Dulce Truths

Whether the Grays read that thought or not, Anderholt doesn’t know. Perhaps they chose to ignore it. Anderholt has no way of knowing either way, but one thing he does know — he won’t be dying here, at least not today. That thought fills him with a sense of confidence, boosting his courage, and making him realize that there was nothing to worry about. He was in charge, and he’d act like it.

‘The base I’ll see built here’ you said, Anderholt thinks, trying his best to direct it toward the Grays. If that’s the case, then get out of my way and let me build it.

Anderholt keeps his gaze locked on the Gray closest to him, wondering if a thing with no eyelids could be stared down. He receives his answer a moment later when, without a word — or thought in this case — the Grays simply turn and begin to walk away down the long tunnel. After 40 yards or so wall lights end and the blackness swallows them up.

“Sir…” one of the men behind him says, “…what just happened?”

Anderholt turns around to look at the man, and the dozen or so others with him. “We’ve made contact, gentlemen… did you hear them talking to me with their thoughts?” No one speaks, but nearly everyone shakes their head ‘no.’ The colonel nods. “Didn’t think so.”

“Now what, sir?”

Anderholt turns and looks back down that long, dark tunnel. What is down there, he thinks, and how will it kill me? The Grays had said 32 years from now. That’d be 1979. Anderholt is 30 now. I’ve got time, he thinks, and then turns back to look at the men, and also to move toward them. They straighten up as he does so.

“Men, let’s file out.”

“Sir?” one of them says, alarmed. After all, they’d just spent so much time getting into the place, and had lost their guide.

Anderholt stops and looks at the soldier, then the others. “We’ve got a lot of equipment to bring in here if we mean to get this base started. Let’s get a move-on.”

He begins walking again, to the soldiers and then past them. He doesn’t look back as he starts back to the cave’s entrance… he knows he doesn’t need to. Nothing is going to harm Colonel Anderholt for some time. There was nothing to be afraid of… yet.

Part I

1 — The Back Door

Dulce Tunnels (Level 5)

Friday, May 25, 1979

12:15 AM

Turn continues to stare at the two in front of him, especially this new man named Bennewitz. The three of them are running for all they’re worth — well, not Turn, as his cybernetic legs would’ve taken him right past the other two without a sweat — for they know that up five levels at the base’s entrance, Stu is there with his CED device. Any minute now and the whole place will be demolished, those upper levels and even those way down here, where the tube trains run and where they’d find a path to another base.

Turn still couldn’t believe what he’d just seen minutes before — Aaron pulling his knife from Johnny’s chest. Why Aaron would kill a fellow teammate, Turn didn’t know, but he knew he had to find out. If he didn’t, more of his teammates would die. But how many are just like Aaron, he thinks, traitors in our midst, just waiting to stick the knife in?

“Guys, I’ve gotta tell you something…” Turn starts to say, the three of them still running.

“It isn’t about that traitor Aaron Haney, is it?” Paul says over his shoulder.

“How… how’d you know?” Turn asks.

Paul looked back over his shoulder at Turn, a sly smile on his face. He was a wild-eyed man with red, curly hair and shining white teeth. Turn didn’t know if he could trust him… didn’t know if he could trust anyone anymore.

“There’s a lot of things Paul here knows,” Walter says, not looking back, “and the big reason for that is how much time travelling he’s done.”

“Whoa!” Turn says, slowing and then stopping completely. The other two had no choice but to stop as well, to turn and look back at Turn. “This is gettin’ a little too damn weird.” He shakes his head and crosses his arms. “I need some answers.”

“Turn, this base is gonna blow in…” Walter looks over at Paul, who in turn looks down at his watch.

“Seven minutes,” Paul says, glancing back up at Turn.

“I need some answers,” Turn says, his jaw firm and those arms of his still crossed defiantly across his chest.

“Bloody hell!” Walter says, turning away with a roll of his eyes, but Bennewitz only nods his head and steps forward.

“Like I said, the name’s Paul Bennewitz,” the man says, looking over his shoulder at Turn, “…that doesn’t ring a bell?”

“Sure don’t,” Turn says as they continue to rush down the smoothed-out tunnels.

“When were you born?” Bennewitz says, giving another look over his shoulder. When Turn just screws up his face in confusion, however, he shakes his head and waves his hand. “Never mind. What I’m trying to say is—”