Decipher, p.31
Decipher, page 31
It was Carver’s head.
Maple felt sick. Fought the knots twisting in the pit of his stomach. “Dear God …”
“Fuck, man! Fuck!” one of his men screamed, ripping at his own scalp as he tried to come to terms with the total insanity of what he was seeing.
The whole spiral convulsed, like a snake digesting a rodent. Carver’s head stretched out along the crystal as if it were made of rubber, while slowly it began losing color, turning gray as it dissolved.
Maple didn’t want to stick around and see any more. “Come on,” he ordered, leading the way.
The men broke into a run, leaping through the water as if it didn’t exist. Sprinting past odd Carbon 60 protrusions that seemed to be lining their journey, paying them little attention as they pushed on. But the protrusions were growing. Thrusting out. Turning pointed. Becoming spikes.
Becoming spears.
When the spears launched they took the stragglers first, catching them completely off-guard. Like pikes from a Dark Ages battle they shot forward at an explosive rate, pierced straight through the abdomen of two men and propelled them at the wall opposite. Their screams were intense as agony swept over them. And though they struggled against being impaled, their actions were for naught, as the crystal spears continued to blast straight through them, their trailing ends mutating into a mass of curved spikes designed to split the men apart.
It was over in a matter of seconds, forcing Maple to widen his eyes.
He was out of his league.
“The point about Schrödinger and his cat,” Hackett explained, back in the lab with the others, “is you put a cat in a box and close the box and the cat is both there and not there all at the same time.”
Scott swiveled on his chair. “Whatever you say.”
“But that’s not important,” Hackett told him. “What’s important is life is an extension of a crystal. Order means life. Crystals and cells are one and the same, they both do exactly the same job. They replicate. They grow by stacking identical units one on top of the other. And at some point, crystals and cells were exactly the same entity. What is the basic constant of life? What do all living things do? Living things replicate. Out of chaos, order is born. God creates the Big Bang. The Big Bang creates carbon crystals. Carbon crystals create DNA. DNA creates living cells. Cells create mankind. Mankind creates intelligence. Intelligence creates God …”
“Man destroys Gold.”
“God destroys man,” Sarah added.
“Carbon 60 starts life all over again,” Hackett concluded.
“You got all that,” Scott asked, perplexed, “from a trip to a bio-lab?”
“It was very stimulating. The irony is,” Hackett said, “we know why all this is happening. There’s just nothing we seem to be able to do about it.”
“Wait a minute,” Matheson interrupted. “Are you suggesting that if life on earth was destroyed, Atlantis would be able to re-seed life? That it’s biologically potent?”
“What more is life than a few billion molecules that decide on a whim to be you for a while? They can just as easily decide to be something else.”
November was curious. “Life started out as a crystal of carbon?” Hackett nodded. “In the Bible, didn’t God create Adam from clay? And breathe life into him? What better way is there of breathing life into a carbon structure, than by tapping directly into the energy of the solar wind?”
“In pre-Islamic Iran,” Scott revealed, “the Avestic Aryans believed that Yima, their version of Noah, during the Flood, was ordered to make a Var—an underground place, that linked the four corners of the earth, where the seed of all livings things would be kept and stored. After the Flood it became covered in snow and ice. And remains so to this day.”
Jack Bulger sat forward, trying to hide his glee as he leaned into the camera and explained a few things to Houghton. In 1956, John Van Neumann, father of artificial life, proposed machines that could replicate themselves. In 1986, K. Eric Drexler took the idea one step further and christened it nanotechnology. Now in 2012, the name of Jack Bulger would be on everyone’s lips. He had made this theoretical discovery a reality. And Bulger wanted one hell of a deal.
“Explain to me,” the lawyer was asking, “how these larger devices work, when these tiny robots fuse together to become bigger units. Is there any limit to their size?”
Bulger was confident. “None that I’m aware of. It simply depends on how strong their chemical bonds are. I would imagine about the largest thing they could assemble to become would be a thimble. Any bigger and they’d run into problems. But I can’t say for certain.”
“And they can disassemble back to their original state at any time?”
“It seems that way to me. Sure.”
Houghton narrowed his eyes as he contemplated the implications. “Extraordinary.”
“Angel Base, come in! This is the Tooth Fairy! Bulger, you ignorant fuck—Come in!” Maple screamed into the radio, as the assault intensified. “Bulger, if you can hear this, send for the choppers now!”
He fired a constant barrage of bullets into the darkness ahead as he sprinted for the opening in the ceiling. There was light ahead. He was drawing ever closer, even as his final man was picked off and sent spluttering to the tunnel wall in a spray of blood and torment.
Maple didn’t look back.
He was going to make it. He was damn sure he was going to make it. Because up ahead, still set up on its tripod and hooked into the power supply was the particle beam. Which was handy because as he squeezed his rifle’s trigger it clicked, and failed to deliver.
He slung it over his shoulder as he picked up the pace. He could feel his heart trying to thump its way out of his chest. Could see the spikes growing large in the periphery of his vision. Sensed the impending wave of destruction—and calmed.
Timing, as any professional would tell you, was everything.
He dived forward, tucking his feet in and pulling his head down as he turned his fall into a roll. The spears above him lashed out and smacked into the tunnel wall opposite as Maple bumped to a halt by the tripod and recovered his senses. He stayed crouched, ever watchful for a further attack as he keyed the power switch. Flared up the energizer—and fired.
The fire power was formidable as a twisted rope of pure energy arced from the barrel and shattered the crystal spikes, one after the other, in successive lines down each side of the tunnel wall. He could hear movement behind, swung the gun around and pumped explosive uncontrolled rage into the crystal spikes that were growing out of the tunnel in that direction as well.
But the lightning storm was illuminating in other ways too. For where there used to be large cube-shaped holes in the crystal spiral, there were now burnt reddish-colored patches of new crystal, slowly pulsing their own brand of energy. A distinct brand that bore traces of human flesh.
For the spiral was healing.
There was a clattering, like broken glass being scrunched together and rattled around. It was coming from the direction of the crystal chamber. The direction from which he’d just come.
Maple twisted at the hip, brought the gun around to face the onslaught and cranked up the power setting as far as it would go. He activated his radio again, trying to make contact with the surface.
There was a crackle of noise. And at last, the faint hint of somebody on the other end. “Bulger!” Maple yelled. “Answer me, damn it! Throw me a rope ladder or something! Put the winch into gear. I gotta get outta here!”
But the response was as garbled as it was intermittent. Had Bulger even heard him?
He struggled with the beam confinement settings on the device, adjusting the focus to give a wider beam. Anything that caused as much death and destruction in its path as possible.
The glass-grinding sound drew closer, until before him, stood another one of those huge, nine-foot-tall men. For a moment, it just stood there, appearing to weigh up the situation and judge the next move. It took a tentative step forward. And that was when Maple fired, slicing into the creature’s gut and chopping it in two. The top half of its body slid off and crashed to the ground.
Maple savored the moment, but it was short-lived, because the top half was making its way back to its legs. It gripped one leg and dissolved into the appendage at tremendous speed. Within moments the top half of the body was starting to take shape once again.
Maple wasn’t about to wait for an instant replay. He swung his head up and saw a rope dangling just out of reach up the muddy hole. He jumped. Failed with the first try. Made it with the second. Used every muscle in his upper body to heave his frame farther up the line until eventually he could hook his foot around the bottom portion and begin the arduous monkey climb to the top.
He glanced back down, saw the crystal man standing below, seeming to be at a loss over what to do. And decided that it was a good time to radio again.
He unclipped the unit. Put it to his mouth.
There was a crackle of noise. Not from the vid-phone, but from one of the radios scattered across the table. Bulger tried to ignore it. It was cutting in and out erratically. Annoyingly. But it wouldn’t go away.
Bulger made his apologies to the lawyer, who simply smiled from his end of the link, and sifted through the units one by one before zeroing in on the correct device. He thumbed the transceiver roughly and growled: “Okay, this better be good, I’m in the middle of stuff here.” The frantic voice cut in and out as the signal failed to penetrate. “Say again. Over.”
“Get—me—the—>static<—out—of—here!” Bulger blinked. It was Maple. “I’m on the rope!”
Bulger shot around. Behind him, the only rope still hanging down into the tunnel below was twitching. “Shit!”
He ran for the rope. It wasn’t attached to the winch, just tied off around a stake in the ground. He shoved his gloves on his hands; gave a brief nod to Houghton. “Stay on the line,” he shouted. “I’ll be just a minute.”
He ran his fingers along the rope until he found a spot where he could pry his fingers underneath and take a good firm grasp. He leaned into it and tugged. Pulled for all he was worth, groaning through gritted teeth, but it was no use. Maple was too heavy.
He staggered to the hole in the ground, careful not to slip on the mud and go hurtling down instead. He pulled out a flashlight. Shone it down. Watched raindrops disappear past the light beam and plummet into the darkness. He cupped his hand around his mouth and hollered: “Maple! Is that you? Maple, can you hear me? What’s goin’ on?”
There was a muffled response. Loud but incomprehensible.
“Maple, you’re too heavy. I can’t pull on the rope. You’re gonna have to climb out!”
There was a rope ladder. Yes! Now he remembered. Over by his tent, there was a stash of back-up equipment. Not a lot of it, but he distinctly remembered seeing a nylon safety ladder. He held out a hand to the darkness below and waved it. “I’ll be back in a second! I’m gonna go get the ladder!”
He found it in a black plastic trunk, under a spare tarp. Pulled it out and rushed it over to the side. It wasn’t very long. What to do? It had a single hoop at the top, but he had no time to play around and hook it up to the winch. Instead, he threw the hoop over the metal stake and lobbed the ladder down the hole. He heard it slap against the wet mud with a squelch, angled his flashlight, and could see movement. Yeah, there was Maple’s distinctive Panama bobbing up and down, its colored twirl flapping as he clambered up the ladder.
“Boy,” Bulger huffed, “you really had me going there for a while.” He didn’t want to stick around at the edge. Besides, he had a phone call to terminate. Bulger spun on his heel and went back to his laptop, not bothering to check on the man and his misfortune.
He sat heavily in his seat. “I think,” he said to Houghton, wiping rainwater from his face, “we better terminate this fairly quickly.”
“Who’s that?” Houghton asked, referring to the man climbing out of the tunnel behind Bulger.
“That’s Maple. The biggest nutcase the company’s money could buy.”
Houghton was impressed as the man strode closer, the gathering winds blowing the hat clean off his head. “Jesus, he really is big.”
Bulger frowned. Turned around to see what the lawyer was talking about, and wished, for all the world, that he hadn’t. For standing before him was a giant of a man. And when lightning streaked across the sky, he could see clean through him. He gasped, involuntarily.
And the only thing he could think of saying was: “That’s bigger than a thimble.”
SFIORZA’S OFFICE
Fergus sat stoically at his desk on the far side of the room. He doodled on a notepad in a successful attempt to make it look like he was working, even though everybody knew why he was there. He was the monitor, and he monitored effectively.
He adjusted his earpiece as he paid close attention to the phone call between Houghton and Bulger unfolding across his computer screen. It had become only marginally more interesting than the conversation he was taping right in front of him.
“What is it I can do for you?” the Pope had asked.
“I want a third term,” the President had replied. “I want a third term, and I want gun control. Makes the public more compliant.” And then: “What is it I can do for you?” the President had asked in return.
“You must do what you can to save mankind and save the earth, of course. But afterward, should you find yourself in a position where Atlantis is still standing, I want you to destroy it,” the Pope had responded. “I want all evidence of that destabilizing scourge brought to wrack and ruin. Mankind’s past must remain a secret place where only the select few may be permitted to tread. Information is a threat to us. Why else would we have kept the Holy Book from the general populace for more than a millennium? The existence of Atlantis and all that it may teach would make a mockery of modern religion. A society without religion is a society without self-belief and self-worth. Ultimately to retain social control, a little lost knowledge is a good thing. Of course, all that is academic if these scientists cannot save our planet.”
The Rabbi had remained silent on the subject.
Granted, neither man had said it in such blunt terms. But they had said it nonetheless, voiced in the language of diplomacy.
The United States government had thought as much. That was why they had initiated Operation Wrecking Ball to begin with. As they spoke, a team under the auspices of the United Nations was about to enter Atlantis. They were about to uncover its secrets. And when their job was done, they were going to destroy it because it threatened the minds of the good citizens of the earth. Its very existence called world religions into question.
Organized religion was an odd business, but make no mistake—it was still a business. Business traded. Business understood when it was time to cooperate.
Fergus was contemplating what had been said when events on his computer screen started unfolding at a phenomenal rate.
A crystal-like giant stood over Jack Bulger. Looked to the blocks of darkened Carbon 60 under the tarp, and back to Bulger again in successive glances.
On his end of the line, the lawyer sat forward, mesmerized. “Thanks, Jack. I’m glad you brought this to my attention.”
Jack Bulger cocked his head. He knew what that meant. Houghton had surmised something about the situation that suggested he was about to become the biggest loser in all this.
Suddenly the crystal figure grabbed Bulger. Wrestled with him for a moment before putting him over his knee and breaking his back. It peered forward to get a good long look at Houghton, revealing the mysterious letters etched across its forehead in Atlantis glyphs, then it grabbed Bulger by the skull and dragged him across to the hole.
He dropped the body over the edge, before jumping down behind him.
Fergus was stunned.
He covered his mouth, horrified. An inanimate man protecting his domain. An automaton carrying out its master’s orders. An image of a man endowed with life. There was only one creature that matched the description. Mentioned briefly in Psalms 139:16, it had its roots firmly planted in ancient Jewish literature—and some Jewish literature that was not quite so ancient.
In the late 1500s a Rabbi known under the acronym The Maharal, or Moraynu HaReaw Judah Loew ben B’zalel—Our Teacher Judah Loew son of B’zalel—was Chief Rabbi of Prague, at the Altneuschul Synagogue. Legend had it he created an effigy of a man and brought it to life. Designed to protect the ghetto, as all such effigies were designed to do, it took its orders too literally and ran amok. Whereupon Rabbi Loew was forced to terminate the creature and reduce it to dust.
Around this time, records showed that Rabbi Loew was invited to discuss alchemy with Emperor Rudulph II. It was not known if they discussed the creature. But it was known what the creature was called. It was—
“The Golem,” Fergus murmured under his breath. “Dear God save us,” he added, letting his eyes rest briefly on Rabbi Stern.
The Golem. The perfect mechanical servant who was brought to life by having a sacred word, or one of the names of God affixed in some manner to its head. The only way to stop it was by removing that word.
Fergus stood, switched his computer off and made his brief excuses as he left. He had not liked the tone of the Pope’s discussion. And he had not enjoyed the phone call he had been monitoring. Both left a bitter taste in the mouth. For in both cases the only conclusion he could draw was that by carrying out the orders of the papacy and removing Richard Scott from his academic post, he had inadvertently placed his friend in such a position that it endangered his life, whether by the forces of Man, or the forces of God. And Fergus was responsible. As he walked the corridors of the chambers of God, the least he could do—the very least—was warn his friend. Because as it happened, Richard was probably the only person on the planet in a position to decipher what was written on the Golem’s head. And remove it.
“I know what I’m looking at, Ralph,” Scott conceded. “But what am I looking at?”
