Outlanders 15 - Doom Dynasty Read online

  "What have I stolen from you?" Kane challenged. "I've only reclaimed what the barons, the hybrids robbed from all of humanity."

  "You've stolen lives, Kane." Baron Cobalt reached out and fingered away a lock of hair from Kane's fore­head. Gazing into his eyes, the baron said sincerely, affectionately, "But I'm not punishing you. I'm doing all of this for you. For the future."

  Kane tried to snort but could not pull it off. "How do you figure that?"

  "The only characteristic your kind and my kind share is the biological imperative to procreate." The baron made an imperious, beckoning gesture. "Don't you know that hybrids generally take on all the posi­tive attributes of their parents, becoming the most ex­ceptional specimens?"

  A pale face suddenly thrust itself into Kane's range of sight. Framed by glossy black hair and thickly coated with cosmetics, the face was like that of an evil, grinning doll. The smile on her ruby red lips was sub­tly cruel. A faint whisper slipped between them. "You won't make up for Hank, but you'll have to do."

  Then Kane felt her hands on him, applying a warm gel that spread a wonderful heat over his body. It did not warm the horror frosting his brain.

  Epilogue

  Erica van Sloan tottered as she walked, unsteady on her feet even with Sam holding her hand. Many, many years had passed since her legs had possessed any feel­ing or supported any weight, and the prickling sensa­tion of returning circulation was excruciating.

  She bit back groans, too happy to be ambulatory again to permit a preoccupation with transitory pain to dilute her joy. As they walked along the corridor, Sam said, "You're nervous, Erica. Don't be."

  After the barons had departed Front Royal, Sam beckoned her to follow him into the jump chamber. He did not mention their destination, nor why Balam stayed behind, and she was not inclined to ask. The love, gratitude and even devotion she felt for the child overwhelmed her, canceling out all conditioned predi­lections toward suspicion.

  They materialized in a gateway unit with rich, golden walls, as if ingots had been melted down and mixed with the armaglass. As they strode along a low-ceilinged, stone-block-walled corridor, Erica wondered if they were in a redoubt, a COG installation, or some­where else entirely. She did not know why, but she felt they were deep underground. She sensed inesti-mable tons of rock over their heads. Hesitantly, she asked, "Where are you taking me, Sam?"

  "To show you how to reach the man I need. He will be of great use to us…or so Balam has said."

  Erica ran her tongue nervously over her lips, once more pleasantly surprised by their restored fullness and pliancy. "Tell me about Balam. Is he your father?"

  Sam smiled up at her impishly, his eyes glinting with a buried spark of amusement. "He is not my fa­ther. Oh, no…not my father. He is my guardian, my teacher, my mentor. But not my father."

  "Then who are your parents? Where do they—and you—come from?"

  "I came from here," was the blithe reply. "As did my father. As for who is my mother…I suppose you would hold that position."

  They reached a set of double doors. Erica stared down at him, her mind awhirl, her heart churning with conflicting emotions.

  "Or," Sam continued in the same breezy manner, "to be more precise, you contributed many of your characteristics to my overall genetic code. If you like, I'll introduce you to my father."

  The doors swung open without Sam touching them. Erica followed him into what appeared to be a gulf of deep space. The walls, ceiling and floor of the room were all black, a total black that seemed to absorb all light like a vast, ebony sponge. It was a blackness so deep it wearied the eyes trying to see some color or shadow within it.

  But the room was not completely without light. Oc­cupying the center of it from floor to ceiling was a transparent sphere six feet in diameter. Within the sus­pended globe glittered pinpoints of light, scattered seemingly at random, but all connected by glowing lines.

  Erica paused to examine the sphere, but Sam kept on walking. She followed him, squinting into the gloom. The boy stopped before a niche in the wall and announced, "Here is my father. It's way past time you two met."

  A light recessed into the ceiling suddenly flashed on, casting a funnel of illumination on a long, deep, transparent-walled tank. Within, floating in a semisolid gel, lay a very tall, almost skeletally thin figure. It was human shaped, but by no means human.

  Its cadaverous frame and narrow, elongated skull were completely hairless. Long slender arms termi­nated in four-fingered hands tipped with razor-sharp spurs of bone. A central ridge dipped down from the top of the domed head to the bridge of the flattened nose. The lipless mouth gaped slightly open, revealing double rows of serrated teeth.

  The brownish-gray skin, wrinkled and tough, stretched over protruding brow arches and jutting cheekbones. There was a suggestion of scaliness about it. A short tail extended from the base of the spine, tucked between the thighs.

  Erica recoiled in a spasm of primal loathing. Invol­untarily, she cringed, stumbling backward a pace or two. Sam steadied her with a hand, and she distantly noted the pebbled pattern on his fingers was identical to that on the hide of the preserved carcass.

  "Balam tells me his name is Enlil." Sam's voice was a reverent murmur. "The last of the Annunaki, the last of the Serpent Kings, the source of myths, religions and the root race of Balam's people."

  Smiling, Sam tugged at her hand, drawing her closer. Very confidently, very persuasively, he de­clared, "There's nothing to be afraid of, nothing at all. Don't you know that hybrids generally take on all the positive attributes of their parents, becoming the most exceptional specimens?"

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