<div>


    <div>


    Lho La Ice Fall


    Nepal


    Alexa woods uses the ice axe in her left hand to achieve purchase and ascend even further up the formidable wall of ice. She repeats the process with the axe in her right hand, slamming the left toe of her spiked crampon into the ice beneath her.


    A loud beep causes her to momentarily lose her grip, sliding down almost half of a foot. With a gasp, Lex shakes her head and glances down. She reaches for one of several locking carabiners attached to the left side of her climbing sling. When she is certain that her position is secure, Lex activates the speaker function on her earpiece.


    “Hello.”


    A man’s voice greets Lex on the other end. A strong accent, English heritage perhaps, very refined.


    “Miss. Woods…It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”


    Underneath the folds of her winter beanie, Lex’s brow furrows in confusion. Who the heck is this gentlemen? And did he really have to call right now?


    “Who is this?” Lex says, slight irritation in her voice.


    “My name’s Maxwell Stafford. I’m a representative for Weyland Industries.”


    Lex’s resulting grunt is more from surprise and disdain than from any strain caused by climbing the ice wall. She visualizes herself hurling chunks, her mouth unconsciously curling to mimic such an action.


    “Let me guess. He’s suing us again?” Lex says, rolling her eyes.


    “You misunderstand,” Max says reassuringly. “Mr. Weyland is prepared to fund the foundation with which you are associated for a full year. But only if you agree to meet with him.”


    Lex’s heart leaps in her chest and she slams her ice axe into the wall. Did he really say a whole year?


    “When?”


    “Tomorrow.”


    “Ha. Tomorrow is gonna be a bit of a problem,” Lex replies.


    She continues her ascent with a little more enthusiasm. Lex’s mind races for ways to cut the return trip in half. The foundation needs the money. It would be nice not to have to worry about where that money is going to come from—or whether the check will bounce.


    “It’ll take me a week to get back to the world,” she continues.


    Lex finally reaches the top of the ice wall and slams the ice axe in her right hand into the snow above.


    “Yes, I told Mr. Weyland that,” Max states calmly.


    Lex glances up at the closeness of Max’s voice and gets a pleasant surprise. The learned gentleman is standing less than ten feet away, a helicopter and pilot waiting on standby.


    “He said he didn’t have a week,” Max finishes, closing his cellular phone and ending the call.


    Lex studies Max very carefully, liking what she sees. Max does the same, offering Lex an approving smile.


    -


    This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    -


    Piper Maru Ice Breaker Vessel


    Somewhere near Antarctica


    Max Stafford greets the assembled archaeologists, mercenaries, and scientific experts with a warm smile. To Lex, he nods and offers her a more friendly grin.


    Lex tries to appear noncommittal. She returns Max’s head nod and crosses both arms over her chest. To Max’s way of thinking, she only makes matters worse, her ample bosom on further display. Weyland’s head man crosses the floor of the ship’s enormous hold in long casual strides.


    “Welcome aboard, everyone. Please, take your seats. Some of you may be wondering why this team has been assembled. Your host will give you all of the answers now. May I present to you…Mr. Charles Weyland.”


    Heads turn and bodies are reclined, as they are greeted with the sound of footsteps. Standing on a large scaffold above the floor, Mr. Weyland speaks into the mic on his cheek.


    “Several days ago, one of our company’s satellites over Antarctica discovered a heat bloom under the Earth—while hunting for mineral deposits. What they found was this…”


    A large graphic is suddenly projected on the opposite wall. Lex squints to see the image. Miller, an archeologist Lex met on the helicopter ride over, leans over as well—his eyes wider than should be humanly possible.


    “Oh man,” Miller utters to no one in particular.


    “Oh man, is right,” the attractive archeologist Lex knows as Sebastian coos in agreement.


    Meanwhile, Weyland continues his speech. The aged billionaire’s demeanor is decidedly unpleasant—as if something has him miffed. His brow is furrowed, and his jaw appears perpetually clenched in anger.


    “The red lines indicate solid walls. Through thermal mapping…We’ve generated a rough 3-D image of the structure. It’s massive…And has literally hundreds of rooms. All of which are built around a central core. My experts tell me it’s a pyramid. However, what they can’t agree on is who built it. Or when it was constructed.”


    Sebastian finishes scrolling through several images on his laptop, glancing over the infrared schematics. He peers upward at their expedition benefactor with a stunned expression.


    “One expert tells me this has features reminiscent of the Aztecs. Another tells me the pyramid appears to be Cambodian. They all agree on one thing…The smooth side of the pyramid is definitively Egyptian.”


    “And they are right,” Sebastian says, interrupting Weyland’s narrative.


    “Who’s right?”


    “All of them.”


    Weyland chuckles softly. He shoots the archaeologist a condescending smirk and places a slender hand on the railing.


    “I don’t follow you.”


    “This pyramid contains features of not one…But all three cultures. I think we are looking at the first pyramid ever built.”


    It is Miller’s turn to chime in.


    “But built by whom?”


    “By the first civilization to inhabit this planet,” Sebastian says excitedly, his eyes gleaming like that of a small schoolboy.


    Silence descends upon the room and someone coughs. Sebastian looks sheepishly around, his excitement waning. Weyland’s brow creases and he puckers his lips in disbelief.


    “Thank you, Sir. Now, if I may continue?”


    “But who would build a pyramid out here?” Miller says.


    “Ancient maps show Antarctica free of ice,” Sebastian’s assistant interjects, backing up his shamefaced boss. “It’s possible the continent was once habitable.”


    “Hm. I can’t tell you who built it, Mr. Weyland. But, if I can take a sample from it…I can tell you how old it is.”


    “Well, Dr. Miller…I’m offering to put you right next to this thing.”


    “What caused the heat bloom?” Sebastian’s assistant queries.


    “We’re not sure,” Weyland admits with obvious hesitation.


    “Well, where exactly on the ice is this?” Lex adds her own question to the conversation.


    <div>


    “Bouvetoya Island. But this pyramid isn’t on top of the ice. It’s 2,000 feet below it.”


    Max gives a subtle nod of his head. A tall man, one of the drillers, climbs to his feet.


    “My name is Quinn. I’m the drill boss over this expedition. You’re looking at the best drilling team in the world. We’ll chew to that depth in less than seven days.”


    “Add three weeks on top of that to train everyone here,” Lex states in a commanding voice.


    “We don’t have that kind of time, Ms. Woods. I’m not the only one with a satellite trained over Antarctica. Others will follow suit—and soon.”


    “Maybe…I didn’t make myself clear?" Lex reiterates her point. “No one in this room is prepared for this trip.”


    “That’s why you’re here.”


    “Bouvetoya Island is one of the most isolated locations in the world. The nearest land is over a thousand miles away. There’s no help if the team runs into trouble.”


    “You’re right. It’s a no-man’s land,” Weyland barks, losing his temper somewhat at Lex’s insistence. “But the train has left the station. I think I speak for everyone here…When I say that this is worth the risk.”


    All heads, except for Lex’s, either nod or turn in unison. A current of acceptance falls over the group. Lex sighs heavily and climbs to her feet. She passes close to Weyland, as he descends the narrow staircase, and gives him a smoldering look.


    “Then, you’ll have to find another guide,” Lex hisses.