Angel of Doom (16 page)

“I'm surprised that you haven't been in the library,” Diana noted, rolling closer.

Brigid smirked sheepishly. “There isn't much that I haven't already read there.”

“Even in the original Greek?” Diana asked.

Brigid nodded. “I ended up learning Greek while doing background on the Annunaki's presence in ancient Greece. It's where I managed to pick up so much information about your country.”

“And since you can read both languages…”

“Speed read,” Brigid returned. “Whatever I hadn't read through in the past, I've been checking out since yesterday morning while sitting in the tub.” Brigid casually gestured over toward the therapy tub and the two stacks of books next to it.

“You're that anxious about your friends,” Diana said.

“I'm that obvious?”

The queen of New Olympus chuckled. “It kills me that I can't go out as a commander anymore in the field. The first few days stuck running this place, even with Ari's help, I was getting ready to chew my own leg off to escape this trap.”

“Looks like you succeeded,” Brigid noted.

Diana's laugh was loud and long. “Aristotle's about the only one who rides me and jokes about me anymore. I needed that.”

“I figured. I've been watching and seeing how uncomfortable you are with all the adulation,” Brigid said.

“And despite everything, I can't really order them to stop,” Diana added. “They need someone to fight for. A standard to live up to. Which hurts, because I used to lead from the front.”

“And you're looking for me to give you a means to feel like one of the boys again?” Brigid asked.

Diana shrugged. “Maybe.”

Brigid nodded.

“It's hard to explain…I thought, maybe since we share a similar background…”

“You want to feel like you're doing actual work,”
Brigid said. “And you've been wired to feel like administration and being the leader isn't sufficient employment for you.”

“Yes,” Diana said. “I mean, I hardly get time to rest, but…”

“Do you have a cabinet, through which you can free up time?” Brigid asked.

Diana tilted her head. “A cabinet?”

“Maybe even make it more democratic, or representative. That might give you room so that you're not overstressed, but you're also not slacking in leadership. You and Aristotle are in charge. You want to engage in activity that may threaten the continuity of government. But, if you have someone to fill in, so there is no chaos should something happen…”

“I get back to being Diana, warrior queen,” she replied.

“Technically, Hera,” Brigid responded. “The inertia of recent history and the logic of Greek mythology do dictate that Zeus and Hera
must
sit atop the throne of New Olympus.”

“Except Ari isn't much like Zeus. No sprinkling down into town as gold dust or mating with women as a swan,” Diana added.

“You'd prefer that?” Brigid asked.

Diana shook her head. “No. But, hey, Zeus got to spend time away from the halls of the Pantheon. Why can't Hera be like that?”

“There is no reason you should allow yourself to be marginalized,” Brigid returned.

The armrest on her chair beeped. “Hey, Di.”

“Fast.” Diana greeted her mechanic, Hephaestus. “Word on the Manta?”

“Yup. We managed to rig together a cowling,” the top technician said over the radio. “Any time that Ms. Baptiste needs, she can hop in and get moving.”

“That much is a relief,” Brigid admitted. “Can I come down and see her?”

“Sure, if you have the time,” Fast answered.

“Give me fifteen and I'll be right there,” Brigid said. “Your Majesty…”

“Go. You've been idling around here long enough,” Diana told her.

* * *

T
HE SUN HAD
risen a half hour earlier and, judging by the distance Grant and Kane had “jumped” with the interphaser, it still would not be the break of dawn for Brigid and New Olympus for another several minutes. This wasn't much of a concern, at least for the two men, because they had managed to get snippets of rest.

Whereas they had sent Domi and the others along in a stealthy fashion, neither Grant nor Kane was actively trying to avoid patrols or detection. They continued their steady approach to the site of the “missing” parallax point, obviously armed and wearing their shadow suits.

The full capabilities of Vanth and Charun were unknown, but they hoped to provide CAT Beta with as much obfuscation as they could. They were the bait, the lamb in the trap to draw in a lion. So far, they'd pulled in enough attention in the form of a cyclops, but at this point, they were not certain of exactly how much they were facing.

They had managed to outpace the monstrosity left behind, so that gave them some feeling that they'd distracted the demigods so far. During the night, Grant informed Kane that birds were flying overhead, sweeping past their position as they'd encamped. Neither man needed nor wanted a fire in the dark, thanks to the environmental features of the high-tech shadow suits.

Even so, they built a small fire just to make themselves easier to find.

Now Kane could see, in the distance, a group of people walking along the road. They had torches, still lit in the morning gloom. Grant picked up on them, as well, and the big man flicked off the safety on his shotgun, just in case.

“I count eight,” Grant stated.

Kane nodded in agreement. “And they're armed.”

“Not quite a band of coldbloods, though,” Grant added. “It's a mix of long arms and really sharp farm implements.”

“Cover me. I'll try to talk to them,” Kane said.

Grant glanced at his friend. “Well, we are hanging our asses out here for Charun and Vanth to grab.”

Grant took cover behind the trunk of a thick tree. Part of what gave Kane hope was that the less-lethal shotgun slugs would fly far and true, unlike conventional shot, which would disperse and lose power over even thirty yards. From his standpoint, Grant could easily snipe any of the gunmen should things grow dangerous.

Kane slung his shotgun. If necessary, the Sin Eater on his forearm would flash into his palm, but as there was very little in terms of less-lethal ammunition for the Magistrate's signature side arm, he would only use it as a last resort. The day he couldn't protect himself from a group of farmers, especially ones under mind control, was the day he felt he'd have to hang up his shadow suit.

It was a mix of men and women, but there was no division among the sexes for the weapons they bore. There were only two torches among them, and already, having cleared the canopy of the forest, the bearers were dousing them in the dirt, grinding them out and smothering them. Later tonight, if they were still on patrol, then they'd be relit, but for now, they were annoyances.

The group locked eyes on him; sixteen orbs drained of color and vitality, with a milky appearance that glimmered
in the sunrise, all aimed toward him like the sickly pustules. Kane swallowed, shaking off the unease at the slack, emotionless faces those blank orbs resided in.

Definitely under control, Kane thought. He wondered what kind of response he would get, burying the niggling fear of the “uncanny valley” before him. The people were absolutely normal in appearance, except they didn't act, didn't have emotion. This produced a kind of fear in most people, known as the uncanny valley. The closer to human an artificial entity appeared, the more disturbing it was. Every instinct in Kane informed him that these were
not
humans, more like something that wore people the way he wore clothing.

Though not a single gun was leveled at Kane, those eyes dug at him, relentless drills of eerie, silent inhumanity. He made certain the Commtact was set to Italian translation and spoke. He was glad for the fear, because fear produced adrenaline, and adrenaline not only boosted blood flow and reaction time, it also sharpened senses and made thought clearer. If they truly were a deadly threat, then he could explode into instantaneous action.

“I am Kane, of Cerberus Redoubt,” he announced.

The faces were unchanged in response to his statement, but the person closest to him, a pallid woman with black curls spilling down to her shoulders, began speaking.

“Welcome to my land.”

Kane's nose twitched as she spoke clear, perfect English without the necessity of the translation matrix. Her voice, however, was deep, resonant. The black-haired woman was far too wispy for such a tone of voice. Of course, the reverberation and tone were very close to the words of an Annunaki overlord, something that seemed projected across multiple wavelengths.

That made Kane all the more on edge, especially for the fact that the demigods were very much like the godlings
he had been battling since the arrival of
Tiamat
and the evolution of the hybrid barons into their true forms.

“We come in peace,” Kane offered, fighting off the thrash of thoughts suddenly racing through his mind. Thinking ahead, or solving mysteries, was one thing he could do, but not when he was within arm's length of a group of potential opponents.

The woman nodded. “And yet, you come knowing that something is wrong. Or do you merely come to retrieve your aircraft?”

“A little of both,” Kane answered truthfully, frustrated that there was no emotional reaction to let him know what was going on behind those pale eggs that were supposed to be her eyes. “We came armed, because this is a dangerous world.”

“As we are armed, as well,” the woman told him.

No movement. No coughs. No shuffling of feet. Right now, the eight people were as motionless as statues, save for the lips of their spokeswoman. Any change only came when Kane shifted his own weight from foot to foot, because even without the black spots of pupils in their eyes, he could
feel
their eyes follow his motion. “You wouldn't happen to know anything about giants in the area, would you?”

Kane hoped to keep the situation defused, steering away the concept of the thralls being the danger he was armed against.

“The cyclops,” the woman answered. “We thought it merely a myth, but it has come to my land. It is an annoyance.”

Kane narrowed his eyes. “Annoyance?”

“The creation of those…not like me,” the woman said.

“You are Vanth, then. That's who I'm speaking to, right?” Kane asked.

“Of course,” she replied. “You know me by my husband.
Charun. And presumably from your comrade, who managed to elude even my huntress senses.”

“Yeah,” Kane confirmed.

“I do not mind your pilot's evasion of me, nor of his attack against my beloved,” the woman stated. “Charun is a formidable, fearsome warrior, more so in his war paint and battle gear.”

“War paint,” Kane repeated.

“You may inform your friend behind the tree that he no longer has to protect you. If you wish to accompany us back, you will come as guests.” Vanth's voice echoed.

Grant's grunt of surprise over the open Commtact alerted Kane that the demigoddess had spoken into his ears, as well, despite a distance of fifty meters.

“Do you wish to disarm us?” Kane inquired.

The black-haired spokeswoman shook her head. “There would be no point. You are guests. Not prisoners.”

Kane nodded. He glanced back quickly to make sure Grant was on his way.

“We are interested in you two, and the woman who usually accompanies you,” Vanth said as Grant jogged forward.

“She's at home. Recovering,” Kane answered.

“Baptiste was her name.”

Kane's lips tightened. He had no real reason to be surprised, though. He had a suspicion about the source of Vanth's knowledge.

“Yes. I have heard of you, from the thoughts of others,” Vanth stated.

“The missing New Olympian platoon and pilots?” Kane prompted.

Vanth allowed her thrall a smirk, the flex of lips. “Aye.”

The search group turned as one, more indication of their alien nature, or the alien nature of the consciousness in control of them.

Grant stood shoulder to shoulder with Kane, watching the group as they proceeded, leading the way down the road.

“Either we're heading into the biggest trap in the world, or they think we're insects compared to them,” Grant mused softly.

“Seems like a bit of both,” Kane said. “After all, some of our biggest, Manta-mounted weapons couldn't hurt Charun, so why should guys on foot, with much smaller guns, be such a threat?”

“I apologize for the damage of your craft, Grant,” a voice boomed from ahead. The two Cerberus warriors looked to see who was speaking, even looking up into the canopy of the trees, just in case Charun himself had flown to greet them.

It turned out to be one of the men, who slowed, dropping back to walk beside them.

The man was slender, but he spoke with the timber of a lion, each word bearing enormous weight as it was spoken. The man was equipped only with a sledgehammer, as if in echo of the original Charun himself. Kane wondered if the black-haired woman had a bow of some form, but then recalled that she had been one of the group snuffing out torches with the sun. Brigid's description of Vanth's torch flared freshly in his memory.

It all could have been a coincidence.

“You came toward us fast,” Grant said.

A chuckle thumped from a chest too tiny to contain it. “Of course I did. My lover and I felt you breach the dimensions at the Oracle. We thought it enemies, returned to torment us.”

“Who'd be your enemy?” Grant asked.

“The gods of the Isles…to the north and to the west,” Charun said. “They sent their one-eyed minions to conquer us, and eventually, the hair-shirted humans who
worshiped them came and tore down the empire of our children.”

“The Tuatha de Danaan?” Grant asked. “Wait, one-eyed…like the Fomori.”