For a moment, the weight of antiquity seemed to descend upon Dirken. In his mind's eye, he saw before him not a crumbling edifice, but an intact temple decorated in smoking braziers and paint, men and women bedecked in colorful clothing and sandals in a style like those of the relief sculptures, their heads covered in many-feathered headdresses over sloping foreheads, hair pulled back into thick dreadlocks or braids and stiffened to form wildly artistic forms, their prominent noses and ears decorated with disks of turquoise or onyx.
"El Pirámide de los Cinco Pisos!" Juarez announced, breaking the vision. "The Pyramid of Five Stories!"
Dirken was indeed impressed, but he wasn't about to show it. "A pitifully generic name. Looks more like the 'Pyramid of Crumbling Gods' to me. No wonder you like it."
He heard Juarez scoff behind him, "Typical of a smuggler. No respect for the great accomplishments of mankind."
"True," Dirken replied. "It is an impressive accomplishment — of a culture long-dead and nearly forgotten, collapsing, bit by bit, like the rest of this world."
Drawing closer to the base of the pyramid, Dirken saw that it had been modified. At the bottom of the steps sat large power generators with thick black cables that snaked up the great staircase. Dirken could see satellite dishes, a microwave transmitter/receiver, and a neutrino-wave array for interstellar communications at the top, likely powered by these generators.
Yiorgos seemed to read Dirken's thoughts as he asked, "Did your Mayan friends also invent telecommunications, Juarez?"
The Governor didn't answer. Instead, he prodded them further until they were practically jogging across the plaza. Reaching the broad stairway, they started climbing, stepping over a row of blocks carved with odd, curving shapes that may have been some form of hieroglyphs.
Two of the acolytes stayed at the bottom, including the Bloodhawk's "slave," to start up the power generators. Weed and Juarez remained behind Dirken and Yiorgos. Ahead of them, Juarez's bodyguard quickly power-climbed the steps, carrying the Heart in its duffel bag. The others climbed slower, with the Aussie and the blond-haired yeoman from the Excellentia climbing just ahead of Yiorgos and Dirken, occasionally turning to check on the prisoners, blasters at the ready.
The steps were even steeper than those leading up to the acropolis, requiring that they used their hands to balance. At last they untied Yiorgos so that he could climb with his injured hand and forearm. He was in such a clearly weakened state that he wasn't likely to attempt an escape. Even so, Yiorgos had a hard time of it, repeatedly gasping in pain and wavering as if losing his balance, and Dirken had to help him along.
Dirken paused and looked down toward Juarez. "We have to stop. My partner…."
"No stopping!" Juarez said. "Get to the top. Now!"
"No!" Dirken shouted and kicked a loose stone.
Weed dodged it as it tumbled, then fired his blaster. The shot hit the steps to Dirken's right. Shattered bits of stone ricocheted around him.
"Climb!" Weed warned. "Or the next blast will end your life, asshole!"
Dirken growled in response, narrowing his eyes at the recruiter. I'll end your life, shithead, he thought, but then he turned and continued upward. "Come on, Yiorgos, old buddy, you can do it. We're halfway, now."
"Yeah," Yiorgos said, gasping. "Halfway to whatever fate they decide for us. How's that plan coming together?"
At last they reached the top and stood gasping for breath, facing a small, stone building with an open-aired vestibule with two openings. Inside, a doorway led into the dark depths.
Power cables, thick and black, snaked all the way up the stairs from the power units below. One cable continued across the platform into the dark room. The others split off to Dirken's left and right to communications arrays — those satellite uplink dishes and an interstellar neutrino emitter. Those connected via a series of cables to a quantum computing station shoved up against the stone building. All of these devices hummed with activity and defied the bright sunlight with various indicator lights and readouts.
Yiorgos collapsed onto the stone platform. Dirken stepped forward and leaned against one of two upright blocks, struggling to catch his breath. The Acolytes, similarly fighting for air, formed a ring around them. Juarez's bodyguard had long since outpaced them and was now inside the room doing something with the Heart. It was too dark inside for Dirken to see what it was, and the bodyguard had his back to him.
Dirken wiped sweat off his brow. Up here, the breeze was strong and cooled him a bit. Looking out across the plazas, he gazed out over the remains of the ancient city below, then out across a never-ending jungle. Far to the north he spied a blue line which he guessed was the Caribbean Sea. Or was it the Gulf of Mexi-something? Were they the same thing? Earth geography wasn't his strong suit.
"At last," Juarez said, stepping up to the top platform and holding his sides. "The temple of Itzamna, creator of the cosmos."
Dirken figured with one good stride he could launch himself toward Juarez and kick him down those fucking stairs. The bastard wouldn't stop rolling until he hit the ground, far below. But as satisfying as that might be, he wouldn't live another second beyond that as the other Acolytes opened fire.
Juarez pointed at Dirken. "That stone you're leaning against is where the Mayan priests made sacrifices. Blood was the nourishment of the gods. The priests would lay their sacrificial victims, each a high-status prisoner of war, across an altar just in front of you, then cut out their heart as attendants cut off the victim's head. Then the priest presented the still-beating heart upward to the great god in the sky!"
He unsheathed his sword. It had two blades that almost touched, parallel to each other. Clicking an activation button on the hilt, blue sparks jumped and danced between the blades like a mini-lightning storm — an "arc blade," not a plasma sword. Juarez pointed the arc blade skyward.
As if on cue, two spacecraft appeared in the sky with a thunderclap, having folded directly into the atmosphere — a highly desperate and illegal action that Dirken knew would be a dangerous but effective way to evade the orbital defense grid that had fought the Raptores.
Even from this great distance, he immediately recognized the black ships: a brigantine and a corvette. The Bloodhawk had arrived!
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
AVA
"That bastard doesn't give up, does he?" Dirken asked.
Yiorgos rolled over and looked up as well. "Oh! Well… you nearly killed him, Dirk. Knowing a pirate or two, I'd say it's not just about the Heart anymore. It's personal, now."
"Get him into the chamber," Juarez shouted to the Acolytes, pointing at Yiorgos with the arc blade, then at the doorway into the stone building. "Now!"
Weed and the yeoman hefted Yiorgos to his feet and half-dragged him toward the opening so fast the cyborg stumbled. "Watch it!" Yiorgos complained. "I can walk." He looked down at his injured leg. "Well, limp, at least."
Juarez stepped behind them, glancing up again toward the two spacecraft. Distracted.
Dirken met Yiorgos's eyes and saw a resolve there, a message that now was the time. He gave the barest nod of agreement.
Momentarily acting as if he were woozy and taking a step to steady himself, Dirken threw himself forward. As Weed raised his blaster, Dirken rolled to his right, turning into his body and elbowed him in the face.
Weed fired, but the shot went wide, blasting off a part of the stone crown on top of the building. He stumbled backward and tried to aim again, but Dirken was ready. He jumped and delivered a massive side kick to Weed's torso. The Acolyte flew backward and hurtled over the side, tumbling down the stairs and screaming in a staccato of pain with each thump until suddenly going silent.
"Told you I'd kill you first, fuck-face," he muttered.
Yiorgos head-butted the blond yeoman, but then Dirken's attention was on Juarez.
The Governor swung his arc blade. Dirken arched his back. Pulled away just enough. The tip of the blade sliced cleanly through the front of his shirt.
Juarez jabbed. Just as the blade seemed ready to stab through Dirken's chest, he dropped. Twisted. Swept his leg around. The electrified blade passed overhead as Dirken's ankle made contact with Juarez's knee. The Governor cried out and dropped to his knee.
Dirken grabbed the man's sword arm. Twisted his wrist in a joint-locking move. Wrested the sword from his grip.
He grabbed Juarez's hair and pulled his head back. Put the arc blade to the Governor's throat. The blade cut through part of the beard, the hair sizzling and popping, burning with a sulfurous odor. The blade vibrated in Dirken's hand, the energy barely contained.
"Don't do it!" the Aussie shouted. She had Yiorgos held in front of her, one hand around the cyborg's throat and the other holding a blaster to his Yiorgos's head. The blond yeoman lay unconscious on the stone floor. Three other acolytes had also pulled their blasters, one aimed at Yiorgos, the others at Dirken.
"Release him," Dirken demanded, sweat trickling down his face, "or your priest loses his head!"
"What's your plan, mate?" she asked, her voice calm. "Kill him? What do you think we'll do with your friend, here? What do you think we'll do with you?"
Juarez gingerly raised his hands. "This is needless," he said. "Drop the sword and I promise your partner won't be injured." Dirken didn't move. The blade continued to burn into the beard. "Come now, amigo," Juarez continued. "My life does not matter. They will proceed with the ceremony with or without me."
On that cue, the Aussie dragged Yiorgos backward until they stopped at the doorway. Meanwhile, the other Acolytes started circling around to either side of Dirken and the Governor, flanking them. Dirken looked each way and considered his options. He could kill Juarez and then try to fight them off, but he was outnumbered and outgunned. Don't bring an arc blade to a blasterfight, he thought. And trying to make a run for it down the pyramid was likely to end in his death, not to mention leaving Yiorgos to face them alone.
"Mmmm," Juarez said. "You are outnumbered. Your chances are slim. But I stand by my word. If you do as we say, we will not kill you. But if you fight, we will fight back and you will not survive."
Juarez's bodyguard came out, but not to help his boss. Instead, he took Yiorgos by the arm and pushed him into a metal frame bolted onto the wall there. Yiorgos shoved at him, weakened and pale as he was, but the bodyguard slammed him back. With the Aussie's help, he tightened straps around the cyborg's torso, arms, and legs, until he was immobile.
"Get your fucking hands off him!" Dirken yelled, but they didn't stop, and the other Acolytes continued to step closer.
Dirken took half a step back, pulling the sword and cutting through the beard. Juarez jumped as an arc of electricity briefly shocked him from the blade, but the sword didn't cut skin. The Acolytes stopped inching closer.
"Which is it, amigo? Let me go and live, and witness AVA's triumphant return? Or kill me and be killed? There is no escape. Either way, your friend will survive."
Dirken groaned. He stood no chance. He tossed the sword to the stones and let Juarez loose. The Governor scrambled forward, grabbed the arc blade, and turned to look back at Dirken. Then, seeing that Dirken had surrendered, he stood up. His beard was now lopsided, a jagged triangle of it missing, the ends still smoldering. Acolytes came up to Dirken and grabbed him by the arms.
Juarez glanced up to the sky, his eyes growing wide. "Put him on the hook!"
"Hook?" Dirken asked. But no one answered him. As the Acolytes dragged him forward toward the doorway, Dirken looked to the sky to see what the Governor had reacted to.
Two more ships had joined the pirates. Both were gleaming silver United Worlds starships — a destroyer and a patrol cruiser. All four starships opened fire as he watched. Red and green lasers flashed. An explosion, and then another, on the hull of the cruiser. It started smoking. Even from this distance he could tell that the destroyer was already heavily damaged at the bow before anyone had fired a shot. Was the destroyer the Excellentia? The Bloodhawk's brigantine, the Dragonfire, hadn't fared well after the attack on the Witch's Tits. The front of it was blasted to hell. Somehow, though, both had survived well enough to make it to Earth.
The Aussie had him by the handcuffs. She pushed Dirken up against the side of one of the stone blocks near the doorway. "Raise your hands as high as you can over your head, and no funny-business." Dirken raised his hands, his eyes still locked on her blue eyes. The Acolyte fastened something to the handcuffs. When Dirken looked up, he saw that the handcuffs had been latched into a hefty hook with some sort of locking mechanism.
The Aussie dangled a key in front of Dirken's face. "Don't even try to escape. Just enjoy the show." She stuck the key in her ample bosom and patted it. "Wouldn't you like to get at it, loverboy?"
He shrugged, then nodded and smiled. "I told you back at the lounge that I lost my date."
"Ha! Sorry, mate, still not for sale. Besides… I like girls." She punched him in the gut. Hard. Dirken bent in pain, straining against the hook. "That was for Weed. Arrogant pricks like you are the reason we need AVA in the first place."
Dirken groaned. Took a deep breath. Looked her in the eyes. "That's fair," he croaked, still trying to catch his breath, "but you're still hot."
Yiorgos yelled, "Get that fucking thing away from me!"
Both the Dirken and Aussie looked over to the doorway where his partner was strapped into a metal frame. The bodyguard was now attempting to attach a cable to Yiorgos's data port on his right arm. Dirken was close enough now that he could make out what was inside the room. The Heart sat atop of an hourglass-shaped console with readouts and indicator lights, arranged in a mesmerizing, shimmering way, and surrounded by candles — an altar. Dozens of cables ran from the altar to the sphere.
The inner walls and ceiling of the room were painted with fading and flaking designs of pigment in stylized figures of men in feathered headdresses. Some praying. Some offering items to leering gods. And some killing, with rivers of blood running from their sacrificial victims.
"Oi! Cyborg!" the Aussie said. "You can either have us plug it in there, or we can pop off that metal plate on your head and connect it directly to your processor. Might do a spot of damage to your brain, though. Make your choice and do it fast!"
Yiorgos huffed and looked at her, but it was clear the Aussie meant business. He gave one more tug of resistance, but they were able to connect the cable to his wrist data port.
All of the Acolytes had now gathered around, crowding into the little room and surrounding Yiorgos and Dirken in the entryway, including the Bloodhawk's "slave" and the others who had been at the base. The blond yeoman had recovered from being knocked out by Yiorgos and now stood to the side, rubbing his bruised forehead. Governor Juarez entered last, arc blade sheathed. "At last!"
"What the hell could you possibly want from us?" Dirken asked.
"You?" Juarez asked. "No, smuggler, not you. Him!" He pointed to Yiorgos. "We searched far and wide for the right recruit. We knew we needed a cyborg with a cranial processor, sensory inputs, and a vocal implant. And we needed one who would be profiteering enough to take on the job. Turns out, he had you for that." He turned toward his bodyguard. "Power her up!"
His bodyguard flipped a red switch on the hourglass-shaped console.
AVA suddenly lit up, the green lights turning red and brightening. A whirring sound started, and then readouts on the console flickered and came to life. The bodyguard checked the readings, then, eyes wide with excitement, nodded at Juarez.
Juarez raised his arms. "Brothers and Sisters! A new dawn has arrived. A day to burn away the greed and avarice. AVA lives!"
"Praise be to AVA!" the others chanted.
"She has returned!" the Aussie exclaimed, her face lighting up with reverence.
Dirken looked up as he heard a series of distant explosions. The four ships were now moving in a ballet, rotating and tilting, circling, jockeying for the most opportune positions. Firing lasers. The UW cruiser was listing, on fire,
and moving away. The Bloodhawk's corvette, the Speartip, made a sudden dive as a blast hit her engine, rocking the ship and sending shock waves that made Dirken's eardrums flutter. Smoke poured from the engine compartment, and she started circling downward.
This was a dogfight writ large.
But the UW ships didn't seem to dissuade the Bloodhawk. The brigantine's hangar opened and a number of landing craft launched, headed straight for the pyramid.
"Oh, shit, here they come," Dirken said. He looked back, but none of the Acolytes seemed to hear what he said.
"Praise be AVA!" Juarez said, and the others repeated it after him.
Yiorgos grunted, his human eye going wide. He shook against the frame, trying to escape.
"Yiorgos!" Dirken called out. "What's happening?"
The cyborg tilted his head, then jerked back the other way, stuttering. "Ahh… uh, uh uh uh!" His face contorted. Eye rolling. Mouth opening.
"It's happening!" Dirken heard the "slave" mutter, grabbing the Aussie by the hand and holding it.
"Yiorgos!" Dirken yelled.
Juarez continued. "From the time of the melting poles, when mankind poisoned our world, tore down our forests, and exterminated so many species, you were there! Great AVA, bring to us the wisdom of the ancient innovators. Gates and Musk. Berners-Lee and Einstein. Tesla and Turing! Take control and save us from ourselves!"
Eye still wide, Yiorgos stopped struggling. He bolted upright, stiff, back arched as far as the frame allowed, staring up at the ceiling. His robotic eye flashed. Once. Twice. Then it stayed on, flaring as if a sudden power surge had hit his system.
And then he made a sound — a metallic groan. His mouth still wide open and lips unmoving, he emitted the sound directly from his vocal implants. The groan wavered. Rose in pitch. Then, with a tinny rasp that evoked the dread of a corpse returning to life, like some robotic zombie, the cyborg's vocal implants drawled out three words that would haunt Dirken in his dreams.
The First Nova I See Tonight Page 21