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  Dancing Light Watcher spent the rest of the day fishing in a deep cove at the far end of the bay. Before the sun had set, he returned to the shore and began the process of smoking the fish, a favorite delicacy of the clan. As the sun fell into the ocean, he feasted on the succulent flesh and fresh berries he had gathered nearby. And when the darkness came, walking down along the shoreline away from the light of the fire, remembrances of his youth welled up inside him once again.

  But that night, as he restlessly struggled with the discomfort of his aging body, he was startled by the suddenness of an unusual sight. Across the bay, on top of the peninsula plateau, the white lights began multiplying until there were more of them than he had ever seen at one time before. And then as if out of nowhere, high in the heavens there began descending an enormous object that appeared larger than the moon itself. It was circled by multi-colored lights. More colors than he had even seen those many years before when one of the lights had come that close to him, before he had ever encountered the blue beam. The lights blinked in random patterns like light droplets of early morning dew in the sunlight. Whatever the object was, it was very huge and very far away over the water just off the coastline of the peninsula.

  Frightened, fascinated, he watched as the flurry of activity continued far into the night, thankfully ignoring him completely in the glow of his campfire. Somewhere close to morning before the first rays of light appeared, he watched a parade of white lights, more than he could comprehend, moving one by one upward from the plateau and entering into the belly of the huge object where they disappeared from sight.

  Soon, the last of the white lights had departed the plateau. When the last one had ascended, the huge object suddenly increased in brilliance, the multi-colored lights blinked furiously in the ring surrounding the perimeter. It ascended upward into the heavens, slowly at first, then disappeared from sight with a burst of blinding speed as it blinked out. From deep inside himself, Dancing Light Watcher felt he might never again see the white lights.

  Refusing to accept the unimaginable, for the next two nights the old man waited for the white lights to reappear as they had been doing all his life. On the morning of the third day he realized that two nights had passed in succession without having even seen one light. That had never happened before. Weary from his longer than usual all night vigil, Dancing Light Watcher rested for the better part of the day, no longer able to contend with the lack of sleep as he had always been accustomed to in his youth. Remaining in his thoughts were the fleeting images from the night he was held in the blue beam. He awoke once as he had so many times over the years sweating with fear, frightened by his dreams of lying helpless in the strangely lighted place where his ancestors stood all around him like ghostly pale gray images. By evening, he had made up his mind that he was going to attempt to visit the home of the white lights once more before his death.

  When no lights appeared through the course of the third night, in the morning he packed his boat with provisions, set it into the water, and paddled out across the bay directly toward the coastline of the peninsula plateau. With reckless abandon, he traversed the deep water that he had so cautiously avoided all his life because of the monstrous fish that dwelled there.

  By midday, he had secured his boat along the rocky crags of the shoreline that stretched majestically for as far as he could see around the peninsula. The cliffs towered above him like an enormous ladder of rocks leading up to the sky. His mind told him that at the top, The Land was flat like the plains far away from the clan’s home in the opposite direction.

  Tightening his backpack that he had filled with provisions, making sure his water pouch was secured to his side, Dancing Light Watcher began ascending the rocky ledges. It was a difficult climb, but by dusk, he had reached the top of the cliff. Exhausted, his tired muscles barely responding, the old man pushed himself to move farther inland. He wanted desperately to stop and rest, but the mere thought of the white lights kept driving him forward just a little further.

  Moving silently through the rocks at the top of the mountain, ahead he could see that The Land indeed tapered off into a wide, flattening plain just below the level of rocks where he stood. Completely exhausted, the darkness engulfed him. He peered off into the distance across the plain. As the last speck of light departed, Dancing Light Watcher saw the fading silhouettes of the strange shapes that were scattered all across the plain. More shapes than there were fingers on his hands. For the remainder of the night, the images of the structures lingered in his mind. He waited and waited. Still, there were no white lights. And somewhere through the course of the night, the old fisherman’s body gave in to exhaustion and he fell asleep.

  He awoke to the heat of the sun on his face. Momentarily disoriented, Dancing Light Watcher jumped to his feet, then quickly lowered himself between the rocks again. Aching from the strenuous climb of yesterday, but feeling somewhat refreshed, the old man peered silently out across the plain. In the distance, the strange structures rose from the flat surface of the plain like monstrous sculptures that could only have been carved by the hands of the Earth Mother herself. At first, the arrangement of shapes confused him, but the longer he studied them, the clearer their pattern became. It wasn’t actually much different than the clan’s village, the way the structures were clumped together.

  In the very center was a huge circular open space with clearly defined paths spreading outward from the center like petals on a flower. Most of the paths led to individual groupings of structures, each group seeming to have its own distinctive shape. In the very center of the flower was the tallest of the structures, spiraling upward like a towering tree from the forest floor. The old man wondered why he had never seen it from across the bay, it seemed to be so tall above the plain.

  Though still frightened and overwhelmed by this most incredible experience, the old man continued his vigil over the plain for several hours. Eating as little as possible to conserve his provisions, he watched and contemplated his next move. He was certain now that he had arrived at the home of the white lights. To his chagrin, perhaps disappointment—or perhaps to his great relief—he saw no signs of movement. No life at all. No white lights.

  Confusion ran through his mind. Were these strange structures shelters for the white lights? Was this their resting place during the daytime? Is it true they are only seen at night because they must avoid the sunlight? Dare I approach this resting place without fear of death?

  His aching body reminded him that the only reason he had come this far was to find the ultimate answer to his questions. He had longed all his life to know these things, and he was old now. Little else mattered anymore.

  With trepidation, but resolute to his destiny, Dancing Light Watcher walked bravely down onto the plain leaving behind the security of the rocks. He walked with great fear, yet with great reverence toward the mysterious structures.

  It was a warm, sunny day, and if not for the absence of all plant and animal life on the surrounding plain, it would have been no different than the plains to the east of the clan’s home. He reached the closest pathway and walked to the center of the “flower”. Though his primitive brain was neither capable of comprehending or interpreting what he was seeing, the huge geometric structures loomed ominously all around. There were huge blocks and cubes and domes of varying sizes and shapes taller than most of the trees that covered the forests of The Land. He marveled at the perfect lines of the structures, never before having seen such an arrangement of sizes and shapes. What were they? What could they be?

  He touched the cube closest to him, the structure surprisingly cool to the touch despite sitting fully exposed to the warmth of the sun. Pressing his ear to the side, he listened intently, but the only sound he heard was the thumping of his own heart.

  For over an hour, Dancing Light Watcher wandered around the strange village of odd shapes. Nothing happened. There were no sounds, no movements, no signs of anything living there now. There weren’t even any birds in
the air. It was as if the wide open plain was void of all life.

  By mid afternoon, after having explored the entire complex, the old man felt much relieved that he had come to no harm. Yet he remained disappointed that he had learned so little about the white lights. Perhaps it was their resting place after all and the night will bring them out again. He would certainly wait until nightfall, and again until sunlight before departing. He would then know for sure if the white lights had departed from The Land.

  The old fisherman was struck by the oddest notion as he slowly walked back to the rocky crags where he had left his provisions. The sky had darkened ever so slightly and the deep, rich blueness that had been with him all day thus far had disappeared with subtlety. Looking up into the sun, which he could now do without shading his eyes, he scanned the sky for the pending storm. But there didn’t seem to be any storm clouds, and it was strange how the entire sky had seemed to just simply change color so suddenly.

  A short time later as Dancing Light Watcher consumed the last of his provisions, he continued to watch the darkening of the sky. The sun was now barely discernible through the grayness. Though he hadn’t noticed it before in the shelter of the rocks, the wind had picked up and was blowing with a steady breeze inland from the direction of the sea. He climbed out from behind the shelter to stand on the huge rock that overlooked the plain. The brisk wind sent a shiver through his body, and he came to the sudden realization that the mild summer day was turning very chilly.

  Retrieving the thin cloak that he had carried with him for nighttime warmth, the old man wrapped it around his shoulders and huddled in the shelter of the rocks again, hoping the approaching storm would pass quickly. Though compelled to stay the night to see if the white lights would emerge from the structures, he could not have left regardless, as it was now too late in the day to make the trek back down the cliff off the plateau.

  The wind picked up considerably, and before long it had begun to howl across the plain. Even though the old man was huddled down in the rocks, the vicious wind ripped through the crevasses as the storm began to intensify. The great power of the Earth Mother was unexpectedly unleashing all her fury upon The Land.

  Until now the temperature had only been slowly decreasing. Now it began to drop drastically. Before long, Dancing Light Watcher realized that he was seeing puffs of cold breath when he poked his head out from under his cloak. Shivers swept through his body. It was getting cold. Very cold. And strangest of all, there was no rain. Only the wind. The Earth Mother always brought the rain when the storms blew in from the sea.

  The wind was now blowing with unrelenting fury. In all his years, he had never experienced such a rapid change in the weather over The Land. The days had always changed gradually, slowly, giving the clan plenty of time to prepare themselves for the colder months when food sources and animals were scarce. But now it was as if the whole season had abruptly changed in a matter of a very short time.

  The shelter of the rocks was no longer sufficient enough to protect him from the unanticipated cold. The realization that something utterly terrible was happening brought pangs of terror to the old man. The Earth Mother was perhaps angered by his impetuousness to learn the secrets of the white lights. The wind raged furiously, and the blasts of cold stung his face and arms and legs that he could not keep covered.

  Terror had turned to panic. His instinct for survival now took control, and the old man’s only thoughts were to get away from there. As he ran from the rocky crags down onto the flat plain, the gale force winds propelled him along, pushing him out toward the open flatland in the direction of the bizarre structures. The structures. If only he could reach the structures and hide in the lee before the wind carried him away.

  As Dancing Light Watcher struggled to maintain his balance and reach the complex, the cataclysmic upheaval began to happen all over the planet. The sky, by now almost completely darkened, was without warning filled with streaks of fire and flashes of lightening, and all around the Earth storms of hailstones and rocks rained down upon the surface of the planet. Throughout The Land, it began to rain a torrential downpour. At the base of the peninsula plateau, the ocean surged outward then began to rise up as a huge tidal wave crashed into the cliffs. Down along the bay, the gigantic swells of water almost instantly decimated the coastline, immediately wiping out most all of the forestland that rimmed the peninsula region.

  As the torrential rains continued to pour down, floods gushed from the rocky crevasses, and the low lying areas filled quickly with water. The old man, by now barely holding onto his life, somehow managed to reach the edge of the structure complex. In the midst of total confusion, he tried to find the huge cube that he remembered was the largest of them all. Through the blistering downpour, off in the distance he saw its silhouette. But the water had begun to rise above his ankles, and he abandoned trying to reach the cube.

  In desperation, he pushed toward the nearest structure. As suddenly as the rain had started, it abruptly stopped momentarily, and then a rain of hail and sleet fell from the sky, the huge pellets of ice crashing loudly upon the structures standing amidst the rising water. As the old man attempted to cover his head, he lost his balance and fell into the water. Grasping, sliding, falling again, in panic he tried to reach the domed structure only a few steps away. The hailstones pelted his body. And then the cold. The extreme cold. He had never felt such extreme cold.

  The gale force winds momentarily abated, and he felt the pressure popping in his ears. The old man somehow managed to pull himself up onto the curved surface of the dome out of the slush that had formed since the rain of hail. He struggled with all his might to gain a handhold and foothold along the concave indentations of the structure’s surface. Ice began forming all along the honeycombed facade, and with his last effort he managed to press his palms downward with enough strength to allow his feet to push him upward along the surface. Then the rain of ice abruptly ceased, and the winds began to blow yet again with gale-like force. And The Land was suddenly filled with a mighty blast of frigid air, air so cold that his body was almost instantaneously numbed and he was losing all feeling.

  Weakened by exhaustion and no longer able to cling to life, slowly the body of the old man slid back downward along the curved surface of the dome-like structure. As the temperature continued to plummet downward, The Land and everything in it was instantaneously blast frozen, transformed by the violent celestial upheaval that had rearranged the axial plane of planet Earth. The Visitors had done well here. But even they were not omnipotent.

  Day had turned to absolute darkness, which would last for several months. The sky burned with a fury, the like of which the planet had not encountered for tens of thousands of years. Great rivers of fire streaked across the blackness of the heavens. In one fleeting moment of geologic time, The Land had reached the end of its age to be locked in the memory of no one. For not a living human would remain here. The Land had changed back to what it had once been several million years before.

  He felt the warm embrace of the Earth Mother overtake his body as the last spark of life ebbed away. The final thought that went through the mind of Dancing Light Watcher was how good his life had been.

  The Present

  Chapter 1

  DECEMBER 27, 20--

  TRANSANTARCTIC MOUNTAIN RANGE

  VICTORIA LAND, ANTARCTICA

  The frigid air always had turbulence, but it was still an exceptionally clear day. Even from this altitude, the pilot could see the crystalline spires of the tallest mountain peaks far off in the distance as they reflected the rays of the perpetual summer sun looming low on the horizon.

  Elevated high above the glacial moraine that wound its way randomly through the mountains of east Antarctica below them, the surface of the perennial ice extended for as far as the eye could see and then for thousands of miles more beyond that. It was an extraordinary view that gave testament to just how vast and untamed a wilderness the Antarctic continent truly was. The highe
st peak in the region—about 14,000 feet—was much farther inland from the Ross Sea, but the pilot was only concerned with locating the target area along the Mulock Glacier that was spread out below with its eternal finger-like grip across the mountainous landscape.

  The drone of the turbo-prop LC-130 Hercules transport plane vibrated the inside bulkheads with a steady rhythm, the tremendous horsepower pulling the heavy machine through the frigid Antarctic air, fighting a fierce crosswind so strong that it tossed the aircraft about like a leaf in the breeze. LC-130’s were great airplanes, probably the most versatile aircraft ever produced, but the stress that was created on the airframe through the years of dedicated polar assignment was beginning to take its toll on the entire fleet. The U. S. Navy had been flying the missions for a number of years on assignment to the American bases coordinated through the Special Committee on Antarctic Research (SCAR). The Navy wanted out, but the political climate had prevailed like the perennial ice. It was now a joint military effort. The Navy and the Air Force shared assignments.

  The fleet may have been aging, but it was still a reliable plane. A pilot could feel the integrity through his hands. But it was of little consolation to Dr. Hilliard Grimes who sat in the back cargo bay harnessed to the uncomfortable canvass seats along with the other seven members of his field research team and the other two Navy crew members. Grimes listened to the creaks and groans of the aging plane as the transport hit air pocket after air pocket. He hated the ride out to the glacier fields. As a matter of fact, he hated the ride anywhere when it involved airplanes. Always made him air sick and disoriented, and even though his research colleagues good-naturedly chided him about being the vomit king, he took it all it stride.