The Synthesis and the Animus (The Phantom of the Earth Book 3)

by Zen, Raeden

  “Hey,” Brody shouted. “Are you all right?”

  Silence.

  He peered toward the girl and heard the scuffle of pebbles and earth as she dashed across the tunnel, far ahead again. Her curly auburn hair trailed behind her like a river. Brody and Nero jogged to the next fork. In the distance, where the tan light turned saffron, they caught a glimpse of the child before she raced off, giggling as she went.

  The men sprinted.

  The smell of the tunnel turned from lavender to cinnamon. The girl whisked from right to left, then stopped and danced and spun. Nero grasped her. “Gotcha—”

  Hoods dropped over his and Brody’s heads.

  ZPF Impulse Wave: Cornelius Selendia

  Hydra Hollow

  300 meters deep

  Connor and Murray took Captain Barão and his striker to the Hollow. Connor was hopeful that the captain’s presence at the designated meeting location meant he’d support their cause. Murray said he wouldn’t bet on it.

  “Glad you decided to join us,” Connor said.

  Captain Barão shook his head. His eyes appeared as if he was drugged, and his face had turned green from a Converse Collar. Nero also wore a collar and squinted as Connor unlatched his and Captain Barão’s cuffs. They both sat against a limestone boulder near a blue bioluminescent wall where cold water trickled down the stone to a gutter along the base.

  Little Jocelyn burst through the curtain at the front of the cove and orbited Murray. He’d trimmed his beard, artfully forming sharp angles over his face that Connor remembered from their time on the Block. That felt like a lifetime ago.

  Jocelyn tugged on Murray’s tunic. “I think you owe me something …”

  She tapped her left toe, while her silk shirt, torn and discolored and three sizes too large, slipped over her shoulder. The sausage curls in her hair dangled loosely past her ears.

  “Hmm, not sure what that is,” Murray said.

  Jocelyn put her hands on her hips. “You told me if I tricked the grown-ups, I’d earn enough benaris to buy new grow lights for my garden, so how about it?” She stuck out her hand.

  Arty grinned. He folded his arms, and the bracelets, stenciled with the BP’s regalia, rubbed against his tunic. He pressed his lips together and nodded when Jocelyn peered up to him.

  Murray knelt and fixed Jocelyn’s shirt, then gently swiped dirt from her chin. “Oh no, I don’t think I remember that accord? You, Connor?”

  Connor shook his head no. He admired Murray’s devotion to the children in Hydra Hollow, though he disagreed with allowing Jocelyn, whom Arty had described as a “daughter of the BP,” so close to the Protectors near the spa and the commonwealth. The girl stood no taller than Connor’s waist. Jocelyn’s parents, he’d learned, had been arrested in Gaia City after she was born illegally, and her brothers took her and escaped with BP sympathizers along the Underground Passage to Hydra Hollow.

  “Uh-huh,” Jocelyn put in, “you said so. You promised.” She folded her arms and looked toward Arty, knowing he agreed with her. “See,” she said, pointing, “Arturo heard, everyone heard you say so.”

  “Silly me, now I remember, so here you go.” Murray handed her a ten-benari coin. “That should do it.”

  Jocelyn flew between the curtains and disappeared.

  “Nice,” Nero said, “so the rumors of child labor in the BP are true.” He wiped the grime from his mouth, where drool mixed with the cotton from the hood Connor had placed over his head.

  “As true as the commonwealth’s incineration of children in the Lower Level,” Murray countered. He chucked a ring full of keys between the captain and the striker. “A Lower Level that shouldn’t exist—”

  Captain Barão groaned as he leaned over to grasp the keys. He inserted one, then another into Nero’s cuffs, saying, “The Lower Level is meant to provide safety to the transhuman race should Reassortment seep into the Beimeni zone. It’s reserved for those who cannot live among developed transhumans.” He tried a few more keys. “Anyone there could never compete in our marketplace, not as a—”

  “Is it willful ignorance or are you just that dumb?”

  Arty put his hand on Murray’s shoulder. “Pirro’s expecting us.”

  Captain Barão and Nero shared a glance, then stood. “A little help,” the captain said to Connor, holding out the key ring between his cuffed wrists.

  Connor found the right keys and unlatched the cuffs. The captain and his striker rubbed their wrists, which looked bruised from where the alloy had dug into their skin.

  “Follow me.” Connor led them through the corridors of Hydra Hollow, narrow walks where natural streams flowed, and bacteria, which excreted peaceful pheromones, spread hues of green, yellow, and blue.

  They arrived at the main cavern, where Beimeni Polemon lined up for various goods and services, from fruits and vegetables, to meats, to beer, to herbs to tunics and slippers and massages and palm readings. The bazaar smelled of perfumes and coffee beans and geraniums and jasmine. Vibrant bioluminescence in shades of violet covered the tents and limestone pillars. Stalactites jutted from the ceiling, bright with glowworms; stalagmites sprang like a thicket along the cavern’s rim. The scenery from the streams and waterfalls gave the impression of dusk upon the surface of the Earth.

  “You have a shadow economy down here,” Nero said.

  Up here, actually, Connor thought, though he didn’t say.

  “This isn’t an economy,” Arty said. He put his hands on his belly. “Just some essentials and nonessentials for survival.”

  “Come,” Connor said, and they followed him through a tunnel to a cove with limestone pillars, orange bioluminescent stalactites, and a polished mantle-stone table topped by a Granville sphere. Pirro awaited on the other side of the table, leaning on his cane, swiping at his beard. “It’s about time; was beginning to think you weren’t coming.”

  A girl and two boys dressed in bodysuits, helpers of the Leadership, escorted Captain Barão and Nero to their seats.

  “My boy,” Pirro said to the captain, “I expect you visited the spa because you’ve discovered the truth.”

  “We came to evaluate the truth.”

  “Indeed.”

  Nero watched the helpers exit between two curtains, then turned to the BP, a look of exasperation upon his face, his mouth open wide. “Who are you people?”

  “You don’t recognize me?” Murray said. He swiped his face slowly, letting his thumb and forefinger brush along the angled curves of his beard.

  “This is Murray Olyorna,” Captain Barão said. He turned from Nero to Murray. “You didn’t have facial hair in the RDD, and you were about thirty kilos heavier, but you still have that acid tongue—”

  “Remember where you are, Captain Barão,” Murray said.

  Nero squinted at Murray, shaking his head, then he looked to his captain. “You’re telling me this is the Murray who—”

  “Your captain demoted,” Arty said. “Yes—how many times do we have to tell you?”

  Arty spoke with fire that Connor hadn’t ever experienced, not even on the occasions when they’d fought in their unit in Piscator, with Connor begging to be able to leave. Arty sat at the table as far away from Nero and Captain Barão as he could.

  Was this a mistake? Connor wondered. Did I stumble in thinking these people could all work together? He’d let this quibbling go only so far. His father’s life depended on the Barão Strike Team’s participation, and Connor didn’t plan on losing them.

  “That was so long ago,” Nero was saying to his captain, and to Murray, “you look so young. How is that possible?”

  “They’ve been stealing athanasia drums from the RDD,” Captain Barão said. “Isn’t that right?” Curiously, he peered around the cove. “Where’s the woman?”

  “Aera?” Murray said. He sat at the table near Arty.

  “You have an aera?” Nero said.

  “The First Aera,” Connor said. “She is with us, but prefers the sights in … the Ea
st to the Hollow.” He almost said the RDD but checked himself when Murray gave him a stern look.

  Nero waved his head. “Aera is a story told—”

  “She’s real,” Connor said. He took a seat beside Nero. “She escaped from Nyx, and my father helped her recover—”

  “I don’t believe it—”

  “I saw her,” Captain Barão said. “And you … yes, now I see him in you … you’re … Jeremiah’s son.”

  “Jeremiah’s son?” Nero said. He looked upon Connor as if to examine him. “Jeremiah’s son,” he repeated. The whites of his eyes expanded. “Jeremiah’s son—”

  “My boy,” Pirro said to Connor, ignoring Nero, “let’s begin.”

  They’re with us, Connor thought, at least for now.

  Connor nodded to Pirro and transmitted the contents from Hans’s z-disk to the Granville sphere at the table’s center. Murray had removed his neurochip when they left Blackeye Cavern but reinstalled it upon his entry to Hydra Hollow, where there were also safeguards against Marstone’s detection.

  Now Connor connected to the ZPF and the sphere, and holograms formed based on the data and his instructions. Two words appeared:

  PERMUTATION CRYPT

  Connor manipulated the data, and the Crypt’s layout replaced the words. Its parallelogram-shaped alloy rooms and tunnels formed into the shape of a saucer before the pieces separated a little bit. Strips formed in the spaces created from the separation, glowing bright electric blue. Connor expanded the rendition of Permutation Crypt. “Murray?”

  The group turned to Murray. “The prison is magnetized. The magnets are influenced by electricity that flows through coils. The Crypt’s electricity generates magnetic fields that in turn generate electricity and so on in what we believe is a self-sustaining reaction, at least for a period of time.”

  “What does that mean?” Nero said.

  “They can alter this facility,” Captain Barão said.

  “Yes, and most of our weapons would be rendered useless after one of those shifts,” Connor said.

  “The data Hans collected before he died in your Jubilee,” Murray continued, “suggests the possibility of one trillion three hundred seven billion, six hundred seventy-four million, three hundred sixty-eight thousand formations, or permutations, if you will, of the Crypt. But historical readouts indicate that only four hundred seventy-nine million one thousand six hundred permutations are possible.”

  “Which suggests what, exactly?” Nero said.

  “Some places never shift,” Captain Barão said.

  Murray nodded. “I believe that it is within these static structures, in what I call ground zero, where we will find Jeremiah.” Murray turned, pressing his lips together. There was more fear in his expression than hate.

  The striker seemed to sense Murray’s unease. “What’s the problem?” he said.

  Connor looked at Nero, then the captain. He said, “We lack the information to pinpoint the static parts and coordinate an effective attack.”

  Captain Barão folded his arms and looked up. “That’s why you need me.”

  Connor searched the captain’s expression for a sign of his leanings. He appeared stern, his jaw muscles taut, his dimples deep, but something in the way he sat back in his chair gave Connor hope he might be receptive.

  “We want Jeremiah,” Murray said, “but the first rule of engagement is not to proceed unless you have a chance of winning. Without more detailed schematics of the facility’s interior, and understanding of the shifts, we’ll never find ground zero, and we’ll all die trying.”

  Captain Barão and his striker exchanged a glance.

  “The only way to get this information would be directly from Marstone,” Captain Barão said.

  Murray nodded. “Yes, we know.”

  “This would not go unnoticed.”

  Pirro poked his cane toward the captain. “Your status with the commonwealth strike teams affords you some protection from the chancellor, my boy. He needs you, at least for now.” Pirro slinked away from them, using his cane. He stopped near Murray, then turned toward the captain, and his striker. “Though I can’t deny there would be some risk should you choose to help.”

  “What about Antosha?” Nero said. He moved his hand over his trimmed mohawk. “What do you plan to do about him?”

  Pirro stroked his beard. “Antosha’s return is unfortunate. We’ve been tracking his progress on Regenesis. He doesn’t yet seem any closer than your team in awakening the sleeping Kole Shrader. Yet it’s not this research that concerns us.” Pirro leaned forward on his cane. He looked all of his ninety-five years in that instant, the wrinkles folding over and under his cheeks and jaw, the veins in his arms and hands bulging like streams in the underground. “He’s been conducting ancillary research into transhuman DNA,” Pirro continued. “We’re unsure what he’s planning but sure it cannot be good.”

  “Gods help us,” Captain Barão said, holding his forehead.

  “I agree,” Murray said. “Antosha is a major threat to us all.” To Nero, he added, “You should understand this more than anyone here.”

  Pirro moved methodically with his cane, closer to the striker and the captain. “Getting Jeremiah back is the first step toward containing Antosha.” He looked to Nero, then to Captain Barão. “We have spies close to the board and the ministry and the research teams. With your help, we can put an end to Antosha’s research.”

  The captain and striker exchanged another look.

  Oh, deftly handled, Connor thought. He hoped his plan was working, for when the BP had formed the interrogation strategy, Connor had suggested they use Captain Barão and Antosha’s complicated past to their advantage. Yes, yes, they will help us rescue one enemy to take out another. We’re coming for you Father. We’re coming.

  “Captain Barão, do the board and ministry suspect an attack?” Arty said.

  “At board meetings, the chancellor damns the terrorists and believes strikes are forthcoming on Hammerton Hall and the Palace of Luxor.”

  “Luxor?” Murray said. He tapped the table with his fist.

  “The Autumn Gala,” Captain Barão said.

  “Might be that we are targeting them,” Murray said, nudging his chin, staring at Connor, “but not how he suspects.”

  Connor altered the view from Permutation Crypt to Beimeni City, with its beaches, spires, fountains, and hills. The view zoomed in on Hammerton Hall and the walls that comprised its beams, reflecting many shades of blue. “The Bicentennial will provide our cover—”

  “They’ll be ready for an attack,” Captain Barão said.

  Connor adjusted the holograms. “We’re counting on it.”

  “Gods, you sound just like Jeremiah,” Nero said.

  He looked at Connor as if he truly were Jeremiah, and not his youngest son, and it made Connor feel wonderful. He wished the BP would view him the same way. He couldn’t help but smile, then rendered Beimeni’s thirty territories into view. Bright light formed the transport routes flowing through the cities and interterritory tunnels.

  “We plan to use the inefficiencies in the transportation system,” Connor continued, “and the traffic on the day of the Bicentennial, to trigger a blackout in Phanes.”

  “The blackout may not affect Hammerton Hall,” Murray said, “but it’s a means to an end—”

  “Permutation Crypt—” Nero said. He spoke as if he couldn’t believe it, or perhaps, Connor hoped, as if he was starting to believe.

  “With your help,” Murray added.

  Nero looked to Captain Barão.

  “We need proof for the ministry—” the captain said.

  “And what surer proof exists than Jeremiah Selendia himself?” Connor said.

  “We have another issue,” Nero said. He turned to Pirro and Murray and Arty, then to Connor.

  Gods no, Connor thought, is this when we lose them? Did he miscalculate the influence of their strike team oaths? Did he overlook some aspect of the commonwealth’s pol
itics?

  “What would that be, my boy?” Pirro said.

  “Our strategist and my eternal partner Lady Verena Iglehart has fallen into a medically induced coma, genetically poisoned, we believe, by Antosha. Can you ensure her safety, should the mission go ill?”

  “My boy,” Pirro said, tapping his cane on the ground, “I cannot ensure she will live, but should she recover and survive, what kind of a world would you want her to live in? A Beimeni where your chancellor sends millions of transhumans to their maker in the Lower Level and holds his iron fist over those of us who remain in the upper territories? A Beimeni where the man who poisoned your eternal partner could rise to the highest levels of power? Or is it a Beimeni where freedom of movement and ideas and education and mobility are upheld? This is what we seek, my Lord Nero Silvana, and we have a plan.” Pirro raised his chin, and his voice. “We can win.”

  Nero swiped his hands over his sweaty forehead and damp hair and looked up at the orange bioluminescent stalactites. He inhaled and exhaled the humid, mossy-smelling air. “Brodes?”

  “I happen to recall,” Captain Barão said, “a phrase Jeremiah often used, a phrase he dug out of the archives from the end of the Quaternary Period, one that I’m sure, now as I think of it, contributed to his banishment. I didn’t understand it then, as I think I do now.”

  The captain paused, and it seemed as if he were reliving the conversation in his mind.

  “What did he say?” Connor asked.

  “Give me liberty, or give me death.”

  ZPF Impulse Wave: Broden Barão

  Beimeni City

  Phanes, Underground Central

  2,500 meters deep

  Brody moved across North Boardwalk as he had countless times before, only now with a traitor’s eyes. Phanes Lake glowed like a giant gemstone in the evening’s dusk, the shoreline sparkling scarlet and silver. Couples built sandcastles and lay on dunes and huddled near bonfires. The smell of roasting boar meat mixed with sweeter goods, chocolate melted over marshmallows, strawberry cream pie, apple fritters. Janzers patrolled the scene. Scientists in lab coats roamed the boardwalk. In the distance stood Hammerton Hall, with its crisscrossing alloyed beams, the Dream Forest was illuminated at the very top.