Outlanders 32 Evil Abyss, page 10
"How so?" Kane inquired, following Grant into the operations center.
Lakesh trolled after him. "Because of the Angkor temple city. Almost all holy sites of the ancient world were constructed at the intersection points of geomantic energy-vortex nodes."
Kane nodded in recollection. "Right. Not that I understand it, but I remember you talking about it." They joined Grant at the main ops console, standing behind Bry. Kane nodded to Quavell and Mariah as he entered, although he felt the usual quiver of unease whenever he was in Quavell's company, under the scrutiny of her huge blue eyes, as chillingly placid as the surface of a frozen lake.
Bry's skinny fingers played over the keyboard, imputing a numerical sequence. Across the right side of the screen scrolled a constant stream of figures, symbols and numbers. The screen was dark, yet it swarmed with little points and pixels of brightness. Then, near the bottom edge a curving sweep of blue-green began to appear. Triumphantly, he announced, "They said it couldn't be done, but I did it. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Cambodia."
Kane and Grant exchanged weary glances and head shakes. Lakesh repressed a smile. No one could really blame the man for preening a little. After all, it was his year's worth of hard work—as well many failures—that allowed Cerberus to at long last gain control of the two still functioning satellites in Earth orbit.
Although most satellites had been little more than free-floating scrap metal for well over a century, Cerberus had always possessed the proper electronic ears and eyes to receive the transmissions from at least two them. One was of the Vela reconnaissance arms which carried narrow-band multispectral scanners. It could detect the electromagnetic radiation reflected by every object on Earth, including subsurface geomagnetic waves. The scanner was tied into an extremely high resolution photographic relay system.
The other satellite to which the redoubt was linked was a Comsat, which for many months was used primarily to keep track of Cerberus personnel by their subcutaneous transponders when they were out in the field. Everyone in the installation had been injected with the transponders, which transmitted heart rate, respiration, blood count and brain-wave patterns. Based on organic nanotechnology, the transponder was a non-harmful radioactive chemical which bound itself to an individual's glucose and the middle layers of the epidermis. The telemetric signal was relayed to the redoubt by the Comsat, and directed down to the redoubt's hidden antenna array on the mountain peak, which in turn transferred it to the Cerberus computer systems.
Bry manipulated the computer's mouse, and the image transmitted from the Vela suddenly dominated the big screen. The view tightened and more details began to show. A low mountain range broke the far horizon and a vast rain forest appeared as a sea of undulating greenery surrounding the dark oval of an immense body of water. The banks were crowded with rattan palms and the bone-white trunks of trees. Here and there on its surface were the oblong shapes of boats, and what appeared to be villages were scattered along the banks.
"Tonle Sap," Lakesh said quietly. "In the summer, excess water from the Mekong River backs up into the lake which expands to cover an area larger than Utah's Great Salt Lake. The trees are palmaceae, cypress and fromager."
Eyeing the image on the screen, Kane reflected that the jungle appeared to cover thousands of square miles with a brooding wilderness. Kane found the image inexplicably ominous.
That sense grew more pronounced when he saw ruins rising above the treetops. He knew instantly the ruins were relics of another, forgotten age predating the nukecaust. They thrust jagged pinnacles into the sky from the squarely cut lines of walled enclosures. For many miles the complex of ruins stretched in a breathtaking sweep of intricately carved esplanades, megalithic walls and heaps of tumbledown masonry.
In midst of the jungle terrain, the towers rose like the masts of buried sailing ships. The numbers in the measurement window gave the height of the satellite image as twenty thousand feet.
'The region was known as Phnom Kuleh," Lakesh announced in a voice softened by awe. “The Angkor plain and one of the wonders of the predark world." Leaning over Bryn shoulder, Lakesh worked the keys and the image on the screen changed. The jungle country leaped toward them. "I'll see if we can't get a better shot of Angkor Wat, the most magnificent of the structures:'
The perspective on the screen changed, rushing downward, through a sky flecked with scraps of white clouds. The plummet halted, over a place that was flat and bare, but held a complex of stone buildings in the center of it. The range readout gave the altitude as a little over five thousand feet.
The image was blurred, slightly out of focus, but Kane saw a series of small outlying constructions arranged in a circle around the dark bulk of a larger building. A high wall reared out of the foliage surrounding a looming, sprawling black structure that resembled a half-squashed ziggurat. Shadowy, terraced pinnacles rose from all four corners. "That's a huge place," Grant murmured.
"Angkor Watt' Lakesh said. "The summit of Khmer architectural achievement. It's actually a temple-tomb, erected in the twelfth century, built on the foundation of far older structures—"
He broke off and leaned forward, squinting at the screen. "What's going on here?"
A shimmering effect, as of heat waves rising from a sun-baked road, seemed to ripple out from the tops of the towers. The shimmer expanded until it seemed to form a canopy over the gargantuan complex.
By now, Domi, DeFore, Quavell and Mariah Falk had all gathered around the monitor screen, gazing at the images with keen interest. Bry reached for the mouse, saying, "Let me try to clean up the picture:'
He tapped the button, but the blurry quality seemed to increase. "Other way," Lakesh told him absently. "I know how to do this," Bry retorted waspishly. Kane caught a suggestion of movement around the structures, of people moving to and fro. Suddenly, shades of bright color bloomed up from the central structure like the petals of an unimaginably huge flower. Whorls of red, white, yellow, green, cyan, blue and even violet spread out across the ruins, almost as if they were spewed from the towers.
The palette of colors almost completely filled the image area of the monitor screen. The picture fluttered, black jagged lines shooting through it. Then it dissolved in a burst of pixels.
"Dammit, Donald," DeFore snapped sharply. "What've you done?"
"Nothing!" Bry countered defensively, working both the mouse and keyboard in tandem. "We lost the signal." Quavell said quietly, "The pattern suggests a burst of electromagnetic radiation. It blinded the satellite." Lakesh frowned, straightening. I don't believe I've ever seen anything quite like that before."
"The timing seems suspiciously convenient," Mariah commented dourly.
Lakesh nodded. "I concur. Mr. Bry, give us a playback.”
Bry dutifully complied with request. Lakesh studied the whorls and waves of color spreading up from the structures and said, '"There's definitely a pattern there." "What kind" Kane asked.
"What's known in earth-energy studies as cursus, after the Latin for 'racecourse."'
"And what does that mean?" Grant demanded impatiently.
Still gazing fixedly at the screen, Lakesh answered, "Sacred architecture around the world—cathedrals, temples, mosques, stupas, pagodas—is designed to join Heaven and Earth. The great Asian sites of Borobadur in Indonesia and the magnificent Nalanda University in India are three-dimensional mandalas of the four directions, and monumental examples of joining Heaven and Earth by design."
"Geomancy," Quavell said
Lakesh turned toward her. "Exactly. As a form of study, geomancy has its roots in the Temple of Solomon and was developed by the Greek mystery schoolteachers over three thousand years ago. The knowledge and skills were used in the construction of the great cathedrals in Europe during the Middle Ages. It was then regarded as superstition by the church administration and it all but disappeared."
Mariah Falk ventured, "I thought the whole study of channeling earth energies, Ley lines and so forth was pretty much discredited by physical scientists by the end of the twentieth century."
Lakesh shook his head. "Not so much discredited as reevaluated. The scientists who studied the phenomenon concluded that the ancient observations about grid lines and cursuses were explained to the dominant cultures via myths.. or scholarly pursuits such as sacred geometry. Ancient knowledge from past civilizations may have seemed like superstition to many people in later civilizations, but is this Superstition just logic interpreted by different senses that most people don't use today? As with all specialist studies, they have their experts who contribute much to the understanding of any particular discipline. Lao Tse and Pythagoras immediately spring to mind."
"What springs to my mind," Kane said, a steel edge in his voice, "is what any of this has to do with the disappearance of our people—and how we can get them back"
Lakesh gave him a fleeting, jittery smile. "I need some time to collect my thoughts on that matter. If you and friend Grant would care to clean up and rest a bit, perhaps have a bite to eat, then join me back here in an hour, I might be able to offer a few suggestions."
Chapter 10
Kane turned on the faucet and a spray of water jetted from the nozzle. He adjusted the showerhead to shoot out a needlelike rain.
When the water temperature was utmost too hot to tolerate, he stepped into the cubicle. He used a liquid- soap dispenser affixed to the wall to work a lather all over his body, even making a shampoo of it for his hair. Although his left arm and hip bore blue-black contusions from the bullet strikes, they weren't particularly painful.
The bathroom filled quickly with billowing clouds of steam, and he contented himself with luxuriating beneath the driving jets of hot water, letting them soothe the muscle ache. He focused on that, not wanting to think about might what befall Brigid, Philboyd and Nora. After a few minutes he adjusted the faucet, and streams of cold, clear water gushed down and rinsed the soap from his body.
He watched the water drain away, down into a natural limestone filtration system built under the redoubt. Once it passed through and the chemicals leached out, the water was routed back into the complex's water supply. He wished his worries could drain away so easily. Stepping out of the shower, Kane wiped the condensation from the mirror and critically eyed the reflection staring sullenly back at Om It was a face that had once laughed a lot, had liked carousing with his fellow Mags and had gazed out at the world with prideful eyes. The face had forgotten all those things now, the memories of his youth subsumed by the history of violence scattered all over his lean, long-muscled body. He saw the stellate scars of bullet punctures, the thin and jagged white lines of edged steel that had sliced into his flesh. Turning, he looked at the swirling weal of a long- ago burn between his shoulder blades. It was from an injury he had sustained in the Black Gobi two years before, when he rescued Brigid from the Tushe Gun's genetic mingler.
He had shielded her unconscious body from the mingler’s wild energy discharges with his own. Only the tough, Kevlar-weave coat he'd worn at the time saved his life. Brigid had suffered wounds of her own, for subtler and emotionally devastating. Her exposure to the energy of the mingler and to an unknown wavelength of radiation had rendered her barren.
Toweling his hair and face dry, he entered the bedroom and took a pair of jeans and a black T-shirt from the closet. They were articles of predark clothing he had found hermetically sealed in one of the storage rooms. He preferred them to the bodysuits. He tried to maintain a patient, calm manner as he walked around his quarters and dressed, hoping he would actually begin to feel that way.
Fear for Brigid's safety filled his mind, and his stomach slipped sideways. He sat on the edge of the bed, breathing deeply, closing his eyes and striving to achieve the Mag Mind. It was a technique that emptied his consciousness of all nonessentials and allowed his instincts to come to the fore. He'd been trained to do it while a Cobaltville Magistrate and had called on it to handle the pain of injuries or deal with physical exhaustion. But now he couldn't reach it. His concentration was scattered in all directions.
Kane wasn't sure if it was due to the nagging pains of the injuries inflicted by the bullets, or whether he was simply emotionally drained. When he closed his eyes, he kept seeing Ayn Thoraldson's husband, Vend, lying dead and bloodied on the floor, like a vid tape on continuous replay.
Intellectually he accepted the fact that the young man had given him no choice, but emotionally was a different matter altogether. He struggled with the humiliating knowledge he had been manipulated by Alf Thoraldson, used as a pawn to carry out a vengeful, vindictive agenda. He couldn't help but wonder how Brigid would have analyzed the situation if she'd been along. He shook his head, battling the tentacles of dread and panic that threatened to engulf his reason. Most of the time he shied away from scrutinizing his feelings for Brigid Baptiste. They were as deep as they were complicated, and the unspoken bond between them was an issue neither one discussed, even after all this time.
From the very first time he met her he was affected by the energy Brigid radiated, a force intangible, yet one that triggered a melancholy longing in his soul. That strange, sad longing only deepened after a bout of jump sickness both of them suffered during a mat-trans jump to Russia. The main symptoms of jump sickness were vivid, almost real hallucinations.
He and Brigid had shared the same hallucination, but both knew on a visceral, primal level it hadn't been gateway-transit-triggered delirium, but a revelation that they were joined by chains of fate, their destinies linked. Images from that vision spun in the depths of his memory. He saw Baptiste, a beautiful captive dragged at the stirrup of a Norman lord's horse and as he tried to cut her free, he was struck down by the bone-shattering fall of spiked mace.
They never spoke of it, though Kane often wondered if that spiritual bond was the primary reason he had sacrificed everything he had attained as a Magistrate to save her from execution. The possibility confused him, made him feel defensive and insecure. That insecurity was one reason he always addressed her as Baptiste, almost never by her first name so as to maintain a certain formal distance between them. But that distance shrank every day.
During the op to the British Isles, when Kane had protested to Morrigan that there was nothing between him and Brigid, the Irish telepath had laughed at him. She'd said, "Oh, yes, there is. Between you two, there is much to forgive, much to understand. Much to live through. Always together...she is your anam-chara." In ancient Gaelic, Kane learned, anam-chara meant "soul friend."
He wasn't sure if believed that, but he knew he always felt comfortable with Brigid Baptiste, despite their many quarrels. He was at ease with her in a way that was similar, yet markedly different than his relationship with Grant. He found her intelligence, her iron resolve, her wellspring of compassion and the way she had always refused to be intimidated by no-one, not just stimulating but inspiring. She was a complete person, her heart, mind and spirit balanced and demanding of respect. Kane found the thought of losing that person too horrifying to contemplate, not just because of the vacuum she would leave in the Cerberus personnel, but because of the void her absence would leave in his soul. The memory of the kiss he'd given her when they'd taken the jump back in time to the eve of the nukecaust drifted across his mind. It was no surprise that he should remember the kiss, but the intensity of emotion associated with it shook him.
He also recalled with startling clarity what the Sister Fand of the third lost Earth had whispered to him about Brigid Baptiste: "The lady is your saving grace. Trust the bond that belongs between you. The gift of the anam-chara is strong. She protects you from damnation—she is your credential."
Although most, if not all the details of his visits to the three parallel planes of reality were now misty fragments, he remembered those words as if they'd been deliberately imprinted in his mind.
Kane shook his head furiously to drive out the recollections of the past so he could focus on the present. He had seen Brigid injured before, he argued with himself. She had even gone missing and been imprisoned in the past. But she had always recovered, or escaped or been rescued.
Brigid Baptiste was one of the toughest human beings he had ever met. For a woman who had been trained to be an academic, an archivist, and had never strayed more than ten miles from the sheltering walls of Cobaltville, her resiliency and resourcefulness never failed to impress him. Over the past couple of years, she had left her tracks in the most distant and alien of climes and breasted very deep, very dangerous waters.
Both he and Brigid had come a very long way, in distances that couldn't be measured in mere miles, from the night of their first meeting in the residential Enclaves of Cobaltville. As a sixteen-year veteran of the Magistrate Division, Kane was accustomed to danger and hardship, but it was nothing compared to what he, Brigid and Grant had exposed themselves to since their exile. Kane propped his chin on his fist, memory skittering back to a day, a little over two years ago, when he had sat in the same place and contemplated putting the bore of his Sin Eater to his head. Of course, he had been suffering from a severe case of shock, having just escaped Cobaltville, teamed the back story of the nukecaust and been introduced to Balam, a representative of the so-called Archon Directorate. His entire life and belief system had been revealed as a lie, a construct, a fabrication. He and Grant were left with two options—die or reinvent themselves.
Reinvention of the human identity was something that had never occurred to him before. Like Grant, he had been a Magistrate, sanctioned both legally and spiritually to enforce the laws of the barons and arrest the flood tide of chaos by any means necessary.
Though he had often entertained doubts about his life path, his identity seemed inviolate. It took him months to understand and finally accept that his identity had derived from his role as a Meg and both were lost to him forever. What took its place was forged in the crucible of horror, life risk, self-discovery and a commitment to a cause greater than mere physical survival.
