electronic signals directly through the skull casing. Theoretically, even a completely deaf wearer would still be able to hear normally, in a fashion, using the Commtact.
As well as offering radio communications, the units could also be used as translation devices, providing a real-time interpretation of foreign language if sufficient vocabulary had been programmed into their data banks.
“Cool your jets,” Kane grumbled over the Commtact. “I’m bringing her in now.”
Before the final syllable of Kane’s proclamation had concluded, Grant saw the dark shadow appear overhead, dipping through the swirling snow, and a moment later the graceful shape of the Manta craft settled on the white blanket of snow beside him.
The Mantas were alien craft, left on Earth for millennia before being discovered by Grant and Kane during one of their exploratory missions. The beauty of their design was breathtaking, an effortless combination of every principle of aerodynamics wrapped up in a gleaming bronze finish. They had the shape and general configuration of seagoing manta rays, flattened wedges with graceful wings curving out from their bodies. The elongated hump in the center of the craft was the only evidence of a cockpit. The Mantas featured a wingspan of twenty yards, and a body length of almost fifteen feet. Finished in a bronze metallic hue, the surfaces of each craft were decorated with curious geometric designs; elaborate cuneiform markings, swirling glyphs and cup-and-spiral symbols that covered the entire body of the aircraft. The Mantas were propelled by two different types of engines—a ramjet and solid-fuel pulse detonation air spikes—allowing them flight in the skies and outside of the atmosphere.
Grant watched as the cockpit to the second Manta opened and two figures stepped out. Like him, both of them were dressed in white, wearing fur-lined jackets and white pants.
The first figure was a woman in her mid-twenties. She had vibrant red hair that trailed down her back like a burst of evening sunlight. Even as she stepped from the graceful wing of the Manta, the woman was bunching her hair back behind her head, pulling it away from her face as the Arctic wind blew it about her face. After a moment, she tied her hair back and looked up at Grant with her warm, friendly smile, her emerald eyes glinting with a furious intellect. Brigid Baptiste had been a crucial part of their triumvirate ever since Grant had joined the operation known as Cerberus. While her high forehead pointed to an intellectual aspect, her full lips suggested a more playful, passionate side; in truth, Brigid Baptiste was both of these and more besides.
Behind the attractive figure of Brigid Baptiste, the third member of the field team exited the Manta’s cockpit, even as the snow started to settle on its sloping bronze wings. This was Kane, Grant’s longtime partner, whose friendship was unquestioned, whose loyalty was unswerving. Grant had known Kane ever since their days in Cobaltville where they had been initially partnered as Magistrates, the strong-arm force that kept the citizenry in check. Whereas Grant was powerfully built and bulky, Kane was tall and lean with most of his bulk in his upper body. It had been said that Kane’s physique was like a wolf’s, and often his temperament was similarly inclined. He was pack leader, loner and scout. Like Grant, a bulky lump showed beneath the wrist of Kane’s jacket where he held his sidearm for quick access.
“Seen anything interesting?” Kane asked as he greeted Grant.
“Snow,” Grant grumbled, his deep voice sounding like a rumbling volcano.
Kane looked around before turning back to Grant with a self-deprecating grin. “Kind of samey, isn’t it?”
Grant nodded, his own mouth breaking into a grin.
“Monotonous,” Brigid corrected them both without looking up from the portable radar device she was consulting in her gloved hand, “is the word you are looking for. ‘Samey’? Honestly, who taught you two to speak?”
Kane glanced over Brigid’s head and caught Grant’s eye as the redheaded woman began walking away from the two Mantas. “You know, you’d never believe she used to be a librarian,” he said flippantly.
“That so?” Grant replied. “You’d think she’d let us forget once in a while.”
“Ha.” Kane laughed. “She never lets anyone forget anything, isn’t that right, Baptiste?”
Glancing up from the tracking device, Brigid fixed Kane with a disparaging glare before turning back to the readout screen she held in the palm of one hand. Although meant in jest, Kane’s observation touched on a crucial aspect of Brigid’s personality. The woman had what was colloquially known as a photographic memory, or, more accurately, an eidetic one. Brigid could study any image for just a few moments and commit it to memory in vivid detail, with the ability to draw from that memory again and again with total recall.
In her previous career as an archivist in Cobaltville, Brigid’s incredible powers of observation had put her in a critical position during the discovery of a worldwide conspiracy intended to subjugate humankind. Her subsequent work with Kane and Grant at the Cerberus redoubt had been primarily concerned with uncovering and overthrowing that conspiracy in all its many evolving forms. Even now, the presence of the Cerberus trio in the harsh environment of the Antarctic was tangentially related to that far-reaching scheme.
Their boots sank into the thick snow as the three figures trekked away from their Manta craft. Kane glanced back, watching for a moment as the swirling whiteness settled on the still Mantas. The two craft were already dappled with a thin coating of snow, and would doubtless be hard to spot in another hour or so. It struck Kane then that anything could be hidden out here—anything at all—and they might never see it.
Kane dismissed the thought. “Everyone remember where we parked, okay?” he instructed, his tone light. “Baptiste, I’m counting on you here.”
Brigid cast Kane another withering look as she continued to lead the way across the Antarctic wastes. “You think you’re funny,” she said. “Emphasis on ‘think.’”
“Lighten up,” Kane said as he brushed snow from his sleeves. “I’m just trying to keep things cheerful.”
“Oh, you’re very trying,” Brigid snapped. “I’ve had to listen to this blather for the full three-hour trip over here.”
“Really?” Grant asked, unable to hide the note of pity from his tone.
“The first hour was okay,” Brigid assured him. “The second I started wishing we’d found a parallax point so we could jump here instantaneously instead of using the Mantas.” Parallax points formed a hidden network of nodes stretching across the globe and out into other planets that allowed the Cerberus warriors to jump via the quantum ether through use of an alien device called an interphaser. The system allowed for almost instantaneous travel across vast distances, but it relied on specific locations; no parallax point, no interphaser jump.
“What about the third hour?” Kane grumbled.
“Wish I was dead, wish I was dead, wish I was dead,” Brigid muttered, the words streaming into one.
Grant looked at Kane and shrugged. “I think she’s joking, buddy.”
“Because she thinks she’s funny,” Kane said.
“Oh, touché.” Grant chuckled, applauding.
They had walked just eighty yards across the snowbound wastes when Brigid Baptiste stopped in her tracks and pointed ahead. “It’s right there,” she said.
“Where?” Kane asked,
