The Prometheus Project: Stranded Part 7

Of the eleven members of the Isis expedition, two were missing and four had been wounded. Two severely so. Only five had come through untouched. At least so far.

Native beasts continued to converge in a circle around the tram. Everyone in the tram felt as though their nerves were being drilled on by a crazed dentist, and their tempers were getting short.

Mrs. Resnick noticed that some of the backpacks had been opened and began searching through them to see if anything was missing.

"Why aren't we moving?" muttered Miguel woozily from the back of the tram.

Mr. Resnick sighed. "We can't," he said. "This tram has been sabotaged. It can't move. And the crystal we need to get back through the barrier is gone."

He waited for the commotion this announcement caused to die down.

"Mich.e.l.le and Nathaniel must have taken the other tram," he continued. "There's little doubt they were also responsible for the trick with the tape recorder. And for leaving us stranded here."

"But only for a few days," said Regan optimistically, her nerves now back under control after the indescribably potent fury she had felt while fighting for her life. "We're scheduled to return on Sunday afternoon. When we don't show up, Carl will send a team looking for us."

"Don't count on it," spat Donna Morgan. "We don't know why Mich.e.l.le and Nathaniel did this, but they're both very smart. They can tell Carl anything. That we were torn to pieces by hostile animals. That we were killed in an earthquake. That we fell into a lava flow. Anything."

"Hold on," said Mrs. Resnick before her daughter could respond. "One of the Med-Pens is missing." She held out her backpack as if this were proof. "In its place is an envelope. An envelope with your name on it, Ben," she said.

She handed the white envelope to her husband without another word. On its front was written, "To Ben, From Nathaniel." He removed three typed pages and straightened them out.

"Everyone listen up," he said loudly.

He waited a few seconds until he was sure he had everyone's attention and then he began reading out loud.

This letter is to all the worthless members of this pathetic expedition to Isis. But it's especially directed to Ben Resnick, a man I have come to loathe. Ben, if you're reading this letter, it means that my simple little plan has worked. I knew if I tossed a recorder out of sight, playing a time-delayed scream from a horror movie, all of you hero types would rush over and pounce on it like hungry dogs on a steak. And when you did I'd have all the time in the world to steal a Med-Pen, sabotage your tram, and even take a hostage-whoever happens to be nearest to me when you all rush off to save the day gets to be the lucky volunteer.

Why am I doing this? Let's just say I've grown sick of the entire Prometheus team. The biggest collection of pompous fools the world has ever seen. And I've grown especially sick of you Ben. Especially sick. So smug. So arrogant. So sure you're a better physicist even than Albert Einstein. Well I've got news for you, Ben, you're not even a better physicist than me.

What you are, Ben, is spineless. Always so careful. Always so cautious. You're sitting on the greatest treasure chest in history and you're afraid to open it. Oh, I'm scared. Oh, let's not study anything in case it's dangerous. Where would we be if the Wright Brothers had had this att.i.tude, Ben? No guts, no glory.

So I thought it would be fun to strand you all on Isis. Forever. And make no mistake, Ben, for reasons I will make clear shortly, you have no hope of ever being rescued. Stranding you on a primitive planet is the ultimate torture; knowing the portal home is so close, yet so far away. You can see it, but we both know you have no way to ever cross the barrier to reach it. This way you get to suffer for the rest of your lives. You get to find out if you're all as smart and resourceful as you think you are. My only regret is not seeing the looks on your faces as it sinks in that you will never be going home.

But look on the bright side, Ben. The Isis wildlife is no threat to humans so your group should be able to survive for at least a few years. Sure, the conditions are primitive, but civilization is overrated anyway. I just hope you packed plenty of toilet paper.

Just to be clear, I'm not stranding you on Isis only for my own amus.e.m.e.nt. There are other reasons, too. You see, Tezoc Zoron has become an idol of mine. I wasn't on the team during his attempted invasion, but the story is legendary. This was one smart alien, Ben, and I've taken a number of lessons from him. First, hostages can be very useful. You never know when one might come in handy. Second, planning is everything. For example, as soon as I finish writing this letter, I plan on stealing the Enigma Cube and then rus.h.i.+ng off to Isis as part of your team before anyone knows it's gone. If you're reading this letter then I've succeeded. Imagine how surprised security will be when I return from Isis two days early with the Cube-and a hostage. And since you always bring one or two Med-Pens with you on expeditions, I get to steal one of these while I'm at it. How's that for great planning?

I also decided not to underestimate your exceedingly irritating kids. Tezoc did this and it cost him. Personally, I don't see what the fuss is all about. They just aren't that special. But while I don't see any way in a million years they could possibly stop me, or even slow me down, neither could Tezoc. And we all know how it ended for him. So when you announced a few weeks ago you planned to surprise them by letting them join the Isis expedition, you saved me the trouble of having to find a way to kill them. Thanks. Sorry kids, no heroics this time. Unless you can find a way to stop me from countless trillions of miles away. Good luck with that.

Finally, I learned one other trick from Tezoc as well. As powerful as he was, he knew that even he couldn't do everything alone. So like him, I've recruited a team of mercenary soldiers to help me out. Remember when we lost a Med-Pen for a day? That was me. I needed it to demonstrate the power of alien technology to my mercenary friends. After I did they believed everything I told them about Prometheus and couldn't wait to do their small part to help me become the wealthiest and most powerful man on Earth.

Which brings me to the point of all this. I've experimented with the Enigma Cube after midnight-when even scientists are asleep-every night since it was discovered two months ago. I can play the controls like a violin. Ben, while you were afraid to let your kids even look at the thing, I was man enough to start pressing the b.u.t.tons. And guess what. I'll be the most feared man on Earth while you're spending the rest of your pathetic life on a primitive planet. See how far a little courage can get you.

So what does the Enigma Cube do? Well, I've told you I'll have taken it by the time you read this. So here's clue for you, Ben. Even though I've been working out I probably don't have the upper body strength for the job. So how could I possibly steal an object that weighs 200,000 pounds? There's only one way I know of-reduce its weight. Change it so it's as light as a feather.

Get it Ben? The Enigma Cube controls gravity. Every night since my experiments began I've carried that extraordinary little cube out of the Enigma building in my pocket. Imagine that. If only we could unlock its secret, it would be worth trillions. But we all know we never will. The team has had a Med-Pen for over a year and still doesn't have the slightest idea how it works. Good thing those dumb mercenaries didn't consider that. They think it's worth a fortune.

So antigravity won't be making me rich. But don't worry about me, Ben. I'll get by. Turns out the Enigma Cube makes the perfect weapon. And I mean perfect. Point a certain of its corners or edges at something you want to affect, use another control, and presto-you've changed its gravity in any way you want. For whatever duration of time that you want. Someone bothering you? Send them floating. Or perhaps increase the pull of gravity on them so they're pinned to the ground for a few days, unable to lift themselves. You can aim it at a single object, like a gun, or set it to affect the gravity of everything in a circle around you, without changing how gravity affects you at all. Just dial in a radius and press a b.u.t.ton. But here's the best part, Ben. How great is this? If you want, you can set it to affect gravity for living things only.

Imagine what this means. It has a range of almost twenty miles. So if an entire army has you surrounded, you can send them all floating at the touch of a b.u.t.ton. Presto, they are no longer affected by gravity. Or better yet, increase their gravity so they can't lift themselves from the ground, or lift a finger to control a tank, plane, or submarine.

Yes, it's true that gravity is the most ridiculously weak force-that-isn't-a-force in the universe. But still, when you have total control of it, well ... let's just say that capturing Prometheus-and keeping it forever-won't even be a challenge for me. And that will be just the beginning. I have big plans, Ben. Big plans. I'm going to succeed where Tezoc failed.

Unfortunately for you, this means that no rescue party will be coming for you and your team. Ever. But look on the bright side, Ben, at least you don't need to waste time worrying about what I'm doing on Earth. After all, you're a citizen of Isis now. So enjoy your stay. It's going to be a very, very long one.

Nathaniel B Smith

CHAPTER 13.

Cut Off

There was a stunned silence after Mr. Resnick finished reading the letter, but it didn't last long.

"Are you kidding me!" screamed Eric Morris. "This guy's a raving psychopath!" He turned to Miguel and Cam who were each lying across several seats in the back of the tram. "Isn't it security's job to make sure a psychopath doesn't join the team? You people tested me enough."

"Pointing fingers at each other isn't going to help us," said Mr. Resnick. "We need to decide what we're going to do from here."

"Yeah, who died and made you king!" snapped Donna Morgan.

"I'm in charge of this expedition," said Mr. Resnick.

"Well maybe you shouldn't be," said Eric. "You're the one who sent Nathaniel over the edge, after all. If it wasn't for you we wouldn't be in this mess."

"We need to pull together," said Mr. Resnick. "This is no time for petty arguments."

"Oh really," said Donna. "When is a good time, Ben?" she demanded. "And what does it matter? We don't have a chance anyway. Your brilliant wife led us all to believe the wildlife was harmless." She waved at the formidable beasts surrounding them, dying for the chance to rip them to shreds. "Do they look harmless? We won't last a week."

"Please," said Mr. Resnick. "Not in front of the kids."

"They're not stupid," said Eric. "They can see the situation we're in."

"Would you two shut up!" thundered Mrs. Resnick.

"All of you stop it!" shouted Ryan. He had never been so bold as to shout at a group of adults like this before, but his anger was so intense he didn't even question it. "If we can't work together as a team we won't last a day."

Regan was shocked by her brother's outburst. "What are you doing?" she snapped at him.

"I have an idea," said Eric through clenched teeth. "How about staying out of adult business! No kid's going to tell me what to do."

Regan frowned. She wasn't surprised by Eric's reaction at all-Ryan had brought it on himself. Even so, as one of only two kids on the team, she felt the need to defend him. "If it wasn't for a kid," she pointed out in as calm a voice as she could manage, "we'd be dead already. Remember who started the torches going."

"Great," said Eric. "Congratulations. We'll give you a medal if we survive 'till morning. Instead of a quick death, now we get a slow one. Thanks for nothing."

"Enough!" screamed Mr. Resnick at the top of his lungs. "Here's what we're going to do. We're going to stop arguing. We can't live the rest of our lives in this tram. So we're going to relight the torches and set up another-far bigger-protected area using the portable force-field generator. Once we've set up camp, we'll gather as much flammable material as we possibly can. If we ever want to expand our territory, we'll need plenty of fires."

Bob, Donna, and Eric glared at him bitterly for several long seconds.

"Okay," said Donna finally, a scowl on her face. "It's as good a plan as any. I'll follow you ... for now. But just because you and your wife outrank us back at Prometheus-back on Earth-doesn't mean anything here. What are you going to do if I don't carry out an order-fire me?" She laughed bitterly.

It was clear from the hard expressions on the faces of both Bob and Eric and their grim nods that they agreed with her completely.

"If fire is our best source of protection," said Eric, "the two flares we have left won't help us for long. Please tell me someone thought to pack some matches."

Mr. Resnick nodded. He rooted through an overstuffed backpack and pulled out a container with fifteen small lighters inside. "These are better than matches," he said. "Waterproof, and easier to use."

"Well aren't you the Boy Scout," said Donna, grabbing a blue one.

Mr. Resnick pa.s.sed the rest of the lighters around until everyone had one, including his two kids. There were six remaining, which he stowed carefully away.

"Use these only when you have to," said Mr. Resnick. "Light torches with other torches. I didn't bring any extra lighter fluid. Once it's gone, it's gone."

With the lighters distributed, the group prepared to carry out Ben Resnick's plan. They located the case with the portable force-field generator inside. They gathered their torches and prepared to relight them so they could fight their way through the vicious horde beyond the tram.

Only the horde was gone. All of the predators had left. Every last one.

They hadn't bolted off, as if they had spotted a more dangerous predator. They had just calmly left the area, until none of them remained.

Ben Resnick scratched his head. "Where do you think they went, Amanda?" he asked.

His wife shrugged. "I'm not sure. But the way they all dispersed is very unusual behavior."

Not that she was complaining. With the circle of claws, fangs and deadly horns gone, she finally felt as though the drilling on her raw nerves had stopped.

The portable s.h.i.+eld was based on secrets Mr. Resnick's team had learned from studying alien technology. It was far, far weaker than the force-fields that surrounded Prometheus and the zoo planet portals. Any animal with the strength of an Earth bear could break through with enough effort, so Mr. Resnick had made sure it was also electrified. After getting a significant shock no animal would push on it long enough to break through, and would quickly learn not to touch it at all.

The generator formed an energy bubble with a diameter of about thirty yards and was very energy efficient. It could operate for up to twenty hours on a single charge and it could recharge using solar energy. If the sun wasn't out, a hand crank on the generator's side could be turned manually for about an hour to recharge it.

Mr. Resnick chose a flat, open area about forty yards from the tram and activated the force-field. A greenish flicker gave its location away so those inside wouldn't accidentally touch it and shock themselves. Along with the water and most of the supplies, they carefully carried Miguel and then Cam inside the large, protective dome of energy and laid them on the ground near one of its edges. Only two hours had pa.s.sed since the group had arrived on Isis, but so much had happened, so much had changed, that it seemed like a lifetime ago.

"Ryan, give me a hand," said Mr. Resnick. "We need to bring the last inflatable habitat over from the tram."

Even though half the food and water had disappeared with the second tram, there were two fewer bodies to feed and most members of the troop had packed far more food than they needed for just a weekend. If they pooled their provisions and exercised careful rationing they could make them last three or four days. The biologists who had been on the planet before knew of a freshwater stream five or six miles away. They would need to relocate there before they ran out of water. Then, if they wanted to survive, they would have to learn to hunt with primitive weapons; an exercise that was bound to prove more than just a little challenging given that the closest most of them had ever come to hunting was picking out steaks in a grocery store.

Ryan walked to the edge of the barrier with his father, who deactivated it with a small silver remote, about the size of a cell phone. They stepped outside its protective confines, each carrying a burning torch, and Mr. Resnick reactivated the s.h.i.+eld behind them.

Not a single native animal had returned since they had left ten or fifteen minutes earlier, but Mr. Resnick wasn't about to take any chances.

As they neared the tram a strange odor hit their nostrils. They sniffed and glanced at each other questioningly.

A jagged, three foot tear opened in the ground between them!

They both darted to opposite sides of the opening as the tear grew. Ryan didn't feel an earthquake but the growing split in the earth behaved as if it were being caused by one.

"Ryan, move farther away!" shouted his father as he took his own advice and backpedaled in the direction from which he had come. "Hurry!"

Ryan quickly backed away from the lengthening trench that separated him from his father just as bright orange lava spewed from below the ground and began pouring into the new channel.

Another tear opened suddenly near Ryan's feet and he retreated even farther, dropping his torch. He was now twenty yards away from his father. He scanned the area and was able to find a lava-free path that would allow him to return-provided no further breaches occurred.

He was moving toward a crossing point when his father shouted, "Ryan, the mountain! Look up!"

Ryan did so and his heart jumped to his throat. A ma.s.sive river of molten lava was racing down the mountain as if a dam had burst.

And it was headed directly toward him!

It was as if Ryan was in the middle of a dried up river bed that was about to become filled once again after a flash flood. Instantly. Filled with a liquid fire that would kill him on contact.

He bolted toward the edge of the multiple rips in the ground and kept sprinting away even after pa.s.sing this boundary, farther and farther away from their makes.h.i.+ft camp. The river of lava surged over the ground he had just occupied. Additional fissures opened up and spat lava, and Ryan was forced to keep running at full speed to be sure he was completely in the clear. It was almost as if the fissures were following him. The ground didn't settle for several hundred yards. When it did, Ryan continued to race away from the area for several minutes, just to be on the safe side.

"Ryan," broadcast his sister frantically five minutes later. "Ryan. Are you okay?"

He was now much too far away for her to see or hear, but well within the fifteen-mile range of their telepathy.

"I'm okay," answered Ryan finally, although he knew this was a very temporary condition.

Ryan could sense the relief in his sister's mind.

"What about you?" asked Ryan.

"It was close, but we got away. We had to move the camp in a hurry, but only to a spot thirty yards from where we were. We were on the very edge of the flow. Unfortunately, it kept getting wider and wider in the direction you went."

"And Mom and Dad?"

"Both okay. Dad almost got splattered by lava. But he was carrying the force-field generator to the new location and it saved him. The generator is melted in a few places but working fine. Cam and Miguel made it too. While Dad was running with the generator, the rest of us carried them to the new camp."

"Can you see the lava river from where you are?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"Is there any break in it? Anyplace I could cross and get back to camp?"

There was a long pause, and Ryan knew he had his answer.

"I'm really sorry, Ryan," she replied at last. "But there isn't. The lava starts at the very top of the mountain and flows down to the cliffs and the sea below."