"He isn't going to follow your orders,” Manennen pointed out, with a nod toward Loki.
Shea snorted in derision. “The trickster can cause more havoc for the Enemy working alone than most people could as a full attack squad."
Morrigan's glare became even more hostile, if that were possible. “We will not follow you."
"That's your choice,” he replied coolly. “But, if you're not going to play, stay the fuck out of my way.” He climbed into the SUV and started the engine. “Everyone who's coming with me—get in the car."
* * * *
Malice dragged himself out of the surf, so weak he felt as though he were dying. That was impossible, of course, but his whole body ached and the wounds on his neck burned like fire. He climbed to his feet, wavering a little, and stumbled toward the car sitting alone in the parking lot across the street. If nothing else, he'd hotwire it. He wanted to be away from here, at least until he healed completely.
As he approached the car door opened abruptly. He smiled, this one a little grim. He didn't have the time or energy to deal with some foolish mortal. At least not in the way he'd grown to enjoy so much.
He realized, as he drew near, that the occupant wasn't a mortal. The small, athletic-looking blond woman climbing out wore a piqued expression. He gathered his remaining strength and prepared for a fight, but her next words shocked the notion right out of him. “The Masters are not pleased with you."
He'd expected that they'd turned at least a few of these immortals to their service, but the idea that one would be so bold as confront him directly ... he didn't know what to think of that. “I don't see where that's any of your business,” he said. “Whoever you are."
"My name is Sif,” she told him, reaching into the open car and pulling out a long, sheathed weapon. Some sort of long, straight sword with a square hilt. “I tried to give you more time, but...” She shrugged. “My goblins failed to even slow them much, and you—you were too damned interested in your torture experiment to pay close enough attention to what was going on.
"The Masters saw your fascination with torment as an asset, but they didn't recognize how severely flawed you actually were. See, they aren't like you. They gain no joy from destruction. It's simply something they do. They didn't understand how much it warped what you are. You didn't do what they told you to serve them, you did it to serve the monster in your soul."
She grasped the scabbard with the other hand, drawing out a few inches of glittering blade. Funny thing—in the light it looked almost purple. “They understand now. You fucked up one too many times."
He shook his head. “You plan on cutting my hair? That thing won't hurt me."
She drew the weapon from the scabbard and tossed the scabbard aside. The blade in her hand wasn't steel, as he expected, but a gently glowing purple crystalline substance. Tiny bolts of lightning traveled up and down its length as she raised it and grinned at him. “Know what this is, Malice?"
He licked his lips, suddenly very afraid. He couldn't believe the Masters had actually given such a weapon to an immortal—and an Alantean at that. “It's crystal."
"The only thing that can easily dispatch an immortal, right?"
He didn't respond, instead focusing his mind for what he knew would be his last chance. Before he could channel his telekinetic ability, however, the sword spat lightning. It tore across him, sending him spinning to the ground. He rolled, trying to regain his feet, but the small blond was on him before he could even get his bearings. The sword flashed, he felt a sudden sensation like an icicle driven through his chest, and the blackness swallowed him whole.
Nine
Sarah Breed stood in the hallway, leaning against the wall with her head hanging, one foot propped up behind her. She felt like hell. Her head throbbed, her skin felt like something had gone over it like sandpaper, and her mouth tasted like someone had swabbed it with a dirty washrag.
A fever burned inside her. She could feel the heat like something alive under her skin. She lifted her head as the door into Deryk Shea's office slowly opened. The woman called Athena stepped out, her broad face showing no emotion as she closed the door behind her. Once she lifted her gaze to Breed, however, concern showed in her eyes. “Are you okay?"
Breed shook her head, the motion making her stomach twist and churn. “I don't think so."
She slid down the wall, head falling into her hands as she curled her knees up to her chest. Athena leaned down and placed a hand against her forehead. “Christ, you're burning up."
"It feels like it."
Athena scooped her up in her arms as if she were a child, carrying her to the elevator and, eventually, all the way to her car. They attracted stares, of course, but Breed wasn't in any condition to notice, much less care. “Keys?"
Breed handed them over. She didn't have the energy to argue, and, as far as she was concerned, anything had to be better than hanging around at Shea Industries waiting for answers that weren't coming. “Take me home."
"If you like. Where's home, Deputy Breed?"
She was finding it hard to think. She gathered her wits about her long enough to answer the question. “Puyallup, Canyon Road and Eighty-eighth."
She settled back in the seat with a ragged breath, with a glance over at Athena. She stared at the road with single-minded intensity, weaving the car in and out of traffic with casual grace. Breed tried to ignore the pounding in her head with limited success. After a few moments it felt like some little man behind her eyes was beating on them from the inside with a hammer.
"It probably won't help me feel any better, but it'll settle my mind if you can answer some questions,” she said finally, after long consideration. She didn't want to offend the woman, after all.
"What questions?” Athena asked, in a tone suggesting she knew very well what questions. Like she'd been expecting this.
"It's what—eight o'clock? You don't even look tired."
Athena shot her an amused glance. “You look like that and you're wondering why I don't look tired?"
"Let's just say I'm observant. You, Shea, and what's his name—Loki?—aren't like normal people at all, are you?"
"What's ‘normal'?” Athena murmured, with a sideways smile like a smirk. “No. We're not ‘normal'. I'll tell you what—let me get you home, and safe, and I'll tell you everything you want to know."
"That's an offer I can't refuse."
* * * *
It was a nice little house, brown with tan trim, with an attached garage. Elegant in its simplicity. Athena pulled into the driveway, next to a tightly trimmed row of shrubbery. Breed threw the door open and staggered across the gravel driveway to the front door. The world was spinning, and not at all gently. She stumbled over to the shrubs and heaved what little remained of her last meal.
Athena came up behind her and gently pulled her hair back. She waited until she was through and gently guided her to the front door. She fumbled with the keys for a long moment and then they were inside.
Breed rushed for the bathroom, then spent the next fifteen minutes crouched over the toilet. She finally emerged, weak and shaking, but feeling better. “Tea?” she asked.
Athena stood in the dark living room, staring out the window. At the sound of Breed's voice, she turned with a smile. “If it's not too much trouble, sure."
"No trouble at all.” Surprisingly, this wasn't just a polite phrase. She was feeling better already. Whatever had afflicted her had fled as quickly as its onset. She felt the headache fading into nothingness as she puttered around the kitchen, filling a kettle and putting the water on to boil.
Athena flicked the living room light and casually perused Breed's CD and DVD collection. Breed watched her with a small smile on her face.
"Eclectic tastes,” Athena remarked. “Especially for a cop."
"For a cop? What's that supposed to mean?” Breed couldn't help but feel a little insulted.
Athena shrugged, plucking a particular DVD off the shelf. “They Live? Pre
tty anti-establishment. I also notice a copy of Demolition Man here right next to it. And the music? Never would've picked you out as a metalhead. Wrong generation."
Breed poured water through her strainer into each cup, then turned away while it steeped. “We like what we like—I'm not sure my generation has anything to do with it.” She walked to the doorway from the kitchen, leaned against the frame. “You promised me answers, Athena. My taste in music and movies can't be of that much interest."
"Ah,” she replied, “but they are. And related, believe it or not."
She turned around and went to finish the tea. “Cream or sugar?” she called over her shoulder.
"Neither,” Athena answered. “I've never gotten used to that habit. When I started drinking it, neither cream nor sugar was particularly common."
She took the cup from Breed's hand and settled down on the roughly used old sofa, covered with an equally old and faded blanket. Breed settled down next to her and took a sip. “So how does my choice in movies and music apply?"
"Not so much the music. I just notice a lot of sci-fi in your collection. Some good stuff, some bad stuff. No small amount of anime."
"A taste I acquired as a child. Anything was better than reality."
"I'm sorry to hear that,” Athena replied, sounding quite sincere. “Well, you're probably fairly familiar with some of the concepts I'm going to be introducing. It would've been better if you were a reader, but—"
"I've never had the time to read much. I like sci-fi okay, but I ended up reading more police procedurals, believe it or not, than sci-fi books. I had to make a choice."
Athena laughed at that. “Oh, I believe it. Something had to make you want to be a cop."
"Well. That's just as much TV's fault. I wanted to be a Fed, actually."
"Really? Well, that explains why you didn't have the problem with Stone most cops would."
"I trained at Quantico,” Breed admitted. “I was going to be a Fed myself."
"What happened?"
"Aren't you the one supposed to be answering questions?” Breed shook her head, half amused, half irritated.
"Sorry. I guess I'm just naturally curious."
"So am I. So how's about you tell me something. You've been dancing long enough, don't you think?"
Athena wrinkled her nose and sighed heavily. “I'm sorry. I guess you're right. When you keep a secret long enough, it becomes very hard to casually break it.
"I need less sleep than you do. Much less sleep, though I do need some. I've cultivated the habit, simply because it's strengthening at times.” She paused for a long moment, seemed to consider what she'd say next. “Most of my people rarely sleep. They might meditate, to give their brains some down time, but few of them actually sleep."
"Your people? Like Deryk Shea, and Loki?"
Athena gave a curt nod. “We've been around a long time. Much longer than you can imagine. I'm sure you recognize my name—and Loki's."
Breed had wondered about that. Two of them had names right out of mythology. And not only those two—she remembered that some of the ones who'd confronted them by the park last night. She'd recognized some of those names. Not as familiar as Loki, or Athena, but familiar nonetheless.
"I am that Athena. He is Loki, also known as the Father of Monsters. The trickster god. The Native Americans call him Coyote."
"What are you saying? That you're gods?"
Athena looked pained, then shook her head. “Hardly that. We're human, more or less. We're just from a different probability stream—give me a little while, I'll try to explain that—and we've been here for somewhere around twenty-five thousand years. We don't age, and we're damn hard to kill."
"Immortal. And the ones last night?"
"More immortals. We're on the brink of a war—the creatures that destroyed our home have come here. It was simply a matter of time. We all knew it. The one who abducted Loki—and the one we defeated last night—was one of their servants. He got away, unfortunately.
"We've been pretty much on our own since we arrived. Shea commanded the ship that brought us, but, after that, we accepted no authority except our own. Many of us went off to rule our own little corners, answering to no one. A few banded together, acting in concert to form pantheons of what ancient peoples called gods. What we allowed them to call us."
Breed bit off a protest. It simply had to be true. No one would make up something so easily disproved. Oh, not all of it could, but certainly the part about being nearly indestructible. “So you're the good guys?"
"Most of us, yeah. Oh, we've done some stuff we regret, some more than others, but, yeah, most of us are the good guys. We don't rule the world, after all. Even Shea, you have to admit, seems to follow the rules."
"From what I've heard,” Breed assented. “So you—"
"—Hold on a sec,” Athena interrupted. “You seem to be feeling a lot better. Not sick anymore?"
Breed thought about it, then shook her head. “No. I'm not. Was it something you did—like you did with my arm, or Stone's leg?"
"I can't cure disease—only injuries. Can I ask you a personal question?"
"How personal?"
"Personal enough you're likely to get pissed off. Have you had sex with any strangers lately?"
"What? What kind of question is that?"
"I warned you. Seriously, I need to know. It might explain why you got sick, why you got better so quickly, and, honestly, what you might expect next."
"Expect next? What are you trying to say—have I got a STD or something?"
"Uhh ... something like that."
"You've got to be kidding me.” Breed swore angrily. “He was so cute. Seemed harmless enough. I made sure he used a condom."
"He pulled a fast one on you. There's no way he would've used a condom. He's a carrier for one of Loki's little gifts to the human race."
Breed stared at her, aghast. “Loki's little gifts?"
"Yeah. I can't say which one. He developed several. See, Loki was a leading bio-tech researcher back on our world. He used some of the last of the bio-tech stuff we brought with us to create an army of monsters it took us several hundred years to clean up. Silly bastard. We had to wait this long for the human race to create comparable technology. There was a civilization here when we arrived that could have caught up with us, but a great cataclysm wiped it out about eleven thousand years ago, right when they were on the verge of reaching that point."
Any other time Breed would've found that fascinating. “You're telling me he gave me a disease?"
"Yeah, but you're still breathing. That's a good sign.” She smiled, spreading her hands in front of her. “One thing he didn't take into consideration—some of you, they'll kill. Your bodies won't always adapt the way he intended. Some of you will start dying from something your doctors can't explain."
"So what can I expect now?"
"Loki introduced several different metaviruses to the general population. Which one you happened upon, I don't know. With access to a lab, a sample of your blood, and copies of some of Loki's files, I could probably figure it out.
"Though—gauging by what he's told me, you should start exhibiting some symptoms of the change pretty quickly now."
"How could you allow him to do this?” Breed wanted to know. “Isn't meddling with the human race against one of your laws or something?"
"Weren't you listening? We don't have any ‘laws'. Not like you'd think of them. We had an agreement—a ‘pact'—regarding such things. Loki, however, is notorious for ignoring whatever doesn't suit him at any particular moment."
"Uh-huh. So he just gets away with it."
"That's pretty much the way it goes, yeah. On the positive side, though, the benefits to these metaviruses will be phenomenal. I can't stress that enough.
"We're at war,” she said. “The whole goddam human race—every intelligent resident of Earth, in fact. The Enemy is coming and they won't stop until they get what they want. Loki gave you—us—new we
apons to fight with, assuming you accept that a human being can be a weapon in the first place.
"I'm not going to say I like the way he did it. But, in the end, I can't fault him for what he did. You don't want to be at the Enemy's mercy."
"How bad can they be?” Breed was genuinely curious. She saw something remarkably close to fear in Athena's eyes.
"The two hundred immortals who arrived here on Earth were a fair representation of the last of our kind. There might have been other survivors, but not many. See, the Enemy dropped a virus on us. We called it Thanatos, and it killed fast. Within two days ninety-five percent of our population was dead and drawing flies wherever they lay. It hit so hard the carnage was staggering. Those it didn't kill, it changed. Into us. We don't know why it happened that way, but it did.
"The Enemy is a race that more or less perfected bio-tech sometime in their distant past. They concentrated on that to almost the exclusion of everything else. They don't even have space travel, but, then again, they don't need it. They discovered a way to jump between universes, between probability streams, and used that technology to jump around and enslave other cultures. To the Enemy, anything that isn't ‘them’ is inferior—something that exists either to serve them, or to die.
"We immortals were only able to escape because of something we did early in the war. We captured one of their universe-jumping devices and reverse-engineered it. Star Command—our space agency—agreed to put it on one of their ships for testing. Deryk Shea commanded that particular ship.
"Thanatos struck before they could do any testing at all. Once he'd figured out what happened, Deryk grabbed up all the nearby immortals and we frantically tried to get as many others as we could—then we activated the device.
"A standard ‘gate’ sequence takes about five seconds. That will take you to the universe ‘next door'. We didn't want to land so close, so we kept it going for nearly a minute. And ended up here."
Breed simply sat in silence for a long moment, absorbing this. “And those things last night—the little gray fuckers?"
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