whatsoever.”
“I can bring the satellite cam around,” Philboyd explained, his fingers already racing across his computer keyboard to do that very thing, “but it will take time.”
“Time is something we don’t have, Brewster,” Grant reasoned. “Any other ideas?”
Brewster Philboyd looked at the countdown clock on his laptop screen and made a quick calculation. “We don’t have anything on file,” he explained. “It will take…forty minutes to get a street view.”
“Damn,” Grant growled to himself, the word automatically relayed via the Commtact link.
Philboyd tapped at his keyboard again, hurrying past protocols to try to locate an older record of the dragon-shaped settlement. As he did so, something popped up on screen, a red flashing icon of a dog. Philboyd stopped in his tracks, doing a double take as he took the icon in. “That’s…Cerberus,” he said slowly.
“Repeat, Brewster,” Grant said. “I don’t understand.”
Philboyd spoke quietly, incredulity in his voice. “I’m getting hailed by Cerberus,” he said, almost unaware of the mike pickup he wore for the linked Commtacts. “But that’s impossible.”
Grant’s voice had a hint of irritation to it as it came to Philboyd’s ear. “Brewster, you ain’t making a lick of sense. What’s happening?”
Standing in his seat, Philboyd checked the small ops room that had been set up temporarily on the California site. Donald Bry was running a diagnostics check on two linked terminals, while Lakesh was flipping through the reams of printout that had been produced since Cerberus ops went back online, tracing his missing personnel. Philboyd called them both over, trying to keep the anxiety out of his voice.
“Brew?” Grant’s voice was in his ear.
“I’m cutting the call, Grant,” Philboyd said briefly. “There’s something happening here, and I don’t think it’s wise to stay online just now.”
* * *
G RANT MUTTERED SOMETHING to himself as Philboyd cut the radio link. It wasn’t in Philboyd’s nature to overreact, he knew, so something serious had to be going down at the Cerberus base. Cerberus had been infiltrated just weeks ago and the internal security remained heightened, frustrating though that could be. In the meantime, however, that left Grant and his field team out on their own.
* * *
R OSALIA RAN AHEAD , RUSHING after the scraggly-looking mutt who seemed to have adopted her months ago, whether she had wanted it or not. The dog had emerged from out of the Californian desert, a stray found in a destroyed settlement whose inhabitants had been mind-wiped and destroyed by an alien race called the Igigi, whose spirits were searching for new host bodies. The Igigi had once been the slave caste of the Annunaki, dispossessed by their master Enlil.
The narrow passageway ran between buildings in a tightening curve, the stony walls echoing weirdly, the rooftops touching here and there above her. Up ahead, Rosalia could see a hint of moonlight tapering into the far end of the alleyway, and the dog’s familiar form was a low blot, tail wagging furiously left and right like a psychotic metronome, its breathing sounding like a steam train as it bolted out of the enclosed space.
The passage itself was getting narrower still. With a grunt, Rosalia shifted herself again, swiveling her body so she could lead with her right shoulder, blowing hair out of her face as she hurried on. She heard footsteps clattering against the cobbles behind her; Domi was chasing after her, in second place as ever. Rosalia ducked her head into her body, driving herself on down the echoing passage before she lost sight of the dog.
There came voices then, from the far end of the passage. No, not voices, she realized— a voice. A man’s voice, the words unclear. And then the agonized scream again, the one she had heard before only louder now, closer.
Rosalia saw that the dog had sprung from the far end of the passageway and was running out
“I can bring the satellite cam around,” Philboyd explained, his fingers already racing across his computer keyboard to do that very thing, “but it will take time.”
“Time is something we don’t have, Brewster,” Grant reasoned. “Any other ideas?”
Brewster Philboyd looked at the countdown clock on his laptop screen and made a quick calculation. “We don’t have anything on file,” he explained. “It will take…forty minutes to get a street view.”
“Damn,” Grant growled to himself, the word automatically relayed via the Commtact link.
Philboyd tapped at his keyboard again, hurrying past protocols to try to locate an older record of the dragon-shaped settlement. As he did so, something popped up on screen, a red flashing icon of a dog. Philboyd stopped in his tracks, doing a double take as he took the icon in. “That’s…Cerberus,” he said slowly.
“Repeat, Brewster,” Grant said. “I don’t understand.”
Philboyd spoke quietly, incredulity in his voice. “I’m getting hailed by Cerberus,” he said, almost unaware of the mike pickup he wore for the linked Commtacts. “But that’s impossible.”
Grant’s voice had a hint of irritation to it as it came to Philboyd’s ear. “Brewster, you ain’t making a lick of sense. What’s happening?”
Standing in his seat, Philboyd checked the small ops room that had been set up temporarily on the California site. Donald Bry was running a diagnostics check on two linked terminals, while Lakesh was flipping through the reams of printout that had been produced since Cerberus ops went back online, tracing his missing personnel. Philboyd called them both over, trying to keep the anxiety out of his voice.
“Brew?” Grant’s voice was in his ear.
“I’m cutting the call, Grant,” Philboyd said briefly. “There’s something happening here, and I don’t think it’s wise to stay online just now.”
* * *
G RANT MUTTERED SOMETHING to himself as Philboyd cut the radio link. It wasn’t in Philboyd’s nature to overreact, he knew, so something serious had to be going down at the Cerberus base. Cerberus had been infiltrated just weeks ago and the internal security remained heightened, frustrating though that could be. In the meantime, however, that left Grant and his field team out on their own.
* * *
R OSALIA RAN AHEAD , RUSHING after the scraggly-looking mutt who seemed to have adopted her months ago, whether she had wanted it or not. The dog had emerged from out of the Californian desert, a stray found in a destroyed settlement whose inhabitants had been mind-wiped and destroyed by an alien race called the Igigi, whose spirits were searching for new host bodies. The Igigi had once been the slave caste of the Annunaki, dispossessed by their master Enlil.
The narrow passageway ran between buildings in a tightening curve, the stony walls echoing weirdly, the rooftops touching here and there above her. Up ahead, Rosalia could see a hint of moonlight tapering into the far end of the alleyway, and the dog’s familiar form was a low blot, tail wagging furiously left and right like a psychotic metronome, its breathing sounding like a steam train as it bolted out of the enclosed space.
The passage itself was getting narrower still. With a grunt, Rosalia shifted herself again, swiveling her body so she could lead with her right shoulder, blowing hair out of her face as she hurried on. She heard footsteps clattering against the cobbles behind her; Domi was chasing after her, in second place as ever. Rosalia ducked her head into her body, driving herself on down the echoing passage before she lost sight of the dog.
There came voices then, from the far end of the passage. No, not voices, she realized— a voice. A man’s voice, the words unclear. And then the agonized scream again, the one she had heard before only louder now, closer.
Rosalia saw that the dog had sprung from the far end of the passageway and was running out
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