Edge of Dawn

by Melinda Snodgrass

  “Okay.” Richard settled back, his head on Weber’s shoulder.

  “There was one point … last night when you seemed … scared. Did I do—”

  Richard laid a hand across the older man’s mouth. “No, you didn’t do anything, and yes, I was afraid, but only for a moment because it was you and I knew I didn’t have to be afraid.”

  “Something happened. What?”

  So Richard told him because he didn’t want any lies or secrets between them. It was all laid out, about how sex had been his drug of choice, about Drew and the Russians, the rape and the aftermath.

  “You’re looking quite fierce,” Richard said softly.

  “Yeah,” Weber growled. “I want to find that asshole and kill him.”

  “I’ve had a lot of time to think about that night. I’ve come to realize that Drew was probably freaked out by what had happened. So he panicked and handled it badly. If he’d taken care of me, gotten me to a doctor instead of dumping me like so much trash, I probably would have ended up feeling pathetically grateful to him. And I wouldn’t have met Sergeant McGowan. I wouldn’t have become a cop…” Richard paused. “And I wouldn’t have met you.”

  “Okay, I won’t kill him, but I still want to punch him out.”

  “I took care of Drew. I wrecked his company.”

  “Good.” Weber touched him between the brows. “What? You’re looking upset.”

  “I’ve discovered I can be a very vengeful person, Damon. It’s a side of me that I don’t particularly like.”

  “Sometimes the assholes just deserve it.”

  “Maybe. But I don’t want to become one too while I dish out their deserts—justified or otherwise.”

  Richard slipped out of bed and pulled on his jeans, slipped his feet into his loafers. He stuffed his socks into his jacket pockets, inspected the abused shirt, and settled for just carrying it along with the holstered gun. He headed for the door.

  “Hey,” Weber called. Richard paused, looked back inquiringly. “You were right.”

  “About what?”

  “You are pretty damn good at this.”

  The muezzin’s call began. The haunting sound stabbed him to the heart, and Richard suddenly felt very lonely and, like Mosi, very far from home. He longed to climb back into the bed with Weber and forget about Lumina, the sword, Old Ones, everything but this man and this moment. But Mosi deserved better, so he squared his shoulders. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

  “I just need to practice more.”

  “That can be arranged. See you at breakfast.”

  Chapter

  SEVENTEEN

  RICHARD tapped on Mosi’s door at seven thirty. She opened it. “Good morning,” he said, then added as gently as he could, “Next time ask me to identify myself before you open the door. Make sure it’s someone you recognize before you open it.” He tried not to make it seem like criticism, but he obviously failed because the child wilted. Richard fought back the urge to hug her; instead he knelt so he was looking up at Mosi. “I’m sorry, honey, I wasn’t trying to be mean.” He hesitated, then went on. “We are in danger, and I want you to keep safe.”

  “Okay, I won’t mess up again. Can I have a gun?”

  “We have to find you one that will fit your hand.” Richard could just imagine Pamela, and Amelia, for that matter, swelling with outrage at the very suggestion he would arm a nine-year-old child. It wasn’t making him all that comfortable either, but their situation was bad, maybe even desperate. “Shall we get breakfast?”

  “Uh-huh. I’m hungry.”

  They climbed the stairs to the breakfast room. The day was clear and beautiful, with a few puffy white clouds to offer contrast to the deep blue of the sky. The scientists were already there and eating like starving Cossacks, but still managing to talk an incomprehensible mélange of scientific jargon. Occasionally, a word would float by that Richard recognized. Quantum, mass, light speed. Kenntnis, an unblinking and enigmatic figure, sat silently in their midst. Occasionally, Trout or Chen would put a slice of bread or a piece of cucumber in his hand, which he would hold for a few moments, then drop back onto the table.

  Richard led Mosi over to the buffet table laid out with loaves of crusty bread to be sliced, platters of cheese and cold cuts, fresh tomatoes and cucumbers, hard-boiled eggs, a bowl of muesli, hot water for instant coffee and tea, and three pitchers: one with milk, another with clear golden apple juice, and another containing an orange liquid that was no color known in nature. The young man on duty saw Richard frowning at the bright orange fluid and said with obvious pride, “We serve genuine Tang.”

  “Huh, really. How interesting. I didn’t know anybody used Tang anymore,” Richard replied.

  “The astronauts use Tang,” the young man said with no small amount of disapproval at Richard’s lack of respect.

  Richard, trying to correct the misstep, hurriedly said, “Yes, you’re right, and that makes it very … cool.”

  He turned to Mosi. “What would you like?”

  “I want the astronaut stuff.”

  “Okay.”

  He poured a glass of Tang for the girl, then helped himself to a glass of apple juice. She took a sip and made a face. She motioned to him urgently. He leaned down and she whispered in his ear, “This is awful.”

  Richard chuckled and traded glasses with her. “What do you want to eat?”

  “I don’t know. This is kinda weird.”

  “How about some cereal?”

  “Okay.”

  He helped her get a bowl prepared and saw her settled at a table, then Richard went back to the buffet and got a slice of bread and butter. A now even more familiar presence loomed up next to him. “You need some protein. Have an egg, or put some meat on that bread.”

  Richard glanced up at Weber from beneath his lashes and gave him a crooked smile. “Do you have any idea how suggestive that sounds?” he asked softly. Damon’s cheeks reddened, and he gave a cough that was both embarrassed and pleased.

  “Doesn’t diminish my point. Eat something.”

  “Okay.” He picked up a hard-boiled egg, and they joined Mosi at her table.

  “What are we doing today?” she asked.

  “We’re going to another city.”

  “Will we be safer there?”

  “Yes.” Richard hoped it was true.

  Lieutenant Kartal marched in a few minutes later. He looked incredibly rested for someone who had been up all night. Richard suddenly felt thirty rushing at him as he contemplated the younger man. “The cars are here.”

  They didn’t return to the commercial airport but instead were driven to a nearby military base. A large helicopter squatted on the tarmac like a prehistoric beast with skin of tan and green. General Marangoz stood by the steps, along with four heavily armed soldiers. The Lumina refugees piled out of the cars.

  Jerry contemplated the chopper, sucked at his cheek, and spat out a glob of phlegm. “Never thought I’d be riding in one of these fuckers again.”

  “I hear you,” Weber said.

  “Well, at least nobody will be shooting at us,” Brook said as he joined them.

  “You hope,” Cross said cheerily as he walked past.

  “You’re a real asshole. You know that, don’t you?” Jerry said to the homeless god.

  “Guys, ixnay on the ursingcay, okay?” Richard said, and glanced down at Mosi.

  The men shuffled and looked embarrassed. “Uh, yeah, right,” Jerry said. “Forget sometimes.”

  Lieutenant Kartal saluted the general and bid them farewell. Richard helped Mosi up the steps and surveyed the interior of the craft. He’d flown on a lot of helicopters, but only commercial passenger models. The seats looked functional and utilitarian rather than comfortable, and the interior seemed cavernous despite the presence of a large tank that looked rather like a hot-water heater that was taking up the back half of the cabin.

  “What’s that?” Richard asked.

  “Extra fuel,” Brook answe
red. “That’s why the Mi-17 has the range it’s got.”

  “We will be able to reach Pamukkale and then on to Ankara without needing to refuel,” General Marangoz explained. “We wish to give your enemies no chance to anticipate your location.”

  “Makes sense,” Weber said.

  Richard was not reassured. “So there’s a load of gas in that thing?”

  “Yes,” the general answered.

  “Then I really hope nobody shoots at us.”

  Brook and Jerry sat as close to the cockpit as they could manage. Richard wondered if pilots were terrible backseat drivers. The door was closed, and the rotors began beating. The whine and roar of the turbines was like a fist beating on his chest and set Richard’s ears to ringing. There was a lurch, and the helicopter started to lift.

  Mosi stared out the round window. Her lips were slightly parted and she looked down at the receding runway with an expression of wonder. She continued to stare, rapt, until they had left Istanbul behind them and the ground below was indistinct and less interesting. Then she turned to Richard. He could see her mouth moving and had a vague sense of sound.

  He leaned in close and yelled, “What?”

  Mosi put her lips to his ear and shouted, “This is cool. I’ve been on a little plane, and a fancy plane, and now a helicopter. I’ve never done any of those things before.” Richard watched as the pleasure faded and her eyes seemed to go flat. “Abel would have really liked this.”

  Once again he had the urge to hug her, but he pulled his arm back down. He was starting to have a better sense of how to read her body language. This was not a moment where she would welcome comfort. He settled for a nod, then leaned his head against the armored wall of the cabin and tried to sleep. He failed.

  A few hours later, Marangoz stood and lurched over to Richard. He pointed at a window. “Pamukkale,” he yelled.

  Richard cranked around to look out. Below was a small town, and ahead were high white cliffs. Within moments they were over the cliffs and the true beauty and form were revealed. What from a distance had appeared to be just white cliffs was in fact a series of blindingly white terrace pools holding shimmering aquamarine water. Water cascaded from pool to pool. On the topmost level of the cliffs, icicles appeared to be hanging off the rocks. On one edge of the cliffs, a weathered stone building was half buried in what looked like glittering snow. Richard couldn’t help it. He gasped.

  “Cotton castle. That’s what Pamukkale means in Turkish,” Marangoz shouted.

  By now all the Lumina people were huddled at windows, staring at the wonder below. “What made it?” Richard yelled over the beat of the rotors and the rumble of the engine.

  Eddie spoke up. “It’s travertine forming the pools. There must be hot springs that are precipitating calcium carbonate.”

  “Exactly correct,” General Marangoz said approvingly.

  Then the pools were behind them, and the chopper was sweeping over tumbled ruins, all that remained of the Greek and Roman spa town of Hierapolis. An enormous Roman amphitheater swept past beneath them, the stone seats forming a horseshoe and falling steeply to a stage that still held a few broken columns. On all sides of the helicopter, there were half walls of long fallen and forgotten buildings. Marble columns thrust up like broken teeth from brown and green gums. In an area of open ground, the helicopter dropped slowly and settled with a sway and a bump. The engine shut down. The silence was almost shocking after the constant noise.

  Richard unhooked his seat belt, stood up, and groaned. “Shi—” He broke off abruptly. “I feel like somebody’s been punching me in the kidneys.”

  The former soldiers laughed, and Weber slapped him on the back. “Too many rides in limos and flights on G5s or G8s or whatever you’ve got now. Getting a little soft there, Oort.”

  “Yeah, feel free to give the macho bullshit a rest,” he shot back, then winced at the profanity after he’d just lectured the others.

  They all clambered down and stood in a field of grass. Richard wondered what sort of picture they would have presented. Sixteen men if you counted the crew of the helicopter and one young girl. And what a disparate group they were. Eddie still had on the suit he’d worn for the tour. The other scientists were dressed very casually. Cross looked like a derelict. Kenntnis was a massive figure dressed in a black suit. There were armed soldiers. Richard realized that he didn’t see any people moving through the ruins.

  “Did you close it off?” he asked Marangoz, and swept his arm in a wide arc.

  “Of course. We wanted no disturbance.” Marangoz left two of the guards with the pilots and helicopter, and headed off at a brisk pace in the direction of the cliffs. “The mosaic you want to see is in a building near the theater.” They all trailed after him. Mosi was at Richard’s side, her head turning from side to side as she surveyed the ruined city.

  “This is like Chaco, but … more. Who made this?”

  “Lots of people. Greeks and Romans, Byzantines and Turks.”

  “We’re very small, aren’t we?”

  “I suppose when you measure us against the sweep of history … yes, we are.”

  “Recently archaeologists discovered the Gates of Hell at this site,” Marangoz said cheerfully.

  Mosi shrank against Richard’s side, and a small hand was slipped into his.

  “It’s not really the gate to hell. There is no such thing as hell,” Richard said quickly. Although I suppose some of those worlds I’ve seen through the tears would qualify. That was information that Mosi did not need, not until she was much older.

  The general seemed to realize the misstep and explained, “Mr. Oort is right. In the olden days it was known as Pluto’s Gate.”

  Mosi’s nose wrinkled. “Pluto? He’s Mickey’s dog. In the cartoons.”

  Richard choked back a laugh. Eddie and Ranjan weren’t as successful. Their laughter echoed off the ruins. Mosi drew herself up stiffly, angry at the laughter.

  “Pluto was what the Romans called the god of the underworld,” Richard explained to Mosi. “It wasn’t hell exactly. It was just the place where the dead went.” While he was talking, he noticed Kenntnis beginning to crane his head. The skin between his brows wrinkled.

  Mosi’s lower lip was outthrust, and she had folded her arms, presenting a picture of offended dignity.

  “I apologize,” Richard said softly. “We shouldn’t have laughed at you.”

  “No, you shouldn’t have.” She unbent a bit and asked, “So, what is it if it’s not really a gate to hell?” She still sounded grumpy.

  “It’s a cave that has ruined columns and an altar, a bathing pool. There is a lot of vulcanism here. That’s what makes the water hot, but it can also release toxic fumes. They are concentrated in this cave. Anything that went inside died, so the ancients decided it was the route to the underworld,” Marangoz explained.

  “What’s vul … vulcanism?” Mosi asked.

  “Why don’t you walk with our scientists for a minute and they can explain more?” Richard suggested. She nodded and moved to join Eddie, Chen, Rangan, and Trout.

  Richard dropped back to Kenntnis’s side and looked up into that dark face. The man seemed more present than he had in a long time. “Do you remember this place, sir?” Richard asked softly. He didn’t get an answer, but for a brief moment it felt like his words might have been more than mere sound to the alien.

  They skirted the edge of the gigantic amphitheater. Wind sighed in pine trees that stood like sentries on the horizon and bent the grass. Unfamiliar birdsong danced in the air. Marangoz led them down a path and toward a building that was reasonably intact. A modern metal roof had been placed over one part of what had clearly once been a Roman villa. They entered and were on an elevated walkway suspended a few feet above the floor. Each room had an elaborate mosaic floor, and many of the walls still held painted designs of flowers, Greek keys, landscapes. The work was beautiful.

  “They understood perspective,” Chen said in wonder.

 
“Yep, invented concrete, glass windows, had hydraulics. Then you monkeys got really stupid and gave us the Dark Ages, the Black Death, and the Crusades. To which my kind all said, Why, thank you very much.” Cross’s sarcasm was acid on the words.

  “Not my people,” Chen shot back. “We were block-printing books and founding the Sung Dynasty and inventing gunpowder.”

  “And my people invented chess, and the concept of zero, the decimal, the square root and the cube root, and algebra,” Ranjan broke in.

  “Well, I’m sure not going to thank you for that one,” Weber said.

  Richard felt a headache coming on, but he just couldn’t muster the energy to shut them all up. Then he didn’t have to because Eddie jumped in.

  “Hey, dudes, isn’t this the kind of shit that Lumina was founded to combat? That whole xenophobic my-shit’s-better-than-your-shit stuff?”

  “Perhaps a few too many ‘shits,’” Richard said with a significant look down at Mosi. “But we get your drift. Thank you, Ed—” Richard broke off, stammering his way into silence.

  They had entered a large room. The walls were painted to resemble a summer sky. Despite the fading of centuries, the blue and the clouds conjured a sense of peace and ease. In this room, the elaborate floor mural had been covered with a layer of protective glass—it truly was remarkable.

  It showed a banqueting scene. Men and women dressed in togas and stolas lounged on couches; one man wore a laurel wreath. The table was covered with trays of delicacies, and slaves were dotted around the table forever frozen at their tasks. In one corner, musicians played. Standing at the end of the table was a Roman soldier, his helmet beneath his arm, the other hand resting on the hilt of his sword—a series of interlocking gray curves. A Klein bottle at a time when such a thing shouldn’t have existed. Richard knew that hilt. He had carried it, fitted it to his hand for the past three years of his life.

  And standing behind the Roman officer and towering over him was Kenntnis. He was dressed in a plain tunic and sandals. The long-dead artist had captured some of the unique qualities of Kenntnis’s face, and obsidian had been used for his skin. Seeing even a representation of the sword brought back to Richard the desperateness of their situation and his own culpability in the disaster. He had to grip the rail on the walkway to keep from dropping to his knees. The exhaustion he had been holding at bay fell on him like an avalanche.