The Cydonia Objective

Alexander awoke with a start and a popping in his ears. Yawning, he looked out the window, taking several moments for the vast expanse of white to register as snow and ice.

“We’re over the Yukon,” one of the twins said. Alexander let his vision linger on the sprawling ice-capped mountains draped in wispy clouds. The sky was a stark but dull metallic blue; the sun somewhere low beyond the range of jagged peaks. Finally he turned his face away and looked at the boy standing in front of him.

They were on some kind of fancy Learjet. Alexander hadn’t really paid attention when they’d boarded. He just knew it was sleek and narrow, with wide leather seats and TVs and a lot of leg room. But he’d had little time to appreciate any of it, as they lifted off quickly from Alexandria, and then someone gave him a drink of water that tasted funny, and as the twins looked on from across the aisle, giggling, he dozed right off, unable to even hang onto any coherent thoughts.

All he knew now was that he was alive. Safe for the moment, but everything had changed. Their enemies had the Books of Thoth and the Emerald Tablet—the ancient relics he had sworn to protect. Some Keeper he turned out to be. Probably the shortest tenure of any of them throughout history. And now, he very likely was going to preside over their extermination.

But then he had a more sobering thought. That it wasn’t just going to be the Keepers. What was done to the Library—as awful as it was—that was just a taste of what would happen if Calderon and his followers succeeded.

Sleep was troubling and anything but restful, full of fiery cataclysmic nightmares, shifting earth, exploding volcanoes and rivers of lava. Clouds of ash hung low in the sky, huge fissures opened in the ground, swallowing up entire cities; seas boiled and monster waves crashed over the world.

He shook the visions away, then yawned again, popping his ears. “We’re descending?”

“Yep,” said the twin stood in front of him, just standing there like a bemused spectator at a zoo. He was nibbling on a Snickers bar.

Alexander frowned at him. “Jacob?” It wasn’t easy to tell them apart, especially when they dressed the same. Now they wore baggy jeans, hi-top Nikes and long-sleeve navy-blue shirts. But Alexander had spent some time studying the twins. Jacob seemed to be a little neater, his shirt tucked in, his hair combed back, while his brother’s appearance was more ruffled. Isaac sat in his seat, playing a Nintendo DS, grinning as he energetically twisted his arms and mashed the buttons with his fingers.

Calderon was in the back, sitting opposite from Xavier Montross, who seemed to be fast asleep. Or drugged, Alexander thought. Two of Calderon’s goons sat on either side of Xavier, arms crossed, eyes straight ahead.

Alexander craned his neck to see what Calderon was holding, and he let out a gasp.

“The Emerald Tablet,” said Jacob. “Yeah, he’s been studying it, meditating and stuff for about two hours.” It was resting on the senator’s lap, and he seemed to be in a trance. His palms gently rubbed the Tablet’s outer surface, fingertips moving slowly, tracing unseen words and signs. Tiny flickers of green sparked off his skin and fizzled in the air.

“My brother and I are next,” Jacob continued.

Alexander turned his attention away. “Next?”

Jacob took a seat beside him, crossing his legs and leaning forward. “Our dad—stepdad, obviously—said we need to learn its secrets after he’s done. Us, and the other members of…” He trailed off suddenly, catching himself.

“Members of what?” Alexander asked. “Oh, your special cult that wants to destroy the world?”

A light shined in Jacob’s deep brown eyes. “More like remake the world.”

“And how are you going to do that? By first killing everyone else?”

Jacob smiled. He glanced over to Isaac, who was still deeply involved in his game, the headphones crackling with explosions and violence. “You’re special, Alexander. Maybe when you see what we can become, what we’re meant to be, you’ll accept that. And then maybe we’ll accept you. You’ll be one of the saved.”

Alexander shook his head. “I don’t understand any of this. And I don’t think you do, either. You’re just being used. And that Tablet…” He glanced back at Calderon.

“Come on, Alexander. Don’t be like that. We’re brothers, the three of us. Part of an ancient prophecy. Even you have to see that we’re special. Chosen.”

Alexander glanced out the window, seeing the mountains in clearer detail. “If that’s true,” he said. “I wish we were never born.”

Jacob eyes hardened. “How can you say that?”

“Let him whine,” said another voice. The headphones were off, and Isaac was sitting up, stretching. “Our little brother doesn’t have any sense of purpose. He can’t dream big, like you and me, Jacob.”

Alexander turned away again, flushing.

“Doesn’t even have any real talent, I bet.” Isaac leaned forward, his coal-black hair flipping over his eyes. “Didn’t see us coming, did you brother? Didn’t see your lighthouse burning up. Or,” he said, chuckling, “your mom…”

“Shut up,” Alexander said. It was just above a whisper. He was gripping the chair’s armrests. Legs tensing.

“Or what?”

Jacob held up a hand. “Isaac, leave him alone. I think he’s had a bad week.”

“Awww.” Isaac leaned back and put his feet on his twin’s chair. “Suck it up, little brother. It only gets worse from here.”

Alexander gave them both a glare, full of hate. “Stop it. Don’t talk to me anymore.”

His grin widening, Isaac shrugged at Jacob. “Another threat, brother. I don’t think we like his tone.”

Alexander leaned forward. “I’ve already killed a man during this ‘bad week’. Don’t push me.”

Jacob and Isaac both stared at him. “You?” Isaac cut off his laugh when he saw Alexander wasn’t backing down.

“Shot him in the head,” Alexander continued. He never blinked.

Jacob’s mouth hung open until Isaac slapped him on the shoulder. “Huh. Maybe we should give that a look- see. Make sure the brat’s not lying.”

Jacob nodded.

“Besides,” said Isaac, “it would be cool to see someone get shot in the skull.” He gave Alexander a begrudging look of modest respect.

“You ever killed anyone?” Alexander asked, still feeling cocky even though his heart was thundering. His ears popped again, and he winced with the sharp pain.

Jacob looked down, but Isaac smiled and rubbed his hands together. “May 5^th, last year. Seattle. Check it out while we’re checking you out.”

Alexander met Jacob’s eyes, and the silent twin gave a slight shake of his head in warning. His lips moved, forming the word “Don’t…”

Alexander trembled, tried to listen to the advice but it was too late.

Some kind of ceremony, people with robes and holding candles. A dark, shadowy chamber, with a circular—or octagonal—rim of marble pillars and some kind of black altar in the center. A man wearing silver shackles and a white robe with lunar designs on it topples over as the crowd of ram-headed spectators cheer.

Two boys stand over the gagged man who’s bleeding from his skull as the boy—a leering, dancing youth dressed in red and wearing a horned mask—dances on his feet; he’s holding a gold-tipped spear, preparing for another jab.

The captive tries to wriggle away, but there’s some kind of barbed-wire netting caught around his legs and pinning back his arms. A thrust, and the golden point comes back red after puncturing the man’s lungs, between two ribs.

Another cheer, and then a man with a familiar cane steps out of the shadows. “Very good. Now it’s your brother’s turn to finish the battle.”

The boy lowers his head and grudgingly hands the lance over to the other boy, who reluctantly takes it.

“Finish the re-enactment,” Calderon urges, raising his cane as the multitude begins to hum and