Sword of the Gods: Agents of Ki (Sword of the Gods Saga) (62 page)

Abaddon curled forward one wing, thoughtfully twirling a long, grey primary feather. No. While he hadn't cast off Hashem's rule out of anger the way that Lucifer had, the fact remained that the Emperor had a long history of suppressing any evidence which didn't fit his narrow notion of what mortal creatures had a right to know. Abaddon was tired of secrets and the tit-for-tat intrigues of the two old gods. It was time for mortals to make decisions for themselves.

"Do we have any idea what he was doing?" Abaddon asked.

"No," Rahotep said. "But the closer you get to the laboratory room, the more intricate the genetic modifications and the closer those species came to mimicking humans. But the real interesting stuff is down that tunnel, to what appears to be a secondary laboratory."

"Shemijaza's?" Abaddon asked.

"No," Rahotep said. "The secondary laboratory was completely hidden. If the lizards hadn't found it first, I doubt we would have found it, either, unless we'd pounded the bedrock with sonar looking for hidden caverns. This way, Sir!"

The Leonid command gestured like an excited schoolboy for Abaddon to follow him. Abaddon glanced over to where Lieutenant Valac shadowed the Electrophori intelligence officer. He and Colonel Ekk were embroiled in a heated exchange over one of the cryo-chambers. Abaddon gave the man a silent hand signal for 'I'll be down there' and then turned to follow Rahotep down the icy hallway, too round and perfect to have been created by anything except for a laser-drill. Recently, by the way the icy floor lay free of almost all dirt or debris.

The chill from the ice saturated through the soles of Abaddon's combat boots as the sound of their footsteps was swallowed by the groaning ice. The hallway grew darker, more jagged, as they moved out of the newly drilled portion downwards into a glacier which was far older than the room they'd just exited. At last the icy floor gave way to bedrock. Water dripped down from a pair of jury-rigged light fixtures as the heat of the light bulbs melted the icicles frozen to the ceiling.

"We think this is the oldest part of the facility." Rahotep gestured towards an enormous carved wooden door. "The ice cavern is circa Shemijaza's reign, but this chamber? We believe it dates back to before the destruction of Nibiru."

A thrill of anticipation broke through Abaddon's carefully cultivated air of pragmatism.

"Nibiru?" Abaddon forced his expression to remain neutral. "What makes you guess that?"

Rahotep pulled back on the door. They passed through yet another hallway, carved out of natural bedrock with picks and axes, and a second doorway which opened up into a large natural rock cavern. The Leonid reached over and turned on a crude spotlight the lizards had propped onto a stand. The yellow light did little to illuminate the cave, but contained within were cryo-chambers of a vintage which appeared to be many millennia older.

Abaddon walked over to the first cryo-chamber and rubbed the filth off of the glass to see who was housed inside. Despite the fact that at some point the power had failed, the frigid temperatures had preserved the specimen with only moderate decay. A massive slant-browed, broad-nosed humanoid lay within the chamber, its skin discolored, but still recognizable as the species it had once been.

"Nephilim," Abaddon's cheek twitched. Yes. Giants. The original soldiers in Shay'tan's armies. Shay'tan had wiped that species right out of the galaxy about the same time that Nibiru had been destroyed.

"There are dozens entombed here," Rahotep said. "So far, all appear to be dead."

Abaddon stared down at the fearsome creatures of legend. Unlike the victims of Shemijaza's experiments, this Nephilim wore an almost a peaceful expression, as though it had simply lain down to go to sleep. He thought back to the sketchy histories which said the Nephilim had been evil, but the history books had never explained why.

"It's a pity the power failed," Abaddon said. "I sure would have liked to have heard their side of the story."

This entire cavern was a crypt, a gigantic, icy sarcophagus for the unfortunate creatures some crazed scientist had experimented upon millennia before Shemijaza had done the same to the specimens housed outside within the glacier. Why? Why the exact same research, by the looks of it 75,000 or so years apart?

A very modern-looking Sata'anic computer sat, undestroyed, next to an operating table, still attached to the ancient version of one which was a technology Abaddon did not recognize. It beckoned to him like a Merfolk siren song, whispering that this ancient computer might hold information about the last bastion of humanity.

"The lizards left this one booted up," Rahotep said. "They must not have had a chance to make their way back down to this part of the facility when we routed them out of here."

Abaddon ran his finger across the touchpad, the squiggled letters which made up the Sata'anic language almost as familiar to him as his own Galactic Standard cuneiform. The screensaver disappeared. A mechanical-sounding man's voice asked him in the hissing Sata'anic language, 'how may I be of service to you today, Sir?'

"Give me all information you have about the location of the human homeworld," Abaddon said to the computer.

'Do you have your password, Sir?' the mechanical voice hissed.

Abaddon glanced over at Rahotep.

"We haven't been able to break the code," Rahotep said, "though we haven't had much time to devote to it, either, Sir. At least it didn't self-destruct like they usually do when you give the wrong password three times. I don't think Shay'tan anticipated we'd capture this base."

Abaddon frowned. Self-destruct sequences were standard operating procedure in all sensitive military equipment which, for the Sata'anic Empire, meant nearly all equipment, period.

Brigadier-General Rahotep's tail swished with excitement. This was the most exciting discovery since a deep space scientific expedition had picked up an unknown radio signal and come back with stories of a Leviathan homeworld. Whatever secrets this facility held, it was critical that Shay'tan not be allowed to recapture it.

"I think it's time for you to return to the Emperor's Vengeance," Abaddon said. "Fan out around the planet in a defensive formation. Send word to the ships I left stationed around Glaxius-4 to recall their away teams. I want them to be prepared to jump into hyperspace at a moment's notice if Shay'tan shows up to reclaim this base."

"We haven't set up any communications repeaters yet, Sir." Rahotep pointed to his comms pin. "We're too far beneath the ground to get a signal out. While you're down here, you'll be incommunicado."

"Tell Lieutenant Valac to come fetch me if there's a problem," Abaddon said. He gazed longingly at the ancient computer. Whatever knowledge it contained, it had been valuable enough for Shemijaza to risk setting up his genetics laboratory at the edge of the Tokoloshe Kingdom. How many times had this portion of the Sata'anic border fluctuated back and forth over this solar system, both sides equally clueless about what this ice-planet held?

Rahotep gave him a crisp salute. Dropping down onto all four paws, the Vengeance commander raced back through the tunnels to carry out Abaddon's orders.

Abaddon sat down at the uncomfortable Sata'anic stool, its high back and slit between the seats adapted for a lizard tail, not an Angelic's wings. He threw out phrase after phrase, but the Sata'anic computer kept repeating its request for the password in a polite hissing voice. As he spoke, he caressed the ancient computer which had been brought back to life by the simple act of adding power. What civilization had spawned this technology? It didn't seem like any of the artifacts he'd ever seen from either empire's history books.

His stomach growled. He pressed upon his comms pin and got nothing back but static. Shay'tan's tail! Without a repeater he had no way to contact his men. No matter. Abaddon always came prepared. He reached into the thigh-pocket of his combat fatigues and fished out a tasteless energy bar and a container of water as he settled in for a lengthy game of 'guess the password.' What password would Shay'tan's scientists use to protect the jackpot of the millennia?

He stared past the computer into the dimly lit cavern, large enough that the spotlight did not illuminate the far end. Something golden caught his eye. Abaddon stood up and moved towards the object, clicking on the laser pointer attached to his pulse rifle to illuminate his way through the maze of cryo-chambers filled with mummified Nephilim.

The object was a statue, thirty meters tall and covered from hoof to horn with gold which glistened like fire from a sun. Huge outstretched arms reached towards him, palms up, as though it waited for him to place something into its hands. The creature possessed muscular arms, broad shoulders, and a thick neck which terminated in a bovine head, its lips curled back in a cruel sneer. Ruby red eyes gazed down at him as though they were taking his measure, and upon its head sat a pair of horns.

Chills ran down Abaddon's spine as he realized what ancient god's statue towered over him…

Abaddon called out the ancient Sata'anic bedtime prayer loud enough for the computer to register.

"May Shay'tan defend us against the Devourer of Children."

"Your password has been accepted, Sir," the mechanical voice said.

With a hum of power, every light within the cavern turned on, increasing in luminosity until the shadows disappeared. Abaddon stared up at the enormous robotic prosthesis of Moloch, the Evil One, Devourer of Children, the god whom even She-who-is feared.

A deep voice rumbled from somewhere behind him.

"And so now you see, Destroyer, what god Shemijaza really worshipped as he played my empire against your own?"

Abaddon whirled, his pulse rifle still drawn from its earlier use as a flashlight. Towering above him was the enormous red dragon whose picture he'd been using as target practice for as long as he'd been alive. His pulse beat faster as he realized he'd been led into a trap.

"Emperor Shay'tan?" Abaddon forced his expression to remain neutral. "How did you get in here? The tunnel is too small to fit someone of your substantial girth."

"How does any god get anywhere?" Shay'tan said. His snout curved up in the pleased smile of a feline which had just cornered a rodent.

The old dragon stood thirty-five meters from nose-tip to tail, with enormous wings which would stretch from one wall of the chamber to the other. From his head curved a pair of matching, golden horns, and around his muzzle jutted a beard of sensitive, gold-spiked whiskers. Brilliant scarlet scales gave the illusion his body was a flickering flame, and his length terminated in a long tail which ended in a barbed fork. Alliance propaganda poked fun at the old dragon and claimed he'd grown portly in his old age, but up close Abaddon could see how every aspect of Shay'tan had been shaped for fighting, from his spiked dorsal ridge to his long, sharp claws.

Abaddon glanced between the inanimate statue and the very real dragon, not certain which boogeyman presented the greatest threat to his existence. He finally settled his pulse rifle upon Shay'tan, who was very much alive.

"It's forbidden for your kind to use your ascended powers to gain an advantage in the material realm," Abaddon said.

Shay'tan stepped closer, his maw growing wider as it curved up into a grin. For some reason the Sata'anic emperor found this thought amusing.

"This is my territory, mortal!" Shay'tan's golden eyes glittered like a pair of suns. "And you are my honored guest,
Destroyer.
" The old dragon jerked his long, serpentine neck towards the computer. "I'd begun to give up hope you would ever figure out the password."

Abaddon forced his expression to remain fierce even though fear clutched at his bowels. For 635 years he'd led armies into battle against the old dragon, but this was the first time he'd ever met Shay'tan face-to-face. It was a good thing he'd had a lot of practice with near-death situations, because otherwise he would have soiled himself in terror.

"What do you want from me?"

Abaddon glanced over at the computer he'd just frittered away the last two hours trying to guess the password. His face hardened into a grim expression. Lucifer had always been astute enough to spot the old dragon's intrigues, but he, Abaddon, was a man of action. This trap had been set specifically for him.

"Why I want to kill you, of course," Shay'tan said. His enormous, scaled form lumbered forward, slowly, deliberately, like a feline herding its prey into a corner so it could play with it at its leisure. "I put quite a bounty on your head, you know?"

"So I heard," Abaddon said. He slipped the safety off his pulse rifle and aimed it upwards at the old dragon's head.

Shay'tan's snout curved up in a smirk. His footsteps were surprisingly quiet, as if stalking prey was something he did often.

"Think how much treasure I'll save by collecting my bounty myself?" Shay'tan purred. "It's been a long time since I smote my enemies personally. It's very invigorating. Don't you agree, general?"

Abaddon stepped backwards until he felt the cold metal of the statue's sacrificial brazier press against the back of his wings. He could escape no further unless he climbed onto Moloch's outstretched hands.

"If you wanted to just kill me," Abaddon said, "you would not have gone through all this trouble to welcome me into your lair."

"My lair?" The old dragon sat back on his haunches, looking more like the beneficent Emperor depicted in modern Sata'anic religious icons than the terrifying animal he truly was. Shay'tan pointed up at Moloch's sneering maw. "You know better than to believe that would be allowed to exist in my realm! It's the one thing Hashem and I ever agreed upon."