Protocol 7 - By Armen Gharabegian Page 0,125

the old vehicles that had been abandoned. We are only traveling in adjacent tunnels at the moment, the ones that were used for ventilation and removal of ice during the coring process years ago. Vector5 can’t reach us—at least not at the moment. It’s not worth their time. But if and when they really want to dig us out, believe me, they can. And that will happen sooner than later, I’m afraid. Unless we can finally find a way to escape Antarctica completely.”

“So these aren’t the main tunnels?” Max said, looking up into the endless dark, remembering the massive domes, the high arches all around, the incredibly complex map they had seen in the Spector. “These are the utility tunnels?”

“Max,” he said with a wicked smile, “Believe me, you wouldn’t stand a chance against the machinery that travels through the main tunnels.”

Simon pushed it away. It was too much, just…too much. But he still had only one question; he still wanted only one answer. “Where, exactly, is my father, Lucas? How do I get to him?”

Lucas slowed down for a second and hunched over, putting his hands on his tired knees as he tried to catch his breath. Then he said in a very different voice—one far older, far wearier than the one that had begun his story.

“Simon,” he said, “there are a few hundred scientists that are held captive. I’m not positive exactly how many. But those that are finished with their task are terminated very rapidly and without remorse, or a sense of humanity, or even the remotest inkling of guilt. No one down here is certain if they will live from one day to the next. I can’t tell you if your dad is still alive, but I’ll tell you something for certain: entering this world is suicide. Suicide. And I, for one, will not face Vector5 again!”

He straightened up and looked forward—at the tiny, glowing light that was the scientists’ current refuge.

It was a robot graveyard. There were wheels, legs, pistons, printed circuit boards, hydraulics—all the left over pieces of two generations of technology, from vehicles to computers to discarded AIs. They filled the narrowing cave from side to side, a tangle of metal and wire and fiber-optics that would never be untangled. A set of inflatable tents, luminous domes, cones and ziggurats was attached to the ice as the floor curved up into a wall—living quarters for the renegade scientists.

They had nearly reached their destination. Lucas was nearly home.

“We are almost out of this hell,” he said. “And whether we make it the rest of the way or die right here, I don’t care, you are not dragging me or any of my people down there.”

He risked a glance at Simon only when he had finished. All he saw there was grim determination. No fear, no weariness, no fatigue, just resolve.

Simon gave Lucas the hardest look he’d ever seen. “Fair enough,” Simon told him. “You’ve made yourself clear. Now you listen to me.” His head lowered. His eyes seemed to burn with a fire all their own. “I don’t give a fuck who is here, or how dangerous they think they are. I will find my father even if I have to climb all the way to the bottom of this hellhole myself. And all you have to do is tell me how to get to Central Command.”

Lucas’ chin came up defiantly as if he was about to challenge Simon’s demand. Max saw the worst possible outcome. He put a hand on his best friend’s shoulder and squeezed, very gently, ready to counter an angry, reflexive blow. He knew that Simon could kill this man with a single blow if he wanted to. But Simon didn’t move. His shoulder felt like solid stone inside his suit.

“Simon,” Lucas said in a surprisingly measured tone, “I don’t care what the hell you do. But don’t count me in. I’ll tell you how to get there. I have no reason not to. You haven’t got a clue where you are, and I’ll make sure you couldn’t lead Vector5 back here even if you tried. So you’ll get your intel and all the supplies you need, and that’s where we part ways.” He turned away from him and crossed the last few steps toward the encampment.

“This is your hell now, not mine.” Lucas said. “I would rather die of hunger and hypothermia than to go down there again.”

He pulled away from Simon and moved steadily, determined, toward the tents.

There

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