The Cydonia Objective (Morpheus Initiative 03) (6 page)

No one speaks. The snow continues to fall, collecting on their bare heads, on their bloodied, scarred shoulders.

"The penalty for disobedience is death."  Maximian moves his horse around Maurice, riding in front of the first line of legionnaires. Studying each one's face. He rides down the line, then back. "And the sentence will be carried out here. On this rock, today!  Who will step forward and command the legion? Who will march back into Gaul and do as I ask?"

Maurice lifts his eyes to the spear, and it's as if he still stares into the brilliance of the sun. Tears collect, roll down his cheeks.

And as one unit, the legionnaires set down their weapons.

Drop to their knees.

Lower their heads and clasp their hands together in prayer.

Maximian stops pacing. Stares at them, at the entire force. Rides back to Maurice. "We have determined their loyalty."  He glowers at the commander, fury rising in his blood. "Very well." He raises a fist, rushes back and grasps the spear, yanking it from the earth and setting it across his lap. He rides into the midst of his centurions. And yells:

"Kill them all!"

He continues riding against the onrushing force, galloping away as fast as his steed can carry him over the rocky terrain. Far into the hills and rocky trails, far enough to escape the sounds of slaughter.

Until he hears the sound of returning hoof beats, Emperor Maximian stares at his prize, the lance and the spear point that seem to pull at his thoughts, influence his emotions and stir up even greater dreams of power, dominance and subjugation.

#

Caleb interrupts the
vision. Tries to peer back further. Willing his mind to track the spear.
Where was it before Maurice…?

#

A series of
glimpses, fast and appearing intercut with the darkness, lightning-quick:

A figure on a hilltop before a series of thatch shacks, brandishing a scintillating spear point atop a different-looking staff, thicker, whiter, made of Birch wood. He yells out a command in Spanish, and descends upon a force of invading Roman warriors.

Irish moors, low fog over an ice-packed shore. And an assembly of warriors in fur cloaks and wooden shields. Men of huge stature, led by a hulking brute of scarred man with a misshapen head, and but one eye…  Facing him and this immense force is a loose confederation of young men and even women, barely armored, woefully under matched—yet surging with confidence, following a blond youth with a spear held high—its point seething with reflected brilliance, bathing the leader with a fiery aura and causing ripples of panic in the mass of giants ahead.

Further back:

Something brilliant streaks from the night sky, dashing against the barren cliff side, startling the inhabitants of mud and clay huts, who rush into the desert. One man races to the glowing impact site, tools in his hands, shouting to his brothers. They gather around the crater, looking down to the glowing, spherical rock, tinged with cracks of emerald, pulsing and giving off intense heat.

The man's eyes widen. They all drop to their knees and bow their heads.

"When it cools," he says. "Bring it up to my workshop. God has spoken to me in my dreams. Told me this was coming. Given me instructions. Shown me what I must create."

His brothers nod, and the mason trembles with excitement, his hands tingling with power, anticipating what will take years to mold.

"His will be done."

#

Too much. Caleb
tried to pull back. Dimly aware that Alexander and Xavier were around him, carefully monitoring his condition but fearful of waking him.

 
Come on. Refine the question.
He focused, thought carefully.

Where did Commander Maurice get it?

A blast hit him, bright and intense:

A centurion, this one wrapping a cloak about himself as he races alone on a horse across a craggy terrain. Pouring rain, raging winds. The same spear, strapped to his back as he rides, heading toward a familiar circle of giant stones on the moors.

Caleb groaned.
Before that, show me…

Another blast of light.
A shadowy image of a heat-riddled city, a crowd of jeering, shouting men in rags. More Roman shoulders pushing the crowd back, making room for…

A blast of BLUE, like a broken reel of film giving way to a blank screen. It jitters, and for a moment Caleb sees a hillside at twilight.
The same Roman soldier seen previously on the moors, dragging the spear point behind him. The point, covered in oddly-translucent crimson blood, leaving a trail in the sand. Behind him, up the hill…

The briefest image of crosses…

And then the blue screen again. Fiercely blue like a cloudless sky over the ocean.

And then he's–

#

Lurching up into
his brother's supporting arms. Brought to his feet now, against the central pillar.

Alexander moved into view, his face pale by the flashlight glow. Worry crossed his features. "Dad?  You okay?  Looks like you saw a ghost."

Caleb straightened, wiped the sweat from his forehead and nodded. "A couple, I think."

"What were you looking for?" Montross asked. "Not the way out, I take it?"

"No, figured you had that covered. I was checking on our friend, The Spear."

"And-?"

Caleb rubbed his eyes, then pushed off the pillar after giving it one more glance.

"Now I know what it really is."

4.

Cairo Airport

"Where are we going?" Phoebe asked, boarding the Cessna-14, a plane she knew was capable of travelling long distances without refueling. She glanced backwards, to the darkened stretch of Cairo Airport's runway, half-expecting to see armored vehicles racing after them or sleek ninjas bursting out of the shadows.

Commander Temple took her by the elbow and gently led her up the stairs to join Orlando inside. "Ultimately back to our base, but first we've got another passenger to pick up."

Phoebe followed him inside to a luxurious cabin, where Orlando was already sitting in a huge white leather chair, tapping the armrests and grinning as he looked around. Two 40-inch flat screen TVs were built into the wall in front of the seats, a bar rested on the left side and two couches faced each other behind the three rows of seats. Orlando whistled. "Now this is more like it. You guys sure know how to spend the taxpayers' money."

As a crewman hauled up the ladder and sealed the door, Phoebe took the seat beside Orlando. "So, we're going to rescue someone else?"  A note of hope flickered in her voice. Maybe they'd found Alexander or her brother?

Temple signaled the captain, then shut the cabin door and sat in a chair beside them. "Yes, and I'm sorry for this, but it's not going to be without danger."

Orlando groaned and held his bandaged neck. "Just tell me there aren't any eels."

Smiling, Temple said, "No eels. We're going someplace a lot dryer."

Phoebe lowered her eyes. "Why can't we just go somewhere safe, let you pick up this person, then meet us?  Seriously, Orlando's hurt, and we haven't slept in days."

"Sorry." Temple shook his head as the engines breathed into life and the plane rattled. "But this is urgent. And for this mission, well… We kind of need you."

"Oh great."  Orlando rolled his eyes at Phoebe. "Another  psychic gig. We know the drill: all the risk, none of the reward."

"Your talents…" Temple began.

Orlando held up a hand. "Yeah, yeah. We know. If you ask me though, freakin'
Spiderman
ruined it for all of us after the whole 'with great power comes great responsibility' mantra."

"We're not superheroes," Phoebe contradicted. "Let someone else go."

Temple shook his head. "This is part of the deal in rescuing you. Plus, the Dove saw that you'd be instrumental in helping us. Indispensable, in fact."

"All right, I'll bite," Orlando said. "What's the objective?  Who's the target?"

Smiling, Temple leaned back. "Her name," he said, "is The Hummingbird."

#

The plane lurched,
rocked to the side, then ascended. After the rocky take off, Orlando turned to the commander. "Great, another bird."  He scratched under his thick hair. "Doves, hummingbirds…" He glanced at Phoebe. "
Crowes."

She jabbed him. "Okay, who is this hummingbird person, and more importantly, where is she?"

Temple opened a briefcase by his seat and pulled out a red folder, sealed with a string. He held it up. "Exactly where she is, you'll have to tell us. But the general vicinity is here…" He pressed a button on his seat's armrest, and the TV screen in front of them lit up. Displayed there was a map.

It took Phoebe a couple seconds to recognize the outlines, but it wasn't hard. She'd seen it on the news enough lately. "Afghanistan?"

"Uh oh," Orlando said, straightening up. "Seriously, I didn't sign on for this. Would've joined the army if I wanted to sweat it out in a desert battling Taliban, avoiding roadside bombs and rabid scorpions. Thanks but no freakin' thanks."

Temple pressed a couple keys and the image zoomed in to a location north of the center of the country, about a hundred miles west of Kabul. A site marked by rocky hills, huge cliffs and rugged peaks.

"Bamian," he said, pointing to the screen as he got up and fixed himself a drink. Ice. Gin. "Know anything about it?"

Phoebe nodded, her eyes darkening. "For centuries it was a major tourist site and pilgrimage location. And before that, a thriving city. Part of the ancient Silk Road trade route. Home to the two colossal Buddhas, carved by monks in the seventh century right into niches in the sandstone mountainside. One was like, a hundred and sixty feet tall, larger even than the Statue of Liberty, and the other one was over a hundred and twenty feet."

Temple returned to his seat. Pressed another button, and the screen shifted to a bright view of the mountainside and the enormous niche housing a standing, faceless Buddha.

"You said 'was'?" Orlando asked. "Are they…?"

Temple took a sip, then pressed the key again. The same niche now, but inside it was only rubble. "In 2001, just several months before 9-11, Mullah Muhammad Omar ordered that these emblems of the infidels be destroyed. That was after they also raided the Kabul Museum and destroyed countless priceless artifacts from the region."

"That should've been our cue of more to come from those whackos," Orlando said.

Phoebe swallowed hard, staring at the image. "The statues survived for over a thousand years, even managed to escape destruction when our old buddy Genghis Khan invaded. One of his grandsons had been killed on a raid here, shot by an arrow from the well-fortified guard posts on the ridges. Genghis was pissed, and personally saw to the city's complete destruction."