Lara
Croft - New Life, New Adventure
CHAPTER
2: Interludes and Rocketships
Lara replaced the pistol into the holster strapped tight around her thigh. The weapon's weight and slight warmth were reassuring. She quickly searched the body of her would-be ambusher, but found nothing to identify him or those who sent him. He'd been a good professional murderer, perhaps, but not a good professional killer. She'd seen him well before he could manage line of sight on her. Still, this sort usually waited until she arrived at her destination before starting the chase. He'd been waiting for somebody to arrive at the FutureTech hanger, if not her in particular. Webb needed better security so close to one of his lairs.
Punching a code into the keypad, she waited as the doors cycled open. A slight, middle-aged Asian man in company field coveralls stood inside.
"Hi, Ms. Croft, I'm Bob Shimotsu, chief planetary survey officer for FutureTech. Please come on inside and we'll get you on your way."
"What happened to your security, Bob? You did notice that ruffian skulking about outside, I presume?"
"Sorry about that, but yeah, we saw him. All our operations attract a certain amount of attention, especially those near a public facility. We'd get plenty of grief from the authorities if we killed off everybody who lurks around. Not to worry, if he'd come within five centimeters of getting the drop on you, he'd have gotten a flechette burst center of mass in the belly from the site defense grid. Thanks to you he didn't and is therefore easier to clean up. Now, if you'll follow me, we'll mount up and get gone. We've got a well-stocked onboard armory; you can top off your pistols and find other stuff that goes bang enroute. Ready to roll?"
"No worries, I'm ready when you are." Lara barely stifled a grin at the inoffensive-looking little areologist's casual machismo. Books and their covers…
The Barsoom's ground crew finished working and pulled back behind the landing bay service doors as the two boarded the "yacht". The craft evidently was originally designed as a military assault transport. "Bit utilitarian for a rich man's plaything, isn't it?"
"Yeah, I suppose so, but the boss's cabin sports really cool neo-Nemoid décor. Barsoom is one of the fastest ships on Mars, she's got six Rolls-Royce Merlin 12 thrusters and the newest Daimler-Siemens magnetic repulsor array, so she can solid haul…tail. We'll be at Cydonia a little after sunrise."
Lara chuckled aloud at the man's belated delicacy of speech. Everyone thought the noble English lady too refined to hear even the mildest vulgar oath. Never failed to amuse, given her old reputation in some sectors of the press as a murderous vandal of priceless cultural treasures. "Don't censor yourself on my account, Bob, I imagine I can out-cuss the earthiest Liverpool swabbie when the fancy strikes."
The pair walked into the near-empty cargo bay and stopped at a windowless unmarked metal door. Shimotsu unlocked the hatch with a quick series of keypad strokes. "Here you go, make yourself at home, all the goodies are yours for the taking. Join us in the cockpit up front when you're done."
Lara replaced the spent rounds for her H&K hyper-repeaters and added a few more magazines to her backpack. She liked and trusted her new pistols; the things could almost shoot forever between reloads and were accurate at incredible ranges. Still, she felt a certain nostalgia for the pair of Browning Hi-powers her father had left her, and the Llama .45s she'd carried later in her career. Nonetheless, she rarely passed up a chance to retire the beloved old for the more effective new. People, though, were a different matter, even to a loner like herself, and sometimes she missed her loyal old friends…
Scouring the weapon racks, she found a small rotary-magazine grenade launcher similar to ones she had used before. She grabbed several different types of ammo, marked "Anti-personnel", "Flash-bang", and a pair of the intriguingly named "Self-propelled Auto-locking Anti-armor". Water, food, med kit, and radio/MPS-locator already inside, the ammo left little room for anything else, but she was sure this situation would prove temporary. Lara rolled her shoulders into the backpack in a single practiced fluid movement and headed for the Barsoom's cockpit. The change in pitch of the ship's engines told her they'd soon on their way.
The dream was different this time. Before, Webb had watched disembodied, a hovering spectator to the drama before him. Now, he was inside the mind of one of the players, an undetected and mute presence privy to the thoughts of his host. In a view screen reflection to his left he caught a glimpse of the man, a face younger, more refined than his own, but his own face just the same. His host looked up through the clear dome of the ship's bridge, nodding with satisfaction as the rest of the fleet winked into existence around the target world. Now the preliminary bombardment could begin, the planetary defenses would be swatted aside, and the legions of humanity would sweep down and bring this world also into the fold. The cultural and genetic assimilation process was always long, but in the end the alien race below would become as human as its potential allowed. The long-departed Founder, were he here to see it, must certainly smile upon his progeny's work. There would be no genocide, no murder of the innocent, only the spread of humanity in the most humane possible way. This race had fought poorly. They needed the human touch far more than the Empire needed them to be human. The Empire would show generosity, a virtue in the Founder's time as it remained today. As the architect of so many victories, he, the Warleader, would someday take his place on the throne of his mother. He would guide ALL his sisters and brothers, full or partially human, in the best way he knew how. It was good to perform the function for which one was born…
Webb screamed in silence, screamed THIS wasn't what he wanted, No God no you idiots, you damned, stupid fools! From far back within his own mind, a third presence, something very old, very wise, and very sad, sang and sighed in sorrow…
He woke up, heart racing, body
slick with greasy sweat. Another
nightmare. He didn't believe in omens
and portents. No lions whelping in the
streets, no graves yawning and giving up their dead. Still, some good might come of this ridiculous phantasm yet. Things could very well turn out such if Lara
did not reach the prize before the opposition. It was time to take out some more insurance against that
possibility. He got up and made his way
to the wall communication panel. "Priority message secure channel two to Earth. Encryption routine romeo-charlie-whiskey-zero-niner. Message follows:" He finished and logged off. No sense trying to sleep again. Time
to go to work. She would be at the City soon, and there
would be much to do.
Lara stepped into the cockpit and took
her seat. Outside, the stunning vista
of the Martian wastes rapidly became visible as dawn broke on the horizon. Shimotsu nodded to her and spoke. "Ever been out this far, Lara?"
"No, I've never been here at all, this is my
first trip to Mars. Breathtaking. I've seen sights most never dream of, but
this is something I
never imagined."
"Well, you sure have an incredible sense
of balance in 1/3 of the gravity from what you're used to. Most newbies bounce around like ping-pong
balls first time here."
Glad he didn't see me do that
face-plant into the wall at the spaceport, Lara thought with rueful amusement. "I've always been blessed with pretty good
coordination, comes in handy in the extreme archeology biz at times. Right, then, Bob, I've been briefed on what
to expect and I've done quite a bit of research on my own, of course, but I'd
like your perspective as a field expert on a few things. Just exactly why is no one else such as UN
Space Authority already excavating this site, even covertly? I can deduce for myself the secrecy
blanket. What are your own theories as
to why the Martians didn't simply do what we humans are doing and reverse the
death of their world or prevent it in the first place? Their technology seems to have been far in
advance of our own."
Shimotsu took a deep breath and launched
into a verbal dissertation fully in character with his bookish appearance. "Probably easier to answer your last
questions first. Short answer, we just
don't know. We assume the asteroid
bombardment of the southern hemisphere was so intense and sudden that they
couldn't minimize the massive amounts of damage to the ecosphere. They may have left even before it happened.
The text we translated from the "stele" found buried outside the main city proper
was an epistle, primarily intended to inform posterity, who or whatever that
might be. The Martians said they had
lived rich lives here, were sad to leave, yet looked forward to going out to
whatever lay beyond the solar system. Those who would be either their enemies or their friends could know them
by the ships they flew, and should children of this sun ever come after them,
they might join the Martians, provided they proved their worth by finding and
understanding the ship they left behind. The translation effort used to glean that much, over 200 terabytes of
computing power, with no type of Rosetta stone to go by, has pretty much tapped us out for now. Cracking Minoan Linear B was like playing
checkers instead of three-dee chess compared to this."
"UN isn't allowing excavation of this
site simply for fear of the chaos to ensue if the larger national governments
on Earth think someone other than themselves might find anything of power and
exploit it unilaterally. None of the
independent media have any conclusive proof of the Martians' existence, and
those who talk about it are marginalized as crackpots, which many of them are
anyway."
Some things never change. "I suspected as much, just wanted some confirmation of my other
sources. Now, what about the UN Space
Force security cordon? I understand
we're to just fly into the most tightly guarded area in the solar system, I do
my usual thing, and all's right with Mars? Webb told me this part was "covered", but he gave me no details. Operational security, he called it. What is the plan, before I stick my neck into the waiting
noose?"
"Bear with me a moment before I answer
that. Very few organizations and
nations have the means to come here. Most of those who can claim to fear the radiation levels said to blanket
the area, from nuclear devices set off to release the frozen CO2 in the ground
during the initial stages of terrafroming. That cover story, easy enough as it is to refute, gives most leaders an
out when their constituencies ask why they can't look for anything here. Actually, all the nukes were popped in the
polar regions and on the equator in the Tharsis plateau, the former to release
water vapor and the latter in an attempt to stimulate tectonic action, lack of
heat from which is a prime reason why the original atmosphere bled off into
space. We think the Martian's City is
well preserved in part due to the absence of seismic activity through the ages. The atmosphere we've breathed for the last
thirty or so years is courtesy the big solar mirrors above the poles, as well
as fusion powered "Zoob tubes", or Zubrin heat generators, sank deep into the
CO2 pockets below ground, and genetically modified arctic algae which convert
the CO2 into oxygen through photosynthesis. We'll have forests here in another 50 years. The experts on Earth said it would take at least two hundred
years to get a breathable atmosphere. We've done it in 75."
Lara felt slightly irritated at the
interesting but nearly useless lecture. "Yes, that's fascinating. The
perimeter defenses, if you please?"
Shimotsu came out of his enthusiastic
scientific reverie with a visible start. "Sorry, I go on ad nauseum, I know. The unopposed perimeter penetration is one of the sweetheart deals you
get working with FutureTech. There are
two UN Space Force manned stations, both far from where we're going. The UN's air defense network control
computers and robotic ground sentries were all built by F-Tech shell
companies. We've already spoofed the radar
net and will land undetected. Soon,
you'll meet your guide and guardian for the rest of the trip. Remember the ban on AI self-aware war
machines back on Earth? The prototypes
are sentries here. UN figures they're
cost effective security solutions. So
do we. Here, take this
transmitter." Shimotsu handed her a
small flat-black disk. "Once we set
down, the sentry will lock onto this and associate the signal with your heat
signature and our confirmation code burst. You will then be its "commander". Any verbal communication you need to make can be quite specific and in
depth, AI complexity is a bit further along than everyone thinks. It will take you to the City outskirts along
its normal patrol route and then return to its standard routine."
Lara was somewhat nonplussed by this revelation. Commercial archeology was not about robot
war machines! This was beginning to
sound like a silly bit of American cinema. She'd heard of such things as the AI
machines before, somewhere, but hadn't paid much attention to it what with all
the other drama in her life. Suddenly
she felt old and out of touch, despite being barely thirty-three. She shook it off and got her mind back in
the game. I've done far stranger
things than this. No weirdness too weird
for the likes of Lara Croft.
"You'd best be right, or my last act
before becoming Martian fertilizer will be to shoot off a pair of someone's
prized family possessions. By the way,
is that Olympus Mons I see there on the southern horizon?"
"Yep, that it is, tallest mountain in the solar system. Magnificent even
from here, isn't it? The last of the
old Mars is on its slopes, cold and unbreathable. We've identified a Martian ruin near the summit, deep in the
Ostermann crevasse; our people think it might be a funerary temple or
necropolis. We've really not had
inclination to look, given the disappearance of the only team we tried to send
here into the City. No use wasting our
people, and I hope very much that we're not wasting you as well. Mr. Webb has a lot of faith in you,
Lara. For your sake I hope it's
well-placed." For an instant,
Shimotsu's deadpan face revealed a softer, almost wistful cast. Then it was gone. "We're here, now, hop down through the rear cargo doors when they
open and you're on your way."
Lara got up and started to leave. "Events will tell, but I've survived many
things less forbidding and nearly as alien as this in my time. I enjoy a good challenge, makes life worth
the living. If what you and your employer say is there actually is, rest
assured, I'll return with it. I'll see
you when I'm ready to be picked up". She left the cockpit and strode to the rear of the craft.
The pilot throttled back the ship's
powerful engines, cut in its repulsors and brought it to a hover a little more
than a meter above the surface. Lara
dropped to the ground in a crouch, legs absorbing the slight shock, and stood
up in a single smooth motion. Walking
in front of the Barsoom,
she looked down from the plateau to the valley of Cydonia below. Far away, the pyramidal forms hinted at in
the dawn's light beckoned her with the promise of new discoveries and
excitement. Finally back in my
element. Closer in, a rapidly moving object approached in a small
cloud of ochre dust, the machine that was her last connecting ride to
adventure. Adventure was the only home
she had left, now, and the only one she had ever truly known how to call her
own.
Bob Shimotsu looked down from the cockpit
at the trim figure in her form-fitting black Martian environment suit. "Ever see a woman like that before, Rolf?"
The pilot looked up from his instruments
and out at Lara. "Nein. Never once."
"Likewise. I'm afraid we never will again,
either. Hope I'm wrong… Sentry's coming, reading normal all
systems. Turn this crate around and
head us home, it's all up to her now."
Lara turned and watched the Barsoom shrink to a small speck in the
sky and disappear. She turned back
around and walked down the slope to the valley below.
Far from the growing human cities on
Mars, deep beneath a commercial mining complex in the vast impact crater of
Hellas Planitia, a man calling himself Bertrand Degrelle awaited the arrival of
his earthly compatriot's communications signals. The Organization's incessant search for artifacts of power had
yielded one more item of strategic value their adversaries did not possess,
instantaneous intra-solar system communications. He didn't understand how it worked, nor did he care. That was the province of the group's
physical-universe mages, the science teams. He himself was a man of action.
Degrelle admired his memorabilia
collection as he waited. Everything in
it related to the masterful disinformation campaign his group had conducted so
successfully over the centuries. Here,
an old piece of American paper currency. There, a card game from the 20th century. On the mantle, a book denouncing the Masonic
order. Framed on the wall, an old
poster from a movie based on a video game. The organization popularly known as the Illuminati was known everywhere
as a joke. It amused him endlessly to
think that although many knew of them, very few outside their own ranks
believed they existed.
Presently, enough signals came in to allow
a quorum. The Singapore, Jakarta, and
San Francisco contingents were here. Sao Paulo logged in. The German
element apparently could not resist the temptation to meet in Henry the
Fowler's burial chamber under Wewelsburg castle. Finally, the current head of the Organization appeared on the
monitor. The warm azure brilliance of
Valletta harbor was visible behind him through the windows of the great hall of
Fort Saint Elmo, onetime stronghold of the Knights of Malta. The last Grand Master of that extinct order
would no doubt be rolling in his crypt were he aware that the leader of his
ancient adversaries now held court from his ornate chair.
Rituals of the greeting perfunctorily performed, the usual catalog of day-to-day business took a full hour. Governmental agencies infiltrated or suborned, a few losses of agents of influence in same. Transnational corporations bought off, undermined, or turned to use. Status of special research projects and successful disinformation campaigns discussed. Assassinations, brush wars, currency manipulation, the entire tired laundry list of activities must be covered before the important business of the meeting could be attended to. His own report, the search for the starship. The progress of Webb's agents in saving the Organization the trouble of freeing it. The plan to deny them the fruits of their labor. Only Degrelle, youngest and most capable of the High Acolytes, could be trusted with this essential work. Someday, old man, I will hold forth in that chair you pontificate from now.
The Prime Acolyte spoke: "Degrelle. Report and analysis of developments in the last 24 hours, please."
"Sir, Webb has brought in a specialist
previously unknown to us, a young woman." He displayed a recording of the woman outside the FutureTech hanger,
bending over the body of the minion she had slain. "She arrived at Syria Planum yesterday, entered the FutureTech
building and stayed for one hour thirty-five minutes. Early this morning she arrived at Syrtis Minor spaceport, where
we evaluated her combat abilities. She
is well trained and reacted within higher than standard efficiency
parameters. She and Webb's transport
ship departed for Cydonia and are there now. In other developments, a tight beam encrypted transmission from
FutureTech went out to Earth at 0445 local time. Contents of the message are unknown."
The Prime's face showed a hint of
concern, something most would not have noticed. "Yes, we have identified that
transmission as being routed to KwaZulu Government House in Ulundi. The meaning and intent of such communication
is unknown to us. We show a Zulu mining
concession operating on Mars under FutureTech's aegis, what do you know of
their activities? Most importantly, who
is the new player in the game? You must
identify her and take appropriate action, and you must do so immediately."
Degrelle knew this part was fraught with
danger. He must appear undisturbed by
the lack of information at his disposal. "The Zulu operation is small and apparently legitimate. We have no indicators of the miner's being
anything other than what they seem. Perhaps the transmission was a routine report of some kind. I will not assume that and will continue to
investigate."
Webb's deadly new minx. What to say about the mystery woman? Degrelle glanced at the figure on the
monitor, her face now turned to the camera as she stood up from the body. I've seen her, somewhere…. His eyes turned to the movie poster on the wall.
Then he
looked at the box art of one of the later games in the series the movie had
been derived from, in which the game character, Lara Croft, "faces the dark
organization which framed her, stole her reputation, and now seeks her very
life…". No, not possible… He hurriedly recalled all he knew
about the Webbs, the old nemeses of the Organization. The single major transnational corporate empire never
meaningfully penetrated by their agents. Oh, yes, oh yes indeed. Entirely possible! With amused enlightenment, he
realized Webb was either far cleverer than imagined, or much weaker than he had
thought possible. At any rate, he now
knew the name of his new enemy.
"Sir, I believe I know who it is we face
at Cydonia." He explained, and the
quorum considered the implications and the various courses of action available
to them.
End Chapter 2