The Truth

CHAPTER 5: THE PRESENT

In 1999 NASA launched the Mars Climate Orbiter. The stated mission was to put a satellite into orbit for one Mars rotation around the sun, the equivalent of two Earth years, to study the atmospheric conditions on the Red Planet. That was a lie.

When the orbiter approached Mars to go into orbit, contact with it was lost and never recovered. The explanation eventually given by NASA was that a data transfer during the preparation stages of the mission between the orbiter team in Colorado and the navigation team in California was flawed. According to the after-action report, one team used English units of measure, while the other used metric units for a key spacecraft operation. This mistake caused the orbiter to plummet into the surface of the planet rather than achieve a stable orbit. A rather startling and elementary mistake by the scientists involved if true. However, this also was a lie.

In reality, the Mars Climate Orbiter project was conceived by Majestic-12. Its highly classified mission was to overfly the Cydonia region of Mars and carefully examine the area with top-of-the-line imaging equipment. Cydonia had always fascinated observers from Earth because of the several apparent anomalies that appeared to be too linear and symmetrical to have been formed naturally. The primary one was a large outcropping labeled the “Face” because of its unnatural shape mimicking that of a massive visage peering up from the planet’s surface. It was over two and a half kilometers long by two wide by five hundred meters high. The second was a large pyramid not far from the Face. There was also the “Fort,” four straight lines like walls, surrounding a black courtyard.

For years NASA scientists had ridiculed any who postulated that these objects were anything other than natural formations. At the same time, it seemed curious that not a single one of all the various probes launched to check out the fourth planet had ever successfully orbited over the site for a closer look. While NASA’s public records indicated that no craft had ever been programmed with such an orbit, the truth was, several, like the Climate Orbiter, had secretly been given the task.

The early Viking missions had succeeded in getting two landers onto the surface of the planet but far removed from Cydonia. Pathfinder, with its Rover, also landed far away from the site. Many on the outside felt these were deliberate attempts on the part of NASA to avoid getting better information about Cydonia. They were half-right. NASA did deliberately avoid Cydonia with the Viking and Pathfinder probes. But it did so because Majestic’s first attempt to get a close look at Cydonia in 1975 using the prototype of the Viking orbiter and landing had resulted in the loss of both as it came within orbiting range of Mars. Majestic did not think this was an accident but it waited almost twenty-five years before trying again with the Climate Orbiter, hoping a higher orbit might protect the craft.

Again, it was stymied.

The Russians at Section IV, their equivalent of Majestic-12, had also tried to take a closer look. Stretching from the late 1960s to the present, the Russians had launched ten unmanned missions toward Mars. Two exploded on takeoff. They lost control of two and couldn’t get them out of their intermediary orbits around Earth to make the journey to the Red Planet. Two more missed Mars entirely with haywire guidance systems and for all the Russians knew were still hurtling outward from the solar system. Three made it to Mars orbit but promptly went dead, transmitting no data. They actually did get one lander into orbit and were sending it down toward Cydonia when it began sending back very strange data before also going off- line.

The Russians had speculated that the missions lost on Earth or en route had been sabotaged by the Ones Who Wait or Guides from the Mission. Because of the lack of data from Mars, they could only guess that there was some sort of defensive mechanism in Cydonia that destroyed craft that came close.

It was only after the current war with the aliens began that the true nature of what was at Cydonia was revealed, as Aspasia and his followers came out of their millennia-long sleep, powered up their Talon spacecraft hidden underneath the Fort, and headed for Earth, leaving behind only a token crew to man the base. When Turcotte destroyed this fleet by booby-trapping the Area 51 mothership, the Airlia left on Mars were stranded but not inactive.

They sent a small army of mech-machines from Cydonia across the surface of the planet toward Mons Olympus while other robots tore into the Face, pulling metal parts out of the wreckage of whatever had once been there.

At Mons Olympus, the mech-machines had begun the greatest engineering feat in the solar system as they built a ramp up to and through the four-mile-high escarpment surrounding the peak. After making a way through the escarpment, the mech-machines had continued up the long, gradual slope to a point just below the summit of the extinct volcano. There they dug out a deep, dish-shaped depression, while lining it with a latticework of black metal. At three points around the circumference, the base for a massive pylon tower was put in place and two of the pylons were now completed.

When Yakov used the Master Guardian to shut down the Cydonia guardian, which controlled the mech-machines, the dish array was already complete and two of the three towers finished. The third pylon towered over eight hundred meters high in the thin Martian atmosphere, but needed another two hundred meters of work to be completed.

Without the aid of the mech-machines, there was only one option for the surviving Airlia — to complete the last tower and emplace the transmitting array by hand. Tracked surface vehicles that had long gathered dust in an underground depot were serviced and started. Space suits and portable surface habitats were checked and tested.

Within eight hours of the guardian’s shutdown, a convoy of twenty vehicles carrying sixty Airlia departed Cydonia, heading toward Mons Olympus to finish the array.

Someone was pounding on the door, very loudly.

Mike Turcotte opened his eyes to the unique vision of floating in midair, a thousand feet above a desert with a jet fighter roaring toward him at five hundred miles an hour, spraying bullets. The rounds slammed into the side of the bouncer and ricocheted off, producing the noise that had brought him back to consciousness. His eyes followed the jet as it narrowly missed his craft. Iranian markings. At least that gave him an idea of where he had been when he passed out. Other than the noise, the rounds had no apparent effect on the surface of the alien craft.

He shook his head, immediately regretting the act as his head throbbed painfully. Coming down off the blood doping and amphetamines he had taken in order to survive on Everest was proving as painful as climbing the mountain had been. At least he wasn’t cold, his body drenched in sweat inside his heavy clothing. He took a moment to take off the outer garments. As he did so, he saw sunlight glinting off metal close by.

He turned, reaching out for the sword that lay next to the slight depression in the center of the bouncer, wrapping his fingers around the handle. Reality and the immediate past came back to him in fragments. Excalibur. Sword of legend, made by aliens. The key to the Master Guardian hidden for generations on the nearly inaccessible north face of Mount Everest.

That told him why he was where he was and where he had been heading. The Master Guardian. Yakov — the Russian must have made it into the second mothership, known as Noah’s Ark in legend, and located the alien computer. Turcotte briefly closed his eyes and brought up a mental image of this part of the world. Turkey was west and slightly north of Iran. And Ararat was in eastern Turkey.

The jet was coming in for another gun run, this time from the opposite direction. Turcotte pressed forward on the control stick. The bouncer accelerated and easily outdistanced the jet as it reached two thousand miles an hour. The ground was zipping by below. The Iranian jet faded in the distance behind.

Turcotte grabbed the mike and keyed it. “Quinn, this is Turcotte. Over.”

An excited and concerned voice answered. “Geez, Major, we thought we lost you again. You just dropped off the air.”

“Have you heard from Yakov?”

“Negative. We haven’t received communications from him or any of the Delta men who went with him. I’ve intercepted some National Security Agency intelligence briefs indicating a lot of military action around Ararat. I don’t think we were the only ones going after the Ark and Master Guardian. Fortunately, it appears Yakov got to it first.”

Which meant Ararat — and the mothership/Master Guardian — weren’t secure yet, Turcotte realized.

“Do we know anything about Duncan?”

“Not much more than we did,” Quinn admitted. “I’ve been checking and there is no indication there is another Majestic-12. No one knows who took Duncan but I don’t think it was any government agency.”

“I’m heading for Mount Ararat,” Turcotte said. “I want to see what kind of mess Yakov’s gotten himself into. Keep looking for Duncan. I want to find out what the hell her story is. There’s another layer to all this that we don’t know yet.”

Yakov stepped back from the Master Guardian and staggered, almost falling off the narrow platform on which the red pyramid sat. He blinked, reorienting himself from the world the guardian had shown him to the real world.

The large Russian smiled broadly in victory. He’d shut down the Easter Island, Qian-Ling, and Cydonia guardians. The damn aliens — both sides — were minus their base of power now.

Yakov had spent most of his adult life serving in Section IV, the secret Soviet organization that had tried to keep track of the aliens and their minions just as the American’s Majestic-12 had. It had been a mission fraught with danger. Yakov vividly remembered going into the wreckage of Section IV’s base on the remote island of Novata Zemlaya, seeing the bodies of his comrades, killed by the Ones Who Wait, Airlia-Human clones who had waited millennia for Artad to be reborn. They’d done that to recover something from the Section IV archives. Today he had paid them back for that deadly deed.

The room he was in was deep inside the mothership, a perfectly round chamber encompassing the Master Guardian. He had sealed himself off from the rest of the ship as Artad’s troops were on board and had almost caught him before the Master Guardian was activated. The mothership was buried in a cavern deep inside Mount Ararat, hidden from sight for over ten thousand years.

Yakov heard a buzzing noise and reached into his pocket, pulling out his SATPhone. “Yes?” “This is Quinn. Turcotte’s coming to your location.”

“And how will he get to me?”

“I don’t know. Can you move—” Quinn’s next words were lost since Yakov turned his head to the right as a loud thud echoed through the mothership. The sound was repeated a few seconds later. Yakov put the phone away and placed both hands on the side of the Master Guardian, making contact with the computer. He sorted through the rush of images that assaulted him, searching for some information on the current status of the mothership. He zoomed through several internal views until he received one relayed from a monitor in the cavern, looking down on the mothership just as a third thud reverberated through the ship.

At first he saw nothing, then, near the nose, he spotted a clamp to one of the Talons withdrawing, slamming back into the hull of the ship, just as a fourth thud announced the action. The rapierlike ship floated free of the mothership and rose a few meters. Yakov tried to access a connection with the Talon via the guardian but he reached a dead end. He realized the Kortad must have cut any control the Master Guardian could have over the warship.

But they were still trapped in the chamber, Yakov knew, as he turned his attention to any controls for an exit from the large cavern. At that moment, a golden beam lashed out of the nose of the Talon and struck the side of the cavern.

Turcotte looked down on Mount Ararat, noting the still-smoldering ruins of armored vehicles on the lower slopes. He could see other tanks and armored personnel carriers on the roads approaching the mountain. Several helicopters with Turkish markings flitted about, but he ignored them.

He’d gotten the coordinates for the mothership cavern from Quinn and he edged the bouncer up the Ahora Gorge toward the spot. As he got close to a half-mile-high rock wall, he abruptly pulled back on the controls as the rock exploded outward with a thunderous roar.

A car-sized boulder hit the left side of the bouncer and the craft flipped from the impact. Turcotte had both hands on the controls and he stopped the rotation and leveled out, just as the nose of a Talon appeared in the large hole that had just been blasted.

He held the bouncer still as the entire two hundred meters of alien craft carefully exited. It had the same black metal skin as the mothership and was thirty meters wide at the base, tapering forward with a slight bend to a needle point at the front. Once clear of the mountain, the Talon turned to the east and accelerated away.

Turcotte keyed the radio. “Quinn, this is Turcotte. A Talon just exited Ararat and is heading east. I need you to get Space Command to track it. Over.”

“I’m on it,” Quinn responded.

Turcotte pushed forward on the controls and entered the cavern, seeing the mothership below, partly covered with debris near the front. He saw the other Talons parked on the outside and the empty space where the one that had just left had been stored.

Yakov “saw” the bouncer enter through the hole the Talon had just exited. He accessed controls for the mothership and opened a hatch to a cargo bay not far from the room he was in. Then he headed for the exit to the Master Guardian room.

Turcotte saw the hatch opening on the side of the mothership and guided the bouncer to it. He entered the mothership, the hatch closing behind him. He set the bouncer down and unbuckled from the pilot’s spot. He held Excalibur in one hand and the MP-5 in the other as he climbed the ladder and exited the bouncer.

The cargo bay was practically empty except for some debris littered across the floor. Turcotte walked over to the nearest pile. Broken clay pots and a leather sandal. Very old. He frowned, wondering how that had gotten in here. A door slid open and he smiled as he saw Yakov’s massive form filling the opening.

“Old friend,” Yakov called out. He walked forward, arms spread wide, and Turcotte allowed himself to be caught in the Russian’s embrace.

Yakov let go and stepped back. He saw the sword. “Excalibur?” Turcotte nodded. “Yes.”

“Stupid question,” Yakov said. “If you did not have it, I would not have been able to accomplish what I did.” His smile grew broader. “We have defeated the bastards finally.”

“Who was in the Talon?” Turcotte asked.

Yakov spit. “Airlia. I would assume from Qian-Ling as there were Chinese forces with them. They came here to get the Master but we beat them to it.”

“Where are the others?”

Yakov’s smile disappeared. “All dead. The Airlia and the Chinese almost defeated us. Many brave men gave their lives.”

More casualties. Turcotte had lost count of how many had died battling over control of Airlia artifacts. He silently made a promise to those who had given their lives that once this war was finally resolved, he would make it his mission to ensure that the Airlia legacy did not interfere ever again with the human race.

“There’s a problem,” Turcotte said.

“There is always a problem,” Yakov lamented. “It is something a Russian learns to accept as a child. What is this new problem?”

“The Airlia on Mars are building what Kincaid thinks is a communications array on Mons Olympus. He doesn’t think it’s quite done yet, but it’s close to being finished.”

Yakov considered that information. “So. If Artad gets on that Talon and makes it to Mars, and they finish the array, he can communicate with his home world and bring more Airlia here.”

“Yes.”

“That is a problem,” Yakov acknowledged.

Turcotte felt faint and staggered, the Russian grabbing his shoulder and steadying him. “Are you all right?

Turcotte ran his hand across his forehead, feeling the perspiration. He was burning up. “Just a little woozy.”

“‘Woozy’?”

“Too much altitude and temperature change, too quickly,” Turcotte said. “Where’s the Master Guardian?”

Yakov indicated for Turcotte to follow him as he turned and headed down the corridor, staying close by his side. “What about Aspasia’s Shadow and the Grail?”

“The nanovirus is nonfunctional,” Turcotte said.

“I know. I shut down his guardian, which controlled it. All the subordinate guardians are shut down, including the one on Mars. That should delay their efforts there.”

“My navy has regained control of the two lost task forces. The combined fleet is heading toward Easter Island. Without the guardian, Aspasia’s Shadow has no shield and little power. Quinn says he’s fled the island on a bouncer, but they are tracking him. We ought to be able to deal with him and recover the Grail. The fleet can rescue Kelly Reynolds.”

Yakov frowned as he reached the door to the Master Guardian chamber. “You should not underestimate Aspasia’s Shadow. He has been around for a very long time and faced adversity before. Plus, we must assume he has partaken of the Grail and is now immortal. Also, what about the Guides? Even with the Easter Island guardian shut down, they still have the mental programming they received. And I am sure there are more scattered around the world.”

“The Guides are few in number,” Turcotte said as he paused in the entrance, looking at the glowing red pyramid. “Without the nanovirus, their power is limited.” His thoughts went to Lisa Duncan, who had also partaken of the Grail and then been kidnapped, by who, he had yet to find out. “Have you picked up anything on Duncan’s whereabouts from that thing?” he asked.

“I have not tried,” Yakov said. “I have been busy with other matters. I will also check to see if there is any information on this array.” He walked across the gangway to the pyramid and placed his hands on one side.

Turcotte had no desire to meld with the Master Guardian. He’d touched a regular guardian once before, in the secret base at Dulce where Majestic had been conducting bio-experiments on people they abducted. The direct contact between his mind and the alien machine had repelled him on a visceral level.

“Nothing,” Yakov said after about ten seconds. “The only thing”—he frowned, his eyes closed—“strange. Very strange. I’m getting some images that were relayed from the other guardians once the Master activated before I shut them down.”

“Images of what?” Turcotte asked.

“Something in the sky. Moving. Black. Spherical main body with six extensions. Some kind of spacecraft.” Yakov paused, then continued, “It’s exploding. High over endless forest. Ah, I have seen forest like that before. I know what this is.” He let go of the Master Guardian and stepped back, turning toward Turcotte. “Remember General Hemstadt on Devil’s Island?”

It seemed to Turcotte that the destruction of the Mission’s base of operations had happened long ago, though it was actually relatively recent. They had narrowly stopped the Mission’s attempt to wipe out mankind with a deadly virus. “Yes.”

“His last words before he killed himself were about Tunguska. In 1908. I just saw the explosion that occurred there. It was caused by the craft I described getting hit by some sort of energy weapon.”

“An Airlia weapon?”

“No. It appears to be a human weapon.”

Turcotte felt a stir of excitement. “What kind of weapon? Who made it?”

“I can see if the guardian has stored that information,” Yakov said, “but more importantly at the moment, there was an escape pod from that alien craft. Survivors.”

“What does that have to do with Lisa Duncan?”

“The Master Guardian confirms that neither Artad nor Aspasia’s Shadow have her — at least their guardians had no information on that and they were interfacing with their computers up until I shut them down. Its best estimate based on the available data is that she has been taken by the survivors in that pod.”

“Who?”

“The Swarm.”

Turcotte felt his skin tighten as he recalled the gray orb inside the tank that he and Yakov had seen at Section IV. That had been even more repellent than the contact with the guardian at Dulce. “Where are they?”

“I don’t know. Let me see what else it has.”

Yakov leaned against the Master Guardian, searching for more information. Turcotte radioed Quinn, telling him to get every bit of information he could on Tunguska and what had happened there in 1908. And what had managed to destroy the Swarm craft.

Yakov kept his hands on the Master but turned his head and called out to Turcotte. “The array they’re building on Mars is indeed for communications. It’s a little confusing, but the impression I’ve picked up is that with this array they can reach the Airlia Empire relatively quickly.”

“That’s all we need,” Turcotte muttered. Yakov frowned. “Something’s happening.” “You could be a little more specific.”

“Another bouncer just entered the cavern,” Yakov said. “A hatch is opening near the front in another hangar.”

“Can you override?”

Yakov shook his head. “The Kortad damaged the mothership’s control room before they left, cutting off the Master Guardian from complete mothership control so they could take the Talon. The only way to control the ship is from the control room.”

“Who’s in the bouncer?” Turcotte asked as he checked his MP-5 submachine gun, making sure a round was in the chamber and he had a full magazine.

“The only person I know who has one is Aspasia’s Shadow,” Yakov said. “Unless some have been removed from Area 51.”

Turcotte realized that his asking a question with such an obvious answer indicated that he wasn’t functioning at a very high level. “Can you get us to the hangar that just opened?”

Yakov removed his hands from the Master. “Yes.” He ran for the exit to the room and turned right in the central corridor, Turcotte on his heels.

“Remember, my friend, if it is Aspasia’s Shadow, he has partaken of the Grail,” Yakov said over his shoulder, as they raced down the passageway.

“We’ll see how immortal he is after I blow his head off,” Turcotte muttered, one hand tight on the MP-5, the other holding Excalibur. He felt a line of sweat soaking the middle of his back. His vision went blank for a second and he staggered, but his sight returned as suddenly as it had gone and he continued behind the Russian.

After six hundred meters, Yakov skidded to a halt in front of a door. He hit a panel on the side and a door slid open.

“Here.” Turcotte tossed Excalibur to the Russian, who caught it by the handle and looked at it with less than enthusiasm. “I’ll take point,” Turcotte said.

“How nice of you. And I am supposed to back you up with this?” Yakov held the sword in front of him.

“Better than nothing,” Turcotte said, remembering Mount Sinai, which was the last time he’d entered a place with Yakov holding a gun. That had ended with Yakov “killing” Lisa Duncan while trying to stop Aspasia’s Shadow from stealing the Grail. Neither man had known at the time that she had partaken of the Grail and was immortal. Of course, Turcotte realized, they hadn’t really known at the time that Duncan wasn’t who she had appeared to be either.

Turcotte edged inside the doorway, taking in his surroundings. The cargo bay was about a hundred meters wide by fifty deep. And empty except for a bouncer that was settling down on the floor about twenty meters directly in front of him. Turcotte put the stock of the MP-5 tight into his shoulder and aimed at the top hatch. He could sense Yakov’s hulking presence right behind him.

The hatch was flung open and a figure climbed out. Turcotte recognized Aspasia’s Shadow from Mount Sinai, except he had an intact hand where Turcotte had shot one off. And in that hand was a cloth-covered object.

“Hold it right there,” Turcotte yelled.

Aspasia’s Shadow laughed without humor, as if he had just been spoken to by a cockroach he planned to crush under his boot. “You humans certainly are persistent. Very irritating lo say the least.” He slid down the side of the bouncer to the hangar floor and he lifted his arms wide, the object in one hand, stretching his body. “I have fought among you stinking people for millennia. It grows tiring after so long.”

“And you’ve finally lost,” Turcotte said.

“No. Not lost. Just a setback. And Artad is running, isn’t he? So the old civil war is finally over. Congratulations.” He glanced at Yakov, noting the sword in his hand, and recoiled a half step back before stopping himself. “I will trade you.” He held up the shroud-covered object. “The Grail for Excalibur.” He grimaced as if remembering something unpleasant. “I made an offer like that once before. Many years ago. To Artad’s Shadow masquerading as Arthur.”

“And he obviously didn’t accept the offer,” Turcotte said.

“Ah, that is true,” Aspasia’s Shadow said. “And Artad’s Shadow — Arthur — like me, was smarter and more aware than the original. We were so close to—” He paused, as if suddenly aware to whom he was talking. “Ah, but it ended in blood and death as always. Merlin. The supposed Watcher. He was very troublesome. Another human interfering in things beyond his scope and awareness. As you are now.

“But back then I didn’t have these,” he added as he used his free hand to pull out two stones. “The thummin and urim. You need them for the Grail to work.” He took a step closer. “Think about it, gentlemen. I am offering you immortality.”

“If we give you the sword,” Turcotte said, “you will control the Master Guardian and the other guardians. So you’re offering us immortality in order to live in a world you dominate? You want us to give up so easily everything we’ve just won?”

“I am tired of you humans,” Aspasia’s Shadow said. “And this planet.” He abruptly changed the subject. “As I entered the cavern I saw that one of the Talons is missing. I would assume that Artad’s Kortad took one and are rendezvousing with him. Do you know where he will go with it?”

“Mars. Mons Olympus,” Turcotte said.

Aspasia’s Shadow was surprised. “Very good. Do you know why he is going there?” “The Airlia at Cydonia whom you’ve abandoned are building a transmitter.” “Impressive,” Aspasia’s Shadow acknowledged. “For a human, that is.”

Turcotte’s finger caressed the trigger. He was tired of being treated like an ignorant child. “Artad is going there so he can make contact with the Airlia home world and get rescued.”

“Which will bring this planet back under the thrall of the Airlia,” Aspasia’s Shadow said. “And put it back on the front lines in the war against the Swarm.”

“What happened to the original transmitter at Cydonia?” Turcotte asked.

“Destroyed. And it wasn’t very powerful, just enough power to reach the nearest fleet base, which I assume no longer exists. I would further assume if the Airlia are going to the trouble of putting it on the volcano, they are building one powerful enough to reach back to the Airlia home system.”

“If the Airlia still exist,” Turcotte said.

Aspasia’s Shadow laughed. “They’ve been around much longer than humans will be. I’m sure at least their home system still exists.”

“So you were the traitor, not him,” Turcotte said. Aspasia’s Shadow had just confirmed Kincaid’s suspicions. There had been a small part of him that hoped Kincaid was wrong.

Aspasia’s Shadow shook his head. “Aspasia was the traitor. I am just a Shadow. Why should I be blamed for what he did? I have only the memories of it. I care nothing for the Airlia or their war or their civil war any longer. Or humans. Of course, neither does Artad or any of the Airlia. The Kortad are Airlia police, sent here to find out why he stopped communicating with the home world.”

“And why did he?” “It is not important.”

“What do you care about?” Turcotte demanded.

“Me.” Aspasia’s Shadow put the stones back in his pocket. “I am now immortal. Do you know how many times I died and was reincarnated over the millennia? Now is my time for”—he smiled once more—“my heaven, so to speak; my afterlife of reward for all my suffering.” His eyes lost their focus slightly. “I have Aspasia’s memories of the stars and the numerous worlds that circle them. There are wonders out there beyond your imaginings that I wish to see, places in the universe where I want to go. Much nicer places than this rock you call your home.”

Turcotte wondered why Aspasia’s Shadow had tried negotiating if he was confident in his immortality. Of course, from his experience with what had happened to Duncan, Turcotte also knew if he shot the creature it would kill him only for a little while. Immortality did not make Aspasia’s Shadow immune to damage or give him super strength as far as Turcotte knew.

“You can keep your sword,” Aspasia’s Shadow finally said, as if he knew exactly what Turcotte was thinking. “And the Master Guardian. For as much good as they will do you.”

“What do you want?” Turcotte asked. He wondered why Aspasia’s Shadow had been so concerned about the sword initially but now didn’t appear to care. Was the sword more important than just as the key to the Master Guardian? Was he trying to distract attention from it?

Aspasia’s Shadow pointed down. “The mothership. With it I can leave this planet, this entire area of the universe.”

“No.”

Aspasia’s Shadow put the Grail on the floor. “You can have that. And these.” He put the stones on the cloth covering it.

“No,” Turcotte repeated.

“And you can keep the key and the Master Guardian. We can off-load them anywhere you would like.” “No.”

“Give me the mothership. I am telling you I will leave. You’ll never be bothered by me again.” “And you’ll activate the interstellar drive and attract the Swarm here,” Turcotte said. He felt as if he had come full circle. He’d stopped the flight of the other mothership from Area 51 to prevent this very thing. He remembered Professor Nabinger decoding the rune writing on the Roro-roro tablets from Easter Island. It seemed so long ago. And Nabinger had died also, killed in China. Everything involving the Airlia stunk of death and deceit.

“Ah, the Swarm,” Aspasia’s Shadow said. “The Ancient Enemy. But you know, of course, since you seem to know everything, that it is already here.”

“I know,” Turcotte said. “I saw one of the bodies recovered from Tunguska inside the Section IV archives. And I killed a tentacle that was inside one of my people on Mount Everest.”

For the second time Aspasia’s Shadow appeared surprised. “Interesting. So it stirs again.” “Again?” Turcotte asked.

“It tried to destroy Excalibur before,” Aspasia’s Shadow said. “Why?”

“To strip the Airlia of their power here, just as you did by getting the sword and taking over the Master Guardian. It can be rather single-minded when it comes to pursuing its goals.”

“It almost succeeded,” Turcotte said. “It appears something survived the Tunguska explosion in 1908. A long time ago. And you, and Artad, the great defenders of mankind, did nothing.”

There was no longer any trace of a smile on Aspasia’s Shadow’s face. He regarded Turcotte with his dark eyes. “Yes. Something survived. An escape pod. With no means to communicate back to its fleet. Thus not a threat and no potential to be a threat. So we did nothing. In fact, doing something held more potential for disaster than doing nothing. The Swarm is a very patient species and I saw no reason to push it to action as recent events most likely have. This happened before — a Swarm escape pod making it to the surface. Long, long ago. In ancient Egypt, when the Airlia did do something and destroyed the scout ship. And nothing happened there and then either.”

“I think it has become a threat,” Turcotte said. He didn’t even realize he had lowered the MP-5. After all the battles, the desperate searching for information, he was beginning to find it strangely refreshing to be able to talk to someone who knew the truth. Even if it was a person who was responsible for millions of deaths and would easily lie if it suited his needs. Turcotte swung the gun back up as anger surged through him. “I think it took my friend. Dr. Duncan. And it has the Ark of the Covenant.”

A frown crossed Aspasia’s Shadow’s face, the first sign of concern, but it was gone as quickly as it had come. He saw that the look had been noted. “An old memory. Not mine. It is strange being me. I was born with a complete set of memories from someone who wasn’t me but was the formation of me. Who wasn’t even the same species.” He stared at Turcotte. “But perhaps you understand more of that than most?”

Turcotte didn’t reply, waiting.

“But I am not Aspasia,” Aspasia’s Shadow finally said. “Nor am I a man. I am human in body, but have lived hundreds of lifetimes. And now I am immortal.”

“As is Lisa Duncan,” Turcotte replied. “Why did the Swarm take her?”

“To try to learn the secret of her immortality and—” Aspasia’s Shadow paused. “And?”

“Where she came from and why she came here.”

Turcotte felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. “‘Where’?” “What planet she came from.”

Turcotte heard Yakov’s sharp intake of breath.

“You really are so ignorant,” Aspasia’s Shadow said.

“I will give you the mothership for the truth,” Turcotte said.

“Truth?” Aspasia’s Shadow cocked his head slightly as if bemused. “What is truth? Human truth? Airlia truth? My truth? The truth of things among the cosmos? Even the Swarm has its truth. And do you know, that none of them quite line up? None of them agree. Truth is all about perception, which differs from person to person, and from species to species. You would not like the Swarm’s version of truth and they would care nothing for yours or any other species’ for that matter.”

Aspasia’s Shadow took a step closer. “We have battled before, you and I. Many times. Do you know that truth?”

“You lie,” Turcotte said, but even as the words left his mouth, he knew that they were wrong in some way. Aspasia’s Shadow’s words resonated in his head and he knew he had met the “man” before as he said. How could that be? There was too much he didn’t know. If Duncan’s past was a lie, was his own? Why did he have this strong connection to her if he had never met her before her ordering him to Area 51? Were his memories of Maine, of his mother and his military career all a lie, just as Duncan’s memories of her family and past were? He now understood her shock when he had confronted her at Area 51 with her false history. There was a pounding in his head, as if a spike were being driven into the rear part of his brain.

“The mothership for the truth,” Turcotte repeated. He felt a surge of irritation. Too many games. And he had a feeling now that he was more of a pawn than he’d ever imagined. Aspasia’s Shadow could be lying to him just to unsettle things. It wouldn’t be the first time the creature had tried such tactics.

“Now it is you who are lying,” Aspasia’s Shadow said, obviously thinking along the same lines. “You would not make such a trade. My comments got your mind working and you thought to manipulate me with a lie, but you are so unused to doing so, it is almost laughable.” Aspasia’s Shadow took a step closer. “You don’t even know your own truth, soldier,” he said.

“What are you talking about?” Turcotte demanded.

“You’ve learned Duncan isn’t who she appears to be, correct?” “Yes.” “Neither are you.”

“You’ve said that already. Then tell me who I am.”

Aspasia’s Shadow shook his head. “That is not my place. You’ve done well, you and your Russian friend. You’ve saved your world. For the moment. In fact, you would be lucky if Artad does get to Mars and sends his message and brings the Airlia back here in force. They would rule once more, but they would also protect you from the Swarm and other enemies among the stars. The lesser of two evils.”

Turcotte was holding at bay the swirl of questions and thoughts he had regarding what Aspasia’s Shadow had just said, trying to focus on the larger issue. “You said the Swarm wasn’t a threat because they couldn’t communicate.”

“Not yet. But think. Think hard. Artad is going to Mars. Where do you think the Swarm trapped here will want to go also? If it gets a message out to one of its fleets, your planet is doomed. A most terrible fate. I have memories from Aspasia of worlds that the Swarm harvested. Another reason I would really like to leave.”

Yakov finally spoke. “We should not be listening to him, my friend. He fills our heads with lies to confuse us. It is a tactic as old as any.”

Turcotte was uncertain what to do. He knew he could not allow Aspasia’s Shadow to have the mothership. He also knew they had to get after Artad. He had to assume the missing Talon was going to rendezvous with the alien, and then head toward Mars — the clock was ticking.

“Perhaps we can make an alliance,” Aspasia’s Shadow suggested.

Yakov stepped up next to Turcotte. “We should not be listening to him.” “A paranoid Russian,” Aspasia’s Shadow said. “How refreshing.”

“What kind of alliance?” Turcotte asked.

“I will help you stop Artad and destroy the array on Mars.” “How?” Turcotte demanded.

Aspasia’s Shadow pointed down. “With the mothership. We will destroy him and those on Mars. Destroy the array. This planetary system will be isolated once more. Then I will depart on the mothership. I will not activate the interstellar drive for one hundred Earth years. By then I will be far enough away from your solar system that if the Swarm picks it up, they will not be able to track it back here.”

Yakov’s voice indicated he believed none of what Aspasia’s Shadow said. “You’d wait a hundred years?”

“I have waited thousands of years to partake of the Grail,” Aspasia’s Shadow said. “And now I am immortal. A hundred years is nothing. Also there are deep sleep pods in this ship. For me it will be as if no time has passed at all.”

“We should not do this,” Yakov said.

“The array is not complete,” Aspasia’s Shadow said. “Nearly, but not quite done. Do you think you can stop Artad by yourself? You think you can outfly his Talon, outfight him, when it is his technology?”

“Someone destroyed the Swarm craft in 1908,” Turcotte said. “Luck,” Aspasia’s Shadow said.

“I doubt it,” Turcotte shot back. “Who did it?” “It is not important.”

“I think it is very important,” Turcotte disagreed, “because I think it was a human, using a weapon he or she invented. Something we achieved on our own, without interference from aliens.”

“I will give you the Grail and the stone,” Aspasia’s Shadow said, ignoring Turcotte. “You can be immortal.”

Turcotte shook his head. “Why do you think immortality would be such a blessing? The planet is already overpopulated. If we extend the gift of immortality to everyone, it would be an ecological disaster. We would destroy ourselves with overpopulation. There are more humans alive now than have lived throughout history — it’s the worst possible time for immortality to rear its head. We’d deplete the world of natural resources within twenty years. And if we don’t extend it to everyone, there would be war unlike anything this world has ever seen between those who have it and those who don’t.”

Aspasia’s Shadow spread his arms wide. “That is not my problem. You can keep the Grail and its gift a secret. Share it with a select few. You are very good at secrets. It will give you tremendous power. You will be like a god — immortal and with the power to grant the same to others. I’ve seen all the major religions on this planet flourish and many have that at the core. The promise of eternal life.”

“And how many of them were the Airlia or their minions like you involved in forming?” Turcotte demanded.

Aspasia’s Shadow smiled slyly. “A few perhaps. Humans are very gullible. Especially when you offer them a way around that which they fear. And you do fear death, don’t you?”

Turcotte ignored the last comment. “Which makes me wonder why the Airlia brought the Grail here in the first place. Was it just to be a symbol? Or was it to be used sometime? And if so, when? And who would be given the gift?”

“All very good questions,” Aspasia’s Shadow said. “And the answers?”

“Not my province,” Aspasia’s Shadow answered. “Wrong answer,” Turcotte said as he pulled the trigger.

The round hit Aspasia’s Shadow in the right leg, knocking him off his feet.

“What are you doing?” Aspasia’s Shadow shouted, his hands trying to stem the flow of blood.

“It hurts, doesn’t it?” Turcotte advanced, weapon aimed. “Immortality might not be all it’s cracked up to be.”

Aspasia’s Shadow staggered to his feet. “You are making a huge mistake.”

“Bye,” Turcotte said as he pulled the trigger again. The round hit Aspasia’s Shadow right between the eyes, flipping him backward, a pool of blood spreading beneath his head.