Resurrection (14 page)

The urge to touch her—not to touch, he realized, but to caress—was great, and it could not be justified as professional curiosity. This in itself made him recoil. Growing up without human women around, Adaiz had prided himself on living without the urges of the flesh. He had always felt superior to his Lucien friends, who seemed to lose the ability to fully control themselves when an attractive female was near. He would not give in to such a physical demand. He took a deep breath and quieted his mind.

The sun was nearing the horizon now, and Adaiz could already feel the air warming up. He pulled her shirt down to cover her and tucked her arms into the sleeves of the suit. He flipped the suit gloves into place over her hands.

He watched in fascination as the bioarms of the suit grew out and reached for the girl’s skin. Plaguer science was truly impressive. Adaiz would recommend, upon returning home, that the Lucien spend more time studying it.

He gripped the sealing fob of Pruit’s suit, which was down by her hip. He slid it up toward her neck, pulling the suit closed as he did. Near the top, he stopped. There was writing inside the suit up by her chest. He studied it. It was her name, written in Soulene, the modern Plaguer tongue, which he could both read and speak. “Proo-it,” he sounded it out. “Pruit.” Her name. He pulled the fob the rest of the way up and found that he was relieved to have her body out of view.

Only her face remained uncovered, and he pulled the hood out from underneath her head. “Pruit,” he whispered again, not knowing why the name intrigued him so. At the sound of his voice, her eyes twitched. He paused, watching her. They twitched again, then slowly came open, blue human eyes staring upward.

He watched as partial consciousness returned to her. She moved her head slightly. Adaiz felt a quickening in his heart as he realized that she was looking up at him. Her eyes came into focus. Her lips moved, as though she would speak, but no sound came out.

Her eyes fell shut. Adaiz paused for a moment, then reached again for her hood. Before he could move it, her eyes opened again.

“Who are you?” she asked in a voice scratchy with thirst and pain.

Before Adaiz could decide whether or not he should answer, her eyes closed again. This time they did not open. Exhaustion had reclaimed her.

Adaiz sealed her hood into place. She was now completely enveloped in the fullsuit, and as he watched, it shifted itself into an active mode. There was motion in the layers of the suit. It was beginning to minister to her wounds. It would take care of her.

He turned away. Enon was now inside the pod, studying the controls. Adaiz felt no urge to join him.

She. She. She had spoken to him. She had looked at him. She had seen him.

His body was chattering to him all on its own.
She
.

His mind was loud.

Through clouds of pain and unconsciousness, Pruit saw the face of a young Kinley man leaning over her. She knew he was Kinley by his coloring and features, but behind him was a great dome of blue. She was conscious for only a moment before her eyes fell shut again. This time, however, she was not falling back into agony. She was swathed in her fullsuit, and her body seemed to float in its care. The bioarms had entered her skin and taken over her physical functions.

In long pockets between layers of the suit was biofluid and everything her body would need to make it well. She was hurt badly enough to strain the suit’s resources, but it would find a way to heal her nonetheless.

Eddie stood at the only public phone, and perhaps one of the few phones of any kind, in the town of Dashur, seven miles from the dig site. Dashur sat near the distinct border of fertile land and desert, that almost sharp line where foliage ended and sand began. A small canal off the Nile ran parallel to Dashur’s central street, which was a wide path of dirt and stone, trod to almost cement hardness by generations of feet. There were date palms across the narrow canal, towering over mud-brick huts and small farms that were tended by dark men driving donkeys.

The phone stood outside a small restaurant that served pigeon and fresh pita bread and an assortment of pickled vegetables. Along the street were market vendors selling fresh produce. Several donkeys pulling carts of tomatoes passed as Eddie consolidated an enormous pile of coins from his pockets and prepared to dial. A young boy driving one of the donkeys turned to him and smiled at the sound of the coins, a sprig of grain grass clenched between his teeth. Eddie smiled and flipped a coin at him. The boy caught it neatly and slipped it into his pocket.

The phone was mounted in an open stand, shielded from the sun by a yellow metal box that bore the word “telephone” in Arabic. The box was covered in dust, but other than that it had not been defaced in any way. The phone was an object of some importance to the town and was respected. Eddie leaned in under the lip of the box to shield his head from the midday sun.

A waft of fresh bread from the restaurant hit his nose as he picked up the receiver. He was long since over the typical bout of dysentery, known as the Pharaoh’s Revenge, that a traveler endures in the first few weeks in Egypt, and he was now free to enjoy local foods without fear of the consequences.

He dialed a long series of numbers and then plugged the phone with a seemingly endless stream of change until, at last, he heard the clicks of the call going through. He glanced at his watch and calculated the time difference, realizing it would be the middle of the night in Los Angeles. He decided she would forgive him. The phone began to ring.

“Hello?” The voice on the other end had clearly just woken up.

“Callen?”

“Eddie?”

“Did I wake you up?”

“It doesn’t matter.” She sounded fully awake all of a sudden, as though she had been eagerly awaiting his call.

“Can you hear me okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. It’s a good connection.”

“Did you—” he started.

“Listen, Eddie,” she said, interrupting him excitedly. “I have news!”

“What?” he asked, excitement gripping him as well, for he assumed she was talking about the same subject on his mind.

“I’m engaged!” She sprang the words on him without further warning.

“What?” He was truly stunned.

“I’m engaged, can you believe it?”

“I’ve only been gone for two months. How could this happen?”

Callen took his tone as humorous and continued, describing the man who had won this commitment from her. Eddie took only parts of it in. He fed another meal of coins into the phone as she spoke. It was hard to believe she was serious.

“He sounds great,” Eddie commented halfheartedly as she wrapped up the panegyric to her betrothed.

“What’s the matter?” she asked, only now realizing that he wasn’t quite as thrilled as she had expected him to be.

“I don’t know, it just sounds so…final.”

“Of course it’s final,” she said, coming down from her excitement. “I’m not making marriage plans on a whim. I thought you’d be happy.”

Eddie wiped his forehead. “I know we decided not to see each other anymore. I just didn’t know that you meant really and not ever.”

“I have to get on with my life,” she said gently. “Teenage affairs aren’t supposed to last into your thirties.”

“It seems so…I don’t know…adult.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“I’m just surprised,” he said. He took a breath and looked around the village, suddenly less enchanted with his surroundings. Then he forced himself to lighten up. He wasn’t being fair. “I’m sorry. I am happy for you.” He said it with difficulty. “I’m sure he’s a great person and you’ll have a wonderful life together.”

“That was amazingly lukewarm.”

“Well, give me a second! I’m getting used to the idea.” Why was he surprised? It was bound to happen sometime. Callen was going on without him, as she had always threatened to do. She had left him back in childhood where he probably belonged. Unless…unless he could change somehow. “I am happy,” he said again, and this time he almost meant it.

“Good.” She didn’t sound convinced.

“Really. Next time we talk, I swear I’ll be happy.”

“Okay, okay.” He could tell she was smiling now. “I have other news.”

“Don’t tell me you’re pregnant!”

“No,” she laughed. “About your crystal.”

His initial excitement returned immediately. The crystal was the reason for the phone call. He glanced around him, feeling guilty. There were men sitting outside the restaurant, drinking sugared tea, and a few children playing on the bank of the river. No eyes were turned to him. “You heard back from the crystallographer?” Eddie had sent her one of the two pilfered crystals, mailing it from a hotel in Cairo so it would look like a tourist trinket to customs. With its industrial manufacturing divisions, Bannon-DeLacy employed dozens of experts on crystals, many varieties of which were used in building heavy machinery. Callen had agreed to pull a few strings and find someone to help him.

“Yes,” she said, her tone also becoming excited again. “I even went to see him. He’s enthralled.”

“What did he say?”

“He said it’s a diamond, though it’s an odd shape for a diamond, with something else suspended within it to create the orange coloring, probably iron combined with another element. He’d have to chip off a piece if we wanted to know the component parts with certainty, but he didn’t want to damage it unless he had to.”

“What about the green bands?”

“He doesn’t know what they are. Says he’s never seen anything like them. They were definitely grown in at the time the crystal was formed. Even though they’re a foreign substance, they don’t weaken the structure of the crystal as a whole. He tested it.”

“How does he think it was formed?”

“He’s stumped, Eddie. And that doesn’t happen to this fellow very often. He wants to find out who has the patent on the technique. He’s already thought of a dozen possible applications. So where did you get it?”

Eddie chuckled, drawing out his own delicious feeling of suspense. “I didn’t exactly get it.”

“What do you mean?”

“I stole it.”

“Eddie!”

“Actually, I found it, and six others like it. They were inside a stone box that was buried in a temple of Osiris that’s been underground for about five thousand years.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the line, then, “Eddie, it’s not a natural crystal. He said it would be impossible for something like this to occur naturally. It’s an industrial-grade diamond, extremely pure, not something that can form outside of a lab.”

“I know, Cal,” he said simply. He had already guessed that the crystals could not be natural. Though Emmett Smith had not yet had time to send the other crystals to experts, he felt certain they would eventually meet with the same conclusion. “That’s why I sent it to you. It’s man-made, by a process that isn’t even in use yet, but it’s been buried in the Egyptian desert for several thousand years.”

Again the pause, as though all of Eddie’s wild theories over the years were flooding back through her mind. “Are…are you sure?”

“The dirt and sand around the temple have not been touched. And we’ve dated it from an inscription on the temple door. I’m very sure.”

“Jesus!”

“Not Jesus, Callen,” he smiled into the phone. “Someone long before him.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to keep digging.”

2603 BC
Year 4 of Kinley Earth Survey

The gods were respected for their magical rather than their moral powers.

 

—
Ancient Egypt: Its Culture and History

 

The Mechanic sat by a clear pool of water. He was leaning over the surface and studying the reflection of his face. His dark-gray hair was long, and he wore it in a lose tail at the back of his neck. His face was shaved, and his skin was deeply lined from years in the hot Egyptian sun. His features were plain, that much he knew, and he wondered vaguely what it would be like to be beautiful. His mouth twisted into a wry grimace at this thought, and he slapped the water, disrupting his image.
Beauty can’t win love
, he thought.
Or loyalty. Not really
.

He was sitting in the royal gardens, leaning out over an artificial pool that had been designed in the shape of a lily. Nearby, an ancient gardener was bent over a plot of vegetables, carefully watering each one. The man was all but naked, and though his skin was beginning to droop, his muscles were still clear and strong from a lifetime of physical labor. The Mechanic watched him for a moment, wondering if he could order the man to go get him something to drink. He did not want to try this, for if the man refused, the Mechanic would be shamed.
Cursed locals
, he thought.
Dirty cursed old man
.

He was waiting in the garden for the Captain, who was now ensconced in one of the royal garden lodges with none other than Queen Hetepheres. In the last months, the Captain had become her lover, and they met in secret in that lodge, hidden at a remote corner of the palace grounds. None but the queen’s closest servants were privy to their meetings, but the rumors were already spreading.

Every time the Captain met her, he brought along the Mechanic to stand outside the door as a guard.
As a servant
, the Mechanic thought.
That’s what I am now. Maybe that’s what I’ve always been
. Today, however, he had wandered away. Let the Captain hire a local guard if he wanted protection. The Mechanic was tired of that job.

“What are you doing here?”

The Mechanic was startled. He turned toward the voice and saw a soldier below a stand of fig trees. It was Seka, one of the King’s personal honor guard, a man with muscles like thick ropes beneath his dark skin. He wore a brown linen kilt and a cheetah skin over his back. The Mechanic could see the hilt of a long knife sticking up from his waistline, and he carried a ceremonial spear as a sign of his rank.

“Waiting,” the Mechanic replied.

“Who gave you permission?”

The Mechanic studied the man for a moment, scared of him. Then he smiled. He saw the right course of action. The Captain could fend for himself. “I am here with my master.”

“Your master,” Seka scoffed. “Who has given him permission?”

“Surely you have heard,” the Mechanic said sweetly. He spoke without need of a translator. Like the Captain, he had learned the local tongue. “His permission is from the queen. They meet regularly. They are meeting right now.” He could see the shock on Seka’s face as his words sank in.

“They…he…he is alone with the queen?”

The Mechanic laughed. “Come, come, Seka. Don’t play the innocent. You have heard the rumors, surely.”

“I do not listen to rumors.”

“Then you will always be the last to know.”

“Wait here!” He was flustered. He stared at the Mechanic for a moment, then turned and jogged back toward the palace.

The Mechanic smiled. It was time to stop being the Captain’s lackey. Slowly, he made his way back to the lodge.

The interior of the lodge was beautiful. It was one large spacious room, with a vaulted ceiling and several windows set high in the walls. A breeze came through these, just strong enough to ruffle the draped fabric around the bed.

The Captain stood behind a carved folding screen, changing out of his survey team standard-issue work clothes and into the light robe that had been laid out for him. He had bathed before coming, and his hair, which had grown long over the past years, was oiled slightly and tied in a thick braided loop at the base of his neck. It was a hairstyle unique to him, something that set him apart from the wigged men of the upper class. He would never have hidden his blond hair beneath a wig.

Changed into the robe, he stepped out from behind the screen and beheld Hetepheres, sitting on the edge of the bed. She wore a loose white gown through which the brown skin of her body was easily visible. Her eyes were dark with kohl, and they had been painted with a hint of green beneath them.

“Revered Queen,” he said, allowing himself a slight smile so she would know that the sight of her pleased him. “It is good to see you.”

Hetepheres bowed her head slightly and also allowed herself a smile. “Honored Lord, it has been too long.”

“For that I am sorry,” he replied, “but my time has been consumed in many things.” It had been too long. But he did not trust himself to see her often; his desire for her could too easily overwhelm him. He was playing with fire in more ways than one. Though Hetepheres, her servants, and the women she called her friends all secretly avowed their belief that the Captain was Osiris, he still did not know the king’s view. He had asked Hetepheres several times, in a roundabout way, what her husband’s beliefs were on this matter, but the queen did not know for sure. Thus, the Captain was risking his own life every time he came to her. Far from keeping him away, this knowledge was part of her allure.

Slowly, he walked over and took a seat on the bed. Everything in his attitude spoke of the favor he was granting her by appearing in her presence. Their speech to each other was always formal.

Hetepheres took one of his hands and brought it to her lips. “Am I in your mind when you do not see me in the flesh?” she asked.

Gently, he put a hand under her chin and lifted her face. He kissed her slowly and deliberately. “You are in my mind,” he said. She smiled and touched his hair. Though some of it had given way to gray in recent years, it was still a sign of his status.

He pulled the tie of her gown, and it fell away from her shoulders, revealing her arms and chest. He kissed her neck very gently. Slowly, his passion grew, and they moved farther back onto the bed. She let her gown slip off of her entirely and reached for the Captain’s robe.

Then the mood ended abruptly. There was a loud bang at the door. There was no warning, no sound of men outside, no hint of anything wrong, just a bang of a foot on the door, and then it was open and four men were inside the room, each of them holding spears and knives. The Captain sprang up to his knees and saw that they were men from the king’s personal bodyguard, led by Seka, that viper who jealously guarded his master’s house. The head of the cheetah on Seka’s back stared at the Captain from his left shoulder, and its dangling paws looked ready to pounce.

“Seize him!” Seka yelled. Two men grabbed the Captain, whose robe hung off one shoulder. He did not struggle with them, though rage and fear were vying for control of his emotions. Through the doorway, he could see the Mechanic, standing in fear to one side.

The men dragged the Captain from the bed roughly. It was their intent to kill him, that much was certain by their attitudes. The Captain felt a surge of terror, but he knew his demeanor in the next few moments would be critical.

“You lay hands on the god!” Hetepheres shouted. She was sitting up on the bed, still naked.

The Captain blessed her in his mind. The force of her words gave him the strength to play his role.

“You profane me with your touch!” he said in anger. He still did not struggle, for if he were to do so, it might be said that the guards had overpowered him. By holding himself still, it appeared that he simply did not deign to use force against them. “I am here on a duty of love, but I will smite you if I am provoked to anger.”

The two men holding him took his words to heart, and he felt their grip on him relax slightly. That was good. It meant they feared him. They were here at Seka’s orders, not out of personal outrage. The Captain tore his arms away from them in a single quick motion.

The cheetah-clad Seka, however, was not cowed. He grabbed the Captain’s shoulder, pushed him up against the wall, and leveled his spear at the Captain’s heart.

“We shall see who smites whom,” he said slowly. “If you are a god, you have nothing to fear from my spear.” He raised it, preparing to strike.

“Hold!” a voice called from behind them. The Captain’s assailant turned and saw the king himself standing in the doorway. King Snefru was out of breath, and he held the doorframe as he looked in them. Behind him were ten other guards. Snefru wore the short, white royal skirt, tied with a golden sash. He head was covered by the royal kerchief, the
nemes
, striped red and white. On his chest was an enormous pectoral of an eagle made from semiprecious stones and gold. It was out of place from his run.

The king was small in stature, but his face was angry, and the power of his anger could be felt by all present. Hetepheres shrank back toward the head of the bed, quietly drawing the covers up over her body.

“Sire,” Seka said, “I wished to keep this knowledge from you. I am ridding you of this presumptuous foreigner who has taken the queen as his woman. His death is my duty, but the queen herself is yours to punish.”

Snefru walked up to the guard and grabbed the spear from his hand. “Are you stupid, or are you disloyal to my throne?” he asked. “Or is it both at once?”

“Sire?” He was shocked to find his master’s anger directed at him.

Snefru slapped Seka’s cheek with the spear, hard enough to leave a mark. “Take him to his barracks,” he commanded the other guards. The men outside took hold of Seka and drew him out of the room. The Captain could see the Mechanic move closer to the doorway to watch, while still maintaining a safe distance.

Snefru turned to the Captain, who was straightening his robe. “Your worship,” the king said, “I offer my humble apology for this interruption.” He bowed his head low. “I am honored that you see fit to enrich my bloodline with your divinity, Lord Osiris.”

The Captain heard the name, and it washed over him like cool water. Osiris. The king was a believer. The king had spoken his name aloud. Osiris. By that simple fact, the Captain truly became Osiris.

“There is no need to hide your love in this chamber, my lord. The palace is at your disposal.”

“I thank you, Honored King,” the Captain said, assuming the proper tone and keeping in abeyance the shaking that threatened to overwhelm his voice.

“The chief guard will be adequately disciplined.”

The Captain knew that Seka might well be executed, but he was still angry at the forced entry and felt no urge to intercede on the man’s behalf. It was only the luck of timing that had saved him from the man’s sword. “I leave that to your judgement,” he said.

Snefru bowed his head in acknowledgement. Then he turned to Hetepheres, his wife and queen. “Revered Wife, I understand your desire to lie with our divine visitor.” He moved to the bed where she sat with the covers drawn up over her body. He kissed her forehead, and the Captain saw that Snefru truly held no rancor toward her. “Do not fear my anger. I am pleased. He will enrich my line.”

The Captain watched as Hetepheres accepted her husband’s kiss. He could read her mind, for he had learned much about her over the past years. She was honored by the god’s interest in her, but she had never once thought of the benefits to Snefru’s line, of that much the Captain was sure. It had been a personal triumph for her, bedding a deity. But Snefru, the Captain knew, was lucky to have her. Snefru had been the son of a very minor wife of the previous king, Huni. Hetepheres had been the daughter of Huni’s queen. Her half brother would never have been able to secure the throne without his marriage to her.

She smiled at her husband, saying, “Thank you, Sire.”

Snefru bowed once again to the Captain, and then withdrew from the room, taking the last of the guards with him.

The Captain stared after the king a moment, then crossed the room and closed the door, not even glancing at the Mechanic, who stood looking in at him. His mind was churning. He was happy that the king had acknowledged him, but the incident had left him shaken.

Hetepheres threw back the covers, beckoning him back to the bed, but lovemaking was now the last thing on his mind. He must figure out a way to cement his position. Without a word to her, he changed back into his trousers and shirt. She watched the screen in silence, nervous at his manner.

Dressed again, he said, “This must wait for another time.” He kissed her lips gently, then turned and walked out of the room.

Outside, he found the Mechanic sitting with his back against the wall. “Let’s get back to camp,” the Captain said brusquely.

The Mechanic got to his feet and joined him. They walked down a flight of garden steps toward their litters.

“I think it was the Lion,” the Mechanic said quietly.

The Captain turned to him. “What?”

“You don’t think the king just showed up, do you? I think it was the Lion who got the guards riled.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” the Lion said, his voice edging with anger.

“You’ve spoken against me to the king’s guards,” the Captain repeated. He, the Archaeologist, and the Lion were in the Captain’s work tent. He had never bothered to upgrade the tent to a more permanent structure, for the camp was not where his primary interest lay. The Lion and his father were standing; the Archaeologist was sitting in a chair behind the Captain’s desk, watching their faces. “If things hadn’t gone the way they did, I might be dead now.”

“Believe me, Father, I say as little about you as I can.”

“I’m not interested in having that argument now,” the Captain said, goaded by his son’s tone and its intimations of disapproval.