by Mark Ellis
Kane followed Salvo into his office. “Why are we here?”
Salvo sat down behind his desk. “Where else should we be?”
“Down in Tartarus, putting the arm on Guana Teague. He was behind the ambush, used a little albino tramp with a bogus chip as a lure”
“Drop it, Kane,” Salvo demanded. “Forget Guana.”
“He killed a Magistrate,” replied Kane hotly. “And tried to kill another. Once word spreads, not a single Mag will be safe in the Pits.”
“I said drop it!” Salvo’s angry bark brooked no debate. “The matter will be dealt with on my terms. You’ve got a very full evening ahead of you.”
“I don’t get you.”
Salvo gestured sharply. “Take off your coat. Remove your side arm.”
Kane didn’t move. “Are you suspending me?”
Spots of red appeared on Salvo’s cheeks. “Do as I say, or you’ll be hoping for something as soft as suspension.”
Kane hesitated, then with deliberate slowness shrugged out of his coat and draped it over the back of the chair. He unstrapped the Sin Eater from him forearm and dropped it with a provocative clunk on the centre of the desk.
Salvo made no move to touch it. Inclining his head toward the chair, he said, “Sit.”
Spinning the chair around, Kane thrust it between his legs and straddled it so that he could see the door and Salvo at the same time. “Now what?”
“Now we wait.”
“For what—a disciplinary tribunal to convene?”
“Keep your mouth shut and your ears open and you’ll find out.”
They waited. The minutes dragged by like broken-legged turtles. Salvo said nothing. Kane said nothing. His mind was focused on Baptiste, on whether she had really used him or whether the reverse was true. He desperately wanted to talk to her or Grant. Or anybody else but Salvo.
Silence enfolded the office, and not even the familiar sounds of normal division activity seemed to filter in. When the trans-comm unit on the desk warbled, the sound was so unexpected and startling that Kane nearly jumped out of the chair.
Salvo didn’t open the circuit. The unit warbled once more, then fell silent. From the desk drawer, he produced a set of goggles. The plastic lenses were thick and a deep black in colour. He stood up. “Let’s go.”
“Go where?”
“Where I tell you.”
Kane rose, reaching for his Sin Eater.
Salvo snapped, “Leave it.” When Kane started to pick up his coat, Salvo repeated, “Leave it.”
Kane refused to dog Salvo’s heels, so he fell into step beside him as they strode down the corridor, past the evidence room and the recessed sec door of the armoury. When they passed it, Kane almost slowed his pace. All that lay beyond the armoury was the detention area. His lips moved in a thin half smile. If Salvo intended to lead him there and expected him to meekly enter a cell, he would receive one of the most painful surprises of his life.
Instead, they turned right down a narrow passage. It dead-ended at a locked service access door. Salvo handed him the goggles. “Put these on.”
“Why?”
“Consider it an order.”
Slipping them over his head and eyes, Kane was rendered almost completely blind. A thread of blurry light peeped through a seal at his cheek. He heard a rustle of cloth, and Salvo adjusted the elastic strap, securing it tightly around his head. The darkness was total and impenetrable.
“Can you see?”
Kane chuckled dryly. “Think I’d tell you?”
“You’d better.” Steel slipped into Salvo’s voice. “And for your own good.”
“No,” replied Kane. “I can’t see a thing. Satisfied?”
Salvo grunted, and then came a metal-on-metal clicking and clacking, followed by a faint squeal of hinges. He felt Salvo’s hand on his elbow, tugging him forward. Kane resisted.
“Relax.” Salvo’s voice purred with amusement. “If I wanted to kill you, I wouldn’t go to all this trouble.”
Kane thought the statement over for a moment and agreed with it. He allowed himself to be guided for a few steps, then positioned against a wall.
“Don’t move until I tell you.”
He heard the squeak of hinges again, the snap of a locking mechanism and then a faint electric hum. He felt a sudden rising sensation in the pit of his stomach. “We’re in an elevator.”
“Astute.”
“And we’re going up?”
“Yes.”
“To where?”
“To where we get off.”
The elevator rose, ascending far above B Level and even A Level. It hissed to a pneumatic stop, and Salvo urged him away from the wall. The floor felt slick and smooth beneath his boots, their footsteps echoed hollowly and Kane guessed they were walking across a big, high-ceilinged room.
“From this point on,” Salvo whispered to him, “no talking.”
Kane only nodded, feeling tension climb up his spine. With a hand on his elbow, Salvo guided him forward. The echoes of footfalls suddenly became muffled, muted. They were now on a thickly carpeted floor. At the same time, he detected the acrid odour of spicy incense, of unfamiliar resins.
Salvo gently tugged him to a stop. The scent of incense was stronger, almost overpowering. Kane reached for the goggles, but Salvo ordered, “Not yet.”
The aromatic air shivered with the steady beat of a gong. Kane felt the vibrations against his face. The gong sounded thirteen times. After the final heavy chime, Salvo whispered, “Take them off now.”
Carefully Kane lifted the goggles away and off his head. His narrowed his eyes, prepared to be blinded by light. Instead, he saw only a grey gloom, and his vision quickly adjusted. He stood upon a thick Persian carpet. Figures shifted around him, and although he could see only shadows, he knew they were men.
A blade of white light speared down from somewhere above and impaled him. The suddenness of its unmerciful brightness seared his optic nerves, and he blurted out a startled curse. His hands came up to protect his eyes.
The whirling spectrum of light dimmed, diffused like pale sunlight barely penetrating a great underwater depth. As he stood there, blinking, a voice spoke to him. The voice was silvery, musical, its pitch exactly matching the gong’s, which still echoed from the far corners of the room.
“You are Kane, a servant of order, a warrior of the baron.”
Kane’s vision slowly cleared, and he saw a dim shape standing before him. The shape looked strange, hazy, and he realized he was seeing it through a semi translucent curtain, like a veil of gauze dusted with iridescent gold particles.
“Answer me,” the figure said. “Are you Kane?”
“I am.”
“Do you know who I am?”
Heart hammering, throat thick, Kane replied, “You are the baron.”
“Do you know why I have had you brought here?”
Kane breathed unsteadily. He wondered insanely if Baron Cobalt was speaking or if he had merely imagined it. He couldn’t seem to focus on his figure. There was only a fragment of an impression of pale golden skin, slim arms, a domed head and lean cheeks. Although he couldn’t see the man’s eyes, he knew the Baron stared at him, waiting for an answer. He bowed his head and whispered, “No.”
“Because you belong to me. From the day of your birth, you have belonged to me, as did your father and grandfather.”
Kane didn’t dare look around, but now that he remembered that other people were present, a bit of his fear ebbed. “Who am I to Baron Cobalt?”
“I offer you the chance to be one of my chosen ones.”
“Why?” he asked quietly. “Chosen for what?”
“To hear the truth, to serve the truth, to protect the truth. And in doing so, protect all of humanity and what we have managed to build here from the ravaged rui
ns of this world...of the Terra Infernus.”
Kane just stood there, cringing inwardly, knowing he was the focal point of critical stares from the shadows behind him. He could scarcely believe what he was seeing, and he was afraid to speak. He waited for the baron to explain.
“Do you wish to hear the truth?”
He hesitated only half a heartbeat. “Yes.”
“Be warned, then, Kane. Once you hear it, you must swear to serve it and protect it with your life. If you do not, then you die. Do you still wish to hear the truth?”
Even with his reason clouded by fear, Kane knew that he was in too deep to back out. An audience with Baron Cobalt was an event that had swift repercussions—it meant either a swift reward or an even swifter demise.
Kane lifted his head, cleared his throat and announced, “Yes, Lord Baron. I wish to hear the truth.”
And the baron spoke.
“THEY are here among us. They have always been here, apart and remote, yet guiding us whenever the opportunity arose. Now their numbers have increased in preparation for the final step in the development of our species. Though mistaken for gods in many religions, they are not gods but our superiors in every way—spiritually, intellectually, technologically. Records of their presence can be found in the texts of vanished civilizations such as ancient Egypt, Babylon, Mesopotamia, Greece and Sumer. The knowledge of their presence, their goals, their many accomplishments, was preserved by certain secret societies throughout humankind’s history.
“We are the latest in a long line of societies entrusted with the knowledge of their intentions and objectives. Therefore, we call ourselves the Trust.
“I see confusion in your eyes, Kane. Who are ‘they’ the lord baron refers to in such tones of awe and reverence? you wonder.”
“To be completely honest, we do not know for certain where they come from or when they first came among us. This event is lost in the mists of antiquity. We call them the Archons, and since they do not object to such an appellation, we continue to use that term. It is appropriate in many ways. In ancient texts, Archons were identified with the demons, angels and the law of Abraham. We do not know their origins, and in preNuke days, there was considerable debate whether the Archons were extra-terrestrial, interdimensional or ultra-terrestrial.
“Don’t look so startled, Kane. Yes, a few preNuke peoples knew of the Archons. Secret covenants were struck with them by many governments and military bodies.
“Many preNukers saw their advance guard in the skies, flashing through the ether in their traditional disk-shaped vessels. A minority of our ancestors knew they were the vehicles of the Archons, and knew them as friends. They have constantly aided us in our process of spiritual and scientific development.
“However, when humankind achieved the means to destroy itself, the Archons offered not only a way of preventing the destruction, but also a path to establish an era of enlightenment upon the earth.
“As was their custom, their directive, the Archons contacted a chosen few, endeavouring to pass on their knowledge to save us from ourselves. This is part and parcel of the Archon Directorate—after a period of turmoil, to assist a civilization to recover, and then withdraw to see what humanity would do with its newly acquired knowledge.
“The last great period of turmoil before the Nukeday was World War II. The Directorate’s primary thrust was to protect the planet from the new threat of nuclear annihilation. Working through their government and scientific intermediaries, the Archons provided the basic data and technology for the undertaking known as the Conception Infinitis.
“Ah, I see by your reaction, Kane, that the term strikes a responsive chord. A faint chord, I hope, else all the effort of the Unity through Action program to limit the knowledge of it was in vain.
Simply put, Conception Infinitis and the development of its many interconnected and related researches was the most ambitious and secret scientific project in recorded history.
“The aim of the Archon Directorate and their involvement in the Conception Infinitis was to make nuclear war obsolete. Indeed, aspects of the many subdivisions—Cerberus and the Chronoscope, to name only two—should have rendered the threat of atomic warheads as impotent as stone knives and clubs.
“In a sense, the Conception Infinitis was a stunning success. The Archon Directorate had given humanity the step up it needed to transcend all its petty squabbles and political differences. Unfortunately, in another sense, its failure to do so was just as stunning.
“Our benefactors, the entities who had nurtured us since we first discovered fire, had continually underestimated our instinctive need to wage war on our brother. None of the achievements of the Conception Infinitis, none of the hopes of the Archons themselves, were of any use whatsoever on that black, black day nearly two centuries ago.
“Humanity spit upon the great gift the Archons had bestowed. We tried to burn it up with the rest of the world. We did not want to heed their wisdom—we wanted to destroy it. And so we turned our faces away from the glory they offered and wallowed in our self-made mire of violence, bloodshed and endless war.
“Although they had every right to do so, the Archons did not abandon humanity. Their Directorate remained intact. They observed and watched as our planet became a wasteland, then helped as we tried to struggle back to our feet and rebuild. The Archons opened communications with the most powerful baronies and convinced them to unite and impose a new world order on the rampant chaos. With their help, their counsel, those nine barons ensured the old preNuke days would not return.
“The Archons provided them with the location of government stockpiles, of the Strongholds that once housed the many subdivisions of the Conception Infinitis. They taught them how to operate and maintain the technology found within, they put the barons in touch with the few surviving military and scientific installations that had weathered the nuking and the Night Eternal. In short, if not for the Archon Directorate, there would have never been a Program of Unification.
“They forgave us, you see, assuming some of the responsibility for the failure of the Conception Infinitis. They had been unable to save us from ourselves. Therefore, they judged it best that succeeding generations never knew of their presence or the role they played in the development of Conception Infinitis. One of the aims of the Program of Unification was to hide that knowledge or make sure that the few who possessed it would translate the traces of the Archons and Conception Infinitis into terms relevant to their own limited experience.
“The goals the Directorate had set for us were delayed by over a century, until humanity had regained some of its strength and creativity. At long last, the time is almost ripe for those goals to be achieved, but as with all ripening things, the process may not be hurried without risk of damage.
“The Archons have offered humankind another chance to evolve from our irresponsible, animal way, and that is a chance we must not, cannot, ignore.
“So, Kane, despite your impressive record, there is only one service you can bring to us, to the Trust, one duty you owe humanity. You must join us so we may fulfil the Archon Directorate’s hopes and dreams, and finally rise above the radioactive wasteland we ourselves created.
“Kane, as your father before you, you are now offered the opportunity to serve a greater cause. We must have your decision. Now.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“MY FATHER?” Kane’s voice was barely above a shocked whisper.
A hand gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze, and Salvo’s warm, comforting voice said, “Yes, Kane. Your father. And my father, too. As serving as Magistrates is part of both our families’ traditions, so is service to the Archon Directorate.”
Kane fought down the urge to pinch himself, to reassure himself that this was all real. His legs trembled. It was as if he’d been living inside a giant soap bubble that was smooth and simple and symmetrical, and suddenly the bu
bble burst. Everything was different. He struggled to grasp the vast implications of the baron’s words. His reeling mind formed a mental image of Earth as a tiny speck whirling through an inconceivably vast universe.
“The Archons,” he managed to stammer. “What are they? Are they human?”
“The Archons are a race unto themselves,” Baron Cobalt declared. “That is all you need to know. You have heard the truth. What is your decision?”
“Where is my father?” He stared directly at the figure of the baron, whose lean body shifted, nearly swallowed by the shadows on the left side of the archway.
“He is still performing the work of the Trust. It is his wish that you be inducted into the society to which he has devoted his life.”
“I recommended you, as well,” said Salvo from behind him. “I have been charged with a great responsibility, and your help will be immeasurable in discharging it.”
Kane shook his head. “I don’t quite...are we talking about aliens?”
A deep voice echoed from behind him. After a moment, Kane recognized it as that of Abrams, the Mag administrator. “As far as we know, the Archons have been here as long as we have. They are incredibly ancient, and there is no actual historical record of when they first began interacting with humanity.”
“Therefore,” said another, unfamiliar voice, “they are not, technically speaking, aliens. Just different from us.”
“What do they look like?”
“No one here has ever seen an Archon,” said the baron. A note of impatience was evident in his musical voice. “Except for myself and my fellow barons. But their existence is not illusory.”
Kane felt transparent. He knew he was stalling, as did the baron. He also knew if he refused the offer, he would not leave the room—wherever it was—alive. He couldn’t help but speculate if the prime purpose of the divisions was to select candidates for the Trust and to initiate them into the deepest mystery of the human race.
Or it could all be bullshit.
He asked, “If the work of the Trust is so important to our future, why is it conducted in secret?”