The Nosferatu Chronicles: The Aztec God

by Susan Hamilton

  The Nosferatu Chronicles

  Book 2

  THE AZTEC GOD

  Copyright © 2016 Susan Hamilton

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Line edited by Allister Thompson

  Cover Art © by Dimitri Elevit

  selfpubbookcovers.com/dimitrielevit

  DEDICATION

  For my husband, Dean Hamilton,

  My daughter, Alana Riley,

  And in loving memory of Alan Riley.

  Contents

  PROLOGUE

  IMMUNITY

  INQUISITOR

  PORTENT

  FORGIVENESS

  CROSSING

  TRANSIT 2004

  INCARCERATION

  INVASION

  PARTING

  HELIX

  DESCENDANTS

  EXHIBITION

  RECEPTION

  WRECKAGE

  MUTATION

  GREETING

  LIBERTÉ

  SYMPOSIUM

  ESCAPE

  SERENDIPITY

  DISCOVERY

  SERUM

  HERMITAGE

  MASSACRE

  LINK

  TREK

  EXPOSED

  UNDERCOVER

  MATURATION

  REQUIEM

  TAINTED

  TRANSIT 2012

  THE LOST COLONY

  DIAGNOSIS

  RIPPER

  PURSUIT

  CHARADE

  THE MAD MONK

  LURE

  BREAKOUT

  ALLIANCE

  FAITH

  SETBACK

  MISSION

  DEBRIEFING

  VERIFICATION

  VALEDICTION

  EPILOGUE

  PROLOGUE

  Planet Vambiri

  It was an extremely dangerous time in the Lowcaste Sector of Lun. Kevak had to maintain the pretense of being an aimless wanderer while monitoring his surroundings for any signs of black-market dealings. He overheard a name as he walked past a furtive meeting that abruptly ended when he got too close. Quickly assessing which individuals were the sellers, he tailed them to a unit and kept watch for over an hour from behind a pile of reclaimed machinery parts. When he got up the courage to knock on the door, he was greeted with a lasgun pointed at his head.

  “I seek Dujot,” said Kevak in a firm, clear voice.

  Two males frisked him.

  “I have something to trade,” said Kevak.

  “He’s got nothing!” yelled one the males toward a back room.

  “I have something!” insisted Kevak.

  A figure advanced from the shadows. “Let him pass.”

  Kevak pushed past the males and stood in front of the burly figure. “You are Dujot?”

  Giving no reply, he motioned for Kevak to enter the back room.

  “You wear the clothing of a Lowcaste,” said Dujot to Kevak, “but you don’t have the manner, or rather lack of manners, to pull it off.”

  “My family is starving,” said Kevak. “Our rations ran out two days ago.”

  “You were given rations?” asked Dujot. “Remember not to mention that around these parts. Lowcastes were given nothing. Even in your present state of malnutrition, you’re the picture of health in this sector.”

  “As are you,” quipped Kevak.

  “You said you had something to trade,” said Dujot.

  “I am the Navigator of one of the megaships,” said Kevak.

  Although Dujot’s face betrayed no emotion, Kevak knew he would be desperate to escape the doomed planet.

  “So, Navigator,” said Dujot, “which family member are you leaving behind to die on this irradiated rock?”

  After a gamma ray burst decimated Vambiri’s only source of food, the hemoplant, frantic preparations had been underway to repair the megaship fleet in the desperate hope that a handful of the population could survive by entering stasis and drifting through the cosmos for millennia until a suitable planet could be located and colonized. Immediate family members of the crew had been given passenger assignment codes, and government bureaucracy had provided Kevak with something to trade: his wife Vrin and infant son J’Vor had been allocated separate stasis pods. Since infants could safely travel with an adult, the extra code was more valuable than the combined wealth of the Highcaste.

  “Are you interested in the code, or would you rather take your chances with the Passenger Lottery?” asked Kevak.

  “There’s talk that it’s rigged,” said Dujot. “There will be a revolt if not a single Lowcaste is chosen.”

  “I don’t have anything to do with the selection process,” said Kevak.

  “Of course not,” said Dujot. “There is none so blind as a Highcaste who refuses to see.”

  Kevak remained silent as Dujot left the room and waited patiently until he returned with enough nectar tubes and wafers to last for two weeks.

  “That’s all?” asked Kevak.

  “Surely this should suffice until Departure Day,” said Dujot, “or perhaps you have information that it is being deliberately delayed until the Lowcastes have all starved to death.”

  “I haven’t been told anything,” said Kevak.

  “A Navigator kept in the dark about Departure Day?” asked Dujot.

  “The Council doesn’t trust anyone,” explained Kevak, “not even the Commanders.”

  “Then why the long delay?” asked Dujot. “You would think they would want to leave as soon as possible.”

  Kevak sighed. “The repairs to the megaships have been taking place round the clock. The gamma ray burst fried the electrical systems, and everything has had to be rerouted. There is also extensive evacuation training that must be completed first.”

  “You’re a Navigator,” grunted Dujot. “During the evacuation you’ll navigate us out of here. What other training do you require?”

  “Farming, medicine, and engineering skills will be essential for our survival once we colonize New Vambiri,” answered Kevak.

  “New Vambiri — how quaint,” sneered Dujot as he handed him a roll of tape. “You’ll be needing this.”

  Kevak disrobed and taped the ration packets around his abdomen and legs. “If we run out before Departure Day, I’ll be back for more.”

  “Then you will provide another code,” said Dujot.

  “You get nothing more,” snapped Kevak. “My family codes are only valid as long as I am able to perform my duties.”

  “Very well,” said Dujot. “I wish you the best of health, Navigator.”

  After Kevak departed, he surreptitiously moved through the desperate masses, keenly aware that the slightest change in his demeanor could attract unwanted attention. He struggled to maintain his composure when a panicked female who had clumsily concealed hemo-nectar tubes in her tunic attempted to escape from the frenzied crowd that clawed at the packets.

  The female’s misfortune provided an opportunity for Kevak to slip away into the maze of air vents that had led him to the Lowcaste Sector. Upon returning to the unit he shared with Vrin and J’Vor, he quickly removed the taped rations from his body.

  “Twenty-three wafers and four nectar tubes!” exclaimed Vrin.

  “Give J’Vor some nectar, and we’ll share a wafer,” said Kevak.

  “Won’t you tell me how you got them?” she pleaded.

  �
�No,” insisted Kevak. “I won’t risk you being implicated.”

  “What did you have to trade for hemo-rations?”

  “I’ve never lied to you, Vrin,” he said. “I didn’t steal the rations. Let’s leave it at that.”

  Hours later, Lowcastes staged a revolt when evidence was uncovered that the Council had indeed conspired to exclude them from the Passenger Lottery.

  As the blaring evacuation siren began to wail, Kevak scrolled through his palmcom until he found Vrin’s stasis pod access code.

  “Give me your hand,” he said as he picked up a laspen and removed its cap, exposing the hair thin needle on the tip.

  He used the pen to infuse the code into her palm and did the same to his.

  “But I thought there were two—” she began before suddenly realizing how he had obtained the extra rations.

  Kevak put the rations back in their packets and grabbed a roll of tape.

  “There’s not much time,” he said. “Lift up your tunic.”

  After taping the packets around Vrin’s waist, he hurriedly put on his uniform. Picking J’Vor up from his crib, he kissed the baby then firmly secured him to Vrin in his sling.

  “Stay close to me,” he said. “If we get separated, you can get through the departure barrier using the access code. The Isla is on Platform 10.”

  When he opened the door of their unit, the corridor was full of panicked Highcastes running in different directions. Kevak held Vrin’s hand tightly as they made their way through the thickening crowd to the departure barrier. Seeing an Enforcer, he flagged her down.

  “I’m Navigator Kevak with the Isla!” he shouted. “My family and I have been ordered to report immediately.”

  Noting Kevak’s insignia, the Enforcer saluted him. “I’ll do my best, sir, but the crowd is getting ugly.”

  Using her palmcom, she informed her fellow Enforcers she was en route with a Navigator.

  Seeing Kevak’s uniform, the desperate crowd pushed toward him. The mood quickly turned ugly, and the Enforcers fired stun pulses into the crowd, providing enough cover for Kevak and Vrin to pass through the barrier.

  Kevak stopped to thank the Enforcer who had escorted him.

  “When you get to Isla, sir, tell your Commander—”

  Her words came to an instant halt as she was vaporized by a laser strike.

  “Resistance fighters!” yelled an Enforcer. “Set lasguns to kill!”

  Kevak and Vrin sprinted toward the Isla, their fear overriding their weakness from malnutrition. Seeing Kevak’s uniform, Enforcers guarding the hatch waved them through.

  “Commander Mazja wants all Crewman on the bridge immediately, sir!”

  There was no time for words of parting. Kevak embraced Vrin and J’Vor then turned to run to the bridge.

  “Section C,” said an Enforcer to Vrin.

  As she made her way through the long corridor, a large explosion sounded nearby.

  They’re firing lasers at the megaships!

  Up ahead she could see a long line waiting at the entrance to Section C. Individuals were required to have their codes confirmed before being granted entry. The process was painfully slow, and the explosion caused those standing in line to panic.

  The steadfast Enforcer kept to the strict protocol, ignoring the pleas of those in line to let them through en masse.

  A second explosion caused the Isla to list, and Vrin was thrown heavily against the corridor wall. Jostled in his sling, J’Vor began to cry. After checking that he was unharmed, Vrin saw the Enforcer lying unconscious on the floor as the panicked passengers rushed past him.

  That will avail them nothing! The pod hatches won’t open until the Enforcer enters the access codes!

  Vrin knelt next to the Enforcer and patted his cheeks.

  “Enforcer!” she cried. “Wake up!”

  Seeing a med-kit at the Enforcer’s station, she opened it and removed an ammonia ampule. She broke it in half, and it hissed as the gas was released. Placing it under the Enforcer’s nose, she watched as he instantly regained consciousness.

  “What happened?” asked the Enforcer as he struggled to sit up.

  “We’re under attack and took a direct hit,” Vrin explained. “Everyone rushed through the entrance.”

  Suddenly they could feel the Isla accelerating away from the platform. The groggy Enforcer tried to get to his feet but fell back to the floor.

  “Enter the override code — 97714,” he gasped.

  The hatches of the unoccupied stasis pods opened in response to the override, and the desperate passengers scrambled to get in. As soon as the pod sensors detected an occupant, the hatch automatically closed.

  “Lean on me,” said Vrin to the Enforcer as she helped him to his feet.

  “Where is this pod located?” she asked, showing him the code infused into her palm.

  “We’ve passed it already, and it’s been taken,” answered the Enforcer. “There are plenty of vacant pods ahead.”

  IMMUNITY

  Yellowstone National Park, 2003

  Mazatli Pocatello used a roll of duct tape to seal the wrist and ankle cuffs of her hazmat suit. After entering the isolation tent, she saw a research assistant examining blood slides taken from a dead squirrel.

  “Is that the culprit?” she asked, pointing to the carcass.

  “No, Maz, it was the fleas,” answered the assistant.

  “I know that,” she said, not bothering to hide the irritation in her voice. “Did the fleas on the squirrel carry Yersinia Pestis?”

  “Yes,” said the assistant. “The youngest child found it near the family’s campsite and decided to give it a funeral.”

  “And the parents went along with it?” asked Maz.

  The assistant shook his head. “They didn’t know anything about it. That’s why it took so long for a diagnosis.”

  As Maz walked past the patients, she saw the dark, swollen welts on their necks — the telltale sign of the Black Death.

  “I’m going to collect a bubo aspiration,” she said. “I want to test a theory proposed by Professor Espinoza.”

  Inserting a hypodermic needle into one of the patient’s welts, she watched impassively as the murky liquid filled the collection tube. After placing the sample along with several doses of tetracycline into a sterile container, she concealed her excitement as she exited the tent. Her face betrayed no emotion while she methodically sprayed a bleach compound over her suit.

  Stopping only for fuel, she drove through the night until reaching the secluded trailer in Utah.

  “We must remain here for two weeks,” she said those present, speaking in the sacred language.

  Each person was given a needle, which they used to make superficial scratches on their arms. Taking a swab of the aspirated material, Maz rubbed it into the scratches then repeated the procedure on herself.

  “In the fifteenth century, the Chinese were able to fight smallpox this way,” Maz assured them. “It was called ‘variolation’ and resulted in a mild form of the disease followed by immunity.”

  “If only our ancestors had been aware of it,” said one of those present.

  “I’m hoping the same method proves effective with the Black Death,” said Maz. “If not, then we still have the option of using the tetracycline. Once we have recovered, our blood will be teeming with antibodies, and our sacred mission will succeed.”

  INQUISITOR

  Seville, 1478

  Queen Isabella of Spain was no mere consort. Queen of Castile in her own right, she had obtained that crown by any means possible — lying, scheming, and even at the head of an army. Unlike her husband Ferdinand, she was not ambitious for herself but instead used her power to do God’s work.

  Isabella and Ferdinand had grand plans of driving the Moors out of Spain, but before that could come to fruition, she was obsessed with insuring that anyone claiming to be a Christian was genuine. God’s work required the imposters to be rooted out, and tonight she would come face to f
ace with the man who could accomplish that.

  Friar Alonso was a Dominican priest living in Seville with an infamous reputation for being able to extract confessions from those who were under suspicion. He had submerged himself in evil, justifying his actions by insisting that one had to “get inside the enemy’s head.” His library was full of heretical books that he had read from cover to cover.

  Believing that he was a covert agent of God, Isabella ignored his lascivious habits. Exposing heretics was all that mattered to her. Although nobody could remember having ever seen the friar during the day, Isabella was unconcerned; his divine mission required him to be a creature of the night. She had made a special trip to visit him this evening and anxiously awaited his advice on how to defeat the hidden evil lurking in her kingdom.

  Her heartbeat quickened as he was admitted into her presence. Stepping slowly toward her in his black monastic robe, he knelt at her feet and kissed the ring on the finger of her outstretched hand. Lifting his head, his piercing gray eyes met hers, and she held back her disgust upon beholding him. His hair was matted and his breath foul. Pressing a scented handkerchief to her nose to block out the stench, she reminded herself that she was in the presence of a holy man.

  John the Baptist, clothed in camel skin, would have had the same effect on his contemporaries.

  “Your Majesty,” he whispered, “your kingdom is in great peril.”

  “How so, friar?” she asked.

  “Crypto-Jews,” he answered. “The Andalusians are converts in name only. They attend Mass in the morning then practice their Jewish rituals at home in secret.”

  “Tell me what to do in order to rid Spain of them!” she cried.

  The friar removed a roll of parchments from his robe. “These are reports from Archbishop Mendoza and Friar Torquemada detailing their discoveries,” he said as he handed it to her.

  “I shall write to His Holiness immediately,” she said, “and obtain permission to launch an Inquisition, with you as Chief Inquisitor.”

  “No, Majesty,” he said. “I must remain anonymous so that the apostates of Hell are not forewarned.”

  “Very well,” she said. “May God guide you in your thankless task.”

  “It matters not what others think of me,” replied the friar. “Salvation is my reward.”