New Olympus Saga (Book 2): Doomsday Duet (44 page)

“Give me the keys, Kestrel,” Tony said, trying to sound intimidating and failing miserably. He was out of his league and he knew it. “I don’t got to talk to you, or to your boyfriend, awright? Just leave me alone!”

“If you want them, you’re going to have to come and get them, big boy.”

Tony must have really wanted to get away, because he actually started a lumbering charge in her direction, his oversized metal hands reaching for her. She somersaulted over his head, landed behind him and kicked him in the back with enough force to knock him facedown onto the street. The cyborg screamed in agony; there was plenty of flesh left in him, flesh that did not care for getting slammed into a hard surface. Kestrel smiled.

Kyle arrived seconds later. “Come on, let’s get him in the van before someone calls the cops,” he said.

“Which van, his or ours?”

“Ours,” he replied, picking up the stunned Tony as if he weighed nothing. “We’re not handicapped, after all. Let’s move.”

* * *

Tony’s glance swung between Kyle and Melanie, trying to figure out which one represented the greater threat. He finally settled on Melanie, which showed more smarts than Kyle would have given him credit for.

They’d driven him out to a nearby scrapyard, which was deserted at that time of night except for some guard dogs; a generous portion drugged raw hamburger had taken care of them. The locale hadn’t been lost on Tony. The cyborg was scared out of his mind, but he still wasn’t saying anything useful.

“Tony,” Kyle began once again. So far he’d been getting a lot of whining and posturing and very little useful information. He was getting frustrated enough to let Kestrel have a go at the stupid half-man. “I just wanted to talk to you about a project I’ve got going. You know I’m no longer in the NYPD’s good graces. I don’t care what kind of garbage you’re selling off the back of your handicapped van these days. So why did you decide to take off running?”

“Just feeling jumpy, I guess,” Tony replied.

“I’d like straight answers from now on, Tony, or I’m going to take you apart and turn you into a modern art sculpture. I have the technology. Kestrel has the imagination. We have the capability of turning you into something you won’t like one bit.”

“Jeeze, Condor. I’ve always played fair with you, man! I just can’t help you right now. I’ve got some serious shit going on!”

Kyle wondered if he should just get the information he was looking for, which was any stuff Tony’s long-dead boss had dug up on Freedom Island, plus anything Tony might have come up with lately, or if he should dig further into whatever ‘serious shit’ Tony was into. He decided to stick to his business. They were trying to save the world, not stop pretty crime. “Forget about your shit, Tony. I want to talk about your old boss. You know, the big double-H.”

The cyborg’s human bits became several shades paler, and his mouth gaped open. “How the fuck didya find out about him? I just got the word a couple of days ago!”

What was he talking about? “Heard about what?”

Before Tony could respond, someone knocked on the side of the van.

Kyle turned and opened the van’s side door with one hand as he reached for his stun baton with the other. Nobody should be out there, which meant nothing good was likely to be out there.

The man standing by the van’s door was tall and wide-shouldered, with the build of a defensive lineman. He was wearing a blue-and-yellow tracksuit and sneakers, and looked ordinary enough other than his size. Kyle recognized him immediately, however. The big man had shaved his trademark beard and shorn his traditionally long curls into a severe crew-cut, but his face was unmistakable. It was a face that had been on newspaper covers and wanted posters for six decades, before its last appearance on the obit pages.

He was looking at a man who’d been dead for years.

“Good evening, Kestrel, Condor,” Hiram Hades said. “I hope you’ll do me the courtesy of hearing me out before you start attacking.

“You see, I’m here to help you.”

Face-Off

Pripet Marshes, Dominion of the Ukraine, March 25, 2013

It was day three of our little trip into the Pripet Marshes, and so far the Ukraine hadn’t grown on me. I emerged from my tent into the frigid morning and saw a big pile of nothing much, same as the day before or the day before that. Lots of frozen water: frozen lakes and frozen rivulets and frozen swampland, not to mention big heaping piles of snow. We’d been walking through the woods and the most interesting thing we’d seen so far had been a beaver dam. Yipee. There were supposedly lots of interesting water fowl in the area, or so Google said, but most of them were away for the winter. Not that seeing a bunch of Ukrainian ducks would have cheered me up all that much anyway.

Neos don’t get tired from something as mundane as walking, even walking through frozen forest and swampland. We could have covered the sixty miles in a day, but our guide Vasyl was human and he had to take breaks. I’d thought about just telling him to go away and continuing on our own. Christine could point the way, after all. As it turned out, you couldn’t walk in a straight line in the tangled swampy forest. Father Alex had explained the realities of the situation when I mentioned my idea to him: unless we wanted to chance flying around, we’d probably end up running into impassable terrain and waste even more time backtracking and looking for alternative routes. Relying on Vasyl would probably be quicker, even if I used my newfound super-muscles to tear a way through ‘impassable’ terrain. Using Neo powers also increased the risk someone would notice us. The swamps were sparsely populated but not completely empty, and a couple of times we heard helicopters flying not too far away. Making a ruckus wasn’t a good idea.

All that mean was that we covered a bit under thirty miles the first day, and less than ten miles the second day. At this rate it’d take us another day or two to get there. That was about three days too many for my taste.

Vasyl was eating his breakfast, a big chunk of sausage, another big chunk of cheese and plenty of vodka. I munched on some power bars and drank orange juice made from concentrate. Not exactly the breakfast of champions, but we mostly ate out of habit rather than need. Some Neos had learned to do without food altogether. Janus, for one: he’d left to wander around space for a couple of decades with nothing but a wrist-comp and a dream, had carried no rations or water or needed either. That was somebody I could respect. I hoped the big guy would make it back from wherever Mr. Night had taken him.

Christine emerged from the tent. She hadn’t been sleeping well ever since we entered the forest. She’d tossed and turned every night, mumbling words I couldn’t quite make out. I’d asked her about it but she said she couldn’t remember anything. It could be nothing; it’s not as if she didn’t have plenty of nightmare material floating around in her head. But I suspected the little asshole waiting for us was responsible, and if she couldn’t remember anything it was because he didn’t want her to. I felt like we were walking into a trap, even though it made no sense. We were already in Dominion territory, so luring us deeper into the forest wasn’t necessary. They could have grabbed us – or tried to; I sure as hell wasn’t going to surrender without a fight – at any point during this trip. If the Doms wanted us, Russia and Belarus would have cooperated like the good little puppets they were. Logic did nothing to dispel my mood, however. Being out in the woods didn’t help, either. I’m a city guy.

“Good morning,” Christine said, and gave me a peck on the cheek. “What’s for breakfast?”

I handed her a couple of power bars. “Your favorites. Raspberry and chocolate.”

“You mean the ones I hate the least,” she replied, but took them.

We ate in companionable silence for a while before she spoke again. “We’re very close. I think I’m going to see him today.”

“We’re going to see him, you mean.” I didn’t like where this was going.

“The First will only see me,” Christine said, confirming my worries. “He, or it, or whatevs, he doesn’t like people. I think he’s been getting information out of my head at night, through those dreams I can’t remember. And I’m getting some stuff from him, too. He wants to see me by myself.”

“Not a good idea. I don’t want you to be alone with that thing.”

“You’re not getting jealous on me, are you?” Christine said. The anxiety behind the words made the joke fall flat.

“If you’re into child-alien hybrids who like living in swamps, who am I to judge?” I replied and was rewarded by a faint smile. “I just want to back you up. Can’t do it if you ditch me, you know.”

“I know, but what are going to do, turn back if he wants to have a private audience? You’re sweet, Mark, but I think I can take care of myself.”

“You can. You have.” I took another swig of crappy orange juice. “Okay. Just be careful, okay?”

“I will.” She ran her hand down the side of my face, the old ordinary face I was still wearing to keep our real identities from Vasyl. I leaned over and kissed her forehead. As I straightened up, her eyes widened, looking at something behind me. I turned around.

A thick white mist was rolling out through the forest, thick billowing clouds of it, heading toward our camp. Vasyl looked at the fog with a frown and muttered what I thought was the Ukrainian equivalent of “What the fuck?”

“That’s him,” Christine said. “He’s calling to me.”

“Fuck.” I didn’t want her to go in there. I didn’t want her to go without me. We hadn’t been separated for long pretty much since we’d been reunited in Chicago, and the idea of her disappearing into the mist left me feeling anxious and scared.

The rolling mist came to a stop about twenty feet away from the campsite, a thick wall of grayish white fog. I wasn’t an expert, but I was pretty sure normal mist didn’t do that.

“I’ve got to go, Mark. And, uh, I’m going to need the red rock of doom.”

“Would you be upset if I told you I left it in my other coat?”

“Mark!”

“Okay, okay, Frodo. I got it right here.” I took the Lurker’s creepy rock and gave it to her. She avoided looking directly at it while she quickly stowed it in a pocket. “Have fun.”

“You know it won’t be any fun until I see you again. And I will come back, soon.”

“I know you will,” I lied. Or maybe it was less of a lie than a wish. I hugged her tightly. “Watch your back. If that creep gives you any trouble, fuck him up quickly and get the hell out.”

“I will.” She turned to Father Aleksander, who was watching us quietly. “Take care, both of you.”

“May God be with you,” Father Alex said.

“Thank you. Uh, and also with you.”

Christine walked into the mist and disappeared from view.

Janus

The Space Between Spaces, March 20, 2013

Cassius Jones fought for his life in the endless dark.

He unleashed terawatts of energy onto his foe, becoming a lone beacon of light in the ink-black emptiness around him. Medved laughed and held on to him. Cassius knew he was hurting the giant, and that he could destroy him, if he had enough time.

He didn’t think he’d be given that time.

They were in the in-between realm, the place he visited while teleporting. He’d never spent more than a few seconds there. They were moving through the darkness, and he felt they were not alone there. Cassius tried to break free, but the Russian was at least as strong as he was.

A looming presence was coming closer, a cold pressure that radiated hatred and malice.

Meet my masters
, a malicious mental voice announced gleefully.
Meet my masters and join me.

He had to break free. He had to fight. He had to…

Star System 9183, Milky Way Galaxy, Year Nineteen (Personal Frame of Reference)

…win
.

He had to win this time.

YOU STILL HAVE NOT LEARNED. I GROW WEARY OF YOUR EXISTENCE.

Go fuck yourself.

IS THAT MEANT TO BE AN INSULT? I WAS BORN A DI-SEXUAL INSEMINATOR AND RECEPTOR. I THEREFORE CAN, AS YOU SAY, FUCK MYSELF, THOUGH ANY OFFSPRING I PRODUCED IN THAT MANNER WOULD BE STERILE AND GENETICALLY FAILURE-PRONE. STILL, YOUR INTENT TO GIVE OFFENSE OFFENDS ME. FIGHT ME, CASSIUS-JONES, AND SUFFER.

The gelatinous cocoon holding Cassius in place dissolved, releasing him. He took to the air and prepared to give battle.

The key lay in the darkness trapped inside the alien’s aura. It had been isolated in an electro-magnetic field; the alien had not been able to excise it, only contain it. The Genocide feared the dark energy. Cassius had to release it somehow.

With a thunderous rumbling sound, the alien attacked.

Fire and lightning pierced Cassius’ defenses and tore at his flesh, just as they had in a hundred previous hopeless duels, but he ignored the pain as he put his plan into motion. His other attempts to release the darkness within the alien had failed, but he had learned from those failures. He bided his time, closed the distance and let the alien batter and burn him while he sought his target: the containment field holding the darkness at bay. Cassius let go of his shields and poured every erg of power he could generate into a narrow, surgical strike.

The containment field flared and died.

The Genocide screamed. His cry of shock and fury generated a shockwave that hurled Cassius across the length of a continent. Even from thousands of miles away, he felt the alien’s mental scream, a cry of terror this time, as the darkness spread through its aura.

Now or never. For a brief moment, he hesitated. Hope was far more terrifying than resignation. If it didn’t work, what then?

Now or never. He tried to open a gate to a point in space ten light minutes away.

The gate opened.

There were tears in his eyes as he entered the realm in-between and emerged in outer space, away from that accursed prison, away from the Genocide. The vacuum felt welcoming, felt laden with the promise of freedom. He leaped again and again, and did not stop until he was parsecs away, far enough that System 9183 was just another point of light in the sky.