The Atlantis Plague (The Origin Mystery, #2)(116)

Dorian’s last jab had hit Kate in the heart, he knew it. He knew her. She was so vulnerable, so easy to manipulate. He could play her like a piano.

Her eyes were closed now, but he knew she was thinking of him.

He leaned his head back against the seat cushion, and the helicopter faded away, as if he were falling down a well. He couldn’t stop the memory.

He stood in a room with seven doors. He held a rifle.

A door opened, and someone wearing an environmental suit ran in carrying another person. Dorian fired at the limp body the runner was carrying. The blast ripped it to pieces and threw both of them back against the doors.

The live one squirmed, struggling to hold the dead body. Dorian closed the distance and raised his rifle. The figure rose. Dorian fired, hitting the suit dead in the middle, but his target was already through another door. He had escaped.

Dorian considered pursuing. He ran back to the control panel and worked it with his fingers. No. His enemy was in a part of the ship in Gibraltar that offered no escape. Serves him right—an eternity in a tomb below the sea.

Dorian manipulated the controls, programming one of the portal doors to take him to the scientists’ deep-space vessel. He had the genetic therapy he needed to complete the transformation. Once he had the ship, he would have revenge for his people.

The control panel froze. Dorian stared at it. The scientists had locked their vessel down. Very clever. They were quite smart; but he was smarter.

He walked out of the room with the bank of doors and down the hallway. Dorian knew this hallway. He had seen it before. A door hissed open.

The same room. Three suits hung here now, and there were three cases on the small bench.

He put on a suit and took two of the cases.

He stalked out of the room, to a lab. He programmed the cases, then picked up a silver cylinder that contained the final therapy.

He donned the suit and exited the ship.

The area outside was an ice cathedral, just as he had seen before.

He set the case down and tapped a few places on his arm, on a control panel built into the suit. Slowly, the case changed. It seemed to flow together, and then the silver-white fluid that had been an alloy swirled at the ground and moved higher, swaying back and forth, like a cobra emerging from a basket. Two arms separated from the silver column, then clashed together. Tendrils reached across until the glowing door was complete. Instinctively, Dorian knew what it was: a wormhole. A gateway to the exact point he needed to reach.

Dorian stepped through.

He stood on a mountaintop. No, it was more than a mountain. A volcano. Tidal waves of liquid rock burned and churned below. A tropical paradise spread out across the islands that surrounded it.

He held the cylinder out, then dropped it into the soup of liquid rock.

What was this?

His mind seemed to answer. A backup plan. If I fail—if I’m trapped on the scientists’ vessel—the genetic transformation will still go forward. It would only be a matter of time before the volcano erupted, shooting the therapy into the air and then raining it down around the world.

He set the other case down and it formed another door. He stepped through it.

He emerged on the bridge of the scientists’ vessel. It was buried of course, but he could quickly remedy that.

He accessed the controls, turning the ship’s systems on one by one. He turned his head.

Did he feel…

The air… it was draining. Yes, he could feel it now.

Dorian had known that it was a risk—that the scientist could try to trap or kill him, but he had no choice but to take the risk. Waiting would have served no purpose. He tried to focus on the crisis at hand.

How long did he have?

He raced out of the bridge. His mind combed through the options.

The shuttle bay. No. He had nowhere to go. The ship was at least two hundred meters below the surface, maybe more. What was protocol?

Did they have any portal-making technology on board? Were they allowed to carry it? Even if they did, he would never find it.

EVA suits. Yes, a suit would have oxygen.

He could feel the air growing thinner by the second. He stopped and pressed his hand against the wall, activating a ship map. EVA suits. Where would they be? Near an airlock.

His breath grew raspy.

He swallowed, but he couldn’t quite get it down.

He worked the map. He needed another option. Medical. It was close.

He stumbled down the hall. The doors parted, and he collapsed inside.

A bank of six shimmering glass tubes spread out before him.

He crawled.

How fitting, he thought. To spend eternity in a tube, far below the surface. That is my fate. I cannot escape it. I will never greet death, never fulfill my destiny. My army will never rise, and I will never rest.

The tube opened.

He crawled inside.





Dorian was again in the helicopter. The wind blew across his face, and the roar of the rotor blades thumped in his ears.

For the first time, it all made sense. The pieces fit together; the entire picture was clear.

The portal in Germany. It led to the ship, to Ares. Brilliant.

Kate. She had the Atlantean scientist’s memories. She could unlock the ship and free Ares. Together, Ares and Dorian could complete their work on Earth and transport their army to the final war. Victory would come soon after.

Dorian stared at Kate. She sat across from him, her eyes closed.