At six feet seven inches tall, Marty Mays always made an imposing first impression on those who had the pleasure to meet him. Hailing from Texas, he was typical of those who had spent his life serving others, first as a cop, then as a firefighter. In later years, his dry sense of humor and no nonsense attitude helped him become one of the most respected Captains the Emergency Fire & Rescue community had ever seen.
Marty had worked hard for decades to change the culture of the Fire Service toward a more realistic training structure. By making himself and his staff available to the nucleus of highly competent veterans in every department, he gradually helped spread the ethic of self policing their own levels of professionalism and expertise.
Within twenty-four months of implementation, his methods had impacted core principles across the board in Texas, improving standards and rooting out those slackers not prepared to pull their weight. Marty’s packages became the benchmark standard to achieve, not only in the USA, but also Europe, where his sound judgment was much in demand.
And on the morning of October 2nd, that demand led to his presence in the Mid-Point Safety Control Area, more than two hundred and fifty feet down under the English Channel, along with a combined group of executives and maintenance managers from EuroTram.
Opened in 1994, the Channel Tunnel possesses the longest underwater stretch of track in the world, with over twenty-three of its thirty-one mile length being fully submerged. Comprised of two, twenty-five-foot diameter passenger bores running side by side thirty yards apart, the system is complimented by a sixteen-foot service channel running between the main lines which can be accessed by cross-passages and piston relief ducts, set at eight hundred and twenty-foot intervals.
Because of previous fires in 1994, 1996, 2009 and 2028, security and health and safety measures employed within the tunnel were now state of the art. Marty was currently at the halfway safety station, inspecting a selection of carts from the Transport System Vehicle—TSV—fleet, used to provide cover in the event of emergencies. Operating from Folkestone, Coquelles, and Mid-Point station itself, four TSVs were always patrolling at any given time and could be kitted out with different pods, equipped to address a variety of situations. No matter where an emergency might arise, TSVs were capable of reaching an incident within ten minutes.
Having scrutinized conditions within the confines of the tunnels over the past forty-eight hours, Marty had been able to devise the framework for a number of realistic training scenarios to better prepare the teams here to face danger in this kind of environment. That framework involved an adaptation to the TSVs themselves, a move that would enhance their longevity and versatility. It was also a costly necessity. Despite the cost involved, Marty was confident the gathered bigwigs would accept his proposals, for he possessed an edge when it came to this type of thing: the value of foresight, as granted by the gifts that had burgeoned within him as a child.
Marty had the most amazing affinity with energy; be it thermal, electrical, electro-magnetic, hydraulic, kinetic, and so on. He could delve into it, absorb it, and completely negate its effects on his surroundings. By experimenting, he discovered that if he combined that skill with an offshoot of his powerful shielding ability, he could create mirror barriers capable of keeping that dynamism confined to one area or completely at bay.
As he grew older, Marty unearthed an unusual aspect about himself that he could add with pride to his psychic curriculum vitae. He could see into and through solid objects and actually distinguish the atoms making up their substance. By meshing the right facet of his mind to the exact harmonic frequency of whatever he was viewing, he found that—with concentration—he could physically interpenetrate walls, doors, and other seemingly unyielding obstacles.
Those skills came in mighty handy when he was a police officer, as he always managed to avoid being injured no matter what confrontation he was dispatched to.
They were of even greater benefit when Marty found his true calling as a firefighter, for no matter how difficult or dangerous the situation; he invariably walked away without a scratch. And as time went by, the list of those he saved grew ever longer.
It was no wonder Marty had become the training genius he was. His intimate knowledge of the way energies propagated through various mediums meant he was capable of devising the most elaborate response drills imaginable to exploit the inherent weaknesses found in all elements.
His presence that day was most fortuitous for the three hundred passengers aboard the 10:00 a.m. First Class Express now fourteen minutes into its thirty-five minute dash from Folkestone to Calais. Nearing the halfway point of their journey, they were currently traversing the deepest stretch of the system and about to encounter a whole world of woe.
While security was tight in and about the tunnel itself, the same couldn’t be said of the seabed above it. Earlier that morning, a proxy commissioned by the White Tigers had caught the pre-dawn passenger and vehicle ferry travelling in the opposite direction. Whilst en-route, she activated an encoded microwave emitter twice, initiating the Double-Ds previously deployed. Thus armed, two different groups of three mines tuned into the specific vibrations stored in their memories and sank toward the sediment. Arriving there, they commenced burrowing their way through the one hundred and fifty-foot thick chalk and clay stratum, toward the quivering tunnel hidden beneath. Once they reached the reinforced concrete outer shell of their target, they paused, waiting for the go signal that would synchronize the final phase of the attack.
That stage was initiated some three and a half hours later.
Marty had just finished highlighting the various strategies EuroTram would need to implement in the event of fire, slow water ingress and catastrophic failure when he sensed, and then felt, a prominent tremor run through the substructure around him.
“Was that a train?” one of the younger suits asked; an office flunky who obviously didn’t get out much. Not only did he look ridiculous in his borrowed lab coat and ill-fitting protective hat, but the worried expression plastered across his face revealed he was ill at ease in any setting that didn’t include plush leather chairs, mahogany desks and an expensive scroll phone pressed constantly to his ear.
His agitation was infectious. In moments, the older bespoke-clad clones were also fidgeting and muttering between themselves.
Failing to hide a withering frown of disgust, Gerard Halstead, the director responsible for the service and maintenance department replied, “No . . . Sir! The vibrations produced by our fleet are dampened by the special absorptive bedding we use under the tracks. That was something different. Remember, we are underground and the thousands of miles worth of metal, pipes and cladding do shift about from time to time.”
Marty admired the man’s professionalism. He could see the guy knew something was up, but wasn’t letting on yet for fear the pampered entourage might soil themselves.
“A train is due to pass soon though, isn’t it?” Marty asked.
One of the lower echelon managers checked his watch. “Yes, it’s the ten o’clock VIP service on the way to Calais.”
The ground shook again and Marty noticed a subtle change in the pulse’s intensity. He angled his head to one side and phased in his special sight. Almost immediately, he recognized three distinct patterns within the acoustic waveform . . . and something else. Something different!
One pattern belonged to that of the looming express. Although over a mile away, it was closing fast in excess of a hundred miles an hour. The other tones were deeper and coming from much farther afield; from opposite directions in fact; oscillations that were only now impinging in the center of the France-bound tunnel.
What worried Marty the most was that these frequencies contained an echo that he’d only recently encountered, so he knew without reservation that something was wrong. How the hell did exotic particles find their way down here?
Keeping his gaze fixed firmly on the maintenance director, Marty reached across and punched the plunger sprouting from the middle of the alarm box like an angry red mushroom. “Gerard, it might be best if you get these guys out of here now. I think things are gonna get real interesting, real soon.”
Gerard knew a command when he heard one. Rounding on the executives and pointing at a fellow technician, he shouted over the sound of the klaxon, “Gentlemen, listen in! Would you calmly follow Ron here into one of the TSVs? We need to get you back to Folkestone, ASAP.”
Turning to his colleague, Gerard continued, “Ron, if anyone gives you any trouble, you have my permission to kick their backsides. Starting now!”
While the minions were being ushered under protest into the rearmost vehicle, Marty watched as Gerard directed another engineer to accompany him to the control console where they ensured all cross passage and piston release duct hatches were operating properly and were either sealed or primed. As they did so, Gerard used his radio to contact both costal terminals to explain the nature of the crisis from the scant details he had so far. Then he initiated an emergency stop of the train and looked back to Marty for further instructions.
Excellent. He’s cool and professional and not in the least bit interested in engaging in a pissing contest while I’m on his turf. I’m glad he’s here, it’ll make my job a darn sight easier . . . hopefully. Marty appeared to be leaning with his hand pressed against the wall, thinking. In reality, his farsight was allowing him to evaluate the double nightmare rolling toward them from either end of the tunnel in excess of one hundred and forty miles an hour. Well ride me sideways!
Referring to the reinforced doors, Marty asked, “Gerard, it feels like there’s been an explosion and we might have a shit-storm from hell bearing down on us harder than a bull in heat. Can you halt the first few carriages in the area outside this hatch?”
“I can if I have to. . .” Gerard grimaced, “though it will be rough for those on board, especially if they’re standing.”
“Do it! ‘Better hurt than dead,’ as my daddy used to say. I’m just going to a take a quick peek outside to make sure I’ve got this right. Oh, and Gerard, it might be best to get some more transporters here. Pronto.”
“I’m already on it. We should have an extra couple of TSVs coming at us from either end in the next few minutes, each carrying two drivers. They can pick up the redundant pod-free units on the way here and create a nice little convoy.”
“Well, now were cooking on gas. What capacity will that give us?”
Gerard looked thoughtful for a moment. “Not enough. Even if all eight rigs get here in time, we’ll still only have room for two hundred bods . . . maybe a dozen more if we cram ‘em in like sardines.”
Marty nodded. “Better hope the Guardians get wind of this pretty soon then, or a lot of people are gonna get all warm and toasty in ways they can’t imagine.”
And with that, he released the locking mechanism of the gate and stepped through onto the track.
Illumination within the tunnel had been extinguished and intermittent warning beacons flashed in synchronous rhythm toward the nearest exits, north and south, creating an eerie setting against the glare of the decelerating train’s lights.
Brakes squealed and sparks arced as Gerard’s efforts manifested, causing Marty to cover his eyes and cringe away. But the mental assault didn’t stop there. The shrieking intensified, building into a crescendo that assailed Marty’s ears, causing them to pop and spurring him to project his acuity outward for a second time.
On this occasion he was able to taste the precise nature of the two-handed fists punching toward them, encased as they were in pyrotechnic gauntlets. Exotic particles filled the vapor saturated air, compounding the dynamics of the fire. In turn, insane compression—generated by the inrush of so much water in such a confined space—only served to fuel the flames. From Marty’s perspective, it looked as if they’d been force-fed oxygen from a blast furnace. The results were horrific.
Preparing himself for the inevitable, Marty began to harmonize with the approaching energy surges and was surprised to find they were a hydra of contradictions. An unusual girdle, composed of both ultraviolet and infrared luminance led the way. Behind it came a hypersonic comber that ushered a further wave of thermonucleic emissions along in its wake. That was shadowed by a highly compact kinetic-hydraulic swathe that got stronger and stronger the further it travelled. And Marty could see why. As the seabed above continued to collapse, the pelagic invasion squeezed ever more millions of tons of water in and down, ensuring the situation would only get worse.
It did. And that’s when things started happening, all at once and very quickly.
Firstly, the express itself slammed to an abrupt halt, throwing most of those who had been clinging on for dear life inside to the floor.
Ignoring their piercing cries of pained surprise, Marty took a good long breath to ready himself for the task ahead.
Within seconds, he heard Gerard shouting toward those people already managing to exit the carriages. “This way, this way! Quickly now. No, just leave your bags, bulky items and laptops where they are. That’s it, through the door as fast as . . . You!” Yes, you—idiot! I said leave your laptops where they are or I’ll personally beat some sense into you for putting others in danger. . . .”
Marty grinned, and then cursed himself when he realized the ensuing stampede had distracted him from something unfolding at the very edge of his perceptions. What the hell is that? It’s like a drop in tension?
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
He tested the barometric gradient of his surroundings. Yes, everything is leveling off. But that should be impossible . . . Unless it’s the Guardians?
Broadening his search, he detected two concentrations of ionized radiation issuing from somewhere high in the heavens. Thunderstruck, he followed their trajectory downward and his heart leaped as twin photonic beams seared the fractured lining at either end of the main bore shut. He blinked, astrally, and found himself looking at a matching set of ugly, but effective plugs of melted concrete. Thank Jesus for that, it is the Guardians! Now we’ll get some . . .? What now?
All too soon, Marty detected a much nearer problem. A resonating growl rumbled out of the distance, rising in pitch until it drowned out the screams of those who were still scrabbling for safety. Beyond them, an ever brightening glow turned their disheveled outlines black. Then even their silhouettes were blanched from existence as an igneous deluge manifested—painfully bright and unmercifully hot—promising a quick end to all it could swallow.
I’ve never stretched myself this far. Raising his arms into a crucifix position, Marty closed his eyes, flexed his knees and braced himself to absorb the giddy inrush of choleric madness. He sincerely hoped the passengers in the end compartments had made it safely out, as there was nothing he could do for them.
The instant the hammer struck the anvil, Marty became one with the multiple resonances reflecting and refracting and rebounding through the air about him. Bending them to his will, he commenced molding the first rush of exotic ferocity into an acoustic bulwark, a tangible forbidding which grew in density the closer the holocaust pressed. He added to its strength by siphoning the secondary wave of hydraulic pressure through the flames, thereby allowing the pursuing waters to close in on the fire itself. Preoccupied as he was, Marty still became aware of an intrusion at the subatomic level, for it was insistent and kept testing the integrity of his screens.
Marty’s initial reaction was to try and mesh with it. However, he found the wraith would rotate and skip away from him, resisting all attempts to lock on to it. Comprehension brought little relief. Ah, it must be another facet of the Guardians response. Whatever it is they’re up to, I hope it turns into something useful quickly.
The conflagration was now close enough to buckle metal and spontaneously combust solids. Doing his best to disregard the Guardians entirely, Marty started to push a third wash of harmonized thermal, acoustic and gravitational potential out to meet the ravenous inrush, his intent being to hold the nightmare at bay long enough for stragglers to escape.
In an amazing feat of strength and endurance he did just that, extending his mirror barrier for nearly two hundred feet in either direction. Though unable to encompass the entire train, Marty wasn’t too concerned as prudence dictated it was better to be safe than sorry.
He needn’t have worried in any event. The Guardian probe returned, playing over him repeatedly and causing his abilities to twitch in choral sympathy, before skipping across the threshold of his conjuring like an inquisitive sprite. Seemingly satisfied with what it found, the beam then hopped onto the melting carriages beyond the reach of Marty’s influence where it unexpectedly intensified.
Just as the storm reached his blockade, Marty noticed whatever life signs still remained outside his protective sphere winked away, snatched from certain doom at the very last second.
A deathly hush fell over him.
Still deliberating his next course of action, Marty opened his eyes to watch as the muddied lifeblood of the English Channel slammed into the firewalls, extinguishing them in an instant and adding the burden of millions of tons of liquid, evaporating water and expanding gas to the stresses he had to bear.
Yet silence still dominated.
The benefit of decades of experience came to the rescue. Reacting intuitively, Marty adjusted his labors to compensate. It was only as he did so that he realized he now stood within a shimmering golden halo, a contrivance that drastically reduced the chances of him being distracted by outside influences as he worked. So that’s why it went so quiet.
Glancing to one side, Marty was surprised to find the source of that halo standing right next to him; a young Guardian woman with the faraway look of someone lost in deep concentration.
A man’s voice called out from behind him, “She’s experimenting and trying to deploy a shield that won’t cause your own abilities to react. Quite a job, considering what you can do. Fortunately, she’s already a master at her craft . . . like you.”
Marty glimpsed the two bronze bands signifying her rank at the end of her sleeves.
The same voice continued, “And that’s something of a quirky talent you have there, Marty. Tell me, can you keep it up for another ten minutes or so?”
“Ten minutes? Hell, if you can fix me up some steak and eggs when this is all over, I’ll stay here all day.”
A note of humor colored the male Guardian’s response. “Super! Then you won’t mind hanging around once we’ve got all these civilians safely out of the way. I’m hoping you’ll help us drain the tunnels? We can’t have all these expensive toys getting rusty now, can we?”
Warming to the guy’s spirit, Marty grinned from ear to ear. He couldn’t wait to see how the Guardians would manage such a feat, as he knew full well he wasn’t strong enough to push such a vast quantity of water out all by himself.
It was as he waited that Marty sensed the familiar impression of the transporters activating again. On this occasion, however, he discerned a number of additional codices that were somehow more natural, interspersed amongst the signal patterns. Several Guardians materialized nearby, just before a larger group of two dozen of their colleagues manifested behind them. Holy cow! Did I just crack the difference between a natural teleport frequency and one that’s artificially engendered? That’s a new one.
As the last of the survivors were ushered away, the female Guardian next to him lowered her screen. “Hi, I’m Varna.”
They were joined by an older man bearing a silver band on each cuff. “And I’m Seth. Marty, the reason I asked you to keep things in check for us is that we’re about to scan the tunnel to determine how much seawater we need to clear. Once we’ve done that, we’ll combine in harmonic union—that’s our term for the meshing of our extrasensory potential—so that we can blend more precisely to the frequencies by which our transporters operate.
“Such a massive volume of muck and fluid will be extremely difficult to lift and shift. So we’re not even going to try. Instead, we’ll do something similar to what the Overlord accomplished earlier in the year down in the Indian Ocean, but in our case, we’ll only need to open a double set on miniature wormholes so that everything drains away under the pull of its own weight. Get it?”
“Yes,” Marty was stunned by how straightforward the Guardians tactics were, “yes I do. And I like it.”
“Coming from you, that’s high praise indeed, especially as you’re the key to its success. We’ve noticed how strong you are at distinguishing between various forms of energy and the way you then counter whatever you’re facing by generating an inverse response to cancel out the problem? So, what I’d like you to do is this: keep your existing force fields in place as they are and, as the results of our efforts begin to register, adjust them to match the drop in pressure. If you run into trouble, Varna will lend a hand. Understood?”
Marty shrugged. “Don’t sweat it. As I said earlier, I’m in this for the steak and eggs. A man can work up a mighty appetite farting around when he should be relaxing.”
Quite a few heads turned to look his way, either nodding in agreement or snickering openly in the special bond of comradeship experienced by those used to facing danger. Still tittering, they swiftly got down to business with a proficiency that only heightened Marty’s respect. While Varna remained by Marty’s side, the rest of the Guardians divided into two groups and positioned themselves before the translucent planes of his barriers.
Watching them closely, Marty felt the moment they began to weave their minds together, for an almost musical score coalesced in the ether, a sonorous medley that continued to soar in scope and potential with each passing instant. The notes thrummed along his synapses, scaling in tone and texture toward a utopian crescendo.
He thought they couldn’t possibly go any higher, but they did, swelling and expanding and deepening until a distinctive harmony rang forth, a concordat that multiplied the sum of its total exponentially.
When the power of the transporter emitters was phased in, Marty experienced a momentary hit of elation, and then all that majesty was focused into the creation of four distinct vortices. Divided into pairs, the twofold gateways thrummed to the resonance of incongruent polarities. One set contained a positive aspect and were anchored within the foundations of the flooded tunnel on either side of him, while their negative counterparts stabilized in midair, twenty feet above the surface of the Channel itself.
A tremor fluttered along the newly formed subspace corridors, whereupon the opposite poles reached out to each other, creating gravity wells leading upward. No sooner had the connection stabilized than the subsumed waters started to dissipate, regurgitating at a rate of thousands of gallons every second.
Time ticked slowly by. Marty was puzzled by the fact that he couldn’t discern any lessening in the load he was handling. Noting his concern, Varna explained: Don’t fret. I knew you were told to expect fluctuating conditions, but we adapted our strategy. As well as the elementally gifted Guardians you saw earlier, were also being supported by two teams of TK heads who are working in tandem from opposite ends of the tunnel. They’re helping to maintain a constant level of pressure to give your mirror ability something to react to. We decided on the change so we could dry things off as we went along. It’ll minimize the damage and allow our Inquisitors to get straight in there.
Intrigued by Varna’s statement, Marty contented himself by testing the resistance of the opposing forces at play. It took him eight minutes before he was able to discern a difference. Shoot! These guys are good. Then something else—energies operating on an entirely different level—caught his attention. Hey, is . . . is that . . . ?
Yes, Varna replied, catching his thoughts: That’s psychic energy. Take the opportunity to attune to it, as it may come in handy in the future if we end up working together again. . .
You never know! She added, in reply to his unspoken skepticism.
Before Marty had the chance to fire off a particularly droll comeback, the Guardian commander, Seth, interrupted their mental conversation. “Okay, Marty, we’re all done. Drop the bubble and take a look.”
He did as instructed and was stunned to find a pristine rail track stretching off in both directions. Seth continued, “As Varna intimated, we thought we’d take advantage of your help and do some repairs on the way through.” he shrugged, “Though I’m afraid we can’t do anything about getting the trains to run on time.”
Slapping the commander heartily on the back, Marty teased, “Hey, buddy, people expect the impossible from you guys as it is! But c’mon, I think that would be beyond the influence of even real angels.”
Everyone burst out laughing, and as the guardians started teleporting away, the hatch to the Mid-Point Safety Area clanged open, revealing the startled face of the maintenance director, Gerard Halstead. Staring in wide-eyed wonder, he gasped, “You . . . you’re one of them?”
“And who are you?” Seth interjected, addressing Gerard directly.
Like a guilty child discovered with his hand in the cookie jar, Gerard pointed to Marty and spluttered, “I’m with him!”
Marty was genuinely concerned. “Hey, brother. You’re a professional, why the hell didn’t you get out of here with the others?”
“I supposed to be your liaison and stayed behind to make sure you were alright.”
“Well, now you know,” Marty responded, his tone becoming more serious. “I was never in any real danger. You were. Now I’m going to have to do what you ordered Ron to do, and kick some sense into your ass.”
Stepping between them, Seth offered a gentler solution. “I think we might be able to help you out there, Marty. Why don’t we drop him off our way?”
Something in the Guardian’s voice made Marty suspicious. “Our way? Why, where are we going?”
“One of the Inquisitors would like to pick your brains regarding the energies you may have detected when the tunnel was ruptured. Your evidence will come in real handy during the investigation. The Lord Evaluator would also like to chat to you. He won’t keep you long, but in view of all the people coming forward lately, he’s indicated this incident might provide a golden opportunity for something . . . mutually beneficial. Are you game?”
Marty thought about it for a moment. “Why not. I’ve always wanted to see how the other half lives. And if it involves those steak and eggs I mentioned, I might even become a regular visitor.”
*
Later that day, Marty was feeling very full and very pleased with himself. Not only had he enjoyed the most magnificent lunch ever—steak and eggs included—but out of curiosity, he’d submitted to an assay of his abilities.
Knowing you have raw talent is one thing. Finding out just how strong they are, quite another. Marty had been stunned to learn that he was blessed with the potential to be a High Grand Master Class energy manipulator, shielder, and harmonic mimicker. Traits that were rare indeed. He also possessed Master Class telepathic functioning and a refined dexterity for both far and deepsight.
The thing was, because he had spent his life using those gifts in the service of others, his primary attributes were already close to Grand Master level in strength.
Although the Guardians would have loved Marty to join their ranks, they knew his professional and family commitments would be too great an obstacle to surmount. Marty’s wife, Jinga, loved their home life in Texas too much to leave, and their son, Matt, was career military. Nevertheless, Marty’s professional status and qualifications presented an opportunity whereby the world could witness the benefits of a respected leader in his field becoming the first ever licensed Emergency Services Trainer.
It was hoped this act would open the door to others like him still out there, and inspire them to declare their gifts and expertise by registering. The effect such know-how would have on public safety would be astounding and go a long way in helping mankind implement new technologies safely.
Marty was drawn to that solution and went on to become the poster boy for all those hidden gems who had—up until now—been reticent to reveal themselves. And, as his fame grew, Marty also established himself as a revolutionary in the standardization of training protocols for a proposed Global Fire and Rescue Service, heading a team that had the most advanced training policy ever devised.
*
It was over this same period that three of the individuals “volunteered” to publicly out themselves by the Council stepped forward into the limelight.
Initial reservations were overcome when it was established that, although sponsored by a company that seemed overly zealous in its pursuit of gifted talent, none of the applicants had criminal records. Nor were they linked—directly or indirectly—to actual acts of unlawful activity. What’s more, rigorous vetting subsequently failed to unearth any skeletons that might raise concerns. Each of the applicants was who they said they were and their professional credentials were beyond reproach.
Passed as fit for employment as representatives of Yeung Technologies, Simon Cooper, a forty-five year old astrophysicist blessed with telepathic, telekinetic, and shape shifting abilities; Harry Johnson, a thirty-four-year-old geologist possessing compulsive and healing skills in equal measure; and Esther Perry, a thirty-six-year-old microbiologist and bio-chemist empowered with incredible telepathic, empathic, and elemental capabilities, found themselves snapped up by eager recruiters for the Antarctica Research Co-operative before October had run its course.
The Co-operative was a multinational conglomerate of some of the world’s top analysts and researchers who were leading the way in the development of clean air and artificial tree technology. They also undertook various other classified studies, as funded by MIT, Salk, Utrecht and Oxford University.
As the newly appointed ambassadors for the Co-operative, the trio would never forget their first assignment. Tasked to measure the ozone layer above the geomagnetic South Pole, their mission seemed a straightforward one.
However, the meteorite strike back in January had subsequently affected ambient background radiation throughout the region, and radio and microwave telecommunications across the continent had remained sketchy ever since.
As their inspection route would take them close to the recently completed Chinese research faculty, Kunlun Station, the team had been asked to make a small diversion to deliver a consignment of extra batteries and fuel for that facility’s operations center. Since opening the previous month, inhabitants at the outpost had reported weird energy spikes, many of which caused repeated power outages.
In itself, that presented nothing in particular to worry about.
Even so, survey crews throughout the area had been warned to take more than the usual precautions, as several expeditions had gone missing over the past six months. Not only had investigators had been baffled by the disappearances, but they found no clues whatsoever as to what might have befallen those concerned. All were experienced explorers and well used to Antarctica’s hostile environment.
Regardless, the Pin-ups—as they were being labeled—along with the support of three tried and tested veterans from the Co-operative’s pool of staff, set off on the morning of October 31st, looking forward to what their fortnight in the world’s coldest meat locker would bring.
After all, they were metapsychically proficient; they were experienced; they know how to navigate and look after themselves; and they had some of the most powerful backers in the world.
What could possibly go wrong?