Ragnarock (2 page)

The find was a squarish clay tablet, roughly a meter across and perhaps ten centimeters thick. It was surprisingly well preserved, with only some minor deterioration around the edges. If this find was anywhere near the age of the other artifacts, it was an archeological miracle that it was in such good shape.

The flat surface of the tablet was carved with graceful, angular glyphs laid out in a very precise spiral that wound its way from the outer edge and spiraled in toward the center, the glyphs growing progressively smaller until they reached a symbol carved in the very center of the tablet. The halogen lighting of the dig site and the dampness of the clay seemed to make the symbols stand out in dark relief against the pale surface of the tablet. Goronay took
his time studying the symbols, with only a quiet
"hmmm" escaping his lips as he gently wiped mud off parts of the find to examine them more closely. Finally he sat back, and a smile showed through his damp gray beard.

"Amazing. Simply amazing. I have never seen writing such as this. It shows vague similarities to some runic alphabets, but it seems to represent a completely unknown style and composition." He turned to Anya. "Where was this found?"

"Down at the eighth layer." she replied. "And doctor, when we lifted it out of the pit, it was very heavy. We believe that there might be something
inside
the clay. Maybe stone or even metal!"
Fascinating,
Goronay thought. What a discovery! If there was something covered over by the tablet, then it should be remarkably well preserved, given the state of the clay itself.

"And, Doctor," Anya said, with a shy pause, "I think it may be
magical."

"Indeed?" The doctor replied. He was an old man and still not entirely used to the fact that magic had returned to the world. Anya's specialty, however, was psychometric archeology, and she used her extrasensory gifts to both track down archeological finds and to learn something of their history by reading their auras or some such thing. Dr. Goronay really didn't understand how it all worked, but he'd seen archaeological sensitives in action enough times to believe that they did.

"Magical in what way?" he asked.

Anya shrugged and shook her head. "I'm not sure." she said. "There are definite traces of . . . something around it, but like nothing I've ever seen before. I get the impression of great age. Whatever is associated with the magic might be inside the tablet."

"Well, then, we should get a look inside. Anya, get a crew together and arrange to have our find transported to the University as soon as possible. We'll need our special equipment to x-ray it and perform other tests to see what there is to see." The doctor smiled and clapped Gregor on the shoulder. "Gregor, help me carry it back to my trailer for safekeeping. It seems that Father Christmas has brought us a present a week early, my friends."

Dr. Goronay and Gregor carefully wrapped the tablet in plastic sheeting and covered it with towels before each taking an end of the parcel and lifting it. Anya was right, the tablet was heavier than it should have been, though Goronay was so energized, he felt as if he could lift ten times its weight off the ground all by himself. He and Gregor walked gingerly through the muck to the doctor's trailer, while another student ran ahead to open the door for them. Once, Gregor nearly slipped in the mud, but managed to regain his balance before sending their burden tumbling to the ground. He sheepishly grinned at the doctor, then returned his concentration to their task.

Once they'd set the tablet on the workbench inside his trailer, Dr. Goronay ignored his sodden clothing and his now cold cup of coffee. He began unwrapping the find, to examine it better under the light and to clean it off somewhat. He sent Gregor off to get some imaging equipment to take holopics of the tablet.

As Goronay brushed the moist dirt off the tablet, he happened to glance at the briefcase sitting next to the small desk. It triggered a sort of recognition in him, like he'd just remembered something. As if in a trance, he found himself moving over to the briefcase, setting it on the desk top, and opening it to reveal a flat object resembling a large, thick frisbee molded from dark plastic. He picked up his pocket secretary, inserted a data chip into the port, and keyed the memo mode. Holding it near his lips, he spoke into the receiver.

"Target acquired. Will meet at the pre-planned coordinates. Request instructions." He removed the chip and opened a small port on top of the plastic discus. He snapped the chip inside and closed the flap. Then he picked the thing up and carried it to the window. The rain still fell, cold and dark as he slid the window open. He pressed a hidden activation stud on the underside of the plastic disk, set it down on the sill, and backed away as it began to hum to life.

There was a faint "pop" as the disk deposited something on the window sill. Then it whirred, and a powerful fan lifted it into the air, like a little flying saucer. It hovered for a moment, then oriented on the open window. The whirring increased, and the plastic drone zipped out the window and disappeared into the night. The message was on its way.

Goronay ignored the departure of the drone. His attention was completely focused on what it left behind, the small plastic chip sitting on the window sill. He licked his dry lips, feeling like a parched man just discovering an oasis in the desert. He reverently lifted the chip in trembling hands and fitted it into the small socket located just behind his left ear. The chip slid home with a satisfying click. Goronay shuddered as it made contact, an involuntary moan escaping his lips.

The rush of power was orgasmic in its intensity. He could feel it filling his limbs, surging through him. He was like a hero of legend, like a god. There was nothing he could not do, nothing that could stand in his way. He dimly remembered the first time he'd felt this way, shortly after first seeing the artifacts from this dig site, when the strange men came to visit him in the dead of the night and showed him the power and glory that could be his. The power erased all doubts, all fears. He knew what he needed to do.

Goronay picked up a hammer lying on the countertop and swung it at the tablet with all his might. The hard clay cracked and splintered under the force of his blow, sending fragments flying everywhere. Goronay struck again, and again, and dark fissures ran through the whole object, the delicate glyphs and traceries obliterated by the force of his blows. Deep inside some of those cracks, something gleamed and glimmered.

Goronay began to brush the shards of clay aside to get a better look at it. Just then the door of the trailer opened and young Gregor backed in, carrying the holo-imaging camera. He closed the door, turned toward Dr. Goronay and froze, a look of shock and horror on his face as he saw his mentor, standing over the broken remains of their find, hammer in hand.

"Doctor. . . Dr. Goronay!" he stammered. "What are you doing!" He took a step back from the intense look in the doctor's eyes, knocking over a stack of printouts behind him and sending them fluttering across the floor.

Goronay smiled fiercely, the power singing and surging in his veins. He stepped forward, and Gregor tried to stumble back again, tripping over the papers and falling to the floor in a heap. He raised his hands in a feeble gesture to ward off what was coming.

"Doctor, please! No, don't! Please don't . . . !"

Gregor's pleas were like music to Goronay's ears. The doctor stepped forward and raised the hammer, bringing it down again and again on Gregor's skull until his cries were silenced and the white papers scattered over the floor were red with blood. Suddenly, the feeling of power faded and Goronay was himself again. He stood there for what seemed like an eternity, looking down in horror at the body of the young man who'd been so excited and enthusiastic about archeology, who often burst into his office with some new idea or discovery he wanted to discuss. Gregor would never become the scientist he'd dreamed of being. The bloody hammer dropped from Goronay's nerveless fingers, hitting the floor with a thud.

"Gregor." he whispered. "Dear God, dear God, what have I done?"

Goronay wrenched his gaze away from Gregor's body and turned back to the broken ruin of the clay tablet, and what lay gleaming within it. He knew what had happened. He could feel the chip, useless and burnt out, nestled into the jack implanted into the skin behind his ear. Already he hungered for another taste of what it contained. His masters would be waiting for him, the strange, dark men who came to him in the night. They would be waiting for him to do their bidding and they would reward him with power and glory once again.

Part of Goronay was sickened by what he'd done. He wanted to find some way to wake Gregor up, to
fix
what had gone wrong. But it was too late for that. He returned to the tablet and brushed away fragments to reveal its contents, then wrapped it in plastic and cloth to protect it. The doctor placed his precious bundle inside his briefcase, then pulled his hat down over his eyes and went to the trailer door. For the first time, he was grateful for the rain and the darkness.

As he opened the door and slipped out into the night, he realized that the gods had not sent the rain as a sign of their displeasure. They had sent it as a sign of their favor, to help their new servant fulfill his task. It was time, time for Ragnarok to come.

1

"We're a go, Talon. They're moving out."

The voice sounded from the subdermal induction speakers implanted in Talon's inner ear. He subvocalized through implanted pickups.

"Roger that." he said. "Here we go, team. Get ready."

Talon sat in a darkened alleyway astride a sleek red, black, and silver Yamaha Rapier, its engine humming quietly, the lights off. He wore a dark motorcycle helmet with a visor that concealed his face. The visor was equipped with electronics that lit up the alleyway as bright as twilight. A close-fitting leather jacket would protect him in a spill, and the ballistic cloth lining would do the same against small-caliber rounds. He also wore wrist-length black gloves and battered-looking jeans over black biker boots. All that kept him from looking like any other street biker were the ornate dagger at his hip, the sheath tied down to his left thigh, and the design on the side of the Rapier. Not the familiar Yamaha logo, but a complex Celtic knot in chrome next to the name "Aracos" written in graceful lettering.

Talon twisted the accelerator, and the engine revved with a whine.

"Would you
please
stop doing that?"
said another voice in his head. This one didn't come through his headware speakers. It spoke directly into his mind.

"It relaxes me
." Talon thought in reply. "
We've got to be ready to go as soon as they get here."

"Well, it's annoying me,"
the voice said tartly,
"and it's completely unnecessary, anyway."

Talon smiled and patted the side of the motorcycle's gas tank, releasing his grip on the accelerator.

"Okay, okay." he said quietly, out loud. "Have it your way."

"Thank you, I will."
the voice said with a note of smug satisfaction.
"Isn't it nearly time?"

Talon nodded and focused on extending his mystical senses outward, through the brick and concrete walls, through all the physical obstacles in his way, allowing him to see the nearby intersection as if he were hovering a short distance above it, with a clear view of all the approaching traffic. Even this late at night, there were a fair number of vehicles on the road. Cambridge was part of the Greater Boston metroplex, and Boston was a city that rarely slept. Most of the cars were electric models following the city's GridGuide system, which provided them with power and kept them moving along at a safe, sedate speed. The car Talon was looking for was one of the rarer intemal-combustion models, a sign of conspicuous consumption on the part of the owner, but no more than he expected from a man like Nicholas Grace.

He spotted it about a block from the intersection. A black Phaeton limousine with polarized windows, cutting its way through the traffic like a moving shadow. Only the bluish-halogen headlights gave it any color or depth whatsoever. It matched the image Trouble had forwarded to Talon's headware memory. That was the target, all right.

Talon mentally keyed open Channel One of his headcom system.

"Target sighted." he said. "I'm on it."

As the limo turned the corner, Talon dropped his clairvoyance spell and gripped the handlebars of the Rapier. A few seconds later, the Phaeton cruised past the alleyway. Talon pulled smoothly out onto the street and began to follow.

As he wove through the late-night traffic, he recalled planning for this run and Hammer asking him why he didn't just make himself invisible to follow their target. Talon reminded the ork mercenary how hard it was to drive in Boston even under normal conditions, to say nothing of dealing with traffic that couldn't even see you. No, when it came to running a tail, sometimes the old-fashioned methods worked best. Not that Talon's magic wouldn't come in handy on this caper. On the contrary, Talon was counting on it—just not yet.

As he followed the limo, he glanced up into the night sky. The streetlights and the background neon glow of the city lights made it difficult to make out much of anything, even with the digital-enhancers in his helmet. But he knew that somewhere up there hovered a small surveillance drone, providing a realtime video feed of the area, including the limo and Talon not far behind. Val and Trouble were monitoring the feed, each deep into her respective virtual world. Valkyrie was jacked in to remotely control the drones needed for this operation, while Trouble navigated cyberspace to handle the informational side of things, keeping everyone coordinated.