The Cydonia Objective (Morpheus Initiative 03)

by David Sakmyster

  "The place where they would go again. Once they died."

  She stared at Orlando. "Oh my god."

  "What?"

  Temple frowned. "What are you thinking?"

  Phoebe closed her eyes. "I'm thinking I'm nuts to say this, but it might explain it all, especially what Calderon is after."

  "What?" Orlando asked again, insistent.

  "What's the great mystery of many religions, and especially Christianity?"

  Orlando shrugged. "The resurrection?"

  "Close," Phoebe said. "How about this—that in order to receive eternal life, what do you have to do first?"

  "Besides all that, do good deeds, give to the poor and believe in Him?"

  "Think more obvious," Phoebe said. "First, before your soul can live forever, you have to die."

  "Die…" Orlando's eyes clouded. "Oh, I get it."

  "Explain please," Diana said, leaning forward. "Does this have to do with the Emerald Tablet?"

  "Oh yes," Temple said. "If it's truly the Tablet of Destiny, like in the Babylonian creation epic, then it has the power of the universe. A power to harness energy and create a weapon. Maybe it's been used in the past like upon Mohenjo-Daro."

  "And in the Great Pyramid," Phoebe said at once. "I think Thoth had it, and used it as a retaliation or preemptive strike, maybe on the remnants on Mars, or somewhere else here, as the two sides squared off over our fate."

  "But the Tablet has another power," Orlando said.

  Phoebe nodded. "For eternal life, you need to die first… but I'm guessing that first, you need to be prepared. Ready, like all those instructions on the walls of the Pharaoh's tombs. They were trying to give the soul directions, a way to get somewhere and be reborn. But to do that…"

  "You had to have control over your soul." Orlando's eyes flashed. "The Emerald Tablet—it somehow acts to free your consciousness from your body. And keep it under your control."

  "I know," said Phoebe, "my dad could do it. Even after he died, he kept appearing to us. And Xavier… it seems he learned how to leave his body for a time."

  "And now," said Temple, "Calderon's got it. Maybe he plans to use it just for himself, but my guess is that he'll extend that ability to people in his cabal, his lodge or whatever. And then, with HAARP as his tool and the Tablet's power to enhance its ionizing beams…"

  "He'll destroy the Earth," Orlando whispered. "I wondered why he would just commit suicide, just for revenge—and wipe us all out. But now I know."

  Phoebe nodded. "Wow, just like those Heaven's Gate cultists back some years. They killed themselves and hoped their spirits would hop aboard some passing spaceship on a comet."

  "Looks like they may have gleamed a bit of the truth," Orlando said.

  "Or at least, what Calderon believes is the truth."

  "So we've got to stop them," Phoebe said. "But how? He's got the Tablet. Probably the keys and the translation as well. They could be on their way to Alaska now. We're out of time."

  "Not necessarily," Temple said. "There's still Mars. If you can find out what's there, maybe it's something we can use or threaten Calderon with."

  "And if we can't?" asked Phoebe. "Don't they have shields there? I'm guessing they do."

  "Yes," Temple said. "But you've shown you can get past them by looking for creative end-arounds. I trust you."

  "Not to sound like a broken record here, but what if we can't?" Orlando asked.

  Temple's expression turned rock-hard. "Then we can only hope for aid from an unlikely source. That the Watchers get off the sidelines and rejoin the fray."

  12.

  Gacona, Alaska

  Alexander awoke with a start and a popping in his ears. Yawning, he looked out the window, taking several moments for the vast expanse of white to register as snow and ice.

  "We're over the Yukon," one of the twins said. Alexander let his vision linger on the sprawling ice-capped mountains draped in wispy clouds. The sky was a stark but dull metallic blue; the sun somewhere low beyond the range of jagged peaks. Finally he turned his face away and looked at the boy standing in front of him.

  They were on some kind of fancy Learjet. Alexander hadn't really paid attention when they'd boarded. He just knew it was sleek and narrow, with wide leather seats and TVs and a lot of leg room. But he'd had little time to appreciate any of it, as they lifted off quickly from Alexandria, and then someone gave him a drink of water that tasted funny, and as the twins looked on from across the aisle, giggling, he dozed right off, unable to even hang onto any coherent thoughts.

  All he knew now was that he was alive. Safe for the moment, but everything had changed. Their enemies had the Books of Thoth and the Emerald Tablet—the ancient relics he had sworn to protect. Some Keeper he turned out to be. Probably the shortest tenure of any of them throughout history. And now, he very likely was going to preside over their extermination.

  But then he had a more sobering thought. That it wasn't just going to be the Keepers. What was done to the Library—as awful as it was—that was just a taste of what would happen if Calderon and his followers succeeded.

  Sleep was troubling and anything but restful, full of fiery cataclysmic nightmares, shifting earth, exploding volcanoes and rivers of lava. Clouds of ash hung low in the sky, huge fissures opened in the ground, swallowing up entire cities; seas boiled and monster waves crashed over the world.

  He shook the visions away, then yawned again, popping his ears. "We're descending?"

  "Yep," said the twin stood in front of him, just standing there like a bemused spectator at a zoo. He was nibbling on a Snickers bar.

  Alexander frowned at him. "Jacob?" It wasn't easy to tell them apart, especially when they dressed the same. Now they wore baggy jeans, hi-top Nikes and long-sleeve navy-blue shirts. But Alexander had spent some time studying the twins. Jacob seemed to be a little neater, his shirt tucked in, his hair combed back, while his brother's appearance was more ruffled. Isaac sat in his seat, playing a Nintendo DS, grinning as he energetically twisted his arms and mashed the buttons with his fingers.

  Calderon was in the back, sitting opposite from Xavier Montross, who seemed to be fast asleep. Or drugged, Alexander thought. Two of Calderon's goons sat on either side of Xavier, arms crossed, eyes straight ahead.

  Alexander craned his neck to see what Calderon was holding, and he let out a gasp.

  "The Emerald Tablet," said Jacob. "Yeah, he's been studying it, meditating and stuff for about two hours." It was resting on the senator's lap, and he seemed to be in a trance. His palms gently rubbed the Tablet's outer surface, fingertips moving slowly, tracing unseen words and signs. Tiny flickers of green sparked off his skin and fizzled in the air.

  "My brother and I are next," Jacob continued.

  Alexander turned his attention away. "Next?"

  Jacob took a seat beside him, crossing his legs and leaning forward. "Our dad—stepdad, obviously—said we need to learn its secrets after he's done. Us, and the other members of…" He trailed off suddenly, catching himself.

  "Members of what?" Alexander asked. "Oh, your special cult that wants to destroy the world?"

  A light shined in Jacob's deep brown eyes. "More like remake the world."

  "And how are you going to do that? By first killing everyone else?"

  Jacob smiled. He glanced over to Isaac, who was still deeply involved in his game, the headphones crackling with explosions and violence. "You're special, Alexander. Maybe when you see what we can become, what we're meant to be, you'll accept that. And then maybe we'll accept you. You'll be one of the saved."

  Alexander shook his head. "I don't understand any of this. And I don't think you do, either. You're just being used. And that Tablet…" He glanced back at Calderon.

  "Come on, Alexander. Don't be like that. We're brothers, the three of us. Part of an ancient prophecy. Even you have to see that we're special. Chosen."

  Alexander glanced out the window, seeing the mountains in clearer detail. "If that's true
," he said. "I wish we were never born."

  Jacob eyes hardened. "How can you say that?"

  "Let him whine," said another voice. The headphones were off, and Isaac was sitting up, stretching. "Our little brother doesn't have any sense of purpose. He can't dream big, like you and me, Jacob."

  Alexander turned away again, flushing.

  "Doesn't even have any real talent, I bet." Isaac leaned forward, his coal-black hair flipping over his eyes. "Didn't see us coming, did you brother? Didn't see your lighthouse burning up. Or," he said, chuckling, "your mom…"

  "Shut up," Alexander said. It was just above a whisper. He was gripping the chair's armrests. Legs tensing.

  "Or what?"

  Jacob held up a hand. "Isaac, leave him alone. I think he's had a bad week."

  "Awww." Isaac leaned back and put his feet on his twin's chair. "Suck it up, little brother. It only gets worse from here."

  Alexander gave them both a glare, full of hate. "Stop it. Don't talk to me anymore."

  His grin widening, Isaac shrugged at Jacob. "Another threat, brother. I don't think we like his tone."

  Alexander leaned forward. "I've already killed a man during this 'bad week'. Don't push me."

  Jacob and Isaac both stared at him. "You?" Isaac cut off his laugh when he saw Alexander wasn't backing down.

  "Shot him in the head," Alexander continued. He never blinked.

  Jacob's mouth hung open until Isaac slapped him on the shoulder. "Huh. Maybe we should give that a look-see. Make sure the brat's not lying."

  Jacob nodded.

  "Besides," said Isaac, "it would be cool to see someone get shot in the skull." He gave Alexander a begrudging look of modest respect.

  "You ever killed anyone?" Alexander asked, still feeling cocky even though his heart was thundering. His ears popped again, and he winced with the sharp pain.

  Jacob looked down, but Isaac smiled and rubbed his hands together. "May 5th, last year. Seattle. Check it out while we're checking you out."

  Alexander met Jacob's eyes, and the silent twin gave a slight shake of his head in warning. His lips moved, forming the word "Don't…"

  Alexander trembled, tried to listen to the advice but it was too late.

  Some kind of ceremony, people with robes and holding candles. A dark, shadowy chamber, with a circular—or octagonal—rim of marble pillars and some kind of black altar in the center. A man wearing silver shackles and a white robe with lunar designs on it topples over as the crowd of ram-headed spectators cheer.

  Two boys stand over the gagged man who's bleeding from his skull as the boy—a leering, dancing youth dressed in red and wearing a horned mask—dances on his feet; he's holding a gold-tipped spear, preparing for another jab.

  The captive tries to wriggle away, but there's some kind of barbed-wire netting caught around his legs and pinning back his arms. A thrust, and the golden point comes back red after puncturing the man's lungs, between two ribs.

  Another cheer, and then a man with a familiar cane steps out of the shadows. "Very good. Now it's your brother's turn to finish the battle."

  The boy lowers his head and grudgingly hands the lance over to the other boy, who reluctantly takes it.

  "Finish the re-enactment," Calderon urges, raising his cane as the multitude begins to hum and chant incomprehensible syllables.

  Feeling the eyes of everyone upon him—especially those of his brother—the boy steps up, raising the spear with both trembling hands. He meets the agonized eyes of the sacrifice. Chooses his spot, hoping for a clean kill, and closes his eyes before he wills his arms to strike.

  A gasp and a shrieking cry of pain.

  Laughter.

  Isaac's mask is off, and he's barely able to contain his glee, pointing…

  The spear point is stuck in the captive's breastplate, just under the throat. He's missed the heart completely.

  Jacob lets go, turns and drops to his knees. Bile rushes up out of his mouth, soaking the floor. Calderon shakes his head, then nods to Isaac who moves in. He puts his foot on the captive's chest, pulls out the lance, then quickly drives it in, lower and to the right, spearing the heart and ending the man's cries.

  Jacob crawls away, into the shadows where he curls up, safe in the darkness.

  Alexander lurched back in his seat with a sudden jolt. Turbulence.

  Isaac was back in his seat, cross-legged. Eyes closed. Remote-viewing with a smile on his face. But Jacob looked ashen, staring at Alexander. "You saw…?"

  Nodding, Alexander glanced away, out the window to the snowy terrain rising up to meet them. "Why… what was that?"

  "A re-enactment," Jacob whispered. "Marduk and Tiamat. The whole planetary war thing. Everyone has to do it, our stepdad said. And… it was supposed to prepare us for what we needed to do."

  "What—to kill a lot of people?"

  Jacob gave a weak nod.

  "But you… you're not like your brother." Alexander took a breath, and with it, found some hope. "This doesn't have to happen. You can help us."

  Jacob shook his head. "It's already done. It's over."

  "No," said Alexander. "Our dad's still out there. He'll figure out a way. He'll stop this."

  Jacob looked down, then back to where Calderon had just now opened his eyes. He was exhaling calmly, but his eyes shone with an emerald tint. "I'm not sure I want to. You don't understand what we can become…"

  "What?"

  "Don't you get it? It's what we were meant to be. It's what we were promised."

  Alexander frowned, trying to remember his dad's lessons. The stories and myths.

  With a little enthusiasm returning to his voice, Jacob said: "We'll be gods."

  "I'm a kid," Alexander said quietly, fixing Jacob with a cold stare. "That's all I want to be."

  Calderon slipped the tablet back in the leather case on top of the translation tablets, then raised his cane and nudged Xavier, who didn't move. His eyelids were rapidly flickering.

  "Look sharp, boys!" Calderon called. "The HAARP facility is standing ready for us. We're landing in ten minutes. And then…" He turned his gaze out the window, looking out of over the expanse of the polar realm, and Alexander imagined he considered himself observing the whole world.

  A grunt, then a familiar voice filled the cabin.

  "Don't celebrate yet," said Xavier. He was blinking, rubbing his eyes. "I just popped in on my half-brother."

  Alexander saw Calderon's shoulders tense. He gripped the cane with both hands. "And?"

  Xavier flashed Alexander a smile of reassurance. "And it seems, dear Caleb has found it."

  "No… Nina should have stopped him by now."

  A shake of his head, and then Xavier gave a light chuckle. "Seems old flames have been rekindled. And Lady Liberty has given up her deepest secret."

  "The spear…" Calderon almost choked on the word, then reached for his cell phone.

  Xavier nodded. "Yes, call in your troops. Alert Homeland Security, and hope he hasn't already booked a flight. Because he's got it."

  Alexander's heart was pounding, his throat tight with excitement and hope.

  "And," Xavier continued, "he's coming for you."

  BOOK THREE

  Myth and Marvel

  1.

  Caleb didn't relax until they were over the Rocky Mountains and the majestic range loomed out the windows, presenting an imposing sight, rising tall and proud. Finding comfort in their strength, as if they offered protection from any pursuers, he leaned back, clutching the satchel to his chest as he exhaled.

  On the seat across from him, Nina smiled. She hadn't taken her eyes off him since they'd sat down, making him nervous. He wondered what those cat-like jade eyes were seeing. Was she regretting her decision to come with him, to turn against Calderon and their boys? And was she even sincere? That was the bigger question, and Caleb had spent the past six hours nervously looking over his shoulder.

  Back in New York City, Caleb had called Phoebe and had their new
friends provide transportation, a jet fueled and piloted by one of Temple's trusted men. Despite fears of a last-minute assault on the runway, they took off and traveled quickly and without interruption.

  Refusing to speak to her just yet, Caleb closed his eyes.

  "Rest," he heard her say. "You'll need it."

  He gave a nod, but that was all. His mind was already drifting, losing its grip on reality, bumping and shifting visions with the turbulence.

  A flash of city streets, mobbed with cheering people as a familiar man stands on a balcony, framed by huge red banners, displaying the Nazi swastika. He's shouting, raising his fists defiantly to the churning clouds above, while down by his legs, out of sight, rests a narrow case, open, revealing a gleaming metallic shard inside.

  Another rumble, the jet dipped.

  Caleb's eyes stayed closed. And dimly, he nudged his consciousness along… Show me what they were planning.

  And the theater in his mind dissolved, replaced with: a vast tunnel, a yawning cavern. Frosted, gleaming with enormous icicles. A team of twenty men in parkas and heavy woolen hoods, brandishing flashlights as well as sub-machine guns, red armbands proudly displaying the same swastika. They advance slowly, toward a smooth wall with a similar design, much larger and carved with deep precision. The rectangular wall section is guarded by a pair of ram-headed sphinxes that stand crookedly on the uneven ground.

  One man steps forward and unwraps something long and narrow from a cloth bundle.

  "Our fuehrer will be pleased," he whispers to the nearest man, who merely snorts.

  "We don't do this for him. But for us, for the true masters of this world."

  "You think they will notice us?"

  "With the spear in our possession? They must. Everything we've learned, what the mystics told us… They've been seeking this, and now it is ours to offer up to them."

  The man with the lance nods, lowers his head and raises it up toward the door. "This then will be the key that opens their realm—their secrets—to us."