by J. C. Nelson
Their eyes followed the pattern, which circled the artifact. “And this is ‘important,’ or ‘holy.’ And this is ‘lost.’ So I believe that one of the key ideas is the Re-Animus is seeking something lost. Something important to it.”
I pointed to the northeast segment. “The section here also contains repetition. ‘The way,’ ‘appear,’ ‘travel.’ It could be an expression of desire to go home, or of the Re-Animus itself being lost.”
Absolute silence met me, so I forged ahead. “This segment was destroyed in a careless accident. Which also damaged the other. In it, I can only reliably translate four terms. ‘Ra,’ ‘the god of the sun,’ ‘pharaoh,’ and ‘daughter.’ If we take this last glyph and assume it was in fact a basket, the phrase would be ‘the pharaoh’s daughter.’”
Brynner’s gaze jerked over to the screen, as did Dale’s and the director’s. Then they exchanged glances among themselves.
The only phrase I’d ever said that got a reaction like that was years ago, when I told my ex “I’m pregnant.” And thankfully, that wasn’t the case now.
The director’s eyes narrowed on me, like she could somehow divine if I told the truth. “Thank you, Ms. Roberts. How likely do you find it that the term ‘heart’ might be literal?”
“Possible. Anything’s possible. We’re dealing with nonhuman intelligence trying to communicate with us in a language that isn’t precise.” I sat down.
Brynner stretched his arms. “Or it could mean ‘coffin.’ The coffin glyph looks just like this, only missing the tail.”
I pointed to the distinct edges. “There’s no outer mark to agree with that. See here, here, and here. I do this for a living. Trust me.”
He snorted. “Dad wrote in these all the freaking time. Day in, day out. I used to get chore lists in hieroglyphics. He kept a diary in them.”
Director Bismuth silenced him with a glare. “Mr. Carson’s translation skills rank at roughly a kindergartner with a foul mouth, so I greatly appreciate your attention and effort, Ms. Roberts.”
She turned to Brynner. “Where is the heart?”
“I don’t know.” He spoke so softly I could barely hear him over the hiss of Dale’s oxygen tank.
“Brynner Carson, tell me where it is.” She tapped a pen on the table in frustration while she waited.
“I already said I don’t know. I wish I did.” He hung his head, his fists clenched. “Dad kept it. He hid it.”
The sorrow in his voice hit me like a gut punch. Though the prudent thing to do was take my laptop and leave, I couldn’t resist asking. “Where is what, exactly?”
The director and Dr. Thomas exchanged a glance, then Dale nodded in agreement. His computerized voice sang out into the silence. “The heart of Ra-Ame.”
I knew that name. Some sort of urban legend among field teams, like Santa Claus and the tooth fairy. I waited for someone else to speak up. To say something that would make this whole thing make more sense. “Dr. Thomas, could I speak with you in private?”
“Absolutely.” He rose, and we exited. “How may I help you, young lady?”
“I’m out of my league here. Why aren’t you speaking up? They’re talking about Ra-Ame like she’s real.”
He didn’t answer. He just turned and walked down the hall, waving for me to follow. We rode the elevator in silence, then passed a set of double locking doors and entered a pristine white lab.
The refrigerated lab was at least thirty degrees colder, making goose bumps stand up on my arms. “Shouldn’t we be in the meeting?”
“Let them wait. I consider myself a man of science.” He pointed to a plexiglass window. Inside, an armless corpse with gray skin stumbled in circles. “So we study. We consider. We analyze. Do you believe the co-orgs exist?”
“Of course. There’s one right there.”
“And the Re-Animus affecting it?”
I paused. Was this some sort of test? “I believe there’s a force at work. Probably viral, possibly some form of collective organism. Not an evil spirit or demon.”
“Do you have trouble believing that Julius Caesar existed?”
I grasped his line of reasoning. “Of course not. And I agree it’s possible that a woman named Ra-Ame existed. Ra-Ame, the hideous monster, Ra-Ame, the source of all Re-Animus, those sound more like fairy tales to me.”
“And to me.” He led me to another table, where an electron scan of co-org tissue showed the changes wrought by the ReAnimus. “But like the co-orgs, there may be rational explanations for the legend of Ra-Ame. Ones the others might not recognize. Belief is easy for them.”
Of course it was. “I don’t believe in anything.”
He smiled, showing crooked yellow teeth. “That’s why I like you. Let’s go inject some sanity into their discussion, shall we?” I followed him through the building to the conference room, where voices shouted. Dr. Thomas stepped to one side. “After you, Ms. Roberts.” He threw the door open. Brynner stood inches from Director Bismuth, each of them beet red. He gestured with his hands, coming so close to pushing her I wondered if I should call security. “This isn’t any of your business.” He looked around at the others, carefully avoiding me. “Any of you.”
“I say recovering and securing this heart is what is most important, and therefore, it is what you will do, unless you’d like to pursue a change of career.” Director Bismuth’s voice boomed out, leaving no room for debate.
I slipped over and grabbed my purse from the chair, doing my best to stay out of their argument. Drama was one thing my life had more than enough of. They could fight it out on their own. I almost made it to the door.
“Ms. Roberts, I can’t help but note your personnel file has a request for working extra hours.” The director’s steel tone said she might know why I wanted them.
Did we really need to have this discussion now? “Yes.” Director Bismuth walked around the table, leaving Brynner standing alone. Once she wedged herself between the door and me, she continued. “Tell me, have you ever considered field operations? The pay is several times what you make now.” Brynner and I laughed at the same time, then I scowled at him. “I don’t kill things. If I find a spider in my apartment, I throw it outside instead of squashing it.”
She nodded. “Field operations are more than pulling triggers or slinging blades. Come with me. Let me explain a few things about Heinrich Carson.” She turned to leave, and I followed her.
Brynner leaped over the table, moving that mountain of a body like a gazelle, and wincing as he landed. “Hey. You can’t do that. You can’t just go discussing my family with a stranger.” Brynner’s voice shook. Anger? Or Fear?
Director Bismuth nodded slightly. “Well, if you would like to attempt a briefing, be my guest. Make certain Ms. Roberts has the information she needs, and I won’t feel the need to amend your tale.”
While I couldn’t tell for the life of me what they meant, I’d read enough people to know the answer was coming if only I could keep my mouth shut.
Brynner looked away, staring out the window. “Dad kept journals. Lots of them. Every day of his life. He used to write in Latin, or Russian. When he joined the BSI, he switched to hieroglyphics.”
“Didn’t you say he wrote your chore list in hieroglyphics?”
For a moment, a smile worked its way back onto his face. “I didn’t say I did my chores.”
That was my kind of extra hours. I gave him a courteous nod. “I’ll pass on the fieldwork, but the journals I can help with. Have them sent to my branch by secure courier; I’ll make it my top priority. Depending on how many and how long they are, full translation with annotation could take days or weeks.”
Brynner looked to the director, something passing between them I couldn’t decode.
Director Bismuth shook her head. “Heinrich Carson’s effects are held by his sister-in-law, in New Mexico. The BSI is not permitted to remove them, or indeed, to access them under normal conditions. I’d like you to go on-site and do the translation there.
We’re looking for a Canopic jar that was in Heinrich Carson’s possession. It seems reasonable to think the location would be recorded in one of them. Probably one of the last ones.”
Though the opportunity could change everything about my situation, I had other obligations. “I can’t.”
Brynner nodded in agreement. “It doesn’t matter. Aunt Emelia won’t let her in the house, since she’s BSI. I’m not even sure she’d let me in.”
Director Bismuth smiled, as though he’d just fallen into her trap. “Your aunt will most certainly allow Ms. Roberts access if you bring her home with you to meet them.”
“No!” We shouted in unison, then looked at each other.
He spoke first. “I’m not going back there. I’d rather quit. What happened to not going out on assignment until the shrink said so?”
The thought of Brynner stretched out on a couch made me laugh, and wonder for an instant what he’d look like relaxed, instead of coiled like a spring.
“You wouldn’t quit. Ever.” The director gave him a smug smile. “This job is your life. I believe our psychiatrist said you wouldn’t be choosing any assignments until he signed off. This one isn’t your choice.” She looked from him to me. “And you. I’m not asking you to sleep with him. In fact, Mr. Carson is forbidden to enter into relationships with BSI employees. I’m ordering you to travel to New Mexico, read through some dusty books, and phone in your reports. Field operative pay.”
She didn’t understand. I picked my words carefully. “I have weekly obligations in Portland. I have to be there every Friday.” I didn’t add that I had to pay in cash because I’d bounced so many checks. “And I don’t want to get killed.”
Brynner rolled his eyes. “Yeah, because New Mexico is a real hotbed of meat-skin activity.”
Director Bismuth leaned in and whispered, “I grasp your problem. You need to pay for your daughter’s nursing care.”
I almost died of embarrassment. My daughter and her condition were my business, not Brynner Carson’s or anyone else’s.
Director Bismuth ignored my chagrin. “I might point out that this job would more than pay for your considerable debt, and wire transfers are a normal method many people use. Never mind, Ms. Roberts. I’ll consult the Northern California office translator instead.”
She turned on her heel, and I reached out, grabbing her elbow. “Wait.”
“Yes, Ms. Roberts?”
“I’ll do it.” A wave of adrenaline and relief washed over me.
She nodded in satisfaction. “The two of you will leave immediately.”
Five
GRACE
“Immediately,” in my book, meant “right after you get home from Seattle, where you can make arrangements, pack a change of clothes, and generally speaking, get ready for a trip to New Mexico.” In the director’s mind, immediately meant “on the next flight out of Seattle-Tacoma International Airport.”
Brynner tugged on the director’s elbow like a preschooler. “I need four hours. Armor’s not ready.”
“Didn’t you just tell Ms. Robers ‘New Mexico is not a hotbed of co-org activity’? Go with her, and let her assist us in finding out what your father did with the heart. I don’t know what importance it has, but if a Re-Animus wants it, I want it more.” Director Bismuth gathered her papers and left the room.
Brynner waited until the door closed to speak. “You have a daughter. How old?” He tilted his head, a warm smile on his lips.
I knew exactly where giving in to smiles and charms led. “How about we make a deal? I don’t ask the director questions about your family, you don’t ask me questions about mine.”
Dr. Thomas cleared his throat, rose, and beckoned to me. “May I have a word before you leave?”
I followed him out to the hall, where a nervous teen girl waited with a leather messenger bag, a golden field operative star, and a freshly minted badge with my name on it.
Dr. Thomas smiled at her. “Grace, this is our newest intern, Kelly. Kelly, meet Grace Roberts. Senior field analyst. Ms. Roberts is going out on assignment to determine the location of and recover an artifact.” He took the bag from her and handed it to me.
My stomach dropped to my ankles when he emphasized “field.” Then clean through the floor as the girl looked at me with a gaze of awe. She mumbled to me, clearly at a loss for words, and then darted away, as if I might bite her.
“What was that about?” My sense of awe around Dr. Thomas faded with each moment.
“Just giving my intern someone to look up to. I used to go on assignment, and kept that packed. A toothbrush, deodorant, and a spare shirt. All the essentials. I really envy you.”
I slung the bag over my shoulder. “Why? I’m going to New Mexico.”
“I love my lab work, but I used to collect samples firsthand.” He raised his chin and pointed to a swarm of liver spots on one side, which obscured a wide scar. “A co-org almost tore my throat out.” A distant smile spread across his face. “It was amazing.”
I liked my throat untorn. “We’re going to New Mexico. Not Egypt.”
He bobbed his head in agreement. “I know, I know. But an old man can dream. Go on, Ms. Roberts. Keep your eyes open and your mind sharp. As they say in the field, don’t get dead.”
At the entrance to the BSI building, a Bureau driver waited, jingling keys as he leaned up against a black sedan. “Mr. Carson.” He nodded to Brynner. “Who’s the looker?”
I cut off Brynner before he could answer. “Grace Roberts. Senior field analyst. When I want your opinion on how I look, I’ll let you know.”
“Whoa.” The driver’s face flushed red, and he held up his hands. “You should learn to take a compliment. I haven’t seen you around, and now you’re with him—”
“She’s not with me, and I think the phrase you were looking for was ‘I’m sorry, it won’t happen again.’ Can we get going, Lou?” Brynner dropped his duffel bag in the trunk, and then opened the door for me.
How he could be so polite and yet so irritating, I couldn’t begin to say. We were rolling through the tall buildings of downtown Seattle, climbing hilly streets on our way to the freeway, when the scanner blipped to life.
A woman’s voice rang out over the radio, “All field teams, we have co-org activity on Pier 77.”
“On the water. Again.” Brynner’s voice came out a whisper. Then he spoke louder. “Take me there.”
Without warning, our driver did an illegal U-turn. “Field Team B responding,” he said into the radio mic.
Co-orgs? With me in the car? That was not what I signed up for. I tapped the driver on the shoulder. “We have a flight to catch.”
He slammed on the brakes, skidding to a halt beside a gaggle of tourists. He looked at me, his gaze darting to the BSI badge on my lapel. His eyes narrowed, and he looked to Brynner. “You two a field team or not?”
“I’m a field team all by myself. Get me there as fast as possible.” Brynner looked out the window, avoiding my gaze.
Wrong way down one-way streets, squeezing between parked delivery trucks, our driver broke every traffic law in existence as he forced his way through Seattle morning traffic. Even the flashing purple lights on our roof didn’t make the morning crush disappear.
When we reached the waterfront, the police made room, letting us past a line of patrol cars and through a mob of bystanders without the good sense to stay away.
Lou popped the trunk and retrieved Brynner’s bag while an officer approached on my side. Brynner exited, and I watched through the back window as he circled the car to show his BSI badge.
“According to witnesses, there’s either one or a dozen meat-skins in that restaurant.” The officer pointed to a building jutting out over the water on pilings.
That just seemed wrong. Co-orgs avoided water, due to the interference it caused with host control. That a Re-Animus could hold on to a co-org over that much water defied logic.
Brynner retrieved a plain metal box from the bag Lou held,
and set it on the trunk right behind my seat. From it, he pulled two silver daggers. The blades glowed with a tint of yellow, where amber coated them.
Heinrich Carson’s blades, made famous in half a dozen movies. Where the blades came from and how he’d manufactured them were secrets the elder Carson took with him to his grave.
Brynner finished adjusting his knife sheaths and glanced toward the crowd barrier. “Any civilians?”
The cop shook his head. “Two unaccounted for, but if there’s anyone left, they’re good as dead. No one’s going in there after them. You want to line up and shoot through the windows?”
Brynner opened his mouth in wordless astonishment, then found his voice. “You think there might still be someone in there and you didn’t check?” He clenched his hands into fists, his face flushed red. When he spoke, he did so through gritted teeth. “I’m going in.” With one arm wrapped across his chest, he jogged toward the building.
“Lady, you’re going with him, right? It’s against policy to act alone.” Our driver, Lou, looked down at me from outside my window.
I rolled down the window to answer. “I don’t think he cares about policy.” What sort of man would take that kind of risk for people he didn’t know? As for me, going into a building full of co-orgs wasn’t in my career plan. I shook my head. “I’m not that kind of field operative. I don’t even have a weapon.” Being a translator, I didn’t get a gun at graduation; I received a complete copy of Thule’s Encyclopedia Hieroglyphica.
Lou cursed and walked to the trunk, pulling out a box. He threw my door open and tossed the box in my lap. “Deliverator, with standard co-org ammo. Every third bullet’s a wax pellet loaded with pine, silver, and holy water. I checked the ammo out this morning after the priest blessed our armory.”
“I told you, I’m not that kind of field operative. I’m an analyst. I read hieroglyphics.” I set the box down and scooted across the seat.
“You’ve got to be kidding.” He didn’t bother trying to hide his contempt. His shock.
Lou could get over it. I didn’t have years of training on how to waltz into dangerous situations and kill the dead. Now was not the time for a crash course.