The Zygan Emprise: Renegade Paladins and Abyssal Redemption (58 page)

“But, you’ve got no idea why were we, uh,
cloned? And from whom?” A sheepish grin. “Whoms?” My gaze dropped
to the part of his anatomy that differed most from mine.

“Benedict thinks I was the index case. In
other words, I was created first for some reason,” he theorized,
“from an unknown template, and then my family was built around me.”
He poked at the fire again. “But I’m not certain he’s right about
that.” His eyes met mine.

I moved back a foot. “You don’t mean me? Why
would it be me?

Another shrug. “The red haired woman. Stacy.
I’ve never seen or heard of her.”

I frowned. “But I don’t know who she is
either.” I told John about my experience with Agriarctos and my
avatar in the RAM. “My avatar died before I could get the story.
But at Mel’s diner,
you
were ‘there’ with the redhead—if she
was
Stacy. Grandpa Alexander, too.” A new thought hit me.
“Could Grandpa Alexander be the template from which we were,
uh…?”

John shrugged. “Possibly. But I think he was
just a ‘recruiter’. For Zygint. Or the Helianthi. Or both. ‘Why’ is
a question neither Benedict nor I could answer.”

“Are all of us clones then? Benedict,
too?”

“No. He says.” John pursed his lips. “He does
have a mother, as we saw.” John put his hands on his neck behind
his head and stretched. “Shiloh, I’ve given up any hope that Level
2 will ever provide us with the truth. Let’s finish what we need to
do to reset our timeline, and then I can revisit my quest for
tangible knowledge—for me
and
you.”

“We will have a brief opportunity in less
than 30 minutes.” Spud appeared behind us. If he’d overheard our
conversation, he wasn’t going to let on. “Records show the unusual
concordance of both a total eclipse and a substantial earthquake
occurring in the seventh hour. Around 1 p.m.”

John beat me to it. “Darkness
and
distraction. The miracle we’d been hoping for.”

* * *

Spud advocated that we try a full frontal
approach. John and I should dress up as visiting—male--Roman
officers, and stride through the ranks straight to Yeshua. Spud
would disguise himself as a wandering prophet or seer, and draw
attention in his direction by predicting the eclipse. Even so, John
balked. “The numbers would still be against us. I saw at least ten
guards. And even if we got to Yeshua, we’d have to transfer the
Somalderis without creating…curiosity.”

“That’ll be a problem with any scenario,” I
said. “We can’t distract everyone, and the Somalderis won’t be easy
to pull out quickly from under the shoulder plates of the body
armor.”

“We are too few to implement multiple
distractions,” Spud returned, his eyes falling on the sleeping
Professor.

“No.” John glared at Spud. “Forget it. She’s
not a catascope, this is
our
operation.”

“That isn’t our only concern with her,” I
admitted, lowering my voice. “She thinks we’re mounting a
rescue
. And saving Yeshua’s life unfortunately isn’t in our
game plan.”

The realization clearly disturbed John. “I’m
sure we could explain…”

Spud and I both shook our heads.

“Spud has a good point, though,” I continued.
“The guards—and everyone else—in these cultures are less likely to
focus on what a woman is doing. Women aren’t seen as immediate
threats.”

I convinced the others that I stood the best
chance of getting close to Yeshua with the Somalderis. As a woman,
I’d be less threatening to the Roman guards, and maybe I’d even be
welcomed by the other female mourners providing solace by Yeshua’s
side. The flowing robes draped around my body could easily hide the
Somalderis. John and Spud could, if needed, draw the guards’
attention away from me, while I attempted to deliver the
Fleece.

We left Dr. Malamud curled up in the cave,
fast asleep. John knelt by her side and kissed her lightly on the
forehead, then ran to catch up as we ventured back out towards the
crucifixion site.

Yeshua’s condition had deteriorated horribly
over the past few hours. Sunken eyes and cheeks, cracked lips,
gasping breaths from an emaciated chest. The wounds from his
beating had filled with pus, which was oozing out and mingling with
the serum dripping onto his bloody feet. One of the women nearby
tried to wipe his legs with a damp cloth, only to be chased back by
a Roman guard wielding a gilded javelin. Getting close wasn’t going
to be easy.

John nodded at me, and set off ambling in the
direction of the guards. In his Ergaled beard and robes, his hair
color and skin color anamorphed into a dark brown, he no longer
resembled my brother but a sun-baked Judean cleric of the era. Spud
had opted for the costume of a Roman courier. He had already
engaged a couple of guards in casual conversation as they watched
the abhorrent spectacle before them with cynical indifference.

My makeshift Ergal’s Aramaic helped me
approach the women as a convincing Yeshua acolyte from a
neighboring village. I’d suggested just being Shiloh, but coached
by an adamant Spud, I introduced myself as Mary, a daughter of
Jerusalem and the wife of Clopas.

So close, and yet so far. I was only a few
feet away from Yeshua, but still under the watchful eyes of a few
of the unoccupied guards who seemed to have nothing better to do
than their jobs. I’d trigger their attention in unpleasant ways if
I inched closer. My team? Well, Spud did seem to be amusing several
soldiers with some street magic, and John had attracted a few
guards of his own who, in another era, would be demanding “to see
his papers.” But, with a couple of guards nearby still hovering
warily, maybe Spud was right--perhaps we should’ve asked Aliyah to
come and play her siren call for this group after all.

Well, nature would have to provide the “Look
over here” distraction. Spud’s hand signals gave us a 30 second
countdown to the start of the eclipse. As soon as the darkness
enveloped us, I’d race to wrap the fleece around--

“Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani!”

I started at the sound of the harsh, hoarse
voice, its plaintive plea stabbing my ears with a wave of despair.
Frozen, I watched Yeshua, his eyes reaching towards a graying sky,
railing at his abandonment again.

The earthquake knocked me to the ground. This
shaker was bigger than I’d ever felt, even as a veteran Angeleno.
By the time the shaking had eased and the screams of the frightened
around me had quieted, the eclipse’s dusk had neared its peak.

I jumped to my feet, my fingers rubbing the
Somalderis. I only had a few minutes, I’d better move quickly
before the light returned. All around me, terrified Romans and
locals were running, crying, and shouting. Crouching down, I crept
towards the cross on which Yeshua was imprisoned, reached down
inside my robes to pull out the fleece, and—

I was pulled to the ground by a strong pair
of arms behind me. My red hot reflexes kicked in--I rolled over and
pulled my legs to my chest, ready to slice my assailant’s abdomen
in two with a powerful kick. My sandals stopped an inch from the
protuberant belly of my attacker. One of the Yeshua disciples, she
was clearly angry, and clearly pregnant.

“Keep away from him,” the woman cried in
Aramaic as she tried to grab my feet.

I dodged backwards--right into the hands of
two other women, who, gripping my forearms with inhuman strength,
dragged me away from my target. “I am trying to
help
him,” I
protested, trying to break free. “Let me go. There isn’t much
time.”

“Only Yahweh can help him now. It is
finished,” the oldest whispered, waving her craggy fist in my face.
“He will join his father in paradise.”

Rays of light filtered around the edge of the
moon as the second dawn of the day began to break. The ground shook
once again, less strongly. Good, the aftershock could frighten
these women off my case and give me a last chance to transfer the
fleece. Unfortunately, this time, the women didn’t scream. As one,
they fell on their knees in prayer, and, my eyes were drawn to the
cross once again visible in my line of sight.

Yeshua’s body hung limply, barren of life and
breath. I swallowed a sob. It was too late. He was gone.

Chapter 25

Shiloh’s Choice

The Cave of Half-Baked Ideas—two thousand
years ago

“Zygan historical records note that Yeshua
died at 1500 local time to-day,” reported Spud once we’d all
gathered back in our hideaway cave. He ambled over to where I sat
forlorn, poking at the last embers of our fire. Night was falling
and it would be quite chilly again soon. “The first quake occurred
at 1456, Richter 6.9, about 2 minutes before the peak of the
eclipse.”

I forced a wan smile. “So close, so
close…”

“Wasn’t your fault. I wouldn’t have figured
on the women mounting an attack either,” John, sitting cross-legged
next to the sleeping Professor, whispered. “You did the right
thing, holding back.”

Grateful for the kind words, I touched my
hand to my forehead in a subtle salute. John nodded and lay down
next to his sleeping companion. With a sigh, I turned back to the
fire. Funny. Despite all this mess, in some ways John seemed
happier than I’d ever seen him before.

Spud sat down by me, still nose-first in his
black market Ergal.

“I gather we didn’t change the timeline
back,” I muttered.

“Doesn’t seem so.” Spud shook his head as he
scanned. He didn’t add that things might have gone better had we
opted for his strategy. He didn’t have to.

“Well, back to Plan B,” I mumbled, “Whatever
that may be.” I added another twig to the fire and watched it
sizzle in a flash of light. “Though I have to wonder if it’s even
worth it to set things right. Professor Malamud’s world is a lot
more advanced and evolved than
our
modern century.”

“And peaceful,” added John from his mat.
“Imagine an Earth finally without war. It may even be worth the
price of our brothers’ lives.”

“We don’t have the right to make that
decision,” I returned.

“I know,” John sighed. “None of us do. Though
enough drum-beating sovereigns have fooled well-meaning patriots
into sacrificing themselves on the battlefield in the cause of
peace, hmm?”

I nodded. “We’ll just have to pray our
timeline—and our universe--gets its act together after we restore
it.”

Shrugging, John said, “I’m not holding my
breath.” He nodded at Spud. “Hey, you’ve been studying that Ergal
of yours very diligently, Escott. Any fresh ideas?

Another head shake. John scooted over and sat
up next to us. “What if we go back in time a day and try
again?”

Spud didn’t seem enthusiastic. “I’m not
convinced that we’d be more successful. Our numbers, even with your
friend,” he nodded at the Professor, “are still too small.” He
pursed his lips. “Sadly, our Zygan Ergals are still inoperative,
and these other Ergals are still missing vital tools. We would be
both visible and poorly armed.”

John tossed in a heavier branch he and Aliyah
had collected to feed the flames. His eyes searched for Spud’s. “So
you’re saying that the only thing we can do now is deliver the
Somalderis to Yeshua after his death, right?”

Spud looked away as I snorted, “What’s the
point of that? It’ll just sit in his grave.” My stick jabbed at the
fire and sent sparks flying.

None of us said anything more for a very long
time.

John’s voice was quiet when he broke the
silence. “I’ll do it.”

Spud twitched, but continued to stare at the
fire. I turned to my brother. “Do what?”

“What I have to do,” John said, avoiding my
gaze.

I shot my puzzled frown at each of them to no
avail. When the realization hit me, it was unbearable. “No!” I
cried. “No way! I won’t lose you again!” I wrapped my arms around
John’s muscular shoulders, hoping I could protect him for eternity
from the jaws of death.

Dr. Malamud stirred, her eyes flickering
open, squinting to take in the scene. “What’s going on?”

John and I said nothing. Spud intervened.
“Rush is considering delivering the Somalderis directly to
Yeshua.”

Scratching her head, the Professor said, “But
the guards will not allow that, right?”

“In Level 3,” Spud continued. “Deliver it in
heaven.

The Professor sat up, wide-awake and visibly
confused.

John’s voice was tender. “I’m afraid, Aliyah,
that Yeshua didn’t survive.”

Her expression turned to sadness. A plaintive
reply: “Were we not supposed to have tried to rescue him after
sunset tonight?”

“He was taken sooner than we’d hoped,” John
said. “We were far outnumbered. You wouldn’t have been able to
help.”

Aliyah looked at both John and me with
genuine concern, a frown creasing her forehead.

“It’s a crazy idea, John” I exploded.
“Suicide doesn’t get you into heaven.”

“But it’s okay if it’s ‘suicide by cop’.”
John’s light tone was very disturbing. “Or in this case, Roman
Legionnaire.”

“I might remind you that this era does not
provide lethal injections or painless euthanasia,” Spud warned,
highlighting the gruesome, “The death of Yeshua, or even the more
rapid decapitation of Cicero, was brutal torture. The best one
might hope for would be a clean blow up the epigastrium with that
Legionnaire’s sword.”

“You’re both nuts.” I was aghast at the
direction of the conversation. “Forget it. I said it before and
I’ll say it again. I will not let my brother sacrifice himself.”
Softly. “If anyone falls on their sword on this one, it should be
me.”

John gave Spud a jaunty nudge with his right
foot. “Hey, Shakespeare, didn’t Macbeth say ‘what’s done is
done’?”

“Lady Macbeth, yes,” Spud corrected. “But,
I’d have to agree with Shiloh, because—“