Sunset of the Gods (29 page)

“It’s just as well,” whispered Mondrago, as though reading Jason’s thoughts, “that none of us have been eating the local diet. All those beans—!”

“Shhh!” Jason shushed him, for there was a faint sound of approaching footsteps above.

They hadn’t long to wait before Franco’s unmistakable voice spoke, curtly and without preamble. “Where are my men?”

“Dead, Lord,” squeaked Pan. “Zeus and three other Teloi arrived atop Mount Kotroni and accused you of betraying them. A fight broke out and everyone, on both sides, was killed. Afterwards, I took the aircar and came here according to the plan, as I knew you would wish.”

“You lie, you nauseating piece of filth!
All
of them, on
both
sides killed? Do you take me for a fool?” There was a meaty smack, followed by a high-pitched whimpering.

“Don’t, Franco!” came a female voice—Chantal Frey’s voice. “After all, he came back as ordered.”

“He had no choice.” Franco’s voice held a dismissiveness that transcended contempt.

“They’re coming!” said a male voice unknown to Jason.

Franco’s voice muttered a non-verbal curse. “All right, we have no time. We’ll get to the bottom of this later. You: get down there and be prepared to play your role.” Franco didn’t look down into the compartment below the dais, for he had no reason to. Pan scurried down the ladder and crammed himself in with Jason and the others. His body odor was oddly acrid, but none of them were particularly squeamish. Above, Franco must have activated a control, for the cult statue rose up to its position on the dais and the hatch closed. Darkness settled over them.

Sounds from above were now muffled, but Jason could discern shuffling feet as the cultists filed into the cavern. It didn’t sound to him like as large a group as he had seen here before, but that made sense on this day; this would be mostly women and older men, with only those younger men who had managed to evade military service. Then he heard the droning, somehow sinister chant he had heard before. Soon the chanting began to be responsive, alternating with various ritual signals. Jason paid no attention to the sounds of the ceremony, which had probably been crafted to conform to the type of ritual that members of the various mystery religions would expect. Then it stopped abruptly, replaced by the stirring sound of Franco’s voice.

“Rejoice! Civilization is saved! While other Athenians huddle in the Agora, quaking with fear, Pan now grants you, his elect, the news they await. Know, then, that at this very moment, the battle is already won. The barbarians, driven mad with fear by Pan, have fled shrieking to their ships. The only ones left on Attic soil now lie dead on the plain of Marathon or drowned in the marshes.”

The rapturous collective sigh was audible.

Franco’s voice dropped an octave. “But those barbarians who escaped still believe they can defy the will of the gods and vent their rage on Athens. They have now set their course for Cape Sunium, and Phalerum beyond it, where they mean to land and descend on this defenseless city.”

There was a faint hissing sound of indrawn breath.

“But fear nothing!” Franco’s remarkable voice again became a clarion. “Pan has granted to his priestess Cleothera a vision of the future. Hear the prophecy!”

There was a pause, either intentionally or unintentionally dramatic, before Chantal spoke. Jason thought he could discern a quavering hesitancy in her voice. To the cultists, the effect must have been one not of ambivalence but of eeriness. And her singsong tone of recitation by rote must have been exactly what they expected of an oracle through whom a god spoke to mortals.

“Rejoice,” she intoned. “At this moment, the men of Athens have recognized the danger, and are girding themselves to march back. And they will arrive at Phalerum in time! The Persians, seeing the men who had just bested them drawn up on the shore, will wet their barbarian trousers in fear and sail away.”

Another, even more relieved sigh arose.

“And now,” Franco resumed, “your god has once again shown the favor in which he holds you. You have already received oracles that will enable your families to enrich themselves when the events they foretell—the second Persian invasion ten years from now, the wars between Athens and Sparta, and all the rest—come to pass. Thus you will be able to profit at the expense of this city that has never accorded Pan proper worship! And he will always hold you and your descendants in this same favor, as long as you unquestioningly obey his commands, as told to you by us, his messengers, while keeping your vow of secrecy.”

There was a chorus of frantically affirmative noises.

“Finally, even though his previous appearance was spoiled by impious intruders, you will now receive the ultimate reward of your devotion . . . for now
the Great God Pan appears to you!
”

All at once, the hatch above Jason’s head was outlined in light that shone through the cracks as the harsh electrical light he had seen before flooded the cavern. He heard the gasps of the cultists as they were temporarily blinded by the unnatural glare. Then the hatch, with the idol atop it, sank down, leaving the opening. Pan ascended the short ladder and the light above faded, allowing the cultists to see the apparition in the dimness.

Jason, crouched in the darkness below, heard the weird half-moan and half-sigh that arose above. It was a sound that no group of people in Jason’s world could have produced, for it held the kind of skepticism-free terrified ecstasy that the human race had lost the capacity to feel when it had emerged from the shadows of superstition. Gradually it droned down into silence, leaving a breathless hush.

The silence seemed to last a long time.

Jason felt Mondrago’s body, pressed up against his in the confines of the chamber, go rigid with tension.

Pan’s not going to go through with it
, thought Jason, with a sickening sense of defeat.
He can’t. The habit of obedience is too strong, and now it’s reasserting itself. He’s going to do exactly as Franco told him to do. I was an idiot to think otherwise.

All at once, the silence was shattered by a high-pitched sound. It took Jason a second to recognize the sound for what it was, for he had never heard it or even imagined it could be.

It was the sound of Pan laughing.

“You
fools!
Are you really such idiots that you still think I’m your god Pan? Now the time has come when I can enjoy telling you how you’ve been deceived.”

Jason tried to imagine Franco’s state of shock. It must, he thought, be as complete as that of the worshippers, though for different reasons. And there was nothing Franco could do. He could hardly shoot or otherwise silence the “god.” He could only stand, paralyzed, and listen as his creation’s jeering voice went on, tearing down his edifice of intrigue with every syllable.

“Know, then, simpletons, that I am come from the East, for I am of the
daiva
, the anti-gods who impersonate and thwart the gods just as black smoke rises along with the sacred fire. Even as the Ionians of Didyma worshipped one of my fellows thinking him to be their god Apollo, so you have worshiped me! Oh fools, fools, fools!”

As Zoroastrian theology it was, of course, perfect gibberish. But these people didn’t know that. They had some vague knowledge of the religion’s concepts and terminology, for their fellow Greeks in Ionia had long been in contact with the Persians. And they had heard of what Datis had told the Apollo-worshipers of Delos about the oracle at Didyma. So this all held a ring of horrible verisimilitude for them, and continued to do so as Pan raved on.

“You think what I have done at Marathon today was to save Athens, this stinking pig-wallow you call a city? Ha! I did it to punish the Persians for their failure to worship the one
true
God: Ahriman, lord of the darkness which must inevitably engulf the universe when the last light finally gutters out, no matter how many futile fires the priests of Ahura Mazda ignite. But the Persians have chosen to worship Ahura Mazda, following their stupid prophet Zoroaster, and now they have paid for their folly.
And so shall you, fools!
For my servants are here to destroy you!”

It took a fraction of a second for Jason to realize what Pan meant. Then he barked “Move!” at the others and forced his stiffened legs to propel him up the ladder, to stand beside Pan.

The light in the cavern was dim enough that his eyes required no real adaptation. He saw the cultists, still immobilized with shock, and, off to the side, Franco with Chantal beside him, staring wildly. Another figure, which he recognized as one of the middle-level Transhumanists, lunged at him, drawing a dagger as he moved. Jason brought up his “walking stick” and speared the man with a laser beam.

Behind him, Mondrago and the others were scrambling up the ladder and, as they emerged into the cavern, firing laser bolts into the mass of cultists. In this dimness, the trails of ionization were almost bright enough to resemble lightning. And the vicious crack was loud in this confined space.

The cultists went mad with terror. They pelted toward the tunnel mouth, trampling and crushing each other in their hysterical haste to be gone from what had become a chamber of inexplicable horror.

The rapid-fire laser bolts stabbed again and again into that writhing, screaming mass of bodies, and the stench of burned flesh filled the cavern.

But Jason had eyes for none of that. He swung his weapon toward Franco.

With that unnatural quickness of his, Franco whipped out from under his tunic a small laser pistol of the same model his fellows had used earlier on Mount Kotroni. But he did not point it at Jason. Instead, he grasped Chantal by the upper arm, twisted it up in an obviously painful grip, and swung her in front of him, placing the pistol’s focusing lens against her head.

Chantal gave a cry of pain and something worse than pain. “Franco . . . darling. . . .”

“Shut up, you pathetic Pug cunt!” Franco snarled, and yanked her arm further up, eliciting a fresh cry. “You’re useless for my purposes without your TRD—except as a shield.”

Jason forced himself to remain calm and do nothing reckless like trying for a head shot, for even if it succeeded it might well cause Franco’s trigger finger to spasm in death. He looked around. The last of the surviving cultists had by now fled down the tunnel, and Mondrago, Da Cunha, and Logan were also covering Franco and his captive with their weapons. Pan groveled beside Jason’s feet.

Franco looked them over for a moment, then smiled at Jason. “So . . . you’ve come back, while an earlier version of you is simultaneously here. The fuddy-duddies who run the Authority will never recover!”

Jason was in no mood to appreciate Franco’s perspicacity, which would doubtless also enable him to recognize the falsity of any offer to let him live. “Let her go,” he said evenly, “and you can have a quick, clean death. Your choice.”

Franco gave another infuriating smile. “I believe I’ll choose no death whatever. I’m taking her with me. If anyone tries to stop me, she dies. If I see anyone following me, she dies.”

Jason put on a devil-may-care expression. “What makes you think a threat to the life of a defector is going to deter us?”

“It shouldn’t. But if I know Pugs, it will.” The false levity abruptly slid away, and Franco’s face, for all its designer Classical handsomeness, grew very ugly. “No more childish bluffing! I’m going now, to the precinct of Zeus, where that repulsive little genetic monstrosity must have brought the Teloi aircar.” He gave Pan a look of loathing. “I wish I were in a position to kill it now, for its betrayal. But no; that would be kinder than letting it live.”

Beside his legs, Jason felt Pan stiffen, and a kind of convulsion go through the misshapen body. All at once a high-pitched scream of pent-up hate split the air of the cavern and Pan’s goatish legs propelled him forward like a projectile.

Startled, Franco pulled Chantal with him as he tried to avoid that sudden attack. He almost succeeded. Pan careened against his and his prisoner’s legs, knocking them both off balance. He tried to grapple Franco’s legs. Instinctively, Franco brought his laser pistol down hard. The butt struck Pan’s right temple, under the horn, with a sickening crunching sound. Pan went limp.

Mondrago was the first to recover. With an inarticulate shout, he fired at the now partially exposed Transhumanist. But Franco was still staggering, and the aim was off. The laser beam brushed against his left arm, and also Chantal’s, which Franco had never quite let go. Her scream immobilized them all just long enough for Franco to bring his laser pistol back up against her head.

“Now, where were we?” said Franco, although his face was too contorted with pain to manage a mocking smile. “Remember, nobody is to follow us, or she dies. After I reach the aircar, I’ll let her go. After all, I think I’ve had the full use of her! You’re welcome to her now, Thanou—not that I’d give her much of a recommendation.” He gave Chantal’s laser-burned left arm a particularly vicious jerk and pulled her along with him as he backed into the tunnel. The sound of their footsteps and Chantal’s whimpering gradually receded.

Jason dropped to his knees beside Pan. As expected, the artificial being whose fragility Jason had thought he had sensed was dead.

“I’m sorry, sir,” said Mondrago miserably. “I didn’t mean to hurt her. I thought I could—”

“Forget it.” Jason held up a hand for silence, and waited until he was sure Franco had had time to exit the tunnel. “All right. The three of you set up the explosive charge in the tunnel, as per the plan. And . . . leave Pan’s body in here. After you’ve set the timer, come to the precinct of Zeus. I’m going there now.”

“What?” Mondrago goggled. “But, sir—”

“Don’t worry. Of course I’m not going to let Franco see me—at least not until he reaches the aircar. There . . . well, I think I have a way of dealing with him.”

“Let me come too!”

“No. There’s less chance of him spotting just one of us. Now just follow orders for once, damn it!” And Jason plunged into the tunnel.

Franco had closed the outer door, but like Houdini’s safes it was easy to open from the
inside
. Jason scrambled down the steep, rocky slope of the Acropolis and slipped through the twisting alley-like streets. Once he caught a glimpse of Franco and Chantal far ahead, and instantly flattened himself against a wall before resuming his stealthy pursuit.