Serpent's Tooth
“And you get paid well for finding stockpiles of weapons, vehicles and electronics,” Sela added.
Fargo nodded. “That’s right. But my main goal is to discover what we have lost as a race.”
Sela noticed that Fargo had allowed his voice to drop an octave, taking on a seductive tone. It hadn’t been lost on the archaeologist that Sela was a survivor from another time, preserved in suspended animation for centuries, safe from apocalyptic turmoil. The past that Fargo longed to discover lived in the woman. His attention to her lithe, athletic figure also showed that more than a little lust had influenced his sudden focus on her. Fargo was a tall, handsome man in his own right. If Lakesh’s and Domi’s instincts hadn’t been tripped by him, Sela wouldn’t have minded the attention. The suspicions about Fargo’s affiliations prevented any reciprocal appreciation.
The door quickly opened, jarring Fargo from his observation of Sela. Domi and Lakesh entered, moving with swiftness of purpose.
“My colleagues will be by shortly,” Lakesh informed Fargo, taking a seat across from him.
“Kane, Grant and Baptiste?” Fargo inquired.
“The same,” Lakesh answered brusquely. “The map you submitted is of interest. You claim to have encountered a hidden society in what used to be India. One in possession of twentieth-century military technology.”
“My expedition was wiped out, and when I made my escape, they pursued me with a helicopter,” Fargo explained. “I also have a feeling that they possess genetic reengineering technology.”
Lakesh frowned. “What did you say they called themselves again?”
“They called themselves Nagah, individually,” Fargo stated. “No relation to the Naga cultists both your people and mine had encountered farther to the south.”
Lakesh glared at Fargo. From a prior encounter, Lakesh knew that the millennialists had a penchant for trying to unsettle the Cerberus warriors by appearing astonishingly well-informed. “Interesting.”
The door opened again, pausing the conversation as three more people entered the room. As large as Edwards was, Grant was even taller, his shoulders even broader. By contrast, Kane was a lean, tightly muscled figure, his body as sleek and efficient as if he were a wolf recast in human form. Kane’s eyes held a predatory intensity as he glared at Fargo. The most interesting addition to the population of the interrogation room was Brigid Baptiste. Had her beauty been any less striking, she’d have been swallowed by the imposing ferocity of the two men she accompanied. However, even with her flame-tinted curls pulled back in a severe ponytail, and her voluptuous body wrapped in a plain redoubt bodysuit, Brigid was an explosion of beauty.
As the trio stared Fargo down, he could sense the flavors of their intellects. Grant emanated cynical distrust. Kane’s hard glare tore deep, formulating the most efficient means to kill the archaeologist if necessary. Brigid’s observations were cold and clinical, dissecting his every aspect like fibers underneath a microscope.
Without saying a word, the three companions had dispelled the chance that tales of their exploits were hyperbole. The trio had an energy to it that was unmistakable, a lethal mix of power and intellect. No wonder Fargo’s fellow millennialists had considered the three adventurers the greatest threat to their goals of world superiority.
“Do I meet with your approval?” Fargo asked, trying not to appear cowed by the force of personality standing before him.
The bullwhip clattered on the table in front of Fargo, thrown there by Kane. “That’s seen some hard use,” the ex-Magistrate said. “Found bits of human skin in there.”
“And despite the effort to disguise your allegiance, you possess considerable backing. Where else would you have received such competent medical treatment?” Brigid said, noting the line of the scar on his forearm. “Not to mention the quality of your clothing and other equipment.”
Fargo glanced at Grant. The big man merely shrugged. “I got nothin’ other than I do not trust strangers caught creeping around my back door.”
Lakesh cleared his throat. “We were just discussing his claims of a hidden society operating in northwestern India.”
“So the Millennial Consortium wants us to take a look where their own expedition failed?” Grant asked bluntly. Fargo raised an eyebrow at the sudden accusation, but Grant waved off the man’s reaction. “Sure, think of me as the dumb muscle, but Brigid’s implications only give me one real option. You’re not some mind-controlled toady, so you can’t be Erica von Sloan’s errand boy. The snake-face survivors are too disorganized, looking for their old toys to bother with hairless apes. All that’s left is the consortium.”
Fargo nodded. “I’ve worked for them, but this is not their call. They sent me to get a big, fat prize, and the force they supplied me with died. I left empty-handed and alone.”
“So, the millennialists don’t love you anymore,” Kane mentioned. “Even if I believed that, why not try to ask the dragon queen for help? She loves ancient artifacts, and she’d provide a good word to get you back into the graces of the consortium.”
Fargo chuckled, a rueful look on his face. “I’d taken a few of her things during a weekend at the Xian Pyramid. Since Erica joined up with the consortium, she’s been looking for an excuse to expel me out into the cold, cruel world.”
Brigid echoed Fargo’s laugh, drawing Kane’s attention.
“What?” Kane asked.
Brigid smiled. “Never thought that I’d sympathize with the wicked bitch of the east. You call yourself an archaeologist, but you’re nothing more than a common thief.”
Fargo shrugged. “Knowledge is power, but it doesn’t keep a belly full.”
“It pays the bills, right?” Brigid asked. “A lot of excuses for mercenary activity. After all, aren’t you just seeking what we have lost as a race?”
Fargo’s eyes narrowed. “I knew it. The waiting game was just to shake my tongue loose. You wanted the truth about me? Fine. I know you’re not paranoid when you actually do have someone out to get you.”
Kane smirked. “Spoken like someone who has plenty of enemies of his own.”
“So what about the Nagah?” Grant asked. “They like the other cultists in the south? Snake worshipers?”
“Worship, nothing,” Fargo said. “Scaled skin, hinged fangs, complete with venom sacs capable of spraying blinding poison. They also have hoodlike structures, webbing along the sides of their heads that leads down to their shoulders, capable of flexing like a true cobra’s. Crazy is strong enough for a lot of things, but not enough to change a madman’s species. That’s why I said they possessed the facilities to reengineer genetics.”
“It’s possible to make enormous changes with the proper technology,” Lakesh spoke up. “I’m living proof of that. Enlil-as-Sam utilized a swarm of nanites to rebuild my internal organs and store my youth.”
“That was utilizing Annunaki technology,” Brigid said.
“Nanites?” Fargo asked.
“Molecule-scale machines capable of deconstructing and reorganizing matter,” Brigid explained.
When the look on Fargo’s face betrayed his level of comprehension, Grant laughed. “Really tiny robots that can change an old man into a young guy, or a normal person into one of your cobra freaks.”
“Thanks,” Fargo muttered.
“I know how tough it is, listening to Brigid explain things for the first time,” Grant added.
“Grant and I jockeyed to get first crack at science books when we arrived,” Kane said. “Understanding the basics really helps.”
“Do you two mind?” Brigid asked. “Besides, I thought you didn’t trust him.”
“We don’t,” Grant said. “We don’t like or trust the murderous little prick.”
Kane nodded. “But, like you sympathized with Erica, we can sympathize with him.”
Lakesh sighed loudly, wishing to return to Fargo’s story about his serpentine adversaries. “The snake men seem to correlate with mythologies that extend back at least three millennia. Though the name ‘Nagah’ is localized to the Indian subcontinent.”
“If you read between the lines, however, there are beings like mer-people, Lamia, even gods such as the feathered serpent god Quetzalcoatl. Snakelike humans are not a unique mythology,” Brigid interjected. “As well, Lord Strongbow had modified his troops with reptilian aspects, obviously inspired by ancient creatures such as the Formorians.”
“Durga mentioned Strongbow’s people,” Fargo said. “How they utilized an inefficient form of transformation.”
Brigid tilted her head. “The Tuatha de Danaan and the Annunaki entered a truce and combined their technologies. However, one of the regions where they engaged in fiercest conflict was the British Isles. Perhaps the Formorians were these serpentine humans.”
“I thought that was a leftover memory of when the snake faces and the Tuatha were at war,” Kane said.
“Perhaps,” Brigid said. “There is also a disturbing similarity between the reptilians that Fargo describes and the Nephilim that the Quad V hybrids evolved into.”
Domi raised her hand and both Brigid and Lakesh looked at her. “Brigid, you were helping me do some research on reptilian humanoids, after we’d encountered the Hydrae mutants in Greece. There was someone…Yuck…”
“Icke. David Icke,” Brigid replied. “It popped into my mind, as well.”
Lakesh rolled his eyes. “I was around when he posited some of his ideas.”
Brigid nodded. “Icke’s theories were odd, but they may have had actual scientific basis. He theorized that there were shape-shifting but basically reptilian creatures who secretly ruled the world in the twentieth century. They were purported to have had limited shape-shifting abilities, but his position that many world leaders were actually nonhumans strained credulity. This, of course, diverges from the traditional mythological texts where these creatures were not shape changers. As well, the Nagah were not an antagonistic race. They lived in a subterannean realm beneath India. There were also hints that the Nagah originated on another continent.”
“Like Lemuria or Atlantis,” Kane suggested.
“You’ve been taking notes,” Brigid complimented him. “Which brings our friend’s comparison to Lord Strongbow’s troops full circle.”
“So, the Nagah were not shape-shifters?” Fargo asked.
“Unlikely,” Brigid answered. “Even Icke’s contemporary John Rhodes stated that such accusations of saurian humanoids were unfounded paranoia. The ‘reptoids’ of Rhodes’s description were, like the Indian Nagah, subterranean, but with origins in the era of the dinosaurs.”
Fargo squeezed his brow. “That’s a lot to bite off in one session, and I saw the fucking things.”
The archaeologist glanced at Kane. “So, are you going to go to India?”
“Yes,” Lakesh spoke up. “I want to come, as well. I proved I can handle myself in the field, with our last journey to India, and the sortie into China.”
“You’re not making me sit it out like you did in China,” Domi said curtly.
“Darlingest one, it’s too dangerous,” Lakesh countered. The slap across his cheek wasn’t entirely unexpected. Lakesh, having seen Domi in conflict, knew that she pulled her punch, because his head wasn’t swimming and he was still on his feet. Her ruby-red eyes glowed angrily in the interrogation room.
“I’m perfectly fine with danger. It’s my job. Besides, you’re too important to risk without having someone specifically looking out for you. Kane and the others will be too busy to babysit you, keep their eyes on Fargo and deal with high-tech snakes at the same time,” Domi told him.
Lakesh nodded. “I forget. You’re not some fragile flower.”
“And it’s not like I can tell you not to go, because you speak the language,” Domi added. “So, I’m coming along. No bullying this time.”
“Fine,” Lakesh said.
He turned to Sela. “You and the other away team members can handle things here?”
“Absolutely, boss,” Sela replied. “Just don’t forget to bring me something back as a souvenir.”
“What were you thinking about?” Fargo asked, slipping back into the role of seducer.
“How about your balls if you betray my people?” Sela asked.
Fargo glanced at Kane.
“Sympathy or no, if the consortium shows up to this party, you’ll be the first one to catch a bullet,” Kane told him.
Fargo didn’t doubt the Cerberus warrior.
Chapter 5
The crystal-clear water of the underground pool slid off the shimmering blue-green scales of the naked serpent woman as she walked up the slope of the beach. She climbed past the water’s edge on long, sinewy legs. The serpentess ran slender, deceptively delicate fingers down her body, wiping away droplets that clung to her curvaceous form. A sarong of flowered blue silk lay in a puddle on a flat rock that she used as a table, and she picked it up once she had assured herself that her scaled flesh had been brushed clean, no dewy droplets remaining to mar the simple wrap. The cloth snugged around her sleek, full hips, covering her from her vestigal navel down to just above her knees. With a deft fold, she looped a ribbon-like strap around her neck, covering her breasts, a throwback to her mammalian hybrid heritage. The wrap obscured her nearly invisible nipples in the center of each glimmering orb. The women of the Nagah, entitled Nagani, betrayed their half-human heritage, possessing the curves reminiscent of human female anatomy, and as such, had developed a need for concealing those differences from their male counterparts.
“Hannah, my queen, my apologies,” the voice of her bodyguard echoed to her. The echo of his words bounced from the cavernous tunnel to the subterranean lagoon. “May this unworthy servant enter thy glorious presence?”
Naji Hannah finished tucking her sarong down. “Come in, Manticor. There is nothing unworthy about you. And I am not queen yet.”
The bodyguard strode into view. He was six and a half feet tall, lithe limbs resembling thick cords of steel cable, having a silvery burnish as they ran down from copper-brown shoulders. Manticor, like all Nagah men, was naked from the waist up, clad only in pants from his hips to his knees. The tough chest plates that rolled down his torso were the same hard, sandy shells that protected the soles of his feet, surer protection and traction than any hand-cobbled footwear. Like many of the Nagah, his toes had fused together, giving him the illusion of shoes. Those who had been gifted with the “change” and whose lower bodies had become truly serpentine were considered the children of their creator. Such instances were rare, resulting in beings who had to drag themselves along by their arms, resting on a long, undulating monolimb that was not designed for supporting the weight of a human torso.
“Naja Durga has returned from his recent expedition,” Manticor stated. “He requests the company of his promised bride.”
Hannah’s eyes narrowed. “In other words, ‘I’m home. Where’s my fuck?’”
Manticor winced at the harshness of his charge’s language. Hannah knew that Manticor was also pained by the thought of Hannah being pressed into a loveless marriage. “I am sorry, Excellence.”
Hannah ran her delicate fingertips across the tough chest plates on the snake man’s pectoral muscles. Her hazel eyes sought his, penetrating deep into their brown, smoldering depths. “I am sorry, as well, my loyal protector. I meant no crudeness for your ears. Tell my cousin that if he wishes to see me, he can find me in my chambers.”
Manticor’s scaled lips tightened into a bloodless line. “He won’t be pleased.”
“If Durga deems it necessary to punish you, he will never know my touch again,” Hannah promised, rage giving edge to her voice. “No. He’ll know the touch of my feet once I’ve finished kicking him to death.”
Manticor stepped away from her touch. Shame had smothered whatever joy had been awakened by Hannah’s caress. Manticor’s duty was to the Nagah Protectorate, the elite who defended the royal family. That duty meant that he would give his life for the precious Princess Hannah. In the larger scheme of things, it meant that he had to ensure that the crown prince’s bride would bear him the means to carry on his family dynasty. His life, influenced by an affection and attraction to Hannah, was commanded by an oath to see the thing he loved most in the world hauled off to an embittered being who saw her only as a means to extend his genetic viability.
Hannah regretted being so familiar with Manticor, speaking the thoughts that flashed behind dark eyes. She regretted that his devotion to her had sparked a kindred love. Manticor was the shining knight every girl wanted, be they human or Nagah. Tall, strong and selflessly committed to her, Manticor was Hannah’s body and soul. All she had to do was ask, and he’d be hers forever. Were there a place for the two Nagah to flee in the human world, she would abandon her crown and leave with him. Instead, she was trapped. Serpents were not welcome aboveground, and the humans who interacted with the Nagah were rare outside of the underground realm. Hannah and Manticor would be hunted by snake and shunned by man.
“I will tell Naja Durga of your intentions,” Manticor said. After a pause, he chuckled nervously. “Intention to wait for him in your chambers, not the kicking thing.”
Hannah gave him a weak smile, then the official gesture of dismissal. Released, the bodyguard left the lagoon chamber, and his discomfort. She watched him bow as he left the private swimming area. Hannah made her way slowly to her chambers.
The dread-filled wait for Durga’s arrival began.
DURGA ROLLED OVER, spent in his carnal energies. His member retreated back into its protective sheath of armored scales, smearing his and Hannah’s mixed love juices on the flat plates of his groin. He licked at Hannah’s hood, tongue trailing to the crook of her neck before kissing her. “Be a dear and clean our mess off me.”
Hannah, panting and sore, glared at him. Her eyes flicked down to the glistening cocktail in his lap. “I am a princess of the blood, not some bathing maid. Get a washcloth.”
She rolled on the mattress, pulling away from his grasp, staring at the tapestry on her chamber wall. Hannah hunched her shoulders, trying to create a wall between Durga and herself. Powerful fingers dug into her shoulder, and Hannah grimaced as he whipped her around so that they were face-to-face. She looked at the damaged scales over his right eye. The scar was a livid, jagged slash carved into his armored skin. His once golden iris was muted as it swam in a bloodshot orb. It was a memento of his encounter with the humans of the Millennial Consortium. The eye that peered at her looked harsh, unhealthy.
“Your king demands your service,” Durga snarled threateningly.
Hannah’s upper lip curled back, her fangs flexing into position. “You’ll regret it.”
Durga pushed her away, sitting up. “We are of the same royal blood. Your venom would not harm me.”
“No, but my teeth are still sharp enough to tear your dick to shreds,” Hannah returned, exiting the bed to get away from him.
Durga watched her move. Even angry, she had the grace of a dancer. “You would end the trueblood? For what? Dignity? Even sucking me off, you’re still a queen.”
Hannah tugged her wrap around her naked form, stepping closer to the chamber entrance. “Then why act as if I’m just a whore?”
“Take one more step, and it will be you who will harbor regrets,” Durga promised. His hood flexed, flaring as the muscle stretched his neck in anger.
“If your touch leaves a mark, the Nagah will forget about your pure blood and let you know how they feel about your bigotry,” Hannah warned. “When the bulk of your people are newbloods, you don’t have much room to alienate them.”
Durga smirked, his orange eye flashing like a fire in a pit. “Manticor.”
“You wouldn’t,” Hannah stated.
“He would follow my orders. He’d assault the gates of hell armed with a toothpick if I told him to,” Durga replied, sneering at her. “He will do his duty, and his duty, ultimately, is my will.”
“I would damn you to hell,” Hannah said, sighing, “but you’d be in charge inside of ten minutes.”
Durga smiled. “Come here, lover. On your knees.”
Hannah clenched her golden eyes shut, tear ducts burning like acid.
“Your dignity or my majesty,” Durga taunted. “Make your choice.”
Hannah’s eyes snapped open in a glare, but in her heart she knew the true choice didn’t involve either of the royal Nagahs’ pride. The life of a good, upstanding, selfless being was at stake. Even if Hannah hadn’t harbored affection for the loyal Manticor, she couldn’t allow harm to come to one of her people, especially when she had a say in the matter. It was her duty as ruler to sacrifice for her people, she told herself.
Not completely, she corrected. Self-service did play a role in her decision. As long as Manticor lived, there was a chance that they would have an opportunity to become lovers, to grow old together.
She stepped to Durga, knelt, closed her eyes and thought of Manticor.
WHENEVER HANNAH WAS CALLED to bed with the trueblood prince, Manticor always found it easier to be elsewhere in the ancient caverns of the Nagah. He wasn’t blind to the affection that she showed him, but also knew that such love was a leash that Durga wielded to control his chosen bride. Hannah only alluded to her dealings with Durga, but the hints formed an ugly picture, that made Manticor regret the strength of his fealty to the royal family.
Durga’s father, Garuda, had died defending their underworld realm, fallen as he battled against armored invaders from across the Pacific Ocean. The humans had called themselves Magistrates, and they sought the technology of the Nagah, most especially the ancient genetic-manipulation devices left behind by their creator, one of the dragon gods of the stars. The capacity for cloning and human alteration was too important to the hybrid barons who ruled America. Though they had their own genetics program and production facility, the thought of others possessing such advancements was anathema to them. Garuda, the fallen king, had offered to share with the barons, but greed had proved too much to allow such compromise.
The shooting war was brief and savage. Garuda led the Nagah warriors in a conflict against the baronial expeditionary force. The Magistrates had been exterminated, but at enormous cost, with Garuda dying as he destroyed the last of the Deathbird helicopters. Mortally wounded by the gunship’s machine gun, Garuda struck the craft from the sky with a shoulder-fired rocket. The destruction of the human marauders became known as the Battle of Sky Spear, one of the greatest victories, and tragedies, in the history of the cobra people.
That was where Durga’s spite for the mammals had been born. Durga was only in his teen years, a young warrior who fought alongside his father as a gunner on a jeep. He watched as the humans’ bullets tore into his father’s flesh, and his vengeful thirst had not been slaked in thirty years of bloodshed.
That was decades ago, and since then, Durga had spread the influence of the Nagah dynasty throughout the region. Raids against human settlements produced results that impressed the queen, Matron Yun. Converts among the imprisoned slaves were passed through the cobra baths, solutions of nanomachines in saline that stripped the majority of their mammalian nature, all save a warm-blooded metabolism, and replaced it with the serpentine perfection that had been a gift from the dragon god Enki. Human cultists were readily accepted into the ranks, provided they survived the harrowing trek to the Kashmir across the radioactive wastelands, bandit-controlled territories and the ferocious predators of the wilderness. Unfortunately, few of these believers, now called pilgrims, even knew of the hidden Nagah empire. Even fewer had the endurance to survive such a murderous journey.
Manticor’s father had been one such man. His mother was a convert from the enslaved humans captured by the grim Prince Durga, in the time before the prince’s rage consumed every waking moment. Technically, Manticor’s birth by two newbloods, or converts to Nagah form, and the fact that he was born a serpent, not needing the cobra baths, made him a trueblood. Unfortunately, Durga had long ago decreed that only the royal family could call themselves truebloods, as they could trace their lineage back to the age of the dragon kings. Manticor didn’t have the right to that title. The best that he could hope for was the mantle of pilgrim’s son.