The Risen Gods Read online

  As they charged into the forest, steeped in a thick carpet of pine needles, Sammie looked back through an opening in the trees. The Scramjet hovered over the hillside then rotated north and disappeared into the evening sky.

  “Be safe, Jamie,” she whispered. “Be smart.”

  “What are orbital energy slews?” Michael jogged alongside Patricia, just behind Ophelia and Brey.

  “Long-range fire bombs, Mr. Cooper. They’re made of unrefined Carbedyne, compacted inside a silicated-fiber cocoon. They can be targeted like missiles.”

  “Silicated who? You lost me.”

  “I doubt that will be the last time,” she said. “Admiral Perrone initiated Scorch protocol. That’s code for a cleansing operation. No survivors, no evidence. They modulate energy slews based on the level of intended destruction. They can be small enough to turn a man to ash or …”

  “Wipe out everything in sight,” Ophelia chimed in. “That hillside will be nothing but a black scar.”

  “All those people who died?” Michael asked. “Even the folks you brought to welcome the observers back?”

  Ophelia stopped to catch her breath. “They were never here, Mr. Cooper. And that’s not all. I guarantee you Perrone ordered BacTrac. A full aerial scan to identify the bodies before reorganizing each person’s stream profile to create a new narrative for their fate. In time, their deaths will be accounted for, but in a manner that will leave no one asking questions.”

  “A cover-up, Coop,” Sammie said. “My parents told me about this a few years ago. It’s how the observers escaped without ever being claimed dead or searched for.”

  Michael nodded. “Like witness protection?”

  “More or less. They protected their estates from theft. But it only works that way if you’re still alive.”

  “If you’re dead,” Patricia said, “they’ll create whatever narrative is practical. You might die a traitor to your family, or maybe you die a hero at a posting where you haven’t even served for five years. I’ve seen it before. Welcome to the Collectorate, Mr. Cooper.” Patricia tapped her stream amp, examined the route to the shuttle’s coordinates, and sighed. “Let’s keep moving, people.”

  And they did, even as the ground trembled in a series of aftershocks. Even when the sky to the northeast turned yellow and flames rose from the distant hillside.

  “Won’t someone see?” Sammie pointed to the fiery glow.

  “No,” Ophelia said. “The closest outpost is forty kilometers east. This region has been a seismic hot zone for centuries. Smart Chancellors stay away. No one has lived out here since pre-history.”

  “Is it because of the fold?”

  She nodded. “We didn’t appreciate the reason until we discovered the IDFs about thirty years ago.” She gestured to Brey. “He’s the real expert. It’s why we brought him onto the team. He didn’t care about the observers or the Jewel. Did you, Brey?”

  The tall, thin man grimaced as he continued to hug his mangled left hand against his chest.

  “Considering they cost me everything I worked for, I care enough now.” He sneered. “We were making progress out there.”

  They walked at a steady pace as Sammie pursued the topic. She knew the fold might yet play a role – certainly for Michael.

  “How does the fold cause earthquakes?” She asked.

  “You wouldn’t understand,” he mumbled. “The science is too complicated – we don’t have all the answers yet.”

  “Maybe I’ll surprise you, Brey.”

  He scowled at Ophelia, who insisted he explain.

  “Fine. I’ll give you the Tier 1 Educate version. Essentially, we’re talking about inertial drag. Each of these tears interferes with the nominal state of Earth’s stationary distribution of mass-energy. It’s like we’re being nudged by a parallel Earth’s gravity. But limited only to the immediate regions around the tears.”

  Sammie nodded. “Oh, OK. So, a little like gravitomagnetism?”

  Brey blinked. “That’s a good place to start. Yes. How do you …?”

  “I like physics.” She turned to Michael. “Daddy got me started on physics, quantum mechanics, and cosmology before I was ten.”

  “Who knew?” Michael said. “Wonder Woman is a science nerd.”

  “Good,” Brey said. “You won’t be useless.”

  “So, the inertial drag creates seismic problems on this side, but why not on the other Earth? I lived in Alabama all my life, and we never had earthquakes. Not even small tremors.”

  “There are twenty-two known folds on Collectorate worlds, and each of them produces seismic disruptions – but only on this side, according to our research. We’ve discovered fifteen tears in open space, each revealed to us by space-time disruptions in their vicinity. There are theories, but I doubt we’ll prove them.”

  “What do you think?”

  “I suspect the multiverse is segmented, and our universe is the hub. Same thing has been happening at the other tear – in the Ukrainian Expanse. Same seismic history, but we know their Earth is not the same as yours. The timeline is significantly different.”

  Sammie hesitated, wondering whether she was jumping the gun to bring this up.

  “So, if someone wanted to go back home – like, say, to Alabama – the IDF we just left behind is the only option?”

  “Yes.”

  Michael stepped in. “Hinting at something, Sammie?”

  “No, Coop. I just want to make sure we cover our bases.” She turned to Brey. “My father said the fold rift shifted over time. How long before it will be accessible again?”

  “The inertial drag keeps it in flux, but the pattern is predictable. Assuming you don’t want to dig another tunnel, that tear will be surface-accessible again in eight months.”

  Michael grabbed Brey by the shoulder. “So, what you’re saying is, that door is good and damn locked. Even if I pissed my pants and wanted out of this shit show, I couldn’t go back?”

  “Not for eight months.”

  Much to Sammie’s dismay, Michael jacked up a pair of thumbs. “Best news I heard since we crossed that damn thing. Now, what say we stop talking about it and focus on how in the hell we’re gonna find J?”

  When no one seemed onboard with his proposition, Michael broke the awkward silence. “Seriously. I owe him my life. We promised to have each other’s backs, and I ain’t doing that out here running around in the woods like a damned fool. I seen nothing but people dying all around me for the past day, and all them dudes on the hill? They’re dust in the wind. Now some seriously mean mothers got hold of J, and you people are going on about inertial whatever and gravito whatnot. I want to know how we’ll find Jamie before they kill him.”

  Ophelia turned to Patricia. “How far to the ship, Chief?”

  “Three and a half kilometers. Terrain is challenging – a few trenches to navigate. Forty minutes at current pace.”

  “And how long will you need to repair the nacelle?”

  “Won’t know until after a scan. Twenty minutes? Six hours?”

  “Understood.” She softened her tone. “Mr. Cooper. Michael. I realize we did not start on a proper footing. I hope to rectify that in time. You have shown yourself to be a child of passion and …”

  “Again?” Michael snarled. “Child?”

  “Correction. Young man. You need to understand: While our Earths may be parallel in many respects, there are far more distinctions. I did not consider that in our first contact. I need you to hear me now; what I say comes out of a desire to protect all three of you. We are not going to find James. When he’s ready, Augustus Perrone will play his hand. He will lead us there.

  “Whatever his strategy, he does not intend to kill James. At least not soon. I have known the man for years. He is using James for leverage. To what end, I have no idea. As long as James has value, he lives. Augustus did not disarm my chief, so he wants us to survive. Patience, Michael. Our chance will come. This is your home now, but you do not understand the rules. T
rust us. We will …”

  Her eyes flickered past Michael, as if filled with revelation. Instead, a translucent disruption enveloped Ophelia. She shuddered and fell.

  “Down,” Patricia shouted as she aimed her thump gun toward the thick brush. She did not find her target fast enough.

  She grunted and fell.

  Sammie and Michael shared terrified glares as they laid in the pine needles. She looked beyond her friend to where Patricia fell, and the thump gun that rested less than six feet away. She felt the pistol tucked behind her back. If I’m fast enough …

  Sammie heard bushes ruffle and shifted her focus. A man in a white bodysuit came in for the kill.

  9

  J AMES SAW EVERY VISIBLE COLOR in the spectrum. Then he awoke. Standing flat-footed, he tugged at his legs, but they did not react. He wanted to look down, but he feared what lay below. He feared the shadow lurking just beyond his vision.

  Paralyzed. Under attack. No retreat.

  His memory unclogged before his limbs did. He heard a commanding voice, an introduction to … brother. Younger brother.

  His eyes worked, but he saw muddy shadows, as if adjusting his vision in darkness, searching for a sliver of ambient light. He heard the tattered echoes of unfamiliar voices. As he sharpened his vision, the shadows gathered an unexpected sheen. James jerked his torso back and forth, flittered his fingers from arms that seemed braced against his sides, and realized what this was.

  The glass barricade wrapped around him to within a foot. His breaths shortened as panic rose. It all flooded back.

  “Sammie? Michael?”

  His arms broke free, and he slammed his hands against the barrier. The tint faded like prescription sunglasses worn indoors.

  Tubes. To his left, to his right. A green, circular fog glowed above his head and beneath his feet. Again, the whirr. His mind cleared and logic returned.

  The floor in the center of the ship’s compartment shifted, as metallic plates rose, formed layers, then contorted and spiraled. Inside the living remodels, tiny lasers danced from the plates and spun webs of fabric that encased the geometrically-revamping structures. Four uprisings flexed as if made of liquid steel before finishing as executive swivel armchairs with ergonomic supports and thick, high backs.

  Across the compartment, four peacekeepers of staggering build stood naked in tubes of their own. Breaths of steam doused them as laser lights danced over immaculately-framed bodies.

  James remembered what Michael called them outside their ship: Terminators. He was right. The former Jamie Sheridan loved the movies. He saw Arnold Schwarzenegger walking naked in the night to ominous music – a relentless, cold-blooded killing machine. Ripped the heart out of a man just to steal his clothes. These four killers – who wiped out a field of mercenaries with brutal, efficient force – dressed without resistance as fabrics wove themselves around the men. Seconds later, the tubes opened.

  Gone were the one-piece crimson suits, replaced by form-fitting khaki trousers that glossed like leather, and white, collarless shirts free of buttons, stressing the musculature. An ornate insignia planted itself above each man’s heart – a detailed cluster of planets, ships, and an unfamiliar flag, with color-coded bars underneath.

  Each peacekeeper reached back inside the tube and retrieved a pair of shoes dropped from an overhead beam. Dark brown, like boots freshly polished.

  The men took their seats and pulled on their shoes. One disappeared toward the forward compartment, beyond James’s view. Two others swiveled to face each other, and a holographic cloud drifted down between them. They smiled while twisting their fingers through a holocube.

  The fourth stared at James.

  He remembered this face, albeit for mere seconds before the world fell dark. The dimple, the deep brown, searching eyes, the hair like faded moonlight. Yet the admiral called him James’s younger brother. The warrior who approached with a glassy stare of indignance looked all of twenty-five. Battle-worn, childhood a distant memory.

  James felt impotent, a ninety-pound weakling. His brother stood only a few inches taller but spread far wider. James whispered the last word he heard before collapsing outside the ship.

  “Valentin.”

  His brother stopped. Did he hear? Was he repulsed?

  “At a moment such as this, I recommend all parties consider a pensive approach.”

  The voice rocked James. At first blush, it came from inside the tube. Was someone communicating through a speaker? His new brother stared with pursed lips. And then again …

  “We must account for preconceptions that may bias first contact and create a tremulous – and might I say dangerous – relationship.”

  James dared not think it – especially when he realized the smug, professorial voice was bouncing around inside his head. She’s gone, he thought. I destroyed her.

  The timing terrified him.

  “Look!” The voice insisted. “Over here. This way. Ah, yes. A tad closer. To the right, just beyond synaptical interlude nine-forty-four, and behind the temporal lobe until you see the …”

  James still keyed on his brother, who approached with tepid steps, but he also detected something else. Felt another place. And then …

  “Greetings, James.”

  He stood on a beach – the sun setting over the sea, orange streaks through the sky, a rough breeze carrying the heady musk of salt. Beside him, a gray-suited man in a white fedora drank red wine from a tall, fluted glass.

  “I have been observing you for several hours, deducing the proper time to make introductions. But in your predicament, what qualifies as a proper time?” The man smiled, reached out a hand that James refused to shake, and continued. “To answer your most pressing question – no, I am not the Mentor. Your unprecedented rebirth destroyed that flawed creation.”

  James struggled to contain his rage. “What are you supposed to be? Another program to make me carry out the Jewel’s agenda? I will not be twisted and manipulated again. Lydia was …”

  “A misguided nanotome conflicted by its original advisory mandate and its perceived obligation to defend the Jewel’s macrostructure. In human terms, a paranoid schizophrenic. No, no, James. You will find our relationship to be a pleasant retreat from the increasingly dire choices confronting you.”

  James told himself to leave here, the Jewel no longer held sway, he controlled his own destiny. Yet sand trickled between his toes and children laughed while playing in the surf.

  “I can’t do this. Not again.”

  “I agree, which is why I am here. Think of me as a resource for comfort and counsel. And I offer a beautiful accommodation the Mentor lacked: I am forever ensconced deep inside your consciousness, and I can never be a distracting projection.”

  He was not satisfied. “Then what do you call this place?”

  “Your choice.”

  “What?”

  “Recognize the setting? Study the condominiums and hotels. Over there, James. Your favorite restaurant for fried seafood?”

  Harley’s Taste of the Gulf.

  “Pensacola.”

  “Yes. The Sheridans and the Hugginses. Your seventh and eighth summers. You loved your time here. Ten perfect days.”

  He recalled two vacations that fell into the rabbit hole of long-lost dreams. The second trip, he kept a paper placemat with the restaurant’s photo and tacked it to the bedroom wall over his first computer. It hung there for years, though they never went back.

  “You gazed upon it with a fondness that grew as your life fell into desolation. It was your escape from suffocation.” The man finished his wine. “James, I am your partner. I am unable of manipulate you or cause harm. I exposed myself when you seemed most in need of encouragement. But you chose this construct, a location where you always envisioned escaping your maladies.”

  He couldn’t move inside the tube – still watching his brother, Valentin, creep closer – and now he faced the future with another program that thought it knew best.

>   “I am in control,” he said.

  “Correct. I have no power in this relationship. I offer my counsel whenever you call, but only at your beckon. Consider this benefit, James: We will never utilize oral communications, and the depth and breadth of our sessions will endure but fractions of a second. You will never be distracted, always connected to your physical surroundings.”

  “So, can I ignore you forever?”

  “Yes. I will observe in silence until, at long last, the darkness drowns you.”

  “Those are the last words Lydia said.”

  “They are, but darkness drowns all mortal life eventually.”

  James reexamined Valentin long enough to realize his brother only took two steps toward the tube – far less than he first imagined. All the chatter with this new program must have lasted less than a second. Impossible, and yet …

  He returned to Pensacola.

  “If I talk, what do I call you?”

  The gray-suited man, now sitting at a covered table outside Harley’s, slipped off his fedora to reveal a bald dome with a shine.

  “You already know who I am.”

  He did. “Ignatius Horne was a good man. He looked after me as long as he could. Until he was betrayed. If you betray his name, I’ll …”

  “Have no fear, James. I will be your champion. Through all to come, all you fear, the red tide in your wake. May my counsel level your temperament and balance the scales of your mercy.”

  Much to his surprise, James trusted Ignatius – for now. In the same instant, he sensed what was coming. The Jewel heightened perception.

  “He’s not going to leave me with a choice. Is he?”

  “Unlikely,” Ignatius said.

  “And what about Valentin? What choice will I have?”

  “The choice to survive.”

  James stiffened his resolve and waited for the tube to open. Every instinct insisted he needed to be ready to kill his brother.

  10

  T HE MERCENARY LOWERED HIS THUMP GUN as he stood over Sammie, Michael, and Brey. His bodysuit was torn at the left chest, a gash staining the exposed pectorals. Sammie envisioned her pistol and rehearsed the motion in her mind’s eye – grab, cock, pull.