torg 02 - The Dark Realm (16 page)

"How long has it been night, Ahkemeses?" Dr. Mobius asked his High Priest. They were standing together atop the monolith constructed beside his as-yet uncompleted palace. The monolith was a mobile structure, great fitted stone blocks atop four huge wheels. Hieroglyphics were carved across the stones, pictures proclaiming the majesty of the Tenth Empire and the greatness of its Pharaoh.

"We have been without the sun for the past forty- three hours, Pharaoh," Ahkemeses replied. "Already the temperature has dropped to below freezing and the masses grow worried."

Mobius smiled beneath his cowl. "Good, I want them to worry. I want them to be so frightened that when they see what I can do for them they will fall down and worship me."

The Pharaoh looked down into the monolith, through the large opening on the top where he stood. He was on the lip of the monolith, looking down into its hollow interior. Within, a great framework of wooden beams and riveted metal formed a resting place for a gigantic golden sphere. The sphere was constructed of riveted metal as well, with a coating of gold that made it sparkle. It was one of Mobius' greatest creations. He smiled proudly.

"Have there been any further sightings of the Mystery Men?" he asked his High Priest.

"No, Pharaoh, not since the first incident in Cairo," Ahkemeses said.

The Pharaoh nodded, pleased. The he turned to the crowd below.

"Let the people know, Ahkemeses, that their Pharaoh will provide them with light when the darkness falls, with heat when the cold becomes unbearable!" Mobius shouted. "Let the light of Mobius shine across his realm!"

The monolith began to shake as the great sphere started to roll up the framework tracks. Slowly, it emerged from the top of the monolith, a golden ball against the black of the sky. But it did not stop there.

Magno-repulsors of Mobius' own invention lifted the sphere higher into the sky. A gasp rippled through the crowd, and Mobius could feel their excitement and wonder — and their fear.

"When Muab finishes the Grand Temple of Ra in Luxor, then we shall move the monolith there," Mobius explained to Ahkemeses as the sphere continued to rise. He noted that it did not rise smoothly. There were a few slight jerks and bounces as the repulsors compensated for the weight. "I will have to fix that, Ahkemeses," the Pharaoh noted.

And still the golden sphere rose. High into the sky over Thebes it climbed, eventually coming to rest some forty miles above the city. Mobius laughed with glee.

"Now, Ahkemeses," he cackled, "let there be light!"

The golden sphere flared with energy, becoming a small sun in the night sky. The light it cast filled the realm with heat, banishing the darkness with its powerful glare. For long moments, there was only stunned silence from the crowd below him. Then a cheer started up. It was a cheer for the Pharaoh. It started as a small ripple at first, gradually swelling like the waves of the ocean. Mobius let the sound wash over him. He smiled.

"Let the Gaunt Man work his plots," the Pharaoh laughed. "Let him stop the world for all I care! We shall have light in the Nile Empire! We shall have warmth! Then, when I am ready, I shall take the possibilities from the cheering cattle and move on. What do you say to that, Ahkemeses?"

"I say, Hail Pharaoh!" the High Priest proclaimed.

Mobius, content with his exalted station in life, looked up and basked in the sunlight he had created.

The

Dark

Realm

My realm is a dark labyrinth. And only I know what lurks beyond the next corner.

— The Gaunt Man

We've entered the darkness of our own accord. Are we very brave, or just very stupid? Whichever, God help us to reach the light.

—Father Christopher Bryce

The Possibility Wars
62

Major Julie Boot sat at Andrew Jackson Decker's bedside, studying his face in the dim light cast by the monitors. It was a fine face, she thought, a movie star's face. Or a sports figure's. Or a congressman's. She smiled. What is it with you, Major Boot? she asked herself. Are you falling for the man in the coma? He did look stronger, though, more healthy than he had since they brought him in. Maybe her little visits were helping. Maybe ...

The instruments monitoring his vital signs showed no change. According to them, he had gotten no worse, or no better. Slowly, hesitantly, she reached out and took his hand. It was cool in her own, dry. She rubbed it slowly, gently, wishing that it would grip her back with the strength she knew it possessed.

"Wake up, Ace," she whispered. "I need to speak with you." She leaned forward, putting his hand to her cheek. "I need to know who you are."

She sat like that for a long time, holding Decker's hand and whispering words of comfort to the unconscious man. Did she really think that her voice and nonsense words could bring the man back to them? Even Dr. Monroe had given up on Decker. It was too dangerous to try another operation, he said. And the only way to give him a chance was to remove the strange metal shafts imbedded in his chest. But Julie felt deep within her that her visits were helping him. She didn't know how that was possible, or why, but as long as the feeling remained she would come and sit with Decker.

Then it happened.

Decker's hand squeezed hers.

It wasn't a strong squeeze, and it lasted only a second before his fingers went limp again, but it was the most wonderful feeling she had ever know. She laughed with the joy of it.

"What are you doing sitting in here in the dark?" Monroe asked from the doorway.

"James, he responded to me," Julie said, unable to keep the joy and excitement out of her voice. "He squeezed my hand."

"It could have been nothing more than a muscle spasm, or an involuntary response to your touch," Monroe said as he came closer to examine Decker.

"Or it could have been a sign that he's getting closer to us, that he's fighting off whatever it is that caused his condition," Julie snapped back, immediately sorry that there was an edge to her words.

Monroe looked at her, anger flashing briefly in his eyes. "You'll have to get a hold of yourself, nurse," he warned her. "Where's your objectivity?"

"Damn objectivity!" she screamed. "Where's your compassion, Dr. Monroe? He is your brother, after all."

"I asked you not to bring that subject up."

They were silent after that, her standing and watching as the doctor listened to Decker's heart, checked his pulse, and peered into his eyes with a light.

"He's just as he was earlier," Monroe said finally. "His vitals are stable, but there's nobody home. I think we're all going to have to face the facts."

"And what facts are those, doctor?" Julie demanded.

"Andrew Jackson Decker is not coming back, Julie," Monroe said, his expression softer than it had been, more human. "His mind is gone."

63

"Very odd," the Gaunt Man said, musing over his machine. "It appears the stormer aiding Decker is stronger than I anticipated. During the process, Decker almost pulled himself out of the dream I have him in. I had to increase power before I got him to settle back into the dream state." He turned another dial. "Now he is back to sorting possible scenarios for me. But for a brief moment... very odd."

Thratchen regarded the Gaunt Man. This machine gave the Gaunt Man an edge over all the other High Lords, an edge beyond even his eons of experience and almost unlimited personal power. The machine gave him the ability to eradicate possibilities. And, with Decker attached to it, it gave him the power to use specific possibilities to his own ends. It was a power unthinkable to those who called themselves Possibility Raiders. It was power akin to creation — power clearly in the domain of Apeiros the Creator, daughter of Eternity. It was a power that frightened Thratchen, and fascinated him.

"Decker," Thratchen said carefully, "is he the only one who could serve you in this fashion?"

The Gaunt Man turned to Thratchen curiously. "No, but stormers of his power are rare. Perhaps the woman called Tolwyn, the one Uthorion fears so much, could be used. Or even the young woman you seek. What did you call her?"

"Mara," Thratchen replied. "Dr. Hachi Mara-Two."

"Of course," the Gaunt Man smiled. "Why do you ask?"

"You do not yet have either of those stormers in your possession. We do not know Kurst's status, but from his last reported actions he has turned against us," Thratchen explained.

"I know all of this," the Gaunt Man growled. "What are you getting at?"

"We have Decker, High Lord. But there seems to be a stormer with him who can interrupt the workings of the runes. We could wind up losing him."

Worry played across the Gaunt Man's skeletal features. "This must not occur," he said. "Decker is more powerful than any other stormer I have yet used. I must keep him until the process is finished." The Gaunt Man stood by the control banks, practically crackling with power. "He must be brought here, to Orrorsh realm," the Gaunt Man decided. "He must be brought to me."

Thratchen waited, forcing the smile from his thin lips. His ability to manipulate situations was working again. Was it a wonder that one day soon he would be the Torg, and not this ancient, skeletal relic beside him?

"I have sent others to intercept Kurst, but there is still Scythak," the Gaunt Man said. "It is Scythak's turn to hunt. He will keep others from helping Decker. He will bring Decker's physical form to me."

Thratchen nearly howled his excitement. Scythak would be even easier to manipulate, he knew. He would complete his mission for the Gaunt Man, but he would do it in the manner Thratchen decided. Yes, all would work out for the best, Thratchen thought as the plan developed in his mind. He let the details fall into place as he followed the Gaunt Man up the stairs to find Scythak.

64

Eddie Paragon sat beneath a tree, watching the activity in Baruk Kaah's camp. Baruk Kaah was still locked in conversation with the Horn Master and the ravagon, but the edeinos were not wasting time waiting for their leader. They were gathering the plants they used as weapons — hrockts, Paragon remembered they were called. Others were involved in elaborate rituals that Paragon could not fathom. They danced and twitched in large numbers, singing praises to Lanala, their god.

He had been within Rec Pakken for the beginning of Baruk Kaah's meeting, but as the discussion grew more heated the three lost interest in him. After a time, he simply slipped out of the forest of black stone.

Paragon grew bored watching the lizard men. Their rituals were tedious, nothing more than a series of oft- repeated movements that agitated and excited the edeinos into a state of frenzy. Still others stood totally quiet, looking out over the fields around them. These contemplated the swaying grass, finding evidence of their god in such simple occurrences. He had spoken to one of the edeinos about these things, and he envied their spiritual existence. But he could not embrace their way of life as other humans had. There was too much modern man in him, he decided.

He moved through the camp lazily, looking for something to break his mood. He found it when his wanderings brought him to the pile of weapons the edeinos had taken from their last battle. Spoils of war, he knew. There were machineguns, rifles, pistols—Paragon couldn't put a name to any of them. He didn't know an M-16 from a Beretta. If he grabbed one, could he get it to work?

His breathing was quicker now. What was he contemplating? Did he think he could take out the entire camp? No, he told himself. Calm down. Not the camp. But with a weapon, he might be able to make it to the front and back into his own reality. He might be able to make it home.

His hands was sweating. He was a singer, a performer. What did he know of combat and survival techniques?