Nightmare Passage

by James Axler

  Doc quickly looked away. "Please, Dr. Wyeth. I am fully aware of the old adage 'When in Rome, do as the Romans do,' but I'm afraid—"

  "Oh, muzzle it, Doc," Mildred broke in exasperatedly. She held out her hand. "Look."

  Squinting through the vapors, he saw a small metal object, nearly the size of her palm, nestled in her open hand. "An ankh amulet, like the one Danielson wore."

  "I filched it from Mimses."

  "Who?"

  "He used to be called Stockbridge. He's Pha­raoh's chief counselor."

  "Ah. And you decided to lift his jewelry as a prank?"

  Mildred grimaced. "Don't be deliberately obtuse, Doc. You're hard enough to stomach when you're unintentionally obtuse. It's more than jewelry. It's a talisman."

  Doc's eyebrows crawled toward his hairline. "We have fallen on sorry times indeed when our resident adherent to hard science resorts to the bead-and-rattle explanation."

  Mildred glared at him angrily. "Remember what Danielson said about Akhnaton stumbling on an­cient principles of energy transference and manipu­lation? He traced a relationship between the body's electromagnetic field and certain Egyptian glyphs. The ankh he wore protected him from the Incarnates' weapons, and he indicated it was also a psy­chic shield."

  Doc took the metal object from her hand and eyed it skeptically. "Yes, I recall him saying something along those lines. I do not recall that it correlated with the science I was taught…or practiced."

  "Your science is out-of-date," Mildred retorted. "Every substance, organic and inorganic, is sur­rounded by an energy field, an aura. Each field's intensity and quality is determined by the structure of its component molecules."

  "And?"

  "And the human nervous system, which is itself a conductor of electrical energy, can be influenced by the proximity of other substances that have strong fields. The amount of influence depends upon the frequency of the nerve and the pulsating frequency of the object. If the frequencies are a match, the strength of the nerve impulses can be increased, through the principle known as electronic cadence. If the fields are out of sync, the effect can be dele­terious."

  Doc no longer looked so doubtful.

  "We've already seen that the amulet worked to protect Danielson," Mildred continued. "This is ba­sic biochemistry, actually. Silver, copper and gold resonate with the body's energy field. Remember those crystal-and-gold gadgets in Ti-Ra'-Wa?"

  Doc nodded. The Amerindian inhabitants of that hidden Wyoming settlement had employed an an­cient understanding of the relationship between piezoelectric quartz crystals, metals and the energy generated by the mind to communicate telepathically with each other and higher animal forms.

  "Well, obviously, if the ankhs are made of certain metals and of certain designs, they can be used as a means of containing the life-force, what Danielson called the sekhem. He also said the ankh blocked Akhnaton's power so he couldn't be read."

  Doc smiled. "I see. If we wear the same amulets, then we would not only be immune to the metauh rods, but shield our minds from Akhnaton."

  "And possibly Nefron, his daughter. She's behind the so-called escape plan. She told me she sent a girl named Kela to talk to you."

  "Yes, this morning. You suspect this—Nefron, is it?—possesses a marked degree of psychic ability?"

  Mildred shrugged. "Stands to reason, doesn't it? She is her father's daughter, even if he doesn't want to recognize her as blood of his blood. Anyhow, she's made a lot of promises without mentioning any specifics. She keeps asking me to trust her. I don't."

  "A wise precaution, under the circumstances," Doc replied. "Oddly, my hairstylist was an elderly slyboots named Nasaris. He claimed he fell out of Pharaoh's favor because he made something he shouldn't have for Nefron. I received the distinct impression she had used him in some fashion. Per­haps he was the craftsman Danielson mentioned who made his ankh."

  "Perhaps. And if that's so, there may be a pot of intrigue boiling and Nefron wants to add us to the mix."

  "If we don't care to rely on her promises, then I hope you have something of a plan in mind."

  Mildred pinched the air between thumb and forefinger. "A germ of one. If you can, get the ankh to Ryan and J.B. and tell them what we've discussed. You seem to have the run of the compound."

  "So far." Doc slid the amulet into a fold of his breechclout. "I have yet to test my boundaries."

  Mildred smiled at him fondly and patted his cheek. "Keep testing them. But don't end up on the business end of one of those magic frog giggers."

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Nefron fetched Krysty at midmorning, presenting her with a bowl of fresh fruit, which she didn't sam­ple or even glance toward. The girl helped her to get dressed and apply her cosmetics.

  Sitting at a dressing table and brushing out her hair, Nefron asked, "Did you sleep well?"

  Krysty didn't answer. Her hair undulated and rip­pled under the soft, steady pressure of the brush.

  Leaning down, Nefron whispered, "I've managed to contact all of your friends."

  Krysty looked at her blankly. "What?"

  "Your friends…Mildred, Doc, J.B., Jak—and Ryan."

  Krysty's expression turned instantly into a mask of irritation. "Why whisper about them? Pharaoh is aware they are here."

  Nefron resumed brushing her hair. Then Krysty asked a question in an oddly listless tone. "You are Akhnaton's daughter, aren't you?"

  The brush halted in midstroke, and Krysty heard a sharp intake of breath from the young woman.

  "I am. Your friend Mildred knew that, so I as­sumed you did, as well."

  "You are the heir to the throne of Aten?"

  "No," Nefron answered quietly. "My father decreed that I was not worthy to continue the dynasty. He desires a son, a prince, not a princess."

  "How do you feel about that decision?" Krysty asked.

  "My feelings on the subject are not open for dis­cussion." Nefron's voice carried a sharp edge. She added, "I do as Pharaoh commands."

  There was silence until Nefron was finished brushing Krysty's hair. Wordlessly Nefron held a hand mirror before her. Krysty felt a shock at the unfamiliar features staring back at her. Every inch of her face was as carefully and sharply painted as an enameled doll's, her big eyes surrounded by fish-shaped black outlines.

  "Well—" Krysty let out a pent-up breath "—thank you."

  "We must go now. Pharaoh awaits."

  Krysty and Nefron went out and down the corri­dors to Akhnaton's study. He wasn't there, so while Nefron busied herself with pouring goblets of the dandelion wine, Krysty scanned the spines of the heavily laden bookshelves. The collection of predark books in the study seemed to number in the thousands. Krysty drew a leather-bound volume from the shelf at random. The words Alexander the Great were embossed on the leather cover. Although she hadn't had the benefit of an extensive education, she was far better read than most people eking out uncertain existences in Deathlands and she recog­nized the name.

  She flipped through the pages, scanning the life story of one of the ancient world's most famous con­querors. "From an early age, Alexander was not as other men," she read. "His abilities and powers of persuasion confounded all of his teachers, Aristotle among them."

  Krysty found herself frowning and she read the passage again. Powers of persuasion.

  "Nefron, what mischief have you been plotting now?"

  Akhnaton stood in the doorway, dressed much the same way as he had been the day before. His browned fists planted on his hips, he favored Nefron with an unblinking scarlet stare. "Answer me."

  Nefron's slender shoulders stiffened at the ques­tion. "What do you mean, Lord Pharaoh?"

  "The day watch reported that you were seen leav­ing the city walls on more than one occasion yes­terday. Since you should be preparing for the cere­mony rather than taking the air, I find it rather curious."

  "There is nothing curious about it, Lord Pharaoh. I was indeed preparing for the ceremony. I dis­patched m
y maid Kela to see if a new bed of flowers had bloomed."

  "Such fripperies are not within your realm of re­sponsibility," Akhnaton rumbled. "Speak the truth, girl."

  "I am, my lord. I swear it."

  Akhnaton barked out a scornful laugh. "If so, it would be the first time since your birth. You think because I cannot get a deep read on you, I do not know if you're lying. I do know, darlingest daugh­ter. I do."

  Krysty sensed Akhnaton's angry suspicion, and Nefron's fear came over her in a wave. The girl virtually cringed from her father's gaze. Krysty moved forward impulsively, gliding between the two. "There is no need for this."

  For a moment, lines of anger furrowed the man's high brow. Then, with an obviously conscious effort, he smoothed them away. He nodded deferentially to Krysty. "You are right. I slept badly and am out of sorts this morning. Nefron, leave us. I will summon you if I need you."

  The red glint of anger in the girl's eyes was masked by the downward sweep of her long lashes as she hurried out of the study.

  After she was gone, Krysty said, "She is quite good to me, Pharaoh. She has helped me in many ways to make my stay comfortable."

  "She was only following my express command. She has always followed her own agenda."

  "Then why do you keep her around if you mis­trust her?" Krysty asked.

  Akhnaton frowned. "I have my reasons."

  He dropped his eyes to the title of the book in her hands, and his frown turned into a rueful smile. "Is Alexander a subject of interest for you?"

  She laid it down rather guiltily on his desk. "No, not really."

  Akhnaton went to the sideboard and fetched her a goblet of the wine Nefron had poured. "In 332 B.C., Alexander the Great invaded Egypt and as­sumed the role of pharaoh. He didn't stay long, but his general and successor, Ptolemy, established a long dynasty, which included Cleopatra."

  He handed her the drinking cup, and for the first time, Krysty saw the marks on his arms and face, the slightly reddened lines of almost healed wounds.

  "She was queen in every sense of the word."

  Akhnaton continued. "And you look like a queen, as well…though a bit tired."

  "I didn't sleep well last night…like you," she answered softly.

  A sly smile touched Akhnaton's lips. "Bad dreams?"

  Krysty sipped the sweet liquid. "I haven't de­cided yet. Time will tell."

  "Perhaps you've made a decision regarding what we discussed yesterday."

  Tilting her head back slightly, she looked him squarely in the eye. "It's a lot to absorb in such a short time. I need more proof of our intertwined des­tinies than a reproduction of an ancient bust dug out of the ground half a world away."

  He angled an eyebrow at her. "Proof? Such as?"

  "Proof of your assertion that during the capstone ceremony we'll both be imbued with the powers of the gods." She spoke with a teasing, slightly sar­castic drawl.

  Akhnaton grinned boyishly, his teeth flashing whitely against his bronzed face. "I'll admit to over­stating on that, simply for dramatic effect. However, the principle is sound and the results will be much the same."

  "How?"

  He regarded her keenly, contemplatively for a moment, then plucked the goblet from her fingers. "Come with me and I will show you how."

  They left the study, walked side by side down the corridor, through an arched doorway into another corridor whose walls were inlaid with gold leaf and silver chasing. Brass centers swung from the ceiling, filling the passage with perfumed incense.

  "This part of the palace is forbidden to all," he said. "You are the only human being other than my­self who has been here."

  They turned down a smaller, narrower hallway that ended at a brass door. Over the arch, etched into a stone tablet, was a glyph resembling an up­side-down trident with jagged tines. Akhnaton turned the handle of the door and pushed it open.

  "It's not locked?" Krysty inquired curiously.

  Akhnaton pointed to the symbol above the door. "That is my cartouche. Any of my subjects who would dare trespass here would have to be mad or suicidal. Or both. Regardless of the cause, they would die."

  The door led onto a stair that plunged down at a forty-five degree angle into pitch blackness. Krysty hesitated. "I can't see a thing."

  Akhnaton held her hand tightly. "I'll see for both of us."

  He led her down. The stairway wasn't as long as she had imagined. At the foot of the steps, he tugged a dangling cord, and a light fixture blazed into daz­zling life overhead.

  Shielding her eyes, Krysty said, "Electric lights?"

  "Solar batteries," he replied, a tinge of pride col­oring his tone. "My own application."

  When her eyes adjusted to the glare, Krysty took a few steps forward, then stopped and stared. "Gaia," she breathed.

  Resting on the floor, its base occupying almost every centimeter of it, loomed a miniature replica of the pyramid. The point still towered a dozen feet above the floor, and its base was at least thrice that.

  The surface was incised with gold-painted hiero­glyphic characters, and short inscriptions covered all four sides. It glittered and sparkled under the light, as if it were dusted with powdered diamonds.

  "The capstone," Akhnaton announced. "A pyramidion I crafted myself, with my own hands, fol­lowing descriptions I found in the decoded Scrolls of Amenemhat."

  Krysty walked around the structure, noticing that its stone facade was shot through with gleaming specks of crystal. Reaching out to touch it, she felt a distinct tingling in her index finger. She mur­mured, "Piezoelectric properties."

  Akhnaton glanced at her in pleased, respectful surprise. "You are absolutely correct. The secret of so-called pyramid power. I have found three distinct energy forms generated by pyramids. The first is piezoelectric, the second electrostatic and I refer to the third as bioaural. You impress me with your knowledge."

  Krysty repressed a smile. She didn't mention how her training in manipulating earth energies had touched on the energy forces locked within crystal­line minerals, or even her experiences with the tele­pathy-inducing devices used by the Lakota of Ti-Ra'-Wa.

  "Certain types of crystal produce electromotive force," Akhnaton went on. "The King's Chamber in the pyramid is lined with tons of microscopic quartz and potassium-tartrate crystal particles. When this capstone is in place, the King's Chamber will be converted into a perpetual energy generator."

  "What kind of energy are you talking about?" Krysty asked.

  "Sekhem, the basic life-force of the universe." Akhnaton's voice was somber, portentous. "Do you know what this means?"

  "No," Krysty replied, though a notion was be­ginning to occur to her.

  "A normal human being inside the King's Cham­ber would be affected by the generated induction field. His brain-wave frequency would be disrupted, and his latent psionic talents may be triggered. He would no doubt dismiss these effects as hallucina­tions."

  Akhnaton stepped closer to her, standing behind her. "You and I already possess enhanced and ac­tive psi-abilities. The sekhem would interact with our abilities, magnifying them, amplifying them."

  Krysty felt a cold chill creep up her spine. "You're already one of the most powerful men I've ever met. Why do you want more?"

  "There are many powerful men," Akhnaton re­plied. "The world has no need of more of them. What it needs is a savior, a god…and a goddess."

  He touched her arms, turning her carefully to face him. "Can you conceive of the miracles we might work? Can you imagine what glories our offspring will be capable of? We will establish a new golden age for the earth, a place of beauty, free of fear, of want, of pain. Think of it—no more pain. We will be worshiped, and our memories will be worshiped for thousands of years. In that sense, our immortality is assured."

  His hands tightened on her arms, and he bent his crimson, yearning gaze on her face. "Help me. For the love of humanity, help me build this dynasty. Let us complete the dream we held in our earlier incarnations
, all those millennia ago."

  His words echoed, like the brazen toll of a bell. She felt her soul being drawn out by his eyes, pull­ing into him, joining, intermingling, entwining with his own spirit. There was a sensation of all sanity and stability crumbling beneath her.

  "Help me, Krysty. Love me as I love you. Help me."

  The roots of her prehensile hair prickled at her scalp. She could no longer see Akhnaton. It was as if the walls, the ceiling, the pyramidion had with­drawn from her. All she could see was a pair of eyes, flaming redly in the black gulfs of space.

  From somewhere in the shadows, a voice whis­pered, "I will."

  And she knew the voice had been her own.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Nefron strode swiftly but silently into a dim hall­way, the last stretch of a labyrinth that twisted and turned within the palace walls. She came to a small inner chamber lit by a single flickering taper. A dark man in a blue robe lounged on a settee.

  "Well, sweetie," Mimses said. "Your dupes are all in place. Strange tools, even for you."

  Nefron leaned against the wall and smiled crook­edly. "I imagine the newcomers believe me to be their tool."

  "Yeah," Mimses grunted. "You moved a little too impulsively, don't you think? You should've consulted me."

  "No time," Nefron retorted. "A profitable op­portunity presented itself and I seized it, just like you taught me."

  "Using my Incarnates was a good plan," he re­plied sourly.

  She grinned mockingly. "Except the newcomers killed the only ones you could trust."

  "And they'll pay for it."

  "Not for a while yet. Pharaoh is suspicious."

  Mimses's eyes widened at her words. "How do you know?"

  "One of the wall sentries saw me outside of the city yesterday, when Kela and I were hiding the al­bino."

  Mimses dry-washed his face with his hands. "Not good. Not good. If Pharaoh finds him—"

  "They won't. Kela has moved him twice already. I'm not even sure where he is right now, just in case Pharaoh tried to probe me."