And the truth was that countless armies over the ages had fought for Malta, and rarely had it fallen.
The memories were clearer now, and Kate felt almost as though she could control them, as though she could move backward and forward in time.
She wore the Atlantean suit again, and the scene around her was of a one-room primitive hut. She looked out the door of the hovel. The climate seemed different. It was damp, rainy out, and the vegetation was almost tropical. Not Mediterranean. Perhaps they were in southern Asia.
Three women sat on the ground, working feverishly on something. Kate walked to them and peered down. The Tibetan tapestry. They are creating the warning, in case we fail, she thought.
The Atlanteans had given it to them—she had given it to them—as a backup plan.
She knew that now.
She walked out of the shack, into the open air of the camp. The settlement felt nomadic, as if it had been erected hastily and would be abandoned soon.
A makeshift temple loomed at the center. She walked to it. The guards at the entrance stepped aside, and she wandered in. The stone Ark was here. Monks circled it, sitting cross-legged, heads bowed.
At the sound of her steps, one man rose and hurried to her.
“The floodwaters will come soon,” Kate said.
“We are prepared. We will leave tomorrow for the highlands.”
“Have you warned the other settlements?”
“We have sent word.” He continued to look down. “But they will not heed our warning. They say they have mastered this world. They do not fear the water.”
The primitive temple disappeared, replaced by glass and steel walls, covered mostly by holographic displays.
Kate stood in Alpha Lander’s control center, beside her partner, staring at the global map.
The coastlines across southern Asia wavered. The floodwaters were advancing, changing the continent forever, sinking the settlements along the coast, some of which would be lost permanently.
The hologram switched to a satellite view of a group of humans hiking into the mountains, away from the floodwaters. They carried the stone box she had seen—the Ark.
Kate still couldn’t see her partner, but out of the corner of her eye, she saw Dorian, standing rigidly, glancing at the display with only a hint of interest.
“This is not all bad,” Dorian said. “A population reduction could allow us to consolidate the genome, perhaps eliminate some of the problems.”
Kate didn’t want to answer. Dorian was right, but she knew the solution and she dreaded it. The “problems” he had left unspoken had been accelerating in the past ten thousand years—uncontrollable aggression, a tendency to war, to preemptively eliminating any perceived threats. This increasing trend was a fundamental dysfunction of the survival gene: the humans’ logical minds knew that their environment had a finite amount of resources, that with their current technology their habitat could support only a limited number of people. They wanted to ensure that it was their people, their genetic line that survived. War—eliminating any competitors for the finite amount of resources—was their solution. But their race to genocide was happening too fast, as if there were someone else intervening, working against them.
At the back of Kate’s mind, another possibility lingered: Dorian had done this. Was he betraying her? Taking the research she had provided him and modifying it? She had kept her collaboration with Dorian/Ares from her partner. She knew her partner would disagree, but she saw no alternative. The tribes of humanity would need every genetic advantage they could get—if Dorian’s story, his assertions about their enemy, were true.
What else could I do? Kate asked herself. She had chosen the only logical course.
The holographic display began changing. Red spread out across the map: casualty readings.
Her partner spun back to the control station. “Population alarms.”
“We must intervene,” Dorian said.
“No. Not at these levels,” her partner shot back. “We follow our own local precedent—only in the event of an extinction risk.”
Kate nodded. Their “precedent” had been set seventy thousand years ago—when she had chosen to provide the Atlantis Gene to the humans in that cave, their subspecies teetering on the brink of extinction.
She opened her mouth to speak, but the holographic wall exploded in alarms.
Population Alert: Subspecies 8471: 92% Extinction Risk.
Kate traced the location. Siberia. The Denisovans. The floodwaters couldn’t have touched them there. What was happening?
Another alarm emerged on the screen, in another location.
Population Alert: Subspecies 8473: 84% Extinction Risk.
This subspecies was confined to the islands of Indonesia. The Hobbits. The subspecies that would come to be known as homo floresiensis. What was driving their population collapse? The pressure of the flood, combined with the aggressive humans that had settled the islands relatively recently? Kate already knew the history. They would go extinct. What was the year? She glanced at the hologram, deciphering the Atlantean dating scheme.