The Descent

'No. He's bold. The  rest  have  stuck  close  to  the  sewer  pipes.  This  buck's  pushed  the limit. All the way  to the fifty.'

'I've  never  seen one live.'

'Look  quick.  Once  the  sun  hits,  he's  history.'  The  general  was  dressed  tonight  in  a pair  of  pressed  corduroys  and  a  multi-blue  flannel  shirt.  His  Hush  Puppies  padded silently   on  the   thick   Berber.   The   Bulova  was   platinum.  Retirement   suited   him, especially with Helios to land in.

'You say  they  surrendered  to you?'

'First  time  we've  seen  anything  like  it.  We  had  a  patrol  out  at  twenty-five  hundred feet below the Sandias. Routine.  Nothing  ever  comes  up  that  high  anymore.  Then  out of nowhere this bunch shows up. Several  hundred of them.'

'You told us there  are only a couple dozen here.'

'Correct. Like I said, we've  never  seen a mass surrender  before. The  troops reacted.'

'Overreacted,  wouldn't you say?'  said Vera.

The  general gave  her  his  gallows  dimple.  'We  had  fifty-two  when  they  first  arrived. Less than twenty-nine  at last count yesterday.  Probably  fewer  by  now.'

'Twenty-five  hundred  feet?'  said  January.  'But  that's  practically  the  surface.  Was  it an invasion party?'

'Nope. More like a herd movement. Females and young, mostly.'

'But what were  they  doing up here?'

'Not  a  clue.  There's  no  communicating  with  them.   We've   got  the   linguists  and supercomputers  working  full  speed,  but  it  might  not  even  be  a  real  language  they speak.   For   our  purposes   tonight,   it's   just   glorified   gibberish.   Emotional   signing. Nothing informational.  But  the  patrol  leader  did  say  the  group  was  definitely  heading for  the  surface.  They  were  barely  armed.  It  was  almost  like  they  were  looking  for something. Or someone.'

The  Beowulf  scholars  paused.  Their  eyes  passed  the  question  around  the  skybox room. What if this hadal crawling across the frosty  grass of  Candlestick  Park  had  been embarked  on a quest  identical to their own, to find Satan? What if  this  lost  tribe  really had been searching for its missing leader... on the surface?

For the past week  they  had  been  discussing  a  theory,  and  this  seemed  to  fit.  It  was Gault and Mustafah's theory,  the  possibility  that  their  Satanic  majesty  might  actually be  a  wanderer  who  had  made  occasional  forays  to  the  surface,  exploring   human societies  over  the  eons.  Images  –  mostly  carved  in  stone  –  and  oral  tradition  from peoples around  the  world  gave  a  remarkably  standard  portrait  of  this  character.  The explorer  came  and  went.  He  popped  up  out  of  nowhere  and  disappeared  just  as readily.  He  could  be  seductive  or  violent.  He  lived  by  disguise  and  deception.  He  was intelligent, resourceful, and restless.

Gault  and  Mustafah  had  cobbled  the  theory  together  while  in  Egypt.  Ever  since, they  had  carried  on  a  discreet  phone  campaign  to  convince  their  colleagues  that  the true  Satan was  unlikely  to  be  found  cowering  in  some  dark  hole  in  the  subplanet,  but was  more  apt  to  be  studying  his  enemy  from  within  their  very  midst.  They  argued that the historical Satan might spend half  his  time  down  below  among  hadals,  and  the other half among man. That  had raised other questions.  Was  their  Satan,  for  instance, the same man throughout the ages, undying,  an  immortal  creature?  Or  might  he  be  a series of explorers,  or  a  lineage  of  rulers?  If  he  traveled  among  man,  it  seemed  likely he  resembled  man.  Perhaps,  as  de  l'Orme  had  proposed,  he  was  the  character  in  the Shroud. If so, what would he look like now? If it was true  that Satan lived  among  man, what  disguise  would  he  be  wearing?  Beggar,  thief,  or  despot?  Scholar,  soldier,  or stockbroker?

Thomas rejected  the theory.  His skepticism  was  ironic  at  times  like  this.  After  all,  it was he who had launched them on this convoluted whirlwind of  counter-intuitions  and upside-down  explanations.  He  had  enjoined  them  to  go  out  into  the  world  and  locate new evidence,  old  evidence,  all  the  evidence.  We  need  to  know  this  character,  he  had said.  We  need  to  know  how  he  thinks,  what  his  agenda  consists  of,  his  desires  and needs,  his  vulnerabilities  and  strengths,  what  cycles  he  subconsciously  follows,  what paths he is likely to take.  Otherwise  we will never  have  an advantage  over  him.  That's how they  had left it, at a standstill, the group scattered.

Foley looked from Thomas to de l'Orme. The  gnomelike face was  a  cipher.  It  was  de l'Orme  who  had  forced  this  meeting  with  Helios  and  dragged  every  Beowulf  member on the  continent  in  with  him.  Something  was  up.  He  had  promised  it  would  affect  the outcome of their work, though he refused to say  how.