The Descent

Bones  and  bodies  littered  the  deadly  bright  avenue,  as  if  a  vicious  battle  had  been fought  here.  In  full  view,  spotlit  by  the  megawatt  of  electricity,  the  hadal  remains were  almost uninteresting. Few  had any coloration to their skins and hides. Even  their

hair lacked color. It  was not white, even,  just a dead, parched hue similar to lard.

As the patrol neared the  tunnel's  far  end  –  what  Sandwell  had  termed  the  mouth  – attempts  at  sabotage  became  obvious.  Lights   had  been   broken,   or  blocked  with primitive  tools,  or  plugged  with  stones.  The  hadal  sappers  had  paid  a  high  price  for their  efforts.  The  SEALs  came  to  a  halt.  Just  ahead,  where  the  tunnel  mouth  turned black, lay true  wilderness.

January swallowed her suspense. Something bad was about to happen.

'Anybody  see it?' Sandwell asked  the  room.  No  one  replied.  'They  walked  right  past it,' he said. 'Just the way  they  were  supposed to.'

Again  he  fast-forwarded.  At  high  speed,  the  troops  took  off  their  packs  and  began their  janitorial  duties,  replacing  parts  and  lightbulbs  in  the  walls  and  ceiling,  and lubricating  equipment  and  recalibrating  lasers.  The  on-screen  clock  raced  through seven  minutes.

'Here's where  they  find it,' Sandwell said. The  video slowed.

A  group  of  SEALs  had  clustered  around  a  spur  of  rock,  obviously  discussing  a curiosity.  The  radioman  approached,  and  his  lipstick  video  camera  gave  a  view  of  a small cylinder the size of a little finger. It  was lodged  in  a  crevice  in  the  rock.  'There  it is,' Sandwell announced.

There  was  no  soundtrack,  no  voices.  One  of  the  SEALs  reached  for  the  cylinder.  A second  tried  to  caution  him.  Abruptly,   one  man  fell  backward.   The   rest   simply slumped to the ground. The  lipstick camera spun  madly,  and  came  to  rest  –  sideways

– upon a view  of someone's boot. The  boot twitched once, no more.

'We've  timed  it,'  Sandwell  said.  'It  took  less  than  two  seconds  –  one-point-eight,  to be exact  – for seven  men  to  die.  Of  course,  it  was  in  its  concentrated  form  at  release. But even  weeks  later and three  miles away,  after  dispersing on the  air  current,  it  took just  over  two  seconds  –  two-point-two  –  to  kill  our  rapid  response  units.  In  other words, it is nearly  instantaneous. With a one-hundred-percent  mortality rate.'

'What is this?' Thomas hissed at January. 'What is this man talking about?'

'I have  no idea,' she muttered.

'Here it is again, slower, with more detail.'

Frame  by  frame, Sandwell showed them  the  death  scene  from  the  cylinder  onward. This  time,  the  finger-length  of  metal  tube  revealed  its  parts:  a  main  body,  a  small glass  hood,  a  tiny  light.  Magnified,  the  SEAL's  fingers  reached  in.  The  tiny  light  bead changed colors. The  cylinder delivered  the  faintest  burst  of  an  aerosol  spray.  Men  fell to  the  ground,  as  slowly  as  drowned  sailors.  This  time,  January  was  able  to  see evidence  of  the  biological  violence.  One  of  the  black  kids  twisted  his  face  to  the camera,  mouth  gulping,  and  his  eyes  were  gone.  A  man's  hand  swept  past  the  lens, blood whipping from the  nails.  Once  again  the  boot  twitched  and  something,  a  human liquid, seeped from the lace holes.

Gas, January recognized. Or germs. But so fast-acting?

The  officers  caught  up  with  the  information  in  a  single  leap.  CBW  –  chemical  and biological  warfare  –  was  the  part  of  their  training  they  least  wanted  to  engage  in  the field. But here it was.

'Once more,' Sandwell said.

'Impossible,  absolutely  impossible,'  an  officer  said.  'Haddie  doesn't  have  anywhere near  this  kind  of  capability.  They're  Neolithic  throwbacks.  They  barely  have   the sophistication  to  make  fire.  They  acquire  weaponry,  they  don't  invent  it.  Spears  and booby traps, that's their creative  limit. You can't tell me they're  manufacturing CBs.'

'Since then,' Sandwell continued, disregarding him, 'we've  found three  more  capsules just like it. They  have  detonators designed to be triggered  by  a  coded  radio  command. Once placed, they  can only be neutralized  with  the  proper  signal.  Tamper  with  it,  and you  saw  what  happens.  And  so  we  leave  them  untouched.  Here's  a  video  of  the  most recent cylinder. It  was discovered five days  ago.'

This time the players  were  dressed  in biochem suits. They  moved with  the  slowness of          astronauts            in     zero    gravity.    The    dateline    was    different.    It     said ClipGal/Rail/09-01/0732:12.  The  camera  angle  shifted  to  a  fracture  in  the  cave  wall. One of the  suited  troops  started  to  insert  a  shiny  stick  into  the  crack.  It  was  a  dental mirror, January saw.