Turcotte looked down at the headless body. Something was stirring in the area of the stub of the spinal column that poked above the neck. Something gray.
“What the hell is that?” Spearson took a step back.
The three-fingered tip of a Swarm tentacle emerged, grasping, searching for a new host. It was slithering out of the body, a foot now exposed. Turcotte swung Excalibur and sliced the tentacle in two, just below the “fingers.” The severed portion fell to the ground, and then began to “melt,” producing a foul smell.
“What the hell is that?” Spearson demanded.
Turcotte ignored the question. “Duncan? Have you seen Dr. Duncan?”
Spearson shook his head, still staring where the tentacle had been. “We just got here. The copper shot at us. Then my man went crazy. What was that thing in him? What is going on?”
Turcotte continued to ignore the questions, as there was no time to explain. He moved toward the pod, both weapons at the ready. It didn’t even occur to him to feel strange holding an ultramodern submachine gun in one hand and a legendary sword in the other. He stepped onto the pod ramp and saw the hole that had been blasted in it. He paused for a moment, then leaned over and poked his head inside. The skin on the back of his neck prickled as he waited for a tentacle to lash out at him. In the green glow he saw Duncan strapped to a table. He took in the massive amounts of blood under and around her; the half-regenerated hand; the Ark of the Covenant on a table next to her along with the crown.
Duncan turned her head and met his gaze. Turcotte could see the pain in her eyes.
“Mike.” She said it so softly, Turcotte wasn’t sure whether there was an actual word or he was interpreting the way her lips moved.
“I’ll get you out of there,” Turcotte said. The hole was too small for him to fit through. He would need more demolitions.
“Mike.”
He definitely heard her this time. He took a quick look around, half-expecting to see one of the creatures he and Yakov had found in the ruins of Section IV. “What?”
“I’m sorry.”
Turcotte staggered as the pod moved beneath his feet. “I’ll get you out.” He wondered if it were taking off. He pulled his head out of the hole and stepped back. It wasn’t the pod. It was the ground itself moving. The nearest standing stones were leaning precariously. A lintel stone fell off, slamming into the ground with a loud thud. Spearson was yelling orders, ordering his men to pull back.
Turcotte turned back to pod, just as the door he was standing on began to lift. He knew he had just a few seconds. “I’ll be back!” he yelled toward the opening, then he dived to the side, narrowly avoiding being crushed as the door sealed. The pod rose and moved to the side, out of the way of the hovering mothership. It stopped about fifty yards away. Turcotte stood, then had to dash out of the way as another tall stone came crashing down, missing him by a few inches. He felt the rush of air displaced by the stone as it hit the ground with a solid thud.
Turcotte’s fingers scrambled to grab hold of solid ground, but the dirt was sliding away beneath him. Then he felt metal, warm metal, which was strange. The mothership overhead was still illuminating everything and he looked down. Gray metal. More and more of it. The surface Turcotte lay on was slightly curved. He realized he was on some sort of craft, a type which he hadn’t seen before. And it was going up. On all fours, Turcotte scuttled toward the edge he could see about ten yards away. He heard a loud, echoing thud, which he could only imagine was one of the standing stones falling onto the skin of the craft.
By the time he made it to the edge, the craft was clear of the ground. It was saucer-shaped with a large protrusion near front and two more near the rear. Turcotte didn’t spend much time checking it out. He gathered himself and jumped off, the airborne training he’d received at Fort Benning so many years ago taking over. Black Hats with megaphones yelling: Feet and knees together, knees bent, arms tucked. Hit. Roll.
Turcotte lay on his back and saw the outline of the strange craft against the mothership’s lights. Then it darted off to the west, the Swarm pod following.
CHAPTER 11: THE PRESENT
Artad stepped up, placing the front of his feet into the toe openings in the front half of the space suit and pressing himself against the interior padding. The rear half swung forward, locking shut. He scanned the display just below his visor, making sure all systems were working correctly.
The report from the scouts he had sent over to the derelict mothership had intrigued him. He felt little sense of time pressure as the last reports he had checked indicated the array on Mars was not yet completed. The humans might attempt to fly the mothership to Mars, but then what? He doubted they had more than the most rudimentary understanding of the craft. In fact, as he considered the options, he hoped the humans would fly the mothership there, so he could assault it and regain control. That would look much better when the fleet arrived. He paused — certainly it would be better to send the first message with the mothership under his control. As it stood now, he was calling for help in a situation that had gotten far out of control.
Secure in the suit, he went to the Talon’s airlock. Locking one door behind, he waited as the outer door slid open. They were adjacent to the main cargo bay of the mothership. A massive explosion had torn the doors off and ripped a quarter-mile-long gash along the side of the craft. Artad jetted across to the larger ship. Entering the large cargo bay, the first thing he noted was the devastation. While the rip in the outer hull was bad, the interior had been gutted, as the interior bulkheads weren’t quite as strong as the external skin.
There were also the smashed remains of several Talon craft — Aspasia’s fleet from Mars. Artad headed toward one of the Talons, where several of his suited Kortad waited for him. They shepherded him inside, through a hatch and into a corridor. There were several Airlia bodies floating inside, perfectly preserved by the vacuum of space. Artad ignored them, even though he recognized some, as one of his Kortad led him forward to the control room.
A half dozen dead Airlia were strapped to their chairs. They weren’t even in their space suits, indicating they had met disaster unexpectedly.
And in the command seat — Aspasia.
Artad came to a halt in front of his old nemesis. Over ten thousand years had passed since they had first fought. Their Shadows and their followers had continued the fight through the millennia. He had never expected that it would end like this, with Aspasia dead by human hand, depriving him of his revenge.
Artad reached a gloved, six-fingered hand forward and grasped Aspasia’s chin. He lifted the drooping head. The red eyes were cloudy, vacant.
Artad turned his head toward another Airlia body, behind Aspasia’s, still holding his adversary’s chin. A female. Artad’s fingers tightened on Aspasia’s chin, digging into the dead flesh. He remembered her. Remembered when she had left on the mission to this forsaken corner of the universe. Remembered their time together so long ago.
His arm jerked, snapping Aspasia’s neck. Artad looked once more at the female’s body, and then turned for the exit. Without a backward glance he departed.
Mars Pathfinder was launched on December 4, 1996. On July 4 the following year, Pathfinder reached Mars, taking an orbit that did not overfly or even come close to Cydonia. The lander entered the atmosphere and five miles from the surface its parachute deployed. Sixty-nine feet above the surface near Ares Vallis, the parachute was cut loose and Pathfinder, surrounded by airbags, fell to the surface and bounced. It continued bouncing for over half a mile before coming to a halt. The airbags deflated.