The Archivist (29 page)

As he talks, a group of believers passes out cups of wine to everyone, along with hunks of bread: yet another of Vater’s perversions of what was once a genuine spiritual practice, and I have no doubt it was intentional.

Behind Vater I see a Disciple run up, out of breath. After a moment, he recovers enough to gasp, “Attack at the town walls. May be an invasion. They need you.”

“Why can’t they handle it?” Vater shouts, then waves his hand. “Very well, I’ll be there shortly. You, send word.” Another, fresh runner dashes off.

“Why… do you hate me… so much?” I ask, gasping as I struggle to stay upright.

“This is but a shadow of my regard for you. You can’t understand the true depth of my hatred. It has grown like a cancer over the years, intensifying every day I have spent on this wretched planet. I could do this to you a hundred times over, and it still would not begin to convey what I learned to feel since you cost me the means to be with my own kind.”

He signals for his top leaders to follow him. Number Three pauses to tie his shoe. When he stands back up, I see that he holds a couple of small wooden blocks left over from the cross assembly. With a quick movement the man slides them under my heels. They are far from comfortable, but I can at least rest my weight on them. I manage one quick glance at his face as he gives me a ‘sorry but that’s the best I can do for you’ look.

As much as Vater may try to strip humanity of all redeeming value, even at the core of his evil society there remains a spark of decency which refuses to be extinguished.

Vater turns back to bequeath a final parting comment upon me.

“It should take almost two full days for your female to succumb. My guards will revive you if necessary at her end, to ensure that you witness her last minutes. And when she does finally yield to the Truth, know that it will then be your turn down there.”

The Disciple leader dashes away. From my vantage point, I see the congregation throughout the whole arena; it must consist of at least five thousand men and women. They are even standing in the aisles, because they have run out of seats.

While many of them wear black robes and cloaks, the majority wear the grey garb of the common laborers. I do not see any of the togas and bright sunbursts worn by the slaves; so apparently they do not get to participate.

The guards no longer pay much attention to me, instead focusing on the activities on the stage. My limbs are held tight by the leather straps. Although I try desperately to wriggle one hand and then the other loose, there is very little play and no give at all. I feel like an animal caught helplessly in a hunter’s snare.

And that is precisely what Vater wants me to feel.

The aisle attendants finally finish passing out the wine and bread, so the singers on the stage wind down their song. From one side of the stage, a tall man strides out and walks to the center of the stage. When he raises his hands, a deadly quiet ensues. Behind him, Danae lies motionless and silent. I can only pray that she is unconscious.

“Brothers and Sisters, let us give thanks and worship to the Earth Mother.”

His voice is strong and powerful, and carries throughout the enclosed space. An orator’s voice must be a prerequisite for Disciple leaders. He raises a cup and a chunk of bread high above his head. “All blessings and all bounty come from Mother Earth.”

“We give thanks to the Earth Mother,” all the believers respond. Their voices echo throughout the enclosed space. Danae flinches, while I feel the ground vibrate slightly.

“Our fields are the body of Mother Earth, and with the harvest of her fields we make this bread that nourishes our bodies. Her body nourishes our bodies. Therefore, let us eat this bread together and give thanks to Mother Earth.”

“We give thanks to Mother Earth,” the crowd replies as one, and then they all eat their pieces of bread together as the whole arena goes Catholic.

Holding his cup high, the leader continues. “Mother Earth sends the rains that cleanse our land and quench our thirst. Her heavenly water gives life to our crops, it cools our brows in the summer, and makes all things green. Therefore, let us drink this wine together, made from the life-blood of her body, and give thanks to Mother Earth.”

“We give thanks to Mother Earth,” the crowd replies as one, and then they all empty their cups together. After he empties his cup, the leader sets it to the side, and gestures to the performers, who begin a slow beat on the drums.

Then, he walks over and stands next to Danae, placing his hand on her red hair like she is a sacrificial animal. “The world was filled with great impurity, and wickedness abounded. Men and women committed terrible sins against Mother Earth. And lo, Her judgment to all corners of the land was just and severe. So, when the unbeliever comes amongst us and defiles us, we must cleanse ourselves of all impurity.”

“We must cleanse ourselves,” the congregation cries out eagerly.

“Open yourselves to Truth, so that through you, the Truth will enter the unbeliever, and bring her spirit to oneness with Mother Earth. Let us now commend and send her spirit with love and peace to the Blessed Mother.”

“We commend and send her spirit now,” everyone responds, as the man swings his hand off Danae’s head and like some sort of magician, gestures with both hands as he releases a dove that flies away.

“Mother Earth has taken her spirit. Now only the empty, corrupt shell of her body remains here before us. The Rod of Truth will enter her animal body, and it will cleanse the sins of the unbeliever along with all of our sins. So now let the Truth enter her and cleanse us all of sin.”

“Let the Truth enter her animal body,” the congregation urges enthusiastically.

One of the attendants leans on the pole while twisting it, and Danae’s body convulses wildly as she makes an unearthly scream. He only pushes on the pole for a moment, but maintains the pressure so it stays inside. Danae continues screaming incoherently as blood trickles down her quivering legs from the tears she suffered through her struggles.

As I picture the stake being driven through Danae’s body until the tip emerges below her throat, I wrench against the straps frantically, but I am powerless. I feel like I’m having an out-of-body experience as I make primal screams of rage and frustration, and thrash violently. The detached part of me observes that two days of this would drive me utterly insane.

On the stage, the attendant cries out, “Receive the Truth!” while he again applies pressure to drive the pole even deeper inside Danae. She makes another blood-curdling scream, louder, and more animal than human. Agonized cries from the audience all around me echo Danae’s agony.

Great, now the congregation is going Pentecostal.

I force myself to look back to the stage, where the pole has now completely penetrated Danae. The attendant reaches to push the rod further inside Danae, but he doubles over instead. He staggers a couple of steps, and then drops to the stage, grasping his stomach and groaning.

All around me, the chorus of agonized groans and screams rise in both volume and intensity. As I look about the arena, I realize that the crowd is not responding to Danae’s suffering. They are experiencing their own actual pain.

Even the guards that were watching me are on their knees; one of them rolls onto the ground, his eyes rolled back in pain.

Something pulls on my ankles; suddenly, my feet are free. When I glance down, I see Franz wielding a knife which he just used to cut me free.

Climbing up and perching on the top edge of the nearest seat, he leans over precariously and after several attempts, manages to slice through the strap holding my left hand in place. I grab the knife from him quickly. Although my half-paralyzed hand nearly drops it, I manage to reach over and saw through my remaining restraint.

When my right arm comes loose, I tumble to the ground. My fall is cushioned by the bodies of my guards, and several other believers who have collapsed in the aisle. Several of them scream even harder; I suspect that I have broken at least one person’s arm.

After watching them cheer on Danae’s torture, I do not feel the least bit remorseful about adding to their discomfort.

“I spiked their punch,” Franz explains as he helps me to my feet. “It was part of my plan all along, but first I had to get their trust.”

He reaches into a pouch slung over his back and hands me a handgun, along with a couple of clips. Taking another one out for himself, he points at the stage. “Go free her. These idiots won’t be a problem for quite a while, but I only poisoned the ones inside. Fresh ones will arrive soon.”

I snatch up the knife I used to free myself, and I’m turning toward the stage when Franz calls to me. “K’Marr, tell her I’m sorry. For everything.”

He knows he has no chance of making it out of here. I still do not feel pity for the man, because his double-cross came before the triple-cross, but I nod and run for the stage. Whatever his reasons, I will make the most of his sacrifice and if we make it out, I will tell Danae then.

The arena is a roiling sea of suffering humanity. Getting to the stage is truly an obstacle course. I zigzag around the bodies in the aisles. When I have to, I just run on top of people. Right now I am so amped up on adrenaline that I could have taken two yellow doses of the hypo spray, for all the pain I feel.

When I climb up onto the stage, several groaning Disciples make half-hearted efforts to try and stop me, but I simply push them off the edge of the platform.

One guard in particular, though, fights back his cramps enough to wield a sword, determined to fight me, even at the cost of his life. I oblige him, putting a shot through his head.

When I reach Danae, I fight off an urge to ram a sword up the butt of the attendant that operated the shaft. I do not want to waste even that much time, though, so I just kick him off the stage instead, before I lean against the motor mount. At first it refuses to budge, but I keep throwing my weight against it, and then the device rolls back. I am praying that the pole has not perforated Danae’s colon, or she is as good as dead already.

The mount swings away, and I let out a cry of relief to find that the pole did not actually impale her as far as I feared. Danae’s injury is not much worse than a really bad case of hemorrhoids.

Within seconds, I slice through the straps holding Danae in place, and her limp, shaking body slips down onto the floor. She looks up at me in dazed confusion, her face drenched with sweat and tears as I reach down to take her hand and pull her to her feet.

For a moment, tears come to my eyes as well, but before more than a couple tears escape I push the emotion aside. We do not have time for it.

“Can you walk?” I ask as she gains her feet. She just returns a blank stare. I know she is in shock, and part of me wants to fold her into my arms and hold her so tight that I never let go, but we do not have time for niceties, so I grasp her chin. “We’ve gotta get out of here. Can you move on your own?”

In my current condition I cannot carry her far, so I really need her to move. I am wondering if I will have to slap her to pull her out of her shock, when her eyes finally focus on me, and then Danae nods her head as she whispers, “Yes, I think so.”

“Good.” I grab her hand and lead her away, just as several gunshots come from the front of the arena. I do not even bother looking back while we duck through a doorway that leads behind the stage. The light is much dimmer here, but on the wall next to the stage door is a line of pegs with gray togas and jumpsuits. I grab a toga about Danae’s size and hand it to her.

“Quickly, get out of that white robe,” I tell her, and I start to turn away before I remember that we do not have to be modest anymore.

She flashes me a shy smile and actually blushes as she slips the blood-spattered robe over her head and hands it to me, standing there as beautiful and innocent as Eve, clothed in nothing but the red hair cascading over her shoulders.

Another shot from the arena reminds me that we do not have time to be distracted. Danae pulls her robe on while I use my knife to quickly slice the white robe into some long strips. She holds her gray robe up as I quickly tie a bandage around her waist and between her thighs. It ends up looking very much like a sumo loincloth.

It is rather crude, but it is all we have time for, and it should at least stem the bleeding.

I pull Danae toward the stairs leading up to the roof, where Vater took me for show-and-tell time.

It sure would be nice to run up there and take off in a nice, convenient getaway vehicle. But while I am confident that I could figure out how to pilot the craft—at least well enough to get out of this little spot of Hades—there is no chance that two of us could fit in that ship. Plus, I am not keen on flying around with two armed, thermonuclear devices riding shotgun.

But that is not what I have in mind.

I urge Danae along the concourse hallway toward the stairs. Every fifteen feet, there is a display against the wall highlighting one sort of technology or another—some of it likely taken from captured Archivists.

One shelving unit presents an array of 3D printers, several with half-formed creations that resemble some Frankenstein devices. Another table has an assortment of video displays, most of them cracked and broken. The wall behind each display is covered with curses and warnings, as if these form some sort of Stations of an Unholy Cross.

I nearly stumble as I stop in front of the next station in this Hall of Shame. It is an old, dust-covered vending machine that has probably sat there for decades. The transparent front is coated with painted slurs, but it appears that this museum of tech evil has preserved the contents, which gives me an idea.

Pointing the gun at the front of the machine, I pull the trigger and the glass shatters. I reach in to grab several bags of chips and a couple of packs of gum, and hand them to Danae.

“Are you sure this is a good time to stop for snacks?” Danae asks, puzzled.

“You’ll see,” I tell her and pull her arm with my free hand, before I remember that I burned it. My curse is drowned out by the distant echoes of several more gunshots, as we enter the stairwell and head up the stairs.

The self-serving part of me wants to just take Danae and get the hell out of Hell, but a more honorable and responsible side will not let untold numbers of people die, if I can do anything to prevent it. But no matter what happens in the next few minutes, I will save two bullets.

When we reach the top of the stairs, I listen for signs of pursuit, but so far the stairwell remains silent. The gunshots have stopped, so I suspect that Franz has been either killed or subdued. In either case, a precious few minutes should be all I need.

We step out onto the roof and run across to Vater’s ship. As Danae follows me, she says, “That looks like the thing Papa found.”

“It is,” I say and hand her the gun. Explanations will have to wait. “Do you know how to use this?”

She points it at the stairwell. “I just pull the trigger, right?”

“Yeah, but it’ll work better if you load the chamber first. Just—be careful where you point it.” Then I take my junk food over to the hatch and swing it open.

I half expect to find Vater sitting there laughing at me. But it is empty and I do not have any time to waste, so I get to work.

Opening a pack of gum, I quickly shove several dried-out sticks in my mouth and start chomping. This is just about the nastiest thing I have ever put in my mouth. For a moment, I gag. But I fight the urge back, and resume masticating.

The shiny cylinders are still there, and at the top of the far cylinder is a small, red twist lever with a couple of flashing LED lights. Great: the bastard has already activated the bombs. I would have preferred working with ordinance that was not live.

While the gum softens up, I reach behind the single seat, grasp the pair of wires running from the furthest nuke and carefully slice first one and then the other wire loose. Rolling the wires between my thumb and the knife, I strip the insulation off and prepare a one-inch lead of bare wire.