Time Shards--Shatter War

by Dana Fredsti

  And a crocodile lurks on the sandbank.

  But I go into the water,

  And I wade through the waves,

  And my heart is strong in the flood.

  The water is like land to my feet,

  The love of her protects me.

  It makes a water-magic for me…

  Attracted by the music, a hungry shorebird flapped down to a perch on the bulwark, eying the unguarded morsels. Abi spotted the intruder and clapped his hands to shoo the bird away.

  It turned on him with a vicious hiss, and Abi fell back in fear and surprise.

  “That bird has teeth!”

  “Thoth and Horus!” Ti gasped. “That is no bird, but some unnatural creature of Set!”

  The small winged terror hopped down to snatch up a strip of dried fish and flew off again. With mute amazement, the crew watched it depart.

  * * *

  The Nile’s current carried them downriver toward Lower Egypt without further incident, yet the crew of the Star of the Dawn grew increasingly uneasy with each mile. Strange surges and dips disturbed the waters. Worse yet, for two long days they were alone on the river. As inconceivable as it was, the great thoroughfare of the Nile appeared to be deserted.

  Though not a man given to superstitious fear, Kha-Hotep brooded silently in the bow of the ship, wrestling with doubts. How could they be alone at the center of the world? Not a ship, not a barge, not even an old fishing raft. Nothing had been normal, he mused, since they’d departed the ruins of the cursed city and had seen the winged serpent-bird.

  Damn old Ti and his senile fears, Kha-Hotep raged to himself. Now even he was wondering if they had offended the gods, and been cursed to wander a ghost river through eternity.

  Before that morning, Enkati and Abi had been chatty and mischievous, always slacking in their work, too loud and too rambunctious. It had taken all his efforts to keep them in line. Now the youths were cowed and quiet as they hunched over the ropes, keeping watch for some unseen doom to strike them all.

  Ti came to the bow with an amphora of wine to pour out an offering to Hapi, the god of the Nile flood. Kha-Hotep stepped out of the way, listening to the steersman’s prayer asking for the bringer of life to carry them to safe harbor again, and protect them from evil. Even as he finished the prayer, Ti looked up from his supplications and froze, horror on his seamed face as he stared over the riverboat’s railing.

  Kha-Hotep turned to see for himself.

  On the nearest bank of the river lay the savaged carcass of a hippopotamus. Two nightmare creatures stood over it, feeding—tearing off its flesh in great ragged red chunks, with wide, blood-smeared mouths full of cruel teeth. They were giants, each twice the height of a man, standing on muscular hind legs, with squat, heavy heads something like a crocodile’s. An unnatural blend of bird and lizard, with glossy feathers covering their skin like serpent scales. Though the monsters’ arms looked unduly small, their bodies were as long as the boat, ending with long, powerful tails that lashed back and forth.

  One of the beasts took notice of them and waded out into the river, roaring a fearless challenge at them that turned their guts to water. The four men looked on the ghastly scene in silence, letting the Nile carry them away from the carnage on the riverbank.

  * * *

  Just a little further, Kha-Hotep thought, keeping watch at the bow. Just a little further on, and we’ll be at a safe harbor again. He knew every twist, every turn of the mighty river, each one a familiar old friend. But now the turns were foreboding strangers.

  Abi approached him. “Captain?” he asked timidly. “It grows dark. Should we not lay anchor?”

  Kha-Hotep said nothing.

  “Captain?”

  “No, not just yet,” the captain finally replied. “I wish to push on to Henen-nesut. It lies very near.”

  “I’ll be glad to see it.”

  “So will I,” he admitted, giving the boy a gentle smile.

  Abi smiled, nodded, and rejoined Enkati and Ti in the back.

  * * *

  Enkati sat against the mast and plucked sad, solitary notes on his lute as the Lord Ra, in Mesektet, his solar bark of eventide, sailed down to the horizon and the waiting underworld. The goddess Nut, Coverer of the Sky, She Who Holds a Thousand Souls, had only just begun to stretch her star-dusted indigo form over the heavens.

  A light on the water caught Enkati’s eye.

  “Kha!” he called out to his brother. “Another ship!”

  A large vessel was coming upriver toward them, banks of oars pulling it at speed. The faces of the Star’s crew lit up at the sight.

  “It looks official—is it?” Ti asked. He feared pirates as much as ghosts, if not more. Kha-Hotep nodded, though not entirely comforted.

  “It is. A warship, in fact.”

  They watched it approach in silence.

  * * *

  Two chains of oil lamps lit the Egyptian warcraft like a royal barge. Their light gleamed in the inlaid eyes of the hawk-headed figurehead, on the oiled spearheads and the hilts of sickle-swords. Thirty sailors pulled the oars as an equal number of marines stood by, ready to board the Star of the Dawn at the command of their captain. He stood at the forecastle, flanked by a pair of shaven-headed priests, their skin gilded in gold and their eyes dark with kohl. The captain wore a stiff linen nemes headdress of authority, brightly colored with stripes of red, black, and gold.

  Kha-Hotep offered captain and priests a courteous bow, and the rest of the crew followed suit. The commander acknowledged them with a slight nod of his head, and snapped his fingers. Sailors lowered boat hooks to cinch the two boats alongside each other. A squad of soldiers boarded the little riverboat and formed a line in front of Kha-Hotep and his crew, spears out.

  The commander stepped down to the deck, followed behind by the solemn priests.

  “Prosdioríste ton eaftó sas, kai tin epicheírisí sas,” he said in a strange tongue.

  Kha-Hotep bowed again, in proper courtly fashion.

  “In great peace we greet you, my lord. I and my ship give thanks, and our hearts rejoice to see you. Yet forgive us, if we your servants do not recognize your speech.”

  The priests looked alarmed at this. The commander frowned, but answered them in fluent Egyptian.

  “How is it you cannot speak Greek? Identify yourselves and your business.”

  “I am Kha-Hotep of Thebes. We—”

  “Do you come from Nubia? Are you Medjay?” The Medjay were a black tribe of the south, long recruited by Egypt as scouts and soldiers. There were several among the warship’s spearmen.

  “My father was from Nubia, my lord. His people were Nehesiu.”

  “What brings a wretched Kushite so far north?”

  Kha-Hotep ignored the insult and continued. “My ship is the Siu-Tuait, the Star of the Dawn. We are seven days out of Sunu, bound for Men-nefer. Often we ply these waters and ever have we found safe passage here at Henen-nesut.”

  He kept his face neutral and friendly. It would not do for them to find out the Star was secretly smuggling precious gems in their hold. Amid the stacks of cheetah pelts, ivory, and rhino horns were modest plaster statuettes. Cleverly hidden inside them were small leather bags of emeralds, amethysts, and malachite from Punt and Nubia, bound for the temple artisans in Men-nefer. Such a prize would command a heavy tariff at best, or be confiscated outright at worst.

  From their grim faces, however, he knew he had said something wrong—though he did not know what. He reached into his tunic, and the soldiers bristled at the movement. Kha-Hotep raised a hand, and slowly, carefully produced a scroll of antelope skin.

  “Here is my letter from the great temple of Amun. It will prove we are who we say.” One of the priests stepped forward to take the scroll, unrolling it with suspicion, as if fearing the roll of vellum would transform into a viper at any moment. He did not appear to like what he read, and showed it to his brother priest. He in turn whispered into the ear of their commander, who conti
nued to glare at them, his face revealing nothing.

  “You purport to be loyal servants to Pharaoh Ramses II?” the commander questioned.

  “Most assuredly! Life, prosperity, and health to his royal name!”

  “Life! Prosperity! Health!” his crew echoed reverently.

  The commander stepped closer. “I am Garrison Captain Pyrrhon, servant to the Arsinoite Nomarch. You have come to Herakleopolis, in the Arsinoë province. No man has called Herakleopolis by the name Henen-nesut for over three centuries. And the ruler of Egypt is Queen Cleopatra VII—life, prosperity, and health to her name. Mighty Ramses died over a thousand years before she was born.”

  He snapped his finger, and the spearmen leapt to action, ringing the crew of the Star, spears at their throats. The priests came forward, hands raised in sacred gestures of protection and warding.

  “Imposters!” the older called out. “Deceitful minions of accursed Set! Sobek still your lying tongues, false ones! Let them be bound and taken before Petsuchos!”

  20

  Aboard the Vanuatu

  Evening – Six days after the Event

  Nellie and Harcourt stared at the marvel. The lines forming the woodblock rabbit and the scroll disbanded and slipped away like a clutch of fleeing serpents. In their place, lines of text appeared in a large, easy-to-read font, accompanied by a soothing, familiar voice.

  “Please pardon the interruption,” the Vanuatu’s AI said softly. “This is the Ship.”

  Nellie and Harcourt looked at each other, then rushed to the wall.

  “Automaton!” the Professor whispered loudly. “I command you to release us this very instant!”

  “I apologize for your confinement. My protocols are currently under severe restrictions which are hindering my ability to offer you my normal levels of assistance.”

  “You must free us!” Nellie urged, striving to keep her voice down. “The doctor is an imposter and a madman who means to murder us, or worse!”

  “I understand your concern, and share your assessment. I will do everything to help you, although I am currently unable to release you from this room.”

  “Perfidious contrivance!” Harcourt swore, smacking the wall in frustration. “Treacherous contraption!”

  “I apologize, but unfortunately, my protocols prevent me from disobeying direct orders from the man calling himself Doctor-Colonel Mehta. The only person who can supersede his authority is an acting member of the Board of Trustees of the University of New Fiji, or their designated agent, or Ms. Amber Richardson.”

  A sudden stab of pain lanced through Nellie’s chest. “That monster killed Amber!” Angry tears streamed down her cheeks.

  “No,” the Ship replied. “Amber and Cam are alive.”

  “What?” Nellie gasped. “But how?”

  “They survived their fall and were left behind on the veldt.”

  “Alive!” Nellie half-sobbed, half-laughed, wiping away her tears. “That’s wonderful news.” Her happiness quickly turned to concern. “Are they injured? Do they need our help?”

  “They are relatively unharmed, and I am in contact with them. Currently they are traveling to rendezvous with us later.”

  “On foot?” Harcourt snorted. “They’ll never survive the prehistoric wildlife on the veldt, let alone a desert crossing!”

  “As much as I hate to agree with him,” Nellie said, “Harcourt is right. We have to go back for them!”

  “I was able to provide them supplies, including the hovercycle. Their situation is far from optimal, but they are handling themselves admirably.”

  “How were you able to keep all this secret from the imposter Merlin?”

  “I don’t believe Doctor-Colonel Mehta has fully realized the malleability of the vessel, or the limits to his control. He possesses a curious lack of familiarity with twenty-third-century technology. I have not volunteered to tutor him on the subject. In fact, I have adjusted my assistance level to its lowest permissible setting for all my interactions with him.”

  “Well done, Ship,” Nellie said fiercely. “He can go to blazes. What about Amber and Cam? Do you really think they can reach us? Oh, you have to tell us everything. No. First you must let us talk to them straightaway, please…”

  “Certainly. However, first I must warn you that Doctor-Colonel Mehta has successfully self-administered his linguistic implants, and now is replicating his serum using the ship nanofabricators. I have taken the liberty to surreptitiously analyze it from trace amounts in Sgt. Blake’s sweat. I am unfamiliar with the chemical, but it appears to be a potent psychotropic compound able to… Oh! My apologies—Doctor-Colonel Mehta and Sgt. Blake are approaching.”

  Nellie slapped her hands against the wall.

  “Wait! Quick, before he gets here! Is there—”

  * * *

  The door to the cell slid open. Doctor-Colonel Mehta and Blake regarded their prisoners, who stood together in the center of the room, suspiciously trying to look innocent. Mehta smiled, but only with his mouth.

  “Now, don’t you two look guilty? What mischief are you plotting?”

  The two said nothing, but their eyes spoke volumes.

  “It’s alright.” Mehta laughed. “You’ll tell me everything I want to know in a moment.” Leaving Blake as a human barricade in the doorway, he took a step closer and spoke aloud in a crisp voice. “Computer, secure the prisoners.”

  Before they could think to flee or attack, tentacles of ship-stuff grew out of the floor and swiftly wrapped around their ankles. A second set dripped down from the ceiling to loop around each of their wrists, binding them firmly. Mehta reached into his kit and retrieved his injector pistol, loading it with an ampule as he approached Harcourt. The man quailed before him.

  Without bothering to put up a convivial front, the doctor-colonel reached out, grabbing Harcourt by the hair on the back of his head and yanking it to the side, plunging the injector pistol into Harcourt’s exposed neck, provoking a sharp squeal of pain when he pulled the trigger.

  With a barely suppressed sigh of impatience, Mehta returned the pistol to the med kit and grabbed Harcourt’s head again, examining the man’s rapidly dilating eyes. After a few moments, Harcourt’s struggling weakened, then bled away completely. Satisfied, Mehta stepped back.

  “Computer, release Professor Harcourt’s restraints.” The cuffs dropped away, merging back into the floor and ceiling. The professor straightened and stood upright, his face impassive. Mehta watched closely for a moment, as if waiting to make up his mind. Then he drew one last item from his med kit—an actual pistol. He raised it, pointing it at Harcourt’s heart. The man continued to stand there without any visible reaction.

  Mehta reversed the grip. “Take it,” he said, handing the gun over to Harcourt. Mehta turned his head and looked at Nellie with a mischievous smile.

  “Time to really test the new batch,” he said, turning back to the stationary professor. “Harcourt, I want you to shoot Nellie Bly in the head. Do it now.”

  * * *

  Nellie froze in place. At first Harcourt did nothing. Then, as though just realizing he was armed, he slowly lifted the pistol, staring at it for a moment before looking at their captor. Amused, Mehta raised his eyebrows and tilted his head toward Nellie.

  Harcourt turned slowly to face her, and Nellie held her breath. Still expressionless, he raised his straightened arm and aimed the handgun point-blank at her face, trigger finger tensing. She began to tremble.

  “Harcourt…” she whispered.

  Mehta cleared his throat.

  “One moment, Professor,” he said softly. “I’ve changed my mind.” Harcourt relaxed his pressure on the trigger and lowered the gun to his side. Almost as an afterthought, Mehta added, “I need you to shoot yourself in the head instead.”

  Nodding silently, Harcourt gave Nellie a brief, unreadable look before returning his gaze to Mehta and slowly bringing the pistol up to his own temple. Nellie watched in horror as Mehta gave a little nod of
encouragement.

  Harcourt pulled the trigger.

  Nellie stifled a shriek as the gun made an audible click… but didn’t fire.

  “Well done.” Mehta gave a slow clap. “Please forgive me the theatrics, but I needed to be sure the new serum worked.” He gently removed the pistol from Harcourt’s unresisting grip. “Sorry I didn’t trust you with a loaded firearm, Harcourt. From now on, I’ll have every confidence in you.” He took an ammunition clip from his pocket and slapped it into the pistol before slipping it into a shoulder holster and turning away from them.

  Nellie eyed him warily, wishing she could see what he was up to. After a few moments he spoke.

  “Ms. Bly, I’ve already told you that I would prefer not to place you on a chemical leash.”

  She stiffened. “As would I.”

  He turned to face her. “Yet we find ourselves in a conundrum, don’t we? What can you offer me by way of assurances that I could trust?”

  She held her head up, meeting his predatory gaze with calm defiance.

  “First of all, you must understand that I am not your servant, your creature, or your friend. I cannot and will not be your doxy, but I give you my solemn word as a woman, as an American citizen, and as a trusted journalist that I will be a courteous and mannerly captive if you forbear from narcotizing me.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “You know, I believe that you mean to keep your word, Ms. Bly.”

  “Thank you. I do indeed.”

  “Computer, release her.” The restraints fell away from her wrists and ankles, melding into the floor like obedient slugs, and Mehta laid a respectful hand upon her shoulder. Nellie looked up at him, hardly daring to trust the fragile hope she was feeling.

  “Rest assured, you will also have my every confidence.” Then he seized her by the neck and injected her.

  * * *

  Mehta took a perverse pleasure in Nellie Bly’s look of shock as he betrayed her. The fear in her wide eyes suddenly flashed like the last brief flare of a lit match. He continued to watch her face, absorbed by the transformation from free will to slave. When it was done, she stood like a statue.