Threshold

only medium that can reliably last the test of time.”

“El Mirador,” King said, realizing that Ridley had been collecting bits and pieces of the spoken and written language.

“One of many sites that contained written samples of the mother tongue,” Ridley said. “Your primitive friends in Vietnam, though unable to read the words carved on the walls, added to my knowledge as well. And with the words gleaned from Merlin’s fragment, Adam and I can rejoin the world above as whole individuals.” Ridley affectionately rubbed a hand over the tablet before placing it down on the table behind him. “And you are just in time to witness our separation.” The cloaked Ridley stepped forward, raising his arms out to the side. “Show yourself, Adam.”

King gaped as a third arm reached up over Ridley’s head and took hold of the hood. The fingers, thin and bent, wrapped around the fabric and then pulled back quickly.

Ridley stood before them, bare-chested and pale, his bald head shining under the light of a halo of mini-suns. The third arm reached up and over his torso, gripping his chest tightly. A head followed it, rising up behind his shoulder. The face was Ridley’s, though slightly disfigured.

“Thank you, King,” Adam said. “Without you I would have never been born.”

SEVENTY-NINE

QUEEN WAITED BY the entrance to a small room, keeping watch while Bishop and Knight checked out what was inside. She was bothered by the lack of security. In the past, Ridley had surrounded himself with the high-tech security force known as Gen-Y. They had ultimately failed him, so it was understandable that they were no longer in his employ, but if he had reason to be paranoid about security before, he had twice as many reasons now.

Yet the hallways were empty.

Which meant Ridley had no need for security, had lost his marbles, or had plenty of security that they had yet to discover; she hoped it was the second, but suspected it was a combination of the first and last. Maybe all three.

Knight and Bishop exited the room. “Looks like it used to be an armory. Lots of old blades buried beneath a layer of fibrous dust. Probably ancient wood.”

“Doesn’t look like anyone’s been in there recently,” Bishop said.

“Probably not since this place was built,” Knight added.

Queen moved on in silence, her thoughts on the mission, but also with Rook. He should be here now, she thought. But he was either dead and not returning, or alive and in trouble. Of course, she thought, he could be alive and choosing to stay away. But if that were true … She forced the thought from her mind and turned her full attention to the entryway ahead. She could hear a scratching sound. She detected a foul combination of odors next.

She paused and breathed through her nose.

Piss and shit.

With her XM25 pressed firmly against her shoulder, Queen entered the chamber and froze. Large cages filled the room, lining every wall and stacked three high. She quickly noted the stenciled labels on the front of each cage, written in Russian. And beneath the labels, a Manifold Genetics logo, also in Russian. “Look,” she said, pointing to one of the logos. “These cages were either here before we took Manifold down—”

“Or the company is still active,” Knight finished.

“In Russia,” Queen said. They had witnessed the destruction of Manifold Gamma and Beta. And they had captured the Manifold lab in New Hampshire known as Alpha. But with plenty more letters in the Greek alphabet remaining, who’s to say there weren’t as many Manifold facilities left?

Before Queen attempted to read the labels, she noticed the cages were not empty. The cages held a variety of twisted forms. Many on the lower level were indiscernible as any living creature on Earth, with limbs where heads should be, hoofed feet mixed with human hands and scaled faces. Many appeared dead, but their bodies rose and fell with each breath, despite not having any visible mouth or nose.

Those in the middle cages were hale, but fearful, shifting to the back of the cage. These were oversized lizards and predatory birds. They were covered in feces from the animals on the cages above—dirty and pitiful. Despite their size, they seemed to be as docile and fearful of humans as their smaller, wild, counterparts.

Perhaps these were wild animals before they were experimented on, Queen thought. Then she saw the top row.

Sitting still and watching her were several mammoth, stubby-tailed gray cats. Larger than Siberean tigers, the giant cats had black-tipped ears with long tufts of fur pointing up from them. Their yellow feline eyes seemed to never blink. Their sandy gray coats were covered in oblong spots, but the fur beneath their chins and bellies was white, though stained with blood.

Someone had been feeding them. She saw the remains of a human hand in one of the cages. Someone had been feeding them people.

What stood out most were the long saberlike teeth that protruded down over their lower jaw, and the two- inch-long retractable claws the cats flexed in and out.

“Are they saber-tooth tigers?” Queen asked.

“Lynx,” Bishop said. “They’re native to these mountains.”

“If these are lynx,” Knight said, “then someone’s had a genetic field day with them.”

“Richard Ridley’s calling card,” Queen said before moving through the wide path between the cages, keeping her eyes on the large cats that simply watched her move past. “Let’s get out of this fucked-up menagerie and find Fiona.”

The U-shaped room exited into another hallway. The three moved into the hall quickly, eager to leave the giant predators behind. As they approached the end, Ridley’s deep voice returned.

They crept forward and then heard a second voice, this one unmistakable.

King.

Queen motioned for Knight and Bishop to remain behind and crept up to the tunnel exit. She peered into the chamber beyond and saw five people. Two men who appeared to be Richard Ridley, or golem duplicates, and a cloaked man stood with their backs to her. King and Alexander were on the far side of the space, held several feet off the floor, clutched in the arms of two giant living statues. She quickly noted eight more statues around the chamber and slid back into the hallway.

Walking silently, she passed by a dark slit in the wall. Something about it made her pause. She leaned in close, trying to see through the darkness. Two hands shot out at her, reaching for her face. She jumped back and aimed her weapon.

But the hands meant no harm. They were outstretched. Desperate. And they belonged to a thirteen-year-old girl. Fiona!

Queen rushed up to the wall and took hold of her hands. She gave them a squeeze of reassurance. Neither spoke, knowing it might draw attention. After a moment, Queen stepped back. She took out a water bottle and insulin shot, handing them both to Fiona through the crack. She didn’t need to tell her what they were for. She would know. Queen held up an index finger and mouthed the words “Be right back.”

Fiona turned one of her thumbs up and pulled her hands, along with the water and shot, back inside the cell.

Queen returned to Bishop and Knight, who had seen what happened, but stayed by their post. “We need to get in there now.”

“How do we do that without attracting attention?” Knight asked.

“We give them something else to worry about,” Queen said, and then headed back toward the menagerie. “Just get through that wall and take her topside.”

“When should we blow it?” Knight asked.

Queen looked back over her shoulder. “When the screaming starts.”