Vengeance of Orion

by Ben Bova

  He pointed with his free hand. "Osiris," he whispered.

  It was my portrait. And beside it stood the picture of my Athene.

  "Aset," I whispered back.

  He nodded.

  So it was true. We had both been in this land a thousand years ago, or more. And she was here now, waiting for me to restore her to life. I knew it. I was close to her. The thought made me tremble inside.

  "I will remain here, Orion, while you go up to Khufu's tomb," said Hetepamon.

  I must have flashed him a fiercely questioning glance.

  "I cannot climb the steep ascent, Orion," he apologized hastily. "I assure you that there are no further dangers to be wary of."

  "Have you ever been in the king's burial chamber?" I asked.

  "Oh, yes, each year." He guessed my next question. "The procession enters the pyramid from its outer face, where a hinged stone serves as a door. The ramp leading to the tomb is much easier to climb than the shaft you must go through tonight. Even so," he smiled, "I am carried along by eight very strong slaves."

  I nodded understanding.

  "I will await you here, and offer prayers to Amon for your destiny, and for the safety of Prince Aramset."

  I thanked him and, after lighting one of the altar lamps from his, started up the steep winding stairs.

  It must have taken an hour or more, although I lost all sense of time as I plodded up the steep steps, winding around and around and around. They seemed to be cut into the walls of the shaft, some of them little more than narrow clefts in the native stone. My lamp provided a little pocket of fitful light against the darkness, and as I climbed I began to feel as if I was not actually going anywhere, as if I was on a vertical treadmill, trudging achingly, painfully forever. It was almost like being in sensory deprivation: no sound except my own breathing and the scuffling of my boots against the stone steps; nothing to see except the dusty walls in the dim light of the lamp. The world might have dissolved outside or turned to ice or burned to a cinder and I would never have known it.

  But I plodded on, and at last came to the end.

  I climbed up through a hole in the floor and found myself in a large chamber where a great stone bier bore a magnificent sarcophagus, at least ten feet long, made of beautifully worked cypress inlaid with ivory, gold, lapis lazuli, porphyry, turquoise, and god knows what else. Splendid implements filled the chamber: bowls bearing sheaves of grain and vases that were filled, I was certain, with fine wines and clear water. Probably they were renewed each year, as part of the ceremonies Hetepamon had told me about. Tools and weapons were neatly stacked against the walls. Stairs led upward, toward other storehouse chambers. Everything the king needed in life was here or nearby, ready for his use in his next life.

  But there was no sign of the Golden One.

  Chapter 43

  I stood before Khufu's dazzling sarcophagus, surrounded by the finest implements that human hands could make, and clenched my fists in helpless anger.

  He was not here! He had lied to me!

  Neither the Golden One nor the body of Athene was in this elaborate burial chamber. I wanted to scream. I wanted to smash everything in sight, rip open the dead king's sarcophagus, tear down the entire pyramid, stone by giant stone.

  Instead I merely stood there, dumb as any animal, feeling tricked and defeated.

  But my mind was working. The Golden One had made this pyramid his fortress, protecting it with energies that not even the other Creators could penetrate. It took an ordinary mortal to physically penetrate the passages built into the pyramid to reach this far. Trying to translocate oneself from outside the pyramid would not work, the energy defenses would prevent it.

  So why did the Golden One defend this pyramid? As a decoy? Perhaps.

  Or—perhaps this chamber was in reality a jumping-off spot to his actual hiding place. He is protecting the pyramid because it contains some clue to his true whereabouts. Some clue, or some device for making the transition.

  I knew that the Creators were not gods. They did not shift their presences from one realm of the continuum to another by mystical fiat. They did not generate energy by divine willpower. They used machines, devices, technologies that were godlike in their power but the offspring of human brains and hands, just as the weapons and implements in this tomb were.

  I thought to myself, If the Golden One has such a device hidden in this titanic pile of stones, it must be emitting some kind of energy. Could I sense it?

  I closed my eyes and tried to shut off my conscious mind. With a gut-wrenching effort of will I disconnected all my five normal senses: I was blind, deaf, totally alone in a universe of nothingness.

  For how long I remained that way, I have no idea. But eventually a tiny thread of sensation wormed its way into my awareness. A gleam, a tendril of warmth, a faint, faint buzzing, like the hum of electrical equipment far off in the distance.

  Very slowly I opened my eyes and revived my other senses, careful not to snap the connection with the energy leak I had found. I made my way, almost like a sleepwalker, toward a carved panel in the wall of the tomb. It opened at my push and revealed another upward-winding passage. I climbed.

  Through several other chambers and along more dark passageways I went, always pulled along by that faint hint of energy.

  Finally I found it: a small chamber up near the very top of the pyramid, so low and cramped that I had to bend over to get into it. My upraised hand touched smooth metal that was warm and vibrating with energy. The electrum cap of the pyramid: a good conductor of electricity and other forms of energy, I realized.

  Hunched in the middle of the tiny chamber, taking up almost all its space, was a dome of dull black metal, squatting there like the egg of some gigantic robot bird. It was humming to itself. I put my hand on its smooth surface. Warm.

  My hand seemed to stick slightly as I pulled it away, as if I had touched paint that had not yet dried. I put my hand back on the dome, pressed it flat, and felt the surface yield slightly. I leaned on it harder, and my hand seemed to penetrate the surface, sink through it. It was cold, freezingly, painfully cold.

  But I could not pull my hand back. Something inside the dome was drawing me forward, forcing me deeper into its cryogenic innards. I yelled and dropped the lamp I had carried all this way as my whole body was sucked into the deathly cold beyond the surface of the dome.

  I felt death again, the cold breath that brings agony to every cell, every nerve in my body. I was failing, falling in absolute darkness as my body froze and the last flashes of life in my brain succumbed to pain and darkness. My final thoughts were of love and hate: love for my dead Athene, hate for the Golden One, who had beaten me once again.

  But when I opened my eyes I was lying on soft grass. A warm sun beat down on me. A pleasant breeze sighed. Or was that my own breath returning to my lungs?

  I sat up. My heart thundered in my chest. My eyes stared. This was not Earth. The sky was vivid orange. There were two suns shining, one huge enough to cover almost half the sky, the other a small diamond-bright pinpoint shining through the orange expanse of its swollen companion. The grass on which I sat was a deep maroon color, tingeing off to blackish brown. The color of dried blood. It felt spongy, soft, more like a mold or a layer of flesh than like real grass and ground. There were hills in the distance, strangely shaped trees, and a stream.

  "We meet again, Orion."

  I turned and saw the Golden One standing behind me. Scrambling to my feet, I said, "Did you think you could hide from me?"

  "No, of course not. You are my Hunter. I built those instincts into you."

  He was wearing a loose flowing shirt of gold with long billowing sleeves, and dark trousers that hugged his lower torso and legs closely and were tucked into thigh-length boots. He seemed more relaxed than ever before, smiling confidently, his thick mane of golden hair tousled by the wind. But when I looked into his tawny eyes I saw strange lights, hints of passions and tensions that he was trying hard to c
ontrol.

  "I have delivered Helen to the Egyptians. I have brought down the walls of Jericho for you. Agamemnon, Odysseus, and most of the other Achaian warlords have been swept away. New invaders are conquering their lands. They've paid for their conquest of Troy."

  His eyes glittered. "But you haven't."

  "I've done what you asked. Now it's your turn to live up to your end of the bargain."

  "A god does not bargain, Orion. A god commands!"

  "You're no more a god than I am," I snapped. "You have better tools, that's all."

  "I have better knowledge, creature. Don't mistake the toys for the toymaker—or his knowledge."

  "Perhaps so," I said.

  "Perhaps?" He smiled tolerantly. "Do you have any idea of where you are, Orion? No, of course not. Do you have any idea of what my plans are leading to? How could you?"

  "I don't care . . ."

  "It makes no difference whether you care or not," he said, his eyes brightening. "My plans go forward despite your petty angers and pouts. Even despite the opposition of the other Creators."

  "They are trying to find you," I said.

  "Yes, of course. I know that. And they asked you to help them, didn't they?"

  "I haven't."

  "Haven't you?" He was suddenly suspicious, eyeing me warily, almost angrily.

  "I've served you faithfully. So that you will revive Athene."

  "Faithfully, yes. I know."

  "I've done what you asked," I insisted.

  "Asked? Asked? I never ask, Orion. I told you what must be done. While the others dither and discuss and debate, I act." His breathing quickened, his eyes took on a look of madness. "They don't deserve to live, Orion. I'm the only one who knows what to do, how to protect the continuum against our enemies. They don't realize it, but they're actually serving the enemy. The stupid fools, they're working for the enemy! They deserve to be destroyed. Wiped out. Utterly."

  I stared at him. He was raving.

  "I'm the only one worthy of existence! My creatures will serve me and me only. The others will be destroyed, as they deserve to be. I will be alone and supreme! Above all others! Forever!"

  I grew tired of his ranting. "Apollo, or whatever your name is, it's time for you to revive Athene . . ."

  He blinked at me. More soberly, he replied, "Her name is Anya."

  "Anya." I remembered. "Anya."

  "And she is quite thoroughly dead, Orion. There will be no reviving."

  "But you said . . ."

  "What I said is of no matter. She is dead."

  My fingers twitched at my sides. He stared at me, and I could feel the forces he commanded engulfing me, drowning me, freezing my body into stillness even though he chose to leave my mind awake.

  With a scream that shook the heavens I broke free of his hypnotic commands and sprang for his throat. His eyes went wide and he tried to raise his hands to defend himself but he was far too slow. I grabbed him and the momentum of my spring tumbled us sprawling to the blood-colored grass.

  "You built strength and killing fury into me too, didn't you?" I bellowed as I squeezed the life out of his throat. He made terrified strangling noises and batted at me ineffectually with his hands.

  "If she can't live, then neither can you," I said, tightening my grip, watching his eyes bulge, his tongue swell. "You want to wipe out the others and reign supreme? You won't even last another minute!"

  But powerful hands pulled my arms away and lifted me to my feet. I struggled against them, uselessly, and then realized who was holding me.

  "That's enough, Orion!" said Zeus sharply.

  I glared at him, blood-fury still pounding along my veins. Four other male Creators held my arms tightly. Still more of them, women as well as men, stood grouped around the fallen Apollo and me, dressed in an assortment of tunics, robes, glittering metallic uniforms.

  Zeus waited until I stopped struggling. The Golden One lay gagging and coughing on the dried-blood ground, leaning on one elbow, his other hand touching his throat. I saw the purple imprints of my fingers there and I was only sorry that I hadn't been allowed to finish the job.

  "We asked you to find him for us, not murder him," Zeus said, his sternness struggling against a satisfied little smile.

  "I found him for myself," I said. "And when he refused to revive Ath . . . Anya, I knew he deserved to die."

  Shaking his head at me, Zeus said, "No one deserves to die at the hands of another, Orion. That is the ultimate lie. Can't you see that he's mad? His mind is sick."

  New fury surged through me. "And you're going to help him? Try to cure him?"

  "We will cure him," said the lean-faced Hermes. "Given time."

  He knelt over the fallen Apollo and touched him with a short metal rod that he had taken from his tunic pocket. The welts around the Golden One's neck faded and disappeared. His breathing returned to normal.

  "Physical repairs are the easiest," Hermes said, rising to his feet. "Repairing the mind will take longer, but it will be done."

  "He wanted to kill you—all of you," I said.

  Hera replied, "Does that mean we should kill him? Only a creature thinks that way, Orion."

  "He killed Anya!"

  "No," said the Golden One, climbing slowly to his feet. "You killed her, Orion. She became mortal for love of you, and she died."

  "I loved her!"

  "I loved her too!" he shouted. "And she chose you! She deserved to die!"

  I strained against the men holding me, but they were too many and too strong. Even so, Apollo dodged backward, away from me, and Zeus stepped between us.

  "Orion!" he snapped. "To struggle against us is pointless."

  "He said he could revive her."

  "That was his madness speaking," said Zeus.

  "No it wasn't!" the Golden One taunted. "I can revive her! But not for him. Not so that she can give herself to this . . . this . . . creature!"

  "Bring her back to me!" I screamed, straining uselessly against the four who held me.

  Hera stepped before me, her taunting smile gone; instead her face was grave, almost sympathetic. "Orion, you have served us well and we are pleased with you. But you must accept what must be accepted. You must put all thoughts of Anya out of your mind."

  She reached up and touched my cheek with the tips of her fingers. I felt all the fury and tension drain out of me. My body relaxed, my rage subsided.

  To Hera I said, "Put all thoughts of her out of my mind? That's like teaching myself not to breathe."

  "I feel your pain," she said softly. "But what's done cannot be undone."

  "Yes it can!" the Golden One snapped. He laughed and glared at me. Zeus nodded at Hermes, who gripped him by the shoulders.

  The burly redhead I called Ares also stepped close to the Golden One, ready to restrain him if necessary.

  "I could do it," he said, his eyes wild. "I could bring her back. But not for you, Orion! Not so that she can embrace a creature, a worm, a thing that I made to serve me!"

  "Take him back to the city," said Zeus. "His madness is worse than I thought."

  "I'm not the mad one!" Apollo ranted. "I'm the only sane one here! The rest of you are crazy! Stupid, shortsighted crazy fools! You think you can control the continuum and save yourselves? Madness! Nothing but madness! Only I can save you. Only I know how to keep your precious necks out of the noose. And you, Orion! You'll never see Anya again. Never!"

  The murderous rage was gone from me. I felt empty and useless.

  Hermes began to lead the Golden One away, with brawny Ares following behind. Zeus and the others began to fade, shimmering in the double sunlight like a desert mirage. I stood alone on the strange world and watched them slowly dissolve from sight.

  Just before he disappeared, the Golden One turned and shouted over his shoulder. "Look at you, Orion! Standing there like a forlorn puppy. No one's going to bring her back! There's only the two of us who could, and I'm not going to, and you don't know how!"

  H
e howled with laughter as he faded out and disappeared with the others, leaving me alone on a strange and alien world.

  Chapter 44

  It took several moments for the meaning of the Golden One's words to sink home.

  "No one's going to bring her back! There's only the two of us who could, and I'm not going to, and you don't know how!"

  I could return Anya to life. That's what he had said. Was it merely a taunt, a final cruel slash intended to tantalize me? I shook my head. He is mad, I told myself. You can't believe anything he says.

  Yet he had said it, and I could not get it out of my mind.

  I gazed around the alien landscape and realized that if I was to have any chance at reviving Anya, I had to be back on Earth to do so. Closing my eyes, I willed myself to return. I thought I heard the Golden One's mad laughter, ringing in the farthest distance. Then it seemed that Zeus spoke to me: "Yes, you may return, Orion. You have served us well."

  I felt an instant of cold as sharp as a sword blade slicing through me. When I opened my eyes I found myself back in the great pyramid, in the burial chamber of Khufu.

  Drenched with sweat, I lurched against the gold-inlaid sarcophagus. Every part of me was exhausted, body and mind. Somehow I dragged myself down the spiraling stone stairway to the underground chamber where Hetepamon waited.

  The fat priest was kneeling before the altar of Amon. He had lit all the lamps in the tiny chamber. Pungent incense filled the room as he murmured in a language that was not the Egyptians' current tongue.

  ". . . for the safety of the stranger Orion, O Amon, I pray. Mightiest of gods, protect this stranger who so resembles your beloved Osiris . . ."

  "I am back," I said, leaning wearily against the stone wall.

  Hetepamon whirled so quickly that he lost his balance and went down on all fours. Laboriously, he lifted his ponderous bulk to his feet.

  "So quickly? You've barely been gone an hour."

  I smiled. "The gods can make time flow swiftly when they want to."

  "You accomplished your mission?" he asked eagerly. "You have fulfilled your destiny?"