lead to the Great Gallery.
“Conrad.”
He knew it was Serena before she stepped into the chamber. Behind her emerged a big Russian, holding an AK-47, its laser sight glowing.
“Doctor Yeats, I presume?” The voice carried a thick Russian accent. “My name is Colonel Kovich. Where is Leonid?”
Kovich shoved Serena toward him, and Conrad caught her in his arms.
“Thank God you’re OK,” he breathed as he pulled her close.
But her business-only stare froze him. Then she glanced at the obelisk. She also took in the corpse on the floor and, much to his horror, connected it with the blood on his hands.
“Eureka, Conrad,” she told him. “You’ve found it. I hope it was worth the price.”
He said, “I can explain.”
“You killed Leonid,” Kovich said.
“Actually, he tried to kill me,” Conrad said. “That was just before he fell down a shaft without a line. In case you hadn’t noticed, your officers aren’t the best-equipped in the world.”
At that moment a gruff voice from behind the Russian said, “You can say that again.”
Conrad turned to see Yeats march into the chamber pointing an AK-47 at Kovich. “Damn piece of shit jammed on me twice. Now drop your rod, Kovich.”
Kovich frowned and placed his AK-47 on the floor next to Leonid’s corpse. “Please, General Yeats,” Kovich chided. “We are soldiers.”
Yeats walked over to Kovich and gave him a good swift knee to the groin. The Russian doubled over in agony. “Put your ass on the floor,” Yeats ordered. “Then cross your legs. Don’t screw up unless you want to look like your comrade here.”
Kovich stared at the massive hole in Leonid’s chest, then slid down the wall like Humpty-Dumpty. Yeats whipped the butt of his gun against the Russian’s skull. Conrad heard a crack and Kovich crumpled to the floor, moaning in pain.
“He’ll live,” Yeats said. “But we’ve got dozens of armed Ivans crawling all over this place, so we don’t have much time. What have you found?”
“This obelisk,” Conrad said. “It’s the key to the pyramid.”
Yeats looked at the inscriptions on the sides of the obelisk. “You know what these mean, Doctor Serghetti?”
“They say that Osiris built this thing,” Serena said, surprising Conrad by how easily she could translate the writings. “The obelisk is his scepter. It belongs in the Shrine of the First Sun.”
“What’s that?” Yeats demanded.
“The ‘Place of First Time’ I was telling you about back at Ice Base Orion,” Conrad said excitedly. All of which made sense to Conrad, because the figure of Osiris he had seen in the geothermal chamber was sitting on some kind of seat or throne. The Seat of Osiris was obviously located in this Shrine of the First Sun-along with the Secret of First Time itself.
“So then we’ll grab this Scepter of Osiris and put it where it belongs, in this so-called Shrine of the First Sun,” Yeats said.
“Not a good idea, General.” Serena pointed to the markings on the south face of the obelisk, which included a series of six rings. “The inscriptions under the six rings say the machinery controlled by the pyramid was set in motion by Osiris in order to keep a check on humanity-a sort of cosmic ‘reset’ mechanism designed to wipe the slate clean six times before the end of time.”
“A check on humanity?” Yeats said. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means the Atlanteans built this thing to prevent us from getting too advanced,” Serena said. “Kind of like the Tower of Babel in Genesis. The idea is that technological advancement is meaningless without moral advancement. So humanity is constantly tested to prove its goodness or nobility.”
“Six times,” Conrad said. “You said humanity gets six chances before the end of history. Where did you get that?”
“The six Suns, Conrad.” She read the inscriptions within each ring on the south face of the obelisk. “The First Sun was destroyed by water. The Second Sun ended when the terrestrial globe toppled from its axis and everything was covered with ice. The Third Sun was destroyed as a punishment for human misdemeanors by an all-consuming fire that came from above and below. This pyramid was built at the dawn of the Fourth Sun, which ended in a universal flood.”
“So we’re the children of the Fifth Sun, just like the Mayan and Aztec myths?” Conrad asked. “Is that what you’re saying? That we’re condemned to repeat the sins of the ancients?”
“No, that’s what your precious obelisk says,” Serena said. “And as for repeating the sins of the ancients, if the past century of human history is any guide, then we already have-in spades.”
Conrad was quiet for a moment. She had a point. Finally, he said, “And just when exactly does the Fifth Sun end and the Sixth Sun begin?”
“Just as soon as you remove the Scepter of Osiris from its stand.”
“Seriously?” Conrad said.
“Seriously.”
“She’s lying,” Yeats said.
“No, I’m not.” She glared at Yeats. “It says here that only ‘he who stands before the Shining Ones in the time and place of the most worthy can remove the Scepter of Osiris without tearing Heaven and Earth apart.’ Anybody other than the most worthy will trigger unimaginable consequences.”
“Shining Ones?” Yeats said. “Who the hell are they?”
“Stars,” Conrad said. “The Shining Ones are stars. The builders could read the stars, which foretell a specific moment in the space-time continuum, a ‘most noble’ moment. This is humanity’s ‘escape clause,’ so to speak, the secret that breaks the curse of the ancients once and for all.”
“How convenient for you, Conrad,” Serena said. “The answer is written in the stars, and you can interpret those however you want.”
“You mean like the wise men and the birth of Christ?”
Serena wasn’t biting. “That’s completely different.”
Conrad pressed her. “Or the fish symbol of the early Christians, which just happened to coincide with the dawn of the Age of Pisces and which, coincidentally, is about to end with the dawn of a new Age of Aquarius.”
“Meaning what, Conrad?” Serena demanded.
“Meaning the age of the Church is over, and that’s what’s got you and your friends at the Vatican in a tizzy.”
“You’re wrong, Conrad.”
“The stars say I’m right.”
Yeats pointed to one side of the obelisk. “You mean stars like those four constellations on the scepter?”
“No, the ones up there.” Conrad pointed up at the engravings on the domed ceiling. “This chamber is a kind of celestial clock. Watch.”
He put his hand to the obelisk and heard Serena gasp as he twisted it like a joystick, moving it one way and then another. As he did, a dull rumble began and the geodesic dome overhead began to move in sync.
“If we want to set the skies for a certain time, we begin with the cosmic ‘hour hand’ or age, which corresponds to the zodiac,” he said. “We’re at the dawn of Aquarius, so that constellation is locked over there to the east.”
As he spoke it, the dome reverted to its original position.
“The ‘minute hand’ of the clock comes from a location, such as the Southern or Northern hemispheres.”
Here Conrad moved the obelisk, and an entirely new pattern of stars rotated up from beneath the chamber floor. He rotated the dome farther, however, until he could lock the original pattern overhead.
“A third, more precise setting comes with the various equinoxes of the year.”
Conrad made his final adjustment and completed his demonstration by locking everything as it was before he started. The rumbling ceased.
“So you see, Serena, the obelisk and altar around which we stand represent the earth at a fixed location. The
