“The green men aren’t so little,” Lex observed.
“They have different heads, different faces,” Stafford added, facing Sebastian. “Do you think they are supposed to be half-human, half-animal gods, like the ancient Egyptians worshipped?”
Sebastian shook his head. “The flat faces are actually masks, I think, perhaps ceremonial. These… crab faces… may also be masks.”
“I hope,” said Bass.
Sebastian noted that some of the effigies were depicted in regal poses, but most were more dynamic, engaged in some sort of battle, usually against a strange, crustaceanlike creature with a long, narrow, eyeless head and a bony, segmented tail. Despite the unearthly artistic style and sensibility, it was clear that the heroic central figure in each sculpture were the humanoids.
“Like St. George,” Stafford marveled.
“The English knight who killed the dragon?” asked Miller, gazing up at a statue.
“St. George was Turkish… well, Cappadocian, actually,” Sebastian noted. “He was born in Asia Minor, though he did indeed become the patron saint of England in the fourteenth century.”
“Recognize what’s on their shoulders?” Lex asked.
The creatures wore weapons on some kind of shoulder mount—the guns were exact replicas of the devices Weyland and his men had just looted from the sarcophagus. Squinting through his thick glasses, Miller examined the statues.
“These weapons are carved in roughly life size,” he whispered, looking up into the sightless stone eyes of one of the effigies. “Which makes our friends here pretty big dudes.”
Sebastian directed them to a large painted mural, which depicted humans bowing in supplication to the giants. Max Stafford appeared at his shoulder.
“We worshipped these things?”
“According to this, we did.”
“Surely they were just pagan gods,” Weyland said, suddenly impatient with all the speculation. He moved forward, but Miller caught up with him.
“The heat bloom that your satellite detected makes more sense now,” said the engineer.
“What do you mean?” asked Weyland.
“A building this sophisticated would require a major energy source. That’s what the satellite detected—the power plant for this pyramid firing up… preparing.”
“Preparing for what?”
Weyland and Miller continued to move on. Sebastian remained behind to examine an etched panel. Soon, everyone but Connors and Stafford had moved down the corridor.
“Try to keep up, Professor De Rosa,” cautioned Max.
As they walked, the group moved to the center of the long corridor lined with statues. Sebastian counted over sixty before giving up. More effigies lined the passageway as far as his eyes could see—and the passage seemed to be endless.
Suddenly Lex felt a cold chill. She whirled and extended her flashlight, its column of light probing the shadows.
“See something?” Miller asked nervously.
Lex peered into the darkness. “I thought I saw a blur, or a shadow or something. But if I did, it’s gone now. The passage is empty.”
“I can’t believe the detail in some of these carvings,” Sebastian said. “Some of the sculptures are meant to be realistic representations, while others have vague, almost abstract features. I suspect the styles in art changed over the passing centuries.”
As they moved forward, Stone and Bass drifted to the back of the group to protect the rear, while Lex and Verheiden took point.
Sebastian, Charles Weyland, Max Stafford, Miller, and Connors gathered together in the center of the group, shielded by the mercenaries and their machine guns.
As soon as the humans began to move, the Predator who was stalking them from behind crossed the passageway and edged closer to its prey.
Meanwhile at the opposite end of the corridor, far ahead of the humans, another Predator morphed to visibility, its face briefly superimposed over the features of a stone statue before vanishing again.
The trap was ready to be sprung, and in the uncertain light of the sputtering flare, it was impossible for the humans to know that they were moving into the Predators’ carefully prepared ambush.
The bridge lights were burning, and despite the fact that the ship was on anchor, a full complement of officers was working on deck. The radar operator made countless futile attempts to pierce the wall of snow, while the ship’s meteorologist tried to calculate the duration of the storm based on very sketchy data.
“Is the end in sight?” Captain Leighton asked.
“I’d guess four hours. Six at the outside,” the meteorologist replied. “But it’s just a guess.”
Captain Leighton crossed the bridge and dropped a heavy hand on the radioman’s shoulder.
“Anything? Anything at all?”
“Nothing, Captain… not since the first message. The one the chief picked up.”
Leighton turned to his executive officer. “What exactly did you hear, Gordon?”
“Not much,” the XO replied. “The transmission was broken up by the storm. There was a lot of static. Some panicked voices… nothing coherent.”
“You’re sure the call came from the whaling station?”
“They identified themselves as members of Quinn’s party. Said something had attacked them… or some of them… I couldn’t quite make out the rest. I tried to respond, but I don’t think they heard me. After that, all I got was static.”
“An attack? Ridiculous,” Leighton declared. “Who could possibly mount an attack down here, and in the middle of a katabatic storm?”
“Maybe it was whoever buzzed our ship,” the XO replied.
Leighton stared into the tempest. “We have too many questions and not enough answers. And we’re not likely to get any until this storm ends and we can cross the ice to the whaling station to see for ourselves.” The captain paused to rub his tired eyes. “By then we may be too late.”
CHAPTER 22
Stone was the first to die.
Covering the group’s tail, MP-5 in his hand, he never even noticed the wire-thin noose that dropped around his throat until it was pulled tight and his windpipe had closed shut.
With a jerk on the wire his spine snapped. Then, silent and unseen, his twitching corpse was hauled upward, into the shadows.
A moment later, Bass faltered as a breeze brushed his cheek.
He turned at the same moment that a Predator spear appeared from thin air and impaled him with such force that he was pinned to the stone wall behind him. Eyes bulging, the machine gun flew from his hand. Gore spurted from his nose and mouth before he could even shout a warning to the others.
Sensing danger, Max hit the floor, dragging Charles Weyland with him. They landed hard. As Weyland grunted, Max felt the breath go right out of his boss’s frail body.
“Stay down!” Connors hissed.
But Max looked up anyway, just as something whizzed over his head. He saw the fleeting image of a disk- shaped object encrusted with gleaming, jewel-like crystals.
Lex saw it, too.
