torg 01 - Storm Knights (4 page)

"Our own cosm is just one of a multitude of dimensions that, together, form what I refer to as the cosmverse. As our own universe contains the whole of our reality, the cosmverse contains the whole of all realities. And what is possible here, using our laws of science, might not be possible in another cosm, where a completely different set of laws govern the workings of their world."

Mara adjusted the clarity of the input, reflexively checking the cable that led from her skull jack to the main terminal. Oh, they were impressed when the prodigy graduated from college at age ten. They clapped ceaselessly when she received a Ph.D. in physics at age twelve. And they almost wet themselves with joy when the child genius received her second Ph.D — this one in microengineering — one year later. But when their prodigy, their trained seal, proposed something real, something that shook the status quo, they simply dismissed her.

"My findings also suggest that these cosms can be connected, allowing us to travel to another dimension for exploration, to make contact, whatever we deem appropriate. But there is a flipside to my findings. As we can travel to another cosm, the inhabitants of another cosm can travel here, to our reality."

The young woman unplugged herself from the terminal and took a deep breath. She had examined her research records backwards and forwards, over and over again. Always her conclusion was the same. The invasion had been her fault. She was to blame for all the death and destruction, and it was about to happen again.

10

In the early hours just prior to dawn, Christopher Bryce found himself walking toward the familiar skyline across the water. He had made good progress throughout the night, as most of the monsters were resting. He passed close to their make-shift camps, but few stirred. A few times he heard things shambling around in the dark, just out of sight. He kept walking when such sounds assaulted him, moving forward with hardly a glance back.

But as the dark sky began to brighten toward gray, more and more of the creatures started to become active again. What was worse, the closer he got to the 59th

Street Bridge, the more of the lizard men he encountered. They were migrating across the bridge, and he was sure he would never make it to the other side through that unending mass.

There might be another way, however, Bryce thought. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a fist full of change.

"I even have a token," the priest said softly. He chuckled as he stepped down into the darkness of the subway station.

There were no lights in the underground facility, so Bryce had to go slowly. He felt his way along the tiled wall with one hand; the other held fast to his mass kit. Since there was no electricity, he reasoned, the tracks should be safe to navigate. If he didn't step wrong and twist an ankle. If he didn't meet up with any of the dinosaurs. If he didn't run into a mugger. He laughed again, and immediately regretted the loud outburst.

Bryce paused to listen, but he heard nothing near by. There were far away echoes, but those sounds could be anything, coming from above or below ground. After another moment of rest, Bryce pressed on into the darkness. At least it wasn't raining down here, the priest thought.

He made his way slowly to the token booth and took a few deep breaths. It smelled of decade-old sweat and urine in the confines of the subway station, and the smell made Bryce gag. He suppressed a coughing fit, settled himself, then searched for the turnstile.

"Never let it be said that Christopher Bryce doesn't pay his own way," the priest said as he deposited the token into its slot. "Now, there should be another staircase around here somewhere."

He found the stairs and descended further into the depths of the subway system. One, two, three, he counted as he carefully placed one foot upon a step, then another. Eight, nine, ten. There should only be a few more, he thought. But as he stepped down, something jutted out and caught his leg. Bryce stumbled, flailing into the darkness.

The priest landed hard, but he fell only a few feet. Before he could get to his feet, however, a cold object was pressed to his neck while a thin, sinewy arm wrapped around his chest.

"What're ya doing down here, man?" a young voice asked him. "Don't you know this is our turf?"

"I'm sorry," Bryce said carefully, "but it isn't safe above ground right now.

"Ain't that the truth, huh Coyote?" a second voice called out of the dark.

"Be quiet, Rat," answered the first voice. "Let's have some light."

A torch flared to life, illuminating a small section of the platform. Holding a baseball bat with burning rags wrapped around its top was a small teenager. He might have been all of fourteen, dressed in denim and sneakers. The older youth, perhaps sixteen years of age, stepped back from Bryce, but he kept his switchblade drawn. He was dressed in a similar fashion to the younger boy he called Rat, but he wore more leather.

"What's in the bag, man?" Coyote asked as he reached for the fallen mass kit. "You a doctor or something, man?"

"Please, I need that," Bryce protested. He reached for the black bag as well, his coat falling open as he moved.

"Holy shit, Coyote," Rat blurted, "the guy's a priest!"

Coyote's open hand slashed out, slapping Rat across

the cheek. "I told you to watch your language, didn't I ?"

Bryce stepped forward, but Coyote's blade shot up. The priest stopped, watching the fire light glint off the sharpened steel.

"Are you a priest, man? Are you?

Bryce nodded. "Yes. My name is Christopher Bryce."

"Father Bryce, huh? Tell us, Father Bryce, is this the end of the world? Is this like Apoklips Now?"

"Apocalypse. It's pronounced Apocalypse. And I don't know what's happening."

"Where ya going, Father. Where ya trying to get to?"

"To Penn Station. From there I'll try to get through the Lincoln Tunnel and over into Jersey. Maybe the lizard men haven't gotten that far. Maybe the army has contained them to Manhattan and Queens."

Rat, still rubbing his cheek, looked up at the older teen. "He'll never find his way by himself." He said the words softly, but his eyes never left Coyote.

"What are you looking at?" Coyote asked, shuffling beneath the younger boy's gaze.

"Are we gonna help the Father, Coyote? Are we?"

There was silence, and Bryce could almost see the thought processes playing across Coyote's face. Were they alone and desperate enough to latch on to a troubled man of the cloth? The teen cleared his throat.

"Yeah, Rat, we're gonna help him," Coyote said, tossing the black bag to the priest. He snapped his switchblade shut.

11

As the sky turned from black to gray, Baruk Kaah rose to greet the new day. What sensations he and his people had experienced already, and the conquest was but one day old! Oh, Lanala would be pleased!

The great lizard man stretched to his full height, working out the kinks of sleep. He surveyed the surrounding camp and watched for a moment as his followers did the same. They are all true Jakatts, my people, worshippers of the Goddess Lanala, Baruk Kaah thought. And how the tribes had grown! There were many of this world's children among his numbers this day. They, like so many others his Holy Jihad had encountered, had come out of their dead existence to embrace the Life that he championed as the First Loved of Lanala.

Baruk Kaah watched the stalenger approach from the corner of his large round eye. It was from another world, a convert to the Life that the Jakatts preached.

The star-shaped creature glided silently upon five swept-back arms, spinning gently in the morning air. Its translucent membrane was dark in color, a deep blue-black that reflected its mood. Its news must be grim indeed, thought the lizard man, for it to be so dark. He let the stalenger swoop closer, then let it hover anxiously for a few moments more before he turned to address his servant.

"What news do you bring me," the lizard man asked.

The stalenger uncoiled long, thin tentacles from pouches located on its underside. The tentacles snaked out and gently touched Baruk Kaah's scaled head. It used the tentacles to play a combination of vibrations, rubs and taps upon the scales. In this way it communicated to the lizard man, explaining that emissaries of the Torg had arrived.

The lizard man turned away from the stalenger and strained his neck to see over the crowd. He didn't need to. Standing beside him were three tall beings. Each had a small head atop a long neck, a broad, powerful chest, and long, thin legs. Wings folded around each like dark cloaks, and sharp, pointed teeth jutted from long snouts. But Baruk Kaah was struck by their eyes. They had black, intelligent eyes that hinted of cruelty and worse. The lizard man liked those eyes.

"The Torg sends his welcome, Baruk Kaah, High Lord of the Jakatts and Saar of the Edeinos," said the first of the ravagons.

"He is impressed with the power of your reality and extends his wishes for a successful campaign," added the second.

The third simply stood and watched, his black eyes fixed upon the lizard man.

The High Lord's tail twitched nervously, and he fought to control its movements in front of these outsiders. The Torg, they said. These emissaries claimed to represent a being that did not — and could not — exist.

"The Torg ...?," Baruk Kaah began, but the first ravagon silenced him with a glance.

"Do you deny our master's claim? Do you reject the power of Lord Bryon Salisbury, the Gaunt Man?"

His great tail twitched faster as Baruk Kaah tried to think. He was all-powerful in this reality and could dispatch the ravagons with ease. But he needed the Gaunt Man's power and expertise almost as much as he feared him. His own power was nothing beside the Gaunt Man's, his experience as that of a hatchling to a full-grown warrior. Against such might, even the great Baruk Kaah must bend.

The High Lord of the Jakatts bowed his scaled head. "I . accept the Gaunt Man's claim."

"Very good," sneered the second ravagon. "We have been ordered to attend to your wishes as servants until such time as the Torg calls us back. Until then, our strength is at your disposal."

Baruk Kaah nodded his understanding. If these great demons were his to command, then he no longer needed to keep up the pretext of diplomacy. And besides, he had a realm to conquer. He climbed atop his faithful udatok, settling his bulk behind its one-horned head. He scanned his camp, which extended in all directions and back toward the maelstrom bridge in what was once Flushing Meadows. Yes, all was going as he planned. All was good. With the added power of three ravagons, he could not fail this raid. He let out a mighty roar, which his followers quickly emulated.

Baruk Kaah, Sarr of Takta Ker, leader of the edeinos, one of the seven trusted High Lords, opened his jaws wide and drank of the falling rain. Then he roared again.

"Onward, edeinos! For Lanala! For Baruk Kaah!"

The ravagons spread their wings and followed the frenzied crowd.

12

Mara checked herself in her lighted mirror. Her mane of silver hair was wild and untamed, in keeping with the current style among people her age. A painted black mask of makeup surrounded her eyes, and her black leather jumpsuit was tight and clinging. She might be a genius, but she was also a teenager.

She moved from her living cubicle into her lab area. Sitting at one of the engineering stations, Mara plugged into the ready computer and lowered her modified eye to the microscope. The data plate was in place, waiting to have more information compressed into its memory circuits.

She accessed a separate memory disk and watched as the coded information jumped from the disk to the data plate. As she watched, she remembered.

"I can't believe those disk errors in the General Council dismissed my findings, Alec," Mara said as she stormed around the apartment.

"Calm down, Mara," Dr. Kendal Alec-Four suggested, "with your enhancements you might break something."

"I want to break something. I want to pound into their heads the importance of my findings."

"Be fair, Mara. Right now all you have are calculations and theories. Yes, I've examined your research and I agree with your conclusions, but the Council won't take you seriously until you have some tangible proof."

"If it's proof they need, then I'll just have to prove it, won't I."

The coded entries continued to flow in a stream of magnetic data, writing themselves into the silver plate as Mara guided them with a skillful hand and computer-enhanced reflexes. She checked the flow of electrons, made a slight adjustment, then went back to her memories.

Mara shivered and halted the process. She ran her right hand through her silver mane, taking a moment to let the memories settle. She flexed the fingers of her left hand, listening to the leather gauntlet stretch as she tightened her fist. She held the gloved hand in front of her face, watching her fingers uncurl. Slowly, carefully, she peeled the gauntlet away. The hand beneath was metallic, shot through with wires and printed circuitry. With a thought, claws snapped from each finger, five sharp points that gleamed in the lab's bright lights.

Just one of Dr. Hachi Mara-Two's reminders of the war against the Sims. Reminders of what she did ...