David Sakmyster: The Cydonia Objective

He knew what was required of him. Knew what they needed to complete the weapon. The Tablet of Destiny. It was so much more than that fool Caleb could imagine. He’d had it for seven years and didn’t even begin to gleam its secrets. Oh, for sure its latent power would have stimulated Caleb’s mind—and his son’s, and anyone who came near to it; but to really understand its power, its true destructive capabilities…

Calderon was ready. Robert Gregory and the other Keepers had an inkling of what the tablet really was. And so did George Waxman, Stargate’s head man and the originator behind the Morpheus Initiative. In his quest for psychic candidates for the government, he had tested one man who had seen it for what it truly was: a threat to all life on this planet. And, Calderon mused, any other planet or satellite we might choose to target. Good thing Caleb was such a believer in the preservation of knowledge. He would never consider destroying such a find, regardless of what Waxman feared could happen. And so he kept it, believing himself a better Keeper than his other new friends, including his wife.

But he was wrong, and the time was coming. The time of release. Marduk’s vision, nearly achieved. It was so easy to set the gears in motion to retrieve the tablet. Robert Gregory, as the Keepers’ leader, desperately wanted the most prized element from the lost Alexandrian Library. And all Calderon had to do was keep fanning the flames, leaking out information about who had it, and how he might get it.

Of course, to get by Caleb’s defenses, they needed a psychic, someone just as powerful to see the way. And Xavier Montross had been only too willing. Gregory and Montross did all the work, but it was Calderon who had pulled the strings.

And now here they were. Tablet in hand. Translation almost in place. But even without that, the contents of that locked box under the Sphinx, they had what they needed. The Tablet. The ancient piece of technology, an interface between mind and machine.

The weapon was built and ready. Waiting for this final piece, the instructions and codes to harness the power of the universe.

All that remained was to eliminate any threat to its deployment. And that meant the threat to the Tablet itself. The one artifact that could destroy it.

He had to act fast. Their enemies—their real enemies—wouldn’t be idle for much longer. Not if they too, could see.

Calderon watched theboys eagerly glide ahead, deeper and deeper into the museum’s secrets. Now they were nearing a restricted door in the back, which Calderon knew led to a private stairwell that would take them to a basement below the storage sublevels.

“It’s down here, father!” Isaac yelled back, grinning.

Jacob waved his hand. “They’re coming, hurry!”

Were they sure? Calderon hadn’t relied on their talents yet, hadn’t had the necessity. The boys were young, green and untested. The visit to the Statue of Liberty proved that they weren’t ready. They were powerful, to be sure, but just not focused. A wasted trip. And he hadn’t had the time then to help guide them. But if all went well here, if they could capture or kill Crowe and Montross, even eliminate the Morpheus Initiative, then Lady Liberty could keep her secrets for all he cared.

Three mercenaries, HK-45s out in front, filed around him and moved ahead of the boys. They opened the door, and Calderon tapped his cane once, hearing it echo metallically off the walls and amidst the relics, then he followed them inside and down into the subterranean chambers to await their quarry.

Xavier Montross pushedthe center stone on the wall. He really didn’t need to remote view this part. He knew this was the door, the exit that in ancient times had led out a half-mile beyond the Khepre Pyramid, where the initiates could exit into a well, then ascend to the desert and see the monuments from a different vantage point. Caleb would’ve said it had something to do with mental perspective and a sense of spiritual evolution, but Xavier could care less.

This part was easy. In his flashlight beam, the light dimming already from four hours of continuous use, he could see three rectangular blocks set in the wall to the right of a large, smooth block. The door. And here, it was too obvious. Two of the blocks had the hieroglyphics facing right, as was typical. The middle one had the characters facing left. While he couldn’t translate these scripts specifically, he didn’t need to. Push the right one, the door opens. Push one of the other two and…

All right, he thought. Didn’t get this far by being impulsive. Better just be safe and take a look…

He closed his eyes, spread out his arms and concentrated. On the door, willing to be shown a time when it didn’t open, when in fact someone had gotten it wrong. Show me.

He teetered unsteadily. A vibration traveled up his spine, tingling the base of his neck. Pushing through his skull to the center of his forehead. His mouth opened and he let out a gasp.

A nervous young bald man with a wavering hand reaches for the middle stone. Pushes it with confidence, smiling–

-right up to the point the block he’s standing on drops. Only a few inches—but it’s enough. Something sharp whisks across, driven with incredible force. The youth screams in agony, slides backwards and lands, lifting his legs to look in horror at the stumps where his feet used to be…

Enough!

Xavier pulled himself back, snapped his mind out of the vision. He’d seen too many of these sights, experienced so much pain and death. As if he’d been there himself. But whether it was one soul or an entire world’s population, death was death. Brutal, remorseless. Uncaring.

Steadying himself, he looked at the stones again. And realized his mistake.

The middle one, while different, was really just a mirror image of the top one. They were one and the same, copies just written in reverse.

The bottom one…

Montross leaned forward. Pushed it—and felt his feet tensing, ready to jump at the slightest movement. Not that he’d have the chance.

But then the wall ahead shook, dust fell from the ceiling, and a thin sliver of light appeared at the left, steadily growing as the block pulled aside.

Light? Xavier squinted. He turned off his flashlight. The stone slid farther. Run back, he thought, and had a flash of a cluttered room, something like a storage area, with crates and boxes pulled back from the wall, from the open wooden door on the other side. Just a glimpse, before the four men in black suits raised their weapons at him and surged through the opening.

Back in theshadows, around the last corner of this point of the labyrinth, Xavier crouched. On his knees. I’m not going to die , he thought. I would have seen it. And then he cursed himself. Too often this gift of foresight about his death led him to a false sense of security. He failed to fully scout out other more uncomfortable situations.

But he was far from without resources.

Calderon walked throughhis mercenaries as they encircled the red-haired man who had emerged, squinting, from the doorway.

“Ah, Xavier Montross. We meet at last.” Calderon cocked his head. Something was odd. Montross was too calm. He’d just emerged from what should have been a stiflingly hot, oppressive and dank labyrinth, and yet he wasn’t even sweating. His hair was perfect, no dirt on his face, nothing to tell of any ordeal. Like he had just awoke from a peaceful nap.

Isaac scampered between two of the soldiers, approaching Montross from behind. Jacob, meanwhile, had taken an interest in the doorway. The open section of flimsy drywall that had concealed the sandstone entrance beyond it.