Authors: Unknown
She
smiled insincerely and took her place at the foot of the table.
“You
have brought tribute for this summoning of the Board?” Beal asked.
It
took considerable effort on her part not to glance behind her. “Allow me to
present my cousin Urakabarameel.”
Uri
crossed on her left, taking care so his shadow did not fall upon her, still
showing her the proper respect. He set her laptop computer on the table, his
last act as her servant, and marched to Beal, who made a show of examining him.
“Very
well,” Beal said. “I accept him.”
Uri
lowered his head and moved behind Beal, standing on his left now.
Sealiah
had not imagined it would hurt so much seeing Uri next to her most hated enemy.
But it had to be done.
“I
hereby call this meeting of the Board of Directors to order,” Beal declared.
The
others laughed at his last words.
Beal
smirked and withdrew a solid, sensible German Korth .357 Magnum revolver and
fired three rounds through the ceiling.
This
amused them all even more.
Using
the pistol, he gestured at Sealiah. “You have summoned the Board. Tell us why.”
“I
shall show you.” She opened her laptop, linked to the conference room’s server,
and turned on the overhead projector. “This concerns two children.”
The
Board’s collective attention shifted to her computer files as she opened them.
She led them along the trail of bread crumbs Uri had uncovered looking for
Louis—the bad credit cards, the bankruptcy court transcripts, the lawyers, and
the trust fund. And then she opened the file containing the photographs of
Eliot and Fiona Post.
The
Board members immediately recognized the resemblance, having had the clues
hand-fed by Sealiah.
“Louis’s
progeny?!” Oz cried. “How is that possible?”
“We
all heard the rumors,” Sealiah said. “Him and one of the other family and their
Parisian tryst.”
This
was an old rumor, unsubstantiated as Louis had vanished almost sixteen years
ago . . . but to see proof staring them quite literally in the face was still
unnerving.
“The
questionable biological issues aside,” Ashmed said, “is it even legally
possible? We cannot touch them.”
“Unless
it was mutual,” Beal offered. “Has that ever happened before?”
The
Board was silent.
Sealiah
decided then to share all her information with the Board. Beal would have
extracted it from Uri anyway. She would save her cousin the trouble and
neutralize any advantage Beal would have gleaned over the others.
She
turned back to her laptop and tapped a command. Connecting lines and numeric
codes flashed over the children’s faces. “Interpol facial-recognition software
projects a seventy-three percent probability that these are his children,
although the issue of their mother remains open.”
“Then
they are ours,” Abby said, “to do with as we see fit.”
“Not
necessarily,” Ashmed countered. “If they are part Louis’s and part of the
others, then—”
“It’s
an easy call,” Lev interrupted. “We hunt down these half things and kill them.
If anything will bring Louis out of hiding, that will. We can have some sport.
Blood will spill.” He pounded a meaty fist on the table as he spoke. “I can rip
them into little—”
Abby
grabbed Beal’s .357 Magnum before he could stop her and shot Lev three times.
Lev
recoiled, gold links and medals exploding off his chest, and flopped onto the
table.
Abby
dropped the smoldering weapon. “Excessive violence is not always the answer,
old fool.”
Lev
struggled and rose, blood seeping through his white polyester jacket. He
brushed off the broken tangles of jewelry from his chest. “Then what,” he
snarled, “is the point of this gathering?”
“The
point is they could be part of our family and part of theirs,” Sealiah said.
She glanced at the images of Eliot and Fiona, thrilled how they looked so much
like Louis . . . and someone else.
“That
is a two-way street,” Abby said. “One with considerable risk for us.”
Oz
murmured, “But even if they are only part ours, shouldn’t they be brought in?
Who would stop us?”
“The
others may already be involved,” Sealiah said.
Uri
had followed the children home, only to spot the Messenger of the other family
waiting for them. So the others knew or at least suspected what the children
might be.
“It
is too rich an opportunity to ignore,” Beal said. “How long have we watched the
others prosper? Their League controls considerable assets that could be ours.
This may be our chance.”
Sealiah
knew when he said “ours” he meant “his.”
He
nonetheless made a valid point. The League controlled multinational
conglomerates, employed millions, subtly directed the politics of the United
Nations, and influenced—with bribes to policy makers and advertising to the
masses—the morals of billions. Assets most tempting. And something their
unorganized organization had never managed on such a scale.
“Ours
for the taking,” she said, “save an unbreakable neutrality treaty.”
“I
still say excision is our cleanest option,” Abby insisted. Her grasshopper
chittered in agreement.
“Well,
I say we test these two,” Oz replied, “and determine where they belong—with us
or the others.”
The
Board members tensed. This was as much discussion as they could tolerate. A
decision had to be made within the next breath, or violence would certainly
follow.
Ashmed
held up his hands. “There is only one civil way to decide our course.” He then
spread both hands over the stone table and two white cubes appeared. His stage
magic was as impressive as ever.
These
dice were two of a matched set of five called the Nagas of Dharma. They had
been carved in ancient times from the bones of a monstrous water serpent.
Etched onto the faces of each was a scrimshaw head-eating-tail snake, two
prancing dogs, three crossed scimitars, four stars, five hands (each making a
different rude gesture), and six ravens on the wing.
The
dice were legendary. They were tamperproof and renowned for being harbingers of
destiny, both good and ill, within the family.
“Unless
anyone has objections?” Ashmed asked.
No
one would object. None could. This was their way to avoid arguments, which
nearly always occurred, and to avoid the inevitable bloodshed after those
arguments.
This
family resolved their disputes in the time-honored fashion: by chance. God did
not play dice with the universe, but they did.18
18.
This common misquote originates in a letter from Albert Einstein to Max Born
wherein he writes, about quantum mechanics. “He (God) does not throw dice.”
This family, who have allegedly broken all ties with God, loathe Einstein’s
deterministic view of reality and instead embrace quantum mechanics and its
reliance upon randomness to predict the universe and their destiny. Gods of the
First and Twenty-first Century, Volume 13: Infernal Forces, 8th ed. (Zypheron Press
Ltd.).
Beal
opened his mouth as if to say something, but it was too late. There could be no
more debate once the dice were on the table. One either shut up and rolled or
drew blood.
Beal
gave a slight nod to Ashmed and said, “We will give equivalent weight to our
two possible actions.”
“Death,”
Abby said.
“Yes,”
Ashmed said, “death will be the odd result. But if they come up even, then we
shall test the two children. Should they survive, we will decide what to do
based on the results.”
“Test
them how?” Lev asked.
“The
usual way,” Beal replied. “We will tempt them. Three times. And they must
survive all three.”
“Oh,
yes,” Oz said, and clasped his hands together. “First, a girl for the boy.
Sealiah can provide one, I’m sure.”
Sealiah
bowed. “And for the girl’s temptation . . .” She looked at Beal. “Sweets?”
Beal
nodded in agreement. “Of course. Traditional ways are the best.”
The
manner in which the children embraced or resisted these temptations would
reveal their heritage. If they belonged to the other family, they would be
immune as the neutrality treaty would shield them. If they were part of this
family, however, they would turn temptation to their advantage. And if they
belong to neither, if they were ordinary . . . they would be destroyed.
“Then
all is agreed?” Ashmed scooped up the Nagas and moved to Sealiah. He stood over
her shoulder, so close she could smell him: cinnamon and desert sands, cigar
smoke and musk.
“As
you summoned us,” he told her, “the honor is yours.” He set the dice before
her.
Beal
frowned and his cloak of feathers ruffled but he was quiet.
Sealiah
picked up the dice and closed her fist about them. They were hard and radiated
a cold so intense they made her bones ache. She rattled them, more to hide her
shaking hand than anything else.
This
is what she had wanted, wasn’t it? It was the most strategically advantageous.
She had to bring in the entire family. Not only did it involve all of them, but
Sealiah required their help to face the might of the others. No one went to war
alone. She needed an entire row of pawns to shield her and, if necessary, be
sacrificed in her stead.
So
much was at stake. The two families had been balanced in neutrality for so long
. . . would either side even remember how to fight such a battle?
Sealiah
would.
She
threw the dice. They arced through the air, tumbled, symbols a blur—hit the
black table, bounced, rolled end over end, a jumble of snakes and fists, swords
and ravens.
Sealiah
held her breath and wished upon the stars twinkling on the Las Vegas Strip at
her feet.
The
Nagas of Dharma came to rest. Destiny was writ
16
TRUST
NO ONE
Eliot
followed Uncle Henry through his cavernous garage. It could have been an
exotic-car dealership. Among the rows of gleaming fenders and headlamps was a
green 1917 Buick Tourer, a Porsche 550 Spyder, and one very noncivilian version
Humvee.
Fiona
and Grandmother walked behind him. No one spoke.
The
parabolic-shaped limousine that had whisked them from Del Sombra sat in the
driveway, gleaming in the sun and purring exhaust. The sterling silver emblems
on the body read v-12 and EXELERO-4X.
The
driver, Robert, jumped out, snugged on his leather cap, and moved to the back
door.
Uncle
Henry waved him off and opened it himself. “Ladies first,” he said, and
motioned for Fiona to get in.
Eliot
noted that Fiona looked everywhere but at the driver; the driver looked
everywhere but at her.
The
rest of them got in and Henry slammed the door. He rapped on the partition and
the car accelerated onto the road.
Whitecapped
water blurred past on the right-hand side.
No
one looked at one another. Eliot could feel the tension in the air. He had a
thousand questions, but hadn’t been able to ask anything in the amphitheater,
especially when he had held those dice. They felt charged with electricity. Something
had flowed from him into the dice; something had flowed from them into him. But
not a good something. More like poison.