Serpent's Tooth. James Axler

her favorite vid hero,” Edwards added. Obviously he’d received the same message from Kane on the Commtact. “If she wasn’t going to ask, I would’ve.”

      Fargo sighed. “A traveling show passed through my town when I was little. It was a wag with its own generator and a wide-screen monitor. When I saw him, I knew what I wanted to be.”

      Sela nodded. “This doesn’t mean we’ll be holding hands in the shower and taking midnight walks on the beach, so don’t get too friendly.”

      “I’m not,” Fargo answered. “I’m just an archaeologist, looking for what’s still useful from the past.”

      “With skydark’s destruction and the Program of Unification, I wouldn’t think there would be much left to archaeolog,” Edwards noted.

      Fargo and Sela both raised an eyebrow at Edwards’s newly invented verb. Fargo finally chuckled. “There is still presky-dark tech not assembled by the unification program or various other parties. Besides, when the barons abandoned their villes, they didn’t leave behind many of the keys to their kingdoms.”

      “And you get paid well for finding stockpiles of weapons, vehicles and electronics,” Sela added.

      Fargo nodded. “That’s right. But my main goal is to discover what we have lost as a race.”

      Sela noticed that Fargo had allowed his voice to drop an octave, taking on a seductive tone. It hadn’t been lost on the archaeologist that Sela was a survivor from another time, preserved in suspended animation for centuries, safe from apocalyptic turmoil. The past that Fargo longed to discover lived in the woman. His attention to her lithe, athletic figure also showed that more than a little lust had influenced his sudden focus on her. Fargo was a tall, handsome man in his own right. If Lakesh’s and Domi’s instincts hadn’t been tripped by him, Sela wouldn’t have minded the attention. The suspicions about Fargo’s affiliations prevented any reciprocal appreciation.

      The door quickly opened, jarring Fargo from his observation of Sela. Domi and Lakesh entered, moving with swiftness of purpose.

      “My colleagues will be by shortly,” Lakesh informed Fargo, taking a seat across from him.

      “Kane, Grant and Baptiste?” Fargo inquired.

      “The same,” Lakesh answered brusquely. “The map you submitted is of interest. You claim to have encountered a hidden society in what used to be India. One in possession of twentieth-century military technology.”

      “My expedition was wiped out, and when I made my escape, they pursued me with a helicopter,” Fargo explained. “I also have a feeling that they possess genetic reengineering technology.”

      Lakesh frowned. “What did you say they called themselves again?”

      “They called themselves Nagah, individually,” Fargo stated. “No relation to the Naga cultists both your people and mine had encountered farther to the south.”

      Lakesh glared at Fargo. From a prior encounter, Lakesh knew that the millennialists had a penchant for trying to unsettle the Cerberus warriors by appearing astonishingly well-informed. “Interesting.”

      The door opened again, pausing the conversation as three more people entered the room. As large as Edwards was, Grant was even taller, his shoulders even broader. By contrast, Kane was a lean, tightly muscled figure, his body as sleek and efficient as if he were a wolf recast in human form. Kane’s eyes held a predatory intensity as he glared at Fargo. The most interesting addition to the population of the interrogation room was Brigid Baptiste. Had her beauty been any less striking, she’d have been swallowed by the imposing ferocity of the two men she accompanied. However, even with her flame-tinted curls pulled back in a severe ponytail, and her voluptuous body wrapped in a plain redoubt bodysuit, Brigid was an explosion of beauty.

      As the trio stared Fargo down, he could sense the flavors of their intellects. Grant emanated cynical distrust. Kane’s hard glare tore deep, formulating the most efficient means to kill the archaeologist if necessary. Brigid’s observations were cold and clinical, dissecting his every aspect like fibers underneath a microscope.

      Without saying a word, the three companions had dispelled the chance that tales of their exploits were hyperbole. The trio had an energy to it that was unmistakable, a lethal mix of power and intellect. No wonder Fargo’s fellow millennialists had considered the three adventurers the greatest threat to their goals of world superiority.

      “Do I meet with your approval?” Fargo asked, trying not to appear cowed by the force of personality standing before him.

      The bullwhip clattered on the table in front of Fargo, thrown there by Kane. “That’s seen some hard use,” the ex-Magistrate said. “Found bits of human skin in there.”

      “And despite the effort to disguise your allegiance, you possess considerable backing. Where else would you have received such competent medical treatment?” Brigid said, noting the line of the scar on his forearm. “Not to mention the quality of your clothing and other equipment.”

      Fargo glanced at Grant. The big man merely shrugged. “I got nothin’ other than I do not trust strangers caught creeping around my back door.”

      Lakesh cleared his throat. “We were just discussing his claims of a hidden society operating in northwestern India.”

      “So the Millennial Consortium wants us to take a look where their own expedition failed?” Grant asked bluntly. Fargo raised an eyebrow at the sudden accusation, but Grant waved off the man’s reaction. “Sure, think of me as the dumb muscle, but Brigid’s implications only give me one real option. You’re not some mind-controlled toady, so you can’t be Erica von Sloan’s errand boy. The snake-face survivors are too disorganized, looking for their old toys to bother with hairless apes. All that’s left is the consortium.”

      Fargo nodded. “I’ve worked for them, but this is not their call. They sent me to get a big, fat prize, and the force they supplied me with died. I left empty-handed and alone.”

      “So, the millennialists don’t love you anymore,” Kane mentioned. “Even if I believed that, why not try to ask the dragon queen for help? She loves ancient artifacts, and she’d provide a good word to get you back into the graces of the consortium.”

      Fargo chuckled, a rueful look on his face. “I’d taken a few of her things during a weekend at the Xian Pyramid. Since Erica joined up with the consortium, she’s been looking for an excuse to expel me out into the cold, cruel world.”

      Brigid echoed Fargo’s laugh, drawing Kane’s attention.

      “What?” Kane asked.

      Brigid smiled. “Never thought that I’d sympathize with the wicked bitch of the east. You call yourself an archaeologist, but you’re nothing more than a common thief.”

      Fargo shrugged. “Knowledge is power, but it doesn’t keep a belly full.”

      “It pays the bills, right?” Brigid asked. “A lot of excuses for mercenary activity. After all, aren’t you just seeking what we have lost as a race?”

      Fargo’s eyes narrowed. “I knew it. The waiting game was just to shake my tongue loose. You wanted the truth about me? Fine. I know you’re not paranoid when you actually do have someone out to get you.”

      Kane smirked. “Spoken like someone who has plenty of enemies of his own.”

      “So what about the Nagah?” Grant asked. “They like the other cultists in the south? Snake worshipers?”

      “Worship, nothing,” Fargo said. “Scaled skin, hinged fangs, complete with venom sacs capable of spraying blinding poison. They also have hoodlike structures, webbing along the sides of their heads that leads down to their shoulders, capable of flexing like a true cobra’s. Crazy is strong enough for a lot of things, but not enough to change a madman’s species. That’s why I said they possessed the facilities to reengineer genetics.”

      “It’s