Beyond Hades (The Prometheus Wars)

by Luke Romyn

  “There’s one thing you have to understand before we do this,” said Wes seriously. “If we succeed, it may still destroy everything.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “As far as I know, I’m the only one to ever successfully travel back in time. Einstein speculated on the ability to travel backwards through time, but nobody has ever tried it before out of fear of the repercussions if something goes wrong.”

  “How so?” asked Talbot.

  “If you travel back and alter something – even a minor thing – then everything after that event changes like dominos falling. Now, what happens if those adjustments also mean you’re not where you need to be in order to go back in time in the first place?”

  “Okay, you’ve lost me.”

  “If we go back and change this,” said Wes, all aspects of his simple, brutish speech vanished, replaced with the crisp vocalization of a highly intelligent individual, “it may restructure the past in such a way as to cut us both out of the equation, and as such we won’t be here to go back in time to save the past.”

  “Just as I’m beginning to understand what you’re saying, the meaning of your words slithers away from me.”

  Wes sighed. “The past will change. If the past changes, they won’t knock on your door in the first place. Understand? The dominos won’t fall in the same way and we won’t end up here.”

  “But that’s okay, isn’t it?”

  “No, because if we don’t end up here, we won’t be able to go back in time,” said Wes, exasperated. “It’s a giant circle which you’ll shatter by changing the past.”

  “What will happen?”

  Wes frowned. “There are two schools of thought on the subject. One thinks it won’t matter and everything will continue as it will. The past will change without drama and time will continue along its new path, devoid of incident.”

  “What’s the other school of thought?” asked Talbot.

  “The universe and everything in it can’t rearrange something so massive and it collapses in on itself. It’s like an incredible mathematic equation whose answer is true, but the equation itself changes each time you try to decipher it. The universe is based upon mathematics, and if something like this happens it might simply implode.”

  “Whereas if we do nothing, a similar thing will happen,” said Talbot.

  “Uh huh,” agreed Wes.

  “So why are we talking about it? Let’s just do it and to hell with the consequences. At least we’ll have done our best.”

  “I’m just likin’ you more and more. That timid little bitch I met way back when is truly dead and buried now,” said Wes, slapping Talbot on the shoulder.

  “Hell yeah,” said Talbot. “Let’s go fuck something up.”

  Wes’s laughter echoed off Ayers Rock as the two made their way down to the ship. It blurred and shifted, once more becoming a shining jet. Talbot tried to keep his hopes high for the coming endeavor, but sensed dread edging into his thoughts, knowing their chances of success were almost non-existent.

  ***

  Wes and Talbot positioned themselves within the PCMs, and Wes began furiously manipulating controls inside the semi-liquid.

  “Don’t talk to me for a moment,” ordered the commando. “I need to chat with the ship for a bit.”

  A casing came down and situated itself upon Wes’s head, completely covering it. It was so enclosed around the commando Talbot feared it might suffocate him, but Wes’s hands worked furiously within the PCM, and he seemed unencumbered by it.

  Several minutes passed, but eventually the head casing lifted, and Wes looked at Talbot, his expression grim.

  “The ship has agreed to help us,” he said. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  “We have no choice,” replied Talbot. “Let’s go.”

  Wes nodded.

  The ship lifted off the ground and shot directly into the air where it paused.

  “Hold onto your nut-sack,” called Wes.

  Before Talbot could comment, the jet shot forward so quickly Talbot was unable to catch his breath, and he was once again thankful for the confining security of the PCM. The viewing screen opened up in front of them, and Talbot gazed in wonder at the scene before him. Just like their last journey, the clouds flashed by so quickly he had no time to register them before they were gone. Within seconds the red desert was replaced by the rich green of the Australian coastline, and then the deep blue of the ocean.

  “Just so you know,” called Wes, “you’re really not gonna enjoy this next bit.”

  Talbot glanced over at the commando, seeing the serious and somewhat concerned expression upon his face, and knew that whatever was about to happen, it was really going to suck. The viewing screen in front of them closed, shutting out the outside world.

  “Um... okay,” said Talbot, knowing they’d come too far to turn back now.

  Wes manipulated something within his PCM and suddenly Talbot’s containing module became completely rigid, like cement.

  “Hey, what the –?”

  “Trust me,” replied Wes seriously. “You’re gonna need it.”

  The world outside suddenly blurred and shifted moments before Talbot felt his intestines tear apart and his head prepare to explode. Agony shot through every atom of his body, and he cried out in a soundless plea. The air in his lungs became lava, scalding him irreparably before pouring out through his eyes and every orifice of his body.

  Conscious thought departed, and the one remaining part of Talbot’s sanity prayed for the enveloping oblivion of unconsciousness – but it wouldn’t come. Next he begged for insanity to take hold and release him from this pain, but it too remained absent. All he had was agony.

  Nothing else compared to this. The myriad of injuries Talbot had suffered throughout this journey paled beside the anguish now tearing through him. The suffering within the limbo of the rift accessing Olympia was like being tickled with feathers compared to this.

  Talbot’s eyeballs burst, a miraculous feat since only moments ago lava had erupted from his sockets. His ribcage was wrenched open by unseen hands and vinegar poured onto his flayed heart and lungs. Swiftly the ribs healed, only for the inferno to now rush out through his ears, scalding and torturing. Strange goo ran down Talbot’s cheeks and it took him a moment to realize it was actually his brains, bubbling within the cauldron of his skull, three witches cackling as they stirred the broth with a dark spoon....

  What the hell?

  The entire scene had erupted into one endless nightmare, like the worst acid flashback ever imagined. The three witches shifted form and became the cyclops, crashing through the underground base at Quantico. The cyclops morphed into the gryphon, chasing Talbot through the skies as he fled in terror. With each change the vision became something from Talbot’s quest, increasingly horrifying in its unreality. Briareus crying out at the deaths of his brothers, though in reality the Hecatonchires had not seemed the least bit perturbed about their deaths. Heracles screaming as he was absorbed into Kharon – torment echoing through the cabin of the ship –

  And then Talbot was back in reality, the sounds of his own screaming still lingering within the confined space. He tried to move, but the unyielding PCM held him solid, and he understood the need for it now. If he hadn’t been held motionless during whatever the hell had just happened – hallucination, reality, whatever – he might have injured himself unintentionally.

  Glancing over at Wes, Talbot saw the commando furiously working on calculations, his eyes fixed to the thin screen hanging before him. The Australian seemed unperturbed by the trip, but Talbot knew by now that Wes was a master at concealing how he really felt.

  “Did we do it?” asked Talbot, his throat raw.

  Wes glanced at him. “I’m just figuring that out now. I think we’re pretty close to the mark. The calculations are spot on, so I can’t see a problem. You didn’t shit yourself, did ya?”

  Talbot grimaced, slowly recovering from the horror of the images stil
l burning within his mind. “Not that I know of. You?”

  “I hope not. You have no idea how hard these PCMs are to clean out. Hang on a sec, and I’ll make you more comfortable.”

  A moment later, Talbot felt the constriction surrounding him relax and return to its original texture – what Wes had referred to as something akin to snot. Talbot hadn’t thought he would ever prefer this, but he felt his muscles slowly begin to relax.

  The viewing screen opened before them and Talbot saw they were still above the ocean, but this one looked somehow different.

  “Where are we?” he asked Wes.

  “Just off the west coast of Africa.”

  Talbot swallowed heavily. “So we’re almost there?”

  “No ‘almost’ about it. We’re there. Now we just have to find out if this thing will get us under the water to Atlantis. Here goes!”

  The ocean sped toward them, closer and closer. They plunged into it, the hull of the ship slicing through the surface without pause, causing Talbot to think once more about the way Wes had said it could cut between dimensions in order to travel faster. This ship was so far beyond anything he could understand, it hurt his mind just trying to get his thoughts around the idea.

  The craft dove deep, the jets – or whatever propelled it – driving it swiftly to the depth of the sunken city of Atlantis. Talbot caught a glimpse of what looked like the outline of a huge whale before the murky depths swallowed them, and he lost sight of it in the inky blackness.

  “You might want to brace yourself,” said Wes.

  Talbot looked at him quizzically, but Wes indicated he should watch the screen instead. He turned back just in time to see –

  A wall!

  They crashed into the pyramid, cutting through it and down, slicing the stony walls like cream until they smashed into a huge pocket of air. There was no real impact, and Talbot remembered what Wes had told him happened when he’d crashed into the aircraft carrier after his initial jump through time. By cutting between the dimensions, there was less friction, and when he’d hit the aircraft carrier, he’d carved through it without pause.

  The same happened this time, only now the ship had cut through centuries-old stone blocks on a massive pyramid within a sunken city. It had somehow sliced cleanly through the stone of the pyramid all the way down to the open space where it suddenly halted, throwing Talbot forward with a jolt, but the PCM held him secure, preventing any sort of injury.

  He looked up at the viewing screen, noting several marines and what looked like engineers running around in a panic. Glancing at the side of the viewing screen, Talbot saw the reason for their panic, tons of water were pouring in from somewhere behind them.

  It was at that moment Talbot remembered something else about when Wes had crashed into the aircraft carrier – it had sunk.

  He kept watching the screen as the PCM retracted and he was allowed to step clear. After several moments of witnessing the crews bring in various pieces of equipment along with what looked like some sort of heavy duty waterproof panels, the water slowly subsided, and finally stopped. They’d obviously had plenty of practice with all the beasts crashing through after escaping the Syrpeas Gate.

  “What now?” he asked Wes.

  “Let’s greet the natives,” said Wes with a grin.

  The door to the ship opened silently, and Wes jumped out into the middle of around fifty heavily armed marines, weapons drawn and pointed directly at his head. Talbot climbed out of the vehicle and stood silently.

  “G’day fellas,” called Wes jovially. “Have you missed me?”

  “What the hell are you doing here?” barked a marine with the insignia of a sergeant-major.

  “Just thought I’d stop by for a visit,” replied Wes amiably.

  “What’s he doing here?” said the sergeant-major, pointing at Talbot. “I thought he was supposed to be down in the command room with the rest of them. They’re going to start up that machinery soon.”

  Talbot suddenly realized they’d arrived at the exact time when the military had initially tested the machinery of the Olympians. The Syrpeas Gate hadn’t even been opened yet, and the marines thought Talbot was his brother Thomas. Having come back in time they had no way of knowing –

  Thomas!!!

  Talbot staggered and leaned back against the ship, suddenly feeling faint. In amongst all the excitement of travelling back through time, he hadn’t realized the simple fact that his brother would still alive when they got here. He’d been so focused on completing the mission and closing the Syrpeas Gate once and for all that he hadn’t realized the most incredible thing:

  In this place, in this time, his brother still lived.

  Wes jumped on the opportunity immediately. “Yeah, I was just bringing him in for that exact thing. I’d better get him up there now.”

  “It’s down,” corrected the sergeant-major.

  “Yeah, but I’m Australian, so your down is my up.”

  Wes grabbed Talbot and pushed through the soldiers into a rough stairwell before they had a chance to question either of them. The fact they didn’t mention the oddity of their dress – both of them were still in their Olympian armor – told Talbot that either his brother Thomas was highly respected, or Wes was. He suspected it might be Wes, because as soon as they’d realized it was the Australian commando, all the marines had lowered their weapons without being ordered to. Only someone ranking very high up could command such respect.

  Wes dragged him through the tunnels, turning left and right at different intersections. Talbot remembered their first meeting in this very place, so many lifetimes ago. He recalled how he’d thought Wes to be slightly mad at the time.

  Boy did he nail that little fact right on the head... but in a good way.

  Talbot would have never survived up to this point if not for the man dragging him along now; he owed Wes his life many times over.

  Soon they approached the main control room, marines posted on either side of the heavy steel door. The marines stepped forward and shouted a challenge as soon as they saw Talbot and Wes, both garbed as they were.

  “It’s only us, heroes. You can relax,” called Wes.

  “We already saw you enter,” replied one of the men, a sergeant.

  “Does it look like we already entered? We had to go and get changed.”

  The two marines looked them up and down. “Changed for what?”

  “For the damn mission!” snapped Wes. “Now get out of our way.”

  Unable to argue, the marines moved aside, and Wes pushed open the heavy door, causing it to clang as it swung wide and bashed into the wall. Talbot followed as the commando strode purposefully into the room. Once inside, Talbot saw several people spin around in shock at the sound of the clanging door. He saw his brother immediately, standing beside General Sharpe near the control panels for the Syrpeas Gate.

  “Thomas!’ called Talbot, “Don’t touch that panel.”

  Instantly, chaos broke loose within the large room.

  The soldiers at the door glanced inside and saw there were now two Professor Harrisons where there should have only been one, and they burst through the door with their guns raised.

  Wes – the one from the current time, not the one who had entered with Talbot – jumped forward, his M4A5 assault rifle raised to his shoulder, an eye peering down through his sights, aimed directly at Talbot.

  General Sharpe snarled, his lip curling as he began to shout orders.

  Dozens more marines in full battle attire charged in and surrounded them, heavy steel doors slamming shut and locking down every entrance to the room.

  And then Wes – the one in Olympian armor who had accompanied Talbot – shouted, his voice booming out with authority, the glowing sword of Chiron now in his right hand.

  “You!” He pointed at his other self. “Suzie Watson had a birthmark shaped like a love heart on her left tit, and you told her you loved her in order to get a look at it.”

  The other Wes paused, hi
s rifle lowering slightly. “You broke through time again?” he asked Wes.

  “Had to, we had no choice. Bad shit going down.”

  “Roger that,” said the other Wes, grabbing Thomas and stepping through to stand beside Wes and Talbot, snapping his weapon around to point it at the marines surrounding them.

  “General,” said Wes, twirling the sword of Chiron as he stepped toward General Sharpe. “Or should I call you Prometheus?”

  The general’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Now, I have no idea what’s going on, but I assure you that if you surrender your weapons, we’ll discuss it fully.”

  Wes stepped closer to the general, the surrounding marines tightening their grips and dropping their fingers down to rest upon their triggers.

  “Talbot, what’s going on here?” asked Thomas.

  “If you start that machinery, all hell is going to break loose, Thomas. This guy is full of shit; he’s not General Sharpe, he’s an imposter.”

  “Looks like we’ve got a stalemate here,” said Wes. “How about I just put down my sword –”

  Wes was bending down to place the sword on the ground when he suddenly surged upright, the blade slicing up and severing the general’s left arm, hurling it across the room.

  “HOLD YOUR FIRE!!!” boomed Wes, holding up his hands. The marines hesitated. “Look at him,” commanded Wes, pointing at General Sharpe.

  The marines kept their weapons trained upon the four of them, but most eyes flicked over to look at the general. Several gasped, and their murmurs drew the inquisitive minds from the rest of the squad to look over as well.

  General Sharpe – or the figure they thought was General Sharpe – was holding the severed stump where his left arm used to be. No blood poured forth, however, and the only reason he was clutching at it was to try to hide what was emerging....

  Fingers.

  Fingers were sprouting from the open, bloodless wound and soon spread out to become a full hand. The marines gazed on, awestruck.

  The hand pushed out from the stump and finally General Sharpe gave up trying to hide the regeneration, instead standing still and glowering at the troops before him. The process seemed to speed up, and within seconds the arm hung fully reformed.