Kirov Saga: Armageddon (Kirov Series), page 32
You thought we all had the wax in our ears, Karpov, he said silently to the missing man, and only you could hear the siren’s song. I gave you this ship and crew, and it was only by the grace of God that they are still alive and well—the grace of God and a few good men who were willing to stand against you in that final hour. There are thousands dead now, scattered all through the decades, and thousands more unborn because of all we have done. How can we ever measure it? And how can we ever be forgiven? The worst of it all is this haunting fear that you were right, and there is nothing more we can do now to set things as they were.
He lowered his head, at the edge of tears, and sighed heavily. Then he turned, straightened his hat and uniform jacket, and stepped through the hatch.
“Lieutenant Volsky on the bridge!” Fedorov was grinning now.
“Ah, I see I am still wearing a Lieutenant’s uniform. Well let no one think that a simple Lieutenant cannot be the most important man alive one day.” He winked at Nikolin now, and smiled.
Fedorov stared at him with admiration and hope, yet his attention was ever drawn to that open hatch where Karpov had gone missing. What had happened to him? Did he take his own life? Why was there no body found? These things and so many others settled like heavy anchors on the silted bottom of his mind. Kamenski had posed more than one challenge to him with his subtle hints and innuendo. The differing stories of how the war ended, the revelation that he had long been aware that time travel was possible, the strange fissure in time at Ilanskiy, and the unsettling notion that others had walked there were most troubling to him.
Like Volsky, he sighed with resignation. Nothing was certain. The history he once thought of as secure and safe in the past, stony and solid, unchangeable, had been proven to be a mutable and ephemeral thing. In fact, he thought, if what I now suspect is true, then other men from the future have returned to the past and worked their will upon it…Just as I have.
The loss of innocence in the face of that hard reality shook him to his very soul. Nothing is written, he thought, remembering the novel by Vladimir Bartol, Alamut. In that ancient stronghold of the Assassins the credo was stark and unyielding: “Nothing is an absolute reality; all is permitted.” If that were so then Karpov may not have been the madman he seemed. Perhaps I am the one deceived by my own delusions of grandeur, he thought. The idea that I could make everything whole again was foolish, even selfish.
Yes, he knew now that other men from had walked in the Devil’s Garden of history, and trampled the flowers there. He knew that he would never look at the world the same way, and his own life was now forever changed. His heart was heavy as he turned to the Admiral again, seeing him reach slowly into his jacket pocket to draw out a small book, opening it, his thick fingers turning the pages slowly.
“Gather round for a moment, men…I thought I would say something to you all, perhaps something profound. I know we have all done many things we came to regret, and taken many lives with the power beneath our feet, mighty Kirov. We have blood on our hands, and many tears to shed. Yet we did not hate those we engaged in battle, and for most of us it was not for gain or glory that we ever fought. We fought for each other, though now we may feel at times the need to hide from the gaze of sane men in this world who do not ever wish to find themselves in the service of war.
“One man among us fought his battles, within and without, as we all must do. He thought we could shape the image of our future by changing the past, and so for him tomorrow was yesterday. While his actions may have seemed incomprehensible and cruel, we must also remember those times when he stood with us, a comrade in battle, and fought to save this ship and crew. He was our brother once, though wayward, lost, and consumed by emotions that many of us will never feel or understand.
“I am told that was a British cruiser that led the final charge against this ship in battle. While we have seen the British as foes many times on this journey, I have always held a certain admiration for them, in many ways—except when they are chasing me with battleships!”
At this the men laughed, one moment of levity at a time when their hearts were heavy, weighted with remorse and sorrow. The Admiral sat down in the Captain’s chair, swiveling to face the men as they waited.
“So this is written by a British poet, Lord Byron,” he began, his eyes soft on the well worn page. “And it speaks well to how we sailed together these many long months, and through uncounted days, across decades and even centuries to reach this place. We do not know where it is just yet. We may still be lost in time, but we will find that out soon enough. Then again, it may be that we have no place in this world any longer and that we have murdered all our tomorrows in the yesterdays where we fought and extinguished so many souls…
“We fought, says this man…
‘Midst a contentious world, striving,
Where none are strong.
There, in a moment, we may plunge our years
In fatal penitence, and in the blight
Of our own soul turn all our blood to tears,
And color things to come with hues of Night;
The race of life becomes a hopeless flight
To those that walk in darkness: on the sea,
The boldest steer but where their ports invite—
But there are wanderers o'er Eternity
Whose bark drives on and on, and anchor'd ne'er shall be.”
Epilogue 1
Captain Gordon MacRae was down in what appeared to be a long, shadowy tunnel, constructed entirely of the same heavy reinforced titanium and tungsten carbide steel alloy as the hidden door that had led to this place. He stared up at the ladder, but strangely could see no one else above him, only a pale, wan light filtering down from above, a wavering fog that seemed strangely luminescent.
It was not long before a pair of feet and legs appeared, Elena Fairchild in the typical pants suit styles she wore so often. There was only room enough for about four people below, a room the size of a small elevator or closet. Elena brought down a flashlight and the Captain could see the walls of the chamber seemed perfectly smooth, but he could see no other doorway or passage.
“Looks like a dead end, Elena,” he said.
“Dead end?” She ran the light over the pristine metallic walls, searching. “Stand aside, Gordon. I think there’s something behind you.”
The Captain side stepped, seeing the small recessed area in the wall behind him for the first time. There was a rectangular outline, as if a steel drawer was mounted inside of the wall, and dead center was another keyhole.
“What have we here?” said MacRae, running his hand over the cold smooth metal.
“That’s odd,” said Elena, appearing somewhat confused. “I thought there would be another door or passage here, but that certainly doesn’t look big enough to get anything more than a cat through this wall.”
“Perhaps it’s just a control lock for another mechanism,” MacRae suggested. “Maybe one of these walls moves…or even the floor.” He looked down at his feet as if to spy out another obvious hatch or trap door, but there was nothing but the unblemished steel alloy beneath his feet. Elena pulled out the key, still on a sturdy chain about her neck, eying the keyhole with a puzzled expression.
“Well,” said MacRae, “I was going to ask you where the hell we are, but from that look on your face I don’t think you have the slightest clue either!”
“I didn’t expect this,” she said, her brow betraying concern. “But I suppose I’m meant to use my key again here, so that is exactly what I will do.”
“Just a moment,” the Captain said quickly, his head craned up towards the shaft above them. “Where’s Mack? Suppose the damn floor gives way beneath our feet here when you turn that key? What if this is an elevator down? I think we should get some rope and secure ourselves to the ladder.”
“That will take forever, Gordon. Here…Why don’t you step up onto the lower rung of the ladder, and then I can take hold of your arm with a free hand.”
MacRae shrugged, but stepped up and the two joined right arms in a firm hold. “I hope to God you don’t find yourself dangling above a hundred foot shaft in another thirty seconds.
She smiled, and then reached with her left arm to insert the key, stretching as she leaned over to get close enough to the lock while still keeping hold of MacRae. With a quick click, there was an audible beep and the key seemed to activate a receptacle in the wall. A metal box, completely sealed on all sides, slid out from the wall like a bank safety deposit box.
“Hello?” said Elena, not expecting any of this. Yet she could see a third keyhole on the top of the box, and what looked to be a recessed handle that folded out so it could be carried.
MacRae let go of her hand, thinking the floor looked secure enough under the circumstances. “You seemed in such a God awful hurry to get here, Elena. So what’s going on?”
“I don’t really know…” Her mind was working furiously now. These were the correct coordinates. This was the place, and there was no mistaking the singularly iconic landmark above them. They had found the way in. Her key opened the door and the upper hatch and ladder down all made sense to her. She had been told to expect as much, and to follow the passage to its end. Then what? There had been no further instructions in the secure briefing file she received nine days ago. Only a single word—Godspeed.
Another key hole. Very well, one more time. She inserted the key, but this time there was no click, no beep, and it would not turn in either direction. She struggled with it for a moment, but realized, with a sinking feeling, that the key would simply not turn. They had, indeed, reached a dead end!
Frustrated, she stood up, illuminating the whole area in a careful search while MacRae stood there, hands on his hips, watching with a look on his face like a school master who had happened upon a student trying to cheat on an exam.
“What are we missing?” said Elena, somewhat exasperated.
“The key won’t work?”
“It won’t turn or engage in any way. It’s as if I’ve got the wrong key, but it got me this far, so I can’t imagine why this should happen.”
“Suppose I have a go at it.” MacRae stepped into her light. “Here…the thing has a handle. Let’s set it down on the floor.” He stooped down on his haunches, looking up at Elena with his dark eyes brightened by her light.
“Very well…” She handed him the box, thinking to check inside the recessed area where it came from first, feeling about to see if there was anything she might have missed. It was smooth and empty. Then she got down next to him, and their close proximity in the darkened, confined space seemed magnetic. MacRae put a reassuring arm around her, and then reached for the key with his other hand, inserting it and testing its operation in all directions.
Nothing happened.
“Well now,” he breathed. “An emergency trip to nowhere—that’s what we have here. Something tells me the answer to all this is inside that box, but why won’t the damn thing open? Are you sure you have the right key?”
“It’s the only one I have.”
“Might it be timed to operate only at a certain hour?”
She hadn’t considered that, but even so, what could the box possibly hold? How would it help them in any way, given what she knew was about to happen in the world above?
“This is maddening,” she said, clearly bothered. Are you certain there was no other opening or hatch?”
“I can’t see anything here. Give me your light and I’ll have a look along the upper shaft. I can go up and get some better light down here.” He took the light and began searching all the walls, yet they seemed solid and presented no apparent seam or opening of any kind, so he climbed higher.
As the shadows folder about her, Elena stood up. What was going on here? She had expected to find a passage, one that would take them along the nebulous edge of a fissure in time. That was how it had been explained to her. Upon receipt of the go signal she was to get to Delphi as quickly as possible with a security team and excavate the site above. The rest should be obvious. Godspeed. She looked up at MacRae, suddenly realizing he was no longer there.
“Gordon?” She stood there in the pale light, noticing the odd sheen above her in the ladder well for the first time. “Gordon? Are you still there?” Surely he could hear her. Why couldn’t she see his light?
“Now where has that man gone? We don’t need more light. The flashlight was working fine.”
Frustrated and somewhat angry, she started to grope for the metal ladder, then looked down at the box on the floor, barely visible in the dim light. On an impulse she reached down and took hold of the box by its handle, then started climbing up. There was a strange sensation, and she felt suddenly light headed half way up the ladder. A voice was heard, strangely distended, a hollow echo that seemed to reverberate back on itself with a cellophane timbre. The sound solidified as she climbed, and became more distinct, the familiar Scottish brogue of Gordon MacRae.
“Well it’s about time. I was calling for you. Dinna ya hear me?”
Elena felt very odd now, and claustrophobic in the narrow shaft. “Climb up,” she breathed. “I think I need some air.”
He was up the ladder and extending a welcoming arm to help her up, taking the box with his other hand when she handed it to him. Mack Morgan and several Argonauts were standing there, curious and eager to see what was happening.
“I looked the whole passage over,” said MacRae. “If there’s another hatch or opening anywhere else, then I’m a jackass. Did you look into the recessed area where the box was mounted?”
“Nothing there,” said Elena. “I checked every one of the interior surfaces.”
“We can get better light and send the engineers down. They might see something we missed.”
She thought about that, looking at her watch. Something had gone wrong. Something was wrong, wrong, wrong! It was getting late, but they still had time. Her mind was a whirlwind as she considered what to do. Why didn’t the key work? Unless…perhaps it did work. Why didn’t she hear Gordon calling to her? His voice should have resounded through that well loud and clear. Perhaps that was the passage, that brief descent on the ladder. Where were they at the bottom? The past?
Then something else occurred to her, and it gave her the shivers. Who could have built this well in the past—those titanium alloy doors? She had been told there were fissures, passageways through time, and assumed they would always lead backwards, to the past, but that might not be the case. They could have also descended into the future!
Maybe she was meant to find something with here and not to go anywhere as she had anticipated. But why the key hole on the box, and why wouldn’t it turn or open? Could other members of the Watch help her solve the riddle? Protocol now required her to report the incident. That was mandatory, but there was so little time and only one place she could do that—back on Argos Fire.
“Get the men to the helicopters,” she said firmly. She was obviously meant to find what she now had in hand. The box may not open with her key, but it might be opened with another. She had to report this! She had to get back to the ship, re-enable her secure command line and report. They had precious little time, but enough to get there and back again if need be on the fast X-3s.
“We just leave that hole there in the middle of the shrine?”
“Secure the hatch. It should lock upon closure. Cover it with a few feet of earth and leave the rest as is. It won’t matter anyway in a few hours time. But we’ve got to get back to the ship.”
Her own words echoed in her mind as the Sergeants whistled, calling back the Argonauts from their security perimeter and shouting to fire up the helicopters…. It won’t matter anyway in a few hours time. It won’t matter…
But it did matter. It was going to make all the difference in the world, at least to them and the lives they would lead in the world they returned to. The helos landed on the after deck of Argos Fire, and the Argonauts dismounted, laden with arms and equipment and feeling like passengers at an airport whose flight had been cancelled. Yet they were glad to be back aboard the ship and soon settled in below decks, thinking nothing more of the strange mission.
The Captain went forward with Elena Fairchild, carrying that small box they had retrieved from the dig site at Delphi. They reached the executive suite, tired, and somewhat confused. Morgan came in last after having stopped on the bridge to confer briefly with Commander Dean.
“What’s happening out there, Mack?” said Elena as she cast a worried glance at the clock on the wall.
Morgan scratched his dark beard, a puzzled expression on his face. “Well, Mum, there’s been nothing on the black line while we were gone, so I’ve no hard intelligence over that channel. Funny thing now is that Mister Dean says we’ve got some strange interference on all the normal communications channels.”
“Interference? Anything wrong with the equipment?”
“No, Mum, they’ve checked it top to bottom. It’s very odd. We can’t even pick up anything on either AM or FM bands, not a word, not a whisper. It’s as if there just no one out there.”
At this Elena’s eyes clouded over with a squall of fear. MacRae was watching her closely as she stood up, slowly walking to her desk to depress a hidden button that would open the rear bulkhead to secret room harboring the red phone.
“Come with me, gentlemen. There’s one more line we can try.”
Morgan looked at MacRae, and the two men passed a knowing glance with one another. This was the hidden inner sanctum of Argos Fire, and messages coming across that line had been the seed of many missions in the past. Neither man had ever been permitted to enter the room before this, and so it was with some surprise and an equal measure of curiosity that they both stood now, quietly following Elena into the small room.
