Thomas Greanias - Raising Atlantis

She was in the crypt, her translucent skin almost blue when he grabbed her and carried her out over his shoulder into the corridor. He set her on the floor and began to massage her arms and legs. She was barely breathing.

Oh, God, he prayed under his breath. Don’t let her die. “Come on, baby, come on,” he repeated. “You can do it.”

Slowly the color came back to her cheeks and her breathing became deeper and more rhythmic. When she opened her eyes, Conrad was shocked by their empty, lifeless quality.

“Serena, it’s me, Conrad,” he said. “Do you know where you are?”

She moaned. He brought his ears to her lips. “If you’re Conrad Yeats, then this must be hell.”

“Thank God.” He breathed a huge sigh of relief. “You’re OK.”

She struggled to sit up and get her bearings. “Yeats?”

“Up in the capsule,” he told her. “But he’s going to come down before the launch to put himself into the Osiris cryocrypt. When he does, I’ll be waiting for him.”

“And me?”

“While he’s with me, you go up into the capsule and get the scepter. Whatever happens to me, you’ve got to stop this ship from launching and get back to P4. Understood?”

She rubbed her temples. “So you really think we can stop the displacement?”

“I don’t know, but we have to try,” he said when the circle of lights above the central platform flashed.

“He’s coming down,” Conrad said. “I’ve got to take my position. You wait until he’s well along the other corridor before you go up.”

She nodded.

Conrad ran down the corridor toward the Osiris cryocrypt. By the time he got to the central shaft, the platform was on its way down with Yeats. Conrad ran through the mist into the open Osiris crypt and waited for Yeats.

Breathing hard, back against the wall, he felt something along his shoulder and turned to see the alien harness. The last thing he needed was to accidentally lock himself in the cryocrypt for the better part of eternity. Then he heard the chamber door open.

Conrad blinked his eyes and saw Yeats’s figure in the mist. Conrad raised his AK-47 and stepped forward. “Mission aborted, Yeats.”

“Is that you, son?” he said. “I’m impressed. I knew you’d join us.”

“Give me the obelisk and Serena.”

Conrad could see Yeats’s eyes quickly take in the bandages on his wrists and note his unsteady grip on the AK-47. He couldn’t believe he was pointing a gun at his father. Even if Yeats wasn’t his biological father, and even if he hated him more often than not, Yeats was the only father Conrad had ever known.

“You’re not going to use that on me, son.”

“I’m not?”

“Kill me and you kill any chance of fulfilling your lifelong quest,” Yeats said. “Only by lifting off in this new obelisk-the starship-and taking it to its intended journey will you ever discover your true origins.”

“And what about my fellow man?”

“You’re not a man, and it’s too late to save Earth. The human race hasn’t proved itself worthy, and the Secret of First Time can only be found at the end of the Solar Bark’s celestial journey. You want to know it as much as I do. Hell, it’s probably been programmed into your genetic code.”

“Don’t bet on it.” Conrad pointed the AK-47 at him. “Remove your sidearm. Slowly. Two fingers.”

Yeats unfastened the leather strap on his belt and carefully removed the Glock 9 mm pistol from its holster.

“On the floor.”

Yeats placed the gun on the floor and lifted his hands up.

“Step back.”

Yeats managed a smile as Conrad kicked the Glock away. “You and I are more alike than you care to admit.”

“You’re dreaming, Yeats.” Conrad could tell Yeats was stalling for time, hoping to let the Solar Bark launch into its self-directed trajectory. But Conrad was waiting for Serena, hoping she’d hurry down with the Scepter of Osiris.

“I too am curious about a lot of things,” Yeats said. “Not just the origins of human civilization but the universe itself. Ever wonder just why I wanted to go to Mars in the first place?”

“To plant your flag on the planet and be the first man to piss in red dirt.”

“Comparative planetology, the scientists call it.” Yeats seemed to grow more confident as he assessed that Conrad wasn’t really going to shoot him. “They’d like to study the history of the solar system and the evolution of the planets by comparing evidence found on Earth, the Moon, and Mars. When we explore other worlds, we really explore ourselves and learn more accurately how we fit in.”

Conrad said nothing, only watched in fascination as Yeats’s worn face lit up with an almost spiritual inner light.

“For centuries we were guided by the ideas of the Egyptian astronomer Ptolemy, who taught that Earth was the center of everything,” Yeats went on. “Then Galileo set us straight and we learned the sun is the local center about which we and the other planets revolve. But psychologically we still cling to the Ptolemaic view. Why not? As long as we stay here on Earth, we’re the de facto center of everything that matters. You don’t have to go to the Moon to understand this matter of watching Earth from afar. Space isn’t about some technological achievement but about the human spirit and our contribution to universal purpose. Space is a metaphor for expansiveness, opportunity, and freedom.”

Conrad raised his weapon again at Yeats’s chest. “I must have missed the pancake breakfast with the Boy Scouts where you delivered that bullshit speech.”

Yeats held his gaze, undeterred. “You want to know where this ends as much as I do.”

A voice from behind Yeats said, “It ends right here, General.”

Yeats spun around to see Serena, who was holding the Scepter of Osiris in her hand. Conrad could see Yeats’s back stiffen in rage.

Conrad said, “Now you know the cryocrypts work, Yeats. So you won’t mind stepping into this one for the time being.” Conrad gestured toward the Osiris chamber.

“I think you should drop your weapon, son.”

Conrad did a double take. Yeats had slipped his hand behind his back and produced a small pistol. Conrad never saw it coming. Neither did Serena.

Yeats smiled. “Be prepared, the Boy Scouts say.”

Serena said, “Shoot him, Conrad.”

Conrad took a step forward, but Yeats dug the snubby barrel of the pistol into Serena’s temple. “Stay right where you are.”

Conrad took another step closer.

Yeats yanked Serena’s long black hair until she cried out in pain. “Now or never, son.”

Conrad took a third step.

“I said drop it!” Yeats yanked Serena’s hair even harder. Conrad knew he could snap her neck in a second if he wanted to.

“Don’t listen to him, Conrad,” Serena strained to say. “You know he’s going to kill you.”

But all it took for Conrad was another look into her frightened eyes to convince him that he could take no chances. He lowered his weapon.

“Good boy,” Yeats said. “Now drop it.”

Conrad dropped his AK-47 on the floor of the fore-aft passageway, where it clanked. He could see tears roll down Serena’s face as their eyes locked.

“You’re hopeless, Conrad,” she whispered.

Conrad watched Yeats pick up the AK-47 from the floor. They were only a few feet apart now and Conrad could see a manic look in Yeats’s eyes that he hadn’t detected from a distance. The man looked like an animal trapped in a snare, willing to bite his own leg off to get free.

“I knew you couldn’t kill me,” he said, keeping a tight hold on Serena, who struggled in his grip. “And I sure as hell don’t want to kill you. But I will if I have to.”