Krysty felt herself drifting forward, toward those corded arms spread wide in a welcoming embrace. Vaguely she was aware of her diaphanous clothing dropping from her body, floating behind her. With great effort, she tried to stop herself, but she managed only to slow her gliding approach.
She tried to say that he couldn’t have her, that she belonged to another.
A twisting whisper of a laugh touched her mind, and a voice said that she belonged to him, had always belonged to him. He had waited an eternity for her, and she would be the mother of a dynasty that would last ten thousand years.
Then she was in his arms, the sleek muscled nakedness of his body pressing against her breasts, her desire-hardened nipples digging into his chest. She felt the pressure of his erection against her lower belly, shifting even lower, seeking her warmth and wetness. She stared into the red flame of lust in his eyes. His lips touched hers.
MILDRED BENT OVER over the slack forms of Ryan and Krysty, fingering the pulse beats at the base of their throats. J.B. moved closer, putting on his spectacles.
“What’s wrong with them?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” Mildred replied tersely. “Seems like some sort of shock. Pulse rates are irregular.”
Jak and Doc exchanged worried glances. “The jump was unusually smooth for me,” Doc commented. “No nausea whatsoever.”
“They were close to the door,” Dean said anxiously. “Mebbe somebody opened it just when we jumped. Wouldn’t be the first time.”
“Perhaps we should minister to them in more felicitous surroundings,” Doc suggested.
Jak stepped over Ryan’s and Krysty’s legs and opened the door to the hexagonal chamber. The armaglass was tinted a pale rust brown. “Make recce.”
J.B. unlimbered his Uzi and stood at the open door in case he was needed, but Jak returned in short order. “Anteroom, control room,” the albino reported. “Empty.”
Dean, Mildred and J.B. grabbed Ryan’s limp body by the arms and legs and half carried, half dragged the man out of the chamber. Jak and Doc had an easier time with Krysty. They carried their friends out of the small anteroom, past comp consoles and readout screens and down a short hallway that opened up into a small room. Fluorescent light strips glowed feebly from the ceiling.
As they walked down the corridor, Doc said, “Look at the murals on the walls. Hieroglyphs, too.”
Jak squinted at him. “What?”
Doc looked from one wall to the other. “Ye gods. I mean that literally. Ptah, Anubis, Set, Osiris—”
“What talking about, Doc?” Jak demanded, following the older man’s eye and head movements but seeing nothing but smooth, unadorned walls.
Doc started to nod toward the wall on his right, then his eyes narrowed, widened, and his mouth creaked open. He shook his head. “Perhaps the light is playing tricks on me.”
The room was small and held only a table and a few chairs. Mildred and J.B. laid Ryan on the floor, and Krysty was gently placed on the tabletop. As her body settled, she murmured faintly, “You won’t have me… Ryan…”
Immediately, Ryan’s eye snapped open, and he levered upright from the waist. He clawed at his holstered blaster. Krysty was on his blind side, and his face was a mask of agony and fear until he caught sight of her.
“What the fuck happened to me?” he grated between clenched teeth.
Dean put a comforting hand on his arm. “You were out of it for a little while, Dad. That’s all.”
“How’s Krysty?”
“Fine,” she said weakly.
Waving aside J.B.’s proffered hand, he climbed unsteadily to his feet and bent over Krysty. She, too, had returned to somewhat confused consciousness. Sitting up, she embraced Ryan.
“Gaia!” she breathed. “Never had a jump nightmare like that before.”
“Me, neither,” Ryan replied as she scooted off the table. “We’ll talk about it later. Find out first where we are. Anybody do a recce?”
“Only to here,” Jak responded.
“Nothing unusual?” Ryan inquired.
“Not unless you consider two of our friends being unable to wake up unusual,” Mildred replied.
“And wall paintings being there one moment and gone in the next,” Doc said.