David Sakmyster - The Cydonia Objective

Aria’s eyes widened. “You didn’t build this tunnel! You found it here.” She was sitting on her father’s lap, his arms around her waist protectively.

“What?” Phoebe stared at the girl. “You saw that?”

Aria pressed her little fingers against the glass window. “They found it, using their psychics.”

“Following up on native American legends about a race living within the mountain,” Temple added. “And… rather sensational reports through the years. Prospectors, climbers, explorers… tall tales of robed men and women appearing from the caverns, speaking enigmatically and then disappearing. Strange lights at night. Weird craft-shaped objects coming and going…”

“A regular UFO hotspot,” Orlando said, then shrugged. “At least according to Coast to Coast AM Radio.”

Phoebe leaned across the aisle toward Aria, and looked out the window at the lights passing in the darkness. “What else did you see?”

The girl closed her eyes. “I saw… I see… that where we’re going… it’s one big hollowed out cavern that they’ve made into their headquarters. But there’s something, some place they can’t get into. They wanted to get further, but there’s a door of some kind.”

Temple nodded. “A barrier, black, solid and thick. The Dove had been having visions of it for years.”

“But never,” Aria added, “seeing anything behind it. Only blue.”

“Correct. Apparently they let us get this far, but no further.”

The tram was slowing, and brighter lights appeared.

Orlando frowned. “So there’s a door. Couldn’t you bust through? Or drill around it?”

Temple smiled. “Course we tried. But any machinery that got within twenty feet suddenly died. EMP field of some kind, protecting it. Tried manually digging around, but whoever we sent to do it came back… the only word I can say is… ‘befuddled’. As if their brains were temporarily scrambled. They had no idea what they were there to do, or even where they were, and it took hours for the memories to clear. So no, we can’t get through.”

“Hmmm,” said Phoebe. “Sounds like you were invited to a party, but then denied entrance at the front door.”

“That’s about the way we saw it,” Temple replied. “But we didn’t take offense. Instead, I’m thinking maybe this is their way of testing us, observing us first. Seeing if we’re worthy to get inside to the big dance.”

“How long has it been?” Orlando asked. “That you’ve been tested?”

“Four years, give or take.”

Phoebe whistled. “Maybe it’s not a test.”

“What do you mean?” Temple cocked his head. And for the first time, his voice didn’t sound so confident.

She shrugged. “Maybe you’re just meant to be close. All of us in one spot…”

“So it’s easier to wipe us out,” Orlando finished.

Temple was about to say something when the interior suddenly got a lot brighter. The walls of the tunnel gave way and their tram hurtled above an enormous open space. They hugged the stalactite-covered roof, racing along a monorail track that circled the mile-wide facility, looking down on a complex of rectangular buildings, pathways and plains. Pipes and wires ran along the sides of the elliptical cavern, with pathways laid out in concentric circular grids. Giant floodlights stood at regular intervals, and the track angled toward one pyramid-shaped glass building that stood fifty feet above the others.

“Central command,” Temple pointed. “Where we’re headed. Where you’ll meet the team.”

“And the diabolical super villain in charge,” Orlando mused.

“That would be me,” Temple said with a grin as they began to slow down. “Now, get ready for some revelations that are really going to blow your mind.”

Inside the sparklingglass-walled command center, the tram stopped at a level lit up by major lights diffusing through the windows. Looking up, the walls converged at a point where another huge circular light hung, giving the whole area a feel of being inside the luxurious lobby of an ostentatious hotel. There were three fountains and a waterfall, nestled inside a park-like area with large palm trees and lush flowering bushes. Multicolored birds flew about, chirping and singing. There were rounded picnic tables, benches set alone in shaded areas where people sat and appeared to be meditation, or just sleeping.

“You’ll have time to enjoy the scenery later,” Temple said, urging them along. He headed toward an elevator set in a rectangular, ivy-covered central pillar. “We’re needed down below.”

They followed, Aria and Phoebe first, then Orlando who pushed Aria’s father in a wheelchair. The doors closed and they descended quickly in a sealed car. “I’d have expected glass walls,” Orlando said. “No view?”

Temple shook his head. “These levels are largely private. We have twenty-seven psychics at work down here, along with a staff of sixty to maintain the complex, cook the food, run information searches and gather real-world intelligence. That all happens on levels four and five. The psychics, they’re down on six.”

“In the basement,” Orlando commented. “Where we belong.”

Phoebe jabbed him. “Okay, so what’s the plan? We meet everyone, and then what? We’ve got to help Caleb and Alexander, and stop…”

“The end of the world, yes. All in time.” The doors opened and Temple led them out into a much different setting. Soft lights, mahogany walls, dark carpeting. Leather couches, gold-framed maps on the walls: ancient-looking maps of the world, depictions of the stars and planets from the Middle Ages.

Orlando whistled as he rolled Brian Greenmeyer forward.

“Leave me here,” the man whispered. “Tired, and this looks like a good place to rest.”

“Dad?” Aria turned around. She still held Phoebe’s hand.

“I’m not worried,” he said. “You’re with good people.”

A thin, matronly woman stood up from a desk in the dark corner and took the wheelchair handles from Orlando. “I’ll watch over him now, get him a drink and some food.”

“Thanks, Laurie,” Temple said. He gripped the doorknobs and opened the two large oak doors, and then they were passing through a long hallway lit by what looked like turn-of-the-century gaslights set in bronze gargoyle sconces.

“What’s behind all these doors?” Phoebe wondered, looking ahead and losing count until the distant end of the corridor.

Temple paused at the first one. “Okay, a little off the main tour, but I’ll show you. These are our ‘contemplation chambers.’ Each a little different. Décor suited to the objective.”

“What objective?” Orlando asked.

Temple put a finger to his lips and quietly pushed open the door.

Inside were three people sitting in large bean bags, each a different color. They wore sleeping masks and seemed to be dozing… except for the pads of paper and pencils in their hands. Around the walls were hung photographs—aerial maps of mountain ranges and coastal regions, geological studies that seemed to center around fault lines running across the ocean beds and highlighting volcanic areas.

Temple eased the door shut. “We have them solely focused on natural disasters. Trying to predict the next ones, probing likely hot spots.”

“And if you get a credible hit?” Orlando asked.

“We quietly leak it to the geological community and do what we can do evacuate ahead of the event. But…”

“You haven’t had much luck yet?” Phoebe asked.

“Not as such. Close, but timing’s always a bit off. Sometimes they can’t tell whether it’s weeks or days, or in a couple regrettable instances, only minutes away. We’re working on refining the techniques. And we hope, maybe with your help, to improve our results. But first things first, or there won’t be any need for any of this.”