Dark Rising

FORTY-TWO

The creature easily traced the thermal residue from the HAWCs’ footprints leading up the steps. Those images, combined with the scent of the warm fluids within their bodies, drew it onward. Its powerful segmented legs scrabbled for purchase on the smooth steps, and chips of concrete flicked away into the stairwell as it climbed. Its multiple antennae and fan-like whips waved in the air, tasting the environment for danger or further traces of the soft creatures it followed.

It slowed as it detected the footfalls of a number of the little animals approaching. It listened, judging their distance – they were closer than the prey it had originally been pursuing. It could feed now and then continue its hunt for the creatures that had set that fiery object upon it. It halted, coming upright and wavering slightly in the air, like an enormous praying mantis waiting for its prey to stumble into range.

The ten-man Takavaran squad assigned to level three had received a brief garbled message from the squad leader down on the sub-basement level that was abruptly cut off and replaced by wet, panicked screaming. They couldn’t tell if the screams were their fellow Takavaran or their adversaries.

While they were deciding on their next course of action, they heard a muffled explosion in the fortified stairwell. They could only assume they were under attack by an enemy force or infiltration agents.

The Takavaran moved quickly, entering the stairwell and fanning out up and down the steps. The enclosed space was still thick with smoke, and the unit leader ordered two men to cover their rear while the rest descended slowly, single file. All were exuberant at the prospect of combat and it took a few seconds to decide who would have the honour of going first.

The creature sensed the men approaching long before it could see them. Though the soldiers probably believed they moved as silently as ghosts, the vibrations on the hard concrete, their breathing and the heat vapour they gave off made them an easy target for the creature. It knew how to ambush; it knew stalking and herding and how to collect the most prey from a hunt. While the men were pressed up against the wall as they slowly descended, the creature flattened its body and shot past them on the inside railing. It had no intention of escaping – its objective was simply to cut the men off from retreat.

In the smoky gloom, the men barely registered the creature’s presence until it reared up behind them. The squad leader, who was descending last, felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. He turned to settle his nerves and satisfy himself that nothing was following them. He was wrong – there was.

A spray of blood covered the three men below him on the steps, and his head bounced down the concrete staircase, making wet, smacking sounds as it struck the sharp-edged surfaces.

Gunfire rang out and bullets ricocheted from both concrete and hardened carapace. Men shouted and then screamed as their limbs were torn and their warm bodies opened. The creature injected some with its venom-like saliva, just enough to stun them. Their bodies fell with eyes open, perhaps still seeing the gruesome carnage but unable to do anything about it.

The creature’s body reared up and flared open in attack, totally blocking the stairwell. Of the eight men who had descended, only one remained. He chose to escape on his own terms. He placed his pistol to his chin, yelled a defiant ‘Allahu Akbar’ to the approaching creature and pulled the trigger.

The two Takavaran left to cover their team’s rear heard the commotion, their comrade’s final call to Allah, and then the silence that fell afterwards. They froze. They could smell the mix of cordite and blood from the stairs below. It had all been so quick, and something wasn’t right – this didn’t feel like an enemy attack. It sounded more like the eight men had fallen into a giant shredder.

The elder of the two soldiers told his fellow Takavaran to call it in. At the very least he wanted more men here before they proceeded down to the lower levels.

The younger man nodded and knelt while he pressed the communication stud into his ear. The connection was made and he turned to give his companion the thumbs up, then froze. His mouth hung open in confusion – he couldn’t understand what he was seeing.

His fellow Takavaran was a large man, but he was being lifted in the air as if he were a toy. His face was distorted, his tongue protruded and his eyes bulged. As the soldier watched, the man’s skin darkened, crinkled and folded; his shoes dropped off and his legs and arms climbed back up into his clothing – the man was shrinking before his eyes. The worst thing was the sound he made – not a voice anymore, more the mewling of a small, trapped animal. His bulging eyes fixed on his fellow soldier in a silent plea.

The monster’s eyestalks quivered, as if in delight at its feast, then the black eyes fixed on the last Takavaran. There was no mistaking its intention. The Takavaran’s final message was never sent.

Al Janaddi led the president and two of his bodyguards into the sphere room. He couldn’t help it: whenever he showed the fantastic technology to new people his self-esteem soared. Its incredible design was only matched by its extraordinary potential.

The gleaming silver sphere suspended above the floor looked like a small planet. It dominated the senses, and even in standby mode gave off a form of static energy that made one’s skin creep and one’s back teeth tingle. Al Janaddi noticed that the president put his hand over his jaw, as if concerned his teeth were about to be pulled from his head. The room smelled of fresh concrete, and something else – something earthy and primitive.

The scientist stopped in front of the machine and turned to face the small group. He ran them through the basic structure of the sphere, pointing out its encircling ring and describing the molecule collision process that would occur within the miniaturised particle collider.

Then he waved his hand towards the roof. The walls and ceiling of the vast space became hidden in darkness as every light beam focused downwards onto the sphere. He showed the group how the shielding plates of lead and the panel sections were studded with thousands upon thousands of the thermoelectric power cubes – his invention.

Al Janaddi took a few steps around the sphere, continuing with his explanation, when the president spotted the coffin-shaped structure standing on the white line circling the device. ‘Aah,’ he said, and nearly walked over the top of Al Janaddi in his haste to reach it. He paced around it slowly, running his hand over the smooth outer shell, tracing the Persian calligraphy with a fingertip, patting it as if to feel its weight and structure. Then he motioned for Al Janaddi to open it. The capsule was close to seven feet tall and included all the refinements that the president had instructed: a space for standing, water bottles, food, and several different communication and location devices – some triggered automatically and some operated by finger control.

The president waved his hand in front of the open capsule and his lips moved silently. He seemed to be blessing the heavy lead casket. When he was done, he opened the small padded container attached at waist level on the inside of the capsule. From his jacket pocket he brought forth a small, exquisitely decorated silver box encrusted with rubies, sapphires and emeralds. He stroked it and then, with great reverence, lifted the lid. He spoke to the scientist without looking up. ‘Do you know what this is, my friend?’

Al Janaddi saw that the box held a smooth dark rock. He shook his head.

‘It is a piece of the Black Stone, the al-Hajar-ul-Aswad. This holiest of objects fell to Earth in the time of Adam and Eve. It was pure white then. Over the centuries it has turned black because of the sins of man. It has been lost and found many times, and it is said that once, when it was thought to have been lost forever, the archangel Gabriel himself retrieved it from beneath a mountain and gave it to Abraham when he rebuilt the Kaaba, the sacred building in the Grand Mosque in Mecca.’

The president looked up from the box and into the scientist’s face with eyes like black ice. ‘Do you know why I have brought this piece of the holy Black Stone here, my friend?’

Al Janaddi shook his head; he guessed he wasn’t supposed to answer.

‘A messenger of Allah has foretold that on the Day of the Last Judgment, the stone will be given eyes to see and a mouth to speak. When it speaks, it will testify in favour of the faithful.’ The president paused, as if to slow down an overexcited heartbeat. He rubbed a finger over the smooth surface of the stone and then kissed it, holding his lips hard in place for a few seconds. ‘It will speak to me, and it will testify on my behalf when I lead our people across the bridge into Jannah. It will favour me when I alone stand before Allah.’

The president lifted the stone from the box, then dropped the beautifully crafted silver relic to the floor as if it were no more than a discarded apple core. He placed the stone reverently in the capsule’s padded box. Then he turned to Al Janaddi and embraced him, planting a small kiss on each of his cheeks. He stepped back, nodded to his bodyguards and, to Al Janaddi’s surprise, stepped up into the lead capsule’s padded interior. He clasped his hands in prayer and rocked back and forth for a few moments, before opening his eyes to fix them on the scientist. He dropped his hand to the box where the sacred black stone now resided. ‘It has started to speak to me already, my friend.’

The president ordered one of his bodyguards to close the capsule and before the heavy door slammed into place, he looked over Al Janaddi’s head to the other guards. ‘You know what to do. Allahu Akbar!’

The tall man nodded.