had researched possible substances that the suit could have been made of. The only one that made sense was dark matter.
Theoretically, the universe was made up mostly of dark matter , a substance whose properties were almost completely unknown. Was it possible that the earth had a reserve of dark matter and that this civilization had preserved it? Harnessed it and hid it away?
It didn’t matter now. All Dillon could think about was James taped to a chair, bleeding and helpless. It filled him with rage and the rage fueled the suit. Even though he was a hundred feet above the sea, he was traveling at such a reckless pace the water below him was splitting apart.
The Falklands came into view, and not much farther was the familiar blue ice of the Antarctic. He weaved in between two ice canyons and ducked underneath a natural bridge before slamming hard into the water below and slicing through it like a knife before raising himself out. The suit, apparently, could travel through water as well.
He came to the opening and flew down.
El Sacerdote stood before the tower of ice. The trip, even by plane, had taken twenty-one hours to complete. The hike was something else. They had bought gear and boots and clothing, but it was all last minute and not the type of clothing you needed for this environment. His men were all shivering, holding thermoses filled with hot tea to warm their hands.
But he didn’t care. This, he knew, was what his life was for. The reason he was here. He turned to James.
“I was going to flood your country with guns and I thought that I was a master. That by taking something your country loves and turning it against you I could hasten your collapse. And then this came into my life. It was meant for me. I am meant to be here.”
James didn’t respond.
El Sacerdote put his bare hand on the tower, feeling its warmth, and it slipped through as if the tower weren’t there. He laughed, and walked inside.
The stairs were there, as James had said they would be, and he climbed them to the top and saw a lever across the room. He walked there and touched it: it was warm, as all this ice was warm. He pulled on it, and the floor collapsed around him.
He laughed as he slid down and into another room. He crashed into the floor and took a moment to reorient himself before rising.
He was in a chamber of some sort. Through the walls were holes, as if a truck had rammed through them. He went through the first one into another room—and saw what he had come for. Suspended in transparent ice was a suit. This one was brown. He walked to it, his heart pounding in his chest, and touched the ice. It immediately fell to the floor and the suit was lowered, splitting open at the center.
He laughed to himself and stepped inside.
Power. That’s what it felt like. Pure power. He moved around and felt the balance. It took him only a moment to grow accustomed to the dimensions. He walked to the wall and punched at it and it shattered like glass. He was staring at his hands, the thought of what he could do racing in his mind as he heard something behind him. He turned and a black liquid was pooled around his feet.
It thrust out like a snake and attache d itself to him. He saw images…burning buildings, blood, smoke, corpses, and horrific screaming that filled his ears. His hands went to them to try and block the sound but it didn’t help.
The substance crawled up his body, over his chest. His vision was rimmed red and he felt…rage. The purity of it was overwhelming. He laughed as the power filled him like an electric current. He looked to his hands again as the substance engulfed him. They were growing. He was growing. The suit was morphing into something else.
He screamed as he felt his bones break and his muscles tear. He was being spread out, heightened and widened with the suit, and he felt his face rip open…
28
Dillon flew through the cabin and could hear
Theoretically, the universe was made up mostly of dark matter , a substance whose properties were almost completely unknown. Was it possible that the earth had a reserve of dark matter and that this civilization had preserved it? Harnessed it and hid it away?
It didn’t matter now. All Dillon could think about was James taped to a chair, bleeding and helpless. It filled him with rage and the rage fueled the suit. Even though he was a hundred feet above the sea, he was traveling at such a reckless pace the water below him was splitting apart.
The Falklands came into view, and not much farther was the familiar blue ice of the Antarctic. He weaved in between two ice canyons and ducked underneath a natural bridge before slamming hard into the water below and slicing through it like a knife before raising himself out. The suit, apparently, could travel through water as well.
He came to the opening and flew down.
El Sacerdote stood before the tower of ice. The trip, even by plane, had taken twenty-one hours to complete. The hike was something else. They had bought gear and boots and clothing, but it was all last minute and not the type of clothing you needed for this environment. His men were all shivering, holding thermoses filled with hot tea to warm their hands.
But he didn’t care. This, he knew, was what his life was for. The reason he was here. He turned to James.
“I was going to flood your country with guns and I thought that I was a master. That by taking something your country loves and turning it against you I could hasten your collapse. And then this came into my life. It was meant for me. I am meant to be here.”
James didn’t respond.
El Sacerdote put his bare hand on the tower, feeling its warmth, and it slipped through as if the tower weren’t there. He laughed, and walked inside.
The stairs were there, as James had said they would be, and he climbed them to the top and saw a lever across the room. He walked there and touched it: it was warm, as all this ice was warm. He pulled on it, and the floor collapsed around him.
He laughed as he slid down and into another room. He crashed into the floor and took a moment to reorient himself before rising.
He was in a chamber of some sort. Through the walls were holes, as if a truck had rammed through them. He went through the first one into another room—and saw what he had come for. Suspended in transparent ice was a suit. This one was brown. He walked to it, his heart pounding in his chest, and touched the ice. It immediately fell to the floor and the suit was lowered, splitting open at the center.
He laughed to himself and stepped inside.
Power. That’s what it felt like. Pure power. He moved around and felt the balance. It took him only a moment to grow accustomed to the dimensions. He walked to the wall and punched at it and it shattered like glass. He was staring at his hands, the thought of what he could do racing in his mind as he heard something behind him. He turned and a black liquid was pooled around his feet.
It thrust out like a snake and attache d itself to him. He saw images…burning buildings, blood, smoke, corpses, and horrific screaming that filled his ears. His hands went to them to try and block the sound but it didn’t help.
The substance crawled up his body, over his chest. His vision was rimmed red and he felt…rage. The purity of it was overwhelming. He laughed as the power filled him like an electric current. He looked to his hands again as the substance engulfed him. They were growing. He was growing. The suit was morphing into something else.
He screamed as he felt his bones break and his muscles tear. He was being spread out, heightened and widened with the suit, and he felt his face rip open…
28
Dillon flew through the cabin and could hear
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