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Mage The Horizon War Trilogy Book 1 - The Road To Hell PDF
Mage The Horizon War Trilogy Book 1 - The Road To Hell PDF
111 I I. In
The Horizon War Volume One
Book i
THE ROAD TO HELL
a World of
Darkness
Trilogy
THE ROAD TO HELL is
a product of White Wolf Publishing.
PRINTED IN CANADA
e
DEDICATION:
While the locations and history of this world may seem fa-
miliar, it is not our reality. The setting for The Horizon War is
a harsher, crueler version of our own universe. It is a stark,
desolate landscape where nothing is what it seems to be on
the surface. It is truly a World of Darkness.
Certain concepts and charactershave been inspired by those
originally created by Bill Bridges, Steven C. Brown, Phil
Brucato, Elizabeth Fischi. Chris Hind, James E. Moore, Micky
Rea and Stewart Wieck.
"For it is not the least of its terrors that this evil thing is
rooted deep in all good..."
- from Dracuk
by Bram Stoker
. .
Shaclow of the Dawn."
. ..
Shaaow-s eyes narrowed with suspicion. I he
. . -.
strang er knew more about her than she th,ought
possible. She lived alone in a small hut at thc:edge
"_..^. t---..c
of the g;lcdt ..L..* ~"..---_
l u l c a L LML
-
U I L u U I l u e uZ I I ~ :mystic
A t -
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10
ChaDter One
A
woman’s voice, soft and urgent, woke him
from a deep, dreamless sleep. “Number
Seventeen,” she wh i sp ered . “N u mb e r
Seventeen. Get up, get up. There’s not much time.”
His eyes opened. Carefully, he surveyed the small
cell in which h e was imprisoned. Nothing had
changed during the hours he had been sleeping.
Not that he had expected anything different. The
chamber held a small table and chair, his cot, and
toilet facirities. He had neither a window, nor
decorations of any sort. It was a stark, utilitarian
room, a perfect example of the sterile environment
his captors favored. In truth, the only difference
between his cell and the offices of the scientists
who maintained this facility was that his door
consisted of primium steel bars while theirs were
made of duralloy plastic.
“Seventeen,” came the w h is p er again. The
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woman sounded concerned, and with good reason.
Talking between cells was not permitted. If she was
caught speaking, her vocals chords would be
severed. “Are you all right?“
UYes,”the man addressed as Seventeen replied.
He had a deep, powerful voice. Rising off the
narrow cot in the rear of the cell, he padded on bare
feet to the reinforced metal bars that fronted the
room. “I’m fine, Fourteen. What do you want?”
Though darkness shrouded the hall, he could see
nearly as well as when the lights were on. His eyes
adjusted without effort t o the lack of light.
Gripping the steel bars with both hands, he stared
across the twelve-foot hall at the woman in the cell
directly across from his. She would not have risked
calling to him unless the matter was urgent.
“Tonight is the night,” she declared, her voice
taut with excitement. “Everything has come
together in the past hour. All of the necessary
elements are in place, and the probability curves
are at their peak. Your chances of escape are at
maximum. There won’t be another opportunity
like this for months. And by then, it will be too
late.”
“Tonight?“ repeated Seventeen. Though he had
been expecting the message for weeks, ever since
they had begun planning the escape, he was still
unprepared for the news. “You’re sure?”
“I’m positive,” whispered the woman. There was
no hint of doubt in her voice. Tall and slender, with
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afraid. Once they close down this project,
everyone’s going to die anyway. We know much too
much to be let free. Better I try to do something
than be slaughtered without a fight.”
“Remember,” said Fourteen. “If you gain your
freedom, you must locate my brother, Alvin
Reynolds. He’s a computer hacker and a willworker.
We’ve always been close. I feel certain that Alvin’s
been searching for me. Find him and he’ll come for
me, no matter what the odds. The Gray Collective,
tell him. The Gray Collective.”
“If I survive, I’ll find him,” said the man called
Seventeen. “When will the time be right?’’
“In approximately three minutes. You should get
ready. Once the shift changes in the laboratory, it
will be time to start. You will have fifteen minutes
to make your escape.”
Seventeen put the plastic sandals that served as
shoes for the prisoners into his trouser pockets. The
first part of their plan required him to walk across
the floor barefoot.
One last time, he scanned the contents of the
small cell. There was nothing there that would help
in his escape attempt. He had no personal property;
none of the prisoners did. Their captors considered
possessions to be mere emotional foolishness. Their
world was a stark, antiseptic place of grays and
blacks, of remorseless, unfeeling logic. And, if they
succeeded in their work, it would become the
future of humanity.
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time. “Tell him his sister, Cindy, is waiting. I’m
here in the Gray Collective.”
“I won’t forget you,” said Seventeen. Across the
hall, the woman’s face seemed t o glow, as she
summoned a small measure of the force of her will.
The apex probability point was approaching. In a
few seconds, the moment would be right. “I plan to
be back.”
Fourteen nodded. “Now,” she whispered, closing
her eyes in concentration. “Fifteen minutes are all
you have between shifts. Do not waste a second.”
Reality shifted on a microscopic scale. A quartet
of circuits failed at the same instant. The outage
caused the current image on the lens of the four
overhead cameras t o freeze. T h e picture
transmitted to the main computer was static and
unchanging. However, where a human operator
might have questioned the fixed nature of the
image, a machine did not. It was programmed only
to note changes, not lack of changes.
The slightest click in the cell door lock indicated
that Fourteen had successfully jumbled t h e
electronic code of the mechanism. Muscles bulging
beneath his shirt, prisoner Seventeen pulled at the
steel bars with all of his strength. For an instant,
the door hesitated, as if in protest to this sudden
attack, and then, without a sound, it slid open on
well-oiled tracks. *
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numbers into the pattern. In a microsecond, the
new code replaced the current lock listing.
Raising his hands off the metal, Seventeen
placed his fingers on the entry box and typed in the
replacement information. With a satisfied hum, the
steel door swung open, and Seventeen slid out of ,
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11
t
a narrow waist. Its features were strong, dignified,
even maj stic. The pattern-clone appeared to be in
perfect rdpose.
Seventken knew nothing about the strange form
in the tahk, and yet, staring at it he felt a chill of
appreheaion sweep through him. From his visits
to the lab, he understood that all of the energies of
the Gray ICollective were focused on bringing life
to this attificial creation. It was linked in some
unknown!way with the prisoners in the cell block.
From brikf snatches of conversation overheard
through the course of his captivity, Seventeen
deduced khat the being was the most advanced
clone evdr created by the Technocracy.
Banishing his fears, Seventeen padded past the
,I
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stunned) it for a moment. Then, with a snakelike
hiss, thd lizard man whirled about, its hellish black
orbs seakhing for Seventeen.
He wasn’t difficult to find. With a thunk of flesh
hitting flesh, the big prisoner slammed into the
monsteds midsection and grabbed it in a powerful
hold,. tdpping its arms at its sides. The thing was
cold and clammy, covered with sleek green scales.
Legs pdmping like trip hammers, Seventeen
slammed the monstrous crossbreed with all of his
If.
strength into the metal door.
Sauroi The word welled up from the depths of
his membry as the reptilian creature tried to bend
its head iforward far enough to sink its huge teeth
into Sebenteen’s back or shoulders, its fangs
d
dripping with deadly poison. The sauroid, a savage
killer of imited intelligence, was a product of the
genetic rowth tanks.
Despe$ately,Seventeen smashed the sauroid into
the steellagain. He was running out of time: In just
a few mihutes, the new shift of Technocrats would
be entering the lab. If he was going to escape, he
had to kill the monster, and kill it fast.
Hissink like a steam shovel, the sauroid planted
its feet against the rear wall and lunged forward.
Unprepated, Seventeen dropped back, his arms still
wrapped around the monster. They tumbled t o the
floor. The sauroid’s teeth snapped ferociously at air
as it strdve without success to rip Seventeen to
shreds. Hianging on for his life, the prisoner kept his
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shifted. Seventeen knew for certain they had Ieft
the citadel behind.
The prisoner breathed a deep sigh of relief.
Though he had no idea what his final destination
would be, he knew that he was, at least, headed for
freedom. He had completed the first step in his
escape. Now outside the confines of the Gray
Collective, he was no longer a prisoner of the
Technocracy.
Still, in time, he intended to return to the
complex. He had promised Prisoner Fourteen he
would come back for.her, and he never broke his
word. But he also had a second agenda, equally
urgent in his mind: the strange form floating in the
growth tank. Seventeen shuddered as a wave of
revulsion swept through him. Whatever that thing
was, he knew without question that it had to be
destroyed. No matter what the cost, the mysterious
being could not be allowed to awaken.
. Chapter Two
Robert Weinberg
department store. The number of linkages in the
computer numbered i n t h e billions, and it
contained enough wire to circle the Earth a dozen
times. Visible in its walls were millions of lights,
diodes, switches, circuit boards, and video
monitors, but none of this meant anything; it was
all for show. Micro-circuitry had long ago made
such devices unnecessary. But, The Computer
existed in symbolic as well as material form. Its
appearance was dictated by what it had been as well
as what it was.
In the past few decades, the titanic machine had
expanded by a thousandfold as humanity’s
fascination with thinking machines grew. In a
sense, The Computer was the center of an entirely
new branch of mythology. It was the largest such
artifact in the universe. To Comptroller Klair, and
the other leaders of Iteration X-those
Technomancerswho believe that only through the
combined efforts of man and machinery can
humanity progress to Ascension-this machine
was The Computer. It needed no other name.
As a child, Charles Klair had been fascinated by
the movie Forbidden Planet and the Krell factory
that stretched for miles and miles beneath the
surface of the world. The gigantic machinery had
captured his imagination and set him upon the road
that led to Iteration X. In Comptroller Klair’s
thoughts, The Computer belonged in the Krell
universe.
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or The Computer. Too much knowledge could get
you killed.
Though The Computer possessed mental powers
beyond mortal comprehension, the machine was
not all powerful. Often, what it did not say was just
as important as what it did. By paying close
attention to every word the Artificial Intelligence
had spoken to him over the years, the Comptroller
had deduced that the gigantic electronic brain
feared certain unnamed beings who haunted the
Deep Universe. Klair sometimes found himself
wondering what horrors could be so grotesque as to
frighten the most powerful thinking machine ever
invented-he was not sure that he wanted to know
the answer.
“Comptroller Klair,” said The Computer. Its voice
came from a hundred different speakers scattered
throughout the body of the machine. Until
recently, the machine had spoken in a raspy
monotone, with a constant electrical crackle and
hiss in the background. It had finally upgraded its
speech capacities, fueled in part by the popularity
of several science fiction television shows featuring
computers with well-modulated voices. Now, the
mechanical brain spoke with the bland, suave tones
of an insurance salesman. “Step forward to begin
identification processing.’’
These dreams always followed the same.pattern.
Klair felt certain that the machine used a basic
subroutine to summon his sleeping mind to its
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charge of the most important scheme the machine
had ever attempted. Logic, not sentiment or
loyalty, guided its every action. “At the moment,
to easecommunicationwith Technocrats not of our
Order, I am using the title, Comptroller Klair. I am
a loyal member of Iteration X. In service to Unity,
I work as the coordinator of computer research and
development for the AW project in the Gray
Collective.“
“Scanning your code now for verification,” said
the same bland voice, the eyes of the hologram
staring directly into his.
Though only seconds passed, it felt like an
eternity to the Comptroller, as he waited nervously.
This obsession with identity checks was another
sign to him that The Computer feared intruders.
Why query someone who had been brought into
your domain unless the possibility of infiltration
existed? Klair did not like the implications of an
enemy that strong. Or that clever.
uYour identity is confirmed,’’ said t h e
holographic face. “Retinal patterns, brain waves,
and fingerprints match. No evidence of cloning is
detected. You are the human, GH23765, now using
the designation, Comptroller Klair. Report to me
your progress on the AW project.”
“The work proceeds as swiftly as can be hoped,”
said Klair. “As 1 explained in my last debriefing,
Sharon Reed, the leader of the Progenitor faction
in the compound, continues to be a major
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of the female Progenitor speed up the completion
of the project?”
”Unfortunately not,” admitted Charles, though
he hated defending Reed. “The woman is a brilliant
genetic engineer and Technomancer. She does get
things accomplished. Killing her would throw a
random variable into our calculations: Her
replacement could be immeasurably worse. At best,
our timetable would be thrown back a week. At
worst, it could mean delays of a month or more.”
“Such postponements are unacceptable,”
declared the hologram. “Certain events in the
Deep Universe require extra attention. The AW
pattern-clone must be finished within the next ten
days. You must cooperate with the woman until the
job is completed. Afterward, her termination is
required, as is the case with all of the inhabitants
of the Gray Collective. The success of the project
demands absolute and total secrecy.”
“The necessary HIT Mark warriors stand ready to
attack the moment the mission is brought to a
close,” said the Comptroller. He smiled briefly. The
tracer bullets from t h e HIT Marks caused
incredible damage. In his mind’s eye, he envisioned
Sharon Reed’s head exploding like a ripe tomato.
S h e had laughed at him once, mocking his
biomechanical hand and eye as tinkertoys. Klair
believed in repaying his debts. “I personally
supervised their programming. No one involved
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added, “The ends in this situation justify the
means. Are you prepared to carry out your
assignment? Or should the responsibility be
transferred to another Comptroller?”
“NO, no,” said Klair quickly. He knew that
reassignment meant death. Either he cooperated
with The Computer’s plans or he would be
terminated. In basic technological terms, the prime .
directive guiding the Camptroller’s life was
survival. “I will reprogram the HIT Marks for total
annihilation. The mission will proceed according
to your wishes.”
“Good,” said the holographic face. For a n
instant, Klair thought he detected a note of
satisfaction in the machine’s artificial voice. That
’
was, of course, impossible. “This project is an
important step in our plan for achieving total
domination of the Technocracy, and thus, all
mankind. Failure could mean a delay of years in our
assuming control.”
The Comptroller recognized a threat when he
heard one. “1 will not fail. The AW undertaking
will be completed to your satisfaction in the
allocated time period.” Klair paused. “Assuming
there are no further modifications necessary to the
pattern-clone.”
“Only one minor modification,” said the
hologram. “Implementingthe changes should not
be difficult.”
Grimacing, Charles looked down at the circuit
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ability to override the operating system of the
computer and take charge of the central processing
unit.”
“That is essentially a correct if incomplete
evaluation of the procedure,” said the hologram.
Nervously, Klair bit his lower lip. It was a bad
habit from his childhood, one that he had long ago
suppressed, but which had returned since he had
begun his work on the AW assignment. “Such a
talent will give the AW pattern-clone absolute
mastery over any computer he touches,” he
declared.
“Exactly,” said the hologram. T h e three-
dimensional image smiled, the first time the
Comptroller had ever seen the representation
express any emotion. “That will make it the most
powerful being on Earth.”
Chapter Three
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kept the suite’s temperature at a steady eighty
degrees. Originally from southern California, she
appreciated the warmth. The carpet, a biological
creation from the labs, adjusted its temperature to
that of the soles of her feet, and thousands of tiny
hairlike bristles massaged her toes and heels as she
walked across them. T h e floor covering was
pleasantly warm to her touch, like the sand on a
beach. In her isolated little world, clothes were not
a necessity.
A tall, slender woman with short clipped brown
hair that clung to her face like a helmet, Sharon
looked too grim to be considered attractive. Her
strong, gaunt features were always twisted into a
grimace of annoyance. The trim fitness of her body
suggested that she was in her late twenties or early
thirties, when actually, she was close to eighty years
old. An intense program of daily exercise combined
with magickal drugs from the Pharmatologist
branch of her Convention kept her looking and
feeling young.
Sharon dropped down into the chair at the
workstation in her bedroom and snapped on the
overhead light. A single page rested in the out bin
of her fax machine. As usual, there was no return
station listed. This meant that the orders came
from the secret administrators of the Progenitors.
The page held a single paragraph of instructions,
printed in a complex code based on the structure
of a specific DNA molecule that changed every day.
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in Minneapolis in the real world. New members
had joined the team as required. There were
approximately a dozen Progenitor investigators and
associates living in the complex at the moment,
and an equal number of Iteration X programmers
and armatures also stationed in the building. While
other research was conducted in the smaller labs,
t h e main focus of attention was o n t h e AW
enterprise.
Sharon knew from personal experience that the
Progenitor administrators juggled twenty or more
important projects during the year. More than
once, she had been transferred from one to another
to handle a major problem that could not be solved
by the team on site. However, never before had she
been associated with so secretive a mission.
Technocrats assigned to the Gray Collective were
never transferred out. No details of their work were
shared with other work groups. Communication
with the outside world was strictly forbidden. It was
quite unsettling.
Reaching across the fax machine, Sharon picked
up the telephone and punched the button for her
personal assistant’s room. On the second ring, a
woman’s smooth, sultry voice answered. “Yes,
director?”
“Velma,”said Sharon. “Please join me for a game
of cards. I have insomnia and can’t sleep.”
“Of course, director,” said Velma. No matter
when Sharon called, her assistant never sounded
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security guards for the citadel. Covered with silver
scales and standing nearly six feet tall, Sh-reeth-Sh
possessed near human intelligence.
SeeingVelma, the creature hissed out its story in
swift detail. Along with her many other talents, the
dark-haired woman understood the language of the
sauroids. The expression on Velma’s face made it
quite clear that the snake-man did not bring good
news.
Snarling with anger, Velma hissed a series of
commands to Sh-reeth-Sh. The creature nodded.
“What’s happened?”asked Sharon.
“One of the night watch was found murdered in
Laboratory One a few minutes ago,” said Velma,
her voice icy calm.
“ Sea 1 t h e bu i Id ing i m med ia t e 1y, ” Sharon
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“I hope you’re right,” said Sharon. Somehow, she
had a feeling deep inside herself that she would
encounter the escapee again. And she was certain
the confrontation would not be pleasant.
Chapter Four
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control of the corporation. In 1993, several
members of the Board of Directors of Endron
International were killed in an eco-terrorist attack.
Using all of his considerable business acumen, Enzo
succeeded in gaining a chair on the Board. He has
been a member of the group ever since.”
Montifloro nodded. “Typical of the way our
cousin operates. I worked with Enzo years ago when
he first started Irish Eyes. He is a brilliant
tactician.” He laughed. “Eco-terrbrists? I expect
that Endron International will soon be ours?”
“No,” said Pietro Giovanni, his voice harsh and
filled with anger. “Not at all. That is why you are
here, Montifloro.”
Walking back to his desk, Pietro sat down in his
black leather chair. Opening a drawer, he pulled
out a manila file and dropped it on the desk, his
eyes burning with rage. He flipped open the
envelope. There was nothing inside.
“Here is the sum and substance of our reports
from Enzo about the inner workings of Endron
International. We receive sporadic messages from
him, referring to unspecified problems and
numerous delays. Facts and figures are never
supplied. We know no more about the energy giant
and those who stand behind it than we did when
Enzo first joined their ranks. There is growing talk
of treachery.”
“Betrayal?”asked Madeleine, her gaze fixed on
the empty file. “Surely you are not suggesting that
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raising his suspicions. Learn his secrets. Then
report back to me personally.”
“ASyou command,” said Montifloro. Though he
looked less than pleased, he sounded resigned to his
new assignment. “I will make arrangementsfor my
departure immediately.”
“Tomorrow night will be early enough,” said
Pietro, with a wave of a hand. “Your transportation
has already been arranged. Enzo has recently
relocated his center of operations to an old factory
in New York state. I believe the name of the city
is Rochester.”
“I will return with the truth,” said Montifloro, his
expression grim. “Enzo knows and trusts me. We are
old comrades. Deceiving him about my mission will
not be difficult.”
“Be wary, Montifloro,” said Pietro. “You’re not
the first who has tried to investigate Enzo. Others
have been sent to monitor his activities over the
past few years. None have returned. They vanish
without a trace. The full resources of our family are
at your disposal. Do whatever you must. But, find
me the answer.”
“Honor over death,” declared Montifloro, rising
from his chair. It was evident from Pietro’s tone
that the conversation was at an end.
‘‘Horror over death,” said Pietro, repeating one of
the basic tenants of Clan Giovanni. “NOW,leave
us. I wish to speak with Madeleine alone.”
Montifloro bowed his head slightly to Pietro and
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possible. His metabolism had shifted into high gear
during the attack and he was burning calories at an
incredible rate. As soon as the transports reached
their destination, Seventeen planned to slip away
and find some food. He wasn’t exactly sure how he
was going to pay for it. But, minor details like that
were the least of his concerns.
The truck holding him had been speeding along
for well over an hour when gears suddenly whined
and brakes screeched. Seventeen grunted in pain
as several of the boxes surrounding him shifted
with the abrupt change in momentum. The big
trailer truck vibrated violently as it rumbled to an
unexpected stop. Seventeen wasn’t sure of the
reason. However, he thought it highly unlikely that
the trucks had reached their final destination. An
unplanned delay meant only one thing: trouble.
Careful not t o disturb any of the crates,
Seventeen unwound himself from his hiding place.
It was pitch black inside the truck. Cautiously, he
crawled over the boxes to the rear of the vehicle.
He wanted to be at the rear door of the transport
when it opened. There was no question in his mind
that he would have only seconds to act. He was
correct.
Steel thumped against steel and the rear cargo
door of the truck slid upward. A thin beam of
moonlight splashed across the cartons. “No way
someone could be in my vehicle,” a man was
saying, his voice indignant. “We’re very careful at
the.. .” -
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Phapter Six
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A short distance up the beach, in the shadow of
a broken-down lifeguard station, a large, heavyset
man watched the proceedings with the slightest
smile on his thick lips. He stood a few inches over
six feet tall and weighed close to three hundred
pounds. Dressed in a black suit, white shirt, and
black tie, the observer had ruddy red cheeks, bushy
hair and a dark goatee and mustache. The glare of
the fire reflected off his unblinking eyes. Enzo
Giovanni often came down to the beach to watch
the revelers’ late night celebrations. Their antics
provided him with much amusement. He enjoyed
watching the puppets dance.
His gaze was fixed on a young, dark-haired
woman, perhaps twenty years old. For the past
three nights he had spent the entire evening gazing
at her. She intrigued him. Tonight he had decided
to speak to her. He had been looking for someone
like her for a long time.
The girl wore a white bikini top with a thong
bottom covered by a transparent white lace beach
robe. The skin-tight bathing suit clung to her wide
hips and large breasts like a coat of paint, barely
containing her short, trim figure. As in nights past,
she stood at the edge of the crowd, her lush body
swaying to the music. During the past hour, three
men had approached her. Two she had sent
scurrying away with a withering glance and a few
sharp words. A third had tried to grab her by the
arm. The girl easily evaded his clutching fingers
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The limo started moving, its engine a dull, sullen
hum.
Carefully, Enzo pulled back the edge of his right
shirt sleeve, revealing his wrist. Like a surgeon, he
drew the sharp nail of his left index finger across a
large vein. The white skin parted like paper. A few
drops of black blood glistened beneath the dimmed
lights of the car’s interior.
“Drink,” said Enzo, raising his hand to the girl’s
lips. “Drink my blood.”
Unable to resist Enzo’s will, the girl obeyed. She
opened her mouth and started to suck blood from
the wound. Slowly at first, her eyes filled with
revulsion. Then, as horror turned to incredible
pleasure, the girl drank greedily.
“Enough,” said Enzo after a few seconds. He
wrenched his wrist away. Instantly, the jagged cut
closed. In seconds, there was no trace of any
wound. “Look at your feet.”
Esperenza gasped. Her soles were no longer
ripped into bloody fragments. The skin was smooth
and whole. All trace of blood had vanished.
“Your second lesson,” said Enzo. “Serve me and
you will be rewarded with power beyond your
wildest dreams. Control even over the forces of life
and death.”
He settled back on the black leather seat. “Did
my driver look familiar?Perhaps you remember his
face from the television news?”
“Um,” said Esperenza, gifted again with the
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zttitude is perfect, my lovely Hope. All that is
necessary is to change your presentation. It will be
a challenge, but one t h a t I believe can be
accomplished with some effort.”
“Who the fuckin’ hell are you?” asked the girl.
For the first time, she seemed to notice the lush
interior of the limo. “Sure got plenty of fuckin’
cash. You the devil like the Sisters talked about?”
Enzo laughed. “Would it matter?” he asked.
“Would it really matter?”
“No,” said the girl. “Not a fuckin’ bit.”
“Then don’t trouble yourself with such
questions,” said Enzo. Reaching forward, h e
uncorked a glass bottle from the portable bar. The
thick red liquid he poured into his glass was
definitely not wine. Esperenza licked her lips
nervously as she watched Enzo sip his drink.
“I would offer you some refreshment,” said the
big man, “but I think you would find the taste
unpleasant.”
His eyes, red as the blood in his glass, stared deep
into hers. “I can force you to obey my wishes,” he
declared. “You’ve seen how easily I can bend your
will to mine. But I require a willing servant, not a
mindless slave. Cooperate with me and everything
you have ever desired will be yours.”
“For a price,” said Esperenza.
“Of cofifse,”said Enzo Giovanni, recognizing the
acceptance in her voice. He smiled, pleased with
the outcome of the evening’s endeavor. “Everything
has a price.”
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quite certain that our secret is safe. Seventeen
cannot discuss what he doesn’t know.”
“Sure,” said X344, unable to resist jabbing at
Wade. The shapechanger gave him the creeps.
“Why would anyone in the Nine Traditions be
curious about a near superhuman bioengineered
mage who turns up one night telling stories about
a secret research center in an offworld Construct?”
He laughed, the sarcasm dripping from his
tongue like bile. “Yes sir, nobody would be
interested, even when he mentions the prison
block filled with kidnapped wizards that are used
for our experiments.”
“A depressing but acute observation, Mr.
Nelson,” said Shade. “We must assume the absolute
worst case scenario and proceed from there.
Prisoner Seventeen has been on the loose for hours.
There are Tradition mages in the Rochester area.
Our working hypothesis is that he has made
contact with them and they have obtained some
knowledge of our existence. It is conceivable that
our enemies will mount an attack on the Gray
Collective. How do we react?”
“The project must proceed as scheduled,”said Dr.
Klair, his face a mask of determination. “We can’t
let this incident force a delay. Too mucheffort has
gone into this project to shut it down because of
one man. The AW experiment is crucial to the
future of the Technocracy. It could be the key to
our eventual destruction of the Nine Traditions.”
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superiority crap on me, Klair, I’ve worked as hard
on this project as anyone.”
“Enough bickering,” said Shade, loudly. “The
leaders of the Symposium have expressed their
satisfaction with both of your contributions to this
important project. It is not a topic for discussion
tonight.”
It was a subtle but effective means to remind
everyone that Shade w a s their link t o the
Technocratic Symposium, the board that governed
all Convention undertakings. The wrong word
from him would bring the AW project to an
immediate halt. Or cause anyone involved in the
operation to be replaced.
The red-faced man stared at Sharon Reed. “You
will make Dr. Klair’s changes and then start the
growth sequences. Ten days. No more. Agreed?”
“Agreed,” said the Research Director.
Shade turned to Dr. Klair. “You will assist Dr.
Reed’s efforts. 1 expect your total cooperation.”
“Of course,” said the Comptroller. “Whatever
you say, Shade.”
“Very good,” said the Mission Specialist. He
looked at Velma Wade, and then finally at X344.
T h e cyborg found Shade’s gaze vaguely
disconcerting. It was like staring into the eyes of a
reptile. There was an absolute coldness hidden by
those ruddy cheeks and black beard that the
machine-enhanced man found frightening. It was
an aspect of Terrence Shade’s personality that X344
had never seen before.
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Chapter Ekht
v
t took Seventeen nearly an hour to climb the
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color or his appearance,” said the oldster with a
snort. “You ain’t stupid, are you, son?”
Seventeen shook his head. “Your friend looks
fine to me,” he declared. “Other than that he’s
pretty damn thin. But that’s no crime.”
The white-haired man chuckled. “When Albert
turns sideways, he casts no shadow. I’ve been trying
to put some meat on his bones for years. Darned
fool only eats vegetables though. Can? get fat
munching on leafy green things.” The old man
peered intently at Seventeen. “Looks like you’ve
had a rough night, boy. You need some help?”
Seventeen licked his lips. He sensed that he
could trust this oddball old man and his giant
companion. He couldn’t explain his feelings but at
the moment his instincts were his only guide. In
this situation, he felt he had no choice. “Since
you’re speaking of food, you wouldn’t happen to
have anything to eat?”he asked. ‘‘I’mvery hungry.”
“There’s a loaf of Italian bread in our van,” said
Albert. The black man spoke his words precisely,
with an accent that Seventeen could not place.
“The cooler has cheese and roast beef for
sandwiches for Sam, and there’s a salad for me. You
are welcome to that.”
“Better bring the jug of lemonade, too,” said the
man who had to be Sam. “I think our battered
friend might appreciate a drink. He looks like he’s
been tom up pretty damned good.”
“1’11 be fine after a meal,” said Seventeen. He
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Haine, the Changing Man, doesn’t speed to the aid
of his fellow magick makers.”
“Sam Haine, the Changing- Man,” repeated
Seventeen. The name sounded familiar, as if he had
heard it spoken before. But, like many other things,
he was not sure when or by whom. I t was quite
frustrating. “You don’t know a man named Alvin
Reynolds, by any chance?”
The white-haired man frowned. Muttering
incomprehensible phrases under his breath, he
shifted his hands to touch Seventeen gently on
each side of his neck. “Reynolds?” he replied.
“Alvin Reynolds?The name doesn’t strike a chord
with me. Don’t mean a hell of a lot, ‘cause I meet
lots of people and can’t remember all their names.
Memory is shot to hell, son. Growing old does that
to you. Albert’s the one for names. Better if you ask
him.”
“Ask me what?” said Albert, returning from a
large blue van parked fifty feet down the road. In
his arms he carried the promised food and drink.
Hungrily, Seventeen held out his hands.
“Go ahead and eat, boy,” said Sam, removing his
fingers from Seventeen’s body. “Damn it all if you
weren’t tellin’ the truth. Never before encountered
a specimen so damned healthy in my entire life.
Ain’t nothin’ wrong with you.”
Albert handed Seventeen the food. The next few
minutes were silent as he devoured every single
scrap of bread, cheese and meat. It was as if a fire
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“If he’s a major computer geek, this Reynolds
probably belongs to the Virtual Adepts,” said Sam.
“Not that all the Traditions don’t have their share
of software soldiers, but your best bet is to try the
Adepts first. Though, they’re a pretty anarchistic
bunch. Getting information from any of them is
like trying to pull out your own teeth.”
The white-haired man beckoned to Seventeen.
“We better get back to the van and start driving.
Yakking by the side of the road here might attract
some attention. Latest scandal in the papers
concerns gangs of teenagers roaming the highways
looking for broken-down cars. The young thugs rob
the stranded motorists, raping the women, most
times killin’ the men. Freeway bandits, they’re
called. Around a scum hole like Rochester, they’re
a real problem. Better we be moving than find
ourselves their next target.”
Sam stared at Seventeen. “I’m making the
assumption you’re coming with us, son?Seems like
you need a lift. Correct me if I’m bein’ too forward
or anything like that.”
Seventeen shrugged. “What other choice do I
have?”He pulled the truck driver’s wallet from his
pocket. “I only have seventy dollars. It’s not much,
but any help you can lend me in finding Alvin
Reynolds would be appreciated. I’m sure he will
give you more once I contact him.”
Sam shook his head. “Keep the change, boy.
Albert and I don’t take money for helpin’ nobody.
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Which, of course, leads to numerous questions that
need answers.”
“Questions?”said Seventeen. “About what?”
“You, for example,” said Albert. “I do not think
I have ever before met a mage, no matter how
powerful, who could kill a sauroid with his bare
hands and a few hours later badly damage a HIT
Mark cyborg. What Tradition do you follow?”The
black man chuckled. “Is there perhaps a new Order
from the planet Krypton?”
“Forget the witchy trappings and ritual stuff,”
interrupted Sam Haine. “Ain’t important right
now. You’re missin’ the obvious, Albert. We need
an answer to the real big question.” The white-
haired man stared at Seventeen. “What’s your
name, son?What do you call yourself?”
“I-I-I’m prisoner Seventeen,” said Seventeen,
feeling slightly bewildered by the query.
“Sure, that’s what you were in that Gray
Collective’s‘cell block,” said Sam. “But who were
you before? What’s your real name?”
“Name?”repeated Seventeen, warily. Slowly, he
shook his head. “I’m Seventeen. That’s all I
remember. I don’t have a name.”
A n uneasy feeling crept over him.
Concentrating, he realized his memory only
extended back a few weeks. He had no
recollections of his life before the laboratory. Never
before had he questioned his apparent lack of a
history. It didn’t seemed important. It was as if he
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Chapter Nine
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They approached the stalled van slowly. The
blonde made no effort to come and meet them. She
was either very cautious, very afraid, or very
dangerous. Shadow could not decide which.
“Hello,” called Kallikos. “What’s the problem?
We mean you no harm.”
“Two-two of my tires are flat,” replied the girl
from behind the flares. “There were spikes in the
road a few miles back. It had to be a gang trap. I was
afraid to pull over so I drove on the rims as long as
I could. My CB’s busted and no one else has come
by since. You’re the only people I’ve seen in the
past hour.”
“DO you have any spares?” asked Kallikos,
starting to walk a little faster. Shadow laid a
restraining hand on his arm as he came up to her
side. She felt uneasy about this situation. “We can
give you a hand changing them.”
“Would you?”said the blonde. She spoke slowly,
almost as if reciting dialogue learned by rote.
Shadow of the Dawn suspected that was exactly the
case. “I’ve been going crazy watchin’ and waitin’ for
someone to come along. I was starting to worry that
nobody would ever stop. But now everything’ll be
just fine.”
“Down!” hissed Shadow and shoved Kallikos to
the ground. She dropped to the earth as fire and
lead roared across the spot they had occupied an
instant before.
A mechanism clicked loudly in the blackness a
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Kallikos disappeared beyond the flares. Shadow
stood alone, her feet slightly spread, facing the five
men.
“Barbecue,”said the thug with the knife. All five .
men were moving forward slowly but steadily. None
of them had much to say. Shadow didn’t care.
Insults and curses couldn’t kill. Cold steel was the
only thing that mattered.
“Don’t rush,” said the masked man, speaking to
his companions. He held the chain like a lariat, a
coil of it dangling from one gloved hand, the
section ending in the hook swaying from the other.
“We got plenty of time.”
“Gehtlemen,” said Shadow, her voice steady. ‘‘I
offer you your lives. Depart now or die without
mercy. The choice is given only once.”
The man with the black beard giggled shrilly,
revealing a mouthful of yellowed teeth sharpened
to points. “Oh, oh,” he declared in a high-pitched
voice. “I’m so worried.”
None of the others said a word. Instead, they
crowded forward, eager to be the first to the attack.
Shadow accepted this as an unspoken refusal of her
offer. With the faintest whisper of steel, she drew
her two swords from their sheaths. Whisper and
Scream blazed with red fire in the glow of the
emergency flares.
The gang’s sudden rush came to an abrupt halt
as they caught sight of the twin blades. Shadow
stood ready to attack, her left arm raised, her right
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made it difficult for Shadow to see the masked thug
clearly. His chain, held as before in his gloved
hands, swung back and forth in a shallow arc just
above the pavement. The sharp, rounded hook at
the end of the loop gleamed in the lights.
“Not my night for pickin’ suckers,” the man said
with a hoarse chuckle. “I shoulda fuckin’ stayed
home and played cards.”
Cautiously, Shadow stepped forward. The gang
leader could have fled while she was engaged with
his companions. He had chosen not to. She felt
certain that he was not suicidal. The thug had to
have something nasty planned.
“Watching you was like seeing one of those chop-
socky movies from Hong Kong,” said the leather-
faced man. The end of the chain swung in slightly
wider arcs. His voice, gravelly and low, betrayed
not a trace of fear. “You know, the ones where
nobody’s mouth moves when they talk.”
Shadow said nothing. Deftly, she slid her
wakizashi back into its scabbard. She gripped
Whisper with both hands. In single combat, she
preferred using one blade. Two hands gave her
much sharper control of the sword. Cautiously, she
took another step forward. The leather-faced thug
was no more than five yards away. The steel chain
in his hands swung back and forth, almost
hypnotically, in the glare of the car lights.
A sixth sense, born of years of Do training,
warned Shadow of peril an instant before she was
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hard on the chain, pulling Shadow off balance. She
stumbled. Blood spurted from a dozen wounds on
her arms. The katana sagged in her suddenly numb
fingers.
“Kill her quick,” the leather-masked man ordered
his stooge. He kept the chain taut, the end of it
wrapped around his gloves. His voice was no longer
calm and cool but filled with excitement. The
thought of murder obviously gave him a thrill.
“Don’t give her a fuckin’ second to recover.”
His head bobbing up and down like a toy, the
skinhead reached with his good hand into his
pocket and pulled out a six-inch switchblade. The
hand missing two fingers was wrapped in a blood-
soaked bandanna. With a click, the blade emerged.
“I’m gonna cut off your face for slicin’ my fingers,”
the thug swore as he stepped close to Shadow. “First
your nose, then your ears, then 1’11 carve my initials
in your cheeks.”
“I think not,” murmured Shadow of the Dawn.
Dropping her sword, she yanked her arms back
across her shoulder. Blood gushed from her wounds,
but the motion caught the leather-masked man by
surprise. He flopped forward onto the pavement,
his grip on the chain loosening slightly.
Calling upon her Do abilities, Shadow leapt high
into the air. At the top of her jump, her feet level
with the skinhead’s face, she lashed out with a
spinning windmill dragon kick. The blow slammed
into the side of the thug’s face like a thunderbolt.
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flailed wildly as he tried to wrench loose, but there
was noescape. With a savage twist of her wrists,
Shadow wrenched the steel chain high into the air.
The man’s neck snapped like rotten wood, the
hooks in the wire digging deep grooves into his
skin.
Seething with annoyance, she untangled her
arms from the deadly links. Shadow was angry with
herself for letting the man catch her with the
chain. She should have dealt with him earlier in
the fight. A well-directed slash from Whisper
would have rendered the steel useless. The battle
had lasted much longer than she had planned. The
young woman shook her head. Though she had
trained for years as a Dragon Scale, she still had
much to learn. Actual combat was a harsh but
effective teacher.
It wasn’t until Shadow reached over to retrieve
Whisper that she remembered Kallikos. The time-
master had left to deal with the blonde who had
lured them into this trap. Shadow felt certain that
the girl was no innocent. She worked as bait.
Which meant that she was as dangerous as her
companions, and perhaps even more so. Quickly,
the young willworker hurried over to the van.
The golden-skinned mage waited for her, a slight
smile on his lips. In his hand, he held a bowie knife.
A thin trickle of blood stained his purple silk shirt.
A few feet away, her back pressed against the metal
of the big van, stood a tall, slender blonde dressed
in a halter top and black bike shorts. With wide
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Shadow shrugged. “I learned a lesson in humility
tonight,” she declared. “Still, I survived and will
benefit from the experience. They did not. Their
bodies litter the road.”
“Dead?” said the blonde, her jaw dropping.
“They’re all dead ?”
Shadow of the Dawn nodded. “They attacked
me. I offered them the chance to retreat. They did
not take it and thus paid the price for their
arrogance. The wheel turns.”
Tears trickled down the young woman’s cheeks.
“They-they were the only family I ever had. Now,
I’m alone. All alone!”
Momentarily forgetting the knife Kallikos held,
the blonde took a step away from the van.
Instantly, Whisper was poised beneath her throat,
just touching the soft white skin of her neck.
“Take one more step,’’ said Shadow, “and you can
offer your regrets to them personally in hell. While
I dislike the thought of killing anyone without a
fight, in your case I would make the rare exception.
Your hands are covered with the blood of too many
innocents for me to feel any sorrow in terminating
your worthless existence.”
“Wh-what are you going to do with me?” she
asked, shuffling backward so that her shoulder
blades once more touched the metal of the van.
“We are going to release you,” said Kallikos, the
eyebrows knitting over his face as his expression
grew stern. “In that fashion, you can inform your
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“Maybe,”said Shadow. “More likely, she’ll return
in an hour with a new pack of headhunters. I think
it best for us to depart. The further we are away
from this place, the better I will feel. Once we are
safe, I need to concentrate on healing my wounds.”
“We will see that girl again,” said Kallikos, an
odd note in his voice. ‘‘I feel certain of it.”
By now, Shadow knew better than to mock the
mage’s words. He rarely made outright predictions.
But, when he did, they invariably came true.
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patient. He understood that it might take many
years before his goals were realized. It mattered not
at all. The Undead didn’t worry about time.
“Yes?”he growled into the intercom. “What is
it ?”
“My apologies, chairman,” answered the
receptionist forty floors below. Pietro had used
many titles over the centuries. Chairman fit him
best for the present. “Your gardener, Antonio
Quastro, needs to speak with you immediately. I
informed him of your wishes to remain undisturbed,
but he insisted. He claims that it is an emergency
and that any delay will mean disaster. Knowing
your concerns, I decided it best to disobey your
orders.”
“You acted correctly,” said Pietro. Antonio was
the one person whose calls he never ignored.
“Patch me through to him. Immediately.”
Pietro waited impatiently for the transfer to be
completed. The gardener was one of his oldest and
most trusted retainers; he had tended Pietro’s
flowers for decades and was a superb horticulturist.
An emergency call from Antonio could mean but
one thing: Plants were dying. He was not someone
who panicked easily.
“Antonio,”said Pietro as soon as the connection
was made to his country estate, “what is happening?
Why did you phone?”
“The blood roses, Signoro Giovanni,” said
Antonio, his voice cracking with emotion. “The
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A low chuckle, coarse and grating, echoed
through Pietro’s office. Startled, the chairman
raised his head. He saw no one. Yet, he was sure
that he had heard something. Frowning, he pushed
himself out of his chair.
Slowly, carefully, he circumnavigated the floor of
his chambers. The vast room was empty. The
thoughtful expression on Pietro’s face deepened.
Just as he settled back into his leather chair, the
voice laughed a second time. Not loud, yet sharp
and clear enough that there was no mistaking it for
a recording or transmission. Someone was in the
office with him-a person who could remain
hidden unless he willed himself to be found. A
being whose powers could defy Pietro’s own
heightened senses. The master of the Mausoleum
had no doubts as to the identity of his enemy.
“Well?”he asked the empty air, “are you planning
to make yourself visible? How long do you wish to
continue this foolish charade?”
“The emergency call button you are pressing with
your foot no longer functions,” said the short,
husky man who suddenly appeared in front of
Pietro’s desk. His hair and beard were steel gray, his
eyes pitch black. In visits past, he had always been
impeccably neat. Tonight, his thick hair appeared
tangled and uncombed, while his white shirt was
wrinkled and creased. “All of the protective devices
on this floor ceased to work the moment I arrived.
Nor will the elevators rise to this level. Downstairs,
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their visit? You think to keep secrets from me,
Pietro, but I’m not easily deceived. Not even by a
master of lies like yourself.”
The willworker laughed. An uneasy feeling swept
over Pietro. In the years that be had been dealing
with Ezra, the wizard had always been
accommodating, anxious to make deals. He had
spoken carefully, using words designed to avoid
friction between himself and Pietro. That was no
longer the case. The mage’s personality had
undergone a major transformation. He was
arrogant, self-assured, and unafraid. While Pietro
assumed much of this change in attitude came from
encroaching madness, there had to be another
reason.
“Once I feared you,” said Ezra, as if reading
Pietro’s mind. “But no more. In the past few
months, I’ve forged an alliance with a mentor
whose power far exceeds your might.”
Ezra’sface twisted into a mask of hate. “The rules
of conduct have changed drastically. I am no longer
bound by that fool Rambam’s code of honor. The
only law I now obey is my own. Step in my path,
Pietro, and I will crush you. The female assassin,
the woman-childe named Madeleine you sent out
hunting for me, shall be utterly destroyed. So will
be the one she holds most dear. Eliminating them
both will be my great pleasure. One by one, I will
destroy all that you hold dear.”
“The Blood Roses,” said Pietro, comprehension
dawning. “You poisoned the bushes.”
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cracks appeared like frost across the thousands of
square feet of tinted glass in the office.
Reaching out with t h e full force of his
tremendous will, Pietro tried to discover what Ezra
had done to the clock. There was no sign of the
madman’s tampering. Whatever spell he had used,
it was beyond Pietro’s abilities to stop it.
With a thunderous roar, the LeClair Clock struck
twelve. The sound was so overpowering that all of
the windows in the chamber exploded. Most of the
glass fell outward, sending thousands of pieces
hurtling to the earth. A small number of fragments
dropped into the room. Prepared for the worst,
Pietro had hardened his body to the consistency of
steel and was unharmed. Surprisingly, the clock
remained intact, completely unaffected by the
note. The sound of the twelfth note was just dying
when it struck thirteen.
Thirteen o’clock. The hour of madness. The
sound it made was shrill, piercing, the tone of
absolute insanity. The universe seemed to pause for
a n instant, as t h e unbearable agony of the
discordant note rode through the air in a wave of
ultimate madness.
With that sound, the LeClair Clock collapsed in
on itself, a steaming mass of gears and bolts and
springs. Like a year-old corpse unexpectedly
exposed to the air, it dissolved into a pool of
bubbling putrescence.
Tears of black blood stained Pietro Giovanni’s
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156
Chapter Eleven
Robert Welnberg
made no secret of the fact that he did not trust her.
Velma found Nelson amusing. More than anyone
else in the complex, Nelson sensed a small measure
of the truth about her schemes. But no one believed
him.
“I believe that wraps up the last detail of the
revisions,” declared Terrence Shade, breaking
through the haze of her daydreams. The Mission
Specialist’s tone was weary. “These added
precautions should eliminate any possibility of
further .escapes.”
“If they don’t,’’ declared Sharon Reed, “then we
follow my earlier suggestion and kill all of our
captives, saving tissue samples from them to grow
clones as needed.”
“Absolute nonsense,” retorted Klair. This
argument, in one form or another, had been the
chief roadblock between the two leaders all night.
“Such action could seriously delay the project for
months. Me cannot risk any further setbacks while
you tinker with genetic codes. Scientific expertise
is t h e answer, not more mumbo jumbo gene
splicing.”
“Quiet,” said Shade, rising from the table. His
face was so red it appeared ready to explode. “I’ve
listened to enough of your pointless debates tonight
to last me a month. The Men in Black must be set
on Prisoner Seventeen’s trail this morning. Any
possible damage he may have caused the project
needs to be counteracted. I have plenty of work to
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“That’s why we won’t use the cephalopoid in
situations where such things matter,” said the
Director. She smiled. “Mindless destruction can be
quite useful in certain circumstances.”
The Progentiors had used monsters like Semok
for years to scour the sea bottoms for useful life
forms and treasure. Sharon Reed saw them as
something more. Using the latest developments in
Progenitor procedure, she intended to give the
squidbuman monstrosity the ability to move on
land. Couple that power with an ability to exist for
short periods of time without water, the
cephalopoid became a nightmarish engine of
destruction. Semok was short for semi-mobile
octopoid killer. It was an insane, improbable idea.
But some of the Progenitors’ greatest triumphs
came from equally unlikely concepts.
“I assume you wanted to discuss something other
than our octopoid friend?”asked Velma. Because of
genetic body modification, she required less sleep
than most. Still, even her body needed some rest.
“More news about the final situation?”
“That’s why 1 summoned you to my quarters,”
said Sharon, “before this entire fiasco started. I had
some good news to share. Final word came this
evening from the executive branch.”
Velma smiled. “Nothing unexpected, I assume.”
T h e Research Director’s face glowed with
satisfaction. “We are to finish the AW Project as
swiftly as possible. Once we know the results are
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170
ChaDter Twelve
A
s she did every morning at exactly eight a.m.,
Ms. Millicent Hargroves signed the entry log
at the front security desk of her apartment
building. She was dressed in a conservative blue
suit, entirely without makeup, her hair pulled back
tightly in a no-nonsense bun. Joe Steeger, the
officer on duty, studied her handwriting, matching
it against the official template. A big, fat man,
stuffed into an official blue security patrol uniform,
Steeger enjoyed making people wait. When any of
the residents complained, he merely told them that
he took his job seriously. He liked to brag that no
deadbeat had ever gotten into the apartments
during his tour of duty at the front desk. Ms.
Hargroves suspected the record was due more to
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his huge waist. Not that he had ever drawn the gun.
Or knew which end to use in case of a real
emergency.
Lips pressed tightly together, Ms. Hargroves
walked briskly to the inner portal. The buzzer
sounded when she was five feet away. Hurrying her
steps accordingly,she grabbed hold of the doorknob
and twisted it open an instant before the noise
stopped. Steeger was n o t only dumb but
incompetent.
As she stepped into elevator three, Ms.
Hargroves wondered if she should go to the trouble
of having Steeger replaced. It wouldn’t be difficult.
As private secretary to Enzo Giovanni, she wielded
tremendous influence. A word from her to the
owners of the apartment complex and Mr.Steeger
would be back on the street, working as a part-time
guard in some dilapidated public school. Or a more
direct comment to the Grim brothers and the fat
security officer would be at the bottom of the lake,
held inplace by a pair of cement handcuffs around
his wrists.
Ms. Hargroves smiled, thinking exactly how
bloated Steeger’s face would look after a few weeks
under water. Knowing the Grim brothers, the
guard’s death wouldn’t be pleasant. They delighted
in torturing their victims before finishing the job.
It was a tempting notion. Her only concern was
that the guard’s replacement might be even worse.
As a single black woman, she had dealt with
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Seated in a large, plush sofa was a slender young
woman. S h e wore a man’s pin-striped suit,
complete with a red necktie and matching
handkerchief. Cut short, her hair was the same
deep red as her tie and curled around her face like
a snake. Her sexless, inhuman face glowed with.
unnatural vitality. Dark eyes burned like hot coals.
Though she had many names among many peoples,
she preferred to be called Aliara. A being from the
Deep Universe, she was one of those mysterious
creatures known to the Technocrats as Those
Beyond. Others, of more occult leanings, called
them the Dark Lords. Whatever her title, she was
Ms. Hargroves’ mentor.
Though Aliara appeared solid, she was nothing
more than a ghostly illusion. Physically
materializing on the Earth required hundreds of
spells and thousands upon thousands of human
sacrifices. As an inhabitant of the Deep Universe,
she could touch the real world only with her mind.
’ “Steeger raises the definition of stupidity to a
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wrong word from her mentor would doom Ms.
Hargroves to an eternity of torment and unceasing
pain. “I am but your humble servant.”
“Servant, yes,” said Aliara, “though humble
hardly describes your demeanor. No matter. I need
human tools to further my ambitions on this world.
You are the best I have ever discovered.” The
boyish woman’s voice hardened until it was
nothing even remotely human. “Your rewards will
be great, Ms. Hargroves. But cross me and your
punishments will be beyond imagination.”
“Enzo took another step forward in his plan to
control and corrupt the mayor’s office tonight,”
said Ms. Hargroves, anxious to change the subject.
“He recruited a beautiful young woman to aid his
subversive campaign. With her good looks and
total lack of morality, she will serve him well. Enzo
plans to give her a touch of polish and then set her
loose on those few city officials who have remained
off the Evenvell payroll. The girl is named Hope,
which Enzo finds quite amusing.”
“Excellent,” said Aliara. “Each action he takes
entirely for his own purposes leads him one step
further away from his family elders in Venice. The
ties that bind him to the rest of the Giovanni are
nearly broken. A little more pressure and he will
pull free from his clan.”
“If that’s the case,” said Ms. Hargroves, “then
won’t you and Enzo serve the same master?Why are
we engaged in this subterfuge?”
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The red-haired woman’s eyes glimmered with
crimson flames. “The prisoner is a perfect foil for
my own pursuits. We must do everything we can to
ensure his survival. At least until the AW Project
is nearly finished. After that, he will no longer
matter.”
“It won’t be easy,” said Ms. Hargroves, shaking
her head, “especially since I have no idea what
Enzo plans to do, and I won’t know anything until
the prisoner is actually found.”
“DO whatever is necessary to prevent t h e
prisoner’s elimination,” said Aliara, rising from the
sofa. The plush cushions showed no outline of her
body. Nor did her feet make any indentation in the
thick carpeting. The red-haired woman was a
realistic illusion, nothing more. “The events at the
Gray Collective are my concern. Everything there
is progressing much according to my plan. You no
longer need concern yourself with the matter. The
escapee is your only responsibility: He must not die
tonight. I am counting on you. Do not fail me.”
“Have I ever?”replied Ms. Hargroves.
“Of course not,” said Aliara, her androgynous
features cracking a demonic smile. She laughed. “If
you had, you would no longer be alive. Give me
your h
Tren -grovesstretched out her right
hand, I )pedher fingers with her own.
The gaunt woman gasped in unexpected pain as a
jolt of pure energy coursed through her body. Her
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ChaDter Thirteen
A
s always, Seventeen awoke with a clear mind,
his senses alert. His eyes snapped open and he
glanced about the small room where he had
been sleeping. As he stared out the window near his
cot into the green meadow just beyond the glass, a
feeling of unreality swept over him. He had no
memory of waking to anything other than the cold,
steel walls of his prison cell in the Gray Collective.
The riot of color outside, seen for the first time in
daylight, was a shock to his vision. He blinked
several times, mentally trying to adjust to the
greens, browns, reds and yellows that seemed
almost unnaturally bright.
There was a knock on the wood door of the
bedchamber. Instantly, Seventeen was on his feet,
braced for trouble. He was clad only in a pair of
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shower sounds good. Afterward, could 1 get
something to eat? I’m starving.
The girl grinned. “Of course. There’s always food
around, a necessity considering the strange hours
some of us keep. My name, by the way, is Jenni
Smith. Sam Haine suggested that 1 show you
around our enclave before the celebration tonight.
Think of me as your own private tour guide.”
“I’m called Seventeen,” said Seventeen. Sam
Haine had assured him that among willworkers,
using a number for a name, especially a prime
number, would not attract any notice.
“Seventeen,” repeated Jenni. She laughed.
“That’ll be easy enough to remember. I’m
seventeen too, age wise. Why don’t you clean up
and change? It’s three in the afternoon and the
ceremony won’t begin until night falls, so we have
plenty of time to talk.”
The young woman stepped closer to Seventeen,
handing him the towels and the clothing. “Sam
mentioned your amnesia to me,” she whispered.
“When we’re alone outside, 1’11 refresh your
memory on the Traditions so you don’t seem out of
place tonight.”
Louder, she declared, “The shower is down the
hall. While you’re washing, I’ll rustle you up some
food.”
“That sounds wonderful,” said Seventeen.
“Afterward, maybe we can go for a walk outside.
This area looks so peaceful, I’d enjoy seeing more
of it.”
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The big man paused, lost in thought. Dressed in
faded jeans and a checkered red shirt, he looked
like a woodsman. Standing here, he felt as if at long
lost, he had finally returned home. For the first
time in his memory, he understood what it meant
to be Awakened. The world about him was alive
and he was an integral part of it. A sense of well-
being filled his mind and he knew that the world
was not as dark as it sometimes seemed.
He drew in a deep breath, exhaling it slowly. His
body throbbed with the natural force of the grove.
“What happens here this evening?” he asked.
‘‘It’sMidsummer Night,” said Jenni, “the longest
day of the year. For those of the Verbena Tradition,
this eve marks the half-way point of the year. We
celebrate the event with a festival around the pond.
Willworkers from all Nine Traditions will be in
attendance. Later, toward dawn, when things quiet
down, some of our members will pass into the
Horizon to meet with Verbena elders from other
cabals.”
“The Nine Traditions,” said Seventeen. The
words sounded so familiar. But when he tried to
remember exactly why, his thoughts were blank. It
was as if certain portions of his memory had
deliberately been wiped clear. He suspected that
was exactly what had been done. “Tell me about
them.”
Jenni laughed. A free spirit, she laughed a lot.
Seventeen found her enchanting. Reaching down
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“Which one?”asked Seventeen. He sat up. The
girl, slightly startled by his sudden motion, scurried
a few feet back. “That’s odd. I thought I listed them
all.”
“You missed Euthanatos,” said Jenni, scowling.
“The Death Mages.”
Though his eyes were wide open, Seventeen had
a sudden vision of himself standing tall, clad
entirely in black, with a swirling dark cape and a
brace of pistols buckled to his belt. His features
were drawn and melancholy. A lifeless body lay at
his feet.
“Euthanatos believe that death is a natural part
of existence,” said Seventeen slowly. “They
understand that entropy must be served to keep the
universe functioning properly. Thus they are killers
of those who must be slain. Each good death puts
. t h e victim one step further o n the path to
redemption. They do not fear death, knowing that
it leads again to life.”
Jenni shivered. “They give me the creeps.
Verbena hold life sacred. Euthanatos treat death as
a reward. Our Orders are at two ends of a vast
spectrum of belief.”
“Nine Traditions,” said Seventeen. ‘The number
remains unchanged since the origin of the Council
many hundreds of years ago. Yet, there were no
Virtual Adepts or Sons of Ether in centuries past.”
Jenni nodded. “When the Council met in the
Grand Convocation of 1466, there were nine
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attitudes: He’s really terribly sharp. Together with
Albert he travels throughout the country battling
the distortions and lies of the Technocracy. As a
sideline, he helps Tradition wizards in trouble or on
the run. Like many of us here at the Casey Cabal,
I consider Sam my best friend and mentor. There’s
no one like him in the whole wide world.”
“He does appear to be unique,” said Seventeen.
“So, tell me about the Five Conventions of the
Technocracy.”
“It seems to me,” said Jenni, “that your memory
is kicking into gear faster and faster. I never
mentioned that the Technocratic Union has five
branches. Or that they call them Conventions.”
Seventeen shrugged. ‘‘I’m not sure if it’s past
memories or recent ones. I may have heard ...”
He stopped, realizing he was about to mention
his captivity. Sam Haine had warned him
emphatically not to mention his imprisonment to
anyone. Though Seventeen suspected the white-
haired man wouldn’t be concerned if Jenni knew
the truth, he felt it would be better to err on the
side of caution. “...the word from Albert.”
“DOyou remember anything about the different
branches of the Union?” asked Jenni.
“Not much,” said Seventeen. “There’s the
Progenitors and Iteration X. Those two groups I
know. The first specializes in genetics and mind-
altering drugs. The second believes that ultimate
Ascension can be achieved through mankind’s
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Tradition mages don’t consider the Void Engineers
much of a threat. The Technocracy probably
distrusts them as much as we do, if not more.”
The young woman looked skyward. “It’s getting
late. The festivities will start when the sun sets.
Lots of spellworkers will be arriving shortly. We
should return to the farm so we can change our
clothes for the celebration.”
“Whatever you think best,” said Seventeen. “I
can use the exercise. Talking with you has been a
pleasure, but I need to move around more. Most
days I work out for several hours.”
He saw n o reason to add t h a t in the Gray
Collective prison, exercise was one of the few
activities permitted in the cells. Many days he had
spent six or seven hours engaged in pushing his
body to the limits. Prisoner Fourteen had jokingly
referred to his workouts as “test to destruction,”
though Seventeen more than once thought he
detected a note of fright in her tone.
They were half way back to t h e sprawling
farmhouse when he remembered two more
questions. “The Nephandi,” he said. “You
mentioned their name but never said anything
about them. And another group known as the
Marauders?”
Jenni shivered. There was no hiding the fear in
her eyes. “The Nephandi are absolute evil in
human form. They’re willworkers who believe in
Darkness instead of Light. Their masters are
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Chapter Fourteen
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Prisoner Seventeen is not destroyed, the mission
will be considered a failure. I will be extremely
unhappy with such a scenario.”
Beads of sweat popped out on Graves’ forehead
and his cheeks lost all their color. “I assure you,
Mission Specialist, there will be no mistakes.”
“Good,” said Shade, smiling. He rubbed his
hands together, briskly. “Like I said, the
Convention has absolute faith in your ability,
Graves. We know you won’t underestimate the
opposition. Now, you were going to tell me how
many Men in Black have been assigned to the
mission?”
The Coordinator licked his lips. “Um, let me
check on that number for you personally, Mission
Specialist. I don’t have the exact information in
the amalgam; my assistant has those figures. I
assume you’ll want to know how many of the group
are bioclones and how many are independent
operators ?”
“Of course,” said Shade, folding his hands across
his ample stomach. “Please do check. I think we
should be leaving shortly. You’ve already assigned
a Gray Man to supervise the Men in Black
amalgam?”
“Yes, sir,” said Graves, heading purposefully for
the door. “Field agent Murray Helman, the top
Gray Man in the Collective. He’s an ex-CIA
operative our agents recruited several years ago.
Helman is a master technician without a trace of
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upon its completion was going to require a healthy
dose of brute force. T h e Mission Specialist
shrugged. What had to be done had to be done.
Coordinator Graves returned to the office in two
minutes, thirteen seconds. Outwardly calm, he
could not disguise his short breath and red-tinged
cheeks. Settling behind his desk, he took a few
moments to readjust his tie and straighten his shirt
before he spoke.
“Everything checks out fine, Mission Specialist,”
said Graves, trying to project an image of a cool,
calm executive. Shade found t h e attempted
deception annoying but said nothing. He was
starting to lose patience with coordinator Graves’
ineptitude. “Helman’s team consists of forty Men
in Black. Two dozen of them are bioclones.
Another ten are Sleepers-tough, hard-working
thugs on Dynamic Systems payroll. These men are
professional killers who know nothing of the goals
or beliefs of the NWO, but are motivated by
money, and we pay them very well. The other six
are independent operators, minor Technomancers
belonging to the Convention, hoping to perform
well enough in the field to be promoted to a higher
level.”
“A diverse collection,” commented Shade. “Does
Helman use a Hive Mind with the bioclones?”
“It depends on the situation,” said Graves. “I’m
not sure what the Gray Man plans for tonight. I
suspect it will depend on who we face when we
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“No sir,” said Helman, his tone unchanged. He
glanced for an instant at the coordinator sitting
next to him. “Mr. Graves did not mention that to
me.”
“I assume then that he also forgot to tell you that
the escapee killed a powerful biological Progenitor
lab creation as well,” said Shade, sipping his drink.
“A sauroid, sir?”asked Helman, the slightest hint
of annoyance in his voice. He looked again at his
boss. Graves stared straight out the front window,
his eyes never wavering.
“Yes, Mr. Helman,” said Shade. “I wasn’t sure if
you were aware of such beings. Their existence is
a closely guarded secret.”
“As a Gray Man,” said Helman, “it’s my job to be
informed about all aspects of Technocracy security,
sir. I am cogent of such creatures, though I have
never encountered one. From what I read, I gather
that ordinarily they are quite difficult to kill.”
“Your assumption is valid, Mr. Helman,” said
Shade, closing his eyes and savoring the texture of
the fine whiskey. “I felt that you needed to
understand exactly why we required such a large
troop of Men in Black for this mission. Our quarry
can be extremely deadly. He also heals with
unnatural speed. I am not sure that ordinary bullets
will stop him. But I highly doubt it.”
“Yes sir,” said Helman. “I appreciate your
concern. What you’ve told me calls for a revamping
of my strategy. Instead of controlling all of the
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ChaDter Fifteen
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“Not using the regular entrance tonight?” Enzo
asked, with the slightest of smiles. “I thought you
wanted publicity.”
“NOneed for photo opportunities anymore,”said
the short gray-haired man who now stood on the
other side of Enzo’s desk. His thick hair was tangled
and uncombed, while strange sparks glistened in his
dark eyes. His voice, though, was calm and relaxed.
“Pietro knows that we are working together. He
swallowed the bait exactly as expected.”
“You’re sure,” said Enzo, placing the papers on his
desk. They could wait. This conversation was much
more important. “He is no fool. The clan elders
have absolute faith in Pietro. My cousin is not
easily deceived.”
“Perhaps,” said Ezra, smirking, “but he has his
blind spots. Pietro has assigned Madeleine the task
of eliminating me. And, he has sent Montifloro to
America to check on you.”
“Montifloro!” repeated Enzo. He shook his head
in amazement. “How utterly droll. My cousin is a
perfect choice for what we plan. Twisting his
thoughts to our purposes will be child’s play. What
about the girl?”
“The Dagger of the Giovanni has earned her
reputation,” said Ezra, “but her powers are no
match for mine. More importantly, she is engaged
in her own plot against Pietro. Madeleine is loyal
only to herself. She will unwittingly be her sire’s
doom.”
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“I hate that damned trick,” Enzo muttered, lifting
the stack of papers back into his lap. “Enter.”
Ms. Hargroves walked into the room. As always,
she wore a blue suit, no makeup, and her hair
pulled back in a tight bun. The tall, gaunt woman
seemed nervous, ill-at-ease, filled with unnatural
energy. Normally, his secretary was in complete and
absolute control of her senses. Enzo wondered what
was bothering her. In her hand, she carried another
stack of documents.
“I thought I heard you talking to someone,”said
Ms. Hargroves, looking around but seeing no one.
Her voice was as steady as ever. Hearing her speak,
Enzo dismissed his concerns about the gaunt
woman’s composure. He should know better than
to think anything could rattle her. “These reports
just came in. The First Team thinks they’ve located
the fugitive. I assumed you would want the news
immediately.”
“You assumed correctly,” said Enzo, taking the
papers from Hs. Hargroves’ hands. He scanned the
documents quickly.
“Madron!” he declared after a moment. “Of all
places, he ended up with that gang of ecological
lunatics who’ve been fighting our expansion into
the suburbs. What a mess.”
He glared at Ms. Hargroves, who returned his
stare without flinching. The gaunt woman had a
heart as cold as ice. “I assume you’ve taken the
proper measures?”
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“Good enough,’’ said Enzo. “How goes the
education of the girl, Hope, I brought in last
night?”he asked, changing the subject.
“Considering that she is a cheap, vulgar slut,
with little education and a sadistic streak that
frightens even the brothers Grim,” answered Ms.
Hargroves, “surprisingly well. Esperenza is not
stupid and learns quickly. Properly trained, she will
cause quite a stir in influential circles.”
Enzo smiled. “Excellent, One of my relatives
from Italy is due in the city shortly. I think he will
find her fascinating, They will have to be
introduced under the proper circumstances. Now,
leave me. I wish to be alone with my thoughts.”
Seconds after Ms. Hargroves exited, Ezra
reappeared, “There’s something odd about that
woman,” said the gray-haired man. “Can she be
trusted?”
“Without question,” replied Enzo. “MS.
Hargroves is quite reliable. Entirely without
emotion, she worships only money. And I pay her
very well.”
Ezra shook his head. “I trust no one. Now, what
was that about an escaped prisoner?”
In a few brief sentences, Enzo summarized what
little he knew about the fugitive from the Gray
Collective. The lines in Ezra’s face deepened as he
listened.
“Our patron worries about this AW Project. If
successful, it could significantly change the balance
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Chapter Sixteen
Robert Weinberg
Sam directed his cane at Seventeen. “Free choice
is the issue, son. Clear and simple. The
Technocracy wants to make the world safe for the
Sleepers by taking away all the decision making.
Safe and secure for all, but no thinking. Be a
damned dull place if those characters ever take
over. You can see their influence already; the
Technocrats are growing more powerful all the
time. Trying to ban this and that, censor books, tell
us what we can listen to or what we can and can’t
see. It’s a pretty grim picture. Life without
imagination or vision. But that’s the way they like
it.”
Sam took a deep puff on his cigar. “That’s the real
reason we fight, son. Don’t let anyone tell you
otherwise. If the Technocracy triumphs, humanity
loses.”
The old man shook his head. “Damned if I don’t
ramble on like some politician. You finished
putting on that fancy outfit, boy? Time for us to
mingle with the movers and shakers in attendance
here at the celebration. Hopefully, somebody in the
crowd will recognize you. Or know this Alvin
Reynolds you’re searchin’ for.”
“I’m ready,” declared Seventeen, fastening the
last buckle on his outfit. He was dressed entirely in
black and silver. He wore long black slacks, knee
high boots, a black velvet tunic with silver clasps
at the neck, a long black cape, and black leather
gloves. The tunic was a little tight across the
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The white-haired man knew everyone. While
several of the more conservatively dressed guests
seemed less than pleased upon encountering the
Changing Man, they were all unfailingly polite.
Sam Haine, Seventeen soon realized, was notorious
among spellcasters: everyone either hated or loved
him.
“Seventeen,” said Sam, almost an hour later,
“meet Conrad Wyeth. He belongs to the Order of
Hermes. Master Wyeth has expressed an interest in
your problem. He thinks he might be able to help
you regain your memory.”
Wyeth, stylishly dressed in an Armani suit,
nodded. Nearly as tall as Seventeen, the man
projected the air of someone confident of his own
powers. With his neatly clipped gray hair and
goatee, he exuded self-importance. Standing next
to him, Sam Haine looked like a country bumpkin.
“I feel certain that given enough time I can break
down the mental blocks placed in your mind by the
Technomancers,”said Wyeth. The tall man spoke
in clipped, precise tones, as if addressing a crowded
lecture hall. “With your permission, I’d like to try.
As both a willworker and a psychologist, I find the
notion challenging. You’d regain your memory and
I’d gain valuable experience.”
“How long would the process take?” asked
Seventeen.
“Assuming your captors were experts at memory
deprivation,” said Wyeth, “I suspect it might
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I’m willing to break a few rules. Tell me your story.
From the beginning. Sam gave me a few highlights,
nothing more. If you want my help, 1 need to know
what I’m facing.”
Before Seventeen could say a word, the twin fires
in the clearing roared with sudden fury.A woman’s
voice, clear and sharp as a knife, rang out. “The
time is near. Prepare to welcome the Goddess.”
“Damned foolishness,” muttered Sam Haine,
chomping on his cigar. “Summer solstice ritual’s
about to begin. Lots of mumbo-jumbo and all that
stuff. Dancin’, singin’ nonsense. As if realmagick
requires anything more than the will and the way.”
“Oh well,” said Wyeth to Seventeen. “Hold your
story for a bit. No use trying to talk when the crowd
joins in the activities. Why battle the noise?
There’s no rush. We have the whole night to talk.”
T h e psychologist’s words rang hollow in
Seventeen’s ears. Feeling distinctly uncomfortable,
he looked around. Everyone in the clearing was
standing still, waiting for the high priestess of the
Goddess to begin the invocation to the Wyck. All
eyes were focused on the center of the grove, where
the tall blond woman, dressed in a flowing white
robe, stood beside t h e sacred spring, a long
ceremonial dagger in her right hand. A large ram
lay bound at her feet. The Verbena might hold a
certain appeal for New Age mysticks, but they were
not a leftover fringe group from t h e Peace
Movement. Their Tradition was an ancient one,
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girt's predicament. There was a long bloody streak
amus her forehead and her expression was one of
stunned disbelief. But at least she was still alive.
Seventeen took several deep breaths and readied
himself to strike the Men in Black. They had come
hunting him. Drawing their attention with a
surprise rush from the rear should cause enough
commotion to upset their methodical attack. He
felt certain that he could take out five or six of the
killers before they were able to focus their attention
on him. By then, aided by the distraction, the
Tradition mages should be able to mop up the rest.
It wasn't a great strategy, but it was the best plan
Seventeen could come up with.
Before he could take a step, huge engines roared
like thunder from the dirt path that led to the
glade. Bright headlights blazed in the clearing,
momentarily blinding everyone. Mages of both the
Technocracy and the Traditions suddenly froze,
stunned by the sense of encroaching evil.
Howling insanely, twenty bikers on motorcycles
hurtled into the clearing, their gigantic Harleys
sending chunks of grass and earth flying in every
direction. In the space of a few heartbeats, like
Indians circling a wagon train, the cycle gang
surrounded the Men in Black and the Tradition
mages. No one moved or said a word.
Armed with steel crowbars, metal chains, and
switchblade knives, the gang was obviously hunting
trouble. Though their black leather jackets proudly
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members fought without grace or style. Instead,
they ripped and tore and crushed anyone in their
way. Agents of the dark, they sought only to
destroy.
The Tradition mages forgotten, the Men in Black
fought a battle they could not win. Their guns
useless, the clones and their human allies were
powerless against the fury of the lunatic bikers.
They dropped helplessly before the savage
onslaught of the monstrous horde. Behind them,
the Tradition spellweavers raised their hands into
the air, summoning the ancient mystick forces of
the glade.
“Smash through to the bastards!” roared the
leader of the gang, exhorting his followers on to
greater violence. His tattoos glowed, the lizards
crawling like living things across his flesh. “Quick,
before the fuckers complete their spell!”
“I have you now,” declared a voice from behind
Seventeen. I t was the same man who had yelled
instructions to the Men in Black a few minutes
earlier. Caught totally off guard, Seventeen
whirled. A short, thin man with bland features and
watery blue eyes stood less than ten feet away. In
both hands he held a long nozzle attached to a tube
that lead to a tank across his back. “Burn time,
sucker.”
There was no time for Seventeen to react. The
thin man’s finger was already squeezing the trigger
of the flame-thrower. But he never completed the
action.
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dazed, he knew that he must act immediately or
else his friends would be in terrible danger from the
Knights of Pain.
He need not have worried. The bikers were no
longer on the offensive. Faces pale with worry, they
crouched on their bikes, edging from the circle of
Tradition mages. A huge dark cloud hovered over
the glade, blocking out the moon. At its center,
two balls of red fire glowed like gigantic eyes.
Thunder rumbled. The air in the mystic grove
rippled with psychic energy. Great forces were
stirring.
Behind their transparent wall of force, the faces
of the Tradition willworkers were serene. Drawing
upon the power of the life-energy of the sacred
spring, they had summoned the elemental forces of
nature for aid. For all of their evil, the biker gang
was no match for the spirits of the earth.
“Fuck it all,” screamed the leader of the gang. His
body no longer glowed. The lizards no longer
moved. His voice was thick with fear. “Scatter!”
Motors growled as the bikers fled for their lives.
Beneath them, the ground shook, as if the land
itself was rising to prevent their escape. Winds
howled, sweeping with chilled fingers across the
glade. A jagged bolt of lightning crashed, just
missing one of the Bikers. Disciples of the Goddess,
the Verbena had turned to the soil for aid against
their unnatural enemies. And the earth had struck
back.
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The wall of air surrounding the Tradition mages
had dissolved as if it had never existed. The white
light of the moon reflected off the water of the
magic spring. Once more, the sacred glade was
peaceful and serene. Except for the corpses spread
across the lawn.
I m okay,” said Seventeen, feeling a bit woozy.
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much about the newcomer,” said another. “Who’s
to say he’s not a Nephandi spy? The motorcycle
gang never attacked us before. Maybe he led them
to our sacred grove.”
Several others joined in t h e accusations.
Without conscious thought, Seventeen curled his
hands into fists. He didn’t want to fight these
people, but he could sense their anger rising.
“You are all fools,” came a woman’s voice, calm
and measured, from the fringe of the forest. The
Japanese warrior woman emerged from the trees.
Behind her stood a middle-aged man with a black
beard and golden skin. Though he said nothing, his
eyes radiated great strength. “This man is innocent
of any wrongdoing. I witnessed the entire incident.
It happened exactly as he described.”
“Who are you?”asked Jenni Smith belligerently.
“And why should we believe the words of another
stranger?”
“Ji4y name is Shadow of the Dawn,” said the
newcomer, sounding slightly amused by the
question. “I am a Dragon Claw of the Akashic
Brotherhood.”
Her hands moving faster than the eye could
follow, the warrior unsheathed her long and short
swords. Arms outstretched in front of her body, she
held the twin blades crossed unwavering in the
moonlight. The mystic weapons glowed with inner
fire. “By my swords, I swear that what I say is truth.
Is there anyone here who doubts my word?”
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you’re so damned important. But, considering
you’ve attracted the attention of at least three
Conventions of the Technocracy, the Nephandi,
and a Time Master, this mess must be pretty
significant. I gotta feelin’ major trouble’s brewin’.”
“More than you realize,” said Kallikos
enigmatically. “More than anyone can imagine.”
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records. I assure you that such help will not go
unremembered.”
Dumbfounded, Klair nodded, not sure what to
say. From the remarks made by the holographic
creature, he could only assume it was the new
representation of The Computer. A tall, handsome
man, with dynamic features, broad shoulders, and
a powerful build, it appeared almost human.
Dressed in a plain gray coverall, the hologram
looked vaguely familiar.
Equally disturbing was t h e attitude of t h e
representation. It no longer sounded like a meld of
machine and man. The tones and words were
conciliatory-almost friendly. To Klair, it seemed
as if the AI were trying to act human.
“I-I live to serve the purpose of my Convention,”
said Klair, deciding a small half-truth was best for
the moment. He was loyal to the Technocracy, but
his own interests came first. “I expect no reward.
My work is payment enough. Unity is my only
goal.”
“Of course,” said the hologram. I t smiled, a
relaxed, natural smile. “Your dedication to my plan
is commendable. However, like all flesh creations,
you are more than mere steel and oil. When the
present situation stabilizes here, I will see that you
receive a proper reward for your service to Iteration
X.”
“Wh-what is happening here?” asked t h e
Comptroller. He dared not say too much. “Why
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one, the Comptroller noted, was robot 3333. For
some reason, the number stuck in his memory.
The Mark VI made no sound as it marched
directly up to the desk where the hologram sat. Its
huge, unblinking red eye pulsed with intelligence.
The robot turned for an instant to look at the
Comptroller, the crimson orb glaring at him with
hellish intensity. While the robot kept its arms
close to its sides, Klair couldn’t help gazing down
at the razor-edged mandibles that served as the
machine’s hands. Such claws could nip off a man’s
head with one clip. The Mark VI had been built for
one purpose, and one purpose alone. To destroy.
Reaching forward, the mechanical man touched
one hand to the surface of the shiny desktop. For
a bare instant, it stopped moving, as if in direct
communication with another intelligence. Only
then did Klair realize that the squat rectangle was
in actuality The Computer.
The holographic figure frowned in annoyance, as
if it had heard some news it didn’t like. “Summon
reserve units.7310 through 8547,” the hologram
declared. “This latest incursion into the Pattern
Realm must be contained at all cost. Do whatever
is necessary toiepel the invaders.” The voice of The
Computer hardened like steel. “Bring me no further
excuses. I want results.”
With a wave of a nonexistent hand, the
hologram banished the robot from the room. The
Mark VI departed without a sound. Klair couldn’t
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human fashion, it leaned across the desk to stare
the Comptroller directly in t h e eyes. T h e
projection had yellow irises. “Tonight, Mission
Specialist Shade led a party of Men in Black after
the experimental AW subject, Prisoner Seventeen,
who recently escaped from the Gray Collective.
The massive attack ended in complete failure. Most
of the New World Order operatives were destroyed.
Shade and only a few others escaped. According to
a report from one of my spies on the scene, the
intervention of an agent of the Maeljin Incarna
delivered prisoner Seventeen from certain
destruction at the hands of a Gray Man.”
Klair’s normal eye twitched nervously. “That
makes no sense whatsoever,” he declared. “Why
would Those Beyond be interested in protecting
the escaped prisoner? He means nothing to them.
Those fiends exist only to destroy.”
“You ask an irrelevant question,” declared the
hologram, reverting for an instant back to its
machine persona. “The thought patterns of the
Random Elements in the Deep Universe do not
follow proscribed pathways. The reasons for their
actions do not matter. What is important is the act
itself. The intervention in tonight’s raid indicates
that the evil ones are well aware of the AW Project.
They have somehow infiltrated your base. The
Gray Collective is therefore no longer a safe haven
entirely free of outside interference. That being the
case, it is logical to assume that the Dark Lords
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Reality Deviants plans to seize control of the
clone’s mind and merge with it. In essence, the
being we create would thus become the actual
physical manifestation of a member of the Maeljin
Incarna.”
“Exactly,” said the hologram. “Now you
understand why the agents of Those Beyond will do
whatever is necessary to seize the Gray Collective.”
Klair nodded, unable to speak. He had suddenly
grasped the answers to several other frightening
questions. He understood why the AI had
materialized in holographic form, and why it had
tried to appear expressive. The machine was
practicing.
Worse, he finally knew The Computer’s ultimate
objective concerning the AW Project. The AI was
also a thought creature, residing in the Deep,
unable to manifest itself in the real world. The
giant machine had exactly the same goal as the
Dark Lords. It wanted access to the Earth-in a
body that would make it the most powerful being
in the universe.
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a nonsensical term used by the fools in the Nine
Traditions. She did believe, however, that certain
superior humans were gifted with a natural ability
to alter reality. Specific objects like her vial merely
helped to improve concentration. Calling them
talismans yet was another mark of Tradition
stupidity.
Twenty feet below, the giant cephalopoid stirred.
Two immense tentacles stretched into the air,
almost reaching the narrow catwalk on which
Sharon stood. The monster sensed warm life nearby
and wanted to pull the two humans into its tank.
Semok existed only to destroy. Sharon clutched her
vial tighter. Changing the structure of the gangway
would not be difficult. If she did it precisely at the
right moment, her mysterious visitor would plunge
into the tank with her next step.
“Director,” said the blond woman, chuckling
softly. “Is something the matter?”
Sharon cursed and released her hold on the
container. “Velma,” she said, keeping her temper
under tight control, “since when did you become
an anorexic blonde?”
Velma Wade shrugged. “After working all day
with that monster, Nelson, on the pattern-clone’s
redesigned nervous system, I felt I needed a change.
That metalhead makes my skin crawl. A tall, thin
blonde seemed right. So I shapeshifted. Why do
you ask?”
Sharon sighed heavily. Velrna Wade was a
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“Unfortunately,nothing like that occurred,” said
Shade. “My spy system reported that shortly after
my strategic retreat, the Traditionalists used their
combined skills to fight off the outlaws. At last
report, Prisoner Seyenteen was still alive. I posted
a seek-and-destroy message concerning him to
NWO agents throughout the country. They’ll keep
him on the run. But, I strongly doubt that their
efforts will accomplish anything beyond slowing
him down.”
“That being the case,” said Klair, an edge in his
voice, “we must return to our original assumption
that Seventeen will shortly inform the Tradition
Council of our work here at the Gray Collective.
The entire project is in grave danger. It is not
inconceivable that the Tradition mages could trace
Seventeen’s path back to our domain and mount a
full-scale assault on the complex.”
“I am forced to agree,” said Shade. “Besides,
there’s no question that further excuses about
completing our mission will not be tolerated.
During my short stay on Earth, I received a direct
communication from the Inner Council. Despite
the dangers, they were quite clear that they want
us to proceed without delay on activation of the
AW pattern-clone. We must speed up our
procedures. I want this project finished in one
week.”
Comptroller Klair nodded his head in agreement.
“It can be done,’’ said the Iteration X leader slowly.
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I
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Chapter Nineteen
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she always achieved her aims, no matter how
impossible they seemed. “I think of him often.”
“HOWodd,” said the great sage, with a gentle
smile. “He said the same exact words to me the
other night. Do not despair. I can assure you that
he is in good health and studying hard. In a year
or less, he will return. Such separations are
difficult, I know. But, from what Elisha told me of
your situation before he departed, even though
Don Caravelli is no more, you are still not free.”
“Pietro will never let me leave clan Giovanni,”
said Madeleine. “He needs me too much. I am his
dagger and his shield. There is no one else he
trusts.”
She smiled. “I am very patient. For the moment,
I watch and wait and obey his commands. My time
will come.”
“My prayers are with you,” said Rambam. “Now,
tell me why you came here tonight. During our
phone conversation, you mintioned a mission.
How does it involve me?”
“Months ago,” replied Madeleine, “did Elisha
pass on my warning about a traitor in your midst?”
Rambam’s expression grew serious. He nodded,
his eyes filled with sadness. “It came as no surprise.
For over a year, I had held such suspicions. Your
words merely confirmed what I already suspected.”
“One of your confederates told Pietro of your
offer to make me human,” said Madeleine. “My sire
confronted me with that accusation shortly after
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sense Ezra turning? Could you not have done
something to stop it?”
Rambam shook his head. “Ezra was the stubborn
one. He had an answer to every problem. His
character was such that the transformation was a
long and subtle one: It occurred over years, not
weeks or months. The greatest of my pupils, he was
also the most proud. There was a ’streak of
arrogance in him that set him apart from the rest.
Ezra never learned humility. He was a loner,
preferring his own company to that of others.”
The sage’s eyes clouded. His voice grew soft. “For
a short time, he found peace with another gifted
mage named Rebekkah. She was a beautiful young
woman and they were very happy together. Ezra was
content and at peace with the world. Then, sweet,
gentle Rebekkah was killed in a terrorist bombing.
A random attack, without any purpose other than
to kill innocents. That act pushed Ezra close to the
edge of madness. He swore to avenge her death and
put an end to the violence that has gripped Israel
for decades. Unfortunately, bringing about such a
change requires more than magick. It needs great
wisdom and infinite patience. Ezra was never good
at waiting.
“The task was impossible for Ezra. Years passed
and he grew frustrated and bitter. Looking back, I
suspect that this is when he began trafficking with
the Damned and other denizens of the night. What
he could not accomplish with the light, he sought
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A second volume caught her o n her right
kneecap, sending a jolt of pain shivering up her leg.
Vampires were difficult to kill, but they could feel
pain. Alert, Madeleine shifted her head to the side
as a 19th-century mathematics text flew within
inches of her nose. Another book struck her a
glancing blow to the side. By now, the chamber was
filled with flying hardcovers, and it was impossible
to dodge them all.
Gradually, the quake intensified in fury. The
floor rippled as if made of Jell-0. More and more
books tumbled from the shelves, raining down on
their unprotected skulls. Rambarn’s heavy wooden
desk began to slide. That massive piece of furniture
could cause serious, painful damage. The lights
flickered, t h e bu4bs glowing brightly. If they
suddenly exploded, the ensuing sparks could set off
an inferno that would burn the house to cinders in
minutes.
“Stop!” Rambam cried. The mage raised his
hands high over his head, his fingers spread in the
mystick sign of the ancient Hebrew willworkers,
the Kohan. His voice, though not loud, resonated
throughout the chamber. “In the name of the Most
High, I command you to stop!”
The quake ceased as if switched off by some
master control. Rambam, his features drawn and
white, nodded at Madeleine. They stood in the
midst of a sea of finely bound books. A cold anger
filled the magekvoice.
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vanquished before he destroys you and kills his son,
my grandson. But, I am his father! Though he
follows a path of monstrous evil, I cannot kill my
own child.”
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everything. Unfortunately, as Seventeen had
discovered to his dismay, he was usually correct.
“Kallikos isn’t that old,” said Seventeen. “He might
be fifty, but no more than that.”
“Take the word of an old coot, boy,” said Sam.
“Mr. Kallikos is a lot older than he appears. Uh oh,
looks like trouble up ahead. Damned Men in Black
finally must have discovered our destination.”
A hundred feet ahead, four black Cadillacs
blocked the road. More than a dozen of the Men
in Black stood behind the cars, their guns drawn.
It was the perfect position for an ambush: The
highway had narrowed to two single lanes and was
passing through forest. Trees and bushes lined both
sides of the barren road, forming impassable walls
of green.
“We could stop and turn around,” said Sam, “but
I got a bad feeling we’d find the road blocked a mile
or two behind us too. We’re caught like bugs in a
rug.”
“Ram them,” said Seventeen angrily. “I haven’t
come this far to stop now. Slam their damned cars
off the road.”
Sam shook his head.#“Nota good idea, son. The
Men in Black ain’t bright, especially the clones
that can hardly think at all, but, the Men in Gray
who command amalgams are. Whoever is in charge
of this bunch probably figures we might try
ramming. Maybe_evenset up this trap thinking that
we would. I’m willing to bet one of those cars is
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W
e can’t be on Earth,” said Seventeen. “Not
with two suns in the sky.”
“ “Yes and no,n said Alvin Reynolds, with a
smile. “We’re in a Horizon Realm. I’ll let you
decide exactly what that means after I explain
things.”
The two men sat in a small meeting room at the
base of the great tower of Vali Shallar. They were
scheduled to meet soon with the Rachar, the ruling
cabal of mages of the Realm. Evidently bringing
strangers into Vali Shallar was strictly forbidden.
Reynolds wanted Seventeen to tell his story to the
four members of the group. He did not say why.
Seventeen’s companions had disappeared on a
hastily organized trip into the jungle. Tom Ho Pak,
another member of the Hand of Hope cabal, served
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important.”
“The Horizon?” said Seventeen. “Let’s get to
that.”
Reynolds nodded. “The Horizon is another
magickal barrier. It divides the Near Umbra from
the Deep Umbra.”
At the mention of the Deep Umbra, Seventeen
shivered. A shadow of memorv crossed his mind, a
half-remembered vision of a demo]iic figure clad in
. 9 .
iron wings. In one nand he held an immense
.
g littering silver armor, riding on a steel horse with
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Alvin Reynolds’ eyes widened in surprise. “One
of the Maeljin Incarna,” said the big man. “Most
willworkers have never heard of the Dark Lords. As
a Virtual Adept and a student of the occult, I’m
familiar with the thirteen Royal Bane Spirits. How
do you know of them?”
“1-1don’t know,” said Seventeen. “Sometimes, a
word or phrase ignites a fuse in my mind and it
explodes a memory buried in my subconscious.
Once, before I lost my memory, I saw Lord Steel.
But what it was that happened, I can’t remember.”
‘The Bane Spirits inhabit the Deep Umbra,” said
Reynolds. “So do monsters without names,
creatures so alien that they are incomprehensible
to most mortals. It is in the Deep Umbra, far from
static reality, that t h e Nephandi have their
Chantries, places they call Labyrinths. There, too,
is where those insane mages known as Marauders
make their home while they plot their mad
schemes of conquest. The Deep Umbra stretches
outward t o infinity. I t is a dangerous place;
exploring it is risky business. Still, there are more
than a few, including a number of my closest
friends, who thrive on taking such chances.”
“The Horizon serves as a barrier that keeps the
horrors of the Deep Umbra from Earth,” said
Seventeen, combining logic and a stray thought.
“That’s right,” said Reynolds. “However, unlike
the Gauntlet, it’s a unique region of its own, a sort
of demarcation zone between the Near Umbra and
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“Let our guest speak,” the hawk-faced man
declared in perfect English.
“Tell Ihuanocuatlo your story, Seventeen,” said
Alvin Reynolds. “Start from your escape and don’t
skip any important details. You can speak in plain
English. All of t h e members of t h e Rachar
understand the language.”
Though Reynolds offered no explanation for his
request, Seventeen thought it best to comply.
Carefully, he retold his adventures over the past
week. The Rachar listened without interrupting.
Only the sharpness of their eyes indicated that they
understood what he was saying.
“Thank you,” said Ihuanocuatlo when Seventeen
had finished his tale. “It is a compelling tale.”
“But is there any proof that it is the truth?” asked
one of the two Japanese members of the Rachar. “I
am not calling our guest a liar, but his story is
astonishing even among mages. What proof does
he offer that his appearance in Vali Shallar is not
part of an elaborate scheme to invade our realm?
Once before, the Technocracy tried to destroy our
land. This man’s appearance could signal the
beginning of another attempt.”
“You raise a good point, Shi-Han,” said
Ihuanocuatlo. His dark eyes stared at Seventeen.
“Other than your word, do you have any proof that
the story you have told us is not merely an intricate
hoax?”
Seventeen started to shake his head and then
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The wound was healing. Only seconds had passed
and already the bleeding had stopped. Faster than
the eye could follow, Seventeen’s skin was knitting
together, the gash closing.
“His blood eats through the stone,” said Shi-
Han. It was true. The floor in front of Seventeen’s
feet was pockmarked with tiny holes where his
blood had splattered.
“We must confer,” said Ihuanocuatlo, rising to
his feet. Turning to the rear door, he beckoned to
the other members of his cabal. The grim-faced
Indian smiled at Seventeen, his eyes twinkling in
amusement. “Thank you for your amazing
demonstration. Please excuse us. We will return in
a few moments.”
“That was damned dangerous,” said Alvin
Reynolds, sheathing his dagger after the four
Rachar had left. “Whatever mechanism is
responsible for your incredible healing powers is
undoubtedly fueled by Technomancermagick. You
could have summoned a horde of Paradox spirits
with that display.”
“It was worth the risk,” said Seventeen, grinning.
“Cutting myself open was the only means I had to
show that I wasn’t lying. Besides, slicing my body
didn’t require anything but nerve. Magick was only
involved in my healing so quickly. I’m not sure
exactly what the Progenitors did to my blood, but
I have a vague memory that it was handled on a
molecular level. The process combined magick and
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isolationists and terribly xenophobic. They hate
outsiders and the changes such newcomers bring.
These traditionalists would prefer to remain neutral
in the Ascension War.
“Others, like me, know that if the Technocracy
isn’t stopped, magick as we know it will disappear.
The Rachar govern the Realm, but they walk a thin
line between the two beliefs. In this case, Pm
praying that the ancient ones realize the
importance of our mission and allow us to
continue, despite the views of the isolationists.’’
“Well,” said Seventeen, “I suspect we’ll find out
soon enough. Here they come.”
The four members of the Rachar filed back into
the chamber and took their seats. Ihuanocuatlo’s
face was grim and his voice weary.
“I will use English so you both can understand
our decisions and why they were made,” said the
ancient mage. “The Rachar agree that the events
described by Prisoner Seventeen are very disturbing
and require action. However, the wishes of our own
people, especially the Jabhi-yazer who guard our
secret Realm, cannot be ignored. We thus have
reached the following conclusions.
“The Hands of Hope cabal and their allies are
free to mount an attack on the Gray Collective.
The memories of the strangers will not be altered.
However, to protect the secrecy of Vali Shallar, the
minds of all engaged in this mission will be sealed,
so that they will be unable to speak of the Realm
if captured.
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“Too difficult to transport,” said Reynolds, his
tone of voice serious. “My little surprise is
somewhat easier to control. And just as deadly.”
“Hey, son,” said Sam Haine as they joined the
others, “you missed a rousing trip into the great
muddy. Albert looked properly native.”
“I’ve been in many jungles in my lifetime,”
declared the giant spellcaster, shaking his head in
astonishment, “but never one to compare to Vali
Shallar. There are plants here that no longer exist
on Earth. Not to mention the amazing breeds of
animals that can be found!”
“We captured a mighty warrior,” said the usually
quiet Shadow of the Dawn. The young woman’s
eyes were glowing with excitement. “He will wreak
death and destruction on those who seek to enslave
the Traditions.”
“Your baby is all tranquilized and ready t o go,”
said Reynolds’ friend, Tom Ho Pak. A slender
Korean, he was a wizard of the Order of Hermes.
“What was the Rachar’s decision?”
“They okayed my involvement in the mission,
but without heip from anyone in Vali Shallar other
than the Hands of Hope,” said Reynolds. “It was as
much as we could’ve hoped for. It could have been
much worse.”
“So, the attack‘s on,” said Kallikos. “Very good.
When do we leave?”
“We need to transport our captive back to Earth
and get the beast tranquilized and in a truck,” said
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center for the steel pit where the growth tank was
located. “I’m off to tell Research Director Reed the
good news. I’m sure Sharon will want to celebrate
with some champagne tonight.” Her eyes sparkled
nastily. “Why not link up with Comptroller Klair
and keyboard in the information. The two of you
can share a can of high-test lubricant or whatever
you boys drink to get some kicks.”
X344 trembled with rage. His face turned beet
red, and his metallic claws clicked in frustration.
He longed t o squeeze t h e life out of t h e
shapechanger’s worthless body. But, his anger was
not so great as t o overwhelm his good sense.
Iteration X Technomancers never let their
emotions betray them. The penalty for killing a
research team member was electrocution: a
machine put to death by a machine. Though he
hated Wade with all of his being, the cyborg dared
not touch her. He knew it, and worse, so did she.
“Have a pleasant evening,” said Velma Wade,
licking her lips at his impotent fury. “My regards to
Mr. Klair.”
“Think like a machine,” X344 muttered t o
himself as Velma sauntered off, swaying her hips
suggestively. “Think like a machine. Cold, calm,
emotionless. Think steel. Think steel.”
Slowly, the mantra of his innermost beliefs
cooled his temper. Velma Wade was a bitch, but she
was a smart bitch. X344 couldn’t help admiring
secretly the woman’s skill at manipulating his basic
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‘‘I’m on my way,” said Nelson.
“Oh, and do me a favor,” said Klair, before
breaking the connection. “Call Mission Specialist
Shade and tell him the news as well. We wouldn’t
want our fat NWO friend to feel we’ve forgotten
him in the excitement.”
“Wade didn’t bother,” said X344.
“Her blunder,” said Klair. “Shade will surely want
to report our success to the Inner Council. I would
prefer Iteration X to be mentioned as having
cooperated fully with the other Conventions on
this final stage of the project. No reason to sully our
reputation at this late date.”
“You make the decisions,” said Nelson. “I just
carry them out. See you shortly,”
Breaking the connection with Klair, the cyborg
used the Collective intercom to contact Shade. As
usual, t h e Mission Specialist was in his
combination office/sleeping quarters; as his work
had nothing to do with the actual construction of
the pattern-clone, he was rarely seen on the floor.
He merely served as a mediator.. . and a spy. X344
disliked Shade but didn’t hate him. The man was
only doing his job, protecting the interests of all
five branches of the Technocracy. His only fault
was his refusal to realize that Iteration X was the
only true path to salvation. Machines were the
future.
“Mr.Shade,” said X344, keeping his thoughts to
himself, “the project is in its final stages.
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Making sure his control terminal was shut off and
locked, Nelson sped off through the laboratory,
heading for Klair’s private office. Though the
Comptroller had said fifteen minutes, X344 knew
from long experience that Klair always added a few
minutes onto his arrival estimates. In that fashion,
the Comptroller routinely appeared early for
appointments.
As he rolled up the ramp leading to the second
floor, the cyborg turned over in his thoughts
Shade’s seeming ignorance of the upcoming
confrontation. Since he was the person who most
often served as referee between Klair and Reed, it
seemed odd that the Mission Specialist wasn’t
doing more to ensure that there wouldn’t be any
hostilities tomorrow. Terrence Shade was many
things that X344 despised, but he was definitely not
naive.
I t was only when he reached the entrance to
Klair’s office that it suddenly dawned on the cyborg
that perhaps Shade was well aware of the-battle
brewing between the two Conventions. His lack of
attention might actually be a cold, calculated effort
on his part to forward the schemes of the New
World Orders. Divide and conquer. The phrase
slipped into X344’s thoughts and refused to
disappear.
He knocked on the entrance panel of Klair’s
sanctum. “Identify yourself,” came the
Comptroller’s voice from within. As expected, he
had arrived early.
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with Velma Wade. I want this job done quickly and
efficiently. After all, we are part machine. Logic,
not emotions, must guide our actions.”
“Whatever you say, sir,” said X344. He wasn’t
going to argue technicalities with Klair. Velma
Wade would die in the most painful manner
imaginable. Afterward, there would be little the
Comptroller could do about it. And, the cyborg felt
certain that Klair wouldn’t be terribly upset with
his actions, especially if Sharon Reed suffered as
well.
“What is the exact plan?”he asked, clearing his
mind of all thoughts of revenge. “Where are the
HIT Marks and how do we get them into the lab
at the proper time?”
“That,” said Klair, “is why I summoned you here.”
The Comptroller reached into an inner pocket
of his jacket and pulled o u t a short tube perhaps
five inches long and an inch in diameter. The
device reminded X344 of a flashlight, though it was
obviously some unrecognizable instrument. It had
a crystal lens on each end and was made of an
unrecognizable metal that glowed silver.
“This unique instrument is your responsibility,”
said Klair, passing the object over his desk to the
cyborg. “Don’t let it out of your sight for an instant.
It’s vital to what happens tomorrow.’’
“What is it?” the cyborg asked as he examined
the object with the full scanning powers of his
augmented vision. Try as he might, he could not
detect a seam or wield in the tubing.
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‘Very good,” said Klair, his usually harsh voice
softening for a moment. “We’ve been through a lot
together, my friend. I’d hate to lose you now at the
moment of our greatest triumph.”
The cyborg laughed. ‘‘I’m not so easy to kill,
Comptroller. The factory accident that mutilated
my hands and feet would have finished an ordinary
man, but not me. Instead, I became even better:
part man, part machine. I’ve got the will to survive.
Nothing around that can put an end t o X344.
Besides,” he declared, “I want to see the look on
Velma Wade’s face when she realizes her airborne
virus ain’t working.”
Klair smiled. “The fools. Those naive, stupid
fools. Did they really think they could escape our
electronic espionage drones by hiding in the
basement?Genetic rats? What foolishness. I gather
from your remark that you’ve taken the proper
precautions?”
“The moment she introduces the virus into the
air, our purifiers kick into high gear,” said the
cyborg. “We’re safe. The only thing we gotta be
careful about is that thing they’re growing in the
tank. Whatever it is sounds dangerous.”
“We can handle it,” said Klair, smugly. “Their
science is nothing compared to ours. Tomorrow will
be a great day for Iteration X.”
“It sure as hell is gonna be one filled with
surprises,” said X344.
Klair, a strange expression on his face, nodded.
Chapter Twenty-Three
. Robert Weinberg
sounds picked up by the monitors came in just
garbled enough that they could not be deciphered.
General systems errors in Technocracy Horizon
Realms were rare but they did sometimes occur.
Total breakdowns never did. The best espionage
created doubts, not certainties.
“Klair lacks subtlety,” Shade murmured softly.
Until the alarm had gone off, he had been sitting
in a plush easy chair, rereading his favorite book,
Machiavelli’s The Prince. No matter how many
times he perused the volume, Shade always found
it invigorating and informative. It was much more
entertaining than fiction. And much more useful.
“His counterbalance, Sharon Reed, lacks
patience,” he concluded, walking back to his chair
and closing the volume. There would be time for
reading later. Now, he had a few final preparations
of his own to put into effect. Lazily, he stretched his
arms over his head. Despite the shutdown of his spy
systems, Shade was in an excellent mood. His work
was nearly finished.
In Shade’s opinion, Reed and Klair made a
wonderful team. They had complimentary
personalities, driven not by love but by hatred.
Their intense rivalry pushed them to extremes.
Thus, they finished their work much more quickly
than would two friends or allies. Using the two of
them on this project was a stroke of genius. At least
Shade considered that to be the case. One trait he
did not lack, and he was the first to admit it, was
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beyond your wildest dreams. I pay my debts, Shade.
The Maeljin Incarna treat their servants with the
respect they deserve.’’
“I never doubted your intentions,” said Shade,
stretching the truth a few degrees. “My entire life
has been spent in your service.”
“The weak are attracted by the light,” said
Aliara. “The strong, the ones who know what they
want and are willing to pay the price, serve the
dark. You made the correct choice even as a child.
Those who embrace the Wyrm of their own free
will shall someday rule the Earth.”
“For now,” said Shade, “I’ll settle for a small part
of it. Absolute control of the New World Order
after you took possession of your new body was, I
believe, the agreed-upon price?”
“Your wish shall be granted as soon as I step onto
Earth in physical form,” said Aliara. “With my
powers intact, my mind within this unique body, I
will be the most powerful being in the world.
Nothing will be impossible for me.”
“It’s nice to be on the winning side,” said Shade.
“Losing is so depressing. What do you want me to
do tomorrow?”
“When the Gray Collective was first being
formed out of primal energy,” said Aliara, “I had
you modify the plans slightly to put an escape hatch
into the fortress leading directly into the Horizon
Realm. Numerous Primium locks held it shut; it
could only be opened from t h e inside. T h e
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118 .
Chapter Twentv-Four
Robert Weinberg
“NO,”said Montifloro, obviously befuddled by
the warm reception. “He is involved with the
Open-Market negotiations in Europe. I am here on
my own.”
‘ T o o bad,” said Enzo. He indicated a high-
backed, black leather chair for his cousin, then
walked back around the desk to his velvet-lined
throne. “The three of us together again. What a
pleasure that would be!”
Montifloro looked distinctly uncomfortable.
“You know why I am here?” he asked. “It is a minor
matter but troublesome to those back in Venice.
T h e clan elders worry about your lack of
communication. I’ve been sent to monitor your
progress. They require a full report on your recent
activities.”
Enzo shook his head. He was laughing inwardly,
though his features showed only concern. “The
leaders of the Giovanni, my cousin?Or Pietro, the
master of the Mausoleum?”
“Of course, Pietro asked me to make the trip,”
said Montifloro. “As Chairman of the Board, he
represents the family interests. He speaks for the
clan elders.”
“Does he?” replied Enzo, planting the first seeds
of doubt. He needed to act with great caution.
Montifloro was extremely cunning. His open
approach, his apologetic attitude, was all a sham.
He was here to spy, to see what dirt he could
uncover. Pushing him in the right direction would
be a slow, insidious process. Too much too quickly
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heartily. “Finally, someone I know I can trust is
here-someone with whom I can share confidences
without worry of betrayal. With you beside me, we
will finally bring this mission t o a satisfactory
conclusion.”
T h e intercom o n Enzo’s desk buzzed as
Montifloro sat, stunned by the full import of his
words.
‘Yes?”
“MS. Hope is here, Mr. Giovanni,” said Ms.
Hargroves. “She has the weekly reports. Do you
want to see them now, or should I have her return
later?”
“The weekly reports?” repeated Enzo, as if
mulling over an important decision. This entire
charade had been planned for days, ever since he
had learned of Montifloro’s impending arrival. Ms.
Hargroves had proven t o be an inspired drama
coach. “Give me a second.”
Enzo leaned forward on his desk. “My operations
chief is here with the business reports for the past
seven days. Should I have her bring them another
time? Or would you be interested in reviewing
them?” He chuckled, raising an eyebrow. “Ms.
Hope is quite attractive, Montifloro. And she has
flashing eyes and hair dark as midnight.”
“No reason to bend the rules on my account,
Enzo,” said Montifloro. Enzo had expected no less.
“Businessis business. I am in no rush. Let the young
lady come in.”
eclared Montifloro.
Stylishly, he bent and kissed Ms. Hope’s slender
fingers. His dark eyes glistened as he stared at the
young woman. Montifloro had a weakness for
exotic women with long, dark hair.
Enzo smiled, knowing he had won.
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Chapter-Twenty-Five
A
ccording to this map,” said Seventeen, “we
should be coming up on the Rollins Winery
“ within the next few miles.” He laid the
document down on his lap. “You’re sure this is the
right place?”
“Positive,” said Alvin Reynolds, grinning. “No
magick required other than knowing how to use a
computer trip planner and map maker.”
The big man was driving the truck with the
words Everwell Chemicals printed on the side, along
with a Rochester registration number. If trucks
were bringing materials t o Everwell, it seemed
likely that deliveries came from the corporation to
the Gray Collective as well. Hopefully, the cover
would provide them with just enough time to set
their plans in motion.
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product. Events like that create Quintessence and
form new psychic energy sources. There’s a major
Node on the other side of the hill; I can sense it
already. It has to be the winery.”
“Yes, sir,” said Sam Haine, who had been
unusually quiet for the last part of the trip, “I can
feel the power in my bones. This Gray Collective’s
sitting on a real energy well. No wonder they’re
able to perform such astonishing experiments.”
The truck came to the crest of the hill. As there
was no other traffic on the road, Reynolds slowed
the vehicle down to a crawl. A few hundred feet
away, at the bottom of a slight incline, was a
massive brick and wood building. A gigantic
billboard proclaimed it the Rollins Winery. A
twelve-foot-high chain-link fence surrounded the
plant. A short drive off the highway ended at the
lone gate, fronted by a concrete blockhouse.
UPrettyelaborate security for a place where they
squeeze grapes,” said Sam Haine, snorting in
disgust. “Bet they plug plenty of damn additives
into their wine. Probably have a deal with Pentex
Chemicals. Birds of a feather and all that crap.”
“HOWare we going t o get inside?” asked
Seventeen. “We don’t have any delivery papers. I
can’t imagine the guards are just going to wave us
through.”
“Why not?”Alvin Reynolds shrugged. “Let’s see
how well they can resist the combined willpower
of six very determined mages.”
The.Road to Hell
Two middle-aged, overweight private security
officers manned the blockhouse. They were busy
watching a hockey game on TV when the truck
pulled up to the stop. With an audible curse, the
bigger of the two men ambled over to the driver’s
side of the cab. He was definitely not a mage.
“Whatcha doin’ here?”the guard growled, staring
up at Reynolds. “According to my shippin’
manifests, delivery ain’t due till tomorrow
afternoon.”
“They changed the dates,” said Reynolds. .He
held a blank sheet of paper out to the guard. “See
for yourself. Don’t ask me why. I just drive these
rigs.”
The guard studied the white page carefully.
“Yeah, I know whatcha mean. Everythin’ looks to
be in order. You can pass through. Use Bay 2 on the
other side of the building. Only one crew on duty
this time of evening. They’re the ones who handle
these special shipments.”
“Thanks,”said Reynolds, pulling back the paper.
“Enjoy the game.”
“Yeah,” said the guard, “what’s left of it.”
The big man walked back to the blockhouse and
pushed a button. With a clattering whine, a large
section of the steel gate slid back on its tracks.
Waving his thanks, Reynolds steered the big truck
onto the plant grounds.
“I can’t believe they’d allow ordinary men to
guard this operation,” said Seventeen, as Reynolds
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I50
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boxes heaped against the far wall. Groaning, he
tried without much success to pull himself to his
feet.
The third man had enough time to pull a knife
from his boot. Running, Seventeen thought,
watching from the cab of the truck, would have
been a wiser choice. But, guards like these three
were used for their aggressive natures, not their
intelligence.
Shadow didn’t bother to unsheathe her swords.
Confronting the guard, she lashed out with one
hand, knocking the blade from his grip. A fist to
his jaw staggered him. A spinning jump kick sent
him to the pavement, unconscious and bleeding.
“This one’s out too,” said the duplicate Klair,
slamming a foot into the head of the man by the
boxes. “That was nice and quick. Nobody died,
either. Change of pace in these violent times.”
“They were only performing their assigned tasks,”
Seventeen heard Shadow of the Dawn say as he
lowered himself out of the transport cab. “Clones
are rarely as tough as they appear. A true warrior
does not kill without reason.”
“You, my dear,” said Sam Haine, who no longer
looked like Charles Klair, “are noble beyond your
years. I just hope it doesn’t someday get you killed.”
Shadow smiled. “When the situation arises, I can
be ruthless.”
“Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned,” said
Albert, emerging from the rear of the truck with
Robert Weinberg
“I am?”said Seventeen in surprise.
“Sure,” said Sam Haine. “I’ve been in plenty of
Iteration X Horizon Realms. That bunch never
shows any imagination. Gateway’s always
controlled by the same type of guardian: a
computer. You enter the correct code and the
passage unlocks. Simple if you know the right
combination. Normally, that’s privileged
information. But, from what you’ve told me, boy,
no computer, magickal or not, is safe from you.”
“Quickly,” said Kallikos.
A roar of animal fury shook the truck bay.
“Sounds like our cat is waking up,” said Reynolds.
“Hook into the system, Seventeen. No truck on
Earth is built to hold a monster like that inside very
long. When it breaks out, we better be in the Gray
Collective.”
Gingerly, Seventeen placed his hands on the
computer keyboard. In the week since his escape,
he had not once touched a CPU. Knowing that
their entire rescue mission depended on his ability
to command the machine, he was suddenly
nervous. If his power worked only in the Gray
Collective, they were in trouble.
He need not have worried. The instant his
fingers touched the keys his confidence returned.
Without conscious thought, his mind melded,with
the computer, taking complete control of the
machine. For an instant, the monitor in front of
Seventeen flickered. Then it turned black.
T“
en minutes and counting,” said Velma Wade.
All life support systems are disconnecting.
Primary reflex tests will begin shortly.
I( Everything appears to be in order.”
“Keep your eye on the heart monitor,” said
Sharon Reed, her voice tense with excitement.
“We should be getting a reading shortly.”
Velma nodded, not mentioning that she had
performed similar operations many times in the
past. This awakening was different. The entire AW
Project had come down to these final moments. A
year of research, experimentation and hard work
was about to pay off. Inwardly, Velma smiled. The
results, however, were going to be quite different
than anyone, including Sharon Reed, expected.
Recognizing t h e significance of the events
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Robert Weinbetg
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the shoulder, weighing well over a thousand
pounds, with tawny yellow fur and dark stripes, the
cat resembled a gigantic Bengal tiger. But no beast
so heavily muscled had walked the earth for nearly
t e n thousand years. Nor had any possessed
enormous, bladelike fangs that extended seven
inches below its lower jaws. Yellow eyes glistening,
the saber-toothed tiger swung its massive head from
side t o side, searching for prey. Spotting the
smashed door, it leapt forward, moving with the
force of a steam locomotive. Opening its huge
mouth wider than seemed possible, it growled its
defiance to the world and then disappeared into the
* laboratory.
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distracted by the horrors that surrounded her.
“That gives me just enough time to shout the self-
destruct code at the clone,”
“I’m afraid not, Director,” said Velma Wade, her
voice in Sharon’s ear. “I can’t permit you to do
that.”
The Research Director gasped in surprise and
pain as a sliver of ice jabbed her in the back. Blood
bubbling from her lips, Sharon collapsed face
forward onto her computer console. As if from a
thousand miles away, she heard the frightful
screeching of Semok as the genetic horror killed
and killed with maniacal fury. Futilely, Sharon tried
to reach around and pull the knife blade from
between her shoulders. There was no strength in
her fingers.
Eyes glazing over, she stared up at her assistant.
Velma Wade shrugged, and then smiled. “It’s been
fun, Director. We made a great team. But my true
purpose calls.”
Unable to move, Sharon watched helplessly as
the blond shapechanger vaulted over the steel
railing, heading straight for the life-support pod
and the pattern-clone.
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were screaming in mindless fear. His head hurt and
he was having trouble thinking clearly. “Think
steel,” he muttered, as if praying. “Think steel.“
“Twist the caps, you mindless cretin!” screamed
the Comptroller, from the other side of the work
bench. X344 thought it odd that Klair made no
effort to finish the job himself. Still, the cyborg was
loyal to Iteration X.Summoning all of his strength,
he twisted the two ends of the beacon at the same
time. And, immediately afterward, he tossed it over
the workbench to Comptroller Klair. X344 was
dedicated to the Technocracy, but he was not a
fool.
...”
“ N O - 0 - 0 shrieked the Comptroller, his
voice abruptly silenced as a wall of blackness
throbbed into sudden existence just beyond the
bench. A molecule in width, the portal stretched
ten feet high by ten feet wide. Inside of it,
something silvery metallic moved, expanding
swiftly to fill the opening.
Robert Weinberg
body pulsated with psychic energy. Giggling, she
was engaged in tearing the head off of one of the
machines. She stared into the depths of the dark
curtain, as if daring more automatons to appear.
“Damned place is like a three-ringed circus,”
whispered Sam Haine, taking a cautious srep
forward. “That’s Aliara, the Empress of Pain, one
of the Maeljin Incarna. Bet she didn’t come here
. to play with those tin soldiers.”
He took a few slow steps forward. “Wonder what’s
on the other side of that passage,” he said. “Bet it
ain’t a place to Aliara’s liking.”
Then, before anyone realized what he was about,
Sam Haine charged the slender figure. At the last
instant, she turned, as if sensing his presence. But
by then it was too late. Hitting her hard in the
stomach, the Changing Man sent the Dark Lord
swirling into the black abyss.
For a moment, unable to regain his balance, Sam
Haine teetered on the brink of the mystick portal.
Then, a huge arm reached out and grabbed him by
the shoulder, pulling him back from the edge. “Tell
me before you attempt something like that again,”
murmured Albert.
Kallikos seemed utterly oblivious to the mayhem
in the chamber. The Time Master scanned the area
anxiously, searching for answers. “There,”he said,
his voice trembling with emotion. He pointed to a
steel pit in the center of the laboratory. “As I saw
hundreds of years ago. T h e cursed one has
returned.”
Epi locue
A
t t h e edge of the Horizon stand eight
Shade Realms. They are reflections,
shadows, of the Shard Realms, wild
regions of untamed energies that exist in the Deep
Umbra. Of the Shade Realms, the most danierous
is the Shade Realm of Forces. Here, in this Horizon
Realm, is located Doissetep, the largest and most
powerful of all Tradition Chantries.
Perched on the top of the highest mountain in a
sea of mighty cliffs, Doissetep is an ancient place.
A huge labyrinthine castle thousands of years old,
its origins have been lost in the mists of history.
Vast towers stretch into the black sky while hideous
stone gargoyles guard its gates. Ten cabals of mages
call Doissetep their home. Ascension is nothing
THE END
Robert Weinbeq
RoBeRt WeInBeRg
Robert Weinberg has authored eleven novels,
five nonfiction books, and numerous short stories.
His work has been translated into French, German,
Spanish, Italian, Japanese, Russian, and most
recently, Bulgarian. A noted collector of horror
and fantasy fiction, he has edited over a hundred
anthologies and short story collections of such
material.
At present, he is serving as Vice-president
of the Horror Writers Association and teaching
creative writing at Columbia College in Chicago.
He has co-authored White Wolf Publishing’s
Vampire Diary: The Embrace with Mark
ReineHagen as well as a trilogy of novels titled
Blood War, Unholy Allies, and The Unbeholden.
Also by Robert Weinbere:
Masquerade
of the Red Death
Trilogy
The only two people who can stop the Red Death are
Dire McCann and Alicia Varney. Racing against time as
the Red Death comes closer to achieving his goal, they