In order to save themselves from the wrath of Hanub Ku and survive in the fourth world, they must build a monument in his honor; a staircase to the heavens where they could rise above the coming disasters and ride out the chaos.
The king, his priests and his most trusted astronomers had chosen that spot where Terry and the other four boys stood to begin construction.
To commemorate the undertaking, they had chosen the five boys as a special sacrifice to gain Hanub Ku’s favor.
Two large men grabbed Terry by his arms and bent him backwards over a sacrificial altar.
The priest approached him with a long knife—
∞
Terry shot straight up from his cot and gasped in panic. His eyes scanned the darkness of the small room he’d been sleeping in, and he clutched one hand to his chest where his heart thumped like a hammer. Slowly, his breathing returned to normal when he realized he’d been having a nightmare.
Swinging his legs over the side of the cot, he found his shoes and slid his feet into them. He closed his eyes, held his head in his hands, and thought about what he had just dreamed.
Terry’s grandfather always stressed the importance of dreams, and the need for remembering nightmares. The Mayans of old believed dreams were a way of communicating with the gods, and with other people both living and dead, revealing knowledge that could not be shared during their waking hours.
Always regarding this as mysticism, Terry had never paid too much attention to his grandfather’s interpretations. Now, however, with the realization that there was far more substance to the legends his grandfather had recounted, Terry had become a believer.
Calming himself by sitting up straight and regulating his breathing, he tried to remember his nightmare before the threads of his memory evaporated like smoke in the wind.
He had no idea what it meant, or why he had dreamed it. Although he’d had more frequent dreams of the ancient Mayans since Itzel’s death, none of them had ever dealt with human sacrifice or portents of the remaking of the world before; nor had any seemed so much like a vision.
Before he could sort out the reasons for his nightmare, and whether it had been one of the special dreams his grandfather had talked about, the chime on his nightstand sounded and a familiar voice issued out of it.
Jose said, “Terry, we’re heading up to the lab to begin with the next subject. Klaus wants you there standing by in case he needs something during the experiment.”
Like coffee or a sandwich, Terry thought to himself. Out loud, he said, “All right. I’ll be there in a few minutes.” And then he clicked the communicator to shut it off.
He rubbed his head as if the action would clear his thoughts from the nightmare. Padding over to the washroom, he splashed cold water on his face to wake himself up. Finally, he went out to fulfil his role as servant to a madman.
∞
Terry arrived at the lab just moments before Klaus and Jose. Both men bore determined looks. Behind them, several large Cruzados escorted the fourth subject for the Kinemet radiation trials.
It was the woman. Major Turner.
Terry had completely forgotten about her. He had been preoccupied with the recitation of the Song of the Stars for Klaus and performing menial tasks for him. At no time had he gone to check on her or any of the prisoners, but even if he had wanted to look in on them, he couldn’t have. The section of the observatory where they kept the prisoners was under heavy guard, and no one was permitted entry without express orders from Klaus, Jose, or Captain Gruber.
As they dragged the woman past him, he got his first good look at her. Her eyes did not focus, and he recalled that she was blind.
Her long hair was disheveled and her cheeks were streaked with tears. Major Turner looked like she had been through a tough few days, but she held her head high and set her jaw defiantly as her escorts steered her past Terry and toward the lab.
“Jose,” Terry said, finding his voice. “She is a woman, and she is disabled. We can’t do this.”
Jose glanced up at Terry, but it was Klaus who raised his hand sharply to cut him off. “On the contrary, boy, we can and we will. If it makes you feel any better, I really have only one more variable to test for. She’s got a fifty-fifty shot of becoming the first fully transformed Kinemetic human. Of course,” he added with a wry smile, “she still might die from radiation poisoning. We’re really just stumbling around in the dark hoping for the best here.”
It was too much for Terry. He knew there wasn’t anything he could do against six men who were much larger and more prone to violence than him. He could feel himself shaking from frustration and anger.
Although he had undertaken combat training at the monthly camps the Cruzados held, Terry had never really taken it as seriously as the others, and never committed himself to the instruction. He had believed from the beginning that his destined part in the movement was geared more towards a leadership role than as a fighter. But he wasn’t even a figurehead in the Cruzados revolution; once he had unlocked the door to the Song of the Stars, they had relegated him to being nothing more than Klaus’s servant.
All he could do was stand there while the brutish Cruzados herded the woman into the lab.
Inside, one of the men reached over to unbutton Major Turner’s shirt at the collar. She swore at him, and Terry couldn’t make out her exact words. Her meaning, however, was very clear. She punctuated her words with a slap to the Cruzado’s face.
The man immediately belted her across the cheek with the back of his hand, knocking her into the examination bed.
Terry instinctively stepped forward to help, but a strong hand grabbed his shoulder. Klaus’s fingers dug into his skin.
Reaching up, Terry ripped the hand away from him with as much strength as he could summon, and glared at Klaus, who was smirking back.
Terry pointed toward the other room. “Is that really necessary?”
“We can’t risk the possibility of contamination from her outfit,” Klaus answered, mistaking the cause of Terry’s protest. He weighed Terry with a critical eye, and his voice carried a heavy undercurrent of disdain when he spoke again.
“You really aren’t cut out for this, are you? You’re a dreamer, and dreamers never survive in the real world.”
There was a scream from the lab, and Terry turned to see the four Cruzados forcibly strip the clothes from Major Turner. Naked, she fought wildly, but another slap disoriented her long enough for them to haul her up on top of the table and strap her down. One of them inserted a needle in her arm from an intravenous drip. When Justine tried to pull her arm away, the man punched her in the face.
Blinded by outrage, Terry pushed Klaus out of the way and raced over to the door of the lab.
One of the Cruzados, a big man named Esteban, saw the movement and hurried over to block the entrance. He was far too large for Terry to handle, and by the time Terry could figure out how to get past the big man, both Jose and Klaus grabbed him.
Klaus spat out his words. “I thought you said you could control him, Jose.”
Instead of answering Klaus, Jose barked an order out to his man. “Esteban, take him to his quarters and seal the door.”
To Terry, he said, “I’m very disappointed in you, niño.”
As he was dragged out of the lab, Terry saw behind him that Major Turner was already unconscious, and Klaus had returned to his computer station to begin the Kinemetic transformation trial.
Once again, Terry had completely failed in his efforts, and the cost would be another life.
∞
Terry only had three meters of floor on which to pace, and he made the round-trip at least a hundred times. All the while, he fumed at Klaus and Jose, damning himself for his role in the entire affair.
When history wrote his story, they would not hail him as a hero, or visionary, or savior of the Mayan culture. No, he would go down in the books as a traitor to humanity. A thief, kidnapper, and accomplice to murder.
There h
ad to be a way to redeem himself.
But what could he do? He was just one small man against dozens of Cruzados.
By now, Major Turner would be well into the experiment. She would be nothing more than a series of photons swirling around the room. In less than three hours, the speck of Kinemet Klaus used to kick-start the reaction would expend itself, and then she would either be transformed into a quantum navigator, or she would die a horrible and painful death, as had the previous subjects.
Terry had to do something.
As he paced, the seed of an idea formed in his head. Maybe he could play Jose and Klaus off against each other?
He held his breath, as if the plan might escape with his next exhalation.
Could he do it? Was he capable of following through? Or was his mind leading him into yet another foolish act?
Forcing himself to calm down, he closed his eyes and tried to even out his breathing. When his heart returned to a normal rhythm, he slowly opened his eyes once more, and then began to work out a plan of action.
He returned to the door and checked the peephole once more, but didn’t see anyone in his limited range of vision.
The doors of the residential quarters only had locks on the inside. Carefully, Terry slid the latch open and gently pulled the door back a crack, and then peeked out.
Esteban was half a dozen meters down the hall, sitting in a chair and leaning back.
Keeping the door as close to the jamb as he could while still giving him enough of a gap to see through, Terry watched him. The man had to be bored out of his mind with the mundane guard duty. He already looked as if he were ready to doze off. Terry just had to be patient. With slow movement, Terry removed his boots and then approached the door once again, this time in his stocking feet.
Like a jaguar stalking its prey before an ambush, Terry peered through the gap and watched and waited. He kept his eyes fixed on Esteban and stood still.
When the big man’s head dropped a notch fifteen minutes later, Terry still did not move.
Even when he heard the first light snore come from the Cruzado, Terry remained motionless.
He waited an additional five minutes after he thought Esteban was asleep, and then delicately opened the door wide enough to slide out into the hall.
The layout of the observatory’s residential area was such that there were two ways Terry could have gone. The first was out toward the cafeteria and common area, but there would assuredly be any number of Jose’s men loitering there. The only other way was in the direction of the laboratories. That was where Terry wanted to go anyway, but in order to do so, he would have to creep by Esteban without waking him.
He raised one foot and put it softly down in front of the other as he picked his way past his guard.
He was directly in front of Esteban when a loud clanging sound echoed down from the opposite end of the hall in the direction of the kitchen. Terry heard someone curse lightly, as if they had dropped a pan, and he froze, staring intently at Esteban.
For a brief moment, he thought the guard had woken with the sound and was staring back at him. But it was a trick of the shadow and light in the hall; Esteban continued to snore.
Terry resumed his deliberate pace until he rounded a corner two sections down, and then he quickened his steps.
At the lab area, he turned toward a flight of stairs and followed them down to the lowest level.
He would need help if his plan were to have any chance of succeeding; and there was a distinct lack of friendly faces in the observatory.
∞
The hallway to the empty lab where they kept the American soldiers was unguarded. The lock on the main door to the room had been reconfigured to lock from the outside, and there was no way the prisoners could get through the electromagnetic latches. No one expected any of the Cruzados or any of Klaus’s men to open the door and let the soldiers out.
The locks were keyed with an infrared scanner. When Terry had first come aboard the Lucis Observatory, Captain Gruber had sprayed the back of his wrist with a laser. It left no visible mark, but the old smuggler had assured him it was a kind of sub-dermal tattoo that would last for at least a few weeks. It would give him access to all the labs and common rooms with a mere wave of his hand.
There was a moment of doubt when Terry reached the door. If Klaus had updated the security databanks and removed Terry’s clearances, this trip—and his plan—would be cut short. But the door opened into a darkened room. The smell of unwashed humans wafted up and he had to force himself not to gag.
He had some expectation that once he opened the door, the Americans would rush him and knock him down before he could talk to them, but when he flicked the overhead lights on, he saw that the soldiers looked weak and defeated.
One of them looked up as Terry stepped into the room, and said, “Who are you?” in English.
The others spotted Terry. Their eyes narrowed and their jaws clenched.
Terry had spent the better part of the past year learning their language, and though he still had trouble with aspects—especially slang—he felt confident enough to relay his idea to them.
“My name is Terry Fernandez. My grandfather is the guardian of the Song of the Stars scroll. I am as much a prisoner here as you. Our captors are experimenting on your compañero, Major Turner, and if you don’t help me, they will most assuredly kill her.”
∞
Klaus was hunched over a computer monitor, tapping one long finger against his lips as he scanned the diagnostics.
A few meters to the side, Jose was looking at the brightened window between the lab and the workshop, as if mesmerized by the display. He had his hands folded over one another behind his back, and every few seconds he would make a rocking motion, lifting himself up on the balls of his feet, and then settling himself back down.
Sitting on a tall stool at a lab table, Captain Gruber held half a deck of cards in one hand. The rest of the cards were arrayed on the surface of the table in a game of solitaire. At his hip was an ion pistol in its holster.
On the other side of the room, two of Jose’s Cruzados were looking bored. One of them leaned against a computer server rack and rested his elbow on the top. The other was chewing his fingernails with his teeth. Both of them had ion pulse rifles, but they were propped barrel-up in the corner a few paces away.
“How much longer, do you think?” Jose asked. His voice sounded casual, but there was a note of anticipation in it.
Klaus popped his head up from the display. “Any minute now, I—”
Then he blinked, noticing that Terry had entered the lab without anyone knowing.
A moment later, everyone else turned their heads, sensing something wrong in Klaus’s voice.
Terry willed his breathing to remain steady, and his heart to beat normally and not jump right out of his chest as every person in the room glared at him, first in surprise, then with alarm.
The two Cruzados stumbled into each other as they both went for their pulse rifles, but Captain Gruber already had his ion pistol out and pointed at Terry.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Jose demanded. “Where’s Esteban? That idiot!”
Terry kept his eyes fixed on Jose. He didn’t want to rush anything at this point. Unless he kept his voice level, the leader of the Cruzados would not take him seriously.
“I have something to tell you, Jose,” Terry said after he was sure he had everyone’s attention. He was impressed with how calm he sounded.
“Oh?” Jose blinked and shot a quick glance at his two men, making sure they had found their pulse rifles and were ready to handle any kind of trouble.
“Your life is in danger.” Terry didn’t make any threatening gestures, but he could immediately see the fear and uncertainty in Jose’s eyes as he looked up and down to see if Terry had a weapon.
“Really?” The sarcasm in his voice was tinged with doubt. “I understand if you are upset,” Jose said, stalling for time, “but I’m sure we can tal
k it out.”
With a slight shake of his head, Terry said, “The danger is not from me.”
Jose narrowed his eyes.
“When I was in the washroom earlier, I overheard Klaus and his uncle say they were going to kill both of us and take over your men once the experiment was successful.”
Whipping his head first to the left at his men, who looked as confused as him, then back to the right at Klaus, Jose said, “Is this some kind of joke—?”
But he went silent when Captain Gruber swung his ion pistol away from Terry and pointed it at Jose.
Klaus, who had been watching the exchange with a half grin, said, “No joke, Jose. The little man has it right. You see, I thought it over, and even though the entire galaxy is really big, I’ve decided I really don’t need a co-commander. But I’d like to thank you for your contribution to the cause—my cause, that is.”
Jose, wild-eyed, threw a look at the two Cruzados. “Don’t just stand there! Shoot him.”
The men raised their pulse rifles, but they didn’t point them at Klaus or Captain Gruber.
“Oh,” Klaus said in a smug tone, “and I’d like to thank you for your men. As it turns out, most of them really weren’t interested in your silly crusade, or in following your incompetent leadership.”
Jose opened and closed his mouth in shock.
No one was paying attention to Terry all the while, and he slowly backed away from the conflict, heading toward the lab door. He unlocked it with a swipe of his wrist, and a moment before he opened it wide, he shouted:
“Jose! Run for your life!”
Seeing the open door, Jose took one step toward safety.
Captain Gruber fired the first shot, and that pulled everyone’s attention back to the center of the room.
The ion stream hit Jose high in the arm, and he spun around, but did not fall. Screaming from the pain, he dove behind a table.
Just then, five American soldiers burst into the room and rushed Gruber and the two Cruzados, who fired blindly at the men without hitting anyone. Trent Gruber, however, did not panic under fire, and shot an ion stream directly into the head of the first man to reach him.
Music of the Spheres (The Interstellar Age Book 2) Page 19
