The young lieutenant hurried toward the exit, but even before he reached it, he could hear the message being yelled out by a runner. "Sir! They've stolen a plane!"
"Who—?" Vaughn's eyes widened as he realized the answer to his own question and when he said it aloud, it sounded like a curse. "Dalton!"
Newcombe glanced at the out of breath soldier — the messenger who had brought news of the theft of one of the planes. Vaughn had instructed him to remain behind, guarding the scientist, before rushing off to deal with the latest crisis. "Keep him here. Make sure he figures out what makes this place tick."
"Easier said than done," Newcombe muttered. But that was the military for you. Everything was an engineering problem to them; figure out how it works, take it apart and then figure out how to make more.
He held a hand out to the pillar again. Was it warmer now than it had been a few moments ago? He couldn't tell. It certainly felt hot to the touch, the way a person with a high fever might feel. "A thermometer would be useful,” he muttered. “I really should put some kind of field kit together.”
The ring of melt water surrounding the base of the pillar was getting larger and the drip from the high dome above was turning into a steady shower. Worse yet, the pillar now appeared to be actively sinking. It was hot enough now to melt the ice on contact and since it wasn't being cooled by the water, its weight was forcing it deeper.
The research he had done back at his laboratory at Fort George Meade had given him only a glimpse into the workings of the exoskeleton device Dodge had supplied, but as he had told Fuller — or whatever that fellow's name was — everything had a rational explanation. The exoskeleton did not operate in defiance of the laws of physics, but rather in concert with them. The same was true of the pillar; it had to be.
Of course, it hadn't seemed that way when he'd touched it. He had seen things in that moment; things which didn't exactly smack of science and rational thought. The very fact of the experience itself — of being transported into a sort of waking dream and seeing the memories of people who had been dead for thousands of years — was the stuff of fiction, not science. But such was his faith in science that he knew there was an explanation for it.
He shook his head, trying to remove the memory and tried to focus on the more immediate problem. He didn't doubt that the pillar would continue to heat up at least to the boiling point. What we weren’t so sure about was where it would stop.
In order for the pillar to continue to heat up, surrounded as it was by icy cold water, it had to be drawing an enormous amount of energy. He had long theorized that the flying device utilized the earth's own electromagnetic field as an energy source. That field was not well understood by scientists, but one thing was certain. It was not an infinite source of energy. As the pillar's temperature increased, its energy requirements would become exponential in nature. That meant that at some point, the energy required to raise the temperature one more degree would be more than the planet could supply. It was difficult to calculate exactly what that point would be. "I'll need a slide rule for that field kit," he murmured.
Of course, if the pillar was drawing its energy from the earth's magnetic field and continued to do so until it reached that critical threshold, then there would probably be dire consequences to that field. The north and south poles might flip. There was evidence to suggest such a thing had happened before in prehistoric times, with possibly catastrophic consequences. Or the earth might demagnetize altogether.
"Mustn't let that happen."
He was beginning to understand why Dodge had been so reluctant to entrust the secrets of the Outpost to the government. Vaughn had more than once made it clear that he was interested in the military application of the technology; what would the army do if given a weapon that could potentially destroy all life on earth? And once Pandora's Box was opened, there would be no putting the evils back in.
Then again, if he didn't figure out some way to stop what was happening here, none of that would matter.
"I think we're clear now," the guard announced, pulling the scarf away from his face and raising his goggles. "Well Doc, can you turn it off?"
Newcombe glanced over at the man, surprised at his familiarity and the familiarity of his voice, then did a double take. "Dodge!"
Dodge grinned back at him. "Couldn't very well leave you behind."
"So it was Jocasta that stole the plane?"
"No one stole the plane. I just said that to get Vaughn moving. With any luck, he'll call his troops back to the surface." He held a hand out to the pillar and winced as if it had burned him. "We're running out of time, aren't we?"
Newcombe nodded sadly. "My original estimates weren't even close. We've got less than hour until this reaches the boiling point. Very soon, we should see it start to sink quickly into the ice."
"Is there anything you can do to stop it?"
"Without the Staff?" He shrugged. "If we can find another one like it, maybe."
Dodge shook his head. "That's not going to happen. Not in the time we have left. We need to go, Doc."
Newcombe hesitated, gesturing to the pillar. He wasn't sure what exactly he was protesting; part of him wanted to continue observing this unique phenomenon. There was so much to be learned.
Dodge grabbed his elbow and started gently pulling. "Doc, unless you want to run all the way, we'd better get moving. Now!"
Dodge's sharp tone jolted him into motion. He tore his gaze away from the column and followed Dodge into the tunnel. By the time they reached it, the column had sunk another six inches into the ice.
As they moved through the ice tunnels at a jogging pace, Dodge told every group of soldiers he encountered that Vaughn had given the order to rally at the planes. "Spread the word," Dodge said. "The general wants everyone topside, in the next ten minutes."
With his face mostly concealed by his scarf and goggles and the hood of the parka he had liberated from Private Jessup, no one questioned his statement. By the time they reached the tent covering the entrance, Dodge and Newcombe were accompanied by ten other soldiers. He just hoped it was everyone.
As they passed through into the tent, Dodge removed his disguise. He needed the general to take him seriously; there was nothing to be gained by trying to fool him a second time. As it was, Vaughn was waiting, standing in front of the two Ford Trimotors with another group of soldiers. Although he picked Dodge out of the arriving group, Vaughn did nothing; he simply stood, rooted in place and smoldering with rage.
"How much time left, Doc?"
Newcombe checked his wristwatch. "Five minutes; maybe more, maybe not."
Five minutes. Barely even time to get the planes running and off the ground.
"You should have just taken the plane, Dalton." Vaughn's taunt was accompanied by a gesture that sent the waiting soldiers swarming toward Dodge and Newcombe. The troops that had followed them to the surface quickly overcame their own confusion and added their guns to the effort.
Dodge did not resist as his arms were seized. "I couldn't just leave you all to die here, General."
"Where's the woman?"
Dodge affected surprise. "You mean she's not here?"
"General, we have to leave," Newcombe broke in. "We've got a few minutes at best."
Vaughn's jaw began moving as if he were trying to chew up the humiliation of admitting that it might be time to retreat. "I suppose she's here somewhere with a rifle aimed at my head."
"Not quite." Dodge broke the staring match with Vaughn to cast a glance up to the wing of one of the Trimotors.
Jocasta Palmer sat there, like a spectator at a ball game, but in one hand she something that looked like a strange fruit — an oblong ball of crenelated metal. A metal ring, with a long pin attached, dangled from a finger of her other hand. A collective gasp went up from the assembled troops as they recognized the object: a Mark II hand-grenade with its safety pin removed. She waved to the crowd, displaying the pin like a charm. Vaughn, to his credit, did not even flinch.