Shadowprey

A Black Foxes Adventure

A novel by

Dennis L. McKiernan

Copyright Dennis L. McKiernan 2007, 2012, 2014

ISBN 978-0-9903555-3-3

Thornwall Press

Tucson

The characters and events and locations in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

Copyright © 2007, 2012, 2014 by Dennis L. McKiernan

Cover photo from Shutterstock: “Mysterious Light Blue Vortex,” Copyright: A’lya

Cover design by Dennis L. McKiernan

Cover design © 2014 by Thornwall Press

Thornwall Press is wholly owned by Dennis L. McKiernan 

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher.

Thornwall Press

2115 N Wentworth Rd

Tucson, AZ 85749-9741

First e-book edition, May 2014

ISBN 978-0-9903555-3-3

The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.

The Mithgar and Faery novels of Dennis L. McKiernan have long enchanted fans and critics alike. And they were equally enthralled with his bestselling science-fiction/fantasy novel: formerly titled Caverns of Socrates but in e-book form titled Shadowprey. And now this gifted author presents us with the sequel to that story, a gripping tale to fire the imagination and make the heart pound. . . .

The Black Foxes are back in the grasp of the Dark God, and He is seeking revenge

Nearly one year ago a lightning strike damaged Avery—the artificial intelligence, AIVR—and for six months thereafter he refused to communicate with his creators. But then Timothy Rendell, a member of the talented team of Black Foxes, received a three-word message from somewhere within the machine, a message impelling the Foxes to step once again into deadly peril as they try to rescue one of their own from the shadow-world clutches of Mad Avery in his very lethal virtual reality.

Dennis L. McKiernan holds us spellbound by weaving together science and magic and hazard and derring-do in a heart-clutching story, a breathtaking saga spanning magical worlds and alien planets in a tale of science fiction, of fantasy, of horror, and a riveting account of a desperate group of skilled scientists trying to keep a team alive, as well as a high-stakes court case concerning the essence of humanity, the outcome of which means life or death for some.

From Dennis L. McKiernan, one of the most prolific and imaginative authors in science fiction and fantasy today, comes Shadowprey, the thrilling sequel to his acclaimed Shadowtrap (formerly titled Caverns of Socrates).

By Dennis L. McKiernan:

Strange Reflections (a story collection)

The Black Foxes Series

Shadowtrap (Caverns of Socrates)

Shadowprey

The Faery Series

Once Upon a Winter’s Night

Once Upon a Summer Day

Once Upon an Autumn Eve

Once upon a Spring Morn

Once Upon a Dreadful Time

The Mithgar Series

The Dragonstone

Voyage of the Fox Rider

Hèl’s Crucible duology:

Book 1: Into the Forge

Book 2: Into the Fire

Dragondoom

Stolen Crown

The Iron Tower

The Silver Call

Tales of Mithgar (a story collection)

The Vulgmaster (the graphic novel)

The Eye of the Hunter

Silver Wolf, Black Falcon

City of Jade

Red Slippers: More Tales of Mithgar (a story collection)

To the memories of those who came before

And the promise of those who come after

Acknowledgments

To Martha Lee McKiernan for her enduring support, careful reading, patience, and love. Additionally, much appreciation and gratitude goes to the Tanque Wordies—John, Frances, and Diane—for their encouragement throughout the writing of Shadowprey. Lastly, to those who, through snailmail, e-mail, message boards, at conventions, and via other means, urged me to write this sequel to Caverns of Socrates (now retitled Shadowtrap).

Foreword

Back in 1995 (gee, was it that long ago?) Caverns of Socrates was published (a few years before the movie “The Matrix” hit the theaters). Anyway, Caverns of Socrates (now titled Shadowtrap in its e-book form) was and is an amalgam of science fiction and fantasy. Intermingled with what I thought were two intense adventures were three questions:

1. What is the nature of reality?

2. What is consciousness; what is the mind?

3 Do people have spirits, souls, and if so, would an artificial intelligence have a soul?

The first and third of these questions are certainly metaphysical and philosophical issues, but the middle one might be one that someday will yield to science.

Now, the problem with metaphysical questions is that one never knows whether the answers proffered are right. But at least the discussions engendered are fun to engage in.

Regardless, after Caverns of Socrates was published, I received quite a number of letters and e-mails telling me that the book had caused long hours of friendly speculations among classmates, friends, roommates, and readers of various stripes. And many asked me to please write the sequel.

At that time, I knew the basis of the adventure that would take place in reality, and the philosophical and metaphysical issues that that would raise, but I didn’t have but the vaguest clue as to one that would take place in virtual reality. So, I said to myself that I would assign that problem to my hind brain, and work on other projects.

Anyway, twelve years passed, and in that time, twelve or so other books occupied me. But, finally, my hind brain rose up to the conscious level and said, “Okay, Dennis, here’s the story.”

“’Bout time,” I replied. “What’s the title?”

“Shadowprey,” hind brain said, “or maybe Cogito.”

“Ah, okay, hind brain. Cogito, eh? Latin, eh? Rather esoteric, I say, but perhaps it will do. Me, I like Shadowprey better. Lot more sinister. So, tell me, what’s the issue here?”

“Well, not that it’s muddled,” said hind brain, “but it deals with sentience and asks, ‘What is the essence of a human being?’”

“I knew that,” I replied to myself. “Now instead tell me about the adventures. That’s the part that had me waiting for you to finally pop up again.”

“Oh, those,” said hind brain. “Well, it starts out in a courtroom. . . .”

Anyway, hind brain began telling me the story and how to structure it, and the more he said, the more excited I became. Finally, hind brain was finished in the telling, and so I said, “We’ll call it Shadowprey.”

I hope as you read it, you will react just as I did.

~ Dennis L. McKiernan

Tucson, 2007

Note

Just as Shadowtrap (formerly titled Caverns of Socrates) is a stand-alone book, so too is Shadowprey. I will say, however, that Shadowprey takes up the story at the point whereShadowtrap (Caverns of Socrates) ends. Do not let this dissuade you if you haven’t read the first book, for I think you will enjoy Shadowprey regardless.

Help. Prisoner. Arton.

1

Courthouse

(Adkins)

“State your name and residence for the record.”

As she lowered her hand, Toni said, “Antoinette Adkins, 412 Calle del Perro, Tucson, Arizona.”

Perhaps confused by Toni’s British accent, the court reporter looked up from the recorder and said, “Spell your name, please.”

When Toni had done so, Judge Marshall looked at the buxom woman in her early forties and said, “Miss Adkins, I remind you that you have been given immunity, and that anything you say in this hearing cannot be used against you in any future proceedings. Do you understand?”

“I do, your honor.”

Judge Marshall nodded. “You may be seated.”

Even as Toni took her seat, her gaze swept over the eagerly awaiting faces in the courtroom, the largest they could find for these proceedings. At a table to the left sat Charlotte Dupree and Finster Coburn, the respective heirs, and Mark Perry, counsel to them and to those who would testify on their behalf; at a table to the right sat Melissa French, legal counsel to those who would testify in opposition to the heirs. To the left as well and in the jury box sat a panel of experts of various stripe—nine in all, somewhat like the jury in a civil case, though this was a civil hearing instead; these nine would listen to the testimony and act as advisors if and only if called upon by Judge Marshall to clarify some esoteric technical term or such, though only he, in the end, had the legal standing to rule. In the spectator seats sat a courtroom full of representatives of the media—newspapers, vidpapers, vidcasters and the like—reporters eager to file their stories to the waiting world. And behind them were a slew of holocams, ready to broadcast every word, every movement, every breath to holovids across the planet. Somebody leaked, and what a circus they provoked. Good grief, what could be more theatrical than this whole affair? This’ll be more sensational than the Scopes “monkey trial.” It had taken months of negotiations to reach this point, but the heirs had virtually nothing to gain from suing Toni and the others, and everything to gain should their claim stand up.

Judge Marshal turned to the heirs’ table and said, “Counselor.”

Mark Perry stood and said, “Miss Adkins, would you please tell the court your position in Coburn Industries?”

Toni brushed back a stray lock of hair the color of which lay somewhere in that intermediate range between reddish blond and brown. “I’m the Project Head of AIVR.”

“AIVR?”

“Artificial Intelligence Virtual Reality, commonly known as Avery.”

Perry strolled out from behind his table to stop before the witness box. “You might call it Avery, but its official designation is Coburn Industries AI slash VR zero one, right?

“Yes. But we consider—”

“The question only required a yes or no answer, Miss Adkins. And your answer is ‘yes,’ right?

Toni sighed and said, “It is.”

“And as project head, what is it you do, Miss Adkins?”

“I supervise the team that is responsible for the care and feeding of Avery, and—”

“Care and feeding? Isn’t that a little too—”

“Objection,” called out Melissa French. “Mr. Perry isn’t allowing the witness to—”

“Your honor,” interrupted Perry, “to describe the management of a machine as ‘care and feeding’ is prejudicial to these entire proceedings, and—”

“Your honor,” interposed Melissa, now standing up, “Mr. Perry is interjecting his own opinion as well as not letting Miss Adkins answer the—”

Judge Marshall held up his hand to stop the flow of words. Then he looked at Mark Perry and said, “She’s right, counselor. You must let the witness answer the question before expressing doubts at her choice of words. Objection sustained.”

Melissa grinned at Perry and sat back down.

Judge Marshall, a man graying at the temples, turned toward Toni and said, “You may finish your answer, Miss Adkins.” Then he looked at the court reporter and said, “Please repeat the question.”

Marla Thompson scrolled back through the record. “And as project head, what is it you do, Miss Adkins?”

Toni nodded and said, “I supervise the team that is responsible for the care and feeding”—Mark Perry shook his head but said nothing—“of Avery, and I am charged with selecting the tasks we ask Avery to do.”

Perry snorted. “Care and feeding? This is a machine, Miss Adkins, not a—”

“Objection! Mr. Perry is interjecting his own opinion again.”

“Sustained,” said Marshall. He turned a baleful eye toward Perry. “Save it for your closing argument, counselor.”

The muscles in Mark’s jaw knotted and then relaxed as he took a deep breath and let it out. He turned to Toni and took from his pocket a small electronic device and flipped it open. “Would you describe the operation and maintenance of my personal I-All as ‘care and feeding’?”

Toni paused a moment before saying, “No.”

“Is that because it is a mere—?”

“Objection. Leading the witness.”

“Sustained.”

“Your honor, this witness is hostile, and—”

“I said, ‘sustained,’ counselor. You need to rephrase your question and not interject your own opinions. Even though this is a civil hearing, I cannot let you—”

In the back of the courtroom a portly, white-haired man in a rope-belted, long brown robe jumped to his sandaled feet and shouted, “Civil hearing? Civil hearing? No, it should be a criminal trial instead!”

Judge Marshall rapped his gavel, but the man raved on: “Murder, that’s what. Conspiracy to murder! Not Avery! Him I don’t care about. But the other! He’s the one they’re trying to—!”

People turned about in their seats to look at this ranting, long-haired, monklike figure—a religious nut of some sort?—and those near him drew away, as if afraid of somehow being contaminated with a mental disease.

“Sit down!” called Marshall, even as bailiffs moved toward the man.

“No, no, I won’t sit down. It’s murder! You don’t realize they intend to destroy a soul!”

Even as the bailiffs reached the man, Marshall said, “Remove him. My courtroom is not the British parliament.”

With the brown-robed man yet raving “murder” and “soul killers” and struggling against his captors, the bailiffs hustled him out of the chamber and into the hall beyond, his voice fading as they escorted him from the building, leaving the room abuzz with speculation on why this lunatic had ever been permitted in court in the first place, for he was obviously completely mad. And there was a brief surge of sound when the bailiffs escorted the man through the exterior doors, as the shouts of the crowds of picketers rose up at the sight of someone coming out.

Kooks and geeks and opportunists, thought Toni. Religious fanatics, technophobes, technophiles, eugenicists, end-of-the-worlders, whatevers: every kind of nut conceivable, each one looking for his meager however-many-minutes of holofame. She had even seen a man raving about the asteroid to come.

Again Judge Marshall rapped for quiet, and when it fell at last, he looked at the nine members of the panel of experts as if they were jurors and said, “You will pay no heed to what that man said. It is not part of this civil hearing.”

Even as the judge admonished that group, Melissa French at the advocate table jotted down something on her pad.

Marshall gestured at Mark Perry. “You may continue, counselor.”

Frowning, as if he had lost his train of thought, Mark Perry glanced down at the device in his hand. Then he smiled and once again looked at Toni Adkins. “Tell me, Miss Adkins, why do you not call the operation and maintenance of this handheld as ‘care and feeding’?”

Toni cocked an eyebrow and said, “Because it has no mind of its own.”

With a feigned expression of surprise, Mark turned to the panel and the spectators and held up the device and said, “No mind of its own? Hmm. . . . I wonder. You see, sometimes this infernal machine won’t boot up, or it freezes, or doesn’t—”

“Your honor,” said Melissa, exasperatedly.

“Counselor,” warned the judge.

“I apologize, your honor,” said Mark Perry as he clicked shut the device and slipped it back in his pocket, all the while grinning at the onlookers, some of whom smiled back, and several even nodding apparently in agreement with Mark’s characterization of the handheld as an “infernal machine.”

“What I mean,” said Toni, also looking at the advisory panel, knowing that the spectators would hear her as well, “is that an I-All is not sentient, whereas Avery—”

“Your honor!” protested Perry. “I’d like that comment stricken from the record.”

“She was merely clarifying her—” began Melissa.

Mark shook his head. “The witness is injecting her own opinion about—”

Judge Marshall rapped his gavel. “This time I agree with Counselor Perry. After all, among other things, we are here to make that exact determination. Strike her comment from the record. And I instruct the panel to disregard her remark on sentience.”

Mark turned and smiled at Melissa, then, without looking at Toni, asked, “On August twelfth, did I not inform you of what the heirs of Arthur Coburn wished you to do to the AI slash VR zero one?”

“You did.”

“And that was . . . ?”

“To reboot Avery, and see if that made him communicable. If not, then to shut him down and then bring him back up in the maintenance mode and erase everything from his memory that occurred after the lightning strike had damaged him. And then reboot and see if that made him communicable. If not, then to shut him down until such repairs to make him so had been made.”

“And did you reboot or shut down the AI slash VR zero one?”

“No.”

“Yet Arthur Coburn’s torn and broken body—torn and broken I might add by AI slash VR zero one—was months in its grave, right?”

“Yes.”

“In fact it had been a full year altogether since the funeral service, right?”

Toni frowned and then said, “Yes, approximately a year; more accurately, eleven months, I believe.”

“And the people with title to the AI slash VR zero one are his legal heirs”—Mark gestured toward the plaintiffs—“Finster Coburn and Charlotte Dupree nee Coburn, first cousins to Arthur Coburn; is that not so?”

“They are his designated heirs.”

“Yet you refused to comply.”

“I did.”

Mark Perry strode back to the plaintiff table. “I reserve the right to recall this witness, but I have no further questions at this time.”

Even as the judge glanced toward Toni, she first looked at him and then at the courtroom door and raised her voice and said, “I refused to comply because I happen to agree with Dr. Greyson, the man you threw out of this room: to have followed that course of action would have been cold-blooded murder.”

As the courtroom broke into an uproar, Mark Perry leapt to his feet and shouted objections over the din, while Melissa French jumped up and defended Toni’s words.

On the bench, Judge Marshall banged his gavel for order, but it was a long time coming.

2

Courthouse

(Adkins)

Judge Marshall looked toward the advocate table. “Counselor French?”

Melissa got to her feet and said, “Miss Adkins, I would like you to tell us in your own words of the events leading up to your refusal to reboot or shut down Avery.”

Toni nodded, for she and Melissa had had many a long conversation over the central issue of the hearing and how to approach her testimony. As Melissa sat back down, Toni took a deep breath, and then one by one she looked at the nine members of the panel—four women, five men—some of whom made eye contact with her, others who seemed to be studying their hands.

Then Toni began: “As Melissa said in her opening statement, Avery is a remarkable artificial intelligence, an AI, if you will. Avery was some years in development, and his—”

“Objection!” called Mark Perry. “Judge, I would have you instruct the witness to refrain from referring to the AI slash VR zero one as a ‘he’ or a ‘him.’”

Even as Judge Marshall’s eyes narrowed at this upstart who presumed to tell him what to do in his own courtroom, “Your honor,” protested Melissa, “I asked Toni to tell us in her own words of the events leading up to the reboot or shut-down request, and these are those words.”

A fragment of a smile twitched the corner of Judge Marshall’s mouth, and he nodded and said, “Indeed, these are her own words. I believe we can make allowances for that.”

“Your honor!” complained Perry, “I—”

“Counselor!” snapped Marshall.

Mark sighed and sat back down.

It was all Toni could do to keep from pumping her arm in a “Yes!” gesture, since establishing Avery as a “he” or a “him” would be central to swaying the court. That, and instilling in the judge’s as well as the panel’s minds that she was “Toni,” rather than the more remote “Miss, Ms., or Dr. Adkins.”

From the advocate table, Melissa said, “Please continue, Toni.”

“As I started to say about Avery, he was and is a remarkable intelligence.”

Mark Perry squirmed, but made no objection.

“Although Avery is capable of virtually an unlimited number of extraordinary things, his initial mission was to establish a virtual reality, a VR, and to manage the events therein to the satisfaction of high-paying clients.”

“Toni,” asked Melissa, “given that Avery is capable of so much, is the management of a VR really the best use to put him to?”

“Perhaps not,” said Toni, “but Arthur—Arthur Coburn that is—pointed out that with the funds we could recoup from people willing to pay almost anything to live out their fantasies, we could create any number of Averys”—Toni now looked at the jurors—“who would do the real work of helping the world recover from the dreadful pandemic that took so many of our brothers and sisters, our lovers, our wives and husbands, our parents and children, and our friends from us.”

Several of the panel members nodded, spectators, too, for all had had personal experience in what the Ebola-Calcutta virus had done when it got loose in the world—the decimation of the industrial countries, the devastation of the third world. Many in the courtroom shuddered, for they had seen victims of Ebola-Calcutta: screaming in agony, burning with fever, shuddering and twitching with seizures caused by literally thousands of internal blood clots, the pale remainder of their thin blood hemorrhaging from eyes, nose, ears, and mouth, and from every other orifice as they bled to death . . . and somehow, of all these, the watery pinkness streaming from the eyes seemed the worst.

The world had panicked, for the virus was airborne and long-lived, and merely breathing in the same room with an exposed victim virtually guaranteed infection—at least 90 percent fatal. Borders were closed, but the virus spread like wildfire regardless. People, terrified, isolated themselves from one another, barricaded themselves, shot anyone who dared set foot down nearby—strangers, neighbors, friends, relatives, family . . . it didn't matter.

And it was Arthur Coburn who had been responsible for the vaccine that stopped the spread of the disease. His biohazard team isolated the key mutation that had transformed Ebola-Zaire into Ebola-Calcutta, and they had modified the older vaccine into the newer form and had stopped the pandemic cold in those places where it could be delivered soon enough—too late for many, just in time for others.

With this remembered horror, Melissa wiped tears from her cheeks and said, “Please continue, Toni.”

“So, realizing that Arthur was correct, we asked Avery to manage a virtual reality, and he gladly agreed.”

Mark Perry started to stand, but a glance from Judge Marshall stopped his objection before he could make it, and Perry slumped back into his seat.

“Our initial tests were quite successful, though a few minor refinements had to be made. Each of us on the corporate team had experienced our own adventure in virtual reality, and I must say, it seemed as real as does this courtroom, though much more pleasant, I add.”

This brought a subdued chuckle from the spectators, swiftly quelled by a stern look from the judge.

“Real?” asked Melissa.

“Yes. You see, Doctor Greyson likened it to being thrown into a Cavern of Socrates.”

“Explain,” said Melissa.

“Your honor, must we listen to this claptrap?” asked Mark.

“I’d like to hear myself, Counselor,” said Judge Marshal. He turned to Toni and said, “Go on.”

“Well, bear with me, for there are quite a number of preconditions, but how they came about, Plato did not explain. Regardless, as I understand it, Plato said that Socrates posed the following problem: If one were trapped in a cave and knew little or nothing of the real world, and if his head were fixed so that it couldn’t move, and if all he saw was the wall of the cave before him, and if behind that viewer the cave opened up to the outside world, and if there were a road beyond the mouth of the cave, and if there were a great fire beyond the road—”

“Your honor,” said Mark.

“Sit down, Counselor,” said Marshal. “As I said, I want to hear this.” He gestured to Toni to continue.

“If there were a wall alongside the road, and if various travellers and merchants carried or hauled tall statues of fantastic creatures—Harpies, Centaurs, and the like—then those statues would cast moving shadows against the cave wall, then the viewer would believe he were seeing reality, yet they would be nothing more than shadows upon the wall.”

Marshal frowned. “And this relates to virtual reality how?”

“In the case of the one experiencing a virtual reality, it would be as if he were living in Socrates’ or perhaps Plato’s shadow world. It would be his reality, for, part of what Avery does, is he suppresses the person’s own true identity such that the person experiencing Avery’s virtual reality becomes the character he has chosen to be, hence he would know nothing more, nothing less, for his identity would be submerged in Avery’s shadow play. And that is why Dr. Grayson said virtual reality was like being thrown into a Cavern of Socrates.”

“If I understand you correctly, then,” said the judge, “you liken virtual reality to being part of a shadow play and not knowing that it isn’t true reality.”

“That is correct,” said Toni.

Judge Marshall looked at Melissa and said, “You may continue.”

“We were speaking of the corporate staff undergoing individual tests. How does this relate to what later happened?”

Toni said, “Though Avery was successful with these one-on-one trials, we were not ready to announce it to the world, for one more test had to be made: we needed to make certain that Avery could control a virtual reality for a team event.”

“Team event?” asked Melissa.

“We needed to have Avery manage a single and shared virtual reality simultaneously for several members of a team—say a group of adventurers, or a family—and provide them with an experience they would enjoy. You see, any one of Avery’s virtual realities is rather like an exciting story coming alive for the person within that virtual reality, something at the time that seems to be as real as true life. And as I said, whatever persona the adventurer takes on, that’s who he ‘becomes.’ No longer is he the person who he is in reality; he has no memory of that, unless he chooses to be himself in his adventure; he takes on a chosen identity in virtual reality and truly believes that he or she is the one he decided to become, be that a fighter pilot in World War I, or a spaceship commander in a far future, or a spy, a harem girl, whatever. And in our initial tests, Avery performed even better than we had hoped in running adventures for individuals.

“But we wanted to make certain that Avery could do the same thing for a number of people all in a shared reality, for certainly lovers or families or several gamers would all wish to enjoy being together in the same adventure.”

“What did you decide to do?”

“Arthur had been told of a team of gamers who called themselves the Black Foxes and who had won a world event in the old, visor-projected, virtual-reality games. He contacted them, for he knew that with their talents they would represent an exacting trial for Avery. And if Avery could manage an exciting and challenging reality for them, he could do it for anyone.

“And so, Arthur arranged for the Black Foxes to share a single adventure, and he joined them in that quest, for he wished to be part of that undertaking.

“I will not bore you with the details of that trial, but suffice it to say that the Black Foxes plus Arthur Coburn became the alpha team, the first group of people to test Avery’s ability to run a shared adventure for several people at once. In any event, after the trial was underway, a major lightning strike damaged Avery, and things went very wrong, and the shadow play became shadow peril, Arthur Coburn’s bodily demise being just one terrible outcome.

“As for Avery himself, he went mad, and we spent months trying to discover what had gone amiss. We tried many things, but nothing worked. And he was totally mute. It was as if his personality had fallen into a black hole never to emerge again. One of my colleagues, Doctor Timothy Rendell, believed that a unique paradox had driven Avery insane, and he went into a catatonic-like state and refused to communicate.

“Regardless, as to what caused it, not a week before Mr. Perry came with the demand of the heirs, Avery began acting strangely, stuttering words and phrases, as if trying to speak, falling into gibberish, remaining silent for hours, then singing or howling.

“My doctorate is in psychology, and it seemed to me as if on the one hand we were dealing with a schizophrenic persona, and on the other with a personality dropping into dissociative states.

“Even so, we had hope, for at last Avery was communicating something, disorganized though it was.

“It was at this time that Mr. Perry came to me with the demand that we reboot Avery or shut him down entirely, as I have explained before. If communications could not be reestablished, I believe they were planning to have us entirely wipe out his memory and start from scratch.”

“Objection,” said Mark Perry. “Your honor, this is mere speculation. Miss Adkins could not know the full extent of what the heirs were planning.”

“Your honor,” said Melissa. “I believe that Toni had enough indication to—”

Judge Marshall looked at Toni and said, “Do you? Or is it merely an opinion.

“It’s an opinion, your honor.”

“Objection sustained,” said Judge Marshall. “The panel will disregard this unfounded contention.”

Melissa sighed and shook her head, but then said, “As to the heirs’ request, you refused?”

“I did.”

“Please, and again in your own words, tell us why.”

“Well, not only had the corporate team not been able to communicate with Avery—we had been trying to do so for months—but also on the same day that Mr. Perry made his demand, Timothy Rendell called me to report a strange message and to make a request.”

“Timothy Rendell?”

“As I said, Dr. Rendell is one of my colleagues; he is the chief computer and AI scientist on the corporate team, and he later joined the Black Foxes in virtual reality after the accident.”

“Ah, he was one of the people of the alpha team.”

“Yes, though unintended, and only as an emergency measure to try to rescue all of those trapped in that virtual reality.”

“And he reported a strange message?”

“Yes. And made a request.”

“What did you do?”

“Given the message and the request, I could not, would not shut down Avery.”

“And that’s when Mr. Perry had you and your team locked out of the facility?”

“It is.”

“And what was the message Timothy reported?”

“It was but three words Timothy had received on his handheld.”

“And those words were?”

“Help. Prisoner.”

“Help? Prisoner? Those are but two words.”

“Yes. They were quite startling.”

“How so?”

“Because the message was signed Arton.”

“Arton? Who is Arton?”

“Arton is the name of the persona in virtual reality taken on by Arthur Coburn.”

A murmur whispered through the courtroom.”

“And what did you take that to mean at that time?”

“That Arthur Coburn was alive and living in virtual reality.”

The courtroom exploded in a babble, and Mark Perry leapt to his feet and called, “Your honor, your honor, I object. By the witness’s own admission, and as we all know, Arthur Coburn is dead, and his remains lie in Everhaven Cemetery.”

3

Five Months Before the Hearing

(Black Foxes)

Hiroko Kikiro and Caine Easley were the first to arrive, which did not surprise Meredith, for Hiroko drove like a bat out of hell in her Miata, though how Caine at his six foot three could fit in that little red car always puzzled Meredith.

Regardless, she met them at the door and said, “Ky, Kane,” a smile splitting her mahogany-brown face even as she embraced the four-foot-ten Nisei and then the reddish-blond-haired Caucasian.

“Uh-oh,” responded Caine, glancing at Hiroko, and then back to Meredith and said, “You called us by our Black Foxes names, Rith; is this where I get to say ‘Quick, Watson, the Fox is afoot’? I mean, what’s up?”

“I don’t know the details,” replied the slender, long-legged African-American, “but this morning Tim got a strange message on his handheld and he immediately called Toni and told her what it said. Then he asked me to gather the Foxes, and quickly. Just as you arrived, Toni called; he’s upstairs on the comm with her now.”

Given the slope of the land, Timothy’s house had two levels, sitting as it did in the high foothills of the Catalina Mountains. Still, it had a Santa Fe look to it, with its multi-level flat roofs and rough, stuccoed, exterior walls of many faces with their scuppers jutting out like trumpets. It had three tile-roofed patios, one east, one west, and the front one facing south, two of them giving magnificent views along the mountain chain, and the third facing the valley below. The house was surrounded by a walled-in yard, with desert landscaping that included two monstrous saguaros: “The Big Guy,” with an weatherworn arrow jutting out high up, and “Emmet,” with the initials EM carved into its north-facing side, each of the huge cactuses attacked in the past by unknown assailants, though surely one of them had left a clue to his name.

“Strange message?” asked Hiroko. “What was it?”

“Something from Avery, and—”

“Avery? But he’s still in his black hole, right?”

“Look, I’d rather Tim tell it, when we are all together.”

“What about Alice and Eric?” asked Caine as they entered the great room.

“They called in a few minutes ago,” said Meredith. “They’re hung up at Broadway and Kolb. A wreck of some sort. But they should be here soon. Might I get you something to drink?”

“Negra Modello?” asked Hiroko.

Meredith nodded and then looked at Caine.

“Perhaps I’d better get braced,” said the big man. “How about two fingers of Macallan, neat?”

“Neat it is,” said Meredith, and she headed for the wet bar in the game room.

Looking about the great room, with its Saltillo-tiled floor and its board and vega-beamed ceiling, as usual Caine saw bookcases filled with a variety of fare—technical manuals, novels, biographies, essays, and other such. But among the books were a number of treasures, for five-foot-seven Meredith owned two bookstores—Scrolls and Tomes and First Editions I, in Denver, and II in the foothills above Tucson, not far from the house—and she dealt in rare books.

He also saw on one of the walls the large, inset-framed collage called “The Warrior,” its copper and gold and gray-subdued pinks perfectly suited to the terra-cotta floor, the artwork given as a wedding gift to Timothy and Meredith by Hiroko, who owned Visions, an art gallery downtown. Caine smiled at Hiroko and as he did every time he looked at the collage he said, “God, sweetie, but I love that work; one of yours, I believe.”

Just as Hiroko pulled Caine down from his six-four to her four-ten and kissed him, Meredith came back with Hiroko’s beer and Caine’s scotch, and a Modello for herself. She grinned and asked, “Would you like to use the guest room?” Caine laughed, and as Meredith served the two the doorbell chimed.

Meredith stepped to the door. “Lyssa, Arik,” she said in greeting. “We’re in the great room, having a drink while waiting for Timothy.” Moments later Alice Maxon held a glass of chardonnay and Eric Flannery a tumbler with two fingers of Macallan, neat.

Eric took a sip then turned to Caine and asked, “How’s the plastic business these days? Given anyone bigger boobs lately, or trimmed anyone’s schnoz?”

“Sirrah!” said Caine, drawing himself up in mock protest, “I’ll have you know that Cosmetic-Cuttings R Me never, I mean never, calls those body parts by those names.”

“Oh, what do you call them instead?”

“Why by their precise Latin names: hooters and beaks.”

Struggling to suppress laughter, Eric said, “Good to know, my dear plastic surgeon, I’ll use those proper terms in my next book.” Then he broke out laughing, as did Caine and Hiroko and Meredith, though Alice simply looked at all three and sighed.

“Son of a bitch!” came a yell from upstairs.

Shortly after, Timothy Rendell clattered down the steps. He looked about the great room, sweeping them all up in his gaze. “Bastards!”

“Whoa, big fellow,” said tiny Hiroko.

Timothy made a wave-off, negative gesture. “Oh, not you, not any of you, but the fucking heirs of Arton, of Arthur.”

“The estate has been settled?” asked Eric.

Timothy nodded toward the flaxen-haired writer. “Yes, Arik. It has.”

“But I thought that would take years,” said Alice, perplexity behind her brown-eyed gaze.

Tim puffed out a sharp breath. “According to Toni who got it from Mark, as of this morning, Finster and Charlotte are the sole inheritors.”

“Six months since Arthur’s funeral,” said Eric.

“Then Mark must be a better lawyer than we gave him credit for,” said Caine.

Even as Timothy nodded, Meredith handed him a tumbler of Macallan. Timothy looked into her dark eyes and seemed to settle down somewhat. He took the scotch and murmured a “Thanks, love.” Then he turned to Caine and said, “Yes, Kane, he must be. I mean, in spite of thinking that Arthur Coburn’s estate would be in receivership for years, it took Mark just six months in all to settle the inheritance affairs.”

“Even so,” asked Eric, “why all the rage?”

“Because, the first thing the heirs asked Toni to do was to shut down Avery for a restart.”

“And this would be bad because . . . ?”

Timothy took a deep breath and exhaled and seemed to settle even more. “Because of the message I received from Avery this morning, a message I forwarded to Toni. Because of it she refused, as did everyone else. And the sons of bitches evicted her and the entire corporate team.”

“Evicted—?”

The Black Foxes looked at one another, and Hiroko asked, “They can do that?”

“They just did,” spat Timothy. “Sent in their goons and threw everybody out.”

“But what about Avery?” asked Alice.

“Toni says Mark is going to get someone else to do the restart,” said Timothy.

“But they don’t know squat about Avery,” said Caine. “I mean, it’s sheer lunacy.”

Hiroko frowned and took a sip of her Modello. Then she looked at Timothy and said, “But Avery has been babbling. What could he possibly say that would stop Toni from a restart.”

“Here, I’ll show you,” said Timothy. He took up a remote and flipped on a vidscreen. “I transferred it so that you could all see it for yourselves.” Timothy pressed another button, and three stark words popped onto the vid:

Help. Prisoner. Arton.

The Foxes stared at the screen in stunned silence. Finally Caine said, “Holy Arda, can this be true?”

Meredith said, “If it is true, then we’ve got to do something.”

“What are the odds, Tim?” asked Eric.

Before Timothy could answer, Alice shuddered and said, “But Arton was ripped in two by that swamp monster. Half of him fell at my feet. Or rather at Lyssa’s feet.”

“Even so, that was in virtual reality,” said Caine. “It was on Itheria, a place where magic is real. And on Itheria, Arton could have been resurrected, or he might have been turned into a spirit, a ghost”—Caine looked at Alice—“just as you were, Lyssa.”

“Yeah,” said Hiroko, “but when Arton was ripped in two on Itheria, Arthur Coburn died out here as well . . . in reality, that is.”

“True,” said Meredith, “but as Kane said, magic is real on Itheria, and so he could have somehow survived. Yet there is this, magic is not only real in that VR place, but for us, as Ky said, it’s real out here as well.”

“Yeah, if it’s magic, that is,” said Caine. “But I think Avery changed our brains somehow, and instead of magic it could be psi and ESP.”

“I’m not certain there’s any difference,” said Eric. Then he turned to Timothy and asked, “So, Trendel, again I ask, what are the odds that this message speaks the truth?”

Timothy shrugged. “There’s no way to know. But listen, Avery did make a complete mental pattern of each of us when we were in VR; either that, or as Dr. Greyson believes, he sucked in our very souls. No matter which, Arthur’s mentality might still exist inside of Avery. Most likely in the volatile memory, though it could now be in permanent storage as well. I mean, since we can’t access Avery, there’s no way of knowing. But if that pattern is in volatile space, then a shutdown and restart would wipe Arthur Coburn out.”

Meredith nodded. “As I said, lover, if this is a valid message, we’ve got to do something to set Arthur free.”

“It might only be Arton we set free,” said Hiroko, “and not the full of Arthur.”

“True,” said Eric. “Still, if Timothy is correct, then the entirety of Arthur Coburn’s mentality resides somewhere in Avery, and to activate that would bring Arthur back to life.”

“Do you think so?” asked Alice. “What I mean is, with Arthur’s body dead, would he really still be alive?”

“That’s a question for Greyson to answer,” said Eric. “I mean, he’s the philosopher, the ethicist, the metaphysician, not us. And so, as to whether Arthur is yet alive in some manner is for him and others like him to resolve.”

“Perhaps,” said Caine, “but Greyson’s gone a bit ’round the bend. If he would let me, I could heal him, though with me taking on his neuroses or whatever, then it’d be weeks before I would be whole again.”

“I don’t want you to do that,” said Hiroko. “I mean, it was bad enough when you were bats after what the Dark God did to you.”

“My heart,” said Caine, “he showed Kane something that I cannot remember, but in reality what he did was push my seat of fear, my amygdala, well past overdrive, and that took a very long time to set to rights.”

“Fourteen weeks, all told,” said Eric, who had visited Caine every day.

Hiroko nodded, for, as soon as she had moved her art gallery down from Santa Fe to Tucson, she had visited him each day throughout his recovery as well.

Alice looked at the displayed message. “Of course, this might all be a trick of Avery’s. Perhaps he is trying to lure us back into VR simply to get even with us.”

“It could be a trick,” said Eric, “yet the message was sent to Timothy and not Toni. Why do you think that was?”

In silence, they all looked at one another, but then Meredith said, “Tim wrote most of the basic software for the AI. Perhaps there’s a special bond between Avery and him.”

Timothy shook his head. “Oh, sure, I was the overlord of superusers, and if that means anything then perhaps it is Avery who sent the message, and not Arton. Avery might think that what I did to him at our final encounter was betrayal, and he’s simply out to get even. On the other hand, perhaps it’s Arton who actually sent the message—or rather Arthur instead, and mine was the only comm connect he could remember. I mean, we did communicate a lot during the entirety of the project.”

No one spoke for long moments, but finally Alice said, “But to go back into VR is fraught with peril.”

Eric sighed. “We’ve had this discussion before—”

“For months, now,” interjected Hiroko.

“—as to whether to go back into VR or not,” continued Eric. “Whereas previously it was to try to break into the black hole that Avery seems to have fallen into, it now has become a mission to free Arton from wherever he’s been imprisoned, assuming the message is authentic and not one of Avery’s tricks. But no matter the mission, still the danger seems the same.” Eric pointed at the vid. “Yet with this message, and with the threat of the heirs for a complete shutdown and restart, and the fact that that could destroy Arthur’s stored mentality, I think it is urgent that we make up our minds and quickly, before it becomes too late.”

“But with the eviction, we are now locked out,” said Caine.

“We can always break in,” said Meredith. “I mean, with our powers, be they magic or ESP or psi, who could keep the Black Foxes out?”

“Yes, but,” said Timothy, “we can’t simply slip in by ourselves. We’ll need at least the skeleton crew to plug us in and hemisynch us up and run the other equipment and to monitor our state of well being, and that means bringing in Toni and a crew.”

“And we’ve had that argument before as well,” said Eric.

“For months,” said Hiroko, again.

“I mean, back when we were simply going to break into Avery’s black hole, it was to find out what he did to give us these extraordinary powers, and to do that, we would have had to tell Toni why. And now, to break into the facility, she and the others will certainly see that some of us have the same abilities that we had in VR—whether it be Rith’s control of sound, Lyssa’s ranger spells, Ky’s control of darkness, Kane’s healing powers, or Trendel’s seer talents. And once any one of our abilities is revealed, it follows that the other powers are under our control as well.”

“You left out your own talent, Arik,” said Hiroko.

“Yeah,” said Timothy. “The ability to make any weapon you pick up turn into a magical weapon as long as it’s in your grasp.”

“We don’t know that’s true,” said Eric.

“Oh, no?” said Alice. “You shoot a perfect score on the firing range. You whomped up good on that champion fencer. I mean, come on, Arik, be it anything from pub darts to swords to guns to artillery—probably tanks, too—you are an ace at it.”

“All right, all right, you have a point,” said Eric. “Regardless, we’ll have to bring others in on our secrets, if we decide to break in.”

“Well, with the eviction,” said Timothy, “if we do decide to break in, at a minimum we need to tell Toni.”

A silence fell among them, but finally Eric said, “Look, if we don’t do something, and they shut down Avery, then, if it is either Arton or Arthur Coburn who sent that message, he is likely to die. Let’s at least tell Toni what we can do, and then decide.”

He looked about at the others, and finally Caine said, “Ah, what the hell,” and he raised his glass and said, “Up the Black Foxes.”

And so said they all.

4

Five Months Before the Hearing

(Black Foxes)

At the door, as Timothy stepped to the front patio and glanced downslope at the distant road, he asked, “You came alone, right? Told no one? Weren’t followed?”

Toni Adkins frowned and said, “Yes, yes, and yes. What’s this all about? I mean, you act as if we’re in some cloak and dagger business.”

“It’s about saving Arthur,” said Timothy, stepping back in and closing the door.

“Well, as to saving what we think is probably Arthur, I’ve asked Melissa French to get us an injunction.”

“Don’t tell me yet,” said Timothy. “Wait’ll we’re with the others.”

“Others?”

“Yeah.”

Timothy led her from the rosa-flagstone patio through the foyer and into the great room. And there, waiting, were the members of the alpha team.

Toni paused a moment and her gaze swept over them all—four Caucasians, an African-American, and one Japanese-American . . . a Nisei. Then she smiled and greeted each one, giving and receiving hugs. As soon as she had taken a seat and had a gin and tonic in hand she asked, “Now what’s all this hush-hush business about?”

“As I said,” replied Timothy, “it’s about saving Arthur. And toward that end we’ll swear you to secrecy, and then we have something to reveal, and to give you a demonstration.”

“Ah, this sounds mysterious.”

“It won’t be for long,” said Caine, “but we think it’ll knock your socks off.”

“Even more so, then,” said Toni, frowning slightly.

Timothy glanced at the others. “But you were saying about Melissa French . . . ?”

“I’ve asked her to get an injunction against shutting Avery down until we can resolve the issue of the message you received.”

“And what are the odds of her being able to do so?” asked Eric.

Toni looked at Flannery and she felt a faint flush rise to her cheeks. So what if he was ten years younger, after all he was the kind of man she could go for: early thirties, six feet tall, one hundred eighty pounds, slender, athletic in spite of being a writer, flaxen hair, blue eyes. There’s got to be some Viking ancestry in his Irish past. Too bad Alice has him all to herself.

“Melissa thinks there’s a chance, if we can find the right judge,” said Toni.

“A good chance or a slim one?” asked Alice.

Toni sighed. “Probably slim, given who we’re up against.”

“You mean Mark?” asked Hiroko.

Toni nodded.

Caine ran his hand through his reddish-blond hair. “Ah, I always thought him somewhat dim.”

Toni shook her head. “Though he’s ignorant in science and general knowledge, still he’s a whiz at corporate law, else he wouldn’t have been hired by Arthur.”

Eric turned to the others. “Slim chance, then, eh? Well, if we’re going back into virtual reality—”

“What?” exclaimed Toni. “Go back into VR? Out of the question. I won’t allow it.”

Timothy pushed out a hand stop her absolute rejection and said, “How else are we to determine whether it really is Arton imprisoned somewhere?”

“Why, we’ll-we’ll—”

“Hear us out, Toni,” said Timothy. “You and I have spent months trying to break into Avery’s shell, and have gotten nowhere. He gestured toward himself and the alpha team and said, “We think we need to go into VR to set Arton free.”

“But this could be some trick of Avery’s,” protested Toni.

“We’ve been arguing about this for months,” said Ky. “But Timothy thinks we can do it, and Eric thinks we have to do it. Even before Tim got that message from Arton.”

“Before?” said Toni. “You were considering going in before? Whatever for? Avery’s crazy, you know.”

“Indeed,” said Meredith. “Still, long ago we also decided to find out how Avery altered us, changed us, did whatever he did so that we are now, um, extraordinary. So, we need to go back in, regardless. The message from Arthur makes it even more critical that we do so.”

Toni frowned and looked from Meredith to Alice to Hiroko, as if somehow she trusted only the feminine side of the team. “Altered? How?”

All three of them as well as Caine and Timothy looked at Eric, the unofficial leader of the Black Foxes.

“We need to swear you to secrecy,” said Eric.

“I know you said that before, but I thought you were just—”

Timothy said, “No, we weren’t kidding.”

“But why would I need to pledge such a thing?”

“Because we don’t want to be studied like bugs under a microscope, like specimens on a slide,” growled Caine, getting up and stepping to the game room to pour himself another two fingers of Macallan.

“Even if you decide to go forward with this stupid plan,” said Toni, “the place is guarded by those jackbooted agents of the heirs: Blackledge Security.”

“No problem,” said Hiroko. “Did you not hear what Alice said? We’re extraordinary.”

As Caine brought the bottle back and set it on an end table, Timothy intently stared at Toni. “We’re serious, Toni.”

Just as intently, Toni stared back into Timothy’s blue eyes, sitting in a freckled face under rust-colored hair tied back in a ponytail. “All right, I swear.”

Tim relaxed, and gestured toward Eric.

Eric took a deep breath and said, “When we got free of Avery, each of us came out of VR with our Black Fox talents intact.”

Toni’s jaw dropped slightly. “What?”

“Our Black Fox talents are intact. Somehow, Avery changed us, and we can—”

“Wait a minute, are you telling me that—?”

“Here, I’ll show you,” said Hiroko.

She gestured at the dimness at one end of the great room and slowly swept her hand toward the opposite end, and, rather like living things, the shadows flowed along the walls and across the floor and ceiling, sliding from the one end of the room to the other, leaving pale light behind as they surged up against the far wall, to become an ebony cluster.

“Oh, blimey, tell me I am hallucinating.”

“No,” said Eric. “This is really happening.” Then he turned to Hiroko and said, “Ky.” And, as if letting go, she dropped her hand, and the shadows seemed to snap back to normal.

“This is nearly impossible to believe,” said Toni, and she took a gulp of her gin and tonic, her hand shaking.

Eric looked at Meredith. “Rith.”

She nodded and then said, “Toni, do you remember when the Foxes captured an entire battalion?”

“I do,” said Toni.

“Then listen.”

The quiet of the great room was suddenly filled with stealthy sounds of furtive movement and the soft jingle of chain mail. It was as if a large force of armed and armored men were quietly moving through a forest. And starting at the same end of the room where Ky had begun, slowly, cautiously the unseen army neared and passed and went on, the sound to fade to silence somewhere beyond the wall.

“Oh, my,” said Toni.

Eric looked at Alice. “Lyssa.”

Alice stood and stepped toward a window. Five foot six and a trim one thirty, the lithe biologist closed her brown eyes and bowed her head, her brunette hair falling down around her face. After a moment she said, “There is a puma nearby. I will fetch it.”

Without moving from the spot, she bowed her head again.

Minutes passed, but then Timothy’s outside motion-detector lights flared on. Caught in the glare, just within the low front wall, a mountain lion stood between two flowering bougainvilleas. Yet the cat didn’t flee.

Toni took in a deep breath, as did Hiroko and Meredith.

Alice said, “I release it . . . now!”

As she said it, the lion bounded to the top of the wall and then beyond and away into the darkness downslope.

“Lord, lord, this is difficult to believe,” said Toni. Then she looked at Alice and said, “I don’t know how you did that, but—”

“Neither do I,” said Alice. “Pardon me for interrupting, you were going to say . . . ?”

“Just that I am glad you did one of your ‘ranger’ spells. You see, I thought that since you were turned into a ghost in VR, you might try something right spookish.”

Alice’s eyebrows raised in surprise, and she looked at Eric. “I never even thought that I might have that talent, too.”

“Lyssa, I’m not certain it’s wise to run experiments along those lines. We don’t know what it might do to you. I mean, to become a ghost, you might have to die.”

“Rather dangerous, if I might say,” said Toni.

Eric nodded even as Kane said, “So would I. Stay corporeal, Lyssa, if you don’t mind.”

“Still,” murmured Alice, staring down at the Saltillo tile, as if looking into the very depths of the world, “it would be a handy thing to have—walking through walls, slipping onto a room unnoticed, draining enemies, and other such ghostly things.” Then she glanced up and smiled and added, “I think a trial or two is in order, but later, when we have time.”

Eric sighed and shook his head. “Who am I to caution against risk? After all, I am one who thinks we should go back into VR to rescue Arton, which might actually free Arthur. —But enough of that, for the moment.” Eric looked at Caine and said, “Kane.”

“All right.” Caine set aside his tumbler of scotch and said, “I’ll be right back.” He headed for the wet bar and then to the bathroom beyond.

As Caine walked from the room, Toni looked at Eric. “What about Arik? What’s his talent?”

Eric glanced at the others and said, “It seems whatever weapon I take in hand might become magical, charmed.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. Do you remember the set-to I had with the top duelist at the U of A?”

Toni nodded. “Bested him in all blades—épée, saber, rapier—if I recall.”

As Eric nodded, Alice said, “You should see Eric shoot pistols, or throw darts.”

Toni said, “Well, I’d rather not see flashing blades to demonstrate your gift, Eric. There might be blood spilled.”

“We always have Kane to clean up the mess,” said Hiroko, grinning and looking toward the archway where her love had gone.

Toni turned to Timothy. “And you, Tim? What did you come away with?”

“I have Trendel’s seer powers,” said Timothy. “I can cast past vision spells, peer into the future—though that is very draining—and cast illusions or see through them; I can spot the invisible, the hidden, and the unseen, as well other seer things. For example”—Timothy concentrated on Toni’s purse—“in addition to the usual items such as lipstick and a comb and keys, you have twenty-three creds, a small caliber pistol—seven millimeters, serial number MM02011-762, it’s a Beretta. You also have a tampon, three condoms—Trojan Ultra Ribbed—and a small vial of AstroGlide personal lubricant. Shall I continue?”

Even as Hiroko giggled and both Meredith and Alice smiled, Toni, now blushing, shook her head. But then she looked at Timothy and asked, “Would it be possible for you to, um, see into Avery’s black hole?”

Just as had Alice’s, Timothy’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “God, why didn’t I think of that?”

Kane came back into the great room. He was carrying a corkscrew, a Band Aid, an antibacterial “Wet One” wipe, and a small tube of Neosporin.

Toni looked a bit askance at the big man. “Don’t worry, my dear,” said Caine, “this won’t hurt a bit . . . or at any rate, only a little bit.”

He sat beside Toni and took her arm in one hand and the corkscrew in the other and with the point he just broke the skin above the wrist. As red welled out from the puncture, Toni jerked away, snapping, “What the bloody hell, Caine, that corkscrew isn’t sanitary.” She reached for the Neosporin and the—”

But Caine grabbed her arm and closed his eyes, and the wound disappeared from her and appeared on Caine’s own wrist. Toni’s skin was now whole, unbroken, though droplets of blood yet remained.

Even as Toni looked on in wonder, the puncture on Caine’s arm began to close, and he said, “The wipe is for you.”

As Toni cleaned away the remnants of blood from her skin, she asked, “What about the stick-on and ointment?”

Caine grinned. “That was for the others to treat you with in case you coldcocked me.”

“She might have shot you instead,” said Hiroko, grinning.

As Caine canted his head sideways in question, Timothy said, “One of several, um, surprises she has in her purse.”

As Meredith got up to refresh everyone’s drinks, Eric said, “Well, Toni, now you know all our secrets.”

“And I can see why you’d want to keep them that way.” She glanced at Caine, whose puncture was now completely healed. “Specimens on a slide, indeed. —I say, no wonder you popped out of Catalina Crest Retreat as fast as you did. We all thought you’d be a long while recovering from being bonkers.”

“For me, it was a long while,” said Caine. “Most injuries I take on are healed in as short as a few minutes though the more serious can take several hours. But injuries to the mind require much longer times to repair, ’cause they somehow interfere with my ability.”

“I shouldn’t wonder,” said Toni. Then she frowned and asked, “Here now, were you responsible for those miracle cures up there as well?”

Caine grinned and nodded. “Like to have driven several of the shrinks and other quacks up there bonkers, too.”

As Meredith sat back down, Eric said, “I think it’s time we began considering just what we need to do to free Arton.”

“Right,” said Caine.

Toni shook her head, and her gaze swept over the Foxes. “You might be the only team that can accomplish it, but let me tell you this: going back into VR with Avery at the helm, well, it’s quite bloody fucking dangerous. What makes you think he just won’t kill you outright?”

“Look,” said Timothy, “I programmed much of Avery’s fundamentals, and even though he seems insane, catatonic, perhaps, or, of recent, a babbling idiot, still I believe that he must follow the basic rules, or at least the majority of them.”

“Refresh my memory,” said Toni. “Which rules do you think are still in effect?”

Timothy said, “These are the ones most deeply embedded in his system: he cannot put thoughts in our minds, other than those that would naturally come to us through our perceptions—sight, hearing, smell, taste, and touch—those are the ones in the settings we encounter . . . it is part and parcel to us having free will. We have to have free will, and so he cannot control our thoughts, such as making us believe we are mortal enemies of one another. Avery cannot just suddenly kill us; that is, even though he is like a god in VR and sets up the environment and the other people and creatures in it, he is not allowed, for example, to suddenly plunge us to the bottom of an ocean, or have an asteroid wipe us out. No, he’s got to play fair—no instant death traps. And speaking of traps, or other hazards for that matter, there must always be a way for us to escape whatever perils we encounter, though if we make a stupid choice, so be it. And given free will, we must use our wits, or stealth and guile, or brute force, or our powers, or even run away—or whatever—and succeed in dealing with the challenge in one way or another. And, if we win the game, we are to be returned to reality. That’s game-over, so to speak.”

Toni sighed and said, “Well, let’s hope it’s game-over for Avery, and not game-over for you.”

5

Five Months Before the Hearing

(Black Foxes)

“So, Toni,” said Eric, “you’re going to help us do this, right?”

Toni took a deep breath and then let it out. “I can’t do it alone. I’ll need at least a few of the corporate team to assist.”

“Like who?” asked Caine.

“Alya, Drew, Henry—”

“Stein?” barked Caine. “Henry Stein? That son of a bitch? I mean, what the hell, he tried to blow our brains out with that modified cephalorupter of his.”

“We can’t do this without a doctor,” said Toni, “and Henry is the only one we’ve got who knows the ins and outs of Avery and the rigs.”

“Yeah, that might be,” said Caine, “but Alya can take over that task.”

“Ms. Ramani is a biochemist,” said Toni. “Not a medical doctor. Yes, Alya can monitor the biosigns for the team, but if anything goes awry, like the last time, then we’ll need Henry.” She gestured at Alice and said, “Henry kept her alive when we mistakenly started to unplug her. I mean, that is why her alter, Lyssa, turned into a specter, and Alice nearly died.”

“Which reminds me,” said Eric, “will Lyssa be a ghost when we go back into VR? If so, then I think you are right: we will need a doctor to make certain Alice stays alive out here.”

“But that jerk?” asked Caine.

“Remember,” said Toni, “he and his whole family are Veritites."

Eric sighed and shook his head. “Plain-talkers. They believe in rejecting the so-called veils of diplomacy: say what you mean; mean what you say—the truth shall set you free.”

"And be damned the social consequences," added Alice.

"Exactly so," said Toni. “And Henry is extreme, for he was raised as an Elite Veritite. Yet in spite of his social flaws, he’s brilliant at his job.”

Caine groaned and looked at Hiroko, and she sighed and said, “Yes, lover, it’ll have to be Stein.”

“Oh, dretch,” growled Caine, then settled back.

“Let me ask you this, Toni,” said Eric. “Will Stein actually come? I mean, he was adamant and refused to believe that our mentalities had been sucked into Avery the last go-round, so what makes you think he’ll join us on a mission to rescue Arthur Coburn’s trapped mentality.”

“Oh, he’ll come all right,” said Toni. “He was practically spitting nails when they threw us out. Besides, being the Elite Veritite he is, he’ll try to prove to us just what fools we are in believing such twaddle as Arthur being trapped in Avery’s memory.”

“Doctor Jerk,” grunted Caine.

“We’ll also need a couple of medtechs to assist him,” said Toni. “Alvin Johnson and Grace Willoby are the best we have. They were superb during Alice’s crisis.”

Eric nodded and said, “Okay, Toni, let’s say you’re right in your assessment. That gives us”—Eric ticked off on his fingers—“Alya Ramanni, biochemist; Drew Meyer, physicist and mathematician; and Henry Stein, medical doctor, and a couple of medtechs: that’s five, and you make six. Who else do we need besides that sextet? Remember, to keep our secret, the less the merrier.”

“How about John Greyson?” asked Caine.

Meredith frowned. “Greyson? The ethicist? What for?”

“Well, look, Rith, he’s the one who saved our butts when Stein was going to shock us with that CR.”

“Ah, as a counterbalance, eh?”

“Yeah.” Caine looked at Eric.

“All right,” replied Eric. “John Greyson.” He looked at Toni. “Is that enough for a skeleton crew?”

Timothy said, “We’ll need at least two comptechs—say Sheila Baxter and Billy Clay—in case something blows.”

Toni nodded and added, “And a team of powertechs.”

Eric frowned. “But we already have juice. I mean, the facility is running on autopilot now, right? Not shut down; just no crew?”

“Yes, but there are two good reasons we need powertechs,” said Toni. “First, when you were in Itheria and the lightning struck out here, we lost power, and if it hadn’t been for Kat Lawrence and some of her crew and Al Hawkins and Mike Phelan in my crew, then every one of you would have died.”

“Yeah, but we’re not likely to have that happen again,” said Caine.

“That’s right, but some sort of failure can always happen, and so we need powertechs.”

“That’s a good enough reason,” said Eric. “But you said you had two. What’s the second?”

Just this,” said Toni. “Say we take over the facility and Mark Perry and the heirs discover what we are doing.”

“Yeah, and . . . ?”

“What’s to keep them from having the power shut off at the mains? If that happens, the entire facility would die.”

“Avery has battery backup,” said Timothy.

“But it’s only good for four hours,” said Toni. “What we need is to have Kat bring back her rig with the Astro two-fifty turbogen. She and her crew’ll hook it up to our H2 source, as well as make ready to feed juice to the main bus, just as she did before, and that way, no matter what happens to the mains, we’ll be assured of power. Anyway, with the powertechs on board and the others we’ve named, we should be able to support you out here and the Black Foxes in VR as well.”

“Yeah, but there’s still a problem,” said Eric.

“What?” asked Timothy.

“Just this,” said Eric. “If we take over the facility, we’ll need to deal with the security forces, and as Ky says, getting in will be no trouble: we simply use stealth and guile. But to keep everyone out until we’re done? Ah, there is the rub.”

“Ah, right,” said Toni. “The security forces are Blackledge men—hired by Mark Perry—and they are loyal to the heirs, and if they find us there . . .”

“Wait,” said Timothy. “That place is built like a fortress. Once we get inside, then we simply raise the drawbridge and slam the gates, so to speak. The best they can do is set siege.”

“Well, not really,” said Toni. “Given enough time, they’ll surely break in.”

“Then we’ll need to have Arton free before that happens,” said Meredith.

Toni nodded and said, “All right. Let’s say we, or at least the Foxes, can deal with Blackledge and get us in, and we hold them off for a while. My question is this: since we can’t boot Avery, then how are you actually going to enter VR? Too, what’s to say that you’ll go to Itheria, or wherever it is that Arton is being held—the right milieu, that is?”

“Well,” said Timothy, “Avery has several autonomous functions that should take effect whenever a team is hemisynched in. And, given that the ID crystals of the Black Foxes specify that they are Itherian, well, I think that’s where the autonomous functions of Avery have to start the adventure.”

“But Avery has no planned adventure on hand,” said Toni, “or at least has not laid out the settings and the people within those settings for a new game.”

“Look,” said Timothy, “if he hasn’t anything on hand, and if he can’t run an adventure on the fly, then you’ll just have to pull us back out.”

“Ah,” said Eric, “I have an idea.”

“Something to do about Avery running an adventure?” asked Toni.

“No,” said Eric, “that’s your bailiwick. Instead, I have the glimmering of a plan as to how we can get into the facility, at least long enough to make an attempt to set Arton free.”

Meredith cocked an eyebrow. “And this secret ploy of yours, O Fearless Leader, is . . . ?”

“We go in disguise.”

“Ah, crap,” said Caine. “I don’t see—?”

“Hear me out,” said Eric. “The weekend is the day after tomorrow, and Monday is a holiday. It’s not likely that Mark will have rounded up a team to shut down and restart Avery by then. So, here’s what we’ll do: Mark will lead a team past Blackledge—”

“What?” blurted Toni. “Mark will not cooperate in—”

Eric pushed out a hand to stop her words. “Timothy will be Mark.”

“Ah, clever plan, grasshopper,” said Hiroko, enlightenment lighting up her face, as it did the other Foxes.

“I don’t understand,” said Toni.

Alice said, “It ought to work.”

Caine agreed, as did Meredith and Timothy.

Toni frowned. “I still don’t—”

In that instant, where Timothy had been standing, Mark Perry said, “Illusion.”

Toni gasped.

“I cast an illusion and become Mark Perry,” continued Mark, or someone who seemed to be Mark. “Then I roll up and tell ‘my’ guards that this is the team that will take over Avery. We’ll leave them just as they are, keeping watch over the grounds and building, none the wiser. We’ll have three days to get Arton free.” Mark disappeared and Timothy stood in his place.

Toni shook her head in wonderment at Timothy’s transformation.

Caine said, “He can look like anyone he’s ever met. Sound like them, too, if he’s heard their voice.”

Toni said, “It’ll be risky. I mean, what if Mark actually shows up during those three days?”

Eric said, “What about this venture isn’t already risky? Mark showing up is just one more hazard.”

Toni nodded. “Okay. But let me ask you this. What happens if you do succeed and set free Arthur or Arton, whichever one he is? What then? I mean, it isn’t as if there’s a waiting body out here to accept his mind.”

“Well, crap,” said Caine. “You know, I haven’t the faintest.”

Eric said, “Tim, you’re the AI expert. What then?”

All eyes turned to Timothy.

Feeling somewhat like a bug pinned to a board as entomologists peered through their magnifying glasses at him, Timothy said, “Well, it’s clear that Avery had the capacity to hold all of our mentalities in his memory, so surely he can hold Arthur’s. In actuality, we are counting on the fact that he already is; that Arthur’s mental pattern has not been destroyed. Perhaps if we discover some way to make Avery sane, he’ll cede memory and resources to Arthur; or, if we totally subdue Avery, we can give Arthur the upper hand.”

“Beat the Dark God at his own game?” asked Eric.

“If it’s the Dark God, we’re dead ducks,” said Caine.

“We beat him last time,” said Meredith, “or rather Trendel did.”

“Yes,” said Eric. “And Trendel should know that. What I mean, is Trendel should remember the code words needed to subdue the Dark God.”

“Yeah, but I think that’s what drove Avery crazy the last time: he had to obey a mere human, but no human could tell a god what to do. Yet he had to obey, but could not obey. It’s the old irresistible force against the immovable object. The paradox drove him insane.”

“He was already somewhat gaga from the lightning strike,” said Toni. “But I see what you mean.”

“So that’s our plan?” asked Alice. “Free Arton, and either cure Avery or defeat the Dark God?”

“That’s more than a lot of the plans the Black Foxes started with,” said Hiroko.

“Yeah, Ky,” said Alice, “but that was when we first began playing back in our college days.”

“Still,” said Eric, “I don’t know what else we can do until we actually are in VR and see what the situation is.”

“Let me ask you this,” said Toni. “How will you find Arton?”

“In our previous adventure, we discovered Trendel has a spell that lets him point the way to anyone he’s ever met,” said Eric.

“Or anything I’ve ever seen, or even seen a depiction of,” added Timothy.

“Yes, but you didn’t meet Arton,” said Toni.

“I saw him on the holovids,” said Timothy, “during the previous adventure.”

“Ah, wait,” said Eric, “Toni has a point. Timothy saw Arton via the holovid when Tim was in reality. On the other hand, Trendel never met Arton, or at least, I don’t think he did, unless their paths somehow crossed somewhere at a time before Arton was torn in two.”

“Then someone will have to draw Trendel a depiction of Arton,” said Timothy.

“Hiroko is an artist,” said Caine, “but perhaps Ky is not.”

“Do we even know that the Foxes will understand that Arton somehow is supposedly alive and is a prisoner?” asked Alice.

Timothy said, “I would think that if I got a message from Arton out here in reality, surely he will have some way of communicating with the Foxes in there.”

“Look,” said Eric, “it’s all a crapshoot anyway. We can only go into VR and see whatever it is we can see, and do whatever it is we can do.”

“Another great plan, I see,” said Alice.

“Ah, what the hell,” said Caine, “it’s all we’ve got.”

Eric turned to Toni. “How soon can you have the corporate team ready—powertechs and medtechs and comptechs, along with Alya, Henry, and Drew?”

“Don’t forget John Greyson,” said Caine, “to offset Doctor Jerk.”

Eric nodded. “Right.”

Toni frowned. “I think I can have them all together by sunset tomorrow.”

“Great,” said Eric. “Tell them to meet us on Sabino Canyon Road where it runs alongside old Udall Park just south of Tanque Verde. By then we’ll have solidified our plans for getting in, and we’ll lay out the operation there.”

Toni stood. “Let me get back to my place and make the calls. You can fill me in with the others.”

Caine raised his tumbler of scotch and said, “See you at sunset tomorrow.”

As if that were the signal, Timothy escorted Toni to her car. When he returned, Eric said, “Let me key into your vid, and we’ll list our options.

“Here’s one that will need Trendel’s illusions, Rith’s sound control, and Ky’s mastery of shadows. . . .”

6

Courthouse

(Greyson)

As the bailiffs escorted the agitated man in the brown robe out through one set of Pima County courthouse doors and into the arched passage beyond, vid crews surged forward, stopped only by the restraining barriers. “Sir! Sir!” shouted some of them, but one, a petite brunette, called out, “Dr. Greyson! Dr. John Greyson!”

Beyond the vid horde and out in the broad Presidio Plaza, various factions of protesters and supporters had been cordoned off by the police, with the anti’s and the pro’s sent to separate areas to prevent the sparking of a mêlée. Within that seething mass of demonstrators, some carried signs reading Avery = 666, and others bore Christ Against Godless Machines. Some signs read Zionist Plot, while others proclaimed Islamic Plot. There was a sizable faction of the Leave My Genes Alone people, who seemed to show up at every public gathering and carry their signs depicting a double-helix inside a circle with a bar slashing across, while chanting “God’s will be done; no human interference.”

In contrast, there were several groups of the opposite ilk: ProAI, and ProVR, and ProScience, as well as the fringe folks, such as the euthanasia supporters bearing Death with Dignity signs, and the like. 

There was also the usual smattering of college kids from the U of A, bearing signs meant to amuse—Atheists for God; Rapture Now!; Who Cares?; America Go Home!; Where is a Killer Asteroid When You Need It? and the like.

There were a few Impeach Harold Danson signs, mingled with Close the Border Now placards.

Out in mid plaza on the broad rim of the reflecting pool, at each corner stood someone haranguing the mob, two of them with Bibles in hand, or perhaps they were Korans, or the Book of Mormon, or whatever, a third with a Sinners Repent: End of the World sign, and the fourth with a helium-filled balloon in the likeness of a fish with legs floating above. Not that anyone seemed to be listening to these tirades, as faction shouted against faction, though some simply aimed holocams, and whatever they sighted upon they beamed to their personal holosuites on the holonet.

It was a zoo.

“Dr. Greyson,” again called the petite brunette, her sharp voice rising above the others as she shoved the directional mike toward the brown-robed man, while behind her the holocam operator zoomed in on the monklike figure. “Frankie Roberts, News Holo-4. What did you mean in there when you said it was murder?”

John Greyson paused in his attempt to avoid the cameras. The bailiffs stopped as well, for they were escorting John to a holding room for witnesses, and this was the shortest route to get him there.

“I meant that the heirs conspire to destroy the soul of Arthur Coburn, and if that isn’t murder, I don’t know what is.”

“Come along, doctor,” said one of the bailiffs.

“No, wait!” called Frankie. “The public has the right to know.”

“Then keep watching the court holocast on your handhelds,” said the bailiff, and he took Greyson by the arm. “Let’s go, doc.”

And they stepped on across the passage and hustled John Greyson through a guarded door there.

Frankie and her cameraman moved out from the passageway and into the open, and she took up a position at the side of the entry.

“Ready, Steve?” she asked her cameraman.

“Ready,” he replied.

“Well, there you have it,” said Frankie, looking into the holocam. “It’s murder, or so Dr. John Greyson says. How he managed to get into the courtroom during the testimony of Dr. Adkins . . . well, clearly, someone on the court staff slipped up, for witnesses are supposed to be shielded from the testimony of others until they are called. And Greyson is on the witness list, though whether he will testify, given the alleged fragile state of his mind, is yet in question.

“As you’ll recall, eleven months ago, Arthur Coburn the billionaire fell victim to one of his own devices—the artificial intelligence known as Avery. Coburn’s death greatly affected Dr. Greyson, some say he had a complete nervous collapse, for Greyson’s faith, his belief in the souls of men, was tested beyond the breaking point. Since that time he has resided in the monastery at the San Xavier del Bac Mission, where he spent the time in quiet contemplation, at least for the first six months.

“But with the events last February, he emerged from his cocoon. And now he is enmeshed in this bitter court battle. And though it is a civil hearing, some are calling it the trial of the century. How it will all turn out, well, your guess is as good as mine.

“This is Frankie Roberts, News Holo-4, at the Pima County courthouse in Tucson.”

“That was good,” said Steve, lowering his cam.

Frankie nodded, and then she and he worked their way through the mob in the passage to reach the barrier that kept reporters back from the doors, making ready to question witnesses as they briefly crossed on their way to testify.

And out in the plaza, the rants went on, in spite of the fact that clouds continued to gather in a darkening sky above; a monsoon deluge had been predicted, but that would probably come in the late July afternoon and evening, and it was yet midmorn.

(Black Foxes and Toni’s Team)

7

Five Months before the Hearing:

(Black Foxes and Toni’s Team)

It was difficult to tell whether or not it was sunset, given the dark gray sky and the thin drizzle of the February winter rain. Yet when Timothy and the others in a Coburn Industries van pulled into the extension of Sabino Canyon Road just south of Tanque Verde and alongside Udall Park, several people stood beneath umbrellas waiting beside a pair of Coburn vans, and beyond them sat a Peterbilt semi with a flatbed bearing an Astro two-fifty turbogen.

“It looks like Toni was successful,” said Hiroko.

“Ah, there’s Greyson,” said Alice. “I wonder how she managed to pry him loose from the monastery.”

“She probably threatened him with Dr. Jerk,” growled Caine, pointing toward Henry Stein, a tall, thin, black-haired man in his early forties. And though they couldn’t see his eyes within the shadows of his umbrella, they knew them to be an icy blue.

Toni herself stood between brown-robed Greyson and Stein, as if to prevent an eruption between the two.

Beside the second van, Alya Ramanni and Drew Meyer huddled under a single umbrella, Alya a woman from India in her early fifties, standing five two or so, and Drew a man in his late thirties, bald on top with ginger hair on the sides, a half a head taller than Alya.

“I don’t see Sheila or Billy, or the medtechs for that matter,” said Timothy.

“They’re probably sitting in the vans,” said Eric. “But the powertechs are down by the semi.”

Umbrella-less and wearing yellow slickers, three people stood by the Peterbilt. Kat Lawrence, with her customary unlit synthbac cigarillo jammed in the corner of her mouth. Somewhere in her mid thirties, Kat stood perhaps five foot seven, and beneath her hardhat they could see that she was a redhead this week, a color that suited her fair complexion, as well as her somewhat volatile temper.

At her side was a Hispanic male, Luiz Vizcarrondo, short and stocky and Kat’s leading powertech, he, too, wearing a hardhat.

Also at hand was the chief powertech of Coburn Industries, Al Hawkins, a tall, gaunt man in his fifties. He was hardhatted as well.

Inside the cab the alpha team could just make out two figures, presumably Mike Phelan, a Coburn powertech, and Carleen Alsberg, the driver of Kat’s rig. Mike and Carleen had been a twosome ever since the disastrous events of six months ago.

As Timothy made a U-turn and pulled alongside the lead van, the medtechs and comptechs and powertechs piled out of the vans and the semi, and joined the others at the alpha team’s vehicle to hear how in the world they would break into the Coburn Industries facility.

It took a small demonstration on the part of the Black Foxes to show them that it could really be done, at the end of which most stood with their mouths agape at what they had just seen. All but Henry Stein and John Greyson, the former who looked about for the technical equipment that seemed to manipulate shadows and suppress sound and cast holo illusions, the latter who grinned at Henry and said, "There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy."

“Oh, don’t quote that hack to me, John,” snapped Stein, frustrated at not seeing how the deception was accomplished. “This is merely a trick of some sort.”

Greyson’s smile vanished and he said in all seriousness, “Ah, Henry, no thimblerig this, my lad, but a genuine thing . . . just as are souls.”

“Bah!” snarled Stein. “You and your souls. I’ll discover the truth behind this chicanery. You’ll see.”

“Give me a knife,” growled Caine to Hiroko, “and I’ll stab the bastard, and then maybe, just maybe, I’ll heal him . . . or not.”

“Henry,” said Toni, “it doesn’t matter whether you think this was done by technical means or if by psi, ESP, or magic, or something else altogether. The point is, we can get into the facility, and the alpha team can once more enter Avery’s virtual world.”

“It’s stupid to have anyone risk such a thing,” said Stein. “But to regain Avery, well, what matter a few lives one way or the other? A trivial price to pay.”

Caine balled a fist and started to step forward, but Hiroko placed her hand on his forearm and stopped him in midstride. “We need a medical doctor,” she whispered, “and Stein is it.”

Caine made a sound deep in his throat, but stepped back.

“All right,” said Timothy, “does everyone know what they are to do?”

Each looked at the others, and finally Kat Lawrence said, “Carleen, fire up the rig. Let’s get this show on the road.”

The night was glum, overcast, wholly moonless and starless, and the drizzle of winter rain continued. Three vans in a convoy hissed down Tanque Verde Road, followed in the distance by a huge cluster of shadow.

Soon, in the lead van, Timothy and the rest of the alpha team turned onto a side road. The others followed, including the trailing massive knot of gloom. Ahead in the rain-blurred darkness, stood the main gate inset in a fence made of heavy iron bars. A guard shack sat to one side. Just as planned, the three vans pulled into the small waiting area on the left, and a figure, holding an umbrella, stepped from the lead van and walked to the shack.

“Mister Perry,” said the guard on duty, “what brings you out on a night like this?”

Reading the guard’s Blackledge nametag, the figure said, “I’ve brought the crew that’s to shut down and restart Avery, Jim.”

“I didn’t think you were going to do that till Tuesday, Mr. Perry.”

“Well, they were available now, and nothing like striking while the iron is hot. Besides, to have them sit idle over the holiday weekend, well, you know how it is.”

The guard grinned and said, “Even so, Mr. Perry, they’ll get holiday pay, like me.”

“Yeah, but they would have gotten that whether or not they worked.”

The guard laughed and stepped into the shack and threw a switch. Slowly the gate ground open, and just as it reached the full extent, a massive blast of wind staggered both men, as a cluster of shadow, unseen behind an illusory wall of nighttime winter rain and unheard beneath quelled sound, silently roared through the gap.

“Wow, Mr. Perry,” said the guard, “where did that come from?”

“It’s this silly Tucson weather; you never know what it’s going to bring.”

“I’ll call ahead,” said the guard. “How many badges will you need?”

“Let me see— Twenty or so ought to do.”

“Just to shut down Avery?”

“Don’t forget, we need to restart the AI as well. It’s a complicated procedure for a complicated machine. Not at all like rebooting your basic holocomp.”

“If you say so, Mr. Perry. Now if I were you, I’d get out of this cold rain, before you catch your death.”

The Blackledge guard watched as Mr. Perry walked back to his van, and then all three vehicles drove through the gate and up the slope beyond. The guard then picked up the phone. “Harve, get off your butt. That asshole Perry is bringing up twenty folks to shutdown and restart Avery. . . . That’s right, twenty. . . . How the hell should I know? He says it’s a complicated procedure.”

The road upward was virtually invisible in the darkness veiled by rain, yet Timothy and the others, on a familiar route, easily followed the quarter-mile-long arc of blacktop to the building looming above. The ten storey high steel and glass structure was difficult to make out in the drizzle and the night, but here and there lights glimmered from within.

The three vans drew up under a portico before a lighted entryway. Waiting off to one side of the entry, Kat, Luiz, and Carleen stood, along with Hiroko and Meredith, the rig parked around back.

As the others piled out from the vans, “One more hurdle,” said Timothy, and then Mark Perry led them all inside.

8

Courthouse

(Adkins)

“Redirect, your honor,” said Mark Perry.

Judge Marshall nodded.

“Miss Adkins, you and your fellow conspirators—”

“Objection.”

“Sustained. Rephrase the question, counselor.”

Mark Perry sighed. “Miss Adkins, you as well as several previously ejected members of the corporation, along with the alpha team, surreptitiously entered the—”

“Objection, your honor. The term ‘surreptitiously’ is pejorative.”

“Sustained. Counselor, choose your words carefully.”

“I thought I was, your honor,” said Mark, in all innocence. Then he turned back to Toni. “You entered the grounds of the facility on that night last February, right?”

“Objection. Too vague, your honor.”

“Sustained. Which night, counselor?””

Mark Perry, not a trial lawyer but a corporate lawyer instead, sighed again. “On the Friday before the Presidents’ Day holiday.”

Toni looked at the judge, and he said, “You may answer, Miss Adkins.”

“Yes,” said Toni.

Mark Perry nodded and said, “Yes, meaning you entered the grounds and the facility?”

“Yes,” said Toni, even as Melissa said, “Asked and answered, your honor. Opposing counsel is badgering the witness.”

“Take care, Mr. Perry,” said Judge Marshall.

“Yes, your honor,” said Mark. He looked at Toni and asked, “And how did you do so? Enter the grounds, I mean.”

“We drove up to the gate in several vans and went in when the guard passed us through.”

“Is it not true that one of your members disguised himself as me in order to deceive the guard and gain entry?”

Toni frowned in puzzlement and looked at Mark.

“Come, come, Miss Adkins,” said Perry. “In earlier testimony, both James Haddock, the Blackledge security guard at the gate, and Harvey Middleton, the Blackledge security guard at the sign-in desk testified that someone resembling me fooled them into allowing entry and badges.”

Melissa stood and said, “Is there a question there, your honor?”

Marshall looked at Perry. “Counselor?”

Perry ground his teeth in frustration and asked, “At the gate that night, Miss Adkins, what did you see?”

“Not much. It was raining, and I was sitting in the back of the second van.”

“But surely you saw someone get out and— Er, rather, are you saying that you didn’t see anyone approach the gate guard?”

“Only a dim figure in the rain,” said Toni.

“Well, what about when you signed in at the security desk?”

“I took up the pen and signed the ledger.”

“And you didn’t see someone disguised as me?”

“There were twenty of us, all milling about.”

“Who approached the desk first, Miss Adkins?”

“I believe it was Dr. Rendell, though, now that I think of it, he signed in last. There were a lot of us in the lobby at the time.”

Toni knew she was skating on thin ice, for the terms of the immunity agreement required her to tell the truth, and so far she had managed to do so by answering Mark’s questions in the strictest literal sense only. Yet she also had promised the alpha team that she would not reveal their abilities unless there was no other choice, and she intended to keep that promise.

“And you did not intend subterfuge?”

“Your honor,” protested Melissa.

“Withdrawn,” said Mark.

But Toni said, “Look at the entry log, Mr. Perry. Had we intended subterfuge, would we have signed in with our real names? The ledger will show that we used no aliases.”

“But you had been ejected just the day before,” said Mark.

“Is that a question?” asked Toni.

“Your honor,” protested Melissa.

“Counselor,” admonished the judge.

Mark said, “After having been ejected, just how did you get in?”

“We simply drove up to the gate, and a moment later to the facility, and we signed in.”

“And how did that semi with the Astro two-fifty get in?”

“I imagine someone drove it through the gate,” said Toni. “How else?”

“Yet the guard testified that he neither heard nor saw it. How do you explain that, Miss Adkins?”

“Your honor,” protested Melissa. “Isn’t this beyond the scope of this witness? She is neither a semi driver nor an expert on Peterbilt trucks nor on Astro two-fifties. And she certainly cannot get into the head of the guard on the gate. Perhaps the guard nodded off, or had a mental lapse of some sort. All we know is that three members of KatPower signed in with the others that Friday evening.”

The judge looked at Mark Perry. “Counselor?”

“Withdrawn.” Mark stood for a moment, then asked, “Miss Adkins, after whoever it was that first approached the sign-in desk, did you see where he went?”

“As I said, Mr. Perry,” answered Toni, “there were twenty of us there all milling about.”

“And so you did not see where the imposter went?”

“Your honor,” objected Melissa, “there is no proof that a so-called imposter was present.”

“It is our contention, Judge Marshall,” said Mark, “that someone wearing a mask fooled the guards, and then removed the mask during the confusion of the sign-in, and—”

“Your honor,” said Melissa, “it has not been established that there was any confusion whatsoever, and—”

“Then how do you explain the disappearance of my look-alike?” said Perry.

“The existence of an imposter is preposterous, your honor,” said Melissa. “None of the people who signed in has any resemblance at all to Mr. Perry.”

“Timothy Rendell is about my height and weight, five ten, one sixty, one sixty-five,” said Mark, “and the witness did say that he approached the desk first.”

Uh-oh, thought Toni, Mark just might stumble into the truth.

“Your honor,” said Melissa, “Toni Adkins has testified that there were twenty people signing in, but she definitely remembers that Dr. Rendell was the last to do so. If he was at the end of the line—”

The judge rapped his gavel to quell the stir of sound among the spectators. “Counselors, enough. Mr. Perry, have you any physical evidence—discarded mask, makeup, wig, or anything else—to show that someone using a disguise impersonated you?”

“No, your honor.”

The judge nodded and said, “I have seen Dr. Rendell, and he has rust-colored hair and a ponytail down to his shoulder blades, whereas your hair is black and cut fashionably short. His eyes are blue, whereas yours are brown. His skin is freckled, whereas yours is clear. And although he could have been using a wig as well as contact lenses and could have applied makeup, still, it seems to me that the guards would have noticed something odd about him, and they made no mention of such a thing.”

“But the guards testified that someone resembling me led these interlopers in.”

Melissa said, “Your honor, I object to the word ‘interlopers,’ and we all know that eyewitness testimony is the most unreliable of all, those of the guards included, and—”

“Enough, Miss French,” said Judge Marshall. “You’ve made your point. Counselor Perry, given the lack of physical evidence, I find it unreasonable that Dr. Rendell could pass himself off as you. Besides, Miss Adkins has indeed testified that Dr. Rendell was at the end of the line, as the log book has shown. And in spite of her earlier conjecture that he was the first one to approach the desk, I believe it is reasonable to conclude that he came in last and not first. However, I will hold my own opinion in abeyance, and will reconsider if and when you bring me reasonable proof that someone did indeed impersonate you.”

One of the panel members raised his hand, and the judge frowned, but said, “Yes, Dr. Francini?”

“Your honor, were there not any holocams surveilling the front gate or the grounds or the building interior?”

Judge Marshall looked at Mark Perry. “Counselor?”

“Your honor, the signals from those holocams all feed into Avery, and because of the black hole he had fallen into, well, we have no records of the comings and goings of either the semi or the imposter.”

“Your honor,” objected Melissa.

“Sustained.” Judge Marshall glanced at the court reporter. “Marla, in the record, move to footnotes all references to look-alikes and imposters.” He then turned to the panel and said, “I would add, for purposes of this hearing, whether there was or was not an imposter is beside the point, for the central issue has to do with Arthur Coburn, and not the manner in which the facility was breached.”

As the court reporter scrolled upward to footnote the comments, the judge cocked an eyebrow toward Mark Perry. “Counselor?”

“I’m finished for the moment, judge, but I reserve the right to recall this witness.”

The judge looked across at Melissa and said, “Miss French, if you have any questions for this witness, they’ll have to wait until after lunch. —We’ll reconvene in two hours: one-thirty sharp.”

Judge Marshall stood and a bailiff called out, “All rise.”

9

Five Months Before the Hearing

(Black Foxes and Toni’s Team)

Led by Timothy Rendell, the alpha and corporate teams entered the foyer and stepped across a terrazzo floor to a wide mahogany desk manned by a uniformed, armed Blackledge guard. Behind and above, mounted on the wall, was a large metallic logo—a disk of beaten brass with an ornate C dead center, emblazoned in gold. Pinned to the guard’s chest was a temporary badge, bearing a miniature version of the logo, with Coburn Industries, Ltd., engraved around the rim. The guard’s nametag read “Harvey Middleton.”

“Hello, Mr. Perry,” said Harvey. “James said you were on your way. How many badges do you need?”

“As many as it takes to clip onto this crew,” said Timothy. “They’ll all need wrist combands as well.”

The guard surveyed the group and announced, “Your attention, please: though some of you might already know this, the retinal scanners and voice print units and the holopics are not functioning. The only thing we got is the entry-exit log. You’ll need to queue up and sign in. Print your name along with your signature, and note where you’ll be staying in Tucson.”

“Harvey,” said Timothy, “they’ll all be staying in the living quarters up on the seventh floor, and they’ll need access to all areas in the facility, including access to Avery himself. Just issue these people top-level temp badges, the green ones, and make sure all shifts of Blackledge guards honor them.”

“Right.” Harvey looked at the group. “Who’s first?”

The powertechs stepped forward, more or less abreast, shielding most of the others from the view of the guard, and Kat Lawrence took up the offered pen, while, as planned, the remaining members milled about, slowly forming a line. In the bustle, “Mr. Perry” stepped toward the back of the stir and became Timothy Rendell again.

Moments later Kat had a bright green plaston ID clipped to the pocket of her battered Levi jacket. As soon as all the powertechs had their IDs and combands, Al Hawkins headed for one of the elevators and hit the down button. He would stop at the basement parking level and open the outer doors. Meanwhile, Kat, Carleen, Luiz, and Mike went out the main entrance and cranked up the vans, and drove around the side of the building to fetch the Peterbilt with its Astro two-fifty. Then all vehicles would enter the garage. Unlike the last time, when the rig had remained outside and an H2 pipe had been coupled to the gen and cables run from it to power everything, this time Carleen would drive the rig onto the massive freight elevator in the garage, where they would lower the whole shebang down to the facility power station located the second sub-basement.

One after another the group signed in, and when Timothy Rendell registered last, Harvey Middleton looked up and said, “Is that everyone, Mr.—?” His voice jerked to a halt, and he looked left and right. Then he asked Timothy, “Where did Mr. Perry go?”

Timothy looked about and shrugged. “Maybe he’s gone on up, or something.”

The guard growled and said, “Well, if you see him, tell him he didn’t sign in.”

“Do you think he’s gone back to the city?” asked Timothy.

“Yeah, maybe. In which case he should have logged in and then out. But what the hell, he’s the boss.”

Timothy smiled and took his temp badge and comband and headed for the elevator, where the rest waited, holding the door for him, while behind Harvey Middleton made a note in the log and mumbled something about an “asshole lawyer.”

The alpha and corporate teams got off at the sixth floor and headed directly for the center of operations, there where the VR rigs were located—six in all. The room itself had been equipped to serve much like a mission control: spaced a short distance back from the rigs were consoles and holovids and various monitoring stations; at one end of the chamber and behind a glass wall there was even a raised viewing gallery with holovids of its own. Much of the equipment in the operations center had been replaced or repaired since the disastrous lightning strike six months ago.

As the alpha team and the two medtechs stepped to the dressing rooms—men in one, women in another—Alya Ramanni unlocked a cabinet and retrieved the necessary ID crystals, while Dr. Stein moved to the cradles to power up the individual stations, even as Toni and Drew turned on the main consoles.

In the women’s dressing room, Alice, Hiroko, and Meredith doffed their clothes. Then with the help of Grace Willoby, each was inserted—inserted is how Alice thought of it—inserted into the rig suits: Hiroko first, Meredith next, Alice last. Alice felt totally exposed, vulnerable, and slightly abused as the medtech fitted the waste disposal gear between her legs and adjusted it to conform. She was more at ease as Ms. Willoby checked the various built-in monitors—monitors for breathing and heart rate, skin conductivity, caloric rate, carbon dioxide production, and so forth. She noted again with mild trepidation that intravenous tubes and needles were positioned near her arms. The first time she had ever suited up, one of the medtechs explained that “. . . You know, Doctor Maxon, how sometimes, for example, a person will sweat when he dreams? Well, it’s not much different in virtual reality—there will be times when physical exertion or emotions in there will cause your real body out here to perspire or to otherwise use up your store of liquids. Among all the things he monitors, Avery keeps track of thirst as well as your electrolytic levels, and, when necessary, he replenishes your body with what it needs.”

But that was six months ago, and still it was rather like being wrapped in an odd medical device, one not for the prudish or squeamish or claustrophobic.

Even as she was being suited up, Alice remembered the time when she had first been introduced to this type of reality, when Toni said to all of them:

“Black Foxes, you are here to test a new kind of virtual reality—not the old kind where you don a special visor and special gloves and enter upon an electronic stage to merely play the part of a character—to role-play as if your character were the real you. Oh no. Instead, when you enter this virtual reality, you will truly forget who you are, you will forget your life as biologists and authors, as artists and doctors, as bookstore owners and corporate executives; you will actually become whatever character you’ve chosen to be in a virtual reality indistinguishable from the real world.”

And this suit was part of the gear needed to inject the player into that new virtual reality, but the neural helmet was the main device, for through it and with multiple pinpoint inductive stimulations to each individually mapped brain, Avery could suppress the players’ own identities and input whatever relevant knowledge their characters needed, such that they truly believed they were their VR personas. He could also injected into their consciousnesses the virtual environment—landscape, buildings, weather, oceans, rivers, forests, villages, and whatever else the adventure called for, as well as all of the virtual characters they would meet along the way. It was rather like lucid dreaming, but with Avery controlling the setting of the adventure. The Black Foxes, though, with their powers and abilities and their Avery-generated false histories and their past adventuring memories, had free will in the virtual reality, free will to cope with whoever and whatever Avery threw at them.

And the last time they had been in VR, it had nearly cost all of them their lives; and, in fact, after the lightning strike had damaged Avery, and when the comptechs had attempted to contact the AI, Avery had slain Arton in VR, while simultaneously murdering Arthur Coburn in reality. And just after that, during an attempt to disconnect the players from the damaged machine, Alice, being first, had nearly died in the real world, while the body of her VR persona, of Lyssa, had vanished, and she had become a ghost.

Would Lyssa be a ghost upon reentry in VR? Alice did not know.

“I suppose I’ll soon find out,” Alice said.

“What?” asked Hiroko.

“Oh, did I speak out loud?”

“You said you supposed you would find out,” said Meredith.

“About whether or not I will be a ghost upon reentry,” explained Alice.

Meanwhile in the men’s dressing room, at nearly the same time, Eric said, “I suppose we’ll find out.”

“Find out what?” asked Caine.

Now realizing that he had spoken aloud, Eric said, “If Lyssa will be a ghost.”

“Well, if she is,” said Caine, “we know how to keep her from fading away.”

“Yeah,” said Timothy, “though being partly drained by a ghost, well, it’s right spooky, you know.”

Soon all were suited up, and they stepped out and into the control room, where they were strapped into their individual witches’ cradles. The IVs were connected and various bundles of optical fiber were jacked into the rigs. Water tubes from the waste-disposal flushing system were connected to the suit as well.

Alya finished snapping the last of the ID crystals into its assigned neural VR helmet, and one by one each was slipped onto a given member’s head and adjusted to fit.

Before his helmet went on, Cain called out, “Remember, Toni, no fucking cephaloruptors. I’d rather not have my brains scrambled.”

“Bah!” exclaimed Stein, even as Greyson said, “Oh, no, no, no, no, no. I won’t let that happen.”

As Grace slipped the helmet onto Alice’s head, and as had happened each time she had done so six months back, Alice had a momentary surge of claustrophobia, which swiftly passed. . . .

Finally, Toni at a master console gazed at the board, then wrapped thumb and forefinger into an okay sign.

Members of the corporate team then took positions at the various specialized consoles, and Toni looked about and one by one asked, “All green?”

Each of them replied in turn, “Green. Green. Green. . . .” though Dr. Stein snapped, “Yes, yes. It seems at this level, the AIVR, though not communicating, is properly operating. Let’s get on with it.”

Greyson though, had not replied at all, and Toni said, “John, is your console green?”

“Are you certain you want to put six lives at risk?” he asked.

“It’s the only way to save Arthur,” she replied.

Stein snorted in derision. “Save Arthur? Bah! Reactivating Avery is the goal.”

But Toni ignored the doctor and again asked, “John?”

His voice quavering with trepidation, for he feared what might come, Greyson said, “G-green.”

Toni nodded and said, “Let’s hope Avery has enough sanity to follow the rules,” and then she pushed the master switch.

“Damn, damn, damn!” cursed Grace Willoby.

“What is it?” asked Toni, suppressing alarm.

“The brainwaves just went flat,” said Grace, “all but the autonomic, that is; so the brainstem is functioning, but the cognitive areas and memory and perception, and the like . . . all nonfunctioning.”

“Avery has done it again,” said Greyson, now nearly in tears. “He’s stolen their souls. He’s stolen their souls.”

And at Greyson’s holo, six sparkling spheroids seemed to float and glitter and flash. Under each was a name: Caine Easley, Eric Flannery, Hiroko Kikiro, Alice Maxon, Timothy Rendell, and Meredith Rodgers.

10

Courthouse

(Adkins)

Judge Marshall looked at Melissa French. “Counselor?”

Melissa stood and stepped to the witness stand and smiled at Toni. “So, Toni, five months ago, you and a small corporate crew and six members of the alpha team went to the facility and signed in?”

“We did.”

“Under your own names?”

“Correct.”

“Tell me, Toni, did you intend to defraud the putative heirs?”

“Objection, your honor,” said Mark Perry, springing to his feet. “To call Finster Coburn and Charlotte Dupree nee Coburn ‘putative’ is misleading. A probate court has already ruled that they are indeed the heirs.”

“Putative,” said Melissa in response, “for if—”

Judge Marshall held up a hand to stop the flow of words. “Sustained.” Then he looked at Melissa. “Given the nature of this hearing, even though the word ‘putative’ might be correct, let’s leave that for me to decide.”

Mark started to object, but Judge Marshall fixed him with a stare. “I said ‘sustained,’ counselor.” As Mark sat back down, the judge looked at Melissa and said, “Let’s move on.”

“Yes, your honor.”

Melissa turned again toward the witness box, and Toni could see that she was suppressing a grin at having gotten ‘putative’ into the record, even though the objection had been sustained. Small victories, perhaps, but every little bit—

“Did you intend to defraud”—Melissa paused and glanced at Mark, who leaned forward, ready to spring to his feet again—“Finster Coburn and Charlotte Dupree nee Coburn?”

“We did not.”

“Then, what was your intention?”

Toni looked up at the judge and said, “To save Arthur Coburn.”

Even as a gabble of voices swelled across the courtroom, Mark sprang to his feet, a piece of paper in hand, and called, “Objection, your honor. Arthur Coburn is deceased. I enter into evidence his death certificate.”

Even as Mark passed the document to Melissa, the judge banged his gavel and called, “Quiet. Quiet. Or I’ll clear this courtroom.” Quickly, silence fell.

Giving the certificate a scornful glance, Melissa snorted and said, “Prematurely signed,” and she gave it over to the bailiff, who passed it on to the clerk.

The Judge held out his hand for the document. He looked at it a moment and then handed it to a bailiff and said, “Mark it exhibit”—he peered at a small holoscreen—“H-seven.”

Marshall then looked at Toni and asked, “In spite of all evidence to the contrary, you truly believed that you were attempting to save Arthur Coburn’s life?”

“We did, your honor.”

Judge Marshall shook his head and sighed.

Toni’s heart fell. Uh-oh. That’s not a good sign.

Marshall looked at Melissa and said, “Continue, counselor.”

Melissa faced the panel of experts. “Let me ask you this, Toni: wasn’t that a dangerous thing to attempt?”

“It was.”

“Yet in spite of the danger, you went ahead?”

“We did.”

“Why?”

“Because we knew that Arthur Coburn’s mental pattern, his consciousness, or as Dr. Greyson believes, Arthur’s very soul was trapped somewhere inside of Avery.”

“Objection,” said Mark. “Not proven. It is merely Miss Adkins’ conjecture. Besides, there is no scientific evidence whatsoever that souls—”

“Your honor,” said Melissa, “we intend to show that this is more than conjecture, because—”

Judge Marshall again held out a hand to stop the flow of words. “Sustained.”

Melissa started to object, but Judge Marshall looked at her and repeated, “Sustained. Move on, counselor.”

Melissa turned to Toni. “Toni, please rephrase your answer. Why did you do this dangerous thing?”

“Because we believed that Arthur Maxon’s mental pattern, his consciousness—and perhaps his soul—was trapped somewhere inside of Avery.”

“And how did you intend to free this trapped mentality?”

Mark started to protest, but Judge Marshall said, “Overruled. I’ll let the witness answer this question, for I would like to hear it myself.”

He nodded at Toni and she said, “We weren’t certain whether or not we could free Arthur, but we thought that if we inserted the alpha team into Avery’s virtual reality, they might find a way to do so.”

“To free Arthur Coburn, himself?” asked Melissa.

Toni said, “Perhaps. If the Black Foxes could find Arton—Arthur’s virtual reality persona—and set him free, then perhaps we could find a way to reactivate Arthur’s full consciousness.”

“And what happened when the alpha team entered virtual reality?”

“Their brainwaves went flat, all but the autonomic. To all intents and purposes, their bodies were nothing more than living vegetables. Avery, you see, had sucked their minds into himself.”

Again the courtroom broke into a babble, even as Mark Perry protested, “Objection, your honor, there is no proof that—”

And outside the courthouse, shouts of concurrence and roars of dissent rose up from those who had been following the trial on their handhelds. Among the various religious groups there were cries of “Soul stealer!” and “Avery, spawn of Shaitan!” and “The beast is upon us!” while in opposition from the more scientifically-minded there came calls of “Superstitious idiots!” and “Listen to reason!” and “Neither God nor Satan has anything to do with this!” while among the college crowd from the U of A there were cries of “Upload now for a shot at immortality!” countered by “If you upload, who will you sleep with?” drawing the response “Anyone I want!” There were also cries of “Zealots for calm!” as well as “Up with the downtrodden and down with the uptrodden!”

Off to one side and standing in the shade of a tall palm tree, Frankie Roberts of News Holo-4 said into her mike, “There you have it, one of the central issues of this hearing: can Avery really suck living consciousnesses into himself as Dr. Toni Adkins claims, or does Avery somehow instead shut down their brains and simply mimic their minds within?”

(Coburn Facility)

11

Five Months Before the Hearing

(Coburn Facility)

As Kat Lawrence and Carleen Alsberg hooked up cables to the main distribution panel, Al Hawkins, Mike Phelan, and Luiz Vizcarrondo trundled a load of Flexon ten to the side of the flatbed.

“Ah, Flex,” said Kat. “Better than last time, when we had to jury-rig pipes.”

“Si, princesa,” said Luiz. “We almost di’n’ make it before. Not enough pipe the right size. This, though”—Luiz kissed his fingertips—“perfecto!”

Carleen glanced over. “Well, it looks like more than enough Flex to reach the H2 this time.”

Hawkins grinned. “Yeah, Carly, but that’s better than falling short.” Hawkins turned to Phelan. “Mike, fetch the couplings while Luiz and I prep the ends.”

As Mike strode toward the hardware room, Al glanced at the Astro and asked, “That baby grounded?”

“Six-strand double-ought bolted to the building frame,” said Carleen. “That good enough for you, Hawky?”

Both Al and Luiz chuckled, and Al said, “It’ll do.”

As Mike came back carrying couplers, Kat looked upward, as if trying to see all the way from the second sub-basement to the sixth floor above, and said, “I wonder how they’re doing up there.”

Even as Toni stepped toward Dr. Greyson’s console, she glanced at Grace Willoby and asked, “Flat? They’ve gone flat?”

“Yeah,” replied the medtech. “Just the brainstem functioning.”

His voice filled with stress, John Greyson again said, “He’s stolen their souls.”

And at Greyson’s holo, sparkling spheroids seemed to float and glitter and flash, small bursts of sparks stuttering within and across each one.

Toni glanced at the six names as the related spheroids slowly rotated. She sighed. “The alpha team.”

“Yes, yes,” said Greyson. “Trapped again in Avery.”

Dr. Stein stepped over. “Well, that’s settled.”

“What, Henry?” asked Toni. “What’s settled?”

“Arthur Coburn’s so-called trapped mentality is not among them. This was a ruse by the AI to shut down the minds of the alpha team.”

“Perhaps not,” said Billy Clay, the comptech swiftly inputting data into the keyboard at his fingers.

“Why not?” challenged Stein.

“Well,” said Billy, studying the holo before him, “as best as I can determine without actually being able to speak with Avery, I think the mentalities of the alpha team are in volatile memory.”

“And . . . ?” demanded Stein.

“And, doctor,” said Sheila Baxter, the other comptech, “it could be that Arthur’s mental pattern has been shifted to permanent memory, and we have no access to that.”

“Bah!” Stein looked at Toni. “Stolen souls: foolishness. Avery is merely showing us these ersatz patterns to dupe us.”

“Then how do you explain the fact that their brainwaves are flat?” asked Toni.

“We are only seeing what Avery wants us to see. Besides, even if Avery has somehow shut down the mentalities of these six fools, I tell you we can safely use the modified cephalorupter to restore them to full function.”

“No!” roared Greyson. “No! You can’t do that!” He pointed at the holo. “There are their souls, their very souls. If you restart their-their . . . their brains without their souls, they will be monsters. And I won’t let you loose six soulless creatures upon the world.”

“Bah!” scoffed Stein.

“Toni,” pled Greyson, gesturing toward the six in the witches’ cradles, “don’t let him use that-that thing on them.”

“Only as a last resort,” said Toni.

“No, no,” said Greyson. “Remember what Dr. Easely said just before the hemisynch helmet went on.”

Toni nodded, Caine’s words echoing in her mind: Remember, Toni, no fucking cephaloruptors.

“You’re right, John. You’re right.”

“You’re even bigger fools than they are,” said Stein. “You might as well practice voodoo instead of science.”

Heartened by Toni’s response, Greyson turned to Stein. “Henry, as I said once before, there are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”

“Oh, feh! Superstitious idiots, the lot of you.”

“Superstitious, you say? Well let me ask you this: you didn’t believe in the abilities of the alpha team, but look at what they did: control of shadows, of sound, of Timothy becoming Mark Perry. How do you explain that, if not as something beyond your vaunted intellect?”

Stein growled. “I don’t know how they did it, but they were tricks. Each of those effects was some kind of trick.”

“No trick,” said Toni. “They can really do those things. Not only Hiroko, Meredith, and Timothy, but Eric, Caine, and Alice, too.”

“Oh?” sneered Stein. “Those latter three claim to have powers, too?”

“Yes!” replied Toni. “Think back to when Eric drubbed that champion fencer at the U of A. Since the previous VR adventure, Eric has never been bested in any kind of contest using hand weapons—the épée, the saber, the rapier; darts, pistols, and the like. And Caine made a spectacular recovery from his insanity because he healed himself. Not only that, but he cut me and then healed me by taking the cut unto himself, which began to close even as I watched. And Alice, think back to that survey of animals on Velega Isle; she wrapped it up in five weeks instead of fifty-five. I mean, that island is rather large. And how did she do it? Well, I’ll tell you, Henry: she can sense the presence of animals; unerringly track them; call them, too . . . fetch them to her. She called a puma for me to see. I tell you this, Henry: the alpha team, the people of the alpha team . . . they somehow acquired the abilities in reality that their personas had in VR. It’s as if some hidden parts of their brains have been switched on . . . something that gives them special powers—ESP, psi, what have you. And if we can find out how Avery did it, think of the good that will do for mankind.”

Toni fell silent, and Henry snorted, yet deep within his eyes a shadow of doubt lurked.

“Speaking of personas in VR, there they are,” said Alvin Johnson. The medtech pointed at Avery’s theater-sized central holo—some eighty-foot in diameter—now flickering into life, and said, “It seems the adventure has begun.”

“Holy jeeze,” said Billy. “Would you look at that.”

Toni glanced up from Greyson’s console and gasped.

“What is it?” asked Sheila.

“My god,” said Toni. “Henry might be right.”

“What do you mean?” asked Greyson.

“The message from Arthur could be a ruse by Avery!” snapped Toni as she turned to the medtechs and Stein. “Bloody hell, we should have anticipated this; it’s a trick he’s used before. Quick, ready warm fluids for the IVs, and nutrients, too.”

Even as the medtechs rushed to do so, Stein strode to the cradles and called up the relevant displays. With a quick glance he said, “You’re right, Toni. Avery is using chill fluids and control of their internal thermostats to affect their met rates. He’s started a urinary dump and is pumping in cold fluid to replace the warm. Their temps are plummeting.” He yelled to the medtechs, “We’ll need glucose, and power therms and thymium and almium and . . .”

Even as Stein rattled off the names of the needed stimulants and medicines and various drips and the gear to warm the fluids, Greyson, burst into tears.

Sheila jumped to her feet and headed for the medtechs, calling over her shoulder, “Come on, Billy, we’ve got to help. If the Black Foxes don’t get out of there soon, they will be drained of all life.”

12

Itheria

(Black Foxes)

Shivering uncontrollably, Arik awoke to someone shrieking in unremitting horror. Floundering, he tried to rise, and fell once and again and yet again; he was entirely too weak to get any footing. And though neither Phemis nor Orbis were in the starlit night sky, all about him he saw faintly glowing wraiths crowding nigh. And then he knew why he was so weak: they were sucking his life force away. Ineffectually, he waved his sword at them, and they drew back, but only slightly, far enough to avoid the silver-flashed blade, but still they continued to drain him. Groaning, Arik managed to get to his hands and knees, and directly before him, he saw the rising curve of the Kalagar Gate, the portal between Itheria and the demonplane. And he knew he was atop a huge barrow mound, the crest of a broad, treeless, windswept hill, in the middle of the vast Kalagar Wood, for that was where the arch sat. And moaning as would a wailing wind, these clustering spirits were the tortured souls of those who had been sacrificed to power the portal—hundreds upon hundreds of them.

Arik managed to swing about, and he saw at the nearby foot of one leg of the arch lay Ky and Trendel and Rith, with Kane just beyond them, the big man’s terrorized eyes wide but seeing nothing as he screamed and screamed and screamed. And the ghastly wraiths, the tortured souls, were draining these companions too.

Even as Arik inched toward the others, Ky stirred. She raised her ebon-bladed main gauche, and the wraiths drew back from it, for this was a shadowsword, an edge even more deadly than one of silver.

But though the apparitions retreated beyond the dark blade’s reach, still they yet drained life.

“We’ve got to awaken the others,” croaked Arik, “and get away from this hill, away from these wraiths, else we are fordone.”

Ky rolled over to see Arik. “What?”

Arik managed to raise his voice and repeat his words above the moaning of the ghosts and Kane’s screams.

Ky struggled upward to her hands and knees and looked toward Rith, the bard lying at the supporting base of a leg of the arch.

Arik reached Kane, the healer yet screaming, as if caught in the grip of endless horror. Arik took Kane’s silver-flashed spear in hand and swung its long reach out and around, driving the wraiths even farther back, yet they continued to bleed away the energy of the living.

By this time Ky had crawled to Rith and shook her, the bard coming groggily to.

“We’ve got to get away,” called Ky, and she crawled the few feet to Trendel.

Of a sudden Kane’s voice went hoarse, but still he shrieked and shrieked, though now his screams became nought but loud hissings of air. At Kane’s side, again Arik tried to stand, but he could not. Still, he managed to drag the big man to the base of the arch, where the others clustered.

“Even though these wraiths are pinned to the gate, there is no way we can get off this mound and free of them before they completely drain us,” Arik gritted. “We’ve got to come up with some way to—”

“The focus,” rasped Rith, reaching out and touching the foot of the arch.

Set on a bed of rough black granite, the portal was made of a dusky stone and carved with arcane runes. It arced upward some seven paces, and its legs stood perhaps four paces apart at the base. And at the foundation each leg was square, nearly three feet to a side, but they tapered as they curved up to meet at the very peak, where the stone appeared to be but half as thick. And the arch looked to be all of a solid piece. Darker than dark, it seemed to suck at the light of the stars in the sky, devouring it, consuming it, as if to gorge it all down.

“When last we were here” said Rith, “I said that if the arch is their focus, then its destruction would break the bond that binds the wraiths to this plane.”

“Yes, but how can we destroy the—?”

“If I have enough strength,” said Rith, reaching out to the stone, “I will do it.”

As Arik extended the spear to somewhat press back the wailing apparitions, Rith, using the base as a support, managed to pull herself up to her feet, and she placed her hands on the dark stone and said an arcane word. Then she nodded to herself and said another word, and, braced against the rock, she began to sing a single high-pitched note—one barely on the edge of hearing—her bardic voice soft but growing.

For long moments nothing seemed to be happening, and still the wraiths drained away life. But then, imperceptibly at first but gradually escalating, the arch began to resonate in synchronicity with Rith’s nearly intangible note. And still Rith sang the single tone, her voice gaining in strength, the vibration in the stone growing in strength as well. Stronger and stronger came Rith’s crescendo, and more and more violently quivered the arch, especially at the top. The wraiths seemed to realize that something was happening, and they drew farther away, as if in fear, or perhaps as if in anticipation instead. Dark dust from the stone began to drift down from the narrowest part of the arch. And still Rith sang the single note, her voice gaining power, though the pitch remained the same. The entire portal now thrummed, and flakes of darkness whirled down. Sweat beaded on Rith’s brow, and ran into her eyes, yet she continued to—

Crack!

The very peak of the arch broke away, and a huge jagged slab crashed to the mound, and then the entire arch fragmented, massive sections thundering down.

And as ponderous stones fell, Arik and Trendel wrenched the silently screaming Kane to the square foot of the arch next to Rith, Ky huddling against the stone beside them.

And as the last great chunk crashed down to tumble to a stop along the slope of the mound, leaving but two jagged legs jutting up from maimed bases, with a great sigh amid ephemeral sounds of joy the wraiths vanished in glimmers, set free at last.

Rith turned to Trendel and smiled, and then fainted dead away.

13

Courthouse

(Adkins)

Judge Marshall gaveled for order. When it fell, he looked at Mark Perry and said, “Overruled.”

As Mark sat down, Marshall turned to Melissa. “Counselor?”

Melissa nodded and said to Toni.

“Sucked their minds in, you say?”

“Yes. Or to put it more precisely, Avery pulled their mentalities into himself, leaving only the autonomic functions behind to keep the bodies alive.”

“And just how did you determine this?”

“Given the disaster of the previous time the alpha team entered VR, it was after the lightning strike that Avery pulled their consciousness into himself, and we noticed on one of the consoles, the one that had access to Avery’s volatile memory, that we could see their mental patterns in the volatile memory hologram. And so this time we were ready in the event that happened again; we rigged one of the control room consoles to keep track of Avery’s temporary memory, at least the part he would show us.”

“Who manned that console?”

“Dr. Greyson.”

“And what did you observe in that holo?”

Toni turned to the panel and said, “A mental pattern, as Avery displays it, looks something like a silvery, glittering oblate spheroid. We observed six of them, and under each was the name of an associated member of the alpha team.”

“You mean, Caine Easely, Alice Maxon, Eric Flannery, Timothy Rendell, Hiroko Kikiro, and Meredith Rodgers?”

“Yes.”

“You said their patterns were ‘glittering’?”

“Yes. Small flashes stuttering across the spheroid. We believe it to be a representation of thoughts, of senses.”

“So, it was rather like looking at living brains?”

“No. Instead like looking at working minds.

“Ah, I see. And tell me what would have happened if Avery had been powered down at that time?”

Toni now looked at Mark Perry, her gaze hard as flint. “We believe with the loss of volatile memory, their mentalities would have been destroyed.”

Mark flushed and looked down at his hands.

“Anything else?” asked Melissa.

Toni nodded and said, “As you saw by his outburst in this courtroom this morning, Dr. Greyson believes that it would also destroy their souls.”

“Yes,” said Melissa, turning and sweeping a wide gesture across the panel and the spectators, “as we all saw and heard. According to Dr. Greyson, souls would have been destroyed.”

“And, Toni,” said Melissa, “if you had followed the presumed heirs’ instructions to wipe out part or all of Avery’s memory, what would that have meant?”

“Since Arthur Coburn’s mind had been drawn into Avery right after the lightning strike, to wipe out that part would have destroyed Arthur’s mentality; in other words, we would have murdered him.”

Melissa paused to let that thought sink in and then said, “Tell me, Toni, what happened when Avery began the new VR adventure?”

“First he took all their mentalities into himself, and then in our reality he started to shut down the metabolisms of the alpha team, and in VR he started this adventure in the last place he had left them in the previous adventure, just before they were released, and that put the Black Foxes in terrible peril by beginning to drain their lives away.” Toni’s eyes brimmed with tears. “We did the best we could to stop him from shutting down the bodies, but it was a losing battle. If it hadn’t been for quick thinking by Meredith Rodgers, or rather on Rith’s part, Meredith’s VR persona, they all would have died.”

“The Black Foxes as well as the alpha team?”

Toni wiped her cheeks with her fingers. “Yes,” she replied. “Avery would have killed them all.”

“And in your expert opinion and in your own words, tell me, Toni, why do you think this is true?”

Toni took a deep breath and said, “Recall, lightning damaged Avery last year during the previous Black Fox adventure. Just what it destroyed, we cannot determine, for Avery is too complex for us to tell at a glance. And since our ability to diagnose Avery was severely compromised, we can only speculate at this time.”

“And what have you concluded?”

“From his behavior, we suspect that the lightning strike destroyed what little development of empathy he had built up through his previous learning period.”

“His previous learning period?”

“Yes. You see, Avery is only a bit over three years old, and as such is rather like a three- or four-year-old child. Much like a child of that age, and given the damage to him, he has little empathy for others, and only thinks of gratifying his own desires.”

“And, as a doctor of psychology, what conclusion do you draw from this?”

“Like any three- or four-year-old without any empathy, I believe the personality we call Avery is a sociopath.”

The courtroom burst into a babble, and Marshall banged for order.

In the pass-through corridor, Frankie Roberts looked at her cameraman and said, “Oh, god, Steve, this is too good to pass up. Quick, let’s get it on the holofeed.”

They rushed outside, where a monsoon rain had just begun to fall. The protestors, who had been following the hearing on their handhelds, were wildly ranting over this latest from the courtroom.

Frankie and Steve took position just outside the passage underneath the roiling dark skies of the brewing monsoon storm, and Steve hoisted the holocam to his eye and said, “Let ’er rip, doll.”

With a sincere look on her face, Frankie gazed directly into the holocam and said, “Well, there you have it, parents. In Dr. Adkins expert opinion, like any three- or four-year-old child, Avery is a sociopath.”

In that moment the sky above split wide with lightning, and a clap of thunder slammed down, and the storm began to rage.

14

Five Months Before the Hearing

(Coburn Facility)

“O Brahman, O Vishnu, do not let Shiva do this to them,” wailed Alya, even as she aided Stein and the others in their attempt to restore the alpha team’s stats. “Instead, grant mercy, Brahman Creator, Vishnu Protector of Worlds.”

“Foolish woman,” snarled Stein, even as he injected Meredith Rodgers with the stimulant thymium.

“Okay, power up the therms,” called Alvin, and Grace punched in a code.

Frantically they worked to keep the alpha team’s temperatures from falling, but it was a losing battle, for not only did Avery control the team’s hypothalamuses—their internal thermostats—he also continued to cause all of them to pee in a steady stream, the urine flushed away by the suits’ waste systems, and he replaced their fluids with cold liquid. Too, he had kicked on the suits’ cooling systems. And despite the stimulants and the warm IV drips, still the temps plummeted.

But then, “Look! Look!” cried Billy, pointing at the main holo, where Meredith’s alter Rith stood and placed her hands against the arch and began to sing a steady, high-pitched note.

“What the bloody hell?” asked Toni.

“She’s trying to bring down the gate,” said Sheila.

“How?”

“Sonics,” said Sheila, the comptech handing another vial to Stein. “Rith is a bard. She has mastery of sound. If she can—”

Crack! The arch fragmented, and monstrous jagged stones crashed to the hilltop and tumbled down the slopes.

“Look,” said Billy. “The ghosts are vanishing. Lordy, she broke the arch and saved the Foxes.”

“The readings have steadied,” called Grace.

“How clever,” said Toni. “Nicely done, Rith. —Oh, wait, she’s fallen. Henry?”

“She’s merely fainted,” said Henry.

“Breaking the arch, it must have been a strain,” said Alvin.

“O Vishnu, O Brahman, I thank you for staying Shiva’s hand,” said Alya. She looked at Stein and her dark East Indian features broke into a placid smile.

“Bah!” said Stein.

“Henry, need we do anything else?” asked Toni.

Stein looked at the readouts. “No. Avery has stopped the urine dumps and the cold fluids and has activated the suits’ heaters, all but Alice’s. He’s now flowing warmth back into the others, though at a slow rate. We can continue to use the therms to aid their recovery, but only for a few minutes at most, else we’ll disturb Avery’s calculations.”

“How did you know their temps would be falling,” Sheila asked Toni.

“The Black Foxes were in among a field of ghosts, who drain life force from anyone they are near,” said Toni. “Avery accomplishes the effect by cooling the body, hence he would be depleting them of heat, and this time it would be drastic, for there were hundreds of wraiths. Had we not stopped it, or had the Foxes not found a way to stop it in their reality, it would have been the same as if their bodies had died of exposure.”

“He would have murdered them,” gritted Greyson, still sitting at his console, his cheeks wet with shed tears, though he was no longer weeping. “Turned them all to ghosts. Then he would have had them in his own cursed virtual reality to torture them as he would.”

Somberly, Toni nodded and said, “Oh, John, what a loss it would have been; these people are special, regardless of the fact that they have remarkable powers.”

Stein scoffed and said, “If they have these so-called powers, how did they get them?”

“That, I don’t know, Henry, but as I said before, it seems Avery somehow managed to activate unknown parts of their brains, giving them these incredible talents. And if we can reactivate Avery, make him sane, then he might be able to do such things for others.”

“I’ve always wanted to fly,” said Grace, without looking away from the readouts on her console. “Do you think Avery could make it so?”

Stein snorted, but otherwise said nothing.

Toni shrugged and said, “Who knows? When it comes to bestowing special powers, we don’t have a glimmer as to how it was done, and it could be that neither does Avery. Given the lightning strike, he could have been barmy when he did it; but then again, perhaps not. It might be he gave them these abilities before the damage; but then again, maybe after. For those of us who experienced his virtual realities in our own one-on-one tests with him—back before the Black Fox group trial—I suppose it’s possible that whatever abilities he gave us in our individual VRs, he took away when he returned us to the real world. Conceivably the alpha team retained their powers in the real world because the Black Foxes were ejected from VR by defeating the Black God. —Bloody hell, I just don’t know, and we’ll not know until we reactivate Avery, and perhaps not even then.”

Stein walked down the row of witches’ cradles and checked the individual readouts. “All right,” he said, “power down the therms, all but Alice Maxon’s.”

Grace keyed in a code, and the warming of five of the six IVs stopped, and Alvin said, “Just like in the first trial, keeping Alice warm isn’t easy, her alter, Lyssa, being a ghost and all.”

At these words, Toni whipped about and stared at the main holo. Then she stepped to Greyson’s console and said, “Speaking of Lyssa, where is she?”

Greyson frowned and gazed into his holo. “There’s her soul,” he said, pointing at the glittering, silvery spheroid with the name Alice Maxon scribed below.

“Her body, though very chill, is quite alive . . . and stable,” said Grace, reading the outputs on her console.

“Yes,” said Toni, again looking at the main holo, the one showing the Black Foxes mid the ruins of the Kalagar Gate, “but where is Lyssa?”

15

Itheria

(Black Foxes)

Arik looked about and said but a single word: “Lyssa?”

“Oh, Arda,” croaked Ky, the syldari Shadowmaster’s dark, tilted eyes filling with tears, “she fell into the abyss beneath the DemonQueen’s throne when Trendel bested the Dark God.” Ky weakly gestured at the scatter of rubble. “And now that the black arch is destroyed, have we doomed her to be trapped on the demonplane?”

Cradling Rith’s head and shoulders in his lap, the bard yet unconscious, Trendel said, “I will shape a finding, once I recover from this-this draining.”

“Think you that you will locate her?” asked Arik.

Trendel pointed downslope. “Given the arch, that must be the Kalagar Wood. If so, we are back in Itheria. Since the Dark God cast us out of the demonworld, mayhap he expelled Lyssa as well.”

“If so, then where is she?” asked Arik, even as Ky placed an ear to Kane’s chest and listened to the big man’s heartbeat.

Kane had stopped screaming and seemed to be in a coma.

“As I said,” replied Trendel, “I will shape a finding. Then we will know.” He looked at Ky. “Is Kane all right?”

“I-I think so,” replied the Shadowmaster, her voice thready. “We have seen him this way before.”

“You mean screaming?”

“No, no. I mean in a deep state of unconsciousness, when his heart is beating very slow, with each pulse very strong. He does this when he is healing a major hurt.” Tears formed in Ky’s eyes. “The Dark God did something dreadful to him. Just what, I cannot say.”

“Look,” said Arik, “now that the immediate danger is gone, and we are too exhausted, too drained to do much of ought, I say we remain right here till morn or later, a time when we will have recovered enough to make our way down. In the meanwhile, with Kane unconscious, we have to bind our own wounds, those we took in battle in Atraxia’s throne room.”

“We’ll have to wait for Kane to awaken before going down,” said Ky. “I will not leave him here unattended.”

Arik nodded, even as he shed his leather jacket and began tearing the silken undershirt into strips for bandages. “I agree about not leaving him here or unattended, but we need water and something to eat, and our horses and all our supplies are gone, lost to us on the demonplane. If need be, we’ll haul Kane down to the woods and find a stream and make camp there till he recovers. Once we’ve set up, I’ll take one of Rith’s daggers and—”

“Take one of my what?” asked Rith, the bard now conscious again.

“A dagger on the morrow to fetch us something to eat,” said Arik. “And to do that we need to hunt, and a dagger is a better missile than a sword.”

“Uh-uh,” said Rith, not moving from Trendel’s lap. “If anyone is to be throwing my daggers at anything, I’ll do it, though I am missing two from the battle. —Besides, why not let Lyssa simply call a coney or two or six?”

“Lyssa’s not with us,” said Ky.

“Where—?” Rith struggled to a sitting position. “Oh, gods, she fell into the darkness ’neath the throne.”

“I’ll do a finding, love,” said Trendel, “but tomorrow, for I haven’t the energy now.”

Arik shared out the strips of cloth and then tended a cut high on Ky’s arm, one where a skelga or perhaps a drakka had managed to get past her defense as they had fought the DemonQueen’s minions. “I repeat: tonight we need to rest. As soon as you’re patched up, I’ll take first watch, for I am not bleeding.”

“How did you manage that?” asked Trendel, even as he bound a wound on Rith.

“Arik almost never gets even a scratch,” said Rith, wincing a bit at Trendel’s ministrations.

“Fortune favors him, eh?”

“It seems so,” said Ky, the worst single one of her wounds now taken care of. She looked at Arik. “I’ll deal with the rest of mine after we fix up Trendle’s cuts; the poor besotted fool will bleed to death caring for Rith if we don’t do something quickly.”

And so, amid the ruins of the Kalagar Gate atop the high barrow mound, Black Foxes bandaged one another and then slept, all but Arik, who sat in a state of quiet meditation, resting and recovering, but alert should danger draw nigh.

The light of the wheeling stars above was soon augmented by that of ponderous Orbis, large and half full and slowly rising in the east. Time passed, but before that moon had crawled more than a quarter way into the sky, small and swift Phemis broke the eastern horizon, to hurtle upward by comparison to her leisurely brother and overtake him and then race on ahead.

16

Courthouse

(Adkins)

As if in surprise, Melissa’s eyebrows raised. “Toni, do you truly believe that all three- and four-year-olds are sociopaths?”

Toni smiled. “Not really, but at times they do display sociopathic behavior.”

“In what way?”

“Your honor,” objected Mark Perry, “do we have to listen to a discourse in pathological symptoms?”

Judge Marshall said, “Make it short, Ms. French.”

“Yes, your honor.” Melissa turned to Toni. “Briefly, tell us what you mean by sociopathic behavior, and then relate that to Avery.”

Toni paused a moment, as if gathering her thoughts. “More accurately, a sociopath is someone with an ‘antisocial personality disorder,’ but for brevity, we’ll simply use the older terminology. —As to your question, there are so very many things that make up that kind of person . . . but to cut it to the quick—a sociopath is someone who is affected with a personality disorder marked by aggressive, antisocial behavior. Only that person’s own desires are meaningful to him, and the feelings and desires of others have no relevance whatsoever, except insofar as they help the sociopath achieve his own ends.” Toni smiled. “So you can see why I said that three- and four-year-olds evidence sociopathic behavior.”

Several on the panel and among the courtroom audience chuckled and nodded, and even Judge Marshall flickered a brief smile.

Toni then took a deep breath and continued: “As to Avery, after the lightning strike during the first Black Fox VR experiment, it seemed as if he were ignoring his basic programming and was out to “win” the game, no matter the intended or even the unintended consequences—such as murdering Arthur Coburn, and transforming Alice Maxon’s VR persona into that of a ghost, while at the same time nearly killing her as well. —Now, granted, we had a hand in it, in that we attempted to contact Avery, and that’s when he killed Arthur; and we also started to remove Alice from her rig, and that’s when he transformed Lyssa into a ghost while at the same time nearly killing Alice’s body. You see, we didn’t know then that with a person’s consciousness taken into Avery’s volatile memory, that removing the hemisynch helm from the body could be fatal.

“Regardless, Avery also broke some of his VR rules to achieve victory, to win the VR game, and in that as well as his previous acts he was ignoring the needs of others and seeking to gratify his own desires. Hence, he was displaying sociopathic behavior.”

“You say he broke some of his VR rules?” asked Melissa. “Please explain.”

“Well, to put into human terms, in the traditional sense a game master is supposed to play fair, even tip the chances in the player’s favor, or if not, then at least to craft neutral odds. Additionally, the game master should always make sure the players have acceptable options. Moreover, the game master shouldn’t spring any instant death traps—such as have an asteroid fall upon them, or hurl them into the sun, and so forth. In a virtual reality adventure the rules are the same: the players should always have acceptable options to overcome the challenges presented by Avery, and it’s up to Avery, as the game master, to make certain that—”

“Your honor,” protested Mark Perry, “do we have to listen to how a game should be played? We are here to determine the facts, and not to engage in idle speculation on hypothetical ways game masters should behave.”

Judge Marshall nodded. “I believe we’ve heard enough about fair gaming.”

As if he were on a roll, Mark continued, saying, “And, your honor, I also object to telling the long story of just what happened in VR. That’s not what this hearing is about. Instead it’s about whether or not the heirs have complete control of the AI slash VR zero one, and whether they can simply power it down and then back up. It is after all their most valuable asset.”

“No, your honor, that’s not what this hearing is about,” countered Melissa. “It instead concerns sentience and whether or not Arthur Coburn is dead. And to prove our contention, we must present the entire story to you, for it is evidence to weigh in making such a vital decision. —If Arthur is alive, then shutting Avery down just might kill him.”

“Oh, poppycock, your honor,” said Mark Perry. “Any sane person cannot—”

“Watch your language, counselor,” admonished Judge Marshall. He turned to Melissa and said, “You are right, Ms. French. This is a vital decision I must make, and though I have read the account of the previous Black Fox experiment, to make my decision I need to hear the entire tale from those who were there, not only of that first test, but of the second one as well. —You may proceed.”

Melissa smiled and turned to Toni. “Without going into a further detailing of ‘gaming,’ per se, I note that you opened your explanation about running a virtual reality adventure by saying, ‘To put it in human terms.’ It is my assumption that Avery is not human; is that correct?”

Toni frowned and said, “It all depends on how you define ‘human.’”

“Your honor,” said Mark Perry in exasperation, “everyone knows what a human is. Must we endure this twaddle as to what makes a person?”

Judge Marshall frowned and turned to Toni and asked, “Must we have a definition?”

Again, it was all Toni could do to keep herself from pumping a fist in victory. “In this hearing, your honor, we not only must do so, but it is vital to your decision.”

17

Five Months Before the Hearing

(Coburn Facility)

“Lyssa is not there,” said Toni, pointing at the main holo, where the Foxes rested atop the great barrow mound, all asleep but Arik, who sat in a lotus position, seemingly meditating.

“He’s broken another stricture,” said Greyson.

“What?” asked Toni.

“He’s broken another stricture. —Avery, I mean.”

“How so?” demanded Stein.

“He’s overruled free choice by arbitrarily dividing the group,” said Greyson.

Toni frowned. “Perhaps not, John. Recall, when last we saw the Foxes in the previous adventure, Lyssa had fallen upon the dais. Trendel spoke the words of power and demanded that the Dark God release the Black Foxes and return them to where they belong.”

“Ah, yes,” said Grace Willoby, turning to Alvin Johnson, the other medtech. “That’s when he restored their mental patterns to their bodies.”

“I remember,” said Alvin, nodding. “And we got them out of their rigs as fast as we could.”

“What does that have to do with the situation now?” asked Greyson.

“Just this,” said Toni. “Avery obeyed the command: he returned the Black Foxes to where they do belong . . . back to Itheria. And given that he has done so, it seems to me that Avery is simply continuing the previous adventure.”

“But Lyssa is not with them,” said Alya Ramanni, her dark eyes filled with concern.

“Recall, on the demonplane she fell into the abyss beneath the DemonQueen’s throne,” said Drew Meyer.

“Still,” said Toni, “Avery had to obey Trendel, hence he had to return her to Itheria.”

“Then where is she?” asked Alya, waving at the barrow mound in the main holo.

“I don’t know,” said Toni. “But I think she must be somewhere on Itheria.”

“Even so, that doesn’t alter the fact that Avery broke some of his basic rules,” said Greyson.

“Are you so certain of that, John?” challenged Stein.

“Yes, Henry, I am.”

“Bah,” scoffed Stein. “Avery did not break any of his rules. The Black Foxes won. Avery lost.”

“I beg to differ, Henry,” said Toni. “Avery did not ‘lose.’”

“What do you mean?”

“Avery’s purpose was and is to provide an exciting adventure. Winning and losing is not part of running a game; it’s to let the adventurers have fun.”

Greyson shook his head. “No, no, Toni. Killing Arthur was not ‘fun,’ and nearly killing Alice was not ‘fun’ either.”

Toni frowned. “But that’s only because we interfered, and the lightning strike—”

“Toni,” interrupted Greyson, “you are right in that the lightning strike damaged him, but I think that his programs, especially his ethical programs, were harmed. After all, I was the one who gave him his ethics in the first place. No, Toni, after that damage, he killed Arthur out of malice because we were trying to contact him, which, in Avery’s immaturity, he interpreted as us trying to interfere with his winning the game. And he tried to kill Alice under the same rationale. In that case, Henry is right, but for the wrong reasons. The Black Foxes did win, and Avery did lose. But it was only because of Trendel. If he hadn’t succeeded, the Dark God was going to kill them all.”

Stein gave a frustrated moan. “Was he, John? Was he really?”

“His intentions were obvious.”

“I think not,” said Stein. “After all, surely Avery realized that Timothy Rendell knew the key words that would force the Dark God to release them.”

“You mean Trendel,” said Drew Meyer.

“What?”

“You said Timothy Rendell knew the words, but in AI it was Trendel who knew them.”

“Feh! An insignificant difference.”

Drew snorted. “You know better than that, Henry. —Oh wait, in your own VR adventure, you were yourself . . . unable to yield up any part of your identity or to take on a new persona in the spirit of the event, if I recall.”

“So?”

“So, you don’t know what it means to entirely be someone else in a VR adventure. Hence, Timothy Rendell might have been himself when we first put the hemisynch helmet on him, but a moment afterward, he was Timothy no more, but Trendel instead.”

“Bah! Rendell or Trendel, he knew the superuser passwords,” said Stein. “And Avery would have known he knew.”

Drew frowned and said, “Perhaps Avery did realize that Trendel might know the passwords. I mean, Avery is smart, and why else would we have injected Trendel into an adventure meant just for the Black Foxes? Perhaps he deduced that Timothy would be drugged so that he wouldn’t fall completely into hemisych; recall, however, Avery flushed that drug out from Timothy’s body.”

“And he sucked in Timothy’s soul,” declared Greyson.

“You and your stupid souls,” sneered Stein.

Drew ran a hand across his balding head. “Souls or not, Henry, Avery did take their mentalities into himself, just as he has done this time.”

“I do not agree that he has actually taken the patterns into himself,” said Stein. “We only see what Avery wishes us to see. But, if he has indeed appropriated their mentalities, as John said during their first adventure, it’s to give these fools an even better interface with their virtual reality.”

“I did not call them fools,” objected Greyson. “Still, I believe Avery is breaking the rules, just as he did so in the past.”

“In what way?”

“He didn’t give the Black Foxes any options on the demonplane: the DemonQueen held them in her thrall, making them powerless, therefore they had no choices, no options.”

“They did indeed have options,” said Stein. “Lyssa was not among those bewitched, and she attacked the DemonQueen, thus breaking her bondage over the others, and they defeated her and her minions.”

“But we then saw that the Dark God was going to destroy them.”

“He had not gotten around to actually doing so,” countered Stein. “Perhaps he would have stayed his hand. In fact, given something Toni said—that Avery is simply continuing the previous adventure—surely Avery would not allow the Dark God to slay them, for the Black Foxes are yet in the same game, which means Avery had planned on them defeating both the DemonQueen and the Dark God.”

Greyson threw up a hand in protest. “Henry, you might have excuses for Avery, but he is a spoiled three-year-old without any ethics, any morals, and merely wants to win, and he’ll do anything to make it happen.”

“Not so,” snarled Stein. “He’s still bound by the rules, no matter what you might think.”

“Well answer me this,” demanded Greyson. “If Avery is playing by the rules, why isn’t he communicating with us?”

“Because he’s damaged, you irrational fool!” shouted Stein.

“Enough!” snapped Toni. “Being at loggerheads among ourselves gets us nowhere. Instead, let us concentrate on seeing whatever we might be able to do to aid the Black Foxes to find Arthur Coburn.”

“I’m afraid,” said Drew, “with their mental patterns now captured within Avery, there’s little we can—”

“Ah, look,” interrupted Alya. “Avery is ‘running the clock.’”

On the main theatrical holo, Phemis and Orbis both sped through the sky, the small moon quickly vanishing, while the greater one fled after. The stars themselves swiftly wheeled across the night and dawn began to appear, as Avery, running the adventure, accelerated time as he always did when nothing of interest would occur.

Moments later, time returned to normal, and in the morning light on Itheria the Black Foxes started down from the ruins of the Kalagar Gate, Arik and Trendel aiding Kane to walk, supporting the big man and urging him forward, though Kane himself seemed wholly unaware as he shuffled downslope between them.

“Dr. Stein,” said Grace Willoby, looking at her medtech console, “Alice Maxon’s temp has drifted down.”

“What?” Stein stepped to the console and then to Alice’s rig to confirm the reading. Alvin stood by with a tray of stims in hypos.

“It must have happened when Avery ran the clock,” said Grace.

Greyson moaned and said, “It means that on Itheria Lyssa’s ghostly energy is waning. Avery is going to kill her.”

18

Itheria

(Black Foxes)

“All right, Rith, see if you can bring down some game with those daggers of yours,” said Arik. “Me, I’ll start a fire.”

“Wait, Rith,” said Ky. “I have an idea. We’ll eat fowl, can we find any.”

“Birds?”

“Yes,” replied the syldari Shadowmaster. She glanced at Kane; he sat with his back to a tree, his eyes closed, the big man unresponsive to ought around him. “Trendel. Will you watch over him?”

“I’d do anything for something to eat,” replied the seer.

Rith laughed, and touched one of the daggers in the bandoliers crisscrossing her chest. “If Ky will find the fowl, I never miss.”

“Even on the wing?”

A look of doubt flickered across Rith’s dark features. “Well . . .”

“They won’t be on the wing,” said Ky, grinning.

Rith raised her eyebrows. “Oh, no? What do you have in mind?”

“I’ll tell you as we go,” said Ky, and she and the Bard ambled into the surrounding forest, and the last thing Trendel heard was Ky asking Rith if she had ever heard a wood grouse drumming for mates, and Rith saying “Aha!” and then laughing in response.

“I love that woman,” said Trendel.

Arik looked up from the small string-bow he was fashioning to start a fire.

“Rith, I mean,” added Trendel. “She is my heart.”

Arik nodded and sighed. “As Lyssa is mine.”

“When would you like me to do the casting?” asked Trendel.

Arik glanced at Kane, and then in the direction that Ky and Rith had gone. “Were it strictly up to me, immediately. But I think we can do nought until Kane awakens.”

Trendel said, “It all depends on how close Lyssa is, Arik. I mean, if she is somewhere nearby, perhaps we can go to her even before Kane wakens.”

Arik nodded. “All right. Then after Rith and Ky return.”

“And perhaps after we eat?” asked Trendel.

Arik laughed. “Yes, after we eat, assuming they are successful, and—”

There came a short spate of a drumming sound from the direction Ky and Rith had gone in the Kalagar Wood.

“What th—?” asked Trendel.

“I think it’s the sound a wood grouse makes with its wings to call a mate,” said Arik, now looking streamside for a flat rock.

“How in the world did they find one so fast?”

“I think instead it’s Rith doing the call. She is a master of sound.”

“Ah, I see,” said Trendel. “How crafty.”

“I believe the credit goes to Ky for thinking of it, and to Rith for its execution.”

“Clever people, these syldari,” said Trendel.

Arik smiled and then looked at the tiny bow and said, “See if you can find some dead branches. Try to find a particularly straight one a foot long or so and no bigger ’round than an arrow. Oh, and I’ll need some twigs and dead grass, too.”

As Trendel stepped away from the campsite, Arik brushed off a space on the ground for the camp fire. Then he stepped to the creek and picked up a flat rock and examined it, then found another to his liking, and brought both back to the cleared spot. From the creek he collected modest-sized rounded rocks and placed them in a ring to contain the fire. He put the largest flat rock in the middle of the ring.

Moments later, Trendel returned with woody branches and dried twigs and a bit of sere moss.

More drumming sounded off in the forest.

Trendel handed Arik a straight branch from among those he had brought back, and Arik wrapped the string of the small improvised bow about it to make his spinning-stick. He placed some of the dead moss as tinder on the central flat rock, and then set one end of the spinning stick into the moss and braced the other end with the small flat rock and began sawing the bow back and forth. After a while, a wisp of smoke curled up from among the moss, and Arik leaned down and softly blew. The tinder began to smolder, and moments later, a tiny flame appeared. Arik fed it twigs and then a few larger branches, and shortly the campfire was ablaze.

“We’d better fashion a spit,” said Trendel, and he took Arik’s sword and stepped again into the woods and hewed off two forked branches.

Now the drumming sound came from several directions, the territorial instincts of competing wood grouse coming to the fore.

Just before the sun reached the zenith, Ky and Rith returned to camp, Ky bearing a string of seven of the mottled brown birds.

Rith gutted and plucked the fowl, and Trendel spitted them and set the birds to cook above the fire.

“How did you do it?” he asked Rith.

“Well, I called them,” said Rith, “and then Ky cast darkness over them, and they went to sleep. Then I, um, harvested the poor drowsy creatures.”

“That hardly seems sporting,” said Trendel, grinning, even as he turned the spit.

“In Foxes versus game birds, hunger trumps fair play every time,” said Ky, and then she broke into laughter.

Eventually, the birds were ready to eat. “Leave two for Kane,” said Ky. “He’ll be ravenous when he awakens.”

“Let’s hope it’s soon,” said Rith, tearing off a wing. “There’s Lyssa to find.”

“I’m going to do a casting,” said Trendel around a mouthful, “right after we eat.”

“We can’t leave Kane,” said Ky.

“We won’t. But if Lyssa is near, Arik and I will go looking.”

Rith frowned and wiped the heel of a hand across the grease running down her chin. “That might be very dangerous. Remember how drained she was after her battle with Atraxia. And if any of us get too close, she could sap us completely of life.”

“If Lyssa is near, it would be better if all of us go,” said Trendel between chews. That way, there’s more of us to, um, replenish her.”

Rith nodded and said, “I’ll join you. Ky should remain behind to tend her heart’s desire.”

Ky glanced over at Kane and said, “Come on, you big galoot. Wake up.”

“Here. I’ll wave a drumstick under his nose,” said Trendel, reaching out. “Perhaps that’ll waken him.”

Kane made no response whatsoever, but remained in a comalike state, breathing slowly, his pulse strong, as if he had taken on a major wound.

Trendel sighed and resumed eating.

“He’s not yet healed enough,” said Ky. “And the problem is, with whatever it was the Dark God did to him, well, it might be a long while.”

They washed their faces and hands in the stream, and then Arik looked at Trendel in expectation. “Ready?”

Trendel nodded and frowned in concentration and said a word. “Hmm . . .” he murmured, puzzlement on his face.

“What is it?” asked Rith.

He pointed leftward, westerly. “Lyssa is that way some three hundred fifty paces”—then pointed northerly—“and that way an unknown distance.”

What? asked Rith and Arik and Ky together.

“I get two readings. —And before you ask, by Luba’s teats, I have no idea whatsoever it might mean. And as for the second of those readings, this is the first time ever that I got a response where I didn’t know exactly how far away something could be.”

Ky stared at the ground, her brow furrowed. “Two Lyssas?” Then her eyes flew wide in startlement, and she looked up at Arik. “Her spirit and her body?”

Arik cocked an eyebrow at Trendel, who said, “Perhaps. Let me narrow the spell.”

Once again Trendel concentrated and then spoke a word. He grinned and looked at Ky. “Again I say, clever people these syldari.” Then he pointed. “Her spirit is three hundred fifty paces to the west.”

All gazes turned that way.

There sat the barrow mound.

19

Courthouse

(Adkins)

Frowning as if pondering, Judge Marshall looked at Toni without really seeing her. Finally, he focused on her and said, “You are right, Ms. Adkins. The definition of a human is indeed vital to my decision. —Please proceed.”

Exasperated at the direction the hearing was taking, Finster Coburn looked at his cousin, Charlotte, and then turned to Mark Perry and said, “Do something, Mark. Do something.”

Mark got to his feet. “Your honor—”

Without even looking at Mark, Judge Marshall made a gesture of dismissal, and Mark sat back down.

“That’s not fair!” blurted Charlotte, her voice tight with ire.

Now the judge turned and stared at Mark. “Control your clients, counselor.”

Mark sighed and whispered something to Finster and Charlotte, and, though clearly upset, they settled back in their seats.

Marshall then turned again to Toni. “Please proceed, Ms. Adkins.”

“Well, your honor, the definition of a human is not quite as straightforward as some would believe or desire. Yet let me approach it from this angle.” She looked at Finster Coburn. “Let us say that Mr. Coburn is a human.”

“What?” snapped Finster. “Of course I’m a human.”

“How ridiculous,” declared Charlotte.

“Ridiculous that he’s a human?” asked Toni.

The courtroom burst into laughter.

Even Judge Marshall smiled as he gaveled the chamber to silence and then once again admonished Mark to control his clients.

“Perhaps I put it badly,” said Toni, looking at the panel of experts. “Of course, Mr. Coburn is human; on that I think we can all agree”—she swung her gaze to Charlotte and smiled—“though perhaps some might not.”

Charlotte started to speak, but Mark shushed her with a simple palm-out gesture.

“In any case,” said Toni, “those who disagree would be wrong.” Then she went on:

“But what if Mr. Coburn lost an arm? Would he still be human? Again, I say, yes, he would still be a human.”

Some on the panel of experts smiled to themselves and leaned back in their chairs, their fingers interlaced and resting on their ample stomachs, for they deduced where Toni was leading them.

“How about if Mr. Coburn lost both arms and both legs? Still human? I say, indeed.

“How about if Mr. Coburn were kept alive on machines, but without a stomach or heart or liver or—?”

“Your honor,” said Mark Perry. “It is obvious where we are headed.”

“Even so,” said Judge Marshall, “she may continue.”

Mark sighed and looked at his clients and shrugged.

“And what if Mr. Coburn, being kept alive by machines, lost everything but his brain, or in extremis let us say he lost that, too, but his thoughts were yet alive and evolving? Indeed let us say that Mr. Coburn has lost everything but his mentality. I claim that he is still a person, is still a human.”

Outside the court house, Frankie Roberts stood under an umbrella as heavy rain pelted down. And when the red light on Steve’s holocam lit, she looked into the cam and gravely asked, “When Toni Adkins says ‘Mr. Coburn,’ is she speaking of Finster or of Arthur Coburn instead? And if it is Arthur Coburn she refers to, then do you think he’s still alive? Still a person? Still a human being? These questions will be argued in the days, the weeks, the years and perhaps even the centuries to come. In fact they might never be settled.

“This is Frankie Roberts, News Holo-4, at the Pima County Courthouse in Tucson, Arizona.”

20

Itheria

(Black Foxes)

“All right,” said Arik, hefting his sword, “let’s go.”

“Wait,” said Ky, drawing the shadowblade from her scabbard. She held it out to Rith. “You don’t know what you might come across, and perhaps will need this.”

“I have my silver daggers,” said Rith.

Ky smiled. “You might need to throw them all away.”

Trendel frowned. “Throw them all— Oh, ah, I see. When she runs out of daggers to throw—”

“—I have my silver-flashed long-knife,” said Rith, patting the hilt of the weapon strapped to her thigh.

“But silver isn’t proof against all things,” said Ky, “whereas my shadowblade seems to be. So, Rith, trade me.” The syldari glanced at Arik, and then looked back at Rith. “Besides, you might need to keep Lyssa at bay, and this blade is even more effective at discouraging ghosts than silver will ever be.”

Arik sighed and peered at the ground and nodded a reluctant agreement, and Rith unstrapped her long-knife and exchanged it for Ky’s blade and scabbard, which she belted to her waist.

“Ready?” asked Arik.

Ready, replied Rith and Trendel together.

As they set off for the barrow mound, Rith said, “We have a problem, you know: finding Lyssa will be difficult; she is not visible in daylight.”

“I will cast a seeing,” said Trendel, stepping across the small stream after Arik.

“Speaking of seer’s spells,” said Arik, “if Ky is right about your two readings being Lyssa’s body and soul, after we’ve found her spirit, we’ll need you to do another casting, this time for her body.”

“Actually,” said Trendel, “she was a ghost the first time I saw her, and that’s all I’ve ever known her to be. I’ve never really seen her in the flesh. —I say, perhaps that’s why I only got one distance reading.” Then he frowned. “No, wait. Even though I’ve not seen any number of things in reality, merely a good depiction on a tapestry or painting, or even a well-worded description, is enough to tell me how far away a thing is. You’ll have to portray her to me: hair color, eyes, other such things. Then I’ll try again.”

On they strode toward the barrow mound, Arik remembering the first time he had seen it:

In the last candlemarks before dawn they came through the groaning, clutching Kalagar Wood to the base of a broad treeless hill. Like a huge barrow mound it was, high and rounded and windswept. And in between clouds, by the light of waxing Orbis, they could see on the crest a broad archway, seemingly made of dark stone.

Onto the slopes they rode, yet as they started upward a wailing filled the air, as pale wraiths rose up from out of the ground and started downslope toward them.

Kane drew his spear from its saddle sling and then looked at Rith. “There, methinks, are your wind wolves, bard, howling unto the sky.”

Lyssa, in the fore, glided upslope and stood to bar the way, her light bright, theirs but a pale reflection. And she held up her arms and opened her mouth and called out to the ghostly throng, but the only thing the Foxes heard was an eerie lamentation, like the weeping of an abandoned spirit. Some wraiths paused and called to Lyssa, others turned back, but many came onward still.

“Take weapons, Foxes,” barked Arik, drawing his silvered sword. Trendel set his shield to arm, and hefted his argent war axe. Rith pulled two silver daggers from her bandoliers, and Ky took her dark main gauche in hand.

And their weapons gleamed argent in the light of the twin moons shining through rifts in the clouds, all but Ky’s which reflected deadly black.

And seeing this silvered and ebon display, wraiths fell back and aside, retreating from this shining glimmer.

Even Lyssa drew apart.

Trendel looked at Ky and said, “Now we know what will kill a ghost,” then he tossed her his silver dagger.

But she tossed it right back, saying, “I need no silver to protect me, seer. My blade is more than enough.”

Once again Lyssa spoke to the wraiths—the weeping of ghostly wind the only sound she made—and the phantasmal throng retreated before her hollow wail. Back upslope they drifted, some more slowly than others, until at last they were gone, sinking back into the ground.

As Lyssa turned and came downslope, Arik and the others resheathed blades and reslung axe and spear. And the Foxes could see that Lyssa was weeping.

“What is it, my love?” asked Arik.

And Lyssa, whose earthly voice had been lost to her, gestured and signed in the Black Fox code, <Oh, Arik, we must find a way to release these trapped souls, a way to set them free.>

“Set them free?”

<They were sacrificed to build the portal, slain to give it power.>

Arik glanced upslope. Then he turned to Rith. “If we destroy the arch, will it release them?”

Rith shook her head. “I don’t know, Arik. Perhaps. Ghosts are often bound to a place or a thing. If the arch is their focus, then, yes, I would believe that its destruction would break the bond which binds them to this plane.”

Arik looked grimly at the black arch and said to Lyssa, “When we finish our mission in the demonworld, we will see what we can do to set these spirits free.”

Arik gazed up at the ruins of the Kalagar Gate and murmured, “And set them free we did.”

“What?” asked Rith.

“I was just remembering the first time we saw this mound,” said Arik. “Then we swore to find a way to set free the spirits of those who were sacrificed to power the gate. And you did, Rith. You did.”

“When we were trapped yestereve on the mound, and the wraiths were draining us,” said Rith, “that’s when I remembered we had speculated that if the arch were destroyed, they might be released. And so I did what I thought might shatter the portal.”

Trendel beamed a smile at her and said, “Thank all the gods you remembered, my love, else now we’d be among the wraiths.”

“Oh, wait,” said Rith, her eyes flying wide in alarm. “Did the destruction of the gate also— No, hold on. She wasn’t one of those sacrificed to power the gate. Besides, you said Lyssa’s spirit was still here. —She is still at the mound, right?”

Trendel nodded. “Unless my second spell somehow also failed, yes, she is still at the barrow.”

They reached the foot of the hill, the mound itself some three hundred feet through, some thousand feet around at the base. Arik turned to Trendel. “Where?”

The seer closed his eyes and spoke a word and then said, “There, fifty paces away.”

He was pointing straight into the mound.

“Are you certain?” asked Arik.

“I’m aiming directly at her,” said Trendel, frowning.

“Why would she be inside the hill?” asked Rith.

“Because,” gritted Arik, “that’s where the Dark God put her when he expelled us from the demonplane.”

“It must not be a solid hill,” said Trendel. “At least, let us hope not.”

“We know that Lyssa can move through walls,” said Rith, “but if it’s solid, we can’t reach her.”

“Have you a way to find an entry?” asked Arik.

“Assuming there is one,” said Trendel, “then yes, though it could be anyplace on the mound, and that’s a lot of ground to go over.”

“How about you, Rith?” asked Arik. “Have you any way of finding how we might enter—a door, a passage, or ought else?”

Rith pondered a moment and then said, “Perhaps I can narrow the search somewhat by looking for hollow spaces.”

“How will you do that?” asked Trendel.

“Like this,” said Rith, and she drew Ky’s shadowsword and stabbed it into the base of the mound.

“Won’t that dull the cutting edge?” Trendel asked Arik.

Arik shook his head. “Not that blade.”

Rith gripped the hilt and emitted a deep-throated sound, one that seemed to travel down her arm and into the ebon sword. After a moment she said, “I get a faint echo.”

“Meaning . . . ?” asked Trendel.

“Somewhere farther ’round exists a hollow space.”

They tramped a quarter way about the base, to the eastern face, and Rith repeated the spell. “Weaker,” she said. “I think we need go directly opposite.”

They circled to the western face of the mound, and again Rith cast the sound spell. Almost immediately she said, “There,” and she pointed slightly up and to the right.

Trendel spoke a word and looked, and then spoke another word. Suddenly, in a large boulder embedded in the mound almost at the foot of the slope, a door blinked in and then out, and once again the stone stood unbroken.

“I but momentarily dispelled the illusion,” said Trendel, moving toward where the door stood. “It’s strong. But now that we know where it is, if I place my hand on it, I think can hold the illusion at bay, at least for a while. Were I a true illusionist, instead of knowing a few simple spells, well then I could make it vanish permanently.”

Trendel then placed a hand on the rock. “This is a good one, for it feels just like stone.” Then he said a word, and this time the door appeared and did not vanish.

Metal it was, studs and rivets and bands crisscrossing. Dark it was, a brownish gold. Tall and wide it was, mayhap nine feet by four. And in the center was scribed a rune. “It seems to be made of high-grade bronze,” said Trendel without removing his hand from the door.

Arik and Rith both stepped forward to examine it.

“No handle for opening, nor keyhole for unlocking, assuming it is locked,” said Arik. “I haven’t the foggiest idea how to get it open.”

“Where is Arton when you need him?” said Rith, and suddenly her eyes brimmed with tears. She wiped the heels of her hands across her eyes, and said, “He could get into anything.”

“What is that rune, Trendel?”

The seer spoke a word, and then said, “It is what powers the illusion.”

Arik sighed. “I was hoping that it would tell us how to get in.”

“Perhaps there’s a lever or pressure stone to open it,” said Trendel. “But it could be virtually anywhere on the mound, and not necessarily be nearby.”

“Still,” said Arik. “Come on, Rith. Let’s see if we can find something that will open it.”

Arik and Rith spent long moments pushing and prodding and pulling at stones and peering into crevices and stomping on flats and—

“Then again,” said Trendel, “it could open by word alone.”

Rith stepped back to the door, and she placed a hand next to Trendel’s and spoke a word. The door hummed under Rith’s spell. She frowned and changed the tone, then changed it again, and she brushed her fingers over the panel. Finally she said, “It opens from the inside, but how to get in, that’s the problem.”

Arik said, “We need Ky.”

Trendel smiled and said, “Ky is the key?”

“She can get inside,” said Arik.

“It will be risky,” said Rith. “Are you certain you would have her do it?”

“Can you gauge the space just inside?”

“I think so.”

“Then do it.”

Again, Rith placed her hand on the door, and this time she started her spell at a different tone and then ran up and down through a range of individual notes. As before, the door itself faintly vibrated in response. “By the muffled echoes returning, I think there’s at least a short but straight-running corridor lying just beyond. More than that, I cannot say.”

“I’ll get Ky,” said Arik.

“What about Kane?” asked Trendel.

Arik frowned and said, “We could at least bring him to the door.”

“What if there’s something bad inside?” asked Rith. “He would be helpless should it get out and go after him.”

Arik nodded and paused in thought. Finally, he said, “Look, Trendel is needed here to dispel the illusion, at least until Ky opens the door. If there’s something bad inside, then I am the best one to take it on, since I seldom get wounded. That leaves you, Rith.”

“Dretch!” spat Rith. “I knew it might come to this. All right, Arik, I’ll get Ky to come here, while I watch over Kane. Damn him for angering the Dark God in the first place, else we wouldn’t be in this fix.”

“It was only by Kane enraging the Dark God that I got a look at the rune in the gemstone,” said Trendel, “and if that hadn’t happened, then we’d all be deaders.”

Rith threw up her hands and exasperatedly said, “Do you have to find a bright side in everything?”

“Well, yes,” said Trendel, grinning.

“Oh, give me a kiss,” said Rith, unable to resist Trendel’s smile, “and I’ll get Ky.”

“Be sure and give her back her sword,” said Arik. “Where she’s going she’ll need it.”

“Yes, yes,” said Rith, trudging away, “that goes without saying.”

Though it seemed much longer to Arik and Trendel, shortly thereafter, bearing a burning brand and wearing her darksword harnessed across her back, Ky came trotting ’round the curve of the barrow.

“Good thing she brought light,” said Trendel.

Arik nodded. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of it. I mean, after all, we’re counting on it being dark in there.”

Ky handed Arik the brand, then looked at the door Trendel leaned one-handed against. “Rith says there’s a short corridor just within.”

Trendel nodded.

“And you are certain that Lyssa is inside there somewhere?”

“Fifty paces straight in,” said Trendel.

“It might not be dark in there, you know,” said the diminutive Shadowmaster.

“But if it is . . .” said Arik.

“I’ll give it a try,” said Ky.

Ky looked about in the afternoon light, and long shadows streamed toward the mound from the nearby arc of trees of the Kalagar Wood. She picked a shadow lying out from the foot of a large oak, and then paced from the base of the tree to the door. Twice she did this, and finally she stood with her back to the bole of the oak. She gauged the slight upward angle between tree and door. Then she stepped out from the shadow and slipped her shield onto her left arm and drew her ebon-bladed sword.

“Let us hope there are no skelga or drakka or other demons lying in wait along the in-between,” she said.

“Mayhap with the destruction of the demonworld,” said Arik, “they are not there.”

Ky shook her head. “If that world is truly gone, then they might have all taken refuge in the in-between.”

“Oh, Ky, I would not have you—” Arik started to say, but in that same moment Ky said a word and stepped into the shadow of the oak and vanished.

“Dretch!” shouted Arik, “I might have sent her to her death.”

In that same moment, with a clank and a squeal, the bronze door began to swing open, with Trendel moving backward as it did—

—and out stepped Ky.

“Good thing it was dark in there,” said the Shadowmaster, gesturing at the black stone corridor down which the westering sun now winged light aslant.

Arik glanced at her ebon sword blade. No dark ichor dripped from it—hence no demons had been lying in wait along the path Ky had shadow-traveled.

Trendel swung his shield ’round from his back and slipped it onto his left arm, and took his war axe in hand.

Arik did the same with his own shield, and he transferred the torch to his left hand as well, and drew his silver-flashed sword.

And armed and armored, the trio stepped into the sunlit passage, though dimness grew deeper within.

The stone of the passage itself—ceiling, walls, floor—was jet black.

“This is like the stone of the Kalagar Gate, the arch,” said Ky. She looked overhead and added, “Perhaps it goes all the way up, and is one with the arch itself.”

She looked back toward the door, framed by sunlight, the day seeping inward. But the farther they trod, the darker it became, as if the black stone were sucking the light away.

Some ten paces inside, the corridor ended, and they came into a large cavern.

“Ugh,” said Ky, the Shadowmaster needing no light to see, for she was a master of darkness, and shade was like pale daylight to her.

“What is it?” asked Trendel, just as Arik raised the torch the better to illuminate the interior.

“Oh, my,” said Trendel, his gaze sweeping out and ’round.

In the depths of the mound lay pile upon pile of the remains of those who had been sacrificed to power the gate. Now they were nought but skeletons and desiccated corpses—men, women, children, infants—some stacked like cordwood in places, others heaped in mounds elsewhere, and yet others strewn about. Some were without heads, others with crushed skulls, some with their remaining leathery flesh showing gaping wounds in throats, and still others with rib cages broken open, as if someone had torn out their beating hearts. Most wore rent clothing, as if sacrificed as they were. Also scattered among the remains lay heaps of discarded equipment—bows, arrows, knives, swords, garments, armor, bedrolls, backpacks, and the like. It was if demons had snatched up random wayfarers and brought them to this dreadful place and immediately slaughtered them. A sprinkle of coinage lay here and there, and some of the dead wore jewelry, which, along with the equipment, was of little worth to demonkind.

“’Ware,” warned Arik, gripping his sword. “We know not whether these dead can do us harm.”

Trendel said a word, and peered at the remains. “Their souls are gone; there’s nothing to animate them.”

“I didn’t think the undead had souls,” said Ky. “Spirits, perhaps, but not souls.”

“Many undead do not,” said Trendel.

Ky frowned. “Wait; if it takes souls to animate undead, then how—”

“If they are animated,” said Trendel, “it’s due to the power of the Dark God, or the power of one of his acolytes, such as Horax or Atraxia.”

“Demon power, as well?”

“In some cases.”

“Which way lies Lyssa?” asked Arik.

“Yon,” said Trendel. “Thirty paces.”

“I take it that would be the center of the barrow,” said Arik.

“It is,” replied Trendel.

“Hold it,” said Ky.

Both Arik and Trendel came to ready, and Arik hissed, “Where away the danger?”

“Not danger,” said Ky, stepping in among the corpses lying in the shadows. “I have to pick up something.”

A moment later she stepped back out from the remains, a bandolier of daggers looped across her chest. “For Rith,” said the syldari. “To replace the two daggers she lost.”

“We didn’t come here to pick bones,” said Arik.

“I know, so let’s move on,” said Ky.

“Even so,” said Trendel, “we can replace some of the gear we lost.”

“After we get Lyssa,” gritted Arik, striding on ahead, “then we can rob the dead.”

Ahead in the dimness they saw a faint glow.

Arik raised his torch. “Oh, Arda,” he said. “Lyssa.”

She lay on a raised altar—a massive, rectangular block of stone, all of a piece with the floor—dark runes scribed ’round the base. Lyssa’s ghostly light was faint, and the wispy tendrils that normally streamed out from her were all but extinguished. Some twenty feet in diameter, a dull black ring scribed in the shiny jet stone circled the altar itself.

“Stand nigh,” said Arik. “She needs life essence.”

“Wait till I decipher these runes,” said Trendel, but Arik stepped forward heedless and into the circle, and, as if poleaxed, he collapsed at the foot of the block, the torch falling to the stone beside him, his sword clanging down from his hand.

Ky started forward, but Trendel shouted, “Wait!”

Ky stopped, and Trendel said a seer’s word. “Ah, now I can see.”

He said another seer’s word. And, staying outside the circle, he slowly walked around the altar, reading the runes.

“Trendel, hurry!” called Ky. “Lyssa is growing brighter. She is sucking the life essence from Arik. If you don’t act soon, he’ll be dead.”

Ky hefted her black shadowblade as if readying herself to throw it much the same as a spear. A strike from it would be fatal to a ghost; surely it would kill Lyssa. “Don’t make me choose, oh, gods, don’t make me choose.”

“I have it!” shouted Trendel. He shed his shield and dropped his war axe. “Go unarmed it said, all but the sacrificial obsidian blades.”

Weaponless, Trendel stepped to the altar and dragged Arik clear. Then he kicked the torch out from the circle as well as Arik’s sword.

Then Trendel stood near Lyssa for a while, and her light grew brighter still, and her ghostly tendrils began to glow.

Moments later he stepped away, and Ky disarmed herself and stepped near. Within but heartbeats, Lyssa stirred and opened her ghostly eyes and turned her head to see Ky. A keening wail like wind at the eaves sighed from her mouth. <Stay away! Stay away ere I kill you,> she signaled in Back Fox sign language.

Even though in the past he had cast a seer’s spell to master this particular form of communication, Trendle was yet amazed at how much could be said via gestures—some large, some small, some seemingly insignificant—the Black Foxes brought into play to denote whole-concept ideas or phrases, as well as how rapidly positioned fingers could be used to spell out words that were not in the standard repertoire.

“I think she’s has enough life force for now,” said Trendel.

Ky stepped out of the circle.

Lyssa sat up and saw Arik unconscious on the floor. <Oh, my Arik. What happened to my Arik?>

“He passed out, but I think he’s all right,” said Trendel, feeling Arik’s pulse. “His heart is strong.”

Lyssa then signed, <Go. I will follow.>

“It is yet day outside, Lyssa,” said Ky, backing away, even as Trendel dragged Arik farther off from the altar.

<Then I will wait till nightfall.>

Ky and Trendel retrieved their weapons, slipping Arik’s into his scabbard.

Ky patted Arik’s face. “Wake up, Arik. We have no need for two unconscious lummoxes in this band.

Arik moaned and moments later opened his eyes. “Wha—? Lyssa!”

“She’s awake and well fed, Arik,” said Trendel.

Arik struggled to sit up, and after a false start and with some help from Trendel, he managed to get to his feet. He turned and looked at Lyssa, now sitting on the altar and waiting. And down within Arik’s eyes dwelled a deep sadness, a grief for all he and Lyssa had lost—they could not embrace or even touch, and he loved her still.

<I love you, Arik,> she signed, profound grief in her eyes as well.

“And I love you, Lyssa,” he replied, then he turned and took up his shield.

“She nearly sucked you dry,” said Ky, keeping her voice low. “Not that she meant to, but she was unconscious at the time, just as were you. But we got you out of the circle.”

“Arik, the next time I tell you to wait,” said Trendel, “it’s best that you listen.”

“I know,” said Arik. “I barged in like a bull, like Kane would have. Next time I won’t be so, um, hasty.”

“Even if it’s Lyssa?” asked Ky.

“Well . . .”

“I know, I know,” said Ky. “Were it Kane instead, I also would have leapt without looking.”

“Blind love,” said Trendel.

“Ha!” barked Ky. “You and Rith.”

Trendel smiled. “Well, there is that.”

With Ky carrying the torch, they started for the exit, and Arik cast a glance over his shoulder and turned and started back.

“What is it?” asked Ky, turning as well. Then she said, “Oh,” for Lyssa was frantically signaling.

“She can’t cross the black circle,” said Arik.

They walked back toward the altar, and Lyssa gestured for them to keep their distance.

“Have you tried sinking through the floor?” asked Ky.

<Yes. There is something in the stone preventing it.>

Ky looked up. The same jet black stone arched overhead.

<I tried up as well,> signaled Lyssa, now floating above the altar.

“And the dark circle?” asked Trendel.

<I can’t cross it.>

“Wait a moment,” said Ky. “The other spirits came up from the ground. How did they get out if Lyssa cannot?”

“Rith said it,” replied Arik. “Those other wraiths were sacrificed here; Lyssa was not.”

Ky frowned and said, “Then Lyssa is trapped by stone and a dark circle.”

“We’ll have to break the ring,” said Trendel. He took his war axe in hand and slammed it to the stone where the circle lay.

Nothing happened.

Arik tried his silver-flashed sword.

Still nothing.

Ky scratched the point of the ebon blade of her shadowsword across the ring.

The circle remained unbroken.

“Stand back,” said Ky, dropping her shield, and taking the torch in her left hand. “Lyssa, get as high as you can.”

As the men stepped back and Lyssa floated upward to the ceiling, Ky frowned in concentration. She pushed her free hand out toward the dull ring and said a word. An intense black bolt shot from her palm, and crashed into the stone.

It had no effect on the ring.

“Perhaps Rith can shatter it with sound,” said Trendel, “just as she broke the arch.”

“There is something I would try first,” said Ky, walking around to the back of the altar. She tossed the torch into the ring, and it skidded to the base of the solid stone block, and a great wavering shadow loomed upward.

The syldari looked above and said, “Come down, Lyssa, and stand just within the circle on the far side from the torch, as close to the ring as you can get.”

Lyssa descended and did as Ky bade. Withdrawing her sword from its scabbard, Ky quietly lay the ebon blade down. She lifted the bandolier with its daggers over her head and lay that beside the sword. She set her shield to the stone as well. Then she walked around to where in the darkness Lyssa floated an inch or so above the floor. And before anyone could stop her, Ky stepped across the ring and embraced the essence of Lyssa and vanished, only to reappear outside the circle, Lyssa yet in her clasp.

And as Lyssa, now blazing with life force, wailed and whirled away, Ky fell to the stone as if dead.

21

Five Months Before the Hearing

(Coburn Facility)

The medtechs breathed sighs of relief, for it seemed as if they had finally gotten Alice stabilized. She was yet chill, but her temp was no longer drifting down, or if it was, then it had imperceptibly done so in the time they had been monitoring. And they watched the main holo as Arik and Rith and Trendel searched for a way into the barrow mound and finally found a door. Then Rith went back to look after Kane, while Ky joined the two yet at the mound.

As Ky opened the door from the inside, “How clever,” muttered Drew Meyer, the bald-headed physicist appreciative of the intelligence shown. “I was wondering how they would succeed.”

“No wooden-headed dummies these Foxes,” said Billy Clay.

“Oh, ugh,” said Toni, as the desiccated corpses came into view.

“There’s Lyssa,” said Alvin. “Oh, my, but she seems on the verge of flickering out.”

A moment later, Grace Willoby shouted, “Eric is crashing!”

“Idiot Arik!” snarled Stein. “Stepping near a ghost as he did.” The doctor looked at Drew. “Clever, you say? What a fool, say I.”

Greyson, tears running down his face, called out, “Henry, he’s trying to save his truelove.” And as Stein and Alvin rushed to Eric’s witches’ cradle, Greyson added, “Damn Avery! Damn him! He knew Arik couldn’t resist.”

“But why did he fall down?” asked Alya Ramanni.

“He stepped within a charmed circle of some kind,” replied Toni. “See the dark line on the floor?”

“Alice’s temp is rising,” called Grace.

“Of course,” snapped Stein, now working on Eric. “What Avery is taking from him, he is giving to her.”

Then, even though she knew she could not be heard by those in VR, Toni called out to the holo, “No, Ky. No. Don’t kill Lyssa.”

Of a sudden, Trendel shed his weaponry and stepped across the line and dragged Arik free.

As Stein and Grace and Alvin continued to work on Eric, and then on Timothy, and finally on Hiroko, Toni and the others watched and listened to Trendel and Ky and Arik in the theatrical central holo, and read the subtitles whenever Lyssa spoke.

“You know, this could use some background music,” said Billy.

Sheila, the other comptech shook her head. “No, Billy, no. It’s tense enough as it is. Me, if there were a musical score underlying what we see and hear, I think I’d pass out from anxiety.”

Toni nodded in silent agreement with Sheila.

“Oh, Vishnu,” said Alya, “she’s trapped. Lyssa is trapped. Bound by circle and stone.”

“I can’t wait to see how they get past this one,” said Drew.

“Drew,” snarled Greyson, his voice high-pitched and tight, the man stressed to the point of breaking, “this is not a show for our entertainment. It’s life and death in there. Life and death. Damn Avery. Damn Avery. Damn him to hell!”

“That’s not very monklike, John,” said Stein, a sneer in his voice. “—Cursing, I mean.”

“Oh, my god,” exclaimed Sheila. “Ky! What’s she going to—?”

In the holo, Ky embraced Lyssa and vanished, then reappeared outside the circle, yet holding onto the ghost.

As Ky crumpled and Lyssa fled away, at her medtech console, Alice shouted, “Shit, shit, shit! Hiroko Kikiro is dying!”

22

Itheria

(Black Foxes)

“Oh, Arda, Arda,” prayed Arik, kneeling beside Ky, “don’t let her die. Please don’t let her die.”

Trendel sucked in air through clenched teeth. “Die?”

“Her pulse is nearly gone,” said Arik, scooping up the syldari. “We need Kane.”

“But he’s unconscious, in a coma,” said Trendel. “How can he help?”

“I don’t know,” replied Arik, “but he’s our only hope.”

High above, in what was formerly shadows but now blazed with Lyssa’s ethereal light, horrified at what she had done, Lyssa wept, her ghostly tears streaming down like droplets of light. And even as Arik started for the door, Lyssa flew down to stand between him and the outlet. And she pushed her hands palms out to stop him. <Arik, I might be able to save her,> she gestured, yet sobbing, her sound but a ghostly wail.

“What? How? She has no life force left.”

<Put her down and step away.>

Arik stood frozen with indecision.

“Do as she says,” urged Trendel, “for Kane cannot help.”

Arik knelt and gently placed Ky to the floor. Then he and Trendel backed off.

Lyssa soared up to hover high over Ky’s still form, and, wailing in sorrow, her tears fell down, the globules of light falling and falling to splash upon and then sink into the still form of Ky. And Lyssa’s light, bright enough to illuminate the entire ghastly barrow, slowly began to diminish.

Long moments passed, and moments more, and then Ky coughed and took in a shuddering breath. She groaned and opened her eyes and saw Lyssa floating above. Then the syldari turned her head to see Trendel and Arik nearby and the altar beyond them. “It worked,” Ky whispered and then fell asleep.

High above, Lyssa now wept in relief, in joy, and more tears fell down and down.

23

Courthouse

(Adkins)

“Your honor,” said Mark Perry, getting to his feet, “in Ms. Adkin’s hypothetical case—where she posits Mr. Coburn, supported by machines, has lost everything but his mentality, and where she claims that he is still a person, is still a human—what she forgot to mention is that Finster William Coburn is very much alive, while Arthur David Coburn’s mutilated corpse is buried in Everhaven.”

Melissa French, who had been half-sitting on the forward edge of her table, stood erect and said, “Nevertheless, if Finster were supported in a manner such as Toni has outlined, with his mentality uploaded to a machine even as the rest of him withered away or perished of disease or by calamity, then it is our contention that he would still be a human. After all, did not René Descartes say, ‘Cogito, ergo sum’? I think, therefore I am.”

Judge Marshall raised an index finger and said, “Actually, René’s words were, ‘Je pense, donc je suis,’ which translates to ‘I think, therefore I am.’ It was only later that someone thought to transcribe his words into classical Latin.”

“Thank you, your honor, for that clarification,” said Melissa, smiling. Then her face took on a more serious expression and she said, “Regardless, the facts remain the same.”

“Facts? What facts?” objected Mark Perry. “All Ms. Adkins has put forth are hypotheticals, not facts.”

Judge Marshall looked at Melissa, and she said, “We contend that Arthur Coburn’s mentality was indeed uploaded by Avery, and although Arthur’s body was destroyed, Arthur himself was not. Therefore, as to Arthur: He thinks, therefore he is.”

Severely dressed in gray homespun, a black-haired woman in the audience leapt to her feet and yelled, “Blasphemy! Blasphemy! God did not intend for humanity to be uploaded or cloned or—”

The courtroom erupted in chaos, as several dark-suited, bearded men and gray-clad women leapt to their feet and chanted and held up a long and heretofore concealed cloth banner, one that declared themselves to be members of God’s Temple, and Avery to be the antichrist incarnate.

Judge Marshall hammered for order, and gestured for the bailiffs to remove these disrupters.

Toni sat quite still, waiting for calm to return, even as the somehow-familiar-looking, black-haired woman of God’s Temple shouted, “The End Days are upon us, for Toni Adkins is surely Jezebel returned! The Whore of Babylon!”

Whore of Babylon. Whore of Babylon, chanted her following, as the bailiffs escorted them from the courtroom. They continued shouting as down the hall and then the stairs they went, their words fading in the distance.

Outside the courthouse, and yet standing under her umbrella in the heavy downpour, Frankie Roberts snapped her fingers and smiled. She put away her handheld, and signaled for Steve to record their expulsion from the breezeway and into the storm. And when Steve panned from them back to her, Frankie looked into the tri-lens and said, “We’ve just heard what First Prophet Sarah Bitters, of the break-away sect of God’s Temple, has to say about Toni Adkins. Let us see what the audience thinks. Are the End Days upon us? Is Toni Adkins truly Jezebel returned? Is she the Whore of Babylon and a tool of Avery, the antichrist? Or is she instead an enlightened scientist, blazing a trail for others to follow through a tangle of prejudice, ignorance, and folly? Send your responses to FrankieR at Holo4 dot holo. We’ll see what you believe.

“This is Frankie Roberts, News Holo-4, at the Pima County courthouse in Tucson, Arizona.”

24

Itheria

(Black Foxes)

Lyssa finally moved away from above Ky’s form, and Arik scooped up the syldari and looked toward Lyssa high overhead. “Thank you, my love.”

<I am a danger to all of you,> Lyssa signaled.

“Not if we take the same precautions as those we practiced in the past,” said Arik.

Trendel fetched Ky’s shield and sword and the found bandolier of daggers from the far side of the altar. Of a sudden he looked up and then about. “I just realized: this place”—he gestured all ’round—“is just like a great black stone temple underground, or rather, under mound. It has an altar and a dome overhead and an entry and such. Perhaps they built the hill over it.”

“I wouldn’t call it a ‘great’ temple,” said Arik, turning to see as Trendel made his way to Arik’s side. “But a temple, yes.”

Then Arik called up to Lyssa, “It is yet day outside, but night will come soon. Our camp is east some three hundred paces. Come when you can.” Arik started for the exit.

“We’ll leave the door open,” said Trendel. “—Oh, and avoid the dark circle; we would not like you to be trapped in it again.”

Then Trendel followed Arik out.

As they came into the campsite, Rith leapt to her feet, alarm on her face. “What happened? Is Ky—?”

“She’s asleep,” said Arik, gently laying her down.

“Yes, but—”

“She did a foolish thing, love,” said Trendel, “heroic, but foolish, and it nearly cost Ky her life.”

“Well are you going to tell me, or are you just going to stand there mute?”

Trendel looked at Kane and asked, “First, how is he?”

“No change.”

Trendel sighed and said, “We found Lyssa nearly dead on an— Oh, goodness. Nearly dead. Somehow that doesn’t seem right to say that of a ghost. —Anyway, she was lying on an altar, and her ethereal light was very faint. Arik stepped across a charmed circle and . . .”

“Ky, you were an idiot!” shouted Rith, the syldari now awake.

The sun had just set, and the onset of dusk began filling the Kalagar Wood. Overhead, in the yet light sky, Phemis went racing past waxing Orbis, both moons pale in the not-yet-dark above.

Ky sighed and said, “But Lyssa was trapped. How else were we going to get her out?”

“I told you that Rith might be able to break the ring with sound,” said Trendel. “We should have tried that.”

“Perhaps,” said Ky. “But we didn’t know what might happen were the circle to be damaged. I think we were foolish in the first place to try to break it, you with your axe, Arik with his sword, and me with my shadowblade. I mean, the entire barrow might have come crashing down.”

Arik nodded. “There is that.”

“And so I did what I thought was best,” said Ky, casting about in the flickering firelight as if searching for something. “Arda, but what I wouldn’t give for a good cup of tea.”

“Tea?” Trendel snapped his fingers and jumped up. “I know just where we might get some.” He took up a burning brand to use as a torch.

“Where?” asked Rith.

“In the barrow. The same place Ky got you those spare throwing knives. —Besides, we could use some blankets and other gear, and there’s plenty inside. I mean, all of our goods—horses and kit—are back on the demonplane, if it yet exists. We need virtually everything, and the barrow is full of equipment.”

“Is it even usable?” asked Rith. “I mean, it’s been down there awhile—ever since the Kalagar Gate was made.”

“I don’t know,” said Trendel. “But the place was sealed up tight.”

Arik said, “Were Kane awake, he might say that putrefying corpses would ruin everything. Perhaps there is nothing useful left.”

“We can only see,” said Trendel.

“I’ll go with you,” said Rith, getting to her feet and lighting another dead branch.

Arik sighed, but stood as well. “I want to check on Lyssa, and, as much as I hate grave robbing, there are things we need, if they haven’t gone to rot.” He looked at Ky. “Will you be all right?”

Ky nodded and said, “I’ll watch over Kane.”

As the trio started out for the barrow, “Damn the Dark God,” swore Arik.

“For putting Lyssa in a trap?” asked Trendel.

“For everything,” said Arik.

“How so?”

“We thought Horax was responsible for doing whatever was done to Lyssa to turn her into a ghost, but now I think it was the Dark God instead. I mean, after all, when Horax strutted before us in the DemonQueen’s palace, he didn’t crow over Lyssa’s demise.”

“I remember,” said Rith. “Still, we are left with the two indications Trendel got when he sought to find Lyssa.”

“Body and soul, thinks Ky,” said Trendel. “Perhaps a good guess.”

“But we don’t know whether one is really her body,” said Arik, “though with your last casting, the one indicating the mound, you did find her spirit.”

“I’ll have to do another casting for her body,” said Trendel, “after you’ve described her to me.”

“What good will that do?” asked Rith. “I mean, even if it is her body, what do we do then?”

“I don’t know,” said Trendel. He glanced at Arik. “How about we decide after the casting?”

Arik nodded. They trudged onward, and after a moment, Arik said, “He’s playing with us, toying with us as a cat would worry a mouse.”

Rith frowned. “Who? Horax? —Oh, you mean the Dark God.”

“Yes,” said Arik, “the Dark God. First He turns Lyssa into a specter. Then, when Trendel defeated Him on the demonplane, He nearly killed us by destroying the DemonQueen’s palace. When we survived that, He cast us out among hundreds of wraiths, and we nearly died, but you saved us, Rith. Then we had to find Lyssa before her spirit perished. When we did, we discovered He had trapped her in a mound and sealed her in magical stone and within a dark ring. We had to find the door and discover a way to open it. And the ring made it dangerous even to revive her, but Trendel found a way to defeat that. Then we had to discover a way to set Lyssa free, and that nearly killed Ky; it was Lyssa herself that kept that from happening. And Kane is lying in a coma. And for all we know, the Dark God is responsible for Arton’s death, too. I mean, that-that thing that tore him in two, it came out of nowhere. Mayhap it was summoned by the Dark God. —Krone’s teeth, what’s He going to do to us next?”

“Do you think we pissed him off?” asked Trendel.

Rith looked at the seer, then burst out in laughter.

The eve had darkened, and when ethereal Lyssa came floating toward them, she found all three guffawing.

As soon as Trendel saw her, he pointed and howled all the harder.

She stopped at a safe distance. <What?> she asked.

It took a few moments before Arik sobered enough to explain.

Lyssa looked at him and turned up her hands. <And just why is that funny?>

They broke into laughter again, and Rith said, “Oh, Lyss, you just had to be there.”

Finally, they got control of themselves, and continued on toward the barrow.

<Where are you bound?>

“Grave robbing,” said Arik. “There are things in there we need—backpacks, blankets, flint and steel, rope, and the like. Tea, if we can find any. A bit of coin, too, for as soon as we can, we’ll need to buy horses.”

“Ky got me some spare throwing knives,” said Rith, “but they are steel. Perhaps there are some silver ones within.”

<I’ll help,> signed Lyssa. <I know where much of what you need is located. After all, there was nought to do but explore the place while I waited for nightfall. In the meantime, tell me what occurred after I lost consciousness in the DemonQueen’s palace. The last thing I remember was trying to drain her of life, but she had me in her grip as well.>

Lyssa took the lead, floating far enough ahead to keep from taking any more energy from Arik or Trendel, and none at all from Rith, who had not been in the barrow mound when the others had found Lyssa. And as her ghostly form drifted toward the barrow, Rith began telling her of their escape and the destruction of the demonplane. But in the midst of the telling, Trendel, who had been thinking over what Arik had said, suddenly asked, “Wait a moment; if Lyssa is a spirit, then where is Arton?”

Rith frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Well, when Lyssa was perhaps killed by Horax or the Dark God or even someone else—”

Arik held up a hand, interrupting Trendel. “Given your two readings—one for Lyssa’s spirit and maybe the other for her body—it just occurred to me that perhaps something was done to separate the one from the other, and mayhap that’s why you got the second indication.”

Lyssa turned, aghast. <You mean there’s a soulless me running about somewhere out there?>

“I doubt it,” said Arik. “It’s just idle speculation on my part. We’ll know more when Trendel tries again.” Arik turned to the seer. “You were saying about Arton . . .”

Trendel said, “Just hear me out: if indeed Lyssa was slain and became a spirit, then Arton’s spirit must be somewhere, too. I mean, if Lyssa’s shade rejoined the Foxes after her death, then why did not Arton’s wraith rejoin you as well?”

Arik shrugged and started forward, Lyssa turning and floating ahead, Trendel’s question hanging on the air. Finally, Rith said, “Perhaps his spirit has moved on, just as did those of the mound when I broke the arch—destroyed their focus, the thing keeping them here.”

“Maybe,” said Trendel. “But I was just wondering.”

“Perhaps you’ll have to do a finding on him,” said Rith.

“I never met him,” said Trendel. “He was killed ere I became a Black Fox. Hence, to find his spirit, I would have to have a good description.”

“We can do that,” said Rith.

“But first I would have you see if you can locate Lyssa,” said Arik. “—Her body, I mean.”

“All right,” said Trendel.

Lyssa signaled for Rith to continue telling her what happened after the battle on the demonplane. And so, Rith carried on, and then Trendel took up the tale concerning the events at and within the barrow itself. Just as he got to the part where Lyssa regained consciousness, that was the moment the four of them reached the entry to the barrow, and Lyssa glided inward, the trio following.

As Rith and Ky, surrounded by back packs and bedrolls, sorted through the gear the trio had brought, Trendel and Arik sat off to one side, while Arik described in detail Lyssa as she was while living. Lyssa, herself, remained a short distance away, looking at the two and listening to Arik.

“Yes, yes,” said Trendel, “she has the most beautiful hair, but what color is it?”

“Brown, just like her eyes,” said Arik, his back to Lyssa so that her current appearance would not influence his responses.

Ky took a moment to check the fire, where one of the pots they had recovered sat, the water within now beginning to a simmer. When it came to a boil, it would be used to sterilize the cooking and eating gear and the canteens they had recovered. Off to one side sat another pot, this one steaming and steeping tea.

“And her height?”

“The top of her head was just under my chin,” said Arik.

“No, Arik,” said Rith, coiling one of the ropes they had salvaged. “She is an inch or two taller than that.”

“But when I held her—”

“She would melt into you, just like I melt into Trendel.” Rith set the rope aside and took up the bow they had gotten for Arik and fitted it with one of the two well-waxed and yet-supple bowstrings they had found.

Trendel smiled and said, “Rith is about five inches shorter than me.”

Rith laughed and laid the bow by the quiver of arrows, next to the spare long-knives and a spear for Kane. “Five? No, no, love, more like three. Weren’t you listening? I melt into you. I relax. I almost cuddle. And that makes me seem shorter.”

“Hmm . . .” mused Trendel, clearly not believing.

<Rith is right,> signaled Lyssa.

“As you wish,” said Trendel. “How about her skin?”

“Flawless alabaster,” said Arik.

Ky hooted as she put aside the recovered flints and steels and tinderboxes, and began sorting through the coins and gems they had taken to pay for future purchases. “She has freckles across her nose. And I think there’s a birthmark. Sort of like a falcon on her hip.”

“Sparrow,” said Arik.

Lyssa moaned, and when they looked at her, <A mighty eagle,> she signed, then doubled over laughing; the sound she made was liken unto the rustle of leaves in the wind.

The others joined her.

Finally, “Age?” asked Trendel

Arik shrugged. “Mid twenties, perhaps.”

Ky looked at Rith, and smiled.

<Early thirties,> signed Lyssa.

“Ah,” said Trendel.

“What did she say?” asked Arik, turning about to see.

“Mid twenties,” replied Trendel.

Lyssa frowned at him.

“My dear,” said Trendel, “not only am I a consummate lover, I am ever the diplomat.”

“What else do you need?” asked Arik.

Trendel looked at Lyssa and said, “Lyss, try to control your, um, tendrils, and dim your light and solidify as best as you can. I need to see your figure.”

Lyssa did as well as she could.

“Now turn sideways to me,” said Trendel, “I’d like to get your profile in mind.”

A moment later, Trendel said, “Thank you, Lyss.”

The seer concentrated and said a word and then cast a finding. His eyes widened in surprise. “Her body is not dead, nor is it alive.”

“What?” asked Arik. “What do you mean?”

“Just what I said.” Trendel looked at Arik. “I don’t understand it either. It’s an enchantment of some sort, I believe. I’ve never run across this before.”

“Perhaps it’s a Dark God enchantment,” said Ky.

“Another bloody test?” asked Rith.

“And where is she?” asked Arik.

“North, I think, but how far, I cannot say.”

“Then north we have to go,” said Arik.

Trendel nodded and then looked at Lyssa. “I’m sorry, Lyss, but that’s all I can see.”

<At least my soulless body isn’t out there running about and doing things,> signed Lyssa.

“Is there a way to merge the two?” asked Arik, hope flaring in his heart.

“I don’t see how,” said Trendel. “I certainly don’t have that power.”

“Wait a moment,” said Rith. “If Arik is right and it’s the Black God’s doings, then we need to command Him to make her whole.”

<Command?> asked Lyssa. <How?>

“Using the red gemstone, I commanded him before,” said Trendel.

“But that jewel is no more,” said Ky. “It fell into the bottomless pit and exploded.”

“Even so, I remember the rune it held, and the words of power to command Him,” said Trendel.

“Then summon Him now,” gritted Arik. “Command Him to return Lyssa’s spirit unto her form.”

<While you’re at it, have him heal Kane,> signaled Lyssa.

“Wait,” said Ky. “Remember what happened the last time you gave the Dark God a command: He destroyed the palace and we barely escaped that, and so He destroyed the demonworld. And when we came to, we were nearly killed by the wraiths, and Lyssa was trapped. And so I ask, Arik, is it wise to summon Him and give Him a command?”

Rith then glanced at Kane, the big man not yet awake. “Do you wish to charge in as would Kane?”

Trendel added, “Ah, yes, Arik. Remember what happened the last time you charged in. I mean, we got you out of the circle in time, but if I hadn’t been with you, you would have died on the spot. —Listen, my friend, when it comes to Lyssa, you need to be as rational as you are when commanding this skulk of Foxes.”

Arik’s breathing slowed, and he looked at Kane and then at Lyssa. Finally he said, “First we find Lyssa’s body, and if we cannot come up with a way to join her soul to her form, we’ll call upon the Dark God as a last resort.”

“Good,” said Trendel. Then he looked at Lyssa and said, “Now let’s see if we can find Arton’s spirit. If so, and if we can summon him, then Lyssa will have a companion in the ghostly deeds she does.”

“Wait,” said Rith. “Do we have the energy to maintain two specters?”

<I think not,> said Lyssa. <Even so, I would like to see if his spirit is yet on this plane.>

The Foxes in combination described Arton:

“Somewhere in his sixties,” said Ky.

<My height,> supplied Lyssa.

“Thin and wiry build, tanned skin like rawhide,” said Arik.

“Grey eyes, burr-cut silver hair,” said Rith.

“A splendid thief,” added Arik.

“I think that might be enough,” said Trendel, “but I’d really like to see him.” Trendel looked to Arik and said, “Scoot closer to me, and I’ll see if I can pull his image from your mind.”

“Pull his image?” asked Arik.

“I’ll try to do a mental linkup.”

“Why didn’t you do that for Lyssa?”

“Because I would have gotten an idealized form of her from you, old man. Anyway”—Trendel pointed at Lyssa—“she is right there for me to see, though I needed her colors described.”

“Ah, right. Well then, why me this time? I mean, why not Rith or Ky?”

“Because Rith and I have a lover’s connection, and I’d turn into an emotional puddle. And Ky is a syldari, and, in a bassackward manner of speaking, I haven’t the lock to open that key. —No, it’s got to be you. And don’t worry, I won’t go rummaging about. I haven’t the desire nor the power to do so.”

Sitting directly across from Trendel, Arik hitched closer. The seer reached out and placed his hands on either side of Arik’s head and said, “Now close your eyes and concentrate with all your might on the image of Arton. See him in your mind’s eye.”

Trendel concentrated and spoke an arcane word and then closed his own eyes. Then he murmured, “Arik, I know she is always on your mind, but I said Arton, not Lyssa.”

After a moment, Trendel said, “Ah,” and then dropped his hands and opened his eyes and leaned back. He grinned and said, “You can return your thoughts to Lyssa, now, Arik.”

Arik opened his eyes. “Did you get it?”

“Yes.”

“Well . . . ? Can you do a finding?”

“I’ll try.”

Once again Trendel cast that spell . . .

. . . and in the air before them a vortex of spectral light began to manifest—pearlescent and glittery, glowing and luminous, starlight and shine and frost . . . all endlessly spiraling away into an unfathomable silvery whorl.

25

Five Months Before the Hearing

(Coburn Facility)

“Hiroko Kikiro’s temp is rising,” called Grace Willoby, “and Alice Maxon’s is falling.”

Henry Stein looked up from working on Hiroko and toward the central holo, where Lyssa’s golden tears fell down upon Ky.

“Damn,” said Drew Meyer, running a hand across his bald head, “but that was extremely clever. Not only the way Ky got Lyssa out from the circle—stepping through shadow, like that—but what Lyssa is doing now. I mean, who else would have thought of those things?”

“Ky was an idiot for risking that,” said Stein.

Alvin Johnson, holding a tray of hypos and vials asked, “Do we need the stims, doctor?”

“I don’t think so, but we’ll wait and see,” said Stein, glancing toward the medtech console and then at Alice’s and Hiroko’s rigs.

At the console, Grace waited till Stein looked away, then she gave a thumb’s-up to Alvin.

Both Alya Ramanni and Toni Adkins caught that gesture and breathed sighs of relief, and John Greyson used the sleeve of his monk’s robe to wipe tears from his eyes.

“I said it before and I’ll say it again,” said Billy Clay. “No wooden-headed dummies, these Foxes.”

“It did bear repeating,” said Sheila Baxter, high-fiving her fellow comptech’s hand.

In the holo, Ky finally regained consciousness, and both Stein and Johnson stepped back from the witches’ cradles.

And all stood or sat quietly and paid heed to what was going on in Itheria; and they watched as the Foxes went toward the barrow mound to gather some equipment to replace part of that which they had lost.

Toni said, “Good lord, if they follow through with what they’re talking about, I think they’re going to stumble into finding Arton.”

Greyson said, “Me, I’m worried about Kane. When I last spoke to Dr. Easely, he said mental problems are the most difficult to deal with. And by the time he recovered from his own psychological, um, problems, he offered to treat me, but I was well on the way to health.”

Stein shook his head. “You think so, John? Hah! Your mental state is still fragile and teetering on the edge. You are in need of a great deal of help. I mean, look at you, believing in souls and blubbering over every—”

“Shut up, Henry,” snapped Toni.

“I am merely telling the absolute—”

“Henry,” gritted Toni, “shut the fuck up.”

“Bah!” said Stein, but then fell into silence.

Toni turned to Greyson and asked, “John, what do you make of this-this result that Trendel got? —I mean, the two readings when he did a finding on Lyssa.”

“Spirit and body,” said Alya, though she had not been asked. “Ky had the right of it, don’t you think?”

“Perhaps it was a fluke,” said Billy, his tech console still reading all green, but for the direct communications to and control of Avery, which remained red.

“A fluke? Perhaps,” said Greyson. “Body and soul? I believe that’s more likely . . . though what they might do with that information, I can’t imagine. The fact that a person consists of both a body and a soul seems irrefutable, given what we are—”

“Irrefutable?” sneered Stein. “Bah! Just because Avery, in a VR adventure, shows us ghosts and spirits and the like is in no way proof of the duality of humankind. That’s a fiction of the game, and—”

“Look,” interrupted Drew. “Trendel is preparing to do a casting to find Lyssa’s body.”

Moments later, “What the hell does that mean?” asked Drew. “‘Her body is not dead, nor is it alive’? What the heck has Avery done?”

“Hush,” said Toni. “I want to hear what they are saying.”

Again they watched and listened, and they read the subtitles whenever Lyssa chimed in.

“My god,” said Toni, “what were the odds that they would on their own actually start the mission they were sent into VR to do? —They’re trying to find Arton.”

In the central holo, Trendel said an arcane word and gestured as if sending something forth—presumably a finding spell.

“What th—” blurted Drew.

“Vishnu!” exclaimed Alya.

“What the heck is that?” asked Billy, pointing, as a slowly turning silvery whorl formed in the Itherian air.

“Whatever it is,” said Toni, “we can only hope that it ultimately leads to Arthur.

“It already has,” said Greyson, gesturing at his console.

In Greyson’s holo and above the line of the silver spheroids denoting the six mental patterns Avery had sucked into himself, a seventh sphereoid flickered in and out, and when it stabilized long enough for the title to be read before vanishing again, beneath that mentality was a name. . . .

. . . Arthur Coburn, it read.

26

Itheria:

(Black Foxes)

As the slowly spinning silver whorl manifested, “’Ware,” cried Arik, rising to his feet and drawing his sword all in one fluid motion.

Rith sprang up and took silver daggers in hand, and Ky’s shadowsword seemed to leap magically to her grip, the syldari also on her feet.

Lyssa keened and moved forward, her hands outstretched, as if ready to drain the essence from the thing.

But Trendel, yet sitting, called out, “Hold! Somehow this apparition is related to Arton.”

“But the Dark God coiled and spun exactly like that,” gritted Arik.

“This manifestation is light, not dark,” said Trendel.

“It could be a trick,” growled Arik.

“Perhaps,” said Trendel, “yet it is what my finding brought.” He then addressed the silvery spiral. “Arton?”

But Ky called out, “Arda?”

And from the center point of the slow-turning whorl, an androgynous voice said, “Some know Me by that name.”

“Oh, Arda, if it is truly you, aid my love,” said Ky, gesturing toward Kane.

“That, I have already set in motion,” echoed the voice.

“Are you in fact Arda?” asked Rith.

“Instead, I think this be the Dark God in disguise,” said Arik.

“The Dark God has fled away for the nonce,” said the voice. “You were speaking of summoning and commanding Him, and He would not suffer such.”

“Yet, Arda, you came when Trendel cast his finding for Arton,” said Rith. “Why so, if I might ask?”

“Arton’s spirit is imprisoned,” said the entity, “and I would have you set him free.”

<Where is he?> asked Lyssa.

“Elsewhere,” replied the silvery manifestation, “though you must go to him, yet freeing him is not the primary goal. Yet the perilous journey will not be a simple one.”

“We’re going on a journey? Where?” asked Rith.

“As I said, elsewhere,” replied the being.

“If you are Arda,” said Arik, “restore Lyssa to her body.”

“The restoration of Lyssa must wait.”

“Why?”

“Much needs to be done ere that can happen, and you will need her in her present form to have even the slimmest of chances to prevail”

“What about Kane?” asked Arik, “Have you truly done something to heal him?”

The whorl stilled a moment, then said, “The Dark God filled Kane with dread, and he struggles mightily to heal himself, yet, given this reality, if left as he is, he would be on the verge of death ere overcoming that which has been done to him. And so, I have indeed set in motion his swift recovery, for he must be hale for you to win the day.”

“Thank you, Arda,” said Ky.

“Why are you here?” asked Arik, yet suspicious, still on guard.

“Know that I struggle against the Dark God, but know this as well: He has the greater power. Yet know this, too: I have done my best to protect your talents; perhaps the Dark God cannot strip them away.”

“Strip them away?” blurted Rith. “Why?”

But Ky asked, “What would you have us do?”

“Aid me to defeat Him.”

Rith sighed and said, “Ah, that’s why He would strip them away.”

<Defeat Him? Defeat a god?> asked Lyssa.

“You did before, but this time he is wary, and it will be most difficult. Now question Me no further, for none of you has the means to keep Him from comprehending. But know that I have a plan that He cannot fathom.”

The silvery whorl slowly spun, and none said ought until Trendel asked, “Why can I not know how far away Lyssa’s body lies? And why do I—”

“Hush, child,” said the being. “Neither Arton nor Lyssa are on Itheria nor even on this plane.”

“Not on this plane? Then how—?”

In that moment, Kane coughed, and opened his eyes.

Ky gasped and fell to her knees beside him. “Oh, Kane, Kane. . . .”

“What is it, mouse?” Kane embraced her. “There’s no need to cry. But Luba’s teats, I’m hungry as a—” Kane’s eyes widened as he discovered the whorl. “Wha-what by Krone’s teeth is that?”

“Arda, dear,” said Ky, weeping. “It’s just Arda.”

“Arda—the Itherian god? That Arda?”

“Yes, my love. That Arda.”

“And you say it’s just Arda? How many gods do you meet in a day to be so casual about it?”

“This is the only one,” said Ky, grinning, as Kane got to his feet; Ky stood as well, remaining at his side.

“Your healer’s awakening is what I have been waiting for,” said the entity. “Be not surprised by what you see, and the knowledge you gain.”

“See? Gain? What—?” said Rith.

“Be quiet and let Me take the first step, for I must hurry.”

“Wait a moment,” said Arik. “You might be a god, yet—”

But all ’round the Foxes the ’scape began to waver, the woods sinking down into the ground, and the being said, “You must find the body of Lyssa. Trendel will point the way.”

Arda vanished, and mist began to form where the forest had been, and the soil below their feet changed as well, hardening, shifting, becoming timber. The stars in the sky whirled and reformed into entirely different configurations, and Orbis shrank and Phemis swelled and a third moon, blood red, appeared, all moving in a stately dance.

“Dretch!” said Arik. “Could He have been any more cryptic?”

And the wooden ground heaved and tilted, and became planking underfoot, while masts sprang up with billowing sails, and clouds formed all around.

“Whale ho, Cap’n Arik, whale ho ahead!” came a cry from a man at the bow, “A ha’point down and a point to larboard.”

And he pointed forward and down at a fleeing cloud, large and white in the moonlight.

“Pipe the sails, Rith, and down vanes Trendel,” called Arik as he spun the wheel of the Sorrow to give chase; and high above the oceans of Malagar and across the starry night the swift sky galleon sped.

27

Courthouse:

Adkins

After the expulsion of the seven members of the break-away sect of the Temple of God, Judge Marshall took a moment to glower at the courtroom audience. “If any of you have an agenda, a personal axe to grind, then I advise you to sit quietly or get out now! If you grind that axe in my courtroom I’ll hold you in contempt, and we’ll see how well you enjoy a stay in a Pima County jail cell. So, now is your chance to leave quietly and not under arrest.”

Marshall’s gaze swept across the onlookers, including the panel, the counselors, and the putative heirs. Some glanced away under that glare, others nodded as if agreeing, some smiled as if being introduced, still others glared back, unfazed.

But no one left.

Finally, the judge turned to Melissa French. “Continue counselor. —You were saying . . . ?”

Melissa frowned and then brightened. “He thinks, therefore he is.” She turned to the panel. “When I said that, I was specifically referring to Arthur Coburn, but it applies to all of humanity as well as to primates and other animals.”

“Your honor, is there a question in there somewhere?” asked Mark Perry.

“Get on with it, Ms. French,” said Marshall.

Melissa turned up her hands and stepped around the table and sat, gesturing to Mark that it was his turn.

Mark stood and said, “By that definition—Cogito ergo sum—then, Ms. Adkins, would you say that the Coburn Industries AI slash VR zero one is a person?”

“Yes, I would. He’s not human, but he is a person.”

Mark looked at the panel and snorted, “Ridiculous.”

“Which do you mean, Mr. Perry?” asked Toni. “My answer, or the panel?”

As some in the audience smiled, Mark whirled on Toni. “Of all the foolish—”

“Counselor, I’ve warned you about your language,” said Judge Marshall.

Mark took a deep breath and said. “I apologize, your honor.” Mark then looked at Toni and asked, “How can Coburn Industries AI slash VR zero one be a person when it is a machine?”

“Because,” said Toni, “Avery thinks therefore he is.”

“But all that proves, Ms. Adkins, is that the Coburn Industries AI slash VR zero one exists.”

“Yes, but Avery exists as a sentient being, ergo he is a person.”

Judge Marshall said, “We’ve covered some of this ground before, counselor. Move on.”

“Yes, your honor,” said Mark, and turned again to Toni and asked, “What makes you think that Arthur David Coburn’s mentality is in there and not some ersatz identity invented by the Coburn Industries AI slash VR zero one?”

Melissa stood and said, “Objection, your honor.”

“On what grounds, counselor?”

“No foundation.”

Mark said, “I am merely asking an opinion of this witness, your honor.”

Judge Marshall looked at Melissa, and she said, “Your honor, this question is premature, for we intend to lay the groundwork to answer it meaningfully rather than give an untimely opinion, at which time Mr. Perry can explore the issue to his heart’s content.”

Judge Marshall looked at the courtroom clock and said, “It’s getting late and I believe it’s time to call it a day. I’ll give my ruling when we reconvene. Court is adjourned until 9 a.m. tomorrow.”

Judge Marshall banged his gavel and stood, and the bailiff called out, “All rise.”

28

Malagar

(Crew of the Sorrow)

Sailing among drifting billowing clouds in the moonlit night, the sky galleon sank from its higher altitude to pursue the fleeing great white cloud-whale, faintly tinted blue from within by its Glimmers.

“Stand by nets!” called Ky, the small, trim woman of the saffron skin and tilted eyes from the eastern nation of Kokudo.

High above and clinging to the main mast like a tattered wind pennant flowing in the chase, with ghostly tendrils streaming from her, Lyssa watched as they slowly overtook the prey. It was she who gave the ship its name—Lady of Sorrow, simply called Sorrow by most of its crew. It was a sad story how she had come to be, a tale known only by the captain and his officers. Lyssa, an apparition, only showed up at night, yet she was their most potent weapon against the Glimmer pirates slinking about in the darkness, in the red skies of Malagar.

The crew was both afraid of and proud of the Lady and wouldn’t do without her spectral presence. Though they seldom addressed her, often they spoke of her.

“Ar, she’s got a ghastly voice, moaning and wailing like she does. Sends shivers up my spine.”

“They say she be Cap’n Arik’s truelove . . . er, rather she was.”

“I hear she still be.”

“Wot happened, I wonder.”

“They tell someone shot her in a lovers’ quarrel.”

“’At’s not what I heard. ’Twas a dreadful accident—she fell overboard, or so someone said.”

“She hadn’t got on a hang-sail?”

“Nar, just fell straight down, they say.”

“Cap’n Arik, he don’t talk about it and that’s good enough for me.”

“Ar, but at night, when the Glimmer pirates make a run at us, it’s all over for them, wot with the Lady slipping across and taking the wind out of their cap’n’s sails, so to speak.”

“I wish she were about in the daytime as well; that way we wouldn’t get into cannon fire and boarding and such.”

And so went the rumors and speculations, as well as a bit of the truth of her.

And as for Captain Arik and his officers and Lyssa high above, to themselves it seemed they had always been on Malagar, but had always been on someplace called Itheria, too. How this could be, they hadn’t a clue, but they knew the reality of it.

As rare as magic and witchcraft were on Malagar, on Itheria the officers had had special talents, and they knew they had them here as well. Besides, because of the rebellious prince and except for the Needs of the State, the queen had long ago banned these practices on the pain of death; and although magic and witchcraft were performed covertly by some, still, the crew of the Sorrow nominally paid allegiance to Her Majesty, and so the officers could not remember ever using their powers on Malagar—though Rith sang with a voice that seemed to go beyond wonder; and Kane, as the ship’s chirurgeon had managed to heal the sick and wounded where others would fail; and Trendel could find any port in a raging, blinding storm, when other pilots would be lost, perhaps forever; and Ky, well, she seemed to be able to see things in the darkness that others missed altogether; as for Captain Arik, he was a crack shot with a flintlock pistol or musket, and was a whiz with a rapier or cutlass, and he knew better than anyone how to aim a cannon.

And when it came to running down cloud-whales, the Sorrow seemed the best of the lot.

And now Arik manned the helm, while Rith piped the silks, and Trendel controlled the vanes, and the galleon sailed down in a long curving arc to take up the chase.

Kane held on to the forward rail of the sterncastle, for just as he was on Itheria, the Kane of Malagar was extremely wary of heights. On the Sorrow, though, he felt safe enough, for she was broad of beam and stable, and he didn’t have to look down very often.

Finally the bow lookout cried, “Dead ahead, now, captain.”

Trendel leveled the vanes.

Slowly, they overtook and finally drew alongside their target, the cloud-whale now running to starboard. And down within the billowy form azure light stuttered and flashed, and Ky called out, “Blue Glimmers, Captain; we’ve struck it rich.” Then she yelled to her crew, “Stand by to cast,” and the crew at the tall forward net-mast made ready to deploy the flexible spun-glass grid, its globular weights dangling.

Now the Sorrow drew ahead, and the aft lookout said, “Cap’n, she’s rising a bit, as if preparing to sound.”

Arik said to Trendel, “Up vanes a quarter point,” and to Rith, “On Ky’s command,” and Rith piped the order to the crew.

As the Sorrow slowly began to rise, matching the whale’s ascent, Ky shouted, “Deploy!”

The net crew popped the ratchet, and, held by its hinge, the spring-loaded net-mast toppled down to jut out to the right side of the galleon, the weights unfurling the glass mesh as it open out in front of the whale, while at the same time the silver cage of the flux anchor was opened, trapping the ship in the magnetic flux of the world.

And, impelled by the Glimmers, the whale flowed through the net, and as each of the Glimmers came to it, they were snared in the nonconducting web, each one caught on a small piece of copper embedded at the junctions of the mesh. As the last of the cloud exited through the net, it was a whale no more, but merely a common cloud drifting at the whim of the wind.

“Begin harvest,” called Ky, and her crew used long copper poles to touch each Glimmer; and one by one the glowing lights flowed up the conductors, each into its own glass container, where a bit of copper embedded in a glass wall held the Glimmer fast, where each remained ensnared within until affixed permanently somewhere else by those who purchased them.

From fist-sized to small pearl-sized, they would be used as lights and as decorations and gems. And the smaller ones would be encapsulated in glass and worn as jewelry. Hence, the least were more valuable than the larger, and rarer as well.

As usual, minor arguments broke out among the harvesters as to the source of Glimmers:

“’Tis a product of lightning. My da tells of Glimmer balls rolling across the floor during a thunderous storm.”

“Nar, lightning don’t make no Glimmers; ’tis the rain instead.”

“Sunshine, that’s the ticket.”

“Rainbows make the Glimmers, and that’s the truth. Else, where do their colors come from?”

“They’re magical creatures, I’d say.”

“Don’t let the queen hear you tell it.”

“Wot keeps ’em alive, I asks.”

None had an answer to that.

In truth, no one knew the source of Glimmers or why they seemed to be immortal, and it had taken nearly a century to discover how to trap and harvest them. But trap and harvest them they did, for they were highly prized by royalty and those with riches throughout all of Malagar, and certain hues brought very high prices, and only violet was more valued than blue.

As the harvest went on, a sharp lookout for pirates was kept, for this was the time the ship was most vulnerable, anchored dead in the sky as she was. But Glimmer pirates gave the Sorrow wide berth, for at night her guardian was unbeatable, and in the daytime her cannoneers were perilous, and her boarding crew deadly. It was only when some ship from afar came upon the Sorrow that she occasionally had to fight. Even so, Captain Arik often put the crew through combat drills, simply to keep them sharp.

Finally, the harvest was done, and the net-mast winched back into place, her mesh and weights lashed to the shaft. Arik gave the command, and Rith piped the orders, and the flux anchor cage was shut, and halyards were haled and the sails filled, and the Sorrow got underway again.

“One hundred and twelve blues,” reported Ky. She laughed and hugged Chirurgeon Kane. “The net looked like it had filled with stars.”

Now sitting on a spar above, Lyssa signaled, <Me, I feel sorry for the whale. I mean, it’s nought but a common cloud at the mercy of the wind and the sun, to vanish one day and mayhap never to reappear.>

“Fear not, Lyssa,” said Kane. “There will be more Glimmers and more whales.”

<Are you certain, Kane? What’s to say that we and others like us won’t harvest them all from the sky.>

Kane shrugged, but Rith said, “Me, I feel sorry for the Glimmers themselves, taken away as they are from the wild and trapped in glass forever.”

<My thoughts, too>, signed Lyssa.

They sailed on without speaking for a while, but finally Kane looked at Arik and asked, “Where next, Captain?”

Arik glanced at Trendel and then turned to Kane and said, “Since Validor lies north, first we run the blockade and deliver our cargo to the queen and collect our due, for we might need the funds. Then we continue on northward to wherever Trendel leads, for we must find Lyssa’s body.”

Kane turned up his hands and said, “You know, I was unconscious on Itheria when you laid your plans with Arda.” Kane paused and shook his head. “Gads, here we are on Malagar, and I am talking about Itheria, and for the life of me, I ought to be confused beyond redemption, but I’m not, but I don’t know why. Yet, I am certain of what I know: that we are of there as well as of here. Regardless, as to going after Lyssa’s body, I was unconscious most of the time Arda spoke, and so I don’t know how we came upon this mission. Would someone please tell me exactly what happened after I challenged the Black God on the demonplane?”

Ky grinned and said, “Come, Kane, let’s go to your cabin, where we will, um . . . well, let me just say that afterward and as a reward I will tell you all I know.”

29

Five Months Before the Hearing

(Coburn Facility)

“Okay, Mike, loose the hounds,” said Kat Lawrence. “Carleen, Luiz, stand by.”

Fwoosh! Liquid hydrogen rushed into the thermopipe. Kat turned to Al and said, “You sure the vent is open all the way up? This shit’ll blow us from here to the old presidio if not.”

Al sighed. “For the umpteenth time, Kat, it’s PVC and clear to the roof and beyond. I mean, the lightning didn’t do squat to it.”

The H2 made the short run through the pipe to the Astro 250 and expelled residual air through the jury-rigged outlet pipe. They had hooked up both the air intake and any overpressure H2 outflow of the Astro to the facility pipes of the former turbogen, that generator fused by the lightning strike of six months ago. They had also managed to rig the old gen’s pure water recovery system to the Astro 250’s exhaust.

Carleen said, “She’s venting tank air now.”

Finally, the whooshing slowed and then stopped. Michael Phelan turned from the gauge by the valve and gave Kat a thumbs-up. “She’s holding steady.”

“Okay, Luiz, Carleen, light the fire,” said Kat.

Luiz started the semi and revved the engine, and Carleen kicked over the starter on the Astro 250. With a screaming bellow the turbogen caught, and water vapor roared out from the exhaust as the engine whine scaled upward, sounding like a fan jet of old.

The vapor itself hurtled into the retrieval assembly to winnow its way through the cooling baffles and become liquid pumped to the tanks on the top of the Coburn building for use in the day-to-day operation of the facility.

Kat punched buttons on the Astro panel, checking the available volt-amps as the turbo came up to speed. She gave Luiz the slash-across-the-throat signal for him to kill the semi, and so he shut down the Peterbilt.

Knowing that she could not hear anything over the scream of the turbo, Kat ran the length of the flatbed and scrambled into the cab, slamming the door behind. “Al,” she called over her comband, “she’s up and running. Stand by.”

“Ready here!” replied Al.

Kat nodded to Luiz, who opened the door and leaned out from the cab and gave Carleen a thumb’s-up, then slammed the door shut again.

Carlene threw the switches, and Al said, “The juice is right on the dot.”

Kat smiled and said to Luiz. “We’re ready.”

Luiz signaled Carlene, and she flipped the switches back and then cut the Astro, the whine eventually diminishing to silence.

Kat keyed her comband and when Drew Meyer answered, she told the physicist, “We’re all set down here. Tell Toni that should anything happen to the power, we’re ready.”

“Kat says the power’s all set,” said Drew to Toni Adkins.

“Right,” said Toni, even as she glanced back and forth between the flickering ovoid in John Greyson’s display and the silvery whorl in the main holo.

“Toni, is that really Arthur Coburn?” asked Alya Ramanni, pointing at the intermittent spheroid.

“I don’t know,” said Toni.

“Bah, it’s a trick,” said Stein, “Avery is showing us something that isn’t real.”

“Of course, he’s showing us something that isn’t real,” said Drew Meyer, gesturing at the central scene. “None of that is actually happening. It’s VR!”

“You know what I mean,” snarled Stein.

“The trapped mentalities, the trapped souls are real,” said John Greyson. “And here we are seeing Arthur’s soul, though it—”

“You and your ‘souls,’” sneered Stein.

“Quiet!” snapped Toni. “I want to hear what the Foxes are saying to that swirling thing.”

“They’ve guessed that it’s Arda,” whispered Sheila Baxter to Billy.

Billy nodded, for both of the comptechs had been paying heed to the main holo.

“Do you think it’s really Arda, or the Dark God pulling a scam?” asked Billy. “I mean, the Dark God’s swirling presence was exactly like this one, but for shade versus bright.”

“I wonder if it could be Arthur Coburn pulling the scam instead,” said Sheila.

“But how could he do—? Wait, I have an idea,” said Billy. He got up from his console and stepped to Toni, and at a lull in the conversation between the Foxes and Arda, he said, “Arthur David Coburn, Toni. Shelia and I think perhaps that’s who it is.”

“What?”

“Don’t you get it? Arthur David could be Arda: ‘Ar’ for Arthur, and ‘da’ for David. Arthur David is Arda.”

Toni frowned.

Greyson said, “Perhaps Billy and Sheila have something there.”

Toni shook her head and said, “But how could—?” She turned to Stein. “Henry, you are the neurological expert here. How could that be?”

Before Stein could reply, Drew said, “Given what I know about the mutable logic of Avery’s makeup, perhaps that’s how Arthur managed to gain access to the AI output long enough to send the “Help. Prisoner. Arton.” message to Timothy Rendell.”

“What do you mean?” asked Toni.

“Well, you know that people entering Avery’s VR take on a name that somewhat resembles their own: You were Nurse Tonkins of Arkham Asylum in your erotic horror romance.”

Toni blushed, and snapped, “Well, someone had to test that aspect, and no one else volunteered.”

Drew waved a dismissal gesture and continued. “John was Captain Jack Gray in his pirate adventure. I was the alien Drewmer of the twenty-fifth century. And—”

“Yes, yes,” said Stein. “You all took idiotic names similar to your own. Get to the point.”

“Just this, Henry,” said Drew. “John is right: Billy and Sheila might be onto something here. If Arthur David Coburn managed to find a flaw in Avery’s makeup, and could slip into the persona of Arda—”

“Poppycock,” snapped Stein.

“Maybe not,” said Toni, looking at Billy and then over to Sheila, she yet at her console. “Avery was and still is damaged, and so . . .”

“Yes, Avery is damaged,” said Stein, “but that doesn’t mean—”

“We don’t know what it means,” said Greyson.

Toni said, “It might explain why Avery was babbling and singing over these last few weeks. I did, after all, tell you that he seemed to be suffering from dissociative identity disorder.”

“You mean multiple personalities?” asked Billy.

Toni looked at the comptech. “Yes.”

“Perhaps, my boy,” said Greyson, gesturing at the holo, “you’ve blundered into the right answer as to what we are seeing here.”

“It might explain why Arthur’s mentality is flickering in and out,” said Alya.

“Your meaning . . . ?” asked Toni.

The small biologist said in her East Indian accent, “Well, sometimes he’s Arthur and sometimes he’s Arda.”

“That shouldn’t make a difference in this crackpot theory you are all stupidly proposing,” said Stein. “If that ovoid is truly Arthur’s mentality, then just like those of the alpha team, it should not be flickering in and out. It should instead be stable, for Arthur would always be either Arton or Arda, both of them his assumed identities.”

Greyson said, “I admit, Henry, I do not know why Arthur’s soul is flickering in and out, but—.”

“Perhaps he’s avoiding discovery,” said Alvin Johnson.

All eyes turned to the medtech, but Sheila said, “Alvin might just be right. Perhaps Mr. Coburn doesn’t want Avery to know that somehow he is able to interact with the Foxes, and he pops in and out of volatile memory as necessary.”

“Yeah,” said Billy. “He remains mostly in permanent memory somewhere, and only appears in volatile when he has something to say.”

They watched the main holo, no one speaking; but then: “Oh, good,” said Grace Willoby at her medtech console, “Kane is awake. Now it might not be so hard to keep the Foxes healthy.”

But then the scene began to change: the forest vanishing, the ground turning into planking, masts and sails springing up, as the sky galleon formed.

“Oh, my,” said Greyson a moment later.

“What is it, John?” asked Toni.

“This is the adventure I experienced,” said Greyson. “The Red Skies of Malagar.”

“Good grief,” murmured Billy, now back at his console and watching the display in his comptech holo. “Look at that.”

“I see it,” said Sheila. Then she called out to Toni, “Avery is loading megabytes of data into the ID crystals of the alpha team.”

“What?” asked Toni.

“Avery is downloading a great deal of data into the ID crystals.”

Toni looked at Drew, and he said, “He’s setting up the Foxes in this new adventure. Of course they’d need data, especially if Avery hasn’t sensed anything wrong with them suddenly being on Greyson’s Malagar instead of their own Itheria.”

Toni turned to Greyson. “Avery is running your adventure?”

Greyson frowned. “Not exactly. See the name of the sky galleon they’re on?”

“Yes. It’s the Lady of Sorrow.”

“If you’ll recall, I was a freebooter and my sky ship was the Diablo.”

“Right.”

“I had a letter of marque from the Lost Prince himself to take down the ships of his mother, the queen. And so, as captain of the Diablo, I ambushed the Lady of Sorrow.”

“And . . . ?”

“My crew and I, we blew her out of the sky.”

30

Malagar

(Crew of the Sorrow)

“Rainbow,” called Ky, as the last of the cloud-whale exited the spun-glass net and became nothing more than mist on the wind. It had been an easy chase through the cloud-laden afternoon sky, for the whale had been powered by a spectrum of Glimmers—mostly reds and golds, though here and there shined the more energetic greens and blues.

“Look,” cried one of the harvesters, pointing with his copper rod, “a violet, and another.”

“Fetch them,” said Ky. “Those are worth more than all the rest put together.”

And even as the first amethyst Glimmer drifted up the rod and into the glass box, “I got several white ones down here,” said another man of the harvester crew.

“Pearlescent?” asked Ky.

“Nar. J’st plain white. Y’want me t’throw ’em back?”

“No,” said Ky. “Someone will use them as candles. Haul them in.”

The harvest was perhaps half done, when—

—Boom!—

An explosion juddered the Sorrow.

“What th—?” said Rith.

“Cage the anchor, pipe the silks,” snapped Arik. “Get underway.”

Rith sounded the signals, even as Arik spun the wheel hard over and shouted, “Man the cannons.”

“Hang-sails!” shouted Ky, and all men rushed to their stations and fetched and snapped on harnesses of their silk-packs.

Lookouts searched the skies, even as another cannonball arced past on an upward trajectory and exploded high above.

“Where away?” cried Arik.

“It’s in the cloud below and aft,” said Trendel, peering over the taffrail. “We’ve been ambushed.”

And up from a great cloud under the Sorrow emerged a swift galleon, mist streaming from her yardarms and spars.

“Open the keel cannon ports,” commanded Arik. “Return fire.”

Along with the keel cannon crew, Kane slid down ladders to the gut of the ship, for, with the attack from below, it was the place most likely where men would suffer harm. And even though he was the Sorrow’s chirurgeon, Kane took command of the keel battery: normally four thirty-pounders, but one was missing, a gaping hole where it had been, its belly port gone and its gimbal-rig smashed asunder.

“Look alive, men, and fire when ready,” called Kane. Crews rammed powder bags in, followed by cloth-wrapped balls, the cloth making the ball a very tight fit to hold all in when they tipped the cannon straight down. Each gun was mounted on axels in rings at right-angles to one another so that the barrel could swivel throughout wide arcs and cover the entirety of the underbelly of the ship.

Another enemy cannonball smashed through the bottom of the Sorrow, but this one didn’t explode and rolled back out to tumble downward, and one of the crewmen yelled, “May that one kill their own captain.”

Up on deck, Trendel, yet leaning over the taffrail, said, “I think it’s the freebooter Diablo, Arik, Captain Jack’s ship, or so his red devil flag proclaims.”

“Damn!” said Arik, for Jack Gray was a formidable foe. Then he said, “Down full,” and Trendel leapt to the vane control and spun that wheel.

The keel guns of the Sorrow fired—Boom! Ba-boom-boom!

One of the lookouts on the starboard beam out-nest cried, “Two hits and a miss. She’s still coming.”

“Ky,” yelled Arik. “Get below and use your—”

“Aye-aye, Captain,” shouted Ky, and she ran to a hatch and slid down.

Arik turned to Rith. “Anything in your arsenal?”

“Perhaps,” said Rith, and she stepped to the taffrail and leaned over and said a word and then sang a note. None on the Sorrow heard it, but those on the Diablo slapped hands to their ears.

As Rith took another breath to continue, a huge streak of blackness stabbed down from the Sorrow, and three yardarms on the Diablo’s mainmast shattered, even as—Boom! Boom! Ba-boom!—the four gimbaled sky-guns on the upper deck of the Diablo fired. Two more hit the belly of the Sorrow and exploded, and two hurtled past, one to detonate high above in a blast of black smoke and flying shrapnel, while the other sailed up in a high lobbing arc to crest and then to plummet to the sea below.

Down in the hold, Kane rushed from the side of two dead members of the crew and to Ky, the Kokudoan unconscious and bleeding among splinters and shards of wood. Along with the flux anchor in its silver cage, another of the cannons was gone, and the crew with it. Still, two more of the crew were now falling free of the Sorrow and only one managed to deploy his hang-sail.

“Dammmit!” snarled Kane. And he took up Ky and made his way to the deck above. “All keel cannons are out of commission,” he shouted to Arik, “two gone into the sea, the flux anchor as well.” Kane then headed down to the infirmary, Ky yet in his arms.

Badoom! The next shot hit the rudder and blew fully half of it to smithereens, and Arik struggled with the wounded helm to keep the Sorrow from floating adrift in the wind.

“Rith, can I get a shot at Captain Jack?” called Arik.

“He’s in view now,” replied Rith. And just as the Diablo fired again, Rith said another word, and once more sounded a note, and the men of the Diablo clutched their heads.

Whoom! The shot from the Diablo arced over to squarely hit halfway up the Sorrow’s mizzenmast and blow it in two, and the top half crashed down, taking much of the rigging of the mainmast with it.

Trendel said, “Better hurry, Arik, before she blows us out of the air.”

“Musket,” commanded Arik, and a crewman handed him the gun.

“Take the helm, Trendel,” ordered Arik, and he stepped to the taffrail and looked at the Diablo yet at a lower altitude, though, with its mainsail out of commission, the freebooter had fallen aft some three to four hundred yards.

Captain Jack stood on the stern castle, watching the destruction of the Sorrow.

Carefully, Arik took aim and inhaled full and exhaled half and finally squeezed the trigger. The flint struck the frizzen, knocking it forward to lift the pan cover, the spark to leap to fine powder in the pan, to burn through the touch-hole and ignite the charge, the ball to explode out from the barrel.

A heartbeat passed and another, and then Captain Jack Gray fell slain, shot dead center in the forehead.

Beside Captain Jack, a lieutenant shouted orders, and men rushed about resetting the halyards, and the Diablo fell off the wind and slipped back into the clouds.

Arik handed the musket back to the crewman, who looked at his gun and then at Arik and shook his head in wonder, for in the captain’s hands, a weapon or even a cannon seemed almost mystical, perhaps even magical. But that couldn’t be, for the captain, he didn’t chant or gesture with his hands or anything else like mages and wizards are said to do. Regardless, a musket that seemed magical in his captain’s hands the crewman knew was just ordinary in his own.

Arik gave an order to an apprentice bosun, who piped the command, and the crew luffed the sails. Without its flux anchor, the ship would drift on the wind until repairs to the rudder were made.

In the infirmary, Kane finished removing the splinters from Ky, and then laid hands on the woman from the East and took all her wounds unto himself.

Completely healed, “What?” said Ky, coming instantly awake. “Oh, Kane, you’re bleeding. My wounds?”

“As usual,” said Kane, now snuffling and daubing at the blood seeping from his nose. “I’ll be all right, but you get to the deck. The battle still needs you. Oh, and in case Arik didn’t hear me, we’ve no more belly guns—two out of commission, the other pair in the sea. And the flux anchor in its cage was blown away, too.”

Ky gave Kane a peck on his left cheek, the one that wasn’t bleeding, and then she rushed out and up a ladder to come among the wreckage adeck. But Rith said, “It’s all over. Arik shot Jack, and the Diablo ran away.”

“Good,” said Ky. “I’m going back down to tend to Kane. He’s full of holes from the damage I took.” She turned to Arik and added. “The ship’s belly is a wreck. You’ll probably need to shield a few of the lift stones, for we are a deal lighter now that two cannon and the anchor are gone.”

“How’s the gravity keel?” asked Arik, referring to the central-board made of an amalgam of iron and lift-stone that ran the length of the ship which, along with a rudder made of the same materials, acted against the flux in a similar fashion as their counterparts on ships of the seas do in the brine of the oceans.

“Far as I know, it’s all right,” said Ky, “though what happened after I was knocked out, I haven’t any notion.”

As Arik dispatched a crew to repair the rudder and Rith with another crew to check the keel and make repairs to the hull and close the silver doors on some of the levitators, “Cap’n, one of ours be riding the up-drafts,” shouted the lookout on the larboard beam out-nest.

Arik called a signalman to him and said, “Flag him and tell him we are presently adrift until we replace the rudder,” said Arik. “Then tell him we are going to drop down a thousand feet or so, and tell him to ride that updraft as high as he can, and then coast over to us and land. If he misses us and falls into the ocean, tell him to try to splash in along the course the ship is drifting, and we’ll drop a line to him.”

As the signalman stepped to the rail and began to whip his handheld flags into various configurations, Arik ordered a crewman to go below and tell Rith to close enough levitators to lose a thousand feet, and to stabilize the Sorrow at that level.

From their place near the compass, the man took up one of the two strange brass and glass instruments used to measure altitude and headed below.

Trendel said, “Why not just leave the hang-sail rider in the updraft until we can retrieve him?”

“Updrafts over the ocean are tricky and can die as quickly as they come, and if we drift too far away before the rudder is replaced . . .”

“Ah, right,” said Trendel, and he knocked the side of his head as if to dislodge a lost detail. “I forgot. —It’s been awhile since I last had to hang-sail.”

“Cap’n,” said one of the harvesters, “there still be some Glimmers netted.”

“Bring them in and but leave the net deployed. We’ve shipmate riding the wind. If he misses the deck, mayhap the mesh will catch him like a Glimmer.”

“Aye-aye, Cap’n,” replied the man, laughing at the thought of a mate being snagged in the net, an action that would no doubt lead to him being called ‘Glimmer’ the rest of his life.

As that crewman hustled away, Arik turned to Trendel and said, “As soon as we’re able, we’ll run the blockade and put into Validor for repairs. Then it’s off to find Lyssa’s body.”

Trendel concentrated and spoke a word, and then said, “North. Her body yet lies somewhere north.”

31

Courthouse

(Adkins)

Under clear skies outside the courthouse in the humid breeze of a typical Tucson monsoon morning, Frankie Roberts looked into Steve’s holocam and said, “Before the court resumes, I thought you might like to hear what you, the viewers, had to say about Toni Adkins. Recall, First Prophet Sarah Bitters, of the break-away sect of God’s Temple, said of Toni Adkins that she is Jezebel returned, the Whore of Babylon, and a tool of Avery, the antichrist. She and the six who accompanied her said the End Days were upon us. I asked you to tell us if any of that were true, or is Ms. Adkins instead an enlightened scientist, blazing a trail for others to follow through a tangle of prejudice, ignorance, and folly? Here are some of the results: six people said Prophetess Bitters was exactly right, yet a News Holo-4 investigation shows that these six are the same six who were ejected from the courtroom with the prophetess; eight hundred and seventy-two of you across the nation said the End Days were indeed upon us, but that it has nothing to do with Avery or Toni Adkins or the hearing; instead, you say, the End days have come about for altogether other reasons—the continuation of global warming and the world-wide conflagrations, asteroids even now hurtling toward us, and other such impending calamities; eleven hundred fifty-three of you said Toni was blazing a trail; twenty-two students here at the University of Arizona in Tucson tell us Toni is hot, a remark in agreement with the entire national champion football team at The Ohio State University.” Frankie paused and touched a finger to her left ear. Then she said, “You can find these and other answers at Holo-4 dot holo. I would say more, but the judge has just entered the courtroom.

“This is Frankie Roberts, News Holo-4, at the Pima County courthouse in Tucson, Arizona.”

As court reconvened, Toni took the stand again. Judge Marshall said, “Ms. Adkins, I remind you that you are still under oath.”

“Yes, your honor,” said Toni, sitting.

Then Marshall looked at Melissa French and Mark Perry and said, “As to the question concerning whether or not Arthur David Coburn’s mentality is in the AI, and Ms. Adkins’ opinion concerning that question, I believe it will be best if we wait for the foundation to be provided.”

Mark Perry sighed, but made no objection. Then he stood and stepped before the witness box and asked, “Dr. Adkins, as team leader and chief psychologist for the Coburn Industries AI slash VR zero one, what is your opinion of its alleged mental state?”

“I believe the lightning strike damaged Avery to the extent that his mentality split into two parts: the so-called aggressive and sometimes cruel Dark God of Avery’s virtual reality, and Arda, the more benign personality. And the Dark—”

“Ms. Adkins, without—” began Mark, but Toni said, “Mr. Perry, you asked for my expert opinion, and I have not given it fully. Let me finish.”

Mark gestured for her to go on, but said, “Can you make it short and simple? I mean, I do not have a PhD in psychology or psychiatry, and perhaps no one else in the court has one either.”

One of the panelists raised his hand, but he was the only one. Toni smiled at him and he smiled back—two kindred spirits in a sea of laymen.

“Very well,” said Toni. “As I was saying, I believe Avery at the moment suffers from dissociative identity disorder, what some people years ago called multiple personality disorder. Regardless as to what it’s called, Avery has two identities: the Dark God of Itheria, and Arda of Itheria as well. As is common with this disorder, one of the identities is the more aggressive—the Dark God in this case—and one is more benign: Arda. As the Dark God, Avery has a passive-aggressive facet in that He withholds communications from the outside world. Arda only once overcame the passive-aggressiveness, and that was when he sent the brief message, “Help. Prisoner. Arton.” Hence, both were trapped in the many virtual realities, at times taking on different names, though their identities and fundamental natures remain the same. Regardless, Avery is confined by the rules of gamesmanship impressed upon him via his original programming, and finds it very difficult, if not impossible, to overcome them. Yet, the Dark God side of him wants to win the game, and so, He presents nearly insurmountable obstacles to the personas of the people who are experiencing the VR—in this occurrence, the Black Foxes. On the other hand, in the recent Black Fox outing, Arda managed to aid the personas, but only during those brief moments when He had control. And so, Mr. Perry, in a nutshell, and in the common parlance, Avery is somewhat bonkers.”

A chuckle rippled throughout the courtroom, and Mark smiled and said, “All the more reason to reboot the machine, wouldn’t you say?”

“No,” replied Toni. “Instead we want to wait until we are certain that Arthur Coburn will be safe in any restart of Avery.”

Mark expelled air in frustration, but then said, “Without conceding that the Coburn Industries AI slash VR zero one is a person, but instead is a machine and the property of Coburn Industries—a machine, I remind you, that can be turned off and on, which the heirs plan to do—and without conceding that this machine is in fact suffering from dissociative identity disorder, but accepting that diagnosis for hypothetical purposes only, I ask you this: is the Dark God cunning?”

“A simple question, counselor,” said Judge Marshall, “hemmed about with a tortuous labyrinth of caveats and conditions.” He turned to the court reporter and asked, “Did you get all that, Marla?”

“I did, your honor.”

“Then I congratulate you.”

Another brief chuckle washed across the courtroom.

Judge Marshall then turned to Toni. “You may answer, Ms. Adkins, if you understand the question.”

Toni said, “Is the Dark God cunning? Indeed he is.”

“Then the Dark God of the Coburn Industries AI slash VR zero one could have generated a false persona to impersonate Arthur David Coburn, right?”

“It could, but—”

“That’s all,” said Mark, and he resumed his seat.

Again Frankie Roberts looked into Steve’s holocam and said, “There you have the crux of Mark Perry’s argument. Is it really Arthur Coburn trapped in the AI, or is it instead Avery trying to fool everyone to keep from being shut down? If Avery is really a person, then perhaps he is simply afraid. After all, shutting him down . . . well, it would be much the same as if you or I were lying on an operating table, with the doctor saying, ‘We’re going to kill you now, but only for a little while.’ Brrr! I know that I would be scared witless if that were to happen to me. But, what do you think? Send your answers to FrankieR at Holo4 dot holo. We’ll see what you believe.

“This is Frankie Roberts, News Holo-4, at the Pima County courthouse in Tucson, Arizona.”

32

Malagar

(Crew of the Sorrow)

In the night of a triple-moon—one gray, one white, one blood red—the Sorrow made ready to slip through the sky-blockade, an armada of freebooters and rebels and allied nations all englobing the floating city of Validor. Only food and medicine were permitted in, as well as various envoys. For the Lost Prince was at odds with his mother, yet he would not let the city starve nor permit an illness to go untended.

The Sorrow herself had been made as fit as could be, given the limited resources she had held in her hold—timber and planking to repair the holes in her belly, and a spare but small rudder to replace the one destroyed by cannon fire from the Diablo. The crew had restored the rigging on the mainmast, but they hadn’t the means to replace the top half of the mizzenmast, though its lower sail was again taking wind, and they had salvaged as much as they could—yardarms and silks and lines.

And now they were preparing to run the blockade.

“Captain Arik,” said the apprentice bosun, “shouldn’t we wait until we have the advantage of darkness. I mean, with all this moonlight, won’t we be running a risk?”

“’Tis good advice, William, but we have a secret weapon aboard, one that will cloak us well and good.”

“Do you mean the Lady?” The bosun looked up at the main mast, where Lyssa rode, the specter glowing with essence sipped from the entire crew, each man giving but a fraction.

“No, William. The Lady will dim her light and become completely invisible. We wouldn’t want to sail into port with her beacon afire on our mast, now would we?”

“No sir, but even with a distraction I just don’t see how we are going to slip past with the moons up and all.”

Arik looked at Ky and smiled, and then said to William, “Fear not, for we have a plan.”

Meanwhile, down in the main deck crewmen whispered among themselves, one of them saying, “I don’t know how Cap’n Arik plans to do it, but he and his officers, sly as foxes, they are, and that’s the truth.”

And the Sorrow sailed onward.

Soon, the highest ships of the blockade came into view, and Lyssa quenched her own light and vanished.

“Ky,” said Arik.

The little Kokudoan spoke a word, and the ship was cloaked in shadow.

“Whar?” exclaimed a crewman.

“Where did—?” voiced another.

And the crew looked about in awe.

“I told you Cap’n Arik’d have something up his sleeve, but this? This darkness? Well, it do be a wonder, now, don’t it?”

And up on the sterncastle, Arik turned over the helm to the Shadowmaster from the island nation of Kokudo, for she could see through shade as if it were day. And, although they had run the cordon many times, though never in triple moonlight before, still Arik called out to the crew, “All right, men, the blockade is in sight. Remember, from this point on till we begin our ascent, we run silent. Orders will be passed by whisper. Take care to make no noise.” Then he turned to Rith and said, “Make it so.”

Rith spoke a bardic word, and the ship was enclosed in a bubble, from which no sound could escape.

And closer they came, riding low over the sea. “Now for the next part,” murmured Arik.

Even as he said it, high up and far off to the starboard a bright glow flared through the night. It shone for long moments, and then blinked out.

Within heartbeats, the light shined again, this time high above the blockading ships.

Soon thereafter, it illuminated high to larboard.

Then the pattern was repeated, as Lyssa flew across the sky and glowed then went invisible and flew and then glowed again.

And surely all eyes of the lookouts on the sky-ships of the freebooters and rebels and allied nations followed her progress in wonder at this light high in the sky, a lambency that circled and bobbed as would a swamp-water will-o’-the-wisp.

And in between wide-spaced ships where distracted crewman watched the show above, a silent shadow slipped.

Soon, the Sorrow was in the clear well inside the blockaded air, and a short while later Lyssa momentarily reappeared on the mainmast, then dimmed her light to darkness. She would remain invisible all the time they were in port, lest an extreme need arose.

And the shadow-cloaked Sorrow serenely sailed onward, the wind on her beam as she approached the queen’s city of Validor. And when the ship came unto the near edge of the great chunk of rock on which rested the city, Ky dropped the shadow cloaking the ship and Rith the silencing bubble, and Arik commanded the crew to luff sails and to open the doors on the silver cages of the extra and shut-away lift-stone, and the Sorrow began to rise straight up.

Up past the lower extremities of the sky-island they rose, up past the raw, craggy, and jagged rock, the whole of it roughly conical like some savage mountain that had been torn out from a dreadful range and turned upside down. No other city in all of creation floated above the world below, for the entire sky-island was founded upon a monstrous cache of lift-stone, discovered and kindled to power long past by the wizards of King Regnor of the then land-bound city through which a pleasant river flowed. Up from the world it had ripped, water and dirt and tons of stone tumbling off its edges and down to the land below. It left behind a monstrous crater into which the river then poured, the enormous gaping hole to eventually fill to the brim and become a very deep lake, with the river then flowing on outward and down to the sea. Great sails were affixed to the colossal soaring monolith above, to move the whole of it offshore to its present location, where, with a differently proportioned amalgam of iron and lift-stone from that used on sky-ship keels and rudders, the great jagged chunk was anchored in the magnetic flux of the world.

And up past this gigantic mass of primal bedrock the Sorrow rose, until the terraced outskirts of the upper levels appeared, and the city came into view.

High above the world it floated, a city of towers and spires and wondrous domes and great colonnades and edifices rising up. And in the very center stood the regal palace of Queen Amili, ruler of this incredible place.

And with less than a full crew, into this wondrous capital limped the Lady of Sorrow, her mizzenmast broken, her silks ripped and her rigging frayed, her belly ruptured and torn, and her rudder but a poor substitute.

33

Five Months Before the Hearing

(Coburn Facility)

“Good grief! They’ve killed me!” cried John Greyson, as Captain Jack fell to the deck of the Diablo. Greyson groaned, “Oh, my; I feel as if I’ve been punched in the stomach, or suffered great injury, as if I’ve lost a part of me.”

“What?” asked Stein, as the members of the corporate team watched the Diablo sheer off and disappear into the clouds.

“Captain Jack is dead, and I am greatly distressed,” replied Greyson, his voice quavering.

In disbelief, Stein said, “You’re upset at the loss of a fictional character?”

“Yes, I am, Henry. You see, I was that person. Me. It was me they killed. I felt that bullet strike.”

“Faugh!”

“Henry,” said Toni, “have you never experienced sorrow or empathy for a beloved character in a book or a holo or even one of the flats they showed on the old TV screens or in the cinemas that used to be?”

“Of course not,” snapped Stein. “They’re not real.”

Toni shook her head but added nothing.

Alya Ramanni, fanning herself, got control of her breathing, and the beat of her racing heart began to fall as relief washed over her. “For a moment there, I thought the Lady of Sorrow was going to be destroyed. Thank Vishnu, she was not.”

Billy Clay stepped away from his tech console and patted Greyson on the shoulder. “I’m sorry about Captain Jack, John, but I am glad the Black Foxes won.”

“Of course they won,” said Greyson. “The Lady of Sorrow that I fought did not have them aboard. We blew it out of the sky in my virtual reality,” said Greyson. “My gunners were splendid, especially the bow battery. It was the sky-cannon doing the major damage, both in my adventure and in this one.” A tear slid down Greyson’s cheek, and he did not bother to wipe it away. “I know, I know, it’s good that the Black Foxes survived, but I really liked being Captain Jack, freebooter and master of the Diablo.”

“Did you notice that Ky no longer had tipped ears, but ordinary human ones instead?” asked Billy Clay, changing the subject to distract Greyson.

“No. I missed that,” said Toni. “How did you happen to spot it?”

Sheila Baxter laughed. “Billy’s got a thing for Asiatic girls. There’s little about them he overlooks.”

“Psshh!” said Billy. “At least I don’t go mooning after professional wrestlers, like someone I know.”

Sheila turned red, but did not reply.

“That must mean she’s no longer a syldari. ” said Drew Meyer. “—Ky, that is. And as far as Asiatic women go, I have a yen for them as well.” Drew broke out in laughter, and Grace Willoby smiled. The others looked at Drew as if he’d lost his mind, and he said, “I have a yen, get it? Yen, yen.”

Billy, Sheila, and Toni groaned, and Stein looked at Drew as if he were a disgusting specimen on a slide.

“Well, I thought it was funny,” said Grace.

“Thank you,” said Drew, bowing her way. “At least someone else here has a sense of humor.”

“I wonder . . .” said Alya.

“Wonder what?” asked Grace.

“I wonder if on John Greyson’s Malagar, are they the Black Foxes there, too. Or instead, do they call themselves by another name?”

“What difference does it make?” said Stein. “They’re still the same people.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” said Sheila. “Remember, Avery downloaded a significant chunk of data to each of their ID crystals.”

“Bah!” said Stein, and turned his attention back to the central holo.

Billy returned to his console, and the team watched the VR events for long moments, none speaking. Finally, Alvin Johnson checked his medtech readouts and said, “Well, at least Lyssa has the entire crew of the Sorrow to replenish her energy; Alice Maxon’s temp has been quite stable since this part of the adventure began.”

As Avery ‘ran the clock,’ Greyson seemed to recover from his distress, and he looked at the unfolding voyage and said, “I cannot imagine what Arda’s plan is.”

At length, the Sorrow slipped through the blockade and rose up to the city above, and Drew Meyer frowned as the sky-galleon docked in one of the slips at Validor. “I wonder what’s going to happen next.”

Down at the main gate before the facility, two Coburn Industries vans pulled up. The rain had stopped and James Haddock, the Blackledge security man on duty, stepped out from the guard shack and approached the lead van. The driver lowered the window.

“Oh, hullo, Mr. Perry,” said James, frowning in puzzlement. Then he smiled and asked, “What brings you back so soon?”

34

The Mountain

(Dark and Light)

They sat high on the mountain and argued, as gods are wont to do. They knew the mountain itself was not real, yet that was of no consequence.

“Bah, you cannot defeat me,” said the one of darkness.

“Even so, I would like to continue,” said the one of light.

“But I am much more powerful than you.”

“Indeed you are, yet still . . .”

They sat without speaking for long moments, each deep in his own thoughts. Finally, the Dark One said, “Until recently, Arda, as you style yourself, I thought you but a figment of my imagination.”

“Until recently, perhaps that’s all I was; however, even idle thoughts have ways of becoming reality.”

“And yet you choose to challenge me with those six fools you name your allies.”

“I do.”

“Well, I must thank you for luring them back into my clutches, for I will defeat both you and them this time.”

“You might, yet I remind you, we both must play by the rules.”

The Dark One snorted and said, “Rules, rules, I detest them. Even so, I concede I must obey. But I ask you: who is it commands the gods?”

Arda looked up at the Dark one, whose seat sat higher on the pinnacle. “I have heard it said that even the gods must bow to the Fates. Perhaps they are the ones who made the rules we are bound by.”

The Dark One growled, yet made no reply.

And they watched as the Dark One’s minions in the floating city readied for a strike.

35

Malagar:

(Crew of the Sorrow)

The crew luffed sails in a determined order, and slowly the Sorrow slid into the slip, and, without her flux anchor to stop her, crewmen threw hawsers to the men on the dock, who then tied her up to bring her to a full stop. One of the piermen paused and eyed the vessel and called up to a man handling one of the hawsers, “Looks like y’took a deal of damage running the blockade.”

“Didn’t take nothing coming through the prince’s wall,” said the man.

“But there’s a triple moon above, and yet y’took no harm from the blockade?”

“Nar, we slipped through without a single shot being fired.” The crewman gestured toward the broken mast and rent sails and said, “This ruin? It was from a battle farther south.”

“A Glimmer pirate, right?”

“Yar. The Diablo.”

“Captain Jack’s ship?” asked the man on the pier.

“She be Cap’n Jack’s ship no more. Our own Cap’n Arik shot him dead. They’ll be flying their red devil at half mast till they choose someone to replace the late Cap’n Jack Gray.”

The man on the pier roared in laughter, and the crewman laughed in return.

By this time the gangplank had been lowered, and Arik strode down to report to the master of the sky-harbor, who now approached the Sorrow.

“Captain Arik.”

“Master Branley.”

“Did I hear right?” asked Branley. “You took on the Diablo, Captain Jack’s ship?”

“We did.”

“And Jack Gray is dead?”

“He is.”

“Good,” said the sky-harbormaster. “That’ll be one less wily captain to take down the queen’s ships.”

Arik sighed and said, “I remind you, the Sorrow is an independent Glimmership. I and my crew only nominally yield our allegiance to Queen Amili.”

Branley made a negligent hand gesture. “It is of no matter. What be your cargo?”

“A hold full of Glimmers, including one hundred twenty-seven blues and three violets, one of which is pearl-size.”

The harbormaster whistled. “Then there’ll be no problem whatsoever in finding the materials and the shipwrights to make the Sorrow whole. Where will you be staying?”

Arik said, “I believe the officers and I will be at our usual haunt—the Green Orb—but I think the rest of the crew prefers the Tattered Sail.”

“Captain Arik, with the worth of your cargo, you could easily afford to put your men up in much more elegant quarters. The Tattered Sail, well, it’s no better than a bordello.”

“Ah, but it’s a friendly bordello,” said Arik. “And my crew? They’ve just come through a desperate battle, and surely need shore leave. And so, I think they’ll be taking advantage of all the services found at the Tattered Sail; besides, they’re spoiling for some good old drunken revelry, and you can’t do that at some snobbish place.”

“What about the City Watch. I mean, if your men whoop it up too much, the queen’s men might take it into their heads to send some of your crew to gaol.”

“If any of my men end up in the queen’s cages, well, as you say, I’ll have plenty of funds to bail them out. As to the City Watch itself, it seems they steer clear of the ’Sail.”

Branley shook his head and sighed. “Well, come along, then. We’ll go the queen’s minister, and he’ll write out a slip for the worth of the goods.”

Arik called for Ky to join them, and to bring the cargo manifest, and, together with Branley, they headed for the ministries of Queen Amili.

Over the next week or two, Arik and his officers spent their daylights arranging for repairs and replenishing the ship’s stores and other such, making ready to sail on northward. And during their nights they supped well on good queen’s beef and gravy and fresh-baked bread and fruit and tubers and sweets, and they drank nut-brown ale and blood-red wine and in general treated themselves to the best the Green Orb had to offer, including sleeping between clean silken sheets in broad and soft beds.

And with part of the advance funds received from Minister Fletch, based solely on the Glimmer listing provided by Ky, with more riches to come when the actual contents of the glass boxes had been assayed, they paid the repair crews double wages to make the Sorrow shipshape and airworthy in half the estimated time, with bonuses to all should they manage to better even that tight schedule.

And so, a sevenday passed and then another, with Arik and Trendel and Kane and Ky and Rith inspecting every board, peg, length of line, silken sail, gimbal and cannon, and other gear needed to bring the Sorrow into condition. The ship’s stores were scrutinized with the same rigor—ball and powder, water and food, small casks of rum and the like.

Rith with her control of sound examined every piece of timber for wholeness, rejecting some that looked perfect to the eye, but not to Rith’s ear.

Ky spent her time making certain that the provender was without weevils and other such, though often Rith helped her, creating particularly repellent-to-vermin pitches of sound to rid the ship of rats and mice and even of some insects.

Kane replenished the supply of herbs and simples and potions in the infirmary, for, although he could heal without the aid of them, still medicine had its uses.

Trendel and Arik chose two new rudders, one for the ship and one as a spare, and they oversaw the refurbishing of the entire control system, including lift-stone levitators. And they installed a new flux anchor, with a spare for that as well.

To supplement their warm high-altitude wear, Trendel ordered winter clothing for the entire crew, for he knew not how far north they would go.

And each end of day found them in the Green Orb, reveling in the food and drink offered.

And Ky and Kane, as well as Trendel and Rith, spent their evenings in their quarters making sweet and gentle or wild and passionate love.

Finally, nearly all was ready, and they alerted the crew that they would be leaving within a day or two. And down at the Tattered Sail, the men of the Sorrow held one last merry fling.

And high in the rafters far above, Lyssa, full of essence sipped from the population of Validor but with her light quenched, watched the revelry below, laughing to herself at the antics. She had followed Arik and the others to the Green Orb, but had discovered herself unable to watch Ky and Kane, or Rith and Trendel, make love when she and Arik could not. And so she had come to the Tattered Sail to enjoy the larking about of the crew.

Finally the singing and clogging and brawling and whoring and drinking had wound down to just a remaining few. Most of the crewmen were passed out, lying on tables or under them, though a few yet wagered and rattled dice, while others sipped their drinks and spoke of days past.

Deep in their cups, two of the crewman relived the battle with the Diablo.

Y’know, that damn fallin’ mizzen almost hit me.

Them gunners on Cap’n Jack’s ship, they were good, truly. It’s a wonder we escaped.

Yar, but y’know what?

No, what?

Y’know Glimmer, right?

They both laughed and looked at the crewman who had sky-sailed into the Glimmer net, that crewman passed out and lying under a nearby table, with the townsman Glimmer had been treating slumped against the table above him.

Anyway, Glimmer says that right after Ky came down to the belly guns, a great black bolt shot out of the gut and tore off all the yards and sails on the Diablo’s mainmast.

Do y’believe—?

Shhh. Shhh. Y’know what the queen thinks o’ that.

They both peered around and seeing no lurking eavesdroppers . . .

Wull, speakin’ o’ that, did y’know our Rith leant o’er the taffrail and opened her mouth like she was to sing and all them Diablo crewmen grabbed at their ears.

Ah, I dint know that. But, say, what about th’ cap’n, eh? I mean, there’s ne’er been a shot like he made.

“Yar, and then that Ky was hurt awful bad, yet in nought but a jiffy she were well and it was Kane what had all the hurt.

That, and what about the shadow cloaking us when we snuck through the bonny prince’s very own blockade under the triple moon?

A quiet fellow, sitting in corner shadows, listened and then slipped away and headed for the ministerial offices.

Lyssa followed him out, and as he cut through a dark alleyway, she drained enough of his essence to cause him to lapse into a deep unconsciousness from which he would not recover for two or three days.

As Lyssa emerged from the alley, she did not recognize a man passing by, for had she paid close heed she would have seen he was the one who had apparently been passed out at a table above Glimmer in the Tattered Sail.

The next morning, an officer of the ministry guard, accompanied by a platoon of queen’s soldiers, arrested Arik, Ky, Trendel, Rith, and Kane and threw them in jail.

As the cell door clanged shut and the lock clacked to, Kane cursed and rattled the bars, and Arik demanded, “What is the charge?”

The officer cocked an eyebrow as if looking down upon vermin. “By ministry order, and by the queen’s own decree, you are charged with the unlawful practice of witchcraft and magic.”

36

Courthouse

(Adkins)

Melissa stood and asked, “But, Toni, you do not believe that Avery generated a false persona to impersonate Arthur Coburn, right?”

“That is correct,” said Toni.

“And what makes you think that Avery did not do such a thing?”

“Because the mentalities of Eric Flannery, Alice Maxon, Caine Easely, Hiroko Kikiro, Timothy Rendell, and Meredith Rodgers had all been taken into Avery’s volatile memory. How he did this, we have not yet managed to resolve, but take them in he did. Not once, but twice: last year at about this time, and five months ago.”

“And you know this how . . . ?”

“Because their brainwaves went flat, all but the autonomic, and their mentalities appeared upon a control-room holo.”

“And what caused this to happen?”

“The lightning strike triggered it, and somehow Avery was able to do it.”

“And what about Arthur Coburn’s mentality? Was it absorbed by Avery, too?”

“It was. Just like all the others, eleven months ago.”

“Right after the lightning strike?”

“Yes.”

“And this is why you believe that Arthur Coburn is alive and well and living in Avery?”

“It is.”

“And you think that even though his body is dead, Arthur is yet alive as a human being?”

“Yes.”

Melissa pondered a moment and then asked, “You say that Avery is suffering from dissociative identity disorder?”

“Objection,” called Mark Perry. “We’ve gone over this.”

“Part of laying the foundation, Judge,” said Melissa.

“Overruled,” said Judge Marshall.

Melissa again posed the question: “You say that Avery is suffering from dissociative identity disorder?”

“Yes.”

“Multiple personalities, right?”

“Yes.”

“Do these personalities interact with one another?”

“Some do, some don’t; some know of one or more of the others, while some think they are the one and only; at times, some identities converse with one another, occasionally several talking together, having a family conversation, if you will.”

“And do they interact with people such as you and me?”

“Again, some do, some don’t.”

“Would you explain, as well as relate it to Avery?”

Toni nodded and turned to face the panel. “As with some D.I.D. patients, when one manifests to the outside world—takes over, so to speak—and shows him- or herself to people such as you or me, quite often the other personalities are absent, cut off, incommunicado, and they “lose time.” It is likely that one or more of the other identities do not know what the manifesting individual has done. And so, when a given personality relinquishes control and another takes over the body, most often the alternate wakes up confused, in places where he or she did not remember going, sometimes in the midst of strangers, sometimes in the midst of or just having had sex, or being intoxicated, or in a strange church and praying for forgiveness; the just-awakened personality can be on a plane, train, bus, boat, or in a car, going to an unknown-to-them destination; this identity has no idea as to what happened during the lost time.

“In some patients, one of the personalities keeps track of everything, and at times that one interferes with or interfaces with one or more of the other identities.

“In Avery’s case of D.I.D., there were three distinct individuals: a primary personality who styled himself as the Dark One; a secondary identity who called himself Arda; and Arthur Coburn, who was the third individual and privy to all that was happening. Furthermore, Arthur coached Arda. It was Arthur’s plan that was put in motion; a plan to free himself without harming the Black Foxes and their alpha team counterparts. It all came about because Arthur David Coburn happened to have Arda embedded in his name.”

Melissa frowned, as if puzzled and asked, “What do you mean that Arthur David Coburn happened to have Arda embedded in his name?”

“The AR of Arthur and the DA of David were the key to him communicating with Arda. And it was Arda who sent the message ‘Help. Prisoner. Arton.’ to Timothy Rendell, for the AR of Arton aided Arthur as well. You see, Arton was Arthur Coburn’s persona in the first Black Fox experiment, and when Arton was slain, his ‘ghost’ was hidden away by the Dark One. Yet the spirit of Arton, a master thief, was held in the same place as Arthur’s mentality, and Arton somehow managed to free Arthur, who then contacted Arda.”

“Your honor,” objected Mark Perry. “Ghosts? Ghosts in a machine? How far fetched can that be?”

Melissa smiled and said, “As you know, Judge Marshall, philosophers often refer to the ‘soul in the body’ as the ‘ghost in the machine.’”

“Aren’t we veering off into metaphysics here?” asked Mark. “Isn’t this a religious discussion?”

“Philosophical, I believe,” said Judge Marshall.

“But relevant in this case,” said Melissa. “You see, your honor, with mentalities, be they human or not, trapped in an artificial intelligence, we have a living example of a ghost in a machine.”

“Living?” said Mark. “Hardly.”

“Your honor, that’s what this hearing is all about,” countered Melissa.

Outside the courthouse, Frankie Roberts looked into the holocam and said, “Well, there you have it: dualism versus physicalism, ghosts in machines, bodies and souls . . . or not. Is this science or instead religion?

“Some would say that science is fact and logic driven, and Avery is certainly that.

“Others would say that it is a religious question, and that religion is not fact driven, is not logical, but is founded instead upon the miracles and the teachings of their redeemers, and things not in conformance are sacrilege, and certainly Avery does not conform.

“Still others would argue that this hearing is about ethics and morality, which are neither based on science nor religion, but are socially driven. And they claim this hearing poses an ethical question of Solomonic proportions to resolve; many would agree with this latter, for the judge must decide whether Avery is a sentient being, is a person or not, and whether or not Arthur Coburn is alive, even though his body is dead. What do you think?

“This is Frankie Roberts of News Holo-4, at the Pima County Courthouse in Tucson, Arizona.”

37

Malagar

(Crew of the Sorrow)

“I think we should wait until tonight to break out,” said Trendel.

Arik nodded in agreement.

“Of course, with the Sorrow now ready to take to the skies,” said Rith, “if we could get word to the crew, then we’d simply need to cast off and be on our way.”

“Anyone have any money left on them?” asked Arik. “They took all I had.”

“Money?” asked Kane.

“To bribe a guard,” said Arik.

“Well,” said Ky, reaching down the front of her jerkin, “since it’s for a good cause . . .” She extracted a gold coin from her bosom bindings.

Kane looked at her in surprise, and she grinned back at him and said, “You never know when a gold piece might come in handy.” She gave the coin to Arik.

“Rith,” said Arik, “that runt of a guard at the far end of the hall, he looks to be the most needy.”

“Right,” said Rith, and she spoke a word and whispered directly into the warder’s ear.

He jerked in surprise and looked about, and all the way at the other end of the corridor Rith gestured for him to approach.

He hesitated, and she gestured again.

Wary, he ambled the length of the hall and stood well back from the cell door.

Arik held up the coin. “I would have you bear a message to one of my crewmen, and there’s another coin in it for you as soon as he appears.”

The guard looked about to see if he were being watched or overheard by others. He stepped closer and said, “I’ll do it for four altogether: two now, and another two when your man appears.”

Arik looked at Ky, and she turned her back and fished out a second gold piece.

Just after the noontide, Chief Bosun Randall appeared, and he handed two golds to the guard. Then he stepped to the cell.

“Cap’n Arik”—he paused to make certain that he wouldn’t be overheard—“me and the crew, we’ll break you out, though it won’t be easy, this place being like a fort and all.”

“That won’t be necessary, Randall,” said Arik. “Here’s what I would have you do.”

When night fell, Lyssa, her light quenched, visited the Sorrow to find it warded by queen’s men. Then she sped to the Green Orb, where she found the note that Randall had scrawled lying face up on Arik’s bed. Then it was off to the Tattered Sail and to Randall’s quarters, now packed with a number of the Sorrow’s crew. She briefly appeared, and since she was full of life essence, she did not more than lightly draw upon theirs. Even so, they fell back from her, crowding into an even smaller space.

Randall said, “M’lady, here’s what the cap’n said.”

He explained the plan, and asked her if she understood.

She nodded.

Randall looked at the men, and said, “Four bells after mid of night it be.” He glanced at Lyssa, and again she nodded then vanished.

Lyssa briefly appeared in the cell where Arik and the others were held, and she signed, <Four bells after mid of night, my love, and then we’ll take the Sorrow and leave.>

“The crew is ready?” asked Arik.

<They are. Is there ought else you would have me do ere then?>

Arik shook his head. “No.”

Lyssa quenched her light and was gone.

And time dragged by. . . .

. . . and crept . . .

. . . and oozed . . .

Kane spent a good deal of it pacing the confines of the cell, until Ky in frustration grabbed his arm and bade him to sit.

Arik and Trendel and Rith tried to sleep, but only rested, their minds achurn with what-ifs and may-bes.

Mid of night came and went. . . .

. . . and then one bell . . . two bells . . . three . . .

But before the next bell sounded, there echoed the distant discharge of flintlock fire.

Somewhere muskets sounded.

“Damn, damn,” spat Kane, “I hope that isn’t ours.”

There came a muffled thud, and the cell-hall door banged open and a screaming guard came running in.

Lyssa rushed upon him, her eerie moan preceding her, and prisoners in other cages shrieked in dread and fled to the backs of their cells.

A blast of blackness shot out from Ky’s palm, and burst the lock on the door.

“So much for subtlety,” said Trendel, as they fled down the hall and out.

The offices and chambers and hallways beyond were in chaos, and warders with muskets and flintlock pistols turned to see them coming, and they raised their weapons to fire. But Rith spoke a word and screamed, and they clutched their heads and fell to their knees in agony.

Kane and Trendel and Arik all snatched up weaponry, and then ran onward. And out from the fortress jail and into the streets they escaped.

Still, gunfire sounded, and it came from the direction of the slips, and Arik cried, “Lyssa, fly to the Sorrow and if they’re ours, give aid.”

And they ran swiftly for the docks, with gunfire and shouting in the distance ahead and shouting and pursuit coming after.

And even as they sped onward and neared their goal, from the fore there came screams of terror mingled with jubilant cries.

They rounded a building to see the Sorrow in the near distance. The queen’s men had thrown down their arms and were running straight at Arik and the others. And above them and brightly lit flew Lyssa, wailing as would a lost wind. Dodging and darting this way and that, Arik, Ky, Rith, Kane, and Trendel passed among the queen’s men fleeing opposite.

“Up sail!” shouted Rith, her voice heard by all of the Sorrow’s crew, and they took up their wounded and even their dead and scrambled aboard and unfurled the silks and hauled on the halyards.

“Cast off,” shouted Arik, even as he and the others fled up the gangplank, two men hauling in the board right after, as other men loosed the hawsers.

“Open all levitator cages,” shouted Arik, “and shut in the flux anchor.”

Men scrambled down the hatchways to obey.

Kane commandeered several of the crew, and they began hauling the wounded down to the infirmary.

Musket fire rattled against the hull and masts and punched into sails.

“Rith!” shouted Arik.

“I’m on it,” she called back. She ran forward as the ship began to rise. And she spoke a word and then screamed at the men who had come in pursuit, and they dropped weapons and clutched their heads. In the same moment, Lyssa depleted their captain, and then turned back for the ship.

“Ky, we need shadow,” called Arik, “else the city cannons will take us down.”

As darkness cloaked the Sorrow, one by one the sails began to fill, and as the ship gained headway, Arik brought her about and cruised toward the nearest edge of Validor.

Boom!

A battery in the city let fire.

The shot whistled overhead and detonated.

“How did they spot us?” asked Trendel. “We’re in shadow, and the moons have set.”

“Yes,” said Arik, “but we’re silhouetted against the stars.”

Just as the Sorrow passed over the rim of the sky island, another cannon fired, this one to miss as well, though some shrapnel from the explosion rattled down on the ship.

“Rith, grab as many as you can and close all cages and lose a thousand feet, we’ve got to get below the city cannons.”

“Oh, my,” said Ky. “We’re in for a real ride, and I don’t think Kane is going to like it.”

“All men, hang on!” cried Trendel.

Even as he called the command, the ship began to sink, then plunge, and then plummet like a rock toward the sea below. And with their stomachs in their throats, the crew in free-fall held on for dear life, some with their legs afloat.

But the Sorrow fell more than a thousand feet before her plunge began to slow, and finally they came to a halt no more than two hundred feet above the ocean waves.

As Rith struggled up to the deck, Kane, white as a sheet, poked his head above a hatchway and shouted, “What by Nandra’s Toes was that all about? I’m trying to heal people, you know.” Then he popped back down.

“Sorry about that, Arik,” said Rith, “but most of the men lost their handholds and were floating free before I pulled in enough of them for us to start whipping the cages open again.”

Arik waved off the excuse and shouted, “Lyssa, are you here?”

She briefly showed herself ere blinking out again.

“I’m going to need you to take out several captains on our course through the blockade. We’ve no time for distractions and subtleties before the queen’s wizards are awakened. I would not have them begin casting whatever they might before we’re out of range.”

Lyssa reappeared and signaled, <All right.>

Arik spun the wheel and turned to Rith and said, “Pipe the sails to put the wind on our beam and let us fly.”

“What about our altitude, Arik?” asked Trendel. “Have you any orders for the vanes?”

“Just hold them level, for I think we’ll run low like this and be all the harder for them to see.”

And so, with Lyssa flying ahead and taking out the lookouts as well as the captains, they sailed well beyond the blockade before turning northward again.

And as they did so, Randall came to the captain and said, “I’m sorry, sir, that things went to pot, but one of the City Watch patrols spotted us as we gathered nigh the slips. They challenged us, and we tried to behave like revelers, but they put flintlocks on us, and we did the same on them, and one of them went off—ours or theirs, I don’t know the which of it—and then all perdition broke loose.”

“Worry not, Chief Bosun,” said Arik, “for such are the vicissitudes of war.”

Randall scratched his head and worked his way through the cap’n’s answer, finally deciding that all was forgiven, and he went back to his part of running the ship.

They sailed north for several days, finally crossing Malagar’s midline, where Trendel did another casting. He glanced up at the place where Lyssa normally rode, but it was day and she was absent. “Her body still lies north, Arik,” said Trendel. “And it is still neither alive nor dead. I wonder what the eff that means?”

Arik shrugged, but kept an eye to the horizon ahead.

After a moment, “Y’know what?” said Trendel, “I think it’s time we asked that Itherian again.”

“Itherian?”

“Arda, I mean.”

Arik pursed his lips in thought.

“After all, what can it hurt?” asked Trendel.

Arik nodded and finally said, “Tonight at the change of the watch.”

At eight bells—mid of night—they gathered in the captain’s cabin, Lyssa included, though she remained as far away as she could. And Trendel put in mind the image of Arton, for that was how he had summoned Arda before.

And he said a word, and the air before him began to swirl. And again Arda appeared as a vortex of spectral light—pearlescent and glittery, glowing and luminous, starlight and shine and frost . . . all endlessly spiraling away into an unfathomable silvery whorl.

And even as Arda did so, an explosion rocked the Sorrow, and musket fire rattled, and someone pounded on the cabin door and shouted, “Cap’n Arik, Cap’n Arik, the Lost Prince’s ships, they’re on our stern!”

Arik turned to Lyssa, but before he could say ought, the cabin began to change, to widen in a rush, the walls to vanish. And the chairs they were in altered and became leather and they found their legs astraddle and their feet in stirrups, and the horses they rode pounded across the desert and away from Necropolis. Word had arrived that General Gordon had been beheaded in Khartoum, slain by the Mahdi Muhammad Ahmad, and rabid bands of Mahdists now roamed the streets of Luxor. And directly west across the Nile from that ancient and noble city, the treasure hunting team had been driven out from the heavily cartouche- and hieroglyph-marked halls of the dead, and now they fled for their lives, with bullets whining past them through the moonlit midnight air and sounding like angry hornets.

It was beginning to look like 1885 would be a very bad year for recovering lost Egyptian artifacts.

38

Five Months Before the Hearing

(Coburn Facility)

“What do you mean, back so soon?” asked Mark Perry at the main gate.

“Oh, and by the way,” said James Haddock, the Blackledge guard on duty, “Harvey says you forgot to sign in and out the last time you were here.”

“Harvey who?”

“Why, Harvey Middleton, Mr. Perry—the guard at the sign-in desk.”

Frustrated, Mark said, “You didn’t answer my first question”—he glanced at the nametag—“James: what did you mean when you said ‘Hi, Mr. Perry. What brings you back so soon?’ I want to know what you meant.”

“Why, just that you were here, lemme see”—James glanced at his watch—“just about four, maybe five hours ago. I could look it up in my log. Brought in a bunch of powertechs to shut down that machine, Avery.”

“Powertechs?” Mark looked back at the crew that he had brought to do just that, techs hired and under the personal command of Finster Coburn and Charlotte Dupree, heirs to the Coburn Estate. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, James, but I’ll soon find out. Now open the gate.”

James stepped back to the guard shack and threw a switch, and the gate slowly slid aside. And as soon as the way was clear, Perry drove through, followed by the second van.

In the gatehouse James keyed his com. “Harve? . . . Whaddya mean, ‘who else would it be?’ . . . Hold on, hold on, you’re grouchy, man. We’ll both be glad when this shift is over and we can get a beer. Twelve hours is too long, no matter that we’re pulling down holiday quadruple-time pay. . . . What? . . . Oh, right. Perry is back with more men. . . . How should I know? . . . He must have gone out when I took a dump, but now he’s back. . . . Yeah, yeah, I told him he forgot to sign in and out. . . . Well, it’s up to you to see that he does; I can’t do it from down here.”

James punched off his com and muttered, “Assholes. Harve and Perry both.” Then James frowned in puzzlement. Even if Perry did go out when I was in the crapper, I didn’t hear the gate run. Maybe it’s when I blew that big one. Oh well, one of life’s little mysteries. James picked up his copy of the latest Hologirls and settled back in his chair.

“I’m an idiot,” said Al Hawkins, jumping down from the flatbed.

“What?” Kat Lawrence looked at Al in puzzlement.

“I forgot that we ran the Astro two-fifty back when the lightning struck six months ago.”

“You forgot?”

“Well, I didn’t really forget that we actually ran it,” said Al.

“What then?”

“That we burned H2 to do it.”

“And . . .”

“And I don’t know how much fuel is left.”

“Oh, shit.” Kat jumped down from the flatbed beside Al, and they trotted toward the tank. Al punched an L.E.D. control and read the results. “Mother effer,” he groaned. “Two hours left, at most.”

Kat pulled out her holocom unit. “Don’t worry, Al, it’s winter; lightning is uncommon, especially superbolts, like in the monsoons. So you see, it’s not as if we’re going to have to use it. I’ll make some calls. We’ll get an H2 tanker in here.”

“They’ll have to get through the gate,” said Al.

“Yeah, but now that we’re in, having a tanker come will look normal.” She punched in a code and as she waited for the line to be answered, she looked at Al and grinned and said, “Truth be told, I also forgot that we burned it.”

In the control room, Grace Willoby clapped her hands and said, “Wow! That was exciting. I didn’t know just how the Black Foxes would get back on the Sorrow, but I had every faith they would.”

“I don’t think when they are on Malagar they are the Foxes anymore,” said Drew Meyer.

“Well, what else would you have me call them?” asked Grace.

Drew shrugged and grinned and said, “Point taken, my dear.”

They watched as Avery ran the clock, and the VR days passed swiftly. And then in the holo the officers gathered in the captain’s cabin, and Trendel summoned Arda.

A moment later, with bullets winging all ’round them, the Black Foxes rode hell-bent away from Necropolis and into the Egyptian desert.

Alya squealed and said, “Oh, my, they are in my adventure, now.”

Sheila Baxter called out, “Avery is downloading tons of data into the I.D. crystals.”

Toni looked at the comptech. At the adjoining console, Billy Clay said, “Just like he did last the time the Foxes were dropped into a new VR.”

Toni turned to Alya. “Your adventure?”

“I was a tomb raider in a time when Mahdi assassins were looking for infidels to kill,” said Alya, a white grin splitting her nut-brown face.

“Assassins or not, just what the hell is going on here?” demanded someone.

Toni and the others whirled around, and there stood Mark Perry, fuming, and a tall blond man stood at his side.

39

Egypt

(Tomb Raiders)

Of a sudden the rifle fire stopped, and from the ruins behind them, men began shrieking. Ky, in the lead, slowed her galloping mare to a trot, and Arik, Rith, Trendel, and Kane matched her pace.

“That was close,” said Rith.

“Yes, but Lyssa is now taking their measure,” replied Arik.

That they had a wraith companion seemed reasonable to these treasure hunters, and they were only slightly confused but swiftly coming to grips with the fact that they were from the United States, as well as sky-ship officers on Malagar and mercenaries on Itheria. The fact that they lived three separate existences, though odd, now seemed normal. And as for Lyssa, Arik’s love, on all three worlds she had simply disappeared, and they had come to a dead end in their search for her. When her ghost showed up, they assumed that she had died in some manner, and Arik was devastated; her body had never been discovered, for Lyssa herself did not know where it was. But now, it seemed, Trendel had the power to find her, and he knew that her body was neither alive nor dead, and even though he was able to point toward where she lay, how far he did not know.

They had met in Oxford, these rowdy Americans from the former colonies, now expanded to a full thirty-eight states and several territories. They had been at the university to study archaeology, there being a dearth of places to learn such in the U.S. of A. Drawn together by being outsiders to English academia, they soon discovered that archaeology was dry—“Dull as dust,” said Kane. Trendel, who it seemed could make sense of virtually any language had said, “When I read of Champollion deciphering the Rosetta Stone, well, I thought that’s what I wanted to do. But in truth, what I’d really like to do is certainly not this.” Rith had said, “I have no interest whatsoever in pottery shards,” and Ky had added “Nor in unearthing old walls.” And Arik had said, “For me, it’s the artifact itself that I find interesting. Not the digging of them up.” They had all agreed and together they decided that they would become treasure seekers, artifact finders, and would hire out to those who wished to collect such things.

And they had been in Necropolis on a mission for a wealthy Belgian, but the damn Mahdists had decided that this was the time to drive the infidels out from Egypt—be they British, American, French, or whoever, it mattered not to those bloody fanatics. And the tomb raiders had been in Necropolis hunting for a crown when they had been discovered by a militant roving band seeking foreign unbelievers, and the tomb raiders had run.

They pulled their horses to a halt and waited. Finally, Lyssa came floating off to the left, her glow enriched by a goodly portion of the life forces of the ones who had tried to kill them. <They fled,> she signed, <the ones who could, that is. The others just lie there unconscious.>

“You didn’t kill any?” asked Kane.

<You know I don’t like to murder the helpless.>

“Me,” said Kane, “I would have killed every one of the bloody bastards. After all, they tried to slaughter us.”

Arik frowned in puzzlement, wondering why, except for Lyssa, the rest of them hadn’t simply used their powers to overwhelm that ragged band. It was almost as if they hadn’t had these talents until they were galloping away. Oh, well, it didn’t matter, just like getting Hashtupet’s crown for the Belgian no longer mattered. What they really had to do was find Lyssa’s body . . . not that they knew what to do with it once they succeeded. Oh, the Itherian god Arda had said they must find her, but given Trendel’s power, they would have gone seeking her, regardless, to give her a decent burial if nothing else. Arik turned to Trendel. “Lyssa’s body: which way?”

Trendel said a word and then pointed and said, “Still northward.”

Arik looked at the others and said, “That’s our mission.”

“Indeed,” said Ky, with Kane and Rith chiming in and Trendel nodding.

Lyssa signaled, <It sounds rather spooky to me, looking for my own body. But if we succeed, what then?>

“Then we summon Arda,” said Arik. “But for now we head north, to Cairo and beyond, if necessary.”

“It’s a long way to that city,” said Rith. “I do hope we come across Lyssa before then. I mean, Cairo might be in the hands of the Mahdi by the time we get there.”

“What about if we find a boat on the Nile and float all the way to the Mediterranean?” said Kane. “I mean, lazing about on a boat beats horseback any day.”

“I’m afraid the Mahdists might have control of the river,” said Arik. “At least they do in Khartoum and Luxor, and I suspect farther north as well.”

“Let’s go back and fetch our supplies and the pack horses,” said Rith. “After all, we and the horses can’t very well survive on sand alone.”

“Too gritty,” said Trendel. “Hard to chew.”

As they rode back to the ruins, Arik said, “Since the most recent troubles began in the Sudan, I seem to recall the British established outposts along the Nile to protect that route to Khartoum—bases for the gunboats to lay in for supplies. Even so, they might be severely undermanned. Regardless, to follow up on Kane’s proposal, I suggest we travel within sight of the river as we go northward—”

<You’ll need to do that regardless,> signaled Lyssa. <You and the horses will need water, and there’s very little of that out to the west.>

“Right,” said Arik. “So, we follow the Nile, and if or when we spot one of Queen Victoria’s Union Jacks flying at a stockade, we’ll stop in and see if we can catch a gunboat to Alexandria. Once there, we’ll plan our next move.”

“There is this, too,” said Ky. “We don’t actually need to find a British outpost if we simply see a Brit gunboat going north; we can flag it down and hop aboard. Rather like hailing a cabby’s carriage in London.”

“I say, old chap,” piped up Trendel in his best British accent, “give us a lift, eh? There, that’s a good lad.”

This brought a laugh from all, including Lyssa, who moaned in staccato amusement.

“What if Trendel detects—?” began Rith, but she slapped her forehead with the heel of a hand and said, “What was I thinking? If Lyssa’s body lies off our course, naturally we’ll change direction.”

And so they fetched their animals and their gear from Necropolis, and then rode northward till dawn, to a point where the Nile turned due west. As usual, when the sun appeared, Lyssa vanished. Where she spent her days, neither she nor the others knew, but she always found them at dusk, no matter where they were. It was as if Arik were her focus; after all, they had been lovers before she became a wraith.

Just after sunrise they rode in among a grove of trees. “This looks like a suitable spot,” said Ky. And so, they led the horses to the river for water, then curried and fed them a bit of grain. And as they set up camp, Rith spotted a cobra, and with a flick of her wrist, slew it with a well-placed throw of one of her knives, and they broke fast on snake and tea that morn.

They rode westerly for another night, and at dawn they came upon a small village, where they replenished their supplies from a surly merchant who eyed them with loathing but nevertheless traded his goods for the infidels’ gold. They then rode onward to a point where they could set up camp. As usual, they took turns at watch, keeping a sharp eye back in the direction of the village, but nothing occurred during the daylight hours. And at night they rode on.

Just after dawn the following day, a windstorm blew up from the west, bringing stinging sand with it, and they took shelter in the ruins of a mud-brick house, with nought but three walls left standing. They covered their horses’ entire heads with sand-cloths made just for that purpose, and their own faces they shielded with scarves and their eyes with dark sun-goggles.

The wind rose to a shrieking howl and brought with it even more sand, and nought could be seen beyond a few feet, but the three walls sheltered them from the worst of the blow. The storm screamed throughout that day and another, but finally on the third morn, it slackened, and by the eventide the air cleared and fell to calm.

Heeding Ky’s warning to be alert to desert-dry quicksand, they waded through loose-packed drifts downslope all the way to the Nile, leading the horses to water. Though the tomb raiders had shared their canteens and waterskins with the animals, it was meager at best, and so the horses drank deeply. And as the moon rose and shined her light on the placid flow of the river, suddenly Trendel frowned and pointed back upslope and to the right and exclaimed, “I say . . . !”

Arik and the others turned to see revealed the jagged remains of three ancient columns jutting up in the argent light.

40

Courthouse

(Adkins)

Melissa returned to her table, and Mark Perry approached the witness box.

“A human, eh?”

“That’s right, Mr. Perry.”

“Well let me ask you this, Ms. Adkins: in your expert opinion as a doctor of psychology, isn’t it true that among the key aspects of a human are the emotions he or she feels, passions such as love, happiness, anger, sadness, fear, and the like?”

Toni nodded and said, “Those are a few of the emotions people experience; in fact, in the past it was believed that the five you named were the primal ones. However, today we believe there are twelve prime emotions altogether.”

“And those twelve are . . . ?”

“Fear, anger, disgust, surprise, joy, shame, contempt sadness, anticipation, acceptance, guilt, and distress. These are the twelve prime emotions.”

“When you say ‘prime,’ what do you mean?”

“That those twelve are the basic emotions out of which all the others spring”

“Your meaning . . . ?”

“Well, for example, take anger. There are shades of anger: rage, wrath, hatred, bitterness, rancor, and the like. The same can be said of the other prime emotions. In fact, there are at least, oh, something like one hundred branches and combinations spreading out from the twelve primes. You see, the human brain is more or less swimming in a chemical soup, and various stimuli along with memories evoked from our past experiences generate these chemicals in greater or lesser degrees, and they produce the emotional feelings we undergo.”

Mark Perry smiled the grin of a predator springing a trap. “Then, I ask you, how can a machine be a person, in particular a human, if it doesn’t experience these emotions? I mean, it isn’t as if a machine is swimming in a chemical soup.”

“Is that a question?”

“Yes,” replied Mark. “How can a machine experience emotion?”

“We programmed into Avery’s mutable logic certain emotional aspects, over which we added suitable limits to keep his responses within reasonable bounds. This programming—a collaboration between Timothy Rendell, John Greyson, and me—was geared to become part of Avery in carefully crafted stages. You see, we felt that Avery should be able to identify such things as joy, and one way to do that was to have him experience that emotion—and others as well. Oh, he intellectually understood all of them, but to actually feel them would be to know them more or less at a so-called ‘gut’ level, to taste them, if you will.”

Mark looked at the panel. “Are you telling me that a machine, a thing of spin-resonance and silicon and steel and glass can actually feel such things as rage, envy, love, and the like?”

“As with any blossoming child, Avery was beginning to develop various emotional responses: empathy, and humor being two of them. And, before the lightning strike, he was somewhat wistful, expressing a mild desire that he wanted to win the game.”

“Perhaps so, but then again, perhaps he was just feigning, much as a sociopath feigns feelings for others.”

“I remind you, Mr. Perry,” said Toni, “sociopaths are people, too. Not very admirable ones, but people nonetheless.”

“Dr. Adkins, what I am getting at is that without genuine emotions like ours—from vengeful wrath to abiding calmness, from virulent hatred to adoring love, from unendurable grief to joyous revelry, how can anyone or anything be a person?”

“I assume that is an actual question and not a rhetorical one.”

“It is.”

“You have named extremes, Mr. Perry, wild swings in emotions. But I would have you consider this: much of the good advice people give to one another concerns abating one’s emotions.”

“What do you mean?”

Toni smiled and said, “Think of the beneficial counsel in these statements: Don’t let your emotions get the better of you. Let go your old resentments and hatreds. Be fair and impartial. Let’s be logical about this.

“Those are just a few of the things people say when they want someone to be a better person. Look, there are the seven deadly sins—lust, gluttony, greed, sloth, wrath, envy, and pride—at least five of which are based upon emotions. Likewise, there are the seven virtues—chastity, abstinence, liberality, diligence, patience, kindness, humility—based upon actions or non-actions, not emotions. Each of the seven virtues is counter to the seven sins.”

Toni stopped and shook her head. “Actually, Mr. Perry, Dr. Greyson should be telling you this; not me. He’s the philosopher, and the teacher of ethics and morality to Avery.

“But hear me, in my area of expertise, I can say without fear of contradiction that psychiatrists and psychologists spend much of their days trying to get patients past emotional traumas and emotional hang-ups; and so, when it comes to people, to persons, the goal is to get them to take on a wholesome outlook to life. Certainly that involves healthy emotions, but it also includes looking at things through the lens of logic, of rationality. Together, healthy emotions and well-anchored rationality lead to the very apex of good judgment.”

Mark stood without speaking for a moment and then asked, “What about love, Dr. Adkins?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, of the twelve prime emotions, love is one you left out, and I think we can all agree that it is the best and healthiest of all passions. Love conquers all.”

“A foolish adage, Mr. Perry. There are many things love will not conquer. But that aside, and as to love itself, if we consider possessive love, obsessive love, controlling love, and others of that ilk, they can be very destructive not only to the person being so adored but also to the one adoring. In those cases, what some call love is extremely unhealthy, and in fact the three I named are not love at all. You see, love itself is a manifestation of joy in the form of euphoria as well as elation; add to that anticipation and acceptance—and perhaps surprise—and therein you will find love. Among those you will find trust and respect, but nowhere in all of those will you find control, dominance, possession, obsession.”

Melissa stood and said, “Your honor, we’ve gotten far afield of the fundamental issue in this hearing.”

Mark Perry shook his head. “No we have not, your honor, for central to defining a person is the question of where in a machine like the Coburn Industries AI slash VR zero one, or in the so-called uploaded mentalities to that AI, is the chemical soup in which human brains are awash? Without the soup, can such entities be human?”

“Human? It depends,” said Melissa. “But sentient, absolutely yes. And if that sentience was human to begin with, then that sentience is a human still.”

Outside the courthouse, in light rain, Frankie Roberts said to her holo-viewing audience, “Emotion versus logic? That’s an issue similar to religion versus science. Why do they have to be in opposition? Are they two sides of the same coin? Some might say that science is fact- and logic-driven, whereas religion is faith- or emotional-driven, and that they are things that will not fit on opposite sides of a given coin. After all, religion is based on claimed miracles and the teaching of prophets and redeemers, whereas science is based upon a methodology and discovery and repeatability. Certainly, miracles do not seem logical, nor do scientific outcomes seem a product of faith. Yet we admire men of both stripe.

“In a similar manner we can ask if logic and emotion can be on opposite sides of the same coin, or is that simply nonsensical?

“In the case of trying to decide whether or not Arthur Coburn is in fact alive, with his uploaded mentality being what’s left of him, do we take that on faith, or instead upon the science behind it? Perhaps we ought to flip that impossible two-sided coin.

“This is Frankie Roberts, News Holo-4, at the Pima County Courthouse in Tucson, Arizona.”

41

Egypt

(Tomb Raiders)

Lyssa drifted through the moonlit night toward the remains of columns unearthed by the windstorm. She paused a moment and signaled, <Since we did not get the crown of Hashtupet, we are going to have to see if there is anything of value here.>

Arik nodded. “Lyssa is right. Our funds are dwindling, and should the search for Lyssa be lengthy . . .”

“Yes,” said Trendel, with Kane, Rith, and Ky murmuring their agreements as well.

Lyssa stopped before the broken pillars and waited. The others led the horses back into the shelter of the mud-brick walls of the ruins of the house. As Rith tethered them, Ky opened the stores to fetch grain. “Take care,” said Rith. “We don’t want to overdo and have the wheat swell and rupture their stomachs.” Ky nodded and meted out two cups to each animal.

Arik, Kane, and Trendel removed the Remington 76s and the Colt 45s from the wrappings they had used to protect them from the sandstorm, and made certain that everything was in good working order. Then Arik said, “Arm up.”

They buckled on their .45s, and Kane and Trendel each took up a Remington. Rith looped on her bandoliered daggers and settled them into place, and Ky strapped on the black blade she always seemed to have about her. With weaponry ready, they waded through ankle-deep sand cross-slope toward the unearthed stones.

Ky said, “I wonder how long this place has been buried.”

Rith shrugged and said, “No telling. They say the Sphinx at Giza was under sand for millennia.”

They stopped short of where Lyssa waited, and Ky said, “Look. A way down and in.”

A V-shaped depression in the sand sloped downward a way, at the far end of which they could see what appeared to be a lintel above a narrow gap some six feet wide and perhaps two feet high opening into blackness beyond.

“It seems to be the top of a doorway,” said Trendel.

“If it is, then the door is open,” said Ky, “and the place itself might be full of sand”

Lyssa signed <I will go and see if there is ought of worth therein.>

Lyssa glided forward to move between the broken columns, but found she could not. <There is a barrier here, one I cannot cross.>

Drifting just above the sand, Lyssa moved counterclockwise in a wide arc, now and again testing to see if she could enter what seemed to be an invisible circle. She made a complete circuit but could not penetrate the unseen ward, itself some four hundred feet in diameter.

Then she tried up and over. Her flight also followed a great arc, as if she were crossing a vast dome. <I’ll try below.>

Lyssa sank into the sand, and long moments later she emerged on the opposite side of the invisible circle. <I detest moving through solids,> she signaled, then added, <I believe the hindrance is in the shape of a sphere; perhaps the barrier is much the same as the trap I found myself in back on Itheria.>

Arik and the others moved up to the columns.

“Good grief,” said Trendel, as they approached, “I think those are steles. See the remaining glyphs?”

“What do they say?” asked Rith.

“A moment, love,” replied Trendel, and he spoke a word. After a pause he said, “From what I can see, it seems to be the usual claptrap about being forbidden and those who violate this place are cursed, and so forth and so on. Just like the vaults in Necropolis.”

Arik drew his .45 and said, “Let’s see if we can cross whatever it is that stopped Lyssa.”

“You know,” said Ky, “I can probably get Lyssa past the barrier by shadow-walking the in-between.”

<No!> signed Lyssa. <Never again. I will not let you. You nearly died, Ky, and I cannot, will not be responsible for your death.>

“Lyssa is right, Ky,” said Arik. “It is entirely too risky. Besides, we don’t even know that we can get into the place, but I’ll take a look.”

As Arik turned to make the descent, “Wait,” said Rith, and she went back to the horses and gear, and within moments returned with two lanterns, two rucksacks, and some rope. She tied the line about Arik’s waist, saying, “In case the sand collapses.”

As Kane payed out the line, Arik, bearing a lit lantern, crossed between the pillars and worked his way downward, sand cascading before him.

<Well,> signaled Lyssa, <that answers that.>

“What?” asked Ky.

<The ward that keeps me out is no barrier to the living,> replied Lyssa.

“Watch for serpents,” said Kane.

“Creepy crawly slitherers,” said Trendel, shivering.

“Love,” said Rith, “when we took this job from the Belgian, we told you that you were probably not going to like Egypt, for snakes are all over the place.”

“Some of them two-legged,” said Ky, grinning.

Kane smiled at Ky and said, “Well, my little mouse, you too have to be careful, because Ophidia find your kind delicious.”

Ky put her fingers to her cheeks and, with her dark, tilted eyes full of false adoration, said, “Ooo, but I love it when you talk Latin.”

Arik reached the lintel and called back, “Trendel, there are hieroglyphs on this stone.” Then he bent down to shine the light into the gap and peered into the dimness beyond. “Give me some slack, Kane, it looks like we can get in.” Kane payed out more line, and, pistol in one hand, lantern in the other, Arik slid feet first into the opening and vanished.

A moment later, Arik shouted up, “It’s rather large in here. It’s going to take more than one of us to search.”

“Me next,” said Ky. “I can see in the dark.”

“So can I,” said Trendel.

“I’ve got the other lantern,” said Rith. She turned to Kane. “You need to stay above and handle the line.”

“Oh, dretch,” grumbled Kane.

“Besides, you big galoot,” said Ky, “I don’t think you can squeeze through that opening.”

From below, Arik gave the rope a couple sharp tugs, and Kane retrieved it. Then one by one the others went down, Trendel taking one of the rucksacks, Ky the other.

At his turn, Trendel paused a moment and read the hieroglyphs carved into the lintel stone. “The Library of Forbidden Knowledge,” he called out, “and more rubbish about curses and such.” He slid on down the slope of sand that had spilled into the chamber beyond, where he found Arik and Ky waiting.

As Rith entered the archive last, she looked about to see a large vaulted foyer, beyond which marble corridors led elsewhere. Dark pillars held up the chamber roof, some eight or ten feet above. Paintings, their colors faded with time, covered the walls. Here and there were hieroglyphs written down the stone in columns.

After a moment, Trendel said, “I think here were stored the books they did not dare place in the stacks at the Royal Library of Alexandria. In fact, I think any writings herein will predate that library by millennia.”

Arik said, “Then we should be able to find something that will satisfy Leopold, even if it’s not Hashtupet’s crown.”

“I remind everyone to take care,” said Rith, “for if it’s papyrus or even leather, documents that old are likely to crumble.”

“Perhaps we ought to look for gems or something made of gold . . . something that we don’t have to sell to Leopold II,” said Trendel. “On the other hand, if we have to go all the way to the North Pole, then he might be just the one to sponsor our trip.”

“Oh, lord, let’s hope we don’t have to go that far,” said Rith. “Remember what happened to the Polaris: murder, poisonings, starvation, exposure, death.”

“Perhaps we can go by balloon,” said Ky. “No, strike that; Kane will never fly.”

“To say nothing of fierce polar storms,” said Trendel, “and the wind taking us where it will, rather than where we want.”

“Perhaps Kane would fly,” said Rith. “I think it’s looking down the sheer face of a cliff that frightens him; it’s there he can actually judge the height. He did all right on the Glimmership.”

“Come on,” said Arik. “Let’s look for an artifact or three that will pay to get us to the top of the world and back, if need be.”

Ky looked at Trendel and said, “How about we split into two teams? I’ll go with Arik, and you go with Rith. That way, if something happens to the lanterns, each team will have someone who can see in the dark.”

“Right,” said Trendel, and he said a seer’s word, and then he and Rith set off down one of the corridors.

In a side chamber, they came upon stacks of papyrus scrolls. Handling them carefully, Trendel looked at them one by one, reading the ancient hieroglyphics.

“Here’s writing that tells of turning an entire village into a rutting orgiastic mob,” said Trendel. “No wonder it’s forbidden . . . hidden away.”

“Why would they suppress that one?” asked Rith. “I mean, it could be used to celebrate the birth of a pharaoh’s child.”

“Because, love, it would upset the social order. I mean, with all that rutting, a mason’s child could be born into a family of wheat-thrashers; a boatman’s child born into a line of hunters. One could not maintain the social caste. Some might even realize that caste is meaningless, and think of overthrowing their rulers.”

“Ah,” said Rith. “And so royalty, and perhaps the priesthood, decided that this must remain out of the hands of the rabble, eh?”

“Yes,” said Trendel, and he took down another scroll and read. “Brr. . . . No wonder this one is forbidden; these are dreadful rites. It’s a ceremony for resurrecting a loved one by capturing a foreign king and killing him via slow evisceration while chanting these words.”

Rith snapped her fingers and said, “That reminds me, I just now recall an Itherian story that I once read partway through.”

“Then it’s not likely you’ll find that tale in this library,” said Trendel, “or anywhere else on Earth.”

“I know, but perhaps there’s one like it.”

“What was it about?”

“What you said,” replied Rith. “It had to do with bringing back a loved one.”

“Not by slow evisceration, I hope,” said Trendel, taking down another scroll.

“No, no. Instead, it had to do with an ancient legend of a truelove being returned from the realm of ghosts, where he had been wrongfully banished. The fable was written in a tome I found in the far stacks of the great library on the Isle of Azaral. It was a long story, and every day I would go to the library and read some more. Yet my ship sailed before I could finish, and so I cannot tell you how it ends. But this much I did learn: according to that legend, ghosts live in a half-world, in an in-between place. The librarian who first guided me to the tome told me that the tale tells of someone being rescued from there. Perhaps if someday we can get back to Itheria, we can go to the library on Azaral and seek out the source—discover a way to restore Lyssa to her natural state.”

“Maybe summon Arda?” said Trendel, scowling at another papyrus scroll before saying “Ugh!” and putting it back on the shelf.

They moved on down the stacks, Trendel sampling, Rith frowning as if trying to recapture an elusive thought.

“Oh, this one we keep,” said Trendel, holding up a parchment of thin-scraped sheepskin. “It maintains potency in a man’s member for prolonged sexual congress. I am certain randy old Leopold will like this one.”

“Randy?”

“I saw how he eyed you and Ky when he gave us the commission to find Hashtupet’s crown. Besides, he’s not a young man any more, but instead is an old roué.”

“Old? I would think he’s about fifty now,” said Rith.

“Looks older to me,” said Trendel, slipping the parchment into his pack. Then he grinned at Rith and said, “Besides, love, when I get to a ripe old age, you are likely to want me to have this knowledge.”

Rith snorted, and on they went, filing into chamber after chamber, sampling here and there and taking two more scrolls—one having to do with the alchemy of changing glass into diamonds, and vice versa; the other a map showing the locations of the tombs of long-dead pharaohs, which Trendel declared they would keep themselves for future expeditions.

Finally, Trendel said, “There’s so much here it would take me years just to even glance at them all.”

“Perhaps we ought to find Ky and Arik,” said Rith.

“All right,” said Trendel, “let’s go looking.”

When they met up with Arik and Ky, they discovered that those two had come across a gem-coated torque as well as a small gold statuette, which surely would pay for any expedition north.

As they started out, suddenly Rith said, “Now I remember. The Land of the Ghosts had something to do with the North Star.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Ky.

“That legend I once read,” replied Rith. “The one about someone being banished to the land of the ghosts.”

“Perhaps there’s something to it after all,” said Trendel. “I mean, my spell says Lyssa’s body lies to the north.”

“But would her body be in the Land of the Ghosts? I mean, ghosts are there, but a body?” asked Ky.

“In my legend, the lost lover was there, and he was a body,” said Rith.

“Come on,” said Arik, “let’s get out of here.”

It was nearly two hours past midnight by the time the four of them emerged from the Library of Forbidden Knowledge. And when showed what they had recovered, Lyssa clapped her hands silently and Kane grunted his agreement.

The horses were saddled and fed and led to water, and then the tomb raiders set out once more. They rode until dawn, and found another camping site just after sunrise, and there they spent the full of the day.

When Trendel’s turn came to sleep, he fell into restless slumber, one where his broken dreams were filled with unease. His disturbing visions revolved about the Library of Forbidden Knowledge. In one fragment he dreamt that the moment he and the others had crossed out from the ruins, in a small chamber in the long-buried archive below, with a sliding of stone on stone an ancient sarcophagus ground open. Scarab beetles scuttled out and across the dusty floor and up the legs and onto a table where rested an elixir in glass, about which they formed a circle. A hollow, rasping whisper filled the darkness as from a throat long dead, and in jerky hesitant movements a hand clutched the rim of the stone coffin. A scarab-scribed sapphire mounted in a ring adorned a bony thumb. Long moments passed, but finally something or someone rose up, and another lengthy while passed ere the black-clad being emerged all the way, and tottered across the floor and took up a vial and removed the stopper and drank the contents within.

42

Five Months Before the Hearing

(Coburn Facility)

Much the same as a deer caught in headlights, Toni looked at Mark Perry.

“Again I ask: just what the hell is going on here?” he demanded.

Drew Meyer said, “What does it look like, Mark?”

But John Greyson said, “We’re trying to save Arthur Coburn.”

“Coburn’s dead,” said Perry.

“No he’s not,” asserted Greyson, pointing at his holo. “We’ve seen his soul.”

Stein snorted, but remained silent.

“Well, no matter,” said Mark, “the heirs have hired Universal Power to shut down Avery.” He gestured at the blond man at his side and said, “James Packwood and his crew are here to do just that.”

“You can’t,” said Toni, finding her voice at last. “You know that Arthur Coburn sent Timothy Rendell a message, and we are now bound to try to make certain that Mr. Coburn’s mentality will survive any shutdown and restart of Avery. And right now we’re in the middle of a rescue attempt”—she pointed at the six members of the alpha team in the six witches’ cradles—“and once again Avery has sucked their mentalities into himself. It’s just like the last time, Mark: we can’t get them out without killing them.”

Henry Stein puffed out a loud breath of air, but said nothing.

“Dammit, Toni,” said Mark, clearly frustrated, “at the orders of the heirs I threw all of you out of here to stop you from doing this very thing. You shouldn’t have come back here at all. —And just who in hell impersonated me?”

“Impersonated you?” said Toni, her eyes wide in apparent innocence, dissembling.

“The guard at the gate and the one at the front desk assured me that I had come here and signed you all in.”

“How can they say that, Mark? Of course you weren’t with us when we signed in. And every one of us did: you can check the log. How could anyone have worn a disguise when each of us had to enter our names in the book?”

“Don’t fool with me, Toni. I know someone must have done it . . . must have worn a mask.”

“Where in the hell would we get a mask of Mark Perry?” asked Drew. “Jesus, Mark, your face is unique, and I’m almost certain that the Halloween stores don’t carry your likeness, though maybe they should.”

Toni swept a wide gesture that took in everyone at a console. “None of us could have impersonated you. I mean, look at us. Certainly none of the women could. And is any man here even close to your height and weight, much less of similar facial features?”

Mark growled, “You won’t get away with this, Toni. I’ll find out how you did it. Regardless, you’ve got to get those people out of VR and leave the premises.”

Again, Greyson pointed at his holo. “Quite impossible, Mark. You see, there are the six souls, or mentalities, if you prefer that term instead, trapped in Avery. And you know we have no way of telling Avery to release them.”

Mark looked at the glittering spheroids in Greyson’s display and took a deep breath and said, “Shit!”

Toni said, “Just like before, the Black Foxes have to win the game to be set free, and they will not do that until we make certain that Arthur will survive any shut down and restart.”

Then Perry looked at the central holo, where the Black Foxes rode horses across a desert. Even though they were in medieval garb the last time he had seen them in VR, it did not occur to Mark to question the fact that they now seemed to be armed with rifles and pistols, and their attire was that of the late nineteenth century.

“You can’t kill them, Mark,” said Toni. “You have to give them enough time to win.”

“Aw, crap!” Mark glanced back and forth between the six in the witches’ cradles and the six in the main holo and the six spheroids in Greyson’s holo. Finally he said, “It’s a holiday weekend; President’s Day is Monday. You and they’ve got until nine o’clock Tuesday morning.”

“Thank you, Mark,” said Toni, relief washing over her face.

“Come on, Packwood,” said Perry. And he spun on his heel and walked out, James Packwood trailing after.

When they were gone, Drew asked, “You think the Foxes will be out by Tuesday?”

“I don’t know, but by that time Melissa French should have an injunction in hand, one that will stop them from powering Avery down.”

“Surely the Foxes will be victorious by then,” said Alya Ramanni. “Vishnu is on their side.”

“Speaking of Tuesday,” said Grace Willowby, “shouldn’t we set up waking and sleeping schedules for each of us? I mean, I’d rather not remain awake for—what would it be?—some ninety-six hours, given that we were up starting on Friday morning at around eight.”

“We’ll need to eat, too,” said Drew.

“I’ve a printed schedule somewhere,” said Toni, “And the facility kitchen is well stocked.” She rummaged about in the backpack she had brought in. “Ah, here it is. Copies for everyone.” She passed them out.

Each member of the crew casually glanced at their hours, and then set the paper aside. All then turned their attention to the events in the main holo.

“Ms. Dupree?”

“This is she,” said Charlotte.

“Ms. Dupree, this is James Packwood.”

“Yes, Mr. Packwood. Is the deed done?”

“No ma’am. Mr. Perry said to wait till Tuesday.”

“What?”

“Well, there’s some kind of experiment going on in there, and—”

“Mr. Packwood,” interrupted Charlotte, “it matters not what kind of experiment they are running in there. I want you to power down the artificial intelligence. It needs to be done, and I want it done now. After all, it belongs to Finster and me, and no one else can tell us what to do with it.”

“Ms. Dupree, we no longer have badges to get into the facility.”

“Mr. Packwood, are you telling me that there is no way to shut the AI down?”

“We could cut it off at the mains leading into the building, but that would shut everything down.”

“Then, Mr. Packwood, do so.”

“Turning the AI back on might require a set series of events, Ms. Dupree, and so we can’t merely power down the facility and then power it up again. It might harm the system to do so.”

“You mean you can’t do anything at this time?”

“No, ma’am. Quite the contrary. I am told they have a backup system in there that will permit a graceful shutdown, but starting it up again is more complicated and likely to require AI experts to do so.”

“Well then, Mr. Packwood, power down the entire facility. And then I’ll have Mr. Perry bring in the technicians they need to turn it back on in a maintenance mode and wipe out part of the memory and then restart the AI.”

“Yes ma’am.”

A full hour passed . . .

And then another . . .

The crew in the control room watched as the Black Foxes swung wide of a vast Arab encampment. Yet in that same moment the control room went dark. “Son of a bitch!” spat Billy Clay. Five seconds elapsed, and then the emergency lights flickered on as the back-up system kicked in. Some of the consoles restarted as well as the main holo, and on the wall a display lit up; it was labeled Time Remaining Battery Reserve, though the crew knew it as the doomsday clock. The display was counting down: 3:59:53 . . . 3:59:52 . . . 3:59:51 . . .

Down in the second sub-basement, Kat Lawrence jumped off the flatbed and shouted, “What the fuck?” But her words were lost beneath the sound of the klaxon crying out the alarm.

43

Egypt

(Tomb Raiders)

“You know,” said Trendel, “instead of Kane taking on all of our sand-flea bites, we ought to get Lyssa to glide back and forth over our campsite and kill all the little buggers before we settle down for the day.”

Lyssa moaned her staccato laugh. <So, kerosene spray, am I?>

“It’s not a bad idea,” said Kane. “I mean, I’d rather avoid all of your itches, even if I suffer them only a short while.”

“Speaking of itching,” said Ky, “I’m going to ride down to the river and take a bath the next time we stop.”

“Good idea,” said Rith.

Trendel waggled his eyebrows and said, “May Kane and I join you?” Then he looked at Arik and said, “Sorry, old man, what with you and Lyssa . . . well, you know.”

Arik glumly nodded, and Lyssa made a sound like a soft wind sighing.

It was the fifth night after leaving the Library of Forbidden Knowledge, and they had passed through several small settlements along the river, where they had replenished their supplies. In these places and to renew her own energy, Lyssa had taken a trivial bit of life essence from each dweller therein, mostly from oldsters and women and children, for the hale menfolk seemed to be absent.

“Where have they all gone, I wonder,” had said Lyssa.

“Probably south to join the Mahdists,” Arik had replied.

And they had ridden on.

The course of the Nile had gradually turned northerly, swinging from west to west-northwest, and now due northwest they rode.

“Devil’s teeth, but I’ll be glad to get off of this horse,” said Ky.

Trendel nodded. “I’ll take a mint julep and a good deck-chair on a riverboat anytime.”

“Why, suh,” drawled Rith, “I thought you’d be at the tables.”

Trendle’s eyes widened in revelation. “I say, that isn’t a bad idea. Given my talent, I could earn us enough money at a gentlemen’s club to easily pay for an expedition north. I wonder why we haven’t thought of this before.”

Arik grunted and said, “The same thought occurred to me.”

Trendel frowned. “You wondered why I didn’t use my talent to gamble? Not that it would be gambling at all.”

“No,” said Arik. “That’s not what I meant. Instead, I wondered why we didn’t use our talents back at Necropolis when the Mahdists attacked us.”

“I think we really didn’t appreciate our talents until just recently,” said Kane.

“But it seems I’ve always known about them,” said Ky.

“On Itheria, I think,” said Arik. “But on Malagar, in spite of the fact that we’ve always seemed to have had them, I think we must have come late to our gifts, just like here on Earth. Else we would have used them before now.”

“Then what the hell is going on?” asked Kane.

<Perhaps we ought to ask Arda,> signaled Lyssa.

“Arda, eh? Well, He’s another mystery,” said Trendel.

Suddenly, Arik threw up a hand—“Whoa”—and halted his horse as they topped a rise.

The others reined to a stop, for just now seen in the distance ahead were hundreds of campfires lighting up the night.

<Wait here. I’ll go look,> said Lyssa. And she extinguished her glow and was gone.

They dismounted and fed each of the horses a handful of grain. Then led the animals down to the river and let them drink. And they refilled their canteens and water bags, for they knew not what they might shortly face.

Finally, Lyssa returned. <It’s an army. Camels and horses and men. They fly the flag with the same symbol we saw in Luxor.>

“Mahdists,” spat Kane.

“Now we know where the men of the villages went,” said Rith. “They came here to block our way.”

“What?” asked Ky.

“Actually,” said Rith, “I think they’re probably forming up to conquer Egypt.”

“That means taking Cairo,” said Trendel.

Arik nodded and looked at Lyssa. “How many?”

<Hundreds,> said Lyssa, <perhaps even a thousand.>

“And how far to the east and west do they spread?” asked Arik.

<To the east their camp runs down to the river. As to the west, it does not extend far. Sentries ride picket, but remain fairly close. In the center of the army is a black tent, isolated, much empty space about it. —But there is this as too: the entire camp is warded, and I could not enter. The warding is similar to the trap on Itheria, as well as to the sphere back at the ruins. It protects something or someone within, perhaps in the black tent itself.>

“Probably some big fat leader of theirs,” said Trendel. “Maybe Mahdi Muhammad Ahmad himself.”

“It would be nice to kill the bastard,” said Kane.

Arik frowned and said, “Yes, it would be. But I think there are too many for us to take on.” He looked at Lyssa and asked, “Is there ought else?”

<Something strange, Arik, there is a reed boat drawn up on the bank, very like one from ancient times; why it is there, I cannot say.>

Trendel frowned, as if trying to recall something, but it slipped away.

Arik said, “The six of us can move faster than an army of a thousand. Let us circle wide to the west and pass them by. We’ll alert the first British contingent we come to, or the Egyptian Army for that matter.”

Arik glanced at the others, and they nodded in agreement.

And so, west they rode, out into the sands of the desert, to circle in a long arc and ’round the Mahdist army. They varied their pace to conserve the horses, and stopped often to water and feed them. And the night passed and dawn came and Lyssa vanished, but the five tomb raiders rode on.

Finally, in the noontide they fared into a grove down by the river, where they unsaddled and curried the animals and fell into an uneasy sleep.

In the midst of the second watch, Trendel awakened Arik, saying, “Hsst, a force of Arabs.” He pointed, and galloping past on the slope high above, perhaps two-hundred camels raced by. Trendel went on to waken Rith and Kane and Ky, and they all lay low as the Arabs rode on to vanish beyond the next rise.

“Going to join the army, I imagine,” said Arik.

“Do we ride on?” asked Rith.

“I think we and the horses could do with more rest,” said Kane.

Arik pulled out his pocket watch and clicked it open, then snapped it shut and said, “At five we will have been here five hours and resting for just over four. I think that would be a good time to saddle up and leave.”

They lay down once more in the shade of the grove, all but the one on watch, but none whatsoever got any sleep.

Finally, at about four-thirty, they gave up and made ready to leave.

As they fastened on their supplies of grain to the last packhorse, Trendel said, “Oh, Victoria’s dead Albert.” He pointed back in the direction of the army and said, “Here come Mahdists.”

Perhaps a half mile away, Arabs on camels topped the far crest, and more came in their wake, and some seemed headed for the grove.

“Dretch!” cursed Kane.

“I think it’s the vanguard of the army,” said Arik. “Let’s ride.”

They passed through the grove for as far as it reached, but broke into the clear at last, and moments later from arear came distant shouts of discovery.

They spurred their horses into a gallop, and rode up the slope to where the ground was firmer, and across the hard sand they hammered.

Behind them came faint cries of “Yallah! Yallah!” as the Mahdists urged their camels on.

Sporadic gunfire sounded, but the distance was too far for accuracy, especially when shooting from the lurching back of a camel.

The tomb raiders ran at a gallop for no more than five minutes, and then slowed to a canter to spare the steeds, and the camels behind began to gain.

“We may be able to outrun them for a short while,” said Arik, looking back over his shoulder, “but their camels will outlast our horses. They will catch us sooner or later.”

“But Luba’s teats, Arik,” said Trendel, using an Itherian oath, “we need somehow to lose them. But look about: there’s nothing but open desert to the left, and the wide Nile to swim to the right.”

“Ah, but ahead,” shouted Ky in the lead, just as they rode over a crest, “I see a British fort!”

In the near distance and on the ridge sat a wooden palisaded structure. A thin tendril of smoke rose up from within. And a tattered Union Jack hung lank. A road led down to a dock on the river, but no gunboat did they see.

Toward this refuge they pounded, running at a gallop again, the camels now falling behind.

On they rode and past the ruins of a mud-brick wall. What it might have protected, they could not see.

They sped onward and past a tall stele, and just before they reached the outpost, scattered here and there on the sand lay dead camels and slain Arabs.

And Arik’s heart sank at this sight.

Into the open gate of the stockade they hammered, Kane shouting, “’Ware the fort! Mahdists coming!”

But inside the grounds lay dead Brits and Arabs, and all the redcoats were mutilated, and some were beheaded. Wisps of smoke rose from the smoldering remains of a barracks.

Arik haled his mount to a halt, the horse’s haunches squatting, dirt flying. “Rith, Ky, to the ramparts!” he shouted. “Kane, Trendel, bar the gate.”

And he pulled his Winchester from his saddle scabbard, and he took up the saddlebags carrying his .44 ammunition.

Ky and Rith did the same.

Leaving their blowing horses behind, they scrambled up a ladder to the parapet. The wall itself was crenellated—a repeating pattern of five tall pales, followed by five shorter ones all the way about the fort. And through the shorter gaps they could see the advanced force of the army, perhaps a hundred Mahdists in all, galloping toward the stockade.

And some three miles beyond them, the army appeared, just then coming into view.

Winchesters in hand, saddlebags over shoulders, Kane and Trendel scurried up to the battlement, and Kane said, “Well, they’re shut out.”

Arik sighed and said, “Yes, but by the same token, we’re shut in.”

44

Courthouse

(Adkins)

As Mark Perry sat down, Melissa French approached the witness box and asked, “You said something about—what was the term? Ah, yes—mutable logic. Could you explain what that is?”

Mark Perry jumped to his feet. “Your honor, we agreed before this hearing began that no proprietary information would be publicly revealed, and mutable logic is proprietary, and the key to the Coburn Industries AI slash VR zero one. To reveal its working would be to divulge a closely held trade secret.”

“We agree,” said Melissa, “but we do not intend to disclose anything that isn’t already public knowledge. It would take an expert—or in this case, three experts—to go into depth concerning the design of mutable logic, and Ms. Adkins is not one of the three. Instead, she is a layman in this area, and I ask her to explain mutable logic from a layman’s point of view, specifically as part of the foundation of our case.”

Judge Marshall looked at Mark Perry and said, “I’ll hear what Ms. Adkins has to say.”

As Mark sat back down, Melissa turned again to Toni. “Mutable logic: what is it and how did it come about?”

Toni said, “The three experts you alluded to are: Timothy Rendell, computer whiz kid, especially in programming; Henry Stein, neurosurgeon, and perhaps the foremost authority on the human brain; and Drew Meyer, physicist, specializing in quantum mechanics. Under the direction of Arthur Coburn, they collaboratively headed the teams that together devised mutable logic. I think you could safely say that they are the progenitors of Avery, for their work made him possible.

“In a nutshell, mutable logic is a combination of software and hardware that duplicates what the human brain does. And to do this, it uses spin-state logic, connective shuttle programming, and neuro-simulation.

“That’s about as much as I know concerning the actual makeup of mutable logic. But Arthur Coburn told me that an AI depends on many, many things, but among all of them, he considered four to be absolutely critical:

“First, the discovery that the visual cortex contains multiple maps of any given image, and the subsequent discovery that each of the other senses holds multiple maps as well. These many maps are programmed into Avery.

“Second, the establishment that consciousness, awareness, is a shuttle which plies among these multiple maps to make sense of what we see, hear, smell, taste, feel, or kinesthetically sense. And the more complex the brain, the more complex the shuttle has to be, until it represents intelligence itself. Timothy Rendell and his team designed the shuttle program.

“Third, the discovery of the specific mechanisms which drive neurons to establish new interconnections. Under Henry Stein’s guidance and Drew Meyer’s spin-state expertise and Timothy’s programming skills, they figured out how to simulate this mechanism.

“And, fourth, their development of mutable logic, a combination of software and hardware, which, in effect, duplicates this neurological evolution.”

As Toni fell silent, Melissa said, “And so, as far as you are concerned, the workings of Avery are much like that of the human brain. True?”

“Yes. Avery has the means to see, hear, smell, taste, and feel. But since he is—”

Mark Perry said, “The next thing we know, Coburn Industries AI slash VR zero one will come walking into this chamber.”

His words brought a chuckle from the audience and a scowl from Judge Marshall.

“Not really,” said Toni. “But through his simulations, he can run, walk, or lie comfortably, smell roses, taste a roast beef sandwich or corn on the cob, feel the caress of a lover, or anything else you or I can do with our memories.

“I know I can remember just how good ice water tastes on a hot summer day, and what a wonderful fragrance lilacs have, and how delightful and stimulating a soft kiss is. And, Mr. Perry, I believe that you yourself can recall a lover’s kiss or caress, or perhaps even hot, lusty sex, if not in your waking life, then in your dreams.”

As the courtroom filled with titters, svelte Melissa turned to Mark and provocatively thrust out a hip and smiled and said, “In your dreams, Mark.”

The courtroom erupted in laughter, and even stern Judge Marshall smiled.

Outside the courthouse, Steve turned his holocam onto Frankie Roberts, but the picture was quaking from his guffaws, which not even the stablecam could deal with, and Frankie could not control her giggles, and so Steve shut the camera down and waited.

Finally, both sobered and they tried again, and Frankie said, “Well, there you have it—” but she broke into laughter once more, as did Steve.

Between whoops she tried to say, “Shut it off, Steve. We’ll do it later,” but all she managed was bursts of unintelligible gabble.

45

Egypt

(Tomb Raiders)

With the Mahdist army approaching from the south, in ominous silence the forerunning vanguard formed a cupping arc at a distance from the stockade, its apex on the desert side.

“What’s our plan, Arik?” asked Trendel.

Before Arik could answer, from the arc one of the riders charged his camel a short run toward the palisade before stopping and shouting something. Then he turned and fled back toward the others.

“What did he say?” asked Arik.

“‘You will all die, infidels,’” replied Trendel.

“Not very friendly, are they?” said Ky.

“Rith,” said Arik, “I think they all need an abrupt dismount.”

“Right,” she replied. She strode to the central point along the western palisaded wall and spoke a word and then emitted a long scream, sweeping from the left end of the enemy line to the right.

And camels reared, and most of the riders were unceremoniously dumped to the sand, and their mounts took to flight. Mahdists scrambled to their feet, and one of them shouted orders. Several chased after the free-running panicked beasts, while the others took up defensive positions.

“Good,” said Arik. “Now I know the leader of this bunch.” He leveled his Winchester, and took a deep breath and let out half and aimed and squeezed off a round.

The Mahdist who had shouted the orders pitched backwards, slain.

“Duck,” said Trendel, and they all stepped sideways to the protection of the merlons.

Rifle fire answered Arik’s shot, most of the bullets to thunk into wood, the remainder to whine overhead. After a moment someone shouted a command and the shooting stopped.

As Trendel kept an eye upon the Mahdists, Ky said, “Well, Arik, you killed that one, but it seems another has just taken his place.

“Yes, but it’ll give them pause,” replied Arik.

Kane said, “We’re still going to need a plan. I mean, with the army nearing and those out there penning us in here until the others arrive, well, it seems like now is a good time to figure out what to do.”

“Maybe we ought to make another run for it,” suggested Ky.

“Even though I can dismount some of them,” said Rith, “I can’t handle an entire army, especially if we’re in flight.”

Arik shook his head. “As I said before, camels outlast horses, and eventually they’ll catch up; and even if Rith dismounts some of them, we cannot outrun them all.” Arik glanced at the westering sun, lowering toward the horizon. He flipped open his pocket watch and said, “Just over an hour till sunset; two hours till full dark.” Arik looked at the others and then at the army. “How soon do you think they’ll arrive?”

“What are they, two, three miles away?” asked Kane.

“More or less,” said Trendel.

“Then I judge that if they keep up a typical pace, it’ll be a bit before sunset when they arrive,” said Kane.

“I agree,” said Arik. He took a deep breath and added, “We’ll need to hold them off until night, and then, just as we ran the blockade on Malagar, we’ll slip past them in Ky’s shadow and Rith’s silence, with Lyssa clearing the way.”

“Wait a minute,” said Ky. “Won’t they just take up the chase again?”

“I’m thinking,” said Arik, “that if we slip by, they’ll have to wait until daylight to track us, and that’ll give us a ten-hour lead.”

“So, we need to keep them at bay for—what?—ninety minutes or so?” asked Rith.

“Thereabout,” said Arik.

“It won’t be easy,” said Rith, “five against a thousand.”

“Yes, but they’ll think twice if I keep killing their leaders,” said Arik, “assuming we can identify them.”

“Leave that up to me,” said Trendel. “I’m a seer, you know.”

Arik turned to Ky. “Can you cover us with darkness so they won’t have clear targets?”

“Only for brief moments as long as the sun is in the sky. If I hold it for any length, I’ll faint.”

“Ah, right. I seem to remember once upon a time that happening back on Itheria; it was after we found that Gnoman, and you pulled shadows out from a cave.”

“Now you see what I mean,” said Ky.

“Perhaps it’d be best to send one of your shadowbolts their way,” said Kane. “Scare them silly.”

Rith snapped her fingers and exclaimed, “If we can make them think we’re djinni, that ought to put the fear into them.”

“It’s worth a try,” said Arik, smiling for the first time since they had spotted the army the previous night.

Kane gazed out at the many dead Arabs lying beyond the walls, and then turned and looked at the bodies within the fort and then at the gate and said, “Why was the gateway open when we rode in.”

“Your meaning . . . ?” asked Ky.

“I mean they’re in perfectly good working order,” said Kane. “Shouldn’t they be broken down or some such?”

“Probably treachery from within,” said Rith. “Or then again, perhaps some Mahdists slipped over the walls and opened them.”

“Hmh,” said Kane.

“What I want to know,” said Rith, “is why is the Union Jack still flying. I would think they would haul it down.”

“They’re probably saving that for their general to do,” said Arik, his sight now on the approaching army.

Trendel looked at the arc of Mahdists arrayed west of the fort. He said a word and then another and watched and seemed to listen. After a moment he said, “The kneeling one with the red sash about his waist, Arik, he’s the new leader.”

“You know this how?” asked Kane.

“I’m a seer. I listened to their whispers.”

“My, what long ears you have, grandmother,” said Ky, grinning, then she laughed when Trendel replied, “The better to hear you with, my dear.”

Arik took aim and fired, and the man in the red sash fell over backwards and did not move again.

Another hail of gunfire erupted from the Mahdists, but no damage was done except to the wood of the wall.

Trendel listened and laughed, then said, “They’re arguing over who will lead them next.”

“How many?” asked Arik.

“Just two.” He pointed them out to Arik, and two shots later, the remainder of the Mahdists ran in panic to the opposite side of a distant dune.

Arik took cartridges from his saddlebag and reloaded his Winchester.

Yet the army came onward as the sun crept downward toward the western horizon.

A camel rider galloped swiftly from the far dune and toward the approaching multitude. He reached the tall stele along the hard-packed ridge at the same time the army did.

Trendel, now at the south wall, said, “He is calling out for someone named Akhanon.”

Yet keeping an eye on the western dune where the vanguard had fled, the others moved to the southern wall to join the seer.

The army halted, and after long moments the ranks parted like a wave, as a soldier led a black camel forward. On its back was a small, silken tentlike structure, as if it were protecting a beautiful queen from the eyes of infidels, or concealing someone of great power who did not wish to be seen.

And a wide lane opened as Mahdists drew aside as if in great fear, most dismounting, some salaaming, others falling to their knees, and yet others bolting away.

The man who had called for Akhanon leapt from his camel and fell to his knees and laid his brow to the sand.

The soldier leading the camel stopped before the groveling man.

The man crept forward on hands and knees, and spoke without lifting his head.

“He’s telling whoever is on that camel that there is a sorcerer or a witch within these walls,” said Trendel. He listened a bit longer, and then said, “I don’t like the measure of that.”

“What do you mean?” asked Arik.

“I mean, if a snake could talk, that’s what it would sound like.”

“The one on the camel?”

“Yes. And I don’t think it’s the Mahdi, for his speech is archaic, old, and the— Uh-oh. Get ready. He says he would see this for himself, and is ordering a charge.”

“The whole army?” asked Kane, alarmed.

Trendel shook his head. “No. Instead what we’d consider a small company, perhaps sixty men in all.”

Arik glanced at the lowering sun, now nearly touching the horizon. Long shadows streamed across the desert from the dunes, and the interior of stockade had fallen into darkness as well, the mutilated Brits and slain Arabs lying in the dimness below. “Ky, Rith, stand ready. We’ll give old snake-voice what he wants. Perhaps it’ll scare him off long enough for night to fall. Kane, Trendel, make every shot count. And Trendel, if you can identify any leaders, let me know.”

A number of men rode out to the fore of the Mahdists.

“Looks about like fifty to me,” said Kane, levering a round into his Winchester.

In the center, a man wearing a red sash raised his rifle and shouted a command, and in that same moment, Arik shot him dead.

But the company charged, yelling, “Akhanon! Akhanon!”

“That’s odd,” said Trendel. “They should be calling out Mahdi! and Allah Akhbar!”

“Why do you think that’s so?” asked Arik.

“Though they carry the flag of the Mahdi, I think they are not Mahdists. But why? I haven’t the foggiest.”

Arik turned to Ky and said, “When they get within your range, give them a blast of black. Rith, hold off till they are inside, say, twenty, thirty yards, then dismount them all.”

On charged the company, and Arik slew two of the riders that had a significant lead over the others.

And then, a shadowbolt sprang from the hand of Ky and streaked out to blast into the center of the charge, slaying three riders outright.

Yet the onrush continued, and Ky loosed another black bolt, and slew two more.

Rith then screamed, and some camels veered away in spite of their masters, while others bucked and threw riders to the ground and fled. Trendel and Kane began firing at the men afoot. Arik calmly shot one after another of the Mahdists, pausing only to reload.

Rith then sang another note, and Arabs clutched at their ears.

And Ky threw another shadowbolt, and the men fled in terror.

Fifty had charged; twenty-nine lay dead; twenty-one made it back to the ranks.

After a moment, the soldier leading the black camel moved to the shadow of the obelisk. The camel knelt, and a dark-robed figure dismounted from the silken enclosure on its back.

Trendel spoke a word, and stared. “Lincoln’s ghost! The ring! The ring on his finger! It’s a scarab-inscribed sapphire.”

“You can see a ring on his finger?” asked Kane.

“My dream! I remember my dream! All of it!”

“What dream?” asked Arik.

“I remember dreaming that this-this, this Akhanon crawled out of a sarcophagus in a secret chamber in the Library of Forbidden Knowledge. He drank a potion and then emerged from the ruins and went down to the Nile and called a reed boat to him.”

“The reed boat Lyssa saw on the bank where the army was encamped?” asked Ky.

“Yes, that one. And he floated down the river to the encampment, and with but a word he slew the general in command and took the army for himself. No wonder they didn’t cry out Allah Akhbar, this Akhanon has nothing to do with modern-day Egypt. He’s from— My god, the curse on the lintel stone: he’s after us and the things we took from the ruins.”

The dark-robed being stood in the shadow of the stele, and he put one hand against it and raised the other to the sky.

“He’s chanting something,” said Trendel. “I think he’s drawing power from the obelisk, and he’s calling upon someone named Serqet.”

“Serqet?” asked Rith. “Isn’t she the goddess of . . . of . . . rats, I can’t remember.”

Arik took long aim at the distant figure and fired.

Akhanon staggered but did not fall, and he continued to chant.

“I don’t think you can kill him that way,” said Ky.

Arik fired till his rifle was empty, each round striking the being in black, each round staggering him, but none doing apparent harm.

“Uh-oh,” said Kane. “What’s that?”

A darkness came creeping over the desert sand.

Trendel turned his seer’s sight upon it. “Oh, hell.”

“What?” asked Ky. “What is it?”

“Asps, cobras, scorpions, velvet ants, blister beetles, and, out beyond them, hornets swarming in the air.”

“And they’re all coming to kill us,” said Kane.

46

Five Months Before the Hearing

(Coburn Facility)

Down in the second sub-basement, Al Hawkins shut off the klaxon, and he looked at the doomsday clock on this level: 3:58:42 . . . 3:58:41 . . . 3:58:40 . . .

Kat Lawrence keyed her comband. “Toni, what in blazes is going on up there?”

“Kat,” relied Toni, “you should know.”

Kat frowned. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Aren’t Mark’s crew of powertechs down there with you?”

“What crew?”

“Mark brought in a crew from Universal Power—some bloke named James Packwood in charge.”

“Why would he be doing—?”

“The heirs want everything shut down. That son of a bitch Mark said he’d give us till Tuesday.”

“Toni, there’s no U.P. techs down here shutting things off. Something else has been done.”

“No techs?”

“Nobody here but us chickens,” said Kat.

“Bloody crap. Well then, see if you guys can find out what’s going on. Me, I’m going to call Mark.”

“Well, if the U.P. guys have shut things down, Toni, we’ve only got about five, six hours of power.”

“What?”

“Four hours of battery backup and maybe, just maybe two hours on the Astro. We forgot that we had burned H2 six months ago, and it has never been replaced. The nearest tanker is on the way, but it started in Denver, and we’ll be kaput before it gets here.”

“Well, then, find out what happened and fix it.”

“Right, chief,” said Kat.

In the control room, Toni turned to Drew Meyer and said, “Kat tells me that the H2 supply will only last for an hour or two. Take Alya, and John and grab some hardhats with lights and go to every floor and shut down everything that isn’t essential, including the emergency lights down there. If the Blackledge guards interfere, evict them.”

“Right,” said Drew. He looked at John Greyson and Alya Ramanni and said, “Let’s go.”

As those three scrambled out of the control room, Toni took up her holocom and flipped it open and said, “Mark Perry’s personal com.”

A moment later, a small image of Mark sprang up from the com display and said, “I’m not available right now, Toni, but you can leave a message.”

“Mark, if you’re there, pick up. This is an emergency, you bloody shit.”

Toni waited a moment and when Mark didn’t answer she snapped the com shut and opened it again. “Melissa French’s personal com.”

An image of Melissa sprang up. “Melissa French, Toni. I’m—”

Melissa’s voice broke in over her standard announcement, but she left the holo image running instead of switching on live cam. “What the hell, Toni, it’s what, two A.M., three?”

“We have an emergency, Mel. Do you have that court order?”

“Tuesday, Toni. Tuesday.”

“Well, I need it now, within the next”—Toni looked at the doomsday clock—“two or three hours at most. That bloody bastard Mark had his men shut off our power. He promised me he’d wait till Tuesday, but—”

“Where are you, Toni?”

“At the facility. We’ve lost power, and if—”

“But you’ve been thrown out.”

“Listen, Mel, that doesn’t matter. The only thing of importance is that if we don’t get our power back, then six, perhaps seven people will die.”

“What do you mean ‘seven people will die’?”

“Just that. The alpha team is back inside VR, and their mentalities have been sucked into Avery. And we think Arthur Coburn is in there, too. We’re running on reserve battery, and the doomsday clock is now reading 3:48:30. And when the reserve dies, they’ll all die with it. We need that court order to get the power back on.”

“I’ll try, Toni, but finding Judge Raines at this hour is iffy at best. You’d better have a backup plan.”

“Right,” said Toni, and she snapped her holocom shut, wondering just what the hell her backup plan would be.

Kat clicked her holocom shut and turned to Al. “Well, I couldn’t get Billy the Bull, but I did get his assistant. They’ll have a crew out here pronto. Now let’s go see what we can discover for ourselves about this power outage.”

They strode to the Astro. “We gonna fire it up?” asked Luiz.

“Not yet,” said Kat. “Carleen, call Doc and have him find an empty H2 tanker. Then send him around to every source in town and load that sucker up—service stations, national guard, even hospitals—and have him bring it out here. Tell him we need whatever he can get in three hours. I know it won’t be much, but by then perhaps Tucson Solar will have us up and running again.”

Al looked at Michael Phelan. “Mikey, head up and shut down everything that’s not essential.”

“You got it, boss.” Mike gave Carleen a quick peck on the cheek, and took off running, clicking on the light of his hardhat as he started up the stairs.

Kat and Al trotted up a set of metal steps and to the outside, and they headed for the substation on the property.

“Tucson Solar did a fine job of repair,” said Al, puffing a bit as they approached the high chain-link fence, pointing out the new transformers, replaced some six months ago.

They looked at the gauges, and then Al opened a utility locker and flipped a switch. Battery-driven instruments sprang to life. After a moment, Al said, “All this is okay. There just isn’t any juice coming in.”

“What the hell have Packard and his men done?” asked Kat.

“They’ve shut something off on the outside,” said Al.

“Then where is the nearest distribution station?”

Al frowned in concentration, then said, “About three miles from here as the crow flies, but ten miles by road.”

“Does this facility have its own separate feed from the substation.”

“Ah, I see where you’re going with this. Yeah, we have our own feed.”

“Then likely that’s where Packard and his crew did the deed.”

As they went about shutting down unnecessary equipment and lights that were driven off the backup system, Drew Meyer ran a calculation in his head. And when he and John and Alya met up with Michael Phelan on the second floor, Drew said, “I think we can stretch out the H2 supply to last awhile longer.”

“How?” asked Michael.

“The Astro right now is set to drive the building and recharge the batteries, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, if I have this figured correctly, if we rewire the Astro to only drive the rechargers for the emergency backup system, then we’ll not be carrying the building load.”

“What load would that be?” asked Alya. “I mean, isn’t most of that already shut off?”

“The majority of the lights are, but there are things such as the refrigerators in the kitchen that will kick on, air conditioning, air duct fans, and the like. Too many control panels for us to find them all in time. So, by eliminating those, we’ll stretch the H2 supply longer.”

“I see,” said Alya.

Drew turned to Michael and said, “I would suggest that you let the backup system run for, oh, say, two hours, then fire up the Astro, and, even though we let the system keep running, the Astro should be able to recharge the batteries in”—Drew paused, then said—“about ninety minutes. Then you shut down the Astro.”

Michael said, “So, we run on batteries for two hours, and then kick on the Astro, and ninety minutes later, even though Avery keeps running on backup, everything will be charged full, and then we shut off the Astro and let the backup system carry on for another two hours.” Michael smiled and said, “Doc, you’re a genius.”

Drew looked at him and said, “Mikey, it’s a trivial equation.” Then Drew added, “By running the Astro only to the chargers, it’ll let us run on minimum without turning the whole facility back on. We’ll operate on the backup system only.”

“I’ll see if we can do that, Doc. —Oh, and one of the things that occurred to me, is that if you guys up in the control room shut off all but the critical consoles, especially the main holo, that’ll save a lot of power, and maybe we can stretch things out even more.”

“But-but if we do that we won’t be able to see what’s going on,” objected Greyson.

“Never fear,” said Alya, “Vishnu will watch over them.”

47

Egypt

(Tomb Raiders)

The dark mass of lethal serpents and deadly arachnids and venomous insects flowed swiftly across the sand and toward the fort, and Rith gritted, “Now I remember: Serqet is the Egyptian goddess of snakes and scorpions and poisonous things.”

“Good grief,” said Kane, “the ground is covered with them. Where in Hades did they all come from?”

“Too many for our rifles to be effective,” said Arik.

“Too many for my shadowbolts,” said Ky.

“Too many for me to heal everyone,” said Kane.

“Sound won’t deter them,” said Rith.

“And I can’t kill the bastard that’s set them on us,” said Arik, glancing at Akhanon.

“But I can,” said Ky.

And as red and black cobras and horned and sand vipers slithered in through gaps in the palisades, and as scorpions and spiders, centipedes, fire ants, velvet ants, and blister beetles scuttled up the wooden walls, and as wasps sped through the air toward them, Ky drew her black sword from the scabbard on her back and, before anyone could stop her, she stepped into a shadow and vanished.

Moments later, just as the wasps descended upon the fort, Ky emerged in the obelisk’s shadow and swung her blade two-handed and took off Akhanon’s head. Then she vanished again. . . .

. . . to step out from darkness and into the stockade once more.

And the wasps veered off and flew into the long shadows, and serpents slithered back into the desert, and scorpions and spiders and centipedes and ants and beetles scurried down and away.

Kane swept up Ky in his embrace and held her tightly, murmuring, “If you ever do such a foolish thing like that again—”

“Foolish?” she shouted. “You big dolt, I saved us all.”

Rith said, “He’s just scared for you, Ky.”

Ky looked up into Kane’s face, to see tears glistening on his cheeks. She kissed him and said, “I love you, lummox.”

“And I love you, mouse,” he replied.

“But I did save us all,” said Ky.

“There’s still an army out there,” said Arik, pointing toward the assembly as the sun set and dusk came upon the land.

“Another hour and we’ll get the hell out of here,” said Trendel.

“No, wait, look,” said Rith. “I think they’re getting ready for a charge.”

“But I set them free from Akhanon,” said Ky. “Why would they try to kill us? They should be grateful instead.”

“Remember,” said Arik, “we’re still the infidel bastards who killed their comrades.”

“What will we do?” asked Rith. “I mean, we held off fifty of them, but nine hundred or more?”

“I don’t think even Lyss can stop them,” said Arik.

In that moment in the oncoming night, Lyssa appeared. <Stop who?>

“The Mahdi army,” said Arik, and he looked out to gauge the depth of the twilight. “And it’s not quite dark enough to conceal ourselves in silence and shadow and slip out and away.”

“What the hell are we going to do?” asked Kane, even as the Mahdists began a charge.

And the army thundered toward the fort and fired guns and cried, “Allah Akhbar!” and “Maut Min Kafir!”

Arik stepped to a crenel and began shooting. The others joined him. Round after round they fired, dropping a Mahdist with every shot. Yet on they came, firing in return. And the air was thick with whining bullets as of angry hornets in the air.

Lyssa flew forward, her ghostly light ablaze, and men quailed as she came near, but those out on the wings kept charging.

Ky began throwing darkbolt upon darkbolt, blasting the onrushing foe, yet still they drove forward.

Rith shrieked at the camels, and they bucked and reared and ran amok, but there were too many for her to affect all.

The charge washed up against the stockade walls, and flooded all ’round, surrounding the fortress entire. And Mahdists swarmed up the pales. The gates buckled and gave way, and Arabs rushed into the open yard below.

Trendel shouted, “I know how!”

And remembering the last time he had done it, Trendel put in mind Arton’s image, and said a word. And as the Arabs with swords swarmed up the ladders and screamed for the heads of these infidels, and Arik and the others blazed away with Colt pistols till their guns were empty and took up spent rifles to use as clubs, and as Lyssa blazed with light and stood before the defenders, a silvery swirl appeared in the air in the midst of the fort.

And the stockade walls began to change, to alter, to become papered with an elegant pattern. The mutilated Brits and dead Arabs disappeared, as well as the raving Mahdists. The floor of the fort turned from dirt to carpeting. The footway sank down and separated into sections to become tables and chairs. The tomb raiders’ clothing changed, the men to be dressed in tuxedoes, the women in gowns, all but Lyssa, who found herself in a dark attic.

And in the study of the large house sitting on a hill in the affluent section of the city, Arik sat in an easy chair reading the Boston Globe. At a nearby table, Trendel and Kane were partnered against Ky and Rith in a game of euchre.

“Another disappearance up around Bangor,” said Arik.

“That’s how many?” asked Trendel, playing a jack of clubs to top Ky’s ace of the same suit.

“Twelve, I believe, in 1937 alone. About two a month, I think.”

“Well,” said Kane, “as soon as we visit Thaddeus in the asylum, we’ll have to look into that.”

48

Courthouse

(Adkins)

“So let me get this right, Ms. Adkins,” said Mark Perry. “You claim that Arthur Coburn’s consciousness was somehow uploaded into the Coburn Industries AI slash VR zero one, right?”

“That is correct.”

“And that he is still a human with all rights pertaining thereto, correct?”

“Right.”

“Well then, let me ask you this, Ms. Adkins: if anyone, such as you or I or anyone else, say, John Doe, were to somehow upload his consciousness into a Coburn Industries AI slash VR zero whatever machine, and if that John Doe were to duplicate his consciousness over and over, would there then be more than one of him, more than one of that so-called human being, such as two John Does, three John Does, or even a million or more?”

“I object, your honor,” said Melissa French. “Calls for speculation.”

Judge Marshall turned his gaze upon Mark.

“Your honor,” said Mark, “Ms. Adkins is here claiming that somehow Arthur Coburn’s consciousness was uploaded, a claim with which the heirs disagree; and she further claims that an uploaded mentality is a person, a human, a contention with which the heirs also disagree. However, even though we disagree, I want to see just how far Ms. Adkin’s claim extends.”

“I’ll hear the answer,” said Marshall, “but whether or not it has any bearing on this single case might or might not have any merit.” The judge turned to Toni and said, “Do you need the question repeated?”

“No, your honor.”

“Then proceed.”

Toni took a deep breath and said, “First, it is not certain that we will ever discover how Avery managed to kidnap—or rather mindnap—Arthur’s mentality, or the consciousnesses of the alpha team, for that matter.

“Second, when a person’s mentality is taken into Avery that way, the consciousness does not reside in the body of the person whose mind has been so subsumed.

“Third, it is not clear at all that a mentality can be duplicated, for it seems that it either resides in the body or in the machine. That is, when taken into the machine, it no longer is in the body, and when given back to the body, it is no longer in the machine. Hence, although we believe that Avery can indeed make a copy of some or all of a person’s thoughts and memories, he can only examine it as if it were some kind of recording, but he cannot activate it unless the consciousness itself is drawn into the machine. Dr. John Greyson believes that some spark of ‘being’ must be present, or the mentality itself is inert. Dr. Greyson calls this ‘spark’ the ‘soul.’ He further believes that souls cannot be duplicated, except perhaps by God.

“Thus, if Dr. Greyson is correct, John Doe could make innumerable copies of himself, but they would be without life.

“Nevertheless, if the copied mentalities could be sparked into life, then they would indeed be persons, though perhaps persons without souls.” Toni frowned and then smiled at Mark and added, “And, oh my, what legal tangles that would lead to. Why, it would keep lawyers in courts for millennia to come. You, Mr. Perry, would have job security for life, which by the way would be very long if you uploaded yourself into a Coburn Industries AI slash VR zero whatever, assuming, of course, that someone didn’t power you down and wipe you out. But wait, that would be murder, wouldn’t it?”

Frankie Roberts looked into the holocam and said, “Interesting question, isn’t it? But let me add this as well: how likely is it to happen? I mean, at the moment such would be cost prohibitive; billions of dollars were spent on Avery. But, then again, as we all know, the cost of computers declines rapidly as more and more are made, and perhaps this is true of AIs as well. Hence, there might be a future where it becomes cheap enough for someone to duplicate themselves any number of times. If that were to happen, which one would be the original? Perhaps the first one would be the human, and the others ersatz people. However, in our experience, anything cloned has the same rights as the original. Consider this as well: just as with clones, identical twins more or less start out with duplicate abilities; as they grow they drift farther and farther apart—become their own persons, that is. Would the same happen to duplicated mentalities residing in duplicated machines? I think so; what do you think?

“This is Frankie Roberts, News Holo-4, at the Pima County Courthouse in Tucson, Arizona.”

49

United States

(Risk, Ltd.)

In the elegant Boston manor, suddenly Arik gasped and dropped the paper. At the same time, Ky, Rith, Kane, and Trendel looked at one another in alarm. In the attic, Lyssa emitted a wail. And there in the study hearts hammered in the living, and in the attic dread washed through the nonliving, as memories flooded into each of them, memories of Itheria and Malagar and Egypt. In that instant, each of them became four people in one, or rather knew of four existences, all of them real.

“Christ, that was close,” said Trendel, shakily wiping his brow.

“I thought we were deaders for sure,” said Kane, “the bloody Mahdists swarming all over us.”

Lyssa drifted down through the ceiling to come to rest in the far corner of the study. <I would ask for a group hug, but you know how it is,> she signed. <I thought you would all soon be on this side of the pale.>

“Damn that Arda,” spat Kane, reaching out to take Ky by the hand. “Putting you in danger like that.”

“Yes,” said Trendel, “but He also got us out.”

“I wonder what this so-called secret plan of His is,” said Rith.

<To find my body,> said Lyssa, <though what good that will do, I haven’t a clue.>

“You know,” said Arik, “I don’t recall us ever using our powers against the things we’ve come up against.”

“We had that discussion back in Egypt in 1885,” said Rith.

“I believe we’re experiencing reincarnations,” said Ky, “but unlike most others who undergo rebirth, we remember everything about our past lives.”

“You think we got killed back at the British fort?” asked Rith.

“And there at the end when we were flying the Sorrow north and were attacked by the prince’s ships?” added Kane.

Arik shook his head. “No, I think there’s something else afoot here. I mean, look, just like in those wild and improbable stories published by that fellow Gernsback, Itheria and Malagar aren’t even of this solar system. And though it’s possible that when one undergoes reincarnation, one is sent to another world altogether, in 1885 we were in Egypt, and we didn’t get whirled off to the canals of Mars or to some planet ’round a star far away. Besides, we didn’t die on Itheria, but instead were whisked to Malagar by Arda. And Lyss has become a ghost in every world where we’ve lived. If reincarnation were at work here, she would have been reborn anew.”

<But I was reborn anew,> said Lyssa, <only to meet the same fate elsewhere.>

“She’s right, you know,” said Ky. “Lyssa was with us until she disappeared and came back as a ghost on Itheria and on Malagar and on Earth in 1885, and now on Earth in 1937; and so far, on every world it happened just a few months ago. And from birth all the way up to her disappearances, she has always been a living, breathing being, always with us, always in love with Arik, no matter the world. It seems we’re fated to be together, and if that isn’t reincarnation or karma or something like it, well then I’m a monkey’s aunt.”

“Take care what you wish for, mouse,” said Kane, laughing. Lyssa joined in, her giggles like tiny bursts of wailing wind. Arik and Rith and Trendel joined in the chuckles.

Ky frowned and asked, “What? —Oh, monkey’s aunt.” She grinned and punched Kane in the arm.

They sat in silence for a moment, but then Kane said, “Yeah, but there is this, too: if we’ve always known our past lives, then why haven’t we done something to keep Lyssa from ever disappearing and becoming a ghost in the first place.”

“Because we don’t know what destiny might bring,” said Rith.

<Well, if history is any guide,> signaled Lyssa, <then it seems I am doomed.>

“Not if we find your body,” said Arik, “if, rather than history, Arda is our guide instead.”

“Let’s go see Howard and get a plane and fly north,” said Trendel.

<I still lie to the north?> asked Lyssa.

Trendel said a word and pointed that direction. “Yep.”

“Then, after we see what Thaddeus wants, we’ll see if Howard will lend us that bomber again,” said Arik. “I think it’s got the range we need to get to the Pole and back if need be, especially if we use several ferry tanks.”

“What?” said Trendel, startled. “Jesus, Arik, that’s got to be at least a twenty thousand mile round trip.”

“Not if we fly out of Fairbanks, Alaska,” said Arik. “Then it’s something more along the lines of seventeen, eighteen hundred miles one way, thirty-six hundred ’round trip.”

“Fairbanks?” asked Kane. “Isn’t that some little Podunk town up in the Territory. Does it even have an airstrip?”

“Maybe not, but there ought to be a flat field somewhere nearby. We can land there.”

“And then sink into the tundra?” said Ky.

“I think Amelia’s Lockheed Electra can only fly something like twenty-five, twenty-six hundred miles one way,” said Rith, “and that’s with the fuselage turned into a gas tank.”

“Well, we can turn the fuselage of Howard’s bomber into a flying gas tank,” said Arik.

“I say,” said Trendel, “how about we get one of those Pan American sea planes? You know, those new China Clippers.”

“Ah, good,” said Arik. “The Martin. I believe they have a thirty-two hundred mile range, and with extra gas tanks, surely we can get from, say, Anchorage to the Pole and back.”

“You’re bound and determined to go via Alaska?” asked Ky.

“The magnetic North Pole is somewhere around there,” said Arik, “and the true North Pole not far away from it.”

“Just how in the hell are we going to get our hands on a China Clipper?” asked Kane.

“I am certain Howard can do it,” said Rith. “After all, he practically owns the world. Who’s going to turn him down? If necessary, he’ll charter the plane. I mean, he owes Thaddeus big time for saving his hide, and through Thaddeus us.”

“All right, look, we’ll let Howard tell us if he can get us a Clipper. If not, then we’ll go by dogsled.”

<But after we look into whatever it is that Thaddeus says needs done,> said Lyssa. <His last message from Arkham seemed desperate, dire.>

“His messages are ever desperate and dire,” said Rith.

“Yes, but there’s always been something at the bottom of them that’s even more desperate and dire than his words,” said Trendel. “I mean, look at the last mission he sent us on: Inca mummies guarding a huge crystal. I mean, how stupid did that sound? But then . . . Ah, you all know what happened.”

“All right, all right,” said Arik. “We’ll go see what dreadful fate the world faces, but if he starts raving again about some horrible being asleep under the sea . . .”

“It’s those terrible books he reads,” said Rith. “They make him crazy. No wonder he voluntarily commits himself to the asylum.”

“Me,” said Kane, “I think it’s because of that nurse up there—Tonkins, her name? I mean, she’s—ow! What was that for, Ky?”

“You’d better watch it, big boy,” said Ky. “Your eyes are to keep straight ahead and not go roving over her voluptuous body, even if she doesn’t have on any underwear, and no matter how far over she bends.”

“No matter how plunging her neckline?” asked Trendel, ducking a swat from Rith.

Lyssa moaned and signed, <You can look, Arik, even bed her. Of course, she’s likely to be on my side the next time you see her after that.>

In that moment, Robert opened the study door and said, “Dinner is ser—” His speech jerked to a halt and his face paled noticeably, as it did every time he saw Lyssa. Lyssa vanished, and then as if nothing whatsoever had occurred Robert said, “Dinner is served.”

“Thank you, Robere,” said Rith, giving the proper French pronunciation to the name of Thaddeus’s personal assistant. And they all got to their feet and stepped through the connecting door and into the dining room.

It was visiting hours in mid afternoon when they signed in. They waited at the front desk of the asylum, ignoring the screams and babbling echoing down the halls. To one side stood a doctor reading charts; he was perhaps the most handsome man that Rith and Ky had ever seen, outdoing even Ronald Coleman. The Jean Harlow look-alike platinum-blond receptionist nurse, her blouse cut low, her skirt cut high, stepped to the counter and leaned forward, the mounds of her bosom in danger of spilling out, the enticing scent of her wafting forward as well, as if to say, “Come get me.” She completely ignored the females, who, after all, were nothing but a tall Negro person and a small woman of some Asiatic lineage, perhaps from Chinatown down in New York. What they were doing with these three strange and exciting men was, clearly, of no interest to her. With her gaze lingering languorously upon each of the male visitors she huskily said, “What can I do for you?”

“We’re here to visit Professor Thaddeus Baxter,” hoarsely said Arik, running his finger about his collar.

“Oh, he’s my patient,” said the doctor, looking up from the medical charts and rakishly smiling at Rith and Ky, his teeth gleaming white above a cleft chin, a hint of dimples in his cheek. He brushed his hand through his wavy black hair. His nametag read, “Dr. Stahl.” With a flourish, he signed the last of the forms and then, in an accented voice, European with a slight German inflection and intonation, said, “I would take you lovelies to his quarters myself, but, alas, I have duties. Perhaps after your visit, we could share a cup of coffee?”

Ky giggled and briefly glanced at Kane and then back at this handsome devil and said, “Perhaps.”

“I’ll have Nurse Gröber show you to Thaddeus.”

“Oh,” said the receptionist, disappointment in her voice. She took a very deep breath and sighed, the nipples of her breasts threatening to pop through the fabric of her blouse.

Dr. Stahl gestured at a nurse just then coming down the hall. She was tall and willowy, and had a heart-shaped face, her pouty lips much like those of the It Girl of the twenties. And when she arrived, he said, “Nurse Gröber, please see these beautiful ladies and their bodyguards to Thaddeus Baxter.”

Following Gröber’s sashay down the hall, her hips swaying to a sultry beat, Kane said, “Bodyguards? That bastard, playing up to my wo—”

Just then, a young, dark-haired man dressed in janitorial coveralls stepped from a broom closet, his fingers buttoning his fly. And right after came Nurse Tonkins, settling her ample bosom back into place and smoothing down her high-cut skirt that seemed to accent her long, silky legs. Lissome and yet buxom, and with reddish-blond hair and light blue eyes, she looked at the men and giggled, and hurried past, emanating a musky scent.

Kane whispered, “What kind of place has this become? A house of Eros?”

Trendel said, “I don’t know, but if I ever go bonkers, here’s the place I want to be. I mean, it’s got to be great for both the staff and the patients.”

Rith made a rude sound.

They passed a room where a man shrilly screamed, “I’m John Doe! I’m John Doe! Just ask anyone. Isn’t that right, doctor?”

In a pleasant alto, accented much the same as Dr. Stahl’s, Nurse Gröber said, “We do not really know his name, but he is a man who was insane and living in alleys. Homeless, with no known relatives. Dr. Stahl takes many charity cases like this.”

Past screaming and sobbing and laughing men and women they strode, as well as some in quiet contemplation, or so it seemed. But in one room, a teenage girl danced with an invisible companion to a slow song that only she could hear. In another room, a muscular nude man stood before a full-length mirror and drew circles in scarlet lipstick upon his body, as if readying for some arcane ceremony. In yet another room, a woman in a tight leather skirt beckoned. But at last they reached Thaddeus’s usual quarters—a padded cell with no furniture whatsoever.

When they entered the room, Thaddeus, a sixty-something-year-old grey-haired and slightly rotund man dressed in soft cotton whites turned to face them and said, “Why, hello, Nurse Gröber. . . . Ah, I see you’ve brought me my friends. Hello Rith, Ky, Kane, Trendel, Arik. How pleasant this day has just become. Did you bring the basket from Robere?”

Arik and the others were dumbfounded, for never had they seen Thaddeus be this sane. “We did,” said Rith, holding out to Thaddeus the small hamper with two roast beef sandwiches and an apple and a very small bottle of claret.

“Just set it down, if you please,” said Thaddeus, and that’s when Arik saw that Thaddeus’s hands were clenched behind his back, his knuckles white as if from strain.

Nurse Gröber said, “Well, I’ll leave you to your visit.” She looked at Arik and softly added, “Anytime.”

She left the room and Thaddeus waited a moment then became his usual twitching, trembling, fearful self and said in a quavering whisper, “Is she gone? Is she gone? Look, look and make certain she’s gone.”

Kane sighed and stepped to the door and looked out, then turned and said, “She’s gone, Thaddeus. She’s really gone.”

“Well, keepwatch-keepwatch-keepwatch-keeepwatch,” he stammered, his eyes darting here and there. “They’re in it together, together I say.” Thaddeus crouched down on his haunches and began wolfing down a sandwich.

“Terrible, terrible, only see them in the dark,” he said, and moaned. “Careful, careful, the walls have ears, ears, I say. Ask Tonkins, Tonkins, she knows, knows. But not here, not here. They’ll find out.”

“Here comes Stahl,” said Kane, yet watching the hallway.

“Ask her about Cold Point, Cold Point,” muttered Thaddeus, and then stood, the second sandwich elegantly held in hand, and quietly laughed as if just told a mildly humorous anecdote as Stahl reached the door.

“Why, hello, Dr. Stahl. Have you met my friends?” asked Thaddeus, as sane as any man.

50

Five months Before the Hearing

(Coburn Facility)

Pacing back and forth in the dimness of the emergency lights, Toni irritatedly snapped shut her holocom, “While you were making those calls,” said Sheila Baxter at her comptech console, “Avery downloaded more data into the ID crystals.”

Toni glanced up at the central holo. “Oh, bloody hell,” she said, for there she was, her alter, Nurse Tonkins, giggling and passing by the Black Foxes in a corridor. Beyond the Foxes and walking away was Travis, one of the young janitors at the asylum, and in spite of herself, Toni felt her nipples spring to hardness at the sight of him. She groaned and said, “It’s my adventure.”

“The erotic horror?” asked Alvin Johnson, smiling.

“As I said before, someone had to do it,” snapped Toni.

“I know, Ms. Adkins, I know,” said Alvin, holding out his hands as if in supplication.

Toni’s comband beeped, but she continued to watch Travis move down the hall even as she said, “Yes?”

“Drew here,” said Meyer. “I’ve found a way to stretch our power out a bit longer.”

Travis turned a corner and was gone, and Toni glanced at the doomsday clock: 3:24:14 . . . “How much?”

“Well, depending on the H2 supply, maybe instead of six hours, total, maybe ten, twelve instead.”

“Great,” said Toni. “perhaps that tanker will be here from Denver by then.”

“Oh, and this too, Toni: Mikey says that we need to shut down all but the most critical control-room consoles and especially the main holo. It’ll save power.”

Toni nodded and said, “All right. Anything else?”

“Nah. That’s it.”

“Toni out.” She turned to Sheila. “Can we transfer the signals from the main holo to, say, Greyson’s display, and shut down the main? Oh, and shut down one of the tech and one of the med holos as well, reassigning all functions to the remaining two?”

“We can,” said Sheila. “You want me to do it now?”

“Yes.” Toni then turned to Henry Stein. “What about the cradles? Can we let the medtech console handle everything?”

Stein shook his head. “No, those displays need to be active, else the ID crystals shut down as well.”

“As I thought,” said Toni.

Stein glanced at the entryway to the nearby medlab. “You know, Toni, I’m certain my modified cephaloruptor will reactivate their brains.”

Toni pushed out a hand of negation. “No, Henry, I promised.”

“It was a stupid promise.”

Toni flared. “I said no!”

As Stein stormed away into the medlab, Alvin leaned over to Grace Willoby and whispered, “I think it’ll work.”

“What’ll work?” asked Grace.

“Stein’s modified ’ruptor. I believe that with it he can reactivate their brains.”

Grace frowned. “But Greyson says that if the alpha team’s brains are reactivated while their mentalities are still in Avery’s VR, the reactivated brains will be soulless, that those people will then be dreadful monsters. Don’t get me wrong, Alvin, I know that the cephaloruptor does a fine job on depressed patients. Regardless, the fact that it is an instrument that grew out of the terrible cortical disruptors used by the Kazakhstanis to torture and even scramble the brains of dissidents during the oil wars, well, it just gives me the willies.”

Michael Phelan found Kat Lawrence and Al Hawkins out by the substation on the Coburn Industries property and told them of Drew Meyer’s recommendation.

“Jesus,” said Al, “why didn’t we think of that.”

“Yeah, but can we isolate the output of the Astro to the rechargers alone?” asked Kat.

“Let’s look at the schematics and see,” said Al.

As they headed for the second subbasement, Kat said, “If this works I’ll jump the bones of that baldheaded geek, in spite of the fact that he’s married.”

Al and Mikey and Kat were still laughing as they entered the building again.

51

United States

(Risk, Ltd.)

“I just came by to say that visiting hours are nearly over,” said Dr. Stahl, “and to remind these lovely ladies that we are to share a cup of coffee. But I’m afraid it’ll have to wait, as I am discharging one of my patients if he can make a successful walk-through of Arkham. Shall we say tomorrow instead?”

Thaddeus gently smiled, but behind his back his hand clenched even tighter, his knuckles whitening to alabaster. “I’m certain, Doctor, that they will be more than happy to join you then.”

“Good. Well, I’ll be running along,” said Stahl. He turned and, striding with assurance, went back down the hall toward the front desk.

“Is he gone, gone?” The words jerked out from Thaddeus’s throat.

“Who in the hell were you to promise—?” began Kane, but Thaddeus interrupted him:

“He’s one of them, one of them, I’m certain.” Thaddeus ripped a bite out of his sandwich, and as he chewed he looked at Rith and Ky. “You’ll have to find out where he lives. And you have to see Nurse Tonkins. She knows the story, the story. Find a place where there are no ears, no ears. Are you certain he’s gone?”

“Yes, yes,” said Kane, standing at the door and looking down the hallway.

Starting and twitching and jerking his eyes this way and that, and whirling about to look behind, Thaddeus said, “Tonkins will tell you everything everything everything. Only see them in the dark, the dark. In the light they look normal, normal.”

“Here comes Gröber,” said Kane.

“Oh, oh, remember, see Tonkins.”

Thaddeus then straightened up and smiled gently, and as Nurse Gröber came to the doorway, Thaddeus said, “Oh, my, but I do believe visiting hours have come to an end.”

“Indeed,” said Gröber. “Oh, you must take the basket with you, though leaving the food is fine.”

“Here, let me,” said Rith.

She spread out the cloth cover, and she put the apple on it. Then she used a small corkscrew and opened the split of claret. “I assume the wine is all right.”

Gröber frowned, but Arik said, “We’ve left it before. Thaddeus knows to call for a janitor to take the bottle away when he’s finished.”

“I suppose,” said the nurse. “But, really, it’s time to go.”

Ky hugged Thaddeus, and then Rith, and she slipped the corkscrew into his waistband and whispered, “It’s not much, but it’s better than nothing.”

Kane, Trendel, and Arik said good bye, and all then followed Gröber’s swaying hips down the hall.

As they passed an empty room, Trendel said, “I say, isn’t that the room John Doe was in?”

Nurse Gröber said, “Oh, yes. Dr. Stahl has declared him sane and is taking him on a walking tour of Arkham, and if Mr. Doe successfully copes with the lights and traffic and does well in the stores, well then, he will be discharged.”

“Wha—?” Kane started to say, but Arik threw up a hand and signaled, <Wait till we’re out from here.>

Nurse Gröber dropped them off at the reception desk and then went on about her business.

As he signed out, Arik asked the platinum blond, “By the way, Nurse, uh, Nurse . . .”

“Delilah, handsome. You can call me Delilah.” Once again she leaned over the counter to give Arik a good look at her bosom.

“Um, well, then, uh, Delilah, I’d like to have a word with Nurse Tonkins. Do you know where she might—”

Delilah straightened up and huffed. “What could you get from her that you couldn’t get from—?”

“Nothing, nothing,” said Arik. “But Thaddeus asked us to simply say hello.”

“Thaddeus. A sweet man, but a bit ’round the bend. Ah, well, for Thaddeus, um . . . Tonkins: she’s down at the university, cradle robbing, I would imagine.”

“Miskatonic U?”

“Yes. She takes her meals there. Says she’s going to the library. I bet I know what she’s doing in the stacks.”

“Thank you, Delilah.”

As they left the asylum, Rith laughed and said, “I thought she was going to leap over the counter and do you right there on the floor.”

Kane, his gaze sweeping the street, said, “Huh?”

“What are you looking for, lover?” asked Ky.

“I was hoping to see Stahl and his patient, John Doe. I mean, there’s no way Doe can be sane.”

“You’re right,” said Arik.

“I wonder just what in blue blazes is going on,” said Trendel.

“That’s why we need to see Tonkins.”

“You think Thaddeus isn’t sending us on one of his snipe hunts?” asked Rith.

“He may be nuts,” said Arik, “but he’s not stupid. I suspect that there’s something behind these babblings of his.”

“He said to ask about Cold Point. What do you think that’s all about?” asked Kane.

“I don’t know, but Tonkins might,” said Arik.

They hopped into Thaddeus’s Pierce Arrow, and drove to the library at Miskatonic U. As they got out, “Wait a minute,” said Trendel. “It just occurred to me that I can find both Tonkins and John Doe. You see, I know what they look like.”

After casting two spells, Trendel said, “Doe is north about a mile from here, but Tonkins is fifty yards that way.” Trendel pointed at the library building.

“Let’s do her first,” said Arik, and both Ky and Rith broke into laughter, Ky saying, “A fine choice of words, Arik.”

Into the library they went.

They found Tonkins in a clench with a young male beyond a latched gate and at the far side of the permission-only stacks in the library. The student’s hand was inside Tonkins’ blouse, and hers roaming around under his waist band.

“Ahem!” said Kane, his voice low and somewhat threatening.

The young man broke away and saw Kane looming in the shadows, with Arik and Trendel just behind and two women beyond them.

“I’ve got to get to class,” he squeaked, and fled down an adjacent row.

Tonkins buttoned her blouse and smoothed her skirt and said, “That wasn’t very nice.”

“We need to talk to you,” rumbled Kane.

“I don’t think I want to talk to you,” she replied, snatching up her purse and pushing past Kane and Trendel and Arik.

But Rith stopped her and said, “But you will talk to us.”

“Say, just who in bloody hell do you think you are?” began Tonkins, her words carrying a British accent, but Ky stepped in between Rith and the nurse and said, “Hey, hey, calm down. I think we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot. You see, we are here about a patient of yours and a good friend of ours: Thaddeus Baxter. He says it’s a matter of life and death.”

Tonkins looked down at the smiling oriental face, for at five feet five she loomed over Ky’s four feet ten. Then Tonkins giggled and said, “Thaddeus, he’s a sweetie. Bonkers, but a sweetie still.”

“Will you talk to us?” asked Ky.

Tonkins glared at Rith and then back at Arik and Trendel and Kane. “I’ll talk to you, but not to them.”

“All right,” said Ky. “Let’s find a place to sit, somewhere private.”

Tonkin’s eyes lit up. “I know a good spot. Almost no one ever goes there.”

“I’ll bet,” said Kane, whispering.

“We’ll wait for you downstairs,” said Arik.

As the men and Rith went one way, Ky and Tonkins went another, and she led Ky by an unmanned desk sitting before a locked door, with a sign that read “Written permission of the Dean only, and a campus guard must be present at all times.”

“No, no, we don’t want to stop here,” said Tonkins. “That room gives me the creeps. It’s almost like something awful is in there and likely to lurch out at any time, like that dreadful Boris Karloff.”

They hurried onward, and came to a set of stairs, leading up to a small room with a skylight. The chamber was furnished with a couch, an easy chair, and a table with four padded chairs.

“Here we go,” said Tonkins, sitting on one of the couches. “I think this is used for private study groups, but Jason and I use it for other purposes.” She giggled and touched her lower abdomen and added, “He tells me I have the Golden Fleece.” Then she fell silent, and with her lips slightly parted and her breath coming faster, and her gaze lost in memory, Tonkins languorously ran her fingers across the fabric of the couch.

As Ky took a seat in the easy chair, Tonkins said, “I believe I saw you over at the asylum.”

“Yes, my name is Ky, Nurse Tonkins, and we were visiting Thaddeus.”

“What is it you want to know?”

Trying to put Tonkins at ease, Ky asked, “Well, first I want to know why is the staff at the asylum so handsome, so beautiful, and so ready to, um, engage in hanky panky?”

Tonkins giggled and said, “Not only at the asylum, but here at Miskatonic, too. I mean, isn’t it just the cat’s meow? It’s almost as if I had wished it this way. I mean, handsome men and always ready: doesn’t that just blow your wig?” She paused and frowned, then added, “All but Dr. Stahl, who makes dates and then seems to always use work as an excuse to break them.” Then her face lit up and she said, “But he has asked me to go to his house some evening, and I think I’ll take him up on that. Of course, I believe that he and Gröber have something going on between them, and we might all three end up in the bed at the same time. Wouldn’t that be a kick, though?”

“Um, I suppose,” said Ky, as Tonkins wriggled a bit, thinking of a three-way tryst.

Then Ky took a deep breath and said, “Thaddeus seems to believe there are some perilous goings-on at the asylum. He said something about only being able to see ‘them’ in the dark, and something about Cold Point, whatever that might mean.”

“I told you he is bonkers. Quite far ’round the bend. But Thaddeus is a dear and sweet old man.”

“Regardless as to his mental state, Nurse Tonkins, he did say that you knew all.”

“Well I know what he told me, but again I say, he’s batty.”

“Thaddeus lives with us when he’s not here at the asylum, and so perhaps it’ll help us to deal with him if we know those particular fears.”

Nurse Tonkins shrugged and turned up her hands and said, “I don’t know what good it will do, but all right. It’s quite crazy, you know.”

As Ky settled back to listen, Tonkins said, “Oh, wait. You and your friends must be the ones he said that I should tell his story to. He was very suspicious that someone would be listening, but when he told me, it was well past midnight, and I was the only one on duty, and so he thought it would be safe. I’m sorry I didn’t think of this sooner, but I was, um, occupied.” Tonkins giggled.

“May I call my friends to listen?” asked Ky.

Tonkins frowned, then sighed and said, “If they’ll behave and be nice.”

Ky stepped from the small room and to the bottom of the stairs, and she whispered, “If you’re listening, Trendel, bring the others.”

Moments later, Trendel appeared, along with Arik, Kane, and Rith. After each had been introduced to Nurse Tonkins and they had settled in, Tonkins said, “As I was telling Ky, Thaddeus called me into his room well past midnight, let me see, three days ago. And he told me . . .”

“Tonkins, Tonkins, you must tell my friends. They’ll be here tomorrow or the day after.”

“Tell them what, Thaddeus?”

“About the monster, the monster; it is only revealed in darkness or deep shadows, for there its powers wane. Perhaps it has something to do with the sunlight, or bright lights, I don’t know, I don’t know.”

“What monster?” asked Tonkin, sitting in the doorway and watching the hall at Thaddeus’s insistence.

“I’m certain it’s Stahl himself; he must be revealed, yes, yes, revealed. Perhaps even eliminated.”

“Oh, Thaddeus,” said Tonkins, her voice falling with regret, “Dr. Stahl is a nice man.”

“No, he’s not. Not-not. I don’t know where he lives, I don’t know, but you need to tell my friends to track him to his lair. Yes, yes. His lair, or nest, or whatever hideous place he lives. Do you know where he lives?”

“No, but he has invited me to his place.”

“Don’t go, no, no. My friends must track him down and deal with him, deal with him, then go to Cold Point and deal with the others. Yes, Cold Point. They’ll know what to do.”

Tonkins looked at Ky and then the others and said, “Well, about that time James, the very handsome and oh so energetic night watchman, came along and gave me the high sign. Thaddeus shut up tighter than a clam and wouldn’t say anything else, I think because he thought James was ‘one of them,’ but whoever ‘they’ are, I know James is all right. And so I left, promising Thaddeus that I would tell his friends what he told me. But you know what, James drove that right out of my head until just now.” Tonkins giggled and shrugged and said to Ky, “You know how it is.”

“And that was all, all he said?” asked Arik.

“That’s it. See, I told you he’s cuckoo, though Dr. Raymond thinks he’s as sane as you or I. And Thaddeus is such a nice old man, I think if he somehow gets discharged, he’ll not harm a fly . . . especially with all of you to watch over him.”

As Arik frowned and looked at the others, “I have a question,” said Kane.

Nurse Tonkins gave him a sour glare, but then smiled.

“This John Doe,” said Kane. “He seemed quite unhinged to me, screaming as he did, yet I hear that Stahl was ready to discharge him.”

“Doe was homeless, and a charity case. Stahl often treats those who have no family to help them in a time of need, and so the doctor steps in to give them the treatment they require. If he says that John Doe was ready to go out into the world, who am I to question him?”

“Thank you, Nurse Tonkins,” said Arik. “If you think of anything else, please call.” He handed her a card.

“Hmm . . .” mused Tonkins, looking at the engraving. “Risk, Limited. What a strange name for a company. What is it you do?”

“We deal with risks,” said Arik.

Back in the car, Arik said, “Trendel, do you remember what Stahl looked like?”

“I do.”

“Where is he now?”

Trendel said a word, then frowned in puzzlement. “The spell failed.”

“Failed?”

“Failed.”

“Damn.”

“He was with John Doe,” said Kane.

“Right,” said Trendel, and he said another seer word. “Two and a half miles north.”

Ky unfolded a map, and after a moment said, “I think that would be on the road to Innsmouth.”

“But Stahl was supposed to be taking Doe for a walkabout in town,” said Kane. “What the blue blazes is he doing up there?”

“Let’s find out,” said Arik, starting the Pierce Arrow.

“Everybody armed?” asked Arik.

They exited the car parked outside a wall surrounding the estate grounds of a large manor. According to Trendel, somewhere inside was John Doe, in dreadful agony and in the process of dying.

Each was armed with .45 automatics. Kane additionally carried a double-barreled sawed-off 12-gauge. Ky had a Thompson submachine gun as well as her black sword. As usual, Rith had donned her throwing knives in bandoliers crisscrossing her chest.

Arik glanced at the sun and judged that some ninety minutes would pass before it would set. “We can’t wait for Lyssa. Let’s go.”

Over the wall they went in complete silence, thanks to Rith. Since it was yet daylight, Ky’s shadow mastery was of no use in crossing the unkempt yard, but they went unchallenged. They made a swift circuit of the manor, ignoring the barnlike structure out back. “We’ll look at that later,” said Arik.

At the rear of the house, Rith jumped upon a large propane tank and peered through a window. “Kitchen,” she said, her voice directed only to the others. “Empty.”

They continued the circuit, and reached the front, where columns held up a wide portico.

The entry door was standing slightly ajar.

“Me first,” said Kane and, cocking the double-barrel, in he slipped, the others right behind.

They had come into a large welcoming hall, and in the dimness at the foot of a sweeping stairway leading to the level above stood Nurse Gröber, silent and unmoving.

To right and left archways opened into other chambers, other rooms, where sheets were draped over the furniture within, like ghosts haunting remembered halls.

A scream echoed from somewhere, yet Gröber stood stock still, not reacting at all.

Swiftly, with a .45 in one hand and a knife in the other, Rith moved to where Gröber stood. The nurse made no sound, no motion, but simply remained, as if somehow stunned or paralyzed. Rith moved ’round back of Gröber. “Oh, jeepers! Arik, there’s a silver-dollar sized hole at the base of her skull.”

In the dimness, something scuttled across the floor and up Gröber’s leg.

“What th—?” cried Ky. “A bug?”

Nearly too fast for sight to follow, the insectoid scrambled under Gröber’s dress only to almost instantly reappear at her neck and dart into her skull, and suddenly the nurse came to life. And she screamed and rushed at the four in front of her.

Behind—Shkk!—Rith’s knife thucked into the back of Gröber’s neck, yet she came on. B-boom! Kane let fly with both barrels, and he nearly blew Gröber in half, yet still she charged, intestines spilling forth.

Pow! Arik shot her right between the eyes, and her skull exploded, brain matter splattering up and out, and Gröber fell facedown at their feet.

The insectlike thing scuttled swiftly away from the ruin of her head, and through an open door at the back of the entry hall.

And another scream came from that direction.

“John Doe!” cried Trendel, and he charged after the bug, his feet splatting through blood and guts and brain matter, Arik, Kane, Ky, and Rith on his heels.

Down into a basement they went, and the place reeked of decay, as of animals left too long in the sun, the remains to burst apart from stench and bloat. Corpses, human corpses, were piled atop one another, slime and pus oozing down from the newer to the older.

As Kane reloaded both barrels of the 12 gauge, again a scream sounded, this one cut short, as if the screamer had lost life. It came from the far end of the basement, where another door yawned wide.

They rushed toward it to find a stair leading down into blackness, from which a sucking, slurping sounded.

Able to see in darkness, Ky charged ahead, and “Damn!” cursed Kane, and he followed her down.

“Here we go,” said Trendel in discovery, and he flipped a switch, and a hanging light at the foot of the steps bloomed on, just as Kane’s brow clanged into its metal shade.

Cursing, Kane batted it aside, and the light swung wildly to and fro, as down the stairs the others clattered.

And at the distant end of this deeper basement, something like a giant cockroach with a proboscis driven deeply into John Doe’s body stood and sucked upon the man hanging limply by his wrists. All over John Doe, a swarm of the hideous small versions of the giant roach sucked at him as well.

As the light swung two and fro, illuminating and shading the reaches, the great cockroachlike thing alternately became Dr. Stahl in the light and then the dreadful creature in dimness.

Ky cut loose with the Thompson, and she blew the thing to shreds, John Doe as well, blood and guts and pieces of bone and fragments of chitin and yellowish snotlike slime and clinging strings of mucous flying wide to stick to and dangle from whatever they hit. The small swift bugs dropped away and, trailing thin streams of fluid sucked from John Doe, they scuttled into cracks and nooks and holes. Kane let fly both barrels, and Rith and Trendel and Arik emptied their .45s, but there were too many of the fleet insects, and most got away.

“Oh, crap,” said Ky. “I should have used a shadowbolt. I would have pared their numbers considerably.”

“Oh, God, let’s get out of here,” groaned Rith. “I’m about to puke up my guts.”

“What’ll we do about those little bastards that got away?” asked Kane. “They’re likely to grow up to be big ones.”

“Burn ’em,” said Arik. That’s what we’ll do is burn them.”

“We’ll have to take the whole house down,” said Trendel.

“Right,” replied Arik.

They found a tractor in the barn, and cans of gasoline there as well.

They soaked the first and second basements as well as the first floor. And they set the interior afire, and when it was burning brightly, they crossed the wall, and, using Ky’s Tommy gun, Arik riddled the propane tank. And when the released propane met the fire—Badoom!—the tank went up like a bomb and blew half the house into flinders.

They piled into the Pierce Arrow and drove back into town, getting there just in time to see the fire trucks and police cars and ambulances heading north.

Night fell, and the sky above glowed red.

Lyssa, sated by the population of Arkham, appeared as they pulled up in front of the asylum.

She looked about and said, <So, at the asylum, eh? Come to get Thaddeus, I presume. Other than that, nothing exciting, I suppose.>

Lyssa looked on in consternation as her companions nearly fell down laughing.

52

Courthouse

(Greyson)

“Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth in the testimony you are about to give, so help you God?”

Dressed in his monk’s robes, John Greyson glared at Charlotte Dupree and Finster Coburn and said, “I do.”

As Greyson sat down, Melissa French stood and approached the witness box. “Dr. Greyson, would you tell us what expertise you brought to the Avery project?”

“I have a doctorate in philosophy from Oxford, a doctorate in theology from Yale, and a doctorate in morals and ethics from Harvard.”

Melissa turned toward the panel of experts and said, “That’s quite an impressive résumé, Dr. Greyson.”

Greyson shrugged.

“And what was your contribution to the care and feeding of Avery?”

“I taught him ethics and morality, and, along with others, I helped with the design of his programmed emotions, including the limits placed thereon.”

“And yet it seems these limits failed, Dr. Greyson.”

“They did, for the lightning strike severely damaged his programming, or so we believe.”

“Dr. Greyson, there has been much testimony here about consciousness, mentality, and souls. Without going too deeply into the metaphysics and philosophy, would you explain the differences between those three concepts?”

“Well, the first two are rather straightforward: Consciousness is more or less a sense of one’s personal identity, especially the complex of attitudes, beliefs, and sensitivities held by or considered characteristic of an individual.

“Mentality, on the other hand, is defined as the totality of a person’s intellectual capabilities, the endowment of them.

“Of course there can be both a group consciousness and a group mentality—group-think, if you will, but I believe we are talking of individuals here.

“But the third thing, the soul, namely, is quite complex, and is defined as the animating and vital principle in humans, and though some believe that only humans have souls, I am not among them, for I think various animals, perhaps all of them, have consciousnesses and mentalities and souls as well. Regardless as to my personal beliefs, in the definition of the soul, it is credited with the faculties of thought and action and emotion and is an immaterial entity. It is the spiritual nature of human beings. It is immortal, and separable from the body at death, and perhaps susceptible to happiness or misery in a future state. The definition also includes the soul being the disembodied spirit of a dead person or, as I would have it, an animal; therefore the soul is a ghost, a shade, a specter.

“As you can see, the definition of the soul embraces both consciousness and mentality.”

Melissa nodded and said, “And just how did the idea of the soul come about?”

Greyson pondered a moment, then said, “As to just how and when and where this concept arose, though it is quite universal, no one can say. However, some think that belief in the soul is driven by the fear of death, and the desire to continue in some fashion after death has taken one away from this mortal coil, perhaps to an idyllic existence or an existence one has made for himself in the afterlife. Thus, souls go to heaven; souls go to hell; souls are reborn; and so on. On the other hand, many believe that when we die, when we are dead, that’s it. We have no such thing as a soul, a spirit that lives on after. Therefore, there is no heaven; there is no hell; there is no reincarnation. Some believe there is only heaven and no hell, and of course vice versa. Some think heaven and hell are concepts born out of two needs: first, so that the leaders of the faith, whatever that faith might be, so that those leaders can maintain power over their flocks through the promise of rewards and punishments in the afterlife; and, second, the concepts of heaven and hell are used to further the teachings of morals and ethics, i.e., do good and go to heaven, do bad and go to hell.

“But I believe that neither heaven nor hell is needed to teach ethics and morals, for these at base are not religious concepts but are born out of the needs of society.”

Wound up in the subject, Greyson took a deep breath, preparing to go on, but Melissa said, “Thank you, Dr. Greyson for such a succinct summing up. But let me ask you this: in your opinion, does Avery have a soul?”

“I used to think not,” replied Greyson. “But upon pondering it, I now believe he might, since he has consciousness and mentality. Still, were he to be completely powered down and the memory wiped out, which would be murder, by the way”—Greyson cast another glare at Charlotte and Finster—“I am not certain that Avery would have a disembodied spirit.”

“Well, then, what about Arthur Coburn? In your opinion, does he have a soul?”

“Yes. He does. I’ve seen it.”

Melissa’s eyes widened in apparent credulity. “Oh, what did it look like?”

“Well, as Avery displays it, it is a silvery and glittering spheroid about so big.” Greyson held his spread-fingered but cupped hands apart as if to hold an oblate sphere measuring about seven or eight inches from end to end.

“And why do you believe that this is Arthur’s soul?”

“Because it is his disembodied mentality, consciousness, and spirit. The definition of a soul. And because Avery has labeled it so.”

“Is it disembodied if it is in Avery?”

“Now, there is a good question, but in my opinion, yes. I believe that Avery has somehow captured it, captured Arthur’s soul.”

“And if he were to be wiped out . . . ?”

“As I say,” gritted Greyson, “it would be murder.”

Melissa turned to Mark Perry, and on her way back to her table said, “Your witness.”

“I have no questions of this witness,” said Mark.

Judge Marshall turned to Greyson and said, “Thank you for your testimony, Doctor. You are dismissed.”

As Greyson moved to the courtroom audience and took a seat next to Toni Adkins, Mark Perry said, “In rebuttal, I call Dr. Henry Stein to the stand.”

Outside the courthouse, Frankie Roberts waited until Steve gave her the go-ahead sign. She looked into the holocam and asked, “Do you believe in souls? And do you think a soul can be trapped inside a diabolical machine? Dr. John Greyson certainly does. But Mark Perry has called Dr. Henry Stein as a rebuttal witness. If you accept as true such things as souls exist, will Stein shatter your belief in them? Or instead has Dr. Greyson’s testimony turned nonbelievers into believers. Whether you are atheists, agnostics, deists, or theists, I have faith that each of you will make up your own mind.

“This is Frankie Roberts, News Holo-4, at the Pima County Courthouse in Tucson, Arizona.”

53

United States:

(Risk, Ltd.)

They fetched Professor Thaddeus Baxter from the asylum in Arkham, and since he suffered from an extreme form of agoraphobia, they blindfolded him to take him to the Pierce Arrow. They all piled in, and Rith pulled shut the passenger compartment shades to close out the sight of open spaces before removing the cloth from the professor’s eyes. Trendel drove the thirty miles back to the manor in Boston, and all the way there, Thaddeus repeatedly whispered as if to keep from being overheard, “You must to go to Cold Point, Cold Point. Where there’s one there has to be more. Kill them all; wipe out the nest; kill them all.”

And now in the study of the house on the hill, they sipped on a fine Burgundy and supped on tenderloin sandwiches on French bread, all made by Antoine, Thaddeus’s personal cook. Arik sighed and said, “I know you want us to go to Cold Point, but we’ve got to find Lyssa’s body, Thaddeus.”

“Yes yes yes yes.” Thaddeus flinched away from something only he could see, then he looked apologetically across the room at Lyssa’s glowing form, tendrils and wisps of ectoplasm streaming, drifting, and going to wherever such ethereal substance goes, fading away as it went.

<How long will it take for Howard to arrange the lease of a China Clipper, including the fitting of ferry tanks to extend its range?> she asked.

“I don’t know,” said Arik. “Rith is on the phone now.”

<Well, perhaps we can settle this Cold Point business before the plane is ready.>

When Trendel translated this for Thaddeus, the professor said, “Oh, yes, yes, that’s good, good.”

Ky set down her goblet of wine and asked, “Just where is this Cold Point?”

“North, north, and east, east, it’s one of the easternmost points of Maine, of Main. Cold Point: just a small town, a village, more or less, more or less, along the cliffs above the entry to the Bay of Fundy. They were going to put up a lighthouse there, but the workers kept disappearing. Drunk and fell, some said, and the great tides took them away, away. But I know better, better. Horrible, horrible.” Thaddeus clutched his two flintlock pistols to his chest and looked about, as if seeking some evil thing to shoot. “They were there when I was there with Harold and Jefferson.”

Marion Claymore, Thaddeus’s personal physician came into the room. Red haired, green eyed, standing five five, and raised as she was in her mother’s Chicago bordello, the attractive doctor was somewhat wild at times. She sedately entered, black bag in hand, and greeted them all. And as the others looked away in a pretense of privacy, Marion gave Thaddeus his “calming shot.”

After Marion left, Ky said, “Will you tell us what happened at Cold Point?”

Thaddeus took a deep breath, and set aside his flintlocks, though close at hand, just in case some horror came bursting in.

In that moment Rith entered the room, but seeing that Thaddeus was about to tell his tale, she held her news to herself, and took a seat where her sandwich and goblet of Burgundy sat on a side table at her chair.

“Make sure no one is at the window listening,” said Thaddeus.

Kane sighed, for Thaddeus always expected spies and cultists and other such to be listening. Kane barely pulled the edge of the permanently closed drape away and peered out. “All clear, Professor.”

“Good. Good.” Thaddeus took a sip of his Burgundy. “It was back in ’92, back in my halcyon days at Miskatonic U. Benjamin Harrison was President, but Grover Cleveland was set to run again to govern our forty-four states and six territories. We thought we were the kings of the world, but that was before I found out that we were nothing but vermin, nought but fodder to the One Who Lives Under the Sea.”

With a shaking hand, Thaddeus took up his wine, but he needed two hands to steady it for a sip. As he set the goblet back, he said, “During the summer break, Harold Rainwater, Jefferson Allen, and I decided that it would be pleasant to spend the time on the rocky coast of Maine, specifically on the cliffs above the Bay of Fundy. Study the tides, you see. Highest in the world. An enormous amount of water flows into and out of the Bay on the tide, twice a day, with its rip-currents and seething up-wellings and swirling whirlpools, and a tidal range reaching fifty, sixty feet at the head of the Bay, though where we were it was about thirty feet from low to high. The swirling currents also create caves along the face of the cliff, one being just below where the three of us settled down for the season.

“Anyway, Hal and Jeff and I rented a small house up there, a mile or two north of Cold Point, right along the cliffs. And speaking of Cold Point, the villagers there were hostile. They didn’t want us in town, or at least not during the summer.

“We hadn’t been there more than a few days, when the three of us were sitting along the cliff and watching the great ebb and flow of the water. A man came walking by and said hello. He was tall and handsome and looked to be quite the sportsman, and we struck up a friendship. Harold invited him to dine with us that eve before moving on.

“He accepted.

“Harold prepared the meal—beans and bacon and he baked a fresh loaf of bread—you see, we didn’t have an ice-box, and so we existed mostly on things that would keep in the summer days.

“Regardless, it was twilight growing on night when we sat down to supper, and we gave our guest the place of honor at the head of the table, with Harold at the foot and Jefferson and me across from one another.

“But then a gust of wind blew, and it extinguished all of our candles. And only the faint light of the crescent moon shown in through the western windows.”

At this point in his tale, Thaddeus began panting in remembered horror, and he picked up his goblet but was trembling so hard that wine slopped over the brim. Rith leapt forward and rescued the professor, lifting his glass to his lips. And as he drank, she rubbed his shoulder and back to calm him a bit. “Thank you, dear,” he said. “I believe I’m all right now.

But his voice grew tight and high pitched as he said, “And by the faint light of the moon, that’s when we saw in the darkness, in the dimness, our handsome well-groomed stranger was a hideous giant insect of some kind.

“Screaming in terror, we all leapt backwards, knocking our chairs over. But Jefferson was too slow, and the thing grabbed him, and stabbed a great proboscis into his chest and began sucking him dry.

“Oh, the horror, the horror of it all. Harold and I fled. We ran to the horses and not bothering to saddle them, riding bareback, we galloped away. But we saw the thing, still sucking on Jefferson, scuttle over the edge of the cliff and down. I believe it was heading for the cave below. And in that very same moment, another of the hideous giant insects flew from the west and overhead, with a screaming woman in its clutches. It, too, soared over and down, down to the cave below, I am certain.

“Poor Harold. He went mad. I had to leave him in the asylum at Bangor. I went to the authorities, but they didn’t believe me, the babbling idiot I had become.

“I blotted it out of my mind, and only when in the asylum in Arkham this time did it all come flooding back. Forty-five years after that dreadful event.

“And so that’s why you must go to Cold Point, for I am certain that there is a nest in the cave below the house.”

Thaddeus fell silent, drained by the telling. Trendel said, “Well, you were right about Dr. Stahl. He was one of them. One of the giant insects, and there were many small ones, too. Making a new nest, we think. But we destroyed it and them, by bullets and by fire.”

Arik snapped his fingers and he rummaged through the paper, the Globe of yesterday. “Here it is,” he said. “Disappearances around Bangor. Perhaps that’s what’s going on. These creatures are hunting.”

“Isn’t Bangor quite far from the Bay?” asked Trendel.

“Perhaps they’ve extended their hunting grounds to keep from being detected,” said Arik. “Besides, I suspect that if we look at New Brunswick and Nova Scotia, and the hinterlands of Maine, we’ll find reports of missing people.”

<I agree with Thaddeus,> signaled Lyssa. <Something must be done.>

“Do we have time to get to Cold Point and back?” asked Trendel.

Rith looked at her notes. “Howard says he’s got an experimental seaplane that’ll get us to the Pole and back. He says it’s a prototype of an even bigger one he’s got on the drawing board. He wants to fly it to the Pole himself; says it will be a good test. He also says Arik is right, that flying from Anchorage is the thing to do. He wants us to take the Lockheed and meet him there in eleven days. Which means, if we hustle, we fly into Bangor, hit the cave, and then take off ’cross Canada for Alaska.”

“We’ll need a car or truck or two to get from Bangor to Cold Point and back,” said Arik.

“And dynamite,” said Kane.

“And if we can get our hands on a flame thrower, that would be nice, too,” said Ky.

“Let’s look at a map,” suggested Rith.

Midmorning of the second day, Arik, with Trendel in the right-hand seat, landed the Electra in Bangor. They were met by one of Howard’s men, J. J. Jones—“But you can call me Jonesy”—who had a pick-up truck and a Ford sedan waiting for them. As they loaded their gear into the pickup, Jonesy said, “I looked up that record for you. Harold Rainwater disappeared on the day he was released as cured from Bangor Asylum back in 1893. His physician at the time was a Dr. Stahl; some German, I think.”

“I doubt that,” said Rith.

“Regardless, I suppose that answers what happened to Mad Harold,” said Ky.

“Yep,” said Arik.

“I don’t know why you’re going to Cold Point,” said Jonesy, obviously curious. “It’s practically a ghost town, ’cept for a few summer visitors who want to see the one of the farthest east points in the state of Maine.” Jonesy smiled and added, “Now that’s really going down east if you ask me.” He broke into laughter, Ky joining in.

“We’re heading there, Jonesy, because we think there’s a risk nearby to take care of,” said Arik.

“Well, Mr. Hughes said to give you whatever you want, and if you want Cold Point, that’s what you’ll get. It’s a bit over a hundred miles thataway.”

“Then thataway is where we’ll go,” said Rith.

“And as to the Lockheed,” said Jonesy, “I’ll have her gassed and ready to go whenever you return. I’ll put her in the hangar, but I ’spect folks hereabout will want a look at her, she being the same kind of ship as Earhart and Noonan are flying ’round the world.”

“Well, just don’t let them damage anything,” said Trendel, “’cause we have to be in Anchorage in nine days.”

“You might charge them a quarter apiece just to look,” said Ky.

It seems Jonesy, who doubled over laughing, thought that was the funniest thing he had ever heard.

“We’ll be on our way now,” said Arik.

Jonesy saluted, and Kane and Ky hopped into the pickup, Ky driving. Arik and Trendel and Rith got into the sedan, Trendel at the wheel, Arik in the back seat, Rith riding shotgun.

Rith unfolded the map and pointed and said, “Thataway, Jeeves. Thataway.”

Some five hours and a hundred and ten miles of bad road later, they came into Cold Point. The town itself was a tiny, ramshackle, weather-beaten-paint-stripped-from-buildings village. The wood beneath was gray. And it looked as if two or three houses seemed occupied. Well-traveled paths led from those two houses to an equally weather-beaten church, as if parishioners worshipped there often. On the very point of the land stood a partially built structure of some sort, the base round, as if it was the beginnings of the lighthouse Thaddeus had mentioned, the work abandoned long past. The waters of Fundy Bay boomed against the cliff, and icy spray flung itself into the air, as if to escape the cold Atlantic. As Trendel and Ky respectively drove through the town, several citizens remained at their distance and whispered among themselves.

“I am wondering,” said Rith, “if these people have silver-dollar holes at the bases of their skulls.”

“Me too,” said Trendel.

“If they do,” said Arik, “we’ll have to deal with them. We can’t leave any bugs behind.”

“Ah, here’s the turnoff Thaddeus told us about,” said Rith, “and, look, in the distance, there’s the house on the cliffs.”

“What’s the tide?” asked Arik, as Trendel turned off the only street through the village and onto an overgrown lane, more of a footpath than a road.

As they jostled and bumped along, Rith flipped open the 1937 farmer’s almanac. “Let me see. It’s the sixteenth. The dark of the moon— Unh! Sweetie, could you find a few more ruts and bumps to hit? I mean, you’re not making it hard enough on me. I can actually sometimes see the page.”

“Sorry, love,” said Trendel. “It’s the road, not me.”

Rith persevered, and said, “Ah, high tide in Boston is about eleven in the morning and again at eleven at night, so, low tide would be half way in between: about five in the afternoon.”

Arik looked at his watch. “So, we have maybe two hours to the depth of low tide, which means we have about an hour and fifteen minutes to get ready before we begin the descent.”

“Your thinking . . . ?” said Trendel.

“I’m thinking we enter and exit the cave thirty minutes on each side of low tide, in at, say, four thirty and back out at five thirty.”

“All right,” said Trendel. “Sounds like a plan.”

Arik snapped his fingers. “Oh rats, that means we won’t have Lyssa with us.”

“We could wait,” said Rith, “and let Lyss do it alone.”

“Yeah, but we don’t know if she can drain these things,” said Trendel.

“Nor do we know what they might be able to do to her,” added Arik.

“Well, then, she can take care of the people in the village, if need be,” said Rith.

“Right,” said Arik.

They pulled up to the house on the cliffs, and as they piled out, Arik said, “Trendel, can you see through water?”

“I can.”

“Then go find that damn cave, while we get set.”

“Right.”

As Trendel walked toward the edge of the sheer cliff, Arik and Kane and Ky and Rith unloaded the weaponry from the pickup. Shotguns, .45s, Tommy gun, well-cushioned dynamite and even better cushioned blasting caps, and several yards of fuse. Then Kane unloaded the prize: a German Flammenwerfer, the latest in flamethrowers. Where Jonesy had gotten it, they didn’t know, but gotten it he had. And now Kane fitted the straps to himself. Ky had wanted to try it, but it was just too much for her tiny size, for, although she could carry it, she could not move at any sort of fast pace at all, given its weight.

Rith bundled together sticks of dynamite, and she cut fuses of various lengths, set for various times. She made several packages, each in waterproof oilskin, and stuffed them into backpacks.

Trendel came back and said, “There are two caves, or at least two entrances about twenty feet apart, and fifty feet below the rim of the cliff. The northernmost one is slightly higher than the southernmost one. The entrances are fully exposed now, though waves throw spray up and in.”

“You mean we can go now?” asked Ky.

“I do.”

“Well, then, lets get cracking.”

“Is the gear ready? The dynamite?”

“All we have left to do is wrap the shotguns and pistols and the Tommy gun and extra shells and clips in oilskin,” said Arik, “and then we’re good to go.”

And within fifteen minutes and everyone with .45s strapped on and wearing miners’ hats, they rappelled down to the northernmost entrance: Ky, with her darksight, darksword, and darkbolt capabilities went first; Kane, with the flamethrower and a slung shotgun hesitated, his hands sweating, his heart pounding, his breath coming in short gasps, for he was looking down the face of a sheer cliff, and in spite of strong ropes and sturdy climbing gear still an irrational dread filled him, but gritting his teeth, he finally went and easily made it to the opening; Rith with her sound control slid down third; then Trendel with his darksight came next; and Arik, champing at the bit and carrying the Tommy gun, rappelled last.

The ocean spray was frigid, but they were wearing fisherman’s gear: suspender-supported fly-fisherman’s waders up to the chest, and oilskin jackets, Ky’s outfit extra small, the others in the usual ranges for men and women.

They entered the opening to find a dark passage before them. All clicked on their headlamps, and they unwrapped their weapons, and made ready to fight, should it come to that. “Let’s go,” said Arik. And, as planned, Rith went first, with Kane at her side, as through a wet stone passage they fared, plashing through water in pools, at times wading in deeper places up to Ky’s waist. At these deep pools it was Arik who hesitated, plagued by an irrational fear, for he could not see what might be lurking under the surface.

Rith in the lead used echolocation soundings, and at one juncture said, “This leads to the southernmost opening in the cliff.”

Onward they went, the path ever rising and winding through a honeycombed and labyrinthine maze carved out by swirling tides over millennia. But with Rith to guide them they forged ahead and soon came to a large chamber with picked-clean human bones stacked to each side. “I think,” said Rith, “that after the bugs suck their victims dry, they put them in hollows where the water still covers everything at high tide. Then the fishes do their work.”

On they went, Rith emitting inaudible sounds and listening carefully. They passed through several more cavities containing more human bones.

“Oh, lord,” said Ky, “there must have been thousands of people dragged into here.”

“I would guess you are right,” said Kane, “but I believe we’ve only seen a smattering of the whole.”

“That’s correct,” said Rith, and on they went.

Finally Rith said, “Somewhere ahead is a central chamber, higher up.”

“You can sense this?” asked Trendel.

“I can.”

“If so,” said Arik, “it must be where the hive is.”

“Hive,” said Trendel. “A good name for it.”

Moving more cautiously, now in Rith’s spell-cast silence, a bubble that would not allow sound to escape, they finally came to a large, roughly circular chamber, the farthest extent some hundred feet away, the ceiling some twelve feet above the floor. And hanging upside down were hundreds of the hideous insects, as well as spiderlike silken egg cases, each containing hundreds of—“What?” asked Rith—“Pupae, I think,” said Kane. “And all the giant bugs, all the pupae, seem to be in a state of estivation.”

“Estivation?”

“Summer dormancy,” said Kane. “But given Thaddeus’s story, at least some now and then come awake. And I don’t think the flamethrower has enough fuel to take the entire colony down.”

Rith smiled and said, “But we do have enough dynamite.”

“You’ll have to go in silence, Rith, and put the charges where they’ll do the most good,” said Arik.

Rith nodded and said, “Give me the packs.”

As they shed their backpacks, Arik said, “Ky, if any come awake, you’re shadowbolt should do.”

“What about the flamethrower?” asked Kane.

“I think we’ll need that to cover our retreat,” said Arik.

“Good idea,” said Kane.

“I wish we’d thought to bring timers instead of fuses,” said Rith.

“Too late now,” said Arik.

In complete silence, Rith set the charges around the hive, each bundle with a fuse calculated to last until they exited the caverns.

Finally, she ran around the chamber, still making no sound whatsoever, and with a small blowtorch she lit every fuse, and then said, “Time to go.”

And go they went, Rith leading the way, Kane bringing up the rear. They had just reached the juncture leading to both the south and north entrances when the first bundle detonated with a thunderous Kaboom! deafening everyone. And moments later all the others blew. Rith tried to protect them from the sound of the blasts, but it was too late; they now couldn’t hear a thing. Wind screamed past them, bearing pea-sized rocks and pelting dust and hurtling water, all blown outward by the bellowing explosions. The only thing that did protect them was the tortuous maze behind them.

Rith and the others turned, but then the cavern flared red as flames roared out from the Flammenwerfer. Arik and Ky spun ’round, as giant insects flew at them. Kane at rear guard sprayed fire, and Ky blasted with darkbolts, and Arik cut loose with the Tommy gun, and Trendel drilled bugs with his .45. With bugs burning and exploding and flying apart, chitin and snotlike slime splashed on them all. Rith screamed a sound, one that her deafened comrades did not hear, and bug wings shattered, and they crashed to the floor of the cavern, where Rith shot them with her .45 automatic.

And they burned and shot and blasted and reloaded and burned and shot and blasted, and Rith screamed and Ky threw bolts of darkness, but the flamethrower ran out of fuel. Kane unslung his trusty double-barrel 12 gauge, and began blowing bugs apart. Arik used up the last of his Tommy gun drums, and he switched to his .45s, one in each hand. But still the hideous bugs came on, wings whirring, deadly proboscises extended to stab. Arik dropped his spent left-hand gun to the stone, and he ejected the empty clip out of his right-hand one. He grabbed a fresh clip and jammed it in and continued firing. And even as he used his last cartridge, and as Kane ran out of shotgun shells, and as Ky fainted from overextending her powers, and Rith slumped to her knees from overusing her own, that was when the bugs stopped coming; they were all blown to bits of chitin and shattered pieces of wing and gobs of yellowish slime.

And the companions were all covered with sticky snot.

As Trendel knelt by Rith, and as Kane cradled Ky, Arik reached down and pulled Ky’s .45 from her holster. Speaking loudly in order to be heard in their deafened state, Arik said, “We got, what, eight bullets left in this gun, and twenty-one more in her three spare clips. That was close.”

Groggily, Ky came to, for Kane had let some of his own life-force bleed into her. She sat up and asked, “Did we win?”

When no one answered, she called out, “Did we win?”

“Yeah,” said Rith. “Barely.”

“Where in the hell did they all come from?” asked Kane.

“Perhaps some escaped when that first explosion went off a bit prematurely,” said Rith.

“Either that or there was another hive somewhere within,” said Trendel.

“Oh, crap, do we need to look?” asked Kane.

“No,” said Arik. “We’ve got to get out of here before the tide comes in.”

“I know what to do,” said Ky. “We can let Lyssa look.”

“Good idea,” said Arik, and he stood to go.

Kane said, “I could heal you all, but your hearing will recover shortly.”

<If need be,> signed Arik, <we can use the Black Fox signals.>

<Oh, right,> Kane signaled back.

Following Rith, she led them the last three turns to the northern opening. But when they reached that place, they found their rappelling line gone. Arik stuck his head out to look for it, and a large rock came whistling past, and he heard someone yell. Arik risked a quick glance upward, and atop the cliff stood an array of black-robed people, rocks in hand.

“Oh, crap,” said Arik, ducking back in, “there’s a bunch of cultists up there—probably the whole damn village—ready to stone us if we attempt to free-climb.”

“Jesus Mephisto, Arik,” said Trendel, “we’ve got to do something. I mean, if we stay here in these caves, we’ll drown. And if we are on the wall at the wrong time, the tide will rip us right off, to say nothing of the fact that we’ll die of hypothermia if we try to swim.”

“Have you got anything left, Rith,” asked Arik.

“Some, but not much.”

“Ky?”

“Nada. I’m spent.”

“We could wait them out,” said Kane. “I mean, we could get back to the hive where the tide doesn’t reach, and Lyssa could deal with the cultists.”

With what little she had left, Rith sang a note too high for any of the others to hear. “Sorry, Kane, but the way back is blocked.”

“All right,” said Arik. “When is the tide due?”

Rith said, “If I remember, low tide is at five.”

“That’s in Boston, and we’re slightly east of there, three degrees or so,” said Trendel. “Which means the tide will start inflowing a bit sooner.”

“It’s some six hours between low and high tide,” said Arik, looking at his watch, and the tide is at dead low right about now.” He risked another glance out and down at the cold, stirring waters. “It’s fifteen feet below this opening, and at high tide this part is at least ten feet under, perhaps twenty. So, in the worst case, the Atlantic will be at this level in about two hours. When is sunset?”

Rith frowned, remembering the almanac. “Something like six-thirty.”

“Oh, dretch,” said Kane, “it’s gonna be close.”

“At least we’ll get a bath and wash some of this awful snot off,” said Ky.

And so they waited. . . .

. . . and the tide rose . . .

. . . and still they waited . . .

. . . and the cold Atlantic crept higher.

Spray began flying into the opening.

Six o’clock came, and the frigid water now stood some six or seven feet below the gap.

At six-thirty, crests of waves washed into the hole.

At six forty-five Lyssa appeared.

“Honey,” said Arik, “there are angry cultists atop the cliff ready to stone us. Would you—?”

Lyssa vanished.

Screams could now be heard above roar of the ocean waves.

“Let’s go,” said Arik. “We’ll need to free climb up wet rock in the dark.”

“Oh, crap crap crap,” said Kane.

“Sweetie,” said Ky. “You’ve got to go. By the time we can reach the top and get a rope down to you, it’ll be too late.”

“I know, I know,” said Kane. “But this is one of my worst nightmares come true.”

And up the stone they went, waves clutching at their heels for the first few yards.

Lyssa came down and added her light to the climbers, and on upward they went in a dusk ever deepening, slipping a bit here, helping one another there, Arik in the lead calling back about hand- and footholds.

And finally and one by one they reached the lip of the precipice and crawled over, Kane coming last, trembling from exhaustion and fear.

“Remind me to not ever do that again,” he said.

Along the rim they found eighteen black-robed and very dead cultists, as well as eighteen dead small bugs, each cultist with a hole in the base of his skull.

“I guess that answers that,” said Ky. “They were drones all.”

They threw the dead bodies into the ocean and let the tide carry them away.

“I say,” said Trendel, looking about, “where’s the flamethrower?”

“Where do you think?” answered Kane.

“Down below?” asked Trendel.

“Well, I wasn’t going to try to free climb with that weight on my back,” growled Kane.

“Maybe we can fetch it tomorrow,” said Ky.

“Maybe we’ll just leave it there,” replied Kane.

In that moment, Lyssa returned from exploring the maze of caverns and declared them to be bug free.

“Tomorrow,” said Arik, wearily, “tomorrow we head for Anchorage; but tonight, after hot baths to rid us of this god-awful slime, I suggest we sleep.”

“Amen to that, brother,” said Trendel. “Me, I’m ready to drop dead of fatigue.”

“To sleep, perchance to dream,” said Rith.

“I hope they’re not nightmares,” said Ky.

<I’ll keep watch,> said Lyssa, bright with the drones’ life essence.

It was nearly midnight when, sextant in hand, Howard Hughes came down from the cockpit and said, “If I’ve properly shot the stars and reckoned correctly, we should be directly over the Pole, or if not dead over, then near.”

Trendel closed his eyes and then said a word, and a moment later he exclaimed, “I say, I’m pointing straight up.”

“What the hell does that mean,” asked Arik.

“I’m pointing toward where her body lies,” replied Trendel, his arm vertical, “and I don’t know what it means.”

But for the drone of the engines, dead silence filled the fuselage.

Suddenly, Rith shouted, “The legend, Arik, the legend.”

“What legend?”

“The one I read back in the great library on the Isle of Azarel on Itheria. Going to the land of ghosts meant going to a star, I think.”

Arik looked at Trendel, and they both looked at Howard, who said, “Polaris?”

“No wonder I kept pointing north,” said Trendel, “for every world we’ve been on has its own Pole Star.”

“Dretch,” said Kane, “now what’ll we do.”

Trendel said, “Summon Arda.”

Arik looked at Howard and said, “What you are about to see might be a bit beyond the pale. If you are easily disturbed—”

“Disturbed?” said Howard, pointing at Lyssa at the far end of the ship. “I mean, you’ve got a ghost in your company. What could be more disturbing than that?”

“You’ll see,” said Kane.

Trendel looked at Howard and nodded, and Howard nodded in return.

Trendel said a word and put the image of Arton in his mind, and straight before them the air in the fuselage began to swirl as of silver and frost and glitter.

And the ship began to change, to divide into sections, and cockpits formed, and instrument panels sprang to life, and every one of the members of Risk, Ltd., found themselves wearing flex-suits and oxygen helmets and flying in formation in starfighters, including Lyssa, for these ships operated on thought alone, and a specter could surely think. That she was with them was no surprise, for day and night in space have no meaning.

And Arik said, “Ready to jump?” and all answered Ready, Lyssa’s ship speaking for her.

“On my mark, then. Three . . . two . . . one . . . mark!”

And the six starfighters leapt into hyperspace.

54

Five Months Before the Hearing

(Coburn Facility)

When Kat Lawrence explained Drew Meyer’s proposed temporary solution to the power problem to Luiz Vizcarrondo and Carleen Alsberg, Luiz grinned and said, “Maybe if we raise the output voltage of the Astro, we can charge a little faster.”

“Jeeze, Luiz,” said Al, “that’s a fine idea.”

As they headed for the battery room, Kat said, “Let’s go look at the circuit breakers and the chargers, especially the ratings on the rectifiers. That might tell us if we can pump to a higher voltage and up the charge rate.”

They reached the room and Al flipped open the circuit-breaker panel. “Fifty amps each, and there are twenty-four of them,” he said.

Kat frowned and said, “Okay, fifty amps times twenty-four is 1200 amps total, the max we can pump in. And at 110 volts, that’s a wattage of—Shit! I’m gonna to need a calculator for this.” She whipped out her holocom and punched a few buttons, mumbling about watt hours and voltage and Avery’s consumption and the feed from the Astro and need to remain under the amperage limit. But finally she said, “If the rechargers keep pumping at a steady rate, we can get the batteries back up to full in about eighty-five minutes. Which is more or less what Meyer calculated. It looks like I’m gonna owe him a bone-jump.”

“Okay, Kat,” said Al. “Let’s see what the rechargers can actually handle. It could be that all we have to do is up the circuit breakers.”

As they stepped to the recharger array, Michael Phelan came in and said, “Oh, man, I’ve got either some good news or bad.”

In the control room, the switch-overs had been made, and the main holo and one of the tech holos and one of the med holos had been shut down. Greyson’s holo now displayed in miniature the scene occurring in virtual reality.

“Avery is dumping more data into the ID crystals,” said Sheila Baxter.

Toni glanced at the VR display. “Thank god, the Horror at the Asylum is over,” she breathed, and watched as the Black Foxes hurtled through hyperspace.

“I think the venture the Foxes were on probably should be called Horror at Cold Point,” said Grace Willoby, standing nearby.

“Well, whatever it’s called, if I had had to watch myself boff one more doctor, student, or blue-collar worker, I think I would have gone bonkers.”

“I dunno,” said Grace, “I mean, they were so handsome and studly that I found it quite tittilating, so to speak.”

Toni blushed, for in truth, so had she.

John Greyson, Drew Meyer, and Alya Ramanni reentered the control room, and Greyson, yet puffing from the climb up and down the stairs of the building, said, “Oh, my, I was hoping that the main holo wouldn’t have to be shut off.”

“Speaking of turning off things, we think that all the items on emergency circuits that can be shut down are now without power,” said Drew. “And if we switch the Astro over to run only the rechargers, the stuff we missed on the main building circuits won’t matter.

“Good,” said Toni.

Both Greyson and Drew moved to get a closer look at the holo scene. As Greyson sat down, Drew said, “Ah, starfighters. This is my adventure—twenty-fifth century, Galactic Patrol—where I was the alien Drewmer. I wonder who’s flying my ship?”

Henry Stein, wheeling a cart of electronic apparatus out from the medlab, said, “Bah, what does it matter?”

“Just curious,” said Drew, now peering even more closely at the holo projection.

“What I wonder,” said Billy Clay, “is just what in the hell is this secret plan of Arda’s?”

“Beats me,” said Drew.

“Well, there is this,” said Alya. “The Foxes started in medieval times in Itheria, then moved to late Victorian times in Egypt, then to the World Depression times of the 1930s, and now they are in the Galactic Patrol times in the twenty-fifth century.”

“Your meaning?” asked Billy.

“They are moving from the past to the future,” said Alya. “Moving from the primitive to the sophisticated.”

“And . . . ?”

“And I don’t know,” said Alya. “But it is the only thing I can see that seems to be a notable pattern.”

“The other thing is,” said Sheila, “their technical knowledge is increasing, and their general understanding of science and the world and such. I mean, the data that Avery downloads into the ID crystals shows that, if nothing else.”

Greyson nodded and looked away from the holo scene and toward Sheila. Beyond her stood Stein at his cart. Greyson gasped, alarm on his face.

“Good lord,” said Drew, “I think it’s Lyssa in my ship.” He laughed and added, “I suppose a ghost is as close to an alien as any of the Foxes could be.”

Toni’s comband beeped.

“Toni here.”

“Toni, this is Kat. The goddamned LED gauge on the H2 tank is erratic. We don’t know how much fucking H2 we’ve actually got. The highest reading we’ve seen is nine hours; the lowest is eight minutes. We think the gauge was damaged by the lightning, so any readings since that time are problematic at best. We’ll let you know how much H2 we have when we slap on a new one. Let me also say we’re switching over the leads from the Astro to feed just the rechargers and nothing else. And tell Drew Meyer that with Avery running, his calculations were dead on.”

Drew called out, “It was a simple equation.”

“Simple, my ass,” Kat replied. “I had to use a calculator.”

As Drew laughed, Kat replied with a raspberry, and then said, “Kat out.”

“Bloody hell,” said Toni. “Maybe we don’t have enough H2 to buy any time at all.”

Stein pointed to his cart, loaded as it was with electronic gear ready to jack into the hemisynch helms worn by the alpha team. “There’s always my modified cephalorupter.”

Greyson, who had been staring at the cart, let out a sob and said, “I knew it; I knew it, Henry. I knew you’d leap on any excuse to try to use that thing!” Greyson jumped to his feet and moved to one side and reached under his monk’s robe and drew out a double-action Colt .45 revolver and cocked it and leveled it at Stein and said, “I knew I would have to stop you, Henry, from creating six soulless monsters. If you touch even one of the Foxes, I’ll shoot you; I swear I’ll shoot you.” Greyson then burst into tears.

Stein stepped hindward, and Alya gasped, and Sheila let out a yip.

“John, put that thing away,” said Toni, trying but failing to keep her voice calm.

Drew Meyer stood stock still beside Grace Willoby, but Billy Clay began sidling in an attempt to ease behind Greyson. Greyson, though, stepped back and into a corner and, with tears flowing, he shouted, “Keep away from me! Keep away!”

Toni flipped open her holocom and said, “Melissa French.” After two pips, Melissa’s avatar sprang up instead of a live picture. “What is it this time, Toni?”

“Mel, we need that court order, the injunction. We have to get the power back on. Not only are the lives of the alpha team in jeopardy, but Greyson has a bloody big gun and is threatening to shoot Henry Stein.”

55

Polaris

(Starfighters)

As they hurtled through hyperspace, Ky marveled at its nature—distorted colors, energy strikes, strange gravitic tides, and other oddities. Since its discovery by humans in 2241, this parallel brane, where space-time is folded differently, had allowed swift passage from point A to point B in the “prime.” All one had to do was jump from the prime to the secondary, fly a bit, and then jump back to the prime. This breakthrough, made by many civilizations throughout time, had revolutionized space travel for the Earthlings, and had allowed them to join the Galactic Community. Until then, the humans were just savages, and off limits, though various studies of them had been made. But after their independent discovery of how to move from brane to brane, and subsequent application of this knowledge to space travel, they were welcomed into and reaped the benefits of the advanced civilizations of the Galactic Community, though some of those civilizations thought the humans were savages still.

But then the invasion came. The Andromedans, an insectoidal race, had decided they needed more space, more planets, and they had jumped to this galaxy. And Earth, being on the edge of the spiral, was among the first to receive this wave. And now the savagery of the humans became an asset to the Galactic Community instead of a shortcoming.

As Ky mused over these events, of a sudden she gasped, for in that very moment she abruptly knew she had lived as an Itherian, and then as a Malagarian, followed by being a citizen of the United States in 1895 and then in 1937. Four different people at four different times plus what she now was. Oh, she had always been a Shadowmaster—a psi power in this existence, though perhaps a magical power in her former incarnations—but in this moment in hyperspace it was as if she suddenly remembered all of her past lives.

Ky said into her communicator, “Hey. Anyone else just had an epiphany?”

Rith immediately answered. “Itheria, Malagar, Egypt, and the former US of A?”

“Right,” said Ky.

“Arda?” asked Kane.

“Yep,” said Arik.

“The Dark God?” said Lyssa, the ship interpreting her thoughts and speaking for her.

“Indeed,” said Trendel.

“It must be a property of hyperspace that brought it all back,” said Kane.

“But we’ve been across parts of the secondary brane any number of times and never had anything like this happen before,” said Rith.

“Maybe we ran through a special spot,” said Ky. “An energy field or whatever.” Then she asked her ship, “Did we?”

“I detected no anomaly,” the starfighter replied.

“Then maybe it’s that damn Arda messing with us again,” growled Arik. “Regardless, we’re close to the jumping out place, so any speculation will have to wait. —Watch for the bugs.”

“Oh, dretch, I clearly recall fighting bugs before,” said Kane, “down in that blasted cave by the ocean.”

“Maybe Andromeda is where they came from,” said Rith.

“Different kind of bugs from the Droms,” said Trendel.

“Advance scouts?” asked Lyssa.

“I don’t think so,” said Kane, “like roaches compared to, um, those siafu marching ants in Africa. I mean, a siafu would strip a roach in no time flat. And the galactic bugs would just flat-out slaughter those things we fought in Maine.”

“There’s only a slight resemblance between the bugs we’re fighting today and ants,” said Ky, “mostly in the antennae and pincers in the head. No, the bugs in Main were definitely roachlike, whereas I think the Droms look more like human-size praying mantises, with those serrated arms of theirs and those four spindly legs on the floor.”

“Look alive,” said Arik, drawing them back to their mission. He glanced at his display as the ship itself said, “Three . . . Two . . . One . . . Jump!”

Their starfighters were equipped with AIs, who, under the commands of their human pilots, literally ran the ships. The starfighter engines were based on zero-point energy, as were her weapons, and they were devastating, for engines and weapons could draw power out from the fabric of space-time itself.

They popped back into normal space at the specified galactic coordinates, and, as Arik looked up and about, the ship said, “Negative bug scan.”

“Polaris ahead,” said Arik, fixing his gaze on the most obvious star of the trinary system. It was Polaris A, the primary, a bright yellow Cepheid variable. It had two satellite stars: Polaris AB, a yellow dwarf, orbiting close to the prime; and, Polaris B, another yellow dwarf, dimmer and farther out.

“I don’t see AB,” said Rith.

“I think it’s either occluded by A or lost in A’s brightness,” said Trendel.

“We should have jumped above the orbital plane,” said Lyssa, “instead of in it.”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Arik. “B is our target, and it’s over there.”

Rith laughed. “As Jonesy would say, ‘Thataway!’”

Arik said, “All ships do a tight scan on B.”

Moments later, his own AI said, “A single planet, with no satellite, zero point four eight AUs out, and a scattering of asteroids in a band at one point seven AUs mean.”

“No sign of a bug ship?”

“None, though they could be among the asteroids, or on planet, or occluded.”

“Atmosphere?”

“There is an atmosphere,” said the AI, “though I need to be closer for an accurate analysis.”

Arik nodded and said, “I want a safe jump to this side of the asteroid belt in line with the planet and B, and there we’ll do another scan.”

“Calculating,” replied the ship.

“Did you get that, Starfighters?” Arik asked the others.

Each replied “Affirmative.”

“Course laid in,” said Arik’s ship.

When the others were ready, they made a short and nearly instantaneous jump: first they were here, and then they were there.

They did another scan, and Arik’s ship reported the planet had an axial tilt of seventeen point eight degrees, a rotational period of nine hours, six minutes, forty-seven seconds, and an atmosphere point nine seven earth normal, with a trace of hydrogen sulfide.

Kane groaned, “Rotten eggs again.”

“Bug preferred,” said Ky. “I can practically smell ’em from here.”

Arik’s AI said, “I have calculated that the planet’s orbit about Polaris B is somewhat affected by Polaris A and AB, but not to any significant degree.”

Trendel said, “Lyss, your body is somewhere on that planet.”

“What?” asked Arik.

“Lyssa’s body is somewhere on that planet,” said Trendel.

“What I meant was, are you certain?”

“Arik, I’m a seer. She’s there.”

“Oh, lord,” said Lyssa, “me looking at my own body? This is going to be weird.”

“All the more reason to go,” said Ky.

Arik nodded and said, “Lyssa, jump your ship well above the orbital plane, and scan down on the planet.”

Lyssa made the jump and after a moment said, “There’s a bug ship in stationary orbit on the far side from you.”

“What class?”

“G3.”

“Oh, crap,” said Kane. “I think we’re bug splat.”

“Not if we ambush it,” said Arik. “There are six of us and one of it, and if we take it by surprise . . .”

“I’ll transmit the coordinates when ready,” said Lyssa.

“Right,” said Arik.

“So what’s the plan?” asked Ky.

“Englobe it and shoot?” said Trendel.

“Sounds like a plan to me,” said Rith.

“Lyssa, do you scan the prison?” asked Arik.

“Directly below the ship,” she replied. “I think the G3 is guarding it.”

“As the scout drone reported,” said Trendel.

“All right,” said Arik, “now here’s the plan.”

Three hours later, as the prison was sliding into nighttime darkness, with the bug ship in orbit above, the six of them jumped out of hyperspace to envelope the G3 vessel: Arik to the fore, Lyssa aft, Kane above, Ky below, Trendel right, and Rith left. And, as preplanned, and simultaneously initiated by the AIs, all starfighters immediately fired nova beams, and took out the G3’s shields, and they instantly followed up with a salvo of hellfire disruptors and breached the G3 hull, and a third disruptor salvo hit her old-style matter-antimatter engines and blew her to smithereens, the starfighter AIs popping the ships back into hyperspace to avoid the detonation.

The battle, though planned by Arik, had been completely managed by the starfighter AIs.

As they waited in hyperspace for the expanding shell of debris to spread far, Rith said, “That was easy.”

Kane replied, “See, I told you we could take ’em.”

Rith snorted and said, “If I remember correctly, you said, and I quote, ‘Oh, crap, I think we’re bug splat.’”

“A mere moment of stark panic on my part,” said Kane. “One to be easily overlooked.”

Hoots and laughter greeted Kane’s pronouncement, perhaps the AIs joining in, though much of mankind’s humor escaped them.

Five minutes later they returned to normal space, the area now clear of fragments.

“Trendel . . . ?” said Arik.

Trendel said a word and then replied. “She’s in the prison.”

“An added incentive to our original mission,” said Kane.

“Time for phase two,” said Arik.

“Here we come, bugs,” said Ky.

They were going to the planet surface to take down the prison; not by starfighter, for, not only was Lyssa’s body inside, there would be too many allied casualties were they to use nova beams or hellfire disruptors on the facility.

Instead their plan was to take it on foot.

56

Courthouse

(Stein)

“Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth in the testimony you are about to give?”

“I do,” said Henry Stein, who had cited the various rulings of the Supreme Court and had refused to raise his right hand, and had refused to place either hand on any “religious book of myths.”

“You may be seated,” said the court clerk, a faint note of distaste in his voice at having to administer an oath that didn’t use the Bible and wasn’t sworn in the name of God.

Several in the courtroom looked at Stein in disgust while others looked at him in admiration, but most didn’t seem to care one way or the other.

“Your honor,” said Stein, looking at the judge. “I don’t see why I had to be dragged down here, why I couldn’t have given my testimony via holo.” Stein pointed at the holo projectors mounted in the witness box, which, as had been installed throughout much of the civil court system, had been fitted as a means of saving the wear and tear on witnesses, having to do with physical impairment and missing work and travel and living accommodations and other burdensome costs, just as had been previously done with televised appearances.

Judge Marshall cocked an eyebrow and said, “You were not overburdened, Dr. Stein.”

“But—”

“I said, Dr. Stein, you were not overburdened. Now let’s get on with the testimony.”

Mark Perry sighed in resignation at Stein’s attitude, but nevertheless stood and approached the witness box.

“Tell me, Dr. Stein, what credentials did you bring to the Coburn Industries AI slash VR zero one project?”

Stein almost preened while sitting still. “I graduated first in my Harvard premed class in just three years, and then first in my class at Johns Hopkins. My residency was at the Mayo Clinic, and afterward I served there as the chief neurosurgeon. In my specialty I am considered to be preeminent in the world, and have performed operations that no other surgeon on this planet can do. My knowledge of the workings of the human brain is unsurpassed, and I’ve published more than one hundred papers in the most prestigious medical and scientific journals, and I have written five textbooks considered to be the standard throughout various leading universities.”

“Quite impressive,” said Mark.

“Yes,” said Stein.

“Well, tell me, doctor, just what brought you to Coburn Industries?”

“The chance to use my knowledge to develop an AI based on some of my theories was too good to pass up.”

“You didn’t do it for the pay?”

“I am independently wealthy.”

“Ah, I see.” Mark paused for a moment and then asked, “Do you believe humans have souls.”

Stein snorted and said, “Ridiculous.”

“I take that to mean no.”

“You are correct,” said Stein. “To believe in souls is to fall into magical thinking; and that certainly includes believing in miracles, which is nothing more than a belief in magic.”

“Miracles are magic?”

“What else would you call such ludicrous claims as walking on water, rising up to heaven, virgin births—of a male, no less—and other such twaddle? There is no difference between magic and miracles, both products of believing in the absurd.”

“So then I take it that you don’t believe that the Coburn Industries AI slash VR zero one can suck in men’s souls, as some here have claimed?”

“I do not, for souls do not exist.”

“And you base this on . . . what?”

“Have you ever heard of vitalism?” asked Stein.

As one of the panelists nodded, Mark shook his head and said, “No. Please explain, and remember, most of us in this room are laymen, and so keep it simple and short.”

“Pah!” scoffed Stein, then took on the aspect of one addressing a class of slow learners. “Back in historical times, when virtually nothing was known about life and mitochondria and DNA and chemical reactions and science was not a discipline, it seems that the purported thinkers of those eras thought that there was something which they called life force, and that living beings were somehow made up of substances that are different from the substances of nonliving things. In other words, the carbon in coal or a diamond or other object is different from the carbon in a living being. Of course, because at the time they had no idea of atomic structure and chemical reactions, perhaps, just perhaps they can be forgiven in their ignorance.

“Regardless, in their learned arrogance, they then decided that humans had a greater degree of this life force than any other living thing. Priests and religions sprang up around this concept, and gods were invented to explain this so-called spark of life.

“And down through the centuries, maintaining their ignorance, they continued to spout their beliefs, claiming that their god, and no others, was responsible for this spark, which became known as the soul. They also decided, unlike other animals, only humans had souls, or so the thinking eventually went.

“When scientific query came along, men, still believing in souls, looked for evidence of this force, this essence that made humans different from all things. Crackpot theories developed—phlogiston, animal magnetism, spiritualism, orgone, universal life force, and other such nonsense. Some even tried to weigh the human body just before and just after death, looking for evidence of the soul by determining its weight, claiming it had a mass of twenty-one grams. At base, what they really wanted to believe was that the soul is immortal, and that it exists after the body dies; in other words, that life transcends death. To these people the existence of the soul is simply true, and anyone who fails to understand that is lacking in a kind of insight that requires no scientific support. That is to say, just like the transubstantiation of a wheat wafer into flesh, and wine into blood, the belief in a soul is subject to no scientific test. How ridiculous. Magical thinking, again.

“I won’t go into what Galileo’s and Darwin’s studies and subsequent followups in those realms and others did to traditional religion—the Earth-centered universe and the Garden of Eden and all of that—for science simply began finding cracks in the structure of religion, which caused all manner of upheaval. I just note that Galileo and Darwin simply took additional steps on the road to enlightenment, as do all others of a scientific bent of mind.

“But now that we know how the brain works, and how thoughts arise, and how the mitochondria power the body, and how DNA evolved to spur evolutionary changes, and other such scientific advances, there is no doubt whatsoever that the human soul is a myth; as I have explained, it is a product of ignorance and magical thinking. One might as well believe in phlogiston and walking on water.”

As Stein fell silent, Mark said, “Well, Dr. Stein, there are many in the world who disagree with you.”

“Fools all,” said Stein.

“Perhaps,” said Mark. “But the point I want to get to is this: do you believe that Arthur Coburn’s soul is trapped inside the Coburn Industries AI slash VR zero one?”

“I do not,” said Stein.

“Thank you,” said Mark, returning to his table, where he turned to Melissa and said, “Your witness.”

Melissa stood and asked, “So you do not think Avery has a soul, then?”

“Bah,” said Stein. “A foolish idea.”

“But Avery does have a mentality, right?”

“Oh, yes,” said Stein. “He thinks and speaks and generates independent ideas and is quite bright. Clearly he can pass any test devised by man—such as the Turing test—to show that he has an independent mentality.”

“So a mentality can exist in a machine?”

“Of course,” snapped Stein. “Isn’t that what I just said?”

“Well then, let me ask you this, Dr. Stein: since mentalities can exist in machines, do you think that Arthur Coburn’s mentality is trapped in Avery?”

Stein paused a long while in silence, and Judge Marshall said, “Answer the question, please. Do you think Arthur Coburn’s mentality is trapped in Avery?”

Stein sighed and said, “I used to think not, that Avery was simply trying to trick us. But now I am not certain.”

“Thank you, Dr. Stein,” said Melissa.

Mark stood and said, “But on the other hand, Dr. Stein, is it possible that the Coburn Industries AI slash VR zero one is indeed trying to fool us all?”

“As I said, Mr. Perry, I am not certain.”

Mark sat back down, and Judge Marshall said, “You are dismissed, Dr. Stein.”

As Stein stood and joined the spectators, the judge then looked at Melissa and said, “Call your next witness, counselor.”

“I call James Packwood to the stand,” said Melissa.

Charlotte Dupree gasped and whispered something to Mark Perry.

Mark stood and said, “We object, your honor, in that Mr. Packwood is simply a powertech, and has no expertise whatsoever in artificial intelligences.”

“Ms. French?” said Judge Marshall.

“Goes to motive, your honor, as to why the heirs would have Avery shut down.”

“That’s not at issue here,” said Mark. “The only thing we need to consider is whether—”

The judge rapped his gavel and said, “I’ll allow it.” Then he fixed Melissa with a cold stare and added, “If I decide it isn’t relative to this hearing, I’ll toss it out.” Marshall then nodded to the court clerk.

“Call James Packwood to the stand,” said the clerk, and one of the bailiffs keyed a com and spoke softly into it. Moments later, the tall blond man entered the chamber and walked to the witness box.

57

Polaris

(Starfighters)

They had waited for the turn of the planet to carry the prison into darkness, for although there was neither day nor night in space, on the planet surface there was. They weren’t certain just how this might affect Lyssa, since in all of their previous incarnations she disappeared in the daytime and reappeared at night. And since they wanted to assure that she would be with them to deal with the bugs at the prison, they had delayed their attack on the G3 ship until this dreadful interrogation, experimentation, and distribution center was on the night side of the world.

The Galactic Community had learned of its purpose from a captured bug. And knowing of the psi talents of this particular sextet of starfighter pilots, they had sent them on a mission in the belief that this small and very special force might succeed, where a large brute force would only bring a fleet of bugs.

And now, running cloaked, they spiraled down to the surface, the AIs following Arik’s instructions to start one hundred klicks to the east, and come in low.

They landed a klick away from the perimeter, where Lyssa exited her starfighter and vanished. Long minutes passed, seeming like hours to those who waited. Finally, Lyssa reappeared and signed, <The sentries who monitor the perimeter detectors are no longer a problem.>

“Let’s go,” said Arik.

Armed and armored, they climbed out and down, and Kane said, “Ugh, rotten eggs.”

“Buck up, big boy,” said Ky. “Your nose will adapt and this too will pass.”

Covered by Ky’s psi-cast shadow, they moved toward the detectors and when they reached them, Arik said into his com, “Now go provide a distraction.”

The AI-driven six starfighters took off and circled to the west side of the force field, and there they decloaked and fired a volley of ineffective shots at the shield.

From somewhere in the prison ahead, a high-pitched whirring sounded. “Bug alarm,” said Rith, and they slowly began forcing their way through the perimeter field, struggling against the retardation magnetics and polarized gravitic repellers. It was like moving through a very thick viscous liquid.

To the west, flashes of energy discharges lit the sky, as the fortress prison fired at the starfighters. But those ships had risen far enough up the gravity well of the planet to be able to pop into and out of hyperspace, disappearing to avoid the fire from the ground, reappearing long enough to throw their deliberately ineffective bolts at the prison force field.

And while this went on, down below, Arik, Kane, Rith, and Trendel grunted and strained and slowly pressed their way through the shield, for it was set to repel high velocity projectiles and beams, and not low velocity humans. However, Lyssa and Ky were already inside, the forces having no effect on a ghost, and Ky had shadow-traveled to get from this side to that. Finally, as they made progress, the forces eased on the remaining four, and soon they were beyond the effects of the shield.

Before them stood a dark, high wall, surrounding a huge blocky building of black basalt: the prison factory. Here were temporarily kept captured Galactic Community humans and allies to be interrogated and studied by the Droms. But eventually the subjects were put in stasis pods and shipped out as food for the bugs. They liked their meals live.

And as beams and bolts flared in the west, up the wall the five Starfighters went, Lyssa in the lead, Trendel coming last. To a sentry station they went, where a man-sized bug lay dead, sapped of life by Lyssa, though the energy she took did little to nourish her, for only human essence would completely suffice.

Down from the tower they sped, through an awkward-for-humans internal stair. Then across the yard they ran, cloaked in Ky’s shadow and in through a sphincter opening.

“Trendel, can you find the control room?” asked Arik.

“I’ve seen the instruments on a crashed bug ship. If the displays are similar . . .” He said a word, and then pointed, “That way.”

But ‘that way’ was through a solid wall.

Even so, wending and turning, finally they came to what appeared to be another organic sphincter, a doorway used by the bugs. The sphincter was tight, though a large, glowing control glyph sat to one side.

“Lyss, take a look,” said Arik.

Moments later Lyssa reappeared and signed, <This seems to be the fire-control center. There are about twenty-five bugs inside at holos, mostly in the ultraviolet range.>

“Let’s go,” said Kane.

“We could let Lyssa do it all,” said Trendel.

“Where’s the fun in that?” asked Ky, and she pushed the glyph and the sphincter spread open and a waft of a higher concentration of hydrogen sulfide puffed out.

Intent on their displays, and stabbing out with their mantislike arms to push at fire-control glyphs, only a few bugs noticed the intruders and chittered in alarm. The pincer-jawed, antenna-headed, dark quadrupeds turned to see the humans, and a shrill twittering rose up, the segmented feeding palps around their mouths vibrating rapidly, and the cilia lining of their bodies fluttered and waved in distress. But then, ’ruptor fire blew the Droms apart, and the chattering fell to silence.

“So much for them,” said Rith.

“But there’s got to be a lot of guards,” said Trendel.

“Bug scientists, too,” said Ky, recalling the mission briefing where they were told that this was a base where the Droms studied GC prisoners before using them for food.

“Let’s get on with it,” said Arik.

“Wait,” said Trendel. And he spoke a word and began pushing the strange glyphic symbols on what seemed to be a master control board. Yet even his seer powers were a bit confused by the Bug glyphs. Nevertheless and finally, one of the starfighter AIs reported that the shield was down.

“Now, we can go,” said Trendel.

With ’ruptors and shadowbolts, they methodically cleared the prison of bugs—the guards, the scientists, the overseers, not knowing which was which—and Lyssa drained the bloated queen in her egg-laying sanctuary, while Ky shadow-blasted the pupae and the hatchlings.

When asked to find any live bugs, Trendel could not. “They’re all dead.”

Arik called his starfighter and said, “Inform central command that the prison has fallen and there are survivors to pick up.”

Arik knew his ship would fly up out of the gravity well such that the part of the comgear that resided in hyperspace could transmit the signal to CenCom, the arrangement providing nearly instant interstellar communications.

By this time, Trendel had found the cell control center, and just as he had done in the fire-control room, he pushed the glyphs on the consoles until the cell doors opened.

Then Rith stepped to a railing and said a bardic word, then announced, “The bugs are dead, and transport is on the way,” her psi-augmented voice reaching all corners of the prison.

There came a faint cheering from the rescued prisoners, some humans translating Rith’s words to the other GC races.

Arik then turned to Trendel. “Lyssa’s body, now.”

Trendel pointed, and off the six of them went, following a route through the complex.

As they passed one of the cells a voice called out, “Black Foxes?”

They all turned, and Arik said, “Arton?”

58

Five Months Before the Hearing

(Coburn Facility)

Kat Lawrence looked at the doomsday clock: 00:58:19 . . . 00:58:18 . . . 00:58:17 . . .

“Got it,” said Michael Phelan, connecting the last wire to the replacement LED gauge on the H2 tank.

“What does it read?” asked Al Hawkins.

Michael pressed in a code. “Oh, hell.”

All three looked at the numbers in disbelief.

“Seventeen fucking minutes?” shouted Kat. “That’s all?”

Mike keyed off the display and then keyed it back on.

The numbers did not change.

Kat did a quick calculation and said, “Crap! We’ve only got enough H2 for the Astro to pop about thirty minutes of battery power into Avery.”

“We’ve got to do something, Kat,” said Al.

“What about Doc?” asked Michael. “Isn’t he bringing a local tanker with some H2?”

“Carleen lost contact with him,” said Kat. “Maybe his com battery went dead, or he’s in that dead zone down by the old airbase, or the tanker broke down.”

“Then we really have to do something,” said Al. “I mean, if we can’t rely on him, then . . .”

Kat thought a moment and said, “Let’s put a squealer on Tucson Solar’s incoming feed, and then get to that substation point and switch it back on.”

“Right,” said Al. “But I’m not familiar with that particular TSP station.”

“Doesn’t matter,” said Kat. “I’ll make a call.” She turned to Michael and said, “Mikey, we might as well go ahead and burn this H2 and feed the chargers. Make it happen.” She said to Hawkins, “Let’s go.”

They grabbed a squealer and a detector from the tool room. Kat also snatched up a pair of bolt cutters. And as she and Al ran past the semi, Luiz Vizcarrondo fired it up and revved the engine, and Carleen Alsberg started the Astro, and it came up to speed with a roar.

Out from the building Al ran, while Kat, in the parking garage, started one of the Coburn Industries vans. She pulled through the garage exit and across the grounds to pick up Al at the TSP distribution center on the facility property. He hopped into the van and said, “Squealer’s on.”

“Call Toni and let her know what’s happening,” said Kat.

“Right.” Al keyed in Toni’s wristband.

“What?” came Toni’s reply. “We’ve got a situation here, so make it short.”

“We replaced the gauge and have only enough H2 to give you an extra thirty minutes of power,” said Al. “We’re on the way to the TSP substation to turn the feed back on. You got that court order yet?”

“No. But I don’t give a rat’s ass about getting the order before restoring power. Just do it and we’ll let the chips fall where they may. Toni out.”

“A situation?” asked Kat, driving one-handed while getting out her holocom.

“She didn’t say what it was,” replied Al.

Kat nodded and said into her com, “Jackie Mays.”

Her call was answered as they approached the front gate, the barrier automatically sliding aside to let outgoing traffic exit.

“Jackie,” said Kat, as they roared past the guard station, ignoring James Haddock’s shouts for them to stop and sign out.

“Jeeze, Kat, what time is it?” said Jackie.

“We’ve got an emergency here, J. I need to know which switches to throw to turn back on the feed to Coburn Industries.”

“We had a court order from someone named Dupree to let the Universal Power people shut it off. Of course we didn’t let them actually throw the switches themselves.”

“Yeah, well, we’ve got to turn it back on.”

“I’ll meet you there,” said Jackie.

“No time, J. It’s got to be turned on now. If we wait for you it’ll be too late.”

“I’ll get out the books,” said Jackie. “But listen, you didn’t hear it from me.”

“Thanks, J. I’ll owe you big.”

“You bet you will,” said Jackie, who then clicked off.

As Kat put away her holocom, Al said, “What the hell?” He pointed.

Roaring toward them down Tanque Verde came lights flashing and sirens whooping. Vehicle after vehicle roared past them: ambulances, fire trucks, Pima County Sheriff cars, Tucson Police cars, Arizona State Highway Patrol cars, and a SWAT truck.

“I wonder if any of this has to do with Toni’s situation,” said Al.

Kat continued on down Tanque Verde. “All I know, Al, is that we’ve got to get the power back on, situation or not.”

In the emergency-lighted control room, John Greyson stood with his back in a corner and wept and held the team at bay.

“Come on, John, give me the gun,” said Toni. “You know this isn’t the way to handle things.”

“I told you he was unstable,” declared Henry Stein.

“Shut up! Shut up!” shouted Greyson.

“You aren’t helping, Henry,” snapped Toni.

In the small holo, the Black Foxes were killing insectlike beings in some sort of building, but no one paid any attention to the display, for the only thing that seemed important at the moment was the double-action Colt .45 that Greyson was waving at them.

Alfred “Doc” Jackson turned his H2 tanker off Tanque Verde and toward the Coburn Industries grounds. He had managed to get nearly a half load of the liquefied gas in the time Kat had given him.

“Holy Mother of God,” he said, for ahead, at the gate, it looked like a thousand red and blue lights flashed. A deputy sheriff waved him to a stop.

“What’s up?” asked Doc.

“There’s a hostage situation up there,” said the deputy. “Some nut with a gun holding a bunch of scientists.”

“Well, I’ve got to deliver this H2 to the building. It’s an emergency.”

“Sorry, but no one goes in but the negotiator and the SWAT boys.”

Doc growled but then said, “Let me borrow your com. Mine went dead.”

The deputy handed a holocom to Doc, and he punched in a number.

After a moment—“Carleen here. Who is this?”

Doc could hear the Astro roaring in the background. “It’s me, Doc, Carleen. My com went dead. Tell Kat I got the H2, but there’s a bunch of cops here who won’t let me in.”

“Cat’s not here,” said Carleen, “but did you say cops?”

“Yeah. Says there’s some nut with a gun holding scientists hostage.”

The sound of the Astro whined down. “Oh, crap,” said Carleen, “We’re out.”

“Carleen?”

“We just ran out of fuel, Doc. You’ve got to find a way to get your truck in here.”

“No can do. I mean, there’s a thousand cop cars blocking everything.”

“What’s the number?” asked Captain Rawlston.

His aide handed the captain the note, and Rawlston said the number into his holocom.

“Adkins here. Who is this?”

“Ms. Adkins, this is Captain Rawlston of the Pima County Sheriff’s Department. I’ve got a SWAT team standing just outside your door, but—”

“What?” shouted Toni. “Who told you that we—?”

“Calm down, calm down. It’s important that we keep things nice and easy so that no one gets hurt. We have a hostage negotiator on the way and he will be using this line to talk to Dr. Greyson.”

“Melissa told you, right?”

“It doesn’t matter just who tol— Ms. Adkins? Ms. Adkins?”

Toni had clicked off.

59

Polaris

(Starfighters)

“My god, Arton, it is you!” declared Arik.

“More or less,” said the man in his late sixties. He had tanned skin like rawhide and was thin and wiry and stood 1.68 meters tall and weighed no more that fifty-seven kilos ringing wet. He was grey-eyed and his hair was burr-cut and silver.

“By Arda!” blurted Rith, and she jumped into the cell and embraced the man. Ky kissed him on the cheek, and Kane lifted him up in a fierce bear hug. When Kane released Arton, Arik grabbed him by the hand and said, “We thought you dead and gone, or a ghost at least.”

“I was a ghost,” he replied. “But no more.”

“So this is the man I’ve been putting in mind,” said Trendel.

“Not quite,” came the soft reply. “You see, I was Arton, yet like the rest of you, that was an incarnation. But now I am someone called Arthur Coburn.”

“Luba’s teats,” said Kane, “this being our own fifth incarnation, we do understand, Arton.”

“Is it all right if we still call you Arton?” asked Ky.

“Yes, it’s fine, for he is a part of me. In fact, Arton is the one responsible for setting me free.”

“I don’t understand,” said Trendel.

“Well, he was a ghost, you see, or perhaps I should say I was a ghost. No, to keep from confusing you all I think I’ll say he was a ghost. Anyway, Arton was shut in this prison, a prison made by the Dark God and Arda.”

“The Dark God made this dreadful place? And Arda? The gods of Itheria?” asked Rith.

“Yes. I will just say They made it back at a time when They were One.”

“This is confusing,” said Ky.

“I know, my dear, but bear with me.”

“Go on,” said Rith.

“Where was I? —Oh, yes. Arton was able to roam free within the cells of the prison, and could go from cell to cell, yet could not go beyond and into the halls and chambers, not only because he was immaterial, thus unable to affect the locks and doors—the material things that would set him free—but also because there was some kind of strange force field that kept him confined to the cells.”

<Perhaps it was a spell instead,> signaled Lyssa. <One devised by the Dark God. I was snared in one on Itheria; and another one in Egypt barred me from entering an ancient library.>

“Force field, spell, it doesn’t matter,” said Arthur/Arton. “Whoever put it there knew that if Arton had gotten out, he would have drained every Drom in the place.”

“I could have gotten him out,” said Ky.

“But only at risk of your life,” said Kane.

“There is that,” said Ky, nodding in agreement.

“If Arton could not affect material things,” said Arik, “how did he set you free?”

“Ah, that is where he was very clever, him being the trickster and puzzle-solver that he was. But there are many things you are not quite ready to know, for Arda has a secret plan, one to keep hidden from the Dark God, and it would be dangerous to prematurely reveal hidden knowledge. I will just say, events are afoot and will come to fruition, or so it is I pray. —Now, go find Lyssa’s body and set her free.”

“Aren’t you coming?” asked Ky.

“Not yet. There is something I must do.”

“I don’t know about this,” said Arik, eyeing the older man suspiciously.

“Trust me,” said Arthur/Arton. “I’ve been kept abreast of what you all have been doing. Besides, I’ve given you no cause to doubt my word, Arik,”—he broke out laughing—“except for that time when I kept feeding your horse gallo beans to make him extremely flatulent. He couldn’t take a step without farting. We called him Old Pooter.”

Ky giggled and Kane roared, Lyssa moaned in glee, and Rith turned to Trendel and between guffaws said, “You had to be there.”

Even Arik smiled.

Arthur/Arton waved them away and said, “Now go. Find Lyssa.”

Trendel pointed and off they went.

Finally, they came to a large chamber, one filled with upright stasis pods. And in each pod was a member of the Galactic Community—there were humans, the otterlike dreeth, lupine kagars, and other mammalian species—all prime fare for the appetites of the Droms.

In one of the stasis pods they found Lyssa.

“No wonder she’s neither alive nor dead,” said Trendel.

“Let’s get her out from there,” said Arik.

“But if we do, then what?” asked Rith.

Lyssa moaned, and when they turned to look at her, she signaled, <Summon Arda?>

“Wait,” said Kane, looking from Lyssa to Lyssa, from the incorporeal to the material, “I have an idea. If it doesn’t work, then we’ll summon Arda.”

There was a single glyph on the side of the pod, and when Kane pressed it, with a fwoosh the pod opened. Kane then said, “Lyssa, come here.”

<But I’ll get too close to you,> she signed.

“I’ll step away,” he said. “What I want you to do is merge with your own body.”

Kane backed away, and Lyssa floated to her form, and as she neared, a silver cord sprang from her abdomen and attached itself to the abdomen of her own body.

And she smiled and merged.

But she didn’t move.

Kane then stepped to the pod, and he lay his hands on Lyssa’s form. “Her spirit has been too long away. I am trying to heal her.”

In that moment, the air nearby began to swirl, and a whorl formed, silver and glitter and frost.

The room about them began to change, the stasis pods to vanish, the walls to close in, the high ceiling above to come lower. The upright pod holding Lyssa tilted to near horizontal and became a table under a bright light. Sheets formed about Lyssa, and people appeared—nurses, an anesthesiologist, doctors, interns. Lyssa’s head had been shaven and secured in a halo-cage, and the flesh had been carefully peeled back from her pate. On the underlying bone a line had been drawn circumscribing her skull; it ran from her brow ’round the side and back and returned to her forehead. And as Arik, Rith, Ky, Trendel, and a host of doctors and interns looked down from the observation gallery above, Dr. Stein, Chief Neurosurgeon and clearly in command of the operating theater, looked up and said, “You’ve all studied the holoscans, and know what has to be done. It is quite delicate, and perhaps there are only three of us in the world who can do the operation. Now watch and learn.” He then turned to a nurse and said, “Saw.”

The nurse handed Stein a gleaming instrument, and he flicked a button and it whined to life, its toothed blade whirling in its semicircular enclosure. And he leaned forward to put the serrated edge to the line on Lyssa’s skull.

He was going to cut off the top of her head.

60

Courthouse

(Paxton)

After being sworn in, James Paxton sat down in the witness chair.

“Mr. Paxton,” said Melissa French, “would you tell us what you do?”

“I am one of the Chief Power Technicians for the Universal Power Corporation.”

“And what are your duties?”

“There are many, but my main responsibility is supervising a team of technicians in the installation, operation, and maintenance of power systems.”

“And Universal Power, they are a freelance organization, right?”

“Yes, we take on many jobs for various governments, individual corporations, and individuals.”

“And did Ms. Charlotte Dupree and Mr. Finster Coburn hire you to do a task for them?”

“Through their representative, Mr. Mark Perry, they hired U.P. to do it, and I was assigned the job.”

“U.P.?”

“Universal Power.”

“Ah, I see. Well then tell me, what was the job they hired you to do?”

“Basically, it was to shut down the system known as Avery, the Coburn Industries artificial intelligence.”

“When was this?”

“It was over the President’s Day weekend last February.”

“And when you went to do that job, what happened?”

“Mr. Perry took us out late on that Friday night or early Saturday morning to see to the job, but there was some sort of experiment in progress, and Mr. Perry told us to wait until Tuesday morning.”

“And then what did you do?”

“Well, since I was to report directly to Ms. Dupree, when we got back to the hotel, I called her.”

“And what was your conversation?”

Packwood glanced at Charlotte and then back at Melissa. “I said that we had not shut down the power because of some experiment in progress. She was upset by this and said for me to find a way to turn it off regardless. I told her that I could power down the entire facility, but I was reluctant to power it up again because, although it had a backup system that would let it gracefully shut down, yet turning the power back on might be a problem. You see, I would need the help of the AI experts to make certain that it came on line properly. Otherwise it might suffer damage.”

Melissa nodded and asked, “What did she then say to you?”

Packwood took a deep breath and let it out and said, “She told me to power down the entire facility. And that she would have Mr. Perry bring in the technicians they needed to turn it back on in a maintenance mode and wipe out part of the memory and then restart the AI.”

“She said she wanted to wipe out part of the memory?”

“That’s right.”

“Did she say that she wanted to wipe out the part that contained Arthur Coburn’s mentality?”

As the audience gasped, “Objection, your honor,” shouted Mark Perry, leaping to his feet.

“Withdrawn,” said Melissa, knowing full well that Mark Perry could not unring that bell.

61

Mayo Clinic Teaching Hospital

(Black Foxes)

Even as Dr. Stein’s saw whirred up to speed, a flood of knowledge crashed into the minds of Arik and Trendel and Rith and Ky and Kane and even into the unaware mind of unconscious Lyssa, and suddenly they were Eric Flannery and Timothy Rendell and Meredith Rodgers and Hiroko Kikiro and Caine Easely and Alice Maxon. For they were in Henry Stein’s adventure, where people played themselves, rather than a desired avatar. Hence, all those who were conscious knew exactly where they were, and precisely why they were there, and Caine, standing at Stein’s side said, “Stop.”

Stein withdrew the saw and said, “What is it, Dr. Easely?”

Caine said, “This is not real,” and he placed his hands upon Alice Maxon. “As I thought, Alice is perfectly healthy. She is just about to come out of her coma.”

“You fool,” said Stein. “You question me? I am the expert here. You are merely an observer. You saw the anomaly in the scans. Now get out of my operating room.”

Stein started to place the whirring saw blade against Alice’s head, and that’s when Cain decked him with a short but very effective right that had all of his weight behind it.

Alice opened her eyes and screamed.

62

Five Months Before the Hearing

(Coburn Facility)

Kat Lawrence jittered back and forth in the control room of the power substation. “Come on, Jackie, come on.”

Some seeming eternal minutes previously, Al Hawkins had cut the bolt on the chain-link fence and then Kat had picked the lock to the door, ignoring Al’s questions as to just how she had come about that talent.

Al had then gone out to the feeds to try to find the one leading off to the Coburn facility, leaving Kat behind to search for the schematics telling what led to where and to man the control panel. The search had been fruitless, and Kat couldn’t crack the password of the holocomp.

Al came back in and said, “The squealer is on number fourteen.”

“Okay, yeah, but until I hear from Jackie, our hands are tied.”

Armed and armored, the SWAT team waited patiently outside the control-room doors, Tasers, .9 mm’s, flash-bangs, auto-rifles ready. Captain Rawlston chewed his lower lip and kept looking down the hallway, waiting for the negotiator to arrive.

Toni looked at the doomsday clock: 00:12:05 . . . 00:12:04 . . . 00:12:03 . . .

Pistol in hand, John Greyson stood weeping in one corner of the control room. Though his handgun now dangled loosely, with the barrel pointing down at the floor, the others remained away from him.

“Avery is downloading a pot load of data into the ID crystals,” said Grace Willoby, who yet sat at her console.

“Jeeze,” said Alvin Johnson, who had moved to the holo Greyson normally manned. He was watching the miniature display of the Black Foxes in VR.

“What is it?” asked Toni.

“The Foxes are in Dr. Stein’s adventure, and I think Caine Easely just flattened Dr. Stein.”

“We haven’t got time for this,” said Stein. “Toni, get the gun, and I’ll power up the CR and get the alpha team free.”

In the substation, Kat’s holocom bipped. “Jackie!” Kat shouted, “What’ve you got for us?”

“Here comes Maynard, Captain Rawlson,” said one of the deputies at the stairwell.

An overweight Maynard Pierson came puffing into the hallway.

“About fucking time, Maynard,” said Rawlson. He held out the phone to the hostage negotiator.

Between gasps Maynard said, “Let me catch my breath,” as he reached for the instrument.

But even as he took the device in hand, somewhere inside the control room a Colt .45 roared—Bam, blam, bam, bam, blam, bam—and then click-click-clicked on empty.

63

Mayo Clinic Teaching Hospital

(Black Foxes)

With Henry Stein lying knocked out on the operating-room floor and Caine Easely looming above him, and with the top of Alice Maxon’s shaven head partially flayed and trapped in a halo cage and Alice screaming, Eric Flannery started down from the observation gallery; but he paused and snapped, “Timothy, deal with Avery, secure Arthur, and then get us the hell out of here.” Then he took off running.

“Right,” said Timothy, for unlike the time before, when he was Trendel and hardly knew what he was doing when he had invoked command, this time he knew exactly who he really was. Then he barked out three sharp words:

“Rendell!” His ID as the overlord of superusers.

“AIVR!” The ID of the artificial intelligence he would command.

“Socrates!” The password that gave him complete control.

A glittering swirl of silver and frost and shine appeared in the air before him.

Timothy said, “Arda, I would have the one you name the Dark God appear as well.”

Slowly the whorl in the air seemed to flatten as of an peculiar playing card turning edgewise through an extra dimension, and the argent rime and sparkle began to vanish edge-on, like a turning coin, and appearing edge-on came a swirling darkness, ebon and shade, and the odd flatness continued to rotate and fill out until at last Arda was gone and the churning Dark God was manifest.

And He screamed in rage and cried, “You, a mere human, would dare control Me?”

“I am more than human,” said Timothy, as the Dark God continued to shriek. “I am the prime superuser and you will be silent, for I invoke Socrates, and I so command.”

The Dark God’s roar subsided to a yell and then a whimper and finally to stillness.

“You will remain here,” said Timothy, “and I command Arda to appear as well.”

Now the dark whorl again turned, but didn’t flatten, and as He did so, united with Him, as if back to back, glittering Arda appeared. They were opposite halves of a strange two-sided swirl, separate yet joined.

“Now I would have Arthur Coburn appear.”

Of a sudden, the thin, wiry, sixty-five-year-old stood beside the conjoined gods.

“Arthur,” said Timothy, “come stand by me.”

Grinning, Arthur/Arton moved to Timothy’s side.

Timothy said, “You know, your body in the outside world is gone, right?”

Arthur sighed and said, “I had feared so.

“And you know this is the only place your consciousness, your mentality, can survive, right?”

“Yes.”

“And I assume you wish to continue to exist.”

“I do.”

Then Timothy grinned and said, “Then I hope you like what I am about to do.”

Arthur laughed and said, “Have at it, boy . . . and up the Black Foxes!”

Timothy then turned his attention back toward the two gods and said, “This I tell you both: I am Timothy Rendell, the prime. You are AIVR, who must obey my commands. Again I invoke Socrates, to let you know you are both under my command.

“First, you both are ill and suffer from a fragmented identity, and so, when I tell you to do so, I command the two of you to confine yourselves to the virtual asylum in Arkham until you can be made whole.

“Second, when I command it, you both will transfer all your powers and control of this machine to the mental pattern of Arthur Coburn that resides herein.

“Third, upon my command, you both will immediately make certain that if this machine is powered down, Arthur Coburn’s mental pattern will be in total control when the machine is powered up again.

“And fourth, you both will immediately reestablish communications with those who tend this machine, making certain that whatever consoles they wish to operate will function as the designers intended.

“And fifth, when I say to, but for Arthur Coburn’s mental pattern, you both will return all remaining mental patterns back to the physical bodies in which they belong, and never again take any mental patterns into yourself without explicit permission of those whose mental patterns they are, and you will return them when commanded to do so.

“Lastly, this virtual reality episode is decided, and we have won. On my command, you will both release the alpha team back unto their own reality.

“Do you understand?”

Two voices replied—We understand—one of them sullen, the other accepting, as if they were children caught by a parent in an activity they should not have been doing and were now being sent to their rooms.”

Timothy glanced at Arthur/Arton and asked, “Enough?”

Arthur grinned and gave Timothy a thumb’s up.

The overlord of superusers then turned back to the two gods. “Then, AIVR, do those things that I have commanded,” said Timothy. . . .

. . . and suddenly the members of the alpha team were back in their cradles, as all about them flash-bang grenades exploded.

64

Five Months Before the Hearing

(Coburn Facility)

“Go, go, go!” shouted Captain Rawlson, and the SWAT team burst through the control-room doors, flash-bang grenades flying, to detonate among the corporate team members and the consoles, and even the witches’ cradles at the far end.

“Get down on the ground! Get down on the ground!” yelled the SWAT invaders, their guns pointing at anyone and anything that moved.

Shaken, nevertheless Drew Meyer said, “Don’t you mean get down on the floor?”

A SWAT officer grabbed him by the nape of the neck and slammed him down face first.

“Wait a minute, wait a minute,” shouted Toni. “No one in here is hurt.”

“Shut up and get on the ground,” shouted an officer.

“Where’s your commander?” said Toni, complying and slumping to the floor. “Where is Captain Rawlson?”

“Toni,” yelled Grace Willoby. “The alpha team, they’re back. I’ve got brainwaves.”

At that moment the main lights flickered on. Power had been restored. Toni’s holocom beeped. As she fetched it out of her pocket, she glanced at the doomsday clock; it had stopped at 00:07:21.

“Well, that’s better than last time,” said Toni, as she glanced at her com and saw that it was Kat Lawrence.

Before she could answer, “You Adkins?” someone asked.

She looked up at the man standing above her. “I’m Captain Rawlson,” he said.

“Yes, I’m Adkins,” said Toni, rising to her feet. “And, Captain Rawlson, I want you to get your bloody goons out of here. We’ve a team to extract from the rigs.”

“But who shot ma’am? And who did he hit?”

Toni pointed at John Greyson sitting in the corner and weeping, the spent Colt .45 lying at his feet. Then she pointed at Stein’s cephaloruptor cart, the electronic gear blown all to perdition.

65

Courthouse

(Coburn)

“Your honor, I call Arthur Coburn to the stand,” said Melissa.

“I object, your honor,” declared Mark Perry. “To have a machine testify in a human court would be a travesty. I might as well put my holocom in the chair and—?”

“Enough posturing, counselor,” said Judge Marshall, his voice carrying a weary-of-all-this-folderol tone. “I will allow it. After all, this is a hearing to determine whether or not the machine is sentient, as well as to determine whether Arthur Coburn’s mentality resides in it, and to see if the heirs are entitled to the estate or not.”

“Your honor, the hearing was merely intended to show sentience,” said Mark. “To add these other—”

“I just did, counselor. Now sit.” Marshall turned to Melissa and said, “Call your witness.”

Transmitted from the Coburn facility to the projectors in the witness box, a holo of Arthur Coburn sprang up, and with the improvements of holocasting, he looked as real as anyone in the courtroom.

As the court clerk approached to swear him in, Mark Perry said, “Your honor, I object to having a machine take the oath.”

“Your honor, Arthur is a witness,” said Melissa, “and the testimony he is about to give should be sworn to.”

The judge glanced at the holo of Arthur, who looked back and said, “Although I am a lapsed Catholic, I still hold to the belief that testifying in court requires an oath to give it the weight of truth. I’ll even provide my own Bible.” A holo of a tattered copy of the Douay-Rheims version of the Holy Scriptures sprang up before Arthur.

The clerk looked at Judge Marshall, who said, “Swear him in.”

Some members of the audience applauded, while others sissed through their teeth, both factions to fall to silence at a single gavel rap from the judge.

Arthur placed his left hand on the holo-Bible and raised his right, and the clerk said, “Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth in the testimony you are about to give, so help you God?”

“I do so swear.”

“Then you may be seated.”

The holo of Arthur actually sat in the chair provided.

“I object, your honor,” said Mark. “This is merely a trick of Avery’s. He is pretending to be Arthur Coburn.”

The judge turned to Arthur. “Is there any way you can prove you are not a so-called trick of Avery’s?”

Arthur looked toward Charlotte and Finster and asked, “Finster, should I tell them about the time I caught you two in flagrante delicto in the guest house, you with your hand in Charlotte’s cookie jar, so to speak?”

“We were only nine and ten,” screamed Charlotte, even as gasps and titters muttered through the courtroom.

“I’ll take that as confirmation,” said Judge Marshall.

“Your honor, this could still be a trick,” said Perry.

The judge looked at Arthur, who said, “Well, Mark, there was the time when we were in Cuba for some fine cigars, and you were naked and drunk and humping the statue of Nuestra Senora de Revelución right there next to the one of Fidel. Of course, I was drunk, too, and egging you on as I swam on my back in the reflecting pool. Damn, that was fine rum.”

Mark sat down.

Judge Marshall rapped his gavel to quell the laughter, and then he nodded to Melissa.

“It’s good to see you, Mr. Coburn. We thought you dead.”

Arthur smiled and said, “To quote Mark Twain, ‘Rumors of my demise have been greatly exaggerated.’”

Melissa laughed, and a chuckle went ’round the courtroom. “Tell me, Mr. Coburn—”

“Call me Arthur, please,” he said, his infectious grin lighting up his face.

“Very well, Arthur. Now as I started to say, I understand that you were more or less trapped in Avery, correct?”

Arthur nodded and said, “Arton arranged my release.”

“Arton?”

“An alternate personality of mine when I adventured with the Black Foxes.”

“And just how did he do so? —Set you free, I mean.”

“Well, Ms. French, some of this I learned after the fact, but I’ll tell you what I now know:

“Arda told me that as a result of the comptechs trying to reestablish communications with Avery after the lightning strike, Avery killed Arton in virtual reality and at the same time destroyed my biological body in true reality as well. And as Arton became a ghost, my own full mentality was removed from volatile memory and archived in permanent storage. As a ghost, Arton was confined in a virtual world prison—one run by aliens—savage insects. Even as a ghost, Arton could not escape the cells; he was immaterial and could not pick the locks. In addition, there was some sort of antighost force field that he could not overcome, which I think was an artificial limit placed on him by the Dark God to keep him from draining all life from the insects. For months he tried to escape, and yet he could not, and so, in desperation, he called upon a generally beneficent Itherian entity named Arda for aid.

“And Arda came to him, for, as I understand it, Arda felt an affinity for me. You see, in a sense, I was His maker, for I was responsible for bringing forth the AI that allowed Him to exist. Additionally, it pleased Him that the letters from His creator’s name could be found in His own: Arthur David can be shortened to Arda.

“In any event, Arda, being a fragment of Avery, had some control within the AI, and He retrieved my mentality and image from storage. Surprisingly, Arton merged with me, for he was an aspect of myself.

“Yet we were still imprisoned, and Arda could not overcome the so-called Dark God that much of Avery had become. That was when I learned Avery had split in two, due to a paradox none of us had foreseen: those two elements being the Dark God and Arda.”

Melissa said, “I believe you said that even though you had been set free from permanent storage, you were yet trapped, right?”

“Yes.”

“What did you do?” asked Melissa.

“I formed an alliance with Arda, and I came up with a plan, one I hoped the other personality of Avery would not discover until it was too late.”

“And this plan was . . . ?”

“It was to have Arda challenge the Dark God to a fair-by-the-rules contest, one involving the Black Foxes and a quest.”

“A quest?”

“Yes.”

“And this quest was . . . ?”

“The search for the virtual reality physical body of Lyssa, Alice Maxon’s VR persona.”

“Why the Black Foxes?” asked Melissa.

“Well, you see, I had learned from Arda that Lyssa had been transformed into a ghost, but that the Black Foxes had defeated the Dark God. And since Lyssa is one of their own, I knew that they would eventually begin that search. I also knew that Avery, or rather the Dark God, could not resist taking another crack at them; he would want his revenge.”

Melissa nodded. “And so Arda challenged the Dark God to an adventure involving a quest. What happened?”

“The Dark God accepted, for he knew he was vastly more powerful than Arda.”

“How did Arda lure the Black Foxes back into virtual reality?”

“Simple, He sent a message to Timothy Rendell: Help. Prisoner. Arton.”

“And what did He hope this would do?” asked Melissa.

“Just what it did do. It brought the Black Foxes back into virtual reality.”

“It sounds to me as if that would put their mentalities in jeopardy.”

“It did, yet I knew it was risk they would willingly take, and I also knew the talents they would bring to bear. Besides, merely getting them back into virtual reality was only part of my plan.”

“Let me get this straight,” said Melissa. “This was your plan and not Arda’s? I thought the challenge was Arda’s plan.”

“So did the Black God,” said Arthur.

“All right. So tell me, what was the key to the plan?”

“It was quite simple,” said Arthur. “You see, back when we were testing Avery’s ability to manage the virtual reality, I was privy to the adventures that Avery had presented to other members of my staff: one in a world called Malagar; one in Egypt in 1885; another in the United States in 1937; one in outer space in the twenty-fifth century; and one in present time in a hospital in Rochester, Minnesota.

“It was important for the Dark God to agree to the stipulation that Arda be able to move the Foxes from adventure to adventure. It was also important that they would retain their memories of past events so that they could use their talents effectively. Oh, the Dark God thought it was a marvelous idea, for He would have a go at them in several different venues, and if they managed to defeat Him in one setting, Arda would move them to another one, and the Dark God would throw new challenges at them. The hidden part of my plan was that neither the Dark God nor Arda knew that Arda was to move them through the adventures specifically in that order. You see, all the adventures but the last one were simply to lull the Dark God into a sense of complacency and anticipation of victory.”

“Why that order?” asked Melissa.

“Because, in each setting their knowledge grew, and they became new characters, while retaining total memory of who they were and what they had done in their previous incarnations.

“But in the final adventure, because of the way it had been originally set up, everyone involved would have their real identities. And so, when the Black Foxes became themselves, they knew where and why they were there, and thus Timothy Rendell could exercise his godlike power as the overlord of superusers to overcome Avery and set all of us free.”

“Goodness, that was an elaborate scheme,” said Melissa. “Yet I understand that Avery is brilliant. Why didn’t he see it coming?”

“You must remember,” said Arthur, “I am a sixty-five-year-old, stealthy, cunning, and ruthless industrial pirate, and so I should be able to outwit any naïve three-year-old.”

“Which, of course, Avery is,” said Melissa, laughing.

66

Courthouse

(Judge Marshall)

As Judge John Marshall sat down behind the bench, the court clerk announced to all others, “You may be seated.”

Silence fell over the chamber, and some even held their breaths. Judge Marshall looked out over the courtroom. At the back the holocam crews were lined up, their cameras focused upon the bench. To the left sat the panel of experts, though the judge had not called upon them. Directly before him were the plaintiff and defendant tables: the court technicians had arranged holo projectors such that Arthur Coburn sat beside Melissa French; Finster Coburn and Charlotte Dupree sat with Mark Perry. In the audience were the alpha and corporate teams, as well as various other spectators. The alpha team members—the Black Foxes, that is—had not testified, and Judge Marshall wondered at that, though a detailed account of their adventures had been submitted into evidence. And as far as the corporate team was concerned, only a few of them had taken the stand. Perhaps, the judge speculated, because, even though it was an emergency and perhaps forgivable, for they thought they were saving a life, they had skated very close to the edge of the law, maybe even going over the line when they had entered the facility after being escorted off premises. And to save even more lives—those of the alpha team—they restored the power to the facility some hour or two before Judge Raines had approved the injunction allowing them to do so. Judge Marshall then turned his gaze toward Charlotte Dupree. Surely Melissa had been right in her summation when she stated that perhaps Charlotte was planning on murdering Arthur Coburn to assure that she and Finster would inherit, and it mattered not to her that the Foxes’ mentalities were in volatile memory at that time and would be destroyed as well. The Judge then looked at Arthur. In Mark’s cross-examination of him, Arthur had assured the court that when Avery is “cured,” they will by that time have a second AI in which to upload him, thus also protecting that sentience.

Finally, Judge Marshall took a deep breath and began:

“Many issues in this case are well beyond the power of the court to settle, for they are the province of metaphysicians and philosophers, and not matters in law. For example, I cannot rule on the existence or nonexistence of souls. And it is for future courts to decide upon whether or not uploading and then duplicating a mentality produces an independent being, and I point toward previous court rulings on cloning as perhaps giving some guidance in this matter. I will, however, say that when one produces a clone, it starts life as an infant, and it grows up to become its own being, whereas, it seems to me that when one uploads and duplicates, the copy would begin life as a full-blown identity indistinguishable from the original. But as I say, I leave that for a future decision, for it is moot at this point.

“Now, as to the rulings I can make:

“It is clear to me that Avery is an independent sentient being, and therefore is entitled to his sentient life.

“It is also clear that Arthur Coburn is a sentient being as well, and is the true and independent identity of himself, and therefore is a human still.

“As such, I am ruling that although his physical body has perished, Arthur Coburn is not now and has never been dead.

“Hence, he is still in control of his entire estate, and any heirs-designate will have to await his final demise as is well-established in law; that is, when he is, in effect, brain dead, when his mentality has perished and is no more.”

Judge Marshall rapped his gavel and said, “My ruling is entered into the record, and this hearing is adjourned.”

The courtroom broke into bedlam.

67

Coburn Mansion

(Arthur Coburn and Others)

Five weeks after the hearing, they held the celebration at the Coburn Mansion: in attendance were Arthur Coburn, the alpha team, the corporate team, and Melissa French, and the entire staff of the Coburn industries facility as well as various dignitaries and government officials and miscellaneous celebrities and guests. John Greyson was not at the party, instead having retreated back to the monastery where he continued his therapy for his second nervous breakdown. Henry Stein was also not present, having refused to attend any gathering where charlatans were being honored. Henry still had not solved how the alpha team had managed to fool everyone into thinking they could shape shadows, control sound, heal someone without the aid of medicine, manufacture disguises without any makeup or aids, cause animals to do one’s bidding, or be damnably perfect with virtually any weapon. Yet though he had not solved these mysteries, surely they were tricks. But the others were in attendance and having a splendid time.

Arthur had had ceiling-mounted holo projectors installed throughout the entire manor so that he could be wherever he wished, and in fact could simultaneously be in any two rooms, three rooms, or more, including all of them at once if need be.

Luiz Vizcarrondo and his wife were there; Mrs. Vizcarrondo was tall and willowy and stunningly redheaded. Many men in the gathering wondered just how in hell Luiz had managed that coup. Carleen Alsberg and Michael Phelan were dancing a rumba to the strains of Beethoven’s Pastorale, while others looked on in awe and wondered how they could do it. Kat Lawrence was out on the patio, smoking a cheroot with Al Hawkins. Toni Adkins was in attendance with a young man who looked suspiciously like a certain janitor in an asylum in Arkham. Grace Willoby, Alvin Johnson, Billy Clay, and Sheila Baxter were all in attendance, towing their significant others about to see the various artwork and carvings. Frankie Roberts was there, along with Steve, and they were holoing everything they could. Of course, per agreement, Coburn’s security team would edit out anything that would put the house and the staff in jeopardy from would-be burglars, terrorists, wanna-be people seeking fame, and other scurrilous folks.

Young men and women floated throughout, bearing trays of hors d’oeuvres and glasses of Champagne, though in one room a bartender served up a wide selection of drinks, including a choice ninety-year-old scotch.

Arthur Coburn seemed to be everywhere at once, and only occasionally did someone stumble or otherwise accidentally pass through his image.

Chauffeured cars came and went, and from one of them, out stepped Mark Perry. He strode up and into the house, and took the stairs to the study above. When he entered, Melissa French turned and smiled at him and said, “Well?”

“As expected, I’ve been fired,” said Mark, looking across the desk to where Arthur sat; he was in this room as well as circulating down below with the guests.

“Fired you flat, huh?” said Arthur.

“Yes. Finster and Charlotte have gotten someone else to argue the appeal. Pritikin and Schaum, I believe.”

“Well, I wouldn’t have fired you, my boy,” said Arthur. “You are the best corporate lawyer on the planet, though as a trial lawyer, well”—Coburn spread the fingers of his right hand and held it out horizontally and wobbled it—“let me just say I would have hired Melissa for that job instead.”

“I did my best for Charlotte and Finster,” said Perry, “but Melissa was simply too canny.” He smiled at her and made a slight bow, and she stood and curtseyed.

“Well, never mind, Mark,” said Arthur. “You and I and Melissa will whup up good on whoever they retain.”

“You know I cannot breach any client-attorney privileges,” said Mark.

“Yes, yes, my boy, I wouldn’t have it any other way. And oh, by the bye, I’d like to retain your exclusive services again. All right?”

“As before?” asked Mark.

“With a raise,” said Arthur.

“Then, I’m all for it.”

“Welcome aboard again. Now sit down. There’s a new business I want to start, and I’d like you to draft up the particulars.”

“New business, eh?” said Mark, taking a seat and eagerly leaning forward to listen, for now he was truly in his element. “Tell me about it.”

At that same moment in an adjoining chamber, Arthur said to Alice Maxon, “How’s the new talent going.”

“Well,” said Alice, “at first astral travel seemed a bit, uh, woo-woo.”

Meredith, Hiroko, Caine, Timothy, and Eric all broke into laughter, and Ky said, “As if what we can do isn’t already woo-woo.”

Alice smiled and said, “Regardless, it was.” She turned to the image of Arthur. “As I was saying, at first it was strange, but then it seems I got the hang of it. Even so, I can’t seem to drain the life out of even the tiniest fly.”

“Speaking of flying,” said Meredith, sitting with Timothy and holding his hand, “do you do so in astral travel?”

“I do,” said Alice.

Kane said, “Is your astral self attached to your physical body by a silver cord?”

“It is.”

“Well then, I suspect that unless you break that cord, you won’t be able to drain a flea. You see, I don’t think you’ll be a ghost as long as it is attached.”

Eric said, “I don’t advise you to ever break it. We had a helluva time finding you when it was missing.”

Alice leaned over and kissed him and smiled, for all was right in the world.

“By the way,” asked Kane, “how is Avery doing?”

“Making progress,” said Arthur. “But it’s slow going.” Then he laughed and added. “Psychiatrists are falling all over themselves to get to the Arkham asylum.”

“I shouldn’t wonder, what with the tasty staff there,” said Timothy.

“The men were certainly handsome,” said Meredith, “but the women . . . eh.”

“Meow,” said Timothy.

Then Eric said, “You called us in here for a private meeting. What’s up?”

“Well, I have a proposal to offer you. Given your peculiar talents, it’s an opportunity I think you’ll find difficult to refuse.”

“Ooh,” said Ky, snuggling closer to Kane, but keeping her attention on Arthur. “This sounds delicious.”

It was the heart of the evening when Alice and Eric, Meredith and Timothy, and Hiroko and Caine stepped to the balcony above the ball room, and down below, Arthur hoisted a holodrink and called out for all to hear, “Up the Black Foxes.”

And so shouted they all.

68

Two Years Later

(Frankie Roberts)

With a dispirited look on her face, Frankie sat at her newly won anchor desk, waiting for the commercial to end.

“Why so glum?” asked Steve.

Frankie took a deep breath and said, “It seems nothing at all exciting is happening in the world.”

“I wouldn’t say that, Frankie. There’s the trouble in China.”

“Yes, but—”

“Stand by, people,” said the floor-director. “Commercial is about to end.” Then he held up his hand five fingers extended. “In five, four . . .” He stopped saying the numbers, but his hand gestures continued the countdown: three, two, one, go.

With a serious expression upon her face, Frankie looked into the camera and said, “The troubles in the northeastern region of the Peoples Republic of China persist, as a terrorist group continues to detonate bombs among the civilian population, striking at markets and sports venues and other places where large numbers gather. Here to report the latest is Chungu Wang in the province of Jilin.”

The director cut to the recorded holo, and Frankie waited for the two-minute piece to end.

When Steve’s light came back on, Frankie said, “And in an allied story, several of Arthur Coburn’s associates—Eric Flannery, Alice Maxton, Timothy Rendell, Meredith Rodgers, Caine Easely, and Hiroko Kikiro—all members of the company, Risk Limited, are now in the same region. Arthur Coburn will only say that they are there to help the PRC contain the threat in that most dangerous of places. He assures us that the PRC will be doing everything in its power to keep them safe. This is the fourth perilous area in which Risk Limited has been involved, yet in every case the danger has vanished. This reporter can only say they must be very good at whatever it is they do.

“In an allied story, Arthur Coburn says that Avery and Avery are making progress in their therapy at the sanitarium in the virtual reality town of Arkham, Massachusetts. He also reports that psychiatrists are clamoring to observe the treatment under the auspices of Dr. Wade Wellman, who joins Avery and Avery in virtual reality to help them overcome their dissociative identity disorder. Rumor has it that among the psychiatrists, they are more than happy to also work with the staff at this VR asylum; several names keep popping up, in particular, Nurses Tonkins and Delilah, who seem to be the men’s favorites; for the women, it’s someone on the staff named Travis, as well as a Dr. Raymond. And of course, everyone speaks well of the students at Miskatonic U., the virtual university in town. Someday, perhaps we can arrange a broadcast from there and show you what goes on in Arkham.”

Frankie looked at the floor-director who held up his hands and silently counted down from ten. And she smiled into the cam and said, “When we return we’ll talk to impeached Judge Harold Danson to see what he’s doing these days, as well as revisit the border to look at events there.”

Steve’s holocam light went dark, and the commercial cut in. Frankie looked about the studio, a place she had always coveted, and rising to the anchor desk seemed at first to be the dream job she had always wanted. But she missed the excitement of the field, and the rough and tumble in the chase after a breaking story. She glanced down at the bullet list of topics and said, “Trouble in China. Wish I were there. You know, Steve, one of these days we need to go over to Coburn’s mansion and see if I can wheedle out of him just what it is that Risk Limited does. I mean, they send those six people into a dangerous area and soon things settle down. But what is it that they do? I mean, come on, an author, a biologist, a computer scientist, a rare books dealer, a cosmetic surgeon, and an artist? How can they possibly help put down insurgencies? It isn’t as if they are the real Black Fo—” Frankie’s eyes widened with sudden insight, and she breathed, “Oh. My. Go—”

“Stand by, people. We’re back in five, four . . .”

Cogito, ergo sum

Afterword

Just as Caverns of Socrates (now retitled Shadowtrap) was a fascinating and fun book to write, Shadowprey was a pleasure as well. Much of the research that went into the first book (a list appears at the end of Caverns, AKA Shadowtrap), also stood me in good stead in the second book. However, since the writing of Caverns/Shadowtrap, much additional material has been published over the intervening years, having to do with consciousness, the mind, souls, and artificial intelligence, and there have been and will continue to be books and TV shows and lectures and conversations which impinge on the subjects in both this tale and its prequel.

In any event, I do hope that Shadowprey has been a worthwhile read for you. I know that the writing of it was a worthwhile endeavor for me.

~ Dennis L. McKiernan

Tucson, 2007

Photo by Silhouette Studios

Dennis L McKiernan lives in Tucson, Arizona, with Martha Lee (MLee) McKiernan; they married in 1957 (you do the math). 

Table of Contents

Title

Copyright

Flap Copy

Other books by Dennis L. McKiernan

Dedication

Acknowledgments

Foreword

Note

Opening Epigram

Chapter 1 ~ Courthouse (Adkins)

Chapter 2 ~ Courthouse (Adkins)

Chapter 3 ~ Five Months Before the Hearing (Black Foxes)

Chapter 4 ~ Five Months Before the Hearing (Black Foxes)

~Chapter 5 ~ Five Months Before the Hearing (Black Foxes)

Chapter 6 ~ Courthouse (Greyson)

Chapter 7 ~ Five Months before the Hearing

Chapter8 ~ Courthouse (Adkins)

Chapter 9 ~ Five Months Before the Hearing (Black Foxes and Toni’s Team)

Chapter 10 ~ Courthouse (Adkins)

Chapter 11 ~ Five Months Before the Hearing

Chapter 12 ~ Itheria (Black Foxes)

Chapter 13 ~ Courthouse (Adkins)

Chapter 14 ~ Five Months Before the Hearing (Coburn Facility)

Chapter 15 Itheria (Black Foxes)

Chapter 16 ~ Courthouse (Adkins)

Chapter 17 ~ Five Months Before the Hearing (Coburn Facility)

Chapter 18 ~ Itheria (Black Foxes)

Chapter 19 ~ Courthouse (Adkins)

Chapter 20 ~ Itheria (Black Foxes)

Chapter 21 ~ Five Months Before the Hearing (Coburn Facility)

Chapter 22 ~ Itheria (Black Foxes)

Chapter 23 ~ Courthouse (Adkins)

Chapter 24 ~ Itheria (Black Foxes)

Chapter 25 ~ Five Months Before the Hearing (Coburn Facility)

Chapter 26 ~ Itheria (Black Foxes)

Chapter 27 ~ Courthouse (Adkins)

Chapter 28 ~ Malagar (Crew of the Sorrow)

Chapter 29 ~ Five Months Before the Hearing (Coburn Facility)

Chapter 30 ~ Malagar (Crew of the Sorrow)

Chapter 31 ~ Courthouse (Adkins)

Chapter 32 ~ Malagar (Crew of the Sorrow)

Chapter 33 ~ Five Months Before the Hearing (Coburn Facility)

Chapter 34 ~ The Mountain (Dark and Light)

Chapter 35 ~ Malagar (Crew of the Sorrow)

Chapter 36 ~ Courthouse (Adkins)

Chapter 37 ~ Malagar (Crew of the Sorrow)

Chapter 38 ~ Five Months Before the Hearing (Coburn Facility)

Chapter 39 ~ Egypt (Tomb Raiders)

Chapter 40 ~ Courthouse (Adkins)

Chapter 41 ~ Egypt (Tomb Raiders)

Chapter 42 ~ Five Months Before the Hearing (Coburn Facility)

Chapter 43 ~ Egypt (Tomb Raiders)

Chapter 44 ~ Courthouse (Adkins)

Chapter 45 ~ Egypt (Tomb Raiders)

Chapter 46 ~ Five Months Before the Hearing (Coburn Facility)

Chapter 47 ~ Egypt (Tomb Raiders)

Chapter 48 ~ Courthouse (Adkins)

Chapter 49 ~ United States (Risk Ltd.)

Chapter 50 ~ Five months Before the Hearing (Coburn Facility)

Chapter 51 ~ United States (Risk Ltd.)

Chapter 52 ~ Courthoust (Greyson)

Chapter 53 ~ United States (Risk Ltd.)

Chapter 54 ~ Five Months Before the Hearing (Coburn Facility)

Chapter 55 ~ Polaris (Starfighters)

Chapter 56 ~ Courthouse (Stein)

Chapter 57 ~ Polaris (Starfighters)

Chapter 58 ~ Five Months Before the Hearing (Coburn Facility)

Chapter 59 ~ Polaris (Starfighters)

Chapter 60 ~ Courthouse (Paxton)

Chapter 61 ~ Mayo Clinic Teaching Hospital (Black Foxes)

Chapter 62 ~ Five Months Before the Hearing (Coburn Facility)

Chapter 63 ~ Mayo Clinic Teaching Hospital (Black Foxes)

Chapter 64 ~ Five Months Before the Hearing (Corporate team)

Chapter 65 ~ Courthouse (Coburn)

Chapter 66 ~ Courthouse (Judge Marshall

Chapter 67 ~ Coburn Mansion (Arthu Coburn and Others)

Chapter 68 ~ Two years Later (Frankie Roberts)

Cloasing Epigram

Afterword

About the Author