Armageddon?? (78 page)

Underground
Caverns, City of Dis, Hell

Despite
the oppressiveness of being cooped up underground, Richard Dawkins was fully
recovered and had been for some time. The professor of biology part of him was
only half conscious of his surroundings, the rest of his mind was riveted on
the world around him. As the trauma of his days of torment had slowly died,
long after no trace of the hideous burns remained, he'd begun to take note of
hell, his scientific training taking over.

Even
here, inside this labyrinth of granite caves, he'd examined his environment.
The floor was coated with mud, brown, but flecked with what looked a bit like
duckweed, or algae of some sort. It was the consistency of cake batter. There
were tufts of thick grass growing out of it here and there, but it wasn't like
any grass he'd ever seen – short, thick, and serrated. On the walls surrounding
him, were strange lichen formations. And the bugs – the bugs were like nothing
in his experience.

An
evolutionary etymologist by profession, Dawkins had spent his life studying
insects. He knew a new species when he saw one, and right now, all the things
he was seeing were new species. The flies buzzing around, flitting from wall to
wall, light source to light source, were larger and faster than their
counterparts back on Earth. The dragonflies that swooped in and out of the
shadows that marked the natural origin of this complex did so on iridescent
wings that were colored to reflect the environment of Hell, striated orange
beneath and muddy brown above. Dawkins supposed that they must have a natural
predator, else there would have been no need for camouflage from above.

So,
in the true spirit of scientific inquiry (he would not admit to himself that he
had nothing better tp do at this point) he devoted himself to carefully
watching the insects around him for several hours. Finally, he was vindicated
as a small, dark-orange bird swept out of the shadows, caught a particularly
large and (Dawkins supposed) juicy dragonfly in its beak, and perched on a
convenient ledge not two meters from him. As it crunched on its meal, it looked
for all the world like a little puffed-up bundle of feathers with two large,
black eyes and a short, sharp beak.

Yet
for all its differences, the more he thought about it, the more he was
convinced that everything here was similar, somehow, to everything on Earth.
The biosystems had to be related somehow; it was all slightly different,
slightly off, from the natural ecosystem, but they were so much the same.
Certainly not the entirely different life forms one would expect from a
completely separated alternate universe. That fitted in with all his
observations to date, wherever this place was, it shared a common ancestry with
Earth. Or at least the creatures here did. He wondered briefly if they were
the, he tried to think of a description, his mind rebelling from using the word
soul,

It
didn’t help that he wasn’t quite aware of what his exact status was here.
Somewhere between a guest and a prisoner and certainly a damned nuisance
(literally he reflected bitterly). The door of his room wasn’t locked but he
was cautioned that the network of caves was great and it had dangers all of its
own. Early in his stay, that woman, Rahab, had taken him for a walk through the
tunnels and he had seen a row of ants marching from one crack in the walls to
another. They had been the size of his big toe, larger and fatter than any sort
of ant he'd ever heard of on Earth. And, they were dark, mud-colored. Their
pincers were almost certainly able to break skin; he took some care to take a
big step over the line. He’d turned to Rahab and tapped her on the shoulder.
“Excuse me.”

She
didn't stop, but flatly shot back, “What?”

“Do
you spend much time here?”

“Not
as much as I would wish. Do you think I want to get caught out in the open by
those demons?”

“Ah.”
Dawkins was silent for a moment, then spoke again. “Rahab, do you think you can
answer a few questions for me?”

She
audibly rolled her eyes. “All right.”

“Do
you know what kind of ants those are?”

“Ants?”
Rahab sounded genuinely surprised. “What ants?”

“The
ants we just stepped over.”

For
a moment, Rahab cast about her memory. “Ah, those ants. There are a lot of them
around here. What about them?”

“Do
you know anything about them?” Dawkins asked.

“Not
really.” She paused for a second, looked at him, then continued walking
forward. After another few minutes, she asked quietly over her shoulder, “What
do you care about ants?”

Dawkins,
busy scanning the ground for insects, said after a few seconds, “Well, the
ecosystem here is fascinating. Those ants aren't like anything back on Earth.
So I'm trying to find out about them, and about all the other plants and
animals, to learn more about Hell and what its history must have been.”

Rahab
frowned. “You can tell the history of the place just by looking at its plants
and animals?”

“A
little bit,” said Dawkins. “We can make some surmises as to the evolutionary
history of the ecosystem by studying the plants and animals. For example, we
can tell how long ago their ancestors came here from Earth, and how much has
occurred since then.”

She’d
looked at him, bewildered, and shown him the way back to his room. And he’d
been here more or less ever since. It was comfortable enough although if
Dawkins made it back to Earth, he would never complain about a Ramada Inn
again. He’d had nothing to do other than watch the insects and try to work out
if any of them were dangerous. He was still mulling over the options there,
contact poisons, bites, spitting, when there was a knock on the door.

“Come
in.”

Rahab
entered the room, two men behind her. Dawkins recognized the type instantly.
Heavies. Muscle. The names varied from country to country but their kind never
did. He didn’t know whether this was a good time to get scared or already too
late for that. But, they didn’t look hostile. More curious than anything else.

“Our
leader would like to speak with you. We will take you to him and then we must
go outside. Do you need help?”

Dawkins
relaxed. A little. “No, Rahab, I’m recovered now.” He turned to the two men.
“I’m Richard Dawkins.”

“Good
for you.” The fair-haired man grunted the words out.

“Don’t
mind him. He’s always a bit irritable when Caesar’s alone. I’m Titus Pullo,
he’s Lucius Vorenus.”

“The
Titus Pullo and Lucius Vorenus?” Dawkins was stunned.

The
big man laughed. “So, you’ve read Caesar’s book then. Spins a good yarn doesn’t
he.”

“I’ve
read the book, but you’re the stars of a television program as well.”

The
big man looked confused. Rahab cut smoothly in. “Don’t worry Titus, none of
understand what he’s saying most of the time. He likes ants though, if you see
any, take him to them. They’ll keep him happy for hours.”

Chapter
Fifty Five

Belial’s
Study, Adamantine Fastness of Tartarus, Hell

Of
course, Belial never sat with his back to a door. No demon made it past squad
leader without learning such basic common sense. Thus when Euryale entered she
was immediately met by the count’s calculating stare. She made no sign of
having noticed it though, instead concentrating on bringing the food she had
prepared for him to his table. She’d made certain that the tray held everything
he liked and nothing that he did not, that wasn’t just being seductive, that was
simple self-preservation. Once Belial’s meal was laid out, she sat quietly on
the couch beside him, saying nothing. Belial was very familiar with this game,
but still drunk on success he was in the mood to let it play out. He continued
to stare at the meal laid out on the table, aware that the Euryale’s tail had
curved around his leg and its tip was caressing the back of his thigh.

“Satan
Mekratrig is pleased at my success. He has named me as one who stands beside
him and is in his favor.”

“My
Lord. The Baroness Yulupki is in position with her chorus. The second attack,
on Dee-Troyt, will commence when you give the word.” Her voice was quiet and
respectful but her tail continued to move suggestively up his leg, its tip now
reaching his knee. The torchlight was glittering off her smooth bronze scales.
Conniving little harpy. Belial thought, though the constantly-moving tip of
tail curling around his lower leg was rather distracting. Still as comely as
ever though.

“And
then Satan will indeed reward me and grant me back the power I once had. Which
raises the question of what to do with you, Euryale. Your display tonight was
unforgivable.” Mentally, Belial gulped, the top of her tail had now reached his
groin and thinking straight was becoming every more difficult. “You must be
punished for your insubordination.

“I
am in great fear of your punishment Belial.” Euryale put a distinct tremor into
her voice, one that was either lust or fear and there was no way of telling
which was which. In fact, of course, the answer was neither but that didn’t
really matter. She twitched the tip of her tail and saw Belial jump slightly.
You ignorant oaf, half your court want to rebel against you, the other half
just want to assassinate you. The only thing stopping them is they don’t regard
Tartarus as being worth the risk. As soon as you have something worth usurping,
they’ll be at your throat. If it didn’t suit me to have you on the throne… the
tip of her tail had reached up and now was circling Belial’s penis.

Any
hope Belial had of thinking straight had long gone. Ah well, may as well go
with the flow was the one thought that was running through his mind. He lurched
upwards, getting to his feet and dragging Euryale up with him at the same time.
Then, he pulled the demoness off the couch, and slung her over his shoulder
before he carried her through an archway and flung her onto a sleeping pallet.
Euryale landed heavily on her back, splayed out on the matted fungus. The
briefest flicker of fear crossed her face before her features melted into a
look of unbridled lust. Belial couldn’t tell if she was faking that or not, but
his matching expression was certainly genuine.

Outside,
the listening orcs heard the intense screams and were indeed convinced that a
most horrible tortures were being inflicted. By the time the story had been
elaborated and repeated, it was enough to chill the blood of even the most
ruthless of Belial’s minions.

Half
an hour later, Belial was back in his study, staring dreamily through the
window (or rather, trident firing loophole). This owed less to the massage
Euryale was giving him than to the drugged dart she’d managed to administer
while the count was quite thoroughly distracted by her claws raking his back.
It was a tactic she used most sparingly, due to the likely horrible
consequences of him realizing what she was doing, but in this case she’d
considered it justified.

“Yes,
such a shame really, losing brave Lasee-urk-nasee.”

Euryale
sighed mentally. “Actually Lakheenahuknaasi survived. She made contact with me
just an hour ago, of course I came to see you immediately. She says that she
was intercepted by a human sky chariot and gravely wounded. Lakheenahuknaasi
thinks we must minimize the time between sending the pathfinder and the strike
itself. If we do that, her sister will have a much better chance of survival..”

“Of
course. Your handmaiden is alive? I expect you will want to retrieve her then?”

“Actually
I convinced her to stay for a while. She said that she it may be possible to
build a small cult of humans and that from them she can learn much of value to
you.”

The
idea of any of his subjects having a private cult didn’t sit easily with
Belial, but then again they were only humans. After the immense effort it had
taken to find the first two targets, the prospect of his own intelligence
network on earth was tantalizing, however modest its beginnings.

“Most
pleasing, Euryale. What has she discovered so far.”

“Alas
she is still evading human pursuit and has not had time to gather much yet. But
think on this my Lord, we both know how much influence Deumos gains just from
her legion of succubi – yet she could not warn us of the human magery. My
handmaiden has shown that given the chance, we gorgons can provide you with a
superior spy network. How much would that be worth at Mekratrig’s court?”

The
offer would have been tempting anyway, had she managed to get the count to hear
it out, but in his current state it was irresistible.

“Very
well. We attack De Troyt immediately and we use a nephilim as close to the
target as possible. The search must begin immediately, to be sure of finding
one who can travel there in time.” Suddenly energized, Belial stormed out of
his chambers, bellowing for servants and messengers as he made his way to the
great hall. Euryale followed behind, savoring a smug grin before she had to
begin her performance for the nobles.

Third
Platoon, Second Company, Third Battalion, Fourth Regiment, 247th Motor Rifle
Division, Phlegethon River Front, Hell