The Age of Zeus

44. AMBUSHING THE AMBUSHERS

S hortly before the op commenced, the latest mythoporn extravaganza showing on Blue Eros came to a climax. Perve-seus And His Winged Stallion Poke-ass-horse exhaustively documented the sexual permutations that could be achieved between man and equine, and in one scene extended the range by having the pair copulate while in flight, although cheaply rendered special effects and the patently fake pair of wings tacked onto the horse's back somewhat diminished the boundary-stretching majesty of the moment.

The movie was playing on one screen in mission control at Bleaney while the other screens were dedicated to the visor-cam feeds from the five Titans who were lying in wait in various places of concealment all round the site of the roadwork. Ramsay was trying to pay attention to the op-in-progress but kept finding himself drawn to the filmic bestiality, then repelled by it, then drawn, then repelled, over and over. His expression was at times so incredulous that his face looked as if it was melting and sliding downwards.

"Fuck," he breathed as the final credits rolled and, in yet another Pyrrhic victory for low-budget CGI, Perve-seus and mount soared off unconvincingly into the sunset. "I mean, Jesus. That was some sick, sick shit."

"I don't know, looked like true love to me," said Patanjali. "Of course, if you were that offended, Rick, you could always have asked me to change channels."

"I guess I thought I was broadening my horizons or some such, but now all I've got is a vision of a man drinking horse spunk stuck in my head."

"All right, quiet, people," said Sam. "It's started."

Much of the visor imagery was an unintelligible muddle, the Titans travelling too fast and their motion too shaky for the cameras to cope with. Time and again there were glimpses of Hercules flitting in and out of view at the corner of a screen as everybody took their turns with their oscillo-knives, Coeus then Phoebe then Rhea then Cronus, in a well-choreographed sequence. Iapetus had his moment of face-to-face confrontation, delivering shotgun rounds to Hercules's shoulder, arm and finally groin, and then the darting knife attacks resumed. The Titans were whittling the Olympian down. It was the only way to tackle an opponent so physically powerful — swift harrying strikes that gradually and increasingly disabled, like fighter planes strafing a dreadnought. Hercules tried to lash out at his assailants. On several occasions his blows nearly connected, but he was slowed down and made clumsy by the knife slashes, hamstrung, and he was flailing rather than fighting, and anyway at full speed the Titans were all but unhittable targets.

At last he was entirely helpless. On his knees, still somehow upright, but sagging. His lion-skin cloak tattered and dripping with blood. Unable to lift his limbs. Scarcely able to hold his head up. Once more he became a steady central object in Iapetus's visor-cam, as Barrington approached him, shotgun to the fore.

"Sorry now, you lousy mongrel?"

Hercules's brimming eyes suggested he was, if only for himself. The tears mingled with the blood spatters on his cheeks, turning from clear to pink as they trickled down.

"The other… Olympians," he gasped. "My family. They… will kill you. All… of you."

"Maybe," said Iapetus. "But you won't be around to see it."

He lodged the end of the shotgun barrel between Hercules's teeth.

"I'd ask if you have any last requests, Herc," he said, "but I can see you've got a gobful. Just the way you like it."

"Do it, Dez," Sam muttered, off-mic. "Enough tormenting. Get it over with."

"My brother was worth a hundred of you," Iapetus declared, and squeezed the trigger.

Hercules's cheeks were lit up from within like a jack-o'-lantern. Then his face seemed to collapse in on itself. His eyes bulged dumbly. His body slumped.

"There you go, Malc," Iapetus said softly. "She'll be right. Rest easy, mate."

The other four Titans joined him beside Hercules's lifeless body.

"Good work, one and all," said Cronus. "Iapetus, I trust you're pleased."

"Ripper, boss. Couldn't be happier."

"Then we should think about making tracks." Cronus's visor-cam viewpoint swept from one end of the street to the other. The roadway was deserted, as were the sidewalks, but faces were visible in almost every lit window overlooking the scene. "Before we attract any more attention."

"Fair go."

"We rendezvous at — "

"All Titans." This was Sam, into the mic. "Look north. I think I just saw…"

The visor-cam images all swung in the same direction.

All showed that something was coming.

A man.

Fast as a car.

Sam had spotted him appearing round the corner at the far end of the street, just as Cronus had been turning to look the other way. Cronus had missed him but she hadn't.

Loincloth. Winged sandals. Winged metal helmet. Staff with a pair of snakes wrapped around it.

Hermes, brandishing his caduceus.

None of the Titans had time to move, or even to cry out.

Then the visor-cam image from Coeus spun, showing brown night-time city sky, buildings, ground, sky, buildings, ground, until it finally settled on just sky, with blobs superimposed on it, splashes of something ink-dark and wet…

" Scheisse," Phoebe hissed. " Sein Kopf. Sein verdammter Kopf! "

"Go!" Sam yelled.

"His head…" said Iapetus, numb, aghast. "Clean off."

"Go!" Sam repeated. "He'll be coming back for another of you. It is a trap. Go! Split up! Run! As fast as you bloody can — run!"