Tanesha raised her hand. Flat, short-nailed fingers together. Aubry braked the truck. He turned and looked through the slit in the back of the truck, beneath the canvas. It smelled of old, burnt oil. The night wind carried the dust of a long, weary day.
The digital display read 1 K.
She turned to him. “This is the place,” she said. “Once, long ago, this too was our territory. This was our land, before we were driven to the Iron Mountains. Before we chose to make our stand. This is where they will come. You must go. And you alone. We will wait.”
“Thank you, Tanesha. For everything.”
“You are certain about this thing?”
Aubry smelled the night. The night was clean, and taut. Dawn was coming. Even if he couldn’t smell it. It was coming. “Yes,” he said. “I am.”
She nodded. Aubry climbed out of the car, and headed up into the rocks, and began to climb hard, his body working like a perfect machine.
There is more than emotion. There is more than body. There is the thing called spirit.
There was a cave up ahead, one of a network of old mines, and he knew what would wait for him within, in a circle of blood.
He paused in the mouth of the mine, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness.
He smelled them before he saw them, smelled their heat, sensed their … energy. There, squatting like so many machines, so many primal animals waiting for him, for something, to come out of the darkness and join them, were what remained of the Six.
They watched him. Two were male, one female. All were naked. The males balanced their heads on thick, sinewy necks. The female’s body was more slender, her body fat low, her breasts carried high upon solid muscle. The impression of fluid power was unmistakable. Their skin was heavily tattooed. Both males had shaved heads. The female wore densely knit corn-rows. Male scalps were graven with keloid scars. Their brows were plucked clean.
“Welcome, brother,” the female said. “I am San. These are my brothers Roku and Ni. It is time for us to speak.”
7
“You are … made from me?” Aubry said.
“Make the circle, brother.” Ni handed him a knife. Aubry cut his hand and let the blood flow into the pot. The pain was a deep, silvery thing, and he felt something within him draw back from it, but he was unmoved.
They handed him the pot. He walked around the circle, adding his blood to the thin line of black that encircled them. Then he stepped within.
“Within, we are more than brothers and sister,” San said. “Within, there are only the Three. Once, the Six. Now, we are Three.”
“We are Four,” Aubry said.
“Within this circle, there is only truth.”
Aubry waited.
Ni looked at Aubry. “What is your truth?”
“I came here to kill Phillipe Swarna.”
Silence.
He continued. “I know that you were created from my flesh. That you were sent to America to kill me. Why you rescued me, I do not know. But we are all brothers. I believe that you and I share more than blood. And flesh. And bone. I believe that you and I share a dream.”
“And what is that dream, my brother?” San asked.
“I dream at night. All men do. But in waking, my dreams slip away, leaving only the taste of the dream to suggest its journey through my mind. I know the dream I have lived. I have awakened. I will kill Phillipe Swarna. I will take his life for what he has done to me, and done to my people. And I want your help.”
There was a long pause. “You are our brother,” Ni said at last, “but you still don’t understand.”
“Understand what?”
“We were not made from you,” Roku said. “You, and I, and all of us, were made from Phillipe Swarna. We are the Abomination.”
8
San continued. “We are what Phillipe Swarna created to keep himself alive. At first he did it to continue his work. Then, he did it because he was mortally afraid of death.”
“Death,” Aubry said.
“‘Everything of Life is born of woman,’” San quoted. “In creating us, he created something not of life. We were his extra hearts, and brains, and livers. When a piece malfunctioned, he took from us. There were three generations of clones—you were first generation. You are the only survivor of the original Six, forty years ago. Fifteen years later he grew six more. And when he had used those up, he created us, the last. The nanotech is more efficient than transplantation. We are the last generation. Only one of us, Ichi, was sacrificed in the white room. The other five became his most private enforcement arm. His personal bodyguard.”
“Then why did his own son go to America?”
“During the PanAfrican war, Swarna’s only wife and daughter were killed.” Roku’s voice was a bass rumble. “Ibumi’s mother and sister. The vengeance on President Harris was Ibumi’s dream, his driving ambition. More his plan than Swarna’s.”
Aubry considered this. “So this is how he survived six assassination attempts? By taking pieces from bodies grown for him?”
“Yes,” said Go. “By the creed of the Ibandi, it was unholy. An abomination. When it became known, he was excommunicated.”
“Yes,” San agreed. “And the Ibandi tried to rescue some of the clones. And failed. Only one was liberated.”
“Me.”
“A warrior named Thomas Jai betrayed Swarna, and carried you to America. Took you far beyond the reach of Swarna’s security forces. A futile gesture, saving a single child. But it had to be done.”
Aubry’s mind opened, as if someone had pulled back the night and the stars, and exposed the sun. He felt the light flowing through him, and his body began to shake. “So … I accidentally killed Swarna’s only son.”
“And he sent us to kill you.”
“Didn’t he know? Didn’t he know who and what I was?”
“No. There was a single order: ‘Find the one who killed my son. Kill him.’ We came to America. We traced the information. We found you. And when we did, we knew. And we didn’t tell Swarna.”
“Why?”
“Because we had an allegiance beyond Swarna. Beyond even Tanaka Sensei.”
“To each other.”
“To each other,” San said. “To Swarna, we were spare parts. And his security. But we were the Six. Three years ago, he needed a heart transplant. He took it from Ichi, our brother. We were then the Five.”
San leaned forward. “We have only each other … we are family. We are not of Life. He created us thus. We never knew anything of that world. We came to America, to kill you, and discovered for ourselves who you really were. And saw in you what we never knew for ourselves.”
Aubry’s voice was soft. He felt as if he could barely breathe. “And what was that?”
“A family. A woman. A child. A great child.” Suddenly, the cave seemed hotter. “You are what we could have been, had we been human.”
“You are human,” Aubry said.
Ni shook his head sadly. “No. To be human, you must be alive. To be alive you must be born of woman. You found a woman to share her fire with you. Your woman made you human, brother. You are our hope.”
“Your hope?”
“Despite the transplants, despite the nanobots, Swarna grows ever older, and more fearful. Divine Blossom, the Yakuza combine, is a vulture. Soon, they will take what they have coveted for so long. There is nothing to stop them—”
“Why do you need me? Why haven’t you done something about this, if you hate him so?”
“Divine Blossom waits, knowing that PanAfrica cannot survive Swarna’s death. If we kill him, we have to deal with Divine Blossom. But you are our brother. You have Gorgon. You have the ear of the president of the United States. You have the Scavengers. If you will add your knowledge, your connections, to our strength, what Swarna did might yet become a thing of good. Without you, we are a rabble, unable to hold what Swarna created. So much death and misery … all for nothing. Will you do this thing? Will you join with us?�
��
Aubry considered.
If this was why he had been born, not of woman, a creature of Death …
If this was why he had been reborn, through Promise, through Mira, through Jenna … and through Leslie …
It made sense. The world was smaller and stranger than ever he had imagined. But now, for the first time, he could see a pattern behind the chaos.
My life, he thought.
I can have my life. Complete.
Or, no less desirable, a good death.
He leaned forward. “We have a commitment from Five Songs,” he said. “A thousand men and women of the underground. Ready to die, if I can promise Phillipe Swarna’s death as well.”
San’s eyes shone. “I have a plan,” she said.
9
It was raining by the time the security skimmer passed the Citadel’s gates, running the codes through its computer. It landed, and scanners showed that Ni, San, and Roku were aboard. They disembarked, still wearing shock armor and faceplates, and seemed as tall and strong as the mountains from which they had just returned.
The courtyard below the Citadel was of concrete, with high, stark walls, and the raindrops hit and spattered, steaming against the asphalt.
Tanaka met them at the lock, with his own group of Divine Blossom guards. “And?”
San’s face shield depolarized. “No sign of Go, or the rebels. It was a false sighting.”
Tanaka cursed. “And you let him go into that prison alone. Alone!”
“He was the strongest,” San said coolly. “If he had succeeded in extracting the assassin, he would have gained much honor. You, more than anyone, should understand this.”
In their armor and helmets Ni, San, and Roku were a half head taller than Tanaka. He glared at them, then nodded curtly and turned away.
He returned to the electronic-scan station and watched as they filed in. One at a time, the computer scanned their retinas and palm prints. One at a time, they entered the Citadel.
Tanaka watched, suspicion narrowing his eyes.
Inside Ni’s armor, Aubry Knight sweltered as they walked the halls of the Citadel. There was no cover here, no place to hide.
They marched, down the graven stone hallways beneath the Citadel, until they came to the bank of elevators.
Then San and Roku turned to him, and raised their hands, touching palms to his palm.
“One dies, we all die. One lives, we all live,” she whispered, and armed her rifle. She turned abruptly, and ran down the hall.
The elevator opened. Aubry and Roku entered.
The door closed.
10
Roku reached the control room first, and Aubry, disguised as Ni, a moment later. There was a door with a wide glass window in it, and within they saw the control room, a series of flickering panels, and holographic displays of the Menagerie.
Their eyes met. They synchronized breathing, their bodies and minds becoming one. They smashed through the door.
“One chance,” Roku barked. “Away from the panels.” One of the technicians moved toward the alarm, and Roku fired instantly. The hapless technician flew back against the control board, bullets stitching his body.
He slid down slowly, leaving a slick of blood and tissue.
The other Japanese and two Ugandans stood, raising their hands.
Roku linked his shock armor’s tactical computer into the main boards. Circuits appeared, crawling in the air before him; one of them blinked red.
“No—!” one of the Japanese said. Aubry pulsed him in the leg. Cloth and skin burned. The Japanese crumpled, cursing.
Roku dominated the circuit.
He scanned the holographic model of the Menagerie. He weakened the inner electronic barrier’s signal, then killed it. He pumped up the outer barrier’s signal, trebled it, and then trebled it again.
He disabled all electronic alarms and safeguards on the drawbridges across Caernarvon’s moat.
Aubry fired his pulse rifle into the control panels themselves. Bits of steel and plastic fountained flaming into the air.
Roku looked at the men and women cowering on the floor, and his voice was deadly. “Stay here,” he said. “If we see you outside, you die.”
Roku turned, then turned back, an instant too slowly. One of the technicians had a pistol, aimed at Roku’s open visor.
They fired at the same instant.
Roku’s finger remained on the trigger, hosing the room with death, even after the visor slid down, concealing the ruined cavity that had once been another of Aubry Knight’s faces.
Aubry stood silently, breathing hard. The room was full of death. Blood trickled from beneath Roku’s visor. He fought the urge to lift it. Instead, he turned, and ran from the room.
In the halls outside, the alarm was blaring.
11
When the drawbridges began to lower across the concrete moat, the tower guards were at first unconcerned. Somewhat distractedly, they checked to see what dignitary might be arriving.
But the rain and driving wind puzzled them. Who would come now? Why not virt in? What could they want?
And then, through the rain, they saw the first of the sauro-pods. It was a scelidosaurus, only twelve feet long, the oldest known omithischian and the first of the plated dinosaurs. A sort of protostegosaurian oddity from the lower Jurassic. Lightning reflected dully from its crocodile plating as it waddled across the drawbridge, lowing with pain.
The guards froze for a moment. The beast was considered harmless, its tiny skull holding barely enough brain to coordinate its heart and lungs. It was almost comical, wobbling on those powerful hind legs and short, stubby forelegs. Clownlike, rolling its eyes as if about to request an aspirin.
Someone laughed. The laugh died in mid-chuckle, as someone realized the implication: the inner electronic moat was down…?
And in the dark beyond the moat, there was a throaty, rumbling cry, a scream of insane pain and rage, echoed in a hundred saurian throats.
And then, through the rain, they came. Herbivores and carnivores, tiny nanosaurs and full-sized giants, they thundered toward the Citadel. Blind with agony they charged, driven onto the spikes by those behind, climbing up and over and falling into the moat, where they lowed and scrabbled with broken spines, tearing flesh from each other’s backs and flanks.
Thundering on the most powerful legs any animal had ever possessed, whipped into a frenzy, the creatures fought and snapped, boiling out of the darkness. The guards, disbelieving at first, loosed all of the alarms.
Some brave Zulu dashed onto the drawbridge, trying to raise it with the manual winch. He was a moment too slow, and was ensnared by the jaws of an eighteen-foot megalosaurus. He barely had time to register pain and disbelief before the carnivore’s jaws flashed down. He howled as the teeth clamped around him. Blood spurted, blackly. There was a frenzy of smaller-predator activity, and the Zulu was ripped to pieces.
The external alarms sounded.
And then—from the strip of mined ground, the wedge stretching from northwest to west—there was a shrill whistle and an arc of fire. Something flared out of the darkness, rose high, and plunged down onto Caernarvon’s north wall, exploding. Chunks of stone and mortar tumbled, flaming, and there was a shriek of pain and fear.
The rebels were attacking.
12
Tanaka’s nerves burned. Something was terribly wrong. Somehow, Five Songs had nullified crucial—but not critical—elements of the defensive system. With the cover of the rain, and the confusion caused by the sauropods, and the sudden failure of the communications and security systems, it would take perhaps seven minutes to get everything under control. Seven minutes—but he wasn’t certain that he had that much time.
The Four had failed. Go had died in the Central African Republic, and somehow in the process, the assassin had escaped.
Hadn’t he?
He didn’t like any of this. And in fact, he knew where he belonged.
He had to get to the th
rone room, protect Swarna. Whatever else happened, the primary must survive.
He grabbed a pulse rifle from the rack in his office, and then stopped, staring at the object in the glass case. His great-grandfather’s sword. He suddenly had the sensation that it was calling to him.
That this was the last night of his life.
He smashed the case with his elbow, and reverently removed the blade and scabbard.
His African blood had isolated him from the Japanese society he craved, but no one could deny him his great-grandfather’s sword. Another explosion shook Caernarvon. He strapped the scabbard to his waist. So be it. If he was to play out the last act of the comic tragedy that was his life, he would do it as a man, as a samurai.
And by all that was holy, he would die before one hair on that monkey dictator’s head was harmed.
13
I was in a ventilation duct on the second story. Through the floor and walls of the duct I could feel the reverberations. I could smell smoke. Hear distant screams.
Five Songs.
Needed data. What resources existed? Surveillance fiber optics ran in parallel with the duct. Low-security lines, running to outer guard tower. I compromised them, and began to scan. Tactical input—maximum three hundred troops. No air support. Moving through narrow cordon between sauropod pens. Minefield ahead activated. Attack useless. Would be pinned down and destroyed. Why attempted?
Unless …
Two hundred and seven separate camera feeds from inside Caernarvon. Eighty-seven infrared scans. Over a thousand pressure plates. I referenced them all in seven seconds, and stopped.
Two images, walking side by side. Armored. Almost identical bone structure. One was a paragon of physical power.
The other moved perfectly.
Father.
Five Songs “rebellion” was a feint. Father had infiltrated Citadel guard. On his way to kill Swarna? Video was pure visual feed. Contained no reference code for location. Did not know where Father was.
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