one outside the grotto. Pan had explained that the cultists would not arrive until later, although they were probably already on their way, following the pathway from the gate, which was another reason Jason hadn’t wanted to take that route. The question was whether Franco was already inside. It was at this point that they were going to have to begin playing it by ear.
“Do you remember where you hit the rear wall?” Jason asked Mondrago.
“About here, I think.” Still, Mondrago had to pound several times before finding the right spot. The door-sized segment they remembered swung open. He and Jason led the way in, down the crude, shallow steps and across the small cave and into the tunnel. They activated their laser weapons’ “flashlight” feature as the light from the doorway dimmed. There was no light from up ahead, and no sound. Jason dared to breathe a sigh of relief.
They entered the large cavern holding the eerily archaic cult statue. But the idol was not on its dais. Rather, it was sunk into the floor, leaving the hatchway Jason remembered Pan emerging from in a glare of artificial light.
“Franco will be here any moment,” said Pan nervously as he busied himself lighting oil lamps.
“With how many others?” demanded Mondrago.
“No more than one. Aside from the one on Mount Pentelikon, that’s all he has left.” Jason nodded; he’d always thought there had to be a limit to how many people the Transhumanists, however advanced their time-travel technology, could displace, especially when they were also displacing the mass of an aircar. “He’ll be expecting the four others from Marathon to be waiting here with me. Oh . . . and he’ll also probably bring the woman defector. He’s represented her to the cultists as a priestess.”
Jason made no comment. He looked down into the chamber into which the idol had sunk. “It looks like there ought to be room for all of us to squeeze in down there. Pan, you wait up here where Franco expects you.”
The four of them descended a short ladder and crowded together. It was at least as tight a fit as Jason had thought . . . and though the cavern was cool, they had all been sweating profusely in the outside August heat.
“It’s just as well,” whispered Mondrago, as though reading Jason’s thoughts, “that none of us have been eating the local diet. All those beans—!”
“Shhh!” Jason shushed him, for there was a faint sound of approaching footsteps above.
They hadn’t long to wait before Franco’s unmistakable voice spoke, curtly and without preamble. “Where are my men?”
“Dead, Lord,” squeaked Pan. “Zeus and three other Teloi arrived atop Mount Kotroni and accused you of betraying them. A fight broke out and everyone, on both sides, was killed. Afterwards, I took the aircar and came here according to the plan, as I knew you would wish.”
“You lie, you nauseating piece of filth! All of them, on both sides killed? Do you take me for a fool?” There was a meaty smack, followed by a high-pitched whimpering.
“Don’t, Franco!” came a female voice—Chantal Frey’s voice. “After all, he came back as ordered.”
“He had no choice.” Franco’s voice held a dismissiveness that transcended contempt.
“They’re coming!” said a male voice unknown to Jason.
Franco’s voice muttered a non-verbal curse. “All right, we have no time. We’ll get to the bottom of this later. You: get down there and be prepared to play your role.” Franco didn’t look down into the compartment below the dais, for he had no reason to. Pan scurried down the ladder and crammed himself in with Jason and the others. His body odor was oddly acrid, but none of them were particularly squeamish. Above, Franco must have activated a control, for the cult statue rose up to its position on the dais and the hatch closed. Darkness settled over them.
Sounds from above were now muffled, but Jason could discern shuffling feet as the cultists filed into the cavern. It didn’t sound to him like as large a group as he had seen here before, but that made sense on this day; this would be mostly women and older men, with only those younger men who had managed to evade military service. Then he heard the droning, somehow sinister chant he had heard before. Soon the chanting began to be responsive, alternating with various ritual signals. Jason paid no attention to the sounds of the ceremony, which had probably been crafted to conform to the type of ritual that members