’m here.”

  “Two . . . two . . . eight . . . eight . . . three . . . seven.”

  Alex punched in the numbers. Nothing happened. “Tom, it didn’t work,” she said.

  Tom still had his eyes shut. “Hit the star button, Alex.”

  Alex pressed the star button and the lock clicked. She immediately pushed the bar and the door swung open, its hinges screeching.

  “It is good,” Mot said, flicking his tongue and inhaling deeply.

  “What’s good, Mot?” Alex asked, turning back.

  “The air, Alex, daughter of Simon. It is full of strange smells, but it is good.”

  Tom opened his eyes and looked at Ara, still in awe of what had just happened. The Arzat removed her hand from his temple and Tom thought he could actually detect a slight smile on her reptilian face.

  “Thank you Ara,” he said, astonished. “That was a friggin miracle.”

  “It was nothing, Tom, son of Richard.”

  Tom wanted to beg to differ, but he was too excited about the door actually opening. It
was
a friggin miracle! With no power in the ARC, there was probably no other way they could have gotten out before starving to death.

  He grabbed a torch from Alex and made his way into the stairwell, then tested the railing by giving it a good shake as he looked up into the black.

  “Seems solid enough. Good thing we made these out of aluminum,” he said, referring to the stairs. He gave them a test kick with the toe of his shoe. “Okay, let’s get our stuff and find out what’s up there.”

  “How far?” Alex asked.

  “To the surface?” Tom stopped and thought for a minute. “Probably the equivalent of a hundred stories, Alex. I’m not really sure. Gonna take us a while.”

  “Jesus! That’s like climbing to the top of the Empire State Building!”

  “We could try taking the elevators, Alex, but something tells me they’re not working,” Tom said, smiling back at her. “Besides, we actually did that once, remember?”

  “Yeah. I think I beat you,” she said, smiling back.

CHAPTER 9

THE STAIRWELL

Alex stood, holding her torch, looking at the first flight of stairs that disappeared overhead into more pitch black. She tried to imagine one hundred stories. She was relieved to see that the stairs themselves seemed to be intact. Whatever metal Tom and his crew had used to build them, they still looked to be quite functional. The paleontologist in her knew that there must have been a considerable amount of seismic activity occurring in the immediate aftermath of the asteroid hits, perhaps for several millennia.

  The fact that the stairs had survived, let alone the ARC itself, was no small miracle. But two hundred flights! Ugh! One of her father’s favorite sayings had been the old adage “How do you eat an elephant?” when faced with a large or difficult project.
He would leave the question hanging, until Alex took the bait and answered “One bite at a time.”

  She shrugged.
At least now maybe we can get out of here,
she thought, anxious to get to the surface. Alex pulled on her pack, adjusted it, and put one foot on the first step.

  “Well, this is one hell of an elephant, Simon,” she said under her breath.

  “What was that, Alex?” Tom asked.

  “Oh, nothing . . . . Ready?”

  “Yes, Alex,” she heard the two Arzats respond almost immediately in her mind.

  “Tom?”

  “Yes. I’m ready,” he said, picking up the last of the gear. “If you’re going to take the lead Alex, just be careful. If those computers were right, we’ve been down here eight thousand years or so. I didn’t exactly build these stairs with that number in mind, if you know what I mean.”

  “That thought actually did cross my mind, Thomas,” Alex replied.

  Thank god I insisted on aluminum instead of steel in their construction,
Tom thought. He gave a quick look back into the dark, hoping that they hadn’t forgotten anything critical. If they had, it was going to be a long way back down.

  “Tom, what is A-LUM-I-NUM?” Ara asked.

  Jesus! She’s reading my mind again,
thought Tom.

  “So sorry, Tom, son of Richard, but your mind is so
loud
it is impossible
not
to hear your thoughts,” Ara apologized.

  “It’s okay, Ara. It’s on me. I need to learn to block.”

  “I will teach you, Tom Pilot, as I have already taught Alex.”

  “Yeah . . . well . . . I think I could probably use another lesson,” Alex said, beginning the long climb up into the black.

  “Actually, you are already quite proficient, Alex,” Ara replied. “I am not hearing anything from you but the thoughts you would normally speak aloud.”

  “Are the steps safe, Tom?” Mot asked, testing the first rung with his enormous foot.

  Tom shrugged. “I guess we are going to find out soon my friend. Anyway, they are the only way out of here unless you want to go dig in some rocks for a couple hundred years.”

  “I still do not understand your numbering system, Pilot, but I am aware that it would take us a very long time.”

  Tom and Mot had purposely plugged the only other practical entrance to the ARC when they had first taken refuge, but they had used an enormous skip loader to do so. Obviously, after eight millennia, the skip loader was probably long gone as well as any other modern tools they might otherwise have used. They were both well aware of what it would take to reopen it by hand.

  “Alex, wait up, would ya?” Tom shouted.

  Alex was already several flights above them, winding her way steadily up toward the top.
Six inches a step . . . a thousand feet up . . . maybe two thousand steps give or take a couple hundred,
she thought, already starting to breath heavily. For a while, she had tried to count them but eventually gave up.

  She stopped and adjusted her backpack and then switched her torch from one hand to the other. Alex could see that the torch was almost spent. She had one spare with her, but if that did not last the climb, she would have to wait for the others or climb in the dark. The good news was that the flame was still bright yellow, which meant that there was plenty of oxygen in the stairwell, and at least she was getting warmer.

  Tom’s call echoed up the chamber.

  “Come on, Thomas! Haven’t got all day,” she answered back.

  Alex looked down and could just make out the flicker of a torch several flights below. She turned and started up the stairs again, anxious to get well ahead of the two Arzats, whom she knew would make the climb like it was nothing, despite the fact that they were carrying most of the equipment. She was surprised they hadn’t already passed her.

  Mot was following Alex with Ara close behind. Tom had taken the rear. He was struggling to remember what kind of barrier would be at the top and if it would be locked as well, or worse yet—blocked.

  “Eight thousand years! Yikes, that’s a long time,” he said under his breath as he climbed.

  “Not so much, Tom, son of Richard, if you consider our first sleep.” Ara said, hearing him again.

  According to the carbon dating in the caves where they had originally been found, the two amazing reptilian creatures that now accompanied Tom and Alex had spent their “first sleep” in a cryo-like hibernation that had begun sometime in the late Cretaceous—the end of the dinosaur era. Obviously, Ara was now beginning to grasp the difference between eight thousand years—or “seasons” as the Arzats thought of them—and many millions of them.

  “You have a point there, Ara,” Tom agreed.

I just hope that there is an actual world to return to once we get up there,
he thought to himself.

  “I am sure it will be fine, Tom Pilot” Mot said, several steps ahead of him, going purposely slow, having to place his feet sideways on the narrow human-sized stairwell.

  “Now you are
both
reading my thoughts!” Tom exclaimed.

  “Sorry, Tom, but it is as Ara has said. It is just too easy.”

  “Ara, remind me. The first thing when we get to the top, you have got to teach me to block.”

  “I hope the first thing we shall do, Tom, son of Richard, will be to find something to eat,” Mot said.

  Tom could still hear him clearly in his head, even though Mot was already several flights ahead of him. He was aware from conversations with the two Arzats that there was some physical distance where their ability to directly telepath would fail, but he had no idea exactly what that distance was.

  By the time they were midway up, all three of them had caught up to Alex. She had stopped to light her last torch and to discard the other.

  “I hope we didn’t forget anything,” she said.

  “I don’t think there was much of anything left down there to forget,” Tom replied. “Besides,” he added, “we can always come back.”

  “I’m not looking forward to that prospect,” Alex said, glancing back down the stairwell, still trying to regain her breath. The climb, so far, had been every bit as hard as she had imagined it would be.

  The Arzats both looked up. Mot dropped into a squatting position and placed one of his hands on a riser.

  “Tom Pilot, Alex. You would do well to hold on to something,” Mot said, with an obvious note of concern.

  Almost immediately, there was a sudden tremor that resonated through the staircase followed by the screeching sound of metal twisting. It was short, followed by another tremor that lasted just a few seconds longer.

  The four of them froze, waiting for more, but there was nothing but silence. Then, there was a popping sound and the noise of metal grating on metal.

  “What’s happening, Tom?” Alex finally asked, afraid of the answer.

  Tom just stood, perfectly still, listening. She could tell he was trying to assess the situation in his usual and totally disturbing, cool, calm, collected manner.

  “I fear your stairs may not last, Tom, son of Richard,” Mot finally said, his tone demonstrating the same type of calm. Mot was still squatting. He had dropped his supplies and had placed the palms of both his hands on the landing—obviously listening with his body for vibrations.

  “Must be the anchors,” Tom finally said, holding his torch out over the edge of the railing. “Hell of a time for an earthquake, that’s all I can say.”

  Even in the dim light, he could see cracking around some of the metal ties that secured the stairway to the long cement shaft. He reached over and pulled a small piece of concrete away from the wall. The piece crumbled in his hand like sandstone.

  “What do you mean, Tom?”

  “It’s the anchors, Alex. That little tremor seems to have been enough to weaken them. The higher we get, the more stress we are going to place on them with our weight.”

  “Why now?” Alex asked, knowing it was a stupid question the moment she asked it. There had to have been hundreds or even thousands of minor earthquakes after the two asteroid strikes. Now that she thought about it, it was amazing that the whole ARC hadn’t collapsed at some point while they were sleeping in the cryogenic units.

  Another shudder shrieked down the shaft and shook the stairwell.

  “We need to spread out,” Tom said. “Ara, go first. You will be the fastest. Then Mot. Then Alex. Oh, and drop the gear. The less weight the better. Try to telepath when you get to the top so I know that you’ve reached it.”

  Alex looked at Tom, wanting to question his instruction to abandon the gear, but she knew better the moment she saw the look on his face.

  “Come, Mot,” Ara said, disappearing up the stairs.

  Mot looked back at Tom and Alex for a moment as he gently dropped the bags he had been carrying and followed Ara.

  Alex was trying to drop her backpack, but her mind was screaming
no
!
All of their supplies
. . .

  “Go
now
, Alex. We may not have much time.”

  “Okay, but you better stay right behind me, Thomas.”

  Alex kissed him on the cheek and started toward the top, reluctantly leaving her backpack on the small landing as well.

  The stairs shrieked and shuddered again. Tom realized that not only was the cement securing the bolts failing but the combined weight of their foursome would continue to compound the problem exponentially the higher they climbed.
Eight thousand years and exactly one day too late,
he thought, shaking his head at the irony of it.

  He quickly reached into one of his gear bags, pulled out a long knife, and then set both of the heavy bags he had been carrying gently on the stairs near the ones the Arzats and Alex had left.
Not going to do us any good if we don’t make it out of here,
he thought, giving the gear one last look.

  Tom waited just another moment or two for Alex to get far enough ahead of him, taking the time to secure the knife in its long scabbard to his belt, and then he began climbing. He continued up at the fastest pace he could maintain and was happy to see that Alex had managed to stay ahead of him. As he looked up, he caught glimpses of her torch four or five landings above. When he had counted about thirty additional landings, he could hear Ara’s voice in his head, confirming that both of the Arzats had reached the top.

  The stairs suddenly shifted and dropped slightly, twisting in the shaft, the shrieking of the metal more sickening than the movement itself. Were it not for the railing, Tom would have fallen. He could hear the screech of multiple bolts popping from the walls and Alex cursing from above.

  “Keep going, Alex!” he called. “Mot and Ara are already at the top. It can’t be much further!” Tom prayed that the earth would stand still at least until they reached the landing. With one more hit, he sensed that the stairs would immediately collapse.

  The sudden movement had caused Alex to slip. She banged her right knee hard on the metal stairs and was limping her way up. Her lungs were about to burst, her thighs were burning, her legs were a million pounds of weight, but the stairs shifting and causing her to fall had only served to piss her off. Alex pushed through the pain and continued up, flight after flight, until she began to wonder if there was really any end to the gigantic stairwell.

  “One bite at a time, huh, Simon,” she said, gritting her teeth and forcing her legs to continue moving.

  Just as she was about to collapse, she spotted the light coming from the Arzats’ torches. A moment later, she took the last step and fell onto a large concrete landing where Mot and Ara had been waiting.

  The stairs screamed and shifted again and partially dropped away. They were beginning to compress at the bottom. Now, a man’s height separated the top of the stairs from the landing.

  Mot held out a torch and looked down the shaft, praying to the Great Creator to speed Tom’s steps. He could see the light from Tom’s torch several flights below. Mot knew better than to bother with encouragement—Tom the Pilot would be fully aware that time was running out. He could hear the angry cries of the metal and feel the stress of the metal reverberating through the human-made rock. The stairs, Mot sensed, were about to fail completely. Finally, he saw Tom’s face rounding the last flight.