Cosmic Rift by James Axler Page A

to my summons. I repeat—we have lost visual. Do you read? Please come in. Brigid? Grant?”
    Lakesh waited for any response, but none came. Just the same as nothing had come over the Commtact for the past two minutes.
    Two and a half minutes.
    The clock in the corner of Lakesh’s monitor screen was relentless.
    “We’ve lost their transponder signals,” Donald Bry reported, calling the information across the busy ops room. “Checked twice now, including full system analysis.”
    “Confirmed,” Reba DeFore said grimly from her seat at the medical monitoring station. “Their lights went out three minutes ago. I can’t home in on anything.”
    Lakesh looked plaintively at his colleagues, then turned back to the satellite feed where it showed on his screen. “Mr. Philboyd, do we have anything?”
    “Feed is still live, Dr. Singh,” Brewster said, using Lakesh’s formal title for a change. It seemed appropriate somehow, in a situation like this, when the chips were down. “Lot of trees still there, but no sign of the Mantas or the other two. Wide scan shows nothing, no evidence of their passage.”
    Lakesh nodded solemnly, still listening with dwindling hope to the static over the Commtact headset. Three minutes had passed already since their last contact, longer by far than CAT Alpha should have been out of touch. As he waited, Lakesh felt his heart sink. This was how they had lost Domi, only that time he had not even had a satellite in place to watch her.
    Lakesh pressed his fingers to the sides of his nose in frustration, tweaking it with pressure. You foolish, foolish man, he cursed himself. First you lose the beacon of your life, then your most trusted allies .
    He had sent them into this trap, planned it and briefed the crew who had prepped the Mantas for the ruse. And now he had lost them all and they were nowhere nearer learning where Domi had gone. He had lost everything.
    “Keep scanning,” Lakesh told Philboyd. “Donald, I want a full report on the transponder signals, triangulation with prospected movement based on last known point of contact, speed, trajectory—the works. We follow that through to the ultimate end point, and I want a field team ready to scramble to that position in ten minutes. Call Edwards, Sinclair— whoever is available from R and D.”
    Bry nodded, his fingers already working his keyboard.
    “Reba,” Lakesh continued, turning to the stocky ash-blond physician, “I want a full report of the search team’s health at the moment of their disappearance, as well as constant monitoring for if—for when— the signals return.”
    The clock showed six minutes since last contact. Already Lakesh felt sure the elapsed time was too long. Six minutes was plenty enough time to die.

Chapter 9
    Location unknown
    In the Manta’s rear seat, Brigid Baptiste smiled as she watched the sky change color. “I can’t get over this place,” she said. It had been five minutes since the armored pilots had disappeared and CAT Alpha remained waiting on the airstrip.
    “We should get out,” Kane told her.
    “Not yet,” Brigid insisted. “They know we’re here. They’ll come to us when they’re ready.”
    “I still say we should get out and speak to them,” Kane growled.
    “And say what?” Brigid challenged. “‘Hi, we didn’t invade your airspace in heavily armed vehicles to cause any harm’? The weight of human history says otherwise—don’t be too surprised if they shoot you on the spot.”
    “Humph,” Kane snorted. “I just don’t like waiting.”
    “No one likes waiting, Kane,” Brigid assured him. “But most of us learn patience by the time we’re ten.”
    “Humph,” Kane snorted again.
    Eventually, more figures emerged from the low building. There were five in all, including the two pilots. The pilots had removed their flight helmets and to Kane’s relief looked entirely normal—and human—beneath. Both were clean-shaven, Caucasian males with neatly cropped hair,