by Gary Starta
“I had once pieced Charlize together. With Isis’ aid, this might be doable.”
I watched Brahms smile at me with sad eyes. “No, Agent Diggs, her composition has been too compromised in this case. And making a duplicate of her, a reanimate, in any event, would never do justice.”
Now that Brahms was coming to terms with his daughter’s decimation, I steered him back to the problem at the hand. As an FBI agent I knew it was the right thing to do. We still had lives to preserve. As a person and a friend, I felt worse than horrible if there ever was such a condition.
After he surveyed instrument panels, he announced the plan had worked. By evidence of the flailing, landing ships below us, the harmonic oscillations had sapped a key energy source.
“What about the snakes? “ I asked Brahms. “Will they pose danger to the people outside the ships?”
“They should be sustainable just as any other organism. I hadn’t projected these people, these gods, would be foolish enough to expose themselves to the beasts.”
We jiggled controls to zoom monitors in and out. It was haphazard viewing at best. Charlize had the touch when it came to the ship’s control board. Her echo, the very words she left us with, haunted me as I fidgeted with dials.
“How did Charlize get these screens to work?” I asked in half-frustration to everyone. “I can’t seem to make out a single face down there.”
We all squinted at the screens. Moments passed. Finally, we were all sure of one thing. The Virmana was among the landing ships. In the corridor of sands, a being strode with confidence. Judging by outward appearances, it had to be Hathor. A winged solar disk sat atop her head. The glowing white orb produced a series of white flashes. The searing arcs of light compelled us to observe in fascination and horror. It soon became clear she was using the light to train the snakes. They came together from dormant ships and slithered along the sand, tongues as large as construction vehicles dangling and darting from vise-like mouths, finally bowing before her.
Clutching a was, she raised a balled fist and mouthed something only Isis could lipread over the screens.
She said, “Thank you for giving me the means to defeat the traitors.”
* * * *
“What are our options?” I asked hoarsely moments later with as much FBI take-charge-kind-of-attitude I could muster.
Briana’s gaze shot this way and that. “No.” I said to her. Elemental magic was out of the question.
And now that zero point energy or the dark matter stream had been taken offline, I didn’t there was much we could do to manipulate circumstances further. A blast of weaponry from the Labyrinth was possible but again we didn’t want to obliterate our perps nor the beings they were battling.
“I propose we land the ship.” I paused to make eye connection with Isis. “If that’s at all possible…”
She nodded it was.
“And then?” Brahms asked.
“We also engage in hand-to-hand combat. We don’t have any options. We need to stop them with as much damage control as we can. I’m sure the the Ennead will assist.”
“But those snakes, Agent Diggs. I engineered them to be quite deadly.”
“Oh.” I said. I allowed myself only a few more seconds of contemplation. I then shook my head and rapped my knuckles against a control screen. “I don’t think we can play it safe. Charlize didn’t.” I nodded to Brahms. He nodded back. “Let’s find a way to land this thing…” I wouldn’t verbalize my other motivation for fighting to the death if need be. Hathor still had my Bastet.
The ship lurched and shuddered. Being as large as it was, I didn’t believe I would experience motion sickness as on a plane. I was wrong. I was held steady through it all however. Brahms explained it was sophisticated anti-gravity technology that made this possible.
I was feeling my skin was as green as the rejuvenated Ennead as we gathered in a weapons room. Stocking up on projectiles, such as spears, we armed ourselves with as much as we could carry. I cautioned Seth from taking the heavy artillery. Although after he left, I made sure I had that nifty boomerang-shaped hand weapon I’d used with such disastrous results before. I checked its settings with Isis to minimize impact. I only wanted this to be a threatening visual, at worst, a last-ditch weapon to use against the mammoth snakes. I only assumed it still had a charge of power in it. I didn’t ask anyone.
We landed with a thud. The sky even seemed to rock from impact. Once outside, I strained my neck to gaze at its uppermost peak, a capstone. The vessel was a pyramid and nearly half the size of the Giza structure, judging by eye.
We peered from an angled corner of the vessel before mounting an assault. I instructed the Ennead to flank out in a V-formation. Briana and Brahms followed behind them, both armed with shields and dagger-type weapons. I could only pray the Ennead would either resist force or their appearance might invoke a truce. I knew I was as vulnerable as Briana and Brahms. I couldn’t stand to lose any more of my friends today. The desert setting, the ships, the bizarre circumstance of this mission conspired to make me feel more emotional than logical. It was getting harder and harder to remain an FBI agent in this realm.
Screams caught my attention as we maneuvered closer to the action. Ships were still landing, beings from both sides dismounting and joining the fight. I didn’t realize until I was within visual range that Siriusite warriors were fighting for their lives, their bodies caught in the vise-grip clutches of King Cobras. The Siriusite I could see was masked, his head wrapped in some medieval fashion but with a plate of glass for a faceguard making it the past and future of eeriness. I didn’t know if his suit contained any other armor which would defend him against a snake bite so ominous. If the cobra snapped its jaws shut I didn’t think anything could protect him really. The sharpened incisors of the cobra appeared more shark-like than reptilian. Give Brahms credit for whipping up some really lethal monsters. Trouble was, those monsters were no longer on our side.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Hathor appear. A tangle of bodies danced away from her and reformed to prevent me much observational time. She wore red eyes, a smile on her face, defiant and smug. Her snakes danced to her tune, waiting orders to snap their jaws shut on the unfortunate victims. This appeared another game to her, life being absolutely expendable. Possibly it was because she had lost hers in this fight before and now she was a shadow of herself; a replicated replica to be exact. But as Brahms had said about reanimating Charlize, a replacement didn’t do justice. Was that the reason for Hathor’s dissociative behavior? Or did she suffer from such psychosis prior and the regeneration process had only mimicked the sickness already originating within her?
One thing I was sure of. I’d traveled from alternate world to alternate world and from its present to its past. In all that traveling, simple pettiness seemed to trump all time boundaries and magnificent technologies. The president and Tut’s murders along with a plan to separate the earth from all its water—all were given rise from spite. And to think that gods and goddesses, those who supposedly treaded on celestial clouds were responsible made me sick.
With the exception of Isis, I couldn’t find godliness in any of the Ennead, the Entourage or in the Siriusites who engaged in combat about me. I had to conclude that these were simply genetically-enhanced beings who took advantage of the less evolved. If so, how could this ever be stopped? In what century, what planet or what happenstance?
In my greatest moment of weakness, a stitch in time where I believed my final resting place would be a desert, I lost all faith. I watched sand showers erupt about me, blinding me, almost gratefully, to the horrors unfolding. In this nanosecond of solitude, I concluded I’d embraced atheistic conclusions in the past but none were attached to a specific moment of time, an exact moment of ultimate despair. Some believe you call out to God in this despair. I didn’t feel that need, probably because I was surrounded by so-called gods and goddesses who were doing a pretty damn good job of scandalizing themselves.
But although I might have never believed wholly in a god, I’d believed in my job, in myself. In this dire flicker of finality, the realization hit me hard. The faith that my job always empowered me to bring justice to a world, to a universe would soon wink out. It was confirmed by the absurd as snakes towered high above me, beings writhing in their mouths, a cacophony of screams rising and ebbing. Those screams wouldn’t be quelled until all sides in this war were vanquished, a blood thirst quenched. It made me wonder if humankind learned of war from these beings. It was a vicious and cruel game Hathor played. But we all were damned to fall into tune.
A bowed weapon took Osiris off his feet. The beloved husband of Isis, he struggled on the sand to regain his balance. He was diminished as easily as any human. Whatever Brahms had done to tweak the energy stream out of Zep Tepi only seemed to assure a bloody battle devoid of technical weaponry but full of carnage. I felt the sting of a tear blind me as Isis pulled him to his feet. How long would it be until all human bodies flailed in sand?
Then a being from the sky descended. Brilliant light prevented us from identification. His coming knocked us all into sand as I projected. It was as if an angry god engaged in a tantrum with chess pieces. We were the chess pieces if you had any doubts.
Isis pointed to the sky to grab my attention. Yet I was impossibly glued to it as every other fallen body. “This, Agent Diggs,” she screamed, “This is the intervention I spoke of!”
Chapter 23
Revelations
The sky and sand were blanketed in white haze seconds later. I fumbled for my blasting weapon. I believed now would be as good a time as any to fire off some last desperation shots. Whatever was coming didn’t need a ship to fly. A tiny speck of a being had permeated my visual cortex before I was blinded. That image was plastered to the backs of my eyelids. It didn’t appear benevolent in any fashion. But since it traveled naked, I still had a chance to thwart it. I squeezed the gun and felt its power resonating. I would point the weapon at the last patch of sky I had seen before blindness ensued.
A hand on my arm stopped me before I fired. It was Isis.
“No, Agent Diggs, you must not interfere now. He is the one who passes judgment on the use of Brahms’ Fifth Force. He is a king of gods and monitors this space, this field that is simultaneously the source of all matter and the space in which it exists. As you can see, he is very powerful. He travels without any aid.”
“If this being is the king of this cosmic highway, how does he monitor everything that goes on?”
“I’m sure your scientist friend could explain in better terms. But think of the Fifth Force or this aether as distances which separate matter. These distances can be monitored by sound because the Fifth Force is ever vibrating. Therefore, the king knows how matter is being manipulated and eventually for what purpose.”
Isis was right. I would need Brahms to explain this—a few times. “Isis, does this god have a name?”
“He is careful to hide his name because knowing this could weaken him. But in the ancient world, the Hindus named him Indra and he not only mediates the aether but is thought of as a creator god, bringing water to earth for example.”
“How ironic is it that Hathor devised a plan to do just the opposite?” I only mumbled this in surrealistic reflection. What did anything matter now? I’m sure this king of gods or whoever he was wasn’t going to be happy at our use of the Fifth Force. I guess it would come down to who made him madder. And as weak as the idea sounded in my mind, I considered that possibility. Would he be lenient to some and harsher to others?
As we waited for the king to make his slow descent to land, Isis filled me in on his powers. He could wield a pretty nasty celestial weapon consisting of lightning bolts. As he neared final entry to our desert oasis, he set loose a boom of thunder. It rocketed for miles around us in surround sound as there were few obstacles to contain the vibration. I figured his celestial weapon came in pretty handy when he needed to manipulate the Fifth Force to his liking.
Isis saved all description, probably hoping our sight wouldn’t return soon. Bottom line, he wasn’t the handsomest of gods. But the crash of thunder somehow restored our vision. We were all still fallen and weak as if we were insects leaving winter behind for the first spring day. As we slithered in the sand, regaining our sight, I noticed the snakes had fallen as well and were mostly dead. But before one of the cobras went, it managed to slice a poor Siriusite in half. A pool of blood-stained white sand reflected back at us as if it were a mirror, possibly inviting us all to lose our vital liquids. I guess that answered the question about battle armor. Truth be told, what good would any amount of armor do us now?
Back to what the king looked like. It was gruesome. Red all over with four hands which carried bows, a hook and a net, but that wasn’t the grotesque part by any stretch of the imagination. Dotted eyes speckled its entire body. There were at a minimum a thousand glinting eyes watching us. If he did indeed monitor the universe via sound, what did he need with all those eyes? Oh, wait. I get it—the gross factor.
Indra spoke a language I had never heard and was certain I would never understand.
The Ennead, heads cocked side-way, dog-like, listened.
Isis then turned to me. “We are indeed in judgment for our behaviors. We as the Ennead agreed to only come back to humanity if we could enrich it. I know we have failed. I assume we should accept his sentencing.”
I thought of Nephthys in my timeline and how the Ennead were granted an embassy, possibly as a first step to becoming citizens. I realized now the Ennead themselves had returned to help humans live better. But thanks to the Entourage, the regenerated imitations of former gods, their plan was doomed from the beginning. Hathor had poisoned the rebirthing of paradise for petty, personal gain. If anyone should bear the brunt of Indra’s sentencing, it had to be Hathor. But how could I convince someone I couldn’t even speak to?
The answer came soon enough. We were all corralled into the blue waters of Brahms’ skull world. I knew this because I’d been there before. Possibly this was a way to bridge the communication gap. I decided to test my theory.
“Indra, if you can hear me I must make known a goddess who has manipulated your divine force for her gain. By murdering a president in our future, taking the life of replicated King Tut, she has committed the most heinous sins.”
“Who are you to speak?”
I believe Indra answered. It was a male voice, speaking English. That’s about all I could discern. I could have asked him the same—who are you? Although since he was the one who put us all into a blue state without the aid of skulls or a single artifact he no doubt had powers, hence there was little chance of defeating him. He’d probably earned his right not to be asked who he was, with the title “king of the gods.” The FBI in me still wanted to ask for ID, king, god or not.
Indra stepped out of the swirling water and I saw him in this world’s eyes. He wasn’t hideous at all. It was as if he was formatted to fit our most pleasant conceptions of man. If this was lie, it was a lie working wonders for his public image.
I answered. “I am a woman of justice from this world’s future. I too seek fairness for all. Those who break the laws of our penal code are punished accordingly.”
He interrupted. “Whose laws are these? Were they handed down by gods?”
“No. We are independent of gods in this future I come from. We are responsible for our own actions.”
“I don’t care for this system you speak of, but I will consider what you have said against the being Hathor. She will have a right to respond.”
So whether Indra wanted to admit it or not, our judicial systems were fairly comparable.
Hathor’s testimony was laced with sarcasm, no surprise. She blamed her makers, that being the Ennead, for recreating her in a defective manner. Hathor, she said, referring to herself in the third person, was a victim. And, she argued, if one were travel back to my world’s present, any harm she had done would be inconsequenti
al. “It is most likely the president will be alive. Tut, who should have never existed in that timeline, never actually was, therefore his absence cannot be construed as murder. Agent Diggs and her team have probably also concluded the disappearance of their charming demon population was not the doing of any god or goddess but the work of a hateful human organization known as the White Knights. Need I go on, defending myself?” she asked with a wave of her hand.
I noticed Hathor wore blue eyes in this blue court of water. Maybe this version of Hathor spoke rightly. Believed she was actually innocent. But one of the seven personas in Hathor was indeed guilty. And if even what she said could be true, that the present world we would travel to would not be infected from Zep Tepi, it didn’t take the away the fact that I was the one who actually poisoned President Fleming. I was guilty too but not in this court. I would face my crimes there. In order to do that, I needed to save this world’s past. I needed Hathor to be taken into custody.
I spoke again, addressing the entire court—without invitation. “You must consider what Hathor has done, not the possible outcomes of her crimes in quantum worlds.” Okay. I might now be using those words correct by definition but if this were my universe… “We have to consider intent. We punish those who conspire to commit crimes in my future. You must not exonerate Hathor. She still now attempts to persecute the people of this ancient time to her bidding. You and the Ennead had an agreement. Their penance was to return and benefit humankind. They would have, but for Hathor’s interference. She must be—”
I was cut off. Not just verbally, painfully.
I folded my arms in front of my chest which reflected some of the force that struck me. Not all of it by any measure. My sleeves were singed and slightly on fire. My chest ached. How could this all have happened? We all appeared to be bobbing on water. Maybe that was it. It was just appearance. Was this blue world, the real real world or imitation? Brahms was probably champing at the bit to explain. I saw him twitching in his chair, at one instance almost daring to raise a hand in question until he witnessed my scorching.
