Timewyrm: Genesys.

by John Peel.

PROLOGUE.

The starship shuddered. Another bolt lashed through the ether and ripped at the ship's exposed flank. Somewhere a klaxon sounded, unheeded and unceasing. Smoke drifted through the darkened corridors. In the blood-red emergency lighting the creeping smoke was surreal, a living creature crawling towards the remnant of the crew.

Hissing to herself in fury, she surveyed the scene in the control room through the dying eyes of the pilot. Struggling to obey her and to stay alive, he fought back the clutching fingers of death. The pain in his chest subsided, and he tried to reach the screens with his right hand. In a haze, he realized that he no longer had a right hand. Using his left he finally managed to hit the controls.

"You cannot die yet!" Her command thundered through his fading brain.

"Focus on the readings! Focus, d.a.m.n you!" He finally forced his head to turn far enough to see the figures on the screen. Dimly, he knew that they meant that the shields about most of the craft had collapsed. Several sections had been gutted, and whoever had been in them had been either fried or sucked into the void. Their attacker had finished this pa.s.s, and was returning to make another. It would undoubtedly be the final one. Already the crippled starship was hanging together almost entirely through the force of her mind.

"Imbeciles!" she screamed, and within their minds they all felt her contempt and fury - those that were still alive. She could sense no more than a dozen left to her now. In a spasm of rage she wrenched her mind away from the pilot, and felt him die. Normally she would have hovered nearby, licking mentally at his death-throes. Now there was no time to enjoy herself. In moments she, too, might be dead.

She slipped into the mind of the navigator. He was still almost whole and began the scans that she had ordered. This far out from the hub of Mutters spiral there were very few possible havens for her. The figures scrolled upwards. Only one planet that could sustain humanoid life in the small sun system ahead of them. Not that she needed such an environment to live in, but her slaves would. The other worlds showed up as totally unsuitable for her purposes. No life of any kind. As for the third planet...

She cursed at the results. Life, yes - but no intelligence! No radio waves, no radioactivity, no sign of industrialization! Useless, completely useless! The captain's panicked thoughts broke through her waves of fury, and she burrowed into his mind. He was once again becoming frantic with fear as their attacker swung about to begin the final a.s.sault - the barrage that they could never survive.

She forced herself to become calm. Well, this third world would have to do.

Without technology she would be trapped there, but if there was life, then she could feed and survive. In time, what she needed might become available - if she managed to escape this attack.

Enclosed within her life-pod, she started the launch sequence. But she would need to camouflage her escape. If they knew she was baling out, the others would hunt her down. She had to do this very carefully indeed...

She reinforced her grip on the navigator's mind, and made him change the ship's heading. Dropping the remaining, useless shields, she had the hands she controlled start the overload sequence on the reactor core. The countdown began. Her thought turned to the captain, and she made him manoeuvre the ship about. Then she triggered the drive units - and propelled her dying ship directly into the path of the oncoming aggressor.

"Taste this!" she screamed mentally, in defiance, at her old foes. One of her slender talons hovered over the trigger. There was just one final act to perform...

The last eleven crewmembers were barely clinging to their foolish lives.

Well, there was still something that they could do for her. They could die.

She sent the command, feeding off their final energies, feeling her own mind grow slightly stronger with each death. There was no time to savour the feasting, so she was forced to rush. She had no idea when she might be able to feed again.

When they were dead, she hit the release.

s.p.a.ce surrounded her. She barely had time to register the bulk of her tattered ship rushing past her before it exploded, showering slivers of debris across her field of vision. The explosion would have blanked her attackers" sensors long enough for them to have missed her escape. She switched from drive to standard, slipping back into normal s.p.a.ce-time. The wreckage faded from about her tiny craft. With luck the blast would have damaged the attacking ship.

The third planet hung below her. It was half-lit by the light of its sun, and gleamed blue and white. It was almost like home. She began a closer scan, and cursed as each of the indications confirmed what she had read from the main ship. No concentrations of electro-magnetic power; no emissions of exhaust gases; no transport systems; no communication signals.

Whatever life was here was so primitive as to be totally useless to her. She needed intelligence, not simply animal life. She couldn't feed from uncomprehending beasts. Without minds to plunder, she would die. That pretty little globe below would become her tomb.

Abruptly, an alarm sounded. Glancing at the screens again, she saw that the pod had been damaged. She had left her escape too late. The thrusters were almost empty of fuel, and she was losing control of the small vessel.

Gravity was pulling her into the planet's embrace.

She found herself enjoying the irony of the situation. Having escaped, and taken control of the starship, and fled across s.p.a.ce, she was going to die in this barren, lifeless wasteland. It would all end here... Was it better to die in the flames of planetary entry or later, alone and starving for the only food she could eat? After all of her efforts - to die like this, in solitude, in this wretched spot, this wasteland planet of blue and white and green...

1: SERPENT IN THE GARDEN.

"Gilgamesh!" The voice was a whisper on the breeze, but Gilgamesh heard it clearly. Frowning, he glanced about the wooded slopes. Now there was no sign of the strange white antelope he had followed from the plains below. That idiot calling his name had scared it away before he had been able to find a clear shot with his spear.

"Gilgamesh!" There is was again, and louder this time "O fool, shut up!"

hissed the hunter, annoyed. Shielding his eyes from the glare of the sun, Gilgamesh darted his gaze about the copse. It was most strange - he had seen the white deer enter this grove, and yet there were no tracks on the ground, and no movements in the bushes. And, now that he thought of it, no sign of the owner of that mysterious voice.

"Gilgamesh," the voice called again. "This way, O man."

Gilgamesh flung his spear down in disgust. He might as well try and fight a fly in the market place as hunt a deer with that idiot yelling. Then, thinking better of it, he retrieved the spear. There were still brigands in these border hills, and it was best to be safe, although he was carrying no valuables and it was unlikely that any common robber would recognize him as the king of Uruk. He looked nothing like a king at the moment all he wore for the hunt was a knotted loincloth, a pair of sandals, and a couple of armbands. He had reluctantly left his regal clothing in the palace of Uruk before he had embarked on this spying mission.

It hadn't been his idea, initially. He hated spying. Dirty, underhanded and devious, those were the ways of the spy. Gilgamesh preferred honest, open warfare - the thrust of the spear, the well-aimed arrow from the bow, the war-club crushing the skull of some opponent. Those were deeds of which men could sing. But to skulk about, prying and spying -G.o.ds, it set his teeth on edge. But his advisers had insisted that more information was needed before any warfare could be considered. Gilgamesh had bowed to their collective wisdom when his trusted friend Enkidu had agreed with them.

The strain of silent slinking had soon proved too much for Gilgamesh.

Having left the plains of his own kingdom to venture into the realm of the ruler of Kish, he had rapidly lost all patience with his mission. The flight of the white deer ahead of him into the hills had been all the excuse he had needed to leave the rest of the patrol in Enkidu's capable - if hairy -hands, and to make his way up the slopes in pursuit of the fleeing hart.

His leather sandals made no noise as he crept toward the source of that irritating voice. His bronze skin, burnt by the eternal sun, rippled over his muscles. His huge fist held the spear, his only weapon. For a fleeting moment he wondered if it had been a wise move to leave the patrol and his friends to hunt this weird deer alone. Then he buried the thought; was he not Gilgamesh, mightiest of the sons of men? Was he to be shamed into running by some perplexing voice? He broke through the ring of trees and halted in amazement. When he had led a hunt through this spot barely two seasons ago trees had filled the crown of the hill. Now the branches lay burnt and broken. In the centre of the s.p.a.ce was a pit. The evidence suggested it had been recently dug. But who would dig a pit up here, on a hill that no one normally visited? And for what purpose? Gilgamesh moved forward, cautiously. Again, the voice called his name, and this time he could tell that the owner of the voice must be within the pit.

Perhaps someone had fallen into the pit and needed his help to climb out?

Hardly likely - for who could not see such a large hole in the earth? Except perhaps at night - but the voice was not calling for help, but for him... If it were someone trapped within the pit, how could they know that it was Gilgamesh pa.s.sing by, and not some other man? Standing on the lip of the pit, his spear held firmly before him, Gilgamesh stared down into the depths.

It was like the mountain of the G.o.ds down there! Smoke rose from the blackness, fading as it curled into the sunlight. Gilgamesh could not imagine what might have caused this. Then he recalled - two nights ago, during the feast of Shamash, one of the priests had seen a star falling from the sky! Gilgamesh had a.s.sumed that the priest had taken a little too much of the new beer, but what if the man had indeed told the truth? Could this be where the star had fallen? The idea appealed to him. No one in human knowledge had ever found a fallen star. It was well known that stars changed into common rock when they fell from their appointed places in the sky. Yet Gilgamesh could see the brightness of something that lay within the pit. If he could be the first man to bring back to Uruk a star still burning, it would be yet another triumph for them to add to the songs about him! With hope growing, but still with care, he started down the slope into the pit.

Once out of the glare of the sun, he could see more clearly, and he paused yet again. Jagged pieces of something that glinted littered the walls of the pit. He bent to touch his spear to a piece of it. The object rang when struck, as copper would. But this was certainly not copper. Carefully, he picked up the object. It felt like copper, but it looked a little like dull silver. It was hard and polished like metal, but what could it be? "Gilgamesh!" The voice was back, whispering from ahead of him. "Do not be afraid."

"I am not afraid, O voice," he said, annoyed. "No man calls Gilgamesh afraid."

"I am sorry, Gilgamesh," the voice murmured, but it sounded more amused than ashamed. "But I am no man, as you will see if you come further forward."

Warily, Gilgamesh stood his ground. "Well, O voice that belongs to no man, why should I come forward? I am the king of this hill. I think that you should come to me, not me to you."

"Ahhh." It was a long, drawn-out sigh. "If I could come to you, I should. But I am not able to move that far."

"What are you, then, that can sound like a man, but not move like one?"

"Come and see," the voice suggested. Although it was still the same as he had been hearing all along, it now seemed to have taken on further qualities. Now it sounded definitely female. Gilgamesh knew that he had nothing to fear from any woman, and moved further into the pit.

He saw where the jagged pieces of the not-metal he had found had come from. In the heart of the pit lay a large shape, something like that of the immense ziggurat that was at the heart of Uruk itself. But this ziggurat's shape was broken, the perfect pyramid form marred by shattered holes. It was from these holes that the spirals of smoke and steam were issuing, in slow, hissing spurts. One hole, more regular than the rest, looked almost like a normal door - but who would build a ziggurat with a door like that?

And, who would build a ziggurat of this size and then hide it in a pit on the top of a hill in the wilderness?

Gilgamesh could see within the regular-shaped hole the creature that had been calling him. Whatever it was, it had told the truth: it was no man.

It was about the size of a man, and about the shape of a man. But instead of skin it was covered in the same shining non-metal as the ziggurat itself.

Instead of eyes it had twin golden fires that burned without consuming any fuel. It had arms and legs, too, and a body. But it had neither hair nor clothing. Yet it was not naked, as a man would be naked. Nor was it shaped like a woman.

It moved slightly. It had been sitting in the hole, leaning against something as if it was tired. Now it hunched forward, and raised a hand toward him.

"Come to me, Gilgamesh," the female voice urged.

"No," he replied, slowly. "I am not some fool, to do the bidding of a stranger. What are you called, and where are you from?" A hissing noise escaped the creature, and Gilgamesh could see what appeared to be a mouth of sorts, under the burning eyes. "I am called... Ishtar."

"Ishtar?" he echoed. Could this creature be telling the truth? "Ishtar is the G.o.ddess of love and battles, stranger." He gestured with his spear. "Your form doesn't look suited to love, nor are you armed for battle."

"My form is what I wished it to be, Gilgamesh," Ishtar replied. "I can change it to suit the needs of the moment."

"Then if I were you, Ishtar, I should alter it to be able to walk. Then you could come to me. If you came as a woman, we might make love. If as a man, we could fight. As you are, your form seems ill-suited to anything."

Another long sigh escaped from the creature. "You are wrong, Gilgamesh.

My form is suited to many things - not the least of which is descending from the heavens to the earth."

"Indeed?" he said, and laughed loudly. "You are from the heavens, are you? And if you can step down from the skies, how is it that you cannot step over here? Ishtar, if you are a G.o.ddess, you seem to be one of lies and trickery, not honest love or war."

"Foolish man!" Her voice trembled. "I did not walk down from the skies."

She gestured weakly at the ziggurat about her. "I came in this."

"Ah." He grinned. "Your house walked, then, not you. Still, it seems to have been a hard journey down from the sky - as well it might be. I see that you've lost a few bricks here and there. I would think that their loss would make it a lighter task for what remains to walk about."

"You persist in your foolishness," Ishtar hissed. "But I can show you the truth in what I say. I called you here from the plains of Eridu to commune with me."

Gilgamesh scratched at his oiled ringlets, and grinned once again. "I followed a white hart here, Ishtar, not your voice."

"This white deer, O man?" she asked, pointing.

Gilgamesh gazed, then stiffened. His quarry stood, docile, on the slope of the pit. It stared at him, unafraid. Quickly, the hunter raised his spear and threw.

It pa.s.sed into the deer's pale body without breaking the skin, and then through it, to bury itself in the earthen wall of the pit.

Slowly the deer faded away.

For the first time Gilgamesh felt his confidence begin to slip. This stank of magic, not of honest guile or simple trickery. Perhaps this strange creature was indeed telling the truth however odd that truth sounded to his ears.

"Come to me, Gilgamesh," Ishtar called. "Come, and you will not be disappointed." As she spoke, her form shimmered, like the haze that rose from the southern desert sands, and changed. Now the non-metal skin was flesh, and she was like a woman - and yet like no woman that he had ever seen. Her skin was light, her hair dark and loose, her arms open and inviting. "Come to me, Gilgamesh, strong in war and love."

"Lady," he said, with a hint of respect in his voice, "it may be that I have wronged you in thinking that you lied. But if you are indeed Ishtar, and a G.o.ddess, then I dare not come to you."

"So," she said, and he winced at the mockery in her voice, "the mighty hero, Gilgamesh, is afraid of the embrace of a woman."

"Not so," he argued. "Many woman have felt my embrace, and all have enjoyed their time. But to be the paramour of a G.o.ddess is a risky thing at best. I have heard how Ishtar serves those she loves. Her love consumes them, it is said, in tongues of fire. She takes their strength in one embrace, leaving them dead, and forgotten by all who knew them. No, Ishtar, it is not fear that makes me turn you down, but wisdom. What a fool I should be to exchange my years for one embrace from you."

"Gilgamesh, obey me and come to me!" The pleading, beguiling tone had vanished, and in its place was only harsh determination. "I swear that if you do not, then I shall seek you out and crush you."

"Ah, now we get to the truth of it," he said, his poise returning. "Nay, lady - if you cannot move to get me while I stand before you in this pit, then you will not be able to get me when I am feasting in my palace in Uruk. I thank you for the strange hunt you've led me on, but no more. Fare you well, lady - and fare well apart from me." With a final salute he turned and strode away.

"Fool!" Ishtar yelled after his retreating back. "You have turned me down, Gilgamesh, but you will regret it. I shall indeed come to you soon enough - and when I do, not one stone of Uruk will be left to tell the world where Gilgamesh once was king!" Her strength failing, Ishtar fell back. No sense in wasting energy cursing that sly, suspicious humanoid now. Ah, but he would pay - he would pay dearly for this rejection! She checked her power reserves again. Enough, if she carefully eked them out, for another six of this planet's days. There would be another human along by then. And it was doubtful that he would be as crafty as Gilgamesh. To conserve energy she disconnected her image reproducer and allowed the disguise she wore to fade and slide into the familiar shape of her once-powerful body.

She crept into the ruined escape pod and shuddered as she felt the mind of Gilgamesh slipping from her senses. He would have been such a delightful feast. Such life, such power, such pride. She hadn't tasted a vigorous soul in all the months she had spent in s.p.a.ce. Her power levels were low, and her need for a mind to devour was all-encompa.s.sing.

One must come along soon! Then she would feed - then she would grow - and then she would utterly destroy this miserable little world...

Still trying to make sense of his hilltop encounter, Gilgamesh almost ran into the captain of his own patrol. His reflexes took over when he saw the figure of a soldier, but he managed to restrain his spear-arm when he recognized the man.

"Lord," the captain said, falling to his knees. "Is something amiss?"

"Nothing," he replied. "I have had... a vision. A vision of a most perplexing kind." Abruptly, he grinned, and clapped the man on the shoulders, sending him sprawling. "Still, let's not let that disturb us, eh? We've got a job to do.

It's time we were off again. Kish won't wait on us forever. Come on!" "Yes, Lord," the captain said, brushing dust from his legs.

Gilgamesh was deep in thought for the rest of the journey, virtually ignoring Enkidu's attempts to draw him out. He was torn between telling the story for the praise it might bring him and keeping silent in case he was secretly ridiculed. Had he won a victory over Ishtar? Or had he been the victim of a trick? Naturally, his subjects would believe his story - he'd have them executed if they showed the slightest scepticism - but did it really enhance his reputation? Or could he change the tale, improve it? He wished he were a better inventor of stories. If he had a court musician, he mused, he might be able to set the man to work on this germ of an idea and have it developed into a real tale that men would remember.

He made a mental note of two points: first, to keep the story to himself until he could find a better ending for it; second, to hire himself a good court composer.

Ta-Nin languidly examined her reflection in the polished mirror. It was a good body, perhaps the finest in all Uruk. Gilgamesh had complimented her on it many times, before and during their lovemaking. The body of a queen? she wondered. Perhaps, when he returned, Gilgamesh would take her as his bride this time, instead of merely his concubine... There would be plenty of hearts broken, she knew, by such an action. Many of the women of Uruk hoped to move from Gilgamesh's bed to his throne room.

She applied her oils carefully, choosing only the most fragrant. To lure a king, one must be seen to resemble a queen... She dressed in her finest spun gown, fastened at her shapely, bare neck by a golden brooch in the shape of a leopard's head. Her servant girl completed the effect with her elaborate coiffuring arts. Ta-Nin hung round her throat a simple. necklace of lapis lazuli, and examined her reflection one final time.

She had to smile. Never had she looked more beautiful. This time, surely she would win the king's heart, and share in his power. She half-turned, and admired the curve of her bare back. How could he resist her? She looked exactly like a queen.

A servant arrived with the message that the feast was beginning.

Gilgamesh had commanded her to attend. She exulted. Tonight she would triumph over her snickering, manipulative rivals.

The feast-hall of the palace was becoming crowded as the guests arrived for the banquet. All the talk was of the spying mission from which the king had just returned. She noted several barely-disguised scowls, and knew that there were many of the n.o.bles who would have preferred it had their king been caught and killed by the troops of King Agga of Kish. Petty jealousies, that was all. Didn't every man in Uruk wish he had merely a portion of the powers of Gilgamesh - either in feats of war, or of love? Ta-Nin looked about, but Gilgamesh had not yet made his entrance. He enjoyed making a show of it, drinking in the applause and adoration that he knew were his due. But now Ta-Nin did not know where she should sit. To go straight to the head table and claim her place by the king's side might seem presumptuous. But to take another seat would be beneath her dignity...

The main doors were thrown open, and Gilgamesh entered with a wide grin on his face. All of his guests jumped to their feet, pounding on the tables and yelling his name. The king waved for the applause to die down.

Naturally, it did not: no-one there was stupid enough to believe that he meant this gesture for a moment. Finally, he roared for silence, and instantly the room fell quiet.

Gilgamesh made his way to the head table and dropped onto the cushions beside it. At this signal, the others could also take their places. Ta-Nin remained standing with her gaze demurely lowered, waiting for Gilgamesh to see her and call her to join him. After what seemed an eternity she heard him call her name, and looked up. She froze.

There was another woman with him. Her mind seemed paralyzed as she saw the king fondling this other creature. Why, it was the daughter of that inept Gudea, wasn't it? That little s.l.u.t, barely thirteen, barely marriable. And here she was, pretending to be a grown woman, putting herself on public display to have her body pawed by that egotistic lecher. The girl giggled as Gilgamesh slipped a hand down her front and tweaked.