Issue #3, Volume 1
"The Beckoning, Chapter 2: Through A Glass Darkly"
Written by DoomScribe
The dark, hulking wreck looming out of the white sands
drew the two men to it like moths to a flame. They carefully circled the quiet
metallic object, motionless now and half buried by the constantly blowing
sands. Intermittent spurts of white steam spit sporadically from underneath the
dented hood. Both doors had been blown off of the battered truck in a horrific
battle, but there was no sign of a battle here. Instead, the hastily abandoned
supply truck appeared to have died of natural causes.
The two Crow warrior scouts approached closer, searching warily among the
shifting dunes for any sign of ambush. The truck was unoccupied. They examined
the boxes jumbled in the back of the truck bed, sniffing like animals. If they
could read the inscriptions on the crates, they gave no indication. Hastily
digging into the supplies, heavy boxes of weapons were thrown with recklessness
upon the sand, exposing their deadly contents, but the laser rifles were
ignored. The warriors kept their preferred tools of war close at hand:
primitive bows, spears, and axes, were strapped to their bare backs with
leather belts or coarse rope. The two men continued to sift through the
wreckage. The massive plasma cannon was also ignored, a worthless hunk of metal
now anyway without a power source. They cared only for the food, buried deep
among the other supplies. When they found it, they tore into the military
rations ravenously, fighting briefly between themselves like monkeys before
settling down upon their haunches to eat while nervous eyes continued to scan
the bare horizon. When they had eaten their fill, they stood upon the truck and
howled like dogs, claiming the truck for the Crow. In the distance, a barely
visible train of a hundred or more warriors emerged from the sand to march
single file toward their new prize.
A short distance from the truck, behind a tall dune spotted with dry bunches of
grass, Doom carefully watched as the Crow warring party claimed and began to
consume their prize. Marcos and Uriel lay on the sand beside him, taking turns
to peer anxiously through the binoculars Marcos carried. They had no need to
worry yet, for all trace of their tracks had been neatly removed by the blowing
winds. Still, it would be wise to remain undetected, and out here among the
bare dunes that task became increasingly difficult as the Crow warriors
continued to relentlessly patrol the desert.
"It is fortunate that they seem uninterested in the weapons," Doom
muttered softly. He watched the warring party in the distance from behind the
two gypsies, crouched low as he knelt upon one knee, his cloak carefully
contained in his armored glove.
"They will burn the weapons rather than use them," Marcos stated. He
passed the binoculars to Uriel. "They have no use for modern
technology."
Uriel peered through the ancient eyepieces at barefeet trampling exotic
weapons, paying the guns little heed as they slowly disappeared into the
roiling sands. He carried one of the same rifles himself, and five more were
carefully wrapped in a canvas sack. He was too weak still to carry more, but
food and drink had improved his color since the night before. His wounded arm
was numb and all but useless, but was now carefully wrapped in clean bandages.
"They could arm every man down there with what we left at the truck,"
Uriel sighed. "The rest of the tribe sure could use those weapons."
"It can't be helped at this point," Doom intoned quietly. "When
I locate the remainder of the gypsies, I will send a patrol out to see what we
can recover." He took a moment to glance briefly around the horizon.
Behind them to the west, a distant range of mountains rose like a purple
curtain in the desert. "You say that the gypsy caravans were headed toward
that sharp notch in the Dinaric?" He pointed to a barely visible U-shaped
indentation at the middle of the high range.
Uriel turned around, still staying low in the sand. "Yes, Master," he
answered. "The elders believed we would find passage through . . ."
He gasped audibly. "My Lord! Your leg! Are you wounded?"
Doom glanced down to his armored knee as Uriel pointed. There, in the joints of
the metal armor, a thin white stream, like a trickle of milk, was slowly
trailing out of his armor. The phenomenon was not limited to his knee, either.
Several other joints in his armor were experiencing the same malfunction. Doom
allowed the strange trickle to leak over his fingers, and he raised his metal
glove to his face to examine the white liquid substance closely. "Hmmm,
interesting," was all he said.
"Master, what is it?" Marcos asked.
"It appears that the nanites are leaving my system, driven out by the
virus from the wave spiders," he stated calmly. The white liquid streams
dripped slowly into the sand and disappeared. "This is somewhat, . . .
inconvenient," he finished cryptically.
"Does it hurt?" Uriel backed away from where the liquid slowly
dripped into the sand, suddenly uneasy at the prospect of contact with
microscopic genetically engineered life forms.
"Hurt? No, it is annoying at best. Some of my armor systems are being
affected," Doom spoke to his gypsy companions as he also ran a
systems-wide diagnostic check. "The armor will function for some time
without serious effect, but it is imperative that we locate the gypsy train as
soon as possible. We must leave now, while the Crow is occupied scavenging
from our truck."
Without further discussion or a glance backward, Doom headed down the sandy
dune. Staying low, Uriel, and Marcos gathered their belongings and quickly
followed.
"Master," Marcos hurried to catch up to Doom's long strides, "this
is insane, Master!" He breathlessly walked a short distance behind,
gesturing desperately under the load of weapons he carried. "We're bound
to be detected by the Crow at any turn! We will have no cover out there on the
sand!"
"The matter is not subject to debate. My concern is to find the gypsy
caravan, nothing more."
"There are too many Crow warriors in that patrol, and we're the main
course on the menu!" Marcos flanked Doom defensively. "We should head
south, closer to the CG patrols where we'll be safer. Circle around the alps
and meet the gypsies on the coast."
"That is not my intent," Doom paused for only a moment to stare into
the face of his gypsy brethren with fierce anger. "You are welcome to go
your own way, alone," he threatened.
"That would be suicide!"
"So be it, but I will brook no further delay in finding the gypsies,"
Doom answered dangerously. "Go your own way or follow me, I will entertain
no other options. Unless you wish for me to hasten the inevitable and end your
suffering here and now!"
Before Marcos could answer that cold stare, Uriel interrupted, "Master,
look!" he shouted, pointing toward the top of a high dune far behind them.
Four crow warriors stood atop that sandy plateau, calmly looking directly at
the fleeing gypsies. They were tall and lean, darkly tanned and nearly naked,
leaning casually on long wooden spears. They were joined by a fifth man, small
and haggard, bent with age but strong in the arms. His hair was as white as the
blistering sand. The old man carried a bow, and he reached into the quiver at
his back for an arrow.
Marcos gasped with fear and lifted the laser rifle to his shoulder to aim at
the distant party, but Doom restrained him. A heavy metal hand on the barrel
lowered the weapon from its target.
"Save your energy packs," Doom ordered solemnly. "They are out
of range." And the Crow warriors knew it, as they stood quietly on the
hilltop, invoking waves of fear in their enemies. Doom regarded them with a
cold eye, then turned his back to them disdainfully as he continued on his
trek.
"An arrow?" Uriel asked, puzzled, "how could they hope to . . .
?" He followed Doom closely, but he dared not remove his eyes from those
stoic warriors behind them.
The warriors remained unmoving. The old man dipped the head of a handmade arrow
into a bag of ointment he carried in a pouch at his side. The thick gooey
substance glowed a vibrant green around the chiseled black stone, and it seemed
to have a life of its own. The old man raised the arrow, stretching the bow to
its limit. He let it go, and the arrow soared into the air high above the
blowing sands. For a moment, Uriel lost sight of the arrow in the sun, then it
appeared, suddenly closer than it should have been and seemingly gathering
momentum. The eerie green substance at the arrow's head billowed about in
defiance of the air movements and was reaching as the arrow was toward its
target.
"Master!" Uriel screamed finally, "The arrow! It's
impossible!"
Doom turned and caught sight of the arrow at last, alas too late. The arrow had
indeed broken all laws of physics to gather momentum and to change course and
direction of its own accord. His armor systems began an immediate analysis,
relaying information and processing data in less than a nanosecond, but it was
too slow as the arrow sliced through the air toward his heart. His first salvo
of weapons fire directed at the arrow was instinctual and immediate, and
ineffectual. The arrow soared past an astonished Uriel at a frightening pace.
In the next instance, Doom knew that no mere technology would halt this forward
progression, and as he leaped aside from the pursuing specter, he summoned his
own mystic shielding. Again, too late. The shield was only half-formed, it did
not stop the arrow from reaching its target, but it did deflect it. The
mystically enchanted arrow cut through his adamantium-lanxide armor as if it
were paper, and pierced his left leg just above the knee, deep into the muscle
and narrowly missing bone. The head of the arrow penetrated through to the
other side of his leg.
"Arrghh!" Doom yelled angrily, falling back onto the sand. The black
stone head of the arrow still glowed with that unearthly green slime, and
quivered as if still reaching for Doom's heart.
"Master! How is this possible?!" Uriel cried as he leaped to his
master's side.
"Magic," Doom growled angrily. He glared at Marcos. "You failed
to inform me that the Crow were magic users, fool!" he yelled.
Marcos' complexion turned white with fear. "Magic? I swear, I never..." he mumbled. "Shocking freaks!" he yelled, dropping to one
knee and opening fire onto the distant warriors. "Shocking freaks!
Shocking bloodsucking ratbiters!" he yelled as he fired again and again.
But as Doom had predicted, the Crow warriors were well out of reach.
"Hold your fire, imbecile!" Doom ordered curtly, "you'll fell no
enemies that way." Grimly, Doom grasped the head of the arrow in his hand,
breaking it off from the wooden shaft. He held it tightly in his hand as the
living magic reached for his heart, then a quickly spoken spell sent the deadly
weapon to another dimension with a puff of crimson smoke. He pulled the wooden
shaft from his leg, and equally, crimson blood began to flow freely now from the
terrible wound.
"Master! Another!" Uriel warned, pointing to the sky.
Indeed, another arrow had been launched their way, but Doom was prepared. As
the weapon approached, Doom summoned the magic to stop it in mid-flight, inches
from its target. "NOT, this time," he stated slowly, and with a raised
hand he turned the weapon around. "Go back to your masters," he
commanded, "and take a little something to show my gratitude!" The
arrow took off as he shooed it away, climbing into the sky toward the distant
dune where the Crow warriors gathered. As Uriel helped Doom to his feet, the
gypsies heard the distant cries of fear and dismay, followed by the sound of a
fiery explosion on the horizon. The warriors that had pursued them disappeared
from view in a haze of smoke and sand.
"Quickly now," Doom ordered, steadying himself bravely on his wounded
leg as he pushed Uriel away. "Let us delay no further."
"No," Marcos stated grimly, stepping to face Doom and leveling his
weapon at the armored leader's face. "We'll go no further into this
hellish desert. I'm calling the shots now."
"Marcos! What are you doing?" Uriel cried in dismay.
"He is finally showing his true colors, my friend," Doom answered
calmly.
"Shut up!" Marcos yelled, threatening with his weapon. "Drop the
guns, Uriel. We're going south. Now!"
"I am surprised, Marcos," Doom continued drily. "What of the
gypsies? Won't your leaders be disappointed that you failed to locate the
remaining gypsies?"
"You'll be prize enough for now, " Marcos answered coldly. "The
rest are either dead or they soon will be."
"Marcos! I don't understand! We were brothers . . ." Uriel pleaded
pathetically.
"We were never brothers, Uriel."
"He is a traitor, Uriel," Doom interjected, "a spy. One of the
guardsmen, with a communications implant that he activates when the satellites
pass overhead. I've been experiencing feedback from your cyber systems since we
first met. I suspect that you were contacting your allies a few moments
ago."
"That's right," Marcos said. "And a few klicks south of here
we'll join the patrol that's been shadowing us. I'll not spend another night in
this hellhole with the Crow using magic and Thor knows what else."
"But Marcos," Uriel protested, quieter now, but still confused.
"I've known you for years, how could you betray us?"
"The Marcos you knew died five years ago! Now move it!" Marcos
threatened again with his weapon toward Doom. "Your armor is damaged,
you're wounded, you haven't the power to resist a laser discharge at this
range!"
Doom ignored the warning and stepped forward. "Genetic engineering, eh?
Impressive work to fool the clans for so long."
Marcos stepped back warily. "The guardsmen employ none but the best. Step
back, Doom! I'm not afraid to fire!"
Doom stepped forward defiantly, forcing Marcos back again. "How much did
the original Marcos contribute to your behavioral programs?"
"Enough to where it didn't matter anymore, he had no surviving relatives
left. Fooling the others was simple," Marcos steadied himself in the sandy
soil.
"And you continued to spy for the Guardsmen after Tiger Wylde was disposed
of," Doom intoned calmly, stepping forward again.
Marcos shuffled back again but did not lower the weapon. "The gypsies
were always involved in illicit activities, they have been an annoyance that required
constant vigilance. The Guardsmen did not rely solely on Tiger Wylde for
leadership." He backed away another step. "I'm warning you, Doom . .
. !"
"And I'm warning you! I will suffer no attack by a traitorous pawn such as
yourself!" Doom lunged forward suddenly, snatching the weapon deftly from
Marcos' hand, as the spy fired his weapon in a wasted laser burst into the sky.
Marcos tripped as he stumbled backward once again, collapsing onto the sand.
Doom turned the weapon back upon the spy, then suddenly stopped, lowering the
weapon and handing it back to Uriel.
"What . . . ? What's happening?" Marcos cried out, looking around and
scratching wildly at the sand. He was slowly sinking, dropping into a deep,
invisible hole in the sand. The sand opened up like a giant maw around his
body, grabbing at his legs first and sucking them down into the unforgiving
depths. "Help! Uriel! Somebody help me!" Marcos scratched at the sand
around him, desperately clawing for a solid handhold. His legs kicked inside
the cloying closeness to no effect.
"Nobody will help you now, traitor," Doom stated callously. He handed
the sack of weapons to Uriel and directed the gypsy to walk away.
"Perhaps if you are patient and don't move around too much, the next
satellite will be overhead and you can radio your friends for assistance."
"That's not for another two hours and you know it, Doom!" Marcos
growled softly, now having sunk to his waist in the sucking substrate.
"A shame, really," Doom walked away. He looked to the distant horizon
behind them. "You could always try yelling for help, maybe the Crow will
want to assist you."
"Doom! They're cannibals, Doom! You can't let me die like this! I can help
you!" Marcos struggled against the sand, waving his hands to try to stay
afloat as Doom walked away, ignoring the desperate cries.
"Keep moving, don't look back," Doom ordered Uriel at the top of the
dune. The two moved out of sight of their now sinking companion. It was a
little longer still before they could no longer hear his cries.
"I'll kill you, Doom! I swear it! The Guardsmen are going to have your
head on a pike! You hear me, Doom! You'll burn for this...!"
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It was early evening when the Lieutenant of the CG Patrol reported back to his
Captain at the outpost dubbed by its jaded occupants as Lucifer's Gate. The
sky over the distant desert lands was turning a brilliant pink and orange, but
the Captain of the guardsmen barely noticed as he chomped on an ancient stogie
and poured over the area logistic maps. So intent was he on his studies that he
didn't notice his new Lieutenant standing at attention at the doorway. A few
minutes later he looked up, then motioned the man to come in.
"We don't stand much on formality out here in the wastelands, LT,"
the Captain ordered quietly. "Get on in here before you become a
target."
"Yes sir," the Lieutenant responded, stepping quickly inside.
"Your report?"
"We've lost contact with operative 42, sir."
The Captain rubbed tired eyes. "What's the latest recon on the gypsies'
hideout?"
"Inconclusive. The gypsies ambushed a patrol at sector seven bravo, but we
have yet to get a triangulation with statistical certainty."
"Forget the statistical certainty, son."
"Sir?"
"Can we get close? Can we get close enough to smell those stinking
pusbags? Cause if I can smell em I can find em. An' if I can find em I can blow
them all to hell and wipe them and their shocking armored freak of a historical
anomaly off of the face of the planet once and for all!"
The Lieutenant paused for a moment, then answered, "Yes, sir. We can get
reasonably close, Captain."
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Darkness had settled over the sand desert, and far from any visible human
settlement, two figures lay prostrate and motionless atop a tall dune, the
perpetual winds steadily blowing sand over their quiet bodies. Lying
unwillingly on his back in the cooling sands, Doom once again struggled to
rise. He lifted himself to his elbows, pushed upwards as if against a
tremendous weight, then fell back again with a frustrated sigh. Forced into
this unnatural repose, he watched the stars peeking through the thin clouds
high above one by one. A few meters behind him, Uriel too had collapsed upon
the dune, unconscious, exhausted, and spent from struggling through the soft
sand for hours without end. Doom had carried the boy as far as he could before
he too had succumbed to the endless sand. Blood was caked on the armor around
Doom's left leg, and although he had attempted to staunch the bleeding, every
step he took had opened up a new trickle. The leg had become useless earlier
that day, and the blood loss had weakened his resolve. The final insult: his
gleaming armor also was no longer functioning. The interface between his
nervous system and cyber circuitry was quiet, ravaged by the alien virus. The
nanites were silent, dead now, or deserted, or possibly hibernating within a
protected program. The wondrous armor which was as light as a second skin when
operational now felt cold and heavy. He was tired, weary to the bone, and spent all his energies. They had trudged for hours on end through the unyielding
sand, but they came upon no sign of the gypsy caravan. Could his instincts have
been wrong? Were they gone? Had the gypsies chosen a different path, been
killed, or scattered to the four winds? What was it that had driven him this
way with such certainty? He could not remember. All he could do now was lie in
the soft sand, with nauseating waves of feverish hallucinations washing over
him. Maybe if he let himself dream once more, it would come to him . . . NO! He
dared not close his eyes! For if he slept he may never again wake, so despite
his fatigue, he kept his eyes open, focusing on the distant stars. Focus! Stay
alert! Listen! Listen to the sound of the wind, and of soft feet scraping along
the sand.
A shadow suddenly blotted out the stars. Ahead, cloaked, bent close over his
still form. Bright eyes peered down onto his armored mask.
With agonizing slowness, Doom reached up out of the darkness and grasped for
the neck of the shadow with a single metal glove. Despite his weakened state,
his grip was fierce and unrelenting. His hand squeezed tight around the
visitor's throat.
"Ackkk," was all the man could say at first, as his hands clawed at
the metal gauntlet. Then he choked out a few words in Romany, the gypsy tongue.
"Master," Jake said with hoarse whisper, "please don't kill me.
We've come to rescue you!" Doom released his savage hold slowly and
struggled to recognize this young man through the darkness. Then there were
other voices swirling around.
"Uriel is here," one voice shouted quietly. Then a short light
flashed over him, and more urgent whispering. He felt himself being lifted,
gently from the sand and carried between two strong cloaked figures. He could
hear their guns clanging softly as they moved. He felt no threat, and so not
knowing exactly where he was going but trusting in the Fates, he let his
consciousness finally drift away.
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When Doom awoke again it was in a strange place, but there was light and warmth
and the familiar trappings of his gypsy kin all around. He could see a small
window above the bed where he lay, and the flag of Latveria dutifully propped
in the far corner. His wounded leg was bandaged, the bleeding stopped. Medical
apparatus lay about a table near the bed, but there was no sign of Vox, the boy
healer who had once before saved his life. Another boy, tall and lanky, sat in
a chair near the door, and when Doom stirred the adolescent was immediately at
his side.
"Lie still, Master," Jake said quietly, "and I'll tell Gavriil
that you are awake."
"Wait," Doom ordered hoarsely, "where am I?"
"The Hidden City," Jake answered. "We're safe here, don't worry.
We found you no more than fifty meters from the dome. But you've lost a lot of
blood, so Gav says you should rest."
"Uriel . . . ?"
"He's gonna be ok. We got him too. He told us about the others, and
Marcos." Jake showed him the weapon he carried. "We picked up a ton
of these from the supply truck you hijacked. They're so jagged! Those Crow won't
mess with us now!"
Doom looked puzzled. "How long have I been out?"
"Almost two days," Jake answered, "but don't worry . . ."
"Two days!" Doom pushed himself up, slowly swinging his legs off of
the bed. His wounded leg throbbed painfully, but he ignored it.
"The Crow warriors were massing for a major attack, and the Collective
Guardsmen have been alerted to our presence," Doom stated, groggy but
forcing his mind to clear. He ran an internal systems check on his armor as he
spoke, and still found no sign of the nanites. "I need a computer, some
tools, and cable. And a generator."
Jake scratched his head. "Most of the tribes left with only what they
could carry, but we may be able to scavenge some of those from the city. This
is stale ware though, nothing new tech. We'll be lucky to find anything with
intact Rom."
"Get what you can, and bring it here."
"Yes, Master," Jake answered as he headed out the door. He was met by
Gavriil as he left, who was followed close behind by Larinda. "Oh! He's awake!"
he informed the elders, stopping only a moment before he hurried out.
Gavriil entered the room, chomping on his pipe as he did and eyed Doom with a
careful and unintimidated glare. "You should be lying down!" he
exclaimed. "And remove that armor so we can get some fluids in you!"
"Don't order me, old man," Doom stated with foul temper. "You
know who I am."
"Yes, I do, Young Man! But I'm your doctor! And if you're to be our savior
as Larinda predicts you're going to lie down and do as you're told or you won't
be saving nobody!" Gavriil reached for an IV bottle and placed it on a
stand near the bed. "Now get that armor off of your right arm so I can do
my job!"
Doom eyed the gaunt old man with grudging respect. He did not lie down, but did
remove his gauntlet so the healer could administer fluids through an IV. As
Gavriil worked, Doom turned his attention to the small woman who had quietly
entered the room behind him. "Where is Vox? Is Fortune here? Are there any
Zefiro here?" he asked her impatiently.
Larinda shook her head solemnly. "No, the Zefiro were at the other side of
the valley when the wave spiders struck, there are none that made it out with
our caravan. We number two hundred and fifty here, gypsies from all of the
various clans, and we have been awaiting your arrival." And so Larinda
told him of their flight from Latveria, and how they had discovered the Hidden
City within the sand. She also told him of their plight, their efforts to cross
the Dinaric Alps, and how her visions had predicted that he would save them.
"I am not your savior," Doom intoned callously. "I came here in
search of the Zefiro, and now that journey seems to have been in vain. You will
have to find your own way through the mountains."
Gavriil eyed the old woman with quiet absolution. "So it ends here,"
he muttered.
"No," Larinda persisted, then turned again to Doom. "My
grandfather used to tell me stories of a great healer within the Zefiro. A man
who tended all men and all creatures with the same kindness and respect he
showed to his Zefiro kin. He was compassionate to a fault, dedicated to his
craft and mindful that his talents were bestowed upon him by the gods
themselves. He denied his gift to no man or child based on their race or their
clan. Even when his healing arts cost him his own life, his thoughts were for
nothing but the welfare of his fellow man. You know of whom I speak. His name
was Werner Von Doom!"
Doom glared angrily at the small woman, displaying a horrific visage in that
cold mask that could freeze the blood of brave men. "I am not the man my
father was," he intoned sharply. "I have forged my own way, a path
far from that ever dreamed by my father in his time. Use his name thus at your
peril, Seer! Dare not speak it against me again!"
Larinda was silent for a moment, gathering her courage under the blistering
attack of this formidable monarch. "You seek only the Zefiro?" she
began quietly.
"Yes."
"Why?"
"That is no concern of yours. Suffice it to say that they have something
which I need."
"I can find them for you."
"What? How do you even know that they live?"
"I have seen them, in my dreams."
"When?"
"Recently. It seems that they have escaped the attack of the spiders, as
did we."
"Where are they? Tell me now!"
"No."
"You dare, woman!" Doom ripped the IV needle from his arm and jumped
from the bed, showing no sign of the pain that effort cost him. "You try
my patience old woman! If you have seen the Zefiro, you will share that
information with me now!"
Larinda held her ground. "We will make a bargain. You will save the
gypsies here, leading them to safety. When that is done, I will share the
visions I have had with you." Larinda stared up at the mask that towered
above her fearlessly.
"I could make your life miserable, Seer," Doom announced coldly.
"I am not without my own power. It would be unwise to toy with me."
"Oh, I believe you truly," Larinda answered calmly. "But I am an
old woman, with many years on my heart, and much loss." Larinda clasped
her breast melodramatically and sighed heavily. "I have little left to
lose, except my life. And if I were to die, my visions would die with me."
Doom leaned against the bedpost behind him thoughtfully, the slight trace of a
smile crossing his lips unseen beneath his iron mask. "I see. It seems
that the gypsies of this time lack not in either guile or bravery. What makes
you think you can trust me?"
"The Doom of legend was known to be an honorable man," Larinda
praised quietly. "I trust it to be so still."
"Very well, you have your bargain," Doom announced. "But trust
this also: the Doom of legend was not to be crossed. That holds true for this
Doom as well."
Larinda smiled in quiet acceptance, and bowed respectfully as she turned to
leave. As she did, Jake again rushed past her in the doorway.
"Master, I found a computer!" Jake approached Doom and dropped a
computer in his hands. It was a small keyboard, with a flip-up monitor, no
bigger than a notepad.
Doom eyed it with undisguised contempt. "Try to find something larger,
boy," was all he said as he dropped the computer in the wastebasket beside
him.
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Within hours, he did indeed have something larger. Jake had marshaled all of the
gypsy children to scour the crumbling buildings of the Hidden City, and every
intact system within a kilometer had been carried, carted or dragged to the
doorway of the little stucco house that the elders had converted into their
central headquarters. Several hours later, Doom had constructed a diagnostic
apparatus that filled an entire room, with cables and wiring strung in seeming
random order from one system to another. It was ugly, but it was suitable for
his needs. Connecting his armor systems to this ungodly array, he began the
tedious chore of repairing his systems as he searched for the nanites that were
crucial to its function. Jake and his friends Lukas and Goran assisted him,
checking monitors and making critical adjustments.
Marissa stood at the doorway to the cramped room, leaning quietly against the
jam as Doom appeared bound by living cables in the center of the room. She was
alternately concerned by the seriousness of the Master's condition, and
entranced by his magical inventiveness and irrepressible presence. She watched
in entranced fascination, and did not say a word.
"This prog is skragged, Master," Jake was saying, "it looks like
a total rewrite."
"Not an essential system," Doom answered, guiding himself through his
armor's internal programs with a separate part of his consciousness. "Move
on to the next site."
Gavriil squeezed carefully into the room, took one quick look around and said,
"Harumph," as he jammed his ever present pipe back into his mouth.
"You wanted to see me, Lord Doom?"
"Yes, Uriel informed me that you used an anti-viral medicine on his
infection," Doom asked, continuing to adjust the hardware that surrounded
him. "Tell me about it."
"Found it on accident really," Gavriil explained. "Once we
figured the infections we were seeing weren't a result of the necrovirus. Not
quite a simple infection, but treatable. The wave spiders don't actually carry
the necrovirus, they're just immune to it. Once they depleted the supply they
carried for the attack, they did not produce anymore. Their skeletons however
are contaminated with other alien viral agents. Any kind of cut from the
spiders caused a nasty infection, lethal in a couple of cases. Once we
developed a serum, recovery was complete."
"Get me a sample of that serum," Doom commanded, "together with
the information stored in my armor it may prove useful." Gavriil nodded
and left the room.
"Master, I've found something . . ." Jake interrupted.
Marissa felt her heart skip a beat at Jake's hopeful tone. She held her breath.
There was silence as Doom scanned the system. "That's it," he said
unemotionally, "begin self-repair and multiplication protocols. Transfer
nanites into motor systems. Weapons and defense systems prepare for
back-up."
There was a sudden burst of noise, voices raised in agitation from the outer
room. Marissa moved aside as someone else moved past the doorway into the room.
It was Tobias, the patrol commander, who now stepped into the room. "Lord
Doom," he stated, "we're surrounded."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
From the highest access point on the crystal dome above the Hidden City, Doom
and a handful of gypsy soldiers stared out across the desolate sands. They
stood upon a rickety scaffold, erected on the roof of a thirty-story building
that reached all but a few feet from the top of the two meter thick, glass-like
shield above the city. From a hole large enough for only two people to stand
inside of at the same time, they appeared to poke their heads out of the sand,
but their vantage point was high enough to scan the horizon for miles around.
The morning mist was just beginning to lift from the sands, but the dilemma
before them was clear. Hundreds if not thousands of Crow warriors were gathered
in a milling, chanting circle that extended for miles all around the sand
shrouded dome. Their circle was tightening as the gypsies watched, moving ever
closer to the Hidden City. And as it moved closer, the chanting and dancing of
the warrior Crow grew even more frenzied. Having seen enough, Doom ducked back
down into the breach. Jake and the other gypsies that were standing out on the
sand quickly followed.
Once down from the scaffold, Doom addressed Tobias. "How many openings in
the dome have you found?"
"A dozen so far, but there may be more" Tobias answered. "Two
are large enough for the trucks, and at least one is inaccessible from above
without a rope."
"Leave the east gate open, and one other as a back door. Seal all of the
rest that you can, and place an armed guard at the remainder," Doom
ordered as he looked out at the remains of the underground city. The newly
recovered nanites had restored his mobility, and they were replicating rapidly
within a self-healing program. Only time would tell now as to how long it would
take for his weapons and defense systems to return to full capacity.
"Every man, woman and child that can shoot straight should be armed."
"Master, we can't use laser weapons inside the dome," Jake answered
for Tobias. "The surface is too reflective."
Doom nodded in acknowledgment. "We'll use the plasma guns inside, but
there are only a few replacement ammo packs so use them sparingly. Distribute
the remainder of the weaponry accordingly. Concentrate your main forces at the
east gate, and stay there till I give the order to retreat."
"Retreat? To where?" Tobias hid his anger, mindful of the
consequences that befell anyone who questioned the word and the will of Doom.
"I'll worry about that." Doom looked across the city one more time.
There was something that he recognized about this place, something from the
past, but the picture had been altered so much that he couldn't place it.
Confident that it would come to him when the time was right, he turned to go.
"Master," Jake asked quietly when they were alone on the steps,
"do you think we can survive?"
"If the Fates allow it, son," was Doom's cold reply as he made his
way down from the roof of the lifeless building.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
They had little time to prepare, but the gypsies scurried about the city with
the seriousness of their situation well in mind. The western edge of the city
was considered to be the safest, and so the young children and the elderly and
weak gathered there. Marissa was there too, and though she had resisted it,
Jake had insisted that she take his rifle. So armed, but not sure that she was
ready to fight, she had vowed to protect Larinda and the children. All around
her the people were tense and agitated, but the worldly elder of the clans
seemed unshakable in the face of this imminent tragedy. Larinda sat calmly with
the children, telling them stories of the gypsy clans as if this was nothing
but another outing in the park. Besides Marissa, only one other armed man,
Jake's friend Goran, was selected to protect their little group. She looked
warily at the covered sky above them, and she wondered if that would be enough.
She said a small prayer for Jake, who was somewhere near the east gate,
fighting alongside the other soldiers. Then she wondered what Doom was doing.
To the gypsies huddled in the darkness, the most frightening thing was the
deep, rhythmic pounding. The Crow had found the crystal dome, and were banging
against the hard surface with hammers and poles and any other weapon they
carried. Some of the gypsies gathered near the surface of the crystal could see
the hammer blows connecting through the glass where the sand had been swept
away. Thousands of bare feet hammered against the exterior, but the walls that
had stood a century unbroken held firm against this first tide. Then, the
methodical advance of the Crow discovered the holes.
As the Crow warriors dropped through the openings into the city, their painted
faces blistered with rage and madness, the gypsies did what they could to
prevent them from going any further. A hail of bullets and plasma fire greeted
each warrior that fell or crawled through the glass. A fatal fall of 100
hundred meters greeted some two dozen others, before the warriors above began
to avoid that particular entrance. At the east gate, the dead bodies that
littered the entrance formed a putrid pile that began to serve the following
warriors as a gruesome barricade from which to hurl stones and arrows and minor
magic spells at the defending gypsies. It was from this open gate in the sand
that the gypsies first saw the wave spiders.
A massive armada of airborne spiders descended from the clouds above onto the
conflagration in the sand like demons from hell. Their alien bodies blackened
the sky like the night. Their unearthly screeches deafened the sounds of war.
Whatever their original purpose, the melee of men below them overwhelmed and
enticed the flying spiders, for here was a chance at last to feed! Rocket-like
descents upon the Crow warriors ended with bodies skewered like so much meat
onto bony talons. Diving and rising into the air, they swooped and slaughtered
the Crow warriors in a bloody, boiling feeding frenzy. The gypsy fighters at the
east gate did not shrink back from this attack despite their terror, and they
met the wave spiders with an impenetrable defense whenever they flew near. The
laser weapons had little effect on that thick armor, but it must have stung a
little, for the spiders quickly retreated to easier pickings outside. For a
moment it seemed that the tide had turned in the gypsy's favor. Then the
unthinkable happened.
It was Marissa who saw the first one, crouched behind a low wall in the
distance and making unearthly sounds. She approached him slowly from behind,
still some distance away, and raised the rifle. His bare back and bony arms
marked him as one of the Crow with certainty, but she did not fire right away.
She was scared, but curious. "What is he doing?" she thought
absently. Then as if he had heard her thought, he lifted his head. He had
killed a small animal, one of the goats, and was eating the beast raw. He was
covered in blood, and beneath that repulsive mask the skin around his eyes was
painted with a startling white design. To Marissa, he looked like a beast from
hell, and she was momentarily petrified, but as the warrior turned to charge
her she instinctively pulled the trigger of her rifle. Her aim was off , and
the beast continued his murderous advance. Then Goran was beside her, alerted
by the sharp report of the weapon, and he did not miss. Shivering with a sudden
chill as she watched the dead man fall, she could not shake a frightening sense
of foreboding. Then they saw a massive flood of Crow warriors, brandishing
weapons and racing toward them from some unseen break in the walls behind them.
There were too many!
"Larinda! Gather the children!" Marissa screamed as she headed for
their hiding place. "Move now! Into the tunnels!"
Marissa stopped only to turn back and fire into the onrushing crowd, uncertain
of the effectiveness of her efforts. Her companion also fired relentlessly into
the maddened hoard, but even those warriors struck by their bullets seemed to
continue to surge forward. They were forced back, retreating from one wall to
the next. She glanced over her shoulder. The last of the children were
disappearing behind a distant bend in the tunnels. When she looked forward
again, it was to see Goran suddenly overwhelmed by a crush of Crow warriors. In
an instant he was dead, his body torn apart by the bloodthirsty raiders. Then
they were turning to her. She cocked her weapon, but the chamber was jammed.
She backed into a wall as one of the warriors rushed her. She fell backwards,
and as she did the weapon fired. The powerful gun took off the head of the man
that had stood before her alive a moment ago. She could feel the bile rising
suddenly in her throat. She turned her head away, closing her eyes as she cast
aside the gun.
Something big stepped over her on the ground, but she did not feel the stab of
weapons onto her flesh. When she looked up, she saw a green cape floating above
her and gleaming metal gloves. Doom propelled the attacking Crow warriors into
a sudden retreat with concussive blasts from his gauntlets. The invaders were
forced back into the streets. In a fleeting moment of reprieve, he glanced down
to her.
"Get up, girl," he ordered curtly. "Gather your weapon and get
back with the others."
"I didn't want, I didn't mean to kill him," she stammered
breathlessly, still shaking.
"Take it," he ordered again, forcing the gun into her hands,
"use it. They will not hesitate to kill you, and you must protect the
others! You are a soldier now!"
Silently, Marissa did as she was told, grabbing her weapon and quickly
disappearing into the dark tunnel. She looked back as a fresh swarm of warriors
piled onto Doom. As she rounded a corner, she saw that he too, was being forced
back.
Then, as she entered a large room, she recognized the tunnel they were in.
"No, it's a dead end!" She searched for Larinda among the elder
gypsies. "Larinda we have to go back, this one is a dead end!" But it
was too late for that, as the battle was forcing Doom back into the tunnels.
"Keep moving!" Marissa cried, urging the gypsies further down into
the tunnel.
The underground tunnel was tight quarters for Doom, with the smooth crystal
wall on one side. The Crow warriors were relentless, and they continued to
press him backwards through the sheer weight of their numbers. He kept his
laser weapons quiet, monitoring the recovery of his weapon's systems carefully
as he fought, and kept his senses on the alert for signs of magic. The close
quarters were not suited to this strenuous physical combat, and if his weakened
condition affected him at all, he gave no sign to the Crow, answering their
vicious attacks with his own brand of viciousness.
Then Doom sensed that he was backing into an open space, a courtyard of some
kind. The floor had changed from sand to clay tiles, and there was a fountain
shoved up against the glass wall with a basin and a statue. And out of the
corner of his eyes he saw the gypsy elders and children, trembling behind a low
stone wall, trapped. And before him were the red eyed warriors, maddened by the
smell of blood, feverish from the drugs they consumed, tenacious and uncaring
in their attack. Even though they were bleeding or half dead, they continued to
fight and to pursue him, as if this was all that life meant to them. They swarmed
upon him, attacking from all sides now, attempting to pull him down.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Meanwhile, in the main courtyard of the city, a new evil was threatening the
gypsies. The wave spiders had found their focus, and momentarily forgetting the
Crow, they had begun to attack the Hidden City itself. From bellies designed
for horrible functions, soldier spiders spewed acidic blasts of liquid energy
onto the crystal dome. Where the hands and feet and weapons of man had failed,
the bellies of the alien monsters succeeded. Huge holes were torn through the
glass shield, and the spiders flew into the breach with impunity, waving deadly
talons at the gypsy soldiers that were forced to retreat to the cover of
buildings under this new assault. Tobias was forced to abandon their post at
the east gate, now besieged from within as well as without. He gathered his
soldiers and headed with extreme haste toward their fall back position, leaving
the east gate unprotected.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
In the chamber at the end of the tunnel, Doom no longer would suffer the attack
of any man. He stretched himself to his full and intimidating 2 meter height,
and with an untamed roar of outrage he lifted the warriors from his back and
smashed their bodies against the cave walls. Restraining himself no more, he
began to show them what brutality was truly all about. He cut into them with
all the fury and anger he carried inside him, the frustration of his defeat at
the hand of Herod, the pain at the loss of his countrymen, the fall from
presidency to forced exile, all bubbled up to the surface in a seething wave of
explosive rage. He pummeled their flesh with fist and foot and all of the fiery
power within his armor. Bodies once whole were ripped in two by the projection
of an invisible force field. Arms and legs and necks were crushed within the
grip of his armored hands. Skin was burned by a blistering fire from his
gauntlets. Backs were broken under his heavy boots. And when the weapons in his
armor no longer responded to his commands, he picked up a massive sledgehammer
once carried by the enemy, and swung it like a club into any man who came
within range. His red eyes glowed with fierce energy, and no one could halt his
bloody rampage. When the last Crow warrior was finally brought down at his
feet, he continued to hammer furiously at the quivering body until it was
nothing but a bloody mass of unyielding flesh.
Eyes reddened and glowing with unearthly hatred, his tattered breath whistling
heavily through his mask, knee deep in the gore of his own creation, Doom stood
still at last. His eyes scanned the room, hammer at the ready, heart beating
through his chest in a pounding rhythm. There were no Crow left alive, all dead
or retreated back into the bowels of the covered city. He felt exhilarated, and
vindicated for but a moment, as the blood bursting in his veins echoed loudly
in his ears. Then he saw the children, the elders, and Marissa, gathered in
their hiding place behind the low wall. Their faces reflected not a joyous
deliverance, but fear. They were hushed into frightened silence, afraid of the
bloody specter before them who had displayed a savagery that they had never
before and would never again witness first hand. And they were afraid of him.
He still held the sledgehammer as he approached them, and several of the
children screamed. But he did not listen. Instead, he was listening to
something else, a rhythmic pumping that he had first thought was his own blood.
He approached the wall where the brown algae had discolored the crystal. There
was nothing visible through that dark and impenetrable glass, but he stared at
it intently for a moment before he placed a hand gently upon the surface.
Kicking aside the little fountain, the simple bronze sculpture of the dancing
boy fell to the ground with a quiet crash. Then he stepped back, and lifted the
sledge hammer up anew. Some of the children screamed once again. He ignored
them, and brought the hammer down upon the glass in a fearsome and mighty blow.
The gypsies cowered and shrank back behind the stone wall, closing their eyes
and covering their ears. Their bloody and battered leader pounded over and over
onto that unyielding surface with no apparent reason, the sound deafening in
its singular fury. Then, when the gypsies were finally sure that the Master had
fully lost his senses, there was a different sound, a mighty crack that echoed
through the cramped cave. The sledgehammer came down again, and the crack
turned into many cracks. With all of the power left to him to command, Doom
brought the hammer down one last time onto the weakened surface, and the crack
was replaced by the musical chime of a thousand shards of glass shattering
before him. And the glass was followed by a mountainous spray of water, and the
rush of water carried away the glass and debris into the widening breach before
him. Wearily he dropped the hammer at last onto the cave floor and stepped into
the fountain of water.
Doom stood in the opening he had created and looked beyond it onto an enormous
crystal cave that stretched for miles before him. Openings high above brought
scattered light that was reflected and enhanced by the massive crystals growing
in a wide clear pool. Beyond the pool, a deep, tranquil river cut through the
rough granite walls, disappearing far in the distance.
Marissa and some of the others slowly approached to peer over their monarch's
shoulder into the wondrous space he had uncovered. The cool water had washed
over him in a gentle shower, cleaning off the blood and grime so that his armor
fairly glistened in the refracted light of the cave. Still, he was no longer
the angel of deliverance that Marissa had once thought him to be, and she
respectfully kept her distance.
"I recognize this place," Doom stated quietly. He mused over that
memory for only a moment. "The river cuts through the mountains from
below. I have traveled it once before, with the Atlanteans. Gather the people,
quickly " he ordered, "you will find that the river will afford you
safe passage to the sea."
Before anyone could answer, there was another scream in the chamber behind
them. Marissa and Doom turned back as one, to see that one of the Crow warriors
had survived his attack. The wild man had leaped up out of the pile of bodies
and fallen upon Larinda, brandishing a long knife in one hand. There was blood
on that sharp blade, and the old woman collapsed. Marissa was faster by only a
fraction, and recognizing that fact, Doom held his own weapons in check. This
bullet was true, and the warrior fell back dead. Marissa lowered the rifle
slowly from her eyes, staring blankly into space. Then she dropped the weapon
and rushed to where Larinda had fallen.
The old woman was dying, and she knew it. She allowed Marissa to cradle her
head, and the young girl's eyes overflowed with tears. "Shhhh, be strong,
my child," Larinda whispered gently. "You must take the people
home."
"Please don't die," Marissa cried, choking on her sobs. "What
will we do without you?"
"You will carry on," the old woman promised, "as I did for those
who came before me."
Doom walked over to stand beside them. He assessed the situation quickly, but
said nothing.
"You have fulfilled your end of our bargain," Larinda told him,
coughing painfully for a moment. "The waterfall leads to the sea?"
"Yes," Doom replied evenly. "Your clans will be safe, thanks to
you."
"And to you. And the Zefiro . . ." She was quiet again, eyes closed
and her weathered face grimaced for a moment in pain. Doom knelt down and felt
for the pulse at her wrist. Suddenly the hand he held gripped his own tightly,
her eyes opened again. "The Zefiro are waiting for you still," her
voice was a whisper barely discernable above the roar of the water.
"Where?" he asked urgently. Doom knelt closer to make out her quiet
reply.
"They will find you," were the last words she ever spoke. Her eyes
were quiet, and Marissa's tears bathed her now peaceful face.
Doom stood again, and placed a hand upon the girl's shoulder. "Save your
tears, child," he said softly. "There is work still to do." He
turned away quickly and strode with purpose from the room, leaving Marissa to
swallow her anger and sorrow alone in the cold dark cave.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
From the now unguarded east gate, swarms of patrols from the Collective
Guardsmen closed in with military precision on the gypsies' hideout. Signs and
sounds of battle could be heard in the darkened ruins in the distance ahead of
them. Slowly they made their way through the streets, keeping weapons at the
ready. They passed numerous fires burning unchecked throughout the underground
complex. Securing one building after another, they radioed back to their
command post to report on their findings. There were hundreds of bodies, some
gypsy, mostly Crow, and a few dead wave spiders littering the scene in a grisly
display, but no sign of Doom as yet. Grimly, the troops moved on.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Tobias and his squad were among the last to leave. Avoiding both the rampaging
wave spiders and swarms of crow warriors, they had scavenged dozens of small boats,
inflatable rafts, and just about anything that would float and hauled them into
the distant cave at the western part of the city. What few belongings remained
to the gypsies were quickly strapped down, and thrown into the breach. A short
drop from the waterfall into the deep pool, and the gypsies climbed onto their
rafts for a gentle float they were assured were take them to the sea. Even the
animals that they had saved swam placidly behind them, tethered safely to their
boats. Far down the crystal river, the first wave of gypsy boats had already
disappeared from view. The sounds of battle from the cave faded into the
distance.
Tobias continued to lay down plasma fire onto the remaining Crow warriors that
now skulked before him in the dark buildings. Lacking now in numbers, they no
longer attacked, and kept their distance from the gypsy's fortified bunker.
From a position beside him, Doom targeted the flying wave spiders, firing
strange capsules from a gun he had constructed. The capsules appeared innocuous
at first, but they exploded on contact with the spider's armor, bathing the
alien creatures in a green vapor. Disoriented and weakened, the spiders crashed
against the walls of the city, some falling dead instantly, others
instinctively retreating from the battlefield to escape the dome and fly back
to their nests. "Insecticide," Doom had called it when asked by the
gypsy commander, "a kind of viral poison." Doom had guaranteed him
that the poison would be taken back to their nests in Latveria, to be spread
among their population.
"I'll believe it when I see it," Tobias had thought to himself,
scoffing at Doom's arrogance. Still, thanks to the Master's planning and
uncanny luck they had survived thus far with only minor casualties. Now it
appeared that their evacuation of the city had also been completed without a
hitch.
"We're ready, commander," Jake yelled above the sound of battle.
"The last are in the tunnel."
"Doom!" Tobias yelled. "We're leaving!"
Doom continued to target the few remaining spiders, making sure he used the
last of his carefully concocted potion on this hated enemy. He was about ready
to leave when a terrific explosion rocked the city.
"What the shock . . . ?" Tobias stated.
Doom turned in the direction of the noise. "The Guardsmen," Doom
stated assuredly. He turned to the remaining fighters. "Take your men, get
out as quickly as you can. You have 20 minutes."
"Master, what about you?" Jake asked worriedly.
"I will cover your retreat, destroy the tunnel so that the Guardsmen will
not follow. Hurry! Do as I say!"
"All right, pack it in men," Tobias ordered sharply. He hustled his
men into the tunnel, pausing only to look back at Doom, who marched into the
open street behind them with bold impunity.
In the final chamber, Marissa still sat with the body of Larinda, covered now
in a quilted blanket. Her eyes were dry, but her face betrayed her pain.
"I don't want to leave her," she told Gavriil sadly.
The old man reached into a pocket and placed a golden pendant in Marissa's
hand. "She wanted you to have this," he said quietly. "We have
to leave now, but you must remember her always as she was."
Jake rushed in from the tunnel, and seeing Marissa still there, urgently
grabbed her by the arm. "We have to go," he told her. "Now,
Marissa!"
"But . . ."
Jake smothered her unspoken protest with his actions. He pulled her up and
pushed her toward the opening. They stepped together through the gentle
waterfall and jumped into the deep pool. Jake swam strongly to the waiting
boat, and pulled Marissa up behind him. The last of the soldiers and Gavriil
followed close behind. Marissa looked expectantly back at the waterfall as they
floated away and down the river.
"What about Doom?" she asked Jake.
Jake shook his head. "He's not coming," was all he said, as he too
looked back upon the now receding crystal pool.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
In the large central park of the Hidden City, the CG soldiers were launching
mega mortars at the decades-old buildings, callously bringing down any
potential hiding place for the Crow or the gypsies. Out of the billowing haze
of smoke and debris brought on by their wanton destruction, a single figure
walked calmly toward the huddled soldiers. His green cape floated majestically
behind him. His eyes burned through the Lieutenant of the guard with cruel
contempt. He marched directly at them, unafraid and unarmed, his disdain boldly
apparent. He stopped a few meters away, facing the patrol fearlessly.
"I have heard that the Guardsmen wanted to see me," he shouted to
them arrogantly. "Well, here I am. Do your worst, fools!"
The Lieutenant brought his laser gun to the ready, drawing a neat beam on the
armored madman before him. He paused for a moment, wondering why Doom appeared
to do nothing to stop them, then ordered his men: "Fire!"
Thirty-one soldiers fired at once onto the motionless monarch, and thirty- one
beams of laser fire reflected harmlessly off of an invisible force field that
surrounded the armored man with a bubble of living energy. Well, not exactly
harmlessly. For once the beams deflected off of his force field, they then were
further reflected off of that glass ceiling. Once reflected off of the ceiling,
they traveled in ever scattering beams back to the courtyard below. The
Guardsmen looked up in frightened dismay, and then dove for cover as beams they
had fired returned to cut them to pieces. Some of the guardsmen, conditioned to
react to enemy fire, continued to fire upon their enemy, with worsening results
as Doom used his phasing power to float calmly above their position, still
shielded from their lasers. The Lieutenant dove behind a low wall, covering his
head, and looked up to realize his last mistake.
"The mortars!" he yelled, trying to catch someone's attention,
pointing at the box of explosives now unprotected in the center of the
courtyard. In the next instant, one of those scattering beams found the large
metal box, and a huge fire ball of flame rocked the center of the city, sending
shockwaves that crumbled walls and reduced the remains of the Hidden City to
dust. The cracked and damaged glass dome collapsed at last, and decades of
piled sand filled in the massive hole in a monstrous cave-in that would leave a
dust cloud above the area for months to come.
Floating down the crystal river, the gypsies heard and felt the shock waves
from that gigantic explosion, but the thick granite walls around them did not
fall. Marissa looked back again to the distant pool, but there was no sign of
Doom.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Epilogue:
He stepped off of the canal boat with his usual flair, walking easily onto the
deserted wet dock under the warm light of a full moon. The boat man pushed away
quickly, thankful to be rid of this dangerous fare, and poled his way slowly
back down the canal. From the dock, the tall man strode quickly up the steep
steps, stopping only once to scan the darkness for signs of danger. The perpetually
flooded streets of this ancient city were dark and empty, and the lights from
New Venice glowed with activity in the distance. He approached a darkened
building, one of only a few that survived the daily floods. It was an old
church, with bright stained glass windows and deeply scarred wooden doors. He
used the rapper, then waited impatiently for the curator as he shook the dust
from his emerald green cape.
The massive doors were unlocked, and the curator appeared in the opening, still
wearing his bed clothes. He peeked from the light into the darkness and caught
the flash of silvery armor. "Ah!" the old man spoke with surprise.
"Come in!" he whispered urgently, opening the doors wide enough for
the stranger to enter. "Welcome to Venice, Master!"
"Return to your bed, Vittorio," Doom intoned deeply. "You did
not see me."
"Yes Master," and Vittorio dutifully closed and locked the large
doors behind him, gathering his light to move slowly up the stairs to his
chamber without so much as a backwards glance.
Doom marched directly through the center of the old church to the altar.
Pressing a secret control in the dark paneling behind the altar, he opened a
concealed door. The doorway led into a short passage to another set of stairs,
these leading down into the depths far below the ancient church. Stepping into
the concrete vault at the bottom of the stairs, he activated the power,
lighting the room and revealing banks of sophisticated electronic equipment. He
moved quickly toward a glowing platform, and his hands flew with practiced ease
over the controls. When he stepped onto the platform, a beam of energy passed
through him. When the beam had completed its sophisticated traverse, the
armored form that had stood there was gone. In moments, the computerized
controls for the room automatically closed the doors and turned off the power,
plunging the room and all of its wondrous secrets once more into darkness.
THE END
"If a man does not keep pace
with his companions,
perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer.
Let him step to the music which he hears,
however measured or far away."
Henry
David Thoreau
"Walden"
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