The Prometheus Objective

13

Caleb prayed he was wrong, but he knew — as Phoebe reminded him — unfortunately he was rarely wrong.

He watched the screen as Xavier left the room, hoping he could pull it together and do what only he could do. He wished he had some of that power, as his father had, or some trace of what the Custodians could do. For whatever reason, everyone had their own specific gifts, and maybe like any talent or skill, the psychic mind compensated and focused on the things it did best.

In Caleb’s case… well, he still wasn’t sure, but this — he had a feeling in this case, his powers weren’t needed. Something else was called for desperately.

Leadership.

And guile, if he had learned any of that throughout his last few missions. Against Mason Calderon, Boris Zeller, Robert Gregory and even George Waxman. All expert manipulators and deft con men capable of getting the ends to their satisfaction despite the means.

In this case he had to act fast, or the world would never be the same.

He made sure the speaker connection to the White House Command Bunker was active, and then made sure he still had the President’s attention. Fortunate that it was, he — whoever it was occupying the leader’s mind — still wanted to gloat or play the game a little longer.

Buy time for Xavier.

Also…

He had his phone out, to his side and outside of view. Direct patch to the secure sat-link to Edgerrin. Texting as he talked: 25th Amendment… Pres not Pres, none safe save X

“Mr. President, I assume you know who I am?”

The man the entire world had come to know, love or hate him, smiled back. A smile of a wolf patiently awaiting his meal to stop suffering and just die.

“The one and only. The master mystic himself. The lord of locating, the historian with the histrionics. The savior of the lost books and the… murderer of keepers.”

The last cut hard, and whatever doubts Caleb had were gone with the wound to his heart, with the taste of Lydia, with the flash of her eyes, the color of emerald.

He steeled himself, moved closer to the camera, to the screen, eye to eye.

“What do you want?”

The smile never faltered. The gaze held — and Caleb didn’t care. Let him gloat. Let him linger on his success at possessing the one man who could end the world with a button. The more time he wastes, the more time for us to find him.

Cocky bastard.

“I want what you want, Caleb.”

He stepped back. Took a breath. Felt the air of this sacred and mysterious place weighing on him. Not even a member, at this moment he still felt like the champion of the Masonic Order — and all of humanity’s future.

“You know me that well?”

The President grinned. “I do. I knew your father, too. And you know what they say about falling apples and trees.”

That shook Caleb. “How did you know him?” How old was this guy for real?

“In another life,” was his only response, but he said it in such a way that Caleb felt it was a clue.

“You know, Mr. Crowe. You and your team, you’re special no longer, now that your little stunt decimated the protection humans have had for so long.”

“Protection?”

“From themselves. From each other. From…” He stepped back and spread his arms. “…from everything. And I mean everything, with a great big capital E.”

Caleb smiled back. “Yeah, well, we’re working on fixing that. Did it affect you too? Or were you already like us?” Had to be careful. How much did he know? How much could he ‘see’? Everything was in question now, everything fair game.

He wished he had Aria here, or the ancient sphere at this moment. Some protection against outside scrying. He felt so vulnerable. The sphere was with the twins, and maybe they would get it back soon, but there was no help in that direction right now.

“I don’t need the gifts you have, Caleb, and I am outside of the impact. Myself — and my brethren… you’ll meet them soon. We have a different skill-set. A long, long history of knowledge.” He grinned wide. “You remember that, don’t you Caleb? The true treasure you’ve sought all your life, whether it lay hidden in a vault under the Pharos Lighthouse, in a subterranean mausoleum, or under the red sands of Mars. You and me? We want the same thing.”

Caleb’s mouth started to go dry. He wanted a drink, but not just water. Not the way this talk was going.

“Wisdom?”

The President’s teeth flashed. “In abundance.”

“So, we both want to give wisdom to the masses?”

The smile expanded, and something like jade stones flashed behind his pupils. “Just like Prometheus himself.”

“Explain.” Got to keep him talking.

“You know the comparison is perfect. The god who—”

“Titan,” Caleb corrected.

A smirk of annoyance, then the President continued. “The Titan who risked it all and stole the gift of fire from the Gods. He flew down here to enlighten us poor sods living in the cold and the dark.”

Caleb weighed his words, aware of his sister watching him carefully, the dust settling along shafts of dying sunlight through the indigo shades. Aware of the buzz on his phone, Edgerrin replying; the sounds of traffic below. Horns and sirens. He noted movement behind the President. Secret service agents checking their earpieces and glancing at each other and the VP, who was standing to the side, holding his head and shaking still under his own flood of visions.

“So, you’re a near-god. A benefactor of mankind?” Caleb cocked his head. “I could be on board with that. So why the missiles, why go all annihilation on us when you claim to be in such a giving mood?”

The President shrugged and stepped back toward the desk and toward the console with the key, and a button, and Caleb feared — the firing sequence already prepared as a result of the DefCon advancement and the evacuation to the bunker.

“Really, Caleb, you must know, the subject so near and dear to you and Dad’s heart — too much has changed since the time of the Titans. Overpopulation, resource depletion, viruses and famine beyond control, and…”

“The Renaissance, modern science and the Space Program, the human genome mapping, the CDC and the universal library…”

“Blown to bits, if I recall.”

Caleb glared at him. “Not your doing? Or your ‘brethren’s’? Who the hell are you people anyway?”

“The good guys,” he said. “If you look at it right. We owe you, Caleb, and your Keepers. And Stargate. You held off the forces of darkness. You destroyed the jealous descendants of Marduk and the warriors of ignorance. You and I, we seek the truth, we seek the gift that had once been bestowed on God’s creation, before the Expulsion.”

Caleb narrowed his eyes, sensing his adversary was waiting for him to catch up. “Now we’re talking about Genesis and the Garden. The Tree—”

“The Tree of Life!” A huge smile as he reached back, toward the button. “Knowledge and all its power. Ultimate knowledge. Not just this…” He waved his free hand. “What you unleashed by removing everyone’s psychic blinders.”

He had to keep stalling. “What about the serpent?”

The President paused. “You must know the truth about that.”

“The theory, only. It was a story, a legend, but the snake represented the forces that wanted man to share in the ultimate wisdom of his Creator. And later forces of darkness, corrupting the Church and all religious teachings, twisted the facts and painted the snake as the Devil, and the knowledge from the Tree as Evil. It’s what got us kicked out of paradise, after all.”

“Exactly,” the President said, reaching back, even as guns were drawn.

They’re not going to stop him, Caleb thought. And for a moment, just a moment, he didn’t want them to. His words were contagious, his meaning clear. They were on the same page.

“It’s what you always wanted, Caleb. And I have the Key. Actually, the Keys…”

For another moment, he thought he was referring to the nuclear launch keys but realized that wasn’t the case.

“The gates will soon be open, and I will walk — with whoever I choose worthy — to the base of that wondrous tree, and I will take and eat of its fruit.”

He smiled, and his eyes shone, and in them Caleb could see a glimpse of the future, of that man in Red, lording over a decimated earth, sailing over it in a domed city, some kind of Elysium, full of green and waterfalls and floating transports, while the irradiated slaves toiled and scavenged below amidst the blasted sands and crumbling buildings.

Whatever else this madman might be, he had to be stopped. Caleb glanced at Phoebe, at the other agents here, at the ones in the bunker…

They wouldn’t make it in time, and who knew if they would hesitate, overrule their training on the say-so of someone like Edgerrin, whatever his NSA clearance or credentials. It was too late, and the man behind the President’s eyes knew it.

“This is the only way,” he said, and reached for the button…

The President never made it there. An inch before his finger touched he suddenly slumped, gagging, and both hands went to his throat — where an eruption of water came gushing out his mouth and nose. It sprayed over the camera, blurring the scene for a moment.

Caleb and Phoebe rushed forward, trying to see. They heard screams and guttural cries. Then gunshots. One after another. Flashes of light, and then…

Silence.

The water dripped away, leaving a blurry scene.

The President was down, and so was another agent.

Three men in suits stood over the downed agent while another bent over the President. He was still coughing, spurting up more water or bile.

“Help him!” the VP shouted, finally rousing himself and getting to his feet. But all of a sudden, his face contorted, he doubled over, spat up some liquid himself, then glared a vile glare at the camera.

His face was a mask of fear and fury. Like he was in a battle with someone other than himself. His body lurched for the control panel, for the switch, even as the agents changed their focus.

“Stop him!” Caleb yelled. Dear god he switched bodies!

An agent stepped in his way. “Sir, you can’t—”

Struggling to get past, to get to his objective, the VP turned to the screen, grimacing. “Well played, Stargate. But… I’ve expelled your intruder for now, and I won’t stop.”

He shoved the agent and leapt for the button.

This time, they had no hesitation. With the President down, with the Chain of Command in confusion and something clearly wrong here, they fired. The VP fell with a half-dozen bullets in his chest.

Caleb held his breath, watching the screen.

No, no, please no one else…

A gun shot, and then another.

Two of the agents slumped, blood spraying from their heads, as a third stepped between them, smirked to the camera and moved to the console.

He got two steps before jerking back with the impact of two shells.

More screams. Others fleeing in the background as a final agent stepped into the camera view, aiming his gun from the dying man to the others around the room. Only a few left. Some cabinet members, a congresswoman and senator Caleb recognized. None of them looked particularly well — which was a good sign considering they were unlikely to be on the susceptible medication.

“Agent!” Caleb called out. “Are you… you?”

The man looked at the camera curiously, then down to the pile of bodies around him.

The last agent shot still struggled to sit up, with three bullets in his chest. Water spooled from his nostrils.

And Caleb whispered to Phoebe from the side of his mouth. “Can you RV him?”

“Just doing it,” she said back, eyes fluttering. “I see… this agent, and no signs of it. He’s… good at cards. Psychic levels minimal, but enough to not be affected, never needed the drug.”

She blinked and came back to the present.

Caleb stepped forward. “Keep your gun on him.”

The agent tapped his ear. “Major Temple said he’s en route. Working on the chain of command, but…”

The dying agent coughed and lay still, and behind the desk, Caleb saw some movement. One of the female senators ducked out of view, then stood, fumbling with one of the dead agent’s weapons.

“Behind you!”

The agent spun around, aiming, but stopped when he saw the woman had the gun to her own head, not pointed as a threat.

“You win this one, Caleb,” she said — just as the back door opened behind Phoebe and Xavier came limping in, supported by Diana. He looked dazed and disoriented, but definitely himself again and very eager to see what was happening.

The woman in the bunker pressed the gun harder against her temple. “The culling of the population can wait, I suppose. Who knows, maybe you’ll fail and back down the public outcry and drop the Tesla shield, and then the comet will come in seven years and do the challenging work for us.”

She smiled. “Yes, I know about that too. Or we will find another way. Virus, war…?” She shrugged. “Maybe after recreating the world as it should have been, maybe then you will reconsider.”

“Reconsider what? Genocide? Extermination of the very creation you talk about enlightening?”

She made a tsking noise, shaking her head. “A conversation to be continued at another time, in another place. A colder place, as I’m sure you’ve seen.”

“Wait!” Phoebe shouted. “Where are my children?”

At that, the woman grinned. “Waiting to fulfill their destiny.”

And she pulled the trigger.