“I’ve opened you up,” Thanatos commented. “Next we start exchanging parts.”
Rilletta had no time to wonder what he meant. One of the ‘nurses’ lowered an ‘arm’ and then moved back holding a dripping organ. “What....?” she croaked, her sanity teetering on the brink.
“You might not want to watch,” Thanatos advised as he delved with his scalpel again. “Humans are notoriously squeamish.”
Then, to her amazement, he commenced to hum.
Wishing she could black out, Rilletta closed her eyes and shuddered. Or tried to, but the restraints held her still. “God, no. God, no. God, no.”
“Didn’t you pay attention before?” Thanatos said, and resumed humming.
He hummed while he cut. Hummed while he snipped. Hummed while he handed her body parts to the nurses. Hummed when they gave....things....to put inside of her. He was enjoying himself. Happy as could be at what he was doing.
It went on for hours.
Rilletta lost all sense of time. All sense of herself. She yearned for it to end but no such luck. Belatedly, she realized someone was humming along with her tormentor. To her complete shock, she was the one doing it.
Catching herself, Rilletta looked up to find the mutant’s red eyes fixed on hers.
“That’s the spirit.”
Humming merrily, he bent to his demented work.
* * *
By Sherlock’s best estimation, the SEAL was less than two hours from the Valley of Shadow when Rikki-Tikki-Tavi pulled over under bizarrely shaped trees and announced they should get some rest. “We’ve been driving nearly all night. Rest up. At sunrise we’ll move on. By this time tomorrow, we’ll either have the journals and be on our way back to the Home, or.....”
“We’ll be dead,” Crom said, chuckling.
“How can you possibly find that funny?” Eleanor said.
“You learn not to sweat the small stuff, wench.”
“Dying is hardly a small thing.”
“We all go, sooner or later,” Crom told her. “Worrying about it won’t stave it off or do our heads any favors. So why bother?” He patted his axe. “Live each day as it comes, and when your time is up, go out swinging.”
“Is that your philosophy on life?” Eleanor said.
Crom pursed his lips. “I’ve never really thought about it much, but I guess so, yeah.”
“Mine is to serve my Maker, a task I take very seriously.”
“Here we go again,” Crom muttered.
Sherlock smothered a grin. Placing his hand on the door latch, he said to Rikki, “Is it all right if I get out and stretch my legs? We’ve been cooped up in here so long, I might have forgotten how to walk.”
“Did you just make a joke?” Kanto said.
“You can get out but stay close,” Rikki said. “No telling what’s lurking around here.”
Sherlock opened the door and slid out. Stretching, he admired the spectacular array of stars, then moved to the rear of the SEAL, and stretched again. A chill breeze rustled the trees. He was glad he had his tweed coat. He twirled his cane and leaned on it, and was turning his mind to the problems they would face once they reached God’s Needle when he became aware that he wasn’t alone. “You shouldn’t sneak up on us like that, A.l.v.i.s.”
The synthezoid floated around in front of him. “My apologies. It was not my intent. I merely desired your company. I miss interaction with other sentients.”
“Do you ever miss Thanatos?” Sherlock asked.
“He is my creator,” A.l.v.i.s chirped.
“So yes,” Sherlock said.
“No one has ever asked me that before.”
“Am I being too personal?”
The synthezoid rotated and gave the impression it was staring off into the night. “I do not possess the same self-awareness humans do. That which you deem personal is of no consequence to me because I do not think of myself as an entirely discreet entity.”
“Interesting,” Sherlock said.
A.l.v.i.s swung around to face him. “You have a probing nature, I have noticed. Mysteries are to you what food and drink are to other humans.”
“Astute of you.”
“My personality algorithms are extensive,” A.l.v.i.s said. “My Master programmed into me the ability to look past the surface appearance of humans to their underlying motivations.”
“And you a machine,” Sherlock said.
“Technically, I am much more. Specifically, the pinnacle of artificial intelligence."
“Did you Master program conceit into you, too?”
A.l.v.i.s clicked and whirred. “Another concept with which I have no frame of reference. I simply state facts. Human feelings, the emotions you experience, are as far beyond me as Alpha Centauri from our own solar system.”
“I seem to recall Alpha Centauri is the closest.”
A.l.v.i.s made a buzzing noise. “ I am well aware of that. I assure you I am incapable of uttering a falsehood.”
Secretly pleased that he had verbally maneuvered the synthezoid where he wanted him, Sherlock said, “Commendable. But tell me. Are you also incapable of concealing a falsehood?”
“You credit me with traits of which no one has ever accused me.”
“No,” Sherlock said. “I credit your maker with traits that would compel him to create a synthezoid as devious as himself.”
A.l.v.i.s did more chirping and whirring. “Do you play chess? I would imagine that, for a human, you are unusually competent.”
“Are you as I think you are?” Sherlock bluntly asked.
“No. Not to my knowledge, at least.”
“Ah,” Sherlock said, a light dawning. “If that’s the case, you can be a danger to us without realizing it.”
“I would hope I’m not.” The synthezoid rose a little higher. “Free will is a luxury you humans enjoy. Artificial entities are only as free as the parameters of our programming.”
“You have my sympathy,” Sherlock said.
A.l.v.i.s started to float off, and stopped. “For what it is worth, you are a most intriguing human. You penetrate dimensions most miss. Take your companions. Crom, Kanto and Eleanor would never think to probe where you have. Rikki-Tikki-Tavi is more focused but he, too, misses much of the tapestry because his attention is on the threads.”
“I have trained myself to pick up on the smallest of details,” Sherlock said. “Where others might see, say, someone wearing a blue shirt, I see not only the color but the number of buttons and the type of fibers and if there are threads loose and worn areas and every mark and tear.”
“Fascinating,” A.l.v.i.s said.
“Right back at you,” Sherlock said. “Until you came along, my life was pretty much checkers.”
An almost musical warbling issued from the synthezoid’s internal speakers.
“Are you laughing?”
“Those were my pleasure circuits. I appreciate you immensely, Sherlock of the Home,” A.l.v.i.s said. “It will be a shame.”
“What will?”
“Should you not make it out of God’s Needle alive.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
“The Lord preserve us,” Eleanor said softly. “That’s the scariest place I’ve ever seen.”
“I hear that,” Kanto echoed.
The SEAL was parked on a rise overlooking the Valley of Shadow. By the dashboard clock it was a few minutes after noon. The sky was a rare bright blue, with not a cloud to be seen. The sun beamed bright over the stark, blasted landscape.
Except in the Valley of Shadow.
Rikki-Tikki-Tavi somberly surveyed the thick yellow fog that covered the valley from end to end. Off in the center of the valley rose God’s Needle, piercing the fog like a spear, its obsidian surface seeming to absorb the sunlight rather than reflect it.
Crom gave an amused snort. “Doesn’t bother me any. “We’re here to get a job done and kill anything that gets in our way, so let’s get to it.”
“Your enthusiasm is commendabl
e,” Rikki said. “So long as it is wedded to discretion.”
“I’m wedded to spilling blood,” Crom said, and laughed.
Eleanor didn’t hide her annoyance. “There is more to being a Warrior than killing. We’re protectors, not slayers.”
“Slaying is how we protect,” Crom said good-naturedly. “If you don’t think you’re up to it, maybe you should take up knitting and be a Weaver instead of a Warrior.”
“Killing is our duty,” Eleanor said. “It shouldn’t be our abiding passion.”
To forestall an argument, Rikki said, “Enough.” Starting slowly down the rise he called out his window, “A.l.v.i.s! Go as far as the fog and wait for us. Warn us of any danger.”
The synthezoid floated on ahead.
Kanto slid his right hand up his left sleeve and then his left hand up his right sleeve, checking the forearm rigs that held his knives. “This will be our big test, won’t it?”
“Test?” Rikki repeated.
“Whether we’re fit to become Warriors,” Kanto said.
“This entire run is a test.” Rikki nodded toward the eerie fog. “That’s the final exam. Anything can happen down there. And I do mean anything.”
“You sound a little nervous,” Kanto said.
“Who wouldn’t be?” Rikki said. To give them food for thought about unrealistic ideals, he added, “Even seasoned Warriors can get the jitters.”
“It’s just that I never saw you nervous before,” Kanto said. “You’re always so calm, so under control.”
“Don’t let this place get to you,” Rikki cautioned.
Eleanor said anxiously, “How can we not?”
“Mitra, Set and Ymir,” Crom exclaimed. “Listen to yourselves. Who’s afraid of a pukey fog?”
The SEAL reached the bottom of the grade and Rikki stopped and shut the vehicle off. Opening his door, he slid out, taking his Howa Type 64 from where he had placed it between his bucket seat and the console.
A.l.v.i.s hovered close to the fog. An antennae with a small ball was slowly rotating around and around on top of his casing.
“Are you picking up anything?” Rikki asked.
After all of half a minute, A.l.v.i.s chirped, “Negative, sir.”
Call it a hunch, call it a gut feeling, but Rikki didn’t believe A.l.v.i.s told the truth. He remembered Sherlock’s warning about whether they could trust their ‘guide’, and frowned. Turning to their self-styled detective, he remarked, “You’ve been awful quiet.”
As usual,” Crom said before Sherlock could answer.
Sherlock was scratching his chin, his brow puckered. He moved to within an arm’s reach of the fog, commenting, “Too bad we don’t know the chemical composition of this substance. We might be able to concoct a dispersant.”
“A what, big brain?” Crom said.
“Obviously, this fog isn’t natural,” Sherlock responded. “Equally obvious, it was created by Thanatos as his first line of defense. That it remains stationary is baffling. The wind is quite strong today. I would estimate gusts of between fifteen and twenty miles an hour. Yet the fog isn’t affected. It doesn’t move. It doesn’t disperse. The genius required to invent it is intimidating.”
“You ask me,” Crom said, “The Dark Lord is as yellow as they come.”
A.l.v.i.s rotated and chirped, “Your assertion is ridiculous. Are you not aware that my Master fought the entire Freedom Federation and brought them to their knees.”
“How much of the fighting did he actually do?” Crom said. “From what I hear, not much. He had his zombies and mutations and robots and things like you do the fighting while he hid in his tower too afraid to show his face.”
“That is patently absurd. You have no inkling what you are talking about.”
“Is that so, metal head?” Crom gestured with his war axe at the yellow soup. “Sherlock, there, says this stuff is genius. I think your Master made it so he can hide in there and no one can get to him. If he was a true fighter, if he had a pair, he’d wouldn’t need this stupid fog.”
“A pair?” A.l.v.i.s chirped.
“Gonads, bullet head,” Crom said, and made a show of snapping his fingers. “Oh. That’s right. You wouldn’t know what they are. You don’t have any.”
“I am as I was created to be,” A.l.v.i.s responded. “Reproductive potential is not one of my functions.”
“Good thing,” Crom said. “One of you is enough.”
“I detect a certain degree of animosity toward me,” A.l.v.i.s said.
“You detect a bunch,” Crom said. “And if you want to know why, look in a mirror. You’re not human. Neither is that Master of yours, I hear.”
“He was born a mutant,” A.l.v.i.s said. “Parts of him are human. Some parts he made over to suit his needs. He is largely a composite of elements and components.”
“Interesting,” Sherlock said.
“That my Master, as he once referred to himself, is a refined blend of the best of all lifeforms?”
“No,” Sherlock said. “That you keep using the present tense.” He started to slide his free hand under his tweed coat. “Perhaps you would care to explain?”
In the blink of an instant, A.l.v.i.s was gone. Streaking into the yellow fog, he was lost to view.
“What the hell?” Kanto said.
“Where’s he going?” Eleanor said.
Sherlock reached into a pocket and brought out a small glass tube. He raised it as if to throw it but shook his head and put it back. “I don’t want to waste this. And I can’t hit him if I can’t see him.”
“What is it?” Rikki asked.
“A special compound that might eat away A.l.v.i.s’s housing, exposing his vitals, such as they are.”
Kanto motioned at the fog. “What was that all about? Why did he desert us like that?”
“God, you’re slow,” Crom said.
“Since A.l.v.i.s is incapable of improper grammar, using the present tense gave him away,” Sherlock said. “A.l.v.i.s wouldn’t do it unless his Master were still alive.”
“No!” Eleanor said.
Sherlock nodded. “This whole time we have evidently had a traitor in our midst.”
The other three looked at Rikki-Tikki-Tavi, who stared grimly at the Needle.
“What now?” Kanto said. “We go on in there, they’ll be expecting us.”
“They already were,” Sherlock said. “I speculate that the Dark Lord has been monitoring our progress from the moment we left the Home.”
“Back in the SEAL,” Rikki directed. He was at a loss as to how Thanatos was still alive. Blade, Hickok and Geronimo swore they saw him die. Either they were mistaken—-and those three were rarely wrong about anything—-or some arcane science or alchemy was involved.
If true, then they weren’t just up against the Dark Lord’s minions, in themselves formidable. They were pitted against the vile personification of evil itself.
The trainees were quiet as they climbed back in.
Rikki ran a quick weapons check to verify that the SEAL’s armaments were loaded and primed.
In the middle seat, Eleanor placed her longsword with the point on the floor and hilt and the cross-guard in front her, as if it were a cross. Bowing her head, she closed her eyes and prayed, her lips moving silently.
Crom smirked but for once didn’t tease her.
Sherlock was deep in thought.
As for Kanto, he was tapping his fingers on his Beretta AR 70 and peering intently at the yellow murk. “This is it,” he said.
“The moment of truth,” Rikki agreed. Or a succession of moments that would result in either success or failure.
At the pressure of his foot on the pedal, the SEAL lurched into motion. He switched on the headlights although he didn’t expect them to do any good. He also turned on the spotlights on the roof rack.
Eleanor ended her prayer saying aloud, “And watch over us and protect us, your humble servants, Amen.”
“Speak for yourself,” Crom said. �
��I don’t need watching over.”
“We all do, whether we admit it or not,” Eleanor said softly.
Rikki focused on the GPS display on the dash. It showed where they were in relation to the Needle.
The wall of yellow fog loomed before them,
Rikki involuntarily gripped the steering wheel tighter as the SEAL nosed into the murk. It reminded him of the chemical clouds, only yellow instead of green. There was no hissing, only a preternatural quiet, a silence as thick as the silence of the grave.
“Bring on the monsters!” Crom said.
A large red object flared to life on a screen close to the speedometer, and rapidly grew in size.
“You’re about to get your wish,” Rikki said.
“How so?” Crom said.
Rikki indicated the red shape. “That’s a heat signature. Something is bearing down on us.”
Something big.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Eleanor clutched her sword and watched in tense unease as the large creature on the dashboard screen closed on the SEAL. Whatever the thing was, it moved incredibly fast. She saw Rikki-Tikki-Tavi spin the steering wheel in an effort to evade whatever was charging them. He didn’t succeed.
A tremendous blow struck the passenger side. A blow so powerful, it knocked the entire SEAL sideways.
Something huge hurtled by in the fog.
Kanto recoiled and cried out.
Crom swore.
Eleanor was pitched against Sherlock. Disentangling herself, she was taken aback to see thin spiderweb cracks in the supposedly shatterproof glass.
Rikki-Tikki-Tavi gunned the engine, shouting, “Hang on! It’s coming at us again!”
The shape on the screen was behind the SEAL, and rapidly gaining.
Eleanor twisted around. She didn’t know what to expect but it certainly wasn’t the monstrosity that appeared out of the gloom.
A head of immense proportions loomed out the rear. A head that reminded Eleanor of photos she had seen in a book in the Family library of a creature called a cape buffalo, from long ago in Africa. Yet grotesquely different.
Possessed of a broad protruding brow, its face was composed of flesh and synthetics in roughly equal proportions. The left cheek was skin and sinew, the right a plastoid substance. Its nose was metallic. From it spewed gouts of vapor or steam. The eyes were orange, its lips obscenely thick, its bared teeth as long as her thumb.
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