The Risen Gods

by Frank Kennedy

  “I know you don’t figure the Chief for a traitor, after what happened to her team,” he whispered. “But what if this has been a setup?” She frowned, but he didn’t give up. “No, seriously. Perrone knew everything about Patricia. Where she was stationed, her war record. All of it. Then he had the last of her team executed. What if… it’s crazy… but what if he did that to maintain her cover? Make us think there’s no way she’d ever work for the admiral.”

  “Sounds like you watched too many Tom Cruise movies,” Sammie said. “But we’ve been through ten kinds of hell the last few days. If it makes you feel better, I’ll keep an open mind.”

  “Fair enough.” He looked forward, where Ophelia consulted with Brey and Rikard as Patricia continued discussing tactical ops. “She’s talking as if we’re gonna cruise in, cruise out. Name me one thing we’ve done so far that didn’t damn near get us killed.”

  “It would be nice to have something go our way for a change.”

  Michael rubbed the pouch holding his gun but took no comfort.

  32

  M ICHAEL SAW THROUGH OPHELIA TOMELIN, and the picture he was forming terrified him. She seemed smart enough, wealthy enough, and claimed to have powerful allies. Yet as Michael reviewed the full picture, he decided nothing added up.

  As a leader, her track record appeared dismal. She led her team into a massacre at the fold after allowing a spy inside then seemed helpless when Perrone arrived and began barking orders. She didn’t expect the attack on Rikard’s shuttle and didn’t think to check for bleeders until after the fact. She learned of another spy in her presence but decided not to act. Who does that? One concern led to another. Who is she getting her information from? Is that person on her side? Is she just making this shit up as she goes?

  While the shuttle made its way for the island, Michael used the quiet moments as opportunity to build his own backup plan if Ophelia’s failed. He called up more of the information he learned in the Tier 1 Educate amp. He looked for knowledge connected to terms he heard thrown around since he arrived. Some, such as presidium or sanctum, offered more details than he wanted, while terms related to weaponry, ships, Unification Guard, or anything related to stream amps came with a common disclaimer:

  “The information you have requested will be facilitated in Stage B of this Tier. The required implantation of a Communications Amplifier to your synaptic cortex will take place in year six according to Chancellory bylaws. Please consult your educational consortium.”

  “Great,” Michael whispered. “I’m a five-year-old.”

  He addressed Ophelia, who stood in the still-seat to his left.

  “So,” he said, under his breath, “You probably got a lot buzzing around in your gray matter right about now. Making sure you got the bases covered. But I could I trouble you with a couple questions?”

  She didn’t look at him. “If it’s about the plan…”

  “No. Got nothing to do with the plan.”

  “Then perhaps they are best saved for later?”

  “Now seems as good a time as any. How long before the island?”

  “Twenty-seven minutes.”

  “Perfect.” He recognized her tiny smile, the curt one many of his teachers employed while tolerating his silliness. “See, I don’t want to be a nuisance. I’m not the kid in the back seat always asking if we’re there yet. But I figure if I’m gonna spend the rest of my life in this universe, I need to get the inside dope.”

  She eyed him with the now-familiar grimace of Chancellors who didn’t understand his references. But he had Ophelia’s attention.

  “So, how long you been involved in all this?”

  “All what, Michael?”

  “The Jewels. Were you there from the start?”

  She hesitated. She wasn’t expecting that question.

  “No,” she said. “I came along after… after the creation.”

  “So, you helped hide all these people in the other universes?”

  “Not directly. I was a field delegate for a regional Sanctum on one of the colonies.”

  A term Michael understood. “You were a politician?”

  “Not a very good one, Michael. I trained as an exobiologist. My descendency has a long history with this Sanctum. A family tradition of sorts. I was biding my time for greater opportunity.”

  “Huh. Guess that opportunity came around.”

  “I was fortunate. My family has powerful allies.”

  “So, you heard about the Jewels being created?”

  She shook her head. “More complicated than that, and a longer story than we have time for. Why are you interested, Michael?”

  “Well, I guess I got some time to ask questions. Been running around like a chicken with my head chopped off the last few days. I just started wondering: Who are these people? If these Jewels are so damn important for the future, why are folks killing each other? Who the hell decided this was even a good idea?”

  She sighed. “Chancellors are complicated people.”

  “Uncomplicate for me.”

  “Whatever I say now will only lead to more questions. You need time and experience, Michael.”

  “Great. Two things I got none of. So just answer this: Why did you join the folks who created these Jewels?”

  “Because I want my people to live on.”

  “Yeah, I heard about the Chancellors having a dicey future. Sucks to be you, I reckon. But here’s what I don’t get. You people are smart. You travel across the galaxy. You live the high life. What kind of nutcase thought it was a cool idea to mix human DNA with some kind of crazy-ass energy thing to turn people into bombs?”

  She looked around with careful eyes and lowered her voice.

  “The Berserker feature was unintended. The creator of the program saw the Jewel energy as a way to repair our DNA and allow us to procreate new generations stronger than ever.”

  “So, everything was rolling along fine till the news of these Berserkers got out? That’s when you turned against each other?”

  Her brows furled. “Michael, it’s more complicated than that.”

  “Right. And you don’t have time to tell me the whole story. How long you been in charge of bringing the Jewels out of hiding?”

  “Three years.”

  “And you knew when it was gonna be time to bring them back?”

  “Yes. The Jewel program embedded in the DNA required fifteen years from insertion to reach maturity.”

  “You mean, to take over.”

  “No, Michael. To create evolved Chancellors who can save our future.”

  “If you had this time to prepare, what happened? How did it turn into a big ol’ clusterfuck?”

  He assumed she didn’t care for the tone; she’d probably never been spoken to that way by someone wearing a Solomon bodysuit. Yet Michael refused to let up. Eventually, she responded.

  “Many Chancellor families have powerful allies. Sometimes, our allies consort with our rivals. It’s in our nature, Michael. We have always been a very ambitious people. I tried to keep my rivals from learning about the IDFs and our mission. As you’ve seen, I was not successful.”

  “Sorry, Ophelia. I’m not trying to rub it in your face. I just want to know what we’re up against. You can’t fight an enemy if you don’t know shit about them.”

  “Trust me, Michael. I know who we are fighting.”

  “Right. The admiral. But who else? Yesterday, when Sammie and I were on the beach, we saw that space elevator… SkyTower. The Chief said the person who was causing this trouble lived there. She right?”

  “Yes.”

  “And this person is the reason for all these mercs?”

  “Yes.”

  “Let me guess. He’s the leader of that group I been hearing about… the United Green.”

  She laughed. “No, his interest is very different.”

  “And?”

  “Michael, the man in SkyTower created the human-Jewel hybrids.”

  Michael’s heart skip
ped a beat.

  “Wait, what? That don’t make sense. Now he’s trying to kill them?”

  “I can’t…” She released a long exhale. “He has other plans now, and he sees his creations as a danger to those plans.”

  “Huh? What plans? Who is this guy?”

  “I don’t know the shape of his agenda. I haven’t worked with him in almost six years. But we need to rescue the two Jewels on Earth and take them off-world, where he has far less influence.”

  “Damn. If he and the admiral are on the same side, J don’t have a chance, does he?”

  “As I told you before, Augustus Perrone will not harm James. That’s not his goal. I assure you, he and Emil Bouchet are not allies.”

  “Bouchet? That’s the guy in SkyTower? That’s…”

  In a light-bulb moment, everything clicked.

  “Holy shit on a stick. Emil Bouchet. He’s…”

  She nodded. “James’s birth father, creator, would-be destroyer.”

  Michael realized he underestimated just how disgusting these Chancellors were.

  “You mean, he sent those soldiers to kill J? His own son? The kid he sent off to another universe to hide with a fake family for fifteen years? Then soon as Jamie returns, he tries to whack his own kid?”

  Ophelia looked away, so Michael switched to Sammie, standing to his right. He kept his voice low.

  “I reckon you been hearing this?”

  She shed a tear, but he wasn’t sure whom it was for. When she nodded, he said:

  “Tell me you didn’t know about this.”

  “Not about his father. I had asked about SkyTower, but she never told me a name.”

  Michael cut himself off. He didn’t want anyone seeing where his paranoia was leading him. He followed Jamie across the fold on an insane mission to kill the other Jewels before they unleashed holy terror, in this universe or any other. Ironically, Jamie’s own father beat him to the idea. And now they were headed into a rendezvous with one of Emil Bouchet’s targets.

  Minutes later, as Rikard announced the shuttle was on final approach to the Heinlein Outpost, Michael realized everyone onboard was a damn fool. If he and Sammie were going to survive this day, he needed to do something immensely stupid.

  33

  Heinlein Outpost, Isle of Seneca

  A FTER THIRTY MINUTES ON LAND, MICHAEL CONCEDED to having walked into paradise. He stood with Sammie on the Level 4 viewing platform, where they were assigned. They watched the sun rise over the open ocean as a warm Atlantic breeze ruffled them. Fifty meters below, at the base of the slope upon which the facility was built, waves pounded the seawall.

  “I could stay here forever,” he said, “if I didn’t think somebody might shoot at me any time now.”

  “It’s beautiful,” Sammie said. She admired the facility, built as a series of concentric hemispheres jutting from a rocky hillside. “Brey told me it was built eight hundred years ago, but it looks almost new. You would think the wind and salt would have worn it down.”

  “Probably made of marosilicate,” he said with nonchalance.

  Sammie gave him an eye that demanded an explanation.

  “Oh, look at that,” Michael teased. “I know something you don’t. It was in my Tier 1 program. Architecture. It’s a superpowered bonding material. They used it on their first spaceships. Then near about everything else. Totally climate resistant.”

  She nodded. “That explains what Daddy meant. He once said when the Chancellors build something, it stands for centuries, never growing old. I thought he was using a metaphor.”

  “Metaphors.” Michael groaned. “That’s when Language Arts went downhill for me.”

  She laughed. “No. You lost out on Language Arts when you stopped reading and decided life was about bingeing videos.”

  He didn’t argue, but he appreciated the momentary distraction. He forgot they were assigned to this platform along with one mercenary. The woman, perhaps in her mid-thirties—although Michael stopped making assumptions since meeting peacekeepers—took a seat at a café-style table along the promenade. She retrieved a beverage and fruit dish from a mobile serving kiosk to fit in amid the residents who might venture out for their morning meal.

  “Keep your eyes peeled,” Patricia told them when they received their assignment. “Don’t behave suspiciously. You are aides on a scientific mission. For now, you’re just acquainting yourselves with the facility.”

  “And if we suspect trouble?” Sammie asked.

  Patricia pointed to the mercenary, Sergeant Linton. “Give her this sign.” The Chief scratched twice beneath her right eye. “Otherwise, take no action. We cannot afford to stir a disruption.”

  Sammie frowned. She must have hated being relegated to a supporting role. She was the destroyer of helicopters and a trained, stone-cold assassin. But proper Chancellors didn’t do the dirty work of their soldiers, and Ophelia needed Sammie for her family’s money, not to fight a civil war. Like Michael, she had unfastened her side pouch for quick access to her gun.

  “You’re not buying this setup, either,” he told her on the platform.

  She shook her head. “You remember the last time we were together at sunrise? With Jamie?”

  How could he forget? A swim in Lake Vernon to wash off the bloodstains from two bullet wounds in the back. Still processing how his best friend healed him with a touch. A moment of peace. A moment of hope. And then the helicopter raining bullets.

  “Running down that beach,” he said, “I wasn’t even sure I was alive. Thought I’d died and gone to hell. Made a shitload more sense.”

  She nodded to Michael, and they faced the sea. She closed in.

  “The Chief is an experienced UG officer, but I think her tactics are flawed. She’s spreading us too thin. We have people positioned on four levels. She thinks we’re covering our bases, but I think we’re leaving the landing port vulnerable.”

  She nodded east, along the rocky shore. The multi-tiered transport center was a hundred meters distant, connected to the main facility by a pedestrian bridge. Their own shuttle was visible inside the open-air building, parked in a slot two tiers from the top.

  “We docked in a full landing bay. That means the other Jewel’s shuttle will come in above or below. We need to have a defensive position when the shuttle arrives, not be over here playing lookout.”

  Michael hummed. “I thought she sold that part well. Spread us out, make the enemy not realize who we are, if they’re here at all. When the Jewel arrives, we close the net, make the transfer. Easy peasy. Makes sense, unless the Chief has her own plans.”

  Sammie bowed her head. “Come on, Michael. She’s not a traitor.”

  “Well, somebody is. Remind me again. Where are Brey and Rikard?”

  “Level 2, with a pair of mercs.”

  “Cool. So, if one of them is the two-face, he can’t do anything without a bunch of eyes on him. And the Chief?”

  “Mobile. That’s all I know.”

  “In other words, she could be anywhere. And their amps are working again?”

  “Yes, but she ordered them into circastream mode. They’re only connected to each other.”

  He bowed his head. “Hold the phone, Sammie. Ain’t that the mistake Ophelia made back at the fold? She thought she knew everybody connected to her, but turns out, some smartass brought in Perrone, too.” When she nodded, he finished. “Sorry, Sammie, but I can’t stand by and wait for this thing to go sideways.”

  “What are you saying, Michael?”

  He gave her the high-sign, a scratch below his eye. “Hang loose.”

  Time to act, dumbass, he told himself as he straightened his bodysuit and made a beeline for Sergeant Linton. In another context, he would have been fascinated with her beauty. Hazel eyes, wide and Nordic. Moonlight blond hair pulled into a bun. Graceful pose, eating fruit with a refined etiquette. But it was a con. She was a soldier on the big stage, ready to obliterate the enemy.

  He pulled up a chair and joined
her. Linton never made eye contact as she sipped a pink fruit beverage.

  “I get it,” he told her. “Don’t wanna make like we know each other. So, you go on and eat your grapefruit. I’ll talk.” She hesitated, but just when Michael thought she’d rip him a new one, Linton set down her beverage and stabbed at another piece of citrus.

  “I reckon you got peacekeeper smarts in you, which means you figure this scheme has more holes than Swiss cheese. And yeah, I ain’t got a lick of military training, but I reckon this much. You try something one time and it don’t work, then turn around and do it the same way again and expect a different outcome, you’re pretty much nuts. And I suppose you heard how the last time Ophelia Tomelin and the Chief teamed up, the Chief’s whole damn squad got wiped out.” He looked for any hint of discomfort. “You heard about that, right?”

  Linton cleaned her bowl, wiping a tiny piece of grapefruit from her lips. She sat back, looked east to the rising sun, and finished her beverage. Michael waited. He saw the contemplation and at last a hint of a wry smile.

  “You are a rodent,” she mumbled. As Linton gathered her dishes and rose from the table, she faced Michael. “I have killed ninety-seven men on four colonies. Indigo trash, all of them, but better men than you. Do as you are told.”

  In a cat-like twist, she deposited her dishes into the mobile kiosk. Linton walked away, finding another spot ten meters west on the promenade. When Michael finished absorbing the cold wave, he returned to Sammie.

  “I have told you how much I hate these people, right?”

  She landed a caring hand on his chest.

  “I’m sorry, Michael. You’re trying to help, but you’re a Solomon. They won’t listen.”

  “Funny me. I thought we were fighting on the same side. But I said too much. She was pissed.”

  “Like what?”

  “Told her what happened to the Chief’s last squad.”

  “Oh, shit.” Her frown carried a condescension Michael thought he was growing used to. “Peacekeepers have an undying loyalty to their field commanders. If the commander has a black mark, they fight even harder. They want their commander to find redemption because no peacekeeper can live with failure. It’s about more than being a soldier; it’s part of the Chancellor idyll. One of Daddy’s first lessons.”