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The same kind of gun An Liu had fired at them back in the cemetery.
It was then that he realized he’d had the good fortune to steal An Liu’s bike.
He checked the SIG’s decocker and stuffed it into the top of his pants.
Throughout the morning he’d dealt with merchants and for the most part they were nice to him. He had to pay a small fortune for everything, though—prices were going through the roof under the threat of Abaddon, even here on the other side of the world where the effects of the asteroid would be less urgent. The fact that he wasn’t Indian didn’t make things any cheaper. Regardless, none of the shopkeepers recognized him as a Player, which was fortunate.
But then they stopped for breakfast at a dosa stall, and as they sat at a plastic picnic table the owner turned up the news on the small television mounted over the counter. He gabbed on in Bengali with one of his workers, no doubt talking about all the craziness happening in the world, while stills from An Liu’s video clicked past one by one on the screen. And that’s when Maccabee saw his own face, clear as day.
He didn’t worry about it at first. He was banged up from all the fights he’d been through and he didn’t think that the shop owner was paying close enough attention to make the connection. But he was. He turned on Maccabee and Sky Key in a flash, pointed a finger, started yelling. Maccabee stood, his mouth half-full of curried potatoes, and hoisted up the girl. The man stepped around the counter with a long kitchen knife. Maccabee backed away, swallowed his food, lifted his shirt to reveal the butt of the pistol, and said, “You don’t need to get hurt, my friend. None of us do.”
Stunned, the man quieted for a few moments as Maccabee and Sky Key left. He resumed yelling as soon as they were out on the street, and people began gawking, but the pair made it onto the bike in front of the hotel and Maccabee got Sky Key into the child carrier and they whisked out of there.
They rode all morning, stopping once to buy some rice and lentils at a food stall. Not long ago he caught sight of this hut flickering through the trees. Sky Key had been squirming for the previous 10 kilometers, and Maccabee had to piss, so he pulled over. He hid the bike in the bush and crept toward the corrugated metal building, the SIG pistol in hand. The hut was empty of people. It contained some basic items like bowls and a mirror and a few bedrolls and a low table. Maccabee figured it was a crash pad for itinerant farmhands, but it didn’t look like it had been used in a while.
They went in and he fed Sky Key some already cooked rice and lentils that came in simple plastic bags. Then he got going with the scissors and the straight razor. And now he is done. It isn’t a perfect disguise, but he doesn’t look anything like he did in the video.
It will do.
“Well, I like it,” Maccabee says of his new look.
Sky Key chews and manages a grunt. One of the first noises she’s made all morning.
Maccabee scoots over so that he’s sitting opposite the girl. A warm breeze pushes through the windows. The leaves outside rustle, a tree trunk creaks.
So young, he thinks.
Too young.
He dips his fingers into the bowl of rice and lentils and takes a handful in the Indian fashion and brings it to his lips. For food purchased from a roadside hawker, it’s surprisingly good.
Sky Key’s face is wind worn and streaked with grime. He reaches across the bowl and uses his thumb to wipe her cheek. She doesn’t move away. Her eyes are locked forward, staring at Maccabee’s chest.
“I’ll steal a car soon. You shouldn’t ride like that. Too exposed.”
She chews. Stares. Swallows.
“Good,” she says, breaking her silence since the day before.
“So you are going to talk?” he says, trying to sound kind.
“I don’t like it. The motorbike.”
“We’ll get rid of it then.”
“Good,” she repeats. She takes another mouthful of food.
“The problem is—once we get a car, where do we go?”
She doesn’t say anything.
“I mean, we should probably wait out the impact before we keep going,” he says, thinking out loud more than talking to her. “But where will we be safe? And how will we find Sun Key?”
“We’ll be safe, Uncle,” she announces emphatically.
He frowns.
She takes another bite of food in her fingertips, pushes it into her mouth.
Strange girl, he thinks.
“Please, call me Maccabee. Or Mac.”
“All right, Uncle,” she says, as if she’s agreeing to a different request.
He ignores it. “How do you know we’ll be safe?”
The girl swallows her food before answering. “The Makers won’t destroy me or Earth Key. Mama said. The bad thing will happen far from here. From me. From who is with me. What we need to be afraid of are the others. Like the man from yesterday. That’s what Mama said too.”
“Your mama,” he says slowly.
“Yes. Thank you for killing the bad man, Uncle,” she says in a smaller than usual voice. “Thank you.”
Very strange girl, he thinks as pangs of guilt shudder through him. Baitsakhan was absolutely bad, but that didn’t make Maccabee a saint. Not by a long shot. After all, he nearly killed Shari Chopra too.
But he didn’t. And this girl, she does not need to know otherwise.
“You’re … welcome,” he says. He wonders if she’s always spoken beyond her years. He wonders if touching Earth Key made her this way, or if she was like this before.
He can’t know that she was.
That Little Alice was always precocious, always special.
He says, “All right, let’s assume we are safe from the asteroid. I still don’t know where to go. How do I win? Where is Sun Key?”
She chews. Swallows. Then she sticks out her arm and points a few degrees south of due east. “I know, Uncle.”
Maccabee frowns. “You know?”
“Two two dot two three four. Six eight dot nine six two.”
He gets his smartphone, launches Google Maps, and punches in the coordinates. A pin over water pops up, a short distance from the coast of the western Indian port city of Dwarka. He shows it to Sky Key.
“This? Is this where we’ll find Sun Key?”
The girl nods.
“It’s not that far at all!”
Giddiness wells in his heart and works into his throat.
“Yes, Uncle. Sun Key is there.”
“You’re certain?”
“Yes.”
He fumbles with the smartphone and his smile grows. Two thousand four hundred thirty-four kilometers. Thirty-six or 37 hours of driving. Maybe faster if he can find a plane to steal.
He can win Endgame, he can guarantee the survival of the Nabataean line after the cataclysm, he can see the new Earth and live on it until he is old and frail. Maybe he can save this young girl and fulfill the promise he made to her mother.
Maybe he can win and right some wrongs.
He jumps to his feet, intent on going outside and flagging down the next decent-looking car that comes along the road and carjacking it. He can hardly contain himself. “Sky Key, this is amazing!”
“I know, Uncle.” The girl takes another bite. “They call me Little Alice.”
“I could win, Alice! The Nabataeans could win!”
She chews. Swallows. “I know.”
AN LIU, NORI KO
HP Petrol Pump, Baba Lokenath Service Station off SH 2, Joypur Jungle, West Bengal, India
An’s heart is full.
After the explosion Nori Ko moved to the Defender’s backseat. She said in Mandarin, “Drive west.”
He did.
He watched the road slip under the car and continue to unfurl before them and he watched her in the rearview mirror and he watched the road and he watched her. The road and her. Road and her. He did not speak. He did not need words. He did not speak for over three hours.
She did not bother him with words either.
Chiyoko would have done the same.
ChiyokoChiyokoNoriKoChiyoko.
Now they’ve stopped to refuel. He’s outside. She’s in the car, her head propped against the far window. He’s in the stifling heat, a gas pump in his hand. The paved highway lies to the north. A few kilometers earlier they entered a jungle reserve and now trees rise all around, making the air a couple of degrees cooler than it is out by the open fields of jute and corn. Behind the filling station is a low concrete building, a white bull lolling under a jackfruit tree, its leafy boughs heavy with oblong fruit. Aside from the attendant in the air-conditioned booth, no people are around.
An finishes and pays and gets in and drives.
“West?” he asks.
“West.”
He merges onto State Highway 2, headed for Bishnupur. They drive through the jungle. An doesn’t see any buildings or signs of people except for the road they’re on and a brief glimpse of a derelict metal hut hiding behind the trees. He thinks nothing of it.
After another quarter hour, An says, “I’m ready”—blink—“I’m ready”—blink—“I’m ready to talk.” SHIVER. “We have to talk.”
“We do,” Nori Ko says. She moves An’s rifle from the front passenger seat and climbs forward. “You have questions.”
An nods. “Why did you find me?”
“I found you because I also loved Chiyoko.”
His skin crawls at hearing another person say her name. Even this one, who comes from her stock and looks so much like her. He’s reminded of the British interrogator on the destroyer who insisted on saying it. That one who wielded the name like a blade. Drove it into An’s ears and twisted it. An almost tells his new ally that she should not say Chiyoko’s name either, but he knows he doesn’t have the right. Whoever Nori Ko is, she was someone to Chiyoko. That counts for something.
“Chiyoko,” Nori Ko says quietly.
Yes, it counts for something. But …
The name is mine now, he thinks. Chiyoko. Chiyoko Takeda. My name.
Nori Ko reaches across the inside of the car, her fingers yearning for the necklace that hangs around An’s neck, breaking his train of thought.
SHIVER.
He moves away from her.
“It’s okay,” she says. “I want to touch her. Like you do.”
BLINKSHIVERBLINK.
She touches the necklace. After a moment Nori Ko returns her hands to her lap. Her fingertips rub together, the residue of Chiyoko on them.
“I love her,” Nori Ko clarifies. “After what happened I couldn’t sit idly by. That’s why I found you.”
“After what happened?”
“I am Mu. A high member of the training council. I know much about Endgame.” She pauses, and then says quietly, “I saw a recording of your conversation with Nobuyuki. I saw how you killed him.”
SHIVERSHIVER.
“Yes, I saw it, Shang. There was a black box containing surveillance recordings that survived the fire in Naha. I heard what you said, what he said. I thought Nobuyuki was unfair to you. Under no circumstances would he have allowed you to Play for the Mu, but I thought it not right of him to test you like that.”
“He deserved what he got,” An says.
“No, he did not.”
SHIVER.
She says, “You didn’t need to honor his request for Chiyoko’s remains. You did not have to respect Nobuyuki the way you respected Chiyoko. But for that same reason, you should have spared him. Not for his sake, but for hers. Killing him dishonored Chiyoko, An. As well as yourself. It did nothing to tarnish the honor of Nobuyuki Takeda.”
BLINKBLINK.
Her voice is cold.
SHIVERBLINKblink.
“You speak like him,” An finally says.
“I can speak like him. But I am not him.”
An wrings the wheel in his hands. His knuckles whiten. He pushes the gas a little more. The car accelerates.
Her voice is cold.
Her words cut.
“I loved Nobuyuki too,” she says. “But don’t worry, I’m not interested in honor like he was. I’m not here to punish you for his death.” The thought of this woman punishing him almost makes An laugh. She continues. “I chose you precisely because I’ve seen what you’re capable of.”
Death, he thinks. She wants death.
“What were you to her?” An asks.
“A trainer. Bladed arts, karate, acrobatics, evasion, disguise. She was my best student. I’ve never met anyone faster or more ruthless. She was—”
“She should not have died.”
“No. She shouldn’t have.”
Silence. One kilometer. Two.
“You love her,” An says. “I love her. This doesn’t explain why you’re here.”
“Because I want the same thing you want.”
“And that is?” He’s glad to be wearing Chiyoko right now. She gives him strength. Allows him to speak without too many glitches or tics.
So glad.
She is like you, love, Chiyoko says to him.
Nori Ko says, “What you want is as plain as the nose on your face, An Liu. Love multiplied by death—by murder—has only one solution.”
Pause.
“Revenge,” An says.
“Revenge,” Nori Ko says.
More silence. The sky is bright. They pass a multicolored Tata truck laden with rebar.
She doesn’t lie, love, Chiyoko says. Her anger makes her strong.
I know, An thinks. It is the same with me. Chiyoko doesn’t say anything to this.
“How did you find me?” An asks.
“I’ve been on your trail since Naha. I was going to approach you the other day, right after you arrived in Kolkata, but then Endgame caught us by surprise, didn’t it?”
“It did. Things happened quickly. Very quickly. We were so close.”
“To Adlai?”
We were so close to killing the Nabataean, love, Chiyoko reminds him.
He nods. “Yes. We were very close,” An says to Chiyoko and Nori Ko.
Nori Ko ignores An’s use of the first person plural and says, “I tried to reach the cemetery, but I was too late to help you. Believe me, I would have.”
An thinks of what she did to the mob in Ballygunge. He says, “I believe you.”
“Good.”
Silence again. They pass roadside things. A group of women in bright clothing, a flock of pigeons rising from the treetops, a road crew patching potholes in the oncoming lane.
The other side of the world faces the apocalypse, but in India life goes on.
“What do you think of when you think of revenge, An?”
“Blood. Ashes. Swollen things.”
Nori Ko shakes her head. “No. I mean, who do you think of?”
The answer is quick. “The Cahokian. The Olmec. They were there when she died. If they hadn’t been, she would’ve lived.”
A brief silence before Nori Ko intones, “Then I want their deaths too, An Liu.”
SHIVERshiverSHIVERshiverSHIVERshiver.
“But tell me, An Liu—is there someone else you want dead?”
The car jounces over a bump. Neither speaks for a moment. He looks at the instrument panel. The Defender whips along at 123 kph. The engine hums at 2,900 rpms. It is 37 degrees Celsius outside.
“Yes,” he answers.
Nori Ko says, “The kepler.”
An nods. “Him. It.”
Nori Ko grunts. “I’m also in the mood for his blood. And I will see that you have it. That we both have it.”
An says, “You’re not like Chiyoko.”
“I’m older than she was. Age does things to a person, and people who know of Endgame age even faster and in different ways.” She waves her hand as if to bat away a fly or an unpleasant memory. “I had ideals once, if that’s what you mean.”
BLINKshiverblink.
“It is.”
“I’ve learned a lot about Endgame over the years, An. From a lot of different people, not all of them Mu. Not all of them wanting Endgame the way the Players did. My ideals, such as they were, suffered the more that I learned.” Pause. “They were dashed for good when Chiyoko was killed.”
Hearing her name again hurts. She shouldn’t say it, he thinks.
Chiyoko whispers, It’s all right. She will help you. Don’t be hard on her. She will help you. She will help us.
An shakes his head—not a tic, just a hard shake to quiet her voice, which echoes in his brain.
A car appears in the rearview mirror, driving very fast.
“So tell me—where are we headed, Mu Nori Ko?”
“You’ve been watching the news?”
“Yes.”
“And seen that someone’s destroying monuments from Maker-human antiquity?”
“Yes. Do you know who?”
“I have a hunch, but that’s not important. What is important is that we get to the next closest monument—which happens to be the Harappan one in western India. Odds are that is where the Nabataean is taking the first two keys. It is where he thinks he will win.”
“Where exactly?”
“A sunken temple near the Gujarati town of Dwarka.”
An jams the brakes and holds the wheel tightly and Nori Ko braces herself on the dashboard and the tires squeal and they come to a lurching halt.
The car that is driving fast so fast overtakes them. A small late-model sedan, one driver, bald and in a hurry. No passengers. The driver looks nothing like Maccabee and there is no one else in the car so An doesn’t pay it any mind. Everyone drives like a speed demon in India anyway.
“Why is Adlai going there?” he asks urgently. “Is it because of Sun Key?”
“Yes.”
“Is it there?”
“I don’t know for sure.”
“But you think it’s at one of these monuments? The ones that are being destroyed?”
“Yes. It is. Although I don’t know which one.”
He pauses. Squints. The car disappears around the next turn. He says, “Then Sun Key could also be at the Mu monument? Or the Cahokian? Or the Olmec? Or—the Shang?”
“Yes. It could.”
An puts the car back in gear, whips the wheel around, pulls a tight U-turn, and heads back in the direction from which they came, going fast fast fast.
“What are you doing?” Nori Ko demands.
BlinkSHIVERSHIVERblinkBLINKBLINKSHIVERshiverBLINK.
She reaches out and puts a hand on his arm. He yanks it away.
China, Chiyoko says.
Yes, he answers.
“The Nabataean could already be halfway to Dwarka!” Nori Ko protests.
“I know. And if he’s lucky enough to find Sun Key there, then he’s already won, and we are already too late,” An says through clenched teeth. “Nothing we do will matter. We need to get the keys to see the kepler face-to-face. If he wins, then we will have lost our chance to meet and then kill the Maker. But …”
And then Nori Ko understands. “The pyramid of Emperor Zhao.”
“Yes. We start at the Shang monument. If Dwarka doesn’t have Sun Key—and the odds are decent that it won’t—then Adlai will go to the next closest monument. Mine.”
“China,” Nori Ko says. Accepting. Approving.
“Yes. We’re going home,” he says, thinking of all the things he hated about it, of all the pain he endured during his training, of all the suffering. “My hellish home.”
SHARI CHOPRA
Mercedes Sprinter Van, Ayutthaya, Thailand
Shari Chopra is not in her home, although that is where she would rather be more than anything. In her home, smelling cooking food, watching her child run through the garden, holding her husband’s hand.
But her husband is dead.
She is not home, but she is awake, and none of the others know it yet.
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