Atlantis Endgame (22 page)

They flicked on their lamps. The water was unusually turbid, masking their vision. An occasional fish flicked in and out of view, its darting seeming nervous, furtive. The light did not penetrate in shafts, but seemed to come from everywhere, a sinister, nasty reddish color.

Eveleen swam quite close to the cliff wall before she saw it. She nearly ran into the dangerous protuberances before her lamp caught suddenly on the glitter of stone newly sheered, amid wildly waving little plants of unimaginable types, colors, and variations.

Sheered rock?

Eveleen's guts clenched as she felt her way down, down, Stavros no more than a vague silhouette nearby. She remembered about how far down the ocean floor ought to be, and so once again nearly ran into a sharp, upthrust rock.

Landslide. Her breathing sounded harsh and the sharp scent of sweat filled her mask as she flippered back and forth, hands out, lamp beam moving constantly, until she was sure.

At last she sighed and for a time floated, suspended in the warm water, like the clouds of dust particles around her. Their marker had, of course, disappeared, probably buried. So, it seemed, was the globe ship.

Stavros shaped his hands into a ball and then pointed down.

Yes, it's under the landslide, blast and damn,
Eveleen thought, pointing.
It's got to be buried under all that rock.

Stav gave a shrug and then backed the sled up and anchored it a safe distance away. He flippered back and set his hands to the topmost rock. He braced his flippers against another stone and then started pushing and shoving, pushing and shoving, bubbles exploding with furious energy from his release valve.

Eveleen swam down in two strokes, set her hands to the opposite side of the stone, and pushed with all her strength.

The stone shifted; a plume of reddish dirt billowed up, obscuring their faces. Eveleen resisted the temptation to wipe her eyes—as if that would clear her vision!—and watched in satisfaction as the rock tumbled down to the seafloor.

Again they chose a big stone, worked at loosening it, and sent it tumbling with lazy slowness to the seafloor. Eveleen dug at the silt beneath, sending billows out into the water.

They kept digging, tossing stones and shifting mud, finding nothing underneath but more stones, more mud, and tangles of sea creatures and plants.

When Eveleen realized that they had uncovered perhaps six feet of area, and that the seafloor was maybe six feet below that, she had to face the fact that she'd chosen the wrong place. Oh, that was, as far as she could tell, where they had left the globe ship. But it could have rolled away and then been buried, and how would they ever know?

They kept searching until the warning lights on their air packs sent them up again, empty handed.

CHAPTER 21

THE SUN, AN angry-looking scarlet ball of fire, dissolved into the purple murk stretching along the western horizon, leaving Ross in thickening shadows. He had a flashlight now, along with his radio and a canteen, but—mindful of Baldies and those scavenger attackers lurking about somewhere in the hills—he didn't want to advertise his presence unless he had to.

Having found absolutely nothing on his long, hot, dangerous and thoroughly miserable climb, he now discovered he'd miscalculated how long it would take to climb down.

The trail was all but obliterated. He'd had to pick his way up shifting rubble and shale, twice setting off minor slides.

Getting down was far more difficult than he'd surmised. He'd counted on following his own tracks, but the tremors after he'd started up must have set off more minor rock slides, because his prints vanished with irritating frequency.

He paused, wiping gritty sweat from his face, and stared out at the horizon. The sun was gone, leaving a faintly glowing purple bruise smearing the west, its faint glow reflected in the ocean, vanishing swiftly.

Overhead, clouds of dust and smoke obscured the starlight; the pre-Kameni Island was smoking steadily now, preparing for the next, and biggest, blast.

Meanwhile the strange, violet light would totally vanish very soon.

Get moving.

He forced himself to clamber down, glad at least he didn't have to do this climb in sandals tied on with thin leather thongs.
That's right; think of the positive,
he told himself with sour humor. Well, he'd found no bodies, except for a goat. The poor beast at least hadn't suffered; a bouncing stone appeared to have broken its neck before it knew what hit it.

No bodies, no sign of anything human.
Not that people of the past were given to Utter on the scale of modern times,
he thought as he leaped over a flat stone precariously balanced on two others and came down on sand. He slipped a little, caught his balance, and sneezed from the ever-present dust. He'd had to resort to the breathing mask higher up, because of dust and smoke, a lethal combination; now its particulate filters desperately needed changing.

No, no sign of anything, animal, human—or Kayu. And what about those guys, anyway?

His question, of course, winged out into the universe unanswered, but he'd already forgotten it when he realized that the faint lights groping about down to the left were not hallucinatory flickers due to exhaustion, hunger, and miserable heat, but they were actual lights.

The landscape had changed so much he had only a general sense of his bearings. Straight ahead was the peninsula, thrusting directly west. That meant Akrotiri was to the left, though of course there were no more buildings jutting squarely up, forming a skyline.

Ross crossed a cliff face, picking his way with care mostly by feel, not by sight, until he was maybe a thousand yards above the northern end of the town. Yes. Lights. Was it his team? Should he radio?

No. If they were chasing someone, they wouldn't want to respond and give away their position. Meanwhile, he wasn't moving fast enough to get away from his own.

So he started to run, awkwardly leaping and sliding downward, until some unseen flaw in the rubble brought him down hard.

He sat up, wincing. Nothing wrenched, nothing broken— thanks to countless drills with Eveleen on how to fall without breaking your neck.

Lights again.

He filled his lungs, ready to yell, but caution made him blow the air out again and frown into the murky darkness that had so quickly descended. Yellow light, very faint yellow light. The distances weren't right for those to be flashlight beams.

Therefore . . . lamps?

Ah. He spotted a sturdy outcropping of ancient volcanic rock, exposed now by the ground around it having slid down toward the city.

He eased down and crept on hands and knees along that rock, staring downward, into where he'd seen those lights. He heard noises: running feet, a grunt. Fighting?

Was it Ashe and Kosta?

Linnea?

Again he filled his lungs to yell, but then a ferocious blue-white light lanced out of nowhere and for a moment lit the entire scene before it vanished.

Ross sat back, stunned by the light, by what he'd seen. The afterimage played itself against his retinas: the two obviously male silhouettes, one short, stocky, with a wild beard, the other thin and wiry, the first with a knife upraised—the blue-white light gleaming on greenish, unpolished bronze— the other clutching an armful of loot, and then the one with the knife falling, soundlessly, burned by the laser-strike.

Desperate scrabbling sounds skittered up the rock face, echoing slightly against the few still-standing walls below. That would be the second figure, trying to make off with its loot.

Those hill scavengers! But who did the shooting?

Baldies. They were here, just below.

Ross realized he was sitting exposed on this cliff and eased back slowly, looking around. Of course he wouldn't see them. What snoop gear did they have to make searches comfortable and easy? Infrared? Something that detected life-forms? He cursed soundlessly as he eased back and back, away from the cliff, and then ghosted down the side of the great slab of rock.

He was just reaching for his radio to fire off a signal—
Baldies here
—when a voice rose, an angry shout, not in Greek but in the local language.

A moment later again one of those white lights lanced out. Ross heard a thud. It was close—no more than fifty yards—and then silence.

He removed his fingers from the radio at his belt and faded as quietly as he could to the north, away from the ruins. The Baldies, or whoever had those weapons, were obviously on the prowl, and there was more than one.

He'd get to firm ground, preferably with a hill between him and those weapons, and then signal.

CHAPTER 22

LINNEA WOKE UP slowly and reluctantly. Her mouth felt dry and nasty; her joints were stiff; her clothing was impossibly gritty. She felt her scalp prickle, as if all the mud in it had decided to come to life, sprouting many legs.

Is this how human beings always felt before the blessings of running water? Except that the Kallistans had had running water. She thought of that chamber in the priestesses' building, the slightly sulfuric, mineral smell of pure spring water running across stone, and swallowed convulsively.

Did she hear it?

She opened her eyes. Women sat around the rocky chamber in groups. The cell was lit, she realized. Sunlight? Was there a way out?

She sat up, looked around, saw only heavy rock, smoothed unnaturally.
Probably by some terrible laser weapon,
she thought. The light seemed to be sourceless; at least she could not pinpoint a direction in the more roughly carved, uneven ceiling, nor were there shadows to give her a direction.

She rubbed her hands over her face and listened. Below the soft murmurs of female voices she made out an almost subliminal hiss.

"Ah." Ela turned Linnea's way. "The priestess from Kemt has awakened. We feared you took injury, as did Stella." She indicated one who sat against a wall, nursing what was obviously a broken arm.

"Is there water?" Linnea's voice came out a frog croak.

Ela gave her a small smile. "It is through there."

Linnea turned around. She'd had her back to a narrow crevasse. Rising to her feet, she dusted her robe as best she could, and then made her way to the crevasse. She eased through what had once been a wider opening, but was now partially blocked by squares of fallen stone, and then stepped down into what had been a bath chamber.

Running water indeed! A stream had been diverted into two forks; one ran freely down a carved gutter, the other ran beneath a row of stone seats. She was able to relieve herself and then kneel down at the running stream and dip her hands into the water. It was surprisingly warm, and it did not look particularly clear. Her tongue dried in her mouth; she used the water to rinse her face and hands, and then got up. Would she be forced to drink that water? Would thirst finally drive her to it?

Her mind, relieved of immediate cares, fled back in memory, and she realized they were prisoners of the Baldies.

The Baldies—aliens.

Shock smote her. There had been no records of Baldies three thousand years up the time-line. Not that there were many records in Linear A ... but from what she'd seen, it was mostly merchants who kept track of goods and sales with writing. Histories were orally passed down, to be written much later.

But nowhere had there been any vases painted with slim bald men in strange one-piece suits. So news of the Baldies did not make it to Crete . . . did that mean that these women, and Linnea, would die here?

I
must do something. I must think.

She pushed her way back into the main chamber, to be met by Ela again. "The priests gave us this water," she said. "It is good to drink. It does not taste of dust, like the water in the bath chamber." She pointed to a row of three tall jugs, with several of the shallow Greek cups called
kylixes
set neatly next to them.

Thirsty as she was, Linnea paused in the act of pouring water. "Priests?" she asked.

Ela nodded once. "You did not see them, then? We are here. Priests will not let us go; we do not know yet why not. Perhaps they serve the Fire God, who is at war with the Earth Goddess."

"Did they tell you that?" Linnea asked with caution, and finished pouring her water.

"Oh no. They said only 'Water to drink' and shut this door again. It is a strange door, one we cannot open." Ela touched the smooth stone.

Linnea drank greedily and then sighed, frowning at that door. The jugs and kylixes were appropriate to the time, but that door, sliding into a tightly lasered seam, was not. Well, but when the volcano let go, there would be no evidence of this room.

Was that a sentence of death, or not?

She drank again.

Coolness spread through her. She lifted the jug again, looked Ela's way. No one dissuaded her, so she drank another full cup.

Priests. Of course. The Baldies all looked more or less the same, and so the priestesses would define their strange appearance within their own perception of the world.
World.
Linnea sat down on the rocky floor and wearily contemplated the word. Did these people even have the concept of a global community in their language? Not likely.