The Ardoon King Page 49

  Chapter 47: Secret Door

  DIA’s “Automated Guideway Transit System” had been the airport’s primary people mover, connecting the terminal in the south to Concourses A, B, and C. Prior to the apocalypse, a fleet of subway cars had traveled up and down the illuminated mile-long track, dropping off passengers on one side and picking up passengers on the other. But the cars had ceased to function long ago and the tunnels were now pitch black and filled with a foot of water.

  Disparthian and Demit entered the tunnel at the terminal entrance, where a Peth stood guard for no particular reason. Walking north on the narrow concrete platform built to one side of the rail, they passed a series of empty and darkened transit cars. Green glow sticks had been placed on the platform every hundred feet. Red glow sticks marked egresses.

  A quarter mile north of where they started, Disparthian and Demit approached another Peth with a flashlight that he waved at them as they approached. The man was Corporal Sali.

  Sali said, “Just here, Lord.” He motioned at a large rectangle that seemed to be cut into the concrete wall above the platform, perhaps seven feet in height and eight feet in width. He motioned his commander to inspect an area behind a protruding metal plate. Disparthian did and saw a narrow key panel with keys for the numbers “0” through “9,” with “0” at top and “9” at bottom. Below that were seven additional keys, these imprinted with complicated, nonsensical shapes or wiggly lines.

  Surprisingly, all the keys were illuminated.

  Pointing at the non-numerical keys, Lieutenant Demit asked, “Are these marking like those on the tablets which the king studies?”

  Disparthian shook his head. “No. These were made by the Ardoon. It’s simply another security measure. As you can see, it is difficult to describe what is on these keys, which makes it more difficult to convey the combination to others. Such keys are reordered periodically to prevent anyone from memorizing the punch sequence.”

  Sali nodded. “There is also this,” he said, pointing.

  Disparthian looked. “Now that is interesting,” he said. There was a small biometric identification plate, no larger than a man’s thumb, on the right side of the key pad. It was almost invisible. “This is a Nisirtu design. I wonder that it is here, in an Ardoon facility.”

  Lieutenant Demit inspected the device. “It must have been scripted, Lord.” He placed this thumb on the black porcelain. Nothing happened. “As I feared.”

  Disparthian motioned the man aside and placed his thumb on the plate. There was a distant rumbling. Soon after the door slid silently into a pocket in the wall, pulled there by an unseen mechanism. Behind the opening was a long hallway. It was approximately eight feet in height and four feet in width, made entirely of concrete, illuminated at ten foot intervals by recessed lights.

  “Rank has its privileges,” said the lord, stepping over the threshold.

  At the end of the short corridor he found himself in a large, circular room, perhaps fifty-feet in diameter, with a polished concrete floor and ceiling. The concave wall was made of smooth, seamless gray granite. A single dim LED light was recessed into the center of the concrete ceiling.

  “Another door, just there,” said Demit, nodding at the opposite side of the chamber.

  The second door was massive - large enough to drive a tank through. Painted on its surface was a giant black stallion standing on its hind legs, its eyes glowing red. A golden halo encircled the stallion, and within it, words:

  United States of America – Abraxas A51 – “Per Angusta Ad Augusta”

  Disparthian said, “The painting was done long ago. It’s peeling.”

  “Curious that it was not maintained,” said Demit.

  “I agree. One assumes this place was important to the Ardoon. It appears to be a U.S. government facility. Yet I have never heard mention of a program or place called ‘Abraxas,’ and it was my job to know such things. I cannot imagine how this place could have been built by the Ardoon yet kept a secret from me.”

  “It appears unaffected by the EMP attacks, Lord. The facility still has working lights, which implies a functional generator or other power source.”

  There was another biometric plate next to this door. It also responded to Disparthian’s touch, sliding into a hidden recess. The lord and lieutenant saw a hallway beyond, which they entered. Two minutes later they reached a four-way intersection. The dimly illuminated halls extended further than their eyes could see.

  Disparthian turned to his lieutenant. “Summon 1st Platoon.”

  A few minutes later the circular entry chamber was filled with almost forty Peth. Disparthian said, “We don’t know the purpose of this facility, but it appears to have been scripted. Our objective is to determine why. Lieutenant Demit and I will continue moving forward with Alpha squad. Bravo, you’ll take the left corridor and Charlie, the right. In two hours we’ll fall back to this position for debriefs.”

  The orders given, the squads moved out.

  Disparthian, with Alpha squad, soon discovered that the underground facility was a labyrinth of corridors and rooms, large and small. Most of the rooms were austere, with concrete floors, walls, and ceilings, while a few were refined with tiles, faux paneling, even carpet. There were dozens of individual and group sleeping quarters furnished with utilitarian metal-framed beds and generic furniture, all of which appeared unused. Squares of folded linen and gray wool blankets rested atop blue-striped pillows on each of the mattresses.

  There were also a large number of empty offices with similarly generic furniture. The empty desks were made of aluminum and the chairs behind them were plastic rip-offs of higher end models used in the private sector. Everything, everywhere was functional. None of it was nice.

  At length they came to a large cafeteria. Counting the tables and plastic chairs, and taking into consideration the number of beds they’d found, Disparthian deduced that the facility was designed to house approximately three hundred people. Or at least this wing of it.

  A junior Peth ran up to Demit. “Sir!”

  “Yes?”

  “The food stores are intact.”

  Demit exchanged glances with Disparthian. “How much is there?”

  “We have just started our inventory, sir. But the quantities are very great. Canned goods, primarily. Also drums of flour, sugar, salt, and spices.”

  “Thank the gods,” Disparthian said, passing a hand over his face.

  The young Peth nodded. “Freezers, too, Lord. Six of them, each the size of a small warehouse.”

  “They still function?”

  “Yes, Lord. They are packed high with all variety of meat. There is enough food here to feed an army!”

  Disparthian allowed a smile. “I believe that was its purpose. I want you and three others to remain there and continue the inventory. You’ll be picked up by the rest of the squad when we return. No pilfering. That food is now the property of the king. It will be a month of crackers and water for any Peth who falls to temptation.”

  “As you say,” said the man, bowing slightly. He turned to the lieutenant and repeated the gesture. “Sir,” he said, before rushing away.