“Who sent this?” Ariana asked.
“Your guess is as good as mine,” Hudson said.
“Could it have been the same guy who made that radio transmission we picked up before we crashed?” Ariana asked.
“Maybe,” Hudson said. “He might be sending in Morse now because it has greater range than voice and uses less power.”
Ariana read it once more. “The important question is: Was that message directed at us?”
“I'd say so,” Hudson said. “There's no one else on the radio in this area.”
Ariana looked at the skin of the aircraft. “We're going to have to find out what's going on and make our own help. It's been too long since we crashed. We can't just stay in here and hope someone stumbles across us.”
She didn't add her fear that whoever had sent the message knew something they didn't and that the aircraft gave them a false sense of security. Whatever had ripped open the cockpit could rip through the side of the plane just as easily. And then there was the golden beam feeding into Argus. She had no idea what it was or why it was doing what it was doing, but she had a very strong feeling that it wasn’t a good thing. Ariana’s analytical mind had too much data that she didn’t understand and she was willing to go with her gut instincts.
“All right,” Ariana said. She looked at each person, catching their eye for a few seconds, then moving to the next one. “What we’re going to-”
Suddenly there was a hissing noise on the left side of the plane. Everyone spun about. A small hole, about two inches in diameter suddenly appeared at about knee level and a beam of bright gold light crossed the console area, touched the edge of a computer desk, slicing through it, then hit the far side of the plane, hissed for a second, then was through. The beam remained in the air, like a bar, crossing the compartment.
Herrin scurried behind a console, putting it between him and the light. “They're coming in for us!”
“Calm down!” Ariana yelled. After a few moments to see if anything else would happen, she walked up to the beam. She'd seen top of the line lasers but, like the other golden beam, this was something different. Every few seconds she thought she could detect a change to the flow in the beam, but it was hard to be sure.
“Another atomic laser?” Ariana asked as Ingram came up next to her.
“Probably, but I couldn't tell you what the other one is so I don't know for sure,” Ingram said. “Anyone have any idea what this is?”
Carpenter took a piece of paper and slid it down into the beam. The paper was neatly cut where the beam touched, the material disappearing. “I don't know, but whatever it is, I wouldn't want to step into it.”
“Maybe it's a rescue team, trying to get in?” Daley offered.
Mansor snorted. “It would be a lot easier for them to just open the hatch,” he said, pointing to the emergency door above the wing. “Or knock on the door.”
“I think-” Ariana began when the slithering noise they'd heard earlier when Craight had been taken suddenly filled the cabin, as if something incredibly large was sliding across the top of the plane.
As Ariana watched, the gold light faded somewhat for a couple of seconds, then suddenly there was a noise that tore through her skull. It was a high-pitched squeal but of tremendous volume as if the very air were being ripped at several different frequencies.
The noise was gone after three seconds to be followed by another hissing noise. “Watch out!” Ariana yelled, but it was too late.
A gold beam punched through the top left corner of the console area and caught Daley in the upper left chest. Flesh slowed it not the slightest as the beam came out his lower right back and pierced through the skin of the aircraft on the forward right side of the console area.
Daley's eyes were wide with shock, then he screamed as he toppled over, the beam slicing flesh as easily as the paper had been cut. He was dead and the scream silenced before he hit the floor in two pieces.
“Everyone freeze!” Ariana ordered.
The interior of the plane was silent. Eyes turned toward the left side of the plane, waiting for another hole to be punched. After a minute, Ariana slowly walked over to Daley's body. She draped a cloth over it, avoiding the gold beam.
There was a long period of silence as everyone watched Daly’s blood soak through the cloth.
Ariana fixed Hudson with her gaze across the light. “Will the SATCOM radio work if we reconnect the cable to the dish?”
“It should,” Hudson said.
“I'll do it,” Peter Mansor said.
“You're crazy!” Herrin yelled. “Did you hear that thing that went across us? Don't you think they can get you with the light beam if you go outside?”
Mansor ignored him. “Where does the cable run?”
“Come to my area and I'll show you,” Hudson said.
By moving to the left side of the plane and ducking, they were able to get under the beam and go forward.
Hudson reached into a drawer and pulled out a binder. “It's not as bad as you think,” he said. “There's a chance the cable's failed before it goes up to the rotodome. That means it's cut along the access corridor in the inside top of the plane. You might not have to go outside at all.”
“Luck doesn't seem to be coming in bunches here,” Mansor noted.
“Hey, we're alive,” Ariana countered, aware that the others were listening. “We should have died in the crash, but for some reason we didn’t. So let's keep a positive attitude. We get the SATCOM working, we can get a hold of my father and he'll get us out of here, no matter what it takes.”
Herrin gave a sharp laugh at that, but he didn't say anything as the glares of the others kept the words from coming forth.
Hudson pointed at a small panel above his workstation. “That's how you get into the access crawlspace.”
Mansor stood on the front of the desk and pushed the panel out of the way. He stuck his head into the darkness and then turned a flashlight on and looked about.
“Do you see a group of wires to your right?” Hudson asked.
“Yes.”
“That's the commo leads to the rotodome. The HF goes forward, so all you have there are the SATCOM and FM. The FM goes down to the FM antenna in the belly. The ones that go to the rear; those are the SATCOM cables. Just follow them.”
Mansor looked down. “Mighty tight up here.”
“You can make it,” Hudson assured him. “When the cables disappear up, you'll be right below the rotodome. Let's hope the break is before then.”
“Yeah, right,” Mansor said. He grabbed the edge of the small opening and pulled himself up.
The last glimpse Ariana and the others had of him were his boots disappearing, heading toward the rear of the plane. They could hear him slowly moving above their heads and as he began making his way to the rear, they followed inside the plane, just below him, everyone tensed, waiting for a hissing noise.
The door to his glass cubicle was shut, isolating Foreman from the others in his operations center. He flipped a lever putting the satellite call he had just received on the speakerphone.
The voice that echoed off the glass walls was incredulous at what Foreman had just told him. “You've been doing this since 1946 and you don't have any idea what you're dealing with?”
“Mister President, I have some idea of what we’re dealing with,” Foreman's voice was level. He had long anticipated this moment and he had known it would not go pleasantly, but that was not a concern of his.
There was the sound of paper rustling on the other end. “I'm looking at a report here from 1968. It tells me we lost a nuclear submarine checking out, what do you call it, this Bermuda Triangle Gate?”
“That's correct, sir. The USS Scorpion. “