Atlantis Endgame Part 4

Linnea Edel was a superb archaeologist whose specialty was volcanic sites. She'd been cramming, during their own training period, with all the new technology' used by vulcanists. was volcanic sites. She'd been cramming, during their own training period, with all the new technology' used by vulcanists.

She said, in a low voice, "I did not think about being a woman of the time, only seeing others of the time." A pause, and then, "I envisioned myself invisible to the people now, but I am not, am I?"

Ashe said, "You will be invisible, that is. leave no memory, if you behave as they expect."

Linnea nodded once.

Up ahead, the woman until the donkey said to a family starting down the trail, "Did the G.o.ddess speak to you?"

"No," said the family, even the children. The wife added, with a sour glance back, "We even offered our very best fish, fresh caught. But all she spoke of was silence and shadows. She did not forewarn us of the rock rain three moons ago." And, with a sidelong glance at her husband, she said, "I think the G.o.ddess has gone away, with the snake fires. I think we ought to hire a boat and go south with my family."

The husband did not respond, and the family moved on down the trail.

Ashe and Linnea kept walking. Not long after, they arrived at the top of a long shelf. A whisper of breeze came off the sea, cooling to their damp faces, but not quite diminis.h.i.+ng the whiff of sulfur.

A small number of people stood before a great crack in the rock above the cliff, from which floated the faint sounds of young girls' voices rising and falling in a chant.

Striations of multicolored stone outlined the cave, whose mouth was dark. At the apex of this triangular cave faint wisps of vapor puffed out, swiftly dispersing; inside the cave somewhere had to be a hot stream.

That explained why the unseen oracle, or at least the oracle's attendants, had chosen that place. Water year-round in this climate, hot for cold days, plentiful (if slightly sulfuric) for the long rainless summers, would be important.

Ashe and Linnea edged round the back of the crowd waiting patiently. The woman with the donkey was, for the moment, the only one besides them moving. She plodded straight into the cave as one who had the right.

For a moment Ashe glimpsed robes dyed a robin's egg blue: a priestess. Then the woman had vanished inside, with the first of the waiting people.

Ashe stood in the lee of a great piece of sun-bleached pumice, probably from a blast a million years before, and glanced around. Ah. The smoke came from over there.

He touched Linnea's arm, and tipped his chin.

Her glance of longing was unmistakable, but she turned with no apparent resentment. Ashe felt a surge of relief, even grat.i.tude. He had not wanted to admonish her; the risk was that the a.s.sumption of superiority would somehow cross professional lines into the personal. And maybe with a very young agent, it would have. They tended to take things personally, even if it was inadvertent.

Linnea just cast back one last glance of yearning. The archaeologist in her was intensely curious about the living ritual concerning an oracle. But now was not the time to witness it.

They edged along a narrow goat trail and began climbing up along the mountainside, away from the cliffside cave. They were very quickly out of sight of anyone below.

Up and up. The smell of sulfur got considerably stronger. Ashe stopped, holding his breath. Linnea, who had climbed behind him, winced, and mimed putting their breathing masks on.

It was a question. Ashe looked about and saw no one. He nodded, taking out his mask, and said in English, "There is nothing up here but rock and volcanic ash. I think the hydrogen sulfide would drive even the hardiest away-and the locals must know by now how swiftly death can come from these vents."

Linnea nodded, pa.s.sed a hand inside her robes, and pulled out the cloth-disguised breather that the scientific team had fas.h.i.+oned for her.

Ashe had on his own. The air smelled of plastic, and slightly stale, but the mask successfully absorbed the potentially deadly gases. A small strip of chemplast, visible from the corner of his vision, would change color if the concentration became too much for the mask to handle; another indicated the mask's remaining capacity. Both were green.

They climbed on, easing around a crumbling rock, and felt intense heat. The hardy little tufts of gra.s.s and weed that they had seen here and there, more evidence that the rainy season had begun, had long since withered away.

Another ten paces and air s.h.i.+mmered from escaping heat. Ashe paused to glance out toward the sea. Tiny boats and single-masted s.h.i.+ps dotted the horizon.

"Go ahead," he said. "I'll do a visual scan."

Linnea nodded once, her intense investigative expression widening her eyes again, She opened her robe, revealing plain cotton shorts and a fine cotton-silk unders.h.i.+rt beneath. Round her waist she wore a st.u.r.dy belt, onto which, like a superhero of the comic books, she'd attached pouches and holders.

She undipped several vulcanology instruments-infrared thermosensor, a sensitive sniffer to measure gas types and concentrations, and other devices Ashe didn't recognize- then edged closer to the vent in order to start recording.

Ashe turned in the other direction, pulled out the mini-field gla.s.ses the science team had furnished him, and shaded them with one hand so the gla.s.s wouldn't glint in the sun as he closely and minutely swept the bay.

Bravely decorated boats circled about, some hung with decorations from prow to stern, others painted along the sides with leaping dolphins and swarming octopi, some with stylized lilies and crocuses. The people, flattened by the distance, talked back and forth or rowed, or sailed, or fished, or gazed off into the distance. These, then, were the people the scientists called "the squatters"-the people who remained behind after the first great quake that destroyed parts of the city and who had begun to rebuild.

What exactly was he seeking? Some anomaly, some sign that there were others here, perhaps in disguise as well, from the future.

A sigh made him turn around. Linnea was holding one of the instruments he hadn't recognized, a flattened ovoid with a pistol grip. He saw the tendons in her hand flex as she pulled the trigger: a click, a whirr, and several sets of antennae uncurled from the front and fanned out rigidly. She stared down at the instruments and then pulled the trigger again, and the antennae curled back into the casing.

Linnea crossed to his side. "Well, the brains at home will love these readings," she said. "Isotope concentrations and types, gas readings, just about everything is either off the scale or close as makes no difference." She hefted the odd instrument. "The piezo-EM strain detector, too-and it's not terribly sensitive."

"Meaning?" Ashe asked, though he knew.

"Even without strain readings from fixed laser interferometers, which we didn't bring because we don't have time for them, everything points to a big blow, bigger than anything recorded in modern times. Far bigger," she added seriously.

So it was time for Ashe's own test.

He undipped from his belt a flat meter that was about the size of a video cam. Inside it, though, was a little of the strange tech that had come from the future by way of the past, about which they were still learning. The materials, how they produced their strange effects, including their signature temporal distortion, were still largely a mystery, but scientists, patiently experimenting for twenty-five years, had learned to use the tech for several applications useful to Project Star.

He tabbed the power on and watched the little LED screen light up. Then it was his turn to brave the ferocious heat of the vent, as close as he could get, holding out his meter.

The graph bar on it trembled but did not move.

They looked at each other. Despite the danger, he'd have to get closer.

Ashe edged closer, hearing a whoos.h.i.+ng rumble deep below, as if air were being forced through inconceivably big compressors.

Suddenly the graph bar flickered and then leaped halfway across the little screen.

Ashe moved the meter in a slow half circle, just to make certain. The graph bar held . . . held . . . diminished down to nothing when he moved it away from the vent.

Back again. And again, it snapped into a long rectangle, which meant only one thing.

He edged back down to where Linnea waited. He did not know what his face showed, but she seemed to read something there, for she said, "You found it?"

He nodded once. "Somewhere in that vent is Baldy tech."

CHAPTER 7.

THE ENTIRE WESTERN horizon was a deep crimson, the bottoms of the approaching march of sheep-backed clouds bluish, the tops the gold of fire. It was a spectacular sunset, almost garish and almost sinister in its intensity.

A volcanic sunset. But none of the six Time Agents noticed it; they were all staring in grim dismay at the destruction of their campsite. Destruction and disappearance: their tents, bedrolls, and the food that the Greek agents had unloaded were all gone. Everything else lay scattered about-broken open by violent hands, rifled through, and then discarded.

"Everything?" Ross asked finally, turning over a pottery fragment with his sandaled foot. He recognized that pot: it had held their oatmeal mix, carefully made to look like regular oats, but vitamin and protein fortified.

"Everything," Stavros said. "Except the last load from the s.h.i.+p." He jerked a thumb behind him at the cloth-wrapped burdens he and Kosta had set down when they discovered the ruined site. "Our gear." He said the words in a low voice, in English: their radio and recording equipment, which would never be left alone.

Ashe, Boss, and Eveleen spontaneously turned, looking outward for signs of incipient attack. Linnea Edel stood, hands cradling her elbows, looking apprehensive.

There was nothing to be seen except the smoke-pall over the sky, the greenish choppy sea, and the barren land stretching in folds toward the sudden, dramatic cliffs along which was built Akrotiri. Behind the warehouse, the desolate land stretched away, dotted with quake-cracked hills and falls of rock, as seabirds circled overhead.

"Baldies," Ross stated. "And one of them is probably lying up on one of those cliffs somewhere now, watching our reaction through a high-tech field gla.s.s and gloating. d.a.m.n."

"We can't know that," Ashe said. And, to Kosta, "What exactly happened? Did you see or speak with anyone?"

"No," Kosta said. "We chose this empty warehouse, cleared out recently from the looks of things, because it was the very last, the farthest from the city. No people around. Those over there-" he indicated one of the other warehouses, the closest about five hundred yards away, the others lying along the gentle hills in the direction of the city "-we kept them in sight most of the time. The people in that one were all busy with their fish. That was another reason we chose this location." He smiled grimly; when the sluggish air moved, it carried a strong smell of fish. "We did not think this place would be watched."

Ashe nodded. "Baldies might a.s.sume that time travelers might come here first and hide equipment. We probably ought to have foreseen that."

"With all our things disguised?" Eveleen asked.

No one answered. She looked around, then sighed. "Yes, we probably would have been on the watch here, too-if we expected unwanted visitors showing up from the past."

"We had just finished unloading the camp gear, and had started setting it up," Kosta said. "Then went back together so we could make the last trip in one session."

"Told you I should have stayed," Stavros muttered in Modern Greek, his big hands tight on the hilt of the knife he wore at his side, his brows a single furrowed line.

"We don't know how many any more than we know who," Ashe reminded everyone. "All right. Then we go immediately to our fallback plan: the men will sleep on the boat with the gear." He pointed to their disguised equipment. "Eveleen, you are in charge of finding us an observation base within the safety of the city."

Eveleen nodded.

"Then let's eat," Ashe said, "and get moving."

SHORTLY AFTERWARD THEY sat on a gra.s.sy crag overlooking Akrotiri, eating the barley-and-lentil flatbread that Eveleen had bought hot from the oven, crumbled goat cheese on the top, and for dessert fresh-picked grapes. Ross and Kosta had carried the precious gear back to the boat, where Kosta stayed on guard.

The setting was pretty, a green little shelter carved by runoff, the view spectacular, the food actually quite tasty, but no one was in a good mood.

"So they're here." Ross spoke finally, surprised he felt more satisfaction than any other emotion.

Of course. It was because the presence of the Baldies gave them a purpose, a direction, a goal. Something definite to aim for, accomplish-and then get out.

Stavros grinned, a brief, somewhat martial flash of teeth that was easy enough for Ross to interpret: Stav, and Kosta as well, welcomed more than feared the prospect of the Baldies trying to find and get aboard their s.h.i.+p.

Ashe, noting Stav's reaction, did not hide his snort of amus.e.m.e.nt. He said, "Just as well you'll be working off some of that hotheadedness with me up on the mountain."

Stavros and Ross both grinned. Ashe gave Ross a wry look, then turned back to Stavros. "And you can begin working it off by getting the gear up there."

Stavros laughed. "With all respect, I shall permit a donkey to bear it instead."

"And you get to coax the donkey. My guess is that'll be work enough," Ashe retorted.

Stavros opened his palm. "Ah, it is true enough. Even 3,600 years up-time, the beasts have wicked tempers. I do not expect them to be sweeter now."

"So would I if my existence was defined as 'beast of burden,' " Eveleen put in. "Well, I'm ready to go."

Ashe said, "Let's get back to the s.h.i.+p and get a good night's rest. Tomorrow will be rough."

TOMORROW'S ROUGHNESS BEGAN shortly after midnight, when blue lightning ripped through the stifling heat. With the first crack of thunder came hail. It drummed on the canopy, which was made of treated cloth indistinguishable from contemporary material-except that it was quite waterproof. Stavros, on current watch, could just be heard swearing as he hastily got under cover.

As abruptly as it had started, the hail turned into rain, a gritty, eye-stinging rain full of volcanic ash. Despite the canopy's shelter the normal working of the boat let the water seep in, and some dripped down onto Ross's face. In the reflected blue glare of more lightning he saw the others in their hammocks, eyes open, faces bespattered with dirty, stinging drips of rain.

No one spoke. At least the hail and rain flattened the sea down substantially; the boat had been rocking fretfully since they'd retired.

The rain continued, a dull, steady roar, and Ross closed his eyes again. He was on the edge of chill; he reached for the fake fur rolled up on a tiny shelf above his hammock, cast it over himself, and as warmth returned, so did drowsiness. Despite the fury of the storm, he was soon asleep.

WHEN THEY WOKE up, the air was washed clean, the breeze from the west pure and brisk.

Konstantin had prepared breakfast for them before coming below to retire. Fresh-caught fish, grilled over an open fire, and more of the flatbread const.i.tuted the meal. Smelling it, Eveleen felt her mouth water. Her head felt clear, and she smiled at the clean blue sky in the west.

A glance eastward, though, diminished her good mood. There was the ubiquitous smoke, slowly drifting westward as the breeze died. The volcanic smog was making a comeback.

As Eveleen ate in silence, she listened to Ross and Ashe talk in low voices with Stavros, planning how they would get the heat resistant suits up the mountain without calling attention to themselves. The proof that the Baldies were definitely here had caused the first rule to be implemented: their cautionary radio silence was now, except for dire emergency, to-tai.

The Baldies were here.

Linnea voiced a worry when the women waded ash.o.r.e and started up the trail toward the city. "Do you think that attack on our camp was the Baldies, then? If so, why?"

Eveleen gave her head a shake. Of course Linnea had been fully briefed on what little they knew of the Baldies. It was so little, missing any hint of motivation, that Eveleen knew that personal experience would be more convincing than mere reference to old reports. "I can't guess. So far, the Baldies have not exactly been subtle when they see us. If that was them, it could have been a test, or a warning, even. They obviously didn't want to risk being seen, for they could easily have waited and attacked Stav and Kosta. Seen or heard: the men would have set up a shout, and maybe those fishers would have come running. The camp attack was probably done fast and silent."

Linnea nodded and blanched slightly. Eveleen wondered if she was thinking of the Baldies' efforts in human mind control, which had worked with unpredictable results. Ross's scarred hand was one result, though admittedly he had been wearing one of their s.h.i.+mmery-fabric suits when it occurred. "I don't think the Baldies could do their mind tricks with a whole crowd of determined fishers. I think they have to concentrate on us one at a time. And as for the s.h.i.+p being attacked next, Stav and Kosta have it well protected. They won't get it as easily as they got that camp."

"All right, then," Linnea said, in a determinedly bright voice. "So let's see if we can find anything that might answer some of our questions." She smiled. "And at the same time regard this as a shopping opportunity of a lifetime."

Eveleen laughed. When they reached the spot where the trail joined a bigger road, packed hard from years of pounding by biped and quadruped feet, they fell silent, melding into the crowd heading toward Akrotiri.

The clatter of voices rose around them. Eveleen listened to everyday chatter as they neared the great gates. The sacred horns rose up against the sky, silhouetted against the milky blue. Already the volcanic haze was spoiling the pure brilliance of morning.

Linnea clutched her basket protectively against her. It was an ordinary basket heaped with small packages wrapped in cloth and leather. The ones on top were indeed the food they were meant to suggest; her equipment nestled underneath. Eveleen preferred wearing hers under her clothing, to keep her hands free.

Not that there was any overt threat here. Eveleen realized that Linnea had stopped, and alarm flared briefly through her until she saw Linnea resting her basket on a low wall as she watched a group of magnificently dressed young women parading down the street, their arms full of crocus flowers. Somehow, somewhere, someone had managed to grow flowers, despite the increasingly cruel slaps of Nature all around them.

Eveleen, staring after them, remembered how often she'd read statements about human adaptability. Here was living proof. She realized she'd expected furtive sneaking about, or outright fear, and not people laughing, talking, carrying on with their lives.

A group of younger girls, sudden as starlings, danced around them, singing, their voices high and birdlike in the open air.