“He’s naming them after himself,” Queen said. “Like they’re his children.”

Davidson stepped closer to the group, his expression grim. “I’m afraid their names reveal much more than the paternal feelings Ridley may have for his creations. Enoch and Mahaleel are both descendants of Adam—the biblical Adam—in a very specific genealogy leading up to Abraham and eventually to King David.”

“And if you believe in it,” Alexander said, “to Jesus Christ.”

Davidson conceded the point with a nod. “But what is important to note is that he is naming these golems using a very specific bloodline that leads back to the creator.” He turned to King. “Your earlier assessment was correct, he believes himself a god. And if he is naming them using this genealogy, you can assume there are at least six more of these Ridley golems.”

“Six more?” King asked.

“Enoch is the seventh in line,” Davidson said. “Before him are Jared, Mahaleel, Cainan, Enos, Seth, and Adam.”

Something nagged at King. Ridley wouldn’t put in so much time and effort, and risk exposing himself, without something significant to be gained. He could already live forever. Like Alexander, with time he could do anything and become anyone. The world was his eternal playground. There had to be more, something missing, something bigger. Something Alexander said during their confrontation finally clicked.

You have yet to fully realize what is at stake.

He turned to Alexander. “What do you know?”

Alexander looked indifferent.

“Tell me or you’re out.”

Alexander chuckled, but acquiesced. “You need to think bigger, King. Imagine the world laid out before you. You can mold it. It can be anything you want—a chessboard, a simulation, an escape. Given time and intelligence, it can be anything you want it to be.”

King felt his back tense up. For the first time he was hearing exactly how Alexander viewed the world.

“Now imagine you’re an impatient man not accustomed to the concept of eternity. A thousand years to remake the world is nine hundred ninety-nine years too many.”

“You’re saying he wants to remake the world?” Knight asked, sounding doubtful. “The whole world?”

Alexander met him with a hard stare. “Were I a less patient man, I would do the same.”

The room fell silent as everyone in it reconsidered their alliances.

“But how?” Davidson asked, not understanding what Alexander implied. “Replace political figures with copies? Maybe just change the personalities of key people? How could he change the world?”

“You’re still thinking small,” Alexander said. “Up until twenty years ago it wouldn’t have been possible. There is no fixed rule with the mother tongue. It is the unique sounds of the language that affects the changes to reality. Not the speaker.”

“He’s right,” Davidson said. “A recording of the language would work just as well.”