George Martin - Aces Abroad

Peregrine spotted McCoy in the lobby talking to a stocky, dark man in a white uniform. Her two other companions were lounging nearby. Hiram Worchester, she reflected, was looking a little haggard. Hiram, one of Peregrine's oldest and dearest friends, was dressed in one of his custom-made tropical-weight suits, but it hung loosely on him, almost as if he had lost some of his three hundred plus pounds. Perhaps he was feeling the strain of constant traveling as much as she was. Father Squid, the kindly pastor of the Church of Jesus Christ, joker, made Hiram look almost svelte. He was as tall as a normal man and twice as broad. His face was round and gray, his eyes were covered by nictitating membranes, and a cluster of tentacles hung down over his mouth like a constantly twitching mustache. He always reminded her of one of Lovecraft's fictional Deep Ones, but he was actually much nicer.

"Peri," said McCoy. "This is Mr. Ahmed. He's with the Tourist Police. Mr. Ahmed, this is Peregrine."

"This is a pleasure," said the guide, bending to kiss her hand.

Peregrine responded with a smile and then greeted Hiram and the priest. She turned to josh, who was watching her closely. "You okay?" Josh asked. "You look awful. What did Tachyon do, take a quart of blood?"

"Of course not. I'm fine," she said, following Ahmed and the others to the waiting limo. And if I keep saying that, she said to herself, maybe I'll even believe it.

"What on earth?" exclaimed Peregrine as they stopped in front of a metal-and-glass guard station. There were two heavily armed men inside the box, which stood next to a high wall that surrounded several acres of desert that was the Temple of the Living Gods. The whitewashed wall was topped with strands of barbed wire and patrolled by men dressed in blue and armed with machine guns.. Video cameras tirelessly surveyed the perimeter. The effect of the pure white wall against the shining sand and bright blue Egyptian sky was dazzling.

"Because of the Nur," explained Ahmed, pointing to the line of tourists waiting to enter the temple grounds, "everyone has to pass through two detectors, one for metal and the other for nitrates. These fanatics are determined to destroy the temple and the gods. They have already made several attacks against the temple, but so far they've been stopped before doing much damage."

"Who are the Nur?" Father Squid asked.

"They are the followers of Nur al-Allah, a false prophet determined to unite all Islamic sects under himself," Ahmed said. "He has decided that Allah desires the destruction of all those deformed by the wild card virus, and so the Temple of the Living Gods has become one of his sect's targets."

"Do we have to wait in line with the tourists?" Hiram broke in peevishly. "After all, we are here by special invitation."

"Oh, no, Mr. Worchester," Ahmed hurriedly answered. "The VIP gate is this way. You will go right through. If you please…"

As they lined up behind Ahmed, McCoy whispered to Peregrine, "I've never been through a VIP gate, only press gates."

"Stick with me," she promised. "I'll take you lots of places you've never been before."

"You already have."

The VIP gate had its own metal and nitrate detectors. They passed through, watched closely by security guards dressed in the blue robes worn by adherents of the living gods, who thoroughly examined Peregrine's bag and McCoy's camera. An elderly man approached as McCoy's equipment was being returned. He was short, deeply tanned and healthy looking, with gray eyes, white hair, and a magnificant white beard that contrasted nicely with his flowing blue robes.

"I am Opet Kemel," he announced. His voice was deep, mellifluous, and he knew how to use it to demand attention and respect. " I am the head priest of the Temple of the Living Gods. We are gratifed that you could grace us with your presence." He looked from Father Squid to Peregrine, Hiram, and McCoy, and then back to Peregrine. "Yes, my children will be glad that you have come."

"Do you mind if we film the ceremony?" asked Peregrine. "Not at all." He gestured expansively. "Come this way and I'll show you the best seats in the house."

"Can you give us some background on the temple?" Peregrine asked.

"Certainly," Kemel replied as they followed him. "The Port Said wild card epidemic of 1948 caused many `mutations,' I believe they're called, among them of course, the celebrated Nasr-Al Haziz, Khof and other great heroes of past years. Many men of Luxor were working on the Said docks at the time and were also affected by the virus. Some passed it on to their children and grandchildren."

"The true meaning of these mutations struck me over a decade ago when I saw a young boy make clouds drop much-needed rain over his father's fields. I realized that he was an incarnation of Min, the ancient god of crops, and that his presence was a harbinger of the old religion."

"I was an archaeologist then and had just discovered an intact temple complex"-he pointed at their feet "beneath the ground right where we stand. I convinced Min of his destiny and found others to join us: Osiris, a man pronounced dead who returned to life with visions of the future; Anubis, Taurt, Thoth… Through the years they have all come to the Temple of the Living Gods to listen to the prayers of their petitioners and perform miracles."

"Exactly what kind of miracles?" Peregrine asked. "Many kinds. For example, if a woman with child is having a difficult time, she will pray to Taurt, goddess of pregnancy and childbirth. Taurt will assure that all will be fine. And it will be. Thoth settles disputes, knowing who tells the truth and who lies. Min, as I have said, can make it rain. Osiris sees bits of the future. It's all quite simple."

"I see." Kernel's claims seemed reasonable, given the abilities that Peregrine knew the virus could waken in people. "How many gods are there?"

"Perhaps twenty-five. Some cannot really do anything, Kemel said in confiding tones. "They are what you call jokers. However, they look like the old gods-Bast, for example, is covered with fur and has claws-and they give great comfort to the people who come to pray to them. But see for yourselves. The ceremony is almost ready to begin. He led them past groups of tourists posing next to statues of the gods, booths that sold everything from Kodak film, key rings, and Coca-Cola to replicas of antique jewelry and little statuettes of the gods themselves. They went past the booths, through a narrow doorway into a sandstone block wall set flush against a cliff face, and then down worn stone steps. Goosebumps rose on Peregrine's skin. It was cool inside the structure, which was lit by electric lights that resembled flickering torches. The stairwell was beautifully decorated with bas-relief carvings of everyday life in ancient Egypt, intricately detailed hieroglyphic inscriptions, and representations of animals, birds, gods, and goddesses.

"What a wonderful job of restoration!" Peregrine exclaimed, enchanted by the beautiful freshness of the reliefs they passed.

"Actually," Kernel explained, "everything here is just as it was when I discovered it twenty years ago. We added some modern conveniences, like the electricity, of course." He smiled.

They entered a large chamber, an amphitheater with a stage faced by banked stone benches. The walls of the chamber were lined with glass cases displaying artifacts that, Kemel said, had been discovered in the temple.

McCoy meticulously recorded them, shooting several minutes of footage of painted wooden statues that looked as fresh as if they had been painted the day before, necklaces, collars, and pectorals of lapis lazuli, emerald, and gold, chalices carved of translucent alabaster, unguent jars of jade intricately carved in the shapes of animals, elaborately inlaid tiny chests, and gaming boards, and chairs