Stranded (A stand-alone SF thriller) (The Prometheus Project Book 3) (11 page)

Ryan shoved the two-foot long fallen branch he had been holding into his sister’s open hand. Regan handed him the flare and unzipped and removed her punctured jacket. She wrapped it around the stick four or five times, snatched the flare back from Ryan, and lit the jacket on fire. She lunged into the front edge of the pack with the
flaming branch, intent on setting them all on fire if she could.

Miguel, still on the front lines, was weak from blood loss but there was still plenty of fight in his eyes. He ripped the blazing torch from Regan’s hand, pushed her back behind him, and lashed out at the nearest attackers. The rest of the group caught on immediately and began removing jackets and tearing clothes, creating makeshift torches of their own, using the flare to ignite them.

The tide was turning.

Thrusting their few torches at the horde of attacking predators, the group was able to slowly push them back. As they gained new ground they found additional fallen sticks, dry leaves, and other flammable materials with which to create additional torches.

Soon all nine of them had raging torches and formed a circle, facing outward. The pack now backed off, showing a healthy respect for this human circle of flame.

“Back to the trams,” ordered Mr. Resnick, and the group slowly emerged from the rainforest, maintaining their defensive circle as they did so. “We need to get back to Prometheus and regroup. Treat the injured. Try to determine what happened.”

As they made their way across the field toward the trams, they came upon four powerfully muscled reptilian creatures that had recently been shot. And not by a tranquilizer. They had been shot by a nine-millimeter automatic
weapon at close range.
Somebody
on Isis had brought more than tranquilizer darts with them on the expedition.

Representatives of a variety of species were now gathering in the clearing and each eyed the group with a predatory bloodlust. If the predators of Isis had ignored humans before, they were more than making up for this oversight now.

This was all some sort of nightmare, thought Regan. But she was more enraged than scared. She wanted to lash out at these ruthless creatures. Beat them back with her bare hands. If only she had the necessary strength.

The torches kept all of the animals back, but none of them retreated far. Even in the face of fire.

The unwieldy human circle continued to move awkwardly to where they had left the two trams.

But now there was only one!

The other tram was missing. It was nowhere in sight.

The nine remaining members of the Isis expedition finally reached the single tram. They snuffed out their torches against the ground, dropped them near the tram, and poured inside, hastily pushing out equipment and supplies until there was plenty of room for everyone.

Carnivores of all types, each one more lethal than the last, formed a circle around the protective tram at distance of about ten yards. No animal on any planet had yet been able to approach a tram any closer.

“Let’s get out of here,” said Mr. Resnick, activating the holographic control to begin the return journey.

The tram didn’t respond!

Mr. Resnick’s eyes widened. What was going on?

He scanned the front compartment of the tram and his heart nearly stopped. The white crystal that powered it had been removed. Without it, the alien vehicle wouldn’t move an
inch
. And if they left the tram, they would be torn to pieces by the ever-growing collection of predators straining every muscle to get at them.

But their problems didn’t stop there.

The tram’s red crystal was missing as well! The crystal that would allow them to pass back through the shield that encircled the portal home.

Without this crystal the shield was impenetrable; returning to Earth impossible.

They were stranded! Stranded on a primitive planet that had suddenly turned extraordinarily hostile to humans.

C
HAPTER
12
Hate Mail

M
r. Resnick decided not to tell everyone the devastating news until after the injured had been tended to. Amanda Resnick was already hard at work patching Miguel Sanchez using bandages from the emergency kit. Eric Morris was doing the same with Cam Kincaid. Both members of security had severe bites and slashes up and down their arms and legs. Both had lost considerable blood. Mrs. Resnick removed the Med-Pen from the kit and she and Eric traded it back and forth, each training it on every wound they found, moving it so quickly across so many backgrounds that the device became a flashing kaleidoscope of colors.

Regan and her father were also bleeding from cuts and lacerations but their condition was not nearly as bad as was Miguel’s and Cam’s. They were able to bandage themselves up, borrowing the Med-Pen only after
Miguel and Cam had been treated. Although the effects of the alien device on wound healing weren’t immediately apparent, the Med-Pens pain relief function acted instantly, and they now felt no pain whatsoever.

Of the eleven members of the Isis expedition, two were missing and four had been wounded. Two severely so. Only five had come through untouched. At least so far.

Native beasts continued to converge in a circle around the tram. Everyone in the tram felt as though their nerves were being drilled on by a crazed dentist, and their tempers were getting short.

Mrs. Resnick noticed that some of the backpacks had been opened and began searching through them to see if anything was missing.

“Why aren’t we moving?” muttered Miguel woozily from the back of the tram.

Mr. Resnick sighed. “We can’t,” he said. “This tram has been sabotaged. It can’t move. And the crystal we need to get back through the barrier is gone.”

He waited for the commotion this announcement caused to die down.

“Michelle and Nathaniel must have taken the other tram,” he continued. “There’s little doubt they were also responsible for the trick with the tape recorder. And for leaving us stranded here.”

“But only for a few days,” said Regan optimistically, her nerves now back under control after the indescribably
potent fury she had felt while fighting for her life. “We’re scheduled to return on Sunday afternoon. When we don’t show up, Carl will send a team looking for us.”

“Don’t count on it,” spat Donna Morgan. “We don’t know why Michelle and Nathaniel did this, but they’re both very smart. They can tell Carl anything. That we were torn to pieces by hostile animals. That we were killed in an earthquake. That we fell into a lava flow. Anything.”

“Hold on,” said Mrs. Resnick before her daughter could respond. “One of the Med-Pens is missing.” She held out her backpack as if this were proof. “In its place is an envelope. An envelope with your name on it, Ben,” she said.

She handed the white envelope to her husband without another word. On its front was written, “To Ben, From Nathaniel.” He removed three typed pages and straightened them out.

“Everyone listen up,” he said loudly.

He waited a few seconds until he was sure he had everyone’s attention and then he began reading out loud.

This letter is to all the worthless members of this pathetic expedition to Isis. But it’s especially directed to Ben Resnick, a man I have come to loathe. Ben, if you’re reading this letter, it means that my simple little plan has worked. I knew if I tossed a recorder out of sight, playing a time-delayed
scream from a horror movie, all of you hero types would rush over and pounce on it like hungry dogs on a steak. And when you did I’d have all the time in the world to steal a Med-Pen, sabotage your tram, and even take a hostage—whoever happens to be nearest to me when you all rush off to save the day gets to be the lucky volunteer.

Why am I doing this? Let’s just say I’ve grown sick of the entire Prometheus team. The biggest collection of pompous fools the world has ever seen. And I’ve grown especially sick of you Ben. Especially sick. So smug. So arrogant. So sure you’re a better physicist even than Albert Einstein. Well I’ve got news for you, Ben, you’re not even a better physicist than
me
.

What you are, Ben, is spineless. Always so careful. Always so cautious. You’re sitting on the greatest treasure chest in history and you’re afraid to open it. Oh, I’m scared. Oh, let’s not study anything in case it’s dangerous. Where would we be if the Wright Brothers had had this attitude, Ben? No guts, no glory.

So I thought it would be fun to strand you all on Isis. Forever. And make no mistake, Ben, for reasons I will make clear shortly, you have no hope of ever being rescued. Stranding you on a
primitive planet is the ultimate torture; knowing the portal home is so close, yet so far away. You can see it, but we both know you have no way to ever cross the barrier to reach it. This way you get to suffer for the rest of your lives. You get to find out if you’re all as smart and resourceful as you
think
you are. My only regret is not seeing the looks on your faces as it sinks in that you will never be going home.

But look on the bright side, Ben. The Isis wildlife is no threat to humans so your group should be able to survive for at least a few years. Sure, the conditions are primitive, but civilization is overrated anyway. I just hope you packed plenty of toilet paper.

Just to be clear, I’m not stranding you on Isis
only
for my own amusement. There are other reasons, too. You see, Tezoc Zoron has become an idol of mine. I wasn’t on the team during his attempted invasion, but the story is legendary. This was one smart alien, Ben, and I’ve taken a number of lessons from him. First, hostages can be very useful. You never know when one might come in handy. Second, planning is everything. For example, as soon as I finish writing this letter, I plan on stealing the Enigma Cube and then rushing off to Isis as part of your team before
anyone knows it’s gone. If you’re reading this letter then I’ve succeeded. Imagine how surprised security will be when I return from Isis two days early with the Cube—and a hostage. And since you always bring one or two Med-Pens with you on expeditions, I get to steal one of these while I’m at it. How’s that for great planning?

I also decided not to underestimate your exceedingly irritating kids. Tezoc did this and it cost him. Personally, I don’t see what the fuss is all about. They just aren’t that special. But while I don’t see any way in a million years they could possibly stop me, or even slow me down, neither could Tezoc. And we all know how it ended for him. So when you announced a few weeks ago you planned to surprise them by letting them join the Isis expedition, you saved me the trouble of having to find a way to kill them. Thanks. Sorry kids, no heroics this time. Unless you can find a way to stop me from countless trillions of miles away. Good luck with
that
.

Finally, I learned one other trick from Tezoc as well. As powerful as he was, he knew that even
he
couldn’t do everything alone. So like him, I’ve recruited a team of mercenary soldiers to help me out. Remember when we lost a Med-Pen for
a day? That was me. I needed it to demonstrate the power of alien technology to my mercenary friends. After I did they believed everything I told them about Prometheus and couldn’t wait to do their small part to help me become the wealthiest and most powerful man on Earth.

Which brings me to the point of all this. I’ve experimented with the Enigma Cube after midnight—when even scientists are asleep—every night since it was discovered two months ago. I can play the controls like a violin. Ben, while you were afraid to let your kids even look at the thing, I was man enough to start pressing the buttons. And guess what. I’ll be the most feared man on Earth while you’re spending the rest of your pathetic life on a primitive planet. See how far a little courage can get you.

So what does the Enigma Cube do? Well, I’ve told you I’ll have taken it by the time you read this. So here’s clue for you, Ben. Even though I’ve been working out I probably don’t have the upper body strength for the job. So how could I possibly steal an object that weighs 200,000 pounds? There’s only one way I know of—reduce its weight. Change it so it’s as light as a feather.

Get it Ben? The Enigma Cube controls
gravity
.
Every night since my experiments began I’ve carried that extraordinary little cube out of the Enigma building
in my pocket
. Imagine that. If only we could unlock its secret, it would be worth trillions. But we all know we never will. The team has had a Med-Pen for over a year and still doesn’t have the slightest idea how it works. Good thing those dumb mercenaries didn’t consider that. They think it’s worth a fortune.

So antigravity won’t be making me rich. But don’t worry about me, Ben. I’ll get by. Turns out the Enigma Cube makes the perfect weapon. And I mean
perfect
. Point a certain of its corners or edges at something you want to affect, use another control, and presto—you’ve changed its gravity in any way you want. For whatever duration of time that you want. Someone bothering you? Send them floating. Or perhaps
increase
the pull of gravity on them so they’re pinned to the ground for a few days, unable to lift themselves. You can aim it at a single object, like a gun, or set it to affect the gravity of everything in a circle around you, without changing how gravity affects you at all. Just dial in a radius and press a button. But here’s the best part, Ben. How great is this? If you want, you can set it to affect gravity for
living things only
.

Imagine what this means. It has a range of almost twenty miles. So if an entire army has you surrounded, you can send them all floating at the touch of a button. Presto, they are no longer affected by gravity. Or better yet, increase their gravity so they can’t lift themselves from the ground, or lift a finger to control a tank, plane, or submarine.