In the dim light, veiled by swirling clouds of dust, the pyramid seemed to come apart in some weird slow motion, like on a vid loop. Fragments of casing stone floated in the vapors, turning slowly like revolving planets. They tumbled and toppled and crashed.
Ryan and Krysty clung to each other and watched in blank shock at the scene of havoc and destruction. She said something, but her voice was lost in the fury of the stony, thunderous tempest that roared about them.
Then, mercifully, the cataclysmic sounds began to fade, replaced by the clink and crunch of settling stone. A pillar of whirling dust and rock particles rose toward the sky, like a shadowy grave marker.
Driven by the terror and awe of the moment, Ryan crushed Krysty in his arms and kissed her passionately. Voices came to them, tones of terror, confusion and anger.
“They destroyed Pharaoh’s monument!”
“Where is Pharaoh? Tell us!”
Most of the crowd was creeping back, but they were no longer joyful or in a celebratory humor. A woman pointed at Krysty and screeched, “Pharaoh’s bride! She betrayed Pharaoh!”
Ryan and Krysty climbed to their feet. She was very weak now that the Gaia energy had left her. Still, she was able to exchange grim smiles with Ryan. A segment of the crowd surged forward. He tensed himself to fight and die. His ankh was no protection against an enraged mob.
A man jumped at him, and Ryan recognized him as fat Shukeli. The truncheon in his fist swept down, straight at his head. Ryan recoiled.
The man’s bloated body twisted convulsively aside. He fell past Ryan, onto the ground. A red-rimmed hole spurted blood from the center of his back. Only then did Ryan hear the familiar twig-snapping report of his Steyr.
The crowd suddenly parted. Dean shouldered his way through, grimacing fiercely, the Steyr in one hand, his Browning Hi-Power in the other. Ryan swiped a hand over his eye, not knowing if the image of his son was indeed real or a pain- and stress-induced hallucination. Dean stepped up beside him and told him simply, “You said we’d be together again.”
Ryan’s knees sagged in relief, and he took the Browning from Dean’s hand. They covered the angry throng with the barrels of the blasters. “Where is everybody else?” Dean asked.
“Right here,” J.B. said.
The Armorer, Mildred and Doc bracketed Ryan and Krysty. Dean glanced at Doc strangely, but said nothing.
“They only got two blasters between them!” a man’s voice snarled. “We can take them in a rush!”
The sound of the Colt Python was a deep-throated boom, only slightly less loud than the collapse of the pyramid a few moments before. Jak limped up, his blaster pointed at the crowd. “That you do,” he stated. “But you die first.”
Jak was gray with dust. The only color about him was the trickle of blood from small lacerations on his face and the brilliant blaze of his ruby eyes. He held his revolver in a two-fisted grip.
Ryan knew that even with three blasters in the hands of experts, they couldn’t hope to fight their way through the incensed citizenry of Aten. The crowd shifted forward, then suddenly receded, drawing back like a wave of flesh.
“Let me pass, damn you! Let me pass!” a woman cried imperiously.
Nefron shouldered her way out of the throng. Jak centered the sights of the Colt on her face, but she swept him with a cold glare before turning away to face the mob.
She addressed the crowd in a razor-edged, matter-of-fact voice. “People of Aten, hear me and listen well. I stand here as your queen. The only child of Pharaoh, the true and rightful heir to the throne. You know this to be true.”
The people gaped at her dumbly, numbly.
Nefron’s eyes suddenly blazed, and a crimson glow swallowed her dark irises. The crowd murmured in horror, clenching their hands.
“I am the law in Aten.” The echoes of her words hung in the air, vibrating against the ear.
“You are the law,” a few voices mumbled.
“You will obey me. I struggled against and swallowed the injustices of my father, but no longer. I am the law. I shall rule. I am your queen.”