“Get us to the surface,” Dane said. He closed his eyes once more, reaching outward with his mind.
“Surface of what?” Kalansky yelled back. “1 don’t even know where we are.”
Dane pointed down, which was actually up. “That way. Drop ballast.”
“If I drop ballast-” Kalansky began, but Dane cut him off.
“Do it now. We’re still moving. We’re in the Inner Sea being drawn to the Shadow portal.”
Cursing in Russian, Kalansky hit a lever. There was a ding sound and the submersible rotated halfway, so that they were now hanging on their left sides.
“Some of the ballast won’t empty,” Kalansky said as he hit another lever. “It wasn’t designed to work upside down.”
Dane looked to the portal to his right. There was the faintest sign of light. “We’re not too far from the surface.”
“Got it,” Kalansky yelled as there was another grinding sound and the submersible rotated once more, this time to the upright position. ‘’We should be going up.”
Dane unbuckled from the seat and moved to the ladder, clambering up. He began undoing the hatch. He flung it open, letting in a rush of foul black water-the Inner Sea. It slid over his exposed skin with a greasy feeling. He pushed up through it onto the top of the submersible. The first thing he noted was that they were moving-quickly-away from a massive portal behind them. Turning, Dane could see another portal about a quarter-mile ahead, equally large. The water from Baikal was forming a mile-wide stream in the middle of the Inner Sea, pouring from one to the other and taking the submersible with it. And hovering directly above the stream, about a hundred yards away, were two Valkyries.
“Come on,” Dane yelled down into the submersible.
In the time it took Kolkov to join him, the distance to the Valkyries had been cut in half.
“Kalansky,” Dane called. He looked down and saw the Russian pilot looking up at him.
“I cannot leave my ship,” Kalansky shouted.
“How will we get back?” Kolkov argued.
Dane had no time to argue with either of them. The Valkyies were moving apart, stretching something between them a rope. Dane dove down into the submersible, one hand on the ladder, the other gripping the collar of Kalansky’s wetsuit. He literally dragged the old man up the ladder.
“Grab the rope,” Dane yelled at Kolkov.
The Russian scientist looked doubtful, but there was no ne to question the order. Dane reached up with his free hand and grabbed hold of the rope. He was tom from the top of the submersible as it was pulled by underneath him. His other arm jerked hard as Kalansky dangled from it. The submersible continued its inexorable movement toward the portal.
The two Valkyries began moving, heading toward shore, when Dane’s arm was jerked sideways. He looked down to see a red tentacle wrapped around Kalansky, holding the Russian even with Dane’s own altitude. The tip of the tentacle reared back, and opened, revealing razor-sharp teeth, then punched into the Russian’s back, exploding out of his chest in a gush of viscera and blood.
Still Dane didn’t let go. The strain on his arms, particularly his hands, was unbearable. One of the Valkyries circled, coming close, and swept a free hand down, claws extended, slicing through Kalansky’s forearm, severing the hand Dane held from his body.
Dane swung back to the vertical as the tentacle disappeared under the water with Kalansky in tow. The Valkyries gained altitude as several more tentacles popped out of the water, mouths agape, searching for targets. Dane felt one brush the bottom of his boot.
As the Valkyries reached the shore, they descended until Dane’s feet touched the ground. He stumbled and then fell to his knees. Kolkov seemed to be in a state of shock. The front halves of the two suits split open and Earhart and Asper stepped out.
“You can let go of that,” Earhart said to Dane, indicating the severed hand, which he still had a firm grip on.
“Damn it.” Dane got to his feet, letting Kalansky’s hand fall to the ground. He looked back at the Inner Sea, half expecting to see the arms of a kraken reaching toward them, but the surface was flat black, belying the danger underneath.
“I’m sorry;’ Earhart said. “ We haven’t seen a kraken in the Inner Sea in a while.”
Dane blinked, reorienting himself from the loss of the Russian pilot. He briefly wondered if the man had family, then forced himself to face the reality of how many had already died in this war and how many were going to die if he didn’t succeed. “1 think the Shadow is guarding the portals more vigilantly. Rachel indicated there was an ambush at the Devil’s Sea portal.”
“I know,” Earhart said. “She was here not long ago. The kraken must have just come through, because I picked up nothing from her about it.”
“This is Professor Kolkov,” Dane said, indicating the Russian. “Professor, Amelia Earhart.”
Kolkov was trying to get over the shock of Kalansky’s brutal death and taking in the vastness of the Space Between, and it was with great difficulty that he turned to Earhart and took her offered hand. “This is unbelievable. I read the reports from Mister Dane, but seeing it is so different.”
Earhart glanced at the Inner Sea, then nodded toward the wall in the distance. “I say we put some space between us and the water.”
Asper used the rope to take both suits in tow and they moved out, heading toward the small encampment of those stranded in the Space Between. As they crossed a low, black dune, Dane paused and looked back. He couldn’t see the Shadow sphere that had crashed here. But portals blocked much of the view of the Inner Sea. The black columns pulsed with power. He felt a moment of despair-was the vision he had a true one? And even if it was, could he accomplish it?
And given that the only active portals in his time line were Baikal and the Devil’s Sea, where did all these other portals go to? And how many worlds were suffering under the assault of the Shadow?
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Crazy Horse listened to Sitting Bull invoke the protection of the great buffalo as he fought to suppress a yawn. The elder chief was walking in front of the half-circle of select chiefs, holding up a buffalo skull, speaking in his famous loud voice of the Great Spirit and honor and glory in battle. Crazy Horse was standing near the rear, on the gentle slope leading to the small open space next the creek, looking down on Sitting Bull.
Sitting Bull was chief of the Hunkpapa, one of the seven tribes of the Lakota Sioux. Those listening to him were chiefs representing not only the other six tribes, but several other tribes-Oglalas, Miniconjous, Sans Are, and Northern Cheyenne. They were here because the white men had sent out an edict that all the people who had not reported the previous winter to the reservations were the enemy. That proclamation had been followed by a winter assault along the Powder River, where Wooden Leg’s village was routed, the survivors showing up at Crazy Horse’s encampment. The white men had retreated quickly after destroying the village, but now the Word Was that several columns of blue coats were on the move from the north and south.
Although Crazy Horse was not impressed with Sitting Hull’s extensive oratory, exhorting the various leaders to unite together to fight the white man, he did have to admit he respected both Sitting Bull’s bravery and his strategic sense. Sitting Bull was one of the few chiefs who spoke frankly of the fact that the penchant for warriors to put acts of individual bravery above that of fighting cohesion would doom them in battle against the blue coats and their massed fire-power.
Sitting Bull had been one of the first chiefs to espouse using the white man’s rifles over the bow. To focus on ambushing parties of surveyors and miners, recognizing them as the tip of the white man’s intrusion into their country. He had been preaching for years that the tribes needed to put aside their differences and unite to face the whites or they were doomed.