CHAPTER
TWO
I WOULDN’T be here if I hadn’t grown weak, a part of Siris thought.
The Dark Thoughts were stronger now. Siris recognized them as part of himself, and had admitted—to his shame—what he had been. A warlord. A despot. A murderer.
He didn’t remember that person. Whatever had been done to him . . . it had wiped away those memories, permanently. He felt blessed for that, was thankful for it.
The process, however, was incomplete. Those terrible memories had been taken, but that left him with something more primal. Instincts. The brutality of a creature who had lived as a tyrant for eons.
I could have dominated, ruled. I had the Blade. I could have left the Worker alone, could have slain Raidriar. Now . . . now all that is left to me is vengeance.
Siris threw himself to his feet, eyes squeezed shut. For a moment, he let the Dark Thoughts—the shadow of his ancient self—control him.
He caught the God King’s arm as it reached for him. Eyes still shut, Siris spun around, twisting the arm in its socket and popping the joint at the shoulder. Raidriar screamed. Siris felt the man writhing, cursing, spinning into another attack. Siris stepped away, but a shade too slow. The God King’s leg sweep sent him tumbling.
He kicked as he fell, striking where he knew—somehow—the God King would be standing. Siris’s foot connected with something hard—the God King’s knee.
A snap, accompanied by another scream.
Siris moved. No thought. No planning. He scrambled forward, eyes still firmly shut. He couldn’t trust them. Trying to rely on them only got him killed. Over and over.
His hands found an arm. The God King reached a clawlike hand to Siris’s face, ripping at the skin.
Siris ignored the pain, methodically grabbing his enemy by the head and pounding his skull against the floor.
Smash.
Smash.
Smash.
Like a primeval man breaking open a fruit with a tough rind.
Time passed. Siris eventually became aware of himself in the prison, kneeling over the God King’s bloodied corpse. Raidriar, the God King, did not breathe. Siris’s own breathing went in and out with ragged gasps.
His eyes finally worked, but he didn’t see much. An open cell of rough-hewn rock—the soul prison in which the Worker of Secrets had been held.
Much of the floor was coated with dried blood. His, and that of the God King.
This is what I can do, he thought. When I let my Dark Self free.
He forced down those instincts. It was a struggle, one nearly as difficult as killing the God King had been. Eventually, Siris reached forward and pressed his thumbs into the God King’s eyes, bursting them, though the creature’s skull had been cracked wide open by his attacks.
The skull would heal—but the eyes would come last.
“Thanks for the tip,” Siris said, stumbling to his feet.
DEVIATION
THE SECOND
THE TIME for the meeting with the executives, including Mr. Galath, approached. Uriel could do nothing more to prepare, so he diverted himself by summoning some different ledgers. A pet project of his.
Like all ledgers, these did not lie. They showed him that Mr. Galath, the chairman, had been withdrawing resources from the company. Subtly, slowly. Uriel had access to all of the accounts, though he wasn’t technically an accountant. He needed these numbers to create his risk assessment charts.
Mr. Galath was up to something. He was the source of pretty much everything that the company had created, from the satellite technology to the new data compression methods. Galath was a genius—but genius in and of itself was unremarkable. What made Galath special was his ability to run a company at the same time. He was smart, but also wily.
It had only been six months since Galath had revealed the technology that had been christened Project Omega. Teleportation. Real teleportation. Six months of frenzied work to test products, to obtain patents, to prepare for a world reveal.
And yet, during all that, Galath had been subtly moving resources to another, hidden project. One nobody else seemed to know about. But Uriel had found it in the numbers, for the numbers did not lie.
How he wished he could make people act like the numbers did. Rational, consistent.
This is something big, Uriel thought, sorting through the ledgers. Important.
But what? That was Uriel’s pet project. Trying to figure out what it was, to guess what Galath was attempting to accomplish. What would his next wonder be?
As Uriel worked, his screen’s automatic reminder feature pulled up the news of the day. Mary was behind that, as part of her desire for him to pay more attention to the outside world.
He wasn’t certain why she bothered. The news had nothing interesting for him. More killing in the Middle East. The war in South America. Radiation poisoning from the bombs in India.
Wasn’t progress supposed to have brought an end to all of this? What of the wonders of technology? We look down on the ancient days for their brutality, but when people murdered each other then it was by the dozen. Not by the million.
Modern men were the real barbarians.
He closed the news feed and turned back to his spreadsheets. Curious—according to Galath’s schedules, the chairman had been vanishing for long periods lately.
That’s odd . . . Uriel thought, noticing something else. Meetings before each disappearance, usually with someone from the company. Not always executives.
Each time an individual met with Galath in one of these instances, they immediately took a leave from work. So far, none had returned, yet all were still drawing salaries.
He’s gathering them, Uriel thought. The best of the company, judging by the numbers. He’s placing them on the new project. Uriel pulled up some more files, noticing that each person chosen got a promotion around the same time.
He found himself increasingly excited. This was really, really big. The corner of his table screen started flashing. A phone call. He tapped on the square, sending the conversation directly to his implanted earphone.
“Hello?” he asked, distracted.
“Uriel?” Mary’s voice.
He smiled immediately. Her voice . . . it always took some of the tension away. He looked up from his screen. “Hey.”
“I was just wondering,” Mary said. “Is there something special I could get for dinner tonight? Something you’d like?”
He looked down at the hive of numbers. “I . . . I might be working late again.”
“Oh, you needn’t say it so hesitantly, Uri. I know your work is important. Do you know when you’ll be home?”
“Ten?”
“How about I order in something from that Thai place you like so much? It will be waiting in the fridge when you get home.”
“That would be nice,” Uriel said, smiling. “You’re too good to me, Mary.” He hesitated. “But what about Jori? He hasn’t seen his dad in three days.”
“I’ll let him stay up,” Mary said. “He won’t be home until later, anyway. Hockey practice is tonight.”
There was a game this weekend, a championship. It was blocked out on his schedule, marked in red, immovable eve
n if Mr. Galath demanded it. Uriel often worked late—too often—but he’d never missed a game.
“Mary,” Uriel said, leaning down. “I think something is coming. Something amazing.”
“Uri? I haven’t heard you sound this optimistic in a while. Aren’t you worried? About . . .”
She didn’t say it. He wasn’t supposed to talk about work with family, but she was one of the only people who ever actually listened to him.
“I am worried,” Uriel said. “But I think this project is a cover for something greater. I don’t think Mr. Galath intends to release the . . . other thing. He’s watching to see what we’ll say about it. I just . . . I can’t explain. But it’s in the numbers. He’s pulling people aside, one at a time. Telling them about the new project. Preparing them.”
“That’s wonderful! Do you think he’ll choose you?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.” People, even Mr. Galath, didn’t make as much sense as numbers did.
“We should get you a new suit, just in case.”
“You know I hate shopping.”
She laughed. “All you have to do is try it on. That won’t be so bad, will it?”
“No, I guess it won’t. First dinner, now this. You’re wonderful.”
“I guess I just want to do something special for you, Uri. You’ve been working so hard lately. See you at ten.”
He hung up with a tap on the screen. Rain still washed against the window outside, but despite the dreary weather, he was glad for the window. Mary had been right about that, as she was about so many other things.
He found himself writing down his thoughts, as he sometimes did. A kind of journal, but one filled with his dreams of what could be. What would the world be like if people made sense? What would the world be like if they were not able to kill each other so easily? Could he make the ideas work? He wrote it all down.
“Hey,” Jarred said, walking by. “Aren’t you supposed to be coming to this?”
“Hmm?” Uriel asked.
“The meeting? Mr. Galath? Project Omega?”