GREETING
Outskirts of Tenochtitlan, 1520
“Well, Friar Alonso,” said Cortés, “I see that you have finally shown yourself in the daylight. It will go a long way to dispelling the rumors of you being in league with the devil. But make no mistake, if you leave without permission again, you will receive the same punishment given to all mutineers. Your worth to us as a translator decreases every day.”
Dujot glanced at Doña Marina, the native slave who had become Cortés’s lover and was vying to replace him as translator.
“Sir, there was no time to inform you,” pleaded Dujot. “I caught sight of two Tlaxcalan warriors. They are enemies of the Aztecs, and it was essential to make immediate contact. If I had approached them with your soldiers, they would have fled. Thanks to my efforts they are now a powerful ally.”
Cortés grudgingly admitted to himself that the friar was right, since Tlaxcalan prisoners of war were used for Aztec sacrifices, and the two brought to him by the friar had expressed a fervent desire for revenge. Cortés also knew that the Tlaxcalan would have killed Doña Marina on sight if she had been sent in the friar’s place.
“Will Montezuma agree to see me today?” asked Cortés.
“I don’t see why not,” said Dujot. “He has arranged for you and your soldiers to be housed inside the city.”
“Apparently he was with the first delegation that traveled to greet me but turned back after a few days,” said Cortés.
“Perhaps he feared a Tlaxcalan ambush,” said Dujot. “The Aztecs were monitoring their movements.”
*******
After Cortés and his retinue of Spanish troops on horseback crossed the causeway into Tenochtitlan, Montezuma greeted them, accompanied by two hundred lords in two columns. Cortés dismounted and bowed his head forward in a show of respect to Montezuma. He stepped forward to embrace the native ruler but was prevented from doing so, since it was blasphemy to touch Montezuma. Cortés then produced a string of pearls and laid it at the god-king’s feet, while Montezuma in return gave the Spaniard a necklace of solid gold.
“From our ancestors, we have known that the true natives of Tenochtitlan were foreigners and their chieftain brought our people to this region,” said Montezuma as Dujot translated. “We welcome you as Quetzalcoatl’s descendants. Be assured that we shall obey your in all things. Take your rest in the accommodation I have provided for you and your men.”
Montezuma’s gift of gold only served to exacerbate Cortés’s ambitions for plunder. Never before had he seen a primitive empire so wealthy. All of the scattered tribes he had encountered had been easily eliminated in small skirmishes. The open display of wealth before him was astounding, and Cortés wondered how much more was hidden away in Tenochtitlan. He made a mental note to himself to begin immediately converting Montezuma to Catholicism to ensure his loyalty to Spain.
*******
As soon as it was dark, Dujot used the palmcom to locate the stasis pod he had hidden in the jungle. He felt nothing as the personal shield he had generated for his body deactivated. It had worked — he had been able to transfer the cloak from the pod to himself and had walked for hours in the daylight unharmed. It was a liberating feeling, but he would have to use it sparingly, since the energy required for cloaking was enormous. Avoiding daylight had been his greatest handicap in attaining power among the humans, and he now had a way to overcome it, albeit sparingly.
If I only had a lasgun, it would be a small matter to eliminate the Spanish.
Defeating the Spanish would require more ingenuity, but with the technology of the pod at his disposal, he was sure he would find a way. After that had been accomplished, he would take on the identity of Quetzalcoatl and never have to hunt again. The Aztecs would provide for all of his feeding requirements with their human sacrifices.
There was another matter: his pod was picking up the homing beacon of another one that had survived atmospheric entry. The readings indicated it was moving, which meant the occupant was still alive. With the technology of two pods at his disposal, he would be unstoppable, but locating the other pod was not his immediate concern. If he could turn the Aztecs against the Spanish and force them to retreat to the Old World, it would take decades for them to recover. There would be more than enough time to find the other pod once that was accomplished.
LIBERTÉ
Tuileries, France, 1792
Sylvie paid no attention to the jostling of the carriage as she inspected her elaborate clothing. Running her hand down one of the close-fitted sleeves, she fingered the lace ruffles puffed out at the elbow.
“Don’t touch them!” snapped Baroness Campan. “Put on the gloves you were given.”
Sylvie looked directly into the baroness’s eyes and smiled as she picked up the gloves and awkwardly squeezed her hands into them. The young scullery maid had never even seen the noblewoman until yesterday, since her duties were strictly confined to the kitchen. Not only was she responsible for cleaning vegetables, plucking fowl, and scaling fish, but she was also expected to scrub the floor, stoves, sinks, and pots at the end of the day. The servants’ dining table was off-limits to her, and she was ordered to take her meals in the kitchen where she could keep an eye on the food while it cooked.
The baroness was beside herself with worry. Word had reached the chateau that a group of revolutionaries was en route to take the baron and his family into custody. What would follow would be a sham trial, if any, and then certain execution by guillotine in front of the salivating rabble in Paris. The baron’s misplaced confidence in loyalist forces to put down the revolutionaries had robbed him of precious time to formulate an escape plan. Every minute that passed brought him and his family closer to their doom, and they had been forced to flee into the countryside in the desperate hope of reaching the coast and finding a ship that would take them to the safety of England.
The arrangements made by the baron had been hasty and sloppy. He and his family departed in separate carriages on different roads. Each family member took with them a servant with whom they had swapped identities. In the event that they were caught, the servants were to maintain the façade as long as possible in order to give their disguised masters the chance to escape before the ruse was detected.
Just before leaving the chateau, the baroness had studied her reflection in the mirror without her opulent clothes and wig. Although she had gathered her long gray hair up into a messy bun, she did not have the bearing of a servant. Even in her tattered clothes, she oozed regal arrogance. She reminded herself to slouch and avoid eye contact. Walking into the kitchen, she rubbed her hands against the unwashed pots and squeezed several lumps of coal, hoping that the thin residue it left on her fingernails would be enough to disguise the fact that she had never done any manual labor in her life.
Not only had Sylvie and the other servants been given gold in exchange for their cooperation, but the baron had also promised that when the revolutionaries were defeated and life returned to normal, those who aided them would be allowed to live rent-free on the estate in perpetuity. The baron had taken great pains to convince them he would be true to his word and had even affixed his seal to documents drawn up in each of their names.
Sylvie had watched as the baroness’s maid sewed precious stones into the lining of the noblewoman’s drab clothing. While other servants had taken similar measures with their newly acquired gold, Sylvie had chosen instead to bury hers deep in the forest. Any servants found in possession of gold would now be branded as collaborators and suffer the same fate as their masters. If the baron’s plan fell apart, Sylvie would bide her time and retrieve the stash after the revolution was over.
The women in the coach were startled when three loud bangs came from the top of the carriage, the signal from the coachman that a roadblock was up ahead.
“Remember,” the baroness urged Sylvie, “if they arrest you, keep up the pretense until you reach Paris. My family will remember your loyalty when the revolution is over.”
Sylvie’s face registered fear, and the baroness knew at once that the girl would give them all away as soon as they were questioned.
“Listen to me, child,” she said, tightly grabbing Sylvie’s arm. “Stick to the plan and feign illness. If you betray me, I won’t go to prison alone. I’ll tell them you were a willing partner in this deception.”
“They won’t believe you!” cried Sylvie.
“I’ll tell them about the gold,” said the baroness. “At best, they’ll torture you until you reveal where it is hidden. At worst, you’ll be executed as a collaborator. Either way, you get nothing. Stay quiet, and you will never be hungry again.”
Sylvie began to weep.
“Good,” said the baroness. “Keep crying and pretend to be in severe pain! It will appear as if you are too weak to talk. If they attempt to interrogate you further, then faint.”
The carriage came to a halt, and a knock sounded at the door.
“Open in the name of Robespierre!” ordered a gruff voice.
The baroness opened the carriage door and was relieved to see a soldier in uniform. Soldiers stuck to protocol, for the most part, and were definitely preferable to the rabid bands of peasants eager to spill noble blood.
“Identity papers?” asked the soldier.
“My mistress is bad hurt,” said the baroness, trying her best to sound like a peasant as she handed the papers to the soldier. “We’re headed for Dr. Beaumont. The regular doctor took off weeks ago.”
The soldier studied the papers then scowled at the two women. “Why is a scullery maid accompanying a Baroness?”
The baroness shrugged. “I’m all that’s left, sir.”
“Why did this Dr. Beaumont not travel to the baroness instead?” he asked.
“Another kitchen maid was sent to fetch him two days ago and never returned,” explained the baroness. “My mistress is getting worse by the hour and we had no choice.”
“Baroness Campan,” the soldier said to Sylvie, “you must come with us back to Tuileries. We will bring this Dr. Beaumont to you later.”
Sylvie continued to cry and moan as if she were in pain.
The soldier then asked for the coachman’s papers. “Why are you not in uniform?”
“All the proper coachmen are gone, sir,” he replied. “I work in the stables, and the horses are used to me.”
“You can confirm that is the baroness in the coach?” whispered the soldier to him.
“I ain’t never seen the baroness until tonight,” replied the coachman.
Sylvie let out more cries and doubled over.
“Please, sir,” pleaded the baroness to the soldier, “my lady will be a goner if she don’t get no help!”
The soldier knew if a baroness died in his custody, he would get the blame. He only had two men with him, and that would not be enough to hold off any mob they might unexpectedly encounter.
“Unhitch one of the horses, find the doctor, and bring him to the baron’s chateau in Tuileries,” the soldier ordered the coachman. “My men and I will escort the baroness home. It’s too risky to be out on these roads.”
“The coachman don’t know where the good doctor lives,” said the baroness, “but I do.”
“Very well,” said the soldier. “You may accompany him, but you will have to share a horse.”
“What if he won’t come?” asked the baroness.
The soldier quickly wrote out an order for the doctor to travel to Tuileries with a guarantee of safe passage, then handed it to the coachman.
After the coachman and the baroness departed, the coachman held the horse to a steady gate. It was several minutes before he plucked up the courage to look back, and when he did, the soldiers and carriage were no longer in sight. He then brought the horse to an abrupt halt.
“What are you doing?” demanded the baroness.
Without saying a word, he pushed her off the horse. The baroness fell hard to the ground and cried out in pain. After hitching the horse to a tree, the coachman took out his knife and walked toward her. Grabbing the hem of her dress, he cut open the seam, and the precious jewels fell to the ground.
“Please!” she begged. “I will give you twice as much when we reach the safety of the coast!”
“How long do you think that silly girl will get away with pretending to be you?” he asked. “In a matter of hours they will be sending out search parties to look for us. This is where we part ways.”
After picking up the jewels, he mounted the horse and galloped away, leaving her to fend for herself.
*******
“Where are we?” asked Emanui.
“Tuileries is two miles away,” answered Tariq.
“It will be daylight in a few hours,” said Miriam. “We need to get off the road and find shelter.”
A short time after leaving the road, they came across a pond that was surrounded by trees.
“It’s perfect,” said J’Vor.
“What about you, Miriam?” asked Jasper.
“I’ll be alright. No one can see me from the road and there is somewhere for me to hide,” she said, pointing to a thicket.
“I don’t like it,” said Emanui. “The common people are becoming more violent each day. Their attacks are no longer limited to the upper class. You’re a stranger here, Miriam, and that would be reason enough for them to suspect you as a foreign agent sent to rescue the nobility.”
“There’s not enough time to find anywhere else,” said Miriam. “Remember our mission — this revolution has attracted many Ferals to Paris. The guillotines have provided them with easy access to blood. This a rare opportunity to root them out, and we won’t get a chance like this again anytime soon.”
Emanui sighed with apprehension, but she knew Miriam was right. “Take my lasgun. Stay concealed in the thicket all day and be careful.”
“De-cloak!” shouted Jasper to the pods.
The four hovering stasis pods flickered into view. Once they were occupied, Miriam watched as each of them dipped silently into the pond. As the sun came up, she crawled into the thicket and fell asleep.
When she awoke, it was still light, and she estimated that only a few hours remained until sunset. She unscrewed the lid of her flask and brought it to her lips to drink but found that it was nearly empty. Crawling out of the thicket, she got to her feet and felt spasms of pain shooting through her legs and hips.
The arthritis is coming back. I’ll get it treated in a med-pod once we return to the lifeboat.
At 182 years old, Miriam’s lifespan far exceeded what any human without access to a med-pod could ever achieve, yet she had the appearance of a woman in her sixties. She could have looked even younger if she had chosen to dye her hair, but such frivolities did not concern her.
Even with Vambir technology, the human body had its limits. It had only been a year since her most recent rejuvenation, and she knew there would soon come a time when the treatments would no longer be effective.
As she bent down by the pond to splash water on her face, her knees buckled and she tumbled over. Massaging her legs until the pain subsided, she got to her feet slowly and limped back toward the thicket.
I’ll have to travel in one of the stasis pods tonight.
Startled by the sound of someone frantically running toward her, Miriam turned around and saw a panic-stricken elderly woman. For a moment the woman paused to look at her. Seeing that Miriam was alone, the woman hurried on her way.
Detecting the cries of an angry mob closing in, Miriam frantically limped toward the thicket. She had set the lasgun on the ground just before falling asleep. If she could retrieve it, she could stun the lot of them, and she and her comrades would be far away before any of them regained consciousness.
“Look!” cried a peasant, pointing at Miriam. “There’s the old crone! And what a sight it is — a baroness having to bed down in a thicket!”
*******
When the pods sensed it was no longer daylight, they floated to
the surface. After exiting, the transformed humans were alarmed that Miriam was nowhere in sight. Emanui crawled into the thicket to check herself, despite the bio-scanner readout indicating no life form present.
Jasper waved the bio-scanner in the air. “It’s picking up a small gathering nearby.”
“Are they headed toward us?” asked Emanui.
“No,” answered Jasper.
“Anything else?” asked Tariq.
Jasper shook his head. “Nothing.”
“She left the lasgun behind,” said Emanui as she emerged from the thicket.
“Let’s go,” said J’Vor.
They sprinted toward the scanner’s coordinates, secretly dreading what they would find and preparing for the worst. Nonetheless, they were shocked when they came upon the macabre scene of Miriam dangling lifelessly from the branch of a large, gnarled tree, while peasants waving their pitchforks looked on with glee.
“No!” cried Jasper.
Removing his lasgun, he fired at the rope around Miriam’s neck, and her body fell heavily to the ground. He then fired several more rounds into the ground close to the onlookers. The bright flashes of light and rumbling explosions caused them to flee in panic, their fear trumping their curiosity at the cause of the terrifying event.
By the time Jasper reached Miriam, the onlookers were gone.
“We must get her to a pod!” he yelled to the others as he picked her up.
Emanui looked at Jasper and shook her head. “It’s too late.”
Ignoring her, Jasper sprinted with Miriam in his arms back to the pond. Placing her in one of the pods, he watched as it made a body scan and waited for the electronic voice to convey the results.
HUMAN OCCUPANT EXPIRED.
RESUSCITATION PROBABILITY ZERO PERCENT.
“Override!” ordered Jasper. “Initiate electroshock!”
Dull thumps from inside the pod could be heard as it obeyed the override command.
ELECTROSHOCK HALTED.
HUMAN OCCUPANT EXPIRED.
“Override!” yelled Jasper. “Resume electroshock at double intensity!”
The Nosferatu Chronicles: The Aztec God Page 8
