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

by Zen, Raeden

  Verne’s eyes emptied.

  Brody dropped his limp body.

  “Damy!” Brody scrabbled over the ground. “Where are you?” He reached for a phantasm and fumbled his hands about. Finally, he felt her hair, and the flower, the daisy.

  Damy’s dead body.

  Brody held her.

  The Janzers surrounded him, shackles in hand.

  Brody didn’t notice.

  He rocked back and forth with his Damy in his arms.

  ZPF Impulse Wave: Nero Silvana

  Permutation Crypt

  2,750 meters deep

  So much blood, so much death, so many Janzer body parts strewn across the holding cell. “Did you do this?” Nero said to Aera.

  She shook her head no, looking more than a bit surprised by what just happened. In fact, the First Aera looked slaughtered, much as Nero assumed he appeared, covered with bloody streaks. Only this picture was one he’d never seen before. What kind of connection to the ZPF could overcome the Janzers’ telekinetic defenses?

  Aera knelt to Connor. Her body armor was torn and blood streaked from her wounds, though, it seemed, she’d used ufilicin to stem the flow.

  “Is he …” Nero couldn’t bring himself to say dead. A piece of him hoped Connor had died, and a piece of him hoped Connor had survived, for the ability to kill transhumans—even Janzers—with the ease of thought reminded him too much of Antosha Zereoue. Yet it was a skill that might be useful, should more Janzers arrive from Phanes, or should his captain require his talent in battle.

  “He’s alive—” Aera said.

  Two silhouettes crashed into the cell.

  Nero shifted to standard vision. He didn’t recognize this man. He did recognize the man draped over his arm—Supreme Scientist Jeremiah Selendia, or what was left of him. Lacerations split his cheeks, blisters riddled his arms, and burns covered his torso, bits of clothing melted to his skin. His face was scarred, his hair and beard matted. Dark violet circles hung beneath his eyes. A T was branded deep in his arm.

  Aera advanced, sword raised.

  “Wait!” the man said. “I’m here to help.”

  “Traitor!” Aera said and moved forward.

  “Aera, hold it,” Nero said.

  She checked her advance. For a long moment, she held her sword drawn back as if to strike. “Jeremiah wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for Zorian!” She pointed her blade at Murray’s body parts. “Murray wouldn’t be dead—”

  “No! Murray!” Zorian said. Carefully, he handed Jeremiah to Nero.

  The BP had told Nero about Jeremiah’s eldest and estranged son, Zorian Selendia. He did look a lot like Jeremiah, Nero reflected. He had sharp features, an aquiline nose, and a crested hairline. He was covered with dust and sweat. He wore a tunic but wasn’t as haggard as Jeremiah. Then the reality of the situation struck Nero. He looked down. Jeremiah Selendia, the all-powerful Jeremiah Selendia, he thought, alive and in my arms. Jeremiah mumbled something incomprehensible. Who would’ve thought this possible? Certainly not Nero, for he’d been told the former supreme scientist had perished decades ago, fallen ill of old age and shame without athanasia and his RDD.

  Memories of Jeremiah surged forward in Nero’s mind from the ZPF; Jeremiah’s constant scheming, his lectures about commonwealth behavior, and his insulting claims that the strike teams had betrayed their oaths to transhumankind. Who did he think he was? What made him so righteous? He created Marstone! He killed Vastar Alalia! He helped the chancellor consolidate power in Phanes!

  Nero pushed aside these thoughts. He had to control his emotions, lest he kill Jeremiah here and now, failing his captain and his eternal partner with one stroke.

  Zorian knelt in a bloody pool, putting his hand upon Murray’s lifeless face, half-covered by a visor, half-exposed, revealing his bloodied eye. “Murray,” he said. “Murray, Murray, Murray, ever the fool.” He sounded mournful. He turned. “And Connor! Gods, no!” He rushed to his youngest brother. “Oh, thank the gods, Connor lives!”

  “You stay away from us,” Aera said. She examined what remained of her damaged synsuit. “Don’t give us trouble and none will come to you.”

  “They sent Icarian to the Lower Level!” Zorian said. “They’ll send me there next! You have to take me with you!”

  “No fucking way,” Aera said.

  “You know,” gently, Zorian set Connor’s body against the rusted tub, “I always thought you had a pretty face.” He took one step and leaned forward. He had the intense look of a Selendia that made Nero feel uncomfortable. “I’d hate to bust it up.”

  Before Nero could blink, Aera spun toward Zorian, who telekinetically brought two Janzer arms across his body, blocking her.

  Then he lifted five, ten, twenty more Janzer arms and closed their diamond-gloved hands into fists, thrusting them toward her.

  Aera backflipped and avoided the fists, then swiftly she jump-kicked Zorian over the tub.

  “END THIS NOW!” Nero said.

  Aera turned to him, breathing deeply.

  “We have no time to fight each other!” Nero pointed his dagger toward to the doorway. “The reinforcements will be here any second!”

  “He gave the commonwealth Jeremiah!” Aera said, pointing a shuriken at Zorian, who was now covered with Janzer blood.

  Zorian limped forward around the tub and knelt to Connor. “You’re leaving out something else I did, Miss Aera.” He lifted his brother, letting his limp body sprawl across his arms. “I sent that bitch Lutetia right into the trap beneath Navita, and you guys couldn’t even finish her off.”

  “What?” Nero said.

  Aera threw her head back and laughed. “You think I’m going to believe that?”

  “I don’t care what you think. I love my family.”

  Nero had heard enough of this. “We have to get out of here, all of us.”

  Aera pointed her sword at Zorian, looking toward Nero. “You think I’m letting him come back with us?”

  “What’s the harm?” Nero said. Jeremiah mumbled as Nero injected him with uficilin. “Let Jeremiah deal with him when he’s recovered.” He injected uficilin into himself.

  A smile flitted over Zorian’s face before he turned stoic.

  Nero set Jeremiah down, then placed the tip of his bloody shuriken beneath Zorian’s chin. “If this operation turns ill on your account, I’ll rip out your entrails and hang you by them in Artemis Square.”

  Zorian nodded and raised his eyebrow. “How colorful.”

  Aera searched the ground for something.

  “What’re you doing?” Nero said, holstering his shuriken.

  “We can’t bring Murray back with us,” she said, “but we won’t leave his body for the commonwealth.” She lifted several charges from the Janzers’ dead bodies. Then she raised her eyes as she extended her consciousness and scanned the area. “We’re clear,” she said. She lifted a Granville sphere out of the tub, the one that apparently had projected Jeremiah’s likeness in the ZPF, tricking them. She crushed it under her boot, then set charges around the tub and Murray’s body.

  Nero carried Jeremiah, and Zorian held Connor, while Aera led on point. They all made their way back into the Crypt. It shook when the charges exploded in the holding cell.

  They’d traveled through the countless half-lit tunnels and rooms. Throughout the Crypt, sparks flew from the coils overhead and in the corners, alloy and wiring splayed about. Either the damage had been caused by the EMP or the shifts afterward. Nero didn’t know and didn’t care. Aera assured him she had the route to the pit where their rappel ropes hung. Nero wasn’t about to argue with her.

  Farther on their journey, she said: “Go, go, go,” with a sense of urgency he’d not heard during this operation.

  Nero turned. The Janzers’ shadows moved far down the tunnel. The ultimate parallelogram-shaped room before the pit lay ahead, according to Aera.

  Jeremiah’s breaths were raspy, but at least he survived. We have all the proof the ministry and
board will need, Nero thought, hoping that Brody and Damy had escaped the Bicentennial and Verena was safe in the RDD.

  “Wait here,” Aera said.

  “Where’re you going?” Nero said.

  Aera dashed to the middle of the room, then telekinetically sent pulse grenades to the other end. She ran back, throwing her arms forward.

  “Down!” she said. “Down!”

  Zorian protected Connor, while Nero protected Jeremiah.

  The blast shook the floor.

  The Janzers neared.

  The gash in the wall led into the void. Carefully, Zorian lifted Connor, handing him to Aera on the other side of the ruptured wall. After Zorian stepped through, Aera handed Connor back to him, then helped Nero with Jeremiah.

  Once they were all through, Aera lit a flare. Solid ground. They were still inside the Crypt’s frame, but the maze was behind them. “Stay close,” she said, “watch out for unexpected drops.”

  Nero felt the power of the coils in his boots. Jeremiah was light in his arms, but it would be difficult to move quickly, or survive, if the Crypt shifted.

  “Hold it,” Nero said. They reached a part of hollowed earth where the alloy and granite ground was damaged. Nero turned sideways to get a better look. The pit seemed as if it might lead all the way down to the mantle. He extended his consciousness and measured the length to the other side at about 122 meters. “We’ll need a bridge.”

  “I’m on it,” Aera said.

  She knelt to the pit where the ruptured alloy gave way to the deep below. Then, telekinetically manipulating the plating and stone, she broke it apart, then put it back together, creating a bridge for them to cross.

  Janzers streamed through the gash in the alloy wall, far behind them, yet too close.

  Aera drew a pulse gun, one she’d apparently lifted from a Janzer in the holding cell, and gave them cover fire.

  Zorian crossed with Connor first.

  Pulse blasts flew past them, lighting the void. Aera halted her cover fire when the Janzers reloaded.

  “Time’s up, striker,” she said. “Time to run.” She hand-signaled him, letting him know she was also out of ammo.

  Nero rushed across with Jeremiah. When he reached the other side, Aera was beside him.

  The Janzers charged.

  “Let’s move,” Aera said. She dismantled the bridge, thrusting its pieces toward the Janzers. Then she sent her last three pulse grenades in their direction.

  The team ran as fast as they could.

  Explosions shook the ground beneath them.

  Along the way to the rappel ropes, Nero said to Aera, “You fight in the way of the Elders, methods of movement in the zeropoint field this generation of Janzers are unfamiliar with,” he gasped for air, “methods I haven’t even seen in the instruction manuals, methods the Grakas don’t even—”

  “And you fight like a little boy.”

  Nero smiled. He glimpsed the ropes in his night vision, hanging like vines from above.

  “We’re almost there,” Nero said to Jeremiah, “stay with me.” He could hear Jeremiah’s raspy breaths.

  They attached the ropes to what was left of their synsuits, Jeremiah tethered to Nero’s back, Connor to Zorian’s, and shot upward.

  On the way up, an energy wave passed above them, and an explosion rocked the supply tunnel, one only a pulse launcher could have executed. They whacked the walls in the pit and tangled and untangled.

  Aera unsheathed her shuriken and drove them into the rock.

  The ropes stayed intact, but the hoist was offline. Below them, Janzers started up the ropes.

  “Uh, guys?” Aera said. “Normally I’d love to tow your asses, but I’m in a bit of a hurry today. Do you mind?”

  Nero and Zorian unsheathed their shuriken and climbed.

  When they crested the summit, a transport lay in pieces.

  Embers danced in the dead air. A dead body steamed on the ground.

  Zorian eased his brother against the wall.

  Nero placed Jeremiah next to his son, then shed the rappel ropes from the pipes and threw them down the pit. Several Janzers screamed as they fell.

  In the distance, six flares held by six Janzers moved through the supply shaft.

  The shaft rumbled. Aera stopped.

  “What was that?” Nero said.

  “A transport,” Aera said.

  “Which way?” Nero said.

  “Hide!” Zorian said. “They’ll run us down.”

  They grabbed Jeremiah and Connor and moved to the wall near the pipes.

  The transport whirred and slowed at their location.

  “We must move fast,” Aera said. “Without a scrambler we have no way to—”

  A pop echoed in the shaft as the entrance cleared.

  “Stay with me,” Aera said, now poised to strike.

  The tip of a cane poked out.

  “Don’t fire!” Pirro peeked out from the transport, pulling his beard with his fingers. “You didn’t think I’d let you run around down here alone, did you, girl?” He jabbed his cane toward Zorian. “Oh no, he isn’t coming with us.”

  “He is,” Aera said. “We’ll discuss it later.”

  “What about Arturo?” Pirro said.

  Nero looked at the dead, burned body. “He’s gone.”

  “Oh, no,” Zorian said, “not Arty too …”

  Aera and Nero turned to the pit, where a scraping noise echoed in the supply shaft.

  “Move it!” Aera said. “We’ve got climbers.” She lifted Arty’s body, then sprinted to the transport.

  “You were due back in Piscator two hours ago,” Pirro was saying as he powered up the transport, “so I set out, as we discussed. Set the walls to transparent and ran over a Janzer division, but not before they used the launcher—”

  “Today, Pirro!” Aera said.

  He stroked his beard and telepathically manipulated the transport’s controls. They whisked away from the pit.

  “Murray captured?” Pirro said.

  “He died in the cell block, defending Connor,” Aera said.

  “How did you make it out?”

  “We almost didn’t.” Aera looked at Connor, whose chest lifted and fell beneath his destroyed and bloodied synsuit. “We’ll have to talk about what happened sometime,” she turned toward Nero with a look in her eyes he’d not seen before, a bit of fear, a bit of concern, “but not now.”

  Pirro brought a withered hand to his brow. “May the gods take old Murray and Arturo to a better place than here.”

  Nero turned toward Zorian and Jeremiah.

  The eldest son focused on his father, who was mumbling.

  “Strike … iron … fist …”

  “I’m sorry, Father,” Zorian said. He kissed his father’s bruised forehead. “It’s over …”

  “Blood … will … flow …”

  Epilogue

  ZPF Impulse Wave: Parthenia Summerset

  Halcyon Village

  Dunamis, Underground West

  2,500 meters deep

  A morning Granville sun, shades of orange, blue, and yellow, reflected off Halcyon Lagoon. Seagulls fought over scraps along the synthetic white sands. Dunamisians strolled through markets, up the layers of cobblestone walks between compressed diamond support pillars and white marble buildings topped with golden or light blue domes. Beneath the largest golden dome, Lady Parthenia Summerset stepped into an elevator and descended through layers of alloy.

  When the doors opened, she scurried through the main gallery lined with holographic murals, garnet chandeliers, pedestals topped by burning potpourri, and sconces filled with burning candles on the walls. She dashed down a spiral staircase to where Minister Kurt Kaspasparon waited for her beside Lord Thaddeus. Kaspasparon had arrived earlier without his guardsmen, wearing leather boots and a simple cape over a bodysuit. He didn’t look like a minister.

  Lady Parthenia knew he’d negotiated Brody’s safe passage to House Variscan. But that had been over a centu
ry ago, and as far as she knew, Brody barely spoke to the man. What interest did he have in the twins?

  “This is most … irregular,” she said.

  Kaspasparon lowered his hood and bowed deeply to her. “Madam Developer, I thank you for your hospitality, and confidentiality, during these troubling times.”

  “We’re out of time for courtesies,” Thad said. “We must begin.”

  He pressed his fat thumb to a small box. The entrance cleared, revealing the Summerset’s legendary developmental facility. Thirty bluish-white oval bulbs glowed overhead in rows. A dozen robotic arms dangled from three tracks in the ceiling. Medical bots moved from open suspended incubator to open suspended incubator to holograms to workstations, dizzying in their speed. Polychromatic liquids flowed through tubes around Oriana and Pasha.

  The air held a natural aroma, musky, dry but not untenable to Lady Parthenia’s taste. She sensed Kaspasparon’s discomfort. “What troubles you, Minister?”

  “Biologically, they should be nearing early adolescence by now, no?”

  “We’re a bit behind,” the lady admitted, “though I can assure you, they’ll be full-grown adults in time for the exams.”

  “It’s not the exams that concern me.”

  “These walls are impregnable. Oriana and Pasha would be safer nowhere else in the commonwealth.”

  Kaspasparon folded his arms. “What happens when they leave?”

  “They will be fully developed transhumans capable of feats far beyond anything you can dream of,” Thad said. He turned and conversed softly with a medical bot.

  “Times are volatile,” the minister countered. “The commonwealth is … changing.”

  “So it is.” Lady Parthenia looked down. “We could’ve taken on more candidates if we wanted to, but we didn’t.” She turned to the twins. “We’re dedicated to these babies. We’ve developed countless candidates over the decades, including Miss Damosel …”

  Thoughts of Damy pained Parthenia still. She lost her thought. She and Thad had left the Bicentennial after the second act performances, but she’d seen the Beimeni Press report, the “Midnight Murders.” She had assured Damy she would protect her children and fully develop them into functioning Beimenian citizens.