by Chris Fox
“Three hominids, in truth,” Ka corrected, flickering wildly for a moment before continuing. “Their helixes had been shaped in a manner similar to the mutagen you and I crafted together.”
“They’re deathless?” the Mother asked, taking a hostile step forward. She growled low in her throat.
“No, Ka-Ken. Their helixes are different. In many ways they are weaker than either the deathless or the champions you have created,” Ka explained. It gestured at the air next to it and an image of three people appeared.
One was male, young and handsome with impetuous eyes. He wore black clothing cut from this era, and his gaze lacked the green glow of the deathless. Behind him stood a pair of women. The closer was beautiful and of an age with the man, strong and confident much like Jes’Ka. Her hair was a river of brown cascading down her back, and her skin was darker than the man’s. A descendent of the people she’d once ruled on the northern continent?
The last was little more than a child, an auburn-haired female on the eve of adulthood. Her eyes were wide with fear.
“Who shaped them?” she asked. They appeared normal in every way, but then so did she before she shifted.
“The progeny of The Builders,” Ka said, dimming until only a bare shade remained. Its voice was tinny and barely above a whisper now. “They have returned to this world, and their plans do not bode well for your species.”
The Mother shifted back to human form, leaning heavily on her staff. She knew little of The Builders and nothing of their progeny. She glanced up to ask Ka another question, but the hologram disappeared as the lights of her Ark flickered and died.
Chapter 62- Jes'Ka
Trevor’s hands clenched and unclenched as he paced back and forth just inside the Ark’s wide entryway. The massive recess cut into the stone was identical to the pyramid in Peru. An invisible plane held back the ocean, allowing him to gaze out into its black depths. The same depths where he’d watched Cyntia slaughter Blair’s friend and possibly Blair himself. Even if he’d survived Cyntia’s brutal attack, Blair had probably died when the ocean crashed over him. And it was Trevor’s fault.
He hadn’t seen what had happened at the end. Just as he’d set the silver box down in the corner, he’d heard a tremendous roar. The ocean had filled the corridor Irakesh had created, obliterating all traces of their passage and leaving them protected within the Ark’s entryway. If there was any solace it was that Cyntia had mercifully perished out there somewhere.
“This is the sweetest thing I have tasted in this new age,” Irakesh said, stepping up to the water and brushing it with an outstretched hand. “The journey was long, but now the true work can begin.”
Trevor looked sidelong at his master, hating him with an intensity that he’d not realized himself capable of. The things he’d been asked to do were unjust in a way no one should ever ask of another. The depths of Irakesh’s cruelty continued to amaze him. Yet somehow it wasn’t personal or malicious. To Irakesh his victory was all that mattered and Trevor’s friends were just casualties. It was the indifferent malevolence of a cat toying with prey.
“Do you want me to carry the nuke inside?” Trevor asked. He needed to escape. He just couldn’t be in the same room with this monster anymore.
“No, leave it. Cyntia will carry it,” Irakesh replied. He turned a wicked grin on Trevor, ebony skull gleaming under a sheen of condensation.
“Cyntia’s dead,” Trevor said, gesturing at the water. “There’s no way she could have survived that.” He was horrified by the alternative.
“Are you so certain? We shall see,” Irakesh mused, raising a black eyebrow. He pushed past Trevor and into the corridor leading deeper into the Ark. “Come, let us explore. I grew up with legends of this place, but have never seen the inside. This is the first Ark Isis ruled wholly by herself, though Ptah had a large hand in its discovery and reshaping.”
Trevor trailed after, vaguely curious about these gods Irakesh had mentioned, but mostly consumed by the knot of rage that had been growing since he’d found himself enslaved to the bastard’s will.
They entered a corridor with high ceilings, faintly illuminated by silvery glyphs where the walls met the ceiling. They revealed vast scenes of glorious battles between beleaguered silver figures and twisted black ones. The farther they passed the more the shape of those battles grew clear. At first the silver figures had been driven back, but eventually they had allied with four legged creatures he took to be wolves. Then they had turned the tide, driving the black figures off a cliff and into the ocean.
“Do you see that glow up ahead? That’s the central chamber. From there I have complete control over this place,” Irakesh said, nearly skipping in his apparent eagerness. It was the happiest Trevor had ever seen him. Like a child clapping its hands as it stood over the corpses of murdered parents.
They entered a wide chamber with high vaulting ceilings lost in darkness. Five jet-black obelisks dominated the room, one in each corner and a central one that was larger than the rest. Trevor could feel the power they hummed with, though it was so faint he had to strain to catch the echo they gave off.
Beyond the obelisks laid a wide doorway flanked by statues, both female werewolves by the size. Through that doorway came a faint white glow, soft but brighter than the walls in this room or the corridor leading here. Irakesh strode boldly across the floor, clearly aimed at that room.
Trevor followed, gawking at his surroundings despite the numbing horror of all he’d experienced in recent weeks. There was still beauty in the world, even if he could barely appreciate it. They entered the mysterious room, which was empty save for a series of long clear sarcophagi more at home in Stargate than anywhere in their world. They glittered with gemstones along the surface, rubies and emeralds and diamonds. Each held their own inner light, which pulsed and flowed like a heartbeat. The heartbeat of the occupants.
Within the central one laid a black-clothed woman with lustrous blonde hair and youthful features. She was beautiful, but something about her was both familiar and troubling. It was impossible that Trevor could know her, but there was something about her. Some sort of mental impression perhaps? His ignorance irritated him.
“By the sun itself,” Irakesh breathed, dropping to a crouch next to the sarcophagus. He placed his hands against the amber substance, which glowed faintly at his touch. “Trevor, do you know who this is? Never in my wildest dreams could I have guessed we’d find such a treasure.”
“Who is she?” Trevor asked, studying her sleeping face. Another immortal of some kind, one with powers and knowledge he could only guess at.
“Jes’ka, daughter of Isis. The one you know as the Mother,” Irakesh explained, rising and facing Trevor. His eyes were lit with a feverish gleam. “She slumbers because her mother did not trust her with a key. No doubt Isis planned to awaken her after she’d secured this land. Jes’ka was proud, stubborn and powerful. If she could be turned to our cause, we could rule this entire continent in a single generation.”
“Isn’t she a werewolf?” Trevor asked, resting the butt of his rifle on the floor. He knelt to peer into the sarcophagus. He recognized objectively that she was beautiful but the part of him that might have felt anything had died when his heart stopped. “If you let her out, what’s to stop her from tearing us apart?”
“I will,” came a low growl from behind him. Trevor spun, rifle snapping to his shoulder as he took aim at the speaker. Cyntia stood in her human form, naked and blue from the cold. She was drenched, which wasn’t entirely bad since she’d desperately needed a bath. She stood gingerly on her right leg, which was curiously whiter than the left. “Let the bitch out. If she wishes to fight I will gut her and feast on her entrails.”
“Oh Cyntia,” Irakesh said, delivering one of the condescending smiles he seemed so good at. “Jes’ka would end your pitiful existence before you even knew she’d struck. If she wished it, Trevor and I would be dead soon after. She has had centuries to grow in strength, where y
ou have had a bare handful of weeks. You have grown strong and show much potential, but this fight is beyond you.”
“So I’ll ask again, what’s to stop her from tearing us apart?” Trevor said, lowering the rifle. His finger itched to stroke the trigger, to shoot Cyntia between those fevered blue eyes. Something still held him back. He strained against it, grinding his teeth.
“She has need of me,” Irakesh said, rising to his feet. He stared longingly into the sarcophagus and Trevor got the impression it was more than simple infatuation driving him. “I have the key to her Ark. Only a male can control such a structure, a male or her Mother. She cannot use the key and thus needs a male to administer for her.”
“Couldn’t she kill you and give it to Blair?” Trevor asked, a warm sliver of glee surging through him at the fury that twisted Irakesh’s expression.
“Not if the Ka-Dun is dead. If I am her only option then she will see reason. Jes’ka was always pragmatic and while she generally obeyed her mother’s wishes, she was known to think for herself. She didn’t have the same blind hatred for the deathless many of her kind had. Perhaps because of her father, Osiris,” he said, stroking the glass-like substance.
“Yeah I don’t think that’s going to work out,” Trevor said, eyes alighting on another rejuvenator. “She’s not the only occupant. This one has a male, Irakesh.”
Chapter 63- Escape
Jordan tensed as he stepped from the elevator into controlled chaos. Dozens of techs moved between hundreds of vehicles, everything from helicopters like the X-408 he’d taken to Peru to sleek jets to all terrain armored vehicles. The entire left side of the hangar was lined with huge crates containing stinger missiles, fifty caliber rounds and a host of other nasty surprises Mohn could level at its enemies. So much hardware. It might have been at home on a military base, but the idea of a corporation possessing so much was mind boggling. Even for Mohn Corp.
“Jordan, why did they bring us here?” Liz whispered, finally stepping from the elevator into the glow of the halogens. Her hair shone copper. She peered around warily, as if expecting an ambush. He wasn’t sure she was wrong to do so.
“Honestly?” Jordan asked, scanning the immediate vicinity. “I haven’t the faintest fucking clue. We should have been escorted, at the very least. Even if they reinstated me, you’re still a prisoner and they don’t let prisoners just wander around. I can’t get a read on the situation. This isn’t at all like The Director.”
“Commander Jordan,” a female voice boomed. He turned to see a group of black-clad soldiers trotting up. The one bringing up the rear was pushing a wide metal cart that contained a single black case about two feet wide and nearly six feet long. Sniper rifle? The leader of the soldiers approached, a pretty Asian woman with shoulder length black hair. She extended a black tablet. “My name is Kristi Benson. Director Phillips asked me to deliver this to you. Please sign here, sir.”
Jordan scanned the words on the screen, jaw dropping. “The Director ordered this?”
“Yes, sir. Please sign, sir. I have to get back down to the vault,” Benson said, nodding at the tablet. She darted a furtive glance over her shoulder, which spoke volumes. Whatever The Director had set into motion hadn’t been blessed by the Old Man.
Jordan used the attached stylus to sign the line at the bottom of the screen, then handed the tablet back. Benson accepted it, snapping a salute. “Thank you, sir. Your ride is on the south side of the hangar, sir, bay thirteen. Crew is waiting.” Then she and her companions trotted away, leaving Jordan and Liz standing next to the strange black case.
“What is it?” Liz asked, squatting next to the cart.
“Object 2. The Director sent us the sword, and according to that tablet we’ve been authorized to make a strike on San Francisco,” he said, kneeling and reaching for the twin clasps holding the case shut. He snapped them, flipping open the top. Sure enough a wide-bladed sword lay on black foam, its golden blade gleaming even in the thin light. “That shouldn’t be possible. I attended a board meeting and the Old Man unilaterally denied this mission. Either he had a sudden change of heart or The Director is playing a very dangerous game.”
“So that’s it? We just walk out of here? Just like that?” Liz asked. Jordan couldn’t blame her for being skeptical. He felt the same.
“No, we fly out of here. The Director’s given us a pilot and a plane capable of getting us to San Francisco,” he explained, snapping the case shut. He picked it up by its handle, muscles straining from the weight. The case was heavy, the blade even heavier. He handed it across to Liz, who took it effortlessly. “Come on. Let’s get the hell out of here before they change their minds.”
Jordan set off between the wide orange lines marking the area designed for walking. They passed a number of hangar bays on either side, each with a full crew servicing one of the aircraft or land vehicles Mohn had apparently stockpiled. They’d clearly been gearing up for war and had done so for years, if this place was any indication.
They moved in silence, Liz keeping Jordan's brisk pace without effort despite her burden. Some feminist somewhere must be smiling at that turn of events. They made their way around a central area where four bombers squatted, each angled towards a single runway that led up a gentle slope into a tube that disappeared into darkness. That must be how they got to the surface.
He passed a black number sixteen painted in huge block letters next to a hangar. The next read fifteen. He scanned down the row as they approached, going slack-jawed at what was waiting there. A sleek black jet, just over seventy feet long. It resembled a lier jet, but there were no windows and the engines hugged the body of the aircraft. It looked faster than diarrhea in Mexico.
“Stop,” roared an authoritative voice.
Jordan spun to see two dozen guards spreading out to flank them. All over the hangar personnel stopped what they were doing. Techs took cover, while soldiers looked at tablets as they urgently sought orders.
“I guess this might be a little more complicated than I thought,” Jordan said, rolling his arms in their sockets as he unlimbered for combat.
“It can’t ever be easy, can it?” Liz asked. She dropped to one knee and flipped the catches on the case, withdrawing the golden sword within.
“Commander Jordan, I’ve been ordered to take you into custody,” a solider near the center of the line called. He didn’t approach though, which wasn’t surprising. They’d have been briefed on the whole werewolf thing. “Lie face down with your arms behind your back. Any resistance will be met with terminal force.”
“How do you want to handle this?” Liz asked, rising into a crouch with the sword held loosely in one hand. She was focused on the soldiers, scanning them like a trained soldier. She’d come a long way.
“Commander,” called a thickly accented voice from behind them. “Bay doors overridden. Slow attackers and Yuri can get craft airborne. Need sixty seconds.”
“There’s your answer,” Jordan said, already moving. He blurred forward, not even bothering to shift.
Gunshots cracked around him, but he was simply too fast to track, just like the werewolf back in Peru when this had all started just a few months back. Jordan skidded to a halt next to his first target, grabbing the man’s forearm as shell casings spun slowly end over end in the air above the rifle. He yanked it from the man’s grasp, slamming the butt of the weapon into the man’s groin. It spilled him to the ground and hopefully out of the fight.
Jordan could have done something a lot more permanent, but these men were just following orders.
Liz had no such compunctions, and he couldn’t blame her. After all, it had been him who had led the men that had assaulted her first in Peru then later in San Diego. She saw Mohn as the enemy and gave that enemy no quarter.
The copper-haired woman vanished briefly, then abruptly reappeared in the shadow of the soldier who’d called for them to lay down arms. She too moved in slow motion, the blade of her new sword cutting a lethal arc toward the man’s
throat. Jordan was both repulsed and a bit proud. Liz had correctly surmised that the best way to win was to remove their enemy’s commanding officer. That would leave them confused, making it easier to take out the rest.
Jordan blurred to his next target, shattering the man’s jaw with a right hook. Then he glided forward to kick another man in the knee. By the time Liz’s sword claimed its victim Jordan had downed two more. He kept right on going, blurring through their ranks with non-lethal ferocity. If he could down them all, they’d live. Any he missed would fall to Liz.
Just like that it was over, and Jordan was left blinking at a sea of groaning figures. All were in too much pain to fight, which was just as well for them.
“My god, Jordan,” Liz said, trotting in his direction. “I’ve never seen anyone move like that, not even Blair. And you’re not even in wolf form.”
“I guess I just needed incentive,” Jordan said, turning to sprint back towards the plane. The engines had already started their low howl. He turned to Liz as they ran up the back ramp into the cargo hold. “I wanted to save as many as possible. Not their fault they were ordered to fight us.”
Liz eyed him curiously but didn’t answer as they darted up the gangplank into the plane. Then the gangplank folded up behind them and the vehicle began moving forward.
“Let’s hope San Francisco is just as easy,” he muttered.
Chapter 64- Reinforcements
Blair stared out the wide bay window at the redwood-covered hills sprawling across the town of Mill Valley. It was beautiful, the towering trees with their thick canopies and the wall of mist clinging to the slopes of Mount Tamalpais. Even the homes were beautiful, a modernist architecture that had been sculpted to blend with nature rather than dominate it. It was exactly the sort of place he’d always dreamed of living, perhaps even in a mansion like the one he now stood in.