by Gary Starta
As we ambled through the marbled hallways, Brahms explained his frustration at the sat phones. We both agreed our signals had been unscrambled. Was Sweeney to blame? We didn’t have time to whine. We needed, I needed, to unlock the God Maker and become the goddess I suppose I was destined to be.
On the way, Fenton divulged more. A lot more than I expected.
“We could aid each other,” Fenton said. “I realized the Entourage were using us.”
I just had to interrupt. “You said the Entourage. Don’t you mean the Ennead as well?”
He shook his head. “No. It’s the Entourage who have been poisoned. A defector, or defectors, has promised them a holy life in a new land. I believe it’s off world. But I also believe it’s in our interest to stop them. I know we won’t be rewarded for—our services.” At that revelation, he seemed genuine, displeased with his actions.
“But how would you help us? I mean, how could we trust you to help us?” Brahms intervened. “You saw your friends die. I think you want to get close to us so you can enact revenge.” Brahms shook his head at Fenton, a sarcastic grin washing over his face.
“I don’t care about my friends. Didn’t you watch them abandon me? Besides, we have a higher purpose. Individuality is a sin.”
I chewed on his proposal. “Brahms, I’ll give this man a chance. But I want you to keep an eye on him.”
He stammered, momentarily forgetful of what I was about to do. I would become Isis. I didn’t know what would happen to be honest. I didn’t know if I, Caitlin Diggs—would even return. But I knew allowing Isis to leave her dormant state was our best defense at preventing what we all feared would happen.
“Of course,” Brahms said. He turned to Fenton and tugged on his collar. “I’ll make sure this rat bastard lives up to his word.”
Fenton appeared nonplussed by the manhandling.
He tugged at Brahms’ shirt in what the doctor took as sign of mockery.
“You think I’m feeble. I’ll beat the shit out of you,” Brahms retorted.
I waved off Brahms’ aggression by patting his shoulder. “I think our guest has something to tell us.”
Fear overtook Fenton. He perspired even more than in the desert confines.
“I implore you to believe me. This news makes controlling the Labyrinth imperative.”
What Fenton told us was disheartening. The US Capitol Building in Washington, DC had just blipped out of existence. But according to Fenton, the misplacement of building’s contents was even more disturbing than the real possibility of dead senators and congress people.
“The dome contains equipment. Equipment we could have used to take power away from the visitors. It could have redirected the energy stream from the ley lines so the Labyrinth might not be used for destructive purposes. I know what I’m saying sounds fantastical—”
Brahms cut him off. “No. It doesn’t sound fantastical at all. You have a harmonic oscillator in that dome, don’t you?” Brahms didn’t even acknowledge Fenton’s confirmation. “I should have known,” the scientist continued.
I was sure as hell what presumption Brahms had deduced made perfect sense to him but it left all of us befuddled.
By the time Brahms finished explaining how ley lines might be the equivalent of a dark matter stream I was as lost as when I first entered the Labyrinth. But I would have to trust Brahms’ theorizing. I even hoped as Isis came to prominence, she might be more science savvy than me. Okay. I know what you’re thinking. Probably wouldn’t need to be a goddess to have a higher aptitude than me. Probably any regular schmuck might do… Well, I’ll let you have this one. Just remember what I’m prepping myself to do.
Briana hugged me hard, a Nile-worthy trail of tears flowing down her cheeks. Charlize held my hands for a long time. Her grip gave me assurance I was doing the right thing. I kissed Brahms on the cheek. Surprisingly, Fenton stood his ground, contemplating the machine with unbridled agog. He didn’t move one of his aching bones to flee, enraptured by the technology of the Ennead.
Yes, it was mind-blowing. A tube which could birth, transform and retool the building blocks of life. Making whatever it wished out of genetic coding. Or making what it didn’t wish as well. The power must have been encompassing and unbridled. And I’m sure the Ennead and their counterparts misused this machine on more than one occasion. I was also quite sure their enemies in the flying black discs had something to do with all of this. But whose ever side I was now taking, I had to believe Isis was independent of any misdeeds. I didn’t hear another word from Bastet on the matter so I decided to proceed. Only before I did, Brahms spoke up.
“Don’t you want to know how Charlize and I got here?”
I grinned. “I would bet my human life it was your teleportation machine.” At this moment, the irony was staggering. Brahms’ machine resembled it quite closely. But Brahms machine intended to take me back to my specific and personal past. This machine threatened to take me to a precarious future; and possibly a future, which didn’t include any version of Special Agent Caitlin Diggs whatsoever.
I realized in a nanosecond what was on the line for me. I might lose my chance to return to my family, my real sister, Tara. I also might lose all that I had gained in my alternate world. The new family that surrounded me—Briana, Brahms and Charlize.
Everything to lose and I had only a mere hope of what to gain. I must have touched the crystal for some reason. Isis needed to return. This seemed a great moment in time for her reawakening. So maybe I was just humanity’s sacrifice.
The machine buzzed and I heard the clap of the cover sealing me into its tube.
Somehow, Brahms knew what to do with the sistrums; alternating their stick-like endings into what resembled glass tubing on the machine’s perimeter. I realized some of the keys were meant for the other nine; Nephthys included. Had I misjudged her? Was she really an ally? A true, beloved sister of Isis who aided the goddess in her greatest time of sorrow, the death of her beloved husband, Osirus?
I might soon find out. A whirring sound emanated from outside the machine as Brahms apparently unearthed the appropriate container. The sistrum rattled for its last time, shattering into pieces, spilling what I could only imagine to be some sort of biological content into a waiting tube.
As the liquid trickled in the tube, almost instantly converting into a waft of thick white smoke, another liquid concoction began to fill the machine simultaneously. The amber-like liquid I witnessed in my dream vision.
It wasn’t uncomfortable. It was a pretty, sparkly form of anesthesia, but one that seemed to be designed for high-end buyers on Fifth Avenue with its iridescent shine. I’d be sure to make note of this to Brahms when I…
Chapter 20
Isis Takeover
Three millennia of dormancy had come to an end with my reawakening. In my struggle to resume a corporeal state, I shifted my weight unwilling to wait for the people surrounding me to assist. The amber now drained from my glass residence allowed me space but I moved awkwardly in it, appreciating how easily my host Caitlin Diggs had maneuvered and mastered her active state.
Now I would begin a journal of my incarnation; my return as one of the divine nine of the Ennead, Egypt’s lady of the lotus or simply, Isis. But their shouting distracted me.
The youngest one, Charlize, bobbed her pony-tailed headdress in unbridled gyrations. I gestured for her to speak.
“We are excited. We are in a state of glee at your return. We are humbled, my Star of the Sea.”
The man of science, Brahms, laid a hand on her shoulder and his face wrinkled a bit before he spoke. “Come now, Charlize. The woman needs some air, and some space, after her ordeal.” But even this man could not restrain an emotion I’d frequently witnessed on my beloved Egyptians. It was akin to wonder. As Charlize reminded him this was a once in a lifetime event, his lips curled into a smile and his eyes sparkled with that wonder. “Yes, I suppose it is, my dear,” Brahms exclaimed. He patted his daughter on the shoulder. �
�A scientific marvel,” he added.
The woman with hair the color of strawberries gazed upon me with apprehension. I smiled back, warmly. “I know your friend would be glad to see you again, Briana,” I said. I had all their names and their corresponding characteristics filed in memory, in Caitlin Diggs’ memory. I dared not seek any more information from her database. Just as I feared harming Caitlin when my genetic predisposition was dormant, I again hesitated to push the boundaries of our mind and body share with my rekindled sentience.
I didn’t know the pained man, the one who wore white garb and favored an injured leg. Assuming Caitlin did not know much about this man either, I was careful not to show this stranger too much leniency. Consequently, I leered at him, almost feeling like Caitlin must have when she interrogated her suspects. I essentially had her face so this shouldn’t have come as a surprise to me. Yet, Briana and Charlize soon informed me I didn’t exactly look like their Caitlin anymore and that I appeared a good fifteen years younger than their courageous agent of law.
The law reminded me of my duty. I had never thought of guiding the peoples of Egypt to the right path or even fending off the attacks of fellow divinity in any equivalent definition. I concluded law was a modern-day principle. But I would adhere to this principle in order to protect the people of this world. To that end, I attempted to stroll from my tube, unassisted. When I stumbled, it was the stranger named Fenton who assisted. Horror washed over Brahms’ features. I assured him the man was only aiding me. Brahms sneered at Fenton, regardless, adding, “When we need your assistance we’ll ask for it.”
I made my way to a control center, some fifteen rooms to the northeast corner of the Labyrinth. There, I constructed a barrier to prevent the Entourage from gaining any further remote access. Brahms’ eagerness to absorb information necessitated an explanation. I told him I affected the Entourage’s conscious stream so their minds could not impact the Labyrinth’s capabilities. The man of science wasn’t satisfied. He asked if this conscious stream was not one and the same as dark matter, while the Wiccan woman complained the stream was more akin to a power current located underneath the Earth in what was known as ley lines. We spoke English to each other but had distinct differences when it came to categorization. My perceptive mind advised me this pair of people had argued over what means the Ennead employed to power their vessels and effect changes on elemental properties for some time.
Briana pointed a finger at Brahms. “Why can’t we just call it magic?” she asked in a demanding tone, arms crossed.
Brahms catapulted himself forward to me, exclaiming, “Isis, can’t you assure this woman you have converted scientific theories to scientific facts? We all need to come out of the dark ages, for Farady’s sake!”
Brahms assertion that the gods, goddesses and ancient peoples of Egypt had existed in something termed as “dark ages” annoyed me. But further contemplation of Briana’s assessment gave me pause as well because, via Diggs, I realized magicians in this world were often labeled charlatans. What the Ennead did was never categorized in such fashion. It was a natural course of harmony my people were all accustomed to. We were the universe, and the universe was us. Yet it would be a daunting task to convince these people otherwise.
I challenged Brahms to take a walk with me, through our history. As he pondered just what this challenge involved, I employed telepathy known as a homing signal to communicate with the Ennead. I requested they make haste to join me in the Labyrinth but to shroud their departures in as much secrecy as possible, requesting their respective government people to provide chaperones, preferably ones armed with weapons in case the Entourage interfered.
Brahms and Briana exchanged glances, allying themselves to one another in shared thought. They both doubted inviting the other eight Ennead members to our gated palace was prudent. But Fenton interrupted Charlize’s singing, a form of healing she could conjure from her mind, to speak. He reiterated the Entourage were prime suspects in the plan to terraform the moon, leaving their fellow gods and goddesses to die with the people who worshipped them. I agreed this was a wise assessment. I added that the Ennead might aid us in a confrontation with the prime instigators of the deadly plan, namely Hathor.
But Brahms couldn’t help himself from intervening. “What aid could the Ennead give us? They are all suffering from oxidative stress by my assessment. And I believe that it is only you, Isis, who is not affected by this planet’s toxins and diseases.”
I nodded in agreement. “I enjoy immunity because in effect I never left this planet. Although my coding was absorbed in crystal for much of that time, that dormancy was more hibernation than death; therefore, Brahms, you would be correct in your scientific analysis.” I grinned at the man to judge if he would be appeased so easily but he jammed his hands into his coat’s pockets as if he wanted to distance himself. I spied Charlize smiling back at me. She then resumed her singing, willing Fenton’s wound to heal. Born with a mind so similar to ours, she understood. It was difficult for me to understand how the man who created her could not.
“Maybe I’m being selfish,” I said to everyone. “It’s not solely the aid of the Ennead I am seeking.”
Charlize, kneeling on the ground, reached a hand up to tug at her father’s sleeve. “She’s only acting to protect her family,” she told him.
I observed Brahms’ paternal intuition usurp his cold rationale.
“I guess we can’t argue with that, my sweet.”
It was an opportune moment to see if Brahms would take me up on my challenge. “Doctor, are you ready to take that walk now?”
* * * *
Brahms agreed we had sufficient time to indulge his curiosities. The Ennead would take plane and car to our sequestered destination. It would take at least a few Earth hours. But even though he’d agreed, he still wore a resistant look, maybe trying to conceal another human emotion. I’d invited Brahms to peer into what he associated as the unknown. I expected gratitude. But I observed his hands. Although out of his pockets, they were vibrating.
He noticed my observation. “Oh, my hands are shaking. Must be lack of sustenance, I assume. Does the Labyrinth provide sustenance? Maybe there’s some kind of matter dispenser that could provide us food, drink?”
His idea gave me one. “Yes, we can enjoy a meal later—from the ‘matter dispensers’ you speak of.” He smiled but his eyes revealed he was unnerved, possibly by my choice of words.
I took his hand into mine. “I’m not patronizing you, doctor. We just don’t label the same way you do. In fact, I’ll demonstrate use of one of our ‘matter dispensers’ right now.” I’d witnessed, through Caitlin Diggs’ eyes, what comforted humans. It wouldn’t be hard to gain some of this man’s trust and at the same time lower his blood pressure.
I fashioned a couch with a floral imprint, one of lotus flowers sprouting from the rich mud of the Nile Delta. My Egyptian people had never failed to thank me for keeping the land fertile and nutrient-rich for their farming needs. I supposed I should have told them my simple secret—composting. Yet goddesses, when worshipped and adored, fall prey to feelings of pride and omnipotence just like any other being. It is why I believed Hathor was indeed a dangerous deity, albeit a reconstituted one. I promised my interactive, biologically-intuitive journal that I would explain this in time, hopefully before the onslaught of the angry, delusional reconstitutes befell us.
But now I needed to appease the unsettled scientist with something more than a pretty couch. I willed a crystal skull to appear in the palm of my right hand, in the left I willed two artifacts to materialize. Both identical, the artifacts were Ibis-headed ivory, Thoth amulets. Thoth was not only a possible arch-enemy but the god of writing so I assumed the presence of his essence would ease Brahms’ interpretation of my history lesson.
I kept one of the amulets in my hand and gave the other to Brahms, who rubbed it, possibly attempting to absorb its knowledge. Or maybe just a nervous reaction—I couldn’t discern. The reptile bird-hea
ded god carried an ankh before him. Like Diggs’s ankh tattoo, I believed the symbol of life would aid in bringing my story to life for Brahms. I would be interpreting the hieroglyphics imbedded in the video stream for the scientist. He would simply be what I observed Diggs to call a “couch potato” watching the video emanating from the crystal skull.
“So you maintained your existence, in this, this crystal?” Brahms asked, pointing with his free hand to the skull.
“The Book of Thoth and the emerald tablet are contained in the Labyrinth’s Hall of Records, in crystal form. Words, objects and beings transmute from a living form to a more inanimate composition, and then reciprocate. I don’t believe we have time for you to digest all that knowledge, however. I hope you will accept the short form of our people’s history.”
“The Book of Thoth is something Thoth wouldn’t want to fall into the wrong hands, I assume,” Brahms posited to no one in particular.
At least I perceived that to be the case as the man didn’t make eye contact with me. Briana and Charlize were thirty-three rooms away tending to Fenton’s injury. Who else could this man of science be talking to? It didn’t seem rational to me.
“It’s probably how Hathor polluted his mind,” I responded as if Brahms had asked me. Now we were both effectively talking to ourselves; a concept quite natural to human beings, I’d learned. But for us, the people of Sirius, we had to rein in errant thoughts because these thoughts might activate a sequence of events in response. In Brahms’ words, we might “manipulate the dark matter stream” to desired outcomes. Brahms explained how he believed thoughts could affect his reality. Casting doubt might make one incapable of completing a task, while projecting positivity might to lead the opposite effect—changing genetic coding so one might become enhanced with new abilities to face a challenge. I laughed at how Brahms failed to project his wish that a local grocery might procure his beloved semolina. I found my eyes tearing, thinking about how my people loved their beer and onions. We made these offerings plentiful to pyramid builders in particular as a reward for creating our power plants. Oh, wait a minute. I’m getting ahead of myself. I commanded my interactive journal to edit these comments so they would run in logical procession. I was anticipating that my upcoming explanation of Zep Tepi would allow the man of science to fathom that pyramids were not solely erected to become tombs for dead pharaohs. They were also sources of great energy, energy we would tap into to keep things like spacecraft operable but also to ensure our biological essence would always be capable of crafting our every wish. Yet right now in our present condition, the gods and goddesses of this current world possessed failing minds and were becoming more and more dependent on these energy sources to run their every command. It was becoming a dangerous practice. A deduction I wanted to deny. In order to become distracted, I powered up the crystal skull, linking it with our minds and amulets in tandem, so both of us might take a trip down a very ancient memory lane.
