Chapter XXII - Echoes of the Past

                                    

                                          
Florinok, seated in the passenger seat next to the driver, discreetly reached into a particular pocket of her lime, safari jumpsuit. She ran her fingers across the curves of the object that lay inside — it was shaped like a forest-green leaf with a rose-pink screen. Zablaron had given it to her when they came back to Malora and identified it as a Virtual Backpack. It had five weapons stored inside, and he made her give names to each of them — not only to identify them and make them sound cool but to actually summon them when needed using the built-in voice recognition. Each name needed to be two words that she would not ordinarily say during normal conversation.
The last time Florinok had hoped she would not need the gun in her hand, she had ended up needing it, and she had not used it anyway. She still hoped she wouldn't need the VBP, but, more than that, she hoped that should the need actually arise this time around, she would not be afraid to make use of it.
As the van skimmed through the trees, Zablaron shifted his gaze from the window and studied the Ornebular archaeologist sitting opposite from him. If anyone will spill the beans about what they're really here for, it's most likely going to be him, he mused. He seems to have other things on his mind.
Zablaron cleared his throat. "Is there something we should know?"
Beralaxon looked up. What the... he's talking to me! he thought as he found a pair of gray eyes looking directly at him. Why not ask Mr. Bonnel? "Like what?" he asked as he tried his best to sound incredulous. He can't know, can he?
"Like, I don't know, somebody holding foolish grudges?" Zablaron suggested. "Somebody wanting to kill someone?"
Beralaxon sat astounded. No, that's not possible. He swallowed a lump and said, "I don't know what you're talking about." Silver-eyed creep.
"Hmm." Zablaron leaned back against his seat and continued looking out the window. Definitely hiding something.
Soon, the van ground to a halt, and everyone looked up.
"We're here," Florinok announced, removing her seat belt.
"Thank goodness," Cearlin remarked as she got up from her seat.
Beralaxon looked around as he stepped outside the van. The path had led to a clearing, at the center of which was a gaping pit. The antechamber of an ancient building was visible at the bottom, its entrance barred by a humongous, wrought-iron gate. Familiar runes were carved repeatedly into the smooth, stone walls of the structure. The fabled Nova Block Cache, Beralaxon marveled. I can't believe I am laying my eyes on this.
Strangely, the only signs of past archaeological activity currently in evidence were pieces of black, bedraggled canvas and husks of campfires strewn about the pit. Why did they tear down their tents like that? Beralaxon wondered.
The SUV swerved and abruptly stopped near the edge of the pit. Vulture and his men promptly got out and slammed the doors behind them.
"Get a move on, all of you," Vulture barked at no one in particular. "We don't have all day."
As Vulture's men lead the way, the party set to descending the pit along a dirt path that spiraled along its walls. It was slow going, the winding track being narrow and somewhat treacherous.
Vulture's men got to the bottom first and set to work on the mighty bar barricading the gate. They heaved and strained against it until it lifted out of its supports and then let it drop. It swung noisily before it drooped downward. The men then threw open the gates.
"Lead the way, Mr. Bonnel," Vulture called out.
"With pleasure," the old archaeologist replied as he made his way down the path and over to the gate with surprising agility.