Resurrection

  “Why would he do that?”

  “Because you were looking for them and they’re valuable!” she said. “They’re worth something. A lot. Perhaps an infinite amount. And now he is the only one with control of them.”

  Pruit translated for Eddie, and they both stood still, watching the Doctor. Even the Engineer was staring at his wife, a look of uncoordinated worry on his face.

  Suddenly, the Doctor’s expression changed. She jumped to her feet. “We can find him. We can find that cursed bastard.” She began to open the drawers in one of the walls and violently searched the contents. In a few minutes, she found what she was looking for. It was a small translucent rectangle. She unzipped the top of her coveralls and slid the rectangle against her stomach, using the heat of her body to wake it up. In a moment, she held it out for Pruit.

  “A tracing device,” she said. “In the Mechanic’s neck.”

  Pruit took the screen from her. She and Eddie examined it. They were looking at a topographic map of Egypt, with a small glowing dot representing the Mechanic’s location.

  “That’s Cairo,” Eddie said.

  The Doctor zoomed in the view. The glow was now moving, though very slowly. Then, as they watched it, it disappeared.

  “What happened?” Pruit asked.

  “Is that a modern city? If it is, other electromagnetic transmissions will disrupt the signal. It was designed for a primitive world.”

  Pruit translated for Eddie. They watched several more minutes, and the glow returned once, for a few moments, then blurred and disappeared again.

  “We know he’s in Cairo,” Eddie said. “We can find him, Pru.”

  CHAPTER 35

  2595 BC

  Year 12 of Kinley Earth Survey

  Enter with him

  These legends, Love;

  For him assume

  Each diverse form…

  Be, Love, like him

  To legend true.

  —W. H. Auden

  The Lion and his wife Ipwet were shown quickly into his mother’s receiving chamber by a lady’s maid who nearly prostrated herself before the Lion. In Ipwet’s arms was Isha, their three-month-old son. The Lion’s wife was still somewhat weak from childbirth, and she leaned heavily on her husband’s arm. It had been a difficult labor and birth, and as there were few medicinal remedies left from the survey crew stock, she had had a slow recovery.

  The receiving room was large, with a high ceiling and a mural on the walls, depicting a stylized portrait of his mother as Isis, advising men from her great throne. There were no windows. Despite the bright midday sun outside, the only light here came from candles and oil lamps. The chamber sat on the ground floor of his mother’s sanctuary, a building of fine marble, which had been constructed, or perhaps grown was a better word, the year before. The Lion had not yet been inside. It had been nearly two years since he had seen his mother. He and his wife had moved from Memphis, taking a small country estate. He had almost convinced himself that he left the city because he wanted to farm the land, but in truth, he was putting distance between himself and his parents.

  In the center of the room was a throne-like chair on a high dais. Bracketing it were smaller chairs, which the Lion could only assume were to be occupied by the priestesses of his mother’s Isis cult. The remainder of the room was open and daunting space. Visitors, he surmised, were required to stand.

  Despite his efforts to ignore all news of his mother, he had heard that her following was growing. Both his mother and his father could do nothing wrong. Every action of theirs simply became incorporated into the myths of their existence, and every old myth was warped and twisted to fit them. It was cowardice in him, he realized, that allowed him to hope his parents would return to rationality if only he gave them enough time.

  Now he was back in Memphis at last, with his wife and their new son. It was only right that the boy’s grandmother was introduced to him.

  “Did you know it was like this?” he asked Ipwet, nodding to the room.

  “I have heard…” she said quietly.

  There were footsteps, and a doorway in the far wall opened. It was not his mother. Instead, it was a richly dressed native woman of middle age, with thin strands of gold braided into her graying black hair. When she saw the Lion, she touched both palms to her forehead and then to her thighs in a gesture of worship.

  “That’s not necessary,” he said.

  The woman smiled, acknowledging his words but not agreeing with them. “The Revered One has spoken many times of your modesty. Please,” she said, gesturing to the door. “Your mother awaits you in her private chamber.”

  She threw the door wide, and the Lion and Ipwet passed through. They followed her down a short passageway with walls and ceiling painted in an underwater scene of fish and hippopotami and crocodiles and tall papyrus. They could not help but admire the artistry. It appeared that no expense had been spared. At the end of the passage, they came to a set of doors cast from copper and decorated all over with images of the goddess at work. In one panel was Isis bringing health to the sick. In another was Isis supporting her husband, the god Osiris. In yet another was Isis striking one of the unfaithful with a terrible bolt of lightning. Her face was recognizable as his mother’s and Osiris as his father’s. Despite what he had already seen so far, the Lion was shocked at the self-love evident in those doors.

  Noting the Lion’s attention, the woman said, “Have you not seen these yet? The likenesses are very good. Look here and you will see a familiar face.” The Lion looked where she indicated and saw the image of Isis giving birth. The face of the boy child issuing from her had unmistakably been based on his own.

  “Your birth, Lord Horus.”

  The Lion was barely able to contain his anger at hearing that name, but he felt his wife’s hand on his arm and maintained his calm.

  “Please take me to my mother,” he said, keeping his voice under control. He was here to present his son and did not want to argue the question of his own divinity. He wanted a pleasant visit with his mother, some part of him hoping that a reminder of her family would draw her back to her old self.

  “Of course.” She pulled the copper doors, which swung open slowly on their great hinges. They found themselves looking in on an enormous bedchamber. Like the receiving room, there were no windows here, only yellow lamplight. The floor was of alabaster, with thick woven carpets laid over it. There were tapestries on the walls, and these featured scenes of Isis the lover, embracing her husband Osiris. The Lion almost laughed at these, so far were they from the present state of affairs.

  The bed itself was the key feature of the room. A down mattress sat on a huge wooden base of fine light wood stained to a honey glow. Carved animals chased each other across the wood, painted in red and gold. There were posts at each of the four corners, carved like a woman’s arms reaching upward, and a canopy arched above. Loose white linen hung down on every side, though it was pulled back at the foot of the bed to allow a view inside.

  At the edge of the bed sat his mother, her legs folded beneath her, a blue-and-crimson robe hanging around her body. She had lost weight, he saw, though she had never been heavy. Her hair was tied up behind her head in a fashion that accentuated the shape of her face and her high cheekbones, now quite prominent. Her eyes had been darkened with kohl in the local fashion. She had achieved, the Lion thought, the image of a priestess. Or even, he conceded warily to himself, a goddess.

  “Mother,” he said, pushing aside other thoughts and greeting her with warmth.

  As he approached, she turned her face to him, but did not move. When he reached her, he could see that her eyes were clouded and red. She moved her head slightly to look at him.

  “My son,” she said after a moment.

  He leaned over and embraced her. She returned the gesture, but unsteadily. He pulled back, aware now that something about her was not right.

  “It has been too long,” she said perfunctorily, slurring her words. She sp
oke to him in the native tongue. She no longer used her own language.

  “Are you sick, Mother?”

  She did not answer him immediately, for her attention was drawn away from him by the sound of slow laughter. The Lion turned to see three young women lying together amidst blankets and cushions in one corner of the room. They were giggling in the same sloppy way his mother was speaking. One kissed another’s neck as her hair was stroked by a third. Their easy manner spoke of long nights together with his mother in this room.

  The Lion watched them for a moment, then turned back. “Your tastes have changed,” he remarked without emotion.

  She smiled absently at the girls. “They are beautiful, are they not?”

  “Have you taken something?”

  She opened her mouth and displayed a small bread wafer dissolving on her tongue. “A pleasant opiate,” she said. “To let the consciousness wander.” She paused, perhaps unsure what she had or had not said to him. “It has been too long, my son,” she said again.

  “I have brought my son Isha.” He gestured Ipwet over to the bed and gently took Isha from her arms. He held the baby close to his mother, one time called the Archaeologist, before that, far back on Herrod, known as Elena. Now he was not sure how to address her. “Your grandson.”

  With difficulty, she brought her eyes into focus on the boy. She stared at him for a long moment, taking in his dark hair and tan skin, seeing her son’s features in his face and also those of his wife. Slowly, she turned back to the Lion.

  “A half-breed,” she said.

  “What?” The Lion was sure he had misheard her.

  “You dilute yourself, Son.”

  Ipwet felt her face coloring. The Lion felt dread, then shocked anger as the import of her words sank in. Carefully, he handed his small son back to his wife. He stared down at his mother. “I dilute myself?” His voice was soft but carried rage.

  His mother merely looked up at him and smiled a condescending drugged smile.

  His patience at last snapped. “I dilute myself!” He yelled the words at her. “Look how you are living! Look at your life! Are you even alive?”

  Despite the drug, his mother was roused by his words. “You do not raise your voice to me!”

  “You insult my wife to her face while you sit here in your den, with your lovers and your opiates! You’re not even worthy of my visit!”

  The Archaeologist’s eyes cleared a little as anger washed over her. She picked herself up onto her knees and slapped the Lion hard.

  “You will never raise your voice to me! You owe me your life and your station!”

  “My station? I am not Horus, Mother! I am your human son. Human. Like you!”

  She slapped him again and screamed, “Shut your mouth!”

  Two guards entered, hearing her yell. The girls across the room had stopped giggling and were now aware that their mistress was in a fury. “Out! All of you!” the Archaeologist raged.

  The girls got up onto shaky feet and disappeared through a side door. The guards ducked back out, terrified of her.

  The Lion stood before his mother, thinking how fitting and proper it would be for him to slap her, then carry her from this room and this sanctuary and back into the world outside. But he saw that she was too far gone. She had lost herself completely in the fantasy of godhood.

  She was pointing her finger at him now, sitting up on her knees at the end of the bed. “Do not ever challenge me again,” she said, her voice low and her finger shaking. “If you care for the life of that half-breed son of yours, you will take this to heart. Play the role that is given to you, or there may be no role left for you to occupy. Stay away from Memphis.”

  The Lion felt tears come to his eyes, not at her threat, but at the sight of her so transformed. “I comfort myself,” he whispered, “in the knowledge that you are no longer you.”

  He turned from her and left, taking his family with him.

  CHAPTER 36

  Present Day

  Pruit was a block behind the Mechanic, following him though a walking district near the Cairo museum. She had spotted him half an hour before, guided to his location by Eddie, who spoke to her through a cellular phone from their hotel room. The Engineer and the Doctor were with him, and Eddie was monitoring the Mechanic’s location on the screen they had brought from the cave.

  Eddie had wanted to come with her, but Pruit had preferred that he stay at the hotel. She found that Eddie had had training as a fighter, but it was of a rather informal kind. The task of finding the Mechanic might well lead to physical confrontation, and Pruit felt she was better suited to handle it alone. She was teaching Eddie her stretching and fighting routines, however, and they were exercising together each morning.

  So Eddie had remained in the hotel and had guided her to the Mechanic. The signal of the Mechanic’s tracing device was sporadic, and it had taken Pruit most of the day to, at last, catch up with him.

  She had found him as he walked along city streets. He was bracketed by a tall, young black man and short American sweating in a dark-blue suit. The Mechanic himself had been easy to spot once he was within eyesight. The Doctor had described him well. His skin was gray, for he belonged to one of the ancient Herrod genotypes. His pigmentation no longer existed on Herrod; it had been absorbed into the homogenous body type that was salvaged after the Great War.

  Other than his skin color, he was an ordinary-looking man with a homely, almost unnoticeable, face. He wore a loose cotton robe of native dress and was generally unremarkable.

  The day was pleasantly warm, and the sidewalks were full, for it was the time of the midday meal, and men and women thronged the streets. The street she walked now was lined with apartment buildings, the bottom floors of which held restaurants or other small businesses.

  Pruit followed from a distance as the Mechanic turned a corner, walked down another block, and arrived at the patio of a small restaurant. The black man leaned down to the Mechanic and whispered something. The Mechanic turned and spoke to the American next to him, then back to the black man for several moments. Then the black man disappeared into the restaurant. Three Asian men approached, and the group took seats around a table.

  Pruit turned off her phone and slowly worked her way closer.

  “The girl is still following you,” Jean-Claude whispered to the Mechanic as they arrived at the restaurant. The Chinese men were already approaching.

  “Who is she, Nate?” the Mechanic asked.

  “I couldn’t tell,” Nate said.

  “She is not alone,” Jean-Claude said. “There is a young man following her. I believe he is with her. They have the same look.” He was coming down off the high of his antidote. He still felt exhilaration, but there was a hint of the low to come.

  “I want to know who they are,” the Mechanic said. “We are near your apartment, Jean-Claude, yes?”

  “Yes.”

  “You get them for me. I will meet you there when this is finished.”

  Jean-Claude nodded, then slipped into the restaurant. He passed through and out the back door. He should have been nervous about the encounter ahead, for the two following the Mechanic could be anyone, could be killers, but he felt nothing but his own need—the need to do this task for the Mechanic so he would be granted the next dose of his private heaven. He found his way through an alley, heading in the direction where he last saw the young man following Pruit.

  Pruit had reached the restaurant. She stood concealed behind potted trees at the edge of the patio fence. Around her, foot traffic brushed past, upwardly mobile business men, office girls, and older people in more native dress going about their daily business. She edged down a narrow passage between the patio and the neighboring building. Through the plants, she could see the Asian men and the back of the Mechanic’s head. She moved closer, bringing herself within earshot.

  “We will need more time than that to satisfy our scientists. With a technology this complex, we will need room to breathe.” This f
rom one of the Asian men.

  “You do not have more time,” Nate said. “You may have what he has granted. If it’s not sufficient, perhaps this deal isn’t for you.”

  Pruit felt her stomach turn. The Doctor was right. The Mechanic had taken those manuals because they were valuable. He was bargaining with the Eschless Funnel. That she had traveled eighteen years to find that manual, that it was the key to the survival of his own home planet, these things did not matter. He was hawking it like a ware at a local market. She felt righteous rage well up inside her.

  Before she had time to consider her possibilities for action, something heavy hit the back of her head. The impact was hard, sending her forward onto her knees. Pruit felt the pain of her knees on pavement; then there was another impact, and the world around her faded to black.

  CHAPTER 37

  Adaiz-Ari woke to find himself groaning. The pain in his head was so great he felt it might burst. He could feel his forehead pushing against something rough, and there was a constriction in the blood flow to his feet and hands.

  He groaned again and forced his eyes open. He was looking at a rug that lay an inch away from his eyes. He was on the floor somewhere. He had been stripped of his shirt and, with it, the gun that had been holstered to his side, but he still wore his loose trousers. He tried to move his hands to bring himself up off of his head, but he discovered that his hands were tied tightly behind his back. As he pulled at them, his feet moved, and there was greater pain. He realized he was on his stomach and his feet were bent up toward his back, tied to his hands. Struggling would only make the rope tighter.