Chapter Seven: Conquering the World

***Egypt, the present***

Anck-su-namun stood on her balcony, watching the sun sagging lower and lower in the sky. It was absolutely beautiful, and she could almost imagine that she was back in Egypt in Ancient times. She never thought that she would wish to go back. But in her was the inexplicable longing for home, for the place of her birth.

But those were only fleeting thoughts, because then she remembered how trapped and meaningless her life had been until she had met Imhotep. He had saved her, really, because his love had purified her. And now they were finally together again. A smile of relief and wonder passed over her face. It was so hard to believe.

She could hear Imhotep’s soft steps behind her, and she waited for the feel of his strong arms around her. A second later they came, his warm body pressed against hers. They embraced lovingly, his face buried in her hair. A sigh of contentment escaped her lips.

There was no black and gold paint to worry about, this time around, but she had trained herself rigidly to never touch another human being, besides, of course, Seti, when he was in the mood. But she could not get completely used to Imhotep sneaking up behind her to wrap his arms around her. Sometimes, when she forgot, when she stood remembering her past and she felt warm arms on her skin, she still experienced a split second of absolute terror.

She had gotten used to it, mostly, by now. But the fear never completely went away, fear that came with a life lived belonging to a possessive and jealous man.

“Hmmmm,” he murmured into her hair.

She smiled and reached up and stroked the side of his face. “Sometimes I still can’t believe it,” she said.

“I know. I have waited three thousand years for this,” he replied.

They stood there for several moments, just holding each other. It seemed so right. It was times like these that her doubts just melted completely away.

“Has it really only been eight months?” she asked softly, awe in her voice.

His low, rumbling chuckle was her answer. “Has time passed that quickly for you, my love?”

“It is just so unbelievable. Sometimes I think that this is all a dream.” She paused, trying to find the right words to express her confused emotions. “I think that I will wake up one day and find out that I am once again just a whore.” She shuddered.

He clutched her tightly and then spun her around to look him in the eyes. “I swear to you, my Anck-su-namun, that those days are over. You will find nothing but peace and happiness from now on.”

He folded her into his arms, her eyes wet with tears. Everything was so wonderful, so perfect.

Suddenly Anck-su-namun’s peace was shattered by a horrible, grating, and most unnatural sound.

Imhotep’s arms released her. “My messengers must be here.” He gave her arm one last squeeze before disappearing down the hall.

Anck-su-namun would never be used to the sounds of cars and trucks and airplanes, inventions she could not understand. In fact, she could not accustom herself to the most basic of modern inventions. The idea of using a clock to understand the passing of time seemed ridiculous. It did not matter what hour it was, it mattered how long the sun stayed in the sky and how many hours it would be until sunrise. The numbers seemed arbitrary and silly to her.

Imhotep explained that since the rest of the world operated by this time table that he must also in able to control it effectively. She believed and trusted him, but she felt uneasy in this new world, that lived by completely different laws than the old.

She walked across her room to another balcony, and she could see, about a quarter of a mile away, Imhotep speaking with three men. They were clearly mortals, and Anck-su-namun recognized one of the men as one of Imhotep’s translators. This man could speak eighteen languages, he was an amazing linguist and historian.

All of the translators who Imhotep used were fluent with the major languages of the world, as well as Hebrew, Ancient Egyptian and Hieratic. Imhotep wanted men who could speak all of the necessary languages, he did not want one person translating a letter from English into Arabic and another from Arabic into Ancient Egyptian. Too many people along the chain and the true nature of the message would be lost. Thus, the translators were all accomplished and skilled linguists. It was important, moreover, that they speak Hebrew and be able to write Hieroglyphics. No one in the modern world could speak Ancient Egyptian–although the linguists themselves were, admittedly, fascinated, and tried to learn the dead language. To them, Hierglyphics was a written language, like Latin, not to be spoken. So they would translate the written words into Hieroglyphics, for Imhotep’s records, while they could discourse with him in Hebrew. It was a clever system, that seemed to be working flawlessly.

The translators lived in the palace and translated all of Imhotep’s documents and messages. There was no question of loyalty, for whenever Imhotep had to understand an important document, he had two or sometimes three of his translators decode the document separately. There was no chance for them to agree on a way to alter the document to hurt Imhotep beforehand. Besides, the translators were so frightened of the Priest he would do anything.

Her Love was very, very thorough.

She watched as Imhotep concluded his business. All three men bowed, looking nervously at Imhotep’s personal mummy guards, who stood watching the transaction impassively. Two of the men headed toward the large bird while Imhotep and the translator disappeared inside the palace. She stood watching the airplane, this huge, heavy, steel winged creature hum with life, and eventually fly into the sky. It was absolutely unbelievable.

She was still watching it as it became smaller and smaller on the horizon when Imhotep reentered the room, dusty and tired.

She did not ask him about his business. Not because he wouldn’t tell her, but because something about it made her feel uneasy. She knew that he had killed many, and she did not want to know the whole truth. If she did not know, she could enjoy their peace and security without guilt. She shoved her questions to the back of her mind and thought only of how happy she was to be with her love again.

He walked towards her and took her hand, leading her to the balcony. They looked out over the Nile, glittering in the afternoon sun. Although the people and populations were different, the desert was the same. The rolling dunes stretched to the horizon in timeless beauty. The Nile sparkled, curving and clear as it ran through Egypt in its endless course.

It was comforting to know that some things would never change.

Imhotep’s voice broke into her thoughts. “Looking forward to the completion of our home?” he asked, turning towards her.

She smiled in response. “It is, it will be, beautiful. It’s perfect.” She sighed in contentment.

“It will soon be finished,” he asserted proudly.

She smiled again, but this time the merriment did not completely reach her eyes. She knew, of course, just by looking out her other balcony that the palace was being completed by slaves. Most of it was finished–Imhotep had brought her here to live only when the living quarters were completed. But the slaves still toiled away, building banquet halls and libraries, and who knew what else. They did not really interest Anck-su-namun. All of their friends were dead. Who would they invite for company?

In Ancient times, of course, there were populations of slaves, and so the concept itself did not bother her. She did not realize that in most countries slavery had been abolished for hundreds of years, and even now all civilized nations and people thought it an abomination, a violation of human rights. She would not have even understood those arguments. So the fact that they had slaves did not worry her in the least, and it even made the place feel more like home–the rebirth of Ancient life that Imhotep had promised.

What did bother her, only so slightly, was that it was her and Imhotep who had made them slaves.

In Seti’s time people were either born slave or free, and that was their lot in life. It made Anck-su-namun slightly uneasy that she and Imhotep had forced large numbers of free people into slavery. That would not have been done in Ancient times, because a population was either slave or free and would remain that way. Something about it was not quite right about this new situation, but she couldn’t exactly put her finger on her objections. After all, Imhotep would only reply that of course the world had changed, but he was just restoring life as it had been and that the process was completely natural. Which was right, in a way, and she knew that the economy of Ancient Egypt had been based, on large part, by slave labor.

It was only a tiny, niggling doubt. But still, it worried her. It worried her that Imhotep would see forcing people into submission as utterly unimportant. But it mainly worried her that she would worry about a decision Imhotep had made, questioning his judgement and seeing things differently. Of course there were slaves, there have always been slaves. Anck-su-namun forced those unpleasant thoughts from her mind.

But she knew that it was not just that the slaves were there, and highly visible ones at that. It was that, for all of Imhotep’s well meant promises, her life was not like living in Ancient times again. Everything was different.

Seti built his palace on the edge of Thebes, where he could see the Nile as well as his grandest city. The palace was always full of people–from the nobles to Med Jai to concubines to servants. There was always the constant hum of activity, the sounds of people bustling about, carrying out their duties.

But Imhotep’s palace was nothing like the old days.

True, it looked the same. The layout of the rooms was almost exactly the same, although the inscriptions and writings on the walls were slightly different. And it too overlooked the Nile. But Imhotep’s palace was not in Thebes, but in the desert, not sixty miles from Cairo. There was no glittering city below her balcony. And the strangest part was that the palace felt empty. True, Imhotep’s translators and advisors lived here, but they lived in other parts of the palace. By placing them so far away from her and Imhotep’s quarters, Anck-su-namun was sure that he had intended her to stay away from them. There were a few servants whom she saw regularly, and there were Imhotep’s personal guards, who were all mummies. And of course there was Nefertiri and her son.

But Anck-su-namun could not converse with mummies, and there was no court, no nobility. There were none who were her equal, and she found herself, apart from Imhotep, very much alone.

She loved him beyond meaning. But he was often busy, and even those in passionate love desire simple friendship. So it was the loneliness, loneliness that she hated herself for feeling. “When will it be enough for you?” she asked herself, seething at her own dissatisfaction. “He suffers for 3,000 years for your love, brings you back to life, and you are not satisfied?”

But deep down, she was not. When she was with Imhotep, she was happy beyond belief. But as soon as he left the room, she felt odd and bored, and quickly isolated and unhappy.

“I must not dwell upon these evil thoughts,” she thought to herself. Imhotep was Ra’s messenger on earth, and nothing could happen that was not the will of the Gods.

And she loved him. She must trust him, give herself up completely.

“And,” he continued, “soon they will be able to begin building the temple of Osiris.” A genuine smile of pleasure lit up his handsome features.

He was so sweet and good, really. No one ever saw that side of him but her.

She smiled back. “Will it be an exact replica of the old one in Thebes?”

“I will try to make it so as much as possible,” he said seriously. “I am not an architect, and so I can only explain what it looked like to the smallest detail. But there are many faithful men who, given time, will built what I want.” He sighed. “I miss having my temple. It was my sanctuary.”

Anck-su-namun squeezed his hand. “And now you shall have it.”

They stood contented, and she leaned up against his broad chest as she stared out onto the Nile.

She thought back over these last months. Taking over the world had been surprisingly easy.

Actually, she wasn’t that interested in taking over the world. She just wanted to live with Imhotep in peace and prosperity, in Egypt in a place that felt like home. And, of course, she wanted revenge.

But getting revenge had not been as fun as she had thought it would be.

The first thing they did, before forcing the world into submission, even before destroying all of the Med Jai villages and enslaving their people, was find Nefertiri. Anck-su-namun allowed herself to remember...

***7 months earlier***

When she felt ready, Imhotep raised several of his soldier mummies and whisked them all into his sandstorm. Within minutes they were in London, England.

She was shocked at how quickly they traveled and also at how different their surroundings were. It was cold and damp and she shivered under the lights of the street lamps. They both looked bizarre in their Egyptian style clothing, and although the mummies stood completely still, acting like statues, she felt uneasy and nervous. She had no idea what the honking noises were or why people were staring at them.

“Imhotep, please,” she had whispered. He understood and immediately, after quickly getting his bearings, wrapped them in the sandstorm again until they were standing in front of what was a huge, forbidding house.

“Imhotep, where are we?” she asked, feeling completely out of her element.

“Inside this house is Nefertiri reborn.” A smirk crossed his face.

It was then that she relaxed. Although they hardly looked threatening, she had complete faith in his powers.

“Does she know of her past?” Anck-su-namun asked, her blood beginning to boil as she allowed herself to remember her last few days of life.

Imhotep paused. “Yes. And so does the husband. He was her Med Jai.”

She spun around to him in surprise. “She found him in this life, too?”

Imhotep merely nodded. Anck-su-namun fought tears as she remembered her jealousy. Nefertiri kept her lover and became Queen of Egypt, while Anck-su-namun was not allowed to even touch the man she loved. Bitterness filled her vision.

“Now, they will pay.”

But Imhotep’s hand on her arm restrained her. “Remember, my love, that you are mortal. Weapons in these times are different from the ones we knew. They are quicker and deadlier. You must allow me to protect you.”

She wanted to protest but the warning in his eyes made her pause. She nodded.

They marched in.

At first it was an unbelievably anticlimactic confrontation. Ten fearsome mummies, High Priest Imhotep and the Pharaoh’s beautiful mistress marched in, and all they met was a small, ten year old boy, reading on the couch.

He looked up, shock filling his features. And for a second, it was as if Anck-su-namun had been here before, had spoken to and touched this young boy. But that was impossible, she told herself. But something about the place was entirely familiar. It was eerie.

And then all hell broke loose.

“MOM!!!! DAD!!!!” the child screamed.

Anck-su-namun could not understand English, but she could make out the intent behind those words.

“Restrain him but do not hurt him,” Imhotep ordered. All the mummies began to move. “One of you!” Imhotep shouted.

A single one stepped forward as the boy jumped out of his seat and began to run for the stairs. But he was not quick enough. The mummy clamped his hand down over the boy’s mouth and dragged him down the stairs.

The boy’s cries were muffled. The boy. Alex.

How had she known his name?

But there was no time to think about that, for suddenly Nefertiri and her Med Jai rushed into the room.

It was interesting, Anck-su-namun mused, how this woman was Nefertiri and yet was not Nefertiri. She held the same bold, royal features. Yet she was sweeter, softer–her hair was wavy and brown, her body rounder and fuller.

“Imhotep,” the Princess exclaimed accusingly, her hand flying to her mouth. Then her eyes went to her son. “Alex!” she screamed, this time in pain and worry. She started to move towards her son, whose mouth still uttered muffled cries, when Imhotep’s command silenced her.

“Restrain them. Hold them down. Do not kill them.” His voice was cold and hard.

The mummies began to advance toward the couple. Suddenly the room erupted in gunfire.

The Med Jai had managed to grab a weapon off the table and was now firing at them. Anck-su-namun did not understand exactly how the weapon worked, but she knew it would be deadly. She ducked as a mummy exploded right next to her.

The fight raged only a short time. Two mummies had grabbed Nefertiri and pulled her to the ground. Imhotep watched amusedly as the bullets ran out, pots breaking and objects falling left and right. Four mummies jumped the Med Jai, grabbing him, twisting his arms, and tying him securely.

Within minutes it was all over.

Anck-su-namun stepped out from behind the couch and looked at the three prisioners.

“Don’t worry Evy,” he said, blood pouring from a cut over his right eye. “We’ve faced them before.”

Before? The question rang out in Anck-su-namun’s mind. Nefertiri. Evy. Alex. Med Jai. Evy. Evy. O’Connell. Rick?

Why did she know these people in this life? She recognized their souls, but why would she know them reborn?

She had no time to ponder those questions. Everything happened so quickly. Imhotep stepped forward smugly, his arms around his chest.

He was enjoying this far more than Anck-su-namun was.

“Nefertiri will pay for her actions in condemning me to the Hom Dai. Your time has come.” But he looked around suspiciously. “Where is the brother?”

Nefertiri grimaced in pain from her position on the floor. “Not here.” Imhotep regarded her carefully, then shook his head. “It is of no importance.”

He smiled. “Welcome once again, to Hamanuptra.” And with another sandstorm, he brought them all back to Egypt. Except this time the Princess and her Med Jai were in bondage, and Anck-su-namun was free.

***the present***

Remembering brought the old questions to Anck-su-namun’s lips, but she was almost afraid to ask. Why did she know them? But it was possible that she only knew them because she had known them long ago. Simply another side effect of being risen from the dead, like a sore throat and weak muscles. But still, something about it bothered her.

Oh well, it had not ended up mattering. The world was theirs in a matter of weeks. The Med Jai was placed among the ordinary slaves, to be separated from his wife and child. Ignorance of their well-being, coupled with grueling labor, would finish his will power off soon enough.

Anck-su-namun had had more fun with Nefertiri.

The boy was a powerful weapon against his mother, who was forced to obey them. While Anck-su-namun would never kill an innocent child, she was not above making threats to get what she wanted. In fact, the time when Alex had–

Imhotep’s words broke into her reverie. “What are you thinking about?

She smiled, shaking off the memories. “How we captured Nefertiri and the Med Jai.”

He smirked. “That memory gives me pleasure as well.”

But the memory, oddly, did not give her as much pleasure as she had hoped. Maybe part of it was how Nefertiri had changed. Seeing her in a foreign place, in a modern house wearing modern clothes, with a husband who looked nothing like his Ancient self, with a boy child she had not had in Ancient times–was disconcerting. It was like taking revenge on someone who no longer existed. Evy was not Nefertiri, although she shared her memories. Anck-su-namun even felt slightly guilty sometimes. While she herself was the same, body and mind, Nefertiri was not. In this life she had not sinned against them. And so much of the pleasure at revenge Anck-su-namun should have gotten was denied her.

“I am glad, my love,” she said absentmindedly.

“I am going to meet with my advisors. I will see you in the great hall for dinner.”

As he departed she nodded and smiled, but once again lapsed into thought.

***

The people had been tamed rather easily, Imhotep reflected. He strode down the hallway with even, imposing strides. All it had taken was a few sand wall tricks to scare most people off. And many came to him in those hours, pledging life and loyalty and begging to be allowed to serve the Great Pharaoh. Imhotep could not have been more pleased. A flicker of a smile crossed his face at the memory.

Most of the countries bowed easily to his whim, knowing that they had not the power to defeat even their neighboring country in battle. Imhotep’s loyal soldiers–mummies and humans alike–quickly removed the leaders of those countries and enslaved them. Civilians were not hurt, unless they attempted to rebel. For them, Imhotep showed no mercy.

But he truly did not wish to hurt and kill people. He did not go after innocent people, break up families, sell slaves at the auction block. Those ideas filled him with revulsion. The only slavery allowed were those slaves that belonged to the House of God–the Pharaoh himself. And the only innocent people he killed were the leaders of countries who he knew would cause him trouble. Everyone else, including the rulers of small countries who complied with his requests, was enslaved where they were helpless. If they showed good behavior, Imhotep would free them eventually. But only after he was sure that he had complete control and loyalty from his men.

Imhotep knew too well the pain of being separated from the person he loved. As long as people obeyed him, he wanted them to go on living, peacefully and happily.

He stopped briefly in his private rooms to freshen up before meeting with his men. He splashed water on his face from a bronze basin and dried the water droplets slowly, patting the towel on his skin. He ran his hand slowly over his shaved head, remembering as clearly as the glittering water in his basin those first few weeks.

He had required all people of the world swear an oath of fealty to him, promising loyalty. If they broke those vows, they would be enslaved or killed, depending on their offence. He demanded that people bow, going down on their knees and pressing their foreheads to the floor, when he passed. And he dismantled all governments, declaring them powerless. The titles “President” or “Prime Minister” had no meaning now. There was only one. Pharaoh.

But Imhotep’s cleverest move by far, he recalled with pride, had been to rename the conquered countries and change boundaries and territories. He combined all the Middle Eastern countries–Pakistan, Saudi Arabia, Afghanistan, Syria, Iraq, Jordan, Iran–and gave them all the name Arabia. He combined the European nations–France, Germany, Italy, England, Portugal, Spain, Belgium, Holland, Switzerland–and named them Europa. When he was done, there was only one country left in the world: Egypt. And there were six major territories, controlled and conquered by Egypt: Arabia, the Russe, Europa, the Orient, the Americas, and the Southland. Imhotep named the rest of Africa the Southland in deference to Anck-su-namun, for in Ancient times it was not known what lay down the Nile, what lay in the deserts to the South.

He redrew the map of the world with a sweep of his hand.

In renaming counties, taking away their names and designating them territories, Imhotep stripped the people of the world of national identity. Without their leaders, and without nationalistic pride, the people of those countries become weak with hopelessness and despair.

But, it was true, that not all people opposed him. When he executed Stalin in the streets of Moscow, cheering was heard all over the world. Peasants, bitter and starving from collectivization, happily volunteered for his armies. To some peasants, isolated from cities, Imhotep was a savior. He took control of their country but let them live their lives, as Stalin’s Communist regime had not done. The peasants harvested and sold their grain as they always had, uninterested in politics as long as they had bread and a warm roof over their heads. In a way, the Russe became the territory most loyal to him.

It was the democracies that initially fought him the hardest, where the people were the angriest at his rule. There was an underground resistance movement, Imhotep knew, and that it was the strongest in the previous United States and in other Western countries.

Those that ended up minding the least were countries that had already had dictators for leaders. Italians under Mussolini were outraged at Imhotep’s rule, but they quickly realized that life was no different under a Pharaoh than under an unconditional military ruler. Slowly, one by one, people complied, swearing loyalty to the man who now owned the earth.

Imhotep looked quickly into a bronze mirror, studying his reflection. He was just as fit and trim as ever. He nodded approvingly, dried his hands on his towel, and briskly opened the door to his chambers. His guards stood at the doors impassively, both expressionless mummies. They bowed their heads to him as he passed, resuming their statue-like vigil. The one good thing about mummies, Imhotep reflected as he walked, was that they did not get tired.

Imhotep had quickly tested and chose men to follow him, opportunistic men hungry for greed and power. He set strict standards and punished those who did not comply. But, as he had promised, the rewards were great for those who had proved their loyalty.

Those men who had proved themselves time and time again he made the leaders of the territories. They were greedy and ambitious for power, and yet mortal, so they had no hope of defeating their Pharaoh. Imhotep trusted them because they depended on him for their power and would do everything they could to keep the bit of it they had. He gave them guards and slaves to build palaces and monuments in their honor. They had power, but only so much as Imhotep allowed them. They knew that Imhotep could easily find replacements. So they were territorial governors with vast power on paper, but little in reality. They had to report everything carefully to Imhotep.

As he walked down the halls, his thoughts switched from the past to the present, the two thoughts that concerned him most springing up, unbidden, in his head. The first was that he did not know where The Book of the Dead or the key was. He had The Book of the Living safely in his possession which meant that he was invincible, for no one could read from it to send his soul back to the underworld. But not having the key meant he could not open the Gold book. “Why would you want to open it anyway?” he asked himself, shaking his head. He turned a corner. Looking down the dark hallway, he snapped his fingers and all of the torches lit up on his command. Satisfied, he continued his walk, almost at his conference room.

Both books contained unspeakable power, power that, even when wielded by the most able of Priests, was dangerous. So there was no reason to want to open the Gold book. But he did want both books in his possession. Even though the Black book could raise the dead, and could do nothing to hurt him if held by his enemies, he felt uneasy not having it.

For that matter, he wanted the key too. Even without the key, the possession of those two books would make him secure. But he knew he would feel better holding the books and the key in his arms. Sometimes, thinking on how quickly he had taken control, he wondered if his power could be taken away just as quickly.

His second worry was for Anck-su-namun. Lately his love was more withdrawn. She seemed to feel lonely and unhappy, and, as a result, was not as spiritually close with him.

He pondered what he could do to make her happier. He could bring her some handmaidens. He could buy her some new clothes.

But even he knew deep down that Anck-su-namun wanted more than that. She wanted companions from her own time, who could speak her language and understand her feelings and emotions.

And Imhotep could not give her that. At least, not without the Black book.

He growled to himself. He would send out a secret message to his agents to look for the Book and the key. No one else must know he was looking for it. For although there was no open dissent anymore, Imhotep knew how strongly he was resented in some areas of the world.

He stalked towards his meeting room, where his advisors waited.

Ruling the world wasn’t supposed to be this much work.

***

A quick author’s note: I know that some of the historical info I give about the 1930s, as well as Ancient times, is exaggerated or false or actually happened later, so don’t read this too carefully. Artistic licence is a happy thing, and so I changed history a bit to make my story work a little better. Thanks for your understanding ;-) -Marxbros

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