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When the fog of cold finally receded, allowing him to think more or less coherently, Maddock sat up and looked around. He immediately recognized his surroundings—the sleeping cabin of Garral’s chartered jet. He was in one of the small beds, stripped naked but concealed under several layers of blankets.
He sat up and looked around, spotted Nick Kismet, similarly covered up, but otherwise looking no worse for wear, thanks, no doubt, to his extraordinary regenerative abilities.
“Welcome back to the land of the living warm,” Kismet said, smiling.
Maddock chuckled. “Still hate the desert?”
Kismet inclined his head. “Maybe I’m hating it a little less.” He rolled a coffee mug between his palms, one of which, Maddock noted, was wrapped in a thick gauze bandage. He recalled the blood trail in the vault, and the red stain on the crumbling ice just before Kismet had gone in. Kismet’s immortality appeared to be wearing off.
Maddock also remembered Hauser’s reluctance to manipulate the elemental relics personally. Perhaps he had known, or at least suspected, that the radiation from the combined artifact might have exactly such an effect.
If so, then maybe Hauser had lost his invincibility as well.
Maybe he was truly dead, this time.
One can hope, Maddock thought.
He sat up a little higher. “So what did I miss? Where’s everyone else?”
“Sleeping I think. We’ve been in the air for a few hours. Dad thought it would be better for us to get out of town before the local authorities got involved. Leda...” He hesitated. “My mother stayed behind to run interference for us. At least, that’s what she said. She’s probably doing damage control for Prometheus, hiding the existence of the secret vault and recovering whatever she can.”
There was a note of bitterness in his tone, as if, despite their evident success in thwarting Hauser, they had been handed a defeat.
“What about the relics?”
Kismet was silent for a long time. When he finally spoke, it was with a weary resigned voice. “I’m sure she’ll take care of them.”