Prometheus Road (24 page)

“Magnus?” Tom whispered. “I sense the powers. What do I do next?”

“Look within. Your body knows the answer. Choose the power you need, then accept its help.”

The shadows of power moved closer, their whispering voices raised to an unintelligible murmur that almost sounded like words, but conveyed only attitudes and emotions that swirled around Tom’s mind. He deepened his breathing, drawing his attention inward, and saw his own shadows clustered deep in his body, pulsing in sympathy with the whispering of the dark powers, protected behind a shield of fear, anger, and past evils. At another level, the blood red molecules of the vision vine poison glowed within his bloodstream and throughout his nervous system, clinging and spreading like a cancer.

Tom placed one foot on the bridge and stepped up. With his eyelids still closed, he touched the bridge ahead of him with his mind and found that it would not hold his weight. He raised his awareness to the shimmering sky, stretching out his arms in a gesture of greeting and acceptance. He couldn’t see the motion, but he sensed a sudden flowing sensation through his body as the sky elementals plunged through him in greeting. The yellow band of the rainbow bridge hardened against his feet, and he was able to take two more steps higher.

His headache increased, but he refused to let it knock him off the bridge again. He drew on the enduring power of the redwood grove and the rainbow nursery to give him strength, and the headache receded, reducing his nausea and clearing his head. He tried to let the powers flow through him into his dark places, but the shield stayed up and repelled their attack. He redirected their energies against the red stream of poison in his body, but again there was no effect.

He took another step higher on the bridge. With each step, his body felt lighter, as if the local gravity had weakened. The headache stabbed at him again, plunging its dagger repeatedly into his brain, sending shock waves of pain through his fragile form. When he dared to look, he saw that his skin had begun to lose its color, gradually shifting toward gray, changing him into one of the corpses he’d seen floating down the river of pain.

The shadows beckoned, and he realized he would have to draw on the darkness to defeat his own inner shadows. There were no other elemental powers present, and Tom knew he wouldn’t last much longer without stopping the poison. He licked his lips, looking once more at the ash gray color of death creeping across his skin. The powers of light simply weren’t strong enough.

Tom turned to embrace the darkness.

The whispering voices rose in pitch as their excitement overwhelmed them. The darkness raced forward and plunged into Tom’s chest, thumping into him like a hammer, spreading quickly through his body to fill him with energy born from a hatred of all things, and an underlying fear that tingled through his bloodstream. His heart raced, his breath quickened, and he began to sweat. He gritted his teeth against an unfocused anger that filled him. Tom’s own inner shadows collapsed under the assault from the superior power, washed away in the dark flood of emotion. A soft red halo formed around his body, swirling like a gas, pulsing with the staccato beat of his heart.

His sweat turned red; it wasn’t blood, but a scarlet gas that leaked from his pores, the red poison stream forced out of his system by the rolling waves of darkness. He found himself walking steadily up the rainbow bridge, his skin hissing as the red steam accelerated its exit from his body. The headache receded and finally stopped, leaving only the babble of tiny voices echoing through his skull in a language he couldn’t understand.

He was free of the vision vine poison, but he had been captured by the darkness. The power of the shadows was so much stronger than the other powers he had absorbed that he no longer felt the energy of the light. Hatred and anger filled his mind, unfocused but ready to be channeled into explosive effort by the voices in his head. It made Tom feel stronger, more capable, and more powerful than he had ever been in his life; at that moment, he felt as if he could accomplish anything. He flew up the rainbow now, the wind whistling in his ears, his feet barely touching the yellow band of the bridge, lifted faster and faster by the intensity of a pure rage that burned within him. He smelled blood and noticed the coppery taste of it in his mouth; he had to make a conscious effort to stop grinding his teeth. Enveloped in his cloud of red gas, he felt as if his new powers had borne him up to become part of the ruby sky.

He closed his eyes, thinking he should fight the rage, the urge to kill, but the tiny voices in his head got louder, telling him to maintain his fury or fall from the bridge to his doom. Tom glanced down and saw rolling hills far below, a patchwork of dark forests and broad meadows cut by sparkling blue rivers. To his left, meadows of green abruptly ended at the muddy rivers that ringed and defined the boundaries of the gray Dead Lands. Ahead of him, the yellow band of the rainbow continued its long arc through the sky, and he saw that the other colors surrounding the yellow had become more tenuous, as if the bridge had less reality at this high altitude. He began to wonder if he should try to wake up from this stressful dream and try the bridge crossing at another time, although he didn’t want to go through the same ordeal again, and the voices assured him he was doomed if he decided to turn back. He hated the voices. He hated the darkness. Tom knew they were twisting his mind, watching his every move, manipulating him, confident in their ability to control him, and the thought of those smug invaders made his blood boil. His vision clouded with red, and he screwed his eyes shut, trusting the yellow band of the rainbow to keep him on course.

The muscle in his head twitched again. His rage needed a focal point, and Tom suddenly knew that he’d found it. The dark force inside him turned in on itself, pushing its way back through his pores, through his bloodstream, allowing light to fill the spaces left behind. The red gas cloud surrounding him thinned and began to stream away as he continued soaring into the sky. The tiny voices screamed in horror, pleading with Tom to be their master and let them stay, warning him that he would die if they abandoned him now. Tom couldn’t tell if they were lying or not; but he knew he didn’t want them in his head anymore, and he resolved to force them out and face the consequences. He began to twitch as his inner demons fought back, latching on to his nerves to avoid being forced out of his body. Nervous about his flight now, he opened his eyes and saw that he was drifting to one side of the yellow band. Spreading his arms, he banked like a soaring bird and centered his flight over the yellow stripe. His success gave him another idea, and he dipped lower into the yellow vapors that rose from the rainbow at this altitude, opening his mouth like a scoop. The yellow gas had a lemony scent and taste, and he knew that must be an artifact from his confused brain trying to make sense of this situation, offering a familiar sensual experience to help him cope with it. As the yellow gas worked its way down into his lungs, it began to spread through his body and give him a yellow glow to replace the last of the red cloud streaming away behind him. The tiny voices were terrified, and his body recoiled as they finally bailed out through his stomach to escape the incoming wave of yellow light.

Tom continued to fly through the lemon gas, descending now on the far side of the rainbow, his spirits lifted by the fact that he had not fallen, and that he had overcome the darkness—at least temporarily. He already felt an emotional tug, as if another loved one had died, but he knew it was the darkness calling him again, hoping he would weaken and allow them to return.

Ahead of him lay the Prometheus Road, stretching across the hills in a straight and shiny line that ended only at the horizon, if it ever ended at all. The Road looked like night, black and infinite, separated from this world by a layer of black glass. As Tom got closer, he saw that the black glass had sparkling diamonds embedded within its surface. Then he realized that they weren’t diamonds at all, but twinkling stars trapped within the Road’s impossible depths, as if the Road itself was a pathway into another dimension, or a neat slice cut through time and space. Two monolithic towers of lemon yellow amber, lit from within, gave the impression of two sentinels guarding the point where the rainbow bridge met the Road, and Tom was about to inspect them at close range.

Awed by the sight of his goal, still trying to comprehend the Road and the view of the stars that it offered, Tom belatedly realized how fast he was moving, and he began to wonder if it would even be possible to slow down. His hair lay straight back against his skull, almost motionless in the constant and powerful stream of air that blasted against his face and buffeted his body. The turbulence at the back of his head felt like tiny hammers pinging his skull.

Tom closed his eyes to think about how to deal with this problem, and he felt the familiar twinge of the strange muscle in his head, quivering somewhere above and behind his eyes. He imagined himself slowing, standing on the Road between the amber gates, and he felt a humming vibration that rippled up and down his body. When he opened his eyes, he found himself between the amber spires, standing in the middle of the Road. Energy from the glassy surface of the Road connected with his feet and swarmed up through the cells of his body, filling him with light and a sense of infinite power.

He had become a master of the Road.

“ARE these the mutants?” asked President Buck Breckenridge, eyeing the crowd of painted nudes dancing through the streets of old Las Vegas. His hoverlimo coasted to a stop, raising a cloud of dust in front of a casino named The Golden Fleece. Heavily armed federal police guarded the entrance to the casino, but the happy revelers in the street weren’t bothered by their presence.

“These are the locals,” said Daedalus, his nanoborg handler. “And as I keep saying, there are no mutants. That’s a cover story so we could bring our troops into Las Vegas.”

“Glad to hear it,” Buck said. “I saw some good-looking women in that parade, and I’d like to hear their views regarding my policies.” He slipped into his white suit coat, adjusted his white tie, winked broadly at Daedalus, and stepped out of the limo.

“There is no time for that,” Daedalus warned.

Surrounded by his token Secret Service agents, who were being jostled by passing dancers in the parade, Buck raised an eyebrow at Daedalus, who looked like the angel of death as he stepped out onto the sidewalk in his black robes. “You wouldn’t use the collar on me out here in public?”

“If necessary,” Daedalus said in an ominous tone.

Buck sighed and rolled his eyes. “Fine. Have it your way. What’s the status on the mutants our troops were chasing?”

“They’re outlaws, not mutants, and the search teams are still tearing the casino apart looking for them. Captain Powell has a DNA sniffer, but they need a verifiable sample for the sniffer to work with before they can start tracking. Since we don’t know the identities of these fugitives, we have to rely on more conventional means to hunt them down.”

“Is the casino staff cooperating?”

“They have no choice. The remaining casinos in this part of town are staffed with live people and visited by live tourists. If they give us any trouble, they know we’ll demolish their building and put them out of business.”

“I’m sure that inspires cooperation,” Buck said with a wry chuckle.

“We like to get results. Telemachus has given us free rein to operate here as we wish until the fugitives are captured or killed.”

In response to several screams nearby in the street, the Secret Service team suddenly shoved Buck back into the limousine, whacking his head against the roof of the car as two agents piled in alongside him. The other agents crouched beside the limo with their weapons out, looking for targets, while Daedalus calmly watched the activity from the sidewalk.

The crowd parted to make way for a dark figure striding across the street toward the limo, his black robes swirling in the hot breeze. The agents by the car exchanged nervous glances, but managed to restrain themselves from shooting as the figure stepped up on the sidewalk and loomed over them.

“Hermes,” said Daedalus, stepping closer to the nanoborg as he nodded in greeting. “Your visit is unannounced, but not unwelcome. What brings you here?”

“You are in my master’s domain. I’ve come to oversee the search process, as I understand that your people are not meeting with success. I know one of the individuals you’re hunting, one Tom Eliot, and I have been charged with the task of hunting him down.”

Daedalus calmly stared back into the other nanoborg’s eyes. “Alioth has priority in this matter, which extends to me, as I am his servant. Your past failures with regard to subject Eliot have lowered your priority status, although we are happy to receive any personal information from you that may help us apprehend the fugitives, such as Eliot’s DNA signature.”

“I have it,” Hermes nodded. “However, it will be necessary for me to accompany your sniffer search team on the hunt.”

“We can allow this on the condition that you do not interfere with Captain Powell’s search operation.”

“Agreed.” Hermes held up a tiny vial of green liquid. “Once we have him trapped, I have a surprise for Tom Eliot from the local arsenal. He will not escape.”

“You have seed? Telemachus has authorized this?”

“Telemachus has ordered this.”

Daedalus nodded. “Then it shall be as the regional commander has ordered.”

The limo door opened again and Buck peered outside, flanked by his protective team. “Hey, can I get out of this stuffy car?”

Hermes glanced at the president, then returned his gaze to Daedalus. “Why is he here?”

“Media control. We’re using him to prompt the locals into voluntary cooperation with the federal troops and maintain public order.”

“Understood. Take me to your Captain Powell, and we’ll get on with the search. I have a job to do.”

“And you must not fail again,” Daedalus warned.

Hermes squinted up at the blazing sun in the sky, then looked at the casino entrance. “No. I must not fail.”

“IS he dead?”

Tom heard the woman’s voice, then blinked and saw an attractive woman with brown skin and black hair peering down at him with a frown. He also noticed a tiny red rose, rendered in fine detail, on the white of her right eyeball. “I’m not dead,” Tom mumbled. “Not yet, anyway.”

“You’re a deep sleeper,” Rose said, standing up straight as she kept a wary eye on Tom. “You didn’t even wake up when Lebowski carried you up from the boat.”

Tom took a deep breath, sat upright, and shook his head in an attempt to clear the cotton stuffing away from his brain. Although there were holes in his dream memory, he knew he had reached the Prometheus Road, and he still sensed the tingle of the power he’d felt flowing through him when he succeeded. That memory, and the knowledge that the vision vine poison was gone from his system, gave him confidence. He felt energized and happy, surging to his feet to have a look at their new surroundings.

He heard the trickle and drip of water and saw that the boat that he and Lebowski had used was pulled up on a concrete platform that jutted out over the tiny stream flowing through the main sewer pipe. They were in a smaller, dry pipe that joined the main system at a right angle. Tom sensed that there were other people shifting uneasily in the darkness a few yards away, but he couldn’t quite see them.

Lebowski stood nearby, watching Tom, his eyes glinting within the shadows of his hood. “Congratulations, my man. You’re a master now.” He stepped forward and startled Tom with a hug, slapping him twice on the back.

“You know?” Tom asked, staring at the musician.

“Everyone who has helped you on your journey knew the moment when you reached the Road. We all felt your success at the same time.”

Tom closed his eyes for a moment and nodded. Now that Lebowski mentioned it, he sensed a deep connection with this man, with Dead Man, and with Magnus. There were others as well, but their identities were buried even deeper, remaining a mystery until he had time to meditate and explore the new place inside himself that he had discovered. It was a place that burned with a fierce white light, and its intensity managed both to reassure and disturb him.

“Of course,” Lebowski continued, “Hermes would have felt something as well. His nanoborg modifications would have interfered with the clarity of the sensation, but he’ll know what caused it. He’ll report it to Telemachus, and the search for you will intensify.”

“Can we get moving?” Rose asked. “We have some questions to ask before Hermes and his friends come swarming down the pipe.”

Tom couldn’t hide his surprise. “Hermes is here?”

“Our people spotted him outside The Golden Fleece a little while ago, and I don’t want to be standing here with my finger in my nose when he arrives. Come on.”

“That’s Rose Beuret, the Tunnel Queen,” Lebowski told Tom, as they stumbled along behind her fast-moving form up the slight incline of the concrete pipe. The light was quite dim, but she seemed to know exactly where she was going and where to step to avoid the occasional crack or hole in the pipe’s surface. There were other footsteps echoing ahead of them in the darkness, but they remained out of view. In response to Tom’s sidelong glance, Lebowski said, “It’s okay, man. They’re friends. Lovers of art and music, haters of the Dominion—my kind of people. Just don’t piss them off, or you’ll find out how it feels to be lost in this maze of pipes beneath the city.”

“Rose Beuret. Her name sounds familiar.” It seemed as if he remembered seeing the name in one of his father’s books.

“When these people become shades here in the Underworld, they give up their old names. Then they name themselves after artists, or artist’s models, or other names that relate to the art world of the past. Rose says it helps to unify them as a group, making the individual subservient to the common good. Her name comes from the wife of the sculptor, Auguste Rodin, who was also a model and studio assistant for Rodin.”

A short walk brought them to a larger space where the walls were carefully painted with detailed red eyes against a glossy black background. Maybe fifty people were lined up in silence along the walls to watch the procession. In the center of the room squatted a concrete blockhouse with an open steel door. Leading up to the door was a double row of men and women dressed in formal evening clothes, forming what looked like a receiving line . . . or a gauntlet. Tom saw no weapons, but he felt a threat here, as if a sudden wrong move would turn these formally dressed people into drooling wolves to tear Tom and Lebowski limb from limb. However, despite their appearance, there turned out to be no receiving or limb tearing, only an eerie silence as the newcomers walked past. Helix growled softly to keep them at bay.

They ducked under the low doorway and followed Rose into the blockhouse.

Rose gestured for Tom and Lebowski to be seated on a concrete bench that ringed the inside of the structure. A large valve wheel was suspended from the middle of the low ceiling, directly above a huge drain covered by a steel grate in the floor. The walls were not painted, except for the stained blotches of dark mold. There were no windows, just two red lights on the wall under sealed lenses of the type that were used for underwater illumination. Two men entered the room behind them, pulling the heavy steel door shut with a resounding boom that echoed in Tom’s heart. He had no idea what was coming next, but the security precautions made him nervous. Helix climbed up onto Tom’s lap and lay down, but he kept his eyes on Rose and her friends.

Rose sat three feet away from Tom on the opposite bench, flanked by the two men. One of the middle-aged men was quite short and bald, and he had a nervous habit of stroking the long black beard that covered the front of his white tuxedo shirt down to the cummerbund at his waist. His brown eyes glinted as they anxiously darted from Tom to Lebowski. Rose introduced him as Degas. The second man had curly red hair and slanted eyebrows that made him look as if he were angry all the time, which seemed like a possibility considering the intensity of the glare he was trying to drill through Tom’s head. Rose introduced him as Matisse.

Rose pulled a stimstick out of her pocket, puffed it into life, then appeared to remember she was in a closed room with no outlet for the smoke. She pinched the glowing end between her fingers and dropped the stick back into her pocket before turning her cool gaze on Tom. She seemed to be stalling, but Tom had no idea why. “Okay, Tom Eliot, you may think you’re pretty hot stuff, but I’m here to tell you that I’m responsible for a lot of people down here in the Underworld, and I’m not inclined to sacrifice all of their lives for some guy I just met who claims to be the digital Buddha, or the nanotech Jesus, or whatever you choose to call yourself.”

Taken aback by her words, Tom sat upright with a puzzled expression. “You have me all wrong. I—”

Rose held up her hand to stop him. “I’m not finished. I said I’m not inclined to help you, but I haven’t written you off entirely. For all I know, you’re everything that Lebowski says you are, and I hope that’s true, but I’m sure you understand that I have a responsibility to my people to check you out before I make any decisions that affect them.”

“Of course,” Tom said. He glanced up at the valve overhead, wondering why they were meeting in a tiny pump house when there was a large room outside.

“He is a master of the Road,” Lebowski said. “I can vouch for him.”

“Maybe so, but what do we get out of helping him? Your proposal is for us to get you inside the data center nexus inside the Hoover Dam fortress. Many of my people could be killed. Until now, we’ve managed to remain below the awareness of the Dominion, rescuing art pieces for posterity and living out our lives in the relative peace of the Underworld. If we help you, we could lose everything.”

“You can only win,” Lebowski said, leaning forward to peer into Rose’s face. “Tom Eliot can attack the Dominion on their own ground. They will be too busy fighting him off to interfere with our attack on the data center. We will attack quickly, then vanish before they have time to respond. The added confusion in Las Vegas after the loss of their western data nexus will allow you to rescue more art than ever before, and your people will have more freedom to live above ground in the sunlight.”

Rose looked into Tom’s eyes. “You can do this?”

Tom thought about it a moment, remembering the feeling of power and the changes within him since he’d reached the Road. He remembered the death of his family, the loss of his friends, and all the people who had risked their lives to help him get this far. He remembered lost dreams of Tempest, and the future he could have had with her, and the peaceful life he could have led. The gods of the Dominion had been treating humans like slaves for too long, and now Tom could do something about it. He also knew that the Road was calling him, tugging at his mind, offering him the power to change things for the better. He straightened, stared back into Rose’s eyes, and gave her a confident nod. “Yes, I can do this. I was born to help you, and people like you. This is our time to work together and do something great for humanity. We may not be able to stop the Dominion everywhere, but we can stop them here. I can do this.”

Rose continued to stare at Tom for a long time, studying him, perhaps trying to see into his mind, until she finally reached forward and grasped his hand in her strong grip. “I believe you.”