by Chris Fox
“Will you, now?” she asked, grip tightening still further on the beast’s neck. Bones popped. “How many such servants do you possess, Sobek? I see only two. You’re a cautious god. If there were more they’d be with you. I can kill this one and be on the other before you take a step.”
“Isis,” Sobek said, extending his hands in a placating gesture. The long gray claws ruined the effect, but she paused to hear his words. “Surely we can come to some accord. This island is only valuable for its stone. I will quarry and deliver some of it to you. You must need it, or why journey here so soon after waking?”
“Do you think me a fool, Sobek?” she hissed, claws drawing pinpricks of black blood upon the servant’s scaly neck. “You would betray me in the first century. The first decade, even. You’d be a dagger to my throat, one thirsting for my blood. To say nothing of this master you serve.”
“Not so,” Sobek said. He licked the lips running the edge of his snout, reeking of apprehension. She’d chosen a wise tactic. He extended an arm, his hand beginning to vibrate as light flared in the palm. The Mother’s eyes widened as gold pooled there, flowing into a gleaming golden staff that she recognized instantly. It was tipped with a winged scarab, a large sapphire set in its belly.
“Where did you get that? Sekhmet would never have given it up willingly,” she said, grip slackening slightly.
“Who says she gave it up? I took it while she wasted time picking her pantheon, then fled for distant shores to secure my passage to this age. I know how strongly you desire it, for you better than any know the true worth of a Primary Access Key. Hear my offer, mighty Isis,” he said, bowing his head in supplication. His gaze shifted back and forth between his minions, as he seemed to weigh their relative value. “I will give it to you as a sign of goodwill, a proof that I intend no animosity between us. Surely parting with such a magnificent weapon shows I intend no confrontation. You would flay the flesh from my bones with such a weapon.”
“Why part with it?” the Mother asked, eyes narrowing. Then it occurred to her. There was only one way Sobek would part with such a treasure. Self-preservation. “You know Sekhmet will come for it. You want to rid yourself of it rather than risk her wrath.”
“She hates that name, you know. Any who use it are flayed alive. I’d rather Ra focus on you, and you can make use of such a potent artifact. Besides, my master would not take kindly to Ra visiting war upon these lands. I would suffer mightily for such a slight. We both gain, Isis,” he rumbled, as close to embarrassed as a reptile could be. “I need time to build my strength, to recruit new followers. My master will rule the land this world calls Australia, across the great sea. Away from you. I require this place only that I may build weapons with which to secure his new empire.”
“Very well, I will give you a decade. Ten years to mine and build,” she said, cocking her head to the side. She hurled the reptile from her, the beast tumbling into its companion against the bulkhead with a hollow boom. Both rolled into a crouch, ready to attack if called upon to do so.
A low growl came from Yukon. She reached down to stroke his muzzle, turning back to Sobek. “In exchange, you will fill this vessel with stone. You will give me the Primary Access Key. You will send no vessels to my continent, or to the continent to the north. Have we an accord?”
“I’d also have a mutual pledge that we will not attack each other during that time,” Sobek rumbled. He gave throaty growl as he extended the staff. “Do you agree, Isis?”
“We have an accord,” she said, nodding resolutely. Then she took a step closer to Sobek. “If your mind should turn to betrayal, I would counsel otherwise. I sense an unseen hand jerking us about like puppets. A threat to both of us, to your master as well.”
“What do you mean?” Sobek said, eyes narrowing as a troubled rumble burbled up.
“Study this world’s history. Look especially to the land they call Egypt,” Isis replied, finally giving voice to thoughts that had troubled her for some time. “For thirteen thousand years we slumbered. The world should know almost nothing of us, just vague scraps and myths…”
“Yet our names survive,” Sobek finished after she trailed off. He’d never been the smartest of their band, but that didn’t make him stupid. “They survive exactly as they were. Even genetic memory couldn’t do that. Someone woke early, and their hand guided this culture. Perhaps others.”
“Or that someone never slumbered at all,” Isis countered. She raised a hand to forestall his protest. “I know, such a feat would have required an incredible store of energy, one we assumed could only be found in an Ark. What if we were wrong? None of us knew Set’s whereabouts when we entered the Arks.”
“Set died in another age. There must be some other explanation,” Sobek replied, giving an agitated rumble. Still, she had placed the seeds of doubt. Enough that his attention would be divided in the coming years.
Isis had chosen a dangerous course, but Sobek’s eventual betrayal was nothing beside the power of the staff. Now she could meet Sekhmet in battle on equal footing, could control any Ark in the world. She was once again a true Ark Lord.
54
Permission Denied
Jordan tensed as the elevator doors slid open to reveal a wide auditorium with three rings of seats facing a massive screen. Every figure was focused on that screen, which showed a man of indeterminate age with blond hair and the beginnings of crow's feet. He had a hard jaw and even harder eyes, the kind of eyes that broke anything lingering too long under their oppressive stare. That stare shifted to Jordan, giant eyes narrowing.
“Commander Jordan. The prodigal son returns to the fold,” the Old Man said. It was Panama all over again. Could he never escape this guy? The Old Man smiled, and it chilled Jordan to his very core. “Please, have a seat. You’re relevant to this discussion and I want your input. Director Phillips seems to think I should give you a squad and send you after a creature that’s the closest thing we know of to a god. He’s demanded I give you Object Two; what’s more, that I should put it in the hands of Ms. Gregg, a woman who hates us with an intensity we cannot possibly fathom. Tell me, what do you think?”
Jordan swallowed, sifting through the different approaches he could take here. Fuck it. It was time for honesty. He strode boldly down the stairs and past the first two rings, the heads of the most powerful organization left in the wake of the apocalypse swiveling in his direction. Section chiefs and their top aides whispered quietly, clearly surprised by his arrival. Interesting. The Director must have kept his return quiet.
“The Director is right. If we don’t stop Irakesh, he’ll seize control of a pyramid just like the one in Peru. It’s designed to harness the power of the sun and will amplify his powers,” Jordan explained, jaw set. He kept his posture rigid and looked the bastard right in his digital eye. If he was going to be crucified, he’d do it with dignity. “His powers are already immense. If we let him get a base of operations, he will become our primary competition on this continent. It will lead to war and that’s a war we aren’t equipped to win. Our infrastructure is critically damaged. Our communications with survivors near nonexistent. That isn’t the case for Irakesh. He can control the dead and hurl them against us in near limitless numbers while we struggle to save survivors. His army is endless. We have a chance to stop him…” The Old Man met his gaze, expression unreadable. “If we take the hit and succeed, we’ll have eliminated our primary competition. If we fail, we’ll have risked nothing.”
“Nothing?” Mohn snapped, eyes smoldering. Then he struck, spittle flying at the screen as his face twisted. “You want us to deliver one of our most potent artifacts into his hands. To alert him to the fact that humanity still has a technologically advanced stronghold. Are you insane or just reckless? He cannot know about us, Commander, not until we are strong enough to defend ourselves. Right now we have the power of anonymity, a power you’d casually discard. We saw how things turned out on your watch down in Peru. What makes you think you’ll have any
more success now?”
“Because,” Jordan roared, beginning the shift. It came swiftly, his clothing shredded in the blink of an eye as blond fur exploded around his expanding body. His voice boomed through the room now, bestial and immense. “We have the forces capable of taking him down. Werewolves were created to fight his kind, the deathless. You have two of them. Give us a plane, a squad, and Object Two. We’ll take Irakesh down and end this. It’s worth whatever risk that might mean.”
“If you’re successful,” the Old Man shot back, apparently unfazed by Jordan’s new form. The fury was still there, but the Old Man had reigned it in. A smart move, as it made him appear more reasonable in front of his underlings. “I will not trust the weight of the world on your shoulders, Commander. Not a second time. Not after the monumental disaster in Peru. That was our chance to hold onto South America. Do you know where that is, Jordan? In the middle of the green belt least affected by this disaster. The place where power grids weren’t utterly destroyed. The place where we could have re-established civilization.
“You cost us that. If I trust you a second time it will jeopardize the little we’ve been able to save,” the Old Man continued, tone scathing. Jordan remained unbowed. The Mother represented a powerful ally, one with a knowledge of their enemies gathered over millennia. Waking her had been the right thing to do, though admitting that here would mean a swift trip to the lab. He wasn’t sure how he’d avoided it thus far.
The Old Man weighed him for a long moment before continuing. “Commander, your new friends view us as an evil corporation. One hell bent on world domination. You know better. You know the truth. Am I a tyrant? You’re damned right. But my duty is to safeguard as many human lives as I can. I built this company to prepare for this day. We have to find survivors and get them back on their feet. We have to save what can be saved.
“Even if Irakesh becomes a major threat, it will take him months or possibly years to solidify his hold on the west coast,” the Old Man argued, his gaze now taking in the whole room. All eyes were once again focused on him. “By that time we will have restored order to the east. We’ll save everything that can be saved and we’ll get humanity back on its feet. If I let you risk a strike and you fail he may come for us much sooner.”
“He already knows about us,” Jordan growled, taking strength from his lupine form. That got their attention. All eyes settled back on him. “He stole one of our planes, the plane with a nuclear asset you meant for Peru. Deathless can ingest memories when they consume brain matter. There was only one way he could have known about Panama. He killed and ate one of our officers. He’s coming for us. The only question is: do we do something about it while we’ve got the upper hand, or let him become a threat we can’t stop?”
“We used one of our Skyhammers to knock his bird out of the sky. He got up and walked away from that with the asset intact. It’s still broadcasting,” the Old Man replied, unmoved. The rest of the room was shaken, whispers rippling through their ranks.
“That’s why we have to stop him,” the Director’s clear voice rang through the room, silencing everyone as he rose to his feet. He allowed the silence to stretch before speaking again, ever the master showman. “Leif, I’ve served you loyally for fifteen years. During that time I’ve backed every play, done everything to advance your agenda. I’ve done that because you’ve always been twelve steps ahead of me. Because you’re the finest strategist I’ve ever seen. But you know what? Even you make mistakes once in a while and it’s my job to call you on them. You’re wrong. If we take a swipe at the bastard and miss, at least we’ll have tried. If you don’t want to risk Object Two, don’t send it. But give the Commander a team and send him on his way.”
“I’m sorry, Mark,” Mohn said, though his eyes said the words were a lie. They smoldered. He was clearly incensed at having been contradicted in front of so many, but was careful not to let his composure slip. “Ingesting brain matter? Even if it’s true, all this monstrosity knows is that Mohn existed and has installations all over the globe. He has no intel on which ones survived, because whoever he ‘ate’ in Peru didn’t know. I can’t risk that changing, not without a guarantee of success. You can’t give me that and you know it. This Irakesh is an unknown quantity. We don’t know what he can do and we do not want to be his top priority. Permission denied.”
Jordan’s eyes narrowed as he studied the Old Man’s gaze. This wasn’t over. He would exact retribution on both Jordan and the Director. The question wasn’t if. It was when and how.
55
A Plan
Blair picked his way up the last few feet of the trail, wiping sweat from his brow as he leaned against the damp bark of a coastal redwood. Being a werewolf gave him a lot more strength and endurance, but the duffel had to weigh at least a hundred pounds and he’d carried it all the way up Mount Tam, down into Muir Woods, and back up into Mill Valley. It was exhausting.
Highway 101 stretched below him, running north to south under the steel grey sky. It was flanked by hills to the west and a view of the Richmond Bridge to the east. He’d driven it often coming home from the city. For just a moment he pretended the cars clogging it indicated normal rush hour traffic, but only for a moment. Every last one was eerily still.
“Can you feel him?” Steve asked, pausing on the bike trail next to Blair. He carried a smaller duffel and didn’t seem the worse for wear, despite their trek from the coast. His eyes were sharp, calculating. As always.
Blair turned to glance up the trail, about fifty feet down the hillside where it met a bike path paralleling 101. Bridget sat on a large rock, both duffels tossed absently beside her. She’d been avoiding Steve even more than she had on the flight, despite the fact that she’d found the courage to tell Blair he was plotting something. If only they didn’t need Steve for what was about to come.
“Yeah,” Blair replied, staring up at the low wall of clouds dominating the bay just beyond the freeway. “He’s east of us, probably somewhere in Oakland. Coming closer from the feel of it. The Ark has got to be close, though honestly I haven’t the faintest idea where. Could be underwater, for all we know. The coastline was three hundred feet lower thirteen thousand years ago.”
“Blair, listen,” Steve said, setting his duffel on the ground next to him. He shuffled back and forth, wrestling with whatever he was about to say. Blair stared hard at him. This wasn’t at all like Steve. He didn’t dither. He said what he meant. Steve looked up at him, eyes searching. “I have to ask you a hard question. I don’t want you to think of it as an attack, okay?”
“Whatever you’re going to say, just say it,” Blair snapped, eyes narrowing. Bridget’s warning lurked in the back of his mind.
“You’ve fought Irakesh twice now. Both times he’s handed you your ass. You’ve also said our only chance against him is the access key, because that puts you on even footing with him, right?” Steve asked. The words thrummed in Blair’s ears somehow. It was the oddest feeling, like standing too close to the speakers at a concert where you felt the sound more than heard it.
Somewhere in the back of his mind the beast gave a low growl, then a whine.
“Yeah, I haven’t fared so well, thus far. I’m still learning,” he shot back. It came out more defensive than he’d intended.
“So why not let me do it? I’ve got more experience with shaping. I was able to draw on the Mother’s memories. I have the best chance of beating him,” Steve said, resting a hand against a neighboring redwood. Blair felt lightheaded, more than the hike should have justified. It was difficult to think. “Besides, he won’t be expecting it.”
“Steve, I’m genuinely glad we found you and that you decided to help us against Irakesh,” he said, resting his weight against the same tree. God but he needed some sleep. “I’m not giving you the key, though. To be blunt, I don’t trust you. Even if I did, the Mother entrusted me with it. This is my responsibility.”
Brief irritation flashed across Steve’s features, then his face w
as all compassion again. The expression looked so out of place.
“Blair,” Bridget called from down the trail. He glanced down at her. She was pointing towards the bay. He couldn’t make out what she was indicating.
“Let’s find out what she wants,” Blair said, shouldering his duffel and starting down the trail. He still felt lightheaded, but the feeling was receding. What was wrong with him?
He reached Bridget quickly. She looked more excited than she had in days.
“I can smell Cyntia. I’d recognize that scent anywhere,” Bridget said, pointing at the bay. Her finger indicated a spur of land just beyond the wide arc of the Richmond Bridge. Somewhere on the edge of Berkeley, from the look of it. “They’re coming closer. I’m betting they’re going to cross the bridge.”
“That would put them on the other side of Larkspur, somewhere right around San Quentin,” Blair replied, nodding towards the prison perched on the far edge of the bay. He’d passed by it many times when taking the ferry into the city. “Fastest way for us to get there is to hike down 101 to Larkspur, then head east up 580.”
“I don’t like it,” Steve said, shaking his head slowly. He frowned at Bridget just as she was about to speak and she subsided. Blair wondered what she’d been about to say. “Not during the day, at least. They’ve got all the advantages. We should wait for nightfall.”
“I agree,” Blair said, nodding towards the dock in the distance. Several massive ferries were tied there, but also an array of smaller boats. Beyond it lay a small shopping center next to a stop light. “They’ll have to come up Sir Francis Drake Boulevard if they come this way and we’ve got a perfect vantage. I say we find a good hiding spot and wait.”