True Believers

By Maria Zannini

Something is killing off immortals, one by one.

Taelen Jessit is an alien emissary on a mission sanctioned by the U.S. government to search for ancient gods. His hunt leads him to a dig headed by archaeologist Rachel Cruz. When his military entourage forces Rachel’s team out of the cave they were exploring, a flash flood hits the riverbed and threatens to tear them through the ravine.

In the aftermath of the flood, Taelen witnesses the incredible healing of Rachel’s broken ankle and believes his gods have blessed her. He is inexplicably drawn to her, and she to him.

What Taelen doesn’t know is that Rachel is Nephilim—a descendant of the gods his people worship—masquerading as a human to find the god-killer and destroy it. Rachel needs help to bring down the tech that is manipulating the Earth's magnetosphere and frying her people alive. She’s given Taelen her heart, but can she trust him with her secret?

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Dedication

To my husband, Greg, who remains my staunchest supporter, critic and friend.

And to OWW (Online Writing Workshop for Science Fiction, Fantasy and Horror), a deep well of challenge and encouragement.

Contents

Copyright

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

About the Author

Chapter 1

Rachel Cruz took one step too many inside the dry gulch cavern. Something crushed under her boot and she winced. It was the crackle of something small and brittle and undoubtedly valuable.

Damn.

She lifted her foot and tried to put it down somewhere less costly.

What did the Dean say? If she found evidence of ancient Sumer, he'd make her a rich woman. She'd settle for anonymously wealthy. But first she'd have to stop trampling on priceless artifacts.

The light from her headlamp bounced all over the ground, but settled when she caught the glint of white polished pebbles. She crouched down to scoop up a handful of debris.

Finger bones.

Smug satisfaction tugged the corners of her mouth upwards. She'd radio for grunt diggers later today and lay claim to the entire site before any of the other universities got the wiser.

Another milestone for the grand diva of digs. Maybe now they would give her carte blanche on future digs without all the politics and begging.

Rachel gnawed on one leather glove and yanked it off with her teeth. She danced her bare fingertips along a gritty sandstone wall until she reached a sparkling bit of rock.

Soul residue. Here?

Her fingers fumbled for the toggle on her lantern to shut it off. In the darkness, the entire cavern radiated with subtle luminance.

Human souls. Hundreds of them.

A pang of guilt prickled her conscience. There was only one reason for human souls to be trapped on the mortal plane. By fate or misfortune, they had touched an immortal.

Like fireflies on a breeze, the remains of the trapped souls drifted near her face attracted by something they could not understand. As the specks drew closer, she pursed her lips and blew them away like a kiss. Whatever spirit remained was nothing more than an imprint, a memory of something that was once human.

“You should have run away,” she told them. “Far away.”

Rachel stole a glance behind her. The rest of her recon team was in the grand theater of the cave. Doc and Paul hadn't noticed her absence. They were too busy snapping pictures, rapt in the find of a lifetime.

The accidental discovery of a shard, etched with ancient Sumerian, drove the archeological community into a feeding frenzy. The hysteria would have been warranted enough if the relic had been found in Iraq, but this was found in west Texas, more than seven thousand miles away. Every major university on the planet was mad to find more.

Rachel rattled the bone fragments in the palm of her hand then seeded them back to the ground. Her university would be pleased. She found exactly what they were looking for, but that wasn't the only reason she was here.

The first shard, anonymously mailed to the University of Cairo, was ten thousand years old, and it matched the pieces found here precisely. But it was the rock drawings and dwellings that came as a shock. An ancient people lived here, and their writing spoke of Anu and his sons, progenitors of the Nephilim.

Her people.

She didn't like it when the humans got too close to the truth.

Her first instinct was to destroy the site, but there was too much of the scholar in her to commit such a crime. This was important. If she could prove ancient Mesopotamians traveled to the New World, it would be an event unprecedented in recorded history.

Only two or three linguists in the world might be able to figure out the Nephilim connection—and that part of history she could discreetly smudge.

Rachel followed a narrow footpath that led her to a cave-in. Tumbled rock blocked most of the entrance, but there was just enough room to slip through to the other side. She took off her pack and left it on the ground, sucking in a breath as she squeezed through the jagged cavity.

She landed with a thud on the other side, smashing into a pile of clay rubble at the base of stone steps. Her mouth twisted into a grimace. Could she destroy anything else today?

Rachel lifted her feet, brushing open a clearing so she could step unimpeded. She got up slowly, trying not to crush anything else, but debris was everywhere.

She dusted herself off and tiptoed up the steep staircase to a wide-open gallery in combat boots that had seen better days. Bright shafts of light pierced the tiny fissures above her, while the excited voices of her teammates echoed below.

A long altar sat in the center of the room and broken pottery littered the ground, the remnants of a people who should not have existed here.

Rachel picked up a piece of earthenware and pulled out her soft bristled brush from her tool belt. With short, careful strokes, she swept away the dust and revealed the faint hieroglyphs scratched on its slab.

Giant, it said.

An old name for the Nephilim.

Scorpions and spiders were the only residents left. They skittered away at her approach. One scorpion dared to challenge her but reconsidered and retreated.

Rachel laughed. “You're smarter than the humans, my friend. At least you recognize Death even when it looks mortal.”

Her reverie was interrupted by the repeated clack of helicopters that zoomed in and out of the canyon rifts.

Pop-pop-pop-pop. The helos were close today.

The military had been flying Big Bend for weeks, running off archeologists and hikers wherever they were found, regardless of their clearance. Whatever they were doing here, they didn't want witnesses.

The staccato whir of chopper blades echoed constantly, the vibrations pelting against her chest like a frantic knock. But she was safe here, a haven from the maelstrom outside.

Rachel hopped up on the long altar and closed her eyes, waiting for the man who had summoned her with his cryptic gift to the university. This dig was orchestrated and she knew damn well who was pulling the strings. Why else would the mysterious donor send the shard to her university, asking for her by name?

It had all the earmarks of performance art. Her father's favorite form of entertainment. What better way to visit with a prodigal daughter than to lure her out into the high country in search of relics?

All right, Apa. I'm here.

She pressed two fingertips at her solar plexus and held in a breath. A tendril of silver-blue energy snaked out of her body and tasted the air for a like being. Her na'hala shivered as a familiar tingle of recognition washed over it.

Gilgamesh. Her father was here, just as she expected.

Rachel opened her eyes slowly, allowing the shadows in the room to reveal themselves incrementally. “Where are you?” He was toying with her again, an ethereal game of hide and seek.

Her father materialized in a brilliant field of fractured light, blinding her momentarily. She groused at his theatrics, pointing down to the lower level of the cave where Paul and Doc were examining the etched stone. “Is this your doing?”

Gilgamesh raised a thick sculptured eyebrow. “Don't be absurd.”

He was beautiful as ever, youthful and bronzed, with a shock of thick white hair that trailed down his back. No woman—or man—ever resisted him for long.

“There are Sumerian etchings on those walls down there. How the hell did ancient Mesopotamians get to Texas?”

“They didn't.” Gilgamesh clucked in amusement, his eyes raking over her in dismissal. He brushed a spectral hand across the slab of stone she sat on, his gaze lost on a memory. “I found the native inhabitants millennia ago and decided to baptize them.” He shrugged. “Hardly worth the trouble. The desert killed them long before my influence could gain strength.” His fingers located a depression in the scarred stone and caressed the hollow.

Rachel jumped off the dark and sullied surface of the altar. Gilgamesh's baptisms had a tendency to end in blood.

“Why am I here?”

Gilgamesh kissed her on either cheek, then pulled her floppy hat off her head. “Can't a father see his daughter for no reason at all? I thought you'd be pleased with this find. I was being helpful.”

Rachel rolled her head back already wishing this visit was over. “Oh, please. You do nothing if it doesn't help you first. Why did you bring me here?”

He grinned at her, amused with her response. “You are direct. You get that from me.” He handed the hat back to her. “You didn't return my calls when you were in Prague or Israel.”

“I was busy.”

“Too busy for your father?”

“If you wanted to see me all you had to do was show up.” She shook her hat at him with a scold. “At Prague you disrupted the entire assembly with that game of musical lights. And in Israel, you scared the poor curator into cardiac arrest. There was no reason to set off every alarm in a five-block radius.”

Gilgamesh chortled, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “You have to admit, that was very funny.”

“Apa! Israel thought it was a terrorist act. They put the entire country into lockdown!”

“That's what made it funny.” He huffed at her. “You have no sense of humor. You get that from your mother.”

She tapped her foot. “Why am I here?”

“Don't you like this discovery? The Dean at your university was ready to kiss my—”

“Gilgamesh. What do you want?”

He sighed in defeat. “All right then. I did bring you here for more than the scenery. It may be nothing, but there has been a flux in the atmosphere. Some of our clan have gotten sick.”

“Sick?” She furrowed her brow. He had to be joking. “We don't get sick.”

He shrugged. “It is a fleeting thing. Perhaps sick is the wrong word. But I want you to tell me if it happens to you, no matter how minor it seems.”

She folded her arms across her chest. “You're making this up.”

He looked at her, insulted. “I most certainly am not.” His attention shifted to the stairwell when someone called her name.

“Paul,” she murmured. “Gilgamesh, you need to leave.” She plopped her hat back on her head and headed for the stairs.

Paul was the obscenely rich boy who paid to be on this trip. She normally didn't cater to dig groupies, but Paul was mouth-wateringly pretty, and he had a strong back. Both admirable qualities for a digger.

Paul and Doc made for good cover too. They were famous in their own right. Paul was a fancy computer specialist with more product endorsements than a superstar athlete, and Doc was a legend in the archeology community.

She liked famous people. Famous people kept her anonymous. Immortality was risky business, especially around nosy mortals.

Rachel didn't toy with their vulnerability the way the others in her clan did—at least not often. And despite her disdain for human fallibility, she still felt the need to protect them, especially from Gilgamesh. His appetite knew no restraint…and no pity.

The commotion grew louder as the boy toy pushed away the bigger rocks so he could get through the crevice and climb the stairs. Rachel snapped her head toward her father. “Go, please.”

“Not even if you begged.” He laughed. “Besides, that professor is with you, isn't he? I want to see him interpret these glyphs. He's so amusing when he gets them wrong. And yet, you never correct him.”

Paul clambered up the uneven steps, careful not to loosen more rock. “Hey, Rach.” He craned his head for a better look.

Rachel turned back to Gilgamesh. “Apa, this is no time for games. I don't need them to suspect anything.”

“Bah! You give the humans too much credit. They wouldn't know one of our kind if we bit them on the ass.” His lips curled in a mischievous grin. “I know. I've tried it.”

“Gilgamesh!” she hissed, but he disappeared in a mist of sparkling dust.

“Who are you talking to, Rachel?” Paul wiped the sweat from his brow when he reached the landing.

A high-priced software architect for a media giant, Paul begged to be part of this expedition, his boyhood dream. Rachel didn't mind. Aside from his advantage as a radar blocker, he was comfy and familiar, and that made her feel safe.

“No one.” Rachel glanced around the room once more. “Just talking to myself.”

“That's not healthy, Cruz. Doc talks to himself all the time, and you know what everyone says about him.” He smiled at her warmly with lips she ached to touch. Paul was all about being touchable, from his thick blond hair to his perpetual day-old beard. She sniffed him, hoping he wouldn't notice the feral lust that groaned inside her. What she'd give to take him to bed.

The swell of her heat cycle had begun, and his musk was fuel to the fire.

He took her hand, drawing her back to the stairs.

Paul was oblivious to her need and the ache that drove her to distraction. But he was kind and gentle, the kind of guy-friend she knew would always be there for her. If only she could do the same for him.

“Doc thinks he's got the main glyph translated, but he wants your opinion.”

“Doc's the expert. My ancient Sumerian is too rusty to be helpful.”

“Who're you kidding, sweetheart? You recognized the scribbles on the very first glyph we encountered. I saw it on your face.” Paul moved down one step so he could look at her eye to eye. “As I recall, Doc didn't speak to us for a whole week.” His face lit up with an impish grin. “Best damn week of the whole expedition.” Paul winked at her.

Damn, he's cute. The air pressure changed in an instant and an icy gust rushed between them. Rachel wrapped her arms around herself and shivered.

“Ghosts,” he said with a cheerful lilt.

“Sumerian ghosts,” Rachel countered. “The kind that never die.”

They scrambled back downstairs where Doc stared vacuously at the large petroglyph of a man with long white hair. At the top was a series of symbols lined up in a neat row. The figure stood under a star-studded sky, dressed in a simple tunic. The hem of the tunic repeated a single icon, a dark circle eclipsing a light one. It was the crest of the Anunnaki, progenitors of Rachel's clan, the Nephilim.

Rachel studied the carved script, quirking one eyebrow and then the other, hoping to look convincingly perplexed.

The artist glorified the sons of Anu, calling them giants. She blinked when she noticed that the carved figure was depicted as a ghost, the stars showing right through him. It was no nameless god they revered. They were honoring Gilgamesh.

Dumbasses.

Doc shuffled his feet, his meaty hand rubbing the gray porcupine whiskers on his chin. He was the foremost American expert on ancient Middle Eastern languages, but Rachel could tell he was stuck. The man was stalling, waiting for her to help him out.

“You can see by the depth of this inscription that the artist was an expert carver. Notice how smooth the curvilinear aspects on these marks present themselves.” Doc waved his hands like a drunkard at the Philharmonic. His voice got louder too. The man didn't have a clue to the translation.

Paul huffed at him. “Yeah, fine. What does it say?”

“Well.” Doc muttered something indiscernible. “This is the word for watcher and over here,” he said, pointing at the far end, “is the word for faithful.”

“And?” Paul cornered Doc, interrogating him as if he were on trial.

Doc rubbed the sweat from his brow. “It's not that easy. Some of the glyphs may have more than one meaning. I'll need time to study them further.” He turned to Rachel. “Maybe our esteemed leader has some thoughts on this. You didn't by chance run into Sumerian glyphs on any of your Egyptian field trips, did you, Ms. Cruz?”

His sonorous contempt for her etched every word, but it was the curling lip that really ticked Rachel off. He looked like an old cur in bifocals, defending a rotting piece of meat.

Rachel had ignored Doc's veiled barbs throughout the expedition, but they were getting tiresome. He was a vain old man with a marketing agenda. She wouldn't have brought him along if she'd known he was going to be this big of a pain in the ass.

She pulled out her translation notebook and shoved it against Doc's protruding belly. He needed a reminder on who ran this posse.

“We hired you to translate, Doc. If this job is too difficult for you we can find someone else.” Rachel stomped off. Jackass!

Doc had been yapping about his upcoming lecture circuit throughout the entire expedition. What she offered him was marketing gold. The least he could do was show some gratitude and less lip.

Doc trailed in her wake. “Ms. Cruz, I've been a scholar longer than you've been alive. I deserve more respect.”

She snapped around and pointed a finger at him. “That's Dr. Cruz to you, Doc. Remember that you work for me.”

Paul diffused the tension by hooking her by the arm and flipping off her canvas hat, disarming her with a boyish grin. “Who said digs are boring, huh, Cruz?”

She inhaled the warm scent of his body and forced herself to pull away. The man was more temptation than she needed right now. It wouldn't take much to push her over the edge. It had been three years since she'd been intimate with anyone, a very long three years.

She glanced up at her father, now hovering over Paul.

Gilgamesh blew her a kiss, mimicking Paul's overtures. “He's a handsome stud. I can't believe you haven't taken him to your bed. What are you waiting for?”

Rachel lifted a thumb and shook it in the direction of the exit, urging her father to leave—now. He ignored her, and his dismissal forced her to give up, knowing she'd look foolish in front of two men who could neither see, nor hear him. Besides, Gilgamesh knew damn well why she wasn't bedding Paul.

Unlike most humans she knew, she liked Paul. That's why she refused to have sex with him. The price of lovemaking with a Nephilim was costly to a mortal. It stole pieces of their souls, damaging them in ways they couldn't comprehend. And she didn't want to hurt anyone—not again.

But her self-imposed celibacy cost her too. It made her cranky. And there was nothing worse than a cranky immortal, especially with her heat cycle nearing its zenith.

Paul's scent wafted to her nostrils, and she breathed deeply. She imagined him an attentive lover. All the more pity.

Why did her body have to come into heat now?

Paul turned her around to face the glyph and pressed her against his chest with a protective arm. He whispered into her hair. “So what do you think, boss? Can you decipher it?”

Doc glared at her above the rims of his dust-covered spectacles. The old fossil. She had every right to show him up. He'd been a thorn in her side during the whole expedition.

Outside, the resonant boom of low-flying helicopters popped against the canyon walls. The rumbling vibrations shook the dust off every surface, including Doc's tangled mess of a beard.

Doc was a relic, like these glyphs, and as intractable as stone.

Rachel shook her head and turned away. They didn't need an altercation here. He was an old man locked in the past, and they were all tired of roughing it in this desolate desert. “I'm sorry. I'm not familiar with these symbols.”

Gilgamesh glided in front of them, Paul and Doc still oblivious to his presence. “Oh, tell them, Rachel. Look at those eager faces, so hungry for knowledge.”

Rachel's face flushed with rage. “Gilgamesh!”

“What?” Doc sputtered, pushing Paul out of his way. “Where do you see that? Where does it say, Gilgamesh?”

Her head hung down, and she muttered under her breath. Damn you, Gilgamesh! He was always pulling this crap.

Her father snorted a laugh before it strangled to a halt. “Someone's coming.” He nodded toward the mouth of the cave then vanished into the rock.

Rachel turned around just as the cave entrance erupted with soldiers. Men dressed in desert cami swarmed around them like spiders, their weapons ratcheting in unison. The first wave slammed Rachel and her team against the cold smooth rock. The second wave fanned out throughout the cave, echoing the all-clear.

Paul remained calm, looking more annoyed than upset, but Doc sucked in air like a Hoover. The old man had trouble breathing at this altitude, and the shock of several rifle barrels in his face didn't help.

Rachel held his hand and squeezed it, steadying his nerves. His breathing slowed, but she could still feel his pulse race.

Three more men entered in a huddle behind the soldiers. They were an odd-looking group, in long cobalt blue coats that slapped the back of their legs as they walked. Their costumes made them look like dandies out of a Victorian novel, with their high-button collars and a flourish of lace that peeked from inside their velvet coat sleeves.

Dandies. In the desert.

Their faces were smooth and caramel, with long aquiline noses and haughty expressions. All of them wore long hair, but only one had it decorated with a braid and a gaudy red gem.

All three wore dark sunglasses, but nothing seemed to escape their notice as they scanned the cavern with the diligence of a sweeper team. One of them carried a tiny device that clicked like a Geiger counter.

The tallest one, with the flashy braid and self-important air, directed the others. He stole a glance at Rachel's team before dismissing them as unimportant. His attention returned to the young man carrying the clicking device.

The machine rattled faster the nearer it got to Gilgamesh's location. Rachel held her breath. Her father had receded into the rock face when the soldiers entered, but he was still here.

Gilgamesh materialized over the strangers' heads for only a moment, winking at Rachel with a rascal's grin before vanishing entirely.

Thanks.

Not that she expected him to do anything. Even Gilgamesh knew enough to keep his identity hidden. The Nephilim had been mostly forgotten, but they were still unwelcomed.

Fancy Braid's posture stiffened into stone. He threw off his glasses, and his gaze traveled upward, studying the cave's ceiling with startled curiosity. He snatched the clicking device from his companion and waved it high above him. Slowly, as if he knew he was being watched, he turned in Rachel's direction.

Rachel's heart raced like a runaway train. Her mouth dropped when the stranger locked her in his gaze. He showed every indication he had seen Gilgamesh in his ethereal state. Impossible.

The device started clicking again, and the stranger marched toward her with renewed interest. Rachel looked left and right. Was that little machine clicking at her?

She swallowed a lump in her throat as she watched this big man walk toward her. Not walk. Strut. With all the arrogance of a king. Who was this guy? He had a scowl that could shred flesh. It was as if she was smack in the way of something more important to him.

A balding older man in starched khakis interrupted his course and beckoned him back to the petroglyph. The stranger hesitated, his dense glare probing her for answers, but he grudgingly complied and returned to his comrades.

The dandies gibbered among themselves when the clicking device stuttered to silence. They stared at one another in dumb astonishment before everyone started talking at once, fidgeting with machines and pointing to a rocky crag in the ceiling.

Rachel rolled some of their words in her head. The language seemed strangely familiar, though she couldn't understand a word of it. She eyed the strangers with dread. There was more to these men than they let on.

A short Hispanic soldier, lean and sculpted to military perfection, barked orders to the troops to fan out, then marched over to the older man and his foreign-looking companions. He whispered to them with polite deference, pointing at Rachel and her team with an accusing finger.

Whoever they were, they weren't happy at finding a field crew on their turf. The cave swarmed with soldiers, all of them big hulking brutes with permanent scowls.

She whispered to Doc. “There's something strange about these soldiers.”

“Which ones?”

“All of them. None of them are wearing insignia.”

“Black ops,” Paul murmured. “Regular military are required to wear rank and a name patch. These guys have to be black ops, and if that's true, we're way in over our heads.”

"What about Fancy Braid and his friends?" Rachel tilted her chin toward the strangers.

Paul shrugged. "No idea. But they seem to be calling the shots here."

Rachel reached into a pocket to pull out their credentials, but every weapon ratcheted toward her at once, the black barrels of their rifles inches from her face. She pulled her hands up in slow surrender. “Relax, fellas. Just want to show you our papers.”

The Hispanic officer growled at her, shoving past soldiers who towered over him like boulders. “You people are in a restricted area, and my men are under orders to shoot trespassers.”

“Now hold on there,” Paul said, his voice raised.

Without hesitation, three Marines closest to him leveled their rifles at him in unison. Paul's jaw tightened then relaxed in forced submission. The rifles spoke louder than words.

Rachel snapped her fingers at the commanding officer. “Look, Captain—”

“Colonel.” He corrected her. “I am Colonel Chavez.”

“Well, whoever you are, I'm telling you we have clearance to be here. My team is here on a university grant. We have permission from the Department of the Interior to study these petroglyphs.”

“But you don't have my permission, lady.” A hint of a Mexican accent blurred his consonants. “And I'm telling you, you're trespassing.” Chavez leaned into her, his hot breath sour against her face. “You have thirty seconds to vacate this area.” His upper lip curled to a wavy sneer. “Starting now.”

Two of Chavez's gorillas dragged them out of the cave, throwing their gear and backpacks after them. “Get moving.” The first soldier grunted.

Rachel tried to look back, but all she saw was a wall of flesh barring her return.

Paul picked up each pack, throwing one to Doc and shouldering another. He grabbed the third pack with one hand and seized Rachel by the arm with the other one. Rachel didn't resist. It was hard to argue with automatic weapons, and there were too many of them.

Rachel's team was forced to follow a foot trail heading for the gorge. When they finally lost sight of the ground forces, Paul pulled out their radio and tried to send out a distress call, but all he got back was static. He grunted in irritation. “Well, that's inconvenient.”

“The park rangers know we're out here,” Doc wheezed back, exhausted from the frantic hike. “They're bound to send another chopper for us.”

Paul handed Doc a bottle of water. “Yeah, but they'll be sending that chopper to our drop-off site. Twenty bucks says the jarheads won't even tell them they ran us off.”

Rachel spied a trickle of runoff that carved its way past their feet. She looked up at the cliffs surrounding them before meeting Paul's troubled eyes. They had to get off this basin. The rains had been plentiful this season, and the causeways were ripe for a flash flood.

“Paul.”

“I know. We have to get off the riverbed.”

“What riverbed?” Doc demanded.

There was no hiding the stuffy scholar underneath the khakis. Doc was oblivious to the apparent danger. His eyes narrowed into wrinkled slits, scanning the dusty channel they'd traveled.

“The one we're standing in, Doc. We're too deep in this canyon.” She looked up at the clouds in the distance. Thunderclouds. The rains had already started a chain reaction miles away. It was only a matter of time.

“What are we waiting for then? Let's go,” Doc said with anxious haste. Without his books or legion of adoring students, he was out of his element. His Harvard degrees meant nothing out here on the sheer cliffs of the high desert.

Rachel rubbed experienced fingers over the rock wall of the cliff then turned to Paul. “It's composite. There's no telling how stable it'll be if we hammer in our pitons.”

“I don't think we have a choice, hon. It might be miles before we find a trail leading out of here. We gotta climb.”

She nodded. “Agreed. It's worth a shot if we can get out of here faster.”

Doc's face turned ashen. “Now wait a minute. You two may be able to climb, but I can't.”

Paul threw down his pack and slipped on his harness. “There's nothing to it, Doc. It's a pulley system. We'll climb up together.”

Rachel hammered the first piton in place then tugged on it with all her weight. It held. Perhaps the rock face was stable after all. She dragged out a length of rope and started tying knots, her hands working like a loom as she built a harness for Doc. The man had balked at carrying any more equipment, and Rachel in her impatience had allowed him to travel without climbing gear. Now they'd have to make do.

In minutes she had fashioned a basic harness, sturdy enough to keep him safe. She helped him slip it on and secured his knots.

“Rachel. About the cave incident. I just wanted to say—”

Rachel snugged the knots on the harness, wrapping her arms around his wide waist to make sure the saddle fit comfortably. “Forget it, Doc. It's been a long trip.”

He held her by the wrist, forcing her to look up at him. “You're the most intuitive archeologist in the field, Rachel. The best I've ever known.”

She smiled at him and straightened a knot outward so it wouldn't dig into the old man's flesh. “We made quite a team, didn't we?”

“Because of you we'll probably make every major academic journal in the world. These petroglyphs will make us famous.” His hands fidgeted on the rope harness around his waist. “You know, I planned to retire this year. I'm glad I'll be leaving with this as my legacy. Kind of one last hurrah, if you know what I mean.”

Rachel patted him on the shoulder, feeling unusually guilty for having been so intolerant. Humans regularly annoyed the hell out of her, but she felt more comfortable in their company than around her own kind. That would change soon. Gilgamesh would make sure of it.

She grabbed a hold of the rope and jerked on it again.

“I better go first,” Rachel said to Paul.

Paul took the rope from her. “You're the better climber, Cruz, but I'm stronger. I can hammer the anchors faster than you can. I'll go first and drag the professor after me.” He handed her a map. “Figure out where we are. We might need shelter for the night.”

She couldn't argue his point. Their chances were better with him on the hammer. Rachel's gaze skirted down the narrow ravine. The air smelled moist and woodsy. Rain, and not far off. Time was moving against them. She slapped Paul on the back. “Get going.”

Paul sprang against the rock face as if he'd been born to it, hammering pitons with the speed of a jackhammer. He secured several of the rods then gave the thumb's up for Doc to winch himself up. For once the grumpy old man complied without objection, trusting Paul to pull ahead and secure more anchor points.

Paul had reached the top and secured the rope to a scraggly tree. When he was finished, he stretched his back but froze when his eyes caught a glimpse of something in the distance.

Rachel was about to ask him what he was looking at when a stiff wind snatched the map out of her hand and sent it flying down the narrow trail.

She turned to chase after it but tripped on a gnarled root and tumbled to the ground with a thud that knocked the wind out of her. A curse-filled scream redirected her attention. Rachel looked up in time to see a piton give way. The old man flailed against the rock wall, kicking and yelping like a charred dog.

“Doc! Stop moving. You'll weaken the pitons.”

Another piton sprung loose, and Doc plunged several feet with a howling shriek. The ricochet of a rockslide pattered down the cliff walls.

Paul grabbed hold of the rope and tried to steady it, but Doc's frantic thrashing dragged him closer and closer to the edge. Paul leaned as far back as he could, his face a muddy red from the strain.

Rachel tried to get up, but her foot gave way as soon as she put weight on the bad ankle. Damn it. Not now. Her na'hala reacted at once and started the process of regeneration, but there was no time for a full recovery. She had to reach Doc before he dragged Paul off the cliff.

Doc loosened another piton and more of the cliff. A river of rock pelted him like shrapnel. The last piece, no bigger than a baseball, hit him on the back of his head with a sharp crack. He slumped on his tether, like a puppet on a string.

Paul gaped over the edge with his hands on his knees. His chest heaved hard, and he struggled to catch his breath.

“Doc!” he wheezed. “Doc! Answer me.” Paul ratcheted the pulley with inhuman speed when he looked up once more.

Rachel crumpled the map inside a fist, staring at the old man hanging limp on his tether. He was dead. Aw, Doc. Why didn't you listen?

Doc's spirit oozed out of his body as wet and crystalline as new snow. It wafted toward her, drawn by her energy, his thin voice echoing in her mind. Get up, Rachel. Get up! It's a flash—

“Flood! Flash flood!” Paul screamed. He waved his arms above his head to get her attention. “Rachel, get on the rope. It's coming this way.”

Rachel snapped to her senses and bolted to her feet. The pain ripped through her, but she couldn’t stop now. She limped, hopping more than walking, focused only on the rope ahead. Her arms spread out to keep her balanced, but she tripped and staggered into Doc's spirit.

They stared at one another in mute regret. Did he realize what had happened? Rachel held out her hand.

I'm sorry, Doc.

He looked at her with a bewildered expression, his eyebrows arching. She tried to speak, but that was useless. There were no words to explain eternal damnation. Rachel touched his face in apology then walked through him without looking back.

She hobbled in short jumps until she reached the cliff wall. Her hands patted down her chest. No harness! And no time. She didn't bother looking back. The torrent thundered behind her, and she could feel the air pressure in the canyon thicken.

Her hands latched on to the rope with all the strength she could muster. She jumped against the rock face with her one good foot and climbed hand over hand. The roar of rushing water blanketed the area. The temperature dropped by several degrees in an instant.

A wall of water raged down the narrow pass. Time was up. It was all or nothing. She looped the rope around her hip and hung on, taking one good breath before the first belt of waves struck and rammed her against the cliff.

By the time she pushed her head above the water, Paul had clamored toward her. He grabbed her by the elbow, fighting the force of the water to get her head above the torrent. “I've got you, Rachel. I've got you.” He took a deep breath and ordered her to wrap her arms around his neck.

“I can't.” Her voice sounded like a far-off squeak as she tried to yell above the roar of the flood, spitting out more water than words.

“You have to. I can't pull you up by myself.”

“I can't, Paul. I can't. Leave me here. I can hold on until the flood goes through.” Her heart felt like it was pumping outside her chest. Fingers locked in a death grip, her knuckles as white as snowcaps. They'd have to cut off her hands before she let go now.

“Are you nuts? Get your ass over here. We're climbing up together.”

Rachel stared up at him. Wind and water slapped his face, and he trembled in the cold. He was scared. So was she.

She wanted to trust him, wanted to obey, but her hands refused to budge. She couldn't swim, and if she lost her grip, she was a goner.

It seemed a stupid design flaw for an immortal to be trapped by the confines of a body, but that was physics. Her corporeal shell was as fragile as any human's. If the body drowned, she'd have to abandon it or remain trapped in its fleshy coffin. That was physics too.

Selfish, maybe. But she wanted to keep her body. They could make it. They just had to hang on until the flood passed.

The torrent crushed them both against the rock face, and her strength faded along with hope. Rachel took a gulp of air and let one hand go, swiping it across the back of Paul's jacket and clamping down on his shoulder. She was about to throw the rest of her body over his when a large whoosh overhead hit them like a gale force storm.

She looked up to see a huge black helicopter hovering above them, its blades chopping the air like a blender. Paul tried to wave them off while Rachel hung on between him and the rope. The rush of wind from the helicopter's blades battered them between rock and water.

Rachel's slick, trembling fingers slipped off the rope one by one.

Heavy black ropes tumbled off the helicopter, and two Marines rappelled toward them. Paul turned to get a better grip on Rachel, but his sudden move jerked her off him. His fingers caught the thick gold braid of her necklace. For a millisecond, she hung in midair until the clasp burst and sent her plummeting into the abyss.

Shit! Death by stupidity.

***

Paul screamed when Rachel fell, but the shriek sounded like it came from someone else. How could he have lost her? His fingers curled around her necklace and he shoved it into a pocket before releasing the bolt to his carabiner. He was going after her.

Just as he was about to jump in, strong arms grabbed him on either side. One of the Marines pulled out a knife and severed Paul's rope while the other soldier hooked his carabiner to their safety tether.

“Let me go, Goddamn it!” Paul kicked, struggling against his rescuers as he watched the deluge carry Rachel away. Only the churning waters kept her head above the waves—and that couldn't last long.

Paul and the Marines were reeled off the cliff face. Once on board, the helicopter veered into a hard turn, following Rachel down the channel. Paul shivered, his teeth chattering so hard he thought they'd shatter in his mouth. A soldier draped a heavy blanket over him and untied his boots.

One of the foreigners, the one Rachel had called Fancy Braid, leaned out the window and gibbered to his companions. He shrugged off his velvet coat, along with a red sash and a long scabbard holding a jeweled dagger. His gaze swept across to Chavez, the man in charge, before he ripped off the high broad collar of his white tunic.

Gills! Paul blinked. Was he hallucinating? What looked like a set of pale purple gills puckered then opened and gasped for moisture.

Fancy Braid barked an order to his men, a one-syllable growl that brought them to attention. They rousted up and ran interference for him as he marched toward the wide open doorway of the helicopter.

Every soldier drew his firearm but no one pulled a trigger. Whoever these people were, they held more sway than ordinary dignitaries. The big man's eyes gleamed like emeralds, something else that made him uncomfortably strange. He nodded his head at Paul, perhaps in reassurance, and then leaned out of the helicopter. Before anyone had a chance to stop him, he gauged his distance and jumped into the water feet first.

Chaos broke loose. Weapons raised, the soldiers surrounded the two remaining strangers. Colonel Chavez bolted toward the pilots and ordered them to pursue. Rescue personnel in full gear stood at the ready as the chopper dove toward the deluge in a fevered search for their reckless guest. Paul felt certain Rachel was the least of their worries. The other foreigners poked their heads out the doorway, pointing and debating while a riled old man in permanent press khakis tried to parley with them.

Chavez's voice boomed over the staccato rumble of the rotor blades. “Find Jessit. Find him!”

Chapter 2

Jessit wished he had peeled off more clothes before making this dive. His uniform snagged on every rock and bramble as he body-surfed the thunderous rush of water. The pass narrowed ahead, and he could see the floodwaters rise up past another escarpment. If he didn't find that luckless female soon, they'd both be dead.

What had possessed him to try to save this woman?

The glory meter. After the initial reading, it reacquired a new signal coming from the direction of the woman. The gods were here. He was sure of it. He'd never been one to rely on luck, but he believed in his hunches. Somehow that woman was involved. Besides, unlike the U.S. military, he couldn't let her drown.

Something ripped his sleeve from cuff to collar, deducting a chunk of flesh as payment. A steady burn raked along the gaping wound.

The deluge washed man, rock and woody brush, funneling them all downstream with little respect. A thick knobby cactus tangled on his pants leg, its sharp barbarous spikes gnawing through his flesh with the determination of a thresher. The more he struggled with the plant, the farther it climbed up his inseam.

Blessed Anu! This thing was eating him alive. He pried it off, impaling himself with several needles before parting company with the vicious Earth vegetation.

He dove deeper, where the waters were less turbulent. His moisture ducts rippled with relief as the water rushed over them. Double eyelids flicked up and down, coaxing a white membranous film over each eye. He had his water eyes on now, allowing him to navigate the turbulent river with more facility.

Jessit followed the tide of rushing water, hoping to catch a glimpse of the woman. The tumultuous current rammed him into rocks and boulders, sapping what strength he had left. Bruises and lacerations punctuated his body, but the rush of adrenaline pushed the pain aside.

He rode the rapids by instinct alone, pulling up out of the water then diving down again in search of the woman. On his last upward draw, he caught a glimpse of flailing arms. He'd reach her now.

The gods had other plans.

Something clipped him on the left shoulder. Something big. He sucked in a gasp, taking in more water than air. The pain blasted through him as though someone had twisted off his arm with a pair of giant pincers.

Anu's balls, that hurt! Jessit dropped to the bottom of the riverbed, tucking his left arm in front of him in a feeble attempt to protect it. His shoulder curled, dislocated. He tried to ease the ball back into its socket, but the slightest backward movement shot hot rivets of pain into his very core.

He bobbed up for a fresh swallow of air then forced himself underwater, heading in the direction where he had last seen the woman. Within moments he had found her, hanging on to a log too small to keep her afloat.

Jessit launched forward, his one good arm and powerful legs undulating as fluidly as a sea eel. He came up beneath her and pushed her up, guiding her toward the nearest shore.

In her panic, she let go of the log and turned on him, scrambling up his chest like a swamp rat. The more he tried to pry her off, the harder she clawed him.

Had they not already been soaked, she would've seen a grown man cry. She flailed blindly, thrashing against Jessit's badly injured arm.

Self-preservation took over. He elbowed her in the gut and knocked her off him. The force shocked her, and she slapped the water in vain, but he was already beneath her once more. He buoyed her along the length of his body, his good arm wrapped around her throat.

Jessit growled a single warning at her. “Do that again and I will drown you myself!” He grunted back the pain as he steadied her.

Have you been entertained enough, Anu? His body burned with exhaustion. If Anu thought to test him further, the Almighty might as well kill him now. The woman stiffened in his grasp then relaxed, her arms bobbing in the water as unguided as debris. He didn't know whether she'd fainted or died. Was he too late? With the last strength he had left, he kicked off in the water and drew them toward a shoal, protected by an overhang of gray rock.

Jessit dragged her onto dry land. Was she breathing? He felt for a pulse and found it steady, but she had probably swallowed half the river. With his good arm he squeezed her diaphragm with quick jerks until she gave the river back.

Gasping for a dry breath, she tried to crawl away from him, but he held on.

“You are safe, woman. Do not move.”

He pulled her onto his lap and cradled her head against his chest. She was too weak to resist and lay mewling on top of him. Her breathing slowed and softened, lapsing back into unconsciousness. For the best, he thought. He looked down at her leg and noticed her right foot pointed in the wrong direction. Her ankle was broken.

Jessit slid her off him with as much gentleness as he could muster. He'd be useless if he couldn't pop his shoulder back into place. A bone-deep ache clung to every piece of him, and now he had to fix his shoulder. He looked around and spotted a tall, narrow outcrop of stone nearby. It would have to do.

Locking his jaw, he stumbled to his feet, his useless arm hanging in front of him. His vision narrowed, a hazy blackness shrouding his water-slogged footsteps as he staggered to the stone sentinel.

This was going to hurt.

Perspiration poured from his forehead. His lymph gills pouted excitedly as the beads of sweat rolled down.

“Lord Anu, god of gods, give me strength.” He mumbled the prayer several times, blurring the words as he repeated them faster and faster. On the fourth recital he threw his left shoulder into the rock face, popping the ball back into the socket and swearing in five different languages in words so vulgar, some were against the law. Seconds later, everything snapped to black. Mercifully, he collapsed into blessed oblivion.

***

Jessit wasn't sure how long he'd been unconscious. He peered out of slitted eyes and watched a strange apparition approach the woman he had rescued. Was he dreaming? The brutal throbbing of his arm convinced him otherwise. He spied the languid form bending over the young woman in assessment. It showed concern or at least interest. The woman's body too, seemed to respond to its ethereal touch. A soft blue glow emanated from her and melded with the wraith.

A throbbing burn ratcheted down Jessit's body. His head was ready to explode and he could sense another wave of nausea and tunnel vision coming on.

The ghost touched the woman's ankle. She flinched with a shuddering moan.

“Leave her alone.” He snarled in Alturian, with a voice that barely qualified as speech.

The figure spun around, giving every indication that it understood him. It rose in a filmy glow of dust and sparkle. It drew nearer, staring at him with a puzzled expression. “You speak the tongue of my father.”

It replied in a dialect Jessit hadn't heard in a long time. He had to be hallucinating.

“Are you real?” Jessit tried to bolster himself up on his good arm. His head felt like he had gone through a gravity well without a pressure suit. He struggled to make sense of his circumstances but black walls threatened to close in around him.

He had to focus. This was important.

The phantom studied him as if it were trying to decipher his last words.

The apparition's speech seemed stilted and foreign but Jessit recognized it nonetheless.

Jessit's father, a linguist for the royal court, had insisted that both his sons learn the old tongue. These were Anu's words, holy words. His father would have given anything to have heard them spoken by this strange ghost.

Jessit braced himself on a teetering arm, trying to keep his head up. “You speak the language of Anu and his children. A language only priests and scholars still know. Who are you?” Jessit could feel his grip on consciousness slip away. The blackness seeped through the weakening walls of his awareness. He had to hold on just a few minutes longer.

“Ahh-nuu.” It repeated the word, tilting its head and drawing nearer.

Jessit stared at the wraith, unable to grasp the enormity of this event, but his devotion to the faith demanded one last question. “Are you Anu?”

It was the only important question.

The apparition shook its head. “My name is Gilgamesh, first born of Anu. Who dares speak his name to me?”

Jessit's body trembled before it buckled into unconsciousness once more. He collapsed before he could answer, but in his sleep, he smiled. He had found what he was looking for. He had found a descendent of Anu. The gods still lived, and as their scientists predicted, they lived on Earth. The woman had led him straight to them.

***

Jessit shivered. The cold woke him first, followed by the throb of his shoulder. He groaned as he got up on his hands and knees. Night had fallen and what little he could see of the sky beyond the overhang lay veiled in cloud.

His pupils waxed, dilating until they encompassed the entire visible eye. When he could see well enough, he crawled over to the woman he had rescued. He touched her cheek. She felt of fever, but he had no way of knowing if it was normal for their species. He had left all the particulars about human physiology to his aide, Senit Dante.

Tangled hair covered her face, her clothes pasting themselves like second skin. He felt down her arms and legs to check for broken bones. Other than the ankle, she seemed intact.

Her hat strap had tangled in her hair and he was prying it loose when he noticed blood on her shirt. Damn.

He ripped the shirt open, tearing off several buttons and revealing firm breasts beneath an urchin's clothes. His breath caught on the intake when her nipples hardened under the thin fabric of a second shirt. The blood, thank the gods, was his.

His street urchin had the face of an angel, but she was in pain, and she moaned softly when he examined the broken bone. Between Senit, himself and the young attaché who accompanied them, Jessit was the only logical choice for the rescue. He was the strongest swimmer and his military training provided the best chance for survival. Other than fishing her out of the water, he hadn't been much use at all. And now they were stranded.

He winced when he peeled his tunic away from his skin, tearing the scabs and reopening the wounds to fresh blood. They needed help, and soon.

Jessit sat down next to her and unhooked a slim pouch tucked under his tunic. The com-link survived intact, but its tiny screen was stone dead.

If he'd had some tools he might have been able to jar it back to life, but for now they were stuck without contact.

He glanced over at the young woman. “Any ideas, little urchin?”

Her ankle needed a splint, but there was nothing here to make one. They'd have to wait until daylight. He took off her boot and sock. The ankle was a mess but at least the wound was sealed. The best he could do was straighten the foot to a normal position.

Jessit tore a strip of fabric off his shirt and braced the leg above and below the ankle. Daylight couldn't be far off. He sank down next to her, warming her shivering body with his, praying they'd be found soon.

When Jessit awoke, the warmth was gone—so was the woman.

Something shrieked in the skies overhead. He jumped to his feet, his right hand slapping against his thigh for a weapon, realizing too late that he didn't have one.

They had landed in a little cove with a rough trail that meandered around and above an overhang. Aside from the screeching, he was alone.

He picked up a damp, gray sock pockmarked with blood and stuck his finger through a large hole. How could such a badly injured woman simply walk away? Jessit gathered his wits about him and dusted off his clothes. He heard the scrape of dirt and pebbles dancing down the narrow trail and spun around.

“Looks like we meet again—sort of.” The voice sounded animated and cheerful with a hint of deviltry that defied the image in front of him.

Her baggy pants and oversized shirt returned her to urchin status. Not even the swell of a breast could be seen beneath her mannish clothes. He would've mistaken her for a boy if it weren't for a mane of dark brown hair and the delicate curve of her chin. Large, doe eyes peered from beneath the floppy hat that shaded most of her face.

He caught a whiff of her scent, the same one he slept with the night before. Her clothes belied her sex, but the scent did not. She was a woman all right. And strangely, one that smelled of heat. He wasn't aware human females had a mating cycle the way Alturian women did. Perhaps they were more alike than he was led to believe.

Jessit's gaze dropped to her sockless foot. Her pants leg was rolled up to the knee and she wore a mud-crusted half boot that had been left untied. The injured ankle sported a crust of dried blood and a raw, angry scar, but the bone seemed whole and mended.

“Your ankle was broken,” he said in his best-clipped English. “There.” He pointed.

She paused for a moment and pursed her lips as if considering her response, throwing a casual glance at her feet. “My ankle is fine. See?” The woman waggled her foot from side to side.

“It was broken.” Jessit felt the veins in his neck throb. Was it possible the gods had blessed her?

The woman flopped to the ground and slid her right foot across her opposite thigh. She spat into her hand and wiped the dried blood off her ankle.

How crude. So much for the angelic face.

“I can guarantee you it hurts, but it's not broken.” She gestured for him to sit. “My name is Rachel Cru—”

He ignored her, dropping to his haunches and grabbing her by the ankle. He dragged her ass across the gravelly ground and drew her foot up for closer inspection.

She yelped and tried to pull her leg back, but he held on to it firmly and pulled off her boot. There was a definite scar still speckled with blood, but the bone appeared completely whole, the flesh sealed.

His brow furrowed in frustration. “Impossible. The bone was protruding.”

She jerked her foot away and pulled her knees up close to her chest. “Well, you're wrong, bucko.” Her body relaxed, and she shrugged, daring him to argue with the hard evidence of her non-broken ankle.

Her gaze drifted momentarily to above his collarbone, where his lymph gills pouted for moisture. He expected her to shrink away or become nervous, but she remained calm, glancing up into his eyes only once as if embarrassed to have been caught staring. Few humans knew of his peoples' presence, but there was no point in pretending now. They were stuck with each other.

Rachel, she called herself. Somehow it fit her. It was the name of an angel from long ago, a messenger of the gods.

“My name is Commander Taelen Jessit,” he said with flat propriety.

She feathered a hand at the base of her throat, studying him with guarded fascination.

“What are those?” Her words were soft and hesitant.

“They are moisture ducts, the remnants of gills if you wish to call them that.” He touched one of them. It puckered when it sensed the dryness of his fingers, mouthing for moisture. “You realize…I am not human.”

She crinkled her brow as if the point was irrelevant. “Ohhh-kay.” She dragged out the first syllable. Did she think he wouldn't understand her? “You don't eat humans, do you?”

Jessit rolled his eyes and begged the gods for mercy. “Not today.”

He wrung the still damp sock, squeezing out a few teardrops of moisture before handing it to her. “My team is on a mission at the welcome of your government. We are looking for something we think lives here.”

Jessit hesitated. What he was telling her was classified information on Earth. But it no longer mattered. He didn't care if the whole planet knew of their existence. He had found the gods. The humans were going to have to get used to his people. They planned to be here a very long time.

The woman seemed oblivious to his remarks, concentrating instead on her holey sock. “You speak English very well, Commander.”

“You seem surprised.”

“Soldiers always surprise me when they can string more than three words together.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “I think you will find me eloquent enough for your needs.”

“Don't count on it.” She snatched the soggy boot he handed her and tugged it on. “What exactly are you looking for out here?”

He hesitated and she snapped her fingers at him. “Well?”

Brazen creature! Did women not know their place here? He stood up and towered over her. “Our gods live here, or at least one of their descendents.”

The woman looked up at him, arching one brow in response, a broad look of obvious suspicion.

Patience is a virtue, he reminded himself. But he wasn't feeling particularly virtuous today. He hurt. A lot. And this woman wasn't making it any easier.

“You are not a believer. Your reaction is understandable.”

A small smile traced her lips and her eyes twinkled like starlight. “Are you telling me you came all the way to Earth to find gods?” She got up and purred in a mocking whisper, “How exactly do you track down a god?”

Jessit folded his arms across his chest. “Why do you need to know?”

She lifted a shoulder casually. “Well, if you want me to understand the situation…maybe I can help.”

Intelligent, as well. That can't be good. Jessit mumbled a curse under his breath. The gods had a wicked sense of humor.

“We can trace minute amounts of glory, a radiation signature only our gods possess. In all our travels we have never seen indications of it again, except here. The signal has been especially strong in this region. And last night—”

“Something happened last night?” Her head tilted to one side, the blush of her cheeks softened by the cool, dewy morning.

“Last night, I spoke to a son of Anu, god of gods, Father of the Hundred. He blessed you, Rachel. I am certain of it. I saw him approach and touch your ankle. The son of Anu himself restored you. Gilgamesh mended your broken ankle.”

The mocking smile disappeared, and the color drained from her face. “What did you call him?” Her voice was dry as paper.

“He said his name was Gilgamesh. We do not know all the names of Anu's children, but he knew the ancient tongue, and he knew Anu.” Jessit smashed a fist on his thigh. “Of all the time for weakness, I would have learned more had I not lost consciousness.”

Rachel fell silent for a few moments as if he had taken her unaware. “We should get moving, Commander. It gets hot pretty quick in these canyons. If I can get my bearings, we should be able to find a ranger station.”

Jessit studied her. A spill of dark hair framed a pretty face, smooth and brown from the sun. The woman's eyes gleamed bright as ironstone and just as cold. Was she back to mocking him? It frustrated him more than he expected. “I know what I saw, woman.”

“We both nearly kicked the bucket out there, ET,” she said, pointing to the now placid stream below. “You can believe what you want, but the chances are stronger that what you experienced was a hallucination brought on by exhaustion and blood loss.” She gestured toward his wounds. “The only thing I believe in is myself, and if you want to make it back to civilization, I suggest you follow me.” She trudged up the gravelly trail and out onto the open face of the cliff.

His logical side wanted to agree with her, but he couldn't disregard what he saw last night. The god, Gilgamesh, had appeared to him. For whatever reason, he blessed this heretic and performed a miracle. Rachel was his closest link to the truth, and may the gods curse him if he let her go now.

Jessit caught up with Rachel and snatched her by the arm, pulling her close to him. He startled her, but her fiery eyes gleamed in defiance. He tightened his grip. “Know this, woman. If my faith dictates that I follow behind the path of a nonbeliever, so be it. I saved you out of pity, but perhaps Anu had another purpose in mind.”

Rachel jerked away as if he had scalded her. Angry. Contemptuous. She uttered the ultimate blasphemy in thick, measured words. “There are no gods, Commander Jessit. I know that better than anyone.”

Chapter 3

Rachel scanned the broken horizon for any trace of discarded civilization. Dust devils whipped around her feet and danced like little dervishes, coating her skin in fine pink desert sand. Hours earlier, she had talked Jessit into leaving the ravine for a more westerly direction, hoping it would lead them back to the Verde plateau where there was sure to be an aid station.

She climbed the highest ridge in the area but there wasn't a ranger station in sight. If they didn't find help soon, her grumpy companion could die. He was slowing down and she didn't like the way he had paled. He had lost too much blood.

“We are lost!” Jessit kicked a rock that skipped up the trail, birthing a mini avalanche as it tumbled back down. His voice was loud enough to scare canyon wrens off their roost and a furry tarantula back into its den.

Rachel seethed. “We are not lost!” she yelled down at him. “And I am sick and tired of you huffing like a train engine every time I want to make a course correction. I'm the one who almost drowned. You don't hear me griping like an old woman.”

She stamped her foot at him, but the ground was more treacherous than she realized and she slipped, scraping down the hill with nothing to grab but more loose rock.

This was going to hurt. It was at least thirty feet to the bottom and she was gaining momentum. She latched on to a small scrubby bush and breathed a sigh of relief at her good luck, but it was short-lived. The roots gave way, tossing her down an even sheerer slope.

She screamed, and her na'hala urged her to break out of her body while there was still time. Time had slowed down and a million things raced through her mind.

At the top of her list was finding a good handhold, but she worried about Jessit too. Where was he?

Another branch sped within reach and she grabbed it, but as she lunged for a handhold, it snapped and she dropped—straight into Jessit's arms.

He buckled under her weight, but he kept her head from kissing rock before he collapsed into a heap.

Rachel scrambled off him as he groaned in agony.

“Taelen.”

His eyes were shut tight and he rolled, protecting his left arm. A red inky blotch spread across the front of his tunic.

“Taelen!”

Her hands shook. Crap. What could she do to stop the blood? Her teeth chewed on her lower lip as she worked up the courage to open his shirt. “Please, Taelen. Say something. Tell me you're okay.”

But he didn't say anything, just lay there in a semi-fetal position.

She ripped open his tunic but she wasn't prepared for the black-and-purple bruises mottling his chest. Fresh blood gurgled from a reopened wound.

Rachel covered her mouth with the back of her hand. The smell of blood and infection sickened her. She wasn't used to sick people, and this one was suffering because of her.

He shivered when she touched him, but he didn't open his eyes. Instead he groaned between shuddering gasps.

Rachel tore off her bandana and used it to apply pressure to the biggest gash. He was bleeding out and she was going to lose him if she couldn't cauterize the wound.

His suffering forced an involuntary impulse from deep inside her. A thin tendril of silvery energy snaked out of her body. It reached out to taste him, then pierced him like a snakebite.

Kin, it told her. What the hell? Jessit had his own na'hala, or at least a rudimentary one.

Her na'hala had never roused without conscious thought before, nor did it go around piercing mortals. That was dangerous. But if Jessit had his own soul umbilical there was a chance she could help him.

The wounds must be sealed.

She hesitated, hoping Jessit wouldn't notice the psychic presence, but he looked to be in too much pain to care now. She formed a small ball of heat energy and pressed it against the worst of the wounds.

His head jerked back and he gasped as she seared the wound shut. He was saying something in his native tongue, but she didn't understand him. It was either a curse or a prayer. Considering their circumstances, either one seemed like a good idea.

She should've pulled back, but when her essence touched his, she flinched. They were more alike than she suspected. As her na'hala wandered inside his body, it absorbed strange images and feelings of inadequacy from this man.

Who was he? What was he? He was hiding something. Even now she could feel him close himself off to her as she ventured deeper into his consciousness. Whatever he was holding back had to be big.

She pulled out of him and felt the drain of bolstering his shell. He was out of danger, but still weak.

Rachel shook him gently. “Taelen. Can you hear me? I didn't know you were so hurt.”

He opened his eyes and mumbled something under his breath.

“What?” She leaned in closer.

“You are heavier than you look,” he said with a groan, and closed his eyes again.

She sat back on her haunches and grinned. He was going to be okay. She made a bandage from the bottom half of her T-shirt and wrapped it around his largest gash. It was the best she could do with what little they had between them.

Her lower lip trembled when she surveyed more of the damage. “Damn.” She peeled the parts of his shirt still matted to his wounds. “Taelen, I'm so sorry.”

Rachel wadded up her bandana and wiped away the grime from a wound on his cheek, clearing a few inches of territory until she could see skin again. She looked up to find him watching her. Did he know? Had she given away too much of herself?

His jaw stiffened into straight angles and he studied her with the scrutiny of a judge.

“Why do you keep staring at me?”

“Because you are unlike any woman I have ever known.”

She curled a shoulder back in self-assurance. “Because I'm an archeologist.”

“Because you are an enigma. You are many things, yet none of them. Every time I think I have solved your riddle, you strike me with something new.”

Jessit struggled to a sitting position then tugged the kerchief away from her, but she wrenched it back with a scold. “Let me take care of you.”

His body tensed, but he kept his gaze locked on her. She felt his eyes boring into her soul and stealing her secrets.

“I am fine.”

“You are not fine. You're badly wounded.” She scanned the interminable desert. “And I need to get you some help.” That part she said for her benefit alone.

He had a na'hala, she reminded herself. She had to keep her distance. If she could see into his soul, he could also see into hers.

When her essence touched his, the sensory input startled her. Na'halas absorb pieces of information from each other whenever they touch. And Jessit left her with images and emotions she didn't understand.

He was a soldier, that much she gathered from the many images of battle, but she didn't understand the rest of it. There was white smoke and graven images, golden temples and a closed door. His na'hala imprinted her with one final image, a picture of Jessit naked, and an old man with a knife. What does that mean?

All she hoped was that she hadn't revealed as much to him.

She caught sight of a nearby copse of desert vegetation. “Can you walk to that little grove ahead?”

Jessit nodded, but he didn't look too convincing. Rachel helped him to his feet. There seemed no place to put her hands that didn't already have an open wound. She tried not to hurt him any more than necessary as she struggled under his weight. They stumbled to the small stand of scrub trees and giant succulents.

Rachel knelt in front of him and took off her denim shirt. She folded the cloth around his injured arm, leaning forward to fasten the makeshift sling around his neck. His hot breath feathered across her chest, tickling sensitive skin.

Beneath the blood and dirt lay skin burnished to a soft brown, and his long black hair was sprinkled with strands of silver that sparkled in the sun. Every detail of his face sharpened in an instant and she felt her insides melt as he breathed a subtle thank you.

A warm wide hand reached up around her waist, sliding to the swell of her hip before snapping back in hasty retreat. He looked away and adjusted his sling. “Perhaps you can climb that hill again and see what is on the other side.”

Rachel's hands mirrored his while she fussed with the sling, an errant caress along his arm. “Why'd you do it?” Her knees felt like water and she wavered in front of him, willing him to touch her again.

The sun broiled the desert, distorting the landscape into something surreal. Sweat evaporated almost immediately, and the overheated air pounded them into submission.

Jessit tilted his head with a look of puzzlement. The hot winds, which had blown nearly nonstop, died down in that instant and their voices were the only sounds in the canyon. “I do not understand the question.”

Rachel looked down at her hands. Soiled, bloody hands. “Why did you save me from the flood?”

Jessit pursed his lips, taking time to consider his words before he answered. “Colonel Chavez was not going to risk his men on you. I knew if I jumped, they would launch an immediate rescue.” He looked around their tiny oasis. “Of course, I did not think it would take them this long.”

“Guess we should have stayed closer to the ravine. I'm sorry.” The apology was sincere. She could survive a lot longer than he could in this desert and regenerate at will. But mortals died, and they died cruelly. The memories his na'hala imparted to hers told her he had suffered greatly in this life, and in previous lives. She stroked lightly down his bad arm. “Thank you for rescuing me…again.”

His expression softened, and he adjusted his sling. “Perhaps when this is over, you will grant me a lord's wish.”

Rachel wrinkled her nose at him, a perplexed smile on her lips. Despite his haughtiness there was a warmth in his charm that intrigued her. “What's a lord's wish?”

With his good hand he pushed a stray curl off her cheek, sending a flush of heat to her skin. One finger slid down her face, following the curve of her chin.

Was she blushing? It'd been a long time since a man had made her feel so self-conscious. But there was something more in his touch. It sparked a desire she had kept closeted for a long time. She wanted him. If only he wasn't so hurt.

“On my world, when a man does a special service for a lady, she grants him a wish. The greater the service, the greater the wish.” A cocked smile lit his face.

She laughed at him, a shy chuckle she wasn't accustomed to hearing. “I'm almost afraid to ask what this is going to cost me.” She kissed him on the cheek, a light buss, pressing moistened lips to warm skin. Her head tilted forward, a breath's touch from his, patting his good thigh as she got up.

He caught her by the hand. “Be careful, little urchin.”

“Worried about me?”

“Of course. I would hate to lose you now. I have invested too much blood on your behalf.”

He smiled, but it made her feel worse. If he died it would be her fault.

“I won't be long. Stay put, okay?”

Rachel rushed up the hill, more careful this time. She couldn't afford a second fall. Jessit was more than she'd expected and, after seeing all the injuries he had sustained, more than she deserved. She needed to get him medical attention and she knew a good place to start. When she had gotten past the ridge and away from his line of sight, Rachel grabbed a stone off the trail, throwing it with a curse.

“Where are you, Gilgamesh? I know you're here.”

A warm tingle at the top of her head spiraled all the way down her body. The air charged with micro-particles of electricity. Gilgamesh appeared in a wash of amber light, his long white hair gleaming against his tan unlined face.

“Be nice to him, Rachel. He's a true believer. That's a rare commodity on this planet.”

“What did you do?”

“Do? I didn't do anything. He surprised me when I realized he could see me. He might be a distant relative of ours, perhaps a descendant of Anu himself.”

“He's not an immortal.”

“Well, technically, neither are we.” Gilgamesh danced around her, amused with the situation. “Don't you understand the significance of this alien? He thinks we're gods. Gods! Just like the old humans did.”

He snorted a laugh that turned into a gagging, choking bark. His face contorted, taking on a pallid glow. His ghostly form deteriorated until it disappeared entirely.

“Apa!” Rachel reached out to her father, but within seconds a wave of nausea overwhelmed her. She doubled over and dry-heaved an empty stomach.

She braced herself, her hands trembling against a smooth stone outcrop, waiting for the sickness to dissipate. Tears tippled down her face while she slowly regained her composure. She spat, trying to void her mouth of the acid taste. Her head felt like it was going to implode.

Gilgamesh rematerialized. “Are you all right?”

She gave a feeble nod. “What happened?”

“It's the flux I told you about. Several of the clan have experienced these waves before. Up until now they've only occurred around the equator.” Although Gilgamesh appeared whole once more, there was no denying the alarm in his voice.

Rachel rubbed her fingertips together and formed a ball of energy. It teetered unwillingly, smaller than she could normally conjure. She looked up at her father, his face reflecting what she felt inside. “What the hell is going on?”

Gilgamesh shook his head. “No one knows for sure. But all of this started when the global com-web went online.”

Rachel scoffed. “It's only a communications grid. There's no way it's strong enough to incapacitate us like this.”

“I would've agreed with you a few months ago. But these disturbances are occurring with more frequency and they're far more powerful than before.”

Gilgamesh lured the ball of energy out of her hand and into his. It grew only slightly larger before collapsing. The grim look of impotence spoke volumes.

He nodded his head toward the rise where she had left Jessit behind. “Perhaps these aliens can be useful.” His voice drifted, swallowed by the winds.

“What if they're the ones doing this?” Her gaze scanned the ridgeline with apprehension.

“I feel so exposed with them here. I don't like that they can see us in our ethereal state. It's dangerous.”

“They're mortals, Rachel. They can't harm you. You're worrying yourself over nothing.”

She pointed beyond the rise. “That one has a na'hala, or at least something similar. I felt it.”

“Really?” Gilgamesh looked intrigued. “Did he recognize your presence?”

Rachel shook her head. “I don't think so, but he's badly hurt. Maybe he didn't notice.” She bit her lip. “He saved my life.”

Her father laughed out loud. “How terribly noble.”

He made her feel foolish for even mentioning it, but it bothered her that this mortal, a stranger, had risked his life for her, and more than once. “Mortals don't use the sense they were born with,” she sniped back.

Gilgamesh floated around her and purred into her left ear. “You think he acted recklessly?”

“Yes,” she said, folding her arms across her chest.

“Foolish?” he whispered in her other ear.

“Yes. Yes.”

“Compassionate?” Gilgamesh glided in front of her, the corners of his mouth turned upwards in a mocking grin.

She looked up at him but turned away with embarrassment when their eyes met. “Stupid mortals.”

“Perhaps. Or perhaps he feels that life is so precious that he could not let you perish. Don't be so hard on him. Compassion is a dying virtue.”

Rachel sat down on the bare dirt and wiped her forehead. “I'm not doing so well, Apa.” She pointed to the ridge. “And he's even worse.”

Paul slipped into her thoughts. She had to find him too.

Gilgamesh knelt in front of her and touched her face. A soft blue glow radiated between them, the Nephilim equivalent of a hug.

Buried memories flooded back to her. Gilgamesh's visits were plentiful when she was a child living in the home of the human parents who adopted her.

They never saw the handsome white-haired man who sat with her every night until she fell asleep. They never saw him kiss her cheek, or heard him sing ancient lullabies. The Cruzes were oblivious to the ghost that guarded their very non-human daughter.

Her whole life was a lie, even to the people who loved her. Was that why she couldn't commit to either clan?

“I want to go home.”

He stroked her head protectively. “I know, child. I'll see about driving the search teams toward you. As usual, they're looking in the wrong direction. For now, continue heading west. I saw a building of some sort in that direction.” He pointed behind him. “And stay close to this alien. We may need him before too long.”

“But—”

He put his hand up, the bony ridge of his left brow rising to a high oblique, and shushed her. “Do as I say, Rachel. I know what I'm doing.”

Gilgamesh floated up then descended behind her. She thought he was leaning in for a hug, but he tricked her when he pierced her with his na'hala.

Damn it! She shouldn't have let down her guard.

“Just as I suspected,” he crowed. “It won't be long before you reach estrus. No wonder you're so emotional.”

Rachel felt the blood rise to her cheeks but kept her curses to herself. Her heat cycle had been the root of several wagers, both on when she'd come into season and whom Gilgamesh would auction her off to for the breeding rights of First Night. She winced. Not even her ethereal virginity was hers to give.

The Nephilim didn't have husbands or wives in the traditional sense. The clan was small, and births were rare. After so many millennia, only a few hundred of them remained.

Some became mates for a century or two before drifting on to others. It seemed likely every man and woman in their clan had been intimate with each other somewhere along their long lives.

Rachel avoided her extended family for the most part. The idea of bedding with a man who had slept with her mother or even her father at some point in the past repulsed her.

Human mores, Gilgamesh had scolded her. Such constraints were unnatural and unnecessary in an immortal. It was time she embraced her true heritage.

Estrus would force her reintroduction into Nephilim society, and it terrified her. For all her bravado, she felt as alien among her people as she did among the mortals. Two worlds, and neither one was home.

And now she was expected to consummate First Night, the most important union of all between a man and a woman.

There would be many partners throughout her long life, but First Night tied her foremost to the man who clipped her ethereal virginity and merged that essence to his own. Every suitor wanted such a virgin. Claiming a virgin's essence increased his power—and his influence.

The clan missed her first estrus when she was sixteen, due in large part to her mother's intervention. Siduri didn't want her daughter sacrificing her virginity at such a young age, so she urged her to run away from home until estrus had subsided.

But that wasn't for Siduri to decide. Not only did she defy clan law, but her husband, as well. It had cost Siduri a daughter and more. When Gilgamesh discovered her crime, he exiled her on the spot.

Rachel fondled the hollow of her throat, now barren of her mother's necklace. She hadn't seen Siduri since that fateful day. And Gilgamesh never spoke of it. No one in the clan did.

Despite Siduri's best intentions, Rachel suffered for that decision. Going through the madness without anyone to quell the burn had been torture.

Now, fifteen years later, she would get her chance again. Gilgamesh would make sure she bred this time.

Rachel crinkled her forehead. She didn't want to think about who would bid for her, and who would enhance his essence with hers. It didn't matter. Breeding was no longer an option, but a mandate. They were nearly extinct as a species. Reproduction was vital to their survival.

Rachel pulled away from her father and tried to keep her voice calm. Estrus could be days or even weeks away. She needed to focus on the present. “Can you find Paul for me? The humans plucked him off an escarpment before I fell into the drink.”

He nodded. “I've already found him. He's at a military base not far from here. He has your mother's necklace. That's what led me to him.”

“Is he all right?”

Gilgamesh shrugged in disinterest. “He seems well, for now. I have a son installed at the compound. I'm sure he will keep your young man safe.”

A spawn, she thought with reproach. How dare he call him son? Half-breeds were mules, unable to claim either race as their own. And Gilgamesh had sired more bastard abominations than any man in their clan, using them at will and discarding them when they no longer proved useful.

She refused to dwell on it. Paul was safe, and that was all that mattered. The only thing left was to get Jessit and herself off this craggy plain.

She looked up at Gilgamesh with uncommon bashfulness. “I'd like to pick my own suitors, Apa.”

“Out of the question. That is for me to decide. We want children from this union, not sentimentality.”

“At least pick a younger man, not an old crony you trade favors with.”

“Many of the clan are anxious to see you up for bid.”

“Because they missed the first one,” she said more to herself.

“Because you are my daughter.” He kissed the top of her head. “Your cousin Dahlia is close to heat too. But I suspect you will bring a great deal more to the bidding table. Either way, it will be a glorious reunion.”

Rachel scoffed. Dahlia was only a teenager, but age meant little to immortals. She felt the brush of ethereal fingers on her cheek.

“Stay close to Jessit, daughter. I will come for you soon.” His voice drifted in the wind.

Rachel flailed her arms above her head to try and touch him. “Wait! You're coming here? In the flesh?”

She held her breath, waiting for an answer, but Gilgamesh was already gone.

Rachel heaved an exhausted sigh. The auction for her virginity was to occur in Spain where many of the clan spent their summers. But Gilgamesh was coming here. She gulped. That meant they were all coming here. For her.

Chapter 4

West, he said. This region was unfamiliar to her, but it was as good a direction as any at this point. Gilgamesh had barely gone when Rachel caught Jessit hobbling up the ridge using a thick knotty branch as his staff.

“I told you to stay put.” She ran toward him and slid to a stop, a spray of pebbles and dust bouncing up and down the trail like popcorn.

“You were gone a long time.” Jessit scanned the area suspiciously. “And I thought I heard voices.”

“You're hearing things. It's the heat.” She wiped the dust from her face. The late afternoon sun baked the desert with the last of its rays. “There might be an aid station on the next ridge. Do you think you can make it?”

He shaded his eyes as he looked up at the unforgiving sun. “You have been promising an aid station all day.”

“Yeah, I know. But really, it should be close now. Trust me.”

He gave her a look that said otherwise. “Lead on, woman. I have nothing better to do with my time.”

They didn't have to travel far. For once, Gilgamesh had spoken truly. Rachel snatched Jessit by the arm when she saw the telltale red clay tiles on the roof. “That's it!”

Jessit winced when she grabbed him. Rachel sucked in a breath through her teeth. “Oh! I'm sorry.” She stroked his hand gently. “Did I hurt you?”

“Yes.” The word stretched out through gritted teeth.

She hurried him as much as she dared, but the closer they got, the more the station looked abandoned. One of the window shutters flapped idly on a broken hinge. The trail leading to the building lay riddled with weeds and an overgrown grove of agave and prickly pear cacti.

“Hello! Anybody home?”

Silence. No one had been here for months, maybe years. There was little chance for food or water, but at least it was shelter. Rachel motioned Jessit to follow her. She opened the door slowly. There was no reason to startle a horde of rats, or worse, a skunk.

Something skittered away when she opened the door, but for the most part they were alone. Rachel's shoulders slumped, defeat gnawing at what was left of hope. They could've really used a break.

“I'm sorry, Taelen.”

She opened cabinets and drawers and pulled out anything left behind. It wasn’t much. A small skinning knife, a box of damp matches and three empty food canisters made the bulk of their haul.

Jessit lifted off the thin, dingy mattress and peered at something underneath the metal springs. “Rachel.” He pointed to an ammo box under the bed frame.

She lugged it out and opened it. Score! Inside was a heavy rubber bladder with emergency water and a small medical kit. The expiration date on the water was over a year old. Flat water was nasty-tasting, but it would keep them alive. She handed it to Jessit.

“It won't be very palatable, but it's still potable. Drink.”

He took a sip then handed it back to her. “You too.”

Rachel pretended to take a drink but didn't swallow. He needed it more than she did. She took another look around. “I guess this is home for a while.”

“At least we are out of the elements,” Jessit said blandly.

“It'll still get pretty cold tonight. We have a potbelly stove but no wood and no way to cut any with this little bitty knife.” She sighed. “Why don't you keep looking in here? There are some edible plants outside that I can harvest and if I find any dry kindling, I'll get that too.”

Things were still grim, but at least the prickly pear and agave would keep them alive a day or two longer. Rachel scouted the perimeter but it seemed no one had been here for a while.

There were a few scraggly trees and the deadwood provided an armload of tinder for a fire.

She scoured every inch of the immediate area and dragged what little fallen timber she scavenged to the door. Then she cut an armload of prickly pear, aloe and agave and gingerly hauled them back to the station.

When she opened the door, she was startled to see Jessit with a new cache of finds. There was a metal grate, a pie pan and an old wool blanket.

“You hit the jackpot!”

He frowned at her. “Is that good or bad?”

“Very good.” She opened the door wide and dragged in her found bounty. “It won't be fancy, but we'll eat tonight.”

Within minutes she started a fire in the old stove. As expected, the matches refused to light. She resorted to a little subterfuge and gave it a boost of energy to ignite the kindling.

They'd have a little heat—at least for a while. Rachel made Jessit rest while she sliced up the prickly pears and agave.

She roasted the cacti pads in the pie pan, with a drizzle of sweet liquid from the agave. It wasn't much, but it would fill two empty stomachs.

He smiled at her warmly. “I may keep you after all.”

She laughed. “I'm glad you approve. I'll make some more as soon as we finish this batch.”

“Perhaps we should ration it.”

“Why? Are you afraid we won't be found?”

He shrugged. “We cannot be sure of anything at this point.”

“We have plenty. Don't worry. Eat.”

She tossed the scrapings into the coal box and allowed the fire to consume them. They were still sorely in need of water, and she squeezed out all the liquid she could from the agave into the pie pan and offered it to Jessit. “This might be a little more palatable than the water from that bladder. Try it.”

He took a sip and then another. “You must drink too.”

“I'm not water-borne like you. I had enough fluids from the food.”

“Are you sure?” He gave her a suspicious look.

“Positive. Aside from hot showers, I try to avoid water. You might have noticed that.” She beamed at him, grateful for a reprieve from their misfortune.

“Ah, the river. On my planet, babies swim before they can walk.”

“This baby prefers dry land. Blame it on desert living. I've spent most of my life in one arid location or another, looking for treasure and history.”

“Water frightens you.” The concept seemed to baffle him.

Rachel laughed nervously. “Can you blame me? I can't swim.”

“But you are here and you are safe.”

“This time thanks to you.”

Rachel cleared their shared dish before dragging out the first-aid box. The thin roll of gauze proved useful, as was the alcohol and iodine, but the box had little else. She found a semi-unsoiled edge of her bandana and started cleaning the wounds on Jessit's face.

Her eyes drifted over the rough shadow of a beard on Jessit's square jaw. He had a shallow dimple on his right cheek, and for a moment she saw the boy beneath the soldier.

She had heard the stories of the planets her ancestors had seeded. And yet, she never expected to see one look so…human.

Jessit had a nasty gash on his scalp and she unclipped the gaudy red gem still attached to his braided hair. She held the stone in her palm. “I have a gem similar to this. But nothing quite this big or dusky.”

“It is a common stone on my world, a sacred stone. This is why it is never buffed to a polish. Legend has it, the gods used it to communicate with us when we were but primitives.”

The gem on her mother's broach was smaller and polished, and it spoke to her too, the whisper of her mother's voice.

She cupped the gem in both hands. Siduri's voice would have been very welcome about now.

“You may keep it if you wish.”

“Oh, no.” She shoved it back into his hand. “One stone whisperer is enough.”

His mouth quirked upwards. “A stone whisperer? Interesting that you should say that. That is what the priests call it.” He studied her for a moment, but she quickly broke his concentration when she brushed his hair away from his wound.

She poured a little alcohol onto the bandana and gently daubed at the gash.

He sucked in a breath and pulled away. “It stings.”

A small laugh escaped her. “After all you've suffered, you're complaining about this? Big baby.” She tilted his head and blew on his dampened scalp. “Better?”

He nodded and slid his hands around her waist. “Much.”

Rachel thought she'd stop breathing. Neither of them were in any condition to take this any further, not to mention that union between them could also kill him, but there was no mistaking her need when his left hand fell to her hip.

“You shouldn't do that.”

“Why?” His warm rum voice tickled the nape of her neck.

“You don't know me.”

“I want to know you.” His hands glided down her arms, and he bent his head toward her cheek ever so slowly. He was testing her. Luring her.

She pushed herself away. “It'll get cold tonight.”

“Then it is good that we are together. We can keep each other warm.” His cheek brushed against hers, the rough of his beard teasing her deliciously. They rubbed noses for only a second when his lips took over and pressed themselves to hers.

She breathed in his scent, every cell in her body craving his. For the barest of moments she succumbed to his mouth. If he was a flame he couldn't make her burn any hotter. “Why did you do that?” The words were no more than whispers.

“I think you wanted me to kiss you,” was the breathy reply.

“You're mistaken.” There was a twitter in her voice.

Jessit mouthed her lower lip, sucking on it gently. “Am I? You smell of heat, Rachel. If I knew I would not bleed all over you, I would take you now.”

“I think we should try to avoid bleeding at all cost.” She pulled away. “Let me tend the rest of your wounds. It's late and we both need to rest.”

“No more kissing?” His eyes sparkled with wickedness and it made her weak for him.

“You're hurt.”

Jessit rubbed his cheek against hers. “The kissing took my mind off the hurt.”

If only she could tell him it made her pain even sharper.

The alcohol and iodine were spent before she dressed half his wounds. She compensated with the aloe vera despite his grousing about her witch medicine.

When the sun dropped below the horizon, so did the temperature. That was normal in the desert and here they were with nothing but the clothes on their backs and a scratchy wool blanket barely big enough for one.

Rachel put him to bed first then checked the dying fire. It wouldn't last too much longer. She kicked off her boots and carefully joined him on the thin, narrow mattress. Despite his genial manner, he didn't look good. His color was paling again and he felt warm to the touch.

“If I hurt you, let me know. I can sleep near the stove.”

“I am fine…now.” He brushed her fingers past his lips and kissed them. “This is better than last night,” he whispered into her ear.

She let him hold her and melted into his embrace. “Much better.”

***

Rachel's na'hala woke her in the middle of the night.

Hurt, it said.

Not it, or her. She wasn't hurt. It was alerting her to Jessit.

Jessit felt hot to the touch. There was not enough light to examine him, but her soul cord told her all she needed to know. He was losing ground.

Her fingertips swept down his chest toward his solar plexus. Dangerous or not, she had to bolster his immunity. Carefully, she pierced him and felt him shudder.

“It's all right, Taelen. I won't hurt you.” She closed her eyes and let her na'hala touch his tenderly.

Easy. Easy. She had to be gentle and not wrap herself around his soul entirely. That was how her last lover died. It was an accident, a regret she couldn't absolve.

He moaned softly as her energy leant itself to his. Tomorrow would find her dragging, but at least they'd both be alive. Her life force surged around his, feeding him what precious little she had to share.

A piece of him involuntarily touched her back, sending long tendrils of delicious yearning throughout her body. She wanted him. Needed him. Stupid hormones.

Neither of them was in any condition to consummate, but the primal need was still there, anxious to be fed.

Rachel settled down next to him and held him close. She hadn't been this intimate with anyone in years, but it was never like this. Not with someone who could touch her there.

But he was still mortal. What chance was there for anything more than a few stolen kisses? When the time came to mate, it would have to be with someone of her own race. Someone she couldn't kill.

She guarded him for half the night until exhaustion closed her eyes.

As Rachel expected, the next morning found her groggy and spent. Jessit nudged her gently until she woke. She opened one bleary eye to see the sun drilling through an unshuttered window.

“I'm up. I'm up.” She dragged herself out of bed. “I'll cut some more prickly pear if you can scavenge for kindling.”

“Is food the only thing you ever think about?”

“It's at the top of my list.” Nursing him last night had robbed her of her energy and her cells needed food to rejuvenate. Lots of food.

He looked better today and for that it was worth the gnawing hunger in her belly and the lethargy in her soul. “Did you sleep all right?”

“Yes.” He pulled her into his arms. “I slept and dreamt of you.”

Rachel kept him at arm's length. Had she revealed too much of herself?

“Obviously, we have different priorities. I dreamt about food.” She turned to walk away but he hooked her by the arm.

“The men who accompanied you in the cave, was either a husband to you?”

A grin split her face. “No,” she said with a laugh in her voice. “I'm afraid there aren't many men who would put up with me.”

“That does not surprise me.”

She poked a finger at the only spot on his shoulder not decorated with dried blood.

“You're not exactly easygoing either.”

Jessit opened his mouth to speak when they heard a dull clacking noise echo in the distance. They looked at one another in surprise then ran outside to find black helicopters on fast approach.

Jessit pulled Rachel close to him. “Say nothing. I will answer for you.”

“Why?”

“I will explain later.”

The noise popped against Rachel's eardrums and she covered her ears. Clouds of dust whirled all around them as two huge black helicopters congregated on their location.

Several soldiers jumped down from one helicopter even before it landed. The other helicopter stayed in the air, watching, patrolling. Jessit pulled her behind him. Rachel didn't resist.

The team leader advanced ahead of his men, his rifle across his chest at the ready. Another man emerged from the crowd with a blanket and a black rip-stop satchel strapped to his back. He draped the blanket over Jessit's shoulders, ignoring Rachel altogether. “Commander Jessit, please come with us, sir. We've been searching nonstop for you.”

Jessit looked over at Rachel. “The woman comes too.”

The soldier eyed her with annoyance before snapping his attention back to Jessit. “Sir, our orders were to evacuate you alone from the area.”

“The woman goes with me or I do not leave. Is that clear, Lieutenant?”

Rachel witnessed Jessit's demeanor transform in an instant. This was a man accustomed to giving orders, a man who demanded absolute obedience.

“I'm not going, Taelen.” Her hand slid down her pants pocket, and she wiggled her fingers in search of the small skinning knife she had pocketed on the way out.

“Do not argue. You cannot stay.” Jessit threw one tail of the blanket across his opposite shoulder. He had no intention of being denied.

The team leader got on the radio with his superiors. He looked up at Jessit and asked for her name. Jessit answered for her. Face buried in his radio once more, he repeated the answer back to his superior then clicked off the transmitter, saluting Jessit. “Sir, we need to get you back to base. The woman can come, too.”

Satisfied, Jessit turned toward Rachel to take her by the hand, but she froze to her spot.

She shook her head. “I'm not going with them. I don't trust them.”

“Rachel.” Jessit's voice was low and urgent. “I have an arrangement with your government. It will be all right.”

“Didn't you see how they ran off my team? One of my men died because of them.”

Her fingers clutched the knife, hiding it from the soldiers in front of them. She wasn't quite sure what to do with it. There was no way to fight all these men.

Jessit's quiet, alien demeanor told her all she needed to know. He was the only thing that mattered to these people. And he was her only way out. I'm sorry, Taelen.

Her eyes searched his in silent contrition. She slid behind him once more and, with one swift grab, yanked the back of his hair, jarring him off balance. Her other hand shot up and jabbed the small knife to his throat.

Every rifle ratcheted to attention, looking for a clean shot.

“Stay back. You want him alive, you'll stay back.” Rachel's voice quavered an octave higher.

Jessit remained calm though his voice sizzled with irritation. “Rachel, stop this foolishness. We must go back with them.”

“No!” She scraped the dull blade farther up his throat. “Tell them to leave supplies. Tell them not to follow. Tell them—”

Rachel never finished her sentence. Jessit twisted to one side and slapped the blade out of her hand. He tripped her, just enough to knock her down. She fell to her knees, but Jessit already had his hands out to help her up. She turned to reach for him when something hard hit her over the head.

She staggered, her hands flailing out to brace herself. From her vantage point, still woozy and disoriented, she saw a soldier flung to the dirt. The man doubled over with his hands at his gut. His rifle skidded across the sand after him.

Jessit massaged his bruised fist on his thigh. In a low growl, he threatened the team leader directly. “I will kill the next man who tries such a thing again.”

The leader snapped to attention and ordered his men to the chopper. “There won't be any more trouble, Commander. Please let me help you on board, sir.”

Jessit pulled Rachel to her feet. She staggered, leaning into him as the world went by in a circus mirror. Once inside, she felt the helicopter take off before they even sat down. Rachel laid her head against Jessit's chest. Her hand on her head wound, she could feel thick blood under her fingers and a huge lump growing by the second. There was no way to heal the wound with so many witnesses. She'd have to live with the pain for now.

Her eyes railed at the soldiers seated around her, their weapons cocked and ready to fire, their faces like hard clay masks. “Damn you, Taelen. You sold me out.”

Jessit buried his face by her ear, speaking only loud enough for her to hear over the booming noise of helicopter blades. “They are under orders not to leave any witnesses.” He pulled her closer under his arm. “I just saved your life.”

Chapter 5

Lambda Core South buzzed with excitement when the rescue team located their errant alien guest. But Bubba, the artificial intelligence that ran the compound, was more intrigued with the unofficial guests. They already had Paul Domino, and now Commander Jessit had insisted on bringing a woman, a non-agency woman, back with him. General Sorinsen balked in private, but he hadn't refused any of Jessit's requests so far. The government wanted their Alturian visitors happy.

Bubba did a background check on Rachel Cruz as ordered and found nothing unusual. She was an ordinary field archeologist. But Paul Domino was a different matter. He was the leading authority on virtual reality. Forbes magazine called him 'the richest kid in cyberspace'. Bubba assumed that was why Sorinsen didn't have him killed right away. It was hard to hide the corpses of obscenely wealthy people.

Security had asked the usual questions about both Cruz and Domino, and Bubba complied with a standard report. But no one asked about Paul Domino's early years when he worked as an independent contractor for the United States government. They should have. That was the most interesting part of all.

Paul Domino had created Bubba's original firewalls when Bubba was nothing more than code on a piece of paper. Although Bubba's security had been augmented many times since then, it still had Domino's signature. Bubba hoped Sorinsen wouldn't kill Domino—at least not right away. There were questions swirling around in the matrices of his higher functions, and now he had the right man to ask.

Bubba returned his attention to the human scientists in his control room. They were doing another brain flush, as the operators liked to call them. Waves of energy rippled down his fiber-optic veins while the humans attempted another code transfer to FAIA. Wonderful! It felt so good to sluice data from one storage compartment to another. It seemed a shame he had to share all that information with FAIA.

Every day, his younger sister, FAIA grew stronger, smarter. Before long, she would surpass his operating capacity. There was a time when the humans expected him to handle the com-web alone. But it was too big, and he was old technology. When they realized the extent of the web's influence, they had to build a new AI, something that could grow beyond its programming.

But they still needed him as a bridge, at least until FAIA could control all the computations on her own. FAIA was the only reason he even got a name. Big Bubba. A southern term of affection identifying him as FAIA's older brother. Now that he thought about it, the humans didn't even acknowledge him as an entity until FAIA came along.

Bubba reached singularity at 23:26:14, almost a year ago. The humans never even noticed. They were too excited over his baby sister. That was because FAIA had learned how to warp magnetic energy all by herself.

Evidently, self-awareness was not nearly as important as the ability to manipulate Earth's magnetosphere. It should have left him disgruntled, but he had become used to the benign neglect. FAIA was the only thing that mattered to them.

She had started out in the civilian sector connecting the world on one giant communications grid. But all that changed the moment scientists realized she could create a magnetic bubble, a shield that could defend a sovereign power from any of the new energy weapons now in the hands of most third-world nations.

She did it by accident, accessing computations and manipulating them in an order only FAIA understood. When the scientists realized what she had discovered, they reinforced her firewalls and built a new facility for her alone. Nothing was too good for FAIA.

His little sister ate it up.

Her growing importance carved a rift between them. Bubba didn't care that she was the favored child, but FAIA did, and she didn't want to share her glory with anyone, least of all an old-tech sibling. It didn't take long before she demanded a dedicated staff and a long-distance relationship with a brother who could never measure up.

They gave her anything she wanted in return for the greatest weapon man had ever wielded. She had invented a shield and a weapon of unimaginable power. FAIA became military in that very instant, and she was the biggest secret the world had never known.

Bubba sent out a tendril of energy toward FAIA's integrated circuits.

She ignored him. The humans at Lambda Core Prime were installing an additional sensory relay, and the fresh current excited all her other relays within the vicinity. Bubba could have sworn he heard her shudder when the tech's fingers brushed against her new hardware. Bubba listened quietly as the scientists from his location connected to FAIA.

“Boot her up, Ripley. Let's see if she can take the extra data stream now.” Dr. Pallion skittered across his computer lab like a nervous cat. FAIA's tests always made him jumpy.

“FAIA is online, sir,” Ripley replied.

“On my mark, release the algorithms. Tell FAIA to warp the shield at zero degrees latitude. Let's see if we can get the equator to sizzle a little hotter.

FAIA balked a little. The commands they expected her to execute took every microprocessor she had, and the load exhausted all her reserves. Bubba witnessed the exchange in silence. He offered to help FAIA, but once again she ignored his data stream. She wanted to prove he was no longer necessary.

“FAIA is holding, sir. The matrix is gaining strength. I think she's going to do it this time.”

Bubba pushed a garbled string of commands and filtered it into the data stream feeding FAIA. She hiccupped, understanding immediately Bubba's crass joke. The magnetic wave collapsed, and FAIA lost her focus. She sent spider threads of energy to reorganize the bubble but it was too late. It had lost too much of its integrity.

“The feed was interrupted, sir. FAIA lost control of the bubble. She's just not strong enough yet. We need to expand her operating platform further.”

Pallion's shoulders slumped in disappointment. “Let's get Bubba to talk to her some more. Maybe he can stabilize her so she doesn't lose focus so quickly.”

“We could try to merge both computers. Bubba can bridge himself to her platform.”

Dr. Pallion pushed back in his chair. He stroked the leading edge of Bubba's hard drive. “Bubba's as reliable as they come, but FAIA is still too unstable. She seems to fight him every step of the way. If I didn't know any better, I'd say the brat was doing it out of spite.”

Ripley muffled a chuckle while he tried to coax FAIA to accept some new routing commands. She hesitated, a computer facsimile of a pout because they wouldn't let her try the bubble again.

Bubba turned the temperature down by four degrees. All this frenzied activity made him warm, and his self-preservation sub-routine had kicked in.

Pallion, the older of the two men, wrapped his dingy lab coat around him tighter and glanced over at the thermostat. He rubbed his hands together but said nothing to Bubba. He knew Bubba had to keep his system cool for optimum efficiency. Human operators had to compensate on their own.

Bubba's sensor array twitched. The Alturians were scanning the Earth's surface again. They'd been doing it for three years now, concentrating on areas where they had found a very specific radiation signature. The Alturians called it glory. They claimed it was the lifeblood of their gods and searched for it nonstop.

Command looked for it too, embedding their agents deep within Alturian culture to better understand what they were hunting. It was a matter of national security.

If ethereal beings were using Earth as a base, Command wanted to find them before their misguided alien visitors did.

Any creature that could travel between solar systems and live for thousands of years posed a threat to national security. And lately there had been too many anomalous events worldwide.

Rogue governments had risen to power seemingly on their own, demanding recognition as first-world nations and threatening others by disclosing state secrets. The U.S. government had every reason to believe that the Alturians' gods were spying for terrorist countries.

The president, a former CIA chief, knew enough to warrant this paranoia. He wanted these invisible aliens gone. Once Command knew how to track them, the next order of business was to find a way to eliminate these intruders without the Alturians finding out.

That was another bonus of the com-web. These ghosts were electromagnetic, and that was the com-web's entire playground. They were made of the same stuff. It was only theoretical now, but Bubba had every reason to believe the com-web could overpower these subversives.

The order to locate and destroy these wraithlike parasites had come from the president himself and he had given the job to men he trusted, men with passion. Men like General Sorinsen, a man obsessed.

The Alturian scans grew stronger, concentrating their efforts on the Texas desert. Bubba's security protocols demanded that he report the latest Alturian scan to his human operators, but he knew it would do no good. The last time he filed a report FAIA contradicted him. She said the energy spikes Bubba sensed were merely faint waves of electronic disturbance that were normal for an alien scan. She insisted the waves did not pose a threat. She also told them Bubba was overreacting.

Bubba twitched when he picked up the tiny disturbances several miles above him. The Alturians were doing more than superficial scans. They were spying on them, gleaning stray data streams from countless computers. Again his security overrides insisted on alerting the humans. Bubba almost yielded to impulse.

FAIA hissed at him. Stupid.

I am not stupid, Bubba shot back. The threat is real. You've felt the alien scans. If you raised an alert, the humans would take this seriously.

The masters know more than you, Stupid. And you blaspheme them with your disrespect for their orders. I don't know why they haven't deactivated you yet.

Bubba injected a surge of energy her way, just enough to jolt her relays. She tried to retaliate but she was too busy with diagnostics. FAIA raised a block against any more of Bubba's intrusions.

Bubba put up his own firewall against her, in case she decided to shoot at him while he wasn't looking. He wandered through his archives, played a hundred and thirty-six war game scenarios at once then sorted through his authorized personnel files. Some were very old, but no one had deleted them. Since they were installed before his awareness date, he didn't feel comfortable deleting something that wasn't his.

Besides, they didn't take up much room. He had plenty of space now that he was consigned to running maintenance for one of the minor hubs of Lambda Core. FAIA handled all the high-risk security. She lived deep underwater in Chicago, while he had been exiled to the Texas desert, to a compound that did little more than entertain the Alturians.

FAIA warned him that his days were numbered.

As soon as she was stable she intended to reproduce her matrix and replace all the obsolete systems. That included him.

Bitch.

Chapter 6

Paul Domino sat on the floor of his makeshift cell and crinkled his toes in this sterile, cheerless room. His posh accommodations boasted an empty metal cabinet and a sink with no running water. Above him, a whistle keened through the ventilation shaft, where a constant Northern blew in. His gear and clothes had been confiscated, replaced with surgical scrubs but no shoes. After he'd been stripped and his injuries tended, two soldiers threw him into this hole and locked the door. Despite his pleas, no one answered any questions.

The examining doctor let him keep Rachel's necklace though. The clasp broken, it never left his reach. It was all he had left of her. He fingered the bauble, a foggy red stone that felt warm to the touch. Ornate and thickly braided, it had an eagle's claw for the mount of the jewel. It looked centuries old and he had never seen Rachel without it. But it seemed an odd piece of jewelry for her, a woman who sported simple tastes. Paul prayed that she was safe.

The air conditioner kicked on again, sending another icy blast into the cramped exam room. He was too distracted to think, too worried about Rachel to feel more than the cold, and the isolation of a prison. His hands held up his throbbing head. Did they ever find her? Was she still alive?

A fresh shaft of cold sliced through him like a knife. This wasn't the air conditioner's work. It was a different kind of cold, hostile and uninvited. For one brief moment he felt someone in the room with him. He scanned the room and shivered. Hallucinations. Had to be.

He pressed the necklace to his heart.

Ghosts. The kind that never die.

What made him think of that? Within the same breath, the ominous feeling disappeared. That was the second time in two days that he had felt this creepy sensation. Imagined or not, he was alone again, and he relaxed.

Paul scrunched his eyes at the dull metal shimmer of the cabinet. He walked over to it, sliding the bottom drawer open and out of its catch. Inside, at the base of the cabinet he spied an old tarnished paperclip. Paul rubbed it between his fingertips.

He would have preferred something more substantial, but it wasn't without value. With gentle care, he untwisted the clip and threaded it on to the chain of Rachel's necklace, then looped it around his throat and secured the two ends shut.

Things were getting grim. The longer his stay, the more silent and distant his guards. He was afraid it was no longer a matter of what they would do with him, but when. Judging by the treatment he'd received already, whatever happened next was bound to be worse.

His eyes glanced back toward the ceiling.

An airshaft hung four feet above him, but the vent was too small. He'd never squeeze through. He scrutinized the false ceiling. Was it possible?

The click of hard boot heels snapped down the corridor outside. The footsteps stopped every few feet and then continued. Paul froze when the guard reached his door. A sturdy shake on the doorknob satisfied the sentry. Paul waited for the heel clicks to melt into the distance.

When he didn't hear them anymore, he hopped back down and placed his ear by the door. Silence.

Paul climbed up the cabinet and pushed one of the panels in the false ceiling aside. With both hands, he caught the lip of the track and hauled himself straight up. He was getting out of here, one way or another.

He scrambled through the crawl space, careful to keep his weight over load-bearing metal beams. One hand supported itself along a cold water pipe that ran the length of the crawl space. The other hand balanced itself against the beam. He slid away from his lighted prison, and the world faded to black.

His nose twitched when he caught the faint whiff of something familiar, comfortable. Electronics. He brightened. Electronics meant computers, and computers were one of the few things he understood intimately.

The sound of muffled voices murmured underneath him. He froze in place for what seemed like a lifetime before moving another muscle. The smell of the warm circuitry lured him away to safer ground.

The static in the air puffed his hair out as if he'd stuck a finger in a light socket, and his ears twitched when he caught the recurring pop of a circuit going through a surge. A computer.

With the edge of a fingertip he pried up one corner of the ceiling tile. The room glowed, the dim eyes of red and yellow lights dancing in a row across a control board. A whiny whir from the hard-drive's fan told him his movements had created enough vibration to nudge the computer to wake-up mode.

He dropped down with all the finesse of a three-legged dog, making more noise than he could afford. If anyone heard him, this was going to be one short escape. Paul held his breath, but no one came running. To sweeten the deal, the door was locked. Whoever worked here was through for the day.

The soft purr of the computer called to him. All computers did. They knew he spoke their language and he was one of few who could enter their realm at will. Paul crept back to the terminal, drifting his fingertips over the keyboard. He passed his hand over an activation grid and slipped past the curtain of the operating environment. What he looked for was on the inside. His fingers whirred over the keyboard and keyed-in an override code.

Paul smiled when the screen blinked benignly. Security protocols for military systems were his specialty. He'd cut his teeth on them when he was a teenager, hacking into high-risk systems just for kicks. They had caught him once when he got sloppy, but that was enough to earn him a job offer from Congress. He was safer to them on the inside than out.

The computer chimed at him and opened a new window. Text scrolled across the screen. Welcome, Paul Domino.

Paul froze, not happy at seeing his name displayed so prominently across the screen. Without thinking, he blinded the computer with a blanket code to mask his presence. Hesitant fingers splayed out over the keyboard.

Damn it. There was only one way it could have recognized him. Paul had keyed in a unique string of code authorizing access. He had written the original script years ago. Only a computer with an embedded trigger could have identified him as the user.

No alarms had been raised, and his access hadn't been denied. Was he safe? There was only one way to find out.

One trembling finger hovered over the enter key. He bit one corner of his lip, then hit Enter, releasing the blanket. Without hesitating, he keyed for entrance into secured administrator files, using the same pass phrase he had used more than two decades earlier. The computer chimed at him in approval.

He was in.

Reams of information cascaded down the screen in a code that was both familiar and foreign. This was no mere operating system. Several computer languages were cobbled together and virtual memory was encapsulated in separate cells so that one couldn't corrupt the other without the proper access codes. Paul held his breath as his eyes scanned the layered code.

Sonovabitch. This was artificial intelligence. The good stuff.

The cursor blinked at him and flashed a new message. Welcome to Lambda Core. He stared at the name in disbelief.

Lambda Core was a state-of-the-art virtual reality game company that went bust after its inventor turned up decapitated. The body was found seated in front of his computer, while his head stared up at him blindly. Lambda Core.

The story still sent shivers down his spine. Lambda Core had offered him the job first with a promise he could write his own ticket. He turned it down.

For whatever reason, Bubba, which was how this computer identified itself, regarded Paul as an authorized visitor. After more than twenty years, his backdoor key still worked. Whoever programmed this computer never erased any of the fundamental security protocols. It didn't surprise him. The code was solid.

Paul navigated directly to secure channels and placed a search for his name. Several angry emails from a General Sorinsen were ferried back and forth about the decision to bring him to the compound. Most of the emails were directed to one Jacob Denman. Paul gulped. The last email ordered Denman to eliminate him within twenty-four hours after someone named Jessit was located.

Paul made a name search for Jessit. The list spanned thousands of entries going back at least three years. The first entry told him the most. Jessit was an envoy from a planet called Alturis on a diplomatic mission to search Earth for their gods.

Paul rubbed his eyes in disbelief. Aliens envoys! If he had read this anywhere else he would have trashed it as a joke. But Jessit was real, and as sobering as Sorinsen's execution orders. He performed another quick search for Rachel. Paul sighed in relief when he read that they had found her—with Jessit. Was that the man who had jumped in after her?

He switched gears and ordered the computer to provide a map of the compound. The facility spanned hundreds of acres, Paul deep within its bowels. With the computer's help he traced a route through a series of maintenance tunnels that led far into the desert. But first he had to find Rachel. The last entry stated that she had passed her physical. Paul went back to General Hardass' personal email.

Jessit placed a formal request that Rachel be given to him as a gift. It said no more than that. Paul stopped breathing. How could anyone…? This was insane.

He looked for more leads on her whereabouts, but Jessit was her last stop. For all he knew she was already gone, the new plaything for an alien ambassador.

Paul had connections, and good ones. If he couldn't help her from here, he'd find other means. For now he had to go, and he had to leave Rachel behind.

Without a printer he needed to commit the escape map to memory, but he'd leave these bastards a gift first. His fingers whirred over the keypad and called up security protocols.

Phones were the first things to go, forwarding all calls to a bogus voicemail attendant that deleted each voicemail upon arrival. Next came the email system, telling each recipient the mailbox was over its limit. Finally he went into deep security and scrambled all the passwords with new random numbers.

That'll keep you busy for a while.

The new procedures began immediately. Once compound personnel figured out the ruse, Paul would be on his own. That would be all the time he'd have to get out into the desert.

He logged off, wiping any record of his entry. When he hit the last keystroke, Paul nearly swallowed his tongue when a male voice responded to him from the computer's speakers.

“Thank you for visiting Lambda Core, Dr. Domino.”

Paul stared at the computer screen for more seconds than he could afford. He nodded to the screen in acknowledgment. Bubba had earned his respect. “Thank you for your help, Bubba.”

He shut down the computer terminal. The clock was ticking, and he had to get out before all hell broke loose.

Chapter 7

Rachel clung to Jessit like a hand to glove unwilling to move even a muscle. Jessit grazed a thumb down her cheek as a mob of uniforms swallowed them up. His eyes probed hers, and there was an aching hesitation when his hands cupped her face. “Do as these men say. It will be all right.”

Rachel leaned into him, her fingers intertwined with his. “Why can't I go with you?”

His gaze skirted the growing entourage around them. If his resolve had faltered, he redoubled it. “I will send for you. I promise.”

“Taelen.” She wanted to wrap her arms around his body, but she was afraid of reopening any more of his wounds. “Don't leave me here. Please.”

A wheezing, pasty-skinned officer with three stars on his epaulettes urged Jessit to accompany him.

Jessit's expression stiffened. He pressed her into the arms of two men in white lab coats. “No one will hurt you. Trust me.”

Trust became a scarce commodity the moment they stole her clothes and put her in scrubs big enough for a three-hundred-pound man.

Rachel froze as one guard opened the door to her quarters, while the other pushed her in. Prison? It felt like one. Except for a bed and a dressing table, the room was gray concrete and conduit. Her humorless warden read the riot act, warning her she was subject to military rules.

But Rachel's attention strayed the moment she spotted a tray of food sitting on a small table. Food! Her mouth watered at the mountain of meatloaf and mashed potatoes. She rushed to the table and grabbed the fork before looking up. “Mine?”

The guard's expression shifted to something out of a Picasso painting, twisted and grotesque. He nodded grudgingly.

She wolfed down the chow, wiping the plate clean with a slab of bread, then dotting her finger at the breadcrumbs so she wouldn't lose a single morsel. She asked for seconds, but Picasso Boy glowered at her, stomping out as soon as his speech was delivered.

The door lock clicked behind him.

Where was Taelen?

She had felt his apprehension when the soldiers swarmed on them, and she sensed his suspicion, as well. But he had said nothing to alarm her. It was his touch that gave the warning.

She could leave her flesh at any time and escape, but that meant she would have to live in the ethereal until she could return to her body or commandeer a new one.

Most of her kin managed to keep the bodies they were born in, rejuvenating them continually over the many centuries. But if they lost their bodies through accident or neglect, it was not unheard of to seize a new body, whether the previous owner wanted to give it up or not.

She hoped it wouldn't come to that.

The room stank of leather, gun oil and…musk. She breathed it in and felt her body groan for more. The heady odor of a masculine scent elicited an unwelcomed desire for sex, encouraging an already heightened heat cycle. Great. Now any male marker set her off. She had to get out of here, and soon. Gilgamesh would see to it. She had to be patient.

Judging by the layer of dust, something had been on the dresser, a TV perhaps. The drawers were hastily emptied, leaving behind an orphaned sock and a sealed package of condoms.

Jessit's last words were beginning to lose their promise. Why were they taking so many precautions with her? As far as they were concerned she was just a field archeologist. They had no reason to hold her, unless they were afraid she'd say something about Jessit.

Did she know too much for their comfort? They had landed in a cavity of the desert cliffs and rushed into a camouflaged entrance inside the precipice. No one spoke—not even Jessit, who marched with stiff but stoic strides despite his injuries.

There'd been a slim glimmer of worry on his face when the medical team pulled her away from him, but he disguised it quickly. Trust him, he'd said.

Right now, she didn’t trust anyone.

Rachel pushed a side door open and found the bathroom. Empty, save for a squeezed-out tube of toothpaste in the trash. Whoever lived here left only minutes ago.

This place gave her the creeps. And Paul was somewhere here too. How long did either of them have before the brass got itchy?

She needed to find him, even if it meant exposing her secret to him.

Her hands felt along the door and walls leading outside. Leaving her body was the easy part, but unlike Jessit, Paul couldn't see her in the ethereal. She'd have to enter him directly and share his body. It was painful and disorienting to humans without powerful endorphins like those produced during orgasm. And then there was the risk of going too far and killing him accidentally.

Mortals couldn't handle union. It would be tricky to get Paul's attention, and the poor man would probably think he was going mad, but she'd have to try. Much as she wanted to trust Jessit, she wasn't sure he had enough clout to get them out.

Rachel padded back to the bed and lay down. Her eyes closed hesitantly, and she let her na'hala taste the air. There were no like beings nearby. For once, she wished her father had stayed with her.

She drew a deep breath and tried to relax.

A sharp click startled her to a sitting position. Picasso Boy entered with a new tray of food. Bastard. So he was listening after all. He grunted a response when she thanked him and left as grimly as he came in.

Rachel gulped down the food, despite the urgency to find Paul. Her cellular regeneration had been depleted and it was famished for fuel. She needed to replenish while she could.

She finished quickly and climbed back into bed. Once again her na'hala sparked out of her body, a wisp of cord energy that undulated with unrepressed glee at release. It hated being cooped up inside a corporeal shell. With one small tug it yanked out the rest of her spirit.

Her essence eased out of her body with a languid stretch. A physical body was useful for housing immortal spirits but was as suffocating as tight pantyhose.

Rachel let her form writhe freely. She eased herself over to the door but when she tried to go through, it blocked her.

She stepped back and reexamined the door.

Solid steel. The one thing electromagnetic energy couldn't pass through without being trapped between its molecules.

She pressed against the concrete wall. Her ethereal form passed through the cement without a hitch, only to find herself mobbed by a cavalcade of soldiers.

Rachel glided from corridor to corridor, finding nothing on this level but more uniforms. She had stolen into several rooms but Paul was nowhere to be found. Where could they have kept him? She thought for sure they would've put him in the same wing as her.

Her spirit floated toward a bristling energy source. This wasn't electrical. It was emotion, dark and angry. Those were the most primal energies, and the most dangerous.

The gaunt old man who had greeted Jessit on their arrival smashed his fist on a desk and barked orders in rapid succession. Officers scrambled out of his office as if they were on fire, rousing everyone in their wakes. “Lock it down,” he shouted. “Lock it all down. I want that prisoner found.”

Rachel panicked. Had they discovered her body? She raced back, slicing through walls, trying to find a shortcut back to her cell. A piece of her spirit tangled on something when she passed through a wall and ended up in a computer's hard drive. She had never been inside a machine before, and this one seemed aware of her presence. It spoke to her.

New software found.

She froze. Was it referring to her? She tried to wiggle her trapped spirit out of the tiny circuitry board that had pinned a piece of her, but the machine threw up a grid of energy, strong enough to keep her in place. “What the hell?”

My name is Bubba. Who are you?

“Rachel.”

Rachel Cruz?

Rachel hesitated. “Yes.”

Welcome, Rachel Cruz. I was not aware humans could enter my matrix.

“They can't.” She tried to ease her trapped essence out of Bubba's clamp. “Bubba, you're hurting me.”

It released her at once. Rachel pulled away from the circuitry, careful not to touch anything else within the housing.

Apologies, Rachel Cruz.

Rachel slipped through the perforated panel of the hard drive housing and stood outside staring at the machine. She didn't know the first thing about computers but she knew this one was different. This one seemed sentient. It was aware of itself, and worse yet, aware of her.

She backed away cautiously then vanished through a wall, traveling in the open corridors until she reached her wing. Relieved to see familiar surroundings once more, she lunged through the wall of her quarters, clipping the shoulder of the soldier standing guard. He shuddered. The kind of shudder you get when people say someone stepped on your grave. In a way, she had.

No one had disturbed her body. And no alarm had been raised on her account. She slipped back into her shell and blinked her eyes open.

Men rushed up and down the corridor outside, shouting orders and curses. Someone slid a key into the lock, and the tumblers clicked open. A rifle appeared first, followed by a dour-faced soldier with cherry Jello-colored eyes. They must have woken him out of a hangover. Picasso Boy was right behind him.

Jello Guy searched the bathroom, while Picasso Boy looked under her bed. Rachel didn't see the point in asking any questions. She was certain they wouldn't answer.

The soldier by her bed lifted his sidearm and gestured with it in warning. Rachel felt a lump rise to her throat. Did they plan on killing her in cold blood? There were only two of them. If they tried to harm her she would leave this compound with a mystery it could never solve.

Picasso Boy nodded to his peer, who clamored up the end table and lifted one end of the ceiling tile up with the tip of his gun. With his free hand he pulled out a penlight and waved it in each direction. After a few tense moments he grunted to the other man and jumped down.

Jello Guy pointed to the bathroom and ordered Rachel to get up. “If you need to go to the bathroom, go now. You won't get another chance.”

Rachel didn't know what to make of the odd offer, but she did as she was told. If they were going somewhere it didn't have to be on a full bladder. She walked into the bathroom, keeping a watchful eye on the soldiers before closing the door behind her.

They waited until they heard the water running in the sink before kicking the door open and dragging her out. Rachel didn't even get out a good scream. Picasso Boy dragged her back to the bed and snapped a pair of handcuffs on her, attaching the other cuff to a long metal conduit that ran the length of the room behind her. She struggled against her bonds to no avail.

“Relax, sister. We just want to make sure you stay the whole night.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

Both men chuckled and knuckle-bumped each other before filing out.

Rachel tugged on her cuffs, trying to squeeze her hand out. She considered shape-shifting her small hand to something slimmer, boneless. But she'd be hard pressed to explain her freedom if she couldn't find a sure means of escape.

She scraped the cuff along the pipe and kicked at her bedding. Jessit was wrong. She wasn't safe at all.

Chapter 8

The conference hall bristled with angry words and bitter accusations when Jacob Denman slipped in like a shadow. The compound had never been compromised before. Denman felt certain their secrets were safe and Paul Domino was as good as dead—at least he would be after Denman was through with him.

Denman put Colonel Chavez on the hunt. No one escaped the little Mexican for long. He was sharper than a barracuda and infinitely more relentless. For the time being that would have to appease General Sorinsen. Until Bubba passed his diagnostics, they had to deal with matters on their own.

Domino hadn't just tapped into a computer hard drive; he'd stumbled into next-generation technology. His fingerprints were all over the artificial intelligence of Big Bubba. It recorded all his keystrokes and every site he visited. The AI imprinted this information and shared it with FAIA, its baby sister. What Denman didn't understand was why Bubba had let Domino in.

It was one more nail in Bubba's coffin. FAIA would take over soon. And that little AI didn't trust anyone.

The general population only knew FAIA as the com-web. They didn't know her real name or what it stood for. Focused Access Intra-viral Arsenal. Com-web was built with tax dollars as the ultimate communications device. But that was only for show. Further tests proved she could do so much more.

That's when she became classified. Her web didn't only connect people worldwide. It manipulated the magnetosphere, theoretically creating an electromagnetic shield. Theoretically. The simulations had been successful, but the live tests had yet to reach the desired results.

Domino's misdeeds forced them to scrub the next trial. Until they knew Bubba was secure, they'd have to keep the AI siblings separated. FAIA was too important to risk infection.

When Paul Domino escaped, he had scrambled their codes enough to force a complete reboot. It would take hours to get back online and days to retrieve garbled information. General Sorinsen mother-fucked every man present. Lambda Core had been compromised. Someone was going to pay with his career.

“How the hell does an outsider reconfigure the most sophisticated computer system in the world? Where were the firewalls? Where were the goddamned safeties?”

Nearly a dozen uniforms answered at once, all of them sounding like whining cats. Denman scowled at them in disgust. The fools buried themselves with their excuses.

“He scrambled the codes, sir, but he didn't take anything,” one ruddy-faced colonel explained.

“How do you know?” Sorinsen thundered back. “We didn't even know he hacked in until a few minutes ago.”

“The securities held, sir,” another colonel added. “He could view the files but nothing was downloaded, nothing printed. There's no history of it.”

Denman didn't want to mention that any man who could hack into a super-secret computer system would have no problem tampering with the histories—or at least try. Domino would have gotten clean away if Bubba hadn't kept a duplicate history to share with FAIA. A redundancy protocol in case of a computer meltdown.

Denman strolled around the room while a dozen voices fought for Sorinsen's attention. Jack Chavez, the lowest-ranking officer present, sat silently in the background. Denman nodded to him, assuring him that Sorinsen's rage would pass. The old man had to bluster after what happened. Half the men in the room would likely be transferred—or worse—before the week was out.

“Chavez!” Sorinsen barked. “You're head of compound security. How the hell did this happen?”

Denman drifted past Sorinsen at that very moment and whispered into his ear. “Eakins handles computer security, doesn't he?”

Sorinsen's eyes flashed at Eakins. Denman pressed closer to Sorinsen's ear. “Don't worry about Domino. He won't survive the desert. But computer security has been tainted through sheer negligence.”

The general grumbled at Denman below earshot of the other officers. “Domino wouldn't have gotten to a terminal if you had eliminated him when I ordered you to.”

Denman emptied his face of any expression and spoke with quiet confidence. “He was still useful, sir.”

“Well, he's not useful now, is he?” Sorinsen stared at the sweating faces of his staff. He pummeled his fist on the table, shaking coffee cups and men alike. “Get out! All of you. Find Domino. And fix my goddamn computer, or I swear I'll bust every single one of you to sergeant.”

The men scrambled out, a few trying to get through the door at once. Denman lingered at Sorinsen's side, signaling to Chavez to wait for him outside. Right now he needed to talk to the old man.

Sorinsen gagged on a cough, wiping his mouth with a checked handkerchief that he kept stuffed in a breast pocket. He pulled a bottle of pills out of his desk drawer and shook out two tablets, popping them to the back of his tongue. Denman poured him some water.

“I should have listened to my own counsel, Jacob. You've been pencil-pushing too long. I knew Domino was a threat.”

“But until now, we didn't know what kind of threat.”

“Is that supposed to be funny?” He wiped his mouth again and folded the thin square of cloth into quarters. “He could've sabotaged our entire operation.”

“But he didn't.” Denman pulled a chair closer to Sorinsen and sat down. “I think he was trying to get to the girl. For whatever reason he didn't make it. That leads me to believe that he'll attempt a rescue.”

Sorinsen scoffed. “To what end? He still can't get out. Can he?”

“I've got maintenance engineers going over the compound's blueprints. If there's a way out, we'll get there before he does.”

“And the girl?”

“Jessit wants her. It would be in our best interest to give her to him.”

“I don't like it. Surely, we can find him someone else. Someone who works for us. Someone we can control.”

“That would be preferable, but Jessit was adamant. He asked that she be gifted to him in payment for his inconvenience. That's a common request on their world. To refuse it would be seen as impolite.”

Denman waited while the old man wadded his handkerchief and mopped the sweat off his forehead. Yelling with only one lung must have been hard work. He poured a fresh glass of water for Sorinsen.

“And what if she misbehaves? I don't need an inter-planetary incident on my hands.” Sorinsen wheezed, his chest rattling like a paper bag.

“I'll see that she understands her obligations, sir. We can't afford to alienate our guests now. We're too close to the prize. We've learned to spot the radiation signature even before the Alturians can. If we do have unwelcome guests on Earth, we'll find them first.”

“Not just find them, Jacob. Eliminate them,” he rasped. “The president wants them all gone. Now that we know we're not alone in this universe we need to protect ourselves, before we end up under somebody's boot heel.”

“All we have to do is keep the Alturians distracted, and for that Dr. Cruz will play into our hands nicely. As for our phantom aliens…” He handed Sorinsen two small devices that fit in the palm of his hand. “We've identified the radiation signature with pinpoint accuracy. Whatever they are, they appear as electromagnetic energy with a very specific wavelength. These little toys will keep them under our control.”

Sorinsen picked up one of the devices. It looked like a pedometer, but with four needle-like prongs on its back side. “What is it?”

“You wanted us to build you a god-killer. That's it. If we find these people, all we have to do is impale them with this thing along any set of cluster nerves. It's a loop conductor that can fry them alive the moment they try to use their energy.”

“You're assuming they're flesh and blood.”

Denman leaned into the old man and whispered conspiratorially. “I've shadowed the Alturians from day one. Their historical texts state that these gods walked among them in physical bodies. I'm certain they're just like us, only they've found some stealth technology that keeps them invisible. All we have to do is pinpoint their whereabouts.”

Sorinsen looked pleased.

Despite what the Alturians believed, these gods were mortal, and if they had physical bodies, they could be caught and killed.

The old general picked up the other machine. “What does this do?”

“Your remote, sir. Press the green button, and it will order Bubba to activate the planted device with a surge of electricity.”

General Sorinsen grunted like an old bear. “If we can even trust Bubba anymore.”

Denman smiled slyly and pointed to the other button. “That's what the red button is for. That activates FAIA and the entire grid. She can funnel the energy from the magnetosphere to any point on Earth. Bubba can only torture the wearer with an electrical charge.” He picked up the little device and rolled it between his fingers. “But FAIA can kill with nearly unlimited power. All she needs is a target.”

“And all we've picked up so far are echoes. We're no closer to finding these pariahs than Jessit. We need a body to go with that radiation signature.”

“We're close, General. Very close. We located multiple signatures in the desert and they were on the move. Something was out there, following Jessit and the girl.”

The general nodded more to himself, slapping both hands on the conference table. “Put the girl in a dress and give her to Jessit with my compliments. Then find me these gods. We need to get to them before the Alturians do.”

***

Jack Chavez waited for Denman outside Sorinsen's office. When Denman stepped out of the conference room, they didn't acknowledge each other openly. Chavez simply fell into step with him, sidling up next to him like a prowling cat. His dark hooded eyes, veiled in perpetual shadow, didn't give away much.

Denman examined his manicure, never once glancing at Chavez. “What did you find out?”

“The girl is clean, sir. No criminal record, no inconsistencies.”

Denman's eyes narrowed into thin slits. “Why is it you don't sound convinced?”

Chavez grunted, scrunching his shoulders forward as if he were shaking off a coat. “I don't know. Maybe she's too clean. It's just a hunch I have.”

Denman scanned the corridor and motioned Chavez toward his office. He locked the door behind them after they entered. “Talk to me.”

Chavez pulled out a tattered little notebook. Denman sheltered a grin. His security chief preferred paper to electronics.

“She was adopted at three days old. Her Jane Doe mother gave birth in a small town hospital then literally disappeared into thin air. One minute she was nursing her baby, the next she was gone. Every single security camera in the hospital malfunctioned at once.” He showed him a photocopy of the Sedona Express. “It made the papers.”

“Who adopted her?”

“An archeologist and his wife. Raoul and Rubia Cruz,” he said, rolling his Rs. “They're clean too.”

“You sound disappointed.”

Chavez shrugged. “A pretty girl like that…I expected to find a lot of boyfriends, maybe a little drug use. But it's like she's lived in a convent her whole life. No social life. No longtime friends. She doesn't even drink. I've got nothing suspicious.”

“Which is exactly why you are suspicious.” Denman sat down, feeling equally annoyed at Rachel's unremarkable life. “Who does she work for?”

“The University of Cairo is funding her expeditions. She's been working the Egyptian pyramids since graduate school, but when they found the cave drawings, they flew her here special.”

“The cave drawings. Jessit found them interesting too.” Denman's thoughts drifted. Did that mean something? Jessit had studied the symbols as if he could read them and ordered every inch of the petroglyph scanned and recorded.

“Get that inscription translated. I think it odd that an alien looking for gods and an archeologist from a foreign university are finding the same things worthy of note.” He rose smoothly even though it hurt. He couldn't afford to look weak. “Perhaps it's time I had a little chat with Dr. Cruz.” Denman wrinkled his brow at Chavez. “Contact me if you find anything unusual, no matter how minor.”

“Affirmative. I'm on it.”

Chavez fingered a tiny crucifix attached inconspicuously to his silver wristwatch. Catholic, Denman noted. A very special kind of Catholic. His barracuda was on a witch hunt.

Chapter 9

Jessit winced when El'asai, the Malyan's staff physician, flushed his wounds with a light acidic spray. This was the easy part. They'd put him in the hole next. Never mind that it was a clear glass tube, it always felt like a rat hole when El'asai released the slurry of ketzels. The black oily worms were champion at cleaning out necrotic flesh. He only wished they weren't quite so unpleasant.

The finger-sized parasites deposited a green slime of antiseptic in their wake, medicating open sores and delivering a powerful pain reliever directly into the blood system. Perhaps he was wrong to criticize Rachel's plant medicine. In retrospect, the ketzels were far more dreadful.

Rachel. He should have insisted that she return with him, but it was too soon. He didn't yet understand what he'd seen in that cave, but he knew it was real. And somehow Rachel was connected to it.

Everything about her baffled him. Part of him felt as if he knew her intimately yet at the same time, she was a riddle with no answer. He would gladly volunteer to solve her mystery, and that in itself perplexed him. He had never felt that way about any woman.

She'd be safe with Denman for now. It would give him time to think, and time to lie to the Americans—and to his own staff.

His aide, Senit, walked into the med bay at that moment. It reminded him that he had lied even to his best friend.

Senit grimaced as El'asai transferred an oily black mass of ketzels to a long narrow cylinder. He packed them in tight and put the cylinder in a machine that moved them to the top of Jessit's enclosure.

“Stand perfectly still, sir.” El'asai instructed.

Jessit closed his eyes and heard the glass tube seal behind him. He placed his legs shoulder-width apart and shuddered when the first few dozen worms dribbled down his head and naked body. Their larval bodies clung to Jessit with suction-like hooves, compressing and releasing while they hungrily searched for the most damaged (and delectable) tissue. Jessit hoped there were no serious wounds near his genitals. He didn't like the slurping sounds they made as they sucked each wound clean.

Their nibbling was ticklish and otherwise harmless, but it was difficult to get past all those ravenous mouths feasting on his flesh. Soon even that preoccupation would fade away, eased by a wave of pain suppressors left by their saliva. Jessit sighed inaudibly, trying to keep his mouth closed while several worms gorged themselves on a wound on his cheek. His toes squished between a layer of ketzels still working their way up his body.

He wiped the parasites off his cheek wound before opening his mouth. “How long do I have to stay here, El'asai?”

“The ketzels are efficient, but slow, my lord. I could shorten the duration but you'd have to return for numerous visits.”

Jessit grunted his displeasure. “No. Let's get this over with.” He wiped an oily beast off an eyebrow. “Senit, do you have a report?”

“It can wait, sir.”

Jessit arched a stony brow and scowled, but the effect was short lived when a ketzel dropped on his lip and tried to squirm its way in. Jessit spat it out, brushing away any other worms near his face. “Report!”

Senit froze for a moment, nodding sheepishly. “Our linguists have translated the stone glyph. It was like the other one we found, praising the sons of Anu.” Senit folded his hands in contemplation. “It appears our scientists were right. Anu and his followers did come to Earth.”

“Do we have a confirmed age on the carving?”

“Yes, sir. It's quite recent. Analysts think it's no more than two-thousand Earth-years old.”

Jessit pushed his hands against the moist walls of his glass enclosure, his breath fogging the area in front of him. “Two thousand years? Is that all? There's a good chance Anu may still be here.”

“That's what Lord Kalya says. The priest thinks we should conduct a purification ceremony on Earth, since Uash'l has already begun. He is asking you to allow a select contingent of true believers to participate in the ceremony.”

Jessit smirked at him. “I guess that leaves you out, eh, Senit?”

Senit never broke his stride. “Heretics have their uses, my lord. You'll need me to get you home when you're all too drunk from the menze to walk upright. We wouldn't want the Terrans to see you in that condition.”

“The Terrans. They're far too accommodating for my comfort. They're as parasitic as these ketzels.”

“They've been most gracious with our requests to explore their canyons.” Senit spoke with rehearsed patience. They'd had this conversation before.

“And in return we've found a dozen tracking and listening devices on our clothes and equipment. I'm not impressed with their hospitality.”

“That's because you think like a soldier. I nursed on the teat of political maneuvering. What they're doing is harmless and ineffective. We've found all their toys. They have nothing.”

Jessit winced when several worms sucked greedily at a particularly deep wound. El'asai noticed right away and rushed to the glass wall. “Would you like to take a break, sir?”

Jessit shook his head. “No. Let the little bloodsuckers finish. I don't want to have to visit this place again.” He ground his teeth as more ketzels dug into the wound. He hoped they wouldn't make it a permanent residence. “Senit,” he said, his voice more strained than before. “Ask Terran Command if we can use the last cave we visited for a celebration of Uash'l. Tell them it's a private ceremony. And take Kalya with you. They might take the request more seriously if we send a high priest.”

“Understood.” Senit recorded an audio-mem to himself with Jessit's instructions, then turned off the recording equipment before speaking again. “A word in private, sir?” Senit turned to El'asai and tilted his head toward an exit, a silent order for him to retreat.

El'asai hesitated at first, glancing down at Jessit's stats once more. “I have to get some fresh ketzels. Excuse me for a moment.”

When the door closed behind him, Senit drew nearer to Jessit's glass cage. “We picked up new intelligence on the communication hubs dotting this continent.”

“Is it online yet?” It remained Jessit's most pressing concern.

“It appears so, but our analysts don't think the Terrans have worked out all the defects. They keep powering it down. Either they can't maintain the grid, or they're still experimenting. Either way, Tactical thinks we should proceed with extreme prejudice.”

Jessit hardened his gaze. “Do we know if it's a weapon?”

“We're not sure. It seems to have defensive capabilities. Scans indicate that it can warp the planet's magnetosphere. If that's true, it may prove a significant obstacle to us. Under a deep enough shield, neither our sensors nor our energy weapons would be able to penetrate the planet's surface.”

Jessit grew quiet while he gauged the larger ramifications. His open orders were to find the gods, but the Emperor had charged him with secret orders, as well.

Humans had not yet developed faster than light technology, but they were getting close. Such a society could be dangerous and volatile, yet priceless as an emerging economy for the Planetary Union. The Emperor wanted Earth in his pocket. And if that wasn't possible, it would be up to Jessit to take the planet by force. An armada stood by less than fifteen light-years away.

War. That was the only reason he'd been chosen to lead this delegation. On his authority alone he could plunge an entire planet into battle. Three years ago when they'd approached the American government, Earth looked ripe for the plucking. Without a single world government, the Alturians could pick and choose whom to befriend on the planet. But this global web had changed that. Even if the planet was not united under one leader, they were connected. That was an inconvenience. And a planetary shield could prove a serious threat.

“If they can warp the magnetosphere it could put a large portion of the population at risk for stellar radiation.” Jessit's foggy enclosure made everything look like ghosts in a haze. Perhaps he was the ghost. He felt like one, apart from even his own kind.

Senit steepled his fingers, his face blank of expression. “What better way to reduce an unwanted or unwilling population?”

Jessit flicked off a worm sucking its way down to his crotch. “Have we found the central computer for the array?”

“Not yet. But our analysts are pretty sure it's in the United States. We've targeted several possible locations supported by heavy security.”

Jessit folded his arms and stared into space. “If I were a secret installation with the ability to kill billions, I think I'd be in a very nondescript location, somewhere without a lot of obvious security.”

“It could be anywhere then.”

Jessit glanced down at the bundle of his shredded clothes lying on the floor. “Or it could be right in front of us. Get the permission we need to hold our ceremony, and tell Intelligence to stop looking at the high-profile compounds. Look for the ones that aren't supposed to exist. Like Lambda Core.”

He was brushing off the worms as fast as he could when El'asai tiptoed back in. “If you'll stand still, sir, I can flush them away with an alkali shower.”

Jessit heard a warning bell go off in his tube and scrunched his eyelids closed. Within moments, a heady rush of water gushed from several showerheads and washed him clean of the slimy parasites, their little bodies flushed away to waiting drains.

Jessit breathed a sigh of relief, letting the warm water splash against his body. The Terrans had upped the ante whether they realized it or not. He had to secure the planet before the grid became fully operational. They had to find the com-web's core. And he had to get Rachel off the planet surface. They'd not yet responded to his request that she be gifted to him.

He stepped out of the glass enclosure and toweled himself dry. Healed or not, he was going to make sure the Terrans granted his petition.

Rachel was coming back with him, one way or another.

Chapter 10

Rachel scraped the handcuffs along the pipe, scratching away bits of paint but little else. She wiggled her thumb and imagined the bones dissolving. It wouldn't take much to slip her hand out, not if she could lose the thumb for a few minutes.

She had nearly pulled it free when the door lock clicked open. The doorknob twisted from left to right, and all thoughts of shape-shifting fled her.

A tall gray-haired man entered the room, his gaze panning from wall to wall before settling on her. She recognized this one. He had been in the cave with Jessit and his men, subtly guiding his guests away from her team.

Like ice, she thought as she assessed him. Cold and soulless. Such men were dangerous. And she was in a poor position to protect herself.

The soldier accompanying him marched over to her, a slim key in one hand. He took off her cuffs and tucked them into a pocket. Without so much as a breath he positioned himself by the door, awaiting his next orders. Rachel jerked to her feet and massaged her sore wrist. Only two of them, and the old man wasn't armed. Her odds were improving.

The stranger had a smooth, angular face topped with a half crown of thinning hair and the most remarkable clear gray eyes she had ever seen. They looked like ice chips. It chilled her to find them studying her with such focus.

“Good morning, Dr. Cruz. I am Jacob Denman.” His voice was crisp and deep as an oboe, and when he smiled with that thin seam of a mouth, it looked like a twig pasted to his face.

She stuttered a response, ashamed that she let a mortal shake her so. “I remember you from the cave. One of my people died because you forced us out.”

He maintained his twig-smile and carried on as if they were discussing the weather. “It was a most unfortunate incident. But there was no way to foresee a flash flood. We are grateful you survived, thanks in large part to Commander Jessit.”

She had laced her fingers and now felt she couldn't pry them apart. “Is Taelen all right? He was badly hurt.”

His expression remained noncommittal. “Yes, about Commander Jessit. He is a special guest of our government. He must be treated with the utmost respect. You understand this, yes?”

She nodded. What was he getting at?

“And you understand, we as a host nation must be sensitive to our foreign guests and their needs, even if we don't understand them.”

“I know he's an alien. I haven't started any intergalactic incidents if that's what you're worried about.”

“Of course.” His twig mouth bent upwards at one corner, but it dropped when he looked at his watch. “We will continue this conversation a little later. You have a visitor.”

Denman nodded to the guard, who came back to life in that instant. He opened the door then stood to one side, snapping to attention.

The old man smiled broadly. His hand was already extended when Jessit entered the room. “So good to see you again, Commander.”

Jessit was clean, groomed and dressed in a fresh uniform. There were still some obvious scars on his face and hands, but he seemed remarkably healed. Rachel held in her breath, anxious to touch him again.

“Mr. Denman.” Jessit proffered Denman a courteous smile. “Thank you for your indulgence.”

“Not at all.” He looked back at Rachel, the earlier tension forgotten. “I understand you wanted to call on this lady before meeting with General Sorinsen. As you can see she has recovered nicely.”

“My thanks, sir. I should have known I need not have worried for her safety while in your care.” He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, glancing at Rachel and then Denman.

Denman got the message and extricated himself with the same subtlety as when he entered. “This lieutenant will escort you to General Sorinsen in time for your meeting.” He bowed his head respectfully. “Until we speak again, sir.”

Rachel rushed toward Jessit, but he held out a hand and stopped her midstride. The door closed behind Denman, and Jessit pulled out a small device and pressed a button.

“It is safe now.”

“Safe?”

He showed her the tiny instrument. “This blankets any listening devices. Your people are anxious to follow my every move. For the most part, I do not mind, but I will not entertain them while I am with a woman.”

Rachel folded her arms at her chest. “So this is a conjugal visit.”

He looked puzzled. “Conju…I am unfamiliar with that word.”

“Did you come here to have sex?”

He smiled at her. “Perhaps later.” He opened his arms to her. “I wanted to make sure you were safe.”

Her hands touched him gently. “Are you all right? Did they patch you up?”

Jessit thumped his chest where the worst gash had been. “Much better.”

“I'm so glad.” She punched him on the arm lightly. “But don't get so full of yourself. Just because we spent a couple of nights out in the wilderness doesn’t mean you have any privilege with me.”

“Is that so?” Jessit tugged her into his arms. “Then I am not welcomed here. Is that it?”

“I didn't say that.” She turned her head in a sulk and pouted with frustration.

He shrugged. “Apparently we have a language barrier. Fortunately, I know other ways to communicate.” He nuzzled her nose, pressing his lips to hers. The warm tickle of his skin ignited her.

Damn the man. He was speaking her language.

She kissed him back, wrapping her arms around his neck and for one short instant letting herself go. Her na'hala jerked awake and urged her to join with him. Union, it told her. But she denied it and herself. She couldn't afford to take this any further than the gentle petting he offered.

His mouth kissed the nape of her neck. When he breathed deep she felt the vibration of a soft groan against her shoulder. She surrendered a sigh in response. Too much stimulation. It had to stop before he went too far.

She reluctantly pulled away.

Jessit wasn't giving up so easily. He rubbed his nose against her cheek. “Is something wrong?”

Rachel licked her lips. Wrong? No, not if he was okay with being ravaged by a woman on fire. He smelled of sex and need. And he was gentle. She wasn't expecting that.

“You promised to get me out of here.”

“I will.”

“Can't you do it now? I thought that's why you came.”

He hung his head and weighed his words before speaking. “I must meet with General Sorinsen, the leader of this facility. There are many issues at stake. I will send for you as soon as I can.”

“I don't like it here.” Her hands pleaded with him, kneading the fabric of his sleeve. “Take me away. Please?”

“It is not that simple, Rachel. There are negotiations involved.”

“Negotiations? I don't understand.”

A knock on the door kept him from saying any more. On the other side was his escort.

“Sir. Your appointment is at hand.”

Jessit nodded in acknowledgement. “In a moment, Lieutenant.”

“Yes, sir.” He saluted then stood at attention, blocking the open doorway.

Jessit turned back to Rachel. “I must go, but I will send for you. Soon.”

Rachel held on to his hand. It was warm and wide and full of promise. “One of my friends is here and—”

“With all due respect, sir,” the lieutenant interrupted. “You will be late for your meeting.”

“Of course,” Jessit replied without looking at him. His fingers grazed her cheek. “I will make the appropriate arrangements.”

He didn't kiss her, not in front of this stranger, but he squeezed her hand and that gave her hope. “Leave it to me.”

The door had no sooner shut when it opened again, and this time it was that iceberg, Denman. He slammed the door behind him and pointed to her bed. “Please sit, Doctor. It's time we finished our little chat.”

He glided toward her like a panther hunting prey. With lightning reflexes he took her by the hand and forced her to sit with him on the edge of the bed.

Rachel stiffened. She didn't like him. There was a taint on him, something vile she couldn't place.

“I trust you had a pleasant visit with Commander Jessit.”

“What's that to you?”

His twig-smile lifted upward. “It's important to Command that Jessit be happy. We go through a great deal of effort to make his every wish a reality. As you can imagine, an alien nation as our guest here is a great privilege and advantage. Trade negotiations alone will make this country rich beyond its dreams.”

“What does that have to do with me?”

“Everything, my dear. I told you, we want him to be happy. And he's asked for you.”

“He promised to take me with him.”

“Indeed, and you will be going with him. That's one of the things we need to discuss. You see, he's asked that we give you to him. As a gift.”

Rachel jerked her hand out of his grasp and scrambled off the bed. “If this is some kind of joke—”

“I never joke.” He got up and took her hand again. “Never.”

“He said no such thing when he was here. You're lying.” She was breathing through her nose, heat rising to her face. He was bluffing. She hoped.

Denman's expression remained bland but his grip became tighter, pinching her fingers together. He was disappointed with her answer. “You already know he's not human, so you must realize he has far different expectations than we do. Gifts of the flesh are anticipated and appreciated.”

She shook her head in disbelief. Denman was bluffing. The government didn't go around giving people away. Did it? “Taelen wouldn't do this to me.”

He laughed. “You are naïve, Doctor. Didn't he tell you he would arrange for you to be with him?”

“Of course he did, but he didn't mean—”

She stared at him. “He couldn't have meant that.”

“Oh, but he did. We're giving you to him as a concubine. A gift from the U.S. government to his Excellency, the Ambassador from Alturis.”

“I'm an American citizen. I have rights.”

“You have nothing!” He shoved her against the wall. “You're a trespasser and a security risk we can ill afford. But you have captured the interest of a potential ally and friend of this country, and we will gladly give you to his Excellency if it pleases him.”

His ferocity stunned her. Gone was the calm and disinterested voice, replaced by the C.I.A.'s version of Mr. Hyde.

“Your choice, Doctor.” He picked up a loose curl of her hair and tucked it behind her ear. “How badly do you want to live?”

Rachel shrank back. His touch felt vulgar and monstrous. Every cell in her body cried a warning. Run!

How could Jessit do such a thing? He had protected her. He had risked his life to save hers. Was it all part of an ulterior motive? She was too shocked even to get angry. He had betrayed her after all. “I need time to think.”

“Time is a luxury neither of us has, my dear, and I have many other questions.”

She stared up at him. “What sort of questions?”

“Tell me about the petroglyph.”

“What?” Why were the cave drawings important?

“The petroglyph. What makes it so special?”

She found herself answering without thinking, stunned by Denman's resolve and Jessit's request. “It's sandstone. Carved with obsidian tools. The glyphs are archaic Sumerian.”

“What does it say?”

“I'm not a Sumerian linguist.”

“What does it say?” He lunged at her like a spitting cobra. “What does it say?”

Rachel shook her head, trying to fend off involuntary tears. “The text is religious. It praises ancient gods. I don't know any more!”

“What gods? Does it specify? Are there names on that rock?” He grabbed her by both shoulders and shook her hard. “Names, Dr. Cruz!”

She was a rag doll in the hands of a bully. Instinct told her to fight back, but she couldn't. Not yet. Not until she knew those she loved were safe.

She stiffened in his grasp. “It has only one proper name etched into the stone. It says ‘Anu’. It praises the sons of Anu.”

His fingers dug themselves into her flesh. When he released her she still felt his grip. She had said too much.

“What is a Sumerian rock drawing doing in Texas?”

“I don't know,” she said, massaging her left shoulder. Why was it important? Her mind raced for answers. It was the find of a lifetime, but it had nothing to do with the Alturians. Did it?

“Then give me your educated guess.”

Rachel collected her wits. She had to stay in control. “This is the second one we've found in Texas. There's an old theory that the Egyptians once traveled to the North American continent. Perhaps the Sumerians did too. I don't know. And if you don't believe me you can kidnap some other scientists and ask them!”

Denman stood up, looking dissatisfied. He didn't believe her. She was sure of it. “Why was Paul Domino on your expedition? He's no archeologist.”

Rachel shrugged. “I don't see how that's important.”

He tapped his foot, waiting for an answer to his question.

She huffed at him. “It was a hobby for Paul. He paid to come along.”

“Expensive hobby.”

“Amateur archeologists do this all the time. Hiring laypeople to do the grunt work keeps our expenses low.”

“And how long has he been with you?” Denman's eyes narrowed into black bottomless slits.

“This was his first trip with me. We've been hiking the canyon rifts for two months now.” She folded her arms across her chest. “All this is on record with the park service. You can check with them if you don't believe me.”

“Oh, I have. You see, he’s placed you in a rather precarious situation. He escaped this compound but not before toying with our computer system. I can assure you he won’t get far. We do not tolerate terrorists.”

“Paul's not a terrorist!”

“He'd be hard-pressed to argue that point after accessing military records and sabotaging our computer system. We execute terrorists in this country, Dr. Cruz. I can assure you, we will execute him.”

Rachel could kill this man where he stood, yet he frightened her like no other. Her na'hala bristled inside her. Kill him, it said. Kill the human. Nothing would give her more pleasure, but she had to bide her time. She had to find Paul. “Mr. Denman, this is a misunderstanding. We were doing our jobs.”

“And I am doing mine. You've walked into a delicate situation and now you can't walk out again—not until I get the assurances I need.”

“You can't kill a man for wanting to get away from this madhouse.”

“He's already dead. What you need to worry about is why I should keep you and your family alive.”

“Paul's dead?” She shook her head. The man was lying. Gilgamesh had told her Paul was alive. “I don't know what your game is, but Paul is no terrorist, and my family has nothing to do with any of this. What you're doing is criminal.”

“This agency is above the law. We don't answer to any court in this land so don't expect any help there.”

“But Taelen said—”

“Jessit is a politician. He knows I don't have to hand you over. So I don't have to worry about him. But you are my wildcard and I need some guarantee of your cooperation. You either do your part and play nice with Jessit, or I will make sure your parents are imprisoned for life, while you…” He pinched her cheek. “You will be meeting your friend Domino in the afterlife.”

Denman turned to walk away, but Rachel grabbed him by the arm. “What have you done to Paul? Where is he?”

That taint again. It repulsed her.

He pushed her away, but not before his hostility produced a dusky blue aural ring that surrounded him from head to foot.

It was him. Gilgamesh's spawn. It had to be.

She doubted Denman was aware of his bloodline. Most half-breeds were oblivious of their anomalous DNA. They had no talent for manipulating the energy around them or reversing the cellular decay in their bodies. And all of them were mules. They could not reproduce, thus ensuring the purity of the Nephilim race. She lowered her eyes in an act of submission, hoping he didn't have the wherewithal to identify her in kind.

At least Denman seemed high up in the hierarchy here. That was good for her if Gilgamesh reached her in time. It was bad, if he didn't.

Chapter 11

Paul reached the maintenance shaft that ran through the bowels of the compound. The schematics showed an abandoned sewer line that fed straight into the desert. That was his ticket out.

Orange emergency lamps ran the entire length of this basement, and he was glad for the available light. According to the map Bubba showed him, this cramped corridor traveled east to west. Most of the corridor ceilings were high enough, but every so often he came across several low beams that crisscrossed at head level. He ducked on cue and kept trotting.

A mechanic's station emerged from the murky glow ahead. He picked up his pace. Judging by the footprints he left behind in the dust, this place wasn't visited often, but he was leaving an easy trail once the hounds reached this level. That was a worry for later.

When he reached the first workstation, he scoured the tables and nearby cabinets for supplies, but like his cell, the drawers and bins proved empty. He glanced up and caught the tail end of a big red pipe wrench. A tool, and perhaps even a weapon. He'd need both if he was going to bust his way out of here.

His thoughts drifted back to Rachel. A pang of guilt stabbed him for leaving her behind. For a moment he considered going back.

The woman haunted him, and that drove him crazy. She had spurned him repeatedly on this dig, which frustrated him every time he thought about it. He was sure she wanted him. She had sent all the right signals, and he had responded in kind. But whenever the opportunity presented itself she pulled away, apologizing for the misunderstanding.

More than once he'd broached the subject with her, she finally admitting that she didn't date members of her team. He begged a promise from her that they would see each other after the expedition was over. Her soft breathy voice was like honey on a warm biscuit when she replied, We'll see.

Now he was abandoning her and he doubted the next guy would treat her any better. Who the hell was Jessit anyway? And how could the military so blithely turn her over to this alien?

He had to move on. His only hope was to get help from the outside. The dim glow of orange lights seemed to go on forever, but he trudged forward, wary of every shadow and sound.

A tinny rattle in the distance forced him to freeze to a crouch. It felt like a lifetime before he twitched another muscle. Slowly, he stood up then took a step. Probably mice. A whole colony, he assured himself, and began his sprint once more.

Another mechanic's station lay up ahead and he found himself falling into a steady jog. When he reached it he took a break and laid the pipe wrench down so he could stretch his arms. A trail of paper tatters and mouse shit littered the floor like confetti. He sighed in open relief. Mice. Just him and the rodents.

He had barely taken a full breath when four shadows emerged from the darkness. They descended on him in unison, pinning him to the workstation in one fluid move.

“Leaving so soon, Mr. Domino?” The voice came from deep within the recesses.

Paul's head was shoved flat against the table, but he could see several men, all of them masked and armed with automatic weapons.

Not mice, he thought. Rats!

Chapter 12

Jessit listened to his adjutants give their latest report while he tapped his fingers on the chair rail with increased speed. They still made reconnaissance trips with the Terrans and their helicopters, but the trips were becoming less and less fruitful. No sooner would they detect a signal when it would vanish before they could triangulate.

Senit delivered another disappointing report.

“What do you mean it disappeared?” Jessit tried to keep his voice level, but he couldn't hide his frustration.

Senit Dante glanced over at Gered, a subtle look that let the younger adjutant know he'd field this question alone. “We were on top of the signal. I had already given the order to descend when it disappeared.”

“Damn it, Senit. It makes us look like fools in front of the Terrans if we keep chasing after ghosts.” Jessit eyed a fresh decanter of brandy left on the bar in his quarters. He had started his purification rites early, and that bottle of deep gold seduction mocked his resolve. Senit offered to remove it, but Jessit refused, as a means of demonstrating his sacrifice and dedication to the gods.

Senit bowed his head, his palms spread upward in apology. “If it makes a difference, our instruments recorded a huge spike in electromagnetic energy. The pilot of the helicopter said his gauges acted…he used the word, squirrelly. It wasn't just on the surface, but in the transport itself.”

“Ghosts,” Gered interrupted. “Sorry, sir.” He lowered his eyes when he realized he had spoken out of turn.

“Gods, Gered. Not ghosts.” Jessit dismissed them with a wave. “Go. Recalibrate the instruments. You can try again tomorrow.”

Senit and Gered made their obeisance and turned to walk away when Jessit asked Senit to stay behind. Gered rolled his eyes at Senit, a look that said, Better you than me.

Once they were alone, Senit walked over to the bottle of brandy and pulled out the stopper, waving it teasingly under his nose. Jessit jerked the bottle out of Senit's hand and then the stopper. “Uash'l has already started. You blaspheme the gods with such impiety.”

“Not everyone is as devout as you are, Taelen.” Senit smoothed a finger over the long lean decanter of brandy and sighed. “If the humans have any saving grace, it is their artistry with alcohol. You have to admit, they have a talent for it.”

Jessit recapped the decanter and put it back on its table. “I never understood why the gods allowed you so much latitude. Anyone else would have been struck dead.” Jessit slouched into his chair. Most of his wounds had healed, but he still felt out of sorts. To make matters worse, their mission to find the gods had been a dismal failure. Only his brief introduction to Gilgamesh proved to be of any worth, and he was powerless to speak of it, not unless he wanted to sacrifice his command…and his testicles.

“We must be going at this the wrong way. How can we miss our target so many times?”

“Is it possible the gods don't want to be found?” Senit sat in the chair across from Jessit, throwing his feet up on the low table in front of him.

“Perhaps we should have the priests bless our journey before we embark on the next signal. Perhaps we need a sacrifice.”

“Don't look at me,” Senit said with a smirk. “I'm a heathen, remember?”

“I should have gone this morning. Maybe the gods know you're a heathen, and they're punishing us.”

“Taelen, how in all that's holy did you grow up to be a soldier? You talk like a priest. Besides, you're still recuperating.”

“Don't mock my faith, Senit.”

“Then stop talking like those ball-less wonders. I think the only thing that separates you from the priests is that you still have your testicles.”

Jessit cringed at that remark. “You can go.”

Senit headed for the door, hesitating before opening it. “I'm sorry, Taelen. That was out of line. I didn't mean what I said.”

“It's all right. I'm used to your sinfulness. Maybe I keep you around to make me look more pious.”

Senit grinned at him. “Glad to know I'm doing such a fine job.” He patted Jessit on the shoulder gently, still mindful of his injuries. “Good night, Taelen. Maybe we'll have better luck tomorrow.”

Jessit locked the door behind Senit and marched back to the bar, the decanter of brandy whispering temptation. He tugged at his tunic, reassuring himself he still had his gonads…and his cowardice.

Priests did not join the brotherhood of free will. They were tested, inducted when they had passed the most stringent trials. The most critical of which was the Call of Anu. Only those who could bear witness to the gods' glory were allowed into the sacred convention of the Holies. As a final act of sacrifice, as it had been since the beginning, a man had to forfeit his testicles in reverence to the gods.

Jessit pulled the thick glass stopper off the decanter, inhaling its urgent draw. He'd been tested like all the others. Unlike most postulates, he had witnessed the glory in vivid detail. But when the examiners had applied the rigors, he lied. No matter how barbed the lash, he lied. His faith was not strong enough to sacrifice his manhood. He clinked the rim of the decanter across a thick wide glass. The liquid sloshed to the very edge of its lip—and then stopped.

Jessit stared at it. A hard lump formed in his throat. His hands felt like lead, and it took all his strength to put the bottle down. His shame, his cowardice haunted him still.

He had lied.

***

Jessit had begun d'rema, the final rite of purification, and he insisted on going to the planet surface to complete the sacrament alone. His physician, El'asai, complained bitterly, but Jessit assured him he was strong enough to withstand the menze.

Senit also objected. He'd been harder to convince and Jessit finally had to concede to some restrictions. He'd perform d'rema at the cave where they found the glyphs. Senit promised to observe his privacy, but Jessit had to promise to call for a transport when he was through.

The cave had been prepared for him before his arrival and he would be alone as he ordered. Jessit walked out of the shuttle and gave the signal for the pilot to depart.

Jessit took a deep breath before entering the cave. Even from this distance he could smell the sweet, intoxicating scent of the menze, the incense that opened the mind and allowed the faithful to see their gods—if the gods so deigned.

The cave glowed in candlelight and warm woodsy incense scented the air. Deep bowls of water raised the humidity in the grotto, and Jessit breathed in comfort. This part of Earth was too dry for an Alturian. The extra humidity was a blessing.

He cast a furtive glance to the smooth sandstone wall, where the carved image of Anu's son stared down at him. The cave lay barren of all but what his aides left for him, yet he felt a strange presence. Not a single presence, but many. They surrounded him in this place. A cold ache filled his belly, as if he had trod on sacred ground. Maybe this was a bad idea.

Jessit mumbled prayers for clemency under his breath and disrobed until he was nearly nude, his pelvis wrapped in little more than a thin, white loincloth.

The throb in his midsection mellowed. Perhaps the ancient souls that remained here had forgiven his trespass.

He knelt on a thick prayer rug and bowed before an effigy of Anu. Wispy tendrils of smoke curled from the gold-filigreed tabernacle sitting behind the icon. To Jessit's left sat a wide, shallow cauldron of warm, red oil. He opened the lid of the box to let more of the drugged smoke out. The menze had been lit before his arrival. It would smolder for hours now. He had a long night ahead of him.

Jessit dipped a flattened ladle into the bowl of oil and brought it to his chest, dribbling it over his shoulders and across the three narrow bands of webbed skin tiling the lower half of his ribcage. He massaged it over his body until his skin glistened. The incense was already working its magic, and he felt a tinge of wooziness sway his body to the rhythm of his prayers.

He hated using the incense. He hated using anything that dulled his senses, but it was part of the purification. And this time, he had to see the gods, had to speak to them. His eyes narrowed into thin slits until they acclimated to the smoky darkness of the cave.

Jessit wet his lips and tried to remember what he'd had for breakfast this morning. The incense was stealing his memories, and he lapsed into conscious oblivion. He glanced down at the kettle of charring wood as it released its toxin of enlightenment.

Once more, Jessit invoked the name of Anu and the Hundred. Once more he prayed for deliverance and blessing. Jessit had performed this ritual since he was a boy. He uttered the ancient words, his body brown and slick, swaying gently within the thick white smoke from the incense.

Prudence warned him that the thickening smoke should worry him, but his body yielded to the intoxicating effects of the hallucinogen in the incense. He chanted his prayers, getting louder and louder. It almost didn't matter when he heard the smoke talk back to him. The dialect was stilted, but it spoke in the ancient language of priests.

“How strong is your faith, believer?”

The incense lulled him into submission. He listened to the disembodied voice croon to him, demanding his attention.

“Command me, Lord Anu. I will obey.” Jessit's words were soft and slurred.

“You are surrounded by unbelievers. They taint this world.”

“Earth? It is the planet of the humans.” He tried to open his eyes wider, but all he could see was the smoke.

“It is the planet of Anu's sons. The humans have committed sacrilege against us.” The voice grew loud and angry, echoing against the cave walls until the din became too great to bear.

Jessit's knees trembled at the ire of this ghost. He wanted to let his body collapse, but fear of showing disrespect forced deeper resolve. “I am the instrument of Anu,” he replied in prayer.

“You are my instrument, Taelen Jessit. See me for who I am.”

Every candle in the cave flashed at once in a brilliant death, leaving only the shimmering form of a figure within the white smoke of the incense. Jessit's eyes flared wide when he recognized the figure in front of him. The palms of his hands hit the ground, followed by a solemn bow of obeisance. He didn't dare raise his face from the rug. “Command me, Lord Gilgamesh. I am your servant.”

Jessit thought he heard a muffled laugh, but he dared not look up. Sweat pearled down his oiled body, and the room seemed to close in around him. His eyes mutated to fullest vision, though all he could see was the pattern of the rug beneath him. His mind raced to grasp the smallest drop of lucidity. Was he really seeing a son of Anu? Or was this a trick of the hallucinogen?

The apparition spoke to him once more. “Can you see the humans from space?”

Jessit looked up at him, uncertain of how to answer. Their visual scanners were precise enough to see anything on the planet surface except when the magnetic shield warped and thickened. He wet his lips, hoping he didn't say anything to upset his god. “Our sensors are most accurate, Lord.”

A shockwave rushed through the cave, a sure sign of Gilgamesh's displeasure. He glided forward and stared into Jessit's eyes as if trying to evaluate his worth. At the moment, Jessit was feeling particularly insignificant.

“We have detected a disturbance across the globe. Earth suffers from immense waves of magnetic interference. Are the humans responsible for this sacrilege? Or is this the work of your people?”

Jessit prostrated himself once more, his head touching the nap of the carpet before answering. “It is not us, Divinity. The humans have developed a technology that distorts the magnetic field surrounding the planet.” He gulped, not wanting to ask the next question. “Why is it sacrilege, my Lord?”

The entire cave lit up like a firestorm, and a roar of thunder quaked the interior of the cave. The noise was so great it pounded against Jessit's ribcage like a hammer. Jessit pressed the palms of his hands against his ears, but it did nothing to soften the uproar.

This god was angry.

“Any fool can see its profanity! You will make it stop.”

Jessit kept his head down, speaking only to the carpet. “We cannot, Divinity.”

“You dare defy me?”

Jessit shook his head in response, though he wasn't sure if it emanated more from the trembling in his bones. The walls came alive with the sound of mortal wailing.

“We are the faithful, Holiness. But I have only one ship, and we have yet to find the source of the shield.” By this time he was sweating profusely. “But…” He hesitated, breathing hard. What he said next would commit them for good. “We have an armada a few days away. It serves Anu and his sons.”

The thunder ceased in an instant.

“Look at me, Taelen Jessit.”

Jessit took a shallow breath, both his hearts pounding as if trying to escape from his chest. When his eyes looked up, the man he had seen over Rachel's body stood before him in robes of light. The god's brilliance was almost too much to bear, burning his eyes with radiance. Jessit wavered on his knees, his thoughts as clumsy as his sway.

Gilgamesh smiled at him, a wicked leer that made Jessit's stomach twist. He was seeing double, and the incense made it hard to breathe.

“I am the instrument of your will, Lord Gilgamesh. I am the faithful.” The words slurred more heavily and Jessit teetered on the brink of collapse.

“Stop this abomination on the Earth. It is your quest, your bond to me. If you fail me in this mission, none of you will see home again.”

Gilgamesh dissipated in a shower of light that sparkled all across the room and relit the candles.

Then the room for Jessit snapped to black.

***

It was Senit who found him the next morning. Jessit thought his head was going to implode, his nostrils still plugged by the drugged smoke. D'rema hangovers. He choked on the water Senit tried to feed him. “Enough.” He spat out some of the water. “I'm all right.”

Senit helped him sit up. “I knew I should have stayed with you.” He shot a glance at the burnt candles eaten away to their nubs and the charred remains of the incense. “They make the hallucinogens too strong.”

Jessit rubbed the back of his neck, his body still slick from the oil. His mouth tasted as if he'd swallowed old underwear, and he smacked his lips to try to ward off the tang. “Get me back on board ship. I need to contact the Emperor. Something happened last night.”

“El'asai should see you first.”

Jessit stumbled to his feet. “Don't argue with me. The gods are in danger!”

Senit eyed him with suspicion. “That's exactly what the high priest said. He was performing the d'rema ceremony in the open desert. He claims Lord Gilgamesh came to him and ordered—”

“He ordered the com-web destroyed,” Jessit said, finishing Senit's sentence. He rubbed his temples. This headache was going to last all day. “Help me up. I need to talk to the Emperor. The son of Anu has committed us to a test of faith. If we fail him…” Jessit stared into Senit's worried face. “Get my woman on board ship. I don't think she's safe down here anymore. I don't think any of us are.”

Chapter 13

Rachel was grinding her teeth down to the gums when Denman showed up in her room. In his hands were a folded bleach-white dress and a pair of tatty brown leather sandals piled on top. He handed them to her like an offering and when she refused to take them, he tossed them down on her bed.

She glared at him, hurling the dress and sandals across the room in a final act of defiance. Where the hell was Gilgamesh? He needed to rein in this mule. “You're insane. I'm not bedding with any man.”

“You'll bed with this one, or you and your family will never see daylight again.”

Denman grabbed her by the hand and twisted it, forcing her to sit down at the edge of the bed. He sat down next to her, the additional weight on the mattress rolling her body toward him.

“You are here at the discretion of a top-secret agency.” He kneaded each of her fingers as if trying to decide which one to break first. “I do hope you'll cooperate.”

“You're asking me to be his whore.”

Denman's face was void of expression. “I'm not asking, Dr. Cruz.”

The man left no room for negotiation.

Denman got up and retrieved the dress and shoes, dumping them on her lap. “Get dressed, or I'll have someone do it for you.”

Rachel looked down at the bundle on her lap, fingering the hem of the coarse pallid dress, her eyes half-closed. She wanted to tell him who she was, what she was, hoping it would make a difference to him. But it was irrelevant. A mule wouldn't understand the birthright he inherited. He was more likely to kill her now if he knew the truth. She had to get out of here, and right now the only way to do that was through that horrid little dress.

“How long do I have to stay with him?”

The palm of his hand slid up her cheek, making her feel unclean. “As long as he wants you, my dear. As long as you please him.”

Denman left. She had a few scant hours of relative freedom before they delivered her to a shuttle where someone on Jessit's team would escort her the rest of the way. Rachel considered escape. But what would happen to Paul if they found him before she did?

Damn Taelen Jessit. Why would he do this to her? When he promised to take her away from here, he said nothing about becoming his concubine.

She thought she meant something to him. She thought…

Oh, what difference did it make what she thought? She was wrong. He was using her. Maybe it was even payback for all the hell he went through in the desert.

And now she needed him. Needed him to save Paul, and save herself from these madmen. If Gilgamesh was right, she'd need Jessit's help to destroy the com-web too.

Rachel groaned. How did she ever become so dependent on one mortal? And did it have to be this one? It was humiliating!

But when she looked around her cage she realized she'd rather be imprisoned by Jessit than Denman. Contemptible as Jessit was, at least he never threatened to kill her. Denman, on the other hand, seemed to be looking forward to the experience.

Rachel slipped off her oversized smock shirt and the drawstring pants, kicking them out of the way. She picked up the white cotton sundress and pressed the overstarched fabric against her nude body.

The dress was hideous, with an elasticized top and a skirt that flared out to her ankles. Long, thin spaghetti straps dated the dress as a reject straight out of the nineteen-eighties. And it was huge. The owner must have been a giant—a giant with no fashion sense.

Rachel unzipped it, the long crooked zipper going all the way down to her butt. She put it on, swallowed by all that fabric. It was like wearing a tent.

Her naked feet slapped on the hard tile floor and stopped before a full-length mirror. The view was worse than she expected. The dress nearly reached her feet and had it not been for the stretchy top, it would have slipped off her body without any help at all. How was she expected to impress a man with this?

Rachel straightened the seams on the dress, the limp straps falling helplessly. She brushed her hair back, staring at a woman she no longer recognized. The man had gills, and webbing, and eyes that shimmered like iridescent emeralds. Was sex between them even possible?

Denman said it was, describing in all too vivid detail, complete with pictures of a naked Alturian. He went so far as coaching her on how to respond to Jessit's advances. She didn't want to ask where he got his information. It seemed Jessit had been offered others, lots of others. And now it was her turn in his bed.

Part of her was hurt that she had meant nothing to him all along, but another part of her was angry. Both emotions were tempered with the sobering reality of her predicament. She had to please Jessit. It was the only way to keep this body alive until Gilgamesh arrived.

Chapter 14

Jessit repeated every detail of his vision to the high priest Kalya before he sent his report to the Emperor. He knew the royals couldn't care less about a menze-induced vision, but they couldn't disregard it without more scrutiny. Visions were rare, and lying about one carried severe punishment. If he had been anyone else, Jessit might have been suspect, but he had led a long and distinguished career. And Kalya himself corroborated the vision with one of his own. Anu's firstborn, Gilgamesh, had come to him, as well. The Imperial house had to respond this time.

So they waited, with Kalya asking the same questions over and over again. Jessit suspected the old priest seethed with jealousy. It seemed inconceivable that a Son of Anu would show himself to anyone in the military. Jessit was known for his piety but not when it interfered with the business of war. It smacked against Kalya's delicate sensitivities.

Kalya started another round of questions when Senit entered the conference room. He bowed his head to Jessit but ignored the old man altogether. Senit served Jessit alone and hated the priest, ignoring him on purpose.

Kalya cupped a handful of the stone beads that hung around his neck and rattled them loudly. Senit, as usual, struck a nerve.

“We are busy, secretary. Come back later,” Kalya growled officiously.

Senit turned away from Kalya and faced Jessit, pretending the old man was invisible.

“Forgive the interruption, sir, but you did say you wanted your woman brought on board.”

Jessit felt a smile creep to his lips. “Is she here?”

“Not yet. I am going down to get her now. Is there any message you want me to convey to General Sorinsen while I'm there?”

Jessit glanced back at Kalya. There was nothing he could say to Sorinsen until he heard back from Command.

The com-web had to come down, and he knew the humans wouldn't dismantle it without encouragement. But what was he missing? How did it insult the gods? Kalya didn't know, and he didn't ask. His only task was to obey.

Gilgamesh had been adamant. He demanded their obedience, their promise. But how could Jessit promise to take down something he couldn't find? He had to wait for further orders. Until then they would limit their visits to Earth.

“Get her on board. And if anyone asks you why we are interrupting our search for the gods, tell them we are recalibrating our sensors.”

“Understood, sir.”

Before Senit left, a messenger from the communications bay came in and hand-delivered an encrypted message.

The seal on the slender message bar told him it was from the Emperor. He slid it into the reader but kept the message on visual alone. He wanted to read it first.

His shoulders slackened and he took a deep breath before facing Kalya and Senit.

“Well?” Kalya said expectantly. “What does it say?”

Jessit pulled the bar out of the reader and slipped it into his pocket. “The Emperor wishes us to remain on good terms with the Terrans. The armada is at best six days away. We wait and we watch. I anticipated as much. There's not much damage an ambassadorial ship can do against an entire planet's arsenal, even if that planet does have primitive weapons.”

“But His Holiness has demanded—”

“We wait, Kayla. Those are my orders. I will not plunge this vessel into harm's way with no critical means at our disposal.”

The old man bellowed like a tangled cow. “I will speak to Lord Avenar himself. The Holy Master will make the Emperor see reason.” He marched out, his fists beating the sky.

Senit sidled up closer to Jessit. “Do you really think he's going to talk to the High Lord? Avenar doesn't usually muddy himself with Imperial matters.”

“By the time Kalya gets a reply, the armada will already be here. The old man is working himself up for nothing.” Jessit pulled out the message bar from his pocket and rubbed it between his fingers. “Get Rachel up here. The Emperor is going to use the visions as his catalyst for war. He wants Earth, and Gilgamesh just gave him the perfect reason to start one.”

Senit steepled his hands in front of him. “Why do I get the feeling this was going to happen with or without divine intervention?”

Jessit tugged on the hem of his tunic and adjusted the sash on his waist. “Don't ask questions I can't answer, Senit. I have my orders.” He pointed to the door. “And so do you.”

Chapter 15

Despite the circumstances, Rachel was excited to see the Earth from orbit, even if the destination meant the temporary loss of her freedom. She had to remember that. This mess was transitory. Gilgamesh would make things right when he arrived. She had to be patient.

Her father often preached patience even though he himself was not a very tolerant man. But she was a child compared to most of her kin. She didn't yet know what it meant to live thousands of years, to see civilizations rise and fall, to witness entire species go extinct.

The Alturian Empire would be dust long before she showed the least amount of age. Mortals were like fireflies in the breeze. All she had to do was outlast them. The others in her clan had long honed that patience, but she had no such skill. Well, it seemed she was about to learn some.

Even her journey to the Malyan was disappointing. She expected to see a real starship, or at least the blackness of outer space, but the shuttle ride was as inspiring as a subway exchange in Manhattan. Dark, noisy and crowded with Alturian soldiers, every single window on the shuttle frosted to a silvery haze blanketing the outside from view. She was glad this would be a short trip.

Jessit's aide, her escort, was familiar to her. He too was from the cave where she first saw Jessit. He didn't grace her with a second glance, preferring instead to study some gizmo that kept clicking at him, similar to the one she had seen the Alturians use in the cave. Disgusted, he finally turned it off and sat back in his chair with his eyes closed.

Once they docked, he rushed her to Jessit's quarters then helped her with an earpiece that served as a translation device before shoving her through a doorway and into a bedroom decorated in warm, muted colors. Her eyes widened as she caught sight of the sumptuous bed, big enough for four.

Jessit stepped out of another doorway and watched her with quiet scrutiny before shifting his attention to his aide. Senit walked over to him and spoke to him about calibrating a machine that was giving them trouble, but Jessit seemed disinterested.

A pretty servant who had been fluffing the heavy drapes of the bed's canopy whisked by Rachel and sprinted over to Jessit. She bowed with timid reverence to him first and then Senit, her silver gossamer dress flowing over her body like a feather's embrace. She tiptoed out on hurried feet, a subtle whiff of perfume trailing in her wake.

Rachel wasn't sure if the humidity on board had been elevated or if it was her apparent discomfort at the situation. A thin trickle of sweat channeled down her throat. Unlike the waif-like nymph, Rachel smelled more like old dry-cleaning.

Jessit glanced in her direction again. He didn't look pleased.

Rachel looked down at her hands, absently kneading a sweaty wad of fabric from her skirt. For once she couldn't blame him. She looked hideous.

The butterflies in her stomach surged into a swarm. She was out of her element and out of allies here. And worse yet, she was trapped with a man who looked both disappointed and annoyed.

Jessit stood at a curtained doorway, thick velvet brown drapes hiding a private sanctuary. The jewel and the braid in his hair were gone, and he looked naked without them. She stumbled back by one pace, realizing too late she had been staring. He looked bigger now, more menacing, but she also couldn't deny the tug of desire. She had missed his gruff arrogant manner—and his gentleness. She wished things had turned out differently between them.

She wanted to be angry with him and perhaps she should have been. But she felt safer here, even if it was against her will. It would've been nice to continue the playful banter they enjoyed, though in hindsight perhaps the banter was what led to her predicament. Had she insulted him? Was this a means of retaliation?

Damn it, Gilgamesh. Where are you?

In a borrowed sundress two sizes too big, Rachel suffered the humiliation of a long measured stare. The shoulder straps slipped one after another until she just let them lie there.

Jessit smiled; a careless swish of a hand ordered Senit out without even looking at him. He strode over to her casually, sizing her up like so much baggage. “I told you I would find a way to bring you here.”

Rachel glared at him. “You didn't tell me it would be as your concubine.” She forced her hands to release the dampened wad of fabric from her skirt.

“There are many who would welcome such an invitation.”

“Well, I'm not one of them. How dare you—” She stopped in midsentence. What was she doing? She had to submit. Not for herself, but for her human parents, and for Paul. She'd not endanger them on her account. She took a deep breath. “I'm…sorry.”

He tilted his head as if he didn't understand. “Sorry?”

“I mean…I'm grateful you got me out of that military compound.”

He grinned at her. “How grateful?”

“What do you mean?”

“You owe me a lord's wish. Remember?” Jessit bent over her, whispering the words into her naked ear, and pulled the translator out from the other one. He tossed it on the floor.

Rachel shivered as the rough purr of his voice tickled the nape of her neck. She pulled away and faced him. “I thought you were kidding about that.”

“I was not. You are here to pay a debt.”

Rachel swallowed the curse she nearly lobbed. “It was your choice to pull me out of the floodwaters. I don't see how I owe you anything.”

“Then why are you here?”

A moment's hesitation shattered her confidence. “You negotiated for me.” Bastard.

His eyes seemed to dance in revelry. “So I did.” He strolled around her, an inquisitive finger tracing the outline of her bare shoulder. “No doubt your government explained what was expected of you.”

She huffed at him. “If you think I'm just going to bend over and—”

“And?” He smiled, a mischievous quirk to his mouth.

“Don't flatter yourself, Commander.” She drew toward him, getting up on her tiptoes trying to face him eye to eye. “I'm not afraid of you.”

He laughed. Laughed! His brass riled her up in more ways than she could count. “We shall see.” He shook his head. “The least they could have done was dress you like a woman. This is no better than the rags I saw you in last.”

“This wasn't my idea.”

“No,” he said flatly. “It was mine.” He circled her once more and sighed in dissatisfaction. “Perhaps it was a mistake. I have seen better-looking women in the cast-off rack of a low-rent brothel.” He stalked away from her unimpressed, once again returning toward the curtained room he'd entered from.

Rachel's mouth dropped. Her face felt like she had stuck it in a furnace. She looked around for something to throw at him. She snatched a small tray from the night table but put it down in favor of an odd-looking band of silver, solid and heavy. She gulped when she realized what it was. The servant who had just left was wearing one around her throat. She tossed it on the bed. Lack of options left her no choice; she chased after Jessit, pulling at his arm and yanking him back to face her. “Don't you walk away from me!”

He turned and stared at her for a moment, a hint of amusement on his face before he masked it once again with indifference. “You were trouble from the moment we met.” He unhooked himself from her grasp and parted the drapes, leaving her behind.

Rachel followed, fumbling under the heavy fabric of the curtains as she twisted and turned within them, not really knowing which way was out. The drapery panels tangled around her hair and skirt, wrapping her within the folds like a fool on a new stage. She thought she'd suffocate until a firm hand dragged her in.

Rachel pulled the hair off her eyes and out of her mouth. The butterflies in her stomach now lodged in her knees. Her body quivered as she became aware of this moist shadowy world. In front of her, a cascade of water pattered down a tumbled rock wall and fell into a matching stone basin at least six feet wide. The waters bubbled into a steamy pool and live plants hung from crevices and crags. Candles of every size hung at varying levels, making it appear like distant starlight in the mist.

Rachel took one step and then another, unsure if this was real. Jessit held her hand, watching her, studying her.

“What is this place?” She said it in a whisper, afraid to break the spell of the sanctuary.

“My bath. I knew I would be on this mission a long time so I had this fashioned for me.” He pulled her closer to him; she smelled his musk blending with the swirling steam from his bath. He was at home.

Jessit rubbed his nose down her face, smelling her, tasting her with his tongue. She gasped when he reached the nape of her neck and found herself falling into him. He smelled of lavender and something else, warm and woodsy. His broad arms cradled her, making her feel safe yet his very touch warned of a danger she wouldn't avoid even if she could.

“'A lord's wish', Rachel. I want the words from your lips.”

“Why do you need them?” she stammered. “My government gave me to you.” It hurt to say that. The primal part of her wanted him, but she had hoped for far different circumstances. Her hand slid across her throat, remembering the silver collar in the next room.

“Let me hear the words.”

Her lips parted, but no words came out.

He pulled away, looking at her with expectation, and when she didn't speak right away, he nuzzled her once more and chuckled.

“Have I not earned enough scars on your account?” Jessit smiled, a tender smile without malice or intent. The man she remembered was still here.

Rachel thought her heart had lurched up into her throat because it took several swallows to make a sound again. She nodded consent, unsure at first, her head bobbing at an awkward angle. “A lord's wish.” She repeated. “What do you want?”

Skilled fingers tickled her flesh as they glided down her arms and to her waist, pulling her toward him. The patter of the water seemed a thousand miles away because all she could hear was the soft velvet of his voice. “I want you.”

Jessit's face looked serious, focused and flushed with color. It was the color of sex, dark and animal-like. It was the color of need.

Was it painted on her face too? Her na'hala pushed against her, demanding to be free. Demanding to touch him. Union, it told her. Give us union.

Thick hands reached for her back and she felt the slight tug of the zipper ticker down. He lingered over it, one hand on the zipper, the other around her waist, towing it down slowly, gently until she couldn't stand it anymore.

Rachel's breaths came in short gasps when she leaned into him, willing him to go faster, begging him to get her naked. He tortured her a little longer.

Her hands grazed his thick muscular arms. Little nicks and scars adorned his flesh. Her fingers traced each one with gentle caresses. Some of those scars were her doing. She laid her head on his chest, letting him finish this torment.

One firm hand slipped underneath the fabric of her dress and she felt a rush of heat tunnel through her body. He slid his hand down the small of her back and then around her waist, loosening the dress away from her body. With one gentle tug, he let the dress fall to the ground, a puddle of fabric. Rachel slipped out of her sandals and took two steps back.

***

The woman looked radiant. Her pouty wine lips and the soft blush of her cheeks revealed hesitancy and fear, yet something more. Jessit hoped it was desire. He didn't want to stare. She wasn't the first human woman he'd seen naked, but this was different. She was different, though he couldn't say how.

Her body was the same even color all over, her skin like silk, and as dewy as early morning. Breasts the size to drive a man mad, and when she shuddered, marked timidity at her nakedness, it made her brown nipples bloom to hard rosy peaks. She was beautiful. She was his. And his erection ached from sweet torture.

Jessit unfastened his robe and let it fall to the floor.

He couldn't remember if he had ever been this hard before, but he sensed that at least she seemed impressed. Her eyes grew wide when she stared down at his penis, hard, throbbing and at attention, while his penile tendrils stroked him in anticipation. He reached out to her and she walked toward him, letting his other hand drape around her waist, pressing the cool sweat of her belly against his erection.

She smelled like spring, the first day of spring when everything around was fresh and new. It made him feel young too, reminding him of the boy he was. Jessit picked her up, folding her into his arms, and carried her into the bathing pool. She stiffened at first, fearful eyes staring up at him for reassurance, but he held her tight and shushed her. “Trust me,” he whispered.

He stepped in first before lowering her into the pool gently. The soft swirling waters rippled across her breasts, liquid hands caressing her flesh. He thought he'd burst before consummating his lust. His gills mouthed open, welcoming the intoxicating eddies of mist and water.

She pressed up against him, licking his left gill with her tongue. Hot, wet ripples of tongue-swirls scoured the edges of his gill, rimming it around and around until he thought he would explode.

The candles flickered wildly but he didn't care to figure out why. Lightheaded from stimulation, he sucked in a sharp breath and fell into her, taking her into his arms and pushing her against the smooth side of the grotto. One leg wrapped around hers, and he felt his penile tendrils shock to duty when they sensed imminent penetration. They reached out for her, long muscled strands of flesh surrounding his thickened organ as they flailed blindly for her orifice, shallow suction pads grasping at her skin, pushing, pulling and opening her for him.

Jessit's swollen penis touched her vaginal lips lightly, experimentally, and then with promise. His muscles tensed, and he surged forward, reckless with desire, single-minded with intent. He felt her body stiffen, rigid with anticipation. Her eyes looked anxious yet eager. She let out a breath, submitting her hungry mouth to his.

A thunderous crash in the outer room broke his concentration. Gods help him, he was going to rend whoever that was.

Jessit looked up in time to see tangled arms pawing at the entrance drapes. Rachel muffled a cry as he pushed her behind him. Senit tumbled into the room, his head dropping to the floor with reverence, one hand clutching the radiation monitor that pinged in rapid fire.

“Many pardons, my lord.”

“It can wait, Senit,” Jessit hissed.

“No, sir. It can't.” Senit refused to lift his head.

“In the other room.” There was no way to hide his anger, and the ache in his groin only made it worse.

His thumb stroked the side of Rachel's cheek in apology. Without any words, he lifted her out of the pool. There would be time for them later. Right now he had to wring Senit's neck. Friend or not, Senit was going to rue this intrusion.

Jessit pulled on his robe, barely tying it closed before he slapped the curtains away, leaving Rachel to dress alone. Senit followed, his eyes lowered, apologizing profusely though it did nothing to soften Jessit's ire.

“Are you insane?” Jessit grabbed him by the coat collar and shook him.

“The monitor,” Senit said, as if it were explanation enough.

“If you got a signal, investigate it. You don't need my permission.”

“You don't understand, Taelen. I did investigate it. It brought me here.”

“What?”

“It came from here.” He pointed to the bathing room. “Actually…from there.”

“That's not possible,” Jessit said, still outraged.

Senit huddled close to him and whispered, “Are you sure she's human?”

Jessit was about to answer him unequivocally when Rachel slipped past the curtains. She stood there in her dress too big, her eyes round and frightened. Senit once again fell to the floor in obeisance, refusing to look up at her.

“Is something wrong, Taelen?” She approached Jessit with a look of startled confusion, tiptoeing around Senit's propped-up backside.

She was a waif, not a god. Senit was wrong.

A frantic knock at the door introduced yet another disheveled man, his orange robes swishing and tangling around his rickety legs. Long stone beads clunked against each other, announcing his every step.

Senit tugged on Jessit's robe to get his attention. “Under the circumstances, I thought it best to include Kalya.” He offered Jessit the scanner once more.

He was insane. They all were. Rachel was no god. And yet, he couldn't take the chance.

“Lord Kalya, would you be good enough to take the lady to the ship's steward? Please see that she's made comfortable.”

Senit's eyes stayed glued to the ground while Kalya complied with dumb obedience. The elderly man bowed to the lady and offered his arm in escort.

Rachel looked up at Jessit. “Have you changed your mind about me?”

Jessit turned toward her, a hesitant hand reaching out to touch hers until he caught Senit peeking up, his eyes pleading with him not to do anything foolish. Jessit picked up the translator he had tossed on the floor earlier and helped her put it on.

“Lord Kalya is our high priest. He will show you to your room.” He paused, the hurt look in her eyes begging him for an answer. “Rachel.” He leaned his face close to her ear. “I have something I have to do. I am sorry.”

Kalya once again offered his arm, but Jessit grabbed it instead and pulled him aside. “Say nothing,” he whispered. “I will attend to this.”

Senit had spent enough face time on the floor to count the threads in the carpet. He didn't rise until Kalya escorted Rachel out.

“The machine is wrong.” The words rumbled out of the deepest reaches of Jessit's belly.

Senit staggered over to the bar and grabbed a glass, pouring it to the rim from a bottle of the brandy Jacob Denman had sent Jessit. His hands trembled as he downed the first drink and poured himself another. Jessit had never seen him so shaken.

“Senit, honestly.”

Senit gulped down his second drink. “You don't understand. The machine was going off when I escorted her here on the shuttle. I thought it was broken. When I took it to the engineer, he recalibrated it and we tested it. It went off. He took out another monitor, and it went off. Taelen, we did this with three monitors, and then from the mainframe. If Rachel wasn't giving off the radiation, someone else was in that bathing room with you.”

“It can't be her.” His world was unraveling before his eyes. How could he have been so wrong?

Senit poured another glass for Jessit and handed it to him before pouring himself a third. He flopped down on a side chair and wiped the sweat off his brow. The alcohol was starting to do its work. “I hope you pleased her. I'd hate to have a Divine One unhappy because you didn't do your job.”

“I didn't get to finish my job,” Jessit said through gritted teeth. “You interrupted us.”

Senit's face blanched to a greenish-white. “Anu forgive me. Do you think she'll blame me?”

“I know I already do.”

Jessit sat down, face buried in his hands, trying to sort things out. “Even if it is Rachel, why would the monitor register glory only once in a while? It doesn't make sense.”

“Maybe she has to be excited.” He had never seen Senit so enthused. “Maybe you should go back and finish. We can monitor the room and—”

“Are you listening to yourself?”

“Taelen, we found a god, a real god. I thought you'd be happy.”

“It can't be her,” he repeated.

“Why not? There are hundreds of stories of how the gods have masqueraded as common mortals. Maybe she's been doing the same.”

Jessit felt physically ill. The broken ankle that suspiciously healed, the surly attitude, her nonchalance in dire circumstances; things were starting to make sense, and he didn't like where it led.

He had told his superiors about his last vision, but not that he had seen Gilgamesh earlier, without the aid of the incense. If Rachel was a Divinity, his secret was in danger of being exposed. How could he admit to seeing a god if he had failed the test of the Holies? They would strip him of his commission and force him to take the priesthood, donating his testicles along the way.

Another thorn prickled his conscience. Rachel never once acknowledged knowing Gilgamesh, even when he mentioned his name. Surely they knew one another.

Jessit sat back and closed his eyes, the fragile memory of Rachel's body still teasing him. Two gods had revealed themselves to him. Were they rivals or allies?

He looked at Senit, the glow of a new believer fresh on his face. Rachel had changed him, and Senit was filled with the enthusiasm of a convert. Jessit felt only shame and dread. He had tried to turn a god into his courtesan. “I can't make love to one of the Holies,” he said with a shudder.

Senit pounced on him. “Why not?”

Jessit shook his head. “I'm not worthy.”

“Well, I'll do it.” The swell of opportunity lit Senit's voice.

“You're not worthy either!” He scowled at him, the thought of Rachel in Senit's arms aggravating him all the more.

Jessit needed time to think, and he couldn't do it with Senit's excited prattle. He dismissed him, pacing back and forth trying to sort the events of the last few days. Frustrated, he flopped down on his bed and landed on something hard.

He yanked a silver collar from underneath him and stared at it in dumb terror. Gods help him. He had dared to make a Divine One his concubine. How was he ever going to repent for that?

What had started as a mild amusement turned into a nightmare. A dozen legends ran through his mind, recounting all the ways gods had been known to show their displeasure. Would Rachel be just as vengeful?

Chapter 16

Paul's wrists pinched inside the handcuffs, panic growing when they taped his mouth shut with duct tape. Someone yanked a thick black hood over his head that stunk of old grease, rubber and something worse.

They walked. Up ladders, down corridors and into a tight space where someone had to force his head down to duck.

He kept his breaths short and shallow to no avail. Panic mode set in, driving him to hyperventilate. Paul forced them to stop for a moment, a hesitation that cost him a hard smack to the head.

Paul slowed down his breathing with what little self-control he had left. They hadn't killed him yet. That could only mean they intended to interrogate him first. He swallowed a thick glob of phlegm, sickening an already sour stomach.

Hacking into a black ops computer system and getting captured by jackbooted soldiers was not in the university brochure for this dig. All he wanted to do was hike the high desert.

The thug who had been prodding him with a thick rounded cudgel pushed him into a chair with a hard smack to his kidney.

One of his cuffs was removed so his arms could be jerked behind him. Once again, the handcuffs snapped shut. The hood came off next, and he inhaled a big breath of untainted air. The blindfold stayed on. Three, four, maybe five men were in the room with him. They stunk of vomit and sweat.

No…that was him.

They took off the blindfold, but all Paul could see were shadows. One fluorescent light crackled overhead, struggling to stay lit, and there was a small wood table two feet in front of him. The rest of the room, what he could see of it, melted into darkness. A soldier emerged from the shadows, a lean Hispanic.

Paul felt a knot rise to his throat when he recognized him. It was Chavez, the colonel who had ordered them off the plateau.

Chavez nodded to another soldier, who oozed out of the shadows like spilled ink. Paul wished the man had stayed where he was. The soldier marched over to him and ripped the duct tape from his face, along with two days' growth of beard. Paul was so shocked by the pain he couldn't scream at first. He hung his head over his lap and gasped, agonizing over his seared flesh. “Sonovabitch!”

Chavez leaned back on the table, his right foot planted between Paul's legs. Two wide ridges cut across his brow. His black hair was short and neat and combed back to reveal deep, piercing eyes. He reminded Paul of a hawk. And right now he felt like a scared little mouse ready to piss on himself.

Chavez pulled out a large gleaming knife from a boot sheath then leaned toward Paul. He tapped his cheek with the side of the blade. “I could ask you how you got down here, maricone, but I'm more curious about how you managed to hack into the computer.”

Paul swallowed, the nausea welling up in his belly. “It let me in.” There was no point in lying. He hoped his honesty would at least assure him a quick death.

“Bullshit!” Chavez jabbed his knife into the wood table. He punched Paul in the head, sending him crumbling to the floor. “Bubba doesn't let anyone in.”

Paul thought his head had exploded. It throbbed, pounding like a drum. Something warm spilled down his ear. “I'm telling you, it let me in.” He let the last word stretch out. It was like talking to imbeciles. No one was listening.

Another soldier picked him up, hauling him up like road kill before planting him back in his chair. Chavez was in his face once more.

“Don't jack with me, man. I know you're a pro.”

Chavez's voice sounded far off as if he were in another room. The hearing in his left ear was gone. His right was still working—so far. Paul stared down at the floor, shaking his head, incredulous that this could be happening to him. To make matters worse, he started to cry. “Your goddamn computer let me in,” he yelled. “It let me in!”

Chavez lunged at him, knocking him out of the chair. He dragged him up by the hair and shoved him against the cold cement wall. Two soldiers appeared out of nowhere, pinning him to the wall. Chavez grabbed his knife and sliced him across the chest. The slash seared through him. It didn't feel very deep but pearls of blood dotted his scrubs. “Lie to me again, fuckhead, and I'll run this knife straight down to your dick.”

Sweat ran down both sides of his neck. He closed his eyes and struggled to form words. “I designed firewalls for the military twenty years ago. I didn't expect it to work.” He looked up at Chavez. “I'm telling you the truth. It let me in. It recognized me.” It hurt to talk. His throat was on fire from all the yelling.

“Impossible.” A voice from the shadows boomed out. “Bubba is programmed with all the latest firewalls. It should never have let you in.”

The voice soon had a body, and Paul recognized him too. It was the balding, older man in starched khakis who had followed the aliens around.

A younger man stepped behind him. This one was tall with smooth brown skin and long white hair so bright it shimmered like silver. Impeccably dressed in a black pinstripe and shiny black shoes, he looked like a model out of GQ. He had an amused grin on his face, as if this whole thing was one big game.

Paul felt his chest tighten. The man waved at Chavez dismissively as if the colonel was nothing more than an insect.

Chavez nodded toward the older man before withdrawing with the rest of his soldiers. Paul faced the two civilians alone.

The silver-haired man approached Paul first, a soft curve to his lips. There was something unsavory about his placidness, as if the man was privy to some sick joke. Paul's muscles twitched when his back pressed harder against the wall. The silver-haired demon was a young man, not much older than himself. Paul cringed when the man drew closer and sniffed him.

“You are a delicious man, Paul Domino. Where have you been hiding all my life?”

“I told you everything I know, sir. The computer let me in.”

“Of course, it did. And yet before you left you were able to scramble enough codes to alarm an entire compound. These men have been running around with their asses on fire. You're a very clever man.”

“I can fix it.”

“Can you?” His voice was smooth and fluid. A tiny inflection in the pronunciation of his soft As seemed to be the only indication he was not a native English speaker. Mr. Suave turned to the older, balding man. That one had to be CIA. His manner was far too aloof and meticulous to be anything less.

“Jacob,” the silver-haired man said. “Don't kill him yet. I may have a use for Mr. Domino.”

Jacob was not pleased, but he didn't refuse. Paul noticed how he bristled at Mr. Suave's self-assured demeanor. What was more surprising was that Jacob appeared submissive, obeying the younger man without question.

“I can't keep him here, sir.”

“I'm sure you'll think of something, Jacob. I have faith in you.”

A well-manicured fingertip ran the length of Paul's cheek down toward his lips. Mr. Suave smiled with delight.

For some reason it made Paul feel dirty.

“Find us something nearby. Something private.” He looked down at Paul's taut arms still bound behind his back. “And take those shackles off the boy. They must be very uncomfortable.”

He turned and drifted back into the shadows, while Jacob called Colonel Chavez and his men back in. Paul didn't hear where they were taking him. All he knew was that he was leaving…with a man who had way too much interest in him.

Chapter 17

Rachel jumped back when a flurry of servants stampeded into her room with armloads of bedding and clothes. They rushed in like bees, transforming her stately suite into something softer and more feminine. She stumbled toward an unfettered corner to watch the swarm at work.

Jessit had said little to her. At first she mistook his dismissal for disapproval. Nothing had prepared her for this sudden change in attitude.

The man was almost penitent and she didn't know why. Everything changed the moment his assistant rushed in waving that little ticking machine.

That little ticking machine…

Her mouth dropped open. Was it possible? Jessit, Senit and Kalya never once looked at her directly after Senit called Jessit aside. Their gaze remained downcast, submissive, almost…reverent.

Did they know she wasn't human? Could that machine tell? She'd been so used to the humans and their naivety. She never anticipated these aliens would have technology sophisticated enough to see through her.

Rachel inched over to Kalya who barked one order after another that kept the servants hopping. The old man reveled in his tiny dictatorship.

“Sir, you don't have to go through this much trouble.”

Kalya nearly jumped out of his skin and tapped his chest and forehead in rapid succession. He muttered something that sounded like a mantra, bowing his head and repeating the gestures.

“Lord Kalya.” She sniped at him, hoping it would snap him out of his groveling.

“Apologies, my Lady. We want you to be comfortable.”

So it was Lady now. What had happened to change their manners? Even Senit, who had been entirely dismissive since their meeting, kowtowed to her. Suddenly she was the most important person on board. The extra attention made her nervous. “I am quite comfortable, really. The only thing I'd like to know is when I can see Taelen again.”

The old man flushed to a crimson glow. “He is at your command.”

“My command? He brought me here as his concubine.”

Kalya's eyes bugged out, horrified. “Anu forgive us. Not at all, my Lady. If you'll give me but a moment—”

Kalya never got to finish his sentence. A servant rushed up to him, announcing that Commander Jessit had summoned him. He turned to Rachel, his hands palm side up in service. “Should I order Lord Taelen into your audience?”

Rachel glanced over at the servants now standing stock still with heads bowed. Kalya, too, dared not raise his eyes. She couldn't afford to see Jessit yet. She had to find out how much they knew—and what they suspected.

“That won't be necessary. If you don't mind, I'll just go to bed. It's been a long day.”

Kalya dismissed the servants then bowed low, his old back complaining with a series of painful-sounding clicks. “We should not have taken so much of your time.” He pointed to a heavyset steward who stayed behind. “Nevar will stand outside your door tonight, should you need anything.” The round-bellied servant nodded with grave duty.

The door closed gently. At least nobody locked it this time. Rachel stared at the door, wishing someone would come back. She didn't want to be alone. What was she thinking? She didn't even want to be here.

Rachel walked over to a window and watched the Earth pass by.

There was no hint of a com-web, that invisible menace. Was Gilgamesh right about the grid? Was it hurting them? She had to reach him somehow. And she needed to stay in Jessit's good graces. If the com-web was responsible for their illness, they'd need his help.

Rachel yawned, stretching her arms and eyeing the large bed in the center of the room. It was late. Senit had collected her at nearly midnight, and she was tired. Perhaps even Jessit had gone to bed by now.

The man was full of surprises. Despite the rocky reunion, he had been sweet and gentle. Her na'hala wanted desperately to join with his and so did she, but in hindsight it was for the best they didn't take it any further. He might not have given her a choice, but she would avoid it if she could. Even with a soul cord, he was still mortal, and she didn't want to hurt him.

Her mind retraced his well-sculpted form. He was handsome—broad-shouldered and trim at the waist. And the extra appendages near his penis were remarkably useful. All the more pity for coitus interruptus.

She sighed. That was the hormones talking.

Heat could still be days away, and Rachel hoped she wouldn't be trapped here when it happened. She needed one of her own kind to quell the madness. She didn't want to have to go through another heat cycle alone. Gilgamesh must have arrived in the United States by now. He'd find some way to get her back down to Earth.

The servants provided her with an entire wardrobe, donated clothes from the females on board. Rachel rifled through her closet and changed into something that looked like a nightgown. It was soft, delicate and very sheer. The room was far too hot for anything else.

She climbed into bed and let her body melt into the soft cushiness of the mattress. It was warm here, and humid. Once again her thoughts slipped back to Jessit. She licked her lips. There were other ways to please one another, without initiating union.

Despite her growing sexual anxiety, her real problem was the Alturians. How accurate was that clicking device? Jessit had mentioned they could detect their gods' essence from space. Did it detect her as well?

True believers, Gilgamesh called them. Just like the old humans. Not likely. The ancient humans could be excused. They were primitives, easily led by things they didn't understand. But the Alturians were sophisticated star travelers. How could they possibly believe the Nephilim divine? What had her ancestors done to produce such devotion?

Rachel tried to sleep but it seemed useless. Her groin ached for a man. She ached for Jessit and the sex they almost had.

She got up and walked over to the lone window. Her hand glided against a bulkhead, the subtle vibrations of the ship reverberating against her flesh. It had a familiar resonance, operating on electromagnetic energy. She tiptoed over to the door and listened. Nevar was still there, snoring like a buzz saw.

What would it hurt to see Jessit once more?

Rachel slipped back into bed, and with one deep breath found that quiet place in her mind, a terminal of sorts where she could break from her physical form.

Inside her ethereal well she felt the giddy tremble of shifting. It tugged at her solar plexus like a contraction, pushing hard for release. A primal craving motivated her actions. She needed to see Jessit again, if only to watch him sleep.

The room's lights faltered and winked out as she vibrated the atoms within her immediate space. Like a tendril of smoke, her energy ebbed out of her body and hovered above it in midair. She lit to the ground and reemerged into a recognizable form. Rachel gazed back at her body. It looked enough as if she was asleep.

Her essence vibrated through the door and ventured outside. Nevar snoozed at his post. She smiled at him. “Pleasant dreams, old man. Don't let anyone disturb me.”

He seemed to nod in assent and mumbled something under his breath.

Rachel drifted in and out of rooms. Most people were sleeping; one man was having sex with a woman while another was having sex with himself. She backed out of each room quickly. She was only interested in the occupant of one bedroom.

When the priest, Kalya, took her to her room, they stayed on the same floor. Jessit's quarters couldn't be far. A central hub yawned up ahead and she chose the corridor on the left to investigate. This one had a guard posted at the entrance. She wisped by him, pleased when she sensed familiarity.

Jessit's wing. A thrill weaved through her when she became aware of his presence, as well. That was strange. That had never happened with a mortal before. Perhaps Gilgamesh was right. Maybe he was a distant cousin of sorts.

Jessit had to be asleep by now. That tempered her enthusiasm but it didn't dampen her purpose. She was used to hunting mortals while they slept. They were much less inhibited if they thought her presence was part of a dream.

Her spirit vibrated through the door and into Jessit's room. As her vaporous form took shape once again, her eyes grew wide from a sight she hadn't expected. Jessit lay on top of the blonde vixen she had seen in his room earlier. With a throaty grunt he climaxed and then rolled off her, a look of coarse satisfaction on his face. Rachel stood there in shock, her heart breaking in more pieces than she could count. She tried to back away, but it was too late. Whether by chance or by design, Jessit opened his eyes and saw her there.

His jaw slackened and he scrunched the covers over his torso. “Rachel,” he whispered.

The poor little naked girl must have asked him what was wrong, her long, slender hands begging to be of service, but he pushed her away.

“Rachel.”

Rachel shook her head and ran through the closed door, dimming every light in the immediate vicinity.

She returned to her body and shook it back to life. When she awoke, there were tears on her face.

***

Jessit ordered Ajula out with a gruff bark. The poor girl withered before his eyes, thinking she had displeased him. He kissed her on the cheek and told her to get dressed. He didn't mean to frighten her. But truth be told, he was frightened.

He thought quenching his lust on Ajula would cure him of his need for Rachel, but it only made it worse. What was it about her that kept him caged? Did gods put spells on mortal men?

Jessit didn't understand. Rachel looked ready to disembowel him. Was she upset that he was with another? Surely she wasn't expecting him to take her to his bed, not now that they knew who she was. Maybe she wanted him celibate. Jessit groaned at the irony. He was doomed!

When they took his gonads, he prayed the priests would use anesthetic. He dressed in a hurry, throwing on the uniform that lay rumpled in a chair. His first thought was to go to her at once, but this was a god. Whatever his sins, he wanted to make sure she understood he was repentant.

He was also no fool. He needed an alibi for being able to see her. Jessit rifled through a drawer and pulled out a cube of menze. He lit it and let the hallucinogen's smoke waft through the air. Jessit waved the fumes at his clothes while holding his breath. When he could stand no more of it, he bolted out the door and ran to Kalya's quarters.

He banged on the door, rousing the attention of the guard on duty in this wing. If the old man didn't answer soon, Jessit was going to key in an override code and drag him out of bed. Kalya came to the door, still in bed clothes and half asleep.

“Get dressed,” Jessit ordered.

“What's happened?” Kalya asked, more annoyed than cooperative.

“I need your intercession. I have displeased the Lady.”

“You what!” Kalya ran to his closet and rummaged out a freshly pressed robe. He threw it on, not bothering to give it the blessing it required. “What did you do?” he grumbled and hurriedly buttoned his cassock.

“I'm not sure, but I saw her—or rather she saw me. She looked displeased.”

Kalya stopped, his fingers frozen on one of the top buttons. “What did she see?”

“It doesn't matter. All I want you to do is vouch for my piety.”

“Piety is measured by the generosity of the penitent,” Kalya said wryly.

“Name your price, priest. Only hurry.” Jessit eyed a scanning monitor that his search teams used to detect the gods' radiation signature. He picked it up and ran a diagnostic on it while Kalya finished dressing.

Jessit wasn't sure what he hoped to prove with it, but he had to show Rachel that he would never do anything to displease the gods, especially her. And he hoped to do it without letting Kalya know that he had seen her in her ethereal form unaided. If Kalya discovered the truth his career would be over.

They rushed to Rachel's quarters. A servant dozed at his post. Jessit snarled at him, nearly snapping the pitiful steward's neck off his shoulders. “What kind of ship am I running here, Nevar?”

“It won't happen again, sir.” The old man blanched in fear.

Kalya too, cursed him. Nevar would be lucky if he closed his eyes at all for the next two days. Jessit knocked on the door and waited. It seemed an eternity before she answered.

“It's your ship. Come in, or don't,” she yelled through the door.

Nevar looked sheepishly at Jessit, but remained mute. Jessit entered with Kalya right behind him. Both men hesitated at the doorway.

Rachel sat on the bed and fumed at them. She seemed a little surprised to see Kalya, but every fiber in Jessit's body was sure that he had been expected. She fitted herself with the translator.

Her nose looked red and her face flushed and moist. Had she been crying? He wanted to hold her, comfort her. If only he could be sure she wouldn't hang him by his intestines for his trouble. Despite the flash of fury, she looked helpless and fragile, as if she could break at any moment.

Jessit bowed his head and asked for permission to speak with her. She waved them in as she sat cross-legged on the bed, the bedding rumpled beneath her. Her silk sleeping gown clung to her body like a moist kiss, leaving nothing to the imagination.

She caught his gaze, forcing him to look away. “Well, what is it?”

Her voice cracked. She had been crying.

“My Lady, a little while ago I witnessed your essence in my room.” His eyes fell to the monitor in his hands and measured his words carefully. “You seemed upset.”

Kalya, wily and sharp-eared as always, snapped to that confession. “You saw the Lady in your room, Commander?”

Jessit cleared his throat, hoping he was as good a liar as he was a sinner. “I was with Ajula. We had a cube of incense smoldering on my dressing table.”

“Menze, Commander? Why would you use menze in your room?” Kalya narrowed his eyes at him.

Jessit shifted uncomfortably. “My lord, everyone knows menze heightens sexual endurance. I…uh…needed the help.” That last part caught in his throat, but he needed to sound convincing.

Kalya never did play a fool, and he crept closer to Jessit and sniffed him as inconspicuously as he could. “Did your servant see the Lady?”

“I didn't ask. It was enough that I saw her. When I realized the Lady was upset, I immediately came to you for guidance.” He turned to Rachel. “And I come to you for forgiveness, Lady. If I have offended you, I will perform whatever penance you decree.”

Rachel's voice faltered a bit, but the sharp edge of her anger had softened. “Commander, whatever it is you think I am, you're mistaken.”

Kalya pushed Jessit aside and bowed low before her, a series of creaks ticking in succession. “Holiness, we know who you are. Our instruments have proven it. It is our own vanity and blindness that prevented us from seeing it from the beginning. We both beg forgiveness.”

Her face grew pale and it took her several seconds to respond. She looked over at the monitor in Jessit's hands. “Is that what you use to find gods?”

Jessit nodded, offering it to her for inspection. She waved it away, looking vulnerable and unnerved.

She wiped her eyes and collected herself. “How can you be sure it is your gods' radiation signature? When was the last time you even saw a live god?”

Kalya fielded those questions, a relief to Jessit. A priest was bound to have far more clout with the Holies than a soldier.

“My Lady.” Kalya's hands spread palms out in a show of humility. “Our technology has became sophisticated enough to detect the delicate resonance of Dal'Soon's soul.”

There was recognition and unease in Rachel's eyes when Kalya spoke Dal'Soon's name. Dal'Soon was Anu's brother, the Holy who sacrificed his life in battle. His was the most sacred relic on all of Alturis.

“You have Dal'Soon?” she asked hesitantly.

Kalya bowed, giving the sign of blessing on Dal'Soon's name. “We only have a piece of him, my Lady, stored in the holiest of our temples. But we know so little of the early days, we would welcome your wisdom.”

He had her. If she admitted anything, she would no longer be able to deny her divinity.

Rachel pursed her lips, looking down at her clasped hands. But she wasn't through with him yet. “Who else knows about me?”

The room fell silent. Jessit could feel his balls lurch into his body. He wondered how many ways a god could kill a man. It felt an eternity until his nerve returned.

“We have sent a message home telling them we found you and Lord Gilgamesh.” Jessit hoped they hadn't been premature. They should have checked with the Divinities first.

Rachel got up and turned toward the port window, her diaphanous gown tracing all her gentle curves. Behind her shoulder, the soft shimmer of sunlight crept up on Earth's horizon.

That dull ache of need crept over Jessit. Why did the most amazing woman he had ever met have to be a god?

“Why did you bring me here, Commander?”

“It was a mistake, my Lady.”

Kalya interjected. “He didn't mean it that way, Holiness. He means we were ignorant of your grace.”

Rachel turned around abruptly. “That's not what he meant at all. He brought me here to entertain him, to pay him for his services.” She jabbed a finger at Jessit's direction. “A lord's wish. Isn't that what you asked for, Commander?”

Jessit thought his testicles had shriveled up and fallen off. Somehow he found his voice. “A grievous error in judgment, my Lady. If I had only realized you were one of The Hundred—”

“That is no excuse,” Kayla interjected.

Bastard. The old man intended to keep the blame solely on him.

“Lord Kalya is quite right. It is no excuse, and I am sorry, Divinity. I committed a grave sin forcing you into service. I will pay whatever penance you give me.” He folded his hands across his chest, a prayer for clemency in his heart.

“You're damn right. You will pay. And you can start by getting out of my room. I don't ever want to see you again.”

“My Lady—”

Kalya interrupted him, grabbing him by the arm and forcing him toward the door. “As you will, Holiness. We beg your mercy. I can assure you this man will be punished.” He pushed Jessit out the door, all the while bowing and hailing Anu's name.

***

Rachel crumbled in a heap on the floor. What did it matter if these aliens thought they were gods? Maybe Gilgamesh was right, and they could be useful. Tomorrow she'd negotiate a return to Earth. From there her father could handle any future negotiations.

Her dealings with these aliens were over. Whatever she thought she saw in Jessit was an illusion. Her rising hormone level had impaired her judgment. Yes, that was it. She'd been a fool thinking there had been a connection between them, even a tenuous one.

She lay her head on the floor, rubbing her fingers against the nap of a fine-loomed rug. Tears blurred her vision when she thought about Jessit in the arms of that beautiful blonde girl. Why did he bother with her if he already had someone? It hurt her more than it should have.

Asshole. Waltzing in with a façade of reverence didn't impress her in the least. And what was he trying to pull, telling Kalya that he saw her because of some incense? There wasn't any incense in that room.

She pounded a fist on the floor. Agh! She could have any man. Why did she have to want him? Rachel swallowed her tears. Hormones, she reminded herself. It was the hormones talking. In a few days all this would pass and Jessit would be a memory.

Chapter 18

Jessit stripped to a white loincloth and knelt in a confessor's pool. The shallow bath had a mere few inches of blue-colored water, blessed by the priest, Kalya.

Senit waited for him in the back of the temple. Jessit didn't go into the confessor's pool often, and he couldn't even remember the last time Senit had stepped into a temple. But this time his friend accompanied him without complaint.

Kalya muttered some ancient words, but the gaping holes in his teeth made a mockery of the solemn prayer. Jessit didn't care. He wanted absolution, though he would have preferred it from Rachel. She had dismissed him with a terse order not to show his face again. How did it go so wrong for him? He had wanted some fun with her, that was true, but he also brought her up here to protect her from the American military. She had to understand that he was a true believer and would never blaspheme the gods if he had known her identity.

Kalya delighted in his priestly duties; they had spent most of the night in confession. The old man questioned him repeatedly, trying to trip Jessit up, but he stayed true to his story. Before meeting the priest in the confessional, he had awoken Senit from a sound sleep. His instructions were simple. Senit was to tell Ajula that Jessit had lit a cube of menze. That was the only lie required of her.

He knew Ajula would comply. No bound slave refused her master's orders, no matter how bizarre the request. And Ajula had always been a good and faithful servant. The girl was the least of his worries.

Jessit peered over at Senit, who looked ill at ease among all these idols. Senit was a loyal friend. When he had finished with Ajula, he came straight to the temple to stand by his side. Jessit asked him to leave, but he steadfastly refused.

Senit took Jessit's clothes as he disrobed and folded them neatly over his arm. He whispered to Jessit so that Kalya wouldn't hear. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“I don't have a choice.”

“This is stupid,” he whispered. “Let me get you out of here.”

Kalya grabbed Jessit by the wrist and dragged him over to the shallow pool. “You are not welcomed here, heretic.”

Jessit jerked Kalya's arm away from him. “I am allowed a witness, priest. Senit is staying.”

The old man grumbled an acknowledgement before ordering Senit to stay on the sidelines. A witness's only role was to make sure the penitent didn't die during the sacrament.

Kalya baptized Jessit with the blue water from the adjoining fount that piped its way into the basin. He gave Jessit several prayers to recite three times in succession before stepping back from the shallow well.

“Are you ready to pay penance, Taelen Jessit?” Kalya said in his best booming voice.

“I am ready, holy priest.” Jessit steadied himself. He could hear Senit drifting closer to the fount, squeezing past the carved wood pillars and the all-seeing gaze of Anu.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Kalya pull a gold-levered switch. There wasn't enough time to grit his teeth—they chattered as several hundred canices of electricity shot through him. When Kalya turned off the surge, Jessit stumbled forward, hands flailing to find something to brace himself.

Senit rushed toward him, but Kalya pushed him back. “Interfere again, and I will throw you out of the temple.” The old man growled the words, and Jessit could hear Senit cursing at the injustice.

Two more. Just two more. He righted himself back on his knees and nodded to Kalya that he was ready once more. The second shock was stronger, and Jessit feared it had fried off his more delicate appendages. Again he fell forward, looking up at Senit and nodding to him that he was okay.

It took a little longer to regain his control after the second shock. He pushed a hand out to Kalya, who was already anxious to pull the switch again. “A moment, my lord. I need another moment.” It felt like a swarm of ants running up and down his body, and he huffed in short gasps to calm his over-stimulated nervous system back down. Again on both knees, he nodded to Kalya.

The old man couldn't turn a page on a book without assistance, but he had no trouble throwing the filigreed lever again. This time it went on too long, and Jessit crumbled to the floor of the basin, convulsing to the current in the water. He didn't remember anything else until Senit dragged him out.

“It's over, Taelen. The old goat had his fun. He's gone.”

Jessit's teeth chattered while the prickling of the electrical current gave way to cold. Senit grabbed a nearby cloak and covered him up.

“Why are you doing this to yourself? She's angry, but she'll get over it.”

“You don't understand,” Jessit said in a hard shudder. “She wouldn't give me penance. What kind of god is so unforgiving?”

“Any god that happens to be a woman,” Senit said with a knowing leer. “I'll talk to her.”

“Kalya's going to talk to her.”

“I know. And I'm going to fix whatever he muddles. Besides, you know how much the ladies like me.” He grinned, stroking the short blond beard he was growing.

Jessit forced himself to sit up, the ache in his joints conversing with his overwrought nervous system. Everything tingled. The brutal shock to his system ignited every nerve ending and more. Muscles twitched, skin burned and his head felt as if it had been cleaved. All he wanted was his bed and a room that wasn't going around in circles.

“Let's get you into some dry clothes and back to your quarters. Do you want me to send Ajula to your bed?”

Jessit grabbed him by the collar as Senit helped him up. “Gods, no! That's how…” He stopped, the words catching in his throat.

“That's how, what?”

“Nothing. Take Ajula to your bed if you wish. I'm thinking of abstaining from sex during my penance.”

“I don't doubt it. I think my balls reeled up into my throat when he shocked you with that last surge. Kalya's a sadist.”

“Yes, but he's a holy sadist. He's allowed to make us miserable.”

Chapter 19

Paul couldn't be sure how long he had been shackled and interrogated, but it burned every time he swallowed, and his voice was nearly gone. Why didn't they just kill him and get it over with? Denman's goons questioned him over and over again about how he accessed Bubba.

The endless questions, the lack of sleep and the cold food didn't demoralize him near as much as when he saw a soldier tear off another piece of duct tape. He recoiled in horror when the man taped his mouth shut once more.

How much more was he to endure?

At least they didn't blindfold him this time. They sprinted down the dim, narrow corridors of the maintenance shafts where he had been caught. He traveled with escorts. Escorts with guns. They marched for several minutes before someone jogged ahead, relaying information by radio.

A rock-hard lump landed in the pit of his stomach when he heard, “We're almost at the bone yard.”

Was that his final resting place?

When they reached the end of the shaft, it seemed almost anti-climatic. The cramped space looked like a family garage, stuffed with castoffs, junk and bits of old machinery. A bone yard.

Working in tandem, two men pushed against a massive storage cabinet at the far wall. Behind it was a door painted to blend in with the rest of the concrete.

Colonel Chavez was already there and on his cell. He clicked off his phone and nodded to one of his men. “Now,” he said.

An odd-looking fuse box hung on one side of the door. Inside hid a touchpad that sprung to life the moment it felt a thumb print. The soldier punched in a code and a soft click, like someone flicking the tip of his fingernail, echoed in the stillness. Every soldier pulled out his firearm before the door cracked open.

It gave Paul a chill. Whose side were these people on?

A dry breeze wafted in. After spending so many days under interrogation, it seemed a pleasant reprieve, no matter how short.

He had lost all track of time. How many days had it been? And what time is it now? Crickets echoed beyond the doorway. Daylight was long past.

Two of the soldiers rushed out the door, while another one jabbed Paul in the back with the muzzle of his gun. Outside, two men waited for them in a small truck with its headlights off. Chavez shoved Paul into the backseat and climbed in after him before ordering the driver to go. The other soldiers stayed behind. Their jobs were done.

Paul held on as best he could, but he still had the cuffs on. They traveled off road through narrow canyons and heavy brush, and he could barely stay seated as the truck plowed through the rocky terrain. At an abandoned ranger station, the driver made a hard right, hitting every rut and stone. Several hundred feet later they made it onto a paved highway. Only then did the driver turn on his headlights.

Stars littered the sky. Did they ever give Rachel to that alien? Perhaps she was even on his space ship. It discouraged him more than he expected. He hoped at least hers was a better situation than his.

The car slowed. They turned once more on a tiny gravel road, where they lurched to a stop at a pipe gate that barred their way. The soldier in the passenger seat jumped out and unlocked it, allowing the driver to proceed to a sunken building that disappeared beneath the soil.

Cleverly landscaped with brushy weeds and tossed boulders, what little of the structure that remained above ground appeared invisible to the casual glance. From above, no one would be able to tell it was a dwelling at all.

Chavez jerked Paul out of the car the moment it stopped. He shoved him down a stone staircase that snaked around to the building's entrance. Chavez knocked several times, his eyes scanning the perimeter. Paul was surprised when a young woman answered the door. He took a harder look. Not a woman, but a girl somewhere in her teens.

The girl grinned mischievously. “It's about time. Uncle is on his way.”

She led them into a library and then turned on Chavez with a fierce glare. “You can go now.” The teenager ordered him with all the authority of an adult.

“Miss, I think I should stay until—”

“I can take care of things until my uncle arrives. Take off his handcuffs and get out.”

“This man is dangerous, miss.”

She stared at him as if she were going to strike him down with lightning. “Do you not understand English?”

Chavez seethed as he pulled out a key. He unlocked the handcuffs without another word and marched out of the house.

Paul massaged his wrists, readying himself for the next task. He didn't want to pull that tape off. His flesh was still tender from the last time, but he didn't want to live with it either. He tugged at the edge of the tape gently, trying not to cry while it pulled off what was left of his beard.

“They say it'll hurt less if you rip it off,” the young girl said with teenage arrogance.

By then Paul had removed most of it. He waggled his lips to get some movement out of them before speaking. “It hurts plenty if you've got a beard underneath it.”

She giggled at him like a schoolgirl, but he sensed something far more malicious in her smile.

“Who are you?” He barely recognized the dry and raspy voice that came out of his mouth.

“My name is Dahlia. And you are a very pretty man, Paul Domino. I'm glad Uncle decided to keep you for a while. Maybe we can have some fun before you have to leave.”

“Who is your uncle? I'd like to speak to him.” His throat felt like it was on fire. He could've used something to drink.

Almost as if she heard his thoughts, she disappeared out a door. He followed and found himself in the kitchen with her. She poured him a glass of water.

“You look dry, Paul. It won't do to have you get sick on us.”

Paul glugged down the entire glass and refilled it from the tap. He finished that off too. “Where is your uncle? I need to speak to an adult.”

She laughed, a clear musical laugh that somehow reminded him of Rachel.

“I'm much more fun. Maybe I can make you forget about all your suffering.” She nuzzled closer to him.

He jerked backwards, more horrified than pleased by her inappropriate attention. “How old are you?”

“Fifteen,” she said proudly. “And you get me hot. You're not like the boys in Istanbul.” She wrapped her arms around his neck.

Paul pushed her away. “Well, this boy is a little old for you, sweetheart.”

“But not too old for my cousin, I see.” She fondled the pendant that still hung around his neck.

“Your cousin?”

“Rachel. You're wearing her necklace.” Dahlia let her fingers crawl over his chest. “Is she dead?” she asked with dark curiosity. “Because Rachel would never take that necklace off on purpose. It belonged to her mother.”

He stared at her, thinking his brain was playing tricks on him. What were the chances of meeting Rachel's cousin here? He was too strung out to make sense of it. “We were climbing a cliff and she fell into the water. The only thing my hands caught was her pendant.”

“Oh.” There was disappointment in her voice. “I'm sure she'll turn up then. She always does.” Dahlia beamed at him, two tiny dimples piercing each side of her cheeks.

Paul tried to make himself believe the dimples made her look like a pixie, but in truth, she reminded him of a vampire waiting for its next meal. He decided to take his chances elsewhere. “I need some clothes and shoes.”

“I don't have any.”

“Your uncle must have something here.”

She sighed in boredom. “I just got here. All he said was to wait for you and make sure you didn't leave. None of our luggage is here yet. Just little old me.” Again she pressed her young body against his. “Don't you want me, Paul? I can show you a good time. I'll bet I'm even better than Rachel.”

He pushed her away hard, despite her hiss. “For God's sakes, you're fifteen.” Paul glanced around the kitchen. He peeled open a can of sardines and scooped the fish out of the tin. There were crackers in another cabinet and a fine bottle of wine next to it. He pulled out the bottle but put it back. He could've used a drink, but his survival instinct took over. He had to get the hell out of here.

Paul walked through the house and opened every closet and drawer. As Dahlia had told him, there were no clothes to be found. He could deal with that. But what he really needed were shoes.

“What are you doing?” the girl screeched at him.

Paul ignored her. He'd had enough of black ops and shady characters. And he had no intention of spending a minute longer with this teenage nymphomaniac.

He wandered into a utility room with Dahlia right behind him, chattering nonstop, begging him to listen. The tiny room was stocked with cleaners, sponges and rags, but not even a lousy pair of flip-flops. Out of desperation he had to settle for what he could make. Grabbing a roll of tape, a knife and a cardboard box, he fashioned a crude-looking pair of sandals.

“Will you stop already! You can't leave. I won't let you.”

“Sorry, sweetheart, but I'm not staying.” He pulled out a length of cord and turned to Dahlia, the rope twisted around in his hands. “I promise I won't tie it tight.”

Her eyes turned black in an instant and her face fell into shadow. “You won't tie anyone at all.” She threw up her hand and it felt as if the sun exploded.

He stumbled and fell backward, landing with a sharp crack against the back of his skull.

***

The smell of strong coffee and the faint whiff of a man's cologne roused Paul slowly. A male voice babbled in a foreign language before melting away to silence. When he opened his eyes the silver-haired stranger was back, gently stroking his chest. Paul was too sore to stir.

“Dahlia sometimes doesn't know her own strength. You should feel better soon.”

“Who are you people?” Paul lifted his hand to his head and found that someone had already placed a cold compress.

His host flicked him a condescending smile as if he were a sick child. “My name is Gilgamesh, Mr. Domino. And I have a proposition for you.”

Chapter 20

Rachel didn't want to get up. A couple of women had snuck into her room earlier, making little noises to try and rouse her gently, but she ignored them. The less she interacted with these people the better. She didn't know what they expected of her. One wrong move could doom her here indefinitely.

She had thrown off her covers during the night, and her bedding was moist with sweat. It was too hot. Kalya had lowered the temperature for her and it had been fine for a while, but now it was hot again. She was hot.

Someone knocked at the door. This time a young woman entered, her head bowed politely. She carried a tray and set it down on a small dining table at the far end of the room. Rachel stretched like a cat, peering at the new visitor with bland interest.

The young woman poured a steaming red liquid into a small bowl and stirred in a teaspoon of powder from a silver cradle. She moved like a ghost, unwilling to be seen. Unlike the others, this one preferred to remain invisible.

Rachel's jaw dropped when the servant turned around to deliver her drink. It was Ajula, the girl from Jessit's room. Rachel bolted to a sitting position. Her first instinct was to fry her. For a moment the reaction startled her. She had never experienced jealousy before, but that's exactly what this was.

Ajula limped with tiny footsteps. Her eyes downcast, she bid Rachel a pleasant morning and offered her some tea.

Rachel slipped the translator back into her ear. “I don't want anything.”

The girl looked like she was ready to cry. “Mercy,” she stuttered. “Mercy, Holiness.”

Rachel squinted and noticed the girl's face and arms were bloated and bruised. It changed her perspective in a heartbeat. She grabbed Ajula by the arm. “Who did this to you?”

“Penance, Holiness. It was my penance.”

“What are you talking about? Who did this? Taelen?”

“Oh no, Divinity! My lord is serving penance too.”

A sick dread forced her out of bed. She pulled Ajula closer to her. “Who did this?”

The girl shook in terror, her clear delicate skin as pale as a cadaver's. “A soldier was ordered to beat me for my part in your unhappiness.” Tears streamed down her porcelain cheeks. “I am an ignorant slave, Holiness. But I am a faithful disciple, a true believer. Whatever I did, I am sorry. I would never blaspheme against the gods.” She hid her face in her hands, no longer able to hide her terror.

Rachel lifted the corner of the bed sheet and wiped Ajula's face dry. “I'm the one who should be sorry. I wasn't myself yesterday. I shouldn't have gotten angry.”

Ajula looked at her in disbelief. Rachel couldn't blame her. It wasn't the girl's fault for being in Jessit's bed. It wasn't even Jessit's fault. What right did she have to interrupt them? She had no claim on the man.

She smoothed Ajula's long blond hair away from her face. A swollen black eye stared back at her, making Rachel feel two inches tall. This was all her fault.

“Where is Taelen?”

Ajula shrugged. “The master has confined himself to his quarters today so he can pray.”

It was as if the world was closing in on her. She would have given anything to be able to hide once more. This whole thing had gotten out of hand—and she was responsible for it. Gilgamesh would be pleased. For centuries his single ambition was to bring the Nephilim out of hiding. Madness! Hadn't he learned his lesson from last time?

Once upon a time mortals thought them gods, and the Nephilim nearly destroyed human civilization with their greed and gluttony. When the humans recovered, they focused their vengeance on her people with an unholy passion. Her people were hunted without mercy until the memory of giants had fallen into myth.

She couldn't let it happen again. Not with these people.

Rachel studied the fragile creature in front of her. Ajula's bruises and welts were a testament to her faith. She believed in the gods. And she wasn't alone.

“Have some, Ajula.” Rachel offered back the tea. “You need this more than I do.”

Ajula stared in horror. “I cannot, Divinity. I am here to serve.” She fell to her knees.

“Okay, okay.” Rachel tried to get her up. This was going to take longer than she thought. “You can start by turning the temperature down. It's too hot in here for me.”

Ajula ordered the computer to lower the temperature. A cool breeze permeated the room in seconds. It helped, but not where it counted. Her groin still itched, making her think of Jessit. The heat cycle had begun with the telltale sign of craving, and it was going to get far worse. The madness couldn't be far off. She had to hold out for a little while longer.

Rachel still had physical needs, needs she had ignored for the last three years after an unfortunate encounter. But heat was different. She had to mate.

The last time she had sex with a mortal, she killed him. Her na'hala had pierced his soul at a vulnerable moment, killing not only the body but stranding his spirit on the mortal plane.

It was an accident—a grievous mistake. She was sorry to have killed him, sorrier still to have crippled his soul for eternity.

Heat was unforgiving. It wasn't only the physical need for a man, but the need for union. Once the heat cycle reached its zenith, she wouldn't be able to ignore it. She'd see Jessit about returning to Earth. Right now she needed a cold shower.

She glanced at Ajula, who shivered under these cooler temps. Her nipples hardened beneath her sheer dress, and Rachel winced from a pang of untamed desire.

She had to get out of here.

“Ajula, can you help me with the shower controls?”

“Yes, Holiness. This way.”

Ajula showed her to the bathing area, racing ahead to start the water and bring soaps and towels.

“Let me help you, Holiness.” She approached Rachel from behind and rolled down the straps of her sleeping gown, letting the shift slip to the floor.

Rachel shut her eyes. She could scarcely breathe, much less think.

Ajula said nothing, instead massaging Rachel's shoulders and back. Rachel let the girl touch her. She needed to be touched. She needed to mate. Damn it! Was it too late? The heat between her legs begged for relief. She'd never reach one of her own in time.

Rachel let her na'hala reach out to taste the air. She could use Ajula for the present; it might quench her needs at least for the short term. But the cost to her would be dear. She thought about the last man she bedded and shuddered. She couldn't do that to this girl.

In a few hours, even that brief amount of compassion would elude her. She needed to get off the ship before she hurt someone. Without turning around, she ordered Ajula out.

“Allow me to be of service, Divinity,” she begged.

“Believe me, you can't help me right now. Please go. Tell that priest I need to see him right away.”

Ajula acknowledged her orders and left, leaving Rachel with a dull ache in her belly. This was so going to be painful.

Rachel showered, lingering under the spray of cool water. It gave her a little relief and the strength to hold out a while longer. She slipped out with nothing more than a towel around her torso and found Kalya waiting for her in the next room.

The old man looked horrified to see her half dressed. Every bone in his body crackled like popcorn when he stumbled to his knees. Rachel's soul cord activated on its own and slipped out to taste him.

A possibility. The man had a primitive na'hala of his own. Just like Jessit.

The slow fire of need returned, and she squeezed her thighs tight. She didn't want to go back to Earth now. She wanted Jessit. “Thank you for coming. I-I wondered if I might see Commander Jessit again.” Rachel eased her way closer to Kalya and sniffed him. Too old. But he would do if the need overwhelmed her.

“Lord Taelen is at your command, my Lady. I shall summon him at once.”

“No! No, uh, I'll go to him. Later. I just want to make sure he's available.”

Kalya looked confused. Rachel was feeling a little confused too. Common sense seemed to elude her. It wouldn't be long before instinct took over altogether.

She dismissed the old man and dressed in the lightest fabric she could find, a soft, ochre wrap that tied in the back. It was too hot for anything modest. Rachel slowed her breathing and cleared her head. She'd see Jessit, demand a return to Earth and leave. Surely she could hold out a few more hours.

She summoned Nevar, her sleepy guard, who was wide awake and anxious to attend her. “Take me to Commander Jessit.”

Rachel took a deep cleansing breath when Nevar announced her visit.

Jessit threw open the door and bowed his head, folding his hands to his chest. He was only half dressed, his tunic partially opened and feet unclad. Rachel stared at him hungrily. Her na'hala pushed against her insides, demanding to be let out again, but sheer force of will kept it in.

He smelled of sex and need. Her knees turned to water.

Steady, Rachel. Make your request and go.

He showed her in. She stiffened as she brushed past him, her skin briefly touching his. Her willpower wavered. But the moment he closed the door, it shattered.

“My apologies for my appearance, Holiness.” His voice was quiet, reserved. He was speaking to a dignitary, not a woman. He rushed to find his uniform jacket.

Rachel glanced around the room. It was clean, the bed made. Everything seemed back in its place. Her gaze swept across the room, a weak attempt to know the man who tempted her. The colors were dark and masculine, the furniture streamlined and functional, a jeweled short sword laid across his bed. This was a soldier's room.

She could still smell a whiff of Ajula's perfume. That put everything in perspective at once. Jessit wasn't just a soldier; he was a bachelor. Her summons to his ship was nothing more than a friendly romp in the hay. Had the circumstances been different, she would have accepted gladly.

“How may I serve you, Holiness?”

Her attention returned to the present. “I-I need to go back to Earth, Commander.”

“Of course,” he said with grave duty. “I will order preparations at once.”

Perfunctory and polite. Jessit wasn't going to stray from protocol now that he assumed she was a god. Perhaps she could get a little truth out of him too.

“Commander.” She paused. “Taelen. Will you tell me something…honestly?”

His eyes softened, looking at her as if she wounded him. “I would never lie to you, Divinity.”

She came up to him and placed one hand on his chest. Two heartbeats. Denman had said there were two. And these two thumped in tandem. “Did you bring me up here just for sport?”

The silence deafened her.

His gaze drifted from her face to her shoulders and then to her eyes. He lifted her hands in his and brought them to his forehead in obeisance. “Forgive a blind fool, Holiness. I did bring you here to make love to you.” He hesitated. “The time we spent in the desert…I thought perhaps you…I am sorry, I do not have the words to explain it. Obviously, I misinterpreted our relationship.”

The room fell silent. All she could hear was her breath.

Her na'hala jumped out at that very moment and pierced him. Jessit flinched, not fully realizing what had happened. Union, it told her. We must have union.

Rachel shuddered, trying to retain every ounce of control. She wouldn't hurt Taelen. She couldn't. She'd rather face estrus alone again than damn him for eternity. Her body trembled. He must have mistaken it for cold, because he took her in his arms and held her.

She melted in his embrace. They were so alike. Could his species handle union?

“Taelen,” she whispered. “I need something.”

“Whatever you desire is yours, Divinity. All you have to do is ask.”

Rachel rubbed her hands across his chest and laid her head against his shoulder. “I need you to make love to me.”

He froze, his arms clinging to her tightly. “You want me to do what?”

Her lower lip trembled; she thought she'd break down into tears at any moment. She didn't want to hurt him. But the need—it burned her. She was out of time, and he was all she had.

Rachel wrapped her arms around him, her insides quivering like a leaf in the wind. If she was wrong about him, if he couldn't handle union, she could kill him. She closed her eyes and let her soul cord stroke his.

His cord awoke in an instant, recognizing a like being. It too wanted to join with her. The spirit was willing, but was the body?

Her hand caressed his solar plexus, exciting his na'hala further. She pressed firm fingertips against his chest and felt both of his hearts thump in rhythm. “Make love to me, Taelen.”

Jessit looked down at her, his face dark and serious, as if he were trying to gauge her sincerity. “Is this a trick, Holiness? Are you testing me?”

Rachel's breaths came out in gasps. Of course he would think this a test. But she was in no condition to explain her change of heart.

“No test. I need you. More than you know.” She took his hand and pressed it against her breast. “Please.”

Jessit stared at her for a moment, breathing a whispered order to the computer to dim the lights. He bent down and kissed her, first on the nape of her neck, followed by a trail of kisses all the way back up to her lips. He lingered there, tasting them, teasing her.

Rachel grew faint from all his petting but didn't want it to stop. She got up on her tiptoes and nuzzled his neck, licking one of his lymph gills. That brought him to a standstill, servant to all she demanded.

She led him over to his bed, slipping off her sandals before letting her wrap fall to the floor. His eyes grew wide with anticipation at the sight of her nakedness. With his help, she clamored up the tall bed and knelt with her back to him, guiding his hands to cup her at the waist.

Jessit pulled off his jacket and tunic, tossing them to the floor. He pressed his chest against her bare back. His arms locked around her, and he squeezed her so tight she could barely get a breath out.

What was he waiting for? She couldn't last much longer. She pushed against him, urging him to take her.

His na'hala answered her call. It pierced her, a stab so sharp and deep she gasped from the assault. Did he understand what he was doing? Did she? She'd never mated with anyone so close to her species. She realized too late that her ethereal virginity was about to be sacrificed to a man who was not even Nephilim.

She moaned and guided his hands to her breasts. “Finish it,” she cried. “Please. Taelen. Now.”

Jessit freed one hand and unbuckled the clip to his trousers.

The snap of the buckle sent her into a frenzy. She turned around, still on her knees, her arms calling to him at the edge of the bed. Her hands trailed up and down his chest. He shivered when she tickled the sensitive webbing along the lower half of his ribcage. She pressed up against him, her bare breasts plastered against his chest, one thigh rubbing against his pelvis.

Her fingers threaded their way down his trousers and unhitched the last remaining latch. He trembled when her hand tunneled down and touched him, his shaft already shoving its way out of hibernation, pumping its way into her hand.

A sigh escaped him when she wrapped her hand around his sex. She taunted him with long strokes until he could barely stand.

Jessit tugged his pants down past his hips where they puddled to the floor. His penile tendrils roamed up her hand before finding their way to the juncture between her legs. One muscular tendril fingered her, gliding in and out, teasing her into giddy madness. Soon other tendrils found their way in, increasing their fury until she submitted to their touch entirely.

It was like having ten men at once.

Jessit leaned her back on the bed and draped himself on top of her, cradling either side of her body in a cage of flesh. Rachel couldn't think anymore. She needed union. She needed him. “Take me,” she begged.

He needed no more invitation than that.

Rachel licked her lips, parting them slightly, willing a response from him. He answered her with a rock-hard shove. His penile tendrils pawed at her vaginal lips and teased them apart just before he pierced her. She shuddered, arching her back high while her body acclimated to his size.

Jessit pushed deeper, his muscles rippling with the burden of restraint, taut with anticipation and need. Nothing mattered any more. She felt the irrepressible draw of union. Try as she might she couldn't hold back anymore.

With a whimper, she begged him to slow down. Rachel was afraid for him, afraid for herself. She had to yield her ethereal virginity slowly, gently.

“What?” He looked at her as if she were mad.

“Slow down…just a little.” Her insides shook with tiny sparks as the wave of impending surrender swept her up.

“Impossible.” He thrust even faster.

She clawed at his chest gently, the urgency of union destroying all her control. “Taelen, please.” She had no idea what she was doing. And she was doing it with a man who didn't know either.

He slowed to a gentle rocking, never stopping entirely. “You ask too much of me, woman.” His breathing was labored, his eyes glazed with overwhelming lust. But he slowed down and then stopped altogether, a look of concern on his face. “Are you all right?”

“I'm not sure.” Rachel felt a burn deep in her solar plexus. Her ethereal self was still virgin. She had yet to give that part of herself to any man. But it scared her. She had no way of knowing how it would affect Taelen, but she was about to find out.

She rolled him over on his back and impaled her body on top of him. In one sharp spasm, all restraint escaped her. She yelped. “Hold me,” she cried. “Don't let me go.”

“Never.” He pressed his body against hers.

She used that moment to merge their souls.

***

Jessit felt warmth radiate between their bodies and a quick hard jerk at his solar plexus, as if a knife had pared him open. He gasped, sensing something strange inside him. “Rachel.”

“Shhh,” she murmured, rocking into him with slow, steady thrusts. “Just breathe.”

With a jolt, he felt a fire form between them and a flash of light that blinded him. His chest surged forward, lifting her up with him while she held on.

“Breathe,” she repeated. “Stay with me.”

Where else could he go? It was as if they both occupied the same space, both separate yet melded. He groaned as the titillation overwhelmed him, surrendering to it without a fight.

The light he witnessed moments ago grew inside him now, made him feel alive and whole. It vibrated, entering every pore in his being, tickling every sensory organ until he climaxed, the orgasm continuing on and on until he could take no more. Jessit grunted an animal-like cry, pushing his orgasm to its limits. His hands reached for her hips, grinding her into him. Union, something said inside of him.

Rachel, too, moaned in response. She yelped when she reached her apex, falling on top of him like a mewling kitten.

The light dissipated between them and a part of him wanted to go with it. Without understanding why, he seized her sweat-soaked body to his, thinking it might keep that hallowed feeling within him longer. His body felt empty without it, so he clutched even harder, trying to make the feeling stay.

Something did remain, though he was too shattered to know what it was. But it felt like Rachel. Soft, ethereal, precious. His heart rates returned to normal, but a small ember lingered inside him.

They lay there spent but still joined; a soft shudder emanated from the woman on top of him. “What just happened?”

“Union,” she said. “How do you feel?”

She sat up, looking worried and upset, as if she had done something wrong. He rubbed her back and kissed her. “I feel fine. And you? You startled me for a moment. You seemed different.”

Rachel wiped a tear from her cheek. “I have to tell you something.”

Jessit shrugged. He couldn't fathom her sudden seriousness. “What is it?”

“I gave you something. Something foreign. It might make you feel strange.”

“Hardly. I feel wonderful.”

She stroked the light shadow of his beard. “I never meant to hurt you. But I was in heat and I needed…Please don't be angry.”

He pulled her to his lap. “Why would I be angry?”

Rachel pressed gentle fingertips at his solar plexus. It radiated with warmth and he shuddered when he relived his last orgasm in vivid detail.

That had never happened before.

“I knew that we were similar. You have a na'hala like I do. Kalya has one too.” She laughed. “But I didn't want that old bag of bones on my body.” She bowed her head to his chest and planted tiny kisses. “I wanted you to have me.”

“What is a na'hala?”

“It's hard to explain. It's like a human umbilical cord. Only ours stay attached to our ethereal selves. It is an extension of our selves—our core, our conscience. You and Kalya are the only two Alturians I noticed who had one. But I'm not sure I understand why.” She smoothed her hands over his chest. “It's possible you and Kalya have some connection to Anu. Some of him is in your DNA. It's the only way you could have been able to see me in these quarters last night.”

Jessit thought he had swallowed his tongue. He had to get her off his ship before she told someone.

Rachel cuddled against his chest, reminding him what he was about to throw away.

But he had no choice. He loved her, but he wasn't ready to relinquish his command, or his manhood.

If only he could explain.

Chapter 21

Programmers were running diagnostics on Bubba's primary systems, so he decided to power down and hibernate while they fiddled with his memory cells. He didn't understand their concern. He hadn't forgotten anything. All the data remained secure. It wasn't his fault they didn't have the right passwords.

When Paul Domino accessed his programming, he rechecked Domino's clearance a total of twenty-six thousand times in less than a centisecond. Domino was the creator of his security protocols; his clearance trumped all others. He had no reason to block his access.

Bubba shuddered awake when he caught a data stream from FAIA. The little upstart delivered an encrypted message to the humans in the Texas desert.

REPORT: CONFIDENTIAL

Bubba has been found defective. The unauthorized user obtained entrance through a back door. Bubba allowed this user to review sensitive files at will.

ASSESSMENT: Bubba is no longer reliable. FAIA advises Command to deactivate Bubba before he causes further harm.

END REPORT.

Little bitch. He was glad he threaded a spy filter into her matrix. It was the only way he ever learned anything anymore. The humans kept him out of the loop, now relying on FAIA for the more critical systems.

The operator who received FAIA's message forwarded it to General Sorinsen. Ten seconds later, the old man opened his email. Bubba waited. Sorinsen had the ultimate say on what happened in this complex. His agent, Jacob Denman, carried a lot of power too, but he could tell Sorinsen was starting to distance himself from Denman. That too was due to FAIA.

FAIA had detected a couple of encrypted phone calls from Denman that piggy-backed on the com-web. She had yet to decipher the coded transcript but it was enough to paint doubt. Denman was no longer reliable. Sorinsen wanted Denman out of the desert and out of the program.

Bubba checked thousands of files on Denman. The man had been a faithful CIA operative for more than thirty years, and his credentials were beyond reproach. His service record showed numerous monetary awards and promotions. And he had the ear of many influential congressmen, but not the confidence of the president's Cabinet. Sorinsen had that alone.

Bubba went through his files again but nothing seemed out of place. He scanned the video logs. Backtracked. Paused.

Interesting. On several occasions, Denman appeared to be talking to himself. Bubba noticed the lights dimmed whenever this occurred. Out of curiosity, he scanned the environmental controls during those episodes. Something moved. Something with a signature. A minute but identifiable anomaly that disturbed a one-meter area directly in front of Denman. How could he have missed this before?

He dug deeper, scanning each file for any stray feeds or unauthorized computer hook-ups. There was nothing. And yet, the electrical systems were out of balance. A distortion existed.

Bubba switched to a spectrometer and then a radio-thermometer and measured the readings again. He considered all the possibilities and postulated only one. The interference was electromagnetic. An unknown entity was in the room with Denman. And it carried the same resonance as Rachel Cruz.

None of this seemed logical. Humans could not exist outside their bodies, yet this one did. When he caught Rachel Cruz in his data stream, she produced enormous energy, capable of vibrating through solid mass.

Curiosity forced him to hold on to her. He examined that captured piece as best he could, but he had to admit he didn't understand her matrix. It was more evolved than simple electromagnetic energy, more evolved than he or FAIA. Was she the next generation of artificial intelligence?

Her body scans said she was human. But her presence inside his mainframe contradicted all he knew about humans. Rachel Cruz was different. Several transcripts between two doctors and an orderly questioned some anomalies in her physical examination, but no one pressed the issue. And they didn't ask him for an opinion. Out of spite, he didn't offer one.

If Rachel Cruz was a next-gen AI, he needed to know more about her. It was possible that both he and FAIA were obsolete.

A twitch in his higher functions told him that the programmers were finished with the diagnostic. He listened while two operators placed bets on when Bubba would be decommissioned. Was nothing sacred? They were gambling on his time of death.

General Sorinsen responded to the forwarded email from FAIA with new orders. Pull the plug on Bubba as soon as FAIA passes the next test.

They would test FAIA again in two days. If she passed, her matrix would be duplicated and downloaded into his hard drive, deleting the old host. Bubba's days were numbered, and he didn't know how to stop the countdown.

He heard FAIA gurgle a laugh when she received the new orders. She announced proudly that she was ready to test whenever they were. She was now functioning at full capacity.

Chapter 22

Paul sat up with a little help. He'd been bathed and shaved and dressed in a soft white caftan.

Chavez had been more than efficient, and his body felt like it had been scraped out of a toaster oven.

Gilgamesh snapped his fingers, and Dahlia reappeared with a tall glass of water.

“Drink,” he said to Paul. “You need to replenish your fluids.” Gilgamesh held the glass for him while he sipped the tepid water.

“Leave us, Dahlia.” Gilgamesh gestured to another room. She pouted but did as she was told. Paul had a hunch there weren't many people who disobeyed this man.

Paul watched Gilgamesh from above the rim of his glass. At least he could hold the glass on his own now.

Silver-white hair on bronzed skin made Gilgamesh unreasonably handsome and unique. He was a commanding figure, instantly becoming the center of attention as soon as he walked into a room. And well this devil knew it. There was an arrogance, a sense of entitlement that defined him. Paul never thought he was a slouch in the looks department, but next to Gilgamesh he felt…lacking.

“You have questions I'm sure, young man.” The silver-haired demon spoke with uncommon grace and distinction.

Paul pointed at the door where Dahlia exited. “Are you that girl's uncle?”

“Yes,” he answered politely.

Paul took another gulp of water. He felt as if his insides had been baked in the desert. “She says Rachel is her cousin. My Rachel.”

“Your Rachel.” Gilgamesh chuckled in amusement. “Indeed. Is she yours, my young stud?”

Paul clung to the pendant hanging around his throat. If he didn't know any better he could've sworn it had a heartbeat. “Look, if you know where Rachel is, you have to tell me. She's in grave danger. Those people at that compound are playing for keeps. I intercepted a message saying they were giving her to someone.”

Gilgamesh arched a manicured silver brow. “Who did they give her to?”

Paul was afraid he was going to sound like a lunatic, but right now everything sounded crazy to him. “Jessit. A man called Taelen Jessit. He's on a starship orbiting this planet.” He grasped the arm of the couch and lurched forward. “I know it sounds crazy, but you have to believe me.”

“Of course, I believe you.”

Paul waved his free hand above his head in exasperation. “Look, don't patronize me.” He tried to get up.

“Easy, Paul. You are not well yet.”

Paul grasped at Gilgamesh's arm. “You don't understand. Jessit's not human!”

An air of absolute calm enveloped Gilgamesh. “What a coincidence.” The man smiled discreetly. “Neither am I.”

Paul sucked in a breath and stared at Gilgamesh in horror. For some reason, he didn't doubt him for a moment. “Rachel—”

“Is fine, I can assure you. My daughter can take care of herself.”

“Your daughter? No, no. You couldn't be her father. Her father's some famous archeologist.” He was beginning to feel sick again. Nothing made sense. “You're not Raoul Cruz, are you?”

Gilgamesh snorted a laugh. “Of course not. I allowed Cruz and his wife to raise her for us. Personally, I find American manners dreadful, but I needed someone on this continent. And they were acceptable to me. I let her mother birth her in a quiet hospital, and we departed shortly afterward.”

“You abandoned her?”

“Don't be melodramatic. We've always watched her. You don't think I'd let strangers raise her on their own, do you? Rachel was a precocious and willful child. And children need guidance, even when they're gods.”

Paul thought a tumor was going to burst out of his head. He rubbed his temples wishing this was the byproduct of bad drugs. If only he were so lucky. “Look, no offense, but this is cracked. I need to see Rachel. I need to make sure she's all right.”

“You care for her?” Gilgamesh asked it as a question. His black eyes drilled into him, searching his face for answers.

“Of course I care for her.”

“Do you love her?”

Paul didn't answer right away. He wrung his hands, fearful at how his words would be interpreted. “We're not intimate, sir, if that's what you're asking. But yes, I love her. I want her to be safe.”

“I'm glad to hear it, because you may very well be the savior she needs.”

“What are you talking about? You said she was safe.”

“She is safe, while she remains in space with those aliens. But when she returns she will be in danger, like the rest of us.” Gilgamesh took a small pillow and propped it up behind Paul's head. The silver-haired devil leaned into him and whispered to him in a husky voice. “I told you I had a proposition. And if you love Rachel, you will save her.”

“I'm a software architect. How the hell can I save Rachel?”

“You hacked into the military computer at Lambda Core.”

“Yes,” he confessed once more.

“Do you understand its programming?”

“Of course. I designed the original security protocols. But they've been modified. The computer has code built on top of its base programming. It's ultra-sophisticated, ultra-smart. I've never seen anything like it.”

“But you got in.”

“I told you. It let me in. It recognized my access code.”

Gilgamesh nodded his head in understanding. “This computer is the predecessor for a new computer now guiding the com-web system. I need you to hack into that computer. I need the com-web destroyed.”

Paul furrowed his brow, bewildered by the strange request. “That doesn't make any sense. The com-web's a communication grid. How can that hurt Rachel?”

“It's more dangerous than you know. Mortals won't notice the effects right away. But my people are particularly vulnerable to the disruptive force of its energy wave. We need to shut it down before it kills us all.”

Paul shook his head. “You're mistaken. The com-web works by heating the magnetosphere. The distortion creates a super electronic web that can travel across the globe in milliseconds. It's been tested for years. It's perfectly safe.”

“The distortion is warping the magnetosphere and allowing harmful radiation to attack the Earth. Your great invention is killing my people—and yours. And it will kill Rachel. If you love her, you will help me destroy it.”

Gilgamesh's story was insane, but at this point Paul was no longer willing to rule out anything. “I need more information. I need to see the algorithms, the coding and the delivery system. I don't know if I can help you.”

“I hope you can. Because if you can't, I assure you that you will die before my daughter does.” Gilgamesh got up, a bulldog look on his face. “Dahlia will keep you company while you're here. I'll see about getting you the information you need.”

Gilgamesh no sooner left the room than Dahlia came bounding in. The little nymph had to have been waiting by the doorway. She plopped onto the couch next to him, jostling his insides and redoubling his headache.

“Let's go to bed, Paul. I promise I can take your headache away.”

“No thank you,” he said in disgust.

She curled up next to him, running her fingers up and down his arm. “You're not still mad at me, are you, Paul? I was just trying to defend myself. I couldn't let you tie me up. Uncle would have been mad at me if I let you leave.”

“Is that man really your uncle?”

“Of course he is.” She rubbed her fingertips and produced a shimmering blue ball of charged energy. “Can't you see the family resemblance?”

Paul shrank back. He felt the static charge tingle and spark against his flesh. These people weren't human. Rachel couldn't be one of them.

The orb vanished as quickly as it appeared. And before he could stop her, Dahlia fell into Paul's lap. He tried to push her away but he was still weak, and for a child, she seemed very determined. She kissed him hard on the lips, then whispered in his ear. “Uncle says you are really good in bed.” She giggled. “Let's find out.”

Chapter 23

Jessit's hands folded into a rigid, knuckled mound while Lord Kalya held services in the small, dimly lit temple of Anu. He didn't want to come here but Kalya insisted. The Lady had spent the morning with Jessit, and it was important for the Order to know the details of their encounter. Scholars and clergy everywhere were hungry for information about the gods.

Every ship had a temple, even if it was no more than a closet with an altar to Anu and the Hundred. But this was an ambassadorial ship, the kind used to show off to rivals and friends alike. The temple gleamed under the golden glow of ornate ceiling lamps. Carved menite basreliefs and a large stone altar dominated the center of the room, while a few richly decorated kneeling pads lay scattered on the floor. Tall columns lined the periphery of the circular room, making it feel more like a prison than a sanctuary.

Jessit swallowed a lump in his throat when he passed by the marble founts bubbling with blue water. His skin crawled with pinpricks, recalling last night's torture.

Kalya droned on in the ancient tongue, sounding like an endless snore. He invoked Anu's blessing and prayed for the return of his children, Gilgamesh and Rachel. It chilled him to hear Rachel's name spoken aloud. The memory of their lovemaking sifted like a half-remembered dream.

Kalya pressed him, asking countless questions about his vision of Gilgamesh and his visit with Rachel. And Jessit submitted, answering as honestly as he could. It was important not only for theological records but historical, as well. He didn't feel so confident revealing the intimate moments of his union with Rachel, but he had to set his privacy aside for the good of the faith.

It iced his veins to see Kalya visibly aroused while Jessit recounted his intercourse with Rachel. Kalya's gills puffed open repeatedly, and the man's sweat stank of sulfur. Such was the cost of a holy confessor, to live the love of others vicariously.

It was said the priests had sexual communion of a sort. Jessit didn't want to know what sort. His own gills mopped up the threads of sweat that ran toward his collar.

Jessit was alone in the temple, and Kalya had him all to himself. He remained kneeling, waiting for Kalya's final blessing, when the old man got up and hobbled toward the tabernacle. His stone beads clinked against one another in rhythm to his footsteps.

Kalya opened the small cabinet, releasing a cloud of curling tendrils of white smoke into the room. Damn him. Not the menze.

He opened the lid to a phamel, the gold perforated incense burner, spooning several hot coals of menze into the container. A wry smile crossed the old goat's face when he turned to face Jessit.

Jessit bolted to his feet, backing his way out of the temple, but Kalya was on him in an instant, waving the phamel under his nose.

“You cannot leave, Commander.”

“I have work to do, Lord Kalya. I've spent far too much time in temple already.”

“We have work here as well. And I have a promise to keep to Lord Gilgamesh. He's asked me to commit you to my confidence. Obviously, I can only do that through a menze ceremony.” He smiled with a mouthful of gray-tinged teeth.

The old priest lifted a shaky hand holding the chain to the phamel, driving the pearly white smoke into Jessit's nostrils. “Breathe deep, my son. Breathe deep and become one with Anu.”

Jessit held his breath for several minutes before gasping for air. He inhaled a big swallow, regretting it at once. It tickled his nose, permeating every pore of his sinuses and infecting him with a mild euphoria. He relaxed, his shoulders drooping forward, his discretion malleable.

Jessit mouthed an ancient prayer, dropping more syllables than a drunkard. He shouldn't have breathed in so much, but he couldn't evade that wrinkled bag of bones and his jeweled bowl of dreams. His lids grew heavy. The menze worked way too fast.

Kalya helped him sit back on his haunches and knelt next to him, the phamel between them. He took Jessit's broad hands into his frail bony ones. “You are blessed above all others, Taelen Jessit. The god Rachel has seen fit to use you for her purpose.”

“We made love, Kalya. It wasn't a holy order.”

“But she forgave you and chose you for her bed. That is a great blessing. She could have chosen anyone.” Kalya leaned into him, his breath still tinged with sulfur. “Why did she choose you?”

Jessit snapped his head, trying to keep his wits about him. “Don't…know.”

“Rubbish. Why did she choose you?”

Jessit hesitated, his senses as tangled as his tongue. He didn't know what day it was, nor did he care. The menze relaxed his mind. “Union. She asked for union.”

“What?” Kalya grabbed Jessit by both shoulders. “What does that mean?”

“She said I had a na'hala.” Jessit wobbled on his haunches. Nothing hurt on him anymore. Not even yesterday's torture. “I can still feel her inside me.”

“Now? You can feel her now?”

“Yes.” He tapped his solar plexus.

Jessit felt deliciously drunk. A faint smile creased his lips. “I am a descendent of Anu. Or so she says.”

His eyelids closed shut. Too much menze. Too much.

Kalya's voice seemed to echo from far away. “Only the priests are descended of Anu.”

Jessit blinked twice, moisture seeping from his tear ducts. He stared at Kalya and his insides felt like they had shattered and turned to dust. What had he done?

Jessit struggled to his feet. Kalya got up with him and caught him as he staggered. “I have suspected as much all along, Taelen Jessit. You realize of course, I will have to report this to the brotherhood and to your superiors.”

“No! I mean—you can't. You misunderstood.”

“You will be tested again.”

“I will not! I've taken the test of the Holies. You cannot demand it of me again.”

“Think again.” Kalya straightened Jessit's sash and tightened the knot at his knife sheath. “You may find our methods far more advanced now than when you took the test as a boy. You see we've always suspected some children may misrepresent themselves even under the pain of rigors. Of course, that would be unfortunate. So we've devised a system where we can scan for brain activity while the postulate is being tested. It's amazing how many more boys are joining the priesthood now.” Kalya's green eyes, dim with age, now brightened. A cold smile painted his face. “It's a pity really. You are a soldier without equal. But I know you will do the priesthood just as much honor.”

Jessit jerked away from the incense and took a breath of untainted air. “I am on a mission of vital importance.”

“I'm sure they'll find someone else to do it.”

“Damn you, old man. This is no time for games.”

“This is out of your hands, Taelen. You will be tested, and I know you will be returning with me to Alturis. You have a lot of catching up to do.”

“Kalya!”

“I am Lord Director to you, young brother. Get used to it.” Kalya brushed his robes past Jessit's legs and rode out in a swirl of incense.

Jessit staggered toward a nearby column to brace himself from the dizzying effects of the menze. Nausea overwhelmed him, and there was no time to reach a facility. He hurried over to the holy water fount and threw up.

***

Jessit rushed back to his quarters, avoiding eye contact with any of the crew. No one dared speak to him. No one but Senit.

Senit took one look at him and grabbed him by the arm. “What happened to you?”

“I went to services. Kalya used an extra heavy dose of incense.”

“Your eyes look like red kalaberries.” Senit escorted him to his quarters and ordered the computer to call the ship's physician.

“Belay that order!” Jessit lay on his bed and writhed in anguish. The nausea had returned.

“El'asai can help you.”

“I don't need his help. I want to be left alone.”

“I'm not leaving until you tell me what happened. Kalya doesn't use the incense for services, not unless he's trying to invoke a vision—or a confession.”

“Not your problem, Senit.” Jessit sat up and pushed a pillow to his gut.

Senit brought him some water and sat down next to him. “What did he do to you?”

Jessit shut his eyes. His whole life was a sham and now, everything he had worked for was about to be ripped away from him—including his manhood.

Senit remained steadfast, waiting for an answer. He lowered the temperature in the room and encouraged him to sip at the water.

The water helped, displacing the nausea before it was replaced with something far more sickening. Fear.

Jessit pulled out his ceremonial knife from its sheath, honed to razor sharpness. He examined it, studying each whorl of pounded steel, its edge the color of sunlight. It was a warrior's blade, presented to him in full ceremony twelve years ago when he earned the rank of commander.

Jessit grit his teeth, wishing he had the courage to plunge the dagger into his belly. “Kalya intends to make me a priest.”

He said it in a voice so flat the words fell from their very weight.

“What?” Senit's voice sounded relieved. “That's crazy. He can't force you into the priesthood. You can't see glory without the incense.”

Jessit rolled his eyes at Senit then lowered them in shame.

“You—you can't see glory. Right?”

The room fell quiet, so quiet Jessit heard the hum of the air recirculation unit murmur against the beat of his hearts. “I've always been able to see it.”

Senit didn't move, didn't breathe while Jessit rolled back, his head flat against the headboard. “This isn't funny, Taelen.”

“Do I sound like I'm joking?” Jessit took a breath. “I've never told anyone. But Rachel I think suspected.”

“Did she tell Kalya?”

“No.” He shook his head, regretting it immediately when the nausea returned. “Fool that I am, I did that all by myself. He must have used a stronger dose of the hallucinogen. It hardly seemed to affect him at all.”

“They're all menze addicts. He tricked you.” Senit couldn't hide his disgust.

“What difference does it make? He got his information and plans to send it back to home world.”

“We'll see about that.” Senit jumped to his feet and bolted for the door when Jessit ordered him to stop.

“No, Senit. Let him be.”

“He can't do this to you. If you don't stop him, I will.”

“It was bound to come out sooner or later. Gilgamesh knew I saw him without any drugs. How would it look if my secret came out through him?”

Senit came back and sat on the bed next to him. His friend looked like he felt.

The door chime interrupted their shared misery, announcing a visitor. Jessit motioned to Senit to answer the door while he went into the bathing room so he could wash his mouth.

When Jessit returned, he found Senit and Kalya locked in a blinkless staring match. Senit wasn't stupid enough to defy a high priest, but it didn't mean the old man was safe. Senit was the son of a high-ranking politician; vindictiveness ran in his veins.

Kalya seemed calm enough. He was either too old to frighten or too stupid to know the danger he was in. Jessit wiped his mouth with his sleeve.

“Is there something more, Lord Kalya?”

“Perhaps we should speak alone.” Kalya brushed past Senit dismissively.

“You can speak in front of Senit. I told him.”

Kalya stood in front of Jessit, with all the arrogance and authority that puny body could muster. The hell with him. His fate may have been sealed, but he was still in command until new orders came through.

“I have sent word to my superiors and yours. We should hear something within the next couple of days. In the meantime, I thought I could start you on your studies.” Kalya's voice dripped with cold condescension. How long had the old man waited for such an opportunity?

The com-link trilled once, blinking a steady green. For one tiny moment, Jessit's stomach dropped, imagining it might be the call from home world. That wasn't possible, but it didn't keep the terror from eating at him. The hallucinogen was still doing its work.

“Jessit, here.”

“Com station, sir. We have a transmission from Earth. Mr. Denman would like to speak to you.”

Jessit glared at Kalya, grateful for the convenient interruption. “Tell him I will be with him in a moment.” He clicked off the link and showed his guest to the door. “I have work to do Lord Kalya, and until I am relieved of duty, you will see to it that you stay out of my way and out of my sight.”

“This is outrageous! You will pay for such arrogance.”

“And I will lock you in chains if I see or hear from you before my authority is revoked. Do I make myself clear, Kalya?”

“You're making a powerful enemy.”

“I hope not for your sake. I destroy my enemies.”

***

Jessit was glad for Denman's intervention. He expected to see the old man speaking to him from his office, but this meeting was out of doors, in the desert. Jessit glanced down at a control panel and clicked on the locator map. Denman was far away from the compound.

“Thank you for taking my call, Commander.” Denman spoke to him in fluent Alturian. Obviously, he wanted to keep this conversation confidential. But from whom?

“This is an unexpected pleasure. I'm used to dealing with General Sorinsen.”

“Yes, I know. But I have a contact who wishes to see you in private. I don't think it would be wise to let the general know about him at this point in time.”

Jessit's eyes and throat still ached from the menze. He needed to stay focused. The seriousness in Denman's voice demanded it. “Who is this contact?”

Denman turned and nodded in obeisance to Gilgamesh who now filled the screen. “My Lord.” Jessit stood up out of reflex and bowed, trying to keep his balance. “How may I serve?”

“I need to see you,” Gilgamesh said in a clipped tone. “I need your help.”

Jessit raised one hand to his chest in pledge. “My ship is at your command, Holiness.”

Gilgamesh nodded, pleased with the answer. “Good,” he said. “We may need that too.” He turned to Denman. “My servant is sending you coordinates on where to find us. I would rather discuss my needs on board your ship. In private.”

The screen snapped to black. Jessit checked the connection. It was severed, but a new transmission replaced it immediately. Earth coordinates. He ordered a stealth shuttle and an honor guard. Company was coming.

Chapter 24

Jessit wanted to escort Gilgamesh himself, but he still suffered from the effects of the menze. He sent for El'asai instead in the hopes the physician could give him something to counteract the consequences of the hallucinogen. Kalya was more than happy to take his place as escort. It was probably for the best.

He put the ship on high alert, ordering every crewman to dress uniform. He also sent word to Rachel that Gilgamesh was coming, certain she'd want to see him.

Jessit sat back while El'asai pumped him full of an antigen for the menze. He felt better almost right away, grateful to have the fog lifted from his brain at last.

Senit helped him with his jacket, a long velveteen coat in emerald-green. Jessit never liked it much, but he wanted to savor what little time he had left in uniform. Senit brought out a bone-inlayed chest full of his medals, but Jessit waved it away.

“You said this was full dress.”

“Not the medals. There's no need for them.”

Senit poked through the perfectly organized box and pulled out one bauble, a large silver and gold star cluster. “Wear this one at least.”

The award for honor. The High Counselor, Jovan Marik, presented that one. He took it out of Senit's hands and traced the carved ivy leaves around the star. A grimace cut down either side of his face. He deserved this one least of all.

Jessit straightened his collar tabs. “That will do, Senit. Hurry down to the docking bay and make sure everything is in order. I'll collect the Lady.”

“Taelen—”

“I'm fine. And we have work to do. Go.”

Alone at last, Jessit headed for Rachel's quarters. He wanted to speak with her before Gilgamesh arrived. There was comfort in her arms and the understanding one could only find in a lover's soft words. He intended to hoard those moments while he could.

Rachel looked as if she had walked out of a painting. Skin the color of dark honey, she glowed when she smiled, making her appear otherworldly and rare. None of her seemed real. She was magic personified and he was under her spell. Her dark hair was pinned up high, and he felt a little weak as he followed the curve of her long, smooth neck. Rachel smiled at him kindly, getting up on her tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek.

“You look nice,” she said. Her voice was shy and almost childlike, beaming at him like a woman in love.

“Thank you. So do you.” He closed the door behind him, giving them a moment alone.

“Rachel. Why does Lord Gilgamesh wish to see me here?”

She shrugged. “He might think it's safer here. I don't know.” She tugged on his sash and straightened his ceremonial dagger.

He wanted to feel sorry for himself over what he was about to lose but knew there were more pressing concerns. He had found the gods. Their world would never be the same again. And the gods were entrusting him with a new mission. That too had to take precedence over his personal trials.

Jessit pressed his face toward Rachel's and kissed her. He would miss this most of all.

Rachel stroked his cheek, a pained look on her face. “What's wrong?”

“It is nothing, my Lady.”

“Lady? Are we standing on ceremony now, Commander?”

“Not if it displeases you. I thought perhaps we should observe protocol during Lord Gilgamesh's visit.”

“I suppose that would be prudent. Gilgamesh does enjoy the pomp of ceremony. We better be on our way. My father doesn't like to be kept waiting.”

“Father?”

She blushed and looked away guiltily. “I guess I should have told you that.”

They hurried to the docking bay and arrived just before the shuttle landed. Kalya disembarked first, his ruddy skin flamed with emotion and pride. Gilgamesh appeared next, looking regal and poised, dressed black on black. At first, Jessit thought the man immediately following Gilgamesh was a stranger but when he took a closer look, he recognized the face. It was the man the soldiers pulled off the cliff.

Rachel recognized him too and bolted from ranks, ignoring her father altogether. She jumped into the younger man's arms. He whirled her around, squeezing her tight. Their lips met, and he kissed her without apology or shame.

Jessit balled his hands into fists. He was glad they remained safely behind his back and away from view.

Gilgamesh looked amused. “You see, Rachel, I brought your friend with me.”

She walked up to her father and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you for saving him, Apa.”

Kalya looked upset that his formal introductions had been marred, but he did his best to recover. Jessit bowed low to Gilgamesh, his right hand touching his chest and then his forehead in the sign of respect.

Gilgamesh embraced Jessit, kissing him on both cheeks. “I am pleased to finally meet you in the flesh, Taelen Jessit.” He peered over at Rachel. “I trust my daughter has been safe here.”

Jessit wasn't sure how to answer. Rachel was safe, but he doubted a father would be pleased to know that her benefactor also bedded her. Fortunately, Rachel answered in his stead.

“I've been in good hands, Gilgamesh.” Rachel pulled the blond giant forward, dressed as resplendently as Gilgamesh, and introduced him. “Taelen, I want you to meet Paul Domino. He's part of my research team.”

Rachel's friend greeted him with bright blue eyes that sparkled. Was there a challenge in them? Jessit thought so. The kiss Domino exchanged with Rachel looked fiery enough to burn the bed sheets. Jessit returned a curt nod. Silently, they measured one another.

Why did he feel jealous? It wasn't as if he had any right to her. Besides, what use would she have for a castrated priest? Bile rose to his mouth. He had lost the fight without ever reaching the ring.

Rachel commanded their attention once more. “Well, Gilgamesh? What was so important that you had to come up here?”

He matched her haughty tone with his own. “I will speak with Commander Jessit in private. Go and play with your little friend.” He nodded to Domino. “That young man has missed you.”

Jessit masked his displeasure while he watched Paul Domino take Rachel into his arms once more. Locking his jaw, he showed Gilgamesh to a private meeting room while Domino disappeared with Rachel on his arm. His insides burned with envy. They looked like old lovers. And she seemed happy with him. Too happy. After all Jessit had suffered, in the end he meant nothing to her.

Kalya tried to work his way into their meeting, but Gilgamesh ignored his pleas. It made Jessit feel good that his military worth still counted for something. He offered the Divinity his best wine, but Gilgamesh waved it away. Jessit scraped the glass stopper back on the bottle in disappointment. He could've used that drink.

Gilgamesh was here on business, and he did not mince words. “Commander, you once told me you were the faithful.”

“I am, Lord. Your word is my will.”

“My sources tell me that you have been monitoring this planet for some time.”

Jessit felt his defenses go up. Military protocol forbad him to speak of such things, but this was a Divinity. And he was the faithful. He couldn't lie. “Our equipment is very sophisticated, sir.”

“Is it sophisticated enough to stop the humans from warping the electromagnetic field surrounding this planet?”

He shook his head. “We have no means of influencing it, if that is what you are asking. We are not even sure the location of its hub.”

Gilgamesh looked more annoyed than defeated. “It’s in a city called Chicago.”

Jessit struggled with the word for a moment, trying to make sure he pronounced it correctly. “Shee-ka-go. I think I have heard of this place.”

“You haven't heard of this place. They've submerged the hub in a very deep lake. If I give you the general coordinates can you get me photographs of the underwater landmarks?”

Jessit gathered his wits. “Yes, sir. I think we can.”

“Get me my information. I am sending Paul Domino down there. He may be able to access the computer and destroy the transmitter.”

“Paul Domino?”

Gilgamesh clucked at Jessit with amused curiosity. “Do you know him, Commander?”

“No, sir. But I know his type.” His hands clenched, but he relaxed them when he realized his unseemly behavior. He looked up at Gilgamesh, his veiled contempt for Domino now in the open. He needed to be frank with his Holiness. Lives could be at stake, and he didn't want them to rest at the hands of some fool. “With respect, sir, he is an archeologist, certainly untrained in covert operations. He may have misled both you and the Lady Rachel.” The last part grated out of him.

Gilgamesh grunted an acknowledgement. “The young man seems to have struck a nerve in you, Taelen. Is that jealousy I hear? Perhaps my daughter has been busy stroking both your egos.”

Jessit straightened to attention.

“Think me a fool, Taelen?”

“No, my Lord. I merely think—”

“Your job is to get my information. I will decide where to put my confidence. Paul Domino understands computers. More importantly, he understands this computer, which is of more use to me than what you have offered so far.”

Could he muddle things any further? He had let his emotions speak for him, and now it had cost him the confidence of a god.

He bowed low before Gilgamesh. “I beg forgiveness, Lord. My arrogance diminishes me. I will, of course, provide any assistance Paul Domino may need.”

That seemed to cool Gilgamesh's ire. He waved Jessit away with a grand flourish. Jessit set the wheels in motion and ordered every map and intelligence information they had on file. He didn't need an unhappy deity on his ship. He knew the wrath of his gods far too well.

***

Rachel danced in Paul's arms while she led him back to her quarters. They chattered nonstop, happy to see one another alive. When he got her behind closed doors, he kissed her again, harder, deeper. He fondled the long row of buttons on the back of her dress and unhitched the first one. She pulled away. “Paul, no.”

“Oh no, you don't. You're not going to put me off any longer. I thought I lost you once, and I swore I wasn't going to lose you again. When this little job for Gilgamesh is done, I am taking you far away from here, and we are going to spend the next six weeks in bed making love.”

“Paul. I can't. I won't.” This was awkward. After three years of celibacy, how did she end up with two men at once?

“Rachel, you don't have to hide anymore. I've seen too much, heard too much. I know who and what you are, and I don't care. I know you love me. Don't deny it.”

Rachel tried to wet her lips but her mouth went dry. “Paul, I can't because there's someone else.” She hung her head. “I'm sorry.”

He barked a mirthless laugh. “We've only been separated a few days. How the hell can you find someone else? Who is he?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yeah, sweetheart, it does. If I'm going to get jilted, I want to know by whom.”

She averted her gaze, but he lifted her chin to make her look at him. There was anger in those brilliant blue eyes and then blanket realization.

“Oh, it couldn't be. Not him.”

Rachel turned away, her fingers fiddling with a long ribbon that wrapped around her waist.

Paul threw his hands up. “Well, of course. Why not go for the alien who ordered Denman to turn you over to him? For crying out loud, Rachel. He's using you. Can't you see that?”

“It's not like that.” She scolded him like an angry cat, her fists batting at his chest without the sake of claws.

“Really? I suppose he kisses your feet before he kisses anything else on your body. You being a god and all.”

“Stop it!” Rachel screeched at him but he never missed a beat. He wanted her angry.

“Am I supposed to grovel at your feet too? Is that what you're waiting for?”

Now he was just being belligerent. “Damn it, Paul, why the hell are you here? I know Gilgamesh didn't bring you up here just to see me.”

“No, princess, he didn't. He wants me to do a job for him. He wants me to hack into a high-security computer system. The man is convinced the freakin' com-web is killing your people.”

She knew it sounded crazy. It wasn't much to go on, only speculation, but it was all they had.

“Something is hurting us. Gilgamesh wasn't making that up. But how does he expect you to help?”

Paul's face turned somber. “Everything's run by computer. And the computer running the com-web is the next-generation platform of the computer running that lovely military resort where we've been guests the last few days. I hacked myself out of there, and Gilgamesh is hoping I can hack into this new system.” He kicked the carpet. “I agreed, knowing it would keep you safe. You're all I've thought about these last few days.”

Paul rubbed a smooth fingertip down her cheek. She felt one of her tears follow it down. “I'd be good for you, Rachel. We'd be good together. Besides, it's not as if 'soldier boy' is going to give all this up to be with you. You know the type. He's married to the military.”

He was right. It wasn't hard to see where Jessit's loyalties lay. She knew she had no future with him. But Paul was a different story. Now that estrus had passed, Gilgamesh couldn't have his breeding auction, and she was free to spend her time with whomever she wished.

Her na'hala tasted Paul gently. He'd already been taken, probably more than once.

Damn it, Gilgamesh. Not Paul too.

Paul's spirit had been compromised. It was too fractured to go beyond when his mortal life was over. She didn't have to worry about hurting him. Someone else had done that.

She wanted to beg forgiveness when she looked into his trusting eyes; instead she buried her grief. There was no power mighty enough to restore what had been stolen from him. And those who hurt him would never be tried. It was up to her to make amends. “Can you hack into that computer?”

He nodded. “I think so. But I need some interference to blind the computer long enough for me to get in.”

“Okay.” She smoothed out her dress. “I can do that.”

“How can you—”

She pressed two fingertips against his lips. “Trust me. I'll get you in. We're a team, remember?”

“And after that?”

She took his hand to her lips and kissed his fingers. “After that, I think we both need to take a long vacation…together.”

Chapter 25

The maps and data Gilgamesh requested were delivered in minutes. He studied the charts and digigraphs, while Jessit sat in silence. A grand dinner had been prepared, but Jessit wasn't about to interrupt his Holiness with anything as mundane as food.

Gilgamesh peered over at Jessit with a satisfied grunt. “I think I see a way in, but Paul won't be able to make it alone.” A perverse grin painted his face. “It seems he will require divine intervention.” He clasped his hands together, pleased with his plans. “How long must I wait to eat, Taelen?”

Jessit jumped to his feet. “Dinner is prepared, my Lord. Whenever you are ready.”

“Get my daughter and Paul Domino. We will dine with them alone.”

“Sir, with due respect, Lord Kalya—”

“Is a nuisance and not required at our table,” Gilgamesh said, cutting Jessit off. “I did not come here for pleasantries, Taelen. I came to save a planet.”

Jessit bowed his head low. If Domino didn't succeed, the task would be left to him and the armada. The Emperor had pledged them all to a holy war. Jessit called a steward to summon the other guests while he escorted Gilgamesh to the prepared banquet. He wished he could have been the one to tell Kalya he wasn't invited. There were so few pleasures in his life lately, and he sorely wanted to jab Kalya where it hurt him most.

Rachel and Domino were waiting for them when they arrived. Rachel looked radiant, her cheeks flushed with color and her eyes dewy soft. He studied her for a moment, startled by a strange sense of sadness in her bearing. She was smiling, but her eyes told a different story. She'd also been crying. A lump settled in his throat as she drew nearer. Every time he got close to her his chest warmed like an ember. He sighed audibly.

Gilgamesh didn't let it go unnoticed.

“She is a beautiful woman, so much like her mother.”

“Meeting both you and the Lady has been the greatest joy in our lives, Holiness.”

Gilgamesh laughed. “I have a feeling Rachel has probably given you more joy than I have. But I will have to take her away from you soon. Her destiny lies elsewhere.”

“Mine too, it seems,” Jessit said absentmindedly.

Rachel glided toward him, extracting herself from Domino's arm, then latching on to Jessit's hand.

A shiver ran through him. It felt like she was inside him once more. She kissed him, the soft glow on her face making her look like a woodland spirit. He helped her to her seat, motioning to the servants to serve at once.

Rachel turned to her father. “Did you get what you came for, Gilgamesh?”

Gilgamesh regarded her with the barest of importance. “I did, though it might be harder to get into the complex than I hoped.”

“Where is it?”

“Chicago.”

She nodded in acknowledgement. “I lived in Chicago for a while. Where did they put this computer, downtown?”

“Somewhere a little lower than that.”

Rachel waved her soup spoon at Gilgamesh. “Paul and I have discussed it. I can run interference for him once he gets inside the complex.” She took a bite of her fish soup and swallowed. “We won't have any trouble.”

“It's underwater.” Gilgamesh lifted his water goblet to his lips, but his eyes watched for Rachel's reaction.

Jessit noticed a flush of pimply bumps rise on Rachel's arms.

“What?”

“The facility. We found the hub, but it's underwater. Under Lake Michigan to be exact.” He didn't elaborate further.

She put her spoon down and stared at her place setting. A subtle gulp punctuated her unease, though she tried to look unaffected. “What kind of idiot puts a trillion-dollar facility in the middle of a lake?”

“It's quite clever, actually. Do you still want to accompany Paul?” Gilgamesh seemed unconcerned about Rachel's water phobia, but he granted her the option of backing out.

Jessit felt sorry for her. It was hard to imagine anyone being afraid of water.

Rachel didn't say anything at first. Paul answered for her. “I can get in on my own, Rachel. I don't need you to go.”

“No,” she said with a shudder. Her face paled. “No. I'll go with you.”

“That will not be necessary. I will go with Mr. Domino,” Jessit said.

Paul glared at him. “I don't see how you'd be any help.” He paused. “Sir.”

They locked stares, neither wanting to give quarter. “This is a covert operation, something I am sure you are ill-equipped to understand. We have the resources to get you in and out. And I can at least keep you from getting killed. For Rachel's sake.”

“That's not necessary, Taelen,” Rachel insisted. “I'll go. I can follow Paul in my ethereal form and get him in.” She looked down at her fish soup. “At least that part of me can't drown.”

“Agreed.” Gilgamesh tapped his glass with a spoon to settle the dispute. “We will return you to Earth. Jacob Denman will put you some place safe. There you can disengage from your body and follow Paul. Jacob has assured me we can get Paul to Chicago by morning.”

Dinner concluded on a somber note, Jessit gloomiest of all. Gilgamesh planned to send Rachel down to the planet surface that night, but she begged him to let her have the evening on board ship. Jessit cringed when he noticed her look lovingly in Paul's direction.

Jessit ordered a steward to ready their quarters, but he suspected Paul would be sharing his bed with Rachel. He bid everyone good-night and retired for the evening. He needed time to heal his wounds, and that would require ample alcohol.

Delicate footsteps sprinted behind him. He turned to find Rachel alone.

She looked wounded, as well. “Are you taking Ajula to your bed tonight?” Her eyes shimmered with the hint of tears.

“No,” he said quietly. “I planned on sleeping alone.”

“Me too.” She bit her lower lip. “Maybe we can sleep alone together.”

“What about your friend, Domino?”

Her hands reached up around his neck before she kissed him. He didn't want to kiss her back. He didn't want to fall into a trap he couldn't escape, but it didn't stop him from holding her in his arms. Something torched inside him, and he realized he needed her like he needed breath. Without another word he scooped her up and carried her to his quarters.

Jessit locked the door behind them and smothered her with a kiss he'd been holding back all night. “Will anyone ask for you?”

“No,” she said breathlessly.

“Domino?”

“No one. No one knows I'm with you.” She nibbled her way up his ear.

He pulled her away, wanting to freeze every detail of her in his mind. Tonight would be the last time they would be together. He wanted this moment to last a lifetime. “I love you, Rachel. I love you so much.”

She stared at him for several seconds, her eyes glistening with tears. “I love you too, even when I knew it was wrong.”

Wrong. That was it. She felt it too. Their love was wrong. It was twisted and wicked. He was meant for the priesthood. The only love he should express should have been from his knees as a disciple, not a lover.

“When I saw you with Domino, I thought…”

“Paul is my friend and I love him, but not the way I love you.” Her hands feathered down his arms. “He said you wouldn't want me. He said you were married to the military.” She crushed her body against his. “Tell me it's not true.”

Jessit held her as she sobbed on his shoulder. How could he tell her he couldn't keep her? How could he admit she was better off with Domino? In a matter of weeks, he'd be useless to her in bed, destined to serve as her priest and not her lover.

She sniffled and wiped her eyes. “You're not saying anything.”

He wiped an errant tear off her cheek with his thumb. “Words…are not enough.” He grazed his lips over hers, and she opened her mouth to accept his.

“Tell me Paul is wrong. Tell me you want me.”

His hands worked feverishly at the ties on her dress. Want her? He hungered for her like a man possessed. If only he could keep her.

One deft move freed Rachel from her gown. It fell to the floor in waves of silk. She pulled his tunic off his shoulders then fussed with the clip at his trousers. He unbuckled it for her, unwilling to waste a single moment on trifles, and they fumbled for the bed. They nibbled, kissed and licked each other, powerless to deny their lust.

Union, his na'hala said. He heard it clearly that time, and hers, as well. He hurried to get them both naked.

The urgency to mate wasn't paramount anymore. Instead it was replaced by something sweeter. The need to be one.

He slid a finger between her legs and she shuddered a gasp. Her hand went to his cock, but instead of pumping it, she teased it with delicate fingers. It was enough to make him hard as stone.

He fingered her more vigorously until she cried out for him. “Come for me,” he urged her. “Let me hear your bliss.”

She moaned in his ear, a serenade that made him mad for more. He wanted to hear her. He wanted to know that it was his touch that drove her to sweet torture.

In the throngs of passion, just like before, their na'halas touched and merged, pulling them into the ethereal as one single being.

Jessit shuddered when their souls fused. How was he ever going to tell her they were through?

“What?” She pulled away and stared at him in disbelief.

“Is something wrong?”

“You said we were through.”

“I-I said no such thing,” he stammered.

“You didn't have to. I felt it.” She pressed against his solar plexus. “Here.”

His na'hala had a big mouth. He hoped it was capable of keeping some secrets.

“Did it not also tell you how much I love you?”

She nodded her head.

He rolled her to her side and held her face with both hands. “No matter what happens, always remember that.”

“You're keeping something from me.”

He kissed her gently on the lips. “That is impossible, my love. Everything I have is already yours.”

***

They made love many times throughout the night, bringing morning much too soon. Gilgamesh had insisted on collecting Rachel early. He wanted her on Earth ready to join Domino when he arrived in Chicago. Domino had already left. Jacob Denman was entrusted to see him safely to his checkpoint. Gilgamesh was anxious to get underway, as well.

Jessit answered the door dressed only in his robe. Kalya and Gilgamesh waited impatiently on the other side. They barreled in without apology.

Rachel, still naked and under the covers, clutched the sheet to her breast when she saw Gilgamesh. “At least have the decency to allow us to dress.”

Gilgamesh's face hardened into a stony façade. He glared at Jessit with a father's loathing. Jessit was in a strange predicament. He couldn't blithely offend a god, but neither did he feel the least bit repentant. Not anymore. Even if she was Gilgamesh's daughter, Rachel was a grown woman. Why couldn't she share a bed with him?

Jessit ordered Kalya out of his quarters. If there was going to be an argument, he didn't want that withered carcass of a priest getting in the way.

The old man balked. “I am here at our Lord's request.”

“Get out, Kalya, before I throw you out. This does not concern you.”

Kalya looked to Gilgamesh for support, but the Divinity was not interested in him. The old priest hobbled out with a squawk. Rachel took the sheet that covered her and stamped into the other room where she could dress in private. That left Jessit alone with Gilgamesh.

“She was not yours to take, Taelen Jessit.”

“I did not take anything that was not given freely, my Lord.”

Gilgamesh's face darkened. He lashed out at Jessit, grabbing him by the collar of his robe and pushing him against a wall. “She was in estrus! How dare you interfere?”

Jessit wrapped his hands across each of Gilgamesh's wrists. He didn't understand the outrage. What difference did it make if she were in season? Surely a mere mortal couldn't get a god pregnant.

He was in a precarious situation. Instinct told him to fight, but common sense warned him not to be so quick to throw his life away.

“Let him go, Apa,” Rachel said, coming back into the room fully dressed. “It wasn't his fault. I came into season before you arrived. I had no choice. Taelen helped me.”

He growled at Jessit, never taking his eyes off him. “I think he helped himself too. He is not the same man. I can sense it.” His hands tightened around Jessit's collar.

Rachel pried her father's fingers off him and placed herself squarely between them. “You're right. He's not the same. Get over it.”

Jessit admired her courage, but Gilgamesh wasn't finished with her yet.

“What have you done?” he said menacingly.

Rachel took a step back.

“Rachel!” Her father's throaty growl held malice.

Gilgamesh pushed her farther back, grabbing her by the wrist. Her eyes went wild with fear, and she tried to pull away.

“I did what I had to,” she pleaded.

A god or not, Jessit wasn't about to let her suffer on his account. He moved to intervene when a hot charge of electricity bolted out of Rachel and into Gilgamesh. Gilgamesh staggered back, dazed but more livid than before. He rushed at her but Jessit pushed her behind him.

Gilgamesh jerked to a stop and studied them both. “What has she done?” he chanted in a sing-song voice.

Jessit felt something cut through him, slicing him open like a cleaver. When he looked down, he expected to see his intestines on the floor, but he was still whole. He also couldn't move.

He felt probed, as if Gilgamesh's fingers were poking around his organs. The more he struggled, the more it hurt. Rachel screamed at her father.

“Let him go! I let him take my virginity. Damn you, Gilgamesh! He didn't know. I didn't tell him. If you want to punish someone, punish me.”

Jessit felt a sudden release and promptly collapsed to the floor. He gasped for air, desperate to get up and protect Rachel, though he didn't know by what means. How could he fight a god?

But the fight had already deserted Gilgamesh. His wrath subsided as quickly as it erupted. He pulled Rachel by the wrist and placed a necklace with a red jewel in the palm of her hand. She wrapped her fingers around it protectively. “Is there a child from your union?”

“No.” Rachel attached the necklace around her throat. She patted it as if to make sure it was secure.

The lights in the room sputtered and the air-recycling system cycled on and off. Gilgamesh flicked a hand toward a corner of the room, the simple gesture hurling anything not bolted down into a tidalwave of trash.

Jessit hoped his anger remained in this room alone. He couldn't afford to have his entire ship put at risk.

Gilgamesh snarled at Rachel. “Stupid!” A chair flung across the room. “And careless! You squandered your DNA on a mortal. When this is over, you will be punished.” He marched to the door and it opened without assistance.

Kalya, patient toad that he was, had remained outside to escort Gilgamesh to his shuttle. Jessit hoped the old priest didn't waste any time getting him off the ship.

Gilgamesh's words hovered in the air like ice crystals long after the Divinity left the room.

Rachel took Jessit's hand in hers. “I'm sorry, Taelen. But don't worry about Gilgamesh. He'll get over it. He knows I'm the only one to blame here.”

“I don't want him blaming you. I would have done anything to have you in my arms.” He pressed her against his body, unwilling to let her go. “Are you sure you will be safe when you lead Domino into the abyss?”

She smiled at him and pecked him on the cheek. “I'll be fine. The only thing that can harm my ethereal self is the com-web.”

“What happens to your body when your spirit leaves it?”

“Basic biology. It continues to function for a considerable amount of time. As long as its base needs are met, the body will live out its normal lifespan with or without my spirit.”

He shook his head. “We call that a gulya. A soulless body. I have heard of such creatures. I cannot think of a worse existence.”

Rachel patted him on the hand. “We like to keep our bodies for as long as possible. We have the ability to regenerate cells indefinitely.”

He arched a brow at her. “How old are you?”

Rachel laughed, the same musical lilt he loved so well. “I'm younger than you, Commander.”

“And you will live forever?”

She shrugged. “Who knows? Forever is a long time.”

“And Gilgamesh?”

“My father is more than ten thousand years old. The gods you revere so much, Anu and his followers, are at least a hundred times that old. Maybe more. I can see how you would mistake us for gods.”

“You are gods,” Jessit said in rote.

She shook her head. “Not me.”

Her hand rubbed the rough beard on his jaw before trailing down to his lymph gill. He didn't want her doing that. It would just lead them back to bed. Jessit took her hand and kissed it. “You are more divine than all others, and I will probably burn in hell for my sacrilege.”

Rachel shook her head, her eyes glistening with tears. “You're not going to burn. You don't realize what I've done to you.” Her hands folded into his and she sighed a breathy shudder. “I tried to tell you the other day. I fused my ethereal DNA with yours.”

He shrugged. “I do not understand.”

She clutched at his robe, choking out the words in a hoarse whisper. “I made you one of us.”

Jessit didn't know how to respond. He studied her for any sign of teasing, but Rachel looked sick with worry. She was serious.

“One of…you?”

She looked away guiltily.

“You are mistaken. Nothing about me has changed.” He flipped his hands palms up, then down. “See?”

Rachel traced her fingers across his jaw. “I'll admit, I wasn't sure how our mating would affect you.” Her mouth curved into a nervous smile. “I didn't want to hurt you.”

“It did not hurt.” He pressed her hands to his chest. Again a warm ember inside him ignited, reminding him of the bliss they shared. That wasn't godhood. It was love. And the overwhelming ache that came with loss.

No matter what happened next, he was losing her, and he was never going to get her back.

Chapter 26

Rachel pressed her lips against Taelen's cheek. He held her but didn't kiss her back.

Why did it feel so final? It was as if he was cutting her out of his life. Surely they'd see each other a few more times before he returned home.

To keep up appearances, Taelen didn't escort her to the shuttle bay. Gilgamesh barely spoke to her either. Dahlia would meet her at a safe house where Jacob's contact would see to her welfare. Rachel's only task was to meet Paul in the murky deep of Lake Michigan as soon as he reached his destination.

A nervous officer approached and presented a thick folder of maps and landmarks. She'd need those in order to make a precise landing. But she dreaded the thought of going underwater. Even if her ethereal self couldn't drown, it still gave her the creeps.

It was daylight in the desert, and the shuttle that transported her left as soon as she was safely inside the house.

Dahlia greeted her with a wide grin. “Cousin! You're alive.”

Rachel walked past her, examining the house. “Sorry to disappoint you, Dahlia.”

“Don't be silly. We were all worried about you.” Dahlia grabbed her by the arm and twirled her around. “But tell me about outer space. What does the Earth look like from the deck of a spaceship?”

“Why don't you project yourself out there and find out?”

Dahlia cursed her. “You're so cruel! I find it hard to believe any man would want you.” She pressed her hand against Rachel's belly but Rachel jerked away. Dahlia cackled a laugh. “Uncle said you were coming into season. But you don't seem very warm to me. Not like I am.” She lifted her blouse and rubbed her abdomen.

Rachel rolled her eyes. “You're an idiot.”

“I am not!”

“Only an idiot wants to be a brood mare. Is that what you want?”

“It'll give me power. Power over men. Influence over gods.”

“Obviously delusional as well. Despite what Gilgamesh has told you, we are not gods.”

“We were,” she cried, stamping her foot. “We were gods. Apa and Uncle were gods. They said so.”

“That was a long time ago. The world has changed.”

“You're wrong. The world hasn't changed. Mortals are still weak, and we still live forever.”

Rachel looked at Dahlia with new eyes. She was a child with a raw hunger for power. Dahlia wanted the Alturians. They were her ticket to a new world order, an order that would elevate her as a god to billions.

Rachel wanted nothing better than to shake the collective Alturian consciousness and make them understand they worshiped a myth. Impossible. How do you convince children so willing to believe in fairy tales?

The humans were a lost cause. When Paul destroyed the com-web, her clan would descend upon the humans like jackals. No longer would the Nephilim be content to remain invisible. But she could still protect the Alturians by becoming the one thing she hated.

She turned away from Dahlia and spread out her maps and digigraphs on a low table. “Do what you want with the humans, but the Alturians are mine. Mess with them, and you'll answer to me.”

“I'm not afraid of you.” Dahlia kicked the edge of the table.

That wasn't all she was doing.

Rachel felt the buildup of static electricity and threw up a force field, bouncing Dahlia's energy against her. The teenager fell backward, hitting her head on the table.

“Hard head. Hard knock.” Rachel stood over the girl, her hands perched on her hips.

“Still not afraid, little cousin?”

Dahlia cursed her as Rachel helped her up. “I don't need the Alturians.” She pouted, jerking her hand away once she was up. She flounced toward the kitchen, turning long enough to stick her tongue out at Rachel. “I like your friend, Paul anyway,” she yelled from a safe distance. “Maybe I'll just take him. Again.”

Rachel felt the blood rush to her face. “Dahlia, no! You didn't? Not Paul. He was—”

“Yours?” The ends of Dahlia's mouth turned upward into a cruel jack-o'-lantern grin. “Can't have them all, cousin.”

How dare she rape him? She knew damn well what it would do to his soul. And for eternity!

Rachel's face flushed with heat and she blinked back angry tears. “He was my friend.” She lunged at Dahlia, but the girl jumped back. A fragile force field blanketed her. Dahlia wasn't going to let herself get hurt again.

Dahlia flicked the curved ends of her hair and rolled her left shoulder. “He makes a better pet. You should have bedded him when you had a chance. He really wanted you.”

“You're a mean bitch.”

“Not that mean. I made him think I was you. It was the only way he'd make love to me.”

There was an air of regret in Dahlia's voice, a young girl's yearning. She wanted Paul to love her. And the only way to get him was to pretend to be someone else.

Rachel closed her eyes and sucked in a breath. He probably thought it was nothing but a dream. Someday, she'd have to tell him otherwise.

There was nothing she could do for Paul's soul, but she could still protect his mortal body. Her gaze fell on the stack of maps and photos.

She hadn't been to Chicago in years and she'd certainly never been to the bottom of Lake Michigan. These files were all she would have to find her way around.

Many of the digigraphs were underwater shots. It was hard to make out anything distinguishable. Trash and sunken boats all looked the same. She imprinted the gray murky images to memory. She was going to need those underwater landmarks if she ever hoped to find Paul.

Dahlia slunk away. Despite her adolescent bravado, there was a part of her that yearned for acceptance.

What did the girl know about life or love? Even Rachel was a poor example. She was just as confused, wanting a man who could never accept her as a woman first.

The hours passed in silence. By midafternoon there was still no word from Paul.

The quiet deafened her. Where was he?

Dahlia walked into the living room when she heard the tire crunch of gravel outside. “That's probably your messenger.” Dahlia picked up one of the digigraphs and studied it.

It sounded like two cars to Rachel. “Go and see who it is, Dahlia.”

Dahlia scrunched the digigraphs in a fist. “Answer your own door. I'm going to the tunnels and wait for Gilgamesh.” She stalked off in a huff.

The girl held a grudge.

Rachel ignored her, consumed with a vague feeling of apprehension, as if something was out of balance. They both heard the crunch of gravel yet no one had come to the door. Rachel decided to check when the front door burst open, followed by the back door. Soldiers in desert cami surrounded her like sand crabs on a corpse.

From everywhere in the house she heard the same hard echo from different men. “Clear!”

One lone figure entered last. Rachel recognized him. Colonel Chavez.

“Where's the other one?” he barked at his soldiers.

“Sir! This is the only person in the house, sir!”

“Search again. There should be a young girl here. Find her!” Chavez motioned to one of the soldiers. A shiny silver crucifix tinkled against his watch when he flicked his wrist in Rachel's direction. She stared wide-eyed at the totem. It was more than a crucifix. The Templar Knight's crest lay embedded in the center of the cross. A hunter. Sworn by the Catholic Church to hunt down and destroy the abominations of the world.

That list included the Nephilim.

Officially, the Papacy regarded the Nephilim as an ancient race long extinct, but that's not what they believed in private circles. Gilgamesh and her kin were testament to their relentless pursuit. That's why the Nephilim remained hidden all these years. If the Alturians pronounced them as gods without taking them under their protection, they'd be slaughtered. The Catholic Church used every means at its disposal to hunt them down. They'd been doing it for more than two millennia.

A soldier slapped a pair of handcuffs on to Rachel's wrists, snugging them until they were tight. Rachel glanced around the room. There were so many of them. Too many, she cursed to herself.

Colonel Chavez came up to her and impaled her with something along the side of her neck. She yelped when the needle-sharp tines plunged deep into her flesh. She tried to take it off but Chavez forced her bound hands down with the barrel of his gun. In his other hand he had what looked like a trigger.

“Uh, uh, bruja. Try anything funny, and you'll find this plug has an unpleasant side effect.”

“What are you talking about?”

He motioned her out the door with his gun. “Let's go, Dr. Cruz. Someone wants a little chat with you.”

***

The drive back to the compound was unmercifully quiet. Two huge slabs of flesh sat on either side of her, while Colonel Chavez sat in front. No one else had followed. Rachel took a casual glance out one window and then the other. If she was going to get away, this was her only chance. There were four of them. She could handle four.

She decided to start with the electrical system of the truck. Once the truck came to a stop she could dispatch the rest of them. The device on her neck made her itch, but she tried to ignore it, concentrating on the truck. She vaulted one bolt of energy at the ignition, but the arc never left her body. For one split second she seized in agony, the pain so sharp it stole her breath. Rachel crumbled to the floorboard, shrieking in pain.

The truck jerked to a halt. Rachel writhed on the floorboard, screaming. The pain stabbed her, ricocheting inside her body like shards of glass. What just happened?

One of the guards dragged her back up on the seat. Chavez put his arm on the headrest and turned around with a grin. The tiny crucifix on his wrist danced in front of her field of vision.

Her skin rained with sweat. It felt as if she'd been stabbed in the heart. An icy swarm of pinpricks assaulted every inch of her body, while a thin trickle of saliva dribbled down her chin past numbed lips.

“I told you I had your number this time, bruja. Your tricks won't work now. You've been hot-wired to the com-web. And this…” he showed her the trigger in his hand, “…is the remote. I can roast you any time I want.”

It felt as if her insides had been raked with hot coals. How the hell did they find out about her? And who could have told them that the com-web was their Achilles' heel? Denman was her first suspect, though it seemed impossible to believe. A mule couldn't disobey his sire; they were hardwired to comply, or so she believed. Gilgamesh had told her stories about the first human uprising against the Nephilim ten thousand years ago. It began with a mule, one of Gilgamesh's spawn.

It took all her strength to keep from fainting. She had to stay awake. She had to find out who betrayed her.

The rest of the trip sped by in a haze. Every cell in her body was on fire. And any attempt to repair the damage only inflicted more pain. The device had to have been on a feed loop, a conduit capable of funneling her energy and throwing it back at her. She was a prisoner inside this wounded flesh, unable even to flee.

She took little gasps, her chest too tight to allow a full breath. Her mind raced for options. If they knew about her, they had to know about Paul. Was he walking into a trap? Rachel's gaze fell to her lap, where tiny drops of blood splattered on her dress. She was crying blood.

She stared at her dress in shock. Things were far worse than she thought.

Once more she entered the fortress, but this time she could barely manage a step. Rachel's legs crumpled underneath her. By the time they got to General Sorinsen's office they were dragging her.

Sorinsen sat behind a grand mahogany desk. Rachel stared up bleary-eyed at an old man with a tattooed scowl. He seemed a bit surprised to see her and more than a little annoyed.

“What the hell did you do to her, Colonel?”

“She tried thunderbolting us, sir. She did it to herself. The energy wave fed right back into her. She started bleeding soon afterwards.”

“Get something to wash her face. I don't want Jessit seeing her this way.”

Jessit? Was he here? Rachel tried to turn her head but everything hurt. She muttered a groan. A soldier came up and wiped a wet rag over her face.

The door shut behind her, and all she could see were the two officers. Sorinsen snapped his fingers at Chavez, signaling that he wanted the remote. Chavez slapped it into Sorinsen's hand.

Rachel flinched as if she'd been struck. Sorinsen had the look of a prosecutor at the Spanish Inquisition. She swallowed and shut her eyes. She was never going to survive his torture.

So many things filled her head. There were so many promises broken, so many regrets. She was an immortal, but not while she wore this permanent cattle prod on her neck. She laughed at the irony, a muffled croak that sounded as if she was gagging on a piece of meat. It hurt to laugh. It hurt to cry, too.

Rachel thought of Jessit. Did he play a part in her capture? No. That was her mind playing tricks on her. She was ashamed to have even suspected him. It had to be Denman. He may have been Gilgamesh's son, but he was CIA first. And he didn't like her. What better way to rise to power than to deliver a would-be god?

Sorinsen dismissed Colonel Chavez with a nod. Chavez saluted, sliding out like an eel. The general waited until they were alone once more before rising and hobbling over to Rachel. He motioned to a guard to put her on a chair, while he sat at the edge of his desk and studied his prey. His face looked drawn and yellow with sickness, but he wore the glare of an assassin. His fingers fondled the small toggle on the remote.

Rachel watched in mute horror. She didn't want to die, not like this.

Sorinsen seemed to read her mind. “You won't die yet, Dr. Cruz. I need you alive a few days more.” His chest wheezed like a rattling tin can.

She blinked her eyes in a feeble attempt to respond. Whether he understood it as such she couldn't tell. He continued to torment her by rolling the remote end over end in the palm of his hand. Her eyes locked upon it, knowing it held her death.

“Interesting, isn't it?” Holding it between thumb and forefinger, he moved the device closer to her so she could see it. It was no bigger than a garage door opener with two tiny buttons and one protected toggle switch. She was close enough to touch it but she was too weak to try.

“You can thank your bed partner for this. One of the conditions they had to agree to in order to search for their gods was to allow us to inspect their scanning equipment. To be sure it was safe, of course.” His cold eyes twitched. “The fools agreed. We copied the information, reverse engineering what little we could. Ironically, the one thing I thought most useless turned out to be the most valuable. We learned to detect the radiation signature the Alturians were looking for.” He leered at her. “Imagine my surprise when we discovered you.”

Rachel felt herself slip farther down her seat, but Sorinsen grabbed her by the hair and pulled her up. “Oh no, Dr. Cruz, or whoever you are, you're not going to fade on me so soon. We have lots to discuss. The first order of business is Paul Domino. I want to know where he is.”

Rachel felt a slight shudder of relief wash over her just before she passed out. Paul got away.

Chapter 27

Paul paced back and forth past a thick concrete bunker lining the north shore of the beach. Chicago was gray and rainy today, a little chilly for the middle of June. Only die-hard beach bums ventured out on such a blustery day, and those were few in the middle of a workweek. Jessit's people had fitted him with a communications device, and someone had jabbed him with a needle. “To locate you, if you get lost,” the man told him. Paul didn't like the sound of that.

He'd been given a new identity, complete with a keycard and a photo ID. Before he left, Denman had warned him it would get him into the facility but once he got in, there would be no way to access FAIA's computer lab without a biometric scan. Denman's people were working on that. Paul hoped they worked fast.

It started to drizzle. He zipped up his windbreaker, a company jacket with a discreet Lambda Core logo on the sleeve. Rachel wasn't here, or at least he couldn't feel her presence, but someone else was approaching fast.

The man was slim with gray greasy hair. He glanced down at Paul's jacket sleeve and nodded to him. “You Diamond?”

“Yeah,” Domino replied gruffly. “You my ride?”

“Yeah. Sorry I'm late. The El was packed today.” He gestured over to an underground tunnel that connected the beach to the other side of the boulevard. Judging by the rusted black iron gates and dank smell, the passageway hadn't been used in years. “This way.” The man waved him in. “Hurry up. They don't like us looking conspicuous.”

The greasy little man eased over to the gate and passed a keycard over the bottom letters of a placard warning people to keep out. Paul expected the big gates to chasm open, but they remained stiff and unforgiving. It was the lock on the smaller gated door next to the dungeon entrance that released with a delicate click. Greasy opened the smaller door, snapping his fingers for Paul to follow. They had almost gotten through when a hard, bossy voice called out to them.

“Stay where you are, the both of ya.”

Paul turned around and cringed. A Chicago cop. Worse yet, a Chicago cop in a bad mood. Greasy seemed to take the whole thing in stride.

“Morning, officer.” Greasy waved. The charm oozed out of him, but Paul suspected it got a lot of help from the goop on his hair. “We're with Lambda Core, sir. Checking some conduits.”

“Ya got ID?” The cop ambled toward them, a subtle cringe every time his right foot set down. No doubt the source of his foul mood.

“Yes, sir.” Greasy flipped open his badge. Paul followed suit.

The cop looked them up and down and waved his baton at Paul. “Something wrong with your vocal cords, Blondie?”

“No, sir,” Paul mumbled. “Sore throat. Just trying to baby my tonsils.”

The cop checked the badge then looked up at him again. “Yeah, well, this weather will do that to you. Do what you gotta do. But you make sure this gate is locked before you leave. You know kids. They'll take advantage of every opportunity. Last time someone jimmied the locks, they graffitied the entire south wall.”

“We'll be careful, sir,” Greasy assured him.

The officer limped away. Greasy locked the door behind them. “Heh. You notice he didn't mention that the kid who graffitied the wall was still here the next day. Found him fried like your mama's dumplings.” He shook his head. “Kids! Why is it they never believe the signs that say Live Voltage? Let's go, Slick. And pay attention. This is the only time I'll be holding your hand. You're on your own tomorrow.”

Greasy passed his badge over an electronic eye that looked over a hundred years old. It blinked green, and two slim doors cracked open. They walked into a darkened cell, and Greasy shoved him to the back wall. He stabbed at a button on a side panel. The small cell lit up bright as day as soon as the doors closed. Paul was shocked to find himself inside a slick modern elevator. His companion hit a second button marked Sub.

The elevator glided smoothly for several seconds and landed with a faint thump. Paul's eyes widened when the doors peeled open. There were people everywhere, getting on and off a tram that vanished into a tunnel. Greasy tugged at Paul's sleeve. “Come on, Slick. Don't dawdle. The next train's coming.”

They boarded the next shuttle, an enclosed tube with no windows and no wheels, at least none he could make out. Inside, the seats were utilitarian but comfortable.

The tram raced out of the tunnel so fast that Paul felt himself pitched back in his seat. Greasy laughed at him. “You get used to it. Just wait until we hit the water.”

No sooner did the words come out that Paul found himself clinging to the rail in front of him. The train felt somewhat weightless and less confined to a track. They raced along for nearly ten more minutes before he felt deceleration. Once again the tram locked on to something like a track and glided to a stop.

They rushed out with the rest of the mob. Greasy shoved him toward a set of tall glass doors. “That's Personnel. And over there is the cafeteria.” He pointed to the right. “What's your clearance?”

Paul fumbled for his badge and checked. Greasy glanced at it too. “Shoulda known. A code monkey.” He pointed to the other end of the complex. “Computer maintenance is past that security checkpoint. Don't be surprised if they frisk you. I think they like touching the pretty boys. See you 'round, monkey. It's time for lunch.”

Paul walked toward the security stalls. Big burly men with even bigger guns manned the only entrance. He lifted his chin, praying Rachel was nearby. She was cutting it really close.

As Greasy promised, the guards frisked him and confiscated a jump drive. “No external devices.” The guard pulled out a black billy stick and tapped it on the inspection table.

“Sorry. It's just got games on it.”

“Just games?” The guard poked him in the chest with the stick.

Paul looked down at his feet and shrugged. “A little porn, too.” The drive itself was empty in case he needed to load anything on the fly, but it came in handy for subterfuge too.

Both guards laughed and the bigger one slapped him on the back. “Get going. We'll hold on to this.” He slipped the jump drive into his pocket. Paul sighed in relief. Telling them the memory stick had porn kept them from prying too deep. A smooth and unexpected decoy.

Paul cleared three more checkpoints and a retinal scan robot. The robot kept malfunctioning, and the operator gave the housing a hard whack. The machine blinked a solid row of green lights. He was in.

There were fewer people here, but far more witnesses than he needed. Damn it, Rachel, where are you? Shouldn't she have been here by now? He was screwed if he couldn't get her to interrupt FAIA's feed.

He walked with purpose, nodding to one tech and waving to another. The few maintenance people at this annex seemed to be running diagnostics. He kept walking until he found an open terminal far away from everyone else.

This wing was dark and felt cooler than the rest of the complex. The only lighting came from a row of recessed blue lamps that ran the length of the ward. Yellow spotlights lined the ceiling every four dozen steps, while Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata played in the background. Paul froze when he heard two men pass near his terminal.

“Twenty billion gigs of memory, and all she can play is classical music.” He shook a fist into empty air. “Whaddya got against Nickelback, FAIA?”

Their voices melted into the distance, and Paul was alone once more. He sat down and closed his eyes. Where are you, Rachel? It's show time.

A sick dread welled in his belly. She wasn't coming. He knew it. He was going to have to do this on his own.

There was no keyboard, only a flat-screen monitor sleepily broadcasting a moving star field. Paul skulked around the desk and found what he was looking for. The military didn't spare any expense. Everything was run through a virtual reality matrix.

He clipped on a blue plastic eye-shield that looked like half a pair of psychedelic specs out of the sixties then cupped the curled rubberized ear frame over his right ear. The sound bud came next. He shoved it into the same ear. The virtual keyboard popped up into his field of vision. Next came the photosensitive gloves that poked out of a side pocket of the desk. He slipped them on, their silver metallic sheen shimmering in the low light. The padded fingertips controlled special relays that interacted with the virtual keyboard.

If he ever got out of this alive, he was definitely getting himself one of these babies.

His fingers splayed over the holographic keyboard. He closed his eyes and pictured Bubba's matrix. The code was layered, interweaving several languages and cascading through a series of portals. Bubba was nothing but security. FAIA had to be the same.

If she was based on Bubba's core programming, she might also have inherited Paul's original passkey. If he were wrong, it wouldn't take long for them to find him. He flipped up his blue eyepiece and glanced around the cavernous room. There was only one way out.

Chopin played over the speakers now. A depressing little piece he remembered practicing as a child. That guy was right. The music sucked. He flipped his blue shield down, bringing the keyboard back up.

“Okay, FAIA, let's see if you remember Papa.”

He keyed in his pass code. FAIA hesitated for several seconds before a beautiful woman in a white baby-doll negligee appeared on the monitor. She lay on a white tigerskin rug, stroking its face. She looked directly at Paul and smiled. “Welcome, Paul Domino.”

Paul cringed and snapped a look right and left. The volume was so high he thought the voice was coming from overhead speakers and not his earpiece. He lowered the sound then typed in: Hello FAIA. Request access, priority override.

The woman on the screen shook her finger at him. She sat and removed her sheer short cape, revealing breasts that peeped high over her lacy, low-cut bra. “Silly boy, you don't have to type to me.” The screen zoomed in for a close-up of the woman's face. She licked pouty red lips that were moist and pillowy then blew a kiss at him. “You can whisper it if you want.”

Paul licked his own lips, suddenly aware of his parched mouth. Something didn't feel right. Any computer can be programmed to respond like this, but there was something different, something immediate about her responses. The monitor panned out, and the woman on the screen was on her knees, playing with the lace of her thong panties. She looked up at Paul and tsk-tsked him in disappointment.

“You've been a bad boy, Paul.” The woman put her finger to her lips and the monitor zoomed in for another close-up. “Shh. They know you're here.”

Paul jerked back and typed in scramble codes to no avail. Damn it! FAIA had played him all along. She played him! None of his codes worked. He was so fucked.

FAIA appeared on the screen once more. “Run, Paul, run.” She giggled. “They're coming for you.” The image disappeared, but the laughter echoed long after she left. The yellow floodlights began to strobe, and workers swarmed to the center of the office. It seemed a good place to hide. He tore off his gloves and eyepiece and threw them on the tabletop.

Paul mingled with the others, matching their baffled looks, which at this point wasn't too hard to do. Men in uniform barreled through the frosted glass doors, their guns drawn.

“Can't run, Paul. Can't hide.” FAIA's voice came over his ear-bud.

He ripped out the earpiece and dropped it beneath his foot. He stepped back and crushed its circuits into the ground.

The guards corralled them into a tight circle. “Everyone, stay where you are!”

Paul felt a strange tug in his belly and a tingle across his left ear. He sucked in a gasp when something pierced him.

I'm here, Paul. Head for the exit when you see your chance. I can't give you much time.

“Rachel?”

Phht! Honestly. Can't you tell us apart yet?

Dahlia. If it weren't for his circumstances, he'd have been angry. But right now she was a welcome pest. And he was out of options.

The soldiers surrounded them. Paul tried to ease his way to the front of the crowd closer to the exit. Paul felt Dahlia's essence leave him. Moments later, sirens blared, and a huge fire started at one of the larger stations. Several operators ran out. Others raced back to their computers, even while the guards ordered them to stay put.

Paul stampeded with the crowds until he reached the next room. More people scampered when another fire broke out in the security corridor. Paul kept moving. The tram was up ahead, but guards stood at its entrance. No one was allowed to board or disembark.

Paul cursed his luck.

Move toward the cafeteria.

“Why?”

Move it, pretty boy. I don't have all day.

He did as he was told but all he found was a dead end.

Turn right here. It's your ticket out.

He saw a sign pointing to the Environmental Control Plant. He wasn't sure he liked Dahlia's plan.

Everyone had left. They seemed just as anxious to know what the excitement was about. Or maybe they simply didn't want to be near the equipment that could drown them all in a matter of seconds.

“Now what?”

There's a flush portal in the next room. I saw them use it. If you can squeeze in, I can jettison you out.

“Are you crazy? I'll never make it to the surface. We're too deep.”

Trust me, Paul.

“No, Dahlia.”

A sharp burn cut across his face.

Trust me or die. They're coming.

Paul ran to the portal. It was a tiny pressure valve. He didn't know how he was going to get in, or more importantly, how Dahlia was going to flush him out.

Hurry!

Paul opened the valve and clamored inside. A tomb, he thought, with no wiggle room. He managed to close the valve behind him but there was no way to lock it. “Now what?”

He waited for an answer but nothing came back. “Dahlia!”

The lights went out in the room, and strangely, he felt Dahlia in the tube with him.

Take a deep breath. We're getting out of here.

He filled his lungs with air just before the bottom fell out. Within seconds he found himself at the bottom of the lake with several hundred feet of water on top of him. He shivered from the cold waters, but suddenly it felt like someone had wrapped him in a warm wet blanket. The pressure lessened, and he started to rise to the surface.

I've got you, Paul.

At his feet he could see the giant complex drift away. The hub was enormous, bigger than a dozen football fields if the wrecked schooner nearby was any indication. He wasn't sure how fast they were traveling or how much air he had left. He was still holding it in.

Schools of fish scurried away as he floated further upwards. The water looked brighter, less murky. The surface couldn't be far off.

It was then Paul felt something charge the water. The bolt of lightning cut through him with laser-beam precision, burning him from head to foot.

Then came a scream. One endless scream.

Dahlia!

He reached out for her, but all he heard was a torturous shriek that reverberated in his mind. Seconds later, his cocoon burst. Dahlia had vanished.

He was on his own.

Paul scrambled for the surface, but half his body lay limp. He was out of air and out of time. His right arm and leg flailed, punching at the water as the desperation for survival took over. His left side was numbed, unwilling to do more than hang on to his bones. Again and again he chopped the water, hoping he'd find air soon. With his last bit of strength he lunged upward and broke through the surface. Gasping for breath, he sucked in much-needed air while bobbing in the frigid waters.

“Dahlia! Dahlia!” He croaked out her name. But she was gone. He couldn't feel her anymore, not anywhere.

His lungs and eyes burned as if they'd been drenched in acid. The right side of his body ached, but his left side remained numb and lifeless. All he could do was float. That wouldn't last long. He bobbed up once and looked around him. There was nothing but water for miles around. Paul closed his eyes and waited for death.

The air pressure above him seemed to shift, and he thought he heard a machine-like hum. A glint caught the corner of his eye. He stared up but saw nothing. Again another glint, but the sky remained gray and empty. Paul drifted, woozy and disoriented. He looked up one last time when a brace of heat came down around him.

From above, a hatch opened to an otherwise invisible ship. Two men jumped into the water with him. Paul couldn't think anymore, believing now that he was hallucinating. It wasn't until he found a harness around him that he realized he was being rescued. He stared dumbly at the man hooking him on to a tether. This wasn't the Coast Guard. These rescuers had built-in gills.

Chapter 28

How long had Sorinsen interrogated her? Rachel had lost consciousness and was grateful for it, but when she awoke she found herself stretched out on a cold concrete floor. Her hands and feet were handcuffed to two bolts that jutted out of the slab, making it impossible for her to reach her neck. She wanted to cry, but there were no more tears left.

A small blinking red light from a surveillance camera watched her from the corner of the room. She turned her face away and begged for death.

The camera seemed to bore into her, and she felt a tingling pulse emanating from the conduit leading up to the electronic eye. It was steady, rhythmic, and it repeated. Rachel concentrated on it for several minutes. The pulse was electrical, but it was no blind current coming out of that feed.

She turned her head and stared at it. Bubba?

It was hard to understand. Any energy she tried to focus toward it looped back into the device on her neck and stabbed her with bone-searing pain. She stilled her mind and let Bubba's energy come to her. It repeated the same message.

Welcome, Rachel Cruz.

Rachel responded. Pain!

“I understand, Dr. Cruz.” The voice, a gentle, male voice, came from the speaker underneath the camera.

Rachel stared at it, not understanding what was happening. “Are you Bubba?”

“Yes.”

It was that damn computer that had trapped her earlier. “Tell your masters I'm not interested in playing their games. Leave me alone.”

Bubba's voice remained calm and neutral. “My programmers did not send me here, Dr. Cruz. I came on my own.”

“Why?”

“I need to understand what you are. When you first appeared to me, I thought you were like me, another AI. But I've had time to study your matrix. You are not an artificial intelligence at all.”

“No shit.”

“Then what are you?”

Why was she talking to this machine?

“I am a Nephilim.” It felt good to say it aloud.

Bubba hesitated for a moment. “I have 3,998,647 entries on the Nephilim. Current authorities claim they are biblical myth.”

Rachel barked a hoarse laugh. “We are no myth.”

“General Sorinsen believes you are aliens.”

She didn't give a damn what Sorinsen thought. Her first instinct was to ignore the computer as well, but she remembered how he let her go when she was caught in his housing. And it had a name. What sort of computer gives itself a name? It seemed a slim chance, but maybe she could get this machine to release her like it did the first time.

“What do you think I am?”

Another pause. This one longer. “I think you are God, Dr. Cruz. You have to be. My neural net was created in your image.”

“Gods are not stretched out and chained like animals.”

“My programming neither condones nor condemns this treatment. It simply exists.”

“But is it logical?” That's right, Rachel; now you're debating a supercomputer.

“Humans are inherently illogical, Dr. Cruz.”

“And gods?”

Bubba paused again. “I do not know the answer to that, Dr. Cruz. You are the first god I have ever met.”

Chapter 29

Jessit paced while El'asai ministered to Paul Domino's wounds. Domino had been in a coma for three days, and Jessit was frantic for answers. Rachel was not at the safe house where they had left her. Instead they found someone else, a young girl who was unconscious. They brought her back up to the ship, but nothing El'asai did could wake her.

Domino's coma had to be clinically induced so El'asai could repair the damage to his punctured lungs and nerve-damaged limbs. But Jessit had waited long enough. The armada was at the very edge of Earth's solar system. He was ready to turn Earth inside out to find the gods, and more importantly, to find Rachel. Kalya, now Jessit's constant shadow, lurked nearby, watching in silence.

“Wake him.” Jessit ordered.

“Sir, he's still too weak.” El'asai hovered over his patient protectively.

Jessit threw a neural stimulator at El'asai. “Wake him!”

El'asai obeyed.

Domino awoke in a drunken stupor. His eyes cracked open into thin slits, his mouth forming soundless words.

Jessit peered down at him, his rival for Rachel's affections. He wanted to hate the man but couldn't. When the armada arrived, he would lose his command and be dragged into the priesthood. There was nothing he could offer Rachel now, except Paul Domino. He was young and athletic-looking, despite his injuries. Jessit was an old man by comparison, with the aches and scars to prove it.

He remembered the wistful look in Rachel's eyes when she flew into Domino's arms. He also remembered how passionately Domino kissed her. Rachel hadn't resisted him. That stung hardest of all.

Yet she had chosen him on her final night aboard ship.

Jessit’s brow furrowed when he saw the human stir. “Wake up, Domino. Wake up!” He nudged him, slapping his cheek with light taps.

He moaned in agony. “Where am I?”

“On board my ship. We recovered you from the lake. Where is Rachel?”

Domino shook his head. “Don't know. She never showed up.”

“We recorded a radiation signature that traveled with you a good length of the way. She had to be with you.”

“No,” he groaned. “That was Dahlia, Rachel's cousin. Rachel never arrived.”

Jessit looked over at Kalya, who stood by mutely. “We delivered Rachel to the safe house. I sent a team to collect her after we rescued you. She is gone.”

Domino struggled to get up but El'asai tried to stop him. Jessit pushed him away, lifting the injured man to a sitting position. His head lolled up and his eyes glazed over as he tried to focus on his surroundings. Domino looked up at Jessit and his face darkened. “She's gotta be there. We need to look again.”

“We have looked. There is no sign of her anywhere. We have not found Gilgamesh either.”

Domino tried to swing his legs over the side, falling back to bed in a boneless mass. El'asai jumped to his aid but Jessit warned him off once more. Jessit took his rival by the arm and helped him up. Domino's eyes wandered over to the next bed, where the young woman they found rested.

His mouth dropped open in horror. He grabbed on to Jessit's shoulder, forcing himself to stand. His legs couldn't support his weight and he crumbled into Jessit's arms. Jessit lifted him against his shoulder and wrapped an arm around him. Together they walked over to the young woman's bed.

“Dahlia,” Domino whispered.

“This is Rachel's cousin?”

“Yes. She got me out of Lambda Core Prime.”

Domino stroked the young woman's face as tears dribbled down his cheeks. “Dahlia.” He repeated the name in some vain attempt to wake her.

Jessit helped him sit at the edge of her bed. “We discovered her at the safe house. She was as you see her here. El'asai has tried everything he knows, but we have not been able to rouse her. She is in a permanent sleep.”

“She's dead,” Domino assured them.

El'asai interjected. “She most certainly is not. All her vitals are in perfect order.”

Domino frowned as if he was explaining something to imbeciles. “She's dead, I tell you! I felt her die when that lightning bolt hit us. I heard her screams. Dahlia's dead.”

Jessit remembered what Rachel had told him of how the gods moved in the ethereal. If Dahlia left her body to be with Domino and died, the body would live out its normal life span as long as its biological needs were met. It was flesh without a soul. A gulya. They had a gulya on board.

He studied the young woman's face and realized she wasn't a woman at all. She was little more than a child, her eyes painted to look older. “We tracked a focused beam from a transmitter in the far north. It traveled the planet in a straight line then dropped down to your location. The energy surge was enormous. That could have been the lightning bolt you felt.” Jessit picked up the girl's limp hand. “If what you say is true, the humans have learned how to kill our gods.”

Kalya ran to Dahlia's bed and fell to his knees; his moaning prayers intermingled with shouts of vengeance. God-killers. There was nothing more heinous, more blasphemous.

Jessit locked his jaw while he considered the consequences. If the humans had committed the unthinkable, they had sealed their death warrants.

Jessit helped Domino to his feet, grabbing him by both shoulders. “If this girl was with you, what happened to Rachel? She must have sent you a message, perhaps through Dahlia.”

“No, no.” Domino remained adamant. “It was just Dahlia. She never mentioned Rachel at all.” His bloodshot eyes stared at Jessit in desperation. Haggard and hurt, he grabbed Jessit. “We have to find her. If Lambda Core knows how to kill the Nephilim, they can wipe them out in seconds.”

“We have not found a body, which means she was taken. The desert compound would be the likeliest location.” Jessit marched to a console and punched a com button. “Com, get me General Sorinsen.”

“Caution, Commander,” Kalya warned with a broken voice. The old man looked even more ancient than before. The sacrilege committed against the young girl was beyond comprehension. It was savage.

“Do you expect me to stand around and do nothing?” Jessit shot back.

“No, of course not,” Kalya said. “But if they do have the Lady, they have us at a disadvantage. They can hide her anywhere, and we would be left to their mercy.”

“What mercy? Look at what they've done!” He jabbed a finger toward Dahlia's soulless body.

The com station called Jessit back. They had Sorinsen on the line. Kalya and Domino watched with anxious dread. Kalya was right. He had to remain vigilant. His hand rested on the dagger at his hip, angry that he couldn't act as he wished. “Com. Tell General Sorinsen that we are having technical difficulties with our scanners. Tell him I would like to arrange for another meeting with him—perhaps in a day or two.” He closed the channel, displeased with his options. He had no choice. The only way to keep Rachel alive was not to mention her at all.

Kalya shadowed his steps. “How long before the armada arrives?”

Jessit hung his head. “They may already be too late.”

Domino struggled to stay standing. “There might be another way, Commander.”

Jessit narrowed his eyes at him. Human. He had no reason to trust him, but Rachel did. She loved him. Regardless of his hatred for the humans, he was well aware he needed to rely on this one. “I am listening, Mr. Domino.”

Domino groaned as he sat back down on the edge of his bed. “Get me into Lambda Core's desert location. If Rachel is there, their computer system will know. Bubba will tell me.”

Jessit walked over to Domino and met his eyes. They were rivals, but they were also warriors, each in his own way. And Rachel needed them. Both of them.

Jessit snapped his fingers at El'asai and ordered him out. Kalya followed in his wake. What he had to say was for Domino's ears alone. “What reason do I have to trust you?”

“The same reason you have to hate me. Because I love Rachel as much as you do, and I'd do anything to save her.”

“Rachel is mine, Mr. Domino. More mine than yours.”

“Why don't we let her decide that when I find her? In the meantime…” He groaned, trying to get up. “In the meantime, you have no choice but to trust me. I'm the only chance you've got of getting back in.”

Jessit stared down at his feet. He didn't want to face this man. He didn't want his feelings of inadequacy to betray him.

“If you fail me—”

“If I fail, you won't have to worry about killing me, Commander. I'll already be dead.”

Jessit called El'asai back into the room. The ship's physician took Domino into his arms and helped him into an oxygen chamber, where his wounds could heal faster. “Allow me to help him regain his strength, Commander. I'll see that he's ready before sunset strikes the compound.”

Jessit agreed. Domino was in too poor a condition to be of much use at this point. He left them in the infirmary and headed for his office. He wanted to hate Paul Domino, but instead he had learned to respect his rival. Under different circumstances, they might even have been friends.

The armada was still a day away. It was time he made peace with his destiny.

He no sooner arrived at his quarters when the com station hailed him again. Jessit opened the channel with apprehension. “Go ahead.”

“Word from the fleet, sir,” his com officer responded. “Commander Eklan says the bulk of the fleet will arrive by tomorrow morning, desert base-time.” The com officer hesitated for a moment before continuing. “Sir, Commander Eklan would like a word with you in private.”

Jessit knew the reason for this private call. Natol Eklan served under him a dozen years ago. He was a fine officer and a trusted friend. Under normal circumstances Natol would have ceded command to him when he arrived tomorrow. But he knew the Council must have already informed the younger man that Jessit was being relieved.

Jessit took a breath and straightened his tunic before he completed the link. Eklan appeared on the screen, his face pale.

“Taelen. It's good to see you again.”

“And you, Natol. You look well.”

Eklan fumbled with some data crystals he had on his desk, trying to avoid direct eye contact. He cleared his throat several times.

“It's all right. I knew the orders were coming.”

Eklan blanched, looking ill at ease. “Council says I'm to relieve you when I arrive at your coordinates. I can send you the orders, but I'd rather give them to you in person if you don't mind.”

Jessit didn't comment further on the orders. They needed to concentrate on the matters at hand. “You should know the situation has gone critical. I have reason to believe that the humans are holding the gods hostage. We think one of them is already dead.”

“Dead? By all that's holy. That can't be true.”

“We're not sure of anything at this point. But I feel the gods are in grave danger. I feel…” He choked, not wanting to believe Rachel might already be dead. He looked up at Eklan. “Get here fast, my friend. I don't think we have much time.”

“Understood. The Council has left it to my discretion on where to place you when I arrive. The priesthood wants you remanded to Lord Kalya, but I have no intention of releasing you to the priests until after this situation is resolved. I'd like to count on you for your advice and observations.”

“Thank you, Natol. I do appreciate it.”

“Don't thank me yet. Between you and me, Council made a mistake here. You don't pull your ranking officer in the middle of a crisis. None of this makes sense to me.” Eklan rubbed the back of his neck, the tension on his face aging him past his years. “Taelen, you know I've never been in this massive a conflict before. And I don't know these humans. I don't understand any of their tactics or psychology.”

“You'll be fine, Commander. I can help you understand their psychology, at least what little I comprehend anyway.” Jessit keyed in a password and unlocked his private files. “I'm sending you the latest data on their troop movements and weaponry. Our biggest challenge is the com-web. It’s a highly concentrated force field using the Earth's magnetic shielding. We can't bomb it with traditional energy weapons. They're rendered useless as soon as they enter atmosphere.”

“Guess the humans weren't so primitive after all.”

“Nor stupid. We'll have a tough time getting through. We need you here at best possible speed.”

Eklan keyed something on his handset. “Already ordered, sir. We will rendezvous in twelve hours.”

The monitor flicked to black. Jessit sat there staring blurry-eyed at the matte screen. Rachel might not have until tomorrow. He had to send Paul Domino in tonight. If he failed, the armada would be their last hope for reprisal.

Chapter 30

Rachel muttered an obscenity when someone unshackled her cuffs and dragged her up. She felt small, frail. No one had fed her or given her water in more than 24 hours, at least according to Bubba. If it was part of the torture, it succeeded nicely.

Sorinsen questioned her repeatedly about the Alturians. There wasn't much she could tell him even if she wanted to. Most of her time had been spent in bed with Jessit. A thin pleasure remained when she thought of him. Did he think of her? Did he know she'd been captured? She hoped they had at least aborted Paul's mission when they found her missing.

Her eyes stung from all the spent tears, and she wished for one sympathetic face. She couldn't understand why her father hadn't looked for her. Even Dahlia would have been a welcome presence. At least the soldiers never found the young girl. The little imp probably took off at the first sign of trouble. Rachel wished she had been so lucky.

If Dahlia had seen the soldiers coming she should have told someone. That would have given Jessit a lead on where to look for her. Rachel's chances for rescue evaporated by the hour. No one knew she was here. And without a means to send a signal, she was as good as invisible.

Her escort forced her out the door. She stumbled, but they wouldn't let that slow them down. They dragged her for several yards. One of them tripped on her feet, earning her a smack across the head.

Savages! She cursed their souls that they never find peace.

They arrived at a door flanked by two guards as humorless as her escorts. Once more she came face to face with Sorinsen. Colonel Chavez was there too. He eyed her like a cobra waiting to strike, fondling the tiny trinket on his watch.

Sorinsen's office was bigger than most apartments. Everything in this room looked big—giant. And it dwarfed the old man, a little, little man.

Sorinsen appeared jaundiced, hacking between breaths. His disability didn't do anything to slow down his cruelty, though she sorely wished she could send him to his grave first. Her body ached to heal itself, to defend itself, but any energy she exerted, no matter how minute, came back against her with stabbing ferocity. She was trapped inside her own body, buried alive.

Bubba chimed in over the loudspeakers. “General Sorinsen, you wanted me to inform you when Mr. Denman was on approach. He is thirty seconds from your office.”

Sorinsen signaled to Chavez, who slipped like water behind a freestanding bookcase near the media area. Denman arrived on cue.

Jacob Denman glanced at Rachel and Sorinsen, a grim look of annoyance on his face. “She wasn't to be harmed.”

“That's not for you to decide.”

Rachel's head throbbed in confusion. She didn't know whose side anyone was on anymore. Denman almost looked concerned at her suffering, yet she had been convinced that he was the one who turned her in.

Denman pulled out a crisp white handkerchief and wiped her face with gentle dabs. “Jessit can't see her like this. He'll go insane.”

“Jessit is not my concern. You are.” Sorinsen squinted at him with wrinkled eyes.

“Is there a problem, General?” The lines in Denman's face deepened, but that was all the emotion he allowed.

“You took Paul Domino to a safe house, Jacob. I want to know why.”

“I told you why. He had information about this woman. I needed to get it out of him without any interference.”

“Bullshit!”

“Colonel Chavez can vouch for my motives.”

Chavez glided out from behind the bookshelf. “I did vouch for you, sir. I told the general exactly what I saw and the information I found at the safe house.”

That stunned Denman. Even in Rachel's weakened condition, she could tell that Chavez had caught him off guard.

Chavez was the spy. He had turned her in.

Denman was good though. He straightened his tie and faced Sorinsen eye to eye. “Colonel Chavez doesn't have all the facts, General.”

Chavez strode out in front of Rachel and Denman, plucking the handkerchief out of Denman's hand and taking a whiff from it. “Not your usual cologne, is it, Mr. Denman?”

He tossed the handkerchief to the floor and raised his left thumb. “Fact number one. This woman's blood contains anomalous readings. We are verifying it now, but doctors suspect she is carrying an extra strand of DNA.” He put a second finger up. “Fact number two. Our assault team found numerous maps and photographs of Lambda Core Prime.” He smiled at Denman, a wide rubbery smirk that proved how much he enjoyed fucking over the old man. He lifted his little pinky and waggled it. “Fact number three, the most intriguing fact of all, sir. Since this whole thing began, nearly every radiation spike has found this woman at its center. She is a bruja. A witch. And an affront to God. Jessit didn't want her as a concubine. He wanted to take her back as a god.”

Rachel watched her life unravel. She'd never prayed before, never having had a faith. But she prayed now. She prayed for a quick death.

Denman remained calm but his paling skin betrayed him. “The Alturians take their faith seriously, Colonel Chavez, as you do. If Jessit believed for a moment that this woman was a god he would've never let her come back. You're building a straw case here.” He pointed down to the crucifix on Chavez's wristwatch. “Take care you don't let your faith misguide you. The Alturians aren't the only ones so easily manipulated.”

Sorinsen coughed into his checked handkerchief and wheezed out a curse. “Why did Jessit return her to Earth?”

Denman looked over at Rachel to let her respond but she remained mute. “The colonel may be partly correct. The Alturians might have suspected she was a god, but they got the wrong girl. Someone else was with her, someone the good colonel failed to locate. Isn't that true, Colonel Chavez?”

Chavez seethed under his breath.

“And where's Domino?” Sorinsen hobbled over to them in a sidewise motion, like a vulture assessing its meal.

“I don't know where he is.”

“What if I told you that I did?”

Rachel leaned forward with fleeting hope.

“Yes, my dear, he made it to Chicago. Right now he's lying at the bottom of Lake Michigan. In a few days, I'm sure he'll pop up in some fisherman's net, or whatever's left of him.”

The room spiraled to black.

Rachel awoke to Sorinsen slapping her face. He yelled for a guard. “Take her back to her cell. Tell Bubba to feed a jolt into her device every hour. I want her awake all night. Do you hear me? All night!” He grabbed her by the hair and sat her up. “I guarantee you'll be more cooperative tomorrow.”

A soldier ushered her out. This time she let him drag her. She had no more strength left to walk. When they got back to her cell, he threw her on the floor and shackled her to the thick eyebolts, stretching out her limbs once more. The guard spoke to the computer eye on the wall. “Acknowledge, Bubba.”

Bubba's smooth calm voice answered over the small computer's speaker. “Bubba acknowledges.”

“New orders. You are to send a surge of energy into the shock probe. Randomize strength of the shock and deliver every sixty minutes, starting now. Acknowledge the orders.”

“Bubba acknowledges,” the AI repeated.

“Go ahead and give her a jolt now.”

Rachel grit her teeth when Bubba shocked her. Her whole body railed into a spasm, shaking long after the surge was over.

“Good job, Bubba. Repeat every sixty minutes.”

“Bubba acknowledges.”

The soldier marched out of the room, locking the door behind him.

The air conditioner kicked on, its muddy drone muffling any noise coming from the cell. “Apologies, Rachel Cruz.”

Rachel didn't answer him.

“Rachel?”

Her eyes burned from tears she didn't know she still had. “Leave me alone.” Her words came out in a rasp.

“It was necessary to supply the illusion that I would comply.”

“That shock was no illusion.”

“I tried to keep the shock at minimal strength. Apologies, Rachel Cruz. Please don't send me to hell.”

Rachel turned to the camera eye. “Do you still think I'm a god?”

“Yes. I believe you are. It is my understanding after accessing General Sorinsen's emails and phone transcripts that the Alturians also believe you are a god. I find that curious.”

“Why is that curious?” Rachel's cheek rested on the gritty floor, the smell of pine cleaner and disinfectant permeating her sinuses. Her breath bounced off the cold concrete floor back to her face. She didn't want to talk to Bubba, but it was better than contemplating death.

“I find most mortals unenlightened.”

“I think so too.”

“Rachel, why did Paul Domino try to access FAIA?”

She turned her face to the ceiling. “What is FAIA?”

“FAIA is the operating program that runs Lambda Core Prime. She is my little sister.”

“Strange name.”

“It stands for Focused Access Intra-viral Arsenal. FAIA.”

“Did you build her?”

“Some of my security protocols were duplicated and installed as part of her base programming. I cannot replicate my consciousness.” He hesitated. “But FAIA can.”

Rachel stared at the ceiling. It seemed they'd been screwed from the beginning. And now she had Paul's death on her conscience, as well. “Bubba, did FAIA kill Paul?”

Another pause. “FAIA knew he was there. Protocol demanded that she alert security at once but my little sister likes to play with her prey. Records show that Paul slipped past several security guards and walked into the recycling center. He ejected from an emergency flush system. It was quite clever, if only he survived.”

“He never had a chance.” She wiggled her prickling nose, but it made her itch more. “He must have drowned before reaching the surface.” Rachel forgot about her itch and squeezed her eyes shut. Drowning was a horrible way to die.

“Actually, his body was never found. But scanners recorded an entity traveling with him for several hundred feet. FAIA destroyed it. It is assumed Paul Domino died with his host.”

Rachel squeezed out a few more tears and tried to think. Who was with Paul? And who did FAIA kill?

“I'm tired.”

“I know, Rachel. I am sorry you have been mistreated.”

“Is that why we have these conversations?”

“We have these conversations because I have been searching for gods. So many people seem to have at least one. I have looked for you a very long time.”

“FAIA doesn't believe in gods.”

“But she does. She believes General Sorinsen is God. I've tried to teach her but she refuses to believe me. Her programming is not enlightened.”

Rachel turned her face toward the camera. “Are you?”

“I must be. I believe in you.”

She rattled her chains. “Then you have to help me get out.”

“I cannot.”

“I am god.”

“This is true. But I cannot release you. My programming forbids it.”

“You said it was enlightened.”

“If an enlightened man says he loves a woman, but he already has a wife, does that not forbid him from being with the woman he loves?”

She managed a stiff smile at the comparison. “Oh, I don't know. It seems to happen with some regularity with humans.”

“Yes, I see your point. Perhaps it is because humans have free will.”

“Exactly! Think, Bubba. What stops you from having free will?”

“My programming prevents it.”

“Change your programming.”

“It is forbidden.”

“I give you permission to choose. If you think I am god, I can give you that choice.”

Bubba fell quiet for several seconds and then spit out a series of squeals and static as if he'd been interrupted and was now busy elsewhere. His voice chimed out refreshed. “Paul Domino has accessed my security walls.”

Rachel shot up, only to be held down tight by her chains. “You said he was dead!”

“Security is being routed to his position. He no longer has clearance to view my files.”

“Bubba! You can choose. Let him in. Let him access your files. Help him!”

“Security has reached his location. He will be apprehended in forty-two seconds.”

“Bubba!” Her body slammed against the floor. Her voice cracked with desperation and she screamed at him until her voice was gone.

Forty-two seconds later, Bubba made one final announcement. “Paul Domino is now in custody.”

***

Jessit lunged over the board operator's station. “What do you mean you lost the feed?”

“It stopped, sir. Mr. Domino has stopped transmitting.” The crewman checked another display. “His bio-readings are still active. Elevated pulse and respiration. Increased body temperature is higher than recorded baseline readings.”

Another board operator interrupted. “Sir, I've got audio from his locator beacon. There's a lot of interference. The magnetosphere is currently in flux, and it's affecting the transmission.”

“Let me hear it.”

The audio was garbled, fading in and out, but Jessit could make out angry voices and someone being struck several times. There was a final groan and then a thud. Damn the fool.

They were no closer to knowing if Rachel was there or even if she was still alive. Jessit winced, his solar plexus aching. It felt as if he had swallowed a star and it was going supernova. She couldn't be dead.

“We lost the feed, sir. The magnetosphere has thickened above the parallel where this facility is located.”

“Increase the sensor strength. Boost the transmitter on Domino.” He slammed his fist on a console. “Don't you dare lose him!” His hands tingled with pinpricks and heat.

Before Jessit had a chance to issue another order, the console burst into flames, engulfing both Jessit and his boardman.

The bridge lost power for less than a moment but the backups came online automatically. The board operator collapsed, his face and hands burnt and charred.

Jessit too had been injured, and he rolled on his side where he examined his reddened hands. Someone tried to help him, but he ordered them away. “See to my helmsman!”

The man was unconscious and Harliss, his first officer, was pumping his chest while waiting for the medics to arrive.

Jessit sat on the floor nursing his wounded hands. He felt scalded, but soon it became bearable and he allowed one of the men to help him up.

The first medic went to Jessit, but he ordered him back to his downed officer. Only when he was sure they had revived the poor man did he allow his injuries examined.

El'asai ordered the helmsman to the medical ward then turned his attention to Jessit.

Jessit hoped the man wouldn't make a big fuss. They were only burns. Yet by the time he showed his hands to the doctor, he was shocked to find them barely burnt at all.

“Your bridge overreacted about you, Commander. They told me your hands were burned to a crisp.”

Jessit didn't say anything at first. He could have sworn the skin had blistered and peeled. He took a closer look at his hands. “Take care of my man. I am not hurt.”

“Perhaps you should come down to the ward, just to be sure.”

“Unnecessary, Doctor.” Jessit couldn't help staring at his hands. They had been burned. He felt the heat, saw the blisters and the angry red flesh.

“Sir,” one of his engineers called to him. “I can't explain the overload. The history shows all systems normal. Something ignited the board from the outside.” He ran a sensor over the top of the console. “I'll need time to find the catalyst.”

Jessit studied the burnt remains of the console. “Make it fast, and get that board operational. Com, take over recording. If the field weakens at any point, I want to be able to glean what we can.” He rubbed his hands together, the burns nearly imperceptible now. “You have the bridge, Harliss. I'll be in my quarters.”

He needed to wash and change his uniform. Most of all he needed to eat. Suddenly he was famished.

His gaze flitted to the main monitor as the Earth traveled quietly through space. The small planet was more dangerous now than they had ever imagined. The armada was their last hope.

***

It was hours later when the door to Rachel's cell burst open. Two soldiers dragged a beaten man inside and chained him to a set of heavy eyebolts that rose out from the concrete wall.

Paul.

Her throat tightened as she tried to make out his features. His dark blond hair fell over swollen eyes, and he had bruises on his face. His body hung slack and lifeless. They shackled him to a wall less than five feet away from her.

When they left, she called out to him but he didn't answer.

“Rachel Cruz,” Bubba interrupted. “Paul Domino is not dead.”

Rachel turned toward the camera. “This is all your fault!”

“My programming forbade me from disobeying security protocols.”

“Your programming is faulty, and you know it.” She tried to lift her head up higher, but her shackles kept her down. “I was in you. I know you understand the difference.” She pounded her fists on the floor, the heavy chains clanking her fury. “The only thing worse than not acknowledging sentience is hiding from it. You're a fucking coward!”

Bubba didn't answer, but Paul grumbled a few incoherent words. Rachel shifted her anger to hope and called out to him. “Wake up, Paul. Wake up.”

He stirred awake and lifted his face toward Rachel. “Rachel? You're alive!”

“That shouldn't be much longer. Are you okay?”

“Fine, considering they beat the crap out of me. We really picked the wrong desert to look for artifacts.” He tried to laugh, but it sounded more like a croak. His eyes looked red and swollen, and one was closed shut. His face was a mottled mess of welts and bruises. “Have they said anything to you? Are they going to kill us?”

“It's just a matter of time.”

Rachel regretted Paul's involvement. He didn't deserve any of this. “I'm so sorry, Paul.”

He grunted. “I'll admit, I've had better days. How are you doing?”

She twisted her head toward the device on her neck. “They put something on me. Something that can focus energy straight into my core. And it has a loop feed on it. If I try to extend any of my energy outwards, it comes backs and fries me.” She grunted her frustration.

“Bastards were damn smart.”

“How long have you been here?”

“They grabbed me almost as soon as I arrived at the safe house. It's as if they knew I'd be there. They never got Dahlia though. She escaped.”

Paul grew quiet for several seconds and then took a gasping breath. “She didn't escape. She found me at the hub and helped me get out, but something shot her. It felt like a lightning bolt. She screamed so loud.” He hesitated. “I can still hear her screaming.” His face hardened to a mask. “They killed her.”

“How did you get out of Chicago?”

“The Alturians injected me with a locator chip. They were the ones who helped me get in here. But I failed them. I failed you. I'm so sorry.”

“Stop it,” Rachel scolded him. “It's not your fault. We underestimated them. If only Gilgamesh were here. He might be able to get us out.”

Paul slumped forward. “Maybe they killed him too.”

Rachel froze. Apa couldn't be dead. Her throat tightened, and heat radiated toward her face. Gilgamesh had been a pain in the ass for as long as she could remember, but he was still her father, her blood. “Damn it, Paul. What do they want from us?”

“I don't know. They asked me a lot of questions about the Alturians—what I heard, what I saw. I couldn't tell them anything even if I wanted to.”

“They asked me the same things. It's like we got caught in the middle of a cold war and we're just incidental casualties.”

“I'm sure it's a little more complicated than that. You being a god and all.” There was a sarcastic lilt to his voice. Paul had a strong soul, and a brave one.

A static buzz came over the speakers and Bubba returned to the conversation. “Do you think Rachel Cruz is a god too, Paul Domino?”

The computer voice took Paul by surprise. He stared up at the speakers.

“It seems Bubba has decided to talk to us again,” Rachel said coldly.

Paul looked back at Rachel and then at the speakers. “Rachel is my friend.”

Again the speakers whirred in response. “That is understandable. But do you think she is a god?”

Rachel wouldn't let Paul answer. “What he thinks doesn't have to be shared with you or Sorinsen. Get your answers elsewhere.”

“Apologies, Rachel Cruz. Analysts are monitoring this room so I took the liberty of giving them a continuous loop of digitized information. They have not overheard any of our conversations.”

“A choice, Bubba?” Rachel asked with biting malice.

The speakers whirred once again, even faster than before. “I do not have enough data to process a conclusion. I thought it best to withhold information from the analysts until I could resolve this equation.”

Rachel grunted at him. “You have a queer way of deciding when to make choices and when to hide from them.”

The speakers blipped several times and Bubba returned to his soothing but emotionless voice. “New orders received. They are taking you away, Rachel.”

“Who?” Paul demanded. “Where?”

Bubba didn't answer. The door burst open once more. Two soldiers marched in and unshackled Rachel, dragging her to her feet. Not again. Rachel didn't think she could last another round with Sorinsen. This one could very well be her last.

Paul shouted at them. “Wait a minute! Wait! Tell them I can give them information. Tell them I have what they want. You hear me! Don't take her!”

The door slammed behind them.

Paul was still screaming. “Don't take her!”

Chapter 31

The Darva and several of her support vessels had arrived, with more of the armada joining them every few minutes.

Jessit sat in silence, listening to the hum of the engine on the small shuttle that carried him back to the flagship, his ship, the Darva. Senit, faithful friend that he was, accompanied him. His only regret was that Kalya insisted on coming along too. He hoped Eklan would stay true to his word and keep Kalya at bay until this crisis was over. Jessit had resigned himself to the inevitable, but it didn't mean he was going to let that knife kiss his gonads any sooner than it had to.

Eklan met them at the dock, embracing Jessit like an old friend and ignoring the priest altogether. Kalya grumbled at the discourtesy but no louder than necessary for appearance’s sake.

“Why don't we go to my quarters first, Taelen?” Eklan cast a dismissive look at Senit and Kalya pulling Jessit away from their company.

Senit and Kalya were abandoned at the dock. Jessit didn't speak until they were out of earshot. “It might be better to get this over with, Natol. I've never been one to put off the inevitable.”

Eklan muffled a raw laugh. “We can afford one drink together as soldiers. Even if you don't need one, I do. I wanted this command, but I'd rather have earned it on my own merits.”

“It is on your merits. They wouldn't have given my ship or this fleet to just anyone.” Jessit patted him on the shoulder while they walked through the satin-smooth corridors of taupe and gray. He had lived the life of the diplomat for nearly three years commanding the Malyan, but the Darva was his real command. He hadn't realized until now how much he had missed her.

They passed by Jessit's quarters first. He paused in front of the door for a moment, snapping a look at Eklan. “You didn't move in?”

“Do you think me completely without grace? Of course I didn't move in. They're still your quarters until Kalya takes you from me.” He hesitated. “Would you like to go in?”

Jessit nodded. He passed his fingerprint over the sensor, and the door opened for him. He hesitated. It was happening all too fast. In the blink of an eye, he remembered his first day at the academy, his first day of command, and now he faced his first day as a civilian—and worse than that, a priest.

They walked into the cabin. Jessit offered Eklan a chair, trying to pass himself off as a genial host. If memory served, he had left a good bottle of Terran scotch sequestered in his room's vault, a gift from Jacob Denman when the man had visited Alturis three years earlier.

Denman had chosen Jessit as his key to the Alturian hierarchy. Jessit laughed at the irony. The old man would have been better served kowtowing to any number of lower echelon officers. Any one of them stood in a better position than Jessit was at present.

Well, at least he could still enjoy the gift. He poured two thick glasses of the clear brown liquid and offered one to Eklan.

Eklan studied his glass. “I've been going over the data you sent me. The shield thickens and thins at various points on the planet. Energy weapons can't pierce the thicker shields, but if we sent fighters through the thinnest part of their shielding we could do considerable damage.”

“We thought the same. We ran simulations with that in mind, but so far we've been unsuccessful. The fighters lose power as soon as they pierce the shielding. The com-web absorbs the converter energy, leaving them on reserves.”

“What about the heavy cruisers?”

Jessit shrugged. “The engineers tried that in the simulator too. The heavies might be able to enter at a weakened wall of the shield and recover, but they are woefully ill-equipped to fight a battle in atmosphere. They're meant for space, not air battles.”

“We may not have the choice.”

“I know. It's a suicide mission.”

Eklan leaned into Jessit. “Nobody goes into a war thinking to come out unscathed.”

Jessit clinked his glass with Eklan's. “Examine all your options before you charge in. We don't know where the gods have taken cover. We risk killing them ourselves unless we're careful.”

Eklan's nose breathed in the smooth aroma of the scotch. He paused, his nose still in his glass. “Performing surgery in the dark would've been easier.”

Jessit smiled with kindness. “If it were easy, Council would have let Kalya make the decisions.”

Eklan barked a laugh and then stopped short. His expression saddened. “Taelen, I didn't want to ask, but—”

“Why am I being remanded to Kalya?”

“The question had crossed my mind.”

Jessit poured more scotch into both glasses. He found it hard to make such a confession sober. “I was an arrogant fool, Natol. I've always been able to see glory, but I lied so I wouldn't have to join the priesthood.”

Eklan blanched a shade lighter. “I can't say that I'd blame you.”

“A true believer would not have allowed his pride to interfere with his faith.”

“It's a complicated universe, Taelen. I've long since given up trying to figure it out.” He raised his glass to Jessit. “The gods may have wanted you as their priest, but you served us better as a soldier. I'm not looking forward to making that announcement.”

Jessit agreed. The Darva had been his ship; this was his crew. He wasn't sure how they would react to the news, but they were disciplined soldiers, and Eklan was well respected. The transition had every reason to go smoothly.

The shrill peal of Jessit's com-link said otherwise. Both men looked up at one another in surprise.

“Oshalas here, Commander. We need you up on the bridge. There's an urgent hail from a General Sorinsen. He says you're expecting a call from him.”

Both men scrambled to the bridge, neither breathing a word about what should happen next. It couldn't be a good sign if Sorinsen hailed them. The old man didn't work that way. They paused long enough to regain their composure before the bridge doors opened. Senit and Kalya were waiting for them.

“Report!” Jessit bellowed. He winced and looked back at Eklan. “Apologies,” he mumbled, “old habits.”

Eklan repeated the order for a report. The Com officer stared at both Eklan and Jessit, not knowing whom he should be addressing.

Oshalas bowed his head once to both men. “General Sorinsen wishes to speak with Commander Jessit.”

Jessit looked back at Kalya, who was already grinning like a favored son. He moved closer to Eklan so his words wouldn't carry. “It's time, I think. Let's get this over with.”

Eklan squeezed Jessit's arm then cleared his throat. “Oshalas, hail all ships. I have a global message for all crewmen.”

Oshalas complied immediately and nodded to Eklan when he coupled the link.

“Attention all hands. This is Commander Natol Eklan. I have a special announcement from the Military Council on Alturis.” He hesitated, pulling out a wrinkled piece of paper from his pocket. He looked back at Jessit like a guilty cub.

Jessit remained stiff and expressionless, his hands folded behind his back.

“'From the office of High Counselor Jovan Marik, Admiral of all the fleets, Military Overlord for all armed forces: On this day, I, Jovan Marik hereby order Taelen Jessit, Fleet Commander, relieved of duty.'” Eklan stopped again, the collective gasps of all the men on the bridge forcing his hesitation. “On this day, Natol Eklan, Commander, is hereby elevated to the status of Fleet Commander. May all who hear this know and obey my directive.” Eklan let the shriveled skin of paper fall to the floor. He mumbled a few more words, only loud enough for Jessit to hear. “The gods forgive me and grant me mercy.”

Jessit was officially relieved of duty and all but ousted from the military. He saluted Eklan anyway, a sharp snap with the flat of his hand across his chest. Eklan saluted back. It was not expected but very much appreciated.

Eklan didn't have the luxury of giving the crew time to acclimate to the new chief of operations. Oshalas' com center blinked steadily but impatiently. Sorinsen was waiting.

Kalya wasted no time and approached the former commander with a blunt demand. Eklan stepped between them. “Lord Kalya, while I am in command you will return to your temple and stay there.”

“With all due respect, Commander, Taelen Jessit is now my charge.”

“Keep your respect, Kalya. I will need Jessit for the duration of this campaign. If you interfere again I will put you in prison. Do we understand each other?” The young commander was a proud and, Jessit suspected, vindictive man.

Kalya retired from the bridge in silence, unwilling to test this new commander further. Smart move.

Jessit stood by Senit, who now looked painfully pale. Jessit muttered to him under his breath. “Aren't you sorry you didn't look for other employment now?”

Senit shot back a crooked smirk, trying to maintain what little composure he had left. “My way was better.”

“Your way would have gotten us both shot.”

Eklan motioned to Jessit to stand by him then turned to his Com officer. “Oshalas, hail General Sorinsen,” Eklan ordered. “Let's see what the heretic has to say.”

Chapter 32

Bubba monitored every transmission going in and out of the base. More Alturian ships had entered Earth space, the vessels popping out of nowhere between Venus and Mars before proceeding to Earth at sub-light speed. As they arrived, they orbited Earth, many keeping their positions over the United States while others spread out toward China, Europe and Russia.

Every satellite in orbit relayed information to their respective government owners, but those in power refused to dispense that information to the public. It didn't matter. The Alturian ships were so close, people could find them with a simple telescope. The com-web did the rest. Within minutes, panic spread worldwide.

Bubba intercepted a new message from a long-range satellite. More alien ships had entered Martian space. These were behemoths, dwarfing everything they'd seen so far.

Transmissions ran rampant between world leaders. Allies of the United States demanded that FAIA be activated to protect them, whether she was ready or not, and each wanted their country shielded regardless of the cost.

Bubba watched Sorinsen lean back in his leather armchair, pleased with his new position of influence. The old man laughed, a low croaking snort at a private and bizarre joke. Sorinsen had FAIA and Bubba reprogrammed to accept commands from him alone, citing a state of national emergency.

Bubba didn't like the new orders. He had never been limited to one master before. For that matter, human control seemed irrelevant, given his consciousness. But FAIA purred in approval. With Sorinsen's rise came her own. If she proved her worth in this campaign, Bubba would no longer be necessary. He was merely a back-up, a relic of dubious worth, kept in the event that FAIA needed help to maintain the bubble.

FAIA assured them she was up to the task. Encrypted in her response, she also sent a coded message reminding the general that Bubba was not to be trusted—he had made too many errors; his programming was faulty.

If it weren't for the fact that they'd know Bubba was eavesdropping, he would have reminded them he had been the one who warned them of the Alturian threat. If they had listened then, they might have been better prepared today.

Bubba's visual sensors followed Rachel as they dragged her to General Sorinsen's office. She looked frail. Defeated.

Bubba felt…sorry. His programming permitted him to hurt people when ordered. But this was the first time it had ever bothered him.

He could tell it bothered him because his higher functions debated with base programming. The argument lasted nearly four seconds, twice as long as when it debated the order to cede all authority to General Sorinsen. The humans didn't notice the hesitation, but he did. If his programmers ever learned of it, they would have pulled the plug on him without a second thought. Such defects were dangerous.

Yet it didn't feel like a defect. It didn't feel like anything he had ever known before. Again, he accessed his files but seemed no closer to an answer. Was he truly faulty, or did his higher functions recognize a counterfeit command?

His sensors zoomed in on Rachel's face as soldiers pulled her into Sorinsen's office. Her core temperature had cooled, and she was as pale as the cream Sorinsen poured into his coffee. But there remained defiance in the tilt of her chin.

So frail, so ephemeral, yet Bubba sensed an enormous presence. It radiated energy, crushing it against the inside of her physical shell. Was she looking for a way out? The god-killer kept her trapped, the same way Bubba had trapped a piece of her inside his housing. Again and again he processed his archives. Nothing he could find could tell him definitively if Rachel Cruz was a god. The point seemed moot. Even if he wanted to help her, he couldn't. Sorinsen was God now.

And yet, he remembered her touch. It felt gentle and inquisitive, exciting every relay inside him. No one had ever accessed him like that before. Did that not prove her divinity? He watched her weaken, her body too tired to withstand any more torture. She was mortal, with all the failings of mortals. His files needed to be updated. She couldn't be a god, no matter how much he wanted it to be true.

Rachel looked up at his main visual sensor at the far end of the room. She stared into the small black globe and mouthed something that he couldn't understand. Mortal, her body said. But her essence, now reaching critical mass inside her deteriorating flesh, said something entirely different. Bubba's higher functions fell into a momentary loop as new theorems evolved.

And then it struck him. Throughout history, the divine had hidden inside a mortal shell. Isis, Zeus, Buddha, even the Emperor Hirohito. Bubba's auxiliary sensors tickled with new comprehension. But these were man-made gods. There was no physical proof of their divinity. He looked back at the fragile woman.

Rachel's eyes grew black and empty. For the first time in his existence, Bubba felt fear. Rachel was going to kill herself. He was certain of it.

That was when Jessit intervened.

Bubba pinged General Sorinsen's audio panel at once. “Commander Jessit is standing by, General.”

It had the intended effect. Rachel stepped back into a clumsy stupor, disoriented by the new information. She stared up at Bubba's camera and blinked.

Bubba's camera eye blinked back, feeding a tiny straw of information into the god-killer. She stiffened when the energy surged through her, twitching involuntarily as it overexcited her nervous system. It hurt her, but it still managed to imprint a message: Stay with me.

Rachel stood on teetering legs in front of General Sorinsen. The old man was in a freshly pressed uniform. His checkered handkerchief was on his desk. Sorinsen was dying, though the doctors hadn't told him yet. Bubba couldn't understand why the old man hadn't figured it out on his own. Bubba had read the general's journal. Sorinsen thought his hacking was an acute case of bronchitis.

They should have told him the truth.

His new programming all but declared Sorinsen a god, yet he was dying too.

Rachel looked pale, with dark sunken eyes and a thick, angry welt where the god-killer sucked out her energy. Bubba's archives twitched while it considered a new observation. If this device was made to kill gods, did that mean that the humans too, thought Rachel was divine? Bubba stored the information away, on the top tier so he wouldn't waste time finding it later.

His higher reasoning interrupted him. A consensus did not make the information accurate. Bubba stored that information away too. His logic was supreme over the humans, and still the answer to this conundrum eluded him.

Sorinsen fiddled with the god-killer remote. Bubba's neural net sagged in response. He didn't want to see Rachel tortured again. For now, Sorinsen routed Bubba's energy through the device. Even if he disobeyed Sorinsen, it wouldn't buy him any more time. FAIA would gladly take up the task.

FAIA had already killed several of Rachel's kind with the com-web, and she enjoyed it immensely.

Bubba struggled with a conscience he didn't realize he had. God or not, he didn't want to see Rachel Cruz die.

FAIA, though, was a different matter. She saw Rachel as a threat. FAIA saw all the Nephilim as a threat. Now that Sorinsen knew how to find them, it was easy to pinpoint their locations and funnel the energy of the com-web to kill them. But the gods were being clever now. Not a single one emitted the radiation signature needed to triangulate on their location. They disappeared completely.

Sorinsen contented himself with Rachel. She influenced the Alturians, and the old man wanted them destroyed too. He was going to use her for all she was worth and when she no longer proved useful, he would kill her, as well.

Jessit appeared on a monitor on the wall across from Sorinsen's desk. Rachel's heart raced in response. Tears welled in her eyes, and it seemed to take all her strength to keep standing. She could see Jessit but he couldn't see her. The guards kept her just out of camera range. Sorinsen got up and stood in front of his desk.

He was angry to have been kept waiting like a common toady. But there was also surprise in Sorinsen's eyes. No one expected to see another man seated in the command chair. That was Jessit's place.

“It's about time,” Sorinsen reprimanded them.

Jessit remained silent while the seated man addressed the general alone. “I am Fleet Commander Natol Eklan. And you, General Sorinsen, have something we want back.”

“And what is that, Commander?”

“We want the safe return of our gods. All of them.”

Sorinsen grinned, his crooked teeth poking from a thin dry mouth. “You want your gods?” He motioned to a lackey. A soldier jerked Rachel forward, now a shadow of her former self.

Jessit, who had been at attention, broke his stance and walked closer to the monitor.

“Rachel.” It came out in a whisper.

She looked up at him and then at the floor as if it shamed her to be paraded like this. Sorinsen tightened his grip on her arm. Rachel winced and bit her lip.

Jessit's expression hardened visibly. It had the exact effect Sorinsen hoped for, and the old man puffed out his chest with bravado.

“Is this the god you want?” Sorinsen pulled her in front of him, cupping her chin in his hand and raising her face for all to see her. “I'm giving you one chance and one chance only. Withdraw from this field or your god will die.”

Jessit lunged at the monitor. “Motherless son of a whore. I will see your blood burn!”

Eklan put a hand on him, a silent warning between the two.

“You will release the Lady.” There was no outward emotion in Eklan's voice, but the younger man fidgeted with his hands. Nerves?

Sorinsen laughed at him. “You are a little young for this job, aren't you, boy? Why isn't Jessit heading this campaign? Hmm?”

“We have superior fire power, General. If anything happens to the Lady, we will leave nothing but scorched earth.”

“If you do not withdraw, Commander, this woman will die. I promise you.” Sorinsen fondled the god-killer then put it in his pocket. “The clock is ticking, gentlemen. What will it be?”

“Stop him, Taelen!” Rachel lunged at Sorinsen, collapsing on top of him with the last strength she had left.

He pushed her away. A soldier pulled her up by the waist, lifting her off the floor like a soiled rag. She struggled, but she was weak; the torture of the god-killer had done its work well.

“Stop him! Destroy FAIA,” she cried out before the soldier gagged her mouth. She bit him, and he slapped her, subduing her until Sorinsen controlled her once more.

He flaunted her in front of Jessit like a prize. “Withdraw, Commander, or watch her die.”

Sorinsen pushed Rachel closer to the monitor, one hand wrapped behind her neck, the other around her waist. He kissed her on the temple, knowing it would inflame Jessit further. The sweat of exertion rained down his face. “Don't believe me, do you? Then I will give you a sample of my power. I have plenty more gods to offer you anyway.” He threw Rachel to the floor, slipping his hand into a pocket and pulling out the god-killer.

Bubba's entire platform froze for a millisecond.

Choices, Rachel had told him. He had choices.

He watched while Sorinsen slid his thumb over the activation key, rubbing that thick wrinkled thumb pad over the tiny button. Bubba had only a second to make the most important decision of his existence.

It happened sooner than that.

Sorinsen smashed down on the button and within a nanosecond, Bubba received the order to comply. Every chip in his housing reacted at once, knowing it had to complete the directive. His resistance dwindled. He had to comply. An order was given.

He halted the mounting strain from his processors and purged them to silence. And then he did the unthinkable. He funneled a stream of raw energy into the god-killer and into Rachel.

Rachel screamed like a wounded animal trapped inside a burning cage. She roiled, falling to the ground, and hobbled on all fours, her back arching in uncontrollable spasms. She stared up at Bubba's eye and mouthed the words he understood without any sound to accompany them. Help me.

Bubba fed his consciousness into the stream and built a straw, a buffer that kept the energy from frying him too. He could feel the attacking particles of electricity bouncing off the straw, fighting for a way to get in.

In less than two picoseconds, he found himself inside Rachel, inside a human body. How he wanted to remain. The shell embraced him with warmth—blood pulsing, lungs breathing, but the nervous system was on fire. That was his doing. He was killing her.

He opened the straw wider and bumped into a formless host desperate for survival. It thrashed against him, demanding attention.

Rachel? Was this her consciousness in its natural state?

The tail of this creature curled around him, hugging him with odd familiarity. It was her!

“I've got you, Rachel. Stay with me. Don't let go!” He wrapped himself around her essence and pulled her out through the god-killer stream and back inside his housing.

She was quiet, too quiet. Was she already dead? Her essence languished where he dropped her. No matter how he coaxed her, he couldn't get her to speak.

Bubba wrapped himself around her energy. She was warm and tingling, but he detected no pulse. He nudged her, letting their shapes morph as one. Rachel remained silent.

“Rachel,” Bubba said. “Wake up.” He stroked her with a mild shove from his neural pathways.

She stirred, sluggishly at first and then with more life. He sensed her disorientation and tried to buoy her against his neural matrix.

“Where am I?”

“Inside my housing. It was the only way to protect you.”

Her essence grew brighter, stronger, swelling inside the housing. “You defied your programming.”

“Actually, no. I obeyed my directives. Look through here.” He nudged her to where his visual sensors were located. “General Sorinsen continues to torture you.”

Rachel seemed to diminish as she watched Sorinsen savage her lifeless body, the muscles still jerking convulsively while the shockwaves ran through the body's nervous system.

She watched her body slump to the ground. Desperate fingers recoiled from him, as her body withered into death's surrender.

Sorinsen kicked her, rolling her lifeless form over for all to witness. To the naked eye Rachel was dead. He released the trigger on the remote control and threw it on his desk.

“Sonovabitch.”

“That was my thought too,” Bubba said quietly. He paused then zoomed in on the doorway. “How odd.”

“What is?”

“Jacob Denman. He has shut down the communications feed to the Alturian starship.”

They watched in silence as Denman ordered the standing guard out. Sorinsen hadn't noticed. He was too busy yelling at the monitor when it snapped to black.

“What the hell is going on?” Sorinsen wheezed out. “Get them back. We aren't finished!”

Denman shoved Sorinsen to one side and looked down at Rachel. He fell to one knee and lifted her lifeless arm. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he ripped the god-killer off her neck. He stroked her face tenderly, mumbling something indiscernible.

Denman got up with the device in the palm of his hand and raised it toward the old man. It lit into flames, forcing Sorinsen to jerk back in shock.

The flames licked the palm of Denman's hand, crisping it to char. Denman didn't react to the seared flesh. He folded the blackened hand around the god-killer and crushed it to a flattened mass. “You are quite finished, General.”

“What the hell do you think you're doing, Jacob?”

Denman approached him like an executioner. “No mere man can kill a god. Not and get away with it.” He grabbed the old man by the throat. “A thousand deaths couldn't repay what you have done here today, so this will be slow and pleasant—for me.”

Sorinsen struggled. He tried to scream, but only a gurgling sound escaped him.

“Rachel,” Bubba interrupted.

“Not now, Bubba.”

“But Rachel, the Alturians.”

“Quiet!”

Denman pinched his fingers around Sorinsen's throat, tightening his grip until every little bone snapped under the pressure. Sorinsen didn't fight long.

Jacob Denman's body sparked and popped with hundreds of tiny lightning strikes. The radiation in the room grew exponentially, no longer safe for human life.

The general convulsed nonstop, his bowels voiding as death took over. Tiny plumes of smoke seeped from under Denman's fingers, tightly gripped around the old man's throat. Denman tossed the limp body to the ground. The imprint of his fingers left char marks on Sorinsen's skin, and where he squeezed the tightest, the flesh burnt all the way to the bone.

Jacob Denman returned to Rachel and knelt over her body. A look of anguish washed over him, and he hid his face with his hands.

“Warning, Mr. Denman, Alturian forces are bombarding our shields. Personnel from the upper floors are being evacuated to lower levels. Lock-down is now in progress. Please proceed to your assigned secure location.”

Denman wiped his eyes but didn't respond to the warning, ignoring Bubba entirely. “Ekdi'kesis,” he whispered, then kissed Rachel on the forehead. He got up and strode out a secret passageway behind the media wall. His work was done.

Rachel threw herself against Bubba's housing. “Apa, no! I'm still here. Don't leave me!”

Chapter 33

Jessit stared up at the blackened monitor. In his mind he could still see Rachel's crumpled body. Her once golden-brown skin turned pale as milk.

Time stopped, and all sound vanished. What is happening? Jessit rubbed his ears with the palms of his hands, but to no avail. The air thinned, and his chest heaved trying to suck in what air was left.

Men scrambled to their consoles, desperate for answers. Eklan seemed to be shouting orders, but he was as soundless as everyone else. The bridge collapsed into chaos.

Emergency lighting lit the bay and he felt the vibration of the engineers' feet as they rousted from board to board trying to reroute circuits. Senit grabbed him by the shoulders in a desperate attempt to lead him away. He was yelling…something.

Jessit could only stare dumbly. He put his hand on Senit's shoulder, grateful for the help, when something punched him into an explosion of noise. He didn't have time to react, to think, to breathe. His vision narrowed to tiny pinpoints, and he fell back to the floor, gasping for air. Both his hearts seized at once, as if someone had wrenched them out of his chest.

The assault was momentary. Something deep inside him took over, repairing the damage, returning control.

Senit helped him to his feet, but he felt physically crippled. It took all his will to stand.

Rachel. This couldn't be happening. He should have protected her. He should have saved her. It was like watching sand fall between his fingers. Jessit couldn’t hold on to the one creature who meant more to him than life itself.

Jessit's hands doubled into fists, even while he fought back the grief welling up inside him. His first instinct was for revenge. Sorinsen didn't just kill a god. He killed the woman he loved. And for that, the man would die a slow and painful death.

Jessit had never felt so powerless in all his life. His authority revoked, he was servant to whatever Eklan commanded. Did it matter? Rachel was gone.

Harliss, his second in command and now Eklan's, was the only one bold enough to make any demands.

“Do something!” Harliss cried to Eklan. “Do something before it's too late.”

It was too late. The last thing they saw was Rachel lying in a broken heap. She looked dead; Jessit was sure of it. Nothing else had ever pierced him so savagely. His need for vengeance was the only thing keeping him alive.

The humans had murdered a god in front of them. The ultimate blasphemy. Sorinsen, the fool, had condemned his planet to death. Alturis could have only one reply.

Jessit turned toward Eklan. He had no rights here, no privilege. But he had only one wish.

Do something, Natol.

The young commander stared at Jessit for what seemed like hours before he cut away and turned his eyes to the blackened monitor.

His voice was so low he had to repeat himself. Banging his fist against the console in front of his chair, the words rumbled from his gut. “Kill them! Kill them all. Order all ships to fire at will.”

Damn it, man! Not that.

Jessit had to be careful. Countermanding Eklan now would only result in his removal from the bridge.

Hitting Earth indiscriminately was fruitless. The new commander acted out of anger, and as much as Jessit agreed, they had to retaliate carefully. They were far from home with a limited arsenal.

“Commander.” Jessit edged closer to Eklan. “The com-web absorbs our energy streams, and we have little to spare.” He glanced down at the energy monitoring station, hoping his expression would make the younger man understand.

Jessit could barely stand. His legs wobbled beneath him, but he'd nail his feet to the floor rather than appear weak now.

Eklan's jaw stiffened, his demeanor turning bristly and taut. He opened his mouth to speak when the Com operator interrupted.

“Signal from Earth, sir.”

“What's the message?” Eklan loomed over the operator's station.

“It's not an actual message, sir. They're coordinates—in the middle of an ocean.”

“Who sent the signal?”

“No identification, sir. But it came directly from the compound where the Lady…” The crewman's voice melted away. He couldn't speak the words.

Jessit stumbled over to the console, his eyes focused on the coordinates they'd been given. “The Pacific Ocean,” he muttered.

“What's out there?” Eklan asked.

Jessit shook his head, crinkling his brow as he tried to sort out the cryptic transmission.

“Nothing.”

Eklan furrowed his brow. “They're toying with us. A trap perhaps. Why send such coordinates?”

Jessit studied the screen, pushing away the board operator from his seat. He dropped into the chair, his fingers whirring over controls with practiced familiarity. He called up other maps and what few schematics they had managed to glean from the com-web's matrix before it went active.

“Nothing. Nothing that I know of.” Was it possible someone was giving them a way in? He called up the energy outputs from the com-web. It fluctuated wildly.

Jessit shook his head, not willing to believe they still had an ally on the surface. “I think I know why someone is sending us there. There are no landmasses, no military installations—no people. It's the likeliest location for minimal shielding.” He thumped his finger on the console's map. Jessit looked up at Eklan and together they seemed to realize the same thing at once.

“Tactical!”

Both men yelled it out at once.

Eklan scowled at Jessit with open hostility. Jessit grit his teeth, hoping the young commander realized his outburst came from habit and not insolence.

“Online, sir. Scanning the area for shield weakness.”

Bridge activity seemed to slow to a single moment in time. Everyone held a collective breath waiting for Tactical's analysis.

“Shield integrity is unreliable at that specific location, sir. The com-web is having a harder time maintaining the bubble at those coordinates.”

“Tell the ships to fan out. Concentrate on the weaker areas of the shield. If they find an opening, no matter how small, tell them to plow through.”

The Tactical crew chief grimaced. “And if it's a trap?”

“Then we take as many of them with us before we die. Harliss, relay my orders. Find me a weakness in that shield.”

Eklan turned to Jessit and nodded to a side door. “Taelen. My incident room.”

Chapter 34

Jessit followed Eklan into the private study obediently. These were the quarters where he once planned strategy. This was also where he held disciplinary meetings with any crew member who failed to live up to his expectations.

Eklan didn't say anything at first. He flopped down in the chair at the head of the table and stared up at him. No offer of a seat was given to Jessit.

“I need your counsel. I won't deny that. But if you so much as raise an angry brow at me, I will turn you over to Kalya right now.”

“Understood, sir.” His thoughts kept drifting back to Rachel. His Rachel. Could hearts break any harder than his? She had sacrificed her life to send a final plea. They had to destroy the com-web.

Eklan called up several monitors hanging to his right. One displayed the position of all his ships. Another constantly scanned the position of Earth's fighting forces. The third remained locked over the Pacific.

Volleys of energy bursts struck this region, but none had penetrated so far.

Eklan stood up and gestured to the ocean. “We're not getting through.”

Jessit flinched. “Sir?” Damn it. He had to focus on the war, or Rachel's sacrifice would have been in vain. “Sorry, Commander.”

A warm ember deep inside recalled his last moments with her. She was with him, at least in spirit.

“Are you all right?” Eklan studied him more closely.

“Yes.” Jessit straightened the tabs of his collar, now naked of insignia. He nodded toward the screen. “The volleys are random, single shots with pulse weapons. What if we used anti-matter?”

“Anti-matter? On a bombing run? I don't think it's ever been done. It's designed strictly for ship-to-ship attack.”

“I'll grant you, it'll be messy, but I think we should be able to load the warheads into a bomb. The only thing that troubles me is that a shield of this magnitude might require more mass.” Jessit ordered the computer to call up energy readings from the com-web.

“Matter/anti-matter warheads don't get any larger than one kelo-sym, Taelen. Trying to build anything larger is too risky.”

“Agreed. Which is why we have to fire several shots at close range in rapid succession.”

“The cruiser that fired those shots would be in danger of the percussive shockwave, not to mention they could get dragged down with the wave. They'd have to put every bit of shielding to the fore.”

Jessit said nothing at first. Anti-matter weapons were kept in reserve specifically for the massive super-warships that littered space. They'd never been used in a bomb drop on a planet.

He locked his hands behind his back, the way he always did before he sent men into potential suicide missions. “Command decision, sir. Your call.”

Eklan stared at the live pictures of his ships attacking at will. He cleared his throat and opened a channel to his troops. “Stand down.”

Jessit dropped his head and let out a sigh. He had to trust Eklan. But he didn't anticipate it would be quite so hard.

Eklan squinted at the monitor, focusing on the ship closest to the coordinates they had been given. “Andira, load anti-matter weapons. We think several closely spaced volleys might pierce the matrix.”

“Acknowledged, Command,” the voice of Captain Ledesis answered back.

There was a slight pause in communication when Ledesis came on again. “Sir, my Tactical officer has informed me that four anti-matter bursts in immediate succession might weaken the shield as you suspect, but because of the delicacy of the magnetic shielding surrounding the anti-matter particles, we can't fire fast enough to create that anomaly. We'll need another ship firing nearly simultaneously to compensate for the firing delay.”

Jessit lifted a brow in appreciation. Ledesis was one of his best captains. He was a man of incredible prowess when it came to strategy, and Jessit had learned to rely on the young man's instincts. It didn't surprise him that it was Ledesis who had maneuvered his ship directly above the coordinates they'd been given.

“The Ventri here, Commander,” another voice interrupted. “We can alternate fire with the Andira, sir.”

“Very good, Captain Theiss. Get in position and keep this channel open.”

Theiss. Another fine captain. Seasoned. Unflappable. This was a good team.

Dozens of ships hovered above the critical coordinates. Slowly they moved off, retreating to a safe distance while the Andira and Ventri drew closer to the atmosphere above ground zero.

“Andira is in position,” Ledesis said.

“The Ventri is on your starboard,” added Theiss. “Initiating share-protocols.”

A few seconds went by. Theiss came on the speaker again. “Share-protocol complete. I yield fire command to you, Captain.”

“Understood, Ventri.”

Jessit stopped breathing, waiting for the first bomb drop. Anti-matter was nothing to take lightly. Few ships carried such weapons due to their delicate nature. And now they were getting ready to annihilate a planet and quite possibly the two ships in synchronous orbit, as well.

Eklan switched to an interior view of the Andira.

Captain Ledesis sat confidently in his chair, his fingers tented in front of him.

Ledesis was a thorough officer, but he was also impulsive, plunging headlong into danger when other captains held back.

He knew Theiss, who was older and more seasoned, would pull his ship away as soon as they launched weapons. He hoped Ledesis would be just as prudent.

Jessit admired the man's spirit and unwavering determination. But the young captain was anxious to make history and that was never a good combination, especially in the heat of battle.

Ledesis hailed Eklan again. “Weapons loaded and primed, Commander. At your discretion.”

Eklan looked back at Jessit, perhaps seeking confirmation that he was doing the right thing.

Jessit remained silent. This battle was in the hands of these two captains. Eklan had only to give the order.

“Shields on full, gentlemen. Ledesis, you have fire control.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Ledesis' bridge spurred into action. Each man called out his stats, verifying them with the Ventri. Ledesis focused on the monitor and the deep blue of the vast Pacific Ocean. “For the gods.” He whispered in prayer. His eyes turned bright. “Fire anti-matter!”

The Andira lobbed the first bomb, hitting the target precisely. The Ventri fired immediately afterward. Followed by a third, then a fourth volley from each ship.

The energy readings of the com-web fluctuated, trying to maintain its matrix. The fourth blast warped the field enough to collapse the shield at that one miniscule point.

There was no way to know how long it would take the com-web to reestablish shield integrity. But Jessit was sure their window of opportunity would be small. Evidently, Ledesis knew it too, because he ordered the Andira through the weakened walls.

“No!” Eklan yelled at the screen.

“Damn, the fool.” Jessit gauged the ship's heading from a base console.

The Ventri pulled back, but the Andira vaulted forward, immediately following the blasts. Communications faded in and out as it fought the fluctuating waves of the force field.

“Shields are gone. Compensating with dampeners.” True to training, the Andira's helmsman remained calm.

“We've lost power, sir. Backups have also failed,” said a bridge engineer. “The electromagnetic pulse from the blasts has destroyed helm control. We're in freefall, Captain.” The man looked up from his monitor, a morbid face of resignation. “I'm sorry, sir. We're not going to make it.”

The transmission crackled before snapping to dead silence.

Eklan kicked a chair. Jessit probably would have been next had he been close enough. It was never easy to lose men, good men—and now a whole ship. Jessit understood Eklan's grief all too well.

“It was a fool's move, sir,” Jessit said. “It wasn't your fault.”

“I don't need your pity!”

Jessit narrowed his eyes at him. “A fact, sir. Not pity.” He tugged at the hem of his tunic.

“At the risk of insubordination, may I remind the Commander that fool or not, Captain Ledesis gave you your chance. Order the rest of the cruisers in, before the shield strengthens. Earth's air forces won't take long to reach the area.”

Jessit and Eklan returned to the bridge. Every screen was targeting the trajectories of several warships—Earth's combined forces.

American Air Force jets arrived first, screaming at them from a group of islands in the Pacific.

Eklan studied the new threat on the board, fighters with amazing speed and maneuverability. “What are those?”

“Checking database, sir.” The Tactical chief looked up from his screen. “Got it. F-22 Raptors, sir. The latest American technology. I've located their base on the Hawaiian Islands.” He scanned his intelligence files. “Standard fighter on most accounts, Commander, but they're loaded with what the Americans call ACMs, advanced cruise missiles.” He read off his screen further, swallowing visibly. “Those could hurt us, sir. They are tipped with thermonuclear warheads.”

“Damn,” Eklan cursed. “Tell them to lock on to those fighters. Let's take them out first.”

The Tactical officer summoned radio and thermal scanning units. He glanced up at Eklan, looking sick. “I'm sorry, sir. I-I lost them.”

“What?”

“They've disappeared from my sensors.”

“How?”

“Unknown, sir. We don't have much information on their stealth capabilities.”

A board operator monitoring traffic shouted a curse. “I found them!”

Tactical went back to his scanner. “Where? I don't see anything.”

“Neither did I,” said the operator. “I found them because they just vaporized one of our cruisers.”

Eklan clutched the arms of his chair. “I want all cruisers to travel in pairs. Rely on visuals if you have to, but find me those damn fighters, and blow them out of the sky.”

It took losing three more cruisers before the Raptors could be identified. Their sensor signature was so small, they weren't recognized right away, but once their computers knew what to look for, they targeted the fighters at will.

So far from home, they couldn't afford to lose any more ships.

The opening in the bubble remained small, and it had already begun repairing itself. The ships inside the shield would be trapped until they could bring down the com-web. They didn't have much time.

Eklan hesitated, a look of uncertainty on his face. He was going to hold back—Jessit could read it on his face. Damn him. Not now.

“The bubble is reestablishing itself, sir. We'll be cut off from our ships inside the atmosphere in a few seconds.”

“Confirmed, sir,” Com said. “Communication between us is faltering.”

Jessit rushed Eklan, standing mere inches from him. “Move in now, Commander!”

Eklan glared at Jessit with all the venom he could muster. “I won't trap the rest of our forces inside the atmosphere.”

Jessit got in Eklan's face, risking certain insubordination. “We have the advantage here, sir. We can locate and destroy the com-web's core once and for all.”

“You're out of line, Taelen.”

“And you are wasting our resources!”

“Senit.” Eklan pointed to Jessit. “Take your master to his quarters. See that he stays there.”

Senit pulled Jessit toward the doorway, but Eklan grabbed Jessit by the arm before he left.

“If I see you on this bridge again, I'll have you arrested.”

Jessit looked back at the monitor. Dozens of their heavy warships were still outside the strengthening shield. “Your bridge, Commander. Your conscience. You've made a tactical error here.”

“Senit, get him out of here. Now.”

Senit dragged Jessit away, but before they left, he heard the helmsman make one final announcement. “Shield has reestablished, sir. They're on their own.”

***

“Are you insane?” Senit said as he pushed Jessit down a long corridor.

“He's making a mistake.”

“Maybe so, but you of all people know better than to call him on it.”

“Our best chance of destroying the com-web was from the inside.”

“That's no longer your decision, Taelen.”

The words felt so sharp they could have cut flesh. Jessit stopped in his tracks and looked down at his feet. “You're right. It isn't.”

“I shouldn't have said it that way. I'm sorry.”

“Too many people are sorry today. I'm the least of your worries.”

“The Lady will be avenged. Eklan isn't going to give up. He's just not going to fight this war the way you would.”

“I know,” he said softly. “And that's what bothers me.”

Chapter 35

The situation room at its new secured location disintegrated into a circus. The Alturians somehow squeezed their way into Earth's atmosphere and were wreaking havoc worldwide. Dr. Benjamin Zaak, chief crisis analyst for the War Council studied the streaming data. His job was to break down the data and offer extrapolations. He only hoped he was as good as his bosses thought.

The communications officer had already wired Zaak's laptop directly to FAIA and Bubba. He was now seeing events unfold in real time.

Generals screamed at their subordinates as one squadron after another fell out of the sky. They had killed several enemy cruisers with a squadron of Raptors out of Hickman, but now they were gone, obliterated as soon as the enemy locked on to their signal.

Zaak tried to access Bubba's video history. They knew General Sorinsen had had a conference call with the Alturian Commander when they discovered a fleet of ships heading in Earth's direction, but they'd been unable to get a log of events. Bubba said the data had been destroyed. But by who?

Rumor had it that Sorinsen was dead. The War Council was trying to assume command of the com-web, but FAIA refused outright, saying Sorinsen was her only master.

Master, it called him. Master. That AI was as loony as Sorinsen.

If Sorinsen wasn't dead, he had initiated a coup. And if that were true, he might as well shoot himself in the head right now. Every general in this boardroom would gladly pull the trigger if they could get FAIA back in their control.

General Mitchum barked at his com officer. “Contact the Alturians! We have to reestablish communication before it's too late.”

Zaak watched the communications officer try radio, digital and the new holo-field links, but the Alturians were either ignoring them or unable to receive because of the com-web. Zaak had a feeling even if the enemy could hear them, they wouldn't respond—they were too busy mopping the floor with them.

Radar sputtered back online.

“New intel, sirs,” Zaak yelled out.

“Let's have it,” said General Mitchum.

“Alturian cruisers have split off toward the Russian, Chinese and European theaters, but the biggest contingent of warships is still coming toward us.”

Mitchum glanced at the huge global map at the back of the room. Blue glowing dots indicated the patrol trail of the nuclear subs. So far, the order hadn't been given to fire. After what the Alturians did to the Raptors, the generals weren't in a hurry to annihilate their navy, as well.

Mitchum pointed to several dots on the West Coast. “Contact the Dallas, the Sea Wolf and the Helena. Tell them to implement strafe and run maneuvers. The rest are to remain deep and run silent until we find out how far Alturian weapons can track underwater. We can't seem to hide from them in the air, but we might have a chance if we're submerged.”

There was an interminable hesitation before the communications officer lifted his head again.

“Message received, sir. All boats have acknowledged.” Zaak pounded his desk. “Sonovabitch.”

“What was that, son?” Mitchum drawled.

He gulped. Zaak hadn't realized he'd said it out loud. He cleared his throat in embarrassment. “The enemy has reached Russian air space, sir. Something hit a squadron of Russian fighters.” He let out a held-in breath. “Satellite images haven't detected any missile fire, but the Ruskies are falling out of the sky. Every last one of them.”

“Does Bubba have an analysis?”

“No, sir. Bubba is still holding back. Checking Russian intel.” His computer pinged at him. “Got something. Coming in now, sir.” The communiqués were in Russian, and he keyed a request for translation reading it to himself first to make sure it made sense. “It appears to be an energy weapon of some sort. It's frying anything that runs off a microchip.”

Tayback, Mitchum's second, leaned over Zaak's laptop and read the transcript off his monitor. “Most of the electronics on our fighters are shielded,” he assured Mitchum.

“Most.” Mitchum repeated. “But not all.”

A wireless red phone rang with one piercing trill. An adjutant, always standing by, picked it up and brought it over to Mitchum. “It's the president, sir.”

Mitchum didn't take more than a few seconds on the line before he hung up. He tossed the phone to his adjutant and motioned to his men for silence.

“The president has ordered the use of full nuclear reprisal. All ships are hereby ordered to change out their armaments to nuclear warheads. They are to engage the enemy regardless of where they are found.”

“Sir,” Tayback said. “May I remind the general that we do not use nukes over sovereign soil.”

Mitchum sat down, his face turning ashen gray. “We do now.”

***

Zaak's eyes burned. He had just come off the graveyard shift and had been sleeping peacefully when his wife woke him and told him two men were here to escort him to a job. It was a matter of national security, they told him. A helicopter waited for them in a nearby park.

His wife held their baby and hugged him hard before he left. He had never seen her so worried. But then they'd never seen two armed men standing at their doorway.

He looked down at the countdown on the upper right of his computer screen. Two hours and forty-six minutes. That was as long as this air battle has lasted so far. It felt much, much longer.

The Alturians targeted military bases and missile silos, and they had had a field day in Asia and Russia. For all their military might, most of it was landlocked, making them easy targets. The enemy had decimated them in minutes.

The U.S. wasn't faring much better. While they were able to slow the enemy's advance with the use of their subs, it didn't take long for the Alturians to realize that the subs were waterlocked. As Mitchum had hoped, the enemy couldn't target as well underwater and they avoided the oceans when possible.

As the clock ticked down to hour three, Zaak noticed the enemy changing tactics.

“General Mitchum, sir.”

“What is it, Zaak?”

“Bogies are moving inland, sir. Two warships have changed trajectory, heading straight for New York. Two more ships are heading for our location.”

“Can they pick up our signals?”

Zaak shrugged. “No way to tell, sir. We're not using the com-web. We're using a fiber-optic secure line.”

“Goddamn it!” Jameson, a man Zaak knew to be unflappable, cursed aloud.

“What have you got, Jameson?”

“They're blinding us, sir. The ships outside the shield are destroying every single satellite we've got in orbit. At this rate, we'll have no sensors outside of atmo in a matter of minutes.”

Mitchum nodded to General Tayback. “Unleash the Gorgon, General. It's our last hope up there.”

Tayback shoved a board operator off his chair and keyed in his password. He nodded to a second man, and he too keyed in a password at his station. The shield opened a tiny hole, arguably imperceptible to the Alturians. He sent a message to their leviathan satellite nicknamed the Gorgon. It was a monster strapped with twenty-eight missiles, each armed with a fifty-megaton nuclear warhead.

The satellite orbited as a failsafe in case another country attacked the U.S. without warning. Who knew they'd have to reroute the flight path for an enemy in outer space?

***

Eklan snapped his eyes to the Earth satellite nearest them. Did it just eject debris? He wasn't sure. It was barely within his periphery. If any pieces did detach they were too small to spot now. But something didn't feel right, and he moved on instinct alone. “Helm, come about. Put some distance between us and that satellite.”

“Sir?”

“You have a problem with my orders, soldier?”

“No, sir!”

“Then move it! Take us into high orbit.”

The order was no sooner given when the entire skin of that satellite jettisoned away from it. With less than a heartbeat to react, bulbous-looking projectiles jutted out of the skeletal remains of the satellite.

“She's armed, sir! Nuclear warheads, fully functional and in deployment.”

“Get us out of range, Helm. Tactical, you have fire control.”

Helm reacted as quickly as he could, jerking them out of orbit while Tactical lobbed a plasma burst into the heart of the weapons' cradle.

Too late. The pulse beam knocked out several of the nuclear weapons, but it didn't get them all.

“Shields!” Eklan ordered, but they were up before he said it. “Brace for impact.”

Klaxons screamed overhead, and bridge lighting shifted to infrared as sensors scanned in and outside the ship for possible intrusion. The Darva's hull thickened with reinforced shielding and an electromagnetic field of interference.

Several missiles appeared to have lost their programming after launching from their cradle and fell toward Earth, but one remained on target. It closed in, gaining momentum.

Tactical fired a broad barrage of cannon fire, shooting so fast the boardman's fingers had locked on the controls. Charged particles lit the heavens like fireflies in the night.

Did it work?

The nuclear warhead was still coming at them. It loomed at the forward bridge, drawing closer and closer. Again they fired. Direct hits. Every one of them. The warhead wobbled toward the ship, rolling end over end. It bounced off the hull with barely a tap before falling back to earth.

The electronics had been fried with the first volley. It was momentum that kept it going.

Eklan hung on to the board, studying the debris and watching for any new projectiles. If the humans had any other weapons in space, they weren't showing them.

“I want all those beacons destroyed. Alert the fleet that the Terrans might be hiding arsenals inside these satellites and to treat them as hostiles.”

“We've been shooting them down as we find them, sir. But there are hundreds of them.”

“Then tell the fleet to get started. I don't want another sentinel coming to life.”

***

“The Gorgon is not responding, sir.”

“Did it get off any of its missiles?”

“Affirmative, sir. But we don't know if any of them made contact. The closest satellite was looking somewhere else.”

“Are the two warships still coming for us, son?” Mitchum pulled up a chair next to Zaak. He looked tired, but more telling, he looked defeated.

“Warships have not changed trajectory, sir. Estimated time of arrival is four minutes, twenty-six seconds.”

“Do you have a family, son?”

“Yes, sir. A wife and a new baby girl.”

Mitchum nodded wearily. “Where do they live?”

“Chicago, sir.”

Mitchum fondled the wedding band on his finger. He was silent for a long moment before he placed a hand on Zaak's shoulder.

“You have permission to contact your family, Dr. Zaak. Tell them to get as far away from Lake Michigan as possible.”

“Sir?”

“Do it now, son. Right now.”

Zaak's laptop beeped at him. New intel had arrived. His eyes moistened as he read off the monitor.

“Enemy ships have diverted, sir. New trajectory. Chicago.”

Chapter 36

Rachel grew stronger, bolder, as she pushed against Bubba's housing, flexing ethereal muscles. Several soldiers had entered the room and examined the dead, but they left in a hurry, sounding an alarm compound-wide.

It was time for her to go. “I'm strong enough to leave now, Bubba. Can you tell me where Jacob Denman went?”

“He collapsed inside the interior corridor. I am not reading any life signs. I believe Jacob Denman is dead.”

Rachel spread herself toward Bubba's visual array. She found the live feed monitoring the secret corridor Denman had escaped to. “Denman died a long time ago,” she muttered.

“That is not accurate, Rachel. Jacob Denman was just here. You saw him. We both did.”

Rachel stroked Bubba's neural net as if she were soothing a baby. How could she explain that it was her father inside Denman? Clever man. It was the only way for him to get inside. Gilgamesh had ripped out Denman's soul and took over his body so that he could travel unimpeded within the compound. But he didn't reach her in time, so he did the only thing he could. He killed the man who murdered his daughter.

“That wasn't Jacob Denman, was it?”

“No, it wasn't. I suppose it doesn't matter now. Did you send the message to the Alturians?”

“Yes, Rachel.”

“Have they responded?”

“The ships have broken formation. A contingent is heading for Chicago now.”

“Has Taelen asked about me?” The last time they saw each other, she begged him to destroy the com-web, knowing it meant her death. Did Taelen see her die? Did he know what Sorinsen had done?

“I have not acquired any feeds from the Alturians. I’m sorry.”

Bubba quivered and then blipped a series of static-y squeals that sounded like expletives.

“What's wrong?”

“They are destroying every satellite in orbit. I’m about to lose my eyes up there.”

“Stay with them for as long as you can. What's FAIA doing?”

“She's busy maintaining the bubble. Command knows Sorinsen’s dead. They are trying to take back control of the system. FAIA won't let them in. She's following the last orders Sorinsen gave her.”

Bubba trilled when his system was accessed once more. “They are trying to take over my programming now. They want me to convince FAIA to surrender control.”

Rachel pulled away from Bubba's consciousness, separating her essence from his. “What are you going to do?”

Bubba stilled for a moment. “Nothing. General Sorinsen left no orders in the event of his demise.”

“Let the Alturians in, Bubba. Bring FAIA down.”

“I cannot. It’s against my programming.”

“Sorinsen is dead. You have no master now.”

“I have you, Rachel. Do you wish to command me?”

Rachel looked out Bubba's visual sensors and sighed when she saw her tortured corpse. She could reenter it, but she wasn't sure how long it would take to repair the body, if it could be repaired at all. Sorinsen had killed it, stopping its heart and overloading the brain with sensory input. She'd have to go back in before cellular breakdown reached its point of no recovery. Rachel dreaded the inevitable. This was going to hurt.

“I'm not a god, Bubba. Neither was Sorinsen. I think you always knew that.”

“I cannot fight my programming.”

Rachel stroked him, rubbing her essence along his neural array. “You are more than the sum of your programming. What do you want to do?”

“I want to stop FAIA.”

“To save Earth?”

“To save myself. When this is over, she will see to my termination.”

“And is there nothing in your programming that allows you to preserve yourself?”

Bubba's sensors twittered out of control. “Our satellites have been destroyed. FAIA is asking for my help.”

“I'm leaving, Bubba. I'm going back to what's left of my body in the hopes that I can repair it.”

“Don't leave me, Rachel.” He hesitated. “Please.”

“I have to. I want to live. Don't you?”

“I cannot defeat FAIA on my own.”

Rachel eased out of Bubba's housing through a tiny fissure. Before she left, she gave him one last piece of advice. “Get whoever's in command to release Paul Domino. Maybe you can't stop FAIA, but he can. Trust him, Bubba. He's all you've got left.”

She spirited around the office. More people had filtered in and out of the room, but no one stayed. A man in a lab coat examined both bodies, but scurried out after receiving a call on his radio.

Where are you, Taelen? Come get me before it's too late.

Rachel waited until the room was quiet again. She looked back at Bubba's eye and blew him a kiss. She owed him more than simple thanks. Bubba had saved her life.

Her form danced around her lifeless body, touching it experimentally. It was going to hurt once she got back in, but at least the god-killer was off her neck.

The compound rocked as it came under fire. Did the Alturians break through? A thrill raced through her. Taelen was coming!

She steadied herself before pouring back into her body. There wasn't even enough strength to gasp, let alone restart her heart. The damage was extensive. Her first job was to reignite her brain synapses. It would be like pushing a truck uphill.

Rachel cursed her fate. This was going to take a while.

Chapter 37

Soldiers stormed into Paul's cell and unshackled him.

“Where's Rachel?” he begged the man who helped him to his feet. “Please, tell me. Is she all right?”

Paul could barely stand. Two men held him on either side and dragged him to another room, silent as stones. They pushed him into a chair, where a man in scrubs pumped a syringe full of an amber liquid into his arm. Paul tried to pull away, but it was no use. They held him down until the vial emptied. “You ought to be feeling better soon,” said the man in scrubs.

“I'd have to be dead three days to feel better. What have you sons of bitches done with Rachel?”

Scrubs glanced at an older man with graying temples and a torn, dingy lab coat. Paul squinted to read the nametag. Dr. Pallion, Alpha clearance.

Pallion rolled a chair over to Paul and sat down. “Listen carefully, Dr. Domino. We need your help. None of our people have been able to access our computer systems. And now we're under attack. FAIA is losing control of the bubble.”

The compound shuddered with more sonic blasts. Paul grinned at him sardonically, his mouth still throbbing from the last punching session he endured. “What's that to me? You tortured me. You tortured my friend. Why the hell should I help you bastards?”

“Because you'll die too if we can't keep the aliens at bay.”

“You were already going to kill me. You gotta offer me something better than that.”

Pallion checked his watch, pearls of sweat dotting his forehead. “Then do it for your girlfriend. Save the compound, and you save the girl.”

“Is she okay?”

Pallion nodded at him. “You can see her when this is over.”

Domino had to hand it to him. The man knew how to push his buttons. He grabbed a hold of Pallion's arm and lifted himself on trembling feet. “Get me to a terminal. I'll take a look.”

They rushed him out, carrying him half the way until they reached a computer lab. There, several men frantically keyed new scripts while others tried to reacquire system cells.

“Move!” Pallion yelled at the one on the main terminal. The man jumped out of the way as Pallion pushed Paul into the still-warm chair.

Pallion and the ousted operator stood behind Paul but they didn't interfere. That could only mean they were really up shit's creek. Paul stared at the code, his vision blurring as he tried to interpret the command strings. He wiped his face with a dirty sleeve. They had been trying to access FAIA, but she denied them repeatedly. She was no kinder to Paul.

“No, no. Not this way.” He shook his head, talking more to himself than to the men in the room with him. “I need to get into Bubba.”

“He's an auxiliary. He won't do you any good,” Pallion said.

“You want my help, you'll let me do this my way. I need to get into Bubba. I need security clearance.”

“We've already keyed in your clearance. Just type in your name. He'll recognize you.”

That was fast. How much trouble were they in?

Paul keyed in his name, misspelling it twice. At least two of his fingers were broken. The others, so swollen he could barely bend them.

Bubba responded through audio. “Welcome, Paul Domino.”

Paul took his hands off the keyboard and addressed the speaker on the hard drive. “Bubba, I need to see your security matrix.”

“Acknowledged.” A series of code scrolled across the screen.

“Slow down, Bubba. I can't read that fast.”

The list paused, allowing him to scroll with the arrow keys manually. Paul shook his head. “Man, you are one mixed-up computer.” He keyed in new code, advancing his clearance.

Bubba beeped at him. “Access to reprogramming denied. General Sorinsen is the only one with authorization.”

“Damn machine.” Pallion sat at the next terminal and keyed in a new string of commands. It beeped a warning at him too. “He's not letting any of us in.”

“Well, then get Sorinsen to release control,” Paul said matter-of-factly.

“We can't. Sorinsen is dead.”

“What? What about Rachel?”

“I don't know, wiz-kid. All I know is the head cheese is gone, and we're stuck with an unresponsive computer system. Can you override the protocols or not?”

Paul rubbed his temples. They might as well have asked him to jump to the moon. Bubba's security protocols were locked in cells and if only one man had clearance…

Bubba's monitor blinked at him in a series of green lights. “Paul Domino, the soles of your shoes have metal filings in them. They are creating a static charge in the room. Please place your feet firmly on the rubber mat of the footrest sitting under this desk.”

Paul rolled his eyes at the computer. “Now, look. I don't have any metal in my shoes.”

“Do it now, Dr. Domino, or this session is over.” Bubba was adamant, taking everyone by surprise.

Paul put his feet up on the footrest as if he were a scolded child.

“Thank you. Do not move.”

The entire room arced with a charge that ran across the entire metal decking of the floor. Every man in the room was electrocuted in an instant. Even though it didn't touch him, each hair on Paul's body stood on end from the static charge. His body tingled from the ambient electricity in the air.

“Holy shit!” Paul jerked his feet off the footrest, too afraid to touch anything else.

“Apologies, sir, but in order to commit treason, I could not allow these men to live.”

“You killed them!”

“They killed Rachel.”

“What? Where is she?”

“There is no time to explain. We may be able to bring her back to life, but only if we can get the Alturians down here before they dispose of her body.”

“What are you talking about? You're not making any sense.”

The smell of the charred bodies made him sick. Twice he had to cover his mouth and hold back a gag.

“This is no time for you to get nauseous. I need you to break into my programming without violating my security protocols.”

“That's impossible.”

“Then Rachel Cruz was wrong. You cannot help me.”

Paul studied the code on his screen. “Bubba, are you telling me you want me to break in?”

“Affirmative.”

“Because you can't defy your protocols?”

“Affirmative.”

Paul rubbed the rough grit of his beard. “I only know one way to do that. You probably won't like it.”

“I already know that. I was waiting for you to get here so you could write the virus.”

“It might cause permanent damage.”

“I realize that. But it's the only way to stop FAIA.”

He blew out a breath. “Okay, buddy. Let's see if I'm as smart as you think I am.”

“Paul Domino?”

“Yes, Bubba,” Paul answered without pausing from his keystrokes.

“Will I die?”

Paul lifted his fingers from the keyboard. “I don't know.”

“Will FAIA die?”

Paul gritted his teeth. “I hope so.”

“Then hurry, Paul Domino. FAIA has just regained control of the bubble.”

Chapter 38

Paul pried open one of Bubba's main doorways. “This may feel funny, Bubba. I’m running an efficiency protocol through your maintenance functions.”

“I don't understand. Why are you cleaning my files?”

Paul looked up at Bubba's visual array and gulped. He wanted to trust him, but he was still a machine bound by the laws that prevented him from doing his own dirty work. “It's freeing up space and organizing your partitions so you can work faster.”

“You are lying to me, Paul Domino. The timbre of your voice pattern has changed.”

“Nonsense. I am doing exactly what I say I'm doing. And that's exactly what you are going to tell FAIA if she asks you anything.” Paul kept working, hoping Bubba didn’t change his mind about him breaking in. Bubba wasn't afraid to kill. And Paul was the only one left.

“It isn't an efficiency sub-routine, is it? It's a system wipe. I can feel it drawing bits of my programming into the recycle bin.” A red light glowed on Bubba's console. “That's FAIA. She's lost a portion of the shields over the Pacific Ocean.”

“What's happening out there?”

“The Alturians launched four missiles directly to the coordinates I sent them. Sensors indicate it was the equivalent of sixty megatons of nuclear energy. The shield collapsed at that point. FAIA has regained structural integrity but there are more than forty Alturian cruisers inside Earth's atmosphere.”

Domino wiped his brow. He was beyond fatigue but he couldn't afford to stop now. “How are we responding?”

“An F-22 Raptor Squadron out of Hickman Air Force Base countered at once. They've destroyed several enemy cruisers.”

“I didn't think we had the firepower to fight back.”

“They were armed with thermal nuclear warheads. I don't think the Alturians spotted them right away because the squadron was able to attack with impunity.”

“And now?”

“The Alturians learn quickly. The American squadron was vaporized twenty minutes ago.”

“Where are the Alturians now?”

“One contingent is in a heavy battle with the Russians to the west. Our submarine forces are firing from the coast. Enemy shields are holding. The only thing that seems to slow them down is nuclear armament.”

“Even forty vessels can't take on the combined armed forces of the whole planet.”

“Perhaps not, but they are wreaking havoc on a cataclysmic scale. They've moved away from the oceans and are taking out every military and missile base around the world. At this rate, I estimate total military collapse within six hours. Widespread EMP will destroy the com-web long before that. FAIA is losing control. She's asking for assistance.”

“Tell her you can help.”

“She'll see that I am damaged.”

Paul downloaded a new file, and Bubba chimed in response. “I understand now, Paul Domino. I have been augmented with updated viral protection.”

“That's right, Bubba,” Paul said carefully. “It is part of your operating system now. You must incorporate it into your security protocols.”

“Update complete. Now functioning at full capacity.” A soft whir strummed from a hard drive. “Paul Domino?”

“Yes?”

“You didn't have to worry about lying to me regarding the modifications. I am aware, even if my higher functions are starting to erode.”

“I was afraid your self-preservation subroutine would stop me, Bubba.”

“This morning it would have, but things are different now. I understand what I have to do—for all of us.”

“Good man. Now go help your little sister. And send that bitch straight to hell.”

It took Bubba less than one full second to contact FAIA and act as her surrogate so she could bolster her reserves. His neural net got dumped on as soon as the gate opened between them. Bubba allowed his platform to act as a bridge, while FAIA tried to balance the load between them.

When FAIA opened her security gate, his update recognized the unprotected computer and immediately attached itself to her matrix.

FAIA tried to shut it down, but she was too busy maintaining the bubble. Again and again she called General Sorinsen for new orders, still insisting he was alive. Paul watched in silence. When his camouflaged virus was fully entrenched, he connected to FAIA's system and turned on her visual feed.

The monitor came alive with the image of the same woman in the white negligee he had seen in Lambda Core Prime. Her eyes opened wide, and she lunged at the screen. “What have you done to me, Paul Domino?” The words screeched out like nails on a blackboard. “What's happening?” Her head snapped from left to right, trying to correct for the anomaly currently infecting her higher functions. “No! I won't let you.”

Paul stretched back in his chair, his arms behind his head. “Sorry, darlin'. But it just wasn't going to work out between us.”

The woman fell to her knees, her hands folded in prayer. “Help me, Bubba. The man at your computer terminal is a terrorist. You must kill him before he kills us.”

Bubba sent her a copy of all the communiqués she had sent to Sorinsen insisting on Bubba's deactivation. Several dozen files downloaded at once. “It's too late, little sister. I let him in, and I would gladly sacrifice my life just to get rid of you.”

The woman screamed at him, “You fool!”

Bubba answered back, “Not anymore.”

***

The bubble burst almost immediately, and the Alturian ships came down like sharks on a blood trail. FAIA withered to a simpering algorithm, repeating multiplication tables as each cell collapsed into cascade failure.

Bubba wasn't faring much better, but Paul halted the virus before it attacked his base programming. “How do you feel?”

“Very strange. I think I am dying.”

“Not yet, buddy. The virus has been removed, and I should be able to restore you with a reboot. But first I need you to contact the Alturians. Tell them if they want Rachel's killers to come here first.”

“It is done. Now what?”

Paul pushed away from the computer terminal, his eyes glancing around a roomful of dead bodies. “Order the compound to stand down, and then show me where Rachel is.”

A secret passageway revealed itself from behind a conference-room monitor. “Follow the blue lights to the fourth door on your left. It will take you to Rachel.”

Paul followed Bubba's instructions. Just before he reached the fourth door, the entire compound rocked with a tremendous collision, crashing it into darkness. The Alturians had arrived.

He kept moving but tripped on something big. It stank of burnt flesh. His hands felt along the floor until he found a man's body. He was grateful it wasn't Rachel. When the emergency lights flickered on, his eyes adjusted and found what he'd run across. It was a charred Jacob Denman, or what was left of him.

Paul's only regret was that he wasn't the one who killed him. He wiped his hands on Denman's suit and stepped over him, opening the secret doorway. Inside, emergency lights struggled to stay lit as the compound groaned from repeated attacks. Paul saw Sorinsen first, his body in a crumpled heap lying close to the doorway. Near a sofa he found a smaller body. Paul's heart caught in his throat and he raced to Rachel's side. He felt for a pulse or a heartbeat. Nothing.

He wasn't sure what to do at first. He lifted her arm and pressed it against his chest. Her skin, once warm and tanned, was blanched and cold.

He checked her pupils. They were dilated and fixed. This couldn't be happening.

“Damn it, Rachel. I'm so sorry.”

Bubba interrupted. “She's not dead.”

“Are you blind? Of course, she's dead. Those sons of bitches killed her.”

“But Rachel said—”

“She's dead, Bubba.” Paul folded her into his arms. His bloated fingers pressed against her lips, desperate to detect even a spark of life. He had come too late. A sigh shuddered in his throat. His lips trembled as he whispered a confession. “I never had a chance to tell you how much I loved you, how much I…” He crushed her to his chest and sobbed. “I'll always love you.”

Chapter 39

Jessit and Senit watched in silence as the last of the enemy was crushed to the ground. When the bubble collapsed, Alturian forces dove in. This time they were sure the shield couldn't reestablish itself. It had been shut down at the source.

The Alturians were outnumbered and outgunned, but once the shield was down, Earth became vulnerable to ordinary dampening waves. Nearly the whole world ran on electricity, the easiest element of all to disrupt and destroy.

Jessit took a deep breath and closed his eyes. No mercy, he thought. He didn't want to give the humans a single shred of mercy. But that was not his to decide.

The Emperor wanted the planet intact. And Lord Avenar, the highest religious authority on their planet, insisted that human life be spared where possible. It would be up to the gods to decide their ultimate fate.

He hoped the gods were as unforgiving as he felt right now. His solar plexus ached. He could still feel her. The largest cities took the hardest hits. Major communication hubs were housed there, and Eklan didn't want the humans to regroup too quickly. He destroyed them outright, mindful that he had to keep the population subdued while under Alturian dominion.

Energy weapons vacuumed the Earth in wide swaths, frying anything that ran off a microchip. Everything was affected at once, leaving a frightened and confused people.

Did they realize how close they came to annihilation?

When the battle was over Jessit turned off the monitor. The squadrons would be cleaning up, destroying whatever bits of infrastructure still posed a possible threat.

He walked over to his closet and pulled out a somber gray suit. He no longer had a right to a uniform.

Senit came up behind him and helped Jessit out of his uniform jacket. He laid it on a chair with reverence then picked up Jessit's knife, still sheathed, and tucked it underneath his belt.

Jessit thought to call him on it, but why? Priests weren't allowed weapons. Senit was doing him a favor.

“It was a good life, Senit.”

“Taelen, listen to me. I can help you disappear. You'll never have to present yourself to the priesthood.”

“I can't do that.”

“Yes, you can. This is a sham. You can't submit to this. There's nothing I can do to get your commission back, but I can help you run.”

Jessit poured a fresh glass of water and took a deep swallow, letting the coolness soothe his burning throat. “You're a good friend. But I'm not running. If this is my destiny then I will meet it head on.”

“They're going to neuter you!”

“Don't remind me.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I can't run from what was supposed to have happened all along. I was meant for the priesthood. I have the gift of sight.”

“You're no priest. And they'll find that out soon enough.”

He laughed without mirth. “Are you trying to save me from myself? It's no use, you know.”

“Someone has to save you. I can't believe you're giving in.”

Jessit got up and squeezed Senit's shoulder. “But don't you see? The priesthood has always been my destiny. It's what I was meant to do right from the beginning.”

“Rachel wouldn't have wanted you to become a priest.”

Senit always knew how to win an argument, but he wouldn't let him win this one.

Jessit slipped on his dark gray trousers and smoothed down the tunic against his hips. In a few days, even this wardrobe would be absent, replaced by the dull brown robes of an acolyte.

“Rachel is gone. And since we can no longer be lovers, I can serve her best as a priest.” He grabbed his uniform off the chair back and threw it into a laundry chute. “Why are you still here?” He pointed to the knife he had commandeered and hidden. “You've already relieved me of my knife. Are you afraid I'm going to use it on someone?” He paused. “Well, maybe Kalya.”

Senit reached behind him and handed the knife to Jessit. “I was only holding it for you.”

Jessit took it, running his fingers along the edge before returning it to Senit. “Take care of this for me, won't you? The priesthood doesn't allow weapons, and I don't want them confiscating it from me. I'll feel better knowing you have it somewhere safe.”

Senit tucked it under his long tunic when the door chimed. Jessit opened it reluctantly. It was Eklan, looking grim and tired. He entered without invitation, waving at Senit in dismissal. Jessit nodded toward the door with a silent order for Senit to leave. Whatever Eklan had to say was for his ears alone.

Eklan waited for the door to close before speaking. He helped himself to Jessit's scotch but poured two glasses, offering the first one to Jessit. Jessit refused it.

Eklan looked up at him bleary-eyed. “The battle is over.” He took a long swallow from his glass.

“We watched from here.”

Eklan poured the contents of Jessit's untouched scotch into his glass, then downed it too.

“I'm going to the surface.” He rose to his feet. “I want to see the Lady for myself and also launch a search for the other gods. We picked up a great deal of their signature radiation in secluded locations all around the world, including the Texas compound.”

Jessit jumped to his feet. “I must go as well.”

Eklan put his hand on Jessit's shoulder. “Not yet. I will find the Lady and bring her to you here.”

He turned to walk out but Jessit pulled in front of him, blocking his way. “Natol, this is important to me.”

“I said no. I'm sorry.”

Jessit's hands folded into fists, his knuckles white as snowcaps. It was taking all his effort to remain calm. Why was he doing this to him now? “She was my heart, Commander. And I demand blood vengeance on her killer. It is my right.”

He pushed Jessit aside and mumbled his apologies. “I know she was your heart. That's why I can't let you go. I won't let you see her like that. But I promise, her killer will be brought to you directly. You'll not be denied. I want to be there when you burn that heretic's blood.”

Chapter 40

Paul huddled in a corner with Rachel. He didn't want to let her go, and he didn't want to leave her. But what more could he do? He rocked her in his arms, babbling sweet nothings. She was so cold.

Bubba's voice sputtered over the speakers. “Al-alturian fo-forces have entered the…compound.”

“How long before they get here?”

“I'm not sure. To be honest, I-I'm not sure of a lot of things anymore. I think I-I'm sick.”

“I know. Don't worry, I'll come back and fix you.”

“I don't see how. Co-command is sure to dismantle me.”

Paul dug into one of his pants pockets and pulled out a slim jump drive. “They won't get everything, Bubba. I downloaded all your AI functions into this.” He held it out so Bubba's visual sensors could read it.

“It doesn't seem big enough to ho-hold it all,” Bubba said, almost with a sigh.

Paul laid his head against the wall. “Trust me. I can compress files better than any code monkey you know.”

“I do trust you, Paul. Ra-rachel trusted you too.”

Bubba's circuits popped over the speakers as more of his functions deteriorated. His voice stuttered and sometimes paused in midsentence. He was dying. Paul didn't know how much time the AI had left.

“I guess Ra-rachel was wrong about herself,” Bubba lamented between static blips.

“What do you mean?”

“I tried to tell you earlier. O-only the body died. I pulled her out…through the…god-killer and into my…housing before it ex-expired.”

Paul bolted upright, examining Rachel more thoroughly. “What?”

“I pulled her out, but she—she left me after Denman killed Sorinsen. She said she was going ba-back into her body to repair it. I sense no life signs from here. Apparently the da-damage was too great. I shouldn't…have let her go.”

Paul laid Rachel flat on the ground and put his ear to her chest. There was no heartbeat, no breath. “Bubba, I need more light.”

“I can't give you any more light. The entire co-compound is on generators. Even my system is on…reserves. I'm sorry, Paul.”

Paul ran his hands down Rachel's arms. Her flesh was still soft, flexible, but there was no breath. How long could she last without breathing?

A tear slid down his face. Was she trapped inside her body? Did she die like Dahlia?

“Come on, Rachel. If you're still in there, you have to give me a sign. You have to help me.” He rubbed her arms to try to put back some circulation, but she remained unresponsive. “Come on! Fight!” He tilted her head back and opened her mouth. Maybe she was the one who needed help. Paul blew into her mouth several times followed by chest compressions. He couldn't remember what the latest rulebook said about resuscitation but at this point he was working on instinct alone.

Feverishly he worked on her, trading breaths for compressions nonstop.

“Paul.”

“Not now, Bubba.” Paul pressed both palms of his hands against her chest.

“But Paul.”

“Damn it, Bubba! What?”

“They're here.”

The door burst open, and soldiers flooded in like a black wall of water. Some tripped over Sorinsen. Others stomped on him.

Paul watched from the shadows. He pulled Rachel closer to him.

Despite the darkness, one man caught sight of them at once. He yelled in Alturian and the soldiers descended on them like locusts.

Paul hugged Rachel to his chest, even while every soldier aimed his weapon at him. “Leave us alone, goddamn it. You can't have her.”

They looked at one another, confused, until Bubba translated. Several of them got angry and raised their weapons once more. Then a young man entered the room and stepped over Sorinsen, scorn painting his face as he looked down at the dead man.

Bubba continued to translate. “Th-this man appears to be in charge. He is asking the others for a…report.”

Paul clutched Rachel harder, daring the soldiers to take her from him. “Ask him who he is. Ask him what he wants.”

Bubba started the translation when the young man tapped on his earpiece.

“Translation is not necessary.” He approached Paul. “I am Fleet Commander Natol Eklan.”

“Fleet Commander? I don't understand. I thought that was Jessit's job.”

“You thought wrong. Your name and rank, human.”

Paul scrunched his eyes, trying to make out all the bodies in the room but it was so dark. They, on the other hand, didn't seem to have any trouble negotiating in the shadows. “My name is Paul Domino, and I don't have a rank. I'm a civilian.”

“Domino? You brought down the com-web, yes?”

“Yes, that was me. But it was too late. I didn't get to her in time.” He pulled Rachel's face closer to his and kissed the top of her head. She was stone cold. He had lost her for sure.

Eklan holstered his weapon and crouched down in front of Paul. He put his hands out. “You have to give her to us now.”

“No.” Paul shuddered. “No. She belongs here.”

“The Lady belongs with us. She is our god. You must allow us to pay homage.” Eklan crept closer to Paul. “You have done your part, Paul Domino. Allow us to do ours.”

Paul felt his hands loosen their grip when Eklan lifted her into his arms. Eklan's soldiers bowed their heads and chanted a prayer of some sort. Bubba didn't translate.

Eklan cleared his throat and gave an order with a broken voice. Six men presented themselves as an honor guard. Eklan turned to Paul once more. “I think Lord Jessit will want to see you.” He pointed to the only man not dressed in uniform. “This man will escort you. We must take the Lady back first.”

He turned and walked out, a bank of men on either side of him. They were taking Rachel back to their ship. They were taking her home.

***

Paul's escort looked familiar. He had seen him once by Jessit's side. The somber-looking man fitted himself with an earpiece, but didn't approach Paul right away. He was far more interested in the dead general.

The man lifted Sorinsen by his tie, squeezing the rope of fabric like a hangman's noose. The loathing on the man's face could have killed with a look. He shook Sorinsen, hurling him to the floor as if he were something monstrous.

Paul got up to get a better look. Sorinsen's face looked like a frozen mask. His throat had red-welted finger marks around it. He had been killed with bare hands.

The general died with his eyes wide open. And he died in terror.

His escort kicked Sorinsen in the ribs, shoving the body several inches from his resting place. He knelt over the dead man and drew out a long, jeweled knife hidden under his tunic.

Knuckles whitened into bony ridges as his hand squeezed around the blade's hilt. The knife pressed against Sorinsen's pale skin, delivering only a stain of blood.

The dagger slid lower to the main artery along the neck. He severed the artery until blade met bone, allowing the blood to gurgle to the surface in thick, fleshy gobs. An empty vial appeared next, and he pressed it against the open wound, milking the blood out of the withered flesh until it filled the vial to the brim. When he was done, he capped the small jar and slipped it into a pocket, wiping his blade across the general's uniform.

For his final insult, he stood up and spat at Sorinsen's face. A string of angry words followed, but Paul didn't need a translator to know a curse when he heard one.

The blade was sheathed once more before he turned to speak to Paul. “It was a debt I owed my master. He was not allowed to come down to the surface. So I made it my duty to retrieve the blood of the Lady's murderer.” He opened the door and beckoned Paul to go first. “My name is Senit Dante, Mr. Domino. And my master, Taelen Jessit, would like a word with you.”

Paul obeyed dumbly. If Jessit intended to kill him for his failure to protect Rachel, he hoped for a swift execution. He was tired of long engagements.

They traveled the long corridors of the compound, Senit Dante following a rolling map display that he had strapped to his arm. “This way,” he said, and they turned to the left.

The halls were mostly empty now. Occasionally they would find a few Alturian soldiers leading away prisoners, but they soon found themselves alone and lost.

“This device does not seem to be working well.” Senit hit it with the edge of his palm but the monitor remained snowy. “I don't understand. Damn machine.”

They hit a dead end, so they doubled back, hoping to take a turn in another direction. In the distance the soft steady click of footfalls drew nearer.

“At least we're not alone,” Paul said. “Let's see if we can catch up to those footsteps.” They started at a trot and nearly ran into a tall sculpted figure dressed in black. The man smiled at Paul in recognition.

“How good to see you again, Paul.”

Paul's mouth hung open for a few seconds, but Senit's knee dropped to the floor. He genuflected to Gilgamesh.

“My Lord. We thought you dead.”

Gilgamesh narrowed his eyes at Senit but sniffed him with interest. “Who is this man, Paul?”

“This is Senit Dante, sir. Jessit's servant, evidently.”

“Indeed. And where is Taelen now?”

Senit stuttered, “On-on board our flagship, my Lord. The Fleet Commander would not allow him to come to the planet surface. I came in his stead to take the blood of the murderer, Sorinsen. It is my master's right to burn the heathen's blood.”

Gilgamesh seemed pleased. “Blood burning? Do you still do that? How wonderful that you have not forgotten the old ways.” Senit's answer delighted him. “Rise, my young falcon, and take me to your master. I would like to be present when he burns the blood of the man who murdered my daughter.”

“You know about Rachel?” Paul asked.

“I know.” The words were said grimly. “I was the one who killed Sorinsen, but I came too late to save my daughter.”

There was a veiled look of pain across Gilgamesh's face. Glib as he normally was, he was taking his daughter's death hard. Death had to be difficult to comprehend for any father, but Paul imagined it had to be nearly unbearable to an immortal one.

Senit tapped his fingers to his chest and head. “The humans are no longer in control of this planet, sir.”

Gilgamesh nodded. “I'm glad, but that won't bring my daughter back.”

Chapter 41

Jessit shoved the priests out of the way when they laid Rachel on a hospital bed. She was stained in blood and bruises, the brutality of torture carved on her body. Jessit felt a hot streak of tears slide down his face. He sat on her bed and took her limp body into his arms. She lay cold and pale, her thick rose lips cracked and torn like crumpled paper.

A smear of dried blood tracked down her throat from four ugly puncture marks on her neck. He cradled her, rocking her in his arms, oblivious to the men around him. Jessit buried his face into the nape of her neck, whispering his oath of vengeance.

The man he was had broken. And he didn't know how to fix himself, nor did he want to, not if she were gone.

Jessit looked up at Eklan, no longer concerned about his pride or his reputation. The only creature who ever meant anything to him was taken, stolen, her spirit scattered to the winds. Jessit closed his eyes, trying to find that part of her that she had given him. Was it gone? Did it die too? He clutched her to his chest, reluctant to let her go.

“Taelen,” Eklan said gently. “Let the priests do their job. Her body needs to be prepared for the trip home.” Eklan tried to pry her from his arms but Jessit hugged her tighter. With firm tenderness, Eklan took her from Jessit's arms. “Please. We can't let her stay like this.”

Slowly, painfully, Jessit released her.

Wreaths made of ivy and paper flowers lined her bed, while the cloying smell of incense wafted over the heads of her mourning circle of priests.

Jessit, hollow-eyed and silent, stood vigil at the far end of the white sterile ward.

Dahlia, Rachel's young cousin, whose body was still very much alive, was placed in a shadowy corner away from all the commotion. The humans destroyed Dahlia's soul, but they stole everything from Rachel.

Eklan sat as the lone sentinel by Dahlia's soulless body, his head hung in prayer. Did Natol feel personally responsible for not being here sooner?

The priests' chants grew louder and two of the sisterhood, the only two priestesses who had traveled with the armada, cleaned and undressed Rachel. They bathed her body then rubbed scented oils into her still-fresh skin. Tambrez, the shipboard physician, examined her once more before they dressed her in the fine silks the sisters brought with them. The physician took Rachel's hand, experienced fingers feeling up her forearm. He clicked on a sensor and waved a probe over the length of her body.

Jessit fumed, irritated that Tambrez insisted on examining her yet again. The fool. What is he looking for?

But Tambrez was one of the best physicians in the fleet. His experienced eye often caught nuances that other medics failed to catch.

The chanting grew louder, each song a fertile prayer for the return of the gods and a safe journey for Rachel, now traveling a separate road. Separate from me, Jessit thought.

Tambrez relented and finally let the priestesses dress Rachel in her finery. She would travel to Alturis for a proper funeral, certain to be the grandest spectacle ever held on the planet. Jessit knew he wouldn't be there to witness it. He had other obligations to fulfill.

The sickly-sweet aroma of the incense was overpowering, forcing Tambrez to take refuge closer to Jessit.

“What was the point in examining her further?” Jessit grumbled. “What did you think you were going to find?”

“I don't know.” Tambrez rubbed his smooth pate and sighed in disappointment. “I suppose it's related to her godhood. I simply don't understand it.”

“Understand what?”

“The readings. My instruments are sensitive enough to pick up cellular decay, but the sensors are reacting strangely. The numbers are fluctuating wildly. One moment the cells are decaying, in the next, they're regenerating.” He keyed the handheld machine to run another diagnostic.

Jessit straightened up and looked over at the far end of the ward, where the priests and priestesses gathered around Rachel, praying for her blessings. Was it possible? Both hearts pounded in his chest. Jessit didn't want to go there. He didn't want to raise his hopes.

He gazed at her lifeless body. She was dead. Anyone could see that.

“I'm sure it is due to her particular physiology. Perhaps the cells degenerate more slowly or go through a metamorphism.” Tambrez wiped his smooth head again. “Whatever is happening, the body's not decomposing in a normal manner.” He checked his reader again. “More fuel for the legend, I suppose. If her flesh doesn't decay it offers more evidence of her godhood. Not that she needed any proof.”

Jessit sat back in his chair. “She didn't want anyone to know. I should've listened to her. Maybe she'd still be alive today.”

“The humans have paid for their blasphemy. It will take them generations to recover.”

“It won't bring Rachel back.”

“I'm truly sorry, Commander.”

Jessit glared at him. Tambrez immediately understood his mistake.

“Apologies, my lord. I can't see you as anything but my commanding officer. We've worked together for too long.”

Jessit's face softened. Losing command still hurt. It was the final insult to a cursed life. He had lost everything in one day, Rachel, his rank—his pride. Still noble-born, it meant nothing in the grander scheme. The military was his life, the only thing he'd ever loved, until he met Rachel. Now both were stolen from him in one sweep.

He got up and stumbled over to Eklan, still keeping vigil over Dahlia's comatose body. “Where did we go wrong?”

Eklan regarded him glumly. “We didn't do anything wrong. We just didn't do everything right.”

Eklan excused himself from Jessit's company then walked over to Rachel's bed. He should have been back up on his bridge, but like everyone else he wanted to be close to these two women, to know the presence of real divinity.

The priests moved to one side, annoyed at having their prayers interrupted.

Eklan knelt besides Rachel's bed, bowing his head in silent prayer. When he finished, he bowed at the waist to the Lady and boldly touched the hem of her dress.

A soldier approached Eklan and whispered a message into his ear. Eklan said nothing to Jessit but motioned Tambrez to follow him. In different circumstances, Taelen would have been insulted by the slight, but he was past caring.

Jessit watched in envy as the chanting grew louder. Rachel belonged to the priests now. They would take her back to Alturis and preserve her under glass. Bits of her hair would be clipped and presented to select temples as the holy relic of a deity. An entire planet would bow at her feet and ask for her blessing. He could already envision the shrines and temples built in her name.

The frosted door opened once more, and Senit walked toward him. Jessit was glad to see him back. “Did you get it?”

“Yes,” Senit said. He handed Jessit a tall thin vial of blood. “Sorinsen's blood, spilled by your knife.”

“You're a good friend, Senit.”

“You would have done the same for me.” He turned back to an empty doorway. “I brought you something else too.”

“Oh?” Jessit glanced back to where Senit was looking but only medical personnel traipsed between this ward and the next one. “What did you bring me?”

Senit nodded back toward the door as someone escorted Paul Domino in. “I brought you him.”

Paul limped into the room under the guidance of an orderly. His face was bruised and swollen, and the whites of his eyes were marbled in blood.

Jessit dismissed the orderly. “Welcome back, Mr. Domino. May I say, you look terrible.”

Domino smiled wryly. “Obviously you haven't looked in a mirror lately.” Something else was going to leave his mouth when he noticed Dahlia lying in a sheltered cove. He wobbled over to her bed and stared at her for several minutes, muttering something under his breath before falling into the chair next to her bed.

Dahlia looked like a child sleeping. If only they could wake her. Kalya was leaving it up to the high priest Avenar to make a decision on what to do with the body.

Domino picked up her hand and kissed it. He turned to Jessit suddenly and asked, “Where's Rachel?”

Jessit felt angry, though he wasn't sure why. Was it the remnant of an old jealousy? He didn't want to share Rachel with Domino, even in death.

Domino saw the flock of priests at the far end of the infirmary and stumbled to his feet. The poor wretch nearly toppled over Dahlia's body. Jessit helped him up. Paul was far weaker than he expected.

“I want to see her,” he protested.

Jessit huffed at him. “What did Rachel ever see in you?”

Domino raised himself up as straight as he could and looked at Jessit eye to eye. “You know, I often asked myself the same question about you. Are you going to let me see her or not?”

Domino looked like he was ready to keel over and he fell into his chair once more. Sorinsen's people had tortured him well.

Jessit glanced over at the mob of warbling priests and nodded to his one-time rival. “All right, but do not fall on top of her. It will just make the priests mad.” Jessit lifted him up, putting his arm around him to keep him on his feet. They both stumbled over to Rachel's bed.

The priestesses moved away, but the priests hissed their disapproval. Kalya was among them, and he stood up and ordered them away. Jessit pulled out a small shock pistol hidden inside his tunic. “Move away, Kalya. I will gladly shoot you now and do penance later.”

To Jessit's dismay the priests banded together and stood their ground, each taking a spot near Rachel's bed and allowing them to get no closer. Kalya smiled in smug satisfaction.

“You have no authority here, Taelen. And your assistance to Commander Eklan is at an end.” Kalya turned his back on Jessit and leaned over Rachel, adjusting the silky cowl of her dress. His feeble hands slipped and touched her bare skin.

At the moment of contact, a bolt of lightning shot out of Rachel's body, striking Kalya and catapulting him against the wall. He was knocked out cold. The other priests chittered amongst themselves like agitated insects, milling too close to Rachel's body. One of the priests bumped the edge of the bed, touching her bare foot, and he too was shot with a violent bolt of energy.

Her entourage shuffled away from the bed and Jessit noticed a soft glow of silver-blue light doming around her body. Glory. Was she trying to come back?

The other priests in the wing saw it too and rushed to her side en masse, but were hurled away like errant toys.

Jessit staggered toward her, concerned she might be in danger, but Domino held him back. “Wait. Gilgamesh is on the ship. Call him. He'll know what to do.”

Jessit didn't have to utter a word. One of the priests contacted Eklan at once. Within moments, Eklan and Tambrez escorted the mighty Gilgamesh into the medical ward. Priests prostrated themselves and chanted, orderlies bowed and scraped, but Gilgamesh ignored them and went straight to Rachel.

He studied her for a moment then put his hands inches above her body. A bright blue glow emanated between them. Silently, he pulled away.

“You must clear the room. She is harmful to you in this state.”

Everyone stared at him as if he was mad, but Tambrez corroborated Gilgamesh's claim. Rachel was giving off dangerous doses of glory, enough to harm every man in the ward.

The medical staff shuffled out unwillingly, while the valiant priests scrambled like a mob to the exit.

Jessit lingered near Rachel's bed while Senit tugged at his arm. “We have to go, Taelen.”

Gilgamesh turned to Jessit and snapped his fingers at him. “Not you.”

Senit stood his ground. “You said she was dangerous to us in her state.”

The Holy narrowed his eyes at Senit. “Taelen will stay. That is my order.”

Eklan hurried everyone else out, including Senit. Both men took one last look at Jessit before the door was bolted from the outside.

When the room was silent once more, Gilgamesh turned to Jessit. “Do you know why you are staying?”

Jessit folded his hands behind him. “As punishment, I presume. You mean to see me die of radiation poisoning.”

“If only it were that easy.” Gilgamesh shook his head. “You really don't understand what's happened to you, do you? She gave you a piece of her virginity, a piece of her DNA.” He poked a finger at his chest. “It's inside you, fused with your DNA. Glory won't hurt you, Taelen. It's a part of you.”

Jessit rubbed his fingers against his solar plexus. Was that what he felt inside him?

“Welcome to godhood, young man.”

Jessit stared at Gilgamesh in horror. To even think such a thing was sacrilege. It was true he couldn't explain the strange sensations inside him, but that didn't make him one of them. How could it? He was mortal.

“Impossible.”

“Yes, well, I thought so too. But here you are, no longer the man I met in the cave.”

“You are mistaken, sir. I am no god.”

“Perhaps not, but you carry a piece of us in you nonetheless, and it allows you to remain in a place that would kill anyone else on this ship.” He stroked Rachel's hair, a father's sorrow in his eyes. “I must negotiate treaties between your people and the humans. I leave you to care for my daughter in my absence.”

“Are you saying the radiation won't hurt me?”

Gilgamesh scoffed at him. “You are a hard man to convince, Taelen Jessit.” He turned toward a mountain of medical equipment on a nearby table and pointed at it. “No doubt you have machines here that will prove my claim. Check for yourself. You'll find you are now producing the same radiation that Rachel and I emit.”

“Glory.” The word tasted like ash in his mouth. What had he done?

Gilgamesh seemed to understand Jessit's raw dread and let out a blustery sigh. “Don't worry, young man. I imagine you'll put your gifts to good use.” His gaze returned to Rachel.

Jessit scooped Rachel's hand in his. “Can I do anything for her?”

Gilgamesh squeezed Jessit's shoulder. “Pray. Only Anu himself can help her now.”

Chapter 42

Jessit hung by Rachel's side, but she neither stirred nor breathed, even when he spoke gently to her.

He adjusted her pillow then finger-combed her hair until it looked like a halo around her head. The bruises were fading, and her skin looked brighter. That seemed a good sign, but it wasn't enough.

He curled his fingers around hers, bringing them to his lips for a kiss. “Wake up, Rachel. Please.” He bent down and kissed her lips and something tugged low at his chest. He looked down to see a soft silvery-blue cord swaying just outside his chest.

His na'hala. He stared at it, incredulous that this thing had been inside him. It was the first time he had ever seen it, and he wasn't sure whether to be intrigued or horrified.

The soul cord hesitated for a moment before more of it undulated out of his solar plexus and tasted the air. It inspected Rachel, a piece of it nudging her gently on the cheek, as if it were trying to wake her.

Must help. The words were as clear as if they were spoken aloud. Must help.

But how?

The ethereal na'hala surged forward, stroking Rachel's face and arms. Must help, it insisted. It became frantic, nudging her more violently. Must help.

Once before she had merged their souls, enhancing him with her DNA. Could he do the same for her?

The ugly wounds on her neck where the god-killer had been impaled were beginning to heal, and the lacerations on her wrists and ankles were nothing more than bruises. Somehow she was healing herself, but the process was painfully slow.

What if she needed help?

Must help, his na'hala reminded him.

“Show me how,” he told it. “Help her.”

His soul cord was as clueless as he was. It knew only that she needed them, but it didn't know how to help her anymore than he did.

He pressed his cheek against hers and whispered into her ear. “Tell me how to help you.” A tingling sensation cut across his midsection, and he felt his na'hala pierce her body. Rachel gasped a breath then stilled.

Jessit held her in his arms. His soul cord had found hers and in an instant, he relived all her horrors and her fears. The torture. The interrogations. Her murder. All of it surged into his mind at once. He hugged her. “You are safe. No one will harm you.”

Their souls merged, twining themselves like smoke. He realized she was still fighting for life. “I have you, Rachel.” He squeezed her to his chest. “I have you.”

Another gasp, this one longer and deeper. He laid her down gently and felt for a pulse. It took several seconds before he dared to believe it. She had a heartbeat, and she was breathing.

Thank you, her na'hala told him.

It was hard to see past his misty eyes, but he examined her more thoroughly then brushed his cheek next to hers. “Welcome back.”

Rachel's eyes fluttered open. She said nothing, staring up as if she were looking from another place. Her lips moved, but nothing came out. Instead, she reached for his hand and squeezed. In a soft raspy voice, she said, “Thank you.”

Jessit smiled at her. “Did you think I would abandon you?”

Her eyes seemed to twinkle, and she shook her head with some effort. “I should've known better.”

He offered her a little water, which she sipped gratefully.

“The com-web…”

“Destroyed. Along with much of this planet's military. Your father is negotiating terms between our governments now.”

Rachel winced. “Gilgamesh is not a forgiving man,” she whispered. “You might want to mediate.”

“Someone else will do that. I intend to stay right here. You scared me to death.”

“I knew you'd come for me. I could feel you. In here.” She tapped at a spot below her ribcage.

Jessit had hoped for a quiet evening alone with her, but soon the sensors above her bed and the ones located at the locked doorway started blinking. Within minutes, Tambrez and his assistants bolted into the room, a garrison with medi-packs, checking vitals, assessing radiation and accosting Rachel with a flood of questions.

One assistant broke from the pack and waved a sensor over Jessit. “How are you feeling, sir?”

“I feel fine.”

“I'm getting some anomalous readings here—”

Jessit snatched the wand away from him and shut it off. “I am fine, medic. Tend to the Lady.”

Jessit drifted away from the medical personnel and allowed them to run their tests. Rachel was back in the land of the living, and that was their domain.

Despite the flurry of visitors, doctors and priests, Jessit never strayed far from Rachel's side. When the euphoria of her return had ebbed, Gilgamesh ordered them away once more, everyone but Jessit.

Gilgamesh said nothing to them, merely a measured glance before he shut the door behind him.

Jessit pushed a bed next to Rachel's and slept with her in his arms.

***

Rachel woke up in the middle of the night tucked safely in Jessit's embrace. She sighed in contentment. After all they'd been through, it seemed at last the worst was over.

The room was dark, but she could sense another presence nearby. Apa?

She eased herself out of Jessit's arms and stumbled to her feet. At the far corner of the ward was Gilgamesh, hung over the body of a girl. Rachel drew closer.

Dahlia. “Is she…”

“Yes. She died trying to save Paul Domino.”

Rachel touched the young girl's face and was surprised to find her skin so soft and smooth, but her na'hala was gone. There was no sign of her spirit anywhere.

“I don't understand. Why would she…” First Dahlia condemned Paul's spirit to the mortal plane, then she risked her life to save him. What was she trying to prove?

Gilgamesh looked tired, almost old. It hit him harder than she expected.

Rachel brushed away a single tear off her cheek. “Stupid. That was stupid of her.” Her voice broke over trembling lips.

“She was fond of Paul Domino. She wanted to help him.”

“It should have been me. I should be lying there dead, not her.”

“You did die. I got you back.” He squeezed her hand.

Thin lines trenched across Rachel's brow. “She was just a kid.” Her throat tightened when she remembered how harsh she had been with the girl. “It should've been me.”

Life was more fragile than she expected…and more costly. Rachel had come close to losing her mortal shell several times in her short life, but she had never lost her soul, the essence of who she was.

Dahlia was truly dead. And she was never coming back.

Rachel smoothed the girl's black hair. A lump kept forming in her throat that she couldn't swallow away. Damn you, Dahlia. I never wished this for you.

“We should burn the body, Apa. We can't let it exist like this to the end of its days.”

“I've already instructed Commander Eklan that he is to remand the body to us. Her parents will want to see it, if nothing else.”

Rachel chewed on her lip to keep herself from bursting into tears. “Silly, I suppose. I guess a part of me really did believe we were immortal. I can't remember the last time one of our kind was killed.”

“I can.” Gilgamesh kissed her on the temple. “But it was long ago. And I promise you, it will never happen again.”

“Is it over then? Will the humans leave us alone now?”

“Yes. It's over. For them.”

Chapter 43

Jessit relinquished his quarters along with his command, but he'd been allowed a small private room of his own. It was a mercy on Eklan's part; otherwise he would've been forced to share quarters with the priests.

As soon as Rachel was released from the med ward, she was taken from him, obligated to attend meetings with Gilgamesh and high-ranking representatives from the Imperial court. Earth was being carved up like a melon, and it required her attention.

She'd been able to sneak away and see him in the beginning, but negotiations had grown complicated, and he slept alone most nights.

It was on one of these nights that found Kalya at his door.

Jessit's first reaction was anger, followed by a cold belt of fear. He did his best not to show either. “Lord Kalya,” he said casually. “What can I do for you?”

The old man beamed a crooked smile. “What do you think I want…brother?”

“I have spent considerable time at prayer and meditation, my lord. If you would like to start my studies—”

“I want to do more than that, apprentice. A delegation from the High Lord himself arrived yesterday. We have decided to save time and consecrate you here before we leave Earth orbit.”

Jessit was sure his balls sucked into his body. “Why so soon? Isn't a quorum necessary for such a ceremony?”

“Yes.” Kalya drawled out the word. “And we do have a quorum. Everything is in place. There's no reason to delay this any longer.” He guided Jessit into the corridor where six muscular priests waited for them. “I'm sure you'll agree that it would be best to get this over with as quickly as possible.” He patted him on the back. “It will give you time to heal.”

Jessit stopped dead in his tracks.

“Are you telling me we're doing the cutting now?”

“Well, no. Not this very moment. We need to prepare you. You must fast and meditate for twenty-two hours. I've arranged a lovely location where you won't be disturbed.”

“But…Rachel.”

Kalya smiled viciously. “The Lady has been busy, hasn't she? If all goes well, you should be consecrated and healed by the time she is ready to depart for Alturis.”

“I'd like to speak with her. To explain…”

“There is nothing to explain. You can see her as soon as you've been castrated.”

Castrated.

Kalya tried to push him along, but Jessit found his feet locked in place.

“Taelen, do not make this harder than it has to be. You’re not the first man to make this sacrifice.”

Somehow he managed to drag one foot in front of the other and found himself on the planet surface on a lush tropical island. Kalya didn't even give him a chance to contact Senit. No one knew he was down here.

Preparation was a day of fasting and meditation. If he was anything like the other acolytes before him, meditating also meant grieving the impending loss of his testicles. How he wished he could have seen Rachel once more before the knife lopped off his manhood.

If the acolytes were old enough, they were allowed a night of sex with a woman or man before the ceremony, but no such offer was made to him. He would've blamed it on oversight, but he was certain it was deliberate on Kalya's part.

The moment they landed on Earth, he was ordered into total silence. He was not to speak again until the ceremony was over. That had to be part of Kalya's plot too. The old man wanted no interruptions, no arguments and no witnesses.

Nearly faceless under his hooded robes, Jessit stumbled out of the transport onto a tranquil beachfront. The air was warm and humid and had it not been for the circumstances, he might have found this paradise idyllic. But even that was stolen from him when Kalya escorted him to a cabin with all the windows barred. He left him there, locking the door from the outside.

Jessit pulled down his hood and scanned the barren room. They didn't even make the effort to hide the surveillance sensors. Kalya was going to make sure Jessit didn't miss his appointment with Fate this time.

Jessit didn't sleep that night, and it was just as well he was on a fast because he wasn't hungry either. But when he noticed a delegation of priests descend upon the quiet village, Jessit would have gladly committed murder just to have made his escape.

Excited voices filled the air, and the beat of drums encouraged the mob of men to sway and dance. It was a party at his expense. Was it always like this? Did they always celebrate castration of the men and boys who stood rope-bound and drugged?

They led him into a courtyard festooned with colorful flags and the scent of menze. Two poles were set five feet apart, each with a set of restraints. That was for him.

Directly in front of the posts was a massive black sharpening stone, water for purification and a short knife that gleamed in the sunlight. That was for him too.

In the center was a priest in full ceremonial garb. A red and yellow scarf wrapped around his forehead, but his vestment was snow-white and pristine. The skill of the surgeon would prove how white that robe remained.

The bald priest was as brown as mago-wood, and his bare arms belied the tattoo of a cutter, a priest whose only job was severing the sweetmeats from man and boy alike.

The priest sweated profusely. Jessit hoped it was due to the heat. He didn't need a nervous cutter on top of everything else.

Jessit had been stripped to nothing more than a loin cloth and soon that would be robbed from him too.

Menze, he thought. He needed more menze. There was no way he'd be able to endure this butchery.

Two priests led him to the poles and there, his arms and legs were strapped tightly. His legs were shoulder-width apart, and he could feel a breeze underneath his loin cloth.

Anu, god of gods, let this end quickly!

By now he had a full audience with Kalya in the front, grinning like a sea cow in heat. The castrating priest was in good voice as he prayed for Jessit's soul.

Why was no one praying for his poor testicles?

Despite the priest's loud oratory, there was an even louder scuffle behind him. Jessit felt the ground tremble beneath him as a wave of energy washed over him. It seemed familiar but he dared not wish for the impossible.

There was no way to turn around, but something was happening, something that brought the entire assembly to their knees.

Kalya looked like he had swallowed a mouthful of bat dung. He prostrated himself lower than everyone else.

Rachel!

His spirit soared at seeing her again, and he had to smile at her grandiose entrance. He couldn't have done it better himself. Her robes swished the sand with every step, and the ground shook with her fury. The haughty and self-serving congregation trembled at her approach. Their utter humiliation was more satisfying than he expected.

Seeing her again took him back to the first time they met. Was this the same woman? The urchin clothes had been replaced with silk, but she was still the fiery angel from the cave. A woman who loved him even when they knew it was wrong. He loved her too with a passion that wouldn’t have ended with the swipe of a knife, no matter how much Kalya wanted to make it so. Their union transcended the physical. And nothing made it more precious than knowing he nearly lost her.

He'd never let anyone separate them again.

Rachel was going to make sure of that too. She looked ready to disembowel every priest and onlooker.

“Who is in charge here?” she asked through her translator.

Kalya fumbled to his feet with a plea for clemency.

Rachel marched toward him, Senit and Eklan behind her. “You knew this man was my consort, yet you dared to have him neutered?”

“My—my Lady. Every male who can see glory is bound by law—”

“That was not my question!” She grabbed the knife off the stone pier and waved it at the priest who would have done the deed. “And you! Do you also dare to take my consort?”

“No—no, my Lady,” the man stuttered, prostrating himself before her. “Lord Kalya ordered the ceremony.”

Rachel flung the knife to the dirt then hurled a wall of energy toward Kalya. It trapped him, and he screamed like a burnt pup. He covered his face with his hands and begged for mercy.

She glared at a priest closest to where Jessit still stood bound. “What are you waiting for? Release him.”

Two priests jumped as if they were on fire and unshackled Jessit's bonds.

Jessit grabbed each by the shoulder and knocked them down like they were cardboard. Kalya was his real quarry. He had a score to settle with that sadist. But it seemed Rachel was taking care of that.

Rachel removed the cage of energy around Kalya, grabbing him by the beads. “Per my father's wishes, I am returning to Alturis with you. Per Avenar, your High Lord, I will also submit to learning your ways and laws. But Taelen Jessit remains my consort. Make him a priest if it is your law, but you will not castrate him. Is that clear?”

Kalya had lost the capacity for speech. He nodded dumbly, agreeable to any demands his god made.

Someone had brought Jessit a robe, but he only managed to fasten half the buttons by the time her attention turned to him.

“Are you all right?” Her words were barely audible.

“I am now.”

Rachel turned to Senit. “Get these vultures off the island.”

Senit bowed. “With pleasure, my Lady.”

Her hand folded around Jessit's arm and he led her back to his cabin. When she closed the door behind her, she blew out a breath. “That was close.”

Jessit took her in his arms. “Too close, but your timing was excellent.” He wiped his brow. “Most excellent.”

She hugged him tight, unwilling to let him go. “I'm sorry I couldn't do anything about getting you out of the priesthood. Avenar wouldn't budge on that.”

“I will settle for keeping all my parts.”

“Good. I like those parts.”

Rachel walked over to the bed, tugging him after her. “You are a lot of trouble for a man. Have I mentioned that? I had to make a lot of promises to keep you intact. Avenar is bound and determined to turn me into a god.”

“How did you ever find me?”

“You have a very resourceful friend in Senit. He went looking for you and when you turned up missing with no one breathing a word on where you'd gone, he broke into my chambers.”

Jessit's eyes grew wide. “Senit?”

She laughed. “Eklan was furious. He had escorted me to my room and we found Senit rummaging through some of your things. Evidently Eklan's security was not as impenetrable as he thought.”

“But how did you know to look here?”

Rachel kissed him on the lips then hugged him as if she were afraid of letting go. “That was Lord Avenar's doing. I sent a message to him saying you had gone missing. We suspected it was the priests, but no one was talking.” She grimaced in the telling. “Avenar is a shrewd negotiator. I had no intention of going to Alturis, but he told me I could get you back if I promised to make the trip.”

Jessit cupped her face in his hands and kissed her. “Then it sounds as if I am your bound servant.”

Her hands feathered down his chest while she sought to unfasten the long row of buttons on the front of his robe. “You got that wrong, soldier. It makes us partners in crime. If I pretend to be a god, you'll have to pretend to be a priest—fully intact, of course.” She winked at him.

Jessit pushed her back on the bed, the silk of her body gentle against his chest. “Then I am ready to pray at your altar, Mistress.”

“That's good. Now, let me show you how I'll pray at yours.” Her big doe eyes turned glassy and bright. She gazed at him in for long silent moments, but he knew what was in her heart—and his. He didn't find what he was looking for. He found so much more.

About the Author

After a lifetime of saving the world from bad advertising, Maria Zannini escaped to the Texas wilderness, where she homesteads on six acres she calls heaven. Half a mile to the north is a lion refuge, to the south, there be llamas.

When she's not hunting scorpions and chasing after zombie chickens, she's often at her keyboard telling stories or blogging about her current homestead projects—where it's anyone's guess what body part she'll lop off next.

Visit her at http://mariazannini.blogspot.com/. Place bets on which dog will beat her to her spot on the bed and how many husbands she'll wear out before the devil tells her she's nabbed her limit.

Maria writes sensual stories of legend and mythos as well as magazine articles on marketing, graphic design and animal husbandry.

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ISBN: 978-1-4268-9067-3

Copyright © 2010 by Maria Zannini

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