by Alex Raizman
Her opposite was Lazzario Littleton, who had become the unofficial leader of the comic book and speculative fiction authors. He was, according to the research Dale had conducted before bringing him in, “author of some of the most iconic storylines in modern comics”, and that - combined with a strange sort of niche charisma - made the others of his ilk sit up and take notice. Dale has learned that while Lazzario was...different from the experts he was used to, the man had a keen intellect and surprising insights. Doctor Pivarti was currently giving him her full attention, even though his seemed to be equally divided between their conversation and a box of jelly donuts.
Lazzario’s shadow and personal yes-man, Jake, stood nearby. Jake was a thin reed of a man with a prominent Adam’s apple. Even in the cool air of the base, his forehead was beaded with sweat. It always was. Dale had wondered if it was due to a medical condition, but the more he observed the man, the more he put it down to Jake’s perpetual nervous state.
Those nerves were not enough to prevent him from trying to flirt with one of Pivarti’s researchers, a red-headed woman named Cassandra. At least, Dale thought he was trying to flirt. Jake was standing close to Cassandra and gesturing as he spoke, his hands shaking slightly. Cassandra, a pale young woman with thick glasses, seemed to be handling Jake deftly, politely smiling and laughing along with whatever story he was sharing. She was developing the glassy-eyed expression that seemed to go hand in hand with prolonged conversation with Jake, but Dale didn’t think anyone was able to prevent that from happening. He’d even seen Lazzario’s eyes glaze over when Jake got going. A fragment of their conversation cut through the din to reach Dale’s ears.
“I understand that,” Jake said, “but I really think an explanation isn’t needed. The ‘how’ might be academically interesting, but from a practical effect-”
“From a practical effect,” Cassandra said firmly, “it establishes limitations. In issue 186, you made it clear that Captain Blaster’s powers could only…”
Dale tuned them back out. He understood that these digressions into comic book ephemera were part of the process this group used to understand the very real threats that they were up against, but for the life of him, he couldn’t understand how they helped. The how is only academically interesting, Dale thought, then let the momentary amusement fade before cutting through the idle chatter.
“We need to be ready to move to live testing,” Dale announced. Immediately, conversations stopped, and all eyes turned towards him. The team’s expressions ranged from surprise to apprehension, and several glanced sideways at Pivarti and Lazzario, expecting one of them to respond.
They were not disappointed. “Why on Earth would we do that?” Pivarti asked, her eyes narrowing with frustration. “We’re not ready yet.”
Dale let out a long and ragged breath. “Doctor, you didn’t watch the news today, did you?”
“I did not.”
Dale punched a button on his tablet and took control of the flat screen monitor on the wall. A few more taps, and a video started to play.
The camerawork was amateur and shaky, done by some random person with a camera phone and a stronger desire for views than for self-preservation. A police officer was crouched behind his car door, using it as a shield as he fired down the street. The camera panned to follow the path of the bullets.
Everyone gasped, and even the ordinarily unflappable Pivarti had to adjust her glasses in a vain attempt to hide her shock. Coming up the street were a dozen human skeletons armed with spears and giant circular shields. “What the hell?” Lazzario whispered.
Dale didn’t answer. More gunshots erupted in the street, and one of the skulls snapped back. Jake let out an excited whoop.
Then the stricken skeleton leaned forward, a bullet hole in the center of its forehead. It kept moving.
Dale waited just long enough for everyone to properly absorb the video. “The skeletons you’re seeing have taken over Wilberforce, Ohio. The army is coordinating with a winged man claiming to be the Archangel Raphael, and he is telling them this is because Hell won a war against Heaven.”
A few team members expressed surprise, and Doctor Pivarti opened her mouth again, but the Admiral cut them all off with a raised finger and a stern expression. He punched a few buttons on his tablet again, and a still image appeared. He gave everyone several seconds to take in the majesty of the winged man holding a golden sword raised high above his head, a beam of light shooting down from the heavens to meet the tip of his blade. Before him were a dozen human skeletons, holding their hands up as if to cover the eyes they didn’t have. Bits of bone were being blown away from the skeletons from the sheer force of the light as if it were a wind scouring them clean.
“Holy shit!” one of the researchers gasped.
Dale nodded grimly. “And there’s more.” He worked his tablet again, and the image changed to a video clip. This one had also been taken from a camera phone, and while efforts had been made to stabilize the video, it still shook wildly. It showed a creature emerging from a second-story window. It had the arms and legs of a human, but mandibles jutted from its mouth, and from the base of the figure’s spine was a thorax nearly as large as the being’s torso. A pair of spinnerets at the base of the thorax affixed a thick strand of silk to the building.
Someone on the street screamed, and gunfire erupted. The arachnid humanoid propelled itself off the wall in a single leap and landed on a car. More gunfire punched through the roof of the vehicle, with flashes of light showing from the driver’s seat. The arachnid tore through the thin metal on top of the car, and then the video cut out. “That isn’t CGI, ladies and gentlemen. A group of these...things...have started an all-out civil war in Ghana. Their leader claims to be the Ashanti god Anansi.”
Another image appeared, this one a still shot of Moloch, taken during the incident on Graham Island. “Remember him?”
“Yes,” said Cassandra, who clearly didn’t understand the concept of a rhetorical question, “that’s Moloch. He was on Enki’s team when-”
“That’s correct,” Dale interrupted. “He’s in Venezuela building a temple to himself and gathering followers, probably to start another conflict, and the Antichrist and his cohorts were spotted in Greece doing God knows what. And that’s all in the last twenty-four hours. Project Myrmidon needs to be on the fast track, starting yesterday.”
Doctor Pivarti shook her head. “Sir, I understand that the increasing sightings of verified cryptids makes finding a more effective response seem more urgent-”
“It doesn’t just seem more urgent,” Dale snapped. “It is more urgent. Absolutely critical.”
“-but Project Myrmidon simply isn’t ready yet. Conventional means will have to last a bit longer.”
Dale shook his head. “Every second that we wait just puts us further behind. The world’s going to hell in a damn handbasket, Doctor. I want Project Myrmidon up and running now.”
Pivarti’s spine stiffened. “Sir, we have not finished testing for possible side effects. It is both dangerous and unethical to proceed without more data. We could inadvertently unleash monsters on the world, and perhaps find ourselves in an even worse position.”
“And believe me, that’s a major risk to take,” Lazzario said, having finally swallowed his latest doughnut. “Like, ninety percent of the time you try something like this, you end up with horrible monsters.”
“The monsters are already here,” Dale replied. “Now we need some on our side. And this discussion is irrelevant because we have orders from the President. Human trials begin today.”
For a few seconds, silence hung in the room as everyone digested the news of a directive from the Commander in Chief.
“Hey, I totally get that. Can’t disobey the big guy.” Lazzario shrugged. “But one of the things you want me to do is to let you know what could go wrong. I’m telling you that this pretty much screams ‘horribly wrong’. Like, everyone’s shouting at the movie screen wrong.”
“Te
rribly wrong,” Jake piped in. “Rushed super-soldier experiments are like, number five on the supervillain backstory checklist.”
Pivarti pressed her lips into a thin line. “I agree with my...colleague, Admiral. The risks are-”
“Irrelevant,” Dale said, already tired of this conversation. “Risks have to be taken right now. We’re losing ground too rapidly. Don’t tell me what we can’t do because of risks, tell me how to minimize those risks.”
Lazzario spoke up. “Okay, so a few things to consider when you’re making super-soldiers then.” He held up four fingers and began to tick them down with each point. “First, don’t use an unwilling subject, use a volunteer. You don’t want to end up with a lunatic running around with a hate-on for you. I know you probably won’t do that anyway, but if I don’t say it, I know I’m going to regret it.”
“Absolutely,” Jake added, nodding for emphasis. “Conspiracy theories will abound about any vanished person, which pretty much guarantees we’ll be found out.”
“Second,” Lazzario continued after he was sure Jake had finished, “We’re going to need intensive psych evaluations. I mean the works. Whatever kind of evaluation you use for astronauts? Take that, and then add whatever kind of evaluation you use for the Secret Service members that do POTUS protection. Then add whatever you’d want for someone who was watching your own child, Admiral. And then take it to the next level.”
Jake nodded firmly again. “At least twenty. The best psychologists you can hush up. I cannot tell you how many times I’ve written stories where the super-soldier turns into a psychopath. It’s pretty much guaranteed whoever you put though this is going to end up crazy. You need to make sure they’re as sane as possible to start with. Whatever you think is enough? Add more.”
“Third, make sure you’ve got someone in peak physical condition. The crème-de-la-crème, the best of the best. Doctor Pivarti has made it clear she doesn’t know exactly what this is going to do to a person.”
Dale idly wondered if Jake was going to nod so hard he snapped his pencil-thin neck. “There’s a good chance that if we kill our test subject, we’ll end up with some kind of horrible, undead monster that’s going to eat our hearts or something.”
“Fourth…” Lazzario trailed off, frowning. “I was sure I had a fourth point.”
“Well,” Dale said, “none of that should be-”
“Oh yeah, fourth!” Lazzario interrupted shamelessly, drawing a glare from Dale, who was used to being the one to interrupt, not being interrupted. “Pick people no one’s going to miss. No friends outside of here, no family, no nothing. If this goes horribly wrong and they die, there’s at least a three out of four chance that someone they care about ends up getting powers and becoming a foe for us later on down the line.”
This time, Jake’s head didn’t so much nod as vibrate. “This is the most, the absolute most critical point. Dead family members are the unbreakable heroic motivation. Survivors never hang up the cape.”
Doctor Pivarti frowned. “That hardly seems scientific.”
“Doctor, we’re dealing with gods and monsters. We saw demons fighting on an island in Canada. There are angels in Ohio, of all damn places.” Lazzario shrugged. “We passed science about eighteen exits back, and are heading full speed towards Nuttyville, Earth, population 7.8 billion.”
“You brought us here for a reason,” Jake added, for once not nodding. Dale wondered if he was getting dizzy. “You brought us here because nothing like this has been tried in real life. In fiction, it’s old hat. Trust us on these.”
Dale nodded. “Consider your advice well heard and listened to. Doctor Pivarti, any other requirements on your end?”
She frowned. “My only concerns are focused on the subject’s physical and mental well-being, Admiral. Which those two so...thoroughly covered.”
“Excellent. Then you’ll have your volunteers by the end of the day. Make sure you’re ready for them, Doctor.” Almost everyone in the room began to protest, but the Admiral just waited for it to calm down. “We will be taking all precautions,” he assured them, “but we have our orders. Do the best you can with them.”
“I’m ready, at least,” Kathleen said, speaking for the first time. She slid a folder across the table to Dale. “You wanted uniforms that caught the right look. How’s that do?”
Dale looked at the drawings inside and smiled. “Excellent work. Now it’s time for the rest of you to step up.”
Chapter 2
The Slopes of Olympus
Olympus was not an easy place to reach. To even gain entry, you had to go to the Core world - better known as Earth - location of Mount Olympus in Greece. From there, you had to find the cave that would let you transition over to the mythical realm of Olympus.
Ryan had nearly fallen over with shock when he saw what was on the other side of that cave. It opened on the base of a mountain that stretched up into the vacuum of space. Just looking up at it was enough to give Ryan a sense of vertigo. It was gray and barren of all signs of life, and too narrow for its height, at least compared to Earth’s mountains. Almost closer to an obelisk than a mountain, although still a bit too wide for that description. The surface was spotted with cliffs and chasms that blocked any easy passage.
It was clear that the Greek gods weren’t even remotely interested in company.
Seeing it had been bad enough. Athena’s insistence that they actually climb it was something else entirely.
Ryan hauled himself over the lip of a sheer cliff, panting for breath. It was a reflexive action, not his Hungers settling in, which was for the best. If he or Crystal or Athena had needed to breathe, they would have suffocated miles ago. He wanted nothing more than to flop onto the flat ground in front of him and lay there until his arms and legs stopped screaming at him. A few weeks ago you got winded climbing up the stairs, Ryan reminded himself. His eyes went down the mountain. At this height, it was possible to see the curvature of the Earth, as well as the gentle blue glow of the atmosphere. You just climbed to space. Are you really going to bitch about sore arms and legs?
Apparently, the answer was yes. Ryan flopped onto the snow, panting for breath. He didn’t need air anymore, but that didn’t mean his body didn’t want it. The snow was calming. Divine resilience meant the cold didn’t bother him, so the snow was just something soft and cool to lay on. Soft, cold, and damp. And full of little rocks. Jagged ones. Groaning, Ryan decided the flop was going to be more uncomfortable than standing and stood up. There shouldn’t be snow this high anyway. We’re out of the atmosphere.
Ryan managed to get the panting under control, but he realized that he could feel the air rushing in and out of his lungs as he breathed. In space. Where there shouldn’t be any air. Well, it’s not like Olympus obeys standard geography anyway, Ryan reminded himself, trying - and failing - to dismiss a growing unease. It was easier when another world had a broken and cracked sky or was literally built on top of solid clouds. Ryan realized that the closer something was to normal, the more unsettling the abnormal was.
Crystal crested the cliff face, looking as sore as Ryan, and he had to catch her arm to keep her from stumbling. “You okay?” he asked, frowning.
“Right as rain, love.” Crystal righted herself, giving him a smile, but he couldn’t help but notice her eyes had a sunken look to them, one she’d worn increasingly often in the last few weeks.
Ahead of them, Athena turned to look over her shoulder. She caught the worried look Ryan gave her as Crystal dusted the snow off her hands. “Not too much further,” Athena said.
“Good,” Ryan responded. “I still wish we could have just opened doorways straight there.”
Athena shrugged off the complaint without a trace of annoyance - if anything; she gave him a fond look. “If there are any of my kin still up here, they would have been mortally offended. If we want to earn their trust, we cannot start off by breaking ancient customs.
“After all this walking, Athena, some of them better be
at the sodding top.” Crystal’s grumbling had a bit more of an edge to it than Ryan’s did. Lots of things Crystal’s been doing have more of an edge to them. Ryan felt a shiver that had nothing to do with the impossible space snow.
He and Athena had spoken privately and agreed that Crystal had been a bit off since Graham Island. Asking her about it got them nothing but jokes or sarcasm. Her last response had been, “When one million years old you reach, look as good you will not.” Ryan had laughed and decided against pushing her further. She’ll talk about it when she’s ready, Ryan thought, then quickly amended that line of reasoning, or at least, when she thinks it’s worth sharing. At least she wasn’t trying to tell them to roll with it, although Athena was confident that was coming if they pushed her again.
To no one’s surprise, the climb up Mount Olympus had done little to improve anyone’s mood. Even Athena, who had made the trip before, was becoming short of patience. “I hope there is someone up there, Crystal, but as I have said - seventy-three times now, to be precise - I cannot be certain. I was cast out long ago and have not been back.”
“Well, let’s keep moving then. At least if it’s empty, we can just use Ryan’s bloody door to get out.” Crystal muttered that last bit, and if Athena heard it, she paid it no mind.
The last bit of their journey involved scaling a wall of sheer ice. Ryan groaned at the idea of another cliff. At least the last one was rock. He was tempted to call for a pause to their trek but bit his tongue. As much as the idea of resting appealed to him, Ryan didn’t like the idea of taking a break this high up. Some small part of him was convinced he’d fall asleep and roll right off the mountain. Oh, hello, anxiety, Ryan thought at the illogical fear, didn’t know you were still hanging around.
