James Axler - Earthblood 02 - Deep Trek

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Axler, James - Earth Blood 02 - Deep Trek.htm

THE SPOTLIGHT WAS COMING TOWARD THEM

"Captain Hilton!"

The volume was deafening, close to pain level. Jim clapped his hands over his

ears, wincing from the roaring voice, booming and unrecognizable, battering the

senses.

"Captain Hilton and the crew of the Aquila! Anyone know about Operation

Tempest? Show yourselves." The Chinook was about two hundred yards away,

to the north of the ghost town, hovering over a maze of dry ravines.

"Sorry we're a day late on the rendezvous here… tech problems. Come on out,

folks. Okay, we got you on the scanners."

Now the blinding light had located them, sucking them into a cone of brightness

so powerful it almost felt like being suffocated in a force field.

Jim Hilton held his breath, feeling like a fly trapped in amber. He was aware of

Sly Romero screaming in terror.

Then above it all, the noise of gunfire.

Deep Trek

#2 in the EarthBlood series

James Axler

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Axler, James - Earth Blood 02 - Deep Trek.htm

A GOLD EAGLE BOOK FROM WORLDWIDE

TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON • AMSTERDAM • PARIS •

SYDNEY • HAMBURG • STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN

MADRID • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND

If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is

stolen property. It was reported as "unsold and destroyed" to the publisher, and

neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this "stripped

book."

This one is for Mary Engesser who's been riding shotgun for a lot of long days'

journeys into light. We've never met, yet, but we share some good memories of a

good friend. This comes with my thanks.

"The sudden explosion of a handgun, the hiss of razored steel, the scream of a

hunting creature, the earthquake's rumble… these are some of the most

frightening noises in the world. But nothing can compare to the terrifying sound

of total, utter silence."

—From "The Dragon Dies" by

Tony Hills, Cymru Press, 1990.

First edition March 1994

ISBN 0-373-63808-6

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Axler, James - Earth Blood 02 - Deep Trek.htm

DEEP TREK

of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or

other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography,

photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is

forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Worldwide Library,

225 Duncan Mil) Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.

All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the

author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or

names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or

unknown to the author, and all the incidents are pure invention.

This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Enterprises B. V.

® and TM are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are

registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade

Marks Office and in other countries.

Printed in U.S.A.

PART 1

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Axler, James - Earth Blood 02 - Deep Trek.htm

PROLOGUE

Captain James Hilton, lately the commander of the United States Space Vessel

Aquila, started down the sunlit main street of the abandoned ghost town of

Calico, California.

There was the dazzle of the chromed hood of the sleek silver Mercedes sports

car parked near the open front of what had once been a popular gift shop. Mica

wind chimes still tinkled in the light breeze, and he could just taste the faint,

elusive flavor of piñon pine candles.

There were five bullet holes in the car, not counting the smashed windshield.

The nearside fender was crumpled and smeared with brown, drying blood. One

of the double headlights was gone, and Jim could still make out the macabre

hank of blond-haired scalp that dangled from the socket.

The rough surface of the old picnic table in front of him felt warm to the touch.

He glanced at the sky, seeing it was cloudless from east to west.

It was November 15, 2040, the date and the place that Zelig had warned them to

attend.

He looked around, seeing what changes the past seven eventful weeks had

wrought in his command. Mentally he ticked off the names of the crew, finding

to his dismay that some of the faces had already blurred.

Dr. Bob Rogers from Topeka, dead in his cryo-capsule.

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Mike Man, the best chess player that Jim had ever known, dead in the landing

crash.

Marcey Cording, the Aquila's number two, decapitated.

Ryan O'Keefe, their psychiatrist, also dead at Stevenson Base.

Jed Herne, shot by a sniper not far from San Francisco, his death described to

them all by Jeff Thomas that morning.

Pete Turner and Henderson "Mac" McGill, both missing, believed killed. Their

planned trip up to New England had been the longest and the most dangerous.

Mac's loss was about the hardest to bear of the seven dead or lost.

Then there were the survivors from the Aquila.

Himself.

Steve Romero and Kyle Lynch, who'd left together and returned together.

Jeff Thomas, beating the odds to return to Calico.

And Carrie Princip, who'd been such a vital support for Jim through the past

seven weeks.

Down to seven from twelve.

But they also had some additions.

Hilton's own daughter, Heather, eleven years old. She was sitting on the porch of

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what used to be the house of the town's schoolteacher, playing a game with a

handful of quartz pebbles along with ever-smiling Sly Romero. The boy was

about eighteen, but he acted more like ten. His round, gentle face turned toward

Jim, and the boy waved a soft hand.

Jim waved back, then turned his head to the north, where the ground rose

steeply, close by the remains of an old mining railway. He felt the woman before

he saw her, conscious of the intensity of her gaze.

The enigmatic Nanci Simms, immaculate in her khaki pantsuit and polished

boots, stood on the ridge and stared at him.

There were some questions there. Jeff had come in with the sixty-year-old

stranger, but he hadn't talked much about her. Jim Hilton reckoned the questions

could wait awhile.

There was no sign of Zelig, no sign of anyone moving as far as the eye could

see. Just the ocher expanse of the desert, stretching away, unchanged and eternal.

But the dried shards of sagebrush and mesquite still showed in the distance,

carrying the scarlet tint of the lethal plant cancer that had ravaged Earth while

the Aquila was on its mission. It had caused the deaths of tens of millions of the

planet's population, changing life forever. Jim sighed. "What now?" he said.

Chapter One

The pile of paper advertised the Barstow Film Festival: February 1st Thru 10th,

2040.

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Jim Hilton browsed quickly through the list of vids and movies that were

scheduled. A few names he recognized, and a few more he didn't. A

retrospective season of Peckinpah's best, as well as a new print of the cult classic

Repo Man, including six minutes of never-shown footage and a rare candid

interview with the director, an eighty-five-year-old Englishman called Alex Cox.

He was also the guest of honor at the festival.

The other side of the flyer was clear, except for a few lines about a special late

addition: The Best There Ever Was—The Films of Harry Dean Stanton.

"Him I've heard of," muttered Jim.

It had occurred to him that some sort of a log or a journal might not be a bad

idea, something to set down a record for anyone coming after. There was a

pencil in the desk, and he took one of the sheets of dry, dusty paper and began to

write.

THE UNITED STATES Space Vessel Aquila, under his command, had been out

on a two-year deep-dark mission. When the crew had been brought back out of

cryosleep prior to landing, it had been to find a changed world, a world ravaged

by the plant cancer known as "Earthblood," which had destroyed all plant life

across the planet in a matter of months.

When the plants died, the animals and birds and fish died. And then the people.

Cities were boneyards where only ghouls now lived. Towns were abandoned to

the flourishing scavengers like the coyotes and the vultures.

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Small communities either vanished or became armed camps of gun-hungry

vigilantes.

I went up to my old house in Hollywood with Carrie Princip. She was second

navigator on the Aquila. Found my wife and one of my twin girls dead. Brought

Heather back here to Calico.

Jim reached for a new piece of paper, wondering idly if the Barstow Film

Festival had ever taken place, guessing that the ecodisaster would have struck

too quickly.

Steve Romero and Kyle Lynch went off together, up to Colorado. Steve was the

radio honcho. Kyle, the only black in the crew, was chief navigator. They came

back safely with Steve's boy, Sly. Nice kid, with Down's syndrome.

That covered six of the eight.

Outside, through the shattered glass of a side window, Jim could see Jeff

Thomas walking with Nanci Simms. The West American had paid millions of

dollars to get their star journalist on board the mission. Now Jeff had the greatest

scoop in history but no newspaper to write for. No newspapers anywhere, except

for the ragged pages that were blowing in the wind.

Jeff had gone out toward San Francisco along with Jed Herne, the ship's

electronics expert. Jed had also played free safety for the New York Giants

before a bad knee injury finished his career.

Now he was dead, shot by a sniper.

That was what Jeff Thomas had told Jim Hilton when he arrived in the old ghost

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town.

Jim wrote, "Jed Herne, killed on the way to San Francisco. By rifleman." Then

he drew a question mark and circled it.

Jefferson Lee Thomas. After the disastrous crash landing of the Aquila back in

Nevada at Stevenson, he'd weighed a pudgy one-sixty-five. Now he'd slimmed

down to around one-fifty.

Arrogant and argumentative, he'd not been the most popular crew member, but

now there was something different about the twenty-four-year-old. Something at

the corners of his eyes when he'd been telling Jim and the other survivors about

the murder of Jed Herne.

"Heard the crack, then Jed went down. Clean through the head. Didn't say a

word. Never saw the man who shot him. One moment he's walking along with

me, then he's flat on his back, staring up at the sun with sightless eyes."

Only problem was, Jim had heard him telling Steve Romero that they'd both

been on mountain bikes and that the killer had been a raggedy old man with

white hair.

He thoughtfully circled the question mark again with the blunt stub of pencil.

The last name was Nanci Simms.

Though she was open and pleasant and obviously extremely tough and resilient,

she had an oddly guarded, impenetrable quality.

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She looked to be close to sixty, though her six-foot body was in terrific shape.

Jim Hilton had shaken hands with her and he had felt steel and whipcord in the

grip. Jeff had introduced her as a retired schoolteacher from San Francisco.

Jim hadn't met many retired lady teachers who carried a 16-round, 9 mm Port

Royale machine pistol across their shoulders and a pair of Heckler & Koch P-

111 pistols on the hip. Greased and ready for action.

He shook his head.

The light was just beginning to fade away toward the west as the sun dipped

behind the Sierras. Night came fast out in the desert. The fifteenth day of the

eleventh month of the year was nearly over.

There'd been no sign of General John Kennedy Zelig. He'd been the senior

officer in charge of the space mission. Now, with something mysterious called

Operation Tempest, Zelig had left them a runic message to all meet together in

the ghost town of Calico on November 15.

They were all there, the survivors, but nothing had happened.

Just the eight of them. He wondered what had happened to the other couple of

crew members who'd survived the crash and the bloody attack on them back at

Stevenson Base.

Henderson McGill and Pete Turner. Mac was the astrophysicist and, at forty-

five, the oldest member of the Aquila's complement. He'd also been Jim Hilton's

best friend. Pete had been second pilot, a thirty-six-year-old widower with no

children. His wife had been murdered by muggers, years earlier, on the Lower

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Axler,James-EarthBlood02-DeepTrek.htmTHESPOTLIGHTWASCOMINGTOWARDTHEM"CaptainHilton!"Thevolumewasdeafening,closetopainlevel.Jimclappedhishandsove hisears,wincingfromtheroaringvoice,boomingandunrecognizable,batteringthesenses."CaptainHiltonandthecrewoftheAquila!AnyoneknowaboutOperationTempest?Showyo...

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