"Matthew Reilly - Contest" - читать интересную книгу автора (Reilly Matthew)MATTHEW REILLY CONTEST Version
1.0 ISBN
0 330 48995 X Copyright
© Matthew Reilly 2000 For
Mum and Dad ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS Special
thanks to Stephen Reilly, my brother — marketing genius, tortured writer
(aren't we all?) and loyal friend. To Natalie Freer — the first person to read
my work, and the most patient and giving person on this earth. To my parents
for letting me watch too much television as a kid and for their unwavering
support. And to Peter Kozlina for his monumental show of faith in this book before
he had even read a word. And of course, thanks once again to everyone at Pan
Macmillan — Cate Paterson, for being a brilliant publisher; Jane Novak, for
being a fantastic publicist (and for being the only person I know who could
read Voss and then pick up Ice Station and enjoy them both!);
Julie Nekich, for being an understanding editor (you have to be to work with
me); and lastly, once again, all the sales reps at Pan for the countless hours
they spend on the road between bookshops. Thank you. To anyone
out there who knows a writer, never underestimate the power of your
encouragement. A note from the author about Contest Hello there.
Matthew Reilly here. Now before
we get on with the show, I'd like, if I may, to share with you a few secrets
about Contest. First of
all, as some of you may already know, Contest was my first novel. The
story of how I self-published it after every major publisher in Sydney rejected
it has been pretty well documented elsewhere, so I won't go into that here.
Suffice it to say that only 1000 copies of Contest were ever released,
all paid for by yours truly. And then
came Ice Station. Now, many
people have taken the time to tell me what a ride they found Ice Station to
be. Such comments please me immensely because that is what it was supposed to
be — a non-stop rollercoaster ride on paper. What few
people know, however, is that when I wrote Ice Station, I had one
all-consuming goal: to top Contest. Contest
is the book that made Ice Station (and later Temple) what
it was. If it doesn't seem as large in scale as its two successors, it is
because it was the first. It was the prototype upon which they were built; a
prototype for a different style of book — a superfast-paced, absolutely non-stop
thriller. Everybody has to start somewhere. I started with Contest. That said, I
think the story in Contest is easily the fastest of all my books. It is
like a sports car stripped down to its raw components — wheels, frame, engine.
No fancy paintwork. No fancy upholstery. Just raw nonstop energy. As any
author will tell you, you only get one first book. And that first one always
occupies a special place in your heart. Contest is like that for me. It
was the first one, and now as I look back on it, I can see without a doubt that
it set the tone for everything to come. I truly hope
you have as much fun reading it as I did writing it. Matthew
Reilly November 2000 Do
I dare Disturb
the universe? -
T. S. Eliot INTRODUCTION From: Hoare, Shane Suetonius: The Picture of Rome (New York, Advantage Press,
1979) 'CHAPTER
VII: THE FIRST CENTURY A.D. …
ultimately, however, it is Suetonius' classic work, Lives of the Emperors, that
provides us with the best picture of court life in Imperial Rome. Here
Suetonius might well be writing a modern day soap opera, as he outlines the
lust, the cruelty, the intrigues and the numerous insidiae — or plots —
that dominated life in the Emperor's presence…' [p. 98] '… not least
of whom was Domitian, who, although well-known for his ex-tempore executions
of scheming courtesans, provides perhaps the most brutal of all examples of
Roman intrigue — that of Quintus Aurelius. A
distinguished former captain in the Roman army who rose to prominence in the
Senate under Domitian, Aurelius apparently fell out of favour with the Emperor
in 87 A.D. Initially recruited by Domitian to aid him in military matters,
Aurelius was also a prolific writer, who not only instructed Domitian on
military strategy, but who also committed those instructions to his own
personal record. Much of this writing has survived to the present day, dated
and intact. However,
Quintus Aurelius' writing ceased abruptly in the year 87 A.D. All
correspondence between senator and Emperor was severed. Aurelius' personal
record cited no further entries. There was no mention of Aurelius in Senate
documents from that year onward. Quintus
Aurelius had disappeared. Some
historians have speculated that Aurelius — who, it was said, would appear in
the Senate in fall military attire — simply fell out of favour with Domitian,
while others have proposed that Aurelius was discovered plotting…' [p. 103] From: Freer, Donald From Medieval to Modern: Europe 1010-1810 (London, W. M. Lawry & Co.,
1963) '… by
comparison, the wheat riots in Cornwall were but a trifle when compared with
the confusion that overwhelmed a small farming community in West Hampshire in
the spring of 1092. Historians
have long pondered over the fate of Sir Alfred Hayes, the Lord of Palmerston
Estate, whose disappearance in 1092 upset the entire feudal balance of his
small agrarian community in West Hampshire…' [p. 45] '… However,
the most startling aspect of the whole affair is that if Hayes did, in fact,
die suddenly (of cholera or anything else for that matter), why was his death
not listed in the local church register as had always been the custom? A man so
renowned for his past glory on the battlefield, and of such stature in the
community, would not be overlooked by the death registrar. The sad fact is that
since no body was ever found, no death was ever recorded. Writing
after his lord's disappearance, the local abbot of West Hampshire observed
that, apart from necessary military excursions, Sir Alfred had never left West
Hampshire before, and that during the days immediately prior to his
disappearance, he had been seen about the village carrying out his business as
usual. It was odd, the abbot wrote, that here was a man who could be 'certified
as born', but who had, officially, never died. Putting
aside all medieval myths of witchery and demonic intervention, the facts are
quite straightforward: in the spring of 1092, Sir Alfred Hayes, Lord of
Palmerston Estate, West Hampshire, simply vanished from the face of the earth.'
[p. 46] CONTEST PROLOGUE New York City 30 November, 2:01 a.m. Mike Fraser
pressed himself flat against the black wall of the tunnel. He squeezed his eyes
shut as he tried to block out the roar of the subway train flashing by in front
of him. The dirt and dust kicked up by the speeding train hit his face like a
thousand pin-pricks. It hurt, but he didn't care. He was almost there. And then,
just as soon as it had come, the train was gone, its thunderous rumble slowly
fading into the blackness of the tunnel. Fraser opened his eyes. Against the
black backdrop of the wall, the whites of his eyes were all that could be seen.
He peeled himself away from the wall and brushed off the dirt that had clung to
his clothes. Black clothes. It was two
o'clock in the morning, and while the rest of New York slept, Mike Fraser was
going about his work. Silently and swiftly, he made his way up the subway
tunnel until he found what he was looking for. An old
wooden door, set into the tunnel wall, held shut by a solitary padlock. Pasted
across the door was a sign. NO ENTRY — BOOSTER VALVE HIGH VOLTAGE AREA CONSOLIDATED EDISON PERSONNEL
ONLY Fraser
examined the padlock. Stainless steel, combination lock, pretty new. He checked
the hinges of the old wooden door. Yes, much easier. His crowbar
fitted snugly behind the hinges. Crack! Status
Check: Initialise program systems. Officials
in charge of third element please
confirm delivery. The door
fell from its frame, and dangling from the padlock, swung silently into
Fraser's waiting hand. He peered
inside the doorway, slipped the crowbar back into his belt and stepped inside. Large
box-shaped electricity meters lined the walls of the booster valve room. Thick
black cables snaked their way across the ceiling. There was a door on the far
side. Fraser headed straight for it. Once through
the booster valve room, he made his way down a narrow, dimly lit passageway
until he came to a small red door. It opened easily and as Fraser looked out
from the doorway, he smiled at the view. Endless rows
of bookshelves — each one rising from floor to ceiling — stretched away from
him as far as the eye could see. Old and faded fluorescent lights lined each
aisle, but at night only every third one was on. The lights themselves were so
old that the whiteness of their fluorescent tubes had gone a mouldy ivory
colour and a powder of oxidised fluorine had settled inside them. Their sickly
state gave the lowest floor of the New York State Library a haunting yellowish
glow. The New York
State Library. One hundred years old, a silent sanctuary of history and
knowledge — and also the owner of twelve brand-new Pentium III computers whose
hard drives would soon be in the back room of Mike Fraser's apartment. Fraser
checked the lock on the door. Safety lock. From the
booster room you didn't need a key, but from the library side you did. One of
those automatically closing doors designed to keep the curious out, but not to
accidentally lock the electricity workers in. Fraser
thought for a moment. If he had to make a hasty escape, he wouldn't have time
to pick the lock. He searched around for an answer. That'll
work, he thought, spying the nearest bookshelf. He grabbed the first
book he could reach and wedged it on the floor between the red door and its
frame. The door now
safely ajar, Fraser hustled down the nearest aisle. Soon the small red door
marked BOOSTER VALVE — NO STAFF ACCESS PERMITTED was but a tiny square in the
distance behind him. Mike Fraser didn't even notice, he knew exactly where he
was going now. Terry Ryan
looked at his watch — again. It was 2:15
a.m. Four minutes after he'd last looked. Ryan sighed. Jesus, the time crawled
on this job. Status
Check: Officials in charge of third element confirm
delivery complete. Idly, Ryan
peered out through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows of the atrium of the
New York State Library. Nothing stirred on the streets outside. He touched
the gun by his side and grunted a laugh. Security guards in a library — a library,
for God's sake. The pay was the same, he guessed, and so long as that kept
coming, Terry Ryan didn't care what they asked him to guard. He continued
to stroll around the atrium, whistling quietly to himself— Clink-clink. He froze. A noise. There it was
again: clink-clink. Ryan held
his breath. It had come from the left. He drew his gun. Behind the
Information Desk, Mike Fraser swore as he picked his screwdriver up from the
floor. He peered out over the counter. No one to
the left. Nor to the right. He let out a deep breath. No one had— 'Freeze!' Fraser
snapped around. He took in the scene quickly. Security guard. Gun. Maybe
fifteen metres, twenty at the most. As if there was a choice. 'I said,
freeze!' Terry Ryan yelled. But the thief had already made a break for it. Ryan
broke into a run. Books on
shelves became streaking blurs of colour as Fraser bolted down a narrow aisle.
His heart pounded loudly inside his head. And then suddenly he saw the door.
And the sign: stairs. Fraser hit
the stairs running, grabbing the banister, sliding down the first flight. The
security guard, Ryan, flew in two seconds later, taking the stairs three at a
time. Down and
down, round and round, Fraser went, clinging to the banister, hauling himself
around at every turn. He saw the door at the bottom. He flew down the last
flight of stairs and hit the door at full speed. It burst open easily — too
easily — and Fraser went sprawling face-first onto the hard wood floor. He could
hear heavy footsteps bounding down the stairs behind him. Fraser
reached for the nearest bookshelf to hoist himself up and immediately felt a
searing pain rip through his right arm. It was then that he saw his wrist. It
had taken the full weight of the fall, and now, bent grotesquely backwards, it
was undoubtedly broken. Teeth
clenched, Fraser hauled himself up with his good arm and had just made it to
his feet when— 'You stay
right where you are.' The voice
was soft and sure. Fraser
turned around slowly. In the
doorway behind him stood the security guard, with his gun levelled at Mike
Fraser's head. Ryan pulled
out his handcuffs and threw them to the injured thief. 'Put 'em
on.' Fraser
closed his eyes in disgust. 'Why don't you,' he began, 'kiss… my… ass!' Then
suddenly, like a wounded animal, he lunged at the guard. Without a
blink, Ryan raised his gun and fired it into the air above the fallen thief's
head. The booming
shot rang out in the silence of the library. Fraser
dropped back to the floor as small white flakes of plaster began to flutter
down around his head. Ryan stepped
forward into the aisle, tightened his grip on his pistol, reasserted his aim at
Fraser's head. 'I said, put
'em on. So put—' Ryan's eyes darted left. 'What was that?' Fraser heard
it, too. And then —
ominously — it came again. A long, slow
growl. Like the snort of a pig. Only louder. Much louder. 'What the
hell was that?' Fraser said quickly. Boom.
A loud, dull thud. The floor
shook. 'There's
something down here…' Fraser whispered. Boom.
Again. The two men
stood there frozen. Ryan looked
down the aisle beyond Fraser. It stretched endlessly away from them,
disappearing into darkness. Silence. Dead
silence. The wooden
floor was still again. 'Let's get
the fuck outta here,' Fraser hissed. 'Shh!' 'There's
somethin' down here, man!' Fraser raised his voice. Boom. A tremor
shook the floor again. A book
teetering on the edge of a shelf fell to the floor. 'Let's go!'
Fraser cried. Boom.
Boom. Boom. Books began
to fall off the shelves in bundles. Ryan leaned
forward, grabbed Fraser by the collar. He pulled the thief's lace up to his
own. 'For God's
sake, shut up,' he whispered. 'Whatever it is, it's hearing your voice. And if
you keep talking—' Ryan stopped
abruptly, and frowned at Fraser. The young thief's eyes were wide with fear,
his lower lip quivering madly, his whole expression one of total and utter
disbelief. Ryan felt
his blood run cold. Fraser
was looking over his shoulder. Whatever
'it' was, it snorted again, and as it did so Ryan felt a wave of hot air rush
across the back of his neck. It was
behind him. It
was right behind him! The gun went
off as Ryan was yanked bodily off the floor. Fraser dropped to the ground,
staring at the hulking mass of blackness before him. Ryan
screamed as he struggled uselessly in the powerful arms of the dark shape. And
then suddenly, the creature bellowed loudly and hurled him through the nearest
bookshelf. Books cascaded everywhere as Ryan's body doubled over and crashed right
through the old wooden casing. The massive
black shape lumbered around the bookshelf, looking for the body on the other
side. In the dull yellow light, Fraser could see long black bristles flowing
over a high, arched back, saw demonic pointed ears and powerful muscular limbs,
caught glimpses of matted black hair and gigantic scythe-like claws. Whatever it
was, it picked up Ryan's body like a rag doll and dragged it back around to the
aisle where Fraser sat. The flight
through the bookshelf must have broken Ryan's back, Fraser guessed, but the
security guard wasn't dead yet. Fraser could hear him moaning softly as the
creature lifted him to the ceiling. It was then
that Ryan screamed. A shrill,
ear-piercing, inhuman scream. To his
absolute horror, Fraser saw what was going to happen next and he put his hand
up over his face just as he heard the sickening crack and an instant
later, he felt a torrent of warmth wash all over the front of his body. Ryan's
scream cut off abruptly and Fraser heard the beast roar a final time, followed
by the thunderous crunching of wooden shelves. And then
there was nothing. Silence. Total and
utter silence. Slowly,
Fraser removed his hand from his face. The beast
was gone. The guard's body lay there in front of him, twisted and mangled,
motionless. One of the bookshelves to his right lay horribly askew, wrenched
free from its ceiling mountings. Blood was everywhere. Fraser
didn't move, couldn't move. And so he
just sat there, alone, in the cold emptiness of the New York State Library, and
waited for the dawn. FIRST MOVEMENT 30 November, 1:27 p.m. The sun
shone brightly over Norwood Elementary School. It was lunchtime and groups of
schoolchildren were out playing on the school's enormous grassy playing field. Status
Check: Initialise electrification systems. Norwood was
one of the leading private elementary schools in Connecticut. An impressive
academic record — and one of the biggest building funds in America — had made
it one of the sought-after schools for the well-to-do. At the
bottom corner of the grassy playing area, a cluster of children had gathered.
And in the middle of this cluster stood Holly Swain, nose-to-nose with Thomas
Jacobs. 'He is not,
Tommy.' 'Is too.
He's a murderer!' The crowd of
children gathered around the two combatants gasped at the word. Holly tried
to compose herself. The white lace collar of her uniform was beginning to feel
very tight now and she was determined not to let it show. She shook her head
sadly, raised her nose a little higher. 'You're so
childish, Tommy. Such a boy.' The girls
behind her chirped similar comments in support. 'How can you
call me childish when you're only in the third grade?' Tommy retorted.
The group assembled behind him echoed their agreement. 'Don't be so
immature?' Holly said. Good, word, she thought. Tommy
hesitated. 'Yeah, well, he's still a murderer.' 'He is not.' 'He killed a
man, didn't he?' 'Well, yes,
but…' 'Then he's a
murderer.' Tommy looked around himself for support. 'Murderer! Murderer!
Murderer!' The group behind him joined in. 'Murderer!
Murderer! Murderer!' Holly felt
her fists clench by her side, felt her collar tighten around her neck. She
remembered her father. Be a lady. Got to be a lady. She spun
around, her blonde ponytail flinging around her shoulders. The girls around her
were shaking their heads at the taunts of the boys. Holly took a deep breath.
She smiled to her friends. Got to be a lady. Behind her,
the boys' chant continued. 'Murderer!
Murderer! Murderer!' Finally,
Tommy called out above the chant, 'If her father's a murderer, then Holly Swain
will probably grow up to be a murderer, too!' 'Yeah! Yeah,
she will!' his group urged. Holly's
smile went flat. Slowly —
ever so slowly — she turned back around to face Tommy. A hush fell over the
crowd. Holly
stepped closer. Tommy chuckled, glancing around at his friends. Only now his
supporters were silent. 'Now I'm
upset,' Holly said flatly. 'I think you'd better take back those things you've
been saying. Would you, please?' Tommy
smirked and then he leaned forward. 'Nope.' 'Okay,
then,' Holly said, smiling politely. She looked down at her uniform,
straightened her skirt. Then she hit
him. Hard. The clinic
had become a battlefield. Glass exploded
everywhere as test tubes exploded against the walls. The nurses leapt clear of
the melee, hurriedly moving the multi-million-dollar equipment out of the line
of fire. Dr Stephen
Swain burst out of the adjoining observation room and immediately set about
calming the source of the storm — a 57-year-old, 240-pound, big-busted woman
named Rosemary Pederman, a guest of St Luke's Hospital, New York City, on
account of a small abnormality in her brain known as a cerebral aneurism. 'Mrs
Pederman! Mrs Pederman!' Swain called. 'It's okay. It's okay. Just calm down,'
he said gently. 'What seems to be the problem?' 'The
problem?' Rose Pederman spat. 'The problem, young man, is that I will
not put my head in that… that thing… until someone tells me exactly what
it does!' As she
spoke, she jerked her chin at the enormous Magnetic Resonance Imaging — or MRI
— machine which occupied the centre of the room. 'Come on,
Mrs Pederman,' Swain said sternly. 'We've been through this before.' Rose
Pederman pouted, child-like. 'The MRI
will not harm you in any way—' 'Young man. How
does it work?' Swain pursed
his lips tightly. At 39, he
was the youngest ever partner in Borman & White, the radiologist
collective, and for a very simple reason — Swain was good. He could see
things in an X-ray or a CAT-scan that no-one else could, and on more than one
occasion, had saved lives by doing so. This fact,
however, was difficult to impress upon older patients since Swain —
sandy-haired and clean-shaven, with a lean physique and sky-blue eyes — looked
about ten years younger than his actual age. Except for the fresh red
vertical scar that cut down across his lower lip, a feature which seemed to age
him, he could have passed for a third-year resident. 'You want to
know how it works?' Swain said seriously. He resisted the urge to look at his
watch. He had somewhere to be. But then, Rose Pederman had gone through six
radiologists already and this had to stop. 'Yes, I do,'
she said stubbornly. 'Okay. Mrs
Pederman, the process you are about to undertake is called Magnetic Resonance
Imaging. It's not unlike a CAT-scan, in that it generates a cross-sectional
scan of your skull. Only instead of using photovoltaic methods, we use
controlled magnetic energy to re-align the ambient electrostatic conductivity
in your head in order to create a three-dimensional composite cross-section of
your cranium.' 'What?' 'The magnet
in the MRI machine affects the natural electricity in your body, Mrs Pederman,
giving us a perfect picture of the inside of your head.' 'Oh, well…'
Mrs Pederman's lethal frown instantly transformed itself into a beaming,
maternal smile. 'That's quite all right then. That was all you had to tell me,
lovey.' An hour
later, Swain burst through the doors of the surgeon's locker room. 'Am I too
late?' he said. Dr James
Wilson — a red-haired paediatrician who, ten years previously, had been the
best man at Swain's wedding — was already moving quickly toward him. He hurled
Swain's briefcase to Swain. 'It's 14-13 to the Giants. If we hurry, we can catch
the last two quarters at McCafferty's. Come on, this way. We'll go through the
ER.' 'Thanks for
waiting,' Swain hurried to keep up with his friend's rapid strides. 'Hey, it's
your game,' Wilson said as he walked. The Giants
were playing the Redskins and Wilson knew that Swain had been waiting a long
time for this game. It had something to do with Swain living in New York and
his father who lived back in D.C. 'Say,'
Wilson said, 'how's that lip healing up?' 'It's okay.'
Swain touched the vertical scar on his lower lip. 'Still a bit tender. Got the
stitches out last week.' Wilson
turned as he walked, grinning. 'Makes you look even uglier than you already
are.' 'Thanks.' Wilson
arrived at the door to the emergency room, opened it— —and was
immediately met by the pretty face of Emma Johnson, one of the floating nurses
at St Luke's. The two men
stopped instantly. 'Hey, Steve,
how are you?' Emma looked only at Swain. 'Gettin'
there,' he replied. 'How about you?' A coy cock
of the head. 'I'm good.' 'I'm fine, too,'
Jim Wilson chimed in. 'Not that anyone seems to care…' Emma said to
Swain: 'You wanted me to remind you about your meeting with Detective Dickson,
about the … incident. Don't forget you have to see him at five.' 'Right,'
Swain nodded, absently stroking the cut on his lower lip. 'No problem. I can do
that after the game.' 'Oh, I
almost forgot,' Emma added. 'You got another message. Norwood Elementary called
about ten minutes ago. They want to know if you can come down there right away.
Holly's been fighting again.' Swain
sighed. 'Not again. Right away?' 'Right
away.' Swain turned
to Wilson. 'Why today?' 'Why not?'
Wilson said wryly. 'Is there a
delayed telecast of the game later tonight?' 'I think so,
yeah,' Wilson said. Swain sighed
again. 'I'll call you.' —––ooo0ooo——— Stephen
Swain leaned on the steering wheel of his Range Rover as he pulled it to a stop
at the traffic lights. He glanced across at the passenger seat beside him.
Holly was sitting with her hands in her lap and her head bowed, her feet
jutting out horizontally from the seat, unable to reach the floor. They weren't
swinging wildly about as they usually did. The car was
quiet. 'You okay?'
Swain asked softly. 'Hmmm.' Swain leaned
over to look at her. 'Oh, don't
do that,' he said gently, reaching for a tissue. 'Here.' He dabbed at the tears
that had run down her cheeks. Swain had
arrived at the school just as Holly was leaving the vice-principal's office.
Her ears were red and she'd been crying. It was harsh, he thought, that an
eight-year-old should get such a dressing down. 'Hey,' he
said. 'It's all right.' Holly lifted
her head. Her eyes were watery and red. She
swallowed. 'I'm sorry, Daddy. I tried.' 'You tried?' 'To be a
lady. I really did. I really tried hard.' Swain
smiled. 'You did, huh?' He grabbed another tissue. 'Mrs Tickner didn't tell me
what made you do it. All she said was that the lunchtime teacher found you
straddled on top of some boy, beating the hell out of him.' 'Mrs Tickner
wouldn't listen to me. She just kept saying that it didn't matter what made me
do it, only that it was wrong for a lady to fight.' The lights
went green. Swain put the Range Rover into gear and moved off. 'So what did
happen, then?' Holly
hesitated, then said, 'Tommy Jacobs was calling you a murderer.' Swain closed
his eyes momentarily. 'He was, was he?' 'Yes.' 'And you
tackled him and punched him for that?' 'No, I
punched him first.' 'But for
that. For calling me a murderer?' 'Uh-huh.' Swain turned
to face Holly and nodded. 'Thanks,' he said seriously. Holly smiled
weakly. Swain turned his eyes back to the road. 'How many lines did you get?' 'One hundred
times: "I must not fight because it is not ladylike".' 'Well, since
this was partly my fault, what do you say you do fifty, and I'll do the other
fifty in your handwriting.' Holly
smiled. 'That would be good, Daddy.' Her eyes began to brighten. 'Good,'
Swain nodded. 'Just next time, try not to fight. If you can, try to think your
way out of it. You'd be surprised, you can do a lot more damage with your brains
than with your fists. And you can still be a lady at the same time.' Swain
slowed the car and looked at his daughter. 'Fighting is never the answer. Only
fight when it's the last option you've got.' 'Like you
did, Daddy?' 'Yeah,'
Swain said. 'Like I did.' Holly lifted
her head and began to peer out the window. She didn't recognise this area. 'Where are
we going?' she said. 'I've got to
go to the police station.' 'Daddy, are
you in trouble again?' 'No, honey,
I'm not in trouble.' 'Can I help
you!' the harried-looking receptionist yelled above the din. Swain and
Holly were standing in the lobby of the 14th Precinct of the New York Police
Department. There was activity everywhere. Beat cops hauling drug dealers away;
phones ringing; people shouting. A prostitute in the corner winked sexily at
Swain as he stood at the check-in desk. 'Uh, yes, my
name is Stephen Swain. I'm here to see Detective Dickson. I was supposed to see
him at five, but I had some time, so I—' 'That's
fine, you're on the list. He's up in his office now. You can go right up.
Office 209.' Status
Check: Electrification systems ready. Swain headed
for the stairwell at the rear of the bullpen. As he did so, Holly bounded to
his side and grabbed his hand. Swain looked down at the blonde ponytail bobbing
madly up and down beside him. Wide-eyed and interested, Holly was taking in the
pandemonium of the police station with the curiosity of a scientist. She
certainly was resilient, that was for sure, and with her natural blonde hair,
blue eyes, button nose and sharp-eyed gaze, she was looking more and more like
her mother every day… Stop
it, Swain thought. Don't go there. Not now… He shook his
thoughts away as they ascended the stairs. On the
second floor, they came to a door marked: 209: HOMICIDE. Swain heard a familiar
voice shouting from within. 'I don't
care what your problem is! I want that building shut down, okay!' 'But sir—' 'Don't give
me that, John. Just listen for a moment, will you. Good. Now look at what we
have here. A security guard found lying on the floor — in two pieces —
and a two-bit thief who's found sitting there next to him. Yeah, that's right,
he's just sitting there when we arrive. 'And this
thief, he's got blood all over his face and all down the front of his body. But
it's not his blood, it's the guard's. Now I don't know what's going on. You
tell me. Do you think this thief is from one of those crazy sects, who goes
out, chops up a security guard, rubs the blood all over himself, and then
manages to overturn a couple of ten-foot-tall bookcases?' The voice
paused for a moment, listening while the other man mumbled something. 'John, we
don't know shit. And until we find out more, I'm shutting down that library.
Okay?' 'Okay,
Sarge,' the other voice relented. 'Good,' the
first voice was calm again. 'Now get down there, set up the tape around all
entrances and exits, and put a couple of our guys inside for the night.' The door
opened. Swain stepped aside as a short officer came out of the office, smiled
quickly at him, and then headed down the corridor and into the stairwell. Status
Check: Electrification to commence in two hours. Earth
time: sixth hour post meridian. Swain
knocked softly on the door and peered inside the office. The wide
room was empty, save for one desk over by the window. There Swain saw a large
barrel-chested man seated in a swivel chair, his back to the door. He was
gazing out the window, sipping from a coffee mug, savouring, it seemed, a rare
moment's silence. Swain
knocked again. 'Yeah, come
in,' the man didn't look up. Swain
hesitated, 'Ah, Detective—' Captain
Henry Dickson swung around in the swivel chair. 'Oh, I'm sorry, I was expecting
someone else.' He got up quickly, crossed the room and shook Swain's hand. 'How
are you today, Dr Swain?' 'Gettin' there,'
Swain nodded. 'I had some time so I thought I'd come in and get this thing out
of the way, if that's all right.' Dickson led
them to his desk where he reached into an open drawer and pulled out a file. 'Sure, no
problem,' Dickson fished through the file. 'It shouldn't take more than a few
minutes anyway. Just give me a minute here.' Swain and
Holly waited. 'All right,'
Dickson said at last, holding up a sheet. 'This is the statement you gave on
the night of the incident. What we'd like to do is include it in the
departmental report, but by law we can't do it without your written consent. Is
that okay with you?' 'That's
fine.' 'Good, then
I'll just read it to you to make sure it's okay, and then you can sign the
report and we can all be out of here.' Status
Check: Officials from each system report that
teleports are ready. Awaiting transmission of
grid co-ordinates of labyrinth. Dickson
straightened himself in his chair. 'All right,
then,' he began to read from the statement, 'at approximately 8.30 p.m. on the
night of October 2, 2000, I was working in the emergency room of St Luke's
Hospital, New York City. I had been called in to do a radiology consult on a
gunshot wound to a police officer. X-rays, C-spines and a CAT-scan had been
taken and I had just returned to the emergency ward with the films when five
young Latin American men wearing gang colours burst in through the main doors
of the emergency ward with automatic weapons firing. 'Everyone in
the ward dived for the floor as the wave of bullets smashed into everything in
sight — computer screens, whiteboards, everything. 'The gang
members fanned out immediately, shouting to each other, "Find him and
kill him!" Two of them brandished automatic rifles while the other
three held semi-automatic pistols.' Swain
listened in silence as Dickson recounted the events of that night. He
remembered being told later that the wounded cop had been with the Vice Squad.
Apparently, he'd been working undercover in Queens with a crack-dealing gang
when his cover had been blown during a botched raid. He'd been winged during
the shoot-out, and now the gang-bangers — incensed at his role in the bust —
were here to finish him off. Dickson kept
reading: 'I was standing just outside the wounded policeman's room when the five
men stormed the hospital. There was noise everywhere — people were screaming,
the men's guns were booming — and I ducked behind the nearest corner. 'Then
suddenly I saw one of the pistol-bearing gang-bangers rush toward the wounded
cop's room. I don't know what made me do it, but when I saw him reach the
doorway to the room and see the cop inside — and smile — I leapt at him from
behind, tackled him hard. 'We slammed
into the doorframe together, but he elbowed me sharply in the mouth — cutting
my lip — and we fell apart and then suddenly before I knew what was happening,
he was swinging his pistol around toward me. 'I caught
his wrist in mid-flight — held the gun clear of my body — just as one of the other
gang members arrived right in front of us. 'This second
youth saw our struggle and instantly raised his own pistol at me but — still
holding onto the first gang member's wrist — I whirled around and, with my free
hand, punched the second youth square on the wrist of his gun-hand, causing his
fingers to reflexively spring open and drop the gun. On the return journey, I
used that same fist to backhand the youth across the jaw, knocking him out
cold. 'It was at
that moment that the first gang member started pulling indiscriminately on the
trigger on his gun — even though I was still gripping his wrist. Gunshots
boomed, bullets shredded the walls. 'I had to do
something, so, pushing my feet off the doorframe, I hurled us both to the
floor. We tumbled to the ground together — a clumsy rolling heap, so clumsy in fact
that the youth's gun was pushed awkwardly up against his own head and then—' And then
abruptly — shockingly — the gun had gone off and the youth's head had
simply exploded. Swain didn't
need to listen to Dickson any more. He could see it all in his mind's eye as if
he was still there. He could remember the star of blood that had sprayed all
over the door. He could still feel the youth's body go limp against his
own. Dickson was
still reading the statement. '—as soon as
the other gang members saw their dead comrade, they fled. I believe it was
about then that I passed out. This statement is dated 3/10/00, 1:55 a.m.,
signed Stephen Swain, M.D.' Dickson
looked up from the sheet of paper. Swain
sighed. 'That's it. That's my statement.' 'Good,'
Dickson handed the typewritten statement to Swain. 'If you just sign there
where it says "Consent granted", that'll just about do it, Dr Swain.
Oh, and may I say once again, on behalf of the New York Police Department,
thank you.' Status
Check: Grid co-ordinates of labyrinth to be
transmitted to all systems upon electrification. —––ooo0ooo——— 'We'll see
you in the morning then,' Officer Paul Hawkins said as he stood inside the
enormous translucent glass doors of the New York State Library. 'See you
then,' the lieutenant said, closing the doors on Hawkins' face. Hawkins
stepped away from the doors and nodded to his partner, Parker, who stepped
forward with a large ring of keys. As Parker began to bolt the first of four
locks on the huge translucent doors, Hawkins could see the blurred outline of
the lieutenant affixing bright yellow police tape across the entrance. The tape
pressed up against the other side of the glass and Hawkins could make out the
familiar words: police line — do not CROSS. He checked
his watch. 5:15 p.m. Not
bad, he thought. It had only taken them twenty minutes to skirt the
building and seal off all the entrances and exits. Parker
finished off the last lock and turned around. 'All done,'
she said. Hawkins
thought about what the other cops had said about Christine Parker. Three years
his senior, she was hardly pretty — for that matter, hardly petite. Big hands,
dark heavy-set features, good with a gun. Unfortunately, her image hadn't been
helped along by reports of insensitivity — she was known in the department for
her rather icy demeanour. Hawkins shrugged it off. If she could hold her own,
that was all that mattered to him. 'Good,' he
turned to face the enormous atrium of the library. 'Do you know what happened?
I was only called in this afternoon.' 'Somebody
broke in and slashed up a security guard. Pretty messy,' Parker replied
casually. 'Broke in?'
Hawkins frowned. 'I didn't see any forced entry on any of the doors we sealed.' Status
Check: 0:44:16 to Electrification. Parker put
her keys in her pocket and shrugged. 'Don't ask me. All I know is that they
haven't determined point of entry yet. SID's coming in tomorrow morning to do
that. Guy probably picked the lock on one of the storage doors. Those things
have got to be at least forty years old.' She cocked
her head indifferently. 'Larry at Dispatch told me they spent most of the day
just trying to clean it all up.' Parker
walked over to the Information Desk and sat down. 'Anyhow,' she put her feet up
on the counter, 'this isn't so bad. Doesn't bother me if I get double time for
sitting in a library all night.' 'Come on,
Daddy!' Holly said impatiently. 'I'm missing Pokemon!' 'Okay,
okay,' Swain pushed open the front door. Holly burst past him, dashed into the
house. Swain pulled
his key from the door and called after her, 'Don't slide on the carpet!' He stepped
inside as Holly charged out of the kitchen, biscuit tin in one hand, a can of
Coke in the other. Swain stopped in his tracks as Holly cut across his path,
making a beeline for the TV. Watching
her, Swain put his suitcase down, folded his arms and leaned against the bench
that separated the kitchen from the living room. He watched as, unsurprisingly,
in mid-stride Holly dropped to the floor and slid gracefully across the carpet,
coming to a halt inches away from the television set. 'Hey!' Holly gave
him a throwaway smile. 'Sorreee.' She flicked on the TV. Swain shook
his head as he went into the kitchen. He always said not to slide on the carpet
and Holly always did it anyway. It was kind of a ritual. Besides, he thought,
Helen had always said it, and Holly had always ignored her, too. It was a good
way for both of them to remember her. It had been
two years now since Swain's wife had been killed by a drunk driver who had
tried to run a red light at fifty miles an hour. It had happened late one
August evening, around eleven-thirty. They had run out of milk, so Helen had
decided to walk to the 7-Eleven a few blocks away. She never
came back. Later that
night, Swain would see her body at the morgue. The mere sight of it, bloodied
and broken, had knocked the wind out of him. All the life, the essence, the
personality — everything that had made her Helen — had been sucked from
it. Her eyes had been wide open, staring blankly into space, lifeless. Death had
struck — brutally, swiftly, unexpectedly. She had gone out for milk and then
all of a sudden she was gone. Just gone. And now it
was just him and Holly, somehow continuing life without her. Even now, two
years on, Swain occasionally found himself staring out the window, thinking
about her, tears forming in his eyes. Swain opened
the fridge, pulled out a Coke for himself. As he did so, the phone rang. It was
Jim Wilson. 'You missed
a great game.' Swain
sighed. 'Oh, yes…' 'Man, you
should've seen it. It went into—' 'No! Stop!
Don't tell me!' Wilson
laughed loudly on the other end of the line. 'Now would I do that?' 'Not if you
wanted to live. Want to come over and watch it all over again?' 'Sure, why
not? I'll be there in ten,' Wilson said and hung up. Status
Check: 0:14:38 to Electrification. Swain
glanced at the microwave. The green LED clock read 5:45 p.m. He looked
over at Holly, camped less than a foot away from the television screen. On the
screen, multicoloured creatures danced about. Swain grabbed
his drink and went into the living room. 'What are you watching?' Holly didn't
move her eyes from the screen. 'Pokemon,' she said, feeling for the biscuit tin
beside her and grabbing a biscuit from it. 'Any good?' She turned
quickly, scrunched up her nose. 'Nah. Mew isn't there today. I'll see what's on
the other channels.' 'No, wait!'
Swain leaned forward, grabbing for the remote. 'The sport will be—' The station
changed, and a newsreader appeared on the screen. '—while in
football, fans in the national capital were not to be disappointed as the
Redskins scalped the Giants twenty-four to twenty-one in an overtime thriller.
At the same time, in Dallas…' Swain closed
his eyes as he sank back into his chair. 'Aw, man.' 'Did you
hear that Daddy? Washington won. Grandpa will like that. He lives in
Washington.' Swain
laughed softly. 'Yes, honey, I heard. I heard.' Status
Check: Officials attending to Earth
Contestant await special instructions
regarding teleportation. Paul Hawkins
strolled idly around the foyer of the library. His every
footfall echoed hauntingly in the open space of the atrium. He stopped
to survey the atrium around him. It was, quite simply, a massive interior
space. When one took into account the rail-lined balcony that ran in a horseshoe
above the lower floor, its ceiling was actually two storeys high. In the early
evening darkness, the atrium looked almost cavernous. Ten-foot-high
bookcases loomed in the brooding semi-darkness. Indeed, with the onset of
night, apart from the harsh white glow coming from the Information Desk where
Parker sat reading, the only light that penetrated the gigantic room was the
slanting blue light from the streetlights outside. Status
Check: 0:03:04 to Electrification. Teleport
Officials standby. Hawkins looked
over at Parker. She was still sitting behind the Information Desk, her feet up,
reading some Latin book she said she'd read back in school. Jesus,
it's quiet here, he thought. —––ooo0ooo——— Status
Check: 0:01:41 to Electrification. Status
Check: Officials on Earth confirm receipt
of special instructions. Standby. The phone
rang again. Holly leapt up from the floor and grabbed the receiver. 'Hello,
Holly Swain speaking,' she said. 'Yes, he's here.' She put the receiver to her
chest and yelled at the top of her lungs, 'Daddeee! Phone!' Swain
emerged from his bedroom down the hall, doing up the buttons on a clean shirt.
The belt around his jeans dangled from his waist and his hair was still
dripping from the shower. He gave
Holly a crooked smile as he took the phone from her. 'Do you think the whole
neighbourhood now knows I've got a phone call?' Holly
shrugged as she danced away toward the refrigerator. 'Hello,'
Swain said into the phone. 'It's me
again.' It was Wilson. Swain
glanced at the microwave clock. 'Hey, what are you doing? It's almost six.
Where are you?' 'I'm still
at home.' Status
Check: 0:00:46 to Electrification. 'Home?' 'The car
won't start. Again.' Wilson said, deadpan. Swain just
laughed. Hawkins was
bored. Idly, he
poked his head inside the library's central stairwell, flicked on his heavy
police flashlight. White marble stairs flanked by solid oak banisters rose in a
wide ' spiral up into the darkness. Hawkins
nodded. Had to hand it to these old buildings, they were built to last. Status
Check: 0:00:15 to Electrification. Parker stood
up from her seat behind the Information Desk. She gazed lazily around the
atrium, squinting in the darkness. 'What're you
doing?' she called. 'Just
looking around.' Status
Check: 0:00:09 to Electrification. Standby. Parker
walked over to Hawkins. He was standing at the doorway to the stairwell, his
flashlight on, peering up into the darkness. :06 She stopped
next to him. 'Nice old
place,' Hawkins said. 'Yeah,'
Parker nodded. 'Nice.' :04 :03 :02 :01 Standby… —Electrification initialised. At that
moment, while Hawkins and Parker stood in the stairwell, bright blue sparks
flashed out from the main entrance to the library. An electric blue current shot
up between the large glass doors while sizzling claws of electricity lashed out
around the edges of the door frame. Every single
window of the library shook as tiny forks of blue lightning shot out from their
panes. At the small side entrances to the library, yellow police tape bubbled
slowly, boiling under the intense heat of the electricity now flowing through
the doors. And then, in
an instant, it stopped. All the
windows and doors giving access to the library were suddenly still. Suddenly
silent again. The State
Library, old and dark, stood sombrely in the darkness of New York City, its
magnificent glass doors grey in the moonlight. To the casual observer a few
feet away they looked regal and austere, just as they had looked the day
before. It was only
when one came close that one would see the intermittent flash of tiny blue
lightning that licked out from between the two huge doors every few seconds. Just as it
did at every other entrance to the library. Status
Check: Electrification complete. Dispatch
grid co-ordinates of
the labyrinth. Commence
teleportation. —––ooo0ooo——— Holly
grabbed onto Swain's leg. Swain shook it playfully as he spoke into the phone. 'It won't be
much of a surprise anyway. I already heard who won.' 'You did?' Swain
frowned down at Holly as she reached into his jeans pocket. 'Yes. Unfortunately
I did.' Holly pulled
her hand out of his pocket and frowned at the object in her hand. 'Daddy,
what's this?' Swain
glanced down at her and cocked his head in surprise. 'May I?' he said. Holly gave
him the small silver object. 'What's
going on?' Wilson asked. Swain turned
it over in his hand. 'Well… Doctor Wilson, maybe you can tell me. Maybe
you can tell me why my daughter has just pulled a Zippo out of my jeans. My jeans
that you borrowed for your little cowboy thing on the weekend.' Wilson
hesitated. 'I have absolutely no idea how that got there.' 'Why don't I
believe you?' 'All right,
all right, don't start.' Wilson said. 'What are my chances of getting my
lighter back?' Swain put
the cigarette lighter back into his pocket. 'I don't know. Sixty-forty.' Status Check: Teleportation sequence initialised. 'Sixty-forty!' Holly
grabbed another drink from the refrigerator. Swain shifted the telephone to his
shoulder and bent down to pick her up. He grunted under the weight. 'God, you're
heavy.' Initialise
teleport: Earth. 'Dad…
Come on, I'm eight now…' 'Too old to
be picked up, huh? All ri—' At that
moment the room around Swain began to brighten. A mysterious white glow filled
the kitchen. 'Daddy…'
Holly gripped his shoulders tightly. Swain turned
around slowly, staring, mesmerised, at the soft white light glowing around him
— glowing around him — growing around him. Growing. The kitchen
was getting brighter. The light was gathering intensity. Swain spun.
All around him, the soft white glow had become a dazzling white light. Wherever
he turned, his eyes reeled at the brilliant light. It seemed to come from every
direction. He lifted
his forearm to shield his eyes. 'Daddy!
What's happening?' Swain held
her closer, pushed her head into his chest, guarding her from the light. He
squinted as his eyes tried to penetrate the blinding wall of white light
surrounding them, searching for a source. Recoiling
from the light, he abruptly looked down at his feet — and saw a perfect circle
of white light ringing his sneakers. And then
Swain realised. He was at
the centre of the light. He
was the source! Gusts of
wind shot through the kitchen. Dust and paper swirled around Swain's head as he
held Holly close to his chest. He shut his eyes, bracing himself against the
screaming wind. Then,
strangely, above the howling of the wind, he heard a voice. A soft, taint,
insistent voice saying, 'Steve? Stephen Swain, are you still with us?' It took him
a second to realise that it was the phone. Wilson was still on the line. Swain
had forgotten that he was still holding onto the phone. 'Stephen,
what's going on? Ste—' The phone
went dead. A deafening
thunderclap boomed and Swain was instantly plunged into complete darkness. SECOND MOVEMENT 30 November, 6:04 p.m. A lot of
people would say that fear of the dark is nothing but a phenomenon of
childhood. A child
fears the dark simply because he or she does not have the experience to know
that in fact nothing is there. But as Stephen Swain knew, fear of the dark was
common in many adults. Indeed, for some, the human need for sight was often as
basic as the need for food. Standing in
pitch darkness, without a clue where he was, Swain felt it strange that he
should be thinking of his college studies in human behaviour. He remembered his
lecturer saying, 'Human fears are very often irrational constructs of the mind.
How else would you explain a six-foot-tall woman being petrified by the mere
sight of a single white mouse — a creature barely four inches long?' But no fear
was seen as more irrational — or more innate in man — than a fear of the dark.
Academic theorists and weary parents had been saying for centuries that there
was nothing in the dark that was not already there in the light… But
I'll bet something like this never happened to them, Swain
thought as he stared into the sea of blackness around him. Where
the hell are we…? His heart
pumped loudly inside his head. He could feel a wave of panic spreading slowly
through his body. No. He had to stay calm — rational — had to look after Holly. He felt for
her at his shoulder. She held him tightly, frightened. 'Daddy If he could
just see something, he thought, trying to contain his own
ever-increasing fear. A break in the darkness. A splinter of light. Anything. He looked
left, then right. Nothing. Only black.
Endless, seamless black. A fear of
the dark didn't seem quite so irrational now. 'Daddy.
What's happening?' He could
feel Holly's head pushed close against his shoulder. 'I don't
know, honey,' Swain pursed his lips in thought. And then he remembered. 'Wait a
minute,' he said, stretching his hand awkwardly underneath Holly to reach into
his jeans pocket. He breathed a sigh of relief as he felt the cold slippery
metal of the lighter. The Zippo
flipped open with a metallic calink! and Swain flipped down on the
cartwheel. The flint sparked for an instant, but the lighter didn't catch.
Swain tried again. Another spark but no flame. 'Christ,' he
said aloud. 'Some smoker.' 'Daddy…' 'Just hold
on, honey,' Swain put the lighter back in his pocket and turned to face the
darkness again. 'Let's see if we can find a door or something.' He lifted
his foot and took a hesitant step forward. As he lowered it, however, he began
to understand why some people feared the dark so much. The sheer helplessness
of not knowing what was right in front of you was terrifying. His shoe hit
the floor. It was hard. Cold. Like slate, or marble. He took
another step forward. Only this time, as his foot came down, it didn't find any
floor. Just empty space. 'Uh-oh.' His sense of
panic began to rise again. Where the hell was he? Was he standing on the rim of
a ledge? If he was, how far down did it go? Was it on every side of him? Shit. Swain slowly
lowered his foot further over the edge. Nothing. Slowly.
Further. Still nothing. Then his
foot hit something. More floor, not far below where he was standing. Swain pushed
down and forward again. Another piece of floor. He smiled in the darkness,
relieved. Steps. Holding
Holly close to his chest, Swain cautiously descended the stairs. 'Where are
we, Daddy?' In the
darkness, Swain stopped. He glanced at Holly. Although everything was still
dark, he could just make out the outline of her face. The hollows of her eye
sockets, the shadow of her nose across her cheek. 'I don't
know,' he said. He was about
to take another step forward when he snapped up to look at Holly again. The
hollows of her eye sockets, the shadow across her cheek— A
shadow. There
must be a light. Somewhere. Swain looked
closely at her face and, scanning the shadow of her nose, he suddenly saw it —
a soft green glow, so dim that it barely revealed her other features. Swain
leaned closer and — abruptly — the gentle glow vanished. 'Damn it.' He slowly
moved his head back and, equally slowly, the glow returned, half covering
Holly's face. Swain's eyes
widened. It was his own shadow covering his daughter's face. The light
source was somewhere behind him. Swain spun
around. And there,
in the sheet of blackness in front of him, he saw it. It was hovering in the
darkness, level with his eyes and yet completely still — a tiny green light. It couldn't
have been more than six feet away, and it shone like a small pilot light on a
VCR. Swain stared intently at the tiny green light. And then he
heard a voice. 'Hello,
Contestant.' —––ooo0ooo——— It came from
the green light. It sounded
prim, proper, refined. And yet at the same time high-pitched, as if spoken by a
midget. It came
again. 'Hello,
Contestant. Welcome to the labyrinth.' Swain
squeezed Holly close. 'Who is that? Where are you?' 'I am here.
Can you not see me?' The voice was not threatening. It was almost, Swain
thought, helpful. 'No. It's
too dark.' 'Oh, yes.
Hmm,' the voice sounded disheartened. 'Just a moment.' The tiny
green light bounced away to Swain's left, bobbing up and down. Then it stopped. 'Ah. Here we
are.' Something
clicked and some overhead fluorescent lights immediately came to life. In this
new-found light, Swain saw that he was standing halfway down a flight of wide
marble stairs with banisters made of dark polished wood. The stairs seemed to
spiral down several floors before disappearing into darkness. Swain
guessed he was at the top of the stairwell, since no stairs ascended from the
landing above him. Only a heavy-looking wooden door led out from the landing. His gaze
moved left from the door, and suddenly he saw the owner of the voice. There,
standing next to a light switch, stood a man no more than four feet tall,
dressed completely in white. White shoes,
white coveralls, white gloves. The little
man was holding something in one white-gloved hand. It looked like a grey
wristwatch. Swain noticed that the small green light he had seen before was
attached to the face of the wristwatch. In addition
to his completely white outfit, Swain saw that the little man wore an odd white
skull cap that covered every part of his head, except for his face. 'Daddy, it
looks like an eggshell,' Holly whispered. 'Shh.' The little
man in white stepped forward, so that he stood on the edge of the landing, his
head a little higher than Swain's. He spoke perfect English, without trace of
an accent. 'Hello.
Welcome to the labyrinth. My name is Selexin and I am your guide.' He extended
his little white hand. 'How do you do?' Swain was
still staring in disbelief at the little white man. He absently offered his own
hand in return. The little man cocked his head. 'You have an
interesting weapon,' he said, looking down at the telephone receiver in Swain's
hand. Swain
glanced at the receiver. The spiral cord leading out from the phone had been
cut several inches from where it met the hand-piece. He hadn't realised that he
was still holding it. He quickly handed it to Holly, and shook hands awkwardly
with the man in white. 'How do you
do?' Selexin bowed solemnly. 'I'm gettin'
there,' Swain said, warily. 'How about you?' The man in
white smiled earnestly and nodded politely. 'Oh, yes. Thank you. I am getting
there, too.' Swain
hesitated. 'Listen, I don't know who or what you are, but…' Holly wasn't
listening. She was staring at the handpiece of the telephone. Without a spiral
cord snaking back to a base unit, it looked like a cellular. She examined
the shortened phone cord. The cut at the end of it looked as if someone had
snipped it with a pair of extremely sharp scissors. It was a clean cut. A perfectly
clean cut. The wires inside the cord were not even frayed. Holly
shrugged and put the phone in her uniform pocket. Her own cellular phone, even
if it didn't work. She looked back at the little man in white. He was talking
to her father. 'I
have no intention of harming you,' he was saying. 'You don't?' 'No,'
Selexin paused. 'Well, not me.' 'Then if you
don't mind, do you think you could tell us where we are and how the hell we can
get out of here?' Swain said, taking a step up the stairs towards the landing. The little
man seemed shocked. 'Get
out?' he said blankly. 'No one gets out. Not yet.' 'What do you
mean no one gets out? Where are we?' 'You are in
the labyrinth.' Swain looked
at the stairs around him. 'And where is this labyrinth?' 'Why,
Contestant, this is Earth, of course.' Swain
sighed. 'Listen, ah…' 'Selexin.' 'Yes.
Selexin,' Swain offered a weak smile. 'Selexin, if it's okay with you, I think
my daughter and I would like to leave your labyrinth. I don't know what it is
you're doing here, but I don't think we're going to be a part of it.' Swain
climbed the stairs and walked over to the door leading out from the landing. He
was reaching for the door handle when Selexin snatched his hand away. 'Don't!' He held Swain's
hand away from the heavy wooden door. 'Like I said, no one gets out, yet. The
labyrinth has been sealed. Look.' He pointed
to the gap between the door and its solid wooden frame. 'You see?' Swain looked
at the gap and saw nothing. 'No,' he said, unimpressed. 'Look closely.' Swain leaned
closer and peered at the inside of the door frame. And then he
saw it. A tiny blue
fork of electricity licked out from the gap between the door and the frame. He only just
saw it, but the sudden electric blue flash of light was unmistakable. Swain's
eyes followed the door frame up its vertical edge. Every few inches there was a
distinct flicker of the bright blue charge between the frame and the door. It was the
same on all four sides of the door. Slowly,
Swain stepped back onto the landing. He spoke as he turned, his voice soft and
flat. 'What the
hell are you doing here?' —––ooo0ooo——— In the
atrium of the library, Officer Paul Hawkins was pacing back and forth in front
of the Information Desk. 'I'm telling
you, I saw it,' he said. Parker was
sitting with her feet up on the desk, chewing on a candy bar, now happily
reading a back issue of Cosmopolitan. 'Sure you
did.' She didn't even look up as she spoke. Hawkins was
angry. 'I said, I saw it.' 'Then go and
check it out for yourself,' Parker offered him a dismissive wave. As far as she
was concerned, Hawkins was green. Too young, too fresh and far too eager. And
like every other rookie, always suspicious that the crime of the century was
happening right under his nose. Hawkins
walked off toward the bookcases near the stairwell, mumbling to himself. 'What'd you
say?' Parker called lazily from behind her magazine. 'Nothing,'
Hawkins muttered as he stalked off. 'I'm going to see if it happens again.' Parker
looked up from her magazine to see Hawkins disappear through the stairwell
doors. She shook her head. 'Rookie.' Slowly,
Hawkins climbed the wide marble stairs, peering around every turn, hoping to
see it happen again. He leaned out over the banister and looked up into the
shaft. With the
stairwell lights out, he knew he would barely be able to see beyond the first
landing— There
was a light! Up at the
top. One of the
fluorescent lights up at the very top of the stairwell was on — and it hadn't
been on before. Hawkins felt
his adrenalin surge. Someone
was in here. What should
he do now? Get Parker? Yes, backup— backup was good. No, wait. She wouldn't
believe him. She hadn't before. Hawkins
peered back up into the shaft and saw the light. He took a hesitant step up the
stairs. And then it
happened. Hawkins
immediately leapt back from the banister as a blinding stream of white light
burst up through the central shaft of the stairwell, instantly illuminating
everything around it. Flecks of
dust swirling around the hollow core of the stairwell suddenly came to life as
the rising light struck them, creating a dazzling column of vertical white
light. Hawkins
stared at it in awe. It was exactly what he had seen before — a brilliant
stream of white light pouring through the shaft of the stairwell. And yet,
somehow, this time it was different. The source
was different. This time, it wasn't coming from somewhere high up in the
stairwell. No, this
time it was coming from below. Slowly,
Hawkins peered out over the edge of the banister, looking down into the shaft. The light
seemed to be coming from underneath one of the landings below him. All he could
make out was the edge of what looked like a large glowing sphere of pure white— It went out. It didn't
fade. It didn't flicker. It just disappeared to black. Just as it had done
before. Hawkins
suddenly found himself standing in the empty stairwell again, the hollow shaft
in the centre now no more than a silent, gaping hole of blackness. He looked
back over his shoulder toward the atrium. Beyond the bookcases, he could see
Parker's feet resting lazily on the counter of the Information Desk. He thought
about calling to her, but decided against it. He turned
back to face the darkened stairwell. He
swallowed, and suddenly forgot all about the fluorescent light that had been
turned on upstairs. Hawkins
pulled his heavy police-issue flashlight from his belt and switched it on. Then he
began his descent into the darkness. Selexin was
still holding the grey wristband. It was heavy in his hand, mainly because of
the thick metal straps used to clasp it to its wearer's wrist. He glanced
at the face. It was rectangular — like an elongated digital watch — broad in
width, short in height. At the top of the face, the little green pilot light
burned brightly. Next to it was another light, slightly larger than the green
one, dull red in colour. At the moment it was lifeless. Good,
Selexin thought. Beneath the
two lights there was a narrow oblong display that read: INCOMPLETE—1 Selexin
looked up from the watchface. He saw Swain and Holly standing at a window,
gazing out, both careful to stay a safe distance from the electrified window
panes. Selexin
grunted, shook his head sadly, and looked back down at the wristband. The
display flickered: INCOMPLETE—1 The words
disappeared for an instant. When they returned, they had changed. The display
now read: INCOMPLETE—2 And it was
stable again. Selexin
walked over to Swain at the window and stopped beside him. 'Now do you
understand?' Swain
continued to stare out the window. After he had
seen the electrified door at the top of the stairwell, he had immediately come
down the first flight of stairs and opened the nearest door. It was a large
fireproof door marked with a red '3'. It had
opened onto an extremely broad, low-ceilinged room, perhaps fifty yards wide.
Swain had gone straight across it — winding his way through a forest of
odd-looking steel-framed desks — heading directly for the nearest window. The room was
completely filled with the peculiarly shaped desks. Each had a vertical
partition attached to the rear edge, so that it formed an L-shape with the
horizontal writing surface. Hundreds of these desks, bunched together in tight
clusters of four, covered the vast floorspace of the room. Now, as he
looked out the window and saw the familiar inner city park, surrounded by the
darkened streets of New York City, Swain began to understand. 'Where are
we, Daddy?' Swain's eyes
took in the multitude of partitioned desks in the room around them. In the near
corner of the room was a heavy-looking maintenance door, next to which was a
sign: QUIET
PLEASE. THIS
ROOM IS FOR PRIVATE STUDY ONLY. NO
CARRY BAGS PERMITTED. A study
hall. Swain turned
to face Selexin. 'We're in the library, honey. The State Library.' Selexin nodded.
Correct. 'This,' he
said, 'is the labyrinth.' 'This, is a library.' 'That it may
well be,' Selexin shrugged, 'but that is of little concern for you now.' Swain said,
'I think it's of a lot of concern for me now. What are you doing here and what
do you want with us?' 'Well, first
of all,' the smaller man began, 'we do not exactly want both of you.' He looked
at Swain. 'We actually only want you.' 'So why did
you bring my daughter too?' 'It was
unintentional, I can assure you. Contestants are strictly forbidden to have
assistance of any kind. She must have entered the field just before you were
teleported.' 'Teleported?' 'Yes,
Contestant,' Selexin sighed sadly. 'Teleported. And you can count yourself
extremely fortunate that she was fully inside the field at the time. If she had
been only partially inside the field, she might have been—' There was a
loud rumble of thunder outside the window. Swain looked out through the glass
and saw dark storm clouds rolling across the face of the moon. It was well and
truly dark outside now. Streaks of rain began to appear on the window. He turned
back. 'The white light.' 'Yes,'
Selexin said, 'the field. Everything inside the field at the time the systems
are initialised is teleported.' 'Like the
phone,' Swain said. 'Yes.' 'But only
half the phone came with us.' 'Because
only half the phone was inside the field.' Selexin
said. 'In its simplest form, the field is merely a spherical hole in the air.
Anything inside that sphere is, at the time of teleportation, lifted up and
placed elsewhere, whether it is attached to something else or not.' 'And you
determine where we go. Is that right?' Swain said. 'Yes. Now,
Contestant—' Swain held
up his hand. 'Wait a minute. Why do you keep calling me that?' 'Calling you
what?' '"Contestant".
Why do you keep calling me "Contestant"?' 'Because
that is what you are, that is why you have been brought here,' Selexin said, as
if it was the most obvious thing in the world. 'To compete. To compete in the
Seventh Presidian.' 'Presidian?' Now it was
Selexin who frowned. 'Yes,' his
voice tightened. 'Hmmm, I suspected this might happen.' He gave a long sigh and
looked impatiently at the metal wristband in his hand. Its green light was
still burning and its display still read: INCOMPLETE—2 Selexin
looked up and spoke to no-one in particular: 'Well, since there is still time,
I will tell you.' Holly
stepped forward, pointed to the grey wrist-watch. 'What is that?' Selexin gave
her a sharp look. 'Please, I will come to that. Just listen for a
moment.' Holly backed
away immediately, reaching for Swain's hand. Selexin was
taking short, quick breaths, showing his irritation. As Swain watched him, it
seemed increasingly obvious that the little man in white simply did not want to
be here. 'The
Presidian,' Selexin began, 'has been held on six previous occasions. And this,'
he said, looking at the study hall around him, 'is the seventh. It is held
approximately once every thousand Earth years, each time on a different world,
and in every system, except Earth, it is held in only the highest esteem.' 'Systems?'
Swain asked. 'Yes,
Contestant, systems.' Selexin's tone was now that of a weary adult
addressing a five-year-old. 'Other worlds. Other intelligent
life. There are seven in total.' Selexin
paused for a moment, lifted a hand to massage his brow. He looked as if he was
trying very hard to keep himself calm. Finally, he
looked up at Swain. 'You didn't know that, did you?' 'The part
about other worlds and other intelligent life? Ah, no.' 'I am dead,'
Selexin whispered, presumably to himself. Swain heard him clearly. 'Why?' he
asked innocently. 'Why are you dead? What is this Presidian?' Selexin
sighed in exasperation. He held his hands out, palms up. 'What do you
think it is?' he said sharply, barely concealing the condescension in
his voice. 'It is a competition. A battle. A contest. Seven
contestants enter the labyrinth and only one leaves. It is a fight to the
death.' He could see
the disbelief spread across Swain's face. Selexin threw up his hands. 'By the Gods,
you do not even understand what you are here for! Do you not see?' Selexin
slowed down for a moment, lowering his voice, trying desperately to control
himself. 'Let me
begin again. You have been chosen to represent your species in the ultimate
contest in the universe. A contest that dates back over six millennia, that
bases itself on a principle that goes light years beyond any notion of
"sport" that you could possibly imagine. That is the
Presidian. 'It is a
battle. A battle between hunters, athletes, warriors; creatures coming from
every corner of the universe, possessed of skill, courage and intelligence,
prepared to stake their very lives on their extraordinary talents — talents at
hunting, stalking and killing.' Selexin
shook his head. 'There is no
coming back from defeat in the Presidian. There is no return match. Defeat in
the Presidian is no loss of pride, it is loss of life. Every contestant
who enters the labyrinth accepts that in this contest the only alternative to
ultimate victory is certain death. 'It is quite
simple. Seven will enter. The best will win, the lesser will die. Until only
one remains.' The little man paused. 'If, of course, one does remain. 'There is no
place for the ordinary man in the Presidian. It is a contest for the extraordinary
— for those prepared to risk the ultimate to attain the ultimate. On Earth you
play games where you lose nothing in defeat. "Winning isn't
everything," you say. "It doesn't matter if you win or lose, but how
you played the game."' Selexin grunted disdainfully. 'If that is the case,
why should anyone even try to win? 'Winning is
devalued where defeat involves no loss, and humans are quite simply unable to
comprehend that idea. Just as they are unable to comprehend a contest like the
Presidian, where defeat means exactly that-losing everything.' The little
man looked Swain squarely in the eye. 'Winning is everything when you
have everything to lose.' The little
man laughed weakly. 'But your kind will never understand that…' Selexin
paused, dropping his head, withdrawing into himself. Swain just stood there,
entranced, staring in amazement at the little man before him. 'And that is
why I am dead,' Selexin looked up. 'Because my survival depends on your
survival. It is a highly prized honour to guide a contestant through the
Presidian — an honour bestowed upon my people since we are prevented by our
size from competing in the contest — but when one accepts that honour, one also
accepts the fate of his contestant. 'So when you
die, I die. And as I see it now,' he raised his voice, 'since you appear to
know absolutely nothing about the Presidian or anything it entails, I
would say quite confidently that at the moment our collective chances of
survival are approximately zero!' Selexin
looked Swain up and down. Sneakers, jeans, a loose-fitting shirt with the
sleeves rolled up, hair still slightly wet. He shook his head. 'Look at
you, you haven't even come prepared to fight!' He began to
pace, gesturing with his arms, despairing for his situation, until finally he
was totally indifferent to Swain and Holly's presence: 'Why me? Why this? Why
the human? Keeping in mind the distinguished history human participation
has had in the Presidian…' Swain
watched the little man pace back and forth in front of him. Holly just stared
at him. 'Hey,' Swain
said, stepping forward. Selexin continued to mutter to himself. 'Hey!' Selexin
stopped. He turned and stared at Swain. 'What?' he
said angrily. In his anger, the little man possessed a ferocity that belied his
size. Swain cocked
his head. 'Are you saying that humans have been in this thing before? In this
contest?' Selexin
sighed. 'Yes. Twice. In the last two Presidia, humans have participated.' 'And what
happened to them?' Selexin
laughed sadly. 'Both were the first to be eliminated. Neither one ever stood a
chance.' He cocked an eyebrow. 'Now I know why.' He looked
down at the wristwatch. It now read: INCOMPLETE—3 Swain said,
'And how exactly were they selected for this thing?' As Selexin
explained, but for one crucial modification, the process for human selection
for the Seventh Presidian was largely unchanged from that which had operated
for the two Presidia before it. Beings unable to accept the fact that other
lifeforms existed in the universe could hardly be expected to choose a
contestant of their own accord, let alone appreciate the concept of the
Presidian. After all,
humans had not even been considered for inclusion in any Presidian until two
thousand years ago — human development having been disappointingly slow. All six of
the other systems chose their own representatives for the millennial Presidian
either by holding a competition of their own or by choosing their greatest
sportsman, huntsman or warrior. Earth, on the other hand, would be surveyed for
some time, and from that surveillance, a worthy contestant would be chosen. 'Well, they
didn't look too hard this time,' Swain said. 'I've never picked a fight in my
life.' 'Oh, but—' 'I'm a doctor,'
Swain said. 'Do you know what a doctor is? I don't kill people. I—' 'I know what
a doctor is, and I know precisely what they do,' Selexin shot back. 'But you
have forgotten what I said earlier — one crucial modification was made
to the selection criteria this time. 'You see,
for the last two Presidia the choice of the human contestant was based largely
on combat skills, and combat skills alone. This was obviously a mistake. After
the dismal performance of those two human contestants, it was decided that
other, less obvious skills should be taken into account in the selection process
for this Presidian. 'Of course,
fighting skills would be necessary, but this time they would not be
conclusive. Now, from our observations of your planet, we could see that human
warriors were adept at using artificially propelled weapons — firearms,
missiles and the like. But such weapons are forbidden in the Presidian. Only self-propelled
weapons are allowed — throwing knives, bladed weapons. So, first of all, we
needed a human proven in hand-to-hand combat. Naturally, several warriors of
your race fulfilled this requirement. 'But other
skills were also deemed necessary, skills which are not often found in your
warrior types. High mental aptitude levels were a primary consideration — in
particular, the ability to respond to a crisis, objective rational thinking in
the face of the potentially bizarre, and most importantly, adaptive
intelligence.' 'Adaptive
intelligence?' 'Yes. The
ability to evaluate a scenario in an instant, take in all the immediately
available solutions, and then act. We often call this reactive thinking
— the ability to think clearly under pressure and use any available
means to solve one's problem. Based on our prior experience with humans, it was
anticipated that the human contestant would probably not be an offensive, proactive
contestant. Rather, he or she would be more defensive, reactive to a
situation of someone else's making. So a quick-thinking, adaptive personality
was required. You.' Swain shook
his head. He hardly thought of himself as a quick-thinking, adaptive personality.
He saw himself as a good doctor, but not brilliant. He knew of countless other
surgeons and physicians who were miles ahead of him in both knowledge and ability.
He was just good at what he did, but quick-thinking or adaptive? 'Make no
mistake, Contestant, your skills as a physician have been under scrutiny for
some time now. Clear, reactive thought, under intense pressure — have
you ever experienced that before?' 'Well, yes,
lots of times, but still… I mean, God, I've never been in combat—' 'Oh, but you
have,' Selexin said. 'Your selection was based on your response to a
life-threatening combat situation not so long ago, a situation that involved
multiple enemies.' Swain
thought about it. A life-threatening combat situation involving multiple
enemies. He wondered if college football counted as life-threatening. Christ,
it sounded like something that would be better suited to somebody in the army
or the police force. The police
force… That night… Swain
thought about that night one month ago in October, when the five heavily-armed
gang members had stormed the ER at St Luke's. He remembered his fight with the
two pistol-toting youths — remembered tackling the first one, then punching the
second one in his wrist, dislodging his gun — and then struggling with the
first one again — and falling to the floor in a heap — and then hearing the gun
discharge that final fatal shot. Life-threatening?
Definitely. Swain
suddenly realised that he was rubbing the cut on his lower lip. 'There is
another thing,' Selexin said, interrupting his thoughts. The little man lifted
his small white hand, offering the grey wristband to Swain. 'Take it,
put it on. You will need it. Especially if we are separated.' Swain took
the wristband but did not put it on. 'Now, wait just a minute. I haven't agreed
to be a part of this little show of yours yet—' Selexin
shook his head. 'You have not understood what I have been telling you. Your
selection for the Presidian has been finalised. You no longer have any choice
in the matter.' 'It doesn't seem
like I ever did.' 'Please,
just look at your wristband.' Swain looked
at the watch, at the display beneath the glowing green light. It read: INCOMPLETE—3 Selexin
said, 'See that number — three. Soon that number will reach seven. When it
does, we will know that all seven contestants have been teleported into the
labyrinth. Then the Presidian will begin.' He looked seriously at Swain. 'You
are here now, and whether you like it or not, you have become an integral part
of this contest.' Selexin
pointed at the wristband. 'And when that number hits "7" you will
become fair game for six other contestants who all have the same goal that you
have. To get out.' 'What's that
supposed to mean?' 'Remember
what I told you,' Selexin said. 'Seven enter, but only one leaves. The
labyrinth is completely electrified. There is absolutely no way out. Except by
teleport. And that is initialised only when one contestant remains in
the labyrinth. That is the exit from the labyrinth — and only the winner
leaves. If, of course, there is a winner.' Selexin
slowed down. 'Mr Swain, the other contestants, they don't care whether or not
you decide to accept your status as a contestant. They will kill you anyway.
Because they are all well aware that unless every contestant bar one is dead, no-one
leaves the labyrinth. The ultimate contest, Mr Swain.' Swain looked
at the little man in disbelief. He let out a slow breath through his nose. 'So
you're telling me that not only are we stuck in here, but that soon there will
be six other guys in here too, whose only way out is to make sure that I'm
dead.' 'Yes. That
is right.' 'Holy shit.' —––ooo0ooo——— Swain stood
in the stairwell, by the fire door leading to the study hall. Holly stood
behind him, holding onto his shirt tail. He looked at
the thick grey wristband now clasped firmly around his left wrist. It looked
like a manacle from the arm of an electric chair — thick and solid, and heavy
too. The little green light glowed while the display still read: INCOMPLETE—3 Swain turned
to Selexin, 'So there are only three of us in here now. Is that right?' 'Yes. That
is right.' 'Does that
mean that we can walk around safely now?' 'I do not
understand.' 'Well, not
everyone is in the labyrinth yet,' Swain said. 'So say I want to wander around
and have a look at this place — what happens if I bump into another contestant?
He can't kill me, can he? Not yet.' Selexin
said, 'No, he cannot. Combat of any kind between contestants is strictly
prohibited until all seven have entered the labyrinth. In any case, I
would advise you against "wandering about".' 'Why not, if
they can't hurt us, we can safely have a look around the library.' 'That is
true, but if you decide to wander, you do hazard the risk of being sequenced.' 'Sequenced?' 'Yes. If you
do happen to meet another contestant before all seven have been teleported into
the labyrinth, you can be assured that he — or she — cannot hurt you in any
way. You may converse with other contestants if you want to, or you may ignore
them completely.' Selexin spread his palms. 'Very simple.' Then he held
up a finger. 'However. If
you do meet another contestant, there is nothing to stop that contestant following
you until the remaining contestants have been teleported into the
labyrinth, and the Presidian has commenced. That is sequencing, and it has
proved to be a common tactic in previous Presidia. 'Another
contestant can quite rightfully walk two feet behind you for the whole time
until the Presidian commences and you cannot touch him — for just as he cannot hurt
you, you cannot hurt him either. And once the last contestant has been
teleported into the labyrinth and your wristband reads "7", well…'
Selexin shrugged. 'You had better be ready to fight.' 'Great,'
Swain said, frowning at the thick grey wristband clamped to his wrist. At that
moment, the display flickered. Swain was
momentarily startled. 'What's this?' Selexin
looked at the wristband. The display read: INCOMPLETE—3 Then it
vanished and the screen came up again, reading: INCOMPLETE—4 'What's that
mean?' Swain asked. 'It means,' Selexin said, 'that another contestant has
arrived in the labyrinth.' In the
atrium of the library, Officer Christine Parker sat behind the Information Desk
with her mouth agape and her eyes wide. She was
staring at the hulking seven-foot figure standing before her, in front of the
massive glass doors of the library. Parker
remembered how Hawkins had wandered off twenty minutes ago, looking for some
damned white light that he thought he had seen. She also remembered laughing
loudly when he'd told her about it. Now she
didn't feel like laughing. Moments ago,
she had seen a perfect sphere of brilliant white light appear in front of her.
It was fully ten feet in diameter and it lit up the whole cavernous space of
the atrium like an enormous light bulb. And then it
had vanished. Extinguished
in an instant. Gone. And now in
its place stood a figure that looked something like a man. A seven-foot-tall,
perfectly proportioned man — with broad muscular shoulders narrowing to an
equally muscular waist. A man clad
entirely in black. Parker
stared at him in awe. The streams
of soft blue light that filtered in through the great glass doors of the
library surrounded the tall black figure before her, creating a spectacular
silhouette, while at the same time highlighting one particularly distinguishing
feature of the man. The 'man'
had horns. Two long
beautifully tapered horns that protruded from both sides of his head, and then
stretched upwards so that they almost touched two feet above his head. He stood
absolutely still. Parker
thought he might have been a statue, but for the slow, rhythmic rise and fall
of his powerfully built chest. Parker's eyes searched the head for a face, but
with the light source behind him, all she could see beneath the two sharp
rising horns was an empty space of ominous black. But there
was something wrong with the silhouette. Something on
the man's shoulder that was not black, something that broke the perfect
symmetry of his body. It was a lump. A small white lump that seemed to slump
over his left shoulder. Parker
squinted in the darkness, tried to determine what the small lump was. She leaned
back in her seat, her eyes wide. It
looked like another man… A very small
man. Dressed completely in white— And then,
suddenly, there was light again. Sharp,
sudden, brilliant white light filled the atrium of the State Library.
Blinding spheres of light, four feet in diameter — half the size of the one she
had seen before — illuminated everything around Parker. Parker saw
two small spheres of light before her… then three… then four. Loose sheets of
paper began to blow about all around her, just as they had done before. She looked
beyond the swirling sheets of paper, trying to catch a glimpse of the tall man
in black. But amid the billowing pages and the blinding light, the horned man
remained completely still, impervious to distraction. And then, in
a flare of white, Parker saw the man's face. He was
staring at her. Straight
at her. It was
terrifying. Their eyes locked and a flood of adrenalin instantly rushed through
Parker's body. All she could see were deep blue eyes set against a harsh black
face. Eyes devoid of emotion. Eyes that simply stared. Stared right
at her. Sheets of
paper fluttered wildly around his unmoving frame and then— And then
abruptly, darkness again. The four
white spheres of light had vanished instantly. The wind stopped abruptly, and
all over the atrium, sheets of paper glided softly to the floor. Parker spun
to face the spot where one of the spheres had been— —only to see
something small scuttle away behind a nearby bookcase, its long black tail
lashing against the bottom shelf of the bookcase as it disappeared from view. An eerie
silence filled the atrium. The enormous
room was once again bathed in the soft blue light of the street lamps outside. Parker
looked back from the bookshelf, saw the carpet of loose paper spread out on the
floor before her. In the silence, she could hear herself breathing heavily. 'Salve,
moriturum es!' A voice — a
deep, baritone voice. Echoing
loudly in the atrium. Parker's
head snapped up. It had come from the silhouetted man. 'Salve,
moriturum es!' he repeated, loudly. His face was again masked by blackness,
shadowed by the blue light behind him. Parker couldn't even see his lips move. She heard
the words. Salve moriturum es. They sounded vaguely familiar, like
something she had learned at school, something that she had long since
forgotten… The big man
took a step toward her. A glint of gold flashed off his dark shadowed chest. Now she
could see the small white lump on his shoulder quite clearly. It was a man all
right, a small man, held in a fireman's carry over the horned man's shoulder.
The little man groaned as the tall horned man moved toward the Information
Desk. Behind the
counter of the desk, Parker leaned back, and slowly — silently — eased her
Glock 20 semi-automatic pistol from its holster. The tall man
spoke. 'Greetings,
fellow competitor. Before you stands Bellos. Great-grandson of Trome, the
winner of the Fifth Presidian. And like his great-grandfather and two Malonians
before him, Bellos shall emerge from this battle alone, conquered by none and
not undone by the Karanadon. Who be'st thou, my worthy and yet unfortunate
opponent?' There was
silence as the man waited for an answer. Parker heard
a soft, insistent scraping sound from the bookshelves to her left. It sounded
like long fingernails moving quickly back and forth on a blackboard. She turned
back to face him. The man —
Bellos — was looking at her, examining her, up and down, right and left. Parker
swallowed. 'I don't—' 'Where is
your guide?' the deep baritone voice suddenly interjected. A demand, not a
question. 'My guide?'
Parker's face displayed her incomprehension. 'Yes,'
Bellos said. 'Your guide. How will you confirm any conquest without a guide?' Beneath the
counter, Parker's hand gripped her gun tightly. 'I have no guide,' she said
coolly. The big man
cocked his head, his sharp horns tilting to the side. Parker watched him
carefully as he pondered over her comment for a moment. He glanced down at the
large metal band attached to his wrist. It had a green light on it… The scraping
sound behind the bookshelf got faster, more intense. Impatient. Bellos
looked up from his wristband and levelled his eyes at Parker. 'You are not
a contestant in the Presidian, are you?' He looked at
the wide atrium around him, at the bookshelves to his left and right. Then he
looked back at Parker, a glint of menace in his eyes. 'Good,'
Bellos said, smiling. 'Kataya!' The attack
came from Parker's left. From the bookshelves. The creature
sprang forward, leaping at the counter of the Information Desk with frightening
speed. It hit the counter hard, grabbing the edge with two vicious-looking
foreclaws, baring twin rows of long, razor-sharp teeth, squealing a loud
reptilian squeal. Parker
reeled back in horror, staring in shocked disbelief at the creature before her. It was the
size of a large dog, about four feet tall, with hard scaly skin that was
gunmetal black in colour. It had four bony-but-muscular limbs and a long, black
scaled tail that slithered madly behind its body. Stunned,
Parker just stared at the creature as it struggled to climb over the counter. Supported by
a thin black neck, its head was totally bizarre. Two lifeless black eyes sat on
either side of a round black skull, whose sole purpose it seemed was to
accommodate the creature's enormous jaws. The creature
lashed out at Parker, clamping its pointed teeth down in front of her. Parker
pulled back from the counter, away from the creature, raised her gun— —and then in
a strange, flashing instant she saw the creature's limbs on the counter. It was not
struggling to climb over the counter anymore — it was already there. It lashed
out at her again. Missed again. Parker was
momentarily startled. It wasn't
even trying to get her. It was as if this creature were merely trying to
keep her attention… It was then
that a second creature hit her from the side. Knocking the wind out of her,
jolting the pistol from her hand. Parker
stumbled from the impact, catching a split-second glimpse of what had hit her —
another creature, identical to the first. A third
creature charged her from behind, pitching her forward, face-first onto the
ground. Parker rolled quickly onto her back and suddenly felt a heavy weight
slam down onto her chest. A loud
reptilian squeal pierced her ears as two rows of long jagged teeth opened wide
in front of her eyes. It was
standing on top of her! Parker
screamed as the creature slashed its long fore-claw across her stomach and
ducked its head. And as she
lay on the floor, helpless to resist the slicing of the creatures' sharp teeth
as ail four of them began to feed on her belly, Officer Christine Parker
suddenly remembered — quite irrationally — what the words 'Salve moriturum
es' meant. They were
Latin words — words similar to those spoken by Roman gladiators when they were
presented to the cheering crowd before combat — 'We who are about to die,
salute you'. However, as
Parker sank to the floor, her strength fading, and the weight of the four
creatures now pressing down heavily on her body, she realised that Bellos had
changed the words slightly, changing the meaning. 'Salve
moriturum es' meant: 'I salute you, you who are about
to die.' —––ooo0ooo——— 'I am not
sure this is such a good idea,' Selexin said as he followed Swain and Holly
through the fire door into the stairwell. Swain peered
down into the shaft, ignoring Selexin. Holly, however, turned to face the
little man. 'If you're
from another planet,' she said, 'how come you speak English so well?' Selexin
said, 'My native tongue is based on an alphabet comprised of seven hundred and
sixty-two distinct symbols. With only twenty-six base letters to choose from,
your language is exceedingly simple to learn apart from the dreadful idioms.' 'Oh.' Swain
continued to stare down the shaft. 'I was
saying,' Selexin repeated for him, 'that I am not sure this is a very good
idea. The chances of sequencing increase as more contestants enter the
labyrinth.' Swain was
silent for a long moment. 'You're
probably right,' he said, looking down into the dark shaft. Then he turned to
face Selexin. 'But then again, if I'm going to be running for my life in this
place, I don't want to be doing it in rooms and corridors that I don't know. At
least if we look around, we might get to know where we can and can't run if we
are followed. I sure as hell don't want to run into a dead end with some
half-cocked killer behind me. And besides,' he shrugged, 'we might even find
somewhere to hole up if we have to.' 'Hole up?' 'Yes, hole
up. Hide,' Swain said. 'You know, escape. Maybe even just stay in the one place
until everybody else has killed each other.' 'That is
improbable,' Selexin said. 'Why is it
improbable? Surely it must be the best way to survive this whole damn thing. We
just hide away somewhere, let the others do the fighting and maybe they'll…' Selexin
wasn't listening. He was just standing there, staring at Swain, waiting for him
to stop talking. Swain said,
'What? What is it?' Selexin cocked
his head to one side. 'If you remember what I told you before, you will
understand.' 'What? What
did you tell me before?' 'As I have
said from the beginning, only one contestant leaves the labyrinth. And if not
one, none.' Swain
nodded. 'I remember. But how can that happen? If only one contestant is left in
the maze, he's safe to find the exit and leave, because there's nothing left to
kill him…' Selexin did
not answer. Swain
sighed, '… unless there's something else in here.' Selexin
nodded. 'That is right,' he said. 'The third element of the Presidian.' 'The third
element?' Selexin
stepped back into the study hall and sat down at one of the L-shaped desks.
Swain and Holly followed. 'Yes, an
outside agent. A variable. Something that is capable of altering the conditions
of combat instantly. Something that can turn victory into defeat, life into
death. In the Presidian, the third element is a beast, a beast known throughout
the galaxy as the Karanadon.' Swain was
silent. 'It is a
most powerful beast, like no other,' Selexin said. 'As tall as the ceiling, as
broad as three men, and as strong as twenty — and its considerable strength is
only matched by its unbridled aggression—' 'Okay,
okay,' Swain said, 'I think I get the picture. This thing, it's in here too,
right? Trapped inside, like the rest of us?' 'Yes.' 'So what
does it do? Does it just wander around killing whoever it pleases?' Selexin
said, 'Well, for one thing, it does not just wander around…' Swain let
out a breath in relief. '… all of
the time.' Swain
groaned. 'But if you
will just look at your wristband for a moment,' Selexin said, 'I will explain
everything.' Swain looked
down at the heavy grey band on his wrist. The display still read: INCOMPLETE—4 'You will
remember,' Selexin said, 'that when I gave you your wristband, I told you it
would be of vital importance to you, yes? Well, it is more than that. Without
it, you will not survive the Presidian. 'Your
wristband serves many purposes, one of which is to identify you as a contestant
in the Presidian. For example, you cannot win the Presidian unless you are
wearing your wristband — you will simply be denied entry into the exit-teleport
when it is opened. In the same way, other contestants will know that you are
competing in the Presidian because they will see your wristband. This will
protect you in the time before the Presidian commences — but it will also tell
others that you are still a competitor who must be eliminated. 'However, in
addition to this, your wristband provides several other, more important
functions. First of all, as you have no doubt already noticed, there is a
glowing green light on it. That light answers your previous question: no — the
Karanadon does not just "wander" around. The green light you see
indicates that the beast is at present dormant, nesting somewhere within the
labyrinth. Or more simply, asleep. Wherefore, movement throughout the labyrinth
is, at least for the moment, uninhibited by the Karanadon. Hence the green
light.' 'The band
can tell when it's asleep?' Swain said doubtfully. 'It is done
through a device, surgically implanted in the beast's larynx, that
electronically measures its rate of respiration. Respiration below a certain
rate indicates sleep, respiration above — animation. That device, however, also
provides some degree of control over the beast. It can, at official command,
either secrete a sedative that will put the beast to sleep or inject a hormone
that will rouse it immediately.' 'When would
that happen?' Swain asked. 'When would you want it to wake up?' 'Why, when
there is only one contestant left, of course,' Selexin said. 'Perhaps I can
explain this another way. There have been six previous Presidia. Three have
been won by Malonians, one by a Konda, and one by a Crisean.' 'Okay.' Selexin
stared at Swain. 'Well, that's it. That's the point.' 'What's the
point?' 'There have
been six Presidia, while there have been only five winners,' Selexin said. The little
man sighed. 'That is what I am trying to tell you. There may be no winner
in the Presidian — unless one is worthy, none are worthy. There was no winner
in the last Presidian, because the Karanadon killed all of the final three
contestants when they happened upon its nest during combat. In the space of two
minutes, the Presidian was over, due solely to the beast.' 'Oh.' Selexin went
on: 'And, as has always been the case, when only one contestant remains, and
the exit-teleport to the labyrinth has been opened, the Karanadon is roused.
One may choose to avoid it and search the labyrinth for the exit. Or one might
attempt to kill it if he dares.' Swain said,
'And has anybody ever done that before? Killed one?' Selexin
looked at Swain as though he had asked the most stupid question in the world. 'In a
Presidian? No. Never. Not ever.' There was a short pause. Selexin moved on.
'But, anyway, as you will hopefully live to see later, when the beast is awake,
the red light on your wristband will ignite.' 'Uh-huh. And
this beast, this Karanadon, it was teleported into the library at the same time
I was?' 'No,'
Selexin said, 'the Karanadon is traditionally teleported into the labyrinth at
least a day before the Presidian is to commence. But that does not really
matter, because it would have been asleep all that time. Unless, of course, it
was aroused. But that is unlikely.' 'I have one
more question,' Swain said. 'Yes?' 'What if
someone got out of this maze of yours? Now I know you think it can't happen,
but what if it did? What happens then?' 'You credit
me with a faith I do not possess. No, I accept your question quite easily,
because it can happen. In fact, it has happened. Contestants have been
known to be ejected from the labyrinth, either by design or by simple
accident.' 'So what
happens?' 'Again, it
is your wristband that governs this situation,' Selexin said. 'As you know, an
electric field covers this labyrinth. Your wristband operates in accordance
with that field. If for some reason your wristband detects that it is no longer
surrounded by the electric field, it automatically sets a timer for self-detonation.' 'A timer for
self-detonation,' Swain said. 'You mean it explodes?' 'Not
instantly. There is a time limit. You are allowed fifteen min—' 'Jesus
Christ! You put a goddamn bomb on my wrist! Why didn't you tell me that
before!' Swain couldn't believe it. It was incredible. He began to fiddle
hurriedly with the wristband, trying to get it off. 'It won't
come off,' Selexin said calmly. 'It can't come off, you waste your time
even trying.' 'Shit,'
Swain muttered, still grabbing at the solid metal band. 'Language,'
Holly said, waving an admonishing finger at Swain. 'As I was
saying,' Selexin said, 'if by some chance you are expelled from the labyrinth,
you will have fifteen minutes to re-enter it. Otherwise, detonation will
occur.' He looked
sadly at Swain, still fiddling with the wristband. Finally Swain gave up. 'You needn't
worry,' Selexin said. 'Detonation will only occur upon expulsion from the
labyrinth, and as I admit that it has happened before, I also add that it has
not happened often. No-one gets out. Mr Swain, you must see now that whichever
way you go there remains but one answer. Unless you leave this contest as the
victor, you do not leave at all.' —––ooo0ooo——— Hawkins
stood at the base of the stairwell, the beam of his flashlight the only light.
There were no more stairs going down from here. Nothing but concrete walls and
a large fire door that read: sub-level 2. Must
be the bottom. Hawkins
moved cautiously over to the fire door. The handle turned easily and he slid
the door open. He peered around the doorframe and instantly felt a rush of bile
rise up the back of his throat. He turned back into the stairwell and vomited. Several
moments later, wiping his mouth and coughing to clear his throat, Hawkins
looked back out through the doorway. Aisles of
bookcases stretched endlessly away from him, disappearing into darkness, beyond
the reach of the mouldy overhead lights. But it was the aisle directly in front
of him that seized his immediate attention. The
bookshelf to his left — twelve feet high and twenty feet long — had been
wrenched free from its ceiling mounts and was now leaning backwards against the
bookcase in the aisle behind it. Like two enormous dominoes: one upright,
holding up its fallen neighbour. The opposite
bookshelf — to Hawkins' right — remained upright. It simply had a gaping hole
of splintered wood bored through its core. For some reason, books littered the
aisle behind it, as though, Hawkins thought, something had — well — something
had been hurled right through this bookshelf… And then
there was the aisle in between. The flat
pool of blood that filled the aisle had dried somewhat in the past twenty-four
hours, but the stench still remained. Of course,
the body had been removed, but as Hawkins noticed, the sheer amount of blood
was staggering. It lay everywhere — on the floor, on the ceiling, spattered all
over the stairwell door. Those books that had remained on the shelves had been
sprayed with flying blood. Those that had fallen to the floor had simply
changed colour. They were maroon. Hawkins
swallowed as he saw the trail of smeared blood that stained the floor around
the shelf with the hole in it. It looked as if someone had been dragged around
the shelf, back into the original aisle. By New York
Police Department standards, Paul Hawkins was young. Twenty-four. And his
youth, combined with his relative inexperience, had made him the obvious choice
for baby-sit assignments like this one. Domestic violence protection,
post-trauma custody, that sort of thing. He'd seen battered wives and beaten-up
teenagers, but in sixteen months of duty, Paul Hawkins had never seen a murder
scene. He felt it
odd that the first thing that struck him about the scene was how the movies got
it all wrong. Even the most violent film could never successfully achieve the
sheer ugliness of a murder scene. This was it, he thought, as he stared
at the wide pool of dried blood before him. It was ugly.
Dirty and crude and brutal. Hawkins wanted to be sick again. He looked up
at the endless rows of bookshelves that lined Sub-Level Two. Someone
— something — is down here. He lifted
his flashlight. And then slowly, cautiously, he ventured out into the aisles. 'Daddy,'
Holly said, following her father into the stairwell. 'In a
second, honey,' Swain turned to Selexin. 'Are you sure there isn't anything
else you should tell me about before we go any further? No more exploding
devices?' 'Daddy.' Selexin
said, 'Well, there is one thing—' 'Daddee!' Swain
stopped. 'What is it, honey?' Holly held
up the telephone receiver, giving her most winning smile. 'It's for you.' Swain bent
down and took the dead phone. He spoke into it while looking at Holly. 'Hello?
Oh hi, how are you? — Yeah? — Is that so? — Well, I'm kinda busy at the moment.
Can I call you back? Great. Bye.' He gave the phone back to Holly. Satisfied,
she grabbed Swain's hand and fell back into step with him and the egg man. Selexin
spoke quietly, 'Your daughter is really quite charming.' 'Thanks,'
Swain said. 'But she
provides far more risks to your safety than you should be willing to
accommodate.' 'What?' 'I am merely
suggesting that you might be better off without her,' Selexin said. 'It might
be wise for her to "hole up", as you say. Hide for the duration of
the Presidian. If you survive, you will be able to come back for her. If, of
course, you care for her that much.' 'Which I
do.' 'And
likewise,' Selexin went on, 'if you are defeated, she will not also be killed.
In any case, to what efficiency can you aspire if you are defending her life as
well as your own? An act to prevent her from injury might—' 'Might
jeopardise my own life,' Swain said, 'and therefore jeopardise yours. This is
my daughter. Where I go, she goes. Not negotiable.' Selexin took
a gentle step back. 'And another
thing,' Swain said, 'if something does happen and we are separated, I expect you
to look after her. Not to hole her up and hope nobody stumbles onto her,
but to make sure that nothing — nothing — happens to her. Do you
understand?' Selexin
bowed. 'I have been at error and I apologise with all my heart. I was unaware
of your attachment to your child. In as much as I can, I will do my utmost to
serve your wishes should such an eventuality occur.' 'Thank you.
I appreciate that,' Swain said, nodding. 'Now, you were saying there was something
else. Something I should know about.' 'Yes,'
Selexin regathered himself. 'It pertains to combat, or rather, the end of any
fighting. Whenever any contestant defeats another — either in combat or ambush
or otherwise — the conquest must be confirmed.' 'Okay.' 'And that is
my purpose,' Selexin said. 'You confirm
a kill? Like a witness?' Swain asked. 'Not
exactly. I am not the witness. But I do provide the window for the
witness.' 'Window?' Selexin
stopped on the steps. He turned to Swain. 'Yes. And only
at your command can the window be initialised. If you would be so kind, would
you please say the word "Initialise".' Swain cocked
his head. 'Initialise? Why—' And then it
happened. A small sphere of brilliant white light — perhaps a foot in diameter
— burst to life above Selexin's white skull cap, illuminating the entire
stairwell around them. 'What is
it?' Swain asked. 'It's coming
from the egg—' Holly marvelled. Selexin
looked at Holly, somewhat surprised. 'Yes. You are correct. My rather
odd-looking hat is the source of this teleport, small as it is. If you will, Mr
Swain, please say "Cancel" lest my superiors believe you actually
have killed somebody.' 'Oh, okay.
Ah… cancel.' The light
disappeared instantly. 'You say
it's a teleport. Like before?' Swain asked. 'Yes,'
Selexin said, 'exactly the same as before — simply a hole in the air. Only
much, much smaller, of course. There is merely another official like myself who
is watching at the other end of this teleport. He is your witness.' Swain looked
at the white skull cap on Selexin's head. 'And it comes from that?' 'Yes.' 'Uh-huh,'
Swain said, continuing down the stairs. Selexin
followed in silence. Finally he said, 'If I may be so bold as to inquire, where
are we going?' 'Down,'
Holly said, shaking her head. 'Derrr.' Selexin
frowned, puzzled. Swain
shrugged. 'Like the lady said, down.' He gave
Holly a quick wink — masking his own very real fear — and she grinned back at
him, reassured by the almost conspiratorial nature of the gesture. They
continued down the stairs. —––ooo0ooo——— The
switchboard operator stared at the panel before her in stunned disbelief. When
is this going to stop? she thought. On the
switch in front of her, two rows of incessant flashing lights indicated that
there were a hell of a lot of phone calls waiting to be answered. She took a
deep breath and pressed the flashing square that read '9', and began: 'Good
evening, Con Edison Customer Service Line, my name is Sandy. How may I help
you?' Her headset
rattled with the tinny voice of yet another disgruntled New Yorker. When
finally it stopped, she punched the code — 401 — into her computer console. That made
fourteen in the last hour, on her panel alone. All coming from inside grid
two-twelve — central Manhattan. A 401 —
power out due to a probable short in the electrical main. The switchboard
operator looked at the words on her computer screen: 'Probable short in the
electrical main'. Electronically, she didn't know what a short in the main
meant nor how it was caused. She simply knew all the symptoms of power cuts and
failures and, in much the same way as a doctor identifies an illness, all she
did was add up the symptoms and identify the problem. To know how it was caused
was someone else's job. She
shrugged, leaned forward and pressed the next flashing square, ready to face
the next complaint. The lowest
floor of the New York State Library is called the 'Stack'. It contains no
toilets, no offices, no desks, and no computers. In fact, the Stack holds
nothing but books, lots and lots of books. Like other
large libraries, the State Library of New York is less a borrowing library than
it is an information library — chiefly computers, Internet, microfilm and
CD-ROMs. As far as
actual books are concerned, only the more recent and popular are on display on
the Ground Floor. If patrons seek other books, then they are to be found — by
staff only — in the Stack, Sub-Level Two. Wherefore,
the Stack acts as little more than a holding pen for several million books. Lots
of books. In lots of bookshelves. And these bookshelves are
arranged in a vast rectangular grid formation. Twenty-two
long rows of bookshelves stretch the length of the floor, while horizontal
passageways cut across these longer rows at intervals of twenty feet — creating
an enormous maze of right-angled twists and turns, blind corners, and long
straight aisles that stretch away into infinity. An
enormous maze, thought NYPD Officer Paul Hawkins as he wandered
through the Stack. Wonderful. Hawkins had
been wandering through the dusty aisles for several minutes now and had so far
found nothing. Damn
it, he thought, as he turned back for the stairwe— A soft
noise. From off to
the right. Hawkins'
hand whipped to the automatic by his side. He listened intently. There it was
again. A low,
rasping sound. Not
breathing, he thought. No. More like… sliding. Like a broom sweeping
slowly over a rough wooden floor. Like something sliding along the dusty
floor of Sub-Level Two. Hawkins drew
his gun and listened again. It was definitely coming from the right, from
somewhere within the maze of bookshelves around him. He swallowed. There's
someone in here. He grabbed
the radio on his belt. 'Parker!' he
hissed. 'Parker! Do you copy?' No answer. Jesus. 'Parker,
where are you?' Hawkins
switched off the radio and turned to look back at the receding rows of
bookshelves before him. He pursed his lips for a moment. Then he
lifted his gun and ventured out into the maze. Gun in hand,
Hawkins quietly zigzagged his way between the bookshelves, moving quickly and
easily, searching for the source of the sound. He came to a
halt at the base of a bookcase full of dusty hardcovers. Held his breath for a
moment. Waited… There. His eyes
snapped left. There it was
again. The sweeping sound. It was
getting louder — he must be getting closer. Hawkins
darted left, then right, then left again — moving smoothly in and out of the
aisles, stopping every few metres at the flat end of a bookcase. It was
disorienting, he thought. Every aisle looked the same as the one before it. He stopped
again. Listened. Again, he
heard the soft brushing sound. Like a broom on a dusty wooden floor. Only louder
now. Close. Very, very
close. Hawkins
hurried on along a passageway that cut across the long vertical aisles of the
Stack until suddenly he was confronted by a wall of bookshelves — a solid wall
of bookshelves that seemed to stretch away into darkness in both directions. A
wall? Hawkins thought. He must be at the edge of the floor — at one of
the long sides of the enormous rectangle. The sound
came again. Only this
time, it came from… behind him. Hawkins
spun, raised his gun. What
the hell—? Had it turned? Cautiously,
he edged his way down the alleyway of books. The aisle
closed in around him. The nearest cross-passageway branched away to his right —
there was nothing but the unbroken wall of bookshelves to his left — about
twenty feet away. It was cloaked in shadow. Hawkins
stepped forward slowly. The passageway came fully into view. It was
different. It wasn't a
T-junction, like the last one. More like an L-shape. Hawkins
frowned, and then he realised. It was a corner — the very corner of the floor.
He hadn't realised that he'd come this far from the stairwell at the centre. Listening. Nothing. He came to
the L-junction and listened again. There was no sound. Whatever it
was, it was gone now. And then
Hawkins began to think. He'd followed the sound, the source of which had
presumably been unaware of his presence. But its last few movements had been
odd. It was as
though whoever it was had lost direction and had started circling… Circling,
Hawkins thought. No-one would
consciously go in a circle, would they, unless they were lost or… or unless
they knew someone was following them. Hawkins'
blood went completely cold. Whoever it was, it wasn't just circling. It
was doubling back. It
knew he was here. Hawkins spun
to face the long aisle behind him, jamming his back into the corner shelving. Nothing. 'Damn it!'
he could feel the beads of cold sweat forming on his forehead. 'Damn it, shit!' He couldn't
believe it. He'd walked right into a corner. A goddamn corner! Two options —
straight or left. Shit, he thought, at least among the bookshelves he'd have
had four. Now he was trapped. And then
suddenly he saw it. Off to the
left, moving slowly and carefully, out into the passageway. Hawkins'
eyes widened. 'Holy
shit.' It looked
like nothing he had ever seen before. Big and
long, but low to the ground like an alligator, the creature looked almost
dinosaurian — with black-green pebbled skin, four powerful stubby limbs and a
long, thick counterbalancing tail. Its head was
truly odd. No eyes, and — seemingly — no mouth. The only distinguishing
feature: a pair of long spindly antennae that jutted up from its forehead and
clocked rhythmically from side to side. It was
twenty feet away from Hawkins when the tip of its tail finally came into view.
The tail itself must have been eight feet long, and it slid across the floor in
long, slow arcs, creating the soft sweeping sound. Hawkins saw that the tail
tapered sharply to a point at its tip. The whole animal must have been at least
fourteen feet long. Hawkins
blinked. For an instant there, behind the tail, he thought he caught a glimpse
of a man, a small man, dressed completely in white— And then the
creature's head eased slowly upward— the folds of its skin peeling back to
reveal a hideous four-sided jaw that opened with a soft, lethal hiss. Four rows
of hideously jagged, saliva-covered teeth appeared. 'Jesus Christ,'
Hawkins stared at the creature. It moved
forward. Toward
him. One of the
animal's forelegs caught his attention. A green light glowed from a thick grey
band strapped to the creature's left forelimb. It was close
now — its jaws wide, salivating wildly, dripping goo all over the floor.
Hawkins' eyes were locked on the swaying antennae on its head, clocking from
side to side like a pair of metronomes. It was three
feet away… Two feet… Hawkins
tensed to run, but for some terrifying reason, his legs wouldn't move. He tried
to raise his gun, but couldn't — it was as if every muscle in his body had gone
completely, instantly limp. He watched helplessly as, to his horror, his gun
slipped from his unresponsive hand and dropped loudly to the floor. The antennae
kept swaying. One foot… Hawkins was
sweating profusely, breathing in short, rapid breaths. He just couldn't take
his eyes off them. The antennae. They seemed to move in perfect rhythm, swaying
in smooth hypnotic circles… He watched —
completely defenceless — as the creature's sinister-looking head came slowly up
to his knee. Ohshit.
Ohshit. Ohshit. And then,
suddenly, unexpectedly, like a cobra coiling up off the ground, the creature's
long, pointed, eight-foot tail lifted off the floor and swung forward — over
its low reptilian body — so that now it was pointing forward, arcing
over its frame like a scorpion's stinger, the tip of the tail pointing right
at the bridge of Paul Hawkins' nose. Hawkins saw
it happen and his terror hit fever pitch. He desperately wanted to shut his
eyes, so he wouldn't see it happen, but he couldn't even do that— 'Hey!' The
creature's head snapped left. And in an
instant, the trance was broken and Hawkins could move again. He looked up and
saw… … a man. A man,
standing a short way down the aisle. Hawkins hadn't even seen him approach.
Hadn't even heard him. Hawkins took in the man's appearance. He had wet hair,
and was wearing jeans and sneakers and a white shirt that hung out at the
waist. The man
spoke to Hawkins. 'Come over
here. Now.' Hawkins
looked down warily at the big alligator-like creature at his feet. It ignored
him completely, simply faced the man in jeans, its body dead still. If it had
eyes, Hawkins thought, it was definitely glaring at him. A low rumbling
noise rose threateningly from the back of its throat. Hawkins glanced
back questioningly at the man. The man just kept his eyes levelled at him. 'Come on,'
the man said calmly, eyes unmoving. 'Just leave the gun there and walk very
slowly over to me.' Tentatively,
Hawkins took a step forward. The creature
at his knee didn't move. It remained steadfastly focused on the man in jeans. The man
pushed Hawkins behind him and slowly stepped backwards, away from the creature. Hawkins
looked down the aisle behind them and saw two figures standing maybe forty feet
away — a small one in white, and another, equally small, who looked like… he
squinted… like a little girl. 'Move,'
Swain said, pushing Hawkins down the aisle, his back to him. Swain kept
his eyes up, focused on the bookshelves, away from the creature's
swaying antennae, watching it only out of his peripheral vision. The two men
stepped slowly down the aisle, away from the frozen creature. And then
suddenly it began to follow them, moving around the corner in a darting
crab-like manner that belied its size. Then it stopped. Swain pushed
Hawkins further down the aisle. 'Keep moving. Just keep moving.' 'What the—' 'Just move.' Swain was
walking backwards, still facing the creature. Again it made a darting,
scuttling movement ten feet forward, and then stopped again, well short of
Hawkins and himself It's
being cautious, he thought. And then it
charged. 'Oh, shit!' The large
animal bounded down the narrow confines of the aisle. Swain looked
frantically for somewhere to run. But he was still ten feet away from the
nearest passageway into the maze of bookshelves. There was
nowhere to go! Swain braced
himself, the ground beneath him vibrating under the thumping weight of the
fast-approaching creature. Christ, it must weigh nearly four hundred pounds. Hawkins
turned. He saw it over Swain's shoulder. 'Holy Christ…' Swain just
stood there, feet spread wide, taking up the whole aisle. The creature
kept coming. It wasn't stopping. 'It's not
stopping!' Hawkins yelled. 'It
has to!' Swain called. 'It has to stop!' The creature
bounded forward, bearing down on Swain like a runaway freight train, until
abruptly, three feet short of him, it reared on its hind legs and clasped the
bookcases on either side of it with its clawed fore-limbs, bringing it to a
sudden, lunging stop. The
four-sided jaw stopped just inches away from Swain's unmoving face. The creature
hissed fiercely, challenging him. Its saliva dripped down onto the floor in
front of his shoes. Swain
averted his gaze, stared at a nearby bookshelf, keeping his eyes off the
animal's oscillating antennae. The horrifying alligator-like creature, now
standing up on its hind legs, towered over him, looming above him like
an evil apparition. Swain wagged
an admonishing finger at the infuriated animal: 'Ah-ah-ah. No touching.' And he began
to walk backwards again, pushing Hawkins. Hawkins
stumbled down the aisle, looking back over his shoulder every few seconds. This
time the creature didn't follow them, at least not immediately. They reached
the little white man and the girl, and were a good thirty feet from the
creature when it began moving toward them again. The little
man spoke: 'Sequencing! She's sequencing! ' The man in
the loose-fitting shirt and jeans looked at Hawkins, standing there in his
well-pressed police uniform. 'We don't
have time to talk right now, but my name is Stephen Swain, and at the moment
we're all in big trouble. You ready to run?' Hawkins
answered without thinking. 'Yuh-huh.' Swain looked
back down the aisle at the large dinosaur-like creature. Twenty feet. He picked
up Holly. 'You know
the way back to the stairwell?' he asked Hawkins. The young
cop nodded. 'Then you
lead the way. Just keep zig-zagging. We'll be right behind you.' He turned to
the others. 'You two ready?' They nodded. 'Okay then, let's move.' Hawkins
broke into a run, the others close behind him. With a great
lunge, the creature leapt forward in pursuit. Swain
brought up the rear, carrying Holly on his hip. He could hear the pounding of
the great weight on the floor behind him. The
stairs. The stairs. Got to reach the stairs. Left, right,
left, right. He could see
the cop weaving up ahead, and then finally, beyond the policeman, he saw the
central stairwell block. But he couldn't see the doorway. They were
coming from the wrong side. 'Daddy! It's
catching up!' Holly yelled from his shoulder. He looked
behind him. The creature
was indeed closing in on them — a giant black-green monster galloping down the
narrow aisle with its salivating jaws bared wide. Swain wasn't
worried for himself. Selexin had been right about that. Whatever it was, it was
another contestant, and it couldn't touch him. Not yet. Not until that number
on his watch read '7'. But
if it got Holly… He saw the
cop round the central stairwell block up ahead, then Selexin. Swain rounded the
concrete block last of all, panting hard. The
door! He saw
Selexin duck inside it, and then the policeman appeared in the doorway, his
hand outstretched. 'Come on!'
he was yelling. Swain heard
the creature slide around the corner behind him. He kept
running, kept holding Holly to his chest. He was breathing very heavily now. He
was sure he was running too slowly. He could hear the creature's snorting
grunts close behind him. Any second now it would be all over him, ready to
pluck his daughter — the only family he had left — right from his very arms… 'Come
on!' Hawkins called again. Behind him,
Swain heard the creature's tail slam against a bookcase, heard the sound of
books crashing to the floor. Then suddenly, he was at the door and he reached
for Hawkins' outstretched arms and Hawkins grabbed his hand and hurled him and
Holly inside the stairwell just as Selexin slammed the door shut behind them. Selexin
turned, breathless, exhilarated. 'We made it—' Bang! The door
behind him shuddered violently. Swain lifted
himself up from the floor, gasping for air. 'Come on.' They were a
whole floor up the stairwell when they heard the door to Sub-Level Two bang
open with a loud bone-jarring crack! —––ooo0ooo——— INCOMPLETE—6 Swain
frowned at the wristband. He'd missed the arrival of the last two contestants.
Now there was no knowing when the next — and last — contestant would enter the
library. No knowing
when the Presidian would begin. The group
had left the stairwell and were now hiding in an office on Sub-Level One. Like all
the others around it, this office was partitioned by waist-high wood panelling
with glass reaching the rest of the way up to the ceiling. Everyone was careful
to stay low, out of sight, below the glass. Swain had
found a directory of the library attached to the wall of the stairwell and
wrenched it free. He was looking at it now while Selexin sat behind the desk,
quietly explaining their situation to Hawkins. Holly was sitting on the floor
nestled up to Swain, holding him tightly, sucking her thumb. She was still a
little shell-shocked by their close encounter with the big creature downstairs. The
directory showed a cross-section of the library. Six floors —
four above ground, two below — each a different colour. The two sub-levels
below the Ground Floor were both shaded grey and stamped with the label NO public access. The others were brightly
coloured: THIRD FLOOR — STUDY HALL SECOND FLOOR — READING ROOMS,
FUNCTION ROOMS, COMPUTER SERVICES FIRST FLOOR — ON-LINE SERVICES,
CD-ROMS, COPIERS, MICROFILM GROUND FLOOR — CATALOGUES, CD-ROMS, REFERENCE Swain
remembered the study hall on the top floor with its odd-looking desks. He tried
to memorise the rest. Small blue squares picturing a stick-man and woman
indicated toilets on every other floor. Another blue square, with a car
pictured in it, was tacked to the edge of Sub-Level One. The parking lot. He checked
his wristband again. INCOMPLETE—6 Still '6'.
Good. He looked
over at Selexin and the policeman, and shook his head in wonder. That young
cop was lucky to be alive. It had been only blind luck that had led Swain to
his rescue — the instant when he, Holly and Selexin had been descending the
stairs and seen a long shadow stretch out onto the landing below them. They had
watched from the shadows above as the creature — Selexin said its name was
Reese — stepped slowly into view, accompanied by its guide. It stopped on the
landing, seemed to examine the floor with its snub dinosaur-like snout, and
then peered down the stairwell. Then it had
slithered quickly down the stairs. Something
had caught its attention. Curious,
they had then followed it down into the Stack and seen it weave purposefully in
and out of the bookshelves for several minutes — stalking something, leading it
on. It was only at the last moment that Swain had ventured out into the
furthermost aisle to actually see Reese's quarry — a lone policeman, trapped in
the corner. He'd moved
instantly — stopping only for a piece of last-minute advice from Selexin: avoid
all eye contact with Reese's antennae. And so they
had met Hawkins. Swain turned
to Selexin. 'Tell me more about Reese.' 'Reese?'
Selexin said. 'Well, for one thing, Reese is, in human terms, female. Her tail
tapers sharply to a point, like a spear. Males of her species possess only
blunted tails. This is because in their clans, the female is the hunter, and
her chief weapon is her sharp pointed tail. 'Didn't you
see, when Reese was moving in on your new friend here,' Selexin nodded to
Hawkins, 'that her tail was poised high over her body, in a large arc, pointing
forward? And he couldn't move an inch. 'That is why
I told you not to make prolonged eye contact with her antennae. Any extended
visual contact with them will cause instant paralysis. Just like it did with
him.' Selexin gave Hawkins a look. 'That is how Reese hunts. You look at her
antennae for too long and you suffer hypnotic paralysis, and — bang! —
before you know it, she's got you with that tail. Right between the eyes.' The little
man smiled. 'I would say she bears a rather strong resemblance to the female of
your own species, aggressive and instinctive. Wouldn't you say?' 'Hey,'
Holly said. Swain
ignored the remark. 'Tell me more about her hunting methods. Her stalking
methods.' Selexin took
a breath. 'Well, as you no doubt noticed, Reese has no eyes. For the simple
reason that she does not need them. She comes from a planet surrounded by
opaque, inert gases. Light cannot enter their atmosphere, and the inert gases
are impervious to any chemical change. Her race has simply adapted over time to
utilise and enhance their other senses: increased auditory acuity, sensitive
ampullae for detecting the distressed heartbeat of frightened or wounded prey,
and, most of all, a highly evolved scent detection mechanism. In fact, I would
say that her sense of smell is her most well-developed hunting tool.' 'Wait a
second,' Swain said, alarmed, 'she can smell us? 'Not now.
Reese's sense of smell has a very limited range. No farther than, say, a couple
of feet.' Swain
breathed in relief. Hawkins did, too. 'But within
that range,' Selexin went on, 'her sense of smell is incredibly astute.' 'What do you
mean?' 'I mean,'
Selexin said, 'that the manner by which she detected him,' — Selexin
pointed roughly to Hawkins — 'was by his scent.' 'But I
thought you said her range wasn't that good. How could—' Swain cut
himself off. Selexin was waiting for him again, giving him an expectant
'are-you-finished?' look. 'That is
correct,' Selexin said, 'in a way. You see, Reese didn't smell him. What
she smelled was the scent he left behind. Do you remember when Reese
first came into our view in the stairwell? She bent low and sniffed the floor?' Swain
frowned. 'Yeah…' 'Footprints,'
Selexin said. 'A trail not long cold. With any fresh trail like that, Reese
doesn't need to smell anything beyond two feet, because she just follows
the scent of the trail itself 'Oh,' Swain
said. And then it
hit him. 'Oh, shit!' He shot up
to look out through the glass partition above him— And found
himself staring at Reese's menacing four-pronged jaws — wide open, foully
salivating — pressed up against the other side of the glass, only inches away. Swain fell
backwards, stumbled away from the glass. Hawkins
leapt to his feet, mouth agape. Reese
slammed against the partition, smearing saliva everywhere. 'Eyes down!'
Swain yelled, snatching Holly up in his arms. Reese rammed the partition again
— hard — and the whole office shook. 'Keep your eyes away from the antennae! Go
for the door!' There were
three glass doors to this square-shaped office — one west, one south and one
east. Reese was banging on the western wall of the room. Swain ran
for the eastern door, threw it open and charged into the next office, Selexin
and Hawkins close behind him. With Holly
in the crook of his arm, he slid smoothly over a desk in the centre of the
office, opened the next door. 'Close the
doors behind you!' he yelled back. 'Already
doing it!' Hawkins called forward. And then,
from behind them, there came a loud crashing sound — the sound of breaking
glass. Up ahead,
Swain continued to run. Over desks, through doorways, dodging filing cabinets,
sending paper flying everywhere. Then he came out of the last office and was
suddenly faced with something different. A heavy blue
door set into a solid concrete wall. Hawkins was
yelling, 'She's coming! And she seems really pissed off!' Swain looked
at the heavy blue door. It looked strong, with a hydraulic opening mechanism.
At the end of the short corridor to his right, he saw another option — a
glassed-in elevator bay. He glanced back at Hawkins racing through the offices
behind him. Better
do something… With Holly
still in his arms, Swain turned the knob on the hydraulic door. It opened. Three
concrete stairs. Going down. He stepped
through the doorway, pulled Selexin with him and waited for Hawkins. Hawkins
was running hard, through the last glass-walled office. Beyond
Hawkins, Swain could see nothing but offices divided by glass partitions. And then he
saw it. Saw the long pointed tail flashing up above the waist-high wood
panelling. It was barging through anything that lay in its path — like a great
white shark's fin slicing through water — launching desks and filing cabinets
and swivel chairs high into the air. Two offices
away and heading directly toward them. Moving fast. Closing in. Hawkins ran
past Swain, through the doorway, and Swain shut the big hydraulic door behind
him. It closed with a dull thud. Strong door.
Good. It would give them some time. Holding
Holly, Swain took the lead again, heading down the three concrete stairs. White
fluorescent lights lit a modern grey-painted corridor. Black piping snaked its
way along the ceiling. The four of
them followed the winding corridor for about twenty yards before, suddenly,
they burst into open space. Swain
stopped and took in the scene before him. An
underground parking lot. It looked
new — almost brand new, in fact. Glistening newly paved concrete, white-painted
floor markings, shiny yellow wheel clamps on the ground, pristine white
fluorescent lights. It was quite a contrast to the old dusty library they had
seen so far. Swain
scanned the parking lot. No cars. Damn. There was a
Down ramp in the centre of the lot, about twenty yards in front of them. Swain
figured that the Exit
ramp going up to the street must be on the other side of the Down ramp. There came a
sudden, loud bang from somewhere behind them. Swain spun. Reese
was through the door. He quickly
led the others to the Down ramp. It was wide — wide enough for two cars to pass
each other side-by-side. They had just reached the top of the ramp when he
heard a hissing sound from behind them. Swain turned
around slowly. Reese was
standing at the entrance to the parking lot, her guide positioned silently
behind her. Swain
swallowed— —and then,
suddenly, he heard another sound. Clop… Clop… Clop… Footsteps.
Slow footsteps. Echoing loudly in the deserted parking lot. Swain,
Holly, Selexin and Hawkins all spun at the same time and they saw him
instantly. Coming up
the Down ramp. Walking
slowly, purposefully. A six-foot
bearded man, dressed in a broad-shouldered animal-skin jacket, dark pants and
knee-high black boots that clip-clopped loudly on the concrete ramp. And behind
him, yet another guide, dressed completely in white. As the big
bearded man stepped onto level ground and stopped, Swain instinctively pushed
Holly behind him. At the sight
of the new contestant, Reese became visibly agitated. She hissed even louder. They all
stood in silence — the three groups forming a precarious, unspeaking triangle. It was then
that Swain looked down at his wristband. It now read: INITIALISED—7 Seven. Swain looked
up slowly. The
Presidian had begun. THIRD MOVEMENT 30 November, 6:39 p.m. —––ooo0ooo——— The parking
lot was silent. Somewhere
off to his left Swain could hear the drone of New York traffic, the honking of
car horns. The sounds of the outside world — the ordinary world. Selexin drew
up beside him. 'Just keep
looking forward,' Selexin was staring intently at the tall bearded man before
them. 'He is
Balthazar. The Crisean. Small-blade handler: knives, stilettos, that sort of
thing; Technologically, the Criseans are not well-developed, but with their
hunting skills, they don't need tech—' Selexin cut
himself off. The bearded
man was staring right at them. Looking directly at Swain. Swain kept
his eyes locked on Balthazar. Just then
the big man turned slightly, revealing something hanging from his waist.
Something that glinted under the harsh electric light of the parking lot. A blade. A sweeping,
curving, vicious-looking blade. An extraterrestrial cutlass. Swain lifted
his gaze. A thick leather-like baldric hung over Balthazar's shoulder,
attaching itself to the belt at his waist. Fastened to the leather strap were
various sheaths and scabbards — and in them, a whole assortment of lethal
throwing knives. 'You see
them?' Selexin whispered. 'I see
them.' 'Criseans,'
Selexin said respectfully. 'Very impressive bladesmen. Very quick, too. Fast.
Take your eyes off him for a second and before you know it, you'll have a knife
lodged in your heart.' Swain didn't
answer. Selexin turned to him. 'Sorry,' he
whispered. 'I shouldn't have said that.' 'Daddy…'
Holly said. 'What's happening?' 'We're just
waiting, honey.' With one eye
on Balthazar, Swain scanned the parking lot. Looking for something… looking for
a way out… There. In the
south-west corner of the lot, maybe twenty yards away from them — a pair of
elevators, encased inside a brightly lit glass-walled foyer. It was the same
elevator bay he had seen earlier, only here it opened out onto the parking lot. Swain handed
Holly to Hawkins, at the same time as he pulled Hawkins' heavy police
flashlight from his gunbelt. 'Whatever
happens here,' Swain said, 'I want you to run as fast as you can to those
elevators over there, okay?' 'Okay.' 'Once you're
inside and the doors are shut, let it go halfway up a floor and press the
Emergency Stop button. Okay?' Hawkins
nodded. 'You should
be safe there,' Swain said, rolling the big flashlight over in his hand. 'I
don't think they'll have figured out how to use elevators yet.' Beside them,
Selexin was watching the other two contestants warily. 'What happens now?'
Swain asked him. At first
there was no reply. The little man just stared intently at the empty car park.
And then, without turning his head, Selexin said, 'Anything.' Reese moved
first. Darting towards Swain. Heavy, bounding steps. Swain felt
adrenalin surge through his body. He swallowed, gripped the flashlight tightly. Reese kept
coming. Christ,
Swain thought, how the hell do you fight a thing like that? He tensed to
run, but suddenly Selexin grabbed his arm. 'Don't,' he whispered. 'Not
yet.' 'Wha—?'
Swain watched Reese charge toward them. 'Trust me,'
Selexin's voice was like ice. Reese was bounding
toward them now. Swain wanted desperately to run. Out of the corner of his
eye he saw Balthazar slowly unsheath a pair of throwing knives— And then
Reese turned. Sharply and
unexpectedly. Away from Swain and the group. Toward
Balthazar. 'Ha! She had
to,' Selexin whispered proudly. 'Had to. Classic huntsman behaviour…' Then
suddenly, in a blur of motion, Swain saw Balthazar's right arm move in a rapid
throwing action— and abruptly two flashes of silver fanned out from his hand,
whistling through the air. Thud! A glinting
steel throwing knife embedded itself in the concrete pillar between
Swain and Hawkins, missing them both by inches! The second
futuristic-looking knife was intended for Reese, but unlike Swain, she was
ready for it. Running low and fast, she rolled right when she detected the flying
blade coming toward her and — crack! — the throwing knife, flying
downward, lodged in the floor of the parking lot underneath her, cracking the
shiny new concrete, standing almost upright. Selexin was
still praising his tactical decision. 'I tell you, classic huntsman behaviour.
You take out the more dangerous prey first, catch it off-guard—' 'Tell me
about it later,' Swain said as he glanced over his shoulder to see Reese —
shrieking wildly — slam into Balthazar, toppling him over backwards. Swain pushed
Hawkins toward the elevator bay. 'Go!' Hawkins took
off, holding Holly close to his chest, running straight for the elevators. Swain was
about to follow them when he turned for a final look at the battle behind him. Reese had
Balthazar pinned to the ground beneath her, jamming his hands down beneath her
powerful stubby forelimbs. Balthazar was struggling desperately, reaching for
his cutlass on the floor, inches out of his reach. But the
weight was too much. Reese's jaws
were salivating wildly above his head, the saliva gushing in heavy torrents all
over Balthazar's face. And then Reese began to slash at him with her foreclaws
— vicious sweeping slashes that drew whole chunks of flesh from Balthazar's
chest. It was
disgusting, Swain thought. Disgusting, violent and brutal. He watched
in horror as Balthazar shook his head rapidly from side to side, screaming in
pain trying to avoid eye contact with Reese's swaying antennae, trying to get
his head clear of the blinding saliva, while at the same time feebly attempting
to fend off her savage blows. It was desperation. The total and utter
desperation of a man fighting for his very life. And Stephen
Swain felt angry. Indignant and furious at the whole scene in front of him. He spun
quickly to see Hawkins and Holly reach the glassed-in elevator bay and enter
it. Hawkins quickly pressed the UP button on the wall. Neither of the two
elevators opened immediately. The lifts were on the way. They'd be
safe. Swain turned
back to face the battle, the anger welling up inside him. Balthazar was still
struggling, swishing his head from side to side, his cries of pain drowned out
by the saliva gushing down into his screaming mouth. Reese was still firmly on
top of him, violently slashing, squealing maniacally. And then
Swain saw Reese's tail rise. Slowly and silently behind her, like an enormous
scorpion, out of Balthazar's view. And with
that, Swain knew what he had to do. He ran. Straight at
them. Reese's tail
was poised now, arcing high over her head… ready to strike… and then Balthazar
saw it too and he began to scream… With
Hawkins' heavy police flashlight in front of him, Swain slammed into Reese,
knocking her off Balthazar, sending all three of them sprawling onto the
concrete floor. Reese fell
onto her back and Swain tumbled on top of her. She let out an ear-piercing
shriek as her body writhed about on the concrete, bucking and kicking, trying
desperately to throw Swain clear. Swain's grip
on her slipped and suddenly he was in mid-air and all he could see was a
kaleidoscope of grey walls, white fluorescent light and concrete pavement. He
hit the floor hard, chest-first, and rolled onto his back— —only to see
Reese's sharp tail rushing toward his face! Swain
swerved his head left and the tail hit the concrete with a loud thud. Swain
glanced quickly at the spot where his head had been. Broken chunks of cement
surrounded a small crater the size of a tennis ball in the concrete floor. Jesus
Christ. Swain was
still on the floor, rolling fast. Reese was crab-walking next to him, moving
equally fast, banging her tail down like a piledriver. The tail
came crashing down again, right next to Swain's head. In the
nanoseconds of time in which the mind operates, Swain tried to weigh up his
options. He couldn't run. There was no way he could get up and clear in time.
And he couldn't fight Reese. Christ, if a warrior like Balthazar
couldn't beat her, how the hell could he? No, somehow
he had to get out of here. But to do that, he had to do something that would
buy him enough time to get clear. And so Swain
did the only thing he could think to do. With all his
strength he swung Hawkins' heavy police flashlight — baseball-style — at
Reese's tail, planted in the concrete. He aimed for
the tip of the tail, the thinnest part, from the side. The flashlight
hit its mark — hard — impacting against the tapered tip of the tail. There was
a loud, bloodcurdling snap! of breaking bone as the tail bent instantly
and Reese roared in agony, instantly pulling away from Swain. Swain seized
the chance. He leapt to
his feet and looked over at the two elevators inside the glass-walled foyer.
The doors to the left-hand elevator were opening and Hawkins, carrying Holly,
was getting inside, looking back questioningly at Swain with every step. 'Go! Go!'
Swain yelled. 'I'll catch up!' Hawkins
ducked inside the elevator and hit a button and the elevator doors closed.
Swain swung back to the fight. Reese had
backed off several steps, consumed with her broken tail. Balthazar was now
rising unsteadily to his feet, his head bent as he tried to clear the saliva
from his eyes. Swain
stumbled over to Balthazar. The big man's eyes were still covered in gooey
saliva, the exposed skin on his chest horribly shredded and caked in thick
blood, his face locked in a grimace of extreme pain. Swain
grabbed his arm and simply said, 'Come with me.' Balthazar
said nothing, merely allowed Swain to take his arm and pull him away. Swain
looped the big man's arm over his shoulder and helped him towards the
elevators. Selexin just
stood there, gaping at Swain in utter amazement. 'You
coming?' Swain said as he dragged Balthazar past the little man. Stunned,
Selexin looked from Swain to Balthazar's guide — who just shrugged
uncomprehendingly — then to Reese, and then finally to the elevators. Then he
hurried after Swain. Swain burst
into the glass-walled elevator bay, hit the UP button. Balthazar was still
draped over his shoulder, his guide right behind him. Swain spun to see Reese
banging her tail on the concrete floor. Two loud bangs were followed by a third
that emitted a sickening cracking sound. Reese roared
savagely and Swain knew at once what that meant. She had straightened the
fracture. Once she was over the instant pain she would be moving again— Reese was
moving again. Toward the elevator. Swain jammed
his finger down on the up button.
'Come on! Come on!' Reese was
darting left and right, scuttling in a crablike manner across the wide parking
lot floor, coming closer… She stopped.
Fifteen yards away from the elevator bay. Swain
noticed that this time her tail didn't swish menacingly back and forth behind
her. It just sat there, limp on the floor, motionless. Reese hissed
softly in the silence of the parking lot, her antennae swaying hypnotically
above her head. Swain watched her through the glass walls of the elevator bay,
entranced. Selexin
shoved him hard, jolting him sideways. 'Don't look at the antennae!' Swain
blinked back to his senses. He couldn't even remember looking at the
antennae… There was a
loud bing from behind him and he spun to see the second elevator's doors
grinding open. 'Everybody
inside,' he said, suddenly back to life, hurling Balthazar into the lift. Once
inside, he hurriedly pressed '1' and then door
close. Nothing
happened. Swain looked
out and saw Reese bounding toward the glass elevator bay. He pressed door CLOSE repeatedly. The doors
remained open. Reese was
getting closer, charging. Suddenly
there was a click and the elevator doors slowly began to close. Smash! Glass
exploded everywhere as Reese burst through the clear glass door of the elevator
bay. She landed clumsily inside the small foyer, sliding across the floor on a
carpet of tiny glass fragments, sprawled out on all four legs. The doors
were inching closer. And then, to
Swain's horror, Reese slid to a halt right in front of the elevator and
started getting to her feet. The doors
kept closing. Reese was on her feet again. The doors were almost joined. Reese
tensed herself to leap— And the
doors joined. And the lift
began to move upward. Swain
exhaled with relief. And then
with all her weight Reese hit the exterior doors. Hard and
loud. Denting the doors inward, tearing them apart at the centre, shaking the
whole elevator and stopping it with a loud scraping lurch. Two
feet above the ground. The lift
rocked. Selexin clutched at Swain's leg for balance. Balthazar sat in the rear
corner, head bent, body limp, swaying with the elevator's movement. Swain
regained his balance and saw the doors, pushed inward, creating a gap one foot
wide at the centre. Too
narrow, he thought. She can't get in. Reese rammed
the doors again. The elevator
shook. The gap widened. Swain
pressed the up button on the
panel, but the elevator still didn't move. The large inward dent in the doors
was keeping them from closing, and the lift wouldn't move again until they were
shut. Reese now
had her snout and antennae inside the elevator doors. She was snapping her jaws
ferociously from side to side, flinging saliva everywhere, desperately trying
to force the doors open — her antennae slicing through the air like twin whips. Swain
tightened his grip on Hawkins' flashlight and stepped toward her. Suddenly
Reese surged forward, rocking the elevator. Swain fell, slipping on the wet
floor, falling backwards, the flashlight flying from his hand into the corner
of the lift. He looked up to see Reese lunging ferociously at his feet,
snapping wildly, held back by the doors — saw the frenzied, salivating jaws,
the four sets of bared, jagged teeth only inches away from his feet. About to— Swain turned
his eyes clear, took a deep breath and in a flashing instant thought, I can't
believe I am going to do this. Then he kicked hard, landing the sole of his
shoe squarely on Reese's front teeth, breaking three instantly. Reese
recoiled, shrieking fiercely as she fell backwards onto the floor below. Swain kicked
again, this time at the doors, in a vain attempt to straighten the large inward
dents. He gave them three hammering blows, but barely made an impression. The
doors were double-strength, too strong. And then suddenly
— whack! — a giant leather boot came crashing down on the battered
doors, and the dents straightened markedly. It was
Balthazar! He had slid
over to where Swain was lying and, despite his injuries, had unleashed a
powerful kick of his own at the doors. Whack!
Whack! Two more
thunderous blows and the dents straightened fully and the doors eased shut and
Balthazar fell to the floor in exhaustion and the elevator lifted and at last,
there was silence. —––ooo0ooo——— 'Grid
two-twelve,' the assistant said, reading from his clipboard. 'The area bounded
by 14th Street and Delancey on the north-south axis. Medium rise zone: standard
commercial-residential area, couple of buildings on the National Register, a
few parks. Nothing special.' Robert K.
Charlton sat back in his chair. 'Nothing
special,' he said. 'Nothing special, except that in the last couple of hours,
we've 'had over a hundred and eighty complaints from an area that hardly
ever says boo.' He handed a
sheet of paper over his desk to his assistant. 'Take a look
at that. It's from the switch. One girl down there has had — what is it now? —
fifty-one, no, fifty-two probable 401s on her own. All from two-twelve.' Slightly
overweight, 54 years old, and a man who had spent way too much time in
the same job, Bob Charlton was the evening watch supervisor for Consolidated Edison,
the city's main electricity supplier. His office was situated one floor above
Con Ed's switchboard and it was hardly ostentatious. It comprised a wraparound
Ikea desk — with a computer on it — surrounded by that beige-coloured shelving
common to middle-management offices the world over. 'And do you
know what that means?' Charlton asked. 'What?' his
assistant said. His name was Rudy. 'It means
that somebody has got to the main,' Charlton said. 'Cut it off. Shut it down.
Or maybe even overloaded it. Shit. Run down to Dispatch and see if any of our
guys were down in that grid today. I'll give the cops a call, see if they've
found any punks cutting cables.' 'Yes, sir.' Rudy left
the room. Charlton
swung around in his swivel chair to face a map of Manhattan Island he had
pinned to the wall behind his desk. To Charlton,
Manhattan looked like a warped diamond — three perfectly straight sides, with
one side, the north-eastern, jagged and twisted. Electrical grids stretched
across the island's breadth like lines on a football field. He found the
horizontal rectangle that displayed grid two-twelve. It was down near the
southern end of the island, a few miles north of the World Trade Centre. He thought
about the report. Medium
rise zone. Standard commercial-residential area, couple of buildings on the
National Register. A few parks. The National
Register. The National
Register of Historic Places. He thought
about that. Lately Con Ed had been bullied by the Mayor's Office into linking
up some of the older buildings of the city to the new mains. Not surprisingly,
there had been a truckload of problems. Some of the older buildings had
circuitry dating back before the First World War, others didn't even have
circuitry. Linking them up had been unusually difficult and it wasn't uncommon
for one building's overload to screw up the networking for an entire city grid. Charlton
flicked on his computer and called up the file on the National Register. It
wouldn't have all the historically protected buildings in the city, only
the ones that Con Ed had worked on. That would be good enough. He called up
grid two-twelve. There were five hits. He pressed display. The screen
scrolled out a more detailed list of names and Charlton was leaning forward to
read them when the phone rang. 'Charlton.' 'Sir, it's
me.' It was Rudy. 'Yes?' 'I'm down in
Dispatch, and they say that none of their guys has been in two-twelve for
nearly three weeks.' Charlton
frowned. 'You sure?' 'They've got
records on disk if you want them.' 'No, that
will be fine. Well done, Rudy.' 'Thank you,
si—' Charlton
hung up. 'Damn.' He was
hoping it had been someone from Dispatch. At least then it would have been
traceable. There would be a record of where the break — or shutdown, or
overload — in the main was. A record of where the work had been done. Now there
was no knowing where the break was. Other shorts could be detected with Con
Ed's computers, tracing every line. But for that you needed the main to be
on-line. But with the
main down in a particular grid, that grid became a black hole as far as
computer tracing was concerned. And the break lay somewhere within that black
hole. Now it was
guesswork. Charlton
swore. The first thing to do was call the police. See if they had pulled in
someone in the last twenty-four hours hacking at the cables somewhere. Anything
like that. He sighed.
It was going to be a long night. He picked up the phone and dialled. 'Good
evening, this is Bob Charlton, I'm the evening watch supervisor down here at
Consolidated Edison. I'd like to speak with Lieutenant Peters, please. Yes,
I'll hold.' As he waited
on hold, Charlton looked idly back at the map of Manhattan Island. Soon his
call was put through and he turned away from the map altogether. All the
while the computer screen on his desk remained on. And for the
whole time he was on the phone, Bob Charlton never noticed the last line of the
list of historic buildings on the screen. The line read: GRID 212: LISTING No. 5 NEW YORK STATE LIBRARY (1897) CONNECTED TO NETWORK: 17
FEBRUARY 1995 After a few
moments, Charlton said excitedly, 'You did — when? I'll be down there in
twenty minutes.' Then he hung up, grabbed his coat and quickly left his office. A few
seconds later, he returned and leaned across his desk. And switched
off his computer. —––ooo0ooo——— Swain
pressed the red emergency stop button
and the elevator creaked loudly to a halt. He reached up for the hatch in the
ceiling. Balthazar,
his energy now completely spent after repairing the elevator doors, sat propped
up against the corner of the lift, his head bowed, groaning. His guide stood
unsympathetically beside him, glaring at Selexin. Swain was
opening the hatch in the ceiling of the elevator when the other guide spoke.
'Come on, Selexin, get on with it.' He nodded at Balthazar. 'Finish it.' Swain
stopped what he was doing and turned to face the others. Selexin
said, 'That is not for me to decide. You of all people know that.' The other
guide spun to face Swain. 'Well? Look at him' — a jerk toward Balthazar
in the corner — 'he cannot fight anymore. He cannot even defend himself. Finish
it. Finish it now. Our fight is over.' Swain
swallowed. The little guide possessed an unusual strength in his defiance — the
strength of a man who knows he is about to die. 'Yes,' Swain
said slowly to himself. 'Yes.' He looked
again at Balthazar. It was only then that he noticed just how big the bearded
man was. Not six foot. More like six-eight. But that didn't seem to matter now. Balthazar
lifted his head and stared up at Swain. His eyes were severely bloodshot,
red-rimmed; his chest ripped to shreds. Swain took a
slow step forward and stood over him. Selexin must
have noticed his hesitation. 'You must,' he said, softly. 'You have to.' Balthazar
never took his eyes off Swain. The big bearded man took a deep breath as Swain
reached down and slowly — very slowly — unsheathed one of the long daggers from
the baldric draped across his chest. The dagger hissed against the sheath as
Swain pulled it out. Balthazar
shut his eyes, resigned to his fate, unable to offer any defence. Knife in
hand, Swain shot a final questioning glance at Selexin. The little man nodded
solemnly. Swain turned
back to Balthazar, lowered the knife, pointed it at the big man's heart. And
then he did it. He slid the
blade gently back into its sheath. And then he
stepped away, back toward the hatch in the ceiling of the elevator, back to
what he'd been doing. Balthazar's
eyes opened, puzzled. Selexin
rolled his eyes. The other
guide was simply thunderstruck. He said to Selexin, 'He can't do that.' Then to
Swain, who was back at the ceiling, tossing open the hatch, 'You can't do
that.' 'I just
did,' Swain said. The hatch banged open. He turned,
not looking at the other guide, but rather, straight at Selexin. 'Because
that's not what I do.' With that,
Swain grabbed Hawkins' police flashlight and poked his head up through the open
hatch. He had something else on his mind. He peered up
into the dark elevator shaft, flicking on the flashlight. He was hoping that
Hawkins had done what he had told him to do. He had. The other
elevator lay right there, only a few feet away, right alongside Swain's
elevator, halted halfway between this floor and the one above. Swain aimed the
beam of the flashlight up into the shaft. Greasy cables stretched up into the
darkness. The doors to the next floor were about eight feet above him. On them
were written the black-painted words: ground
floor. The shaft
was silent. The other
elevator sat still, perhaps a foot above Swain's, a small slit of yellow light
betraying a crack in its side panelling. 'Holly?
Hawkins?' Swain whispered. He heard
Holly's voice — 'Daddy!' — and he felt a wave of relief wash over him. 'We're here,
sir,' Hawkins' voice said. 'Are you all right?' 'We're fine
here. How about you two?' 'We're okay.
Want us to come over?' 'No. You
stay where you are,' Swain said. 'Our elevator has taken a beating, the doors
are busted. They probably won't open again, so we'll come over there. See if you
can open the hatch in the roof.' 'Okay.' Swain
dropped back into his elevator and surveyed the group around him — Balthazar
and the two guides. Hmmm. 'All right,
everyone, listen up. We're all going over to the other elevator. I want you two
little guys to go first. I'll handle the big fella. Got it?' Selexin
nodded. The other guide just stood there, his arms folded defiantly. Swain
scooped up Selexin and held him up to the hatch. The little man disappeared
into the darkness. Swain poked
his head up through the hatch after him and saw Selexin step up onto the roof
of the other elevator. A weak haze of yellow light appeared above the other
lift. Hawkins must have opened the hatch. Swain
motioned to the other guide. 'Your turn.' The guide
looked cautiously at Balthazar, then said something in a grunting guttural
language. Balthazar
responded with a dismissive wave and grunt. As a result,
the guide reluctantly offered his arms to Swain, who duly lifted him up through
the hatch. The guide disappeared into the shaft. Swain turned
back to face Balthazar. The big man
was still sitting slumped in the corner. Slowly, he looked up at Swain. Whatever he
was, Swain thought, he was badly injured. His eyes were red, his hands bloodied
and scratched. Some of Reese's saliva still bubbled on his beard. Swain spoke
gently, 'I don't want to kill you. I want to help you.' Balthazar
cocked his head, not understanding. 'Help,'
Swain held out his hands, palms up — a gesture of aid, not attack. Balthazar
spoke — softly — in his strange guttural tongue. Swain didn't
understand. He offered his hands again. 'Help,' he
repeated. Balthazar
frowned at the communication breakdown. He reached down for the long dagger
Swain had held before, now back in its sheath across his chest. He pulled it
out. Swain stood
dead still — unflinching — staring Balthazar squarely in the eye. He
can't do that. He can't. The bearded
man reversed the knife in his hand, and placed the handle in Swain's
palm. Swain felt the warmth of Balthazar's hand as they both gripped the knife
— pointed at Balthazar's chest. Balthazar
then pulled their hands toward his chest. Swain didn't know what to do, except
allow Balthazar to pull the glistening blade closer, and closer, and closer to
his body… And then
Balthazar guided their hands sideways, sliding the knife back into its sheath. As Swain had
done before. He looked up
at Swain, his eyes bulging red, and nodded. And then
Balthazar spoke again — slowly, deep-throated — trying to get his mouth around
the word Swain had just used. 'Help.' —––ooo0ooo——— The elevator
doors rumbled open and Stephen Swain peered out to see the First Floor of the
State Library. Dark and
quiet. Empty. The first
thing Swain noticed about the First Floor was the peculiar way it had been
arranged: it was an enormous U-shape, with a wide gaping hole in the centre, so
that one could look down onto the Ground Floor atrium. Clearly, the
floorspace of this floor had been sacrificed to provide for a grander,
higher-ceilinged Ground Floor — in the process, making the First Floor of the
State Library little more than a glorified balcony. A mezzanine. The
elevators themselves stood at the south-east corner of the floor, to the right
of the curved base of the U-shape. Opposite them — at the open-end of the U— stood
the enormous glass doors of the library's main entrance. Off to his
left, Swain saw a room filled with photocopiers. A door at the far end of the
room had internet facility stamped
on it. The rest of the floor was deserted and dark, save for the blue streams
of reflected city light that penetrated the enormous glass doors and windows
way over at the other end. Swain pulled
Balthazar out of the lift and dragged him over to the hand-railing overlooking
the Ground Floor. He was propping the big man up against the railing when the
others joined them. 'What do we
do about that?' Hawkins said, indicating the open elevator behind them. He
spoke softly in the darkness. 'Turn the
light off,' Swain whispered. 'If you can't find the switch, just unscrew the
fluorescent tube. Apart from that,' he shrugged, 'I don't know, leave it there.
As long as it's here, nobody else can use it.' As Hawkins
headed back toward the elevator, Swain saw Selexin draw up alongside him. The
little man was peering cautiously up at the ceiling all around them. 'What are
you doing?' Swain asked. Selexin
sighed dramatically: 'Not all the creatures in this universe walk on floors,
Mister Swain.' 'Oh.' 'I am
looking for a contestant known as the Rachnid. It is a trap-laying species —
large and spindly, but not particularly athletic — known for lying in wait in
elevated caves and hollows for long periods of time, waiting for its prey to
step underneath it. It then lowers itself silently to the floor behind its
victim, clutches it within its eight limbs, and constricts it to death.' 'Constricts
it to death,' Swain said, glancing nervously up at the uneven shadow-covered
ceiling above him. 'Nice. Very nice.' 'Daddy?'
Holly whispered. 'Yes,
honey.' 'I'm
scared.' 'Me too,'
Swain said softly. Holly touched
his left cheek. 'Are you all right, Daddy?' Swain looked
at her finger. It had blood on it. He dabbed at
his cheek. It felt like a cut, a big one, running down the length of his
cheekbone. He looked down at his collar and saw a large red stain on it — a lot
of blood had been running down his face. When had
that happened? He hadn't felt it. And he certainly didn't remember feeling the
sting of being cut. Maybe it was when he was thrown on top of Reese, after
bowling her over. Or when Reese was bucking and kicking like a mad horse. Swain
frowned. It was a blur. He couldn't remember. 'Yeah, I'm
okay,' he said. Holly nodded
at Balthazar, up against the steel railing. 'What about him?' 'Actually, I
was just about to check,' Swain said, getting up onto his knees, hovering over
Balthazar. 'Could you hold this for me?' he offered Holly the heavy police
flashlight. Holly
flicked on the torch and held it over Swain's shoulder, pointed at Balthazar's
face. The big man
winced at the light. Swain leaned forward, 'No, no, don't shut your eyes,' he
said gently. He held Balthazar's left eye open. It was heavily bloodshot,
reacting badly to Reese's saliva. 'Could you
bring the light in a bit closer…' Holly
stepped forward and as the light came nearer, Swain saw Balthazar's pupil
dilate. Swain leaned
back. That wasn't right… His eyes
swept over Balthazar's body. Everything about him suggested that he was human —
limbs, fingers, facial features. He even had brown eyes. The
eyes, Swain thought. It was the
eyes that were wrong. Their reaction to the light. Human pupils
contract when hit by direct light. They dilate — or widen — in darkness
or poor light, so as to allow as much light as possible onto the retina. These
eyes, however, dilated in the face of brighter light. They
were not human eyes. Swain turned
to Selexin. 'He looks human, and he acts human. But he's not human at all, is
he?' Selexin
nodded, impressed. 'No, he is not. Almost, though — in fact, as close as he can
be. But no, Balthazar is definitely not human.' 'Then what
is he?' 'I told you
before, Balthazar is a Crisean. An excellent blade-handler.' 'But why
does he look human?' Swain asked. 'The chances of some alien from another world
evolving to look exactly like man would have to be a million to one.' 'A billion
to one,' Selexin corrected him. 'And please, try not to use the term
"alien" too liberally. Such a harsh word. And besides, in your
current situation, aliens do form the standing majority.' 'Sorry.' 'Nevertheless,'
Selexin went on, 'you are correct. Balthazar is not human, nor is his form.
Balthazar, and for that matter one other contestant named Bellos, is amorphic.
Able to alter his form.' 'Alter his
form?' 'Yes. Alter
his exterior shape. Just as your chameleon can change its skin colour to blend
in with its surroundings, so too can Balthazar and Bellos do the same, only
they do not alter their colour: they alter their entire external shape. And it
makes sense. One makes one's self human when competing in a human labyrinth,
because any doors or handles or potential weapons will all be made for the
human form.' 'Uh-huh,'
Swain said, turning back to attend to Balthazar. Hawkins came
back from the elevator. 'It took a
bit of doing,' he said, 'but I finally got the tube out of its—' Swain held
Balthazar's other eye open, peering at it under the light of the flashlight. 'Out of its…
what?' he said, not turning around. Hawkins
didn't reply. Swain looked
up. 'What is it—' he cut himself off. Hawkins was
staring out over the railing, at the Ground Floor atrium down below. Swain
swivelled around, following Hawkins' gaze down into the atrium. 'Oh
my God,' he said slowly. And then quickly he turned to Holly, reaching for
the flashlight. 'Quick, turn it off.' The
flashlight went out. Blue moonlight covered them again and Stephen Swain peered
out over the railing. The man was
just standing there. Tall and black. Two tapering horns rising high above his
head. The soft moonlight glinted off the lustrous gold metal attached to his
chest. He was
standing next to a glass display case down in the atrium. Just standing there,
staring intently into one of the aisles in front of him, at something out of
Swain's view. Swain felt a
chill. He's
not staring, he thought. He's stalking. Selexin came
up beside him. 'Bellos,' he
whispered, not taking his eyes off the horned man in the atrium below. There
was a sense of awe in his voice, a reverence that was unmistakable. 'The
Malonian contestant. Malonians are the most lethal huntsmen in the galaxy.
Trophy collectors. They have won more Presidia than any other species. Why,
they even conduct a six-way internal hunt to determine who amongst them will
compete in the Presidian.' Swain
watched as he listened. The horned man — Bellos — was a magnificent specimen of
a man. Tall and broad-shouldered, built like a house, and, except for his
golden chest, completely dressed in black. An imposing figure. 'Remember.
Amorphic,' Selexin said. 'It makes sense to adopt the human form. Makes better
sense to adopt a highly developed human form.' Swain was about
to reply when he heard Hawkins whisper behind him, 'Oh Christ, where's
Parker?' Swain
frowned. Hawkins had said something about that before. Parker was his partner.
Stationed in here for the night with him. Maybe she was still here, somewhere
inside… 'Salve,
moriturum es!' The voice
boomed throughout the atrium. Swain jumped, a wave of ice-cold blood shooting
through his veins. He's
seen us! 'Greetings,
fellow competitor. Before you stands Bellos Swain's mind
was racing. Where could they go? They'd have a good head start. They were still
one whole floor above him. '…
Great-grandson of Trome, the winner of the Fifth Presidian. And like his
great-grandfather and two Malonians before him, Bellos shall emerge from this
battle alone, conquered by none and not undone by the Karanadon. Who be'st
thou, my worthy and yet unfortunate opponent?' Swain
swallowed. He took a deep breath and was about to stand up and reply when he
heard another noise — a strange clicking-hissing noise. Coming from
below. From
somewhere else in the atrium. Swain
dropped like a stone, out of sight. Bellos hadn't seen them. He
was challenging someone else. And then,
slowly, another contestant came into view. From the left. A dark, skeletal
shadow creeping slowly amongst the bookcases. It moved
stealthily toward Bellos. Whatever it
was, it was large — at least six feet long — but thin, insect-like, with long
angular limbs not unlike those of a grasshopper, that clung to the vertical
side of one of the bookcases. Although Swain couldn't see its face very well,
he could see that its sinister-looking head was partially covered by a steel,
mask-like object. Its movements were accompanied by a strange mechanical
breathing noise. 'What is
it?' he whispered. 'It is the
Konda,' Selexin said. 'Very vicious warrior species from the outer
regions; remarkably evolved insectoid physique; and, according to those who
gamble on the Presidian, highly fancied to take it out. Keep your eyes on its
two foreclaws — the tips of each thumbnail secrete a highly poisonous venom. If
the Konda punctures your skin and then inserts its thumbnail into the wound,
believe me, you will die screaming. Its only weakness: its lungs cannot handle
the toxicity of your atmosphere, hence the breathing apparatus.' The Konda
was getting closer to Bellos, an ominous shadow moving steadily along the
vertical sides of the bookcases. Bellos
didn't move. He just stood beside the display case, rooted to the spot. Swain felt a
strange sensation as he looked down on the atrium. A kind of voyeuristic thrill
to be watching something that no-one else would ever see. That no-one would
ever want to see. The Konda
crept cautiously toward Bellos, picking up speed as it closed in— Suddenly,
Bellos held up his hand. The
grasshopper-like Konda stopped instantly. Swain
frowned. Why
had it—? And then
something else caught his eye. Something in
the foreground, something in between Swain and the Konda. It was small
and black — a shadow superimposed on the darkness — slinking swiftly and
silently across the bare wooden tops of the bookshelves, heading towards the
Konda from behind. From
behind. Swain
watched in amazement as another identical creature made its way across the tops
of the bookshelves from the other direction. Its movements resembled that of a
cat. Menacing in its supreme stealth. Selexin saw
them, too. 'Oh, sweet
Lords,' he breathed, 'hoodaya.' Swain turned
to face the little man. Selexin was staring off into space, wide-eyed and white
with fear. Swain spun
back around. Two more of
the small creatures — each about the size of a dog — were creeping on all fours
across the tops of the bookshelves, jumping easily from top to top, across the
aisles below. Swain saw their jet-black heads — saw their long needle-like
teeth and their bony but muscular limbs — saw their thin snaking tails swishing
menacingly behind them. Selexin was
whispering to himself: 'He can't do that. He can't. Good lord, hoodaya.' The four
smaller creatures — hoodaya, Swain guessed — had now formed a wide circle above
the aisle containing the insect-like Konda. The Konda
hadn't moved an inch. It hadn't noticed them. Not yet. Bellos
lowered his hand. And then he turned away. Swain saw
the Konda immediately shift its weight. It
hasn't got a clue, he thought as he gripped the
railing. Hasn't got a prayer… It was then
that the four hoodaya leapt down from their perches. Into the
aisle below. Hideous,
high-pitched, alien shrieks filled the atrium. The bookshelves on either
side of the aisle shook as the Konda flung itself violently from side to side
in the face of the sudden onslaught. Swain saw
Hawkins' face go blank with horror. Selexin was just stunned. Swain pulled
Holly close to him, turned her face away from the scene, 'Don't watch, honey.' The godawful
shrieking continued. And then, without
warning, the near bookcase fell over and suddenly Swain saw the whole grisly
scene — saw the Konda, screaming madly, completely covered by the four hoodaya,
its two venom-tipped forelimbs splayed wide, pinned to the ground by two of the
hoods, while the other two attack creatures tore ferociously at its face and
stomach. In seconds the Konda's steel breathing mask was ripped from its head
and the hapless creature's shrieks became desperate, hoarse gasps. And then,
abruptly, the pained gasping stopped and the Konda's body slumped to the
ground, limp. But the
hoodaya didn't stop. Swain saw their long needle-like teeth open wide and
plunge into its hide. Blood spurted out in all directions as one hoodaya ripped
a large chunk of flesh from the Konda's carcass and held it aloft in triumph. Swain's head
snapped left as he heard another noise. Footsteps. Rapid
footsteps. Soft, barely audible, getting softer. Running away. One of the
hoods heard it, too — lifted its head from its feeding. It leapt from its mount
on the Konda's body and raced off into the nearest aisle, heading for the
stairwell. Swain didn't
know what was going on until he heard a stumbling noise, like someone being
crash-tackled to the floor. And then he
heard another scream — a desperate, pathetic yelp — that stopped no sooner than
it had begun. Swain heard
Selexin gulp next to him and he realised. It had been
the guide. The Konda's guide. Swain saw the look on Selexin's face. The other
guide had never stood a chance. Swain looked
back at the dead Konda and the hoods on top of it. 'Selexin.' No reply. Selexin was
simply staring into space, in shock. 'Selexin,'
he whispered, nudging the little man back to his senses. 'W… what?' 'Quickly,'
Swain said harshly, trying to get Selexin out of his daze. 'Tell me about them.
These hoodaya, or whatever the hell it is you call them.' Selexin
swallowed. 'Hoods are hunting animals. Bellos is a hunter. Bellos uses hoods to
hunt. Simple.' 'Hey,' Swain
said. 'Just tell me, okay.' 'Why? It
won't matter. Not anymore.' 'Why not?' 'Mister
Swain, I commend you. Your previous efforts had until now given me some hope of
survival. Already you have exceeded any previous human effort in the Presidian.
But now,' Selexin was talking quickly, desperately, 'now I have the misfortune
to tell you that you have just witnessed the signing of your own death
warrant.' 'What?' 'You cannot
win. The Presidian is over. Bellos has defiled the rules. If he is discovered,
which he won't be because he is too clever, he will be disqualified — killed.
But if he isn't, he will win. No-one can escape Bellos if he has hoods.
They are the ultimate hunter's tool. Remorseless and vicious. With them by his
side, Bellos is unstoppable.' Selexin
shook his head. 'Do you
remember the Karanadon?' he said, pointing to the green light on Swain's
wristband. 'Yes.' Swain
had actually forgotten about it, but he didn't tell Selexin that. 'Only one
hunter being has ever successfully killed a Karanadon in the wild. And do you
know who that was?' 'Tell me.' 'Bellos. With
his hoods: 'Great.' There was an
awkward silence. Then Swain
said, 'Okay then, how did he get them here? If he was brought here just like I
was, wouldn't you guys have made sure that he didn't bring anything with him?' 'That's
exactly right, but there must have been a way … something he found that no-one
thought of… some way to teleport them in—' 'Hey,'
Hawkins touched Swain's shoulder. 'He's doing something.' Bellos was
bent over the Konda's body, doing something that Swain couldn't see. When at
last he stood, Bellos had the Konda's breathing mask in his hands. A trophy. He fastened
the mask to a loop on his belt, and then he barked a sharp order to the three
hoods that were still feasting on the Konda's torso. They immediately jumped
off the dead contestant's body and stood behind Bellos, at the same time as the
fourth hood returned from the stairwell, large shreds of blood-stained white
cloth dangling from its teeth and claws. Then Bellos
walked over to a semi-circular desk in the middle of the atrium. Swain could
just make out the words on the sign hanging above it: INFORMATION. Behind him,
he heard Hawkins take a quick breath. Bellos bent
down behind the Information Desk, picked up something in one of his large black
hands and carried it back over to the Konda's body. As soon as
he saw it, Swain knew what it was. It was small, white and limp. Bellos' own
guide. Bellos said
something quickly, and the hoods darted behind the Information Desk. Then he
draped his guide's lifeless body over his shoulder and pointed it toward the
dead contestant. 'Initialise!'
Bellos said, loudly. Instantly, a
small sphere of brilliant white light appeared above the dead guide's head,
illuminating the wide open space of the atrium. Instinctively, Swain bent lower
behind the railing, away from the light. The white sphere glowed for about five
seconds until it vanished abruptly and the atrium was dark once more. Selexin
turned solemnly to Swain. 'That, Mister Swain, was Bellos confirming his first
kill.' —––ooo0ooo——— Swain turned
to the group gathered around him. 'I think it's time to get out of here.' 'I think
you're right,' Hawkins was already moving away from the railing. Swain
grabbed Balthazar and heaved him onto his shoulder. 'Holly,' he whispered,
'quick honey, the elevator.' 'Okay.' He turned to
Hawkins, 'We'll go back to the elevator. Stop it between floors again. That's
been the safest place to hide so far.' 'Fine by
me,' Hawkins said. Swain began
dragging Balthazar away from the railing, with Holly by his side and Hawkins,
Selexin and Balthazar's guide in front. They all headed for the open, darkened
elevator. And then it
happened. The
elevator's doors began to close. Swain shot a
look at Hawkins, who immediately dashed forward, trying to get to the doors in
time. But the doors joined just as he got there. 'Damn it!'
he cursed. Swain came
up beside him, looked up at the numbered display above the elevator doors. The
illuminated number was moving down the line from l to G and then to SL-1. 'The
elevator…' he whispered. 'Jesus
Christ,' Hawkins said, realising, 'they figured out how to use the goddamn
elevator.' 'They're
intelligent—' Selexin said. 'They're animals,
for God's sake,' Hawkins said, perhaps a little too loudly. 'Alien, yes.
Animal, no,' Selexin whispered. 'I would say understanding a contraption like
your elevator would be regarded as remarkably intelligent.' Hawkins was
about to say something in retort when Swain cut in, 'All right. It doesn't
matter. We'll find somewhere else to…' 'Hey Daddy,
don't be silly,' Holly said, standing next to the elevator call button. 'I can
get the elevator back for you.' Swain's eyes
went wide with horror. 'Holly, no!'
He lunged to stop her, but it, was too late. Holly
pressed the UP button. Swain closed
his eyes and bowed his head. The round UP button glowed brightly in the
darkness of the First Floor. He couldn't
believe it. Now, whoever was using the lift wouldn't even have to guess which
floor they were on. Nor would they even have to figure out how to use the
elevator. Because now that Holly had pressed the call button, once the elevator
picked up its new passenger, it would automatically stop here, on the
First Floor'. Holly said,
'What did I do? Didn't I do the right thing, Daddy?' Swain
sighed, 'Yes. Thank you, honey. You did the right thing.' He handed Balthazar
over to Hawkins, and walked quietly back to the balcony overlooking the atrium. Bellos was
still standing behind the Information Desk, putting down his guide, oblivious
to their presence. At
least that's good, Swain turned back toward the
elevator, head down in thought. They still had to go. Something would be coming
up in that elevator very soon and he didn't want to be here when it did. Finally he
looked up toward the elevator. Holly was
staring straight at him. Selexin and
the other guide both stood there with their mouths wide open. Hawkins was
just standing there, too, propping up Balthazar, staring fixedly at Swain. But it was
Balthazar who seized Swain's attention. The tall
bearded man had his left arm draped over Hawkins' shoulder for support. His
right was held high, a glistening, evil-looking silver blade in his hand. Poised. Ready. Swain didn't
know what to do. What had happened? Balthazar was ready to throw a knife at him
and the others weren't doing anything… Balthazar
threw the knife. Swain waited
for the impact. Waited to grab his chest and feel the burning pain as the blade
lodged deep into his heart… The knife
whistled through the air at astonishing speed. Right past
him. Swain heard
a thud as the nasty-looking knife lodged into the railing behind him. The steel
railing. Then Swain
heard the scream. A piercing,
wailing scream of pure agony. Swain spun
to see that Balthazar's knife had pinned the hood's left foreclaw to the steel
railing. The force of the throw was so strong that it had lodged the knife
several inches into the steel. It had caught the hood as it had been attempting
to climb over the railing from the Ground Floor below — right behind Swain. The hood
screamed, and for an instant Swain saw its features up close. Four muscular
black limbs, all with long dagger-like claws; a long slashing tail; and
strangest of all, the head. It seemed as if the head of this dog-sized animal
was nothing more than two gigantic jaws. There were eyes on it somewhere, but
all Swain could see were its needle-like teeth, bared wide with the help of its
massive lower jaw. And beyond
the hood, Swain caught a glimpse — a split-second glimpse — of Bellos, standing
by the Information Desk. Gazing
up at him. Smiling. He had known
all along… Swain turned
away, stumbling away from the railing as the hood wrenched at its pinned
foreclaw. It seemed to Swain that the knife fixing the claw to the railing was
the only thing holding the hood up. At that
moment there was another whistling through the air and suddenly a second knife
thudded into the forearm of the hood, slicing right through the narrow bone
just above its pinned foreclaw, cutting the claw clean off. With a
shriek, the hood dropped instantly out of sight, falling to the atrium way
below — leaving in its place a bony five-fingered claw, impaled on the railing
by the first throwing knife. Hawkins
yelled to Swain, 'Here! Over here!' Swain saw
the ramshackle group hurrying toward the photocopying room to his right. He ran
after them and when he reached the door to the photocopying room, he looked
back over his shoulder to see the first of the remaining hoods slink slowly and
menacingly over the railing. Swain shut
the door behind him and looked around the photocopying room. Hawkins was
leading the way with Balthazar over his shoulder, throwing open the other door
at the far end of the room, the one that read: internet facility. Apart from that door, a solid concrete
wall separated the two rooms. Swain followed as Holly and the others hurried
through the doorway behind Hawkins. Swain paused
at the threshold. He was standing on a dusty handwritten sign that must have
fallen from the door some time ago. It read: STATE LIBRARY OF NEW YORK INTERNET/ON-LINE SERVICES
FACILITY CLOSED FOR REPAIRS. WE REGRET ANY INCONVENIENCE. 'I don't
know if this is such a good idea,' he stepped inside, shutting and locking the
door after him. Suddenly,
there was a loud bang from somewhere behind him and Swain spun around.
He peered out through a small rectangular window set into the door — and saw
that the hoods were pounding on the outer door of the photocopying room. He turned to
face the Internet room. 'Sorry,'
Hawkins said, lowering the weary-looking Balthazar to the floor. The Internet
facility of the State Library of New York — a relatively new addition to a
relatively old building — was little more than a wide empty room, with
open-ended wires hanging down from an unpainted ceiling and bared electrical
outlets on the walls. No computers. No modems. Even the light switch next to
the doorway was merely a stumpy metal housing with lots of frayed wires. A
corner room, there were windows along two of its sides, but no other doors. There was
only the one entrance. It was a
dead end. Wonderful,
Swain thought. The banging
outside continued. He looked back out through the small rectangular window in
the door. The photocopying room's outer door was still, except that every few
seconds it would vibrate suddenly as the hoods rammed it from the other side. Hawkins and
Holly were standing at the windows, gazing out helplessly over the park
outside. Swain pulled
Holly back protectively. 'Don't get too close,' he said, pointing at the window
frame, at the tiny blue talons of electricity that lashed out around its edges. 'Uh, excuse
me, but I think we have more pressing problems than the windows,' Selexin
said impatiently. The pounding
of the hoods on the outer door continued. 'Right.'
Swain's eyes swept the room, looking for something he could use. Anything he
could use. But there was nothing here. Absolutely nothing. The room was
completely bare. And then,
with a sudden, loud crash, the outer door to the photocopying room burst
inwards. 'They're
inside,' Hawkins said, racing to the door, peering out through its small
window. 'Christ,'
Swain said. In an
instant, the first hood hit the door. Hawkins stepped back as the whole door
shook. 'Get back!'
Swain said. 'They'll go for the window!' The second
hood went for the window set into the door. Shards of
glass sprayed everywhere as the window exploded inwards. The hood clung to the
broken window, reaching into the room, lashing out indiscriminately with a
single claw. The other
hoods were ramming the door, pounding it repeatedly. 'What do we
do?' Hawkins yelled. 'It won't hold for long. The other door didn't!' 'I know! I
know!' Swain was trying to think. The hoods
continued to pound loudly on the door. The door's hinges creaked ominously. The
hood with its arm inside the broken rectangular window was now trying to stick
its head through, but the gap was too small. It hissed and snarled maniacally. Swain spun.
'Everyone to that corner,' he pointed to the far corner. 'I want—' He stopped —
listened to the sound of the soft rain pattering against the windows. Something
had changed. Something he almost hadn't noticed. He listened in the silence. The
silence. That was it. The pounding
had stopped. What
were they doing? And then
Swain looked at the door. Slowly,
almost imperceptibly, the doorknob began to rotate. Hawkins saw
it, too. 'Holy shit…' he gasped. Swain dived
for the door. Too late. The knob
continued to rotate and then… …click! It was
locked. Swain breathed again. The knob
turned again. Clicked again. Turned.
Clicked. They're
testing it, over and over, he thought in horror. It was at
that moment, as Swain was staring up at the door from the floor, that a long
black claw slid slowly and silently through the broken window. The bony
black arm reached downward, slowly flexing its jagged razor-sharp fingernails.
The lethal black claw was moving across and down to the right when suddenly
Swain realised what it was doing. Swain
snapped round to look at Balthazar — to see if the big man could throw another
knife at the claw. But, having thrown the two knives earlier, Balthazar was now
spent. He just sat on the floor with his head bowed. Swain saw the knives on
his baldric, thought about using one, but then decided he didn't want to get
too close to the hood's vicious-looking claw. 'Quickly,'
he said to Hawkins. 'Handcuffs.' Puzzled,
Hawkins reached for his gunbelt and pulled out a pair of handcuffs. Swain
grabbed them. The clawed
hand edged slowly downwards, coming closer to the doorknob. 'It's
trying to unlock the door…' Hawkins breathed in awe. As soon
as it turned the knob from the inside, the door would unlock straight away.
Unlock. And open… Swain
reached up to the door, trying to prise open the cuffs. But the cuffs wouldn't
open. The doorknob
rattled again and Swain jumped, ready for it to burst open. The door
remained shut. It had come
from the outside. One of the hoods outside was trying to turn the knob again.
The door was still locked. But the clawed hand on the inside was still
getting closer to the knob on this side. 'They're
locked! The cuffs are locked!' Swain shouted in disbelief, fumbling with the
cuffs. 'Shit, of
course.' Hawkins pulled some keys from his pocket. 'Here. The smallest one.' Swain took
the keys, hands shaking, and tried to insert the smallest key into the cuffs. 'Hurry
up!' Selexin said. The claw was
at the knob now. Feeling. Swain's
hands were shaking so much that the key slipped out of the cuffs' keyhole. 'Quickly!'
Selexin yelled. Swain
inserted the key again, turned it. The cuffs popped opened. 'There!' he
said, moving across the floor, sliding underneath the doorknob. The clawed
hand was moving over the knob now, trying to get a grip on it. Swain
reached for the light switch next to the door. Its wired remains flowed out
from a solid, stumpy metal housing. Swain clamped one ring of the cuffs through
a gap in the metal housing. The clawed
hand slowly began to turn the doorknob. Swain
reached up to the knob, sliding the second ring of the cuffs in behind the
clawed hand and around the narrowest part of the doorknob — the part closest to
the door itself. Then he
clamped the cuff tightly around the doorknob just as the clawed hand
turned it fully. There was a loud click! as the door unlocked. The door
swung slightly inward, opening an inch. And then
suddenly, shockingly, the door was rammed from the outside. The
handcuffs went instantly taut, securing the door to the metal housing on the
wall. The door was
open six inches now and Swain fell backwards as one of the hoods swiped
viciously at him through the narrow gap between the door and its frame. The hoods
were snarling loudly now, scratching at the doorframe, hurling themselves
bodily at the door. But the
cuffs held. The gap
between door and frame was too narrow. The
dog-sized hoods couldn't get in. 'Well done,'
Hawkins said. Swain wasn't
impressed. 'If they can't open it, they'll soon break it down. We have to get
out of this room.' The hoods
kept pounding on the door. Swain turned
around — searching for another way out — when suddenly he saw Holly standing
over by one of the windows. She was bent over the window sill as if she were
injured. 'Holly? You
all right?' He hurried over to her. 'Yes…'
Distracted. The pounding
continued. The hoods' snarling and hissing filled the room. 'What are
you doing?' he said quickly. 'Playing
with the electricity.' Swain stole
a glance back at the door as he came up beside her and looked over her
shoulder. Holly was holding the broken telephone receiver two inches away from
the window sill. As she moved it closer, the small forks of blue lightning
seemed to pull away from it in a wide circle — away from the phone. Swain had
forgotten Holly still had the phone receiver at all. He frowned at what he saw,
though. He didn't know why the electricity should move away from the phone
receiver. After all, the phone was dead… The pounding
and the grunting of the hoods continued. The door
still held. 'Can I have
that?' Swain said quickly. Holly gave him the phone as he looked back at the
door. Then,
abruptly, the pounding and the snarling stopped. Silence. And then
Swain heard the hoods scamper out of the photocopying room. 'What's
going on?' Hawkins said. 'I don't
know.' Swain moved to look out through the gap in the door. 'Are they
coming back?' Selexin said. 'I can't see
them,' Swain said. 'Why did they leave?' Peering out
through the gap in the door, Swain saw the outer door to the photocopying room
swinging wide open, left ajar by the hoods. Beyond that, quite a way away and
shrouded in darkness, the doors to the elevators. And then he
saw the reason why the hoods had left so abruptly. With a soft ping
the doors to the far elevator slowly began to open. —––ooo0ooo——— Slow
night, Bob Charlton thought wryly as he stepped into the bustling offices
of the New York Police Department's 14th Precinct. He had been
here a few times before, but this time the main foyer was much less crowded —
there were only about eighty people here tonight. He stepped up to the
reception desk and shouted above the din: 'Bob Charlton to see Captain Dickson,
please!' 'Mr
Charlton? Henry Dickson,' Dickson said, extending his hand as Charlton entered
the relative silence of his office. 'Neil Peters said you'd be coming down.
What can I do for you?' 'I've got a
problem downtown that I was told you could help me with.' 'Yeah Charlton
said, 'Sometime in the last twenty-four hours we lost a main in one of the
south-central grids. Lieutenant Peters said that you picked up a guy in that
area earlier today.' 'Where's
your grid?' Dickson asked. 'It's
bounded by 14th and Delancey on the north-south axis.' Dickson looked
at a map on the wall next to him. 'Yeah,
that's right. We did pick up a fella in that area. Just this morning,' Dickson
said. 'But I don't think he'll be much use to you. We picked him up in the old
State Library.' 'What was he
doing there?' 'Small-time
computer thief. Apparently they've just put in a new set of Pentiums down
there. But this poor bastard must have stumbled onto something bigger.' 'Something
bigger?' Charlton asked. 'We found
him covered in blood.' Charlton
blinked. 'Only it
wasn't his blood. It was a security guard's.' 'Oh my God.' 'Damn
right.' Charlton
leaned forward, serious. 'How did he get inside? Inside the library, I mean.' 'Don't know
yet. I've got a couple of babysitters down there now. As you can see, we're
pretty busy round here. Site squad'll be going in there tomorrow to determine
point of entry.' Charlton
asked, 'This thief, is he still here?' 'Yeah. Got
him locked up downstairs.' 'Can I talk
to him?' Dickson
shrugged. 'Sure. But I wouldn't get your hopes up. He's been talking gibberish
ever since we brought him in.' 'That's
okay, I'd like to try anyway. Some of those old buildings have booster valves
in funny places. I'm thinking he might have busted something on his way in.
That okay with you?' 'Sure.' Both men
stood up and walked toward the door. Dickson stopped. 'Oh, a word
of warning, Mr Charlton,' he said. 'Try to hold your stomach, this ain't gonna
be pretty.' Charlton
winced as he looked again at the black man in the small cell in front of him. Quite
obviously, they hadn't been able to get all the blood off his face. Perhaps
those designated to wash him had retched, too, Charlton thought. Whatever the
case, they hadn't finished the job. Mike Fraser still had large vertical
streaks of dried blood running down the length of his face, like some bizarre
kind of warpaint. Fraser just
sat there on the far side of the cell, staring at the concrete wall, talking
rapidly to himself, making darting gestures at some invisible friend. 'That's
him,' Dickson said. 'Jesus,'
Charlton breathed. 'Hasn't
stopped talking to that wall since we put him in here. Blood on his face has
dried, too. He'll have to get it off himself later, when he's got sense enough
to use a shower.' 'You said
his name was Fraser…' Charlton said. 'Yep.
Michael Thomas Fraser.' Charlton
stepped forward. 'Michael?'
he said gently. No response.
Fraser kept talking to the wall. 'Michael?
Can you hear me?' No response. Charlton
turned his back on the cell to face Dickson. 'You never found out how he got
into the library, is that right?' 'Like I
said, site squad goes in tomorrow.' 'Right…' Dickson
said, 'You won't get anything out of him. He hasn't said a word to anyone all
day. Probably can't even hear your voice.' 'Hmmm,'
Charlton mused. 'Poor bastard…' 'It's
hearing your voice,' Mike Fraser whispered into Bob
Charlton's ear. Charlton
jumped away from the cell. Fraser was
right up close to the bars, only inches away from Charlton's head. Charlton
hadn't even heard him come across the cell. Fraser kept
talking in an exaggerated whisper,' Whatever it is, it's hearing your voice!
And if you keep talking…' The black
man was pressing his bloodstained face up against the bars, trying to get as
close to Charlton as possible. The streaks of dried blood running vertically
down his face gave him an aspect of pure evil. 'Whatever
it is, it's hearing your voice! And if you keep talking!' Fraser hissed
crazily. He was starting to wail. 'And
if you keep talking! Talking! Talking! Ah-ah-ah!' Fraser was
looking up at the ceiling, at some imaginary creature looming above him. He
held up his hands to ward off the unseen foe. 'Oh my God! It's here! It's
after me! It's here! Oh God, help me! Somebody help me!' Frantically,
he began to shake the bars of the cell. Finally he fell limp, his arms hanging
through the bars. At last Fraser looked up at Charlton. 'Don't go
there,' he hissed. Charlton
leaned closer, spoke gently. 'Why? What's there?' Fraser
offered a sly, evil grin through his mask of dried blood. 'If you go, you go.
But you won't comeback alive.' 'He's nuts.
Lost it, that's all,' Dickson said as they walked back to the main entrance of
the station. 'You think
he killed the guard?' Charlton asked. 'Him? Nah.
Probably stumbled on the guys who did, though.' 'And you
think they messed him up? Scared him to death by painting him in the guard's
blood?' 'Something
like that.' Charlton
stroked his chin as he walked. 'I don't know. I think I better check out our
links with that library. It's worth a shot. Might be that whoever got hold of
Michael Fraser decided to hack up my junction line, too. And if they hacked the
junction at the booster valve, it would definitely be possible to bring the
whole main down.' They reached
the doors. 'Sergeant,'
Charlton said as the two men shook hands, 'thank you for your time and help.
It's been, well, interesting, to say the least.' —––ooo0ooo——— Stephen
Swain peered out from behind the handcuffed door of the New York State
Library's rather generously named Internet Facility. The doors of
the darkened elevator were fully open now but nothing was happening. The elevator
was just sitting there. Open and
silent. For their
part, the hoods were nowhere to be seen. Having hustled out of the
photocopying room, they must have been out on the balcony somewhere. Hiding… Swain
watched intently, waiting for something to emerge from the lift. 'Could be
empty,' Hawkins whispered. 'Could be,'
Swain replied. 'Maybe whoever pressed the button never got in.' 'Shhh,'
Selexin hissed, 'something is coming out.' They turned
back to face the elevator. 'Uh-oh,'
Hawkins said. 'Oh man,'
Swain sighed, 'doesn't this guy ever quit?' The tail
emerged first, pointing forward, hovering horizontally three feet above the
ground. Swain could easily see the slight kink in the tail a few inches from
the tip where he had broken the bone. The antennae came next, followed by the
snout, cautiously moving out from the elevator. 'She is not a
guy,' Selexin said. 'I told you that before, Reese is female.' 'How did she
figure out the elevator?' Hawkins asked as they watched Reese lower her snout
and sniff the floor. 'I imagine,'
Selexin said, 'she smelled Mister Swain's residual scent on one of the
buttons—' Abruptly,
Reese's snout snapped up and pointed directly at them. Swain and Hawkins ducked
instantly behind the door. Selexin didn't move. 'What are
you doing? She cannot see you,' he whispered. 'She can only smell you.
To hide behind the door won't extinguish your scent-trail. Besides,' he added
sourly, 'she probably already knows we are here.' Swain and
Hawkins resumed their positions at the door. Hawkins
said, 'So why isn't she coming after us?' Selexin
sighed. 'Honestly, it is a wonder that I bother explaining anything to you. I
would think that the reason why Reese has not come directly after us is perfectly
obvious.' 'And what is
that?' Hawkins said. 'Because she
smells something else,' Selexin said. 'Some other creature that I would safely
assume is far more worrisome to her than you are.' 'The hoods,'
Swain said, not taking his eyes off Reese. She was standing perfectly still at
the mouth of the elevator. 'Correct.
And since they were out there only very recently, their scent is probably very
strong,' Selexin said. 'I would therefore assert that at the moment, Reese is
feeling particularly concerned.' For a long
minute they watched Reese in silence. Her long, low, dinosaur-like body didn't
move an inch. Her tail was poised high, tensed, ready to strike. Hawkins
said, 'So what do we do?' Swain was
frowning, thinking. 'We get
out,' he said finally. 'What!' Selexin
and Hawkins said at the same time. Swain was
already reaching up for the handcuffs, unlocking them. 'For one
thing, we can't stay here,' he said. 'Sooner or later one of those bastards out
there is going to break down this door. And when that happens, we'll be
trapped. I say we get ready to run as soon as something happens.' 'As soon as something
happens?' Selexin said. 'A rather inexact plan if you don't mind my saying
so.' Swain put
the cuffs in his pocket and shrugged at the little man. 'Let's just say that
I've got a feeling something is about to happen out there. And when it does, I
want all of us to be ready to make a break for it.' Several
minutes later, Swain had Balthazar draped over his shoulder while Hawkins held
Holly by the hand. The door was open a full two feet. Outside,
Reese stood rigidly in front of the elevator, visibly tensed, alert. They waited. Reese didn't
move. Another
minute ticked by. Swain turned
to face the group. 'All right, when I say go, run straight for the stairwell.
When you get there, don't stop, don't look back, just go straight up. When we
hit the Third Floor, I'll lead the way from there. Okay?' They nodded. 'Good.' Another
minute passed. 'It does not
look like anything is going to happen,' Selexin said sourly. 'He's
right,' Hawkins said. 'Maybe we better put the cuffs back on the door…' 'Not just
yet,' Swain said, staring intently out at Reese. 'They're out there, and Reese
knows it… There!' Abruptly,
Reese spun to her right, away from them. Something had caught her attention. Swain
tightened his grip on Balthazar. 'All right everybody, get ready, this is it.' Slowly,
Swain pulled the door open and ventured into the photocopying room. The others
followed him to the outer door. Reese was
still facing the other direction. Swain rested
his free hand lightly on the outer door, his eyes locked on Reese, praying that
she wouldn't turn around and charge. He opened
the door wider, and stepped out. He could see
the stairwell now, off to the left. Reese and the elevators were about twenty
feet to the right. Beyond Reese, he could see the wide empty space that fell
away to the Ground Floor atrium below. He figured if he could just ease out of
the doorway and quietly make his way to the— Suddenly,
Reese whirled around. For an
instant Swain's heart stopped. He felt like a thief discovered with his hands
in the till — totally exposed. Caught in the act. He froze. But Reese
didn't stop to face him. She just
kept turning until she came a full three hundred and sixty degrees. A full
circle. Swain
breathed again. He didn't know what was happening until he realised that
Reese's quick circling movement wasn't a threatening move at all. It was a
defensive move. Reese was
frightened, agitated, desperately looking — no, smelling — in every
direction. She's
surrounded, Swain thought. She knows we're here, but
she's decided we're not worth worrying about. There's something else out there,
something more dangerous… There was no
time to waste. This was the
chance. Swain turned
to the others and whispered, 'Come on! We're moving now.' Swain
half-dragged, half-carried Balthazar out through the doorway, not daring to
take his eyes off Reese. The others raced past him and headed for the open
stairwell. Swain limped as fast as he could toward the stairwell, straining
under Balthazar's dead weight. He was almost at the stairwell when the attack
on Reese began. A hood. Squealing
fiercely, it leapt over the railing from the Ground Floor, claws extended, jaws
wide open. Swain heaved
Balthazar into the stairwell, trying as he did to watch what was happening
behind him. And as he disappeared into the stairwell, the last thing Swain saw
was a fleeting glimpse of Reese, shrieking madly, swinging her tail around to
defend herself against the onslaught of incoming hoods. Feet
pounding, Swain hurried up the stairs, Balthazar's weight pressing heavily down
against his shoulders. The others
were waiting for him at the fire door marked '3'. When he joined them, Swain
passed Balthazar over to Hawkins. 'Why are we
stopping here?' the young cop asked. 'Shouldn't we keep going up?' 'We can't go
any higher,' Swain said. 'We can't get out there. The door to the roof's
electrified.' 'Daddy, what
are we doing?' Holly said. Swain eased
the fire door open slightly. 'Looking for a hiding place, honey.' 'Daddy,
where are the monsters?' 'I don't
know. Hopefully not up here.' 'Daddy…' 'Shh. Just
wait here,' Swain said. Holly stepped back, silent. Swain
stepped through the doorway and scanned the room. Yes.
He was where he wanted to be. The wide
low-ceilinged study hall stretched away from him, its L-shaped desks creating a
waist-high maze that spread right across the room. The whole room was dark,
save for the soft blue city light that filtered in through the windows on the far
side. Slowly,
Swain bent down to look under the desks. Through the legs he could see all the
way across the room. There were no feet — or whatever the hell these creatures
walked on — in sight. The study
hall was empty. He poked his
head back through the fire door. 'Okay everyone. Inside, quickly.' The others
filed into the study hall. Swain took Holly's hand and led her through the
winding maze of desks. 'Daddy. I
don't like it here.' Swain was
looking around the room. 'Yeah, me neither,' he said, distracted. 'Daddy?' 'What,
honey?' 'Daddy, can
we go now—?' Swain
pointed to a corner near the windows. 'There it is.' He quickened his pace,
pulling Holly harder. Hawkins was
walking behind them. 'What is it?' he asked. All he could see was a sign on the
wall reading: QUIET PLEASE. THIS ROOM IS FOR PRIVATE STUDY
ONLY. NO CARRY BAGS PERMITTED. 'Next to the
sign,' Swain said. Beside the
sign on the wall, Hawkins saw a large, solid, grey door. It looked like some
sort of maintenance door. Swain
reached for the knob. It turned easily. Unlocked. The door
opened slowly, with the distinctive hiss of a hydraulic valve. Swain didn't
think much of it. All the big doors at the hospital needed hydraulics to help
people open them, they were that heavy. He reached
for the light switch, but decided against it. Any light would be a certain
giveaway. He surveyed
the room before him. Cold grey concrete walls, a janitor's cart filled with
buckets and mops, shelves packed with bottles of detergent and floor wax, and
several tarps stretched over large mounds of more janitorial equipment. Diffused
white light from the streetlights outside streamed in through two long
rectangular windows high up on the left-hand wall. Directly opposite the door,
dividing the room in two, was a floor-to-ceiling cyclone fence with a rusted
iron gate in its centre. Beyond the fence were more shelves of detergent and a
few more piles of equipment covered in dark hessian cloth. The group
moved inside and Swain closed the door behind them. The hydraulic door shut
with a soft whump. Holly sat
away from the door, up against the cyclone fence. Hawkins put Balthazar on the
floor beneath the windows and scanned the maintenance room, nodding. 'We should
be safe here.' 'For a
while, yes,' Swain said. Selexin
asked, 'How long do you think we should stay here?' 'As long as
we can,' Swain said. 'Hooray,'
Hawkins said blandly. 'And how
long is that?' Selexin again. 'I don't
know. Maybe right up till the end. At the moment I'm not quite sure.' 'You cannot
forget that there will always be something out there,' Selexin said.
'Even when all the contestants are dead, you will still have the Karanadon to
face.' 'I don't
have to face anything,' Swain said harshly. 'What does
that mean?' 'It means,
I'm not here to fight. It means I'm not here to win your stupid contest. It
means that at the moment all I'm worried about is getting my daughter and the
rest of us out of here alive.' 'But
you can't do that unless you win,' Selexin said
angrily. Swain looked
hard at the little man. He was silent for a few seconds. 'I wouldn't
be so sure of that,' he said softly, almost to himself. 'What was
that?' Selexin said. It was an argument now. 'I said, I
wouldn't be so sure of that.' 'You believe
you can get out of the labyrinth?' Selexin challenged. Swain was
silent. He looked over at Holly by the cyclone fence, sucking her thumb. Selexin said
again, 'Do you seriously think you can get out of the labyrinth?' Swain was
silent. Hawkins
whispered to him, 'You think we can get out?' Swain looked
at the windows near the ceiling, thinking to himself. At last he spoke. 'Yes.' 'Impossible.'
Balthazar's guide stepped forward. 'Absolutely impossible.' 'You stay
out of this,' Selexin snapped angrily. Swain stared
at Selexin. The little man had been indignant before, distressed even, but he
had never been downright angry. Balthazar's
guide stepped back immediately. Selexin spun back to face Swain. 'How?'
he demanded. 'How?' 'Yes, how do
you propose we get out?' 'You want
to get out?' Swain couldn't believe it. After the lecture he had received
before about the grandeur and honour associated with the Presidian, he found it
difficult to believe that Selexin would want to get out. 'As a matter
of fact I do.' Balthazar's
guide interrupted again, 'Oh, you do, do you? Well forgive me for reminding you
of an unpleasant fact, Selexin, but you can't!' Selexin
didn't say anything. Balthazar's
guide went on. 'Selexin, the Presidian has begun. It cannot and will
not be stopped until a winner has been found. It is the only honourable
way.' 'I think any
honour this thing had went flying out the window when your friend Bellos
brought his bloodhounds along,' Swain said. 'I agree,'
Selexin said, glaring at Balthazar's guide. 'Bellos has broken the rules. And
with hoodaya, he cannot and will not be stopped. We must get out.' 'And do
what?' the other guide sneered, 'use our witnessing teleports to call for help?
They transmit vision only, Selexin, not sound.' 'Then anything,'
Selexin said. 'If two contestants leave the labyrinth and initialise their
witnessing teleports and wave for the cameras, the controllers of the Presidian
will have to realise that something is amiss.' The other
guide stared at Selexin. 'I do not think our two contestants will last very
long outside the labyrinth,' he said smugly. 'Why?' 'As a matter
of fact,' the other guide smiled, 'I would say that they would not last any
longer than exactly fifteen minutes.' 'Oh,'
Selexin frowned, remembering. 'Yes.' Swain was
bewildered. It was as if Selexin and Balthazar's guide were speaking in another
language. 'What does
that mean?' he asked Selexin. Selexin
spoke sadly. 'Do you remember what I told you before about your wristband?' Swain looked
down at the heavy grey band around his wrist. He'd forgotten about it entirely. The little
green light still glowed brightly. The display now read: INITIALISED—6 Six?
Swain thought. He remembered the contestant on the Ground Floor —
the Konda — that had been killed by the hoods. The wristband, it appeared, was
counting down now. Striking out a number as each contestant was
eliminated. Until only one remained. And when
only one was left, then came the Karanadon that Selexin kept talking about.
Whatever that was. 'Do you
remember?' Selexin said again. 'Yes, I
think I remember.' 'Do you
recall that if your wristband detects that it is outside the electronic field
surrounding the labyrinth, it will automatically set itself to detonate?' Swain
frowned. It all suddenly made sense. 'And I get fifteen minutes to get back
inside.' 'Exactly.'
Balthazar's guide spat. Nobody
spoke. There was silence for a full minute. Someone took a long, deep breath. Balthazar's
guide spoke: 'So even if you get out, you are still a dead man.' Swain looked
at him and snorted. 'Thanks.' 'You know,
you're a real great help,' Hawkins said to the little man. 'At least I
am realistic about my situation.' 'At least I
give a shit about somebody else's life,' Hawkins said. 'I would be
more concerned about taking care of my own if I were you.' 'Yeah, well
you're not me—' 'All right.
All right,' Swain said. 'Settle down. We've got to find a way out of this, not
fight among ourselves.' He turned to Selexin. 'Is there any way we can
get this thing off my wrist?' Selexin
shook his head. 'No. It doesn't come off… unless you…' he shrugged. 'I know, I
know. Unless I win the Presidian, right?' Selexin
nodded. 'Only the officials at the other end have the proper equipment to
remove it.' 'Can we
break it open?' Hawkins suggested. 'Can anyone
here break down that door?' Balthazar's guide asked, pointing to the
maintenance room's heavy hydraulic door, knowing the answer. 'If not, then
no-one here can break open that wristband. It's too strong.' The group
went silent. Swain looked
down at the wristband again. In the last minute it had suddenly begun to feel a
lot heavier. He crossed the room and sat next to Holly, resting his back up
against the cyclone fence. 'How are you
doing?' he asked softly. She didn't
answer. 'Holly?
What's up?' Still no
answer. Holly was staring vacantly straight ahead. 'Come on, Hol,
what is it? Did I do something?' he waited for a response. This was not
unusual. Holly would often refuse to talk to him when she felt rejected or left
out or just plain stubborn. 'Holly,
please, we don't have time for this now,' Swain shook his head in exasperation. Holly spoke,
'Daddy.' 'Yes.' 'Be very
quiet, Daddy. Be very, very quiet.' 'Why—?' 'Shh.' Swain went
mute. The others had sat down over near Balthazar, beneath the high windows.
Everyone sat in complete silence for ten seconds. Holly leaned over to Swain's
ear. 'Do you hear
it?' she whispered. 'No.' 'Listen.' Swain looked
at Holly. She was sitting dead still, her eyes wide open, her head set rigidly
upright, backed up against the cyclone fence. She looked frightened. Frightened
out of her mind. She spoke again. 'Okay Daddy,
get ready. Listen… now.' And then he
heard it. The sound
was barely audible, but it was unmistakable. A long, slow inhalation. Something
breathing. Something
not very far away. Suddenly,
there was a snorting sound, like the soft grunting of a pig. It was followed by
a shuffling sound. Then the
inhalation came again. It was slow
and rhythmic, like the breathing of someone sleeping. Selexin
heard it, too. At the
grunting sound, his head snapped up immediately. He scrambled silently on all
fours across the concrete floor to Swain. 'We have to
get out,' he hissed in Swain's ear. 'We have to get out now.' The
inhalation came again. 'It's in
here,' Selexin said. 'Quickly, give me your wrist.' Swain
offered his wristband for Selexin to see. The green
light was still on. 'Phew,'
Selexin breathed. 'It?' Swain
asked. 'What is it?' 'It's behind
us, Daddy,' Holly hissed, her body frozen. 'Oh, Jesus
Christ…' Hawkins gasped, getting to his feet on the other side of the room. He
was looking through the cyclone fence. 'I think it's time to get the hell out
of here.' The
inhalation came again, louder this time. And then
slowly, ever so slowly, Stephen Swain turned around. It was over
by the far corner of the cage, under some shelves mounted high up on the wall.
In the dark it looked like just another large mound of equipment covered in a
tarp. Only it was
moving. Slowly and
steadily. Rhythmically
rising and falling, in time with the deep inhalations. Swain's eyes
followed the outline of the 'mound'. It was big. In the dim light of the
storage room he could just make out long spiky bristles on top of an arched
back— There was a
loud grunt. Then the
whole mound rolled over onto its side and the deep inhalations resumed. Selexin was
tugging on Swain's shirt. 'Let's go! Let's go!' Swain rose
to his feet, plucked Holly from the floor, headed for the door. He was reaching
for the door's handle when he heard a soft, insistent beeping. It was
coming from his wristband. The little green light was flashing. Selexin's
eyes went wide with horror. 'It's waking
up! Get out!' he screamed. 'Get out now!' He barged
past Hawkins, hauled open the door, pushed Swain through it, screaming, 'Out!
Out! Out!' Swain and
Holly were out in the empty study hall again. Hawkins emerged from the
janitor's room with Balthazar over his shoulder, the other guide close behind. Selexin was
already charging in amongst the L-shaped desks of the study hall. 'Don't stop!
Don't stop! Keep moving, we have to get as far away from here as possible!' Swain
followed with Holly in his arms — weaving quickly between the desks, away from
the janitor's room — the others close in tow. Up ahead,
Selexin was darting between the desks, constantly looking back to see if Swain
was still with him. 'The band!
The band! Look at your wristband!' he called. Swain looked
down at the wristband. It was beeping horribly loudly now, and quicker, too. And then he
stopped. The green
light on the wristband had gone out. Now the red
one was on. And it was
flashing rapidly. 'Uh-oh.' Hawkins
caught up with them. He was panting, desperately. 'What is it?' 'We're about
to be in for some serious trouble,' Swain said. At that
moment the heavy hydraulic door to the janitor's room exploded from its hinges
and flew out into the study hall, landing with a deafening bang!, crushing
several desks. It was
followed by a blood-curdling roar that boomed out from within the janitor's
room. 'Oh, man,'
Hawkins breathed. 'Let's
move!' Swain took off, winding through the maze of desks, heading for the
stairwell in the opposite corner of the room. He was
glancing over his shoulder when it emerged from the janitor's room. It was huge. Absolutely
huge. It had to double over just to fit through the wide doorway that no longer
had a door. Selexin saw
it, too. 'It's the Karanadon!' They were
halfway across the wide study hall, crossing it diagonally, when the Karanadon
cleared the doorway and rose to its full height, almost touching the ceiling. Swain
pressed on, carrying Holly toward the stairwell. Hawkins was losing ground
behind him, weighed down by Balthazar. Last of all was Balthazar's guide —
pushing and shoving — trying desperately to get Hawkins and Balthazar to move
faster, constantly looking behind him, to see if the Karanadon was coming after
them. Swain
glanced over his shoulder again to get another look at the fearsome beast. It continued
to stand by the door to the janitor's room, watching them. It hadn't
moved yet. It just
stood there. Despite the
noise they were making as they scrambled in a panic through the desks for the
stairwell, it just stood in front of the doorway in silence. Swain
rounded another desk. Twenty yards to the stairwell. He looked back again. Christ, it
was big all right — at least fourteen feet tall. It had the
body of an enormous, hairy, broad-shouldered gorilla — all black, hunched
forward, with a series of long spiky bristles that flowed over its high arched
back. Long muscular arms hung down from its massive shoulders so that the
knuckles dragged on the ground. The head was
two-and-a-half feet long, and it reminded Swain of a jackal. High pointed ears.
Black, lifeless eyes. And menacing canine fangs that protruded from a dark
wrinkled snout, frozen in an eternal snarl. It moved. The Karanadon
leapt forward and bounded after them at frightening speed. It stomped on the
fallen hydraulic door, cracking it in the middle, breaking it in two. Swain
tightened his grip on Holly and bolted for the stairwell. Hawkins struggled to
pull Balthazar forward. Balthazar's guide was looking frantically behind them,
pounding on Hawkins' back, screaming for him to move faster. The
Karanadon ploughed through the L-shaped desks like an icebreaker through a
frozen sea, hurling them in all directions, crushing them under its feet. When
they happened to hit the ground, the big beast's footsteps sounded like cannon
fire. Boom.
Boom. Boom. Swain and
the others continued to weave in and out between the desks. The Karanadon kept
coming in a straight line. Selexin was
at the stairwell, Swain ten yards away. He checked behind him. Hawkins,
Balthazar and the other guide were not going to make it. The Karanadon was
closing in on them too quickly. Better think
fast, Steve. Boom.
Boom. Boom. He let Holly
drop to the floor and quickly scanned the wide study hall. It was
roughly square in shape. He and Holly were almost at the stairwell, on the
western side of the floor. The janitor's room was roughly opposite them, on the
north-eastern corner of the floor. On the south-eastern corner were the
elevators. Boom. Boom. Boom. 'Move
faster!' Balthazar's guide was screaming at Hawkins. 'For God's sake, it's
getting closer!' The
Karanadon crunched through another desk. And then
Swain pushed Holly away from the stairwell, toward the elevators. 'Let's
go, honey. We're gonna make a run for the elevators.' He called to Selexin at
the stairwell door. 'This way! We're going this way!' Boom.
Boom. Boom. ' That way!'
Selexin screamed back. 'What about the stairs!' 'Will you
just do it, okay!' The Karanadon
was right on top of the others now. It lunged at
Balthazar's guide, swiping at him with one of its long arms. The guide ducked
and the massive claw swished over his head and smashed into a nearby desk. The
desk shattered and Balthazar's guide stumbled forward, tripping over Hawkins'
legs, sending all three of them — the guide, Hawkins and Balthazar — sprawling
forward. Hawkins hit
the ground hard, landing heavily on his shoulder. Balthazar fell on top of him.
His guide landed helplessly at their feet. Boom. There was a
sudden, terrifying silence. The
Karanadon had stopped. Hawkins was
sweating profusely. He wriggled desperately, tried to pull himself to his feet,
but his right arm was jammed beneath Balthazar. His left wasn't even
responding, the shoulder dislocated by the fall. Down near
his feet he saw the little guide frantically clutching at his trouser leg,
trying desperately to stand up. 'Help me! Help
me?' the guide pleaded, petrified. And then
suddenly—violently — the guide was sucked from Hawkins' view. Over by the
wall, Swain watched in horror as his three companions fell below the deskline. The
Karanadon had stopped a few feet short of them. Then it had bent down behind
the desks, out of view. When it reappeared, it had the distinctive white shape
of Balthazar's guide in one of its massive black claws. The guide
was waving his arms wildly, screaming at the monster. The Karanadon pulled him
up to its snout and curiously examined the noisy little creature it had found. And then,
one-handed, the Karanadon held the guide out at arm's length and viciously
slashed across the front of his body with its free claw. Swain's jaw
dropped. Hawkins'
eyes went wide with terror. Three deep
slits of red exploded across the guide's chest. One slashing tear sliced across
his mouth. The guide's body went instantly limp. The room was
suddenly silent. The
Karanadon shook the body once. It didn't respond. The big beast shook the
lifeless body again — like a toy that didn't work anymore — and then flung it
away. Swain still
couldn't see Hawkins. He ducked
down to look through the legs of the desks — and he saw him. Hawkins was lying
flat on the floor, wedged underneath Balthazar, unable to move, but trying
anyway. Christ, he
had to do something for him… Boom. Hawkins was
struggling to free himself when he felt the floor shake beneath him. He froze,
and then slowly turned to look upward. And saw the
massive jaws of the Karanadon, wide open, rushing down at him. He shut his
eyes. It was too— 'Hey!' The
Karanadon's head snapped up instantly. 'Yeah,
that's right, I'm talking to you!' Hawkins
opened his eyes. What the hell—? The
Karanadon slowly turned to face Swain. It cocked its head curiously, staring at
this bold creature that had dared to interrupt its kill. Swain was
waving his arms, yelling angrily at the fourteen-foot-tall beast that stood
barely fifteen yards away from him. 'Yeah, get
up! It's okay!' Swain barked, his face twisted in a fierce growl, never taking
his eyes off the monster before him. He raised his
voice. It was angry, challenging. 'Move! I've got it covered! It's
looking at me now! Get up and go for the stairwell!' It was like talking to a
dog — the beast heard the intonations, but made no sense of the words. Hawkins
suddenly realised what was happening — Swain was
talking to him. Immediately, he began struggling again to shift Balthazar off
him. In a few seconds, he got him off, and began to drag him across the floor,
away from the Karanadon while Swain kept it occupied. The
Karanadon seemed dumbstruck by this challenging display. It roared fiercely at
Swain. 'Oh, yeah!
Well… well, fuck you, too!' Swain yelled back. Out of the
corner of his eye he saw Holly and Selexin reach the elevators over by the
southern wall. In the other direction, he saw Hawkins and Balthazar reach the
stairwell. Unfortunately,
the Karanadon was still staring straight at him, totally exposed, halfway
between the elevators and the stairs. Shit. What
could he do now? Nice going, Steve. Boom. The
Karanadon took a slow step toward him. Boom.
Boom. Two more and
suddenly the gap was seven feet. Almost within striking distance. 'Hey!' The
Karanadon's head snapped left, toward Selexin and Holly by the elevator. 'Yes! That
is right! I am talking to you!' Selexin yelled. The big
creature took a step toward the elevators, growling. It roared. Selexin
braced himself, pointed a finger, and yelled, 'Oh, yeah, well fuck you,
too!' Swain
coughed back a laugh. The
Karanadon roared in outrage and stepped away from Swain, heading for the
elevators. It was gaining speed when a third voice called loudly. 'Hey!' The
Karanadon stopped in its tracks a third time. 'Yeah, you!'
It was Hawkins. Swain swung
his head back and forth between the elevators and the stairwell, amazed. Now totally
confused, the Karanadon swung to face Hawkins at the stairwell. Swain took the
chance and ran for the elevator. When he got there, he pressed the call button. Hawkins was
waving wildly at the Karanadon as it approached. When it got to within fifteen
feet of him, Swain took over and called again from the elevators. 'Hello
there! Hey, buddy! What about me!' The
Karanadon swung around slowly. It snorted. Boom. Swain looked
up at the numbered display above the left-hand elevator. The elevator was
moving from '1' to 'G'. It was going down. What the hell? The right-hand
elevator — with its inwardly dented doors and last seen by Swain stopped
halfway between the First and Ground Floors — didn't seem to be operating at
all. Boom.
Boom. Boom. 'Hey!'
Hawkins called again. But this time, the beast didn't respond. It kept moving
toward Swain and the elevators. Boom.
Boom. Boom. 'Hey!'
Hawkins yelled. The Karanadon didn't stop. It just kept ploughing forward,
toward the elevators. 'We have got
trouble,' Selexin said flatly. 'We've got deep
trouble,' Swain agreed. Boom.
Boom. Boom. Swain spun
around. Options, options. There were none. He checked the numbers above the
elevators. Left — still on the Ground Floor. Right — still no movement at all. He stared at
the elevators for a second and suddenly had an idea. 'Quickly,'
he said, moving over to the right-hand elevator. 'Selexin, Holly, you
two grab the other side of this door and pull. We've got to get it open.' Boom.
Boom. Boom. The
Karanadon was closing in — getting faster and faster as it got closer and
closer. The elevator
doors slowly came apart. 'Keep pulling,' Swain said. The black elevator shaft
opened wide before him. Boom. 'That's it,'
Swain said, easing in between the doors-spreading his legs, holding them apart
— while still facing the study hall. The dark elevator shaft yawned wide behind
him. It was then
that Swain noticed the silence. No more booming footfalls. The
Karanadon had stopped. Slowly, ever
so slightly, Swain lifted his head. It was right
there! Five feet
away. And it just
stood there, looming over the three of them, its enormous black frame dwarfing
them all. It tilted its head and glared down at Swain. One of its long pointed
ears twitched. 'Holly,
Selexin,' Swain whispered, without moving his mouth, 'I want both of you to
grab hold of my legs. One each. Right now.' 'Daddy…'
Holly whimpered. 'Just grab
my leg, honey.' There was a
scratching sound, and Swain saw that it was the big beast's claws scraping
against the marble floor as it flexed its huge black fists. Getting
ready to attack. Holly
clasped onto Swain's left leg. Selexin took the right. 'Hold
tight,' Swain said, taking a deep breath as the Karanadon lifted its arm high. The arm came
down fast — but not fast enough. It hit nothing but air as Swain shifted his
weight backwards and jumped into the darkness of the elevator shaft. —––ooo0ooo——— The elevator
cable was greasy, but his grip held. There were
three vertical cables, so Swain held the middle one. Behind him, the elevator
doors had shut automatically as soon as he had stopped holding them apart. The elevator
shaft was pitch black and deathly silent. If the Karanadon was roaring, they
couldn't hear it in here. 'Selexin,'
Swain said, his voice echoing loudly in the empty shaft. 'Grab hold of the
cable.' Selexin
reached out from Swain's leg and caught hold of the elevator cable. 'All right
now, slide down. Down to the elevator.' Selexin slid
down the cable, disappearing into the murky darkness of the shaft. 'Holly, you
okay?' 'Yeah.' A
whimper. 'All right,
then, it's your turn now. Just reach out and grab the cable.' 'O-kay.' Her hand
shaking, Holly reached for the cable. Her fingers hesitated for an eternity
just short of the greasy metal rope. She grabbed it. And then
suddenly the elevator doors burst open. Soft blue
light streamed into the elevator shaft, silhouetting the monstrous shape of the
Karanadon as it held the doors apart. It was only
a few feet away and Swain was completely exposed, holding onto the elevator
cable for dear life, with Holly dangling from his leg. It roared
loudly, leaning out into the shaft, swiping viciously at Swain, only to see him
loosen his grip on the cable and drop out of the way a second ahead of the
impact. . Swain fell
like a stone, whizzing down the greasy cable into the darkness, with Holly
hanging from his left leg. They slid
down the cable fast, the grease on the cable preventing Swain's hands from
burning, and arrived at the roof of the right-hand elevator. Selexin was there
waiting. The
elevator's hatch was still open and the light inside it still on. The lift was
exactly where they had left it before, when Swain, Balthazar and the two guides
had climbed across to meet Hawkins and Holly in the other one. 'Let's get
inside, and see if we can get to another floor,' Swain said, grabbing Holly's
hand and lowering her into the elevator. Selexin climbed in next. Swain jumped
down last of all. In the light
of the elevator Swain could see how filthy they had become. The black grease
from the cable covered their clothes. He felt his cheek. The bleeding had
stopped. 'Where do we
go now?' Selexin asked. 'I think we
should go home, Daddy,' Holly suggested. 'Good idea,'
Swain said. Selexin
said, 'Well, we had better figure out somethi—' Suddenly,
the elevator jolted and they were all thrown sideways. 'Oh my God,'
Swain said, 'the cable!' The elevator
rocked violently, hurling them all to the ground. A loud creaking sound
echoed throughout the shaft. 'It's got
the cable!' The elevator
swayed dramatically and Selexin was thrown bodily into the side wall, hitting
his head, falling to the floor in a heap. Swain tried to fight his way across
the swaying lift to reach the button panel, but was jolted backwards. The back
of his head banged into one of the elevator's doors, and for a second, he saw
spots. The whole elevator groaned again at the tremendous strain being put on
the cable. And then, as
quickly as it had begun, the rocking stopped and the elevator was still once
more. Holly was
curled up in the corner, vigorously sucking her thumb. Selexin was out cold,
face down on the floor. Swain staggered across the lift, rubbing the back of
his head, looked up through the hatch. He had just
walked under the open hatch when he felt the elevator move again. Another jolt.
But not like the previous ones. It was not as sharp, somehow different. The elevator
swayed again and Swain felt his knees buckle. And then he
realised. They
were going up. It was lifting
them up the shaft! 'Okay,' he
said to himself, 'how the hell are we going to get out of this one?' The lift
continued upward, scraping loudly against the metal lining of the shaft. Swain looked
up through the hatch and could just make out the big arms of the Karanadon
heaving on the elevator cable, hauling on it hand over hand, claw over claw. The lift
kept rising, moving higher into the shaft. There's
got to be a way out, he thought, got to be. The
Karanadon roared. They were close now, maybe a floor away. The hatch was still
open. The Karanadon was glaring down at the elevator with animal fury as it
heaved and pulled on the cables. The
cables, Swain thought. He pondered
the idea for a second. It was dangerous, yes. But it could work. At the
moment it didn't look like he had much choice. He shrugged. Hell, anything was
better than nothing. He looked
back at Holly. She was slumped in the corner of the lift, still sucking her
thumb. Yes.
It could work. It
had to. And with
that, Stephen Swain reached up and climbed out through the hatch, up onto the
roof of the elevator. The study
hall was closer than he thought. They were
about seven feet below the Third Floor doors where the Karanadon stood — and
the lift was still moving upward. The
Karanadon saw him. And stopped. Swain just
stood there, on top of the elevator, staring at the beast. Suddenly the
Karanadon lashed out, swiping at him with its spare claw. Swain stepped back,
out of reach. The beast swung again, missed again. 'Come on!'
Swain yelled. 'You can do better than that!' The big
beast roared in frustration and lashed out at him again, harder this time,
missing Swain, but hitting one of the cables. The cable
snapped like a thread and the elevator lurched. But the Karanadon was still
holding it up. With one
hand! The big
beast swung again, and Swain dived to his left. It missed, and cable number two
snapped. One
more, Swain told himself. One more, and we're out of here. This was
getting to be too much for the Karanadon. It roared again in animal anger, like
a dog barking at a cat that it will never catch. 'Come on,
big boy,' Swain teased. 'One last swipe, and then you can get me the hell out
of here.' It was then
that the Karanadon raised its arm one final time. But it
didn't swing. It jumped. Onto
the roof of the elevator! Swain didn't
have time for disbelief. The elevator just plummeted straight down! A piercing
metal-on-metal screech attacked Swain's ears as the elevator descended in a
freefall down the shaft. Wind whipped all around him as sparks flew out from
every corner of the falling elevator. The big
beast stood on the other side of the roof oblivious to what it had done. It
glared at Swain. What
sort of stupid creature jumps onto an elevator that it's holding up? Swain's
mind screamed. But Swain
didn't have time to think about that now. He dived for the hatch, fell through
it, landed heavily on the floor of the elevator. 'Get down!'
he called to Holly, above the wail of the falling elevator. 'Get down on the
floor! Flat on the floor! Rest your head on your arms!' The elevator
screamed down the shaft. Holly did
exactly as she was told, lay flat on the floor. Swain scrambled alongside her,
covering her with one arm, and did the same — lay flat on his belly, spreading
his legs wide, burying his head in his other forearm, using it as a cushion. The last of
the cables must have broken by now, he thought as he lay on the floor, waiting
for the bone-jarring crash that would come any second now. The
Karanadon poked its huge head through the small hatch — upside-down. It wanted
to get inside, but it would never fit. The elevator
roared down the shaft, sparks flying from all sides, its high-pitched wail
getting higher and higher and higher. And then it
hit the bottom. —––ooo0ooo——— The impact
was stunning. Swain felt
his whole body shudder violently as the elevator went from thirty-five miles an
hour to zero in a split second. The muscles
on his forearms cushioned his head. And his body, since it was already flush
against the floor, stifled most of the force of the impact. The same
happened with Holly. Swain hoped Selexin was all right, since he had already
been on the floor, knocked out. As the
elevator hit the bottom of the shaft with a horrendous bang!, the roof
beneath the Karanadon gave way and the big beast burst right through it,
crashing to the floor of the elevator, landing heavily on its back — right
next to Swain — in a cloud of dust and shattered plastic. A minute
passed. Slowly,
Swain lifted his head. The first
thing he saw was the dark wrinkled snout and the enormous white fangs of the
Karanadon, right in front of his eyes. He started.
But the beast did not move. Swain
quickly looked at his wristband and sighed. The green light was back on. The
Karanadon was out cold. He lifted
his body and all sorts of debris fell from his back onto the floor. Half the
roof of the old, wide elevator had fallen in under the weight of the big beast,
and pieces of the ceiling and shards of fluorescent light bulbs lay strewn all
over the elevator. Christ, he
thought, it looked as if a bomb had gone off here: white dust floating through
the air, the roof caved in, half the lights flickering, the other half
destroyed beyond recognition. Swain stood
up. He touched the large bruise that was forming on the back of his head. His
lower back ached from the thunderous impact. He lifted his arm off Holly. 'Holly?' he
said, quietly. 'Are you okay?' She stirred
gently, as if coming out of a deep, painful sleep. 'Wha… what?' Swain shut
his eyes in relief and gave her a kiss on the forehead. 'Are we
there yet, Daddy?' she whimpered, her head still buried in her forearms. 'Yes, honey,
we're here,' he smiled. Across the
lift, Selexin groaned. He slowly raised his head and stared, unfocused, at
Swain. Then he looked across the lift at the limp — but live — body of the
Karanadon. 'Oh my
goodness…' 'Tell me
about it,' Swain said dryly. 'Where are
we?' 'We're at
the bottom of the shaft, I guess. We took the quick trip down.' 'Oh,'
Selexin said absently. He didn't
seem too worried about anything right now, and for that matter, neither did
Swain. He figured they could stay here for a while. The Karanadon wouldn't be
waking up in the very near future, and no-one would be able to find them here. He sat up,
gently placing his daughter's head in his lap, and leaned up against the wall
of the semi-destroyed elevator and smiled sadly at the destruction all around
him. —––ooo0ooo——— Bob Charlton
stopped his Chevy at a red light and dialled his office. It had barely rung
once when Rudy answered. 'Robert Charlton's phone.' 'Rudy?'
Charlton said. 'Yes,
sir. Where are you? 'At the
moment, stuck in downtown traffic. I'm on my way. I'll be back in about five
minutes.' At the other
end of the line, Rudy Baker paused, and glanced nervously around Charlton's
office. 'Okay, sir,'
he said. 'Is there anything you want me to do in the meantime? Look up
something for you?' Charlton's
voice said, 'Good idea, yes. While you're waiting, check the computer. See
if the New York State Library was linked up with the main when we did that
National Register of Historic Places thing a few months back. If it was, run
down to Records and pull the plans. Get the blueprints and see if you can find
out where the damn booster valve is.' 'Uh… okay,
sure,' he hesitated again. 'What
is it, son?' Charlton said. 'Something wrong down there? 'No, sir.
Not here,' Rudy lied. 'I'll see you when you get back.' 'All
right then.' Charlton hung up. In the
office, Rudy leaned forward and switched off the speakerphone. 'Well done,
son,' a voice behind him said. 'Now, why don't you just take a seat with the
rest of us, and we can all wait here together until your boss comes back.' Charlton
hurried out of the elevator and walked quickly down the hallway to his office. He looked at
his watch. It was 7:55
p.m. He hoped
that Rudy had got those files on the State Library. If he had, with a bit of
luck they might be able to have the main up and running again by midnight. Charlton
charged into his office and stopped instantly. Rudy was
sitting in the chair behind Charlton's desk. He looked up helplessly. Five other
men, all dressed in dark suits, sat in a neat row in front of the desk. As Charlton
walked in, one of the men stood up and walked over to him. He was short and
stocky, with red hair and a big orange walrus-style moustache. 'Mr
Charlton, Special Agent John Levine,' he flashed his wallet, revealing a photo
ID. 'I'm from the National Security Agency.' Charlton
examined the ID card. He wondered what the NSA would want with Con Ed. 'What seems
to be the problem, Mr Levine?' 'Oh, there's
no problem,' Levine said quickly. 'Then what
can I do for you?' Charlton's eyes wandered warily around his office, scanning
the four other men seated there. They were
all big men, broad-shouldered. Two wore sunglasses even though it was nearly
eight in the evening. They were very intimidating. 'Please, Mr
Charlton, take a seat. We just came by to ask you a few questions about your
inquiry into the New York State Library.' 'I'm not
looking at the Library itself,' Charlton said, sitting down in a spare chair.
Levine sat opposite him. 'I'm just looking for a break in our main electrical
line. We've had quite a few calls from that area, complaints about the power
cutting out on people.' Levine
nodded. 'Uh-huh. So. Apart from being in the same area, what is the connection
between these complaints and the State Library?' 'Well,'
Charlton said, 'the Library is on the National Register of Historic Places, you
know, one of those lists of old buildings that aren't allowed to be
demolished.' 'I know it.' 'Anyway, we
linked a few of them up to the main a few months back, and we've found that
when they go down, sometimes they take the whole damn system with them.' Levine
nodded again. 'So why have you begun to focus on this building? Surely
there are others in the area that deserve similar attention?' 'Mr Levine,
I've been doing this sort of thing for ten years now and when you get a break
in the main it can mean a shitload of problems. And that means you have to
check everything. Every possibility. Sometimes it's kids hacking at the
cables with daddy's chainsaw, sometimes it's just an overload. I've always
found it prudent to go down and check with the police and see if they've pulled
in someone from that area lately.' 'You went to
the police?' Levine raised an eyebrow. 'Yes.' 'And did you
find anything?' 'Yes, I did.
In fact, it was the police who put me on to the Library in the first place.' 'If you
don't mind me asking,' Levine said, 'which police station was this?' '14th
Precinct,' Charlton said. 'And what
did they tell you?' 'They told
me they picked up a small-time computer thief in the State Library last night,
in relation to the murder of a security guard. I saw the fellow, too—' 'A murdered
security guard?' Levine leaned forward. 'Yes.' 'A guard
from the State Library?' 'Yes.' 'And the
police said he was killed last night?' 'That's
right. Last night,' Charlton said. 'They found the thief right next to him,
covered from head to toe in the guard's blood.' Levine
looked around at his fellow agents. Then he said, 'Do they think the thief did
it?' 'No. He was
just a scrawny little guy. But they think he must have stumbled upon the guys
who did. Then they roughed him up. Something like that.' Levine
stopped for a moment, deep in thought. Then he
asked very seriously, 'Have the police put any men inside the building? Inside
the library?' 'The
detective I spoke to said they have two officers down there right now,'
Charlton said. 'You know, baby-sitting the building overnight, until some site
team can go in tomorrow.' 'So there
are police officers inside that building right now?' 'That's what
they told me.' At that,
Levine turned to his men and nodded at the nearest one, who stood immediately. '14th
Precinct,' Levine said to him. He glanced back at Bob Charlton. 'Mr Charlton,
can you remember the name of the detective to whom you spoke?' 'Yes.
Captain Henry Dickson.' Levine just
turned to the standing agent and nodded curtly. The agent didn't reply. He just
ran straight from the room. Levine faced
Charlton again. 'Mr Charlton, you have been very helpful. I thank you for your
co-operation.' 'Not at
all,' Charlton said, rising from his chair. 'If that's everything, gentlemen, I
have a main to fix, so if you'll excuse me, I've got to go and check out that
library—' Levine
stood, placed his hand on Charlton's chest, stopping him. 'I'm sorry,
Mr Charlton, but I'm afraid your inquiry into the New York State Library stops
here.' 'What?' Levine spoke
calmly. 'This is no longer a matter for you or your company, Mr Charlton. The
National Security Agency will take care of it from here.' 'But what
about the main?' Charlton objected. 'Or the electricity? I have to get it back
on.' 'It can
wait.' 'Bullshit,
it can wait.' Charlton stepped forward angrily. 'Sit down,
Mr Charlton.' 'No, I will
not sit down. This is a serious problem, Mr Levine,' Charlton paused. 'I'd like
to speak with your superior.' 'Sit
down, Mr Charlton.' Levine said, a new authority in his voice.
Immediately, two agents appeared at Charlton's sides. They didn't touch him,
just stood by his shoulders. Charlton
sat, frowning. Levine said,
'All I will tell you is this, Mr Charlton. In the last two hours, that library
has become the focus of a major NSA investigation. An investigation that will
not be stopped because one hundred and eighty-seven New Yorkers won't be able
to watch Friends for one night.' Charlton
just sat there, silent. Levine walked over to the doorway. 'Your
inquiry is concluded, Mr Charlton. You will be advised as to when you may
proceed.' Levine stepped through the doorway, taking one agent with him,
leaving Charlton in the office with Rudy and the other two agents. Charlton
couldn't believe it. 'What? You're keeping me here? You can't do that!' Levine
stopped in the doorway. 'Oh yes I can, Mr Charlton, and I will. Under Federal
law, it is within the power of an investigating officer to detain anyone
concerned in a matter of national security for the duration of that
investigation. You will remain here, Mr Charlton, with your assistant,
under supervision, until this investigation is substantially concluded. Thank
you for your co-operation.' Down the
hall, Levine stepped into the elevator and pulled out his cellular phone. 'Marshall,
here,' a crackled voice said at the other end. There was a lot of static
on the line. 'Sir, it's
me, Levine.' 'Yes,
John, what is it? How did it go?' 'Good and
bad, sir.' 'Tell
me the good news first,' Levine said,
'It's definitely the State Library.' A pause,
then, 'Yes.' 'And we got
to Charlton just in time. He was just about to go there.' 'Good.' Levine
paused, nervously fingering his red walrus moustache. Marshall's
voice said, 'And the bad news?' Levine bit
his lip. 'We had to detain him.' There was
silence on the other end of the line. 'There was
no choice, Mr Marshall. We had to keep him away from the library.' The man
named Marshall seemed to be thinking it over. Finally he spoke, as if to
himself. 'No. No. That's okay. Charlton will be all right. Besides, if this
thing comes off, any flak the Agency gets from him will be water off a duck's
back. What else?' Levine held
his breath. 'There are two cops inside the building.' 'Inside?' 'Yes.' 'Oh,
fuck,' Marshall's voice said. 'That is a problem.' Levine
waited in silence. The phone hissed With static. Marshall lapsed into thought
again. When he spoke, his voice was soft, deliberate. 'We'll
have to take them with us.' 'The cops?
Can we do that?' Marshall
said, 'They're contaminated. It doesn't look like we have much choice.' Levine said,
'What do you want me to do now?' 'Get
over to the library and, for the moment, stay out of sight. The boys from Sigma
will be there shortly,' Marshall said. 'I'll be landing
in a couple of minutes. There's a car waiting on the runway, so I'll be there
in about thirty minutes.' 'Yes, sir.' Levine hung
up. —––ooo0ooo——— James A.
Marshall sat in the executive compartment of the National Security Agency's
Director's Lear as it began its descent into Newark. As the
Divisional Agent in Charge of the NSA's ultra-secret Sigma Division, Marshall
was officially based in Maryland, but lately he found that he was spending most
of his time out in the western states, New Mexico and Nevada. Marshall was
a tall man of fifty-two, mostly bald, with a white-grey beard and hawk-like
black eyebrows that narrowed at his nose, giving him a perpetual look of deadly
seriousness. He had been in charge of Sigma Division — the NSA's elite high
technology discovery division — for six years now. Back in the
seventies and eighties, the NSA had been the US intelligence community's pride
and joy, electronically compressing billions of encryption algorithms that were
to become the foundation of its world-renowned code-breaking computers. Then,
in the early nineties, Sigma added to this lustre when it utilised
semiconductor technology to make the greatest breakthrough in the history of
code making and breaking — it successfully created the world's first quantum
computer. But with the
subsequent thawing of the Cold War, code-cracking began to assume a lesser
priority in the eyes of the government. Budgets were cut. Money was diverted to
other sectors of the intelligence community and the military. The NSA had to
find something new to excel in — something that would justify its
continued existence. Otherwise it would almost certainly get folded into the
Army. James
Marshall and Sigma Division were tasked with finding this new expertise. Within
weeks, Sigma's resources were focused upon a new and remarkably different goal.
Only this was a goal that did not require the creation of new
technology, but which rather was centred on the search for, discovery of, and deciphering
of, a very special kind of technology. Highly
advanced technology. Technology
that man himself could not create. But
technology which the NSA — and the NSA alone, with its new quantum
supercomputers — would be in a unique position to decipher and exploit. Extra-terrestrial
technology. Marshall
took it all with a grain of salt. Sure, the Air Force had built underground
warehouses in New Mexico and Nevada. But despite the reports of television
specials asserting that they had in fact found, captured and studied alien
spacecraft and lifeforms — one such special even suggested that the technology
behind the Stealth Bomber came from such studies — those warehouses had
remained irrefutably and unequivocally empty. In short,
the Air Force had found nothing. And in the ever-competitive quest for budget
dollars, that provided the NSA with an opportunity… Like
tonight, Marshall thought. And as his
plane made its descent, he looked at the printout in his lap for the hundredth
time. Two hours ago,
at 6:01 p.m. Eastern Standard Time, an NSA satellite, LandSat 5, during
a random sweep over the north-eastern tip of America, detected and quantified
an unusually large electronic displacement that seemed to be emanating from
Manhattan Island. The displacement
had not been present during any previous sweeps, and its amperage was
dangerously similar to that of previously recorded electronic scrambling — or
jamming — frequencies used by North African guerilla forces, in particular
those used by Libya. And after
the bombing of the World Trade Centre in 1993 by North African extremists and
the destruction of two American embassies in Africa in 1998, no-one in the NSA
was willing to take any chances. The response
was immediate. The LandSat
5 results were bounced immediately to NSA headquarters at Fort Meade,
Maryland. A KH-11E counter-intelligence electronic surveillance satellite —
more commonly known by its call-sign 'Eavesdropper' — was sequestered from the
National Reconnaissance Office, and retasked so that it would pass over New
York. By chance,
the Eavesdropper happened to be in the right place at the right time and was on
the scene in minutes, and the first set of results were soon in the hands of
the NSA's crisis management team in Maryland — a team that had included
Marshall. Once those
results had been reviewed, in the space of nine minutes all records of
correspondence between satellite control in Maryland, LandSat 5 and the
Eavesdropper had been destroyed. LandSat
5 was retasked for immediate splashdown somewhere in the Pacific
Ocean, while the Eavesdropper continued to monitor the Manhattan area with
every pass. It was then
that the mission had been handed to James Marshall and his boys at Sigma
Division. Time was
short, and Marshall had wasted no time. He had raced
to the airport immediately and as he stepped onto the Director's Lear, someone
at Sigma was already preparing a press release that would explain the
unfortunate and regrettable loss of the two satellites. And so here
he was. On the NSA Director's Lear ready for touchdown in New York. Marshall
reached into his suitcase for a final look at the report from the Eavesdropper. Judging by
the long stretch of time covered in the report, Marshall noted, the
Eavesdropper could hold its field of view on a single target for a full fifty
minutes. Its orbital velocity must have been much slower than that of the
smaller LandSat 5. Marshall
read the transcript. LSAT-560467-S DATA TRANSCRIPT 463/511-001 SUBJECT SITE: 231.957 (North-eastern seaboard: CT, NY, NJ) NO. TIME/EST LOCATION READING 1. 18:03:48 CT. Isolated energy surge/Source: UNKNOWN Type: UNKNOWN / Dur: 0.00:09 2. 18:03:58 N.Y. Isolated energy surge/Source: UNKNOWN Type: UNKNOWN / Dur: 0.00:06 3. 18:07:31 N.Y. Isolated energy
surge/Source: UNKNOWN Type: UNKNOWN / Dur: 0.00:05 4. 18:10:09 N.Y. Isolated energy
surge/Source: UNKNOWN Type: UNKNOWN / Dur: 0.00:07 5. 18:14:12 N.Y. Isolated energy surge/Source:
UNKNOWN Type: UNKNOWN / Dur: 0.00:06 6. 18:14:37 N.Y. Isolated energy
surge/Source: UNKNOWN Type: UNKNOWN / Dur: 0.00:02 7. 18:14:38 N.Y. Isolated energy
surge/Source: UNKNOWN Type: UNKNOWN / Dur: 0.00:02 8. 18:14:39 N.Y. Isolated energy
surge/Source: UNKNOWN Type: UNKNOWN / Dur: 0.00:02 9. 18:14:40 N.Y. Isolated energy
surge/Source: UNKNOWN Type: UNKNOWN / Dur: 0.00:02 10. 18:16:23 N.Y. Isolated energy surge/Source:
UNKNOWN Type: UNKNOWN / Dur: 0.00:07 11. 18:20:21 N.Y. Isolated energy
surge/Source: UNKNOWN Type: UNKNOWN / Dur: 0.00:08 12. 18:23:57 N.Y. Isolated energy
surge/Source: UNKNOWN Type: UNKNOWN / Dur: 0.00:06 13. 18:46:00 N.Y. Isolated energy
surge/Source: UNKNOWN Type: UNKNOWN / Dur: 0.00:34 Marshall
frowned at the transcript. At the
moment it meant nothing to him. Twelve
strong surges of some unknown kind of energy — the sources of which were also
unknown — had all occurred in New York City between 6:03 and 6:46 p.m. Added to
that, the first surge, which had come from somewhere inside Connecticut.
Curious also was the last surge — distinctive because it had lasted thirty-four
seconds, more than three times longer than any of the others. Not to mention
the four consecutive two-second surges that Marshall had underlined. What it
amounted to was a puzzle, a puzzle Marshall wanted to solve. And Levine's
news was good. The taps on Con Edison's phones had been worthwhile, if not
altogether legal. The theory that large energy surges would affect local
electricity systems had turned out to be correct. Robert
Charlton had led them right to the source of the energy surges. The New York
State Library. Now they had
the location. And they were going to get whatever was there. James
Marshall grinned at the thought as his Lear hit the tarmac at Newark. —––ooo0ooo——— Hawkins
lowered Balthazar to the floor, resting him up against the concrete wall of the
janitor's room. Then he himself collapsed, breathless, alongside the big
bearded man. 'You're one
heavy bastard, you know that?' The
janitor's room was a complete mess. The cyclone fence cutting across the middle
of the room had been crumpled by the Karanadon. The splintered remains of
smashed wooden boxes lay strewn everywhere. And without the big hydraulic door,
the doorway was nothing more than a gaping hole in the wall. Hawkins
glanced at Balthazar by his side. He wasn't looking good. Eyes still badly
bloodshot. A red rash forming on the surrounding skin. Bubbles of saliva still
running through his bushy beard. Balthazar
groaned, and then as if testing himself, he put a hand to the floor to get up,
but immediately fell awkwardly back against the wall. They would have
to hole up here for a while. But first, Hawkins thought, he had to do something
about that doorway. At last,
Selexin got up and walked across the elevator and stared at the massive body of
the unconscious Karanadon. He bent down and peered at the long white fangs that
protruded from the jet-black snout. He made a
face of pure disgust. 'Hideous,' he said. 'Truly hideous.' Swain was
holding Holly in his lap. She had gone to sleep quickly, complaining of a
terrible headache. 'Yeah, not too bright, either,' he said. 'Have you ever seen
one before? Up close?' 'No. Never.' Swain nodded
and they both just stared at the gigantic black beast in silence. Then he said,
'So what do we do? Do we kill it? Can we kill it?' 'I do not
know,' Selexin shrugged. 'No-one has ever done this before.' Swain
offered a crooked smile and spread his hands. 'What can I say?' Selexin
frowned, not comprehending. 'I am sorry, but I am afraid I do not understand.
What exactly can you say?' 'Don't
worry. It's just a saying.' 'Oh.' 'Yeah,'
Swain said, 'like "Fuck you".' Selexin
blushed. 'Oh, yes. That. Well, I had to say something. My life was in
the balance too, you know.' 'Hell of a
thing to say to something like that,' Swain nodded at the Karanadon. 'Oh, well…' 'But it was
pretty bold. And I needed it. Thanks.' 'Think
nothing of it.' 'Well,
thanks anyway,' Swain said. 'By the way, are you allowed to do that? Allowed to
help me?' 'Well,'
Selexin said, 'technically, no. I am not supposed to help you physically in any
battle — whether against another contestant or the Karanadon. But considering
what Bellos has done by bringing hoods into the Presidian, then, to use another
of your sayings, I think that all gambling has been cancelled.' 'Huh?' 'Is that not
how you say it? "All gambling has been cancelled." It means that the
rules no longer apply.' 'I think
what you're trying to say is, All bets are off,' Swain said gently. 'But
you were close. Very close.' Selexin
preened at that, pleased with himself. Swain turned
back to the Karanadon. The long spiked bristles on the beast's back were rising
and falling in time with its loud, strained breathing. It was absolutely
enormous. 'So can we
kill it?' 'I thought
you did not kill defenceless victims,' Selexin said. 'That only
counts for people.' 'Balthazar
was not a person, and you did not kill him. He is amorphic, remember. As a
matter of fact, I am sure that you would be rather surprised at Balthazar's
true form—' Swain said,
'All right. Only for things that look like people, then. And besides,'
he looked at the Karanadon, 'Balthazar wasn't going to rip my head off if he
decided to fight back.' Selexin
looked as if he was about to object but stopped himself. He merely said,
'Okay.' 'So. What do
you think? Can we kill it?' Swain asked. 'I don't see
why not. But what will you kill it with?' They
surveyed the elevator. There wasn't much to be found by way of weapons. The
roof of the lift had been made of thin plasterboard and one whole half of it
had simply disappeared, destroyed by the Karanadon's fall. Large jagged shards
of frosted plastic from the fluorescent lights lay strewn across the floor.
Swain picked one up. In his hand, it looked like a pretty pathetic weapon. Selexin
shrugged. 'It could work. Then again, it might not do anything except
wake it up.' 'Hmm,' Swain
didn't like the thought of that. He didn't
want to rouse the Karanadon. It was fine now. Out cold. But for how long? And
killing something that was bigger and stronger than a grizzly bear, by hand,
with a shard of plastic, somehow didn't seem very likely. At that
moment, the Karanadon's right claw reached up lazily and swatted at something
buzzing around its snout. Then the claw resumed its position by the creature's
side and the big beast continued its slumber as if nothing had happened. Swain
watched it intently. Frozen. The
Karanadon snorted loudly, shuffled onto its side, rolled over. 'You know,
upon further reflection, I am not so sure that killing it is a very good idea,'
Selexin whispered. 'I was just
thinking the same thing myself,' Swain said. 'Come on, let's go.' He stood up
and lifted Holly. 'Come on,
honey. Time to go.' She stirred
groggily, '— my head hurts.' 'Where to?'
Selexin asked. 'Up,' Swain
said, pointing to the big hole in the roof of the elevator. After
heaving the outer elevator doors open, Swain looked out into the musty yellow
gloom to see row upon row of bookshelves stretching away to his left and right. It was
Sub-Level Two. The Stack. They were
standing on what was left of the roof of the destroyed elevator, five feet
below the floor level of Sub-Level Two. The concrete bottom of the elevator
shaft, it seemed, was still a fair way below Sub-Level Two. Swain
climbed out first and saw that on this floor, the elevators were embedded in
the wall of bookshelves. He looked
out from the doors and immediately realised that they were on one of the long
ends of the rectangular floor. The southern wall. Swain
remembered finding Hawkins on this floor, and seeing Reese for the first time,
and running blindly through the maze of shelves to the safety of the stairwell.
But that, he remembered, had happened on the other side of the floor. He turned
back to the elevator shaft and pulled Holly and Selexin out. 'I remember
this part of the labyrinth,' Selexin said, seeing the bookshelves around him.
'Reese.' 'That's
right.' 'Daddy, I
have a headache,' Holly said wearily. 'I know,
honey.' 'I want to
go home.' 'So do I,'
Swain said, reaching down, touching her head. 'We'll see if we can find
something for your headache, and at the same time, somewhere to hole up. Come
on, let's go.' They began
walking left, down the southern wall of the Stack. After walking some distance,
their aisle turned sharply to the right, and they headed up the shorter western
wall of the floor. They had gone about twenty yards along the wall when Swain
noticed something odd. Just ahead
of them, flush against the outer wall of shelves, something was ajar, sticking
slightly out into the aisle. Something red. As they came
closer, Swain realised what it was. It was a
door. A small red
door, slightly opened. It was tucked into the outer wall of shelves, very
unobtrusively. Indeed, Swain had seen it only because he had almost walked
right past it. Anyone conducting a cursory examination of the Stack would
almost certainly miss it. The small
red door had writing on it. '"No
Staff Access Permitted",' Selexin read aloud. 'What is that supposed to
mean?' But Swain
wasn't paying any attention to Selexin. He was already kneeling in front of the
door, peering down at its base. Selexin
said, 'I thought the staff were allowed to go everywhere in a place like this—' 'Shh,' Swain
said. 'Look at this.' Selexin and
Holly crouched beside him and stared down at the book lying on the floor,
wedged in between the door and its frame. 'It looks
like it is holding the door open…' Selexin said. 'It is holding
the door open,' Swain said, 'or at least stopping it from closing.' 'Why?' Holly
asked. Swain
frowned. 'I don't know.' He looked at the door handle. On the library side, it
had a keyhole in the middle of a plain silver knob. On the other side, though,
he could not see any lock or keyhole. High up near the hinges he saw the
closing mechanism. 'It's
spring-loaded,' he said. 'To make sure it shuts every time. That's why someone
used the book.' 'Why is no
staff access permitted?' Selexin asked. 'Probably
because this door has nothing to do with the library. And only staff are
allowed in the Stack. I'd say it's probably a gas or electricity meter.
Something like that,' Swain said. 'Something the staff are not supposed to
touch.' 'Oh.' Holly said,
'Can we get out through there?' Swain looked
to Selexin. 'I don't know. Can we?' 'The
labyrinth was supposed to be sealed at the time of electrification. I
cannot know what would happen if one entrance was not fully closed at that
time. But I can guess.' 'So guess.' 'Well,'
Selexin peered around the rim of the small red door marked NO staff access permitted. 'I see no visible sign of electrification here. And unless there is
another door beyond this one that was closed at the time of
electrification, my guess is that we may have just found a way out of the
labyrinth.' 'A way out?'
Holly said hopefully. 'Yes.' 'Are you
sure?' Swain whispered. 'There is
only one way to find out,' Selexin said. 'We have to see if there is another
door beyond this one.' 'Do we?'
Swain said, thinking. 'Why, yes,'
Selexin said. 'Unless you can think of another way.' Crouching on
the floor, Swain looked up at the little man, and said, 'As a matter of fact, I
think I can.' And with
that, Stephen Swain thrust his left arm — with the thick grey wristband
attached to it — through the gap between the small red door and its
frame. Immediately
they heard a loud, insistent beeping coming from outside the door, and after a
couple of seconds, Swain pulled his wrist back inside. The beeping
stopped instantly. They all
looked at the thick grey wristband. Its display now read: INITIALISED—6 DETONATION SEQUENCE
INITIALISED. AT * 14:57 * DETONATION
SEQUENCE CANCELLED RESET. 14:57 was
flashing. Swain smiled
at Selexin. 'There's no outer door. This is the last one.' 'How do you
know, Daddy?' Holly asked. 'Because,'
Selexin said, 'your father's wristband is set to initialise an automatic
detonation sequence of fifteen minutes as soon as it senses that it is outside
the energy field of this labyrinth.' 'What?'
Holly said. Swain said,
'He means that if I move outside the electric field that's all around this
building, this wristband will explode unless I get back inside in fifteen
minutes.' 'And do you
see that?' Selexin pointed to the readout, the flashing 14:57. 'The countdown
started when he put his wrist outside the door.' 'Which
means,' Swain continued, 'that once we're outside this door, we're outside the
electrical field, and outside the labyrinth.' 'Right,'
Selexin said. 'So let's
go,' Holly said. 'Let's get out of this place.' 'We can't,'
Swain said sadly, 'or, at least, I can't. Not yet.' 'Why not?'
Holly said. 'Because of
the wristband,' Selexin sighed. Swain
nodded. 'I can't get it off. And if I don't, I'll only last fifteen minutes
before this thing explodes.' 'Then we had
better find a way to get it off,' Selexin said. 'How?' Swain
said, shaking his wrist. The wristband was hard and strong, a thick steel
clamp. 'Look at it. It's as solid as a rock. We'd need an axe or a hammer to
break it open, and someone strong enough to crack it.' 'I bet
Balthazar could do it,' Holly said. 'He's really big. And I bet he's really
strong, too.' 'And when we
last saw him, he was not strong enough to stand up by himself,' Selexin said
sourly. 'We don't
even know if he and Hawkins are still alive,' Swain said. 'There has to be
another way.' Selexin
said, 'Maybe they have a vice around here that we could squeeze it in. Snap it
open with the pressure.' 'In a
library? Not likely.' Frustrated,
Selexin sat down next to the semi-opened door, staring at the escape he
couldn't use. Swain was also gazing at the door, deep in thought. Holly held
him tightly by the arm. 'Well, first
of all,' Swain said, 'we have to get you guys out. After that, I'll just have
to find a way to get this thing off and then meet you outside.' He snorted.
'Hmph. Maybe I should go and ask Bellos if he'd like to have a try. I'm sure
he'd like that.' 'He'd
definitely be strong enough,' Selexin said. 'But would
he do it?' Swain scoffed. 'Gladly,' a
deep baritone voice said from somewhere behind him. —––ooo0ooo——— Swain spun. There, right
in front of him, standing in one of the aisles perpendicular to the western
wall, stood Bellos. Swain felt a
chill at the sight of the man. His body, his face, his long tapering horns,
everything about him was black. Except for his breastplate, which Swain now
clearly saw to be beautifully crafted in gold. And he was
tall, taller than he had seemed before. At least seven feet. 'Greetings,
fellow competitor. Before you stands Bellos—' 'I know who
you are,' Swain said softly. Bellos
cocked his head in astonishment. 'Where are
your hoods?' Swain asked calmly, as Selexin and Holly slowly got to their feet
beside him. 'You don't fight without them, do you?' Bellos
chuckled evilly. As he did so, Swain saw something jingle at his side —
something attached to his belt. It was the
Konda's breathing mask. With a tinge
of horror, Swain recalled Selexin's earlier description of Bellos: the
trophy collector. And then
suddenly he caught sight of a second object clipped to Bellos' belt, something
that glinted dull gold in the mouldy yellow light of the Stack. Swain's eyes
widened when he saw what it was. It was a New
York Police Department badge. Hawkins'
partner… Bellos
spoke, releasing Swain from his thoughts. 'You attempt to show courage you do
not possess, little man. There are no hoods here. Just you. And me.' 'Really,'
Swain said. 'I don't believe you.' Bellos
stepped forward. 'You use strong words for a man who is moriturum esse.' 'Moriturum
esse,' Swain repeated. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched for the
hoods, expecting one of them to spring from one of the nearby aisles at any moment
now. 'About to die, huh. If that's the case, why don't you just osci assinum
meum then,' he said. Bellos
frowned, not understanding. 'Osci
assinum meum?' he repeated, perplexed. 'You want me to kiss
your mule, your ass?' Swain
surreptitiously kicked the book wedged in the doorway clear from the small red
door. The spring-loaded door immediately began to close and he caught it in his
hand — behind his back. 'When they
attack,' he whispered to Selexin and Holly, 'I want you two to run straight through
the door. Don't worry about me.' 'But—' 'Just
do it,' Swain said, never taking his eyes off Bellos. Bellos
sneered, 'Do you just stand there, little man, or do you fight? Swain said
nothing, just looked left. Then right. Waiting for the hoods. They attacked. Suddenly.
Without warning. From the front. Not the sides. From behind Bellos'
shoulder. It was a
single hood, springing forward, claws bared. Straight at Swain. With his
free hand Swain swiped at the creature backhanded, hitting it squarely in the head,
sending it crashing to the floor with a squeal. Swain
immediately opened the door behind him. 'Go!' he yelled to Selexin and Holly.
'Go! Go!' And then the
second hood attacked. This one
came from the left, slamming into Swain's back, knocking him to the floor,
making him let go of the door. The
spring-loaded door began to close. The second
hood leapt at Swain again as he rolled onto his back. Swain threw a desperate
arm up at the approaching hood and caught its narrow throat in his hand. Its
massive jaws clamped viciously open and shut, trying madly to reach his face,
as Swain held it out at arm's length. Its claws
swatted wildly, lashing out at his chest — but they weren't long enough. So it
went for his arm instead — slashing ferociously. Five bloody gashes appeared
instantly across Swain's forearm. It was then
that Swain saw the door closing. 'The door! Get
the door!' he yelled to Holly and Selexin. But Holly
and Selexin just stood there. Dead still. Staring off to the right, down the
western wall. Swain was
looking desperately at the rapidly closing door. It was almost shut when, as a
last resort, he thrust his leg out and wedged his foot between the door and its
frame. 'Go!' he
yelled, kicking the door open again as he wrestled with the hood. But Selexin
and Holly weren't moving. They were
watching the third and fourth hoods as they stalked ominously out into the
aisle. Swain got up
on one knee, still holding the second hood at arm's length. The animal decided
on a new tactic. Instead of writhing about maniacally in his grip, lashing out
with its claws, it grabbed hold of Swain's forearm with both its claws,
clinging to him, and started squeezing, hoping to break his grip on its
neck. 'Jesus! Go!
Get out!' Swain yelled, his foot holding the door wide open. 'I can't hold it
open much longer!' But Holly
and Selexin didn't move, and when at last he saw what they were looking at,
Swain had a fleeting thought that came a second too late. Where
did that first hood go? The first
hood slammed into Swain at a crunching speed — hurling itself, Swain and the
second hood into the open door. Swain bounced off the door and into the dark
corridor beyond it, the two hoods with him. 'No!'
he cried, as he saw the door behind him start closing again. He still had
the second hood's throat gripped tightly in his hand — just as it still held
his forearm. Ruthlessly, he banged its head twice against the hard concrete
floor and the hood immediately released its grip and its body went limp and
Swain threw it aside and dived for the closing door. There was
noise everywhere. The hoods squealing, a loud electronic beeping coming from
his wristband, and then — worst of all — the sound of Holly screaming inside
the library. Still
diving, Swain landed a few feet short of the door and slid the rest of the way
on his chest, arms outstretched… Too late. The door
shut. The lock
clicked. And a
blinding burst of sizzling blue electricity exploded out from the hinges and
the handle. Electrified. There was a
sudden, terrifying silence, broken only by the loud insistent beeping noise
that came from Swain's wristband. Swain looked down at it. It read: INITIALISED—6 DETONATION SEQUENCE
INITIALISED. *
14:55 * AND COUNTING Stephen
Swain looked up at the electrified door in horror. He was now
outside the labyrinth. FOURTH MOVEMENT 30 November, 8:41 p.m. —––ooo0ooo——— Holly and
Selexin ran flat out down one of the aisles of Sub-Level Two. Holly could
hear nothing but her own rapid breathing as they raced down the narrow canyons
of bookshelves. Beside her, Selexin was holding her hand, pulling her along,
constantly looking behind them. They came to
a junction of aisles and made a quick right-left, zig-zagging their way toward
the stairs at the centre of the massive subterranean floor. Holly had
started screaming as soon as she'd seen Swain tumble backwards through the
doorway under the weight of the two hoods, but Selexin had suddenly come to
life, seizing her hand, pulling her down the nearest aisle. Behind them,
they could hear the snarls and grunts of the hoods in hot pursuit. Not far
behind. And gaining.
Fast. Selexin
pulled Holly harder. They had to keep running. Swain
surveyed the dark passageway around him. Mouldy yellow fluorescent lights
illuminated the tiny corridor. The hood by
his feet groaned softly. It lay on the floor, dazed by the two pounding blows
Swain had given it against the hard concrete floor. The other
hood was nowhere in sight. Swain
crouched beside the hood on the floor. It hissed defiantly at him, but it was
too badly injured to move. Swain looked
at his wristband, at the countdown in progress. 14:30 14:29 14:28 There was no
time to waste. He had fourteen minutes to get back inside before his wristband
exploded. No. More
important than that. He had fourteen minutes to get back to Holly. Swain
grimaced and picked up the injured hood by its narrow throat. It wriggled
weakly in his grip — a futile gesture. Then Swain closed his eyes and banged
the creature's head a final time against the concrete floor. The body went limp
immediately. Dead. Swain
discarded the carcass and headed cautiously down the narrow corridor. The other
hood was still nowhere to be seen. At the end
of the passageway, he came to a small room filled with large box-like
electricity meters attached to the walls. A big sign above one of the meters
read: BOOSTER
VALVE. Swain
noticed a small talon of jagged blue electricity licking intermittently out of
a gap in the ceiling, touching the booster valve meter, causing it to short.
Con Ed would love that, he thought. There was a
small doorway on the other side of the room. With no
door. With his
wristband still beeping insistently, Swain eased his way through the doorway
and found himself standing beside the train tracks of the New York Subway. It was quiet
in the train tunnel. The walls were all painted black, with long white
fluorescent tubes spaced every fifteen yards or so. An old wooden door swayed
from a sturdy padlock by the side of the doorway. Swain wondered how the door
had come to be pulled from its hinges. There was a
rustling sound from his right. Swain
turned. The second
hood was right there! Three yards
away, its back turned, its head shaking violently from side to side. In its
mouth, the remains of what was once a rat. Swain was
about to move away from the hood when there came a soft rumble from deep within
the tunnel. The tracks beside him began to hum. Vibrating. A soft white
glow appeared around of the corner of the tunnel. Suddenly a
subway train burst through the silence, its wheels screaming a deafening,
high-pitched wail, its brightly lit windows flashing rapidly by. Immediately,
Swain dropped to the black sooty ground of the tunnel, and in the flashing
light of the train saw the hood's head snap up and see him. The train
roared by, kicking up specks of dust and dirt, throwing them at Swain's face.
He squeezed his eyes shut. And then, in
an instant, the train was gone, and the tunnel was silent once more. The
wristband continued beeping. Slowly,
Swain raised his head. The tunnel
was empty. He glanced over to where the hood had been— It was gone. Swain spun
around. Nothing. He could
feel his heart thumping loudly inside his head now. His right forearm stung
like crazy where dust from the passing train had fallen inside the five deep claw-marks.
He began to sweat. 13:40 13:39 13:38 He didn't
have time for this. He rolled onto his side, and — strangely — felt something
in his left jeans pocket. It was the
broken phone receiver. He had forgotten all about that. Holly had given it to
him back on the First Floor. He checked his other pocket. The
handcuffs. And Jim
Wilson's useless Zippo lighter. He checked
the time again. 13:28 AND COUNTING The words
were flashing. Christ,
he thought, and counting. I know that. I know that! Shit. Fearfully,
Swain scanned the tunnel around him, searching for the hood. Time was running
out. He had to get back inside. And then,
without a sound, the hood attacked him from behind, slamming into his back,
sending them both sprawling onto the train tracks. The handcuffs fell to the
ground; the lighter, too. The hood
leapt onto his back, but Swain rolled quickly, hurling it clear. Like a cat,
the hood landed smoothly on its feet and immediately spun around and launched
itself again at Swain. Swain caught it by its narrow throat, and fell onto his
back in between the train tracks. The hood
hissed and squealed and writhed madly about, desperately trying to break
Swain's grip. It flailed its razor-sharp claws in every direction — one claw
slashing down Swain's chest, ripping the buttons off his shirt, drawing blood,
the other swiping viciously at his arm.' Swain lay on
his back, on the concrete sleepers in between the train tracks, holding
his hand outstretched, keeping the frenzied hood at arm's length. Better to let
it cut his forearm a few times than let it get at his body— And then he
froze. He heard it. A soft,
distant rumble. The hood
paid no attention, it just kept jerking its body about fitfully. And then, on
either side of Swain, the train tracks began to hum. Vibrating. Oh, no… Oh,
no! Swain's face
was right next to the railway track, his eyes level with one of the large
circular hooks — on the inside of the tracks — that held the rails to the
sleepers. The
hooks, he thought. The hood was
still twisting and turning as Swain rolled suddenly. Searching. The hum of
the tracks grew louder. Swain looked
desperately about himself. Where were they? Louder
still. Where… This side.
That side. Searching. Searching… He could
hear the metallic rattling of the approaching train. It would be on them any
second now— There! The
handcuffs lay on the ground, beside another of the big round hooks on the
inside of the tracks. Swain
reached over with his free hand and grabbed the cuffs and in one swift movement
brought them up to the hood's throat and snapped them around its narrow neck. Calick! The hood was
momentarily startled by the single handcuff locked around its throat. Swain looked
up and saw a hazy white light growing around the corner of the tunnel. The
rumbling was very loud now. Then he
quickly dropped the hood and latched the other cuff around the nearest hook on
the inside of the track. Calick! The scream
of steel wheels filled the air. The train rounded the corner. Swain
grabbed the hood by its tail, and dived clear of the tracks, yanking the animal
with him. The
handcuffs went instantly taut. And the hood
was left with its head cuffed to the hook on the inside of the track,
and its body held to the outside by Swain. The train
shot past Swain, and there was a loud, sickening crunch! as its steel
wheels carved through the bone of the hood's neck, decapitating it. The train
roared by, windows flashing, and then disappeared into the tunnel. There was
silence again, except for the wristband's incessant beeping. Slimy black
ooze dripped slowly from the hood's headless body. Swain touched the large
droplets of blood that had splattered all over him as the train had sliced the
hood's head off. He dropped
the body and looked at his wristband. 11:01
11:00
10:59
AND
COUNTING Only eleven
minutes to get back inside. There wasn't
much time. Swain
hurriedly picked up the lighter and leapt from the black floor of the subway
tunnel and began to run down the tracks into the darkness. —––ooo0ooo——— John Levine
sat in the passenger seat of a black Lincoln sedan parked across the street
from the main entrance to the State Library of New York. The building
looked peaceful. Quiet. Dead. Levine
looked at his watch. 8:30 p.m. Marshall should have been here by now. His cellular
rang. 'Levine,'
the voice said. 'It's Marshall. Are you at the library?' 'Yes, sir.' 'Is
it secure?' 'Affirmative,
sir,' Levine said, 'as quiet as a mouse.' 'All
right, then,' Marshall said, 'the insertion team is en
route. They'll be there in five minutes. I'll be there in two. Break out the
tape. I want a thirty-yard perimeter set all the way around that building,
okay. And Levine…' 'Yes, sir?' 'Whatever
you do, don't touch the building itself.' Selexin and
Holly could see the stairwell now. Up ahead.
Thirty yards away. Panting
madly, they kept running down the narrow aisle. They were
approaching the intersection of two aisles when suddenly a hood leapt across
their path, its claws raised, its jagged teeth bared wide. Holly and
Selexin skidded to a stop and the hood crashed down onto the hard wood floor in
front of them. It got to
its feet again, quickly blocking their path down the aisle. Not far beyond the
animal, they could see the open door to the stairwell. Selexin spun
to go back the other way but stopped instantly. There behind
them, stepping slowly into the narrow aisle, was the second hood. Swain ran
down the tunnel, toward a light around the bend. It was a
subway station. Which one, he didn't care. 10:01 10:00 9:59 Swain burst
into the white light of the subway station and heaved himself up from the
tracks onto the platform. A murmur
arose among the commuters standing on the platform. They all stepped back in
horror as Swain pushed past them, oblivious to how he must have looked. His jeans
were covered with black streaks of grease, and his shirt — filthy black with
subway soot, elevator grease and hoodaya blood — was ripped from neck to navel.
A single vertical line of blood stretched down his chest, while his right
forearm was soaked red from the deep gashes inflicted by the hood. The bloody
red scar across his left cheek was indistinguishable on his black sooty face. Swain barged
through the crowd and raced up the stairs toward the surface. 'What do we
do now?' Holly whispered fearfully. 'I don't
know, I don't know,' Selexin said. The two
hoods stood at both ends of the aisle, trapping Holly and Selexin in the
middle. Selexin,
four feet tall, and Holly, about the same, were scarcely bigger than the two
hoods. Selexin
looked anxiously around himself, at the bookshelves that stretched up to the
ceiling. They seemed to form an impenetrable wall on either side of the aisle. The hood in
front of them edged closer. The other didn't move. Holly
noticed why. The second
hood, the one preventing their retreat, had no left foreclaw. Just a bloody
stump at the end of its bony black arm. It must have been the one that
Balthazar had pinned to the railing with his knife up on the First Floor. Holly jabbed
Selexin with her elbow and pointed at the hood and he saw it, too. Selexin
edged away from the first hood, toward the injured one, still eyeing the
impenetrable walls of shelves on either side of them. Wait
a minute, he thought. He scanned
the bookshelves again. They weren't
impenetrable at all. 'Quickly,'
he said. 'Grab the books. The ones here,' he pointed to a low shelf. 'Grab them
and start throwing.' He reached
down to the bottom shelf and grabbed a large hardback and hurled it at the
able-bodied hood, striking it in the face. The hood snarled angrily back at him. A second
book hit it again. Then a third. The fourth book hit the injured hood. 'Keep
throwing them,' Selexin said. They kept
hurling books at the hoods, who backed off slightly. Holly threw another and
was reaching down for more when suddenly she understood what Selexin was doing. He wasn't
just using the books to keep the hoods at bay. He was using them to create a
hole in the bookshelf. The more books they threw from the shelf, the bigger the
gap in the shelf became. Soon Holly could see through to the next, parallel
aisle. 'Are you
ready?' Selexin said, throwing a book, hitting the injured hood on its wounded
forelimb. The black creature howled in agony. 'I think
so,' Holly said. The
able-bodied hood began to move in. 'All right,'
Selexin said. 'Go!' Without a
second thought, Holly dived cleanly through the gap in the bookshelf and landed
with a thud in the next aisle. But Selexin
continued to stand in the original aisle. The injured
hood stepped cautiously forward. The two
hoods closed in on either side of the little man. 'Come on!'
Holly said from the next aisle. 'Jump through!' 'Not yet,'
Selexin didn't take his eyes off the approaching hoods. 'Not yet.' He
threw another book at the injured hood. It hit. The hood hissed angrily. 'Come on!'
Holly said. 'Just get
ready to run, okay,' Selexin said. Holly looked
frantically down her aisle. On one side she could see the stairwell. On the
other… She froze. It was
Bellos. Striding
down the aisle toward her with long strong powerful steps. 'Selexin,
jump! Jump right now!' she screamed. 'They're not
close enough yet…' 'Just jump!
He's almost here!' 'He…?'
Selexin was momentarily startled. The hoods were very close now. 'Oh! Him?'
Realising, Selexin immediately dived through the gap in the shelf, landing
in a heap at Holly's feet. She pulled him up and they ran for the stairwell. Behind them,
Bellos began to run. They bolted
down the aisle. Holly could hear the able-bodied hood grunting and snorting as
it ran down the parallel aisle. They hit the
stairs running and climbed them two at a time. Behind them
they heard the distinctive scratching sound of claws on marble as the hood
charged into the stairwell. That sound was quickly followed by a sudden
thudding, crashing sound as the hood lost its footing on the slippery marble
floor and slammed into the concrete wall. Breathlessly,
Holly and Selexin kept climbing and climbing until they could hear nothing
behind them. The
stairwell was silent. They kept
hurrying upward. And then
there came a voice, from way down at the bottom of the shaft, echoing loudly
through the stairwell. 'Keep
running!' Bellos' voice boomed. 'Keep running, tiny man! We will find you! We
will always find you! The hunt has begun, and you are the game. I will
hunt you, and I will find you, and when I do, tiny man, you will wish to God
that somebody else had found you first!' The voice
stopped. And as Holly and Selexin climbed higher, an evil laugh resounded
throughout the stairwell. —––ooo0ooo——— 'Here they
come,' Levine said to Marshall as they stood beside his car. A massive
blue van rounded the corner and stopped behind Levine's Lincoln. It looked like
a big TV van, with a revolving satellite dish on the roof and flashing blue
police lights. Levine
shielded his eyes from the glare of the van's headlights as a barrel-chested
man dressed completely in blue stepped down from the passenger-side door and
stood to attention before Marshall. It was
Harold Quaid. Commander
Harold Quaid. Levine
hadn't actually worked with Quaid before, but his reputation was legendary.
Apparently Quaid had given himself the title of 'Commander' — there was no such
rank in the NSA — when he had assumed command of Sigma Division's field team.
Rumour had it that he had once killed a civilian by mistake while following up a
bogus alien sighting. No investigation into the incident was ever held. Tonight he
was dressed exactly like a SWAT team member: blue fatigues, bulletproof vest,
boots, cap and gunbelt. 'Sir,' Quaid
said to Marshall. 'Harry,'
Marshall nodded. 'You made good time.' 'As always,
sir.' Marshall
turned to Levine. 'You've cordoned off the site?' 'They're
finishing now,' Levine said. 'Tape's set up all around the building. Thirty
yards. Even in the park.' 'Nobody's
touched the building?' 'They were
given strict instructions.' 'Good,'
Marshall said. On the Eavesdropper satellite's last pass — now targeted
directly at the New York State Library — an unusually large amount of
electromagnetic energy had been detected surging through the outer surface of
the building. Marshall didn't want to take any chances. He turned to
Quaid. 'I hope your boys are ready. This is the big one.' Quaid
smiled. It was a cold, thin smile. 'We're ready.' 'You'd
better be,' Marshall said, 'because as soon as we figure out how to bring down
the electric field around that building, you're going in.' —––ooo0ooo——— For the
first time that night, Stephen Swain beheld the exterior of the New York State
Library. It was a
beautiful building. Four storeys high, square-shaped, flat-roofed, with six
majestic Corinthian columns stretching all the way up from the front steps to
the roof. In fact, it
looked like an old Southern courthouse, grandly situated in the middle of a
beautiful inner-city park, as if part of a town square. Only this was a dated
town square, dwarfed by the skyscrapers that had grown up around it. Swain
watched the library from across the street, from the entrance to the subway
station. He was breathing hard, and the wounds to his chest and forearms
burned. His
wristband was still beeping. 8:00 7:59 7:58 Time was
running out and the situation didn't look good. The library
had been sealed off. A single
ribbon of bright yellow police tape stretched from tree to tree in the park
surrounding the big dark building, leaving at least thirty-odd yards of open
ground between the tape and the walls of the library. Half a dozen
unmarked cars — their headlights still on — formed a tight circle in front of
the main entrance to the library. And in the centre of the circle, towering
above the cars, stood a big blue police van with a revolving dish on its roof.
Next to the dish, flashing blue police lights spun crazily, splashing the park
around the library in a strobe-like blue haze. Damn
it, Swain thought, as he watched the big blue van. For the last
two hours all he had wanted to do was get out of the library — to get
himself and Holly away from Reese and Bellos and the Karanadon — to get out of
the electrified cage the library had become. And now? Swain smiled
sadly. Now he had
to get back in. To get back
in and stop this bomb on his wrist from going off. To get back inside the cage,
where Reese and Bellos and the Karanadon were waiting for him, waiting to kill
him. But most
importantly of all, to get back inside and save Holly. The mere thought of his
only daughter trapped inside the library with those monsters made him feel ill.
The thought of her being trapped in there after he was dead, made him
feel terrible. She'd already lost one parent. She wasn't going to lose another
one. But he still
had to penetrate the electrified walls. And who were
these new people? 7:44 Swain's gaze
came to rest on some shadows at the rear of the library building. Darkness
there. Good. It was a chance. Swain ran
across the street. The park
surrounding the State Library was a pretty one, flat and grassy, with evenly
spaced oaks spread around three sides of the central building — only now, the
oak trees were joined by the bright yellow tape. Outside the
perimeter of oaks, on the eastern side of the building, stood a splendid white
rotunda. It was essentially an elevated circular stage, free-standing, with six
thin pillars supporting a beautiful domed roof twenty feet above the stage
itself. A lattice handrail circled the stage. It was a
beautiful structure, popular for outdoor weddings and the like. Swain even
remembered taking Holly to the pantomimes they held here in the summer — Wizard
of Oz-type shows that involved clouds of coloured smoke and the deft use of
a trapdoor in the centre of the stage. Swain
scampered across the open grass and ducked behind the rotunda's stage, out of
sight. Twenty yards
to the nearest oak. Thirty yards
from the oak to the library. He was about
to run for the treeline when he saw a garbage bin next to him. He stopped.
Thinking. If they had
set up police tape around the library, it was likely they would have someone
patrolling the building, warding off any would-be intruders. He had to find a
way… Swain
rummaged through the bin and found some crumpled old newspapers. He was
grabbing a handful of them when he caught sight of something else. A wine
bottle. He picked it
up and heard the sloshing of liquid still inside it. Excellent. Swain upended
the bottle and poured the excess wine onto his hands. The alcohol stung the
scratches on his hands. Then, with
bottle and newspapers in hand, he bolted for the treeline. 7:14 7:13 7:12 Swain thrust
himself up against the thick trunk of the tree and felt his pockets. The broken
phone receiver and the equally broken lighter were still there. He cursed
himself for leaving the handcuffs back at the train tracks. In the
flashing blue light of the van, he saw the nearest corner of the building. Thirty
yards. He took a
deep breath. And ran out
into the open. Levine
yawned as he leaned on the bonnet of the Lincoln. Marshall and Quaid had gone
off to check out the parking lot while he had been left to watch the front of
the building. His radio
crackled. It would be Higgs, the agent in charge of the surveillance team he
had just sent out. 'Yeah,'
Levine said. 'We're on
the western side of the building and there's nothing here, sir,' Higgs'
tinny voice said. 'Okay,'
Levine said. 'Just keep circling the building, and let me know if you find
anything.' 'Roger that,
sir.' Levine
clicked off the radio. Swain
reached the south-eastern corner of the building and ducked into the shadows of
the southern wall. He was
breathing hard now, his heart pounding loudly inside his head. He scanned
the wall. 7:01 7:00 6:59 There.
Near the far corner. Swain ran
forward and dived to the ground. The radio
crackled again. Higgs' voice. 'We are
approaching the south-west corner, sir. Still nothing to report.' Levine said,
'Thank you, Higgs.' Swain lay on
the grass next to the southern wall of the State Library, still holding the
newspapers and the wine bottle. He was
peering at a small wooden window set into the wall at ground level, not far
from the south-western corner of the building. The window was old and dusty,
and it looked like it hadn't been opened in years. His wristband still beeped
softly. 6:39 Swain leaned
close and saw a jagged fork of tiny blue lightning lick out from the old
window's frame— A twig
snapped. Somewhere
close. Swain pulled
the newspapers to his body and immediately rolled up against the library wall,
his eyes inches away from the tiny sparks of electricity that licked out from
the window. Silence. And then a
soft beep… beep… beep. The
wristband! Swain thrust
his left wrist under his body to muffle the sound of the beeping just as he saw
three sets of black combat boots step slowly around the corner. NSA Special
Agent Alan Higgs lowered his M-16 and winced at the figure lying huddled up
against the wall before him. A filthy
body, curled up in the foetal position, wrapped in crumpled newspapers in a vain
attempt to counter the cold. His clothes were filthy rags and the man's face
was covered in black grime. A bum. Higgs put
his radio to his mouth. 'Higgs here.' 'What
is it?' 'Just a bum,
that's all,' Higgs said, nudging the body with his boot. 'Rolled up tight next
to the building. No wonder nobody saw him when they set up the perimeter.' 'Any
problem?' 'Nah,' Higgs
said. 'This guy probably never even noticed the perimeter going up himself.
Don't worry about it sir, we'll have him out of here in no time. Higgs out.' Higgs bent
down and shook Swain's shoulder. 'Hey,
buddy?' he said. Swain
groaned. Higgs nodded
to the other two agents — like himself, they were dressed in full SWAT gear —
who slung their M-l6s and bent down to pick up the man. As they did
so, the bum grunted loudly and rolled sleepily toward them, feebly stretching
out with one hand, pressing it against the face of one of the agents, as if to
say, 'Go away, I'm sleeping here.' The agent
made a face and pulled back. 'Oh, man, does this guy stink.' Higgs could
smell the wine from where he stood. 'Just pick him up and get him the hell out
of here.' Swain kept
the beeping wristband pressed tightly against his stomach and covered in
newspapers as he was carried away from the library building, back into the
park. To his ears
it was beeping louder than ever, almost certain to be heard. But the two
men carrying him didn't seem to notice. In fact, they seemed to be trying to
keep their bodies as far away from his as possible. Swain began
to sweat. This was
taking too much time. He
desperately wanted to look at the wristband. To see how much time was left. They
couldn't take him away. He
had to get back inside. 'Ambulance?'
one of the two carriers asked the third — and presumably superior — man walking
in the lead. Swain's body
tensed as he waited for the response. 'Nah,' the
third man said. 'Just get him outside the perimeter. Let the police pick him up
later.' 'Roger
that.' Swain
breathed a sigh of relief. But if they
weren't taking him to a hospital to clean him up, and if they weren't police
officers, then there were still two questions to answer: where would they
take him, and who the hell were they? The heavily
armed men carried Swain through the treeline and across the park, toward the rotunda. Okay.
You can put me down now, Swain willed them. You're taking
too long… They carried
him up the steps of the rotunda and laid him down on the circular wooden stage. 'Here will
do,' the senior one said. 'Good,' the
one whom Swain had rubbed in the face said as he released Swain's arm. 'Come on,
Farrell, he doesn't smell that bad,' the senior one said. Swain
breathed again, and his body relaxed. There would
still be time. Now
go, boys. That's good. Keep going… 'Wait a
minute…' the one named Farrell said. Swain froze. Farrell was
looking down at his gloves. 'Sir, this guy is bleeding.' Oh
shit. 'He's what?' 'He's
bleeding, sir. Look.' Stay
calm. Stay calm. They
are not going to come over. They
are not going to look at your arm… Swain's
whole body tensed as Farrell held out his gloved hands and the senior man came
over. Higgs
examined the blood on Farrell's gloves. Then he looked down at Swain, at the
newspapers covering his arms, at the tiny splotches of red that had seeped through
the newsprint on his right arm. The strong odour of wine pervaded it all. Finally, he
said, 'Probably just a cut he got falling into a gutter. Leave him be, I'll
radio it in. If they think it's necessary, the others can come by later and
check him out. I don't think this guy will be going anywhere fast. Come on,
let's get back to work.' They headed
back towards the main entrance. Swain didn't
dare move until the sounds of the footsteps had faded off into the night. Slowly, he
lifted his head. He was in
the rotunda, on the stage. He looked at his wristband: 2:21 2:20 2:19 'Why don't
you take your time next time, boys?' he said aloud. He couldn't believe it had
taken only four minutes. It had felt like an eternity. But now he
only had two minutes left. He had to move. Fast. With a final
look through the white lattice handrail of the rotunda stage, Swain leapt to
his feet, and ran down the stairs. 2:05 Into the
treeline, and he stopped beneath one of the heavy oaks. He reached
up and grabbed a thick low-hanging branch and snapped it from the tree. Then he
ran out onto open ground again, toward the library building. 1:51 1:50 1:49 In the
shadows of the southern wall, Swain came to the ground-level window he had seen
before and dropped to his knees. He tightened his grip on the long thick branch
and prayed to God that this would work. He swung the
branch down hard at the window. The small window shattered instantly. Glass
exploded everywhere. Instantly,
however, a crackling grid of silver-blue electricity burst to life across the
width of the window. Swain's eyes
went wide with dismay. Oh, no. Oh… no. 1:36 Swain
swallowed. He hadn't
thought that that would happen. He had hoped that the gap would be too
wide, that the electricity would not be able to jump the width of the small
window. But the
window was too small. And now he
was left with a wall of jagged, crisscrossing lines of pure electricity in
front of him. 1:20 1:19 1:18 Only a
minute left. Think,
Swain! Think! There has to be a way! There has to be! But his mind
was now a blur of panic and incredulity. To have got so far, and to end it all
like this… Images of
the night flashed across his mind. Reese in the
Stack. Meeting Hawkins. The parking lot. Balthazar. Up to the First Floor.
Bellos and the hoods and the Konda in the atrium… 1:01 1:00 0:59 … the
Internet Facility and the handcuffs on the door. Up to the Third Floor. The
janitor's room. The Karanadon. The elevator shaft. Back down to the Stack. The
small red door. Falling through the door with the hoods. Outside. In
the tunnel. The subway train. 0:48 0:47 0:46 Wait. There was
something there. Something he
had missed. Something that said there was a way in. 0:37 0:36 0:35 What was it?
Shit! Why couldn't he remember? Okay, slow down. Think. Where did it
happen? Downstairs?
No. Upstairs? No. Somewhere in between. The First
Floor. What had
happened on the First Floor? They had
seen Bellos, seen the hoods attack the Konda. Then Balthazar had thrown a knife
and pinned one of them to the railing… 0:29 0:28 0:27 Then Holly
had pressed the elevator button and they had run into the Internet room. Holly… Then the
door. And the handcuffs. 0:20 0:19 0:18 What was it? Holly… It was
there! Somewhere in the back of his mind. A way in! Why couldn't he remember
it? 0:14 0:13 0:12 Think,
Goddamn it, think! 0:11 0:10 Swain pursed
his lips, frowning. 0:09 He swung his
head from right to left. No other windows. Nowhere else to go. 0:08 Think back.
First Floor. Bellos. Hoods. 0:07 Balthazar.
Knife. 0:06 Elevator.
Holly pressing the button. Holly… 0:05 Holly?
Something about Holly. 0:04 Something
Holly said? 0:03 Something
Holly did? 0:02 And with the
expiration of the countdown came the horror of the realisation. Stephen
Swain was dead. FIFTH MOVEMENT 30 November, 8:56 p.m. —––ooo0ooo——— In the
janitor's room on the Third Floor, Paul Hawkins sat down against the wall
beside Balthazar, and nodded, satisfied. Across the
floor from him, in front of the open doorway of the room, lay a large puddle of
highly flammable methylated spirits — and next to him, a box of old-fashioned
phosphorus-tipped matches. He had been pleasantly surprised at what he had been
able to find on the shelves of the old janitor's room. He felt a
little safer now. Any unwanted guests passing through that doorway would be in
for a big— And then,
abruptly, he heard it. The windows
above him rattled slightly, while the floor shook gently. Hawkins
couldn't quite guess what it was. But it
sounded like a muffled explosion. Selexin and
Holly stopped at the top of the stairwell as the wooden banister beside them
began to shudder. 'Did you
hear that?' Selexin asked nervously. 'I felt it,' Holly said. 'What do you
think it was?' 'It sounded
like a blast of some sort. An explosion. From somewhere outside—' He cut
himself off. 'Oh
no…' 'Clear?'
'Commander' Harry Quaid called again. Marshall
ducked behind the wall at the top of the ramp as Quaid rounded the corner and
joined him. The second
blast rushed outward from the bottom of the concrete entry ramp. A billowing
cloud of grey smoke raced up the ramp and shot out onto the street, thundering
past Marshall and Quaid. Fragments of
metal — the remnants of what had been the steel grating that closed off the
library's parking lot — clattered loudly to the ground. The smoke
cleared and Marshall, Quaid and a small cohort of NSA agents made their way
down the charred ramp, stepping over the gnarled pieces of steel that now
littered the slope. Marshall
stopped at the bottom of the ramp and stared in awe at the sight before him. Across the
wide rectangular opening of the parking lot — filling the exploded round hole
in the middle of the steel grating — was an enormous grid of bright blue electricity,
crackling and sizzling, lashing out every few seconds with long ringers of
high-voltage lightning. Marshall
folded his arms as Quaid stood beside him, gazing at the criss-crossing grid of
light before them. 'We knew
it,' Quaid said, not taking his eyes off the wall of blue light. 'We did
indeed,' Marshall said. 'So. They electrify the whole building, cutting it off,
sealing it so that nothing can get in or out…' 'Right.' 'So, why
have they done it?' Marshall asked. 'What the hell is going on inside this
building that we're not supposed to see?' —––ooo0ooo——— Holly tapped
her foot impatiently as she waited on the Third Floor landing of the stairwell.
Selexin was peering around the open fire door into the study hall. The room was
a mess. An absolute
mess. A diagonal
line of pure destruction ran all the way across the study hall — from the
doorway to the janitor's room in the far corner, right up to the stairwell
door. Desks crushed beneath the weight of the Karanadon lay in splinters,
strewn all over the floor. In the dim
blue city light, Selexin could just make out the doorway to the janitor's room
on the far side of the room. There didn't seem to be anybody there at the
moment. In a dark corner of his mind, Selexin wondered what had happened to
Hawkins and Balth— Suddenly a
shadow cut across his view of the janitor's room. A dark
shape, barely distinguishable in the hazy blue darkness, about the size of a
man, but much, much thinner, moving stealthily between the desks of the study
hall, heading toward the janitor's room. Selexin
ducked back behind the stairwell door, hoping that it hadn't seen him. Then he
grabbed Holly's hand and they began to descend the stairs. In the
janitor's room, Hawkins leaned back wearily against the concrete wall. He was
watching Balthazar walk gingerly around the room. Now that his
eyes were clear of Reese's saliva and his vision seemingly restored, Balthazar
seemed to be getting his strength back. A few minutes before, he had managed to
stand up on his own. Now he was walking. Hawkins
looked out through the doorway — over the wide puddle of methylated spirits he
had poured — into the study hall. Everything
was silent. Nobody was
out there. He turned
back to watch Balthazar pace awkwardly around the room, and as he did so, he
failed to notice a sharp triangular head loop itself smoothly and silently
around the doorway. It looked
inside, slowly tilting its head from side to side, alternating between
Balthazar and Hawkins. It never
made a sound. Hawkins
turned idly and saw it. He stopped cold. The head was
a long, sharp, flat isosceles triangle, pointing downwards. No eyes. No ears.
No mouth. Just a flat, black triangle, slightly larger than a man's head. And it just
hovered there, in the doorway. The body was
still out of view, but Hawkins could clearly see its long thin 'neck'. Now,
inasmuch as everything he had seen so far was basically 'animal' — with eyes,
limbs and skin — this thing, whatever it was, was totally alien. Its 'neck'
was like a string of white pearls flowing down from the flat, two-dimensional
triangular head. Presumably it flowed into a body that was still out of his
sight. Hawkins
continued to stare at the creature — just as it seemed to stare curiously back
at him. And then
Balthazar spoke. A deep, husky voice. 'Codex.' 'What?'
Hawkins said. 'What did you say?' Balthazar
pointed at the alien. 'Codex.' The Codex
moved forward — effortlessly, smoothly — floating through the air. It crossed
the threshold of the room and Hawkins saw that it had no body at all. The
string of pearls that formed its neck was, in fact, about five feet long. And
it dangled down from the head, curling upward at the tip, never touching the
ground. And at the
tip of the tail, burning brightly, was a green light that glowed from a tight
grey metal band. The Codex was another contestant. The tail
slithered back and forth like a snake's, hovering upright, one foot above the
ground. 'Oh man,'
Hawkins grabbed the matchbox and pulled out a phosphorus-tipped match. He
struck it on the floor. The flare of
white light made the Codex hesitate. It stopped above the pool of methylated spirits. Hawkins held
the match aloft, the flame slowly burning its way down the white wood of the
matchstick, blackening it. He
swallowed. 'Aw, what
the hell,' he said. And he dropped the match into the pool. Levine was
standing out in front of the library when his radio sputtered to life. 'Sir!
Sir! We have a light! I repeat: we have a light! Looks like a fire. Third
floor. North-east corner.' 'I'm on my
way,' Levine said. He switched channels on his radio. 'Sir?' 'What is
it, Levine?' James Marshall sounded irritated by the interruption. 'Sir,'
Levine said, 'we have confirmation of activity inside the library. I repeat,
confirmation of activity inside the library.' 'Where?' 'North-east
corner. Third Floor.' Marshall
said, 'Get over there. We're on our way.' The walls of
the janitor's room flared bright yellow as a curtain of fire burst upward from
the pool of methylated spirits, engulfing the Codex. Hawkins and
Balthazar stepped back from the flames, shielding their eyes. The Codex could
not be seen through the blazing wall of fire. And then it
emerged. Floating
forward. Through the flames. Oblivious to the heat. It moved
inside the janitor's room, clear of the fire. 'Oh, man,'
Hawkins said, edging backwards. Balthazar
spoke — again, just one word in a flat monotone. 'Go.' Hawkins
said, 'What?' Balthazar
was staring intently at the Codex. 'Go,' he repeated solemnly. Hawkins
didn't know what to do. The Codex was hovering right in front of them. And even
if he got past it, he still had to get through the fire — the fire that he had
set up to keep intruders out. It had never occurred to him that that
same fire might serve to keep him in. There was no
way out. There was nowhere to go. Balthazar
turned to Hawkins and looked him squarely in the eye. 'Go… now!' And with
that Balthazar launched himself at the Codex. Hawkins
watched in astonishment as the Codex leapt forward at the same moment and
coiled its thin body three times around Balthazar's throat. With both
hands, the big man pulled desperately at the Codex's stranglehold around his
neck. He stumbled backwards into the remains of the cyclone fence that divided
the room, tripped, and fell to the floor beneath the shelves packed with
detergents and cleaning agents. Hawkins was
still just standing there, stunned, watching the battle in awe, when Balthazar
cried, 'Go!' Hawkins
blinked and turned immediately. He saw the fire, spreading across the room,
creeping across the floor toward him. He saw the dusty methylated spirits
bottle he had used, lying on the floor, inches away from the approaching
flames. Too late. The flames
devoured the bottle as Hawkins dived over the nearest pile of wooden boxes. Under the
intense heat, the glass bottle — still half full — exploded like a Molotov
cocktail, shooting out missiles of glass and fire in every direction. Beyond the
cyclone fence, Balthazar was back on his feet again, struggling with the Codex. He fell back
heavily against the wooden shelves and they collapsed under him. Glass spirit
bottles, plastic detergent bottles and a dozen aerosol spray cans crashed to
the floor. Hawkins saw
the shelves collapse, saw all the bottles hit the floor — cleaning agents and
detergents that carried conspicuous red warning signs: DO NOT mix with DETERGENTS OR
OTHER CHEMICALS, and highly flammable aerosols with their own glaring warning
labels. The fire
moved inexorably forward, across the room. 'Oh
my God,' Hawkins' eyes darted from the fire on the floor to the chemicals
lying in its path. Behind the
cyclone fence, the Codex's body was still coiled tightly around Balthazar's
throat. Balthazar's face was twisted in a tight grimace, his cheeks beetroot
red. Hawkins spun
to warn him about the fire and in that instant their eyes met, and Balthazar,
staring intently at Hawkins, tightened his grip on the Codex's snake-like body. Hawkins saw
it in the big man's eyes. Balthazar knew what was going to happen. The fire.
The chemicals. He was going to stay in the room. And keep the Codex with him. 'No!'
Hawkins cried, realising. 'You can't!' 'Go,'
Balthazar gasped. 'But
you'll—' Hawkins saw the flames creeping steadily across the floor. He had to
make a decision fast. 'Go!'
Balthazar yelled. Hawkins gave
up. There was no more time. Balthazar was right. He had to go. He turned back
to face the fast-approaching wall of fire, and, with a final glance back at
Balthazar — locked in battle with the Codex — Hawkins said softly, 'Thank you.' Then he
covered his face with his forearm and plunged into the fire. Levine
arrived at the north-east corner of the library building just as Quaid and
Marshall came running up. The agent in charge of the perimeter, Higgs, was
there waiting. 'Up there,'
Higgs said, pointing at two long rectangular windows up on the third floor,
just below the overhang of the library's roof. The two
windows glowed bright yellow, with the occasional flash of orange flames. 'Jesus
Christ,' Marshall shook his head. 'The goddamn building is on fire. That's
just what I need.' 'What do we
do?' Levine said. 'We get
inside,' Harry Quaid said flatly, gazing up at the glowing windows. 'Before
there's nothing left.' 'Right,'
Marshall scowled, thinking. 'Damn it. Damn it!' Then he said, 'Levine.' 'Yes, sir.' 'Call the
fire department. But when they get here, tell them to hold off. We don't want
them going in there until we've had a good look inside. I just want them here
in case that fire gets out of con—' 'Hey. Hold
on a minute…' Quaid called. He had wandered off down the side of the building
and was now standing at the south-eastern corner. 'What is
it?' Marshall said. 'What the
fuck…?' Quaid disappeared down the southern side of the building. 'What is
it?' Marshall followed, rounding the corner after Quaid. Quaid was
thirty yards down the southern wall, almost at the south-western corner of the
building. He called back to the group. 'Special Agent Higgs, you in charge of
surveillance tonight?' 'Yes, sir.' 'Tell me,
did you find anybody around here earlier? Anybody near this wall?' Higgs didn't
understand what was going on. Quaid was peering at the base of the wall, at
what appeared to be a small window down near the ground. 'Well — uh —
yes, sir. Yes, we did,' Higgs said. 'We found a drunken bum asleep up against
this wall not long ago.' 'Was he down
near this corner? Near the window down here?' Quaid asked. 'Uh, yes.
Yes he was, sir.' 'And where
is this drunken bum now, Higgs?' Quaid asked, kneeling on the grass, still
looking at the base of the building. Marshall,
Levine and Higgs came closer. Higgs
swallowed. 'We put him in the rotunda over there, sir.' He pointed back over
his shoulder. 'I was going to call it in, but I didn't think there was any
hurry.' 'Special
Agent Higgs, I want you to go straight to that rotunda and find that bum for
me, right now.' Higgs
hurried off immediately. Quaid
glanced up at the others as they saw what he had been looking at. 'What the…?'
Levine gasped. 'Well would
you look at that,' Marshall said as he saw the spiderweb of electricity that
spread across the small ground-level window. Tiny shards of glass lay strewn on
the grass around the base of the window. There was
nobody in sight. Quaid leaned
close to the window. It was just big enough for a man to fit through. But why
would somebody break it? That would serve no purpose whatsoever. Unless they
wanted to get in… Higgs came
running back. He spoke breathlessly. 'Sir, the
bum is gone.' —––ooo0ooo——— Hawkins
burst through the flames and fell out of the doorway and dropped to the floor
of the study hall. He checked
his body. His police trousers and parka had survived the dash through the fire
intact and unharmed. But for some reason his head stung like crazy. He reached
up to touch the crown of his head and suddenly felt the searing heat. His
hair was on fire! Hawkins
frantically took off his parka and smothered the tiny flames on his head with
it. The heat died down quickly, and he began breathing again. The
janitor's room was glowing bright yellow now, lighting up the study hall
outside. Flames flared out through the doorway. It wouldn't
be long now, he thought. Hawkins
crawled to the side of the doorway, pushed his back up against the wall. He only had
to wait a few seconds. The
chemicals inside the janitor's room combined well. After the first aerosol can
exploded in a ball of gaseous blue flame, a chain reaction of chemical
explosions was set in motion. The concrete
wall behind Hawkins cracked under the weight of the shock wave as a golden
fireball blasted out through the doorway, rocketing past Hawkins, setting the
study hall aglow in a flash of brilliant yellow light. Marshall,
Levine and Quaid all looked up at the same time as the entire third floor of
the building flared like a fiery flashbulb, lighting up the night. Voices came
in over their radios: '—fire is
spreading!—' '—corner
room just exploded—' 'Holy shit,'
Levine breathed. It sounded
like thunder. Close,
booming thunder. The whole
building rocked under the weight of the explosions. On the
Second Floor of the library, Holly and Selexin reached desperately for
handholds as they tried to stay on their feet. The Second
Floor of the New York State Library was comprised mainly of two large computer
rooms. In the centre of each room, long wooden tables were covered with PCs. A
tangle of air-conditioning units and aluminium air ducts hung from the ceiling,
providing much-needed humidity control for the computers. Glass-walled reading
rooms lined the perimeter of the floor. The
explosions from the Third Floor were growing in intensity, and on the Second
Floor they were received with all their violent force. The glass
walls of the reading rooms shattered all around Holly and Selexin. Computers
fell from the edges of the tables, crashed to the floor. Selexin
pulled Holly under one of the long tables in the centre of the floor and they
huddled together, covering their ears, as the building shook and the explosions
boomed and monitors and keyboards fell from the tables all around them,
smashing down onto the floor. Chaos.
Absolute chaos. In the study
hall, Hawkins pressed his hands tightly against his ears as waves of flames
lashed out from the doorway next to him. Several of
the L-shaped desks around him were on fire — ignited by the initial
flamethrower-like finger of fire that had blasted out from the janitor's room. The
explosions were bigger now — bigger than he had expected them to be, bigger
than any chemical fire he knew. They were
almost, well… too big. Why
had that—? Hawkins
froze. Something else must have happened. But what? And then he
saw it. A small
pipe, running horizontally, high up on the wall near the ceiling. It ran out
from the janitor's room, across the wall of the study hall — above the northern
windows — and then, halfway across, it turned abruptly downwards and ran down
to the floor, and then through the floor down to the other floors below… A gas pipe. There must
have been a gas valve in the janitor's room that he hadn't seen. A gas water
heater or a gas— The small
pipe ignited. Hawkins
watched in horror as a yellow-blue flame sped in a thin line across the pipe's
horizontal length, and then turned as the pipe did, darting downwards, heading
for the lower floors. Hawkins
watched as a droplet of fire fell from the gas pipe and landed on one of the
wooden desks. With a sudden whoosh, the desk went up in flames. Hawkins leapt
to his feet. The explosions from the janitor's room were finally beginning to
die, but that didn't matter anymore. A fire was
spreading through the gas piping. Soon the
whole building would be alight. He had to
find a way out. —––ooo0ooo——— In a small
toilet on Sub-Level One, somebody else was feeling the shuddering explosions
that were rocking the New York State Library. Stephen
Swain MD sat with his back pressed up against the white-tiled wall of a cubicle
in the ladies' room of Sub-Level One. The water in the toilet bowl next to him
splashed about wildly as the building around it tilted and swayed. Another
explosion boomed and the building shook again, although not as drastically as
it had before. The explosions seemed to be losing their muscle. Swain checked
his wristband. It read: INITIALISED—6 DETONATION SEQUENCE TERMINATED
AT: *
0:01 * RESET The top line
flickered, then changed to: INITIALISED—5 High above
Swain's head, just below the ceiling, the grid of blue electricity was still
sizzling. Beyond the glowing window he could hear the faint voices of the NSA
agents. He pressed
himself closer against the tiles and breathed deeply. He
was back inside. It was the
thought of Holly that had done it. Holly on the
First Floor, in the dilapidated Internet Facility. When the hoods had been
pounding on the door and Swain had handcuffed it shut, he had found Holly over
by the window. She had been
holding the broken telephone receiver up against the electrified window. When
the phone was brought in close to the window, the electricity seemed to pull
back in a wide circle. Away from
the phone. At the time,
Swain hadn't realised what was happening, but he knew now. It wasn't
the phone that the electricity had been pulling away from, but the magnet inside
the phone. The earpiece of a telephone is like a common stereo speaker: at its
centre one will find a relatively high-powered magnet. And as a
radiologist, Stephen Swain knew all about magnetism. People
commonly associate radiologists with X-rays, but in recent years radiologists
have been endeavouring to discover new ways to obtain cross-sections of human
bodies — views taken by looking down on the body from above the head. There are a
number of techniques used to obtain these cross-sections. One well-known method
is the CAT-scan. Another more modern method involves the splicing and ordering
of atomic particles and is called Magnetic Resonance Imaging. Basically —
as Swain had explained to the troublesome Mrs Pederman earlier that day — MRI
works on the principle that electricity reacts to magnetic interference. And that was
exactly what had happened when Holly had held the receiver to the window — the magnetic
waves disrupted the very structure of the electronic waves and,
hence, made the wall of electricity pull away from the magnet in order to
maintain their frequency. To get
inside again, Swain had grabbed the receiver from his pocket and held the
ear-piece to the window. The electricity had instantly pulled back from the
receiver, forming a wide two-foot hole in the grid, and Swain had simply thrust
his arm in through the hole. The
wristband, once detecting itself to be inside the electric field again, stopped
its countdown immediately. Just
in time. After a
minute's careful wriggling and squirming — to make sure he did not move his
body beyond the two-foot magnetic circle in the electric grid — Swain was back
inside. In fact, he
had just pulled his right foot inside the window when he fell from the high
window sill. The electric grid sizzled immediately back into place and Swain
fell clumsily onto the toilet seat below. Inside. —––ooo0ooo——— Paul Hawkins
was halfway across the study hall when the explosions ceased. Only the
loud crackling sounds of a fire out of control remained. The desks over by the
janitor's room were now blazing wildly. The janitor's room itself was still
glowing bright yellow. The whole study hall was bathed in a flickering golden
haze. Suddenly
there came a crashing sound from behind him and Hawkins spun. There,
hovering in the doorway to the janitor's room, silhouetted by the flickering
yellow flames behind it, was the Codex. Hawkins
froze. Then he saw
it wobble slightly. The Codex
was hovering unsteadily. It began to swirl dizzily. And then, abruptly, its
flat triangular head snapped upward and the Codex fell, crashing down on top of
a crumpled desk. After that,
it didn't move. Hawkins
sighed with relief. He was about
to turn back for the stairwell when he caught sight of something on the floor
not far from the door to the janitor's room. Something white. Slowly, Hawkins
stepped forward until he could see what it was… He stopped
cold. It was a
guide. Or at least what was left of him. It had
probably been the Codex's guide, stationed outside the janitor's room while the
Codex had gone inside for the kill. The guide's
body lay in a wide pool of blood underneath one of the L-shaped desks and it
had been mangled beyond recognition. Small
clusters of parallel red slashes ran across its face, arms and chest — one of
which had broken its nose, making for an especially gruesome excess of blood.
Deep scratches on the little man's palms suggested futile defensive efforts.
His eyes and mouth were wide open — frozen in eternal terror — a snapshot of
his horrifying final moments. Hawkins
winced at the sickening sight — it was disgusting, brutal. And then, as he
looked more closely at the clusters of slashing cuts all over the guide's body,
he had a sudden, terrifying realisation. Parallel cuts indicated claws… Bellos'
hoods had done this. It was time
to get out of here. Hawkins
immediately turned back for the stairwell— —only to see
a big black hand rush toward his face. And then he saw nothing. Stephen
Swain stepped cautiously out from the ladies' room and saw the familiar
glass-walled offices of Sub-Level One. He checked
his wristband and found that the screen had changed again. INITIALISED—4 Another
contestant was dead. Only four were left now. Swain
wondered which contestants were still alive. He shrugged off the thought. Hell,
he only really knew of three others — Balthazar, Bellos and Reese. Including
himself, maybe they were the only four left. Got
to find Holly, he told himself. Holly. He stepped
out among the offices. Across the floor, through the glass partitions, he saw
the elevator bay. He also saw the heavy blue door that led out to the parking
lot. It was open. Swain
hastened over to the door and examined it. It had been torn from its hinges,
presumably by Reese when she had been chasing them before. He
remembered the chase into the parking lot, remembered Balthazar coming up the
concrete ramp from the floor below… The floor
below. Sub-Level
Two, the Stack. That was
where he had been separated from Holly and Selexin, so it was the obvious place
to start looking for them. He had to
get down there. Go down the
stairwell? No. There
was another way. A better way. He
remembered Balthazar again, coming up the ramp in the parking lot. That was
the way in. Balthazar had come from another, lower, parking level. And that
level had to have an entrance of some sort, a door that would open onto
Sub-Level Two. With that
Swain ran through the big blue door and out toward the parking lot. —––ooo0ooo——— From the
outside it looked like a scene from The Towering Inferno. The State
Library of New York — standing proudly in the centre of a beautiful inner city
park — with long flaming tentacles spraying out from two flat rectangular
windows up near its roof, while rows of windows on the third and second floors
were illuminated by a glowing golden haze. John Levine
was back at the front of the library, watching as the building before him
burned. Behind him,
the big blue NSA van pulled out from the kerb and headed for the western side
of the library building. Levine
watched as the van jumped the kerb and drove straight onto the grass lawn
surrounding the library. Then it disappeared around the corner. He turned
back to see headlights — lots of headlights — and he knew what that meant. The
fire department was arriving — closely followed by the media. Multi-coloured
vans screeched to a halt just outside the perimeter of yellow tape. Sliding
doors were flung open and cameramen charged out. Behind them, pretty reporters
emerged from their vans, fluffing and primping. One bold
young reporter hustled straight over from her van, ducked under the yellow
police tape and walked straight up to Levine and thrust a microphone into his
face. 'Sir,' she
said, in her best, most serious voice, 'can you tell us exactly what is
happening here? How did the fire start?' Levine
didn't answer. He just stared at the young woman, silent. 'Sir,' she
repeated, 'I said, can you tell us—' Levine cut
her off, speaking softly and politely, facing the young reporter, but clearly
addressing the three NSA agents standing nearby. 'Gentlemen,
please escort this young lady outside the perimeter and inform her that if she
or anyone else crosses that line again they will be arrested on the spot and
charged with Federal offences relating to interference with matters of national
security, sentences for which range between ten and twenty years, depending on
what sort of mood I'm in.' The three
agents stepped forward and the reporter, mouth agape, was led ignominiously
back to the perimeter. Levine was
watching her legs as she walked off when his radio came to life. It was
Marshall. 'Yes, sir?' 'Quaid
and I are at the entrance to the parking lot,' Marshall
said. 'TV there yet?' 'They're
here all right,' Levine said. 'Any
trouble?' 'Not yet.' 'Good.
We'll be down here from now on. This fire has raised the stakes. Now we have to
get inside before the whole place burns down. Is the truck on the way?' 'It just
left,' Levine said. 'You'll be seeing it any second now.' The ramp
leading down from the street to the underground parking lot was on the western
side of the library building. Marshall was
standing at the base of the ramp, not far from the metal grille that closed off
the parking lot. In the centre of the grille, just touching the ground, was the
large circle of criss-crossing blue electricity. Behind him,
the big NSA van reversed around the corner and backed slowly down the ramp. 'Okay,'
Marshall said into his radio, seeing the van, 'it's here. I'll call you back
soon. For now, you just keep those firemen and reporters behind the tape.
Okay?' 'Okay,'
Levine's voice said as Marshall hung up. The van
stopped and the back doors burst open and four men dressed in SWAT gear jumped
down onto the ramp. The first of them — a young technician — came straight up
to Quaid and they spoke quietly. Then the technician nodded vigorously and
disappeared inside the van. He re-emerged several seconds later carrying a
large silver box. Quaid walked
over to Marshall, standing in front of the electrified metal grille. Marshall
said, 'How long will it—?' 'We'll be in
there soon,' Quaid said calmly. 'We just have to do the math first.' 'Who are you
going to get to do it?' 'Me,' Quaid
said. The
technician placed the heavy box down on the concrete next to Quaid, then bent
down and flipped open its silver lid to reveal three digital counters. Each
counter displayed red numbers, which at the moment read: 00000.00. Quaid then
pulled a long green cord out from the box and led it over to the metal grille.
The cord had a shiny steel bulb at the tip. Another
heavily armed agent came over and handed him some insulated black gloves and a
long pole with a loop of rope attached to its end. Quaid put the gloves on and
inserted the steel bulb into the loop at the end of the pole. He took a
long, slow breath. Then he pointed the pole away from his body, toward the wall
of crisscrossing blue lightning. The steel
bulb at the end of the pole glistened as it edged closer and closer to the wall
of blue light. Marshall
watched tensely. Quaid swallowed. The NSA team
stared in anticipation. None of them
knew what would happen. The bulb
touched the electricity. The counters
in the steel box immediately began to tick upward slowly, measuring the
voltage. They sped up slightly, the numbers getting larger and larger. And then
they went into overdrive. On the
Second Floor of the library, Holly and Selexin huddled together underneath one
of the large central tables. On the floor all around them lay the crumpled
remains of a dozen shattered computers. The glass
walls of the Reading Rooms had once been like the glass partitions on the First
Floor — glass from the waist up, wood from the waist down — only now they had
been shattered beyond recognition by the explosions, reduced to little more
than gaping windows with jagged edges. Worse still,
on the eastern side of the floor, in two of the reading rooms, fires had
started. Selexin
sighed sadly. Next to him, Holly was sobbing. 'Are you all
right?' he asked, concerned. 'Are you hurt?' 'No… want Daddy,'
she whimpered. 'I want my Daddy.' Selexin
looked over at the doorway leading to the stairwell. It was shut. 'Yes. I know.
I do, too.' Holly stared
at him, and Selexin could see the fear in her eyes. 'What's happened to
him?' she sniffed. 'I do not
know.' 'And those things
that pushed him out through the door? I hope they die. I hate them.' 'Believe
me,' Selexin said, still eyeing the door, 'I dislike them intensely, too.' 'Do you
think Daddy's coming back inside?' Holly asked hopefully. 'I am sure
he is already back inside,' Selexin lied. 'And I would wager that at this
very moment he is probably somewhere in the building looking for us.' Holly
nodded, wiping her eyes, encouraged. 'Yeah. That's what I think, too.' Selexin
smiled weakly. As much as he wanted to believe that Stephen Swain was still
alive, he was extremely doubtful. The labyrinth was electronically sealed for
the sole purpose of keeping the contestants in. Only an inexplicable
fluke had created an opening in the building at the time of electrification —
it was highly unlikely that another existed. And besides,
he had heard the explosion himself. Stephen Swain was most certainly
dead… And then,
out of the corner of his eye, Selexin saw movement. It was the
stairwell door. It was
opening. Swain
hurried down the grey corridor and stepped out into the white fluorescent light
of the car park. It was
exactly as he remembered it. Clean, shiny concrete, white floor markings, the
DOWN ramp in the centre. And it was
quiet. The car park was totally empty. Swain
hurried over to the DOWN ramp and had just started to descend it when he heard
someone shouting. 'Hello! Hey!' Swain turned
around, puzzled. 'Yes, you!
The guy at the top of the ramp!' Swain
searched for the source of the shouts. His gaze fell on the entry ramp. It was
off to the left, down a long, narrow passageway, closed off to the outside
world by a big steel grille. At the bottom of the grille was a round exploded
hole that glowed blue with crisscrossing lines of electricity. Beyond the
hole in the grille, however, was a man, dressed in blue combat attire. And he was
shouting. —––ooo0ooo——— Holly sat
frozen underneath the long wooden table. Selexin stared at the slowly opening
door. Apart from
the muffled crackling of flames that came from the fire in the reading rooms,
the Second Floor of the New York State Library was completely silent. The door to
the stairwell continued to open. And then
slowly — very slowly — a big black boot stepped through the doorway. The door
opened wide. It was
Bellos. He was alone. The two remaining hoods were nowhere to be seen. Selexin
raised a finger to his lips and Holly, her eyes wide with fear, nodded
vigorously. Bellos
walked into the open central area of the Second Floor. His boots
crunched softly on the broken glass of the computer monitors as he passed
within a foot of the table under which Holly and Selexin hid. He stopped. Right
in front of them! Holly held
her breath as the big boots swivelled on the spot, the body above them looking
around in every direction. Then the
knees began to bend and Holly almost squealed at the prospect of it: Bellos was
going to look under the table! Bellos' legs
crouched and a wave of terror swept through Holly's body. The long
tapering horns appeared first. Then the
evil black face. Upside down. Peering at them. And at that
moment, a wicked grin broke out across Bellos' face. In the
parking lot, Swain edged cautiously toward the exit ramp. 'Hellooo!'
the man behind the grille called. 'Can you hear me?' Swain didn't
reply. He moved forward, toward the grille, focusing on the man on the other
side. He was a
stocky man, dressed in blue fatigues and a bulletproof vest, like a member of a
tactical response team. The man
called again. 'I said, can you hear me?' Swain
stopped, twenty yards away from the electrified grille. 'I can hear
you,' he said. At the sound
of Swain's voice, the man behind the grille turned instantly and spoke to
someone else, someone Swain could not see. The man
turned back, held up his palms and spoke very slowly. 'We mean you no harm.' 'Yeah, and I
come in peace,' Swain said. 'Who the hell are you?' The man
continued to speak in that kind of slow, articulate voice one uses with an
infant. Or, perhaps,
an alien. 'We are representatives
of the government of the United States of America. We are' — the man
spread his arms wide — 'friends.' 'All right,
friend, what's your name?' Swain said. 'My name is
Harold Quaid,' Quaid said earnestly. 'And what
department are you from, Harold?' 'The National
Security Agency.' 'Yeah, well,
I've got some bad news for you, Harold Quaid of the National Security Agency.
I'm not the alien you're looking for. I'm just a guy who was in the wrong place
at the wrong time.' Quaid
frowned. 'Then who are you?' Something
inside Swain's head told him not answer that question. 'I'm just a
guy.' 'And where
are you from?' 'Around.' 'And what
are you doing in a building that's got a hundred thousand volts of electricity
running through its walls?' 'Like I
said, Harold, wrong place, wrong time.' Quaid
changed tack. 'We can help you, you know. We can get you out of there.' 'I've
already been out, thanks,' Swain said. 'It's hazardous to my health.' Quaid turned
away for a second and conversed briefly with the man behind him. He turned back
to Swain. 'I'm afraid I didn't catch that last thing you said,' he called.
'What was it again? Something about your health?' 'Forget it,'
Swain said, rapidly losing interest in this conversation. The NSA was
not so selfless as to come all the way out here to save innocent humans caught
up in an electrified library. It was bigger than that, it had to be. The NSA
was here for contact — extra-terrestrial contact. Somehow they must have
figured out that something was going on inside the library and now they wanted
the aliens. And,
presumably, anyone who had come into contact with the aliens. 'No, I mean
it,' Quaid said reasonably, 'come a little closer and say it again.' Swain took a
step back. 'I don't think so, fellas.' 'No, no.
Please! Listen. We're not going to hurt you. I promise.' 'Uh-huh.' 'But if
you'll just step a little closer…' The dart
whizzed by Swain's head, missing it by inches. It had come
from behind Quaid — from somebody who must have crept up behind him while he
had kept Swain occupied. They must have shot the tiny dart through a gap
in the electric field. Swain didn't
wait to think about it. He turned and ran, bolting for the DOWN ramp in the
centre of the parking lot. And as he
raced down the ramp toward Sub-Level Two, the last tiling he heard was the
echoing voice of Harold Quaid of the National Security Agency shouting fiercely
at some poor unseen subordinate. At the base
of the outer ramp, Quaid swore. 'Fuck!
We had him!' He turned to
the Lab agent holding the tranquilliser gun. 'How the fuck did you miss?
I can't believe you could miss him from—' 'Hold on,
Quaid,' Marshall said, resting a hand on his shoulder. 'We may have lost the
guy, but I think we just hit the jackpot. Take a look at that.' Quaid
turned. 'Take a look at what?' Marshall
pointed at the parking lot and Quaid followed the line of his finger. His jaw
dropped immediately. 'What the
hell is that?' he breathed. 'I don't
know. But I want it,' Marshall said. Through the
grid of blue electricity they could see it clearly, whatever it was. It looked
monstrous, like a large, low-bodied dinosaur — at least fifteen feet long, with
a rounded, blunt snout and two long antennae that clocked rhythmically from
side to side above its head. Quaid and
Marshall watched, entranced, as the creature limped slowly across the parking
lot. It stopped at the top of the down ramp,
where it seemed to sniff the ground for an instant. Then it
slithered quickly down the ramp and out of sight. 'Well, well,
well. What do we have here?' Bellos said, peering under the table. Selexin was
trying hard to keep his body from shaking — and obviously not succeeding. Holly
sat frozen beside him. 'Why, tiny
man, your memory is as short as you are. I told you I would find you. Or did
you forget?' Selexin
swallowed. Holly just stared. 'Perhaps
your memory needs a little… refreshing.' Bellos began to stand. 'Get out
from under there.' Holly and
Selexin scrambled out to the far side of the table. Bellos stood on the other
side, his wounded guide draped over his shoulder. The flickering fires in the
nearby reading rooms were now looking decidedly out of control. Bellos
cocked his head mockingly, 'Where will you run to now, tiny man?' Selexin
glanced over toward the stairwell, and saw the two hoods step menacingly into
the open doorway, cutting off their only escape. 'Uh-oh,' he
whispered. When he
looked at Bellos again, he saw that his golden breastplate was now smeared with
thick red streaks of blood. On the black background of Bellos' forearm, Selexin
saw his grey wristband clearly. And saw the
glowing green light suddenly flicker off. The red
light next to it blinked to life. 'Uh-oh,' Selexin
said again. Bellos began
to strut around the long table. He seemed to be in no hurry. Savouring the
moment. He didn't appear to notice the red light now illuminated on his
wristband. 'Why have
you done this?' Selexin asked. 'Done what?' 'Broken the
rules of the Presidian. Cheated. Why have you done this?' 'Why not?' 'You have
broken the rules of the contest in order to win it. How can you respect the
prize if you cannot respect the tournament? You have cheated.' 'When one is
caught breaking the rules, one is a cheat,' Bellos said, walking around
the end of the table. 'I do not plan to be caught.' 'But you will
be caught.' 'How?'
Bellos asked, as if he already knew the answer to the question. Selexin
spoke quickly. 'A contestant can expose you. He can say 'Initialise' and show
those watching at the other end that you have hoods with you.' 'It would be
a brave man who would attempt such a thing while he was running for his
life. Besides,' Bellos said, 'who here knows that I have hoods?' 'I do.' 'But your
master was last seen falling out of the labyrinth. And he is the only one
who can initialise the teleport on your helmet.' Selexin
paused for a moment. Then he said, 'Reese.' 'What?' 'Reese
knows,' Selexin said, remembering the hoods attacking Reese back on the First
Floor. 'But you do
not know if Reese is still alive.' 'Is she
still alive?' 'Amuse me,'
Bellos said. 'Let us suppose for the moment that Reese is still alive.' 'Then she can
report you. She can initialise the teleport on her guide's helmet and expose
you.' 'And what
about her guide?' 'Excuse me?'
Selexin frowned. 'Her guide,'
Bellos said smugly. 'Surely you cannot believe that if I let Reese live, I
would also allow her guide to do so.' 'You killed
Reese's guide before you attacked Reese?' Bellos
smiled. 'All's fair in love and war.' 'Clever,'
Selexin said. 'But what about the hoods? How did you plan to get the hoods out
of the labyrinth. Surely you were not just going to leave them here.' 'Trust me,
the hoodaya will be long gone from the labyrinth by the time I step through the
final teleport,' Bellos said. Selexin
frowned. 'But how? How can you remove them from the labyrinth?' 'I will
simply use the same method I used to bring them here.' 'But that
would require a teleporter…' Selexin said, 'and the co-ordinates of the
labyrinth. And no-one but the organisers of the Presidian knows the location of
the labyrinth.' 'On the
contrary,' Bellos looked down at Selexin, 'guides like you know the
co-ordinates of the labyrinth. You have to, because you are teleported with
each contestant into the labyrinth.' Selexin
thought about that. The process
of teleportation involved a guide being sent to the contestant's home planet.
There, the guide and the contestant would enter a teleporter, alone. Once
inside, the guide would enter the co-ordinates of the labyrinth and the two of
them would be teleported. Selexin's
case had, of course, been different, since humans knew nothing of teleporters
and teleportation. He and Swain had been teleported separately. 'But you
would still need a teleporter to get the hoods out of here,' Selexin said. 'And
there are no teleports to be found on Earth.' Bellos
offered an indifferent shrug, conceding the point. 'I suppose not.' Selexin was
angry now. 'You forget that this is all based on the assumption that you will
be the last contestant remaining in the labyrinth. And that is yet to be
determined.' 'That is
the risk I take.' 'Your
great-grandfather won the Fifth Presidian with no need for treachery,' Selexin
said spitefully. 'Imagine what he would think of you now.' Bellos waved
a dismissive hand. 'You do not realise, do you? My people expect me to
win this contest, just as they expected my great-grandfather to do so, too.' 'But you are
not the huntsman your great-grandfather was, are you, Bellos?' Selexin said
harshly. Bellos' eyes
narrowed. 'My, my. How boldly we speak when we are about to meet our maker,
tiny man. My great-grandfather did what he had to do to win the Presidian. So
will I. Different methods, for sure, but tiny man, you must realise that the
end does justify the means.' 'But—' 'I think I
have had enough of your talk,' Bellos cut him off. 'It is time for you to die.' Slowly,
Bellos rounded the near corner of the table, moved toward Selexin and Holly.
Selexin looked desperately about himself. There was nowhere to run to now.
Nowhere to hide. He stood
there rooted to the spot, in front of Holly, watching Bellos come closer. And then —
slowly, silently — something behind Bellos caught Selexin's eye. Movement. From above. From behind
one of the air-conditioning ducts in the ceiling. Slowly, ever
so slowly, a spindly black body began to unfold itself from the ceiling behind
Bellos. It made no
sound. Bellos
hadn't noticed it. He just kept approaching Selexin and Holly — while behind
him, the large spindly creature assumed its full, ominous, nine-foot height. Selexin was
dumbstruck. It was the
Rachnid. The seventh
and last competitor in the Presidian. It looked like a giant stick insect,
small-headed, multi-limbed. He saw its eight bone-like limbs slowly expand,
preparing to wrap themselves around Bellos' body and squeeze him to death. Then
suddenly the Rachnid struck — quickly, violently — closing its arms around
Bellos with stunning speed, wrenching him off his feet, lifting him high into
the air. At first,
Selexin and Holly were stunned by the sheer rapidity of the attack. It had
happened so fast. The slow ominous descent of the Rachnid had instantaneously
transformed itself into brutal violence. And now all of a sudden Bellos was in
the air, in the grip of the Rachnid, struggling with this new opponent. The hoods
moved immediately. The
able-bodied one galloped from the doorway, leapt up onto the table and flung
itself at the Rachnid, jaws bared, defending its master. The second, injured
hood moved more slowly, but with equal fervour, clambering up onto the table
and diving into the fray. The element
of surprise now appeared completely worthless as the Rachnid — confronted by
the unexpected appearance of the two hoods — dropped from the ceiling,
shrieking. It landed with a loud smack! on the table below, its eight
spindly limbs flailing wildly in a desperate attempt to ward off the three-pronged
attack. Holly and
Selexin were both staring at the scene in amazement when suddenly they both had
the same thought. Get
out of here. They bolted
for the stairwell door and burst into the darkened stairway. 'Up or
down?' Holly asked. 'Down,'
Selexin said firmly. 'I saw another contestant up on the Third Floor before.' They had
barely taken five steps down the stairs when there came a deafening — but
familiar — roar from the bottom of the stairwell. 'The
Karanadon,' Selexin said. 'It's awake again. I saw the red light on Bellos'
wristband. Come on,' he grabbed Holly's hand. 'Upstairs.' They started
up the stairs again, and as they ran past the door to the Second Floor, Selexin
glanced inside and saw a flashing glimpse of Bellos on the table, kneeling
astride the Rachnid, locked in combat. But now
Bellos clearly had the upper hand. The hapless
Rachnid was pinned beneath him, flat on its back, squealing insanely as one of
the hoods ripped one of its arms clean off. The Rachnid shrieked. Off to one side,
the other hood — the injured one — was busy mauling the Rachnid's guide. And then
Bellos coldly broke the Rachnid's neck and in an instant the squealing stopped.
Then Bellos stood and called the hoods to stand behind him, and pointed his
guide's head toward the dead body on the table. 'Initialise!'
he said loudly. A small
sphere of brilliant white light appeared above the guide's head and Selexin was
suddenly captivated. Holly pulled
on his arm. 'Come on, let's go!' Selexin
ducked back behind the door and the two of them hurried up the stairs. —––ooo0ooo——— The first
thing that struck Stephen Swain about the lower parking level was its size. It
was smaller than the parking floor above it. And it had no exit for cars. You
could park down here, but you had to go back up to the floor above to get out. There were
three doors, each set into a different wall. One, leading east, had emblazoned
across it, emergency exit. Opposite
that door was another that read TO STACK. A third
door — an older one — lay on the southern side of the parking lot. A few
letters were missing from its nameplate. It simply read: — LER ROOM — NO ENTRY. And there
was a car in this parking lot. A single,
solitary car. A tiny Honda
Civic turned silently into the northwest corner, waiting patiently for its
owner to return. Swain tensed
at the sudden thought that perhaps there was someone else inside the library.
The owner of the car, somebody they had not seen yet. No,
he told himself. Couldn't be. Then he
began to think of the other possibilities — like sending the little hatchback
blasting through the electrified grille in a fiery blaze of glory, and maybe
getting out of the library. But as he
came closer to the little Civic, all his grandiose thoughts faded to nothing. He sighed. The car's
owner would not be here. And the car
itself would not be blasting through any electrified grille. This car
wouldn't be going anywhere. Swain looked
sadly at the two heavy yellow clamps that held the little car firmly to the
concrete floor of the parking lot, and then at the painted blue stripe on the
concrete beneath it. The car had
been parked in a handicapped zone, and since it didn't have a sticker on the
windshield, the authorities had put the clamps on it. Swain smiled
sadly at the useless car in front of him. At the hospital he'd seen it happen a
thousand times, and he always felt that the creeps who parked in the
handicapped zones deserved to get clamped. But now, in
the parking lot of the New York State Library, this car offered him absolutely
nothing. A gun without any bullets. It was then
that Swain noticed the low hissing noise. He turned
around. 'You never
give up, do you?' he said aloud. For there,
standing at the base of the down ramp
— her tail slinking back and forth behind her, her antennae clocking from side
to side, and her four-sided jaw salivating wildly — stood the very first
contestant Stephen Swain had met that night. Reese. Holly and
Selexin clambered up the dark stairwell and stopped once again on the Third
Floor landing. From the bowels of the stairwell came another deafening roar. The
Karanadon. Somewhere
down there. Selexin
stopped in front of the closed door to the study hall, remembering the thin
shadow he had seen in there before — the shadow of the Codex. 'The door's
closed,' Holly whispered. 'Yes…'
Selexin said as if it were quite obvious. 'Well—' 'Well what?' Holly leaned
close. 'Well, we didn't close it. When we were here before, we just
left. We didn't close the door. Remember?' Selexin
didn't remember, but at the moment he didn't care whether the door had been
closed or not, they had to go somewhere. 'You are
probably right,' he said, gripping the door handle. 'But right now, there is
nowhere else to go.' The little
man turned the handle and opened the fire door. He pulled it wide. And then he
fell instantly backwards. Beside him,
Holly turned and vomited explosively. 'Bring it
over! Bring it over!' Quaid called. It had started to drizzle softly and a
light rain now fell on his head. Quaid didn't even notice it. The four NSA
agents carrying 'it' heaved and grunted as they lowered it to the ground beside
the electrified grille. As they did
so, Quaid looked down at the silver box with the counters. The middle
counter read: 120485.05. One hundred
and twenty thousand volts. One hundred and twenty thousand volts of
pure, borderless electric current. Kind of like an electrified fence, only
without the fence. Quaid turned
his attention to the object that the four agents had just put down beside him.
'It' was the thick lead casing for Sigma Division's portable Radiation Storage
Unit. A portable
RSU is basically a pressurised vacuum set inside a four-foot-high lead cube. It
is used to contain any radioactive object discovered in the field until it can
be brought back for study at the huge electromagnetic Radiation Storage
Facility in Ohio. In other
words, it was a glorified thermos flask, surrounded by a thick, waist-high lead
casing. Quaid had
ordered that the portable RSU in the van be dismantled and the heavy lead
casing be brought out. 'It won't
work,' Marshall said, looking down at the big lead cube, which now had its top
and bottom faces removed. 'We'll see,'
Quaid said. 'That
electric field will cut right through it.' 'Eventually,
yes, but maybe not right away.' 'What does
that mean?' 'That means
that it might buy us enough time to get a couple of men inside.' Marshall
frowned. 'I'm not sure…' 'You don't
have to be sure,' Quaid said roughly. 'Because you are not the one who'll be
going in.' Selexin
never took his eyes off the doorway. Beside him, Holly was still retching over
a puddle of vomit, tears welling in her eyes. Slowly,
clumsily, Selexin got back to his feet, all the while staring wide-eyed up into
the doorway. There,
silhouetted grimly by the blazing yellow flames inside the study hall, hanging
upside down from the ceiling, drenched in glistening blood, was the horribly
mutilated body of New York Police Officer Paul Hawkins. In the lower
parking lot, Swain kept his eyes fixed on Reese's tail, trying to avoid eye
contact with her paralysing antennae. She moved
forward. Toward him. Slowly. Then
abruptly her forefoot tripped and she stumbled slightly. It was only
then that Swain remembered where he had last seen Reese. It was back on the
First Floor, when the hoods had attacked her, and he and the others had fled
for the stairs. There was no
doubt about it. Reese was injured. Battered and bruised from a fight with the
hoods that she had only just survived. Swain looked
at himself, covered in the filthy black grime of the elevator shaft and the
subway tunnel. He glanced at his wristband. INITIALISED—3 Another
contestant was dead. There were only three of them left now. The Presidian was
nearing completion and the remaining contestants were injured and dirty and exhausted.
It was now a battle of endurance. There was a
sudden flare of yellow from the right and Swain saw a gas pipe near the ceiling
catch fire. He stole a
glance back at Reese — still trudging wearily forward — then at the little
Honda Civic next to him — still utterly useless. Then back up
at the gas pipe. At the soft blue-yellow flame that began to shoot along its
length. Swain's eyes followed the pipe, ahead of the flame. The pipe
disappeared into the wall, right above the mysterious door marked — 'LER
ROOM — NO ENTRY. Then Swain
had a sickening thought. Gas. Gas
mains. '—LER ROOM.' Boiler room. Oh
my… The racing
blue-yellow flame scooted across the ceiling, following the path of the gas
pipe. Then it disappeared into the wall above the door. A long silence
ensued. Then… The
explosion was huge. It sounded like a cannon going off as the door to the
boiler room blasted outward in a thousand pieces, followed by a billowing cloud
of smoke and flames. Swain was thrown backwards onto the bonnet of the Civic. Quaid
wobbled slightly as the ground shook. An explosion somewhere. 'We have to
go in now,' he said to Marshall. 'How many—?' 'As many as
we can.' 'How do you
know you'll get through?' Marshall asked. 'How do you
know we won't?' Quaid said. Marshall
pursed his lips. 'No-one has ever seen anything like this before…' Quaid just
stared at him, waiting for him to make the call. Then
Marshall's eyes narrowed. 'Okay, do it.' Swain rolled
off the bonnet of the little Honda to see Reese turn to face the blazing boiler
room. Overhead
sprinklers came instantly to life, dousing the whole parking lot with streams
of water. It was like standing in a thunderstorm — booming explosions from the
boiler room amid the pouring rain of the sprinklers. Swain
brushed the torrents of water from his eyes as he tried to see what Reese was
doing. To his right — halfway between Reese and himself — he caught a glimpse
of the door on the western wall of the lot, the door he wanted. The door
that read: TO STACK. 'Ready?
Okay, push!' Quaid yelled. The NSA team
heaved on the big lead casing, pushing it toward the electrified grille of the
parking lot. Quaid had
got them to turn the big lead cube onto its side, so that the open ends — the
top and bottom — were now pointed sideways, toward the crackling grid of blue
electricity. When the
lead cube was a foot away from the blue lightning, Quaid, now dressed in full
assault gear — helmet, bulletproof vest — called them to a halt. Marshall
handed him an M-16 assault rifle, equipped with a high-tech-looking underslung
unit. It looked like an M-203 grenade launcher, except that it had two sharp
silver prongs at its end instead of a wide gunbarrel. It was a Taser Bayonet
— a modern version of an ancient weapon. Instead of attaching a long dagger
to the end of your rifle, you attached a couple of thousand volts. 'Some
firepower,' Marshall said. 'Don't leave
home without it,' Quaid said, taking the weapon. Marshall
reached into his coat. 'One more
thing,' he said, pulling a sheet of paper from his pocket. It was the list of
times and energy recordings taken from the Eavesdropper satellite. 'Have you
got your copy?' Quaid patted
his back pocket. 'Don't you think I know the damn thing off by heart by now?
Thirteen surges of energy after we picked up the initial electricity field in
the city. That's the starting point. Thirteen things for us to find.' 'If you get
in,' Marshall said. 'Yeah,'
Quaid said grimly, 'if I get in. You just make sure you're ready for whatever I
bring out.' 'If we're not
ready, it'll be because we're already inside with you.' 'Good,'
Quaid turned to the agents around him. 'Okay, boys. Let's do it.' The agents
began pushing the lead cube toward the wall of criss-crossing blue electricity.
Quaid walked slowly behind it, waiting at the open rear end of the cube. The front
end of the cube touched the electricity. Sparks flew. Quaid ducked
instantly to look through the open rear end of the lead cube. He could see
right through it. The electricity wasn't able to cut through the lead. The NSA
agents kept pushing until the cube was half inside, half outside the blue wall
of light. The lead was
still holding. They now had
a tunnel through which Quaid could crawl through the electrified wall. Gun in hand,
Quaid dived inside the cube — and for a moment, disappeared from sight — and
then he emerged on the other side of the electric grid, thumbs up. 'All right,'
he called back. 'Send the others through.' The rest of
the NSA entry team — all of them armed with Taser-equipped M-16s — were lined
up behind the cube. The first
agent in the line, a young Latin-American named Martinez, immediately dived
head-first into the cube. There came a
sudden gut-wrenching crack! just as Martinez's legs disappeared inside
the tunnel. 'Quickly,
move! Before she goes!' Marshall yelled. And then,
without warning, the thick lead cube snapped like a twig under the weight of
the surging electric wall just as Martinez emerged from the other side,
his gun hand trailing behind him. The cube collapsed instantly, cut clean
across its middle — likewise Martinez's M-16, which was sheared right through
its trigger guard, the lethal electricity missing the young commando's fingers
by millimetres. The wall was
back in place. Quaid and
Martinez were cut off. 'You guys
all right?' Marshall asked through the grille. 'One gun
down, but we're okay,' Quaid said, handing Martinez his own SIG-Sauer pistol,
to replace the younger man's ruined M-16. 'Guess we're on our own from here. Be
back soon.' Quaid and
Martinez hustled off into the parking lot, heading toward the down ramp. Marshall
watched them go. When finally they were gone, his face creased into a smile. They were
inside the library. Yes. Swain stood
in the corner of the lower parking lot, drenched in the pouring rain. On the
other side of the floor, billowing flames lashed out from the boiler room,
impervious to the relentless downpour of the ceiling sprinklers. Reese
continued to limp toward him. Somehow, she
seemed determined to reach him despite the protests of her aching body;
consumed by an obsession that would not rest until Stephen Swain was dead. Swain began
to think. He couldn't kill Reese, she was just too big, too strong. And even if
she was injured, she would still rip him apart in a fight. How
do you do it? he thought. How do you kill a thing like
that? Easy.
You don't. You
just keep running. Swain took a
step backwards and felt his legs touch the little Honda. He was in
the corner. Wonderful. He stepped
out along the wall of the parking lot, away from the car, toward the door
leading to the Stack. Reese moved
quickly, paralleling the move, cutting off his escape. Swain
stopped about ten feet from the Honda, his back to the wall. He could feel the
thick spray of the sprinklers hammering down against his head. He looked at
his feet, at the thick pool of water that seemed to be growing around him. It
wasn't even a centimetre deep, but it stretched nearly all the way across the
vast concrete floor, constantly expanding as the overhead sprinklers supplied
it with a constant rain of water. He was
standing in it. Reese was, too. His eyes
followed the path of the spreading pool of water. The pool
seemed to be branching out in every direction, even over toward the eastern
wall, toward the door marked emergency
exit. The
Emergency Exit. Swain's mind
began to race. The
Emergency Exit would have to be an exterior door, a door leading directly
outside. And if it
was, then… He froze in
horror. Reese still stood opposite him. The expanding pool of water crept slowly
toward the Emergency Exit. If it was an
exterior door, then it would be electrified. And if the
pool of water reached it… 'Oh dear,'
Swain said aloud as he looked at the water in which he was standing. 'Oh dear…' Run!
his mind screamed. Where? Any— 'Don't
move!' a voice shouted. Swain's head
jerked upright. Reese
snapped around. Two men
stood at the base of the ramp in the centre of the parking lot. It was
Harold Quaid of the National Security Agency and another agent, both dressed in
SWAT gear. Quaid held a strange-looking M-16 assault rifle in his hands. The
other agent held a silver semi-automatic pistol. Swain froze. He glanced
over at the Emergency Exit — at the sprinklers on the ceiling that showed no
sign of stopping — at the growing pool of water that continued to edge closer
to the door. It
was three feet away. He must have
made to move because Quaid called again. 'I mean it! Don't move!' Swain stood
stock still. The water
edged closer to the door. Reese
scuttled off to Swain's left, away from Quaid. Quaid and
his partner edged out from the ramp, their respective guns up, eyeing Reese,
eyeing Swain. They stepped out into the water. The
spreading pool was now two feet from the door. Rain from
the sprinklers kept falling. Swain wanted
to run— 'Just stay
there!' Quaid barked, aiming his gun threateningly at Swain. 'I'm coming over!' One
foot… The water
was almost at the door… Screw
it, Swain thought. Either way, I'm going to die. 'Don't
move—' Quaid yelled as Swain broke into a run, racing for the Civic in the
corner, every step splashing in the water. Gunfire
erupted. Swain
sprinted along the concrete wall, inches ahead of a line of bulletholes. I'm
not going to make it, he thought as heavy drops from the
sprinklers pounded against his face. Not going to make— He dived for
the car. The water
touched the door. —––ooo0ooo——— Swain landed
on the bonnet of the little Honda with a loud thud and covered his head with
his hands. At the same moment, Quaid's gunfire ceased. Swain wasn't
sure what he expected to hear. The sizzling of electrostatic currents shooting
through the water. Maybe even a scream from Quaid, whom he had last seen
standing in the middle of the pool of water, firing at him. But nothing
happened. Nothing at
all. The parking
lot remained dead silent, save for the constant shoosh of the
sprinklers. Swain slowly
lifted his hands from his head and saw Quaid and the second NSA agent — still
standing near the central concrete ramp, their feet still in the pool of water
— staring curiously at him as he lay on the car bonnet. Reese,
however, was nowhere in sight. The pool of
water had reached the Emergency Exit and flowed right under it without
incident. Swain could
think of only one explanation. It wasn't an exterior door. It hadn't been
electrified. There must be another door beyond it. Sprinkler
rain continued to fall. And then
suddenly — ferociously — Reese burst forward from behind the second NSA
agent, and abruptly, the man's ribcage exploded, replaced in an instant by the
pointed tip of her tail, protruding grotesquely from his chest. Quaid spun
but he was too slow. Reese was
already moving — extracting her tail from Martinez's body, letting the corpse
drop to the floor like a rag doll — and then trampling roughly over the body
and hurling herself at Quaid, bounding into him, pitching him forward, knocking
him to the floor with a splash. She must
have circled the central ramp, Swain realised, and then come up behind the
two NSA agents, who had been threatening him. Threatening her
kill. But Quaid
was not giving in without a fight. He rolled onto his back just as Reese leapt
onto his chest, jaws salivating, antennae swaying. Quaid reached up with his
M-16, holding it above the water, and vainly sprayed the ceiling with automatic
gunfire. At the same time, Swain thought he saw a flicker of white light flash
out from the high-tech-looking unit attached to the barrel of Quaid's assault
rifle. The struggle
continued in the pouring indoor rain — but Reese was too strong, too heavy. Her thick right
forelimb came crashing down on Quaid's right arm — his gun arm — and Swain
heard the nauseating crunch of breaking bone. The gun
stopped firing instantly, and as Quaid's arm broke horribly in two, the M-16
flew from his grasp, skittling across the water-covered floor of the parking
lot, landing a few feet away from Swain's Civic. His face
covered with saliva, Quaid screamed madly as blood streamed out from his
cracked right elbow.' With his other arm he tried pathetically to hold Reese at
bay. And then Swain
saw Reese's tail arch. Smoothly and
gracefully, behind her flailing antennae. Out of Quaid's sight. Swain didn't
have time to move. The tail
came down hard. Viciously
hard. The pointed
tip penetrated Quaid's head in an explosion of red, shooting straight through
the skull, emerging on the other side. Quaid's body spasmed violently with the
impact, his feet lifting off the ground, and then abruptly his body went
completely limp. Swain
watched in horror as Reese coldly withdrew her tail from the dead man's skull.
Her tail came clear and the bloodstained head dropped to the floor with a soft
splash. Then she
looked up at Swain. And hissed
at him fiercely. Your
turn. Reese
stepped clear of Quaid's body, her whole body coiled, tensed, invigorated by the
scent of battle. Sprinkler
rain hammered down on her pebbled dinosaurian back. Swain
stepped off the little Honda, eyeing her cautiously, wondering what the hell he
was going to do now. And then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw it. Quaid's
M-16. Lying in the
water to his right, five yards away. Lifeless. Abandoned. Swain didn't
waste a second. He dived for the gun. Reese leapt
forward. Swain's
fingers slapped hard against the water as he grabbed the gun, lifted it clear
of the pool and whirled it around to face the charging Reese. He jammed
down on the trigger. Click! No bullets!
Quaid must have run it dry. Not
fair! Reese was
close now. She leapt at him in the driving rain, flying through the air,
forelimbs raised, jaws bared — a giant attacking alligator. Swain
somersaulted left, just as Reese came crashing down on the spot he had just
occupied, landing in the shallow water with a massive splash. Swain got to
his feet, turned to see where Reese was— Thwack! An immense
weight crunched into his chest, driving him backwards. It was Reese's shoulder,
slamming into him. Swain was
lifted fully off the ground by the impact and then suddenly — whump — he
landed with a thud on the bonnet of the parked Honda. The car
beneath him shuddered violently on its suspension and then before he knew it
his ears were filled with the most terrifying sound he had ever heard in his
life and he opened his eyes to find that he was looking into Reese's wide-open
jaws from a distance of six inches. It made for
a very peculiar sight: Swain — on his back, on the bonnet of the Civic, his
arms splayed wide, dangling over its sides — with Reese, standing upright, her
hind legs resting on the parking lot floor, her stubby forelimbs planted firmly
on the bonnet of the car on either side of him. She lowered
her snout over his chest, as if sniffing him, smelling him, savouring her
victory over him. Swain kept
his eyes averted — not daring to look at her antennae — while also keeping them
clear of the torrent of saliva that now splattered down onto his chest. Through the
sprinkler rain, he could see their combined shadows on the wall nearby — her
body bent over his — resting on the shadow of the car. She had him. Reese hissed
fiercely. And at that
moment, on the wall, Swain saw the shadow of her tail rise behind her back. This was it. This was the
end. Reese knew
it. Swain did, too. And then
suddenly he felt it — somehow it was still in his hand, hanging over the
edge of the bonnet — and like the dawn of a new day, a new realisation hit him
and Swain looked up into Reese's eyeless face and said, 'I'm sorry.' And with
that Swain jammed down on the second trigger of the M-16 he was still
holding — the trigger that was attached to the gun's barrel-mounted Taser — and
fired it into the pool of water beneath the car. A bolt of
electricity flashed out from the prongs of the Bayonet and slammed into
the water at the base of the Honda. Instantly, a
blinding flare of light illuminated the parking lot as a thousand branches of
jagged white lightning snaked out across the surface of the water at
astonishing speed. Reese
shrieked in agony as the electricity from the M-16's underslung Taser shot
through the water and up into her body — via her hind legs which were still
planted in the shallow pool. She
shuddered violently, her whole lizard-like frame convulsing and spasming,
causing the Honda beneath her to rock. Swain just
tried to keep himself clear of her body as it absorbed the stunning surge of
electricity. And then, in
a final, lurching fit of electrocution, Reese vomited all over his chest — a
disgusting greeny-brown slime — before she reared up on her hind legs and fell
to the ground, splashing into the pool of water. Dead. For its
part, the little Honda Civic — with Swain still on it — stood its ground as the
electricity from the Bayonet hit its tyres but proceeded no further, its
attempts to climb the car frustrated by the rubber. Moments
later, the sprinklers stopped. The parking
lot was silent once more. Flat on the
bonnet of the Civic, Swain breathed again. The initial flare of white light was
gone and now only weak glints of electricity flickered up from the water. The surge of
power from the M-16's Bayonet had dissipated. The water was back to
normal. The Bayonet itself was spent, sizzling, shorted out by the water
contact. Swain let the gun splash to the ground. He looked
down at Reese. Strangely, in death her bulky dinosaurian body seemed even
larger than it had in life. He also saw the bodies of the NSA agents, Quaid and
Martinez, lying motionless on the watery floor. He shook his
head in astonishment, wondering how the hell he had managed to survive this
confrontation. And then his
wristband beeped. INITIALISED—2 Now there
was only one other contestant left — and he still hadn't found Holly and
Selexin. Swain took a
deep breath and heaved himself off the car. His feet hit the concrete with a
soft splash. It wasn't
over yet. —––ooo0ooo——— 'We have
to,' Selexin said urgently. 'You can.
But I'm not,' Holly said. 'I am not
going to leave you here.' 'Then we can
just stay here together.' Holly folded her arms resolutely. They were
still standing on the Third Floor landing of the stairwell, outside the study
hall. After seeing
Hawkins' mutilated body suspended from the ceiling and throwing up, Holly had
slumped down against the nearest wall and stared off into space. Now she was
flatly refusing to enter the study hall, which meant walking past the body, and
— worse still — through the blood. Selexin
looked about himself nervously. Down the stairs, he could see the open door to
the Second Floor. Inside the study hall, upside down, he saw Hawkins' body
swaying gently from the ceiling. Whatever had
done this — Selexin suspected it had been Bellos and his hoods — it had ripped
his arms right out of their sockets and torn off his head, accounting for the
enormous pool of blood underneath the swinging body. Clusters of parallel
gashes cut across Hawkins' body — claw marks. Hood marks. When combined with
the ominous yellow glow of the fire in the study hall, it made for a
particularly grisly sight. 'You can
shut your eyes,' Selexin suggested. 'No.' 'I can carry
you.' 'No.' 'You must
realise, we cannot stay here.' Holly
remained mute. Selexin
shook his head in frustration and again looked down the stairs. He froze. And then he
turned back to Holly, picking her up roughly whether she liked it or not. 'Hey—' 'Shh!' 'What are
you doing—?' 'We're going
inside. Right now,' Selexin said, pulling her toward the door, looking
over his shoulder. Resisting,
Holly followed his gaze down the stairwell. 'I said, I don't want—' Her voice
trailed off as her eyes came to rest on the door to the Second Floor. She fell
silent. A faint
rectangle of light stretched out onto the Second Floor landing, and slowly — very
slowly — Holly saw a dark shadow extend into it. The source
of the shadow appeared and Holly watched in terror as a hood stepped out onto
the landing and looked up into her eyes. The M-16's
underslung unit had writing on it: taser
BAYONET-4500. Jesus, Swain
thought, as he stood over the body of Harold Quaid, it made it sound like a new
model motorcycle. Swain had
seen Taser shock victims before. Usually you recovered with a monster of a
hangover, chiefly because police Taser sticks were unchangeably set at minimum
voltage. But this
rifle-mounted Taser unit was not standard police issue. And if Quaid
really was NSA, who knew what sort of voltage it was packing. Swain looked
down at Reese, lying face down in the shallow pool of water. One thing was
certain: NSA Tasers weren't set to simply stun. This one had carried enough
voltage to kill Reese. Swain held
the M-16 in his hands. With its magazine empty and the Taser shorted out, it
was useless. He discarded the assault rifle and bent down to examine the bodies
of Quaid and Martinez. They might have something else on them. Martinez's
SIG-Sauer pistol, or what was left of it, lay half-submerged in the water. It
had been completely flattened — Swain guessed Reese must have stepped on it —
and now it was little more than a collection of bent metal and broken springs. Swain
rummaged through the pockets of the two NSA men's uniforms. He found a pair of
small Motorola walkie-talkies, four extra batteries for the Taser unit, extra
clips for the SIG-Sauer, two telescoping truncheon sticks, and each man had two
CS tear-gas grenades. Swain
wondered if Karanadons were susceptible to tear gas — probably not. Hell, if he
used the grenades, Swain thought, he'd probably only succeed in incapacitating
himself. The radios were no help — after all, who was he going to call? And he
didn't like his chances with the truncheons against someone like Bellos. No,
Harold Quaid and his partner had little to offer him. He wondered
how they had got inside the library in the first place. The parking lot
presumably. But something must have gone wrong — otherwise they would have had
ten more guys with them, and much more artillery. Surely they wouldn't come
searching for aliens with only two guns between them. Then Swain
found something. In Quaid's
back pocket. A sheet of paper. A list: LSAT-560467-S DATA TRANSCRIPT 463/511-001 SUBJECT SITE: 231.957 (North-eastern seaboard: CT, NY, NJ) NO. TIME/EST LOCATION READING 1. 18:03:48 CT. Isolated energy surge/Source:
UNKNOWN Type: UNKNOWN / Dur: 0.00:09 2. 18:03:58 N.Y. Isolated energy
surge/Source: UNKNOWN Type: UNKNOWN / Dur: 0.00:06 3. 18:07:31 N.Y. Isolated energy
surge/Source: UNKNOWN Type: UNKNOWN / Dur: 0.00:05 4. 18:10:09 N.Y. Isolated energy
surge/Source: UNKNOWN Type: UNKNOWN / Dur: 0.00:07 5. 18:14:12 N.Y. Isolated energy
surge/Source: UNKNOWN Type: UNKNOWN / Dur: 0.00:06 6. 18:14:37 N.Y. Isolated energy
surge/Source: UNKNOWN Type: UNKNOWN / Dur: 0.00:02 7. 18:14:38 N.Y. Isolated energy
surge/Source: UNKNOWN Type: UNKNOWN / Dur: 0.00:02 390 S. 18:14:39 N.Y. Isolated energy
surge/Source: UNKNOWN Type: UNKNOWN / Dur: 0.00:02 9. 18:14:40 N.Y. Isolated energy
surge/Source: UNKNOWN Type: UNKNOWN / Dur: 0.00:02 10. 18:16:23 N.Y. Isolated energy
surge/Source: UNKNOWN Type: UNKNOWN / Dur: 0.00:07 11.18:20:21 N.Y. Isolated energy
surge/Source: UNKNOWN Type: UNKNOWN / Dur: 0.00:08 12. 18:23:57 N.Y. Isolated energy
surge/Source: UNKNOWN Type: UNKNOWN / Dur: 0.00:06 13. 18:46:00 N.Y. Isolated energy
surge/Source: UNKNOWN Type: UNKNOWN / Dur: 0.00:34 Swain stared
at the list, bewildered. Numbers and
times and energy surges and the constant repetition of the word unknown. And presumably it all had
something to do with the library. Thirteen
surges of energy in all. One in Connecticut and twelve in New York. Okay. Swain looked
at the times of the first few surges. 18:03:48. A
surge — source unknown, type unknown — detected in Connecticut, lasting nine
seconds. Exactly ten
seconds after that initial surge began, at 6:03:58 p.m., a surge appeared
in New York. All right.
That was easy. That was Swain himself and Holly being teleported from his home
in Connecticut to the library in central Manhattan. Six other
surges of roughly the same duration — five to eight seconds — accounted for the
other contestants and their guides being teleported into the library for the
Presidian. Swain
remembered that Selexin had already been inside the library when he had
arrived. His teleportation must have occurred too early to be on this list. But that
still left five other surges. Swain
scanned the list further and saw the entries numbered 6 through 9 — the four
two-second surges that had come in rapid succession one second after the other.
They had been underlined. Swain
frowned at the fifth surge. 18:14:12. A
six-second surge. Nothing special about that, just another contestant and his
guide being teleported inside. But twenty-five seconds after that surge came
the four rapid surges in quick succession. The
hoods! he thought, realising. They were
small, so teleportation must not have taken very long. Only two seconds each. And that
explained the variation in the times needed for the other teleportations — some
contestants were bigger or smaller than others, so they required more or less
time to be teleported into the labyrinth, somewhere between five and eight
seconds. Swain
smiled, this was coming together nicely. Except for
one thing. The last
energy surge. It had come
more than twenty-two minutes after all the other surges, which
themselves had all occurred within twenty minutes. And it had
lasted thirty-four seconds. The longest surge before that had lasted only nine
seconds. What was it?
An afterthought perhaps? Was it something the organisers of the Presidian had
forgotten to put inside the labyrinth? It wasn't
the Karanadon. Selexin had told Swain that the Karanadon had been placed inside
the labyrinth almost a day before the Presidian was to commence. Swain
couldn't figure it out now, so he let it be for the moment. It was time to go. He put the
sheet of paper in his pocket and with a final glance at Reese's motionless
body, he headed for the door marked to
stack. —––ooo0ooo——— The study
hall was bathed in the yellow glow of a fire out of control. In the far
corner of the wide room, beyond the flames, the janitor's room stood sombrely —
dark and charred, the fire inside it having burned itself out. Holly shut
her eyes as Selexin led her around the bloody corpse swinging from the ceiling.
Her feet slipped suddenly on the pool of blood, but Selexin steadied her before
she fell. They could
hear the hoods climbing the stairs behind them, grunting, snorting. Selexin
pulled harder, guiding Holly in among the L-shaped desks of the study hall. 'The
elevator!' Holly whispered. 'Go for the elevator!' 'Good idea,'
Selexin said, pressing on through the tangle of standing and fallen desks. There must
have been hundreds of desks in the study hall, half of which still stood,
undisturbed. The other half had not been so fortunate, crushed or thrown by the
Karanadon, torn to pieces, smashed beyond recognition. The
elevators were close now. The doors to
the left-hand elevator were still pulled wide, revealing the black abyss of the
elevator shaft. The Karanadon must have pulled them open so hard that they had
stayed open. Selexin hit
the call button on the run, slammed into the wall, spun around. In the
flickering glow of the fire, he saw Hawkins' body spinning slowly from the
ceiling above the entrance to the stairwell. And beneath
the body, stepping slowly and cautiously into the study hall, was a hood. Through the
tangled forest of desk legs, Selexin saw the second hood join its partner and
he felt a chill. They were
scanning the study hall very slowly, peering across the room, under the desks. Selexin
watched intently. It was as though the hoods were more resolved now, more
serious. It was time to kill. Play was over. The hunt had begun. Holly
snapped round to look at the open elevator shaft behind them. The cables
that had run vertically down the shaft were all gone now, snapped by the
Karanadon, probably resting at the bottom with the rest of the battered lift.
They couldn't slide down this time. The numbered
display above the other elevator was still working though: one number after the
other slowly ignited as the elevator crawled upwards. LG glowed
yellow. Then faded. G glowed
yellow, faded. 1 glowed— Holly felt
Selexin tug on her shoulder. 'Come on,' he said. 'We can't stay here.' 'But the
lift…' 'It will not
get here in time.' Selexin grabbed her arm and pulled her away from the
elevators just as she caught a glimpse of the hoods moving in from the left. Selexin
pulled hard, dragging Holly to the right, watching the hoods through the legs
of the desks. The hoods
were twenty feet away, moving with the cold stealth of seasoned hunters. In the strobe-like
light of the fires, Selexin could see them clearly. The needle-like teeth
protruding from the spherical head; the bony black forelegs with their bloodied
claws scraping on the floor; the powerful, muscular hind legs; and the long
scaly tail that swished menacingly behind the black torso as if it had a mind
of its own. The perfect
hunter. Remorseless.
Relentless. Selexin
swallowed as he jumped over a fallen desk and found himself standing before the
janitor's room. In the corner. Dead end. He looked
back. The hoods had stopped now, still twenty feet away. They were just
standing there, staring at their diminutive prey. A moment
later, they moved again. In opposite
directions. They
were splitting up. 'Not good,'
Selexin said, 'this is not good.' It was better when they were together,
because at least then he could see them both at the same time. But now… 'Quickly,'
he said to Holly, 'get on the desks.' 'What?' 'Get
on them,' Selexin insisted. 'They are seeing us through the legs. If we get
onto the desks, they will not know where we are.' Holly
climbed like a monkey onto the nearest L-shaped desk. Selexin jumped up quickly
behind her. 'Let's go,'
she whispered, obviously in her element now, jumping easily across to the next
desk. 'Just be
careful,' Selexin said, stumbling after her. 'Do not fall off.' Holly danced
nimbly from desk to desk, skipping over the gaps with ease. Behind her, Selexin
did the same. Beneath
them, they could hear the snorting and grunting of the hoods. There was a
sudden bing! and Selexin looked over his shoulder and saw — across the
sea of desks — the upper half of the elevator doors. They were
opening. 'Oh no,' he
said, running across the desk tops. Holly saw
them, too. 'Can we get there?' 'We have to
try,' Selexin said. Holly
changed her course, turning in a wide semicircle, jumping across the desks. She
was about to leap across a wide gap between two desks when the able-bodied
hood, claws raised to attack, sprang up from the floor into her path. Holly fell
backwards onto the desk and the hood dropped from sight. Selexin
caught up with her. 'Are you—?' With a loud
squeal, the hood leapt up again, onto an adjacent desk, and lashed out at Holly
with a scythe-like foreclaw. Holly
screamed as she rolled clear, off the desk, falling to the floor.
Selexin watched her fall out of sight. 'No!' The hood
swung viciously at Selexin — backhanded — hitting him squarely in the face. He
recoiled sharply, losing his balance, falling backwards onto his desk. With
frightening speed, the hood leapt at him as he landed, but Selexin rolled and
the hood smashed into the upright partition of the L-shaped table. The weight
of the impact rocked the desk, and in an instant Selexin's horror became
complete as he saw the world tilt crazily and felt the desk he was sitting on
keel over backwards. From the
floor, Holly watched fearfully as the desk on which Selexin and the hood fought
lurched backwards and tipped over. It seemed to fall in slow motion. Selexin fell
first, hitting the floor hard, his white eggshell hat flying from his head. He
rolled clear of the falling desk. The hood
slid off the tilting desk, landing on its feet like a cat, right in front of
Selexin. Selexin was
totally exposed, and the hood was tensing itself to attack when abruptly the
desk came crashing down on its back. Pinned to
the floor, shrieking like a mad animal, the hood writhed about in a frenzy,
attempting to free itself. Its jaws snapped and snarled as it still tried —
despite its own predicament — to get to Selexin. Selexin was
scrambling backwards on his butt, away from the wailing creature when, from
behind him, Holly tipped over a second desk. This time
the L-shaped table fell forward, and the hood looked up in horror at the desk
rushing down toward it. The leading
edge of the desk landed with a loud crunching sound on the hood's upturned
head, shattering the animal's long needle-like teeth as it crushed its skull
against the floor. The hood's
body jerked and spasmed beneath the two fallen desks, until at last it lay
still. Dead. Silence. Then Holly
heard a soft bing! followed by the grinding sound of the elevator doors
closing again. She knelt
beside Selexin, looking quickly in every direction. 'Where's the other one?' 'I… I do not
know,' Selexin was badly shaken. 'It could be anywhere.' Now it was
Holly who grabbed Selexin by the arm and pulled him to his knees. 'We missed
the elevator,' she said, determined. 'Come on, we've got to get out of here.' 'But… but,'
Selexin mumbled feebly. 'Come on.
Let's move.' 'But my… my
hat!' Selexin clawed at his bald head. 'I need my hat.' Holly spun
around quickly and saw the hat. The small white hemisphere was sitting on the
floor, jutting out from behind a nearby upturned desk. She crawled
toward the fallen desk on her hands and knees, rounded the upturned legs, and
reached out to grab the hat… Holly
paused. Then she
froze. Beside the
hat stood two bony black forelegs — one with a bloodstained claw; one with no
claw at all. Her eyes
lifted, rising up the forelegs, following them until she came face to face with
the second hood. The hood's
jaws opened wide, salivating in evil anticipation, inches away from her face. Selexin
watched helplessly from the floor ten feet away. Too far. Holly was
still on all fours, almost nose-to-nose with the hood. Totally
defenceless. The hood
stepped forward and stood over the hat. It was so
close now that all Holly could see was its teeth. Its long, pointed, bloody
teeth. She felt the warmth of its hot breath blowing on her face; smelled the
foul odour of rotting flesh. Holly shut
her eyes and clenched her fists, waiting for the animal to strike, waiting for
the end. Her terror was extreme. Suddenly,
the hood hissed fiercely and Holly wanted to scream and then, as her horror hit
fever pitch, she had the strange sensation of hearing her father's voice. 'Initialise!' There was a
sudden, glorious flare of white that shot through Holly's eyelids. Then she
heard the hood shriek in total, rabid agony and she opened her eyes and was
instantly blinded by the small sphere of dazzling white light that had flared
to life above Selexin's hat. The hood's
shrieking cut off abruptly and Holly heard her father's voice again. 'Cancel.' The blinding
white light vanished instantly and for a moment Holly saw nothing but
kaleidoscopic spots of colour. Then
suddenly there were two strong arms wrapped around her, holding her tightly,
and still blind, Holly's first thought was to break free. But the grip
was firm and gentle. A hug. Holly
blinked twice as her eyesight slowly returned and she found herself in the warm
embrace of her father. Her muscles
drooped with relief and she let her body fall limply into his. Then she
began to cry. As he held
his daughter tightly in his arms, Stephen Swain closed his eyes and sighed.
Holly was safe, and they were back together again. He didn't want to let her go. Still
holding her, he turned to look at the remains of the hood. The body had
been cut perfectly in two — only the hind legs and the tail remained. The head,
forelimbs and upper torso had simply disappeared, teleported to
God-only-knew-where. Thick black blood oozed out from the exposed cross-section
of the animal's torso. Selexin
limped to Swain's side and grimaced at the sight of the half-bodied hood. '"Initialise".
"Cancel",' Selexin laughed softly to himself. 'It is nice to know,'
he said wryly to Swain, 'that you do not forget everything I tell you.' Swain smiled
sadly, still hugging Holly. 'Not everything.' Holly looked
up at her father. 'I knew you would come back.' Swain said,
'Of course I came back, silly. You didn't think I'd leave you here all by
yourself, did you?' 'Ah, ahem,'
Selexin coughed, 'I beg your pardon but the young lady was certainly not all
by herself 'Oh, excuse
me.' Holly said,
'He was very brave, Daddy. He helped me a lot.' 'He did,
huh?' Swain looked at Selexin. 'That was very noble of him. I really should
thank him.' Selexin
bowed modestly. 'Thanks,'
Swain said softly to the little man. Selexin,
proud of his new-found hero status, shook it off. 'Oh, it was nothing. All part
of the service, right?' Swain
laughed. 'Right.' 'I knew
you'd come back. I knew it.' Holly nestled into Swain's arms. Then she looked
up suddenly, made a mock-angry face, and adopted a severe adult tone. 'So where
have you been all this time? How did you find us?' Actually, in
the end, finding Holly and Selexin had been rather lucky. From the
parking lot, Swain had run into the Stack and arrived at the small red door
through which he had been bowled out by the hoods. When he found nothing there,
not even a trace of Holly and Selexin, he was at a total loss. And then, in
the silence, he had heard the nearby elevator ping. It must have
just been sitting there on Sub-Level Two when somebody on another floor had
pressed the call button. Swain raced
for the elevator and reached it just as the doors were about to meet. He jumped
inside and rode the lift to whichever floor the call had come from. It was
better than nothing. And besides, who knew? Maybe Holly or Selexin had pressed
the call button. Then again, it might not have been them, but by then Swain
didn't care. It was a risk he had to take. The elevator
had opened onto the Third Floor and Swain had been confronted with the burning
study hall. He had
ducked and crawled out of the lift on his hands and knees, trying to stay out
of sight. Then he had
heard voices and the grunts of the hoods, and then the crash of a falling desk,
and then another. He jumped to
his feet, and followed the noise, rounded a clump of desks and saw his daughter
crouched on her hands and knees, nose-to-nose with one of the hoods. Swain was
too far away, and didn't know what to do, when he realised that the hood was
standing over Selexin's white, egg-like hat. And at that
moment, a single word had leapt into his mind — 'Initialise'. —––ooo0ooo——— 'Can you get
them?' Marshall asked the radio operator inside the NSA van. 'Negative,
sir. There's no response from Commander Quaid or Agent Martinez.' 'Try again.' 'But, sir,'
the operator insisted, 'all I'm getting is static. We can't even tell whether
Commander Quaid has his radio turned on.' Status
Report: Station 4 reports detection of contaminant
inside labyrinth. Awaiting
confirmation. 'Just keep
trying,' Marshall said, 'and call me as soon as you pick up anything.' Marshall
climbed out of the van onto the parking lot ramp. He looked up at the
electrified grille, at the crumpled lead cube at its base, at the surging blue
grid of electricity. What
the hell had happened to Quaid? In the study
hall, Swain stood up, holding Holly in his arms. 'We better get going.' Selexin was
putting his white, dome-like hat back on. It was stained with the black blood
of the hood. 'You are right,' he said. 'Bellos cannot be far away.' 'Bellos,'
Swain thought aloud. 'It had to be.' 'What are
you talking about?' 'Bellos is
the other one,' Swain said. 'The only other contestant left.' 'There are
only two contestants remaining in the Presidian?' Selexin asked. 'Yep,' Swain
offered him the wristband. Selexin
perused it for a moment, then looked up at Swain. His face was grim. 'We have a
serious problem.' 'What?' 'Look at
this.' Selexin held Swain's wristband up to him. It read: INITIALISED—2 STATUS REPORT: STATION 4
REPORTS DETECTION OF CONTAMINANT INSIDE LABYRINTH. AWAITING CONFIRMATION. 'What the
hell does that mean?' Swain said. 'It means,' Selexin said, 'that they have
discovered the hood.' 'Which
hood?' Swain asked. 'And who on earth are they?' 'The hood
that you just killed using the teleport in my hat.' 'And they?' 'They
are the officials watching at the other end of that teleport, who
I imagine received quite a shock when half a hoodaya was teleported into their
laps. They are in Station Four, the teleport station assigned to monitor the
progress of contestant number four — you.' 'So what
does the message mean?' Selexin
said, 'This contest is for seven contestants only. It is a fight to the death
between the seven intelligent beings of the universe. Outside assistance is
strictly forbidden. Hoods are like dogs. They are not intelligent beings.
Wherefore, they do not compete in the Presidian. And they most surely do not
live on Earth. So when the officials in Station Four received a hood teleported
from the labyrinth on Earth, they immediately realised that the Presidian had
been compromised, contaminated by an outside agent.' Swain was
silent for a moment. Then he said, 'So what are they doing now?' 'They are
awaiting confirmation.' 'What's
confirmation?' Selexin
said, 'An official must go to Station Four and visually confirm the existence
of the contaminant.' 'And what
happens when it's confirmed?' 'I do not
know. This has never happened before.' 'Can you
guess?' . Selexin
nodded slowly. 'Well?'
Swain prompted. The little
man bit his lip. 'They will probably annul the Presidian.' 'You mean
call it off?' Selexin
frowned. 'Not quite. What they will probably do—' 'Daddy…'
Swain heard Holly's soft voice come from his chest. He was still holding her in
his arms. 'In a
minute, honey,' Swain said. Then to Selexin, 'What will they do?' 'I think
they'll—' 'Daddy!'
Holly whispered insistently. 'What is it,
Holly?' Swain said. 'Daddy. Someone's
here…' she spoke in such a low, hissing whisper that it took Swain a couple
of seconds to realise what she had said. He looked
down at her. She was staring fearfully out over his shoulder. Slowly,
Stephen Swain looked behind him. Across the
wide room, he saw a body — bloodied and mutilated — hanging upside down from
the ceiling, just inside the stairwell door. And standing
beside the body was Bellos. —––ooo0ooo——— Swain spun
and saw the body next to Bellos swing around lazily. A wave of sadness shot
through him as he saw the police uniform. Hawkins. Without a
word, Bellos began to walk through the tangle of L-shaped desks toward them. Toward
them. 'Let's go!'
Holly said loudly in his ear. Swain moved
laterally to his left, trying to keep as many desks as possible between him and
Bellos. Bellos did
the same, moving in a peculiar, wide arc from left to right, threading his way
calmly and quickly between the desks. He still had his white guide draped over
his shoulder. Swain
stumbled away from the big man, toward the elevators, Holly in his arms,
Selexin by his side. 'Nowhere to
run!' Bellos boomed from across the study hall. 'Nowhere to hide?' 'They've
found you out,' Swain called, walking backwards. 'They know you brought hoods
into the contest. You cheated, and you got caught.' Bellos
continued to move forward in wide arcs, left and right. It was an odd movement,
a movement that seemed to force them back. Back toward the— 'Their
discovery will be of no help to you,' Bellos said. Swain looked
over his shoulder and saw the gaping black hole that was the left-hand
elevator. The doors to the right one were closed. Swain moved
sideways until his back was pressed up against the call button panel. 'The
Presidian is over, Bellos,' Swain said. 'You can't win anymore. They know you
cheated.' Behind his
back, Swain's free hand searched for the call button, found it, pressed it. 'Perhaps
they know,' Bellos said whimsically. 'Perhaps they don't. It does not matter
now.' 'You have
disgraced yourself!' Selexin blurted. 'And I don't
care,' Bellos said defiantly. 'I did what I had to do to win. And even
if they do find out about the hoodaya, I will still prove to them all that I
have won this Presidian.' 'And how
will you do that?' Selexin said. Swain
grimaced, knowing the answer. 'By being
the only surviving contestant,' Bellos said. Swain
groaned. Then he
heard Holly's voice again. It was loud, close to his ear. 'Daddy, it's here.' 'What?' 'The
elevator.' She pointed up at the numbered display above the elevator doors. The
number 3 glowed yellow. There was a
soft ping. The doors
opened. The darkened interior of the elevator yawned before them. 'Inside,'
Swain said quickly to Selexin. 'Now.' Swain and
Holly stepped back into the elevator as Selexin ran to the button panel and
pressed a button. Bellos
didn't react quickly. In fact, he didn't react at all. He just kept
walking forward. Toward the elevator. The doors
began to close. Bellos
walked casually toward the lift. As Swain
watched, he got the impression that Bellos was in no hurry to get to them. It
was as if he had all the time in the world. As if he
knew something that they did not. As if he had calculated… But then the
doors closed and they were swallowed by darkness and the elevator began its
descent. Two long
cylindrical fluorescent light tubes lay on the floor of the lift — they were
the tubes that Hawkins had removed from their sockets when Swain and his group
had been hiding on the First Floor earlier that night. Swain put
one of the tubes back into its socket, bathing the elevator in a dull white
glow. 'Well, that
was easy,' Selexin said. 'Too easy,'
Swain said. 'Why didn't
he follow us, Daddy?' Holly said. 'Before, he chased us all over the place. All
over the place.' 'I don't
know, honey.' 'Well, we
are away now,' Selexin said. 'And that is all that matters.' 'That's what
worries me,' Swain said. And then it
happened. Suddenly.
Without warning. A loud,
heavy thump! on the roof of the elevator. They all
froze. And then slowly, very slowly, looked up at the ceiling. Bellos
had jumped down onto the roof of the elevator! He must have
jumped across from the open doors of the other elevator. Swain realised
his mistake immediately. 'Goddamn it!' 'What?'
Selexin said. 'You'll be
happy to know,' Swain said wryly, 'that we've just managed to trap ourselves.' He cursed
himself. He should have seen it. While they were running away from Bellos, he
had been moving in those strange arcs, virtually guiding them to the elevators.
When they thought they were escaping, they were actually going exactly where he
wanted them to go. Shit. Suddenly,
the hatch in the roof opened. Swain pulled
Holly and Selexin to the rear corner of the lift. Bellos' head
appeared through the open hatch upside down, his long tapering horns pointing
downward. He smiled
menacingly. Then his
head disappeared from view, back outside the lift. A moment later Bellos swung
down through the hatch, landing on his feet. Inside the
lift. Right
in front of them. 'Nowhere to
run now,' he sneered. 'Finally.' Swain pushed
Holly into the corner behind him. Selexin stood by his side. Bellos was
standing in the opposite corner of the elevator, beside the button panel. He
didn't have his guide with him anymore. Swain saw
the panel next to Bellos and wondered which button Selexin had pressed. He
hoped the little man had pressed the next floor. Then they might be able to
make a run for it. He saw the illuminated
button and closed his eyes in dismay. SL-2 was
glowing. That was
Sub-Level Two, the Stack. The bottom floor. They were in for a long ride. 'You pressed
the bottom floor?' he whispered to Selexin in disbelief. 'To get as
far away as possible,' Selexin whispered back. 'How was I supposed to know he
would jump on top of the—' 'Silence!'
Bellos boomed. 'Oh, shut
up,' Swain said. 'Yes. And
fuck you, too,' Selexin added. Bellos
cocked his head, amazed at this display of impertinence. His face tightened,
angry. He began to
walk across the elevator. It was then
that Swain realised just how big Bellos was — he had to bend so that his horns
wouldn't hit the ceiling. And he was built like a house, too. Swain eyed the
golden breastplate on his chest. It was dazzling. He also saw
that Bellos had added several more trophies to his belt. He still had the
Konda's breathing mask and the NYPD badge clipped to it, but now he had two
more-recent additions: first — and most gruesomely — the severed head of a thin,
stick-insect-like creature; and second — a more earthly object — a small
canister of police-issue chemical Mace, still in its belt-pouch. Swain froze
at the sight of the Mace. It was
Hawkins' Mace. It was
Bellos' trophy from killing the young policeman. Bellos
caught Swain looking at his newly acquired trophy. He touched the small
canister on his belt. 'A curious
weapon,' he mused. 'As his dying act, your companion sprayed it into my eyes,
but to no effect. You humans must truly be fragile beings if something so
pathetic as this injures you.' 'You are a
coward, Bellos,' Selexin spat. Bellos
rounded on him, took a step toward him, extended his arm toward the little
man's head. Selexin
leaned back against the wall, trying to pull away. Then,
roughly, Swain swatted Bellos' arm away. 'Get away from him,' he said flatly. Bellos
pulled his arm back — away from Selexin — dutifully obeying Swain's command.
And then suddenly he thrust his arm viciously forward, hitting Swain hard in
the face. Swain fell
to the floor, clutching his jaw. 'And fuck
you, too,' Bellos said with a sneer. 'Whatever that means.' Then the big
man moved quickly, grabbing Swain by the collar and hurling him into the far
wall of the elevator. Swain banged
hard against the wall, fell to the floor again, wheezing. Bellos
strutted across the elevator, following him. 'Pathetic
little man,' he said. 'How dare you touch me. My great-grandfather also
killed a human once. In another Presidian, two thousand years ago. And this
human cried, begged, pleaded for mercy.' Bellos
picked Swain up by the hair and threw him against the doors of the lift. 'Is that
what you will do, little earth man? Cry for clemency? Beg me to be merciful?' Swain was
lying face down on the floor. He picked himself up slowly and sat with his back
up against the doors. The cut on his lip had been reopened and now it was
bleeding profusely. 'Well,
little human?' Bellos jeered. 'Will you beg for your life?' He paused, and then
turned to face Holly in the corner. 'Or perhaps, you would rather beg for
hers?' 'Come over
here,' Swain said evenly. 'What?'
Bellos said. 'I said, come
over here.' 'No,' Bellos
smiled. 'I think I'd like to acquaint myself with this young lady first.' He
stepped across the elevator, toward Holly. Selexin took
a step sideways, blocking him. 'No,' he said firmly. It was a
strange sight. Selexin — four feet tall, dressed completely in white —
protecting Holly from Bellos — seven feet tall and clad entirely in black. 'Goodbye,
tiny man,' Bellos said, delivering a heavy blow across Selexin's head, sending
the little man crashing to the floor. Bellos
towered over Holly. 'Now…' 'I said,' a
voice said in Bellos' ear, 'come over here.' Bellos
turned to see Stephen Swain and a long white fluorescent light tube come rushing
at his face. Swain held
the fluorescent tube like a baseball bat and he swung it hard. The swing
connected. The tube smashed against Bellos' face, sending glass shards flying
everywhere, and showering the big man's face with a strange white powder that
had been inside the fluorescent tube. Bellos
jolted slightly with the impact. But despite the spectacular explosion of the
tube across his face, he remained unmoved — uninjured by the blow, save for the
layer of powder on his jet-black face — and simply stared coldly down at Swain. 'Uh-oh,'
Swain said. Bellos hit
him. Hard. Swain
bounced into the elevator doors, just as the elevator stopped and the doors
themselves opened. He stumbled backwards, out onto the floor of the Stack.
Bellos stepped out of the lift after him, walked over to him, and picked him up
by his shirt. 'Yes, yes,'
Bellos said. 'Begged for mercy, that's what he did. And do you know what my
great-grandfather did when this human begged?' Swain didn't
answer. 'He
decapitated him,' Bellos moved his powder-covered face close to Swain's. 'Tore
his arms from his body, too.' Bellos stroked his golden breastplate. 'And then
he took this. A glorious trophy from such an inglorious creature.' Swain looked
at the breastplate more closely. Indeed, upon closer examination, it looked
like… like the gilded armour of a Roman centurion. A
Roman centurion? Swain thought. In a Presidian?
Two thousand years ago? My God… Bellos
raised Swain higher so that his sneakers were a full foot above the floor. He
carried him over to the crumpled outer doors of the other elevator. When the
Karanadon had climbed out of the broken elevator at the bottom of the shaft, it
must simply have crashed through the outer doors to get out. Bellos threw
Swain through the open outer doors and he landed heavily on what was left of
the roof of the destroyed elevator, resting at the base of the shaft. The roof
was a good five feet below the floor level of the Stack. Bellos leapt
down onto the roof after him. 'Well, human?' he said. 'Do you beg?' Swain
coughed. 'Not in this life.' 'Then
perhaps in the next,' Bellos said, picking him up again and hurling him into
the concrete wall of the shaft. Swain hit the wall and fell to his knees,
aching, coughing. 'Are you
thinking of yourself now, little man?' Bellos said, circling Swain. 'Or are you
thinking of what I will do when you are dead? Which is worse? Your death, or
the prospect of what I will do to your little one after you are dead?' Swain
clenched his teeth, felt the warmth of his own blood in his mouth. He had to do
something. He looked up
and saw the other lift, hanging above them like a big square shadow in the
blackness of the shaft. There was a dark gap beneath it. Maybe… Bellos moved
in close again — and suddenly Swain came to life, launching himself quickly
forward, tackling the big man around the ankles, throwing Bellos off balance,
sending them both falling toward the edge of the roof. They fell. Both of
them. Off the roof
of the destroyed lift, out into the shaft underneath the working
elevator. The drop was
about ten feet and Bellos landed heavily on the concrete base of the elevator
shaft. Swain landed on top of him, the big man's body cushioning his fall. Swain got to
his feet immediately and looked around the base of the shaft. Solid
concrete walls on two sides — a series of counterweight cables on one of them.
Opposite the counterweight cables was the battered side wall of the destroyed
elevator, lying crumpled at the bottom of the shaft. On the fourth side of the
shaft, however, Swain saw the most unexpected sight of all. A pair of
outer doors. There
was another floor down here. The working
elevator could come down. And
if it could, then… 'Holly!
Selexin!' he called desperately. 'Are you still up there! If you are, go to
the buttons! Press anything below SL-2!' Inside the
elevator, Selexin was still sprawled on the floor, bloodied and dazed. Holly
was huddled in the corner. Then
strangely she heard her father's echoing voice and she blinked back to life. '—anything
below SL-2!' What? She ran over
to the button console and scanned the buttons there: 3 2 1 G SL-1 SL-2 SL-2 was the
lowest it went. There was nothing below SL-2! What was he
talking about? Groggy, Bellos
got slowly to his feet. The fall had hurt him. Swain called
up again. 'Anything below Sub-Level 2! Just press it!' Holly's
voice floated down the shaft. 'There isn't anything! There's nothing below that
one!' Christ,
Swain thought. I can see the doors. There has to be! He called
again, 'Look below the buttons! Is there a small door in the wall! A panel of
some sort! Something like that! Anything like that!' A few seconds. Holly's
voice. 'Yes. I see it! I see a little panel!' Beside Swain, Bellos staggered
against the side wall of the destroyed elevator. On the other side of the
shaft, Swain saw the five or so counterweight cables running vertically up the
concrete wall. They were taut and greased and they appeared to run all the way
up the shaft, past the elevator hovering above them. 'Holly!' he called
urgently. 'Open the panel! If there's another button there, just
press it!' Holly opened
the small white door set into the wall beneath the button console. Inside she
saw several switches that looked like regular light switches. Underneath
them, though, was a mouldy green button, beside which was scrawled in white
chalk the words: ACCESS TO STORAGE BASEMENT. 'I found
one!' she called. 'Press
it!' Holly
pressed the green button and immediately felt her stomach lurch. The lift was
going down. The cables
running up the wall of the shaft suddenly came to life, some going up, some
going down — all moving too fast to tell — as the complex pulley system of
counterweights burst into action. Swain looked
up as the elevator fourteen feet above him began to move. Downward. Toward them. That was
good. He'd needed to do something, to provide some sort of— And then
abruptly he was slammed onto the concrete floor. Bellos had thrown himself into
him and both of them went sprawling to the ground. Swain hit
the floor hard and rolled quickly just as a big black fist came plunging down
into the concrete right next to his head. Bellos
roared in pain, clutching his fist. Swain leapt
to his feet. He looked up at the slowly descending elevator. It was close.
There wasn't much time. You
can't fight Bellos. You have to find a way out of— Then
suddenly Bellos was on his feet again and he launched himself at Swain, driving
him back against the side wall of the destroyed elevator. The moving
elevator edged downward. Twelve
feet off the ground. Bellos
punched Swain in the stomach. He buckled over. Eleven
feet. Bellos hit
him again. Swain gagged. Bellos was just too damn big to fight. Ten
feet. Bellos
glanced up quickly at the descending elevator and then all around himself for
an escape. He saw the rapidly moving counterweight cables by the wall. There
seemed to be enough space there to stand… Nine
feet. The bottom
of the lift scraped Bellos' horns and he ducked. Eight
feet. And Swain
saw the speeding cables, too. Beside him, Bellos was crouching now, bent over
at the waist, facing the other way, looking at the cables. It was a
chance. Swain seized
it. He moved in
quickly behind Bellos and kicked him hard in the back of one knee. Bellos
dropped immediately, fell to his knees. Seven
feet. Swain dived
in front of Bellos, scrambled for the counterweight cables. Got
to get out. Have
to get out. Going
to die. He was
almost at the cables when suddenly — violently — a big black hand clasped his
ankle. Bellos had his foot in a vice-like grip, and was dragging him away
from the cables! Six
feet. Swain broke
out in a cold sweat. Bellos was
holding him tightly, pulling him backwards —so that now Bellos was
closer to the counterweight cables. There was
nothing Swain could do! It was obvious Bellos was going to hold him until the
last moment and then roll to safety near the cables, leaving Swain to be
crushed underneath the elevator. There was no way out this time, no way to
break Bellos' grasp. The elevator came slowly down. It was then
that Swain saw Bellos' trophy belt right next to his eyes—saw Hawkins' chemical
Mace canister hanging from it. The
Mace… But it
hadn't worked for Hawkins before… Five
feet. And then
Swain saw the white powder on Bellos' face. The white powder from the
fluorescent light tube that Swain had smashed across his face. It
was oxidised fluorine. And fluorine
added to Mace would make… Don't
think! No time. Just do it! Swain
wrenched the Mace canister clear of Bellos' belt and aimed it at Bellos' face. But Bellos
saw him move and in response, the big man lashed out at the Mace canister with
his fist and hit it a glancing blow, snapping its spray nozzle clean off! No!
Swain's mind screamed. Now he couldn't spray it! And then he
saw another option. Gritting his
teeth with determination, Swain slid in close to Bellos' head and then, in one
fluid movement, holding the Mace canister tightly in his fist, he banged the
base of the canister down on the point of one of Bellos' horns —
puncturing the canister in an instant. Blinding
chemical Mace sprayed downwards — out from the puncture hole in the base of the
canister. Swain then whipped the canister up so that the spray jetted directly
into Bellos' powdered face. The chemical
reaction was instantaneous. The active
ingredients of chemical Mace — chloroacetophenone and diluted sulphuric acid —
combined with the oxidised fluorine immediately to create hydrofluoric acid,
one of the most corrosive acids known to man. Bellos roared
in agony as bubbles of burning acid rippled across his face. He squeezed his
eyes shut and released Swain's ankle instantly. Four
feet. Swain was
free! But he
wasn't finished yet. As Bellos
recoiled, Swain rolled onto his back and let fly with an upwardly directed
kick. The kick hit
its mark — slamming into the underside of Bellos' jaw, causing the big man's
head to jolt sharply upward. The big
man's head snapped up — and his sharp horns penetrated the floor of the
descending elevator — and in a moment of pure terror Bellos realised what had
happened. He was
stuck! His horns
were jammed into the floor of the descending elevator, and he didn't have
enough room beneath it to manoeuvre himself out! Three
feet. Swain was
flat on his stomach now, crawling away from Bellos, across the base of the
shaft. Two
feet. And he could
feel the bottom of the elevator touching his back. It was like crawling
underneath a car. He reached
out for one of the speeding counterweight cables running up the far wall. His hand
closed around the cable. Behind him,
Bellos now lay on the ground, his neck bent upwards at an awkward angle,
wrenching desperately at his horns. He let out a piercing high-pitched wail. 'Arrrrrrggghhhh!!!' One
foot. And Swain
felt the cable yank on his arm and he was pulled into the air, his feet sliding
out from under the elevator just as it hit the bottom with a resounding boom!
and Bellos' hideous wail cut off abruptly and Swain flew up into the
darkness of the shaft. —––ooo0ooo——— Swain swung
to a sudden halt. The
counterweight cable stopped dead as the elevator came to rest at the base of
the shaft. Everything
was silent. There was no
light, save for the weak yellow haze coming through the crumpled outer doors
that led to the Stack. Swain was
hanging by his arms six feet above the roof of the working elevator, dangling
against the wall. He looked down at the elevators. It was a
peculiar sight — both elevators, side by side, resting on the bottom of the
shaft, one totally destroyed, the other just sitting there, silent. Suddenly the
hatch of the working elevator burst open and Swain's heart jumped. Bellos
couldn't have… Holly's head
appeared through the hatch and Swain sighed with relief. Her head swung around
anxiously, searching. Finally she saw him, hanging above her, swinging gently
from the counterweight cables on the side of the shaft. 'Daddy!'
Holly climbed out onto the roof of the elevator. Swain let go
of the cable and dropped down onto the roof beside her. She leapt into his arms
and held him tightly. 'Daddy, I
was so scared.' 'So was I,
honey. Believe me, so was I.' 'Did I do
the right thing? Did I press the right button?' 'You pressed
the right button, all right,' Swain said. 'You were great.' Holly nodded
to herself, satisfied, and hugged him harder. Selexin's
head popped out through the hatch. He saw Swain and Holly and then looked
around the dark, empty shaft. 'It's okay,'
Swain said. 'Bellos is dead.' 'I, uh,
gathered as much,' Selexin said. Swain
frowned. Selexin nodded back at the elevator's hatch. Swain looked down through
it. 'Oh, yuck…' Sticking up
through the floor of the elevator were two high-pointed horns — Bellos' horns.
Having pierced the underside of the lift, they now appeared inside it —
unmoving, still — like the hood ornament of a Cadillac. The only remnant of
Bellos. 'What
happened?' Selexin asked. 'Crushed,'
Swain said. 'Crushed?' 'Uh-huh.' Selexin
winced. 'Not a very nice way to die.' Holly said,
'He wasn't a very nice kind of person.' 'This is
true.' At that moment
Swain's wristband beeped softly. Swain
checked it to find that its rectangular display was now filled with scrolling
lines of type: PRESENCE
OF CONTAMINANT CONFIRMED. AT STATION 4. *
PRESIDIAN HAS BEEN COMPROMISED * REPEAT. *
PRESIDIAN HAS BEEN COMPROMISED * DECISION TO ABORT PENDING. The screen
flickered and a new line appeared: INITIALISED—1 OFFICIALS AT EXIT TELEPORT
REPORT ONE CONTESTANT REMAINING INSIDE LABYRINTH. AWAITING INSTRUCTIONS. There was a
pause. 'What does
that mean?' Swain asked. 'When only
one contestant remains,' Selexin said, 'the Karanadon is awakened, if it is not
already awake, and then—' 'And then
the exit teleport is opened,' Swain said, remembering. 'And if you can avoid
the Karanadon and get to the teleport, you win the Presidian.' 'Right,'
Selexin said. 'Only now that Bellos has compromised the Presidian, the
officials are deciding whether or not they should abandon the Presidian
completely. Because if they do decide to abandon it, they will not open the
exit teleport. And we will be left here, with the Karanadon. And as I
wanted to tell you before, they will also probably…' The
wristband beeped loudly and Selexin immediately stopped speaking. OFFICIALS AT EXIT TELEPORT BE
ADVISED THAT A DECISION HAS BEEN MADE TO ABORT PRESIDIAN. * DO NOT INITIALISE EXIT
TELEPORT * REPEAT. * DO NOT INITIALISE EXIT
TELEPORT * 'They're
calling it off,' Swain said flatly. Selexin
didn't reply. He just stared at the wristband in disbelief. Swain shook
him gently. 'Did you see that? They're calling the whole thing off.' Selexin said
softly, 'Yes. I saw it.' He looked up at Swain. 'And I know what it means. It
means that you and I are most certainly going to die.' 'What?'
Swain said. 'Die?'
Holly said. 'You
will certainly die,' Selexin said to Swain, 'and without the exit
teleport, I cannot leave this planet. And what do you think my chances of
survival on Earth are?' Swain knew
the answer to that. The NSA were outside the library right now and they weren't
here to borrow some books. Selexin didn't have a prayer outside the library.
And now there was no way he could leave. Swain said,
'So why do I have to die? Why is that so certain? There's no guarantee that the
Karanadon will find us.' Now there was an alien that Swain would gladly give to
the NSA. 'It is not
the Karanadon that comprises your greatest threat,' Selexin said. 'Then what
does?' Swain asked as his wristband beeped again, announcing another message: * OFFICIAL SIGNAL * PLEASE RECORD THAT DUE TO
EXTRINSIC INTERFERENCE IT HAS BEEN DECIDED THAT THE SEVENTH PRESIDIAN WILL BE
ABORTED. GRATITUDE IS EXTENDED TO ALL OFFICIALS IN ALL SYSTEMS FOR THEIR ASSISTANCE
THROUGHOUT THIS CONTEST. AN INQUIRY HAS BEEN INITIATED
INTO THE CAUSE OF THE CONTAMINATION OF THE LABYRINTH. * END OFFICIAL SIGNAL* PRESIDIAN COMPLETE. STANDBY FOR DE-ELECTRIFICATION. Swain said,
'De-electrification? Is that what I think it means?' 'Yes,'
Selexin nodded. 'They will bring down the electric field surrounding the
labyrinth.' 'When?' 'As soon as
possible, I suppose.' 'What about
the Karanadon?' 'I presume
that they will simply leave it here.' 'Leave it
here?' Swain said, incredulous. 'Do you have any idea what something like that
would do in this city? When they cut the electricity around this building, that
thing will be loose, and there will be no way to stop it.' 'It is not
my decision,' Selexin said sadly, vacantly. Swain knew
that the little man had other things on his mind. Without the exit teleport,
Selexin could not leave. They had survived the Presidian and yet he was stuck
on Earth. 'Well,'
Swain said, looking up at the dark elevator shaft around him. 'It's not going
to help us standing around here doing nothing. If they're going to pull the
plug on the electricity, I suggest we find a place where we can get out when
they do.' Holding
Holly, Swain stepped from the roof of the working lift onto the roof of the
damaged one. Selexin didn't move. He just stood there sadly, deep in thought. Swain and
Holly climbed out through the crumpled outer doors into the Stack and looked
back at Selexin. 'Selexin,'
Swain said gently. 'We're not dead yet. Come on. Come with us.' On top of
the lift, in the darkness of the shaft, Selexin looked up at him, but said
nothing. 'We have to
get to an exit,' Swain said. 'So we can get out when the electricity is cut
off.' 'Bellos.'
Selexin said flatly, thinking. 'What?' 'Bellos knew
of a way.' 'What are
you talking about?' Swain said, checking the Stack behind him. 'Come on, we
have to go.' 'He had to
get the hoods out,' Selexin said. 'He said so himself.' 'Selexin, what
are you talking about?' Selexin
explained. 'We were on another floor, I think it was number Two. Bellos was
there, and he spoke to us briefly before the Rachnid arrived and they fought
and we escaped. But at the time, I asked Bellos what he planned to do with the
hoods if he won the Presidian, because I knew that if he left them here, they
would certainly be discovered. What he told me was very strange. He said that
the hoods would be long gone from the labyrinth by the time he went through the
exit teleport.' Swain
watched Selexin intently, watched him thinking. 'But the
only way he could do that,' Selexin said, almost to himself, 'was if he had a
teleporter.' 'A
teleporter?' 'A large
chamber in which a teleportation field is created. And as you
are no doubt aware, there are no teleporters on Earth.' Swain
thought for a moment, a hazy picture beginning to form in his mind. A picture
of a puzzle that hadn't yet been solved. 'Just how
big is one of these teleporters?' he asked Selexin. 'Usually
very large, and very heavy,' Selexin said. 'And technologically, extremely
complex.' It was now
Swain who was lost in thought. The hazy picture in his mind was slowly becoming
clearer. And then it
hit him. 'Bellos brought
a teleporter with him,' he said flatly. 'We don't
know that,' Selexin said. 'Yes, we
do,' Swain reached into his pocket, pulled out a sheet of paper — Harold
Quaid's list of energy surges at the State Library that night. 'What's
that, Daddy?' 'It's a
list.' 'Where did
you get it?' Swain turned
to Selexin. 'I found it in the pocket of another mystery guest who happened to
find his way into your Presidian.' 'What is it
a list of?' Selexin asked. 'Take a
look.' Swain held out the sheet of paper. Selexin
stepped from one elevator roof to the other and then climbed out into the
Stack. He took the sheet and examined it. 'Something
from Earth,' Selexin scanned the list. 'Detecting energy surges of unknown
origin. What are these numbers on the left?' 'Times,'
Swain said. Selexin was
silent for a moment. 'So what is it?' he asked. 'It's a list
of every teleportation that has happened in this building since I was
teleported here from my home in Connecticut at 6:03 this evening.' 'What?' 'And now
I've figured it out,' Swain said. 'Thirteen teleportations detected. Twelve in
the library, one in Connecticut. Before, I could only account for eleven of the
twelve surges that occurred in the library: namely, seven contestants with
their guides, plus four hoods, equals eleven surges.' 'Uh-huh.' 'But I
couldn't figure out the last surge,' Swain pointed to the bottom line of the
sheet: 13. 18:46:00
N.Y. Isolated energy surge/Source: UNKNOWN Type: UNKNOWN / Dur: 0.00:34 'Look at it.
It's thirty-four seconds long — three times longer than any other surge. And
look at when it occurred: 6:46 p.m. That's nearly twenty-three minutes after
the surge before it. All of the others occurred within twenty minutes.' Swain looked
at Selexin. 'The last surge was a separate surge. And it was big. Very big.
Something that took a long time to teleport — thirty-four seconds to teleport.' 'What are
you saying?' 'I think
Bellos had someone teleport a teleporter into the library so he
could get the hoods out of here before he left.' Selexin took
it all in silently. He examined the list again. Finally he looked up at Swain.
'Then that means…' 'It means,'
Swain said to Selexin, 'that somewhere in this building is a teleporter. A
teleporter that we can use to get you home.' Selexin was
momentarily silent as it all sunk in. 'So what are
we waiting for?' Holly said. 'Nothing
now,' Swain said, grabbing Selexin's shoulder, starting to run. 'Let's find it
while we still have time.' —––ooo0ooo——— James
Marshall stood at the base of the ramp leading to the parking lot. He was
watching the grid of blue electricity stretched across the metal grille when
his radio operator came up to him. 'Sir?' 'What is
it?' Marshall didn't turn around. Status
Check: 0:01:00 to De-electrification. Standby. 'Sir, we're
not even getting a signal now. Commander Quaid's radio is completely off the
air.' Marshall bit
his lip. The night that had begun with so much promise was not panning out well
at all. They had already lost two men inside the library, destroyed one
Radiation Storage Unit, lost track of a bum who had been seen by the southern
wall of the library, and now had a building that was burning itself to the
ground. And for what? Marshall thought. Jack
shit, that's what. They had
nothing to show for their night's work. Not a single fucking thing. And Marshall
would be responsible. Too much was riding on this operation. Sigma Division had
been given complete authority on this matter and they needed something to
show for it. Christ, not
long before, the New York Fire Department had shown up in response to all the
explosions and the NSA had held them back. The building was the source of a
National Security Agency investigation, he'd said. Let it burn. But it's a
National Register building. Let it burn. That wouldn't go down well with the
bosses upstairs. So now the
situation was clear: if Marshall didn't get anything from this building, he
would be the scapegoat. His career now depended on what they found inside that
library. They had to
get something. As it turned
out, Swain, Holly and Selexin didn't have to run very far before they found the
teleporter. In fact, they didn't even have to search beyond the Stack. But they
almost missed it altogether. It was only Selexin's keen eye that had caught
sight of a deviation in one of the long aisles of the Stack as they had been
zigzagging their way toward the floor's central stairwell. Status
Check: 0:00:51 to De-electrification. 'It's so
big,' Holly said in awe. That was an
understatement, Swain thought as he stood in the aisle and stared at the
enormous machine. It looked
like a massive, high-tech, steel-sided telephone booth, with a glass door in
its centre, and thick grey walls that almost reached to the ceiling. All of its
edges had been rounded off to give it an elliptical shape and a big grey box
sat on the floor beside it, connected to the teleporter by a thick black cord. Surrounding
the giant teleporter was a perfect sphere of emptiness that had been cut into
the bookshelves and the ceiling around the big machine. The spherical hole in
the air through which this machine had travelled had simply vaporised whatever
had been standing here when it had arrived. 'That's a
portable generator,' Selexin said, pointing to the grey box. 'Bellos had to
bring one of those in order to operate the teleporter on Earth.' Swain stared
at the teleporter and at the bookshelves around it. They were right in the
middle of the eastern section of the Stack, at least thirty yards from any entrance
to the floor and surrounded by the towering floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. It
was highly unlikely that anyone had been through here during the Presidian. 'Well
hidden,' Swain observed. 'I do not
think Bellos had much choice,' Selexin said. 'What do you
mean?' 'Well, I
have been thinking about this — about how Bellos teleported his hoods into the
labyrinth. Do you remember that every time we saw him, Bellos always had his
guide draped over his shoulder?' 'Yes.' 'Well, I
kept wondering, why did he need to immobilise his guide? What I think
happened was this,' Selexin said. 'On his home planet, Bellos steps inside the official
teleporter with his guide. Once inside, the guide receives the co-ordinates
of the labyrinth on the wristband, which he hasn't given to Bellos yet. Bellos
then attacks the guide, beats him, steals the co-ordinates, and then reopens
the teleporter and relays the co-ordinates to someone else. 'Then he and
his guide are teleported to the labyrinth alone, while at the same time, at
another teleporter nearby, the hoods are sent. 'Much later,
they teleport this teleporter, but they only have co-ordinates that are rather
general. The teleporter could have arrived anywhere inside the library.
It was impossible for them to teleport it intentionally into a dark corner. But
then, when you're teleporting something into a maze, the odds are in
your favour of teleporting it into a dark corner. A calculated risk, no doubt,
but obviously one that Bellos was prepared to take.' Status
Check: 0:00:30 to De-electrification. Next to Swain,
Holly was staring up at the big grey machine. 'So what do we do now, Daddy?' Swain
frowned, looked back down the dark aisle behind him. In the distance he saw
that some shelves were now on fire. 'We send
Selexin home, honey,' he said. 'So he can tell the others what really happened,
and so he can get away from here.' 'Oh,' Holly
said, disappointed. 'That is
right,' Selexin nodded slowly. 'Can't he
stay, Daddy?' Holly said. 'He could live with us. Like in E.T.' Selexin
smiled sadly and reached up for the handle to the glass door of the teleporter.
He said to Swain, 'When I came to the labyrinth, I thought about myself being
assigned to guide the human contestant through the Presidian. And I was not
happy at all. I thought you would not last a moment, and if you did not, I
would not either. But having seen you, and the way you defended your life and
the life of your daughter, I know now just how mistaken I was.' Swain
nodded. Selexin
turned to Holly. 'I cannot stay here. Your world is not ready for me, just as I
am not ready for it. Why, even the Presidian was not ready for your world.' 'Thank you,'
Holly said, crying. 'Thank you for taking care of me.' Then she
leapt forward and threw her arms around Selexin and hugged him tightly. Selexin
was momentarily taken aback, unprepared for this sudden display of affection.
Slowly, he raised his arms and hugged Holly back. 'Take care
of yourself,' he said, closing his eyes. 'And look after your father, the same
way he looks after you. Goodbye, Holly.' She released
him and Selexin turned to Swain and extended his hand. 'You are a
little too tall for me to hug,' Selexin said, smiling. Status
Check: 0:00:15 to De-electrification. Swain took
the little man's hand and shook it. 'Thank you, again,' he said seriously. Selexin
bowed. 'I did nothing that you yourself would not have done for her. Or for me.
I was only there in your absence. And besides, thank you, for making me
change my mind about you.' He reached
for the door to the teleporter. It opened with a soft, pneumatic hiss. Swain put an
arm on Holly's shoulder. 'Goodbye, Selexin,' he said. 'You'll be a hard memory
to forget.' 'That is
just as well, Mr Swain. Considering you have forgotten just about everything
else I have told you tonight.' Swain smiled
sadly as Selexin stepped inside the teleporter. 'Don't
forget to teleport this thing back once you get there,' he said, pointing at
the teleporter. 'Do not
worry. I will not,' Selexin said, closing the glass door behind him. Swain
stepped away from the teleporter and looked down at his wristband. STATUS
CHECK: 0:00:04 TO DE-ELECTRIFICATION. 'Oh, damn…'
Swain said, realising. 'Oh, damn!' Inside the
teleporter, Selexin punched some buttons on the wall and then stepped up to the
glass door. A brilliant
white light glowed to life behind him and the little man pressed his finger up
against the glass. 'Goodbye,'
he mouthed silently. The dazzling
white light inside the teleporter consumed Selexin and then, abruptly, there
was a bright, instantaneous flash, and the inside of the teleporter was dark
again. And Selexin
was gone. Holly was
wiping tears from her eyes as Swain looked at the wristband again. STATUS CHECK: 0:00:01 TO
DE-ELECTRIFICATION. STANDBY. DE-ELECTRIFICATION INITIALISED— Swain
grabbed Holly by the hand and immediately began to run desperately down the
narrow aisle, toward the central stairwell. Holly didn't know what was
happening, just ran with him anyway. A loud
beeping filled the air. Swain knew
exactly what was going on now — it was what Selexin had been trying to tell him
before. He didn't even need to look at his wristband to confirm it. The damn
thing was beeping insistently again and as he heard it ringing in his ears, he
realised what aborting the Presidian really meant. The
electrified field was down. His
wristband was no longer surrounded by the field. It had reset
itself to self-destruct. And nothing
could stop it. There was no other electric field on Earth to surround it with. Swain looked
down at the wristband as he hit the stairs on the fly. It read: PRESIDIAN ABORTED. DETONATION SEQUENCE
INITIALISED. *
14:54 * AND COUNTING. Jesus. SIXTH MOVEMENT 30 November, 10:47 p.m. —––ooo0ooo——— Outside the
library, Marshall was barking orders. 'Move!
Move! Move! Get in there!' he yelled, oblivious to the
falling rain all around him. Moments
earlier, the grid of crackling blue electricity had vanished to nothing and
Marshall had been faced with a gaping hole in the metal grille of the parking
lot. Now he had Sigma's SWAT team racing past him, charging into the car park. 'Higgs!' he
called. 'Yes, sir!' 'I want a
total media blackout on this matter from now on. You go straight to Levine and
you tell him to call the networks and pull some strings. Get those cameras out
of here. And get me a No-Fly Zone over this whole area. I don't want any
choppers within a five-mile radius of this building. Now go!' Higgs ran
off, up the ramp. Marshall put
his hands on his hips and smiled in the rain. They were
in. Swain and
Holly climbed the stairs two at a time, rounding the banisters, hauling
themselves up, breathing hard. They stopped
at the Ground Floor. Swain peered out through the fire door. The Ground
Floor lay before him — wide and dark and bare. Empty. Swain could
just make out the First Floor mezzanine above. It was still dark there, too. No
fires here. Not yet. There was
no-one here. Wristband. 14:23 14:22 14:21 There was a
light over by the Information Desk. Swain stepped cautiously out among the
bookshelves, heading toward it. Holly followed nervously. When he was
ten yards away from the Information Desk, he said to her, 'Stay here.' Swain edged
closer to the desk. He peered over the desktop and suddenly turned away,
wincing. 'What is
it?' Holly whispered. 'Nothing,'
he said, then added quickly, 'Don't come over here.' He glanced
over the desktop again and saw the grisly sight again. It was the bloodied and
mangled body of a policewoman. Hawkins'
partner. She had literally
been torn limb from limb — her arms were simply gone, each one
ending at the bicep as a ragged bony stump. Her uniform was covered in blood.
Swain could just make out the long jagged tear in her shirt where Bellos had
ripped off her badge. And then he
saw her Glock pistol on the floor — lying inches away from her desperately
outstretched hand. Swain had a
thought: maybe he could shoot his wristband off. No, the
bullet would pass through his wrist. Not a good idea. He bent down
and picked up the policewoman's gun anyway. Protection. And then,
completely without warning, there came a sudden, crashing whump! from
somewhere behind him. Holly
screamed and Swain snapped around instantly and saw— —the
Karanadon, crouched on one knee, slowly rising to its full height. Right
behind Holly! It must have
been up on the First Floor! It must have leapt down! Without even
thinking, Swain levelled his new found dock at the beast and fired twice. Both
shots missed by three yards. Hell, he'd never even fired a gun before. Holly
screamed through the gunfire, ran over to Swain. Boom. The
Karanadon stepped forward. Swain raised
the pistol again. Fired. Missed. Two yards off this time. Getting closer. Boom.
Boom. 'Run!' Holly
squealed. 'Run!' 'Not yet! I
can hit it!' Swain called back, raising his voice above the beast's thunderous
footsteps. The
Karanadon began to charge. Boom.
Boom. Boom. 'Okay, run!'
he yelled. Swain and
Holly dashed for the bookshelves. The Karanadon was gaining. They rounded a
corner and entered a narrow aisle, bookshelves on either side. Running hard,
Swain looked over his shoulder. And then,
suddenly, his feet hit something — and he tripped — and went sprawling
head-first to the ground. He hit the floor hard and the glock went skittling
off down the slick marble aisle. Boom.
Boom. Boom. The floor
all around him was shaking violently and Swain rolled onto his back to see what
had tripped him. It was a
carcass. The ripped and torn carcass of the Konda — the grasshopper-like alien
that the hoods had killed before, while Swain and the others had watched from
the First Floor balcony. Boom. The floor
rumbled a final time. Silence.
Save for the beeping of Swain's wristband. Swain looked
up and saw Holly standing on the other side of the carcass. And behind
her — right behind her — towering above the little girl, its massive frame
silhouetting her body with total blackness, stood the dark shape of the
Karanadon. Holly didn't
move a muscle. The
Karanadon was so close she could feel its hot breath on her neck. 'Don't
move,' Swain whispered fiercely. 'Whatever you do, don't move.' Holly didn't
answer. She could feel her knees shaking. She knew that she wasn't going to
move. Even if she'd wanted to, she couldn't. Beads of sweat began to appear on
her forehead as she felt the Karanadon move slowly closer. Its breath
came in short, rapid spurts, as if it were breathing very, very quickly. As if
it were— Sniffing. It
was sniffing her. Smelling her. Slowly, the
big beast's snout moved up her body. Holly was
terrified. She wanted to scream. She clenched her fists by her side and shut her eyes. Suddenly,
she felt a cold wetness touch her left ear. It was the Karanadon's nose, the
tip of its dark, wrinkled snout. The nose was cold and wet, like a dog's. She almost
fainted. Swain
watched in horror as the Karanadon brushed the left side of his daughter's
head. It was
taking its time. Moving slowly. Methodically. Intensifying their fear. It had them. Swain could
hear the constant beeping of his wristband. How long to go? He didn't dare look
— didn't dare take his eyes off the Karanadon. Shit. He shifted his
weight — and, oddly, felt a bulge in his pocket. It was the broken phone
receiver. That wouldn't be much use here. Wait a second… There was
something else in his pocket… The
lighter, Slowly,
Swain reached into his pocket and pulled out Jim Wilson's Zippo lighter. The
Karanadon was sniffing Holly's ankles. Holly just
stood stock still, her eyes shut, her fists clenched. Swain rolled
the lighter over in his hand. If he could light something with it, the flames
might momentarily distract the Karanadon. But then, he
recalled, the lighter hadn't worked in the stairwell before. It
had to work now. Swain held
the lighter up to the nearest bookshelf, up close to a dusty old hardcover. Please
work. Just once. Please work. The Zippo
flipped open with a loud metallic calink! The
Karanadon's head snapped up immediately and suddenly the beast was staring
accusingly at Swain as if to say: 'And what do you think you're doing?' Swain held
the lighter closer to the dusty book but the Karanadon bounded quickly forward
and in an instant Swain found himself slammed against the floor, face-down, the
weight of an enormous black foot pressed hard against his back. Holly
screamed. Swain was
pushed down against the floor, his hands spread out in front of him, his face
tilted sideways, one cheek flat against the cold marble floor. He struggled in
vain against the weight of the Karanadon. The beast
roared loudly and Swain looked up to see that he was still holding the lighter
in his left hand. On his left wrist, he saw his wristband, beeping insistently.
In a distant corner of his mind, he wondered how long they had before it
exploded. The
Karanadon saw the lighter. And Swain
watched in horror as an enormous black claw slowly descended upon — and clasped
around — his entire left forearm. It gripped his arm tightly. Squeezing it.
Cutting off the bloodflow. Swain saw his veins pop up everywhere. His arm was
about to snap in two— And then the
big creature banged his wrist, hard against the floor. Hard
against the floor. Swain roared
in agony as his wrist hit the marble floor. There was a loud clunking sound,
followed by a sharp burning pain that shot right through his forearm. With the
impact, his hand holding the lighter reflexively opened wide and the Zippo
dropped to the floor. Swain never
noticed it. And he had
instantly forgotten about the burning pain in his forearm. Now he was
staring. Staring at his left wrist in total disbelief. The
wristband had hit the floor, too. And the
force of the impact had unclasped it. Now it just rested loosely around Swain's
wrist, still beeping incessantly. Only now it
was unclasped. Now it was
off. Swain saw
the countdown. 12:20 12:19 12:18 And then
suddenly he felt a claw clutch the back of his head and push it roughly against
the floor. The weight on his back increased. Time for the
kill. Swain saw
the Zippo. On the floor. Within reach. The
Karanadon lowered its head. Swain
quickly grabbed the lighter and held it to the lowest shelf of the bookcase and
then he shut his eyes and prayed to God that once, just once, Jim Wilson's
stupid frigging lighter would work. He flicked
the cartwheel. The lighter
ignited for half a second, and that was all Swain needed. A
dust-covered book next to the Zippo burst instantly into flames, right in front
of the Karanadon. The big
beast roared as the fire flared in front of its head, the bristled fur on its
forehead catching alight. It pulled back instantly, releasing Swain, clutching
desperately at its flaming brow. Swain rolled
immediately and in one swift movement, removed the wristband from his wrist,
reached for the Karanadon's foot and clasped the band around one of the beast's
enormous toe-claws. The
wristband clicked into place around the toe. Clasped. And then
Swain was up. On his feet, running. He scooped up Holly, grabbed the Glock from
the floor nearby and raced for the massive glass doors of the library's
entrance. Behind him he could hear the wails and roars of the Karanadon. He came to
the doors, threw them open. And saw
about a dozen cars with revolving lights on their roofs parked out front. And
men with rifles. Running toward him through the rain. The National
Security Agency. 'It's the
police, Daddy. They're here to save us!' Swain
grabbed her hand and pulled her away from the doors, toward the stairwell. 'I don't
think those policemen are here to help us, honey,' Swain said as they ran.
'Remember what happened to Eliot's house in E.T.? Remember how the bad
guys put a big plastic bag around it?' They were
running hard. Almost at the stairwell now. 'Yeah.' Swain said,
'Well, the people who did that are the same people who are outside the library
now.' 'Oh.' They came to
the stairwell and started down the stairs. Swain
stopped. He could
hear voices… and shouts… and heavy footfalls coming from downstairs. The
NSA were already inside. They must
have come in through the parking lot. 'Quickly.
Upstairs. Now.' Swain pulled Holly back up the stairwell. They climbed
the stairs. And as they
ran past the fire door leading to the Ground Floor, they heard the loud
smashing sound of breaking glass, followed by more voices and shouts. —––ooo0ooo——— Swain shut
the door behind him. They were
inside the photocopying room on the First Floor. 'Quickly,'
he said to Holly, guiding her toward the Internet room, 'through there.' They entered
the Internet Facility of the New York State Library and Swain walked directly
over to one of the windows on the far side. It opened
easily and he leaned out. They were on
the western side of the building. Beneath him, Swain could see the grassy park
that surrounded the library. It was a fifteen-foot drop from the window to the
grass down below. He spun
around and looked up at the wires hanging down from the ceiling. 'Daddy,'
Holly said, 'what're we doing?' 'We're
getting out,' Swain said, reaching up for the ceiling, yanking on some of the
thick black wires. 'How?' 'Through the
window.' 'Through that
window?' 'Yep,' Swain
yanked some more wires out from various other outlets. He began to tie them
together, end to end. 'Oh,' Holly said. Swain walked
over to the open window again and with the butt of his gun, broke the glass.
Then he tied the end of the length of wire around the window's now-exposed
horizontal pane and knotted it tight. He looked
back to Holly. 'Come on,'
he said, jamming the gun back into his waistband. Holly
stepped forward tentatively. 'Jump on my
back and hold tight. I'll climb us both down to the ground.' Just then,
they heard shouts from inside the First Floor. Swain listened for a second.
They sounded like directions, orders. Someone telling someone else what to do.
The NSA were still searching. He wondered what had happened to the Karanadon.
They mustn't have found it yet. 'Okay, let's
go,' he said, helping Holly onto his back, piggyback style. She gripped him firmly. Then he
threw the length of wire out the window and began to climb out onto the ledge. 'Sir?'
a static-ridden voice said. James
Marshall picked up his radio. He was now standing outside the main entrance to
the library. The majestic glass doors in front of him were now shattered and
broken, totally destroyed by the NSA's bold entry only minutes earlier. It was the
radio operator in the van. 'What is
it?' Marshall said. 'Sir,
we have visual confirmation, I repeat, visual confirmation, of contact on two
floors. One in the lower parking structure and one on the Ground Floor.' 'Excellent,'
Marshall said. 'Just tell everyone not to touch anything until I say so.
Sterilisation procedures are in force. Anyone who comes within twenty feet of
one of those organisms will be presumed to be contaminated and quarantined
indefinitely.' 'Roger
that, sir?' 'Keep me
informed.' Marshall
switched the radio off. He rubbed
his hands together and looked up at the burning library above him. It was the
building that would skyrocket his career. 'Excellent,'
he said again. Swain
dropped to the grass and set Holly down beside him. They were
out. At last. It was
raining more heavily now. Swain looked for an escape. They were near the
south-west corner of the building. He remembered coming out of the subway
before. Over on the eastern side of the library. The
subway. Nobody would
care if they saw him on the subway — his clothes ragged and torn, Holly's not
much better. They would just be another bum and a kid living on the subway. It was the
way out, the way home. If they
could get past the NSA. Swain pulled
Holly eastward into the shelter of the southern wall of the library building,
the rain pelting down around them. They passed the broken window at ground
level that he had used to get inside before. Using the cover of the rain and
the shadows of the oak trees in the night, Swain hoped they could get past the
NSA undetected. They came to
the south-east corner. Beyond the
row of oaks, Swain could see the great white rotunda. And beyond the rotunda,
the subway station. Yellow
police tape still stretched from tree to tree around the library, forming a
wide perimeter. Swain saw a few NSA agents armed with M-l6s stationed on that perimeter,
their backs to the building, keeping the small crowd of helpless firefighters,
local cops and late-night onlookers at bay. There weren't many NSA agents, just
enough to secure the area. Swain guessed that most of the others were now
inside the building itself. 'All right,'
he said to Holly. 'You ready? It's time to go home.' 'Okay,'
Holly said. 'Get ready
to run.' Swain waited
for a second, peering around the corner of the building. 'All right, now!' They dashed
out from the building, across the open ground and into the treeline. They stopped
beneath a big oak, catching their breath. 'Are we
there yet?' Holly asked, breathless. 'Almost,'
Swain said. He pointed to the rotunda. 'That's where we go next. Then on to the
subway. You want me to carry you?' 'No, I'm
okay.' 'Good.
Ready?' 'Yes.' 'Then let's
go.' They ran
again. Out from the treeline. Out into the open. Boom. Marshall
felt the ground beneath him shudder. He was still
standing at the main entrance to the library. He looked inside, through the
broken glass doors, to see what was causing the vibration. Nothing.
Darkness. Boom. Marshall
frowned. Boom.
Boom. Boom. Something
was coming. Something big. And then he
saw it. Motherfucker… Marshall
didn't wait for another look. He just turned and ran — down the steps, away
from the entrance — a bare two seconds before the library's enormous doors were
blasted from their hinges like a pair of matchsticks. Swain and
Holly were halfway to the rotunda when it happened. A booming,
thunderous roar echoed across the park behind them. Swain stopped
and spun. The pouring rain pelted down against his face. 'Oh no,' he said. 'Not
again.' The
Karanadon was standing at the top of the steps of the main entrance. The huge
glass doors of the library, now totally destroyed, lay in pieces in front of
the enormous black beast. NSA agents were running in all directions to get away
from it. The
Karanadon paid no attention to the people fleeing from it. In fact, it didn't
even acknowledge their presence at all. It just stopped at the top of the steps
and stood there, its head turning in a slow, wide arc. Scanning the
area. Searching. Searching
for them. And then it
saw them. Exposed between the treeline and the big white rotunda, standing
there in the pouring rain. The huge
beast roared loudly. And then it
leapt forward and with frightening speed, covered the distance between the
library and the treeline in seconds. It bounded quickly forward, charging
through the sleeting rain, its every step shaking the muddy earth beneath it. Boom.
Boom. Boom. Swain and Holly
ran for the rotunda. They reached it and climbed the steps, up onto the
circular concrete stage. The
Karanadon hit the treeline and crashed through the branches of one of the giant
oaks, charging toward the rotunda. Then it
stopped. Ten yards away. And watched them for several seconds. They were
trapped on the stage. Marshall had
his radio out. 'I'll give you
fucking confirmation! The damn thing just charged out the front fucking
doors! Get someone over here right now!' The radio
crackled back. 'I don't
give a flying fuck what you're looking at! Get someone over here now and
tell them to bring the biggest gun we've got!' Swain led
Holly over to the far side of the stage. He picked her up as the Karanadon
moved slowly closer. The rain drummed loudly on the roof of the rotunda. 'Stay down,'
Swain said, as he lowered Holly over the railing at the edge of the stage. She
dropped lightly to the ground, six feet below. The
Karanadon reached the base of the rotunda. The pouring rain had wet its fur,
slicking it down like a dog's. A running trickle of rainwater ran down a crease
in its long black snout, dripped ominously off one of its huge canine teeth. The big
beast took a slow step up the stairs. Swain moved
in an arc around the circumference of the stage, away from Holly. The
Karanadon stepped up onto the stage. It stared at
Swain. There was an
endless, tense silence. Swain drew
his Glock. The
Karanadon growled in response. A low, angry growl. Neither of
them moved. And then
suddenly Swain made a break for the railing and the Karanadon bounded forward
after him. Swain
reached the railing and had just started to vault over it when a giant black
claw snatched his collar and snapped him backwards, and he landed in the centre
of the concrete stage with a loud smack. The
Karanadon stood astride Stephen Swain and lowered its snout until it was
face-to-face with him. It had his gun hand pinned to the stage beneath one of
its massive hairy claws. Swain tried
in vain to turn away from its hideous fangs, its foul hot breath, its dark
wrinkled snout, set in a perpetual sneer. The
Karanadon cocked its head slightly, seemingly daring him to escape. It was then
that Swain turned his head and saw the beast's hind foot step forward. A wave of
terror flooded through his body as he saw the wristband that he had worn for
the duration of the Presidian right in front of his eyes. 'Oh, man…'
he said aloud. The
countdown was still ticking downward. 1:01 1:00 0:59 Only one
minute to detonation. Holy
shit. He began to
wriggle and squirm, but the Karanadon held him down. It seemed totally unaware
of the bomb attached to its foot. Swain looked
around the rotunda for an escape — at the white lattice handrail that circled
the stage, at the six pillars supporting the dome-like roof. There was a small
wooden box attached to the handrail, but its door was padlocked shut. In a
detached corner of his mind, Swain wondered what the box was for. There
was nothing here. Absolutely nothing he could use. He had
finally run out of options. Then
suddenly, there came a voice. 'Hello…?' The
Karanadon's head snapped up instantly, turned around. Swain could
still see the numbers counting down on the wristband inches away from his face. 0:48 0:47 0:46 'Hello? Yes.
Over here.' Swain
recognised the voice. It was
Holly. He looked
up. She was standing over near the edge of the stage, the rain slanting down
behind her like a curtain. The Karanadon swivelled to look at her— —and
abruptly something small smacked against the Karanadon's snout. It dropped to
the ground next to Swain's head. It was a black school shoe. A girl's school
shoe. Holly had thrown it at the Karanadon! The big
beast growled. A deep-chested rumble of pure, animal anger. 0:37 0:36 0:35 Then it
slowly lifted its foot, moving toward Holly. 'Holly!'
Swain yelled. 'Get out of here! It still has the wristband on and it'll blow in
thirty seconds!' Holly was
momentarily startled. Then, in an instant, she understood and she began to run,
leaping down the steps, vanishing from Swain's sight out into the park. The
Karanadon took one step forward in pursuit of her and then it stopped dead in
its tracks. And turned
around. 0:30 0:29 0:28 It still
hadn't released Swain's gun hand — still had it pinned down against the stage. Swain
struggled vainly against the giant creature's grip, but it was useless. The
Karanadon was just too damn strong. 0:23 0:22 0:21 And then,
just then, as he squirmed, something on the stage scraped against Swain's back. Swain
frowned — and saw that he had brushed up against a part of the stage that
wasn't perfectly flush against the floor. A small
square of wood, sunken fractionally into the stage. It was a
trapdoor. The same
trapdoor that he had seen used in the summer pantomimes over previous years. He was lying
on top of it. And then,
realising, Swain's head snapped around — and his eyes fell on the small
padlocked wooden box that he had seen attached to the lattice handrail before. Now he knew
what that box was for. It
housed the controls for the trapdoor. 0:18 0:17 The
Karanadon stood over him, growling. 0:16 0:15 Even though
his gun hand was still being held down by the beast, Swain's pistol was aimed
roughly at the trapdoor's control box. 0:14 0:13 Swain fired.
Hit the top corner of the box. The Karanadon roared. 0:12 0:11 He adjusted
his aim. Fired again. This time the bullet hit the box closer to the padlock. 0:10 Third
timers the charm… he thought, narrowing his eyes. Blam! Swain fired
and… shwack! … the padlock snapped open, smashed by the bullet! 0:09 The control
box's door swung open, revealing a large red lever inside. Simple operation:
you pulled the lever down and the trapdoor on the stage dropped open. 0:08 Swain fired
again, this time at the lever. Missed. He stole a glance up at the Karanadon — just
in time to see one of its mighty black fists come rushing down at his face!
Swain swung his head to the side, just as the gigantic black-clawed fist
smashed into the stage right next to his ear, punching a hole clean
through the trapdoor. The Karanadon raised its free claw again, for what would
no doubt be the final blow. 0:07 Swain saw
the big claw rise. He loosed several shots at the lever in rapid succession. Blam!
Blam! Blam'. Blam! Miss. Miss.
Miss. Miss. 0:06 The
Karanadon's claw reached the height of its back-swing. Its knuckles cracked
loudly as it tightened into a fist. 'Goddamn
it!' Swain shouted at himself. 'Focus!' The
Karanadon's fist came rushing down— Swain looked
down the barrel of his gun— —and
suddenly the lever came into crystal-clear focus. 'Gotcha,' he said. Blam. The gun
discharged and the bullet whistled through the air and this time… … crack!
… … it slammed
into the lever, severing it at its hinge in an explosion of sparks, causing
the whole lever mechanism to snap and fall and— 0:05 Whack! Without
warning, the trapdoor beneath Swain dropped away. 0:04 The
Karanadon's fist hit nothing but air as it came rushing down, missing Swain's
nose by centimetres as he dropped unexpectedly from beneath the massive beast,
falling like a stone into the belly of the stage. Swain landed
with a dusty thump in darkness. 0:03 He saw the
Karanadon on the stage above him, standing in a square of light, glaring down
at him through the hole that only moments before had been the trapdoor. Move! He looked
right and saw a vertical sliver of light in the darkness — a sliver of light
that indicated the small wooden door that led out from underneath the stage. 0:02 Swain
scrambled toward the little wooden door, firing his gun as he did so,
pockmarking the door with holes, hoping to God he would hit the padlock on the
other side. 0:01 And then he
rammed into the door with his shoulder and it burst open before him and he
flailed out into the pouring rain and landed clumsily on the wet grass that
surrounded the stage. 0:00. Cataclysm. —––ooo0ooo——— The
explosion from the wristband — white-hot and blinding — blasted out
horizontally, like a thousand-mile-an-hour ripple in a pond. Swain
scrambled on his hands and knees and pressed himself up against the concrete
base of the stage as the white-hot wall of light expanded laterally — and
spectacularly — above his head. He saw Holly on the ground over by the trees,
her hands covering her ears. The
Karanadon simply disappeared as the brilliant white explosion shot outward from
it, shattering all six of the pillars supporting the domed roof of the rotunda
— reducing them to powder in an instant — and the massive white dome, without
its supports, came crashing down onto the stage. Behind
Swain's back, the thick concrete base of the stage cracked under the weight of
the explosion, but held. White
concrete dust and about a billion flakes of paint fluttered in the air before
the pouring rain broke them up, dispersing them. Swain stood
up slowly and stared at the rotunda, its huge domed roof now crumpled flat on
its stage, the rain beating mercilessly down upon it. There would
be nothing left of the Karanadon, the explosion had been too big, too hot. The
Karanadon was gone. Swain
hurried over to Holly and picked her up. He saw NSA
agents running toward them through the rain, and was about to break for it,
when it happened. Suddenly. Unexpectedly. Concurrent
explosions — six of them — white-hot balls of light, bursting spectacularly
from different sections of the library. The biggest
explosion came from the Third Floor. It seemed to be a combination of two
separate explosions, twice the size of the other white fireballs that boomed
out from the Ground and Second Floors of the library. Glass
blasted outwards from nearly every window of the New York State Library. People
all around the building were diving for cover when suddenly an underground explosion
— strangely, right where the underground parking lot was situated — dispatched
a large oak tree clear from its roots, sending a gout of soil and grass flying
into the rainsoaked sky. Shrouded by
a veil of slanting rain, the whole library was ablaze with fire now. Flames
poured out from every window and as Stephen Swain led his daughter
inconspicuously away from the pandemonium, he saw the Third Floor cave in on
itself and crumble downwards, crushing the Second and First Floors. The
building's roof was still intact when the sixth and last explosion rocked the
library and the strangest sight of all appeared. An empty
elevator — rocketing upward through the shaft — burst through the roof of the
building and shot up into the sky, reaching the height of its parabolic arc and
then falling, flying, crashing, back down onto the roof. It was then
that the roof itself caved in and the New York State Library — amid the sound
of girders creaking and explosions multiplying and fires burning — collapsed in
a blaze of glory and, despite the pouring rain, began to burn itself into
oblivion. James
Marshall stared in dumbstruck awe at the fiery demise of the building that had
promised him so much. There had been nearly thirty agents inside that building
when the explosions had gone off. None could have survived. Marshall
just stood there, watching the building burn. They would get nothing from this
building. Just as they would get nothing from the rotunda. Marshall himself had
seen the big black creature crash through the main entrance. And he had seen it
explode. A white-hot
— micro-nuclear? — explosion like that would not leave much behind. Christ, it
wouldn't leave anything behind. Marshall put
his hands in his pockets and walked back to his car. Phone calls had to be
made. Explanations had to be given. This night
had been the closest they had ever come to contact. Perhaps the closest they
would ever come. And now? Now
what did they have? Nothing. —––ooo0ooo——— Stephen
Swain sat on the subway train with his daughter asleep in his lap. At every
jolt of the train, they would tilt and sway with the other four passengers in
their carriage. It was late and the near-empty train would get them to the
outskirts of New York City. From there they would catch a cab — an expensive
cab — back to Connecticut. Back home. Holly slept
peacefully in Swain's lap, occasionally rolling over to make herself more
comfortable. Swain smiled
sadly. He had
forgotten about the wristbands that all the contestants in the Presidian had to
wear. When the electrified walls had disappeared, their wristbands — like his —
must have also been set to detonate. So when the Karanadon had exploded with
Swain's wristband, the other wristbands had gone off, too, wherever they
happened to be — Reese's in the underground parking lot, Balthazar's on the
Third Floor, and even Bellos', at the bottom of the elevator shaft. Swain looked
at his clothes — greasy, black, and in some places, bloody. Nobody on the train
seemed to care. He laughed
softly to himself. Then he closed his eyes and leaned back into his seat as the
train rumbled off through the tunnel toward home. EPILOGUE New York City 1 December, 4:52 a.m. Workers on
the New York Subway called it the Mole, an ordinary electric engine from a
subway train that had been converted into a street-sweeper on rails. Late at
night, when subway services were at a minimum, the Mole would amble through the
tunnels, its rotating forward sweepers scooping up any debris that might have
fallen onto the tracks during the previous day. At the end of its run, all that
debris would be tipped from the Mole into a furnace and destroyed. Later that
night, the Mole made its usual trip through the subway tunnel adjoining the
State Library. And as it passed the Con Edison Booster Valve, the driver began
to doze. He never
noticed the open doorway, never noticed the crumpled interior — packed solid
with collapsed bricks and fragmented concrete. And he never
noticed the soft clink-clink of metal on metal that rattled underneath
the Mole as it went past the Booster Valve. The Mole
ambled off down the tunnel, and all that remained in its wake was a pair of
handcuffs, clasped to the track. AN
INTERVIEW WITH MATTHEW REILLY THE
WRITING OF CONTEST What
inspired you to write Contest? There were two key
inspirations for me to actually sit down and write Contest. First, the
works of Michael Crichton. I still believe that Dr Crichton is the best
storyteller in the world today. Not only are his stories original, they are
also told at a cracking pace. Back in 1993, the year after I finished high
school, my brother, Stephen, gave me a book and said, 'I'm told Steven
Spielberg is going to make this into a movie, it's about a theme park built
around genetically-engineered dinosaurs.' More than any other book I have read,
Jurassic Park made me want to tell big action stories (especially
stories with big scary 'animal' elements). In terms of the story, the
inspiration to write Contest came from my love of sports. I think there
is drama in any kind of competition. All I did to turn that into a story was to
make my contest the ultimate contest — if you win, you live; if you
lose, you die. Contest originally
appeared in late 1996 in self-published form. What are the differences — if
any — between the self-published version and this one? In terms of the overall
story, there are no differences. Structurally, it is exactly the same now as it
was back in 1996. The differences come in the finer detail — in the way Swain
does battle with the other contestants. The biggest alterations I made were in
the 'final confrontation' scenes involving Swain and the three big villains of
the book: Bellos, Reese and the Karanadon. In the original version of the book,
these scenes were not as complex. Now they are bigger, badder and meaner. The other big change was the
addition of the Konda and the Rachnid. In the 1996 version, these two
contestants weren't named or described. The reason for this was simple: when I
originally wrote the book, I dreamed up six different alien species (Reese,
Bellos, the Codex, Balthazar, the hoods and the Karanadon) and I just couldn't
think up any more! But after a few years of thinking about Contest, I
came up with these two extra species. So I put them in. Apart from those, there are a
lot of small changes, ranging from tightening the narrative in places to
telling the reader how Swain's wife died, a piece of backstory that didn't
appear in the self-published edition. You
mentioned that there are 'big scary animal elements' in your novels. Tell us
about the various creatures in your books. Why are they there and why do you
choose the ones you do? I wish I could think of some
loftier purpose, but the true reason for the big scary animal elements is very
simple: they're there to eat people. I think there is nothing better in a book
or movie than to see someone running from a big scary creature (think Jurassic
Park, Jaws, or Aliens). As for why I choose
the creatures I choose, well, in Ice Station, for instance, I selected
killer whales and elephant seals because I wanted the water to be a dangerous
place — kind of like Jaws. The elephant seals were also the guardians,
so to speak, of the underground cavern — making it a challenge to get there. In
Temple I went one step further, and tried to make land and water
dangerous places to be. There I used rapas (big, black, five-foot-tall cats
which are the subject of myths in South America) and caimans (large
crocodilians). I chose those animals because I wanted Temple to be
darker and scarier than Ice Station. As for Contest, well, as any
Hollywood screenwriter will tell you, the best creatures of all are the ones
you make up. For when you create an alien species, there are absolutely no
limits. They can bleed acid (Alien), they can see via infra-red (Predator),
or they can just be bigger, meaner and nastier than the biggest, meanest
and nastiest Earth-based creatures. Do you
have the ending in your head when you start writing a new novel? Ah, yes! This is Frequently
Asked Question No. 1. Whenever I meet people and they discover I am an author,
they always ask this question! The answer is: yes… usually. The reason I say 'yes … usually'
is because I feel that some flexibility is always required. For example, the last line of
Temple (which I won't give away, for those who haven't read it) was
something that occurred to me halfway through writing the book. I love that
line, and it's a great reason to remain flexible. As for Contest, one
question that nagged me all the way through the writing process was: How the
hell am I going to kill the Karanadon? The answer — using Swain's wrist-band
— came to me completely out of the blue. It just hit me. I started dancing
around the house, pumping my fists in the air. It was so neat, so tidy, it
saved Swain and yet it left no trace of the Karanadon. But neat as it appears
in the book, it was not something I knew from the very start. Again,
flexibility. I see you
have a new author photo for this book. Any reason for the change? Yes — too much grief from my
friends! Some took to calling me 'Mr Suave' because of the old photo! I kind of
liked it, but it was getting a little dated (it was taken in 1997, before I had
glasses). The new one looks more like the real me! Any final
words? As always, I just hope you
all enjoyed the book, and I hope to see you next time. MR Sydney November 2000 MATTHEW REILLY CONTEST Version
1.0 ISBN
0 330 48995 X Copyright
© Matthew Reilly 2000 For
Mum and Dad ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS Special
thanks to Stephen Reilly, my brother — marketing genius, tortured writer
(aren't we all?) and loyal friend. To Natalie Freer — the first person to read
my work, and the most patient and giving person on this earth. To my parents
for letting me watch too much television as a kid and for their unwavering
support. And to Peter Kozlina for his monumental show of faith in this book before
he had even read a word. And of course, thanks once again to everyone at Pan
Macmillan — Cate Paterson, for being a brilliant publisher; Jane Novak, for
being a fantastic publicist (and for being the only person I know who could
read Voss and then pick up Ice Station and enjoy them both!);
Julie Nekich, for being an understanding editor (you have to be to work with
me); and lastly, once again, all the sales reps at Pan for the countless hours
they spend on the road between bookshops. Thank you. To anyone
out there who knows a writer, never underestimate the power of your
encouragement. A note from the author about Contest Hello there.
Matthew Reilly here. Now before
we get on with the show, I'd like, if I may, to share with you a few secrets
about Contest. First of
all, as some of you may already know, Contest was my first novel. The
story of how I self-published it after every major publisher in Sydney rejected
it has been pretty well documented elsewhere, so I won't go into that here.
Suffice it to say that only 1000 copies of Contest were ever released,
all paid for by yours truly. And then
came Ice Station. Now, many
people have taken the time to tell me what a ride they found Ice Station to
be. Such comments please me immensely because that is what it was supposed to
be — a non-stop rollercoaster ride on paper. What few
people know, however, is that when I wrote Ice Station, I had one
all-consuming goal: to top Contest. Contest
is the book that made Ice Station (and later Temple) what
it was. If it doesn't seem as large in scale as its two successors, it is
because it was the first. It was the prototype upon which they were built; a
prototype for a different style of book — a superfast-paced, absolutely non-stop
thriller. Everybody has to start somewhere. I started with Contest. That said, I
think the story in Contest is easily the fastest of all my books. It is
like a sports car stripped down to its raw components — wheels, frame, engine.
No fancy paintwork. No fancy upholstery. Just raw nonstop energy. As any
author will tell you, you only get one first book. And that first one always
occupies a special place in your heart. Contest is like that for me. It
was the first one, and now as I look back on it, I can see without a doubt that
it set the tone for everything to come. I truly hope
you have as much fun reading it as I did writing it. Matthew
Reilly November 2000 Do
I dare Disturb
the universe? -
T. S. Eliot INTRODUCTION From: Hoare, Shane Suetonius: The Picture of Rome (New York, Advantage Press,
1979) 'CHAPTER
VII: THE FIRST CENTURY A.D. …
ultimately, however, it is Suetonius' classic work, Lives of the Emperors, that
provides us with the best picture of court life in Imperial Rome. Here
Suetonius might well be writing a modern day soap opera, as he outlines the
lust, the cruelty, the intrigues and the numerous insidiae — or plots —
that dominated life in the Emperor's presence…' [p. 98] '… not least
of whom was Domitian, who, although well-known for his ex-tempore executions
of scheming courtesans, provides perhaps the most brutal of all examples of
Roman intrigue — that of Quintus Aurelius. A
distinguished former captain in the Roman army who rose to prominence in the
Senate under Domitian, Aurelius apparently fell out of favour with the Emperor
in 87 A.D. Initially recruited by Domitian to aid him in military matters,
Aurelius was also a prolific writer, who not only instructed Domitian on
military strategy, but who also committed those instructions to his own
personal record. Much of this writing has survived to the present day, dated
and intact. However,
Quintus Aurelius' writing ceased abruptly in the year 87 A.D. All
correspondence between senator and Emperor was severed. Aurelius' personal
record cited no further entries. There was no mention of Aurelius in Senate
documents from that year onward. Quintus
Aurelius had disappeared. Some
historians have speculated that Aurelius — who, it was said, would appear in
the Senate in fall military attire — simply fell out of favour with Domitian,
while others have proposed that Aurelius was discovered plotting…' [p. 103] From: Freer, Donald From Medieval to Modern: Europe 1010-1810 (London, W. M. Lawry & Co.,
1963) '… by
comparison, the wheat riots in Cornwall were but a trifle when compared with
the confusion that overwhelmed a small farming community in West Hampshire in
the spring of 1092. Historians
have long pondered over the fate of Sir Alfred Hayes, the Lord of Palmerston
Estate, whose disappearance in 1092 upset the entire feudal balance of his
small agrarian community in West Hampshire…' [p. 45] '… However,
the most startling aspect of the whole affair is that if Hayes did, in fact,
die suddenly (of cholera or anything else for that matter), why was his death
not listed in the local church register as had always been the custom? A man so
renowned for his past glory on the battlefield, and of such stature in the
community, would not be overlooked by the death registrar. The sad fact is that
since no body was ever found, no death was ever recorded. Writing
after his lord's disappearance, the local abbot of West Hampshire observed
that, apart from necessary military excursions, Sir Alfred had never left West
Hampshire before, and that during the days immediately prior to his
disappearance, he had been seen about the village carrying out his business as
usual. It was odd, the abbot wrote, that here was a man who could be 'certified
as born', but who had, officially, never died. Putting
aside all medieval myths of witchery and demonic intervention, the facts are
quite straightforward: in the spring of 1092, Sir Alfred Hayes, Lord of
Palmerston Estate, West Hampshire, simply vanished from the face of the earth.'
[p. 46] CONTEST PROLOGUE New York City 30 November, 2:01 a.m. Mike Fraser
pressed himself flat against the black wall of the tunnel. He squeezed his eyes
shut as he tried to block out the roar of the subway train flashing by in front
of him. The dirt and dust kicked up by the speeding train hit his face like a
thousand pin-pricks. It hurt, but he didn't care. He was almost there. And then,
just as soon as it had come, the train was gone, its thunderous rumble slowly
fading into the blackness of the tunnel. Fraser opened his eyes. Against the
black backdrop of the wall, the whites of his eyes were all that could be seen.
He peeled himself away from the wall and brushed off the dirt that had clung to
his clothes. Black clothes. It was two
o'clock in the morning, and while the rest of New York slept, Mike Fraser was
going about his work. Silently and swiftly, he made his way up the subway
tunnel until he found what he was looking for. An old
wooden door, set into the tunnel wall, held shut by a solitary padlock. Pasted
across the door was a sign. NO ENTRY — BOOSTER VALVE HIGH VOLTAGE AREA CONSOLIDATED EDISON PERSONNEL
ONLY Fraser
examined the padlock. Stainless steel, combination lock, pretty new. He checked
the hinges of the old wooden door. Yes, much easier. His crowbar
fitted snugly behind the hinges. Crack! Status
Check: Initialise program systems. Officials
in charge of third element please
confirm delivery. The door
fell from its frame, and dangling from the padlock, swung silently into
Fraser's waiting hand. He peered
inside the doorway, slipped the crowbar back into his belt and stepped inside. Large
box-shaped electricity meters lined the walls of the booster valve room. Thick
black cables snaked their way across the ceiling. There was a door on the far
side. Fraser headed straight for it. Once through
the booster valve room, he made his way down a narrow, dimly lit passageway
until he came to a small red door. It opened easily and as Fraser looked out
from the doorway, he smiled at the view. Endless rows
of bookshelves — each one rising from floor to ceiling — stretched away from
him as far as the eye could see. Old and faded fluorescent lights lined each
aisle, but at night only every third one was on. The lights themselves were so
old that the whiteness of their fluorescent tubes had gone a mouldy ivory
colour and a powder of oxidised fluorine had settled inside them. Their sickly
state gave the lowest floor of the New York State Library a haunting yellowish
glow. The New York
State Library. One hundred years old, a silent sanctuary of history and
knowledge — and also the owner of twelve brand-new Pentium III computers whose
hard drives would soon be in the back room of Mike Fraser's apartment. Fraser
checked the lock on the door. Safety lock. From the
booster room you didn't need a key, but from the library side you did. One of
those automatically closing doors designed to keep the curious out, but not to
accidentally lock the electricity workers in. Fraser
thought for a moment. If he had to make a hasty escape, he wouldn't have time
to pick the lock. He searched around for an answer. That'll
work, he thought, spying the nearest bookshelf. He grabbed the first
book he could reach and wedged it on the floor between the red door and its
frame. The door now
safely ajar, Fraser hustled down the nearest aisle. Soon the small red door
marked BOOSTER VALVE — NO STAFF ACCESS PERMITTED was but a tiny square in the
distance behind him. Mike Fraser didn't even notice, he knew exactly where he
was going now. Terry Ryan
looked at his watch — again. It was 2:15
a.m. Four minutes after he'd last looked. Ryan sighed. Jesus, the time crawled
on this job. Status
Check: Officials in charge of third element confirm
delivery complete. Idly, Ryan
peered out through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows of the atrium of the
New York State Library. Nothing stirred on the streets outside. He touched
the gun by his side and grunted a laugh. Security guards in a library — a library,
for God's sake. The pay was the same, he guessed, and so long as that kept
coming, Terry Ryan didn't care what they asked him to guard. He continued
to stroll around the atrium, whistling quietly to himself— Clink-clink. He froze. A noise. There it was
again: clink-clink. Ryan held
his breath. It had come from the left. He drew his gun. Behind the
Information Desk, Mike Fraser swore as he picked his screwdriver up from the
floor. He peered out over the counter. No one to
the left. Nor to the right. He let out a deep breath. No one had— 'Freeze!' Fraser
snapped around. He took in the scene quickly. Security guard. Gun. Maybe
fifteen metres, twenty at the most. As if there was a choice. 'I said,
freeze!' Terry Ryan yelled. But the thief had already made a break for it. Ryan
broke into a run. Books on
shelves became streaking blurs of colour as Fraser bolted down a narrow aisle.
His heart pounded loudly inside his head. And then suddenly he saw the door.
And the sign: stairs. Fraser hit
the stairs running, grabbing the banister, sliding down the first flight. The
security guard, Ryan, flew in two seconds later, taking the stairs three at a
time. Down and
down, round and round, Fraser went, clinging to the banister, hauling himself
around at every turn. He saw the door at the bottom. He flew down the last
flight of stairs and hit the door at full speed. It burst open easily — too
easily — and Fraser went sprawling face-first onto the hard wood floor. He could
hear heavy footsteps bounding down the stairs behind him. Fraser
reached for the nearest bookshelf to hoist himself up and immediately felt a
searing pain rip through his right arm. It was then that he saw his wrist. It
had taken the full weight of the fall, and now, bent grotesquely backwards, it
was undoubtedly broken. Teeth
clenched, Fraser hauled himself up with his good arm and had just made it to
his feet when— 'You stay
right where you are.' The voice
was soft and sure. Fraser
turned around slowly. In the
doorway behind him stood the security guard, with his gun levelled at Mike
Fraser's head. Ryan pulled
out his handcuffs and threw them to the injured thief. 'Put 'em
on.' Fraser
closed his eyes in disgust. 'Why don't you,' he began, 'kiss… my… ass!' Then
suddenly, like a wounded animal, he lunged at the guard. Without a
blink, Ryan raised his gun and fired it into the air above the fallen thief's
head. The booming
shot rang out in the silence of the library. Fraser
dropped back to the floor as small white flakes of plaster began to flutter
down around his head. Ryan stepped
forward into the aisle, tightened his grip on his pistol, reasserted his aim at
Fraser's head. 'I said, put
'em on. So put—' Ryan's eyes darted left. 'What was that?' Fraser heard
it, too. And then —
ominously — it came again. A long, slow
growl. Like the snort of a pig. Only louder. Much louder. 'What the
hell was that?' Fraser said quickly. Boom.
A loud, dull thud. The floor
shook. 'There's
something down here…' Fraser whispered. Boom.
Again. The two men
stood there frozen. Ryan looked
down the aisle beyond Fraser. It stretched endlessly away from them,
disappearing into darkness. Silence. Dead
silence. The wooden
floor was still again. 'Let's get
the fuck outta here,' Fraser hissed. 'Shh!' 'There's
somethin' down here, man!' Fraser raised his voice. Boom. A tremor
shook the floor again. A book
teetering on the edge of a shelf fell to the floor. 'Let's go!'
Fraser cried. Boom.
Boom. Boom. Books began
to fall off the shelves in bundles. Ryan leaned
forward, grabbed Fraser by the collar. He pulled the thief's lace up to his
own. 'For God's
sake, shut up,' he whispered. 'Whatever it is, it's hearing your voice. And if
you keep talking—' Ryan stopped
abruptly, and frowned at Fraser. The young thief's eyes were wide with fear,
his lower lip quivering madly, his whole expression one of total and utter
disbelief. Ryan felt
his blood run cold. Fraser
was looking over his shoulder. Whatever
'it' was, it snorted again, and as it did so Ryan felt a wave of hot air rush
across the back of his neck. It was
behind him. It
was right behind him! The gun went
off as Ryan was yanked bodily off the floor. Fraser dropped to the ground,
staring at the hulking mass of blackness before him. Ryan
screamed as he struggled uselessly in the powerful arms of the dark shape. And
then suddenly, the creature bellowed loudly and hurled him through the nearest
bookshelf. Books cascaded everywhere as Ryan's body doubled over and crashed right
through the old wooden casing. The massive
black shape lumbered around the bookshelf, looking for the body on the other
side. In the dull yellow light, Fraser could see long black bristles flowing
over a high, arched back, saw demonic pointed ears and powerful muscular limbs,
caught glimpses of matted black hair and gigantic scythe-like claws. Whatever it
was, it picked up Ryan's body like a rag doll and dragged it back around to the
aisle where Fraser sat. The flight
through the bookshelf must have broken Ryan's back, Fraser guessed, but the
security guard wasn't dead yet. Fraser could hear him moaning softly as the
creature lifted him to the ceiling. It was then
that Ryan screamed. A shrill,
ear-piercing, inhuman scream. To his
absolute horror, Fraser saw what was going to happen next and he put his hand
up over his face just as he heard the sickening crack and an instant
later, he felt a torrent of warmth wash all over the front of his body. Ryan's
scream cut off abruptly and Fraser heard the beast roar a final time, followed
by the thunderous crunching of wooden shelves. And then
there was nothing. Silence. Total and
utter silence. Slowly,
Fraser removed his hand from his face. The beast
was gone. The guard's body lay there in front of him, twisted and mangled,
motionless. One of the bookshelves to his right lay horribly askew, wrenched
free from its ceiling mountings. Blood was everywhere. Fraser
didn't move, couldn't move. And so he
just sat there, alone, in the cold emptiness of the New York State Library, and
waited for the dawn. FIRST MOVEMENT 30 November, 1:27 p.m. The sun
shone brightly over Norwood Elementary School. It was lunchtime and groups of
schoolchildren were out playing on the school's enormous grassy playing field. Status
Check: Initialise electrification systems. Norwood was
one of the leading private elementary schools in Connecticut. An impressive
academic record — and one of the biggest building funds in America — had made
it one of the sought-after schools for the well-to-do. At the
bottom corner of the grassy playing area, a cluster of children had gathered.
And in the middle of this cluster stood Holly Swain, nose-to-nose with Thomas
Jacobs. 'He is not,
Tommy.' 'Is too.
He's a murderer!' The crowd of
children gathered around the two combatants gasped at the word. Holly tried
to compose herself. The white lace collar of her uniform was beginning to feel
very tight now and she was determined not to let it show. She shook her head
sadly, raised her nose a little higher. 'You're so
childish, Tommy. Such a boy.' The girls
behind her chirped similar comments in support. 'How can you
call me childish when you're only in the third grade?' Tommy retorted.
The group assembled behind him echoed their agreement. 'Don't be so
immature?' Holly said. Good, word, she thought. Tommy
hesitated. 'Yeah, well, he's still a murderer.' 'He is not.' 'He killed a
man, didn't he?' 'Well, yes,
but…' 'Then he's a
murderer.' Tommy looked around himself for support. 'Murderer! Murderer!
Murderer!' The group behind him joined in. 'Murderer!
Murderer! Murderer!' Holly felt
her fists clench by her side, felt her collar tighten around her neck. She
remembered her father. Be a lady. Got to be a lady. She spun
around, her blonde ponytail flinging around her shoulders. The girls around her
were shaking their heads at the taunts of the boys. Holly took a deep breath.
She smiled to her friends. Got to be a lady. Behind her,
the boys' chant continued. 'Murderer!
Murderer! Murderer!' Finally,
Tommy called out above the chant, 'If her father's a murderer, then Holly Swain
will probably grow up to be a murderer, too!' 'Yeah! Yeah,
she will!' his group urged. Holly's
smile went flat. Slowly —
ever so slowly — she turned back around to face Tommy. A hush fell over the
crowd. Holly
stepped closer. Tommy chuckled, glancing around at his friends. Only now his
supporters were silent. 'Now I'm
upset,' Holly said flatly. 'I think you'd better take back those things you've
been saying. Would you, please?' Tommy
smirked and then he leaned forward. 'Nope.' 'Okay,
then,' Holly said, smiling politely. She looked down at her uniform,
straightened her skirt. Then she hit
him. Hard. The clinic
had become a battlefield. Glass exploded
everywhere as test tubes exploded against the walls. The nurses leapt clear of
the melee, hurriedly moving the multi-million-dollar equipment out of the line
of fire. Dr Stephen
Swain burst out of the adjoining observation room and immediately set about
calming the source of the storm — a 57-year-old, 240-pound, big-busted woman
named Rosemary Pederman, a guest of St Luke's Hospital, New York City, on
account of a small abnormality in her brain known as a cerebral aneurism. 'Mrs
Pederman! Mrs Pederman!' Swain called. 'It's okay. It's okay. Just calm down,'
he said gently. 'What seems to be the problem?' 'The
problem?' Rose Pederman spat. 'The problem, young man, is that I will
not put my head in that… that thing… until someone tells me exactly what
it does!' As she
spoke, she jerked her chin at the enormous Magnetic Resonance Imaging — or MRI
— machine which occupied the centre of the room. 'Come on,
Mrs Pederman,' Swain said sternly. 'We've been through this before.' Rose
Pederman pouted, child-like. 'The MRI
will not harm you in any way—' 'Young man. How
does it work?' Swain pursed
his lips tightly. At 39, he
was the youngest ever partner in Borman & White, the radiologist
collective, and for a very simple reason — Swain was good. He could see
things in an X-ray or a CAT-scan that no-one else could, and on more than one
occasion, had saved lives by doing so. This fact,
however, was difficult to impress upon older patients since Swain —
sandy-haired and clean-shaven, with a lean physique and sky-blue eyes — looked
about ten years younger than his actual age. Except for the fresh red
vertical scar that cut down across his lower lip, a feature which seemed to age
him, he could have passed for a third-year resident. 'You want to
know how it works?' Swain said seriously. He resisted the urge to look at his
watch. He had somewhere to be. But then, Rose Pederman had gone through six
radiologists already and this had to stop. 'Yes, I do,'
she said stubbornly. 'Okay. Mrs
Pederman, the process you are about to undertake is called Magnetic Resonance
Imaging. It's not unlike a CAT-scan, in that it generates a cross-sectional
scan of your skull. Only instead of using photovoltaic methods, we use
controlled magnetic energy to re-align the ambient electrostatic conductivity
in your head in order to create a three-dimensional composite cross-section of
your cranium.' 'What?' 'The magnet
in the MRI machine affects the natural electricity in your body, Mrs Pederman,
giving us a perfect picture of the inside of your head.' 'Oh, well…'
Mrs Pederman's lethal frown instantly transformed itself into a beaming,
maternal smile. 'That's quite all right then. That was all you had to tell me,
lovey.' An hour
later, Swain burst through the doors of the surgeon's locker room. 'Am I too
late?' he said. Dr James
Wilson — a red-haired paediatrician who, ten years previously, had been the
best man at Swain's wedding — was already moving quickly toward him. He hurled
Swain's briefcase to Swain. 'It's 14-13 to the Giants. If we hurry, we can catch
the last two quarters at McCafferty's. Come on, this way. We'll go through the
ER.' 'Thanks for
waiting,' Swain hurried to keep up with his friend's rapid strides. 'Hey, it's
your game,' Wilson said as he walked. The Giants
were playing the Redskins and Wilson knew that Swain had been waiting a long
time for this game. It had something to do with Swain living in New York and
his father who lived back in D.C. 'Say,'
Wilson said, 'how's that lip healing up?' 'It's okay.'
Swain touched the vertical scar on his lower lip. 'Still a bit tender. Got the
stitches out last week.' Wilson
turned as he walked, grinning. 'Makes you look even uglier than you already
are.' 'Thanks.' Wilson
arrived at the door to the emergency room, opened it— —and was
immediately met by the pretty face of Emma Johnson, one of the floating nurses
at St Luke's. The two men
stopped instantly. 'Hey, Steve,
how are you?' Emma looked only at Swain. 'Gettin'
there,' he replied. 'How about you?' A coy cock
of the head. 'I'm good.' 'I'm fine, too,'
Jim Wilson chimed in. 'Not that anyone seems to care…' Emma said to
Swain: 'You wanted me to remind you about your meeting with Detective Dickson,
about the … incident. Don't forget you have to see him at five.' 'Right,'
Swain nodded, absently stroking the cut on his lower lip. 'No problem. I can do
that after the game.' 'Oh, I
almost forgot,' Emma added. 'You got another message. Norwood Elementary called
about ten minutes ago. They want to know if you can come down there right away.
Holly's been fighting again.' Swain
sighed. 'Not again. Right away?' 'Right
away.' Swain turned
to Wilson. 'Why today?' 'Why not?'
Wilson said wryly. 'Is there a
delayed telecast of the game later tonight?' 'I think so,
yeah,' Wilson said. Swain sighed
again. 'I'll call you.' —––ooo0ooo——— Stephen
Swain leaned on the steering wheel of his Range Rover as he pulled it to a stop
at the traffic lights. He glanced across at the passenger seat beside him.
Holly was sitting with her hands in her lap and her head bowed, her feet
jutting out horizontally from the seat, unable to reach the floor. They weren't
swinging wildly about as they usually did. The car was
quiet. 'You okay?'
Swain asked softly. 'Hmmm.' Swain leaned
over to look at her. 'Oh, don't
do that,' he said gently, reaching for a tissue. 'Here.' He dabbed at the tears
that had run down her cheeks. Swain had
arrived at the school just as Holly was leaving the vice-principal's office.
Her ears were red and she'd been crying. It was harsh, he thought, that an
eight-year-old should get such a dressing down. 'Hey,' he
said. 'It's all right.' Holly lifted
her head. Her eyes were watery and red. She
swallowed. 'I'm sorry, Daddy. I tried.' 'You tried?' 'To be a
lady. I really did. I really tried hard.' Swain
smiled. 'You did, huh?' He grabbed another tissue. 'Mrs Tickner didn't tell me
what made you do it. All she said was that the lunchtime teacher found you
straddled on top of some boy, beating the hell out of him.' 'Mrs Tickner
wouldn't listen to me. She just kept saying that it didn't matter what made me
do it, only that it was wrong for a lady to fight.' The lights
went green. Swain put the Range Rover into gear and moved off. 'So what did
happen, then?' Holly
hesitated, then said, 'Tommy Jacobs was calling you a murderer.' Swain closed
his eyes momentarily. 'He was, was he?' 'Yes.' 'And you
tackled him and punched him for that?' 'No, I
punched him first.' 'But for
that. For calling me a murderer?' 'Uh-huh.' Swain turned
to face Holly and nodded. 'Thanks,' he said seriously. Holly smiled
weakly. Swain turned his eyes back to the road. 'How many lines did you get?' 'One hundred
times: "I must not fight because it is not ladylike".' 'Well, since
this was partly my fault, what do you say you do fifty, and I'll do the other
fifty in your handwriting.' Holly
smiled. 'That would be good, Daddy.' Her eyes began to brighten. 'Good,'
Swain nodded. 'Just next time, try not to fight. If you can, try to think your
way out of it. You'd be surprised, you can do a lot more damage with your brains
than with your fists. And you can still be a lady at the same time.' Swain
slowed the car and looked at his daughter. 'Fighting is never the answer. Only
fight when it's the last option you've got.' 'Like you
did, Daddy?' 'Yeah,'
Swain said. 'Like I did.' Holly lifted
her head and began to peer out the window. She didn't recognise this area. 'Where are
we going?' she said. 'I've got to
go to the police station.' 'Daddy, are
you in trouble again?' 'No, honey,
I'm not in trouble.' 'Can I help
you!' the harried-looking receptionist yelled above the din. Swain and
Holly were standing in the lobby of the 14th Precinct of the New York Police
Department. There was activity everywhere. Beat cops hauling drug dealers away;
phones ringing; people shouting. A prostitute in the corner winked sexily at
Swain as he stood at the check-in desk. 'Uh, yes, my
name is Stephen Swain. I'm here to see Detective Dickson. I was supposed to see
him at five, but I had some time, so I—' 'That's
fine, you're on the list. He's up in his office now. You can go right up.
Office 209.' Status
Check: Electrification systems ready. Swain headed
for the stairwell at the rear of the bullpen. As he did so, Holly bounded to
his side and grabbed his hand. Swain looked down at the blonde ponytail bobbing
madly up and down beside him. Wide-eyed and interested, Holly was taking in the
pandemonium of the police station with the curiosity of a scientist. She
certainly was resilient, that was for sure, and with her natural blonde hair,
blue eyes, button nose and sharp-eyed gaze, she was looking more and more like
her mother every day… Stop
it, Swain thought. Don't go there. Not now… He shook his
thoughts away as they ascended the stairs. On the
second floor, they came to a door marked: 209: HOMICIDE. Swain heard a familiar
voice shouting from within. 'I don't
care what your problem is! I want that building shut down, okay!' 'But sir—' 'Don't give
me that, John. Just listen for a moment, will you. Good. Now look at what we
have here. A security guard found lying on the floor — in two pieces —
and a two-bit thief who's found sitting there next to him. Yeah, that's right,
he's just sitting there when we arrive. 'And this
thief, he's got blood all over his face and all down the front of his body. But
it's not his blood, it's the guard's. Now I don't know what's going on. You
tell me. Do you think this thief is from one of those crazy sects, who goes
out, chops up a security guard, rubs the blood all over himself, and then
manages to overturn a couple of ten-foot-tall bookcases?' The voice
paused for a moment, listening while the other man mumbled something. 'John, we
don't know shit. And until we find out more, I'm shutting down that library.
Okay?' 'Okay,
Sarge,' the other voice relented. 'Good,' the
first voice was calm again. 'Now get down there, set up the tape around all
entrances and exits, and put a couple of our guys inside for the night.' The door
opened. Swain stepped aside as a short officer came out of the office, smiled
quickly at him, and then headed down the corridor and into the stairwell. Status
Check: Electrification to commence in two hours. Earth
time: sixth hour post meridian. Swain
knocked softly on the door and peered inside the office. The wide
room was empty, save for one desk over by the window. There Swain saw a large
barrel-chested man seated in a swivel chair, his back to the door. He was
gazing out the window, sipping from a coffee mug, savouring, it seemed, a rare
moment's silence. Swain
knocked again. 'Yeah, come
in,' the man didn't look up. Swain
hesitated, 'Ah, Detective—' Captain
Henry Dickson swung around in the swivel chair. 'Oh, I'm sorry, I was expecting
someone else.' He got up quickly, crossed the room and shook Swain's hand. 'How
are you today, Dr Swain?' 'Gettin' there,'
Swain nodded. 'I had some time so I thought I'd come in and get this thing out
of the way, if that's all right.' Dickson led
them to his desk where he reached into an open drawer and pulled out a file. 'Sure, no
problem,' Dickson fished through the file. 'It shouldn't take more than a few
minutes anyway. Just give me a minute here.' Swain and
Holly waited. 'All right,'
Dickson said at last, holding up a sheet. 'This is the statement you gave on
the night of the incident. What we'd like to do is include it in the
departmental report, but by law we can't do it without your written consent. Is
that okay with you?' 'That's
fine.' 'Good, then
I'll just read it to you to make sure it's okay, and then you can sign the
report and we can all be out of here.' Status
Check: Officials from each system report that
teleports are ready. Awaiting transmission of
grid co-ordinates of labyrinth. Dickson
straightened himself in his chair. 'All right,
then,' he began to read from the statement, 'at approximately 8.30 p.m. on the
night of October 2, 2000, I was working in the emergency room of St Luke's
Hospital, New York City. I had been called in to do a radiology consult on a
gunshot wound to a police officer. X-rays, C-spines and a CAT-scan had been
taken and I had just returned to the emergency ward with the films when five
young Latin American men wearing gang colours burst in through the main doors
of the emergency ward with automatic weapons firing. 'Everyone in
the ward dived for the floor as the wave of bullets smashed into everything in
sight — computer screens, whiteboards, everything. 'The gang
members fanned out immediately, shouting to each other, "Find him and
kill him!" Two of them brandished automatic rifles while the other
three held semi-automatic pistols.' Swain
listened in silence as Dickson recounted the events of that night. He
remembered being told later that the wounded cop had been with the Vice Squad.
Apparently, he'd been working undercover in Queens with a crack-dealing gang
when his cover had been blown during a botched raid. He'd been winged during
the shoot-out, and now the gang-bangers — incensed at his role in the bust —
were here to finish him off. Dickson kept
reading: 'I was standing just outside the wounded policeman's room when the five
men stormed the hospital. There was noise everywhere — people were screaming,
the men's guns were booming — and I ducked behind the nearest corner. 'Then
suddenly I saw one of the pistol-bearing gang-bangers rush toward the wounded
cop's room. I don't know what made me do it, but when I saw him reach the
doorway to the room and see the cop inside — and smile — I leapt at him from
behind, tackled him hard. 'We slammed
into the doorframe together, but he elbowed me sharply in the mouth — cutting
my lip — and we fell apart and then suddenly before I knew what was happening,
he was swinging his pistol around toward me. 'I caught
his wrist in mid-flight — held the gun clear of my body — just as one of the other
gang members arrived right in front of us. 'This second
youth saw our struggle and instantly raised his own pistol at me but — still
holding onto the first gang member's wrist — I whirled around and, with my free
hand, punched the second youth square on the wrist of his gun-hand, causing his
fingers to reflexively spring open and drop the gun. On the return journey, I
used that same fist to backhand the youth across the jaw, knocking him out
cold. 'It was at
that moment that the first gang member started pulling indiscriminately on the
trigger on his gun — even though I was still gripping his wrist. Gunshots
boomed, bullets shredded the walls. 'I had to do
something, so, pushing my feet off the doorframe, I hurled us both to the
floor. We tumbled to the ground together — a clumsy rolling heap, so clumsy in fact
that the youth's gun was pushed awkwardly up against his own head and then—' And then
abruptly — shockingly — the gun had gone off and the youth's head had
simply exploded. Swain didn't
need to listen to Dickson any more. He could see it all in his mind's eye as if
he was still there. He could remember the star of blood that had sprayed all
over the door. He could still feel the youth's body go limp against his
own. Dickson was
still reading the statement. '—as soon as
the other gang members saw their dead comrade, they fled. I believe it was
about then that I passed out. This statement is dated 3/10/00, 1:55 a.m.,
signed Stephen Swain, M.D.' Dickson
looked up from the sheet of paper. Swain
sighed. 'That's it. That's my statement.' 'Good,'
Dickson handed the typewritten statement to Swain. 'If you just sign there
where it says "Consent granted", that'll just about do it, Dr Swain.
Oh, and may I say once again, on behalf of the New York Police Department,
thank you.' Status
Check: Grid co-ordinates of labyrinth to be
transmitted to all systems upon electrification. —––ooo0ooo——— 'We'll see
you in the morning then,' Officer Paul Hawkins said as he stood inside the
enormous translucent glass doors of the New York State Library. 'See you
then,' the lieutenant said, closing the doors on Hawkins' face. Hawkins
stepped away from the doors and nodded to his partner, Parker, who stepped
forward with a large ring of keys. As Parker began to bolt the first of four
locks on the huge translucent doors, Hawkins could see the blurred outline of
the lieutenant affixing bright yellow police tape across the entrance. The tape
pressed up against the other side of the glass and Hawkins could make out the
familiar words: police line — do not CROSS. He checked
his watch. 5:15 p.m. Not
bad, he thought. It had only taken them twenty minutes to skirt the
building and seal off all the entrances and exits. Parker
finished off the last lock and turned around. 'All done,'
she said. Hawkins
thought about what the other cops had said about Christine Parker. Three years
his senior, she was hardly pretty — for that matter, hardly petite. Big hands,
dark heavy-set features, good with a gun. Unfortunately, her image hadn't been
helped along by reports of insensitivity — she was known in the department for
her rather icy demeanour. Hawkins shrugged it off. If she could hold her own,
that was all that mattered to him. 'Good,' he
turned to face the enormous atrium of the library. 'Do you know what happened?
I was only called in this afternoon.' 'Somebody
broke in and slashed up a security guard. Pretty messy,' Parker replied
casually. 'Broke in?'
Hawkins frowned. 'I didn't see any forced entry on any of the doors we sealed.' Status
Check: 0:44:16 to Electrification. Parker put
her keys in her pocket and shrugged. 'Don't ask me. All I know is that they
haven't determined point of entry yet. SID's coming in tomorrow morning to do
that. Guy probably picked the lock on one of the storage doors. Those things
have got to be at least forty years old.' She cocked
her head indifferently. 'Larry at Dispatch told me they spent most of the day
just trying to clean it all up.' Parker
walked over to the Information Desk and sat down. 'Anyhow,' she put her feet up
on the counter, 'this isn't so bad. Doesn't bother me if I get double time for
sitting in a library all night.' 'Come on,
Daddy!' Holly said impatiently. 'I'm missing Pokemon!' 'Okay,
okay,' Swain pushed open the front door. Holly burst past him, dashed into the
house. Swain pulled
his key from the door and called after her, 'Don't slide on the carpet!' He stepped
inside as Holly charged out of the kitchen, biscuit tin in one hand, a can of
Coke in the other. Swain stopped in his tracks as Holly cut across his path,
making a beeline for the TV. Watching
her, Swain put his suitcase down, folded his arms and leaned against the bench
that separated the kitchen from the living room. He watched as, unsurprisingly,
in mid-stride Holly dropped to the floor and slid gracefully across the carpet,
coming to a halt inches away from the television set. 'Hey!' Holly gave
him a throwaway smile. 'Sorreee.' She flicked on the TV. Swain shook
his head as he went into the kitchen. He always said not to slide on the carpet
and Holly always did it anyway. It was kind of a ritual. Besides, he thought,
Helen had always said it, and Holly had always ignored her, too. It was a good
way for both of them to remember her. It had been
two years now since Swain's wife had been killed by a drunk driver who had
tried to run a red light at fifty miles an hour. It had happened late one
August evening, around eleven-thirty. They had run out of milk, so Helen had
decided to walk to the 7-Eleven a few blocks away. She never
came back. Later that
night, Swain would see her body at the morgue. The mere sight of it, bloodied
and broken, had knocked the wind out of him. All the life, the essence, the
personality — everything that had made her Helen — had been sucked from
it. Her eyes had been wide open, staring blankly into space, lifeless. Death had
struck — brutally, swiftly, unexpectedly. She had gone out for milk and then
all of a sudden she was gone. Just gone. And now it
was just him and Holly, somehow continuing life without her. Even now, two
years on, Swain occasionally found himself staring out the window, thinking
about her, tears forming in his eyes. Swain opened
the fridge, pulled out a Coke for himself. As he did so, the phone rang. It was
Jim Wilson. 'You missed
a great game.' Swain
sighed. 'Oh, yes…' 'Man, you
should've seen it. It went into—' 'No! Stop!
Don't tell me!' Wilson
laughed loudly on the other end of the line. 'Now would I do that?' 'Not if you
wanted to live. Want to come over and watch it all over again?' 'Sure, why
not? I'll be there in ten,' Wilson said and hung up. Status
Check: 0:14:38 to Electrification. Swain
glanced at the microwave. The green LED clock read 5:45 p.m. He looked
over at Holly, camped less than a foot away from the television screen. On the
screen, multicoloured creatures danced about. Swain grabbed
his drink and went into the living room. 'What are you watching?' Holly didn't
move her eyes from the screen. 'Pokemon,' she said, feeling for the biscuit tin
beside her and grabbing a biscuit from it. 'Any good?' She turned
quickly, scrunched up her nose. 'Nah. Mew isn't there today. I'll see what's on
the other channels.' 'No, wait!'
Swain leaned forward, grabbing for the remote. 'The sport will be—' The station
changed, and a newsreader appeared on the screen. '—while in
football, fans in the national capital were not to be disappointed as the
Redskins scalped the Giants twenty-four to twenty-one in an overtime thriller.
At the same time, in Dallas…' Swain closed
his eyes as he sank back into his chair. 'Aw, man.' 'Did you
hear that Daddy? Washington won. Grandpa will like that. He lives in
Washington.' Swain
laughed softly. 'Yes, honey, I heard. I heard.' Status
Check: Officials attending to Earth
Contestant await special instructions
regarding teleportation. Paul Hawkins
strolled idly around the foyer of the library. His every
footfall echoed hauntingly in the open space of the atrium. He stopped
to survey the atrium around him. It was, quite simply, a massive interior
space. When one took into account the rail-lined balcony that ran in a horseshoe
above the lower floor, its ceiling was actually two storeys high. In the early
evening darkness, the atrium looked almost cavernous. Ten-foot-high
bookcases loomed in the brooding semi-darkness. Indeed, with the onset of
night, apart from the harsh white glow coming from the Information Desk where
Parker sat reading, the only light that penetrated the gigantic room was the
slanting blue light from the streetlights outside. Status
Check: 0:03:04 to Electrification. Teleport
Officials standby. Hawkins looked
over at Parker. She was still sitting behind the Information Desk, her feet up,
reading some Latin book she said she'd read back in school. Jesus,
it's quiet here, he thought. —––ooo0ooo——— Status
Check: 0:01:41 to Electrification. Status
Check: Officials on Earth confirm receipt
of special instructions. Standby. The phone
rang again. Holly leapt up from the floor and grabbed the receiver. 'Hello,
Holly Swain speaking,' she said. 'Yes, he's here.' She put the receiver to her
chest and yelled at the top of her lungs, 'Daddeee! Phone!' Swain
emerged from his bedroom down the hall, doing up the buttons on a clean shirt.
The belt around his jeans dangled from his waist and his hair was still
dripping from the shower. He gave
Holly a crooked smile as he took the phone from her. 'Do you think the whole
neighbourhood now knows I've got a phone call?' Holly
shrugged as she danced away toward the refrigerator. 'Hello,'
Swain said into the phone. 'It's me
again.' It was Wilson. Swain
glanced at the microwave clock. 'Hey, what are you doing? It's almost six.
Where are you?' 'I'm still
at home.' Status
Check: 0:00:46 to Electrification. 'Home?' 'The car
won't start. Again.' Wilson said, deadpan. Swain just
laughed. Hawkins was
bored. Idly, he
poked his head inside the library's central stairwell, flicked on his heavy
police flashlight. White marble stairs flanked by solid oak banisters rose in a
wide ' spiral up into the darkness. Hawkins
nodded. Had to hand it to these old buildings, they were built to last. Status
Check: 0:00:15 to Electrification. Parker stood
up from her seat behind the Information Desk. She gazed lazily around the
atrium, squinting in the darkness. 'What're you
doing?' she called. 'Just
looking around.' Status
Check: 0:00:09 to Electrification. Standby. Parker
walked over to Hawkins. He was standing at the doorway to the stairwell, his
flashlight on, peering up into the darkness. :06 She stopped
next to him. 'Nice old
place,' Hawkins said. 'Yeah,'
Parker nodded. 'Nice.' :04 :03 :02 :01 Standby… —Electrification initialised. At that
moment, while Hawkins and Parker stood in the stairwell, bright blue sparks
flashed out from the main entrance to the library. An electric blue current shot
up between the large glass doors while sizzling claws of electricity lashed out
around the edges of the door frame. Every single
window of the library shook as tiny forks of blue lightning shot out from their
panes. At the small side entrances to the library, yellow police tape bubbled
slowly, boiling under the intense heat of the electricity now flowing through
the doors. And then, in
an instant, it stopped. All the
windows and doors giving access to the library were suddenly still. Suddenly
silent again. The State
Library, old and dark, stood sombrely in the darkness of New York City, its
magnificent glass doors grey in the moonlight. To the casual observer a few
feet away they looked regal and austere, just as they had looked the day
before. It was only
when one came close that one would see the intermittent flash of tiny blue
lightning that licked out from between the two huge doors every few seconds. Just as it
did at every other entrance to the library. Status
Check: Electrification complete. Dispatch
grid co-ordinates of
the labyrinth. Commence
teleportation. —––ooo0ooo——— Holly
grabbed onto Swain's leg. Swain shook it playfully as he spoke into the phone. 'It won't be
much of a surprise anyway. I already heard who won.' 'You did?' Swain
frowned down at Holly as she reached into his jeans pocket. 'Yes. Unfortunately
I did.' Holly pulled
her hand out of his pocket and frowned at the object in her hand. 'Daddy,
what's this?' Swain
glanced down at her and cocked his head in surprise. 'May I?' he said. Holly gave
him the small silver object. 'What's
going on?' Wilson asked. Swain turned
it over in his hand. 'Well… Doctor Wilson, maybe you can tell me. Maybe
you can tell me why my daughter has just pulled a Zippo out of my jeans. My jeans
that you borrowed for your little cowboy thing on the weekend.' Wilson
hesitated. 'I have absolutely no idea how that got there.' 'Why don't I
believe you?' 'All right,
all right, don't start.' Wilson said. 'What are my chances of getting my
lighter back?' Swain put
the cigarette lighter back into his pocket. 'I don't know. Sixty-forty.' Status Check: Teleportation sequence initialised. 'Sixty-forty!' Holly
grabbed another drink from the refrigerator. Swain shifted the telephone to his
shoulder and bent down to pick her up. He grunted under the weight. 'God, you're
heavy.' Initialise
teleport: Earth. 'Dad…
Come on, I'm eight now…' 'Too old to
be picked up, huh? All ri—' At that
moment the room around Swain began to brighten. A mysterious white glow filled
the kitchen. 'Daddy…'
Holly gripped his shoulders tightly. Swain turned
around slowly, staring, mesmerised, at the soft white light glowing around him
— glowing around him — growing around him. Growing. The kitchen
was getting brighter. The light was gathering intensity. Swain spun.
All around him, the soft white glow had become a dazzling white light. Wherever
he turned, his eyes reeled at the brilliant light. It seemed to come from every
direction. He lifted
his forearm to shield his eyes. 'Daddy!
What's happening?' Swain held
her closer, pushed her head into his chest, guarding her from the light. He
squinted as his eyes tried to penetrate the blinding wall of white light
surrounding them, searching for a source. Recoiling
from the light, he abruptly looked down at his feet — and saw a perfect circle
of white light ringing his sneakers. And then
Swain realised. He was at
the centre of the light. He
was the source! Gusts of
wind shot through the kitchen. Dust and paper swirled around Swain's head as he
held Holly close to his chest. He shut his eyes, bracing himself against the
screaming wind. Then,
strangely, above the howling of the wind, he heard a voice. A soft, taint,
insistent voice saying, 'Steve? Stephen Swain, are you still with us?' It took him
a second to realise that it was the phone. Wilson was still on the line. Swain
had forgotten that he was still holding onto the phone. 'Stephen,
what's going on? Ste—' The phone
went dead. A deafening
thunderclap boomed and Swain was instantly plunged into complete darkness. SECOND MOVEMENT 30 November, 6:04 p.m. A lot of
people would say that fear of the dark is nothing but a phenomenon of
childhood. A child
fears the dark simply because he or she does not have the experience to know
that in fact nothing is there. But as Stephen Swain knew, fear of the dark was
common in many adults. Indeed, for some, the human need for sight was often as
basic as the need for food. Standing in
pitch darkness, without a clue where he was, Swain felt it strange that he
should be thinking of his college studies in human behaviour. He remembered his
lecturer saying, 'Human fears are very often irrational constructs of the mind.
How else would you explain a six-foot-tall woman being petrified by the mere
sight of a single white mouse — a creature barely four inches long?' But no fear
was seen as more irrational — or more innate in man — than a fear of the dark.
Academic theorists and weary parents had been saying for centuries that there
was nothing in the dark that was not already there in the light… But
I'll bet something like this never happened to them, Swain
thought as he stared into the sea of blackness around him. Where
the hell are we…? His heart
pumped loudly inside his head. He could feel a wave of panic spreading slowly
through his body. No. He had to stay calm — rational — had to look after Holly. He felt for
her at his shoulder. She held him tightly, frightened. 'Daddy If he could
just see something, he thought, trying to contain his own
ever-increasing fear. A break in the darkness. A splinter of light. Anything. He looked
left, then right. Nothing. Only black.
Endless, seamless black. A fear of
the dark didn't seem quite so irrational now. 'Daddy.
What's happening?' He could
feel Holly's head pushed close against his shoulder. 'I don't
know, honey,' Swain pursed his lips in thought. And then he remembered. 'Wait a
minute,' he said, stretching his hand awkwardly underneath Holly to reach into
his jeans pocket. He breathed a sigh of relief as he felt the cold slippery
metal of the lighter. The Zippo
flipped open with a metallic calink! and Swain flipped down on the
cartwheel. The flint sparked for an instant, but the lighter didn't catch.
Swain tried again. Another spark but no flame. 'Christ,' he
said aloud. 'Some smoker.' 'Daddy…' 'Just hold
on, honey,' Swain put the lighter back in his pocket and turned to face the
darkness again. 'Let's see if we can find a door or something.' He lifted
his foot and took a hesitant step forward. As he lowered it, however, he began
to understand why some people feared the dark so much. The sheer helplessness
of not knowing what was right in front of you was terrifying. His shoe hit
the floor. It was hard. Cold. Like slate, or marble. He took
another step forward. Only this time, as his foot came down, it didn't find any
floor. Just empty space. 'Uh-oh.' His sense of
panic began to rise again. Where the hell was he? Was he standing on the rim of
a ledge? If he was, how far down did it go? Was it on every side of him? Shit. Swain slowly
lowered his foot further over the edge. Nothing. Slowly.
Further. Still nothing. Then his
foot hit something. More floor, not far below where he was standing. Swain pushed
down and forward again. Another piece of floor. He smiled in the darkness,
relieved. Steps. Holding
Holly close to his chest, Swain cautiously descended the stairs. 'Where are
we, Daddy?' In the
darkness, Swain stopped. He glanced at Holly. Although everything was still
dark, he could just make out the outline of her face. The hollows of her eye
sockets, the shadow of her nose across her cheek. 'I don't
know,' he said. He was about
to take another step forward when he snapped up to look at Holly again. The
hollows of her eye sockets, the shadow across her cheek— A
shadow. There
must be a light. Somewhere. Swain looked
closely at her face and, scanning the shadow of her nose, he suddenly saw it —
a soft green glow, so dim that it barely revealed her other features. Swain
leaned closer and — abruptly — the gentle glow vanished. 'Damn it.' He slowly
moved his head back and, equally slowly, the glow returned, half covering
Holly's face. Swain's eyes
widened. It was his own shadow covering his daughter's face. The light
source was somewhere behind him. Swain spun
around. And there,
in the sheet of blackness in front of him, he saw it. It was hovering in the
darkness, level with his eyes and yet completely still — a tiny green light. It couldn't
have been more than six feet away, and it shone like a small pilot light on a
VCR. Swain stared intently at the tiny green light. And then he
heard a voice. 'Hello,
Contestant.' —––ooo0ooo——— It came from
the green light. It sounded
prim, proper, refined. And yet at the same time high-pitched, as if spoken by a
midget. It came
again. 'Hello,
Contestant. Welcome to the labyrinth.' Swain
squeezed Holly close. 'Who is that? Where are you?' 'I am here.
Can you not see me?' The voice was not threatening. It was almost, Swain
thought, helpful. 'No. It's
too dark.' 'Oh, yes.
Hmm,' the voice sounded disheartened. 'Just a moment.' The tiny
green light bounced away to Swain's left, bobbing up and down. Then it stopped. 'Ah. Here we
are.' Something
clicked and some overhead fluorescent lights immediately came to life. In this
new-found light, Swain saw that he was standing halfway down a flight of wide
marble stairs with banisters made of dark polished wood. The stairs seemed to
spiral down several floors before disappearing into darkness. Swain
guessed he was at the top of the stairwell, since no stairs ascended from the
landing above him. Only a heavy-looking wooden door led out from the landing. His gaze
moved left from the door, and suddenly he saw the owner of the voice. There,
standing next to a light switch, stood a man no more than four feet tall,
dressed completely in white. White shoes,
white coveralls, white gloves. The little
man was holding something in one white-gloved hand. It looked like a grey
wristwatch. Swain noticed that the small green light he had seen before was
attached to the face of the wristwatch. In addition
to his completely white outfit, Swain saw that the little man wore an odd white
skull cap that covered every part of his head, except for his face. 'Daddy, it
looks like an eggshell,' Holly whispered. 'Shh.' The little
man in white stepped forward, so that he stood on the edge of the landing, his
head a little higher than Swain's. He spoke perfect English, without trace of
an accent. 'Hello.
Welcome to the labyrinth. My name is Selexin and I am your guide.' He extended
his little white hand. 'How do you do?' Swain was
still staring in disbelief at the little white man. He absently offered his own
hand in return. The little man cocked his head. 'You have an
interesting weapon,' he said, looking down at the telephone receiver in Swain's
hand. Swain
glanced at the receiver. The spiral cord leading out from the phone had been
cut several inches from where it met the hand-piece. He hadn't realised that he
was still holding it. He quickly handed it to Holly, and shook hands awkwardly
with the man in white. 'How do you
do?' Selexin bowed solemnly. 'I'm gettin'
there,' Swain said, warily. 'How about you?' The man in
white smiled earnestly and nodded politely. 'Oh, yes. Thank you. I am getting
there, too.' Swain
hesitated. 'Listen, I don't know who or what you are, but…' Holly wasn't
listening. She was staring at the handpiece of the telephone. Without a spiral
cord snaking back to a base unit, it looked like a cellular. She examined
the shortened phone cord. The cut at the end of it looked as if someone had
snipped it with a pair of extremely sharp scissors. It was a clean cut. A perfectly
clean cut. The wires inside the cord were not even frayed. Holly
shrugged and put the phone in her uniform pocket. Her own cellular phone, even
if it didn't work. She looked back at the little man in white. He was talking
to her father. 'I
have no intention of harming you,' he was saying. 'You don't?' 'No,'
Selexin paused. 'Well, not me.' 'Then if you
don't mind, do you think you could tell us where we are and how the hell we can
get out of here?' Swain said, taking a step up the stairs towards the landing. The little
man seemed shocked. 'Get
out?' he said blankly. 'No one gets out. Not yet.' 'What do you
mean no one gets out? Where are we?' 'You are in
the labyrinth.' Swain looked
at the stairs around him. 'And where is this labyrinth?' 'Why,
Contestant, this is Earth, of course.' Swain
sighed. 'Listen, ah…' 'Selexin.' 'Yes.
Selexin,' Swain offered a weak smile. 'Selexin, if it's okay with you, I think
my daughter and I would like to leave your labyrinth. I don't know what it is
you're doing here, but I don't think we're going to be a part of it.' Swain
climbed the stairs and walked over to the door leading out from the landing. He
was reaching for the door handle when Selexin snatched his hand away. 'Don't!' He held Swain's
hand away from the heavy wooden door. 'Like I said, no one gets out, yet. The
labyrinth has been sealed. Look.' He pointed
to the gap between the door and its solid wooden frame. 'You see?' Swain looked
at the gap and saw nothing. 'No,' he said, unimpressed. 'Look closely.' Swain leaned
closer and peered at the inside of the door frame. And then he
saw it. A tiny blue
fork of electricity licked out from the gap between the door and the frame. He only just
saw it, but the sudden electric blue flash of light was unmistakable. Swain's
eyes followed the door frame up its vertical edge. Every few inches there was a
distinct flicker of the bright blue charge between the frame and the door. It was the
same on all four sides of the door. Slowly,
Swain stepped back onto the landing. He spoke as he turned, his voice soft and
flat. 'What the
hell are you doing here?' —––ooo0ooo——— In the
atrium of the library, Officer Paul Hawkins was pacing back and forth in front
of the Information Desk. 'I'm telling
you, I saw it,' he said. Parker was
sitting with her feet up on the desk, chewing on a candy bar, now happily
reading a back issue of Cosmopolitan. 'Sure you
did.' She didn't even look up as she spoke. Hawkins was
angry. 'I said, I saw it.' 'Then go and
check it out for yourself,' Parker offered him a dismissive wave. As far as she
was concerned, Hawkins was green. Too young, too fresh and far too eager. And
like every other rookie, always suspicious that the crime of the century was
happening right under his nose. Hawkins
walked off toward the bookcases near the stairwell, mumbling to himself. 'What'd you
say?' Parker called lazily from behind her magazine. 'Nothing,'
Hawkins muttered as he stalked off. 'I'm going to see if it happens again.' Parker
looked up from her magazine to see Hawkins disappear through the stairwell
doors. She shook her head. 'Rookie.' Slowly,
Hawkins climbed the wide marble stairs, peering around every turn, hoping to
see it happen again. He leaned out over the banister and looked up into the
shaft. With the
stairwell lights out, he knew he would barely be able to see beyond the first
landing— There
was a light! Up at the
top. One of the
fluorescent lights up at the very top of the stairwell was on — and it hadn't
been on before. Hawkins felt
his adrenalin surge. Someone
was in here. What should
he do now? Get Parker? Yes, backup— backup was good. No, wait. She wouldn't
believe him. She hadn't before. Hawkins
peered back up into the shaft and saw the light. He took a hesitant step up the
stairs. And then it
happened. Hawkins
immediately leapt back from the banister as a blinding stream of white light
burst up through the central shaft of the stairwell, instantly illuminating
everything around it. Flecks of
dust swirling around the hollow core of the stairwell suddenly came to life as
the rising light struck them, creating a dazzling column of vertical white
light. Hawkins
stared at it in awe. It was exactly what he had seen before — a brilliant
stream of white light pouring through the shaft of the stairwell. And yet,
somehow, this time it was different. The source
was different. This time, it wasn't coming from somewhere high up in the
stairwell. No, this
time it was coming from below. Slowly,
Hawkins peered out over the edge of the banister, looking down into the shaft. The light
seemed to be coming from underneath one of the landings below him. All he could
make out was the edge of what looked like a large glowing sphere of pure white— It went out. It didn't
fade. It didn't flicker. It just disappeared to black. Just as it had done
before. Hawkins
suddenly found himself standing in the empty stairwell again, the hollow shaft
in the centre now no more than a silent, gaping hole of blackness. He looked
back over his shoulder toward the atrium. Beyond the bookcases, he could see
Parker's feet resting lazily on the counter of the Information Desk. He thought
about calling to her, but decided against it. He turned
back to face the darkened stairwell. He
swallowed, and suddenly forgot all about the fluorescent light that had been
turned on upstairs. Hawkins
pulled his heavy police-issue flashlight from his belt and switched it on. Then he
began his descent into the darkness. Selexin was
still holding the grey wristband. It was heavy in his hand, mainly because of
the thick metal straps used to clasp it to its wearer's wrist. He glanced
at the face. It was rectangular — like an elongated digital watch — broad in
width, short in height. At the top of the face, the little green pilot light
burned brightly. Next to it was another light, slightly larger than the green
one, dull red in colour. At the moment it was lifeless. Good,
Selexin thought. Beneath the
two lights there was a narrow oblong display that read: INCOMPLETE—1 Selexin
looked up from the watchface. He saw Swain and Holly standing at a window,
gazing out, both careful to stay a safe distance from the electrified window
panes. Selexin
grunted, shook his head sadly, and looked back down at the wristband. The
display flickered: INCOMPLETE—1 The words
disappeared for an instant. When they returned, they had changed. The display
now read: INCOMPLETE—2 And it was
stable again. Selexin
walked over to Swain at the window and stopped beside him. 'Now do you
understand?' Swain
continued to stare out the window. After he had
seen the electrified door at the top of the stairwell, he had immediately come
down the first flight of stairs and opened the nearest door. It was a large
fireproof door marked with a red '3'. It had
opened onto an extremely broad, low-ceilinged room, perhaps fifty yards wide.
Swain had gone straight across it — winding his way through a forest of
odd-looking steel-framed desks — heading directly for the nearest window. The room was
completely filled with the peculiarly shaped desks. Each had a vertical
partition attached to the rear edge, so that it formed an L-shape with the
horizontal writing surface. Hundreds of these desks, bunched together in tight
clusters of four, covered the vast floorspace of the room. Now, as he
looked out the window and saw the familiar inner city park, surrounded by the
darkened streets of New York City, Swain began to understand. 'Where are
we, Daddy?' Swain's eyes
took in the multitude of partitioned desks in the room around them. In the near
corner of the room was a heavy-looking maintenance door, next to which was a
sign: QUIET
PLEASE. THIS
ROOM IS FOR PRIVATE STUDY ONLY. NO
CARRY BAGS PERMITTED. A study
hall. Swain turned
to face Selexin. 'We're in the library, honey. The State Library.' Selexin nodded.
Correct. 'This,' he
said, 'is the labyrinth.' 'This, is a library.' 'That it may
well be,' Selexin shrugged, 'but that is of little concern for you now.' Swain said,
'I think it's of a lot of concern for me now. What are you doing here and what
do you want with us?' 'Well, first
of all,' the smaller man began, 'we do not exactly want both of you.' He looked
at Swain. 'We actually only want you.' 'So why did
you bring my daughter too?' 'It was
unintentional, I can assure you. Contestants are strictly forbidden to have
assistance of any kind. She must have entered the field just before you were
teleported.' 'Teleported?' 'Yes,
Contestant,' Selexin sighed sadly. 'Teleported. And you can count yourself
extremely fortunate that she was fully inside the field at the time. If she had
been only partially inside the field, she might have been—' There was a
loud rumble of thunder outside the window. Swain looked out through the glass
and saw dark storm clouds rolling across the face of the moon. It was well and
truly dark outside now. Streaks of rain began to appear on the window. He turned
back. 'The white light.' 'Yes,'
Selexin said, 'the field. Everything inside the field at the time the systems
are initialised is teleported.' 'Like the
phone,' Swain said. 'Yes.' 'But only
half the phone came with us.' 'Because
only half the phone was inside the field.' Selexin
said. 'In its simplest form, the field is merely a spherical hole in the air.
Anything inside that sphere is, at the time of teleportation, lifted up and
placed elsewhere, whether it is attached to something else or not.' 'And you
determine where we go. Is that right?' Swain said. 'Yes. Now,
Contestant—' Swain held
up his hand. 'Wait a minute. Why do you keep calling me that?' 'Calling you
what?' '"Contestant".
Why do you keep calling me "Contestant"?' 'Because
that is what you are, that is why you have been brought here,' Selexin said, as
if it was the most obvious thing in the world. 'To compete. To compete in the
Seventh Presidian.' 'Presidian?' Now it was
Selexin who frowned. 'Yes,' his
voice tightened. 'Hmmm, I suspected this might happen.' He gave a long sigh and
looked impatiently at the metal wristband in his hand. Its green light was
still burning and its display still read: INCOMPLETE—2 Selexin
looked up and spoke to no-one in particular: 'Well, since there is still time,
I will tell you.' Holly
stepped forward, pointed to the grey wrist-watch. 'What is that?' Selexin gave
her a sharp look. 'Please, I will come to that. Just listen for a
moment.' Holly backed
away immediately, reaching for Swain's hand. Selexin was
taking short, quick breaths, showing his irritation. As Swain watched him, it
seemed increasingly obvious that the little man in white simply did not want to
be here. 'The
Presidian,' Selexin began, 'has been held on six previous occasions. And this,'
he said, looking at the study hall around him, 'is the seventh. It is held
approximately once every thousand Earth years, each time on a different world,
and in every system, except Earth, it is held in only the highest esteem.' 'Systems?'
Swain asked. 'Yes,
Contestant, systems.' Selexin's tone was now that of a weary adult
addressing a five-year-old. 'Other worlds. Other intelligent
life. There are seven in total.' Selexin
paused for a moment, lifted a hand to massage his brow. He looked as if he was
trying very hard to keep himself calm. Finally, he
looked up at Swain. 'You didn't know that, did you?' 'The part
about other worlds and other intelligent life? Ah, no.' 'I am dead,'
Selexin whispered, presumably to himself. Swain heard him clearly. 'Why?' he
asked innocently. 'Why are you dead? What is this Presidian?' Selexin
sighed in exasperation. He held his hands out, palms up. 'What do you
think it is?' he said sharply, barely concealing the condescension in
his voice. 'It is a competition. A battle. A contest. Seven
contestants enter the labyrinth and only one leaves. It is a fight to the
death.' He could see
the disbelief spread across Swain's face. Selexin threw up his hands. 'By the Gods,
you do not even understand what you are here for! Do you not see?' Selexin
slowed down for a moment, lowering his voice, trying desperately to control
himself. 'Let me
begin again. You have been chosen to represent your species in the ultimate
contest in the universe. A contest that dates back over six millennia, that
bases itself on a principle that goes light years beyond any notion of
"sport" that you could possibly imagine. That is the
Presidian. 'It is a
battle. A battle between hunters, athletes, warriors; creatures coming from
every corner of the universe, possessed of skill, courage and intelligence,
prepared to stake their very lives on their extraordinary talents — talents at
hunting, stalking and killing.' Selexin
shook his head. 'There is no
coming back from defeat in the Presidian. There is no return match. Defeat in
the Presidian is no loss of pride, it is loss of life. Every contestant
who enters the labyrinth accepts that in this contest the only alternative to
ultimate victory is certain death. 'It is quite
simple. Seven will enter. The best will win, the lesser will die. Until only
one remains.' The little man paused. 'If, of course, one does remain. 'There is no
place for the ordinary man in the Presidian. It is a contest for the extraordinary
— for those prepared to risk the ultimate to attain the ultimate. On Earth you
play games where you lose nothing in defeat. "Winning isn't
everything," you say. "It doesn't matter if you win or lose, but how
you played the game."' Selexin grunted disdainfully. 'If that is the case,
why should anyone even try to win? 'Winning is
devalued where defeat involves no loss, and humans are quite simply unable to
comprehend that idea. Just as they are unable to comprehend a contest like the
Presidian, where defeat means exactly that-losing everything.' The little
man looked Swain squarely in the eye. 'Winning is everything when you
have everything to lose.' The little
man laughed weakly. 'But your kind will never understand that…' Selexin
paused, dropping his head, withdrawing into himself. Swain just stood there,
entranced, staring in amazement at the little man before him. 'And that is
why I am dead,' Selexin looked up. 'Because my survival depends on your
survival. It is a highly prized honour to guide a contestant through the
Presidian — an honour bestowed upon my people since we are prevented by our
size from competing in the contest — but when one accepts that honour, one also
accepts the fate of his contestant. 'So when you
die, I die. And as I see it now,' he raised his voice, 'since you appear to
know absolutely nothing about the Presidian or anything it entails, I
would say quite confidently that at the moment our collective chances of
survival are approximately zero!' Selexin
looked Swain up and down. Sneakers, jeans, a loose-fitting shirt with the
sleeves rolled up, hair still slightly wet. He shook his head. 'Look at
you, you haven't even come prepared to fight!' He began to
pace, gesturing with his arms, despairing for his situation, until finally he
was totally indifferent to Swain and Holly's presence: 'Why me? Why this? Why
the human? Keeping in mind the distinguished history human participation
has had in the Presidian…' Swain
watched the little man pace back and forth in front of him. Holly just stared
at him. 'Hey,' Swain
said, stepping forward. Selexin continued to mutter to himself. 'Hey!' Selexin
stopped. He turned and stared at Swain. 'What?' he
said angrily. In his anger, the little man possessed a ferocity that belied his
size. Swain cocked
his head. 'Are you saying that humans have been in this thing before? In this
contest?' Selexin
sighed. 'Yes. Twice. In the last two Presidia, humans have participated.' 'And what
happened to them?' Selexin
laughed sadly. 'Both were the first to be eliminated. Neither one ever stood a
chance.' He cocked an eyebrow. 'Now I know why.' He looked
down at the wristwatch. It now read: INCOMPLETE—3 Swain said,
'And how exactly were they selected for this thing?' As Selexin
explained, but for one crucial modification, the process for human selection
for the Seventh Presidian was largely unchanged from that which had operated
for the two Presidia before it. Beings unable to accept the fact that other
lifeforms existed in the universe could hardly be expected to choose a
contestant of their own accord, let alone appreciate the concept of the
Presidian. After all,
humans had not even been considered for inclusion in any Presidian until two
thousand years ago — human development having been disappointingly slow. All six of
the other systems chose their own representatives for the millennial Presidian
either by holding a competition of their own or by choosing their greatest
sportsman, huntsman or warrior. Earth, on the other hand, would be surveyed for
some time, and from that surveillance, a worthy contestant would be chosen. 'Well, they
didn't look too hard this time,' Swain said. 'I've never picked a fight in my
life.' 'Oh, but—' 'I'm a doctor,'
Swain said. 'Do you know what a doctor is? I don't kill people. I—' 'I know what
a doctor is, and I know precisely what they do,' Selexin shot back. 'But you
have forgotten what I said earlier — one crucial modification was made
to the selection criteria this time. 'You see,
for the last two Presidia the choice of the human contestant was based largely
on combat skills, and combat skills alone. This was obviously a mistake. After
the dismal performance of those two human contestants, it was decided that
other, less obvious skills should be taken into account in the selection process
for this Presidian. 'Of course,
fighting skills would be necessary, but this time they would not be
conclusive. Now, from our observations of your planet, we could see that human
warriors were adept at using artificially propelled weapons — firearms,
missiles and the like. But such weapons are forbidden in the Presidian. Only self-propelled
weapons are allowed — throwing knives, bladed weapons. So, first of all, we
needed a human proven in hand-to-hand combat. Naturally, several warriors of
your race fulfilled this requirement. 'But other
skills were also deemed necessary, skills which are not often found in your
warrior types. High mental aptitude levels were a primary consideration — in
particular, the ability to respond to a crisis, objective rational thinking in
the face of the potentially bizarre, and most importantly, adaptive
intelligence.' 'Adaptive
intelligence?' 'Yes. The
ability to evaluate a scenario in an instant, take in all the immediately
available solutions, and then act. We often call this reactive thinking
— the ability to think clearly under pressure and use any available
means to solve one's problem. Based on our prior experience with humans, it was
anticipated that the human contestant would probably not be an offensive, proactive
contestant. Rather, he or she would be more defensive, reactive to a
situation of someone else's making. So a quick-thinking, adaptive personality
was required. You.' Swain shook
his head. He hardly thought of himself as a quick-thinking, adaptive personality.
He saw himself as a good doctor, but not brilliant. He knew of countless other
surgeons and physicians who were miles ahead of him in both knowledge and ability.
He was just good at what he did, but quick-thinking or adaptive? 'Make no
mistake, Contestant, your skills as a physician have been under scrutiny for
some time now. Clear, reactive thought, under intense pressure — have
you ever experienced that before?' 'Well, yes,
lots of times, but still… I mean, God, I've never been in combat—' 'Oh, but you
have,' Selexin said. 'Your selection was based on your response to a
life-threatening combat situation not so long ago, a situation that involved
multiple enemies.' Swain
thought about it. A life-threatening combat situation involving multiple
enemies. He wondered if college football counted as life-threatening. Christ,
it sounded like something that would be better suited to somebody in the army
or the police force. The police
force… That night… Swain
thought about that night one month ago in October, when the five heavily-armed
gang members had stormed the ER at St Luke's. He remembered his fight with the
two pistol-toting youths — remembered tackling the first one, then punching the
second one in his wrist, dislodging his gun — and then struggling with the
first one again — and falling to the floor in a heap — and then hearing the gun
discharge that final fatal shot. Life-threatening?
Definitely. Swain
suddenly realised that he was rubbing the cut on his lower lip. 'There is
another thing,' Selexin said, interrupting his thoughts. The little man lifted
his small white hand, offering the grey wristband to Swain. 'Take it,
put it on. You will need it. Especially if we are separated.' Swain took
the wristband but did not put it on. 'Now, wait just a minute. I haven't agreed
to be a part of this little show of yours yet—' Selexin
shook his head. 'You have not understood what I have been telling you. Your
selection for the Presidian has been finalised. You no longer have any choice
in the matter.' 'It doesn't seem
like I ever did.' 'Please,
just look at your wristband.' Swain looked
at the watch, at the display beneath the glowing green light. It read: INCOMPLETE—3 Selexin
said, 'See that number — three. Soon that number will reach seven. When it
does, we will know that all seven contestants have been teleported into the
labyrinth. Then the Presidian will begin.' He looked seriously at Swain. 'You
are here now, and whether you like it or not, you have become an integral part
of this contest.' Selexin
pointed at the wristband. 'And when that number hits "7" you will
become fair game for six other contestants who all have the same goal that you
have. To get out.' 'What's that
supposed to mean?' 'Remember
what I told you,' Selexin said. 'Seven enter, but only one leaves. The
labyrinth is completely electrified. There is absolutely no way out. Except by
teleport. And that is initialised only when one contestant remains in
the labyrinth. That is the exit from the labyrinth — and only the winner
leaves. If, of course, there is a winner.' Selexin
slowed down. 'Mr Swain, the other contestants, they don't care whether or not
you decide to accept your status as a contestant. They will kill you anyway.
Because they are all well aware that unless every contestant bar one is dead, no-one
leaves the labyrinth. The ultimate contest, Mr Swain.' Swain looked
at the little man in disbelief. He let out a slow breath through his nose. 'So
you're telling me that not only are we stuck in here, but that soon there will
be six other guys in here too, whose only way out is to make sure that I'm
dead.' 'Yes. That
is right.' 'Holy shit.' —––ooo0ooo——— Swain stood
in the stairwell, by the fire door leading to the study hall. Holly stood
behind him, holding onto his shirt tail. He looked at
the thick grey wristband now clasped firmly around his left wrist. It looked
like a manacle from the arm of an electric chair — thick and solid, and heavy
too. The little green light glowed while the display still read: INCOMPLETE—3 Swain turned
to Selexin, 'So there are only three of us in here now. Is that right?' 'Yes. That
is right.' 'Does that
mean that we can walk around safely now?' 'I do not
understand.' 'Well, not
everyone is in the labyrinth yet,' Swain said. 'So say I want to wander around
and have a look at this place — what happens if I bump into another contestant?
He can't kill me, can he? Not yet.' Selexin
said, 'No, he cannot. Combat of any kind between contestants is strictly
prohibited until all seven have entered the labyrinth. In any case, I
would advise you against "wandering about".' 'Why not, if
they can't hurt us, we can safely have a look around the library.' 'That is
true, but if you decide to wander, you do hazard the risk of being sequenced.' 'Sequenced?' 'Yes. If you
do happen to meet another contestant before all seven have been teleported into
the labyrinth, you can be assured that he — or she — cannot hurt you in any
way. You may converse with other contestants if you want to, or you may ignore
them completely.' Selexin spread his palms. 'Very simple.' Then he held
up a finger. 'However. If
you do meet another contestant, there is nothing to stop that contestant following
you until the remaining contestants have been teleported into the
labyrinth, and the Presidian has commenced. That is sequencing, and it has
proved to be a common tactic in previous Presidia. 'Another
contestant can quite rightfully walk two feet behind you for the whole time
until the Presidian commences and you cannot touch him — for just as he cannot hurt
you, you cannot hurt him either. And once the last contestant has been
teleported into the labyrinth and your wristband reads "7", well…'
Selexin shrugged. 'You had better be ready to fight.' 'Great,'
Swain said, frowning at the thick grey wristband clamped to his wrist. At that
moment, the display flickered. Swain was
momentarily startled. 'What's this?' Selexin
looked at the wristband. The display read: INCOMPLETE—3 Then it
vanished and the screen came up again, reading: INCOMPLETE—4 'What's that
mean?' Swain asked. 'It means,' Selexin said, 'that another contestant has
arrived in the labyrinth.' In the
atrium of the library, Officer Christine Parker sat behind the Information Desk
with her mouth agape and her eyes wide. She was
staring at the hulking seven-foot figure standing before her, in front of the
massive glass doors of the library. Parker
remembered how Hawkins had wandered off twenty minutes ago, looking for some
damned white light that he thought he had seen. She also remembered laughing
loudly when he'd told her about it. Now she
didn't feel like laughing. Moments ago,
she had seen a perfect sphere of brilliant white light appear in front of her.
It was fully ten feet in diameter and it lit up the whole cavernous space of
the atrium like an enormous light bulb. And then it
had vanished. Extinguished
in an instant. Gone. And now in
its place stood a figure that looked something like a man. A seven-foot-tall,
perfectly proportioned man — with broad muscular shoulders narrowing to an
equally muscular waist. A man clad
entirely in black. Parker
stared at him in awe. The streams
of soft blue light that filtered in through the great glass doors of the
library surrounded the tall black figure before her, creating a spectacular
silhouette, while at the same time highlighting one particularly distinguishing
feature of the man. The 'man'
had horns. Two long
beautifully tapered horns that protruded from both sides of his head, and then
stretched upwards so that they almost touched two feet above his head. He stood
absolutely still. Parker
thought he might have been a statue, but for the slow, rhythmic rise and fall
of his powerfully built chest. Parker's eyes searched the head for a face, but
with the light source behind him, all she could see beneath the two sharp
rising horns was an empty space of ominous black. But there
was something wrong with the silhouette. Something on
the man's shoulder that was not black, something that broke the perfect
symmetry of his body. It was a lump. A small white lump that seemed to slump
over his left shoulder. Parker
squinted in the darkness, tried to determine what the small lump was. She leaned
back in her seat, her eyes wide. It
looked like another man… A very small
man. Dressed completely in white— And then,
suddenly, there was light again. Sharp,
sudden, brilliant white light filled the atrium of the State Library.
Blinding spheres of light, four feet in diameter — half the size of the one she
had seen before — illuminated everything around Parker. Parker saw
two small spheres of light before her… then three… then four. Loose sheets of
paper began to blow about all around her, just as they had done before. She looked
beyond the swirling sheets of paper, trying to catch a glimpse of the tall man
in black. But amid the billowing pages and the blinding light, the horned man
remained completely still, impervious to distraction. And then, in
a flare of white, Parker saw the man's face. He was
staring at her. Straight
at her. It was
terrifying. Their eyes locked and a flood of adrenalin instantly rushed through
Parker's body. All she could see were deep blue eyes set against a harsh black
face. Eyes devoid of emotion. Eyes that simply stared. Stared right
at her. Sheets of
paper fluttered wildly around his unmoving frame and then— And then
abruptly, darkness again. The four
white spheres of light had vanished instantly. The wind stopped abruptly, and
all over the atrium, sheets of paper glided softly to the floor. Parker spun
to face the spot where one of the spheres had been— —only to see
something small scuttle away behind a nearby bookcase, its long black tail
lashing against the bottom shelf of the bookcase as it disappeared from view. An eerie
silence filled the atrium. The enormous
room was once again bathed in the soft blue light of the street lamps outside. Parker
looked back from the bookshelf, saw the carpet of loose paper spread out on the
floor before her. In the silence, she could hear herself breathing heavily. 'Salve,
moriturum es!' A voice — a
deep, baritone voice. Echoing
loudly in the atrium. Parker's
head snapped up. It had come from the silhouetted man. 'Salve,
moriturum es!' he repeated, loudly. His face was again masked by blackness,
shadowed by the blue light behind him. Parker couldn't even see his lips move. She heard
the words. Salve moriturum es. They sounded vaguely familiar, like
something she had learned at school, something that she had long since
forgotten… The big man
took a step toward her. A glint of gold flashed off his dark shadowed chest. Now she
could see the small white lump on his shoulder quite clearly. It was a man all
right, a small man, held in a fireman's carry over the horned man's shoulder.
The little man groaned as the tall horned man moved toward the Information
Desk. Behind the
counter of the desk, Parker leaned back, and slowly — silently — eased her
Glock 20 semi-automatic pistol from its holster. The tall man
spoke. 'Greetings,
fellow competitor. Before you stands Bellos. Great-grandson of Trome, the
winner of the Fifth Presidian. And like his great-grandfather and two Malonians
before him, Bellos shall emerge from this battle alone, conquered by none and
not undone by the Karanadon. Who be'st thou, my worthy and yet unfortunate
opponent?' There was
silence as the man waited for an answer. Parker heard
a soft, insistent scraping sound from the bookshelves to her left. It sounded
like long fingernails moving quickly back and forth on a blackboard. She turned
back to face him. The man —
Bellos — was looking at her, examining her, up and down, right and left. Parker
swallowed. 'I don't—' 'Where is
your guide?' the deep baritone voice suddenly interjected. A demand, not a
question. 'My guide?'
Parker's face displayed her incomprehension. 'Yes,'
Bellos said. 'Your guide. How will you confirm any conquest without a guide?' Beneath the
counter, Parker's hand gripped her gun tightly. 'I have no guide,' she said
coolly. The big man
cocked his head, his sharp horns tilting to the side. Parker watched him
carefully as he pondered over her comment for a moment. He glanced down at the
large metal band attached to his wrist. It had a green light on it… The scraping
sound behind the bookshelf got faster, more intense. Impatient. Bellos
looked up from his wristband and levelled his eyes at Parker. 'You are not
a contestant in the Presidian, are you?' He looked at
the wide atrium around him, at the bookshelves to his left and right. Then he
looked back at Parker, a glint of menace in his eyes. 'Good,'
Bellos said, smiling. 'Kataya!' The attack
came from Parker's left. From the bookshelves. The creature
sprang forward, leaping at the counter of the Information Desk with frightening
speed. It hit the counter hard, grabbing the edge with two vicious-looking
foreclaws, baring twin rows of long, razor-sharp teeth, squealing a loud
reptilian squeal. Parker
reeled back in horror, staring in shocked disbelief at the creature before her. It was the
size of a large dog, about four feet tall, with hard scaly skin that was
gunmetal black in colour. It had four bony-but-muscular limbs and a long, black
scaled tail that slithered madly behind its body. Stunned,
Parker just stared at the creature as it struggled to climb over the counter. Supported by
a thin black neck, its head was totally bizarre. Two lifeless black eyes sat on
either side of a round black skull, whose sole purpose it seemed was to
accommodate the creature's enormous jaws. The creature
lashed out at Parker, clamping its pointed teeth down in front of her. Parker
pulled back from the counter, away from the creature, raised her gun— —and then in
a strange, flashing instant she saw the creature's limbs on the counter. It was not
struggling to climb over the counter anymore — it was already there. It lashed
out at her again. Missed again. Parker was
momentarily startled. It wasn't
even trying to get her. It was as if this creature were merely trying to
keep her attention… It was then
that a second creature hit her from the side. Knocking the wind out of her,
jolting the pistol from her hand. Parker
stumbled from the impact, catching a split-second glimpse of what had hit her —
another creature, identical to the first. A third
creature charged her from behind, pitching her forward, face-first onto the
ground. Parker rolled quickly onto her back and suddenly felt a heavy weight
slam down onto her chest. A loud
reptilian squeal pierced her ears as two rows of long jagged teeth opened wide
in front of her eyes. It was
standing on top of her! Parker
screamed as the creature slashed its long fore-claw across her stomach and
ducked its head. And as she
lay on the floor, helpless to resist the slicing of the creatures' sharp teeth
as ail four of them began to feed on her belly, Officer Christine Parker
suddenly remembered — quite irrationally — what the words 'Salve moriturum
es' meant. They were
Latin words — words similar to those spoken by Roman gladiators when they were
presented to the cheering crowd before combat — 'We who are about to die,
salute you'. However, as
Parker sank to the floor, her strength fading, and the weight of the four
creatures now pressing down heavily on her body, she realised that Bellos had
changed the words slightly, changing the meaning. 'Salve
moriturum es' meant: 'I salute you, you who are about
to die.' —––ooo0ooo——— 'I am not
sure this is such a good idea,' Selexin said as he followed Swain and Holly
through the fire door into the stairwell. Swain peered
down into the shaft, ignoring Selexin. Holly, however, turned to face the
little man. 'If you're
from another planet,' she said, 'how come you speak English so well?' Selexin
said, 'My native tongue is based on an alphabet comprised of seven hundred and
sixty-two distinct symbols. With only twenty-six base letters to choose from,
your language is exceedingly simple to learn apart from the dreadful idioms.' 'Oh.' Swain
continued to stare down the shaft. 'I was
saying,' Selexin repeated for him, 'that I am not sure this is a very good
idea. The chances of sequencing increase as more contestants enter the
labyrinth.' Swain was
silent for a long moment. 'You're
probably right,' he said, looking down into the dark shaft. Then he turned to
face Selexin. 'But then again, if I'm going to be running for my life in this
place, I don't want to be doing it in rooms and corridors that I don't know. At
least if we look around, we might get to know where we can and can't run if we
are followed. I sure as hell don't want to run into a dead end with some
half-cocked killer behind me. And besides,' he shrugged, 'we might even find
somewhere to hole up if we have to.' 'Hole up?' 'Yes, hole
up. Hide,' Swain said. 'You know, escape. Maybe even just stay in the one place
until everybody else has killed each other.' 'That is
improbable,' Selexin said. 'Why is it
improbable? Surely it must be the best way to survive this whole damn thing. We
just hide away somewhere, let the others do the fighting and maybe they'll…' Selexin
wasn't listening. He was just standing there, staring at Swain, waiting for him
to stop talking. Swain said,
'What? What is it?' Selexin cocked
his head to one side. 'If you remember what I told you before, you will
understand.' 'What? What
did you tell me before?' 'As I have
said from the beginning, only one contestant leaves the labyrinth. And if not
one, none.' Swain
nodded. 'I remember. But how can that happen? If only one contestant is left in
the maze, he's safe to find the exit and leave, because there's nothing left to
kill him…' Selexin did
not answer. Swain
sighed, '… unless there's something else in here.' Selexin
nodded. 'That is right,' he said. 'The third element of the Presidian.' 'The third
element?' Selexin
stepped back into the study hall and sat down at one of the L-shaped desks.
Swain and Holly followed. 'Yes, an
outside agent. A variable. Something that is capable of altering the conditions
of combat instantly. Something that can turn victory into defeat, life into
death. In the Presidian, the third element is a beast, a beast known throughout
the galaxy as the Karanadon.' Swain was
silent. 'It is a
most powerful beast, like no other,' Selexin said. 'As tall as the ceiling, as
broad as three men, and as strong as twenty — and its considerable strength is
only matched by its unbridled aggression—' 'Okay,
okay,' Swain said, 'I think I get the picture. This thing, it's in here too,
right? Trapped inside, like the rest of us?' 'Yes.' 'So what
does it do? Does it just wander around killing whoever it pleases?' Selexin
said, 'Well, for one thing, it does not just wander around…' Swain let
out a breath in relief. '… all of
the time.' Swain
groaned. 'But if you
will just look at your wristband for a moment,' Selexin said, 'I will explain
everything.' Swain looked
down at the heavy grey band on his wrist. The display still read: INCOMPLETE—4 'You will
remember,' Selexin said, 'that when I gave you your wristband, I told you it
would be of vital importance to you, yes? Well, it is more than that. Without
it, you will not survive the Presidian. 'Your
wristband serves many purposes, one of which is to identify you as a contestant
in the Presidian. For example, you cannot win the Presidian unless you are
wearing your wristband — you will simply be denied entry into the exit-teleport
when it is opened. In the same way, other contestants will know that you are
competing in the Presidian because they will see your wristband. This will
protect you in the time before the Presidian commences — but it will also tell
others that you are still a competitor who must be eliminated. 'However, in
addition to this, your wristband provides several other, more important
functions. First of all, as you have no doubt already noticed, there is a
glowing green light on it. That light answers your previous question: no — the
Karanadon does not just "wander" around. The green light you see
indicates that the beast is at present dormant, nesting somewhere within the
labyrinth. Or more simply, asleep. Wherefore, movement throughout the labyrinth
is, at least for the moment, uninhibited by the Karanadon. Hence the green
light.' 'The band
can tell when it's asleep?' Swain said doubtfully. 'It is done
through a device, surgically implanted in the beast's larynx, that
electronically measures its rate of respiration. Respiration below a certain
rate indicates sleep, respiration above — animation. That device, however, also
provides some degree of control over the beast. It can, at official command,
either secrete a sedative that will put the beast to sleep or inject a hormone
that will rouse it immediately.' 'When would
that happen?' Swain asked. 'When would you want it to wake up?' 'Why, when
there is only one contestant left, of course,' Selexin said. 'Perhaps I can
explain this another way. There have been six previous Presidia. Three have
been won by Malonians, one by a Konda, and one by a Crisean.' 'Okay.' Selexin
stared at Swain. 'Well, that's it. That's the point.' 'What's the
point?' 'There have
been six Presidia, while there have been only five winners,' Selexin said. The little
man sighed. 'That is what I am trying to tell you. There may be no winner
in the Presidian — unless one is worthy, none are worthy. There was no winner
in the last Presidian, because the Karanadon killed all of the final three
contestants when they happened upon its nest during combat. In the space of two
minutes, the Presidian was over, due solely to the beast.' 'Oh.' Selexin went
on: 'And, as has always been the case, when only one contestant remains, and
the exit-teleport to the labyrinth has been opened, the Karanadon is roused.
One may choose to avoid it and search the labyrinth for the exit. Or one might
attempt to kill it if he dares.' Swain said,
'And has anybody ever done that before? Killed one?' Selexin
looked at Swain as though he had asked the most stupid question in the world. 'In a
Presidian? No. Never. Not ever.' There was a short pause. Selexin moved on.
'But, anyway, as you will hopefully live to see later, when the beast is awake,
the red light on your wristband will ignite.' 'Uh-huh. And
this beast, this Karanadon, it was teleported into the library at the same time
I was?' 'No,'
Selexin said, 'the Karanadon is traditionally teleported into the labyrinth at
least a day before the Presidian is to commence. But that does not really
matter, because it would have been asleep all that time. Unless, of course, it
was aroused. But that is unlikely.' 'I have one
more question,' Swain said. 'Yes?' 'What if
someone got out of this maze of yours? Now I know you think it can't happen,
but what if it did? What happens then?' 'You credit
me with a faith I do not possess. No, I accept your question quite easily,
because it can happen. In fact, it has happened. Contestants have been
known to be ejected from the labyrinth, either by design or by simple
accident.' 'So what
happens?' 'Again, it
is your wristband that governs this situation,' Selexin said. 'As you know, an
electric field covers this labyrinth. Your wristband operates in accordance
with that field. If for some reason your wristband detects that it is no longer
surrounded by the electric field, it automatically sets a timer for self-detonation.' 'A timer for
self-detonation,' Swain said. 'You mean it explodes?' 'Not
instantly. There is a time limit. You are allowed fifteen min—' 'Jesus
Christ! You put a goddamn bomb on my wrist! Why didn't you tell me that
before!' Swain couldn't believe it. It was incredible. He began to fiddle
hurriedly with the wristband, trying to get it off. 'It won't
come off,' Selexin said calmly. 'It can't come off, you waste your time
even trying.' 'Shit,'
Swain muttered, still grabbing at the solid metal band. 'Language,'
Holly said, waving an admonishing finger at Swain. 'As I was
saying,' Selexin said, 'if by some chance you are expelled from the labyrinth,
you will have fifteen minutes to re-enter it. Otherwise, detonation will
occur.' He looked
sadly at Swain, still fiddling with the wristband. Finally Swain gave up. 'You needn't
worry,' Selexin said. 'Detonation will only occur upon expulsion from the
labyrinth, and as I admit that it has happened before, I also add that it has
not happened often. No-one gets out. Mr Swain, you must see now that whichever
way you go there remains but one answer. Unless you leave this contest as the
victor, you do not leave at all.' —––ooo0ooo——— Hawkins
stood at the base of the stairwell, the beam of his flashlight the only light.
There were no more stairs going down from here. Nothing but concrete walls and
a large fire door that read: sub-level 2. Must
be the bottom. Hawkins
moved cautiously over to the fire door. The handle turned easily and he slid
the door open. He peered around the doorframe and instantly felt a rush of bile
rise up the back of his throat. He turned back into the stairwell and vomited. Several
moments later, wiping his mouth and coughing to clear his throat, Hawkins
looked back out through the doorway. Aisles of
bookcases stretched endlessly away from him, disappearing into darkness, beyond
the reach of the mouldy overhead lights. But it was the aisle directly in front
of him that seized his immediate attention. The
bookshelf to his left — twelve feet high and twenty feet long — had been
wrenched free from its ceiling mounts and was now leaning backwards against the
bookcase in the aisle behind it. Like two enormous dominoes: one upright,
holding up its fallen neighbour. The opposite
bookshelf — to Hawkins' right — remained upright. It simply had a gaping hole
of splintered wood bored through its core. For some reason, books littered the
aisle behind it, as though, Hawkins thought, something had — well — something
had been hurled right through this bookshelf… And then
there was the aisle in between. The flat
pool of blood that filled the aisle had dried somewhat in the past twenty-four
hours, but the stench still remained. Of course,
the body had been removed, but as Hawkins noticed, the sheer amount of blood
was staggering. It lay everywhere — on the floor, on the ceiling, spattered all
over the stairwell door. Those books that had remained on the shelves had been
sprayed with flying blood. Those that had fallen to the floor had simply
changed colour. They were maroon. Hawkins
swallowed as he saw the trail of smeared blood that stained the floor around
the shelf with the hole in it. It looked as if someone had been dragged around
the shelf, back into the original aisle. By New York
Police Department standards, Paul Hawkins was young. Twenty-four. And his
youth, combined with his relative inexperience, had made him the obvious choice
for baby-sit assignments like this one. Domestic violence protection,
post-trauma custody, that sort of thing. He'd seen battered wives and beaten-up
teenagers, but in sixteen months of duty, Paul Hawkins had never seen a murder
scene. He felt it
odd that the first thing that struck him about the scene was how the movies got
it all wrong. Even the most violent film could never successfully achieve the
sheer ugliness of a murder scene. This was it, he thought, as he stared
at the wide pool of dried blood before him. It was ugly.
Dirty and crude and brutal. Hawkins wanted to be sick again. He looked up
at the endless rows of bookshelves that lined Sub-Level Two. Someone
— something — is down here. He lifted
his flashlight. And then slowly, cautiously, he ventured out into the aisles. 'Daddy,'
Holly said, following her father into the stairwell. 'In a
second, honey,' Swain turned to Selexin. 'Are you sure there isn't anything
else you should tell me about before we go any further? No more exploding
devices?' 'Daddy.' Selexin
said, 'Well, there is one thing—' 'Daddee!' Swain
stopped. 'What is it, honey?' Holly held
up the telephone receiver, giving her most winning smile. 'It's for you.' Swain bent
down and took the dead phone. He spoke into it while looking at Holly. 'Hello?
Oh hi, how are you? — Yeah? — Is that so? — Well, I'm kinda busy at the moment.
Can I call you back? Great. Bye.' He gave the phone back to Holly. Satisfied,
she grabbed Swain's hand and fell back into step with him and the egg man. Selexin
spoke quietly, 'Your daughter is really quite charming.' 'Thanks,'
Swain said. 'But she
provides far more risks to your safety than you should be willing to
accommodate.' 'What?' 'I am merely
suggesting that you might be better off without her,' Selexin said. 'It might
be wise for her to "hole up", as you say. Hide for the duration of
the Presidian. If you survive, you will be able to come back for her. If, of
course, you care for her that much.' 'Which I
do.' 'And
likewise,' Selexin went on, 'if you are defeated, she will not also be killed.
In any case, to what efficiency can you aspire if you are defending her life as
well as your own? An act to prevent her from injury might—' 'Might
jeopardise my own life,' Swain said, 'and therefore jeopardise yours. This is
my daughter. Where I go, she goes. Not negotiable.' Selexin took
a gentle step back. 'And another
thing,' Swain said, 'if something does happen and we are separated, I expect you
to look after her. Not to hole her up and hope nobody stumbles onto her,
but to make sure that nothing — nothing — happens to her. Do you
understand?' Selexin
bowed. 'I have been at error and I apologise with all my heart. I was unaware
of your attachment to your child. In as much as I can, I will do my utmost to
serve your wishes should such an eventuality occur.' 'Thank you.
I appreciate that,' Swain said, nodding. 'Now, you were saying there was something
else. Something I should know about.' 'Yes,'
Selexin regathered himself. 'It pertains to combat, or rather, the end of any
fighting. Whenever any contestant defeats another — either in combat or ambush
or otherwise — the conquest must be confirmed.' 'Okay.' 'And that is
my purpose,' Selexin said. 'You confirm
a kill? Like a witness?' Swain asked. 'Not
exactly. I am not the witness. But I do provide the window for the
witness.' 'Window?' Selexin
stopped on the steps. He turned to Swain. 'Yes. And only
at your command can the window be initialised. If you would be so kind, would
you please say the word "Initialise".' Swain cocked
his head. 'Initialise? Why—' And then it
happened. A small sphere of brilliant white light — perhaps a foot in diameter
— burst to life above Selexin's white skull cap, illuminating the entire
stairwell around them. 'What is
it?' Swain asked. 'It's coming
from the egg—' Holly marvelled. Selexin
looked at Holly, somewhat surprised. 'Yes. You are correct. My rather
odd-looking hat is the source of this teleport, small as it is. If you will, Mr
Swain, please say "Cancel" lest my superiors believe you actually
have killed somebody.' 'Oh, okay.
Ah… cancel.' The light
disappeared instantly. 'You say
it's a teleport. Like before?' Swain asked. 'Yes,'
Selexin said, 'exactly the same as before — simply a hole in the air. Only
much, much smaller, of course. There is merely another official like myself who
is watching at the other end of this teleport. He is your witness.' Swain looked
at the white skull cap on Selexin's head. 'And it comes from that?' 'Yes.' 'Uh-huh,'
Swain said, continuing down the stairs. Selexin
followed in silence. Finally he said, 'If I may be so bold as to inquire, where
are we going?' 'Down,'
Holly said, shaking her head. 'Derrr.' Selexin
frowned, puzzled. Swain
shrugged. 'Like the lady said, down.' He gave
Holly a quick wink — masking his own very real fear — and she grinned back at
him, reassured by the almost conspiratorial nature of the gesture. They
continued down the stairs. —––ooo0ooo——— The
switchboard operator stared at the panel before her in stunned disbelief. When
is this going to stop? she thought. On the
switch in front of her, two rows of incessant flashing lights indicated that
there were a hell of a lot of phone calls waiting to be answered. She took a
deep breath and pressed the flashing square that read '9', and began: 'Good
evening, Con Edison Customer Service Line, my name is Sandy. How may I help
you?' Her headset
rattled with the tinny voice of yet another disgruntled New Yorker. When
finally it stopped, she punched the code — 401 — into her computer console. That made
fourteen in the last hour, on her panel alone. All coming from inside grid
two-twelve — central Manhattan. A 401 —
power out due to a probable short in the electrical main. The switchboard
operator looked at the words on her computer screen: 'Probable short in the
electrical main'. Electronically, she didn't know what a short in the main
meant nor how it was caused. She simply knew all the symptoms of power cuts and
failures and, in much the same way as a doctor identifies an illness, all she
did was add up the symptoms and identify the problem. To know how it was caused
was someone else's job. She
shrugged, leaned forward and pressed the next flashing square, ready to face
the next complaint. The lowest
floor of the New York State Library is called the 'Stack'. It contains no
toilets, no offices, no desks, and no computers. In fact, the Stack holds
nothing but books, lots and lots of books. Like other
large libraries, the State Library of New York is less a borrowing library than
it is an information library — chiefly computers, Internet, microfilm and
CD-ROMs. As far as
actual books are concerned, only the more recent and popular are on display on
the Ground Floor. If patrons seek other books, then they are to be found — by
staff only — in the Stack, Sub-Level Two. Wherefore,
the Stack acts as little more than a holding pen for several million books. Lots
of books. In lots of bookshelves. And these bookshelves are
arranged in a vast rectangular grid formation. Twenty-two
long rows of bookshelves stretch the length of the floor, while horizontal
passageways cut across these longer rows at intervals of twenty feet — creating
an enormous maze of right-angled twists and turns, blind corners, and long
straight aisles that stretch away into infinity. An
enormous maze, thought NYPD Officer Paul Hawkins as he wandered
through the Stack. Wonderful. Hawkins had
been wandering through the dusty aisles for several minutes now and had so far
found nothing. Damn
it, he thought, as he turned back for the stairwe— A soft
noise. From off to
the right. Hawkins'
hand whipped to the automatic by his side. He listened intently. There it was
again. A low,
rasping sound. Not
breathing, he thought. No. More like… sliding. Like a broom sweeping
slowly over a rough wooden floor. Like something sliding along the dusty
floor of Sub-Level Two. Hawkins drew
his gun and listened again. It was definitely coming from the right, from
somewhere within the maze of bookshelves around him. He swallowed. There's
someone in here. He grabbed
the radio on his belt. 'Parker!' he
hissed. 'Parker! Do you copy?' No answer. Jesus. 'Parker,
where are you?' Hawkins
switched off the radio and turned to look back at the receding rows of
bookshelves before him. He pursed his lips for a moment. Then he
lifted his gun and ventured out into the maze. Gun in hand,
Hawkins quietly zigzagged his way between the bookshelves, moving quickly and
easily, searching for the source of the sound. He came to a
halt at the base of a bookcase full of dusty hardcovers. Held his breath for a
moment. Waited… There. His eyes
snapped left. There it was
again. The sweeping sound. It was
getting louder — he must be getting closer. Hawkins
darted left, then right, then left again — moving smoothly in and out of the
aisles, stopping every few metres at the flat end of a bookcase. It was
disorienting, he thought. Every aisle looked the same as the one before it. He stopped
again. Listened. Again, he
heard the soft brushing sound. Like a broom on a dusty wooden floor. Only louder
now. Close. Very, very
close. Hawkins
hurried on along a passageway that cut across the long vertical aisles of the
Stack until suddenly he was confronted by a wall of bookshelves — a solid wall
of bookshelves that seemed to stretch away into darkness in both directions. A
wall? Hawkins thought. He must be at the edge of the floor — at one of
the long sides of the enormous rectangle. The sound
came again. Only this
time, it came from… behind him. Hawkins
spun, raised his gun. What
the hell—? Had it turned? Cautiously,
he edged his way down the alleyway of books. The aisle
closed in around him. The nearest cross-passageway branched away to his right —
there was nothing but the unbroken wall of bookshelves to his left — about
twenty feet away. It was cloaked in shadow. Hawkins
stepped forward slowly. The passageway came fully into view. It was
different. It wasn't a
T-junction, like the last one. More like an L-shape. Hawkins
frowned, and then he realised. It was a corner — the very corner of the floor.
He hadn't realised that he'd come this far from the stairwell at the centre. Listening. Nothing. He came to
the L-junction and listened again. There was no sound. Whatever it
was, it was gone now. And then
Hawkins began to think. He'd followed the sound, the source of which had
presumably been unaware of his presence. But its last few movements had been
odd. It was as
though whoever it was had lost direction and had started circling… Circling,
Hawkins thought. No-one would
consciously go in a circle, would they, unless they were lost or… or unless
they knew someone was following them. Hawkins'
blood went completely cold. Whoever it was, it wasn't just circling. It
was doubling back. It
knew he was here. Hawkins spun
to face the long aisle behind him, jamming his back into the corner shelving. Nothing. 'Damn it!'
he could feel the beads of cold sweat forming on his forehead. 'Damn it, shit!' He couldn't
believe it. He'd walked right into a corner. A goddamn corner! Two options —
straight or left. Shit, he thought, at least among the bookshelves he'd have
had four. Now he was trapped. And then
suddenly he saw it. Off to the
left, moving slowly and carefully, out into the passageway. Hawkins'
eyes widened. 'Holy
shit.' It looked
like nothing he had ever seen before. Big and
long, but low to the ground like an alligator, the creature looked almost
dinosaurian — with black-green pebbled skin, four powerful stubby limbs and a
long, thick counterbalancing tail. Its head was
truly odd. No eyes, and — seemingly — no mouth. The only distinguishing
feature: a pair of long spindly antennae that jutted up from its forehead and
clocked rhythmically from side to side. It was
twenty feet away from Hawkins when the tip of its tail finally came into view.
The tail itself must have been eight feet long, and it slid across the floor in
long, slow arcs, creating the soft sweeping sound. Hawkins saw that the tail
tapered sharply to a point at its tip. The whole animal must have been at least
fourteen feet long. Hawkins
blinked. For an instant there, behind the tail, he thought he caught a glimpse
of a man, a small man, dressed completely in white— And then the
creature's head eased slowly upward— the folds of its skin peeling back to
reveal a hideous four-sided jaw that opened with a soft, lethal hiss. Four rows
of hideously jagged, saliva-covered teeth appeared. 'Jesus Christ,'
Hawkins stared at the creature. It moved
forward. Toward
him. One of the
animal's forelegs caught his attention. A green light glowed from a thick grey
band strapped to the creature's left forelimb. It was close
now — its jaws wide, salivating wildly, dripping goo all over the floor.
Hawkins' eyes were locked on the swaying antennae on its head, clocking from
side to side like a pair of metronomes. It was three
feet away… Two feet… Hawkins
tensed to run, but for some terrifying reason, his legs wouldn't move. He tried
to raise his gun, but couldn't — it was as if every muscle in his body had gone
completely, instantly limp. He watched helplessly as, to his horror, his gun
slipped from his unresponsive hand and dropped loudly to the floor. The antennae
kept swaying. One foot… Hawkins was
sweating profusely, breathing in short, rapid breaths. He just couldn't take
his eyes off them. The antennae. They seemed to move in perfect rhythm, swaying
in smooth hypnotic circles… He watched —
completely defenceless — as the creature's sinister-looking head came slowly up
to his knee. Ohshit.
Ohshit. Ohshit. And then,
suddenly, unexpectedly, like a cobra coiling up off the ground, the creature's
long, pointed, eight-foot tail lifted off the floor and swung forward — over
its low reptilian body — so that now it was pointing forward, arcing
over its frame like a scorpion's stinger, the tip of the tail pointing right
at the bridge of Paul Hawkins' nose. Hawkins saw
it happen and his terror hit fever pitch. He desperately wanted to shut his
eyes, so he wouldn't see it happen, but he couldn't even do that— 'Hey!' The
creature's head snapped left. And in an
instant, the trance was broken and Hawkins could move again. He looked up and
saw… … a man. A man,
standing a short way down the aisle. Hawkins hadn't even seen him approach.
Hadn't even heard him. Hawkins took in the man's appearance. He had wet hair,
and was wearing jeans and sneakers and a white shirt that hung out at the
waist. The man
spoke to Hawkins. 'Come over
here. Now.' Hawkins
looked down warily at the big alligator-like creature at his feet. It ignored
him completely, simply faced the man in jeans, its body dead still. If it had
eyes, Hawkins thought, it was definitely glaring at him. A low rumbling
noise rose threateningly from the back of its throat. Hawkins glanced
back questioningly at the man. The man just kept his eyes levelled at him. 'Come on,'
the man said calmly, eyes unmoving. 'Just leave the gun there and walk very
slowly over to me.' Tentatively,
Hawkins took a step forward. The creature
at his knee didn't move. It remained steadfastly focused on the man in jeans. The man
pushed Hawkins behind him and slowly stepped backwards, away from the creature. Hawkins
looked down the aisle behind them and saw two figures standing maybe forty feet
away — a small one in white, and another, equally small, who looked like… he
squinted… like a little girl. 'Move,'
Swain said, pushing Hawkins down the aisle, his back to him. Swain kept
his eyes up, focused on the bookshelves, away from the creature's
swaying antennae, watching it only out of his peripheral vision. The two men
stepped slowly down the aisle, away from the frozen creature. And then
suddenly it began to follow them, moving around the corner in a darting
crab-like manner that belied its size. Then it stopped. Swain pushed
Hawkins further down the aisle. 'Keep moving. Just keep moving.' 'What the—' 'Just move.' Swain was
walking backwards, still facing the creature. Again it made a darting,
scuttling movement ten feet forward, and then stopped again, well short of
Hawkins and himself It's
being cautious, he thought. And then it
charged. 'Oh, shit!' The large
animal bounded down the narrow confines of the aisle. Swain looked
frantically for somewhere to run. But he was still ten feet away from the
nearest passageway into the maze of bookshelves. There was
nowhere to go! Swain braced
himself, the ground beneath him vibrating under the thumping weight of the
fast-approaching creature. Christ, it must weigh nearly four hundred pounds. Hawkins
turned. He saw it over Swain's shoulder. 'Holy Christ…' Swain just
stood there, feet spread wide, taking up the whole aisle. The creature
kept coming. It wasn't stopping. 'It's not
stopping!' Hawkins yelled. 'It
has to!' Swain called. 'It has to stop!' The creature
bounded forward, bearing down on Swain like a runaway freight train, until
abruptly, three feet short of him, it reared on its hind legs and clasped the
bookcases on either side of it with its clawed fore-limbs, bringing it to a
sudden, lunging stop. The
four-sided jaw stopped just inches away from Swain's unmoving face. The creature
hissed fiercely, challenging him. Its saliva dripped down onto the floor in
front of his shoes. Swain
averted his gaze, stared at a nearby bookshelf, keeping his eyes off the
animal's oscillating antennae. The horrifying alligator-like creature, now
standing up on its hind legs, towered over him, looming above him like
an evil apparition. Swain wagged
an admonishing finger at the infuriated animal: 'Ah-ah-ah. No touching.' And he began
to walk backwards again, pushing Hawkins. Hawkins
stumbled down the aisle, looking back over his shoulder every few seconds. This
time the creature didn't follow them, at least not immediately. They reached
the little white man and the girl, and were a good thirty feet from the
creature when it began moving toward them again. The little
man spoke: 'Sequencing! She's sequencing! ' The man in
the loose-fitting shirt and jeans looked at Hawkins, standing there in his
well-pressed police uniform. 'We don't
have time to talk right now, but my name is Stephen Swain, and at the moment
we're all in big trouble. You ready to run?' Hawkins
answered without thinking. 'Yuh-huh.' Swain looked
back down the aisle at the large dinosaur-like creature. Twenty feet. He picked
up Holly. 'You know
the way back to the stairwell?' he asked Hawkins. The young
cop nodded. 'Then you
lead the way. Just keep zig-zagging. We'll be right behind you.' He turned to
the others. 'You two ready?' They nodded. 'Okay then, let's move.' Hawkins
broke into a run, the others close behind him. With a great
lunge, the creature leapt forward in pursuit. Swain
brought up the rear, carrying Holly on his hip. He could hear the pounding of
the great weight on the floor behind him. The
stairs. The stairs. Got to reach the stairs. Left, right,
left, right. He could see
the cop weaving up ahead, and then finally, beyond the policeman, he saw the
central stairwell block. But he couldn't see the doorway. They were
coming from the wrong side. 'Daddy! It's
catching up!' Holly yelled from his shoulder. He looked
behind him. The creature
was indeed closing in on them — a giant black-green monster galloping down the
narrow aisle with its salivating jaws bared wide. Swain wasn't
worried for himself. Selexin had been right about that. Whatever it was, it was
another contestant, and it couldn't touch him. Not yet. Not until that number
on his watch read '7'. But
if it got Holly… He saw the
cop round the central stairwell block up ahead, then Selexin. Swain rounded the
concrete block last of all, panting hard. The
door! He saw
Selexin duck inside it, and then the policeman appeared in the doorway, his
hand outstretched. 'Come on!'
he was yelling. Swain heard
the creature slide around the corner behind him. He kept
running, kept holding Holly to his chest. He was breathing very heavily now. He
was sure he was running too slowly. He could hear the creature's snorting
grunts close behind him. Any second now it would be all over him, ready to
pluck his daughter — the only family he had left — right from his very arms… 'Come
on!' Hawkins called again. Behind him,
Swain heard the creature's tail slam against a bookcase, heard the sound of
books crashing to the floor. Then suddenly, he was at the door and he reached
for Hawkins' outstretched arms and Hawkins grabbed his hand and hurled him and
Holly inside the stairwell just as Selexin slammed the door shut behind them. Selexin
turned, breathless, exhilarated. 'We made it—' Bang! The door
behind him shuddered violently. Swain lifted
himself up from the floor, gasping for air. 'Come on.' They were a
whole floor up the stairwell when they heard the door to Sub-Level Two bang
open with a loud bone-jarring crack! —––ooo0ooo——— INCOMPLETE—6 Swain
frowned at the wristband. He'd missed the arrival of the last two contestants.
Now there was no knowing when the next — and last — contestant would enter the
library. No knowing
when the Presidian would begin. The group
had left the stairwell and were now hiding in an office on Sub-Level One. Like all
the others around it, this office was partitioned by waist-high wood panelling
with glass reaching the rest of the way up to the ceiling. Everyone was careful
to stay low, out of sight, below the glass. Swain had
found a directory of the library attached to the wall of the stairwell and
wrenched it free. He was looking at it now while Selexin sat behind the desk,
quietly explaining their situation to Hawkins. Holly was sitting on the floor
nestled up to Swain, holding him tightly, sucking her thumb. She was still a
little shell-shocked by their close encounter with the big creature downstairs. The
directory showed a cross-section of the library. Six floors —
four above ground, two below — each a different colour. The two sub-levels
below the Ground Floor were both shaded grey and stamped with the label NO public access. The others were brightly
coloured: THIRD FLOOR — STUDY HALL SECOND FLOOR — READING ROOMS,
FUNCTION ROOMS, COMPUTER SERVICES FIRST FLOOR — ON-LINE SERVICES,
CD-ROMS, COPIERS, MICROFILM GROUND FLOOR — CATALOGUES, CD-ROMS, REFERENCE Swain
remembered the study hall on the top floor with its odd-looking desks. He tried
to memorise the rest. Small blue squares picturing a stick-man and woman
indicated toilets on every other floor. Another blue square, with a car
pictured in it, was tacked to the edge of Sub-Level One. The parking lot. He checked
his wristband again. INCOMPLETE—6 Still '6'.
Good. He looked
over at Selexin and the policeman, and shook his head in wonder. That young
cop was lucky to be alive. It had been only blind luck that had led Swain to
his rescue — the instant when he, Holly and Selexin had been descending the
stairs and seen a long shadow stretch out onto the landing below them. They had
watched from the shadows above as the creature — Selexin said its name was
Reese — stepped slowly into view, accompanied by its guide. It stopped on the
landing, seemed to examine the floor with its snub dinosaur-like snout, and
then peered down the stairwell. Then it had
slithered quickly down the stairs. Something
had caught its attention. Curious,
they had then followed it down into the Stack and seen it weave purposefully in
and out of the bookshelves for several minutes — stalking something, leading it
on. It was only at the last moment that Swain had ventured out into the
furthermost aisle to actually see Reese's quarry — a lone policeman, trapped in
the corner. He'd moved
instantly — stopping only for a piece of last-minute advice from Selexin: avoid
all eye contact with Reese's antennae. And so they
had met Hawkins. Swain turned
to Selexin. 'Tell me more about Reese.' 'Reese?'
Selexin said. 'Well, for one thing, Reese is, in human terms, female. Her tail
tapers sharply to a point, like a spear. Males of her species possess only
blunted tails. This is because in their clans, the female is the hunter, and
her chief weapon is her sharp pointed tail. 'Didn't you
see, when Reese was moving in on your new friend here,' Selexin nodded to
Hawkins, 'that her tail was poised high over her body, in a large arc, pointing
forward? And he couldn't move an inch. 'That is why
I told you not to make prolonged eye contact with her antennae. Any extended
visual contact with them will cause instant paralysis. Just like it did with
him.' Selexin gave Hawkins a look. 'That is how Reese hunts. You look at her
antennae for too long and you suffer hypnotic paralysis, and — bang! —
before you know it, she's got you with that tail. Right between the eyes.' The little
man smiled. 'I would say she bears a rather strong resemblance to the female of
your own species, aggressive and instinctive. Wouldn't you say?' 'Hey,'
Holly said. Swain
ignored the remark. 'Tell me more about her hunting methods. Her stalking
methods.' Selexin took
a breath. 'Well, as you no doubt noticed, Reese has no eyes. For the simple
reason that she does not need them. She comes from a planet surrounded by
opaque, inert gases. Light cannot enter their atmosphere, and the inert gases
are impervious to any chemical change. Her race has simply adapted over time to
utilise and enhance their other senses: increased auditory acuity, sensitive
ampullae for detecting the distressed heartbeat of frightened or wounded prey,
and, most of all, a highly evolved scent detection mechanism. In fact, I would
say that her sense of smell is her most well-developed hunting tool.' 'Wait a
second,' Swain said, alarmed, 'she can smell us? 'Not now.
Reese's sense of smell has a very limited range. No farther than, say, a couple
of feet.' Swain
breathed in relief. Hawkins did, too. 'But within
that range,' Selexin went on, 'her sense of smell is incredibly astute.' 'What do you
mean?' 'I mean,'
Selexin said, 'that the manner by which she detected him,' — Selexin
pointed roughly to Hawkins — 'was by his scent.' 'But I
thought you said her range wasn't that good. How could—' Swain cut
himself off. Selexin was waiting for him again, giving him an expectant
'are-you-finished?' look. 'That is
correct,' Selexin said, 'in a way. You see, Reese didn't smell him. What
she smelled was the scent he left behind. Do you remember when Reese
first came into our view in the stairwell? She bent low and sniffed the floor?' Swain
frowned. 'Yeah…' 'Footprints,'
Selexin said. 'A trail not long cold. With any fresh trail like that, Reese
doesn't need to smell anything beyond two feet, because she just follows
the scent of the trail itself 'Oh,' Swain
said. And then it
hit him. 'Oh, shit!' He shot up
to look out through the glass partition above him— And found
himself staring at Reese's menacing four-pronged jaws — wide open, foully
salivating — pressed up against the other side of the glass, only inches away. Swain fell
backwards, stumbled away from the glass. Hawkins
leapt to his feet, mouth agape. Reese
slammed against the partition, smearing saliva everywhere. 'Eyes down!'
Swain yelled, snatching Holly up in his arms. Reese rammed the partition again
— hard — and the whole office shook. 'Keep your eyes away from the antennae! Go
for the door!' There were
three glass doors to this square-shaped office — one west, one south and one
east. Reese was banging on the western wall of the room. Swain ran
for the eastern door, threw it open and charged into the next office, Selexin
and Hawkins close behind him. With Holly
in the crook of his arm, he slid smoothly over a desk in the centre of the
office, opened the next door. 'Close the
doors behind you!' he yelled back. 'Already
doing it!' Hawkins called forward. And then,
from behind them, there came a loud crashing sound — the sound of breaking
glass. Up ahead,
Swain continued to run. Over desks, through doorways, dodging filing cabinets,
sending paper flying everywhere. Then he came out of the last office and was
suddenly faced with something different. A heavy blue
door set into a solid concrete wall. Hawkins was
yelling, 'She's coming! And she seems really pissed off!' Swain looked
at the heavy blue door. It looked strong, with a hydraulic opening mechanism.
At the end of the short corridor to his right, he saw another option — a
glassed-in elevator bay. He glanced back at Hawkins racing through the offices
behind him. Better
do something… With Holly
still in his arms, Swain turned the knob on the hydraulic door. It opened. Three
concrete stairs. Going down. He stepped
through the doorway, pulled Selexin with him and waited for Hawkins. Hawkins
was running hard, through the last glass-walled office. Beyond
Hawkins, Swain could see nothing but offices divided by glass partitions. And then he
saw it. Saw the long pointed tail flashing up above the waist-high wood
panelling. It was barging through anything that lay in its path — like a great
white shark's fin slicing through water — launching desks and filing cabinets
and swivel chairs high into the air. Two offices
away and heading directly toward them. Moving fast. Closing in. Hawkins ran
past Swain, through the doorway, and Swain shut the big hydraulic door behind
him. It closed with a dull thud. Strong door.
Good. It would give them some time. Holding
Holly, Swain took the lead again, heading down the three concrete stairs. White
fluorescent lights lit a modern grey-painted corridor. Black piping snaked its
way along the ceiling. The four of
them followed the winding corridor for about twenty yards before, suddenly,
they burst into open space. Swain
stopped and took in the scene before him. An
underground parking lot. It looked
new — almost brand new, in fact. Glistening newly paved concrete, white-painted
floor markings, shiny yellow wheel clamps on the ground, pristine white
fluorescent lights. It was quite a contrast to the old dusty library they had
seen so far. Swain
scanned the parking lot. No cars. Damn. There was a
Down ramp in the centre of the lot, about twenty yards in front of them. Swain
figured that the Exit
ramp going up to the street must be on the other side of the Down ramp. There came a
sudden, loud bang from somewhere behind them. Swain spun. Reese
was through the door. He quickly
led the others to the Down ramp. It was wide — wide enough for two cars to pass
each other side-by-side. They had just reached the top of the ramp when he
heard a hissing sound from behind them. Swain turned
around slowly. Reese was
standing at the entrance to the parking lot, her guide positioned silently
behind her. Swain
swallowed— —and then,
suddenly, he heard another sound. Clop… Clop… Clop… Footsteps.
Slow footsteps. Echoing loudly in the deserted parking lot. Swain,
Holly, Selexin and Hawkins all spun at the same time and they saw him
instantly. Coming up
the Down ramp. Walking
slowly, purposefully. A six-foot
bearded man, dressed in a broad-shouldered animal-skin jacket, dark pants and
knee-high black boots that clip-clopped loudly on the concrete ramp. And behind
him, yet another guide, dressed completely in white. As the big
bearded man stepped onto level ground and stopped, Swain instinctively pushed
Holly behind him. At the sight
of the new contestant, Reese became visibly agitated. She hissed even louder. They all
stood in silence — the three groups forming a precarious, unspeaking triangle. It was then
that Swain looked down at his wristband. It now read: INITIALISED—7 Seven. Swain looked
up slowly. The
Presidian had begun. THIRD MOVEMENT 30 November, 6:39 p.m. —––ooo0ooo——— The parking
lot was silent. Somewhere
off to his left Swain could hear the drone of New York traffic, the honking of
car horns. The sounds of the outside world — the ordinary world. Selexin drew
up beside him. 'Just keep
looking forward,' Selexin was staring intently at the tall bearded man before
them. 'He is
Balthazar. The Crisean. Small-blade handler: knives, stilettos, that sort of
thing; Technologically, the Criseans are not well-developed, but with their
hunting skills, they don't need tech—' Selexin cut
himself off. The bearded
man was staring right at them. Looking directly at Swain. Swain kept
his eyes locked on Balthazar. Just then
the big man turned slightly, revealing something hanging from his waist.
Something that glinted under the harsh electric light of the parking lot. A blade. A sweeping,
curving, vicious-looking blade. An extraterrestrial cutlass. Swain lifted
his gaze. A thick leather-like baldric hung over Balthazar's shoulder,
attaching itself to the belt at his waist. Fastened to the leather strap were
various sheaths and scabbards — and in them, a whole assortment of lethal
throwing knives. 'You see
them?' Selexin whispered. 'I see
them.' 'Criseans,'
Selexin said respectfully. 'Very impressive bladesmen. Very quick, too. Fast.
Take your eyes off him for a second and before you know it, you'll have a knife
lodged in your heart.' Swain didn't
answer. Selexin turned to him. 'Sorry,' he
whispered. 'I shouldn't have said that.' 'Daddy…'
Holly said. 'What's happening?' 'We're just
waiting, honey.' With one eye
on Balthazar, Swain scanned the parking lot. Looking for something… looking for
a way out… There. In the
south-west corner of the lot, maybe twenty yards away from them — a pair of
elevators, encased inside a brightly lit glass-walled foyer. It was the same
elevator bay he had seen earlier, only here it opened out onto the parking lot. Swain handed
Holly to Hawkins, at the same time as he pulled Hawkins' heavy police
flashlight from his gunbelt. 'Whatever
happens here,' Swain said, 'I want you to run as fast as you can to those
elevators over there, okay?' 'Okay.' 'Once you're
inside and the doors are shut, let it go halfway up a floor and press the
Emergency Stop button. Okay?' Hawkins
nodded. 'You should
be safe there,' Swain said, rolling the big flashlight over in his hand. 'I
don't think they'll have figured out how to use elevators yet.' Beside them,
Selexin was watching the other two contestants warily. 'What happens now?'
Swain asked him. At first
there was no reply. The little man just stared intently at the empty car park.
And then, without turning his head, Selexin said, 'Anything.' Reese moved
first. Darting towards Swain. Heavy, bounding steps. Swain felt
adrenalin surge through his body. He swallowed, gripped the flashlight tightly. Reese kept
coming. Christ,
Swain thought, how the hell do you fight a thing like that? He tensed to
run, but suddenly Selexin grabbed his arm. 'Don't,' he whispered. 'Not
yet.' 'Wha—?'
Swain watched Reese charge toward them. 'Trust me,'
Selexin's voice was like ice. Reese was bounding
toward them now. Swain wanted desperately to run. Out of the corner of his
eye he saw Balthazar slowly unsheath a pair of throwing knives— And then
Reese turned. Sharply and
unexpectedly. Away from Swain and the group. Toward
Balthazar. 'Ha! She had
to,' Selexin whispered proudly. 'Had to. Classic huntsman behaviour…' Then
suddenly, in a blur of motion, Swain saw Balthazar's right arm move in a rapid
throwing action— and abruptly two flashes of silver fanned out from his hand,
whistling through the air. Thud! A glinting
steel throwing knife embedded itself in the concrete pillar between
Swain and Hawkins, missing them both by inches! The second
futuristic-looking knife was intended for Reese, but unlike Swain, she was
ready for it. Running low and fast, she rolled right when she detected the flying
blade coming toward her and — crack! — the throwing knife, flying
downward, lodged in the floor of the parking lot underneath her, cracking the
shiny new concrete, standing almost upright. Selexin was
still praising his tactical decision. 'I tell you, classic huntsman behaviour.
You take out the more dangerous prey first, catch it off-guard—' 'Tell me
about it later,' Swain said as he glanced over his shoulder to see Reese —
shrieking wildly — slam into Balthazar, toppling him over backwards. Swain pushed
Hawkins toward the elevator bay. 'Go!' Hawkins took
off, holding Holly close to his chest, running straight for the elevators. Swain was
about to follow them when he turned for a final look at the battle behind him. Reese had
Balthazar pinned to the ground beneath her, jamming his hands down beneath her
powerful stubby forelimbs. Balthazar was struggling desperately, reaching for
his cutlass on the floor, inches out of his reach. But the
weight was too much. Reese's jaws
were salivating wildly above his head, the saliva gushing in heavy torrents all
over Balthazar's face. And then Reese began to slash at him with her foreclaws
— vicious sweeping slashes that drew whole chunks of flesh from Balthazar's
chest. It was
disgusting, Swain thought. Disgusting, violent and brutal. He watched
in horror as Balthazar shook his head rapidly from side to side, screaming in
pain trying to avoid eye contact with Reese's swaying antennae, trying to get
his head clear of the blinding saliva, while at the same time feebly attempting
to fend off her savage blows. It was desperation. The total and utter
desperation of a man fighting for his very life. And Stephen
Swain felt angry. Indignant and furious at the whole scene in front of him. He spun
quickly to see Hawkins and Holly reach the glassed-in elevator bay and enter
it. Hawkins quickly pressed the UP button on the wall. Neither of the two
elevators opened immediately. The lifts were on the way. They'd be
safe. Swain turned
back to face the battle, the anger welling up inside him. Balthazar was still
struggling, swishing his head from side to side, his cries of pain drowned out
by the saliva gushing down into his screaming mouth. Reese was still firmly on
top of him, violently slashing, squealing maniacally. And then
Swain saw Reese's tail rise. Slowly and silently behind her, like an enormous
scorpion, out of Balthazar's view. And with
that, Swain knew what he had to do. He ran. Straight at
them. Reese's tail
was poised now, arcing high over her head… ready to strike… and then Balthazar
saw it too and he began to scream… With
Hawkins' heavy police flashlight in front of him, Swain slammed into Reese,
knocking her off Balthazar, sending all three of them sprawling onto the
concrete floor. Reese fell
onto her back and Swain tumbled on top of her. She let out an ear-piercing
shriek as her body writhed about on the concrete, bucking and kicking, trying
desperately to throw Swain clear. Swain's grip
on her slipped and suddenly he was in mid-air and all he could see was a
kaleidoscope of grey walls, white fluorescent light and concrete pavement. He
hit the floor hard, chest-first, and rolled onto his back— —only to see
Reese's sharp tail rushing toward his face! Swain
swerved his head left and the tail hit the concrete with a loud thud. Swain
glanced quickly at the spot where his head had been. Broken chunks of cement
surrounded a small crater the size of a tennis ball in the concrete floor. Jesus
Christ. Swain was
still on the floor, rolling fast. Reese was crab-walking next to him, moving
equally fast, banging her tail down like a piledriver. The tail
came crashing down again, right next to Swain's head. In the
nanoseconds of time in which the mind operates, Swain tried to weigh up his
options. He couldn't run. There was no way he could get up and clear in time.
And he couldn't fight Reese. Christ, if a warrior like Balthazar
couldn't beat her, how the hell could he? No, somehow
he had to get out of here. But to do that, he had to do something that would
buy him enough time to get clear. And so Swain
did the only thing he could think to do. With all his
strength he swung Hawkins' heavy police flashlight — baseball-style — at
Reese's tail, planted in the concrete. He aimed for
the tip of the tail, the thinnest part, from the side. The flashlight
hit its mark — hard — impacting against the tapered tip of the tail. There was
a loud, bloodcurdling snap! of breaking bone as the tail bent instantly
and Reese roared in agony, instantly pulling away from Swain. Swain seized
the chance. He leapt to
his feet and looked over at the two elevators inside the glass-walled foyer.
The doors to the left-hand elevator were opening and Hawkins, carrying Holly,
was getting inside, looking back questioningly at Swain with every step. 'Go! Go!'
Swain yelled. 'I'll catch up!' Hawkins
ducked inside the elevator and hit a button and the elevator doors closed.
Swain swung back to the fight. Reese had
backed off several steps, consumed with her broken tail. Balthazar was now
rising unsteadily to his feet, his head bent as he tried to clear the saliva
from his eyes. Swain
stumbled over to Balthazar. The big man's eyes were still covered in gooey
saliva, the exposed skin on his chest horribly shredded and caked in thick
blood, his face locked in a grimace of extreme pain. Swain
grabbed his arm and simply said, 'Come with me.' Balthazar
said nothing, merely allowed Swain to take his arm and pull him away. Swain
looped the big man's arm over his shoulder and helped him towards the
elevators. Selexin just
stood there, gaping at Swain in utter amazement. 'You
coming?' Swain said as he dragged Balthazar past the little man. Stunned,
Selexin looked from Swain to Balthazar's guide — who just shrugged
uncomprehendingly — then to Reese, and then finally to the elevators. Then he
hurried after Swain. Swain burst
into the glass-walled elevator bay, hit the UP button. Balthazar was still
draped over his shoulder, his guide right behind him. Swain spun to see Reese
banging her tail on the concrete floor. Two loud bangs were followed by a third
that emitted a sickening cracking sound. Reese roared
savagely and Swain knew at once what that meant. She had straightened the
fracture. Once she was over the instant pain she would be moving again— Reese was
moving again. Toward the elevator. Swain jammed
his finger down on the up button.
'Come on! Come on!' Reese was
darting left and right, scuttling in a crablike manner across the wide parking
lot floor, coming closer… She stopped.
Fifteen yards away from the elevator bay. Swain
noticed that this time her tail didn't swish menacingly back and forth behind
her. It just sat there, limp on the floor, motionless. Reese hissed
softly in the silence of the parking lot, her antennae swaying hypnotically
above her head. Swain watched her through the glass walls of the elevator bay,
entranced. Selexin
shoved him hard, jolting him sideways. 'Don't look at the antennae!' Swain
blinked back to his senses. He couldn't even remember looking at the
antennae… There was a
loud bing from behind him and he spun to see the second elevator's doors
grinding open. 'Everybody
inside,' he said, suddenly back to life, hurling Balthazar into the lift. Once
inside, he hurriedly pressed '1' and then door
close. Nothing
happened. Swain looked
out and saw Reese bounding toward the glass elevator bay. He pressed door CLOSE repeatedly. The doors
remained open. Reese was
getting closer, charging. Suddenly
there was a click and the elevator doors slowly began to close. Smash! Glass
exploded everywhere as Reese burst through the clear glass door of the elevator
bay. She landed clumsily inside the small foyer, sliding across the floor on a
carpet of tiny glass fragments, sprawled out on all four legs. The doors
were inching closer. And then, to
Swain's horror, Reese slid to a halt right in front of the elevator and
started getting to her feet. The doors
kept closing. Reese was on her feet again. The doors were almost joined. Reese
tensed herself to leap— And the
doors joined. And the lift
began to move upward. Swain
exhaled with relief. And then
with all her weight Reese hit the exterior doors. Hard and
loud. Denting the doors inward, tearing them apart at the centre, shaking the
whole elevator and stopping it with a loud scraping lurch. Two
feet above the ground. The lift
rocked. Selexin clutched at Swain's leg for balance. Balthazar sat in the rear
corner, head bent, body limp, swaying with the elevator's movement. Swain
regained his balance and saw the doors, pushed inward, creating a gap one foot
wide at the centre. Too
narrow, he thought. She can't get in. Reese rammed
the doors again. The elevator
shook. The gap widened. Swain
pressed the up button on the
panel, but the elevator still didn't move. The large inward dent in the doors
was keeping them from closing, and the lift wouldn't move again until they were
shut. Reese now
had her snout and antennae inside the elevator doors. She was snapping her jaws
ferociously from side to side, flinging saliva everywhere, desperately trying
to force the doors open — her antennae slicing through the air like twin whips. Swain
tightened his grip on Hawkins' flashlight and stepped toward her. Suddenly
Reese surged forward, rocking the elevator. Swain fell, slipping on the wet
floor, falling backwards, the flashlight flying from his hand into the corner
of the lift. He looked up to see Reese lunging ferociously at his feet,
snapping wildly, held back by the doors — saw the frenzied, salivating jaws,
the four sets of bared, jagged teeth only inches away from his feet. About to— Swain turned
his eyes clear, took a deep breath and in a flashing instant thought, I can't
believe I am going to do this. Then he kicked hard, landing the sole of his
shoe squarely on Reese's front teeth, breaking three instantly. Reese
recoiled, shrieking fiercely as she fell backwards onto the floor below. Swain kicked
again, this time at the doors, in a vain attempt to straighten the large inward
dents. He gave them three hammering blows, but barely made an impression. The
doors were double-strength, too strong. And then suddenly
— whack! — a giant leather boot came crashing down on the battered
doors, and the dents straightened markedly. It was
Balthazar! He had slid
over to where Swain was lying and, despite his injuries, had unleashed a
powerful kick of his own at the doors. Whack!
Whack! Two more
thunderous blows and the dents straightened fully and the doors eased shut and
Balthazar fell to the floor in exhaustion and the elevator lifted and at last,
there was silence. —––ooo0ooo——— 'Grid
two-twelve,' the assistant said, reading from his clipboard. 'The area bounded
by 14th Street and Delancey on the north-south axis. Medium rise zone: standard
commercial-residential area, couple of buildings on the National Register, a
few parks. Nothing special.' Robert K.
Charlton sat back in his chair. 'Nothing
special,' he said. 'Nothing special, except that in the last couple of hours,
we've 'had over a hundred and eighty complaints from an area that hardly
ever says boo.' He handed a
sheet of paper over his desk to his assistant. 'Take a look
at that. It's from the switch. One girl down there has had — what is it now? —
fifty-one, no, fifty-two probable 401s on her own. All from two-twelve.' Slightly
overweight, 54 years old, and a man who had spent way too much time in
the same job, Bob Charlton was the evening watch supervisor for Consolidated Edison,
the city's main electricity supplier. His office was situated one floor above
Con Ed's switchboard and it was hardly ostentatious. It comprised a wraparound
Ikea desk — with a computer on it — surrounded by that beige-coloured shelving
common to middle-management offices the world over. 'And do you
know what that means?' Charlton asked. 'What?' his
assistant said. His name was Rudy. 'It means
that somebody has got to the main,' Charlton said. 'Cut it off. Shut it down.
Or maybe even overloaded it. Shit. Run down to Dispatch and see if any of our
guys were down in that grid today. I'll give the cops a call, see if they've
found any punks cutting cables.' 'Yes, sir.' Rudy left
the room. Charlton
swung around in his swivel chair to face a map of Manhattan Island he had
pinned to the wall behind his desk. To Charlton,
Manhattan looked like a warped diamond — three perfectly straight sides, with
one side, the north-eastern, jagged and twisted. Electrical grids stretched
across the island's breadth like lines on a football field. He found the
horizontal rectangle that displayed grid two-twelve. It was down near the
southern end of the island, a few miles north of the World Trade Centre. He thought
about the report. Medium
rise zone. Standard commercial-residential area, couple of buildings on the
National Register. A few parks. The National
Register. The National
Register of Historic Places. He thought
about that. Lately Con Ed had been bullied by the Mayor's Office into linking
up some of the older buildings of the city to the new mains. Not surprisingly,
there had been a truckload of problems. Some of the older buildings had
circuitry dating back before the First World War, others didn't even have
circuitry. Linking them up had been unusually difficult and it wasn't uncommon
for one building's overload to screw up the networking for an entire city grid. Charlton
flicked on his computer and called up the file on the National Register. It
wouldn't have all the historically protected buildings in the city, only
the ones that Con Ed had worked on. That would be good enough. He called up
grid two-twelve. There were five hits. He pressed display. The screen
scrolled out a more detailed list of names and Charlton was leaning forward to
read them when the phone rang. 'Charlton.' 'Sir, it's
me.' It was Rudy. 'Yes?' 'I'm down in
Dispatch, and they say that none of their guys has been in two-twelve for
nearly three weeks.' Charlton
frowned. 'You sure?' 'They've got
records on disk if you want them.' 'No, that
will be fine. Well done, Rudy.' 'Thank you,
si—' Charlton
hung up. 'Damn.' He was
hoping it had been someone from Dispatch. At least then it would have been
traceable. There would be a record of where the break — or shutdown, or
overload — in the main was. A record of where the work had been done. Now there
was no knowing where the break was. Other shorts could be detected with Con
Ed's computers, tracing every line. But for that you needed the main to be
on-line. But with the
main down in a particular grid, that grid became a black hole as far as
computer tracing was concerned. And the break lay somewhere within that black
hole. Now it was
guesswork. Charlton
swore. The first thing to do was call the police. See if they had pulled in
someone in the last twenty-four hours hacking at the cables somewhere. Anything
like that. He sighed.
It was going to be a long night. He picked up the phone and dialled. 'Good
evening, this is Bob Charlton, I'm the evening watch supervisor down here at
Consolidated Edison. I'd like to speak with Lieutenant Peters, please. Yes,
I'll hold.' As he waited
on hold, Charlton looked idly back at the map of Manhattan Island. Soon his
call was put through and he turned away from the map altogether. All the
while the computer screen on his desk remained on. And for the
whole time he was on the phone, Bob Charlton never noticed the last line of the
list of historic buildings on the screen. The line read: GRID 212: LISTING No. 5 NEW YORK STATE LIBRARY (1897) CONNECTED TO NETWORK: 17
FEBRUARY 1995 After a few
moments, Charlton said excitedly, 'You did — when? I'll be down there in
twenty minutes.' Then he hung up, grabbed his coat and quickly left his office. A few
seconds later, he returned and leaned across his desk. And switched
off his computer. —––ooo0ooo——— Swain
pressed the red emergency stop button
and the elevator creaked loudly to a halt. He reached up for the hatch in the
ceiling. Balthazar,
his energy now completely spent after repairing the elevator doors, sat propped
up against the corner of the lift, his head bowed, groaning. His guide stood
unsympathetically beside him, glaring at Selexin. Swain was
opening the hatch in the ceiling of the elevator when the other guide spoke.
'Come on, Selexin, get on with it.' He nodded at Balthazar. 'Finish it.' Swain
stopped what he was doing and turned to face the others. Selexin
said, 'That is not for me to decide. You of all people know that.' The other
guide spun to face Swain. 'Well? Look at him' — a jerk toward Balthazar
in the corner — 'he cannot fight anymore. He cannot even defend himself. Finish
it. Finish it now. Our fight is over.' Swain
swallowed. The little guide possessed an unusual strength in his defiance — the
strength of a man who knows he is about to die. 'Yes,' Swain
said slowly to himself. 'Yes.' He looked
again at Balthazar. It was only then that he noticed just how big the bearded
man was. Not six foot. More like six-eight. But that didn't seem to matter now. Balthazar
lifted his head and stared up at Swain. His eyes were severely bloodshot,
red-rimmed; his chest ripped to shreds. Swain took a
slow step forward and stood over him. Selexin must
have noticed his hesitation. 'You must,' he said, softly. 'You have to.' Balthazar
never took his eyes off Swain. The big bearded man took a deep breath as Swain
reached down and slowly — very slowly — unsheathed one of the long daggers from
the baldric draped across his chest. The dagger hissed against the sheath as
Swain pulled it out. Balthazar
shut his eyes, resigned to his fate, unable to offer any defence. Knife in
hand, Swain shot a final questioning glance at Selexin. The little man nodded
solemnly. Swain turned
back to Balthazar, lowered the knife, pointed it at the big man's heart. And
then he did it. He slid the
blade gently back into its sheath. And then he
stepped away, back toward the hatch in the ceiling of the elevator, back to
what he'd been doing. Balthazar's
eyes opened, puzzled. Selexin
rolled his eyes. The other
guide was simply thunderstruck. He said to Selexin, 'He can't do that.' Then to
Swain, who was back at the ceiling, tossing open the hatch, 'You can't do
that.' 'I just
did,' Swain said. The hatch banged open. He turned,
not looking at the other guide, but rather, straight at Selexin. 'Because
that's not what I do.' With that,
Swain grabbed Hawkins' police flashlight and poked his head up through the open
hatch. He had something else on his mind. He peered up
into the dark elevator shaft, flicking on the flashlight. He was hoping that
Hawkins had done what he had told him to do. He had. The other
elevator lay right there, only a few feet away, right alongside Swain's
elevator, halted halfway between this floor and the one above. Swain aimed the
beam of the flashlight up into the shaft. Greasy cables stretched up into the
darkness. The doors to the next floor were about eight feet above him. On them
were written the black-painted words: ground
floor. The shaft
was silent. The other
elevator sat still, perhaps a foot above Swain's, a small slit of yellow light
betraying a crack in its side panelling. 'Holly?
Hawkins?' Swain whispered. He heard
Holly's voice — 'Daddy!' — and he felt a wave of relief wash over him. 'We're here,
sir,' Hawkins' voice said. 'Are you all right?' 'We're fine
here. How about you two?' 'We're okay.
Want us to come over?' 'No. You
stay where you are,' Swain said. 'Our elevator has taken a beating, the doors
are busted. They probably won't open again, so we'll come over there. See if you
can open the hatch in the roof.' 'Okay.' Swain
dropped back into his elevator and surveyed the group around him — Balthazar
and the two guides. Hmmm. 'All right,
everyone, listen up. We're all going over to the other elevator. I want you two
little guys to go first. I'll handle the big fella. Got it?' Selexin
nodded. The other guide just stood there, his arms folded defiantly. Swain
scooped up Selexin and held him up to the hatch. The little man disappeared
into the darkness. Swain poked
his head up through the hatch after him and saw Selexin step up onto the roof
of the other elevator. A weak haze of yellow light appeared above the other
lift. Hawkins must have opened the hatch. Swain
motioned to the other guide. 'Your turn.' The guide
looked cautiously at Balthazar, then said something in a grunting guttural
language. Balthazar
responded with a dismissive wave and grunt. As a result,
the guide reluctantly offered his arms to Swain, who duly lifted him up through
the hatch. The guide disappeared into the shaft. Swain turned
back to face Balthazar. The big man
was still sitting slumped in the corner. Slowly, he looked up at Swain. Whatever he
was, Swain thought, he was badly injured. His eyes were red, his hands bloodied
and scratched. Some of Reese's saliva still bubbled on his beard. Swain spoke
gently, 'I don't want to kill you. I want to help you.' Balthazar
cocked his head, not understanding. 'Help,'
Swain held out his hands, palms up — a gesture of aid, not attack. Balthazar
spoke — softly — in his strange guttural tongue. Swain didn't
understand. He offered his hands again. 'Help,' he
repeated. Balthazar
frowned at the communication breakdown. He reached down for the long dagger
Swain had held before, now back in its sheath across his chest. He pulled it
out. Swain stood
dead still — unflinching — staring Balthazar squarely in the eye. He
can't do that. He can't. The bearded
man reversed the knife in his hand, and placed the handle in Swain's
palm. Swain felt the warmth of Balthazar's hand as they both gripped the knife
— pointed at Balthazar's chest. Balthazar
then pulled their hands toward his chest. Swain didn't know what to do, except
allow Balthazar to pull the glistening blade closer, and closer, and closer to
his body… And then
Balthazar guided their hands sideways, sliding the knife back into its sheath. As Swain had
done before. He looked up
at Swain, his eyes bulging red, and nodded. And then
Balthazar spoke again — slowly, deep-throated — trying to get his mouth around
the word Swain had just used. 'Help.' —––ooo0ooo——— The elevator
doors rumbled open and Stephen Swain peered out to see the First Floor of the
State Library. Dark and
quiet. Empty. The first
thing Swain noticed about the First Floor was the peculiar way it had been
arranged: it was an enormous U-shape, with a wide gaping hole in the centre, so
that one could look down onto the Ground Floor atrium. Clearly, the
floorspace of this floor had been sacrificed to provide for a grander,
higher-ceilinged Ground Floor — in the process, making the First Floor of the
State Library little more than a glorified balcony. A mezzanine. The
elevators themselves stood at the south-east corner of the floor, to the right
of the curved base of the U-shape. Opposite them — at the open-end of the U— stood
the enormous glass doors of the library's main entrance. Off to his
left, Swain saw a room filled with photocopiers. A door at the far end of the
room had internet facility stamped
on it. The rest of the floor was deserted and dark, save for the blue streams
of reflected city light that penetrated the enormous glass doors and windows
way over at the other end. Swain pulled
Balthazar out of the lift and dragged him over to the hand-railing overlooking
the Ground Floor. He was propping the big man up against the railing when the
others joined them. 'What do we
do about that?' Hawkins said, indicating the open elevator behind them. He
spoke softly in the darkness. 'Turn the
light off,' Swain whispered. 'If you can't find the switch, just unscrew the
fluorescent tube. Apart from that,' he shrugged, 'I don't know, leave it there.
As long as it's here, nobody else can use it.' As Hawkins
headed back toward the elevator, Swain saw Selexin draw up alongside him. The
little man was peering cautiously up at the ceiling all around them. 'What are
you doing?' Swain asked. Selexin
sighed dramatically: 'Not all the creatures in this universe walk on floors,
Mister Swain.' 'Oh.' 'I am
looking for a contestant known as the Rachnid. It is a trap-laying species —
large and spindly, but not particularly athletic — known for lying in wait in
elevated caves and hollows for long periods of time, waiting for its prey to
step underneath it. It then lowers itself silently to the floor behind its
victim, clutches it within its eight limbs, and constricts it to death.' 'Constricts
it to death,' Swain said, glancing nervously up at the uneven shadow-covered
ceiling above him. 'Nice. Very nice.' 'Daddy?'
Holly whispered. 'Yes,
honey.' 'I'm
scared.' 'Me too,'
Swain said softly. Holly touched
his left cheek. 'Are you all right, Daddy?' Swain looked
at her finger. It had blood on it. He dabbed at
his cheek. It felt like a cut, a big one, running down the length of his
cheekbone. He looked down at his collar and saw a large red stain on it — a lot
of blood had been running down his face. When had
that happened? He hadn't felt it. And he certainly didn't remember feeling the
sting of being cut. Maybe it was when he was thrown on top of Reese, after
bowling her over. Or when Reese was bucking and kicking like a mad horse. Swain
frowned. It was a blur. He couldn't remember. 'Yeah, I'm
okay,' he said. Holly nodded
at Balthazar, up against the steel railing. 'What about him?' 'Actually, I
was just about to check,' Swain said, getting up onto his knees, hovering over
Balthazar. 'Could you hold this for me?' he offered Holly the heavy police
flashlight. Holly
flicked on the torch and held it over Swain's shoulder, pointed at Balthazar's
face. The big man
winced at the light. Swain leaned forward, 'No, no, don't shut your eyes,' he
said gently. He held Balthazar's left eye open. It was heavily bloodshot,
reacting badly to Reese's saliva. 'Could you
bring the light in a bit closer…' Holly
stepped forward and as the light came nearer, Swain saw Balthazar's pupil
dilate. Swain leaned
back. That wasn't right… His eyes
swept over Balthazar's body. Everything about him suggested that he was human —
limbs, fingers, facial features. He even had brown eyes. The
eyes, Swain thought. It was the
eyes that were wrong. Their reaction to the light. Human pupils
contract when hit by direct light. They dilate — or widen — in darkness
or poor light, so as to allow as much light as possible onto the retina. These
eyes, however, dilated in the face of brighter light. They
were not human eyes. Swain turned
to Selexin. 'He looks human, and he acts human. But he's not human at all, is
he?' Selexin
nodded, impressed. 'No, he is not. Almost, though — in fact, as close as he can
be. But no, Balthazar is definitely not human.' 'Then what
is he?' 'I told you
before, Balthazar is a Crisean. An excellent blade-handler.' 'But why
does he look human?' Swain asked. 'The chances of some alien from another world
evolving to look exactly like man would have to be a million to one.' 'A billion
to one,' Selexin corrected him. 'And please, try not to use the term
"alien" too liberally. Such a harsh word. And besides, in your
current situation, aliens do form the standing majority.' 'Sorry.' 'Nevertheless,'
Selexin went on, 'you are correct. Balthazar is not human, nor is his form.
Balthazar, and for that matter one other contestant named Bellos, is amorphic.
Able to alter his form.' 'Alter his
form?' 'Yes. Alter
his exterior shape. Just as your chameleon can change its skin colour to blend
in with its surroundings, so too can Balthazar and Bellos do the same, only
they do not alter their colour: they alter their entire external shape. And it
makes sense. One makes one's self human when competing in a human labyrinth,
because any doors or handles or potential weapons will all be made for the
human form.' 'Uh-huh,'
Swain said, turning back to attend to Balthazar. Hawkins came
back from the elevator. 'It took a
bit of doing,' he said, 'but I finally got the tube out of its—' Swain held
Balthazar's other eye open, peering at it under the light of the flashlight. 'Out of its…
what?' he said, not turning around. Hawkins
didn't reply. Swain looked
up. 'What is it—' he cut himself off. Hawkins was
staring out over the railing, at the Ground Floor atrium down below. Swain
swivelled around, following Hawkins' gaze down into the atrium. 'Oh
my God,' he said slowly. And then quickly he turned to Holly, reaching for
the flashlight. 'Quick, turn it off.' The
flashlight went out. Blue moonlight covered them again and Stephen Swain peered
out over the railing. The man was
just standing there. Tall and black. Two tapering horns rising high above his
head. The soft moonlight glinted off the lustrous gold metal attached to his
chest. He was
standing next to a glass display case down in the atrium. Just standing there,
staring intently into one of the aisles in front of him, at something out of
Swain's view. Swain felt a
chill. He's
not staring, he thought. He's stalking. Selexin came
up beside him. 'Bellos,' he
whispered, not taking his eyes off the horned man in the atrium below. There
was a sense of awe in his voice, a reverence that was unmistakable. 'The
Malonian contestant. Malonians are the most lethal huntsmen in the galaxy.
Trophy collectors. They have won more Presidia than any other species. Why,
they even conduct a six-way internal hunt to determine who amongst them will
compete in the Presidian.' Swain
watched as he listened. The horned man — Bellos — was a magnificent specimen of
a man. Tall and broad-shouldered, built like a house, and, except for his
golden chest, completely dressed in black. An imposing figure. 'Remember.
Amorphic,' Selexin said. 'It makes sense to adopt the human form. Makes better
sense to adopt a highly developed human form.' Swain was about
to reply when he heard Hawkins whisper behind him, 'Oh Christ, where's
Parker?' Swain
frowned. Hawkins had said something about that before. Parker was his partner.
Stationed in here for the night with him. Maybe she was still here, somewhere
inside… 'Salve,
moriturum es!' The voice
boomed throughout the atrium. Swain jumped, a wave of ice-cold blood shooting
through his veins. He's
seen us! 'Greetings,
fellow competitor. Before you stands Bellos Swain's mind
was racing. Where could they go? They'd have a good head start. They were still
one whole floor above him. '…
Great-grandson of Trome, the winner of the Fifth Presidian. And like his
great-grandfather and two Malonians before him, Bellos shall emerge from this
battle alone, conquered by none and not undone by the Karanadon. Who be'st
thou, my worthy and yet unfortunate opponent?' Swain
swallowed. He took a deep breath and was about to stand up and reply when he
heard another noise — a strange clicking-hissing noise. Coming from
below. From
somewhere else in the atrium. Swain
dropped like a stone, out of sight. Bellos hadn't seen them. He
was challenging someone else. And then,
slowly, another contestant came into view. From the left. A dark, skeletal
shadow creeping slowly amongst the bookcases. It moved
stealthily toward Bellos. Whatever it
was, it was large — at least six feet long — but thin, insect-like, with long
angular limbs not unlike those of a grasshopper, that clung to the vertical
side of one of the bookcases. Although Swain couldn't see its face very well,
he could see that its sinister-looking head was partially covered by a steel,
mask-like object. Its movements were accompanied by a strange mechanical
breathing noise. 'What is
it?' he whispered. 'It is the
Konda,' Selexin said. 'Very vicious warrior species from the outer
regions; remarkably evolved insectoid physique; and, according to those who
gamble on the Presidian, highly fancied to take it out. Keep your eyes on its
two foreclaws — the tips of each thumbnail secrete a highly poisonous venom. If
the Konda punctures your skin and then inserts its thumbnail into the wound,
believe me, you will die screaming. Its only weakness: its lungs cannot handle
the toxicity of your atmosphere, hence the breathing apparatus.' The Konda
was getting closer to Bellos, an ominous shadow moving steadily along the
vertical sides of the bookcases. Bellos
didn't move. He just stood beside the display case, rooted to the spot. Swain felt a
strange sensation as he looked down on the atrium. A kind of voyeuristic thrill
to be watching something that no-one else would ever see. That no-one would
ever want to see. The Konda
crept cautiously toward Bellos, picking up speed as it closed in— Suddenly,
Bellos held up his hand. The
grasshopper-like Konda stopped instantly. Swain
frowned. Why
had it—? And then
something else caught his eye. Something in
the foreground, something in between Swain and the Konda. It was small
and black — a shadow superimposed on the darkness — slinking swiftly and
silently across the bare wooden tops of the bookshelves, heading towards the
Konda from behind. From
behind. Swain
watched in amazement as another identical creature made its way across the tops
of the bookshelves from the other direction. Its movements resembled that of a
cat. Menacing in its supreme stealth. Selexin saw
them, too. 'Oh, sweet
Lords,' he breathed, 'hoodaya.' Swain turned
to face the little man. Selexin was staring off into space, wide-eyed and white
with fear. Swain spun
back around. Two more of
the small creatures — each about the size of a dog — were creeping on all fours
across the tops of the bookshelves, jumping easily from top to top, across the
aisles below. Swain saw their jet-black heads — saw their long needle-like
teeth and their bony but muscular limbs — saw their thin snaking tails swishing
menacingly behind them. Selexin was
whispering to himself: 'He can't do that. He can't. Good lord, hoodaya.' The four
smaller creatures — hoodaya, Swain guessed — had now formed a wide circle above
the aisle containing the insect-like Konda. The Konda
hadn't moved an inch. It hadn't noticed them. Not yet. Bellos
lowered his hand. And then he turned away. Swain saw
the Konda immediately shift its weight. It
hasn't got a clue, he thought as he gripped the
railing. Hasn't got a prayer… It was then
that the four hoodaya leapt down from their perches. Into the
aisle below. Hideous,
high-pitched, alien shrieks filled the atrium. The bookshelves on either
side of the aisle shook as the Konda flung itself violently from side to side
in the face of the sudden onslaught. Swain saw
Hawkins' face go blank with horror. Selexin was just stunned. Swain pulled
Holly close to him, turned her face away from the scene, 'Don't watch, honey.' The godawful
shrieking continued. And then, without
warning, the near bookcase fell over and suddenly Swain saw the whole grisly
scene — saw the Konda, screaming madly, completely covered by the four hoodaya,
its two venom-tipped forelimbs splayed wide, pinned to the ground by two of the
hoods, while the other two attack creatures tore ferociously at its face and
stomach. In seconds the Konda's steel breathing mask was ripped from its head
and the hapless creature's shrieks became desperate, hoarse gasps. And then,
abruptly, the pained gasping stopped and the Konda's body slumped to the
ground, limp. But the
hoodaya didn't stop. Swain saw their long needle-like teeth open wide and
plunge into its hide. Blood spurted out in all directions as one hoodaya ripped
a large chunk of flesh from the Konda's carcass and held it aloft in triumph. Swain's head
snapped left as he heard another noise. Footsteps. Rapid
footsteps. Soft, barely audible, getting softer. Running away. One of the
hoods heard it, too — lifted its head from its feeding. It leapt from its mount
on the Konda's body and raced off into the nearest aisle, heading for the
stairwell. Swain didn't
know what was going on until he heard a stumbling noise, like someone being
crash-tackled to the floor. And then he
heard another scream — a desperate, pathetic yelp — that stopped no sooner than
it had begun. Swain heard
Selexin gulp next to him and he realised. It had been
the guide. The Konda's guide. Swain saw the look on Selexin's face. The other
guide had never stood a chance. Swain looked
back at the dead Konda and the hoods on top of it. 'Selexin.' No reply. Selexin was
simply staring into space, in shock. 'Selexin,'
he whispered, nudging the little man back to his senses. 'W… what?' 'Quickly,'
Swain said harshly, trying to get Selexin out of his daze. 'Tell me about them.
These hoodaya, or whatever the hell it is you call them.' Selexin
swallowed. 'Hoods are hunting animals. Bellos is a hunter. Bellos uses hoods to
hunt. Simple.' 'Hey,' Swain
said. 'Just tell me, okay.' 'Why? It
won't matter. Not anymore.' 'Why not?' 'Mister
Swain, I commend you. Your previous efforts had until now given me some hope of
survival. Already you have exceeded any previous human effort in the Presidian.
But now,' Selexin was talking quickly, desperately, 'now I have the misfortune
to tell you that you have just witnessed the signing of your own death
warrant.' 'What?' 'You cannot
win. The Presidian is over. Bellos has defiled the rules. If he is discovered,
which he won't be because he is too clever, he will be disqualified — killed.
But if he isn't, he will win. No-one can escape Bellos if he has hoods.
They are the ultimate hunter's tool. Remorseless and vicious. With them by his
side, Bellos is unstoppable.' Selexin
shook his head. 'Do you
remember the Karanadon?' he said, pointing to the green light on Swain's
wristband. 'Yes.' Swain
had actually forgotten about it, but he didn't tell Selexin that. 'Only one
hunter being has ever successfully killed a Karanadon in the wild. And do you
know who that was?' 'Tell me.' 'Bellos. With
his hoods: 'Great.' There was an
awkward silence. Then Swain
said, 'Okay then, how did he get them here? If he was brought here just like I
was, wouldn't you guys have made sure that he didn't bring anything with him?' 'That's
exactly right, but there must have been a way … something he found that no-one
thought of… some way to teleport them in—' 'Hey,'
Hawkins touched Swain's shoulder. 'He's doing something.' Bellos was
bent over the Konda's body, doing something that Swain couldn't see. When at
last he stood, Bellos had the Konda's breathing mask in his hands. A trophy. He fastened
the mask to a loop on his belt, and then he barked a sharp order to the three
hoods that were still feasting on the Konda's torso. They immediately jumped
off the dead contestant's body and stood behind Bellos, at the same time as the
fourth hood returned from the stairwell, large shreds of blood-stained white
cloth dangling from its teeth and claws. Then Bellos
walked over to a semi-circular desk in the middle of the atrium. Swain could
just make out the words on the sign hanging above it: INFORMATION. Behind him,
he heard Hawkins take a quick breath. Bellos bent
down behind the Information Desk, picked up something in one of his large black
hands and carried it back over to the Konda's body. As soon as
he saw it, Swain knew what it was. It was small, white and limp. Bellos' own
guide. Bellos said
something quickly, and the hoods darted behind the Information Desk. Then he
draped his guide's lifeless body over his shoulder and pointed it toward the
dead contestant. 'Initialise!'
Bellos said, loudly. Instantly, a
small sphere of brilliant white light appeared above the dead guide's head,
illuminating the wide open space of the atrium. Instinctively, Swain bent lower
behind the railing, away from the light. The white sphere glowed for about five
seconds until it vanished abruptly and the atrium was dark once more. Selexin
turned solemnly to Swain. 'That, Mister Swain, was Bellos confirming his first
kill.' —––ooo0ooo——— Swain turned
to the group gathered around him. 'I think it's time to get out of here.' 'I think
you're right,' Hawkins was already moving away from the railing. Swain
grabbed Balthazar and heaved him onto his shoulder. 'Holly,' he whispered,
'quick honey, the elevator.' 'Okay.' He turned to
Hawkins, 'We'll go back to the elevator. Stop it between floors again. That's
been the safest place to hide so far.' 'Fine by
me,' Hawkins said. Swain began
dragging Balthazar away from the railing, with Holly by his side and Hawkins,
Selexin and Balthazar's guide in front. They all headed for the open, darkened
elevator. And then it
happened. The
elevator's doors began to close. Swain shot a
look at Hawkins, who immediately dashed forward, trying to get to the doors in
time. But the doors joined just as he got there. 'Damn it!'
he cursed. Swain came
up beside him, looked up at the numbered display above the elevator doors. The
illuminated number was moving down the line from l to G and then to SL-1. 'The
elevator…' he whispered. 'Jesus
Christ,' Hawkins said, realising, 'they figured out how to use the goddamn
elevator.' 'They're
intelligent—' Selexin said. 'They're animals,
for God's sake,' Hawkins said, perhaps a little too loudly. 'Alien, yes.
Animal, no,' Selexin whispered. 'I would say understanding a contraption like
your elevator would be regarded as remarkably intelligent.' Hawkins was
about to say something in retort when Swain cut in, 'All right. It doesn't
matter. We'll find somewhere else to…' 'Hey Daddy,
don't be silly,' Holly said, standing next to the elevator call button. 'I can
get the elevator back for you.' Swain's eyes
went wide with horror. 'Holly, no!'
He lunged to stop her, but it, was too late. Holly
pressed the UP button. Swain closed
his eyes and bowed his head. The round UP button glowed brightly in the
darkness of the First Floor. He couldn't
believe it. Now, whoever was using the lift wouldn't even have to guess which
floor they were on. Nor would they even have to figure out how to use the
elevator. Because now that Holly had pressed the call button, once the elevator
picked up its new passenger, it would automatically stop here, on the
First Floor'. Holly said,
'What did I do? Didn't I do the right thing, Daddy?' Swain
sighed, 'Yes. Thank you, honey. You did the right thing.' He handed Balthazar
over to Hawkins, and walked quietly back to the balcony overlooking the atrium. Bellos was
still standing behind the Information Desk, putting down his guide, oblivious
to their presence. At
least that's good, Swain turned back toward the
elevator, head down in thought. They still had to go. Something would be coming
up in that elevator very soon and he didn't want to be here when it did. Finally he
looked up toward the elevator. Holly was
staring straight at him. Selexin and
the other guide both stood there with their mouths wide open. Hawkins was
just standing there, too, propping up Balthazar, staring fixedly at Swain. But it was
Balthazar who seized Swain's attention. The tall
bearded man had his left arm draped over Hawkins' shoulder for support. His
right was held high, a glistening, evil-looking silver blade in his hand. Poised. Ready. Swain didn't
know what to do. What had happened? Balthazar was ready to throw a knife at him
and the others weren't doing anything… Balthazar
threw the knife. Swain waited
for the impact. Waited to grab his chest and feel the burning pain as the blade
lodged deep into his heart… The knife
whistled through the air at astonishing speed. Right past
him. Swain heard
a thud as the nasty-looking knife lodged into the railing behind him. The steel
railing. Then Swain
heard the scream. A piercing,
wailing scream of pure agony. Swain spun
to see that Balthazar's knife had pinned the hood's left foreclaw to the steel
railing. The force of the throw was so strong that it had lodged the knife
several inches into the steel. It had caught the hood as it had been attempting
to climb over the railing from the Ground Floor below — right behind Swain. The hood
screamed, and for an instant Swain saw its features up close. Four muscular
black limbs, all with long dagger-like claws; a long slashing tail; and
strangest of all, the head. It seemed as if the head of this dog-sized animal
was nothing more than two gigantic jaws. There were eyes on it somewhere, but
all Swain could see were its needle-like teeth, bared wide with the help of its
massive lower jaw. And beyond
the hood, Swain caught a glimpse — a split-second glimpse — of Bellos, standing
by the Information Desk. Gazing
up at him. Smiling. He had known
all along… Swain turned
away, stumbling away from the railing as the hood wrenched at its pinned
foreclaw. It seemed to Swain that the knife fixing the claw to the railing was
the only thing holding the hood up. At that
moment there was another whistling through the air and suddenly a second knife
thudded into the forearm of the hood, slicing right through the narrow bone
just above its pinned foreclaw, cutting the claw clean off. With a
shriek, the hood dropped instantly out of sight, falling to the atrium way
below — leaving in its place a bony five-fingered claw, impaled on the railing
by the first throwing knife. Hawkins
yelled to Swain, 'Here! Over here!' Swain saw
the ramshackle group hurrying toward the photocopying room to his right. He ran
after them and when he reached the door to the photocopying room, he looked
back over his shoulder to see the first of the remaining hoods slink slowly and
menacingly over the railing. Swain shut
the door behind him and looked around the photocopying room. Hawkins was
leading the way with Balthazar over his shoulder, throwing open the other door
at the far end of the room, the one that read: internet facility. Apart from that door, a solid concrete
wall separated the two rooms. Swain followed as Holly and the others hurried
through the doorway behind Hawkins. Swain paused
at the threshold. He was standing on a dusty handwritten sign that must have
fallen from the door some time ago. It read: STATE LIBRARY OF NEW YORK INTERNET/ON-LINE SERVICES
FACILITY CLOSED FOR REPAIRS. WE REGRET ANY INCONVENIENCE. 'I don't
know if this is such a good idea,' he stepped inside, shutting and locking the
door after him. Suddenly,
there was a loud bang from somewhere behind him and Swain spun around.
He peered out through a small rectangular window set into the door — and saw
that the hoods were pounding on the outer door of the photocopying room. He turned to
face the Internet room. 'Sorry,'
Hawkins said, lowering the weary-looking Balthazar to the floor. The Internet
facility of the State Library of New York — a relatively new addition to a
relatively old building — was little more than a wide empty room, with
open-ended wires hanging down from an unpainted ceiling and bared electrical
outlets on the walls. No computers. No modems. Even the light switch next to
the doorway was merely a stumpy metal housing with lots of frayed wires. A
corner room, there were windows along two of its sides, but no other doors. There was
only the one entrance. It was a
dead end. Wonderful,
Swain thought. The banging
outside continued. He looked back out through the small rectangular window in
the door. The photocopying room's outer door was still, except that every few
seconds it would vibrate suddenly as the hoods rammed it from the other side. Hawkins and
Holly were standing at the windows, gazing out helplessly over the park
outside. Swain pulled
Holly back protectively. 'Don't get too close,' he said, pointing at the window
frame, at the tiny blue talons of electricity that lashed out around its edges. 'Uh, excuse
me, but I think we have more pressing problems than the windows,' Selexin
said impatiently. The pounding
of the hoods on the outer door continued. 'Right.'
Swain's eyes swept the room, looking for something he could use. Anything he
could use. But there was nothing here. Absolutely nothing. The room was
completely bare. And then,
with a sudden, loud crash, the outer door to the photocopying room burst
inwards. 'They're
inside,' Hawkins said, racing to the door, peering out through its small
window. 'Christ,'
Swain said. In an
instant, the first hood hit the door. Hawkins stepped back as the whole door
shook. 'Get back!'
Swain said. 'They'll go for the window!' The second
hood went for the window set into the door. Shards of
glass sprayed everywhere as the window exploded inwards. The hood clung to the
broken window, reaching into the room, lashing out indiscriminately with a
single claw. The other
hoods were ramming the door, pounding it repeatedly. 'What do we
do?' Hawkins yelled. 'It won't hold for long. The other door didn't!' 'I know! I
know!' Swain was trying to think. The hoods
continued to pound loudly on the door. The door's hinges creaked ominously. The
hood with its arm inside the broken rectangular window was now trying to stick
its head through, but the gap was too small. It hissed and snarled maniacally. Swain spun.
'Everyone to that corner,' he pointed to the far corner. 'I want—' He stopped —
listened to the sound of the soft rain pattering against the windows. Something
had changed. Something he almost hadn't noticed. He listened in the silence. The
silence. That was it. The pounding
had stopped. What
were they doing? And then
Swain looked at the door. Slowly,
almost imperceptibly, the doorknob began to rotate. Hawkins saw
it, too. 'Holy shit…' he gasped. Swain dived
for the door. Too late. The knob
continued to rotate and then… …click! It was
locked. Swain breathed again. The knob
turned again. Clicked again. Turned.
Clicked. They're
testing it, over and over, he thought in horror. It was at
that moment, as Swain was staring up at the door from the floor, that a long
black claw slid slowly and silently through the broken window. The bony
black arm reached downward, slowly flexing its jagged razor-sharp fingernails.
The lethal black claw was moving across and down to the right when suddenly
Swain realised what it was doing. Swain
snapped round to look at Balthazar — to see if the big man could throw another
knife at the claw. But, having thrown the two knives earlier, Balthazar was now
spent. He just sat on the floor with his head bowed. Swain saw the knives on
his baldric, thought about using one, but then decided he didn't want to get
too close to the hood's vicious-looking claw. 'Quickly,'
he said to Hawkins. 'Handcuffs.' Puzzled,
Hawkins reached for his gunbelt and pulled out a pair of handcuffs. Swain
grabbed them. The clawed
hand edged slowly downwards, coming closer to the doorknob. 'It's
trying to unlock the door…' Hawkins breathed in awe. As soon
as it turned the knob from the inside, the door would unlock straight away.
Unlock. And open… Swain
reached up to the door, trying to prise open the cuffs. But the cuffs wouldn't
open. The doorknob
rattled again and Swain jumped, ready for it to burst open. The door
remained shut. It had come
from the outside. One of the hoods outside was trying to turn the knob again.
The door was still locked. But the clawed hand on the inside was still
getting closer to the knob on this side. 'They're
locked! The cuffs are locked!' Swain shouted in disbelief, fumbling with the
cuffs. 'Shit, of
course.' Hawkins pulled some keys from his pocket. 'Here. The smallest one.' Swain took
the keys, hands shaking, and tried to insert the smallest key into the cuffs. 'Hurry
up!' Selexin said. The claw was
at the knob now. Feeling. Swain's
hands were shaking so much that the key slipped out of the cuffs' keyhole. 'Quickly!'
Selexin yelled. Swain
inserted the key again, turned it. The cuffs popped opened. 'There!' he
said, moving across the floor, sliding underneath the doorknob. The clawed
hand was moving over the knob now, trying to get a grip on it. Swain
reached for the light switch next to the door. Its wired remains flowed out
from a solid, stumpy metal housing. Swain clamped one ring of the cuffs through
a gap in the metal housing. The clawed
hand slowly began to turn the doorknob. Swain
reached up to the knob, sliding the second ring of the cuffs in behind the
clawed hand and around the narrowest part of the doorknob — the part closest to
the door itself. Then he
clamped the cuff tightly around the doorknob just as the clawed hand
turned it fully. There was a loud click! as the door unlocked. The door
swung slightly inward, opening an inch. And then
suddenly, shockingly, the door was rammed from the outside. The
handcuffs went instantly taut, securing the door to the metal housing on the
wall. The door was
open six inches now and Swain fell backwards as one of the hoods swiped
viciously at him through the narrow gap between the door and its frame. The hoods
were snarling loudly now, scratching at the doorframe, hurling themselves
bodily at the door. But the
cuffs held. The gap
between door and frame was too narrow. The
dog-sized hoods couldn't get in. 'Well done,'
Hawkins said. Swain wasn't
impressed. 'If they can't open it, they'll soon break it down. We have to get
out of this room.' The hoods
kept pounding on the door. Swain turned
around — searching for another way out — when suddenly he saw Holly standing
over by one of the windows. She was bent over the window sill as if she were
injured. 'Holly? You
all right?' He hurried over to her. 'Yes…'
Distracted. The pounding
continued. The hoods' snarling and hissing filled the room. 'What are
you doing?' he said quickly. 'Playing
with the electricity.' Swain stole
a glance back at the door as he came up beside her and looked over her
shoulder. Holly was holding the broken telephone receiver two inches away from
the window sill. As she moved it closer, the small forks of blue lightning
seemed to pull away from it in a wide circle — away from the phone. Swain had
forgotten Holly still had the phone receiver at all. He frowned at what he saw,
though. He didn't know why the electricity should move away from the phone
receiver. After all, the phone was dead… The pounding
and the grunting of the hoods continued. The door
still held. 'Can I have
that?' Swain said quickly. Holly gave him the phone as he looked back at the
door. Then,
abruptly, the pounding and the snarling stopped. Silence. And then
Swain heard the hoods scamper out of the photocopying room. 'What's
going on?' Hawkins said. 'I don't
know.' Swain moved to look out through the gap in the door. 'Are they
coming back?' Selexin said. 'I can't see
them,' Swain said. 'Why did they leave?' Peering out
through the gap in the door, Swain saw the outer door to the photocopying room
swinging wide open, left ajar by the hoods. Beyond that, quite a way away and
shrouded in darkness, the doors to the elevators. And then he
saw the reason why the hoods had left so abruptly. With a soft ping
the doors to the far elevator slowly began to open. —––ooo0ooo——— Slow
night, Bob Charlton thought wryly as he stepped into the bustling offices
of the New York Police Department's 14th Precinct. He had been
here a few times before, but this time the main foyer was much less crowded —
there were only about eighty people here tonight. He stepped up to the
reception desk and shouted above the din: 'Bob Charlton to see Captain Dickson,
please!' 'Mr
Charlton? Henry Dickson,' Dickson said, extending his hand as Charlton entered
the relative silence of his office. 'Neil Peters said you'd be coming down.
What can I do for you?' 'I've got a
problem downtown that I was told you could help me with.' 'Yeah Charlton
said, 'Sometime in the last twenty-four hours we lost a main in one of the
south-central grids. Lieutenant Peters said that you picked up a guy in that
area earlier today.' 'Where's
your grid?' Dickson asked. 'It's
bounded by 14th and Delancey on the north-south axis.' Dickson looked
at a map on the wall next to him. 'Yeah,
that's right. We did pick up a fella in that area. Just this morning,' Dickson
said. 'But I don't think he'll be much use to you. We picked him up in the old
State Library.' 'What was he
doing there?' 'Small-time
computer thief. Apparently they've just put in a new set of Pentiums down
there. But this poor bastard must have stumbled onto something bigger.' 'Something
bigger?' Charlton asked. 'We found
him covered in blood.' Charlton
blinked. 'Only it
wasn't his blood. It was a security guard's.' 'Oh my God.' 'Damn
right.' Charlton
leaned forward, serious. 'How did he get inside? Inside the library, I mean.' 'Don't know
yet. I've got a couple of babysitters down there now. As you can see, we're
pretty busy round here. Site squad'll be going in there tomorrow to determine
point of entry.' Charlton
asked, 'This thief, is he still here?' 'Yeah. Got
him locked up downstairs.' 'Can I talk
to him?' Dickson
shrugged. 'Sure. But I wouldn't get your hopes up. He's been talking gibberish
ever since we brought him in.' 'That's
okay, I'd like to try anyway. Some of those old buildings have booster valves
in funny places. I'm thinking he might have busted something on his way in.
That okay with you?' 'Sure.' Both men
stood up and walked toward the door. Dickson stopped. 'Oh, a word
of warning, Mr Charlton,' he said. 'Try to hold your stomach, this ain't gonna
be pretty.' Charlton
winced as he looked again at the black man in the small cell in front of him. Quite
obviously, they hadn't been able to get all the blood off his face. Perhaps
those designated to wash him had retched, too, Charlton thought. Whatever the
case, they hadn't finished the job. Mike Fraser still had large vertical
streaks of dried blood running down the length of his face, like some bizarre
kind of warpaint. Fraser just
sat there on the far side of the cell, staring at the concrete wall, talking
rapidly to himself, making darting gestures at some invisible friend. 'That's
him,' Dickson said. 'Jesus,'
Charlton breathed. 'Hasn't
stopped talking to that wall since we put him in here. Blood on his face has
dried, too. He'll have to get it off himself later, when he's got sense enough
to use a shower.' 'You said
his name was Fraser…' Charlton said. 'Yep.
Michael Thomas Fraser.' Charlton
stepped forward. 'Michael?'
he said gently. No response.
Fraser kept talking to the wall. 'Michael?
Can you hear me?' No response. Charlton
turned his back on the cell to face Dickson. 'You never found out how he got
into the library, is that right?' 'Like I
said, site squad goes in tomorrow.' 'Right…' Dickson
said, 'You won't get anything out of him. He hasn't said a word to anyone all
day. Probably can't even hear your voice.' 'Hmmm,'
Charlton mused. 'Poor bastard…' 'It's
hearing your voice,' Mike Fraser whispered into Bob
Charlton's ear. Charlton
jumped away from the cell. Fraser was
right up close to the bars, only inches away from Charlton's head. Charlton
hadn't even heard him come across the cell. Fraser kept
talking in an exaggerated whisper,' Whatever it is, it's hearing your voice!
And if you keep talking…' The black
man was pressing his bloodstained face up against the bars, trying to get as
close to Charlton as possible. The streaks of dried blood running vertically
down his face gave him an aspect of pure evil. 'Whatever
it is, it's hearing your voice! And if you keep talking!' Fraser hissed
crazily. He was starting to wail. 'And
if you keep talking! Talking! Talking! Ah-ah-ah!' Fraser was
looking up at the ceiling, at some imaginary creature looming above him. He
held up his hands to ward off the unseen foe. 'Oh my God! It's here! It's
after me! It's here! Oh God, help me! Somebody help me!' Frantically,
he began to shake the bars of the cell. Finally he fell limp, his arms hanging
through the bars. At last Fraser looked up at Charlton. 'Don't go
there,' he hissed. Charlton
leaned closer, spoke gently. 'Why? What's there?' Fraser
offered a sly, evil grin through his mask of dried blood. 'If you go, you go.
But you won't comeback alive.' 'He's nuts.
Lost it, that's all,' Dickson said as they walked back to the main entrance of
the station. 'You think
he killed the guard?' Charlton asked. 'Him? Nah.
Probably stumbled on the guys who did, though.' 'And you
think they messed him up? Scared him to death by painting him in the guard's
blood?' 'Something
like that.' Charlton
stroked his chin as he walked. 'I don't know. I think I better check out our
links with that library. It's worth a shot. Might be that whoever got hold of
Michael Fraser decided to hack up my junction line, too. And if they hacked the
junction at the booster valve, it would definitely be possible to bring the
whole main down.' They reached
the doors. 'Sergeant,'
Charlton said as the two men shook hands, 'thank you for your time and help.
It's been, well, interesting, to say the least.' —––ooo0ooo——— Stephen
Swain peered out from behind the handcuffed door of the New York State
Library's rather generously named Internet Facility. The doors of
the darkened elevator were fully open now but nothing was happening. The elevator
was just sitting there. Open and
silent. For their
part, the hoods were nowhere to be seen. Having hustled out of the
photocopying room, they must have been out on the balcony somewhere. Hiding… Swain
watched intently, waiting for something to emerge from the lift. 'Could be
empty,' Hawkins whispered. 'Could be,'
Swain replied. 'Maybe whoever pressed the button never got in.' 'Shhh,'
Selexin hissed, 'something is coming out.' They turned
back to face the elevator. 'Uh-oh,'
Hawkins said. 'Oh man,'
Swain sighed, 'doesn't this guy ever quit?' The tail
emerged first, pointing forward, hovering horizontally three feet above the
ground. Swain could easily see the slight kink in the tail a few inches from
the tip where he had broken the bone. The antennae came next, followed by the
snout, cautiously moving out from the elevator. 'She is not a
guy,' Selexin said. 'I told you that before, Reese is female.' 'How did she
figure out the elevator?' Hawkins asked as they watched Reese lower her snout
and sniff the floor. 'I imagine,'
Selexin said, 'she smelled Mister Swain's residual scent on one of the
buttons—' Abruptly,
Reese's snout snapped up and pointed directly at them. Swain and Hawkins ducked
instantly behind the door. Selexin didn't move. 'What are
you doing? She cannot see you,' he whispered. 'She can only smell you.
To hide behind the door won't extinguish your scent-trail. Besides,' he added
sourly, 'she probably already knows we are here.' Swain and
Hawkins resumed their positions at the door. Hawkins
said, 'So why isn't she coming after us?' Selexin
sighed. 'Honestly, it is a wonder that I bother explaining anything to you. I
would think that the reason why Reese has not come directly after us is perfectly
obvious.' 'And what is
that?' Hawkins said. 'Because she
smells something else,' Selexin said. 'Some other creature that I would safely
assume is far more worrisome to her than you are.' 'The hoods,'
Swain said, not taking his eyes off Reese. She was standing perfectly still at
the mouth of the elevator. 'Correct.
And since they were out there only very recently, their scent is probably very
strong,' Selexin said. 'I would therefore assert that at the moment, Reese is
feeling particularly concerned.' For a long
minute they watched Reese in silence. Her long, low, dinosaur-like body didn't
move an inch. Her tail was poised high, tensed, ready to strike. Hawkins
said, 'So what do we do?' Swain was
frowning, thinking. 'We get
out,' he said finally. 'What!' Selexin
and Hawkins said at the same time. Swain was
already reaching up for the handcuffs, unlocking them. 'For one
thing, we can't stay here,' he said. 'Sooner or later one of those bastards out
there is going to break down this door. And when that happens, we'll be
trapped. I say we get ready to run as soon as something happens.' 'As soon as something
happens?' Selexin said. 'A rather inexact plan if you don't mind my saying
so.' Swain put
the cuffs in his pocket and shrugged at the little man. 'Let's just say that
I've got a feeling something is about to happen out there. And when it does, I
want all of us to be ready to make a break for it.' Several
minutes later, Swain had Balthazar draped over his shoulder while Hawkins held
Holly by the hand. The door was open a full two feet. Outside,
Reese stood rigidly in front of the elevator, visibly tensed, alert. They waited. Reese didn't
move. Another
minute ticked by. Swain turned
to face the group. 'All right, when I say go, run straight for the stairwell.
When you get there, don't stop, don't look back, just go straight up. When we
hit the Third Floor, I'll lead the way from there. Okay?' They nodded. 'Good.' Another
minute passed. 'It does not
look like anything is going to happen,' Selexin said sourly. 'He's
right,' Hawkins said. 'Maybe we better put the cuffs back on the door…' 'Not just
yet,' Swain said, staring intently out at Reese. 'They're out there, and Reese
knows it… There!' Abruptly,
Reese spun to her right, away from them. Something had caught her attention. Swain
tightened his grip on Balthazar. 'All right everybody, get ready, this is it.' Slowly,
Swain pulled the door open and ventured into the photocopying room. The others
followed him to the outer door. Reese was
still facing the other direction. Swain rested
his free hand lightly on the outer door, his eyes locked on Reese, praying that
she wouldn't turn around and charge. He opened
the door wider, and stepped out. He could see
the stairwell now, off to the left. Reese and the elevators were about twenty
feet to the right. Beyond Reese, he could see the wide empty space that fell
away to the Ground Floor atrium below. He figured if he could just ease out of
the doorway and quietly make his way to the— Suddenly,
Reese whirled around. For an
instant Swain's heart stopped. He felt like a thief discovered with his hands
in the till — totally exposed. Caught in the act. He froze. But Reese
didn't stop to face him. She just
kept turning until she came a full three hundred and sixty degrees. A full
circle. Swain
breathed again. He didn't know what was happening until he realised that
Reese's quick circling movement wasn't a threatening move at all. It was a
defensive move. Reese was
frightened, agitated, desperately looking — no, smelling — in every
direction. She's
surrounded, Swain thought. She knows we're here, but
she's decided we're not worth worrying about. There's something else out there,
something more dangerous… There was no
time to waste. This was the
chance. Swain turned
to the others and whispered, 'Come on! We're moving now.' Swain
half-dragged, half-carried Balthazar out through the doorway, not daring to
take his eyes off Reese. The others raced past him and headed for the open
stairwell. Swain limped as fast as he could toward the stairwell, straining
under Balthazar's dead weight. He was almost at the stairwell when the attack
on Reese began. A hood. Squealing
fiercely, it leapt over the railing from the Ground Floor, claws extended, jaws
wide open. Swain heaved
Balthazar into the stairwell, trying as he did to watch what was happening
behind him. And as he disappeared into the stairwell, the last thing Swain saw
was a fleeting glimpse of Reese, shrieking madly, swinging her tail around to
defend herself against the onslaught of incoming hoods. Feet
pounding, Swain hurried up the stairs, Balthazar's weight pressing heavily down
against his shoulders. The others
were waiting for him at the fire door marked '3'. When he joined them, Swain
passed Balthazar over to Hawkins. 'Why are we
stopping here?' the young cop asked. 'Shouldn't we keep going up?' 'We can't go
any higher,' Swain said. 'We can't get out there. The door to the roof's
electrified.' 'Daddy, what
are we doing?' Holly said. Swain eased
the fire door open slightly. 'Looking for a hiding place, honey.' 'Daddy,
where are the monsters?' 'I don't
know. Hopefully not up here.' 'Daddy…' 'Shh. Just
wait here,' Swain said. Holly stepped back, silent. Swain
stepped through the doorway and scanned the room. Yes.
He was where he wanted to be. The wide
low-ceilinged study hall stretched away from him, its L-shaped desks creating a
waist-high maze that spread right across the room. The whole room was dark,
save for the soft blue city light that filtered in through the windows on the far
side. Slowly,
Swain bent down to look under the desks. Through the legs he could see all the
way across the room. There were no feet — or whatever the hell these creatures
walked on — in sight. The study
hall was empty. He poked his
head back through the fire door. 'Okay everyone. Inside, quickly.' The others
filed into the study hall. Swain took Holly's hand and led her through the
winding maze of desks. 'Daddy. I
don't like it here.' Swain was
looking around the room. 'Yeah, me neither,' he said, distracted. 'Daddy?' 'What,
honey?' 'Daddy, can
we go now—?' Swain
pointed to a corner near the windows. 'There it is.' He quickened his pace,
pulling Holly harder. Hawkins was
walking behind them. 'What is it?' he asked. All he could see was a sign on the
wall reading: QUIET PLEASE. THIS ROOM IS FOR PRIVATE STUDY
ONLY. NO CARRY BAGS PERMITTED. 'Next to the
sign,' Swain said. Beside the
sign on the wall, Hawkins saw a large, solid, grey door. It looked like some
sort of maintenance door. Swain
reached for the knob. It turned easily. Unlocked. The door
opened slowly, with the distinctive hiss of a hydraulic valve. Swain didn't
think much of it. All the big doors at the hospital needed hydraulics to help
people open them, they were that heavy. He reached
for the light switch, but decided against it. Any light would be a certain
giveaway. He surveyed
the room before him. Cold grey concrete walls, a janitor's cart filled with
buckets and mops, shelves packed with bottles of detergent and floor wax, and
several tarps stretched over large mounds of more janitorial equipment. Diffused
white light from the streetlights outside streamed in through two long
rectangular windows high up on the left-hand wall. Directly opposite the door,
dividing the room in two, was a floor-to-ceiling cyclone fence with a rusted
iron gate in its centre. Beyond the fence were more shelves of detergent and a
few more piles of equipment covered in dark hessian cloth. The group
moved inside and Swain closed the door behind them. The hydraulic door shut
with a soft whump. Holly sat
away from the door, up against the cyclone fence. Hawkins put Balthazar on the
floor beneath the windows and scanned the maintenance room, nodding. 'We should
be safe here.' 'For a
while, yes,' Swain said. Selexin
asked, 'How long do you think we should stay here?' 'As long as
we can,' Swain said. 'Hooray,'
Hawkins said blandly. 'And how
long is that?' Selexin again. 'I don't
know. Maybe right up till the end. At the moment I'm not quite sure.' 'You cannot
forget that there will always be something out there,' Selexin said.
'Even when all the contestants are dead, you will still have the Karanadon to
face.' 'I don't
have to face anything,' Swain said harshly. 'What does
that mean?' 'It means,
I'm not here to fight. It means I'm not here to win your stupid contest. It
means that at the moment all I'm worried about is getting my daughter and the
rest of us out of here alive.' 'But
you can't do that unless you win,' Selexin said
angrily. Swain looked
hard at the little man. He was silent for a few seconds. 'I wouldn't
be so sure of that,' he said softly, almost to himself. 'What was
that?' Selexin said. It was an argument now. 'I said, I
wouldn't be so sure of that.' 'You believe
you can get out of the labyrinth?' Selexin challenged. Swain was
silent. He looked over at Holly by the cyclone fence, sucking her thumb. Selexin said
again, 'Do you seriously think you can get out of the labyrinth?' Swain was
silent. Hawkins
whispered to him, 'You think we can get out?' Swain looked
at the windows near the ceiling, thinking to himself. At last he spoke. 'Yes.' 'Impossible.'
Balthazar's guide stepped forward. 'Absolutely impossible.' 'You stay
out of this,' Selexin snapped angrily. Swain stared
at Selexin. The little man had been indignant before, distressed even, but he
had never been downright angry. Balthazar's
guide stepped back immediately. Selexin spun back to face Swain. 'How?'
he demanded. 'How?' 'Yes, how do
you propose we get out?' 'You want
to get out?' Swain couldn't believe it. After the lecture he had received
before about the grandeur and honour associated with the Presidian, he found it
difficult to believe that Selexin would want to get out. 'As a matter
of fact I do.' Balthazar's
guide interrupted again, 'Oh, you do, do you? Well forgive me for reminding you
of an unpleasant fact, Selexin, but you can't!' Selexin
didn't say anything. Balthazar's
guide went on. 'Selexin, the Presidian has begun. It cannot and will
not be stopped until a winner has been found. It is the only honourable
way.' 'I think any
honour this thing had went flying out the window when your friend Bellos
brought his bloodhounds along,' Swain said. 'I agree,'
Selexin said, glaring at Balthazar's guide. 'Bellos has broken the rules. And
with hoodaya, he cannot and will not be stopped. We must get out.' 'And do
what?' the other guide sneered, 'use our witnessing teleports to call for help?
They transmit vision only, Selexin, not sound.' 'Then anything,'
Selexin said. 'If two contestants leave the labyrinth and initialise their
witnessing teleports and wave for the cameras, the controllers of the Presidian
will have to realise that something is amiss.' The other
guide stared at Selexin. 'I do not think our two contestants will last very
long outside the labyrinth,' he said smugly. 'Why?' 'As a matter
of fact,' the other guide smiled, 'I would say that they would not last any
longer than exactly fifteen minutes.' 'Oh,'
Selexin frowned, remembering. 'Yes.' Swain was
bewildered. It was as if Selexin and Balthazar's guide were speaking in another
language. 'What does
that mean?' he asked Selexin. Selexin
spoke sadly. 'Do you remember what I told you before about your wristband?' Swain looked
down at the heavy grey band around his wrist. He'd forgotten about it entirely. The little
green light still glowed brightly. The display now read: INITIALISED—6 Six?
Swain thought. He remembered the contestant on the Ground Floor —
the Konda — that had been killed by the hoods. The wristband, it appeared, was
counting down now. Striking out a number as each contestant was
eliminated. Until only one remained. And when
only one was left, then came the Karanadon that Selexin kept talking about.
Whatever that was. 'Do you
remember?' Selexin said again. 'Yes, I
think I remember.' 'Do you
recall that if your wristband detects that it is outside the electronic field
surrounding the labyrinth, it will automatically set itself to detonate?' Swain
frowned. It all suddenly made sense. 'And I get fifteen minutes to get back
inside.' 'Exactly.'
Balthazar's guide spat. Nobody
spoke. There was silence for a full minute. Someone took a long, deep breath. Balthazar's
guide spoke: 'So even if you get out, you are still a dead man.' Swain looked
at him and snorted. 'Thanks.' 'You know,
you're a real great help,' Hawkins said to the little man. 'At least I
am realistic about my situation.' 'At least I
give a shit about somebody else's life,' Hawkins said. 'I would be
more concerned about taking care of my own if I were you.' 'Yeah, well
you're not me—' 'All right.
All right,' Swain said. 'Settle down. We've got to find a way out of this, not
fight among ourselves.' He turned to Selexin. 'Is there any way we can
get this thing off my wrist?' Selexin
shook his head. 'No. It doesn't come off… unless you…' he shrugged. 'I know, I
know. Unless I win the Presidian, right?' Selexin
nodded. 'Only the officials at the other end have the proper equipment to
remove it.' 'Can we
break it open?' Hawkins suggested. 'Can anyone
here break down that door?' Balthazar's guide asked, pointing to the
maintenance room's heavy hydraulic door, knowing the answer. 'If not, then
no-one here can break open that wristband. It's too strong.' The group
went silent. Swain looked
down at the wristband again. In the last minute it had suddenly begun to feel a
lot heavier. He crossed the room and sat next to Holly, resting his back up
against the cyclone fence. 'How are you
doing?' he asked softly. She didn't
answer. 'Holly?
What's up?' Still no
answer. Holly was staring vacantly straight ahead. 'Come on, Hol,
what is it? Did I do something?' he waited for a response. This was not
unusual. Holly would often refuse to talk to him when she felt rejected or left
out or just plain stubborn. 'Holly,
please, we don't have time for this now,' Swain shook his head in exasperation. Holly spoke,
'Daddy.' 'Yes.' 'Be very
quiet, Daddy. Be very, very quiet.' 'Why—?' 'Shh.' Swain went
mute. The others had sat down over near Balthazar, beneath the high windows.
Everyone sat in complete silence for ten seconds. Holly leaned over to Swain's
ear. 'Do you hear
it?' she whispered. 'No.' 'Listen.' Swain looked
at Holly. She was sitting dead still, her eyes wide open, her head set rigidly
upright, backed up against the cyclone fence. She looked frightened. Frightened
out of her mind. She spoke again. 'Okay Daddy,
get ready. Listen… now.' And then he
heard it. The sound
was barely audible, but it was unmistakable. A long, slow inhalation. Something
breathing. Something
not very far away. Suddenly,
there was a snorting sound, like the soft grunting of a pig. It was followed by
a shuffling sound. Then the
inhalation came again. It was slow
and rhythmic, like the breathing of someone sleeping. Selexin
heard it, too. At the
grunting sound, his head snapped up immediately. He scrambled silently on all
fours across the concrete floor to Swain. 'We have to
get out,' he hissed in Swain's ear. 'We have to get out now.' The
inhalation came again. 'It's in
here,' Selexin said. 'Quickly, give me your wrist.' Swain
offered his wristband for Selexin to see. The green
light was still on. 'Phew,'
Selexin breathed. 'It?' Swain
asked. 'What is it?' 'It's behind
us, Daddy,' Holly hissed, her body frozen. 'Oh, Jesus
Christ…' Hawkins gasped, getting to his feet on the other side of the room. He
was looking through the cyclone fence. 'I think it's time to get the hell out
of here.' The
inhalation came again, louder this time. And then
slowly, ever so slowly, Stephen Swain turned around. It was over
by the far corner of the cage, under some shelves mounted high up on the wall.
In the dark it looked like just another large mound of equipment covered in a
tarp. Only it was
moving. Slowly and
steadily. Rhythmically
rising and falling, in time with the deep inhalations. Swain's eyes
followed the outline of the 'mound'. It was big. In the dim light of the
storage room he could just make out long spiky bristles on top of an arched
back— There was a
loud grunt. Then the
whole mound rolled over onto its side and the deep inhalations resumed. Selexin was
tugging on Swain's shirt. 'Let's go! Let's go!' Swain rose
to his feet, plucked Holly from the floor, headed for the door. He was reaching
for the door's handle when he heard a soft, insistent beeping. It was
coming from his wristband. The little green light was flashing. Selexin's
eyes went wide with horror. 'It's waking
up! Get out!' he screamed. 'Get out now!' He barged
past Hawkins, hauled open the door, pushed Swain through it, screaming, 'Out!
Out! Out!' Swain and
Holly were out in the empty study hall again. Hawkins emerged from the
janitor's room with Balthazar over his shoulder, the other guide close behind. Selexin was
already charging in amongst the L-shaped desks of the study hall. 'Don't stop!
Don't stop! Keep moving, we have to get as far away from here as possible!' Swain
followed with Holly in his arms — weaving quickly between the desks, away from
the janitor's room — the others close in tow. Up ahead,
Selexin was darting between the desks, constantly looking back to see if Swain
was still with him. 'The band!
The band! Look at your wristband!' he called. Swain looked
down at the wristband. It was beeping horribly loudly now, and quicker, too. And then he
stopped. The green
light on the wristband had gone out. Now the red
one was on. And it was
flashing rapidly. 'Uh-oh.' Hawkins
caught up with them. He was panting, desperately. 'What is it?' 'We're about
to be in for some serious trouble,' Swain said. At that
moment the heavy hydraulic door to the janitor's room exploded from its hinges
and flew out into the study hall, landing with a deafening bang!, crushing
several desks. It was
followed by a blood-curdling roar that boomed out from within the janitor's
room. 'Oh, man,'
Hawkins breathed. 'Let's
move!' Swain took off, winding through the maze of desks, heading for the
stairwell in the opposite corner of the room. He was
glancing over his shoulder when it emerged from the janitor's room. It was huge. Absolutely
huge. It had to double over just to fit through the wide doorway that no longer
had a door. Selexin saw
it, too. 'It's the Karanadon!' They were
halfway across the wide study hall, crossing it diagonally, when the Karanadon
cleared the doorway and rose to its full height, almost touching the ceiling. Swain
pressed on, carrying Holly toward the stairwell. Hawkins was losing ground
behind him, weighed down by Balthazar. Last of all was Balthazar's guide —
pushing and shoving — trying desperately to get Hawkins and Balthazar to move
faster, constantly looking behind him, to see if the Karanadon was coming after
them. Swain
glanced over his shoulder again to get another look at the fearsome beast. It continued
to stand by the door to the janitor's room, watching them. It hadn't
moved yet. It just
stood there. Despite the
noise they were making as they scrambled in a panic through the desks for the
stairwell, it just stood in front of the doorway in silence. Swain
rounded another desk. Twenty yards to the stairwell. He looked back again. Christ, it
was big all right — at least fourteen feet tall. It had the
body of an enormous, hairy, broad-shouldered gorilla — all black, hunched
forward, with a series of long spiky bristles that flowed over its high arched
back. Long muscular arms hung down from its massive shoulders so that the
knuckles dragged on the ground. The head was
two-and-a-half feet long, and it reminded Swain of a jackal. High pointed ears.
Black, lifeless eyes. And menacing canine fangs that protruded from a dark
wrinkled snout, frozen in an eternal snarl. It moved. The Karanadon
leapt forward and bounded after them at frightening speed. It stomped on the
fallen hydraulic door, cracking it in the middle, breaking it in two. Swain
tightened his grip on Holly and bolted for the stairwell. Hawkins struggled to
pull Balthazar forward. Balthazar's guide was looking frantically behind them,
pounding on Hawkins' back, screaming for him to move faster. The
Karanadon ploughed through the L-shaped desks like an icebreaker through a
frozen sea, hurling them in all directions, crushing them under its feet. When
they happened to hit the ground, the big beast's footsteps sounded like cannon
fire. Boom.
Boom. Boom. Swain and
the others continued to weave in and out between the desks. The Karanadon kept
coming in a straight line. Selexin was
at the stairwell, Swain ten yards away. He checked behind him. Hawkins,
Balthazar and the other guide were not going to make it. The Karanadon was
closing in on them too quickly. Better think
fast, Steve. Boom.
Boom. Boom. He let Holly
drop to the floor and quickly scanned the wide study hall. It was
roughly square in shape. He and Holly were almost at the stairwell, on the
western side of the floor. The janitor's room was roughly opposite them, on the
north-eastern corner of the floor. On the south-eastern corner were the
elevators. Boom. Boom. Boom. 'Move
faster!' Balthazar's guide was screaming at Hawkins. 'For God's sake, it's
getting closer!' The
Karanadon crunched through another desk. And then
Swain pushed Holly away from the stairwell, toward the elevators. 'Let's
go, honey. We're gonna make a run for the elevators.' He called to Selexin at
the stairwell door. 'This way! We're going this way!' Boom.
Boom. Boom. ' That way!'
Selexin screamed back. 'What about the stairs!' 'Will you
just do it, okay!' The Karanadon
was right on top of the others now. It lunged at
Balthazar's guide, swiping at him with one of its long arms. The guide ducked
and the massive claw swished over his head and smashed into a nearby desk. The
desk shattered and Balthazar's guide stumbled forward, tripping over Hawkins'
legs, sending all three of them — the guide, Hawkins and Balthazar — sprawling
forward. Hawkins hit
the ground hard, landing heavily on his shoulder. Balthazar fell on top of him.
His guide landed helplessly at their feet. Boom. There was a
sudden, terrifying silence. The
Karanadon had stopped. Hawkins was
sweating profusely. He wriggled desperately, tried to pull himself to his feet,
but his right arm was jammed beneath Balthazar. His left wasn't even
responding, the shoulder dislocated by the fall. Down near
his feet he saw the little guide frantically clutching at his trouser leg,
trying desperately to stand up. 'Help me! Help
me?' the guide pleaded, petrified. And then
suddenly—violently — the guide was sucked from Hawkins' view. Over by the
wall, Swain watched in horror as his three companions fell below the deskline. The
Karanadon had stopped a few feet short of them. Then it had bent down behind
the desks, out of view. When it reappeared, it had the distinctive white shape
of Balthazar's guide in one of its massive black claws. The guide
was waving his arms wildly, screaming at the monster. The Karanadon pulled him
up to its snout and curiously examined the noisy little creature it had found. And then,
one-handed, the Karanadon held the guide out at arm's length and viciously
slashed across the front of his body with its free claw. Swain's jaw
dropped. Hawkins'
eyes went wide with terror. Three deep
slits of red exploded across the guide's chest. One slashing tear sliced across
his mouth. The guide's body went instantly limp. The room was
suddenly silent. The
Karanadon shook the body once. It didn't respond. The big beast shook the
lifeless body again — like a toy that didn't work anymore — and then flung it
away. Swain still
couldn't see Hawkins. He ducked
down to look through the legs of the desks — and he saw him. Hawkins was lying
flat on the floor, wedged underneath Balthazar, unable to move, but trying
anyway. Christ, he
had to do something for him… Boom. Hawkins was
struggling to free himself when he felt the floor shake beneath him. He froze,
and then slowly turned to look upward. And saw the
massive jaws of the Karanadon, wide open, rushing down at him. He shut his
eyes. It was too— 'Hey!' The
Karanadon's head snapped up instantly. 'Yeah,
that's right, I'm talking to you!' Hawkins
opened his eyes. What the hell—? The
Karanadon slowly turned to face Swain. It cocked its head curiously, staring at
this bold creature that had dared to interrupt its kill. Swain was
waving his arms, yelling angrily at the fourteen-foot-tall beast that stood
barely fifteen yards away from him. 'Yeah, get
up! It's okay!' Swain barked, his face twisted in a fierce growl, never taking
his eyes off the monster before him. He raised his
voice. It was angry, challenging. 'Move! I've got it covered! It's
looking at me now! Get up and go for the stairwell!' It was like talking to a
dog — the beast heard the intonations, but made no sense of the words. Hawkins
suddenly realised what was happening — Swain was
talking to him. Immediately, he began struggling again to shift Balthazar off
him. In a few seconds, he got him off, and began to drag him across the floor,
away from the Karanadon while Swain kept it occupied. The
Karanadon seemed dumbstruck by this challenging display. It roared fiercely at
Swain. 'Oh, yeah!
Well… well, fuck you, too!' Swain yelled back. Out of the
corner of his eye he saw Holly and Selexin reach the elevators over by the
southern wall. In the other direction, he saw Hawkins and Balthazar reach the
stairwell. Unfortunately,
the Karanadon was still staring straight at him, totally exposed, halfway
between the elevators and the stairs. Shit. What
could he do now? Nice going, Steve. Boom. The
Karanadon took a slow step toward him. Boom.
Boom. Two more and
suddenly the gap was seven feet. Almost within striking distance. 'Hey!' The
Karanadon's head snapped left, toward Selexin and Holly by the elevator. 'Yes! That
is right! I am talking to you!' Selexin yelled. The big
creature took a step toward the elevators, growling. It roared. Selexin
braced himself, pointed a finger, and yelled, 'Oh, yeah, well fuck you,
too!' Swain
coughed back a laugh. The
Karanadon roared in outrage and stepped away from Swain, heading for the
elevators. It was gaining speed when a third voice called loudly. 'Hey!' The
Karanadon stopped in its tracks a third time. 'Yeah, you!'
It was Hawkins. Swain swung
his head back and forth between the elevators and the stairwell, amazed. Now totally
confused, the Karanadon swung to face Hawkins at the stairwell. Swain took the
chance and ran for the elevator. When he got there, he pressed the call button. Hawkins was
waving wildly at the Karanadon as it approached. When it got to within fifteen
feet of him, Swain took over and called again from the elevators. 'Hello
there! Hey, buddy! What about me!' The
Karanadon swung around slowly. It snorted. Boom. Swain looked
up at the numbered display above the left-hand elevator. The elevator was
moving from '1' to 'G'. It was going down. What the hell? The right-hand
elevator — with its inwardly dented doors and last seen by Swain stopped
halfway between the First and Ground Floors — didn't seem to be operating at
all. Boom.
Boom. Boom. 'Hey!'
Hawkins called again. But this time, the beast didn't respond. It kept moving
toward Swain and the elevators. Boom.
Boom. Boom. 'Hey!'
Hawkins yelled. The Karanadon didn't stop. It just kept ploughing forward,
toward the elevators. 'We have got
trouble,' Selexin said flatly. 'We've got deep
trouble,' Swain agreed. Boom.
Boom. Boom. Swain spun
around. Options, options. There were none. He checked the numbers above the
elevators. Left — still on the Ground Floor. Right — still no movement at all. He stared at
the elevators for a second and suddenly had an idea. 'Quickly,'
he said, moving over to the right-hand elevator. 'Selexin, Holly, you
two grab the other side of this door and pull. We've got to get it open.' Boom.
Boom. Boom. The
Karanadon was closing in — getting faster and faster as it got closer and
closer. The elevator
doors slowly came apart. 'Keep pulling,' Swain said. The black elevator shaft
opened wide before him. Boom. 'That's it,'
Swain said, easing in between the doors-spreading his legs, holding them apart
— while still facing the study hall. The dark elevator shaft yawned wide behind
him. It was then
that Swain noticed the silence. No more booming footfalls. The
Karanadon had stopped. Slowly, ever
so slightly, Swain lifted his head. It was right
there! Five feet
away. And it just
stood there, looming over the three of them, its enormous black frame dwarfing
them all. It tilted its head and glared down at Swain. One of its long pointed
ears twitched. 'Holly,
Selexin,' Swain whispered, without moving his mouth, 'I want both of you to
grab hold of my legs. One each. Right now.' 'Daddy…'
Holly whimpered. 'Just grab
my leg, honey.' There was a
scratching sound, and Swain saw that it was the big beast's claws scraping
against the marble floor as it flexed its huge black fists. Getting
ready to attack. Holly
clasped onto Swain's left leg. Selexin took the right. 'Hold
tight,' Swain said, taking a deep breath as the Karanadon lifted its arm high. The arm came
down fast — but not fast enough. It hit nothing but air as Swain shifted his
weight backwards and jumped into the darkness of the elevator shaft. —––ooo0ooo——— The elevator
cable was greasy, but his grip held. There were
three vertical cables, so Swain held the middle one. Behind him, the elevator
doors had shut automatically as soon as he had stopped holding them apart. The elevator
shaft was pitch black and deathly silent. If the Karanadon was roaring, they
couldn't hear it in here. 'Selexin,'
Swain said, his voice echoing loudly in the empty shaft. 'Grab hold of the
cable.' Selexin
reached out from Swain's leg and caught hold of the elevator cable. 'All right
now, slide down. Down to the elevator.' Selexin slid
down the cable, disappearing into the murky darkness of the shaft. 'Holly, you
okay?' 'Yeah.' A
whimper. 'All right,
then, it's your turn now. Just reach out and grab the cable.' 'O-kay.' Her hand
shaking, Holly reached for the cable. Her fingers hesitated for an eternity
just short of the greasy metal rope. She grabbed it. And then
suddenly the elevator doors burst open. Soft blue
light streamed into the elevator shaft, silhouetting the monstrous shape of the
Karanadon as it held the doors apart. It was only
a few feet away and Swain was completely exposed, holding onto the elevator
cable for dear life, with Holly dangling from his leg. It roared
loudly, leaning out into the shaft, swiping viciously at Swain, only to see him
loosen his grip on the cable and drop out of the way a second ahead of the
impact. . Swain fell
like a stone, whizzing down the greasy cable into the darkness, with Holly
hanging from his left leg. They slid
down the cable fast, the grease on the cable preventing Swain's hands from
burning, and arrived at the roof of the right-hand elevator. Selexin was there
waiting. The
elevator's hatch was still open and the light inside it still on. The lift was
exactly where they had left it before, when Swain, Balthazar and the two guides
had climbed across to meet Hawkins and Holly in the other one. 'Let's get
inside, and see if we can get to another floor,' Swain said, grabbing Holly's
hand and lowering her into the elevator. Selexin climbed in next. Swain jumped
down last of all. In the light
of the elevator Swain could see how filthy they had become. The black grease
from the cable covered their clothes. He felt his cheek. The bleeding had
stopped. 'Where do we
go now?' Selexin asked. 'I think we
should go home, Daddy,' Holly suggested. 'Good idea,'
Swain said. Selexin
said, 'Well, we had better figure out somethi—' Suddenly,
the elevator jolted and they were all thrown sideways. 'Oh my God,'
Swain said, 'the cable!' The elevator
rocked violently, hurling them all to the ground. A loud creaking sound
echoed throughout the shaft. 'It's got
the cable!' The elevator
swayed dramatically and Selexin was thrown bodily into the side wall, hitting
his head, falling to the floor in a heap. Swain tried to fight his way across
the swaying lift to reach the button panel, but was jolted backwards. The back
of his head banged into one of the elevator's doors, and for a second, he saw
spots. The whole elevator groaned again at the tremendous strain being put on
the cable. And then, as
quickly as it had begun, the rocking stopped and the elevator was still once
more. Holly was
curled up in the corner, vigorously sucking her thumb. Selexin was out cold,
face down on the floor. Swain staggered across the lift, rubbing the back of
his head, looked up through the hatch. He had just
walked under the open hatch when he felt the elevator move again. Another jolt.
But not like the previous ones. It was not as sharp, somehow different. The elevator
swayed again and Swain felt his knees buckle. And then he
realised. They
were going up. It was lifting
them up the shaft! 'Okay,' he
said to himself, 'how the hell are we going to get out of this one?' The lift
continued upward, scraping loudly against the metal lining of the shaft. Swain looked
up through the hatch and could just make out the big arms of the Karanadon
heaving on the elevator cable, hauling on it hand over hand, claw over claw. The lift
kept rising, moving higher into the shaft. There's
got to be a way out, he thought, got to be. The
Karanadon roared. They were close now, maybe a floor away. The hatch was still
open. The Karanadon was glaring down at the elevator with animal fury as it
heaved and pulled on the cables. The
cables, Swain thought. He pondered
the idea for a second. It was dangerous, yes. But it could work. At the
moment it didn't look like he had much choice. He shrugged. Hell, anything was
better than nothing. He looked
back at Holly. She was slumped in the corner of the lift, still sucking her
thumb. Yes.
It could work. It
had to. And with
that, Stephen Swain reached up and climbed out through the hatch, up onto the
roof of the elevator. The study
hall was closer than he thought. They were
about seven feet below the Third Floor doors where the Karanadon stood — and
the lift was still moving upward. The
Karanadon saw him. And stopped. Swain just
stood there, on top of the elevator, staring at the beast. Suddenly the
Karanadon lashed out, swiping at him with its spare claw. Swain stepped back,
out of reach. The beast swung again, missed again. 'Come on!'
Swain yelled. 'You can do better than that!' The big
beast roared in frustration and lashed out at him again, harder this time,
missing Swain, but hitting one of the cables. The cable
snapped like a thread and the elevator lurched. But the Karanadon was still
holding it up. With one
hand! The big
beast swung again, and Swain dived to his left. It missed, and cable number two
snapped. One
more, Swain told himself. One more, and we're out of here. This was
getting to be too much for the Karanadon. It roared again in animal anger, like
a dog barking at a cat that it will never catch. 'Come on,
big boy,' Swain teased. 'One last swipe, and then you can get me the hell out
of here.' It was then
that the Karanadon raised its arm one final time. But it
didn't swing. It jumped. Onto
the roof of the elevator! Swain didn't
have time for disbelief. The elevator just plummeted straight down! A piercing
metal-on-metal screech attacked Swain's ears as the elevator descended in a
freefall down the shaft. Wind whipped all around him as sparks flew out from
every corner of the falling elevator. The big
beast stood on the other side of the roof oblivious to what it had done. It
glared at Swain. What
sort of stupid creature jumps onto an elevator that it's holding up? Swain's
mind screamed. But Swain
didn't have time to think about that now. He dived for the hatch, fell through
it, landed heavily on the floor of the elevator. 'Get down!'
he called to Holly, above the wail of the falling elevator. 'Get down on the
floor! Flat on the floor! Rest your head on your arms!' The elevator
screamed down the shaft. Holly did
exactly as she was told, lay flat on the floor. Swain scrambled alongside her,
covering her with one arm, and did the same — lay flat on his belly, spreading
his legs wide, burying his head in his other forearm, using it as a cushion. The last of
the cables must have broken by now, he thought as he lay on the floor, waiting
for the bone-jarring crash that would come any second now. The
Karanadon poked its huge head through the small hatch — upside-down. It wanted
to get inside, but it would never fit. The elevator
roared down the shaft, sparks flying from all sides, its high-pitched wail
getting higher and higher and higher. And then it
hit the bottom. —––ooo0ooo——— The impact
was stunning. Swain felt
his whole body shudder violently as the elevator went from thirty-five miles an
hour to zero in a split second. The muscles
on his forearms cushioned his head. And his body, since it was already flush
against the floor, stifled most of the force of the impact. The same
happened with Holly. Swain hoped Selexin was all right, since he had already
been on the floor, knocked out. As the
elevator hit the bottom of the shaft with a horrendous bang!, the roof
beneath the Karanadon gave way and the big beast burst right through it,
crashing to the floor of the elevator, landing heavily on its back — right
next to Swain — in a cloud of dust and shattered plastic. A minute
passed. Slowly,
Swain lifted his head. The first
thing he saw was the dark wrinkled snout and the enormous white fangs of the
Karanadon, right in front of his eyes. He started.
But the beast did not move. Swain
quickly looked at his wristband and sighed. The green light was back on. The
Karanadon was out cold. He lifted
his body and all sorts of debris fell from his back onto the floor. Half the
roof of the old, wide elevator had fallen in under the weight of the big beast,
and pieces of the ceiling and shards of fluorescent light bulbs lay strewn all
over the elevator. Christ, he
thought, it looked as if a bomb had gone off here: white dust floating through
the air, the roof caved in, half the lights flickering, the other half
destroyed beyond recognition. Swain stood
up. He touched the large bruise that was forming on the back of his head. His
lower back ached from the thunderous impact. He lifted his arm off Holly. 'Holly?' he
said, quietly. 'Are you okay?' She stirred
gently, as if coming out of a deep, painful sleep. 'Wha… what?' Swain shut
his eyes in relief and gave her a kiss on the forehead. 'Are we
there yet, Daddy?' she whimpered, her head still buried in her forearms. 'Yes, honey,
we're here,' he smiled. Across the
lift, Selexin groaned. He slowly raised his head and stared, unfocused, at
Swain. Then he looked across the lift at the limp — but live — body of the
Karanadon. 'Oh my
goodness…' 'Tell me
about it,' Swain said dryly. 'Where are
we?' 'We're at
the bottom of the shaft, I guess. We took the quick trip down.' 'Oh,'
Selexin said absently. He didn't
seem too worried about anything right now, and for that matter, neither did
Swain. He figured they could stay here for a while. The Karanadon wouldn't be
waking up in the very near future, and no-one would be able to find them here. He sat up,
gently placing his daughter's head in his lap, and leaned up against the wall
of the semi-destroyed elevator and smiled sadly at the destruction all around
him. —––ooo0ooo——— Bob Charlton
stopped his Chevy at a red light and dialled his office. It had barely rung
once when Rudy answered. 'Robert Charlton's phone.' 'Rudy?'
Charlton said. 'Yes,
sir. Where are you? 'At the
moment, stuck in downtown traffic. I'm on my way. I'll be back in about five
minutes.' At the other
end of the line, Rudy Baker paused, and glanced nervously around Charlton's
office. 'Okay, sir,'
he said. 'Is there anything you want me to do in the meantime? Look up
something for you?' Charlton's
voice said, 'Good idea, yes. While you're waiting, check the computer. See
if the New York State Library was linked up with the main when we did that
National Register of Historic Places thing a few months back. If it was, run
down to Records and pull the plans. Get the blueprints and see if you can find
out where the damn booster valve is.' 'Uh… okay,
sure,' he hesitated again. 'What
is it, son?' Charlton said. 'Something wrong down there? 'No, sir.
Not here,' Rudy lied. 'I'll see you when you get back.' 'All
right then.' Charlton hung up. In the
office, Rudy leaned forward and switched off the speakerphone. 'Well done,
son,' a voice behind him said. 'Now, why don't you just take a seat with the
rest of us, and we can all wait here together until your boss comes back.' Charlton
hurried out of the elevator and walked quickly down the hallway to his office. He looked at
his watch. It was 7:55
p.m. He hoped
that Rudy had got those files on the State Library. If he had, with a bit of
luck they might be able to have the main up and running again by midnight. Charlton
charged into his office and stopped instantly. Rudy was
sitting in the chair behind Charlton's desk. He looked up helplessly. Five other
men, all dressed in dark suits, sat in a neat row in front of the desk. As Charlton
walked in, one of the men stood up and walked over to him. He was short and
stocky, with red hair and a big orange walrus-style moustache. 'Mr
Charlton, Special Agent John Levine,' he flashed his wallet, revealing a photo
ID. 'I'm from the National Security Agency.' Charlton
examined the ID card. He wondered what the NSA would want with Con Ed. 'What seems
to be the problem, Mr Levine?' 'Oh, there's
no problem,' Levine said quickly. 'Then what
can I do for you?' Charlton's eyes wandered warily around his office, scanning
the four other men seated there. They were
all big men, broad-shouldered. Two wore sunglasses even though it was nearly
eight in the evening. They were very intimidating. 'Please, Mr
Charlton, take a seat. We just came by to ask you a few questions about your
inquiry into the New York State Library.' 'I'm not
looking at the Library itself,' Charlton said, sitting down in a spare chair.
Levine sat opposite him. 'I'm just looking for a break in our main electrical
line. We've had quite a few calls from that area, complaints about the power
cutting out on people.' Levine
nodded. 'Uh-huh. So. Apart from being in the same area, what is the connection
between these complaints and the State Library?' 'Well,'
Charlton said, 'the Library is on the National Register of Historic Places, you
know, one of those lists of old buildings that aren't allowed to be
demolished.' 'I know it.' 'Anyway, we
linked a few of them up to the main a few months back, and we've found that
when they go down, sometimes they take the whole damn system with them.' Levine
nodded again. 'So why have you begun to focus on this building? Surely
there are others in the area that deserve similar attention?' 'Mr Levine,
I've been doing this sort of thing for ten years now and when you get a break
in the main it can mean a shitload of problems. And that means you have to
check everything. Every possibility. Sometimes it's kids hacking at the
cables with daddy's chainsaw, sometimes it's just an overload. I've always
found it prudent to go down and check with the police and see if they've pulled
in someone from that area lately.' 'You went to
the police?' Levine raised an eyebrow. 'Yes.' 'And did you
find anything?' 'Yes, I did.
In fact, it was the police who put me on to the Library in the first place.' 'If you
don't mind me asking,' Levine said, 'which police station was this?' '14th
Precinct,' Charlton said. 'And what
did they tell you?' 'They told
me they picked up a small-time computer thief in the State Library last night,
in relation to the murder of a security guard. I saw the fellow, too—' 'A murdered
security guard?' Levine leaned forward. 'Yes.' 'A guard
from the State Library?' 'Yes.' 'And the
police said he was killed last night?' 'That's
right. Last night,' Charlton said. 'They found the thief right next to him,
covered from head to toe in the guard's blood.' Levine
looked around at his fellow agents. Then he said, 'Do they think the thief did
it?' 'No. He was
just a scrawny little guy. But they think he must have stumbled upon the guys
who did. Then they roughed him up. Something like that.' Levine
stopped for a moment, deep in thought. Then he
asked very seriously, 'Have the police put any men inside the building? Inside
the library?' 'The
detective I spoke to said they have two officers down there right now,'
Charlton said. 'You know, baby-sitting the building overnight, until some site
team can go in tomorrow.' 'So there
are police officers inside that building right now?' 'That's what
they told me.' At that,
Levine turned to his men and nodded at the nearest one, who stood immediately. '14th
Precinct,' Levine said to him. He glanced back at Bob Charlton. 'Mr Charlton,
can you remember the name of the detective to whom you spoke?' 'Yes.
Captain Henry Dickson.' Levine just
turned to the standing agent and nodded curtly. The agent didn't reply. He just
ran straight from the room. Levine faced
Charlton again. 'Mr Charlton, you have been very helpful. I thank you for your
co-operation.' 'Not at
all,' Charlton said, rising from his chair. 'If that's everything, gentlemen, I
have a main to fix, so if you'll excuse me, I've got to go and check out that
library—' Levine
stood, placed his hand on Charlton's chest, stopping him. 'I'm sorry,
Mr Charlton, but I'm afraid your inquiry into the New York State Library stops
here.' 'What?' Levine spoke
calmly. 'This is no longer a matter for you or your company, Mr Charlton. The
National Security Agency will take care of it from here.' 'But what
about the main?' Charlton objected. 'Or the electricity? I have to get it back
on.' 'It can
wait.' 'Bullshit,
it can wait.' Charlton stepped forward angrily. 'Sit down,
Mr Charlton.' 'No, I will
not sit down. This is a serious problem, Mr Levine,' Charlton paused. 'I'd like
to speak with your superior.' 'Sit
down, Mr Charlton.' Levine said, a new authority in his voice.
Immediately, two agents appeared at Charlton's sides. They didn't touch him,
just stood by his shoulders. Charlton
sat, frowning. Levine said,
'All I will tell you is this, Mr Charlton. In the last two hours, that library
has become the focus of a major NSA investigation. An investigation that will
not be stopped because one hundred and eighty-seven New Yorkers won't be able
to watch Friends for one night.' Charlton
just sat there, silent. Levine walked over to the doorway. 'Your
inquiry is concluded, Mr Charlton. You will be advised as to when you may
proceed.' Levine stepped through the doorway, taking one agent with him,
leaving Charlton in the office with Rudy and the other two agents. Charlton
couldn't believe it. 'What? You're keeping me here? You can't do that!' Levine
stopped in the doorway. 'Oh yes I can, Mr Charlton, and I will. Under Federal
law, it is within the power of an investigating officer to detain anyone
concerned in a matter of national security for the duration of that
investigation. You will remain here, Mr Charlton, with your assistant,
under supervision, until this investigation is substantially concluded. Thank
you for your co-operation.' Down the
hall, Levine stepped into the elevator and pulled out his cellular phone. 'Marshall,
here,' a crackled voice said at the other end. There was a lot of static
on the line. 'Sir, it's
me, Levine.' 'Yes,
John, what is it? How did it go?' 'Good and
bad, sir.' 'Tell
me the good news first,' Levine said,
'It's definitely the State Library.' A pause,
then, 'Yes.' 'And we got
to Charlton just in time. He was just about to go there.' 'Good.' Levine
paused, nervously fingering his red walrus moustache. Marshall's
voice said, 'And the bad news?' Levine bit
his lip. 'We had to detain him.' There was
silence on the other end of the line. 'There was
no choice, Mr Marshall. We had to keep him away from the library.' The man
named Marshall seemed to be thinking it over. Finally he spoke, as if to
himself. 'No. No. That's okay. Charlton will be all right. Besides, if this
thing comes off, any flak the Agency gets from him will be water off a duck's
back. What else?' Levine held
his breath. 'There are two cops inside the building.' 'Inside?' 'Yes.' 'Oh,
fuck,' Marshall's voice said. 'That is a problem.' Levine
waited in silence. The phone hissed With static. Marshall lapsed into thought
again. When he spoke, his voice was soft, deliberate. 'We'll
have to take them with us.' 'The cops?
Can we do that?' Marshall
said, 'They're contaminated. It doesn't look like we have much choice.' Levine said,
'What do you want me to do now?' 'Get
over to the library and, for the moment, stay out of sight. The boys from Sigma
will be there shortly,' Marshall said. 'I'll be landing
in a couple of minutes. There's a car waiting on the runway, so I'll be there
in about thirty minutes.' 'Yes, sir.' Levine hung
up. —––ooo0ooo——— James A.
Marshall sat in the executive compartment of the National Security Agency's
Director's Lear as it began its descent into Newark. As the
Divisional Agent in Charge of the NSA's ultra-secret Sigma Division, Marshall
was officially based in Maryland, but lately he found that he was spending most
of his time out in the western states, New Mexico and Nevada. Marshall was
a tall man of fifty-two, mostly bald, with a white-grey beard and hawk-like
black eyebrows that narrowed at his nose, giving him a perpetual look of deadly
seriousness. He had been in charge of Sigma Division — the NSA's elite high
technology discovery division — for six years now. Back in the
seventies and eighties, the NSA had been the US intelligence community's pride
and joy, electronically compressing billions of encryption algorithms that were
to become the foundation of its world-renowned code-breaking computers. Then,
in the early nineties, Sigma added to this lustre when it utilised
semiconductor technology to make the greatest breakthrough in the history of
code making and breaking — it successfully created the world's first quantum
computer. But with the
subsequent thawing of the Cold War, code-cracking began to assume a lesser
priority in the eyes of the government. Budgets were cut. Money was diverted to
other sectors of the intelligence community and the military. The NSA had to
find something new to excel in — something that would justify its
continued existence. Otherwise it would almost certainly get folded into the
Army. James
Marshall and Sigma Division were tasked with finding this new expertise. Within
weeks, Sigma's resources were focused upon a new and remarkably different goal.
Only this was a goal that did not require the creation of new
technology, but which rather was centred on the search for, discovery of, and deciphering
of, a very special kind of technology. Highly
advanced technology. Technology
that man himself could not create. But
technology which the NSA — and the NSA alone, with its new quantum
supercomputers — would be in a unique position to decipher and exploit. Extra-terrestrial
technology. Marshall
took it all with a grain of salt. Sure, the Air Force had built underground
warehouses in New Mexico and Nevada. But despite the reports of television
specials asserting that they had in fact found, captured and studied alien
spacecraft and lifeforms — one such special even suggested that the technology
behind the Stealth Bomber came from such studies — those warehouses had
remained irrefutably and unequivocally empty. In short,
the Air Force had found nothing. And in the ever-competitive quest for budget
dollars, that provided the NSA with an opportunity… Like
tonight, Marshall thought. And as his
plane made its descent, he looked at the printout in his lap for the hundredth
time. Two hours ago,
at 6:01 p.m. Eastern Standard Time, an NSA satellite, LandSat 5, during
a random sweep over the north-eastern tip of America, detected and quantified
an unusually large electronic displacement that seemed to be emanating from
Manhattan Island. The displacement
had not been present during any previous sweeps, and its amperage was
dangerously similar to that of previously recorded electronic scrambling — or
jamming — frequencies used by North African guerilla forces, in particular
those used by Libya. And after
the bombing of the World Trade Centre in 1993 by North African extremists and
the destruction of two American embassies in Africa in 1998, no-one in the NSA
was willing to take any chances. The response
was immediate. The LandSat
5 results were bounced immediately to NSA headquarters at Fort Meade,
Maryland. A KH-11E counter-intelligence electronic surveillance satellite —
more commonly known by its call-sign 'Eavesdropper' — was sequestered from the
National Reconnaissance Office, and retasked so that it would pass over New
York. By chance,
the Eavesdropper happened to be in the right place at the right time and was on
the scene in minutes, and the first set of results were soon in the hands of
the NSA's crisis management team in Maryland — a team that had included
Marshall. Once those
results had been reviewed, in the space of nine minutes all records of
correspondence between satellite control in Maryland, LandSat 5 and the
Eavesdropper had been destroyed. LandSat
5 was retasked for immediate splashdown somewhere in the Pacific
Ocean, while the Eavesdropper continued to monitor the Manhattan area with
every pass. It was then
that the mission had been handed to James Marshall and his boys at Sigma
Division. Time was
short, and Marshall had wasted no time. He had raced
to the airport immediately and as he stepped onto the Director's Lear, someone
at Sigma was already preparing a press release that would explain the
unfortunate and regrettable loss of the two satellites. And so here
he was. On the NSA Director's Lear ready for touchdown in New York. Marshall
reached into his suitcase for a final look at the report from the Eavesdropper. Judging by
the long stretch of time covered in the report, Marshall noted, the
Eavesdropper could hold its field of view on a single target for a full fifty
minutes. Its orbital velocity must have been much slower than that of the
smaller LandSat 5. Marshall
read the transcript. LSAT-560467-S DATA TRANSCRIPT 463/511-001 SUBJECT SITE: 231.957 (North-eastern seaboard: CT, NY, NJ) NO. TIME/EST LOCATION READING 1. 18:03:48 CT. Isolated energy surge/Source: UNKNOWN Type: UNKNOWN / Dur: 0.00:09 2. 18:03:58 N.Y. Isolated energy surge/Source: UNKNOWN Type: UNKNOWN / Dur: 0.00:06 3. 18:07:31 N.Y. Isolated energy
surge/Source: UNKNOWN Type: UNKNOWN / Dur: 0.00:05 4. 18:10:09 N.Y. Isolated energy
surge/Source: UNKNOWN Type: UNKNOWN / Dur: 0.00:07 5. 18:14:12 N.Y. Isolated energy surge/Source:
UNKNOWN Type: UNKNOWN / Dur: 0.00:06 6. 18:14:37 N.Y. Isolated energy
surge/Source: UNKNOWN Type: UNKNOWN / Dur: 0.00:02 7. 18:14:38 N.Y. Isolated energy
surge/Source: UNKNOWN Type: UNKNOWN / Dur: 0.00:02 8. 18:14:39 N.Y. Isolated energy
surge/Source: UNKNOWN Type: UNKNOWN / Dur: 0.00:02 9. 18:14:40 N.Y. Isolated energy
surge/Source: UNKNOWN Type: UNKNOWN / Dur: 0.00:02 10. 18:16:23 N.Y. Isolated energy surge/Source:
UNKNOWN Type: UNKNOWN / Dur: 0.00:07 11. 18:20:21 N.Y. Isolated energy
surge/Source: UNKNOWN Type: UNKNOWN / Dur: 0.00:08 12. 18:23:57 N.Y. Isolated energy
surge/Source: UNKNOWN Type: UNKNOWN / Dur: 0.00:06 13. 18:46:00 N.Y. Isolated energy
surge/Source: UNKNOWN Type: UNKNOWN / Dur: 0.00:34 Marshall
frowned at the transcript. At the
moment it meant nothing to him. Twelve
strong surges of some unknown kind of energy — the sources of which were also
unknown — had all occurred in New York City between 6:03 and 6:46 p.m. Added to
that, the first surge, which had come from somewhere inside Connecticut.
Curious also was the last surge — distinctive because it had lasted thirty-four
seconds, more than three times longer than any of the others. Not to mention
the four consecutive two-second surges that Marshall had underlined. What it
amounted to was a puzzle, a puzzle Marshall wanted to solve. And Levine's
news was good. The taps on Con Edison's phones had been worthwhile, if not
altogether legal. The theory that large energy surges would affect local
electricity systems had turned out to be correct. Robert
Charlton had led them right to the source of the energy surges. The New York
State Library. Now they had
the location. And they were going to get whatever was there. James
Marshall grinned at the thought as his Lear hit the tarmac at Newark. —––ooo0ooo——— Hawkins
lowered Balthazar to the floor, resting him up against the concrete wall of the
janitor's room. Then he himself collapsed, breathless, alongside the big
bearded man. 'You're one
heavy bastard, you know that?' The
janitor's room was a complete mess. The cyclone fence cutting across the middle
of the room had been crumpled by the Karanadon. The splintered remains of
smashed wooden boxes lay strewn everywhere. And without the big hydraulic door,
the doorway was nothing more than a gaping hole in the wall. Hawkins
glanced at Balthazar by his side. He wasn't looking good. Eyes still badly
bloodshot. A red rash forming on the surrounding skin. Bubbles of saliva still
running through his bushy beard. Balthazar
groaned, and then as if testing himself, he put a hand to the floor to get up,
but immediately fell awkwardly back against the wall. They would have
to hole up here for a while. But first, Hawkins thought, he had to do something
about that doorway. At last,
Selexin got up and walked across the elevator and stared at the massive body of
the unconscious Karanadon. He bent down and peered at the long white fangs that
protruded from the jet-black snout. He made a
face of pure disgust. 'Hideous,' he said. 'Truly hideous.' Swain was
holding Holly in his lap. She had gone to sleep quickly, complaining of a
terrible headache. 'Yeah, not too bright, either,' he said. 'Have you ever seen
one before? Up close?' 'No. Never.' Swain nodded
and they both just stared at the gigantic black beast in silence. Then he said,
'So what do we do? Do we kill it? Can we kill it?' 'I do not
know,' Selexin shrugged. 'No-one has ever done this before.' Swain
offered a crooked smile and spread his hands. 'What can I say?' Selexin
frowned, not comprehending. 'I am sorry, but I am afraid I do not understand.
What exactly can you say?' 'Don't
worry. It's just a saying.' 'Oh.' 'Yeah,'
Swain said, 'like "Fuck you".' Selexin
blushed. 'Oh, yes. That. Well, I had to say something. My life was in
the balance too, you know.' 'Hell of a
thing to say to something like that,' Swain nodded at the Karanadon. 'Oh, well…' 'But it was
pretty bold. And I needed it. Thanks.' 'Think
nothing of it.' 'Well,
thanks anyway,' Swain said. 'By the way, are you allowed to do that? Allowed to
help me?' 'Well,'
Selexin said, 'technically, no. I am not supposed to help you physically in any
battle — whether against another contestant or the Karanadon. But considering
what Bellos has done by bringing hoods into the Presidian, then, to use another
of your sayings, I think that all gambling has been cancelled.' 'Huh?' 'Is that not
how you say it? "All gambling has been cancelled." It means that the
rules no longer apply.' 'I think
what you're trying to say is, All bets are off,' Swain said gently. 'But
you were close. Very close.' Selexin
preened at that, pleased with himself. Swain turned
back to the Karanadon. The long spiked bristles on the beast's back were rising
and falling in time with its loud, strained breathing. It was absolutely
enormous. 'So can we
kill it?' 'I thought
you did not kill defenceless victims,' Selexin said. 'That only
counts for people.' 'Balthazar
was not a person, and you did not kill him. He is amorphic, remember. As a
matter of fact, I am sure that you would be rather surprised at Balthazar's
true form—' Swain said,
'All right. Only for things that look like people, then. And besides,'
he looked at the Karanadon, 'Balthazar wasn't going to rip my head off if he
decided to fight back.' Selexin
looked as if he was about to object but stopped himself. He merely said,
'Okay.' 'So. What do
you think? Can we kill it?' Swain asked. 'I don't see
why not. But what will you kill it with?' They
surveyed the elevator. There wasn't much to be found by way of weapons. The
roof of the lift had been made of thin plasterboard and one whole half of it
had simply disappeared, destroyed by the Karanadon's fall. Large jagged shards
of frosted plastic from the fluorescent lights lay strewn across the floor.
Swain picked one up. In his hand, it looked like a pretty pathetic weapon. Selexin
shrugged. 'It could work. Then again, it might not do anything except
wake it up.' 'Hmm,' Swain
didn't like the thought of that. He didn't
want to rouse the Karanadon. It was fine now. Out cold. But for how long? And
killing something that was bigger and stronger than a grizzly bear, by hand,
with a shard of plastic, somehow didn't seem very likely. At that
moment, the Karanadon's right claw reached up lazily and swatted at something
buzzing around its snout. Then the claw resumed its position by the creature's
side and the big beast continued its slumber as if nothing had happened. Swain
watched it intently. Frozen. The
Karanadon snorted loudly, shuffled onto its side, rolled over. 'You know,
upon further reflection, I am not so sure that killing it is a very good idea,'
Selexin whispered. 'I was just
thinking the same thing myself,' Swain said. 'Come on, let's go.' He stood up
and lifted Holly. 'Come on,
honey. Time to go.' She stirred
groggily, '— my head hurts.' 'Where to?'
Selexin asked. 'Up,' Swain
said, pointing to the big hole in the roof of the elevator. After
heaving the outer elevator doors open, Swain looked out into the musty yellow
gloom to see row upon row of bookshelves stretching away to his left and right. It was
Sub-Level Two. The Stack. They were
standing on what was left of the roof of the destroyed elevator, five feet
below the floor level of Sub-Level Two. The concrete bottom of the elevator
shaft, it seemed, was still a fair way below Sub-Level Two. Swain
climbed out first and saw that on this floor, the elevators were embedded in
the wall of bookshelves. He looked
out from the doors and immediately realised that they were on one of the long
ends of the rectangular floor. The southern wall. Swain
remembered finding Hawkins on this floor, and seeing Reese for the first time,
and running blindly through the maze of shelves to the safety of the stairwell.
But that, he remembered, had happened on the other side of the floor. He turned
back to the elevator shaft and pulled Holly and Selexin out. 'I remember
this part of the labyrinth,' Selexin said, seeing the bookshelves around him.
'Reese.' 'That's
right.' 'Daddy, I
have a headache,' Holly said wearily. 'I know,
honey.' 'I want to
go home.' 'So do I,'
Swain said, reaching down, touching her head. 'We'll see if we can find
something for your headache, and at the same time, somewhere to hole up. Come
on, let's go.' They began
walking left, down the southern wall of the Stack. After walking some distance,
their aisle turned sharply to the right, and they headed up the shorter western
wall of the floor. They had gone about twenty yards along the wall when Swain
noticed something odd. Just ahead
of them, flush against the outer wall of shelves, something was ajar, sticking
slightly out into the aisle. Something red. As they came
closer, Swain realised what it was. It was a
door. A small red
door, slightly opened. It was tucked into the outer wall of shelves, very
unobtrusively. Indeed, Swain had seen it only because he had almost walked
right past it. Anyone conducting a cursory examination of the Stack would
almost certainly miss it. The small
red door had writing on it. '"No
Staff Access Permitted",' Selexin read aloud. 'What is that supposed to
mean?' But Swain
wasn't paying any attention to Selexin. He was already kneeling in front of the
door, peering down at its base. Selexin
said, 'I thought the staff were allowed to go everywhere in a place like this—' 'Shh,' Swain
said. 'Look at this.' Selexin and
Holly crouched beside him and stared down at the book lying on the floor,
wedged in between the door and its frame. 'It looks
like it is holding the door open…' Selexin said. 'It is holding
the door open,' Swain said, 'or at least stopping it from closing.' 'Why?' Holly
asked. Swain
frowned. 'I don't know.' He looked at the door handle. On the library side, it
had a keyhole in the middle of a plain silver knob. On the other side, though,
he could not see any lock or keyhole. High up near the hinges he saw the
closing mechanism. 'It's
spring-loaded,' he said. 'To make sure it shuts every time. That's why someone
used the book.' 'Why is no
staff access permitted?' Selexin asked. 'Probably
because this door has nothing to do with the library. And only staff are
allowed in the Stack. I'd say it's probably a gas or electricity meter.
Something like that,' Swain said. 'Something the staff are not supposed to
touch.' 'Oh.' Holly said,
'Can we get out through there?' Swain looked
to Selexin. 'I don't know. Can we?' 'The
labyrinth was supposed to be sealed at the time of electrification. I
cannot know what would happen if one entrance was not fully closed at that
time. But I can guess.' 'So guess.' 'Well,'
Selexin peered around the rim of the small red door marked NO staff access permitted. 'I see no visible sign of electrification here. And unless there is
another door beyond this one that was closed at the time of
electrification, my guess is that we may have just found a way out of the
labyrinth.' 'A way out?'
Holly said hopefully. 'Yes.' 'Are you
sure?' Swain whispered. 'There is
only one way to find out,' Selexin said. 'We have to see if there is another
door beyond this one.' 'Do we?'
Swain said, thinking. 'Why, yes,'
Selexin said. 'Unless you can think of another way.' Crouching on
the floor, Swain looked up at the little man, and said, 'As a matter of fact, I
think I can.' And with
that, Stephen Swain thrust his left arm — with the thick grey wristband
attached to it — through the gap between the small red door and its
frame. Immediately
they heard a loud, insistent beeping coming from outside the door, and after a
couple of seconds, Swain pulled his wrist back inside. The beeping
stopped instantly. They all
looked at the thick grey wristband. Its display now read: INITIALISED—6 DETONATION SEQUENCE
INITIALISED. AT * 14:57 * DETONATION
SEQUENCE CANCELLED RESET. 14:57 was
flashing. Swain smiled
at Selexin. 'There's no outer door. This is the last one.' 'How do you
know, Daddy?' Holly asked. 'Because,'
Selexin said, 'your father's wristband is set to initialise an automatic
detonation sequence of fifteen minutes as soon as it senses that it is outside
the energy field of this labyrinth.' 'What?'
Holly said. Swain said,
'He means that if I move outside the electric field that's all around this
building, this wristband will explode unless I get back inside in fifteen
minutes.' 'And do you
see that?' Selexin pointed to the readout, the flashing 14:57. 'The countdown
started when he put his wrist outside the door.' 'Which
means,' Swain continued, 'that once we're outside this door, we're outside the
electrical field, and outside the labyrinth.' 'Right,'
Selexin said. 'So let's
go,' Holly said. 'Let's get out of this place.' 'We can't,'
Swain said sadly, 'or, at least, I can't. Not yet.' 'Why not?'
Holly said. 'Because of
the wristband,' Selexin sighed. Swain
nodded. 'I can't get it off. And if I don't, I'll only last fifteen minutes
before this thing explodes.' 'Then we had
better find a way to get it off,' Selexin said. 'How?' Swain
said, shaking his wrist. The wristband was hard and strong, a thick steel
clamp. 'Look at it. It's as solid as a rock. We'd need an axe or a hammer to
break it open, and someone strong enough to crack it.' 'I bet
Balthazar could do it,' Holly said. 'He's really big. And I bet he's really
strong, too.' 'And when we
last saw him, he was not strong enough to stand up by himself,' Selexin said
sourly. 'We don't
even know if he and Hawkins are still alive,' Swain said. 'There has to be
another way.' Selexin
said, 'Maybe they have a vice around here that we could squeeze it in. Snap it
open with the pressure.' 'In a
library? Not likely.' Frustrated,
Selexin sat down next to the semi-opened door, staring at the escape he
couldn't use. Swain was also gazing at the door, deep in thought. Holly held
him tightly by the arm. 'Well, first
of all,' Swain said, 'we have to get you guys out. After that, I'll just have
to find a way to get this thing off and then meet you outside.' He snorted.
'Hmph. Maybe I should go and ask Bellos if he'd like to have a try. I'm sure
he'd like that.' 'He'd
definitely be strong enough,' Selexin said. 'But would
he do it?' Swain scoffed. 'Gladly,' a
deep baritone voice said from somewhere behind him. —––ooo0ooo——— Swain spun. There, right
in front of him, standing in one of the aisles perpendicular to the western
wall, stood Bellos. Swain felt a
chill at the sight of the man. His body, his face, his long tapering horns,
everything about him was black. Except for his breastplate, which Swain now
clearly saw to be beautifully crafted in gold. And he was
tall, taller than he had seemed before. At least seven feet. 'Greetings,
fellow competitor. Before you stands Bellos—' 'I know who
you are,' Swain said softly. Bellos
cocked his head in astonishment. 'Where are
your hoods?' Swain asked calmly, as Selexin and Holly slowly got to their feet
beside him. 'You don't fight without them, do you?' Bellos
chuckled evilly. As he did so, Swain saw something jingle at his side —
something attached to his belt. It was the
Konda's breathing mask. With a tinge
of horror, Swain recalled Selexin's earlier description of Bellos: the
trophy collector. And then
suddenly he caught sight of a second object clipped to Bellos' belt, something
that glinted dull gold in the mouldy yellow light of the Stack. Swain's eyes
widened when he saw what it was. It was a New
York Police Department badge. Hawkins'
partner… Bellos
spoke, releasing Swain from his thoughts. 'You attempt to show courage you do
not possess, little man. There are no hoods here. Just you. And me.' 'Really,'
Swain said. 'I don't believe you.' Bellos
stepped forward. 'You use strong words for a man who is moriturum esse.' 'Moriturum
esse,' Swain repeated. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched for the
hoods, expecting one of them to spring from one of the nearby aisles at any moment
now. 'About to die, huh. If that's the case, why don't you just osci assinum
meum then,' he said. Bellos
frowned, not understanding. 'Osci
assinum meum?' he repeated, perplexed. 'You want me to kiss
your mule, your ass?' Swain
surreptitiously kicked the book wedged in the doorway clear from the small red
door. The spring-loaded door immediately began to close and he caught it in his
hand — behind his back. 'When they
attack,' he whispered to Selexin and Holly, 'I want you two to run straight through
the door. Don't worry about me.' 'But—' 'Just
do it,' Swain said, never taking his eyes off Bellos. Bellos
sneered, 'Do you just stand there, little man, or do you fight? Swain said
nothing, just looked left. Then right. Waiting for the hoods. They attacked. Suddenly.
Without warning. From the front. Not the sides. From behind Bellos'
shoulder. It was a
single hood, springing forward, claws bared. Straight at Swain. With his
free hand Swain swiped at the creature backhanded, hitting it squarely in the head,
sending it crashing to the floor with a squeal. Swain
immediately opened the door behind him. 'Go!' he yelled to Selexin and Holly.
'Go! Go!' And then the
second hood attacked. This one
came from the left, slamming into Swain's back, knocking him to the floor,
making him let go of the door. The
spring-loaded door began to close. The second
hood leapt at Swain again as he rolled onto his back. Swain threw a desperate
arm up at the approaching hood and caught its narrow throat in his hand. Its
massive jaws clamped viciously open and shut, trying madly to reach his face,
as Swain held it out at arm's length. Its claws
swatted wildly, lashing out at his chest — but they weren't long enough. So it
went for his arm instead — slashing ferociously. Five bloody gashes appeared
instantly across Swain's forearm. It was then
that Swain saw the door closing. 'The door! Get
the door!' he yelled to Holly and Selexin. But Holly
and Selexin just stood there. Dead still. Staring off to the right, down the
western wall. Swain was
looking desperately at the rapidly closing door. It was almost shut when, as a
last resort, he thrust his leg out and wedged his foot between the door and its
frame. 'Go!' he
yelled, kicking the door open again as he wrestled with the hood. But Selexin
and Holly weren't moving. They were
watching the third and fourth hoods as they stalked ominously out into the
aisle. Swain got up
on one knee, still holding the second hood at arm's length. The animal decided
on a new tactic. Instead of writhing about maniacally in his grip, lashing out
with its claws, it grabbed hold of Swain's forearm with both its claws,
clinging to him, and started squeezing, hoping to break his grip on its
neck. 'Jesus! Go!
Get out!' Swain yelled, his foot holding the door wide open. 'I can't hold it
open much longer!' But Holly
and Selexin didn't move, and when at last he saw what they were looking at,
Swain had a fleeting thought that came a second too late. Where
did that first hood go? The first
hood slammed into Swain at a crunching speed — hurling itself, Swain and the
second hood into the open door. Swain bounced off the door and into the dark
corridor beyond it, the two hoods with him. 'No!'
he cried, as he saw the door behind him start closing again. He still had
the second hood's throat gripped tightly in his hand — just as it still held
his forearm. Ruthlessly, he banged its head twice against the hard concrete
floor and the hood immediately released its grip and its body went limp and
Swain threw it aside and dived for the closing door. There was
noise everywhere. The hoods squealing, a loud electronic beeping coming from
his wristband, and then — worst of all — the sound of Holly screaming inside
the library. Still
diving, Swain landed a few feet short of the door and slid the rest of the way
on his chest, arms outstretched… Too late. The door
shut. The lock
clicked. And a
blinding burst of sizzling blue electricity exploded out from the hinges and
the handle. Electrified. There was a
sudden, terrifying silence, broken only by the loud insistent beeping noise
that came from Swain's wristband. Swain looked down at it. It read: INITIALISED—6 DETONATION SEQUENCE
INITIALISED. *
14:55 * AND COUNTING Stephen
Swain looked up at the electrified door in horror. He was now
outside the labyrinth. FOURTH MOVEMENT 30 November, 8:41 p.m. —––ooo0ooo——— Holly and
Selexin ran flat out down one of the aisles of Sub-Level Two. Holly could
hear nothing but her own rapid breathing as they raced down the narrow canyons
of bookshelves. Beside her, Selexin was holding her hand, pulling her along,
constantly looking behind them. They came to
a junction of aisles and made a quick right-left, zig-zagging their way toward
the stairs at the centre of the massive subterranean floor. Holly had
started screaming as soon as she'd seen Swain tumble backwards through the
doorway under the weight of the two hoods, but Selexin had suddenly come to
life, seizing her hand, pulling her down the nearest aisle. Behind them,
they could hear the snarls and grunts of the hoods in hot pursuit. Not far
behind. And gaining.
Fast. Selexin
pulled Holly harder. They had to keep running. Swain
surveyed the dark passageway around him. Mouldy yellow fluorescent lights
illuminated the tiny corridor. The hood by
his feet groaned softly. It lay on the floor, dazed by the two pounding blows
Swain had given it against the hard concrete floor. The other
hood was nowhere in sight. Swain
crouched beside the hood on the floor. It hissed defiantly at him, but it was
too badly injured to move. Swain looked
at his wristband, at the countdown in progress. 14:30 14:29 14:28 There was no
time to waste. He had fourteen minutes to get back inside before his wristband
exploded. No. More
important than that. He had fourteen minutes to get back to Holly. Swain
grimaced and picked up the injured hood by its narrow throat. It wriggled
weakly in his grip — a futile gesture. Then Swain closed his eyes and banged
the creature's head a final time against the concrete floor. The body went limp
immediately. Dead. Swain
discarded the carcass and headed cautiously down the narrow corridor. The other
hood was still nowhere to be seen. At the end
of the passageway, he came to a small room filled with large box-like
electricity meters attached to the walls. A big sign above one of the meters
read: BOOSTER
VALVE. Swain
noticed a small talon of jagged blue electricity licking intermittently out of
a gap in the ceiling, touching the booster valve meter, causing it to short.
Con Ed would love that, he thought. There was a
small doorway on the other side of the room. With no
door. With his
wristband still beeping insistently, Swain eased his way through the doorway
and found himself standing beside the train tracks of the New York Subway. It was quiet
in the train tunnel. The walls were all painted black, with long white
fluorescent tubes spaced every fifteen yards or so. An old wooden door swayed
from a sturdy padlock by the side of the doorway. Swain wondered how the door
had come to be pulled from its hinges. There was a
rustling sound from his right. Swain
turned. The second
hood was right there! Three yards
away, its back turned, its head shaking violently from side to side. In its
mouth, the remains of what was once a rat. Swain was
about to move away from the hood when there came a soft rumble from deep within
the tunnel. The tracks beside him began to hum. Vibrating. A soft white
glow appeared around of the corner of the tunnel. Suddenly a
subway train burst through the silence, its wheels screaming a deafening,
high-pitched wail, its brightly lit windows flashing rapidly by. Immediately,
Swain dropped to the black sooty ground of the tunnel, and in the flashing
light of the train saw the hood's head snap up and see him. The train
roared by, kicking up specks of dust and dirt, throwing them at Swain's face.
He squeezed his eyes shut. And then, in
an instant, the train was gone, and the tunnel was silent once more. The
wristband continued beeping. Slowly,
Swain raised his head. The tunnel
was empty. He glanced over to where the hood had been— It was gone. Swain spun
around. Nothing. He could
feel his heart thumping loudly inside his head now. His right forearm stung
like crazy where dust from the passing train had fallen inside the five deep claw-marks.
He began to sweat. 13:40 13:39 13:38 He didn't
have time for this. He rolled onto his side, and — strangely — felt something
in his left jeans pocket. It was the
broken phone receiver. He had forgotten all about that. Holly had given it to
him back on the First Floor. He checked his other pocket. The
handcuffs. And Jim
Wilson's useless Zippo lighter. He checked
the time again. 13:28 AND COUNTING The words
were flashing. Christ,
he thought, and counting. I know that. I know that! Shit. Fearfully,
Swain scanned the tunnel around him, searching for the hood. Time was running
out. He had to get back inside. And then,
without a sound, the hood attacked him from behind, slamming into his back,
sending them both sprawling onto the train tracks. The handcuffs fell to the
ground; the lighter, too. The hood
leapt onto his back, but Swain rolled quickly, hurling it clear. Like a cat,
the hood landed smoothly on its feet and immediately spun around and launched
itself again at Swain. Swain caught it by its narrow throat, and fell onto his
back in between the train tracks. The hood
hissed and squealed and writhed madly about, desperately trying to break
Swain's grip. It flailed its razor-sharp claws in every direction — one claw
slashing down Swain's chest, ripping the buttons off his shirt, drawing blood,
the other swiping viciously at his arm.' Swain lay on
his back, on the concrete sleepers in between the train tracks, holding
his hand outstretched, keeping the frenzied hood at arm's length. Better to let
it cut his forearm a few times than let it get at his body— And then he
froze. He heard it. A soft,
distant rumble. The hood
paid no attention, it just kept jerking its body about fitfully. And then, on
either side of Swain, the train tracks began to hum. Vibrating. Oh, no… Oh,
no! Swain's face
was right next to the railway track, his eyes level with one of the large
circular hooks — on the inside of the tracks — that held the rails to the
sleepers. The
hooks, he thought. The hood was
still twisting and turning as Swain rolled suddenly. Searching. The hum of
the tracks grew louder. Swain looked
desperately about himself. Where were they? Louder
still. Where… This side.
That side. Searching. Searching… He could
hear the metallic rattling of the approaching train. It would be on them any
second now— There! The
handcuffs lay on the ground, beside another of the big round hooks on the
inside of the tracks. Swain
reached over with his free hand and grabbed the cuffs and in one swift movement
brought them up to the hood's throat and snapped them around its narrow neck. Calick! The hood was
momentarily startled by the single handcuff locked around its throat. Swain looked
up and saw a hazy white light growing around the corner of the tunnel. The
rumbling was very loud now. Then he
quickly dropped the hood and latched the other cuff around the nearest hook on
the inside of the track. Calick! The scream
of steel wheels filled the air. The train rounded the corner. Swain
grabbed the hood by its tail, and dived clear of the tracks, yanking the animal
with him. The
handcuffs went instantly taut. And the hood
was left with its head cuffed to the hook on the inside of the track,
and its body held to the outside by Swain. The train
shot past Swain, and there was a loud, sickening crunch! as its steel
wheels carved through the bone of the hood's neck, decapitating it. The train
roared by, windows flashing, and then disappeared into the tunnel. There was
silence again, except for the wristband's incessant beeping. Slimy black
ooze dripped slowly from the hood's headless body. Swain touched the large
droplets of blood that had splattered all over him as the train had sliced the
hood's head off. He dropped
the body and looked at his wristband. 11:01
11:00
10:59
AND
COUNTING Only eleven
minutes to get back inside. There wasn't
much time. Swain
hurriedly picked up the lighter and leapt from the black floor of the subway
tunnel and began to run down the tracks into the darkness. —––ooo0ooo——— John Levine
sat in the passenger seat of a black Lincoln sedan parked across the street
from the main entrance to the State Library of New York. The building
looked peaceful. Quiet. Dead. Levine
looked at his watch. 8:30 p.m. Marshall should have been here by now. His cellular
rang. 'Levine,'
the voice said. 'It's Marshall. Are you at the library?' 'Yes, sir.' 'Is
it secure?' 'Affirmative,
sir,' Levine said, 'as quiet as a mouse.' 'All
right, then,' Marshall said, 'the insertion team is en
route. They'll be there in five minutes. I'll be there in two. Break out the
tape. I want a thirty-yard perimeter set all the way around that building,
okay. And Levine…' 'Yes, sir?' 'Whatever
you do, don't touch the building itself.' Selexin and
Holly could see the stairwell now. Up ahead.
Thirty yards away. Panting
madly, they kept running down the narrow aisle. They were
approaching the intersection of two aisles when suddenly a hood leapt across
their path, its claws raised, its jagged teeth bared wide. Holly and
Selexin skidded to a stop and the hood crashed down onto the hard wood floor in
front of them. It got to
its feet again, quickly blocking their path down the aisle. Not far beyond the
animal, they could see the open door to the stairwell. Selexin spun
to go back the other way but stopped instantly. There behind
them, stepping slowly into the narrow aisle, was the second hood. Swain ran
down the tunnel, toward a light around the bend. It was a
subway station. Which one, he didn't care. 10:01 10:00 9:59 Swain burst
into the white light of the subway station and heaved himself up from the
tracks onto the platform. A murmur
arose among the commuters standing on the platform. They all stepped back in
horror as Swain pushed past them, oblivious to how he must have looked. His jeans
were covered with black streaks of grease, and his shirt — filthy black with
subway soot, elevator grease and hoodaya blood — was ripped from neck to navel.
A single vertical line of blood stretched down his chest, while his right
forearm was soaked red from the deep gashes inflicted by the hood. The bloody
red scar across his left cheek was indistinguishable on his black sooty face. Swain barged
through the crowd and raced up the stairs toward the surface. 'What do we
do now?' Holly whispered fearfully. 'I don't
know, I don't know,' Selexin said. The two
hoods stood at both ends of the aisle, trapping Holly and Selexin in the
middle. Selexin,
four feet tall, and Holly, about the same, were scarcely bigger than the two
hoods. Selexin
looked anxiously around himself, at the bookshelves that stretched up to the
ceiling. They seemed to form an impenetrable wall on either side of the aisle. The hood in
front of them edged closer. The other didn't move. Holly
noticed why. The second
hood, the one preventing their retreat, had no left foreclaw. Just a bloody
stump at the end of its bony black arm. It must have been the one that
Balthazar had pinned to the railing with his knife up on the First Floor. Holly jabbed
Selexin with her elbow and pointed at the hood and he saw it, too. Selexin
edged away from the first hood, toward the injured one, still eyeing the
impenetrable walls of shelves on either side of them. Wait
a minute, he thought. He scanned
the bookshelves again. They weren't
impenetrable at all. 'Quickly,'
he said. 'Grab the books. The ones here,' he pointed to a low shelf. 'Grab them
and start throwing.' He reached
down to the bottom shelf and grabbed a large hardback and hurled it at the
able-bodied hood, striking it in the face. The hood snarled angrily back at him. A second
book hit it again. Then a third. The fourth book hit the injured hood. 'Keep
throwing them,' Selexin said. They kept
hurling books at the hoods, who backed off slightly. Holly threw another and
was reaching down for more when suddenly she understood what Selexin was doing. He wasn't
just using the books to keep the hoods at bay. He was using them to create a
hole in the bookshelf. The more books they threw from the shelf, the bigger the
gap in the shelf became. Soon Holly could see through to the next, parallel
aisle. 'Are you
ready?' Selexin said, throwing a book, hitting the injured hood on its wounded
forelimb. The black creature howled in agony. 'I think
so,' Holly said. The
able-bodied hood began to move in. 'All right,'
Selexin said. 'Go!' Without a
second thought, Holly dived cleanly through the gap in the bookshelf and landed
with a thud in the next aisle. But Selexin
continued to stand in the original aisle. The injured
hood stepped cautiously forward. The two
hoods closed in on either side of the little man. 'Come on!'
Holly said from the next aisle. 'Jump through!' 'Not yet,'
Selexin didn't take his eyes off the approaching hoods. 'Not yet.' He
threw another book at the injured hood. It hit. The hood hissed angrily. 'Come on!'
Holly said. 'Just get
ready to run, okay,' Selexin said. Holly looked
frantically down her aisle. On one side she could see the stairwell. On the
other… She froze. It was
Bellos. Striding
down the aisle toward her with long strong powerful steps. 'Selexin,
jump! Jump right now!' she screamed. 'They're not
close enough yet…' 'Just jump!
He's almost here!' 'He…?'
Selexin was momentarily startled. The hoods were very close now. 'Oh! Him?'
Realising, Selexin immediately dived through the gap in the shelf, landing
in a heap at Holly's feet. She pulled him up and they ran for the stairwell. Behind them,
Bellos began to run. They bolted
down the aisle. Holly could hear the able-bodied hood grunting and snorting as
it ran down the parallel aisle. They hit the
stairs running and climbed them two at a time. Behind them
they heard the distinctive scratching sound of claws on marble as the hood
charged into the stairwell. That sound was quickly followed by a sudden
thudding, crashing sound as the hood lost its footing on the slippery marble
floor and slammed into the concrete wall. Breathlessly,
Holly and Selexin kept climbing and climbing until they could hear nothing
behind them. The
stairwell was silent. They kept
hurrying upward. And then
there came a voice, from way down at the bottom of the shaft, echoing loudly
through the stairwell. 'Keep
running!' Bellos' voice boomed. 'Keep running, tiny man! We will find you! We
will always find you! The hunt has begun, and you are the game. I will
hunt you, and I will find you, and when I do, tiny man, you will wish to God
that somebody else had found you first!' The voice
stopped. And as Holly and Selexin climbed higher, an evil laugh resounded
throughout the stairwell. —––ooo0ooo——— 'Here they
come,' Levine said to Marshall as they stood beside his car. A massive
blue van rounded the corner and stopped behind Levine's Lincoln. It looked like
a big TV van, with a revolving satellite dish on the roof and flashing blue
police lights. Levine
shielded his eyes from the glare of the van's headlights as a barrel-chested
man dressed completely in blue stepped down from the passenger-side door and
stood to attention before Marshall. It was
Harold Quaid. Commander
Harold Quaid. Levine
hadn't actually worked with Quaid before, but his reputation was legendary.
Apparently Quaid had given himself the title of 'Commander' — there was no such
rank in the NSA — when he had assumed command of Sigma Division's field team.
Rumour had it that he had once killed a civilian by mistake while following up a
bogus alien sighting. No investigation into the incident was ever held. Tonight he
was dressed exactly like a SWAT team member: blue fatigues, bulletproof vest,
boots, cap and gunbelt. 'Sir,' Quaid
said to Marshall. 'Harry,'
Marshall nodded. 'You made good time.' 'As always,
sir.' Marshall
turned to Levine. 'You've cordoned off the site?' 'They're
finishing now,' Levine said. 'Tape's set up all around the building. Thirty
yards. Even in the park.' 'Nobody's
touched the building?' 'They were
given strict instructions.' 'Good,'
Marshall said. On the Eavesdropper satellite's last pass — now targeted
directly at the New York State Library — an unusually large amount of
electromagnetic energy had been detected surging through the outer surface of
the building. Marshall didn't want to take any chances. He turned to
Quaid. 'I hope your boys are ready. This is the big one.' Quaid
smiled. It was a cold, thin smile. 'We're ready.' 'You'd
better be,' Marshall said, 'because as soon as we figure out how to bring down
the electric field around that building, you're going in.' —––ooo0ooo——— For the
first time that night, Stephen Swain beheld the exterior of the New York State
Library. It was a
beautiful building. Four storeys high, square-shaped, flat-roofed, with six
majestic Corinthian columns stretching all the way up from the front steps to
the roof. In fact, it
looked like an old Southern courthouse, grandly situated in the middle of a
beautiful inner-city park, as if part of a town square. Only this was a dated
town square, dwarfed by the skyscrapers that had grown up around it. Swain
watched the library from across the street, from the entrance to the subway
station. He was breathing hard, and the wounds to his chest and forearms
burned. His
wristband was still beeping. 8:00 7:59 7:58 Time was
running out and the situation didn't look good. The library
had been sealed off. A single
ribbon of bright yellow police tape stretched from tree to tree in the park
surrounding the big dark building, leaving at least thirty-odd yards of open
ground between the tape and the walls of the library. Half a dozen
unmarked cars — their headlights still on — formed a tight circle in front of
the main entrance to the library. And in the centre of the circle, towering
above the cars, stood a big blue police van with a revolving dish on its roof.
Next to the dish, flashing blue police lights spun crazily, splashing the park
around the library in a strobe-like blue haze. Damn
it, Swain thought, as he watched the big blue van. For the last
two hours all he had wanted to do was get out of the library — to get
himself and Holly away from Reese and Bellos and the Karanadon — to get out of
the electrified cage the library had become. And now? Swain smiled
sadly. Now he had
to get back in. To get back
in and stop this bomb on his wrist from going off. To get back inside the cage,
where Reese and Bellos and the Karanadon were waiting for him, waiting to kill
him. But most
importantly of all, to get back inside and save Holly. The mere thought of his
only daughter trapped inside the library with those monsters made him feel ill.
The thought of her being trapped in there after he was dead, made him
feel terrible. She'd already lost one parent. She wasn't going to lose another
one. But he still
had to penetrate the electrified walls. And who were
these new people? 7:44 Swain's gaze
came to rest on some shadows at the rear of the library building. Darkness
there. Good. It was a chance. Swain ran
across the street. The park
surrounding the State Library was a pretty one, flat and grassy, with evenly
spaced oaks spread around three sides of the central building — only now, the
oak trees were joined by the bright yellow tape. Outside the
perimeter of oaks, on the eastern side of the building, stood a splendid white
rotunda. It was essentially an elevated circular stage, free-standing, with six
thin pillars supporting a beautiful domed roof twenty feet above the stage
itself. A lattice handrail circled the stage. It was a
beautiful structure, popular for outdoor weddings and the like. Swain even
remembered taking Holly to the pantomimes they held here in the summer — Wizard
of Oz-type shows that involved clouds of coloured smoke and the deft use of
a trapdoor in the centre of the stage. Swain
scampered across the open grass and ducked behind the rotunda's stage, out of
sight. Twenty yards
to the nearest oak. Thirty yards
from the oak to the library. He was about
to run for the treeline when he saw a garbage bin next to him. He stopped.
Thinking. If they had
set up police tape around the library, it was likely they would have someone
patrolling the building, warding off any would-be intruders. He had to find a
way… Swain
rummaged through the bin and found some crumpled old newspapers. He was
grabbing a handful of them when he caught sight of something else. A wine
bottle. He picked it
up and heard the sloshing of liquid still inside it. Excellent. Swain upended
the bottle and poured the excess wine onto his hands. The alcohol stung the
scratches on his hands. Then, with
bottle and newspapers in hand, he bolted for the treeline. 7:14 7:13 7:12 Swain thrust
himself up against the thick trunk of the tree and felt his pockets. The broken
phone receiver and the equally broken lighter were still there. He cursed
himself for leaving the handcuffs back at the train tracks. In the
flashing blue light of the van, he saw the nearest corner of the building. Thirty
yards. He took a
deep breath. And ran out
into the open. Levine
yawned as he leaned on the bonnet of the Lincoln. Marshall and Quaid had gone
off to check out the parking lot while he had been left to watch the front of
the building. His radio
crackled. It would be Higgs, the agent in charge of the surveillance team he
had just sent out. 'Yeah,'
Levine said. 'We're on
the western side of the building and there's nothing here, sir,' Higgs'
tinny voice said. 'Okay,'
Levine said. 'Just keep circling the building, and let me know if you find
anything.' 'Roger that,
sir.' Levine
clicked off the radio. Swain
reached the south-eastern corner of the building and ducked into the shadows of
the southern wall. He was
breathing hard now, his heart pounding loudly inside his head. He scanned
the wall. 7:01 7:00 6:59 There.
Near the far corner. Swain ran
forward and dived to the ground. The radio
crackled again. Higgs' voice. 'We are
approaching the south-west corner, sir. Still nothing to report.' Levine said,
'Thank you, Higgs.' Swain lay on
the grass next to the southern wall of the State Library, still holding the
newspapers and the wine bottle. He was
peering at a small wooden window set into the wall at ground level, not far
from the south-western corner of the building. The window was old and dusty,
and it looked like it hadn't been opened in years. His wristband still beeped
softly. 6:39 Swain leaned
close and saw a jagged fork of tiny blue lightning lick out from the old
window's frame— A twig
snapped. Somewhere
close. Swain pulled
the newspapers to his body and immediately rolled up against the library wall,
his eyes inches away from the tiny sparks of electricity that licked out from
the window. Silence. And then a
soft beep… beep… beep. The
wristband! Swain thrust
his left wrist under his body to muffle the sound of the beeping just as he saw
three sets of black combat boots step slowly around the corner. NSA Special
Agent Alan Higgs lowered his M-16 and winced at the figure lying huddled up
against the wall before him. A filthy
body, curled up in the foetal position, wrapped in crumpled newspapers in a vain
attempt to counter the cold. His clothes were filthy rags and the man's face
was covered in black grime. A bum. Higgs put
his radio to his mouth. 'Higgs here.' 'What
is it?' 'Just a bum,
that's all,' Higgs said, nudging the body with his boot. 'Rolled up tight next
to the building. No wonder nobody saw him when they set up the perimeter.' 'Any
problem?' 'Nah,' Higgs
said. 'This guy probably never even noticed the perimeter going up himself.
Don't worry about it sir, we'll have him out of here in no time. Higgs out.' Higgs bent
down and shook Swain's shoulder. 'Hey,
buddy?' he said. Swain
groaned. Higgs nodded
to the other two agents — like himself, they were dressed in full SWAT gear —
who slung their M-l6s and bent down to pick up the man. As they did
so, the bum grunted loudly and rolled sleepily toward them, feebly stretching
out with one hand, pressing it against the face of one of the agents, as if to
say, 'Go away, I'm sleeping here.' The agent
made a face and pulled back. 'Oh, man, does this guy stink.' Higgs could
smell the wine from where he stood. 'Just pick him up and get him the hell out
of here.' Swain kept
the beeping wristband pressed tightly against his stomach and covered in
newspapers as he was carried away from the library building, back into the
park. To his ears
it was beeping louder than ever, almost certain to be heard. But the two
men carrying him didn't seem to notice. In fact, they seemed to be trying to
keep their bodies as far away from his as possible. Swain began
to sweat. This was
taking too much time. He
desperately wanted to look at the wristband. To see how much time was left. They
couldn't take him away. He
had to get back inside. 'Ambulance?'
one of the two carriers asked the third — and presumably superior — man walking
in the lead. Swain's body
tensed as he waited for the response. 'Nah,' the
third man said. 'Just get him outside the perimeter. Let the police pick him up
later.' 'Roger
that.' Swain
breathed a sigh of relief. But if they
weren't taking him to a hospital to clean him up, and if they weren't police
officers, then there were still two questions to answer: where would they
take him, and who the hell were they? The heavily
armed men carried Swain through the treeline and across the park, toward the rotunda. Okay.
You can put me down now, Swain willed them. You're taking
too long… They carried
him up the steps of the rotunda and laid him down on the circular wooden stage. 'Here will
do,' the senior one said. 'Good,' the
one whom Swain had rubbed in the face said as he released Swain's arm. 'Come on,
Farrell, he doesn't smell that bad,' the senior one said. Swain
breathed again, and his body relaxed. There would
still be time. Now
go, boys. That's good. Keep going… 'Wait a
minute…' the one named Farrell said. Swain froze. Farrell was
looking down at his gloves. 'Sir, this guy is bleeding.' Oh
shit. 'He's what?' 'He's
bleeding, sir. Look.' Stay
calm. Stay calm. They
are not going to come over. They
are not going to look at your arm… Swain's
whole body tensed as Farrell held out his gloved hands and the senior man came
over. Higgs
examined the blood on Farrell's gloves. Then he looked down at Swain, at the
newspapers covering his arms, at the tiny splotches of red that had seeped through
the newsprint on his right arm. The strong odour of wine pervaded it all. Finally, he
said, 'Probably just a cut he got falling into a gutter. Leave him be, I'll
radio it in. If they think it's necessary, the others can come by later and
check him out. I don't think this guy will be going anywhere fast. Come on,
let's get back to work.' They headed
back towards the main entrance. Swain didn't
dare move until the sounds of the footsteps had faded off into the night. Slowly, he
lifted his head. He was in
the rotunda, on the stage. He looked at his wristband: 2:21 2:20 2:19 'Why don't
you take your time next time, boys?' he said aloud. He couldn't believe it had
taken only four minutes. It had felt like an eternity. But now he
only had two minutes left. He had to move. Fast. With a final
look through the white lattice handrail of the rotunda stage, Swain leapt to
his feet, and ran down the stairs. 2:05 Into the
treeline, and he stopped beneath one of the heavy oaks. He reached
up and grabbed a thick low-hanging branch and snapped it from the tree. Then he
ran out onto open ground again, toward the library building. 1:51 1:50 1:49 In the
shadows of the southern wall, Swain came to the ground-level window he had seen
before and dropped to his knees. He tightened his grip on the long thick branch
and prayed to God that this would work. He swung the
branch down hard at the window. The small window shattered instantly. Glass
exploded everywhere. Instantly,
however, a crackling grid of silver-blue electricity burst to life across the
width of the window. Swain's eyes
went wide with dismay. Oh, no. Oh… no. 1:36 Swain
swallowed. He hadn't
thought that that would happen. He had hoped that the gap would be too
wide, that the electricity would not be able to jump the width of the small
window. But the
window was too small. And now he
was left with a wall of jagged, crisscrossing lines of pure electricity in
front of him. 1:20 1:19 1:18 Only a
minute left. Think,
Swain! Think! There has to be a way! There has to be! But his mind
was now a blur of panic and incredulity. To have got so far, and to end it all
like this… Images of
the night flashed across his mind. Reese in the
Stack. Meeting Hawkins. The parking lot. Balthazar. Up to the First Floor.
Bellos and the hoods and the Konda in the atrium… 1:01 1:00 0:59 … the
Internet Facility and the handcuffs on the door. Up to the Third Floor. The
janitor's room. The Karanadon. The elevator shaft. Back down to the Stack. The
small red door. Falling through the door with the hoods. Outside. In
the tunnel. The subway train. 0:48 0:47 0:46 Wait. There was
something there. Something he
had missed. Something that said there was a way in. 0:37 0:36 0:35 What was it?
Shit! Why couldn't he remember? Okay, slow down. Think. Where did it
happen? Downstairs?
No. Upstairs? No. Somewhere in between. The First
Floor. What had
happened on the First Floor? They had
seen Bellos, seen the hoods attack the Konda. Then Balthazar had thrown a knife
and pinned one of them to the railing… 0:29 0:28 0:27 Then Holly
had pressed the elevator button and they had run into the Internet room. Holly… Then the
door. And the handcuffs. 0:20 0:19 0:18 What was it? Holly… It was
there! Somewhere in the back of his mind. A way in! Why couldn't he remember
it? 0:14 0:13 0:12 Think,
Goddamn it, think! 0:11 0:10 Swain pursed
his lips, frowning. 0:09 He swung his
head from right to left. No other windows. Nowhere else to go. 0:08 Think back.
First Floor. Bellos. Hoods. 0:07 Balthazar.
Knife. 0:06 Elevator.
Holly pressing the button. Holly… 0:05 Holly?
Something about Holly. 0:04 Something
Holly said? 0:03 Something
Holly did? 0:02 And with the
expiration of the countdown came the horror of the realisation. Stephen
Swain was dead. FIFTH MOVEMENT 30 November, 8:56 p.m. —––ooo0ooo——— In the
janitor's room on the Third Floor, Paul Hawkins sat down against the wall
beside Balthazar, and nodded, satisfied. Across the
floor from him, in front of the open doorway of the room, lay a large puddle of
highly flammable methylated spirits — and next to him, a box of old-fashioned
phosphorus-tipped matches. He had been pleasantly surprised at what he had been
able to find on the shelves of the old janitor's room. He felt a
little safer now. Any unwanted guests passing through that doorway would be in
for a big— And then,
abruptly, he heard it. The windows
above him rattled slightly, while the floor shook gently. Hawkins
couldn't quite guess what it was. But it
sounded like a muffled explosion. Selexin and
Holly stopped at the top of the stairwell as the wooden banister beside them
began to shudder. 'Did you
hear that?' Selexin asked nervously. 'I felt it,' Holly said. 'What do you
think it was?' 'It sounded
like a blast of some sort. An explosion. From somewhere outside—' He cut
himself off. 'Oh
no…' 'Clear?'
'Commander' Harry Quaid called again. Marshall
ducked behind the wall at the top of the ramp as Quaid rounded the corner and
joined him. The second
blast rushed outward from the bottom of the concrete entry ramp. A billowing
cloud of grey smoke raced up the ramp and shot out onto the street, thundering
past Marshall and Quaid. Fragments of
metal — the remnants of what had been the steel grating that closed off the
library's parking lot — clattered loudly to the ground. The smoke
cleared and Marshall, Quaid and a small cohort of NSA agents made their way
down the charred ramp, stepping over the gnarled pieces of steel that now
littered the slope. Marshall
stopped at the bottom of the ramp and stared in awe at the sight before him. Across the
wide rectangular opening of the parking lot — filling the exploded round hole
in the middle of the steel grating — was an enormous grid of bright blue electricity,
crackling and sizzling, lashing out every few seconds with long ringers of
high-voltage lightning. Marshall
folded his arms as Quaid stood beside him, gazing at the criss-crossing grid of
light before them. 'We knew
it,' Quaid said, not taking his eyes off the wall of blue light. 'We did
indeed,' Marshall said. 'So. They electrify the whole building, cutting it off,
sealing it so that nothing can get in or out…' 'Right.' 'So, why
have they done it?' Marshall asked. 'What the hell is going on inside this
building that we're not supposed to see?' —––ooo0ooo——— Holly tapped
her foot impatiently as she waited on the Third Floor landing of the stairwell.
Selexin was peering around the open fire door into the study hall. The room was
a mess. An absolute
mess. A diagonal
line of pure destruction ran all the way across the study hall — from the
doorway to the janitor's room in the far corner, right up to the stairwell
door. Desks crushed beneath the weight of the Karanadon lay in splinters,
strewn all over the floor. In the dim
blue city light, Selexin could just make out the doorway to the janitor's room
on the far side of the room. There didn't seem to be anybody there at the
moment. In a dark corner of his mind, Selexin wondered what had happened to
Hawkins and Balth— Suddenly a
shadow cut across his view of the janitor's room. A dark
shape, barely distinguishable in the hazy blue darkness, about the size of a
man, but much, much thinner, moving stealthily between the desks of the study
hall, heading toward the janitor's room. Selexin
ducked back behind the stairwell door, hoping that it hadn't seen him. Then he
grabbed Holly's hand and they began to descend the stairs. In the
janitor's room, Hawkins leaned back wearily against the concrete wall. He was
watching Balthazar walk gingerly around the room. Now that his
eyes were clear of Reese's saliva and his vision seemingly restored, Balthazar
seemed to be getting his strength back. A few minutes before, he had managed to
stand up on his own. Now he was walking. Hawkins
looked out through the doorway — over the wide puddle of methylated spirits he
had poured — into the study hall. Everything
was silent. Nobody was
out there. He turned
back to watch Balthazar pace awkwardly around the room, and as he did so, he
failed to notice a sharp triangular head loop itself smoothly and silently
around the doorway. It looked
inside, slowly tilting its head from side to side, alternating between
Balthazar and Hawkins. It never
made a sound. Hawkins
turned idly and saw it. He stopped cold. The head was
a long, sharp, flat isosceles triangle, pointing downwards. No eyes. No ears.
No mouth. Just a flat, black triangle, slightly larger than a man's head. And it just
hovered there, in the doorway. The body was
still out of view, but Hawkins could clearly see its long thin 'neck'. Now,
inasmuch as everything he had seen so far was basically 'animal' — with eyes,
limbs and skin — this thing, whatever it was, was totally alien. Its 'neck'
was like a string of white pearls flowing down from the flat, two-dimensional
triangular head. Presumably it flowed into a body that was still out of his
sight. Hawkins
continued to stare at the creature — just as it seemed to stare curiously back
at him. And then
Balthazar spoke. A deep, husky voice. 'Codex.' 'What?'
Hawkins said. 'What did you say?' Balthazar
pointed at the alien. 'Codex.' The Codex
moved forward — effortlessly, smoothly — floating through the air. It crossed
the threshold of the room and Hawkins saw that it had no body at all. The
string of pearls that formed its neck was, in fact, about five feet long. And
it dangled down from the head, curling upward at the tip, never touching the
ground. And at the
tip of the tail, burning brightly, was a green light that glowed from a tight
grey metal band. The Codex was another contestant. The tail
slithered back and forth like a snake's, hovering upright, one foot above the
ground. 'Oh man,'
Hawkins grabbed the matchbox and pulled out a phosphorus-tipped match. He
struck it on the floor. The flare of
white light made the Codex hesitate. It stopped above the pool of methylated spirits. Hawkins held
the match aloft, the flame slowly burning its way down the white wood of the
matchstick, blackening it. He
swallowed. 'Aw, what
the hell,' he said. And he dropped the match into the pool. Levine was
standing out in front of the library when his radio sputtered to life. 'Sir!
Sir! We have a light! I repeat: we have a light! Looks like a fire. Third
floor. North-east corner.' 'I'm on my
way,' Levine said. He switched channels on his radio. 'Sir?' 'What is
it, Levine?' James Marshall sounded irritated by the interruption. 'Sir,'
Levine said, 'we have confirmation of activity inside the library. I repeat,
confirmation of activity inside the library.' 'Where?' 'North-east
corner. Third Floor.' Marshall
said, 'Get over there. We're on our way.' The walls of
the janitor's room flared bright yellow as a curtain of fire burst upward from
the pool of methylated spirits, engulfing the Codex. Hawkins and
Balthazar stepped back from the flames, shielding their eyes. The Codex could
not be seen through the blazing wall of fire. And then it
emerged. Floating
forward. Through the flames. Oblivious to the heat. It moved
inside the janitor's room, clear of the fire. 'Oh, man,'
Hawkins said, edging backwards. Balthazar
spoke — again, just one word in a flat monotone. 'Go.' Hawkins
said, 'What?' Balthazar
was staring intently at the Codex. 'Go,' he repeated solemnly. Hawkins
didn't know what to do. The Codex was hovering right in front of them. And even
if he got past it, he still had to get through the fire — the fire that he had
set up to keep intruders out. It had never occurred to him that that
same fire might serve to keep him in. There was no
way out. There was nowhere to go. Balthazar
turned to Hawkins and looked him squarely in the eye. 'Go… now!' And with
that Balthazar launched himself at the Codex. Hawkins
watched in astonishment as the Codex leapt forward at the same moment and
coiled its thin body three times around Balthazar's throat. With both
hands, the big man pulled desperately at the Codex's stranglehold around his
neck. He stumbled backwards into the remains of the cyclone fence that divided
the room, tripped, and fell to the floor beneath the shelves packed with
detergents and cleaning agents. Hawkins was
still just standing there, stunned, watching the battle in awe, when Balthazar
cried, 'Go!' Hawkins
blinked and turned immediately. He saw the fire, spreading across the room,
creeping across the floor toward him. He saw the dusty methylated spirits
bottle he had used, lying on the floor, inches away from the approaching
flames. Too late. The flames
devoured the bottle as Hawkins dived over the nearest pile of wooden boxes. Under the
intense heat, the glass bottle — still half full — exploded like a Molotov
cocktail, shooting out missiles of glass and fire in every direction. Beyond the
cyclone fence, Balthazar was back on his feet again, struggling with the Codex. He fell back
heavily against the wooden shelves and they collapsed under him. Glass spirit
bottles, plastic detergent bottles and a dozen aerosol spray cans crashed to
the floor. Hawkins saw
the shelves collapse, saw all the bottles hit the floor — cleaning agents and
detergents that carried conspicuous red warning signs: DO NOT mix with DETERGENTS OR
OTHER CHEMICALS, and highly flammable aerosols with their own glaring warning
labels. The fire
moved inexorably forward, across the room. 'Oh
my God,' Hawkins' eyes darted from the fire on the floor to the chemicals
lying in its path. Behind the
cyclone fence, the Codex's body was still coiled tightly around Balthazar's
throat. Balthazar's face was twisted in a tight grimace, his cheeks beetroot
red. Hawkins spun
to warn him about the fire and in that instant their eyes met, and Balthazar,
staring intently at Hawkins, tightened his grip on the Codex's snake-like body. Hawkins saw
it in the big man's eyes. Balthazar knew what was going to happen. The fire.
The chemicals. He was going to stay in the room. And keep the Codex with him. 'No!'
Hawkins cried, realising. 'You can't!' 'Go,'
Balthazar gasped. 'But
you'll—' Hawkins saw the flames creeping steadily across the floor. He had to
make a decision fast. 'Go!'
Balthazar yelled. Hawkins gave
up. There was no more time. Balthazar was right. He had to go. He turned back
to face the fast-approaching wall of fire, and, with a final glance back at
Balthazar — locked in battle with the Codex — Hawkins said softly, 'Thank you.' Then he
covered his face with his forearm and plunged into the fire. Levine
arrived at the north-east corner of the library building just as Quaid and
Marshall came running up. The agent in charge of the perimeter, Higgs, was
there waiting. 'Up there,'
Higgs said, pointing at two long rectangular windows up on the third floor,
just below the overhang of the library's roof. The two
windows glowed bright yellow, with the occasional flash of orange flames. 'Jesus
Christ,' Marshall shook his head. 'The goddamn building is on fire. That's
just what I need.' 'What do we
do?' Levine said. 'We get
inside,' Harry Quaid said flatly, gazing up at the glowing windows. 'Before
there's nothing left.' 'Right,'
Marshall scowled, thinking. 'Damn it. Damn it!' Then he said, 'Levine.' 'Yes, sir.' 'Call the
fire department. But when they get here, tell them to hold off. We don't want
them going in there until we've had a good look inside. I just want them here
in case that fire gets out of con—' 'Hey. Hold
on a minute…' Quaid called. He had wandered off down the side of the building
and was now standing at the south-eastern corner. 'What is
it?' Marshall said. 'What the
fuck…?' Quaid disappeared down the southern side of the building. 'What is
it?' Marshall followed, rounding the corner after Quaid. Quaid was
thirty yards down the southern wall, almost at the south-western corner of the
building. He called back to the group. 'Special Agent Higgs, you in charge of
surveillance tonight?' 'Yes, sir.' 'Tell me,
did you find anybody around here earlier? Anybody near this wall?' Higgs didn't
understand what was going on. Quaid was peering at the base of the wall, at
what appeared to be a small window down near the ground. 'Well — uh —
yes, sir. Yes, we did,' Higgs said. 'We found a drunken bum asleep up against
this wall not long ago.' 'Was he down
near this corner? Near the window down here?' Quaid asked. 'Uh, yes.
Yes he was, sir.' 'And where
is this drunken bum now, Higgs?' Quaid asked, kneeling on the grass, still
looking at the base of the building. Marshall,
Levine and Higgs came closer. Higgs
swallowed. 'We put him in the rotunda over there, sir.' He pointed back over
his shoulder. 'I was going to call it in, but I didn't think there was any
hurry.' 'Special
Agent Higgs, I want you to go straight to that rotunda and find that bum for
me, right now.' Higgs
hurried off immediately. Quaid
glanced up at the others as they saw what he had been looking at. 'What the…?'
Levine gasped. 'Well would
you look at that,' Marshall said as he saw the spiderweb of electricity that
spread across the small ground-level window. Tiny shards of glass lay strewn on
the grass around the base of the window. There was
nobody in sight. Quaid leaned
close to the window. It was just big enough for a man to fit through. But why
would somebody break it? That would serve no purpose whatsoever. Unless they
wanted to get in… Higgs came
running back. He spoke breathlessly. 'Sir, the
bum is gone.' —––ooo0ooo——— Hawkins
burst through the flames and fell out of the doorway and dropped to the floor
of the study hall. He checked
his body. His police trousers and parka had survived the dash through the fire
intact and unharmed. But for some reason his head stung like crazy. He reached
up to touch the crown of his head and suddenly felt the searing heat. His
hair was on fire! Hawkins
frantically took off his parka and smothered the tiny flames on his head with
it. The heat died down quickly, and he began breathing again. The
janitor's room was glowing bright yellow now, lighting up the study hall
outside. Flames flared out through the doorway. It wouldn't
be long now, he thought. Hawkins
crawled to the side of the doorway, pushed his back up against the wall. He only had
to wait a few seconds. The
chemicals inside the janitor's room combined well. After the first aerosol can
exploded in a ball of gaseous blue flame, a chain reaction of chemical
explosions was set in motion. The concrete
wall behind Hawkins cracked under the weight of the shock wave as a golden
fireball blasted out through the doorway, rocketing past Hawkins, setting the
study hall aglow in a flash of brilliant yellow light. Marshall,
Levine and Quaid all looked up at the same time as the entire third floor of
the building flared like a fiery flashbulb, lighting up the night. Voices came
in over their radios: '—fire is
spreading!—' '—corner
room just exploded—' 'Holy shit,'
Levine breathed. It sounded
like thunder. Close,
booming thunder. The whole
building rocked under the weight of the explosions. On the
Second Floor of the library, Holly and Selexin reached desperately for
handholds as they tried to stay on their feet. The Second
Floor of the New York State Library was comprised mainly of two large computer
rooms. In the centre of each room, long wooden tables were covered with PCs. A
tangle of air-conditioning units and aluminium air ducts hung from the ceiling,
providing much-needed humidity control for the computers. Glass-walled reading
rooms lined the perimeter of the floor. The
explosions from the Third Floor were growing in intensity, and on the Second
Floor they were received with all their violent force. The glass
walls of the reading rooms shattered all around Holly and Selexin. Computers
fell from the edges of the tables, crashed to the floor. Selexin
pulled Holly under one of the long tables in the centre of the floor and they
huddled together, covering their ears, as the building shook and the explosions
boomed and monitors and keyboards fell from the tables all around them,
smashing down onto the floor. Chaos.
Absolute chaos. In the study
hall, Hawkins pressed his hands tightly against his ears as waves of flames
lashed out from the doorway next to him. Several of
the L-shaped desks around him were on fire — ignited by the initial
flamethrower-like finger of fire that had blasted out from the janitor's room. The
explosions were bigger now — bigger than he had expected them to be, bigger
than any chemical fire he knew. They were
almost, well… too big. Why
had that—? Hawkins
froze. Something else must have happened. But what? And then he
saw it. A small
pipe, running horizontally, high up on the wall near the ceiling. It ran out
from the janitor's room, across the wall of the study hall — above the northern
windows — and then, halfway across, it turned abruptly downwards and ran down
to the floor, and then through the floor down to the other floors below… A gas pipe. There must
have been a gas valve in the janitor's room that he hadn't seen. A gas water
heater or a gas— The small
pipe ignited. Hawkins
watched in horror as a yellow-blue flame sped in a thin line across the pipe's
horizontal length, and then turned as the pipe did, darting downwards, heading
for the lower floors. Hawkins
watched as a droplet of fire fell from the gas pipe and landed on one of the
wooden desks. With a sudden whoosh, the desk went up in flames. Hawkins leapt
to his feet. The explosions from the janitor's room were finally beginning to
die, but that didn't matter anymore. A fire was
spreading through the gas piping. Soon the
whole building would be alight. He had to
find a way out. —––ooo0ooo——— In a small
toilet on Sub-Level One, somebody else was feeling the shuddering explosions
that were rocking the New York State Library. Stephen
Swain MD sat with his back pressed up against the white-tiled wall of a cubicle
in the ladies' room of Sub-Level One. The water in the toilet bowl next to him
splashed about wildly as the building around it tilted and swayed. Another
explosion boomed and the building shook again, although not as drastically as
it had before. The explosions seemed to be losing their muscle. Swain checked
his wristband. It read: INITIALISED—6 DETONATION SEQUENCE TERMINATED
AT: *
0:01 * RESET The top line
flickered, then changed to: INITIALISED—5 High above
Swain's head, just below the ceiling, the grid of blue electricity was still
sizzling. Beyond the glowing window he could hear the faint voices of the NSA
agents. He pressed
himself closer against the tiles and breathed deeply. He
was back inside. It was the
thought of Holly that had done it. Holly on the
First Floor, in the dilapidated Internet Facility. When the hoods had been
pounding on the door and Swain had handcuffed it shut, he had found Holly over
by the window. She had been
holding the broken telephone receiver up against the electrified window. When
the phone was brought in close to the window, the electricity seemed to pull
back in a wide circle. Away from
the phone. At the time,
Swain hadn't realised what was happening, but he knew now. It wasn't
the phone that the electricity had been pulling away from, but the magnet inside
the phone. The earpiece of a telephone is like a common stereo speaker: at its
centre one will find a relatively high-powered magnet. And as a
radiologist, Stephen Swain knew all about magnetism. People
commonly associate radiologists with X-rays, but in recent years radiologists
have been endeavouring to discover new ways to obtain cross-sections of human
bodies — views taken by looking down on the body from above the head. There are a
number of techniques used to obtain these cross-sections. One well-known method
is the CAT-scan. Another more modern method involves the splicing and ordering
of atomic particles and is called Magnetic Resonance Imaging. Basically —
as Swain had explained to the troublesome Mrs Pederman earlier that day — MRI
works on the principle that electricity reacts to magnetic interference. And that was
exactly what had happened when Holly had held the receiver to the window — the magnetic
waves disrupted the very structure of the electronic waves and,
hence, made the wall of electricity pull away from the magnet in order to
maintain their frequency. To get
inside again, Swain had grabbed the receiver from his pocket and held the
ear-piece to the window. The electricity had instantly pulled back from the
receiver, forming a wide two-foot hole in the grid, and Swain had simply thrust
his arm in through the hole. The
wristband, once detecting itself to be inside the electric field again, stopped
its countdown immediately. Just
in time. After a
minute's careful wriggling and squirming — to make sure he did not move his
body beyond the two-foot magnetic circle in the electric grid — Swain was back
inside. In fact, he
had just pulled his right foot inside the window when he fell from the high
window sill. The electric grid sizzled immediately back into place and Swain
fell clumsily onto the toilet seat below. Inside. —––ooo0ooo——— Paul Hawkins
was halfway across the study hall when the explosions ceased. Only the
loud crackling sounds of a fire out of control remained. The desks over by the
janitor's room were now blazing wildly. The janitor's room itself was still
glowing bright yellow. The whole study hall was bathed in a flickering golden
haze. Suddenly
there came a crashing sound from behind him and Hawkins spun. There,
hovering in the doorway to the janitor's room, silhouetted by the flickering
yellow flames behind it, was the Codex. Hawkins
froze. Then he saw
it wobble slightly. The Codex
was hovering unsteadily. It began to swirl dizzily. And then, abruptly, its
flat triangular head snapped upward and the Codex fell, crashing down on top of
a crumpled desk. After that,
it didn't move. Hawkins
sighed with relief. He was about
to turn back for the stairwell when he caught sight of something on the floor
not far from the door to the janitor's room. Something white. Slowly, Hawkins
stepped forward until he could see what it was… He stopped
cold. It was a
guide. Or at least what was left of him. It had
probably been the Codex's guide, stationed outside the janitor's room while the
Codex had gone inside for the kill. The guide's
body lay in a wide pool of blood underneath one of the L-shaped desks and it
had been mangled beyond recognition. Small
clusters of parallel red slashes ran across its face, arms and chest — one of
which had broken its nose, making for an especially gruesome excess of blood.
Deep scratches on the little man's palms suggested futile defensive efforts.
His eyes and mouth were wide open — frozen in eternal terror — a snapshot of
his horrifying final moments. Hawkins
winced at the sickening sight — it was disgusting, brutal. And then, as he
looked more closely at the clusters of slashing cuts all over the guide's body,
he had a sudden, terrifying realisation. Parallel cuts indicated claws… Bellos'
hoods had done this. It was time
to get out of here. Hawkins
immediately turned back for the stairwell— —only to see
a big black hand rush toward his face. And then he saw nothing. Stephen
Swain stepped cautiously out from the ladies' room and saw the familiar
glass-walled offices of Sub-Level One. He checked
his wristband and found that the screen had changed again. INITIALISED—4 Another
contestant was dead. Only four were left now. Swain
wondered which contestants were still alive. He shrugged off the thought. Hell,
he only really knew of three others — Balthazar, Bellos and Reese. Including
himself, maybe they were the only four left. Got
to find Holly, he told himself. Holly. He stepped
out among the offices. Across the floor, through the glass partitions, he saw
the elevator bay. He also saw the heavy blue door that led out to the parking
lot. It was open. Swain
hastened over to the door and examined it. It had been torn from its hinges,
presumably by Reese when she had been chasing them before. He
remembered the chase into the parking lot, remembered Balthazar coming up the
concrete ramp from the floor below… The floor
below. Sub-Level
Two, the Stack. That was
where he had been separated from Holly and Selexin, so it was the obvious place
to start looking for them. He had to
get down there. Go down the
stairwell? No. There
was another way. A better way. He
remembered Balthazar again, coming up the ramp in the parking lot. That was
the way in. Balthazar had come from another, lower, parking level. And that
level had to have an entrance of some sort, a door that would open onto
Sub-Level Two. With that
Swain ran through the big blue door and out toward the parking lot. —––ooo0ooo——— From the
outside it looked like a scene from The Towering Inferno. The State
Library of New York — standing proudly in the centre of a beautiful inner city
park — with long flaming tentacles spraying out from two flat rectangular
windows up near its roof, while rows of windows on the third and second floors
were illuminated by a glowing golden haze. John Levine
was back at the front of the library, watching as the building before him
burned. Behind him,
the big blue NSA van pulled out from the kerb and headed for the western side
of the library building. Levine
watched as the van jumped the kerb and drove straight onto the grass lawn
surrounding the library. Then it disappeared around the corner. He turned
back to see headlights — lots of headlights — and he knew what that meant. The
fire department was arriving — closely followed by the media. Multi-coloured
vans screeched to a halt just outside the perimeter of yellow tape. Sliding
doors were flung open and cameramen charged out. Behind them, pretty reporters
emerged from their vans, fluffing and primping. One bold
young reporter hustled straight over from her van, ducked under the yellow
police tape and walked straight up to Levine and thrust a microphone into his
face. 'Sir,' she
said, in her best, most serious voice, 'can you tell us exactly what is
happening here? How did the fire start?' Levine
didn't answer. He just stared at the young woman, silent. 'Sir,' she
repeated, 'I said, can you tell us—' Levine cut
her off, speaking softly and politely, facing the young reporter, but clearly
addressing the three NSA agents standing nearby. 'Gentlemen,
please escort this young lady outside the perimeter and inform her that if she
or anyone else crosses that line again they will be arrested on the spot and
charged with Federal offences relating to interference with matters of national
security, sentences for which range between ten and twenty years, depending on
what sort of mood I'm in.' The three
agents stepped forward and the reporter, mouth agape, was led ignominiously
back to the perimeter. Levine was
watching her legs as she walked off when his radio came to life. It was
Marshall. 'Yes, sir?' 'Quaid
and I are at the entrance to the parking lot,' Marshall
said. 'TV there yet?' 'They're
here all right,' Levine said. 'Any
trouble?' 'Not yet.' 'Good.
We'll be down here from now on. This fire has raised the stakes. Now we have to
get inside before the whole place burns down. Is the truck on the way?' 'It just
left,' Levine said. 'You'll be seeing it any second now.' The ramp
leading down from the street to the underground parking lot was on the western
side of the library building. Marshall was
standing at the base of the ramp, not far from the metal grille that closed off
the parking lot. In the centre of the grille, just touching the ground, was the
large circle of criss-crossing blue electricity. Behind him,
the big NSA van reversed around the corner and backed slowly down the ramp. 'Okay,'
Marshall said into his radio, seeing the van, 'it's here. I'll call you back
soon. For now, you just keep those firemen and reporters behind the tape.
Okay?' 'Okay,'
Levine's voice said as Marshall hung up. The van
stopped and the back doors burst open and four men dressed in SWAT gear jumped
down onto the ramp. The first of them — a young technician — came straight up
to Quaid and they spoke quietly. Then the technician nodded vigorously and
disappeared inside the van. He re-emerged several seconds later carrying a
large silver box. Quaid walked
over to Marshall, standing in front of the electrified metal grille. Marshall
said, 'How long will it—?' 'We'll be in
there soon,' Quaid said calmly. 'We just have to do the math first.' 'Who are you
going to get to do it?' 'Me,' Quaid
said. The
technician placed the heavy box down on the concrete next to Quaid, then bent
down and flipped open its silver lid to reveal three digital counters. Each
counter displayed red numbers, which at the moment read: 00000.00. Quaid then
pulled a long green cord out from the box and led it over to the metal grille.
The cord had a shiny steel bulb at the tip. Another
heavily armed agent came over and handed him some insulated black gloves and a
long pole with a loop of rope attached to its end. Quaid put the gloves on and
inserted the steel bulb into the loop at the end of the pole. He took a
long, slow breath. Then he pointed the pole away from his body, toward the wall
of crisscrossing blue lightning. The steel
bulb at the end of the pole glistened as it edged closer and closer to the wall
of blue light. Marshall
watched tensely. Quaid swallowed. The NSA team
stared in anticipation. None of them
knew what would happen. The bulb
touched the electricity. The counters
in the steel box immediately began to tick upward slowly, measuring the
voltage. They sped up slightly, the numbers getting larger and larger. And then
they went into overdrive. On the
Second Floor of the library, Holly and Selexin huddled together underneath one
of the large central tables. On the floor all around them lay the crumpled
remains of a dozen shattered computers. The glass
walls of the Reading Rooms had once been like the glass partitions on the First
Floor — glass from the waist up, wood from the waist down — only now they had
been shattered beyond recognition by the explosions, reduced to little more
than gaping windows with jagged edges. Worse still,
on the eastern side of the floor, in two of the reading rooms, fires had
started. Selexin
sighed sadly. Next to him, Holly was sobbing. 'Are you all
right?' he asked, concerned. 'Are you hurt?' 'No… want Daddy,'
she whimpered. 'I want my Daddy.' Selexin
looked over at the doorway leading to the stairwell. It was shut. 'Yes. I know.
I do, too.' Holly stared
at him, and Selexin could see the fear in her eyes. 'What's happened to
him?' she sniffed. 'I do not
know.' 'And those things
that pushed him out through the door? I hope they die. I hate them.' 'Believe
me,' Selexin said, still eyeing the door, 'I dislike them intensely, too.' 'Do you
think Daddy's coming back inside?' Holly asked hopefully. 'I am sure
he is already back inside,' Selexin lied. 'And I would wager that at this
very moment he is probably somewhere in the building looking for us.' Holly
nodded, wiping her eyes, encouraged. 'Yeah. That's what I think, too.' Selexin
smiled weakly. As much as he wanted to believe that Stephen Swain was still
alive, he was extremely doubtful. The labyrinth was electronically sealed for
the sole purpose of keeping the contestants in. Only an inexplicable
fluke had created an opening in the building at the time of electrification —
it was highly unlikely that another existed. And besides,
he had heard the explosion himself. Stephen Swain was most certainly
dead… And then,
out of the corner of his eye, Selexin saw movement. It was the
stairwell door. It was
opening. Swain
hurried down the grey corridor and stepped out into the white fluorescent light
of the car park. It was
exactly as he remembered it. Clean, shiny concrete, white floor markings, the
DOWN ramp in the centre. And it was
quiet. The car park was totally empty. Swain
hurried over to the DOWN ramp and had just started to descend it when he heard
someone shouting. 'Hello! Hey!' Swain turned
around, puzzled. 'Yes, you!
The guy at the top of the ramp!' Swain
searched for the source of the shouts. His gaze fell on the entry ramp. It was
off to the left, down a long, narrow passageway, closed off to the outside
world by a big steel grille. At the bottom of the grille was a round exploded
hole that glowed blue with crisscrossing lines of electricity. Beyond the
hole in the grille, however, was a man, dressed in blue combat attire. And he was
shouting. —––ooo0ooo——— Holly sat
frozen underneath the long wooden table. Selexin stared at the slowly opening
door. Apart from
the muffled crackling of flames that came from the fire in the reading rooms,
the Second Floor of the New York State Library was completely silent. The door to
the stairwell continued to open. And then
slowly — very slowly — a big black boot stepped through the doorway. The door
opened wide. It was
Bellos. He was alone. The two remaining hoods were nowhere to be seen. Selexin
raised a finger to his lips and Holly, her eyes wide with fear, nodded
vigorously. Bellos
walked into the open central area of the Second Floor. His boots
crunched softly on the broken glass of the computer monitors as he passed
within a foot of the table under which Holly and Selexin hid. He stopped. Right
in front of them! Holly held
her breath as the big boots swivelled on the spot, the body above them looking
around in every direction. Then the
knees began to bend and Holly almost squealed at the prospect of it: Bellos was
going to look under the table! Bellos' legs
crouched and a wave of terror swept through Holly's body. The long
tapering horns appeared first. Then the
evil black face. Upside down. Peering at them. And at that
moment, a wicked grin broke out across Bellos' face. In the
parking lot, Swain edged cautiously toward the exit ramp. 'Hellooo!'
the man behind the grille called. 'Can you hear me?' Swain didn't
reply. He moved forward, toward the grille, focusing on the man on the other
side. He was a
stocky man, dressed in blue fatigues and a bulletproof vest, like a member of a
tactical response team. The man
called again. 'I said, can you hear me?' Swain
stopped, twenty yards away from the electrified grille. 'I can hear
you,' he said. At the sound
of Swain's voice, the man behind the grille turned instantly and spoke to
someone else, someone Swain could not see. The man
turned back, held up his palms and spoke very slowly. 'We mean you no harm.' 'Yeah, and I
come in peace,' Swain said. 'Who the hell are you?' The man
continued to speak in that kind of slow, articulate voice one uses with an
infant. Or, perhaps,
an alien. 'We are representatives
of the government of the United States of America. We are' — the man
spread his arms wide — 'friends.' 'All right,
friend, what's your name?' Swain said. 'My name is
Harold Quaid,' Quaid said earnestly. 'And what
department are you from, Harold?' 'The National
Security Agency.' 'Yeah, well,
I've got some bad news for you, Harold Quaid of the National Security Agency.
I'm not the alien you're looking for. I'm just a guy who was in the wrong place
at the wrong time.' Quaid
frowned. 'Then who are you?' Something
inside Swain's head told him not answer that question. 'I'm just a
guy.' 'And where
are you from?' 'Around.' 'And what
are you doing in a building that's got a hundred thousand volts of electricity
running through its walls?' 'Like I
said, Harold, wrong place, wrong time.' Quaid
changed tack. 'We can help you, you know. We can get you out of there.' 'I've
already been out, thanks,' Swain said. 'It's hazardous to my health.' Quaid turned
away for a second and conversed briefly with the man behind him. He turned back
to Swain. 'I'm afraid I didn't catch that last thing you said,' he called.
'What was it again? Something about your health?' 'Forget it,'
Swain said, rapidly losing interest in this conversation. The NSA was
not so selfless as to come all the way out here to save innocent humans caught
up in an electrified library. It was bigger than that, it had to be. The NSA
was here for contact — extra-terrestrial contact. Somehow they must have
figured out that something was going on inside the library and now they wanted
the aliens. And,
presumably, anyone who had come into contact with the aliens. 'No, I mean
it,' Quaid said reasonably, 'come a little closer and say it again.' Swain took a
step back. 'I don't think so, fellas.' 'No, no.
Please! Listen. We're not going to hurt you. I promise.' 'Uh-huh.' 'But if
you'll just step a little closer…' The dart
whizzed by Swain's head, missing it by inches. It had come
from behind Quaid — from somebody who must have crept up behind him while he
had kept Swain occupied. They must have shot the tiny dart through a gap
in the electric field. Swain didn't
wait to think about it. He turned and ran, bolting for the DOWN ramp in the
centre of the parking lot. And as he
raced down the ramp toward Sub-Level Two, the last tiling he heard was the
echoing voice of Harold Quaid of the National Security Agency shouting fiercely
at some poor unseen subordinate. At the base
of the outer ramp, Quaid swore. 'Fuck!
We had him!' He turned to
the Lab agent holding the tranquilliser gun. 'How the fuck did you miss?
I can't believe you could miss him from—' 'Hold on,
Quaid,' Marshall said, resting a hand on his shoulder. 'We may have lost the
guy, but I think we just hit the jackpot. Take a look at that.' Quaid
turned. 'Take a look at what?' Marshall
pointed at the parking lot and Quaid followed the line of his finger. His jaw
dropped immediately. 'What the
hell is that?' he breathed. 'I don't
know. But I want it,' Marshall said. Through the
grid of blue electricity they could see it clearly, whatever it was. It looked
monstrous, like a large, low-bodied dinosaur — at least fifteen feet long, with
a rounded, blunt snout and two long antennae that clocked rhythmically from
side to side above its head. Quaid and
Marshall watched, entranced, as the creature limped slowly across the parking
lot. It stopped at the top of the down ramp,
where it seemed to sniff the ground for an instant. Then it
slithered quickly down the ramp and out of sight. 'Well, well,
well. What do we have here?' Bellos said, peering under the table. Selexin was
trying hard to keep his body from shaking — and obviously not succeeding. Holly
sat frozen beside him. 'Why, tiny
man, your memory is as short as you are. I told you I would find you. Or did
you forget?' Selexin
swallowed. Holly just stared. 'Perhaps
your memory needs a little… refreshing.' Bellos began to stand. 'Get out
from under there.' Holly and
Selexin scrambled out to the far side of the table. Bellos stood on the other
side, his wounded guide draped over his shoulder. The flickering fires in the
nearby reading rooms were now looking decidedly out of control. Bellos
cocked his head mockingly, 'Where will you run to now, tiny man?' Selexin
glanced over toward the stairwell, and saw the two hoods step menacingly into
the open doorway, cutting off their only escape. 'Uh-oh,' he
whispered. When he
looked at Bellos again, he saw that his golden breastplate was now smeared with
thick red streaks of blood. On the black background of Bellos' forearm, Selexin
saw his grey wristband clearly. And saw the
glowing green light suddenly flicker off. The red
light next to it blinked to life. 'Uh-oh,' Selexin
said again. Bellos began
to strut around the long table. He seemed to be in no hurry. Savouring the
moment. He didn't appear to notice the red light now illuminated on his
wristband. 'Why have
you done this?' Selexin asked. 'Done what?' 'Broken the
rules of the Presidian. Cheated. Why have you done this?' 'Why not?' 'You have
broken the rules of the contest in order to win it. How can you respect the
prize if you cannot respect the tournament? You have cheated.' 'When one is
caught breaking the rules, one is a cheat,' Bellos said, walking around
the end of the table. 'I do not plan to be caught.' 'But you will
be caught.' 'How?'
Bellos asked, as if he already knew the answer to the question. Selexin
spoke quickly. 'A contestant can expose you. He can say 'Initialise' and show
those watching at the other end that you have hoods with you.' 'It would be
a brave man who would attempt such a thing while he was running for his
life. Besides,' Bellos said, 'who here knows that I have hoods?' 'I do.' 'But your
master was last seen falling out of the labyrinth. And he is the only one
who can initialise the teleport on your helmet.' Selexin
paused for a moment. Then he said, 'Reese.' 'What?' 'Reese
knows,' Selexin said, remembering the hoods attacking Reese back on the First
Floor. 'But you do
not know if Reese is still alive.' 'Is she
still alive?' 'Amuse me,'
Bellos said. 'Let us suppose for the moment that Reese is still alive.' 'Then she can
report you. She can initialise the teleport on her guide's helmet and expose
you.' 'And what
about her guide?' 'Excuse me?'
Selexin frowned. 'Her guide,'
Bellos said smugly. 'Surely you cannot believe that if I let Reese live, I
would also allow her guide to do so.' 'You killed
Reese's guide before you attacked Reese?' Bellos
smiled. 'All's fair in love and war.' 'Clever,'
Selexin said. 'But what about the hoods? How did you plan to get the hoods out
of the labyrinth. Surely you were not just going to leave them here.' 'Trust me,
the hoodaya will be long gone from the labyrinth by the time I step through the
final teleport,' Bellos said. Selexin
frowned. 'But how? How can you remove them from the labyrinth?' 'I will
simply use the same method I used to bring them here.' 'But that
would require a teleporter…' Selexin said, 'and the co-ordinates of the
labyrinth. And no-one but the organisers of the Presidian knows the location of
the labyrinth.' 'On the
contrary,' Bellos looked down at Selexin, 'guides like you know the
co-ordinates of the labyrinth. You have to, because you are teleported with
each contestant into the labyrinth.' Selexin
thought about that. The process
of teleportation involved a guide being sent to the contestant's home planet.
There, the guide and the contestant would enter a teleporter, alone. Once
inside, the guide would enter the co-ordinates of the labyrinth and the two of
them would be teleported. Selexin's
case had, of course, been different, since humans knew nothing of teleporters
and teleportation. He and Swain had been teleported separately. 'But you
would still need a teleporter to get the hoods out of here,' Selexin said. 'And
there are no teleports to be found on Earth.' Bellos
offered an indifferent shrug, conceding the point. 'I suppose not.' Selexin was
angry now. 'You forget that this is all based on the assumption that you will
be the last contestant remaining in the labyrinth. And that is yet to be
determined.' 'That is
the risk I take.' 'Your
great-grandfather won the Fifth Presidian with no need for treachery,' Selexin
said spitefully. 'Imagine what he would think of you now.' Bellos waved
a dismissive hand. 'You do not realise, do you? My people expect me to
win this contest, just as they expected my great-grandfather to do so, too.' 'But you are
not the huntsman your great-grandfather was, are you, Bellos?' Selexin said
harshly. Bellos' eyes
narrowed. 'My, my. How boldly we speak when we are about to meet our maker,
tiny man. My great-grandfather did what he had to do to win the Presidian. So
will I. Different methods, for sure, but tiny man, you must realise that the
end does justify the means.' 'But—' 'I think I
have had enough of your talk,' Bellos cut him off. 'It is time for you to die.' Slowly,
Bellos rounded the near corner of the table, moved toward Selexin and Holly.
Selexin looked desperately about himself. There was nowhere to run to now.
Nowhere to hide. He stood
there rooted to the spot, in front of Holly, watching Bellos come closer. And then —
slowly, silently — something behind Bellos caught Selexin's eye. Movement. From above. From behind
one of the air-conditioning ducts in the ceiling. Slowly, ever
so slowly, a spindly black body began to unfold itself from the ceiling behind
Bellos. It made no
sound. Bellos
hadn't noticed it. He just kept approaching Selexin and Holly — while behind
him, the large spindly creature assumed its full, ominous, nine-foot height. Selexin was
dumbstruck. It was the
Rachnid. The seventh
and last competitor in the Presidian. It looked like a giant stick insect,
small-headed, multi-limbed. He saw its eight bone-like limbs slowly expand,
preparing to wrap themselves around Bellos' body and squeeze him to death. Then
suddenly the Rachnid struck — quickly, violently — closing its arms around
Bellos with stunning speed, wrenching him off his feet, lifting him high into
the air. At first,
Selexin and Holly were stunned by the sheer rapidity of the attack. It had
happened so fast. The slow ominous descent of the Rachnid had instantaneously
transformed itself into brutal violence. And now all of a sudden Bellos was in
the air, in the grip of the Rachnid, struggling with this new opponent. The hoods
moved immediately. The
able-bodied one galloped from the doorway, leapt up onto the table and flung
itself at the Rachnid, jaws bared, defending its master. The second, injured
hood moved more slowly, but with equal fervour, clambering up onto the table
and diving into the fray. The element
of surprise now appeared completely worthless as the Rachnid — confronted by
the unexpected appearance of the two hoods — dropped from the ceiling,
shrieking. It landed with a loud smack! on the table below, its eight
spindly limbs flailing wildly in a desperate attempt to ward off the three-pronged
attack. Holly and
Selexin were both staring at the scene in amazement when suddenly they both had
the same thought. Get
out of here. They bolted
for the stairwell door and burst into the darkened stairway. 'Up or
down?' Holly asked. 'Down,'
Selexin said firmly. 'I saw another contestant up on the Third Floor before.' They had
barely taken five steps down the stairs when there came a deafening — but
familiar — roar from the bottom of the stairwell. 'The
Karanadon,' Selexin said. 'It's awake again. I saw the red light on Bellos'
wristband. Come on,' he grabbed Holly's hand. 'Upstairs.' They started
up the stairs again, and as they ran past the door to the Second Floor, Selexin
glanced inside and saw a flashing glimpse of Bellos on the table, kneeling
astride the Rachnid, locked in combat. But now
Bellos clearly had the upper hand. The hapless
Rachnid was pinned beneath him, flat on its back, squealing insanely as one of
the hoods ripped one of its arms clean off. The Rachnid shrieked. Off to one side,
the other hood — the injured one — was busy mauling the Rachnid's guide. And then
Bellos coldly broke the Rachnid's neck and in an instant the squealing stopped.
Then Bellos stood and called the hoods to stand behind him, and pointed his
guide's head toward the dead body on the table. 'Initialise!'
he said loudly. A small
sphere of brilliant white light appeared above the guide's head and Selexin was
suddenly captivated. Holly pulled
on his arm. 'Come on, let's go!' Selexin
ducked back behind the door and the two of them hurried up the stairs. —––ooo0ooo——— The first
thing that struck Stephen Swain about the lower parking level was its size. It
was smaller than the parking floor above it. And it had no exit for cars. You
could park down here, but you had to go back up to the floor above to get out. There were
three doors, each set into a different wall. One, leading east, had emblazoned
across it, emergency exit. Opposite
that door was another that read TO STACK. A third
door — an older one — lay on the southern side of the parking lot. A few
letters were missing from its nameplate. It simply read: — LER ROOM — NO ENTRY. And there
was a car in this parking lot. A single,
solitary car. A tiny Honda
Civic turned silently into the northwest corner, waiting patiently for its
owner to return. Swain tensed
at the sudden thought that perhaps there was someone else inside the library.
The owner of the car, somebody they had not seen yet. No,
he told himself. Couldn't be. Then he
began to think of the other possibilities — like sending the little hatchback
blasting through the electrified grille in a fiery blaze of glory, and maybe
getting out of the library. But as he
came closer to the little Civic, all his grandiose thoughts faded to nothing. He sighed. The car's
owner would not be here. And the car
itself would not be blasting through any electrified grille. This car
wouldn't be going anywhere. Swain looked
sadly at the two heavy yellow clamps that held the little car firmly to the
concrete floor of the parking lot, and then at the painted blue stripe on the
concrete beneath it. The car had
been parked in a handicapped zone, and since it didn't have a sticker on the
windshield, the authorities had put the clamps on it. Swain smiled
sadly at the useless car in front of him. At the hospital he'd seen it happen a
thousand times, and he always felt that the creeps who parked in the
handicapped zones deserved to get clamped. But now, in
the parking lot of the New York State Library, this car offered him absolutely
nothing. A gun without any bullets. It was then
that Swain noticed the low hissing noise. He turned
around. 'You never
give up, do you?' he said aloud. For there,
standing at the base of the down ramp
— her tail slinking back and forth behind her, her antennae clocking from side
to side, and her four-sided jaw salivating wildly — stood the very first
contestant Stephen Swain had met that night. Reese. Holly and
Selexin clambered up the dark stairwell and stopped once again on the Third
Floor landing. From the bowels of the stairwell came another deafening roar. The
Karanadon. Somewhere
down there. Selexin
stopped in front of the closed door to the study hall, remembering the thin
shadow he had seen in there before — the shadow of the Codex. 'The door's
closed,' Holly whispered. 'Yes…'
Selexin said as if it were quite obvious. 'Well—' 'Well what?' Holly leaned
close. 'Well, we didn't close it. When we were here before, we just
left. We didn't close the door. Remember?' Selexin
didn't remember, but at the moment he didn't care whether the door had been
closed or not, they had to go somewhere. 'You are
probably right,' he said, gripping the door handle. 'But right now, there is
nowhere else to go.' The little
man turned the handle and opened the fire door. He pulled it wide. And then he
fell instantly backwards. Beside him,
Holly turned and vomited explosively. 'Bring it
over! Bring it over!' Quaid called. It had started to drizzle softly and a
light rain now fell on his head. Quaid didn't even notice it. The four NSA
agents carrying 'it' heaved and grunted as they lowered it to the ground beside
the electrified grille. As they did
so, Quaid looked down at the silver box with the counters. The middle
counter read: 120485.05. One hundred
and twenty thousand volts. One hundred and twenty thousand volts of
pure, borderless electric current. Kind of like an electrified fence, only
without the fence. Quaid turned
his attention to the object that the four agents had just put down beside him.
'It' was the thick lead casing for Sigma Division's portable Radiation Storage
Unit. A portable
RSU is basically a pressurised vacuum set inside a four-foot-high lead cube. It
is used to contain any radioactive object discovered in the field until it can
be brought back for study at the huge electromagnetic Radiation Storage
Facility in Ohio. In other
words, it was a glorified thermos flask, surrounded by a thick, waist-high lead
casing. Quaid had
ordered that the portable RSU in the van be dismantled and the heavy lead
casing be brought out. 'It won't
work,' Marshall said, looking down at the big lead cube, which now had its top
and bottom faces removed. 'We'll see,'
Quaid said. 'That
electric field will cut right through it.' 'Eventually,
yes, but maybe not right away.' 'What does
that mean?' 'That means
that it might buy us enough time to get a couple of men inside.' Marshall
frowned. 'I'm not sure…' 'You don't
have to be sure,' Quaid said roughly. 'Because you are not the one who'll be
going in.' Selexin
never took his eyes off the doorway. Beside him, Holly was still retching over
a puddle of vomit, tears welling in her eyes. Slowly,
clumsily, Selexin got back to his feet, all the while staring wide-eyed up into
the doorway. There,
silhouetted grimly by the blazing yellow flames inside the study hall, hanging
upside down from the ceiling, drenched in glistening blood, was the horribly
mutilated body of New York Police Officer Paul Hawkins. In the lower
parking lot, Swain kept his eyes fixed on Reese's tail, trying to avoid eye
contact with her paralysing antennae. She moved
forward. Toward him. Slowly. Then
abruptly her forefoot tripped and she stumbled slightly. It was only
then that Swain remembered where he had last seen Reese. It was back on the
First Floor, when the hoods had attacked her, and he and the others had fled
for the stairs. There was no
doubt about it. Reese was injured. Battered and bruised from a fight with the
hoods that she had only just survived. Swain looked
at himself, covered in the filthy black grime of the elevator shaft and the
subway tunnel. He glanced at his wristband. INITIALISED—3 Another
contestant was dead. There were only three of them left now. The Presidian was
nearing completion and the remaining contestants were injured and dirty and exhausted.
It was now a battle of endurance. There was a
sudden flare of yellow from the right and Swain saw a gas pipe near the ceiling
catch fire. He stole a
glance back at Reese — still trudging wearily forward — then at the little
Honda Civic next to him — still utterly useless. Then back up
at the gas pipe. At the soft blue-yellow flame that began to shoot along its
length. Swain's eyes followed the pipe, ahead of the flame. The pipe
disappeared into the wall, right above the mysterious door marked — 'LER
ROOM — NO ENTRY. Then Swain
had a sickening thought. Gas. Gas
mains. '—LER ROOM.' Boiler room. Oh
my… The racing
blue-yellow flame scooted across the ceiling, following the path of the gas
pipe. Then it disappeared into the wall above the door. A long silence
ensued. Then… The
explosion was huge. It sounded like a cannon going off as the door to the
boiler room blasted outward in a thousand pieces, followed by a billowing cloud
of smoke and flames. Swain was thrown backwards onto the bonnet of the Civic. Quaid
wobbled slightly as the ground shook. An explosion somewhere. 'We have to
go in now,' he said to Marshall. 'How many—?' 'As many as
we can.' 'How do you
know you'll get through?' Marshall asked. 'How do you
know we won't?' Quaid said. Marshall
pursed his lips. 'No-one has ever seen anything like this before…' Quaid just
stared at him, waiting for him to make the call. Then
Marshall's eyes narrowed. 'Okay, do it.' Swain rolled
off the bonnet of the little Honda to see Reese turn to face the blazing boiler
room. Overhead
sprinklers came instantly to life, dousing the whole parking lot with streams
of water. It was like standing in a thunderstorm — booming explosions from the
boiler room amid the pouring rain of the sprinklers. Swain
brushed the torrents of water from his eyes as he tried to see what Reese was
doing. To his right — halfway between Reese and himself — he caught a glimpse
of the door on the western wall of the lot, the door he wanted. The door
that read: TO STACK. 'Ready?
Okay, push!' Quaid yelled. The NSA team
heaved on the big lead casing, pushing it toward the electrified grille of the
parking lot. Quaid had
got them to turn the big lead cube onto its side, so that the open ends — the
top and bottom — were now pointed sideways, toward the crackling grid of blue
electricity. When the
lead cube was a foot away from the blue lightning, Quaid, now dressed in full
assault gear — helmet, bulletproof vest — called them to a halt. Marshall
handed him an M-16 assault rifle, equipped with a high-tech-looking underslung
unit. It looked like an M-203 grenade launcher, except that it had two sharp
silver prongs at its end instead of a wide gunbarrel. It was a Taser Bayonet
— a modern version of an ancient weapon. Instead of attaching a long dagger
to the end of your rifle, you attached a couple of thousand volts. 'Some
firepower,' Marshall said. 'Don't leave
home without it,' Quaid said, taking the weapon. Marshall
reached into his coat. 'One more
thing,' he said, pulling a sheet of paper from his pocket. It was the list of
times and energy recordings taken from the Eavesdropper satellite. 'Have you
got your copy?' Quaid patted
his back pocket. 'Don't you think I know the damn thing off by heart by now?
Thirteen surges of energy after we picked up the initial electricity field in
the city. That's the starting point. Thirteen things for us to find.' 'If you get
in,' Marshall said. 'Yeah,'
Quaid said grimly, 'if I get in. You just make sure you're ready for whatever I
bring out.' 'If we're not
ready, it'll be because we're already inside with you.' 'Good,'
Quaid turned to the agents around him. 'Okay, boys. Let's do it.' The agents
began pushing the lead cube toward the wall of criss-crossing blue electricity.
Quaid walked slowly behind it, waiting at the open rear end of the cube. The front
end of the cube touched the electricity. Sparks flew. Quaid ducked
instantly to look through the open rear end of the lead cube. He could see
right through it. The electricity wasn't able to cut through the lead. The NSA
agents kept pushing until the cube was half inside, half outside the blue wall
of light. The lead was
still holding. They now had
a tunnel through which Quaid could crawl through the electrified wall. Gun in hand,
Quaid dived inside the cube — and for a moment, disappeared from sight — and
then he emerged on the other side of the electric grid, thumbs up. 'All right,'
he called back. 'Send the others through.' The rest of
the NSA entry team — all of them armed with Taser-equipped M-16s — were lined
up behind the cube. The first
agent in the line, a young Latin-American named Martinez, immediately dived
head-first into the cube. There came a
sudden gut-wrenching crack! just as Martinez's legs disappeared inside
the tunnel. 'Quickly,
move! Before she goes!' Marshall yelled. And then,
without warning, the thick lead cube snapped like a twig under the weight of
the surging electric wall just as Martinez emerged from the other side,
his gun hand trailing behind him. The cube collapsed instantly, cut clean
across its middle — likewise Martinez's M-16, which was sheared right through
its trigger guard, the lethal electricity missing the young commando's fingers
by millimetres. The wall was
back in place. Quaid and
Martinez were cut off. 'You guys
all right?' Marshall asked through the grille. 'One gun
down, but we're okay,' Quaid said, handing Martinez his own SIG-Sauer pistol,
to replace the younger man's ruined M-16. 'Guess we're on our own from here. Be
back soon.' Quaid and
Martinez hustled off into the parking lot, heading toward the down ramp. Marshall
watched them go. When finally they were gone, his face creased into a smile. They were
inside the library. Yes. Swain stood
in the corner of the lower parking lot, drenched in the pouring rain. On the
other side of the floor, billowing flames lashed out from the boiler room,
impervious to the relentless downpour of the ceiling sprinklers. Reese
continued to limp toward him. Somehow, she
seemed determined to reach him despite the protests of her aching body;
consumed by an obsession that would not rest until Stephen Swain was dead. Swain began
to think. He couldn't kill Reese, she was just too big, too strong. And even if
she was injured, she would still rip him apart in a fight. How
do you do it? he thought. How do you kill a thing like
that? Easy.
You don't. You
just keep running. Swain took a
step backwards and felt his legs touch the little Honda. He was in
the corner. Wonderful. He stepped
out along the wall of the parking lot, away from the car, toward the door
leading to the Stack. Reese moved
quickly, paralleling the move, cutting off his escape. Swain
stopped about ten feet from the Honda, his back to the wall. He could feel the
thick spray of the sprinklers hammering down against his head. He looked at
his feet, at the thick pool of water that seemed to be growing around him. It
wasn't even a centimetre deep, but it stretched nearly all the way across the
vast concrete floor, constantly expanding as the overhead sprinklers supplied
it with a constant rain of water. He was
standing in it. Reese was, too. His eyes
followed the path of the spreading pool of water. The pool
seemed to be branching out in every direction, even over toward the eastern
wall, toward the door marked emergency
exit. The
Emergency Exit. Swain's mind
began to race. The
Emergency Exit would have to be an exterior door, a door leading directly
outside. And if it
was, then… He froze in
horror. Reese still stood opposite him. The expanding pool of water crept slowly
toward the Emergency Exit. If it was an
exterior door, then it would be electrified. And if the
pool of water reached it… 'Oh dear,'
Swain said aloud as he looked at the water in which he was standing. 'Oh dear…' Run!
his mind screamed. Where? Any— 'Don't
move!' a voice shouted. Swain's head
jerked upright. Reese
snapped around. Two men
stood at the base of the ramp in the centre of the parking lot. It was
Harold Quaid of the National Security Agency and another agent, both dressed in
SWAT gear. Quaid held a strange-looking M-16 assault rifle in his hands. The
other agent held a silver semi-automatic pistol. Swain froze. He glanced
over at the Emergency Exit — at the sprinklers on the ceiling that showed no
sign of stopping — at the growing pool of water that continued to edge closer
to the door. It
was three feet away. He must have
made to move because Quaid called again. 'I mean it! Don't move!' Swain stood
stock still. The water
edged closer to the door. Reese
scuttled off to Swain's left, away from Quaid. Quaid and
his partner edged out from the ramp, their respective guns up, eyeing Reese,
eyeing Swain. They stepped out into the water. The
spreading pool was now two feet from the door. Rain from
the sprinklers kept falling. Swain wanted
to run— 'Just stay
there!' Quaid barked, aiming his gun threateningly at Swain. 'I'm coming over!' One
foot… The water
was almost at the door… Screw
it, Swain thought. Either way, I'm going to die. 'Don't
move—' Quaid yelled as Swain broke into a run, racing for the Civic in the
corner, every step splashing in the water. Gunfire
erupted. Swain
sprinted along the concrete wall, inches ahead of a line of bulletholes. I'm
not going to make it, he thought as heavy drops from the
sprinklers pounded against his face. Not going to make— He dived for
the car. The water
touched the door. —––ooo0ooo——— Swain landed
on the bonnet of the little Honda with a loud thud and covered his head with
his hands. At the same moment, Quaid's gunfire ceased. Swain wasn't
sure what he expected to hear. The sizzling of electrostatic currents shooting
through the water. Maybe even a scream from Quaid, whom he had last seen
standing in the middle of the pool of water, firing at him. But nothing
happened. Nothing at
all. The parking
lot remained dead silent, save for the constant shoosh of the
sprinklers. Swain slowly
lifted his hands from his head and saw Quaid and the second NSA agent — still
standing near the central concrete ramp, their feet still in the pool of water
— staring curiously at him as he lay on the car bonnet. Reese,
however, was nowhere in sight. The pool of
water had reached the Emergency Exit and flowed right under it without
incident. Swain could
think of only one explanation. It wasn't an exterior door. It hadn't been
electrified. There must be another door beyond it. Sprinkler
rain continued to fall. And then
suddenly — ferociously — Reese burst forward from behind the second NSA
agent, and abruptly, the man's ribcage exploded, replaced in an instant by the
pointed tip of her tail, protruding grotesquely from his chest. Quaid spun
but he was too slow. Reese was
already moving — extracting her tail from Martinez's body, letting the corpse
drop to the floor like a rag doll — and then trampling roughly over the body
and hurling herself at Quaid, bounding into him, pitching him forward, knocking
him to the floor with a splash. She must
have circled the central ramp, Swain realised, and then come up behind the
two NSA agents, who had been threatening him. Threatening her
kill. But Quaid
was not giving in without a fight. He rolled onto his back just as Reese leapt
onto his chest, jaws salivating, antennae swaying. Quaid reached up with his
M-16, holding it above the water, and vainly sprayed the ceiling with automatic
gunfire. At the same time, Swain thought he saw a flicker of white light flash
out from the high-tech-looking unit attached to the barrel of Quaid's assault
rifle. The struggle
continued in the pouring indoor rain — but Reese was too strong, too heavy. Her thick right
forelimb came crashing down on Quaid's right arm — his gun arm — and Swain
heard the nauseating crunch of breaking bone. The gun
stopped firing instantly, and as Quaid's arm broke horribly in two, the M-16
flew from his grasp, skittling across the water-covered floor of the parking
lot, landing a few feet away from Swain's Civic. His face
covered with saliva, Quaid screamed madly as blood streamed out from his
cracked right elbow.' With his other arm he tried pathetically to hold Reese at
bay. And then Swain
saw Reese's tail arch. Smoothly and
gracefully, behind her flailing antennae. Out of Quaid's sight. Swain didn't
have time to move. The tail
came down hard. Viciously
hard. The pointed
tip penetrated Quaid's head in an explosion of red, shooting straight through
the skull, emerging on the other side. Quaid's body spasmed violently with the
impact, his feet lifting off the ground, and then abruptly his body went
completely limp. Swain
watched in horror as Reese coldly withdrew her tail from the dead man's skull.
Her tail came clear and the bloodstained head dropped to the floor with a soft
splash. Then she
looked up at Swain. And hissed
at him fiercely. Your
turn. Reese
stepped clear of Quaid's body, her whole body coiled, tensed, invigorated by the
scent of battle. Sprinkler
rain hammered down on her pebbled dinosaurian back. Swain
stepped off the little Honda, eyeing her cautiously, wondering what the hell he
was going to do now. And then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw it. Quaid's
M-16. Lying in the
water to his right, five yards away. Lifeless. Abandoned. Swain didn't
waste a second. He dived for the gun. Reese leapt
forward. Swain's
fingers slapped hard against the water as he grabbed the gun, lifted it clear
of the pool and whirled it around to face the charging Reese. He jammed
down on the trigger. Click! No bullets!
Quaid must have run it dry. Not
fair! Reese was
close now. She leapt at him in the driving rain, flying through the air,
forelimbs raised, jaws bared — a giant attacking alligator. Swain
somersaulted left, just as Reese came crashing down on the spot he had just
occupied, landing in the shallow water with a massive splash. Swain got to
his feet, turned to see where Reese was— Thwack! An immense
weight crunched into his chest, driving him backwards. It was Reese's shoulder,
slamming into him. Swain was
lifted fully off the ground by the impact and then suddenly — whump — he
landed with a thud on the bonnet of the parked Honda. The car
beneath him shuddered violently on its suspension and then before he knew it
his ears were filled with the most terrifying sound he had ever heard in his
life and he opened his eyes to find that he was looking into Reese's wide-open
jaws from a distance of six inches. It made for
a very peculiar sight: Swain — on his back, on the bonnet of the Civic, his
arms splayed wide, dangling over its sides — with Reese, standing upright, her
hind legs resting on the parking lot floor, her stubby forelimbs planted firmly
on the bonnet of the car on either side of him. She lowered
her snout over his chest, as if sniffing him, smelling him, savouring her
victory over him. Swain kept
his eyes averted — not daring to look at her antennae — while also keeping them
clear of the torrent of saliva that now splattered down onto his chest. Through the
sprinkler rain, he could see their combined shadows on the wall nearby — her
body bent over his — resting on the shadow of the car. She had him. Reese hissed
fiercely. And at that
moment, on the wall, Swain saw the shadow of her tail rise behind her back. This was it. This was the
end. Reese knew
it. Swain did, too. And then
suddenly he felt it — somehow it was still in his hand, hanging over the
edge of the bonnet — and like the dawn of a new day, a new realisation hit him
and Swain looked up into Reese's eyeless face and said, 'I'm sorry.' And with
that Swain jammed down on the second trigger of the M-16 he was still
holding — the trigger that was attached to the gun's barrel-mounted Taser — and
fired it into the pool of water beneath the car. A bolt of
electricity flashed out from the prongs of the Bayonet and slammed into
the water at the base of the Honda. Instantly, a
blinding flare of light illuminated the parking lot as a thousand branches of
jagged white lightning snaked out across the surface of the water at
astonishing speed. Reese
shrieked in agony as the electricity from the M-16's underslung Taser shot
through the water and up into her body — via her hind legs which were still
planted in the shallow pool. She
shuddered violently, her whole lizard-like frame convulsing and spasming,
causing the Honda beneath her to rock. Swain just
tried to keep himself clear of her body as it absorbed the stunning surge of
electricity. And then, in
a final, lurching fit of electrocution, Reese vomited all over his chest — a
disgusting greeny-brown slime — before she reared up on her hind legs and fell
to the ground, splashing into the pool of water. Dead. For its
part, the little Honda Civic — with Swain still on it — stood its ground as the
electricity from the Bayonet hit its tyres but proceeded no further, its
attempts to climb the car frustrated by the rubber. Moments
later, the sprinklers stopped. The parking
lot was silent once more. Flat on the
bonnet of the Civic, Swain breathed again. The initial flare of white light was
gone and now only weak glints of electricity flickered up from the water. The surge of
power from the M-16's Bayonet had dissipated. The water was back to
normal. The Bayonet itself was spent, sizzling, shorted out by the water
contact. Swain let the gun splash to the ground. He looked
down at Reese. Strangely, in death her bulky dinosaurian body seemed even
larger than it had in life. He also saw the bodies of the NSA agents, Quaid and
Martinez, lying motionless on the watery floor. He shook his
head in astonishment, wondering how the hell he had managed to survive this
confrontation. And then his
wristband beeped. INITIALISED—2 Now there
was only one other contestant left — and he still hadn't found Holly and
Selexin. Swain took a
deep breath and heaved himself off the car. His feet hit the concrete with a
soft splash. It wasn't
over yet. —––ooo0ooo——— 'We have
to,' Selexin said urgently. 'You can.
But I'm not,' Holly said. 'I am not
going to leave you here.' 'Then we can
just stay here together.' Holly folded her arms resolutely. They were
still standing on the Third Floor landing of the stairwell, outside the study
hall. After seeing
Hawkins' mutilated body suspended from the ceiling and throwing up, Holly had
slumped down against the nearest wall and stared off into space. Now she was
flatly refusing to enter the study hall, which meant walking past the body, and
— worse still — through the blood. Selexin
looked about himself nervously. Down the stairs, he could see the open door to
the Second Floor. Inside the study hall, upside down, he saw Hawkins' body
swaying gently from the ceiling. Whatever had
done this — Selexin suspected it had been Bellos and his hoods — it had ripped
his arms right out of their sockets and torn off his head, accounting for the
enormous pool of blood underneath the swinging body. Clusters of parallel
gashes cut across Hawkins' body — claw marks. Hood marks. When combined with
the ominous yellow glow of the fire in the study hall, it made for a
particularly grisly sight. 'You can
shut your eyes,' Selexin suggested. 'No.' 'I can carry
you.' 'No.' 'You must
realise, we cannot stay here.' Holly
remained mute. Selexin
shook his head in frustration and again looked down the stairs. He froze. And then he
turned back to Holly, picking her up roughly whether she liked it or not. 'Hey—' 'Shh!' 'What are
you doing—?' 'We're going
inside. Right now,' Selexin said, pulling her toward the door, looking
over his shoulder. Resisting,
Holly followed his gaze down the stairwell. 'I said, I don't want—' Her voice
trailed off as her eyes came to rest on the door to the Second Floor. She fell
silent. A faint
rectangle of light stretched out onto the Second Floor landing, and slowly — very
slowly — Holly saw a dark shadow extend into it. The source
of the shadow appeared and Holly watched in terror as a hood stepped out onto
the landing and looked up into her eyes. The M-16's
underslung unit had writing on it: taser
BAYONET-4500. Jesus, Swain
thought, as he stood over the body of Harold Quaid, it made it sound like a new
model motorcycle. Swain had
seen Taser shock victims before. Usually you recovered with a monster of a
hangover, chiefly because police Taser sticks were unchangeably set at minimum
voltage. But this
rifle-mounted Taser unit was not standard police issue. And if Quaid
really was NSA, who knew what sort of voltage it was packing. Swain looked
down at Reese, lying face down in the shallow pool of water. One thing was
certain: NSA Tasers weren't set to simply stun. This one had carried enough
voltage to kill Reese. Swain held
the M-16 in his hands. With its magazine empty and the Taser shorted out, it
was useless. He discarded the assault rifle and bent down to examine the bodies
of Quaid and Martinez. They might have something else on them. Martinez's
SIG-Sauer pistol, or what was left of it, lay half-submerged in the water. It
had been completely flattened — Swain guessed Reese must have stepped on it —
and now it was little more than a collection of bent metal and broken springs. Swain
rummaged through the pockets of the two NSA men's uniforms. He found a pair of
small Motorola walkie-talkies, four extra batteries for the Taser unit, extra
clips for the SIG-Sauer, two telescoping truncheon sticks, and each man had two
CS tear-gas grenades. Swain
wondered if Karanadons were susceptible to tear gas — probably not. Hell, if he
used the grenades, Swain thought, he'd probably only succeed in incapacitating
himself. The radios were no help — after all, who was he going to call? And he
didn't like his chances with the truncheons against someone like Bellos. No,
Harold Quaid and his partner had little to offer him. He wondered
how they had got inside the library in the first place. The parking lot
presumably. But something must have gone wrong — otherwise they would have had
ten more guys with them, and much more artillery. Surely they wouldn't come
searching for aliens with only two guns between them. Then Swain
found something. In Quaid's
back pocket. A sheet of paper. A list: LSAT-560467-S DATA TRANSCRIPT 463/511-001 SUBJECT SITE: 231.957 (North-eastern seaboard: CT, NY, NJ) NO. TIME/EST LOCATION READING 1. 18:03:48 CT. Isolated energy surge/Source:
UNKNOWN Type: UNKNOWN / Dur: 0.00:09 2. 18:03:58 N.Y. Isolated energy
surge/Source: UNKNOWN Type: UNKNOWN / Dur: 0.00:06 3. 18:07:31 N.Y. Isolated energy
surge/Source: UNKNOWN Type: UNKNOWN / Dur: 0.00:05 4. 18:10:09 N.Y. Isolated energy
surge/Source: UNKNOWN Type: UNKNOWN / Dur: 0.00:07 5. 18:14:12 N.Y. Isolated energy
surge/Source: UNKNOWN Type: UNKNOWN / Dur: 0.00:06 6. 18:14:37 N.Y. Isolated energy
surge/Source: UNKNOWN Type: UNKNOWN / Dur: 0.00:02 7. 18:14:38 N.Y. Isolated energy
surge/Source: UNKNOWN Type: UNKNOWN / Dur: 0.00:02 390 S. 18:14:39 N.Y. Isolated energy
surge/Source: UNKNOWN Type: UNKNOWN / Dur: 0.00:02 9. 18:14:40 N.Y. Isolated energy
surge/Source: UNKNOWN Type: UNKNOWN / Dur: 0.00:02 10. 18:16:23 N.Y. Isolated energy
surge/Source: UNKNOWN Type: UNKNOWN / Dur: 0.00:07 11.18:20:21 N.Y. Isolated energy
surge/Source: UNKNOWN Type: UNKNOWN / Dur: 0.00:08 12. 18:23:57 N.Y. Isolated energy
surge/Source: UNKNOWN Type: UNKNOWN / Dur: 0.00:06 13. 18:46:00 N.Y. Isolated energy
surge/Source: UNKNOWN Type: UNKNOWN / Dur: 0.00:34 Swain stared
at the list, bewildered. Numbers and
times and energy surges and the constant repetition of the word unknown. And presumably it all had
something to do with the library. Thirteen
surges of energy in all. One in Connecticut and twelve in New York. Okay. Swain looked
at the times of the first few surges. 18:03:48. A
surge — source unknown, type unknown — detected in Connecticut, lasting nine
seconds. Exactly ten
seconds after that initial surge began, at 6:03:58 p.m., a surge appeared
in New York. All right.
That was easy. That was Swain himself and Holly being teleported from his home
in Connecticut to the library in central Manhattan. Six other
surges of roughly the same duration — five to eight seconds — accounted for the
other contestants and their guides being teleported into the library for the
Presidian. Swain
remembered that Selexin had already been inside the library when he had
arrived. His teleportation must have occurred too early to be on this list. But that
still left five other surges. Swain
scanned the list further and saw the entries numbered 6 through 9 — the four
two-second surges that had come in rapid succession one second after the other.
They had been underlined. Swain
frowned at the fifth surge. 18:14:12. A
six-second surge. Nothing special about that, just another contestant and his
guide being teleported inside. But twenty-five seconds after that surge came
the four rapid surges in quick succession. The
hoods! he thought, realising. They were
small, so teleportation must not have taken very long. Only two seconds each. And that
explained the variation in the times needed for the other teleportations — some
contestants were bigger or smaller than others, so they required more or less
time to be teleported into the labyrinth, somewhere between five and eight
seconds. Swain
smiled, this was coming together nicely. Except for
one thing. The last
energy surge. It had come
more than twenty-two minutes after all the other surges, which
themselves had all occurred within twenty minutes. And it had
lasted thirty-four seconds. The longest surge before that had lasted only nine
seconds. What was it?
An afterthought perhaps? Was it something the organisers of the Presidian had
forgotten to put inside the labyrinth? It wasn't
the Karanadon. Selexin had told Swain that the Karanadon had been placed inside
the labyrinth almost a day before the Presidian was to commence. Swain
couldn't figure it out now, so he let it be for the moment. It was time to go. He put the
sheet of paper in his pocket and with a final glance at Reese's motionless
body, he headed for the door marked to
stack. —––ooo0ooo——— The study
hall was bathed in the yellow glow of a fire out of control. In the far
corner of the wide room, beyond the flames, the janitor's room stood sombrely —
dark and charred, the fire inside it having burned itself out. Holly shut
her eyes as Selexin led her around the bloody corpse swinging from the ceiling.
Her feet slipped suddenly on the pool of blood, but Selexin steadied her before
she fell. They could
hear the hoods climbing the stairs behind them, grunting, snorting. Selexin
pulled harder, guiding Holly in among the L-shaped desks of the study hall. 'The
elevator!' Holly whispered. 'Go for the elevator!' 'Good idea,'
Selexin said, pressing on through the tangle of standing and fallen desks. There must
have been hundreds of desks in the study hall, half of which still stood,
undisturbed. The other half had not been so fortunate, crushed or thrown by the
Karanadon, torn to pieces, smashed beyond recognition. The
elevators were close now. The doors to
the left-hand elevator were still pulled wide, revealing the black abyss of the
elevator shaft. The Karanadon must have pulled them open so hard that they had
stayed open. Selexin hit
the call button on the run, slammed into the wall, spun around. In the
flickering glow of the fire, he saw Hawkins' body spinning slowly from the
ceiling above the entrance to the stairwell. And beneath
the body, stepping slowly and cautiously into the study hall, was a hood. Through the
tangled forest of desk legs, Selexin saw the second hood join its partner and
he felt a chill. They were
scanning the study hall very slowly, peering across the room, under the desks. Selexin
watched intently. It was as though the hoods were more resolved now, more
serious. It was time to kill. Play was over. The hunt had begun. Holly
snapped round to look at the open elevator shaft behind them. The cables
that had run vertically down the shaft were all gone now, snapped by the
Karanadon, probably resting at the bottom with the rest of the battered lift.
They couldn't slide down this time. The numbered
display above the other elevator was still working though: one number after the
other slowly ignited as the elevator crawled upwards. LG glowed
yellow. Then faded. G glowed
yellow, faded. 1 glowed— Holly felt
Selexin tug on her shoulder. 'Come on,' he said. 'We can't stay here.' 'But the
lift…' 'It will not
get here in time.' Selexin grabbed her arm and pulled her away from the
elevators just as she caught a glimpse of the hoods moving in from the left. Selexin
pulled hard, dragging Holly to the right, watching the hoods through the legs
of the desks. The hoods
were twenty feet away, moving with the cold stealth of seasoned hunters. In the strobe-like
light of the fires, Selexin could see them clearly. The needle-like teeth
protruding from the spherical head; the bony black forelegs with their bloodied
claws scraping on the floor; the powerful, muscular hind legs; and the long
scaly tail that swished menacingly behind the black torso as if it had a mind
of its own. The perfect
hunter. Remorseless.
Relentless. Selexin
swallowed as he jumped over a fallen desk and found himself standing before the
janitor's room. In the corner. Dead end. He looked
back. The hoods had stopped now, still twenty feet away. They were just
standing there, staring at their diminutive prey. A moment
later, they moved again. In opposite
directions. They
were splitting up. 'Not good,'
Selexin said, 'this is not good.' It was better when they were together,
because at least then he could see them both at the same time. But now… 'Quickly,'
he said to Holly, 'get on the desks.' 'What?' 'Get
on them,' Selexin insisted. 'They are seeing us through the legs. If we get
onto the desks, they will not know where we are.' Holly
climbed like a monkey onto the nearest L-shaped desk. Selexin jumped up quickly
behind her. 'Let's go,'
she whispered, obviously in her element now, jumping easily across to the next
desk. 'Just be
careful,' Selexin said, stumbling after her. 'Do not fall off.' Holly danced
nimbly from desk to desk, skipping over the gaps with ease. Behind her, Selexin
did the same. Beneath
them, they could hear the snorting and grunting of the hoods. There was a
sudden bing! and Selexin looked over his shoulder and saw — across the
sea of desks — the upper half of the elevator doors. They were
opening. 'Oh no,' he
said, running across the desk tops. Holly saw
them, too. 'Can we get there?' 'We have to
try,' Selexin said. Holly
changed her course, turning in a wide semicircle, jumping across the desks. She
was about to leap across a wide gap between two desks when the able-bodied
hood, claws raised to attack, sprang up from the floor into her path. Holly fell
backwards onto the desk and the hood dropped from sight. Selexin
caught up with her. 'Are you—?' With a loud
squeal, the hood leapt up again, onto an adjacent desk, and lashed out at Holly
with a scythe-like foreclaw. Holly
screamed as she rolled clear, off the desk, falling to the floor.
Selexin watched her fall out of sight. 'No!' The hood
swung viciously at Selexin — backhanded — hitting him squarely in the face. He
recoiled sharply, losing his balance, falling backwards onto his desk. With
frightening speed, the hood leapt at him as he landed, but Selexin rolled and
the hood smashed into the upright partition of the L-shaped table. The weight
of the impact rocked the desk, and in an instant Selexin's horror became
complete as he saw the world tilt crazily and felt the desk he was sitting on
keel over backwards. From the
floor, Holly watched fearfully as the desk on which Selexin and the hood fought
lurched backwards and tipped over. It seemed to fall in slow motion. Selexin fell
first, hitting the floor hard, his white eggshell hat flying from his head. He
rolled clear of the falling desk. The hood
slid off the tilting desk, landing on its feet like a cat, right in front of
Selexin. Selexin was
totally exposed, and the hood was tensing itself to attack when abruptly the
desk came crashing down on its back. Pinned to
the floor, shrieking like a mad animal, the hood writhed about in a frenzy,
attempting to free itself. Its jaws snapped and snarled as it still tried —
despite its own predicament — to get to Selexin. Selexin was
scrambling backwards on his butt, away from the wailing creature when, from
behind him, Holly tipped over a second desk. This time
the L-shaped table fell forward, and the hood looked up in horror at the desk
rushing down toward it. The leading
edge of the desk landed with a loud crunching sound on the hood's upturned
head, shattering the animal's long needle-like teeth as it crushed its skull
against the floor. The hood's
body jerked and spasmed beneath the two fallen desks, until at last it lay
still. Dead. Silence. Then Holly
heard a soft bing! followed by the grinding sound of the elevator doors
closing again. She knelt
beside Selexin, looking quickly in every direction. 'Where's the other one?' 'I… I do not
know,' Selexin was badly shaken. 'It could be anywhere.' Now it was
Holly who grabbed Selexin by the arm and pulled him to his knees. 'We missed
the elevator,' she said, determined. 'Come on, we've got to get out of here.' 'But… but,'
Selexin mumbled feebly. 'Come on.
Let's move.' 'But my… my
hat!' Selexin clawed at his bald head. 'I need my hat.' Holly spun
around quickly and saw the hat. The small white hemisphere was sitting on the
floor, jutting out from behind a nearby upturned desk. She crawled
toward the fallen desk on her hands and knees, rounded the upturned legs, and
reached out to grab the hat… Holly
paused. Then she
froze. Beside the
hat stood two bony black forelegs — one with a bloodstained claw; one with no
claw at all. Her eyes
lifted, rising up the forelegs, following them until she came face to face with
the second hood. The hood's
jaws opened wide, salivating in evil anticipation, inches away from her face. Selexin
watched helplessly from the floor ten feet away. Too far. Holly was
still on all fours, almost nose-to-nose with the hood. Totally
defenceless. The hood
stepped forward and stood over the hat. It was so
close now that all Holly could see was its teeth. Its long, pointed, bloody
teeth. She felt the warmth of its hot breath blowing on her face; smelled the
foul odour of rotting flesh. Holly shut
her eyes and clenched her fists, waiting for the animal to strike, waiting for
the end. Her terror was extreme. Suddenly,
the hood hissed fiercely and Holly wanted to scream and then, as her horror hit
fever pitch, she had the strange sensation of hearing her father's voice. 'Initialise!' There was a
sudden, glorious flare of white that shot through Holly's eyelids. Then she
heard the hood shriek in total, rabid agony and she opened her eyes and was
instantly blinded by the small sphere of dazzling white light that had flared
to life above Selexin's hat. The hood's
shrieking cut off abruptly and Holly heard her father's voice again. 'Cancel.' The blinding
white light vanished instantly and for a moment Holly saw nothing but
kaleidoscopic spots of colour. Then
suddenly there were two strong arms wrapped around her, holding her tightly,
and still blind, Holly's first thought was to break free. But the grip
was firm and gentle. A hug. Holly
blinked twice as her eyesight slowly returned and she found herself in the warm
embrace of her father. Her muscles
drooped with relief and she let her body fall limply into his. Then she
began to cry. As he held
his daughter tightly in his arms, Stephen Swain closed his eyes and sighed.
Holly was safe, and they were back together again. He didn't want to let her go. Still
holding her, he turned to look at the remains of the hood. The body had
been cut perfectly in two — only the hind legs and the tail remained. The head,
forelimbs and upper torso had simply disappeared, teleported to
God-only-knew-where. Thick black blood oozed out from the exposed cross-section
of the animal's torso. Selexin
limped to Swain's side and grimaced at the sight of the half-bodied hood. '"Initialise".
"Cancel",' Selexin laughed softly to himself. 'It is nice to know,'
he said wryly to Swain, 'that you do not forget everything I tell you.' Swain smiled
sadly, still hugging Holly. 'Not everything.' Holly looked
up at her father. 'I knew you would come back.' Swain said,
'Of course I came back, silly. You didn't think I'd leave you here all by
yourself, did you?' 'Ah, ahem,'
Selexin coughed, 'I beg your pardon but the young lady was certainly not all
by herself 'Oh, excuse
me.' Holly said,
'He was very brave, Daddy. He helped me a lot.' 'He did,
huh?' Swain looked at Selexin. 'That was very noble of him. I really should
thank him.' Selexin
bowed modestly. 'Thanks,'
Swain said softly to the little man. Selexin,
proud of his new-found hero status, shook it off. 'Oh, it was nothing. All part
of the service, right?' Swain
laughed. 'Right.' 'I knew
you'd come back. I knew it.' Holly nestled into Swain's arms. Then she looked
up suddenly, made a mock-angry face, and adopted a severe adult tone. 'So where
have you been all this time? How did you find us?' Actually, in
the end, finding Holly and Selexin had been rather lucky. From the
parking lot, Swain had run into the Stack and arrived at the small red door
through which he had been bowled out by the hoods. When he found nothing there,
not even a trace of Holly and Selexin, he was at a total loss. And then, in
the silence, he had heard the nearby elevator ping. It must have
just been sitting there on Sub-Level Two when somebody on another floor had
pressed the call button. Swain raced
for the elevator and reached it just as the doors were about to meet. He jumped
inside and rode the lift to whichever floor the call had come from. It was
better than nothing. And besides, who knew? Maybe Holly or Selexin had pressed
the call button. Then again, it might not have been them, but by then Swain
didn't care. It was a risk he had to take. The elevator
had opened onto the Third Floor and Swain had been confronted with the burning
study hall. He had
ducked and crawled out of the lift on his hands and knees, trying to stay out
of sight. Then he had
heard voices and the grunts of the hoods, and then the crash of a falling desk,
and then another. He jumped to
his feet, and followed the noise, rounded a clump of desks and saw his daughter
crouched on her hands and knees, nose-to-nose with one of the hoods. Swain was
too far away, and didn't know what to do, when he realised that the hood was
standing over Selexin's white, egg-like hat. And at that
moment, a single word had leapt into his mind — 'Initialise'. —––ooo0ooo——— 'Can you get
them?' Marshall asked the radio operator inside the NSA van. 'Negative,
sir. There's no response from Commander Quaid or Agent Martinez.' 'Try again.' 'But, sir,'
the operator insisted, 'all I'm getting is static. We can't even tell whether
Commander Quaid has his radio turned on.' Status
Report: Station 4 reports detection of contaminant
inside labyrinth. Awaiting
confirmation. 'Just keep
trying,' Marshall said, 'and call me as soon as you pick up anything.' Marshall
climbed out of the van onto the parking lot ramp. He looked up at the
electrified grille, at the crumpled lead cube at its base, at the surging blue
grid of electricity. What
the hell had happened to Quaid? In the study
hall, Swain stood up, holding Holly in his arms. 'We better get going.' Selexin was
putting his white, dome-like hat back on. It was stained with the black blood
of the hood. 'You are right,' he said. 'Bellos cannot be far away.' 'Bellos,'
Swain thought aloud. 'It had to be.' 'What are
you talking about?' 'Bellos is
the other one,' Swain said. 'The only other contestant left.' 'There are
only two contestants remaining in the Presidian?' Selexin asked. 'Yep,' Swain
offered him the wristband. Selexin
perused it for a moment, then looked up at Swain. His face was grim. 'We have a
serious problem.' 'What?' 'Look at
this.' Selexin held Swain's wristband up to him. It read: INITIALISED—2 STATUS REPORT: STATION 4
REPORTS DETECTION OF CONTAMINANT INSIDE LABYRINTH. AWAITING CONFIRMATION. 'What the
hell does that mean?' Swain said. 'It means,' Selexin said, 'that they have
discovered the hood.' 'Which
hood?' Swain asked. 'And who on earth are they?' 'The hood
that you just killed using the teleport in my hat.' 'And they?' 'They
are the officials watching at the other end of that teleport, who
I imagine received quite a shock when half a hoodaya was teleported into their
laps. They are in Station Four, the teleport station assigned to monitor the
progress of contestant number four — you.' 'So what
does the message mean?' Selexin
said, 'This contest is for seven contestants only. It is a fight to the death
between the seven intelligent beings of the universe. Outside assistance is
strictly forbidden. Hoods are like dogs. They are not intelligent beings.
Wherefore, they do not compete in the Presidian. And they most surely do not
live on Earth. So when the officials in Station Four received a hood teleported
from the labyrinth on Earth, they immediately realised that the Presidian had
been compromised, contaminated by an outside agent.' Swain was
silent for a moment. Then he said, 'So what are they doing now?' 'They are
awaiting confirmation.' 'What's
confirmation?' Selexin
said, 'An official must go to Station Four and visually confirm the existence
of the contaminant.' 'And what
happens when it's confirmed?' 'I do not
know. This has never happened before.' 'Can you
guess?' . Selexin
nodded slowly. 'Well?'
Swain prompted. The little
man bit his lip. 'They will probably annul the Presidian.' 'You mean
call it off?' Selexin
frowned. 'Not quite. What they will probably do—' 'Daddy…'
Swain heard Holly's soft voice come from his chest. He was still holding her in
his arms. 'In a
minute, honey,' Swain said. Then to Selexin, 'What will they do?' 'I think
they'll—' 'Daddy!'
Holly whispered insistently. 'What is it,
Holly?' Swain said. 'Daddy. Someone's
here…' she spoke in such a low, hissing whisper that it took Swain a couple
of seconds to realise what she had said. He looked
down at her. She was staring fearfully out over his shoulder. Slowly,
Stephen Swain looked behind him. Across the
wide room, he saw a body — bloodied and mutilated — hanging upside down from
the ceiling, just inside the stairwell door. And standing
beside the body was Bellos. —––ooo0ooo——— Swain spun
and saw the body next to Bellos swing around lazily. A wave of sadness shot
through him as he saw the police uniform. Hawkins. Without a
word, Bellos began to walk through the tangle of L-shaped desks toward them. Toward
them. 'Let's go!'
Holly said loudly in his ear. Swain moved
laterally to his left, trying to keep as many desks as possible between him and
Bellos. Bellos did
the same, moving in a peculiar, wide arc from left to right, threading his way
calmly and quickly between the desks. He still had his white guide draped over
his shoulder. Swain
stumbled away from the big man, toward the elevators, Holly in his arms,
Selexin by his side. 'Nowhere to
run!' Bellos boomed from across the study hall. 'Nowhere to hide?' 'They've
found you out,' Swain called, walking backwards. 'They know you brought hoods
into the contest. You cheated, and you got caught.' Bellos
continued to move forward in wide arcs, left and right. It was an odd movement,
a movement that seemed to force them back. Back toward the— 'Their
discovery will be of no help to you,' Bellos said. Swain looked
over his shoulder and saw the gaping black hole that was the left-hand
elevator. The doors to the right one were closed. Swain moved
sideways until his back was pressed up against the call button panel. 'The
Presidian is over, Bellos,' Swain said. 'You can't win anymore. They know you
cheated.' Behind his
back, Swain's free hand searched for the call button, found it, pressed it. 'Perhaps
they know,' Bellos said whimsically. 'Perhaps they don't. It does not matter
now.' 'You have
disgraced yourself!' Selexin blurted. 'And I don't
care,' Bellos said defiantly. 'I did what I had to do to win. And even
if they do find out about the hoodaya, I will still prove to them all that I
have won this Presidian.' 'And how
will you do that?' Selexin said. Swain
grimaced, knowing the answer. 'By being
the only surviving contestant,' Bellos said. Swain
groaned. Then he
heard Holly's voice again. It was loud, close to his ear. 'Daddy, it's here.' 'What?' 'The
elevator.' She pointed up at the numbered display above the elevator doors. The
number 3 glowed yellow. There was a
soft ping. The doors
opened. The darkened interior of the elevator yawned before them. 'Inside,'
Swain said quickly to Selexin. 'Now.' Swain and
Holly stepped back into the elevator as Selexin ran to the button panel and
pressed a button. Bellos
didn't react quickly. In fact, he didn't react at all. He just kept
walking forward. Toward the elevator. The doors
began to close. Bellos
walked casually toward the lift. As Swain
watched, he got the impression that Bellos was in no hurry to get to them. It
was as if he had all the time in the world. As if he
knew something that they did not. As if he had calculated… But then the
doors closed and they were swallowed by darkness and the elevator began its
descent. Two long
cylindrical fluorescent light tubes lay on the floor of the lift — they were
the tubes that Hawkins had removed from their sockets when Swain and his group
had been hiding on the First Floor earlier that night. Swain put
one of the tubes back into its socket, bathing the elevator in a dull white
glow. 'Well, that
was easy,' Selexin said. 'Too easy,'
Swain said. 'Why didn't
he follow us, Daddy?' Holly said. 'Before, he chased us all over the place. All
over the place.' 'I don't
know, honey.' 'Well, we
are away now,' Selexin said. 'And that is all that matters.' 'That's what
worries me,' Swain said. And then it
happened. Suddenly.
Without warning. A loud,
heavy thump! on the roof of the elevator. They all
froze. And then slowly, very slowly, looked up at the ceiling. Bellos
had jumped down onto the roof of the elevator! He must have
jumped across from the open doors of the other elevator. Swain realised
his mistake immediately. 'Goddamn it!' 'What?'
Selexin said. 'You'll be
happy to know,' Swain said wryly, 'that we've just managed to trap ourselves.' He cursed
himself. He should have seen it. While they were running away from Bellos, he
had been moving in those strange arcs, virtually guiding them to the elevators.
When they thought they were escaping, they were actually going exactly where he
wanted them to go. Shit. Suddenly,
the hatch in the roof opened. Swain pulled
Holly and Selexin to the rear corner of the lift. Bellos' head
appeared through the open hatch upside down, his long tapering horns pointing
downward. He smiled
menacingly. Then his
head disappeared from view, back outside the lift. A moment later Bellos swung
down through the hatch, landing on his feet. Inside the
lift. Right
in front of them. 'Nowhere to
run now,' he sneered. 'Finally.' Swain pushed
Holly into the corner behind him. Selexin stood by his side. Bellos was
standing in the opposite corner of the elevator, beside the button panel. He
didn't have his guide with him anymore. Swain saw
the panel next to Bellos and wondered which button Selexin had pressed. He
hoped the little man had pressed the next floor. Then they might be able to
make a run for it. He saw the illuminated
button and closed his eyes in dismay. SL-2 was
glowing. That was
Sub-Level Two, the Stack. The bottom floor. They were in for a long ride. 'You pressed
the bottom floor?' he whispered to Selexin in disbelief. 'To get as
far away as possible,' Selexin whispered back. 'How was I supposed to know he
would jump on top of the—' 'Silence!'
Bellos boomed. 'Oh, shut
up,' Swain said. 'Yes. And
fuck you, too,' Selexin added. Bellos
cocked his head, amazed at this display of impertinence. His face tightened,
angry. He began to
walk across the elevator. It was then
that Swain realised just how big Bellos was — he had to bend so that his horns
wouldn't hit the ceiling. And he was built like a house, too. Swain eyed the
golden breastplate on his chest. It was dazzling. He also saw
that Bellos had added several more trophies to his belt. He still had the
Konda's breathing mask and the NYPD badge clipped to it, but now he had two
more-recent additions: first — and most gruesomely — the severed head of a thin,
stick-insect-like creature; and second — a more earthly object — a small
canister of police-issue chemical Mace, still in its belt-pouch. Swain froze
at the sight of the Mace. It was
Hawkins' Mace. It was
Bellos' trophy from killing the young policeman. Bellos
caught Swain looking at his newly acquired trophy. He touched the small
canister on his belt. 'A curious
weapon,' he mused. 'As his dying act, your companion sprayed it into my eyes,
but to no effect. You humans must truly be fragile beings if something so
pathetic as this injures you.' 'You are a
coward, Bellos,' Selexin spat. Bellos
rounded on him, took a step toward him, extended his arm toward the little
man's head. Selexin
leaned back against the wall, trying to pull away. Then,
roughly, Swain swatted Bellos' arm away. 'Get away from him,' he said flatly. Bellos
pulled his arm back — away from Selexin — dutifully obeying Swain's command.
And then suddenly he thrust his arm viciously forward, hitting Swain hard in
the face. Swain fell
to the floor, clutching his jaw. 'And fuck
you, too,' Bellos said with a sneer. 'Whatever that means.' Then the big
man moved quickly, grabbing Swain by the collar and hurling him into the far
wall of the elevator. Swain banged
hard against the wall, fell to the floor again, wheezing. Bellos
strutted across the elevator, following him. 'Pathetic
little man,' he said. 'How dare you touch me. My great-grandfather also
killed a human once. In another Presidian, two thousand years ago. And this
human cried, begged, pleaded for mercy.' Bellos
picked Swain up by the hair and threw him against the doors of the lift. 'Is that
what you will do, little earth man? Cry for clemency? Beg me to be merciful?' Swain was
lying face down on the floor. He picked himself up slowly and sat with his back
up against the doors. The cut on his lip had been reopened and now it was
bleeding profusely. 'Well,
little human?' Bellos jeered. 'Will you beg for your life?' He paused, and then
turned to face Holly in the corner. 'Or perhaps, you would rather beg for
hers?' 'Come over
here,' Swain said evenly. 'What?'
Bellos said. 'I said, come
over here.' 'No,' Bellos
smiled. 'I think I'd like to acquaint myself with this young lady first.' He
stepped across the elevator, toward Holly. Selexin took
a step sideways, blocking him. 'No,' he said firmly. It was a
strange sight. Selexin — four feet tall, dressed completely in white —
protecting Holly from Bellos — seven feet tall and clad entirely in black. 'Goodbye,
tiny man,' Bellos said, delivering a heavy blow across Selexin's head, sending
the little man crashing to the floor. Bellos
towered over Holly. 'Now…' 'I said,' a
voice said in Bellos' ear, 'come over here.' Bellos
turned to see Stephen Swain and a long white fluorescent light tube come rushing
at his face. Swain held
the fluorescent tube like a baseball bat and he swung it hard. The swing
connected. The tube smashed against Bellos' face, sending glass shards flying
everywhere, and showering the big man's face with a strange white powder that
had been inside the fluorescent tube. Bellos
jolted slightly with the impact. But despite the spectacular explosion of the
tube across his face, he remained unmoved — uninjured by the blow, save for the
layer of powder on his jet-black face — and simply stared coldly down at Swain. 'Uh-oh,'
Swain said. Bellos hit
him. Hard. Swain
bounced into the elevator doors, just as the elevator stopped and the doors
themselves opened. He stumbled backwards, out onto the floor of the Stack.
Bellos stepped out of the lift after him, walked over to him, and picked him up
by his shirt. 'Yes, yes,'
Bellos said. 'Begged for mercy, that's what he did. And do you know what my
great-grandfather did when this human begged?' Swain didn't
answer. 'He
decapitated him,' Bellos moved his powder-covered face close to Swain's. 'Tore
his arms from his body, too.' Bellos stroked his golden breastplate. 'And then
he took this. A glorious trophy from such an inglorious creature.' Swain looked
at the breastplate more closely. Indeed, upon closer examination, it looked
like… like the gilded armour of a Roman centurion. A
Roman centurion? Swain thought. In a Presidian?
Two thousand years ago? My God… Bellos
raised Swain higher so that his sneakers were a full foot above the floor. He
carried him over to the crumpled outer doors of the other elevator. When the
Karanadon had climbed out of the broken elevator at the bottom of the shaft, it
must simply have crashed through the outer doors to get out. Bellos threw
Swain through the open outer doors and he landed heavily on what was left of
the roof of the destroyed elevator, resting at the base of the shaft. The roof
was a good five feet below the floor level of the Stack. Bellos leapt
down onto the roof after him. 'Well, human?' he said. 'Do you beg?' Swain
coughed. 'Not in this life.' 'Then
perhaps in the next,' Bellos said, picking him up again and hurling him into
the concrete wall of the shaft. Swain hit the wall and fell to his knees,
aching, coughing. 'Are you
thinking of yourself now, little man?' Bellos said, circling Swain. 'Or are you
thinking of what I will do when you are dead? Which is worse? Your death, or
the prospect of what I will do to your little one after you are dead?' Swain
clenched his teeth, felt the warmth of his own blood in his mouth. He had to do
something. He looked up
and saw the other lift, hanging above them like a big square shadow in the
blackness of the shaft. There was a dark gap beneath it. Maybe… Bellos moved
in close again — and suddenly Swain came to life, launching himself quickly
forward, tackling the big man around the ankles, throwing Bellos off balance,
sending them both falling toward the edge of the roof. They fell. Both of
them. Off the roof
of the destroyed lift, out into the shaft underneath the working
elevator. The drop was
about ten feet and Bellos landed heavily on the concrete base of the elevator
shaft. Swain landed on top of him, the big man's body cushioning his fall. Swain got to
his feet immediately and looked around the base of the shaft. Solid
concrete walls on two sides — a series of counterweight cables on one of them.
Opposite the counterweight cables was the battered side wall of the destroyed
elevator, lying crumpled at the bottom of the shaft. On the fourth side of the
shaft, however, Swain saw the most unexpected sight of all. A pair of
outer doors. There
was another floor down here. The working
elevator could come down. And
if it could, then… 'Holly!
Selexin!' he called desperately. 'Are you still up there! If you are, go to
the buttons! Press anything below SL-2!' Inside the
elevator, Selexin was still sprawled on the floor, bloodied and dazed. Holly
was huddled in the corner. Then
strangely she heard her father's echoing voice and she blinked back to life. '—anything
below SL-2!' What? She ran over
to the button console and scanned the buttons there: 3 2 1 G SL-1 SL-2 SL-2 was the
lowest it went. There was nothing below SL-2! What was he
talking about? Groggy, Bellos
got slowly to his feet. The fall had hurt him. Swain called
up again. 'Anything below Sub-Level 2! Just press it!' Holly's
voice floated down the shaft. 'There isn't anything! There's nothing below that
one!' Christ,
Swain thought. I can see the doors. There has to be! He called
again, 'Look below the buttons! Is there a small door in the wall! A panel of
some sort! Something like that! Anything like that!' A few seconds. Holly's
voice. 'Yes. I see it! I see a little panel!' Beside Swain, Bellos staggered
against the side wall of the destroyed elevator. On the other side of the
shaft, Swain saw the five or so counterweight cables running vertically up the
concrete wall. They were taut and greased and they appeared to run all the way
up the shaft, past the elevator hovering above them. 'Holly!' he called
urgently. 'Open the panel! If there's another button there, just
press it!' Holly opened
the small white door set into the wall beneath the button console. Inside she
saw several switches that looked like regular light switches. Underneath
them, though, was a mouldy green button, beside which was scrawled in white
chalk the words: ACCESS TO STORAGE BASEMENT. 'I found
one!' she called. 'Press
it!' Holly
pressed the green button and immediately felt her stomach lurch. The lift was
going down. The cables
running up the wall of the shaft suddenly came to life, some going up, some
going down — all moving too fast to tell — as the complex pulley system of
counterweights burst into action. Swain looked
up as the elevator fourteen feet above him began to move. Downward. Toward them. That was
good. He'd needed to do something, to provide some sort of— And then
abruptly he was slammed onto the concrete floor. Bellos had thrown himself into
him and both of them went sprawling to the ground. Swain hit
the floor hard and rolled quickly just as a big black fist came plunging down
into the concrete right next to his head. Bellos
roared in pain, clutching his fist. Swain leapt
to his feet. He looked up at the slowly descending elevator. It was close.
There wasn't much time. You
can't fight Bellos. You have to find a way out of— Then
suddenly Bellos was on his feet again and he launched himself at Swain, driving
him back against the side wall of the destroyed elevator. The moving
elevator edged downward. Twelve
feet off the ground. Bellos
punched Swain in the stomach. He buckled over. Eleven
feet. Bellos hit
him again. Swain gagged. Bellos was just too damn big to fight. Ten
feet. Bellos
glanced up quickly at the descending elevator and then all around himself for
an escape. He saw the rapidly moving counterweight cables by the wall. There
seemed to be enough space there to stand… Nine
feet. The bottom
of the lift scraped Bellos' horns and he ducked. Eight
feet. And Swain
saw the speeding cables, too. Beside him, Bellos was crouching now, bent over
at the waist, facing the other way, looking at the cables. It was a
chance. Swain seized
it. He moved in
quickly behind Bellos and kicked him hard in the back of one knee. Bellos
dropped immediately, fell to his knees. Seven
feet. Swain dived
in front of Bellos, scrambled for the counterweight cables. Got
to get out. Have
to get out. Going
to die. He was
almost at the cables when suddenly — violently — a big black hand clasped his
ankle. Bellos had his foot in a vice-like grip, and was dragging him away
from the cables! Six
feet. Swain broke
out in a cold sweat. Bellos was
holding him tightly, pulling him backwards —so that now Bellos was
closer to the counterweight cables. There was
nothing Swain could do! It was obvious Bellos was going to hold him until the
last moment and then roll to safety near the cables, leaving Swain to be
crushed underneath the elevator. There was no way out this time, no way to
break Bellos' grasp. The elevator came slowly down. It was then
that Swain saw Bellos' trophy belt right next to his eyes—saw Hawkins' chemical
Mace canister hanging from it. The
Mace… But it
hadn't worked for Hawkins before… Five
feet. And then
Swain saw the white powder on Bellos' face. The white powder from the
fluorescent light tube that Swain had smashed across his face. It
was oxidised fluorine. And fluorine
added to Mace would make… Don't
think! No time. Just do it! Swain
wrenched the Mace canister clear of Bellos' belt and aimed it at Bellos' face. But Bellos
saw him move and in response, the big man lashed out at the Mace canister with
his fist and hit it a glancing blow, snapping its spray nozzle clean off! No!
Swain's mind screamed. Now he couldn't spray it! And then he
saw another option. Gritting his
teeth with determination, Swain slid in close to Bellos' head and then, in one
fluid movement, holding the Mace canister tightly in his fist, he banged the
base of the canister down on the point of one of Bellos' horns —
puncturing the canister in an instant. Blinding
chemical Mace sprayed downwards — out from the puncture hole in the base of the
canister. Swain then whipped the canister up so that the spray jetted directly
into Bellos' powdered face. The chemical
reaction was instantaneous. The active
ingredients of chemical Mace — chloroacetophenone and diluted sulphuric acid —
combined with the oxidised fluorine immediately to create hydrofluoric acid,
one of the most corrosive acids known to man. Bellos roared
in agony as bubbles of burning acid rippled across his face. He squeezed his
eyes shut and released Swain's ankle instantly. Four
feet. Swain was
free! But he
wasn't finished yet. As Bellos
recoiled, Swain rolled onto his back and let fly with an upwardly directed
kick. The kick hit
its mark — slamming into the underside of Bellos' jaw, causing the big man's
head to jolt sharply upward. The big
man's head snapped up — and his sharp horns penetrated the floor of the
descending elevator — and in a moment of pure terror Bellos realised what had
happened. He was
stuck! His horns
were jammed into the floor of the descending elevator, and he didn't have
enough room beneath it to manoeuvre himself out! Three
feet. Swain was
flat on his stomach now, crawling away from Bellos, across the base of the
shaft. Two
feet. And he could
feel the bottom of the elevator touching his back. It was like crawling
underneath a car. He reached
out for one of the speeding counterweight cables running up the far wall. His hand
closed around the cable. Behind him,
Bellos now lay on the ground, his neck bent upwards at an awkward angle,
wrenching desperately at his horns. He let out a piercing high-pitched wail. 'Arrrrrrggghhhh!!!' One
foot. And Swain
felt the cable yank on his arm and he was pulled into the air, his feet sliding
out from under the elevator just as it hit the bottom with a resounding boom!
and Bellos' hideous wail cut off abruptly and Swain flew up into the
darkness of the shaft. —––ooo0ooo——— Swain swung
to a sudden halt. The
counterweight cable stopped dead as the elevator came to rest at the base of
the shaft. Everything
was silent. There was no
light, save for the weak yellow haze coming through the crumpled outer doors
that led to the Stack. Swain was
hanging by his arms six feet above the roof of the working elevator, dangling
against the wall. He looked down at the elevators. It was a
peculiar sight — both elevators, side by side, resting on the bottom of the
shaft, one totally destroyed, the other just sitting there, silent. Suddenly the
hatch of the working elevator burst open and Swain's heart jumped. Bellos
couldn't have… Holly's head
appeared through the hatch and Swain sighed with relief. Her head swung around
anxiously, searching. Finally she saw him, hanging above her, swinging gently
from the counterweight cables on the side of the shaft. 'Daddy!'
Holly climbed out onto the roof of the elevator. Swain let go
of the cable and dropped down onto the roof beside her. She leapt into his arms
and held him tightly. 'Daddy, I
was so scared.' 'So was I,
honey. Believe me, so was I.' 'Did I do
the right thing? Did I press the right button?' 'You pressed
the right button, all right,' Swain said. 'You were great.' Holly nodded
to herself, satisfied, and hugged him harder. Selexin's
head popped out through the hatch. He saw Swain and Holly and then looked
around the dark, empty shaft. 'It's okay,'
Swain said. 'Bellos is dead.' 'I, uh,
gathered as much,' Selexin said. Swain
frowned. Selexin nodded back at the elevator's hatch. Swain looked down through
it. 'Oh, yuck…' Sticking up
through the floor of the elevator were two high-pointed horns — Bellos' horns.
Having pierced the underside of the lift, they now appeared inside it —
unmoving, still — like the hood ornament of a Cadillac. The only remnant of
Bellos. 'What
happened?' Selexin asked. 'Crushed,'
Swain said. 'Crushed?' 'Uh-huh.' Selexin
winced. 'Not a very nice way to die.' Holly said,
'He wasn't a very nice kind of person.' 'This is
true.' At that moment
Swain's wristband beeped softly. Swain
checked it to find that its rectangular display was now filled with scrolling
lines of type: PRESENCE
OF CONTAMINANT CONFIRMED. AT STATION 4. *
PRESIDIAN HAS BEEN COMPROMISED * REPEAT. *
PRESIDIAN HAS BEEN COMPROMISED * DECISION TO ABORT PENDING. The screen
flickered and a new line appeared: INITIALISED—1 OFFICIALS AT EXIT TELEPORT
REPORT ONE CONTESTANT REMAINING INSIDE LABYRINTH. AWAITING INSTRUCTIONS. There was a
pause. 'What does
that mean?' Swain asked. 'When only
one contestant remains,' Selexin said, 'the Karanadon is awakened, if it is not
already awake, and then—' 'And then
the exit teleport is opened,' Swain said, remembering. 'And if you can avoid
the Karanadon and get to the teleport, you win the Presidian.' 'Right,'
Selexin said. 'Only now that Bellos has compromised the Presidian, the
officials are deciding whether or not they should abandon the Presidian
completely. Because if they do decide to abandon it, they will not open the
exit teleport. And we will be left here, with the Karanadon. And as I
wanted to tell you before, they will also probably…' The
wristband beeped loudly and Selexin immediately stopped speaking. OFFICIALS AT EXIT TELEPORT BE
ADVISED THAT A DECISION HAS BEEN MADE TO ABORT PRESIDIAN. * DO NOT INITIALISE EXIT
TELEPORT * REPEAT. * DO NOT INITIALISE EXIT
TELEPORT * 'They're
calling it off,' Swain said flatly. Selexin
didn't reply. He just stared at the wristband in disbelief. Swain shook
him gently. 'Did you see that? They're calling the whole thing off.' Selexin said
softly, 'Yes. I saw it.' He looked up at Swain. 'And I know what it means. It
means that you and I are most certainly going to die.' 'What?'
Swain said. 'Die?'
Holly said. 'You
will certainly die,' Selexin said to Swain, 'and without the exit
teleport, I cannot leave this planet. And what do you think my chances of
survival on Earth are?' Swain knew
the answer to that. The NSA were outside the library right now and they weren't
here to borrow some books. Selexin didn't have a prayer outside the library.
And now there was no way he could leave. Swain said,
'So why do I have to die? Why is that so certain? There's no guarantee that the
Karanadon will find us.' Now there was an alien that Swain would gladly give to
the NSA. 'It is not
the Karanadon that comprises your greatest threat,' Selexin said. 'Then what
does?' Swain asked as his wristband beeped again, announcing another message: * OFFICIAL SIGNAL * PLEASE RECORD THAT DUE TO
EXTRINSIC INTERFERENCE IT HAS BEEN DECIDED THAT THE SEVENTH PRESIDIAN WILL BE
ABORTED. GRATITUDE IS EXTENDED TO ALL OFFICIALS IN ALL SYSTEMS FOR THEIR ASSISTANCE
THROUGHOUT THIS CONTEST. AN INQUIRY HAS BEEN INITIATED
INTO THE CAUSE OF THE CONTAMINATION OF THE LABYRINTH. * END OFFICIAL SIGNAL* PRESIDIAN COMPLETE. STANDBY FOR DE-ELECTRIFICATION. Swain said,
'De-electrification? Is that what I think it means?' 'Yes,'
Selexin nodded. 'They will bring down the electric field surrounding the
labyrinth.' 'When?' 'As soon as
possible, I suppose.' 'What about
the Karanadon?' 'I presume
that they will simply leave it here.' 'Leave it
here?' Swain said, incredulous. 'Do you have any idea what something like that
would do in this city? When they cut the electricity around this building, that
thing will be loose, and there will be no way to stop it.' 'It is not
my decision,' Selexin said sadly, vacantly. Swain knew
that the little man had other things on his mind. Without the exit teleport,
Selexin could not leave. They had survived the Presidian and yet he was stuck
on Earth. 'Well,'
Swain said, looking up at the dark elevator shaft around him. 'It's not going
to help us standing around here doing nothing. If they're going to pull the
plug on the electricity, I suggest we find a place where we can get out when
they do.' Holding
Holly, Swain stepped from the roof of the working lift onto the roof of the
damaged one. Selexin didn't move. He just stood there sadly, deep in thought. Swain and
Holly climbed out through the crumpled outer doors into the Stack and looked
back at Selexin. 'Selexin,'
Swain said gently. 'We're not dead yet. Come on. Come with us.' On top of
the lift, in the darkness of the shaft, Selexin looked up at him, but said
nothing. 'We have to
get to an exit,' Swain said. 'So we can get out when the electricity is cut
off.' 'Bellos.'
Selexin said flatly, thinking. 'What?' 'Bellos knew
of a way.' 'What are
you talking about?' Swain said, checking the Stack behind him. 'Come on, we
have to go.' 'He had to
get the hoods out,' Selexin said. 'He said so himself.' 'Selexin, what
are you talking about?' Selexin
explained. 'We were on another floor, I think it was number Two. Bellos was
there, and he spoke to us briefly before the Rachnid arrived and they fought
and we escaped. But at the time, I asked Bellos what he planned to do with the
hoods if he won the Presidian, because I knew that if he left them here, they
would certainly be discovered. What he told me was very strange. He said that
the hoods would be long gone from the labyrinth by the time he went through the
exit teleport.' Swain
watched Selexin intently, watched him thinking. 'But the
only way he could do that,' Selexin said, almost to himself, 'was if he had a
teleporter.' 'A
teleporter?' 'A large
chamber in which a teleportation field is created. And as you
are no doubt aware, there are no teleporters on Earth.' Swain
thought for a moment, a hazy picture beginning to form in his mind. A picture
of a puzzle that hadn't yet been solved. 'Just how
big is one of these teleporters?' he asked Selexin. 'Usually
very large, and very heavy,' Selexin said. 'And technologically, extremely
complex.' It was now
Swain who was lost in thought. The hazy picture in his mind was slowly becoming
clearer. And then it
hit him. 'Bellos brought
a teleporter with him,' he said flatly. 'We don't
know that,' Selexin said. 'Yes, we
do,' Swain reached into his pocket, pulled out a sheet of paper — Harold
Quaid's list of energy surges at the State Library that night. 'What's
that, Daddy?' 'It's a
list.' 'Where did
you get it?' Swain turned
to Selexin. 'I found it in the pocket of another mystery guest who happened to
find his way into your Presidian.' 'What is it
a list of?' Selexin asked. 'Take a
look.' Swain held out the sheet of paper. Selexin
stepped from one elevator roof to the other and then climbed out into the
Stack. He took the sheet and examined it. 'Something
from Earth,' Selexin scanned the list. 'Detecting energy surges of unknown
origin. What are these numbers on the left?' 'Times,'
Swain said. Selexin was
silent for a moment. 'So what is it?' he asked. 'It's a list
of every teleportation that has happened in this building since I was
teleported here from my home in Connecticut at 6:03 this evening.' 'What?' 'And now
I've figured it out,' Swain said. 'Thirteen teleportations detected. Twelve in
the library, one in Connecticut. Before, I could only account for eleven of the
twelve surges that occurred in the library: namely, seven contestants with
their guides, plus four hoods, equals eleven surges.' 'Uh-huh.' 'But I
couldn't figure out the last surge,' Swain pointed to the bottom line of the
sheet: 13. 18:46:00
N.Y. Isolated energy surge/Source: UNKNOWN Type: UNKNOWN / Dur: 0.00:34 'Look at it.
It's thirty-four seconds long — three times longer than any other surge. And
look at when it occurred: 6:46 p.m. That's nearly twenty-three minutes after
the surge before it. All of the others occurred within twenty minutes.' Swain looked
at Selexin. 'The last surge was a separate surge. And it was big. Very big.
Something that took a long time to teleport — thirty-four seconds to teleport.' 'What are
you saying?' 'I think
Bellos had someone teleport a teleporter into the library so he
could get the hoods out of here before he left.' Selexin took
it all in silently. He examined the list again. Finally he looked up at Swain.
'Then that means…' 'It means,'
Swain said to Selexin, 'that somewhere in this building is a teleporter. A
teleporter that we can use to get you home.' Selexin was
momentarily silent as it all sunk in. 'So what are
we waiting for?' Holly said. 'Nothing
now,' Swain said, grabbing Selexin's shoulder, starting to run. 'Let's find it
while we still have time.' —––ooo0ooo——— James
Marshall stood at the base of the ramp leading to the parking lot. He was
watching the grid of blue electricity stretched across the metal grille when
his radio operator came up to him. 'Sir?' 'What is
it?' Marshall didn't turn around. Status
Check: 0:01:00 to De-electrification. Standby. 'Sir, we're
not even getting a signal now. Commander Quaid's radio is completely off the
air.' Marshall bit
his lip. The night that had begun with so much promise was not panning out well
at all. They had already lost two men inside the library, destroyed one
Radiation Storage Unit, lost track of a bum who had been seen by the southern
wall of the library, and now had a building that was burning itself to the
ground. And for what? Marshall thought. Jack
shit, that's what. They had
nothing to show for their night's work. Not a single fucking thing. And Marshall
would be responsible. Too much was riding on this operation. Sigma Division had
been given complete authority on this matter and they needed something to
show for it. Christ, not
long before, the New York Fire Department had shown up in response to all the
explosions and the NSA had held them back. The building was the source of a
National Security Agency investigation, he'd said. Let it burn. But it's a
National Register building. Let it burn. That wouldn't go down well with the
bosses upstairs. So now the
situation was clear: if Marshall didn't get anything from this building, he
would be the scapegoat. His career now depended on what they found inside that
library. They had to
get something. As it turned
out, Swain, Holly and Selexin didn't have to run very far before they found the
teleporter. In fact, they didn't even have to search beyond the Stack. But they
almost missed it altogether. It was only Selexin's keen eye that had caught
sight of a deviation in one of the long aisles of the Stack as they had been
zigzagging their way toward the floor's central stairwell. Status
Check: 0:00:51 to De-electrification. 'It's so
big,' Holly said in awe. That was an
understatement, Swain thought as he stood in the aisle and stared at the
enormous machine. It looked
like a massive, high-tech, steel-sided telephone booth, with a glass door in
its centre, and thick grey walls that almost reached to the ceiling. All of its
edges had been rounded off to give it an elliptical shape and a big grey box
sat on the floor beside it, connected to the teleporter by a thick black cord. Surrounding
the giant teleporter was a perfect sphere of emptiness that had been cut into
the bookshelves and the ceiling around the big machine. The spherical hole in
the air through which this machine had travelled had simply vaporised whatever
had been standing here when it had arrived. 'That's a
portable generator,' Selexin said, pointing to the grey box. 'Bellos had to
bring one of those in order to operate the teleporter on Earth.' Swain stared
at the teleporter and at the bookshelves around it. They were right in the
middle of the eastern section of the Stack, at least thirty yards from any entrance
to the floor and surrounded by the towering floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. It
was highly unlikely that anyone had been through here during the Presidian. 'Well
hidden,' Swain observed. 'I do not
think Bellos had much choice,' Selexin said. 'What do you
mean?' 'Well, I
have been thinking about this — about how Bellos teleported his hoods into the
labyrinth. Do you remember that every time we saw him, Bellos always had his
guide draped over his shoulder?' 'Yes.' 'Well, I
kept wondering, why did he need to immobilise his guide? What I think
happened was this,' Selexin said. 'On his home planet, Bellos steps inside the official
teleporter with his guide. Once inside, the guide receives the co-ordinates
of the labyrinth on the wristband, which he hasn't given to Bellos yet. Bellos
then attacks the guide, beats him, steals the co-ordinates, and then reopens
the teleporter and relays the co-ordinates to someone else. 'Then he and
his guide are teleported to the labyrinth alone, while at the same time, at
another teleporter nearby, the hoods are sent. 'Much later,
they teleport this teleporter, but they only have co-ordinates that are rather
general. The teleporter could have arrived anywhere inside the library.
It was impossible for them to teleport it intentionally into a dark corner. But
then, when you're teleporting something into a maze, the odds are in
your favour of teleporting it into a dark corner. A calculated risk, no doubt,
but obviously one that Bellos was prepared to take.' Status
Check: 0:00:30 to De-electrification. Next to Swain,
Holly was staring up at the big grey machine. 'So what do we do now, Daddy?' Swain
frowned, looked back down the dark aisle behind him. In the distance he saw
that some shelves were now on fire. 'We send
Selexin home, honey,' he said. 'So he can tell the others what really happened,
and so he can get away from here.' 'Oh,' Holly
said, disappointed. 'That is
right,' Selexin nodded slowly. 'Can't he
stay, Daddy?' Holly said. 'He could live with us. Like in E.T.' Selexin
smiled sadly and reached up for the handle to the glass door of the teleporter.
He said to Swain, 'When I came to the labyrinth, I thought about myself being
assigned to guide the human contestant through the Presidian. And I was not
happy at all. I thought you would not last a moment, and if you did not, I
would not either. But having seen you, and the way you defended your life and
the life of your daughter, I know now just how mistaken I was.' Swain
nodded. Selexin
turned to Holly. 'I cannot stay here. Your world is not ready for me, just as I
am not ready for it. Why, even the Presidian was not ready for your world.' 'Thank you,'
Holly said, crying. 'Thank you for taking care of me.' Then she
leapt forward and threw her arms around Selexin and hugged him tightly. Selexin
was momentarily taken aback, unprepared for this sudden display of affection.
Slowly, he raised his arms and hugged Holly back. 'Take care
of yourself,' he said, closing his eyes. 'And look after your father, the same
way he looks after you. Goodbye, Holly.' She released
him and Selexin turned to Swain and extended his hand. 'You are a
little too tall for me to hug,' Selexin said, smiling. Status
Check: 0:00:15 to De-electrification. Swain took
the little man's hand and shook it. 'Thank you, again,' he said seriously. Selexin
bowed. 'I did nothing that you yourself would not have done for her. Or for me.
I was only there in your absence. And besides, thank you, for making me
change my mind about you.' He reached
for the door to the teleporter. It opened with a soft, pneumatic hiss. Swain put an
arm on Holly's shoulder. 'Goodbye, Selexin,' he said. 'You'll be a hard memory
to forget.' 'That is
just as well, Mr Swain. Considering you have forgotten just about everything
else I have told you tonight.' Swain smiled
sadly as Selexin stepped inside the teleporter. 'Don't
forget to teleport this thing back once you get there,' he said, pointing at
the teleporter. 'Do not
worry. I will not,' Selexin said, closing the glass door behind him. Swain
stepped away from the teleporter and looked down at his wristband. STATUS
CHECK: 0:00:04 TO DE-ELECTRIFICATION. 'Oh, damn…'
Swain said, realising. 'Oh, damn!' Inside the
teleporter, Selexin punched some buttons on the wall and then stepped up to the
glass door. A brilliant
white light glowed to life behind him and the little man pressed his finger up
against the glass. 'Goodbye,'
he mouthed silently. The dazzling
white light inside the teleporter consumed Selexin and then, abruptly, there
was a bright, instantaneous flash, and the inside of the teleporter was dark
again. And Selexin
was gone. Holly was
wiping tears from her eyes as Swain looked at the wristband again. STATUS CHECK: 0:00:01 TO
DE-ELECTRIFICATION. STANDBY. DE-ELECTRIFICATION INITIALISED— Swain
grabbed Holly by the hand and immediately began to run desperately down the
narrow aisle, toward the central stairwell. Holly didn't know what was
happening, just ran with him anyway. A loud
beeping filled the air. Swain knew
exactly what was going on now — it was what Selexin had been trying to tell him
before. He didn't even need to look at his wristband to confirm it. The damn
thing was beeping insistently again and as he heard it ringing in his ears, he
realised what aborting the Presidian really meant. The
electrified field was down. His
wristband was no longer surrounded by the field. It had reset
itself to self-destruct. And nothing
could stop it. There was no other electric field on Earth to surround it with. Swain looked
down at the wristband as he hit the stairs on the fly. It read: PRESIDIAN ABORTED. DETONATION SEQUENCE
INITIALISED. *
14:54 * AND COUNTING. Jesus. SIXTH MOVEMENT 30 November, 10:47 p.m. —––ooo0ooo——— Outside the
library, Marshall was barking orders. 'Move!
Move! Move! Get in there!' he yelled, oblivious to the
falling rain all around him. Moments
earlier, the grid of crackling blue electricity had vanished to nothing and
Marshall had been faced with a gaping hole in the metal grille of the parking
lot. Now he had Sigma's SWAT team racing past him, charging into the car park. 'Higgs!' he
called. 'Yes, sir!' 'I want a
total media blackout on this matter from now on. You go straight to Levine and
you tell him to call the networks and pull some strings. Get those cameras out
of here. And get me a No-Fly Zone over this whole area. I don't want any
choppers within a five-mile radius of this building. Now go!' Higgs ran
off, up the ramp. Marshall put
his hands on his hips and smiled in the rain. They were
in. Swain and
Holly climbed the stairs two at a time, rounding the banisters, hauling
themselves up, breathing hard. They stopped
at the Ground Floor. Swain peered out through the fire door. The Ground
Floor lay before him — wide and dark and bare. Empty. Swain could
just make out the First Floor mezzanine above. It was still dark there, too. No
fires here. Not yet. There was
no-one here. Wristband. 14:23 14:22 14:21 There was a
light over by the Information Desk. Swain stepped cautiously out among the
bookshelves, heading toward it. Holly followed nervously. When he was
ten yards away from the Information Desk, he said to her, 'Stay here.' Swain edged
closer to the desk. He peered over the desktop and suddenly turned away,
wincing. 'What is
it?' Holly whispered. 'Nothing,'
he said, then added quickly, 'Don't come over here.' He glanced
over the desktop again and saw the grisly sight again. It was the bloodied and
mangled body of a policewoman. Hawkins'
partner. She had literally
been torn limb from limb — her arms were simply gone, each one
ending at the bicep as a ragged bony stump. Her uniform was covered in blood.
Swain could just make out the long jagged tear in her shirt where Bellos had
ripped off her badge. And then he
saw her Glock pistol on the floor — lying inches away from her desperately
outstretched hand. Swain had a
thought: maybe he could shoot his wristband off. No, the
bullet would pass through his wrist. Not a good idea. He bent down
and picked up the policewoman's gun anyway. Protection. And then,
completely without warning, there came a sudden, crashing whump! from
somewhere behind him. Holly
screamed and Swain snapped around instantly and saw— —the
Karanadon, crouched on one knee, slowly rising to its full height. Right
behind Holly! It must have
been up on the First Floor! It must have leapt down! Without even
thinking, Swain levelled his new found dock at the beast and fired twice. Both
shots missed by three yards. Hell, he'd never even fired a gun before. Holly
screamed through the gunfire, ran over to Swain. Boom. The
Karanadon stepped forward. Swain raised
the pistol again. Fired. Missed. Two yards off this time. Getting closer. Boom.
Boom. 'Run!' Holly
squealed. 'Run!' 'Not yet! I
can hit it!' Swain called back, raising his voice above the beast's thunderous
footsteps. The
Karanadon began to charge. Boom.
Boom. Boom. 'Okay, run!'
he yelled. Swain and
Holly dashed for the bookshelves. The Karanadon was gaining. They rounded a
corner and entered a narrow aisle, bookshelves on either side. Running hard,
Swain looked over his shoulder. And then,
suddenly, his feet hit something — and he tripped — and went sprawling
head-first to the ground. He hit the floor hard and the glock went skittling
off down the slick marble aisle. Boom.
Boom. Boom. The floor
all around him was shaking violently and Swain rolled onto his back to see what
had tripped him. It was a
carcass. The ripped and torn carcass of the Konda — the grasshopper-like alien
that the hoods had killed before, while Swain and the others had watched from
the First Floor balcony. Boom. The floor
rumbled a final time. Silence.
Save for the beeping of Swain's wristband. Swain looked
up and saw Holly standing on the other side of the carcass. And behind
her — right behind her — towering above the little girl, its massive frame
silhouetting her body with total blackness, stood the dark shape of the
Karanadon. Holly didn't
move a muscle. The
Karanadon was so close she could feel its hot breath on her neck. 'Don't
move,' Swain whispered fiercely. 'Whatever you do, don't move.' Holly didn't
answer. She could feel her knees shaking. She knew that she wasn't going to
move. Even if she'd wanted to, she couldn't. Beads of sweat began to appear on
her forehead as she felt the Karanadon move slowly closer. Its breath
came in short, rapid spurts, as if it were breathing very, very quickly. As if
it were— Sniffing. It
was sniffing her. Smelling her. Slowly, the
big beast's snout moved up her body. Holly was
terrified. She wanted to scream. She clenched her fists by her side and shut her eyes. Suddenly,
she felt a cold wetness touch her left ear. It was the Karanadon's nose, the
tip of its dark, wrinkled snout. The nose was cold and wet, like a dog's. She almost
fainted. Swain
watched in horror as the Karanadon brushed the left side of his daughter's
head. It was
taking its time. Moving slowly. Methodically. Intensifying their fear. It had them. Swain could
hear the constant beeping of his wristband. How long to go? He didn't dare look
— didn't dare take his eyes off the Karanadon. Shit. He shifted his
weight — and, oddly, felt a bulge in his pocket. It was the broken phone
receiver. That wouldn't be much use here. Wait a second… There was
something else in his pocket… The
lighter, Slowly,
Swain reached into his pocket and pulled out Jim Wilson's Zippo lighter. The
Karanadon was sniffing Holly's ankles. Holly just
stood stock still, her eyes shut, her fists clenched. Swain rolled
the lighter over in his hand. If he could light something with it, the flames
might momentarily distract the Karanadon. But then, he
recalled, the lighter hadn't worked in the stairwell before. It
had to work now. Swain held
the lighter up to the nearest bookshelf, up close to a dusty old hardcover. Please
work. Just once. Please work. The Zippo
flipped open with a loud metallic calink! The
Karanadon's head snapped up immediately and suddenly the beast was staring
accusingly at Swain as if to say: 'And what do you think you're doing?' Swain held
the lighter closer to the dusty book but the Karanadon bounded quickly forward
and in an instant Swain found himself slammed against the floor, face-down, the
weight of an enormous black foot pressed hard against his back. Holly
screamed. Swain was
pushed down against the floor, his hands spread out in front of him, his face
tilted sideways, one cheek flat against the cold marble floor. He struggled in
vain against the weight of the Karanadon. The beast
roared loudly and Swain looked up to see that he was still holding the lighter
in his left hand. On his left wrist, he saw his wristband, beeping insistently.
In a distant corner of his mind, he wondered how long they had before it
exploded. The
Karanadon saw the lighter. And Swain
watched in horror as an enormous black claw slowly descended upon — and clasped
around — his entire left forearm. It gripped his arm tightly. Squeezing it.
Cutting off the bloodflow. Swain saw his veins pop up everywhere. His arm was
about to snap in two— And then the
big creature banged his wrist, hard against the floor. Hard
against the floor. Swain roared
in agony as his wrist hit the marble floor. There was a loud clunking sound,
followed by a sharp burning pain that shot right through his forearm. With the
impact, his hand holding the lighter reflexively opened wide and the Zippo
dropped to the floor. Swain never
noticed it. And he had
instantly forgotten about the burning pain in his forearm. Now he was
staring. Staring at his left wrist in total disbelief. The
wristband had hit the floor, too. And the
force of the impact had unclasped it. Now it just rested loosely around Swain's
wrist, still beeping incessantly. Only now it
was unclasped. Now it was
off. Swain saw
the countdown. 12:20 12:19 12:18 And then
suddenly he felt a claw clutch the back of his head and push it roughly against
the floor. The weight on his back increased. Time for the
kill. Swain saw
the Zippo. On the floor. Within reach. The
Karanadon lowered its head. Swain
quickly grabbed the lighter and held it to the lowest shelf of the bookcase and
then he shut his eyes and prayed to God that once, just once, Jim Wilson's
stupid frigging lighter would work. He flicked
the cartwheel. The lighter
ignited for half a second, and that was all Swain needed. A
dust-covered book next to the Zippo burst instantly into flames, right in front
of the Karanadon. The big
beast roared as the fire flared in front of its head, the bristled fur on its
forehead catching alight. It pulled back instantly, releasing Swain, clutching
desperately at its flaming brow. Swain rolled
immediately and in one swift movement, removed the wristband from his wrist,
reached for the Karanadon's foot and clasped the band around one of the beast's
enormous toe-claws. The
wristband clicked into place around the toe. Clasped. And then
Swain was up. On his feet, running. He scooped up Holly, grabbed the Glock from
the floor nearby and raced for the massive glass doors of the library's
entrance. Behind him he could hear the wails and roars of the Karanadon. He came to
the doors, threw them open. And saw
about a dozen cars with revolving lights on their roofs parked out front. And
men with rifles. Running toward him through the rain. The National
Security Agency. 'It's the
police, Daddy. They're here to save us!' Swain
grabbed her hand and pulled her away from the doors, toward the stairwell. 'I don't
think those policemen are here to help us, honey,' Swain said as they ran.
'Remember what happened to Eliot's house in E.T.? Remember how the bad
guys put a big plastic bag around it?' They were
running hard. Almost at the stairwell now. 'Yeah.' Swain said,
'Well, the people who did that are the same people who are outside the library
now.' 'Oh.' They came to
the stairwell and started down the stairs. Swain
stopped. He could
hear voices… and shouts… and heavy footfalls coming from downstairs. The
NSA were already inside. They must
have come in through the parking lot. 'Quickly.
Upstairs. Now.' Swain pulled Holly back up the stairwell. They climbed
the stairs. And as they
ran past the fire door leading to the Ground Floor, they heard the loud
smashing sound of breaking glass, followed by more voices and shouts. —––ooo0ooo——— Swain shut
the door behind him. They were
inside the photocopying room on the First Floor. 'Quickly,'
he said to Holly, guiding her toward the Internet room, 'through there.' They entered
the Internet Facility of the New York State Library and Swain walked directly
over to one of the windows on the far side. It opened
easily and he leaned out. They were on
the western side of the building. Beneath him, Swain could see the grassy park
that surrounded the library. It was a fifteen-foot drop from the window to the
grass down below. He spun
around and looked up at the wires hanging down from the ceiling. 'Daddy,'
Holly said, 'what're we doing?' 'We're
getting out,' Swain said, reaching up for the ceiling, yanking on some of the
thick black wires. 'How?' 'Through the
window.' 'Through that
window?' 'Yep,' Swain
yanked some more wires out from various other outlets. He began to tie them
together, end to end. 'Oh,' Holly said. Swain walked
over to the open window again and with the butt of his gun, broke the glass.
Then he tied the end of the length of wire around the window's now-exposed
horizontal pane and knotted it tight. He looked
back to Holly. 'Come on,'
he said, jamming the gun back into his waistband. Holly
stepped forward tentatively. 'Jump on my
back and hold tight. I'll climb us both down to the ground.' Just then,
they heard shouts from inside the First Floor. Swain listened for a second.
They sounded like directions, orders. Someone telling someone else what to do.
The NSA were still searching. He wondered what had happened to the Karanadon.
They mustn't have found it yet. 'Okay, let's
go,' he said, helping Holly onto his back, piggyback style. She gripped him firmly. Then he
threw the length of wire out the window and began to climb out onto the ledge. 'Sir?'
a static-ridden voice said. James
Marshall picked up his radio. He was now standing outside the main entrance to
the library. The majestic glass doors in front of him were now shattered and
broken, totally destroyed by the NSA's bold entry only minutes earlier. It was the
radio operator in the van. 'What is
it?' Marshall said. 'Sir,
we have visual confirmation, I repeat, visual confirmation, of contact on two
floors. One in the lower parking structure and one on the Ground Floor.' 'Excellent,'
Marshall said. 'Just tell everyone not to touch anything until I say so.
Sterilisation procedures are in force. Anyone who comes within twenty feet of
one of those organisms will be presumed to be contaminated and quarantined
indefinitely.' 'Roger
that, sir?' 'Keep me
informed.' Marshall
switched the radio off. He rubbed
his hands together and looked up at the burning library above him. It was the
building that would skyrocket his career. 'Excellent,'
he said again. Swain
dropped to the grass and set Holly down beside him. They were
out. At last. It was
raining more heavily now. Swain looked for an escape. They were near the
south-west corner of the building. He remembered coming out of the subway
before. Over on the eastern side of the library. The
subway. Nobody would
care if they saw him on the subway — his clothes ragged and torn, Holly's not
much better. They would just be another bum and a kid living on the subway. It was the
way out, the way home. If they
could get past the NSA. Swain pulled
Holly eastward into the shelter of the southern wall of the library building,
the rain pelting down around them. They passed the broken window at ground
level that he had used to get inside before. Using the cover of the rain and
the shadows of the oak trees in the night, Swain hoped they could get past the
NSA undetected. They came to
the south-east corner. Beyond the
row of oaks, Swain could see the great white rotunda. And beyond the rotunda,
the subway station. Yellow
police tape still stretched from tree to tree around the library, forming a
wide perimeter. Swain saw a few NSA agents armed with M-l6s stationed on that perimeter,
their backs to the building, keeping the small crowd of helpless firefighters,
local cops and late-night onlookers at bay. There weren't many NSA agents, just
enough to secure the area. Swain guessed that most of the others were now
inside the building itself. 'All right,'
he said to Holly. 'You ready? It's time to go home.' 'Okay,'
Holly said. 'Get ready
to run.' Swain waited
for a second, peering around the corner of the building. 'All right, now!' They dashed
out from the building, across the open ground and into the treeline. They stopped
beneath a big oak, catching their breath. 'Are we
there yet?' Holly asked, breathless. 'Almost,'
Swain said. He pointed to the rotunda. 'That's where we go next. Then on to the
subway. You want me to carry you?' 'No, I'm
okay.' 'Good.
Ready?' 'Yes.' 'Then let's
go.' They ran
again. Out from the treeline. Out into the open. Boom. Marshall
felt the ground beneath him shudder. He was still
standing at the main entrance to the library. He looked inside, through the
broken glass doors, to see what was causing the vibration. Nothing.
Darkness. Boom. Marshall
frowned. Boom.
Boom. Boom. Something
was coming. Something big. And then he
saw it. Motherfucker… Marshall
didn't wait for another look. He just turned and ran — down the steps, away
from the entrance — a bare two seconds before the library's enormous doors were
blasted from their hinges like a pair of matchsticks. Swain and
Holly were halfway to the rotunda when it happened. A booming,
thunderous roar echoed across the park behind them. Swain stopped
and spun. The pouring rain pelted down against his face. 'Oh no,' he said. 'Not
again.' The
Karanadon was standing at the top of the steps of the main entrance. The huge
glass doors of the library, now totally destroyed, lay in pieces in front of
the enormous black beast. NSA agents were running in all directions to get away
from it. The
Karanadon paid no attention to the people fleeing from it. In fact, it didn't
even acknowledge their presence at all. It just stopped at the top of the steps
and stood there, its head turning in a slow, wide arc. Scanning the
area. Searching. Searching
for them. And then it
saw them. Exposed between the treeline and the big white rotunda, standing
there in the pouring rain. The huge
beast roared loudly. And then it
leapt forward and with frightening speed, covered the distance between the
library and the treeline in seconds. It bounded quickly forward, charging
through the sleeting rain, its every step shaking the muddy earth beneath it. Boom.
Boom. Boom. Swain and Holly
ran for the rotunda. They reached it and climbed the steps, up onto the
circular concrete stage. The
Karanadon hit the treeline and crashed through the branches of one of the giant
oaks, charging toward the rotunda. Then it
stopped. Ten yards away. And watched them for several seconds. They were
trapped on the stage. Marshall had
his radio out. 'I'll give you
fucking confirmation! The damn thing just charged out the front fucking
doors! Get someone over here right now!' The radio
crackled back. 'I don't
give a flying fuck what you're looking at! Get someone over here now and
tell them to bring the biggest gun we've got!' Swain led
Holly over to the far side of the stage. He picked her up as the Karanadon
moved slowly closer. The rain drummed loudly on the roof of the rotunda. 'Stay down,'
Swain said, as he lowered Holly over the railing at the edge of the stage. She
dropped lightly to the ground, six feet below. The
Karanadon reached the base of the rotunda. The pouring rain had wet its fur,
slicking it down like a dog's. A running trickle of rainwater ran down a crease
in its long black snout, dripped ominously off one of its huge canine teeth. The big
beast took a slow step up the stairs. Swain moved
in an arc around the circumference of the stage, away from Holly. The
Karanadon stepped up onto the stage. It stared at
Swain. There was an
endless, tense silence. Swain drew
his Glock. The
Karanadon growled in response. A low, angry growl. Neither of
them moved. And then
suddenly Swain made a break for the railing and the Karanadon bounded forward
after him. Swain
reached the railing and had just started to vault over it when a giant black
claw snatched his collar and snapped him backwards, and he landed in the centre
of the concrete stage with a loud smack. The
Karanadon stood astride Stephen Swain and lowered its snout until it was
face-to-face with him. It had his gun hand pinned to the stage beneath one of
its massive hairy claws. Swain tried
in vain to turn away from its hideous fangs, its foul hot breath, its dark
wrinkled snout, set in a perpetual sneer. The
Karanadon cocked its head slightly, seemingly daring him to escape. It was then
that Swain turned his head and saw the beast's hind foot step forward. A wave of
terror flooded through his body as he saw the wristband that he had worn for
the duration of the Presidian right in front of his eyes. 'Oh, man…'
he said aloud. The
countdown was still ticking downward. 1:01 1:00 0:59 Only one
minute to detonation. Holy
shit. He began to
wriggle and squirm, but the Karanadon held him down. It seemed totally unaware
of the bomb attached to its foot. Swain looked
around the rotunda for an escape — at the white lattice handrail that circled
the stage, at the six pillars supporting the dome-like roof. There was a small
wooden box attached to the handrail, but its door was padlocked shut. In a
detached corner of his mind, Swain wondered what the box was for. There
was nothing here. Absolutely nothing he could use. He had
finally run out of options. Then
suddenly, there came a voice. 'Hello…?' The
Karanadon's head snapped up instantly, turned around. Swain could
still see the numbers counting down on the wristband inches away from his face. 0:48 0:47 0:46 'Hello? Yes.
Over here.' Swain
recognised the voice. It was
Holly. He looked
up. She was standing over near the edge of the stage, the rain slanting down
behind her like a curtain. The Karanadon swivelled to look at her— —and
abruptly something small smacked against the Karanadon's snout. It dropped to
the ground next to Swain's head. It was a black school shoe. A girl's school
shoe. Holly had thrown it at the Karanadon! The big
beast growled. A deep-chested rumble of pure, animal anger. 0:37 0:36 0:35 Then it
slowly lifted its foot, moving toward Holly. 'Holly!'
Swain yelled. 'Get out of here! It still has the wristband on and it'll blow in
thirty seconds!' Holly was
momentarily startled. Then, in an instant, she understood and she began to run,
leaping down the steps, vanishing from Swain's sight out into the park. The
Karanadon took one step forward in pursuit of her and then it stopped dead in
its tracks. And turned
around. 0:30 0:29 0:28 It still
hadn't released Swain's gun hand — still had it pinned down against the stage. Swain
struggled vainly against the giant creature's grip, but it was useless. The
Karanadon was just too damn strong. 0:23 0:22 0:21 And then,
just then, as he squirmed, something on the stage scraped against Swain's back. Swain
frowned — and saw that he had brushed up against a part of the stage that
wasn't perfectly flush against the floor. A small
square of wood, sunken fractionally into the stage. It was a
trapdoor. The same
trapdoor that he had seen used in the summer pantomimes over previous years. He was lying
on top of it. And then,
realising, Swain's head snapped around — and his eyes fell on the small
padlocked wooden box that he had seen attached to the lattice handrail before. Now he knew
what that box was for. It
housed the controls for the trapdoor. 0:18 0:17 The
Karanadon stood over him, growling. 0:16 0:15 Even though
his gun hand was still being held down by the beast, Swain's pistol was aimed
roughly at the trapdoor's control box. 0:14 0:13 Swain fired.
Hit the top corner of the box. The Karanadon roared. 0:12 0:11 He adjusted
his aim. Fired again. This time the bullet hit the box closer to the padlock. 0:10 Third
timers the charm… he thought, narrowing his eyes. Blam! Swain fired
and… shwack! … the padlock snapped open, smashed by the bullet! 0:09 The control
box's door swung open, revealing a large red lever inside. Simple operation:
you pulled the lever down and the trapdoor on the stage dropped open. 0:08 Swain fired
again, this time at the lever. Missed. He stole a glance up at the Karanadon — just
in time to see one of its mighty black fists come rushing down at his face!
Swain swung his head to the side, just as the gigantic black-clawed fist
smashed into the stage right next to his ear, punching a hole clean
through the trapdoor. The Karanadon raised its free claw again, for what would
no doubt be the final blow. 0:07 Swain saw
the big claw rise. He loosed several shots at the lever in rapid succession. Blam!
Blam! Blam'. Blam! Miss. Miss.
Miss. Miss. 0:06 The
Karanadon's claw reached the height of its back-swing. Its knuckles cracked
loudly as it tightened into a fist. 'Goddamn
it!' Swain shouted at himself. 'Focus!' The
Karanadon's fist came rushing down— Swain looked
down the barrel of his gun— —and
suddenly the lever came into crystal-clear focus. 'Gotcha,' he said. Blam. The gun
discharged and the bullet whistled through the air and this time… … crack!
… … it slammed
into the lever, severing it at its hinge in an explosion of sparks, causing
the whole lever mechanism to snap and fall and— 0:05 Whack! Without
warning, the trapdoor beneath Swain dropped away. 0:04 The
Karanadon's fist hit nothing but air as it came rushing down, missing Swain's
nose by centimetres as he dropped unexpectedly from beneath the massive beast,
falling like a stone into the belly of the stage. Swain landed
with a dusty thump in darkness. 0:03 He saw the
Karanadon on the stage above him, standing in a square of light, glaring down
at him through the hole that only moments before had been the trapdoor. Move! He looked
right and saw a vertical sliver of light in the darkness — a sliver of light
that indicated the small wooden door that led out from underneath the stage. 0:02 Swain
scrambled toward the little wooden door, firing his gun as he did so,
pockmarking the door with holes, hoping to God he would hit the padlock on the
other side. 0:01 And then he
rammed into the door with his shoulder and it burst open before him and he
flailed out into the pouring rain and landed clumsily on the wet grass that
surrounded the stage. 0:00. Cataclysm. —––ooo0ooo——— The
explosion from the wristband — white-hot and blinding — blasted out
horizontally, like a thousand-mile-an-hour ripple in a pond. Swain
scrambled on his hands and knees and pressed himself up against the concrete
base of the stage as the white-hot wall of light expanded laterally — and
spectacularly — above his head. He saw Holly on the ground over by the trees,
her hands covering her ears. The
Karanadon simply disappeared as the brilliant white explosion shot outward from
it, shattering all six of the pillars supporting the domed roof of the rotunda
— reducing them to powder in an instant — and the massive white dome, without
its supports, came crashing down onto the stage. Behind
Swain's back, the thick concrete base of the stage cracked under the weight of
the explosion, but held. White
concrete dust and about a billion flakes of paint fluttered in the air before
the pouring rain broke them up, dispersing them. Swain stood
up slowly and stared at the rotunda, its huge domed roof now crumpled flat on
its stage, the rain beating mercilessly down upon it. There would
be nothing left of the Karanadon, the explosion had been too big, too hot. The
Karanadon was gone. Swain
hurried over to Holly and picked her up. He saw NSA
agents running toward them through the rain, and was about to break for it,
when it happened. Suddenly. Unexpectedly. Concurrent
explosions — six of them — white-hot balls of light, bursting spectacularly
from different sections of the library. The biggest
explosion came from the Third Floor. It seemed to be a combination of two
separate explosions, twice the size of the other white fireballs that boomed
out from the Ground and Second Floors of the library. Glass
blasted outwards from nearly every window of the New York State Library. People
all around the building were diving for cover when suddenly an underground explosion
— strangely, right where the underground parking lot was situated — dispatched
a large oak tree clear from its roots, sending a gout of soil and grass flying
into the rainsoaked sky. Shrouded by
a veil of slanting rain, the whole library was ablaze with fire now. Flames
poured out from every window and as Stephen Swain led his daughter
inconspicuously away from the pandemonium, he saw the Third Floor cave in on
itself and crumble downwards, crushing the Second and First Floors. The
building's roof was still intact when the sixth and last explosion rocked the
library and the strangest sight of all appeared. An empty
elevator — rocketing upward through the shaft — burst through the roof of the
building and shot up into the sky, reaching the height of its parabolic arc and
then falling, flying, crashing, back down onto the roof. It was then
that the roof itself caved in and the New York State Library — amid the sound
of girders creaking and explosions multiplying and fires burning — collapsed in
a blaze of glory and, despite the pouring rain, began to burn itself into
oblivion. James
Marshall stared in dumbstruck awe at the fiery demise of the building that had
promised him so much. There had been nearly thirty agents inside that building
when the explosions had gone off. None could have survived. Marshall
just stood there, watching the building burn. They would get nothing from this
building. Just as they would get nothing from the rotunda. Marshall himself had
seen the big black creature crash through the main entrance. And he had seen it
explode. A white-hot
— micro-nuclear? — explosion like that would not leave much behind. Christ, it
wouldn't leave anything behind. Marshall put
his hands in his pockets and walked back to his car. Phone calls had to be
made. Explanations had to be given. This night
had been the closest they had ever come to contact. Perhaps the closest they
would ever come. And now? Now
what did they have? Nothing. —––ooo0ooo——— Stephen
Swain sat on the subway train with his daughter asleep in his lap. At every
jolt of the train, they would tilt and sway with the other four passengers in
their carriage. It was late and the near-empty train would get them to the
outskirts of New York City. From there they would catch a cab — an expensive
cab — back to Connecticut. Back home. Holly slept
peacefully in Swain's lap, occasionally rolling over to make herself more
comfortable. Swain smiled
sadly. He had
forgotten about the wristbands that all the contestants in the Presidian had to
wear. When the electrified walls had disappeared, their wristbands — like his —
must have also been set to detonate. So when the Karanadon had exploded with
Swain's wristband, the other wristbands had gone off, too, wherever they
happened to be — Reese's in the underground parking lot, Balthazar's on the
Third Floor, and even Bellos', at the bottom of the elevator shaft. Swain looked
at his clothes — greasy, black, and in some places, bloody. Nobody on the train
seemed to care. He laughed
softly to himself. Then he closed his eyes and leaned back into his seat as the
train rumbled off through the tunnel toward home. EPILOGUE New York City 1 December, 4:52 a.m. Workers on
the New York Subway called it the Mole, an ordinary electric engine from a
subway train that had been converted into a street-sweeper on rails. Late at
night, when subway services were at a minimum, the Mole would amble through the
tunnels, its rotating forward sweepers scooping up any debris that might have
fallen onto the tracks during the previous day. At the end of its run, all that
debris would be tipped from the Mole into a furnace and destroyed. Later that
night, the Mole made its usual trip through the subway tunnel adjoining the
State Library. And as it passed the Con Edison Booster Valve, the driver began
to doze. He never
noticed the open doorway, never noticed the crumpled interior — packed solid
with collapsed bricks and fragmented concrete. And he never
noticed the soft clink-clink of metal on metal that rattled underneath
the Mole as it went past the Booster Valve. The Mole
ambled off down the tunnel, and all that remained in its wake was a pair of
handcuffs, clasped to the track. AN
INTERVIEW WITH MATTHEW REILLY THE
WRITING OF CONTEST What
inspired you to write Contest? There were two key
inspirations for me to actually sit down and write Contest. First, the
works of Michael Crichton. I still believe that Dr Crichton is the best
storyteller in the world today. Not only are his stories original, they are
also told at a cracking pace. Back in 1993, the year after I finished high
school, my brother, Stephen, gave me a book and said, 'I'm told Steven
Spielberg is going to make this into a movie, it's about a theme park built
around genetically-engineered dinosaurs.' More than any other book I have read,
Jurassic Park made me want to tell big action stories (especially
stories with big scary 'animal' elements). In terms of the story, the
inspiration to write Contest came from my love of sports. I think there
is drama in any kind of competition. All I did to turn that into a story was to
make my contest the ultimate contest — if you win, you live; if you
lose, you die. Contest originally
appeared in late 1996 in self-published form. What are the differences — if
any — between the self-published version and this one? In terms of the overall
story, there are no differences. Structurally, it is exactly the same now as it
was back in 1996. The differences come in the finer detail — in the way Swain
does battle with the other contestants. The biggest alterations I made were in
the 'final confrontation' scenes involving Swain and the three big villains of
the book: Bellos, Reese and the Karanadon. In the original version of the book,
these scenes were not as complex. Now they are bigger, badder and meaner. The other big change was the
addition of the Konda and the Rachnid. In the 1996 version, these two
contestants weren't named or described. The reason for this was simple: when I
originally wrote the book, I dreamed up six different alien species (Reese,
Bellos, the Codex, Balthazar, the hoods and the Karanadon) and I just couldn't
think up any more! But after a few years of thinking about Contest, I
came up with these two extra species. So I put them in. Apart from those, there are a
lot of small changes, ranging from tightening the narrative in places to
telling the reader how Swain's wife died, a piece of backstory that didn't
appear in the self-published edition. You
mentioned that there are 'big scary animal elements' in your novels. Tell us
about the various creatures in your books. Why are they there and why do you
choose the ones you do? I wish I could think of some
loftier purpose, but the true reason for the big scary animal elements is very
simple: they're there to eat people. I think there is nothing better in a book
or movie than to see someone running from a big scary creature (think Jurassic
Park, Jaws, or Aliens). As for why I choose
the creatures I choose, well, in Ice Station, for instance, I selected
killer whales and elephant seals because I wanted the water to be a dangerous
place — kind of like Jaws. The elephant seals were also the guardians,
so to speak, of the underground cavern — making it a challenge to get there. In
Temple I went one step further, and tried to make land and water
dangerous places to be. There I used rapas (big, black, five-foot-tall cats
which are the subject of myths in South America) and caimans (large
crocodilians). I chose those animals because I wanted Temple to be
darker and scarier than Ice Station. As for Contest, well, as any
Hollywood screenwriter will tell you, the best creatures of all are the ones
you make up. For when you create an alien species, there are absolutely no
limits. They can bleed acid (Alien), they can see via infra-red (Predator),
or they can just be bigger, meaner and nastier than the biggest, meanest
and nastiest Earth-based creatures. Do you
have the ending in your head when you start writing a new novel? Ah, yes! This is Frequently
Asked Question No. 1. Whenever I meet people and they discover I am an author,
they always ask this question! The answer is: yes… usually. The reason I say 'yes … usually'
is because I feel that some flexibility is always required. For example, the last line of
Temple (which I won't give away, for those who haven't read it) was
something that occurred to me halfway through writing the book. I love that
line, and it's a great reason to remain flexible. As for Contest, one
question that nagged me all the way through the writing process was: How the
hell am I going to kill the Karanadon? The answer — using Swain's wrist-band
— came to me completely out of the blue. It just hit me. I started dancing
around the house, pumping my fists in the air. It was so neat, so tidy, it
saved Swain and yet it left no trace of the Karanadon. But neat as it appears
in the book, it was not something I knew from the very start. Again,
flexibility. I see you
have a new author photo for this book. Any reason for the change? Yes — too much grief from my
friends! Some took to calling me 'Mr Suave' because of the old photo! I kind of
liked it, but it was getting a little dated (it was taken in 1997, before I had
glasses). The new one looks more like the real me! Any final
words? As always, I just hope you
all enjoyed the book, and I hope to see you next time. MR Sydney November 2000 |
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