The Sons of Heaven (62 page)

Budu approached them, unhurried, looking happy.
Ten minutes to the anchorage
, he transmitted, and into their minds sent a glowing relief map of the island. A circle appeared around the west end and zoomed in on their present location. They beheld Mount Torquemada rising sheer from the sea on its bay, in the lee of Cape Cortes to the west. Budu indicated the area of deep water where they were to anchor.

The first wave will go ashore here, he transmitted, and the narrow rock beach under the mountain lit up. There are no batteries evident, but the perimeter defenses are in place. We can expect seventy-five percent casualties. Survivors will scale the cliffs and make for the ventilation shafts at these locations. Three blue dots flared high on the shoulder of the mountain.

Okay
, Joseph responded.

Hearst was unaccustomed to subvocal transmission so it took him a moment to inquire:
What happens if the casualties are higher?

The second wave follows them, Budu replied. And the third.

But… that won’t leave very many to attack once they’ve got up to the ventilation shafts, will it?

Unnecessary. Their purpose is to draw fire. Budu indicated a steep canyon coming down to the sea on the eastern side of Cape Cortes. The main attack force makes landfall here and proceeds up this canyon. At this point—Another blue dot lit, halfway up the canyon—we will plant an explosive charge.

Explosive? Joseph’s eyes widened. Where did we get explosives, father?

I made them, Budu explained patiently. Simple chemicals. The cleaning solution for console screens combines effectively with—

But that’s really unstable!
Joseph transmitted in a panicky kind of way. Budu
grinned and shrugged, and as he did so they noticed the backpack he had fastened on his immense shoulders. Joseph scanned it and went pale.
You’re carrying the stuff yourself
, he observed.

Yes.

So … we go ashore and blow something up and then—

You will be briefed
. Budu drew from his pocket a running pouch on a belt. It was emblazoned with the words
SOUVENIR OF HEARST CASTLE
and was zipped shut. He presented it to Joseph, who stared at it uncertainly.
Wear this, son. If I’m taken out, open it. You’ll know what to do with what you find
.

But—but what if I’m taken out first?

You won’t be, Budu transmitted. You’re a Preserver. You survive.

Do you need me to do anything?
Hearst transmitted hopefully, as Joseph cinched the belt about his waist. Budu turned to regard him.

You’ve served your purpose. You can stay here or join the assault; it won’t matter. Your choice.

I’d like to fight alongside you, if I may, sir.

Budu looked him up and down.
You have no weapon
.

Yes, I have!
Hearst looked eager.
I’ll go get it
. He turned and ran for his stateroom.

You know, father… Joseph eyed Mount Torquemada. It’s awfully quiet. There are a lot of mortals in there, but they’re not doing much. And I’m not picking up any of us, and that’s pretty odd considering that it’s almost elev—

There was a sudden crackle in the air, a puff of force that sent seabirds flapping and screaming from their nests in the cliff face. Joseph saw Budu’s eyes light with holy joy, cold as a field of glaciers.
The perimeter defense just went down
, Joseph realized.

Father of Justice! Budu turned to Hearst as he came running out on deck. Drop anchor and order the boat lowered
.

Yes, sir!
Hearst saluted, and they saw he had belted a sword in its scabbard to his waist. He turned to obey as Budu’s lieutenants ran to his side.

Sir! Orders, sir!

Change of strategy. Abort frontal assault. All forces to concentrate on Target Beta.

Sir!
They were gone, and from the
Oneida’s
hold came a high-pitched gleeful baying, a sound to freeze the blood of any guilty mortal. Joseph himself found it rather terrifying, but a second later something frightened him even more.

Father! I’m picking up aircraft coming in from the east. Six—no, eight shuttles! And some kind of fighting going on in the interior
.

It won’t matter
, Budu told him, as Enforcers swarmed up from under the hatches, war axes bound about them, and leaped overboard without hesitation.
I expected someone else would try. Maybe they were the ones to kill the perimeter defense. Our luck
. He vaulted into the boat as it began to rattle down, and Joseph drew a deep breath and scrambled after him, followed unsteadily by Hearst.
There
. Budu pointed to the little beach at the mouth of the canyon.
Now!

Hearst powered up the boat the moment the davit locks disengaged, and they cut forward through the water dotted everywhere with Enforcers making their relentless way ashore. Joseph glanced down at Hearst’s sword.
Uh… can you use that thing?

You bet I can! I had one of those reenactor fellows teach me when I was living in Europe.

But it looks like an antique.

It is. It’s supposed to be the Sword of Roland. Hearst’s eyes were wide, shining with excitement. I bought it at Sotheby’s. It’ll fight in the last battle of the world!

I thought Roland had a horn.

Well, I guess he had a sword, too, didn’t he? He was a hero.

Joseph shuddered and turned his attention to the beach, and the high cliffs that rose to either side. Ordnance emplacements? Snipers? Land mines? None in evidence. Cameras, several of those, and even now they must be sending the images of Budu’s army to the mortals quailing inside the mountain; but no other defense. They had trusted everything to their perimeter field. It had been designed to be impregnable. That, to a mortal of the twenty-fourth century, had been enough.

Now
. Budu jumped from the boat and waded ashore, and Joseph and Hearst followed. Budu winked out and reappeared halfway up the canyon, pausing above a particular bit of goat path where tumbled rocks were piled a bit more evenly than elsewhere. As his men were storming ashore and freeing their weapons, he slung off the pack and set it down on the path. He bent for a second to do something to whatever was in the pack. The next second he had winked out and reappeared on the beach beside them, and Joseph gasped and poised to dodge. The explosion, when it came, echoed across the water. Rocks and dust flew everywhere, raining down and rattling in little avalanches. There were also quite large pieces of cast architectural material falling here and there.

Before the last of the dust had settled Budu was bounding forward, screaming, and the Enforcers swept in a shrieking tide after him. Joseph found himself, as in a nightmare, pulled along up the canyon toward the gaping hole
where the path had been. Budu had blown open a tunnel. An escape hatch for the mortals? An undersea entrance?

To one side he saw Hearst, easily keeping pace with the charge, his boyish face flushed, his eyes bright, and gleefully he brandished aloft the sword of Roland as though this were his very own San Juan Hill. To the other side ran Marco, a flint axe in his fist, uncouth and shambling but swift as monsters are always swift, fast as a shadow across the face of the moon, unstoppable as time that had brought this hideous hour around at last.

Then they were at the hole in the tunnel and were going in, storming upward, and everything was darkness and jostling pounding rush, deafening echoes. Joseph, sick with terror, saw his life passing before his eyes. It was an extremely long parade of memories, given that it began with watching his father paint bison on a cave wall. It kept him occupied all the way to the top of the tunnel.

To travel by suborbital shuttle from Morocco to California is to travel backward in time, in a prosaic and straightforward way. When Suleyman and his forces had piled into their aircraft, their chronometers told them it was early in the evening of 9 July 2355. In the hour or so it took to jump the globe, their chronometers reversed, throwing back again the hours of the day like coins out of a slot machine. They swept down on the Mojave in the bright morning of 9 July and screamed westward over the near curve of the earth.

Island’s in sight
, transmitted Latif from the craft he commanded.

I know
, Suleyman responded.

Try the Perimeter Disable Protocol now?

No. Wait.

Wait???

Wait. I have a theory.

You think Victor took it down for us? It’s not down!

I know.

But it’s eleven hundred hours!

By this time the island was before them and they were cutting speed, descending to the west end, and Mount Torquemada was below and then before them, green ironwood forests obscuring the landing platform on her northern shoulder.

We’ll hit the perimeter field!

No—

There was a sudden turbulence.
It’s down!

We’re landing.

But how did you know, dammit?

We can’t be the only ones attempting this, Suleyman told him, as they dropped like hawks to the platform. Someone else has taken out the perimeter defense.

Probably whoever’s in that ship on the windward side, eh? transmitted Sarai.

Damn!

The race is on, son.

The shuttles landed. There were no guards to confront them, no warning shots as Suleyman’s forces jumped from the hatchways; nothing but the mute blank surface of the sealed door in the mountain. Suleyman strode toward it, and Latif and Sarai sprinted to join him.
I’m picking up emergency messages from everywhere!
Latif’s eyes were wide.

Chaos
, agreed Suleyman.

Pretty bloody noisy for the Silence, transmitted Sarai.

As if on cue there came an explosion to the east, and, turning, they saw the black smoke and fireball. More explosions followed.
It’ll be silent enough soon
. Suleyman pointed at the door. One team ran forward and planted charges. The mortals dropped and covered, the immortals poised to dodge; the door blew, along with a neat chunk of the mountain. Another team, brandishing disrupters, charged into the breach and ran down the corridor beyond. Latif and Sarai, also brandishing disrupters, ran after them. Suleyman followed. Half the remaining troops filed after him, while the others took up defensive positions on the platform.

There were screams and sobbing from within the bunker even before Sarai leaped into the room yelling, “Yeehaa! Resistance is futile!”

“Secured,” shouted Latif, and the two of them took up positions on either side of the door, disrupters raised, grinning at the mortals as the advance team spread out to either side. Suleyman emerged from the tunnel and swept the room with a stare. He shook his head in sad disgust. Armed personnel spilled into the room after him, taking aim on the mortals.

The room stank of cold sweat and nervous indigestion, of unwashed bodies. The mortals cowered together, a clinging mass around and under the great polished conference table. They regarded their creation with terrified animal eyes but not one drew breath to speak. Suleyman exhaled.

“Suleyman, Executive Facilitator, Regional Sector Head for North Africa,” he informed the mortals. “You are all under arrest. The charge is attempted murder. Under Emergency Protocol Epsilon, I hereby take command.”

“Please don’t kill us,” begged somebody near the center of the mortal mass.

“No executions are contemplated at this time,” said Suleyman, and there was a split second of relaxation before an explosion came from somewhere far below the open portal across the room. It was followed by a shrill cacophony of yammering cries. “At least,” amended Suleyman, “none are contemplated by me.”

Latif gave an order and all weapons were trained on the portal, but withheld fire as a handful of frantic mortals came scrambling upward out of the darkness.

“The tunnel’s been blown,” screamed Rigby. “We’re under—” She broke off as she saw Suleyman and his forces. Without further ado she dove beneath the conference table. There were so many people crouched under it now that it was slightly raised off the floor, wobbling as it balanced on their heads and backsides. Suleyman sighed, and watched the mouth of the portal.

“Hold your fire,” he ordered.

“But—!” said Latif.

“Hold your fire.”

Budu vaulted into the room, and to either side of him were Joseph and Hearst, and the officers, and Marco. Their ululation stopped. Budu thrust up his hand and his army halted in midcharge behind him, like a frozen wave.

In the moment of mutual appalled silence that followed, the trembling knot of mortals made itself even more compact, and the legs of the conference table lifted a good five inches clear of the floor. “Oh, man,” said Joseph in a small voice. “This is going to be really ugly.”

Hearst lowered his sword, blinking at the cowering mortals, and he looked suddenly very young and foolish.

Budu and Suleyman were staring at each other across the room. The holy joy had died out of Budu’s eyes; they were calm, thoughtful, regretful. Suleyman had drawn himself stiffly upright. He looked outraged. “You,” he said, in a voice deep as an earthquake. “Lord of Pestilence!”

“No,” Budu said. “That title’s for my son, Labienus. Where is he? I’ve come to claim him.”

“Suleyman, remember I explained about that—?” Joseph ventured, sweating. “How Labienus doublecrossed us? He’s the one who spread those viruses in Africa, honest!”

“Hush,” said Budu and Suleyman in unison.

“Where is Labienus?” Budu asked again.

“Not here,” Suleyman told him. “You want to take him to your arms? He’s
lying in a locked room with his brothers and sisters. Order your men to withdraw, and I’ll tell you where you can find him.”