Cosmic Rift

by James Axler

  Bitterroot Mountains, Montana

  IN THE CERBERUS ops room, Brewster scanned the satellite image on his monitor, making his report with emotionless professionalism. “Clear sky, no indication of the parallax point the survey team identified,” he said. “Switching to infrared—”

  The image on-screen changed to a patchwork quilt of vibrant colors as it gave a map of the heat given off by the area. It revealed nothing of note.

  “—to ultraviolet—”

  Again the image changed, turning into a sea of gray tones of subtle gradations, the details bleeding into one another. Again, the new scan revealed nothing of note.

  “—radio emissions,” Brewster Philboyd continued, increasingly crestfallen.

  Again, the on-screen image changed to one of simple black and white, as if the map had been redrawn with streaks of lightning. And again, it revealed nothing of note.

  Philboyd turned to Lakesh sorrowfully. “Shall I continue, Dr. Singh?” he asked.

  The disappointment in Lakesh’s expression was palpable. He had been hoping for some clue to Domi’s disappearance, and it was all his heart could take to see that hope dashed. “Try magnification,” he told his assistant wanly. “Let’s not give up yet.”

  Philboyd’s fingers scurried across his keyboard and he manipulated the satellite image further. For now, however, it was clear that Domi and her fellow Cerberus field agents were well and truly lost.

  Chapter 24

  Location unknown

  The street raced up from below, faster and faster as Brigid and the Gene-ager plummeted the last dozen feet toward the ground. There were people down there, and they had suddenly become aware of the shattered window and the two falling figures hurtling earthward—or whatever-ward it was, Brigid thought. They began to shout and scream, as if they were unwilling patrons at some circus act turned horribly wrong.

  Brigid was still wearing the night-vision lenses, which made things somehow less real, picking out highlights in negative as they tried to make sense of the sudden change in light.

  Suddenly, Brigid saw a white streak flash across the lenses, zipping across her vision like a bolt of lightning. A millisecond later, she felt something slap against her side, and she found herself spinning in midair as her assailant’s body went hurtling down toward the ground and the unwilling spectators screamed louder.

  “How heavy are you?” Domi asked, her voice close to Brigid’s left ear, the sentence clipped and abbreviated the way Domi only spoke when she was under stress.

  It took a couple of seconds for Brigid to take it all in, process it. The Gene-ager who had attacked her slammed against the golden strip of road with a crunch of breaking bones; people screamed before he hit and when he struck the pitch became higher, more fearful. At the same instant that Brigid’s fall slowed, the rushing in her ears like the ocean in a storm, a road vehicle screamed to a halt before the bloody body of the Gene-ager, and people were shouting below her.

  The blood was pounding in her ears like a drumbeat. Then Brigid was lifted up, away from the street, and she saw Domi’s face smiling from beneath her, the pegasuit wings extended to either side of her shoulders like enhanced shoulder blades. Fully extended, the wings had a span of six feet in total, a foot more than the petite woman’s height. And they groaned with the strain of carrying two human beings, designed as they were only to lift the weight of one.

  Brigid was so overcome she could feel hot tears burning down her cheeks. “Just set us down,” she said. “Just set us down.”

  “Am trying!” Domi insisted in a frantic shout. “Not easy.” She was struggling to control the pegasuit with the extra weight, and the pair of them spun dizzily in the air, whirling dangerously close to the golden wall of the palace like a sycamore seed.

  Below, the driver that had almost run down the Gene-ager was out of his vehicle and checking on the man who had dropped from the palace. A crowd had formed already, and some watched in horror as the two women above them slammed against the wall of the palace in a barely controlled fall.

  Still clinging to Brigid, Domi extended her legs and kicked at the palace, running at a sideways angle as she tried to keep them from slamming into the wall again. Domi left dirty footprints across a window as she scrambled down the side, and Brigid struggled to make sense of anything in her addled brain.

  People on the street reacted in shock, watching their dangerous path as the pair hurtled toward the sidewalk. The two women landed in a stumble, and Domi let go of Brigid, who continued in a near-run until she batted against the wall of the palace with outstretched hands. Brigid stood there, recovering her breath as she regained her wits. Domi was crouched on the sidewalk a few feet away, visibly shaken.

  “You okay?” Brigid asked, pulling herself erect with the help of the wall.

  “Think so,” Domi responded. Her hand tapped something at her armored flank and the wings retracted back into a blister on her back. “Didn’t expect that to be quite so...quick.”

  “It was almost a whole lot quicker,” Brigid said with the trace of a smile. “Thanks.”

  Domi nodded, pushing herself up from the ground. “So, what now?”

  Brigid checked her blaster, assuring herself it still had ammunition. “It looked to me as if the servants were taking over the palace,” she said. “Why they’d do that is anyone’s guess. But coupled with the power failure across the ville, I can’t help but suspect there’s something bad going on. Really, really bad.”

  As Brigid spoke, she noticed that Domi appeared suddenly distracted. “Something wrong?” Brigid asked.

  Domi had heard something. It was faint and high-pitched, almost beyond human hearing. She had to strain to detect it at all, and even then it was more like an emotion than something solid. But before she could say anything, a fanfare of music blared across the streets of the royal square around the palace, reproduced via a hidden sound system that was located on every street corner.

  The people around them were excited by the noise and turned to stare at a high window of the palace. Confused, Brigid and Domi turned, too. In a few seconds they saw a figure emerge, followed by two more, posing on a high balcony overlooking the town square. Brigid and Domi recognized two of them as Queen Rosalind and Ronald, the royal aide. The third stood between the two, holding his arms aloft as he urged the crowd to quiet. This man had a sunken, skeletal face and dark hair tinged with gray, and he was wearing a simple cotton shirt and pants of matching green.

  “Who is that?” Brigid asked, but Domi just shook her head.

  “Loyal subjects of Authentiville,” the man said, his voice enhanced somehow via the sound system. “Let me welcome you to the dawn of a new era. An era where, at last, Authentiville shall expand beyond the limits of the floating city.”

  The crowd around Brigid and Domi sounded surprised and confused by the stranger’s statement, and there was a sense of keen excitement running through them as people stopped to listen. Domi could still hear that buzzing, too—faint but there, like the distant whine of a jet engine. It irritated her as she tried to listen to the man’s speech.

  “For too long,” the green-clad figure continued, “this city of miracles has been under the yoke of a short-sighted ruler, one who knew only fear and never bravery. It takes a brave ruler to see the future and not to shy away from it. I am that ruler—I, Wertham the Strange.”

  The crowd erupted at this, muttering the name as if they could barely believe it.

  Wertham waited a few moments for the crowd to quieten before continuing. “Yes, the Strange,” he said. “That’s what he called me—branded me—because my ideas were too radical for him, because I wished to embrace the future. Your future.

  “The king is no more, and we must let the old regime die with him.”

  Murmurs of surprise and shock rumbled through the crowd, but t
hey quieted as Wertham continued.

  “Before this day is done, we will fire our first salvo at the surface dwellers,” Wertham explained brashly, “in a sustained campaign to take back what is rightfully ours—to take control of Earth, once and for all.”

  The crowd watched in awe as Wertham held aloft a silver baton that glowed with energy, and Brigid heard several people around her repeat the same phrase.

  “The God Rod. He has the God Rod.”

  Then Wertham spoke with a commanding shout. “The king is dead. Long live your God Emperor! Long live Wertham the First!”

  All around the royal square, the crowd took up the chant, pumping their fists in the air, while vehicle drivers honked their horns and revved their engines. When she turned, Domi was staggered to see Brigid pumping her fist, too, and repeating the chant in time with the others.

  “Long live the God Emperor! Long live Wertham the First!”

  * * *

  “WE CAN’T STAY here indefinitely,” Grant told Kane with irritation as they skulked in the shadows of the bathing-room pump house. “We need a plan of action.”

  They were about twenty paces away from where King Jack was sitting, ostensibly running a patrol to ensure no one snuck up on them. Oblivious to their conversation, Jack had unscrewed the bottom part of the God Rod and was fiddling with the control dials hidden within.

  “You’re right,” Kane agreed, surreptitiously peering over at where Jack was sitting. “Whatever’s going on topside, someone wants the old man—either captured or dead.”

  Solemnly, Grant kept his voice to a whisper. “We can’t fight a war for this guy, Kane, no matter how friendly he’s been. There’s two of us—four including Brigid and Domi if we can contact them—against over a thousand of those Gene-ager slaves. And that may just be the tip of the iceberg.”

  “Yeah,” Kane agreed, “and it’s the rest of the iceberg that’s got me worried. From what he’s said, Jack there has been grand poobah of this place since it was set up, hundreds—maybe thousands—of years ago. He’s benevolent, despite the wealth of technology he has, and it’s that benevolence that’s kept his people in check.”

  Grant made a sour face. “What? You think if he’s deposed then whoever takes over is going to turn more aggressive?”

  “Someone’s trying to kill the king,” Kane reminded Grant. “Short odds they’re not the peace-loving type.”

  Grant looked uncertain. “Royal coups aren’t our business, Kane.”

  “Quite right,” Kane said. “But if that instability threatens our people, then it becomes our business. We’ve seen truly miraculous things since we got here. Just think what would happen if that level of tech was turned against the human race. It’d be the Annunaki invasion all over again.”

  “Only these people are the human race,” Grant reminded him.

  “Yeah, but I don’t think they see it that way,” Kane said. “For all its advances, Authentiville is an insular society. They’ve lived out here, hidden in the quantum interference between worlds, without showing any interest in human affairs. Doesn’t take much for that kind of society to turn from insular to protective to warlike. I don’t think we can take that risk, not from what Jack’s said. Just follow my lead.”

  Grant nodded solemnly in agreement and paced across the pipe-filled room with Kane to where Jack waited.

  * * *

  “WELL, THAT ALL went rather well, I feel,” Wertham said as he strode through the doors from the royal balcony. “I could perhaps use a cape, though.”

  Ronald followed, ushering a miserable-looking Queen Rosalind into a richly appointed parlor full of statuary constructed of now-flickering light.

  “You’re delusional,” Queen Rosalind snarled, her eyes narrowed in fury. “They won’t fall for this.”

  Wertham turned on her with a look of glee on his sunken features. “They already have, Roz, my dear,” he snapped. “Can’t you hear them chanting?” He cupped one hand theatrically to his ear, turning in the direction of the open balcony doors.

  “It’s a trick,” Rosalind stated flatly. “My people may have fallen for it for a moment, but they’ll wise up soon enough.”

  Wertham glared at her, the imitation God Rod glowing wildly in his hand. “Your people? Your people?” he roared. “They’re mine now. The God Rod assures that.”

  “You’re not the only one with...” Rosalind began.

  “Wrong!” Wertham bellowed, silencing her. “Jack’s not coming back. Like I told my people out there—the king is dead. I am their emperor and their god now. Me, Wertham the First!”

  * * *

  OUTSIDE, THE CROWD was still chanting, hyped up with excitement at Wertham’s speech. They welcomed this new ruler in a way that was both immediate and fanatical. Domi could hardly make sense of it, and she equated the sense of sudden adoration with falling in love—or lust—in a fraction of a second, deep feelings emerging from nowhere.

  Standing beside her, Brigid was cheering, too, applauding the speech and repeating, “Long live the God Emperor!” over and over.

  “Brigid?” Domi prompted.

  Her red-haired ally seemed baffled for a moment by Domi’s attention, and Domi saw her blink several times in quick succession as if to clear her head.

  “Where—?” Brigid muttered. “What happened?”

  “You were caught up in...something,” Domi explained. Then she grabbed one of Brigid’s hands and pulled her through the cheering crowd. “Come on, it’s too cramped here. Makes me nervy.”

  Brigid shook her head with confusion as they wended through the crowd, slipping the TP-9 semiautomatic back into its holster for safekeeping. All around, people were beginning to resume their lives, returning to whatever they had been doing before Wertham demanded their attention.

  Brigid and Domi crossed the street between vehicles, with Domi still leading the way. The albino warrior drew Brigid into a narrow street that looked out on the palace.

  “You okay now?” Domi asked.

  Brigid nodded uncertainly. “It’s strange,” she said. “I can see the Happening, the room of fountains, the struggle in the palace corridor and how I went through the window. I can see you catching me as I fell. I can remember everything up to a few minutes ago, then it suddenly becomes...well, weird in my mind.”

  This was serious, Domi realized. She had known Brigid Baptiste from the earliest days of the Cerberus operation, and she was very much aware that the woman had an eidetic memory, which meant she forgot nothing. Or, at least, that’s the way it should have been.

  “Do you remember what that nut ball on the balcony said?” Domi asked.

  “The man in green? Yes, every word,” Brigid explained. “But there’s something else there, too, it’s as though he spoke from a gigantic light, almost like I was looking into the sun. It doesn’t feel as if it’s a part of my experience, more like something I saw in a drama or read in a book. Does that make sense?”

  “Not really,” Domi told her. But already the albino girl’s mind was turning, recalling something she had noticed just before the speech started. There was a sound, Domi recalled—that strange, almost subconscious buzzing she had detected at the very upper limit of her hearing just before the royal fanfare had played through the hidden sound system. “Did you hear a kind of buzz?” Domi asked excitedly. “Before that guy started speaking?”

  Brigid’s brow furrowed as she tried to recall. “No, nothing.”

  “I heard something,” Domi explained. “I don’t know what it was. It was barely there, just a high-pitched note.”

  “Like an insect’s wings?” Brigid asked. Already she was coming up with a theory.

  “Kind of,” Domi said. “But more—I dunno—musical, maybe? Like a note being played.”

  Eyeing the dispersing crowd, Brigid suddenly recogn
ized the mania that they had all been caught up in. All except Domi, that is, with her own special set of skills. Brigid felt it, too, could still feel it, gnawing at the back of her skull. There was something in the words, then. No, not the words—but the relay system through which they had been delivered. Something that triggered a sense of euphoria in the listeners’ brains.

  “Subliminal conditioning,” Brigid said. “Hypnosis. Something like that anyhow.”

  “What? You think that this Wertham guy was trying to hypnotize you?” Domi asked.

  “Not just me,” Brigid reasoned. “Everyone. Everyone in that crowd. Maybe even everyone in the whole of Authentiville. The sound you detected was some kind of signal aimed directly into the brain, designed to make Wertham’s speech seem more palatable. Perhaps even something more than that.”

  Domi’s face scrunched up in annoyance. “Then why were you affected but I wasn’t?”

  “Domi,” Brigid began, “and I say this with the utmost respect and love—you are not exactly a normal or average example of the human condition.”

  Domi rankled at this, but Brigid continued.

  “You perceive the world in a way that few of us will ever be able to define, let alone comprehend,” Brigid said. “You’re closer to the environment around you than anyone I’ve ever met. If something’s out of place, you’d notice, even if you can’t say quite what it is.”

  Mollified, Domi flicked a glance back to the street and the towering structure of the palace. “Something’s out of place, all right,” she said. “Did you notice Queen Rosalind up there with the speech man?”

  “Yes, and the king’s not come back,” Brigid stated. “Wertham said he was dead.”

  “Yeah.” Domi nodded. “And Grant and Kane are with him. Which means they may be dead, too—doesn’t it?”

  Chapter 25