Prometheus Wakes (The Great Insurrection Book 4)

by David Beers

  Prometheus unfurled his Whip, letting it fall nearly to the floor.

  He stepped to the very edge of the room, beyond which was the balcony.

  A roc rose in the distance, its huge wings flapping and bringing it higher. It rose with a power and majesty that could not be duplicated by human hands. No machine could ever look as grand as the animal before him.

  Upward it rose, shrieking hate at him. Others flew through the sky, their caws impossibly loud, but they didn't venture to the spire.

  This was the leader, and the gigante who had ridden him most likely no longer lived. These creatures weren't meant to be ridden, and the game was over.

  "What are you?" Prometheus whispered.

  The transport was nearly back at the city. Bin sat at the conference table, his hands shaking, no coffee in sight. He and the rest of his board stared at the holovid that rose on the table.

  Me'et, the god who had come to this universe, had climbed to the top of the castle's spire. Bin could see him, standing in red armor of some kind, his bright red Whip at his side. Blood was smeared on his face, and his hair was full of guts.

  The rocs were flying around the castle, screaming at the man who had killed one of their nest.

  The head designer was on the transport. He'd had little to say during the past week. The invasion had nothing to do with him; it had been a security breach. However, Bin wanted answers. He still hadn't dared tell this group what he thought. What he knew.

  None of them would make it out of this alive.

  "I need to know what the fuck is going on, Rovan." Bin's hands were shaking, and he was doing everything in his power to keep the tremor out of his voice. "What are those fucking birds programmed to do?"

  "Programmed is the wrong word, sir," the head designer responded. "They're flesh and blood, not mach—"

  "I DON'T GIVE A FUCK WHAT YOU CALL IT! WHAT ARE THEY DOING RIGHT NOW?"

  It was clear Rovan was trying to figure out how to describe it in terms Bin could understand. Bin never concerned himself with the actual designs, as long as the prices charged for gigantes continued to rise year after year.

  "The gigantes are bred not to have in-group relationships. That's why there are only males. There is no mating. No offspring. They are bred to serve an outer god, and everything else is little more than noise to them. The rocs are very different. Everything is in-group relationships to them. They live very long lives in one area and have offspring throughout their lives. We purposely bred them so their offspring were closer to mammals than reptiles or birds because we wanted that attachment. It was to teach the gigantes the lesson that groups will seek vengeance so that when it happens in the real world, they'll understand it."

  He paused and pointed at the roc rising into the sky.

  "That is what you're witnessing. That roc there, you can think of her as the queen. One of her children was just killed, and now she's going to get her vengeance. This might be the best thing that could have happened."

  The man was an idiot. "What happens if he kills the roc?" Bin asked.

  Rovan shook his head. "That won't happen."

  "What if it does?" Bin was trying to keep from shouting, but these morons were making it very hard.

  The head designer shrugged and leaned back in his chair. "If he kills the queen, they'll all descend on him. Either way, he's dead. This little insurrection or whatever he was hoping for ended the moment he killed the roc at the bottom of the castle. He's dead."

  The transport landed on top of the building, and Bin got off without looking at anyone. He was nearly stumbling as he made his way to the office on the top floor of the corporation’s headquarters.

  He didn’t look around once inside, just found his way to the bathroom. In reality, the room was better than most people had on Earth. It had a full shower, a separate tub, and a toilet in its own smaller room. Bin ignored all that as he leaned on the sink and splashed his face with water.

  They were all going to die. He had to get off the planet.

  He splashed cold water on his face again, trying to figure out how he would get away. The board would throw a collective temper tantrum if he mentioned it since none of them thought this revolution had a chance.

  Only Bin knew better. Me’et had arrived.

  The voice that spoke sounded like stone scraping stone. “You’re a real pussy. You know that, don’t you?”

  Bin froze, the water running into the porcelain sink the only noise in the office. His eyes flashed to the mirror in front of him. His father was sitting at the desk in the main room.

  Bin opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

  “They started bringing me out of my sleep the moment the little bullet ship landed,” his father said without looking up. He was staring at something on a DataTrack like he’d always done before he went into the deep sleep, the cryogenically frozen state he’d been in for the past few years.

  The plan had been… Well, it didn’t matter what that plan had been because Bin’s damn father was sitting in front of him now. Unfrozen. Not asleep. Alive and sounding as hard as ever.

  Bin forgot to turn the water off as he moved from the sink to the bathroom door. He stopped before entering the office. “Me’et is here, Father. He’s nearly at our doors.”

  The old man laughed and cut off his son’s words. “You and the gods. You did take that shit to heart, didn’t you? Everything I taught you as a boy.” He finally looked up from the DataTrack at the doorway. “Tell me, do you really think a god has crossed the dimensions to attack you?”

  “I-I…” Bin paused, realizing he couldn’t string a sentence together. He swallowed. “You haven’t seen him.”

  The old man waved away the comment and looked back down at the desk. “I’ve been watching him the same as you have. I just haven’t been making up stories and freaking out. I’ve been preparing for him since the board decided to wake me.”

  Bin didn’t need to ask who’d woken him or what their reasoning had been. Not right now. He didn’t know what all this meant for him or the corporation. At that moment, Bin only cared about living. “We need to leave, Father.”

  The old man slowly shook his head while rolling his eyes. “We’re not going anywhere. I’m not abandoning my life’s work because a single Titan decided to come to this planet. You’ll be there at the end when I kill him.” He sighed. “I knew it was too early to leave you with all this. I knew you weren’t ready.”

  He stood up and leaned against the table.

  Bin remained in the bathroom, not ready to venture out.

  “It doesn’t matter,” his father continued. “I’m taking over from here on out, and all you need to do, sensitive son of mine, is listen when I say something. I’ll kill this little Titan from Earth, and I’ll make sure no one ever thinks they can take what’s mine again.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Prometheus stood with his Whip at his side. The roc was more than thirty yards higher than the spire, about a quarter-mile off. It gave one last shriek and started its descent toward Pro.

  The animal flew through the air, its speed increasing each quarter-second as its powerful wings propelled the beast forward.

  Pro saw quickly what was going to happen. He retracted his Whip and holstered it. The creature was maybe fifty yards off. It banked right, then curved left again.

  Its beak was aimed directly at Prometheus, and its eyes, large and cruel, showed no mercy.

  The roc reached the man and its beak opened wide before crushing down, trying its best to trap Prometheus between its wicked teeth. Pro leapt, both hands reaching for the beak's edge as his body collided with the large creature's head. His right hand found purchase as the two took flight. The roc shrieked in anger at having missed its prize, and both were now flying, Pro's left hand and body flapping between the beast's eyes.

  It snapped its beak repeatedly, trying to shake the human off its head, but Pro kept holding on as he tried to grip something—anything—with his l
eft hand.

  The roc's wings beat hard, thrusting it higher into the air. Prometheus looked down and saw the ground falling away. He turned back, both gravity's pressure and the bird's speed trying to break his grip. The armor helped some, but his body was flopping against the bird's head.

  As they soared higher, he regretted not wearing the helmet. He needed to know the suit's integrity, especially the right hand. The beak repeatedly clamped down on it, and though the teeth couldn't get at him, he knew damage was being done.

  He needed his right hand almost as much as he needed his head, especially over the next few minutes. When the battle finally came, his left would not be able to handle the Whip as agilely as his right.

  The beak opened, and Pro released his grip.

  The roc felt it and thrust its wings harder, pushing itself faster and higher.

  Pro tumbled toward the ground, slamming into the roc's skull first, then hitting its back. He scrambled to grab something, knowing that if he missed, he was dead.

  His left hand grabbed feathers. That slowed his slide down for a moment, enough for his right hand to do the same. The roc screamed as it understood he wasn't falling but had attached himself. It turned, shifting its body from moving toward the sun to the ground.

  Its speed increased, gravity plus the roc's momentum propelling the duo downward. Pro thrust himself as hard as he could against the creature. The feathers were rough against his face, and the smells of dirt and nature were strong in his nose. He closed his eyes, letting the wind rush over his back.

  He knew what was coming. Survival was a dim hope.

  When he felt the roc shift slightly, he looked up. He couldn't tell how far away the ground was, but the animal was only going to slow enough to not kill itself. No amount of strength in the world was going to keep Alistair clinging to the creature.

  Another flap of the wings and the bird-like beast was nearly in landing position. Pro thrust his knees up under him, kneeling on the roc.

  Three...

  Two...

  One.

  The roc's talons touched down, gripping the dirt. It was moving far too fast even for itself and it lunged forward, unable to find purchase on the ground. It gripped again and was able to jerk to a stop.

  Its feathers ripped out of its back, and Pro tumbled over the head.

  He hit the ground hard, but he'd tucked enough and somersaulted, once, twice, then found himself skidding on his stomach over brambles and dirt and twisted roots.

  His left hand scrambled to slow him while his right held onto the still-holstered Whip. He couldn't lose that at any cost.

  Rocks scratched at his bare face, and he kept his eyes clenched shut. He felt skin ripping off, but he knew he was slowing.

  His left hand shoved the ground, throwing him into the air. He opened his eyes and saw the roc coming for him, the talons of the long-legged creature splayed while its powerful wings kept the bird just off the dirt.

  Pro's Whip lit the air in front of him, and his feet touched down. The leading talons stretched out for him and he spun to his right as one of the steel-like claws ripped through his armor and flesh, cutting just beneath the ribcage.

  The Whip slashed and cut into the roc's wing as Pro slipped to the side.

  The creature shrieked as its talons hit the ground.

  It slowly turned to face its enemy. The two were both bloodied and battered.

  The other rocs were landing now, circling them. The gate of the castle had opened, and men and gigante were flowing out.

  Prometheus saw it all, and at the same time, none of it. All that mattered was the creature in front of him.

  Its talons scratched the ground, pulling up huge chunks of dirt and roots before tossing them behind it. The roc stretched forward and let out a ferocious shriek.

  Pro twirled the Whip with his right hand. The weapon whistled through the air, its three strands barely visible with the speed.

  Will it be death, then, Allie? Luna whispered.

  Caesar stood between Nero and Thoreaux. None dared enter the circle.

  Caesar heard the roc shriek its warning. He saw blood dripping from its wing. He heard the Whip's whistle and watched red liquid leak from his leader.

  Would Prometheus get it? Would he finally understand what he'd come here for? Or would they all die in a few moments?

  This was why Caesar had chosen to say nothing—because life was the blacksmith for Prometheus. It would either form a sharp blade or break the melting metal.

  No.

  The Whip slowed in Prometheus' hand.

  This wasn’t the way.

  The Whip's twirl stopped, and the three strands dropped toward the ground.

  You don't have to kill the universe to win. You don't have to be the Commonwealth.

  The Whip furled back into its hilt. Prometheus stepped back in the dual mind and Alistair came forward.

  He looked to his left, then his right. The roc in front of him had paused as if unsure of what was happening. Alistair felt blood dripping from his side, from his face. Every part of him ached.

  He turned back to the creature in front of him. A beautiful thing, far more majestic than any human could ever hope to be.

  Alistair didn't know what he was doing. He just felt this was right. Something in him said this wasn't a dim-witted beast that only knew reproduction and hunger. Something said it was closer to a drathe than a wolf.

  "I'm sorry," Alistair called across the space separating them. "I didn't know. I didn't understand."

  The creature screamed, baring its teeth. It rose on its back legs, and its talons slashed the air hard enough for a whoosh to whistle past him.

  He holstered his Whip. "I'm sorry. I didn't know what I was doing. I do now. I understand." He lifted his left hand slowly, then pointed at the circle. "We will all die now for my stupidity unless you forgive me. It's up to you."

  Then Alistair did something idiotic. He turned his back on the beast.

  The roc's front talons hit the ground. The animal didn't shriek. It didn't rush its enemy. It dropped its beak and took a deep breath. Dust swirled around the steel-colored beak. It stared at the man, the eyes showing a deep-seated intelligence. Something foreign, yes, but something akin as well.

  Alistair looked to his right and found Caesar. The giant was nodding as if he knew something. Nero stood next to him, and that maniacal grin was on his face.

  Alistair wasn't sure if he was going to die at this moment. If it was to be so, he would accept it. He didn't want to kill that creature, or the others around him. They'd been kidnapped from their homes and ridden here for a battle. Let them go back home. Let them live their lives. His quarrel was elsewhere.

  Alistair heard the massive flap of wings and felt the rush of wind. He didn't know if it was coming for him or something else, but he closed his eyes and turned his face to the ground. He hoped for a warrior's death if that was what was necessary.

  The scream came from higher than Alistair had expected, then he heard the flap of more wings as the remaining rocs pulled into the sky after their leader. Alistair opened his eyes and tilted his head upward.

  They were leaving—every last one of them.

  Caesar walked across the expanse as the other gigantes knelt once again, their heads bowed. Nero remained standing, still smiling, although he didn't approach Alistair.

  The giant walked in front of Alistair and lightly placed his hand over the wound. Alistair met the gigante's eyes and felt the nanotech find the wound and begin healing it. Caesar grimaced for a second, then his face relaxed.

  "Did you know?" Alistair asked.

  Caesar nodded.

  "Why didn't you tell me what they were?"

  Caesar didn't respond but only stared at him, and Alistair thought he understood. Even now, he wasn't sure he could describe the creature he'd just encountered. Made by man, they might have surpassed that which the gods had made. Caesar might not have had the words to describe them either.

&nb
sp; "I had to see it for myself, didn't I?" Alistair asked.

  "A true leader must know how to humble himself." Caesar pulled his huge hand from Alistair's side. He gave a small nod, then walked back to the circle of gigantes. He knelt like those around him and bowed his head.

  Thoreaux ran to the middle of the muddy field. "What in Hades was all that about?" Thoreaux asked. "I thought we were all dead."

  "Me too." He glanced past Thoreaux at the kneeling Caesar. Only Nero remained standing. "I don't have to kill everyone to beat the Commonwealth. I just need to kill those who deserve it, and whatever they are, they didn't deserve it."

  Thoreaux watched the rocs flying in the distance. One of them at the back was slower than the rest. It carried the dead animal in its talons. "Maybe you're right. Either way, what do we do next? From the looks of things, you've added to your army."

  Alistair stood and slowly turned to see all those kneeling. "We do what we came here for. We set them and all the rest free."

  The Written History of the Great Insurrection

  There are those across the universe who say Alistair Kane—Prometheus—is a ruthless murderer. His mythology has grown so far and wide that many think of him as a reborn god. Some say he is the entire universe's reckoning, while others claim he will send mankind back to the Dark Ages with his reckless crusade.

  I watched him on that planet, the one where he went to free the gigantes. Legends have spread, all of them false. No bird creatures lifted him on their wings and carried him to victory. No gigantes welcomed him with open arms. He didn't speak to fish or walk on water.

  He went there and nearly died multiple times. He is modified, true, but he is still human. He was fallible, and in the end, he had humanity's frailties as well. He got lost in the need to conquer at all costs, or he nearly did. For a long time, Alistair Kane had been a tool that broke others. Anything that stood up to him fell beneath the sheer force of his will and body.