Ryk E. Spoor's Blog, page 54

Castaway Planet: Chapter 1

And now a new adventure begins in the universe of Boundary, some considerable time in the future…

 

—–

 

CASTAWAY PLANET

By Eric Flint and Ryk E. Spoor

 

Chapter 1

 

 

         Sakura Kimei lay as still as possible on the set of pipes, listening for the creature’s approach. It could be very near. She gripped the weapon in her right hand and steadied herself with her left, trying to breathe as quietly as possible.

Not for the first time, she was grateful that she was still “skinny as a rail,” as her mother Laura often put it. The pipes had minimal clearance between them and the ceiling. No one with even a tiny bit more weight could have fit.

And that would have meant she had nowhere to hide.

The corridor wasn’t terribly narrow and was pretty high—for Sakura, at least, since it was meant for adults to use, not just fourteen-year-old girls who hadn’t quite hit their last growth spurt—but though only dimly—lit it was straight and without feature or doorway for a fair distance.

She tried to calm her beating heart. If it beat faster, she’d be breathing faster, and that could give her away.

The pipes under her felt both warm and cool, and she was doubly grateful for the advanced aerogel insulation that was able to keep them from being either scorching or freezing without huge, thick coatings—which would have made this hiding place impossible.

It had already been several minutes. Maybe she’d lost him completely.

But then a faint sound reached her ears, and she froze, holding herself as still as the walls around her.

Scrape.

That was not the sound of a human being walking. It sounded vaguely like a leather bag being dragged over the deck, but it was not a constant sound. It was the sound of something moving rhythmically, slowly, and as stealthily as it could. Straining her ears, holding her own breath, Sakura could just make out the faint whistling of the thing’s breath.

Shadows moved, coming from behind her, but Sakura dared not move, not even to get a good look. The creature’s senses were very, very good and might pick up on any movement, especially if it was still behind her and might look up for an instant.

Focused as she was on being perfectly still, naturally every tiny complaint or discomfort was magnified. That tiny itch in her calf was suddenly almost unbearable, demanding she move, reach down, scratch; the vague irritation in her nose was now trying to burgeon into a full-fledged sneeze. She clamped down with iron will. No! Can’t screw up now! It’s probably my only chance!

Slowly, below her, something came into view; waving tendrils, curling and grasping at the air like corpses’ fingers, sharp black hooks showing themselves as the digits worked back and forth. The tendrils moved forward, showing there were actually three groups of them, attached to three powerful forelimbs which bent in the center to provide a sort of elbow. The creature was dragging itself along with two of these. One group of tendrils grasped a tubular affair something like a crutch; the thing’s equivalent of a gun.

The body was generally triangular in cross-section, with the arms she saw at the front. She knew that between those arms and not visible from her vantage point, was a tripartite beaklike mouth equipped with a ripping, tearing tongue. At the rear, three stubby appendages similar to the arms splayed out, gripped, and pushed. Overall, the thing was several meters long and probably weighed five times what she did.

The thing could also go much faster than it was now, even taking into account the fact that it obviously wasn’t built for this kind of terrain. But it was moving quietly, trying to find her without alerting her to its presence. The front tendrils and rear “legs” were trying to keep as much of the creature as possible off the ground entirely. She was actually a little astounded. She knew the thing was strong, but this was way beyond what she’d expected.

Still… right now she was hidden. There was no sign he’d seen her.

She focused on timing now. The creature was almost past her position. She’d have to strike it right behind the eye socket and drive her blade down and back to hit the brain.

The ship’s “gravity” came from spin; she had to guess just how much that would make her curve during the drop, because curve she would. Not much, but when centimeters counted you couldn’t afford any slop.

Now came the most dangerous part. His eyes were passing below her; he’d have to turn now to see her. But she had to ease herself sideways so she could drop off the pipes and onto the alien’s back.

And that meant moving, and moving meant noise.

She exhaled silently as much as she could, lowering her height by a centimeter or less, but just enough to make sure nothing touched her back. Slowly she eased to her right. Over one pipe. Over two. Once she’d gotten past three pipes she could –

The creature suddenly halted. Maybe it had heard her, maybe it just realized it had come an awfully long way without seeing its quarry, but either way, it was now suspicious.

GO!

Sakura shoved off, dropping down, even as the thing tried to pivot around in a corridor much narrower than it was long. The girl twisted her body, stretching out, weapon held tight in her fist, reaching, even as one of the cruel taloned arms lashed around towards her –

And her hand drove perfectly into the gap between the right-hand eye and the thick, armored hide.

Instantly the arm froze, then collapsed to the ground.

“Oh, stagnation,” the creature vibrated. “I almost got you!”

She laughed and jumped off, putting the play dagger away. “You caught me the last three times, it was about my turn to get you!” She hugged as much of him as she could reach. He was warm and leathery, something like she imagined an elephant might be, but smoother. The latter wasn’t surprising. The Bemmies had been entirely aquatic when humanity first met them on Europa, and using genetic engineering to give them full amphibious capabilities hadn’t given them any hair. “That was a good chase, though, wasn’t it, Whips?”

Whips (more formally named “Harratrer”) burbled agreement with a chuckle. “Half an hour, and you still caught me. I should remember you’re thin as a bladefish.”

“Want to do another round?”

“We don’t have another half-hour,” the big alien pointed out. “You’ve got pilot apprentice training and I’ve got my engineering apprenticeship work in fifteen minutes.”

“Oh, blah. You’re right, that’s not long enough. Maybe we –”

A screaming klaxon ripped the quiet air to shreds, repeating in three sharp tones. “Mandatory Emergency Drill,” a calm electronic voice said. “Mandatory Drill. All personnel, respond as to an actual emergency according to Section 115.2. Mandatory Emergency Drill…”

         “Dehydrate that!” Whips said grouchily. “Our lifeboat unit’s all the way over on the other side of Outward Initiative.”

The young Bemmie’s peeved tone hid nervousness—and not very well. Sakura knew the source of that, and gripped her friend’s arm supportively. “Everyone else will be busy going to their lifeboats.”

“But they’ll still be able to … accidentally… impede me in one way or another.” The voice was no longer grouchy; it was sad and hurt. Whips’ flickering colors were muted and brownish.

She couldn’t argue with him; it was true. Her family had grown up around the genetically enhanced creatures, but they were rare even in the home system; in fact, from what her father had said, Whips’ family might be the first one allowed out-system. There were concerns about physical and mental stability, long-term viability, and other things, some of which just boiled down to plain old-fashioned prejudice… on both sides, unfortunately.

The engineered Bemmius novus sapiens looked, to human eyes, pretty much like their non-engineered Europan relatives, which was to say fairly nightmarish to a lot of people, and definitely not comforting to run into in a narrow corridor. To the normal Europan Bemmies, the effect might be worse, a malformed mutant with a flattened bottom and everything squished up much more in one direction. Normal Bemmies did have a sort of up-and-down orientation, but this was much more emphatic—and strange—looking.

Add to that the fact that such extensive redesign on an intelligent creature had never been attempted before. In fact, the techniques had only perfected a few years before the project started. The end result was a perfect recipe for nervous mistrust, prejudice, or sometimes an almost more annoying coddling attitude that treated every twitch as a matter of concern.

Sakura looked down at Whips, but the continued whooping of the alarm klaxon told her she couldn’t stay—or follow him. Then suddenly a thought struck her. “Didn’t you hear that? Respond as to an actual emergency.”

Whips turned two of his three eyes towards her. “Well, yeah, but so what?”

“So in a real emergency you’re supposed to go to the nearest lifeboat, right?” She grinned. “And that happens to be ours.”

Whips’ tendrils curled in with uncertainty. “I don’t know. What if…?”

“Come on. It’ll be a little less boring if you’re there!”

Whips snorted, but immediately started a hopping drag in the direction of the Kimei family boat, his colors rippling swiftly back to brighter, more cheerful patterns. “And I can’t ever complain about it being boring with you around!”

 

Paradigms Lost: Chapter 42

Jason had asked for some help…

 

—–

 

 

 

Chapter 42: Reaching Limits

TO:{Jason Wood}wisdom@wis.com


FROM:{The Jammer}


SUBJECT:EXCUSE ME????



Did you have ANY idea what kind of mess you were trying to get me into? No, let me revise that. Do you have ANY idea what THAT kind of mess can do to me?

Dammit, Wood. This guy’s an international fugitive and you want me to give him a bulletproof ID? What are you mixed up in THIS time?

So there were limits to what the Jammer would take casually. Nice to know, but I wished he’d stayed in his omnipotent mode for a while longer.

Look, I know enough about you to know that you know perfectly well who this guy is, at least on the public-international level. So, since I also know you’re not into helping criminals every day of the week, I’ll assume you know something I don’t know, hard as that is to believe, that makes this guy worth helping. Okay. But for this little bit of work, I’m charging. Not money, naturally. You’ll make available a writable CD-ROM on a dial-in line, at 2:15 Tuesday evening. When it’s finished writing the data that gets sent to it, you’ll take the disk—without reading it, and believe you me I’ll know—and deliver it to some secure locale of your choosing. In a separate letter, you tell me the location. Once that’s done, I’ll deliver your IDs.

Oh, man. What was I getting myself into? He could be downloading anything from recipes to Top Secret documents into the drive, and I had no doubt at all that if I made a single attempt to read the contents that he would find out; he was that good.

But then again, what was I asking him to do? Make a set of ID for a known international criminal. And if my guesses were right, he might well be working for one of the organizations that was supposed to track Kafan down. No, the Jammer had the right to ask something like this; I was asking him to put his ass on the line for me, so he was asking me to stick my own neck out.

I typed out a very short reply,

Terms accepted

and sent it off.

A week into my work and I wasn’t really any closer to figuring out how to approach Senator MacLain without opening about a dozen cans of worms that were better left closed. On the other hand, I was starting, I thought, to close in on the location of this mysterious Project. The break had come a few days ago, when a search program had highlighted the Organization for Scientific Research; a check showed that not only had the OSR always been heavily involved in biological research, but it had previously had a couple branches in the far East—one in or very near Vietnam. During the ’70s, those labs had been discontinued. A bit of digging on my part, however, showed that the discontinuance had actually been a transfer of ownership to interested parties, probably in the Viet government. Details on the site were vague—the OSR files from the ’70s were hard to access, since it had been a UN venture to begin with, and now that it had separated from the UN and become a private corporation it was possible all the old records not directly relevant to operation had been purged. And stuff that old often wasn’t online anywhere in any case.

It might be possible, however, to take the vague info I had and combine it with a careful modeling of the layout as Kafan remembered it and see if a pattern-recognition program could come up with anything using satellite photos of the area. Probably there were records of the installation on one of the intelligence computers—NSA, CIA, whatever—but I wasn’t about to try hacking one of those. This had to be an independent operation if at all possible. With Verne’s backing, we at least didn’t need to worry about whether we could afford it.

That brought up the next problem. Verne. Syl had tried a number of things, but though it appeared to help some, over the next couple of days Verne went downhill again. He was visibly older.

I closed my eyes. Genetically engineered people, ancient civilizations, vampires, priests…. damn, it was a wonder my head didn’t explode. All that stuff combined was enough to…

All that stuff combined?

I straightened. Reaching out, I grabbed the phone. “Verne? Sorry to disturb you, but I just thought of something.”

Verne’s weariness was now evident in his voice. It was still as rich, but the underlying tone lacked the measured certainty that was usually there. “And what is that, Jason?”

“Verne, you talked about how certain forces might have returned, right? Isn’t it possible that what’s happening to you is an attack? Maybe even carried by Kafan, not consciously, but nonetheless part of him?”

The silence on the other end was very long. Then:

“Not merely possible …” Verne said slowly, “but even probable. Nothing like this has ever happened to me, in all these thousands of years. Can it be coincidence that it happens now, of all times? Most unlikely. My brain must be affected as well, if I did not think of this myself.”

“Is there a way to find out?”

“Most likely,” Verne said. “With Sylvie’s help, Morgan and I should be able to determine if any mystical forces other than my own are operant here.”

“What about biological? You did say that living things could affect you.”

Verne hesitated a moment, considering. His voice, given hope, was stronger now. “I do not believe any disease, howsoever virulent, could affect me without some small mystical component. This was one of the Lady’s blessings, and it is not within the power of ordinary science to gainsay that, even in this era. My metabolism differs so greatly from that of anything else on this world that I doubt it would even be recognized as living by most tests. No, if this is an attack, it must be a magical one. Thank you, Jason.”

“No problem. Will you need me for anything?”

“No, my friend. You have given all that was necessary. We will endeavor to make this as short as possible, that your lady be not unduly inconvenienced.”

“Is it that obvious to everyone?”

Verne’s laugh was the first genuinely cheerful thing I had heard from him in a week. “Jason, such things are always obvious. And welcome, I assure you. You have finally accepted that which was always in your heart.”

“Don’t you start. I may have been slow and dumb, but I don’t have to be reminded every day.”

He chuckled. “Good night, Jason.”

 

 

Polychrome: Chapter 17

A King must consider his actions…

 

—–

 

Chapter 17.

     Iris Mirabilis looked down from the balcony at the very top of his castle, moonlight streaming down and turning the blue-gray skystone to silver. Far below, he watched a small blonde-haired figure in a private courtyard, practicing cuts and jumps and rolls, sometimes stopping to indulge in strange sequences of movements that did not immediately make sense to him. Iris raised his gaze slightly, noticed another figure, slight and swathed in shifting rainbow hues, watching Erik from another balcony, lower than Iris’ own but well above the mortal’s ordinary line of vision.

Raising his gaze still higher, he could see the looming mountains of the Earthly Firmament encircling his city, with the greatest of them – Caelorum Sanctorum– towering steeply to a point far above his castle, one that even his eyes could not easily pierce, a shadowed eminence of indigo and black shading to a brilliant spark of light where the sun – many hours set – still touched.

“You sent for me, Majesty?”

“Yes, Nimbus.” He glanced down at the Captain of his hosts, then back up. “Five days.”

Nimbus grunted, then followed his gaze. “Five… ” He stared, then turned directly to face Iris. “Your Majesty, are you certain? Few indeed even of our own people have attempted that. As I recall, even your own daughters were –”

“My own daughters,” Iris found himself saying with an unexpected vehemence, “are of my own blood and have duties that I would expect them to carry out for that reason, if no other. They are not men snatched from their own world to die for the sake of mine.”

Nimbus was silent for a moment, and then – unexpectedly – chuckled. “My King may correct me if I am wrong, but it seems to my memory that when first you had finished your perusal of the prophecies and come to the conclusions of what they demanded, you were not bothered – indeed, I might even say almost pleased – that the hero of prophecy would in all likelihood live not past the ending of the threat.”

Iris restrained a glare. Instead he simply took a breath, held it, and released it with a sigh. “You were not wrong, Captain. Unlike Polychrome and my other daughters, I have had occasion to look upon the mortal world as time passed, and I was very much afraid of what sort of man I might get from that world, and especially how that sort of man would affect us.” By “us”, he suspected Nimbus knew, he meant Polychrome, but the Captain said nothing. “They are a world of machines, of dark and heartless countries and industries that seem almost themselves machines, while in his own country they are a people of light and empty and it would seem almost meaningless entertainments, oblivious to much of the world around them… not that the other countries are truly much different. The people of that country have become ever more oriented to pleasures, hedonistic, focused on the self. And when he came here, though he had a veneer of courtesy, I thought that might be all he was. But now… yes, he is brash in some ways, loud, he has little of the manners one might have hoped for…”

Nimbus nodded slowly. “… but he has a sense of wonder that carries him when his rude or odd manners might fail, and those ‘light and empty’ entertainments have given him the keys of imagination that he needs, it would appear. Still…”

The Rainbow Lord turned away and paced, looking back down to where the mortal was now standing unarmed, hands and body going through gestures that seemed akin to, yet were not exactly, combat, muttering disjointed words even Iris could not make out. Then Erik paused, and Iris could tell he had caught sight of the smaller figure above him; Polychrome waved down at him, and the mortal stood immobile, staring up at her. “…Still? Yes, Nimbus, still, there are many questions unanswered, but we simply cannot get those answers here. And there is the question of myself, of my responsibility to a man who has come here to serve the most extreme need of faerie. Oh, indeed, I nearly did hate him for his presence, for what it would mean. But now…”

Nimbus was looking down as well. “Are… are you going to tell him, then?”

“I cannot. I dare not. The delicacy of following prophecy cannot be overestimated; a single mis-spoken word and all may unravel and be lost, dispelled as the mist before the sun.”

He could see in Nimbus’ nod that the Captain of the Guard understood – perhaps all too well. “And so you can offer him this as a … salve to your conscience. Yes, I suppose so, although if he dies in the process –”

“—Then he is not truly what we thought.” The Rainbow Lord frowned; Nimbus’ straightforward phrasing was unfortunately accurate, and Iris did not like seeing in himself a King who would so cynically use those around him. But it would be worse to deny it. “He will be losing as much as even I in the end – even if he lives. At least this I can give him, and I think someone such as he will appreciate what he sees. Perhaps it will even be of use; the inspiration to do these things does not come entirely at random, you know.” Both he and Nimbus looked to the sky for a moment and nodded.

“I will prepare him, then.” Nimbus turned to leave.

“Wait.” Below, Polychrome had danced her way down to the courtyard and was talking to the mortal; he could catch enough of the conversation to know she was taking him to the Evening Banquet at the Tower of Dawn, where many of the people of the Kingdom would be. In these last few days he was making the presence of the Hero known, raising the spirits of the Rainbow Kingdom by making it clear that they were now preparing to act, rather than merely survive. “Let him go for now. Tomorrow is soon enough.”

Nimbus smiled sadly, and bowed. “As you will, Majesty.”

 

 

 

 

Paradigms Lost: Chapter 41

 

Jason had made a rather startling discovery…

 

—–

 

 

Chapter 41: Worries and Joys

Verne and Kafan stared at the reprinted articles, while Sylvie peeked over their shoulders. “H’alate,” muttered Verne. “This is most inconvenient.”

“Maybe not quite as bad as it seems.” I said. Verne had looked like Death warmed over when he came in, but that might have been the yellow street lights. He looked a little better, here in the office, than he had yesterday. I hoped that meant he was taking it easy. “With that kind of high profile, yeah, it’s certain that your enemies know where the kids are. But the good thing is that the high profile also makes it virtually impossible to just kidnap the kids. Doing a snatch-and-grab on some random runaway is one thing; kidnapping the children of a senator of the United States—especially one like Paula MacLain, who’s one of the most outspoken and uncompromising people I’ve ever seen—is very, very different.”

“True,” Verne said. “But it will be difficult to convince the lady to return her children to their father when that father is wanted across the globe. Giving him a new identity would work for ordinary situations, but you can be sure that if we ask her to hand over her children to us that she will have us investigated to the full extent of her powers, which are quite considerable. She would most certainly discover your internationally known identity, Kafan, and might find out some rather unwelcome facts about myself as well.”

Syl nodded. “And… didn’t she have a son before? One about Tai’s age? He got killed somehow. She’s going to hold on to those kids like grim death.”

I winced. I’d forgotten about that—it had happened about ten years ago, a little before I really started reading anything about politics, since in high school things like that seem pretty unimportant. But now that Syl mentioned it, I remembered; a plane crash, killed her husband and son, and it had something to do with her job so she might even have blamed herself somehow. “We’ll have to think about this.”

“What is there to think about?” Kafan demanded. “I am their father. They belong with me.”

“I’d tend to agree,” I said, “but the rest of the world knows you as a psycho killer, wanted by an international task force. Not exactly the kind of parent people want for children, you know.”

“Then we’ll tell her the truth.”

“Which truth? The one about genetic experiments? Kafan, that’d be a quick way to end up in yet another lab. The one about ancient civilizations that can’t have existed by all we know today? That would be a good way to get us all locked up. No, I’m sure there’s an angle here, but I’m going to have to work on it. At least relax some; we know where they are, and they’re being treated very well. They’re not suffering, and it’s for damn sure this organization won’t dare touch them as long as they’re in the Senator’s custody.”

Kafan’s lips tightened, showing faint hints of fangs underneath, until he got his temper under control. Then he shrank back, depressed even though the news was at least partly good. “You are correct. I cannot fight this whole world if I wish to live here.” He brooded for a moment, then asked, “What about Kay and Kei?”

I shook my head. “Sorry. Nothing yet. If they were captured again as you said, I’m not going to turn up anything quickly, even if they did move them. Most likely they’re still in the lab compound you mentioned, if they managed to keep it hidden this long. You can’t tell us where it is?”

“No.” The short, blunt monosyllable carried a world of frustration. “Showing me where I was on a map was never something they had in mind. And I just ran when I escaped. I had no time to mark bearings. Oh, put me back in the general area and I’ll find it, that I promise you, but I can’t show you where it is.”

“Too bad. But if we’re going to even think about finding some way to go back and get them, we absolutely have to find out where the compound is, and to be honest a whole lot more about it, too.” This was getting more and more difficult. I wasn’t James Bond, and I didn’t know anyone who qualified for the part, either. Jeri Winthrope was about as close as I got, and I sure didn’t like the idea of involving her in this—both because of the problems it could cause for us and the problems it’d cause for her. That was ignoring the possibly cosmic threat hanging over anyone who got too close to this mess. “Guess I’ll have to work on that too.”

Verne, still pale but looking definitely better than he had yesterday, sat up. “Jason, at this point I insist on paying you. This may require a great deal of your time and resources, and perhaps more than you can easily afford.”

I opened my mouth to protest, then shut it. It grated on me to charge a friend for something so important to them, but Verne was right. If I followed this thing to its logical conclusion, I might end up having to do everything from pay out bribes to mastermind and equip a commando raid! I shook my head at that; I didn’t think I knew anyone who even knew anyone who could do that. Oh well, one thing at a time. “Thanks, Verne. You’re right. This is going to get expensive no matter how I slice it.”

Taking out his checkbook, Verne wrote quickly and tore out the paper. I boggled at the amount. “Verne—”

“Don’t protest, Jason. Better to be overpaid than underpaid. You have no idea how little such a sum means to me, nor how highly I value your services.”

I nodded. “Okay.” I gestured at the pile of newspaper copies. “Take those if you want. I’d better get back to work. Besides this snafu, I’ve also got three other regular jobs on the burner.”

Sylvie remained behind after Verne, Kafan, and Gen had left. “Verne isn’t well, Jason.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.” I said. “He looks better than he did yesterday, though.”

She frowned, a distant and unfortunately familiar look on her face. “Maybe… but I have a bad feeling about that.”

I sighed. “Syl, sweetheart, maybe you can do something. It’s for sure that I’ve got enough to do here. I’m no vampire medic. He regards you very highly and talks about your being a ‘Mistress of Crystal,’ whatever that means. Maybe you can do something.”

Her expression lightened. “Why, thank you, Jason! For calling me ‘sweetheart,’ that is.”

I blushed; I could feel the heat on my cheeks. “So maybe it wasn’t ever a secret. Syl, you’re the only woman that makes me still feel like I’m fourteen, clumsy, and tongue-tied. Maybe that’s a good thing.” She started to say something—I could tell it would be another of the kinds of things that embarrassed me more—and then stopped. “Thanks. I don’t need to blush more than once a day.”

She smiled, a very gentle smile. “It doesn’t hurt your looks at all, you know. And that clumsy approach of yours helps me keep thinking I’m still in my teens too, so I’d say it’s a good thing.”

I smiled back, still nervous. “I guess you make me nervous because you’re the only woman I’m serious about.”

“Are you?”

I swallowed. “I’ve been in love with you for years, Syl. Just not ready to admit it.”

You can insert your own experience of a first happy kiss here; I’m pretty sure they’re all the same to the lucky people involved. Time stops, or passes, but it certainly doesn’t behave the same, and the rest of the world doesn’t exist. Oh, I’d kissed Syl before, quick pecks or something, and I’d certainly kissed a girl or two once I got out of my geek stage, but there just wasn’t any comparison at all. I’d been waiting to do this since I met her, and from her response, she’d been waiting just as long.

When lack of air finally signaled the end of eternity, I pulled back from her for a moment, looking into those deep blue eyes. “Whew.”

“So what was it you were so afraid of, Jason?”

“This. I like having control over my own life, and there’s no control over this.”

That smile again. “Do you want to change your mind?”

“Don’t you even think about it. After all the courage I had to work up there to mention that four-letter word ‘love,’ you’re not getting a chance to get away.” I wanted to spend the rest of the night—maybe the rest of the week—continuing what we’d started, but I couldn’t ignore business, either.

Especially when business also involved a friend. “Syl, can we make a date for tomorrow night? Right now I’d better keep working—I’ve already lost a couple days as it is. And do you think you can do anything for Verne?”

She grinned. “Not jealous of him any more?”

“What?!”

“I can sense things, you know that. And I could see your little pout every time Verne put on the charm and I smiled back at him.”

I gave a sour look. “Well, he does have a kind of overwhelming presence, not to mention that perfect sense of style.”

“Jealous, like I said. Don’t worry, Jason. I knew you were the one for me as soon as I saw you. I had a feeling about it.”

Now that really made me wince. “I don’t believe in destiny.”

“Then call it a self-fulfilling prophecy. I’m heading over to Verne’s. Maybe I can’t do anything, but then again maybe I can.”

“Thanks… Syl.”

Even after she left, it took a while to start concentrating on the work at hand.

Perfume stays with you.

 

 

 

 

 

Paradigms Lost: Chapter 40

Jason had some sleuthing to do…

 

 

—–

 

 

Chapter 40: Solve One Problem, Get Two Free!

I frowned at the faces on my screen. One was definitely nonhuman; Tai as he’d be if he changed. Seb’s inhumanity was less obvious, though it was still there in subtle ways. The other two were how the children looked in their human guise. This was my first look at the pictures with a really clear head; after going over the details with Kafan several times, I’d wandered around my house sort of in a daze before finally going to bed. I hadn’t opened WIS today; it was evening now, and I was finally able to take a look at things and think about them.

This search wasn’t going to be routine. Assuming the truth of Kafan’s story, and seeing his furry child I really couldn’t doubt it, I wasn’t the only person looking for them. I also had to be very careful with the searches so I didn’t tip off anyone else. The last thing we wanted was to alert the government agencies that they had a genetic experiment living in Morgantown.

For that reason I’d decided not to involve Jeri Winthrope in this. She’d ended up taking a job as a police liaison here, though it was pretty certain that her real employers were still in Washington somewhere. I couldn’t ask her for phony ID without a lot of questions I didn’t want to answer. She’d be poking around asking things soon enough anyway, since she tried to keep an eye on Verne.

Well, might as well run it through the simple stuff. The influx of money from the Morgantown Incident had, at least, allowed me to get a lot of new toys I’d wanted, including SearchlightSoft’s photocomparator suite, and I’d customized the hell out of it already, both doing parts myself and contracting certain elements to three or four others, and by now I was pretty sure that the resulting suite was one of the most advanced photo-search programs in the world. I booted it up and then set a search running with various parameters to locate pictures of children from that general geographic area who were within the correct age range, and then to compare those with the two pictures on screen. As a programmer I’m only so-so, but I’m damned good at pattern logic problems, and that was the kind of thing information retrieval and photo comparison relied on. I didn’t expect much out of this first run; after all, it would be virtually impossible for them to be anywhere visible to the public without a good searcher finding them quick. But it would be stupid of me to pass up any chance. My search parameters might be different than the opposition’s, or I might have access to pictures they didn’t.

I leaned back and sorted through my mail. Bills… damn NiMo bill got higher every month. This bulky one… oh, the pictures from the State Police they wanted me to look at. This… the invoices from Ed Sommer on the work he was doing for Verne; Verne wanted me to look over them and make sure everything was okay. I wondered for a moment how he’d managed to hide Genshi and Kafan from them, even though a lot of the work had already been done by then. I glanced over the invoices… damn, even with all the money I was making these days I couldn’t pay this without selling everything I owned. Complete rewiring, lights… the works. I marked a couple of borderline entries—I didn’t know if all these things were needed, but if they were all installed we wouldn’t gripe, so I scribbled “tell Verne check if installed” on them and put it away.

The next letter brought a grin. Mom and Dad had written again. I opened the envelope and scanned the contents. Dad had gone to a jeweler’s convention—he made jewelry as a sort of hobby—and was working on some new stuff. He was about to retire from the college (Professor of Chemistry). Mom had retired from teaching a couple years ago and we had a continuing exchange of ideas going; I was going to have to read that section in more detail later, since there was no way to just dash off a reply to anything Mom wrote; she was too deep for that. They’d also included a Dilbert cartoon they thought I’d appreciate. I’d have to write back soon. It was sometimes a little difficult to write these days, though; I mean, they obviously knew about Virigar, but I was still trying to keep a lid on Verne. But Mom was an awfully sharp cookie and she’d know if I was hiding something.

The rest of the stuff was junk mail, which I consigned to the permanent circular file. I stretched, went to the kitchen and reheated some of the taco meat I’d made earlier that week. Fortified with a couple tacos sprinkled with onions, cheese, lettuce, and homemade salsa, I sat down at my second terminal and started downloading my e-mail. One got flagged immediately—it came from a remote drop which was a remote drop for a remote drop for… well, you get the picture. Only one person used that route: the Jammer.

Probably the best hacker/cracker in the world, the Jammer had taken a sort of brotherly interest in protecting my butt when Virigar first showed up. Since then, we’d had occasional correspondence. Once I’d started thinking about false ID, he’d been at the top of my mind. However, the way he’d disappeared a while back had indicated to me that, like Slippery Jim DiGriz, he’d gotten “recruited” by some bigger agency a while back. So I’d had to tiptoe around the subject to see what his reaction was.

TO:{Jason Wood}wisdom@wis.com


FROM:{The Jammer}

SUBJECT:RE: Old days



You’re not bad yourself, JW. I particularly liked the triple-loop trick you set up to make people trying to track this down follow the message in circles. But you really need to relax. Trust me, there isn’t anyone on the planet who can trace or decode a message I want kept secret except God himself, and even He’d have to do some serious work first.


It was hard to decide if I should laugh or growl at that. The problem with the Jammer was that he had an ego the size of the entire solar system. I was tempted to write back something like “If you’re that good, who was it that caught you?” but impulses like that are just stupid; if stroking his ego got good results, why should it bother me? I laughed. At least he had a sense of humor, which was more than a lot of geeks.

What you’re asking is if I still do some non-legit work? Normally no, but for you… as long as it’s not aiding and abetting a real crime, no problem. I’ve been itching for an excuse to hack something on my own lately anyway. My, um, friends don’t like to let me out to play very often except “on duty.” Not that that isn’t challenging work in itself, but… Doing an analysis of your prior inquiries, I’ll bet you need an ID.

I blinked. Thinking about it, and glancing through my messages again… yeah, I suppose you might be able to get that… but it took a pattern sense as good or better than mine to do it dead cold. Maybe I shouldn’t call it “ego.”

If it’s one for yourself, I’ve got everything I need already; if it’s for someone else, I need all the info you can give me—blood type, fingerprints, photos, the works. The more I can work with, the more I can give you. Drop me a line and let me know.

The JAMMER

Not bad. One major problem probably solved. I glanced over at the comparison program, sorting through picture after picture… no hits. I didn’t expect any. Picking up the phone, I called Verne. As usual, Morgan answered and called Verne to the phone. “Hello, Jason.”

“Got a couple marks on those invoices—you just have to make sure he installed all the stuff he says he installed. I’ll come over and do that now, if you like. I’ve got the machines running on something that doesn’t need my presence. I’m going to stop by the mini-mart for a couple things, then I’ll be right over.”

“By all means. Thank you, Jason.”

The mini-mart wasn’t too busy as I walked in the door. I noted the security camera with its odd bulbous attachment. Nothing brought home the profound changes that were happening more than this prosaic addition: that attachment was, with slight changes, basically the same as the headpiece I’d worn while searching out werewolves in the hospital hallways. Except that this one wasn’t made by me, or under my license. Which means I’d give a better than fifty percent chance it’s useless. I pulled out my pocket camera and snapped a pic of it; the gadget wasn’t a brand I recognized.One more to be hit up for infringement claims.

I grabbed the few items I was looking for and headed back out.

There were unaccustomed faint lines of concern on Morgan’s usually impassive, English-butler face. I saw the reason immediately. “Verne!”

Nothing essential had changed in him; he still had the dark, wide eyes that could hold you with a magnetic presence, the distant and aristocratic stance. But beneath the dusky olive color natural to his skin, his paleness had become something beyond mere vampiric pallor; he was washed out, diminished, as though being slowly leached of his color and his strength. The way he stood was unnaturally stiff. And in his dark hair I thought I saw a few strands of white and gray. “Jesus. Verne, you look like crap.”

A tired smile crossed his face. “As usual, your diplomacy is staggering, Jason. You are not the first to inform me of this. And your face said all that needed to be said.”

“What’s wrong?”

Verne shrugged. “I am not sure. There have been a few, a very few, cases in which I felt similarly, aside from the one time I was forced to cross desert plains with little to no shelter—that was infinitely worse. I suspect all the changes in my life, from finding Raiakafan to simply trying to become more human again have made me overwork. For if I lie down to rest, and my mind does not enter the proper state, I do not gain the proper amount of rest; those of my sort do not sleep in truth, any more than the Earth sleeps, but there is a difference between activity and rest even so.”

I couldn’t keep the concern from my voice. “I hope that’s all it is. Look, just take it easy. Anyone would be a little punchy after all this stuff’s happened, but you’re the only one who can take care of you. I mean, what would I do if you collapsed, call 911 and tell the paramedics I have a sick vampire here?”

“Indeed.” Verne straightened with a visible effort. “But let me see these invoices… Ah, I see. I believe those sockets were installed, but let us check.”

We went through the huge mansion, checking off the items. Personally, I’d rather have seen Verne go to bed, but his tone and manner indicated that, weak or not, he wasn’t about to listen to me or any other mortal doing a mother hen imitation.

From that, I figured he was a lot more worried than he let on. In his room, we stopped and he grabbed a bottle of AB+, draining the entire thing without even letting it warm. This made him visibly less pale, but something about it struck me as vaguely false, like the temporarily alert feeling you might get from amphetamines or a lot of coffee. Still, he moved more easily and the gray strands were no longer visible in his hair. Maybe he just hadn’t been eating right. Was there such a thing as vitamin deficiency for a vampire… nature priest, whatever?

“Very good, Jason,” Verne said finally. “All seems to be in order. I will pay these invoices, then. Thank you for checking them.”

“No problem. Where’s Kafan?”

“Sleeping. He tends to keep to Gen’s schedule, and we don’t want Gen to become habitually nocturnal.”

As good a chance as any. “Verne, there’s one thing that’s been bothering me about him.” I grinned momentarily. “Well, one new thing. I know his story now, but… there’s a few times he seems to just change his whole personality, going from someone who’s about as normal as you could expect anyone to be with his background, to… well, I don’t know how to say it. Almost a machine, a killing machine.”

Verne’s expression was too carefully neutral, so I raised an eyebrow. “Well? What’s going on?”

He shook his head. “You are correct in your observation, Jason. There is some other trigger, some other mystery associated with him, and I have talked about it with him as much as I am able. It is not associated with the Project, that much I have learned; but it does have the sort of … programmed reactions one might have expected from such an organization if they were to have tried to make use of him. But Raiakafan is adamant about two things: first, it has nothing to do with the Project he escaped from, and second, that no one must pry too far into this mystery or he will be forced to kill them, or die trying.”

“Even you?”

“He implied that he would try to resist any impulses associated with me… and he was sworn to my service in ancient, ancient days, and that oath still has the force of the Lady behind it. But anyone else would have no protection at all.”

Great. A mystery within a mystery. “I’d bet, if we knew what it was, we’d know how he can be here, today, when he disappeared completely from your city half a million years back.”

Verne nodded. “I, too, believe that is the case. Wherever he went in that time… it made him into something else. Something he mostly has thrown off or represses, unless it threatens to probe into that particular secret, or threatens his life.”

I shrugged. This was a problem for later; I had more than enough on my plate for now. “Well, say hi to him and Genshi for me. I don’t know how long this search is going to take me, but I’ve already started on it. Might as well get home and try to get my schedule back on track.”

“An excellent idea. I will see you later, then.”

I stopped and turned in the doorway. “Verne, take care of yourself, okay?”

“Of course, Jason.”

I drove back to my house slowly. If Verne was really sick, I didn’t see how anyone could do anything. Presumably he and Morgan knew more about that than anyone else. Maybe Kafan, I suppose. Would there have been anything like first aid for Verne’s kind, or was that like thinking of stocking bandages for God?

I really should have started work on those State Police photos, but my heart just wasn’t in it tonight. I put in Casablanca and let it run while I ate a very late-night snack. Finally, as Rick and Louis walked off through the rain, I headed upstairs to get to bed; I wasn’t that tired, but if I didn’t get back on track… I glanced over at the search station. It had stopped comparisons finally. I reached out to shut it off, when the message on the screen hit me with delayed impact:

Matches: 10

Ten matches? I hadn’t even expected one! Bedtime forgotten, I sat down at the keyboard and had it call up the ten matching pictures.

As they appeared onscreen, I heard myself say “Oh, crap.”

I’d had a vague feeling that the boys’ faces were familiar, but I’d put it down to having seen their father and talked over their appearance for hours. But as soon as the photos with their headlines appeared, I remembered all too well where I’d seen them:

Senator MacLain adopts two Viet children.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Polychrome: Chapter 16

Well, it’s time for Erik to show something of what he’s learned…

 

—–

 

 

 

Chapter 16.

     “We’re running out of time, I think.”

Iris nodded, surveying the training area with eyes that seemed to look far beyond the walls of the castle. “You have come far, and your words have convinced me that you do have some plan. In a week or two, perhaps, no more. Have you decided on what you will do when you leave?”

“I’m pretty sure what I need to do. I have to cross the Deadly Desert alone, and even as a True Mortal that’s not going to be easy. The Prophecy also says,

 

With one companion he sets out,

another he must win

 

But that could be I set out from here with one, or from wherever I’m supposed to seek wisdom.” I glanced up at him.

The Rainbow Lord shook his head. “None from here. Polychrome will bring you into Faerie, but until you have found your way to Oz itself, I will not have her leaving again. She is marked by the enemy, and they watch her every move. A quick foray on the Rainbow to bring you down, yes, that she can do, but no more.”

It didn’t take a genius to see that he would rather she wasn’t involved at all, but having now been living there for nearly a year, it was also pretty obvious that he didn’t have much chance at all in getting her to stay out of everything. “So what are you doing here now?”

“You could call this your final exam, Erik Medon.” Nimbus leaned on his sword, a smile I didn’t like at all on his face.

“I’ve been doing pretty good for someone who hardly ever saw a sword before, I think.”

“And not one of us would disagree. As an older mortal – not old, true, but not in the bloom of youth – you seem to have gained some perspective which perhaps a younger man would not, giving you something to make up for the reflexes you might have lost.” Nimbus effortlessly sheathed his sword, and paced around the room. “We have found a way to replicate the effect of your medicines, so your own body should not kill you if you are given enough time to use them, and you have become quite adept at judging exactly how far you can push your body.”

I smiled wryly. “Learned a lot of that many years ago; pay attention to the signals your bod gives you, or it might never give you any again.”

“Wisdom and truth, my friend. Still, all of your training has been with my warriors. Formidable they are, and very much like some of those you will have to face, and yet… not quite. We cannot give you a foretaste of the true power of the Tempests, Infernos, Temblors, and Torrents at the command of our enemies, but it is to be hoped that many of their advantages will find themselves useless against a True Mortal. However,” he turned to face me again, “in the end you must face even more formidable opponents, and of that we can give you a sample.”

I blinked. “Oh, I have a bad feeling about this.” The old quote felt all too true.

Yes, that was a very evil grin on Nimbus’ face. “All you have to do is take down both of your opponents. Not even, necessarily, show that you could finish them. Merely take them down.”

I turned my head slowly, to see Iris Mirabilis, the Rainbow Lord, unlimbering a sword that would have been more appropriate as a helicopter rotor blade, twenty feet or more long and over a foot wide, double-edged. “Oh, you have got to be kidding me.”

“Far from it, Erik Medon. You will be facing opponents as formidable as myself – perhaps, even, my size. For do not forget one of the new rulers of Oz was once a Giant, and may use other Giants against you.”

“You said ‘both’ of my opponents,” I said, still having a hard time taking my gaze from that monstrous blade, “who’s the second? You, Nimbus?” That would be bad; with no false modesty I knew I’d gotten to be pretty damn good, but there was no way I would outmatch the immortal guard captain, especially with the Rainbow Lord ready to step on me like a bug.

“Oh, no, not me.” The smile he wore was still evil. “Neither of your ultimate opponents are, after all, master warriors, though I would not underestimate their skills entirely. However, there is a much more appropriate choice in this case.”

I glanced in the direction he indicated. Polychrome stood there, a crystal staff in her hand.

Oh, Jesus H. Particular Christ on a pogo stick. “I can’t fight her!”

Iris’ sword stabbed down inches in front of me, embedding itself in the smoky-blue floor, shattering the mystical stone like glass. “One of your opponents is a woman of beauty enough to perhaps even match my daughter, mortal,” the Rainbow Lord said, looking grimly down at me as I recovered my balance from the sudden shock. “We do not require you to truly hurt or kill either of us, but you must be able to fight anything and anyone. Ugu the Unbowed is a master of illusion as well as of more direct magics, and properly cast such illusions will fool even you until you actually touch their source. You must follow your convictions, fight your opponents, let nothing distract you.”

Poly spun her staff around like a baton, showing that she wasn’t at all unfamiliar with the weapon. “Erik, I appreciate that you don’t want to hurt me… but if you don’t at least try, I’m going to have to hurt you, and I really don’t want to do that.”

I stared at her for a moment, then swallowed. They were completely right. I couldn’t be expected to fight the real thing if I couldn’t win a sparring match against something roughly equivalent. “All right.” I pulled out my latest sword and hitched my armor slightly; the armorers had gotten used to supplying me with replacements after every session, so at least now they fit me perfectly.

Nimbus backed off.

Even before he’d fully reached shelter, Iris Mirabilis charged, whirling his blade up and then down in a killing stroke.

He is actually large enough that I can dodge him… and I’d damn well better when possible. I tumblesaulted between his legs, trying to smack his ankle; I managed a glancing blow, but that didn’t do much.

A blaze of clashing colors erupted around me, and I almost closed my eyes reflexively; only my training in ignoring the actually-ineffectual magical attacks kept my eyes slitted open; that allowed me to see Polychrome streaking in through the dazzle. I swung the sword around, flat side to her. There was no chance for her to –

And she was gone.

A stinging thwack from behind. I whirled, saw Polychrome fading away again, but now I was dodging as that gigantic sword came down, carving a ditch in the mystical cloud-stone we fought on. I took advantage of that magical characteristic and jumped hard. The stone, as rigid and unyielding to faeries as it appeared, bowed and rebounded like a mass of rubber under me; in effect, my anti-magic repelled the magical stone, sending me hurtling into the air where I took a cut at Iris’ head; he ducked, but I cut deep into his shoulder-guard and staggered him with the impact.

One of his crackling balls of lightning thundered down at me as I landed, but I was more concerned with Polychrome. I remembered the scene in the Nome King’s halls in… was it Tik-Tok of Oz? … where Ruggedo had tried to catch her and she’d simply humiliated him. Now I understood what Baum had tried to convey. The other Faerie were much faster than I was, but you could still follow them. Polychrome was like a flickering sunbeam off of water, darting from one point to another. Part of me was getting frustrated, the other just fascinated, watching her move here, there, seeming almost everywhere at once. No single stroke of that staff was terribly damaging, but if I couldn’t stop her –

And the Rainbow Lord was there again, slower by far than his daughter but still terrifyingly fast, the sword coming straight down, Poly disappearing to reappear – I was sure – behind me.

That gave me a minor inspiration. I brought my sword up in a focused parry and, at the same time, kicked out behind me.

I felt my foot connect at the same time Iris’ massive sword slammed into my own. The impact jarred me from teeth to toes and I was hammered at least four inches into the stone as my sword shattered and Iris’ was gouged deeply. He staggered back from the sheer force of the parry and I turned as fast as I could, seeing Polychrome just as she finished her tumble across the floor.

But she was getting up, though slowly; I shoved away my instinctual impulse to run to her and ask if she was okay. I have to get BOTH of them down!

As fast as I was, it still wasn’t enough. She dodged from me with a laugh. “That was well done, Erik! But you have to do better!” There was both encouragement and concern on her face.

And then I heard, too late, the whoosh of air behind me.

The flat of Iris’ sword took me right across the back, sent me sailing up and across the room like a golf ball. I caromed off one wall, smacked into the next face first, and then skittered across the floor like an air-hockey puck. I woozily tried to roll, keeping the Rainbow Lord from getting another bead on me, but Polychrome was already there, bashing me about the head and body, beating me like a cheap drum. Every blow stung, and I could taste blood from where my front teeth had gouged my upper lip.

And this isn’t a mob. It’s just two very powerful people. Who don’t even really want to kill me. And they’re not going to hogpile me like the guards. They’ll just keep bashing me piecemeal until I collapse or surrender.

And then I fail.

I forced myself to my feet, but that damn staff tripped me up again – and just as I hit the floor, Iris stomped on me.

The breath exploded from my lungs at the impact. Thank whatever gods there are that the magical stone gives like rubber to me, or he’d be scraping me off his shoe. I felt the stone rebound as he stepped back, and despite being almost totally disoriented managed to use that, flip upright, then tumble drunkenly away to buy just a little time.

Rebound…?

It was a crazy idea… but it fit with all the crazy things I could already do, and the way magic worked around me.

I rose to my full height, bringing both my arms up, seeing Iris already almost on me to the right, Poly streaking in from the left…

“Try this!”

I brought both my arms down, bending double, practically dropping to the ground, focusing my attack not on either of them, but on the floor; the stone which was not real stone, but mystically-solidified cloud, the fabric of the Rainbow Lord’s realm.

The impact bowed the floor under me by ten feet or more and rebounded in a shockwave that thundered outward like a tsunami, hurling Polychrome into the air and away like a toy and toppling Iris Mirabilis as though his legs had been cut out from under him. I was up in that moment, leaping through the air. I caught his impossible sword and laid it across his throat. “Down.”

Polychrome had not yet risen; she stared from the floor in utter amazement, and her father’s eyes were wide.

Nimbus emerged from the doorway, clapping, and his applause was echoed by the other warriors who surged into the room. “You pass, my friend!”

Polychrome launched herself from the floor and flung her arms around me, and then, laughing, danced around me. “Oh, that was beautiful, Erik!”

I couldn’t take my eyes from her. She was beautiful. No, she was beauty itself. And strength, and joy.

And now I knew I was in real trouble. I’d fallen in love with Polychrome when I was a kid, reading the books… but that wasn’t the same as this. I’d known her for a year. She’d been a support, an advisor, sometimes the only encouragement I had, and now I could see she was just as tough and strong as her father, and what I felt for her now … was something I didn’t dare even contemplate.

It’s a good thing I’m leaving soon.

That was the right thought to have. But it made the whole adventure suddenly feel a tiny bit darker.

 

 

 

 

Paradigms Lost: Chapter 39

Time to stop the flashback and get back to the present…

 

—–

 

 

Chapter 39: But Wait, There’s MORE!

“I wonder if I would have thought that,” Verne concluded, “had I known what would come to pass.”

For the second time that night, I was speechless. After battling vampires and werewolves, I’d thought I was ready for anything. Even Kafan’s story was, well… modern. Elias Klein had been a thoroughly twentieth-century vampire. Virigar, the Werewolf King, was at home in this world of computers and automobiles. Kafan’s mad scientist and secret labs were just a part of the more paranoid tabloid headlines.

But this was like opening the door to my house and finding Gandalf and Conan the Barbarian in a fight to the finish with Cthulhu and Morgan le Fay.

Syl, of course, was in her element. Lost civilizations, Eonae the Earth Goddess, magic, no problem. “So what happened?”

“Raiakafan, naturally, was perfect for a Guardian—one of the warriors whose job it was to protect the Temple and the priests and lead the defense of the city. The fact that he wasn’t a woman caused great opposition, but even his worst enemies had to admit that in pure fighting spirit and skill, he had no real equal. He had difficulty with the more diplomatic and intellectual demands of the position, but he was by no means stupid and managed to pass those requirements as well. In the end, not only did he become the High Guardian, but he married Kaylarea, daughter to the High Priest Seirgei. Kaylarea, in her turn, became the High Priestess, chosen vessel of the Lady, so that in truth one could say that Raiakafan married the Lady Herself.”

I could see Kafan blinking. Obviously much of this was as much news to him, with his foggy memory, as it was to us.

Verne looked off into the distance, seeing something in his distant past. He looked slightly more pale and worn than usual—probably because of all this stress. “Then came the Demons. The same ones, I thought, who had destroyed Atlantaea so long ago. In the fighting, Kaylarea was killed, Raiakafan and his children Sev’erantean and Taiminashi disappeared, and Atla’a Alandar was devastated. Five years later, just as we were finishing the reconstruction, the Curse fell upon us.”

“Curse?”

Verne nodded. “An enemy of mine finally devised a… punishment suitable enough, he thought, for my daring to oppose him long ago. The curse he placed upon my people was what produced the race of vampires such as Elias Klein. It was a mockery of the Blessing of Eonae; I drink blood to remind me intimately of the ties between all living things; I partake on occasion of the life force, freely given, of others because that life-energy is what separates the world of matter from that of spirit; I am, or was in the beginning, harmed by the Sun because I am tied wholly to the Earth and other powers are excluded from me; only when I grew into my strength could I face the power from which other life drew its strength. And only things living or formerly living can harm me, because only life may touch that which draws upon its very essence. All these aspects and more were twisted and mocked in the Curse. My people …”

He closed his eyes and clenched his jaw for some moments before he continued. “My people, for the most part, destroyed themselves in the madness of the Curse; the few who ‘survived’ were twisted by the magic into becoming something else. The Curse sustains itself by life-energy, so even when virtually all magic disappeared, it continued, though its sufferers were weakened. And, in the end, I myself became so embittered that for a very long time I very nearly became the same as those made in my twisted image. A diabolical and, yes, most fitting vengeance.”

I shook my head and finally looked up. “Okay, so let me see if I get this story straight. You were the high Priest… er, Speaker for Eonae, what we’d call Gaia. The spirit of the Earth itself. And Eonae talked to you, for real. That’s where you get your power. And Kafan here was a little boy who trained to become palace guard. How long ago?”

“Approximately five hundred thousand years.”

I gagged. “What? Half a million years?! Are you completely out of your mind, Verne? There weren’t even people back then, at least not human beings like we know today!”

“I told you,” Verne said calmly. “Much of what science knows about that era is wrong. Not because your scientists are stupid or are, as so many foolish cultists would have it, looking in the wrong places or ‘covering up’ the truth. No, the truth is far, far more frightening, Jason. Your scientists are looking at falsified evidence. The geological record… the traces of the greatest civilization ever to exist… all of them erased, and rewritten, rewritten so as to make it as though they never existed at all, to expunge from all memory the knowledge of what was.”

I tried to imagine a power capable of such a thing; to wipe out every trace of a civilization, to remove fossil traces of one sort, replacing them with another… I couldn’t do it. “Impossible. Verne, you’ve flipped your vampiric lid.”

“If only it were so simple. Do you understand now, Jason? Why even after all this time I must be terribly, terribly careful not to reveal the truth to any save those who absolutely must know it? Power such as that is beyond simple comprehension. Although much of that power would now be useless here, with magic closed off from this world, still there remains the potential for unimaginable destruction.”

I searched Verne’s face, desperately hoping for some trace of uncertainty, insanity, self-delusion. Even a lunatic vampire was preferable to believing this. But there was no trace of any of those; just a grim and haunted certainty that this was truth, truth known by one who had lived through it. Like a delayed blow, another fact slammed into me; that meant that Verne was that old, older not just than any civilization we knew of, but older than the very species Homo sapiens should ever have been. Old enough to have seen the mammoths come and go, to have watched glaciers flow down from the north to invade the southern plains and retreat again, like frozen waves on a beach. And becoming more powerful with each passing year… and yet still terrified of the powers that had destroyed the world he knew.

I shook my head and leaned back. “This… this is awfully hard to take in, Verne.”

“I understand. Do you understand why it is necessary to tell these things to you?”

I rubbed my jaw. “Not completely. I see the connection—that is, that you’ve got two separate histories here for the same man, both incompatible with each other. But why it’s necessary that I be made aware of more than one of these histories… no, I’m not quite clear on that.”

“Neither am I,” Kafan said.

Verne sighed. “Because we need you immediately for something having to do with the first, and because the very existence of the second means that anyone involved in this may have to face the legacy of that past. Jason, think on what I’ve told you. Five hundred millennia ago, my adopted son and his two children vanished from the face of the Earth. All my powers and those of the Lady could not tell us where they had gone, or why. Kafan’s people are long-lived, but they age. Yet Raiakafan is scarce older than when he disappeared. His presence here is utterly impossible, as is this other life. Somehow he was returned here. But if my son can return, I cannot help but worry that this means that the enemies against which he guarded us have returned as well. So I cannot, in good conscience, bring you into this without making you aware of what dangers you may face.”

“It’s simpler than that,” I said after a pause. “If these people were willing to wipe out entire civilizations, surely they’re the kind that prefer to be ‘safe than sorry'; because I know you, they’d likely kill me anyway, just to be sure.”

“Indeed.” Verne nodded. “And to be honest… my friends… I lost my faith—in myself, in the Lady—long ago. In great part, you, Jason, allowed me to start accepting myself again. In the past between that of the Sh’ekatha and the time we met, I did things which repel me, which were the very antithesis of what I am. Yet… yet her blessing was never truly withdrawn from me, though it could well have been. Her last Speaker survives still… And that which was lost may be regained now, as she wished. But I will need friends. And those friends must know that which they may face.”

“I’m warning you: I’m not religious, and despite all this paranormal wierdness going on around me, I don’t believe in gods of any kind.”

Verne smiled. “Raiakafan claims the same thing, these days. Yet it does not matter if you believe in the gods; it only matters to those who do believe… and whether the gods believe in themselves.” He sat back, the light emphasizing the vampiric pallor that lay beneath his naturally darker skin. Despite his smile, I could see how tired he looked. It was pretty clear that no matter how cheering this resurrection of his son had been, he’d been under an awful strain.

“Okay, Verne,” I said. I glanced up at the time—damn. There went any chance of opening the shop at a reasonable time. Oh, well… cosmic revelations don’t happen every day. “If I have any questions on this… I’ll think of them later. What can I do for you?”

“A simple question with a simple answer. Two answers, actually. First, Raiakafan needs an identity—a safe one. While I of course have my own contacts which provide such things for me, I’d rather that our identities not share that kind of tie; that is, if either of us is found out, I’d rather that it didn’t necessarily bring the other one down with the first.”

“Faking ID isn’t exactly in the WIS rules… but you’re right, I know people who can arrange it. Jeri might, too. And the second thing?”

Kafan answered. “Find my children. Find Seb and Tai. And Kay and Kei.”

I smiled slightly. “So we’re back to the thing you originally wanted to hire me for; to find someone. At least this is something I’m ready to deal with. Since we’re obviously not going to be going to sleep at a reasonable hour anyway, why not come down to WIS right now and we’ll get full descriptions set up in the machine so I can start searches?”

“Father?”

“If you want to, Raiakafan, go ahead. Jason wouldn’t offer if he didn’t mean it.”

Kafan looked at me. “You are sure you don’t need to sleep first?”

I snorted. “I probably should sleep, but after all this? I don’t think I’ll be ready to go to bed until tomorrow night. Come on; the sooner we locate your kids and get you settled in, the more all of us will sleep.”

 

 

Paradigms Lost: Chapter 38

Aaaaand here comes the second punch of the one-two, Jason. Watch out for pieces of shattered beliefs!

 

 

—–

 

 

 

Chapter 38: It Was an Age Undreamed Of…

The Sh’ekatha, or Highest Speaker, gazed in bemused wonder at the tiny figure before him. Beneath the tangled mass of hair, filled with sticks and briar thorns, two serious, emerald-green eyes regarded him. Across the back was strapped a gigantic (for such a small traveller) sword, three feet long with a blade over five inches wide. A bright golden tail twitched proudly behind the boy, who was dressed raggedly in skins.

Yet… yet there was something special about this boy, more so than merely his strange race. The way he stood… and that sword. Surely… surely it was workmanship of the old days.

“Yes, boy? What do you wish?”

The boy studied him. “You are… in command here?” he said in a halting, unsure fashion. The voice was rough, like a suppressed growl, but just as high-pitched as any child’s.

V’ierna smiled slightly. “I am the Sh’ekatha. I am the highest in authority that you may speak with at this time, yes.”

The boy frowned, obviously trying to decide if that met with whatever requirements he might have. Then his brow unfurrowed and he nodded. “My Master sent me here to you.”

V’ierna understood what he meant; he had been being taught by a Master of some craft, and now this Master wished the Temple to continue and expand his education. “But there is no certainty that there will be an opening here, young one. We select only a certain number of willing youngsters, and then only when there is proper room for them.”

The boy shook his head. “You have to take me. You have to teach me. That is what he said.” He blinked as though remembering something. “Oh, I was supposed to show you this.” He reached over his back and unsheathed the monstrous blade. Holding it with entirely too much ease for such a tiny boy, he extended the weapon to the Sh’ekatha.

Puzzled, V’ierna studied the weapon. Old workmanship, yes, and very good. But that didn’t…

It was then that he saw the symbol etched at the very base of the sword: Seven Towers between two Parallel Blades.

His head snapped up involuntarily. He scrutinized the child more carefully now. Yes… now that he knew what to look for…

He gave the blade back. “Have you a name, young one?”

“Master said that you would give me one.”

“Did he, now?” V’ierna contemplated the scruffy figure before him. Certainly of no race born of this world. He smiled. “Then your name is Raiakafan.” He reached out and gently pulled a briar free of its tangled nest. “Raiakafan Ularion.” He turned. “Follow me, Raiakafan. Your Master was correct. There is indeed a place for you.”

* * *

“It has never been done!”

V’ierna shook his head. “In the ancient days, there were no such distinctions made, milady. None of these separations of duty or of privilege. I am not at all sure that the comfort brought about by such clear divisions is worth the price paid in inflexibility. Be that as it may,” he raised a hand to forestall the First Guardian’s retort, “in this case, it will be so. The Lady Herself has so decreed it. If Raiakafan can pass the requirements, he is to be trained for the Guardianship.”

Melenae closed her mouth, arguments dying on her lips. If the Lady decreed it and the Sh’ekatha concurred, there was nothing more to be said. “As the Founder decrees, so will it be,” she said woodenly, and turned to leave.

“Melenae.”

She looked back. “Yes, Sh’ekatha?”

“I will not tolerate any manipulation of the testing. If he is held to either a higher or lower standard than any other trainee, I will be most displeased. And so will the Lady.”

Her mouth tightened, but she nodded. “Understood.”

V’ierna watched her leave. He sighed, and began walking in the opposite direction, down the corridor that was open only to himself, the corridor that led to the Heart. How long had it been? Three thousand years? Four? Ten, perhaps? More? Long enough for mortal memory to fade, and fade, and cultures to change even when one who founded them tried to retain that which had been lost. Even the name of the city was, to them, little more than a name. To him, it was so much more; Atla’a Alandar; Atlantaea Alandarion it had been, “Star of Atlantaea’s Memory.” But he was one man. Highest Speaker, yes. Blessed in his own way, noted in ritual and in action. But even his longevity was nothing more than a faded echo of the Eternal King, and he had no Eternal Queen, save the Lady Herself.

He emerged into the Heart. The Mirror of the Sky glinted as a wind ruffled the sacred pool’s surface. V’ierna knelt by the Heartstone and closed his eyes.

Time changes all things, V’ierna.

I know that, Lady. As always, he felt warmed merely by the silent voice within his mind. Her limitless compassion and energy lightened the world merely by existing. But is it so necessary that I see loss as well as change? Have we not lost enough already? Atlantaea—

—was as near perfect as a society of humanity shall ever be, V’ierna. But that very perfection was its destruction. If your people are ever to attain such heights again, they must work themselves through all the difficulties, all the perils and hatreds and disputes, that are part of growing up. You are all part of nature; I am loving, but a stern teacher as well. Even to my most favored I am not without requirements or price, as you know well.

V’ierna knew. I understand, Lady.

He could see her now, night-dark hair ensnaring the heavens in a warm blanket, her face the hardness of the mountains and softness of the fields, beautiful and terrifying and comforting all at once. And Raiakafan? What is his place in this?

She smiled. He has a higher destiny than he knows. His people are filled with violence, a race of savage killers; yet by being born here—his mother landing here, on this world, and giving birth to a child—it was permitted that I touch upon him. He is a part of me, a part of the Earth for all time. He will become my Guardian, as you are my Speaker, and Seirgei my Priest…

It will not be easy.

The arguments of the Guardians will be overcome by his ability. Jealousy cannot be helped. Evil will come of it. But no choices worth making come easily. The Power fades, my love; those who destroyed Atlantaea bent all their power to sealing it away, and Zarathan, our sister world, now lies beyond our reach. Without something truly extraordinary, even I shall fade from the world, and then… her phantom face looked forlornly into the distance… then only a miracle will restore that which was gone. And you will have to provide that miracle.

V’ierna’s heart seemed to freeze within him. This was the first time the Lady had spoken so clearly about the possibility of her own death. I? What can I possibly do? If you go, Lady, will I, too, not pass from this world? For I am nothing but a man blessed by your powers.

Her smile lit the world again, driving away the ice in his heart by the certainty of her love and concern. V’ierna, to the one who held to me beyond death itself I have given all that I can. You are tied to this world more strongly than I, and by the Ring that symbolizes the Blood of Life, you carry my blessing. You are a part of Earth’s life, and so long as this world lives, so shall you, though the quality of that life may well change. Through you, some part of me will survive though all other magic be sealed away from the world by the actions of the ones who destroyed Atlantaea. If the worst comes to pass, still will there be you, to find the path to miracle that will bring the Spirit of the Earth back and let Eonae, the Lady, be reborn.

He stood, feeling her presence fade. But he felt more ready now. The Lady was right; he could do no more for these people than he had already done; to force them into a mold of his own vision would deprive them of the full understanding of the reasons behind that mold. Better a return to barbarism than the iron dictatorship he would have to create.

 

 

 

Polychrome: Chapter 15

As Uncle would say, “Research is IMPORTANT!”

 

 

 

—–

 

 

Chapter 15.

     “… and these notes were written by the Wizard himself, not all that long before Oz fell.” She placed the thick sheaf of parchment on top of the least-wobbly stack next to Erik.

The mortal could-be-Hero nodded absently, absorbed in sketching some sort of diagram or chart which, she could see, had already been re-sketched, modified, parts scribbled out and redrawn, with dozens of little notations that she couldn’t really make out; his handwriting wasn’t very readable to begin with, and he seemed to have a habit of using abbreviations or annotations which referred to things only he understood. “Are… are you making progress?” she asked hesitantly.

He glanced up and looked contrite. “I’m sorry, really, Poly, I didn’t mean to seem like I wasn’t paying attention.”

It was strange how… formal, cautious, apologetic he became around her. She’d watched him around other people and he didn’t act at all like that around them – even her father. He wasn’t rude normally, at least not intentionally, but he seemed almost impervious to the intimidation most mortals or Faerie would feel in the presence of the Rainbow Lord, and spoke to them apparently as he would to any reasonably respected adult. She couldn’t understand why he was so oddly gentle and attentive.

But it did make these rather dull study sessions much more tolerable, so she smiled. “No apology needed, if you’re getting anywhere.”

He stretched, giving a prodigious yawn, and then smiled back, the smile that sometimes made him look years younger. “Oh, I’m getting somewhere. It’s amazing what you can dig up when you know what you’re looking for.”

She couldn’t keep her eyebrows from rising. “How could you possibly know what you’re looking for, when none of us do, and you’re not even a trained wizard?”

One of his eyebrows arched up and he raised a finger. “Because I know what I will need to be able to do, the prophecy indicates it’s possible for me to do it, and this narrows down the approaches I can reasonably use to achieve it. More, because I was selected by the prophecy rather than someone else, I have to assume that this, too, was no coincidence, but rather that it’s what I am, personally, which will give me a chance to win this battle,” he said in a very professorial tone.

She shook her head. “Does that actually make sense, or are you just talking? Sometimes you are very hard to read, Erik.”

“Oh, it makes perfect sense.” He stood and pulled out a chair for her. “I’ll take it apart for you. First, I know that I’m going to have to match – at least – both Ugu the Unbowed and Amanita Verdant up-close and in person, at the center of their power and with them probably by that point fully aware I’m a True Mortal. They’ve got all the power of Oz – minus whatever Ozma can give me, I suppose – to throw at me, plus servants or weapons wielding all the power they’ve managed to make use of in these three centuries. That means I have to face the full power of the Five Elements, and even if they can’t DIRECTLY affect me much, there’s plenty of indirect effects any of these things could manage which would totally trash me. One of those Infernos setting the surroundings on fire, for instance.

“So I’ll need to be able to equal, or better yet overpower, any manifestation of the Five Elements, and do it myself, with no time for formal training. The prophecy, by its existence, tells me I can win: “…but in those final moments he may win the day”, remember.” He looked momentarily grave as he always did when he heard that line, and she felt a small pang at the realization of what he must be going through. I brought him here to offer himself up for our sake. What must he think of me for that? Bringing a man to Faerie so he can die to protect us.

She shook off the mood; he was continuing, and she wanted very much to understand. “So, then, how can I possibly fight two masters of such wizardry without knowing any myself, AND without destroying everything that I’m trying to protect? Ozma’s power has to be directed and controlled by me. Maybe she can give me some pointers, but I have to assume it’s really me doing the work.” He glanced down at the annotated diagram and smiled sharply. “So that means that I must be able to properly direct and control the powers pretty much by having a clear idea of what I want to accomplish, and the basic method of doing so using the Five Elements. In short, if I understand enough about how the powers work, then it’s up to me to be able to visualize what I want them to do accurately and clearly and with enough … force, I guess, passion, will, to drive them. I’m the conduit for the force, or perhaps a lens to focus it.”

She looked at the diagram. “And you think you’re learning what you need?”

“I think I already knew a lot of what I needed. Oh, not the details, but I spent an awful lot of time – significant parts of my life since I was fourteen, actually – imagining things that aren’t, powers that only existed as far as I knew in stories, figuring out how they worked under a dozen different sets of assumptions, visualizing these things… and here, in the notes from Glinda, the Wizard, others, are the keys.

“You mentioned before your father felt there was a connection between the Faerie and Mortal worlds; these papers prove it. Our dreams, our fantasies, our nightmares and visions, these cross through and touch the Faerie world, affect the fabric of your reality; and in turn, your actions, the changes and wars and triumphs of your world, echo back through the connection and affect our very souls. There are some terrible implications in this as well, ones we’ll have to face later. But for now, it means that I already know what I want to visualize in many cases; I just needed the information on how I could make that work.”

Now she could see that the diagram had symbols associated with particular groups of notations; a wave, a cloud, a flame, a mountain, and a star. “Oh! Water, air, fire, earth, and spirit?”

“Exactly! Each with the characteristics attributed to them by various researchers.” He scratched his head. “Problem is that there isn’t universal agreement here. In fact, there’s a lot of overlap and confusion. You guys never quite got to the Industrial Revolution really and certainly haven’t even knocked on the door of the Information Age. If I end up staying here I may have to introduce the profession of librarian. Anyway, so for Water we have of course the physical characteristics of water, plus wisdom – depth, you know – but also healing, self-knowledge, reflection, transformation in some ways. For Fire we get (besides heat, of course), speed, intelligence or cleverness, the symbolism of power; Air is truth and illusion – the clarity of a blue sky or the concealment of cloud, evasion, movement; Earth, toughness, solidity, defense, stability in all senses of the word, endurance; and Spirit is willpower, life, emotions, that which separates ordinary matter from the numinous.”

“That makes sense,” she said, appreciating his summary, “but how would you use it?”

He had the same slightly embarrassed look she remembered from earlier. “Well… rather than go into details on that, as a simple example it means that if he throws, say, an Inferno at me, I can counter with Water, a Tempest’s lightning I can ground out with Earth, and so on. These people understand magic; I am a very devious and sneaky ba –” he broke off, continued, “er, guy, and I can think of things to do with magic that only an advanced technological civilization with our peculiar quirks would come up with.”

He’s a strange combination of diffidence, arrogance, confidence and uncertainty. “I’m sorry I got you into this,” she said suddenly.

“I’m not.” He looked at her directly and she noticed his cheeks looked flushed for a moment. “Yeah… I’m not all that excited about getting killed, which looks pretty likely… but then, a lot of people have died for things that were worth a lot less. You are… I mean, you know, you as in all of you,” he stammered, speaking quickly, “you are … all of the dreams I had as a child, and aren’t dreams worth dying for sometimes?”

Polychrome wondered at why she found those words so… frightening. “Well, Erik, let’s try our best to avoid all the dying. In fact, I don’t think I like this direction of conversation.”

“Right. Too grim.” He looked somehow relieved, yet tense. “Um… look, you know, I’ve hardly had much chance to talk to you or anyone about what you people do outside of the training and all. I’ve been kept mostly a secret outside of the guards as far as I know, and so I haven’t seen much since my original arrival. So… when there isn’t some terrible emergency, what do you people do?”

She blinked. “Why, I…” She giggled. “That was a rather abrupt shift. I haven’t thought about that sort of thing in a while. I do a lot of dancing, of course, and I’ve always spent more time around the Storm Guards than Father might like. But there’s parties, and the Cloud Theatre, and sometimes magicians showing off their talents, or…”

“You go with people, I’d presume?”

“Well, yes, of course, any event’s more fun with the right people. My sisters come to some events, though they haven’t got my… well, what they call adventurous side, when they’re being polite.” His gaze seems… so intense, she thought as she continued, describing how she sometimes convinced some of the Guard to accompany her. That’s silly, though. It’s not as if we’re discussing anything of importance.

But I… rather like the fact he pays attention so well.

 

 

 

 

Paradigms Lost: Chapter 37

 

So, the first big bomb had been dropped on Jason…

 

 

—–

 

 

 

Chapter 37: Six Impossible Things Before Breakfast

I rubbed my temples, trying to take this all in. “Okay, let’s see if I have this straight. You are some kind of genetic experiment? And this wanted-poster stuff about you is all lies made up by the Evil Government Conspiracy?”

If Kafan had been a cat, his fur would have bristled; as it was, he did a pretty good imitation by glaring at me. “I don’t like your tone of voice.”

“Gently, Raiakafan.” Verne said sternly. “The story is not one to be accepted easily. Jason has a mind that is open… but not so open that he is utterly credulous.”

Kafan snorted, but turned back to me. “It’s not the government, except a few key people. At least that is the impression I got. The group that… made… me is a self-contained organization. There were some references to a prior group that they belonged to, but I never really heard much. Educating me was not what they were interested in.” He stood up again, as he had many times during his story, and paced a circle around the room like a caged lion. “Why do you find this so hard to believe? I haven’t been here that long, but I know that genetic engineering is part of your civilization, while magic is not, but you accept Verne …”

“That’s why,” I answered. “First, I’ve seen Verne and other things like him in action. I don’t ignore things that I actually see. But I know a fair amount about genetic engineering, at least for a layman, and I do know that we haven’t got close to the level of technology we’d need to make something like you claim to be. And other elements—this ‘super martial arts’ or whatever it is you say got you out of their holding cells …” I chuckled, then looked apologetic. “… sorry. But that kind of stuff comes out of video games and bad Hong Kong flicks. Accepting it as ‘real’ just isn’t easy.”

Kafan shrugged helplessly. “I can’t help what you believe. I know what I am.”

“What happened after you killed Dr. Xi?” Sylvie asked.

Kafan’s gaze dropped to the floor. He stood still for a moment, and just the slow sagging of his shoulders told us more than we really wanted to know. “I failed.

“I found where they were keeping Gen, Kei, and Kay. And I got in. But by then the Colonel had organized a counterattack. I was separated from them… I had Gen, but Kay and our daughter …”

Syl put her hand on his shoulder; he turned his back on her, but didn’t pull away; his back shook for a moment with silent sobs. Then he turned back. “They were back in their hands.”

“And the Colonel?”

The iron-cold expression returned. “I tracked him all the way to Greece, where he had a secondary headquarters. But he’d tricked me. Even as I killed him, he laughed at me. I’d come all the way across the continent and all the time Kay and Kei were still there, in another part of the lab complex!”

I winced; Sylvie just looked sympathetic. “So what brought you here?”

“In my travels across the continent… I started remembering other things of my past. The few things I told you, Mr. Wood. And I thought that America was the best place to begin looking, especially once I saw the news about the werewolves and realized that there was someone here who was able to deal with such things.”

“So can you prove this story of yours?” I asked.

Kafan narrowed his eyes, then smiled—an expression that held very little humor. “I think so.” He turned and looked out the archway, towards the entrance hall where the stairs ran up to the second floor. “Gen? Genshi! Come in now, Gen.”

There was a scuffling noise with little scratching sounds, like a dog startled up and starting to run on a wooden floor, followed by a thump and a high-pitched grunt. Then a small head peeked around the edge of the doorway, followed by an equally small body crawling along on all fours.

The little boy had a mane of tousled blond hair, bright green eyes… and a coating of honey-colored fur on his face. His hands were clawed, as were his feet, and canine teeth that were much too long and sharp showed when he gave us a little smile and giggle, and crawled faster towards his father. His long, fur-covered tail wagged in time to his determined crawl.

“Genshi! Walk, don’t crawl.”

Genshi pouted slightly at his father, apparently thinking that crawling was more fun, but pushed himself up onto two legs and ran over to Kafan, jumping into his arms and babbling something in what I presumed was a toddler’s version of Vietnamese. Kafan replied and hugged him, then looked at us.

Sylvie was smiling. I was just speechless. “Can I see him, Kafan?” Sylvie asked.

Kafan frowned a moment, but relented. “All right. But be careful. He’s very, very strong and those claws are sharp.” He said something in a warning tone to Genshi, who blinked solemnly and nodded.

Sylvie picked up the little furry boy, who blinked at her and then suddenly wrapped his arms around her neck and hugged her. Syl broke into a delighted grin. “What a little darling you are. Now, now, don’t dig those claws in… there’s a good boy …” she continued in the usual limited conversation adults have with babies.

I finally found my voice. “All right. Can’t argue with the evidence there. I find it hard to believe, though, that you were the only product of their research. They couldn’t have built a whole complex around you alone.”

Kafan’s smile was cold as ice. “They didn’t. When I went to kill him, I found that the Colonel was no more human than I am. Some kind of monster.”

“Crap.” I didn’t elaborate out loud, but to me it was obvious; if Kafan was telling the truth, these people were not only far ahead of anyone I’d ever heard of, but they were also crazier than anyone I’d ever heard of. Trying out experimental genetic modifications on yourself? Jesus! I thought for a moment. “But… something’s funny about your story. If you were a lab product, what’s this about Verne being your father, or your being trained by this whoever-he-was?”

“That,” said Verne, “is indeed the question. For there is no doubt, Jason, that I did, indeed, have a foster son named Raiakafan Ularion—Thornhair Fallenstar as he would be called in English—and there is no doubt in my mind that, changed though he may be, this is indeed the Raiakafan I raised from the time he was a small boy. Yet I knew Raiakafan for many years indeed; he could never have been the subject of genetic experiments. Yet here he is, and there is much evidence that these people he speaks of exist.

“These two things, seeming impossible, tell me that vast powers are on the move, and grave matters afoot. For this reason, I must tell you of the ancient days.

“I must speak… of Atla’a Alandar.”