The Aurora City

  Cassiopia could not sleep. She lay in bed staring at the ceiling with Markman’s arm sprawled over her stomach. In contrast, he was deep in slumber, even on the verge of snoring. She stared at the shadows from the nightlight on the wall and tried to find a niche in her father’s disappearance. There was no starting point. No place to build a reasoning that would point to where he was. She turned under the limp arm and tried again on her side. Then the other side. Then back again. The shadows from the nightlight began to give way to glow from the rising sun. If she had slept at all, it had only been in five or ten-minute intervals. The clock on the nightstand read 5:00 A.M. That was good enough. She shook Markman into semi-consciousness as gently as possible. It was time to go to work. With a groggy Markman in tow, punctuated by a few awkward moments, Cassiopia drove Core to the lab.

  She expected to wait there for John Paul’s arrival. To her surprise, he was already at work in the sensesuit lab.

  “Has there been anything at all?”

  John Paul seemed to be having trouble shaking off sleep. He rubbed his face. “I haven’t made it to breakfast yet. Let’s regroup in the commissary.”

  They found their way to the serving counter then took seats at the nearest table. Though Markman’s body was present, his mind was not yet engaged.

  “I am in constant touch with them, Cassiopia. They are still closing. I do not think it will be long.”

  “How can you be in constant contact? I’ve never even seen you on a cell phone.”

  John Paul smiled, sipped his tea, and smacked his lips. “My implant is much more sophisticated than yours, Cassiopia.”

  Cassiopia looked at him with her analytical machine running full. “You receive communication through an implant?”

  John Paul nodded and sipped.

  “But how…?” Cassiopia started to ask but caught herself. Perhaps acquiring even more knowledge of John Paul’s organization was not necessarily a good thing.

  “You should coax Scott into drinking his coffee. We need him to join us at some point.” John Paul laughed under his breath.

  Markman stared blankly ahead and made no acknowledgment.

  Cassiopia pushed back, went to the serving counter and returned with a plate of eggs and toast. She slid it under Markman’s nose and the glaze in his eyes suddenly receded. He stared down at the plate, picked up a fork, and dove into the food.

  “Have you come up with any additional search keywords, Cassiopia?”

  “I’m sorry. I could not concentrate.”

  “We have a long list for Scott to try today if the two of you agree.”

  “But what haven’t we already tried? There just seems to be no history at all of Salantians or of vortport technology.”

  “Yes. It is worrisome. It supports your suggestion that the Salantian invasion of Crillia was never recorded within the sensesuit computer. We know a terrible invasion did take place. It was extremely harmful to the Crillian race. This cannot be a different people because we are using a sensesuit computer that came from their domain. This is a very perplexing case.”

  “I have a new search item,” said Markman, and he looked up from his eggs.

  “Ah, glad you could finally join us, Scott. Very good. What is it you have?”

  “Tunnels.”

  Cassiopia did not understand. “Tunnels?”

  “Yeah, tunnels. The Salantians worship tunnels. It’s their favorite place. We haven’t searched the Crillian database for tunnels.”

  John Paul looked impressed. “I will add it to the list, Scott. Well done.”

  Markman rubbed his eyes, sat up and took a deep breath. He looked around and squinted them the rest of the way open. “John Paul, did you follow along on all of the talking in there yesterday?”

  “Of course, and we get printouts of the telepathy.”

  “The Crillian people do not seem to consider themselves to be computer programs. I mean I know that’s what they seemed to say previously, but something just doesn’t jive.”

  “Yes. It’s a curious duality.”

  “Something doesn’t seem right to me about this.”

  “Scott, it is likely that if you struck at one of those people with enough force, we believe your hand would go through the image. Do not try that, of course. You might be injured.”

  “But couldn’t that also happen with a creature from another dimension?”

  “I’m afraid I must admit that it could.”

  “So am I correct in thinking that we can’t be absolutely sure these people aren’t real?”

  “Scott, such a deep subject for so early in the morning.”

  Cassiopia folded her arms on the table and looked at Markman. “Scott, you are really stuck on this aren’t you?”

  “It’s just that when I’m in there, I feel like I’m the only one who isn’t real; the one who doesn’t belong.”

  “I will consider your dilemma,” said John Paul. “In the meantime, we’ve got to solve the mystery of the Salantian invasion. The danger to us increases by the day. I assume the two of you are here early so that we can get a head start on today’s research.”

  Cassiopia and John Paul looked at Markman. He stopped chewing his English muffin, raised his eyebrows, and hurried another sip of coffee.

  Thirty minutes later, Markman stood suited in the sensesuit test area. With a nod from Cassiopia, he pulled the helmet down over his head. A click, hiss, and flash of light later he found himself back within the confines of the Centrex Pyramid of Aurora City, Trill standing loyally by, awaiting his commands.

  “An honor to see you always, my lord,” said Trill.

  “Trill, how is it you are always here when I arrive?”

  “Sir, I am notified in advance of your entry into the system. I transport here ahead of you. It is my required duty, one I enjoy performing.”

  Before Markman could reply, the ground began to shake and a low rumble echoed within the pyramid. The tremor lasted longer than the others and had an edge to it.

  “The Terran quakes are nearly over, sir. Unfortunately, as they near their end, they become quite a bit stronger. We remain assured that no harm will come from them.”

  “Trill, I will be visiting the library again. I’ll use the transporter to save time. Where will I come out?”

  “Sir, you will emerge from a transport tube adjacent to the tube rider loading zone that you previously used.”

  “I need my cloak. Would you get it for me?”

  “Sir, you are wearing it. You were in it when you disengaged last time.”

  Markman looked down and realized he was wearing the floor-length cloak. He shrugged in embarrassment, then found himself wondering why. With a final nod to Trill, he went to the transporter tube and stepped inside. Trill motioned a ready sign.

  “Aurora Library.” The familiar flash of blinding light came and went. Markman found himself standing in an opaque transporter tube, a concealment required to maintain proper public protocol. The door to the tube slid open. Markman raised his hood and stepped outside.

  The second Crillian sun had just cleared the horizon. People were passing by on moving sidewalks. Others were strolling along the city walk talking without speaking. An occasional passenger-vehicle floated by. Markman started in the direction of the library when the ground-shaking suddenly began again. This one did not take time to build. It was strong immediately. Markman had to bend at the knees to stay up. He worked his way alongside the tube rider station barrier and leaned against it for support. At first, people everywhere just stopped and waited, expecting the tremor to subside. It did not. As it worsened, they began to show fear.

  Markman held on. Farther down the street someone yelled fearfully. Small objects began falling from above and breaking up on the street. The quake filled the air with a low growling sound, accentuating its intimidation. People scrambled to find support. A few fell to their hands and knees. More small debris rained down. A woman grasping a wall for dear life near Markman began to cry. The
quake did not let up. It worsened.

  Markman strained to see overhead, fearing something large would crash down on him. Crowds began streaming out of the buildings into the street, yelling and screaming. The loud, low-frequency rumble from the quake seemed to sharpen suddenly. Far above, a giant statue of the same winged horse Markman had played with in the library was teetering on the narrow steeple that supported it. The street below was packed with panicking people.

  Before Markman had time to fear it would fall, it did. The giant winged horse rocked back and forth too far and pitched over toward the street below. For a second or two it appeared to fly as a winged horse would, nosing down head first, wings spread, turning about a point. Markman yanked back his hood and took two stumbling steps toward the street. Pointing upward he screamed, “Run!”

  Instead of fleeing, most of the crowd stopped and looked up. Markman opened his mouth to scream again, but there was no time. Instinct took over. He threw open his cloak and jerked an open hand toward the falling statue. In response, it snapped around and began falling in a tighter spiral. He raised both hands and thrust them at the horse. Tensed and concentrating with all his might, he could feel the object finally begin to slow. It descended toward the stunned crowd but abruptly jerked to a stop in mid-air, turning in place, tipping and drifting. Markman strained to focus. A wind gust blasted around him. More tremors shook the ground. A few people in the crowd came to their senses and began running away screaming. It shook others out of the paralysis so that they too ran in every direction, some falling in the rush. Surging away from the sinister shadow of the huge, hovering sculpture, people charged like an angry mob down both sides of the street. When a large enough clearing had formed, Markman gently lowered the giant down. It settled in the street, and crashed over onto one side, the head and face staring menacingly at the retreating masses. Almost in consolation, the tremors stopped. People continued to flow from the buildings, leaving the street still filled with panic and turmoil. Strangely shaped, bright orange emergency vehicles suddenly began to race into the scene. Rescue personnel in orange uniforms merged into the crowds. Markman hastily closed up his cloak and pulled on the hood. People standing nearby were staring at him. With a quick look around, he hurried back to the transport tube and closed himself in.

  “Terra Nova Castle, Overlook Chamber.” One bright light later, Markman emerged with a sigh of relief into the Overlook room.

  The place was deserted and quiet. No fire burned in the fireplace. Markman went to the overlook balcony. People were busy in the courtyard, running to and fro, picking up displaced items, and standing up others that had fallen. There did not seem to be any major damage. Markman removed his cloak and sat in his lounge control seat. He called up the view screen and went directly to the library records. There, he shook off the tension of the past few minutes and began his search of the new list of hopefuls.

  To Markman’s surprise, DuMont did not come; no doubt caught up in problems from the tremors. It allowed Markman to search in peace, though once again two hours of sub-searches brought only dead ends. Another hour of intuitively related subjects also yielded nothing. Markman looked around, wishing for a glass of simulated water. Finally, he tapped at the button for DuMont and returned to his searching. There was just one last item. Tunnels. The term brought a long list of related subjects. Power, irrigation, consumables, service ways, elevators, disposal systems, and many others. He was rifling through them when DuMont came bursting through the door.

  “My Lord, my deepest apologies for not attending this chamber sooner. We experienced the largest Terra tremor ever recorded earlier. There has been no serious damage, but the cleanup is extensive. Otherwise staff would have been here.”

  “It’s okay, DuMont. I understand. When someone is available, would you have some water sent up?”

  “Right away, my lord. Do you require anything else?”

  “DuMont, let me ask you, what is the oldest building in Aurora?”

  “Why, the library, my lord. It has been preserved and expanded since the beginning.”

  “The beginning of what?”

  “Of the settlement of Aurora, sir.”

  “Is Aurora the oldest city on Crillia?”

  “It is the oldest settlement on Crillia, sir.”

  “So the library is the oldest building in the oldest city on Crillia?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “Thank you, DuMont.”

  “Sir, again my deepest apologies for our delinquency. It will not happen again.”

  “DuMont, you’re doing a great job. It’s okay.”

  “You are too kind, sir. Water, right away.”

  Markman began searching for records about the library. The search results were just as long as the tunnel list. A disparaging thought crept in. What if all of the Crillian sensesuit computer records really were from before the invasion of the Salantians? That was what Cassiopia had suggested. It would make perfect sense. The invasion begins. Chaos breaks out. No additional records are downloaded into the sensesuit computer system, so no records of the Salantians or their invasion. Why hadn’t John Paul or Cassiopia considered that more seriously? It was a disheartening idea. That would mean there would probably be no help at all from the sensesuit computer system. Markman searched his memory. There was something way back. It seemed like on his original trip inside the sensesuit computer Trill had made a reference to the Salantians being the current operator of the system. But, perhaps that was the only reference to them in the system. That was not a part of Crillian history, so it would not necessarily be included in the data record files, records possibly too old to include the Salantian invasion. It was a perplexing idea.

  Markman continued his exploration of the library building’s history. A moment later, he was interrupted by the attractive woman in the black chambermaid outfit pushing her cart through the double doors. She poured a glass of water, bowed, and left. Markman took a simulated drink. It was cold and wet. He called up ‘architectural’ in the search list and began to find documents describing the evolution of the library’s construction. Immediately something caught his eye. The oldest architectural drawing of the building showed very little construction detail. It was as though the drawing had been made after the fact. The layout showed twelve floors of basement, quite an elaborate engineering feat, yet the drawings barely outlined any detail of the building’s superstructure.

  Something at the very bottom of the basement profile caught his eye. Below the bottom floor, a hand-drawn etching seemed to depict a ladder descending to a rough-hewn chamber. In that small space, were two black circles with red Xs. Markman tapped his call button for DuMont. DuMont arrived quickly.

  “Yes, sir? Was the water adequate?”

  “Fine, DuMont. You see this drawing? Do you know what these circled X’s at the bottom stand for?”

  “I do not, sir. I can consult an architectural group for you. It would only take a few minutes.”

  DuMont hurried away. Markman continued studying the library’s layout. A few minutes passed, and DuMont returned.

  “They say it is a symbol typically used to show no passage, sir.”

  “But DuMont, this drawing shows a dead-end chamber. Why would no-passage symbols be shown in a dead end chamber?”

  “Perhaps to clarify that no further access exists, sir.”

  “Somehow I doubt that, DuMont. I’d like to go down there.”

  “Oh sir, it looks like such a repulsive place. Must you?”

  “Why do you say that, DuMont?”

  “Sir, it is a dark tunnel deep underground. Those are terrible places. We avoid them at all cost.”

  “You fear tunnels?”

  “Sir, not service ways or the like, but caves and tunnels are nightmarish places. I urge you not to go.”

  DuMont’s aversion to tunnels sparked Markman’s interest. “DuMont, does everyone on Crillia feel the same way?”

  “Of course, my lord. No one will go near the unde
rworld. It’s only natural. Machines are made to do that work.”

  “If I wanted to go, is there anyone at all I could take along for backup?”

  DuMont hesitated. “There is one person I know of who might volunteer, but he is somewhat… unorthodox.”

  “Who?”

  “Jax, our chief pilot. He has been known to do things lacking in good judgment. But I warn you, Sir; he can be somewhat irreverent.”

  “Is he here?”

  “He may be down on the Skyway Terrace, if not he is always on call and can be summoned.”

  “Would you please call him, DuMont, and can you ask around and see if you can find out the last time this underground chamber was visited?”

  “As you wish, sir.” DuMont began to leave but paused and turned back with a worried look. He started to speak but waved it off and disappeared out the door.

  Markman searched the prints for any other views of the underground chamber. There were none. Later drawings did not show it at all. As he gave up the search, the doors opened and DuMont entered looking dismayed. A tall man with short sandy hair and piercing hazel eyes entered behind him. He wore a modern kind of tan jumpsuit, wrinkled with a few grease smears on it, zippers in the chest and legs. He wore brown work boots that did not lace but joined somehow up the center.

  “Sir, may I introduce you to Chief Pilot, Jax Romo. He’s been with us several years and has been exemplary in missions of flight required by this office.”

  Markman stood and gave a nod. “DuMont, did you learn anything about other visits to the chamber?”

  “I shall see if there have been any responses to my inquiries and return momentarily, my lord.”

  “Thank you, DuMont.”

  DuMont hesitated with a threatening stare at Jax and then disappeared out the door. Markman smiled and pointed to a nearby chair. “Come in, have a seat.”

  “Think I’d prefer to stand if you don’t mind…Sir.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  “So you are him…Sir.” Jax strolled along the wall picking up keepsakes as he went, staring at them and replacing them with quick disinterest.

  “You see the print on the screen there? The lowest point with the small chamber with the X’s?”

  Jax stopped and stared at the screen.

  “That’s where I want to go. Are you willing to join me?”

  Jax continued to look at the layout. “If you go first.”

  “What do you think we need besides lights?”

  “Depends on what you want to do when you get there, doesn’t it…Sir?”

  “Jax, when no one else is around why don’t we drop the sir crap. I’d tell you to drop it all together, but it might upset the others.”

  Jax looked at Markman with a surprised appraisal. “You took on the skeleton swordsman and lived to talk about it?”

  “That was a part of the contest from a long time ago. I had help. How do you know about that?”

  “Used to fly for a wealthy aristocrat. He’d won other contests. He thought he could be the first to beat that game. Came back from it one time telling me the skeleton with the sword was his next challenge. He was an expert swordsman. He was sure he could beat it. He never made it back.” Jax picked up a statuette off the fireplace mantle and replaced it with the same indifference. “Looked into that contest myself. Made sense not to try it.”

  “What else you think we need to bring down there?”

  “My guess is that’s dirt and rock down at that point. Maybe a pick, hammer, shovel? What you think you’re gonna find?”

  “Answers.”

  “And what if there’s nothing down there?”

  “That would be one of the answers.”

  “Maybe there’s no chamber at all.”

  “The drawing shows a ladder.”

  “A ladder to nowhere.”

  “Can you get me that stuff?”

  “We can have one of the municipal teams meet us there. They’d have everything.”

  “Would you take care of that for me, and meet me in front of the library? Try not to attract too much attention.”

  Before Jax could respond, DuMont pulled open the doors and entered. “Sir, I am told it is not known if anyone has ever entered that chamber. There are no records pertaining to it. No one seems to want to discuss it.”

  “DuMont, someone built it and installed a ladder to it and included it on this drawing.”

  “Sir, one of our older architects has suggested that the chamber may have been part of a proposed expansion of the library that was never begun.”

  “Well, we’ll find out then. Thank you, DuMont.”

  “You are still going then, sir?”

  “Yes, DuMont.”

  “Sir, you are taking Jax along with you?”

  Markman looked at Jax. He smiled, headed for the door, and stopped next to DuMont. “See you at the library…Sir.” He disappeared around the corner.

  DuMont tried to make the best of it. “We will be at your service if you need us, sir.” DuMont slowly backed out of the room and shut the door.

  Markman went to the control seat to shut off his video, hit the wrong button, and to his dismay the Crillian Convention talk show appeared once again.

  “Well, he’s really done it now,” said the woman with her hair in too high a bun.

  “Yes, you would think the most powerful Terran quake since recording began would be the biggest news of the day. Who would imagine the mystery man could top that,” added the man beside her.

  “The Crillian architectural society has assured us that damage from the quake was a result of construction error and not from excessive tremor levels,” said a male voice off-screen.

  “Guhe, aren’t we all jumping to conclusions about this person again. Exactly what do we know?”

  “Belina, the man levitated a giant Terran winged horse statue and held it in mid-air!”

  “We don’t know that, Guhe. He may have had some electronic device on his person like a tractor beam emitter or something.”

  “Let’s take another look. Can we show that video again?” asked Belina.

  Markman stared in amazement as video of the melee near the library came up on the screen. The giant winged horse was suspended above a panicking exodus of people. Markman’s image stood in the backdrop of the scene, his hood back, his cloak open, both hands raised against the horse statue like a wizard in a Hobbit movie. As the crowd cleared, his arms and hands lowered in concert with the statue until it rested safely in the street. Markman, looking apprehensive, closed his cloak and backed away into the crowd, disappearing toward the transport station.

  “How much more do you want?” insisted Guhe as the camera came back to the panelists.

  “We still don’t know everything,” countered Belina.

  “Belina, last time he materialized a coin on a counter top. How much evidence do you need that this man has super powers? Don’t you agree, Geranda?”

  “Well, at least he did it to save those people. They would have been killed, Terra forbid!”

  “That does suggest he is a caring individual, does it not?” added Belina.

  “He seemed to be,” said Gerenda.

  “And now the whole planet knows he disguises himself in a full cloak,” said Belina.

  “What have we gotten ourselves into? That’s what I want to know. What have we gotten ourselves into?” Guhe buried his face in his hands.

  “You are a nuero-nerd, Guhe. A complete, nuero-nerd,” argued Belina.

  Markman hurriedly fumbled around and managed to shut the viewer off. He leaned against the seat, shook his head, and sighed. The library tunnel waited. He went to the transporter tube, entered, and ordered, “Aurora Library.” The familiar flash of light passed and once again he found himself in an opaque transport column. The door slid open. He peered out cautiously. Outside, the chaos around the library and street had cleared. The big winged horse had been taken away. All other debris had been cleaned up. Some building lig
hts were still out. Unfortunately, a large group of people had come to survey the damage. Markman wondered if he could make the library without being spotted but then noticed at least four or five other people wearing the same cloak with the hood pulled up. That was a break.

  He emerged casually, trying his best to look insignificant. He made it past a small group staring up where the winged horse had been. The rectangular squares in the sidewalk were not working. He crossed over and headed for the library. Jax was already waiting farther down the street. A group of men with tools had arrived and were speaking to him. As Markman approached, Jax noticed and pointed to some equipment sitting nearby.

  “They brought the stuff, but they won’t go down there,” he said aloud. The other men backed off to one side, whispering among themselves. Jax picked up the pack on the sidewalk and slung it over his shoulder. “Got what we need though. You ready?”

  “Let’s go.”

  The library was nearly deserted. Two men were inspecting one wall for damage. It suddenly occurred to Markman the elevators might be out, but as he approached them, the lights were all working.

  “Could be damage down there. Might get stuck,” said Jax.

  “I promise to get you out if that happens.”

  “And you could, I bet.”

  Markman tapped at what he thought was the correct elevator button and the elevator doors slid open. He stepped in, turned, and looked at Jax, hesitating just outside the door.

  “You don’t have to come.”

  Jax stiffened and gave a huff of indignation. He entered and pushed the bottom button on the elevator controls. The doors shut and the car started downward. Jax hiked the pack higher on his shoulder. Markman stood with his hands clasped in front of him.

  At level 11, the elevator suddenly came to a halt as though level 12 was not allowed. Both men looked at the panel. The 12 button was still illuminated. After a questioning stare at Markman, Jax pressed it once more. The elevator resumed its downward travel.

  At 12, the doors opened to a dingy hallway that looked unvisited for ages. Brown dust covered the floor, and pieces of unrecognizable equipment sat along the walls. The only light came from the elevator, leaving the musty, dirty corridor to disappear into darkness. The place was spooky. It felt like there were hidden voices within the deathly silence. Jax dropped the pack and opened it. He drew out a strap-on headlamp, handed it to Markman, then pulled one out for himself. He fished around in the pack and came out with two big beam flashlights and handed one of those over. He closed the pack, pulled it back over his shoulder, and straightened up.

  “Maybe we won’t find any passage,” he said.

  “It’s got to be right near the elevator. That’s what the drawing showed.”

  Jax stepped into the corridor, the beam from his headlamp darting around. “We don’t have far to go then. There’s a closet or something right here, and that’s it. No other doors that I can see. I’m leaving footprints in the dirt on the floor. This place must have been abandoned a hundred years ago.”

  Markman stepped up beside him. “Longer than that.” He twisted the ancient handle on the dirt-covered closet door. The door resisted opening at first and then creaked loudly as it finally pulled outward.

  There were janitor’s tools and other equipment stacked within the small closet. Everything was covered in dirt and dust. The tools looked old and decrepit. At first, it seemed a dead end. Markman moved something on a shelf and caused a cloud of dust that made him back up a step, cough, and wave his hand. Behind the shelf, there was the outline of a rusty oval-shaped metal door. He put down his light, grabbed one side and with a loud screeching clatter dragged the shelf around and out of the way.

  The heavy, oval door looked like it belonged on a submarine. Big steel hinges; a round wheel to turn back big steel bolts. Jax beat him to it. He twisted the wheel with all his might but had to add his body weight to it. Slowly the wheel creaked and turned. The door bolts receded from their locks. Together, Markman and Jax found hand holds and challenged the iron door. It groaned and squealed and finally gave. When there was enough space, Jax stuck his head in. He backed out and looked at Markman.

  “It’s not a ladder. It’s a rock-dirt ramp. It’s dark down there.”

  “I’ll go first.”

  “Okay.”

  “You do have a sense of humor, don’t you.”

  “It gets a lot better after a few drinks.”

  “If we find what I’m looking for, I’ll buy.” Markman repositioned himself and stepped sideways through the hatch. He switched on his big beam light and scanned the place.

  Jax called out behind him. “I’ll hold you to that.”

  It was a twelve-foot drop alongside a crumbling, ancient ramp that looked as though it had been heavily used though not for a very long time. The floor below was dirt or stone. Markman began a careful walk down. Dirt-rock walls to the left. Dirt-rock overhead. As he neared the bottom, a flat cement wall greeted him a dozen or so feet ahead. It went from floor to ceiling. It was as wide as it was high.

  Markman turned his light to the left and found something interesting. A dirty red brick wall, six feet wide, eight feet high. It was shaped irregularly as if fit into a natural cave opening, installed there to close it off.

  Jax came up beside him. “This what you’re looking for?”

  “Maybe.”

  “You mean to see what’s on the other side, don’t you.”

  “Yep.”

  “Somebody went to a lot of trouble to block that off.”

  “What have we got to make a hole?”

  “Pick and a hammer.”

  Jax put down his pack, opened it, and found the folded pick ax. He assembled it and took a position in front of the brick barrier. With a last look to Markman, he swung hard into the wall.

  It was only a single layer thick. The pickaxe went through with the first swing. A dozen bricks caved in. On just the second swing, a space large enough to look through gave way. Jax stepped aside. Markman stuck his head through. He leaned back out, looked at Jax and said, “Keep going.”

  A few more hits and the hole was big enough. Markman lifted one foot through, found solid footing amid the fallen bricks on the other side, and stooped to enter the chamber. He looked back for Jax. “You coming?”

  “You want me to?”

  “Not if you’re afraid.”

  Jax made a grunt of displeasure, shook his head and climbed through the hole. “You got a sense of humor, too.”

  Markman moved his big beam around the chamber. It was the beginning of a tunnel system. Like everywhere else, the place looked like it hadn’t been visited in centuries. He moved farther in, taking slow, cautious steps, scanning the light everywhere. At first, there was nothing but cave. No hint that any living being had ever been there. The chamber began to narrow. Markman pushed ahead. At the narrowest point, the tunnel suddenly opened up to a large chamber with stalactites. Markman’s foot snagged on something. He pointed the light down. It was a rusty, deteriorated cable of some sort, covered by brown earth. Shining the light ahead, there was the silhouette of ancient, dirt-covered equipment. A waste-high console sat against one wall nearby. Markman carefully scanned the irregular walls. As he turned to his left, the light fell on something on the wall that made him gasp. There embedded in the rock was a round steel ring as large as a small house. And, captured within its circumference, the solid rock was locked in a graceful swirl, like a whirlpool frozen in time. It was a vortport. The same kind of vortport used by the Salantians to enter Earth. Salantians had used this tunnel.

  Chapter 11