Year of the Black Rainbow

Year of the Black Rainbow

THE AMORY WARS

Year of the Black Rainbow Claudio Sanchez with PETER DAVID

EVIL INK NEW YORK, NY, USA Copyright 2010

To my family, who with their patience and understanding have nurtured my will, determination and wild imagination. My wife, Chondra, whose love and help cannot be measured. My music and concepts are riddled with you. Here We Are Juggernaut. Blaze James, my friend and manager, whose help facilitates my crazy ideas. Don't know where I'd be without you. To the Children of the Fence who have allowed me to do these things I do. You'll never know the depths of how much I appreciate you. And Mr. Peter David who has helped bring this chapter of the mythos to life. Without you, I'm sure I wouldn't have written past Page 10. Thank you, sir. --Claudio Sanchez

Prologue 1. Obscurity Has No Hero 2. Cleanse This Useless Identity 3. Guns of Summer 4. The Worst These Worlds Will See 5. Torn to Pieces 6. The Black Rainbow 7. Give Us the Monster 8. A Wretched Design 9. The Same Old Story 10. Magicians 11. The World of Lines 12. Pearl of the Stars 13. Made Out of Nothing 14. Everything You Love 15. While You Were Sleeping 16. All Falls Apart 17. In the Flame of Error 18. This Shattered Symphony 19. New in Town 20. When Skeletons Live 21. I'll Be Your Ghost Epilogue

Year of the Black Rainbow

Prologue In the beginning, the universe held nothing but cold, obscure darkness and a longing for something greater than itself. Then light fractured shadow, thus spawning many worlds, each as magnificent as the next. They spun out across the cosmos, far too many to be named, and many of them doomed to obscurity. But of particular interest was a unique system comprised of seventy-eight planets, aligned in a triangle, with each planet bound together by a beam of blue light known collectively as the Keywork. In all other systems of the universe, life was a scarce commodity. But in this system, life thrived on every single one of the worlds, perhaps because the Keywork nurtured them in a way that no other force in the cosmos possibly could. Whence came that life was an issue of debate, although its origins were detailed in mystic books considered to be God’s first-person testimonial. To believe those words was to be at peace, for the vast game of reality made perfect sense if one accepted that the hand of God was maneuvering all the pieces. But not believing in God meant that matters were more… …problematic. Along with this celestial triangle came its division and rule. Twelve sectors were appointed and given equivalent power. The system they comprised was named Heaven’s Fence, although, again, who might have named it remained an unresolved matter of perpetual contention. Beyond ensuring planetary stability, the Keywork served as a bridge between the planets and their main energy sources: The Stars of Sirius. The stars were so named since they had been discovered, written about, and ultimately comprehended by one Sirius Amory, who postulated the Keywork was generating the essential elements needed to sustain life on all the planets. There were three main inhabitants of the Fence: The worker bees of the colonies, Man, spent their days tilling the soil, growing the crops, building the machines and helping them to work. Then there were the Mages with their gray skin and horned shoulder blades. More than mortal were they, although less than gods, for they could be hurt and killed, although it was not an easy endeavor. Mages were born to rule, and there was one positioned to govern each of the twelve sectors. As was consistent with the mysterious origins of Heaven’s Fence, there was no central, agreed-upon recollection of how the Mages had come to acquire their position in the grand scheme of things. They simply knew that they had always been there and always would be. The Mages came from different sources; some were born fully formed, as it were, pure in their lineage, while others had the potential but needed to be nurtured. In the end, though, they were nearly indistinguishable, one from the other, all equal in their potency. Finally there were the Prise. Just as the Mages kept watch over mortals on the ground, the Prise maintained rule over the air, appearing to the naked eye as blueskinned, golden tressed women with great wings mounted upon their shoulders. They were eternally burdened with the crucial responsibility of guarding the Keywork. God -or what they believed to be God, and that too was a matter of conflict for some—had given them strict orders in the course of their creation: “If Man should decide to dabble in my affairs, then guardians must intervene. But, should I come forth to change the face of Man with you there to challenge me, then I shall return with the stars to destroy all I have made. Whether Man or I present that danger will not be told in the coming.” The Prise spent their days in fear of this riddle and their abilities to decipher it if and when the need should arise; they were afraid they would get it wrong and wind up challenging God himself. So was it written in the Ghansgraad, the book purportedly scribed by God Himself…although again, as might be expected amongst people who wielded free will, there were some who disputed that belief as well. Most such unbelievers could safely be ignored. One of them, however, could not. We will speak more of him shortly.

Somewhere in the Middle…

Chapter 1 Obscurity Has No Hero

The Howling Earth was aptly named; that much was beyond dispute. Why it howled, on the other hand, was a matter of very active discussion. The theologically minded saw the hand of the Lord in everything that existed throughout the entirety of the Keywork, which linked all the worlds of Heaven’s Fence into one great, vast, triangular whole. They claimed that the Howling Earth was the province of the eternally damned. That there had been those who, throughout the lengthy and occasionally muddied history of the Fence, had sought to attain power that was on par with that of the creator Himself. In punishment for their defiance, their souls (their bodies having been reduced to floating bits of dust) had been exiled to the Howling Earth, there to serve as eternal examples of what happened when one aspired for a station that was hopelessly beyond one’s reach. Then there were those of a more scientific bent. They would have been the first to tell you that such legends were nothing more than fanciful nonsense. They would say that the Howling Earth’s perpetually mournful state was simply a combination of the planet’s unique atmosphere, its position in its particular sector relative to other worlds in the Fence, and its terrain and the exact manner in which the many mountain ranges that dotted its surface were arrayed. There had been an entire dissertation entitled, “The Myth of the Howling Earth” which had resulted in much head nodding in the scientific community and screams like unto the damned from the religious community. The author of the text had been excommunicated, which would have bothered him had he gone to church anytime within the last three decades. And there were a few who did not purport to know the whys and wherefores of the Howling Earth’s origins, but shared one conviction: that ever since a particular ebony celestial phenomenon had made its presence known, the voices were howling louder than ever. Coheed had no idea which was the truth and which was the fiction. It had been his experience that reality typically lay somewhere between the two. Nor did he ponder the volume relative to the aforementioned phenomenon that hovered high above. He preferred to leave such considerations to Cambria. At this moment, Coheed was lying flat on his stomach on top of a mountain outcropping that gave him a fine view of the valley spread out below. He wasn’t pondering the nature of the incessant wind and its howling accompaniment so much as he was pissed off that it was blowing his thick black hair into his eyes and little bits of debris into his patchy beard. He kept shoving his hair back, then shaking his head like a dog shedding water to get the dirt out. There was a soft chuckle from next to him. Cambria was studying the valley through a pair of binoculars, and yet somehow she had managed to see his obvious annoyance with her peripheral vision. “What’s so funny?” said Coheed. “Hard to say. I’m torn between your pathetic grooming antics, or that poor excuse for a beard.” Her voice was soft and melodious; when she spoke it almost sounded as if she were singing. He loved listening to her speak. He could do so for hours. Coheed had never said as much, though, because it sounded…well… “Like romantic nonsense?” He fired an annoyed look at her. “You were in my head.” “Absolutely not.” “You were. You were poking around just now.” “My abilities don’t work that way.” She continued to study the landscape but the edges of her mouth were tweaked into a small smile. “And besides, even if I were in there, there’d be plenty of room for me since there’s not a lot else going on in there.” “Oh, ha ha.” “Plus if I did read your mind, it’s just a light read—“ “I get it, okay? I get it. You’re smart, I’m not.” She looked away from the binos for a moment. “You’re smart, Co. Just about different things.” “Like?” She considered it, and then shrugged. “No clue. I’ll get back to you.” “Seriously, Cam, you—“ “Shut up.” “—can be such a—“ She clamped one hand over his mouth. “Seriously, shut up.” Coheed mumbled something. “What?” she said with impatience, and then remembered and removed her hand from his mouth. “I said, ‘What have you got?’” “Look for yourself.” She handed him the binoculars and he gazed through them. At first he didn’t see it, but then he spotted it. Or, more correctly, spotted them. “I’ll be damned,” he said under his breath. “Quite possibly you and me both, but that’s a problem for another day,” said Cambria. “Maybe you should report in--” Coheed was ahead of her. Activating his comm unit, he said, “Grail Arbor? This is Coheed.” A voice crackled back over the unit. “This is Grail Arbor. Inferno here. Go ahead, Beast.” Coheed and Cambria exchanged looks, Cambria slightly rolling her eyes. “You’re the only one who calls me that, Inferno. You know that, don’t you? What’s wrong with ‘Coheed’’?” “I could answer that in detail, but we don’t have that kind of time.” From anyone else, it would have come across as a joke. In the case of Inferno, Coheed knew that he was perfectly serious. “You have something to report?” “We might have found something.” “Specify.” “Looks to be miners of some sort. About five of them. They came out of a door that was carved right out of a mountainside.” “There’s nothing to mine on the Howling Earth ,” said Inferno. “Nothing of any value, at any rate. Plus there are no scientific mining expeditions slated for this world.” “That leaves military,” said Cambria. “They could be part of the MMC, the Military Mining Corp. Typically they don’t wear uniforms. They like to stay low profile. Doesn’t make them any less dangerous, though.” “How large a door?” “What do you mean?” said Coheed. He could hear a growl of impatience. “How large is the opening they’ve created?” Coheed looked to Cambria, his eyebrows arched. Cambria studied it and then said, “At a guess…five by ten meters.” “Large enough to fit equipment through.” “What sort of equipment?”

“Digging equipment. Mining equipment.” He paused. “Sizable weapons. Could be some sort of underground weapons facility.” “A weapons facility wouldn’t explain the low level of Keywork bonding,” said Cambria. “That is why we’re here, after all. The level of the bonding has been diminishing rapidly. If this keeps up, the Howling Earth could break off from the Fence.” “God forbid that should happen,” said Coheed sarcastically. “This being such a popular vacation spot and all.” Cambria fixed him with a look. With that look. The look that said, I know you’re a smart guy. Why do you say dumb things sometimes? “If this world broke loose of the Fence…” “Then it could start a chain reaction that would send every planet crashing into every other planet, yeah, I get it,” said Coheed. “Which—assuming that the individuals you’re watching are somehow involved with that—means one of two things. Either whoever is behind this believes that they are precise enough to drain just enough Key energy without endangering the entire Works, or else—“ “Or else,” Cambria said, interrupting Inferno, “whoever’s doing it doesn’t care about the integrity of the Fence.” “What would happen?” said Coheed. He was trying to imagine such an eventuality. “If that were to come about, I mean. Would they fall into orbit around the stars of Sirius? Would they survive? What…?” “We don’t know,” said Cambria. “Nobody knows for sure.” “I am all in favor of not finding out,” came Inferno’s voice. “Agreed.” Cambria looked to Coheed. “So…best if we go take a look.” “Excellent. Let’s kick some ass.” He began to raise his arm, but Cambria gently put her hand on his forearm. He looked at her questioningly. “I think,” she said gently, “we can hold off on the ass kicking to start. We can at least try for subtlety.” “It’s not as if they know who you are,” said Inferno. “There will be plenty of time to take direct offensive action if it’s subsequently deemed necessary.” “Sometimes,” said Coheed, “you two just suck the fun out of any situation.” “There is nothing fun about the destruction of the Keywork.” “Fine, whatever you say,” and he lowered his arm. “The subtle approach it is.” “Good. If I don’t hear from you within the hour, I’m going to come in with guns blazing.” “It’s nice to know you care.” “It is less about caring than it is making certain that the mission is accomplished. Still…” he paused and then added, “Be careful, Cambria. You too, Coheed.” “Thanks for that, brother,” said Coheed, unable to keep the smile from his face. But the moment that Inferno broke the communication, the seriousness returned. “All right then, Cam. Subtle. Except I don’t do subtle so good. So what’s the plan? We can’t just walk right up to them.” “Can you fly?” “Uhm…no.” “Then walking it is.” “Cam, wait—!” She utterly failed to wait. Instead she backtracked, heading for the narrow path they had taken that wended through the low mountain and enabled them to reach the overlook they’d been using for observation. Realizing that she wasn’t going to stop anytime soon, Coheed followed her. He made loud, impatient noises to convey his annoyance to her. She ignored him. He had noticed that she was quite adept at ignoring him when she felt like it. Minutes later, they were in the valley and heading toward the miners. Cambria was walking slightly ahead of him, with a relaxed stride that was accentuating the sway of her narrow hips. Her long black hair swept back and forth along her back. She might have been out for a stroll on the beach. Coheed realized that that was exactly the look she was going for. He tried to look as casual as she, minus of course the swaying hips. In doing so, Coheed appeared exceedingly awkward in his efforts to appear relaxed. After a few steps he gave up and settled for his normal pace. He doubted it was going to present a problem, since their gazes would doubtlessly be fixed on Cambria. He was, as it turned out, correct. The miners had gathered in front of the entrance and seemed to be speaking with each other very animatedly. Apparently something had happened that was prompting a good deal of discussion. Two of them were nodding their heads, two were shaking them, while the fifth—the largest and, presumably, the leader—was watching the two sides and seemingly assessing what the others were saying. So invested in their conversation were the miners that Coheed and Cambria had covered half the distance between them before they were noticed. It was the leader who did so, and he pointed with one hand while gesturing with the other for the miners to fall silent. Coheed noticed that one of the miners’ hands was drifting toward the inside of the loose work jacket he was wearing. A word from the leader prompted the miner to withdraw, but Coheed immediately interpreted the gesture to mean that the miner was going for a gun. Coheed’s eyes narrowed and he felt his pulse beginning to surge. When faced with a dangerous situation, typical humans had to wrestle with their fight-or-flight impulses. The “flight” half of the equation was not in Coheed’s makeup. Upon seeing a potential threat, Coheed wanted nothing more than to charge straight at the enemy. But he reined himself in because he was willing to trust Cambria’s means of handling the situation. “Hiiiii!” called Cambria cheerily. “Are you guys in charge here? We are so lost.” “Who the hell are you, and what are you doing here?” said the leader. His tone was wary. He gave Cambria a cursory glance and then focused his attention on Coheed. It was clear he thought that, if the two of them posed a danger, then Coheed was going to be the more formidable. Coheed tried to force a smile and, predictably, it looked forced. Cambria did a superb job of looking stricken. “You don’t have to curse at us like that.” She glanced toward one of the miners. He was looking her up and down, letting his gaze linger on her breasts. Coheed’s impulse was to step forward and put his fist through the bastard’s face. He restrained himself, but not by much. Cambria, in the meantime, continued, “It’s just, we are so lost…” “Yeah, you said that.” She stuck out her hand. “I’m Cam. This is Co. And you are--?” “Still without the slightest fucking clue as to what you two are doing here.” He let it hang there, untaken, as if she were a leper. Cambria lowered her hand and stuck out her lower lip in an adorably pouty manner. “I was just trying to be friendly.” “Be a friend to yourself. Get the hell out of here.” “I thought you wanted to know what we were doing here.” She now sounded almost disappointed. “At first, yeah. Now I don’t give a shit.” She turned toward the miner who had been scrutinizing her breasts as if he wanted to set up a summer home on them. Her briefly downturned mouth resumed its sweet look. “Talk to him, would you? Tell him Co and I don’t mean any harm. We’re just ghost hunting.” “Ghost hunting?” The flirtatious miner seemed dubious at first, but then his face was reflecting the expression on hers. The leader noticed it and whacked him on the arm. “There’s supposed to be a particular valley that’s absolutely brimming with them,” she said. “It’s called the Triangle Valley. Is this it?” “Yeah. It is. This is fucking it because I’ve had it with the both of you.” The leader nodded to the miner who had been about to pull out a gun moments earlier. Grinning, the miner reached into his jacket and produced a pulser. The curved handle was quite elegant looking, and the cobalt blue barrel was pointed directly at Cambria’s head. “I think we found our ghosts,” said Cambria, and her eyes glowed red. She projected her mind into the five miners and Coheed watched in admiration as the miners, in unison, staggered. It was a calculated risk. Cambria was capable of holding one person in absolute thrall. She could hold more than that as well, but the more she ensnared, the more possibility there was that someone of a particularly strong mind could slip free. It was like trying to hold one grain of sand as opposed to a fistful.

The miners began to straighten up and looked forward rigidly. But Coheed saw immediately that the leader looked as if he were trembling. The leader growled low and suddenly he stretched his arm forward. A small, compact pulser snapped out from the inside of his sleeve on a springload. He never had the chance to use it. The miner to his right, the one who had aimed his weapon at Cambria, swung the pulser around to face the leader. Before the leader could react, Cambria gave the slightest clench of her hand and the miner squeezed the trigger. The pulser unleashed a blast that slammed into the leader’s chest. His ribs shattered from the impact, one of them visibly protruding from his chest. Another was driven inward, puncturing his lungs. He didn’t have the time to process any of it as he barreled through the air, slamming up against the mountain with a hideous crunching sound. He slid to the ground as a crimson mixture of saliva and blood dribbled from his mouth and down the front of his uniform. His mind was unable to process what was happening even as his body convulsed uncontrollably. A sickening smell filled the air. It was the aroma of his bowels and bladder emptying, as disgusting stains of yellow and brown spread across his lap. With all of that, he was still trying to stand, his legs flopping about as if a demented and unskilled puppeteer was manipulating him. “Fuuuuckewwww,” he managed to get out, and he tried to bring his pulser to bear. “You first,” said Cambria, her voice flat. She nodded slightly and the armed miner fired one more time. This time the blast slammed the leader square between the eyes. His head exploded and blood and gray matter splattered all over the rock. A few bits of skull remained above the neck. The remains of his body slumped over and lay there with blood pooling from his headless neck. “Anyone else?” She said in that same cold monotone. The armed miner swung his arm around, a threat by proxy. None of the other miners gave the slightest visible reaction. “So the whole subtlety thing is done with,” said Coheed. “Looks like.” “Good.” He clenched the fist of his left arm. His arm shuddered slightly and he felt a stab of pain. Doctor Hohenberger had sworn to him that the sensation would diminish in time, until he was able to extend and retract the blades with merely a thought and no hurt at all. Apparently that time was not yet. He gritted his teeth against it but it wasn’t enough to keep the low moan from his voice as his skin began to bulge at seven points that ran in a straight line along his arm. Seven curved, razor-sharp machetes began to extend—very quickly, in actual time, but to Coheed it felt like an agonizing eternity. He closed his eyes, steadying his breathing, as they continued to extend until they reached their full length of two feet from their base on his arm to the tip of the blade. At their widest point, they were two inches across. They glittered in the light, and there was a reflection from the vast blackness that hovered far overhead as well. He whipped his arm back and forth just to restore full feeling to it. The blades made a buzzing sound as he did this. It was obvious that if they had been cutting through flesh and bone, they would have done so as easily as if through the air. The miners still had enough of their own minds present to stare in wide-eyed shock at the weapons that had just snapped into existence. “You okay, Co?” “Fine,” he lied. The pain was beginning to subside; it had eased into a dull throbbing that he knew from experience would be gone within a minute or so. “I’m perfectly fine. How’s your hold on them?” “They won’t cause any problems. Right, boys?” They stared at her, paralyzed, and so Cambria nodded her head. They responded in unison, their head bobs matching hers. Coheed approached them and brought a glistening blade up to the throat of the nearest of them. “Who are you working for?” he said. The miner tried to answer; he really did. His mouth moved but no sound came out. Abruptly he began to tremble, then shudder, and then spasm as if completely out of control. “Cam—?” “It’s not me. I’m not doing it.” The miner’s arms were flailing about as if he were trying to take wing. Then, with the only sound emerging from him being a guttural cough, the miner collapsed. He lay sprawled upon the ground, his eyes rolling up into the back of his head. Cambria looked as startled as Coheed was. “Cam, are you okay…?” She managed a nod. “Yes. It’s just…yes. I’m fine.” “What the hell happened?” “I’m not sure, but I strongly suggest you don’t ask that question again.” He stared down at the miner’s body. His head was twisted at an odd angle; there was no question that he was no longer among the living. “You’re saying that, just from my asking—?” “The Doctor told me such things were possible,” said Cambria. “That individuals could be implanted with…he called them mental wards. They’re placed directly into the cerebral cortex and are crafted to make it impossible for anyone to use the subject as a source of information. Ask any question about anything that the implanter wants to hide, and the subject’s brain essentially shuts down.” “Nice.” He glanced at the three remaining miners. If they had had sufficient control of their bodies to recoil, there was no doubt in Coheed’s mind that they would do so. Instead they just stood there and stared at him, their eyes wide with terror. “So they’re useless for interrogation. We can’t ask them what they’re doing here, who sent them, if they’re responsible for the diminishment of the Keywork—” “No, we can’t, but I’d wager they are.” “I think you’d win that bet. All right then,” he said, scratching his beard thoughtfully. “If we can’t use them as sources of information, I’m pretty sure there’s another use we can put them to.” “And that would be?” He smiled grimly. “Cannon fodder.” * * * There was no high security locking mechanism to the mountain entrance. That was likely because whoever was inside was not expecting any sort of security threat. That indicated to Coheed that whoever was behind this was either certain of his power to the point of arrogance, or else was monumentally stupid. He was hoping for the latter but suspected it was the former. That only left the question of whether that arrogance was misplaced or well founded. This time he was hoping for the former and suspected the latter, if for no other reason than that it seemed unlikely things could go that easily for them on their first mission. He wasn’t daunted by the prospect of a fight. Indeed, part of him was hoping for it. But ultimately he and Cambria were untested in battle, and it would have been nice to be able to ease into it rather than be thrust headlong into a full-bore firefight. That wasn’t going to be up to him, though. He was just going to have to roll with whatever was presented them. Cambria’s three pawns—which was how Coheed had started thinking of them—moved robotically toward the section of the mountain through which they had emerged. Since they had been at such a great distance, even the binoculars hadn’t given them a full picture of what they were seeing. Coheed had figured that there was some manner of door, but no: The pawns simply walked straight through the side of the mountain. Once upon a time, more primitive or superstitious folk would have called it a “glamour,” a magical spell crafted to disguise something’s true nature. But this was an age of science, and Coheed knew precisely what they were looking at. It was a hologram, a picture of light that had been erected to disguise the entrance. Arrogant the minds behind this business might have been, but obviously that didn’t mean they weren’t capable of displaying some degree of caution. Cambria was right behind her pawns and Coheed behind her. The projection shimmered around them as they passed through and they found themselves staring at a metal shaft with an elevator car within it. It sat there with the door wide open, inviting, and possibly a trap. But a trap for their own people? It made no sense. “Let’s go,” said Coheed unnecessarily, because Cambria was already herding them into the elevator. Coheed followed and saw an array of control buttons on the panel. “Cam,” he prompted her, inclining his head toward them. His caution was understandable; if the controls were somehow keyed only to the men that Cambria was controlling, then any attempt by Coheed to operate the elevator car could result in…well, in anything, really. One of the miners reached forward under Cambria’s unspoken prompting and pushed the lowest button. Presumably they were going all the way down. The elevator hesitated momentarily as if summoning strength for the effort, and then started down with a lurch. “Old mechanism,” said Coheed, glancing around. “Whatever’s here, someone put it in place a while ago. Except,” he considered it further, “The drain on the Keywork

is a relatively recent development.” “Not necessarily. It may simply have reached levels where it came to our attention.” “It’d be easier to find out if they were of any use,” and he indicated the miners. “Yes, but we’ve seen the results of direct interrogation.” “Can you just…you know…” “Read their minds?” “Well…” “Co, I can’t really read minds. Control, yes. But picking out individual thoughts is trickier. The Doctor said that, maybe with time…” “You read mine, though. Admit it.” “I…culled general impressions out of it, yes. But—” “But what?” “I’m assuming,” she said formally, “it’s because we spend so much time together. For me to achieve that degree of closeness with these guys in the amount of time we have available to us, I’d have to have sex with one of them.” The gaze of all three miners snapped right onto Cambria. The one who had been admiring her breasts was now grinning widely. “You can pick which one,” said Cambria innocently. Coheed didn’t like the looks on their faces. “Eyes front, gentlemen,” he said with irritation. As one, they looked resolutely forward. Coheed cleared his throat. “That, uhm…I don’t think that’ll be necessary after all.” “Are you sure?” She fluttered her eyelashes at him. He wanted to be annoyed with her, but he wasn’t able to hold onto it. Instead he chuckled softly and said, “Yes. Quite sure.” “Ah well.” She shrugged. “I would have let you watch, you know.” “That’s very considerate.” They rode the rest of the way in silence, surrounded in darkness with only the faint light of the elevator providing any sort of illumination. Coheed had no idea how far below the surface they were at this point. He wasn’t wild about the situation; they weren’t being provided an easy means of exit if the need presented itself. I guess whatever happens, we go forward, he thought. Coheed staggered slightly when the elevator finally jolted to a stop. “All out,” he muttered as the door slid open. The door had opened out into a narrow corridor. He heard a steady pulsing of energy in the near distance. The miners were moving in front of them as Coheed and Cambria fell into step behind them. He had absolutely no idea what he could expect to see once they reached the end of the corridor, but whatever it was, he was beginning to suspect it would probably try to kill them. As they drew closer, he heard a powerful male voice barking what sounded like orders. It was in the distance, but he could hear it echoing. “What the hell have we gotten into?” Cambria said in a low voice. “Whatever it is, we’ll handle it.” Her hand touched his arm fleetingly. It was almost as if a static charge jumped through his body from where she’d come into contact with him. They emerged from the corridor into a chamber with a ceiling that seemed to go on forever. That didn’t especially surprise Coheed, considering how far underground the elevator had taken them. Half a dozen metal support beams crisscrossed high above, coming to a common joining point in the middle. It was as if they had wandered into some sort of high-tech cathedral. There were gleaming solid metal slabs lining the wall on either side of them. They were uniform in shape and size, and had no outer markings, and he couldn’t begin to fathom what purpose they might be serving. They were, however, suffused with a soft, steady glow, as if they were throbbing with power of some sort. Cambria was looking at them as well, and when she made eye contact with Coheed, she mouthed the word, Keywork? He shrugged. It seemed as good a guess as any, but he was still having trouble fully wrapping his mind around it. Was it possible? Was something actually extracting energy from the Keywork, the bands of energy that joined one planet to the next in the vast triangular tapestry that was Heaven’s Fence, and placing it into these…these ten foot tall monoliths? But why? For what purpose? No one had ever conceived of any use for Keywork energy other than binding the planets. It was like trying to come up with a new use for gravity. Of course, for all he knew, whoever was behind this had some new use in mind for gravity as well. “What is--?” he began to say, but when he saw the alarmed expression on the miners, he quickly silenced himself. He didn’t need yet another man dropping dead with convulsions. The monoliths stretched far into the distance, and there was an intersection ahead of them. They reached the intersection and Coheed said in annoyance, “Now which way? Cam--?” “Co,” she whispered, and she was pointing off to the right. “I’m pretty sure we go that way.” He looked where she was indicating and his jaw fell. “Oh my God,” he whispered. “What is that?” “I have no idea, aside from ‘gigantic’.” “Well…it’s definitely that. Here we are, juggernaut.” At the far end of the extended line of glowing monoliths that were situated to Cambria’s right was a massive crystalline structure that stretched from floor to ceiling. Coheed couldn’t be certain, but it might well have been a mile or more high. The edges were jagged, and yet there was an elegant symmetry to it. There was a whirling core of energy in the middle of it, and feeder tubes extended out from it and into what Coheed could only assume was some sort of vast processing unit. The energy that surged within it, as if they were peering into the heart of creation, was unmistakable. “That’s Keywork energy,” Cambria said. “Are you sure?” “Oh God, yes. That’s—“ No one could say that Doctor Hohenberger hadn’t warned her. “Stay focused, Cambria,” he had said. “When you’re channeling,” which is what he called that particular talent of hers, “it is not an autonomic reflex. You have to be concentrating on it. You can engage in conversation while you’re doing it, but there must still be a part of your thoughts upon it at all times. You must learn how to bifurcate your mind. Otherwise, if you let yourself become too distracted, you will lose your hold on your puppets.” Coheed had been present at the training sessions where Doctor Hohenberger had issued her those stern warnings. Which was why the Doctor’s words flashed before his eyes, as if they were living things, the instant that one of the miners turned, yanked a pulser from God-knows-where, and fired point blank at Cambria. Coheed shouted a warning, but it was a second too late. The pulse blast slammed into Cambria’s chest, sending her flying, as if she herself were now a puppet being yanked back on a string. She crashed into one of the glowing monoliths and sagged to the floor. The miner, without slowing, turned and aimed the pulser at Coheed. Even as he did so, Coheed—practically mad with fury—brought his right arm up and pointed his finger at the miner. The action froze the miner, who stared at the empty hand and laughed contemptuously. Abruptly there was the sound of metal on metal, a rapid-fire series of “thunks” as metal plates beneath Coheed’s synthetic skin unfolded and interlocked. The pain for this transition made the blades seem like mere pinpricks in comparison as the skin was literally ripped away, torn to shreds by the transformation of his skeletal structure underneath into a weapon. It was one of the times that Coheed cursed Hohenberger’s decision to craft synthetic skin for him that provided the same sensations as normal skin. “You’ll want to be able to feel all things, Coheed—both pleasure and pain. You can’t have one without the other. Trust me, you’ll thank me some day.” That was what Hohenberger had told him, and he might well have been correct. But that day wasn’t this one and it was all Coheed could do not to scream out a string of profanities. The only reason he did not was because he didn’t want to give his attackers the satisfaction. Hydraulic pressure tubes snaked out from his elbow and insinuated themselves into his right trapezius. They provided him additional lift; otherwise the arm would have hung helplessly at his side because of the awkward new shape.

The entire process had happened incredibly quickly. Less than five seconds after he had triggered the transformation with a thought, his right arm—from the elbow to the now non-existent hand—now consisted of a massive pulser cannon. Had the miner been faster off the mark, he might have managed to get off a shot before the transition was complete. But he was caught flatfooted, having never witnessed anything like it before. “Not laughing now, huh,” said Coheed as he let loose with a blast at full power and at point blank range. The miner’s gun did not leave his hand. That was because the gun, the hand, and the arm were all that remained of him. The rest of him was splattered over about twenty square feet of real estate, including the two remaining miners, who were looking in horror at the blood and gore that covered them. One of them plucked at his cheek, his mind numb with shock, to discover that a molar and two incisors were embedded in his face. The other jumped back, shrieking, upon finding an entire lung plastered on his uniform front. In doing so, his foot hit a stray organ lying on the floor. His feet went out from under him and he hit the ground. One of them stood his ground and pulled out his own weapon, firing and moving as he did. The other, who had fallen, scrambled to his feet and ran like hell, shouting at the top of his lungs, “Security breach! Security breach!” Firing at full power the way he had meant that Coheed’s pulser cannon needed a few seconds to recharge. He twisted his body, bringing the arm up in front of his head to protect it as blasts deflected harmlessly off it. He advanced on the miner who was steadily firing. Coheed felt a flash of respect for him; the man wasn’t backing down. Suddenly there was an explosion of air and the miner vanished for a moment, overwhelmed by a torrent of energy. Coheed shielded his eyes and when the energy subsided, what was left of the miner barely qualified as human. He was flat on his back, or what remained of his back. Not only had his clothes been stripped away, but so had his skin and a considerable portion of his muscles. His entrails were beginning to slide out and he was reaching for them, stupidly trying to shove them back in, before his hands fell to either side. Coheed actually had a clear view of the man’s heart through a gaping wound in his chest. It beat several more times and then slowed to a halt. Coheed turned and saw Cambria, from her position against the monolith, her arm outstretched. Cambria’s concussive blasts didn’t actually generate from her hand; they were from within her mind. She just preferred to point at her target because she found it focused her aim a bit better. The glow of her psionic abilities faded from her eyes and she moaned softly. Coheed was at her side, kneeling next to her. “You okay, Cam?” She gestured toward his cannon. “You want to point that somewhere else, sport? Wouldn’t want it to go off.” Coheed put out a hand, which Cambria took and even squeezed affectionately as he helped her to her feet. He looked her up and down. “Seems the body armor did its job.” “Yeah. I think I’ve got a few bruised ribs, but that’s it.” She shook her head. “Better than I deserve. Stupid. Stupid of me to let myself get distracted.” “Don’t second guess yourself. You did great.” “And they know we’re here. He sounded the alarm.” “They were going to find out sooner or later.” She gazed at the crystalline tower in the distance. “It’s incredible. They’re mining Keywork energy. They’re really doing it. I didn’t even think such a thing was possible. Who built that…that thing?” “Whoever it is, we put an end to it, right now.” He raised his pulse cannon and unleashed another full power blast directly at the crystalline structure. It was impossible to miss, considering its size. The blast struck dead center, crackled harmlessly along the surface of the structure, and then fizzled out. “All right,” said Cambria, “that could have gone better.” “We’re going to have to get closer.” “They may object to that.” Coheed held up his pulser cannon. “I hope they do.” * * * Coheed and Cambria sprinted down the row of monoliths, trying to cover as much distance as they could before they encountered resistance. They didn’t get that far. Four men dressed similarly to the miners they had first encountered emerged from intersections ahead of them. They had weaponry at the ready–much larger pulsers than the miners had been wielding. Obviously there was some sort of armory in this underground refuge, and the sounding of the alarm had allowed them to prepare themselves. Or at least they thought they were prepared. They’ll never know what hit them, thought Coheed. He charged forward and this time, when he started firing his pulser cannon, he didn’t go for a massive blast, but instead a series of short, staccato shots, picking off the new arrivals one by one. Reinforcements showed up in short order, and in addition to the pulsers, they had shields mounted on their left arms. Coheed fired and this time the blasts rebounded off them causing no serious damage, although the impact caused them to stagger. There were a dozen of them, and it was going to be a stretch for her, but Cambria’s eyes glowed as she said firmly, “Drop the shields. Right now. Right now.” A couple of them did, but the remaining troops opened fire. Coheed stepped between them and Cambria, shielding his head, his own body armor absorbing the shots. But they were doing more than just hammering him; they were provoking him. You have to control your anger, Coheed. Focus it. It can be a valuable tool if you utilize it rather than letting it overwhelm you. The Doctor’s voice was as clear to him as if he were there next to him, whispering in his ear. Coheed visualized his anger, rolled it up into a glowing ball, and mentally shoved it into his heart. Then he charged. Before, when he’d been struck by blasts, he had felt pain, the impact, even though his body armor had saved him from fatal injury. Not this time. This time he sped forward, not slowing, refusing to acknowledge anything other than the cold fury that was driving him. He stopped firing because there was no point in expending energy. That didn’t mean the cannon still couldn’t be used for offense. Coheed waded into the midst of their attackers, wielding the cannon like a club. He cracked the skulls of the nearest of them, grinning wolfishly at their truncated screams. He saw the terror in their eyes; no mercy in him, he gouged out those eyes with the tips of his blades. They went down screaming, clutching at their ruined faces, blood oozing from between their fingers. Not slowing, he swept his left arm, the blades slicing through muscle and arteries and bone with equal facility. Blood fountained in all directions, some of it splattering on his face. He ignored it. Actually, that wasn’t strictly true. He reveled in it. He had to step over severed limbs on the floor to get at his targets, and he swung the cannon as a club once again, smashing whatever he came into contact with. One of them tried to retreat, turning his back and fleeing. Coheed leaped upon him like a great beast, driving his blades into the man’s back, severing his spinal cord. The man went down, flopping like a dead fish, and Coheed smashed his skull flat with the cannon. He took a moment to wipe some of the gore off on the remains of the man’s shirt. “Co! Behind us!” He spun and saw more of them barreling toward them from behind. Now it was Cambria who was standing between Coheed and danger. “Keep going!” she said. “Get to that thing and destroy it! I’ll handle these guys and make sure no one else tries to cut us off!” “Are you sure--?” She stretched forth her hands and the air rippled in front of her. The new platoon was blasted backwards, scattered like so many ten pins with a massive ball driving right through the middle of them. “Reasonably sure,” she said. He nodded, turned, and started running. He was now less than one hundred feet from the crystal. Certainly that had to be enough. He realized that there was no point in blasting away at the vast structure itself. Far more effective would be to assault the support points where it was anchored. The top was way too high, but a concentration of pulser blasts toward the bottom should do the trick. The crystalline structure had been mounted into a huge round bracket, and there were flickering lights running all along it. That had to be regulating the flow into the

monoliths. It was at that point that Coheed realized what the monoliths probably were: A means of physically transporting the energy that was being gathered. The Keywork energy was being loaded into the monoliths, which would then be removed from this place and taken off to…wherever. He wasn’t entirely sure if destroying the structure would somehow restore the energy, but that would be tomorrow’s problem. Right now all he cared about was dismantling the device and putting an end to the damage it was already doing. He took up position and aimed his pulser cannon at the huge support collar in the floor. “Good-bye, you bastard,” he muttered as his arm cannon powered up. Suddenly something pressed just against the base of his skull and a low voice behind him said practically in his ear, “Just what I was going to say.” Coheed wasn’t even aware of his own movement. It was entirely reflexive. He whirled, whipping around the blades on his arm, and they sliced right through the pulser that had been shoved against the back of his head and would have, given the opportunity, blown his brains out. Standing behind him was a tall, powerfully built, dark-skinned man, bald head glistening with a fine film of sweat. He was staring in surprise at the shattered remains of the pulser that were still in his hand. “All right. That was impressive,” he said. He spoke with a low rumble that seemed to originate from somewhere around his ankles. Coheed felt as if he should know the man. He had to think that Cambria would have. They had both had a ton of information crammed into their heads, and Cam had been dealing with it far more effectively than he. Wanting to conserve the cannon’s firepower for the crystal, Coheed tried to bring the weapon around as a club once more. But the man dropped the shattered gun and caught the cannon before it could impact. He smiled grimly. “Nice try.” He seemed to move only minimally, yet suddenly Coheed had been twisted completely around, the pulse cannon shoved deep into his own back. He tried to bring the blades back around, but he was out of position, and then his attacker had grabbed his blade arm by the wrist, immobilizing it. “Who are you?” said the attacker. “The end,” said Coheed with a grunt, his mind racing, trying to come up with a plan of attack even as his spine creaked under the way his body was being bent. “Better than you have tried. I did not rise to the rank of General to be taken down by someone with delusions of grandeur.” When he said that, it suddenly clicked in Coheed’s mind. Previous vids he’d seen of him, the self-described General had been in full armor and visible only from a distance. Now, though, he knew him for who he was. “You’re Deftinwolf. Mayo Deftinwolf.” “Yes.” Deftinwolf pushed down harder, trying to get Coheed to cry out. It didn’t work. Coheed bit down deep into his lip rather than give any vocal confirmation that he was in distress. Still, he was immobilized in the General’s grip. Coheed did the only thing he could think of: With a thought, he retracted the pulser cannon. It wasn’t going to do him any good anyway since the General was holding him in such a way that the cannon was pointed away from him. The General was caught off guard when the gun suddenly vanished to be replaced by a mechanical hand and forearm. For a scant moment, Deftinwolf lost his grip. It was all that Coheed required, and he spun around so that he was face to face with the startled General. “Hah!” bellowed Coheed as he slammed his head forward into the General’s face. He thought he would be rewarded with the cracking of nose and bone and perhaps a copious amount of blood flying. Instead the General’s skull seemed hard as rock, and the impact staggered Coheed as much as it did the General. Still, it was enough to drive the General back a couple of feet. They circled each other warily, the General seemingly having new respect for Coheed. “I just assumed you were holding some manner of weapon. It did not occur to me that it was a part of your body. What is your body, anyway?” “That’s none of your concern.” “It will be when I have it dissected.” He waggled his fingers in a “come here” manner. “Don’t keep me waiting, little man. Let’s see what you’ve got.” Coheed wasted no time. He came straight at the General, delivering a series of blows so quick that his fists were little more than blurs. The General did not back up so much as an inch. His own hands moving so quickly that Coheed couldn’t even see them, the General deflected every attempted strike as if Coheed were a child. Coheed tried to bring his blades to bear, but the General pivoted and lashed out with his foot, driving it deep into Coheed’s gut. Coheed’s body armor protected him from damage, but the impact drove the air out of him and knocked him on his ass. He scrambled to his feet as the General advanced on him. The world was spinning around him and Coheed tried not to sway, tried to pull himself together, feeling battered and exhausted not only from the pounding he was taking from Deftinwolf, but the agony of the transitions he’d had to put his body through. “It won’t always be this difficult, Coheed,” Hohenberger had assured him. Coheed was starting to wonder if he was going to have sufficient opportunity to find out if Hohenberger had been lying. “Is that all you have?” said the General. And suddenly the air was blasted apart with what sounded like a muffled explosion and the General was off his feet, flying end over end. He slammed into one of the monoliths and rebounded off it, hitting the floor. Coheed whirled and saw Cambria standing several feet away, her arm outstretched. “No. He’s got me,” she said. “I thought you were watching our backs,” said Coheed. “I decided to see what was taking you so long.” “Two against one,” said Deftinwolf, getting to his feet. “Still far less than you’ll need, but the odds are a marginal improvement.” “Shut up,” said Cambria. She gestured again and the air came to life once more. The General was blasted backwards. When he hit the floor, he skidded out of control and wound up crashing to a halt against the vast structure that was Coheed’s target. “Take it down, Coheed. In fact, take them both down.” “Together?” “Absolutely.” The cannon rematerialized on his arm, and without hesitation, he fired. At the exact same time, Cambria unleashed a concussive blast of energy. “No!” shouted the General, but he had no choice save to get out of the way. The blast from Coheed’s pulser cannon and Cambria’s hands arrived at the structure’s base simultaneously. The resulting explosion was deafening, smashing apart the metal collar, sending metal and crystal flying in all directions. For a moment nothing seemed to happen, and suddenly power—unleashed Keywork energy—pulsed uncontrolled from the bottom of the crystal. Cracks began to appear and rapidly started running up the length of the structure. “You ignorant rats,” the General growled. “You’ve just attracted the attention of the Supreme Tri-Mage. Consider this battle lost.” “I have had it with this guy,” said Cambria, and she sent her willpower hurtling toward him, determined to leap into his mind and seize control of him. Instead she let out a scream and stumbled backwards. Coheed caught her before she hit the floor. “Cam!” Deftinwolf advanced on them, cracking his knuckles. “You’ll beg for an easy death before I—” He was interrupted by a series of internal explosions within the crystalline structure. The cracks were multiplying, running through its entirety. Coheed realized what was happening: the power was continuing to feed through to the monoliths, but there was no longer any sort of regulator. It was as if energy was being pumped continuously into batteries that were incapable of absorbing it all. The result was that both the batteries and the generator were being overwhelmed. The gargantuan crystalline generator began to topple. That was the moment Coheed realized it was toppling toward him and Cambria. “Oh, crap,” he muttered. Even as he did so, he slung the insensate Cambria over his shoulder and started to run. The General shouted imprecations after them, but seconds later they were drowned out by an escalating series of explosions. And the Howling Earth earned its name. Coheed had never given much thought to what constituted the energy of the Keywork itself. He had heard rumors, and there was all manner of speculation. Exploring the nature of the Keywork had been a major priority for scientists, but not much had been done along that line for two reasons. First, the energy’s composition defied any current technology’s efforts to break it down. Second, there were various religious factions who remained solidly opposed to such efforts because they believed the energy was supernatural in origin. That it was nothing less than human souls somehow being harnessed and tapped for energy as part of a vast machine crafted by the Creator because in this universe, nothing was ever wasted.

Hohenberger had laughed at such a notion. Coheed had heard him laughing. If the Doctor could see and hear what Coheed was witnessing now, the laughter would have died in his throat. The energy contained within the monoliths was ripping out in all directions, and it was howling like a thing alive. The screeches that filled the air were absolutely terrifying. There was no escaping the inevitable conclusion: the energy was alive. Human life, animal life, maybe even harnessed gods of some sort. But definitely alive. And extremely pissed off. One of the screaming phantoms circled directly in front of Coheed, cutting him off, and Coheed—who believed he feared nothing—felt his bowels clench and tighten and he thought his eyes were going to explode out of his head. The being’s form was amorphous, ever-shifting, but he thought for a moment he saw a face seized in a rictus of shrieking agony. It froze, and Coheed stared deeply into it even though he knew he shouldn’t, and he felt empty and alone and cold. And then it arced away from him, as if having considered annihilating him but ultimately deciding that it should not. Others in the underground complex were less fortunate. Screams of the energy beings mixed with the shrieks of those who would soon be nothing but spirits themselves. Coheed kept running and caught glimpses of the guardians of the damned, as the miners apparently had been, perhaps without even realizing it. He spotted one of the miners confronted by a glowing entity, and the miasma of energy leaped into the man’s wide-open mouth and into him. The man’s body spasmed and flailed around as if someone were jolting him with electricity, and then he exploded. Organs, bodily fluid, everything just blew out in all directions, spattering against any solid objects with an appalling, sickly sound. For half a heartbeat the only thing left of him was his skeleton, which actually stood there on its own, so utterly and abruptly had been the expelling of anything remotely fleshy in his body. Then the skeleton collapsed, clattering to the ground. Coheed had inherited the natural scientists’ skepticism when it came to ascribing spiritual explanations for that which could be given a real world rationalization. What he was witnessing now defied that. He could not wait to tell the Doctor about it, presuming he and Cambria lived to do so. Coheed kept running, every so often hearing more truncated screams followed by more wet explosions. But in short order they were drowned out by the cracking of the crystalline structure and now a rumbling from overhead. The structure was bringing the ceiling down with it. He turned a series of corners, caught more writhing and exploding miners out of the corner of his eye, and then made it to the elevator that had brought them down, just in time to see the doors sliding shut. He caught a glimpse of a couple of miners within, looking terrified by everything that was going down, but one of them caught sight of Coheed and sneered at him just before the doors closed. Coheed charged forward and unleashed a carefully timed blast at the doors. It smashed a hole and Coheed leaped through, clutching Cambria tightly as he did so. The elevator was just above him and moving fast. But there were trailing cables beneath it, and Coheed leaped upward, snagging one with his free hand. He retracted the blades even as he jumped, lest he inadvertently slice right through the cable and doom himself. He held on as the elevator kept going, wrapping his legs around the cable as well for extra bracing. As he did, he heard a low moan from next to him. The rushing air from the elevator shaft was bringing Cambria around. Coheed felt a surge of relief. “Cam…you really need not to move right now—” Cambria looked down at the yawning fall beneath her and automatically let out an alarmed shriek, thrashing about without realizing where she was or what was happening to her. “Cambria! Stay still or I’ll lose my grip!” Instantly Cambria wrapped her arms around him more tightly. “What the hell--?” “The place is blowing up beneath us. You need to know more than that?” “Not really.” “What happened to you? Why did you pass out?” “It was like…psychic feedback. When I tried to push myself into that guy’s mind, there was something inside…I don’t even know how to describe it. Who was he?” “Mayo Deftinwolf.” Even in the darkness, he could see her eyes widen. “The right arm of Wilhelm Ryan. We’re in it now.” “He said much the same right after I kicked his ass.” “Did you. Well…good. It’s what we were made for, after all. This day was going to come sooner or later. Might as well be sooner.” She hugged him tightly and he was sure he could feel the beating of her heart against his. “Thanks for saving me, by the way.” “Had to. No one else quite treats me like dirt the way you do.” She laughed. No further words passed until the elevator ground to a halt. “I think we’re here,” said Cambria. “Then let’s announce ourselves.” He fired a single blast upward that ripped a hole in the elevator floor. There was a satisfying scream from within. He shoved Cambria upward and she scrambled up and out of sight. Moments later, she called, “All clear.” Her smiling face appeared in the hole as she reached down toward him. He gripped her hand firmly and seconds later he had been pulled up and out of the elevator. From far below him there was the distant sound of explosions getting progressively louder. “I think we should get the hell out of here,” she said. “Good plan.” The body of one dead miner was lying smeared all over the far wall. Coheed was reasonably sure it was the one who had sneered at him. Who’s sneering now, asshole? The doors were open; there was no evidence of anyone else there. Whoever else had been there had managed to get out and was long gone. Coheed and Cambria emerged onto the surface of the Howling Earth. The ground was trembling beneath their feet, and Coheed activated his comm unit. “Grail Arbor! We need immediate extraction!” “I read you, Coheed. Shuttlepod will rendezvous in thirty seconds.” “Thirty seconds?” “We picked up an energy surge. Had a feeling you’d be calling for an evac.” Precisely thirty seconds later, the shuttlepod descended from overhead. It was a small, automatic vehicle, remote-controlled by the Grail Arbor orbiting from on high. Coheed and Cambria sprinted into it and were airborne so quickly that they didn’t even have time to belt in. The pod blasted upward as if it had been shot from a cannon. Seconds later they approached the vast ship known as the Grail Arbor. The bulk of the vessel was cylindrical, with a gargantuan engine on the far end, and a pair of utility arms that extended in either direction. At the end of one of them was a satellite vessel, the Leo—Long-range Exploratory Orb—that was used for remote, extended exploration when the Arbor’s resources literally had to be in two places at once. The evac pod was part of the Orb, and it docked with the sort of smooth efficiency that only machines—or Inferno, which was much the same thing—could oversee. A high-speed transport tunnel whisked Coheed and Cambria directly to Command and Control. The skeleton crew populating C&C nodded in acknowledgment of their presence. Inferno was seated serenely in his command chair, and the moment he saw Coheed and Cambria, he said, “It took you long enough.” “Your concern is appreciated.” “And understandable. Your presence represents a significant investment of the Doctor’s time. Your demise or destruction would be a considerable setback.” The Grail Arbor executed a midair turn and moved quickly away from the Howling Earth. Inferno turned to face them. He was nearly a mirror image of Hohenberger, save for the 20 extra pounds of brawn and a mass of wild, obsidian facial hair. “So? What the hell happened down there?” His attitude made him come across as if he were in some position of authority over Coheed, which was enough to annoy the living crap out of him. But he decided that now was not the time to push the point. Instead he told him as briskly as he could what had happened. Cambria said nothing, but merely nodded every so often in confirmation. “What about the energy?” Inferno said. “We need to restore it to—” “I wouldn’t be concerned about that,” said Coheed. Inferno looked at him with interest. “Why not?” “Just a feeling.”

“Sir!” said one of his men. “Picking up an energy spike! Massive!” “Put the source up on the screen.” The view screen flickered for a moment and then the Howling Earth appeared. A veritable geyser of energy was blasting forth, angling through space, hurtling straight toward the Keywork bridge that linked the Howling Earth to its neighbors. “With the energy unfettered, it’s being drawn back to its source,” said Inferno. “It’s more than that,” said Coheed. “It’s going home.” “Home?” Inferno looked at him oddly. “You’re saying it’s sentient? That’s absurd.” “You didn’t see what it was doing to the miners. I know what I saw.” “You know what you thought you saw,” said Inferno. “Every once in a while, Inferno, you can stop thinking like a scientist,” said Cambria drily. “I hear even scientists do it on occasion. I believe Coheed’s impressions are accurate.” “You would.” “What’s that supposed to mean?” Coheed wouldn’t have minded hearing Inferno answer that question. Instead he ignored it and said, “And it was Deftinwolf. You’re sure.” “Oh yes. No question.” “If that was Deftinwolf,” said Cambria, “if that was Ryan behind the attempt to drain Keywork energy…then—” “Then Ryan’s going to know that we exist,” said Inferno. “He’s going to know there’s a threat to his power—Power he believes he’s earned, even if by sheer force. He’s going to be doing everything he can to discover who we are.” “Good,” said Coheed grimly. “I can’t wait to meet him.”

In, and Somewhere Slightly Later than the Beginning…

Chapter 2 Cleanse This Useless Identity

The sky above Sinosure was bleeding. Mage Covent Marth studied it carefully and decided, upon reflection, that it required more red. The canvas was spread out before him, consuming much of the wall of his sanctum. He knew that other Mages had little patience for something as primitive as painting, far preferring to express their artistic side using holography or other light science. Marth, on the other hand, was enamored of the antiquated materials required for classic painting. He blended the red paint meticulously with his brush until he was satisfied with the precise shade, and then carefully drew it across the sky. He had crafted the rift a day earlier but had not decided what was going to be emerging from it until several minutes earlier. Now he was carefully delineating every streak, every drop of the thick liquid as it oozed from on high. On the planet’s surface, people were fleeing in all directions. A Prise had been drifting upward to inspect the rift, and a gargantuan drop of blood had enveloped her and was in the process of burning away her flesh. In his head, he could hear her screaming. He hadn’t known she was going to wind up dying in his painting until he had reached that point. As soon as he was finished with the blood, he was going to have to go back and repaint her to depict her skin crisping and blackening and turning into ash, revealing her tissue and bones beneath. He wondered absently if he was going to have to determine exactly how her wings joined with the rest of her musculature, just so he could be accurate. Finally he decided that he would just incinerate her wings altogether and avoid the fuss. Human men and women were running back and forth as well, their arms flailing, looking up and pointing and shrieking. Not that their shrieks could be heard in the painting, since it was entirely a silent medium. But Covent Marth’s desire was that the rendering be so realistic that simply looking at it would call up howls of agony in the mind of the viewer. There were Mages as well. How could there not be Mages? They were depicted standing in a circle, their arms upraised in a combination of fear, supplication and awe. Splatters of blood were striking around them, but none of them were being hit. Eleven Mages stood in that circle. One more was in the middle. There was a chime from the door of his sanctum. It was a spartan affair, needing nothing much except various books, charts, and other tools that were part of his perpetual contemplation of the universe. “Come,” he called, his voice gravelly. The door hissed open and a dark figure stood within it. “Ah,” said Marth. “Ryan. Ryan, do come in.” Wilhelm Ryan stood there for a moment, glancing left and right as if expecting some manner of trap that would ensnare him the moment he entered. Then he inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment of the invitation and entered. Marth made a sweeping gesture toward a nearby seat. Ryan made no move toward it. “What think you of Sinosure?” said Marth as he continued to dabble on his easel. He took care to make every stroke of the brush just so. “It is all that I have heard it to be and more besides.” Marth cast a glance at him. “Your new face sits well upon you. You will become accustomed to it in short order, I imagine.” “I am accustomed to it now.” Wilhelm Ryan had looked different when he had first arrived on Sinosure, the world that was dead center of Heaven’s Fence. The process that a potential Mage underwent, however, when being elevated to official status, burned away everything that one was, remaking one into the sacred image of what one would be. It was a perfect example of an old tradition that existed simply because it had always been done. The more contemporary Mages, though happy to undergo the procedure, which unified their facial features, were free to regain subtle differences in their manner of dress and hair. Marth, an elder, expressed his own preoccupation with fine art by decorating the exposed veins spidering across his face with ebony paint. “The Twelve,” Marth quietly mused. “We are twelve once again, for you have replaced Sundihar Jepp, the Mage of Sector 6. He lived to a grand age, one to which most can only aspire, and now you are here in his place.” “Despite your best efforts.” Ryan had spoken so softly that Marth could easily have chosen to ignore the comment, to pretend that he had not heard it. He chose not to do so. Instead, continuing not to look at Ryan but rather to focus on his painting, he said, “So we are to get down to it, are we?” “You asked to see me, Covent Marth. Just as I would not dream of wasting your time, I would ask you to extend me the same courtesy of not wasting mine.” “Of course, of course,” said Marth, his voice flat and passionless. “I asked to see you—” “To explain yourself?” Very slowly, Marth placed the brush down upon the palette. “You have a remarkable nerve for one so recently added to our numbers.” “I have not had as long a period to become as pompous as you, so I am hastening to make up the time.” Marth’s smile remained carefully fixed. Then he inclined his head slightly. “The other Mages are most accepting of you, Ryan. They believe that becoming head of Sector 6 will provide you an opportunity to prove your abilities to us. As head of Sector 4, I represented only one vote, so even if I was against you—” “Do not fence with me,” said Ryan. “We both know one Mage was opposed to my joining, and we both know it was you.” “Such deliberations, decisions and votes are kept in the strictest of confidence.” “I understand.” Ryan waited only a moment. “But it was you.” “Yes. It was.” “I would like to know why.” “Very well,” said Marth softly. “I suppose you are entitled to that, at least. Come. Walk with me, if you will.” Ryan looked suspicious, but then he simply nodded and followed Marth out of the room. They stepped out into the Hub, the vast courtyard that represented the heart of Sinosure. A series of twelve walkways, each a different color, converged at a central point in the courtyard. At that juncture was a huge twelve-pointed red star, twenty feet from tip to tip; with each point representing one of the sectors that each of the Mages oversaw. Each of the walkways, in turn, led to an individual tower that housed the sanctum of each of the Mages. None were able to enter save by specific invitation of he who resided within. Not long ago, Ryan had been standing in the middle of that star, being welcomed into the brotherhood of the Mages. “Possibilities,” said Marth as they walked to the center of the star. “Pardon?” “I said ‘possibilities.’” “I heard you,” said Ryan, “but I do not pretend that I understood you.” Marth was looking not at Ryan, but toward the heavens. “Tell me what you see when you look to the skies, Ryan.” “I do not have time for games.” “Perhaps not. But,” and there was an undercurrent of irony to his voice, “you will have time for me. What do you see?” Ryan shrugged indifferently. “The stars. What else is there to see?” “Do you see the spirit of the creator looking down upon us?”

“I would not know what that looks like, even were it there. Why? What do you see?” “Possibilities.” “For one who resists change as much as you, you seem rather obsessed with that notion,” said Ryan. “We all have our gifts, Ryan. A specialty that each of us alone wields. I, for instance…” He gestured and the air around Ryan began to sizzle. An instant later, a ring of fire leaped into existence around him. The flames crackled furiously, the tops of them flickering toward him, tauntingly, threateningly. Ryan observed them with detachment, as if he felt that whatever he was witnessing was surely someone else’s problem and not his. If Marth was waiting for some sign of alarm from Ryan, he was to be disappointed. Marth’s face, however, was inscrutable, giving not the slightest indication of what he was expecting other than to see a demonstration of his own prowess in conjuring flame from the air. His brow furrowed slightly and the flame evaporated. Ryan idly brushed some soot off his sleeves but otherwise did not seem the least incommoded by the demonstration. “But,” continued Marth, “that is not the limit of my abilities. I have another blessing, as it were. I see possibilities, Ryan,” he said, not waiting for Ryan to prompt him with another question. “I see aspects of the future that are closed to others.” “Do you.” Ryan remained unimpressed. “And I take it that I somehow feature prominently in that future which you and only you perceive?” “That you do. First, I discern your Red Army.” “I have heard rumors of them,” said Ryan dismissively. “As have I. Rumors that they are a force more tenacious than any previous Mage army. That they are expanding and gathering weaponry enough to destroy all the sectors. The other Mages are disinclined to believe in rumors, especially when the purported army has covered its tracks as deftly as yours. But you and I know differently.” “Do we.” “Furthermore, I discern blackness when I look upon you, Ryan. I perceive a road toward darkness and damnation, with you as the one setting us on that course. You noticed my painting, I presume?” “If you call that pathetic rendering that was hardly worthy of a child’s efforts a painting, yes, I did.” “Harbinger of doom and art critic. Your evil knows no bounds.” “Speak your piece,” Ryan said with noticeable impatience. “You may have noticed that the sky was bleeding. That was not meant to be literal. Instead, it is representative of what is impending for the Mages, and for the entirety of Heaven’s Fence. There will be blood, and all will share in its spilling. And there will be one who is going to be responsible for tearing a gaping wound not only in the minds and bodies of all living creatures, but possibly in the fabric of reality itself. All that we know will be threatened. Much of what we know will die.” “And that one who will commit these crimes against God and man will be me?” “I believe that to be the case, yes.” “Then why do you not warn the Mages against me?” “Because,” said Marth with the air of one who bears more of a burden than any should rightly have to deal with, “my gift is also accompanied by a curse, as the greatest gifts typically are.” Ryan’s eyes narrowed a moment and then a slow smile spread across his face. It was the single most unpleasant thing that Marth had ever witnessed. “They do not believe you. The Mages do not believe you.” “No. They never do. Even when subsequent events support the predicted outcome, they typically ascribe it to happenstance. My fate is no doubt punishment from on high for some transgression I committed at some point in my long existence.” “How comforting to be able to blame an unseen entity for whatever aspects of your life do not suit you.” “Actually, it is not the least bit comforting.” “Then,” and Ryan spread his hands wide, “if you truly believe your vision of what is to come, you have no choice but to try and stop me before any of it happens. The safety of the galaxy is resting on your shoulders. So what are you going to do about it?” “Do you suggest that I punish you for sins before you have committed them?” “If there is no other choice, I don’t see how it can be avoided.” “There is always a choice, Ryan. I choose to leave it in your hands. It is, after all, your fate that is to be determined. However,” and he raised a single finger, “one should always be aware of the potential consequences of one’s actions.” “Meaning--?” The explosion of a pulser blast drowned out Ryan’s single-word question. It struck the ground immediately to Ryan’s left, leaving a scorch mark on the surface of the symbolic star. Ryan stared down at it, no longer any hint of derision upon his face. “At this moment,” said Marth coolly, “you are targeted by one of my men.” “Vielar Crom, I assume?” “Possibly. He is currently staked out at a high point—perhaps in a tower, perhaps in one of the surrounding mountains. He has you targeted. He could blow out the back of your skull with a single squeeze of his trigger finger.” “Are you informing me that he is going to be watching me in perpetuity?” “Obviously not. I am saying, however, that you would be well advised to have a care in your actions over the next century or so.” “Sound advice. So sound, in fact—” There was another pulser blast then. It was slightly higher pitched, indicating that a different weapon was the source. It struck the star to Marth’s immediate right, and this one actually created a small hole in the paving. A wisp of smoke arose from it, drifting lazily skyward. “—that I would extend it to you as well,” finished Ryan. Marth stared down at the small hole. “Deftinwolf, I assume.” “That would seem a reasonable guess.” The two Mages stared at each other over what seemed a chasm. “This will not end well,” said Marth. “If that is your foresight speaking, perhaps it will comfort you to know that I believe you.” “It is not…and it does not.” Ryan bowed slightly. “It will be an honor to serve with you, my new brother.” Then he turned abruptly on his heel and walked away. Marth looked heavenward and imagined that he could actually see the beginnings of blood dripping from the sky. “No,” he said softly, “not well at all.” Never had he felt more alone.

Chapter 3 Guns of Summer

For a time, Wilhelm Ryan ruled over Sector 6 peacefully, but eventually the rumors of the Red Army became tangible, the threat moving from abstract concept to reality. The Mages saw it as an offensive move towards their power. All that was required was for matters to reach a tipping point that would send them spilling into a full-blown Mage war. Eventually Ryan decided he would take over Sector 10 and its six territories. Ryan abruptly demanded an audience with the other Mages who then witnessed his assassination of Mage Rolander Gurash, governor of Sector 10. Later known as “The Gurash Example,” this would serve as Ryan’s declaration of war. Sector 12 was subsequently conquered, and its Mage, Litan Boss, was also murdered in cold blood by Ryan. Mage Althaddeus Favor, overseer of Sector 1 and renowned for his stronghold of House Atlantic, would become an ally of Ryan’s, seeking to join forces with who he saw as the strongest of the Mages, as opposed to Ryan’s most relentless opponent, Covent Marth. The war dragged on, leaving sectors scorched in their wake. Ryan’s Red Army moved on to the eastern territories, where Mages Hanthon Jo Seph and Malvas Limbi of Northern Sectors 2 and 3 surrendered to Ryan. Only then did Ryan realize the potential of an imprisoned Mage, and the Mages themselves became as valuable as the Sectors he worked to overtake. He tested out a new tactic by flooding Sector 5 with Red Army military who were solely concerned with taking Mage Bran Wilsinger hostage. The strategy was unexpected and successful and Ryan had no problem repeating it with Xi Tolendar of Sector 7. Simultaneously, his slow assault was setting the stage for a smaller civil war known as the War of the Western Third. This would be a desperate attempt by remaining western Sectors 8, 9 and 11 to break away from the union and maintain a coalition. They would bravely fight back as a single entity to stop him. And they would nearly succeed. Nearly. Instead, Ryan would barely escape death, alive but wounded for the first time in the Wars. Instead of venting his rage towards the Mages responsible, he channeled it into new assaults that netted him Mages Chu Valentar and Beirut Akara. Mage Grave Minetoter of Sector 9 vanished, eluding Ryan’s subsequent search for him. Rumors would circulate for centuries about the missing Mage, speculating as to whether he had narrowly escaped where no other had, or simply ended his own life on his own terms. Eventually Ryan sought out Althaddeus Favor in the confines of House Atlantic. The specifics of the encounter were never known, but Favor was never heard from again and Ryan took over House Atlantic. It was said that Favor was imprisoned along with the other missing Mages somewhere within the dark corridors of House Atlantic, the victim of some unholy experiment of Ryan’s, but no one knew for sure. Most did not want to know. And still Covent Marth remained elusive, and eventually became the last hope of stopping Ryan’s plans. In the meantime, the collateral damage of the Mage Wars was reaching a level that most found unacceptable. And they were beginning to protest. Loudly. * * * Leonard Hohenberger’s life came to an end on an otherwise ordinary day. Which is not to say that he died that day. Nevertheless, his life—or at least his life as he knew it—came to a violent and bitter end as a result of circumstances that he could not possibly have anticipated and certainly not desired. These circumstances, in turn, would lead to the eventual destruction of everything he loved and believed in, and changed the arc of Heaven’s Fence. He did not know any of that when he awoke that morning in his home on Apity Prime. He yawned and stretched and yawned once more, looking over to the left side of the bed and seeing the empty space that had been occupied by his wife, Pearl, during the night. She was up and out early, as was typical for her. Once upon a time that might well have annoyed the hell out of him. He was old fashioned and was enamored of the notion of his wife being there to wake up to. He had long ago come to terms with the fact that his beloved Pearl was—God help him—one of those people, i.e., a morning person. Once he had loathed those types, those damnable morning people. Now he chose to find it charming as far as his wife was concerned. Hohenberger took a full minute to stretch, as was his wont. Pearl kidded him that most men are satisfied with a fart and a belch before staggering out of bed. Not Hohenberger. His lifelong study of every aspect of human biology served to remind him that most heart attacks take place first thing in the morning. So he always made sure to take the proper amount of prep time in getting his body started. First he would wiggle his fingers and toes, and then methodically stretch every muscle in his body until he felt his pulse rate was properly up to speed. Then, and only then, would he consider the day to have started. A hustling form moved quickly past the open door of the bedroom, so fast that Hohenberger almost didn’t spot it. He did, however, and his mind operated quickly enough that not only did he know who it was, but was quite certain he knew where the individual was off to. “Joseph!” he shouted. The young man who had just been summoned froze where he was and slowly backed up. He looked abashed. His lanky brown hair was hanging in his face; he knew that drove his father nuts, so he shoved it out of his eyes. “Yeah?” Noting that his son was fully dressed at an unusually early hour of the morning, and also noting the young man’s haste, Hohenberger did not have to be a detective to know what was going on. “Joseph, you’re not—” “Dad, I have to…” “Joseph!” He did not need this aggravation first thing in the morning. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and said with a low moan, “Joseph, we’ve gone over this…” “‘Gone over this’ makes it sound like we’ve had some kind of discussion. Telling me repeatedly that I can’t do something isn’t a discussion. For God’s sake, Dad, I’m seventeen.” “You say that as if that’s supposed to impress me. Your mother will—” “She doesn’t need to know.” “Joseph, come on.” “Dad, I promised the guys!” He fumbled for words that would somehow persuade his father as to the rightness of his cause. “There’s not going to be a problem!” “It’s a demonstration!” “It’s a peace demonstration! Come on, Dad! Anyone with half a brain knows what’s really going on, and you’ve got way more than half a brain.” “Flattery will only get you so far, but go on,” his father said with a half-wink. Joseph stared at him intently, and Hohenberger was struck—not for the first time—how much of his mother’s attitude and looks he had. “Dad, all those years you spent telling me the importance of standing up for what I think is right. Was it all bullshit?” “Language,” Hohenberger said stiffly. “Were they just words, then? Cheap talk that could just be tossed aside when things got tough?”

“Apparently so.” “And what other things did you teach me growing up that I can just ignore when it’s inconvenient, huh? All that, y’know, stuff about morality and hard work and fidelity to a wife and ethics and—” “I get the point, Joseph, but…” “But what?” Joseph lowered his voice as if concerned that someone was spying upon them. “Come on, Dad. You know we’re on the same side. You hate this whole war and what the Mages are doing, not only to each other, but also to whatever bystanders happen to get in the way. Hell, the Mages themselves have to know that we’re not just going to roll over and take whatever they feel like dishing out. Someone—a lot of someones—have to stand up and say, ‘Enough!’ Someone has to say, ‘You’ve been given all this power for a reason. That reason is to serve and protect the rest of us who don’t have such power. It has to be used for the common good, as part of your mandate in overseeing the twelve sectors. We need full disclosure…’” “Full disclo--?” “There are rumors, Dad. You’ve heard them. Rumors that most of the Mages are dead or…” He hesitated. “Or worse. That Wilhelm Ryan is out to take them all down. That he wants to seize control of everything for God knows why…because he’s power mad. Whatever. Look, everybody knows that the local governments just pave the roads and make sure the great machines keep running smoothly. That they do all the work the Mages don’t want to be bothered with. But the affairs of the Mages are running roughshod over the people. And if the government isn’t going to step up and stop it, then we’re going to. In the only way that matters.” “By what? A show of force? Do you seriously think you’re going to take up arms against the Mages? Or the Mages’ armed forces?” “It’s not about taking up arms! I’m a pacifist, remember? It’s about showing the Mages that there are always alternatives to war. That displaying an organized show of will and desire can be a guide to a better way of living. We don’t want to lead by force of arms. Arms and fighting and wars are a negative example. We want to show a positive example! We want to say, No more wars. We want to say, Power for the people, not against the people. And—” “All right, all right. It still sounds a bit nebulous to me, but—” The doctor shook his head. “God, just like your mother.” “What?” “Nothing. Just hold up a few minutes; I’ll come with you.” “No way.” “Joseph—“ “It’s going to be really crowded there, Dad. You know how you are with crowds, and if I have to worry about you, then we both might be in danger. Besides, what are my friends going to think if my dad has to tag along with me?” “Fine, fine,” said Hohenberger. “Look…just be careful, all right? Just be extremely careful, and stay out of harm’s way.” “Absolutely. Thanks, Dad.” Joseph said with a grin, and even tossed off a salute as he hurried away and out the front door of the house. Not even out of bed and already I’ve likely screwed up the day, Hohenberger thought. He rose, stumbled to the bathroom, showered and pulled his shoulder-length, jet-black hair into a damp ponytail. His fellow researchers loved to tease him about his long locks, joking that he looked more like a poet than an award-winning scientist. For Hohenberger, his hair length was less about looks and more about the hour he couldn’t bear to waste getting his hair cut every month. Instead, he opted for the requisite trim once every six to eight. He carefully stepped into his clothes. He had five pairs of identical slacks, shirts and jackets hanging in the closet. This way he did not have to waste any brain cells on trying to decide what to wear when he went into his laboratory. Hohenberger strode into the kitchen and absently tossed some cereal into his mouth, followed by a glass of milk. It struck him as a more efficient way to consume the food than mixing one with the other beforehand. He stared thoughtfully into space, thinking about nothing in particular. He had found that it was during such “voids” that some of his best ideas took place. He reached for his pad on the far edge of the kitchen table, dragged it over to himself, and began sketching on it. Nothing concrete at first; just an assortment of formulae that he hoped would lead to something. His thoughts had been triggered by some of the vids he had seen lately resulting from the Mage Wars. They were nothing official, of course. Officially, the Mage Wars were typically referred to as “internal disputes” among the Mages. “The Great Debate” was the official term, as if the Mages were all grouped around a table discussing the issues of the day rather than trying to annihilate each other, steal their respective powers, turn them into… well, he wasn’t sure what. There were rumors, certainly, but that was all. Still, anyone with half a brain had to know that there was more going on than anyone in an official capacity was willing to admit to. Hohenberger had to think that the government believed the general populace to be raging idiots. On the other hand, it was an open secret that the government was a joke. They were nothing more than elected paper pushers, embracing red tape, while the Mages were the ones who truly ran things. All major decisions went through the Mages, and they were the ones who decided the direction of humanity, pulling the strings of the government and typically content to be the puppeteers. Hohenberger, however, saw the strings. But he had no intention of doing anything about it. He was a scientist, a researcher, not a string-cutter. String cutting was a young man’s game, and although he was only what some might call “middle-aged”, Hohenberger had been very much feeling the weight of his years upon him lately. Naturally when he thought of “young man,” his thoughts turned back to Joseph. Before he could let them wander down that path to its natural conclusion and thus prompt more worries about his son’s well-being, he was startled out of his free-association reverie by a howl of what sounded like triumph, although it might have been agony. It was never easy to tell with Pearl. The howl was followed by a series of demented cackles. Hohenberger got up from the table and headed to the green house. At least that was what he called it. Pearl had a far more involved and convoluted name for it that incorporated all manner of technical terms involving the studying of the insect life that she was cultivating there. Hohenberger had little patience for it; he tended to believe in calling things by simple terms so everyone would know what everyone else was talking about. Lack of communication was directly responsible for most of Man’s ills. Why make it harder to understand the everyday things? He nervously strolled into the green house and was immediately hit by the overwhelming moisture and humidity. It made his nostril hairs curl, as it typically did. He couldn’t see Pearl because of the overgrowth of leaves and brush. It had been her desire to try and replicate, as much as humanly possible, a jungle environment, and in that she had succeeded. There was the distant cawing of birds, but they were there exclusively for mood. Pearl would have had a fit if even a single actual bird were present in her little corner of the world, since the birds would by nature feast upon the things that truly mattered to her. The cackling had subsided to a few mild chortles. “Pearl?” he called cautiously. “Is everything okay, honey?” “Mask and gloves!” her voice came back to him from some damned place within. “But I don’t—” “Mask and gloves!” He knew better than to argue with her. A large, screened helmet and a thick pair of gloves were hanging on one of two hooks next to the door. The other was vacant, indicating that Pearl was wearing its contents. With a sigh he pulled on the helmet and gloves and made his way in the general direction of where her voice was coming from. It took a bit of rummaging around because voices tended to echo and so it wasn’t always easy to locate a speaker. But he was aided with Pearl’s helpful comment of, “Turn right, dummy!” He did so at his first opportunity and found Pearl halfway down the aisle. She was wearing the same encompassing helmet and gloves that he was. A few auburn strands of her hastily pulled together bun had come loose and fallen down under the glass of the helmet to frame her angular face. It made him smile because he remembered when he had first acquired them after she’d been stung by an insect she’d been studying. He had teased her about it. In response, that evening she’d strolled into the living room wearing the mask, the gloves, and nothing else. As his gaze had caressed every porcelain white curve of her shapely body, she had purred, “How do you like them now?” Since then he’d never made another snide comment about her ensemble, although he still did ask her to wear it under “special circumstances,” as he called it. Now she had her gloved index finger extended and there was some manner of insect balanced delicately upon it. Pearl was wearing the same type of protective helmet that her husband was, but even behind the obscuring mesh, he could see the look on her face practically dancing with triumph. He noticed that there was a cocoon hanging nearby that had been broken open. Something inside had crawled out into the world, and he came to the reasonable conclusion that whatever had been residing within the cocoon was now adorning Pearl’s finger.

“I did it,” she said triumphantly. Pearl was the polar opposite of her husband when it came to discussing projects on which she was working. Hohenberger tended to provide her constant updates, passing thoughts, failures and successes, all of it as it happened, the good, bad and ugly. Pearl preferred to wait until she had genuine results—positive, typically, since she despised dwelling on failure—and then share them with Leonard. He knew that she had been up to something new with her insects, but she had refused to go into specifics. Now, though, she was far less reticent. He leaned forward, studying it closely. It was eerily beautiful, its green wings fluttering and catching the light in such a way that it seemed iridescent. “Some sort of…dragonfly?” he said tentatively. “I call it a ‘syringa.’” “Do you. And why, precisely, would you call it that?” “Because,” she said, and she held it up so that he could see it more clearly, “it has a stinger. See?” “A stinger.” He studied it. “And that is…unusual?” “For this type of insect? Absolutely, considering that I genetically constructed it while it was still in the chrysalis stage.” “Really. You grafted a stinger on it while it was still in the cocoon?” “Yes sir!” “And…” He hesitated. “Why? I mean, what’s the purpose?” “The purpose?” “Of the stinger. Why give it a stinger?” “To see if I could. And to see what properties it would generate.” “Don’t stingers generally have the same properties? Self-defense mechanisms that inflict toxins upon those who attack it?” “When nature generates it, yes. When a human creates it, on the other hand,” and the smile on her face spread even wider, which he would not have thought possible, “the result could be…well…anything. Plus, naturally, I’ll want to see if it breeds true.” “You mean pass the mutation on to offspring?” “Exactly. And you were my inspiration.” She patted the side of his helmet. “All your talk of gene tinkering inspired me.” “Yes, but mine’s been mostly talk,” he said, studying the dragonfly. “The progress you’ve made…” “Is with insects. You have ambitions for human beings. That’s a little more complicated. Still,” and she turned the syringa this way and that to study it more closely, “I can’t wait to show this to Joseph. Is he awake yet?” He shifted uncomfortably. “Leonard,” and her voice dropped, all the joy and enthusiasm ebbing from it. “Where’s Joseph? “Listen—“ “He didn’t.” “Pearl, you need to listen to…” “He did not go out of this house to that rally, and you are not going to tell me that you allowed it.” All of the joy, all of the ebullience that she had displayed before, had dissipated. “You are not going to tell me that.” “Pearl, the boy presented a solid argument over—” “Oh my God, Leonard!” She shook the beloved syringa off her hand as if it were a germ. The startled insect flittered to get its bearings for a moment and then darted off. She didn’t appear to be giving it the slightest further thought. Instead she was heading for the door, yanking off her protective mask. She didn’t even bother with the hook; she just dropped it, pulling the gloves off as well and allowing them to fall to the floor. Leonard hurried after her as quickly as he could go. It was amazing how much ground Pearl could cover when she was upset about something. “Pearl!” he called after her. She paid him no mind. She emerged from the green house, Hohenberger right after her. He was in such a hurry that he had neglected to remove the protective covering. “Pearl, you have to listen to me…” “Like you listened to me? Like you let Joseph listen to me? I told you…and take that helmet off!” He did as she ordered, feeling a bit foolish. He pulled it off and tried to speak. Pearl didn’t allow him to the opportunity. “You know how dangerous the situation is, Leonard. You, of all people, know how things can escalate out of control incredibly quickly. Do you really want our son in the middle of that?” “Obviously not. But he’s almost a grown man, Pearl. We have to allow him to make some decisions about his life, especially when there are greater issues to be considered…” “I want my son to live to become an actual grown man instead of ‘almost.’ He could be killed, Leonard! Do you want that?” He tried to meet her gaze and couldn’t. Instead he stared down at the floor. “No, of course not.” “Fine. Then let’s go to that rally and get our son out of there.” The prospect of facing crowds was no more alluring to Hohenberger than it had been when Joseph had mentioned it. The prospect of telling his wife that she was on her own, however, was not an option. * * * Mom is going to kill me…the shirt’s ruined… It was odd that, despite the chaos that was ensuing around him, that was the thought that kept going through Joseph’s mind. There was a scream nearby, and it had to be a damned loud one to stand out for Joseph, considering the surrounding racket. The air was alive with explosions, of pulser fire ripping through the air, and the sound of it hitting people. That was the surprising thing to Joseph; that distinctive sound, that splutch noise as the pulse blasts cut through skin and muscle and bone and just ripped people apart with such ferocity that—when enough blasts hit home—they were scarcely recognizable as people anymore. Instead they were just sacks of meat that had once had hopes and dreams and aspirations, but now were useless for anything except as food for the packs of stray dogs that occasionally wandered the streets. The blasts made totally different sounds when they ricocheted off the armor of the soldiers as they fired away at each other without the slightest regard for who was in between them. That’s what this was all about, for fuck’s sake. This was all about protecting people from exactly this. This is just ironic, is what this is. Ironic. Or maybe just crap luck. Something or someone hit the ground a few feet away from him. He recognized her immediately. It was Elizabeth Parks. “Lizzie,” he tried to say, but he couldn’t get anything resembling a voice to emerge from between his lips. Lizzie stared at him lifelessly. Blood was pouring out from her nose and through her mouth. Joseph couldn’t help but think about all the times he had fantasized kissing that mouth. There was a huge gaping wound in the side of her head and there was something thick and grey and gelatinous seeping through. The remnants of a sign that had the words, End the Mage Wars emblazoned across it was lying next to her. Only the word “End” was now visible. The air was thick with the stench of blood and death and bodies lying in the heat of the Keywork. And there was more than enough death to go around, that much was certain. Someone ran past him, accidentally kicking him as they went. They didn’t slow or offer apology. They probably thought that he was dead. Suddenly the person who had kicked him was lifted off his feet, a pulser blast ramming through him, driving through his back and blasting his intestines out through his front. He went down in a heap. Serves him right, thought Joseph, who on some level couldn’t quite believe how detached from the insanity he had become. The town square had been packed with people, with protestors waving their signs and chanting and acting as if it were some big damned holiday rather than an attempt to make a serious point. And now they were scattering, like cockroaches moving in all directions when a darkened room was abruptly illuminated. We were protesting in the abstract. That’s what this is really all about. It was all abstract and suddenly it got real…

“This way! This way! Tighten formation! Seward, on point!” a voice bellowed. Joseph couldn’t tell who was doing the shouting, nor did he particularly care. One of the murdering bastards was pretty much like another. He didn’t know if it was Ryan’s men who had Marth’s men on the run, or vice versa. Mustering his strength, Joseph said, “You weren’t supposed to be here,” except there was a viscous, red-tinged liquid bubbling up from his lungs and the words came out mumbled and slurred and incomprehensible to everyone except Joseph himself. He tried to stand, but Elizabeth’s dead eyes remained upon him as everything below the neck ignored the commands being sent from above. Booted feet pounded past him, and pulser blasts superheated the air, leaving the smell of burning flesh wafting up his nostrils. It seemed entirely too coincidental that the forces of Ryan and Marth had shown up at exactly this point in time. Ryan would have wanted this stopped. He wouldn’t have wanted us making our voices heard. Except that made no sense. Ryan was what he was, the man who had demented dreams of dubbing himself the Supreme Tri-Mage. Why would someone as selfaggrandizing as that give a damn what Joseph and his companions had to say? It seemed just as likely to have simply been malign fate that had betrayed them, sending their simple peace rally spiraling into an actual armed conflict. A conflict that Joseph and the others were ill-suited to engage in. More screams, more pulser blasts flying. A helmet crashed to the ground near Joseph and bounced away, blood trailing from it, and Joseph had just enough time to see the stump of a neck and realize that the helmet still had a head contained within. Then there was another heavy thud. It was a soldier, clutching at a wound in his upper right leg. He sported the colors of Wilhelm Ryan. The helmet obscured most of his face, although his chin twitched slightly when he saw that Joseph was staring at him. “Stupid bastards. You had no business being here,” the soldier said with a grunt before hauling himself to his feet. No! You had no business being here! We had every right! We have every right not to live like this! We have a right not to have our lives be lost at the whim of power-crazed Mages! We have… Oh God…it hurts… His mind had disconnected from the agony, but now it was beginning to creep back. He dreaded the return of that pain, because he wasn’t sure just how much—if any —he would be able to withstand. And then, suddenly, just like that, the pain that had been encroaching upon him was gone. He felt a swell of relief that was followed by the exact same thought he’d had moments earlier: that his mother was going to kill him. His father wasn’t going to be thrilled either. Worse: They were right. Then he heard a horrified shriek, practically in his ear. With all the insanity unfolding around him, it would have to be that close to be audible. The voice was screaming “Joseph! Joseph!” which was a remarkable coincidence because not only was his name Joseph, but it sounded remarkably like his mother… And then his mother’s anguished face occupied his entire field of vision. Her face was a portrait of agonized misery, tears rolling down her cheeks. She was gesturing wildly to someone, perhaps his father, and she was shouting something at him. He could no longer hear her, though, because there was a pounding in his ears that was shutting out everything else, reducing it to a distant, steady buzz. He could guess, though, what she was saying. He licked his lips, his tongue the only muscle in his body that he was still capable of manipulating. He tried to speak, but again nothing comprehensible would emerge. And so, even though he was reasonably sure he was not telepathic, he did everything he could to fire his thoughts directly into his mother’s brain: I’m sorry…I think I ruined this nice shirt you bought me for my birthday…please don’t kill me… And then a haze of white settled over him, and everything—his mother, and Elizabeth’s eyes, and the blood and stench and gore—was gone. His final thought was that he had never been happier than he was at this moment.

Chapter 4 The Worst These Worlds Will See

Covent Marth knew what had to be done. The problem was that he was not entirely certain that he was going to be able to do it. He strode across what was left of the great Mage gathering place on Sinosure known as the Hub. Once there had been twelve walkways in the Hub’s vast mosaic, one for each of the Mages, representing his power and prestige and his life of service to the great circle. Ten of the twelve walkways had been demolished. It was possible to see where they had been, but there was nothing remaining of them other than shattered stones and a general outline of each of them. “Down to you, Ryan,” he said softly, “and down to me. That is as it should be. It was inevitable.” The Mage Wars had spread over a legion of worlds in which countless lives had been lost in the ensuing strife. Each of the Mages had raised up their own armies. Alliances had been made and forged and broken, promises kept and then reneged upon. Ryan had poisoned them all; Marth knew it now. Manipulated them so they couldn’t trust each other, because none of them ever knew who was working with him and against them. By the time Marth had realized it was just Ryan against the rest of them, it was too damned late. Still, Marth felt confident he could right Ryan’s wrongs and bring sanity back to these worlds. If only they had listened in the beginning. There was more he needed to say. Much more. Fortunately, he was going to have the opportunity to say it in person. The sounds of marching feet moving in perfect formation converged around Marth. The commander of his loyal troops, Vielar Crom, was at the head of a squad of one hundred and fifty men, and he came in quickly behind Marth, speaking in his customary metallic, almost inflectionless voice. Face forever hidden behind a steel mask, Crom was the sort of man who inspired confidence in you, even if you did not have the slightest familiarity with any aspect of his distinguished record. “We have his sanctum surrounded, my lord,” he said. There was no hint of pride in his voice, nor hint of anything, really. He could have been reporting a triumphant victory or a stunning defeat and he would have sounded much the same. Marth found it steadying that he had to pay close attention to what Crom was saying, rather than rely on vocal cues to discern the urgency of a situation. “It appears our intelligence on the subject was correct; Ryan has gone to ground. Perhaps he thought that by hiding in plain sight, he would elude detection.” Marth shook his head. “Such ridiculous notions from one who decided to declare himself the Supreme Tri-Mage. His confidence has caged him.” “The legend of the original Tri-Mage was a tale of arrogance,” said Crom. “It says much of Ryan that he took that as something to aspire to rather than something to avoid.” “Yes. Yes indeed, it does.” “In my opinion, my lord, he is not thinking straight. He must be in a panic since our forces routed his on Apity Prime.” “Yes,” and Marth smiled grimly. “That must have been a crushing blow to him. He thought he had the advantage over us, and we showed him otherwise. For one who holds himself in such high esteem, discovering his limits is a devastating experience.” “He placed too much confidence in Deftinwolf, if you ask me.”

Crom’s men were already fanning out, surrounding the citadel that constituted Ryan’s last stronghold. It was a broken, shattered husk of what it had been, but it was still standing. Marth saw it as something of a symbol for the entirety of the circle of Mages. “How do you see this playing out, General?” said Marth. “I am interested in knowing how you see it playing out, my lord.” Marth stared at the citadel. “I go in there. Confront him. Hold him responsible for the death and destruction that he has inflicted on his brethren. Either he commits suicide in shame over his actions, or surrenders unconditionally. Otherwise I will take it upon myself to inflict a terminal punishment upon him as some small token of retribution.” “Indeed.” “You sound skeptical, General. That is not how you would handle it?” “No, sir.” This was the foremost of the many reasons that Marth preferred Crom as his General. Most military men were reluctant to speak truth to power, and there were none who trod the world that were more powerful than Mages. Yet Crom never hesitated to say precisely what was on his mind, even if it flew in the face of what the Mage believed. “How would you address the problem, then?” “Annihilate his citadel and extract his remains from the rubble.” “Hardly a satisfying conclusion to his business.” “With respect, it is folly to believe that Ryan is going to repent. If he can destroy no more lives, I consider that to be sufficiently satisfying.” He paused and then added, “I am a soldier, my lord. It is not in my interest to provide opportunities for repentance, nor stage some manner of final face-to-face confrontation. My goal is for a maximum victory with minimal loss of life. Certainly my goal is not to allow he who has my fealty to risk himself needlessly.” “‘Risk?’ You believe that I cannot dispatch him?” “I believe it is a waste of your time even to try. This man, this…traitor to the cause of the Mages,” a miniscule crackle of static in his electronic speech pattern betrayed the slightest hint of the cold fury within, “believed that he was destined to take over the entirety of the Fence. He aspired to be the Supreme Tri-Mage. He aspired to be like God, if not God himself. Such as he deserves to be put down like a rabid animal. Nothing more.” It went against Marth’s grain to allow it to end in this manner. However, everything that Crom was saying made sense. He did not trust himself to speak, because there was every chance that he would give voice to more doubts or uncertainties or simply order Crom to stand down so that he could attend to this himself. So he limited himself to a single nod and then looked toward the citadel. That was all that Crom required. He raised his right wrist and spoke into his comm unit. “End this, now” was all he said. It was all that he was required to say. Full bore pulser cannons unleashed their payloads upon the citadel. The charges hammered home, the citadel trembling furiously under the pounding. Most of the firepower was concentrated on the lower sections of the tower, on the assumption that if the supports were taken down, the rest would collapse in short order. “Any possibility of escape tunnels?” said Marth. Crom shook his head. His monotone delivery was difficult to hear over the escalating series of explosions. “We performed soundings of the area. If there were anything underground, we would have detected it. The only way he could possibly escape is if he could mentally transport himself from one point to another.” He glanced warily at Marth. “He could not possibly do that, could he?” “Teleportation, you mean? No. No, that power has been long lost to the Mages. The last to possess it was, in fact, the Supreme Tri-Mage. Perhaps Ryan thought that if he declared himself to be such, that he would accrue all the legendary powers that accompany the title.” “Madman. He was an utter madman.” “I notice that you use the past tense.” There was a thunderous roaring from the citadel as the tower began to collapse in upon itself. The entire thing tumbled in slow motion, crumbling downward, brick and stone flying in all directions. The pulser corps had backed off the moment the structure began to lose cohesion. Marth watched in fascination, unable to tear his eyes away from it. Oddly, he felt no satisfaction, no glee, no sense of triumph over the destruction of an opponent who had caused so much bloodshed, destroyed so many lives. All he felt was sorrow and the sense that wasted lives were being celebrated with a wasted death, the final symbol of unfulfilled potential. The air was suffused with the ear-splitting noise of the tower’s final collapse. The ground shook as if a giant were taking vast, thunderous strides across it. The soldiers scattered, trying to put as much distance between themselves and the destruction as possible. Marth did not budge an inch, nor did Crom. They kept their positions as dirt and dust billowed toward them, leaving a thin coating of debris on their clothes. Larger pieces of rubble tumbled all around them, and several of the falling pieces posed a threat until Marth gestured casually and they incinerated in mid-flight. Long minutes passed before nothing was left save the rubble and the silence, and soon that silence was obliterated by the cheers of the soldiers. It was slow at first; the younger ones were the quickest to take up the huzzahs and cries of joy. Then the older, more experienced soldiers looked in Crom’s direction. The General said nothing, but instead simply inclined his head slightly. Provided this tacit permission, they joined the youngsters in a whooping cheer that was nothing less than a collective sigh of relief from humanity. “You have reason for celebration this day, General,” said Marth, knowing full well that Crom was as likely to sprout wings and fly as he was to celebrate anything. “You do not join in, my lord?” “I? I have no reason for celebration. Just because a tragedy has ended, that does not make it any less a tragedy. If only this could have been avoided, General. Would that, despite my occasional knack for foresight, I had possessed sufficient knowledge to see all aspects of this conflict and find a way to forestall it…short of murdering Ryan before he had sufficient power to pose a threat.” Crom was silent for a moment, and then said, “Permission to—?” He did not need to finish the request, for Marth gestured that he should proceed. “With respect, my lord, you should have let me take the shot when I had the chance all that time ago.” “You certainly have been with me quite some time, General.” “Your gift to me of prolonged life, my lord.” “You have used it well.” Crom bowed to him. “I have used it in your service. That is ever all that has mattered to me.” Marth turned away. “I must meditate on what has gone before…and what is yet to come.” “To come?” “Others of my order remain missing. They were in Ryan’s clutches, and their whereabouts remain unknown. With Ryan dead, it is up to me to locate them and restore them to their greatness, presuming that is still possible.” “I have every faith in you, my lord. If any can accomplish it, it is you.” “Thank you, General. I hope to be worthy of your trust.” “I shall make certain the troops are ready when you wish to depart, my lord.” * * * The last citadel standing. Marth paused at the threshold and then entered, shaking his head as he did so. Once he had looked upon his citadel with such pride. Now it was a symbol of greatness lost, of a ring of power that had been shattered beyond repair. He was the last fully functioning Mage. The responsibility that accompanied that unwanted status was practically suffocating. He entered his sanctum, his mind whirling back to a time that was simultaneously so long ago and yet so recent. That time when he had been face to face with Ryan, trying to warn him of the insanity of what was to come, in the vain hope that it might be averted. And oh, how he had tried to warn the other Mages. Naturally they had not believed him. They never believed. And now they were gone, and it was up to him to set things right. He would have to find the others of his kind, wherever they were imprisoned. Failing that, new

Mages would have to be recruited for the first time in ages, and it would fall to Marth to find them and educate them in the ways of being a Mage. He realized that he was about to embark on a quest to restore order to Heaven’s Fence, an order that had been severely damaged by the lengthy Mage War. It would be a great quest, a reconstruction, one that musicians would write songs about and that scholars would teach their students and that historians would describe at length. It would be called The Quest to Mend the Fence. Yes. Yes, that would be an excellent name, one that fully described the enormity of his mission: namely, to heal the rifts that had been torn in the natural order of things, to say nothing of the lives of simple, ordinary people who had just been trying to live. A new democracy where everyone has a voice… “It is a shame it has come to this, Marth.” The voice boomed out of everywhere in his sanctum. Marth had just been lowering himself into his chair of contemplation, and the voice was so loud that it virtually blasted him to his feet. “No,” he whispered. “Kindly do both of us a favor and do not say, ‘It can’t be.’ That is trite, and clichéd, to say nothing of demonstrably wrong since, very obviously, it not only can be, but is.” “Ryan.” “Yes.” “You’re alive.” “Again, yes, and also again, obviously.” “Where are you?” “With you, my dear Marth. Here, within your sanctum. Here, well secured, so that you cannot see me to incinerate me. I, on the other hand, can see you perfectly.” The significance of that pronouncement was not lost on Marth. He was standing in the center of his sanctum and he turned slowly in a full circle. Ryan said nothing as Marth did so, perhaps out of a sense of courtesy, or perhaps simply out of amusement in seeing Marth’s growing awareness of his own vulnerability. “You were never in your citadel? Our information was wrong?” “No. It was quite correct. I was there. And now I am here.” “A tunnel? They said there were no tunnels.” “They were correct.” The horrific implications of what he was saying crawled upon Marth like a thousand cockroaches. “You didn’t…” “I did.” “You couldn’t.” “I have.” “You cannot teleport yourself. No one can.” “How odd, for I am hardly no one. I,” and he paused, allowing a brief moment of self-satisfaction, “am Wilhelm Ryan, the Supreme Tri-Mage. You, on the other hand, are no one. So let us see you transport. Transport yourself to safety, Marth.” Marth immediately made for the door. He slammed into it with the full weight of his shoulder horns, but it did not budge. Although he knew there was no point, nevertheless he made for the exit on the far side of the room. That door likewise did not open. Ryan had already done something to them, or perhaps was in the process of doing it. There was no way of knowing for certain. The only thing that was certain was that apparently Wilhelm Ryan was capable of absolutely anything. “How did you learn it?” said Marth softly, with the air of someone who knew that his end was at hand. “How is it possible?” “If you had studied the ways of the first Supreme Tri-Mage, instead of simply viewing him as a cautionary tale of the dangers of overreaching, perhaps you might have learned the secret as well. Now, though, it is too late. Far too late.” “Yes. Upon that we agree,” said Marth. “I will give you an opportunity though.” “Let me guess,” said Marth. “You will extend me the courtesy of taking me prisoner, as you have done with eight of our brethren.” “Our brethren no longer.” “And what have you done with them, you bastard? What hideous experiments have you performed on them? What have you transformed them into?” “Give yourself willingly into my custody and you will find out.” “Your custody.” His mouth twisted in disgust. “That would imply that somehow you were trustworthy. That you were a caretaker of the concerns of others, when the truth is that all you give a damn about is your own mad quest for power. You’ve abrogated your responsibilities as a Mage.” “You are wrong, Covent Marth. I am, in fact, the only one of your sorry lot who willingly embraced my responsibilities.” “How does your twisted logic and sense of self-aggrandizement possibly come to that conclusion?” “Because only I am willing to embrace the full potential of the Mages.” He circled the room slowly, still trying to grasp where Ryan might be. “Our full potential is to be pawns in some massive power game of yours?” “You have made yourselves pawns. You willingly closed your eyes to all that you could accomplish. The Mages were content with their place as proscribed in the Ghansgraad. How pathetic is that? How disgustingly pathetic? Each of you content to rule over a single sector of Heaven’s Fence when there is so much more that we can accomplish. For so long I stood on the outside looking in at the Mages, hoping that once I joined your ranks, I would be able to convince the lot of you of your full potential. But none of you were willing to consider it, or even grasp the possibilities. Instead you were disgustingly content with your status and your limitations.” “Limitations that come from God through the word of the Ghansgraad.” “Wrong!” For the first time, Ryan’s mask of calm slipped, and there was genuine anger in his words. “Limitations that come from your refusal to question the fundamental make-up of the universe! Limitations that come from your inability to realize what we could accomplish if we pooled our power!” “What could we have accomplished?” “It’s too late to ask now.” “I’m asking anyway. What could we have accomplished?” “We could have ruled the universe.” Marth whirled and saw that Ryan was standing ten feet away from him. “We could have been gods together,” he said. Marth lashed out, focusing his power, but it was too late. Ryan’s mind brushed aside the attack and stabbed forward into Marth’s molecular structure. Marth staggered, and there was pain, pain unlike anything he had ever known, pain beyond anything he had ever thought possible, pain that made it seem as if the only sensation he had ever known was soul-searing agony, and against that pain was the now calm voice of Ryan, speaking the last words that Covent Marth would ever hear: “Instead I’ll have to do it all myself.” * * * Wilhelm Ryan severed the bonds that were holding Covent Marth’s atomic structure together. There was a sizzling like meat being overheated, and a final ear-splitting scream, and then Marth blew apart in a million directions simultaneously. There was no blood, no gore. With destruction at an atomic level, such a thing was impossible, unless Ryan deliberately downgraded the destruction for shock value. One moment Marth was there, and the next, he wasn’t. There was nothing left of him save for a black splotch on the ground where he had combusted. Ryan stood there and simply stared at the non-remains of Covent Marth. Outside the cheering of the soldiers was tapering off as the celebration continued. That was as Ryan had expected. He had already sacrificed enough soldiers in trying to convey—successfully—that he was on the run, overwhelmed by the forces of Covent Marth. It was true; Marth’s forces were formidable. Ryan might have conquered the other ten Mages, but many of their surviving soldiers had not sworn allegiance to Ryan; they had joined up with the Mages who had not yet fallen, and now the bulk of those were part of Marth’s army. It was ironic that in overcoming each Mage, Ryan had—to some degree— made his task increasingly harder. That’s not to say the murder and capture of the Mage’s prior to Marth had been simple for Ryan by any stretch of the imagination. In fact,

the War of the Western Third had left him personally disfigured by a deep actinic burn on the lower half of his body. It scarred him physically, but did even more to jar him at a mental level. The battle wound proved that despite what Ryan himself believed and demanded others believe as well, he was mortal and could be damaged. So overcoming Marth’s army had required some shifting in his own strategies. But those shifts had succeeded, just as Ryan knew they would. And once Marth’s soldiers had celebrated sufficiently, Ryan’s army would fall upon them and annihilate them. All of them. All of them… …save for General Crom. Ryan had special plans for Crom.

Chapter 5 Torn to Pieces

“He won?” They were the first words that Pearl Hohenberger had spoken since the death of her son. They so startled her husband that Leonard, who had been holding a glass of tea and was sipping from it in a vain attempt to steady his jangled nerves, jumped at the sound. It caused the cup to slip off the saucer in his hand and crash to the floor. The brown-tinted liquid puddled and looked to Hohenberger like very thin blood. That was not surprising to him; lately just about everything he looked at reminded him of blood. Pearl was sitting in a chair in the family room, her hands placed delicately upon her lap. Her skin had regressed from the creamy white of fine bone china to a nearly translucent, ashy shade that further accented the shadows of her bones gently showing beneath. Leonard hadn’t been able to get her to eat anything more substantial than a slice of dry toast since the accident. She had been staring off into the air, and Leonard would not have been able to swear that she was fully cognizant of her whereabouts. Pearl had virtually retreated into herself, as if the world had simply ceased to exist for her. Now, though, she was staring directly at Leonard, who was busy using a towel to wipe up the spilled tea. It took him a moment to fathom what she was inquiring about, and then he realized that she was actually asking him about something he had said to her earlier that day. He had been talking to her as one would talk to a coma patient, saying the words and hoping that they would penetrate. He didn’t make any major issue over the fact that this was the first occasion she had found her voice in what seemed to him an interminable amount of time. Instead, speaking as calmly as he could, he said, “Yes. Ryan won.” “Wilhelm Ryan. That ugly, disgusting mockery of a Mage? The one who—” her voice trailed off. She seemed unable to articulate the rest of what she wanted to say. Instead her body trembled with barely suppressed rage. “Pearl,” he said. Dropping the sodden towel on the coffee table, he started to reach over to rest his hand on her shoulder. She brushed it away brusquely without even looking at him. It was purely reflex, and yet he was taken aback by the ferocity of the move. “The one,” and she found her voice again, “who was responsible for the death of my son.” “Our son, Pearl. He was our son.” This time her gaze shifted to him and there was such cold anger in it that he couldn’t meet it. “Our son? You let him go off to be killed. What right have you to lay any claim to him?” “That’s not fair, Pearl.” “Not fair?” “Pearl—“ “Not fair? Not fair?!” She lunged at him then, and her open palm swung toward him. It happened as if she was moving in slow motion, and he had plenty of time to deflect it or dodge it. He did neither. He didn’t make the slightest attempt to avoid it, and the hand cracked across his face. He thought for sure that she was going to smash it into his face, crush his nose, perhaps use the other hand to gouge out his eyes. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered. Whatever she said, whatever invective she might hurl at him, she would be right to do so. It would be nothing worse than what he had already been hurling at himself. “You…it…he…” Tears began pouring down her face even as she went on like that for a full minute, stammering out random words, so inarticulate with rage that she was incapable of stringing a sentence together. Leonard stood there and waited, bracing himself, knowing that when she finally did manage to assemble coherent thoughts, it would be an assault of verbal abuse designed to strike at his core, to shatter him. To punish him as much as she possibly could in retaliation for the loss that they would be mourning the rest of their lives. And then, to his surprise, her fist flopped to the side as if it had become too heavy for her to keep raised. She exhaled slowly and her head slumped, her long, unkempt hair falling around her face. She was typically so meticulous in maintaining it; the fact alone that it was so disheveled made it almost seem as if she had been transformed into someone else entirely. Gently, tentatively, he brushed back a strand of her hair. She looked up at him with depthless pools of pain reflected in her eyes. “What you must be going through…” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Don’t worry about me.” “Of course I worry about you. You never worry about you. God…when I think of the times you’d have worked yourself to death if I weren’t watching out for you,

I…” Her voice trailed off. “I would never work myself to death, Pearl,” he said softly. “Because that would take me away from you, and I want to be with you for as long as humanly possible.” The edges of her eyes crinkled and she smiled for the first time in what seemed ages. “Well,” she said with a sigh, “I can’t believe you could feel that way after the way I’ve been acting, Lenny.” “I’m just telling you the truth. That’s all.” He hesitated. “Pearl…are…are we…?” “Okay? You’re going to ask if we’re okay?” “Well…yes.” She seemed to be staring into herself, her gaze turning inward as if she were searching for the answers in her soul. “No,” she said finally. “No…we’re not okay. I just…there’s so much going on…I just…I mean, at the moment I’m calm. I’m a little scared, how calm I am.” Truthfully, so was he, but he didn’t say that as she continued, “Ten minutes ago I felt ready to put my fist through your head, and now I just feel badly that I wanted to do that, and that’s not to say that ten minutes from now I won’t be back to wanting to hit you. I don’t know where I am or what I’m thinking, and that’s, you know, strange for me…” “Because you always know—?” “Shut up.” His lips pressed tightly together. “Because I pride myself on being rational, and this is irrational. This is…” her voice trailed off and she stared at him. She frowned for a moment and then, apparently realizing something, gestured wanly and said, “Talk. Go ahead.” He put out his arms to her, silently inviting her. She pressed her body against him and he wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly. He wanted to cry, but was concerned that it would set her off and he fought back the tears with effort. “Your son died in your arms,” he managed to get out. “Everything you’re feeling…everything you’re going through…I’m feeling it too, Pearl, but I’m trying to go through the motions so our entire lives don’t collapse around us. No one tells you how to deal with something like this or how you’re supposed to act or react or…or how you can pretend like your life will ever go back to something resembling happiness. And I’m just so damn angry too. I’m angry with myself, with those bastard Mages… I’m mad at God for doing nothing to intervene in this mess.” His face tightened up into a skewed mass of emotion that was somewhere between emotional breakdown and scathing hatred. It softened as he looked down at his wife. “God, Pearl, I love you so much…there’s nothing you could say to me that I wouldn’t understand why you’re saying it…” “Even if I hate you again in a few minutes?” “Even if.” “But Ryan…” she paused and her voice filled with venom. “Him…him, I won’t stop hating him. Not for a minute. Not for a second. Whether you were an idiot because you let Joseph go, or a supportive father trusting his son to take responsibility for his life, I’m going to go back and forth on that for a while. Maybe forever. But Ryan’s culpability…that’s not going to change. He has to be stopped, Leonard.” “I agree, but…” “But what?” He released his hold around her and met her gaze, trying to smother his sense of helplessness and failing utterly. “But how?” “Stopped. Terminally. Permanently. Don’t you see, Leonard? Someone has to kill him.” It was staggering to hear Pearl speaking in this manner. No one was as loving of life, as respectful of that gift from God, as Pearl. To hear her talking about killing someone so matter-of-factly…it was as if he didn’t know her. Still, that should not have been surprising. In many ways, the woman that she had been was dead, her soul left behind bleeding on the street with her late son. “All the Mages tried to do that, Pearl. None of them succeeded. How is anyone else supposed to—?” “The people need to do it. The government certainly isn’t going to.” “The government answers to Ryan now,” said Leonard. “He’s taken charge of Apity Prime. Of the sector…the whole damned Fence…since the death of Covent Marth.” “We don’t know that he’s dead. We know that’s what Ryan’s people are claiming, but he could have escaped.” She was speaking with a sort of desperate urgency. “It’s possible that he could be biding his time, waiting for the right moment to strike back.” He was reasonably sure that wasn’t the case at all, but he didn’t have the heart to say so. “Yes. Yes, that’s possible, I suppose.” “So then it’s just a matter of keeping the sentiment of the people of this sector arrayed against Ryan. Make them resist his every move, his every decree. Make people realize what a complete, total and utter bastard he is.” “They know that already, don’t they?” She shook her head firmly. “No. Because he spews lies with such confidence, such certainty, and so convincingly, that people accept those lies as truth. The lies are so big no one could conceive that they’re deceptions. People are stupid, Leonard. Massively, staggeringly stupid. They don’t want to look beyond the confines of their living rooms and their personal entertainment and the world as they imagine it to be rather than what it is. They know deep down exactly what Ryan is, but it’s too much work for them to act upon it.” “And can you blame them?” He saw her look of incredulity, but forged on nonetheless. “Joseph was part of a group of people who tried to act upon their convictions. He was hardly the only one who paid the ultimate price for it. After seeing so many people slaughtered in the crossfire of Ryan’s men battling Marth’s, how enthusiastic do you think people will be about offering protest if Ryan’s men have their guns pointed directly at them?” “It doesn’t matter.” “It does to them.” “Whose side are you on?!” Hohenberger was suddenly seized with a wave of anger. He knew that everything she was saying was motivated by grief, but where the hell was his right to grieve? He was no less devastated by the fate of their son than she was. Why did he have to scrutinize every word he said while she could lash out at him without regard to anything save her own surging anger? “I’m on the side of not losing my wife along with my son! I’m on the side of keeping what remains of my family alive!” “We’re not a family anymore! We’re just…us!” “And that’s not enough?” “It’s going to take some time. It’s going to take until Ryan is dead and gone.” “And if that day never comes?” “It has to.” She hesitated and then said with even more fervor, “It has to, if Joseph is ever going to know peace.” * * * Wilhelm Ryan was in his glory, but he wasn’t certain he needed to be so showy about it. Staging a massive victory parade down the streets of Apity Prime had not remotely been his idea. “I’ve accomplished what I set out to do. Why is there a need to openly revel in it?” “It will serve to consolidate your power,” Deftinwolf had assured him. “And it will provide the people a chance to express their adoration for you…and for you to bask in it.” “I’ve won the Mage war. There are none who stand in my way. I’ve conquered them. How are they to adore one who conquered the other Mages and took all their power?” “It is precisely because you have conquered them that the people want to adore you.” “I’m not certain I follow…” “It is better to live in love than in fear. Fear is bred from uncertainty. Give them reason to love you, and they will flock to you. At which point you can do whatever you want to them, and they will thank you for it. Take the transformation of your ascension to Supreme Tri-Mage as a time of celebration rather than anxiety, and it will transform them into your adoring servants rather than frightened masses.” As much as Ryan hated to admit it—Deftinwolf’s words made a certain degree of sense.

Deftinwolf had nodded. Ryan had stroked his leaky, veiny chin thoughtfully and had finally said, “If you truly believe this to be of some importance, however minor,” and he had waved his hand in a laissez-faire manner, “then make the arrangements and I shall cooperate.” As a result, a day later, down the main street of the main city and into the main square of Apity Prime rode Wilhelm Ryan, winner of the Mage wars and the first Supreme Tri-Mage in millennia. He towered above the throngs, as was appropriate for one of his stature. The vehicle in which he was riding had been carefully designed by Deftinwolf to be both protective of Ryan and yet as unthreatening to others as humanly possible. It was a huge work of art. A tank towering ten stories high, festooned with swirls of red and yellow, and with banners and ribbons trailing from it that fluttered in the breeze. It also packed enough firepower to level five city blocks with just a few shots, but no one would have known that to look at it. The dome atop the tank was constructed entirely of transparent adamant. It was as impenetrable as the rest of the vehicle, and yet Ryan was entirely visible so that the masses could see him and adore him. Not everyone did. No one posed a threat to him. In addition to the formidable defenses that the tank provided, there were soldiers marching in quick-step on either side to provide further deterrence to any potential hostiles. Deftinwolf was at the head, cradling a pulser cannon in his arm that normally would have required the strength of two men to support. Bringing up the rear was another squadron of soldiers who had cylinders mounted on their backs and hoses attached to them with nozzles holstered at their sides. It appeared to be firefighting equipment of some sort. Serving as a stark contrast to the daunting display of sheer military force that was cruising down the middle of the city was music that was blaring over speakers mounted on various buildings. It was jubilant and celebratory, pulsing so loudly that people’s skeletons vibrated along with the beat. It served to drown out the howls of protest from some demonstrators who were waving placards with messages opposing Ryan. They were far in the minority. Most of the crowds had turned out to join in the rapture over the end of the Mage Wars. They didn’t care that Ryan had started it. All they cared about was that they needn’t concern themselves anymore with stray blasts coming out of nowhere and blowing their damned fool heads off. Ryan’s control over the public airwaves, in both radio and vid, had been instrumental in paving the way for a smooth reception. Ryan Will Guide Us had been the watchwords of Heaven’s Fence, with variations on that message pumped through every broadcast medium for hour after hour until it was practically embedded in the people’s cerebral cortex. It was so prevalent that people had scrawled the words on building walls and alleyways with spray cans of paint. There had been worries that the Wars were going to produce some sort of doomsday weapon that would be unleashed upon the Fence and devour it whole in a vast inferno. Heaven’s Fence will burn had been the oft-repeated prediction, and the majority of the masses were so relieved that hadn’t happened that they were embracing the opportunity to voice their relief. But the protestors were, as far as Ryan was concerned, not to be tolerated. A time of celebration was fine as far as it went, but there was no reason to put up with such outright shows of disrespect. A sizable number of them had gathered directly in the tank’s path in a clear attempt to stop the convoy’s progress. Deftinwolf was stepping forward, gesturing with his head that the troops should clear the way so the tank could proceed. When Ryan spoke, his voice went directly into a communications unit jacked into Deftinwolf’s ear. “General, pull your men back. I will attend to it.” Without waiting for Deftinwolf to respond, knowing that the order would be obeyed, Ryan flipped a switch so that his pronouncements now boomed over a loudspeaker. “Today is intended to be a day of celebration. I expect the residents of Sector 1 to recognize my sovereignty with as much fervor as those of any other sector, and join me in healing the great divides caused by this unfortunate but necessary war. Please step away so that the parade, and the celebrations, can continue.” They did not do so. Instead they converged on the tank, waving their signs higher and shouting profanities and anti-Ryan slogans. The boos raining down upon them from the vast majority of celebrants didn’t appear to deter them. Ryan shrugged. “Very well. There’s no reason that everyone else should be inconvenienced due to the actions of a few. On your own heads, then.” The tank roared forward directly at the protestors. Several of them scattered. Many of them held their path, still waving their placards, screaming obscenities, virtually daring Ryan to run them over. He obliged them. The looks of surprise on their faces was borderline comical. A few more of them, staring down their own deaths, broke and ran at the last moment. It did them no good, because they tripped each other up and collapsed in a heap. Ryan didn’t slow his tank or shift his path so much as an inch. Instead he ran right over them. The outcries of the rest of the crowd—cheers, actually, because crowds tended to adore a spectacle and this was certainly an example—drowned out the crunching of bones and the bursting of organs. A massive pool of blood spread from beneath the tank’s treads. Some of the protestors who had managed to avoid getting crushed shouted fury over the fate of their fellows. Upon seeing that, Ryan’s supporters—in order to show their love for him—shoved the protestors forward so that they fell beneath the tank’s treads as well. The tank ground to a halt, and then backed up, mashing even flatter what was left of the bodies. Then it rolled forward once more before stopping completely. Once again, Ryan’s voice boomed so that it was heard throughout the city: “My people! The pains you experienced as a result of the Mage Wars surely remain fresh in your minds. But I ask you this: As you were slaughtered in between the warring Mages, trampled like grass underfoot, where was your Almighty then? Is It too good to meddle in the Fence’s affairs? Or is It simply not there? The Ghansgraad makes empty promises to you, based on so many ifs, whats, and whens. I challenge that there is no celestial watchman from on high waiting to save anyone. My rule is here and now. Should you be willing to embrace it as my believers, than you’ll receive greater rewards than you’ve ever dreamed here in this life. Why wait patiently like dogs for a tidbit from the master’s table when I, Wilhelm Ryan, invite you to sit at the table and feast? Wilhelm Ryan will guide you! Let us cleanse ourselves of On High and Its deceit! Deftinwolf, let the cleansing begin!” As he had been speaking, the cheers escalated in volume until they came close to drowning out Ryan’s voice. It was the cue that Deftinwolf had been waiting for. He gestured for a squadron of soldiers bringing up the rear to come forward. They unholstered their nozzles as they did so, then took aim at the crowd and—upon Deftinwolf’s order—began firing. Liquid blasted out in all directions, and at first people stumbled, taken aback, fearing foul play. Many of them screamed, their mouths naturally wide open as a result. The liquid cascaded down their throats. They staggered, looked surprised. The soldiers let up on the “assault” for a few moments to allow the reaction to set in. Others in the crowd, who had been running instinctively, stopped in their tracks when they saw broad grins spreading across the faces of those who had been soaked. “The finest refreshment, courtesy of House Atlantic,” Ryan declared. “Let this be a day and night of the greatest celebration Apity Prime has ever known. And let it start here!” The soldiers turned on the nozzles again, and this time people in the crowd were falling over each other to get a taste. “Let all the pleasure and joy that can be shared, be shared by all! I, Wilhelm Ryan, so order it!” And Ryan looked upon what happened next, and found it to be good. The city had gone berserk. Word spread quickly of Ryan’s treat for those who supported his reign, and that was only the beginning. Whereas before, the sight of the Red Army moving through the city was enough to cause fear and panic, now they were greeted with interest and anticipation. They provided wine in copious amounts, and champagne to celebrate the greatness of the rule of Wilhelm Ryan. Everything else that followed more or less, developed naturally. The relief that the people of Apity Prime felt over the fact that the wars were over and that they were going to live, and that Wilhelm Ryan had a grand vision for where they were going to go next that was certainly going to benefit them…all of that came together and combusted like a volcano that had been stoppered and was now being unleashed. The city exploded in celebration. When the libations that Ryan provided had been used up, the citizens began looking elsewhere. The bars were as overrun as if a dozen sporting events were being celebrated simultaneously. Unfortunately, some of the exultation led to violence, particularly when some of the bars wound up going dry. Revelers turned to liquor stores, and when some of them couldn’t sell the booze fast enough, they were looted. Other victims of assault were those still bold enough to oppose Ryan, by waving their signs and shouting their protests in the drunken faces of his new followers. The revolutionists wound up with their placards ripped down, and were beaten into silence. But those were merely blips in an overall air of gleeful, unrestrained, unrepentant insanity that consumed Apity Prime.

Their heads clouded with drink and pure, raw emotion, the citizenry unleashed its passions. The air was thick with sweat, and cries of ecstasy mingled freely with moans of agony from those who tried to keep their heads and suffered physical abuse as a result. The bars that still had supplies finally stopped taking money. It seemed ungracious and not keeping with the spirit of joy, somehow. That worked out fine for the bartenders and owners, because willing partners rewarded the graciousness of the bar owners in other ways. The carnal delights that spread through the city were hardly limited to the business sector. It was overall a night of drunken debauchery such as no one could remember in the history of the Fence. Ryan had left the city as the insanity began, retreating to his new abode at House Atlantic. He had embarked on the remodeling of the keep, replacing an assortment of murals and statues depicting the achievements of the previous owner with images of himself. He had also created a tower for himself, a high tower that many felt attempted to reach to the clouds. From the tower, and his sanctum within, using the technological wonders at his command, he watched a city that was gripped in the throes of celebration with much the same manner and intensity that people were seized by orgasm. He waited to see if he would feel something as the debauched and occasionally depraved spectacle unfolded. He looked upward toward the night sky and said, “Honestly…was this the best you could do? Truly? Create creatures willing to work themselves into a state where they toss aside all reason? If the answer is yes, then what does that say about you? If the answer is no, then why didn’t you put some more effort into it?” He shook his head. “You disappoint me. We are going to have words, you and I. When I am running the universe—when I am lord over all creation—rest assured I’ll do a better job than this. And my followers will never doubt me the way yours are beginning to.” With that, Ryan retired to his inner chambers. He did not sleep as normal beings did. Instead he retreated into a deep contemplative state that he could control at will. Typically he remained in that state for an hour, two at the most. This night he stayed that way for six. He considered that most unusual. When he emerged from his inner chambers, he found something even more unusual waiting for him against the morning sky.

Chapter 6 The Black Rainbow

On the Star IV world of Bendelesh, the home of the Prise—the winged guardians of the word of God—Paranoia was the first to see it. The Prise had no single leader. Instead, each of the sisters took turns serving as the main voice of the Prise as situations required. In those instances, even the term “leader” was not one that they used. They preferred the term “guardian,” for “leader” implied that there was a diminishment of free will amongst the Prise. Not that it mattered all that much, the Prise customarily operated with one mind and spoke with one voice. Never had there been a hive mind that nevertheless valued its individuality as much as the Prise. To an outside eye or individual, there was nothing to distinguish one of the Prise from another. Physically they looked identical. They were long-lived, certainly, yet could die of natural causes or in battle. But who would be mad enough to battle the Prise? Wilhelm Ryan. That name was intruding upon Paranoia’s musings with growing frequency these days. It seemed his shadow continued to grow and stretched everywhere—even here into the heart of the Prise’s orange and gold temple, where great columns stretched nearly to infinity and walls shimmered in pale colors that evoked the star itself. This day Paranoia was wearing the tiara that signified her status as guardian. It was the first day of her term, one that had no set termination point. The Prise would simply decide that it was time for the tiara to change wearers, and the guardian would hand it over to the next individual. Paranoia reached up gently and touched the tiara. She knew that it was not appropriate for any of the Prise to take pride in the status of guardian. Yet secretly she was rather enamored of the tiara and wondered if some daunting situation would present itself during her term that would require her to serve, well and truly, her sisters, rather than simply be a figurehead. She walked to the outer rim of the temple and stared out at the skies. Morning and night were merely abstracts on Star IV, with the view never changing. Still, she had come to think of those arbitrary divisions as a means of keeping track of the passage of time in the universe. Paranoia blinked in confusion, not fully comprehending what it was she was staring at initially. She rubbed her eyes, blinked several times, and rubbed them again. It didn’t appear to make any sense; it had to be some manner of freakish cosmic occurrence, an illusion, a trick of the eye or of the mind, certainly. One that would vanish in short order, back to the inner recesses of her subconscious. It did not. “What in God’s name…?” she said, and quickly came to the conclusion that that was exactly in whose name it was. It was a signature written upon the fabric of reality and only one individual could have been wielding the pen that produced it. An ebony band was curved across the entirety of the skies above Heaven’s Fence. It was absolutely massive, as if someone had just reached into the firmament with unprecedented fury and ripped out an entire strip of reality, leaving a vast, gaping arc of nothingness in its stead. It was like a gigantic, pulsing open wound. A massive black hole seething with smoke and gas. It had no beginning, no end, and seemed as if it could swallow the entirety of Heaven’s Fence with absolutely no trouble. And from deep within its recesses, Paranoia was certain that she could hear distant screeches of infuriated agony, as if a doorway had been opened to a realm where a billion tortured souls were howling over their fate of eternal torment. That should not, could not have been possible across the void, even were that truly the case. Yet that was what she thought she was perceiving within her own head. Ordinary eyes would not have been able to see it set against the blackness of space. But Paranoia’s eyes were hardly normal; they could locate a single speck of meteorite dust bounding across the night sky. For those residing on the planets below, however, as the vast triangle of Heaven’s Fence slowly pivoted on its unseen axis, it would certainly be visible during the daylight hours that the Keywork provided. Paranoia closed her eyes and reached out with her heart, her soul, her very being, to perceive the reaction that was being prompted from below by this…this Black Rainbow—the words seemed to have a unusual weight or import to them—that had appeared out of nowhere. “What do you sense?” Her sister, Ambellina, was standing several feet away from her. Paranoia had not heard her enter. The Prise typically made no noise, unless they were charging into battle. The saying was that to hear the Prise meant that you were hearing the hoof beats of your death approaching. Ambellina typically was not much for small talk; she tended to cut straight to the heart of matters. “You’ve seen it, Ambellina?” “Of course,” she said impatiently. “And I know you are feeling for the concerns of Man. Again, what do you sense?” Paranoia kept her eyes closed. Then she let out a slow sigh and spoke as if whispering. “Panic. Confusion. Fear. Elation.” “Elation?” Ambellina cocked a thin, blonde eyebrow. “Elation? “ “Yes. Among other—” Ambellina shook her head impatiently. “Man can be utterly ridiculous sometimes.”

“Sister!” “I love you, Paranoia, you know that. But you continue to have far too much empathy for them. Elation!” “Why not?” said Paranoia, defensive as always about the humans who scurried about on the worlds below like ants with opposable thumbs. “Why should they not have a full range of reactions?” “Because of what it means!” “They don’t know what it means. Neither do we.” “Yes,” said Ambellina firmly, in a tone that left no room for argument. “Yes, we do. It is a direct sign from God that He is angry with us for the way that we have stood by and let Ryan engage in his battle for power and dominance. We are the guardians of the word of God, and if God is displaying His ire with those above, then obviously it cannot bode well for those below. The sisters know that, but do you?” Paranoia circled her, studying her. Ambellina remained perfectly still, not meeting her gaze. “What does that mean, precisely?” “It means that it is going to be your responsibility as guardian to make the right decision in this matter.” Ambellina tilted her head, listening to the air. “Our sisters have awoken from their slumbers. They are seeing the Black Rainbow as well. Swift actions are going to be required. You, Paranoia, are going to have to be prepared to do the right thing.” “The ‘right thing’ meaning whatever you believe is the correct course of action.” Ambellina closed her eyes as if trying to gather her thoughts so that she could then explain them as simply as possible. Then she opened them, and Paranoia was sure she was imagining it, but there actually seemed to be a bit of moisture in Ambellina’s eyes, as if she were deeply in mourning. “The fact is…the fact is, sister, that we have failed Him. We have let down our maker, and this is more than just a display of his anger. It is a warning. A warning that Ryan must be taken firmly in hand.” “And what would you suggest? That we charge down en masse to destroy him?” “We have no choice.” “We always have a choice. That is the essence of free will.” “Free will that was given us by God, and haven’t we done a superb job of it so far.” “Our province is the sky, Ambellina. Thrusting ourselves directly into the affairs of Man…that is not our way.” “But it was our way. We have convinced ourselves of that over the years, but ‘twas not always so. Once upon a time, Man was our business. We routinely took a direct hand in their affairs. They were like our children.” “But children cannot remain so forever. Sooner or later, they must learn to walk on their own. To become adults. We were trying to be kind to them by letting them exercise their own free will, to deal with the consequences of their own actions. We were allowing them room to grow…” “Nonsense, Paranoia. We turned our sights inward long ago, all but forgetting our children as they drew away from us and into the waiting hands of war. Their deaths are the direct result of neglectful caretakers.” “No one has died at our hand, Ambellina!” “No; they’ve died because we stayed our hand, and in many ways that is just as bad, if not worse.” She pointed toward the darkness. “That is what He is saying.” “We don’t know what He is saying. We have yet to truly listen.” “Paranoia,” she said patiently, “I know that contemplation is your way. Contemplation and caution and studying all aspects of a situation. But we do not have time for that. Not now. Not when the pure anger of God is incarnate before us.” “If that is indeed what it is—” Ambellina hit her. Her fist struck Paranoia on the side of the head. She hit the ground and sat there for a moment, stunned, clutching her skull and trying to overcome the ringing in her ears. She looked up at Ambellina, who was staring at her fist as if it had operated entirely on its own without regard to her wishes. “I…” Stricken, she looked down at Paranoia and then extended a hand. Paranoia gripped it and allowed Ambellina to haul her to her feet. Ambellina immediately put her arms around her, hugging her tightly. “I am sorry. Please accept my…I am so, so sorry.” “You believe passionately in your opinions. I understand that.” She touched her jaw tentatively and then pushed hard on it, snapping it back into place with an audible click. “But you see the danger and pointlessness of unbridled violence.” “I know. And your wisdom about such concerns is extremely important to me. But Paranoia…the timing of the Black Rainbow cannot be ignored. You are aware of what transpired on Apity Prime. Ryan celebrated his triumph. Depravity and debauchery ran rampant through the cities as a result. Come the dawn, the Black Rainbow appeared as mute condemnation of both Ryan’s victory and the lack of the public’s condemnation of it. It is a warning to them. They should be united in their interpretation of it. You said yourself that they are not. We must be united on their behalf, if we are to save them and live up to the trust that had been placed upon us by our Maker.” Paranoia stared at the Black Rainbow, hoping that it would speak directly to her. Make some sort of a statement, ideally speaking in a sepulchral voice projected directly into her mind, that would put forward the common sense of the matter to the Prise in terms so plain and firm as to command their assent. But there was nothing. Nothing save for the decisions that she was going to have to make. She could, of course, wait. Her term as guardian would eventually expire and another of her sisters would take charge. Then it would become her problem. Paranoia could step back and let someone else attend to it, content that her purpose was to follow instead of to lead. But something within her bridled against that. “There is a reason,” she murmured. “What?” “There is a reason that this happened while I am guardian. There is a reason that I am expected to deal with it. And I will. This will be dealt with. Ryan will be dealt with.” “Excellent,” said Ambellina. “I will alert the sisters.” “Ambellina…” “We will descend from on high—“ “Ambellina—“ “—and show both Ryan and Deftinwolf the dangers of…” “Ambellina!” The sharpness of her tone snapped Ambellina from her contemplation of slaughter. “What?” “That’s not what’s going to happen. Ryan’s actions are the affairs of the land. It is not enough that we gather our forces to combat him directly. Instead, humanity must respond in the only way that it can: with innovation. With imagination. With its own resources marshaled to meet the enemy and stop him.” “Your faith in humanity is touching, sister,” said Ambellina impatiently, “but they are simply not capable of dealing with someone on Ryan’s level. They’ve proven that.” “They’ve proven nothing because they haven’t truly been given the opportunity to battle Ryan on anything approaching his level.” “You don’t think that God is urging us to attend to Ryan ourselves?” She looked once more at the Black Rainbow and, as much to her own surprise as Ambellina’s, she smiled. “No. I think we are being urged to show humanity the light. And that, sister, is precisely what we are going to do. And in my observation of humanity, I believe I have found exactly the one to show it to.”

Chapter 7 Give Us the Monster

Mayo Deftinwolf was not scared. Mayo Deftinwolf was never scared. The most extreme reaction he ever had was to be disconcerted. He was, at this point, mildly disconcerted. On the other hand, he was in a situation where other men would likely have wet themselves, so his reaction was reflective of his enormous level of self-possession. Aside from Ryan himself, none was allowed in the High Tower save for Deftinwolf. He took advantage of that privilege now, striding up the stairs with full confidence. Never for a moment did he consider the possibility that Wilhelm Ryan would not know what to do or how to react. Many lifetimes of service on Ryan’s behalf had left him secure in the knowledge that there was nothing Ryan and he could not handle. What was mildly disconcerting, though, was this: The Mage Wars had turned out, beat for beat, exactly as Ryan had told Deftinwolf they would. Ryan had analyzed every aspect of the other Mages’ behavior. He had anticipated every single move that the Mages would embark upon. There was no time at any point in the wars that the Mages did anything that Ryan had not allowed for and prepared for. As devoted as he was to Ryan, even Deftinwolf was flat-out amazed at the sheer accuracy of Ryan’s predictions. It wasn’t as if Ryan had any sort of psychic ability. Instead, Ryan had told him, all clues came from history. “One does not need to be able to know the future; one only needs to be conversant with the past in order to guide the present, and the future will attend to itself,” Ryan had said. The problem with the Mages being as long-lived as they were was that they had fallen into consistent patterns of behavior. Those patterns had made them easy pickings for Ryan’s uncanny ability to extrapolate their next move in every situation by looking at what they had done in the past. Thus had he been able to dispose of them handily in the course of the wars. He was further confident that his scrutinizing of history would serve him in good stead insofar as his aspirations to greatness. He knew full well the unfortunate fate that had befallen the first Supreme Tri-Mage. Ryan was sure, however, that he would not share that fate, because “I learn from history, and will therefore know what mistakes to avoid.” So Deftinwolf was fully accustomed to everything that they encountered being anticipated by Ryan. Ryan would then confer with Deftinwolf, who would suggest the most efficient ways in which the matter could be addressed. Ryan would nod in satisfaction, talk yet again of how vital Deftinwolf was to the great causes that were being pursued, and send the General off with his blessing. Which was why Deftinwolf was mildly disconcerted. He was quite certain that nowhere, in all of his discussions with Ryan at any point, had there been a mention made of a Black Rainbow appearing out of nowhere, with apparently not the slightest intention of disappearing anytime soon. It seemed to hang there in the sky, taunting and defiant. Deftinwolf saw it as a symbol of the limits of his and Ryan’s power, of just how far they could go and no further in their endeavors, because what the hell was Deftinwolf supposed to do about a black damned rainbow? Shoot it? Blow it up? Conquer it? He reached the highest point of the High Tower and yet hesitated before entering. He was uncertain of the protocol, for this was still a relatively new environment. He raised his fist to knock—not tentatively, because he did nothing tentatively. Before he could do so, Ryan’s voice called from within: “You may enter.” Deftinwolf did so. He stopped, looked around. He had never been in this chamber before and he hadn’t been quite certain what he would see. He certainly had not been expecting to see this: Himself. That wasn’t the first thing that struck him about the room. The first thing to hit him was the cold. That was reflective of the rest of House Atlantic; Wilhelm Ryan liked to keep it cold. The moment Deftinwolf had entered the place he had felt chilled nearly to the bone. As he walked through the vast hallways of House Atlantic, past cavernous, high-ceiling rooms that could seat a thousand people with room to spare, he had noticed many of the servants were wrapped in heavy clothing to compensate. Glittering chandeliers hung overhead, and he could have sworn that they had frost on them. He had figured that the higher up he went, the warmer it would become since heat tended to rise. He was wrong. The room at the top of the high tower was so chilled that he had to flex his hand a few times to keep from losing feeling in his fingers. He opened his mouth and mist floated from it. It was one of the smaller rooms he had seen in his walk around House Atlantic. Then again, since Ryan was intended to be the sole occupant, how large did it need to be? The floor was simple, unadorned black and white tile, and the domed ceiling was clear, providing an unobstructed view of the skies. Furthermore, the room was entirely lined with gleaming metal shined to such a high polish that there were at least half a dozen images of him surrounding them. There were naturally multiple images of Ryan as well. He was standing in the middle of the room, his arms folded, invisible beneath his cloak. His silvery skin, typically out of place in broad daylight, looked remarkably well suited to the icy quarters. Ryan had clearly made it his natural habitat. Deftinwolf paused to gather himself and then stepped forward, all business. “Sir,” he said, “there is a situation about which—“ “The Black Rainbow.” Deftinwolf was relieved. It was good to know that Ryan was ahead of him on the subject. It made the situation more palatable. He bowed slightly. “Yes, sir. The Black Rainbow.” He paused and then said, with just the slightest touch of hope, “Is it…your doing?” “No,” said Ryan slowly. “No, it is not.” “I see. A trick of the Mages, perhaps?” “The Mages are either dead or incubating. How would you propose that one of them might be behind it?” “Obviously, they could not be.” Inwardly, Deftinwolf smiled. This was typical of the give-and-take between the General and the Supreme Tri-Mage. They both knew that each of them had considered all the aspects of the situation; they were now simply, through their back-and-forth, peeling away all the layers so that the conclusions they had already come to would be laid bare. “It would have to be the Prise, then, would it not? Only they would be capable of placing such an image in the sky.” “For what purpose?” “To sow discord, sir; to cause confusion and unrest. To make the people believe that it is somehow some manner of…of sign from on high that God disapproves of what has transpired.” “Or that he approves.” “The faithful are putting forward that argument as well. There are some who…” “Or…that he is issuing me a challenge.” “Yes, I suppose…” Deftinwolf’s voice trailed off as he suddenly began to comprehend what Ryan was implying. “Sir…are you suggesting that—?” “That it truly is a symbol from God? That the Maker, the Almighty, the beginning and the end of all that is and ever was and ever will be, has placed a sign across the

firmament that is intended to say to me, ‘Very well, Ryan. You have triumphed over all who opposed you. There is only one challenge left to you that is worthy, and I am it. Come against me, little man, for I shall destroy you as casually as one would crush a nettlesome insect’?” He smiled, and that was a terrible thing to see. “No, my dear General. I’m not “suggesting” that. I firmly believe it. What you are seeing in the sky is nothing less than God Himself acknowledging that I have caught his attention.” Deftinwolf processed that information. His initial concerns had been well-founded; Ryan had definitely never mentioned anything about catching God’s notice, much less having the Almighty throw down the gauntlet. The General wasn’t daunted by the prospect of squaring off against the Creator. He was willing to follow Ryan into the gates of Hell, much less into the maw of Heaven. Still… “With all respect, sir, may I ask: Is that a good thing, or a bad thing?” “It is merely another challenge, General.” “If it is a challenge to you, sir, then it is one I intend to join you in fighting and winning.” “And the prospect of battling the Almighty is not one that you find daunting?” “I think of it more as that the Almighty is battling us. He puts on a good show,” and Deftinwolf nodded in the general direction of the Black Rainbow. “But if He had it within his ability to dispose of you, then he surely could have, and would have, done so by now. It has generally been my philosophy that warnings are for the weak. The strong do not issue warnings. The strong strike quickly, efficiently, and with no mercy. The fact that God—if such there be—is holding back from doing so, speaks volumes to me.” “As it does to me. I am pleased we are on the same side in this regard, General.” “Always, sir. May I ask how, precisely, you intend to rise to this challenge? Tell me against whom to fight, and I’ll do so. Where shall I send my troops?” “Nowhere.” “Nowhere…?” “This is precisely what our opponent desires you to do, General,” said Ryan patiently. “He seeks to distract us from our current plans. Send us running about, trying to come up with some manner of direct opposition. Except you said it yourself: Were He of a mind or, more importantly, of the ability, to hinder us, then He would do more than put on a celestial light show. He would strike me down with a bolt of lightning from on high.” He spread wide his arms, threw back his head and called out in a challenging voice, “Do it! Do more than try to instill fear with your Black Rainbow! All-seeing, all-knowing. Know this: If you wish to stop me, then do it now! A blast of energy that even I could not withstand! Or abolish me in a burst of spontaneous combustion! I, Wilhelm Ryan, Supreme Tri-Mage, cordially invite you to take your best shot!” He waited. Nothing happened. He smiled. As he did so, a stream of gel-like pus oozed from an earthworm-like vein below his left jawbone. Mayo had become accustomed to such things and took no notice of it. “For the time being,” he said calmly, “we shall carry on as we were, General. And if your men seem the least bit daunted over the notion that we have somehow earned the wrath of God, tell them…” “Yes, sir?” “Tell them that His wrath is distant and irrelevant, and mine is right here and will have a very immediate impact.” Deftinwolf bowed deeply. “Very good, sir.” He pivoted on his heel and walked out, leaving Wilhelm Ryan looking heavenward. Slender windows lined the upper dome and the Black Rainbow was visible through them. “Very good indeed,” said Ryan with a contented purr. * * * Leonard Hohenberger was terrified. These days, Leonard Hohenberger felt as if he was always terrified. Once his constant companions had been his wife and his son. Now it was fear. Lousy stinking fear that filled every atom of his being. Furthermore, he was tired of feeling this way. It was exhausting, being constantly suffused with fear. He would never have guessed that constant fear could take so much out of you, but apparently that was the case. These days, Pearl and Leonard might well have been living in two different houses. She had once again retreated into herself, although only part way. She no longer sat about, one step above catatonia. Instead she focused on three things. First, upon her beloved insects in general and the syringa in particular. She would stand in the green house for hours on end, with her hand extended, as the delicate, green-winged creature fluttered about. Some days she neglected to bother with the gloves she once regarded as imperative, needing to feel a direct connection with the one thing still in her control. The syringa would land on her finger and simply sit there, stretching its wings, like gossamer drawing taut and loosening again. She would watch it from beneath her protective mask, and on the occasions that Leonard would look in on her, he saw her standing so motionlessly that the insects might have mistaken her for a tree. Second, she would sit in front of the vidscreen and intently watch the news,, which was carefully controlled by the government, endeavoring to shield the citizenry from anything that could be considered upsetting. The intent was to put forward as positive an image of the world and Ryan’s control of it as possible. These days, though, that goal had become increasingly problematic. It was impossible to put a happy, sunny face on the insanity that had occurred in Apity Central, the capital city of Apity Prime. Not that the news reports didn’t try. They spoke of the jubilation over the ascension by Wilhelm Ryan. Jubilation? Hohenberger thought. How can they call it that? Hundreds of people injured. Drunken insanity and violence. Behavior so appalling, that it’s almost as if we’ve abrogated the right to call ourselves human beings anymore. Thank God we were nowhere near it. Thank God we live far away from the madding crowds. Leonard Hohenberger had never been as glad as he was now that their home and laboratory occupied a sizable spread off in a fairly remote area, surrounded by forest, low mountains, and nothing resembling the hand of Man. The highest structures in the vicinity were towering trees, providing shelter and shade. He remembered the days when Joseph would scramble fearlessly upon the branches and Pearl would have to cry out to him not to climb too high for fear that he might… You should never have let him head off into the city. He was fine as long as his activities were limited to video chats with his pals. You should have kept him here where he was safe. The words kept banging around in his skull, and by this point he honestly could not tell whether they were Pearl’s sentiments or his own. The news reporters talked endlessly of how Ryan said he wanted to work closely with the government to bring a new spirit of cooperation and order to Heaven’s Fence. Hohenberger was completely certain that Ryan had never said anything of the kind. He didn’t give a damn about the government, or the concerns of the people. He cared about himself and about his desire for power, and that was the extent of his concerns. The news also made passing reference to an unusual astronomical phenomenon that had “intrigued” scientists and theologians alike. They called it the Black Rainbow (Hohenberger watched in bleak amusement as the on-screen spelling went from being lower cased to capitalized in the course of a news cycle) and were fully confident that it would be gone within a few hours. Pearl was certain it would not be. That was the third thing that occupied her. The Black Rainbow. She would sit outside and stare at it whenever she wasn’t with her insects, watching vid, or sleeping. Those were her three occupations these days. Pearl didn’t sit in a chair. She would simply curl her long legs under herself and sit on the ground gazing skyward. During the day she would watch it shimmering; during the night she would look up at the swath of stars that were no long visible due to the huge black, curving arc. “It’s Ryan’s doing,” she said the first time she gazed upon the Black Rainbow. “Are you sure?” He was relieved that she seemed willing to engage in a discussion that was of a scientific or even philosophic bent. “There are some who say—” “I know what some are saying,” she said sharply. “Wild pronouncements that God threw that up there as a sign of an oncoming apocalypse. Not to be confused with those people who assert that God put it there to voice his approval of Ryan’s triumph. You can’t truly buy into any of that bullshit, can you, Leonard?” “Bullshit…?” The last time Hohenberger had heard Pearl swear, it was while Joseph was being born, and it was certainly understandable at the time. Now it seemed uncharacteristic. “You don’t actually believe there’s a God after everything we’ve been through, do you? I mean, you’re not one of those deluded fools who tries to put a coat of gloss

over every tragedy that befalls him by cheerfully declaring it’s all part of God’s plan. One of those types that refuses to believe the world is cold and heartless and hopeless, are you?” The question stunned Hohenberger. He tried to frame a response but it didn’t come readily to him. As far as Pearl was concerned, it didn’t matter. She wasn’t waiting around for him to reply. She was talking as much to herself as she was to him. “We’re scientists. Scientists should know better than to think that there’s some invisible sky magician looking down upon us like some benevolent mother or father figure. Or…even more likely…a vast, unseen bully who visits disaster upon us whenever He’s bored. Who could possibly contemplate worshipping such a vindictive, spiteful creature?” “Pearl,” he finally found his voice, “look at the world in which we exist! Look at Heaven’s Fence! The manner in which it’s constructed, the Keywork, all of it! You cannot seriously believe that all these worlds…I mean, for God’s sake—pardon the expression—it’s a perfect triangle! You cannot think that it just…just happened to develop this way! That there wasn’t some designing mind behind it!” “So what if it’s a perfect triangle? Planets are perfect spheres. Human beings are symmetrical, for the most part. Designs evolve from nature in order to achieve full functionality and maximum potential. That doesn’t automatically equate with the notion that there is an architect above it all rendering that design on some cosmic blueprint and then physically producing it, just to watch it all go to hell.” “Pearl, don’t you think that—“ She whirled on him. “Where was He for my son!? Where was that cosmic motherfucker when my son’s life was spilling out onto the street? Where was He then!? When Ryan launched his crusade and thousands upon thousands died, where the hell was he? I’ll tell you where he was, Leonard. He never was! Or if he ever was, then he is long dead now and no longer a consideration. That,” and she pointed toward the Black Rainbow, “is nothing more than a trick conjured up by Wilhelm Ryan to celebrate his own greatness, and to scare the crap out of people, and if you think I’m going to be one of those terrified masses who looks up at it and trembles in fear of the Almighty Ryan or even the Almighty Himself, then you can just forget it! You know why? I don’t have any fear anymore! I’ve got nothing except my hatred for Wilhelm Ryan and for every weak-willed, softheaded, incompetent Mage who wasn’t able to stop that freak in his tracks! And if you don’t look up and see anything except the ‘Supreme Tri-Mage’ laughing down at you, then you are quite simply not the intelligent man I thought you were, and no different than any of those other powerless assholes who did nothing to stop him!’ She stood there, her fists balled, her body trembling. Then, her rage seemingly spent, she turned from him and stormed away into the green house. He heard the door bang behind him. There was the shattering of glass, followed by a loud, “Goddammit!” “Do you want me to—?” he started to offer tentatively. “Leave it alone! Leave me alone! Just…” Her voice trailed off, punctuated by a broken sob. Hohenberger covered his face. He wanted to cry or scream or react in some manner, but he couldn’t. He felt drained of emotion. He kept telling himself that eventually the full impact of the past days would fully sink in and that he would be able to release his pent-up frustrations. But part of him wondered if he wasn’t just kidding himself. If he was, in fact, dead inside, thanks to all that had happened, and that this…this emptiness…was all he was ever going to feel, ever again. Hell, what if everything Pearl said turned out to be right? Of course, proving a negative was always problematic, so it was hard to believe that establishing once and for all that there was no God could ever be done definitively. But if it were possible…would Leonard even mind at this point? Would he truly care if he and Pearl—if Man—meant nothing in the scheme of the universe? He needed to get out. He needed to get away from his home, his lab, the green house, and this…this clearly insane creature who had taken up residence in his wife’s body. He needed to regain control over something, anything at this point. There was only one place for him to go. He fled the house and ran, and then walked, a mile to the glade. The glade wasn’t particularly distinctive; there were any number of spots like it in the forest. But Joseph had always been fond of that one place, saying that the particular way that the light filtered through the branches was unique. Plus there was a sizable rock, a boulder that he liked to sit on and just daydream. He called the glade “inspiration hideout,” claiming that he had his best ideas there. It was where Leonard and Pearl had laid their son to rest. Typically this was not something that local officials would have approved of, but there was so much going on in the world that it simply wasn’t the sort of thing they had time to worry about. Besides, Hohenberger certainly had enough—as he liked to call them—high friends in low places. His reputation as a scientist was formidable enough, and the money he had made from various medical breakthroughs which were now in common usage throughout Heaven’s Fence had earned him both money and the right to be left to his own devices whenever possible. What that boiled down to was: It was his son and he could bury him wherever the hell he saw fit. No headstone had been necessary. Instead he had carved Joseph’s name into the boulder that he had so enjoyed sitting upon. Leonard sat perched upon the rock, running his fingers gently over the indentation that was his son’s name. “Hey, Joey,” he said softly. It was what he had called him when he was a little boy. When he reached the ripe old age of eight he had loudly declared that “Joey” was a baby name and henceforth he would be addressed as “Joseph.” His parents had exchanged patient glances, shrugged in unison, and had called him that from then on, with the occasional slip receiving a scowl and a remonstration from their very determined youngster. “I, uhm…” He drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I don’t know what to do, Joey. Your mom…she’s hurting so much, and I don’t have the words to help her or make her feel better. Maybe I should just back off and let time do the job. Except if you build something from clay and just leave it out in the heat, it becomes hardened. And I’m worried that your mother…that she’s going to become permanently what she is right now. That the fire of her anger is just going to bake her into something hard. The whole world’s gone crazy, Joey. It killed you, and it’s killing your mom, and I don’t have any answers.” He flopped backwards on the rock, his arms splayed to either side. His eyes were dams, a few blinks away from overflowing. He stared heavenward, stared up at the Black Rainbow, wondering if it was God, or Ryan, or something else entirely, and came to realize that he didn’t care. His son was dead; that was all that mattered. His son was dead, and whether the Rainbow was God’s disapproval or Ryan’s symbol of triumph, that was irrelevant. His son was still dead, and Wilhelm Ryan was responsible for it. “And the most terrifying thing,” he said as if still talking to his son, “is that we might take solace in the idea that this is the end of it. Now that he’s won, it’s all over. Except this is probably just the beginning. All of this was just a warm up for wherever Ryan’s schemes take him next. A man like Ryan…he doesn’t conquer just for its own sake. He is always looking to the next level. And it’s horrifying to think what the next level is going to be, considering what he’s done so far. I fear that…” He hesitated, trying to steady his voice. It was a sign of how much Hohenberger felt the need to be in control that he actually stopped and composed himself even though there was no one else around. “I’m afraid of what is to come. I am afraid what is going to happen to Pearl. I am afraid of what is going to happen to the world…to the worlds. And more than anything, I’m afraid that I’m going to spend the rest of my life feeling like this…of feeling helpless and—“ “Fear not. Your time for fear is done.” Hohenberger was so startled that he twisted around to see the source of the voice and tumbled off the rock. He hit the ground, lying on the plot of dirt under which his son was lying. Leonard wasn’t thinking about that, though, because the voice was nothing like anything he’d ever heard. It was like the jingling of bells, of a thousand chimes, yet as ephemeral as the rustling of a butterfly’s wings. On the ground, he raised his eyes toward the speaker and instantly he covered them again. “Why are you doing that?” There was the faintest hint of amused curiosity in the voice. “I’ve—” His throat was constricting as if it had too much blood in it. “I’ve heard that to…to look upon…upon—” “To see our face is to die?” “Yes.” “You are a scientist. Are you going to take the word of others when personal discovery beckons?” Slowly, very slowly, Hohenberger looked up toward the being who had appeared from nowhere before him. It was a Prise, exactly as they had been described in all the literature. She floated there, unconcerned about her nakedness, suffused in a soft blue glow. Her wings were gently beating, keeping her elevated. The only thing approaching a garment was a tiara upon her head that glittered in the light. “Is my face that terrifying a thing to behold, that you are going to die as a result?” “I…that is to say…” He paused and then said, “No. No, it’s not. It’s…it is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.” “I imagine it is. You have been chosen, Leonard Hohenberger.”

“For…what?” ‘To stand against Wilhelm Ryan.” “Isn’t it…and I say this with all respect…” He was having trouble keeping his gaze focused upon her face. His eyes wanted to take in all of her beautiful body, and it was with conscious effort that he resisted. “Isn’t it a little late for that?” “It is never too late to do what is right.” “But he’s won! Ryan has won! He’s conquered the Mages! He has taken control of all twelve sectors! What else is there for him to accomplish that he can be stopped at?” “Do you truly wish to do nothing and thus learn the answer to that question?” He considered that, looking inward rather than at her. “No. My God, no.” Sparked by the mention of the name, he looked back up at her. “Is God responsible for the Black Rainbow?” “That is yet another question to which you do not truly wish to learn the answer. Now: Ask of me the only question that matters.” He was afraid to, and he knew why. She represented hope, something that was in short supply these days. Between the death of his son, and the rage against Ryan that was devouring his wife, he desperately wanted to believe that the Prise represented a means of rising up against him. But what if that was false hope? How much more disappointment could he endure before it crushed him completely. And yet he asked the question: “What can I do? I’m just one man.” “That is more than sufficient if the one man is the right man.” “And that’s me?” Despite the confidence in the Prise’s voice, and the glory of her presence, he was still dubious. “I’m the right man?” “You are the only man.” “And…what am I supposed to do?” “You will create a ground force. A force of such overwhelming strength that it will stop Wilhelm Ryan in his tracks.” “Really.” It was an understatement to say that Leonard was skeptical of the concept. “Yes. Really. And it is to be done in absolute secrecy. Ryan must not know this is being done, or he will stop the project before it can come to fruition.” “And how precisely am I going to accomplish this project? Am I going to pull one hundred thousand men out of my…” Suddenly he looked down, embarrassed, not wanting to finish the sentence out of respect for the celestial creature that had appeared before him. “Ass? Is that the word you were searching for?” He thought he heard a slight increase in the tinkling sound that might very well have been barely restrained laughter. Then it faded. “You will find that quality trumps quantity. You will not require one hundred thousand men to accomplish this goal.” “How many, then?” “Three.” “Th—?” He had to choke back a laugh, utterly convinced she had to be joking. “Three. Three against Ryan’s hordes?” “Yes. But they will not be any ordinary three. You will create them, and they will possess abilities beyond human ken. Beyond even the ken of Wilhelm Ryan.” “Create them?” Leonard could scarcely contemplate what she was suggesting. “Are you talking about ACG…Artificial Cellular Generation? With all respect, Miss… do you have a name?” “Yes. But it is not for you to speak.” “All…all right. Miss…Prise…look, yes, I’ve done things with ACG. More than anyone else, I’ve used it to grow skin grafts, organ replacements. And fractures...I’ve improved the healing time of sustained fractures. Small things, that have been boons to medical science and improved the overall quality of life. But you’re talking about…I don’t know, about growing human beings from scratch. And presumably imbuing them with abilities that will make them formidable enough to take down Wilhelm Ryan.” “That is correct.” “With all possible respect, Miss Prise, that is beyond my abilities. Even if I could fashion clones, or splice enough genes, to fashion a human being, it would take as much time to grow such a…a creature…as any other human being. Unless you’re suggesting we wait twenty, thirty years…” “You do not have that sort of time. You will have to expedite the growth process.” “But I don’t know how!” “Yes. You do. All you require is the creative spark.” “I…I don’t…” She glided forward, and Hohenberger wanted to fall back, to scramble away from her, to run as fast as possible. Instead he was paralyzed on the ground, and he could not determine for the life of him whether she was somehow holding him there with the power of her mind, or if he was simply too terrified to move. The Prise reached down toward him, extending her index finger, and she touched his forehead. A jolt, like a burst of electricity, leaped from her finger to his temple. He cried out, which immediately shamed him. To the best of his knowledge, this was the first time in recent history—perhaps in any history—where a member of the Prise had interacted in this manner with a mere human. And rather than embrace the moment, he had cried out in terror. What sort of sense of discovery was that? “Think of it as a divine spark,” she said gently. And suddenly, just like that, all fears and doubt went away. Formulae leaped into his head, and it wasn’t as if the Prise had placed them there. She had been correct about that; they had been present the entire time. They had simply been floating around in different parts of his brain and he had never made the connections before. It was like having several different destinations in mind and he had just been handed a roadmap so that he knew how to travel from one point to the other. “Of course,” he whispered. “Oh my God, of course. I’ve been an idiot. A complete idiot. How could I not have seen it? How…?” “It is clear now?” “Of course it’s clear.” He wasn’t bothering to look at her; he was too absorbed with the concepts thundering through him. “It’s all in the TP523. The synthetic 23amino acid peptide I developed for fracture healing. I can use the TP523 to modulate expression levels of proteins that are primarily involved in the functional categories of cell growth. It would be a sort of an anti-cancer, except it would involve healthy cells instead of cancerous ones. The TP523 could hyper-accelerate the cell growth. Not only that, but the resulting creations would be functionally indestructible. Their cell replacement velocity would be so rapid that they could overcome any injury short of decapitation. But speed…speed of their creation will still be an issue. Perhaps an artificial bone structure…yes. Yes, that could make blood distribution even more efficient, especially if I could craft a techno-organic metal that…” Abruptly he remembered that he was not alone. Except he was. There was no sign of the Prise. Leonard was even beginning to wonder if she had, in fact, ever been there in the first place. It didn’t matter. He had other things on his mind. He burst into his home and Pearl was waiting for him. She was standing there in the middle of the living room, like a statue, and he had no idea how long she had been there waiting for him. He felt as if he needed to say something. Anything. “Pearl…every night I pray to God that you can rest. Seeing what this has done to you….it hurts me more than any man can bear. I’d give you anything—everything—if only I knew you’d take it.” She walked slowly toward him and he braced himself for more anger or accusations, or to have the words he’d just spoken thrown back in his face. Instead she took his hand, and he trembled and let out a sigh as she did so. “I hate everything I am becoming,” she said. “This hand,” and she squeezed his, “this hurt, my…my heart. I’m flirting with disaster. Please, let’s just take it a second at a time.” He did as she asked, then, holding her tightly, so hard that he had to back off lest he break her. Then he looked down at her and said, “You were right. Ryan has to be taken down, and I’m the one who’s going to do it.” He then gently set her aside. Even so she almost lost her footing and caught herself against the wall at the last moment. She watched him head toward his laboratory and wondered what the hell had just happened. Her husband would have been in no position to tell her. By the end of the day, the

presence of the Prise would be little more than a distant memory for him. By the following morning, even that would be gone, and he would only know that while he had been in Joseph’s thoughtful place, inspiration had struck. And now he was preparing to strike as well.

Chapter 8 A Wretched Design

While Hohenberger worked, the ebony stripe in the sky was changing Heaven’s Fence. There were incessant disputes as to the significance of the Black Rainbow; what it meant for the present, and what it portended for the future. Entire cults arose centered on either worshipping or disparaging the Black Rainbow. The reactions were typically extreme, divided between those who saw it as a sign that supported the rule of Wilhelm Ryan, and those who saw it as a condemnation of Wilhelm Ryan. Either way, how it related to Ryan was at the center of all such disagreements, and that suited Wilhelm Ryan just fine. The normally bright days that graced the Fence were now dingy and gray. Reports of respiratory infections increased tenfold; emergency clinics were filled with wheezing children and worried adults. Cases of depression became more widespread, bordering on the epidemic. The suicide rate began to rise, as did the homicide rate. Enthusiasts described the era as the “Year of the Black Rainbow.” And social scientists came to the conclusion that all that death was actually misdirected anger. The real target was Ryan. But, at least at first, people felt that Ryan was untouchable, unassailable, too well protected, and too powerful. So they channeled their rage and frustration at each other or even themselves. By the same token, there were just as many who channeled their desperation into supporting the one being who they thought could make the Black Rainbow go away…namely Wilhelm Ryan. While Ryan’s zealots and those who opposed his rule had conflicting agendas, they would prove to have a very dangerous “something” in common: a rapturous passion to fight for the cause, to the point of unspeakable crimes against one another. Conflicts arose that often erupted into confrontations. When such confrontations threatened to bubble over into full-blown conflicts, sometimes Ryan’s men would intercede. But when rioting over the Black Rainbow showed no sign of an end, Ryan grew bored with wasting the Red Army’s military resources on keeping the peace for a people he considered no more than insects. He appointed twelve overseers, designated them as “Eurocons,” and charged them with regulating the sectors and reporting to him. It was a means of cutting through the cumbersome array of governments and bureaucracies that had infested Heaven’s Fence. If Deftinwolf was the hand of Ryan, the Eurocons were the fingers, keeping their pulse on the people, acting on behalf of, and with, Ryan’s authority. In short, the Eurocons were able to help turn off kettles before the water within reached full boil. After a time, Ryan no longer even bothered to glance at the skies. Leonard Hohenberger, on the other hand, never lost sight of them, or what the object displayed above represented. He estimated initially that it would take him at least six months to create his first protohuman, or IRO-bots as he called them. He beat the schedule, although not by much. And he looked upon the face of his creation, which was a mirror image of his own. And knowing that he would send his creation into the inferno of battle, he dubbed him “Inferno.” And then he set about creating the remaining two thirds of his trinity. The man he created from cell samples, the origins of which he knew. The woman he fashioned from cell samples, the origins of one of which he did not know but, oddly, never wondered about. Had he been of a mind to question it, and had he received an answer to that question, he would have learned that it was cellular material that had come to him courtesy of the Prise. But he did not ask, and therefore did not know. Which is either good or bad depending on whether one believes that ignorance is bliss or folly. * * * Coheed came on line eighteen weeks, three days, eighteen hours and eighteen minutes after the moment that he was conceived. He knew absolutely nothing. His mind was blank, a tabula rasa. He did not know his name, nor would he have been able to speak it even if he had known. He did not know what he was or where he was. He was a creature of pure sensation. Slowly he became aware of his whereabouts, but he would not have been able to express any understanding of them or explain them to anyone. All he knew was that he was floating (except he didn’t know any state other than floating) in an eight-foot tall cylinder (except he didn’t know shapes) someplace (except he didn’t know places) and that he was hungry (except he didn’t know how to eat or what to eat or even what eating was). Naked and drifting helplessly in the all-enveloping nutrient bath, Coheed slowly opened his eyes. Nothing made any sense to him because he had no frame of reference. All he knew was that slowly that pang in his gut was beginning to subside. He had no way of knowing that it was because a gestational tube connected to his belly was pumping sustenance directly into him. As his body’s needs were being attended to, Coheed twisted around in the tube and tried to see something of his whereabouts. What he managed to discern was a female (except he didn’t know…) Female. The opposite of male. The gender of humanity capable of producing ova, eggs, for fertilization and procreation… The knowledge came flooding into his head, as if someone else was pouring information into it. Coheed was startled and his body went rigid momentarily. Her eyes were closed, her hair floating around her head like a black mass of seaweed. His eyes lingered over the curve of her hips, the upturn of her breasts. * * * “He’s reacting to Cambria.” The observation had been made by Doctor Inaid. Prim and proper, she was one of two lab assistants who Hohenberger had taken on to aid him in some of the detail work in the creation of the IRO-bots. She and her partner, Doctor Stockmeyer, had been willing to come on board in total secrecy and without asking any questions. Logical questions, such as, “What are you planning to use these things for?” “What do you mean, he’s reacting?” Hohenberger crossed the lab and leaned over her, studying the readings. Before Inaid could respond, Inferno did so with his customary calm, slightly superior tone of voice. “He’s reacting, Doctor, to the fact that she’s a woman.” Hohenberger found Inferno’s attitude to be rather annoying, and even moreso when Pearl observed that he sounded remarkably like a young Leonard Hohenberger. “I was never that arrogant,” Leonard had said archly, “and furthermore, I was never that young.” Pearl had laughed at the comment, which was gratifying to Hohenberger. Her laughter, so easily expressed in the past, had been the first thing to vanish when the grief of her son’s death had overwhelmed her. The fact that it had returned to her was an auger of good things as far as Hohenberger was concerned. It appeared that the creation of the IRO-bots had been therapeutic for her. It gave her a sense that they were accomplishing something, and served to extinguish—or at the very least dampen—the flames of rage burning within her.

“That’s impossible,” said Hohenberger to Inferno’s assessment of Coheed’s state of mind. “He’s designed to be emotionless. Asexual. Both of them are. Makes them more effective fighting machines.” “Whatever the intent, Doctor,” said Inaid, “judging by the readings—the pulse, the hormone surge—he’s reacting in a way that doesn’t seem consistent with that design.” “You should not assume anything,” Hohenberger said, checking the computer feed. The instrumentation was operating within normal parameters, indicating that bits of information were flowing into Coheed’s cerebral cortex as planned. “The data does not necessarily indicate any causal link between Coheed’s perception of Cambria and the readings you’re getting. It could well be coincidence. It probably is.” Inaid shrugged, but Hohenberger could see in her face that she remained unconvinced. Inferno stared thoughtfully at Hohenberger. “Doctor, if I may ask…” “Of course, Inferno. You can ask anything you wish. That is the only way you will learn.” “That, and having data pumped directly into my head, as you are in the process of doing with Coheed and will shortly be doing with Cambria.” “Yes, well, there is that. Anyway, you wanted to ask me something?” “You created me. You are in the process of creating two more beings such as myself.” “Why am I not producing an army of you?” “Yes.” “Several reasons. First and foremost: resources. The amount of cellular matter that is required to produce one of you is…sizable.” “Finances are a restriction in acquiring it?” “Finances are a factor, but not the only one. I am endeavoring to make certain that Wilhelm Ryan does not learn of my activities. If I attempt to create the sizable army that the situation would seem to call for, I risk sabotaging my efforts before they reach fruition.” “The more IRO-bots you produce, the more likely he is to notice.” “That is exactly right.” Slowly Inferno nodded. “That makes a great deal of sense.” “Thank you, Inferno.” Inferno’s gaze never left him. If anything, it seemed deeper and more penetrating than ever. “Of course, it may also come down to trust issues.” “Trust issues? I’m not sure I’m following, Inferno.” “It is rather simple, really. You cannot be certain how your other two creations and I will function once we are put out into the world. You will no longer have full control over us. We will be receiving new information, new cortical stimulation, that you have nothing to do with. There is always the concern that we might wind up allying ourselves with Ryan. If you produce only three of us and Ryan should turn us, that is hardly as problematic as producing three hundred of us, or three thousand, and unwittingly delivering a devastating army into Ryan’s hands.” Hohenberger held his gaze for a long moment and then laughed. “Inferno,” he said finally, “believe me, when I have Coheed and Cambria fully functional, the three of you will be more than a match for any army. Three of you will be all that is required.” “I hope that you are correct, Doctor.” “I know I am.” He patted Inferno on the back. “Why don’t you monitor the information flow? After all, you’re far more attuned to machinery than I am. It should come naturally to you.” “Yes, Doctor.” Hohenberger watched him go, and kept the smile etched on his face for as long as he could. Eventually, though, it faded. It disturbed him how well Inferno was able to know Hohenberger’s mind. He should not have been surprised; of the three of them, Inferno was the closest to Hohenberger, a ninety-nine percent genetic match. He was starting to feel relieved that there would be other genetic components in the Coheed mix, and—obviously—even more in Cambria. There were only so many people he wanted to be of the exact same mind as he was. “Doctor! It’s finished!” Doctor Stockmeyer entered with his typically gangly stride, his skinny limbs swinging like pendulums on a clock as he moved. He was carrying something that was several feet long beneath a cloth cover. That was typical for him; Stockmeyer always had something of a flair for the dramatic. He shoved away some materials carelessly from a table and lay it down. Doctor Inaid cocked her head and stared at it with puppy-dog curiosity. Hohenberger just grinned. “Is the new toy ready?” “It is indeed.” “Care to demonstrate?” “Happily.” He walked away but quickly returned with an iron bar about five feet long. Then, pausing for effect, he yanked the cloth clear. There was what appeared to be a long, skeletal metal arm lying there. It gleamed in the morning light. “At the moment,” he said, as he carefully positioned the iron bar so that it was leaning against the skeleton, “I’ve rigged it to be triggered by sound—in this case, a clapping of the hands…” “You mean like this?” said Inaid and brought her hands together. “No, wait!” shouted Stockmeyer and then, realizing that it was too late, he threw himself backwards. He was barely in time as machete-like blades snapped out of the metal arm. One of them sliced through the iron bar and it clattered to the floor, neatly bisected. The pieces fell next to Stockmeyer, who was also on the floor, gasping for breath. Inaid had a hand to her mouth, her eyes wide in shock. “I see they work,” said Inferno mildly. “Oh my God!” said Inaid, whose involvement had been purely in tracking the IRO-bots’ DNA and hadn’t been at all involved with the development of weaponry. She went to Stockmeyer and put out a hand, helping him up. “Stock, I’m so sorry! I…I don’t know what I was thinking…” “No harm done,” Stockmeyer said, smoothing his lab coat and trying to recapture his air of professionalism. “As I was saying…at the moment, sound responsive. Once the structure is implanted in Coheed, they will be cybernetically entwined. He merely has to think it and the blades will be produced.” “And the cannon?” “Ah. Even better. Be right back.” This time when he returned it was with something else covered, this time on a rolling table. With that same overly dramatic flourish, he yanked off the cloth to reveal a small but nonetheless formidable-looking cannon. “A transforming arm-cannon. The basic mechanisms were designed to create a digging machine. I customized it for our uses. It may look heavy,” and he easily lifted it off the table, “but it’s incredibly lightweight. Coheed will have no trouble wielding it, and it will have minimal recoil.” “Why is he getting all the weaponry instead of Cambria?” said Inaid. “Cambria isn’t going to have the bone structure or necessary body density,” said Hohenberger. He pointed toward her, floating in the tank. “But she’ll have other advantages.” Stockmeyer, who was cradling the weapon, turned toward Cambria. “That’s true. She will possess low level psionic—” At that moment, Cambria opened her eyes for the first time. Information was still pouring into her cerebral cortex, but there was enough there to tell her that a gun was a weapon, and that a weapon being pointed at her was a threat to her well-being. Her eyes widened and the liquid in the tank bubbled ever so slightly, which was just enough warning for Inferno, processing the information faster than any normal man possibly could have. Just as Inferno knocked Stockmeyer flat, the air above him seemed to come alive with the force of a seismic shockwave. It ripped over Inferno’s head, kept going, and knocked over a cabinet that weighed just over three hundred pounds.

The cannon clattered to the ground. The moment it did, there was the sound of retracting squares of metal emerging from the base and all along the shaft of the cannon. Within moments the entire device had transformed into what looked like a solid metal arm. The fingers twitched spasmodically. The perceived threat past, Cambria’s eyes fluttered shut. “What the hell was that?” Doctor Inaid shouted. “I…I’m not sure,” said Hohenberger. Doctor Inaid turned to look at him, her face grave. “I was right, wasn’t I? You denied it, Doctor. Denied it to my face, but damn it, I was right. Those DNA matches… you said I was reading too much into it…” “Into what?” said Stockmeyer as Inferno helped him to his feet. “Cambria,” she said, “has DNA traces that have a .0001 match-up with those typical of a Mage.” “That’s impossible,” said Stockmeyer. “Mages don’t procreate. They don’t provide DNA samples. How would you even know—?” “There are certain markers to look for. I thought I spotted them and Doctor Hohenberger claimed I was getting concerned over nothing. My God, Leonard,” and she looked with worry toward Cambria, “we’ve kept ourselves purely on a need-to-know basis. But the things you’re mucking with—that you’ve pulled us into! The danger involved! They could wind up blowing this place off the face of the world before they’re even fully activated!” “It will be fine,” he said with conviction. “I promise you—” “And if you’re wrong? What are you going to do when this place is a crater and we’re all incinerated? What are you going to say? ‘Whoops’?” “That won’t happen.” “How can you be sure?” “Because I can be,” he said firmly. “And you can, too.” He was sure that would be enough.

Chapter 9 The Same Old Story

Coheed had her cold. He was positive of it. Cambria had been sprinting through the woods, making no attempt to hide her presence, and she had no idea that Coheed was perched in the brush ahead of her. When she drew near enough, he could easily leap out, tackle her and take her down. The training exercise would be over and he would be the unquestioned winner. She would hate that, because she was as competitive as Coheed…perhaps even moreso. But all was fair in war and… He paused, and it was just long enough for Cambria to dash past him unmolested. Seeking to rebound from his foolish hesitation, Coheed leaped out behind her and bellowed, “A-ha!” in a manner that he was certain would freeze her in her tracks. She spun, saw him, backed up, and if he had leaped immediately he would have had her but he didn’t want to attack her…but she was supposed to be the enemy!…But how could he pretend that when she—Enough! Just do it, you idiot! He took two steps and left the ground, leaping at her feet first. What should have been a quick, seamless assault was instead slow and clumsy, and Cambria had more than enough time to get out of his way as he landed about a yard beyond where she’d just been standing. And suddenly something snapped at his ankle. He didn’t even look down. The moment he heard it, he tried to leap clear of it without stopping to analyze it. It didn’t make any difference. The tree to which the snare was attached snapped taut just as the loop drew tight and bit into his ankle. Coheed was yanked heavenward as an audible spraaaaang filled the air. “Shit!” bellowed Coheed, which was a long ways from his triumphant cries of a mere moment earlier. Cambria folded her arms and looked upward, grinning. Coheed brought his arm around, apparently ready to activate the cannon within. “Don’t forget, Coheed,” she said. “The Doctor warned us not to damage any of the environment. Have respect for our surroundings, remember? So if you were planning to shoot the tree, you might want to rethink the—huh?” Coheed had lowered his right arm but was now bringing up his left. He let out a shriek of pain as glistening machetes snapped out up and down the length of the arm. “What the hell—!” she said in protest. “Where did those come from?” “You like ‘em?” said Coheed. He was snickering in what could only be termed an extremely annoying fashion. “Always been there. The Doc told me about them this morning. Warned me the bastards would hurt like a son of a bitch, and he was right. Now let’s see…” Displaying remarkable strength, and with absolutely no leverage at his disposal, Coheed pulled his torso upward and swung his left arm around. The blades sliced through the rope that Cambria had swiped from the Doctor’s supply shed (he had, after all, said “Anything goes”) with no problem. Coheed dropped to the ground and landed heavily on his side… And started to scream. It was the most terrifying sound Cambria had heard in her relatively short life. “I landed on ‘em!” Coheed screamed. “I landed on the blades, oh God, Cam! I think…God, they drove into my guts! Cam, I’m gonna die, I—“ “It’s okay, it’ll be okay!” Cambria cried out, and she ran to him, unsure of whether she should try to move him or if that would just make matters worse. The moment she was within range, Coheed lashed out with his right foot and caught her square in the gut. Cambria was knocked clear off her feet, flying two yards before crashing up against a tree across the clearing. And then Coheed was atop her and she was still confused, and all he had to do was knock her cold. It wouldn’t take more than a sharp blow to the head. His fist was curled, ready to strike… And then he opened his hand and, instead, brought the tip of one of his blades directly above her eyeball. “That,” he said, “was just plain dumb, Cam. Letting your guard down like that…” Her eyes narrowed and she shoved her hand against his chest. The air seemed to sizzle around him and suddenly Coheed was blasted backward. He tumbled through the air, his arms flailing, trying to pull himself out of his spiral. His left arm thudded into a towering oak with a wide trunk. The machetes rammed into the tree. Coheed hung there, supported by his arm. He tried to pull them free but they were buried too deeply. He tried to bring his feet up so that he could brace them against the tree and push, but the soles of his boots kept skidding off. “You stupid—!” shouted Cambria, so inarticulate with fury that she couldn’t even finish the sentence. She brought her hands up again and pointed them straight at Coheed. “Cam…remember about respecting our surroundings…protecting the environment…” “Screw the environment!” Realizing he had about two seconds, Coheed swung his legs up and wrapped them around the trunk. It braced him sufficiently that he was able to push backwards and yank the blades clear of the tree. He thudded to the ground just as Cambria’s shock blast slammed into where he’d been. The tree shuddered and there was a loud cracking and snapping as the upper section ripped free from the lower. It started to fall backwards but then the branches snagged in the branches of other trees, leaving it hanging there halfway. Cambria took aim once again. This time Coheed leaped straight up, over the blast, snagging the upper portion of the tree as her blast tore through the air below him. He ripped the tree clear with a series of deafening snaps as the branches tore off and he hit the ground once more. Then, with a low grunt, he drew back the upper section of the tree and let fly. Cambria saw it coming and still was hard pressed to get out of the way. She hit the ground, covering her head, as the tree sailed over her, missing her by scant inches. She started to get up again and suddenly Coheed landed heavily on her back, flattening her. She cried out in fury, but her hands were being held flat to either side, and her head was pushed down into the soft dirt. The aroma of a grove of pine trees a short distance away mingled with the smell of sweat from the wrestling man and woman. Once again it would have taken nothing more than a quick, decisive blow to end it; and once again, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Instead he warned her, “Give up, Cam! If you can’t point at me—” “I don’t have to point, you imbecile!” And suddenly both Coheed and Cambria were airborne. She had fired a blast directly into the ground, sending them both hurtling skyward. Coheed tried to reposition himself but it was too late. He slammed heavily into a particularly large overhead branch. The branch snapped off from the impact and seconds later Coheed, Cambria and the branch fell back to the ground. Cambria landed first, Coheed a few moments later. He glanced up just in time to see the branch about to land on Cambria’s skull. He caught it just before it struck her and tossed it aside. She glowered at him. “Am I supposed to thank you for that?” “You mean for making it so that you didn’t get cracked in the skull?” “Maybe if it had hit you in the skull, it would have knocked some sense into you!” He got to his feet and dusted himself off. His black workout uniform was covered with dirt, leaves and bits of bark. “What the hell is your problem?” “My problem? My problem?” She extended her hands, clearly ready to hurl another shock blast at him. Coheed started to take a step back but then held his ground and simply stared at her challengingly. “Where do you get off—?” she started to say, but before she could unleash a blast, a hand grabbed her wrist firmly. She turned and saw Inferno standing there. As

was typical for him, there was no sign of disapproval in his face. He looked calm, even dispassionate, as if he had no personal stake in any of what was going on. She tried to pull away but he didn’t release her immediately. “Let go.” “Once you calm down.” “You want to see calm?” Her eyes began to glow in a manner that was very distinctive. “Don’t!” he said sharply. It was not a plea but more in the spirit of an order mixed with a very pronounced warning. “Do not even think about trying to seize control of my mind. Or his,” and he gestured with a nod of his head toward Coheed. “You know that was against your instructions. You do remember about instructions, yes? Those things that you are supposed to follow rather than ignore?” “Why not talk to him about it?” she said, with defiance in her voice. “He treated this like it was a game…” “Well, they’re called ‘wargames’ for a reason,” said Coheed. “Shut up,” said Cambria. “You’re in enough trouble.” Coheed looked to Inferno and shrugged in a What am I supposed to do? manner. Inferno didn’t seem to comprehend any better than his “brother.” “I fail to see how he is in trouble.” “That act he pulled about being hurt! He—“ “He caught you off guard. Do you truly believe that an enemy will not use every trick at his or her disposal to turn your own weakness against you?” “I’m not weak,” Cambria said heatedly. “If you were willing to give an enemy quarter, then yes, you are. Because I can assure you,” said Inferno firmly, “that an enemy will not provide you the same consideration. If in the midst of a battle, Wilhelm Ryan is lying there with a sucking chest wound, begging for succor, the only action you take is to finish him off. Do you understand that?” “Yes.” “Say that you understand it.” She pulled away from him then, as much from the fact that he was letting go as from her own strength. “I understand,” she said, her jaw set. “Good. Now remember it. Coheed,” and Inferno turned to him, “you were foolish to throw yourself onto her. You could have used your arm cannon. For that matter, there were several times where you could have dispatched her. Why didn’t you?” Because I enjoyed the attention I was getting from her. Because I didn’t want to hurt her pride. He shrugged. “I was afraid I would hurt her.” “Concern over her wellbeing was not among your mission parameters. This training exercise was about incapacitating your opponent. You both did well, but you could have done better.” He heard a snort of laughter from Coheed. “What do you find so amusing?” “You, ‘Ferno. If you gotta ask. You. Acting like you’re this big know-it-all when you’ve barely been walking the world much longer than either of us. The Doc put you in charge of training ‘cept all you really are, are his eyes and ears on us. You’re a glorified vidcamera is all. So stop acting like you’re our teacher or that you know so much more than us…” “I know,” Inferno said coolly, “all that the Doctor knows. Which is far more than either of you. Furthermore, if he wanted you to know as much as I do, he would have arranged it so that that was the case. He didn’t. So that should tell you something.” “Tells me you’re an obnoxious prick who’s getting kind of full of himself.” Inferno stared at him for a moment. “Odd. That was precisely what the Doctor said you would say.” Then he walked away from them with that insufferably confident stride of his. Coheed licked his lips, feeling uncertain of what to say and not even sure why that would be. “Look…Cam—” “Save it,” she said as she stomped away, leaving him standing there. A raccoon chattered at him. “You got something to say?” said Coheed. He picked up a rock and took aim. The raccoon, deciding it was overmatched, quickly skittered away. “Yeah! You better run!” Coheed shouted after him. He stared at the rock, flipped it a few times, and then threw it with perfect accuracy at the space recently vacated by the raccoon. He nodded in approval. “You better run,” he said more softly. * * * Coheed’s quarters consisted of nothing except a very small, portable tent nestled under an overhanging tree. The Doctor’s reasoning had been that they could pretty much rely on the notion that they would be out and about in challenging environments, and it did nothing to benefit their training if they had a nice comfortable room in the house. Chances were that they wouldn’t even have a tent at their disposal, but it was his token nod to living in a civilized manner. He heard a footfall from a short distance away. Instantly on alert—for he had been trained to assume that any unexpected noise was a potential hostile—he was out of his tent, striking a defensive posture. His incredibly keen eyesight picked up on the movement of a human form, and the targeting information that ran through his brain instantly identified it as Pearl Hohenberger. Despite the Doctor’s explanation as to why they were living a distance from the house, Coheed suspected that there was something else at issue, namely the Doctor’s wife. That Hohenberger wanted to keep his creations as far from her as possible because… Well, Coheed wasn’t sure why. Coheed had no idea what to make of Pearl Hohenberger. She had not, to the best of his recollection, said a single word to him. On those occasions when they encountered each other, she would look at him, her eyebrows knit, and it always seemed as if she wanted to say something to him. But she never did. This made Coheed slightly crazy because he felt that if he could only establish some sort of rapport with the woman, it would solve a lot of problems. Still, whatever Pearl’s problem was, obviously it was her problem and not his. Except it was bugging him. Deciding to take the opportunity to address the issue directly, Coheed followed her. He quickly realized that everything about his body language made it seem as if he was about to launch an attack, and instantly modified it so that he appeared more casual and at ease. She heard him approaching because he allowed her to. If he had wanted, he could have been upon her and severed her jugular vein before she knew he was anywhere near. He even began to calculate the angle and trajectory of his assault before he brought himself up short. Stop thinking about everything in terms of tactics and assault, he mentally chided himself, before realizing bleakly that it was so hardwired into him that he couldn’t do a damned thing to change it. A twig snapped loudly under his foot because he deliberately stepped on it, and she looked up at him. She had just been standing there, staring at something. When she noticed that Coheed was a few feet away, she seemed to process that information and then return to staring. He followed her gaze and realized that she was studying a boulder that had lettering carved into it. His vision zoomed in on it and he saw that it was a name. Her son. Her son is buried here. “Can I help you?” said Pearl when the silence seemed as if it would go on forever. “Can I help you?” She cocked her head. “Is this some sort of training thing? That you repeat what others say in order to more fully grasp the language?” “Repeat—?” He winced. “I mean…no. I was…I just wanted to know if you needed…I don’t know…assistance.” “Do I look as if I’m in distress?” He studied her, really studied her closely for the first time since he had come into existence. “Is human psychiatry part of your programming?” “Programming? I don’t understand.” “Programming. That which my husband imprinted upon you. You do understand you were artificially created, do you not?” Coheed stared at her. “What do you mean?” “You were grown. Grown from bits and pieces, from genetic this-and-that. You’re not real. You grasp that, yes?” “What do you mean?” “Amazing,” said Pearl. “When Lenny first explained—”

“Who?” She looked confused at the question, but then understood and even smiled slightly. “Leonard. I…used to call him Lenny. All the time. Lately it’s been Leonard. But it —” She shook it off. “Anyway, I didn’t quite understand what he was talking about, but now I see it for myself. He’s built into you a sense of—denial, I suppose, would be the best way to put it. You and Cambria do not comprehend that you are artificial creations. When confronted with it, certain parts of your brain simply shut down. You truly think of yourselves as real people. Leonard said he did it that way so that you would be more vested in the stakes of humanity, rather than feeling like outsiders. Inferno knows and understands, but you and the woman do not. You think you’re just people. Highly trained, surgically altered people. And nothing will penetrate that…that psychic filter that’s ingrained in your brain.” “What do you mean?” She sighed and looked down, shaking her head., “Is human psychiatry,” she said, choosing new words that would fall within Coheed’s parameters so that she could get an answer to the question, “part of what my husband has taught you?” “No, just human weakness. Being able to look at someone and pinpoint their…their vulnerabilities…” “Thus giving you something to target and making you a more efficient killer.” “Yes.” “He calls you ‘Beast,’ you know.” “I’m sorry?” “That’s his code name for you. Or maybe his nickname. However you’d put it. ‘Beast’ is how he refers to you in his papers and memos to himself. Why do you think that is?” “I don’t know.” She just stared at him, trying to take in this interesting creature her husband had fashioned. Indeed, her gaze seemed to be boring into him. “You have his eyes,” she said at last. “S’cuse me?” “His.” She nodded toward the inscribed rock. “My son’s. You have his eyes. It’s like watching his soul staring out at me. Lenny mixed some of his DNA into yours. When I first saw you, I swear, I thought I was looking at Joseph. Not Joseph as he was, but Joseph as I always imagined he’d be. Or the Joseph he should have been if he had not…” Slowly she sat. Following her lead, Coheed dropped to the ground opposite her. “I don’t understand,” he said. “Well…that makes two of us. I have…” she sighed. “There’s the good days and the bad days, I guess. I had a good day some months ago, right when Lenny first started this entire proj—this whole thing. Then a lot more bad days. Then a few good. He’s been steering clear of me for the most part; I think he doesn’t know what to make of me anymore. Can’t say I blame him. I’m not sure I do, either.” He reached over and took her hand. She looked down at it in surprise. “You’re warm to the touch. I don’t know why I’m surprised by that, but…I am.” “You said I reminded you of your son?” She nodded. “All right. Well…if I were him…what would you say to me?” She laughed uncomfortably and tried to pull her hand away. “This is silly.” He didn’t let go. He wasn’t rough about it, but he was firm. “What would you say to me?” he repeated. “I…” She stopped pulling, instead staring into his eyes, like a swimmer descending into the depths of a pool. “I would say that…I’m sorry.” “For what?” “For not being there to protect you. And for…” Her voice caught. “For blaming your father for it.” “Did you really think it was his fault?” “I really wanted to think it, because I wanted to have something I could lash out against directly; and Wilhelm Ryan wasn’t here, and he was. He was here. And he stayed here. He…” She shook her head and very gently, she said, “He was always here, I suppose. For me, I mean. Your father. We were the perfect match for so long. We complemented each other in every way. He was stern where I wanted to be permissive, and vice versa. You know the first step to being a successful, loving couple? Not getting in each other’s way. You’d be amazed how many people don’t understand that.” “I bet I would be,” said Coheed. She didn’t even seem to be listening to him. “We were two opposite parts that made up a whole. Two seemingly discordant parts of a song that when put together, create a perfect harmony. That applied to all things, even parenting. Len, he’d try to give you room to grow, and I’d keep trying to…I guess suffocate you, except I just thought I was being a good mother. You were my only child, after all. And maybe I knew the reason that I could try to rein you in was that at the exact same time, Leonard kept loosening the rein and loosening it, giving you the room to run. I knew he’d balance me out if I got to be, you know…too much. “And when you died, part of me was going, A-ha, see, I was right and he was wrong! Except that’s not true. We were both right, and we were both wrong.” “And have you said any of this to the Doctor?” “Not…in so many words.” Coheed was silent for a moment, and then he said, “Look…the whole love thing is still—I’m kind of hazy on it. The whole idea that someone can cause you tons of pain, and instead of just wanting to kill them, you wind up loving them all the more. That whole idea, I have trouble with. But I think I’m starting to understand two things.” “And what would those be?” “That there’s more to human life than missions. And that, when it comes to someone you love, words are overrated; sometimes you don’t need ‘so many’ words. Sometimes you don’t need any. In the end, all you need is the person you love, and the rest of it…that’ll work out one way or the other.” She pursed her lips and slowly nodded. “For someone who’s new to these things, you’ve worked out a lot of it.” “Yeah, well…” He shrugged. “I’m a fast learner.” She moved toward Coheed and he felt as if her gaze was boring into his skull. “Can you get him? Ryan, I mean. Take him down? Put an end to him? She was giving him a mission—now this was something he could really understand. “Yes,” he said. “And I will. I swear on…on the eyes of your son.” She sighed in relief. “Thank you, Coheed.” “No problem.” * * * Apparently satisfied, she turned away and walked off toward the house. Coheed watched her go and then became aware that someone was behind him. He turned and saw Cambria leaning against a tree, her arms folded. He braced himself, ready for yet more misplaced emotion directed at him from yet another female. But instead, she looked quite calm, even mildly pleased. “You handled that well,” she said. “Thanks.” That appeared to be all she wanted to say. She started to turn away from him, and then without even realizing he was going to say it, he called out, “I’m sorry.” She turned back to him as he continued, “The way I tricked you…made you think I’d hurt myself—” “You have nothing to apologize for. You didn’t do anything wrong. You were right; you caught me off guard and I paid for that, and I had no right to get huffy over it. I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did. It’s just…” “Just what?” “Look,” she put up her hands, “I shouldn’t—” “You just what, Cam?”

“You’re not going to let this go, are you?” “I got a feeling you don’t want me to.” She glowered at him, but her heart wasn’t really in it. Finally she shrugged. “I got scared, all right? I thought you’d really injured yourself, and it scared me. And I can’t let that happen, because you really could be badly hurt during a mission and if you are, I can’t allow it to distract me. Just as, if I were severely injured, I wouldn’t expect you to let it distract you from the mission.” “If you were injured, I wouldn’t be distracted from the mission.” “Good.” “I’d abandon the mission entirely. If you were severely injured, I would drop whatever I was doing and make sure that I got you to safety.” “That’s the wrong attitude to have. Procedure states the mission is top priority, period. You’d better hope to God that Inferno or Doctor Hohenberger don’t hear you, because they’ll sure as hell have something to say about it.” “Let them say whatever they want.” He took her by the hand and gazed into her eyes. “I can’t help how I feel.” “Oh, Coheed,” and she pulled her hand away from his. “You can be such an idiot sometimes.” “I don’t—” “It’s not about how you feel. Your feelings don’t get to enter into any of this. We have to remember what we’re being trained for. You know it. And Pearl Hohenberger knows it. If you’re losing sight of that, then maybe you should go talk to the Doctor and ask him to—I don’t know—brainwash you or something. Like reprogramming.” “He can’t do that, Cam. I’m not a robot. I’m not a machine. I’m…” “An IRO-bot. That’s what we’re called.” “And what does that mean?” She shrugged. “Some sort of humans with accelerated abilities, I suppose. We can’t allow anything to distract us from that, and from our job. And that job is to save the soul of humanity.” “Tough to do,” said Coheed, “if we pretend we don’t have souls ourselves.” “If we’re IRO-bots, how do you know that we do? Maybe that’s part of the process: removing our souls, presuming such a thing is possible. To make us—I don’t know—better killers.” “I’m sure we have souls.” “How could you possibly know that?” “Because a soulless machine would leave you to die from an injury and finish the mission.” Cambria looked as if she was about to say something else to him, but then changed her mind. “I’m going to go to sleep.” He wanted to ask her if she desired company. He wanted to just pursue her whether she said she wanted company or not. “Oh! Hey…” “What?” she said with a slightly exasperated sigh. “Did you know we have code names? At least I do. ‘Beast.’” “I know.” “Yeah? What’s your code name?” “'Knowledge.’” “Really. Hunh. Well…I guess it makes sense you’d know that, if your name is Knowledge. How about Inferno?” “That is his code name.” “Figures,” said Coheed with a grin. “Inferno is so boring, his code name is ‘Inferno.’ That’s pretty funny.” “Hilarious,” she said with the air of someone who didn’t think it was, in fact, remotely funny. “Good night, Knowledge.” “Good night, Beast.” “You think maybe you could call me ‘Sexy Beast’?” She didn’t answer him or even give him a backward glance as she walked away, although—and he couldn’t be sure of it—it sure looked like she was accentuating the sway of her hips as she walked.

Just Past The Middle…

Chapter 10 Magicians

Mayo Deftinwolf reoriented Wilhelm Ryan’s world when the general’s holoimage appeared in the middle of Ryan’s sanctum at the highest point of the High Tower of House Atlantic. The General was looking uncommonly angry. This alone was enough to capture Ryan’s immediate attention, even if the urgency of the message—sent on a high-security, high-speed connection—hadn’t been sufficient to do so. “What troubles you, General?” said Ryan with that silky calm of his. “The operation on the Howling Earth has been terminated, sir.” This brought Ryan up short. One would never have been able to tell by his outward demeanor, though. “Terminated? I did not order that.” “No, sir, you did not. By ‘terminated’ I mean it was destroyed by outside agencies.” “Outside—?” For the first time in his life that he could recall, Wilhelm Ryan was literally at a loss for words. His veins swelled subtly under his skin. After a few moments, he found his voice. “General, there are no ‘outside agencies.’ Everything that happens on Heaven’s Fence—every babe who is taking his first, tentative steps, every couple that is recklessly fornicating, every wizened man or woman who is gasping their last before meeting their no-doubt-well-deserved end—does so with my knowledge. There is nothing happening anywhere in this entire damned triangle that is beyond my purview. So I say again, what outside agency could possibly intervene in my operations?” “I do not know, sir. I wish I had some sort of answer for you, but…they were like nothing I have ever seen. They broke into the mining operation, and they demolished everything they encountered. They unleashed the energies of the Keywork back into the void—” “Stop,” said Ryan firmly, touching his fingers to his oozing forehead in order to help himself focus. “Before we deal with the nature of these beings, I need more information. How many in their army?” “Sir?” “How many? You were obviously overwhelmed by force of numbers. How many of them were there? A hundred? A thousand?” “Two.” “Two thousand?” “No, sir. Two.” It took long moments for this to sink in on Ryan, and when it did, it required every bit of effort on his part to contain himself. He was resolved to maintain his reserve in front of his most trusted underling, but it was challenging. “Two? Two men demolished the project?” “One man. One woman.” Once again Ryan did nothing outwardly to betray what was going through his mind. If he had, it would have involved raising his fists heavenward and screaming in fury. But such displays of obvious frustration were not for such as Wilhelm Ryan. The Supreme Tri-Mage simply did not react that way. It wasn’t done. “A couple. How sweet,” said Ryan. “Perhaps they were on their honeymoon.” “Sir—” “Tell me everything that happened, General. Everything that any surviving man may have told you. Everything that you yourself witnessed. Everything.” Deftinwolf did so, in as brisk and straightforward a manner as he could. Ryan listened attentively, taking all of it in. He interrupted occasionally with a question; otherwise he said nothing until the General was finished with his detailed accounting. “A couple of lunatics,” he said at last, “operating on their own.” “Are you certain, sir?” “If it were some manner of organized resistance, there would have been more of them. For that matter, who would be insane enough to organize resistance? Certainly all rational individuals know the inevitable price of such a hopeless undertaking.” “Is it possible there are some who do not? I mean, anything is possible, is it not? Except,” he added hastily when he saw Ryan’s frosty look, “for your long-term defeat, of course. That is an impossibility.” “Yes, it is. It would do well for you to remember that. You should know that as well as anyone.” “Which leaves me again wondering,” said Deftinwolf, “if there are any who might not see it that way.” “You mean aside from the two mad people who assaulted you…although,” he said slowly, “the fact that they were successful means one of either two things: that you are astoundingly incompetent, or that they are far more formidable than one could reasonably expect.” “Yes, sir,” said Deftinwolf with a slight sigh. The last thing he wanted was for Ryan to think that he was inept at his job. Ryan didn’t say anything immediately. Instead, deep in thought, he considered the situation, turning over all of this new and unexpected information in his mind. “I suppose it could be…but no,” he shook his head. “It’s absurd to think that they would involve themselves in this.” “They, sir?” “The Prise.” “The Prise? Certainly they tend to stay above all such considerations. Why now, after all this time, would they attempt to—” “You must seriously ask why, General, when the answer is right in front of you?” “The answer? You mean…the Black Rainbow?” “Yesss,” said Ryan with a sibilant hiss. “Yes. If anyone were to have the resources, the sheer arrogance, it would be those insufferable winged creatures. The more I think about it—as much as I hate to admit it—the more it makes sense.” “You’re saying that they saw the Black Rainbow…?” Ryan nodded. “And decided that it was a sign from God that he was angry with them because they kept their hands clear of the Mage Wars, and they’re terrified that they need to intervene. But then, of course, why simply send in two individuals? If they’ve decided to become involved…” “Have the Prise ever had the stomach for a direct fight?” “No. No, they haven’t,” admitted Ryan. ”They are not the kind to come straight at me with swords of flaming fury, no. They prefer to remain on high as the deliverers of orders to the likes of lowly man. Which would mean that they are working with someone.” “But who?” “Well,” said Ryan thoughtfully, “The abilities of the Prise are such that it could literally be anyone, but still, to my knowledge there is only a handful of individuals who would have the raw clay of knowledge that the Prise could mold into a form that suits their needs.” “Perhaps if you composed a list of possibilities…” “Yes, excellent idea, General. Once I have composed the list, I will send it to you, and then I’m going to want you to investigate it. But have a care: this will require subtlety. I want a scalpel at work here, not a broadsword.” “I understand fully, sir. And once we know—?” “Then I shall attend to them, General.” “What of the project? Should we rebuild…?” “We will do nothing until I know precisely what we are dealing with. The project can wait, General. The Keywork isn’t going anywhere. For that matter, neither is the Black Rainbow,” and he glanced toward the celestial intruder. “Not anytime soon, in any event. We have all the time in the world, General, and there is absolutely no need for

us to go rushing ahead into a new endeavor. If the Prise are indeed involved in this business, then that is exactly what they want: for us to act precipitously and thus perhaps hasten our own downfall. I am disinclined to give them what they want.” “As am I, sir.” “Good.” “But what of your well-being, sir?” Ryan almost laughed at that. “My well-being, General? Do you truly believe that I am somehow threatened by this man and woman? They may have demolished our little enterprise, but you are who you are, General, and I am who I am. They pose no threat to me. None pose a threat to me. They might choose to muck around with matters on the Howling Earth, but they would not be so foolish as to try and harass me here, in my stronghold. If the most that God can do is glower at me from on high with his ebony light show, and the most that the Prise can do is try their little manipulations while taking care that my eye never falls upon them, then what possible threat can some man and some woman pose to me, no matter how formidable their personal firepower might be?” “Yes, of course, sir. You are, naturally, quite right.” “I am pleased we see eye-to-eye on this, General. Put your feelers out for the time being, and I shall pass my thoughts on to you shortly.” Deftinwolf bowed deeply and then vanished. * * * General Crom, even when he had possessed a face, had not been the most demonstrative of men. Then, in the service of Marth and under life or death circumstances, Crom’s face was outfitted with robotic technology, less a mask than it was a metallic second flesh, fused permanently with his own skin and organs, save for a removable portion that allowed him to eat. This “advancement” came to him courtesy of the same catastrophic injury that had made a shambles of his upper body and neck—there was literally nothing for anyone to see save for the leaden covering. Crom had learned to take a positive outlook from that: it made him even more of an enigma to his enemies. Or, in this case, enemy. There was only one enemy that mattered to him now: Wilhelm Ryan, the creature who had consigned him to his pit of nothingness. Since Ryan was so much on the General’s mind, Crom was not at all surprised when Wilhelm Ryan appeared in his cell. Then again, General Crom was never surprised at anything. It simply wasn’t in his personal make-up. His cell was small. A length of unbreakable chain ran from the metallic wall to the manacle secured around his right ankle. The fact that it was unbreakable did not deter Crom from testing its strength every single day. By his reasoning, the fact that it was able to restrain him the day before did nothing to assure that it would hold him this day, or the next. He was typically methodical in that regard, taking nothing for granted. In this same respect, he refused the food Ryan delivered to him, a decision of endless loyalty to Covent Marth. Instead, he chose to meticulously scavenge for food in his cell, preying on everything from rats to any insect unlucky enough to run, creep or fly in. Eventually, Ryan no longer sent any food at all. When Wilhelm Ryan appeared in his cell, Crom did not react. If nothing else, he didn’t want to give Ryan the satisfaction of provoking a response. Besides, the wise soldier—and certainly the wise commander—never provided the slightest visible reaction to anything. Why willingly add any more weapons to the resources of the opposition? So Crom simply stood there and waited for Ryan to say whatever he had come to say, or even more likely to do whatever he was going to do. “Comfortable?” Ryan said at last. “I would have preferred to provide you with some more elegant means of restraint, but your formidable ability to drain electricity and power from any power source mandates a less technological, more—primitive—means of restraint.” Crom said nothing. “It has been a while, General,” said Ryan. “You must have assumed I had forgotten about you. Or do you simply assume that you are, in fact, unforgettable?” “I assume nothing.” “That is most wise. You are indeed a wise individual, General. The only lapse in your wisdom was who you chose to serve.” “We do not always make our choices. Sometimes they are made for us.” “I don’t believe that,” said Ryan, “and I very much suspect that you do not either. We hold our futures in our hands at all times. Just as you hold your future in yours right now.” “I have a future?” Although it was intended to sound like a question, the constant monotone with which he spoke flattened the sentence out. He sounded as if he were talking about someone else, and that his fate was only something to be considered in the abstract. “Yes.” “A future in this cell? Or a future that involves abrupt termination by you?” “There is a third option.” “You intend to release me?” “Under the proper circumstances.” Crom did not even have to ask. “If I swear fealty to you.” “That is correct.” “You are a being of infinite time and resources, Wilhelm Ryan. And because of that, you naturally have at your disposal the option to waste as much of both as you wish.” “And you are suggesting that proposing you join my endeavors would be a waste?” “I am not suggesting it. I am saying it outright.” Ryan studied Crom, who remained unmoving. They could both have been carved out of granite for all the emotion that either of them displayed. ‘To whom do you think you are proving your loyalty?” Ryan said at last. “To Marth? He’s dead. To your soldiers? Dead. Everyone who gives a damn about which side you’re on is dead. So what are you hoping to accomplish?” “If they are dead, what reason have I to be alive?” “I have no interest in your survivor’s guilt.” “Guilt does not prey on my mind. It is simply that I have a responsibility to the men who trusted me. If they are not here, I owe them—” Ryan’s eyes widened as he shot back at Crom, finding it difficult to grasp the concept of loyalty to anything. “You owe them nothing. Your responsibilities to them ended the moment they breathed their last. Your only allegiance is to yourself. The fact is, General: I admire you.” “Admire.” The slight uptick in his voice was as close as Crom could come in expressing incredulity. “You admire me.” “Perhaps ‘admire’ is too strong a word. ‘Having a lessened predisposition to destroy you’ is probably more accurate, but alas, there is no single word to summarize that. You possess one of the foremost military intellects in existence. To annihilate you would be a waste of material. Especially when I can use all the allies I can acquire. In case word has not reached you in this hell hole: There are some who believe that God himself has issued a challenge.” “You refer to the Black Rainbow. Yes, even down here, there has been word of the phenomenon.” “Your thoughts, General?” “My thoughts would be that if there is a God and He is indeed challenging you, then being opposed to Him is a foolish undertaking. Beyond that, I have no thoughts on the matter.” “If there is a God,” said Ryan, “then He draws his strength from having believers.” “If you say so,” replied Crom. “What, then, is God’s weakness?” “Obviously, to deprive him of his believers…” Crom stared levelly at Ryan. “What are you saying, Wilhelm Ryan? That your plan of attack, in order to thwart an assault from on high, would be to destroy the population of Heaven’s Fence?” “Yes.”

“You could not.” “I could.” “You would not.” “I will,” said Ryan, “and I am curious as to why you would think that I would hesitate in that endeavor? After all that you have seen; after all that you know that I am capable of. What makes you believe that I would stop short of annihilating every living, breathing creature upon Heaven’s Fence?” “If you did that, then what was the point of it all? Why conquer individuals if not to rule them? Your vast war becomes an empty exercise.” “Only if the purpose of the war was to rule. These people, these insects…they are insignificant, General, except in ways that they are able to serve me as raw material. Mutually assured destruction, my dear Crom. Were God to shake off the ennui, which prevents him from doing anything other than putting on celestial lightshows…if he were to confront me directly, to attempt to annihilate me…then everyone dies. Me. His believers. Him. All gone in one massive burst of cosmic destruction. If God wants to precipitate it, by all means, let Him.” His voice dropped to a whisper as he envisioned the ultimate holocaust that—for the moment—existed only in his imagination. “Let him rain down fire and burn us all. It will be glorious.” “You are insane.” “Insanity is simply sanity with new rules. Consider that, General, and while you are doing so, consider this as well: If I have the ability to destroy the Keywork and all life upon Heaven’s Fence, God is not going to want to see me pushed to that level. Someone who is one step ahead of God is interested in having you on his side. There are certainly worse places to be,” and he glanced around the room. “Such as here. And General…one last thought: You have spoken much of your devotion to God, and to an ideal, and to a vast and grand purpose to which you are still devoted. Would you like to know what I think?” “It is of no relevance to me.” “I think,” said Ryan as if he’d been prompted, “that this has nothing to do with God, or faith, or anything as grand as the cosmos. I don’t even think this is about your loyalty to Marth, although naturally you can tell yourself that all you wish. I think this is about loyalty to yourself and your own ego. You absolutely cannot deal with the fact that you chose the losing side. If that is the case—and I believe that it is—then this is easily remedied. Consider how your ego will benefit by serving me. You would be regarded as the greatest military man in the history of the Fence.” He held up his hands as if he were framing huge lettering in a sign that stretched across the unseen horizon. “‘Admiral Vielar Crom: the first Admiral in the history of the Keywork.’ If I had tears to weep, I would truly shed them, just thinking about something as majestic as that. Think about it, Admiral. Take your time. You have nothing but.” He disappeared once more, and this time he did not do it immediately. Instead he did it slowly, and the last things to vanish into the air were his glowering eyes that remained fixed upon Crom for some time before finally vanishing into nothingness. The battle had been taken to Wilhelm Ryan in a way that it never had been during the Mage Wars. On one occasion, in the months that passed, he would actually confront them face to face and attempt to simply blow Knowledge and the Beast out of existence, firm in the belief that there was no creature upon Heaven’s Fence of which he was not master. Such a tactic had worked on other foes, including Marth. It did not work on them. Knowledge, the Beast, and Inferno—KBI, as they would be referred to in whispers throughout the Fence—were not beings spawned of anything natural.. Crafted from varied components including DNA supplied by the celestial Prise, they were beings upon whom Ryan’s abilities proved ineffective. Their tactics, on the other hand, proved all too effective against Ryan’s interests. Word began to spread that there was a resistance growing against the power base of Wilhelm Ryan. People who are bludgeoned into submission do not willingly stay that way for long. Ryan acquired his supporters: those who were willing to convince themselves that the identity of the person or persons overseeing Heaven’s Fence was of no relevance to them. What did it matter who was running things, as long as they had jobs and food and a home to go to and a bed upon which to rest their heads? But there were others who had a much broader view of the worlds upon which they lived. Others who saw Wilhelm Ryan as a dark cancer that would slowly grow to consume the entirety of Heaven’s Fence. And these individuals challenged the authority of Ryan and, more particularly, his men and any who were allied with House Atlantic. They staged protests against Ryan. They targeted Ryan’s soldiers, sent into incendiary situations in cooperation with the government who felt that their own peace officers were overmatched by the ferocity and anger of the crowds. And wherever Ryan’s army was out in force, there did Coheed and Cambria show up as well. It seemed almost supernatural, the way they managed to be right where they needed to be, ready and willing and more than able to unleash punishment upon Ryan’s armed forces. They did so with an unrestrained joy in the orgy of battle and boundless confidence that they would triumph…which they inevitably did. Inferno, the less visible but no less important member of their endeavors, constantly monitored their actions and served as their eye in the sky. As time passed, he could not help but notice the bond that seemed to be growing between Coheed and Cambria. Neither of them seemed to be aware of it; or perhaps they were but simply unwilling to admit it, since they both could be staggeringly stubborn at times. This was something of a relief to Inferno, since he was convinced that strong emotional ties between them could prove destructive to their missions in the long-term and should be discouraged or, at the very least, not encouraged. There were some who believed that these mysterious individuals, of whom the government had no trace and seemed to be quite certain as a consequence that they could not possibly exist, were behind the protests. That they were orchestrating matters in order to lure in Ryan’s men so that they could then come sweeping in and smash through them, leaving devastation as their calling card. There were others who were convinced that they were the right hand of God, who had put forth the Black Rainbow as a sign to let people know that these powerful beings were going to be coming to rescue them from whatever schemes Ryan had hatching. Those fervent beliefs helped to stoke the flames of rebellion. There were cries to shake off Wilhelm Ryan as a dog shakes off fleas. That Ryan had deep and fearful schemes that the Lord on High was trying to warn humanity about, and if Ryan was not taken down by humanity, then God might have to do it Himself. And there was every possibility that God might feel the need to annihilate the entirety of humanity while He was at it. None of this bothered Ryan. Knowing that time was on his side, his people investigated every possible aspect of “Knowledge” and “Beast.” They used spies and soldiers and bribery and incentives and double blinds and scapegoats and decoys… And eventually Ryan found them. It went downhill from there.

Chapter 11 The World of Lines

Hohenberger could scarcely believe how smoothly everything was going. The KBI was accomplishing everything that he needed them to do. At the moment, they were on the world NulKigh-Cutta, launching a full-scale attack against one of the training camps where Deftinwolf was training new recruits to Ryan’s army. He stood in front of the rock at Joseph’s inspiration hideout and smiled wanly at it. In his mind’s eye, he could see Coheed and Cambria mowing through Ryan’s soldiers, scattering them left and right, blasting apart anything stupid enough to get in their way. He hoped that bastard Deftinwolf was there to see again how powerless his recruits were in the face of Coheed and Cambria’s invincible might. And hovering high above it all, providing additional ground cover should it be necessary, was Inferno’s mighty space vessel, ready to rain down firepower on their enemies in the unlikely event that Coheed and Cambria found themselves in over their heads. That had not happened yet, though. Knowledge and Beast had proven themselves too formidable. “It’s a simple endgame, Joseph,” Hohenberger said to his son’s grave. “Isolate Ryan. Destroy the people who are foolish enough to follow him. Make those who remain alive so terrified of the KBI that they turn against Ryan to save their own lives. And maybe make it impossible for Ryan to find fresh meat for his troops, because who’s going to want to join up with Ryan if they know they may never make it out of training? Oh, I know what you’re thinking,” he said with a sigh. “The recruits are just kids. Kids who don’t know any better. Kids who are dragged into the clutches of Ryan’s army with promises of vast fortunes or rewards in this life or the next. They don’t deserve to die for that. And you’re right, they don’t. I promise you, Coheed and Cambria are going to go easy on them. Shoot to wound rather than kill. Blow up as much armament as possible. If anyone is running from them, they won’t hunt them down and kill them. I mean, their own safety comes first, of course. But they’ll minimize the loss of human life. “And there are several other training camps as well on other worlds in the Keywork. They’ll be heading to those as well. And then,” he paused for dramatic effect, “then they go after the eight surviving Mages. It won’t be easy; there’s just rumors about them so far. Supposedly Ryan is trying to figure out a way to incorporate the Mages into his bag of tricks somehow by experimenting on them. I can’t even imagine what he’s trying to use them for or what they’re going through, but Coheed and Cambria will find them and free them from Ryan’s control, even if they have to search every planet on the Fence to do it. The Coheed and Cambria worlds tour. Ryan won’t know what hit him. Everywhere he turns, everywhere he looks, that’s where the KBI is going to be. “Joseph, I’m…” He hesitated and when he spoke again, there was a choking in his voice. “I’m sorry it took me so long to come around to your point of view. You tried to get me to understand the importance of getting involved, and I just stuck my head in the sand and tried to say it wasn’t my problem. It shouldn’t have required your death to get me off my ass and into the fight. All I can do now is try to make up for my stupidity. I know it won’t bring you back, but perhaps it will help your mother with her pain, and give you a little peace besides.” He picked up several small rocks, palmed them a moment, and then lay them down atop the larger boulder. He wasn’t sure why he was doing it; it just seemed the thing to do. Then he turned and walked away from the spot without the slightest inkling that he would only return there one more time in his life, and when he did, there would be blood everywhere. * * * Hohenberger was moving with new confidence and additional spring in his step these days. He hoped that some of that positive feeling might possibly rub off on Pearl. She had allowed herself to show only the slightest of interest in the activities of the KBI, but Hohenberger was sure that she was eager to know how they were progressing in their activities. He could understand her being low-key about it. Like Leonard, Pearl was probably afraid to embrace the notion of hope or the belief that Heaven’s Fence might some day be rid of the blight known as Wilhelm Ryan. He had not seen her all day. He assumed that she had gone into the green house to study her precious insects first thing in the morning, and he had opted not to disturb her while she was there. Now, though, with much of the day gone, it seemed a reasonable plan to find his wife and suggest that perhaps they dine together, or watch the vid together, or…well, do anything together, really. Perhaps Pearl had been right and they couldn’t be a family anymore, but at least maybe they could try to be a couple once again. He entered his house and called out, “Pearl! Pearl, honey?” No answer. He went to the green house and rapped on the door. “Pearl?” he said again. Still no reply. He didn’t want to have to put on all the protective gear, so he risked sticking his unshielded head into the green house and called her name a third time. Yet again there was no response, and now the silence was beginning to take on a life of its own. It hung upon him ominously, as if a shroud had been draped over him and his house. Carefully he closed the door, his mind racing, and as he turned he was caught completely off guard. A massive form that he recognized instantly was standing directly behind him. Hohenberger let out a cry of alarm and stumbled back, the blood in his head pounding with such intensity that he felt as if his eyes were about to blow out of the sockets. Mayo Deftinwolf was standing there with his arms casually draped behind his back. He was wearing a heavy red overcoat that fell from his squared shoulders down to just below his ankles. His chest glittered with several large medals that he had no doubt earned in his service of Wilhelm Ryan, or perhaps he had taken them off the bodies of fallen enemies. “You,” Deftinwolf said calmly, “should never play cards, Doctor. You are not particularly skilled at hiding your reactions. You are acting as if you know why I am here, which would make it rather problematic if you were intending to deny it.” “I…I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Hohenberger managed to say, but just barely. “I…that is…” Deftinwolf calmly waved off any further attempts at protest. “Please, Doctor. Don’t embarrass yourself. We both know what you have been up to.” He waggled a scolding finger as if he were expressing impatience with a misbehaving child. “You have been up to some things that have tremendously inconvenienced both Wilhelm Ryan and myself, and I cannot for the life of me guess who is the more irked. I think you need to sit down now.” “I—” Hohenberger tried to point toward the nearest door, to command Deftinwolf to leave immediately or he would call… “Who are you going to summon?” Deftinwolf asked as if reading the Doctor’s mind. “Who do you seriously believe is going to try to escort me out? Why, if you endeavored to call for help, I can as much as guarantee you that they will haul you out of this house before they do me. Or do you think that your more—how shall we put it? —heavily armed associates are going to come riding to your rescue? You know as well as I that they are off gallivanting around Heaven’s Fence, attacking various sites, the whereabouts of which I have taken great pains to make certain are public knowledge.” “I…I don’t know what you—” Deftinwolf was upon him, moving so quickly across the room that one moment he seemed to be on the opposite side and then he was right there, grabbing Hohenberger by the front of his shirt and lifting him clear off the floor. Hohenberger gasped and his throat closed up in fear, preventing him from saying anything further. Considering Deftinwolf’s next words, that was fortune for Hohenberger. “If you offer up one more stammering, unconvincing word of protest, I will do damage to you,” Deftinwolf said so softly that Hohenberger had to strain to hear him. “It will not be permanent damage. It will not impede your ability to function in any way. You will recover. But it will hurt like hell, and there will be no escaping that pain for the duration of it. Do you understand what I am saying? Blink once for yes. There is no acceptable response to represent no.” Hohenberger closed his eyes and held them shut to indicate “Yes” as fervently as he could. “Good,” said Deftinwolf. Slowly he set Hohenberger on his feet. Then he carefully smoothed out the front of Hohenberger’s shirt as if he were a professional groomer. “We are both intelligent men, Doctor. Our business shouldn’t entail threats or hostilities or being manhandled, should it?” “We have business?” Hohenberger was choosing his words carefully and trying his hardest to keep his voice from shaking. “Of course we do. If we did not, why, I would simply kill you and that would be that. Yes, we have business; very important business, I might add.” He gestured for Hohenberger to walk ahead of him to the living room. Hohenberger did so, his legs like leaden slabs, tensing the entire time, waiting for a knife to his heart or a gun to be pressed against his head. At the same time, he realized that there was no reason to be in dread of such things. Deftinwolf was right; if his desire was simply to dispose of Hohenberger, then the Doctor would be dead by now. There was something else on Deftinwolf’s mind, and that notion was even more ominous than the prospect of death. It was at that point that Hohenberger suddenly reached an obvious conclusion that was like, indeed, a knife to his heart. He stopped in the entranceway to the living

room and said, “Where’s my wife?” “That’s a very good question, Doctor. If you wouldn’t mind sitting down…” “I’m not going to sit down! Where’s Pearl? What have you done with—?” He got no further. Deftinwolf’s hand made the slightest of downward gestures and a long black rod snapped out, obviously something that he’d had in his palm. He whipped the rod around and it took Hohenberger in the back of his right knee. Hohenberger’s leg bent forward as the Doctor cried out in pain, whereupon Deftinwolf slammed forward with the base of his palm and struck Hohenberger in the chest. Hohenberger tumbled backwards and hit the couch with such force that the couch started to tilt as well, threatening to flip over. Deftinwolf brought his foot down hard on the armrest, slamming it back down. It jolted Hohenberger and nearly catapulted him from the couch. Deftinwolf’s voice dropped again, this time so softly that Hohenberger felt as if just the act of breathing might drown it out. “You will do what I say, and when I say it, or I will simply stuff you in a box and let Wilhelm Ryan explain what he wants of you. And if it should come to that, I can assure you that he will be far less gentle than I. Is that understood?” Hohenberger nodded. “I didn’t hear you.” “Yes. That is understood.” “Very good. Now…” He held up a small vid chip. “There is something you need to see.” He inserted the chip into the player and stepped back, like a magician about to show off a particularly dazzling trick. The terrifying thing was that Hohenberger had an idea of what he was going to see before it appeared on the screen. Even so, the sight of it was still like a hammer blow to his chest. Suddenly he couldn’t breathe again, but there was no physical cause this time. This time everything required to rip his soul from his body was playing out on the video screen. It was Pearl. God only knew when she had been taken. He suddenly realized that not only had he not seen her this morning, but, in fact he had not seen her since last night. They had been so distant lately that her not coming to bed with him wasn’t all that bizarre. Many nights she flopped down either on the living room couch or, even more achingly, the bed in Joseph’s old room. Maybe one night in five did she crawl into bed with her husband, and then she would go straight to sleep more often than not. She had been placed into something that could only be described as a glass coffin. It was perfectly rectangular and seamless, just wide enough to enclose her without providing her any additional space to move around. It was so horrifyingly narrow that she wasn’t even able to move her arms; they were pinned at her sides. The only aperture in the whole thing was a narrow window, right in front of her face, through which presumably food or drink could be introduced so that she could survive, although who knew for how long. But the window could be slid open or closed, and at the moment it was closed. Her face was a rictus of terror, her mouth open and screaming, but no voice was emerging. Leonard couldn’t determine whether it was because the video had been shot without sound, or if she simply couldn’t be heard while she was within. Her thin nightgown had been soaked through with sweat, and beaded perspiration clung to her skin. The coffin was suspended by eight chains, each spidering out in a different direction and composed of a crystalline-blue substance that Leonard had never seen before. The coffin hung from an unseen point in the video. Then the camera that was recording the entire thing angled downward and Hohenberger saw that there was a yawning pit beneath it, low lit with the yellow-blue haze of a headlight on a foggy night. He could not see the bottom of it; there was nothing but inky blackness below. “Your wife appears to be in quite a fix,” said Deftinwolf. He said it with an air of resigned frustration, as if he was witnessing something that was remarkably tragic, but he couldn’t do a damned thing about it. He was but a helpless witness to a disaster in the making, like someone standing on a sidewalk and seeing two vehicles barreling toward each other at breakneck speed, unable to intervene in time. “The poor thing must be suffering terribly. If only she were being held at someplace accessible like, say, House Atlantic. Tragically, however, she’s not. She is nowhere that you’re going to be able to find her. You are, of course, free to disbelieve me. Why, I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if, in some display of bravado, certain individuals mounted an assault on House Atlantic in the vain hope that they could rescue poor, terrified Pearl. Not only would that prove to be a hopeless endeavor, what with her not being there, but it would only result in Pearl’s predicament coming to an untimely end in retaliation.” Hohenberger managed to say something, but his voice was so strangled that it was barely above a whisper. Deftinwolf leaned forward and cocked an ear. “I’m sorry? I didn’t quite catch that.” With great effort, Hohenberger repeated just loudly enough to be heard this time, “What do you want?” “Ah. Now we come to it. Except it’s not what I want, of course. It is about what Wilhelm Ryan wants. It’s always about what Wilhelm Ryan wants. You have to understand that this is his world, and you are simply living in it. The vast influence of the—” Hohenberger was suddenly on his feet, and although he made no move on Deftinwolf, his fists were trembling and this time when he spoke, it was with such fury that Deftinwolf was certain that—had Hohenberger been armed—he would have tried to fire on him. “Tell me what you want, you arrogant bastard.” Deftinwolf could have put his fist through Hohenberger’s face at that moment. Instead he actually nodded slightly in approval. “So now the mask comes off. Very good. We are men of conviction, you and I. Masks do not become us.” He paused and then said, “You have mightily inconvenienced Wilhelm Ryan, but he is prepared to be generous.” “Is he.” His voice was flat and humorless. “How magnanimous of him.” “It is, rather. He is aware of the death of your son, and also of your manipulation at the hands of the Prise. He believes that you are not in your right mind. That your personal tragedy, coupled with the interference of the Prise, has unhinged you. On that basis, it seems unjust to punish you for the indisputable crimes you have committed against his person. Still, there must be some sort of atonement on your part.” “Atonement?” He shook his head. “I don’t…are you telling me Wilhelm Ryan wants me to apologize to him? Beg his pardon?” “Words mean nothing; actions are all that matter. He requires that you take action in order to settle accounts.” “What sort of action?” “Well…now we come to it. You will have to deliver your creations to him, that goes without saying. This Beast and Knowledge…their career has been exciting, certainly, but it has to come to an end. That, however—to put it in banking terms—is merely repaying the principle. Wilhelm Ryan will require an interest payment as well.” He reached into his pocket and produced a small envelope, and proffered it to Hohenberger. The Doctor looked at it suspiciously and didn’t reach for it. The edges of Deftinwolf’s mouth twitched. “I could stand here extending this to you all day, you know. This meeting was all I had scheduled. But I’m not entirely sure how much time your beloved Pearl has. You, Doctor, are really the one who is under deadline pressure, so—” Hohenberger grabbed the envelope from Deftinwolf’s hands. His impulse was to rip it open, but not knowing the contents, instead he opened it carefully so as not to damage whatever was inside. He discovered a data chip within and held it up curiously. “I assume you have the proper equipment to read the information contained upon it?” said Deftinwolf. Hohenberger nodded. “Presuming it isn’t encoded in some way that would prevent it. But I don’t understand…” “Have a look. Take all the time you want…” Time that Pearl doesn’t have. That was the unspoken part of the sentence. Quickly Hohenberger took the chip and inserted it into his computer. An array of files immediately appeared on the screen. He began to study them, trying to comprehend what it was that he was looking at. Within seconds he understood, and the realization chilled him. “This is a virus,” he said. “A manufactured virus of some sort, or at least an attempt to create one. The preliminary samples, the tests…tests?” He looked in shock at Deftinwolf. “You actually tested this…this thing…on victims?” “Wilhelm Ryan prefers the term ‘subjects,’ but ‘victims’ is accurate enough, I suppose,” said Deftinwolf. “However, I object to characterizing it as a ‘thing.’ When referring to it, I would request you use the name given it by Wilhelm Ryan…” “The ‘Monstar’?” Hohenberger had found the name in the file. “The Monstar virus?” “Correct.” “But what would be the purpose of it?”

“You’re an intelligent man. You have the data in front of you. You tell me.” Hohenberger went back to studying the equations and records in front of him. Slowly he started to shake his head. “This is…my God. The virulence of this Monstar would be…General, do you know what this is? This is…this is a partially completed formula for doomsday! How can you be a part of it? I mean, I understand your devotion to Ryan…okay, actually, I don’t understand it, but at least I’m aware of it. But certainly there are larger, more fundamental matters to be considered than loyalty to one man!” “I’m sure there is. But Wilhelm Ryan is far, far more than one man. You would not question those who devote their lives to serving God, would you?” “But he’s not God!” “Well…there we come to it. What makes him not God? Obviously, it’s the ability that God has to smite all life with little-to-no effort. Make no mistake, Wilhelm Ryan can destroy all life on the Fence. But it would take a remarkably long time. The Monstar, however, would be able to do so in no time at all by being introduced directly into the Keywork.” “But the Keywork isn’t alive! A virus can only affect living things, and the Keywork is energy, not living!” “Are you sure?” Three words. That was all that he had said: three simple words. Yet Hohenberger realized that the answer to those three words might well hold the entire future of Heaven’s Fence within it. And it was an answer that he did not possess. Deftinwolf pointed at the screen. “As you see, the Monstar—when properly introduced into the Keywork—will consume the energies therein. And since the Keywork provides light and energy to the populace of Heaven’s Fence, the virus will then permeate every molecule of every living thing. Even as the Keywork dissolves, everyone on all seventy-eight planets will die in a flurry of chaos. It will almost be a race to see which happens first: every man, woman and child dropping dead, or the Keywork itself losing its cohesion and causing the worlds to drift apart. That’s one of the unknowns of the entire equation, you see; one of the things that Wilhelm Ryan wants you to work on. Not that it really matters all that much in the grand scheme of things; he’s just curious to know.” “The grand scheme of things?” Hohenberger echoed incredulously. “In the grand scheme, everyone dies and everything ends! Why does the order of it matter in the least?” “Because Wilhelm Ryan says it matters,” said the General, “and that is sufficient for me. However, that is really the more secondary concern. Of primary concern is that it doesn’t quite work yet. As you can see from the reports and studies, although it is certainly a formidable threat, it still lacks the devastating virulence, the sheer killing power, that Wilhelm Ryan requires. That, my good doctor, is where you come in. Well…where you and your wife come in. You,” and he clapped a hand on Hohenberger’s shoulder as if he were a friend congratulating him on a great honor, “have been chosen by no less than Wilhelm Ryan himself to make the Monstar a reality. To aid it in reaching its full potency and potential.” “You want me to fill in the gaps in Ryan’s research so that he can successfully complete a virus that can eliminate all life and destroy the fabric of the Keywork itself?” “I would have put it a bit less melodramatically, but yes, that is essentially it. And you will notice that there is a communications program built into the file. When you have solved the problem, you simply activate it and it will automatically send a message directly to Wilhelm Ryan. He will then dispatch someone—me, no doubt—to retrieve the results of your efforts.” Hohenberger began to tremble with a mixture of fear and outrage. “It’s…it’s out of the question! It’s impossible! When he uses that virus, I will be directly responsible for the death of billions!” “When?” Deftinwolf made a scolding noise, a faint clucking with his lips. “Tsk tsk, Doctor. Who said anything about ‘when’? This is merely an, ‘if’! An absolute worst-case scenario that Wilhelm Ryan will use only as a last resort. Believe me, if you only knew the circumstances under which he would employ the Monstar, well…you would understand that by that point, the quality of life on Heaven’s Fence would have reached such abysmal levels that death would be nothing less than a mercy bestowed by him upon a desperate population. At the point where the Monstar were used…the people would welcome death.” “And…and what circumstances would those be?” “Ah,” and he waggled a finger, “I’m not going to tell you that. It’s something that you shouldn’t be worrying yourself about. You need to be worrying about the Monstar.” “But I can’t! Billions of lives—!” “Billions of lives that might be—might be—lost. It is by no means a certainty, which is again why you should not be concerning yourself about it. Instead what you need to be focusing on is the one life that will most definitely be lost: that of your beloved wife. Those chains, you see,” and he pointed at them, “are not the sturdiest, I’m afraid. It’s so difficult to find quality workmanship these days. Unfortunately, there is the chance they might snap. The entire coffin could tumble into…well, you don’t really know, do you? It could be a pit that simply has a bottom against which it will crash. Or perhaps there are spikes protruding from it so that your wife will know the sensation of being impaled. Or perhaps—” “All right!” shouted Hohenberger, and Deftinwolf could easily have reached over and choked the life out of him for daring to raise his voice, but instead he restrained himself and simply watched Hohenberger writhing in the grip of a dilemma that threatened to rip him apart. He put his hand to his head. “All right,” he said much more quietly. “I…understand the situation. I just…I need to think.” “Absolutely. Take all the time you need.” He waited three seconds. “There. That’s enough time. So what is your decision?” “I—I don’t know—” “You don’t know what? Whether you want to see your wife alive ever again? Doctor, let me make something abundantly clear to you. Your cooperation buys your wife time. Time in which she will likely be driven out of her mind with fear, but at least she will still have a mind to be driven out of, as opposed to a mass of gray matter that’s spread all over the floor. However, if you refuse to cooperate, then she is out of time immediately. Except don’t think that the chains will simply be cut and she will be allowed to plummet to her death. Instead she will be removed from the coffin, and things will be done to her. Terrible things. Unspeakable things.” He dropped his voice so that it was almost a purr. “Things that will make her long for death with such intensity that, when the poor, pathetic remains of the woman that was once recognizable as Pearl Hohenberger are finally hurled to its deserved death, her final words will be curses hurled at you because you allowed it to happen. You, Doctor, and no one else. Is that what you want? What she wants? Is that,” and he paused dramatically, “what Joseph would have wanted?” Never had Hohenberger more desperately wanted to kill a human being than that moment when he wanted to come at Deftinwolf and rip his entrails out and strangle him with them. Never had he felt more helpless, because he knew that not only could he not possibly battle someone as formidable as Deftinwolf, but even if he somehow miraculously manage to kill Deftinwolf, then he would be condemning Pearl to death. “Yes.” He barely recognized his own voice as he said the words. “Yes. I’ll do it. I’ll do whatever you say, make you whatever you want.” “Good. And while you are working on perfecting the Monstar, Wilhelm Ryan will be taking good care of her. Good…personal…care.” “Don’t hurt her. Please, I’m…” His voice choked. “I’m begging you. She’s never done anything wrong in her life. She doesn’t deserve this.” “Of course she does.” “How can you say that?” Deftinwolf smiled. “She was foolish enough to trust you.” And with that, Deftinwolf walked out of Leonard’s house, as silent in departing as he had been in his arrival. Within moments the only sound that remained was the soft sobbing of Leonard Hohenberger. That changed, though, when he discovered that Deftinwolf had simply turned off the sound on his vid screen. When the sound came on, the air was also filled with the terror-filled screams of Pearl Hohenberger, which continued because it refused to shut off despite Hohenberger’s best efforts. The only thing that finally ended it was the resounding crash and shattering of glass after Hohenberger grabbed a paperweight and hurled it with full force through the vid screen, destroying the entire mechanism. None of which mattered, because the screams continued in Hohenberger’s head long after the last sputters of electricity stopped flickering in the shattered remains of the vid.

Chapter 12 Pearl of the Stars

Day 1 I am in heaven. This is what heaven is like: The peace. The quiet. Being able to live within my own head and not have to worry about anything or anyone else. Yes. Yes, this is heaven. That is the mindset I am embracing, because it is the one that will drive that bastard, that fucker, the most insane. He is going to try and break me, boxing me up in this glass coffin. Play upon my phobias, try to undermine me, to break me, so that he can then use me in some way against Leonard. He thinks he can do that? Fuck him. I will simply hold the image of Joseph close to my heart, and imagine Ryan being torn limb from limb, and that will keep me sane. They have tubes jammed into me, providing me nourishment. I hear them trickling away. And there’s a catheter as well to handle the waste. He’s trying to turn me into a goddamned science experiment, trying to dehumanize me. Humiliate me. Whatever the hell he has planned, but it’s not going to work. Do you hear me, you fucker? It’s not going to fucking work! I’d yank out every tube and starve to death if I could, but I can’t move a damned muscle; but that’s okay, because you’re not going to break me. There’s a guard standing off to the side. He tries not to stare at me. When he does glance my way, he almost looks embarrassed. Maybe I remind him of his mother. And, oh look. Wilhelm Ryan enters this stinking chamber, gracing us with his vile presence. I’ve only ever seen pictures of him, fleeting images, his face always obscured in shadow. Even on the brightest of days, darkness covered his face. Now I see him clearly. He stands there on the other side of this room, which can’t be much larger than ten by twenty, with its cold steel walls that reflect the glow of whatever is lighting this coffin. And he’s not so much. His skin, a blueish, purplish mixture, his face oozing liquids that any decent creature would have the courtesy to keep inside his body. No pupils in his eyes; they just glow a stale yellow. If you can see a person’s soul in his eyes, then that explains a lot about the vacancy I’m seeing. Two thick tails of white hair hanging on either side of his face. He has a hood pulled up, covering the rest of his head, and a shapeless garment obscures him from head to toe. And then there are those massive, disgusting horns. My guess is that his pathetic body is some bent, skeletal thing, weighted by centuries of his evil. If someone stripped that robe from him, his power would be broken because the people would see the scrawny, impotent creature he is and fall on their asses laughing. He’s staring at me. The bastard is just standing there, staring. What’s he waiting for, for me to say something? To break down, to cry, to beg for mercy? He’s got a fucking big surprise ahead of him, if that’s what he thinks is going to happen. Nothing. I say nothing. No screams or curses or promises of what I’m going to do to him, or what Leonard’s creations are going to do to him. No fear from me. None. He’s still standing there. Just standing. Staring at me with those empty eyes. Say something, goddamit! Say something! Boast of your superiority! Outline your plans to torture me! Open your lying mouth and tell me— “I’m sorry,” he says to me. That’s it. That’s all he says, with his face impassive, barely moving. I’m sorry? What the fuck—?! The bastard was responsible for my son’s death! Where does he get off…? He’s leaving. He’s walking out. Not a word of explanation. Nothing about what he’s going to do to me. Nothing about why he’s done what he’s done so far! He’s just… He’s gone. Son of a BITCH. Day Two I shouldn’t engage him, shouldn’t talk to him. But I can’t help it. “What the hell do you mean, you’re sorry?” I say when he returns the next day. He tilts his head slightly, like a dog listening to a high-pitched noise. “I would think it’s obvious.” “Well, it’s not.” “I am sorry that you must be inconvenienced because of the actions of others.” “INCONVENIENCED?” It’s all I can do not to laugh. The comedy stylings of Wilhelm Ryan, ladies and gentlemen. “Inconvenienced? Having to wait for someone who’s running an hour late for an appointment is inconvenienced! You’ve got me shackled inside a fucking coffin!” He’s probably not used to anyone talking to him like this. He’s the mighty Supreme Tri-Mage, after all. When he walks, women weep and strong men wet themselves and all that glorious bullshit. That’s not going to be me. And let him lash out in response. Let him destroy me in a fit of pique. That way he can’t use me against Leonard, and besides, it’s not like I have much of anything to live for. “Yes. I do,” says Ryan. “That is regrettable, that your husband has done this to you.” “He didn’t! You did! Don’t think for a minute that you can make me blame Leonard for this!’ “Although,” he says as if I hadn’t said anything, “you ARE complicit in his rebellion against me. After all, a conscientious wife would have let the proper authorities know what her husband was up to.” “Fuck you.” He makes a slight wheezing noise that probably passes for a laugh. “A woman of your intellect, Pearl? And that’s the best that you can come up with?” “It’s all that you deserve.” “You admit to complicity in your husband’s actions.” “I’m admitting to nothing. Torture me all you want; it won’t get you shit.” “Why all this talk of torture?” He sounds surprised. Astounding. He’s trying to act as if he’s on my side somehow. How in God’s name did someone this obvious, this ridiculous, manage to overwhelm eleven other Mages? “Are you in any pain?” “I CAN’T MOVE MY ARMS OR LEGS!” “Why would you need to? You’re not going anywhere.” “Stop it! Stop doing that! Stop trying to pretend as if you give a damn about my physical comfort! Stop acting as if we’re in this together somehow!” “We are,” he has the nerve to say to me. “We—you and I—are trying to teach your husband the error of his ways. You were not willing to do so on your own. So I have to take more emphatic steps. I am doing what you are unwilling to do.”

“Yeah? Then do what I’m willing to do instead and kill yourself.” He says nothing for a time and then shrugs somewhere under his robes. “I am sorry,” he says, and he leaves again. Bastard. Day Five Keep flexing toes, trying to waggle fingers. Only options left to me. Otherwise will lose all feeling in extremities. What I would do to just turn over. Ryan returns. He’s been gone for three days. Thought he gave up trying to break me. He’ll see. He’ll realize. “I am sorry,” he says again. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know if you just stop saying that,” I tell him. I’m being sarcastic. He doesn’t seem to understand. A puzzled look crosses his repulsive face. “Do you seriously believe there is anything you know that is of the slightest interest to me? You know nothing.” “I know I’m going to kill you.” I hurl it out at him defiantly. I want to see some sort of reaction. I want to crack that veneer of aloofness. “Allow me to rephrase,” Ryan says, as if addressing a classroom. “You know nothing of interest to me, nothing worth torturing you over, certainly. Frankly…you have been through enough, that torturing you would seem excessive. There’s the death of Joseph—” “Don’t you mention my son’s name.” “That must have been difficult for you. So recently, it must seem, he was kicking within your womb. The moment you let Joseph ease out from between your legs, you might as well have signed his death warrant.” He shakes his head sadly, as if he’s regretting what he’s saying, the lying piece of shit. “So easy to protect him while he’s inside your body. How nice it must have been, placing your hand on your belly, feeling him kick. Did he kick at all when he died?” I won’t let him see how I want to cut his throat exponentially with each word. I will not give him the satisfaction. No… “I’m just curious. I wanted to know how hard it was on you. Death spasms can take so long, especially if they’re prompted by a shot to the gut. Of course, standing by helplessly and watching him die was like a shot to your own gut, I should think. Then again, you were there when he was born. It’s only right that you should be there when he died. It’s symmetry, after all. It’s only justice.” I’m going to kill him. I have to kill him. I’ll go mad if I don’t kill him. Day Nine Where is he? Why doesn’t he come talk to me? His taunting, his insidiousness…it’s the only thing keeping me focused. I’m trying other things. Reciting lists of elements. Different species of insects. Rattling off shopping lists from two years ago. Songs. Singing songs. I can’t sing a bit. Leonard says I’m tone deaf. I don’t care. He can’t hear me. Fucking Leonard. He should be here instead of me. Hold on. Hold on. Day Thirteen He’s back. Ryan’s back. No. He’s gone. I thought he was here, but no. Or maybe he was and left again. Trying to fuck with me. He won’t win. Day Nineteen Not really sure how many days have passed, how much time. Might well be more than thirteen days. I’m just guessing. Estimating. Using my heart as a guide. I can hear my own pulse, slow, steady. Sixty beats a minute, that’s my resting pulse. Sixty times sixty, and that’s an hour. I tick off the hours in my head. Try to organize them. I don’t think I’m sleeping anymore. My eyes ache but I can’t close them for more than a minute or so before they snap open. Yes. Yes, it should be Leonard in here. Day Twenty-Three “It should be Leonard in there.” It’s like he reached into my head, plucked the thoughts out. “You know that as well as I,” Ryan goes on. “You’re suffering because of him. What if I said I would put Leonard in there instead of you? Would you accept that and leave gratefully?” “Go to hell,” I tell him, even as my mind screams,]YES, YES, OH GOD YES. “Or Joseph. He was the one who died and set all this into motion.” NO. NOT MY SON. NEVER MY SON. DIE IN A FIRE, YOU BASTARD. Day Twenty-Seven “Or Joseph. He was the one who died and set all this into motion.” He says it just as if there had been no break in the conversation. And my mind screams, YES, JOSEPH, THIS IS HIS FAULT, and I shout back at myself that I am a traitor to my son, to myself, to my being a mother, to everything, and right back I go howling, ANYONE, ANYTHING, JUST LET ME OUT OF HERE, PLEASE, and I say nothing aloud but my lips are quivering, and tears are pouring down my face, which at least means I’m not dehydrated. Where’s Leonard? Where’s his precious KBI? Why haven’t they come to get me? Have they even noticed? Do they even care? Leonard probably doesn’t. He’s probably taken up with someone else. Someone younger and prettier and who never had a son that Leonard let get killed. Day Thirty-Two He won’t stop talking. His words…they’re like spiders. I can actually see them. My vision is swimming in front of me, and I can actually see his words forming into spiders as they emerge from his mouth, and they crawl across the floor and into the coffin, how they’re getting into here, I have no idea, but they are, they’re everywhere, everywhere, crawling into my mind, injecting poison directly into my thoughts, the spiders… “You can admit it to me, Pearl,” he says, as if we’re good friends, and God, maybe we are, he’s the only one who comes to see me, Leoanrd’s not here, Joseph’s not here, fucking KBI isn’t here, just Ryan, “You can admit it. What upsets you the most isn’t that Joseph is dead. It isn’t that Leonard has betrayed you by embarking on his mad revolt against me that has placed you in harm’s way. It’s that you’re still alive at all. Survivor’s guilt can be a devastating thing. You feel that you should be dead instead of Joseph. You can feel it, taste it, smell it. It’s in every aspect, this wanting to die, this disgust that you’re still sucking oxygen while your son is lying mouldering in the ground. You’re guilty because you let him down, because you failed to protect him, and you feel that you should pay the penalty for that, but you’d never have the guts to do that, would you. No, you wouldn’t.” I can barely think. My eyes are stinging me like a thousand hornets. Like an insect, I want to crawl out of here. Shed my outer coating and fly out of here. I can’t. I’m trapped. But I can’t let him win. I can’t let him know.

Day Thirty-Seven His voice won’t stop. Even when he’s not here, his voice won’t goddamn stop. It’s there every minute of every day; he keeps on talking, burrowing into me like a worm. That’s it. Like a worm. A coffin, like the one I’m in, it goes into the ground, and then the worms get to you, sooner or later they get through the coffin and into your body and they’re just…just devouring every part of you, there’s no privacy, there’s no part of you that’s immune from their hunger and they just eat at you and eat at you until your body is nothing but some pitted mass of fleshy colored clay, oh my God, that’s what’s going to happen to me, that’s what I’m going to be, that’s what his voice is whispering, the spiders and worms, they’re everywhere, the spiders in my mind, the worms in my body, they’re just stinging me to death, eating me alive, I have to get out, I have to get out, and if Joseph returned from the dead right this second and volunteered to switch places, I would do it, I would do it in a second, and there’s Ryan’s voice again, exploiting every weakness I’ve ever had, reviving every childhood trauma, every teenage angst, every chink in the armor of my marriage, digging up every uncertainty like a gravedigger unearthing bodies so that he can examine the effects of years’ worth of decay… He’s trying to destroy me, inside and out, and Leonard is counting on me and I don’t care, and Joseph is counting on me and I don’t care, and the entirety of Heaven’s Fence is counting on me and I absolutely do not care, I can’t stand it any more I just want out… I close my eyes, and all I can see is his face, purple and dripping and festering, and with that horrible semblance of a smile, and those soulless eyes contemplating me. I could sit in a bath for a month and still not be clean of what he makes me feel. I feel raped just by his empty gaze. How much more of this am I supposed to endure? Day Thirty-Eight He walks up to me, standing just on the perimeter of the pit over which I’m suspended, and he affects that pathetic fake look of concern. “You seem agitated, Pearl. Why is that?” I speak to him, the first time I’ve done so in days. Despite the fluids I’m continuing to receive, my tongue feels like it’s two sizes two big for my mouth. I can barely croak out words, much less sentences, and yet I do. “You think you’re going to break me?” I rasp. “You’re wrong. You’re so wrong. You’ve kept me here for over a month, and I’ve had my good days and my bad days, but I’m still here, and my resolve is strong, and I—” He looks at me in a way that he has not before. He looks genuinely puzzled. Genuinely. Puzzled. I’ve said something that clearly makes no sense to him. He’s not acting; he has no need to. “Pearl,” he says to me, “what do you mean, a month?” “A month. More than. I’ve been keeping track…” “Pearl…you’ve been here less than a day. Your time here can be measured in hours, not in weeks.” I laugh at him then. How pathetic a ploy is that? How desperate is he to try and wear me down, to break me, to… “You are lying,” I say to him. “You are the prince of lies. The lord of lies.” “There is no need for me to lie. The truth is far more entertaining. Look at that man,” and he points to the guard standing at the door. “He is a normal human, no different from you. Think: Have you seen any guard besides him? No. You haven’t. He has not gone off shift yet. There has been no one to replace him. He hasn’t even been here long enough to grow beard stubble from lack of shaving. There has been no changing of the guards because you have not been here long enough. Whatever you think is measuring passage of time is happening in your own mind, Pearl. Whatever you’ve endured…it’s only the beginning.” I wrack my brains, trying to remember a time when the guard has left. It…it could have happened during brief times I was asleep. Except I’m sure I haven’t been sleeping much at all. Certainly during all this time, at least once, I would have noticed the guards switching off. Maybe it’s a trick of Ryan’s. He…he ensorcelled the guard somehow so that they would never change… Or…or maybe it’s twins…or triplets…or… Except… …except in science…in all things…the simplest answer tends to be the correct one… “Pearl…if you had been here for over a month, wouldn’t your fingernails have grown considerably? You can’t move your hands, but you can touch the ends of your fingers, and your nails were quite closely clipped when you were brought in. Check for yourself.” I rub the tips of my fingers, the only motion available to me… Oh my God… “Pearl…” Oh my God…it’s true... “They’re not coming for you, Pearl. No one is. And we both know the reason for it.” His voice is everywhere. “It’s because you deserve to be here. It’s because you’ve alienated your husband to the point where he no longer gives a damn about you. It’s because the creatures that your husband created, the ones who are responsible for your being here, consider you a hindrance to their mission since you are a distraction for their maker. You’re here…because there’s no one else in the whole of the universe who cares about you except me. Not your husband. Not God. No one…but me…” And that’s when the screaming starts. I wonder who it is, who is howling like a wounded and dying animal, and I see the pity on the guard’s face, and the amusement on Ryan’s, and that’s when I realize it’s my voice. Only mine. He’s right. I’m never getting out of here. I deserve to be here. I brought this on myself. And I shriek in protest, but I know it’s true. I know it’s true. Day One I’m in hell…

Chapter 13 Made Out of Nothing

The shouting from all around Leonard Hohenberger was becoming more than he could withstand. There was Coheed, his hands balled into fists, pacing with such intensity that it seemed as if he was going to leave a groove in the carpeting. “We have to go after her. There simply is no other choice!” “It isn’t that easy,” said Inferno, who was sitting calmly in an overstuffed easy chair, his hands folded neatly on his lap. “Yeah, it is! We find her, we get her out, and we kill Ryan while we’re at it. End of story!” “We don’t know where she is,” Cambria pointed out. She was seated on the edge of the couch, looking as concerned and helpless and frustrated as Coheed, but calmer about it. “She could be anywhere.” “Is she in this house?” “Obviously not.” “Fine,” said Coheed. “That’s one place we’ve eliminated. All we have to do is eliminate a bunch more and eventually we find her.” “But—” “There’s no ‘but’ in this, Cambria! Someone knows where she is. Someone besides Ryan, I mean. Someone grabbed her, someone brought her there, and that someone told someone else, and he probably told someone. So we start going through people. Every likely suspect, we find him and pummel him until he’s told us everything he knows. And if he doesn’t know anything, we go on to the next and to the next until—” “Until she’s dead,” said Inferno. “Because that is what Ryan is going to do while you’re running around beating the hell out of anyone you can get your hands on. He’s going to sit back and be amused by your efforts if you’re wasting your time. And if you suddenly start to get too close, he’s going to kill her before you get any closer. How can you not see that?” “How can you not see that we have to do something!” Hohenberger muttered something under his breath. None of them heard him. The argument continued to escalate and Leonard tried to tune it out. He tried to put his mind elsewhere, to someplace that would enable him to solve his problem. Because, first and foremost, the problem was that he didn’t know how to give Ryan what he wanted, even if he desired to provide it to him that very night. For several days, while Coheed, Cambria and Inferno had been bounding around from one planet to the next to the next, challenging Ryan’s forces and causing all manner of havoc, Hohenberger had been staring at the equations and trying to develop the missing link that would enable the Monstar to become active. Or at least have the appearance of being active; he was hoping against hope that he could discover both the virus and its cure and combine them. Make it seem as if the Monstar could accomplish what Ryan desired, while at the same time wind up effectively dismantling itself should he endeavor to put it to use. But he was having no success on either front. And when the KBI had returned home, he had had to tell them exactly what was going on. He hadn’t wanted to; he’d hoped to keep the truth of his situation from them. Unfortunately that possibility had been lost the moment that Cambria looked around and said, “Where’s Pearl?” He had broken down into a blubbering wreck as days’ worth of frustration and fear poured out of him in one rather undignified mess. In between his sobs, the entire story had come out. The KBI had been stunned silent by the news, but only initially. After that, they made it clear that they were determined to take a firm hand, and Coheed was the main proponent of leaping directly into action. That was where the problem had arisen. Cambria and Inferno had been certain that running around in a scattershot fashion trying to track down Pearl’s whereabouts was not the best course of action. Unfortunately, they weren’t coming up with anything better. Their shouting back and forth and their obvious frustration finally pushed Hohenberger to the breaking point. Rather than muttering under his breath, Hohenberger got to his feet and bellowed, “All of you, shut up!” Coheed looked surprised, and Cambria looked sympathetic. Inferno was inscrutable, as was typical for him. Hohenberger continued, “I will deal with this. I will figure it out. I lived most of my life before the three of you came into it, and I will find a way to solve this problem. That is what I do. I solve problems. All right?” Without waiting for a response or really caring in the least if it was all right with them, Hohenberger stomped away from them, his lab coat whipping around him. He had no idea where to go or what to do, and then found himself standing in front of the entrance to the green house. He yanked open the door and thrust himself in, slamming it shut behind him. It was the first time he had ever entered the green house when Pearl was not there. It has always been considered her little part of the world, and entering without her permission would have been a terrible breach of protocol. But what point was there now in attending to that protocol? She was gone, and there was a distinct and awful possibility that she would never be coming back. He didn’t even bother to put his helmet and gloves on. Leonard could practically hear Pearl shouting at him to be sure and don the protective gear, but he ignored it. It didn’t matter. Without Pearl nothing mattered. He walked slowly through the green house, and the formulae for the Monstar continued to run through his head. He had been staring at them for so long that he no longer needed to see them. They were firmly ingrained in his memory. If he needed to focus more clearly on them, he closed his eyes so that the rest of the world went away, leaving nothing but the numbers and letters, the data, floating around in his mind. He did so now. He dropped to the ground, feeling weak in the knees, no longer having any desire to stand. Leonard sat cross-legged, his hands draped over his knees. It was easy to start dwelling on how he had come to this pass, and how his world had come crashing down upon him. But that wasn’t going to solve anything. He needed to focus on what was important: giving Wilhelm Ryan what he wanted… So that he could destroy Coheed and Cambria? So that the virus could destroy everything? What have I become? My God, I’m as bad as Ryan. Thinking only about what will suit me, what will meet my needs, uncaring about the welfare of anyone or anything else. How low has he brought me? Even worse, how low will he bring me yet? He wants me to craft this virus, to make something that does not occur in nature and transform it into a reality. How is that even possible? How—? And then he felt something on the top of his head. His first instinct was to reach up and slap at the sensation as hard as he could. Instead he opened his eyes and shook his head as hard as he could to clear away whatever was on top of it. Something flittered away and then danced in front of his eyes before lighting on his knee. It simply sat there, its wings twitching. He stared down at the syringa, at the creature that Pearl had crafted through manipulation of DNA. He had not given any thought to the little beast since she had first shown it to him. Unaccountably he was filled with rage toward the creature. He brought his hand up, ready to slam it down upon the dragonfly for no reason other than to see it pulped. There was nothing reasonable or even sane about his impulse; he just wanted to destroy something, anything, because he couldn’t destroy the real target of his fury, Wilhelm Ryan. He hesitated with his hand aloft and then, with a sigh, he shook the insect off himself. He watched it flutter upward, and that was when he heard a high-pitched screech. A bird was descending straight toward it. That happened from time to time. The green house was supposed to be secure against tiny intruders, but every so often, some little member of the avian family would manage to find some small means of entrance and would worm its way in. It would then feast on Pearl’s little friends until she managed to dispose of the creature and find how the hell it had managed to get in. There was nothing that Leonard could do as the bird, a small brown thrush or sparrow or some damned species, made a beeline for the fly. Its little talons were

twitching, eager to grab hold of the insect; or perhaps it would just devour it whole, even though the dragonfly was almost as large as the bird itself. The fly whipped around and jabbed its stinger directly into the side of the bird, deftly angling away from it. The bird arced around to make another dive at it… …and fell. Hohenberger couldn’t believe it; it happened just that quickly. One moment the bird had been airborne, and the next it plopped out of the air. It was so light that when it struck the ground it made no noise at all. It twitched pathetically, spasmed once or twice, and then died with one final uncomprehending chirp. The syringa hovered over the bird for a moment as if to verify for itself that the bird was no longer going to pose a threat. In the time that it did, Hohenberger sprinted to where the protective gear was hanging. He grabbed off the helmet and the oversized gloves and ran back to where the fly was still positioned. In fact, it was taking a closer look at the bird. The damned thing was actually exhibiting curiosity; it had never seen anything like the bird before thanks to its sheltered environment. It was about a foot off the ground when Hohenberger dropped the helmet down on top of it. It was now completely enclosed, and he could hear it thumping lightly against the interior, trying to find a way out. Even as the insect vainly sought an escape, Hohenberger’s mind was racing. He had never seen a toxin that worked that quickly. Not in the animal kingdom, and not in humanity. Granted, he was hardly an expert, but still, the bird’s death had been practically instantaneous. He wondered what else it might be capable of when paired with something equally dangerous. It took him only a few minutes to find a bell jar and transfer the syringa from the makeshift enclosure to the new containment. It was just an insect, of course, with no facial features capable of manipulation, and yet Hohenberger fancied that it was looking up at him with a sense of betrayal. It tapped its stinger against the glass jar in futility, as if trying to sting the jar into submission. “Come with me,” he said rather unnecessarily as he walked out of the green house. He headed straight for his lab. From the living room he could hear Coheed, Cambria and Inferno still arguing. The doctor didn’t need to hear details of the conversation to know that none of them was getting any closer to convincing the other of anything. That didn’t matter to him, though. All that mattered was the dragonfly and what it might represent. This is a longshot, he thought. A pipedream. The odds of the answer being right here in front of you…the odds of Pearl’s investigations providing you what you need to give Ryan what he wants… I have to get ahead of him. I have to outthink him. I have to do something that he could not possibly anticipate or allow for. Something that will enable me to provide him the letter of what he wants, but not the spirit. And I can’t tell the others about this. Not Coheed and Cambria, at any rate. Inferno, yes, at some point, but not Beast and Knowledge, if for no other reason than that they’ll want to discuss it and it will prolong things. I cannot allow for that. I don’t have the time for it, nor does Pearl. Every wasted hour, every wasted minute, brings her that much closer to the end of whatever Ryan’s deadline is. He could be snapping those chains on his own even now. He could be killing her even now. She could be dead even now. I have to help her, presuming she still can be helped. Nothing else matters. Nothing else matters. “Doctor?” He looked behind himself. Inferno was standing in the doorway of the lab. Coheed and Cambria were right behind him. They were watching him warily. It had been Inferno who had spoken, and he said again, “Doctor? What’s going on?” There they were: The last, best hope for the people of Heaven’s Fence. They were looking to him. They were trusting him. And he was going to give in to the demands of their mortal enemy. Nothing else matters. Hohenberger tried to speak, tried to reply. The words would not come. “Doctor,” Inferno said again, and he did not sound upset because Inferno never sounded upset. There was, however, more intensity to his tone than before. “Doctor, you’re not actually thinking of cooperating with Ryan, are you? You’re not thinking of giving him what he wants. Because that would make you complicit in his madness.” “Inferno, don’t be an idiot,” said Coheed, as if Inferno had just suggested the unthinkable. “The Doc would never do that. Not ever. He knows what’s at stake; he knows that we’re here to fight against everything that Ryan stands for. If the Doc were to try and help Ryan…we’d have to fight against him. He wouldn’t want that. There’s no way that—” “Get out.” It had not been Hohenberger who said that, although it was what he was thinking. It had been Cambria. “Knowledge,” Inferno said in that formal tone of his that sounded the way Hohenberger did when he was lecturing students back in his teaching days, “I don’t think you have the right to—” “Get out, or I’ll make you get out.” Inferno and Coheed exchanged glances. Coheed cocked an eyebrow in a way that seemed to say, “I think she means it.” In mute acknowledgment of that likelihood, Inferno turned without a word and exited, with Coheed right behind him. Cambria stepped into the lab and closed the door behind them. Then she stood with her back against it and simply stared at Hohenberger. No words passed between them for a time. And then Cambria said softly but firmly, “I understand. They do, too, although I doubt they’d admit it. You do what you have to do.” “Doesn’t the rightness or wrongness of my actions matter? I’m not admitting anything one way or the other,” he added quickly. “I’m just…I’m curious as to your opinion.” “I don’t know what’s right. I don’t know what’s wrong,” she said with a shrug. “I don’t think anyone knows for sure. They may think they know; they may even convince themselves of it. But sometimes you can’t be sure until much, much later when you see how it all worked it out. You just have to do the best you can and hope that it all works out.” “Hope?” He laughed bitterly at that. “What’s the point, Cambria? So far having ‘hope’ has gotten me a God who glowers down at us with his Black Rainbow without offering any substantive help. It’s gotten me the Prise, who allow Ryan to do whatever the hell he wants without taking any positive steps to stop him. It’s gotten my son and most likely my wife murdered. I’ve been trusting in the notion of ‘hope’ far too long. You,” he said to Cambria, “know nothing.” “I would be the first to admit that. Because I am Knowledge, and the first step toward true knowledge is realizing how little we know.” He hadn’t realized how close she had gotten to him until she took his hand in hers. She was remarkably warm to the touch. “You love Pearl. Love seems to have significant power as an emotion from what I’ve learned. It’s the one that puts us most directly in touch with God. Trust it. Nothing that pure could possibly lead you off course.” “Those are fine words, Cambria,” he said, unable to keep the bitter tinge out of his voice. “But they’re not rooted in reality. The fact is that people have done terrible, terrible things in the name of love.” “No. They’ve done it when they’ve lost sight of what the emotion is. When they’ve allowed love to be transformed into hatred or jealousy or something else unworthy. ‘In the name of love’ doesn’t mean anything. Keep your love for Pearl firmly in your heart, and everything else will fall into place.” She nodded, apparently satisfied with having spoken her piece and disinterested in Hohenberger’s immediate reaction. She then turned and headed out of the lab, but paused at the door to say, “You have it within you to do great things. We all have it within us,” and then she closed the door softly behind herself. And even before it clicked shut, Hohenberger knew exactly what he was going to do. Barely twenty-four hours later, he did it. And was forever damned.

Chapter 14 Everything You Love

“You summoned me, sir?” said Inferno. The KBI had been remaining where they were, as per Hohenberger’s orders. It had not been easy for Inferno to keep the Beast reined in. Coheed had been desperate to do exactly what he had been advocating for days: Take the fight to Ryan. Go smashing around with the subtlety of an avalanche and try to determine through force of arms and righteousness of anger where Pearl was and effect a rescue that would doubtless leave the object of the mission dead. “Yes. Yes, I did,” said Hohenberger. He was in his study, seated behind his desk, his fingers steepled in a contemplative manner. He seemed to be looking inside himself rather than at Inferno. “I need you to report to the Grail Arbor.” The Grail Arbor was one of the most formidable weapons in the KBI’s arsenal against Wilhelm Ryan. Leonard had woken one day to find Inferno missing from the makeshift training facility he had established. The next day Inferno had returned in a shuttle vessel informing Hohenberger that the Agostis, a group of aliens off-world had given him the ship. He recounted the tale to the Doctor; the Mages and people of Heaven’s Fence weren’t the only victims of Ryan’s hostile takeover. Sector 11, a more progressive part of Heaven’s Fence, had been a melting pot of race and culture, welcoming in the displaced masses, including the Agostis, who’d moved there when their planet was destroyed by a hypernova. When Ryan took Sector 11’s ruling Mage prisoner during the wars, he was disgusted by the presence of the alien races, deeming them impure and confining them to camps until he could determine what should be done with them. Some had escaped off-world and jumped at the chance to share the Grail Arbor as a quiet contribution to the fight against the man who had cast them from their homes. The Arbor, for security reasons and to elude detection by Ryan, had remained consistently on the move. But Inferno remained connected to the vessel at all times and could, at will summon the shuttlepod that would return him to it. “Why?” said Inferno. “Do you have a mission that you wish to send us on?” With a the slightest touch of hope—which was about as much emotion as Inferno would allow himself to display—he said, “Do you have news on Mrs. Hohenberger’s whereabouts?” “No. I simply require that you remain on station.” “Until?” “Until I say otherwise.” He spoke so matter-of-factly it would have seemed to anyone else that there was nothing wrong. Inferno, however, was not anyone else. He was, to all intents and purposes, Hohenberger’s doppelganger, and it often seemed that there was nothing the Doctor could say or do that Inferno would not anticipate. “Doctor…what are you not telling me?” Hohenberger did not reply at first. Then, in measured tones, he said, “What I am not telling you is beside the point, Inferno. All that matters is what I am telling you. And that is that you are to return to the Grail Arbor and remain on station until I give you your next assignment.” Seeing that there was no point in trying to push Hohenberger further on it, Inferno nodded and said, “I will inform Coheed and Cambria to join me in—” “They will be staying here.” Inferno’s back stiffened. “Here?” “Yes. Here.” “Doctor, I must ask again—” “And I must tell you again that I have my reasons and you are not to question them, Inferno. Is that clear?” “Yes, but—” “No. There is no ‘but’ after that sentence. Either it is clear or it is not. If it is clear, then there is nothing more to discuss. If it is not, then there is something wrong with your ability to process information. Now do as I say.” There was much that Inferno wanted to say in response. If he had said it, perhaps matters would have worked out differently, and lives would not have been destroyed. But he said nothing other than, “Yes, sir.” He bowed slightly at the waist and walked out of the house. Coheed and Cambria were waiting for him. “What did he want?” said Coheed. He could not keep the anticipation from his voice. “Does he have a lead on Pearl? Does he—?” “He wants me to return to the Grail Arbor.” “And?” “And wait.” “For what?” “I have no idea. I suppose I will find out. We will all find out.” Coheed bristled at the idea. “That’s not right! He can’t just…just order you around—“ “He can do exactly that,” said Inferno. “It is not my job to second guess him, but to trust him, as we all must.” “Do you really believe that?” said Coheed. “Or are you just saying that to convince yourself—?” There was a familiar noise from overhead. It was the LEO from the Grail Arbor, descending to pick up Inferno and return him to his ship. The KBI watched the pod touch down and then Inferno looked from the pod to his compatriots. “A bit of both, actually,” he said and then strode into the pod. The door irised closed and, moments later, the pod was airborne. Coheed and Cambria were alone. “This is wrong,” said Coheed firmly. “This is just wrong. He shouldn’t be sending Inferno away, he shouldn’t—” “We have to trust the Doctor to do the right thing.” “Trust can be betrayed, Cam. You know that as well as I.” He paused and then said, “What did you talk to the Doctor about? Yesterday when you told Inferno and me to go and you stayed with him in the lab?” “It was private.” “I’d like to know.” “I said—” “I heard you, dammit, but—” He pulled back on his temper, closing his eyes, steadying himself, and then he said more softly, “It’s nice that you can trust the Doc. It’s just a goddamn shame that you can’t trust me the same way.” “I do.” “No. No, you don’t.” She sighed and lowered her head, seeming to have suddenly taken great interest in studying the tops of her boots. “I told him that he should trust what he’s feeling in regards to saving Pearl.” “And you believe that?” “Yes. I am beginning to understand the concept of love, Coheed.” “Which is an odd thing for someone who calls herself ‘Knowledge’ to believe, considering everything you do comes from up here,” and he tapped her forehead.

“Not everything,” she said, and she stepped forward, her closeness catching him off guard. “Do you feel everything you do revolves around bloodshed as your name suggests? “Absolutely n—” The air between them was overwhelmingly magnetic. They awkwardly fell into each other’s arms, their lips coming together softly at first, entirely unsure of themselves. They had the shaky, unadulterated look of young love as they shared the first kiss of both of their lives. They pulled apart for a moment, gasping for air. “Slow down, Beast,” Cambria whispered and their gazes locked before their lips came together once more, this time a bit more steady. The sensation was brand new for the couple—the first perception of passion becoming too much for Coheed’s programming to handle. Instantly he yanked his left arm away from her, just in time, as the machete blades snapped out. She saw what had happened and her eyes widened. Then she put her hands over her mouth and giggled. “They, uh…uhm…” He had never felt quite so embarrassed. He concentrated and the blades were withdrawn into his arm. “Sorry,” he said because he didn’t really know what else to say under the circumstances. “It’s okay.” “I just…” “I know,” and she approached him again and placed a dozen smaller kisses across his face and neck. He closed his eyes and took it all in, pulling up his shirt as she did hers, in an effort to be as close to her as possible—to feel their bare chests flattened together until they nearly melted into a single being. The spell was broken by a loud “harrumph.” Cambria was most definitely not the source. They jumped back from each other, Cambria yanking down her shirt and blushing furiously. Coheed stood there with his shirt rolled up to just under his armpits, and Cambria quickly pulled it down to cover him. Hohenberger was standing in the doorway to the house some yards distant. His face was impassive. “Presuming the two of you can tear yourselves away from each other, I have need of you. Come here, please.” Coheed and Cambria exchanged looks. There was something in the Doctor’s voice that signaled that they should be concerned, but disobeying him didn’t really seem to be an option. “What’s the problem, Doctor?” said Coheed cautiously. “No problem. I have an assignment for you.” “If we have an assignment, shouldn’t Inferno be a part of it?” “Not this one. This one will just require the two of you.” “Yes, Doctor,” said Cambria. Coheed was still hesitant even as Cambria smoothed the front of her shirt and started toward Hohenberger. The Doctor went back into the house as Coheed drew up alongside her and took her by the hand. She stopped and looked up at him questioningly. “Something’s going on,” he said. “Something is always going on.” “I mean, with the Doc. Something that just isn’t right. I know it and I think you know it, too.” “I know that Doctor Hohenberger needs us,” she said. “And I need you.” He placed his other hand atop hers so that they enfolded it. “Cam…I love you—” “Yes, I figured that out.” “And you love me. Don’t tell me you don’t because we both know that’s crap.” “I wasn’t trying to keep it a secret anymore. I kissed you, remember.” “I remember. And if something happened to you—” “Co,” she said gently, “we risk our lives going up against forces that want nothing except to annihilate us. You can’t start worrying about something happening to me. We put our lives on the line all the time. That’s what we were born for. Besides, nothing is going to happen to me.” “No, it won’t. Because I’m going to be right there with you. And if the Doc tries to hurt you…” “You’re not serious, Coheed,” she said. “You’re saying that you’d turn against Doctor Hohenberger?” “I’ll turn against anyone who tries to hurt you. I just wanted you to know that, because if we go in there and he tries something…” “You’ll kill him?” “I’ll do what I have to. And I…” His voice trembled. “I know you care about the Doc, especially after what happened with his wife. And I just want to know that you won’t hate me if I have to, you know…defend you.” “I can take care of myself, but,” and with her free hand she reached up and stroked his bearded chin, “don’t worry, because I could never hate you.” “That’s good to know.” He kissed her gently on the forehead, and then squeezed her hand once more to show strength and support. Together they strode into the house. Hohenberger was waiting for them. He had seen them coming together outside, caught up in the throes of passion. How amazing it must have been for them, how raw the emotions that they were both experiencing for the first time. You never forget your first love. In his mind’s eye, Hohenberger could still see his. It hadn’t been Pearl, that was certain. They hadn’t met until graduate school. No, Leonard’s first love was a tall blonde he had first encountered when just beginning secondary education. She was gorgeous, with legs that seemed to go all the way up to her neck. Up until that point, Leonard had been so disinterested in girls that his parents thought he was asexual and everyone else figured he was into guys. And then he had spotted her coming down the hallway, heading from one class to the next, chatting with friends of hers. She laughed with a toss of her head in such a way that her hair had surged around her face as if it had a life of its own. Leonard had come to a dead halt. It was like a switch had been flipped within him. He forgot to breathe; if the beating of his heart hadn’t been an autonomic reflex, he would have forgotten to maintain that as well and would have keeled over on the spot. If he had done so, at least she would have noticed him. As it happened, she didn’t spot him at all. For the rest of his secondary education career, he never worked up the nerve to approach her. Hopelessly shy during that time, far preferring the world of academics to the world of percolating teen hormones, any time he even considered addressing her his mouth went completely dry. To this day, from time to time, he would sometimes contemplate what his life might have been like if he’d ever had the nerve to speak to the beautiful blonde and tell her exactly what she meant to him. Would she have been a positive influence on him? A negative one? Would she have let him down, because his expectations of her were not based in any true knowledge of her personality, but rather his own imagined version of her? He would never know. All he knew for sure was her name, one that was so permanently lodged in his mind and he was sure that even if he lost all his faculties, he would still remember that. “Camille,” he said. The instant he said it, Coheed and Cambria collapsed, hitting the floor heavily and lying there unmoving. At that moment, if Hohenberger had instructed Coheed to engage his arm cannon, aim it at Cambria and blow her head off, he would have done so without hesitation. He would have stared at her decapitated body as her blood poured out on the floor and he would have felt absolutely nothing. Hohenberger nodded, pleased that the failsafe had worked flawlessly since—if it had not—then he hadn’t been sure exactly what his next move was going to be. There had been no failsafe word installed in Inferno. He hated to admit it, but he hadn’t thought of it when he had created the first of the three beings who would become the KBI. But when he had first begun engaging Inferno, who was as close to a clone of himself as he was going to produce, it quickly became evident to him that Inferno was his own man. Fortunately most of his views of the world matched up with the Doctor’s, but Leonard realized there was no guarantee that the next model, or the next, might likewise be in accord with him. Once Inferno was joined by the Beast and Knowledge, there was no real guarantee that Hohenberger would be able to control his creations, particularly if something went horribly wrong and they were taken over by the very malignant forces they were designed to combat.

And so he had decided to correct that oversight when it came time to program Coheed and Cambria. A simple word, an unusual one that they would not likely encounter in their day-to-day battles against Wilhelm Ryan, but one that would instantly sap their intellect and will if spoken. If the word was spoken again, it would bring them out of their paralysis and they would remember nothing of what happened while they were under its spell. Hohenberger managed to haul Coheed into the lab and wrestle him up onto a gurney. Cambria, the lighter of the two, was easier. An assortment of tubes hung nearby, attached to a variety of intravenous bags. On the metal lab table beside the pair, sat the object of the hour: a gelatinous cube completely enveloping a human heart, its ventricles poking out through the substance like a porcupine. Coheed and Cambria lay upon their backs, staring up blankly at the ceiling. Every so often, one of them would blink. They did so oddly, closing their lids, keeping them closed for exactly two seconds, and opening them again. It was as if they were blinking in slow motion. Other than that and their very slow breathing, there was nothing to indicate that they were alive. Hohenberger had a plan. But it was a plan conceived in hurry and desperation. There were any number of factors that he could not account for, and there was a distinct chance that things could go tragically, horribly wrong. Why not? They had so far.

Chapter 15 While You Were Sleeping

General Deftinwolf had made his first sojourn to the home of Leonard Hohenberger completely on his own. He had the element of surprise, after all, and he also felt it sent an important message of confidence that he was there without any sort of back-up. His return to the Hohenberger domicile was as a result of the good Doctor summoning him via the communications program in the files that Deftinwolf had left with him. This meant that there was every possibility that Hohenberger might be stupid enough to attempt a betrayal and endeavor, in some way, to spring a trap upon him. So, when Deftinwolf arrived at Hohenberger’s isolated mountain retreat, he had one hundred troops with him. There was the likelihood that if they were to find themselves going up against a full-on assault from Knowledge and the Beast, that one hundred would not be enough. Then again, neither would a thousand in all likelihood. There was a fine line between trying to put forward an image of strength as opposed to pointless overkill. Deftinwolf made a circling gesture with his raised finger, indicating to the troops that they should take up positions surrounding the house. They did so immediately, spreading out without making a significant amount of noise. They had been too well trained to just go crashing into things and producing a racket. Once he was confident that his men were in position, Deftinwolf strode to the front door and knocked on it. He could have, of course, just kicked it in, but he saw no reason to engage in brutal acts of destruction. They were, after all, invited guests. No reason they could not act as such. The door swung open and Hohenberger was standing within. He looked like a well-educated doorman. “Come this way, General,” he said, indicating with a sweep of his arm that Deftinwolf should enter. Deftinwolf did so, moving with his usual confident saunter. Still, he took the time to drop his voice to an oddly conversational mutter. “You realize if something were to happen to me, my men will cut you to pieces before you have an instant to celebrate your good fortune.” Hohenberger regarded him blandly, as if he were staring at a schoolgirl who had just committed some manner of social faux pas. “Of course I understand that, General. I am not stupid. In fact, I assume it is the fact that I am not stupid that you sought my help in the first place.” Despite the importance of his position in the grand scheme of things, Deftinwolf could scarcely contain his excitement. “You have it, then? That which Wilhelm Ryan declared you were to provide us?” “I would not have activated your summons had I not done so.” “Where is it?” “First thing’s first. My wife…is she alive?” “Yes,” said Deftinwolf readily. “How do I know that? She could be dead by now and you would have no reason to share that information with me.” “She is not dead. She is alive.” “How do I know? How do I know unless you show her to me?” “You do not get to dictate terms, Doctor.” Hohenberger folded his arms and stuck out his chin slightly. Deftinwolf had to fight the urge to strike him in it. “If I do not see that my wife is alive, then you do not get your precious Monstar.” “I did not come here to fence with you, Doctor.” He was clearly losing patience, unaccustomed as he was to someone giving him this much aggravation. People obeyed him and if they did not, he would kill them. It seemed a perfectly good and understandable relationship. This man was creating impediments to the Way Things Were Done. That was simply unacceptable. “Tell me you have the Monstar, and you will save your life which is, in case you have not yet realized that, very much in danger. Tell me that you have Knowledge and Beast waiting for us as well, and you will see the release of your wife in no time. Say anything else, and I will say good evening, sir.” Hohenberger stared at him for a long moment, and then Deftinwolf could see his resistance wilting. It all came down to Pearl, to that pathetic, mewling thing that was his wife. It was astounding how he could continue to love that creature, despite the way that she had allowed grief to consume not only her, but both their lives. And despite all that, he was still willing to throw everyone and everything away if it meant saving her. Deftinwolf honestly wasn’t certain whether to admire him or pity him, and settled for feeling vague contempt. “Do you have a bioscanner?” Hohenberger said abruptly. The question caught Deftinwolf off guard, which surprised him since he thought that nothing could. “I have a medical technician to attend to wounds. He likely has one.” “Bring him to my lab,” said Hohenberger. “Why? Don’t you have a bioscanner in all that marvelous equipment of yours?” “Yes. But it’s mine, and you may not trust the results.” “Fair enough,” said Deftinwolf reluctantly. He summoned the medtech, who looked slightly puzzled to have his services required since there had been no battle thus far. But he did as he was told, bringing the small, boxy bioscanner with him as he and his General followed Hohenberger to his laboratory. There, Deftinwolf was gratified to see the formidable Knowledge and Beast laid out on tables like the dead. “Excellent,” he said. He looked down at the Beast and passed his hand experimentally over the Beast’s face. There was no responding blink. The Beast appeared lifeless save that he was breathing. Deftinwolf was reasonably sure that Beast wasn’t trapped within, like someone who had had a stroke and was effectively a prisoner of his own body. The Beast was basically sleeping but with his eyes open. “I have been waiting for this. And I’m going to do it with my own hands.” He reached for the Beast’s throat, and Hohenberger said mildly, “I would not do that were I you.” He smiled mirthlessly at Hohenberger. “You must have known this was going to happen; what I would do.” ‘Yes, I did, actually. But you don’t know what’s going to happen once you’ve killed him.”

“Really.” Deftinwolf was unimpressed by this last-ditch effort of Hohenberger’s to try and save his little experiment. “And pray tell, what is going to happen to me?” “I don’t pretend to know the specifics of how it will transpire, but I am reasonably sure that Ryan will kill you in retaliation.” “All Wilhelm Ryan cares about is making sure that the Beast be disposed of. As for Knowledge,” and he gestured toward Cambria, “considering her current state, it might be appropriate to throw her to the troops. Allow them to entertain themselves with her. I suspect that she won’t be aware of what’s happening to her…but we can always hope.” “Then your troopers will die.” “How? From your wrath?” “No. From her body.” Deftinwolf didn’t understand at first, but then, very slowly, he withdrew his hands. “What have you done?” he said with an edge to his voice. “I have given Wilhelm Ryan what he asked for. I have simply done it…creatively. You claimed that he had no desire to employ the Monstar. Taking you at your word, I am presenting to it in a manner that will deter him from doing so. If he truly doesn’t wish to use it, then that should not prove to be a problem. If he does, well…” He shrugged. The General was beginning to lose patience. “Do not play games or toy with me, Doctor. Tell me what you have done, and tell me quickly.” There was unexpected fire in Hohenberger’s eyes and steel in his voice. “What did you think would happen? That I would simply present you with a vial filled with something so virulent that releasing it could destroy all life in the Keywork? It would be unconscionably stupid for me to do that. What if the vial were to shatter? What if you had a traitor in your midst? What if an accident occurred? What if—?” “None of those things were your concern!” “If I made the Monstar a reality, then they were absolutely my concern. Giving you the virus isn’t enough. Making sure that it was contained was also of importance. And I have done so.” Tired of trading words with Hohenberger, Deftinwolf brought the medtech forward. The medtech came as he was bidden, and the General said, “Scan them. Look for any abnormalities in their blood stream.” Hohenberger folded his arms and actually smiled slightly. Deftinwolf, infuriated, would have liked nothing more than to wipe that smug expression off Hohenberger’s face, but as always, he restrained himself, focusing on the needs and desires of Wilhelm Ryan. “Well?” he said impatiently. The medtech was shaking his head, looking confused. “There’s something in him…and in her. But the scanner can’t type it. It’s unlike anything in my data banks. I’m sorry, General, but I don’t know what I’m looking at.” “Best guess, then.” The medtech looked afraid to give a wrong answer, and Hohenberger relieved him of his concerns. “Think of it,” said the Doctor, “as two components of an explosive. Each of them harmless as long as they are on their own, but lethal once combined. Knowledge contains the core disease itself, which is why it would be an extremely bad idea if any of your men decided to…avail themselves…of her body. The Beast contains the compound that will provide the disease the required level of virulence that your master is seeking, although as it so happens that compound gives the Beast immunity to the virus within Knowledge.” “And combining their blood will give us the Monstar?” “No. You’d have to find a way to isolate the virus from their blood. It would be a very complicated procedure, I should think.” Deftinwolf could no longer contain himself. Not wanting to sully his hands on the Doctor, he pulled out his pulser and pointed it directly between Hohenberger’s eyes. He had the targeting sight on, and so a perfect little pinpoint of red light took up residence just above the bridge of the Doctor’s nose. “Give me the virus in its pure form.” “You did not specify in what form I was to give it to you. This is the one you get.” “This is not a game, Doctor!” “Of course it is,” said Hohenberger. “That’s all it’s been to Ryan since the beginning. A vast game of power, played out across Heaven’s Fence. A game in which everyone—you, me, everyone—is nothing but a pawn. So I’ve decided that one of the pawns should make his own move. Wilhelm Ryan will respect that.” “Really. And how can you be so sure of that?” “Because Wilhelm Ryan is a murdering bastard. I have just completed a virus that will enable him to kill billions, and thus I am a murdering bastard as well. And murdering bastards have to respect each other.” He stared levelly at Deftinwolf. “Shoot or do not shoot. It is entirely up to you. The worst that happens is that I do not have to live with the guilt of what I’ve done. You would be doing me a tremendous favor.” Deftinwolf had never wanted to pull a trigger as much in his life. Even as he wanted to yield to the impulse, though, he knew he wasn’t going to. Besides, he could see it in Hohenberger’s eyes: the vacancy of hope, the indifference. One of the most fundamental aspects of human beings was the desire to survive at all costs, and that impulse was absent from Hohenberger. The scientist was completely serious. At that moment, he truly didn’t care if he lived or died. That being the case, what was the point of putting him down? Especially since it would render him useless to Ryan should the Supereme Tri-Mage later decide that he had further use for him. Slowly, reluctantly, but inevitably, Deftinwolf lowered his weapon. “Have them brought out to the ship,” he snapped at the medtech, who in turn scurried to carry out his General’s order. “I want all of your research. Everything you used to make the Monstar a reality. If there is anything missing—if there is the slightest sign that you have held anything back—your wife will die, I promise you that. And she will die in such a way that she will be begging for it to happen sooner than it will. Do you understand that?” “Understand it?” He laughed bitterly. “Contemplating that has filled my every waking moment since you first set foot in my home.” Minutes later Deftinwolf’s men had gathered up everything—Coheed, Cambria, all of Hohenberger’s notes—and secured them all to the drop ship. It was just Deftinwolf and Hohenberger once more, much as it had been days earlier. “How long until Pearl is released?” said Hohenberger. “Once Wilhelm Ryan has satisfied himself as to the truth of your claims, she will be brought here immediately.” “And then what? You’ll kill us both?” “What would be the point of that?” he said with a shrug. “You are too small and this is far too big.” He bowed slightly. “You are an intriguing adversary, Doctor. You think in a manner that is outside the norm. You give your opponent what he wants but not in the way he wants it. In that, of course, you are depending upon Wilhelm Ryan’s good humor and respect to appreciate your cleverness rather than reward it by returning your wife to you in pieces.” “My wife is already shattered, and that is entirely Wilhelm Ryan’s doing.” “Is it? Or are you simply looking to blame someone else for your own failures? In the end, is it Ryan’s fault that your son is dead? Or are you angry with yourself for failing to protect him? Or is it God’s fault for failing to protect any of you? It is easy to select one individual element and say that it is entirely that element’s fault. But the truth is, Doctor, that in your delivery of the Monstar, you have created a perfect analogy for the way the universe works. No single element is responsible for the diseases that plague us. It is always a combination of things. We can realize that and accept our own place in that grand scheme…or we can just point fingers and say, ‘He and he alone is to blame.’ You’re a considerate man. Consider that. Or don’t. It is entirely up to you.” Hohenberger did not respond. Which was fine as far as Deftinwolf was concerned, since he had nothing more to say to him. * * * Hohenberger was alone. Except, he wasn’t. He returned to his lab as he heard the last of the drop ships take off. He was certain that at that moment, Coheed and Cambria were being whisked off to House Atlantic. At least Ryan wouldn’t dare touch them. Hohenberger had managed to arrange that much, at least. He would treat them with extreme caution, as if they were highly volatile material. But he had to do more than that. And he had. He tapped a button on the wall and it slid aside. It revealed a highly secured area that he had crafted long ago, just in case unwanted visitors happened to show up.

Within that area was contained what he had come to refer to as “the vats.” It was the complicated array of devices that had basically served as the birthing area for Coheed, Cambria and Inferno. It had not been long ago at all that he watched with amusement as Coheed, still in a pre-birth, but adolescent, state, had beheld Cambria and manifested an example of his physical interest in her. Yet at the same time that moment seemed a lifetime ago. Now there was something else—someone else—floating in the viscous liquid that filled the vat, which had previously contained Coheed. A tiny being, legs curled up, arms tucked under its miniature chin. He noticed that she was sucking her thumb. Slowly he placed his hand flat against the vat and stared in at her. He’d named her Josephine, an homage to a boy she would never have the opportunity to know. He turned away from her, quickly, before he lost control, forcing himself to think in a logical, linear progression and remove any hint of emotion from the equation. Granted, he had a plan, but it was a plan conceived in hurry and desperation. There were any number of factors that he could not account for, and there was a distinct chance that things, as seemed to be the trend of late, could go terribly wrong. He had to make preparations. He sat down in front of his vidcam, the one that he had usually employed when he was filming experiments in progress. They were for his own reference, so that he could review them and possibly see somewhere where he had made an error. This, however, was intended for viewing by someone else. He hoped it would never come to that, and feared that it might. “If you are watching this,” he began, “then the chances are that I am no longer alive. If that is the case, then listen carefully: Here is what I have done, and what you must now do, because—and I apologize for the hyperbole—but the fate of every living creature on Heaven’s Fence is going to depend upon your actions…”

Chapter 16 All Falls Apart

“Diabolical. The man is diabolical.” Mayo Deftinwolf was astounded at the way that Wilhelm Ryan had made that pronouncement, because the Supreme Tri-Mage was speaking in a manner that Deftinwolf was unaccustomed to hearing. Ryan actually seemed to be displaying just a touch of admiration for an opponent. It was not what Deftinwolf had been expecting. He had thought that Ryan would erupt in fury upon learning what Hohenberger had done. He would not have been the least bit surprised if, unable to contain his rage, Ryan had immediately gone to where he was keeping Pearl Hohenberger a prisoner and slain her on the spot. Just cut loose her dangling coffin and allowed her to plummet into the depths. Instead Ryan produced the closest thing to a laugh that he had ever heard from the Supreme Tri-Mage. They were not face-to-face, Deftinwolf and Ryan, or at least not physically so. Deftinwolf was still en route in his vessel, with the Beast and Knowledge safely tucked away. Ryan was appearing to him as a hologram, for Deftinwolf had felt that the sooner he conveyed the news to his master, the better. “Yes. Diabolical,” Ryan said again. “Far moreso than I would have credited him. He provides me what I want, but not the way I expected. He seeks to free his wife from my kindly clutches while simultaneously hoping to buy additional time for Heaven’s Fence by delaying my accessing the Monstar. He is allowing for the possibility that I might employ the virus the moment I get my hands on it.” He stroked his chin thoughtfully, caressing the oozing cracks therein. Deftinwolf did not ask Ryan if that was indeed his plan. It wasn’t the General’s place to question; only obey. He did, however, ask, “Will you kill his wife?” “Hmm? Why would I do that, General?” “Because he attempted to get around giving you the Monstar.” “Yes, but he did give it to me, in such a way that his conscience could feel unsullied. One of the hazards, you’ll have to admit, of having a conscience in the first place.” “But you are under no obligation to return his wife to him.” “He met the terms of the arrangement, General.” Ryan actually sounded stricken that this could even be a topic for conversation. “How could you even suggest such a thing? No, no,” he continued before Deftinwolf could reply. “We must do as we have promised that we would do. His wife will be returned to him. Of course,” he added, almost as a casual afterthought, ”if Hohenberger can meet his commitments in a way that is other than what is expected…there is no reason that we cannot do the same.” “You mean…that we should make certain he is reunited with his wife—” “—in a manner that is not what he was expecting,” said Ryan. “But nothing so crass as returning her corpse. She could, however, be returned in a less-than-whole manner.” “You mean missing some fingers, or a hand, or an entire arm, for instance.” “An intriguing notion, General, but a bit rough. There are means of returning her as less than the woman she was, but stopping short of physical mutilation. You have sent me the specifics of the good Doctor’s notes on his creation of the Monstar?” “Yes, sir.” “Good. I will look them over carefully, and as soon as you return, I will be sending you back to Doctor Hohenberger with his wife. I’m sure that you and she will have a most intriguing…chat.” * * * Pearl Hohenberger slowly approached the small shuttlecraft. It was a sleek cone design and pitch black, with the round door irised open in the side. There was not a single window, view port, or anything to break the smooth black surface. At first she had hesitated to enter, for she felt as if she would be stepping into a coffin. Then she remembered where she had just spent the most recent days of her life and allowed the small platoon of guards to guide her there…not that she could have prevented them from doing so even if she’d been so inclined. She blinked in the sunlight like a mole just dragged out from its burrow. Her legs were unsteady and she was walking with a cane, although she was moving a bit faster with every passing minute. It was obvious that she was becoming stronger, her muscles quickly regaining their strength. The guards stopped just outside the ship and formed two perfect lines, facing each other and standing at attention. Pearl used the cane to get past them as quickly as she could, although she kept giving them suspicious glances the entire time, as if worried that one of them was going to shoot her or trip her or something. From within the shuttle, Deftinwolf watched the entire process with amusement. His face, though, remained unreadable. The cabin was cramped, with the pilot seated next to Deftinwolf, running the final checks before takeoff. Every so often he would glance toward Deftinwolf, looking slightly nervous. Once he even bumped the General with his elbow and immediately started spewing apologies. Deftinwolf ignored it. There was a single passenger seat against the wall, which was where Pearl Hohenberger would be seated. Slowly she eased her way in, putting the cane in first to ensure her balance before entering the rest of the way herself. She glanced around the shuttle and then sucked in her breath sharply when she saw Deftinwolf. “Sit down, Pearl, and fasten the restraints,” he said, gesturing toward her seat. “The sooner you do so, the sooner we can bring you home.” Without a word she slid into the seat and clicked shut the straps. She did not look directly at him; instead she kept glancing in a sidelong manner at him, like a trapped animal. “Are you comfortable, Pearl?” “Stop it.” “Stop what?”

“Stop acting like you care about me. Like we’re friends.” She spoke with great effort, as if she was reminding herself how to form words with each syllable. “We’re not friends. Your people kidnapped me, you bastard.” “It was regrettable, but necessary.” “Necessary?” She could barely get the word out. “In God’s name, why?” “Because Wilhelm Ryan said so.” He turned to the pilot and gestured toward the sky. The shuttle’s thrusters roared to life and the small ship leaped skyward. “We will have you to your home within minutes and you will be able to put all of this behind you.” “Do you really believe that?” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “You will not even need that cane by the time you reach your destination. I am told you will be fully restored.” “After what he did to me—?” He looked her up and down as the shuttle continued its sharp climb. “You seem intact. You have all your fingers and toes and internal organs. Both your eyes are still in your head. There are others who have run afoul of Wilhelm Ryan who departed his company in far worse shape than you. And he did apologize, from what I understand. Repeatedly, in fact.” “Another part of his little mind game.” “You’re mistaken. He cares very much. Apparently more than your husband does.” He had spoken very carefully, with the same sort of dexterity typically required to slide a knife between someone’s ribs. It prompted the desired result. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” she said. “Pearl…you’re in a delicate state of mind right now. It would be best if we didn’t discuss this any furth—” “Fuck my state of mind! Tell me what you’re talking about! Tell me what’s going on? Why are you letting me go? Is this some sort of…of sick joke? You’re going to fly me around for a while, then bring me right back to that…that coffin…and lock me away some more—?” “Of course not. There’s no need for us to do that. We got what we wanted.” “And what was that?” “Hmm?” “What did you want that you got?” He liked prolonging the exchange. He wanted to build up that moment of dread in her mind, especially since she was a bright enough woman to intuit that she wasn’t going to like the answer. “Why…your husband’s cooperation, of course.” “I don’t believe it. He wouldn’t cooperate with you. He wouldn’t do anything to help you. He hates you as much as I do.” “Perhaps. But his hatred wasn’t enough to dampen his willingness to aid Wilhelm Ryan when it suited his needs. And in this case, for whatever reason, his need was to get you back. Remarkable, how much he loves you, Pearl. He was willing to put the lives of billions at stake just to get you back.” “Never.” She shook her head. “He would never do that.” “He would and he did. He crafted a rather nasty little virus. One that could destroy the entirety of the Keywork and billions of people with it. Not only that, but he turned over his pets, Knowledge and the Beast. Just served them right up to us, easy as you please. He couldn’t give Wilhelm Ryan what he wanted fast enough.” “No.” “One life in exchange for billions. When you think about it, it’s rather sweet.” “It’s not sweet. And it’s not something Leonard would do. I don’t believe you!” He shrugged. “Whether you believe me or not really isn’t of much relevance. It is what it is. Ask him yourself. I rather suspect that he will not be capable of lying to you. Ask him if he did not willingly toss aside all means of resistance…give Wilhelm Ryan ultimate power…surrender Knowledge and the Beast…all for the sake of saving you,” he continued with a patronizing inflection in his voice, “his one true love. In fact, you don’t even have to do all that. When you see him, simply say one word to him: ‘Monstar.’ Then watch his face, carefully, as only a wife can. See what happens.” “I…I won’t.” “No?” “I won’t be your pawn.” “My dear Pearl, that’s all you’ve been. But we are done moving you around. Your actions from this point on are entirely in your own hands. If you do nothing…then you’re complicit in Leonard’s actions and give tacit approval, endorsing his decision to put billions of lives on the line just to save your own. If you take action, on the other hand, well…then that’s simply justice, isn’t it? After all, you would have killed Ryan…killed me…killed anyone who helped him if you had that opportunity. So why would your husband be exempt from your righteous anger? But as I said…that’s in your hands.” The shuttle suddenly jolted to a halt. Pearl looked around in confusion; she had been so caught up in his words that she had literally forgotten that she was in the air. Except that no longer appeared to be the case. The small engines of the shuttle continued to hum in standby mode as Deftinwolf looked at her sympathetically. “This is where we part company, Pearl. I hate to admit it, but I’m on a rather pressing schedule. There’s going to be a rally this evening celebrating the greatness of Wilhelm Ryan and I’m expected to be his representative there. Tedious, I know, but it cannot be avoided. One has to do what one can in order to keep the people happy. Besides, I believe you have a romantic evening ahead of you.” The door irised open. Pearl tried to stand up automatically and was yanked back down into her seat since she had neglected to undo the straps. Her hands fumbled at them and seconds later she had pulled them clear. She got to her feet and stepped forward out the door. “You see?” said Deftinwolf approvingly. “Your legs are fully functional. Good health to you.” “It’s lies,” she said even as she stepped out of the door. “All lies…from the General who serves the prince of lies…” “How do you know that?” “Because Leonard knows the right thing to do. He always knows.” “How nice for him. And do you also always know the right thing to do? Would you know the right thing to do if you happened to discover that everything I told you was true?” “I won’t dignify that comment with a response.” He had been saving the best for last. “Tell me, Pearl…are you familiar with an insect derived from a dragonfly?’” He saw her eyes widen, her face go pale, and he knew he had her. “Yes, yes I can see you are. Wilhelm Ryan went over the notes your husband so generously kept in his endeavors. Apparently your little insect is an instrumental step in your husband’s very big creation for Ryan.” Pearl had no response. The most she could manage was a faint rasping from the back of her throat. It was as if her vocal cords had been severed. She was standing clear of the shuttle and Deftinwolf tossed something out to her. It landed on the ground at her feet. She stared down as it as if he had just flipped a handful of excrement to her. “A token of our appreciation. Use it as you see fit,” he said. He turned to the pilot and made an “up” gesture with his thumb. The door irised shut, cutting off his view of Pearl Hohenberger, and seconds later the shuttle was driven skyward by its powerful thrusters. Pearl was left standing there, regarding the object at her feet with fear and loathing. Then, very slowly, she reached down for it, picked it up, shoved it into her pocket, and headed toward the house.

Chapter 17 In the Flame of Error

Leonard had been lying on the living room couch, drifting in and out of consciousness. He had been far too agitated to simply go to bed and sleep. He was determined to stay awake until Pearl was safely back at home. He kept trying to push away from his mind any thoughts on what he had done. He told himself that none of it mattered as long as it meant Pearl was home. He told himself that what he had actually managed to do was buy time. Yes, he had delivered Coheed and Cambria to his mortal enemy, but they would be safe enough. Plus he still had one thing on his side: As near as he could determine, Ryan didn’t know about Inferno. He had only ever seen Coheed and Cambria in action. He might know that the two of them managed to get around in an unknown vessel, but he didn’t have the slightest idea that Inferno, possibly the most dangerous of the trio, was still at large. As soon as Pearl was back, as soon as her safety was assured, then Leonard would summon Inferno. At that point, they would put a strategy together to retrieve Coheed and Cambria. He would tell her about all the plans he had created to combat the Monstar in the unspeakable event that Ryan managed to unleash it. He would tell Inferno all about Josephine. And he would tell Pearl about her as well. And it would make everything okay. Fatigue tugged at his eyelids, and Joseph was sitting next to him on the couch, smiling and talking about all of his future plans and all of the great things he was going to accomplish. Pearl emerged from the kitchen, and the odd thing was that she was flying. She had dragonfly wings projecting from her back, fluttering delicately and enabling her to drift through the air, her feet dangling just above the ground. She was holding a batch of freshly baked chocolate chip brownies and smiling. He couldn’t smell them, which was odd. The air should have been suffused with their aroma. “My family,” said Pearl with a sigh. “The most marvelous family a woman could ever have. We are truly blessed.” “Yes, we are,” said Leonard. She laid the brownies on the table and eased herself into Leonard’s lap. “I just want to do you right here and now,” she said with a low chuckle. “Honey! Joseph is right here!” “I can go away. Watch.” Slowly Joseph began to fade, becoming transparent, and suddenly Leonard felt a deep fear, a sense that something terrible was about to happen if he let Joseph out of his sight. “Wait!” he said with growing urgency, but Joseph wasn’t waiting. He was vanishing into the air, and when Leonard reached for him, his hand went right through his son. “Don’t worry about him,” said Pearl, and she kissed him with an intensity and passion that he had almost forgotten she had. She shoved her tongue deep into his mouth, and then the couch began to shake. He tried to push Pearl off himself, to see what was happening, and suddenly Pearl’s face—Pearl herself—had transformed into something scarcely recognizable as human, much less Pearl. The skin had peeled away from her skin like overripe fruit, and there was nothing but her skull with bits of flesh desperately clinging to it. The remains of her lips pulled back into a sickening parody of a smile as she whispered, “How did you think this was going to end?” and then she buried her teeth in his throat. He screamed as he tried to shove her off himself, and then looked down in horror as the rumbling tore open the floor to the side of the couch. A gaping chasm waited for them, and Pearl, or the creature that had been Pearl, drew back her blood-covered mouth and howled triumphantly as she thrust with her legs and pushed the both of them into the gap. He thrashed around in terror, screaming her name, howling for salvation that would not come, would never come, and that was when his twisting around caused him to fall off the real couch in the real world. The sleeping Hohenberger hit the ground, which was very much intact, and he started awake, his mind momentarily caught in the twilight line between waking and sleeping. And in that confusion, he though that Pearl was really there before he realized he was alone, and he thought the ground truly was rumbling, which…as it turned out…it was. The realization caused him to let out a confused and alarmed cry as he feared, for just a heartbeat, that the crevice he had dreamed up truly was going to open before him. Then he realized that the trembling was being caused, not by something shifting in the ground beneath him, but instead because of something above. No doubt the source was a small airship, or perhaps a shuttle. Hohenberger sprang to his feet and ran for the front door. He threw it open and looked up just in time to see a shuttlecraft angling quickly away. He was certain from the design and style that it was one of the Red Army’s vehicles. That meant… What did that mean? “Pearl?” he whispered, and then he shouted, “Pearl!” He made a snap analysis of which direction the shuttle had come from and started running that way. He was shouting her name the entire way. He was, of course, making an idiot of himself if she was nowhere around. Then again, if he was alone in the woods, at least there wasn’t anyone around to be embarrassed in front of. Then he skidded to his halt, and he choked out a laugh of strangled joy. Pearl was approaching him slowly, walking on a cane. She looked ashen and seemed to have lost about ten pounds. She had been slender to begin with and now looked practically skeletal. He wanted to start shouting profanities directed at the unseen Ryan and Deftinwolf, but there was time enough for that later. Right now he had to focus on tending to his wife’s needs. When she saw him, she stopped moving. He ran toward her, his arms spread wide, and then there something in her hand. He saw it and came to a dead stop. This time it wasn’t out of a moment of joyous incredulity. This time it was from pure, stinking fear. She was holding a hand pulser on him. “Pearl,” he said slowly, “what are you doing?” “Is it true?” “Is what true—?” “Don’t play games with me, Leonard.” Slowly she was advancing on him. She was having trouble keeping the pulser leveled because her hand was trembling. “I swear to God almighty, do not play games with me.” “Pearl,” he said cautiously, making no sudden movements, terrified that anything he might do could set her off, cause her to squeeze the trigger, “Pearl…listen to me. They’ve…they’ve brainwashed you somehow. Turned you against me. Think. Think about the fact that the woman I knew would never do this. Even when you were so angry with me after Joseph, even after all of that…you still would never do what you’re doing now. I need the woman you were to look at the woman you are now and realize that they did this to you, that you need to be stronger than they are, to—” “Tell me about the Monstar.” He was paralyzed. He felt a burning behind his eyeballs and the vein in his temple was throbbing so fiercely that it seemed as if it was going to blow out the side of his head. “The…the—” “They said you gave him a virus called the Monstar. One that could kill everyone and everything on the Fence.” She was drawing closer, closer. “He said that you integrated the syringa somehow. That in order to save me, you were willing to kill everyone else. Which is the most insane thing I’ve ever heard, because if Ryan unleashes a doomsday virus, how the fuck long do you think I would survive in any event? Tell me you didn’t do it.” She was less than a foot away and her hand was shaking so violently that Leonard was concerned she would fire the thing involuntarily. He couldn’t allow that, especially when there was so much to explain to her, so much that she needed to know. “Pearl…it’s complicated. You see—” “I don’t want to see. I don’t want to know that it’s complicated. I want a simple, clean, yes-or-no answer, and I swear, Leonard if it’s a lie, I will know and I will kill you.” Her voice grew louder and shrill, more hysterical than he had ever heard, and she shrieked, “Yes or no, did you create a doomsday virus, pervert the intention of the syringa, turn it over to Ryan, along with Coheed and Cambria?!”

“Yes, but—!” With a screech, she swung the pulser up and directly into his face. Hohenberger leaped at it, trying to grab it away from her. She yanked it clear of him and something slammed into the side of his head. He realized belatedly that it was the cane even as he hit the ground. He tried to stand, tried to speak the words that his brain were able to string together with facility but that he could not force his mouth to speak. It was as if a barrier had been erected between his brain and his lips, one that he was helpless to overcome. You need to know! Leonard’s mind screamed. He tried to think so loudly that she would somehow be able to pluck his thoughts from the air. You need to know the back-up plan! The cure I’ve come up with that’s going to solve everything, make everything all right! Ryan thinks he’s won but I’ve fooled him! Him and Deftinwolf! I’ve played them both in order to free you, and I’ll lay it all out for you if you’ll just listen a moment! What he managed to get out was, “You need—” and then the cane struck again, this time on the back of his head. Blackness enveloped him and just before he slumped into unconsciousness, he heard the pulser powering up. That was when he knew, beyond any question that he was never going to wake up. * * * He lies there and I can see the swelling already beginning to rise from where I struck him. I want to bring the cane slamming down again and again and scatter pieces of his skull all over the forest. I can’t do it. I know in his heart he meant well, but I don’t know who he is anymore. He is a traitor to everything we knew together, everything we ever shared, our son, our beliefs, our… I drop the cane because I don’t need it anymore, and I take aim with the gun. It’s not shaking anymore. I’m ready to pull the trigger and put an end to this…this farce. This insanity. I can hear Ryan in my head. He’s nowhere near here, and yet he’s right there, right there in my head, whispering, telling me to pull the trigger, to do the right thing on behalf of Heaven’s Fence. I close my eyes and try to see Joseph’s face, and all I can see is Wilhelm Ryan’s mottled purple face, leering at me, and the spiders are coming out yet again, I can feel them crawling around in there. And then Ryan’s face begins to shift, and it transforms into my beautiful dragonfly. My eyelids open to slits, and I look down at Leonard. The pulser is aimed squarely at the back of his head. It’s what Deftinwolf thinks he deserves. It’s what Ryan thinks he deserves. It’s what they want me to think he deserves. And I don’t know what I think anymore. I don’t know whether my thoughts are my own, or if they’re implanted by Ryan and Deftinwolf. I need to get them out of there. I need to remember who I am. I need to still the voices of Ryan and Deftinwolf, of doubt and uncertainty and naked fury. I need to escape. I need guidance, and I have no idea from where it should come. And then I see it again. Or at least I think I see it. Perhaps it’s there, or perhaps a God in whom I do not believe has placed it there to guide me. It’s the syringa. The pulser is no longer in my hand; it has slipped out of it and clattered to the ground. I don’t even think about it. Instead I follow the insect. It represents so much to me: a potential for new life, a triumph of experimentation… …and freedom. That is what the insect portends for me. Freedom from the voices screaming within my head, freedom from all the disasters that have been visited upon us. Freedom from the knowledge that my husband has acted to destroy the entirety of Heaven’s Fence because of me. I reach toward the fly and it flutters just beyond my reach. But it’s guiding me. I know that now. Guiding me toward what I need. It goes up. I follow it. Higher. This is a test. That’s it. It’s testing me. It needs to know how much I want the secrets contained within it. I’ll show it. I’ll show it I’m worthy. But how can I do it? These branches loom in front of me… And suddenly they are gone. They are no longer branches. They are arms. Arms with hands. That should repulse me, and yet for some reason it does not. They are gesturing to me invitingly, waving to me, the hands open and inviting. I tentatively reach up toward one of the hands and it takes me in a grip that is both firm and yet gentle. It pulls me up and I go with it, and then other hands are helping as well. They pass me upward, one to the next, and the higher I go, the more exhilarated I feel. My problems are being left behind and below. Let Leonard stew in the guilt of his own making. Let him worry about the sins that he has committed. I can leave them all behind and start anew. I reach the highest point to which the arms and hands can take me, and the ones who are near me point toward the syringa darting around me, telling me that it is impressed by my determination. It has decided that I am worthy, and it invites me to join it. It wants to dance with me. It has been so long since I felt that sort of abandon that dancing brings. In my youth, I loved to dance. I would practice leaps and spins and feel as if I could fly. I left that girl far behind, and I miss her terribly. I want her back. I want myself back. The multiple hands wave good-bye to me, wishing me well. I leap toward the dragonfly and I am light as air, and together we dance, and I’m young again, so young, and I can’t recall the last time I was this hap— * * * Leonard Hohenberger fought his way back to consciousness, feeling as if he were swimming through a thick soup in order to do so. He lifted up his head, licked his lips and tasted dirt. It took him a few moments to realize that he was surprised to be alive; he had thought he was a dead man. He reached up tentatively to the back of his head and could feel a lump already growing. Leonard winced when he touched it and made a mental note not to do that again. He raised his eyes and saw, with a sharp intake of breath, the barrel of the pulser aimed right at him. Then he realized that that was all he was seeing: the gun. It was lying on the ground, and Pearl was nowhere to be seen. Hohenberger got to his feet, his legs wavering and threatening to buckle under him. He wished that he had a cane to lean on the way that Pearl had… “Pearl…” he muttered. The cane… He saw small digs in the dirt from the cane, heading off at a different angle than she’d been approaching him. The ground was sufficiently hard that he wasn’t seeing her footprints, but the cane had dug in hard enough that he was able to track it. He sprinted after it, and noted that the further he went, the lighter the track from the cane became. She was leaning on it less and less. Soon the marks from the cane had vanished entirely, but he no longer needed it. He suspected he knew exactly where she was going: Inspiration Hideout. The trail was taking him unerringly in that direction, and he was becoming increasingly certain that she was heading there for some damned reason. Hurry! Hurry! Leonard’s mind shouted at him. He tried running, and his knees buckled and down he went. He ripped both pants knees and blood and dirt mixed as he staggered back to his feet and forced himself to keep going. He needed to get to her, to find her, to take care of her. There was no telling the full extent of the damage that Ryan had inflicted upon her. Her state of mind was, to put it mildly, uncertain. She might be a danger to others, or even to herself. She had left a gun behind, but who was to say it was the only one she had on her? My God, what if Ryan had…I don’t know…put a bomb in her or something? We’re talking about Ryan, for God’s sake. Anything is possible. Find her. Find her, for the love of—

Still a hundred feet away from Joseph’s beloved place of contemplation, he heard the sound of something striking the rock with a disgusting, heavy thud, a splatting noise like wet cement being thrown against a wall. He screamed her name then, praying that the noise wasn’t what he thought it was while knowing that it was. He burst into the clearing and saw exactly what he had feared: Pearl was lying flattened against the large rock that, once upon a time, Joseph had perched upon and spoken so dreamily about all his plans for when he grew up. She lay upon Joseph’s grave, her body crumbled like a puppet bereft of its strings. It was clear from the broken branches that lay around her, like a shattered cradle, that she had plummeted from overhead. A woman who had been tortured in so many senses was now at peace, bound in death with her beloved son. Leonard Hohenberger sank to his knees, pain stabbing into them as he put weight upon them. He began to sob violently, and he was no longer crying out Pearl’s name. Instead he was babbling incoherently, starting one sentence after the next and unable to complete any of them. Their entire life together flashed past his eyes, from the first time he’d laid eyes on her to their wedding to the birth of their son to now, and everything in between. It seemed as if they had been together forever, and yet it had also passed in scarcely more than a heartbeat. And when Leonard Hohenberger had expended all his energy and grief and frustration, he reached over tentatively and drew a single finger against her open palm. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. Then he looked in the direction that the shuttlecraft had gone in. He strongly suspected he knew where it was going. He had been watching the news; he knew what was planned. And he knew at that moment precisely what he was going to do. “Don’t worry, my love,” and he kissed her knuckles. “You’re with Joseph now, and soon the family will be together again. I swear to you. I swear to the God whose company you’re in. Everything is going to be better, because I’m going to be the man you wanted me to be…needed me to be…and I wasn’t. But I will be. In the end, that’s what I’ll be. For you. All for you.”

Chapter 18 This Shattered Symphony

Mayo Deftinwolf was in his glory. He knew all too well that Wilhelm Ryan had little patience for lavish displays of staged public affection. But Ryan understood that they went a long way toward keeping the public passive and the adoration for him percolating. Deftinwolf strongly felt that another celebration of Ryan’s greatness needed to be held in order to counter any of the headway that Knowledge and Beast had made in the public consciousness. Their threat was over, but even though a tourniquet had been applied to stop the bleeding, there was still a good deal of spilled blood to clean up. And so Deftinwolf had had his men organize a demonstration in Apity Central, the capital of Apity Prime. It would serve to let the people know that Wilhelm Ryan had asserted his control over those who had tried to bring him down. There was a message to be delivered this day, and Deftinwolf was unquestionably the man to deliver it. As the people cheered, as the flags flew, as the music played, Deftinwolf took his place on a hastily constructed stage. The Black Rainbow looked down upon the assemblage, people packed in shoulder to shoulder, having to fight the motion of people around them so as not to fall and get crushed underfoot. And yet, even with being stomped to death a very real possibility, impending demise did nothing to dampen the crowd’s enthusiasm. And Deftinwolf was extremely skilled at keeping that enthusiasm at fever pitch. “It has been a long and difficult road, my friends!” Deftinwolf called out to them. “It is a road that has been leading steadily uphill, and thus the climb has been challenging. But we have reached the crest and the rest of the way will be much, much easier! We will feel the exhilaration of running where we had been walking with effort! We will know the greatness of a destiny that we will share with the Supreme Tri-Mage, Wilhelm Ryan!” Cheers and shouts and huzzahs filled the air to the point where it was near deafening. If Deftinwolf had not had a microphone to his mouth, he would have seemed mute even if he was shouting at the top of his lungs. “The Red Army stands ready to take on all threats! There is no obstacle we cannot overcome, no challenge that we cannot rise to meet! Only the best and the brightest serve in the army of Wilhelm Ryan!” He gestured to indicate the squad of soldiers who lined the stage, watching the crowd, their faces unseen within their helmets. “The enemies of Wilhelm Ryan are your enemies as well. And we will stop at nothing to protect you from them. Anyone who stands opposed to the Supreme Tri-Mage will quickly pay the ultimate penalty!” More cheers, more cries of “Wilhelm Ryan is God!” and “Ryan will live forever!” and similar sentiments. This time they did not stop shouting, though. This time it continued to escalate, louder and louder, as if it were building upon itself. At first Deftinwolf endeavored to quiet them so he could continue to talk, but he realized they weren’t going to stop anytime soon, and so shrugged and allowed them their head. And while that was happening, he continued to scan the crowd as he typically did in any gathering. Because Mayo Deftinwolf was, first and foremost, a military man, and as such he prided himself on always being one step ahead of the enemy and keeping a careful watch for any potential ambush. So it was that Deftinwolf spotted the man moving through the crowd toward him. None of the other soldiers had spotted him as of yet, and the people were too busy jostling each other to take any notice. He was wearing a long coat and a hat pulled low over his eyes. He was lean, like a bent branch, and walking stiffly, seemingly trying to avoid contact with anyone else. That was, of course, impossible, and yet when he bumped up against anyone near him, he would recoil from them as if he’d received an electric shock. Yet he kept pushing through, like a man on a mission. Deftinwolf figured out within seconds who the man was and the nature of his mission. “Hohenberger,” he whispered. He couldn’t fathom it; he had been certain that Pearl was going to blow his brains out and save Deftinwolf the trouble. Having the troublesome Doctor killed by his beloved wife was the sort of ironic denouement that appealed to Wilhelm Ryan, and Deftinwolf had been more than happy to facilitate that outcome. So it was shocking to see him here, now, moving toward the General with what could only be described as a singularity of purpose. Had he killed his wife in self-defense? That would be almost as satisfying a punishment, although it still left Hohenberger walking around with all that knowledge in his head; that same knowledge that had created the individuals who had caused Wilhelm Ryan so much aggravation. At that moment, Hohenberger somehow sensed that Deftinwolf had noticed him. He looked up and he and Deftinwolf locked gazes. And from within the folds of his coat, Hohenberger pulled out a pulser. Deftinwolf recognized it instantly; it was the one he had tossed out of the ship to Pearl so that she could, presumably, use it on her husband. Apparently, for whatever reason, it had not been put to that use. Deftinwolf did not hesitate. Even though Hohenberger had the element of surprise, Deftinwolf was far faster. Hohenberger was just pulling the pulser clear of his coat and Deftinwolf already had his own, far larger pulser yanked clear of his side holster and was aiming it square at Hohenberger. Not realizing what was happening, and thinking that Deftinwolf was threatening them, the crowd was ready to break into a stampede. Countless lives would have been lost, which didn’t bother Deftinwolf all that much except that his men would wind up having to oversee the cleanup detail, and he wasn’t enamored of that notion. “Nobody move!” His voice thundered into the microphone, carrying above the shouts of the crowd, and it froze them in their spots. Hohenberger, however, did not obey him, and he tried to bring his pulser up to fire off a blast at Deftinwolf. Deftinwolf squeezed off a shot and winged Hohenberger. Hohenberger fell back, the weapon dropping from his hand.

Having seen the target of Deftinwolf’s assault, a dozen Red Army soldiers elbowed their way into the sea of people. The packed crowd tried its best to get out of their way; fortunately they didn’t have far to go, since Hohenberger had made it quite a ways toward the front before catching Deftinwolf’s attention. A pair of soldiers grabbed at his arms in an attempt to restrain him, causing Hohenberger to yelp in pain as he was reminded of the flesh wound on his shoulder. Deftinwolf was a crack shot. Had he wanted to blow Hohenberger’s arm off, he could have done so. “Bring him up here!’ Deftinwolf ordered. The soldiers looked surprised, but they hauled Hohenberger up to the stage. He stumbled as they pulled him up the steps, nearly falling before they yanked him to his feet and half-dragged, half-carried him to Deftinwolf. Finally the soldiers regained their footing, gripping the squirming doctor between them so tightly their knuckles went white under their crimson gloves. Hohenberger glowered at Deftinwolf. Deftinwolf put the microphone aside. The crowd was shouting, “Traitor!” and “Kill him!” because that was the level of their devotion to Wilhelm Ryan. Deftinwolf wasn’t especially inclined, however, to give the crowd what it wanted just because they were howling for it. Because he had set down the microphone and the crowd was busy calling for blood at full volume, none of them could hear him as he addressed Hohenberger. “What the hell did you think you were doing?” “I was trying to kill you,” said Hohenberger as if he were addressing an idiot. “What did you think I was doing when I pointed a gun at you? Demonstrating my loyalty?” “You weren’t trying to kill me. You knew you could never accomplish it. You were trying to kill yourself, or have me or one of my men do it for you. My my. What would Pearl think of such a plan?” “Pearl is dead. And either you, or I, or both, are going to be joining her shortly.” When Deftinwolf did not immediately reply, Hohenberger snarled at him. “Yes, that’s right. Your master’s little plan failed. She didn’t kill me. She killed herself rather than submit to your will, and rather than—I suspect—live with whatever the hell you bastards did to her. So come on, General!” and he raised his voice, even though it still could not be heard above the shouting of the crowd. “I heard you say how enemies of your master were going to pay the ultimate penalty! Why don’t you collect it right now?” “If you think,” Deftinwolf said slowly, “that I am going to transform you into a martyr in front of these people, you are severely mistak—” “You gutless shit! Don’t have the nerve to take on a single unarmed man?” The bloodthirsty demands from the crowd were beginning to annoy Deftinwolf, although he was far too controlled to let that be evident. “Gentlemen,” he said, ignoring Hohenberger and addressing his men, “secure him in some guest quarters. I will attend to him la—” Hohenberger drew his lips together and let fly. A huge wad of spittle flew through the air and landed squarely on Deftinwolf’s face. Deftinwolf, in a rare lapse, roared in fury, and it was a move that so stunned his men that it gave Hohenberger the split second he needed. With a strength born of desperation and a cold fury stemming from having nothing to lose, Hohenberger slammed his foot down with full force on the boot of the man on his left. Even as he did that, he slammed his shoulder into the man on the right. Both soldiers lost their grip just for a moment, but that was all the distraction Hohenberger required. He yanked his arms clear, grabbed the pulser out of the holster of the nearer man, and swung it toward Deftinwolf while screaming “This is for Pearl!” Deftinwolf’s vision was momentarily blurred from the spittle filling his eyes, but he was able to make out enough to see his danger. He reacted entirely on instinct as he brought his pulser level and fired off a shot, even as he ducked so that Hohenberger’s blast sailed harmlessly over his head. The General’s blast struck home, caving in the Doctor’s chest, sizzling right through it with the force of a burning pile driver, melting through flesh and ribcage as it exited through his back with ease. Hohenberger didn’t even stagger; he just fell straight down and collapsed in a heap. The crowd roared its approval even as Deftinwolf holstered his pulser, crossed the stage to Hohenberger and dropped to one knee over the scientist. The fact that Hohenberger was alive at all was nothing short of miraculous, but he knew that the Doctor wasn’t going to last much longer. Hohenberger was trying to say something. His head was trembling violently and there was a gurgling rattling in his throat, a noise that Deftinwolf recognized only too well. Deftinwolf leaned in toward him. “You’re a fool, Leonard,” Deftinwolf said to him. “When I think of all that you could have accomplished on Ryan’s behalf. With your intellect and his resources, the possibilities were endless.” “Not endless,” Hohenberger managed to say. Insanely, he was actually smiling, as if he were pleased with the denouement of this tragic waste. “Ends…here…you’re dead…dead and damned…and you don’t even…know it yet…” He tried to say more, but then his head tilted backward and his eyes rolled upward. His eyelids fluttered and then, with a faint whisper not much louder than the cooing of a dove, Leonard Hohenberger joined his wife and son. Slowly Deftinwolf rose to standing. The crowd was cheering its approval. The closer of the soldiers began, “General—” Deftinwolf held up a single finger and the soldier immediately went mute. “You will clean up this mess,” he said, scarcely able to contain his anger. “You will then report to the stockade where you will surrender yourselves to confinement. And as you sit there and wonder if I’m going to kill you, you can ponder the fact that your ineptitude enabled this man to get his hands on a weapon and nearly blow my head off. Now step to!” “Yes sir,” both of them said in unison, with a definite tone of pure terror in their voices. Meanwhile the crowd’s enthusiasm was reaching new heights, as if they were caught up in the throes of religious fervor. They started calling Deftinwolf’s name, hailing him as a hero. Tearing his attention from Hohenberger’s body, he cried out, “Not me, my friends! I but serve the will of Ryan!” He glanced at the red splotch on the floor of the stage that was the only thing left of Leonard Hohenberger, and then he spread wide his arms and welcomed the crowd’s love, since ultimately it all served to benefit Wilhelm Ryan, and really, that’s what it was all about, was it not?

Chapter 19 New in Town

Inferno witnessed the death of his father—the death of himself, really—and could not say that he was the least bit surprised. Then again, Inferno was extremely difficult to surprise. He had been certain that the Doctor was headed on a suicidal course the moment that Hohenberger had ordered him to remain on station in the Grail Arbor. He didn’t know the specifics of what Hohenberger had in mind; indeed, he suspected that Hohenberger himself did not know, but that the Doctor was simply hedging his bets. The Grail Arbor hung silently in the depths of space, empty save for Inferno himself. Ordinarily a vessel of that size, for maximum potential, would require a crew of at least a hundred to man her properly. The Grail Arbor made do with ten. Originally, when their alien benefactors had presented them with the vessel, there had been no one on board at all. This had not proven at all problematic for Inferno who possessed, amongst his gifts, the ability to interface directly with artificial intelligences. Still, as Coheed and Cambria had embarked upon their anti-Ryan crusade, they had—here and there—picked up likely recruits in their mission. Typically they were downtrodden protestors who were being stomped underfoot by Ryan’s forces, although in one memorable instance a new crew member had turned out to be a spy from Deftinwolf. Fortunately Inferno had been able to discern that in about two minutes, intercepting the spy’s first attempted clandestine transmission to the General. The spy’s mission had quickly been terminated, along with the spy himself, invited to take a tour of outer space on foot and helped on his way by an exceedingly annoyed Cambria who was embarrassed to admit that she had brought him along “because he seemed to have an honest face.” Coheed took the liberty of removing the spy’s face right before Cambria chucked him out the airlock. After that, they had stopped taking on recruits, although Inferno felt that the practice could be resumed after the threat of Wilhelm Ryan had been disposed of. That potential happy time now seemed further away than ever. Inferno had figured out through simple reverse logic what his creator was up to. His wife was going to be of paramount importance to him. It was not a mindset that

Inferno pretended to understand, but he could at least acknowledge that Hohenberger would probably feel that way. If the Doctor was going to manage to retrieve his wife, then he was going to have to give Ryan what the Tri-Mage desired: Coheed and Cambria, plus this insidious virus that Ryan was hungering for. It seemed extraordinarily unlikely that Coheed and Cambria—particularly Coheed—would be willing to cooperate with such a decision. So it would be necessary to incapacitate the two of them in some manner that was not available to him insofar as Inferno was concerned. Some sort of post-hypnotic trigger, perhaps, that would effectively shut down Coheed and Cambria before they even knew what was happening. All of this had occurred to Inferno before he returned to the Grail Arbor. He had considered revolting against Hohenberger. Taking a stand against his creator, telling him that there was absolutely no way that he was going to cooperate in Hohenberger’s attempts to placate Ryan. But he did not. The reason he didn’t was because Hohenberger was a part of him. The Doctor’s interests were hardwired to be his own, even if he did not agree with them. The problem was that, in assessing the situation in a detached fashion, there was no way that Inferno could see Hohenberger coming out of this in one piece. There were a hundred variations of the way things could go, and every single one of them ended with Hohenberger, somehow or other, on the wrong end of a pulser or a knife or of a spell concocted by Wilhelm Ryan. Inferno was convinced that when he was taking leave of his creator, he was doing so for the final time. As it turned out, he was right. He sat there on the Grail Arbor, watching the vidcast of the rally where Leonard Hohenberger had been killed. Broadcasters were spinning it as the demise of a radical extremist who refused to believe in the awesome power and destiny of Wilhelm Ryan. Inferno was charting the reactions of the general public, and protest seemed muted. It was, after all, arguably self-defense. Hohenberger was well respected in academic circles, and the intelligentsia expressed reserved outrage over the death of such a brilliant man. But the rank and file, the common man, applauded Deftinwolf’s display of sang froid in disposing of an obvious threat. Their reactions, their lack of support for the great man who had been Leonard Hohenberger, filled Inferno with a rage that nearly blinded him. He desperately wanted to give in to it. He wanted to take the resources of the Grail Arbor, descend upon Apity Prime with all guns blazing, and just lay waste to the whole damned world. Then he would attack the other worlds as well. He would incinerate all life in a paroxysm of destruction that suited his name. He would scour every single planet of the bane of life. Wilhelm Ryan would be spared, because he had created force fields around his precious House Atlantic that were impenetrable even by the superior weaponry of Inferno’s vessel. But that would be perfectly acceptable: Leave Ryan to be ruler over seventy-eight planets worth of barren ash. On the one hand it seemed a brutal resolution; on the other, Ryan’s being in charge was nothing short of a slow, prolonged death anyway. Why not just cut right to it and just kill everyone and be done with it? In a way, he’d be doing them a favor, because he would be saving them from whatever evil machinations Ryan had intended for them. There were, after all, worse things in the universe than death. He had to believe that Ryan could be taken down once and for all. He had to believe that the KBI had been created for a grander purpose than genocide. Because he was certain that Wilhelm Ryan would not hesitate to destroy all life if it suited his purposes, and the KBI had to stand for something greater than that. Otherwise what was the purpose of having created them in the first place? “There has to be something more,” he said aloud. His second in command was a wiry, serious-faced man named Bezal, and he looked toward his commander when Inferno spoke. Bezal knew nothing of Inferno’s background, and only understood that Inferno was connected to Hohenberger in some way. Still, he had remained respectfully silent as Inferno had watched and rewatched the final moments of Doctor Hohenberger on the main viewing screen. “Sir?” said Bezal, not understanding what Inferno was referring to. Inferno did not bother to respond. Instead he rose from his command chair. “Bezal, you have the conn. Ready the LEO,” he said. “I’m going to Apity Prime.” There were murmurs of approval. “To destroy Wilhelm Ryan?” said Bezal, giving voice to what everyone was thinking. “Yes.” Inferno walked out of the command center. * * * Inferno landed a safe distance from the house and secured the pod from prying eyes. He had every reason to think that Deftinwolf would send a contingent of men, or perhaps might show up himself, to inspect the Doctor’s home and see what information might be gained from looking around or, even better, tearing it to pieces. If company did arrive, he had no intention of providing them warning that he was there. The house seemed…extraordinarily empty, somehow. Inferno would have thought that emptiness was a binomial state: either something was empty or it wasn’t. But here, with his compatriots missing and his creator and “mother” dead, the house seemed bereft of life, even though he understood intellectually that it had never been alive in the first place. It was as if an emotional void had moved in and set up housekeeping. He wandered from room to room, seeking some clue as to what to do, what direction to take. He wasn’t entirely sure what, precisely, he was looking for. “I’ll know it when I see it,” he said to no one save himself. He entered the green house. Insects fluttered around him. They whirled over him in what a more imaginative individual would have described as a dance of welcome, and what Inferno thought of merely as mildly annoying. A dragonfly buzzed past his face and he waved it off. He had never quite understood Pearl Hohenberger’s fascination with the creatures; in the grand scheme of things, they seemed rather insignificant. Then again, in the grand scheme of things, humanity was insignificant as well, so perhaps it was simply a matter of perspective. He went into the lab, looked around, and then into the living room. Nothing seemed to be leaping out at him. “Doctor,” he said to the emptiness, “what would you have me do?” The vidscreen abruptly lit up. This caught Inferno by surprise; he had touched nothing. He had, however, spoken. He calculated the odds that the screen’s flaring to life within two seconds after his voice being heard in the empty house had been coincidence, and concluded that it was so minimal that it wasn’t even worth consideration. The image of Leonard Hohenberger coalesced on the screen. Seeing him now on the screen, Inferno noticed how much older and how haggard Hohenberger had become. Inferno was greatly saddened to see him come to such a state, and then realized in a sort of removed way that, once upon a time, he would have felt nothing upon seeing such a thing. He had once been devoid of any sort of emotion, because it made him a more efficient instrument of destruction. Slowly, however, he had been feeling more and more over the months. He was hardly an emotional rollercoaster, but there had been moments of happiness, sadness, and everything in between, like pinprick-sized flashes of light jumping around in a field of blackness. He had never been sure whether this was Hohenberger’s intent or not, and now he would never have the opportunity to ask. It made him feel even more lonely in the world, and that alone was doubtless proof of…something, he didn’t know what. “If you are watching this,” Hohenberger said, “then the chances are that I am no longer alive. If that is the case, then listen carefully: Here is what I have done, and what you must now do, because—and I apologize for the hyperbole—but the fate of every living creature on Heaven’s Fence is going to depend upon your actions, Inferno. I am assuming that you are the one watching this; after all, I rigged the vidscreen to respond to your voice. Then again,” and he smiled thinly, like someone who had forgotten what a genuine smile was supposed to look or feel like, “I would imagine that you have already figured that out. After all, I would have been able to, so…” he shrugged. “Anyway, unless there has been an unexpected series of events, this is where we stand: Ryan has Coheed and Cambria. I rendered them insensate through the speaking of a predetermined safety word. That word is ‘Camille.’” “Blonde hair, great legs,” said Inferno, and then was surprised to hear himself having said that. “I gave you that memory, even if you don’t realize it,” said Hohenberger, as if he were able to reply directly to Inferno. “It’s one of my more…humanizing ones. And you could use one or two human aspects. Anyway, the speaking of that word a second time within their hearing will revive them, as long as it’s my voice saying it. Since you and I have the same voice, that makes you the only other individual in the universe who can restore them. So don’t get yourself killed. “I have instilled within them a devastating virus called the Monstar. The virus can be extracted from their bodies, although it will take Ryan some time to figure out how to do it. But do it, he will. I’ve no doubt of that. By my calculations, it will require him many months to extract it and restructure it into a form that he will be able to utilize. “Fortunately enough…there will be a cure for it by then. Her name is Josephine.” “Her?” Inferno had no idea what Hohenberger could be referring to. He knew that humans had a tendency to give names to inanimate objects, but… “Even as we speak,” said the image of Hohenberger, “she is gestating in the vat. Josephine is a genetic construct of Pearl and me. She is effectively our ‘child,’

combining the best of both of us. But there’s more. I have placed an antibody for the Monstar into her blood. As of the point that I’m recording this, I have not yet determined how to synthesize the cure from her blood. Nor is the antibody yet of sufficient potency to combat the Monstar. It needs a gestation period during which time the nutrients provided in the vat will bring it to full strength. But the accelerated techniques used to create you, Coheed and Cambria, could not be fully utilized; the antibody would not have the requisite time to fully develop. She will reach full term in the third of a time that a normal human child would require. But once she is—well, born—Josephine is going to be a normal child. Or at least as normal as one can be when she’s carrying the salvation of humanity within her body. “When she’s born, use the antibody within her to develop an antiviral medication for the Monstar. Several months of monitoring her vitals while she’s still in the vat— down to the molecular level—will give you more than enough time. Once you’ve done that…” And he shook his head. “This sounds insane to me even as I’m saying it, but… find a way to introduce the antiviral into the Keywork. Yes, the Keywork. I’m becoming more and more convinced that the Keywork is some sort of biological entity, and as such it needs proactive protection from the Monstar. In fact, that alone may be more than enough to thwart it, since Ryan intends to use the Keywork as a means of transmitting the virus. “I am trusting you, my friend…the only being in the world who knows me as well, if not better, than I do myself. Good luck.” He did not need to add “Good-bye.” The screen went blank. Inferno stared at the emptiness of the blank screen for some time. Were he someone who was given to a poetic nature, he might well have seen in it a symbol of the void that had just been left in his life. But he was not, and did not. Instead, all business, he went to the vat and punched in the security code. The wall slid down and he saw exactly what Hohenberger had told him would be there: a human embryo. He saw what Hohenberger had meant about acceleration. She was already further developed than the normal amount of time would have allowed for her to be. However long it was going to take Ryan to extract his beloved virus from the bodies of Coheed and Cambria, certainly Inferno was going to be able to prepare the antiviral through Josephine’s blood before that. This was going to be a rare instance in the history of humanity where a cure predated a disease. Inferno checked through the files and found all of Hohenberger’s research and records about Josephine. He quickly discerned that the child was developing even faster than Hohenberger had originally realized. According to Hohenberger’s calculations, at this point Josephine would be about the size of a five-week-old embryo, but Inferno’s own at-a-glance assessment pegged her as being a little over two months. A detailed scan of her revealed that not only was he correct, but that there was no sign of deceleration. It was entirely possible that Hohenberger was right and the speed of her physical development would slow once she had reached nine months. Inferno immediately began updating all the data that Hohenberger had on Josephine. He informed the Grail Arbor that he was going to be there for a while, and that although they should remain on station, they should continue to do whatever was required to mask their presence. He wasn’t underestimating Ryan for a moment. Then he set to work. He redid all of Hohenberger’s analysis, ran new tests. As he was waiting for the machines to cycle through the results, he decided that it would be possible to move Josephine to the Grail Arbor. The technology appeared portable; apparently the good doctor had yet again looked toward future necessities. Still, the Grail Arbor, a warship, was no place to raise a child from infancy. He studied the test results as they came through, and the more he saw, the less he liked. He ran them again, and yet again. By the time he got to the fourth go around of tests, he had lost track of how much time had passed. That was unusual for him since Inferno’s internal clock was typically quite accurate. He went to the vat and stared in at the child floating there in the liquids, her every vital sign subjected to the closest scrutiny possible. Then he went over the console and activated the recording journal. He sat stiffly in the chair and began speaking. “Journal Entry #1, Project Josephine,” he said, wanting to make certain that there was an oral history of everything that had transpired. “As difficult as it may be to believe, Doctor Hohenberger miscalculated. The antibodies in the infant’s bloodstream won’t be ready when she is born. He should never have put any acceleration into her genetic make-up. Once she reaches embryonic maturity, her body will slow to normal growth…it won’t make any difference. He was too anxious to try and bring her to full gestation because he needed the antibody in her system to create the antivirus. He thought that the hastening of her development was within the bounds of what would be required. And…he was wrong,” he said heavily. “The antibodies will be present, but her own humoral immune system will not be fully developed enough to generate them in sufficient quantity. The somatic hypermutation in her cells won’t allow for the necessary replication, and the helper T-cells will be inadequate for the task. Her system won’t be able to provide the necessary antibodies for decades yet. At least ten years after she hits puberty, most likely. We don’t have time to wait twenty years; Ryan may take a while to achieve the breakthrough needed to harvest the Monstar from Coheed and Cambria, but it’s going to take a lot less time than that.” Inferno paused, only now fully realizing the mistake Hohenberger had made with Josephine's gestation time, and his mind began to wander into the worst possible scenario: If the doctor had made an error like this, what if he’d made others? What if the antidote NEVER worked? Inferno couldn’t allow that. Thankfully, he shared the same grasp of science as the great doctor—he was as brilliant, if not moreso, as emotion had yet to take over his rationale in the same way it had nearly engulfed Hohenberger’s. He’d make sure the safety of Heaven’s Fence was ensured, even if it meant devising a secondary failsafe. But for now, the priority would be to keep this child safe. “She is going to need to be protected, and I’ll do my best in that regard. But she is not going to be a factor at this point in the game. For the time being…we’re going to have to find some other way to stop Wilhelm Ryan. “And I don’t have the faintest idea what that’s going to be.” That was when he heard the noise of thrusters from overhead. He looked up and, had he been other than who he was, he would have scowled. As it was, his face remained impassive. “Company’s here,” he said to Josephine. Unsurprisingly, she did not respond. * * * Four of Deftinwolf’s finest soldiers, their weapons slung, approached the abandoned house. Along with the four soldiers was Doctor Teague, one of Ryan’s premiere scientists. A tall, acerbic man with a sallow complexion and a firm belief that the world was largely comprised of idiots, Teague could not wait for the opportunity to go through all of Hohenberger’s research, cherry pick the best of it, and then present it to Ryan as his own work. The soldiers with him would be in no position to inform the Tri-Mage of the truth of things; all they understood was which way to point their weapons and how to squeeze the trigger. The senior in rank was a lieutenant who said briskly, “Wait here, Doctor. We need to secure the premises.” “Secure it?” said Teague disdainfully. “From what? There is clearly no one around. Why should there be? Hohenberger’s dead, and you’re looking at the only individual who would have any incentive to come here because only I could possibly understand his work.” The lieutenant stared at him silently for a moment and then said, as if Teague had not spoken, “Wait here, Doctor. We need to secure the premises.” Teague rolled his eyes and then folded his arms and let out his breath in an annoyed sigh to indicate that he was going to do as instructed, but had no intention of liking it. The lieutenant and two of the soldiers entered the house, having unslung their weapons to play it safe. Teague waited patiently, or as least as patiently as he was capable of. A minute passed, and then two, and Teague turned to the private who had remained with him and said with annoyance, “How long does something like this usually take—?” And then he jumped, startled, as the sounds of weapons fire shattered the still of the day. The private’s weapon was in his hand in an instant, the pulser rifle leveled at the doorway to the house. “Fall back to the landing ship!” he snapped at Teague. “Fall back before—” And then the private was knocked off his feet by a pulse blast that seemed to have come from nowhere. The blast, which came in at an angle, ricocheted off his armor plating. Lying on his back, he started firing wildly in the general direction of the house. Teague let out a scream and turned and ran, not waiting to see what was happening. He sprinted from the scene and it was only when he’d fled about fifty yards did he realize that he’d gone in the wrong direction; the ship was back the other way. Just as he started to turn, he heard a horrific scream. He turned just in time to see the soldier lying upon the ground, his arms flopped to either side. There was a terrifying man standing over him, a pulser in his hand. At point blank range, the stranger fired several more shots into the soldier, whose body twisted several times before lying still. Then the man turned and his gaze fell upon Teague. With a yelp, Teague started running again, the ship that represented his escape left far behind.

He was on what appeared to be a narrow path and he kept his feet to it, sprinting as fast as he could. He led a mostly sedentary life and so did not have much opportunity to engage in any sort of strenuous exercise, much less running for his life. He ran, stumbled, fell, ripped up his knees, stumbled to his feet and kept going, his heart pounding, certain that at any second that man, that frightening, monster of a man, would be upon him. He reached a clearing and screeched in alarm. The man was standing in front of him. Teague froze. He was sure that his legs were going to give way. “Don’t shoot!” “I’m not going to shoot,” said the terrifying man calmly. “Yes, you are! You’re going to shoot me with that pulser!” “Is this what’s bothering you?” said the man. Casually he tossed the weapon aside as if it meant nothing. Teague couldn’t believe his fortune. This man, who had effortlessly dispatched the other soldiers, had been so confidant that Teague presented no danger, that he had willingly disarmed himself. “Idiot,” said Teague, and he yanked out the small hand pulser that he kept secreted inside his jacket with the intention of shooting the now unarmed man in cold blood. The weapon never cleared his jacket. One moment the man was on the other side of the clearing, and the next, he was right there, shoving the pulser back against Teague. Unfortunately Teague had thought he already had the gun clear and squeezed the trigger too hurriedly. As a result he blew out his own heart and lungs, dead long before he crumbled to the ground. * * * “Idiot,” said Inferno. He stepped back from the corpse upon the ground and actually felt sorrow, or at least as close to sorrow as he was capable. It wasn’t because the fool had tried to kill him and had ended up in killing himself. It was because it had happened here, in Joseph’s former place of contemplation and reflection. Such violence seemed inappropriate to a section of the wood that Hohenberger had so revered. But then he noticed that there had been violence there not long before. Blood was all over the boulder, and there was freshly turned dirt nearby; something large had been buried nearby Joseph. He looked up at a nearby tree and saw bits of bark scraped away, and a couple of broken branches, and footprints leading up to it. Someone had scaled the tree. That gave him the full picture of all that had transpired there. Pearl Hohenberger had come home, but her stay had been truncated. Inferno had no idea why the woman had climbed a tree and then thrown herself from it. Apparently the good doctor had been meticulous enough to attend to his wife’s burial, which would have essentially required his digging her grave himself. Inferno envisioned his creator standing over the grave of his wife. Had he said prayers? Had he silently cursed an insensitive, uncaring God? Had he simply been silent? Inferno would never know. Hohenberger would never lie beside his wife. Vids had shown Deftinwolf’s men hurriedly bagging up his body and carting it away after the failed assassination attempt. Inferno was certain that by this point it had already been cremated, reduced to ashes and scattered to the winds of space. He stood in front of the boulder, staring at it, as if the answers to his problems could somehow be discerned there. Beneath the ground was Pearl, his beloved wife— No. Not mine. His. I may be Leonard Hohenberger on some sort of molecular level, but I don’t have his spirit. I don’t have his soul. Do I even have a soul of any kind? Who or what am I, anyway? —who had been the only person in the world who truly understood him— Hohenberger. Not me. No one in the world can possibly understand me because there is no one else in the world like me. No one save for Coheed and Cambria, and even they are not like me… —and had been able to inspire him, set his mind to thinking in ways that would solve problems— His mind, not mine. His problems, not mine. No one can understand my problems or what it is like to not fully experience human emotion. Coheed is close, I suppose, but he’s as much machine as man… —and even when he was stuck— …and I have no idea where he and Cambria are. Not for certain… —and found himself facing difficulties that seemed insurmountable— Wait. His biomechs. The Doctor has all the specs from the biomechs that were installed into Coheed when he was first created. Even if he’s disabled, they’ll still be generating a traceable energy signature. Which means I can use the instrumentation on the Grail Arbor to track them and get a read on where he and Cambria are. And if I can do that... If I can get within range… That could work. That absolutely could work. He smiled. That’s how it always had been with Pearl. Hohenberger would find himself with some sort of insolvable problem, and then he would be with Pearl, and the next thing he knew he had come up with fresh approaches. Sometimes it would be as a result of something she said, but other times just being in her presence helped to focus him. Because she always believed in him. “Thank you, Pearl,” he said, and tossed off a short salute to her. Once the shuttlepod had landed, the first thing that Inferno did was inspect the area. There was no need to rush: Hohenberger was dead and Inferno was certain that Pearl was as well. Otherwise there was no way that Hohenberger would have willingly thrown himself into a suicidal attempt on Deftinwolf’s life. Hohenberger had lost the will to live, or more accurately, he had lost the ability to factor his own survival into an assault plan. It required only minutes for Inferno to verify his hypothesis.

Chapter 20

When Skeletons Live

“I wanted you to see this,” said Wilhelm Ryan. “I’m sure you have before. Everyone has. But I think I have a particularly good view of it from this elevation, don’t you agree?” Knowledge and the Beast were lying upon gleaming, indestructible gurneys composed of castrodinium, held in place by bio-clamps that Ryan had been assured would resist any attempts to break loose of them. The bonds were there more for form’s sake than anything else. Wilhelm Ryan had studied his captives extremely carefully and they were completely inoperative. Whatever Hohenberger had done, he’d done it well. In the highest tower of House Atlantic, the skylight stood open to the heavens as it always was. The Black Rainbow glittered high overhead. It was twilight, which was a particularly opportune time for viewing. At those times, it was possible to see that the Rainbow was far more than a mere optical trick of light. It was a swirling miasma of black energy, seething with power. It was said that some people endeavored to observe it for extended periods of time with telescopes and invariably went mad from it. Ryan didn’t know that to be a fact, but he considered it an intriguing notion and was contemplating testing it out at some point. Perhaps tying someone to a chair, attaching the viewing lens of a telescope to their eyes, and seeing how long they could be forced to look at it and still retain their sanity. “Perhaps we should try that with you,” he said, finishing aloud the thought that had been meandering through his head. He was standing over Knowledge, and he slid one boney finger along the line of her chin. “See if it drives you quite mad. On the other hand, since you seem to be little more than a vegetable, it might be difficult to get an accurate assessment. Perhaps we could measure brain activity and see if there’s a change in even the minimal amount that we’re currently registering.” There was a noise at the entrance, the scraping of a familiar footstep. Ryan looked over and saw that Mayo Deftinwolf had entered. The General bowed slightly and Ryan acknowledged his arrival with a very slight tip of his head. “Lovely night, is it not, General?” “Sir, your scientists are…inquiring…” he had chosen the word carefully, so as not to make it sound as if they were being demanding, “…as to when you were planning to return the subjects to the lab.” “Why?” said Ryan, affecting a tone of mild surprise. “Do they have nothing else to keep them occupied?” “They wish to serve you with full alacrity, sir,” said Deftinwolf. “It is more difficult to accomplish that if the subjects of their study are elsewhere.” “They can have them when I am through enjoying staring at their helplessness, General, and not a moment before.” He fired an angry look at Deftinwolf. “And their ‘father’ should be here as well. He would be, too, if you and your men had not handled his attack so clumsily.” “It was regrettable, sir, but necessary.” “I am not one who should be afflicted with regrets, General. I deem what is necessary, and I do not see that his death fell into that category.” “Sir, with all respect, whether his wife killed him or I did, he would have wound up dead either way.” “People die on my terms, General, not on theirs. If his wife did not dispatch him, then we should have taken advantage of that turn of fate to make use of his vast abilities.” “I see your point, sir.” Ryan considered it and then mentally shrugged. “There is no use belaboring it, I suppose. What is done cannot be undone. Still…” and he gestured toward Knowledge and the Beast, “the spirit, at least, of Leonard Hohenberger resides within them. The spirit of his ingenuity and his desire to bring me down.” Deftinwolf looked at them cautiously. “Sir…the scientists have already had a good deal of time to spend upon Knowledge and the Beast. From the point of view of military strategy: The longer we keep these two alive, the more chance there is that some outside agency is going to attempt to use them against us.” “I’m perfectly aware of that, General,” said Ryan, never raising his voice but still allowing an edge of steel to creep into his tone. “There is more to the resistance against us than these two. There has to be someone else, at least one other. Someone who has been transporting them from place to place. Someone who is, even now, attempting to outwit us. As long as these two are breathing, they represent a threat in ways that we might not be able to anticipate.” Slowly he nodded. “Yes…perhaps they have overstayed their welcome at that. The only thing of true interest to us at this point is the Monstar. Summon the scientists. Have them drain every drop of blood from these two and we’ll be done with th—” “From what I understand,” said Deftinwolf, “there is concern among the scientists that they will need the two of them alive in order to—” Deftinwolf wasn’t looking at Wilhelm Ryan. Instead he was looking up, and although he was far too experienced a soldier to allow something as amateurish as astonishment to appear on his face, it was obvious to Ryan that his General was certainly surprised by something. Ryan turned and followed Deftinwolf’s gaze, looking heavenward. A small, round vessel was descending at a blinding speed directly toward the high tower. “General,” said Ryan softly, “have that pod blown out of the sky.” Deftinwolf was immediately on his comm device. “Attention primary gunneries. Lock on descending vessel and destroy it immediately.” He looked to Ryan and said, “It cannot harm us in any event, sir. We are secure behind the shield generator.” “So it would seem,” said Ryan. “But I have no care to find out.” * * * No one in the world could have maneuvered the shuttlepod as deftly as Inferno did. They would not have had the reflexes nor the steely reserve. Inferno had both in abundance. Two heavy duty pulser cannons had been mounted on the upper turrets of House Atlantic. Both of the cannons targeted the incoming pod and opened fire. The force field was deliberately created to allow assault blasts to go outward while preventing anything from coming in. The air exploded repeatedly around Inferno, and he deftly moved the pod from one side to the other, performing aerial acrobatics that would not have been possible for anyone else alive. But his unique connection to the machinery that piloted the Grail Arbor made it so that the ship was able to move with the speed of his thought. He determined the angle of every shot and made adjustments so that he was able to dart under, over and around every single blast. The air itself was burning, sizzling with the continual thunder of the pulser explosions, and Inferno scarcely slowed. He angled straight toward the high tower, for he had rigged the biosensor array to key in on the unique energy pattern generated by Coheed’s biomech. He was banking on the notion that if Coheed was there, Cambria would not be far away. Faster came the pod, its thrusters guiding it, and still the pulser cannons were unable to zero in on it. Every time they thought they had him, Inferno eluded the threat and kept on coming. It was an astounding combination of skill and luck. His altitude fell from five thousand feet to three thousand, and then a thousand. Within seconds only five hundred feet remained between him and the outer edge of the force field. That was when his luck ran out. One of the pulser cannons clipped him just enough to send the pod angling into another blast. This one hit him full strength, melting the metal on the right side of the vessel, leaving a deep crater. The thrusters misfired and went out. Inferno now had no more control over it than if he had been piloting a falling boulder. He had allowed for that possibility. With the force field coming up fast, Inferno hit the emergency evacuation button. The escape hatch blew open and Inferno leaped toward it. Air rushed past him, and he braced himself as the shuttlepod spiraled down toward the field, a curved dome of rippling energy. Inferno could see the high tower, and even glimpsed Wilhelm Ryan staring up at him with that baleful glare of his. Then the pod spun away, cutting off his view. It didn’t matter; he had seen all he needed to. Inferno pushed himself through the exit and fell, his arms and legs spread for a moment to slow his descent. It was just enough time for the pulser cannons to draw a bead on him. The moment they cut loose, he slapped his arms to his sides, brought his legs together, and fell with the speed and accuracy of an arrow. The pulser blasts erupted behind him and around him, but none were able to connect. He struck the top of the force field dome. Energy sparked around him, but otherwise had no impact. The field was designed to repel either projectiles or energy blasts, not an organic individual. On the other hand, there was nothing to provide traction. As a result, Inferno started sliding, grabbing at the force field and unable to get a grip on it. The high tower loomed beneath him, and once more he was able to see Wilhelm Ryan, regarding him with a contemptuous sneer. He was close, so close, not more

than ten feet above, but he might as well have been ten thousand feet. Ryan shouted up to him, “Farewell, fool!” And Inferno smiled. Because Ryan had done the single worst thing he possibly could have. He had made it clear that sound could travel through the force field. Which was all that Inferno needed to verify. “Camille!” shouted Inferno. * * * Coheed’s eyes snapped open. He did not sit up immediately, because he instantly realized that he was not where he thought he was supposed to be. He saw that he was tied down to some sort of table, and Cambria was right nearby. She had come to as well, and her eyes locked upon him. He glanced to his right and froze. Wilhelm Ryan was right there. Right there. But he wasn’t looking in Coheed’s direction. Instead he was staring up, shouting something about a fool. And nearby him was Mayo Deftinwolf, who also wasn’t paying attention to him. Then Deftinwolf turned and looked right at Coheed. Their gazes locked, and Deftinwolf’s eyes widened. He started to grab for his sidearm even as he shouted, “Guards!” He was fast. Coheed was faster. The machetes snapped out of his left arm, severing the bonds that were holding him to the gurney. Coheed leaped clear of the gurney just as Deftinwolf fired his sidearm. The gurney, impervious to the blast, skidded across the floor and into Coheed’s waiting hands. Coheed held up the gurney defensively as Deftinwolf fired off several more shots, and then he spun once and hurled the gurney toward Deftinwolf as hard as he could. Deftinwolf ducked, hitting the floor, and the gurney sailed across the room and struck the two guards who had just entered at Deftinwolf’s behest. Fortunately, their helmets protected their heads; unfortunately, their necks were snapped from the impact of the gurney striking them. Coheed leaped across the room like a panther and slammed into Deftinwolf with bone-crunching impact just as Deftinwolf was trying to get back to his feet. Deftinwolf hurtled backwards, hitting the wall, dropping his gun as he did so. Coheed came in quickly, not giving him a chance to recover, pounding him quickly in the gut with a rapid series of blows. His flesh shuddered beneath each blow, and then Deftinwolf struck back, smashing Coheed on the side of the head with such force that he went down to one knee. Deftinwolf then drove his own knee forward into Coheed’s face. Coheed’s head snapped back and he hit the ground. “You son of a bitch,” snarled Deftinwolf, and Coheed took that moment to thrust his foot up with all his strength. Deftinwolf saw it at the last second and tried to twist his body away to block, but was only partly successful. Coheed’s foot slammed into Deftinwolf’s crotch with such force that Coheed was sure he could hear one of Deftinwolf’s balls crunching on impact, although that might have been fanciful on his part. Deftinwolf did not go down, which was impressive under the circumstances. He did, however, stagger back against the wall, his face getting pale. Coheed was on his feet and he started toward Deftinwolf once more. “That’s far enough.” It had been Ryan who had spoken. Slowly Coheed turned and saw Ryan standing directly over Cambria, who was still strapped down. He had his hands upon her throat and his face was a mask of hatred. He wasn’t squeezing yet, but it would take only the slightest movement of his muscles to do so. “One move,” he said, “even the slightest twitch, and I break your little girlfriend’s throat.” Cambria’s gaze flickered from Coheed to Ryan, and Coheed knew what she was going to do just before she did it. “Cam, wait!” he said, fearful of the consequences. “It’s all right, Co,” she said. “Co and Cam,” echoed Ryan. “So you have names other than—” And Cambria shoved her mind toward that of Wilhelm Ryan, the Supreme Tri-Mage. Ryan staggered, confused at first, not understanding what was happening. With any other individual, Cambria’s control would have been instantaneous and irresistible. Ryan, however, was hardly any other individual, and her attempt to drive her mind into his met with something unprecedented for her: resistance. And then comprehension dawned, and with an infuriated growl, Ryan pushed back. Cambria shuddered, and she doubled her efforts. It was like trying to punch through concrete with a feather. The images that began to fill her head were darksome and terrifying; he was starting to turn her own power back against her, and Ryan reached out for her again, prepared to throttle her, and when he was inches away he started to tell her, “Foolish woman, to think that you—” but that was as far as he got, because with a primal scream that seemed torn from her innermost reaches, Cambria formed her will into a spear and drove it straight into Wilhelm Ryan’s mind. * * * Darkness. Darkness and bitter cold that permeated every cell of her body. It was as if Cambria had stepped from a hothouse directly into an arctic chill. She was totally disoriented, with no sense of up or down, and worse, no sense of right or wrong. She had lost more than her sense of her whereabouts; she had lost her moral compass, because suddenly the lives of every creature that walked or swam or crawled upon Heaven’s Fence was of no consequence to her. All that mattered was achieving power, achieving dominance. All that mattered were her desires, and her overwhelming need to challenge God himself because He represented the ultimate conquest, for He was the ultimate unknowable. To know Him was to know everything, and who could possibly resist the allure of knowing everything? She could see herself/himself standing above everything, wielding ultimate power, and the key was in the Keywork, she saw that now, although she wasn’t quite sure how yet, it was there, right there, the living energy that pulsed through it, that made Heaven’s Fence far more than just an agglomeration of planets, an astronomical phenomenon, no. No, it was far more than that. It was like a living organism, the beating heart of the universe. More than just the heart. The heart and soul of the Universe, that’s what they were fighting for, that’s what this was all about, and Cambria could see it all there, right in her mind’s eye, it was there for the taking. She bestrode it like a colossus and she could just hold the entirety of Heaven’s Fence in her hand, take it and place it in her chest… “It’s mine!” roared the voice of Wilhelm Ryan and he was coming right at her. There in the void, there in the nothingness, they came together, fingers intertwined, pushing against each other. It was like some perversion of an act of love, two beings who were polar opposites, light and dark crashing together, each trying to overwhelm the other, each knowing that a stalemate was not an acceptable outcome. She felt him trying to stab his mind into her, like an icy knife, and she pushed back against it. The universe tilted around them, and although his confidence seemed boundless, she perceived the slightest hesitation, the slightest uncertainty, the slightest chink in his armor. That was all she needed to push back against him with such force and fury that when he spoke, it was with more bravado than conviction. “You cannot win this.” She smiled the wolfish smile that looked so at home on Coheed. “I already have,” she said. “Because I’ve instilled in you the realization that you’re going to lose.” “You could not be more mistaken.” “Really? I think someone else would disagree.” And suddenly they were hurtling through the void, picking up speed with every passing moment—not that such terms as “moment” had any meaning where they were. Cambria had never experienced anything like this. She had reached into peoples’ minds, controlled their actions. But she had never had an encounter like this, a direct conflict that catapulted her mind into some other sphere entirely. Were she and Ryan battling in another realm? Was this a delusion mutually concocted by their struggling minds? There was no way for her to know. The only thing she did know was that she had to triumph. His face was right up against hers, his foul breath washing over her, his soulless eyes boring into her. He was trying to get her to disengage through sheer force of will. It was a will that had overcome other Mages. It was a will that had caused countless people to cower before him. Cambria laughed. A rare look of surprise registered upon Ryan, and that was when Cambria called out, “Look behind you, Ryan. Someone is waiting for you.” Perhaps suspecting a trick, Ryan nevertheless cast a glance behind himself.

He gasped. It was an odd, even bizarre sound coming from him. The Black Rainbow was stretching in front of them. It was no longer simply a band across the sky; it was a yawning pit that was preparing to reach out to them and drag them away into nothingness. Tendrils composed of destructive energy rippled across its surface, leaping toward them like volcanic eruptions, eager to haul them in. Cambria looked defiantly at Ryan. “God wants you, Ryan.” And Ryan’s gleaming eyes, bereft of compassion or fear or guilt or any sensation that one could remotely describe as human, simply stared back at her with the emotion one might see in a flashlight. “Not when I’m through with Him,” he said. * * * Inferno skidded down, down the length of the energy dome that encompassed House Atlantic, tumbling end over end and finally crashing to the ground. He lay there in an unmoving heap. Seconds later, a dozen members of the Red Army charged from the great double doors that were the main entrance to the keep. They ran in perfect precision, double time, their pulser rifles at the ready. A small aperture opened in the base of the force field dome, and Inferno was lying five feet away from it. They were alert to the possibility that it was some sort of trick, but it didn’t seem reasonable that it could be. The fall that Inferno had endured was simply from too high a point, and the energy waves that had buffeted him as he tumbled down the curve of the dome would have been enough to shatter bones. Odds were that he was dead before he even reached the ground. Nevertheless, they approached him with caution, their weapons aimed at him as they moved to encircle him. Inferno didn’t wait for that circle to close. He was up and on his feet, moving so quickly that the soldiers hadn’t even registered he was standing yet. He was still dizzy from the fall, and his joints were aching. But the shock-absorbing armor that lined his suit had done its job and saved him from sustaining any major injuries, and the strength bred into him courtesy of his creator had done the rest. Inferno plowed into the nearest soldier like a linebacker, wrapped an arm around his helmet and twisted all in one motion. There was a loud “crack” of the soldier’s neck breaking and Inferno yanked his pulser rifle clear and was firing it another soldier before the first one’s dead body hit the ground. He blew the head off his first target, sending bits of brain and bone and helmet flying everywhere, and blasted the leg off the second one while the latter soldier was still reacting to getting his helmet’s faceplate sprayed with gray matter and gore. The second soldier toppled over, screaming, grabbing at his stump of a leg, and it was all happening so quickly that it took that long for the other soldiers to react and open fire. Inferno was already moving. He leaped over the next closest soldier, the one who was standing between the aperture in the force field and himself. Whoever was operating the field back within House Atlantic was only just then realizing what was going on. The aperture had only been open for about five seconds and Inferno had already inflicted that much damage; the operator didn’t wait to see what else was going to happen. He slammed shut the aperture… …trapping the rest of the squadron outside the field. The frenzied operator within House Atlantic reopened the aperture. The soldiers were about to charge through it in pursuit of Inferno, and that was when death rained down from the sky. Massive explosive blasts erupted all around them. Several of them were blown into pieces before they even fully registered that they were under assault. Where soldiers had been, there was nothing save for large black craters with bits and pieces of human bodies scattered around them. The other soldiers didn’t know which way to run as blasts continued to pummel the area around them. Desperately trying to find shelter, they ran one way and then the other, tripping over bits of human remains, banging into each other. They would have returned fire, but there was nothing for them to shoot at. High above, Bezal smiled grimly as he oversaw the Grail Arbor unleashing its big guns on the soldiers far below. The guns ran hot, assaulting the ground mercilessly. Within seconds there was no one left moving outside the dome field. There was, of course, plenty of activity within. The Grail Arbor remained helpless to have any impact on that. But Bezal, at the ship’s helm, was quite sure that that was going to change soon as well. “Sir!” shouted a monitoring lieutenant. “House Atlantic has just sent out a distress call to any Red Army vessels in the area!” “ETA based on last known positions of the closest ships.” “Eighteen minutes, thirty seconds.” “Well, then,” said Bezal, “we’d best be out of here in eighteen minutes and twenty seconds, hadn’t we.” * * * House Atlantic was one of the most heavily guarded locations in Heaven’s Fence. Even as Ryan’s forces were being annihilated outside the field, reinforcements were dispatched to aid them and stop Inferno. They were moving as quickly as humanly possible. Inferno, however, was moving with such speed that the rest of the world seemed to be operating in slow motion, the pulser rifle slung under his arm. He covered the distance between the force field and the great front doors of House Atlantic so quickly that he was almost to the door when the first of the reinforcements emerged. Inferno didn’t even bother to waste the shot. He reversed the rifle and when the first soldier emerged from the door, Inferno slammed the rifle butt into his helmeted face. The protective visor did its job for a split second and then shattered under the power of Inferno’s thrust, bashing out the soldier’s teeth, leaving his mouth nothing but a hole full of bloody stumps, and the rest of his face was a crimson mass that wasn’t capable of producing anything beyond an inarticulate moan as he toppled over. Reflexively the other soldiers took a step back in the face of Inferno’s seemingly insane charge. They brought their weapons up to try and aim at him. They opened fire. That just pissed him off.

Chapter 21 I’ll Be Your Ghost

Neither Cambria nor Wilhelm Ryan had moved so much as a centimeter. They remained paralyzed for long seconds, and it was just long enough for Mayo Deftinwolf to recover from Coheed’s unexpected strike, aim his pulser at Cambria and pull the trigger. And Coheed leaped into the way. He swept his left arm around and deflected the pulser blast off the blades in his arm. He sustained some damage from the strike, but nothing remotely sufficient to slow him down. Not slowing his forward charge in the least, Coheed crashed into Deftinwolf, moving with such speed and ferocity that he lifted Deftinwolf clear off his feet. Deftinwolf tried to get traction on the ground and then, just like that, there was no ground. Coheed’s charge had carried him to the edge of the steps and over. But Coheed could not pull free because Deftinwolf had clamped a hammerlock around his neck. As a result the two of them hit the long staircase and started falling, end over end. The entire way down they continued to pound on each other, snarling profanities and hammering away, trying to break or snap or sever anything that they could get their respective hands or machetes on. Coheed felt something snap deep within his chest and suspected it was a rib. Deftinwolf, unable to help himself, screamed as one of the blades cut diagonally across his face, down to the bone. Blood gushed, pouring into his left eye, partly blinding him, and then he and Coheed lost their respective holds on each other. They tumbled away from one another and hit the bottom of the steps, rolling in opposite directions. Deftinwolf reached back, feeling for the wall and finding it. He used it to drag himself to his feet, the world swaying around him. Blood was dripping into his mouth as well and he spit it out; the pain from the slice was searing. He felt some of the skin starting to peel away, as if his face was an orange, and he reached up and shoved it back into place, praying that the stickiness of the blood would act as a sealant and prevent it from peeling off any more. Then he heard the sound of running feet. “Those are my men, Beast!” he shouted. “They’ll kill you! This ends here!” “You’re half right!” came the Beast’s voice, and that was when Deftinwolf heard a terrible and familiar clanking noise. His arm cannon had snapped into existence. I knew we should have cut the bastard’s arm off when we had the chance was the last thought that ran through his mind before the pulser cannon on the Beast’s arm discharged its payload. And then Deftinwolf, judging by the angle of the noises he had heard when the cannon came on line, took a chance and dropped straight to the floor. The pulser cannon roared over him but otherwise didn’t harm him. “Hah! Missed, you pathetic—!” Deftinwolf started to howl in triumph right before the wall behind him—the one shattered by the impact of the Beast’s cannon— collapsed on top of him, burying him beneath a huge pile of rubble. “Hit what I was aiming at,” said the Beast. * * * Coheed turned to head back up the stairs in order to help his partner, and suddenly he was struck in the back by a series of pulser blasts. He went down, hitting the stairs hard, roaring in pain. He smelled something burning and realized it was his own flesh. His pulser cannon needed another few seconds to recharge. Coheed swung around to face his attackers and brought the cannon arm up to shield his face from assault. Several shots rebounded from the cannon as he staggered to his feet and then charged the soldiers, swinging the cannon like a club and smashing his opponents into a fine paste. But it still wasn’t letting him get back to try and help Cambria. He was distracted fighting these piss ants. God only knew what she was up against. * * * There was nothing within the Black Rainbow. Cambria could not see anything, nor touch nor taste nor smell anything. There was nothing but blackness and oblivion. She felt as if she had been unborn, thrust into an existence where there was no existence. And Ryan’s voice was within her, was everywhere, and it said, “You see. I knew it. Either God is afraid to face me, in which case I am the stronger and He is a weak and pathetic thing not worth attending to, much less worshipping. Or else He is a collective figure of the imagination and does not exist, and the Black Rainbow is nothing more than a random celestial event, no different than a nebula or a comet. Either way, Wilhelm Ryan is the single most powerful thing in all the cosmos.” “You’re wrong. There is one thing more powerful.” And Cambria envisioned Coheed in her mind, and in the depths of her heart, and in the longing of her soul, and she called out even though she could not see him, and the words of love, the feeling, the emotion, the pure ineffable nature of her feelings for him, all of that, she gathered into herself and formed it and shaped it into something that she could use against Ryan. She sensed rather than saw Wilhelm Ryan, and he was coming at her, and fear was propelling him. She wouldn’t have thought it possible, but it was, and she formed her passion and her fervency in her love for Coheed as if it were a javelin and she hurled the soulful emotion deep into the soulless heart of Wilhelm Ryan… And suddenly Cambria was back…except that she had gone nowhere. She was leaning against the gurney that she had been strapped to. She had no idea how or when she had managed to break free; all she knew was that she was no longer attached to it. Leaning against the wall a few feet away was Wilhelm Ryan. He had a look like that of a cornered animal on his face. Darkness had settled against the night sky, and in the distance they could hear the big guns of the Grail Arbor, thundering against the force field. It flared repeatedly, still holding back the blasts. “Is that…your best weapon against me?” said Ryan, voice dripping with scorn. But it seemed to be as much for the purpose of steeling his own resolve as it was anything else. “Love? Truly?” “Of course,” said Cambria. “Because you are someone who believes that he can have it all…and that shows you the hopelessness of your ambition, because it’s something you will not ever, ever have. Of course, as weapons go…” and she brought up her hand, “this is a close second.” She unleashed a shock blast from her hand. It was the most formidable weapon in her arsenal. Wilhelm Ryan brushed it aside. It simply bounded away from him and struck a nearby wall. The wall shattered from the impact, leaving a gaping hole. “You should have stuck with love,” said Ryan. “At least it provided some amusement value.” * * * The force field operator, whose name was Liltrequie, sat in his heavily armored control center and watched grimly as blasts continued to rain down from on high. He watched the energy levels and wasn’t thrilled with them, but they seemed acceptable enough. Certainly more than enough to withstand whatever was being thrown at them. The door to Liltrequie’s control center abruptly shuddered. He looked at it with some concern, but then relaxed. The door was heavily armored and could not possibly be— And then, with a screech of metal, the door was torn outwards. There was a loud “clang” as it hit the floor, no longer a door so much as it was a huge, twisted, useless slab of metal. Through the vacant doorway now strode Inferno, the pulser rifle in his hand smoking ominously. “Sturdy door,” he said, “but the hinges were shit. Door’s only as strong as its hinges. Now,” and he aimed the rifle squarely at Liltrequie. “Are you going to remove the field…or am I going to remove you?” Liltrequie’s response came seconds later. * * * Wilhelm Ryan advanced on Cambria, and suddenly the entirety of House Atlantic shook violently. Ryan looked around in confusion. “The field…” he whispered.

Cambria took advantage of his momentary distraction and unleashed another shock wave. This one struck home, slamming Ryan back. He crashed into the far wall. As he did so, huge pieces of debris fell from the upper reaches of the open roof surrounding the high tower. They hit the floor around Cambria and she dodged them deftly. Ryan did not move with quite as much alacrity, and several of the larger pieces clipped him, sending him staggering. This caused him to roar with fury, but his anger was drowned out by more blasts. He looked up and there, barely visible in the sky but still clearly an engine of destruction, was a massive space vessel. Small flares of energy discharges were visible as the ship pounded House Atlantic. For just a second, Ryan’s control broke, and he flashed a look of pure hatred. Than he composed himself, and turned away from her. Cambria reached into his mind and squeezed ever so slightly. Ryan nearly tripped, and when he spun to face her again, he could not have looked more astonished. “You were trying to leave just now,” said Cambria. “To transport yourself. Can’t allow that, I’m afraid.” Wilhelm Ryan, his fingers extended into claws, came at her. Cambria backed up, and this time her shock blast was once again brushed aside as if it meant nothing. He was scant feet away from her, and Cambria at that moment wasn’t sure what would happen if he got his hands upon her. That was when the high tower roared with an explosive blast. It was Coheed, standing at the top of the stairs, the muzzle of his arm cannon smoking. He had blasted away the floor directly in front of Wilhelm Ryan, and Ryan had fallen through. “We’ve got to go after him! We have to end this now!” said Cambria. “Yes, absolutely, you’re right.” He paused. “Not a single ‘Nice shot, Co,” though? I don’t rate a—” “Coheed, for God’s sake—!” More blasts came down from overhead, and suddenly finding Wilhelm Ryan wasn’t the only thing on their minds. Surviving an assault by Inferno’s own people was taking a close second and moving up fast. Coheed and Cambria sprinted down the stairs. Behind them the high tower of House Atlantic crumbled. * * * On the bridge of the Grail Arbor, Bezal paced in concern. His last conversation—if one can call a series of orders “conversation”—kept replaying through his head. Sir, he had said to Inferno, how can we just keep pummeling House Atlantic if you, Coheed and Cambria are down there? You could be— We can take care of ourselves. Bringing down Ryan’s stronghold around his ears is what you have to focus on. Under no circumstance do you cease the barrage until you hear from us. Clear? Bezal had drawn himself up straight, squared his shoulders and nodded. “Sir?” The tactical officer looked at him with clear concern. “Do we still have a track on Inferno?” “Aye, sir. Once the force field came down, we were able to pick up his locator beacon. He’s still on the move.” “Continue the barrage, then. And I’m counting on you for pinpoint precision, Lieutenant. Wherever Inferno is, shoot where he isn’t. Bring the damned place down, but make sure that we’re collapsing it everywhere but on top of him.” “Sir, once we rupture the structural integrity of the place, it may not matter.” “If we give him the time he needs,” said Bezal, “then it will matter.” And that was when the sky around the Grail Arbor seemed to explode. “Readings from all over!” shouted the tactical officer. “Red Army vessels!” “Where the hell did they come from!? Why didn’t the sweeps pick them up?!” “They must have scrambled our tracking radar, Sir.” “We should have known going into the lion’s mouth it was only a matter of time before it’d show its teeth,” said Bezal grimly. “Shore up defenses and continue the assault on planet-side.” The TAC officer turned in his chair and said, “Sir…if we don’t fire back at the Red Army ships, I’m not sure how long our shielding will hold up.” “I’m going to hope it’s long enough,” said Bezal. * * * Inferno charged through the lower floors of House Atlantic, ripping open the doors of various cells, looking for any prisoners that Ryan might have taken. There had been rumors, whispers that many of the other Mages were still alive and were being experimented on. His hope was that somewhere deep in the bowels of House Atlantic, they could be found, rescued, the order of things restored. From above the Grail Arbor’s big guns continued to pound House Atlantic. Servants and other civilians fled past Inferno, screaming in fear, bolting for any exit they could find. Inferno supposed that he should have felt sorry for them. He didn’t. They knew they were serving the incarnation of evil. If they escaped, fine. But if they had to pay for turning a blind eye to the nature of their master, Inferno could not have cared less. The problem was that he wasn’t finding anyone. All of the cells were vacant, which led him to believe that Ryan was not someone who was predisposed to taking prisoners. So it may well have been that all those rumors were just rumors after all. He reached the final door in the hallway and stopped. It was the first one he had encountered where the door was hanging partway open. Out of curiosity he pulled it wide and stuck his head in, glancing around. The cell looked very different from any of the others. For starters, the walls looked different. The other cells had been mortar and brick; not here. These walls were metal, heavy duty, impenetrable. Which meant they were worried that the cell’s resident might have been capable of getting through an ordinary wall. Furthermore there were no overhead lights, no electricity of any sort flowing into the cell. Instead there were just candles scattered around, their pale flames flickering in the darkness. Inferno didn’t understand. If they wanted to keep someone in the dark, why the candles? Hardly the sort of situation where romance seemed appropriate. Could it be the power itself? That they didn’t want any sort of power source available to the occupant of the cell? Why would that be the case? He entered the cell just to see if there were any other clues and after three paces he stepped on something that squished disgustingly under his foot. He drew it back and looked down. There were the remains of a rat carcass lying there. No. Not just a single carcass. A bunch of them, scattered around. Absently he scraped his foot several times on the ground to get the crushed rat blood and fur off it and then knelt down next to another one, studying it. There were huge bites taken out of the thing’s side. At first he thought the rats had been eating each other, but then he realized that the size of the bites was wrong. This thing had been eaten by a man. The resident of the cell had been so driven by hunger that he had been devouring stray rats in order to survive. “My God,” he whispered, “what did they do to the poor bastard?” It was possible that he had been moved, carted away somewhere, but Inferno didn’t think that was the case. The cell smelled of sweat, as if it had been occupied very recently. But it was empty. Whoever was within had been released, and not all that long ago. This struck Inferno as somewhat odd: Wilhelm Ryan was not someone who could be remotely described as forgiving or generous. Why would he have let someone go once they were within his clutches? Perhaps they had simply died and the corpse had been disposed of. Although death had a particular smell to it, and Inferno wasn’t picking it up here. Brainwashing, perhaps? Ryan had been working on the individual residing therein, showing up day after day, filling his or her mind with all manner of his insidious influence until he had agreed to ally himself with Ryan and do whatever he bid? That could be, might be. If that was the case, Inferno wondered who the poor bastard was. And suddenly something slammed Inferno from behind. He went down, the world whirling around him, losing his grip on the pulser rifle, which clattered away. He managed to turn just in time to see a battered, bleeding, and thoroughly infuriated Mayo Deftinwolf coming right at him. * * * General Vielar Crom knew right where to go. He wasn’t entirely certain how he knew, but he did. He moved with machine-like precision, which made sense since he was far more machine than man. He ignored the screaming servants. They meant nothing to him.

Only one thing was of the slightest consequence. And he found him. He found Wilhelm Ryan lying on the ground, half-buried under falling rubble. A gigantic piece of debris plummeted straight toward Crom and the General knocked it aside with a sweep of his arm. Then he started pushing aside the rubble that had, for the moment, imprisoned Ryan. It was a matter of moments to clear it out enough that the Mage was able to rise to his feet. “Your means of escape has already been prepared, sir,” said Crom. “Good.” Ryan glanced around. “Where is Deftinwolf?” “I don’t know sir; I haven’t seen him. Shall I—?” “The General can take care of himself. Either that or we will simply extract his body from the rubble when we return to rebuild House Atlantic as a more…efficient means of punishment. ” * * * “Sir!” shouted the tactical officer of the Grail Arbor, “they’re going weapons hot! They’re locked on!” “Ignore them!” Bezal said. “This is our one chance to bring down House Atlantic, and I’ll be damned if I put our safety above that opportunity!” As the big guns of the Grail Arbor continued to hammer at the ground, the Red Army fleet began strafing the vessel, flanking the ship’s shield with a battery of pulser fire. The collective power of the Red Army was going to wear them down in short order, and Bezal knew that time was not on their side. * * * Coheed and Cambria hit the bottom of the stairs and kept moving. From high above, the big guns of the Grail Arbor continue to hammer away at the structure of House Atlantic. “They could have brought this place down with just a few shots,” said Coheed grimly. “They’re obviously giving us time to get clear.” A piece of debris nearly took off Coheed’s head, missing him narrowly and only because he skidded to a halt just in time to avoid being struck by it. He glanced at Cambria in grim amusement. “Perhaps we should accommodate them.” “We have to find Ryan,” said Cambria with determination. “His fall would have carried him,” and she pointed down a hallway already littered with rubble, “down there.” “I’ve got to get you to safety—” “To hell with my safety. We need to find and kill that bastard.” Without another word she sprinted off in the direction that she was sure would bring her straight to Ryan. * * * Blinded partly by blood and completely by rage, Mayo Deftinwolf grabbed Inferno and slammed him against the nearest wall. Then he turned and threw him with full force into the cell that he’d just been looking into. The world was spinning around Inferno and his vision cleared just in time to see Deftinwolf coming right at him. And all Inferno could see as Deftinwolf charged was the General standing there and killing Hohenberger. Inferno was Hohenberger, down to his genetic core, and a thirst for vengeance coursed through Inferno’s veins like lava. There was a chain attached to the wall, obviously for the purpose of keeping a prisoner immobilized. Inferno gripped it and yanked. With his strength, it only required one pull to rip it clear of the wall. Deftinwolf came right at him, uncaring of any danger to himself. Inferno whipped the chain around and it slammed against Deftinwolf’s head. He staggered, howling, trying to grab at it, but Inferno was too quick. He whipped it around and struck Deftinwolf across the chest. He was rewarded with a satisfying crunching sound. “I believe I just broke several of your ribs,” said Inferno with a fake solicitous tone. “If one of them punctures your lungs, you could have a bit of a problem.” Deftinwolf staggered, lunged at him blindly. Inferno darted to one side and snapped the chain around again. It wrapped around Deftinwolf’s right arm. He grabbed at it, trying to yank it clear, but Inferno was behind him and, gripping the chain with either hand, turned and yanked. There was a crunching of bone and a scream from Deftinwolf, and now the right arm was hanging limply at his side. Still with a length of chain in his hand, Inferno jumped in behind Deftinwolf and slung the slack portion around Deftinwolf’s throat. Pulling the chain tight, he snarled into Deftinwolf’s ear, “I’m going to kill you because of what you did to Hohenberger and because of what further evils you would do.” Deftinwolf tried to reach behind himself, to grab at Inferno. As he did so, Inferno slammed his foot into Deftinwolf’s left knee. It snapped. Deftinwolf screamed again and sagged, trying to stand and unable to. Inferno yanked the chain clear and Deftinwolf hit the ground. “My only regret is that I can only kill you once,” said Inferno. He brought the chain around and down and proceeded to pummel Deftinwolf mercilessly. Deftinwolf tried to curl himself into a ball to minimize the damage; he wasn’t especially successful. With supernatural calm, Inferno methodically whipped the chain around again and again and again. Blood flew in all directions. Deftinwolf’s face was starting to peel completely away from the skull now, and it was all he could do to try and shove it back into place. He tried to crawl away, but the chain was everywhere, striking him repeatedly and mercilessly. There was another explosion, and although it wasn’t right on top of Inferno, it was still near. Pieces of the ceiling right above him began to fall. Inferno stepped back, studying the damage. He wasn’t sure if Deftinwolf was still alive, and abruptly realized, with a sort of detached surprise, that he didn’t care. “Good-bye, General,” he said, not knowing whether Deftinwolf even heard him, and he strode out of the cell, dropping the chain behind him. * * * “Shields at thirty percent…twenty.” shouted the Grail Arbor’s tactical officer. There was no sign of rising panic in his voice; he was far too well trained for that. Damage reports were coming in from all over the vessel as the protective power of the shields continued to weaken, and still Bezal kept all available power siphoning through the guns. “Fifteen percent…ten…” Sorry, Inferno, thought Bezal, we did the best we— “Holy shit!” The TAC officer’s expletive was, to put it mildly, outside the realm of typical vessel decorum, and yet it was understandable, for the skies were suddenly alive with hundreds upon hundreds of diving blue forms, propelled through space into the planet’s atmosphere, despite all common sense to the contrary, by great pumping white wings. Bezal couldn’t believe it. “The…Prise…” Where they had come from was impossible to determine, but they were simply everywhere. The Prise, wielding glowing swords, were swarming, slamming into the Red Army vessels, cutting through the hulls, slashing and gouging and gutting the ships as if their own protective shielding meant absolutely nothing. The nearest vessel, the flagship of the Red Army, angled down and around, trying to shake the winged beings free, but it was no use. They clung onto the ships, tearing at the gleaming skins of the vessel, and within seconds had torn a gaping hole in the flagship. Explosive decompression shook the vessel and the side detonated, the vacuum rushing in as air rushed out. It expelled bodies as if they were refuse, members of the Red Army frantically waving their arms as they flailed among the shrapnel. The Grail Arbor’s view screen flickered as if something had taken control of it and then the visage of one of the Prise looked in at them. Bezal had to fight the impulse to drop to bended knee and gripped the side of the chair to remind himself to remain standing. “I am Ambellina of the Prise,” she said, her voice impossibly coming through the ship’s speakers. “And I’ve decided that I’ve had enough with subtlety. Besides, this battle is taking place in our province. Nothing happens here that we do not allow…and we will not allow you to be destroyed.” * * * Inferno sprinted up a flight of stairs, staggered once under another impact from above, and emerged into a hallway. He had picked up the pulser rifle he had dropped earlier, and when he charged around a corner, there was a shadowy form directly in front of him. He brought up his rifle to fire. The shadowy form raised his arm. There was a cannon on the end of it. “Coheed!” shouted Inferno just as the cannon roared. Inferno threw himself against the wall and the pulser blast ripped past him, missing him by scant inches. “Coheed, God damn it!”

“Sorry,” said Coheed with obvious chagrin. “You okay?” “I will be if you don’t blow my head off.” He saw Cambria step in behind Coheed. “Where’s Ryan?” “I don’t know,” said Cambria, and it was clear that that was of great irritation to her. “We went to where I’m reasonably sure he should be, but he wasn’t.” “Well, I’m reasonably sure we shouldn’t be here any longer, so I strongly suggest we be elsewhere,” said Inferno. “Come on.” “But—” “Now,” he said in a voice that would brook no disagreement. * * * The Prise were continuing to rip the Red Army to shreds. The ships were regrouping, trying to find some way to combat the seemingly invincible, and nothing was presenting itself. “Sir!” said the tactical officer. “The captain reads clear of the primary target area. Inferno has left the building.” “I think we can safely assume that he wouldn’t have done so unless he had Coheed and Cambria with him. Well then, let’s bring down the House,” said Bezal. * * * Grail Arbor’s guns now focused their full might upon House Atlantic, smashing apart the towers, collapsing the support beams. The KBI stood a safe distance away, watching in silence, and somewhere in her head Cambria was sure that she could hear someone saying No, no, no, no, no, but she had no way of knowing for sure if it was her imagination or some sort of ghostly, psychic feedback from her brief (and yet all too long) connection to Ryan. The upper sections of House Atlantic finally gave way, collapsing into the lower section. There was a thunderous roar that seemed to go on forever, and a giant billowing cloud of dust arose from throughout the structure. There was a sound like a vast implosion, and House Atlantic, the structure that had come to symbolize Wilhelm Ryan and everything he stood for… …stood no longer.

Epilogue

Inferno stared into the vat at Josephine. She was continuing to progress nicely. She was well into her second trimester. Soon, though, her physical development would begin to slow so that, by the time she had reached the equivalent of a full nine months, her growth rate would be human norm. She would be a normal child. Well…as normal as one could be when one had the salvation of humanity running within her blood. He walked out of the lab and down the halls to the bedroom that had once belonged to Leonard and Pearl Hohenberger. It had other occupants now. He peered in and saw Coheed and Cambria lying naked upon the bed, their limbs entangled, the sheet lying on the floor. They were sleeping soundly and looked like an utterly normal couple. Well…as normal as one could be when one had the destruction of humanity running within their blood. They deserved to be a normal couple. And Josephine deserved to be a normal child. “Camille,” said Inferno softly. Coheed and Cambria did not look any different, but their breathing changed. It became much slower, and lighter, so much so that someone might have thought them dead. Inferno walked over to them and looked down upon them. He rested a hand gently on Cambria’s shoulder. “When the two of you awaken…and you will eventually, trust me…you will have no knowledge of what you are, or what you were. No more code words or missions. You will be two normal people, living a normal life with your infant daughter. I’ll make sure that everything is in place. It is what he would have wanted. It’s…what I want. I’ll always be there as your brother, just on a human scale. And I will miss this. Not that I’ll ever admit it to you.” He walked away from them then and into the living room. There he sat in front of the vidscreen and began watching the various news broadcasts. They were all naturally talking about the same thing: the disappearance of the Black Rainbow. When the dawn had risen, the Rainbow was gone, as enigmatic in its exit as it had been in its entrance. There were, of course, plenty of theories. The pundits and theologians and all of them had plenty to say on the subject. Most were connecting it to the fall of House Atlantic and the disappearance of Wilhelm Ryan. Some said that removing it was God showing his approval; others claimed that the timing indicated that Ryan himself had put it up there and it had been his power maintaining it. With him gone, the Rainbow naturally followed him. Still others claimed that Ryan wasn’t gone at all; that he had removed the Rainbow in order to test the faithful and see if they truly believed in his power even with evidence of it now gone. There were all these opinions and more besides. None of which Inferno cared about. All he cared about was that before too long, Coheed and Cambria would be able to leave all of this behind them and have the life he never could. He would be as happy for them as he could possibly be.