Inanna—the gods knew—had a host of character flaws, but her eye for drama had always been impeccable. The Tiamat was as magnificent now as it had been in life.
As Arman, he had protected Inanna’s flank as she battled the demon whose heart was eventually fashioned into the Dalkhu Libbu.
As Arman, he had witnessed Inanna’s battle against Tiamat from the bridge of the Dalkhu Libbu.
He had been more than the first commander of the Illojim starship fleet. He had been Inanna’s most trusted battle lord.
There had been nothing between them but the deep friendship of comrades-in-arms. At least not to him.
But apparently it had been more than that to her. He had broken her heart when he had fallen in love with Ereshkigal.
But now, staring once more upon the miracle that was the reincarnated Tiamat, it was impossible not to be mesmerized by the wonder that was Inanna. Before she became known as the queen of heaven and earth, she was just Inanna—princess of An, space mage of the Illojim.
It would have been nice if she were still around to tackle the problem that Marduk had created.
No, not Marduk, Zamir checked himself.
The problem that he—Zamir—had created. Marduk was his problem to solve, as Zamir and as Arman.
“Can’t you shoot the Tiamat from the sky?” Kai asked.
“Its hull is adamantine, the same metal that Inanna used to channel the heat from the Earth’s core. A missile wouldn’t be able to break through it.”
“Surely, there’s a weak spot, somewhere.”
Zamir studied the magnificent starship. “The only openings in the Tiamat are the same openings that were on the celestial dragon, near the head and near the…” He drew his breath in sharply and swung the fighter jet into a screaming midair twist.
“What are you doing?” Kai shouted.
“Entering through the dragon’s only weak spot.” The F-15E Strike Eagle positioned itself beneath the Tiamat. “Hold on. I guarantee it will be rough.” Teeth gritted, Zamir punched through the sound barrier. He ignored Kai’s sharp inhalation of air as the speed climbed past Mach Two. He would have only one chance at this…and at these insane speeds, it would work only if the Tiamat did not swerve at the last moment.
The opening was smaller than he remembered on a creature so large.
“What is…?” Kai’s voice trailed off. “You’re entering through its rear end?”
“It’s the Tiamat’s only weak spot.” Zamir grimaced. “And it’s smaller than I recall.”
And in that moment, as if Marduk knew what Zamir was trying to do, the Tiamat veered to the left.
Instinctively, Zamir released two missiles. They shot forward, and in that instant, Zamir knew he had miscalculated.
The fighter jet was too close. There was no way to evade the backlash of fire and shockwaves from the impact of the missiles against the Tiamat’s adamantine hull.
Heat seared the F-15E. The Tiamat’s hull, although unbroken, was still vibrating from the impact of the missiles when the F-15E plowed into it. The double impact punched through the hull. Instinct—probably Jackson’s training—kept Zamir’s eyes open as the F-15E lurched through the opening, its engines on fire.
The narrow corridors tore off the fighter jet’s wings. Wires trailing from its body, black smoke spewing from its engine, the jet skidded to a slow stop.
“Kai?” Zamir shouted his grandson’s name.
The silence—the too-long silence—made Zamir’s heartbeat falter. His chest was aching, lungs aflame from lack of oxygen, when Kai finally spoke. “I…Are you sure you know how to fly this thing?”
The sarcastic disgust in Kai’s voice wrenched a burst of relieved laughter out of Zamir. “Are you all right?”
“I think…” Kai sounded breathless and disoriented. “I much prefer the Beltiamatu way of making war.”
“This is a hard way of making war,” Zamir agreed as he manually released the cockpit. He jumped out of the plane and studied the irreparable damage all along its blackened and broken frame. “Expensive too.”
But it had worked.
Kai had been right about winning Jacob over. They could never have gotten as far as they did without Jacob’s tentacles looped around the militaries of the world. Jacob’s quick thinking and fast talking had gotten them into the Tiamat.
Getting the rest of the way and stopping Marduk was up to him.
Zamir extended his hand to steady Kai as his grandson half-climbed, half-fell out of the plane.
Kai gripped his thigh with white-knuckled fingers as if trying to hold back the tingles of pain that heralded agonizing transformation.
“How much longer do you have?” Zamir asked.
Kai’s eyes filled with despair. “I don’t know. Let’s just get moving.”
Zamir reached for the radio but it was silent, either damaged in the landing or too deep within the Tiamat to be picked up by human instruments on the outside.
“I’m sure Ginny’s all right,” Kai said quietly.
A muscle twitched in Zamir’s cheek. Was he that transparent? Were his few vulnerabilities that evident?
“Marduk will be on the bridge, and it’s a long way away.” Zamir turned slowly, taking in the curved adamantine walls and floor.
The surroundings, which should have been completely foreign to him, were unexpectedly familiar. Unlike the Dalkhu Libbu, which had been still beating when Inanna encased it in adamantine, the Tiamat had been reconstructed from bones. Inanna, nevertheless, had preserved much of its original beauty and function. And that meant—
His gaze snapped up to the jagged and protruding edges of the ceiling. “Follow me.”
“Where are we going?” Kai asked as Zamir pressed at various uneven spots in the ceiling. “What are you doing?”
“The spinal cord column of the Tiamat is the fastest way of getting across the ship.”
Eyes narrowed, Kai stared at the ceiling as if in new light. “And those are the back bones?”
Zamir nodded, then grinned as he found the spot he had been looking for. He pulled hard, and a section of the ceiling lowered into a steep ramp. He shrugged. “Inanna didn’t have much to work with.”
“I don’t think—” Kai suddenly arched and crumpled to his knees. The lower half of his body trashed in throes of agony. The upper half of his body stiffened.
Zamir gripped Kai’s shoulders, his breath catching every time Kai arched back against him, eyes wide, unseeing, ablaze with pain. The seconds blurred into minutes, and Zamir stopped counting. And for a long time, neither moved. He stared at Kai’s long, gleaming tail, resting in a pool of blood and shredded flesh. Tension locked the muscles around Zamir’s jaw so tightly that he could not speak without sounding like he was ready to strike out at something. It seemed to him as if he had a plan for everything—except Kai’s impending death.
“Go,” Kai whispered, his voice so hoarse, so broken by pain that he could hardly speak.
“Not without you.”
“You have to stop the Tiamat before it fires its main engines. Go. I will follow as quickly as I can.”
Zamir stared at Kai, hating the fact that Kai was right. He nodded stiffly, then his grip tightened on Kai’s shoulders—the only farewell he would permit himself—before he let go and raced up the ramp.
The orichalcum-encased spinal column emitted pale golden light, and stretched out, seemingly into infinity. It was a perfect cylinder, eight feet in diameter and studded with turquoise-colored stones, for distance markers. Zamir sprinted along the corridor, toward the head of the Tiamat—the bridge.
Arman’s dormant consciousness rose to the fore as seamlessly as Jackson’s consciousness had enabled Zamir to pilot the F-15E Strike Eagle. He knew his way around the Tiamat almost as well as he knew his way around the Dalkhu Libbu.
Which was why he was caught off guard when the floor panel opened beneath him and plunged him, screaming, into the Tiamat’s cavernous belly.
Chapter 2
7
Zamir tumbled through the air. A quick, sweeping glance confirmed that he was in the Tiamat’s belly. The massive cargo bay had once been filled with aether, but all of it had spilled out when the Dalkhu Libbu collided with the Tiamat and shattered its hull.
Marduk had not filled the space with anything else.
Which meant a possibly deadly fall right to the bottom of the vast space.
But there was an exit at the bottom, which meant another chance of getting to the bridge.
Zamir braced himself for impact but an instant before he would have hit the floor, the gravity in the chamber reversed, and he was yanked toward the ceiling. His head was still spinning from the sudden change in direction when gravity switched again, flinging him across the cargo bay.
Zamir snarled. He knew exactly what Marduk was doing. Marduk was keeping him in the bay, unable to reach any exit.
Gravity yanked him toward the starboard flank—toward jagged adamantine panels that did not fit together as flawlessly as the smooth adamantine surface covering the rest of the cargo bay.
Residual damage from the collision with the Dalkhu Libbu.
The hull had been repaired, but not perfectly.
Zamir streamlined his body, accelerating his plunge toward the wall. He caught on to the edge of an ill-fitting panel as the gravity switched again. His breath squeezed out of his lungs as he hung from his fingertips.
He did not look down. He knew exactly how far away down was.
Instead, his gaze shifted along the malformed panels. The repair drones did a terrible job. And he was thankful for it.
He pulled himself along the panels, gripping harder and tighter each time gravity switched. The jagged edges of the adamantine panels cut into his hand, until they were slick with blood, but he worked his way to the access door on the right side of the cargo bay.
He wiped off his blood on his pants, then placed his hand against the security panel. A pale blue light flashed over the panel, then changed to green. The door clicked, the sound almost inaudible over the rapid thudding of his heart. He yanked the door open, pulled himself inside, and dropped to the floor as the artificial gravity within the narrow corridor returned to normal.
Zamir shut the door against the stomach-churning madness of the cargo bay, then slumped against the wall, mentally weary, physically drained. It took him a moment to realize where he was. His gaze traced the slowly spinning compressors that pushed air into the intake valves of the massive starboard engine. Zamir touched the control panel to bring up the engine performance data. The characters, written in the First Tongue, were vaguely similar to modern Beltiamatu, but unlike Ginny who seemed comfortable guessing her way through conversations, he could not afford any mistakes.
He took a deep breath. It was time to trust Arman the same way he had trusted Jackson. Zamir laid his hands upon the panel and forced himself to relax. His vision blurred for an instant and when his gaze refocused, the engines were only partially constructed.
He was traversing a memory.
Two figures stood in front of the engines, speaking words that he only partly understood. The slim female figure was Inanna. He recognized the dark fall of her hair and her sleek adamantine armor.
The other figure was male, tall and thin. His deep, resonant voice was as sonorous as music. The words started out like the harmony of a childhood lullaby, the tone more familiar than the words, more dream than memory, but as Arman’s awareness sharpened, the words became clear.
Inanna and the man were discussing the schematics and technical details of the engines. Different technologies powered the Tiamat and the Dalkhu Libbu. They were, after all, different kinds of ships. The Dalkhu Libbu, Inanna’s flagship, was not built for speed but for safety. The Tiamat, on the other hand, was designed to strike with devastating speed and force. Its massive interior could carry hundreds of smaller starships, or be retrofitted for cargo. It required a different kind of engine, one that could handle the swift burn of aerial and zero-gravity battles, as well as the steady churn of a beast of burden.
Arman knew nothing about the Tiamat’s engines—neither how it was built, nor how to bring it down—but…
The man standing beside Inanna glanced over his shoulder, his gaze mocking, even taunting.
His face with his angular eyes and sharp, shrewd features, were instantly recognizable.
Nergal.
Nergal and Inanna were the architects and engineers of the Tiamat.
If anyone knew how to bring down the Tiamat, it would be Nergal.
Zamir shook his head sharply, dismissing Arman’s focused awareness, but Arman’s doubts remained, especially Arman’s inherent distrust of Nergal.
Nergal, who had hated Arman more than anyone else.
How desperate did a man have to be to trust his worst enemy?
* * *
Kai dragged himself along the Tiamat’s spinal column, grateful for the smooth, coolness of the orichalcum surface. He did not—could not—look back at the trail of blood that marked his passage.
Not when he needed all his strength, all his will, to move forward.
His chest muscles ached, and his arm muscles burned from the effort of supporting and dragging his weight through the seemingly endless length of the corridor. Fatigue draped like a veil over his mind, coloring his world in a translucent haze, slowing his thoughts, dampening the speed of his reactions.
He was not ready for battle.
Perhaps it was just as well the battle and the war hinged on Zamir.
After all, Kai had no illusions as to why his grandfather had insisted Kai accompany him onto the Tiamat.
If Badur was killed, Kai would have to take up the aether core.
Zamir wasn’t responsible for the cruel facts. Neither was Zamir a villain because he possessed a pragmatic approach for contingency planning. Marduk could not be permitted to take the Tiamat from the Earth’s atmosphere.
But Kai was not ready to lose his father.
Not when he had just found him.
All the more reason for him to find a solution—a way that neither Zamir nor Marduk would likely entertain—a way for the Earth to survive and Badur to live.
Urgency hastened Kai’s passage along the corridor in spite of mind-blurring fatigue. Time faded into moments—uncountable and unaccounted-for moments slipping past him. He pulled himself forward, one hand after another, then jerked to a stop as the corridor widened suddenly into a cavernous space. Two window-like portals spread across the far wall. Rows of monitors and panels curved along the oval interior of the room.
He had found the bridge, located in Tiamat’s skull.
A spread of blue and green filled the horizon beyond its two eyes, but it was falling away as the dragon soared ever upward.
Marduk stood, his back to Kai, at the panel between the dragon’s eyes. The ship’s voice resonated with a light female timbre. “Repairs are ninety percent complete.”
“Prepare to fire the main engines on my mark,” Marduk said. “Any sign of Arman?”
“The sensor trackers in the cargo bay have not been able to locate him. Artificial gravity within the cargo bay is still fluctuating.”
“Keep it that way.” Marduk straightened. “Arman will never be able to get out of there.” His voice took on a sneer. “And he will not long survive his homecoming on Aldebaran. The Illojim will enjoy unleashing their fury on so loyal a servant to the family of An.”
The ship spoke in its calm tones. “The cameras on the rear access port are back online.”
Marduk waved his hand at one of the monitors, and the battered remains of Zamir’s fighter jet appeared on the screen. Marduk leaned closer. “It’s a two-pilot jet, and…all that blood on the floor. If Arman had lost that much blood, he could never have sprinted along the central corridor as quickly as he had. Kai must have been with him. Where is he? Where is the mer-prince?”
“Activating security logs,” the ship said.
“He must have come
along the central corridor too. Did he fall into the cargo bay with Arman?”
“Our records suggest not, but we cannot confirm. Power was diverted from the central corridor to the cargo bay to track Arman.”
“Are you saying that you have no way of knowing if Kai came after Arman, traveling along the same path?”
“No, I cannot,” the ship said. “Should I divert power from the main engine to activate all the security drones on the ship?”
Marduk snarled. “No, stay on course. It doesn’t matter if he’s on the ship. He’s just one Beltiamatu, and he is dying anyway.”
A sharp gasp came from a place close to the ground, concealed from Kai’s eyes behind sections of monitors and panels. “You said that if we removed the aether core from the colony, from Earth, Kai would live!”
Badur…Kai recognized his father’s voice in spite of the sharp strain in the tone.
“Removing the aether core from Earth, as you have done, will extend Kai’s life,” Marduk said. “By how much, I cannot say. There is no cure for aether poisoning.”
“But you said—”
“I promised nothing.” Marduk’s lips tugged into a sneer as he strode over to Badur. “Arman has delayed our departure, but not for long. The broken hull will be fixed within minutes, then we will begin our journey home to Aldebaran.”
“You lied to me,” Badur snarled. His voice suddenly pitched into a scream of pain.
Kai’s heart clenched. Had Marduk struck his father?
“I never lied to you,” Marduk said, straightening. “You simply wished for better outcomes than I promised. A father’s hope and love never dies, does it?” He returned to the center of the bridge and stared out at the horizon as the Tiamat skimmed above the tree line.
“The repairs to the hull are complete,” the synthetic voice of the ship reported. “Pressurization complete. Preflight tests completed. All systems are functioning at a hundred percent.”
Cursed Legacy: Lord of the Ocean #3 Page 16
