The Children of the Company Part 3

I have not gained any advantage to myself;

Only the serpent has gained the advantage."

No golden voice to answer now. There was silence.

But not stillness; something moved on Enna-aru's face.

Atrahasis leaned close, and saw the maggot fall from the king's arched nostril.

He stiffened, overwhelmed with revulsion. Then he turned on his heel and left the room.

"Have that carca.s.s dragged out and burned," he told Vidya in a light and carefree voice. "And send a transmission to Old World One; mission accomplished. Peaceful (apparent) transfer of power, civilization continues without a hitch, no loss to the stockholders. I'm on my way to Egypt for a welldeserved holiday. They can forward my next posting there."

"Yes, sir," said Vidya. "I'll have your air transport powered up, sir."

"No; I've had enough of flying," said Atrahasis.

He wrapped himself in a cloak, and went down through the tunnels and out of the city by secret ways, and glided away through the night like a serpent.

But he had gone back to his duties at last. What else was there for an immortal to do, besides plot for power and sound out prospective allies?

He had first come down the Nile on a reed boat, in a time before there were any pyramids at Giza. Nothing then more remarkable in that landscape than a great outcropping of rock that resembled a lion's head, which likeness successive generations of mortals had increased by chiseling out eyes and a muzzle. Graffiti was scrawled across its lower surfaces now. Not yet the Sphinx, it stared gloomily across the land that wasn't yet Egypt. Atrahasis-not yet Labienus-sympathized with it.

He had liked the delta country once. The river was wide and clear, the air was purity itself. Dawn wind came across the green murmuring reeds and when the young sun rose above them it really might have been a G.o.d, such was its brilliance and clean heat. No smoke in the sky; light sharp as a diamond.

Then the mortals had come. For a while the crocodiles and floods had kept their numbers down, but they had multiplied at last, and spoiled it all. At this point in time it was only the smoke of their cook-fires that muddied the face of the sun, and this was bad enough. In the time to come the very dust of their mummified dead would rise like a pall, the gases of their sewage, the chemical fumes of their cities. All this fresh young world lost to ancient bricks, blackened corpses.

Atrahasis put it firmly out of his mind, as the river bore him to the city of white walls. It had been built to rule both Upper and Lower Kingdoms. Two dynasties had come and gone and the third was prosperous, expansive, so the d.a.m.ned place was sprawling now. Shading his eyes, he could see the necropolis on its ridge. The world's first pyramid was no more than a foundation yet. Mortals swarmed over it like insects, setting the little limestone blocks.

He sighed and glanced down from his high seat to the water, where a ridged back paced his boat, drifting un.o.btrusively near. Poor old crocodile. There had been a time when Atrahasis might have given an order and had a clumsy slave tossed overboard like a crust of bread, and before the river G.o.ds converged on him the slave would have screamed his thanks at being so honored. One couldn't get away with that nowadays. Too much history was being recorded.

When his boatman docked and bowed him ash.o.r.e, Atrahasis walked through the streets and the mortals fell back before him, gaping at the splendid lord in his finery, marveling at the tall spearmen who went before and followed him. They wondered at the mortal slaves who bore the carved chest that was splendidly covered in beaten gold, inlaid with turquoise and lapis. They thought surely he must be an amba.s.sador bringing gifts to the king.

But he did not go to the palace. Atrahasis went swiftly to the house of Imhotep, the high priest, he who was the king's chief minister, he who had designed and was overseeing the construction of the latest thing in monuments to royal glory.

The mortal onlookers nodded to each other knowingly. No surprise that this regal-looking stranger was calling on Imhotep first. Imhotep might claim he was merely a man, but everyone knew better. He had miraculous healing powers, he knew the name of every star in the sky and their secret paths, and his ability to work spectacularly showy magic was famous. Of course he must entertain G.o.ds from time to time! Before Atrahasis had stepped through the courtyard gate, word was spreading that Imhotep had another divine visitor.

To Atrahasis's annoyance, he was not at once admitted to the august presence of the high priest of Ptah.

"He is bathing, my lord," stammered the mortal woman. She clapped her hands and servants ran to her side. "A chair for the great lord, a basin for his feet! Will you have beer, my lord? Will you be pleased to wait in the garden, where the air is cool? I will fetch-"

"Tell him the priest of Zeus would speak with him," Atrahasis snapped.

There was a beat while the mortals present wondered who Zeus might be, before a servant said: "Our lord will not permit us to disturb his bath-" The woman turned and waved him to silence.

"I will tell him," she said, and hurried away. Atrahasis waited, enduring in stiff-lipped silence as well-meaning mortals brought a chair for him, seated him, drew off his sandals and washed his feet. He still hated to be touched by the creatures.

He focused his attention on the interior of the mansion and heard the splas.h.i.+ng, the raucous whistling of-of all things-the Grand March from Verdi's Aida, interrupted by the mortal woman's urgent murmur. There was a response, more splas.h.i.+ng, and then the whistling resumed. Atrahasis tracked it through the mansion as it came nearer to him, and at last the high priest Imhotep stepped out into the garden.

Imhotep was a stockily built man with black b.u.t.ton eyes, smiling in wry apology as he approached Atrahasis. He had a generic olive-skinned Mediterranean appearance, and might have disappeared into any crowd anywhere with perfect invisibility, so ordinary was his face, so easily could he pa.s.s for human.

His hastily donned linen kilt was damp, and he was still toweling his shaven head dry as he came.

"Sorry, friend," he said in Cinema Standard. "I was at the construction site all day and got pretty stinky. You want a beer?"

"Please," said Atrahasis, as a servant dried his feet. Imhotep asked the servant to bring a pitcher of beer and two cups. He ducked his head and hurried away.

Imhotep gave his ears a last dig with the towel and hung it around his neck. He thrust out a hand to Atrahasis.

"Facilitator Grade One Imhotep, how's it going and to what do I owe the honor?"

"Executive Facilitator Atrahasis," he replied, shaking Imhotep's hand gingerly. "The G.o.d Zeus has sent you a gift, divine son of Ptah. I'm here to brief you on its use."

Imhotep grimaced. "Don't call me that where the servants can hear, okay? Not in their language, anyhow."

Atrahasis was amused. "Don't you want them to respect you?"

"They respect me just fine as a mortal man, which is what I've worked really hard to convince them I happen to be, so let's not scare them, all right?" Imhotep sagged onto a garden bench. He regarded the carved chest, still being held on its poles by the mortal slaves; c.o.c.ked his eye at the honor guard of security techs in loincloths. "That must be one h.e.l.l of a present. What is it, another capacitor?"

"I don't believe your project budget could support one," Atrahasis replied delicately. "And it's hardly necessary for the second phase of your mission here."

"Second phase, huh?" Imhotep rubbed his chin. "Okay." In the language of the country, he addressed the mortal bearers. "Boys, you want to set that thing down?"

The slaves glanced nervously at Atrahasis, who nodded. They lowered their burden and straightened up in obvious relief. At that moment the servant brought the beer, and only after he had offered them their cups and retreated to a respectful distance was the conversation able to proceed.

"What second phase?" Imhotep asked. "I've got Zoser and his court in the palm of my hand, with stage illusions galore. The step-pyramid's on schedule. I'm dealing out miraculous cures and promoting good hygiene. Wasn't that the point of this junket?"

"As far as it's gone, yes," Atrahasis said, sniffing his beer and setting it aside. "But now you need to know more."

"I see."

"The chest is not to be opened until you have it in your private chambers. You will find inside it certain equipment, and a number of scrolls."

"Scrolls? What do I need books for?"

"Think of them as stage-dressing. They're to impress your initiates."

"What initiates?" said Imhotep, reaching for his beer. He turned the cup in his hands uneasily. "I thought the whole deal with me becoming a G.o.d didn't happen until way later in history."

"Of course. This is another matter entirely. You're to start a, to put it in the mortals' parlance, a 'Hermetic Brotherhood.' The most secret of secret societies. You'll feed them snippets of philosophy and arcane gibberish as revelations from the G.o.ds. Flashy conjuring tricks to impress them. Hints of real science, with demonstrable results. The equipment in the chest is for that purpose."

"Don't tell me there are still Rosicrucians in the twenty-fourth century, and they're paying the Company to do this?" Imhotep sighed.

"Not at all. You're simply laying the groundwork for certain others to build on at a later date," Atrahasis told him. "The real challenge will be convincing your little king that the whole affair is his idea."

Imhotep looked unhappy.

"Okay," he said. "I can do that. No problem." He drained his beer in one gulp and reached for the pitcher. "More?"

"Not for me, thank you." Atrahasis turned in his chair and surveyed the garden. "Quite a comfortable posting you have here. It must nearly make up for the air pollution and the crowds of mortals."

"It's great," said Imhotep earnestly. "And the pollution's no worse than anywhere else. You try living in the same cave with the rest of your tribe through a six-month winter-now, that's pollution!"

"Undoubtedly," said Atrahasis. "Still, one can't help wish the wretched things would grasp the basic principles of birth control." He transmitted the rest of his thought subvocally: Or that the old Enforcers had been allowed to continue their useful work.

Imhotep gulped down a second beer even more quickly than the first.

Hey, times change. I hear most of them are adapting real well to the new jobs.

Atrahasis considered him coolly. You don't find what was done to them shameful? How professional of you. I'd have thought you could summon a little outrage on their behalf. You were one of Budu's recruits, weren't you? Just as I was.

That's right.

Yet you never spoke out on behalf of our immortal father, when the orders came.

Imhotep narrowed his eyes. What's it to you? I went to him and we talked, if you must know. Sure, he had his reservations about closing down the old operation. But he was smart enough to see that times were changing, and he's changed with them. Not like that dumb a.s.s Marco.

Marco was rash, have to admit.

He was a loose cannon! He'd grab any excuse to slaughter mortals. Budu's smart, and he's got self-control, and he's going to be just fine. It's not like there aren't going to be plenty of wars to keep him busy.

How true.

At this moment they were interrupted. A tiny brown naked mortal came marching into the garden, fists clenched, scowling in furious determination, heading for the street. Imhotep spotted him and jumped up.

"Excuse me a minute. Benny, come back here!"

Atrahasis turned, staring in disbelief, as Imhotep ran after the mortal infant and caught it. A conversation took place in the ancient tongue that would be translated approximately as follows: "Whoa! Where do you think you're going? Remember what Daddy said about chariots?"

"No potty go."

"Oh. Benny, you have to go potty like a big boy now."

"No potty go!"

Imhotep looked around. "Okay, okay. Come on. Big boy on the tree like Daddy showed you, all right?"

"Big boy."

Atrahasis averted his gaze as Imhotep led the infant to a fig tree in the corner, where it urinated. The mortal woman came running from the house, calling for the child, and Imhotep turned and waved to her.

"I caught him, honey, it's all right."

"How did you get the door open?" she demanded of the baby. It just glared up at her. "My lord husband, I put the latch on!"

"He's a magician," said Imhotep, grinning in embarra.s.sment. "Like me."

"Horses might have killed you under their hooves," she admonished the baby, gathering it into her arms. "Crocodiles might have eaten you!" She glanced over at Atrahasis and crimsoned in a blush. "Ten thousand apologies, my lord!"

"It's all right," said Imhotep. He put his arms around her and kissed her. "I'll be in soon. Send Aye and Pepi and a couple of the others out, okay? And unlock my study. I want that chest taken inside and set against the far wall."

"Will our guest stay for dinner?"

"I don't think so," Imhotep said.

"No potty go," the baby informed them.

"We'll see about that, kiddo," Imhotep told him sternly, and the mortal woman bore the protesting child away to the house. He returned to the stone bench to find Atrahasis regarding him in scandalized disgust.

"We adopted," explained Imhotep, looking a little shamefaced.

"No wonder you don't mind the pollution," Atrahasis said at last. "You're actually living in intimacy with them!"

"It's part of my job," said Imhotep. "She was a gift from the king. What was I supposed to do? You know the procedure on this kind of mission. And anyway, since when is s.e.x with them against the rules?"

"True enough," Atrahasis said, but mentally he crossed Imhotep off his list of possible allies.

"I know she'll die one of these days," Imhotep went on defensively. "The kid will die, too, maybe fifty years down the line, but in the meanwhile he'll have had a good life and ... well, they all die, don't they? And I'll be somewhere else by then anyway. I've been through this before. I can handle it. The Company doesn't care, as long as I get the job done, right?"

"Whatever it takes," Atrahasis agreed."

He didn't stay to dinner.

Imhotep might be besotted with mortals, but he had indeed gotten the job done. In founding an occult society that promised secret knowledge and earthly power to its members, he had forged the first link in a long chain that would ultimately terminate in that remarkable cabal of scientists and investors calling itself Dr. Zeus Incorporated.

Not quite in keeping with the high moral purpose expressed in the Company's mission statement. However, Atrahasis had learned-long before he became Labienus-that the mortal masters were the first to jettison their principles, when it was necessary to get something they wanted.

VICTOR THE PRISONER.

From time to time, Labienus has considered compiling a book of wisdom of his own, perhaps an immortals' version of The Prince or The Art of War.