Age of Aztec (35 page)

“As for you...” The Great Speaker returned his attention to Reston, who was still smarting from Mal’s blow. “Your insolence doesn’t perturb me in the least. You are nothing to me. Once, for a very brief while, you seemed a cause for concern. But that time is gone. I have you before me, and you are a small and pathetic individual indeed. Your opinion of me is of no consequence, and neither are you, in and of yourself.”

“Then how about letting me go,” said Reston, “if I’m so insignificant?”

“Because you might still have your uses. Colonel?”

Tlanextic straightened. “Sir.”

“First of all, you can dismiss your subordinates. We shan’t be needing them.”

“You heard him, men.” Tlanextic jerked a thumb. “Take a hike.” As the lieutenants departed, he gestured at Mal and Aaronson. “And these two, Your Imperial Holiness?”

“They may stay. It would seem churlish to dismiss them, in light of how far they’ve travelled to be here. I wouldn’t like them to go home thinking the Great Speaker ungracious or niggardly with his hospitality.” He said this with a sly lilt to his voice, the tone of someone who enjoyed his whims and his freedom to indulge them. “Besides, who knows? Inspector Vaughn may yet be leaving with her prize.”

Yes!
thought Mal.

“It all depends on how helpful he is. Oh, and these things, colonel.” The Great Speaker waved at Reston’s bonds. “Not called for. Take them off.”

“If you insist, sir.”

“I do. I’m not frightened of Mr Reston. While he’s shackled, it implies that he is a danger to me. Untying him will dispel
that
illusion. Losing the chains will weaken his position, not strengthen it.”

Producing a key, Tlanextic unlocked and removed the manacles. “One step out of line,” he hissed at Reston, “and you’re dead meat. You so much as sneeze suspiciously, you’ll find a sword through your heart before you’ve even wiped your nose.”

“Now then, Mr Reston,” said the Great Speaker. “Let’s all relax and talk in a civilised fashion. I want information. I’m curious to know about events that occurred in the rainforest. I have reason to believe you’ve recently been in contact with certain parties who may bear a certain animosity towards me.”

“Xibalba?”

“Come now, don’t be facetious. You know I don’t mean them. Poorly equipped separatist guerrillas with their foolish dreams of a Mayan state? I couldn’t care less about them. If the Conquistador is a gnat, they are smaller still. Microbes, perhaps. No, I’m talking about beings of considerable power. You’ve met them. I know you have.”

“I have no idea what you’re –”

Quicker than the eye could follow, quicker than seemed humanly possible, the Great Speaker shot out a hand and seized Reston by the neck. Then, exerting no apparent effort, he raised him off the floor, using only the one arm. Reston clawed at the hand with both of his, trying to unpick the gloved fingers, straining and gurgling. His face reddened. His eyes bulged. His legs kicked violently but uselessly. He hung there, suspended, choking, for nearly a minute before the Great Speaker relented and set him back down.

“There, now,” he said as Reston, bent over, wheezed for breath. “I was hoping I wouldn’t have to resort to those sorts of cheap bullyboy tactics. I’m not barbaric by nature, not in my day-to-day affairs. When it comes to getting results, I far prefer words to the fist. So let’s try again. Three days ago, out in the rainforest, certain energies were released.”

“The aerodisc blowing up,” said Reston hoarsely, gulping out each word.

“No. Other energies. Of a kind the world has not known in many a year. I detected them. I am, you might say, a spider, and the world is my web. I sit at the centre of it, feeling the hum and quiver of every strand. When there is an anomaly – anything that might upset the precise, orderly running of my domain – I am aware of it. There is a presence out there in the forest, just a few miles away. I sense that you have met it. The moment you stepped out onto this terrace, I knew. It has left its mark on you. You are redolent of it. I can see it on you.
Smell
it on you. Smell
him
.”

“Him,” Reston echoed.

“Yes. And where he goes, can the others be far behind?”

“You’re referring to –”

“Who do you think I’m referring to?” the Great Speaker snapped. Then he composed himself, his voice resuming its serene purr. “So tell me. How is he? What sort of a mood is he in? What does he want? What are his plans?”

Very quietly, almost in a whisper, Reston said, “Quetzalcoatl.”

“Yes. Quetzalcoatl. Of course, Quetzalcoatl. Who else?”

Mal scowled. What the hell were these two talking about? Quetzalcoatl? What did
he
have to do with anything? She saw similar perplexity on Aaronson’s face. Tlanextic, by contrast, looked only mildly fascinated, as though the mention of the god’s name came as no surprise. It was evident that she and Aaronson were the odd ones out here, ignorant of some vital facts known to everyone else present.

“He...” Reston paused. “He told me nothing. Nothing about any plans. Just demonstrated what he and the rest of them can do. It wasn’t even a fraction of what they’re capable of, I don’t think. They barely broke a sweat.”

“And what was it? What did they do?”

“They killed – they
swatted
– Xibalba.”

“How interesting. Why the Mayans? What did they do to deserve it?”

“Nothing, just failed to listen.”

“You don’t suppose this indicates Quetzalcoatl is on my side?”

“You’d have to ask him. Like I said, he told me nothing.”

“Come on,” the Great Speaker pressed him, “he must have given some hint of his goals. What game is he playing? Why has he returned? Why now?”

“I don’t know. I really don’t.”

“But it seems as though he confided in you to some extent. Favoured you. After all, he killed those others but let you live. Why?”

“Beats me. I think he had a soft spot for me. Or felt sorry for me. One or the other.”

The answer seemed to jibe with the Great Speaker’s own view. “Yes, that sounds about right. He does like his pets, does old Quetzalcoatl. Fond of the lesser beings and the afflicted. Like Xolotl. And that disgusting syphilitic old cripple Nanahuatzin. So he didn’t mention me at all?”

Reston searched his memory. “Maybe. Sort of. Indirectly. In passing. He talked about not doing what Xibalba was hoping to do, not resorting to drastic measures. A nonviolent resolution. And there was something about ‘unfinished business.’ I suppose that might apply to you, the Empire, all of that.”

“Nonviolent,” said the Great Speaker, musing. “That would be just like him. Always thinking he’s above such things, always trying to plant his flag on the moral high ground, when really he’s no better than anyone else.”

“But he isn’t the actual, genuine...” Reston began. Then his voice dropped, taking on a note of numb resignation. “He is, isn’t he? There’s no point trying to fight it any more.”

“Yes.”

“But then that would mean...”

“I, Mr Reston, am what I appear to be, and so much more.”

By now Mal was beyond confused. It seemed the two of them had lapsed into talking in riddles. She was seized by the urge to butt in and demand they speak straight, stop being so damn cryptic...

All at once, the Great Speaker tensed. His whole body went rigid, right to the fingertips, every inch of him alert.

“Your Imperial Holiness?” said Tlanextic, partway unsheathing his
macuahitl
. “What is it?”

“Quiet!” The Great Speaker turned his head, fixing his attention on the eastern horizon. “Oh yes,” he said slowly. “There you are. Peekaboo. I see you.”

Mal followed the line of his gaze but could see nothing out of the ordinary, nothing that hadn’t been there a moment earlier. It was the exact same view as before: the lake, the far-off shore, the folds of hill beyond.

“Come on, then,” the Great Speaker said. “It’s time we had this reunion. Long overdue, I’d say.”

“Sir,” said Tlanextic, “is there trouble? Perhaps we should get you inside, down to one of the command bunkers. You’ll be safe there.”

“No, it’s not trouble, colonel. At least, nothing I can’t handle. I think what’s coming could be called an official delegation.”

Reston was looking eastward too, and Mal could tell he was anxious, even though there was no obvious threat.

Then she spotted them – a trio of tiny dots in midair, dark against the shimmering hazy blue of the sky.

Some kind of aircraft?

They came closer, growing in size. They were moving fast, quicker even than an aerodisc could travel.

They were...

People?

Three of them.

Winged.

Flying.

The hairs on the back of Mal’s neck stood on end.

“Colonel Tlanextic?” said the Great Speaker. “I’d recommend you don’t do anything rash or precipitous. You’ll regret it. Just stay where you are. That applies to all of you. Be calm. Show due deference.”

He spread out his arms.

“Gods are coming.”

TWENTY-FOUR

Same Day

T
HEY DESCENDED, LANDED.

All three were unusually tall, like the Great Speaker, and were kitted out in sleek versions of traditional Aztec dress. The pairs of wings, attached to them by ornate harnesses, were rigid arcs of metal which swivelled on pivots, for steering and braking. The shoulder-mounted units from which they sprouted were clearly what lent the wearers the power of flight. They gave off a familiar faint hum; portable neg-mass generators.

The wings stowed themselves automatically as the three men landed, retracting and folding neatly away behind their wearers’ spines. The neg-mass units fell silent. The three looked around at the group assembled on the terrace. One of them, the tallest and by some margin the handsomest, bestowed a look of recognition on Reston – a slightly frowning one, as if surprised or puzzled to see him. Hesitantly, warily, Reston returned it. It was obvious to Mal that they knew each other, and some of Reston’s recent conversation with the Great Speaker began to make sense. These were the people they were talking about, the ones Reston had had a run-in with in the rainforest.

But who were they?

And how come they had personal antigrav capability? That wasn’t possible, as far as Mal was aware. The Japanese had expended huge amounts of time, money and resources on trying to scale down the size of neg-mass technology from its original specifications. They hadn’t managed to by much, and if they couldn’t, no one could. The dream of individual flight had yet to become a reality. Except, here it was.

The Great Speaker turned his head, looking at each of the three arrivals in turn. Finally he said, “Well, well, well. It was inevitable, I suppose. You left me alone for long enough. I was beginning to think you’d forgotten about me.”

“I wish,” said the tallest.

“Oh, so that’s how it’s to be, is it?”

“No, I apologise. It was a cheap shot.”

“So you’ve come to kiss and make up. Or am I to view this visitation in a more sinister light? As a prelude to something worse?”

“It all depends.”

“On?”

“How you choose to play things.”

“It’s been a long time. Can’t we simply let bygones be bygones?”

“I’d be glad to. But some deeds are hard to overlook, or forgive.”

“Such as?”

“What you’ve been up to in our absence, for starters,” growled another of the three. This one was superbly muscled and completely hairless, with a belligerent jut to his jaw.

“You don’t like what I’ve done with the place?” The Great Speaker put a hand to his chest in the manner of someone mortally offended. “And here was I thinking I’d been an exemplary caretaker. Preserving the legacy. Making the most of what we’d started. Maximising on the potential.”

“This was never what we envisioned,” said the third of the flying men. “A worldwide dictatorship based on conquest and terror – that was never the plan. Quite the opposite.”

“Then perhaps you should have thought about that before you all flounced off and left me to it. If you’d been really committed to the project, you’d have stayed on and helped see it through. Instead, you abandoned me here on my own. That gave me
carte blanche
to continue as I saw fit. You can’t hold me solely accountable for how everything’s turned out. You’re to blame, too, by walking away.”

“You’ve interfered with the climate,” said the first, sidestepping the Great Speaker’s accusation.

“Wouldn’t you have?” the Great Speaker said affably. “The planet needed warming up. Who in their right mind would want to live in the Arctic Circle, or even a temperate zone, if there didn’t have to be one? Thanks to me, hundreds of thousands of square miles of permafrost and tundra is now fertile land, freed up for agricultural use. I’ve helped feed the world. Besides, these are the kind of temperatures I’m used to. Call me sentimental, but I wanted to make earth more like good old Tamoanchan – more like home.”

“You’ve not shared all the knowledge, as we agreed. You were meant to introduce further technology in stages, as and when mankind was ready.”